Chapter Text
The Family That Chose Him
Mr.Weasley
The Burrow creaked like it always did—warm, cluttered, alive.
“Harry! Come here a moment—this is fascinating.”
Harry leaned against the kitchen doorway, already smiling a little. “What is it this time?”
Mr.Weasley was hunched over the table, sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping down his nose, staring at a small metal object like it held the secrets of the universe.
“It’s a plug,” Mr.Weasley said, delighted. “Perfectly ordinary. Completely brilliant.”
Harry stepped closer. “It… doesn’t do anything.”
Mr.Weasley looked scandalized. “Doesn’t do anything? Harry, it channels electricity! Invisible power running through wires—no magic involved!”
Harry laughed under his breath. “You sound like Hermione.”
Mr.Weasley beamed. “High praise.”
There was a pause—comfortable, easy.
Mr.Weasley glanced at him. “Would you like to try taking it apart?”
Harry blinked. “Me?”
“Of course you. I’ve had my turn.”
It shouldn’t have mattered. It was just a plug.
But Harry nodded anyway, sitting down across from him. “Alright.”
Mr.Weasley shifted closer, not hovering—just there. “Careful with the wiring—yes, like that.”
Their shoulders nearly brushed. Mr.Weasley didn’t move away.
And Harry didn’t either.
That night, Harry didn’t dream.
He woke.
A crack.
Another.
Harry sat up instantly, wand already in his hand.
Voices.
Outside.
Low. Cold.
“Spread out.”
His chest tightened.
No.
Not here.
Not the Burrow.
Before he could move, his door opened sharply.
Mr.Weasley stood there.
Fully dressed. Wand out. Eyes alert.
But his voice—
“Harry,” he said quietly, “come with me.”
Not panicked.
Not rushed.
Just certain.
Harry swung his legs off the bed. “What’s happening?”
“We have visitors,” Mr.Weasley replied dryly. “Unwelcome ones.”
A shout echoed from downstairs—Mrs.Weasley
Then a burst of light.
Harry flinched. “They’re inside?”
“Trying to be,” Mr.Weasley corrected.
He guided Harry into the hallway, one hand lightly at his back—not pushing, just… steering.
Grounding.
“Mr.Weasley,” Harry said, “I can help—”
“No.”
It was immediate.
Firm.
Harry stopped. “I’ve fought them before.”
Mr.Weasley turned, meeting his eyes fully now.
“I know,” he said.
And that was the problem.
“I know exactly what you can do. I’ve seen it. I’m proud of you for it.”
Harry’s grip on his wand tightened.
“Then let me—”
“No.”
Softer this time.
But unmovable.
Mr.Weasley stepped closer. “Harry, listen to me.”
Another crash downstairs. Glass shattering.
Harry’s heart was racing.
“I’m not hiding,” he said. “I’m not—”
“This isn’t hiding.”
Mr.Weasley’s voice cut through everything.
“This is me making sure you live through the night.”
Harry froze.
Mr.Weasley took a breath, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“You’ve had to take care of yourself for far too long,” he said quietly. “Tonight, you don’t.”
Harry shook his head. “You don’t understand—”
Mr.Weasley let out a small, almost sad huff.
“No, Harry,” he said gently. “I think I do.”
He rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
Steady.
Warm.
“You don’t have to earn being protected.”
The words hit harder than any spell.
Harry looked away.
“They’re fighting for me,” he muttered.
“They’re fighting because they choose to,” Mr.Weasley corrected.
“And so am I.”
Another explosion shook the house.
Harry flinched.
Mr.Weasley squeezed his shoulder slightly.
“Come on.”
The hidden room was dim, quiet, wrapped in layers of magic.
Mr.Weasley shut the door behind them, sealing it with a flick of his wand.
Harry turned immediately. “You’re going back.”
Mr.Weasley didn’t pretend otherwise. “Yes.”
“They’ll overpower you.”
Mr.Weasley smiled faintly. “They’ll certainly try.”
“This isn’t funny!”
“No,” Mr.Weasley said softly. “It isn’t.”
He stepped closer again.
“Harry.”
Harry looked at him, frustrated, scared, angry—all at once.
“I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Harry shot back. “That’s why I don’t want you going out there alone!”
Mr.Weasley’s expression shifted—something deeper now.
“Not alone,” he said. “Never alone.”
Harry swallowed.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
Mr.Weasley hesitated, then reached out—adjusting Harry’s sleeve slightly, a small, almost absent gesture.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Harry looked down.
His hands were trembling.
Mr.Weasley didn’t call him out for it.
Didn’t make it a big deal.
He just… stayed.
“I’m scared,” Harry admitted, barely above a whisper.
Mr.Weasley nodded.
“Good,” he said.
Harry blinked. “Good?”
“It means you understand what’s at stake.”
He paused.
“Being brave isn’t about not feeling fear, Harry. It’s about choosing what matters anyway.”
