The Weasleys stared around at the bustling underground station in hardly-restrained awe. Winona saw no beauty in the ticket machines or the homeless man playing a kazoo for money, but the twins obviously did. She imagined it was like going to the zoo and seeing an animal you'd only heard about, but never before seen.
Not that Muggles were animals – but to Pure-bloods like the Weasleys…well, let's just say they didn't exactly get out much.
Winona and Harry had to show them how to buy their tickets – thankfully Moody produced a handful of Muggle money to buy them with. Mrs Weasley teared up at the sight of it, and Moody inched away like a crying woman was the same thing as an armed grenade.
Finally they got onto the train, and though Winona wanted to sit between the twins, she was directed to a seat in the centre of their group, next to Harry. They both of them were sat between Moody and Tonks – hardly subtle at all – but Winona didn't mind.
"D'you think perhaps you share in Winnie's ability?" Tonks was asking Harry curiously while the others complained about how the seats beneath them rattled and thumped.
"Nothing like the Hogwart's Express," said Ron loudly. "I s'pose they use magic to make it go smoother, wouldn't they?"
Ginny slapped him upside the head and hissed at him to shut up about magic. His ears flushed red and he mumbled something under his breath. Winona returned her attention to Harry and Tonks.
Her cousin looked astonished. "You mean I'm a Seer?" he asked, hoarse with shock.
"Well, no," said Tonks mildly. "But Remus was telling me the other day how sensitive Jessica Potter was to the future. Winnie has her abilities because the Seer blood is in the Potter line, not the Black's, so it stands to reason you might have some, too."
Harry looked a frightful shade of green. "You're not a Seer, Boy-Wonder," Winona assured him. "You saw it as it happened, not in advance."
Harry gulped, still frazzled. "Then what am I?"
Winona couldn't answer – not without killing herself – so instead she nudged him companionably and attempted an unconvincing smile. "Look at you, all shaken. It could be worse, y'know," she said as brightly as she could. "You could be blood-related to Malfoy. At least you dodged that bullet."
It was just enough to bring out a smile, and his skin faded back into its usual pale complexion.
They got off at the next stop, and Winona was allowed to walk on her own, this time. She wrapped an arm through both Fred and George's, the three of them walking in an inefficient row as they made their way through the very heart of London.
The winter air was frigid against her exposed skin, and she pulled the twins closer to her, hoping they would help warm her up. The street they'd appeared on was full of Christmas shoppers, eagerly buying last-minute gifts and foods to take home for dinner. The smell of cooking meat and bread wafted through the icy air, and despite the lunch they'd all had, her stomach still grumbled.
"Shit," said George suddenly, and she and Fred turned to look at him expectantly. "We didn't have a chance to tell the others where we were going."
Winona realised he meant their friends back at Hogwarts, and suddenly she felt like a total twat. They'd just disappeared without an explanation. Their friends would all be so worried.
"Katie's gonna kill me," added George, stricken.
Winona pinched him. "She'll just be upset you scared her, but she won't be angry with you for leaving, George. Your father's in the hospital. There's no better reason to just disappear on her like we did."
"Besides, I'm sure McGonagall would have explained the situation – or maybe even Dumbledore," added Fred logically.
"And when we get back home we can write them, let them know we're okay," Winona agreed.
George nodded, but he still looked strangely guilty. Winona considered, for a moment, just how serious his relationship with Katie was getting. She hadn't had much chance to really talk to him about it, or anything at all, really – they didn't talk about much in the way they used to, before she began dating Fred. It made her sad to realise it, and some guilt of her own itched in her chest.
George was just as important to her as Fred was, and she loved him every bit as much – albeit in an entirely different way. She couldn't allow herself to get so swept up in a guy that she kicked her best friend to the curb. Even if her best friend was her boyfriend's twin brother…
Sometimes she thought her life was worse than a soap opera.
"How're you feeling?" Fred asked in her ear, seeming to sense her sudden, morose mood. "We can wait out here while the others go in, if you want," he offered sweetly. "I saw an art gallery a few shops back we could duck into."
"You most certainly cannot," barked a voice before Winona had a chance to blurt just how terribly, awfully, pathetically in love with him she was. They turned to look at Moody, who stared back with an expression that was either a smile or a sneer. "Winona's ridiculous fears aside, nobody leaves the guard's protection."
Fred made a face at Moody that went – fortunately – ignored, and she grabbed his hand before he could do something stupid like cast a charm that turned Moody's kneecaps backwards. "You're unbelievably sweet," she told him quietly, lacing their fingers together as she had a thousand times before. "But we need to see your dad. I'm not gonna have you missing out because of me."
Fred smiled, a tiny bit relieved – she knew how much he loved his dad, and how much he wanted him to be okay. She felt the same.
Moody came to a stop so abrupt that George nearly tripped into him, but Fred righted him just in time. "Here we are," said Moody ominously.
The building they stood outside of was large and shabby. The windows displayed a bunch of creepy dummies wearing decade-old fashions, and signs on all the doors read 'Closed for Refurbishment'.
It didn't look like a hospital at all, but Winona had been a part of this world for long enough that she knew appearances were often deceiving. Just knowing that behind all those creepy mannequins and dusty windows was a real life hospital, filled with patients and nurses and doctors and drugs, all sterile and loud, death lurking around every corner…
A shudder wracked through her, and Fred let go of her hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders, bringing her into his side. She didn't care how pathetic she looked as she curled into him, one hand fisting in the material of his jacket like it might give her leverage in this terrible situation.
It's for Mr Weasley, she reminded herself over and over. It's for all of the Weasleys.
Tonks stood before the ugliest of all the dummies and began to speak.
"Wotcher," she said in her usual, cheerful lilt, "we're here to see Arthur Weasley."
The awful dummy nodded its mouldy head and crooked a finger in invitation. With a self-satisfied grin, Tonks grabbed Ginny and Mrs Weasley by the shoulders and dragged them through the glass like it were nothing. Fred and George were next, and they brought her with them, gently guiding her through the barrier before she had time to back out.
It was considerably warmer on the other side of the barrier, but that made little difference against the ice of her insides. They'd materialised in a hospital waiting room – and at first glance, you might think it were any typical Muggle reception. But then you looked closer…at the wizard down the back sporting an elephant's trunk, and at the witch near the reception desk whose skin seemed to have turned to purple velvet, although she didn't look pleased by the change.
Winona held her breath, waiting for a glimpse at the doctors inside, but instead of the white-coated, stethoscope-wearing people she was expecting, she was met with witches and wizards donned in lime-green robes. They held clipboards, and they walked leisurely around the reception, talking to patients and making notes on their pages.
"Are they doctors?" Winona heard Harry ask Ron in an undertone.
"Doctors?" Ron sounded alarmed. "Those Muggle nutters that cut people up? Nah, they're Healers."
"Over here!' called Mrs. Weasley, and their group followed her, letting her lead them towards the queue building at the main desk in the room. Winona went rather numbly, holding tight to Fred and not feeling embarrassed.
She needed to know he was here with her – the boy who had once cleaned her wounds himself rather than force her into a hospital bed she didn't want to be in.
Everything around her was so noisy and bright. There were several crying children filling the waiting room, plus the man with the elephant trunk kept letting out loud trumpets and a man in a nearby chair kept sneezing, and every time he did small fireworks would explode from his nose. Fred and George exchanged a wild-eyed look at that one, but Winona ignored their curious glee. She was more concerned with getting out of the building without turning into a pathetic mess.
Mrs Weasley must have said something to the receptionist and figured out which room Mr Weasley was in, because suddenly they were all moving again, this time down a narrow corridor and up a steep flight of stairs. They arrived outside a nondescript doorway and everyone followed Mrs Weasley's lead as she came to a slow stop.
"We'll wait outside, Molly," said Tonks quietly. "Arthur won't want too many visitors at once … it ought to be just the family first."
Mad-Eye growled his approval and set himself up with his back against the wall, wand in hand, ready to defend them against all manner of incorporeal threats.
Winona glanced at Harry and the two of them silently agreed they would wait outside too, but before they could respectfully shuffle away, Mrs Weasley grabbed Harry by his coat and said, "Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you."
Winona still didn't want to go in, but Fred used their linked hands to drag her through. "You're as much a part of this family as me and George," he whispered and though the sentiment was sweet, she doubted its sincerity. Still, she felt she couldn't say no and let him drag her into the ward.
Mr Weasley was propped up on pillows in a bed at the far end of the large room. He seemed well enough, reading the Daily Prophet in the light shining through the tiny window above his bed. He looked up as they walked towards him and grinned upon realising who it was.
