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Socks
By Deadptarmigan

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-DH/AB
Characters:None
Genres: Drama
Warnings: None
Rating: R
Reviews: 41
Summary: When Dumbledore dies in the middle of Harry's sixth year, it changes everything. Years later, the war is over, but it is desperately hard to go home again.
Hitcount: Story Total: 22221; Chapter Total: 1696
Awards: View Trophy Room






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YULETIDE CURSES

21 December 1999

SIX MONTHS AND BEYOND

Peter Capulet

Six months after the defeat of You-Know-Who, and the Wizarding World has changed quite a lot, and yet, not enough.

The Daily Prophet remains located in a subbasement of the Ministry of Magic, though we are looking to find new premises in Muggle London. This is quite a departure from our former location in Diagon Alley before the new regime insisted on such close supervision that we made the move to the Ministry of Magic. But don't you worry, gentlewizards and witches, we will continue to report the news of our world — we simply need a cheap location from which to do so. As rebuilding efforts continue in Diagon Alley (more on that later), it is easier to find a building to lease in the Muggle world.

The former Enforcer Academy in the North Sea is still running, though Kingsley Shacklebolt has control of it, and it is firmly wrestled away from the control of the Death Eaters. "We have dreams and plans for the Academy," Shacklebolt, 37, told us during an informal interview. "The International Confederation of Wizards has looked over it, and we can confirm that we are looking into continuing the rigorous Auror training — this time, with an eye to stamp out darkness, rather than foment it." It has long been an interest of the Ministry to encourage international cooperation, and the new Auror Academy — which may be chosen as the site to train an international team of wizards — may be just the way to do so.

Another form of international cooperation shown in the past weeks? Delegations from the United States, Canada, Brazil, and Italy arrived last month, and we can finally reveal the nature of their mission. "They came to make a donation of goodwill," a representative of the Ministry, Percy Weasley, told us. "They knew we were having trouble rebuilding Diagon Alley out of the rubble, and together, they donated enough to make our financial worries disappear." This news could not have come at a better time. Regular readers of the Daily Prophet will remember the outcry when it was revealed the Ministry could not seize the funds of convicted Death Eaters and use those galleons for necessary repairs. Our friends from around the world made it unnecessary to rewrite wizarding law, and set a dangerous precedent. We have it from a likely source that Diagon Alley will reopen at the beginning of February.

If only we had such good news regarding St. Mungo's. We have it on good authority from a curse-breaker who refuses to be named that breaking the Web remains a top priority for every curse-breaker in the country. "We're at it night and day, mate," said the curse-breaker, who met me for a pint at a Muggle pub. "We've barely enough time to hang up our cloaks at home before we're at it again. Devilish tricky, it is" Don't we know it? St. Mungo's, as we all know, has been impenetrable to wizards, witches, healers, and staff since the day everyone already inside made the decision to transfer the wounded to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I think I speak for everyone at the Daily Prophet when I say that I wish everything were simpler. You-Know-Who is gone, defeated by Harry Potter, but the devastation he wrought during his time in power has long-lasting consequences. A battered magical society asks, "When will it be truly over? When will we be home?"

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

23 December 1999

"I just want to see the new premises," Hermione said for the fifth time. She was excited enough that she was practically skipping — and not just because that was what it took to keep up with longer-legged Ron Weasley. "The premises of the Daily Prophet has never been located anywhere near anything Muggle," she continued. She thought she heard Harry groan, but honestly, this was interesting. Besides, he still had issues with his wounds from the last battle. That was why he was groaning, not because he wasn't interested. Hermione nodded firmly. "When the publication first began, it was located in the sitting room of Mr. and Mrs. Hopkirk — oh, do you suppose Mafalda Hopkirk was related to them? — in Godric's Hollow-"

"Godric's Hollow?" Harry cut in.

"Yeah, mate, it was probably close to the ruins of your mum and dad's house," Ron said helpfully.

Hermione smacked him. "Insensitive, Ron!"

