The fire in the dragon reserve keeper's cottage was crackling merrily.
Charlie bustled about, tending to the roast. Pussy sat nearby, eyes glued to the oven, every so often asking, "Charlie, Charlie, is it ready yet?" And each time, Charlie would answer patiently, soothing her impatience with a gentle smile.
Watching their son's doting manner—and that goofy grin that never seemed to leave his face—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could hardly bear to look.
"I have to say, I fixed this oven just in time, don't you think, Molly?" Arthur Weasley remarked, his tone edged with playful sarcasm.
Mrs. Weasley rolled her eyes. "If Charlie's happy, that's all that matters. Isn't that why we came here? What are you grumbling about?"
"I'm satisfied, I'm satisfied!" Mr. Weasley protested. "I just never imagined a child of ours could be this daft… Look at him—there's that silly grin again. He looks absolutely besotted."
"Mm, he really does," Mrs. Weasley agreed with a resigned shake of her head.
"But honestly, the other one doesn't seem much brighter."
No sooner had she said it than Charlie sliced off a piece of fresh roast, balanced it on his knife, and carefully brought it to Pussy's lips. She took a quick bite, her mouth working rapidly, eyes squinting in delight as a blissful smile spread across her face.
It was almost comical: their foolish son had managed to win over a lovely girl with nothing more than a few pieces of meat.
So easy to please—or perhaps, just so easy to win over.
Of course, Mrs. Weasley knew Pussy wasn't actually simple-minded. She was just straightforward—she said what she thought, wore her heart on her sleeve, and was easy to read. As for her so-called "mission," the girl hadn't uttered a word.
Mrs. Weasley genuinely liked Pussy's candid nature. No wonder her son couldn't get her out of his head. She was secretly grateful for the happy accident that let them meet again—otherwise, who knew how long it would have taken them to reconcile? The thought left her feeling unexpectedly lighthearted.
Then another thought struck her: with Pussy's appetite, would Charlie's dragon reserve salary be enough to keep up?
Thank goodness the girl's only real vice was eating.
In any case, Mrs. Weasley found herself with a whole new set of worries.
…
When do parents realize their children have grown up?
Everyone's answer is different. For the Weasleys, it was the moment they first tasted a meal cooked by their own child.
The first bite of roast nearly brought tears to Mrs. Weasley's eyes. She caught a complicated look in her husband's gaze too—a bittersweet blend of pride at their son's growth and the sorrow of knowing grown children must eventually leave.
It's a universal truth—most parents feel the same, though there are always exceptions.
At least now, the Weasleys could rest easier about their second son. At the very least, he'd never starve out in the world.
And watching him gently wipe the corner of Pussy's mouth, they realized: he could take care of himself—and someone else, too.
That realization brought comfort, but also a pang of sadness. Their son was drifting further away, closer to adulthood.
Pride and melancholy, hand in hand.
Time does that—it makes you grow up, brings people together, then pulls them apart.
The Weasleys left the following morning. The Christmas holidays were ending, and Mr. Weasley had to return to the Ministry of Magic. Even if the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office was a haven for slackers, he still had to show up and handle the essentials.
They said their goodbyes, packed up the lizard meat Pussy had gifted them—she'd caught another unlucky hibernator overnight—and set off.
After a long journey, they arrived back in Ottery St. Catchpole just before dusk, returning to the ramshackle warmth of the Burrow.
As soon as they stepped inside, Ginny—who'd stayed home—greeted them with a theatrical sigh, "I thought you'd forgotten all about me!"
"Oh, darling, how could we?" Mrs. Weasley cooed, laying it on thick. "We trusted our little sweetheart to guard the Burrow. You'll be at Hogwarts next year, after all—you're already a trustworthy little witch!"
Ten-year-old Ginny's frown vanished, replaced by a proud, beaming smile. It was as if her tiny shoulders bore the weight of the entire Burrow—no less than a prime minister's burden.
Mrs. Weasley asked about her days alone, whether she'd eaten properly. Ginny dutifully recounted her holiday plans, showed off her study and household achievements, and pointed out the food she'd eaten from the cupboard.
Her parents lavished her with praise, and Ginny floated off, delighted.
With Ginny happily distracted, the couple retreated to their bedroom on the fifth floor.