"Hello!" he called excitedly, tossing aside the paper like it were garbage. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later."
"How are you, Arthur?" Mrs Weasley asked, bending down to kiss his cheek, so slow and careful, like she was afraid anything more might shatter him to pieces. "You're still looking a bit peaky."
She was right. Although he seemed in good enough spirits, he wore a deathlike pallor on his skin, like all the blood had been vacuumed from his body. Winona shivered again at the sight of him, trying not to imagine him in that God-awful place, attacked and slowly bleeding out.
Mr Weasley was a man full of life and light. The thought that You-Know-Who had almost snuffed that light out entirely made her blood go cold. She hated him, more than anything else in this world, and although she couldn't yet See the end to the coming war, she held onto a feeling, deep, deep in her gut, that it would end in their favour.
Another image flashed in her head – not a vision, but the memory of a vision. Sirius, hit by the same Killing Curse that had killed both her mother and Harry's parents. His body, little more than a lifeless husk, collapsing into the archway and disappearing forever.
It wouldn't happen. She wouldn't let it. She would save her father from his grim fate. Even if it killed her in the process.
"I feel absolutely fine," said Mr Weasley brightly, oblivious to Winona's dark train of thought. He leaned delicately out of bed to pull Ginny into a hug. "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."
"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" asked Fred, and despite having heard him say it a thousand times before, his casual use of the word 'dad' astounded her. It was so easy for everyone else. Why was she so different?
"Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try," said Mr Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand and waving it so that seven extra chairs appeared for them to sit in. "It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open. They're sure they'll find an antidote, though; they say they've had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there," he said, dropping his voice and nodding towards the bed across from him where a sickly man lay, still and despondent, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling, lost in the depths of his own misery. "Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."
"A werewolf?" hissed Mrs Weasley, looking alarmed. "Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn't he be in a private room?"
"It's two weeks till full moon," Mr Weasley reminded her gently, and perhaps a tad reproachfully. "They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he'll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him – didn't mention names, of course – but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage."
Winona thought that 'quite easy to manage' was something of a fib. Remus' life might not be hell on earth, but it certainly wasn't a walk in the bloody park, either. She'd seen him every month – when she'd lived with he and Sirius over the holidays – as the full moon neared; the way he drew into himself, became quiet and sickly. Then he disappeared for a night, and when he returned he was even sicker. Pallid and weak, shaking terribly just trying to pour himself some tea.
But she couldn't fault Mr Weasley for wanting to give this poor man some hope. And she had to admit, Remus did live a somewhat normal life, the majority of the time. But that still didn't mean everything was sunshine and rainbows.
"What did he say?" asked George in the present, voice lowered so the despondent man wouldn't overhear.
"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up," said Mr Weasley sadly. "And that woman over there," he indicated to the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door across from them, "won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings."
"So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?" asked Fred, pulling his chair closer to the bed, eyes wide and eager for information.
"Well, you already know, don't you?" said Mr Weasley with a meaningful smile at Harry. Her cousin couldn't find it within himself to return the smile, and Winona's brow furrowed as she watched him squirm where he sat. "It's very simple," continued Mr Weasley, seemingly oblivious to Harry's discomfort. "I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten."
"Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?" asked Fred, indicating the newspaper his dad had tossed aside. Winona knew the answer before Mr Weasley spoke, but that had nothing to do with her Inner Eye.
"No, of course not," said Mr. Weasley bitterly, "the Ministry wouldn't want everyone to know a dirty great serpent got-"
"Arthur!" his wife hissed urgently.
"-got…er…me," Mr Weasley finished lamely. Winona shut her eyes and counted to ten. Someone in a nearby ward was screaming, loud wails that echoed even through the walls, and Winona tried not to flinch at the harrowing sound.
"So where were you when it happened, Dad?" George asked curiously. Nobody except Harry seemed to notice the way Winona tensed at the question. He cast her a curious look that she pretended not to see.
"That's my business," said Mr. Weasley cheerfully, as if it were a real answer, then snatched up the Daily Prophet and opened it again, "I was just reading about Willy Widdershins's arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered from head to foot in-"
"When you say you were 'on duty'," Fred interrupted in a low voice, "what were you doing?"
"You heard your father," hissed Mrs Weasley, undeniably nervous, "we are not discussing this here! Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur."
"Well, don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge," said Mr Weasley. "I can only suppose gold changed hands-"
"You were guarding it, weren't you?" George interrupted in a voice Winona recognised all too well – it was the same one he used when he was onto a breakthrough with their inventing. It meant the he knew he was close to the answers he wanted. "The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who's after?"
Winona's blood chilled by another few degrees.
"George, be quiet!" snapped his mother.
Mr Weasley took the opportunity to continue his secondhand recount of Willy's story, but his children were having none of it.
"Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?" asked Fred, a tad too loud for anyone's liking. "A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?"
A sort of storm cloud appeared over Harry's face, and Winona reached out a hand, grabbing Fred to snatch his attention. He looked at her expectantly, probably hoping there was some truth to his theory that she could confirm, but Winona only shook her head. He wilted with disappointment.
"That's enough," said Mrs Weasley crossly. "Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside," she added to her children and Harry. "You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on."
With reluctant groans and bitter muttering, everyone stood to their feet and began to troop back towards the door.
"Winona," called Mr Weasley, and Winona paused where she was halfway to the door beside her cousin. Mr Weasley was looking at her intently. "I think you should stay," he said, layering the words with meaning. Winona could only nod.
She cast an apologetic look back at her friends before Tonks and Moody slipped into the room and shut the door in their faces. She didn't feel too bad, though, because she knew the twins well enough to know they weren't just going to sit back and do as they were told.
They were much too brilliant for that.
"So, any sign of the blasted thing that bit me?" Arthur asked once the door was shut and the four of them were crowded around his bed. Winona felt rather like a child sitting at the adult table at a family dinner – awkward and out of place – but she couldn't very well just leave, could she? Besides, maybe this would give her answers of her own.
Tonks shook her head. "They searched the whole area but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur… But You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?"
"You-Know-Who thinks he can do anything he damn well pleases, and it'll work out for him," muttered Winona. Just because she felt like an unwanted child didn't mean she had to act like one. They wanted her here? Fine, then they were sure as hell getting her opinion. "Probably thinks he can walk on bloody water, too."
"Well, that's easy enough," said Mr Weasley, looking perplexed by her comment. "A simple Solidifying Charm would-"
"You kinda missed the point there, Mr Weasley," Winona said. Mr Weasley smiled sheepishly, a little embarrassed. She smiled back at him, feeling another rush of strong, potent relief that he was here, alive and well, to be speaking with her.
"I reckon he sent it as a lookout," growled Moody, ignoring their unimportant chatter, "'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around."
The theory was a solid one, but Winona wasn't sure she was convinced.
"So, Potter says he saw it all happen?" Moody pressed on, and Winona's hackles rose at his belligerent tone.
"Harry did see it all happen," she snapped, a little louder than she should have, and Mrs Weasley shushed her nervously. "You know as well as I do what happened tonight," Winona added in a quieter voice.
"What I'd like to know is why you didn't See this happening," Moody growled.
Winona's stare was flat. "I watch people's decisions," she reminded him tersely. "I can't very well have accounted for a snake, now, could I?"
Moody mumbled something that sounded awfully like, "Rubbish excuse for a Seer…" and Mrs Weasley rushed to speak before Winona did something remarkably stupid.
"You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to See something like this," she said delicately, like the words themselves were a bomb, threatening to explode if she spoke them with too much force.
"Yeah, well," grumbled Moody, "there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that."
"Moody, I swear to Merlin, I'll curse you right here," Winona grumbled back. Moody didn't deign to respond.
"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," whispered Mrs Weasley.
"'Course he's worried," growled Moody. "The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him, it's only a matter of time before we'll have lost our advantage."
Mrs Weasley shifted nervously. "Come now, Alastor, we don't know for sure that You-Know-Who has the ability to-"
"The evidence is damning," snapped Moody. "We can't stick our heads in the sand over sentiment-"
"Dumbledore will begin giving Harry Occlumency lessons," Winona said it so abruptly that she surprised even herself. The group fell silent, turning to look at her in shock.
"You had a vision?" Tonks asked eagerly once the moment of surprise had passed.
"Not exactly," said Winona uncertainly. "Sometimes I don't need a vision to know things."
"Yeah? How does that work?"
"I dunno. But I know you're wearing Hufflepuff socks today, and a vision didn't tell me that."
