New Year's Eve 2005, Shell Cottage
Victoire peered out of the window. Her father was walking towards their front door, no doubt had he just Apparated in the driveway of their cottage, Shell Cottage.
She opened the door. "Dad!" she said happily.
Bill Weasley hung his coat on the coat rack and ruffled his daughter's hair. "Someone's excited to see me," he chuckled, and lifted her in his arms. Victoire could see that he was troubled, however; these days, he and her maman would stay shut in their bedroom, urgently whispering about some "Death Eater" problem. He seemed exhausted and he had dark circles under his eyes.
"Bill! You are 'ome?" came Fleur's voice from the kitchen, where she was cooking lamb chops and snails for their New Year's Eve dinner. Delicious smells floated from the kitchen: Victoire had spent most of the day there, helping her maman.
"Yes, Fleur," came Bill's reply. He put Victoire down. "I have to talk to your mère." He strolled towards the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
The six year-old went to find her younger sister, Dominique, and they pressed their little ears on the door.
"This is bad," Bill was saying. "Shacklebolt fears a rebellion. There have been breakouts in Azkaban all year: Umbridge, Greyback, and the Carrows. God knows how many more, the Minister won't tell us. The Aurors are hard at work; Harry and Ron have been working over-time for weeks."
"What do you 'ave to do in all of zis?" asked Fleur in her heavily accented English.
"The Minister wants the population to be on guard," said her father, rubbing his mutilated face tiredly. "He's recruiting us Gringotts workers to hang Wanted posters in Diagon Alley; I've been hanging these up all day. The Ministry workers are doing the same thing."
"Oh dear, but you say ze werewolf is on ze loose?" asked her mother. "What about ze girls?"
"It's okay," said Bill wearily, as he had been bitten a few years ago by the same werewolf. "I put the Fidelius Charm on our house; several others have too. It's probably going to turn out like the Second Wizarding War, but, oh well. Better safe than sorry."
Victoire and Dominique got up (having heard enough to be sufficiently frightened) and went upstairs into the bedroom that they shared. Little baby Louis was sleeping peacefully in his crib, in the smallest bedroom. "What is Azkaban?" asked her younger sister curiously.
"It's the very very very bad," said her older sister, stopping to catch her breath, "wizard prison for very bad criminels, Dominique! And if Daddy said that there are people who escaped, we are in trouble!"
Dominique almost started crying, her blue eyes filling up with tears. "R-Really, Vicky? This isn't une blague?"
"Pourquoi je blaguerai sur ça, petite soeur?" snapped Victoire in fast French. "Why would I joke about this, little sister?"
Dominique just looked at her, as if she were really hoping this were a joke, then burst into tears. Victoire eyed her awkwardly, and then comfortingly said: "Don't worry, I'm sure Dad and the Ministry will find the bad guys. For now, let's save up for Sneakoscopes!"
New Year's Eve 2005, Potter House
The ten month-old boy clapped his hands and laughed happily as his godmother and aunt Hermione rolled him a tiny ball that was enchanted to sound like a cow and even smelled like one.
"Moo!" said the little boy, and his black hair shone as the winter sunlight danced, for a moment, inside the house from a nearby window. His hazel eyes were bright and intelligent, and full of a child's mischief.
"That's a C-O-W," said Hermione, laughing with James. "A cow!"
"Oh, Hermione," said her husband, rolling his eyes. "Isn't it a bit early to be teaching him spelling?"
"Ron," replied Hermione, eyeing him lovingly. "It's never too early to learn. The baby has the most active mind, you know."
"What, reading your baby book again?" asked Ron. "Come on, d'you think we'd flunk raising Rosie?"
Hermione blushed and peered into the nearby pink crib that had moving picture of unicorns that giggle when you stroked their fur. "She's still sleeping," she whispered to Ron.
"Do you expect her to be awake all day?" asked Ron. Just then, a voice called: "Ron! Hermione! Dinner!"
It was Ginny, Ron's younger sister. She picked up James and cooed. "My splendid onion soup is ready!" She twirled proudly in her apron.
"Ha, now you worship yourself?" asked Ron a bit angrily but mostly sarcastically. "Very funny, Ginevra."
"It was a damn joke, Ronald Bilius!"
"Ron!" said Hermione indignantly. "Be polite to the host!"
