The morning air was crisp and cool as the silent shift of displaced space settled over the Burrow's overgrown lawn.
The garden was already stirring. Fred and George were sitting on a pair of overturned wooden crates by the flowerbeds, lazily tossing gnomes back and forth, while Ron sat on the low porch steps with a with a cup of tea. Ginny was sitting nearby, yawning softly and trying to keep her eyes open in the early sunlight.
"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron shouted, nearly dropping his cup. "You can't just drop out of thin air like that!"
"We didn't hear a thing," Fred said, turning around on his crate. "How do you keep doing that? Dad says even Dumbledore makes a sound"
Molly emerged from the back door carrying a large metal bowl, pausing the instant her eyes landed on the two visitors. Her gaze narrowed in that sharp, maternal way that instantly surveyed their state of being.
"Harry! Abigail!" Molly called out, setting the bowl down on the bench. "Goodness, you two are early. Don't tell me you've been up for hours already. Have you had breakfast?"
"We left before the house was fully awake, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, offering a small, polite smile. "We haven't eaten yet."
Molly tutted loudly, clicking her tongue as she bustled back toward the door and held it wide open. "Absurd. Walking around on an empty stomach at seven in the morning. Straight inside, both of you. Arthur! Percy! Set two more places at the table!"
The kitchen was crammed, warm, and chaotic. A huge iron skillet was already sizzling over the stove, filling the room with the mouth-watering scent of crisp bacon, thick pork sausages, sandwiches, black pudding, buttered toast and sides consisting of fried tomatoes.
Arthur was seated at the head of the long wooden table, half his face hidden behind a copy of the Daily Prophet while a self-washing teapot poured tea into his mug. Beside him, Percy sat impeccably upright, his hair combed flat, meticulously buttering a piece of toast while adjusting his glasses.
"Good morning, Harry, Abigail," Arthur said cheerfully, lowering his newspaper with a broad smile. "You're out early today. Everything quiet back home?"
"Very early, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, pulling out two empty wooden chairs for himself and Abigail.
Molly bustled over, waving her wand to send plates heaped high with sizzling bacon, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes, and dark slices of black pudding floating across the room to land softly in front of everyone. A jug of milk unstoppered itself and poured a steady stream into Ginny's glass.
As Harry sat down, he reached into his coat, a sudden, sheepish look washing over his face. "Oh, Mrs. Weasley, could I bother you for a large tray?"
Molly paused near the stove, her hands on her hips. "A tray, dear? Whatever for?"
"I just remembered," Harry said with a small grin. "I slipped through the dining hall on my way out and took... well, a few things."
He reached into his inner jacket pocket and began drawing out heavy, warm, golden-wrapped foil cylinders. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The entire table watched in utter silence as Harry's hands kept moving, casually stacking roughly fifteen thick, steam-glowing burritos onto the large wooden tray Molly quickly floated over to him with a twitch of her wand.
Molly's hands flew to her cheeks, her spatula almost slipping from her grip. "Harry Potter! Did you strip your mother's breakfast table clean?! What on earth are Petunia and Vernon going to eat for breakfast now?!"
"No, no, it's fine!" Harry said quickly, waving a hand. "Mum didn't just make these. The table was covered in food. She probably made all these burritos because she assumed Abigail and I were going to spend the whole day out on the Quidditch pitch and made sure to make snacks."
Fred leaned across the table, his nose twitching as he sniffed the warm, spiced air rising from the foil. "What's in them, then? They smell incredible."
"I don't know really, haven't had one yet. Although Mum never really mentions and likes surprising," Harry confessed, sliding the tray toward the middle of the table.
Ron didn't hesitate. He grabbed one, peeled back the foil, and took a massive, indiscriminate bite. His eyes went wide as the rich flavors hit him. "Merlin's chin," Ron mumbled around a full mouth. "Steak! And... rice? Is that lime?"
"Caramelized onions too," Fred added, already unwrapping his own and taking a huge bite. "And some kind of spicy sauce. These are brilliant!"
"Cilantro-lime rice, steak bites, diced tomatoes, cheese, and chili-mayo," George identified accurately, chewing happily. "Your mum is a legend, Harry."