Tonks glanced down at the boots which completely covered her socks, then glanced up at Winona with a grin. "Cool."
"Fascinating as this is," sneered Moody. "Think we could get back to the topic at hand?"
"Dumbledore has things under control," said Mr Weasley in his usual calm, careful tone. In a family as large as his, somebody had to be the peacemaker. And it certainly wasn't his wife. "We have to trust in him. And in Winnie."
Winona started in surprise. She swallowed around the lump in her throat and tentatively said, "Mr Weasley, I wanted to apologise for-"
"You don't have a thing to be sorry for," said Mr Weasley sternly. "I'm here, I'm alive, and I'm going to be okay. You're not responsible for everything you don't see, Winnie. Not to me, or anyone in this family."
Throat tight, Winona nodded her head. Mr Weasley smiled peacefully.
"And I know how uncomfortable hospitals can make you," he added. At her curious look, he smiled again. "To be honest, those first few years, Fred never shut up about you. Anyway, knowing that, it means a lot to me that you came today."
He held out a hand, and Winona didn't hesitate to take it. His skin was cool to the touch, and she gripped him like she might be able to heal him through sheer force of will. But then he let her hand go and he was still pale and sickly and so tired that Winona felt like yawning just looking at him.
"We should let you rest, dear," said Mrs Weasley, smoothing back her husbands thinning hair and smiling warmly. "We'll let the children come in to say goodbye, then we'd best be on our way. Did you need anything?"
Mr and Mrs Weasley continued to talk, but now that the meeting was over with, Tonks, Moody and Winona were free to wander away. They made their way to the door, and Winona made sure she was there first, opening it with exaggerated slowness just incase the eavesdroppers on the other side were too stupid to get back sooner.
They were all stood in the corridor, doing their best to act innocent. But Winona knew they knew; she could see the horror in their eyes. The anger at the injustice. The fear of what it meant for the war, and for their friend. Harry looked worse of all – paler than Mr Weasley and just as sick.
Winona went to him immediately, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He was trembling ever so slightly and she smoothed a hand down his messy hair, soothing herself more than him, she was sure.
"You all right, boy?" Moody demanded gruffly.
Harry cleared his throat. "I don't like hospitals," he lied, voice raspy and weak.
Moody gave a sound that might have been a snort, or perhaps it was closer to a scoff. "Take after your cousin, then," he said derisively. "Weak stomachs, the both of you."
They all ignored him in favour of staring at Winona. "You should go in and say goodbye," she told them, fighting to keep her voice even. "We need to get home before dark." Reluctantly they loped back into the ward to say goodbye to their dad, while Harry remained out in the hall with her. "You should go too, Harry," Winona said softly.
Harry's only reply was to shake his head, and she didn't have it in her to argue the point.
Eventually the Weasleys all filed back out of the ward. They seemed torn between happiness that their dad was going to be okay and horror at what they'd overheard in their conversation. There were so many things Winona wanted to say, but that cursed Vow was like stitching along her lips. One false word and she'd be in breach of her stupid contract. She would die; and then she wouldn't be any help to anyone.
The walk back to the underground was a quiet affair. The moment they stepped out of the hospital and back onto the innocuous Muggle shopping street, Winona felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Stuck close to Harry's side, they walked back to the station in near silence. Mrs Weasley – unaware that her children had been eavesdropping on their meeting – tried her best to start conversation, and didn't seem to understand why nobody was in a more chipper mood.
"It's been a really long couple of days," Winona told her in an undertone as they all went single file through the turnstiles. "I think everyone just needs a good rest."
Mrs Weasley took the lie at face value and nodded understandingly. Guilt itched under Winona's skin, but she ignored it in favour of grabbing the seat beside her cousin on the train, Tonks and Moody once more on either side of them, like protective gargoyles sat at the entrance to an extravagant manor. Moody certainly looked the part.
"Are you all right, Harry, dear?" Mrs Weasley whispered once the train had left the station, taking them out of the centre of London and towards the outskirts of the city where Grimmauld Place resided. "You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?"
Harry shook his head, but the movement was sharp and unconvincing. Everyone was staring at him like he were an exhibit in a zoo, or maybe more like he were a live wire they didn't trust not to blow them all to high heaven. It took a great deal of resolve for Winona not to glower at them all in warning.
The only one who didn't seem to be gawking at Harry was Ginny. Instead she was looking down at her lap, scratching at the skin of her palms distractedly. Winona had a feeling that the news of Harry's apparent possession had opened that not-quite-healed wound from her own brush with the mind of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
They arrived at their station and made their way back up to the street. The unkempt grass of the small park opposite Winona's family home felt familiar, and she felt the last of the lingering tension from the hospital begin to melt away. Here, she was safe. Here, there was nothing to fear.
"Are you sure you're all right?" Mrs Weasley asked Harry again, concerned. "You look ever so pale… Are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?"
The moment they stepped inside the house, Harry made a beeline for the stairs, disappearing up to his room before Winona could say so much as a word. She made to follow him, but to her surprise, Ginny grabbed her elbow to stop her.
"He needs some time," she whispered, staring up the staircase after Harry, a deep understanding in her eyes. "I don't think he's in any state to talk right now."
"But I can help-"
"Can you?" Ginny asked calmly, a single eyebrow cocked. Winona fell silent. She knew the battle was lost; and Ginny was right. Harry needed time to process what he'd heard. He needed space to calm down, to come to terms with what had been kept from him – by the people he trusted most. By her.
She'd fought, over and over and over again, for him to know what he was facing. But, Seer or not, she was one small voice in a crowd, and when you were stood beside Albus Dumbledore, your opinion never quite matched up to his.
She wandered into the sitting room where the others had congregated. Ron and Fred started up a game of Gobstones while Ginny sat nearby and pretended to watch. George had produced some parchment and a quill, writing out a letter to someone – likely Katie and the rest of their friends. She made her way over to him, taking a seat at his side and resting her temple against the jut of his shoulder while he wrote.
She shut her eyes and just listened to the sounds filling the room, soaking up the ambience, the feeling of safety and rightness. The peace she knew was only the calm before the storm.
"Pup?"
She opened her eyes at the sound of her dad's voice. She had the strangest feeling, like she'd had her eyes shut for hours, but when she looked around the room it seemed exactly the same as before; Ron and Fred playing Gobstones and Ginny resting her chin on her fist, staring unseeingly into the fire.
Winona turned to look at where Sirius was slouched in the doorway. George finished his letter and began to roll it up. "Think George could borrow Moony's owl?" Winona asked her dad hopefully.
"Of course," he nodded. "He's down in the kitchen having tea with Molly."
"Thanks, mate," said George, shooting Winona a grateful smile before heading around the corner and disappearing down the stairs to their basement kitchen.
Sirius strolled into the room and took George's vacated seat. He slung an arm over the back of the sofa and turned towards his daughter, a soft smile on his lips. "How'd it go?" he asked quietly.
"Arthur's doing well," she told him – the truth, if not all of it. Because what was she supposed to say?
I found a tiny loophole in my Vow which meant I could tell Harry what he needed to know without actively betraying my word? Oh, and it very nearly destroyed him?
"Well I know that," said Sirius with a companionable roll of his eyes. "I meant with you. I know hospitals aren't your favourite place in the world."
She attempted a smile that fell flat. "I survived," she said, and left it at that.
Sirius eyed her a moment, contemplative, then smiled. "Moony's making some of that tea you like," he told her cheerfully. "Come have some?"
She agreed, but just as she was standing up a vision hit her with full force. She just felt herself fall back into the couch cushions before sensation was stolen from her and she knew only the current of time, ebbing and flowing around her.
Something coming soon … too soon … it was almost upon them … Harry, face twisted in pain … or maybe anger? … A packed trunk, dragged over uneven carpeting … A feeling of intense loneliness, of panic and rage and frustration at an unfair world…
She came out of it to find only a few minutes had passed, but someone had thrust some parchment and a quill into her hands. The sketch before her was simple – Harry's Hogwart's trunk, packed and ready to be moved. But as was happening more often than ever – the image meant very little. It was the vision itself that stuck in her head; the feelings that had come with it. The image she drew on paper was just to help focus the energy into something tangible.
Trelawney would say she was 'evolving', but Winona thought maybe she was simply growing up.
"Win?" Sirius was asking, leant over her with Fred and Ron beside him, peering down at her warily. "What is it?" her dad asked, leaning forwards to get a better look at her sketch. "A trunk?"
"Back," she ordered them sternly, tacking on a shooing motion, and they obediently scurried out of her personal space. "Nothing's wrong," she assured them in the same breath, climbing to her feet and running an ink-stained hand through her hair. "But I have to go deal with something. You all need to stay here."
