Rowan Lane was almost totally obscured by the gently falling snow as Harry approached the steps of Number Seven. It was the first heavy snowfall of the winter in London, and the soft white flakes swirling in the air felt like a good omen. Harry nodded to an elderly Muggle lady reading a book in the front window of Number Five, and she clutched her blue shawl closer around her shoulders and smiled at him. Across the street, Harry could just barely make out the silhouette of Dionysius Pinot, another Ministry of Magic employee. As Harry raised a hand to greet him, he called out, “Welcome to the neighborhood!� before disappearing inside Number Eight in a swirl of snow.

Harry walked up the front steps of Number Seven Rowan Lane, and stood a moment with the snow blowing over his shoulders and his hand resting on the red front door, gazing at the lion’s head brass knocker. Those are my front steps, this is my door, he thought to himself, as though trying the notion on for size. This is my home. Harry thought about the places that had felt like home to him over the years, and the places that hadn’t. My home, my own place. Mine, and maybe someone else’s as well. Too leery of that last thought to let it sit too long, Harry tapped his wand on the door handle, pushed open the red door and walked into his just-purchased new house.

* * * * *

A week earlier, Harry had been shown this house by a compact, efficient little Muggle realtor. After walking with her through all the rooms and having all the amenities of Number Seven Rowan Lane called to his attention - "It's an ideal size for a single gentleman, Mr. Potter, or for a young family. Is there perhaps a young lady who needs to see it as well?" - Harry had followed her out onto these very same front steps, through this same red door with the lion's head knocker. She had looked up at him appraisingly as he walked out the door to join her.

With a sweep of her arm she indicated the houses up and down the street. "This is a nice quiet street. A few families with younger children, a few elderly couples, a couple of singles like you. It's a lovely neighborhood."

Harry looked around the street as she invited him, noticing the neatly kept front gardens, the child's bicycle leaned up by the front steps of Number Four, the three matching birdbaths in the garden of Number Ten. He turned back to the realtor and smiled in agreement.

She had seemed to sense that it was time for the question. "Well, Mr, Potter, shall I prepare an offer of purchase?"

* * * * *

Harry turned in a slow circle, just letting the colors and sounds and smells of his new kitchen sink in. He smiled slightly, then took a deep breath and said loudly, “Kreacher? Please come when you can.�

He thought the words, my kitchen, and then deliberately thought them again. Mine. My house. My home.

Harry began to peek inside the cabinets around the kitchen walls. After only a few seconds, there was a loud crack in Harry’s new kitchen, and Kreacher was asking, “Master Harry? You called?�

“Yes, Kreacher, I did. Were you right in the middle of something?� Harry asked.

“No, Master Harry, the students have just left for their Christmas holidays and Hogwarts is quiet. Kreacher was merely sweeping the Great Hall.�

“Excellent.� Harry swung a chair away from the kitchen table and sat down facing the elf. “I have a question for you, and then an order.�

“Yes, Master Harry?�

“Well, Kreacher, I’ve just bought this house. I’m moving in here, and…� He trailed off somewhat uncertainly and completely failed to notice a twinkle in Kreacher’s eye.

"Has Miss Ginny seen the house yet, Master Harry?"

Slightly wrong-footed by this, Harry asked, "Ginny? No, er… no, not yet, but…" He took a deep breath, wondering how it would sound out loud. “But I am planning to ask her to marry me and move here with me.�

Kreacher’s eyes continued to twinkle. “Kreacher was wondering when Master Harry might be doing that.�

Harry laughed out loud, startled. “You were? Oh. Oh, well, either way, I wanted to ask you what you want to do now.�

At this, Kreacher looked puzzled. “Kreacher doesn’t understand, Master.�

Harry leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, so that his face was on the same level as Kreacher’s. “Here are your options, Kreacher. First, you can stay at Hogwarts. Second, you can come here and work for me, and hopefully for Ginny as well. Or, third, if there is another wizard family you might wish to work for, I will find out for you if that’s possible. Oh, and I’m sorry that my living at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place isn’t an option. I realize that’s your home, but I don’t think I could bear to live there, for a number of reasons.�

Harry took another deep breath and said, “And Kreacher, there is a fourth option I want to offer you. I’m not sure I should, because I’m afraid that you'll take it as an insult, or worse, as a criticism. But, since it’s the option I’d want if I were in your place, I can’t in good conscience not offer it…�

Kreacher stood as tall as his small wizened frame allowed. “Kreacher thinks Master Harry intends to offer Kreacher freedom?�

Harry nodded slowly.