"Don't speak with your mouth full, George!" Molly scolded, though her tone softened as she took one of the packages for herself, cutting it neatly in half with a butter knife. "Though I must admit, Petunia's cooking is always top-tier."
Before anyone could take another bite, Abigail unzipped her own small, leather subspace pouch. She reached her arm inside and pulled out a decorative, lacquer-topped box, setting it flat on the wooden table with a quiet thud. She opened the lid to reveal a dozen small, beautifully molded golden-brown pastries, each stamped with an intricate, floral pattern on top.
Harry stared at the box in total astonishment. "When did you buy those?"
Abigail didn't even look up as she smoothed her napkin over her lap. "I saw someone bringing several boxes out in the Leaky Cauldron and got one from them."
Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you go to the Leaky Cauldron?"
"When you took me to Diagon Alley for ice cream but spent an hour in Flourish and Blotts," Abigail retorted flatly, completely shutting her brother up.
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, and cleared his throat, effectively silenced.
Arthur leaned forward, peering over his spectacles at the polished little cakes. "Goodness, what intricate designs. I've never seen pastries shaped quite like that in the wizarding world."
"The person selling them was calling them mooncakes," Abigail said, glancing at Harry. "I have no idea what is inside."
"They really are Chinese mooncakes," Harry confirmed, picking one up and examining the delicate crust. "Though these are savory style ones, meant to be eaten warm. Technically snacks rather than proper breakfast food."
"Well, to be fair, fifteen giant steak burritos are technically snacks too if we're going by your mum's Quidditch math," George pointed out, reaching straight into Abigail's box and taking one of the pastries.
Ron picked one up, poking the cool, golden crust with his finger. "Wait, if they're meant to be hot, do we need Mum to put them back in the oven?"
"No need," Harry said casually. He held his palm flat over the open box and gave a crisp, effortless snap of his fingers.
A silent ripple of heat washed over the table. Instantly, a fine curl of aromatic steam rose from the intricate, floral-stamped crusts, filling the kitchen with the mouth-watering scent of toasted pastry and rich, seasoned meat.
"Showoff," Fred muttered, leaning over the steaming box. "Not that I'm complaining since I get to have them faster."
"What's the filling?" Ron asked, eagerly cutting his warm mooncake down the middle with a butter knife.
The delicate crust flaked away to reveal a dense, dark, heavily spiced filling that smelled incredible.
"Usually Mince," Harry observed, inspecting the halved pastry as the savory juices dripped onto Ron's plate. "Looks like seasoned pork. Some of these are packed with savory ham, and others have dried shrimp mixed in for flavor."
Arthur peered closely over his spectacles, fascinated. "Dried shrimp in a baked pastry? Remarkable combination. I've never heard of such a preparation in wizarding baking."
Ron didn't wait for a culinary lecture. He shoved a quarter of the warm mooncake into his mouth and chewed rapidly, his eyes widening. "Oh, wow. It's flaky and... salty, and spicy! The meat's brilliant, Harry!"
"Careful, Ronald, it's piping hot!" Molly warned, though she reached over and took a pork and ham one for herself, taking a careful bite. Her eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. "Oh my. The pastry is so delicate... the seasoning on the pork is wonderful."
"It's incredible," Ginny agreed, happily breaking off a piece of a minced pork one. "It's completely different from our meat pies."
"I wouldn't say completely different," Percy said as he took a bite. "I'd say our pies are quite similar as well."
The conversation at the long wooden table wound down gradually as the morning sun climbed higher, casting a warm, golden light across the Burrow's cozy kitchen. Arthur folded his copy of the Daily Prophet and set it beside his emptied mug, checking a ticking brass watch pulled from his pocket. A loud, sharp chime suddenly echoed from the hallway clock, signaling nine in the morning.
"Duty calls, I'm afraid," Arthur said, pushing his chair back with a pleasant smile. "A late call from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Someone in Devon managed to enchant a lawnmower to chase neighborhood cats. I shall see you all this evening." He grabbed his traveling cloak, kissed Molly gently on the cheek, and stepped into the fireplace, disappearing in a flash of green flames.
