The Tenth Weasley - CH - 104

The morning air was crisp, laced with the soft hum of spring birdsong as the Weasley family stood clustered together at the edge of a gravel path. Before them stood a stately Victorian house, its red-brick walls standing proud with ivy creeping gently up one side, sunlight glinting off the tall arched windows and the slate-tiled roof. The wrought-iron gate clicked open with a gentle push, and the Weasleys all stepped forward onto the property Bill had just purchased.

“Blimey,” Fred breathed, tugging off his cap and running a hand through his ginger hair. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Bill.”

“I’m offended,” Bill replied with a grin, slinging an arm over Nymphadora Tonks’s shoulders. “You think just because I break curses and dive into tombs, I don’t have good taste?”

“I mean, you used to have a rat’s skull on your nightstand,” George chimed in.

“That was for a protection ritual!”

Nymphadora chuckled beside him, flicking her wand lazily to unlock the front door. “You’re forgetting, I’ve seen worse. You should see his laundry basket.”

“Oi!” Bill muttered, laughing.

Molly Weasley was already dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, smiling as she looked up at the house. “It’s beautiful, Bill. Just beautiful. Look at those windows—so much light! And the porch! Oh, I can already see you having morning tea right there.”

Arthur stepped beside her, eyes filled with wonder. “Is that an old copper weathervane on the roof? Looks like a Hippogriff… but stylized in a Muggle way. How fascinating…”

“It’s powered by a custom battery,” Bill said proudly, leading them inside. “One of my mates from Gringotts is married to a Muggle-born electrical charms engineer. He built a magical converter system that stores lightning essence in runes, channels it to a capacitor, and runs a closed-circuit Muggle power grid.”

“…You lost me at capacitor,” Ron muttered.

“I didn’t know any of this was possible,” Percy whispered to Ginny as they stepped through the doorway, his eyes wide with curiosity.

The interior of the house was a warm, elegant contrast to its dignified exterior. The flooring was deep oak, polished to a rich gleam, while the walls bore wallpaper with subtle moving patterns—flowers swaying gently in a breeze or a forest path that slowly shifted light from dawn to dusk. A modern kitchen opened into a dining room with enchanted ceiling lights that adjusted to the time of day, and a living room with a fireplace that could be set to either magical or electric use.

Tonks twirled once in the entryway. “See? It’s my influence. No dragon bones over the fireplace.”

“I had to settle for a miniature dragon teeth sculpture,” Bill said, mock-grouchy, pointing toward a delicate glass casing on a shelf.

Upstairs, the bedrooms were spacious, with slanted ceilings and windows that let in warm sunlight. One was already being converted into a study for Tonks, another into a guest room—just in case any of the family wanted to visit.

“And the basement,” Bill added, leading them down a narrow stairwell, “is going to be my workroom. I’m building a secure ritual space with protective wards, reinforced flooring, and—”

“Not a summoning circle again?” Percy asked nervously.

Bill grinned. “Maybe. A little one.”

As they moved through the house, Molly was clearly overwhelmed with joy.

“I’m just so proud of you,” she whispered when she caught Bill alone in the kitchen. “You’re building a life… a real life. This home, Tonks… you’re a man now, Bill. Truly.”

Bill embraced her tightly, resting his chin on her shoulder. “Thanks, Mum. I wanted something stable. And this… this is it. Finally.”

Tonks joined them, holding a tray with butterbeer mugs. “You lot better be staying for lunch. I’ve made sandwiches. Or rather, the refrigerator did, with the help of a sandwich assembly charm.”

“What is a refrigerator?” Arthur asked with excitement.

“Dad—no,” all the children groaned in unison.

“It’s this big cold cupboard that keeps food fresh,” Harry whispered to him helpfully.

“Marvelous!” Arthur exclaimed, rushing off to investigate.

As the rest of the family settled in the living room, chatting, laughing, and admiring the electric chandeliers and magically adjusted thermostat, Harry wandered to the back of the house. He stepped onto the stone patio, where the garden stretched into a tidy lawn surrounded by hedges. In the center was a single pear tree, its branches beginning to bloom in soft pink.

Bill followed him a few moments later, joining him silently.

“You’ve done well, Bill,” Harry said, glancing toward him with a rare, genuine smile.