"Right," said Ron moodily. He seemed most sullen. "My sister's the host and I'm brother-in-law with Harry Potter!" He stomped off and locked himself into the bathroom.
"Sorry," said Hermione apologetically. "He's been in a bit of a mood lately. It seems as if he's going through puberty again. Stress at work, you know."
She followed her sister-in-law into the kitchen. It was a brightly lit room with an old-fashioned wood table and a few cosy chairs. There were a few old and dusty-looking portraits that were lying in the corner, their occupants sleeping soundly. Ginny restored old paintings in her spare time when she wasn't working for The Daily Prophet. Only one man with curtain-like greasy black hair and cold black eyes was awake, glaring at her.
"Snape?" asked Hermione cautiously. The portrait glared even harder, though he seemed a bit proud of her.
"Hmm," the man mused contemptuously. "The insufferable know-it-all has had some success in her miserable little life. My most sincere congratulations, Mrs. Granger, or shall I say, Weasley. Very respectable marriage." He sneered at her.
"Thank you," said Hermione, eyeing Ginny, who pretended to dust the portrait of Gornuk, the goblin. "How are you, Professor?"
"Fine, thank you," replied Snape. "Go on, do have your nice little dinner party with old Potter and Weasley, I won't bother you." He pretended to slumber in his chair.
Ginny smiled a bit grimly at her old friend. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but we have to leave him in the kitchen. Last time I tried to move him, he decided to move into the moving portrait of the medieval witch trial we had in the attic, and we had a hard time finding him, there were over five hundred different people painted inside. It was excruciatingly painful, in an exasperating way."
She started moving the different platters of food onto the table. Hermione helped her, and couldn't resist picking off a tiny dark chocolate from a nearby open box. Her ears started getting bigger and bigger until Ginny squirted some yellow nasty-smelling liquid on her face, and they returned to normal size.
"What was that?" asked Hermione, examining her still swollen ears in a mirror over the sink, on the window. "George's –?"
"Yes," answered Ginny. "He sent them in the mail for Christmas. They're an old batch of Fred's. George's away, living in a tent in the Forbidden Forest, seemingly searching for a lost Hallow: the Resurrection Stone."
It made sense; the imitation Fred would be so much help, healing George's emotional wounds. He hadn't cracked yet, but he would soon, Hermione was sure of it. And again, the Resurrection Stone was somewhere, buried deep in the Forbidden Forest.
"Couldn't he use a Niffler?" asked Hermione, as they were creatures who could smell gold. "There is bound to be some gold impregnated in the Stone!"
"I don't know, but you better not give him ideas," said Ginny sadly, and she wiped her hands on her apron, but she didn't cry. "I haven't seen him since Fred's death; he's been abroad and stayed in St Mungo's for a few months two years ago. Now he's in the Forest. Firenze, the centaur, told Hagrid that George was wandering there; then Hagrid told us. He's going to visit today and wait for midnight with us; McGonagall let him, as I'm sure she would come see James and Rosie too, but she has to set an example." She snorted.
Harry walked in, looking exhausted, and holding a bundle of Wanted posters. "Hey, Hermione," he said, and kissed her on the cheek. He kissed Ginny too, and took James, and put him into his high chair which was decorated in a Golden Snitch pattern. "Dada!" shrieked James.
"You have more paperwork to do?" inquired Hermione, frowning at the Wanted posters, who had only a title and no captions.
"Yes, Shacklebolt wants us to put the moving photographs; with the Multiplying Charm, I made about twenty of them, since I need ten for each escaped convict. The ones I have are Amycus Carrow and Dolores Umbridge. You girls want to help put the Permanent Sticking Charm? Ron has already refused, and now I'm stuck doing his work."
"Hey!" shouted Ron from the bathroom. "What the hell, Harry! You swore –"
Ginny and Hermione were roaring with laughter. "You got pawned by my brother, Harry!" said Ginny, stopping to catch her breath and struggling to keep herself together. "What did he promise you?"
"Nothing," said Harry stupidly. "He put them on my desk and I only realised I had his work when I talked with Shacklebolt. I'm such an idiot!"
Ron came out, and he stuck his tongue out at Harry in a very immature way. Hermione sighed and Ginny was chortling again. "Come on," said Ginny. "No more self-pity! Let's eat, and cheers for a better new year!"
They raised their cups of Butterbeer and they clinked. "Cheers!"
James clapped his little hands and blew a raspberry.