Sunlight glared down on the overgrown garden of the Burrow. A ginger cat lay sprawled in a patch of buttercups by the wall, one eye cracking open to watch a gnome creep closer. The gnome hesitated. A small circle of them gathered, their potato-like heads huddled together.
The cat waited. And waited.
Finally, it had had enough. It rose, stretched languidly, and lunged.
The unlucky gnome shrieked. It kicked and bit as the cat pinned it to the dirt. The others whooped and scattered.
A window upstairs slid open. Anthony leaned out, a piece of toast with orange marmalade in hand. "Just chuck it!" he called down.
A cluster of redheads joined him at the window.
"Dad thinks they're funny," Ron said, watching the gnome sail in a perfect arc toward the distant hedge. "Blimey. What'd that cat do?"
"Sit down and eat!" Mrs. Weasley smacked the kitchen table. Fred, George, Ron, and Mr. Weasley all ducked back inside.
"This isn't much of a picnic," Fred grumbled, adding another slice of ham to his sandwich.
Mrs. Weasley shot him a warning look. "Save that talk for when I bring out the pudding." She peered through the large, jagged hole in the wall, kicked a few stray bricks out of the way, and dumped the entire contents of her frying pan—sizzling potatoes—onto Harry's plate.
…
Last night, the whole house had shuddered. A strange noise followed. A soft knock came at Anthony's door a moment later.
Anthony scooped the Skeletal Cat away from its saucer of white wine, reverted it to its ginger form, and stuffed it under the blankets—hard to explain a cat that smelled like a pub—before opening the door. Fred and George stood there in the hallway light, faces and noses smudged with dust.
"Professor Anthony," Fred whispered, voice low and conspiratorial. "Are you any good with Reparo?"
"I'm… decent," Anthony said, his own voice dropping to match theirs. "Why?"
George leaned over the stair rail, checking the floor below. He turned back, whispering. "Explosive mishap. We blew a hole in the wall."
"You… what?"
Anthony glanced into the twins' room. The lights were off. He could just make out shapes of furniture, shadows of scattered objects. Where the wall opposite the door should have been, there was nothing. Just open night sky and the rolling silhouette of the hills. A cold wind whistled through the gap.
"Please, Professor," Fred pleaded.
Then George groaned. Downstairs, a warm yellow light flicked on. Footsteps thudded up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley appeared, a hairnet over her curlers.
"I knew it!" she said. She didn't even sound surprised. Just weary. Resigned.
Mr. Weasley's sleepy face, topped by a nightcap, poked around the corner. He yawned. "All gone, is it, Molly dear?"
"No, Arthur. Go back to sleep." Her voice softened for a moment before she turned back, hands on her hips. "What did I say last time? If you two make another racket like this at night, you sleep in the blasted room!" She looked at Anthony and instantly became all smiles again. "So sorry to disturb you, Henry."
"Not at all," Anthony said, his eyes drifting back to the hole in fascination.
"They just love their gadgets. Fireworks, bangers, Exploding Snap…" Mrs. Weasley glared at the twins. "Don't you dare ask Henry to fix it! You'll face the consequences!"
Another door creaked open below. Ginny shuffled out, rubbing her eyes and leaning on the banister to peer up. "Did Fred and George blow up their room again?"
"Yes, dear."
Ron's door flew open. "Did they get that mad bird too?" he asked brightly. Harry's messy head appeared beside him, glasses sliding down his nose. Harry shoved them back up.
A disgruntled squawk came from within the room. Ron sighed with theatrical disappointment. Ginny looked up, saw Harry, gasped, clapped both hands over her own wild red hair, and thundered back into her room, slamming the door.
"Ron, you should be asleep!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed. "Is anyone in this whole house asleep?"
"I am, Mother," Percy's voice came muffled through his door.
"I can't!" Ron complained. "The ghoul in the attic's banging the pipes again."
"You could swap with us," Fred offered. "It's very quiet up here."
"A bit breezy," George added. "The gentle howl of the wind. Distant village dogs. You know. Nature's symphony."
"Fred! George!" Mrs. Weasley's temper flared. "You think this is funny?"
The twins vanished into their room. A moment later, two heads poked back out, voices dripping with innocence. "Going to sleep now. Night, Mum."
The door closed. Mrs. Weasley's hands left her hips. Her frown melted away. She turned to Anthony, beaming. "Are you sure you have everything you need, Henry?"
"Absolutely. Thank you, Molly. It's just… their wall…"
"Oh, it's fine," she said breezily. "We can have a nice al fresco breakfast in their room tomorrow. Ginny's always talking about wanting a picnic."
…
After breakfast, they played a few rounds of Exploding Snap on Fred and George's floor. Ron brought out Wizard's Chess. Anthony watched two games and knew he stood no chance.
Mr. Weasley had repaired the wall with a casual flick of his wand before going downstairs to listen to the wireless.
"Built this whole place ourselves, with magic," he told Anthony proudly. "I wanted to build a car, too. Then it wouldn't be enchanting a Muggle artifact, see… but cars. They're just brilliant."