"Oh, that's nice," Ron said, rubbing his chest. "Hit the bloke who recently had no internal organs. Why don't you kick Harry in his leg while you're at it?"

Harry stuck out his leg. "Here, Hermione," he said. "Go ahead."

Hermione could not help but laugh a little. The truth was, all three of them had scars and nightmares: Harry and his leg, Ron and his brush with an excruciating death, and Hermione had a horrible scar from elbow to wrist. Admittedly, that was not technically a war wound, but she pretended it was. Ron and Harry backed her up, as they always did. The nightmares were worse than the physical realities of war, truth be told. She glanced up at Ron's face; a Muggle car drove by, making it easy to see. When they were younger, his face would relax into a smile when he was distracted — Quidditch usually filled his head. Now, after the war, it tightened into grim lines whenever he thought he was not being watched.

"Stop thinking about it," Harry ordered.

"Thinking about what?" Hermione demanded.

"You know what. Whenever you look up at Ron, you-"

"We're here," Ron said shortly.

It was located on a quiet lane, and Hermione saw instantly how well-suited it was. A few streets over, and it would be located in what the Muggles called "slums". But here there were lawyers' offices, a few secondhand stores, a pub, and a flower shop. "Yes, I think this will do quite nicely," said Hermione. "It's perfect, really."

Harry grunted. "Are there any wards? We're not too far from St. Mungo's."

Out of habit, Hermione looked around for curious onlookers before she brought out her wand. She performed the enchantment. A smoky red mist appeared like a sudden fog, coalesced, and then drifted to the pavement. Where once there was nothing in front of the new Daily Prophet offices, there was now a clear line separating it from Muggle London. Hermione looked closer, then stepped away. "I'd want Bill to look over it," she said, "but the wards are rudimentary at best." Harry's reminder made her wary, however, and she was loathe to cross the barrier.

The three stood there in silence for a few moments.

Often, when Hermione was drifting off to sleep, she listed all the wards she knew of. Ron called this a quirk. Hermione knew it was the way she remembered those who had been tangled up in it. It was a travesty, still, that St. Mungo's — the greatest wizarding hospital in the world — was silent and empty. Bill and other curse-breakers were working furiously around the clock to break down the terrible Web, but all these months later, it had yet to be done.

"Why don't we head on over to that pub?" Ron lifted an arm and pointed across the street. "Maybe after a couple of pints we won't be so damned moody."

Hermione had her misgivings, but let Ron lead her across the street, Harry right behind them. The pub was cheerily lit, and decorated rather outlandishly for Christmas. It was as though Father Christmas himself had come into the pub, gotten merrily drunk, and spread cheer willy-nilly through the entire building. Snowflakes decorated the windows, red and green bulbs hung from the door, and the all-too-lifelike reindeer head greeted them with "Happpppppppppppy Christmas" sign hung around its severed neck. Hermione pressed her free hand to her heart — it felt rather light all of a sudden.

"Rather lot of Muggles in here," Ron observed.

"I think everyone had the same idea you did," said Harry.

It was difficult to talk in a sea of people waiting for a seat, and Hermione let her eyes wander. A rather loud bulletin board was chock full of notices and such: "Flatmate wanted, 3 bedroom, 2 bath", "Lost Dog", "DOCTOR CAPALDI'S CARNIVALE EXTRAORDINAIRE: THREE NIGHTS ONLY, GET YOUR TICKETS". "Look," Hermione bumped Ron's arm. "Did you know that carnivals transported loads of goods for-"

"Quiet a moment, I'm trying to find a path through this mess," Ron, who didn't like crowds in between him and his beer, said. Hermione smirked and said nothing. It took longer than she expected; Hermione managed to memorize the carnival information, the mobile number of the person missing the dog, and the address of the flat. She was just starting up a new mental list — Chores to be Done Before Christmas — when a spot at the bar opened up. Ron shoved them through, and rounded up three swivel-backed chairs, while Hermione admired the length of his arms.