Shortly after Arthur vanished, Percy folded his napkin with meticulous precision, smoothed down his flat hair, and stood up straight. "If you will excuse me, I must review the Prefect guidelines for the Hogwarts Express one final time before tomorrow. Good day, everyone." He marched upstairs with solemn dignity, his polished shoes clicking quietly against the wooden steps.
Fred and George exchanged conspiratorial glances, draining their teacups in unison before jumping up from the bench. "We ought to go double-check our own trunks," Fred announced with an unusually innocent grin.
"Indeed," George chimed in, already backing toward the doorway. "Must ensure no rogue Cauldron Cakes or experimental fireworks are hiding beneath our robes." The twins darted upstairs before Molly could even question their sudden dedication to packing.
Abigail wiped her fingers with a cloth napkin and offered Ginny a polite smile. "Come on Ginny, let's go to your room too."
"Sure!" Ginny replied, her eyes brightening as she practically bounded out of her seat. The two girls headed up the narrow staircase together, chatting softly about the books they had read over the summer.
Molly stood by the sink, waving her wand to set the dirty plates washing themselves in warm, sudsy water. She looked over at Ron, who was staring aimlessly at his last bite of burrito, looking thoroughly unmotivated about the mountain of packing that awaited him. Tomorrow was September first, and the house was meant to be completely packed by nightfall.
Molly turned to Harry with a fond, hopeful expression. "Harry, dear, would you mind terribly going up to give Ronald a hand with his packing? Tomorrow is the first of September, and knowing him, his room looks as though a Erumpent exploded inside it. He will never finish by himself at this rate."
"Not at all, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, standing up with a light laugh. "We will have it sorted out in no time."
"Right, let's get it over with," Ron groaned, dragging his feet as he led Harry up the winding stairs to his room beneath the eaves.
When Harry opened the door, he had to pause on the threshold. The room was, as expected, total chaos. Orange Chudley Cannons banners covered the sloping walls, but the floor was a minefield of tangled robes, stray socks, parchment scrolls, brass scales, and half-empty boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Ron's school trunk sat wide open in the center of the room, looking utterly neglected.
"I don't even know where to start," Ron muttered, kicking a stray boot into a corner. "It always takes me hours."
"Step back," Harry said, stepping into the center of the room, he waved his hand and within thirty seconds, the room was completely spotless, and the trunk was impeccably organized.
Ron stood in the middle of the room with his mouth hanging open, looking between the immaculate floor and his neatly packed trunk. "Yes, I keep forgetting you can do that. Well, I guess job done then."
Harry smiled, "Job done indeed. So what now?"
"Well, now I've got a different problem," Ron grumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "Look at all that empty space. It looks completely bare. I have got nothing left to put in there, and the journey on the Hogwarts Express is agonizingly long. The trolley lady comes around, but the upper years always buy out the good stuff before she even reaches our carriage."
Just then, Abigail walked into the room with Ginny. She leaned against the doorframe, taking in the spotless room and Ron's half-empty trunk with a cool, practical gaze.
"If you have extra space, you should ask your mother to fill it with preserves," Abigail suggested smoothly. "Our mother has been preparing sealed jars of dried fruits, spiced nuts, and homemade fruit jams for Harry's trunk for the past month. They stay fresh for months, they take up space, and they are much better than store-bought sweets."
Ron blinked at her. "Preserves? Like... jams and stuff?"
"Precisely," Abigail said. "Your family has an entire orchard right outside. You could easily have your mother boil down fresh fruit into jars of jam or dry them out for the train ride. Besides, you do not even need to pack every single snack today."
Ginny nodded in agreement, catching on to her train of thought. "She is right, Ron. With Twilight, mum can send fresh food like to Hogwarts at least once a week. She can send fresh pies, tarts, or other stuff, throughout the term."
"That is brilliant!" Ron exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the thought of receiving weekly shipments of homemade food at school. "Mum was already planning to send treats with Fred and George, but with Twilight, she can send whatever we want!"
"Go tell her," Harry said.
The four of them headed back down to the kitchen, where the twins were now sitting at the table crossing off some things in a piece of paper, while Mrs. Weasley was drying the last of the breakfast dishes. When Ron explained the idea of filling his trunk with homemade jams and dried fruit, Molly beamed with absolute delight.
