The Greengrass name had always carried weight.
Not the kind that lifts you—no, the kind that presses on your back, reminds you who you’re meant to be. Your Sorting into Gryffindor was the first crack in the polished Greengrass mirror. A disappointment your parents never bothered to hide.
Your summers at the Burrow? Your father never raised his voice about it. But the clenched jaws, the narrowed eyes, the long silences when you mentioned Ron or Hermione said enough. You were straying, and he knew it.
But he never expected you to go this far.
It was after your fourth year—long after the Triwizard mess, long after Cedric. You’d told Daphne, quietly, in the hush of a shared room and soft candlelight, that you had a crush on Hermione Granger. Your voice had shaken, but she’d listened.
And then… she told him. Whether it was a mistake or malice, you still don’t know.
He didn’t yell. That would’ve been too emotional.
He simply stood at dinner, smoothed out his robes, and in front of the entire Greengrass family said:
“You no longer live in this house.”
No explanation. No second chance. Not a single soul objected.
Your trunk was packed by the time you made it upstairs. The front door stood open like an invitation and a curse. You didn’t cry—not until you reached the end of the drive.
Then the letters began.
Frantic, messy script scrawled to anyone your owl knew how to find: Ron. Hermione. Luna. Seamus. Neville. You didn’t even know what you were asking. Just… something.
You slept rough that night—back against a tree in Warwick, your trunk beside you and your owl curled into your jacket. You didn’t know where to go.
And then, just after dawn, the Knight Bus came. With a lurch and a BANG, it screeched to a stop beside you.
Stan Shunpike poked his head out, bleary-eyed. “Looks like someone’s had a rough night, eh? In ya hop.”
You climbed aboard, fingers numb, clutching the first letter your owl had returned. The handwriting was familiar: neat, warm, slightly slanted.
It was from Mrs. Weasley. But not just her. The others had signed it too.
Dear Aldin,
Ron showed me the letter you sent. I want you to know, you’ve always had a place with us. Arthur and I would be honored to have you here for the summer. The room's already ready—Ginny helped fluff the pillows.
We’re all behind you. Always. You’re family now.
—Molly (and Arthur, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny)
You arrived that evening, heart pounding, fingers white around the handle of your trunk. The Burrow looked just the same—tilted, crooked, alive. Golden light spilled out the kitchen windows like welcome.
The door flew open before you even knocked.
Hermione stood there, hair pulled back in a messy braid, cheeks flushed like she’d run down the stairs. She didn’t say hello, she just pulled you into a tight hug.
“As soon as I heard the Weasleys were taking you in,” she said, voice almost breathless, “I came here.”