Happy New Year...

Hagrid had loved the Boxing Day concert. Harry had hoped, but never really expected, that Hagrid would find it funny. He certainly did not expect Hagrid to break into tears, saying in between sobs that it was the greatest, most wonderful Christmas present that anybody's ever given him.

At first, Harry thought that his performance had been so bad that Hagrid had to cry about it. He realized this was a silly thought when Hagrid had then engulfed him in an enormous hug, thanking him. Harry could hardly breathe as he listened to Hagrid's quivering howls.

"An' then... Hedwig swooped down all majestic, tha' is one smar' girl there!—bless yeh Harry! Yeh remembered I gave her too—" Hagrid sobbed happily and blew into what looked like a spotted handkerchief the size of a table cloth. "The lot o' yeh hootin' in perfect beats, an' yeh bin practicin' yer flute!—Oh Harry, yeh made me so proud!"

Harry, embarrased at the praise, had akwardly tried to return the hug. He didn't manage, of course, seeing as he could barely reach a third around Hagrid's gigantic belly, but he had, at the very least, tried. Hagrid had just howled even louder at this, and Harry saw even more tears, great big tears that could fill a bucket in seconds, roll down Hagrid's grizzly black beard.

Of course, looking back, there really had been very little chance of Hagrid not loving the concert. From what Harry knew, Hagrid loved all sorts of animals, and owls were no exceptions! Hagrid was all praises for them when he was buying Hedwig. Hagrid and the shopkeep at Eeylops Owl Emporium had sounded so... enthusiastic about the owls.

Harry spent the next five days after Christmas nearly entirely with Hagrid and Fang, Hagrid's enormous black boarhound. Harry would wake up, at the crack of dawn as usual, get ready for the day, have a bit of breakfast in the Great Hall at around six in the morning, and then trudge off to Hagrid's hut at around seven, where he would stay until dinner time. Harry would then linger around the corridors or the library for as long as he was allowed to, and only trudge back to the boarding rooms to sleep.

Harry would help a bit with some of Hagrid's work, like shovelling snow or helping to carry some sticks for Hagrid's fire later that night. And after that was done, Harry had a lot of fun getting Fang to wrestle him in the snow. Fang, who was twice as large as Harry, easily won every time. Much more often than not, Harry found himself pinned down on the snowy ground under Fang's furry paws, with Fang slobbering and licking all over Harry's face.

Honestly, it was like wrestling with Dudley, except much wetter, much less painful, and much more fun. Hedwig though, seemed to disapprove, and had more than once flown down to them from the Owlery in a screeching rage at this. Never she mind, of course, that Fang could easily fit her entire head in his mouth. Hagrid just found the lot of them funny.

Harry truly did have a lot of fun with Hagrid and Fang, but in the back of his head, Harry knew that this wasn't quite why he had spent the last five days with them. Really, Harry had done so because of only one person...

Ron.

On that concert day, Harry had been very, very mad. So mad in fact, that to calm himself enough for Hagrid's concert, Harry resolved to not think of Ron at all. Since then, Harry had been avoiding Ron, and consequently, all of the other Weasleys, like mad. It was very difficult, as Ron and Harry did sleep in the same boarding room. It helped that Ron didn't seem to want to talk to him either, and so far, Ron's brothers, Percy and the twins either haven't noticed or, much more likely, had chosen to stay out of everything.

Now though, Harry was really starting to miss Ron's company. They didn't eat together anymore, they didn't speak at all to each other, they barely spent anytime together in the same room, and neither of them could even look the other in the eye.

Harry couldn't bear it. He started feeling horrible, all the time. This entire row was his fault, and Harry knew it. He knew, of course, from being together all the time, that Ron wasn't quite the most polite person in Hogwarts. And now that he's had a little time to cool off, Harry realized that Ron probably hadn't meant it the way it sounded.

It wasn't even that insulting, honestly. 'Waste an afternoon' Ron had said. Harry had gotten worse from the Dursleys, and certainly much, much worse from Draco Malfoy, a sharp-tongued Slytherin who Harry hated with a passion. And Harry didn't even want Ron to watch the concert anyway! Shouldn't he have been happy that Ron didn't want to watch either?

But all the same, Harry had snapped at Ron, and then stormed off. Harry didn't know what had gotten into him, for him to have reacted, so... immaturely, the way an angry child would.

The way Dudley would.

Harry didn't think it was possible, but he felt heart sink a bit further. He tried desperately to convince himself that it wasn't entirely his fault, to make himself feel even a tiny bit better.

'Ron had started it' Harry reasoned, but this sounded so very weak and petty and Dudleyish. He tried again. 'Why'd he even think that? Ron was supposed to be his best friend, wasn't he?' But then, what if, Harry thought horrified, he was the only one who felt that way? What if Ron never even considered Harry as his best friend? From the way they had both been acting lately, Harry certainly wouldn't have been surprised if Ron didn't consider him a friend at all anymore...