"Oh, what a wonderful idea, Ronald!" Molly said, wiping her hands on her apron. "I have plenty of empty glass jars in the pantry just waiting to be filled. But if we are going to make a proper batch of preserves and dried snacks before tomorrow, I will need a huge harvest from the orchard right away."
She turned to the group, "Why don't you all go by the orchard and bring back some fruit? I'm sure you guys will have fun."
Within minutes, the whole group walked out the back door into the crisp late-morning air, carrying several large wicker baskets.
The Burrow's orchard was sprawling, wonderfully chaotic grove of trees. Sunlight filtered through the dense green canopy, illuminating branches heavy with ripe colorful produce. There were deep purple damsons, crips red crab apples, bright oranges, cherries, sweet figs, golden quinces, and bushes dripping with dark berries.
Fred and George immediately pulled out their wands, aiming at a tall damson tree. "A quick levitation charm should clear this branch in five seconds," Fred said, raising his wand.
"Yeah, try it. Be expelled out of Hogwarts before you make it for your third year." Harry said, stepping forward with a smirk.
"But you do magic all the time," Fred hit back, looking at him.
"Well I don't use wands so the ministry can't exactly track me." Harry explained. "And I only use magic in places where magical adults are there, in case you didn't notice. So they can't trace me at all."
Fred and George stared at him for a beat, their wands hovering in midair as the reality of the Trace hit them.
"Right," George muttered, slowly lowering his wand and tucking it back into his pocket. "Forget the Ministry tracks underage wands when we're away from the Burrow."
"So manual labor it is," Fred sighed, rolling up his sleeves with a dramatic groan. "Unbelievable. Driven to actual physical exertion in our own garden."
"The one that gets the least fruit is a dunderhead," Harry shouted, sprinting towards the trunk of a massive, quince tree. He leaped onto a low-handing branch, and pulled himself up with effortless athletic grace. Scrambling up the thick bark like a cat.
"Harry, be careful up there!" Ginny called out.
"Yeah, don't fall and break your neck. You will have to be owled to Hogwarts otherwise," Abigail added.
"I'm fine!" Harry called down, his face flushed with the familiar rush of adrenaline he loved so much. He reached into the thick foliage, plucking heavy, fragrant golden quinces from the highest branches and tossing them down one by one. "Catch!"
Ron and George scrambled below, holding a wide wicker basket between them to catch the falling fruit, laughing as every heavy quince landed with a satisfying thud.
Seeing Harry having so much fun, Fred grinned and scrambled up a neighboring damson tree, while Ginny climbed agilely into the lower branches of a sweet fig tree. Abigail remained on the ground, calmly moving from bush to bush, selecting the best ripe berries and dropping them carefully into her basket without getting a single speck of dirt on her clothes.
For the next hour, the orchard was alive with shouts, banter, and the rustle of leaves. Harry moved from tree to tree, climbing as high as the branches would hold his weight, enjoying the raw physical effort of harvesting by hand. They moved from the quinces to the crisp crab apples, then over to the hardy magical orange trees, gathering a solid kilo or two of every single variety they could find.
By the time they finished, all six wicker baskets were filled to the brim with a rich, colorful harvest of fresh fruit.
Harry swung down from the lowest branch of a damson tree, landing lightly on his feet on the soft grass, breathing slightly fast with a satisfied smile on his face. His shirt was a little dusty, but he felt thoroughly energized.
"That," Ron said, lifting a basket heavy with bright oranges and dark figs, "was actually brilliant. Mum is going to be thrilled with all of this."
They hauled the heavy wicker baskets back across the overgrown lawn, the woven wood creaking under the weight of damsons, quinces, crab apples, and dark berries. By the time the six of them stepped through the back door into the warm kitchen, the tall clock in the hallway pointed toward half-past eleven.
Molly practically beamed as they lined up the brimming containers along the wooden counter. "Oh, bless you all! Look at these lovely quinces! I can get to work on the jams straight away."
"Don't start boiling them down yet, Mum," Fred grunted, rubbing his shoulder. "We put in back-breaking labor for those."
