Andromeda had never liked Christmas. Even when she had been a small child, watching as Bellatrix tore into her presents with animalistic ferocity, Narcissa with her own quiet breed of excitement, Andromeda had not felt cheerful, or merry, or any of those other Yuletide feelings. For her, Christmas meant sitting with her family around the table, feeling like she wasn't supposed to be there, that she didn't belong. And she hadn't.

She remembered that first Christmas after she'd run away, sitting in a tiny apartment with Ted, the walls peeling paint like the skins of an orange and the heating making sounds not disimmilar to a wheezing hyena. But Ted had still brought a tree. It had been about a foot high, most of the braches missing, but he'd still made the effort. He'd often teased her about being a 'Scrooge' and a 'Grinch,' but he'd always tried to replace her bad memories with good.

And she knew, sitting on the couch beside Narcissa, Teddy on her knee, that watching Hermione and Draco opening their presents together on Christmas morning, would indeed be a good memory. It was something she had never believed possible, but she was glad for it nevertheless. Draco deserved to be happy; by God did he deserve it after the last few years. She'd loved him from afar, like looking at a painting but never being able to get up close, this boy who she had never gotten the chance to know, who had turned into a wonderful young man.

Who was now starting to tease Hermione about her ever-growing stack of books.

"Come on, Granger," he drawled at her. "Surely you just have asked for something that wasn't made out of paper or leather."

"I did," she insisted. "Your mother gave me a very nice quill. Along with the books she gave me." She held it up in the air, waving the feather under Draco's nose.

Narcissa laughed at her son's expression. "What? It was well deserved love. Now, do stop gaping like a startled fish and open the rest of your presents."

Draco didn't have to be told twice. He tore into his presents, Hermione, having finished opening her own, made a game out of trying to guess what they were based on their weight and dimensions. She was right on almost every guess and it warmed her heart to see her nephew smiling at her like that.

Then there was one present left. Narcissa gently took Teddy from her lap, looking at her with a questioning look. "Andy, do you mind checking on the dinner preparations? And Hermione, could you give her a hand?"

"Of course," Hermione said, brushing last Draco and giving Narcissa a hug. "Thank you very much for the presents; you didn't have to get me anything."

She waved a delicate hand. "Nonsense. You deserved every Galleon I spent, and more. As Draco's friend, and mine, you're part of this family, and I do enjoy spoiling you two."

Andromeda gave her sister a look.

Narcissa nodded.

Andromeda sighed and left the room.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; I never do anything without being sure."

"I'm not, though."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Then I'll look after it until you are."

Hermione had never had a Christmas quite like this. It was both Wizarding and Muggle, in honour of the mixed company. Narcissa had brought Christmas crackers, and seeing her sitting across from her with a red tissue paper crown on, Hermione was hit with a sense of contentment and wonder.

It was strange, to feel like you belonged in a place you'd ever expected to. Whilst she'd always felt at home with the Weasley's, she'd still felt out of place, that she was a puzzle piece taken from another box and added in. And there was nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with making your own puzzle with your own pieces, and she would be forever grateful for all the wonderful memories she had of their time together, and the friends she would forever cherish.

But this was different.

It didn't feel like a betrayal, to sit beside Draco as Andromeda recounted an old story from their youth, Narcissa practically snorting into her wine, Teddy playing with a spinning top from one of the crackers, giggling as Draco made it change colour. It was sweet and intimate and pure, and it was exactly what she needed after so much darkness this past year.

It was new friends, and a new beginning, a glimmer of what the word could be, what the world would be, if she had anything to do with it. Which she would. Hermione vowed, sitting at that table, that she'd remake the world, even if it took years and years, even if it took everything. She'd make the world listen, make them understand that there was no need for barriers, for hostility and derision and division.

A better world in every way.

"What have I told you about stealing my Yorkshire Puddings, George?" Ginny asked him as he silently levitated another off her plate, to her boyfriends amusement.

"That it's an 'unholy sacrilege' and should be punished to the fullest extent of the Sibling Code, if I'm not mistaken," he said with a wicked grin.

"Very true. Also, more importantly, 'Stop!' There isn't any left, you dingus!"

"'Dingus?' Really? What are you Gin, five? Nobody says dingus anymore. It's like tie-dye T-shirts or making mixtapes: outdated."

Ginny threw a carrot at him.

Molly turned her head, her super-mother powers kicking into high gear at her children's antics. "No throwing food at the table, Ginny. And no stealing food from your sister, George. And no, Arthur, you are not going to make George explain what a mixtape is. We all remember the last Muggle item George got given and gave you as a present. I was cleaning ink out of the carpets for weeks, I tell you."

