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Chapter 25

Christmas Eve

Slowly but irresistibly, the northern weather had bullied its way further down the country and the Trevetts' departure coincided with the first snowfall in the southwest. Well ahead of dawn's revealing light, Charlie led the refugees beyond the Burrow's protective wards, then activated the well-used wrecked-umbrella Portkey to his home in Romania. Arthur Weasley hurriedly obliterated their footprints before shuffling back to the warmth of his snug kitchen.

"Everything go alright?" Molly greeted him.

"No need for you to get up this early, Molly," shivered Arthur, loosening the belt on his dressing gown before the fireplace glow. "Don't worry - Charlie'll be back for lunch."

"I'll make a start with the mince pies and jam tarts, I think, ready for tomorrow. Then there's sausage rolls, fruit for the cake - Oh and the bird to be picked and plucked later this afternoon; there's never time Christmas morning."

"Come and sit down for a while," said Arthur with a yawn. "Doesn't do to start hustling and bustling soon as you get up in the morning."

Ginny would have more than agreed with her father's view. Still cuddled up in bed with her medallion, she was exchanging kisses with Harry and embraced a clear intention of not arising again until she must; she had been up in the night.

With u, 4 u, Ginny, always.

u help me get thru - really do.

Sensed u sad yesterday.

But i should b support u, Harry

u do - but i owe u big time

love u

love u

later

Ginny rolled sleepily over for another hour's sleep before the cockerel woke the plump chickens to scratch about in the Weasleys' backyard. Dreams were not to be. Her thoughts, hedged in by the events of Luna's last day, seemed drear. If only Edmund had warned them, her friend would be here now - festively celebrating before escaping to a secret location with her father. Who would tell him of the tragedy?
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—oOo—

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Xeno Lovegood placed one sleeping child in Rosmerta's arms and took up the other. A dim glow from underfoot revealed itself as an open hatch in the thickly-snowed roof of the Three Broomsticks tavern. The air was still now but bitterly cold.

"Watch the steps, Xeno," whispered Rosmerta, "they're slithery with ice. Your owl skidded down there yesterday."

"Ah! - that'll be from Luna," murmured Xeno. There was relief in his voice. "She promised to write as soon as she was safely at the Burrow."

After putting Gylda and Emmy to bed, Xeno sat with Rosmerta before the dying embers of yesterday's fire, cuddling a hot rum toddy and sipping it for comfort. The tavern's seasonal guests would all be asleep at this late hour; the couple would not be disturbed in the landlady's private parlour.

"Well?" he said, after giving Rosmerta a decent time to remember the message. Both the warmth and the grog had begun to relax his frozen joints and he settled more comfortably in his chair. Rosmerta had just hovered up a few more pieces of coal ready to revive the last smouldering ashes of the fire but, distracted, she let them drop back into the scuttle.

"Well, what?" She frowned. "It's over there." Rosmerta pointed with her wand to the dark-feathered owl that squatted patiently on the window seat in the furthest corner.

Xeno exploded to his feet. "That's not Audrey! Where's Audrey? Where's our owl?"

"But I thought... It's message is addressed to you so I - sorry I just assumed it was your own owl."

Xeno was already striding over to the small bird that side-stepped nervously on the cushions at his approach. The man stared at his own name clearly marked on the outside of the scroll attached to the creature's feathered ankle. He hesitated. The owl held out its leg and watched the man cautiously with its great round eyes.

While reading the note, he kept quite still with his back to Madam Rosmerta who was watching him anxiously from her chair by the forgotten fire. He could not maintain the pose for long. A long, low wail ending in a desperate sob escaped his lips and he sank to his knees.

"Xeno! Whatever is it!" Rosmerta rushed over, unsure how she might help. "Is it... Is it from-?"

He was rocking back and forth in a lowly foetal crouch and seemed to not hear her. She could see the message screwed up tightly in the fist he held to his heart.

"Xeno?" she said softly. As she put her hand gently on his shoulder, he startled, becoming aware of her again.