The three of them exchanged weary looks. "No can do, Pup," said Sirius plainly.
She swallowed, glancing up at the ceiling like she might see through the layers of stone and plaster to where Harry was struggling with the worst of decisions. "Harry's having a rough time, that's all," she told them quickly. "I need to go speak with him."
Ron frowned. "I thought we agreed he needed space?"
Fred slapped him upside the head. "Don't argue with the Seer, dung-brain."
Winona left them to their ridiculous squabbling and turned to Sirius. "I'll meet you in the kitchen soon for tea."
He nodded, eyes tight, but she didn't stick around. The stairs felt steeper than usual, but visions always wiped her energy, so it didn't surprise her that everything felt more difficult, muscles strained with tension and exhaustion.
Harry's door was shut and locked, but with a flick of her wand it burst open, revealing Harry stood in the middle of the room, one hand still gripping the handle of his trunk and his face turned up to the painting above his bed. "Harry, you can't seriously think leaving's in any way a good idea," she blurted, perhaps a little more sharply than necessary – but she couldn't help it, she was in a panic.
The thought of Harry traipsing out of the relative safety of Grimmauld Place and making his way, alone, across a London full of enemies hidden behind every other corner? …A shiver rattled down her spine. Harry was a fantastic wizard, but up against two Death Eaters? Three? Five? She didn't even want to consider it.
"Don't worry," her cousin said bitterly. "I've already been ordered to stay put."
Winona vaguely recognised the portrait above the bed as one with a twin in Dumbledore's office. She wasn't sure how she felt about knowing Dumbledore had eyes everywhere – even inside Harry's bedroom – but she supposed, for the moment, it was working in their favour.
The figure in the portrait glared at her with a misplaced anger before sticking his nose in the air and stomping out of sight, presumably to his identical frame in the Headmaster's office. Harry let out a shout, a sound so layered with anger and frustration that it made Winona's heart hurt. Then he kicked out with his leg, shoe colliding with the corner of his school trunk.
He cried out again, this time in pain, and dropped the trunk completely, gripping his sore foot with a displeased scowl. He collapsed onto the nearest bed, still gripping his foot, glaring down at it like it had somehow wronged him.
Tentatively, Winona made her way towards him. He didn't tell her to piss off, which she supposed was a good sign, so she gently took a seat on the bed beside him. "Does anything feel broken?" she asked him softly, reaching for the wand tucked – as always – in the knot of her hair.
Harry was quiet a moment. "Nothing in my foot," he finally muttered. Winona's heart squeezed painfully, and it only hurt worse when she reached for him and he flinched away from her like her touch might burn him.
Swallowing back the pain, Winona knew her suffering was nothing compared to his. She didn't get to complain about feeling guilty when he was literally getting possessed by a psychopathic, modern-day Nazi.
"You know I couldn't tell you, right?" she whispered into the tense silence. Harry didn't so much as blink, but she took it as a sign to press on. "I wanted to, but the Vow I made…" she trailed off, words failing her.
She didn't know whether to be glad of the Vow or to regret it more than anything. On one hand, she knew what to watch out for, and knowledge was power (and everyone could use a little more of that these days) but on the other, she knew terrible secrets she couldn't share and she thought maybe they'd begun to fester, turning blood to poison in her veins.
"You're going to be okay, Harry," she tried again.
"You don't know that," he shot back bitterly, still glowering down at the floor.
Winona swallowed. "No," she agreed, "I don't know for sure. But Harry, faith is the only thing that will get us through this."
"Faith in who?"
"In each other, I suppose," she sighed. "And in the cause."
When Harry finally looked up at her, she found his eyes glistening with tears. The anger – while not gone from his bones – had begun to abate. It was replaced by exhaustion and something so incredibly sad that Winona almost cried with him. But he didn't need somebody to share his tears; he needed somebody to wipe them away and tell him he could face whatever was coming his way. He needed to see somebody being strong, to remind him that he could be strong, too.
"What if he possesses me in the night?" he whispered, like just speaking the words aloud was a terrifying thing to do. "What if he makes me attack all of you?"
Winona forced a smile. "Harry, I'll admit you're good, but not even you can take all of us on at once."
Harry didn't smile back. "I could kill someone, Winnie," he murmured, weak with the horror. "I could kill you."
She reached for him again, sweeping his disobedient hair out of his eyes. "You're not gonna kill me, kid," she assured him. "You're not gonna kill anyone."
"How d'you know?"
The look she sent him was flat, and he made a face.
"You know what I mean," he grumbled, reaching up to scrub frustratedly at his eyes. "Your visions aren't infallible. Last night proved as much. You don't really know how this all ends. You haven't Seen it. And even if you had, the future is always changing – that's what you've told me."
Winona nodded slowly. "You're right. I can be wrong. And the future does change sometimes. But not all the time."
Harry frowned. "You have Seen the end of the war?"
She considered her next words, choosing them with extreme care. "I haven't Seen anything concrete. But there is…an image."
"An image?" Harry sounded unimpressed.
She smiled, sheepish. "It's hard to explain to someone who isn't a Seer. But it's sort of like…like being in a dark, never-ending tunnel. You're walking and you're walking, and there are these vents lining the walls. Through them I can hear things – bad and good – and it helps push me on further. For a long time it was just black, but if I squint really, really hard, it's almost like I can see a faint light at the end of this dark tunnel. Like no matter what happens in the darkness, the tunnel does end, eventually, and we're all going to be okay."
Harry was quiet for a long time after her small speech. He stared down at his pale hands, barely blinking at all, and she wondered what was going on inside his head. Had her hastily-made monologue helped, or had it all just been pointless gibberish?
Neither Harry nor Winona broke the quiet. Instead, it was broken by careful footsteps on the landing outside and a tentative knock at the door.
"Harry," came Ron's voice, "Mum says dinner's ready, but she'll save you something if you want to stay in bed."
Before Harry could reply, Ron was loping away, and Harry's expression twisted as his friend appeared to flee. Winona sighed. "They're giving you space."
"They don't want to be alone with me," Harry countered bitterly.
"That's not true," she scolded, flicking him on the ear. He flinched away from her, but the angry, despondent look in his eyes had begun to fade, replaced by something slightly more alive. "What you heard would be hard for anyone, Harry," she told him gently. "They don't want to crowd you. Come down and have dinner with us."
Harry thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't want to go down there yet," he said, plucking at a loose thread on the blanket they sat on and frowning. "I think I just need to…think."
"Being up here alone isn't going to help you feel any better, Harry."
"I know," he nodded, but still didn't agree to come with her.
Knowing a lost cause when she saw one, Winona sighed and ran her hand through his wild hair once more. It was soft and fluffy under her palm, and the feeling of it reminded her of home. How many times had she run a hand over his untameable hair, familial instinct bubbling like a potion in her chest?
For a strange, flash of a moment, she mourned the little eleven-year-old boy she'd met all those years ago. Pale and scrawny and with hair too big for his small head, he'd been so innocent. Looking at him now, head hung like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders (and, to be honest, it kind of did), she wondered if this was how parents felt once their children were all grown up.
She wasn't Harry's mother. She wasn't even his sister. But she was his only family, and the closest thing either one of them had to a sibling. She was older than him by two years, and she supposed something about that age gap made her feel responsible for him; like it was up to her to keep him safe and well.
"Will you at least let me bring you some food?" she asked him softly.
Harry shook his head. "Not hungry."
She frowned but didn't press the issue. "Okay. I'll come check on you later. All right, Boy-Wonder?" He nodded. "Get some sleep, if you can."
"And if I get…nightmares?" he asked tentatively. By 'nightmares' he meant 'possessed by Voldemort'.
"I promise, Harry, everything's going to be okay. You need sleep, so sleep," she told him. "Don't let You-Know-Who take that from you too."
Harry's expression soured. "His name's Voldemort."
"Yeah, it is. But saying it makes other people uncomfortable, so I'm used to censoring myself."
Harry said nothing, and she got the sense that exhaustion was creeping up on him.
"You're tired," she said, taking his hand in hers and squeezing once before letting go and climbing to her feet. "Get some rest, okay? I'll come check on you later."
Harry attempted a smile that convinced neither of them, and Winona sighed once more as she reluctantly left the room, letting the door click shut after her, sealing her cousin away from the rest of them, a barrier if she'd ever known one.