Ginny laughed, thinking about the joke fountain pen George had somehow acquired from a customer. And how it exploded when you tried to write with it. It had been hilarious.

"Yes, Mum," the two said in unison, heads bowed but secretly shooting each other long-suffering grins.

Even when she'd been little, Ginny had always loved conspiring with her twin brothers, helping them with jokes and getting up to nonsense. It felt good to know that, despite all the changes this last year had wrought, that hadn't been one of them.

"So, how are you finding working at the Ministry, Harry? Is it everything you'd thought it would be?" Arthur asked her boyfriend.

Harry looked at her nervously. She gave him a reassuring smile: so far, he'd only told her of his doubts, and she knew he didn't want to disappoint Arthur. Yet at the same time, he wasn't a liar.

"It's been challenging," he replied. "It's good work, and I feel like I'm working towards something, but I'm not sure if I'll want to be a full Auror at the end of it."

Arthur smiled at him. "I can imagine. We've all done our fair share of fighting, especially you. The job isn't for everyone, but I'm glad that you felt Barve enough to admit that to me."

"We just want you to be happy, love," Molly said, gripping his hand across the table.

Harry squeezed back.

The moment was broken by George levitating yet enough Yorkshire Pudding and missing his plate.

Everyone laughed, George's face going red.

"Here," Neville said, halving his own. "We can split."

"You're an angel, Longbottom, did you know that?"

"I didn't actually. I thought I would have noticed a pair of fluffy wings in my back by now."

"Touché, my friend. Touché."

It was like that for most of the dinner, with the wine and Firewhiskey flowing as freely and easily as the dinner conversation. Ginny was just helping stack the plates, trying not to skewer herself with a knife slipping about in the butter, turning her head to laugh at Neville and Harry beating Charlie and Percy at Exploding Snap when the Floo went.

It was like before an explosion. That lack of noise, that sucking in of sound. Like one of those Black Holes Muggle scientist talked about.

Nobody had any delusions who it was.

Molly was the first to move, standing in front of the fireplace, face carefully blank and guarded. As if she was trying to protect them.

Protect them from Ron.

"Hey, everyone," he said quietly.

No one said anything.

Harry came around the table and, despite everything, despite the years he'd shared with her brother, took her hand, knuckles pressing into her own.

She gripped his right back.

"Ron," her mother said. "I didn't realize you were coming."

"It's Christmas," he said, as if that were explanation enough. On any other day, it would have been.

But not today.

"Ginny told me you were in America."

Yes, because he hadn't even told her. Told his own mother that he was quitting and moving to America. Like a coward.

"I'm just getting settled in. I start with the Cannons officially next week for training, but I didn't want to miss Christmas with the family."

"That's funny," Harry said. "Family must be selective for you, then, considering how you just treated Hermione."

"Hermione isn't family," Ron replied, fingers clenching, moving away from the fireplace.

"Oh, really? So, I guess risking her life for you, standing by you, by us, for nearly eight years doesn't constitute as family. What was she, then? A really good pal? Pals don't bleed for you, don't put up with your shit because they love you. Get your head out of your arse, Ronald. Hermione is your family, as much as I am yours. The only difference is, you didn't break my heart. But you're starting to, let me tell you. You're starting to. But it isn't too late to fix things?"

Ron slumped into the chair at the head of the table, snatching the bottle of Firewhiskey and taking a generous swig before giving Harry a nasty smirk.

It was the kind of smirk Draco used to give, Ginny thought, right before he crushed you.

"What's there to fix? Hermione has clearly chosen her side, and it's the wrong one. She used to be a half-decent person, and now all she's interested in is slumming it with Malfoy. It's not my problem she's delusional. Did she forget what he did to us? What his family put us through? Maybe she just doesn't care. She was, after all, very petty in our younger years. And fickle."

Ginny pounced on her brother, grappling him by the lapels of his jacket and slamming him into his chair. "How dare you! How dare you! Don't you talk about her like that, not after all the shit you've pulled over the years. I don't know who you are anymore, but you sure as Merlin aren't my brother. All you can think about is yourself. All you can see is the bottom of a bottle."

"Ginny!" Molly and Arthur scolded at the same time, moving over to the table. "That's enough!" her mum said.

Her dad just gave her a sad look, as if knowing what she was saying was true yet he couldn't bear to here it.

But she was done.

Done defending him and his actions.

