The Switchover

by Les Varioufs

Welcome to the most insane trip of your life, there will be monsters, wizards, wonderous creatures, giant squids, but no octopuses, telepathic crazies.. the author does not give compensation for any wonderfully trippy things you may see or encounter

28. Christmas with Sirius

28. Christmas with Sirius.

"There's something about this house," McCoy said the next morning as he stared into the eyes of a long beheaded house elf, "that disturbs me."

Kirk snorted. "Normally I'd remind you that everything disturbs you, but you're actually right this time."

"Unquestionably."

"What kind of a lunatic," McCoy continued, "would cut off the heads of former house elves and then mount them on a wall?"

"I'm not sure I want to find out," Kirk replied grimly.

"Indeed. It does appear as though this establishment at one point in time housed dark magic."

"That makes me feel a whole lot better," McCoy groaned.

"If Spock agrees with you that probably means you're right..."

"Which also doesn't help, Jim."

"It is undeniable," Spock said seriously. "There is an atmosphere of-"

"Ghostly menace," Kirk interrupted.

Spock nodded. "Precisely."

"Maybe the portrait of Mrs Black is the key," McCoy murmured thoughtfully. "She obviously hates Sirius, if 'blood traitor' is anything to go by."

"Traitor," Spock continued, "implies an act of treachery. One would assume that, given the fact that Mrs Black remains in the household and the apparent adoration of her-"

"Adoration?" McCoy repeated, snorting.

"As always, Leonard, there is another opinion to the given situation. Whilst the majority-"

"Everyone."

Spock visibly restrained himself from sighing. "Please allow me to continue, Leonard."

"...Sorry."

Kirk rolled his eyes at both of them. "Like an old married couple."

"As I was saying," Spock said, "it is not possible for everyone to display feelings of loathing with regards to the portrait of Mrs Black, as is shown when one considers the opinion of Kreacher."

"Kreacher?"

"You may recall, Jim, that Mr Black called for "Kreacher" and proceeded to curse the "wretched elf". It is my conclusion that Kreacher is the house elf whom we encountered upon our arrival."

"You think he adores Mrs Black."

"Undoubtedly. I have heard him speak highly of her."

"I never heard anything."

"I do not believe that he spoke at a volume detectable by human ears whilst you were present, Leonard."

"Bat Ears strikes again," McCoy murmured.

"So Kreacher adores a previous owner of the house," Kirk summarised.

"Indeed. He, too, spoke of 'blood traitors'."

"You think Sirius killed her?" McCoy asked in shock. "Betrayed his bloodline by murdering her?"

"That is plausible," Spock conceded.

"Other options?" Kirk asked brusquely, though his expression revealed he had a good idea.

"There is also the possibility of the prejudiced views of Death Eaters, who believe that blood purity amongst wizards is to be preserved by the exclusion of associating with anyone of 'lower' status."

"So he could have married," Kirk deduced.

"That is also an option; however I have seen no evidence to support this."

"It might not be here," McCoy pressed. "We have no way of knowing whether or not a wife was discovered or worse."

"Short of asking him," Kirk said, "we might never know."

"We're not asking him something like that!"

"I never said we should," Kirk backpedalled, raising his hands. "It would be insensitive."

"Damn right."

"In the meantime," Kirk continued, "we can only speculate."

"What if," McCoy said suddenly, "he didn't literally betray them."

"You are referencing ideology," Spock stated.

"Precisely!" McCoy exclaimed.

"Bones!" Kirk hissed, looking around briefly to see if they'd been overheard.

"It is possible," Spock murmured, nodding his approval in McCoy's direction, "that rather than adhering to – I hear footsteps," he said suddenly. "Someone is approaching."

"There you are!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, having come up the stairs and flung open the door to the bedroom. "Why're you all huddled up here? It's breakfast."

"We were discussing the Enterprise," Kirk replied smoothly.

"You can do that downstairs," Ron said. "Breakfast is getting cold..." His voice trailed off as he walked out the door and onto the landing, obviously expecting them to follow.

"Keep an eye open," Kirk said quietly.

"We're spying on him?"

"Bones, we're in a house obviously meant for wizards. Dark wizards. There could be anything here, and we can't let anything slip. Dumbledore might have told us anything, if he thought it relevant, that we won't recognise as being vital."

