Author's Note: I'm back! I really wanted to finish up that Neville story I was working on and it's DONE! I can spend more time on this one again. I'm really excited with how it's turning out, and this is a nice long chapter. December is getting so involved that it looks like it'll be two, maybe three chapters to cover it. Anyway, I'm really excited about this one. I had a friend of mine read a few bits of it and he totally loved it. I hope you do too. I look forward to seeing what you think.

Disclaimer: You know none of the good stuff is mine.


December


The redhead grunted as he dodged the hex that was flying at him. The blond crouched, his eyes roving for an opening. "Go left," he hissed, throwing his body right.

Weasley hesitated a moment before obeying the blond and going left. He got nicked in the elbow by a hex, but he had to keep going.

The man and woman at the other end of the room were advancing on them, flinging hexes left and right.

Draco managed to get under the desk and knock it over, creating a shield, pushing it sideways and waiting a moment before darting out between the desk legs. While their opponents were cornering Weasley, Draco grabbed his wand from the bookcase—and Weasley's—and spun back around. A few leaps brought him nearly within arm's reach of their opponents, a wand in each of his hands. "Surrender," he growled. Well, it was supposed to be an intimidating growl. It came out as more of a winded pant. It was probably not in the least bit intimidating.

Moody's voice dripped sarcasm. "Oh, well and good."

Draco didn't drop his wand. This was one of Moody's favorite "games". He'd pull people at random from their regularly scheduled training courses and set them against one another. In this instance, he'd pulled Bones and Boot out of this morning's course of identifying cursed objects. A short while later, Moody sent someone to fetch Draco and the Weasel. No lunch for them. Constant vigilance, even on an empty stomach. He took their wands and set them loose in the training room. They needed to work together and evade capture long enough to get their wands back and take their adversaries captive.

Moody started his evaluation. "Malfoy, not bad getting behind your foes like that. Do y'know what you did wrong?"

Draco tried to keep his face steely. Here he was with two opponents at wand point when five minutes ago he had no wand, and the old codger wanted to know what he was doing wrong? "No, sir," he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

Moody's magical eye swung around the room. "Does anybody else want to tell him what he did wrong?"

"He left me down here to get killed," Ron said, glaring.

"Not killed," Boot said, reasonably. "He needed you there so he could get behind us. And you're not dead."

"His partner thinks he was trying to get him killed. What should he have done, Bones?" growled the old Auror.

Susan swallowed, and Draco saw her hand twitch as though she was going to move to push her hair off her face and thought better of it. Moody had told them just earlier this week that scratching yourself, touching your hair, any moment of distraction at a critical time could be fatal. Not being able to ignore a little discomfort for a few moments was a sign of weakness. The result had been that they all seemed about ten times more aware and inconvenienced by their bodies' minute needs as they tried to ignore them. "He didn't communicate his plan to his partner. Malfoy had a plan to get them both out—he grabbed both wands—but Weasley thought Malfoy abandoned him. He needed to find a way to make sure Weasley knew what the plan was."

The Auror nodded approvingly, his magical eye still roving. "And?"

"And he still hasn't given me my wand back," grumbled Ron.

There was another nod. "In the time we've been talking it's entirely possible that Tonks has approached behind Malfoy and has her wand inches from his throat under a disillusionment charm. Had Malfoy given Weasley back his wand minutes ago, Weasley would be guarding his back right now, even from the ground."

Draco spun around looking for some sign of another person behind him. He even attempted to push his arm through the air in a way that wouldn't look too ridiculous, trying to feel for an invisible attacker. When he turned back around, Bones and Boot had their wands pointed at him. Ron at scrambled to his feet and was edging his way around the other two when Bones heard him and pointed her wand at him.

"Better, Bones, Boot. Weasley, good try. Don't know why you let yourself stay on your ass for so long. Get out of here."

