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Summer at the Burrow was always wonderful.
After the war, and after all that pain and sorrow, Harry had begun to look forward to coming home before the new term simply because he knew he would never have to return to the Dursleys again.
Voldemort was dead. The Dursleys were nothing but a bad memory.
Harry was finally free to live.
Finally, he had a home and a family who wanted him there.
Yawning, Harry padded downstairs in his pajamas, feeling comfortable enough to do such a thing, into the Weasley kitchen, expecting to find the matriarch of the family (who was still insisting he call her Molly, or even Mum) busy preparing breakfast.
Instead, no one was there, and Harry looked around, vaguely concerned, unsettled by the sudden change.
“Oi, Harry!”
Harry turned, smiling at the sight of Bill.
“Hello, Bill!” Harry glanced about, frowning. “Where is everyone? Have I slept too long?”
It never happened, but maybe even Harry could sometimes oversleep.
“You’re the least sleepy person in the entire world, Harry—and I’m including my parents in this group.” Bill shook his head. “No, one of our cousins has gone into labour. Mum and Dad nipped off to help.”
“... Are labours usually a long thing?” Harry asked, having no experience of childbirth or how long it might take.
“It can take up to ten hours, sometimes.” Bill shrugged. “I just hope Fleur’s doesn’t.”
“Fleur’s probably hoping the same thing.” Harry remarked, suddenly very relieved that he wasn’t a girl and would’ve never had to endure such pain.
Trying to shake that thought off, he started pulling some ingredients from the pantry, thinking of what he could prepare for everyone.
Bill chuckled, then frowned as he realised what Harry was doing.
“Are you planning to make breakfast for all of us?”
“I used to cook everything for the Dursleys when I was there, since I was a kid,” Harry explained, rolling up his sleeves and pulling out the ingredients for pancakes. They were Charlie’s favourite, as far as he could remember.
“You don’t have to buy your position here and labour away like a servant, you know that, right?” Bill reassured him. “We appreciate your company regardless of the services you provide.”
“That’s precisely why I feel like cooking for you all.” Harry smiled reassuringly.
“Mum, we’ve—” Charlie came bounding down the stairs, then stopped, perplexed. “Where’s Mum?”
“Our cousin’s about to give birth.” Bill repeated the explanation as Harry poured the batter into the pan and began to cook. “Mum and Dad went to help.”
“And what are you doing?” Charlie asked, blinking at Harry. “You can cook?”
“Since I was a child.” Harry confirmed, letting the pancake cook while he began to prepare the cinnamon biscuits Fred loved. He’d also make a couple of doughnuts for George, who’d discovered them in a Starbucks and fallen head over heels. “It’s very therapeutic.”
“You must be a brilliant potioneer.” Charlie commented, reaching in to dip a finger into the leftover pancake batter in the bowl. “Mmm. Delicious.”
Harry laughed. “I’m glad you approve.” Then, tilting his head as he shaped the biscuits on a tray, he said, “Actually, Snape would be very pleased to tell you I’m rubbish as a potioneer.”
“He’s just jealous and full of prejudice. Slughorn thought you were Merlin’s gift to humankind.” Ron chimed in, just coming down the stairs, yawning and looking around. “Harry’s cooking?”
“You knew Harry could cook?” George asked, hopping beside the boy shaping the doughnuts.
Harry startled, surprised by his sudden appearance.
“And you never told us?” Fred added, drooling at the scent of cinnamon wafting from the oven, reaching out to open the door.
Harry gave the boy’s hand a sharp tap. “Don’t open the oven— you’ll burn yourself!”
“We have magic for healing burns.” George pointed out.
“You won’t treat a burn you gave yourself because you were impatient !” Harry admonished him, then smiled at Ron. “Fancy some brownies, Ron?”
“Uh, yes please , mate!” Ron grinned. “And, of course, George! Harry was the only one who could make halfway decent food when we were on the run.” Then he paled. “Don’t tell Hermione I said that, okay?”
“‘Mione knows her limits.” Harry exhaled amusedly. “Anyway, it’s mostly down to the spices . Hermione probably hasn’t spent much time experimenting in the kitchen to make dishes appetising when there were guests important enough to warrant a good meal, but not quite important enough to justify very high prices of the food.”
“The more I hear about your family, the more I feel like going round and slapping them,” Charlie muttered.
“I think you should let Hermione handle it and she’d sort everything out,” Harry remarked, tilting his head thoughtfully.
“If we let Hermione loose, they wouldn’t even find their bodies .” Ron scoffed, as he took a pancake and began to eat it.
“Would you like some juice, Harry?” Bill offered, pouring juice into everyone’s glasses with a smile.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Harry smiled gratefully, taking the glass and sipping the juice, just as the oven timer dinged and he pulled out the now-baked biscuits.
Fred whooped and lunged for them.
“Don’t eat it yet—you’ll burn your tongue!”
Harry’s warning went unheeded as Fred seized a biscuit and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing quickly and groaning every few seconds both from the pleasure of the flavour and the heat.
“I did warn you.” Harry groaned, turning to see George devouring an entire doughnut, glaze still dripping onto the floor. “And you’re cleaning that up!” he warned, then sighed and took out some half-made waffles, leftovers from a late-night batch he’d made when nightmares had been too loud to let him sleep.
“Waffles?” Charlie sat up, interested.
If he’d had a tail, it would’ve been wagging in excited anticipation.
“Since they’re already cooked, they won’t take long.” Harry said. “I just need to melt some chocolate to go on top. But if you’d prefer something else, feel free to ask.”
This wasn’t the way the Weasleys usually did breakfast. It wasn’t even the way the Dursleys would’ve done breakfast.
Everyone standing around Harry, peering over his shoulders at what he was cooking, stretching out to steal a bite or two as he worked.
It wasn’t tidy, but it was incredible all the same.
“I reckon you cook better than Mum.” Fred muttered dreamily.
“I’ll tell Mum that you said that.” Charlie warned him.
Bill chuckled. “He’s not entirely wrong, though.”
Harry smiled.
It was definitely the best breakfast he’d ever had.