CHAPTER 30: FAMILY

Hermione woke, a fierce scream clawing its way from her lungs as she flung herself upright. Frantic eyes examined her surroundings. She exhaled a shaky breath as she recognised the outline of Ginny's belongings through the darkness and recalled where she was – The Burrow. Her eyes dropped to the other girl's bed, only to find it empty. The witch must have left in the night to be with Harry. A small relief, as it would make her exit from the room pass unnoticed with relative ease. A shiver ran down her spine and Hermione's limbs began to tremble as the sweat that had soaked her body began to dry. She clambered off the mattress with a groan, her muscles stiff from the convulsions her night terrors had brought. Stripping from her drenched clothing, she cast a silent Scourgify to cleanse her skin, and then swiftly redressed for her routine walk.

As she approached the kitchen on the way to the back door, something made her pause. Through the dark, she could just make out the silhouetted shape of a figure slumped against the table. Gripping her wand tightly in her hand, Hermione shifted into an all too familiar defensive stance and cast a weak Lumos.

The light from her wand tip illuminated the distinctive red hue of a Weasley head of hair and she felt herself relax.

"Oi, turn it off, would ya?" said George, his eyes squinted to ward off the obtrusive light she had cast upon the room.

"Nox," she said swiftly, blinking rapidly for a moment as her eyes adjusted once more to the low lighting of the room.

It seemed wrong to leave him there, alone in the dark. Hermione decided to forgo her sunrise stroll and moved to the table opposite where he sat and took a seat. When Molly had told her that George had moved out of the Burrow and returned to his apartment above the shop, she had been glad. It would have been hard for him to return to that place, that life he had built, without his brother by his side. So, when she had heard of his return home, she had thought he must have been healing. Coming to terms with his loss. The George who sat before her now though, was not the same wizard she had once known. He seemed better than last she saw him, though that wasn't saying much. After the war – after Fred – he had been distraught, the mere shell of a person. The man who sat before her now appeared to be coping, in the same sense that Hermione was coping. Not well by any means, but surviving.

He looked as if he hadn't shaved since Hermione saw him last. Though the ginger beard was now well groomed, rather than unkempt. She could hardly recognise the man. Given the way the wizard had reacted to his own reflection during the Summer, Hermione was certain the drastic change in his appearance was not unintentional. The gaunt quality of his facial features had diminished, though the deep purple hue remained beneath tired eyes that held none of the mirth they once had. He certainly looked better, yet far from well.

Pulling her eyes away from the man, she summoned the teapot and poured herself a cup of steaming tea. She gestured the pot in George's direction. The wizard inclined his head in acceptance of her offer and slid his near empty cup towards her. As she topped up his beverage, she saw him shift, his hand slipping beneath his robes. Pulling a silver flask out from a concealed pocket, he poured a generous helping of dark liquid into his hot tea. She could smell the distinct notes of the Firewhisky – melded with the herbal scent of the brew – as it rose with the plume of steam.

She recalled those days, those nights. The way she would ply herself with copious – excessive – volumes of liquor. She remembered the way it had burnt her throat, sat heavy in her stomach until she had consumed enough to numb the pain. She had used the alcohol to cope, to forget. It was a beast she had thought she'd slayed. A fault she had overcome and left in her past. Now however, as she saw elements of herself reflected in the broken man who sat before her, she realised she had never truly beaten that addiction, merely switched her vice to another.

George tilted his flask in her direction and Hermione blinked, realising with a start that she had been staring at the wizard. Her gaze dropped to the deceptively innocuous flask. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry. With much effort, she swallowed and shook her head – perhaps a little too forcefully – in decline of his offer. In response, George merely shrugged and pocketed the flask once more, before he lifted his own cup to his lips and sipped at his alcohol laced tea.

After a long silence, Hermione asked, "What are you doing here?"

"It's Christmas Eve, Mum wanted us here for the feast," he replied, voice deadpan.

"I meant, what are you doing down here, at-" Hermione pulled out her wand, "Tempus... At half four in the morning?"

"What are you doing down here at half four in the morning?"