"That's not exactly likely."

"There is nothing to be lost by being cautious," Spock said.

Ron poked his head back around the door. "Are you coming or what?"

"We're coming," Kirk replied, giving the other two warning looks before following the teenager out the room.

"Mum's taking over from Keacher in the kitchen while she's here for cooking," Ron said, walking noisily down the stairs, "so we'll be safe from food poisoning."

"I'm sure that Kreacher's not that bad a cook."

Ron snorted at Kirk. "You're lucky you won't have to find out, then, if that's what you think. Once," he said, wincing at the memory, "he gave Harry live worms instead of spaghetti, and for tomato sauce he used-"

"I am certain," Spock interrupted, noticing the pallor of his two companions, "that the information you are about to give us is not vital."

Ron had the good grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Right...er – sorry about that. Wouldn't want to put you off your baked beans..."

"I didn't need that image," McCoy complained as they pushed open the door to a dining room, where everyone else had already sat down and begun eating.

"I see you've finally surfaced," Sirius said lightly, though he shot an unreadable glance at Spock.

"I'm sorry we're late," Kirk said to the room at large, sitting down next to Harry while McCoy and Spock took their own chairs. "We didn't realise..."

"Oh, don't worry about it dear," Mrs Weasley said hurriedly. "Now, would you like some baked beans?" She asked Spock, who had sat next to her.

At Spock's nod, she ladled a generous amount onto his plate. "Some bacon?"

"I do not consume meat."

"Oh," she replied, "well, you don't know what you're missing out on, dear, no full English breakfast is complete without all of the ingredients...some toast?"

This time, without waiting for an answer she dumped three pieces of toast on top of his baked beans.

"I thought it was beans on toast, Mum," Fred joked.

"I'm sure that Spock is perfectly capable of arranging it however he likes," Mrs Weasley replied, though she did give the plate an anxious side long glance.

"It is of no consequence," Spock said.

"Good, good..." Mrs Weasley murmured distractedly as she eyed the plate at the far end of the table. "Sirius, could you pass the mushrooms?"

From across the table, the twins shot Spock knowing grins.

"Some mushrooms, dear?" She had retrieved the plate and was now holding it poised over Spock's food.

"I-"

"There you go," she replied, dumping them on top of the mountain of toast.

Fred was now sniggering into his cup.

"Some eggs?"

"Mrs Weasley-"

"Oh, call me Molly, dear, everyone else does...some hashbrowns?"

She dumped more onto his plate. Spock was beginning to look slightly out of his depth.

"...Molly-"

"Yes?" She had already yet more food and was about to dump that onto his over burdened plate as well.

"I assure you, I have a sufficient quantity of food."

"Nonsense," she admonished, running a critical eye over him. "You need feeding up."

"I am quite content to-"

"It's alright," McCoy interrupted, coming to Spock's rescue when he saw yet more food drifting closer, "Spock's healthy. As a young Vulcan, he's at ideal weight."

Mrs Weasley considered them for a moment before mercifully putting the food back down. "Eat up," she ordered.

"You'll need stamina for that," Fred sniggered, staring at the mountain of food.

"Indeed. Fortunately, Vulcans have been forced, through association with various illogical species, to develop that quality in abundance..."

There was laughter round the table, the only exceptions being Sirius and Spock.

"Bad news for the rest of us, then."

The table went quiet and several heads turned to stare at Sirius, who was eying Spock with obvious distaste.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A Slytherin with stamina," Sirius spat, hate dripping from his voice. "There's nothing worse than a determined snake."

"Mr Black-" Spock began, but Sirius cut him off.

"Tell me, are you all like that, or is it something that greasy git teaches you?"

"I do not know to whom you are referring," Spock said quietly, the humoured twinkle disappearing from his eyes.

"Sirius," warned Mrs Weasley.

"Snape," Sirius spat. "He's your Head of House, isn't he, or has he finally been sacked?"

"Sirius."

"Maybe it's genetic," the man continued, ignoring Mrs Weasley. "I've never met a Slytherin who wasn't rotten to the very core."

"Mr Black," Spock said calmly, "I am not as you perceive."