The others were all still downstairs, eating a hearty dinner and chatting in small groups around the table. Sirius stood from his conversation with Ron and Ginny the moment Winona appeared, but before he could demand answers she made her way towards him, taking a seat at the table between the brother and sister and beginning to pile carrots and lamb shanks onto her plate.
"Harry's okay," she assured them simply. They seemed frustrated when she didn't elaborate more.
"Well why isn't he down here eating, then?" asked Ginny combatively.
"He's been through a lot," Winona shrugged. "He need some peace and quiet."
But Ginny disagreed. "That's not going to help him."
Winona's responding look was dry. "Well, how about you try to go up and tell him that? Because he certainly didn't believe me when I tried."
Ginny sighed and stabbed at the mashed potato on her plate. Winona looked across the table at Fred and George, who were speaking animatedly with Bill and Tonks, who had yet to leave after arriving back at the house.
Winona got the sense something was keeping her around, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out what it was. Sure, they were good company – but didn't she have friends of her own? It perplexed Winona, although she couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath when she realised that maybe the reason was that they weren't just pleasant company – they were family.
Tonks was her second-cousin. What an odd realisation.
Dinner was a calm affair. Winona spoke with Sirius about their plans for Christmas – he seemed terribly excited to have everyone staying in Grimmauld Place for the holidays, but she understood his happiness. Without the Weasleys, it would have just been him, Harry, Remus and Winona rattling around in this big, empty house.
And while Winona didn't mind the thought of being alone with the boys who were now more family than anything she'd known before, she had to admit that the idea of the Weasleys being added to the mix certainly made things more interesting.
Wherever the Weasleys went, excitement and life followed. They made every house feel just that little bit more like a home.
Remus arrived halfway through dinner and tentatively took a seat beside Tonks, who grinned up at him brightly. Winona watched as his cheeks went a soft pink and he began to concentrate very hard on piling his plate with Mrs Weasley's marinated lamb shanks.
Curious, she thought before her attention was caught by Fred and George, who were regaling Bill with tales from Hogwarts and needed a reliable witness to confirm their ridiculous claims. "Win? Hey, Winnie! Tell Bill about the time we convinced everyone we were triplets!"
Bill looked skeptical, and it made Winona grin. "There's no way even the two of you could pull that off," said Bill, although he seemed uncertain of his own words.
"It's true," Winona assured him, leaning over the table to speak to them. "Third year. They spent a month leading up to it getting me to start talking about their illusive brother – Joseph – to sow the seeds of rumour. Nobody believed me, obviously, but then they got our mate Lee to take some Polyjuice they'd nicked from Snape and all walked into the Great Hall at the same time."
Fred and George looked particularly proud of themselves for that one, long ago as it was. "For a moment even McGonagall seemed unsure she hadn't miscounted," said Fred giddily.
Winona rolled her eyes fondly and turned back to her meal.
The night passed, and Winona woke the next morning to find it was much earlier than she'd expected. After the few days they'd had, she figured she'd sleep in till late, and that everyone else would take the day to recuperate, too. But no matter how she tried, she couldn't fall back asleep, so she reluctantly pulled on her dressing gown and a pair of slippers before tiptoeing down to the basement for something warm to drink.
Only, once she reached the kitchen, she was genuinely surprised to find that she wasn't alone. Mrs Weasley, Sirius, Tonks and Remus were all sat around the table, enjoying cups of steaming tea and a plate of cinnamon biscuits. They looked tired but in good spirits, Tonks' hair was a bright bubblegum pink and a grin sat on her lips from something Remus had just said.
"Pup!" cried Sirius at the sight of her. "You're up early."
He gave a lazy wave of his hand and a cup and saucer floated out of the cupboard, making its way across the room to the empty seat beside him, where the teapot lifted into the air and began to pour her a cup of tea.
"Couldn't sleep," she murmured, gratefully wrapping her hands around the warm teacup and inhaling its scent. Earl Grey – her favourite.
"We were just talking about Christmas gifts," Mrs Weasley revealed. "Since everything's in such a state, we thought it best not to go out shopping the traditional way."
"I had Tonks bring us all the catalogues she could find," added Sirius brightly. "If you order by owl this morning, your things should arrive in time for Christmas morning."
With everything that had happened, Winona hadn't even been thinking of presents. The realisation made her want to bang her head against the table. She couldn't just get nobody anything – Harry, her dad and the twins at the very least all needed presents, and, who was she kidding? She wouldn't be able to stop there. Not when these people meant so much to her. Not when they'd shown her such kindness in such a cruel, unfair world.
Growing up without anyone, it was jarring to suddenly have so many people to buy for that she didn't know where to begin. Jarring; but not unpleasant.
While the others all went back to their discussion – Mrs Weasley saying something about knitting patterns and what she knew to be Ron's favourite colour – Winona pulled the catalogues stacked in the centre of the table closer to her began to scan them.
She summoned a quill to circle what she liked, then summoned some parchment to write down the order numbers to put into her letter to the company. She worked quickly and efficiently, but she didn't finish until people had begun to wander downstairs in search of food and hot drinks to combat the chilly morning.
Tapping her wand against the catalogues to erase her scribbles, she tucked it back into her hair then hurried up to the top floor for a lovely hot shower.
When she made her way downstairs – dressed in comfortable loungewear but at least no longer in her dressing gown – something brought her to a stop at the drawing room door. Curious about the feeling pressing against her sternum, she poked her head inside to find Ron sat alone on the floor next to the coffee table, a quill in his hand and a frown of deep concentration on his face.
"Careful, you might burst a blood vessel," she warned him, and he looked up in surprise. When he saw it was only her, he made a face and went back to his task. "Who're you writing?"
Ron hesitated, but seemed to decide that – despite her close connection with the twins – she wasn't worth quite the amount of suspicion they usually garnered. "Hermione," he confessed, still writing.
Winona blinked, the answer somehow unexpected. "Hermione?"
"Yeah. I need to let her know what's happened, and see how quickly she can get here."
"Isn't she on holiday with her parents? Somewhere up north?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah, but Harry's having a rough time, and I don't know what to do to help. And usually when that happens… Well, Hermione always knows what to do, no matter what. So I figured she could help."
He paused then, seeming surprised by his own unguarded honesty, and Winona smiled. "That's very clever of you, Ron."
He shrugged modestly. "I feel bad about taking her away from skiing," he said the word with derision, as though he thought the idea of Muggles strapping sticks to their feet and throwing themselves down snowy mountainsides was on par with asking a gargoyle to dance. Stupid and pointless and maybe a little bit risky. "But Harry…" Ron trailed off, uncertain how to put it.
"You're worried," she said knowingly. "I get it. So am I."
Ron smiled and signed his letter before rolling it up and tying it with a ribbon. "I'm gonna go give this to Pig." But before he left, he paused in the doorway, unsure. "I'm doing the right thing, aren't I? Asking Hermione to come?"
Winona wanted to laugh, but he seemed so earnest that she knew it would only upset him. "Ron, I genuinely believe she'd slap you if you didn't."
Torn between amused and perplexed, Ron gave a dry chuckle before escaping down the stairs and leaving Winona in her workspace that doubled as a sitting room. It was still full of canvas and paints, and despite the hunger in her belly, she was drawn towards them, her fingers itching to create.
That was where Fred and George found her a half hour later, a rough, half-painted outline of Harry sat beside a dozing Buckbeak on the large canvas propped up on her easel.
"Should have known this was where you'd be," said Fred, his voice as warm as the hearth on her right.
She looked away from the canvas to find he and George stood in the doorway, the latter holding a plate of some kind of food. Wiping her hands on a spare rag, she meandered towards them only to nearly squeal with excitement when she saw the plate was piled high with French toast.
"George, I bloody love you," she said fervently, pushing past Fred to grab at the plate, stuffing a piece of the delicious toast into her mouth.
"Hey, it was my idea," whined Fred. "I should get credit."
"Yeah, but I carried them in, so clearly I'm the better twin," said George around a smirk. He turned to Winona, eyes alight with mischief. "Since I'm so good, you wanna snog for a bit and see if I can do better at that, too?"
Fred slapped his brother hard upside the head. George laughed readily and Winona rolled her eyes. She stopped stuffing her face with French toast long enough to push up onto her toes and kiss George affectionately on the cheek.
"Fred might be a little rough around the edges, but practise makes perfect, and I'll make a brilliant kisser out of him yet," she told George conspiratorially. Fred made a squawking sound as they broke into mischievous laughter.
Fred snatched a piece of the toast from her pile and then collapsed onto the couch, chewing his food grumpily. George rolled his eyes and grinned at Winona easily. "Mum's got us all on decorative duty," he told her with a sigh. He reached for the plate and although she selfishly wanted it all, she offered him a piece to make it fair. "If I never see another bauble it'll be too soon."
