The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

3. Flight of the Potters

Wrenching open the back door, Harry and I hurtle into their midst. There is a general cry of meeting as I fling my arms around Hermione, and then Ron, finally feeling at home once more. 

"All right, Harry and Haylee?" Dad asks, rustling his hair as he Sirius give us tight bear hugs. "Ready to go?"

"Definitely," I respond, beaming up at them. Everyday Sirius begins to resemble the man in our parent's wedding photos, young and handsome and truly happy; he rests his arm around my shoulders protectively, his familiar scent of cologne and faint cigarette smell filling the air. Dad, of course, still looks more like our older brother than our father, but no one could dismiss his fatherly attributes; the way he places his hand on Harry's shoulder, the way his smile changes when he sees us. "We weren't expecting so many of you!" I glance around the garden, making out the figures of Fred, George, Mr Weasley, and - 

"Riley!"

I fling my arms around his tall figure, his affectionate smile a far cry from his actions the last time I saw him. 

"You're all right!?"

"Ah, I'm okay enough, I guess," he laughs, and I know in this moment that we have Riley back: the real Riley. "The curse broke just after the school year ended...Tessa must have lifted it." His smile falters, and something tells me that there is much more to the story. "Enough about me!"
 he adds quickly, plastering another smile on his face. "You two look good!"

"Yes, they're absolutely gorgeous," Mad-Eye growls, holding two enormous, bulging sacks.  "There's been a change of plan, now let's get you inside before someone tries to murder you!"

"You think?" I hear George echo faintly, and I battle to stop a snigger. We lead them all back into the kitchen where laughing and chattering, we settle on chairs, sit ourselves upon Aunt Petunia's gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances: Ron, long and lanky, Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Dad, his messy curls falling into his eyes; Sirius, long black hair pulled back into a loose ponytail; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Riley, tall and handsome, but wearier than I remember him; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short is is her favourite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, a small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy basset hound eyes and matted hair. My heart seems to expand and glow at the sight, and I feel incredibly fond of all of them, even Mundungus, whom Harry tried to strangle the last time we met. 

"Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" Harry calls across the room. 

"He can get along without me for one night," says Kingsley. "You're more important."

"Harry, Haylee, guess what?" says Tonks from her perch on the top of the washing machine, and she wiggles her left hand at us; a ring glitters there. 

"You got married?" I cry, looking from her to Lupin. 

"I'm sorry you couldn't be there, Harry and Haylee, it was very quiet."

Dad scoffs from across the room. "Moony wouldn't even let us get drunk afterwards."

"Not all of us have the constitution of a twenty-four-year-old, James."

I laugh, leaping forward to hug them both. "That's brilliant, congratulations!"

"We've all been lucky in love, it seems!" Fred calls from the kitchen table, grinning, nudging George ever so slightly, who returns his grin twice over.