Chapter 43: The Weasley Manor

After Zhang Qiu left, Harry’s life changed little. He continued trying to tutor Ivy, “Just as Zhang Qiu said, the slow bird must fly early.” Harry often quoted odd Chinese proverbs, and Ivy always responded with mild skepticism.

Another week passed, and Ton Dun received an unexpected yet predictable guest: Ron Weasley.

Ron arrived with his father, driving a green, old-fashioned Ford car that looked utterly out of place among the luxury vehicles in the garage.

When Harry saw Ron in the living room, he was genuinely startled. After just one summer apart, Ron had grown much taller, his body now thick with muscle, radiating strength. His demeanor had also changed dramatically; when Ron spotted Harry, he became visibly excited, and for a few moments, Harry thought he resembled Neville.

“Harry, did you read my letter?” Ron stood up and asked.

“No, to be honest. Some things happened to me—first, all my letters were intercepted, and though communication was later restored, I feared a plot, so I didn’t open them.”

“Yes,” Arthur replied, “that’s exactly why we’re here. Professor McGonagall suggested I come to deliver you to school, as the Dark Lord may have laid traps along the way.”

“Alright, I can tell you in person later—this summer’s been full of events. Oh, when we get home, I can introduce you to my sister, if you introduce yours.” Ron joked.

“Sure,” Harry smiled, then introduced them. “This is Ivy Crowley, my sister and this year’s new student at Hogwarts. Ivy, this strong-looking boy is my good friend from school, Ron Weasley, and this gentleman is Ron’s father, Arthur.”

Ivy politely greeted everyone, they exchanged pleasantries, then moved to the parlor to begin their serious conversation.

Ron seemed bursting with things to say, but Arthur’s matter was clearly more urgent. The thin, bald wizard outlined his plan.

At Ron’s strong insistence, Arthur invited Harry to spend the final days of summer at their home, and then take a day off to drive the modified Muggle car directly to Hogwarts with Harry and Ron. Ivy, as an unexpected new student, presented a dilemma—Arthur didn’t want to break Hogwarts’ traditions, but he also believed it would be far too dangerous for her to travel alone from Ton Dun. So he decided to invite Ivy to stay with the Weasleys, and have Ron’s mother and older brothers escort both first-year girls together to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at term’s start.

Once the official business was done, Ron couldn’t wait to speak: “Harry, we’ve had a guest at home. You’ll never guess who it is.”

“I did read the first letter—you mean some American guy?”

“Exactly. And he’s going to be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this term. I’ve already started studying ahead—look at my muscles!”

“Impressive,” Harry said enviously. Since beginning his magical training, he’d completely neglected physical exercise and now looked noticeably frail by comparison.

“His name is Donald Fontroy. He’s supposedly a famous American Auror,” Ron continued. “He says I have the bloodline of the Knights of the Round Table, and that I might unlock a legendary hidden realm!”

“Knights of the Round Table?” Harry asked, puzzled. “But shouldn’t our ancestors be Merlin?”

“You can ask him yourself,” Ron admitted he wasn’t sure himself. He added, “Harry, I’ll fight the Dark Lord for you—until my last breath!”

Harry felt uneasy. He hesitated. “What’s this all of a sudden? Why say that now?”

Ron said seriously, “It’s a ritual magic Donald taught me. If you, the Chosen One, accept my loyalty, my knightly bloodline will activate further and my potential will unlock more fully.”

“I have no idea what that American’s been teaching you…” Harry muttered inwardly, then said aloud, “Actually, Ron, you don’t have to fight the Dark Lord—it’s too dangerous…”

“No,” Arthur interrupted. “The Weasleys have always opposed the Dark Lord. We did so even during his first rise.”

In Harry’s thoughtful gaze, Arthur whispered, “Ron will fight the Dark Lord to the end, just as you will.”

“Alright,” Harry mumbled, “though I don’t understand how any of this works. But I’m glad you’re willing to stand beside me, my friend.”

After Harry spoke, nothing happened to Ron. He scratched his head. “Maybe the knightly talent needs Professor Fontroy to check it personally.”

They chatted a little longer, then Carson knocked and announced dinner was ready. The Weasleys dined at Ton Dun, and Arthur agreed to stay overnight, waiting for Harry and Ivy to pack slowly, then leaving right after breakfast the next day.

Though Harry had much to say to Ron, Carson, determined to uphold the estate’s dignity, refused to let the guest sleep in Harry’s room. He insisted two clean guest rooms had been prepared. Eventually, after chatting for one or two hours in the parlor, Ron reluctantly went to his room, while Harry returned to check whether Bates had missed anything in the packing.

