Lovers and Liars

.o0o.

Christmas Day

Part One

He woke, yawning into the back off his left hand whilst groping about the bedside table for his glasses with his right. It was late, but for once he didn't really care, content to simply laze and enjoy a morning free of chaos. Auror training was over for the year and would only begin again in January, and even though he'd have to keep up a training regime of some sort to stay in shape, it was also quite a relief.

He could feel winter's icy breath upon him even though he was still huddled beneath his blankets, and he instantly realised that it had snowed the previous night. Shuddering at the thought of more snow piling up against his front door – there truly was no end to it this year– he decided that this was the perfect opportunity to test out the tub in his bathroom.

Since he'd moved into his new place, his schedule hadn't given him much time to enjoy all of the luxuries that it offered. All he usually had time for in the mornings was a quick shower before dashing off to the Auror office, and even on weekend mornings when he had a girl over it had proved so much easier to use the shower.

Speaking of girls, he found it quite strange to be waking to an empty bed for once. Since Becca, his string of one night stands –occasionally lasting for a little longer – had graced his sheets, only to be sent packing the next morning. Witch Weekly, and Rita Skeeter, took great delight in publicising the details of his latest flings, but at the end of the day it was just like Becca had said.

No feelings, no attachments, just enjoying the finer things life had to offer, especially since he'd never really gotten to have a normal teenage life till this point. He wasn't going to lie; it had stung when Rebecca had confessed to using him as just another stepping stone to fame. It had hurt, not as badly, when Ginny had broken up with him.

So in a way, Rebecca's way was so much simpler.

Last night, however, he had simply felt too tired and drained to go anywhere. He didn't understand why this was, not since he'd had energy to spare every night after his training, most of which had been absolutely gruelling. Of course, he hadn't really been taking the energy potion Becca had left him since he'd no longer had to wake up at a time when normal people were still fast asleep, but that was besides the point.

Deciding that it was about time he took that bath, he rolled over, and screamed. He leapt back, nearly falling off the other end of the bed, his heart thudding in his throat at the sight.

Standing at the edge of his bed, staring at him through a pair of bulbous eyes, stood Kreacher. The House Elf cocked his head, amusement evident on his leathery face, before folding his gnarled arms across his spindly chest.

"Kreacher is quite cross with Master Harry," declared the elf, and Harry stared, unable to process what his elf was doing in his new house, or more to the point, why Kreacher had been watching him sleep.

"Nice to see you too, Kreacher," said Harry, gathering his sheets around him and staring at the elf as though he was insane. Truth be told, he hadn't really given his elf much thought since going to visit him once in the aftermath of the battle. It had seemed to him that Kreacher had grown quite friendly with a few of the more elderly Hogwarts elves, and he had thought Kreacher would be happier with them.

Evidently, he had been mistaken.

"Master Harry is getting himself a new home and not informing Kreacher," said the elf, looking less and less pleased as he spoke. "Kreacher has to hear from Bupo that his Master has taken a new home. The shame, Master Harry, and the rumours that I has been replaced." Then calmly, he looked around the room, sniffing disdainfully at the haphazardly arranged walk-in wardrobe which Harry had left open the night before, evidently not very impressed with the housekeeping skills he had seen. "Evidently not," he concluded, before turning back to Harry.

"Kreacher," Harry began, feeling quite put out at being scolded as if he were a little child. "Why are you here?"

"Kreacher is here to do what he has always done," replied Kreacher, "To serve Master."

"I don't really need –"

"Master Harry is now a respectable member of society," interrupted Kreacher, nodding emphatically, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing upon his thin chest. "Master will need Kreacher to keep his house whilst he goes about his business."

It was a few hours later before Harry was able to drag himself away from the conversation with the elf, having finally caved and agreed to Kreacher's offer. What was the harm, after all? The House Elf had been a brilliant ally during the brief period he had lived in Grimmauld Place whilst on the run, and despite the fact that he was getting on in years he had proved quite capable of keeping a house as large as Grimmauld spotless.