"Touche," she conceded, before lifting her own steaming cup of tea to her lips.

The pair sat in mutual silence, neither pressing the other to further explain the motives behind their presence at such an hour. Sometime after the teapot had run dry – neither bothering to replenish its contents – dawn broke over the distant horizon and the warm tones of morning washed over the Burrow's homely kitchen.

"Hermione, dear, you're back early. Was it too cold this morn-" Molly froze, her eyes having fallen upon her son as she entered the kitchen. "Oh, George! It's so good to see you. I wasn't expecting you home until later today."

"I closed the shop today, gave Andrea the day off to be with her family. I didn't- It was… too quiet. So I thought I'd come be around people."

Hermione heard the words that were not spoken. George didn't trust himself to be on his own right now. To be alone, confronted by his loss.

Once George had left to find his father, Hermione fell into an easy routine, helping Molly in the kitchen. Except today was different, it was Christmas Eve. With Bill and Fleur travelling to France tomorrow to spend the holiday with her family, the Weasley Matriarch had made the executive decision to hold her annual feast a night early. As such, Hermione was kept thoroughly occupied throughout the day, preparing ingredients for various dishes as Molly directed. She had even been entrusted with preparing one of the puddings unassisted.

With the flick of her wand, Hermione set the knife to cutting the apples she had just finished peeling and coring. She observed the utensil with a scrutinising gaze for a moment, ensuring the cubes it cut were identical in dimension. She couldn't let Molly down, not when the woman had shown her such kindness. She would prepare the ingredients as meticulously as any potion. Satisfied with the apples' progress she turned and conjured another bowl, adding to it the correct proportions of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg and lemon juice. With one hand she sprinkled a pinch of salt into the mixture – something the older witch had taught her would enhance the other flavours – while she twisted her wand in the other, causing the ingredients to combine. The apples now prepared, she flicked her wand, cancelling the enchantment on the knife before casting a silent Wingardium Leviosa and guided the apples through the air and into the bowl. She dusted the apples with a small amount of cornflower before tossing them through the sugar and spice.

As Hermione combined the ingredients, she was so focused on her task she barely even noticed Percy enter the kitchen and greet his mother. She spared him a cursory glance and an absent-minded nod of greeting, before returning her attention back to the task at hand. She tipped the apple mixture into the pastry case she had prepared earlier and summoned the excess pastry dough she had placed aside. She sprinkled flour across the bench top, grappled the wooden rolling pin and began rolling out the dough by hand, having still not perfected the pressure element of the spell Molly had taught her the day before.

Weaving the final strip of pastry into the intricate lattice design atop the pie, she sighed with relief. It was perfect. Pulling herself into an upright position, she groaned and braced her lower back with both hands, having spent far too long hunched forward as she worked. She heard the back door creak as it opened, a cool draft sweeping across the room before the door closed again.

"Hey, Fireball."

A genuine, broad smile pulled at her features as Hermione spun quickly to face the direction from which the voice had come.

"Charlie!" she exclaimed as she dashed forward. As she reached him she jumped, wrapping her arms around his neck.

His strong arms enclosed her waist, supporting her weight as he chuckled. They embraced for a long moment before he carefully lowered her to the ground.

She crossed her arms, her hip popping to one side as her face pinched into an exaggerated frown. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that."

His grin only widened, as his chuckle grew to a deep laugh. Charlie had given her the nickname during her fourth year, the wizard having stayed on Hogwarts grounds to assist with the Dragons during the Triwizard Tournament. After the article from Skeeter had surfaced, and Molly had turned on her, Charlie had pulled her aside. The wizard had joked that she now had the reputation of a man eater, just like the Chinese Fireball. Faced with the fury that his claim had evoked from the young witch, he had grown serious. He had told her that – just like the dragon in question – despite her potential for aggression towards those who had wronged her, he knew she would always protect those she called her own. The kind words he had given her that day had helped shape her, not only reassuring her that his mother would come around, but also encouraging her to seek her revenge against Skeeter. They had been friends ever since, owling each other quite regularly up until the war.