She squeezed his muscle. "You've got quite the reach, you know that, don't you?" She said in approval. "Thanks, I needed to sit."

"We'll have three — I don't know," Ron said to the scruffy, older bartender. He was rather large, and had a mustache that looked like the handlebar on Sirius's old motorbike. "What's good here?"

"Everything's good here, mate," the bartender said with an excess of cheer. "And you"-he pointed at Ron-"drink free. Redheads don't pay when I'm behind the bar, that's the rule."

Ron, stunned, only stammered.

Harry, who was used to being given free things, stepped in smoothly. "We'll just have ale, please," he said. "Plenty of it."

Three ales were set before them with a swiftness that Honeydukes could only hope to replicate — quite a feat, considering the bartender was a Muggle. "Me name's Swishbaggle," he said to Ron, "If you're still here when I go on my break, just tell the next gent I said you drink free. Remind 'im about the redhead rule."

"Clearly, the Weasleys have not been drinking in the right establishments," said Ron, when Swishbaggle left. "Where has this Muggle been all my life?" Hermione smiled, reached out, and played with the errant lock of red hair hanging over his ears.

"You deserve a free drink now and again," Hermione said. "Or always."

"I agree," Harry said quietly.

Ron turned wide blue eyes on them. "You don't think it's a bit odd? What if he's got a hate for redheads, and the ale's poisoned?"

"Because that's likely," Harry snorted.

Ron brought his wand out. "I'm checking," he said grimly. "I'm fond of my innards, I don't want them going on walkabout again."

"Be careful," she hissed, and looked around anxiously. Other than an odd look on Swishbaggle's face, no one in the cramped little pub appeared to have noticed the big red-haired man tapping a wand on the bar. Perhaps Swishbaggle is just odd, she decided, when the man went into the back and came out with a bucket of sliced limes. By the time she was done with the safety precautions, Ron had cast the spell, decided the ale was just fine, and had tucked his wand away.

He smirked at her.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.

"Merlin, you two just need to get married already," Harry said, hiding a grin with his pint.

Hermione smacked him. "We'll get married when we're good and ready, and not a moment earlier. We'll both have steady employment, and be able to make a down payment on a cottage — I do not want to start my married life in a flat. I'd say we are three years, perhaps two if we really push for it, from the goal. And then we'll get married."

"What she said," said Ron. "But if I asked her to marry me tomorrow, she would."

Hermione flushed. "Probably," she admitted. Harry laughed.

"Enough taking the mickey out of us," Ron grinned at Harry. "What happened to looking for your closet girl?"

"I do look for her! Every chance I get. Don't you remember at that stupid soiree Kingsley made us go to? I asked fourteen different women if they knew what the Mirror of Erised was." Harry's jaw tightened. "I have no clue where to even start doing more than that..." he said softly. "Moody didn't keep any records at all, he kept it all up here"-Harry tapped his forehead, right near his scar–"so I have no way of finding other Order members who can't come forward because of the charm, you know that. I keep thinking if I could just get into St. Mungo's-"

"-you and me both," interrupted Ron. "The entire wizarding world wants to get into St. Mungo's."

Glass broke. Hermione drew her wand without even thinking. Battlefield reflexes had saved her life a time or two. Movement on her right and left said that Harry and Ron were the same way. All three of them stared at the bartender, who had dropped the glass, and was now gaping at them.

Swishbaggle licked his lips. "Did you say... St. Mungo's? Is that anything like — like Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Hermione's brows tightened. "You're a Muggle, though," she breathed.

"My daughter," Swishbaggle said simply, tears standing in his eyes. "My daughter, he's — he's different. Like you, I think."