Rosmerta tried to read his expression. "Xeno, is she...? Can you tell me?"

"NO! NO! NO!"

He rose angrily to his feet and the alarmed woman took a step or two backwards. "Xeno! What in Merlin's name is the matter?"

Mr Lovegood blinked rapidly as he tried to control himself. "No - nothing! It's... They've... They've destroyed... It's the next issue! They've... The January Quibbler, all prepared for printing - all gone!"

Rosmerta's shoulders relaxed and she almost smiled with relief. She sighed. "Xeno - there are far worst things, believe me! We'll help. We'll all help! What's needed? It will just go out late. You must have copies of some of the articles?"

"No, it's... They'll..."

"You think they'll destroy it again? Death Eaters you mean?"

"Yes. Yes, that's it. I can't keep..."

"But-"

Rosmerta watched as he paced from the window to his seat by the fire then back again, over and over. "Fuss over nothing." He was rambling to himself. "Can't keep publishing that nonsense anyway. They're right... Quite right..."

Finally, he shambled off in the direction of the steps that led up to the roof, still muttering and chuntering his woe.

"You're not going now, surely, Xeno! - it's freezing out there. Aren't you staying the night?"

The man was obviously distraught. He was slapping himself with both hands around the sides of his head as if in penance. "Why? Why'd you do it! Fool! Imbecile!"

Rosmerta tried to pull him gently back but he pushed her aside. "Must go! Must!"

She went upstairs with him and watched as he struggled up the icy steps and out onto the roof. He was silent now. The woman ran below for his travelling cloak but when she returned he had gone. Rosmerta closed the hatch and gloomily turned back to the quiet parlour. It was almost four o'clock. She wondered whether to try to get a couple of hours' sleep. Christmas eve would be a very long and busy day serving customers. She sighed and sat down before the hearth and took out her wand. The fire had died. Once again, she charmed some coals up above their bucket; once again she dropped them back into it. This time her jaw had fallen almost as much as the coals. There was a screwed up parchment smouldering upon the near-dead cinders.

"Accio message!"

Flakes of ash trembled and feathered from the edges of the scroll as she opened it up, but the few darkly-inked words stood out clearly:

We have her.

Return to your home immediately.

Henceforth, we shall tell you what to print.

Speak to no one.

There was a scratching sound from the direction of the window. The dark owl looked back at her suspiciously. She let it out into the night. Yes, Christmas eve would be a very long day in the Three Broomsticks.
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—oOo—

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It would be a long day for Ginny too but the first part had worked out pretty well. She had polished the brasswork on the antique magazine rack to reveal a beautiful siren and wolf scene in relief. It seemed so appropriately personalised as a gift for Bill and Fleur she felt much better about giving it. During the morning she sneaked out again to shop in Ottery to get supplementary gifts for her family with a bit more thought than she had spared on her previous trip.

Her return from Ottery coincided with Charlie's reappearance so she hid her basket in the shed with his skeletal brolly. She laid her travel cloak on top of the basket. The place looked incredibly tidy without a cobweb in sight. "House-elves!" smiled Charlie at her, "which reminds me..." They entered the Burrow's backdoor together, Charlie drawing all the attention and Ginny pottering in as though she had just nipped outside to greet him.

"They settling in alright, Charlie?" greeted Mrs Weasley, giving him a kiss of relief that was indicative of the times in which they lived.

"They're fine. Thanks a lot, Mum - I just didn't think."

"Thanks for what? I think I can kiss my own son without-"

"You know what I mean," grinned Charlie. He reached for the biscuit barrel and Mrs Weasley slapped his wrist away. Ginny was slipping through to the hallway, heading for the stairs.

"No, I don't," affirmed Mrs Weasley, shaking her head.

"Housekeeping, cleaning my place up, tidying - it would have been embarrassing as it was with my old pants strewn about and two days' dishes to wash in the sink. Who knows what she- what they would have thought of me!"

Mrs Weasley shook her head a second time, this time with a big frown on her face - then her eyes widened. "GINNY!"

Ginny had almost made it onto the stairs. "What?"