On New Year's Eve, half a week before the start of term, Harry kept tossing and turning under his covers. He shifted the curtains of his four-poster bed, and peered through the gap over to Ron's bed. Ron had his own curtains drawn, and seemed to be snoring strangely louder than usual. It was bothering Harry very, very much.

Why was it that Ron could sleep so peacefully, while Harry couldn't at all? Did Ron simply not care?

The Gryffindor clock struck midnight, tolling loudly. Resolving himself to a sleepless night, Harry heaved a heavy sigh, and slipped out of his four-poster bed, dragging the covers with him.

Harry knew he'd be in a right foul mood in the morning. He's had a few sleepless nights before, back with the Dursleys. Foul morning moods and the Dursleys have never bided well for Harry. The last time he had a night like this, Harry had accidentally snapped back at Uncle Vernon during the breakfast after. Uncle Vernon had cuffed him very, very hard round the ear. Incidentally, it was around that time that Harry learned how to mutter whenever he was in a foul mood.

"Happy New Year..." Harry muttered to himself, and then snorted derisively at his own little joke.

Harry moved silently down the stairs to the common room, where a huge everflame was blazing. The Christmas tree was still there, glowing ever so softly with live fairy lights.

Harry curled under his covers into one of the soft, frumpy seats near the fireplace. He didn't know how long he just sat there, keeping himself occupied by staring at the golden necklace that Harry had taken to wearing underneath his clothes. It was, strangely, very warm, and very, very comforting.

That necklace was the one he had received from Professor McGonagall on Christmas. Staring at the necklace always seemed to calm Harry down. He had spent the last five nights doing so, every night since he had received the necklace, after everyone else had fallen asleep. It was simply captivating to see the hourglass twinkle as it reflected what looked like soft carresses from the flickering fire. It was his mother's necklace, McGonagall had said. Harry didn't know if this was true, but he believed it.

The clock chimed again, maybe for the second or third time since midnight. This wasn't what snapped Harry out of his reverie, though. A sudden swishing noise behind him had made Harry jump. In one fluid motion, almost instinctively even, Harry had pocketed the necklace and had whirled around. He whipped out his wand to point it at whatever had made the noise...

The entrance to Gryffindor tower, as far as Harry knew, was a large hole behind the portrait of the Fat Lady. That portrait had just swung open, and the Wealey twins, Fred and George, stepped in through the portrait hole, looking at Harry without the least bit of surprise in their faces. Harry noticed one of them calmly fold a blank piece of parchment and stuff it into a pocket.

"Look, oh brother of mine! Nearly gave me a heart attack, he did!" Fred, or maybe George, exclaimed suddenly, almost making Harry jump again. This twin seemed incredibly unconcerned that Harry was still aiming a wand straight at his face. "Turns out, it's only ickle Harrikins! What a pleasant surprise!"

Somehow, that had sounded everything but surprised. Harry eyed the two of them suspisciously, but didn't say anything.

"Why I never! Trying to hex us, are you?" the other added, giving a gasp that was very, very fake. This twin looked at Harry with mirth in his eyes, with the air of a mother humoring a child. "A firstie like you—"

"Alone in the middle of the night, no less!"

"Oooh, been polishing his wand, you reckon?"

"No wonder he's angry. Who's the lucky girl, Harry?"

The twins flashed him a naughty-looking grin. Harry didn't answer; he had no idea what they were on about. Polishing his wand? And what did they mean by who's the lucky girl? Harry's confusion must have shown on his face, because a moment later, the twins raised their eyebrows at him.

"Er, this... may not be about a girl, oh brother of mine—" said the twin to Harry's left, the one Harry wasn't pointing a wand at. There was now a hint of something strange in this twin's voice. It might have been worry. That, or it was exasperation. "Oh, and Harry, Fred and I would both appreciate it if you could put your wand away. Or it might just go straight up your... well, just put it away. That's a good little firstie."

"I, er... right, sorry." Harry apologized sheepishly, lowering his wand. He was, after all, just a scrawny, little first year in Hogwarts. Fred and George were two years older; and much, much bigger, than Harry was. They must also know loads more magic. Harry didn't disillusion himself into thinking he could beat even one of them, let alone the two of them, in a fight, muggle style or otherwise. "What were you saying?"

The twins looked at each other, and then turned again to Harry. The look in their eyes this time was unmistakably worry, although Harry couldn't imagine what in the world they were worried about. Harry didn't like this look very much.

"Harry, we need to talk—" George said. He wasn't grinning anymore, and his voice had turned serious.

"About Ron, and about you," Fred added, all traces of amusement falling from him as well, "and about this stupid row between you two. It's got to stop, mate."

Harry remained silent yet again. He had been wondering when the other Wealeys were going to get involved. They were, after all, the only other Gryffindors in the school right now, and they were Ron's brothers. Harry supposed Percy would likely approach him about this sometime soon, too.

George sighed and clapped Harry very very firmly on the shoulder. Fred shook his head sadly, before doing the same. Both of them were giving Harry a pair of identical, very pointed looks.

