A/N: Happy hurricane! We've still got power (obviously), though the winds did wake me up considerably earlier than I wanted to be woken up. Other than that, all's well. According to Facebook power outages are getting steadily closer and closer to my house, but we haven't lost power in so long I literally can't remember, so I think we'll be good. Plus we haven't even had any flooding yet! I'm not actually sure if it's raining; it's very dark out, and it's certainly winding, but I'd have to go someplace other than my bed to tell about the rain.

A special thank you for all of your reviews! We're closing in on 500, guys. Five hundred. Today marked going over 100k views (holy Merlin) and over 200 favorites. You're incredible, each and every single one of you.

Anyway. Ahem. Back to the story. Enjoy, my friends!

Chapter Fifty:

The Burrow

The sound was so loud that at first Harry could barely hear it at all, could only feel the pressure on his eardrums and the shaking of the ground beneath his feet. Then it registered as a Caterwauling Charm, magnified far beyond its usual scream. Harry thought Draco might be saying something to him but he hadn't any idea what. Three figures burst out the front door of the Burrow—Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, followed by Bill, wands raised. Harry waved his arms in the air, but he was still holding his wand, and, a split second after it was too late, he realized that must have looked like an attack.

Harry had no idea whose curse hit him; the Caterwauling Charm was still in effect, dampening any and all other sounds. His reaction time was significantly decreased by the pounding in his ears and he didn't have time to block the spell or jump out of its way. A red jet of light hit him square in the chest and the last thing he registered was being knocked backwards before everything faded to black.

Harry woke up on the Weasley's couch. He felt a cool compress on his forehead, and a very concerned, slightly embarrassed Molly Weasley was leaning over him. Ron and Hermione were there as well, and the rest of the Weasleys were hovering in the background.

"Harry, dear, are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "I'm so sorry; the Caterwauling Charm was so loud, and it really did look like you were raising your wand, and the curse just slipped out before I could stop it."

"It's fine," Harry said, struggling into a sitting position. "Was it the apparating that set it off?"

Mrs. Weasley exchanged a look with her husband, and flushed slightly. "No, nothing like that. Here, have some water," she said, pushing a glass into Harry's hands.

He drank slowly, again looking at everyone in the room. There were two people Harry didn't recognize but their resemblance to Hermione led Harry to assume they were her parents. Everyone else he had been expecting, but—

"Where's Draco?"

This time it was Bill who looked chagrined. "You've got to understand, everything happened so quickly," he started. "And with you raising your wand like that, and the Caterwauling Charm, well, it's triggered by the Dark Mark, we just—"

"Where's Draco?" Harry interrupted sharply. "Is he alright? What's happened?"

"He's fine," Hermione said soothingly. "He's just resting. Dittany can take a lot out of a wizard."

"Dittany?" Harry yelled. "What did you do to him?"

"Reducto," Bill said quietly. "He managed to deflect most of it, but not entirely. He got a bit—slashed up, that's all. Hermione was very quick with the Dittany; it won't even scar."

"You—what—" Harry struggled to stand, and Mrs. Weasley pushed him down.

"He's in the guest room, just down the hall," she said gently.

"How long was I out for?" Harry asked.

"Just a few minutes," Mrs. Weasley said. "I saw it was you at the last moment; it was too late to retract the charm, but I pulled back as much as I could."

"And Draco's okay?" he asked again.

"He's fine," Bill repeated. "He'd be here with you, but we don't have the couch space to accommodate both of you. And—well, he didn't seem to thrilled to be surrounded by Weasleys, especially after I—" He cleared his throat. "Well, you know."

"Bill 'as nothing to apologize for," Fleur said sternly, laying a hand on her husband's shoulder. "'Ee was protecting 'ees family."

Bill shook his head sharply. "Fleur, not now."

"Hmmf," she said, but stayed silent.

"I'll just go fetch him then, shall I?" Hermione said. "Now that you can both sit up there's room, and it being Christmas, I think we should all be together, don't you?" Before anyone could answer she left, weaving her way through the crowded room, and returned a moment later with Draco. He looked furious, nearly as upset as his mum had been, and had a firm hold on his left arm. He shot a withering look at Bill as he sat, who held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Silence reigned; Harry knew the Weasleys had only been defending themselves, he knew how it must have looked to them, but the day was starting to wear him down, Christmas or not. His awful nightmare, or whatever it had been; going to Azkaban; nearly getting locked up himself; then being greeted with curses instead of hugs. His head was starting to ache.

"Here," Ron said suddenly, holding out a plate of Christmas cookies. "We saved some for you."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking one and nibbling at the edge of the sugar cookie. Draco refused entirely, and any hopes Harry had of this being an easy, joyful visit flew out the window. "You should open our gift," he said, eyeing the small pile of gifts left under the tree. "It's from both of us, for all of you. Mostly you, Mrs. Weasley, but I think the whole family will appreciate it."

