Harry Potter x Reader
In which a young witch struggles with her developing feelings for her best friend
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"I have loved you for years Harry- it's why I drank the poison, its why I pushed you out of the way of...
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Y/n didn't have the time to say goodbye to her sister or cousins the next morning, she returned to their tent only to gather her things and then rejoined the Weasleys to make a hurried escape from the campsite.
They walked back through Ottery St. Catchpole and up the damp lane toward the Burrow in the dawn light, talking very little because they were so exhausted, and thinking longingly of their breakfast, Y/n was so exhausted seeing as she hadn't even gotten those few minutes of sleep before the Death Eaters attacked, Fred and George were carrying her back, something Harry found he didn't like the sight of. As they rounded the corner and the Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the lane.
"Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running toward them, still wearing her bedroom slippers, her face pale and strained, a rolled-up copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.
"Arthur — I've been so worried — so worried —"
She flung her arms around Mr. Weasley's neck, and the Daily Prophet fell out of her limp hand onto the ground. Looking down, Y/n saw the headline: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling black-and-white photograph of the Dark Mark over the treetops.
"You're all right," Mrs. Weasley muttered distractedly, releasing Mr. Weasley and staring around at them all with red eyes, "you're alive. ... Oh boys ..."
And to everybody's surprise, she seized Fred and George and pulled them both into such a tight hug that their heads banged together, and they almost dropped Y/n, who squealed, and gripped her arms around Freds neck so tightly he almost choked.
"Ouch! Mum — you're strangling us —"
"I shouted at you before you left!" Mrs. Weasley said, starting to sob. "It's all I've been thinking about! What if You-Know-Who had got you, and the last thing I ever said to you was that you didn't get enough O.W.L.s? Oh Fred ... George ..."
"Come on, now, Molly, we're all perfectly okay," said Mr. Weasley soothingly, prising her off the twins and leading her back toward the house. "Bill," he added in an undertone, "pick up that paper, I want to see what it says. ..."
When they were all crammed into the tiny kitchen, and Hermione had made Mrs. Weasley a cup of very strong tea, into which Mr. Weasley insisted on pouring a shot of Ogdens Old Firewhiskey, Bill handed his father the newspaper. Mr. Weasley scanned the front page while Percy looked over his shoulder.
"I knew it," said Mr. Weasley heavily. "Ministry blunders ... culprits not apprehended ... lax security ... Dark wizards running unchecked ... national disgrace ... Who wrote this? Ah ... of course ... Rita Skeeter."
"That woman's got it in for the Ministry of Magic!" said Percy furiously. "Last week she was saying we're wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires! As if it wasn't specifically stated in paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans —"