"Oh, how lovely," Molly exclaimed, wiping her hands on her dish towel as she walked towards the pair. "Hermione, dear, why don't you go relax. You've done more than enough to help out today. You two go off and catch up."

Charlie smiled down at Hermione knowingly, waggling his eyebrows for good measure. Nonetheless, he placed a hand on the small of her back and led her from the kitchen and into the lounge room.

"I think your mother might be trying to set us up," Hermione laughed, as she threw herself down on one of the Weasleys comfortable sofas.

The wizard took the seat beside her and turned to face her. "Whatever gave you that impression?"

Unable to contain their amusement any longer, the pair laughed in earnest. Wiping a tear from her eye, Hermione pinched her lips together in an attempt to school her features. Once she had regained a semblance of control over herself, she asked, "How is Andrei, anyway?"

Charlie's face lit up at the mention of his partner. "He is well. He quite liked the tome you sent him on imbuing protective runes and has insisted on fortifying the enchantments on all of my leathers."

"Excellent, that was very much my intention," she said. Her tone turning serious, she added, "You haven't changed your mind, telling your parents about him I mean?"

His expression darkened, brow furrowing. "You know I can't."

"Your mum might finally stop trying to find you a girlfriend if you told her," Hermione said, her tone jovial as she tried to lighten the subject.

"No," he said. "She'd start trying to find me a wife."

"What do you- I don't understand?"

Charlie smiled sadly and shook his head. "My parents are Pureblood, Hermione. Yes, they are more progressive than many others in those circles, but some things are so ingrained in them. That their sons should find wives, procreate and carry on their Magical bloodlines, that's not optional in their minds. It won't matter if I tell them that I'm not interested in women. It won't matter to them that I'm in love with a man. All telling them both would achieve is my mother's increased persistence to find me a wife. She would lecture me on how those of my inclination should not be prevented from living a normal life. That there have been many like me, who've managed to successfully maintain the expectations of family. I would simply need to find an understanding wife, one willing to permit my extra marital activities in order to sate my urges. No. I'm not going to put myself through that."

Hermione moved closer to him on the sofa, wrapping an arm around his back as he rested her head against his shoulder. "They might surprise you, you know."

"Maybe. One day I might-"

The words died on the tip of Charlie's tongue, as the fireplace across from where they sat flared to life with brilliant green flame. Hermione's head snapped up, her lips parted and she inhaled a sharp gasp of surprise, as Ron stepped out from the hearth.

The wizard was dressed in robes far finer than any she had ever seen him wear, clothes that were certainly far too formal for the casual family affair he was attending. From the dragonhide boots that would have cost a fortune alone, to the robes of deep maroon, stitched with elaborate golden thread. The items of clothing had obviously been tailored to his figure, hugging his tall, muscular form in a way that would have once made her heart race. Now though, the scene before her only caused her to crinkle her nose in distaste. She had nothing against a well dressed man, but in that moment she could only describe Ronald's appearance as pretentious.

Only then did she notice the woman on his arm. The blonde, in contrast to Ron's distinctly overdressed appearance, was not clothed in what Hermione would consider appropriate to meet a partner's family. By all means, the woman looked stunning, her voluptuous curves hugged tightly by sheer fabric that left little to the imagination, but Hermione could not fathom the idea of meeting one's potential in-laws as if dressed for a night on the town. She didn't recognise the woman, though that wasn't at all surprising as she made no effort to keep up with Ronald's various conquests in the Wizarding tabloids.

Hermione realised with a start that she had been staring. When her eyes darted back up to the wizard's face she realised his brows were pinched, his ears turning the telltale shade of red that signalled his oncoming temper. She followed his line of sight and swiftly deduced his glare was directed at where her arm was wrapped around his brother. She had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. The nerve of him, honestly, to judge her for her display of affection to another, much less with a woman on his own arm.

"Molly said the wards went off and the Floo activated, sent me to see who's here," Harry said, entering the room. "Oh, hey Ron. Who's that with you? I'm guessing it was her that set off the wards?"

Ron stepped forward, leaving his date to awkwardly stand by the fireplace, and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Good to see you, mate. Oh, that's Alice. Thought I'd bring her along."