"Of course not," Sirius sneered. "They all say that – think that by putting on the round blue eyes and sweet voice they can talk themselves out of anything. Slippery as eels, your lot – always lying and scheming-"

"That is enough," Spock said, voice steely, though his appearance remained impassive.

"It's what you are – or are you afraid to hear it? I wouldn't be surpri-"

"SIRIUS!" Mrs Weasley shouted over the rant, bringing the man up short. "That isn't how we treat guests!"

"He's no guest of mine."

"He's a guest of Dumbledore's," Mrs Weasley countered, her voice giving no room for arguments, "and you will treat him as one!"

"This is my house!" Sirius had stood up by now, his chair lying abandoned on the floor.

"It also happens to be Headquarters."

"As if I could forget," Sirius spat bitterly. "This is such a hive of activity, as you can tell."

"You know very well why you can't-"

"Of course I know why!" Sirius roared. "After all I've done for the Order-"

"This," Mrs Weasley interrupted furiously, "is about your safety, Sirius – it'd be suicide to let you leave now."

"I could change-"

"You've been recognised!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "You can't leave the house, Sirius, and you would do better to accept that and put up with it than moping around antagonising guests like an adolescent boy!"

Throwing her a filthy look, Sirius stormed out of the room, throwing his empty plate through the kitchen doorway as he went. There was a brief shriek of surprise from Kreacher, who was cleaning, and the slamming of a door.

Mrs Weasley stood, breathing hard and still slightly red in the face from her fury. "I'll help Kreacher clean that up..." she ground out to no – one in particular, disappearing through the door.

Everyone was momentarily silenced by shock.

Ron was the first to speak. "Blimey..."

"That doesn't even begin to cover it, little bro," George replied.

"I knew Sirius was angry about nor being involved with the Order," Harry muttered miserably, "but I didn't know..."

"He felt so strongly about it?" Hermione asked gently, when Harry didn't finish. "Sirius is just restless; he'll calm down." She didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Eventually," Ginny muttered, staring glumly at one of her fried eggs before poking viciously at it with her fork.

Despite Ginny's doubts, the mood within the household remained for the most part cheery, as Sirius' excitement at finally having company outweighed his evident loathing for Spock. In the days leading up to Christmas, he remained the life and soul of the group, forever telling farfetched and hilarious stories from his seemingly endless list of childhood escapades. He and Harry often spent time discussing Harry's parents, Sirius always managing to keep the conversation light-hearted, focussing on their friendship during the Hogwarts years rather than the difficult years afterwards.

This enthusiasm never waned, even when presented with the huge list of chores which Mrs Weasley had drawn up for them in her quest to make the house more comfortable. Finally, after even Christmas Eve had been spent sweeping and cleaning, they retreated to their respective rooms, the teasing between them gradually dying down as everyone drifted to sleep.

Throughout the night even the mutterings of Kreacher could not be heard as he trundled from room to room, searching for ancient family heirlooms which he could hide from the house's current occupants. The ceaseless wind and rain which so characterised the British winter climate had even provided a respite, allowing for a silence and peacefulness where time seemed to stop, and all the Christmas legends came alive.

The first rays of sunshine filtered lazily through the thin curtains to the officers' room, giving the walls a soft, slightly arctic glow as the sun struggled through thick cloud.

With a yawn and a stretch, the household awoke, bleary sleep filled eyes drawing as though magnetised to the presents at the bottom of beds. Yelps and gasps of surprise drifted through the door of the bedroom, stirring awake the three occupants inside it.

Lying on his back, Kirk allowed his mind to settle and wake up, noticing as he did so that he still felt warm. "Spock?"

"I am here."

"Is your duvet still warm?"

"Indeed it is, Jim. I believe that heating charms were placed on them yesterday."

"That would explain why I don't feel like an icicle this morning," McCoy drawled from his own bed.

Although none of them could see it happening, they knew what was happening to Spock's eyebrow. "Most illogical, Leonard."

"You probably felt ten times worse," McCoy retorted, "so don't tell me you're not grateful."

There was a soft creak of springs as Spock levered himself up in bed, probably to fix what McCoy had termed a "Vulcan Glare of Doom" on the doctor, when he stopped short, achieving a strange limbo between vertical and horizontal.

"Curious," he murmured, coming back to himself enough to finish the manoeuvre into a sitting position.

