The morning sun poked stubbornly through the curtains, landing right on Arthur's face like it had a personal grudge. He groaned, flopping the pillow over his head. On the dresser, Elira stretched her wings lazily, letting out a long, bored hoot.
"You're going to be late if you lie there sulking," she said, her voice clear in his mind.
Arthur peeked out from under the pillow. "I'm not sulking," he grumbled. His hair flared orange — a dead giveaway.
Elira gave a dry chuckle. "Sure. And I'm secretly a hippogriff."
He shot her a look, but couldn't help the tiny smirk tugging at his mouth. Since the trapdoor... since Voldemort... since the stone... everything had changed. Including hearing Elira's sarcasm in full color now.
Outside the door, Lupin moved around, the sounds sharp and final — trunk latches snapping, a suitcase thudding shut. Arthur's stomach twisted.
Elira flapped over to him, landing on the bedpost with a click of talons. "You'll survive," she said, pretending to preen her feathers. "Even if you act like you're off to Azkaban."
Arthur sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair — it was shifting between blue and green now. Nervous. Jealous? Of what?Nervous again. Great.
He hated how easy he was to read.
The door creaked open.
Lupin smiled warmly from the threshold, a little tired around the edges, but trying. "Everything packed?"
Arthur hesitated. The lump in his throat was stubborn, but it wasn't heavy anymore. It was... something different. Hope and fear, all mixed up together.
He nodded, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. Elira landed neatly on the strap, talons digging in just enough to be annoying.
"I'm riding with you," she declared. "Not letting you ruin your life alone. Although I bet the Potter's don't even have a proper perch."
Arthur rolled his eyes but felt his chest loosen slightly.
"Alright, let's go," he said.
Lupin clapped him gently on the shoulder, steering him toward the door. As they stepped outside, the summer morning hit them — golden and bright, as if daring him to start fresh.
Behind him, Arthur could feel Elira adjusting her weight on his bag.
"New house," she said. "Same brilliant me. You'll be fine."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, he almost believed it
The world snapped back into focus with a loud crack, and Arthur staggered a little, blinking against the sudden brightness.
The house in front of him was cheerful enough — a two-story cottage with ivy curling up its brick sides and a bright blue door — but for a second, it felt like too much.
Too new.
Too real.
Beside him, Lupin adjusted his grip on Arthur's shoulder, steadying him.
"Alright?" he asked quietly.
Arthur nodded, not trusting his voice. His hair stayed stubbornly blue.
Lupin offered a small, crooked smile, then squeezed his shoulder once more.
"I'll be back soon. You'll be fine, Arthur."
And with a soft pop, he was gone.
Arthur staggered a step forward, the air he left behind empty and a little cold.
For a moment, Arthur just stood there on the walkway, trying to catch his breath — not from the Apparition, really, but from the knot of nerves sitting tight in his chest.
Elira shifted on his shoulder, her feathers brushing his ear.
"Well," she said, dry as dust. "That was dramatic."
Arthur let out a weak laugh, scrubbing his hands over his face, still trying to understand how she made it through.
Then it hit him — not with a crash, but with a slow, creeping certainty.
He was here.
This wasn't just a visit.
This wasn't just a sleepover or a summer trip.
He was staying.
Living here.
With the Potters.
For how long? Unsure.
Panic fluttered somewhere in his ribs, but he stuffed it down hard.
He squared his shoulders, walked up to the door, and lifted his hand to knock when the door swung open so fast he nearly punched the woman standing there.
"Arthur!" cried Mrs. Potter, beaming so brightly it almost hurt.
She pulled him into a hug before he could even react, squeezing the air out of him.
"Come in, dear, come in! We're so happy to have you!"
Behind her, a cluttered hallway spilled with the smell of fresh bread and something flowery.
Arthur shot a helpless look at Elira, who gave a theatrical sigh.
"Brace yourself," she muttered. "You're about to be loved within an inch of your life."
And for once, Arthur didn't completely mind the idea.
Mrs. Potter ushered him inside with the efficiency of someone who had clearly been waiting by the window for him to arrive.
The hallway was cozy but chaotic — shoes piled by the door, cloaks hanging haphazardly from hooks, and the distant sounds of a child's laughter echoing down the hall.
Arthur hovered uncertainly just inside the threshold, clutching his bag like a lifeline.
His hair flickered nervously blue.
"Oh, don't look so frightened!" Mrs. Potter said with a laugh, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"You're family now, alright? None of that sir-and-ma'am nonsense. I'm Lily — and James will be along in a second if he ever untangles himself from the twins."
Arthur blinked. Twins?
No one had warned him about twins.
At that exact moment, a blur of movement shot down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable crash of something breakable.
"That better not be my wand collection!" James Potter's voice floated from somewhere unseen.
Lily sighed fondly and turned back to Arthur. "Welcome to the madhouse."
Elira ruffled her feathers with a sniff. "I've made a mistake," she said. "They're worse than you."
Arthur stifled a laugh, the tension loosening a tiny bit from his spine.