Head throbbing slightly, Harry groaned as he caught sight of the clock, realising that because of the elf's arrival he had ended up running late for a very important meeting. It was arguably one of the most important in his life and he couldn't be late, not for this, so he began getting ready much faster than he did for work.

His eyes felt somewhat grainy as he climbed down the stairs, but according to the steaming cup of coffee on the mantle, Kreacher already was proving to be invaluable to him. Downing it in one go, he felt a slight relief to his headache as the caffeine hit his system. Setting the cup back down on the mantle – no doubt Kreacher would get it – he stepped into the fireplace and, tossing a handful of powder at his feet, he said, "Tonks residence."

He carefully dusted the soot off his clothes before stepping out of the fireplace, and gingerly smiled at the imposing, regal form of Andromeda Tonks sitting upon the nearest couch, a pair of knitting needles in her hands and an icy glare in her eyes.

"I guess you got my owl then?" Harry asked, rubbing at the back of his head. His head throbbed, just a little though, and he stifled a groan as Andromeda raised her eyebrows.

"Obviously, or else I'd have asked why you've come to call."

"He's my godson, Andromeda," he said, "I want to be there for him."

Andromeda remained silent, as if studying him for a moment, before getting to her feet and gesturing for him to follow. It didn't take them long to reach a bedroom, and going through the open door, Harry came face to face with a chubby blue-haired baby playing on the floor.

"You're leaving him alone?" he asked, incredulous, instantly regretting his question as her eyes flashed.

"I have raised children before, Mister Potter, I am well aware of the protective enchantments and wards that can ensure a child is not in harm's way whilst I go about doing my housework."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have . . ." he trailed off, shrugging sheepishly as a look of vague amusement seemed to flit across her face for the barest of seconds.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything. It's almost time for his lunch." Andromeda nodded curtly before slipping from the room, moving with a natural grace that made it very clear that Tonks hadn't inherited her clumsiness from the maternal side of her family tree.

Teddy looked up at him curiously, waving a rattle and cocking his head to the side as though studying him. As Harry reached down to pick him up, he cringed slightly at the sight of his eyes, so obviously his natural colour, a deep brown interspersed with flecks of amber.

The eyes of a wolf.

"Hey little guy," said Harry, picking the nine month old boy up. "I know that it's taken me a while to come see you, but I'm your godfather."

Teddy Lupin paused in shaking his rattle and instead stared at him as though he was the strangest thing the kid had ever seen. Teddy cocked his head to one side, tufts of turquoise hair beginning to darken till they were as dark as his own.

"I think we'll get along just fine," continued Harry when all seemed to be going well.

Teddy responded appropriately by smacking him in the nose with his rattle and giggling as he yelped in surprise. A smile broke out across his face as the baby smacked him a second time, giggling louder and feigning shock, taking extra care to pull a weird face.

Little Teddy laughed, innocent to tragedy surrounding his birth, and reached out a chubby fist to tug at Harry's hair. He winced, wondering how a baby could pull at his hair with such force. Then he froze, the rattle catching him in the temple and his headache almost tripled in intensity.

Tightening his grasp around the kid to ensure he did not drop him, he proceeded to make his way down to the kitchen, head feeling as though someone had stuck their wand into his ear and cast a Cruciatus. The headaches had been coming and going more and more recently since yesterday morning, but never had he felt one so ferocious, and he wondered if Teddy's infantile play had been what had triggered it.

Shoving the absurd notion aside, he knocked open the kitchen door with his elbow and, as quickly as he could, he pressed Teddy into Andromeda's arms.

"Potter?" Andromeda looked at him, a matriarchal concern – so different from her earlier indifference – evident in her gaze as he sank into a chair and began massaging his temples. A low groan escaped his throat, his vision growing slightly grainy around the edges, and he hurriedly blinked to try and clear his eyes.