The four of them trekked out of the room, looking over their shoulders lest Mad-Eye decide they weren't being vigilant enough and decide to send a jinx their way to remind them of it. Wordlessly, Draco gave the Weasel back his wand. This whole business was exhausting. Last week, Moody had slipped something into the soup at the mess hall as a reminder that nothing was safe. The boils that had resulted amongst half a dozen of the trainees were painful and had lasted nearly a day. The older Aurors all knew better—it was part of why they didn't bother to eat in the mess hall in the first place.

"He's ruddy insane," Ron said.

Draco and the other two grunted in agreement. It was one thing they all agreed on.


Neville was pleased with himself. All of the preparations he'd done for winter to his garden had gone smoothly and he was taking the day off. Well, taking the day off except for essentials. Of course he'd make the rounds of things that absolutely had to be tended to and be done with all that within a couple of hours. He wasn't sure what he'd do with the rest of his day after that. The house was rather too quiet to just stay home.

He was just finishing his second cup of tea and getting ready to go out when a post owl came in through the kitchen window. He frowned. His copy of the Prophet had already arrived an hour ago, and the Quibbler usually only arrived weekly, though occasionally Luna would put out an extra issue if she couldn't sleep, or thought there was something that just couldn't wait. He still remembered the day he'd woken up to an Owl in his room at dawn. The urgent story was that the mistletoe supplies of London were being overrun by Nargles. It had included a list of the top ten ways to help prevent Nargles from finding you. He looked at the owl and wondered if the letter from Amber. She'd gone home to her family rather reluctantly this week after some kind of family crisis, unsure exactly when she'd be back. Maybe she was going to be gone longer than she expected?

Neville was rather loath to open the letter. The last unexpected letter he'd gotten had yielded that ridiculous Ministry proclamation in August—he didn't get much mail. All the same, the owl pecked his hand sharply. It wanted him to take the letter so it could be on its way. He took the letter from the Owl's leg and instantly felt the weight of the parchment. This was high quality. It was addressed clearly to him in an elegant hand.

He opened the envelope as the owl flew away.


Fred and George were in the shop alone after the rush had died down. Ginny was at Quidditch practice—she had a big game coming up next week. The afternoon had been busy with so many students home already for the holidays, but things had slowed now. George looked up from the numbers he was running and over at Fred with a decoy detonator in his hands. "We really need to try to crank out more fireworks and canary creams before they all go back to school. I don't think we should worry too much about the Skiving Snackboxes."

"—because it's the Christmas holidays and the last thing people are thinking about is school, so they aren't going to buy them?" He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on two legs in a way that would have caused anyone with less practice at it to fall over.

"Right. Once they've been back a while they'll think of it again and probably put in mail orders—and we should have a big stock of them by the time they come home at Easter too." He paused and they both continued working a while in relative silence. The Wireless blared something catchy with a bit of metal to it. "That invite that we got the other week, to the party at Malfoy's. Do you reckon we ought to go?" he asked casually.

His brother shrugged, continuing to tinker with the way the pieces fit on the latest version of the decoy detonators. "I don't know. I haven't got a clue about why Malfoy would want us anywhere within a hundred yards of him and his lot. But we're not doing much of anything else that night, are we?"

George shook his head. "Nothing planned, but you know if we invited people over to our flat, they'd show up."

"We always do throw a good party. I bet Katie and Angelina would come."

"And Lee, and Oliver and anybody else we invited—and probably a dozen people we didn't. Should we?"

He thought about it. "Nah. Let's let someone else buy the booze this time. If it's really that lousy, we could always leave."

"So we're going?"

"Why not?"


Blaise listened to Draco complain about old Mad-Eye Moody and report on the shortcomings of the other trainees. It was certainly an improvement over listening to him talking about finding ways to fill up his days or complaining about his mother. Mostly, Draco was too exhausted anymore to worry too much about what sort of future his mother was planning for him. He signaled Tom for another drink.