"Harry, you didn't have to do that," she said, but picked up the box and set it on the table. "Really, dear, this is—oh! Ron, did you tell Harry to get these?" she asked.

"Might have let it slip," Ron said. "You've been complaining for ages about our pots, and—"

"And it's not Harry's responsibility to restock our kitchen!" she said sternly. Then she turned to Harry, all upset gone. "These are wonderful. Thank you, both of you. Just what we needed."

"It's nothing," Harry said, a bit awkwardly. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," Mrs. Weasley replied. "And here, these are for you," she added, handing the boys identical packages. Harry pulled on his new sweater immediately; he had forgotten to change out of the clothes he wore to Azkaban, and it felt much better to be wrapped in a Weasley sweater. The emerald green matched the shirt Draco had magicked for him almost exactly; apparently there was a conspiracy afoot to dress him in only green. There was also a box of her homemade fudge, and Harry gave her an awkward hug over the table.

"Thank you," he said. "Really. My last sweater—well, it got put through its paces last year."

Mrs. Weasley bristled. "Never you mind," she said. "Draco, does yours fit? I wasn't sure about the size."

For the first time Harry noticed he had already taken off the sweater he had been wearing earlier, and it was easy enough to see why—his shirt had a gash through the sleeve, and it must have destroyed the sweater entirely. Very, very reluctantly, Draco pulled on the Weasley sweater, his knit in grey with a green D in the middle.

"Fit's fine," he said stiffly. "Thanks."

"Family traditions, and all," Mrs. Weasley said awkwardly.

More silence. Harry helped himself to another sugar cookie, trying to calm his stomach. He had known bringing Draco to the Weasleys was risky, he just hadn't thought it would be quite this bad.

"These are my parents," Hermione said abruptly, pulling them forward. "Mum, Dad, you've already met Harry. This is Draco, his boyfriend."

"Nice to meet you," they said, holding out hands. Draco winced but shook them.

"Delighted."

"Maybe the four of you would be more comfortable in Ron's room," Mrs. Weasley suggested. "We can fetch you when dinner is ready."

"Sounds brilliant," Ron said. He grabbed the rest of the gifts from under the tree and started out of the room.

"I'm just going to get some more water," Harry said. "I'll be up in a minute." He went into the kitchen and took a deep breath, needing a moment to steady himself. Merlin, this day was just too much. He heard footsteps behind him and whirled around, fully expecting Fleur to yell at him. She had clearly been extremely displeased with both him and Draco, and he thought there was a chance he was going to be hexed again.

But it was George instead of Fleur, and Harry's stomach dropped. He would have gladly taken the curse over time alone with George. He had his back to Harry and was looking through the refrigerator, closing the door only when he found a small item wrapped in tinfoil. He turned to Harry and offered him a weak smile.

"Bundt cakes infused with acid pops," he said, unwrapping it. "You need to keep it refrigerated so the acid doesn't burn through the cake."

"I see," Harry replied.

"Fred and I had a tradition, seeing how many we could eat before Mum caught us and made us stop. He nearly burnt away his entire tongue one year," George said. He looked at the lone cake in his hand and uttered a heart-wrenching sigh. "Just the one this year. Cheers." He popped the cake in his mouth, expression quickly turning from nostalgic to pain-filled as the acid worked its way through his mouth. He swallowed with a huge gulp. "Rubbish tradition," he said, pointing his wand at his mouth and repairing the damage.

"I think it's brilliant," Harry said firmly, and George smiled sadly.

"Thanks, mate. Merry Christmas.

"Merry Christmas."

George left. Harry refilled his glass of water, and, discreetly as possible, started the long walk up to Ron's room.

"Harry."

He flinched. Another person he had been hoping to avoid. He turned and saw Ginny standing halfway up the staircase, looking at him.

"Hey, Gin," he said carefully. This was the first time they had spoken since she had cursed Draco; it had been all angry stares and averted eyes. "How're you doing?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely, walking up to the landing where he stood. "Enjoying the holidays. They had actually been peaceful, until you showed up."

"My real gift," Harry said, trying for a joke. "Creating chaos wherever I go."

Ginny winced at the pathetic attempt. "Yeah, well, I just wanted to clear the air between us," she said. "There's no reason—you've been a friend for years, you're practically part of the family, there's no reason to keep up this fight forever."

"I'm sorry," Harry said quickly. "For everything. I should have been there for you after the Battle, I should have—"

Ginny shook her head, silencing him. "We both should have done something more, but we didn't." She paused. "I'm dating Dean again, did you hear? He asked me out at the Yule Ball." She giggled slightly. "Parvati wasn't pleased to see her date go home with another girl."

