Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y3 ~ The Grim

As the wintry days deepened and the snow began to pile up, blanketing the fields in white and muffling the world in quiet stillness, Y/N found herself wrapped in the warmth of the Weasley family's hospitality. The Burrow, with its charming crookedness and mismatched rooms, felt like a living, breathing being—welcoming her with open arms and the smell of freshly baked bread. Every creaky step on its worn wooden floors, every flutter of a patched curtain swaying in the draft, added to its cozy, lived-in feel.

The first day she arrived, the sky was still a soft grey, threatening more snow, but the inside of the Burrow glowed like a beacon. The sound of bustling voices and the clatter of pots and pans filled the air as she stepped through the threshold, her heart fluttering nervously. But that anxiety melted away the moment Mrs. Weasley, with her warm smile and flour-dusted apron, pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Y/N! We've heard so much about you, dear!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "Ron and the twins can't stop talking about what a wonderful girl you are. You must be freezing—come, come, take off your cloak and sit by the fire. I've just put on a fresh pot of stew. You'll eat, won't you?"

There was a genuine affection in her voice that made Y/N's throat tighten, unused to such easy displays of warmth.

Mr. Weasley stood nearby, nodding eagerly as though he had been waiting for his turn to speak. "Ah yes, an honor to finally meet you, Y/N! Tell me, what do you think of the latest Muggle invention, the... what do they call it... ah, toasters? I've been reading about them, quite fascinating really. Do they truly brown bread evenly on both sides?"

Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes with fond exasperation. "Arthur, honestly, let the poor girl breathe before you drown her in your Muggle questions."

Y/N gave a small, nervous laugh, glancing between them. "They... do, most of the time," she admitted, which only seemed to delight Mr. Weasley further.

"Remarkable!" he declared, clapping his hands together. "Imagine, all that cleverness in such a tiny box. Ingenious!"

"Oh, enough about that toaster," Mrs. Weasley said briskly, though her smile softened as she brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N's face. "What matters is that you feel at home here. You will, won't you? There's always room at the Burrow for another."

A quiet laugh escaped Y/N before she could stop herself, the warmth in Mrs. Weasley's words soothing the nervous flutter in her chest. Her unease began to unravel, piece by piece, as she was swept into the friendly chaos of the household. Before she could form a reply, the twins swooped in, Fred slinging an arm around her shoulder while George nudged Ron with a playful grin.

"Told you they'd love her," George winked, and Y/N felt her cheeks flush—partly from the unexpected praise, but more from the sudden realization that this bustling, lively home was something she had never known, yet always longed for. And now, here it was, set before her in all its warmth and chaos, with her standing right in the middle of it.

Each day that passed at the Burrow felt like a page from a storybook. She and Ginny quickly formed a sisterly bond, their laughter mingling as they darted through the house, planning harmless pranks on Ron with Fred and George. The first snowball fight was a wild, uproarious event, Y/N dodging snowballs as Fred and George competed to see who could hit Ron first, while Ginny ambushed her brothers from the sidelines.

Nights were no quieter, but they were filled with a different kind of warmth. Y/N and Ginny stayed up late in Ginny's small but cozy room, their voices barely above a whisper as they shared stories, hopes, and dreams. The flickering light of enchanted candles painted soft, golden shadows on the walls, while outside, the wind moaned through the trees, rattling the windowpanes like a restless spirit.