"Well, having your ass kicked every day by a cranky old Auror must agree with you. You're certainly a lot more interesting now than you were a month ago."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Very funny. It's enough to make me nauseous. But just watching the Weasel twitch when I do something right is worth the aggravation. He was convinced last week I was trying to kill him."

"And were you?"

"I used him as bait."

Blaise snorted.

Draco took the drink Tom proffered and after a long sip asked, "How's the Weaslette?"

"Ginny is fine. You probably wouldn't mind her if you actually spent some time with her. But don't even think about trying to steal her away. Not that you could," Blaise chuckled.

Draco gave his friend a look of long-suffering. "I can only handle so much Weasel at once. I'm stuck with the other one until his head explodes or he quits."

"Or you quit."

He brushed his hair out of his eyes and sneered, "Malfoys don't quit. And more importantly, I never quit."

Blaise gave a sigh that indicated that he'd clearly heard that line more times than were worth mentioning and didn't think much of it. "Well, it's about time for me to quit for tonight. Ginny's got an early game tomorrow and I want to see her before it starts."

Draco only barely kept himself from rolling his eyes as he downed his drink and left as well.


Ginny grinned. She had just played the best game of her life. She'd scored nearly a dozen goals. Diane Chambers broke her wrist at practice the day before—she took a Bludger to the arm. The Healers had ordered her to sit out the next game. And so Ginny got to start with Cadwallader and Williams. They were in sync, and she just felt like she was on fire. Her cheeks were still burning from the wind and cold and excitement when she left the locker room and found Blaise waiting for her outside.

She threw arms around him and he picked her up, spinning her around. "You were amazing. By this time next year, you'll be with one of the major teams if you keep this up."

And right then, Ginny wasn't thinking about the stupid law that would change her life as she knew it sometime within the next year. She thought only about her dreams of playing on a pro-Quidditch team. "By this time next year? You really think it could be that soon?"

"I think you could get drafted in the next round of tryouts. Let's go out to celebrate."

She shook her head, laughing. "We've got to see the others. Did any of them come?"

Blaise wrapped his arm around her. "I might have seen one or two of them out in the crowd. Your mum looked like she was trying to size me up."

"She's probably knitting you a sweater. Not long now 'til Christmas, you know," Ginny said offhandedly, looking around in the milling crowd. It wasn't a huge crowd by any means, but more parents were willing to bring their kids to the these games because they didn't cost quite so much. Not to mention, the teams were usually more willing to stick around and chat with fans than in the majors.

She saw her parents and Hermione and Harry getting out of their seats and she started heading out to meet them.

"You were great, Ginny," Harry said, looking as though he might give her a hug, but…Blaise still had his arm around her shoulder. "Ron's going to be sorry he missed this."

Hermione nodded in agreement, giving Ginny a one-armed hug and ignoring Blaise's arm. "He really is. We tried to get him up and bring him, but he just said something sour and grumbled about not getting enough sleep and Moody trying to kill him or something."

Molly looked rather anxious. "I'm worried that training is just too hard on him. He's worn out every day and hardly ever seems to want to go anywhere else anymore."

The wind was stirring and her husband pushed her hair back out of her face. "I'm sure he's fine. It's a lot to take on at once."

"I do wish he'd chosen a safer career path," she started. She stopped herself. "Well, you're all welcome back to the Burrow for brunch. I made a head start on some of it before we came here, so it should be too long for it to all be ready."

They all agreed to head back. After her parents and friends had Disapparated, Blaise whispered in Ginny's ear, "I had been hoping for a different sort of celebration."

She chuckled, pressing herself against him none too subtly. "I know. That'll come later. I need fuel first. Let's go."

"All right. But you're coming with me next week to Draco's party, right?"

She looked as though she might be in pain.

"He's my mate. I've got to go. It won't be too bad. Just make sure Hermione comes so that you've got someone to stand around mocking him with."

"Won't you be doing that?"