"You know what - get back here!"

Her daughter dragged her feet back into the kitchen. "It was an extra Christmas present," she said sullenly. "I didn't get much this year." She twisted her fingers around a strand of long red hair then continued in a tone of defensive protest, "It took less than an half-an-hour's cleaning charms last night! Borrowed the Portkey - in and out in less than-"

Her brother strode over and shielded her from their mother's outpouring of wrath with a big hug and a kiss. Ginny had always been especially fond of Charlie.

"Arthur! Will you tell this girl of yours-"

From the parlour there was a loud rustle of the Daily Prophet being re-folded to a new page and Mr Weasley's voice came back, "They didn't take her from the train when they could have - they're not interested in her."

"Yes, but-"

A sigh came back from the other room, followed a few seconds later by Mr Weasley. "Ginny, you should really ask us first."

"But you'd only have said no!"

"No we wouldn't necessar-"

"Can I go to Fred and George this afternoon, then?"

"No!" cried Mrs Weasley. "I'm not having you gallivanting about on your own."

"I won't be on my own, will I?"

"Molly," Mr Weasley said gently, "It's just a floo away and Fred and George will be with her."

Mrs Weasley turned aside. Perhaps there were a few worry tears in her eyes. It took Ginny quite a while to smuggle in her cloak and the shopping basket from the shed outside. She had to use two spells and a diversion by Charlie to do it though.

In the afternoon, Ginny did help out in Fred and George's shop as a 'working present' she told them, and came away with soothing, flavour-changing chocolates for her mother. The twins swore they had no nasty surprises and were part of their new novelty sidelines.

Throughout the day, Harry had almost bombarded Ginny with kisses. He seemed in a good mood. He knew she had been feeling rather low for the last few days but assumed it was because they hadn't been able to meet again. Ginny did not disabuse him of that notion.

Yes, altogether, it had been a good day for Ginny. It was the evening that was the problem...
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—oOo—

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When darkness finally enshrouded the tent, Harry slipped his medallion back below his neckline after cautioning Ginny that he would be 'busy' for the next few hours. He had a big grin on his face. This was it. At last they were ready - or at least as ready enough that Hermione could no longer put off their visit to Godric's Hollow. He was going home - to his real home.

There was a sense of excitement; things starting to move again after stagnating for so long. He could see it in Hermione's positive expression too, even though only she had been wearing the Horcrux so far today. Harry hesitated. His dearest friend had overdone it again he realised, trying to protect him.

"Hermione - it's about my turn isn't it?"

She glanced up from checking her bag for the tenth time. "Oh... yes - I'd forgotten." The locket was removed, not reluctantly, and she handed it over without looking at him. She knew he would be displaying that wry, affectionate but disapproving smile that said he knew she hadn't forgotten.

"Any bad dreams, recently?" he asked, as he pulled the chained Horcrux over his head and slipped it out of sight again beneath his shirt.

Now she did look up. "No - I told you, I don't wear it asleep anymore. What made you ask?"

"Oh, nothing... " Harry looked closely at his friend. Like him, she was wearing some old Muggle clothes ready for their trip. "I do worry about you sometimes, you know."

Hermione went slightly pink and a little smile forced its way onto the corners of her lips. "Don't start going all soft, Harry - not right now. We've got to stay sharp. I'm still uneasy about-"

"We'll be fine, Hermione," said Harry, reassuringly.

She fetched the potions she had prepared and came over to him. "Right then. Let's see if you still worry about me when I'm old and decrepit."

They drank at once, watching the familiar effects on each other.

"You're not that old," said Harry, as his hand groped after his rapidly-receding hairline, "barely middle-aged. How does your husband look?"

"You'll do, Grandad," she said, dusting a grey hair from his shoulders. "Ready?"

