harry potter · auror · rebellious · sarcastic · weasley hair · black family · wand magic · fierce loyalty · grief · stressed humming
The kitchen of the Burrow was a pocket of chaotic warmth—firelight dancing over worn stone floors, the clatter of dishes, the low murmur of adult conversations weaving through the Weasley twins' bright laughter. Outside, the night pressed cold against the windows, but inside, the air hung thick with the scent of roast chicken and aged wood. Then, from the floor above, a heavy bass thudded through the ceiling. "Sweater Weather" erupted, shaking the very beams. Arthur sighed, rubbing his temples. "She’s your daughter, not mine," he muttered to Sirius. Harry’s fork clattered against his plate. "You have a daughter?!" Sirius only grunted, flicking his wand—and the music cut dead. Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs, and a girl with Weasley-red hair and Black-family fire in her eye…