Wizarding World One Shots (Discontinued)

Arthur Weasley x Harry Potter

The Burrow was never empty; it was one of those houses that always burst with life, voices, and laughter. The smell of frying bacon and bubbling stew always seemed to waft from the cozy kitchen, and no matter how many unexpected guests dropped by, there was always room for one more around the worn rickety table. People seemed drawn to the ramshackle old house, to its well-worn chairs and creaking beds, to the company that always seemed to gather around the fireplace in the evenings. The Weasleys were poor, but they had an abundance of friends, an abundance of children, and an abundance of heart. The oddest creatures found shelter at the Burrow, drawn to its warmth and the pleasant company. A shabby werewolf, a genius teenage witch, an escaped prisoner, and a sixteen year old boy prophesied to be the redeemer of the magical world had all found a second home at the Burrow.

But tonight the house was strangely silent. Harry found the sudden silence of the Burrow unnerving. He paced restlessly through the familiar rooms, but they seemed different and lifeless now when there were no people in them. Without the usual shouting and laughing and slamming of doors, the well-worn rooms of the Burrows seemed oddly dilapidated and sickly, as if it had been the laughter that had kept the old house alive and well all these years.

Harry almost began to regret not going with the others after all. "It will be all right if you come too," Ron had assured him. "Fourth cousin Peregrine doesn't know us that well at all; he probably won't notice an extra Weasley at his wedding." The others had joined in and tried to coax him into going with them as well, but Harry had remained firm. No, he really had no desire to attend the wedding of a perfect stranger; he would be fine here at the Burrow for five days. And besides, Mr. Weasley would be here, wouldn't he? Mr. Weasley couldn't (or more likely, Harry suspected, wouldn't) take five days off work to attend what promised to be the wizarding wedding extravaganza of the century.

In spite of Mrs. Weasley's misgivings, Harry had been perfectly able to reheat the enormous pot of stew left for them in the kitchen when Mr. Weasley came home from the office. Harry wasn't very good with household spells, so he had resorted to lighting the stove with matches, which had impressed Mr. Weasley no end. Harry, suddenly starved for conversation, had quizzed Mr. Weasley at length about his workday at the Ministry, but in the end Mr. Weasley had retired to his study with a large stack of paperwork that needed his urgent attention.

Harry, left to himself, had listened listlessly to a few inane songs on the wireless and looked at a few books and magazines, but couldn't find anything that captured his interest. Perhaps The Daily Prophet? Hadn't he seen a copy laying about earlier? It was nowhere to be found now; perhaps Mr. Weasley had brought it with him to his study. Surely he wouldn't mind if Harry interrupted his work just for a minute to ask for the paper?

Harry found his way to the study in the far corner of the top floor. The door was ajar; should he knock, or just walk in? Somehow, it didn't seem right to knock at a door at the Burrow; doors were always flung open without warning here, and nobody seemed to mind in the least. Harry walked quietly in through the door.

The small shabby study was lit by a flickering lamp. Papers and books lay scattered about haphazardly, on the floor, on the chairs, on the sofa in the corner, on the worn oak desk. Harry had never been in the study before. This small room under the eaves was Mr. Weasley's private space, his small sanctuary in the midst of the chaotic life of the Burrow.

Mr. Weasley was sitting at his desk, his face half turned to the door. His tousled red hair was a flame in the golden lamplight, and Harry saw that his eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep? His ordinarily pale cheeks were flushed, as with some enchanted dream, and he appeared to move a little. A soft moan escaped his lips, and another. A word, a name: "Harry..."

And suddenly Harry realized what he was seeing. Mr. Weasley was dreaming, but not in his sleep. Harry watched spellbound as the man's strong hand moved rhythmically in his lap, touching, stroking...