The story was told in a hushed voice. Eleven year-old Finnella Swishbaggle received her letter to Hogwarts with a personal visit from a professor ("She was tall, looked kind of... pruny," said Swishbaggle. "Musta been Professor McGonagall," said Ron), who warned the family that it was unsafe for Finnella not to be trained to use her magic, and equally unsafe for her to go to Hogwarts. As a family, they decided Finnella would go to Hogwarts ("We very nearly never saw her again," Barrow said tearfully. "We thought we was doing the right thing — we knew she were different, y'see, always makin' things float and whatnot."). Professor McGonagall fixed Finny up with a new family tree ("She hadta make sure we weren't on it," said Swishbaggle sadly.), and she left for Hogwarts. Her parents did not hear from him until he stumbled into the family home, cold, shaking, and terrified.

"We got outta here at that point," Swishbaggle finished. "Me sister's still in the family business — fishing, you know — and we got on a boat to Greece - well, we didn't sail the whole way. Finny were terrified and wouldn't talk about how she got outta Hogwarts, but we found some bits of red hair on her cloak. Said it belonged to the one who saved her. That's why, when I started up this place, I let every redhead drink for free."

Hermione sat, stunned. It amazed her how much the war affected everyone. The last thing on her mind when she'd walked in was finding a Muggle man who'd had to flee because his young daughter was a witch. "That's... amazing," she said, breathless. Tears that matched the bartender's sprang into her eyes. "How wonderful that your family is safe. Finny is safe, isn't she?"

"Oh, yes," Swishbaggle said. "She's with her mother right now. She doesn't... she doesn't want anything to do with Hogwarts, or that world, though. "

"I think that story deserves another round of ale — I'm buying this time," Ron said thickly. "And we'll drink to a Happy Christmas. And tell your daughter... we aren't all like that."

"I knew you aren't," Swishbaggle said simply. "You have evil ones and good ones, just like the rest of us.

"This was exactly what I needed," Hermione said, when Swishbaggle had left to grab them more ale. "What with — with Tonks gagged by Moody's charm, and everyone else who still can't come forward as members of the Order of the Phoenix, and — everything. The losses, the death. Everything. It reminds me why we even joined the fight to begin with-"

"Well, I sort of had to," Harry said. "But yeah, this is brilliant."

Hermione leaned into Ron's side, and he obliged her by wrapping his arm around her. "Happy Christmas, you two," she said softly.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

23 December 1999

The Lupin house was painted a dusky rose (Tonks had wanted hot pink, but had agreed to a compromise), and was located just over a couple rolling hills from the Lovegoods. On a nice day, Bill could have Apparated to the Burrow, and then hiked over to tell the Lupins his news. But snow fell, promising a white Christmas.

He Apparated to the front gate. "Hello!" He called up to the house.

Tonks opened the door. She wore a dressing gown, though it was after four in the afternoon. Her hair was a light brown, and hung lank around her pale face. Bill paused, momentarily surprised. It had been a misery for Tonks, he knew, but she'd always put a brave face on it… I suppose that was just in public, thought Bill. He should have known.

"What is it you want, Bill?" she asked dully.

Where was the fun-loving girl he'd met at school and had so many adventures with? "Remember the Cursed Vaults?" he blurted out.

"Of course I remember the Cursed Vaults, you git," she said indignantly. "Tulip was over visiting the other day…"

He smiled ruefully. "That was right about when I really decided I wanted to be a Curse-Breaker. All of that adventure, searching for artifacts until we barely had the energy for our studies… that was what made me catch the fever." He tugged at his earring. "But a lot of curse-breaking is studying… it's research. It's reading old magical texts until you're doing it in your sleep. And it's knowing that in the wrong hands… even if for the right reason… a charm can be a curse."

Tonks's eyes widened. "REMUS!" she shouted. "Is it–are you really saying?!" her cheeks flooded with color, and she suddenly looked healthier, more vibrant somehow.

Ten minutes later, he was in their untidy living room, explaining the procedure. He had up a magical image of a brain. "Here is where the block is," he pointed at a shadowy part. "I've spent the last four months surveying the members of the Order that did not have it removed, and everyone had this in common." It was the size of a knut. It seemed to pulsate even as they watched.

"Amazing that we can see it," Tonks said, awed.

