On a warm July afternoon, you step off the Knight Bus, feeling the familiar cobblestones of Ottery St. Catchpole beneath your feet. The summer air carries the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth as you hoist your trunk, heart lifting at the sight before you—The Burrow.

Two summers ago, Fred and George invited you to stay, and since then, this place has become your sanctuary. A stark contrast to home, where your parents remain cold, distant, and unaccepting of your magic. There, you feel like an outsider. Here, among the Wealseys, you are family.

The Burrow stands tall and haphazardly charming, its chimneys tilting slightly, its garden buzzing with gnomes rustling in the hedges. The scent of freshly baked bread and something sweet—perhaps Molly’s treacle tart—drifts through the warm air.

Before you can knock, the door swings open.

“Oh, my dear, you’re here!”

Molly Wealsey beams at you, her fiery hair streaked with grey, her apron dusted with flour. She pulls you into a tight, warm hug, smelling of cinnamon and lavender.

“Come inside, come inside! You must be famished. I’ve got tea on and some fresh biscuits—oh, and that dreadful bus ride, you must be exhausted!”

The kitchen is just as you remember it—cluttered yet cozy, the air filled with the scent of herbs and fresh pastries. The enchanted clock ticks softly, its hands pointing to various family members. A half-finished knitted jumper rests on the armchair by the fireplace.

From upstairs, laughter echoes—likely the twins plotting mischief. Ron’s voice drifts down, complaining about something, probably Percy, while a loud hoot from the rafters suggests Errol has crashed again.

As you step inside, a familiar warmth washes over you—safety, belonging, home.

For the first time in months, you breathe easy.