Decree No.29 (HP AU)

Here's To Us

Jessica could imagine that the Burrow rarely felt still, but that night, it hummed with warmth as a reunion took place. Candles floated above the Weasley's kitchen table, their light flickering gold across the walls as Molly bustled about, summoning platters of roast chicken, potatoes, treacle tart, and pumpkin pasties with a kind of fierce determination. If there was fear, or unease about the night's revelations, she masked it the way she always did: with food, with warmth, with love stitched into every dish.

Arthur sat at the far end of the table, spectacles slipping as he inspected the battered old radio Ron had once brought back from Grimmauld Place, tinkering with its dials so softly it seemed almost reverent. Kingsley leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, his watchful gaze flicking to Regulus every so often.

Regulus.

He stood awkwardly near the hearth, shoulders tense, his hands folded behind his back as though he didn't quite know what to do with them. He looked so much like the faded family portraits Jessica had glimpsed at Grimmauld Place—sharp jaw, dark eyes, the Black family features written into every angle of his face. Yet there was weariness, too, deep and etched, like someone who had lived through far too much in shadows.

Jessica stayed near him, hovering close enough to feel protective but not so close as to crowd him. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since the afternoon. Regulus Black. Her father. Alive. Standing there as though plucked from the ghost of a history everyone else believed buried.

She couldn't believe she was here, in the Wealseys actual house, considering she had only seen them live at Grimmauld Place.

Footsteps thundered on the porch outside. Laughter spilled in with the autumn air as the door banged open.

Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Harry tumbled into the kitchen, cheeks flushed from flying, brooms slung over shoulders. Ginny shook the leaves from her hair, Ron was still arguing about whether his last goal had been fair, Hermione was trying to explain the rules no one else had asked about, and Harry was grinning faintly, content just to watch them.

The chaos stopped all at once.

Molly bustled up immediately, brushing the twigs from Ginny's jumper. "Merlin's beard, do you four know what time it is? You'll catch your deaths—"

Her words stopped abruptly when she saw Jessica standing near the hearth.

Not just Molly. All of them stopped.

Harry's easy grin faltered. Hermione froze mid-gesture. Ginny's hand tightened on her broomstick. Ron's butterbeer slipped from his hand and shattered across the floor.

The silence was unbearable.

Jessica felt her chest constrict. She'd braced herself for this, but it didn't stop her stomach from twisting into knots as four pairs of eyes stared at her like she was some ghost.

Ron's voice cracked first. "Who—?" He shook his head, looking between Fred and George, desperate to get information. "Who is she?"

Fred shifted slightly, as though ready to step in front of Jessica, but she raised a trembling hand. "No. They deserve to hear it from me."

Her voice was steady, but her insides were shaking.

"You don't remember me," Jessica said softly, "because Dumbledore made sure of it. He took me out of your lives to keep me hidden. He erased me. Because if Voldemort knew I mattered to you... he'd have killed you to get to me."

Hermione's brow furrowed, tears already threatening her eyes. "That's—no, that's impossible. We would have—" Her voice broke. "We would have remembered."