"I knew it had to be in the brain, to have exerted this much influence for this long," murmured Bill. "In fact, there is a small possibility that it will gradually break down naturally. But there is an equal possibility that it could, well… that it could explode. In that case, it will be like a stroke, and will need to be treated at St. Mungo's."

"Too bad St. Mungo's isn't open," said Remus. He tapped his chin, and heaved a sigh. "It's not as though I don't trust you, Bill. But this is highly experimental, and this is my wife and Teddy's mother."

"I trust him," Tonks blurted. A tendril of purple hair grew out from her temple. "I trust him."

Remus looked over at her, a question writ clearly on his face.

"Rakepick," she said simply. Nothing more than that.

Remus closed his eyes and nodded.

"I'd like to start right now, if this is all right with you," said Bill. He had spent several hours in meditation today. He was ready for the procedure to come.

Tonks nodded her head sharply. "Let's do it. Do it now."

Bill touched his wand to the top of her head. A slender tendril of magic uncurled from his wand. It looked like smoke, with tiny stars hidden inside of it. It passed easily through her skull. Bill sang to it. He guided it with song. He'd learned that long ago, from an immensely talented Egyptian wizard, who performed magic that was more akin to miracles. Music brings the heart to magic, he'd said. And here was his heart, wanted to heal one of his oldest friends from a curse.

Remus had his hand tight on Tonks's shoulder when she screamed.

It was a terrible sound.

Bill almost faltered, but the music still held him and he remained strong. Even when Tonks screamed again, in agony.

"You're torturing her!" Remus roared.

"GET IT ALL OUT!" Tonks shouted.

After what felt like days, Bill finally lowered his wand. His hands shook, and he felt cold. So cold he was numb. He was in shock, his mind processed dimly. Tonks had quieted long ago, and was now staring blankly. She blinked every now and again.

"How long?" asked Bill.

"Four hours," Remus said hoarsely. "Four fucking hours, Bill. If my wife — if my wife is gone, if her brain couldn't handle it, I will–"

"I was in the Order of the Phoenix," whispered Tonks. Then she started to cry — not the tears of agony, but quiet sobs that somehow hurt even more. Bill had never seen Tonks quite so undone, not even during the worst of their adventures at Hogwarts.

"I was in the Order of the Phoenix," she said again, her voice stronger. "I was in the Order of the Phoenix, and I know how to take the wards on St Mungo's down!"

24 December 1999

Percy Weasley slunk into Diagon Alley in the dead of night quite like an intruder. It was like entering a graveyard for wizard shops. Dark and unhappy looking storefronts hunched over broken cobbles and stacks of wood and stone. It was easy to pretend that the wreckage from recent rebuilding efforts were instead the rubble from a short, though furious battle, with Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

He pulled the packet of papers out of his cloak, and checked the address again. Percy knew very well where Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was located: He'd been to the WWW several times on Ministry business — always when the girl, Verity, was working. Percy experienced a moment of regret at his past actions, and the packet of papers — the Last Will and Testament of Fred and George Weasley — was suddenly very heavy.

Fred and George's last laugh at the expense of Percy was willing to him their store. Percy had not approved of the time they'd spent making practical jokes and such — they never took life seriously enough. They were talented wizards, both of them. Some of the things they'd come up with had saved the lives of Ministry officials, but up until Percy had learned of their death, he'd thought they were wasting their talent.

Percy bent his head against the wind, swallowed his regrets, and marched up the crooked, broken street to their store. It did not do to wallow in regret, not when he had an appointment waiting. WWW was closer to the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron than he'd remembered. With the shops dark, and the crowds gone, what had once seemed an endless maze was actually quite small indeed.

His appointment was waiting for him.

"Ah, Jordan," he said.

"Weasley," Lee Jordan said coldly. "I didn't think you'd actually show up."

"We made an appointment," Percy said. His feelings were very raw, but it was easy to maintain an air of haughtiness — he'd done it nearly all his life. His analyst called it a defense-mechanism. Audrey was a Muggleborn witch not much older than him, spent most if not all of her time in the Muggle world, and had managed to pinpoint his personality exactly. He did not pay her nearly enough, and after this transaction was through, he'd hardly be able to pay her anything at all.