"What is?" Kirk asked, feeling vaguely unwilling to move as he continued to soak up the warmth of his duvet.

"We appear," Spock said, tone as perplexed as he would allow it, "to have received gifts."

McCoy promptly sat up in surprise, smacking his head on the bottom of the top bunk. "Damn it..." he growled.

Kirk chuckled and gracefully swung himself off the top bunk, crouching level with his friend. "You know what they say, Bones, no moving before your brain's re-booted."

McCoy groaned and rolled out of bed, wincing as several joints clicked. "I'm getting too old for bunk beds..."

"It is my understanding that the apparatus you name a 'bunk bed' is designed to function for members of your species of a significantly less advanced age."

"They are," Kirk replied, halting McCoy's sharp retort.

"In that case," Spock amended, "I believe that I am beginning to understand the source of Leonard's distress."

"You're lucky you're the tallest," McCoy snapped, "or I would have taken the bed. Those things," he jabbed a finger at the bunk bed, "are too damn short."

"Given that they are designed for small persons, I hardly find that surprising."

"They could have at least used magic to lengthen it to fit our height..."

"There's no room," Kirk said, indicating the small area, which was cramped enough as it was.

"I'd still have liked the offer."

Kirk chuckled, slapping his friend on the back. "Consider yourself lucky, Bones. This was all they had."

"Indeed," Spock inserted. "Given the lack of accommodation, it would have been hardly surprising should they have offered for you to inhabit the same room in which Buckbeak is situated. Judging from the behavioural patterns of both parties, I believe that the arrangement would have been, at the least, compatible."

McCoy seemed to spontaneously begin choking.

Kirk laughed heartily at McCoy's expression. "It's Christmas, Spock, I'm sure that Bones would appreciate a day's break from the arguments."

Spock inclined his head. "Of course, Jim."

The door opened slowly and Harry cautiously poked his head around it, grinned when he saw they were awake, then shuffled quietly into their room, Ron close behind.

"Everyone is either asleep or getting ready," he filled them in, sitting at the foot of Kirk's bed, "and we wanted to see whether you liked your gifts."

"It was not necessary to purchase anything."

Harry shrugged. "We wanted to."

"We have no way of giving you anything back," Kirk said. "We don't have any money."

"Don't worry about it," Ron said through a mouthful of sweets, "just open them."

McCoy narrowed his eyes. "You're eating sweets before breakfast."

Ron swallowed hastily. "It's Christmas," he said by way of explanation before cramming more into his mouth and sitting back to watch the show.

Rolling his eyes at the teenager, McCoy opened the first of his parcels, blinking in slight surprise when a book fell onto his lap.

"That's from Hermione," Harry explained.

"She bought everyone a homework planner," Ron muttered in distaste.

"I definitely need it..."

"That is true," Spock agreed.

Glaring, McCoy flipped to a random page and jerked in surprise when a ready, irritating voice burst into speech. "Do it today or you'll pay!"

McCoy snapped the book shut before it could say anymore.

"It does that on every page," Ron grimaced.

"Me and Ron clubbed together to buy the books," Harry explained, pointing to the green packages lying on each bed.

A few seconds and much ripping later, McCoy was holding an unbelievably large book entitled "Medicinal Herbs and Where to Find Them", detailing every known ingredient used in potion making, along with their properties and which ailments they could cure.

Kirk, meanwhile, was grinning at an equally large tome entitled "Famous Witches and Wizards," along with a small biography of each one and the contributions they made both to the wizarding and muggle worlds.

Spock had already begun to read in intimidatingly large book, eyebrow raising as he considered the text before him. "Fascinating."

"What?" Kirk and McCoy asked in unison.

"This book describes, in extensive detail, literary discussions and debates between known authors of the wizard world, who are unknown to the Muggle population. Particularly of interest are the tales of Beedle the Bard and his attempt, through the use of metaphor and appeal to the human enjoyment of reading, to engage the-"

"Spock," McCoy interrupted, "we get the general idea."

"We thought you'd like that one," Ron grinned.

Spock looked up and said sincerely, "My compliments for a wise purchase."

"No problem," Harry replied, nodding his head at the remaining packages. "Do you want to look at what the others got you?"