"Headache," he grunted, and the woman nodded sympathetically, the child in her arms beginning to fuss as if picking up on his pain. Harry swallowed, his eyes watering, before getting to his feet and gesturing towards the fireplace, silently taking his leave and hoping Andromeda would understand that he was not trying to be rude.

"Come around when you're feeling better," said Andromeda by way of farewell, her voice straining as she added, "I know full well how tough Auror training is on you young ones."

"I'll come around this weeke–" Harry managed, his last words being cut off as he disappeared in a flash of green flame. The Floo, if anything, brought with it a sense of nausea, and he clamped his eyes shut to ignore the dizzying sensation.

He stumbled into his living room, not caring that he was tracking ash and soot across the carpet. A feeling of lethargy had begun to settle across his limbs, making them feel like lead as he forced open his potions cupboard, hurriedly fingering the glass vials in their wooden stand. Finally, after what seemed like years, he extricated a chalky-pink potion and, biting off the wax stopper, he downed the headache potion in one go.

It was almost instantly soothing and he let out a sigh of relief as he settled down into one of the stools along the island, flicking his wand at the teapot in an attempt to relax after his sudden – and wholly unexpected ordeal. He remembered Aunt Petunia – and however poor a guardian she may have been to him, it could not be denied that she did have a certain degree of motherly instinct – often commenting that tea was one of the few things that could make anything feel better.

This, obviously, had never previously been the case for him before he'd usually been the one making them the tea, but he was willing to give it a go.

Harry yawned, by habit adding a drop of Becca's potion to his tea as he stirred.

.o0o.

"So, isn't he a little young for you?" he asked, plopping down onto the couch and bringing up the question his sister had been avoiding since returning home from Hogwarts.

It was Christmas. Snow drifts covered the fields surrounding the Burrow and the windows were trimmed with frost. The tree has been erected, the halls decked with tinsel and baubles, and a gleaming golden star shone from the top.

But even the hearty aroma of Christmas dinner hadn't been enough to liven their spirits today of all days, for it was their first Christmas without Fred. One day, perhaps they'd be able to enjoy the season once more, but for now they were content to simply stand together as a family.

His mother had been the most devastated that day and had been put to bed after lunch, a strong draught of Dreamless Sleep having been mixed in with her tea to ensure she wasn't plagued by nightmares. In what had been a first, their father had joined her in taking the potion, but Ron realised that he was taking the day just as hard, if not harder, than their mother was.

Bill and Fleur had taken their leave about an hour after their parents had retired, and as Ginny had surmised, their excuses had been just that, excuses driven by their need to return to Shell Cottage and shag.

Still, despite his family and friends not being gathered with him as they usually were, Ron didn't feel the crushing disappointment he'd expected. There was something vaguely relaxing about sitting in the living room with Ginny, Percy, and George, the four of them throwing back eggnog and just taking the time to be siblings again.

"I don't see any girls hanging off your arm, prat," retorted Ginny with a smirk. "Jealous much."

"He's hardly jealous," butted in George in a singsong voice, "Didn't you hear that Ickle Ronniekins has been spending his time with Lavender Brown?"

"I've just met her for drinks a few times," he explained, his cheeks burning. "It's nothing serious or romantic or anything. It isn't as if you've been much of a hit with the ladies yourself, George."

"Well, I have been living the life of a reclusive shut-in for the past few months." George snorted, the humorous glint evident in his eyes. "All the work on the shop has the whisky weight just melting off so I'll be pulling in no time, baby brother."

"Tasteful as always," Ginny sniggered, and he took the opportunity to note the pink tinge to his sister's cheeks and the slur that was beginning to touch her voice. She'd obviously been drinking a bit too much of the eggnog, but for once he didn't want to play the role of overprotective big brother.

She was going to get drunk anyway at this age, much in the same way that he and his brothers had had their alcoholic rites of passage, so he'd prefer she got wasted where they could keep an eye on her rather than at a bar with strangers.