The Floo flared to life again and the blonde – Alice, Hermione corrected herself mentally – squealed and jumped to the side. As the flames abated, Bill stepped from the hearth, his arm around his wife as he guided her down from the small stone ledge.

"What's everyone doing in here?" Bill asked, evidently surprised by the gathering near the fireplace. "Anyone know where Mum and Dad are at?"

Arthur's outside with George and Percy, setting up the marquee and sorting out some climate control charms," Harry supplied. "Gin's in the kitchen with your mum."

"Excellent, we'll pass through the kitchen and say hi to mum. Can everyone meet us outside in a sec?"

Ron simply shrugged in response to his eldest brother's request and left the room with Harry, leaving Alice – seemingly forgotten – to chase after him. Curiosity getting the best of her, Hermione offered Charlie a kind smile, rose from her place on the sofa and followed the others out of the room.

Outside looked fabulous. The marquee that had been used for Bill and Fleur's wedding was once again erected in the yard, a single long table sat beneath it, surrounded by an assortment of chairs. The marquee itself was decorated in beautiful wreaths of holly and evergreens. Ornaments of all sizes and colours hovered beneath the canopy, illuminated by an abundance of flickering light that emanated from a motley collection of glass jars, filled with fireflies. Individually, Hermione would have never suspected the items would compliment one another, but as a whole, the space was wonderful.

As Hermione's gaze surveyed the long table, she noticed George at the far end pouring himself a large tumbler of Firewhisky. She was just about to approach him when a distinct sound caught her attention. Turning in the direction of the sound, she saw Bill tapping a small metal spoon against the edge of his crystal wine goblet.

"I'd like to make a toast," he announced, the assembled crowd all turning to face him. "To family!"

"To family!" a choir of voices responded, before most of those around her took large swallows of their various beverages.

She felt the melancholy that resided within her threaten to rise to the surface as she thought of her own family, her parents in Australia, who would likely be waking up to a warm Christmas morning any time now. She shook her head, clearing the thought before her gaze wandered across the group of people gathered around her. She had thought she had no family left, but that simply wasn't true. The Weasleys had always been like a second family to her, her recent time at the Burrow only serving to remind her of that fact. She wasn't alone, she realised. She had Molly and Arthur, and she knew without a doubt that Charlie would always be there for her. Harry – despite the trials they had recently faced – was not only her best friend, but was like a brother to her. A fleeting vision of grey eyes and platinum hair crossed her thoughts. No, she wasn't alone. Not anymore.

"While I have your attention," Bill announced, pulling her focus back to the wizard. "Fleur and I have something to announce."

"We are 'aving a bébé!"

Molly's high pitched squeal rang out across the yard, before the older woman dashed forward and threw herself at her eldest child. Bill chuckled as he staggered backwards from the force of his mother's eager embrace. The peaceful quietude of the evening swiftly diminished, as enthusiastic conversation broke out around her. Congratulations were given and beverages were summoned, glasses being passed around as toasts began to the happy couple and their unborn child.

Hermione accepted the tall flute of champagne she was offered, lifting it in show of support along with the others. However, the moment the toasts had concluded she swiftly placed the untouched beverage down upon the table top and left to fetch a pumpkin juice instead.

Once she had located a goblet and filled it with juice, she turned and surveyed the group around her. Her eyes fell immediately upon Harry and Ron, the pair off to the side, sat beside a fire pit that had recently been lit. She saw the way Ron threw his head back, laughing at something Harry had said and she felt a stab of jealousy like a knife to the side.

She steadied her nerves, inhaling a deep breath, before walking over to join them. As she took her seat by Harry's side, conversation around her stuttered to a halt. Only then did she notice Ginny's presence. The redhead was seated beside Ron's date, the pair of witches having been obscured from her view by the flames. Four sets of eyes bore into her, and it was as if she could feel the weight of their expectations bearing down upon her.

"Uh- hi," she offered, with less confidence than she would have hoped.

"I didn't expect to see you here, 'Mione. It being a family event and all," Ron supplied in response.

