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HRA# CHAPTER 137
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 19:15:17 +0000 UTC“Fred? George?” Harry, lugging his suitcase, stepped quickly out of the garden, eyeing the space inside the car with surprise. “What are you two doing here?”
“Hey, Harry, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?” George, lounging in the passenger seat, dangled an arm out the window.
“Yeah, mate, we came all this way just for you,” Fred added, feigning a wounded sigh. He tapped the steering wheel, and the car’s horn blared again—clearly, he’d been the one honking in stealth mode to spook Harry.
“Your chariot awaits.”
“The Burrow Express, exclusively for you.”
“Our mighty Ragehorn!”
“Roar!!”
The twins were at it again, trading lines in their usual singsong banter, making Harry’s fists itch.
“I hate to interrupt,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow, “but if I recall correctly, I wrote to Ron saying he only needed to tell me where your house is. Alfred could’ve gotten me there.”
At the mention of his name, Alfred straightened up even more, puffing out his chest with pride.
“This is your butler? Ron’s been banging on about him nonstop—Merlin’s beard, he’s loud,” George said, leaning out the window to wave at Alfred. “Oi, hello there!”
“Good day, sir!” Alfred bowed crisply. “I am Alfred, Master Harry’s butler!”
“Let me see!” Fred, unable to contain his curiosity, leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Blimey! He’s a proper looker! Nothing like those house-elves in the castle. Absolutely smashing!”
Dressed in a sharp, miniature suit complete with a top hat, Alfred’s appearance was, frankly, more put-together than many wizards. At the very least, he wasn’t wandering around in a Muggle skirt or wearing stockings as a hat.
“In service to Master Harry!” Fred’s praise sent Alfred into a tizzy, his voice squeaking with excitement.
“Brilliant,” George said, impressed. “Mum’s always wanted a house-elf to help out, but Dad’s never found one willing to work for us. Though, Harry, I’ve got to correct you on something.”
“What’s that?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“When your mates drive a thousand miles to pick you up, you just say thanks,” George said, grinning.
“Instead of insisting you could’ve made it on your own,” Fred added with a shrug.
“Alright, fine. I’m sorry, and thank you for the lift,” Harry sighed, giving a small bow.
“You’re welcome, Harry. Forgiven,” George said, half his body still hanging out the window as he returned a mock salute.
“So, what’s the deal with this car?” Harry stepped forward, tapping the air in front of him—thunk, thunk.
It was invisible to the eye, but Harry was certain a car was parked right there. Judging by the height, it was even hovering off the ground. A flying, invisible Muggle car?
“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Weasley works at the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?” Harry grinned, giving what he guessed was the bonnet a couple of light taps, producing more thunks. “Misuse of Muggle Artefacts?”
If turning a Muggle car into a flying, magical vehicle didn’t count as misuse, then Harry wasn’t sure what did. He was fairly certain the Statute of Secrecy forbade wizards from tampering with Muggle objects in ways that could draw attention.
“Oh, if it’s about that, Dad’s got a whole speech prepared,” Fred said with a chuckle. “Don’t expect us to remember it, though.”
“Seriously, you can’t imagine how obsessed Dad is with Muggle stuff,” George sighed. “Our shed’s packed with it. If Dad ever brought Ministry folks home for an inspection, he’d probably have to arrest himself.”
Harry rarely saw the twins look genuinely worried, but he was sure he caught a flicker of it now.
“Well, if Mr. Weasley’s into Muggle things, I could probably explain some of the basics,” Harry said with a shrug, peering into the car. “So, where’s Ron? This must be that ‘big toy’ he wrote about. I thought he’d be here showing it off.”
“Oh, showing off,” Fred nodded eagerly. “You hit the nail on the head, Harry.”
“You wouldn’t believe how insufferable Ron’s been since he got back,” George said, sounding like a man who’d narrowly escaped doom. “For weeks, he’s been going on about all the cool Muggle stuff at Granger’s place. Nearly drove Dad spare with envy, you know, itching to get his hands on it.”
