Chapter 4: What If?
Dedicated to: CodeRomance, my (sorta) patient reviewer…
A/N: Heehee, this is my sappy chapter, and my favorite so far. If you are allergic to sugary fluffy stuff…skip this chapter. Seriously. It's all about the warm fuzzies of family and the true meaning of Christmas and other holiday special morals. I love it, but if it's not your cup of tea…well…
It was the day before Christmas break was to begin and Harry lay awake in the first year boys' dormitory staring up at the canopy of his four-poster. The room was unusually bright as the moon reflected on the pure white snow covering the grounds, but that was not what had Harry so wide awake. Two words had the dubious honor of being the cause of that.
What if?
The morning had started off like most mornings at Hogwarts. Harry woke up about an hour before Ron and spent the time appreciating the ability to lie in bed as long as he pleased and not having to get up and cook breakfast. When Ron finally dragged himself out of bed, they trundled off down the stairs to the common room where Hermione waited for them, reading a book thick enough to be used to knock out Crabbe or Goyle in a pinch. They then trooped off to the Great Hall for breakfast, Ron and Hermione bickering about something Harry thought may have been petrol and motorcars, with Ron contending that muggles should just fly everywhere.
They sat together at breakfast, the other two still arguing back and forth with Harry paying little attention. He was beginning to believe that they enjoyed it and as a rule just let them go at it, so long as they didn't start to sound as if they were actually losing their tempers. The familiar rustling of the owls entering the hall had everyone looking up at the ceiling, which was the crisp gray of a sunny but cold winter morning. Hedwig landed in front of Harry, masterfully avoiding a tray of French toast and a jug of pumpkin juice.
Harry stared at the letter tied to Hedwig's leg, taking in the vaguely girly script that spelled out his name. She had written him again. When two days had passed without a response to his letter, he'd worried that she no longer wanted to be his friend. What had he said? Did she simply not like the real Harry? Was he a disappointment in comparison to her fairy tale?
But she had replied…and the letter was thick. Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe as he felt the weight of the letter. With a quick glance at Ron, still stuffing his face across the table, Percy, straightening his prefect badge in the reflection of his goblet, and the twins, chatting animatedly with the Gryffindor chasers a few feet away, Harry quickly stashed the thick parchment in an inside pocket of his robes and hastily excused himself from the table.
He'd read the letter through five times, despite its length, and lost twenty points for Gryffindor by being late to potions as a result. He barely acknowledged the punishment. The letter had gripped his heart in a terrible sadness, but at the same time a warmth that another kid would describe as the kind of feeling brought on by Christmas coming early.
Harry,
My dad has always called me Button, and from anyone else it would be an insult. When he calls me that, though, I can't help but smile and curl up in his arms. I know that no matter how old I am, I will always be his little girl, and that if I'm ever sad or lonely he will come up to me, tweak my nose and say "There now, Button…I'm here."
Mum calls me Ginevra Molly Weasley when I'm in trouble, but sooner or later, I will return to being Sweetie or Sugar. I don't know if it's all the baking she does, but I'm always a food of some kind. Honey, Pumpkin…she even called me Gumdrop once. Somehow, no matter how in trouble I am, there's always a reminder in the back of my mind that no matter if I'm Ginevra now, I'll be Lamb tomorrow. It's just the way Mum is.
Bill calls me Treasure, Charlie calls me Snapdragon, even Percy has been known to call me Princess when he forgets to be pompous. Fred and George call me Minx, maintaining that I'm more of a trouble maker than they are…and they're right, of course, but Mum still thinks I'm an angel and they never dare call me Minx when she's around. Ron calls me Firefly when no one else is around, and has since we were little.
It's funny, really, how when you love someone, you let them get away with calling you the stupidest things…and actually enjoy it.
Hermione scrambled around the common room, insisting something was missing from her immaculately packed trunk, and searched for spare quills and missing textbooks that simply didn't exist. Ron watched her with a combination of fear and amusement; his eyes following her like an exciting Quidditch play. Harry watched Ron, trying to picture him calling Ginny "Firefly." The room erupted with noise as the twins burst in, laughing wildly and chased by a red-faced Percy. As a group of second years who'd scattered at their approach regrouped, Harry's mind drifted again to the letter.
Christmas holidays at the Weasley house, fondly known as the Burrow (the house, not the holidays), have a bizarre array of traditions that range from the sweet to the silly. After an impressive display of accidental magic on the part of some very young but very in trouble twins, a sprig of mistletoe was produced that follows Mum everywhere until it is packed safely away 'til the next year. Mum is treated to constant kisses the entire day from the entire family. The annual Weasley snowball fight is legendary, and anyone not soaked and shivering by the end of the day is considered to be in exile until they have been shoved into a snow drift. Percy always reads "Christmas Carol" on Christmas Eve. The twins and I put a joke ornament on the tree every year. Bill and Charlie charm toy soldiers to duel each other. Ron hands out the presents. Dad leads the Christmas carols. And Mum always knits every member of the family a jumper.