Harry nodded and as they moved together he swung his invisibility cloak over them both and took her hand. He gave it one squeeze then they turned into the blackness and were gone.
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—oOo—

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Somehow, Ginny had thought that Christmas eve, upon which she had never experienced any drama more worrying than a stocking that needed darning, was sacrosanct, protected from evil. Her fingers ran over the surface of her medallion, feeling the angular shape of the portcullis to confirm what she saw. Ginny knew better than to trouble Harry with a question in times of danger. The lowered gate engraving only signified being in the vicinity of an enemy, not an immediate threat - but what if he did not know? She decided, this once, to warn and support him. They both well knew the other would not respond if it was difficult to do so.

Danger! Take care. I am with u.

She kept a lonely vigil all evening, helping her mother with the preparations for the morrow but slipping away several times an hour to check the silvery disk and send encouragement to Harry. Fred and George were now home for Christmas, laughing and joking with their elder brothers in the parlour but somehow Ginny, who hid it well, was not really a part of the fun. It was Fleur who picked up her mood when they had a few moments alone together in the kitchen, carrying away empty wine glasses and preparing the final toast. Ginny looked at the clock. It was very late - only minutes away from Christmas.

"Ginny, you worry 'bout 'im?" Fleur sighed. "Do not fret, little one. 'e is brave, your Harry."

"You know? How'd you-" Ginny's hand trembled a little as she poured the wine.

"Don't you think I notice z'ese little things around the 'ouse? Even what people say about your Phlegm? And 'bout my Bill?"

Only the glow of the wine she had already consumed prevented Ginny from blushing.

Fleur smiled. "Don't let your 'eart be troubled my sister. V'e all stand togezz'er."

Ginny looked up at the older girl. She had not really thought of her as a sister-in-law before. Her perceptions did warm a little towards her. She felt suddenly very glad she had polished up the magazine rack ready to put under the tree for tomorrow. Tomorrow! there would be no tomorrow for her if Harry didn't get through this...

She felt it. It was not Harry's kiss but a searing skull-splitting, screaming pain on the right of her forehead. The wine tray crashed from her hands to the kitchen floor. She ran. Ginny knew the medallion would portray a dungeon even before she reached the bathroom.
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—oOo—

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Hermione screamed as she fell - then the blackness took her and the ringing sound of midnight's mass faded away. They took a bad tumble, she and Harry, as they arrived back outside the tent's protective spells. Harry did not get to his feet with her but writhed around, eyes screwed up tight. At least there was no snow here and the turf was dry beyond the edge of the abandoned railway line near to their camp.

For a while she was disorientated, wondering in which direction lay their shelter. Harry started to groan. There was blood on his clothes. She had to make a decision. Long grass! We camped in the long grass away from the track.

She tried to drag him but without success in the older woman's small body, and his cries dissuaded her from trying further. Wake up, Hermione! You're a witch, you stupid girl!

"Mobilicorpus!" Her exhalation misted and hung in the air and Harry, thrashing about like a hooked fish, rose to it.

Hermione found her way at last, guiding Harry past her enchanted wards to the concealed tent, and lay him upon his bunk. There were fragments of glass embedded in his face and atop his balding head but the dark stain on his right sleeve took all her attention. He cried out again, a strange, anguished sadness she had not known him to express before with such force.

"Harry! Harry!" He fell silent. Wherever he was, she could not reach him. It would be up to her.

Even with spells it took her a while to remove his coat without risking further harm to him. His t-shirt was spattered red and there was a darker mark over his heart; his right forearm had a messy, bloody wound. A growing scar was becoming vividly etched upon his forehead. Hermione knew it well. He began moaning again and his flesh began to writhe. She felt it too; the Polyjuice was wearing off.

"Accio glass! Tergeo!" She sponged his wounds with warm water before his own hair grew completely back - though it was more of a maternal instinct and not really essential after having used the spells. The cleansed arm revealed deep puncture marks from the snake and Hermione leaned back, despairing. Likely it was poisoned or cursed and she had no antidote here.

She looked closer. The cuts looked savage and raw but there was no corruption or inflammation. Why had Nagini not killed him?

She applied dittany and dressed the wound with a clean bandage. The other wounds now seemed little more than tiny cuts and scratches and a healing spell took care of those. Then there was another drop of blood formed and she cleaned that away too - yet his face was still contorted with suffering and he was crying out for... someone? ...or to help someone?