As Mr. Weasley set down their bags, he spotted a letter lying quietly on the desk. After a brief moment of confusion, he remembered: it was from Ron, sent before they'd left for the dragon reserve.
They'd been in such a rush to pack, there'd been no time to read it. Besides, they'd assumed it was just a Christmas greeting—nothing urgent. So it had sat, unopened, ever since.
Now, at last, they had a quiet moment to read it.
But as Mr. Weasley finished the letter, his face grew thoughtful.
"Mmm? Arthur, what did Ron write?" Mrs. Weasley asked, curious at his expression.
She couldn't imagine what their son could write that was so serious.
"Er… He said Charlie might have a girl he likes, and that he could be having a rough time. He wanted us to keep an eye out while we were there," Mr. Weasley admitted, a little sheepish.
Mrs. Weasley's eyes widened, both surprised and annoyed. "Why didn't Ron tell us sooner?! If he'd said something, we could've helped Charlie and Pussy patch things up as soon as we arrived—then they'd have had more time together!"
"Darling, I think this one's on us. If we'd opened the letter before leaving, we'd have known," Mr. Weasley pointed out gently.
"Ah…" Mrs. Weasley was momentarily speechless, then muttered, "How did Ron know before we did?"
"Who knows? Maybe Hogwarts has made him sharper," Mr. Weasley offered, though he didn't sound convinced.
"Oh, never mind… In any case, even though we didn't know ahead of time, we still managed to help, and things turned out well, didn't they?" Mrs. Weasley said, her mood brightening.
"Exactly. The letter's purpose was fulfilled—we just read it a bit late," Mr. Weasley agreed.
"So, let's not go into too much detail with Ron. Just tell him everything went smoothly."
"Absolutely."
They quickly agreed: a little gentle storytelling would spare Ron from feeling his "concern" had gone unappreciated.
…
"Achoo! Achoo!"
Ron sneezed twice in quick succession, fumbling for his handkerchief.
Seated beside him on the bench by the little garden, Harry—usually quiet—actually spoke first. "Are you getting a cold, Ron?"
"No, I don't think so… Maybe someone's thinking about me," Ron replied, uncertain.
He remembered Qin once saying that sneezing meant someone was thinking of you. If Qin said it, it must have some truth to it.
Who could it be?
"It must be Mum and Dad! They didn't spend Christmas with me this year—they must be missing me terribly. Sigh, I was having too much fun to even think about them these past few days." Ron looked a little guilty.
When he realized Harry hadn't responded, he immediately regretted his words.
Sure enough, Harry—already looking glum—now seemed even more downcast.
"Sorry, Harry, I—" Ron began apologetically.
"Don't, Ron! You've got a real family, and you're happy. That's normal—nothing to apologize for… I'm the odd one out…" Harry cut him off, waving away the apology.
But inside, he couldn't help feeling jealous. Or lonely.
Why wouldn't Dumbledore let him see the Mirror of Erised? If he could just see his family in the mirror, maybe he'd feel a little better.
But the mirror was gone now, and wishing wouldn't bring it back.
"Hey, Harry, guess who I just saw?" Seeing that Harry's mood hadn't improved, Ron tried to change the subject.
"Hmm?" Harry glanced over, barely interested.
"Severus Snape!" Ron did his best to sound mysterious.
"What about him?" Harry still sounded listless.
"He came back early and was sneaking around in an abandoned classroom!" Ron announced.
But Harry just muttered, "Oh," and fell silent.
Well, if even Snape couldn't get a rise out of him, there was nothing more Ron could do.
Maybe things would get better once term started—everyone would be back, especially Qin. He was sure Qin could cheer Harry up again.
As the sun finally set and the cold crept in, Harry suggested they head back to the Gryffindor common room—he didn't want his sneezy friend catching a real cold.
Sure, he didn't have family with him, but at least he had someone to share a quiet winter evening with on the castle grounds.
"Harry, we should grab a few potatoes and roast them with sausages in the fireplace."
"Sounds like a plan."
"And have some tea with sugar cubes and milk."
"You're making me hungry."
"Haha, I knew it…"
If there's anything in life worth treasuring, perhaps it's simply this: two friends, side by side, sharing sausages, tea, and potatoes by the fire.
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