"Well, yes, but occasionally I might have to say something nice to him, and that would rather spoil your fun. Come on, love, let's go." He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, and stepping together they turned and Disapparated.


Hermione was up early, putting the finishing touches on a couple of letters. She drank her tea while she wrote, nearly burning her mouth, and tried to make herself eat most of a granola bar. It would have to do. She had places to be. She tucked her wand in her beaded bag and looked around, wondering if she was forgetting anything. She always hated this part.

She threw a pinch of green powder into the fireplace and knelt in front of it, calling out the name of the location she wanted before sticking her head in.

"Ron, Ron Weasley, I need to talk to you."

She called out several times and received no response. Was he already gone for the day? Was he ignoring her? She fretted, wondering if she should just go over.

"Blimey, Hermione, can't you let a guy get a little slip?" he asked blearily, stumbling into the room in his boxers. He looked around for her.

"I'm down here, in the fireplace. I didn't want to just come in totally unannounced, but I've got a question. Can I come over?"

He scratched his head. "Yeah, I guess."

Hermione withdrew her head from the fireplace and got up off her aching knees. Oh how she hated sticking her head in somebody's fireplace! She threw another pinch into the fire and Flooed to his flat, finding him still standing there, not quite awake yet. "I'm sorry it's early, but I really wanted to catch you before you went in for your training today." She opened her bag, surveying the scene, aware of the clothes scattered over the floor. Cups and plates from past meals that had been eaten in the living room and never made it back to the kitchen. Yes, if she'd stayed with him, she'd have been picking up after him for the rest of her life, or the rest of his, if she gave in to her urge and throttled him.

He picked up a shirt from the floor and tugged it over his head.

"I won't take up too much of your time, I'm sure you've got a lot to do to get ready for training today. But, I wrote something, and it would really mean a lot to me if you signed it and sent it to the Ministry. I did the hard part. I wrote it. All it needs is your name." She extended her hand to him, holding the unsealed letter.

"What's this for?"

She huffed. "Honestly, Ron, do you want the Ministry to force you to marry someone this year? This is a protest letter. I told you that you needed to get involved in this. It's going to have a lot more impact if the letters aren't just coming from me. I asked your mum this weekend if she'd be willing to write something and send it in as well, and she and your dad both said they would. Ginny is going to try to get the twins to do it while she's at the shop with them today." She stepped forward, thrusting the letter into his hands. "I know you don't like writing, so I wrote yours for you. All it needs is your signature. I even bewitched the paper to take on your hand writing for the letter once you sign it."

Ron took the letter from her, staring at it as though it might bite him. "I've mostly been trying ignore it. It's not hard to do. They haven't sent anymore letters since the first one. And I'm so busy with training, I'm too knackered by the end of the day to worry about dating anybody, let alone this." He ran his fingers through his hair. "What happens if this doesn't work?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I'm trying not to think about that. It's a violation of so many different rights and going to cause so much trauma for so many people that it just doesn't bear thinking on if we can't get this damn thing repealed."

Ron turned away from her and went to sit on the couch, moving a pile of stuff to the floor. "Hermione," he stopped, swallowing hard, and had to start again. "Hermione, you and I, we tried to make it work, didn't we?"

She nodded, moving to sit down next to him. "We did, Ron. We do care about each other. I wanted it to do work."

"So did I. It's just…" He paused. "If I couldn't make it work with you, what are the chances I'm going to be able to make it work with someone else? Whether I pick them or the Ministry. You and I have known each other forever, and we've been friends for half our lives. If I can't live with you, how am I supposed to think I'll be able to live with anybody, let alone marry someone until death do us part? It's ridiculous." He couldn't look at her. This was the first time he'd voiced the thoughts that had plagued him since he got over the initial shock and anger and resentment after their break up.

She took his hand. "Just because it didn't work with the two of us, doesn't mean there isn't somebody out there for you. And I think you deserve more than the next seven months to try to find them. So sign the letter. Please."

