Magical houses are curious things. Some of them are larger on the inside than on the outside. Some, like the Weasley household, are architectural miracles that pose quite a mystery for the logical-minded, and some are so steeped in magic that you can feel it coming out of the walls.
This one is a simple thing, quite plain and Muggle, but there are five doors that lead inside. One, the kitchen door, opens to a charming little backyard with nothing more magical than a couple of gnomes and some biting rose-bushes by the stream. The other doors, however, are quite curious, for however long you wait outside them you will never see them open.
They are, however, frequently used, especially today. If one were to actually get inside the house they would see guests pouring in from all the doors.
A large troop of redheads of all sizes were the first to arrive from the front door, offering a clear view of the charming town of Ottery St. Catchpole before they closed it behind them. The children were told to play quietly downstairs while the grown-ups filed up the stairs, all talking to each other at once. A couple of protests came from the children, but no one paid attention and they eventually busied themselves with a “dueling game” of the type that destroys furniture very quickly.
This group of redheads was soon followed by three young men in healer robes who came in from the door that opens into the sitting room and behind them loomed a large, grand building with many young witches and wizards milling around with books and emergency healing kits slung over their shoulders. Although dressed like any other Healers in the Academy these three men were, in fact, the namesakes of Zabini, Nott, Longbottom Healer Institute.
The door nearest the den opened soon after and a handsome young redhead with burns all over his arms ushered a plump, blushing young woman inside. A strong gust of wind blew in from behind them and roars could be heard before he forced the door closed. He reached for a jar of yellowish paste on a shelf near the door and rubbed some of it on his most recent burn before heading up the stairs. The woman lingered downstairs because she knew there would be too many people and did not want to add to it. She clutched her own protruding stomach a little protectively. She was soon joined by a beautiful blond-haired woman who came down the stairs complaining about “unhealthy conditions” and fanning herself constantly. They did not talk much, but there was a companionable sort of silence of people who have nothing to say to each other, but don’t mind the familiar company.
A knock came at the last door and two identical redheaded men rushed down the stairs and welcomed the new arrivals, closing the door on the colorful Wizarding Street and the large clearly visible sign announcing that Florean Fortesque’s was having a sale today before any of the children could catch a glimpse of it.
“Come on then, Ronniekins,” one of the twins said aloud ushering the newest couple up the stairs, “Everyone’s already upstairs and the charming little addition to the family has already arrived.”
“Please don’t tell me it has blond hair!” the man referred to as ‘Ronniekins’ gave the daughter in his arms to one of her older and equally redheaded cousins.
“Never mind the hair,” the other twin exclaimed, “Wait till you hear what they’ve decided to call it.”
“The first name wouldn’t make a difference, anyway; it’d still have Malfoy attached to it.”
“Shush!” someone hissed at them as they entered the packed room. A beautiful redheaded young woman was asleep on the bed in the center of the room and beside her was a stunned looking man who could not take his eyes off the tiny creature lying beside her.
Soon the twins caused so much chaos in the packed room that the child awoke and began to cry, at which point his mother woke to calm him. A plump old woman, apparently the grandmother, banished everyone out with a glare and left with a vague comment about dinner, closing the door gently, but firmly, behind her.
The only occupants left in the room, other than the couple to whom it belonged, were two men in healer robes. One was looking out the window and muttering the word “Godfather” over and over and the other summoned a book, told his friend to stop it before he woke the child, and settled down to read quietly in the armchair with a small grin.
The stunned father was still apparently in shock, staring open-mouthed at the little child. Finally, when the mother seemed to have fallen asleep again he leaned in and brought his mouth beside the impossibly tiny ear. Checking to make sure no one was listening he whispered: “I’m proud of you, son.”
The woman smiled sleepily, her eyes still closed.