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I'd imagine not."

"And, y'know, as for you and Draco…" She trailed off and shrugged. "I don't have any idea what you see in him, but best wishes, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry replied. "You too, for you and Dean."

They shuffled awkwardly and then Harry pulled her into a hug. She returned it, squeezing him tightly before letting him go. "I'm really glad you came for Christmas," Ginny said. "Last year, it wasn't the same without you."

"Yeah, me too," Harry said. "Merry Christmas, Gin."

"Merry Christmas." She smiled at him. "Now go on, I think Malfoy might kill someone if you're not there to keep an eye on him. You should have heard him when Dad brought him in; Merlin, I thought someone had been killed."

Harry laughed a little. "Yeah. See you around?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Harry made it to Ron's room without any further encounters, and braced himself, praying to Merlin and Dumbledore and anyone else he could think of that he wouldn't walk in on a duel. He creaked the door open, and breathed a sigh of relief. Ron and Hermione were sitting on Ron's bed and Draco sat on a comfy looking small couch, obviously conjured for the occasion, as it took up all available floor space.

"Hey," Harry said, striving to sound jovial and Christmas-y. He sat next to Draco, putting a hand on his knee. He jerked at the surprise contact, but laid a hand on Harry's. "Presents then?"

"Yeah," Ron said, going through the jumble he had brought up. "Here, Harry, these are from me and 'Mione."

Harry opened the packages; Ron had gotten him an assortment of gifts from George's joke shop, no doubt ensuring further chaos, and Hermione gave him a copy of Practical Household Magic.

"I told you, Harry, you really ought to start learning such things yourself," she said. "Especially since we're graduating this year; who are you going to turn to when you've got your own flat and you've accidentally exploded dinner all over everything?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Hermione. Very practical."

"I also got you some chocolate," she said, passing him a bar. "Ron insisted the book was too—dull, I think his word was?—to suffice on its own."

Harry grinned. "He's brilliant, that one. You should keep him around." Ron and Hermione exchanged a look at that, and Harry narrowed his eyes. "What? What's going on?"

"It's nothing," Hermione said quickly. "Go on, Draco, here, these are—"

"No, wait," Harry interrupted. "That look, I saw that. Tell me what's going on."

Hermione and Ron looked at each other again. "Do you want to?" she asked. "Or should I?"

"I reckon I could handle it," Ron said, though he was a bright red. "If you don't want to, that is."

"No, no, it's fine, go on."

"Oh, just out with it already!" The outburst came from Draco, startling everyone. "Merlin's beard, it's obvious enough, I could tell Harry myself. If you don't want to miss your chance—"

"Hermione and I are engaged," Ron interrupted. "Last night."

"He asked me by the tree," Hermione said, a flush creeping up her neck. "Down on one knee and everything. It was very romantic."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open. A little voice in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't be surprised, but at the moment, that was the only emotion he could register.

"Don't tell Mum though, alright?" Ron said. "We haven't told anyone yet. I think we're going to wait until graduation, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "We're young enough that people are going to talk; being out of school will at least give us a little more legitimacy."

"Right," Harry said vaguely. Then, as it really sunk in, he got up and hugged both his friends. "Congratulations," he said. "Really. It's brilliant, I couldn't be happier for you."

Hermione beamed and Ron shuffled his feet awkwardly. "That's enough of that," she said, collecting herself. "Draco, go on, open your gifts."

Harry could have sworn there was something under his usual façade of disdain and only the mildest of interest, but he couldn't read it, and he didn't think now was the time to push it. Hermione gave him a container of vanilla scented hair gel, causing him to bite back a smile of amusement, and a book of modern Muggle poetry from Ron. He looked up in confusion. "What—?"

"Harry mentioned you like poetry," Ron said awkwardly. "And well, I dunno, I thought you might like it."

Draco flipped through the book. "Thanks," he said, a little tensely but, Harry thought, still genuinely.

"Yours next," Harry said.

Ron chose to go next and was delighted by the ancient chess piece from Draco, as well as the Sneakoscope. He set it down on the floor, eager to hear Old French curses, but apparently nobody was being deceitful, and his face fell as it continued to just sit there.

"We'll have to take it around the house," he said. "I'm sure someone is concealing something somewhere around here."

"Try Fleur," Harry suggested. "Just put her and Dray in a room together, the thing is bound to go off."

"And get me killed," Draco muttered. "I'd appreciate you find a less dangerous method of testing."

