It must be a dream, but he would enjoy it as long as he could.
Weeks passed, and Harry accepted that it must be real, as he hadn’t woken up yet. He had settled into a pleasant routine, doing mostly the same things as Ron and his brothers.
After breakfast, they were assigned some chores that were a lot more fun than at the Dursleys’ – de-gnoming the garden was Harry’s favourite, but he also liked feeding the chickens. Everything, really, as he always worked together with Ron and they could chat and joke all they liked.
Then there was lunch, where he got to eat as much as he liked and was pressured to eat pudding, too.
In the afternoons, they were free to do what they wanted. Sometimes, Harry read Ron’s comics about Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle and pointed out hilarious mistakes the author had made in the portrayal of Muggles to Ron. Sometimes they waded around in the pond – it was too small for real swimming, but nice enough to cool down on a hot day – and sometimes they’d play Quidditch.
After the first few days, the Weasley parents treated him just like one of their own and seemed to often forget he wasn’t, which suited Harry just fine.
Only Ginny, the youngest and only sister, remained distant. After her mother had pointed out to her that she shouldn’t stare at Harry, she seemed to be almost afraid of him. Whenever he entered a room, she’d vanish from it, and they basically only saw each other at meals.
It was one of those afternoons where Percy had locked himself in his room to study some and couldn’t be cajoled out.
Harry had suggested they ask Ginny to replace Percy as Quidditch referee, but had been overruled.
“She’s too young”, Fred had said.
“And a girl”, Ron had added.
“So what? Hermione is a girl, too.”
Ron seemed weirdly surprised, as if he had forgotten that obvious fact. “Well, anyways”, he had said. “She’s too young.”
Harry didn’t bother to point out that Ginny could only be a year younger than them if she was going to start Hogwarts this year. It must be some weird sibling thing he didn’t understand because he only ever had had Dudley.
Still, it did uncomfortably remind him of how Dudley had excluded him from everything. But it must be different – after all, Ron was a good person, and surely the Weasley parents wouldn’t have tolerated really nasty behaviour, right?
So they played without referee, and Harry was having fun, when suddenly, one of the twins shouted: “Oy, Ginny! Spying on us, are you?”
She wasn’t, not really. She must have stood between some bushes for quite a while, but it couldn’t be called spying when they were outside and knew she must be somewhere.
Ginny blushed so much she resembled a ripe tomato, and Harry said, weakly: “Well, you could just have let her play referee.”
He wasn’t sure anyone had heard him. One of the twins dove downwards and snatched something Ginny had been holding, a cuddly toy, it looked like.
“Give her back!” Ginny shouted. “Give her back!”
But the twin – Fred or George – threw the toy to his brother, and before Harry could say anything else, Ginny had ran away.
Harry didn’t like how they behaved, but they’d call him a spoilsport if he said something. He knew how they talked to Percy, after all, and wasn’t keen on taking up that role.
“Crybaby”, Ron said disdainfully. “I bet she’s running to tell Mum.”
Going to tell an adult had never ever occurred to Harry, since he was usually the one who got punished. “Perhaps you should just give it back”, he suggested to Fred and George. “So you won’t get in trouble.”
“Trouble is our second name!” one of them – Fred? – proudly announced. “Let’s continue.”
They used Ginny’s toy as quaffle now, Harry realized with unease. “
“I need a break”, he announced.
After landing, he stood there, staring at the ground. Really, he should stand up to them. That they were (almost) his only friends wasn’t an excuse. Neville had stood up to them. Neville braver than him!
He’d apologise to Ginny, later, he decided. At dinner.
“What do you think you are doing?”
Mrs. Weasley was drawing closer surprisingly fast, her expression thunderous. “Stop that, immediately!”
“We’re just teasing Ginny a little!” Fred – or George – claimed, tossing the toy to his brother.
This one time, though, he didn’t catch it, and it fell to the ground.
Now Ginny, who had trailed after her mother, started crying in earnest.
“I’m sorry”, Harry mumbled.
“Back to the house, all of you!”
When they got to the house, it turned out that Mr. Weasley was home.
“Oh shit”, Ron mumbled.
“Your mother tells me you used Ginny’s puffskein as bludger.” Never before had Mr. Weasley looked that angry – or really, at all angry.
“That’s not really - ” Ron began.
“Yeah”, Harry admitted. He felt miserable. Ginny hadn’t done anything to him, it was just like Malfoy stealing Neville’s remembrall.
“It was Fred and George’s idea”, Ron insisted.
“I will deal with them later”, Mr. Weasley replied.
Harry mechanically went along with everything he was told, though he wasn’t quite sure why he needed to bend over the kitchen table.
And then, a sudden pain made him realize what was happening. He was being hit.
The pleasant dream he had thought himself in during the past weeks had turned into a nightmare.
Tears streamed over his face. Even as Harry told himself to not be silly, that the Dursleys had smacked him around too many times to count, he still couldn’t ignore the humiliation he felt.
He had thought Mr. Weasley liked him! Had even considered perhaps calling him “Dad” someday.
When he was finally told to go to his room, Harry just quietly trudged upstairs. His bottom hurt, but that was nothing compared to how betrayed he felt.
He couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t stay and smile and pretend it hadn’t happened. He had managed with the Dursleys because ... well, he didn’t really know why. Perhaps because he had hated them just as much as they hated him.
Harry took his poach of money, his invisibility cloak, his wand, a photo with both his parents on it and the wooden flute Hagrid had gifted him. Hagrid. Could he go to Hagrid?
But the only floo address he knew was that of Diagon Alley, and their shopping trip there had taught him to be very careful.
Perhaps it was better to fly away on his broom? But Ron had told him that his father’s Ford Anglia could fly. He’d catch Harry in no time at all.
And they would expect him to use the broom.
Even if they suspected he had used the floo, they wouldn’t know where to start looking, he could be literally in every magical household in Britain.
Despite everything, Harry felt bad enough about taking even what little floo powder he needed to leave some sickles under the couch as he sneaked through the empty living room. The house was chaotic enough no one would notice the money hadn’t been there before.
He threw the powder onto the fire, stepped inside the moment the flames turned green and said, very clearly: “Diagon Alley.”
This time, he didn’t panic as the fireplaces swished by, and when he finally stepped out, he found himself in the Leaky Cauldron.
He briefly considered renting a room, but then decided against it. They would recognize him instantly, and even if they’d give a room to a twelve year old, they’d tell on him as soon as Mr. or Mrs. Weasley asked.
Sleeping on the streets wouldn’t be pleasant, but not so bad, if he could find a place under some roof. It was summer, even if it got cold at night, he wouldn’t freeze to death.
And it was only a couple weeks until school would start.
Chapter 3