Jordan spit on the ground, and pointed a finger at him. "I'm only doing this because I want to get the hell out of here." His jaw worked furiously. "There's nothing for me here."

Percy eyed him. Clearly, this man had issues beyond selling his half of a wizarding shop. "Are you in some kind of trouble?" he asked. "I'm sure there are people who can help-"

"At the Ministry?" Jordan snorted. "Fuckers barely know what they stand for."

Percy said nothing.

"Let's do this," Jordan said. "Where do I sign."

Percy made no more effort to speak to the young man. He pulled out the required paperwork that Marluk Dunne had given him. "It's all been prepared, all you have to do is sign here, here, and here." With astonishing trust, the younger man signed without any discernible hardship — if he had any misgivings or regrets, they were long gone. "The money has already been transferred to your account at Gringotts."

"I know, I checked earlier," Jordan said indifferently. He retrieved a broom from behind a broken pillar. He mounted it, and then looked back once more at the dangling W and varnished sign. "They loved this place. What — What are you going to do with it?" his tone betrayed a hint of sadness.

"I'm going to reopen it," Percy said gently, ignoring the way his heart suddenly beat faster. It was the first time he'd spoken those words aloud. The first time he'd made his intentions clear. It was thrilling in a totally unexpected way.

Jordan was first astonished, then accepting. "Yeah, yeah. I wish I could do that. But..." his voice trailed away. "I can't stay," he said. "I've got to get out of here. Everthing's just bottled up inside, and this place"- he spread his arms as if to encompass all of Diagon Alley, all of England-"is toxic."

"Have a Happy Christmas, Jordan," said Percy.

"Yeah. You too."

A minute later, all that was left in Diagon Alley of Lee Jordan was his signature in three different places. Percy owned Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. It was a daunting task set before him, but Percy pushed away thoughts of inadequacies. He drew his wand, whispered a charm, and watched the snow brush away. He followed the path he'd made, found the door, opened it, and stepped into an entirely different life.

He thought — he hoped — the twins would have wanted this.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

25 December 1999

Harry was desperately miserable.

The Burrow, always a merry, busy little place was not what it once was. The rooms were silent — no Fred and George to blow things up — the faint smell of gunpowder was gone, and even the ghoul in the attic was quiet ("He might have died," Charlie confided in Harry. "We're all too afraid to check."). Oh, Mrs. Weasley had gone through all the proper motions: the house was clean, the Christmas supper was delicious, but everyone knew the place should be overrun with loud-mouthed, fast-talking, arguing, teasing, merry redheads. Instead, only three of Arthur and Molly's children were there, and the other four — well, their memories were there, and it hurt.

The twins were gone. Percy had never come home, and Ginny was gallivanting around the world. She'd at least sent a little note — a postcard of a Muggle beach, with the words "Love from, Ginny" and nothing else. It sat on the mantle like a mockery of the love her family had for her. Harry, an orphan, had no idea how she had turned her back on them after all they had done to protect her. ("But see, that's exactly it," Hermione had said the night before, during one of Ron's rages. "She wanted to be in the thick of it. She wanted to fight. And she's furious with us for not letting her.") Harry understood feeling impotent, but Ginny was selfish for letting it overtake her.

Thinking of Ginny, and everything else the Weasleys had lost was in no way conducive to proper holiday cheer, so he turned to the person next to him. "How's the baby?" He asked Fleur. He'd tried to inject some amount of happiness and tidings-of-joy whatnot into his voice, but it just sounded fake.

"Ze baby, she is doink well," Fleur patted her belly, which looked quite large to Harry's unpracticed eye. She looked ready to have the baby at any moment. "Three more months, and ve vill meet 'er at last!" She lowered her voice. "Zis pregnancy, no one haz varned me what to expect. I feel sick, I feel 'appy, I cry, I cry, and I cry, and always Beel pats me and says, 'Zank Merlin it eez not me!'"