She would be lying to herself if she tried to pretend his words had not stung. However, she had realised something this evening, this was her family, just as much as it was Harry's. Ron couldn't take that away from her.

"Your Mum invited me. Insisted I come, in fact," she replied with conviction. "I'm surprised she didn't tell you. I guess your opinion on the matter must have held no weight on her decision to do so."

Ron spluttered unattractively, his face and ears turning a vivid shade of red. He opened his mouth to retort, but Harry swiftly interjected, "Leave it, mate."

Ron snapped his jaw shut. His teeth clenched and the muscle at the hinge of his jaw bulged under the strain, but he did not speak.

Harry, in an evident attempt to ease the group's tension, changed the topic to something much safer; Quidditch. As Alice fawned over Ginny's post Hogwarts traineeship with the Holyhead Harpies, conversation began to flow once more. Hermione though, chose to remain silent, simply observing the small group around her. She envied the ease with which Harry and Ron spoke. Despite her frustration with Ronald, she really did miss their friendship.

She pulled her eyes away from her friends and looked up at the sky, the last colours of dusk giving way to the blanket of darkness. As she stared up at the gradually darkening hue of nightfall, she noticed a small speck, then another. It was snowing. A soft smile pulled at her features, she had always loved a white Christmas. The snowflakes did not reach where they sat, the climate control enchantments along the wards perimeter dispersing them as they fell. It was beautiful though, the way they fell softly and caught the light.

Lowering her gaze, she observed the way the Weasley family interacted with one another. Although they all had so much healing left to do, Hermione was glad they had come so far as to be able to celebrate this holiday together. She realised then that Molly was nowhere to be seen. It occured to Hermione that the woman was likely back in the kitchen, preparing the final touches on the multitude of dishes. She moved to stand, thinking perhaps she would offer her assistance to the Weasley Matriarch. However, her movement was halted as she felt a pressure upon her knee.

"Stay," said Harry. "Please."

Hermione's gaze travelled up from the hand on her knee to the pleading emerald eyes that bore into her own. She nodded once and felt the wizard's hand squeeze her knee as he offered a reassuring smile.

Although the two of them had long been comfortable with the platonic intimacy they shared, Hermione remembered abruptly that Ginny was barely a broom's length away. Historically, the witch had reacted poorly to far less overt displays of affection between Harry and herself. Hermione looked up to find Ginny staring at them and she braced herself for the onslaught that was bound to follow. However, Ginny didn't utter a single word, simply turning back to face Alice, who was speaking animatedly, never realising her audience's attention had momentarily wavered. Those who had not known the youngest Weasley for years, would likely find her face impassive. However, Hermione knew better. She could see the tightness of the witch's jaw, the slight rise of a single brow that signalled her discontent. What she could not determine though, was if Ginny's displeasure was directed at her and Harry's interaction, or if the conversation she held with the blonde was simply that arduous.

Her internal analysis of Ginny's microexpressions was abruptly interrupted, as a body threw themself down by her side with a sigh.

"George!" Ron exclaimed. "Brilliant, you brought the good stuff."

Hermione looked down to where Ron had gestured and found George holding an unopened bottle of Firewhisky. The second, she noted, she had seen him with this evening.

"What you waiting for, mate? Crack her open!" Ron downed the already near full glass of neat spirits he had been nursing and held his glass in George's direction.

George simply shrugged, opening the bottle and filling his brother's glass before conjuring more for the group. He filled the newly summoned glasses and handed them around to each of his recently acquired drinking companions. He tilted his head to the side slightly in a silent question as he offered Hermione one of the glasses of amber liquid. As she shook her head in response, George merely shrugged as if he had expected that response and threw the drink back himself.

"What a surprise," Ron scoffed. "Our 'Mione here, refusing to have fun, as always. Why you always gotta be a stick in the mud?"

"Leave it, Ron," Harry practically growled.

Ron snorted, "Come on mate. She's always been a right swot! She's a bloody wet blanket. Have you forgotten Third year with your broom?"

"Just fucking drop it, Ron," George said, his raspy voice startling everyone.