“Kreacher understands that Master has Kreacher’s best interests in mind.� Harry let out the breath he’d been holding. “Kreacher doesn’t want to be free, he wants to work wherever Master wants him.�

Harry sat back abruptly and held his palms out towards the elf. “Wait, wait, this is where the order comes in, Kreacher. Here it is: I want you to decide what you want to do; you, for yourself. Do you understand?� Kreacher nodded slowly, and Harry continued, “Take as much time as you need, then you can come here and let me know what you’ve decided. Okay?� Harry gave the elf an encouraging smile, and stood up from the chair, intent on getting his bag and trunk from the living room and taking them upstairs to the bedroom, and half listening for the loud crack that would indicate that Kreacher had returned to Hogwarts. Not hearing it, he turned back to where Kreacher was still standing by the kitchen table. The elf was gazing at the floor and twisting the edge of the Hogwarts tea towel he wore, but when Harry leaned back into the kitchen, Kreacher looked up at him.

“Kreacher’s made his decision, Master Harry.�

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Already?�

“Kreacher wants to come and work here, at Seven Rowan Lane, for Master Harry. Kreacher wants to work for Miss Ginny too, if Miss Ginny wants that.�

“You sound pretty sure Ginny'll be coming here.�

“Why wouldn’t she, Master Harry? From what Kreacher hears, all Master Harry has to do is ask her.�

Harry laughed a little sheepishly. “I'm not going to ask; I have an idea the range of what you hear. I'm going to ask her, anyway, we'll see. Are you sure about this, Kreacher?�

Again the house-elf stretched up to his full height. “Kreacher is sure. He wants to be with Master Harry and Master’s family. Wherever Master is, that’s Kreacher’s home.�

Harry felt a warmth begin in his chest and spread out through his body, as though he’d swallowed a large gulp of hot butterbeer. He had several questions he planned to ask in the days ahead, and this one had gone far better than he could have hoped for. He went down on one knee in front of the elf. “Well then, welcome home, Kreacher.�

Some while later, while Harry was savoring the process of hanging his clothes on his hangers, in his closet, there was the familiar crack of someone Apparating directly onto Harry's top step. Grateful that he'd remembered to set wards to prevent his Muggle neighbors from being startled by this, Harry hurried downstairs to the sound of the rap of the lion's head door knocker.

Kreacher was closing the door behind Ron and a gust of the continuing snow, and holding out his hands to take Ron's coat when Harry turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hiya, Kreacher, thanks," Ron said as he handed off the snowy overcoat. Kreacher gathered up the folds of wool that covered all of him but his batlike ears, and asked from under the coat if Ron would like some tea. Ron declined, and as Kreacher wrestled the coat onto a hook, Ron gazed appraisingly around the living room and into the kitchen.

"This is nice, Harry, I think you're going to like it here."

"Me too. I haven't had a chance to do much with it yet, but maybe…" Harry trailed off. Ron suppressed a grin, knowing perfectly well whom Harry was hoping would make the decorating decisions in this house.

Harry waved an arm at the chairs and sofa in invitation, and asked, "What kept you? I thought you were coming straight on after work."

Ron, who had slouched into an armchair, sat back up again. " I was. I did. I mean, I…"

"What?" asked Harry, smiling.

"Well, I just stopped for a word with Dad, and with… well… with Kingsley. Minister Shacklebolt, I mean."

Harry grinned now. "I know. I think of him as Kingsley, but I can't bring myself to call him that in public, even though he told us to." Harry perched on the armchair across from Ron, and asked, "So are you finally going to tell me what's been on your mind these past couple months?"

Ron flung himself backward in the chair again, sighing gustily.

"That transparent, am I? I guess so. Okay, mate, it's like this…"

He broke off as there was another rap at the lion's head knocker, and Ron said, "That'll be Hermione, remember she said at lunch that she'd be along too once she finished up at the office." He cast a sidewise look at Harry and asked, "Ginny been to see the place yet?"