Before he could decide what to do with his arms or face or life, James Potter appeared — a little older than Arthur had expected, glasses slightly crooked, a baby balanced expertly on one hip and a wild-haired toddler tugging at the hem of his shirt.
"Arthur, mate!" James grinned, somehow looking like he could either save the world or trip over his own feet at any moment.
He shifted the baby higher on his hip and stuck out his free hand.
Arthur, panicking slightly, juggled his bag, Elira, and nerves, before managing a handshake that didn't immediately get him thrown out.
"Good grip," James said approvingly. "You'll need it around here."
"Merlin help us," Elira said, and Arthur had to bite the inside of his cheek not to snort.
James gestured him further inside. "Come on, come on! The guest room's upstairs, right next to Harry's room. He's home for the summer too — you'll meet him later. And if you survive dinner without getting hexed by one of the twins, you're officially one of us."
Arthur smiled, a real one this time, even as his heart thudded madly.
This wasn't going to be easy.
It was loud and messy and slightly terrifying.
But... maybe it could also be good.
As he climbed the stairs behind James — dodging a small, flying toy broom that nearly clipped his head — Arthur felt a tiny ember of something warm spark to life in his chest.
The stairs creaked under Arthur's feet, each step feeling heavier than the last.
At the landing, James nudged open a door with his elbow.
"Here we are!" he announced warmly.
Arthur peeked inside — and froze.
The room wasn't big, but it was his, at least for now.
The bedspread was a deep navy, crisp and neat. A battered desk sat under the window, cluttered already with parchment, quills, and a few old books — as if someone had guessed he'd need a place to write, to be.
Above the desk, a handful of moving photographs were pinned to the wall — smiling faces, waving, laughing mid-motion. Arthur didn't recognize most of them, but there was Harry, younger, soaring on a broomstick, his hair even more of a mess than usual.
And near the window — a small perch, rough but sturdy. Just right for Elira.
Arthur's chest ached.
He shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the words Lupin had left him with still curling in his mind:
"Urgent business, Arthur. Something I have to handle. Just stay with the Potters until I return. Trust me."
No details. No hints.
Arthur hated it — hated the not knowing.
Hated feeling left behind.
Still, Lupin had made it clear:
This isn't forever.
Just until.
Arthur's throat tightened.
No matter how bright the Potters' house was, no matter how warm their smiles, this was only borrowed time.
James must have noticed something in his face, because he hesitated in the doorway.
"Hope it's alright," he said, a little uncertain now. "We weren't sure what you'd like, but... figured we'd start simple. We can always change things."
Arthur swallowed hard and managed a small nod.
"It's perfect," he said hoarsely.
Behind him, Elira gave a low whistle.
"They built me a perch," she said, sounding almost impressed. "Maybe this family does have some taste after all."
Arthur let out a weak laugh, setting his bag down slowly.
The floor creaked — solid and real underfoot.
It grounded him.
James clapped him gently on the back.
"Settle in, mate," he said warmly.
Settle in? Arthur wanted to believe that.
Really, he did.
But part of him couldn't stop glancing at the window — half-expecting to see Lupin's silhouette, stepping back into his life.
Arthur lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
The room smelled like fresh laundry and a hint of lemon polish — clean and unfamiliar.
The mattress was a little too soft, the pillows stacked a little too high.
Even Elira, perched quietly on the dresser now, seemed smaller in this cozy, bustling house.
It was supposed to be temporary.
Lupin had made that clear.
"Just until things settle down," he had said that morning, clasping Arthur's shoulder with a hand that was both reassuring and painfully final.
"I've got some urgent business to handle — nothing you need to worry about."
Business he wouldn't explain, no matter how Arthur asked.
Always so secretive.
Arthur had nodded, because what else could he do?
But now, lying here, the knot in his chest tightened.
Temporary.
He rolled onto his side, staring at the wall.
What if they didn't like him? What if he messed up? What if they realized he was too much trouble?
His hair flickered uncertainly between colors — soft blue to dull gray and back again.
Slowly, the weight of the day dragged at him — his muscles loosening, thoughts slurring at the edges.
He blinked heavily, the sounds of the house around him soft and far away.
And somewhere between one breath and the next, he drifted into sleep.
Arthur woke slowly, the world blurring into focus around him. For a second, he wasn't sure what had disturbed him — the room was still, soft, heavy with the kind of quiet that always felt too suspicious.
Then he caught the whispers.
Faint. Urgent. Very close.
He kept his eyes squeezed shut, willing his breathing to stay slow and even. Through the thin veil of his lashes, the faintest blur of shapes moved around him — small shadows, shifting and fidgeting.
"You're sure he's asleep?" one twin whispered, way too loudly.
"Looks asleep."
"Maybe he's faking."
"How could he be faking?"
Arthur fought the urge to twitch. There was a pause — then a soft poke against his arm. He stayed still.
"See? Dead asleep," one of them said, clearly impressed with himself.
The girl's voice snapped.