The group fell silent for a long time before tentative conversation began once more. It appeared as if Ron was making it his personal mission to outdrink his brother. It was also entirely apparent that he was incapable of doing so. As one bottle emptied and another was summoned, George sat stoically, gazing into the fire. Ronald, however, had begun to slur. He swayed in his seat, splashing the blonde by his side occasionally with liquor as he gestured wildly, regaling exaggerated tales of his past.

"And that's – hic – where I met," Ron paused, swaying dangerously as he swung his arm around and grabbed hold of Alice's waist. "That's where I met, Al-" He frowned, squinting at the witch as if his vision was impaired. "Allison?"

The witch gasped in disbelief, standing abruptly and causing Ron to lose his balance and fall to the ground.

"That's it!" the blonde exclaimed. "I've had enough of your pig headed behaviour! You do nothing but talk about yourself. You've been horrible to your friend here tonight. Now! Now you can't even get my fucking name right! We are done Ronald Weasley!"

She turned and stormed off. Hermione watched the witch Disapparate the moment she crossed the Weasleys' wards. She couldn't blame the girl. Ron had treated her despicably the entire evening, either ignoring her completely or treating her as nothing more than a lavish accessory to behold.

Harry stood, offering Ron a hand up off the ground, then braced him by the shoulders and helped guide him back into his seat.

"Take this," Ginny said, thrusting a small vial in her brother's direction.

Hermione watched as he took the small glass vial without question, tipping the contents into his mouth and swallowing with a gulp. The sober up potion took effect almost immediately and Hermione couldn't quite suppress the gratification she felt upon seeing Ronald throw his head forward into his hands as he groaned.

"You're such a git, Ron," said Harry.

"And to think, Hermione," said Ginny with a chuckle. "You almost stayed in the castle with the ferret and missed out on that spectacle."

At that, Ron's head snapped up. "What's Malfoy got to do with this?"

"Oh, haven't you heard?" said Ginny. "Hermione here is friends with that snake."

"Friends?" Ron shouted, jumping to his feet. "With the fucking Death Eater?"

Hermione felt the smouldering rage within her ignite and flare to life. "Don't call him that."

Ron snorted. "So it's fucking true then!"

"He's a good person," she replied, trying desperately to remain calm.

A humourless laugh fell from the wizard's lips. "I never thought I'd see the day. I know you love your fucking lost causes, Hermione. But to be so desperate to fix every pathetic, little thing around you, that you'd sink so low as to become some Death Eater slag."

"How dare you!" Hermione cried, jumping to her feet.

"How dare I? Have you fucking forgotten what he is? What he's done?"

"The war changed us all, Ron. We all did things out of necessity."

"Necessity?" Ron laughed. "He stood there while you were fucking tortured by Bella-"

"Don't say her name!" Hermione screamed.

"He stood there, Hermione. I heard the way you screamed. The way you fucking begged, and he just stood there! The sick bastard probably got off on it."

"You know what?" she yelled. "I don't have to listen to this shit."

Hermione turned to face the rest of the Weasleys. Her eyes found Arthur and Molly – who had just exited the kitchen with a plate of Hors d'oeuvres – and added, "Thank you both for your hospitality, but I will be leaving now."

Without waiting for a response she turned and stalked off with large, determined steps. As she crossed the wards, she felt the snow – no longer impeded by a magical barrier – fall and land on her exposed skin. She knew she should feel the cold, but her magic crackled along the surface of her body, her flesh heated from within. The delicate snowflakes melted and hissed audibly, evaporating as soon as they made contact.

"You can't just walk away from me!" Ron roared, chasing after her.

"Yes, I can, Ronald. I do not owe you anything. I'm going home."

As that final word fell from her tongue, she could think of nothing but the blond wizard waiting for her back at Hogwarts. Knowing the wards would prevent her from reaching him, she shook her head to clear the thought. With great effort she focused on her destination and turned on the spot, Apparating to Hogsmeade.

A/N: And we've passed 100k words! Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story thus far. Especially those of you who waited patiently through my difficult pregnancy and sporadic updates. Ever kudos, every comment brings joy I can not accurately put into words.

Love always, LilithShade x