"Your dad seems in good spirits, though," added Fred, apparently deciding there was no fun to be had in sulking and joining the conversation smoothly. "He was trying to convince Ginny to sing carols with him. Don't reckon he'll have much luck there."
Winona snorted. "Don't need to be a Seer to know that. Ginny will probably only ever sing under the Imperius Curse, and even then it's a gamble."
"Yeah," George agreed with her. "She's stubborn little thing."
"How's Katie, by the way?" Winona asked, dropped down onto the couch beside Fred and tossing her legs into his lap. He smiled at her, mouth still full of toast
"Why're you asking me?" George replied defensively. It made Winona grin, wicked and catlike, and his ears went just the faintest bit red. "All right, so we've been talking," he admitted reluctantly, like someone had him at wand-point.
"More than just talking, from what I saw back at Hogwarts," she sang, making a face at Fred when he began to tickle her bare feet and kicking him gently in reprimand.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said George, nose tilted upwards stubbornly.
Her stare was blunt and unimpressed. "Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but when I walked in on Katie and a Weasley twin snogging in the common room, I naturally assumed it would be you," she said dryly, then turned to Fred with playful fire in her eyes. "Are you snogging Katie on the side?"
Fred snorted. "Katie should be so lucky."
Winona slapped him on the back of the head and Fred made a face in return before their attention shifted, as one, to George. "All right, fine, so we're…seeing each other," George confessed – nothing they didn't already know.
Winona nodded knowingly as she chewed on her last piece of toast. "How serious is it?"
George cringed. "You're asking if we're going steady?"
"George, I had no idea you just celebrated your 80th birthday. Congratulations, old man."
He made a rude hand gesture but otherwise didn't retaliate. "He's just shy," said Fred in a stage-whisper. "It's his first real girlfriend, you know? He's still getting used to the lingo."
"Do you need me to explain the bases to you?" Winona asked George impishly. "It's easy to remember. Look, first base is just snogging-"
George threw the nearest pillow at her face, knocking the toast she had held up near her mouth. It fell to the floor but Winona didn't care; she was too busy cackling with laughter. "I don't remember you being so annoying," he said, snide but with a glitter of laughter in his eyes.
"She's in love," said Fred, looking particularly wolfish as he said it.
"Yeah, with French toast," sniped Winona, staring mournfully down at the toast on the floor.
The afternoon passed with easy banter and Christmas carols sung only by Sirius and the twins (who were the only two people in the house ridiculous enough to join in with her father's revelry), but around five Winona broke away from the others and made her way up the stairs. Slowly but surely the sounds of life and laughter faded until they were only a distant hum of noise and Winona was stood outside the main bedroom of the house that Sirius used as a pen for Buckbeak.
She didn't bother knocking before heading inside, knowing Harry would just ignore it.
He was leant against the wall, a bucket of dead rats beside him that he was looting from, occasionally tossing them towards the Hippogriff, who was splayed across the dusty bed covers like a king amongst men, plucking them from the air. The room was filled with the steady crunching of brittle rat bones and Buckbeak's occasional snorts, but otherwise it was silent. With the door shut, they couldn't even hear the cheesy Christmas music Sirius was playing down in the dining-room-turned-living-room.
Harry looked up as she slid down onto the floor beside him, but otherwise he didn't react.
"We're having fun downstairs," she began quietly, trying not to startle him with her voice. "Sirius thinks he can sing – but he absolutely can't – Remus made up some of that tea we like, and Mrs Weasley's making up some treacle tart for dessert. Ginny and Ron are playing chess while the twins work on a new joke product – something to do with bewitching mistletoe. It just generally a great time."
But Harry only scowled. "You're all having a brilliant night without me, then."
Winona flicked him in the ear for the second time in as many conversations. "I'm not trying to rub it in your face, Harry," she sounded more scolding than she ever had before. "I'm trying to tell you that sitting up here, walling yourself off and wallowing, isn't doing anything except make you miserable. Nobody's sitting downstairs suspicious that you're getting possessed by Voldemort and are about to go on a killing spree through Grimmauld Place."
Harry flinched, but she wasn't done.
"Nobody's even talking about you, other than to wonder whether you're okay, and how you'll react if they come up here with a bag full of candy canes to try to cheer you up. We love you, Harry, and we care about you. And it's Christmas, so quit wallowing and come eat mince pies with us while we make fun of Sirius' terrible singing."
For a long moment, Harry looked as though he might give in, but then his expression hardened and Winona knew the battle was lost.
"Okay," she sighed before he could say anything. They didn't always need words to communicate, the two of them. It was a peculiar thing, to be so close to someone that words sometimes fell short, and all that was needed to know one another's heart was a glance. But Winona treasured it; it was something she'd never had before, and never wanted to be without again.
She knew Hermione was arriving later that evening, and if Winona couldn't pull Harry out of his funk, then Hermione was the next best bet.
"You want me to bring you something to eat?" she asked Harry anyway. "You haven't eaten all day."
"I'm fine," said Harry, voice hollow as he tossed another dead rat to Buckbeak, who crunched on it loudly.
Sighing in defeat, Winona climbed to her feet and left the room. Harry clearly wanted space, and far be it from her to deny him. Hermione would set him straight once she arrived; of that Winona was sure.
"No luck?" asked Ginny when Winona reappeared down in the living room. Her and Ron's game seemed to have come to an end, but that was hardly surprising. Winona couldn't think of a single chess game Ron had ever played that he hadn't won.
"Once Hermione gets here, you guys can all spring an intervention on him," she told Ginny and Ron, who was sat by the hearth, tossing his DA coin into the air and catching it again.
"Not you?" he asked curiously.
Winona's smile was edged with sadness. "I think he needs a break from me," she said, and left it at that.
Hermione arrived at six o'clock that evening. She barely paused to greet anyone, her sights set on her task. Winona knew without the help of any Sight that this was the answer. When it came to Harry, Winona's touch was too soft. Harry needed someone else; someone who could be stern with him. Someone who didn't spend every day weighed down by endless guilt.
"He's in the main bedroom, hiding away with Buckbeak," Winona whispered as she pulled Hermione into a quick hug. "He needs a firm hand."
Hermione's eyes blazed with purpose. "I intend to give him one."
"I'll go start a fire in his and Ron's room, and get Mrs Weasley to send up some sandwiches," Winona said, and at Hermione's frown, she added, "He hasn't eaten all day."
Nodding surely, Hermione strode up the stairs and disappeared out of sight. Winona followed a moment later, ducking into the boys' bedroom long enough to start a fire in the fireplace with a flick of her wand, then meandering her way back down the stairs, passing a worried-looking Ron and a frowning Ginny on the staircase.
"Mrs Weasley?" Winona asked as she hopped off the steps in the very bowels of the house, where the kitchen and dining room/meeting room was located.
Mrs Weasley looked up from where she was just pulling the treacle tart from the oven. "Yes dear?"
"Would you mind helping me put together some sandwiches for Harry and the others?"
Mrs Weasley looked delighted. "He's going to eat now?"
Winona nodded her head. "I have a feeling he is."
Together they put together a small assortment of sandwiches, Mrs Weasley humming along to the Christmas music pouring from Sirius' gramophone on the floor above them, and once they were done Winona made her way back upstairs, passing the twins where they were stood beside Remus in the hallway near the front door, eagerly talking about some spell they'd heard of and wanted to know more about.
"Ooh, sandwiches," said Fred, reaching forwards to swipe one off the tray she held.
Winona kicked him gently on the shin before he could and smiled sweetly as she passed. "They're for Harry."
"Just once I'd like not to get kicked!" he called after her.
"It's nice to have dreams," she called back airily, continuing up through the house until she reached Harry and Ron's floor. This time she did knock on the door, and she was pleased when there was no hesitation in Hermione's voice ringing out, "Come in."
Ron and Hermione were sat on in bed, while Harry and Ginny were stood in the centre of the room. Ginny seemed vaguely irked and Harry looked rather like he'd been thumped over the head with a large rock. Winona withheld a smile and presented the tray with a singsong, "Ta-da!"
"Ohh, is that egg?" Hermione asked, climbing to her feet and gladly snatching a few for herself.
Harry hesitated an extra few moments, but in the end he couldn't help himself, hunger glowing in his eyes as he grabbed a little triangle of ham and all but stuffed it into his mouth. "There we are," said Winona brightly. "Always easier to think clearly on a full stomach."
