Chapter 223 – At the Dursleys
Harry never dreamed there would be so many wizards gathered inside the Dursleys' house. If Aunt Petunia ever found out, she'd probably tear down the walls and rebuild the place out of sheer nerves.
Fred, George, and Percy had already followed Mrs. Weasley back to the Burrow, while Narcissa Malfoy left quietly for home. Dudley had been sent off to Aunt Marge's with a train ticket, Uncle Vernon claiming Petunia was there as well.
Which left Uncle Vernon himself, face ruddy and plump, fussing endlessly with the cushions in the living room like a man possessed. Normally, he would be hiding behind a newspaper to avoid paying attention to anyone—but today he was practically twitching with nervous energy.
On the sofa sat Sirius Black, relaxed as if he owned the place. Arthur Weasley looked uncomfortable, though his eyes darted around the room with restless curiosity, like a mouse dropped into a grain bin. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, remained distant, pale eyes unfocused as though weighing something in silence.
Harry glanced at Ron and Draco. Both of them clearly felt the strangeness too, though their gazes kept straying toward the stairwell—the cupboard under the stairs where Harry had once lived. They searched for traces of Harry's childhood, but found none. To them, the house looked as if Harry had never even existed here.
"I said, don't you feel hungry?" Harry wanted to ask what was really going on, but when he opened his mouth, that was what came out instead.
To his disgust, Uncle Vernon gave him a look of gratitude, the sort of expression one might expect if Harry had saved his life. The very sight of it made Harry feel like he'd swallowed one of Bertie Bott's booger-flavored beans.
"I almost forgot," Uncle Vernon said quickly, seizing on the chance to please. "Petunia made beef pie and mashed potatoes. Still hot. And there's peas with butter… salad too."
The awkward atmosphere broke instantly, as if someone had flicked a switch.
"Pie? Molly's good at that too—her ham pie and hot onion soup are the best," Arthur said cheerfully.
Then, spotting the appliances, his eyes lit up. "Oh! Electricity, right?"
"Yes, yes!" he continued before anyone could answer. "I saw the plug! I collect plugs. And batteries. Lots and lots of batteries. Molly thinks I'm mad, but look, I was right." He hurried over to inspect the television and VCR like they were rare magical artifacts.
"Look, Ron, didn't you write me about being curious about these? Their fireplaces even use electricity!" Arthur waved his son over excitedly.
Ron and Draco exchanged looks. If their first impression had been that something terrible was about to happen, Arthur's enthusiasm made them second-guess.
Then Lucius's cold snort shattered the illusion.
"Arthur Weasley, have you forgotten what we're here for?" Lucius sneered, nostrils tilted upward as though he could look down on the world through them.
"Come on, Lucius, the day is still long," Sirius said carelessly, waving a hand. He understood Arthur's curiosity; when he was young, he himself had modified a motorcycle to fly.
Arthur's smile vanished as he turned coldly to Lucius. "Oh, I almost forgot about you, Lucius."
The words nearly made Lucius choke with fury. Normally, he would have mocked Arthur's obsession with Muggles and his lack of dignity. But today, with Dumbledore's shadow looming behind everything, he swallowed the insult.
To Draco, however, this restraint felt almost noble. His eyes turned red as he whispered, "Father…" as though Lucius had just pulled Arthur from a burning building.
Ron bristled immediately. "What's wrong with him? Don't you dare talk down to my dad!"
"You don't understand," Draco said quickly, wiping at his eyes. "This—this is my father's version of kindness. Dressing like a Muggle, treating Arthur Weasley with a warm handshake—this is the sacrifice he makes."
Ron stared, bewildered.
Harry sighed. "Ron, think about it. Mr. Malfoy is treating your dad the same way Draco used to treat me."
It clicked. Ron wasn't slow—just wired differently. And suddenly, he understood.
Meanwhile, Arthur himself stood stiffly. He knew Lucius Malfoy's character as well as anyone. They had been enemies since school, like James Potter and Snape. But this? This was strange. Wrong.
Lucius Malfoy doesn't change. Not for politics—his family's stance against Muggles is centuries old. Not for conscience—he doesn't have one. Then why?
Arthur's thoughts caught on something sharp. Ron and Draco… there's something between them.
His mind jumped to Rita Skeeter's recent articles. A love triangle—Harry, Draco, Ron? The thought alone left him standing there speechless, unable to reconcile "in-laws" with "enemy."
"Haha, here comes the pie!" Uncle Vernon broke the tension, waddling in with a platter of steaming food. His face was forced into a grin, but his eyes flicked nervously between the wizards. "All the dishes are here! Eat while it's hot, eh?"
Sirius only smiled. Lucius ignored him, too proud to speak to a Muggle. Arthur, however, answered politely, "We still have things to discuss. Let the children eat first."
"You wizards and your jokes," Vernon muttered through gritted teeth. "I've kicked my wife and son out to give you space. Eat. I won't disturb you."
He turned to leave, but Sirius's voice cut him short. "You can't go."
"Stay and eat with us," Arthur added innocently, still not grasping the tension.
Vernon's face twitched, the smile stretched too thin. "Heh—heheheh—you don't understand what I mean." His voice trembled, like a kettle just before boiling over.
And for Harry, Ron, and Draco, the unease returned sharper than ever.
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