Wanderer

The Burrow

AN: Okay, apologies have to be made because this feels like the longest I've made you guys wait for an update! I've just been incredibly busy, probably the busiest I've ever been! I finished sixth form and my A-Levels just before the summer, then I worked for six weeks on a summer programme for teens, THEN I went on an impromptu holiday to Spain with one of my colleagues and then I found out I got into Oxford University to study English Language and Literature (!!!). I'm blown away. I really struggled this year with my exams and I thought that was it for my dream but I've somehow done it. I wanted to share it with you because you guys have been my biggest encouragement for my writing and I feel like I owe a reason as to why this chapter is so incredibly late!! I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you for inspiring me and encouraging me to write. You keep me motivated. I truly admire you all.

Chapter Thirty One- The Burrow

It looked to grow from the earth up; a tower of rickety and uneven bricks risen from the ground, stacked several stories high, windows dotted about randomly and shedding light, absorbing and then reflecting the sunset, into which four or five chimneys disappeared. There was more light radiating from under the front door, seeming to make the entire house glow and pulse with warmth. Laughter spilled from the kitchen windows and a kettle whistled shrilly.

Around the sloping grounds were fat, brown chickens, dark shapes moving through the shadows of the evening, clucking and fretting. The small yard in front of the house was mainly vegetable plots and large cauliflowers and carrot leaves were guarded by grisly looking gnomes, bearing teeth and ceramic weapons. Extending around the side of the house, the garden opened down into a wide, overgrown field, sitting on the lawns of a lazy river which trundled by, tripping over stepping stones that led to what resembled an orchard, though it was surrounded by high trees, making it difficult to tell. Makeshift Qudditch hoops poked out from between the foliage and apples hung heavy and ripe from the branches. An invariable number of sheds stood, or rather, leaned precariously, about the back garden, wind whistling through the wide cracks, padlocks tinkling like bells.

In the front yard, buried in the dirt, was a lopsided sign, which simply read, THE BURROW.

"Relax," Hermione murmured as they stared up at the house. "Harry invited you for a reason."

Scathingly, Draco retorted, "Yes. You."

They were still a little windswept from their apparation, patting down hair and straightening their clothes. The last of the summer sun was warm on their cheeks, causing Draco to roll his sleeves up, whilst the breeze that tickled through the undergrowth had Hermione fidgeting to pull her summer dress down.

She rolled her eyes and jabbed him in the side, causing him to jerk away from her. "No. Because times have changed."

Draco looked away, eyes refocusing on the building in front of them. He muttered sulkily, "It doesn't even look like it could stand without magic."

A sharp thwack at the back of his head shut him up.

"Do try not to make such comments in the presence of our hosts, Draco. It's impolite," said Narcissa, pursing her plum-coloured lips and pulling her gloves off, one finger at a time. "Now, I do believe we have a party to attend."

She stalked past the pair of them, stopping only to knock on the decrepit barn-door. They followed her dumbly.

"Don't be nervous," Hermione whispered, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

Draco swallowed, eyes trained on the door, chest slow and heavy. "What do I have to be nervous about? Our families only hated each other for my entire life."

"The Weasley's aren't like that."

"I dread to think-"

But before he could express what so horrified him to consider, the front door was flung open, the orange light of the kitchen mingling with the muted palette of dusk and Molly Weasley was upon them.