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March 15, 1974. Ministry of Magic, Second Floor, Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.
"See you the day after tomorrow, Arthur. Have a good weekend!"
"You too!" The young man with a thick mop of fiery red hair offered a bright, tired smile—a smile that made people feel an instant sense of reliable warmth.
Arthur Weasley had worked unexpected overtime today. He had joined the 'Accidental Magical Reversal Squad' from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes for an emergency raid. Together, they navigated the damp, smog-choked suburbs of London to confiscate a rogue batch of charmed Muggle children's toys—specifically, a group of plastic toy fire Dragons that had been illegally modified to spit out real, scorching flames.
It was hard to judge whether this prank was a massive threat or a minor nuisance, but fortunately, the Ministry reacted quickly, and no major fires were sparked in the Muggle neighborhoods. He participated in the cleanup operation with the task force, hauling back crates of the soft, cute, yet dangerous toys.
Arthur stood up from his cluttered desk and stretched his stiff shoulders. He was tall and thin, his robes a bit frayed at the cuffs. After thinking for a moment, he reached into an evidence box and picked up one of the confiscated toy dragons. He took out his wand, muttered a containment charm, and carefully fiddled with the plastic casing.
Although normal Muggle toys couldn't breathe fire, they could make their painted eyes flash using small, cylindrical metal objects called 'batteries'.
It was incredible. Although Muggles had no magic pulsing through their veins, their bare hands could forge so many wonderful, intricate things.
Whether born a Muggle or a Wizard, there should be profound meaning in their existence.
He rummaged through a chaotic drawer smelling of stale ink and old parchment, pulling out a battered leather notebook. He quickly jotted down his detailed observations of the Muggle battery, sketching a rough illustration of its positive and negative terminals in the corner of the page.
Arthur hoped that one day, he could write a comprehensive book on the subject. He had already dreamed up the title—
Muggle Magic.
Although some older, traditional Ministry colleagues would scoff and say his chaotic department had no future, Arthur genuinely loved his job. Here, he could always come into contact with new, strange Muggle inventions. Every single time a piece of "Muggle technology" crossed his desk, it made him as giddy as a child opening a holiday gift.
He fiddled with the toy fire Dragon for a while longer, his thumb tracing the smooth plastic scales. Finally, smiling to himself, he slipped the safe, modified toy into his worn leather briefcase. His gaze softened as it fell on a framed photograph resting next to his inkwell—
The bright red hair and warm, loving smiles of his growing family seemed to glow in the soft sunlight captured within the frame.
Even if his quirky work was interesting, it was no match for home. His wife and children were already waiting for him by the crackling fireplace.
Arthur's spirits lifted. He snapped his briefcase shut, walked out of his cramped cubicle, pushed open the heavy oak door, and passed a long row of empty workstations. He waved to the few Aurors who were still grumbling through their weekend duty.
"Still working on a Saturday, Alastor!" He called out to a grizzled wizard standing at the end of the corridor.
The Auror was silently staring at a wanted poster tacked to the notice board, his dark eyes sharp as knives under the harsh magical lighting.
In the moving photo was a hairy, canker-ridden fellow pacing like a caged animal. He looked like a terrifying blend of man and beast. Arthur recognized the sneering face at a glance: the notorious werewolf, Fenrir Greyback.
"Dark Wizards don't pick weekdays to commit crimes, Weasley!" Alastor Moody muttered loudly, his voice thick and heavily nasal, not looking away from the poster. "See you next week, Arthur."
"Take care, see you next week, Alastor!" Arthur replied, unfazed by the gruff tone.
Pushing open another heavy door, he took the rattling elevator down and passed through the golden gates into the Ministry of Magic's magnificent Atrium.
Under the peacock-blue ceiling twinkling with enchanted golden light, the Fountain of Magical Brethren shone brightly, the water splashing softly into the basin.
Arthur had no mind to admire the gold. Neither he nor Molly were interested in chasing Galleons. Although they were not wealthy, they were capable Wizards; they did not need a vault full of gold to live a comfortable, love-filled life.
However, he did harbor a quiet hope to travel with Molly one day and see the wider Muggle world.
When Molly Prewett eloped with him, defying her pureblood family's expectations, he was absolutely certain this was the woman he wanted to cherish for his entire life.
His wife. His beloved. His Mollybobbles. And his two mischievous little sons.
Thinking of them, Arthur's eyes crinkled with immense, gentle affection, as if all the happiness in the world flowed directly into his gaze. He stepped into a designated fireplace.
Shattering the Void! (Mistake!)—
Apparition!
...
Outside Ottery St Catchpole village, Devon, England.
The crooked front door of The Burrow was pushed open with a loud bang, letting in a gust of cold, damp evening air.
"Little Mo Mo! Bill! Charlie!"
"Arthur!" "Dad!"
Molly Weasley, wearing a flour-dusted floral apron, hurried forward from the kitchen. Her round face beamed as she threw her arms around him, giving him a tight, warm hug as usual. The smell of cinnamon and roasting meat clung to her clothes.
Little Bill ran over with a gap-toothed grin and tackled his father's legs in a hug.
"You won't believe it! Bill took Charlie to play out in the garden today, and some pesky gnomes tried to attack the hens," Molly giggled happily, pulling back to look at her husband. "But Bill's accidental magic blasted them all away into the hedges!"