Harry composed his face into a mock-stern mask as he rose to greet Hermione. "Not yet. Don't change the subject."

Hermione hurried into the room, cheeks pink from the cold, and ignoring the chair Harry waved her towards, sat down on the floor as close to the fire as she could get. Kreacher hurried in from the kitchen with a steaming mug and handed it to her.

"Hot butterbeer will warm Miss right up."

"Thank you so much, Kreacher, it's getting still colder outside."

When Kreacher had bustled self-importantly back to the kitchen, Hermione gave Harry a mischievous look over the top of her mug.

"So, Harry, has Ginny seen the house yet?"

"NO! Merlin's pants, Ginny hasn't seen the house yet, I'm getting there, all right?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation.

"Please tell me at least one of you has gotten something accomplished. Ron, have you asked Harry what he thinks yet?"

"I was just about to, when you and all the cold air you let in interrupted me."

Ron rolled his eyes. Hermione rolled her eyes as well, and muttered, "Well for heaven's sake don't let me interrupt you," into her mug.

Harry sat down and faced Ron directly, and spread his hands in a let's-have-it-then gesture. Ron took a deep breath, and said in a rush, "The thing is, I've been thinking about leaving the Ministry and going into business with George."

Harry leaned slowly back in his chair; this was not what he had expected at all. Unable to choose among all the possible questions flying through his head, he simply looked at Ron and said, "Er, when you say…-"

Ron looked somewhat relieved that Harry's initial response was no louder than this. He blew out the breath he seemed to have been holding, relaxed a bit and ran his hands through his hair.

"Well, you know how the business has grown, George needs a partner. He's opened the shop in Hogsmeade, and the one in Paris, and he's looking at the markets in Berlin and Rome now…"

"But to work with George, Ron? The pair of you would drive each other mad! He took the mickey out of you non-stop your whole life, him and Fred…"

Harry trailed off and Ron shook his head. "Yeah, but you know how much he's changed in the past few years." He started to grin a bit, and continued, "There's still some George there, it just seems to be channeled mostly into product development. I've been talking to him a good bit about the Berlin and Rome expansion, and he's taken quite a bit of my advice about advertising."

Harry frowned, confused. "He has?"

Ron sat up a little straighter. "The advert campaign leading into the Paris opening was about half mine."

"Blimey, Ron, I never knew that! That expansion made an absurd pile of Galleons for Wheezes! Why did you never tell me you helped with that? That was brilliant, that was!"

Ron's eyes twinkled a bit at the perfect timing for the familiar joke. "Always the tone of surprise. Anyway, George wants me to come aboard as a full partner and run the London and Hogsmeade shops and be in charge of advertising while he handles development. He'll pay me the portion of the Paris adverts I worked on, and we'll be 50-50 partners." Concern came into Ron's voice as he continued, "Also I think he really needs me in other ways than just business. With Fred gone, I'm the brother he's closest to. I'd like to see the old George back a bit."

Hermione had scooted away from the fire, warm now, and was leaning against Ron's legs. She now patted his knee gently, as though in approval.

Harry asked, a little hotly, "I do understand about George, but what about you, Ron? I thought you were happy as an Auror."

"I am, Harry, it's not about that-"

"-and you're a good Auror too-"

"-but not as good as you."

This brought Harry to a full thunderstruck stop. "Ron, no… No, please don't do this because… I mean, I know people pay attention to me… Don't leave a job you're happy with because of that! We could make some changes… I could transfer…"

Ron waved his arms, horrified. "NO! No, wait, all I meant was, I'll never be as good an Auror as you, because you were born for it. You love this job, and you've known you would since we were in fifth year. You have, I don't know, this sense of purpose about it. I work as an Auror, Harry, you are an Auror." Ron looked hard into Harry's face, as though willing his friend to understand. "Maybe I did kind of just go with you into Auror training, it seemed natural at the time, after all the three of us had been through. Maybe I did think, a bit, that there wasn't anything else I'd be good at. But now I've found this business lark, and I think I'm a dab hand at it, and maybe it would be my…" Ron looked at the floor, then at Hermione, as though for her encouragement, then back at Harry. "My best purpose."