He meant the one parked out back. When Mr. Weasley, with barely concealed excitement, led Anthony to the light blue Ford Anglia, Anthony offered polite praise. But then Mr. Weasley proudly pulled open the door, revealing the magically expanded interior.
"Knew you'd appreciate it," Mr. Weasley grinned, watching Anthony's surprised expression. "Another wizard might think Muggles just build them this big… I kept it subtle. Thought about fitting the whole Burrow in the boot, but that's a lot of work. And a bit obvious."
He opened the driver's side, showing Anthony the hidden buttons for flight and invisibility.
He nearly talked Anthony into a quick ride—and Anthony nearly, foolishly, agreed—until Mrs. Weasley stormed out, teapot in hand, splashing tea perilously close to Mr. Weasley's bald head.
"Your car is the brilliant one, Arthur," Anthony said, emphasizing the 'your'.
"Haven't tried a proper long-distance flight yet," Mr. Weasley said wistfully. He caught Mrs. Weasley's fiery gaze. "Not that I'd want to. Far too dangerous." He leaned closer to Anthony, lowering his voice. "Fred, George, and Ron took it to fetch Harry… said it flew like a dream. Just the petrol tank made a funny noise. Thinking of taking it out. Don't really need it."
"What'll you put in the space?" Anthony gestured.
Mr. Weasley pondered. "Good question, Henry… Dunno. Fancy a dozen peanut butter sandwiches?"
…
That afternoon, with Necromancy off the table at the Burrow, Anthony followed the others to their Quidditch pitch. Time to learn how to fly a broom.
When he fell, everyone panicked.
Fred and George swooped in, trying to catch him. Harry dove, grabbed at him, and only succeeded in yanking off one of Anthony's shoes.
Wind billowed his robes. He hit the ground hard, rolled twice across the damp grass, and lay there, laughing.
They were flying low to avoid Muggle eyes. Nothing felt broken. His robust healing meant he wouldn't even know if he was injured.
"Mum'll kill us!" Ron landed beside him, white-faced.
"Not even close. Don't tell her." Anthony sat up. "If you could hand me my shoe… Brilliant. Thanks, Potter."
Fred and George circled above, then landed gently. "Professor," Fred said. "You… you really can't fly."
"Yeah," Anthony said, puzzled. "I told you that."
Honestly, he was pleased. Getting the broom to jump to his hand, learning to steer, staying seated—he'd managed it all in one morning. Just now, he'd been hovering steadily a few feet off the ground—"Ginny was faster her first time."—and he would've stayed up longer if Fred and George hadn't beaned him with an apple during their impromptu aerial catch.
Assured he was fine, the kids took to the sky again, weaving between clouds. Harry lingered, watching Anthony tie his shoe, a strange look on his face.
It took Anthony a moment. The first Quidditch match. The Summoning Charm. Harry plummeting from a hundred feet up.
"This height's nothing compared to that. And that was terrifying," Anthony said, smiling. "Next time you're out of control, tell Wood to get Madam Hooch to stop the match—under the new Hogwarts rules, I think she can do it herself now—then you can jump off all you like."
"Our captain said the same," Harry said. "Said the refs have more power now. Shouldn't happen again."
"Harry! You coming?" Ron yelled from above.
"In a minute!" Harry shouted back. He looked at Anthony. "Sir… Hermione said Muggle Studies deals with the Statute of Secrecy?"
Anthony blinked. "I'd say it involves a lot of situations where the Statute applies. But we don't study the law itself. Why, Mr. Potter?"
"Is it illegal to do magic in front of Muggles?"
"Well… depends on the Muggle. If, say, a Hogwarts professor is collecting a Muggle-born student—like your friend Miss Granger—it's hard to convince the parents we're not lunatics without a bit of magic. That's allowed."
"What about other Muggles, Professor?"
"Doing magic that would make most Muggles notice… yes. That's a serious breach." A cracked tombstone flashed in Anthony's mind. He shook his head. "But there are exceptions. Muggle-born families. Or marriages—wizards usually hide it before the wedding. There's a rule about that, but the Ministry hardly enforces it anymore. Still, lots of witches and wizards keep the secret. Sometimes until their kid does accidental magic."
Harry nodded, thinking hard. "But… how does the Ministry know who broke it? Could they get it wrong?"
"Excellent question, Mr. Potter," Anthony said, impressed. "Usually, it's a whole set of confidential spells and rituals. Divination, sometimes. So, yes. Sometimes the Ministry doesn't know."
Sometimes they let it go. Sometimes, when they needed results, they'd dig up an old file and test the worst-looking cases.
Harry's expression grew thoughtful. Anthony added quickly, "Not that you should test it. Especially at your age. The Trace monitors underage magic."
"Right…" Harry looked troubled.
"What's wrong?" Anthony asked. "These are very specific questions. Do you think you've breached the Statute?"
"No! I haven't done any magic!" Harry said, frustrated. "I got a warning letter, Professor. But it was because of a house-elf!"
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