Harry grimaced, the expression full of lingering guilt. "Win-"
"It's fine, Boy-Wonder," she assured him, passing the tray off the Ron, who had already eaten dinner but still looked hungry for more, before bringing her cousin into a quick embrace. "You feeling better?"
Harry paused, seeming to genuinely consider the question before he nodded, and when he smiled, it even looked sincere. "Yeah," he said, casting a quick glance at Ginny, who looked a tiny bit soft in the eyes but otherwise her usual, snarky self. "I think I am."
The days leading up to Christmas were filled with so much happiness and light that Winona felt somewhat dazed by it all. Sometimes she joined in with all the terrible singing, and sometimes she helped clean and decorate and bake fresh cinnamon cookies for the house to share, and sometimes she just sat quietly in the sitting-room-turned-art-studio on the first floor, enjoying the warmth of the fire as she sketched and painted to her heart's content, visited often by all manner of friends and family throughout the days.
She could honestly and genuinely say that she'd never been so happy – so at peace – but the entire time there was a storm cloud lingering in the very corner of her mind. A tiny, silent voice whispering to her:
You're living in the Good Old Days… Enjoy it while it lasts… Consider this the calm before the storm…
And she wished she could say the voice was nothing but paranoia, nothing but her own fears and history blending together into words that hit where it hurt. But she knew she wasn't so lucky.
She treasured every day; every piece of treacle tart eaten, every present wrapped, every playful conversation with her friends and every late-night tea-and-talk session with her dad, and every play-fight with George and every stolen kiss with Fred. Because the voice was right; these were the good old days, and they deserved to be cherished while they were still here.
Christmas day dawned and Winona woke up obscenely early, mostly because of a certain someone in bed beside her asking, "Are you awake?"
Winona groaned. "I bloody well am now, aren't I?"
"You're such a grump," Fred had an affectionate smile in his voice. "It's adorable." She reluctantly opened her eyes, finding him already sat up in bed, a grin on his handsome face. "Merry Christmas," he said as she slowly pulled herself upright and scrubbed the sleep from her eyes.
When she opened her eyes again it was to find him holding out a small box, a grin on his face. She hadn't expected to do presents first thing in the morning, but apparently he was too excited to wait, and she shook her head with a smile as she leant over the side of her bed and collected the parcel from the hidden depths beneath.
"Me first," he said eagerly, and she laughed as she took the box from him. It was square in shape and made of blue velvet with a white ribbon tied around it in a bow. Winona tugged at the knot and watched it loosen, but before she could open the box, Fred stopped her. "Wait – you haven't Seen what it is, have you?" he asked, looking put out. "That would be terribly unfair."
Winona rolled her eyes. "I haven't Seen it," she assured him. "My reaction will be genuine. Pinky promise."
Skeptical but not averse, Fred hooked his pinky with hers and she used their joined hands to tug him closer, kissing him briefly before pulling back and opening her gift before he could stop her again.
Inside the flat box sat a necklace. It was unlike any Winona had seen before. Instead of a traditional pendant, a small hunk of raw gemstone sat hung in a small net of black cord. The stone was sharp-edged and bright, seeming to glow where it sat in the shadow of her room, all greens and blues and purples, the colours twisting together into something almost metallic. It was one of the most stunning things she'd ever seen.
"It's called a dragon's heart," Fred told her when she didn't speak. "S'not a real dragon's heart, of course. It's a stone, and while it's not the rarest, this particular colouring can be hard to find-"
She looked up from the stunning necklace, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Why do you sound so nervous?"
Fred tugged restlessly at his collar. "Believe it or not, I've never actually given a girl jewellery before," he said, making a face at her widening smile. "Do you like it?" he asked, hopeful and still adorably nervous.
"I love it," she assured him, already securing it around her neck. The stone, while not tiny, wasn't so huge that she couldn't wear it underneath clothes. It settled into the spot just above her breastbone, and she imagined she could feel it, warm and sure against her skin. "I love you," she added quickly, hooking him by the neck and bringing his face to hers for such a lengthy snog that they almost got completely carried away.
It was some minutes before they came up for air and remembered there was a world outside of just them and another parcel to open. Lips swollen and eyes a little glazed, Fred made a grabby motion for his present and she handed it off to him with a smile.
She hadn't been sure what to get him at first, but browsing through the catalogues Tonks brought home, the answer had come to her when she'd turned over a page in the one from Madam Malkin's.
Fred lifted the lid of the flat box and stared inside, a furrow in his brow. "A suit?" he asked, seeming confused.
Winona reached for the orange and magenta suit, pulling it out of the box and holding it up for him to see properly. "I figured you'll need a uniform for when you open the shop," she told him, a tiny bit sheepish. Was it too gaudy? Did he not like it? "Something to make you stand out from the crowd. I know these were the colours you wanted to go with for the store, so I sent specifications to Madam Malkin's and she did this up for me."
Fred continued to stare, and his expression was maddeningly difficult to read.
"…Do you like it?" she asked hesitantly.
Fred reached out with a hand, gently trailing his fingertips down the length of the soft, magenta fabric. "I do," he said, seeming a little dazed. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "But George…"
"Is going to wake up to one of his own at the foot of his bed," she assured him. "I know I usually get you separate gifts, but I thought I'd make an exception this year…"
Fred pursed his lips, and she raised her eyebrows, glancing at the wacky suit like it might grow lips and explain the problem. Fred seemed to finally realise he was being weird, and he said with a sigh, "It's just…custom suits…they're really expensive…"
Winona snorted, putting the suit down and pulling Fred into another kiss, this one quicker than the one before, though no less intense. "Fred, you know the Blacks are loaded," she said once she'd pulled back, a smile playing at her mouth. "This didn't even make a dent – and I mean that sincerely. Besides, what else would I spend my money on – except painting canvas and my boys?"
The dismay finally began to leak out of Fred's eyes, and she felt her heart grow lighter as he did. "S'just, I'm meant to spoil you," he murmured, maybe whining just a little bit. She assumed he meant because he was the man and she was the woman – but she didn't want to ruin the day with a feminist rant, so instead she just smiled.
"It's Christmas," she reminded him, threading her paint-stained fingers through his fiery hair and holding tight. "We spoil each other."
When Fred kissed her, there was nothing playful or sweet about it, and she knew it would be longer still before they came up for air.
Finally, dishevelled and pink and almost completely naked, the couple gathered enough energy to climb back into their clothes. Fred dressed the quickest, pulling his pyjamas back on over his body and climbing to his feet to stretch the kinks from his spine, looking tired yet utterly satisfied.
"Wait right here," he said, swooping down to press a kiss to Winona's forehead.
"For what?"
"Breakfast in bed!"
Before she could argue, Fred Disapparated, leaving Winona staring at the place he'd been in exasperation. Pulling her old teeshirt on, Winona crawled to the end of the bed and began to tear into her haul.
Mrs Weasley had knitted her a new scarf – this one red and silver, clearly fuelled by holiday spirit – and Remus had gotten her a few jars of the special tea she loved so much (he wouldn't tell her what, exactly, made it so special, but she strongly suspected it was something illegal in their region and therefore loved it even more). To her surprise, Tonks had given her a gift – a small collection of the long-burning spice and herb candles she used to help bring on visions, and it was so thoughtful that Winona felt guilty for not thinking to get her anything in return, and resolved to bake something just for her whenever she could get a moment free in the kitchen.
Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to have banded together to buy her a set of collector's edition art history books – no doubt Hermione's idea – and although she wasn't much a book person, she couldn't deny feeling captivated as she flicked through the first of four in the set, each from a different period in history.
Lee had given her their usual Honeydukes haul, and the girls had all pitched in for a new dress, this one made of a dark blue wool and spelled with warming charms for the harsher months. Winona ran her fingertips over the new painter's palette George had given her – made of sturdy ceramic and shaped like a blooming flower – with a smile on her lips.
She had a few other odds and ends from others – a few sweets and treats from people in the Order who she assumed wanted to stay on The Seer's good side, another batch of dragon scales from Charlie and a mug shaped liked a miniature cauldron from Ginny and Bill, who 'saw it out and about and thought it would make her smile'.
The final gift was from her dad, and for as much as Winona adored Fred, she was glad for a moment to herself to open it. To her surprise, it was just an envelope. For a moment she thought there might be money inside – but wizards didn't use paper currency like Muggles did, so it seemed unlikely.
Feeling strangely wary, Winona peeled open the envelope and unfolded its contents. For a moment she had no idea what she was looking at, but slowly the shapes on the paper formed letters which formed words, and finally Winona realised she was looking at the deed to a house. The note with it said: For the day you decide to spread your wings.