Done with the snide comments and this affability.

"But she's right."

Ginny turned at her mother's words.

"She's right, Ron. I've been trying to let you find your way, to deal with this in the way that will most help you, but it's quite obvious that you're not better, you're only getting worse. We love you, can't you see that?"

"No," he replied. He looked over her shoulder. "I'm gone not even two days, and already you've replaced me, with Neville. Can't say I'm surprised: you practically claimed Harry as your own when he came here. Acted as if you loved him more than me."

"Bull, Ronald! That's bull. You're my son, my boy. He had no one, no one, so I looked after him, looked out for him. Because I cared about him, but more importantly, you cared about him. So don't you dare say something like that to me, you hear? No one is replacing you. And Neville being here is none of your business. This is my house, and I'll invite who I want. Now, are you going to apologize, sit down with us, and maybe spend Christmas with your family? Or are we not good enough for you anymore?"

"Molly," Arthur said, placing his hand on her shoulder as silent tears tracked down her face.

Ginny never saw her cry. Never.

"I'm sorry mum. Sorry I wasn't good enough for you, that I didn't get the grades you wanted me to, that I was just the sidekick of the Chosen One. That I couldn't stick it out at the Ministry, that I can't pretend that things are all fine and dandy. I'm sorry, but I can't stay in this house, with that room, that room were my brother should be. I'm sorry."

"Don't you dare use Fred as an excuse!" George bellowed. "Don't you dare drag in his name so that yiu can get away with acting like this. It's disgusting. Don't try and blame this all on him; it's not his fault that he died, that you can't accept it and move on. That you don't want to feel. Well, it's time you faced reality, Ronnykins: we all hurt. We all miss him. You think I want to sleep in that room, knowing that the bed next to me is empty? That I'll never see him again, never talk to him, never hear him laugh? You think that I'm fine, Ron? Because I'm not. But I'm not acting like a child about it. So go, go and live your perfect life. Just know, know that you're not welcome here."

"Fine. Merry Christmas, you miserable lot. I hope you enjoy being sad and depressed together." Ron charged out of everyone's way, setting the Christmas tree swaying in his wake as he stormed over to the fireplace, Flooing away without a backwards glance.

"So, who wants Christmas Pudding?" said Percy. Percy, of all people, was trying to cut the tense silence with humour. It would have been amusing if it wasn't so very tragic.

"Not now, Perce," said George, eyes fixed on the fireplace.

Utter silence. The pure and miserable kind, the kind everyone tries desperately to fill because they hate the sound of it, the almost palpable feel of it, but you can't fill it. It's like trying to fill a bucket with a hole in it: impossible, and pointless.

Molly went around gathering all the plates, even the ones Ginny didn't even remember picking back up.

"Molly," Arthur said, trying to put his hand on her shoulder.

She ignored him.

Harry put his arms around her, as if he was keeping her up, keeping her from falling apart. She'd attacked her own brother, hurt her own brother. And what he'd said...

"Molly, stop."

She shook him off.

It was George, George standing in her way, not letting go of the gravy boat, that got her to stand still.

The dishes crashed to the table, clanking together, a cacophonous racket of porcelain and glass and stainless steel.

George put his arms around her. Then Bill, rising from the couch where he'd been with Fleur all this time, the couple both offering her that solidarity, that comfort. Then Charlie and Percy, so much taller than she was. Ginny joined them, Harry still with his hand on the small of her back. Then her dad, who had never looked so old as he did in that moment, like a Dementor had sucked all the life and love and warmth from him, that made him her dad.

It was a huddle, like penguins, and it was messy and stained with tears and someone's elbow was digging into Ginny's ribs but she didn't mind, didn't care. She just held on, because sometimes holding on was all you had.

Author's Note: Hello! I owe you, my dearest readers, an explanation as to why this is so late. There are many, from the fat that I've been getting headaches and can't write as much, to dealing with friendship and summer dramas and my tablet deciding it won't work anymore. Twice. And because I discovered The Queen's Gambit on Netflix and am now obsessed. Is anyone else a fan? Let me know if you are!

Also, I've written my first Harry Potter one-shot. Yes, it's Dramione. It's called The Hounds of Love, if you wish to check it out. Yes, I got the title from the iconic song, which is awesome and the video should most definitely be longer, it's so good!

Anyway, I hope you have a lovely rest of your day. As always, reviews are always appreciated, and I'm already working on the next chapter, which will be a little bit different, in terms of setting, and is inspired by one of my favorite locations, although I've never actually been.

All my love, Temperance Cain