“I wanted a place to build something lasting,” Bill replied. “Not just for me. For her too. Maybe one day… for more than just us.”

Harry nodded.

“I think she’s the right one,” Bill added quietly. “She’s fierce. Kind. Chaos in boots. But… real.”

“You’re lucky,” Harry said, staring out into the garden. “To find someone like that.”

“You’ll find someone too,” Bill said confidently. “You’ve just been… walking a different path.”

Harry’s silvery-marked eye glinted in the sun as he looked up. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Behind them, the kitchen door opened and Ginny stuck her head out.

“Sandwiches ready! Dad wants someone to explain why the fridge hums when it’s not alive.”

“Coming!” Bill called, chuckling.

And together, he and Harry returned to the house, where family waited and laughter echoed through the walls of a home built with care, magic, and love.



The summer sun hung low over Ottery St. Catchpole as Harry stepped out of the Weasley Manor’s garden with Hermione at his side. The day was clear, the wind gentle, and there was a quiet excitement between them—unspoken, but undeniably there.

Harry had noticed the change in Hermione ever since he came back from Durmstrang. At first, it had been just curious glances, her eyes flicking toward his face when she thought he wouldn’t notice. Then, the glances became lingering stares—especially at his eyes.

She never mentioned it aloud, but Harry caught the blush on her cheeks every time he met her gaze.

His mismatched eyes—the hazel and the silver-ringed—had unsettled many. But not Hermione.

If anything, she looked at him like he was some unsolvable riddle she had longed to crack, something ancient and powerful that demanded understanding.

As they reached the edge of the Weasley property, Hermione nudged him lightly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied with a soft smile. “Let’s go meet your parents.”

They Apparated just outside a quiet suburban neighborhood where Hermione’s house stood—a modest, ivy-draped two-story home with large front windows and a tidy garden.

“I’ve told them everything,” she said nervously as they walked up the path. “Well, almost everything. They know you’ve been abroad and that your eye changed because of… a magical incident.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said.

The door opened before they could knock.

“Hello, Hermione!” cried Mrs. Granger, hugging her daughter warmly. “And this must be Harry.”

Harry extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Granger.”

Hermione’s father stepped forward with a firm handshake. “Good to finally meet the boy Hermione talks so much about.”

They welcomed him in, offering tea and biscuits. The living room smelled of lemon polish and fresh flowers. It felt… normal. Peaceful. Something Harry didn’t often get to experience.

During the conversation, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were polite but curious. They asked him about his schooling, his travels, what subjects he enjoyed. Harry, to his credit, answered honestly—without revealing too much about dark rituals, ancient magic, or magical dueling.

“You’ve grown up very well,” Mrs. Granger remarked with a smile. “And your eyes are… striking.”

Hermione blushed, and Harry smiled modestly. “Bit of a long story.”

“I imagine all the best ones are,” said Mr. Granger.

After a pleasant hour and promises to visit again, Harry and Hermione stepped out into the sunlight.

“Well,” Hermione said, clearly relieved. “That went better than expected.”

“They’re lovely,” Harry said, glancing sideways at her. “And they clearly adore you.”

Hermione beamed, then added, “I think Mum might already be planning to invite you for Christmas.”

Harry laughed. “May be I should be inviting them for a magical Christmas.”

From there, they took the Knight bus to Diagon Alley and stepped out into the Leaky Cauldron. The streets were bustling—children holding ice cream, shoppers darting between shops, and Hogwarts students waving hello.

Harry and Hermione went to Flourish and Blotts first, Hermione dragging him to the new arrivals section.

“Look,” she said, holding up a new Arithmancy textbook. “This just came out. Professor Vector mentioned it last year.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “We’re on holiday, Hermione.”

She shot him a playful glare. “And knowledge doesn’t take holidays.”

They browsed for a while longer, stopping by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes for some joke supplies and then to Eeylops Owl Emporium to check on a rare delivery of storm owls. Hermione pointed out a small grey one with indigo eyes.

“She looks like she could bite someone’s finger off.”

“Perfect pet for you,” Harry teased.

They ended the day at Hogsmeade.