“Yeah, he just kept talking, over and over,” Fred mimicked, “until even Ginny learned to grab her bowl and run the moment Ron opened his mouth.”
To be honest, Harry was a bit surprised. Not because Ron was fixated on retelling stories—that was typical—but because his friend hadn’t let slip about the suitcase world. After all, they hadn’t just hung out at Hermione’s house that day; the real party had been in the suitcase world.
It seemed Ron, despite his love for storytelling, was tighter-lipped than Hagrid when it came to family… at least most of the time.
While Harry mulled this over, Fred and George kept piling on about Ron’s annoying habits and how Mr. Weasley had practically withered from longing over the Muggle appliances Ron described. And then, something—or someone—finally snapped.
“Enough, you two idiots!” Ron’s head popped up from the back seat, his face red as a beet. “Stop making stuff up! I didn’t do any of that!”
“Oi, Ronnie, the whole family knows. No use denying it. Harry’ll find out soon enough,” Fred teased.
“And, dear little Ronnie,” George said, turning from the passenger seat with a drawn-out tone, “haven’t you been a bit… lacking in respect for your older brothers this holiday?”
“Oh, thought it was just me feeling that,” Fred said in a mock falsetto. “Maybe little Ronnie needs a reminder. Like that time years ago, with the furry—”
“Lots of legs—”
“Round, or maybe not that round—”
“Shut it!” Ron’s face flushed even redder, looking ready to deck both his brothers. “Don’t bring that up! Or do you two want another hiding from Mum?”
“Mutually assured destruction,” Fred nodded sagely.
“Nobody wants that,” George added. “So, truce for now. But you’ve grown a bit, Ronnie—just a smidge.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m just anyone?” Ron puffed up at the rare concession from his brothers. “Enough chatter—get in, Harry! Just bring your suitcase. There’s more room in here than you’d think!”
“…So that’s why you were hiding in the back?” Harry gave Ron a deadpan look. He didn’t need to guess what Ron had been planning—probably hoping to jump out and scare him when he opened the door.
Maybe Ron had wanted to leap out the moment Fred and George started ragging on him, but he’d held back… until he couldn’t anymore.
“Heh,” Ron just gave a sheepish laugh, dodging Harry’s gaze.
The car’s interior was far roomier than Harry expected. The back seat could easily fit six or seven people—not thirty, mind you, but still impressive. No doubt the work of an Undetectable Extension Charm. Harry was also pretty sure this was another tick on Mr. Weasley’s list of Ministry violations. The charm wasn’t exactly free to use willy-nilly.
Wizarding laws, as Harry had come to expect, were something most people ignored—at least most of the time.
The four of them chatted and laughed as they headed toward The Burrow—yes, that was the actual name of the Weasley house. Or rather, they flew there. Nobody would notice an invisible car soaring overhead, which, to be honest, was kind of thrilling.
Harry had ridden flying mounts before, like hippogriffs or his trusty Ragehorn, but being inside a metal shell, cruising through the air in a flying car, was a different beast altogether.
The Weasley home was just outside Ottery St Catchpole, a mixed wizard-Muggle village not unlike Godric’s Hollow. But when Harry finally laid eyes on The Burrow, he realized the comparison ended there.
He’d seen plenty of wizarding homes by now—Malfoy Manor’s opulent sprawl, the Potter family’s unassuming house tucked into a Muggle neighborhood. Those blended in, looking perfectly ordinary. Muggle neighbors could visit without suspecting a thing, as long as the wizards hid their magical quirks.
But The Burrow? Harry was nine-tenths certain the Weasleys could never invite Muggle guests. The house screamed “wizard” in a way that practically begged for a Statute of Secrecy violation.