The Horcrux! She pulled at the slender chain but it seemed to be held back, caught up on a button perhaps. There was no time to waste. She lifted his sweat-soaked t-shirt and stared in horror - the locket was searing his flesh badly. Immediately next to it was his roman soldier medallion, as if drawn to defend the attack. Hermione struggled to grasp the horcrux, to pull it from him. The metal was icy cold yet she could feel it beating heavily like a living parasite clinging viciously to him. Without warning it began to tremble violently - no, it was the medallion!

She drew back, startled and afraid at whatever dark forces were at work. Only an unearthly cry of anguish from Harry forced her to try again.

"Accio Locket!" She shook her head at the failure. The flesh on his chest was burning, turning an ugly crimson around the evil artifact. Another drop of blood appeared and again she wiped it away.

"Help me, someone!" Hermione mindlessly cried out her desperation. She was alone. Distress hampered her thoughts as she tried to remember the spells she knew. It's just homework! Think! Help did come. It was the simplest of ideas.

"DIFFINDO!" She practically screamed her last hope at the cursed locket and its evil grip finally severed away from Harry's heart to be caught, removed, and flung with disgust upon the floor by a weeping Hermione.

She looked closely at Harry again. He wasn't calling out so much or so often now but he was still disturbed. Another spot of blood formed. She sighed. It had been her own blood dripping onto him. She went to the mirror and tended her wounds - minor cuts and scratches from the affray with the giant serpent at Bathilda Bagshot's home. Her reflected self was dreadful - more haggard and hollow-eyed, she thought, than when she had been the middle-aged Muggle earlier.

Hermione picked up the locket and put it on a shelf. She didn't care anymore.Let someone come in and steal it. Good riddance. Or, a voice said in her head, let a knight in shining armour come and deal with our burden for us - haven't we done enough?

And after so long - so long that she had come to feel she had won that fight - she considered Ron again. She indulged once more how deeply, deeply, he had hurt her and if she could ever forgive him. Would she ever have the chance? She battled away these thoughts. She would be strong, independent, and do the sensible thing. She retrieved the locket and carefully stored it away in her bag.

Before pulling down Harry's shirt, she examined the silver medallion with a puzzled look upon her face, but it was more quiet and still than Harry now was. Perhaps she had imagined its vibration - it had simply resonated in contact with the Horcrux. Resolutely, she tugged some blankets over him as one relieved to close a book upon a distasteful chapter.

She sat with Harry for the next few hours, occasionally wiping his face with the sponge and watching him carefully, but there was no way of stopping the occasional feverish cries that still slipped from his lips. She removed the bandage to check his wound; the snake's bite was no worse and had begun to heal. If only he could let go of whatever tormented him, she lamented. But it was almost morning before she finally managed to wake him.
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—oOo—

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Like Hermione, Ginny had not slept at all. She had fended off her family's questions about her alarmed exit with an excuse about drinking too much wine but she could not dispel her fears so easily. Neither of them knew it, but she had sat with Hermione, though far apart, tending the same patient, caring for the same young man in their own ways.

It was daylight when the harsh lines of the dungeon carved into the silver disk in her hand finally resolved to the more mellow, more relaxing outlines of a sailing ship. Harry was safe again and Ginny could, at last, sleep.
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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Note that I'm filling in some missing moments and not rewriting what we already know - like events at Godric's Hollow. The Great Battle of Hogwarts will be much more of a challenge in this respect but likely I'll apply the same method.

In the preceding chapter I touched on the possibility that magical folk might sense strong feelings of a close friend or lover. I think it's reasonable that Ginny, already in a state of anxiety and receptivity, might feel something of the power of Harry's agony as Voldemort's disappointment swamps his mind. I need every device I can to bring them together when they must be so far apart!

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. I hope you don't mind if I answer general questions and make comments through the reviews publicly. If anyone needs a pm though just say so. :)

- Hippothestrowl