The next day, as the four went to the garage to retrieve the car, Harry noticed Ron was gloomy. But once the car took flight, he brightened considerably, enthusiastically introducing his sister Ginny to Harry and Ivy, hoping Ivy and she would become good friends.

Just as Ron finished talking about Donald and his training regimen, and was about to mention his nephew Cui Ge and the Lovegoods across the mountain, they arrived.

The Weasleys’ home had once been a large stone house, but numerous additions had been tacked on, making it several stories tall and crooked. Harry’s rudimentary knowledge of physics told him such an odd structure could only have been built with magic. Four or five chimneys rose from the red roof, and beside the door stood an uneven sign planted in the ground, reading “The Burrow.”

“Are we here?” Harry said. “This is the Weasley Manor?”

Ron’s face flushed. He whispered, “It’s not a manor…”

“You own vast land, with gardens and lawns, bordered by forest and mountains, quiet and secluded, and a distinctive large house—in my view, it meets every requirement of a manor,” Harry said seriously.

“That’s a novel perspective,” Arthur laughed. “Though we use our lawn for vegetables and chickens, don’t we?”

“Exactly,” Ron laughed too. “Mum always prefers practical things. We do have servants—just an old ghoul and some house-elves. Very magical, right?”

“Cool,” Harry said. “So this is what magical nobility looks like.”

Ron flushed again, but remembered that the Weasleys were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and that he carried the bloodline of the Knights of the Round Table (as Fontroy claimed). He straightened his back and added, “And Mum cast an Undetectable Extension Charm on the house—you’ll see, it’s bigger inside than out.”

Harry smiled and pointed to the sign. “And this ‘The Burrow’—I remember Zhang Qiu saying that in Tianchao, only noble poets of high virtue were allowed to call their homes ‘Humble Dwelling.’ Do you have a poet in your family?”

“Maybe Percy,” Ron said. “Percy’s grades are excellent—if anyone in the family understands poetry…”

“It’s Fred and George,” Arthur said. “They’re always saying clever, philosophical things.”

At that moment, the door to The Burrow opened, and Mrs. Weasley stepped out holding her youngest daughter Ginny. Mrs. Weasley was slightly plump and looked warm and kind; Ginny was shy.

“Ah, Molly!” Arthur called. “I’ve brought the children.”

“Well, this is lively,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Who’s this lovely little girl?”

“I’m Harry’s sister. My name is Ivy Crowley,” Ivy said confidently. “I received my Hogwarts acceptance letter this year, so Mr. Weasley suggested I come along.”

“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Weasley nodded. “Welcome.”

Perhaps inspired by Ivy’s poise, Ginny, who had been blushing, gathered courage and stepped forward. “H-hi. I’m Ginny Weasley. Ron’s told me so much about you. You’re amazing.”

Harry recognized she was addressing him and smiled back. “Thank you, Ginny.”

Ginny’s face turned redder, but before she could speak again, Mrs. Weasley pulled her gently inside.

Inside, The Burrow was indeed larger than it appeared from outside, but still cramped and crowded. The Weasleys owned many strange magical furnishings, and with seven children, space was extremely limited. Harry looked up at the crooked staircase and asked, “Where’s Professor Fontroy? I’m curious about him.”

Ron scratched his head. “He and his nephew stayed at the Leaky Cauldron at first, then moved to the Lovegoods’ place across the mountain. When I left to pick you up, he said he’d give me two days off and resume tutoring tomorrow.”

“Lovegoods?” Harry instinctively glanced out the window—but it didn’t face the mountain.

“Another wizarding family,” Ron said. “They’re all a bit mad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ll see when you read his magazine,” Ron said. “Oh right—I’ve got loads in my room. Come with me.”

Ron’s room was on the fifth floor, so low the ceiling nearly brushed his head. His room was packed: a fish tank filled with tadpoles sat on the windowsill, his pet rat Scabbers lay nearby, piles of magical textbooks and comics filled one corner, stacks of magazines and newspapers littered the floor, and posters of Quidditch teams covered every inch of wall.

Harry picked up a copy of The Quibbler. The cover showed a handsome man, with bold headline: “Gilderoy Lockhart Suffering Persecution.”

“This is the magazine I meant,” Ron said. “You might not think it’s strange—but when you read it alongside that week’s Daily Prophet, it looks utterly absurd.”

Ron handed over a newspaper with a similar layout. Its headline read: “Plagiarist Gilderoy Lockhart Apprehended in America.”