Work Text:
Title: Wizards in IKEA
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when Harry Potter found himself in the most bewildering place he’d seen since the Department of Mysteries — IKEA Croydon.
“I still don’t understand why we can’t just conjure furniture,” Ron muttered, poking a flat-pack box labeled GRÖNKULLA suspiciously. “It’s what wands are for.”
“Because, Ronald,” Hermione said briskly, wielding a tiny pencil and checklist with all the authority of McGonagall, “we’re trying to live like normal people in the Muggle world. We agreed. No magic. Besides, this is part of the fun.”
“Fun?” Harry repeated, sidestepping a rogue toddler wielding a plush shark. “I’ve fought Death Eaters with clearer floor plans than this.”
Ginny, who had already flopped onto a display bed labeled LÖNSET, grinned. “I dunno, I kind of like it. You lot are hopeless. Come on, help me pick out a duvet.”
They made it through the living room displays without incident, although Ron did get trapped in a swivel chair for a full five minutes. Things went downhill in the kitchen section.
“Ron, no, you can’t test the garlic press with your wand,” Hermione scolded as sparks shot from the garlic press and turned a stack of tea towels into flying geese.
I just wanted to see if it was self-cleaning!” Ron protested as an employee named Janet tried to usher them away politely while nervously eyeing the now-honking dishcloths.
They eventually found a sleek, Scandinavian dining table.
“I like this one,” said Harry, knocking on the wood. “Solid. Looks like something we could play Exploding Snap on.”
“Or have a dinner without four legs falling off like the Burrow table,” Ginny added.
“Right,” Hermione said, marking it on her list. “Now we just need chairs, a lamp, a rug, that cute spice rack…”
Ron looked at Harry, panicked. “Mate. This list never ends.”
“Neither does this place,” Harry replied darkly.
Four hours, three hot dogs, and a meatball-related wand accident later, the quartet finally emerged from IKEA, dazed, exhausted, and surrounded by boxes.
“I feel like we fought a basilisk in there,” said Ron, collapsing onto a flat-pack bedframe.
“At least the basilisk didn’t require self-assembly,” Harry muttered.
Hermione looked at them all, triumphant. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “You do realize we have to build all this now, right?”
Silence.
Then Ron stood up. “Right. Back to magic, then.”
Nobody objected.
☆☆☆☆☆
The living room of Harry and Ginny’s new flat looked like a scene from a particularly tragic wizarding duel. Boxes were everywhere. Open manuals lay like fallen soldiers across the floor, and one LÖVBACKEN table leg had already snapped in half (possibly due to Ron trying to sit on it mid-assembly).
“I thought magic would make this easier,” Harry said, wand in hand, glaring at a half-assembled bookshelf. “It’s been forty-five minutes and the damn thing is still upside-down.”
“That’s because you spelled it together backwards,” Hermione said, inspecting the instructions. “You used Reparifarge on the pegs before we even had the frame. You reversed it completely!”
“You try translating ‘fäst vid skruvarna’!” Harry snapped, jabbing at the tiny instruction gnome with a pencil.
Meanwhile, Ginny was in the corner hexing a rug named VINDUM to stop trying to roll itself back up like a rebellious scroll.
“This is ridiculous,” Ron groaned. “Why does this Muggle furniture have so many parts? Chairs shouldn’t come with booklets.”
“They do when they’re Swedish,” Hermione said, summoning a dozen screws out from under the couch. “Honestly, this is a brilliant exercise in cooperation.”
Ron looked at Harry. “Let’s cooperate to fake our own deaths and live in the woods.”
Ginny cackled.
Eventually, they resorted to magic and teamwork. Harry used Wingardium Leviosa to hold shelves in place, Ron tightened screws with a cleverly adapted Revolviosa, Hermione enchanted the drawers to slide open without sticking, and Ginny — ever practical — hexed all the Allen keys to fly back to her whenever someone inevitably dropped them.
Hours passed.
The couch was built. The bookshelf stood (slightly crooked, but sturdy). The table gleamed. Even the spice rack was up, complete with tiny enchanted jars that politely offered recipe tips when opened.
“IKEA furniture is basically a team-building exercise disguised as a homeware nightmare,” Ginny declared, plopping onto the couch.
Ron collapsed next to her. “I still say we should’ve just nicked furniture from Hogwarts.”
“And risk McGonagall finding out?” Harry said.
Everyone fell silent. Then shuddered.
Hermione stood proudly, hands on her hips. “We did it. We have a proper Muggle-furnished home.”
At that exact moment, the chair Ron was sitting on collapsed with a soft crack.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, staring up at the ceiling from the floor.
Harry raised his butterbeer. “To wizards... and wrenches.”
They all clinked glasses.
The LÖVBACKEN table wobbled slightly.
☆☆☆☆
It was a crisp Sunday morning when Molly Weasley arrived unannounced at Harry and Ginny’s new flat, armed with a casserole, a basket of knitting, and the loving ferocity of a woman who had raised seven children and still had enough energy to question all your life choices.
“Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, stepping through the front door with a warm smile. “Look at this place! You’ve really made it your own!”
Ginny beamed. “Thanks, Mum. We did all the furnishing ourselves.”
Molly stopped dead in her tracks. “You what?”
“We went to IKEA,” Harry offered bravely.
Molly’s eyes narrowed. “The Muggle labyrinth with meatballs?”
“Yes,” Hermione said brightly. “We thought it would be a great bonding experience.”
At that moment, the crooked bookshelf gave a loud creeeaak, as if issuing a formal protest. Molly turned toward it with a look she usually reserved for Doxies in the curtains.
“Is that bookshelf leaning?”
“It’s not leaning,” Ron said defensively. “It’s artistically...slanted.”
“It looks cursed.”
“It’s fine,” Harry said. “We reinforced it with a Stabilitatus charm. Mostly.”
Molly walked slowly around the living room, inspecting everything like a member of the Ministry’s Magical Home Inspection Unit. She stopped in front of the spice rack.
“What in Merlin’s name is that?”
“It’s a spice rack,” Hermione said. “The jars give recipe tips when you open them!”
Molly picked up a jar labeled “Paprika,” opened it, and jumped slightly as it chirped, “Try me with grilled hippogriff!”
“...Charming,” she said, returning it to the rack like it was an explosive.
Then she turned and froze.
Her gaze locked on the coffee table: the slightly wobbly, leg-reinforced LÖVBACKEN.
She tapped it with her wand. The leg fell off.
There was a long, tense silence.
Molly slowly raised her eyes.
“What. Is. This.”
“A coffee table,” Ginny said, already backing away.
“It’s a death trap!” Molly shouted, whipping out her wand. “Arthur once brought home a Muggle toaster and we had to evacuate the house. And you four built a throne of kindling and called it furniture?!”
“Mum, it’s not that bad—”
Molly cut Ginny off with a spell so fast Harry swore he saw the air ripple. In a flurry of sparks and muttered charms, every piece of IKEA furniture in the flat suddenly straightened, reinforced, polished, and — in the case of the spice rack — fell silent.
“I will not have my daughter sitting on furniture that could collapse mid-toast.”
“But we don’t toast on the furniture—” Ron started.
“Don’t sass me, Ronald Weasley.”
He shut up immediately.
Finally, Molly exhaled and looked around the now-stabilized flat with mild satisfaction. “There. Now it’s properly enchanted. Honestly, IKEA. What next, you lot going camping in a Muggle tent again?”
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.
Molly spotted it instantly.
“Oh no. Absolutely not. I am not letting anyone near a tent with you two ever again.”