"Stop poking him! What if he wakes up and thinks we're burglars or something?"
"Then he can practice his dueling!"
"Yeah, good training!" the twins chimed gleefully.
Arthur almost snorted — almost — but managed to smother it into a tiny grunt that passed for a sleepy sigh.
That earned a muffled shriek and the sound of someone stumbling backward into what was probably a dresser.
The girl gasped.
"You see?! He moved! I told you, you absolute idiots!"
A scuffle of feet, the thump of something falling over.
Arthur risked the tiniest peek through his lashes — just enough to catch a blurred glimpse: The girl had brownish hair pulled back into a messy braid, arms crossed fiercely. The two boys — identical down to their tufty black hair and mischievous grins — were hastily trying to upright a toppled lamp.
"We're doomed," one twin said solemnly.
"We're already dead. Bury me with my broom," the other replied.
The girl huffed and grabbed them both by the sleeves.
"Out! OUT! Before he wakes up and hexes you into next week!"
The boys giggled helplessly as she dragged them toward the door, the sounds of muffled protests fading down the hall.
In their rush, the girl slammed the door shut — hard — breathing out a long sigh of relief on the other side...
...only to realize a beat later that she was still inside.
Arthur opened his eyes fully, watching in silent amusement from where he now sat up against the pillows, arms folded lazily across his chest.
The girl was standing with her back flat against the door, shoulders rising and falling. It was only when she turned slightly — catching sight of him very much awake and very much watching her — that she froze.
Her face flickered through about six emotions in two seconds: confusion, horror, panic, then something like resigned mortification.
Arthur arched an eyebrow, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Thanks for the save," he said, voice low and still rough from sleep.
The girl gaped at him like a caught Niffler.
She looked about a year younger than Harry, her hair a vivid auburn, unmistakably Lily's shade, but her eyes were hazel, warm and bright — just like James' — flicking nervously between Arthur and the door.
Elira gave a quiet, pointed hoot from the dresser, as if asking, "Well? Are you going to say something or just combust?"
The girl opened her mouth — then shut it — then opened it again.
Arthur watched, amused but tired, waiting.
Finally, after what felt like an entire year of silence, the girl managed a strangled,
"Elena. I'm Elena Potter."
Arthur's smirk deepened a fraction. Not because of her name — though it did register somewhere distantly — but because of how much she was clearly dying inside.
He gave a small nod, slow and almost lazy.
"Arthur."
The awkwardness stretched, long and brittle.
Elena shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then blurted out,
"They weren't supposed to come in here, you know. I told them. They don't listen to anything."
Arthur's eyes glinted faintly, but he didn't answer.
She rubbed the back of her neck, cheeks flushed.
"They're usually mostly harmless," she added, like that might somehow fix the situation.
Still, Arthur said nothing. Not unkind, but utterly unreadable.
Elena gave a nervous little laugh, half-turning toward the door.
"I should probably go—"
She caught herself, hand hovering over the knob.
A beat of silence.
Arthur tilted his head, studying her like he wasn't quite sure whether to let her leave or see if she'd combust where she stood.
Elira gave another hoot — sharper this time — making Elena jump slightly.
Arthur's mouth twitched in something dangerously close to an actual smile.
"You're terrible at sneaking around," he said mildly.
Elena gaped at him for half a second, then groaned and dropped her forehead against the door with a thunk.
"I know," she muttered, voice muffled.
Arthur finally let out a low, amused breath — not quite a laugh, but something close enough.
"Could've been worse," he said.
Elena turned her head slightly to look at him, skeptical.
"Worse how?"
Arthur shrugged one shoulder lazily.
"You could've actually poked me."
Her face went crimson.
"That wasn't me," she said quickly. "That was the twins."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, as if to say does it matter?
Elena made an exaggerated sound of frustration under her breath, then straightened up, trying — and failing — to regain her dignity.
"Right. Well. I'm just going to pretend this never happened."
Arthur leaned back against the pillows again, hands behind his head, utterly relaxed now.
"Good luck with that," he said dryly.
Without waiting for her to crumble even further, Elena yanked open the door, shot him one last mortified look, and darted out — leaving Arthur behind with nothing but the lingering sound of her hurried footsteps down the hall.
And, of course, Elira's smug, approving hood
"Looks like life at the Potters is going to be pretty eventful," he muttered to himself, the irony not lost on him.
Elira perched nearby, her yellow eyes gleaming with the usual mischief. "I hope you're not expecting peace and quiet," she thought to him, her tone as sarcastic as his own.
Arthur let out a low, dry chuckle, glancing over at the owl. "Not looking forward to it," he added, voice dripping with reluctance.
Elira's response was a mental snicker. "You'll manage. Besides, you're far too interesting for things to stay quiet around here."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but he couldn't suppress a faint smile. "Great. Can't wait for the drama," he thought dryly.
Another soft hoot echoed in the room, almost like a laugh. The house was quiet again, but Arthur knew that peace wouldn't last long. Life at the Potters had just begun.