Fred still wasn't back from fetching breakfast – she assumed something had derailed him, but with so many people filling the house, it was hardly surprising – so she climbed to her feet and pulled a dressing gown on over her haphazard outfit of underwear and one of Fred's shirts.
Her dad's room was the one beside hers, the only other room on that floor apart from their shared bathroom, and Winona found herself wishing the walk were longer as she made her way to his door and knocked on the wood beside the brass plate with his name written in fancy script.
Her dad opened the door with a wide grin, already wearing one of the novelty shirts she'd bought him that now seemed wildly disproportionate.
Could be worse, it read in bold letters across its front, I could be a Slytherin.
"Merry Christmas!" he said brightly, holding out his arms but making no move to hug her. He stood grinning in his doorway, utterly casual, like he hadn't just handed her a house in an envelope. "Where'd you even find these shirts? They're brilliant. I think this one's my favourite. I'm going to wear it to the next Order meeting and watch Snape go purple with rage."
Winona didn't joke along with him. She just held up the deed he'd given her, eyes wide, everything a tiny bit blurry. "What?" she asked ineloquently, blinking hard, trying to clear her vision.
Sirius' face smoothed into an understanding – if not slightly sheepish – smile. "Ah. Well, do you like it?"
Winona stared at him like he'd gone mad. "I bought you a set of novelty teeshirts, and you bought me a house?!"
He ran his hands down the front of his shirt. "Hey, don't knock the teeshirts. I really like them. After the whole Azkaban thing," he said it the same way someone might mention getting a parking ticket, but Winona could see the haunted gleam behind the words that he tried not to let anyone see, "I think they burned all my clothes. What I have now is mostly just stuff Moony found me and old stuff I had here that I charmed to fit again-"
"Sirius," said Winona, just to the right of stern.
His brow furrowed and he stopped blathering on pointlessly, seeming to finally realise she wasn't in the mood. "I don't want you to leave," he said quickly, and Winona blinked in shock. She hadn't even considered that to be a reason behind the gift, but she could see why he'd worry. "I don't want you to ever leave, actually. But no matter how much I want you here with me forever, you're going to want your own place eventually."
Winona's mouth moved but no sound came out. "But – a house?!" she asked when she'd finally pulled herself together.
"Well, it's really more of a flat," he said, as though it made a difference. "It's only a couple streets from the Leaky Cauldron, so you'd be able to come and go from Diagon Alley as you please…"
Winona had no idea what to say, and Sirius suddenly seemed unsure of his gift.
"It's occurring to me now that you may want to move straight in with Fred," he mumbled, looking down at his feet. "And from what you've told me, they've already got a place lined up for when they graduate. Not that I think that's a terribly good plan; I'm of the opinion that you should do some growing of your own before you move in with a boyfriend. But I can't really talk, now, can I? Jess and I moved in together first chance we got – of course, she was already pregnant with you – another thing I absolutely do not condone, by the way-"
"Holy shit, shut up a moment," Winona laughed, the force of it surprising her. Blinking, her dad fell silent. "I – I mean, I'd not given much thought to moving in with Fred," she began slowly. "I kind of assumed, well – I figured I'd just live here, with you."
Sirius' expression brightened, and for a moment the happiness seemed to emanate out of him like the warmth of the sunshine on a clear summer's day. "I want that too," he assured her. "You can rent the flat for a few years for some extra income – until you're ready to move in."
Winona's brow began to ache from how hard she was frowning. "But – I mean – bloody hell. A flat?!"
Sirius laughed. "Pup, you know how much money we have to our name," he reminded her. "This barely made a dent."
It reminded her of her own words to Fred not twenty minutes earlier, and she rolled her lips into her mouth, still frowning.
"Besides, most of it's blood-money anyway. I figure the least I could do with it was give my little girl a place to call home. …I kind of, well from what I've gathered, you haven't had enough of that in your life."
She was still struggling to accept it. "But I've got Grimmauld Place…"
Her dad shrugged. "Yeah, but if I kick the bucket, I don't want you stuck with nowhere but this old haunted house to call home."
"I like our old haunted house," she defended it instantly, even knowing he had a point. "And you're not going to kick the bucket!" she added, heart speeding up in her chest at the thought – the memory of a vision – an ashy archway, flashes of blinding light, screams all around, none louder than Harry's, her own…
Sirius' smile was sad. "Everyone dies eventually, Pup."
"But not you. Not yet. You're not allowed," she said it firmly, like a stern parent telling their child the rules of the house. "Promise me."
He rolled his eyes, a levity to them that she didn't like. He was treating it so carelessly – as though it didn't matter whether he lived to see the end of this war. As if there weren't people who would mourn him with such intensity that she genuinely worried it might kill them – herself included.
"Promise," he agreed, but he didn't seem to mean it, and that was the worst part. "You won't be able to move in for awhile yet, anyway, even if you wanted to," he continued, nodding at the deed she still held tight to her chest. He seemed keen to keep the conversation flowing. "What with the price on your head and all. S'not safe for you to be living in London on your own. And even once this all blows over, you'll probably need a Secret Keeper."
"Which will be you, of course," she said automatically, and Sirius blinked, the response apparently unexpected. Frowning again, this time with sympathy, she told him, "I thought you might like the chance to try again. To do it right."
Maybe to somebody else the words would seem a little harsh, but things between father and daughter had always been blunt and matter-of-fact. When you'd lost as much time as they had, there wasn't much sense in wasting what you had left. And despite only knowing him a few years, Winona knew him. Knew his biggest regrets, and what he needed – but not necessarily wanted – to hear.
Clearing his throat, Sirius scratched at his arm awkwardly. She noticed his eyes seemed a little misty, but kindly didn't mention it.
Footsteps on the stairs and they turned to see Fred making his way up to them, a strangely weary look on his face. With only tea and a few slices of toast on the tray in his hands, she had to wonder what had taken him so long, but he stopped when he noticed them standing there and it didn't seem the right moment to ask.
"Everything okay?" he asked, looking from her to Sirius and back again.
"Everything's good," Winona assured him. She turned back to her dad, the mistiness gone from his eyes, replaced by warmth.
"Happy Christmas, mate," he called to Fred jovially.
"And you," replied Fred with a gorgeous, crooked grin.
"Breakfast in bed, huh?" Sirius continued. "You're certainly spoiling her, aren't you?"
"She deserves it," shrugged Fred. He said it like it were obvious, a simple truth nobody could deny.
Sirius grinned back, shaking his head at some silent thought, looking exasperated but not unhappy. Winona stepped through his doorway to wrap her arms around him. He was warm and sturdy against her, and she got such a sense of home in that one hug that it made her throat feel tight.
Pulling away, she craned her neck to smile up at him. "Thanks for the gift," she told him quietly. "It's – it's not something I ever thought I'd have, and I'm…"
"Overwhelmed?" he offered.
She smiled. "Yeah."
She turned to go, but her dad's voice stopped her. "Hey, Winnie?" he called, and she turned to look at him. He was toeing a crack in the floor, looking uncharacteristically shy. She said nothing, waiting for him to speak, and it seemed he had to gather his courage before he was able to murmur, "I just… I love you. You know that?"
Winona expected to feel something akin to panic or worry, but instead she felt relieved. Her dad loved her. It was hardly news to most normal seventeen-year-olds, but Winona had never done things the easy way.
She smiled like words had lit a fire in her belly. "I love you too," she told him, meaning it in every fibre of her being. The word 'dad' hung on her tongue, heavy and unsaid, but she couldn't make herself speak it.
Maybe she was afraid that once she did, it would all disappear. Or maybe she was just a ruddy coward.
But he didn't seem to mind – or, at the very least, he seemed to understand. Her dad smiled warmly, nodded once more at Fred, then strode past them and sauntered down the stairs, probably off in search of coffee and food.
Winona looked at Fred, his eyebrows high, and smiled. "What was that about?" he asked her as they made their way back into her bedroom.
Winona tapped the deed against her leg and smiled.
A/N: Hey guys! Here in Brisbane we've just come out of another lockdown, and I wanted to take a moment to say that I hope you're all keeping safe and well, and I hope that, in some small way, my story might make you smile, or your day just a little easier.
Leave me a review and let me know your thoughts; every review I get is precious to me, and as always I'm beyond humbled to hear from you – whether it be through a review, PM, or message on social media. Thanks for your kind and constructive words. I hope you enjoyed.
Review of the weeks goes to: monkeybaby – thanks for your review, made me smile! Hope you liked this one, too.