Hermione was the last to go, and she was delighted by the books. Ron had to physically remove them from her hands to prevent her from spending the rest of the evening reading and muttering under her breath in French. He flew them over to her trunk and set them down carefully, assuring her she had the rest of break to read.

"Chess?" Ron asked. "I've been stuck playing Hermione—I mean, I've been playing Hermione, which is really great, but—"

"But you could use a challenge?" Draco asked, not under the same obligation as Ron to be polite to her. "Alright then. Get out your set."

Ron had to summon it and Hermione conjured a levitating table as there was no floor space whatsoever. Ron replaced his king with the one Draco had given him and they set off. The ancient piece, it turned out, was loathe to be put back to use and yelled French curses whenever it was ordered about. Eventually he had to switch it out for the King that came with his set, putting the one Draco got him on the windowsill as decoration. Harry and Hermione looked on with minimal interest but, as far as Harry was concerned, this break was one of the highlights of his day. Having nothing required of him and not causing any further pandemonium was a gift in and of itself. Ron still won the game, though Harry noted the margin of his wins was slowly decreasing.

"Fancy a fly, then?" Ron suggested, putting his chess set away at the look of boredom Hermione gave him. "We've got some old brooms you could borrow. I think there's still a Cleansweep 7 around here somewhere…"

"A Cleansweep?" Draco burst out. "You expect me to fly on one of those? I'll have you know, Harry and I—"

"Have perfectly good Firebolts," Harry interrupted. Ron had always been jealous of his brooms, and he didn't want to make it worse. "But they're in Switzerland so yeah, we'll use whatever you've got."

Flying, it turned out, was actually a good idea, despite Draco's constant stream of swears as his broom shuddered and jolted beneath him. They gathered George, Ginny and Charlie and set about playing a makeshift game of Quidditch, tossing the balls through imaginary goal posts. At one point George attempted to use a gnome as a bludger, but that practice was quickly outlawed by Hermione, who had to stop and clean out the bite she had gotten. When Mrs. Weasley called them in for dinner they were all in high spirits, Draco included. Harry had kept an eye on his arm throughout the game and saw nothing wrong with it, which settled that worry. No doubt he'd complain for days, but at least there wasn't any real injury.

Through Mrs. Weasley's more-than-obvious meddling, Draco was seated as far as possible from Bill and Fleur, as well as Hermione's Muggle parents. This resulted in Ron, Hermione and Harry forming a sort of bubble around him, and though he was in a good enough mood to participate in normal conversation, he only once strayed outside of their group, getting into an argument with George over the outcome of a hundred year old Quidditch game Harry had never heard of. The food was delicious, as always, and Mrs. Weasley served an assortment of Christmas treats for dessert, first waving her wand over them and throwing out a pile of cookies that started to glow blue beneath her wand. She went off on George, yelling at him for destroying perfectly good food, though he insisted they weren't destroyed, just improved. Eggnog was served along with dessert with an optional addition of rum, which, on a whim, Harry decided to partake in. He wasn't one to drink very often, but it was Christmas, and his day had been far from easy and, really, why not? Draco, Ron and Hermione also added the alcohol, Draco promising he wouldn't make out with Hermione no matter how drunk he got. All three of them kicked him for that, and he protested that he thought he was being nice and a good friend by announcing his intentions.

The four friends were on their second rather large mug of eggnog when they decided, with some encouragement from the Weasley parents, to go back up to Ron's room if they were going to be that noisy. Harry found the stairs to be a bit of an adventure, but they all arrived without any incident. Hermione was undoubtedly affected the most; she was the least used to alcohol as well as the smallest, and she was very red and very silly. Draco and Ron decided to play a second game of chess, though it ended abruptly when Harry announced he had to go to the bathroom and stood up, knocking the pieces everywhere. By the time he returned Draco and Ron had yelled themselves out, and Harry collapsed onto the couch, snuggling into Draco's arms, happier than he had been in ages. He knew it was partially the alcohol, but they had never all gotten along so well, and he was reveling in the camaraderie.

Eventually, though, Ron gave Hermione a small kiss, which turned into another, and another, and then Harry decided he and Draco really ought to leave before they saw more than they wanted to.

"Can you apparate us like this?" Harry asked, taking a firm hold on his arm.

Draco waved a hand. "Yeah, sure, no problem." He paused. "We're going to Zermatt, right?"

"Y'know, I think maybe we should sleep this off," Harry said hesitantly. "You—"

"I'm fine," Draco insisted. "Ron, Hermione—Weasleys all over—we bid you adieu." The familiar, unpleasant feel of apparating, and then he and Draco collapsed onto a bed, Draco already rolling on top of him.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered.

Any further conversation was lost in a flurry of lips, hands and the sort of unintelligible noises that came from one thing and one thing only.