Before Molly could scold him for complaining, Abigail unzipped her leather subspace pouch and set two thick wrapped packages onto the kitchen table. Inside were several square blocks of soft butterbeer fudge and half a dozen boxed Chocolate Frogs.
"A quick snack before we go," Abigail said calmly.
Ron leaned over the table instantly, his hands full of fudge. "You two are the absolute best guests we have ever had."
They spent twenty minutes lingering by the counter, sharing the sweets and drinking cool water from the stone pitcher before Harry wiped his hands and caught Abigail's eye.
"We should head back," Harry said, rising from his seat. "I wanna do some last minute book shopping if I require and also Mum will kill me if my trunk isn't ready."
"Thank you for everything, Mrs. Weasley," Abigail added politely, stepping toward the kitchen door.
Molly rushed over to hug them both tightly, her hands still smelling faintly of sugar and ripe fruit. "Oh, take care, dear children! We will see you bright and early at King's Cross tomorrow!"
Once they walked out past the garden gate beyond the boundaries of the Burrow's protective wards, Harry took Abigail's arm. But instead of turning toward the direction of their own home, Abigail nudged his side.
"Take us to Diagon Alley instead," Abigail requested smoothly. "I am craving ice cream."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Now? It is almost noon."
"So?" Abigail asked looking at him. "Is there any law saying you can't have ice cream in noon?"
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough."
With a silent, instantaneous shift of displaced air, the grassy lane vanished. A heartbeat later, they landed cleanly in a quiet, shadowed alcove just off the main cobblestone street of Diagon Alley. Sunlight streamed down between the old timber-framed shops, reflecting off brass cauldrons, stacked parchment displays, and colorful storefront awnings.
The alley was buzzing with late-August shoppers. Hogwarts students were rushing between Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkin's, carrying long parchment supply lists while parents navigated through the bustling crowds.
Harry and Abigail walked straight down the center lane toward the striped awning of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. The sweet, rich scent of waffle cones and cold cream drifted out into the summer air. Harry stepped up to the brass counter and bought two large waffle cones, one packed with dark chocolate and salted caramel, and the other with pistachio and clotted cream for Abigail.
They strolled casually back into the main thoroughfare, slowly licking their ice cream as they watched a cluster of younger wizards press their noses against the glass of the Quality Quidditch Supplies window. Inside, mounted high on a velvet pedestal, sat a polished broomstick with golden footrests and fine twigs, labeled with bright red letters: The Nimbus 2000.
"It really is a fast broom," Harry commented, watching two boys argue over the tail-twig aerodynamics.
Abigail took a quiet bite of her ice cream, her dark eyes reflecting the polished wood of the broom display. "You know... I have been meaning to ask you something."
"Go on," Harry said, leaning against the wooden frame of the shop exterior.
"Back on August twenty-second, when we went to Percy's birthday party," Abigail began, her voice low enough that passing shoppers wouldn't hear. "He opened that cage you gave him. Inside was that pristine white barn owl you bought."
Harry nodded softly, a faint smirk touching the corner of his lips. "I remember."
"When Percy opened it, he looked absolutely thrilled. But then his parents presented him with their own gift right after, that little screech owl he named Hermes," Abigail continued, looking directly at her brother. "Everyone was watching Percy admire Hermes, but I saw you standing by the punch bowl. You were smirking to yourself like you had won a game."
Harry took another bite of his ice cream. "I already told you the reason."
Abigail nodded, "I know you did. But it's been days since his birthday and tomorrow you lot are heading to Hogwarts. But even today in Ron's room, I didn't see the owl. Are you really so sure Percy is going to give that bird to Ron?"
"I am ninety-five percent sure," Harry replied calmly, shifting his gaze from the Quidditch window to the bustling street ahead of them.
"And the other five percent?"
"And the other five percent?"
"The other five percent is the chance that Percy's ego gets the better of him and he decides to keep two owls just to look extra important at the Ministry," Harry admitted with a quiet laugh.
Abigail tilted her head, watching him carefully. "Why ninety-five percent, then? Percy loves titles, status, and looking superior. Holding onto two magnificent owls fits his personality perfectly."