Harry chuckled. "I'm glad it's not me, either. Have you any idea what you'll name the baby?"

Fleur nodded. "Oui, but ve are not telling. For ze bad luck."

Privately, Harry thought the Weasleys needed all the luck they could get. He glanced around the room again. He pictured it in a year's time: all was the same, except there was a silvery haired baby for the adults to coo at. Maybe Ginny would even be back by then? He could picture her holding the baby, and telling her all sorts of stories of the mischief Weasley girls could get up to... if the baby was a girl-

"Eets not ze same, is eet?" Fleur broke into his thoughts.

Harry cleared his throat. "It's not. It's... really not."

"I miss ze twins," Fleur said. Then an uncharacteristically ugly look crossed her face. "I wish zey were here, but no, I do not miss Percy. Or Ginny. I zink zat zey should just... stay away." She waved her arm at the postcard. "For months, nozing. Zen zis stupid postcard. Beel is furious." Her normally lovely face was bright red, and there was something in her eyes that reminded Harry how frightening veela could become once angered.

Once electricity started to gather in that long, silvery hair, Harry broke in. "Where is Bill?" he asked desperately. The storm receded, and the sun broke over Fleur once more.

"Ah, my love, he eez hard worker," she said, settling back in her seat, and rubbing her belly again. "He haz surprise for Molly and Arthur."

Harry's estimation of Bill rose. The man did the work of ten wizards, both on the charm Moody had performed on members of the Order of the Phoenix, and on the Web, and still managed to be a loving husband and future father. He was probably the most like Arthur, though with his mothers temper, as evidenced by his increasingly vocal disgust for his sister's behavior. He wondered what kind of surprise he had planned for his parents, but, knowing Bill, it would be perfect. It would raise their spirits.

For the first time since he'd arrived that day, Harry had a genuine smile on his face.

"You are hard worker, too," Fleur observed, suddenly sly. "Why do you not have girlfriend? You should bring a girl home for Molly to coo after."

Suddenly tongue-tied, Harry stuttered. "Um, uh- The war. I haven't got time," he said feebly. An image of Nosy rose in his mind. She was never far away, it seemed. He dreamed of her often, and she looked different every time. He'd done everything he could to find her — more than he'd let on to Ron and Hermione — but she eluded him. "There was someone, but I can't find her," he found himself admitting.

Fleur's lip curled. "Eet ees not Ginny you pine for, no?" she said. "Because-"

"It's not Ginny," Harry confirmed.

"What's not Ginny?" Ron ambled over. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "We're eating outside, Dad says. Better get out there, Charlie says he's hungry enough to eat everything. Hey, Fleur, where's Bill? And Remus and Tonks said they'd be here too, but Mum says we can't wait much longer."

"'elp me up, Ronald," Fleur demanded. "They'll be 'ere when they get 'ere."

"You're really working on sounding like a mum, aren't you," Ron said good-naturedly, as he helped Fleur up from her seat. "'ere, let me 'elp you and your belly out ze door."

"Oh, Ron," Fleur said fondly. "Never change."

"Her mood swings are dizzying," Ron said in a low voice to Harry once they were out on the front lawn. Harry nodded in agreement.

Muggles would never eat outside on a winter day, not normal Muggles, anyway. And probably most wizarding families would opt to eat indoors. But Arthur and Molly had outdone themselves. Torches were firmly planted in the ground, and it was pleasantly warm from heating charms. A shabby, green and red tablecloth covered a huge wooden table, and cozy chairs were placed all around it. Fleur sank into one of these gratefully, and Hermione and Molly chatted as they orchestrated a complicated dance of plates and silverware with their wands. Arthur had a look of delight on his face as he cut the turkey. "Look, boys!" He brandished a vibrating knife in his hand. "I bought an ekeltronic knife!"

"And you're going to cut your eye out with it," Molly said, but her eyes were twinkling.