"Alright," he said, still not looking at her. "And…I'm sorry. About Lavender and Seamus's wedding. I guess I was kind of a prat."

"You were," she confirmed. "But I got over it. There is something else you can do to make it up to me."

"The wicked hangover I had wasn't penance enough? I really didn't think I drank enough for that."

She made a small sound of embarrassment. "Well, the hangover might have been due to a sleeping potion someone put in your last drink. You were being a complete prat." She pulled a second letter out of the bag in her lap. "This one is for Malfoy. I need you to give it to him when you see him today. All he needs to do is sign it and send it to the Ministry. I've done everything else already."

Ron made a face and finally looked at her again. "You want me to give this to Malfoy?"

"Well, you are going to see him today, and I'm not. I don't think anybody deserves to be subjected to this law. Just give the letter to him for me and tell him he needs to sign it if he doesn't want his mother planning his life away," she said. "Anyway, if I don't leave now, I'll be late for work. Smith is useless in the morning. He comes in, but he's really not alert until about nine, and he's liable to miss something if someone comes in at this hour." She stood up, smoothing her robes and hoisting her bag on her shoulder. "You will give him that, won't you?"

"I'll try," he promised reluctantly. He watched her leave and breathed a sigh of relief, looking around his flat. He might as well get ready and go. He looked for his robes and shrugged them on, fastening his wand holster at his waist. The leather was cracked—he really needed to get a new one soon before it fell to pieces. He still remembered Moody lecturing him on his first day about wand safety.

"Never ever put your wand in your back pocket, or use it to scratch your ass or pick your nose. This is your tool. Your shield and sword. Your absolutely lifeline to everything. You're swimming fetus and this is your umbilical cord. You will treat your wand with respect. I once knew a man who scratched his ass with his wand while on patrol. Do you know what happened to him? He blew off his buttocks!" the man growled. There was a stunned silence from Ron and the others, and then, they just had to try not to laugh. Moody didn't take kindly to any sort of merriment.

He cleared his head and took a swig of something from the fridge without tasting what it was. He stepped into his shoes and turned on the spot, clutching both letters in his hand as he went.

Ron walked the familiar corridors until he came to the room for today's lesson. The schedule hadn't been specific; all it said was, "Be prepared." Ron suspected this might mean Moody was going to poison them, or attack them, or set a mountain troll on them. Really, anything was possible. He sometimes wondered if he really wanted to endure three years of this. But he did, didn't he? He wanted to defend those that needed protection, fight off the dark wizards. Hadn't he been doing this most of his life? And speaking of dark wizards…

"Oi, Malfoy," he called out, seeing him across the room, languishing against the wall.

"What is it, Weasley? Did you forget how to tie your shoes?"

Ron set his jaw. He wasn't going to rise to the bait. He was not going to make an ass in front of Moody or anybody else picking a fight with Malfoy. Malfoy would get bored of this whole business and quite and go back to his mansion one of these days. Ron was in it for the long haul. He just had to wait. "I've got something for you from Hermione."

Draco made a face, wondering what Granger could possibly want from him. Maybe she was finally making progress with that rubbish law. He was vaguely aware that his mother had some sort of party planned for this weekend, and didn't doubt it was an attempt to help get him to meet more eligible witches. "Well, give it here, Weasley."

Weasley handed the letter over as the other trainees were trickling into the room. "She said she's already done all the work. All you need to do is sign it and send it to the Ministry."

Draco skimmed the letter lazily. The writing was not at all like his own. Full, round letters with even spaces between the words covered the page. His own writing tended to be elegant, slim, and a little slanted.

Dear Minister,

You recently passed a law with the intention of helping mend the wizarding world by blending families of different blood types. I commend your efforts at unity, but as one of the wizards impacted by this law, I feel troubled by the results.

A world in which people are forced to marry someone based on their ancestry is one that violates so many basic rights. Not to mention, it will have traumatic repercussions for generations. How many unwanted children will be born from these forced unions? What psychological impact will that have on them?