"Because I am a big brother," Harry said softly, his voice dropping into a grounded, serious tone. "And I know exactly how guilt works on an older sibling."
Abigail paused, holding her waffle cone still. "Guilt?"
"Think about it," Harry explained, stepping back out into the crowd as they resumed their slow walk down the cobblestone street. "Percy had Scabbers for eight or nine years. He carried that rat everywhere, kept it in his pocket, slept in the same room with it. Then he handed Scabbers down to Ron like a hand-me-down gift when he got made a Prefect."
"And Scabbers turned out to be Peter Pettigrew," Abigail murmured, catching his logic immediately.
"Exactly," Harry said, nodding. "It doesn't matter that Percy didn't know. It doesn't matter that none of the Weasleys knew what that rat really was. What matters to Percy, deep down in the part of himself he will never admit out loud, is that he was the older brother who unknowingly brought an actual killer into his family's home and then passed it straight to his little brother."
Abigail walked alongside him in silence for a moment, absorbing the depth of the thought.
"Percy hides behind rules, regulation, and proper decorum because it makes him feel safe and in control," Harry continued, looking at the colorful apothecary windows as they passed. "But the idea that he put everyone in danger for years will eat at him. He wants to fix it, but he is too proud to make a dramatic emotional apology. So when he sees that he now has two owls, and Ron has zero, that guilt is going to push him to do the right thing. He will hand that barn owl to Ron before we step onto the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. It balances the scales in his mind. At least to an extent."
Abigail took a final bite of her waffle cone, wiping her fingers with a small napkin she pulled from her pocket. A rare, subtle smile touched her lips.
"You really mapped out his entire head just to make sure Ron got a proper owl without feeling like he was accepting charity," she said.
"You were there during Ginny's birthday. You saw Ron's jealousy over the Eagle Owl and the broom. He is insecure and jealous." Harry stated as he finished his ice cream. "I'm just helping out my friend, from what I see."
"Because Ron is too proud for a direct handout." He continued. "And this way, Percy feels like a generous older brother, Ron gets a magnificent owl, and nobody has to feel awkward over it."
"Ninety-five percent," Abigail repeated testingly.
"Ninety-five percent," Harry confirmed, matching her smile. "We will see tomorrow morning at King's Cross."
With a simple, smooth motion, Harry reached over and took Abigail's hand. Space folded around them in a sharp, completely silent shift, pulling them out of Diagon Alley before anyone on the cobblestone street even noticed they were gone.
The air in the living room shifted silently as Harry and Abigail stepped out of displaced space, landing without a single sound on the thick rug.
Vernon and Petunia were already seated at the dining table, watching Sirius finish an early lunch of roasted meat and warm bread. Sirius had clean, dark hair falling just past his shoulders and sharp grey eyes, but his frame still bore the faint, gaunt lines of a man recovering from years of imprisonment.
The moment Sirius turned his head toward the entrance, his fork froze halfway to his plate. He stared directly at Harry.
For a long, motionless beat, the breath seemed to leave his chest. Standing near the doorway was James. It was entirely James, down to the quiet confidence and the untamable dark hair. It was the exact James that Sirius had met on their very first day aboard the Hogwarts Express. A sudden, heavy lump formed in his throat, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. He didn't cry. He was a Marauder, and his stubborn pride held the tears back, but his hands shook slightly against the polished wood of the table.
Petunia reached out gently, placing a firm, comforting hand over Sirius's wrist. She knew exactly what he was seeing.
Sirius swallowed hard, pulling himself together with a slow, deliberate breath. He looked deeper, meeting the boy's gaze, and found Lily's bright green eyes looking straight back at him.
"Harry..." Sirius began, his voice rough. "I don't even know how to begin... thank you for-"
"No need for thanks, Sirius," Harry interrupted smoothly, offering a warm, grounded smile. "I'm just glad you're free."
Sirius blinked, slightly startled by how easily the eleven-year-old recognized him, but before he could process it, his eyes shifted to the girl standing beside Harry. He frowned, looking thoroughly confused. He turned toward Vernon and Petunia. "Who is this?"