That one's my favorite one of all. She works on them all year, it seems, and somehow they seem warmer than any other jumper you've ever worn. They're like a badge, much better than Percy's old 'P'. They say: I'm a Weasley, and therefore I am loved.
He and Ron walked Hermione down to the front gates of Hogwarts, where the horseless carriages waited to take all the students leaving for the holidays to Hogsmeade station. She gave them a cheery wave and wished them a Merry Christmas, but reminded them not to forget about searching for Nicholas Flamel. Ron muttered to Harry that they might as well not bother, as she'd be horribly disappointed if they found it without her anyway. Harry chuckled appreciatively and agreed. He was glad Ron was staying this year, he didn't have anywhere to go and selfish as it was he could not stand the idea of everyone going off to be with their families when he had no family to be with at all.
Mum had twin brothers growing up, Gideon and Fabian Prewitt. Fred and George are named for them, (their full names are Frederick Fabian and George Gideon). She doesn't like to talk about it, but Dad says they died in the war, fighting against You-Know-Who. Sometimes I catch her staring at their picture on the mantle and crying, and afterwards she goes into a baking frenzy. I don't really like cooking, but I always help when she gets like that. I think it cheers her up. I never met Uncles Gideon and Fabian…but I miss them all the same. I can't help but wonder what life would be like if Mum hadn't lost her brothers.
On Christmas Eve, before curfew, Harry snuck up to the owlery with a parcel. Harry tied the parcel to Hedwig's leg and sent her off into the night. He hoped Ginny would like it. He was excited about giving Christmas gifts for the first time ever. It was a similar feeling to the one he'd had on the Hogwarts Express and he'd shared the treats with Ron. The concept of showing friends how much they meant to him…even having friends in the first place…was novel to him and he was looking forward to them getting the presents. Ron and Hermione had been easy to find gifts for: you couldn't go wrong with candy for the former and books for the latter. Ginny had been a little harder, but he was confident she'd like her present as well. It'd taken a bit of convincing to wheedle Madame Pince into selling him the Hogwart's copy of "Quidditch Through The Ages," and he'd had to pay her enough to purchase a brand new copy for her beloved stacks, but it had been worth it. He'd discovered, upon borrowing the book for the fourth time, that a simple revealing charm exposed thousands of notes, comments, and plays written by generations of Quidditch captains and enthusiasts in the margins of the book. He knew, somehow, that she'd appreciate it. Happily, he trudged off to bed.
You see, that's the odd thing about family: no matter if you have a large or a small one, no matter if you see them so much you are thoroughly sick of their company or never even met them, the love that's there connects you forever. It's there whether blood ties you to them or not. I think you'll understand what I mean come Christmas. It'll be odd being in Romania this Christmas, but I'm excited to see Charlie…and hopefully the dragons will keep us warm.
I guess what I'm saying with this ridiculously long letter is "Yes, I do like having six brothers." Not necessarily because there's six of them, but because I love every single obnoxious one of them.
I hope that answered your question.
Merry Christmas,
Ginny Weasley
P.S. If you ever call me any of the nicknames I mentioned, or worse, "Ginevra," I will curse you into next week, underage magic restrictions or not. Bill promised to teach me a really nasty one before I start Hogwarts.
He supposed she did answer his question. He had no idea what to write back. She'd shown him just what it felt like to have a family. (And how had she known that was what he was really asking? He hadn't even known that's what he wanted.) He fell asleep, still unsure whether he was upset and jealous or just plain grateful, and still asking himself "What if?"
The next morning, for once, Ron woke up before him. This was made clear when Harry woke up to Ron throwing a pillow at his head.
"Presents," Ron said by way of explanation.
"I got presents?" Harry said blankly. Even as he got presents for everybody, he never actually considered the idea he'd receive any. Why should he? He'd never got any before.
"What did you expect, parsnips?" Ron asked as he started passing the presents to Harry. Harry smiled; apparently traditions don't change even if you're away from home. As he unwrapped a flute from Hagrid and some sugar-free candy from Hermione he contemplated searching the Christmas tree for a gag ornament to see if Fred and George also kept up traditions. Soon, he came to a vaguely lumpy package, and despite Ron's protests, opened it. Inside, he found a thick, knitted jumper the color of his eyes and a matching scarf. The scarf had a note pinned to it:
Harry – remember my letter, every word was true. Oh, and when my brothers inevitably drag you outside, enchant a couple of snowballs with this curse: Aguamentia Impedichronos. It's essentially a delayed water bomb…payback for a prank Fred and George played on me last Christmas. Please describe the effects in detail in your next letter. Oh, and Merry Christmas. –Ginny
Harry stared at the jumper in disbelief, and thought back to the letter. "I am a Weasley, and I am loved," he thought, and grinned. He pulled the jumper over his head, neatly messing his hair up even further, and wrapped the scarf around his neck. It really was the warmest jumper he'd ever worn.