Harry, still feeling as though he'd been hit with several Bludgers in rapid succession, asked a bit faintly, "Wasn't there supposed to be a question in there somewhere?"

Ron took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Harry, would you be horribly angry with me forever if I left the Ministry and went into business with my brother?"

They laughed together, a little shakily, and Harry dropped his gaze to where Hermione was still sitting on the floor, leaned against Ron. "What did you say when he asked you about this?"

Ron, who had leaned forward and slid his arms around Hermione's shoulders from behind, grinned happily up at Harry and said, "What she said was… not for anyone else's ears."

Ron and Hermione left soon after, bundled close against the snow. They told him, Hermione excitedly, Ron a little apprehensively, that they were going to try out the new Chinese restaurant a few streets over. Also apparently by pre-arrangement, Ron sent a Patronus message to his parents with Harry's assent to their request to come and see his new house. Harry sat gazing into the fire, still absorbing the new shape of things occasioned by Ron's question, as Kreacher bowed them out the door.



The Weasleys arrived almost immediately, also following a blast of cold air and snow in the front door. Nothing would do for Mrs. Weasley but that Harry give her a complete tour of the new house right away. She exclaimed delightedly over closets, bathroom fixtures, kitchen cabinets, and everything else that caught her eye, while Harry and Mr. Weasley caught each other's eye more and more frequently to exchange amused looks. Mrs. Weasley finally caught one of these and, smiling sheepishly, suggested they retire to Harry's new living room.

Once settled side by side on Harry's couch with glasses of oak-matured mead provided by Kreacher, the Weasley parents began to exchange meaningful looks of their own. Harry tried several times to start a conversation and stumbled over topic after topic, unable to find the right way to begin the question he had planned to ask, needed to ask.

Mrs. Weasley finally sighed, set her glass down and said, "Harry, dear, you have something you want to talk to us about, don't you?"

Harry felt an odd mixture of relief at her taking this out of his hands, and irritation that he was, again, being discussed. He took a deep breath and began speaking, with no idea what was going to come out.

"I wanted to ask you- well, I mean I wanted to ask Ginny… Also, what you think about … I mean…" He gave up for the moment, red-faced, as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley again exchanged a meaningful look.

Mr. Weasley set his glass down as well and looked steadily at Harry. "I think I can help you out a bit here, Harry. You want to ask Ginny to marry you, but you want to ask us what we think about having the Chosen One in the family, the boy who's been at the center of so many mad adventures and is so much discussed in the Wizarding world."

Harry tried to pull himself together. "Yes, that's it exactly, I don't want to put your family through any more, I mean... My life hasn't exactly been quiet… And also, well, her Quidditch career… I don't want to disrupt-"

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Weasley put a hand gently on her arm. Harry was quite unnerved by this, as it seemed that Mr. Weasley was preparing to say something that he had thought a good bit about, perhaps even prepared to say. Mrs. Weasley subsided and then nodded at Mr. Weasley.

"Harry, I'd like you to just listen for a moment, and let me get this said before you comment. Molly and I have discussed precisely what we'd say to you should you ever pose this question to us."

Harry felt as though his heart had stopped beating. Mr. Weasley looked directly into Harry's wide-open eyes and said, "We don't care a single thing for having the Boy Who Lived as part of our family, Harry, nor the Chosen One either."

Harry couldn't breathe. This was far worse than he could have imagined, and he was considering just jumping up and running upstairs to hide under the bed when Mr. Weasley continued, "But there's an incredibly brave and loyal young man, who has faced more things than any wizard his age should have had to face. He's protected his friends and saved the lives of several members of this family and remained kind and generous and humble despite all of it. That young man's name is Harry Potter, and he is so much more than just 'the Chosen One.' If our daughter chooses to marry him, nothing in the world would make us happier."

Harry was almost dizzy with the swirl of emotions that flooded through him as Mr. Weasley spoke. His lungs seemed to unlock, and he took a couple of ragged breaths. It seemed as well that the whirlwind of hope and trepidation that was going though his mind had shown clearly on his face, for Mrs. Weasley got up hurriedly from her seat on the couch and crossed to stand in front of Harry, her hands held out to him. Harry put his hands in hers, and she pulled him to his feet and wrapped him in a hug.