Petunia smiled softly, motioning the young girl forward. "Abigail, dear. Come meet Sirius. Your godfather."
Sirius looked even more bewildered. "Abigail? Abigail who?"
Abigail stepped forward with cool, effortless composure. "Hello, Sirius. I'm Abigail Dursley. It's nice to see you free. Mum and Dad have told me lots about you over the years."
Sirius stared at her, then turned his gaze back to Vernon. "Dursley? What do you mean, Dursley?"
"Yes, Dursley," Vernon chuckled, taking a sip of his tea. "She's our daughter, Sirius. She was born a year after you were taken to Azkaban. It's perfectly normal that you don't know about her, considering you repeatedly turned down our visit requests back then."
Sirius threw his hands up slightly. "I've been sitting in this house for over an hour! You couldn't have mentioned you had a daughter?"
Vernon's eyes twinkled with quiet amusement. "Where would the fun in that have been?"
Sirius shook his head with a faint, breathy laugh, the lingering tension in the room breaking completely. He turned back to Abigail, offering her a smile without forcing any awkward physical contact. He knew he was still practically a stranger to them.
"Well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Abigail," Sirius said, pushing his plate aside and standing up from the table. "I suppose we'll have plenty of time to talk later. Right now, I need to get to Diagon Alley to sort out my affairs at Gringotts."
"Yeah, let's go and get that sorted," Vernon said getting up with him.
"I'll come as well," Harry said immediately. "I need to drop by my vault to get some money for the train ride tomorrow. Plus, I need to pick up a few more books."
Petunia let out a long, dramatic sigh. "More books, Harry? Really? Vernon got you forty volumes for your birthday on July thirty-first, and you devoured them in two weeks! Then you bought ten more just four days ago!"
"I finished those yesterday, Mum," Harry said with an innocent shrug. "And besides, today is my last chance to check Eeylops Owl Emporium before school starts tomorrow. I've been waiting for a Snowy Owl all summer, but they haven't had one in stock. Maybe I'll finally get lucky today."
Sirius listened to the exchange, a subtle gleam of interest lighting up his grey eyes as he took note of the owl comment.
"Great then, let's get going," Vernon said, standing up and grabbing his coat from the rack.
Sirius walked straight toward the brick fireplace, reaching into the earthenware jar on the mantelpiece for a handful of Floo powder.
Both Vernon and Harry stopped dead in their tracks, watching him with raised eyebrows.
"What are you doing, Sirius?" Vernon asked, amused.
"Taking the Floo, of course," Sirius replied, tossing a glance over his shoulder. "Since Harry is coming along. And I happen to know for a fact that you are bloody terrible at Side-Along Apparition, Vernon. And I'm not in the condition where I can try Side-Along."
Vernon chuckled loudly, not denying it for a second.
Harry simply smiled as he looked at his godfather. "Meet you there, Sirius."
Before Sirius could even ask what he meant, space folded silently around Harry. Without a sound, without a pop, and without a single breath of wind, Harry vanished entirely from the living room.
Sirius stood frozen by the hearth, his hand suspended over the Floo powder, staring in utter bewilderment at the empty spot where his godson had been standing a second before.
Sirius blinked, his hand remaining frozen over the jar of Floo powder. He stared at the empty rug, then slowly turned his head to look at Vernon, his jaw slightly slack.
"Did he just... Apparate?" Sirius asked, his voice echoing with absolute disbelief. "Without a single sound? At eleven years old?"
Vernon smiled at him. "He does that all the time."
"Vernon, that's impossible," Sirius said, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. "Apparition makes a crack. Everyone makes a crack. And he didn't even draw a wand! Where is his wand? I haven't seen him pull one out since he walked in."
"He doesn't have one," Petunia offered casually as she cleared Sirius's empty plate from the table. "Refused to buy one."
Sirius stared between the two of them, trying to make the pieces fit. A child who vanished without a noise, without an instrument, and without so much as a second thought. For a moment, the image of James faded, replaced by the startling realization of just what kind of power his godson was quietly carrying around.
"Right," Sirius muttered, with a shake of his head. "I need a drink, but Gringotts will have to do."
With that both he and Vernon Disapparated from the room with a small pop.