It was a quiet evening, the streets nearly empty as most students had gone home for Easter. They walked side by side past the Three Broomsticks and Honeydukes. The sky was painted with streaks of orange and violet.

They sat on a stone bench under the shadows of the Shrieking Shack.

“You’ve changed, you know,” Hermione said quietly, gazing at the setting sun.

“Yeah?” Harry asked.

“You’re more confident. Stronger. And… darker. But not in a bad way. Just… more.”

He turned to her. “Does that scare you?”

She looked at him, really looked, and shook her head. “No. I think it’s who you were always meant to be.”

Their eyes met—hazel and silver meeting brown—and something passed between them. Unspoken but understood.

The wind stirred Hermione’s curls, and Harry reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For still seeing me.”

Hermione smiled. “Always.”

He was just… Harry. And she was just Hermione.

And the world, for now, was exactly as it should be.



No one could really say when it started—least of all Harry or Hermione.

There had been no grand declarations, no awkward “will you be my girlfriend” moments under moonlight. It simply… happened. Like something inevitable and quiet and deeply natural. One moment they were friends, best friends, and the next—there was a look, a touch, a kiss under the old apple tree in the Weasley Manor garden. And in that moment, neither of them needed to ask or explain.

They were together.

It was Fred and George, of course, who stumbled upon them first. They were sneaking around the manor grounds after a late-night prank when they saw movement beneath the massive old tree.

Fred froze. “Oi, George—look. Either that tree learned how to snog or our little Harry’s finally grown up.”

George leaned over, squinting. “Blimey… Is that Hermione?”

They waited just long enough to confirm it—Harry’s hand in her curls, Hermione’s fingers tracing the collar of his shirt—before sprinting back to the house.

By breakfast, the entire Weasley household knew.

George had created enchanted paper airplanes that zipped through the house singing “Harry and Hermione, under the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” to the tune of an old Celestina Warbeck song.

Hermione nearly turned scarlet.

Harry just smirked, used to the twins’ antics by now, and quietly took Hermione’s hand under the table.

To Hermione’s surprise, no one treated it strangely. Molly Weasley beamed and hugged her tight. “It’s about time,” she whispered into Hermione’s ear.

Ginny grinned but said nothing—though she did wink at Hermione when no one was looking.

Even Percy, of all people, gave a stiff nod and said, “Well, excellent choice. Both of you. Carry on.”

It was as if the family had been waiting for this all along.

Hermione’s parents were told, of course—carefully, politely, and with only a hint of blushing on Hermione’s part. When Mrs. Granger heard, she smiled warmly and said, “I always did suspect it’d be him.” Mr. Granger gave a protective nod but approved all the same, especially after seeing how Harry treated Hermione—always kind, always respectful, but with a quiet fierceness like she was the most precious part of his world.

The days that followed were peaceful.

They lounged in the sun-dappled garden, read books side by side, and went on evening walks around the manor grounds. They didn’t need constant conversation. Just being near each other was enough.

But the holidays, like all things, had to end.

On the morning Harry was due to return to Durmstrang, Sirius Black pulled him aside. His godfather looked unusually solemn as he handed him a small, velvet-wrapped box.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, unwrapping it.

Inside were two identical handheld mirrors—each framed in silver, with swirling etchings around the glass.

“Two-Way Mirrors,” Sirius explained. “Meant for long-distance communication. Your dad and I used them at Hogwarts. Say the name of the person holding the other one and they appear instantly. Thought you might want to give the other to someone special.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to Hermione, standing with her arms crossed, trying not to look too sad about his departure.

He turned back to Sirius and smiled. “Thanks, Sirius. Really.”

Later, just before boarding the hidden ship to Durmstrang, Harry placed one of the mirrors in Hermione’s hand.

“You better use it,” he said. “I expect a report on every book you read.”

Hermione laughed softly, then kissed his cheek. “Only if you do the same. And don’t you dare try any more dangerous spells without telling me.”

“No promises,” Harry grinned, but he squeezed her hand.

As the ship slipped under the waves, Harry looked into the mirror once more and whispered, “Hermione.”

Her face appeared instantly—warm, bright, smiling through unshed tears.

“I miss you already,” she said.

And for the first time in a long while, Harry didn’t feel alone—because now, no matter how far, he had someone who would always answer when he called.