But Harry saw her face fall when they all sat down. Even Charlie — who was large enough for two men, it seemed — could not make up for the fact that so many chairs were empty. Gloom sidled in, threatening to send the Christmas cheer off to another family, one that had not lost quite so many people in the war. Smiles slid off faces, eyes darted to empty chairs, and Harry thought of the stark postcard on the mantle. A little burst of anger popped in his stomach.

Three POPS! dispelled the sudden gloom.

Harry's head swiveled toward the gate — through which three very welcome figures entered. Four, he reminded himself. Remus Lupin held his blue-haired, wide-eyed son carefully. He looked rather better than usual; his robes were new, and he had a smile on his long, thin face. Tonks followed right behind him, clutching his hand. Bill, an uncharacteristically smug look on his face, eased through, and shut the gate behind him.

"You held dinner for us?" Bill asked, seating himself beside his wife. "Excellent. I'm starving."

"Before we eat — and I know you've waited — could I make a toast?" Tonks asked. She sounded shy, quite unlike herself. "I'll be short. And look, I brought this." A bottle of firewhiskey appeared from the folds of her robes.

Harry looked at her, interested. A bit of Tonks' liveliness had been lost during the long months it took for Bill to find a way to undo Moody's charm. Indeed, there had been times when she'd turned red with frustration, left the room, and returned later with tear marks on her face. Those times came more and more frequently, and everyone was worried about her. He glanced at Remus, who held a finger to his lips, and betrayed nothing.

"Please, say what you need to say," Molly said. "And let me fill the glasses, don't you worry about it," she added kindly. Goblets were filled with the steaming alcohol within moments.

Tonks looked around the table. Harry was alarmed to see tears in her eyes.

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed softly. "Oh!"

"How does she always know?" Ron asked.

"I'd like to toast you lot, my friends and family, my husband, my son," Tonks said. She sounded oddly triumphant for a woman on the verge of tears. "You've been such a steady support during these long months of being entirely incapable of speaking about anything that matters — not that Teddy doesn't matter. But Moody's gag forced me to be unable to commiserate with you the pain we went through as members of the Order of the Phoenix."

"WHAT!" Charlie shouted.

"Quiet, you," Remus said fondly.

"I'd especially like to thank Bill-"

"We'd like to thank Bill," Remus interjected.

"Yes, we would like to thank Bill, who so — so diligently went digging through piles of old books, notes, and scrolls..." At that moment, Tonks broke down. But the important stuff had been said, Harry thought.

"Blimey, he got that charm off of her," said Ron.

Dinner was forgotten for long minutes as they celebrated with firewhiskey. Harry had what felt like a hundred questions for Bill — which he would ask, but later. For now, the celebration continued. Tonks was passed around, and when she was not proudly speaking of her role in the Order, she was crying with happiness that was more than enough to dispel the lingering gloom.

"I'm just so, so happy," she sobbed on Harry's shoulder. He patted her.

"We're happy for you, it must've been awful."

"It was. It hurt."

Once dinner was done and the celebration mellowed to something that did not quite resemble chaos, Harry went to look for Ron and Hermione. They were not hard to find. They stood near the gate, watching the snow fall beyond the boundaries of the charm Arthur wrought to warm the air for the dinner. Hermione looked very small standing in the circle of Ron's arms. Harry hesitated, not wanting to interrupt a private moment, but Ron motioned him over.

"I was just telling Hermione today wasn't bad for the first Christmas after the war," Ron said. "You know, there were a few rough spots, but. Yeah."

"It was as happy as it could have been," said Harry.

"Without the twins," said Ron. "And even without Percy, the prat."

"Without Ginny," Hermione said softly.

Without Nosy, Harry added silently, watching the snow fall beyond the Burrow's gate.

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoy the winks to Hogwarts Mystery (which I think is a fun way to pass time, and also a fun way to get really frustrated at not having enough energy to do everything you want to right away). I hope the quality of writing hasn't deteriorated in the many years it has been since I've written anything of real substance.
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