Chapter 37 — Hunt in the Weasley Home 1
The first thing I do after Aunt Molly finishes dusting my robes is look around the Burrow's living room. It feels exactly like the books described, but now that I'm standing inside it, everything feels more alive. The room is cluttered in a comforting way. Things are stacked on top of other things, every corner filled with movement or colour. A teapot stirs itself on the stove. A pair of knitting needles click together by the window, working on a half-finished sweater sleeve. A clock with hands labelled "Home," "School," and "Mortal Peril" ticks lazily on the wall.
It's messy. Crowded. Tilting slightly to one side. But it feels like a home filled with love. I feel it immediately.
Percy clears his throat. "My room is upstairs. You can look at the notes there."
Aunt Molly waves her hand at us. "Go on, children! I'll bring something to eat. You boys can have a chat while I make something fresh."
Percy nods in his stiff, proper way. "Come, Arthur. Mind your step—the stairs are a bit crooked."
We begin climbing. The Burrow's staircase looks like it was nailed together by three different people who didn't speak to each other about the measurements. Each step is a different height. One creaks loudly, the next doesn't move at all, and the banister wobbles like jelly. It is perfectly imperfect.
Halfway up, we hear a muffled boom.
Percy freezes for a moment. Then he sighs, long and suffering. "That would be my brothers. Fred and George. The twins."
Another small explosion rattles the wall. Something rolls across the corridor upstairs.
Percy pinches the bridge of his nose. "They are… a lot. Idiotic, reckless, and completely lacking in sense."
I smile a little. "They're mischievous then."
He gives me a firm look. "They are far from just mischievous. They lack respect for rules. They lack discipline. They even lack… basic survival instinct."
Another explosion proves his point.
We keep climbing.
Percy says, "Let me explain my siblings properly. It might help you understand the noise level you'll hear here."
I nod as he continues.
"My eldest brother is Bill, he graduated this year and now works for Gringotts. Very responsible. Then there's Charlie, who's the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. After Charlie, there's me." He lifts his chin slightly at that. "Then Fred and George—troublemakers of the highest order. Then Ron. Then Ginny, the youngest."
"You have a big family," I say honestly. "A very big family."
Percy puffs up a little. "Yes, we do."
I can't help thinking how rare this must be. In the wizarding world, fertility is low. Most families have one or two children. Some have none. But the Weasleys… they have seven. Seven children in a single magical family.
The other ancient families must be furious with envy.
We reach Percy's room. The door has a nameplate written in neat handwriting.
P. Weasley — Prefect in Training
He opens the door proudly. The room is neat, tidy, and arranged with a certain seriousness. A small bed, a clean desk, a few shelves filled completely with books. No junk. No mess. A stark contrast to the rest of the house.
"Come in," Percy says, stepping aside.
I sit on the edge of the bed as he goes to his desk. The bed is firm. The quilt is neatly tucked. Even the pillow sits with purpose.
Percy pulls out a stack of notes—thick, well-written, colour-coded.
"These are my notes for the entire year," he says. "You may take what you need. Or all of it."
My eyes widen. "All? But you worked hard on them. You shouldn't just give them away so easily."
Percy waves a hand. "I've already memorised them. They're of no use to me now. But you should keep them safe. I'll need them next year to pass down to Fred and George."
I say, "I can give my notes to them instead, if that helps."
Percy reacts instantly. "Absolutely not. They already have three sets—from Bill, Charlie, and me. That is more than enough. You should keep yours for your younger brothers. Or sell the old books. Or give them to someone who needs them."
I nod. "I will. I promise."
Percy sits at his desk and begins asking me questions about the topics covered in first year—Charms theory, simple transfiguration logic, basic potions ingredients. They are hard questions. Harder than what professors asked. But I answer confidently. I studied deeply last year. More than any first year needed to.
I answer everything correctly.
Percy looks impressed.
"Very good, Arthur. Your dedication is admirable. You will do well in Hogwarts."
"Thank you, Percy."
While answering, I let my eyes wander around the room. I'm trying to spot Scabbers—Peter Pettigrew. A rat in a cage would've been ideal. But I don't see one. No cage. No rat. Nothing.
Where is he?
He should be here. He must be here.
But I don't sense magic. Not dark magic. Not nervous magic. Nothing rat-like at all.
So where is that traitor hiding?
We go on like this for nearly an hour. Then Aunt Molly's voice floats up the stairs.
"Lunch is ready! Come on now, children!"
Percy stands. "Come. Mum doesn't like waiting."
We head down the same crooked stairs. On the way, I keep listening for any rustling sound, anything that could be a rat. But I only hear Ginny laughing faintly, Ron groaning, and the twins talking loudly in overlapping sentences.
When we reach the ground floor, I see the Weasley family gathered around the big wooden kitchen table.
Ron sits hunched, blushing furiously while the twins tease him about something. Ginny hides half behind her mum but keeps peeking at me with wide, curious eyes. Fred and George wave when they see me.
"Is that Percy's new study friend?" Fred asks.
"Looks like it," George says.
They grin in perfect sync.
Ron mutters, "Leave 'im alone."
Aunt Molly claps her hands. "Alright, everyone! Sit, sit! Lunch is warm and ready!"
The table is full of homemade dishes—steaming stew, fresh bread, roast chicken, potatoes, and something that smells sweet cooling on the counter.
The whole room feels like magic, but not the spell kind. The warm kind.
Bill and Charlie aren't here. But everyone else is. Their laughter fills the whole house. Their voices overlap like a choir.
It's overwhelming. And wonderful.
I sit between Percy and an empty chair that I assume is Bill's usual place.
Ginny sits across from me but keeps her eyes fixed on her plate, face pink. Ron bumps her lightly and whispers something. She elbows him in the ribs.
Fred and George immediately imitate the elbowing in exaggerated slow motion until Aunt Molly gives them a glare.
Percy sits straight, already eating politely.
The Burrow feels alive. Too alive.
Somewhere in this house is the rat I've come to find.
Scabbers. Peter Pettigrew.
I look around every corner, under every chair, and at every shelf while pretending to admire the Burrow's decorations.
End of Chapter 37 — Hunt in the Burrow 1