Unlike the Potter house’s normalcy, The Burrow was a teetering, multi-story monstrosity—at least six floors high. It looked like it might collapse at any moment. Only magic could keep such a rickety structure standing.
The house sported a charming red roof with four or five chimneys poking out. As Harry stepped out of the car, he spotted a sign staked crookedly in the front yard, proudly declaring The Burrow. So it was called that.
When Ron had first mentioned the name, Harry thought he was just being modest. He hadn’t expected it to be so… literal.
At first glance, the front door was flanked by a pair of muddy boots and a rusty, battered cauldron. From the car, before they’d landed, Harry had glimpsed a small pond on the other side of the house, with white ducks paddling about. There was even a pigsty by the wall, where two pigs were happily munching away.
“Welcome, Harry,” Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder with a grin. “Welcome to my place. It’s… not much, is it?”
Ron looked a bit uneasy.
“No, it’s brilliant,” Harry said sincerely. “This is the most wizard-like house I’ve ever seen. It’s exactly what Muggles imagine when they think of wizards.”
“That’s a compliment, right?” George said, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Let’s go round the side. Fred’ll park the car where it belongs… you know, since we snuck out to get you.”
The three of them—Ron, Fred, and George—must’ve left before dawn, probably in the dead of night. Ottery St Catchpole was a fair distance from Godric’s Hollow, and they’d arrived at the Potter house just as the sun was rising around eight.
Which meant, by the time they reached The Burrow, the sun was already past its peak and sinking toward the horizon.
“…You sure Mrs. Weasley won’t be mad when she sees us?” Harry asked quietly, having learned halfway through the trip that the twins had snuck out with their dad’s car. Another strike against Mr. Weasley’s Ministry record.
“Don’t worry, Harry. We’ve got a solid excuse,” George said breezily. “We were picking you up to visit. Listen, Ginny’s gonna lose her mind. She’s been going on about you all summer. Doesn’t matter how much Ron talks, she never gets tired of hearing about you.”
“Huh, didn’t expect to have a fan in your family,” Harry said, trying to match the name Ginny to the shy girl he vaguely remembered from King’s Cross.
Before and after his first year at Hogwarts, he’d seen Mrs. Weasley at the station, with a timid girl always hiding behind her, avoiding his gaze. Hard to picture her as a “fan.”
“Fan? That’s how you talk about your admirers? Bit cold, mate,” George teased quietly. “But no surprise there. You’re a big deal, Harry. See that way?” He pointed down the road. “Head into Ottery St Catchpole, and every wizard there’s rooting for you. Especially after you stuck it to the Ministry with that lawsuit. Showed those bureaucrats what’s what.”
“Thanks. I’ll keep at it,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “I just figured your family wouldn’t care much about my fame, you know, like you lot.”
“We’re special, Harry. Not just full of brilliant ideas,” George said with a grin. “You can’t expect everyone to be like us. We’re geniuses!”
“Geniuses, are you?” a sharp, heavy voice cut in, each word practically growled. “So what have my genius sons been up to now?”
Harry turned to see Mrs. Weasley striding toward them from the depths of the yard. Behind her, Fred and Ron trailed like wilted eggplants, heads down—at least on the surface.
Fred was rubbing his ear, clearly having already caught a scolding.
“Morning, Mum!” George called out, raising his voice and pretending nothing was amiss. “Look who’s here! We’ve got a guest!”
Harry knew exactly what his role was here: a shield to keep Mrs. Weasley’s temper at bay.
“Hello, Mrs. Weasley. Good to see you again,” Harry said, stepping forward with a polite bow. “Sorry for dropping in unannounced. Fred and George really helped me out getting here.”
In the clutch, Harry had their backs.
“Oh, Harry, hello! So nice to see you,” Mrs. Weasley said, her anger visibly derailed. She smiled, her wand poking out of the pocket of her checkered apron. “Come in, make yourself at home. I’ll get dinner started.”
George let out a quiet sigh of relief.
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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
