The Burrow’s kitchen was warm and bustling, even in the early morning. Pans clinked and stirred themselves, the fireplace crackled softly, and Mrs. Weasley moved between stove and counter with practiced ease.
“There you are, Harry!” she exclaimed as soon as he stepped inside. “Sit down, dear, you need a proper meal after everything you went through.”
Before he could get a word in, a mountain of food materialized in front of him—eggs, toast, sausages, and a stack of pancakes that could be seen from space.
“Mrs. Weasley, I—this is a bit—”
“No arguing,” she said firmly, already delivering another sausage. “You look like you could eat a hippogriff.”
Harry smiled weakly and began eating. Truthfully, after last night, he was starving.
Fred and George wandered in moments later, mid-whisper and wearing the exact expressions of boys planning something illegal.
“Morning, Harry!” Fred said brightly.
“Morning,” George echoed with equal innocence.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What are you two up to?”
Both twins froze on the spot, their shared guilt almost visible.
“Up to?” Fred repeated.
“Nothing,” George said too quickly. “Just discussing—uh—”
“Homework!” they blurted together.
Harry stared.
“…Homework?”
Fred nodded gravely. “Yes, quite right. Very serious business.”
George added, “Terribly boring. Almost suspiciously boring.”
Before Harry could respond, Hermione entered the kitchen at full Hermione power—hair frizzy, eyes sharp, quill already in hand.
“Did someone say homework?”
The twins deflated like punctured balloons.
Harry shoved another bite of eggs in his mouth to hide his laugh.
Hermione sat beside him. “Actually, speaking of homework—when are we going to Diagon Alley? We’ll need to get our books soon.”
Harry stiffened. He’d forgotten about the wand situation. He hadn’t exactly wanted to think about it.
Mrs. Weasley paused mid-step, looking over her shoulder. “We’ll go in a few days, dear. Arthur’s working double shifts after… well, you know.”
A moment later—
WHOOOSH—THUMP!
A large tawny owl crashed into the kitchen window with the grace of a drunk brick.
Mrs. Weasley hurried over. “Oh goodness—poor thing.” She opened the window and the owl hopped inside, shaking itself off indignantly.
A long, thin Ministry-sealed parcel was tied to its leg.
Harry’s breath caught.
Mrs. Weasley untied it and handed it to him gently. “Looks like the Ministry followed up on their word.”
Harry unwrapped the brown paper.
His wand lay inside.
Holly. Phoenix feather. Familiar warmth.
He let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Mrs. Weasley patted his shoulder. “They wrote that the evidence against you was inconclusive. Apparently the spells cast last night weren’t clearly traceable, and with so many wands flying around… well, it’s all a mess. They’ve decided to drop the matter.”
Harry nodded quietly. “Right. That… that’s good.”
♪ DING ♪ Oh look! Your sentimental stick has returned. Shocking that they didn’t blame you for everything. Progress!
Not now, Harry thought hastily.
Fine. Enjoy your wand. Try holding onto it this time.
He pocketed the wand quickly before anyone noticed him twitching.
Hermione smiled warmly. “Feels better to have it back, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Harry said, letting out a breath. “A lot.”
At that moment, Mrs. Weasley returned dragging a half-conscious Ron by the sleeve.
“Mum—I’m up—I’m up—” he mumbled, then promptly collapsed into a chair and face-planted into a piece of toast.
Fred clucked his tongue sadly. “Poor thing.”
George sighed. “He fought bravely.”
Ron mumbled something about betrayal and crumbs.
Hermione shook her head fondly. “Anyway—Diagon Alley?”
Mrs. Weasley poured tea into mugs before answering. “A few days yet, dear. Once Arthur has another morning free. With all the reports coming in after the campsite incident, it’s chaotic at the Ministry.”
Ron perked up. “Great! I need new chess pieces. Mine keep running off.”
“Cowards,” Fred muttered.
“Traitors,” George added.
“Gits,” Ron corrected.
Harry laughed into his tea.
For a brief moment—between the plates of food, Ron’s toast-stuck face, and Fred & George’s barely-contained schemes—everything felt normal again.
Almost.
But beneath the comfortable chaos of the Burrow, Harry felt the quiet pulse of the System in the back of his mind.
Status: Player Stable Awaiting next quest trigger.
Harry forced himself to breathe.
Normal wouldn’t last forever.
But for now… he had breakfast. He had his wand. He had friends.
And that was enough.