"Well, when Percy's getting more action than you are, you know that you have no game." George shrugged as the words left his lips, ignoring the faux annoyed harrumph that Percy made in response. Ron blushed again, his cheeks flaming redder than his hair as his siblings laughed, even Percy who had been the brunt of that joke.

"Are we sure those were hickeys and not just the work of his owl," pointed out Ron, downing a glass of eggnog and pouring himself another. The vaguely cloying, yet sharp taste coated his tongue and throat, and he shifted in his seat as a strange warmth began to spread through his chest.

"This is a really strong batch," he added as an afterthought, and when Percy and Ginny were the only ones to nod in response, all three turned to stare at George with raised eyebrows.

Clearly, his addiction had not been kicked as hard as he'd led them to believe.

"It's Christmas," declared George, "Why don't we cele –"

His brother was interrupted by the fireplace roaring to life and turning in his seat, Ron felt a surge of disbelief as Harry stepped into the room, accompanied by a giggling brunette. He'd rarely seen his best mate in weeks, barely a glimpse here and a glance there, and a part of him had truly expected Harry to have not shown up.

Really, maybe it was just two friends growing apart, but after losing Hermione earlier that year, Harry was the last person he'd expect to have walked away from the friendship. Ron actually envied his friend, if only a little, mainly because whilst he and his family had been grieving and trying to regain a foothold of normalcy, Harry had simply leapt into stardom.

The tension seemed almost palpable in the air, but George being George, he dismissed it without a care in the world, getting to his feet and offering Harry a hand.

"Great to see you're still alive, mate," said George by way of greeting. "And you brought company." He gestured at the skimpily clad brunette who simply giggled and waved, seeming to be joined to Harry as though they were Siamese twins.

"This is Amber Conant, my gir– my friend," said Harry, and Ron could have sworn that he saw his friend's fingers twitch, as though he were on edge.

"Playwitch has been good to you, Amber," said Percy, seeming as eager as George to try and dim the awkwardness of the situation. When they all turned to stare at Percy though, his older brother realised his blunder and simply held up both hands by way of surrender. "She was in my year at Hogwarts."

Their conversation carried on in that tone for quite some time, when suddenly a topic that Ron had been hoping they wouldn't return to was brought up, and he almost cringed as George mentioned wanting to meet Ginny's new boyfriend.

"Yeah," chimed in Percy, "When do we get to meet, and by meet I mean scare away, the new guy."

"I'm still testing the waters with Dennis, can you three cool it on the big brother patrol."

"You're seeing Dennis Creevey?" Harry's voice seemed to have frozen in his throat as he spoke, because even Ron could detect the iciness in his tone, and the way the room temperature seemed to drop instantly.

"I am," replied Ginny. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," answered Harry, and Ron knew for sure that the strain of bitterness was not imagined. "It's not my problem whose bishop you've been beating."

Ron saw red.

.o0o.

George stared, stunned, waiting to see how his sister would react to the blatant insult Harry had just thrown her way. Since finding out that Ginny was snogging a lad that was two years younger than her, George had been teasing her about it at every available opportunity.

Even Percy had gotten in on the teasing with one or two snarky one-liners about how their sister was well on her way to becoming a cougar, but Ginny had simply laughed it all off and repaid the favour tenfold with her own brand of fiery wit.

This though . . . there had been no tone of joking in Harry's tone, and even the wording had been laced with venom. He watched, wanting to give the younger guy a piece of his mind but trusting his sister to hold her own, when suddenly she rose from her seat.

The absurd thought that she may kiss Harry whipped through his mind, when suddenly she pulled back her hand and he winced as he realised what was about to happen.

She slapped him, the harsh crack off her palm against his cheek echoing through the silent living room, and he watched as Harry took a step back. His sister's lip trembled, her hair crackling with static as she glared at him, her fingers clenched on the handle of her wand. Wondering if perhaps he should disarm her before she did any major damage to Harry, George extracted his own wand from his pocket, raising it warily when suddenly.

