Title—A simple cup of tea, made with love
Disclaimer—Harry Potter is property of J.K. Rowling. I am merely doing this for fun, not profit.
Characters/Pairing—Mrs. Weasley/Harry Potter family bonding
Timeline/Spoilers—Chamber of Secrets, no spoilers
Summary—Funny how a simple cup of tea can say so much.
Author's Note— Originally, I wrote this for Hogwarts Online month of May "Free as a bird" challenge. I'll be putting the link at the end of my story, in case anyone wants read the other participants' entries. (All of which I highly recommend.)
Mrs. Weasley sipped at her tea, humming with content. It was the perfect temperature, and flavored with just the right amount of honey. There was something to be said about doing things the muggle way. Tea made by magic just didn't taste the same. She knew it was a cliché, but she thought it was because it lacked love.
She had gotten up before anyone else—as was her custom—and was enjoying a few moments of peace before her rowdy family came bounding down the stairs for breakfast. Oh, and her unexpected guest. Though Harry wasn't what you'd call rowdy. He'd been living at the Burrow for less than a week, and was already reminding Molly of a love-starved puppy, so eager to please. And from what Ron told her about his home life, she wasn't the least bit surprised.
The red haired matron's eyes narrowed. What sort of people could lock a twelve year old up like a prisoner? And in the boy's own room too, a place he was supposed to feel safe in! She was shaken from her angry thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. They didn't belong to any of her brood, so she assumed it must be Harry. Realizing it wouldn't be long before everyone got up as well; Molly moved to the kitchen and, with a flick of her wand, gathered the ingredients of biscuits and gravy.
She'd just put the first batch in to bake when Harry ambled in, adjusting the hem of his jumper. She was touched to see it was the one she knitted him last Christmas, and also noted how small it was getting. She'd have to make him a new one once the holidays rolled around, and maybe some socks too.
He grinned at her brightly. "Good morning."
"Good morning dear, did you sleep well?" He nodded, going over to the cupboard and pulling the breakfast dishes out. It was an automatic jester for him, having spent so much time cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley told him he didn't have to, but helping out made him feel less like a freeloader, and after a few days she let it drop.
'It's so much better than the Dursleys,' Harry thought for what must've been the hundredth time, placing a fork in front of Fred's usually seat. Not only did he get three square meals a day—with seconds and dessert too!—but he was no longer an outsider either. The Weasleys, all the Weasleys, liked him. He could be himself, let is guard down, and talk about things that really mattered to him like Hogwarts and flying.
It was more then he'd ever hoped for.
". . . Harry?"
"Huh?" he was so lost in thought that he missed Mrs. Weasley's question. He halfway expected a scolding, but Molly just dusted her flour coated hands off and repeated the question patiently.
"Would you like a cup a tea, dear?"
Harry wasn't particularly fond of tea, but the morning air was slightly chilly, and it'd be nice to have something warm in his stomach while waiting for the rest of the family to awaken. "Yes, please."
He was surprised when she pocketed her wand and filled the kettle by hand. After placing it on the stovetop to heat up, she opened a draw and fished out a tin of tea leafs. Wandering close, Harry inhaled their aroma, picking up a variety of different herbs.
"I always make tea the muggle away," Molly explained, carefully pouring the now hot water into a plain white china cup. "My mum did too. She taught me when I was a girl. Do you want honey? Sugar? Lemon?"
"Sugar, thanks," Harry took a tiny sip, so as not to burn his tough. Aunt Petunia rarely made him tea, but when she did it was always harsh, thin and bitter (not unlike the woman herself). This was completely different: warm, fragment and sweetened to perfection. He took another, deeper drink. Funny how a simple cup of tea could make him feel so . . . he didn't even know how to describe it, but it was just about the best feeling in the world.
He raised his head, wanting to thank Mrs. Weasley again, when very loud thumping noises from up above startled them both. It sounded like a heard of tap-dancing hippos.
"Mum!" Ron called down. "Fred and George bewitched my shoes—OW!" this was followed my some rather colorful language, and the twins howls of laughter.
Mrs. Weasley sighed; those two would be the death of her. "I'll be right there, Ron," she called. "Could you keep an eye on the gravy?" she added to Harry.
"Sure," he was busy trying not to snicker at poor Ron's expense.
Molly smile softly and briefly touched his messy black hair. "Thank you love," and then she was gone, sweeping up stairs, leaving Harry along in his amusement.
He finished the last of his tea, and he knew then exactly what this simple cup of tea made him feel: loved.
And that was, he thought, the very best feeling in the world wide world.
Sappy ending is sappy. Well, no matter, I happen to like sappy/corny endings.
As promised, here's the link: /s/7067736/1/Free_as_a_bird
TheNightShadow4 bids you adieu.