"They didn't tell us," Ron added angrily.

"Because the last time they did you told everyone what it was," Harry reminded him.

"You know?"

Harry's only response was a very wide grin.

Ron scowled. "Great. Everyone knows but me..."

"That's from Fred and George," Harry explained as the next packages were unwrapped to reveal a small mountain of sweets for each person. "It's all wizard candy, of course, because they know you haven't tried it."

"There aren't any of those every flavour things, are there?" McCoy asked warily.

"Of course there are!" Ron exclaimed. "You can't have wizard candy without Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans!"

"Bones had a bad first experience with them," Kirk explained.

There was a rustle of paper and Spock held up a bright green garment, examining it in the light. "Fascinating..."

"That's Mum's work. She always knits everyone a jumper."

Spock turned it round so that his two colleagues could see, eyebrow raised as he held it up to himself. Caught innocently in the act of dancing, a Christmas elf stared back at them.

"It suits you," McCoy drawled, his face split into a wide grin. "You can't deny it."

"So it would seem..." Spock's voice trailed off as he promptly shoved the jumper over his head to try it on for size. He emerged with his hair tousled, logical expression contrasting adorably with the design.

"I wish I had a camera," Kirk said, the smile never leaving his face.

"We probably do somewhere," Ron said.

"Don't tell me," McCoy chuckled, "that you're going to wear that down there."

"Once I have replaced my pyjamas with suitable attire, the jumper shall be an addition, yes. It is, after all, the purpose of the garment."

Kirk held his up for a brief inspection and then followed Spock's lead, revealing that he was a reindeer. "I'll keep you company."

"Everyone'll be wearing theirs too," Ron said, when McCoy hesitated slightly. "It's tradition."

Giving in, McCoy pulled it over his head and tugging it down, causing everyone to laugh.

"What?"

"I never knew Mum would do that," Ron choked out.

"What did she do?"

"Take a look in the mirror, mate."

Walking over to the wardrobe and opening a door to reveal a full length mirror, McCoy stopped dead and gaped.

"I'm..." he whipped around to face everyone else. "I'm a tree. I'm not even a character, damn it, I'm a tree!"

"A good looking tree," Kirk quipped.

McCoy threw a pillow at him.

"Breakfast!" Mrs Weasley called up the stairs, waking in the process anyone who happened to still be asleep.

"Open Ginny's presents," Ron urges. "If you're quick we can get them done before we go down."

Obediently, they opened the packages, revealing the novel "1984" for Kirk, "Medicine through the ages," for McCoy, and "The Complete and Foolproof Dictionary of Idioms" for Spock, which was handwritten.

"We weren't sure what to get," Ron explained, "so Ginny remembered your arguments with Bones and got everyone from our House to chip in with phrases they knew."

"Maybe now you'll finally understand me," McCoy teased.

"The odds of such an event have improved significantly," Spock replied, dead pan.

The door creaked open once more, and Ginny stuck her head in. "Mum's on the war path," she warned, "Percy sent back his jumper back again."

"The git," Ron spat, going slightly red in anger.

"What?" McCoy asked. "Who's Percy?"

"Our older idiot of a brother," Ginny replied. "He refuses to talk to the entire family because he reckons Fudge is right and You-Know-Who isn't out there."

"He's mental!" Ron continued.

"We've known that for years," Ginny replied firmly. "You lot should come down, unless you want mum on your backs and stone cold breakfast."

Placing their gifts on their respective beds, they followed Ginny out of the room, thanking her and all others for the gifts as they went.

"Who's that for?" Ron asked, nodding at the package in Hermione's hands.

"I bought a little something for Kreacher," she replied brightly.

"It had better not be clothes!" Ron warned, uncharacteristically serious. "You know what Sirius said: Kreacher knows too much, we can't set him free!"

"It isn't clothes, although if I had my way I'd certainly give him something to wear other than that filthy old rag. No, it's a patchwork quilt; I thought it would brighten up his bedroom."

"What bedroom?" Harry asked.

"Well," Hermione replied, clearly uncomfortable, "Sirius says it's not so much a bedroom, more a kind of – den. Apparently, he sleeps under the boiler in the cupboard off the kitchen."

"So," Ron asked as they entered the room, "is this it?" He walked over to the dingy door tucked into a corner.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "Er...I think we'd better knock."