Harry looked up. “And what matters right now?”
Mr.Weasley didn’t hesitate.
“You.”
The word landed heavy.
Real.
Harry’s throat tightened. “Why?”
Mr.Weasley frowned slightly. “Why?”
“Why me?” Harry pressed. “Why does everyone—why do you—”
Mr.Weasley exhaled slowly.
Then, very gently—
“Because you’re mine to look after.”
Harry went still.
Mr.Weasley seemed to realize something then—something clicking into place.
“You don’t… hear it, do you?” he murmured.
“Hear what?”
Mr.Weasley studied him.
Really studied him.
And something in his expression shifted—softening into something almost painful.
“Harry,” he said quietly, “has anyone ever…?”
He stopped.
Tried again.
“Has anyone ever just taken care of you? Without expecting something in return?”
Harry let out a short, humorless laugh. “The Dursleys?”
Mr.Weasley’s jaw tightened slightly at the name.
“They fed me,” Harry added quickly. “That counts, right?”
Mr.Weasley didn’t answer.
Harry shrugged. “It’s fine. I got used to it.”
Mr.Weasley shook his head.
“No,” he said firmly. “You survived it.”
Silence stretched between them.
Heavy.
Mr.Weasley stepped closer again.
“Listen to me,” he said, softer now. “You don’t have to get used to being alone anymore.”
Harry’s eyes burned.
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Arthur said gently. “Or at least… you think you are.”
Another crash echoed faintly above them.
Mr.Weasley glanced toward the door.
Then back at Harry.
“I’m going to go out there,” he said. “And I’m going to make sure nothing gets through that door.”
Harry’s chest tightened.
“And if something does?” he asked.
Mr.Weasley smiled slightly.
“Then they’ll have to go through me first.”
The noise outside was immediate once Mr.Weasley left.
Louder.
Closer.
Harry paced, every instinct screaming at him to leave, to fight, to help.
Then—
Footsteps.
Right outside.
Harry froze.
The handle moved.
Slowly.
“Open it,” a voice hissed.
Harry raised his wand. “No.”
A laugh.
Cold. Cruel.
“You think you’re safe?”
The wood splintered slightly.
Dark magic seeped through the cracks.
Harry stepped back, heart hammering—
And then—
Mr.Weasley’s voice.
Sharp. Clear.
“Step away from that door.”
Everything stilled.
“Ah,” the Death Eater sneered. “The blood traitor.”
Harry pressed closer, unable to see—but hearing everything.
“You won’t get past me,” Mr.Weasley said.
“So noble.” “So predictable.”
A spell fired.
Mr.Weasley blocked it.
Another. Another.
The air crackled.
Harry clenched his wand.
“Mr.Weasley!” he shouted.
“Stay back!” Mr.Weasley yelled.
There was a crash—
A grunt—
Something heavy hitting the ground—
Harry’s breath caught.
“Mr.Weasley?”
Silence.
Then—
Footsteps.
The door opened.
Harry’s wand snapped up—
Mr.Weasley stood there.
Breathing hard. Shirt torn. Glasses crooked.
But standing.
“Are you hurt?” Mr.Weasley asked immediately.
Harry stared at him. “You—”
“I’m fine.”
“There were three of them—”
“Yes.”
“And you still—”
Mr.Weasley stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
“Harry.”
Harry looked at him.
“You came back,” he said quietly.
Mr.Weasley frowned, confused. “Of course I did.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Mr.Weasley stared at him for a long moment.
Then something in his face… shifted.
Understanding.
“Oh,” he said softly.
Harry swallowed.
“No one ever—” he started, then stopped.
Mr.Weasley stepped closer.
“No one ever stayed?” he finished gently.
Harry nodded.
Mr.Weasley let out a slow breath.
Then, without overthinking it, he pulled Harry into a hug.
Not awkward.
Not hesitant.
Just… firm. Steady. There.
Harry stiffened at first.
Then Slowly-
He relaxed.
Mr.Weasley’s voice was quiet against his hair.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Harry’s hands tightened in Mr.Weasley’s robes.
“You could’ve gotten hurt.”
“I did get hurt,” Mr.Weasley said lightly. “Comes with the job.”
“What job?”
Mr.Weasley pulled back just enough to look at him.
“This one.”
He reached up, adjusting Harry’s glasses slightly—mirroring his own habit.
“Looking after you.”
Harry’s throat tightened again.
“You really mean that,” he said.
Mr.Weasley didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
“Even though I’m not—”
“You are,” Mr.Weasley interrupted gently.
Harry blinked. “I’m what?”
Arthur smiled softly.
“My boy.”
Silence.
Harry stared at him.
Searching his face for doubt.
There wasn’t any.
“You don’t have to fight for a place here,” Mr.Weasley added. “You already have one.”
Something inside Harry finally gave way.
Not breaking.
Just… letting go.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mr.Weasley nodded once.
“Okay.”
And this time-
Harry believed him.