"Don't you dare, George," she snapped. He froze, watching as Ginny drew herself up to her full height. The model, Amber, stepped behind Harry, an ugly sneer across her face as she shot visual daggers at his sister.

"How dare you bring this, this slag, into my home and then call me out for dating someone?" Ginny's voice was low, dangerous even, a sure sign to George that his sister had already passed the levels of anger. When Ginny was mad there'd be fire and yelling . . . but when you pushed to many of her buttons and she got quiet, just like she was now, well, even Fred and he had opted to tread carefully around her.

"Don't call her a–" retorted Harry, and George, even though he himself was more than a little angered Harry's gall, had to admire the guy for daring to brave Ginny in this kind of temper.

"I'll call her whatever I damn well please," interrupted Ginny, "It's what she is, isn't she? How many teenage wizards are fapping off to your squeeze's latest photo shoot in Playwizard, Harry? Don't get me started on the girl you had before this one, or the one before that, and don't deny it because you've been plastered across the cover of Witch Weekly snogging some new skank for the past three months."

"You're the one who broke up with me!" he roared in response, and George frowned at how bloodshot Harry's eyes were. It was probably one of the worst times to notice these things, but had the guy been sleeping recently? Why did his eyes look almost sunken, and why were his cheeks becoming so gaunt?

He'd known Harry for almost eight years at this point and it was fairly obvious to him that something was off about the younger man. He thanked Merlin that his parents had spared themselves the scene by taking their sleeping potions and calling it an early night, and that Bill and Fleur had already taken their leave.

In the background, he was dimly aware of Percy restraining Ron, but like him his older brother was holding his wand and warily watching the scene. Amber seemed to have fallen silent, a wise decision, but Harry and Ginny were still raging at each other, and it was becoming increasingly evident that a duel between the two may very well break out soon.

"I needed space, Harry! I needed time to cope with my brother dying! I wanted to see how I really felt about you, about us, before committing to you and it's bloody great that I didn't."

"Considering how long it took you to hop on Dennis, I doubt you were finding yourself all that long. The two of you were probably grieving your brother's together I'll bet – interesting way to grieve, I'll bet, but I'll bet you helped him get over it real goo–"

"Get out," someone snarled, and it was only a few seconds later when George realised that he had been the one who'd spoken. Emboldened by the realization, he raised his wand and stepped forward, curling a reassuring arm around Ginny. His sister seemed to have been struck speechless by Harry's last blow, and even Ron and Percy were staring at him agape.

It wasn't that he'd basically called Ginny a loose woman, it was that he'd thrown Fred's death right into their faces, as if the pain of losing him was some kind of weapon.

"Get out," he repeated coldly.

"George, I didn't mean –" Harry seemed to come to the realization of what he'd said a little too late, his angry expression giving way to a look of horror, but George was having none of it. He didn't really care that the other guy looked as though he was coming down from a bender, or even that he was behaving in a manner that just seemed off.

A part of his mind nagged at him that something was wrong with Harry, but in that moment he simply pushed it aside. He didn't care.

Nobody, and he meant nobody, should dare throw his brother's name into his face with anything other than respect. Nobody.

"I don't care, Potter," George growled, "Just get out of here."

Harry gave them one last pained look before turning on his heel and leaving, almost dragging his date with him as he made for the Floo. George never dropped his glare till the flare of green flame signified the Chosen One's departure, and only then did he stow away his wand and guide his sister to the couch.

.o0o.

A/N: Hullo mates, a big thank you to all the reviewers so far. I understand that at this point in the story it may not be everybody's cup of tea but these poor kids just got out of a war. I'm really trying to keep the casualties and conflict at a low level for now, and will probably give them all a brief period to just live before their lives get hard again.

Also, since this chapter ran quite long, I split it into two to make reading it easier. So the stay tuned for scenes will be at the end of the next chapter. We still have to see how Christmas went for Draco and Hermione.

Thirdly, I'd really like to hear your opinions on why you think Harry is acting the way he is. Hit me up in the reviews or PM with your theories.

Till next chapter.

-Shane