Without any hesitation, Ron rapped the door, rolling his eyes when there was no answer. "He must be sneaking around upstairs." He yanked the door open. "Urgh!"

The room, barely big enough to be a cupboard, housed an old fashioned boiler which looked as though it was on its last legs. Rumpled into a heap were a few old, soiled blankets, smelling as though they had never been washed. Scattered haphazardly around, as though they had been forgotten, were stiff slices of bread, and cheese so past its sell by date that it had gone almost completely blue. Among the miserable nest, bits of silver gleamed; salvaged heirlooms which Kreacher had stolen when no one had been looking.

"How can he live like this?" McCoy asked in shock.

"He's a house elf," Ron shrugged, clearly unconcerned.

McCoy stared at him. "You're talking about a fellow living being!"

"I agree with you," Hermione said before Ron could reply, giving him a brief glare, "it's simply dreadful, the way they're treated, that's why I set up SPEW."

"SPEW?" Spock asked.

"The Society for the Promotions of Elfish Welfare," Hermione explained.

"But house elves are meant to work for us," Ron argued. "It's the way it is. Until they're given clothes, they can't be free, but they won't accept the clothes. That's the point – it's as much their fault as ours."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but Harry laid a hand on her arm and nodded his head at the bundle. "The present?"

"Right – I'll just leave it here," she placed it on top of the rags. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine."

"Come to think of it," Sirius said, entering the room with a large turkey in hand, "has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

"I haven't seen him since yesterday," Harry replied. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

Sirius frowned. "Yeah...you know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too – he almost set the kitchen on fire, was even worse a cook than usual, actually, which is pretty difficult...he must be hiding somewhere upstairs."

"It is possible," Spock said, "that when you ordered him 'out' he may have interpreted a meaning different than the one intended."

"No," Sirius snapped, "house elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house."

"They can leave if they really want to," Harry insisted. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoys' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards," he added quickly, "but he still did it."

"I'll look for him later," Sirius said with an attempt at carelessness. "I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something." He smirked unpleasantly. "Of course, he might have crawled into an airing cupboard and died...but I mustn't get my hopes up."

"That," Spock said over the laughter from the Weasley siblings, "was unnecessarily malevolent."

"Nobody cares," Sirius enunciated, "about Kreacher, or about what you think. If Dumbledore didn't make sure you were both kept here, I'd have thrown you on to the street long ago."

There was a short, heavy silence.

"That is, of course, your right," Spock said diplomatically, expression carefully neutral.

Sirius' eyes bore into Spock's. "Glad we've reached an agreement on something. Now," he added brightly, ignoring Spock completely, "who'd like some Christmas brunch?"

"This," Kirk declared as they took the first bites of the meal some time later, "is what real turkey tastes like."

Ginny shrugged. "What else would it be?"

"It's just a long time since I had a real, non-synthesised one," Kirk explained, downing another piece. "The replicator makes it taste like dirty toilet roll."

"And you know that through experience, do you?" Fred asked, grinning.

Kirk grimaced. "Some things are better left unsaid."

The answering laughs were echoed throughout the meal, smiles all around the table as everyone talked and reminisced, which occasionally involved jokes at someone else's expense. It was with full stomachs and satisfied minds that they lounged back in their seats a long while later, the buzz of conversation having become lazy and slightly patchy.

Mrs Weasley was, of course, the only member of the household still showing impatience, despite it being Christmas Day. "Hurry up," she urged, clambering to her feet, "Arthur's expecting us and we'll be late unless we leave now."

"Oh come on Mum," George moaned, "Dad won't mind if we're a bit late."

"He's your father," Mrs Weasley retorted angrily, "and he's in the hospital on Christmas Day! He deserves a visit where we're on time for once!" She gazed pointedly round at everyone, as though accusing them of being solely responsible for their usual lateness.

Reluctantly getting to their feet, they swiftly gathered their things and left for St Mungo's. The journey was, fortunately in the opinion of Spock, event free and they were left in peace to get off at the required stop, where they found very few people milling around the high street.

Checking in with the welcome witch at the desk, they hastily made their way to Mr Weasley's usual room, noticing that the two occupants who had been there for their last visit were unchanged in condition.