"Harry, dear," she said, her face somewhat muffled against his chest. "We wanted you to understand that we love you, Harry, just for who you are. Even if nobody knew your name, even though everyone knows your name, I'm delighted for Ginny to marry you."

Mr. Weasley rose too, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling. "I've said it before and I'll say it again - the day Ron sat with you on the Hogwarts Express was a good day for the Weasleys. I quite approve Ginny's taste in young men as well."

Mrs. Weasley pushed Harry back slightly, her hands on his shoulders. Harry could see her deliberate effort to regain her bustling, busy mother manner. She sniffled and wiped her face, then turned and pulled Harry over to sit beside her on the couch, with the air of a woman who has some important planning to do.

"Now, Harry, dear, we need to think. Have you given any thought to how you're going to propose? I'm sure we can make it wonderfully romantic."

Harry looked at Mr. Weasley for help, but he held up his palms toward Harry and shook his head, his face a moue of amusement, as if to tell Harry he was on his own with this one.



Some time later, after the proposal and the ring and the potential wedding and Ginny's combining Quidditch and marriage, and of course the new house, had been thoroughly discussed, Mrs. Weasley realized that she still had a dinner to prepare at her own house. Mr. Weasley had wandered off into the house with Kreacher some time previously, and once they had been discovered in one of the upstairs bedrooms discussing the addition of some bookshelves, the Weasleys bid Harry good night and to come as early as he pleased to the Burrow on Christmas morning.

Muffled in coat and scarves and such, Mrs. Weasley turned back at the door and said, "Harry dear, I'm so happy for you with this beautiful house. You've never had a home your whole life, it seems well-nigh time that you finally had one."

Harry felt a great rush of affection for this stout, red-haired woman looking up at him. If he couldn't have had his own mum and dad, then he was very fortunate to have Molly and Arthur Weasley. "But I did, I had the Burrow."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes sparkled suddenly as she held her arms out to hug Harry again. "And you always will."



Christmas Day at the Burrow was as loud and busy and comfortable as it had been in years past. Harry had arrived around nine that morning, bringing Kreacher along to assist Mrs. Weasley with the preparations. At noon, they'd all sat down closely around the Weasley's table, which seemed bowed in the middle under the weight of the dishes and plates and bowls of Mrs. Weasley's wonderful cooking, chattering excitedly at first and then falling silent as they went to work on the food. Harry was very aware of Ginny sitting next to him, of the smell of her, of every time her hair brushed his shoulder, of every movement of her hands above the table, of the weight of the ring in his pocket. She leaned against him as she laughed at something Bill said, elbowed him to demand his verbal support as she argued with Charlie about Quidditch fouls. Harry was content to just sit and be aware of her forever, but there was a question he intended to ask today. He tried to keep his mind off what it would do to his world if she said no, tried to keep that too familiar nervous buzzing from obliterating rational thought. All I can do is ask, he repeated to himself, for what felt like the hundredth time.

Later, after they'd all eaten until they squeaked, as Hermione said, everyone trailed into the living room and draped themselves over the furniture. Harry sat on the floor and looked around at the group, trying to gauge the mood, to sense the right time. He looked at Kreacher sitting in the corner by the fire, and Kreacher's batlike ears went up immediately. Ron and Hermione were cuddled together on the couch, and when he looked over at them, Hermione's eyes lit up and Ron gave him a furtive thumbs-up. Harry caught Mrs. Weasley's eye, and she nudged Mr. Weasley and they both nodded encouragingly.

Well, here goes. All I can do is ask. Harry rose from the floor and walked over to where Ginny was perched on the arm of the couch, idly leafing through a Quidditch supplies catalog, and held out his hands to her. She took them, her face full of questions, and allowed Harry to pull her to her feet. He led her into the open space in front of the fireplace, far too aware of all the eyes on the pair of them, of the expectation in the room. He took what felt like the deepest breath of his life, went to one knee on the floor in front of Ginny, still holding her left hand in his right, and with his other hand brought out the ring from his pocket.

"Ginny, love, I have a question for you…"