When it was first built, it was a small cottage with a small garden, small living room, a small kitchen, two small bedrooms, a small bathroom, and a rather large master bedroom. The family that lived there first was small too. The Mullets, they were called, and after their fourth child, they moved out, in hopes of a larger home. For a while, it had been empty, giving forth as much loneliness as a house possibly could. The corners were cobwebby; dust covered the tops of doors. After a while, the ghoul moved in and the Mullets lowered the price considerably. They lived in Ireland now, and didn't want to be bothered with it. It was after the fifth time that the price was lowered that Molly and Arthur Weasley came to see it.

He was tall and thin, his arms and legs as long as the spiders' that crawled in the closets. She was short, plump, and her swollen stomach suggested that it was only a few months before the house had children in it again. They both had red hair, they both looked happy, and they were very much in love. The house wished that it was clean and sparkling, without the ghoul in the attic. It liked this people, and tried to look like a proper home. It liked these people. A week later, the couple moved in.

With the arrival three months later of baby William, called Bill, the house became more and more comfortable. After Bill's little brother, Charlie, was born, the house wasn't silent at all. It looked like a proper home, four redheads, and a slight clutter on countertops. The house was as happy as a structure of wood and plaster could be. As more and more redheaded children were added to the mix, the Weasleys expanded it, rather than moving out. The house was so glad. It was the farthest thing from the dusty, lonely building it had been a year ago. Now it was more than a building. It was a real home.

When Bill went off to school, the house was a little quieter, but not much. With those troublesome twins, and the new little girl, Ginny, it was still a menagerie. The twins set off quite an explosion one day, that sent their mother running to find them, left Ron crying, and marks in the back of a door. They never did come out. Though most of the children wore hand-me-downs, and the house itself was shabby, it had an air of contentment and love about it.

The children grew older, the house grew ever more cluttered, the house remained as shabby. You could tell that a family lived here, even if they too, like the Mullets, would go away. It was when Ron was twelve, though, and brought home a friend for the summer holidays, that the house heard something that made it nearly burst with pride. "This is the best house I've ever been in," said a scrawny, untidy-haired boy. It was.

The summer after that, it heard Ginny cry in her room. Something terrible had happened at school, whispered her siblings. She was pale and thin, and looked awful. The house wanted to be comforting. It wasn't enough. The family went away to Egypt for a few weeks, and the children went straight to school. The Burrow felt better after a few months, though.

It wasn't really until the summer of 1995 that the first really awful thing happened. Ron and Ginny came home looking shocked and upset. Percy, the third oldest, and Arthur had a huge and terrible row. Percy moved out. Molly cried for weeks. Again when the house wanted to be a comfort, the family moved out. The Burrow nearly got over it, until Christmas, and there was no one there.

That next summer was awful as well. Molly was worried, the twins had left, that horrid French girl moved in, and Percy didn't come back. The Tonks girl hanging around didn't give a brighter feeling, either. At least that Christmas was cheerful. Percy came back, and the house was delighted to see him. Until about three minutes later and he stormed out of the house with parsnips on his glasses. The house would have laughed. Molly cried for a few days, but she cheered up in the end.

As the weeks wore on, Molly seemed to get more and more worried. The house began to feel a kind of despair. There was no happy home anymore. The people living there and eventually the house itself had a feeling of depression. Percy didn't come back, and awful names were whispered in the corners. You-Know-Who. Voldemort. That summer, Ginny came home and cried again. So did Molly. The house wondered if it was a thing now.

As June turned into July, the French girl came back. She and Bill were getting married in a month's time. It was still dreary and sad, but the upcoming wedding cheered things up a little. Then came the day when people arrived in pairs, almost all of them with some injury. One of the twins lost an ear, and the two cried that night. No one knew but them and the house.

Ginny seemed happier, and one day she kissed the black haired boy in her room. The house wouldn't have told anyone, but Ron interrupted and the secret was out anyway. The house got to be comforting that time, when Ginny cried again. The pipes played soothing noises for her, the ghoul was less noisy.

It was the house that comforted the next night, when masked men interrupted the beautiful wedding. Of course, Molly cried. The house really felt the despair, now. Ginny went off to school, but Ron didn't come back. Molly cried for both of them. The house cried too, in its silent way.

At Easter, they left, saying things about another house, a place to hide. The rooms were empty, and as dust began to coat the surfaces, the house felt lonely for the first time since the Mullets left. As the weeks wore on, more dust gathered. The house sat there. There was no sign that the Weasleys would ever come home.

In May, five figures were seen on the horizon. Two were tall, one was short and plump and two were more medium. One had silvery hair. The others were redheads. The house was so excited. It looked like they had come home. Something, though, was wrong. The expression on each of their faces was of the utmost grief. Molly wasn't the only one who cried. The twin, George, who lost an ear, was without his partner in crime. He went straight upstairs, to his room and cried more. He sobbed harder than anyone had ever sobbed in the Burrow. He screamed his brother's name. That's when the house knew. Fred was gone.

Slowly, the house filled with more Weasleys. They all cried. The black haired boy was there again, but this time, he didn't kiss Ginny in her room. He held her until she had no more tears, all the while crying himself. George didn't leave his room, Molly cried, and Percy, who was finally home, cried too.

The house felt grief. Awful grief. But slowly, there were less tears. One day, at Easter, George smiled. Molly's eyes slowly dried. Ginny and the bushy haired girl came home from school, and made the house even happier. A year and a few months later, Bill and Fleur, the French girl, told them about the person expected in May. Molly cried, but this time, she did so happily. The house was happy. It was all better.

Now, the Burrow is a large house, with a large garden, many small bedrooms, a small bathroom, and a larger master bedroom. All sorts of people visited, spilling in and out of the rooms. The house, like its owners, was content. Happy, loved and content.