Mrs Weasley descended to her husband's side at once, planting a kiss firmly on his lips, which caused several rounds of false gagging between Fred and George. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine, fine," Mr Weasley said unconvincingly after gently taking the presents his wife was handing out to him. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes slightly and stared at her husband for an unnervingly long time without blinking. "No," she said finally, "why?"

"Nothing," Mr Weasley said hastily, "nothing!" He quickly turned his attention to unwrapping the presents. "Well, everyone, good day so far? What did you all get for Christmas?"

Mrs Weasley, having not accepted his reply, was currently checking his bandages, her face becoming stony. "Arthur," she said, her voice hard with suspicion, "you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

Mr Weasley attempted to scramble away from her grip, looking frightened. "What? No, no – it's nothing – it's...I-" He appeared to suddenly give up, sighing as the fight went out of him. "Well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea...he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in...um...complementary medicine...I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies..." he ploughed on despite Mrs Weasley's obviously increasing fury. "Well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds-"

At Mrs Weasley's growl, everyone scampered away from the bed with the exception of the three officers and the three students. "Do you mean to tell me," she said, voice unbendable as steel, "that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

McCoy decided to step in. "That's partly my fault, Mrs Weasley," he said, his voice calm in the face of her anger. "I suggested that he keep up the experiment, since the magical-"

Mrs Weasley ignored him. "It sounds," she said, words rising in pitch, "as though, whatever the motivation," she glanced fleetingly at McCoy, "you've been trying to sew your skin back together, but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid..."

"I fancy a cup of tea," Harry said suddenly, sprinting to the door along with the remaining audience.

"That's the general idea..." Mr Weasley muttered meekly, averting his gaze as his wife began to turn puce.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?" Mrs Weasley screeched, making several other patients jump.

"I mean that..." He floundered for a moment, clearly trying to find the right words which would hopefully not incense her further.

"It's a widely practiced technique," McCoy interjected, sparing Mr Weasley the trouble. "They even had us study it at the Academy as part of the First Aid course in case we were stranded without-"

"It's barbaric!" She interrupted, glaring at both of them. "How could you encourage Arthur to do this, you're a doctor, you know the risk!"

"It was either that," McCoy snapped, finally losing his patience, "or let him spend the rest of his life taking Blood Replenishing Potions, or bleed to death!"

"The antidote-"

"Wasn't very far along when your husband asked me for my opinion!" McCoy interrupted, infuriating her even further. "My job is to heal, and since that was the only option I could see, I advised it!"

"Maybe," she screeched, "you should leave the advice to someone who knows a bit more about wizard medicine!"

"Mrs Weasley," Spock said calmly, "I fail to comprehend your difficulty in accepting this route of treatment."

"He's sewing himself together!" She repeated furiously.

"Indeed, that is part of the process, however," Spock replied, still unruffled, "it has proven successful on many occasions. As a matter of fact, many doctors in our timeline utilise the method when no other alternative is available. In this instance, the choice was logical."

"The potion is coming along, Molly," Mr Weasley said quickly, pressing the advantage of her momentary speechlessness, though he still looked slightly wary of her. "I'm sure that we won't need the stitches after all, but it's still worth a try."

Mrs Weasley sighed, and they could sense that the only thing which stopped her from arguing further was the rather stunned audience currently staring at them, and the fact that it was Christmas Day. "Arthur," she said in a much more controlled voice which, despite her best efforts, still contained some anger, "you must promise me – if the potion is finished, even," she added quickly, seeing his mouth open as though to speak, "if you have already found a way to make the stitches work, I want you to take it."

Mr Weasley nodded reluctantly. "There are ways of removing stitches," he said, though he glanced quickly at McCoy for confirmation.

Mrs Weasley seemed for the moment satisfied, though they knew that they would be hearing much more of this once they returned to Grimmauld Place. "Good. Right, then," she said with forced cheerfulness, "where have the others got to? It's time for us to leave, I think..."

She ducked down quickly to give her husband a quick kiss, a simple peck on the cheek this time, they noticed, and then bustled out the word, taking the remaining entourage who had not fled with her. Out of the corner of their eyes, they saw Mr Weasley lean back onto his pillows and close his eyes in a short sign of relief.