"Oh, my Bill is so great!" Arthur laughed, dropping his briefcase to affectionately stroke his eldest son's messy red head.
Bill tilted his head and smiled, puffing out his little chest proudly.
Arthur drew his wand with a fluid motion. Charlie, who was crawling dangerously close to the sofa edge, suddenly floated gently into the air, circling lazily under the sloping wooden ceiling. The little baby let out a burst of bright, happy laughter, reaching for the floating dust motes, before landing steadily in Arthur's waiting arms.
"See what Dad brought you—" Arthur sat heavily on the plush sofa holding the giggling toddler. He popped open his briefcase and took out the fluffy, modified toy fire Dragon.
Bill poked the plastic Dragon's snout. Not very interested in toys that didn't fly, he stuffed it into his baby brother's arms.
Charlie immediately grabbed it with chubby fingers, looking at the painted eyes curiously. He squeezed the toy's belly gently with his little hand. A burst of warm, colorful, flameless magical light sprayed out from the fire Dragon's open mouth, mimicking a dragon's breath without the heat.
The little infant stared at the dancing light in amazement for a long time, his eyes wide, then suddenly erupted into giggles.
"Cute, cute!" he babbled.
"Arthur!" Molly stood by the armrest, looking at him with a slight, exasperated reproach. "Did you bring home something confiscated from work again?"
"Uh…" Arthur scratched the back of his neck, offering a guilty, boyish smile. "I thoroughly checked it, Molly. I removed the dangerous parts. It's safe… I'm sure."
Molly glanced at him, her hands on her hips, but she didn't scold him further. She understood her husband. She trusted him, and she loved his endless curiosity. Although she couldn't understand his wild obsession with plugs and batteries, she knew—
That was part of his charm.
"How was work today?" Molly asked, wiping her floury hands on the hem of her apron.
"Ah, the Ministry wants our department to draft and formulate a 'Regulation on the Prohibition of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts.' And this massive task… naturally fell onto my shoulders."
"Those old folks," Molly huffed indignantly. "They must have seen that you're too easy to talk to and dumped the paperwork on you."
"It's alright, Molly," Arthur said cheerfully, bouncing Charlie on his knee. "Formulating regulations is actually quite fun. I get to define what a plug is legally! How were things here at home?"
"I read Bill The Adventures of Mad Muggle Martin Miggs before his nap, and he especially liked Martin's messy story in Paris…"
Bill grinned, recognizing the name of his favorite comic book hero.
The two chatted comfortably about family matters for a while longer before the family of four migrated to the kitchen. The small, crowded, but impeccably tidy kitchen was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat. On the stone mantelpiece above the stove sat a row of worn magic books: Must-Reads for Wizarding Parents, How to Make Excellent Mashed Potatoes, and Wizarding Children's Favorite Magical Desserts.
Beside the books sat a chipped flowerpot filled to the brim with sparkling green Floo powder.
Molly took her wand from her apron pocket and waved it gracefully like an orchestra conductor. The steel knives, silver forks, ceramic plates, and bowls in the sink jumped out, drying themselves, and marched onto the clean wooden table one by one in an orderly, clinking procession.
"I made pork chops and mashed potatoes tonight," she said with a warm smile, levitating a steaming bowl to the center of the table. "I added your favorite crispy bacon bits to the mashed potatoes. The side dish is buttered celery, and the dessert is Bill's favorite French pudding. He heard about it in that Muggle story today and kept asking for it…"
Little Bill clapped his hands, cheering for the pudding.
The battered wireless radio sitting by the sink finished playing a soft, melodic tune. A smooth, beautiful female voice broke through the static:
"Black Glory, embrace your true charm. The Black Glory Easter limited edition egg is launching soon. Please pay attention to our Diagon Alley flagship store..."
"This new brand is really popular lately," Molly noted with a smile, pouring pumpkin juice into Arthur's goblet. "Even Fabian wrote to say he was going to buy a set for his new girlfriend."
"Yes, many witches in the Ministry are using their potions," Arthur nodded, cutting a piece of pork chop. "Actually, I didn't expect… the ancient Black Family to suddenly start a commercial Potions business. It's quite a shift for them."
"Ah! Arthur, look at my terrible memory," Molly suddenly slapped her forehead, leaving a small smudge of flour near her eyebrow. She turned and picked up an opened parchment envelope resting on the spice rack. "Errol brought back your mother's reply this afternoon. Tell me, does your mother's maiden family have a relative named Alphard?"
Arthur paused, his fork hovering mid-air. His mother's maiden family was a complicated subject, rarely mentioned within the warm walls of The Burrow.
Her name, before she was proudly married to a blood-traitor Weasley, was Cedrella Black.
"Alphard… Alphard Black?" Arthur frowned, chewing his lip. He thought for several silent seconds before slowly nodding. "There is such a person… named after a star, that's right… However, since my mother married into the Weasley family, she was blasted off their tapestry. She should have lost all contact with her maiden family decades ago."
Why suddenly bring up the Black Family now?
The young Ministry employee set down his fork. He took the parchment letter, its edges slightly curled and punctured by the old owl Errol's clumsy claws, a puzzled look settling on his face.
"Dear Arthur,