Draco stopped bothering to read. "This has Granger's name all over it. I'm not signing it." He held out the letter nonchalantly.

"All you need to do is sign it. Hermione's enchanted the parchment so that it'll become your handwriting when you sign it."

He sneered. "The handwriting isn't the problem. It's the words. I'm not putting my name on it."

"Hermione's trying to make things better for you too. Just sign it and get it over with. I did," Ron said stiffly.

Draco snickered. "I guess that's the difference between us, Weasel. You'll just do anything you're told." Seeing that Weasley wasn't going to take the letter back, he tore it in half and slipped the pieces in his pocket.

"Alright, you lot, I'm sealing you into this room. You've got two hours to figure out how to get out. Go," growled Moody, standing in the doorway. He shut the door and left.

All of the trainees looked around at one another and tried to resist groaning. The days where Moody gave them games like this were always the worst.


Narcissa was rather put out. The bakery where she usually preferred to have cakes for special occasions made was busy the week of her party. She'd have to have the house-elf take care of it. "I don't understand, Margaret. You've never had any problems making something for me at the drop of a hat before. It's the middle of December—there shouldn't be any sort of rush on these things right now."

"I am so sorry about this, Mrs. Malfoy. It's just that with all the extra weddings going on this year, things have been busier than usual. Though I rather suspect that with people doing it this year who might have normally waited, my next couple of years will probably be slow," she shook her head. "It's entirely thrown off the course of things. I'm low on supplies now, and a year from now I think I'll be short on business."

"Well, we must persevere, must we not?"

"You're right as usual, Mrs. Malfoy. Is there anything else I can do for you today? I have some lovely cupcakes I only just baked this morning."

Narcissa shook her head, smoothing her robes. "I'm afraid I'm watching my figure, so I'll have to say no to the cupcakes. Do you know whether or not Flavia Simmons is under the same sort of pressure as you are right now?"

The baker nodded, placing a swirl of icing with her wand. "I do think she is, though I haven't seen much of her lately. Custom robes for all the weddings and whatnot. What about Melinda Malkin? Her robes are nice, and she shouldn't be too busy this time of year."

Narcissa pursed her lips and then gave a little sigh. "The truth is, I don't need robes. Draco is having a little party this weekend and I thought he might possibly want to dress in Muggle-style clothes, so I was going to see if Flavia could make something custom for me."

Surprise only registered on Margaret's face for a moment before she turned it into a polite expression. "Oh? What sort of party is it?"

"Well, I thought we'd have some of Draco's friends over, and invite some of the Muggle-born girls he went to school with. You know, to give them all a chance to mingle. So many of his friends are subjected to this law, and they really didn't spend a lot of time with the girls while they were at Hogwarts. And of course now, Draco is training to be an Auror. Did you know that?"

"No, I hadn't heard."

Narcissa nodded, smiling adoringly. "I really am so proud of him, but he's absolutely exhausted at the end of the day. I really don't know what they're doing to him there. Anyway, I think he really could use the break."

Margaret set aside the cake she was working on and grabbed another to ice. "Well, I know the quality might not be quite what you're used to and it would probably be a little inconvenient, but what about going into a Muggle shop for the clothes?"

She considered admitting that she'd spent very little time in Muggle world, but why would she? "Yes, I just do hate shopping by myself. I may see if anyone is available to for a little outing. I really must be getting going. You'll keep July free for me, won't you? I haven't gotten Draco to settle down on a date yet, but he insisted that he didn't want to get married in August. I don't really blame—it's beastly hot in August."

The exchanged pleasantries, and Narcissa left, trying to decide her next course of action. She supposed she could contact one of the girls she'd been looking into on Draco's behalf and see if she had any suggestions. That Mandy girl seemed nice enough. Or maybe she'd just go herself. It was only a few days until the party and there was still so much to do.

She made her decision and turned to head to Gringotts. She needed some Muggle money.