"Look, Harry..." George said, rolling his eyes in a way that strongly reminded Harry of Hermione. "We know what happened. And trust us, this is about as stupid as stupid rows can get. We can give you some right good advice, you know."

"Or, you know," Fred added, "you can wait for your only other friend, whats-her-name to c—"

"Hermione" Harry said suddenly. Fred looked taken aback, clearly not expecting to be interrupted. But, maybe George did. Harry thought there was one moment when he saw a grin flash on George's face. But then, it was gone the next. Harry felt the strangest sinking sensation somewhere in his stomach, and tried to ignore it as best as he could.

"Er, what?" Fred asked with a bemused expression on his face, and in the firelight, Harry just barely caught the way Fred's eyes subtly shifted to George and back to him again.

"Her name is Hermione. Hermione Granger." Harry said very, very warily. Clearly, there was something going on in here, but exactly what was going on, Harry didn't know. Where were Fred and George going with this?

"Right, where were we?"Fred continued, "Ah, yes, as we were saying, you can either listen to us, or you could wait for Granger to come back at the start of term. Goodness knows Ron and you will never settle this by yourselves."

"Mind you," George added "Granger won't know what she's talking about. She's not got a lot of friends, has she?"

"Oi, she does!" Harry defended hotly, even when he knew that what George said was true. About two months before, on Halloween, Harry had accidentally locked Hermione in a bathroom with an angry, twelve-foot tall mountain troll! That troll was nearly as big as Hagrid, and that was saying something. She had been in there because Ron had said almost the exact same thing about her that George did. But, well, it was Ron who had saved her anyway. What exactly had Harry done?

Lock her in with the mountain troll.

Harry had felt guilty about that for days, and had since tried to take up for Hermione whenever anybody said bad things about her.

"Point is," George said, apparently deciding not to argue. "It's in your best interest to listen to us instead, and you know it. Fred and I have probably had more rows with each other—"

"That's right, oh dearest brother of mine—"

"Than with all of our other brothers—"

"And sister—"

"And parents—"

"Get to the point already!" Harry said testily. Ah, Harry thought, there was that foul mood again. It must have been nearing dawn, then. True enough, out the window, Harry saw the the single, first tendril of sunlight, barely even there, break through the horizon, and the common room became just that much brighter.

"And teachers—" Fred continued all the same, as if he hadn't heard.

"And friends—" George added, and Harry felt that now, they were just doing it to annoy him. They were doing a very good job of it.

"And Slytherins—"

"And Filch—"

"Put together." Fred said, finally. Harry saw that their grins... their stupid, annoying, we-know-you-want-to grins, were back at full. Harry tried desperately to look past those grins, past the mischievous images he had come to associate with the twins. He stared instead, at their eyes, trying to see if either of them was leading him on. Of course, Harry had never been very good at that.

In the end, Harry decided to take everything the twins would say with a grain of salt. If the twins wanted to play shrinks, who was he to stop them anyway? And surely, it couldn't hurt to hear them out, could it?

Harry gave them a half-hearted shrug, and motioned them to towards the couch. They all sat down, with the twins still grasping Harry firmly by the shoulders.

Harry prepared himself for what he imagined would be the most akward talk he'd ever have with the twins.

*****

It wasn't nearly as akward as Harry had imagined it to be. He had already been considering it, but talking to Fred and George had convinced Harry to apologize to Ron at the next chance.

Mostly, the twins kept throwing Harry random pieces of advice on how to get Ron near enough for Harry to apologize. Evidently, they had said, Ron was now refusing to go within twenty feet of Harry when either of them were awake, and had been doing so for the last three days. Things like "You can bait him with some bacon from breakfast!", or "Use the Summoning Charm, we'll teach it to you!" kept popping up repeatedly during the conversation.

Soon enough though, the twins let Harry go and said they were going back to their boarding room for a bit of a lie in. The sun had already risen high, and was peeking through several breaks on the white, overcast sky. The Gryffindor clock read half past seven in the morning. Harry's stomach grumbled angrily, sounding much louder than it should have in the now deserted common room. With a heavy sigh, Harry made his way down to the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was deserted, except for two unfamiliar female teachers sitting at the staff table. Harry made his way to the very edge of the Gryffindor table, and sat down. He proceeded to pile some eggs on his plate.

For Harry, breakfast would be the same silent affair as always. Even before the holidays, Ron could certainly never be bothered to wake up in time for breakfast when there weren't any morning lessons. And because he usually woke up at the crack of dawn, Harry was always one of the first students to enter the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry kept his head down, and ate quietly, quickly, and alone. This was how he always ate breakfast. It had always been that way at the Dursleys, and it had always been that way in Hogwarts.

Suddenly, someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi, Harry!"

The voice was high, a bit shrill, but more importantly, familiar. Harry raised his head, to see whether it was who he thought it was.

It was Hermione.

Hermione took one look at his face and gave a gasp. For a while, they just silently stared at each other, open-mouthed and aghast. Harry, at some point, remembered that his mouth was still full of egg, and he promptly shut it tight.

Finally, one of them broke the silence.

"Harry, y-you look horrible!"

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