Author's notes: Hello all and thank you once again for your patience. I'm very grateful to the many readers who have reached out to ask when I would be returning to this project. I hope you continue to enjoy Finding Heather. Also, yes Heather will use magic at the burrow, but since she's surrounded by adult wizards who are using magic anyway, there wont be any consequences.

Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, but to JK Rowling. One conversation in this chapter uses paraphrased quotes from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter 15

Two days after Slughorn's party, Heather boarded the Hogwarts Express from the cold platform, bound for the Burrow with Ron and Ginny. For the first time in her life, she wasn't looking forward to spending the holidays with the Weasley's, but the plans had been made and it was too late to back out. Still upset with Ron after their conversation about Justin, she hadn't spoken to him since the day he had come to check on her after the breakup. Ginny however seemed to have returned to her usual self, or close to it. As she sat next to her in their compartment, Heather caught her imperceptibly blushing anytime they touched as the train swayed. Her make up hid most of it, and that gave Heather something else to ponder.

At King's Cross, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting with a squad of aurors. On seeing them, Mrs. Weasley pulled Heather into one of her trademark hugs. After releasing her Mrs. Weasley stopped and stared at Heather, an odd expression on her face. Before she could comment however, one of the aurors tugged roughly at Heather's sleeve, pulling her towards the barrier. Outside waiting for them was a Ministry car to take them to the Burrow. Sitting in the backseat with Ron and Ginny, Heather felt cramped even though the seat could have held six grown adults easily. About halfway there, conversation died and they rode in silence. Ottery St. Catchpole was covered in thick white snow, fresh from the night before. The Burrow resembled a tall, lopsided gingerbread house, covered in snow with icicles hanging from the many sills. Unlike over the summer, Heather had to share a room this time. Fred and George were home for the holidays, along with Bill and Fleur, and to Heather's delight, Lupin.

It was very frosty for the first two days of the visit. Ron barely spoke to her, not that she had much to say to him either. Out of respect for their friendship, even as rocky as it currently was, Heather didn't change clothes in Ron's bedroom. Despite a large portion of her wanting to strip down to her bra and knickers in front of him just to show him that she was, in fact, a girl now, she resisted. Every morning and evening she made her way down the stairs to the toilet with a bundle of clothes, feminine items well hidden.

The one bright spot of those days was getting to spend time with Fred, George, Bill, and Lupin. When she was with them the gloom of everything going on lifted somewhat. It felt easy to joke with them and remember that she did have people who loved her. She caught herself wondering again and again how they would react when they learned the truth about her, but each time she told herself that was a problem for another time. She was sure that Mrs. Weasley was watching her during meals, often catching her with a puzzled look on her face.

Heather intended to speak to Mr. Weasley about what she had overheard after tailing Snape and Malfoy the other evening. Time and time again she replayed the conversation in her mind, wondering what Malfoy could be up to. At the very least this confirmed her suspicions that he was up to something. She wished Hermione were there so she could talk to someone about it, but she was visiting her parents.

On Christmas Eve, the entire family and their guests were gathered in the living room listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network. Mrs. Weasley's favorite singer, Celestina Warbeck, was singing a rather jazzy number that most of them were doing their best to ignore. Under its cover, Heather tried to talk to Lupin and Mr. Weasley about her theories on Malfoy and Snape working together for some nefarious purpose, but it had little effect. "What it all comes down to," said a slightly vexed Lupin when Heather wouldn't let it go, "is do you trust Dumbledore, or not?"

"Of course I do, but even still-" Heather replied but Lupin cut her off.

"Then trust him, Harry. He knows what he's doing."

Fuming, Heather left her seat next to Mr. Weasley and walked into the kitchen. Celestina had begun a slow ballad, and Mrs. Weasley began reminiscing about dancing to it when she and Mr. Weasley were younger. The kitchen was empty and the wall between the two rooms did much to stifle the crooning wireless. She wondered if her exit was being remarked on, but found that she didn't really care. Why would no one see sense that Snape was working for Voldemort? Sure, Dumbledore's certainty where Snape was concerned was a mark in his favor, but was Dumbledore blind to his true intentions? She knew what Hermione would say on the matter. "How many times have we thought Snape was up to something when he was really on our side."

Gazing out at the snowy garden without really seeing it, her train of thought was suddenly disturbed by a noise behind her. Unnoticed, Mrs. Weasley had gotten up and followed her into the kitchen. This was the first time that Heather had been alone with her since arriving.

"Are you all right, Harry dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked gently.

"Wha- oh yeah, I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley."

"Now, now. That line may work on others young man, but I've raised six boys. Lets try that again, shall we?"

"It's…complicated."

"Harry, I know you aren't actually mine, but I've always thought of you like you were one of my children. I know I can't replace your parents…" her voice trailed off as Heather's shoulders sagged under the weight of her emotions. Reaching a hand out, Mrs. Weasley said "It's ok if you don't want to talk now. Just know I'm here for you if you do." Without another word she left Heather at the sink and returned to the living room. In that moment, Heather both wanted her to stay and leave in equal measure. She needed someone, like a parent, that would be able to tell her that everything was going to be ok. It was all too much, too real to deal with. What she wouldn't give to talk to Sirius again.

The next morning she awoke to a sound of utter disgust from Ron. He was already sitting up opening the large pile of presents at the end of his bed. In his hands was a golden heart-shaped locket that Heather thought was much to large. On it in flowing letters were the words "My Sweetheart."

"Very classy." Grumped Heather, still not entirely awake.

"She can't expect me to wear this?" exclaimed Ron.

Heather didn't answer but pulled her own pile of gifts towards her. This years Christmas sweater had a large golden snitch on it, and she immediately pulled it on. Under it was a box of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes items, and a damp moldy package. Holding it gingerly, she read the label. To Master, from Kreacher. As the ministry was still searching their mail before sending it on, she knew it couldn't be anything dangerous. When the wrappings fell away, she almost gagged. Half a dozen slimy maggots oozed in her lap. Ron, who had been watching silently, let out a laugh that Heather did not appreciate in that moment.

"I'd rather have this than that necklace." She bit out acidly. Ron got dressed while fuming, muttered something that Heather didn't quite catch, and disappeared down the stairs. When she came down for breakfast, she saw that everyone was wearing their new sweaters, except for Fleur. Whether Mrs. Weasley hadn't chosen to make one for her, or Fleur had opted out of wearing it Heather didn't know. Ron was sitting next to an open chair shoveling down sausages.

Deciding here and now that she was done holding back her feelings, she leaned down behind him and whispered "Ron, I need a word." He grunted, contemplated his food, and followed, as did several sets of eyes. Heather led him around the fireplace towards the door and dragged him outside.

"Ok, Ron. We've got to talk." Heather said, letting go of Ron's sleeve. It was freezing out in the snow covered garden and their breath misted in front of their faces in the morning sun. Quickly she pulled out her wand, enjoying the sight of Ron flinching at its appearance. Rolling her eyes, she aimed it at the kitchen door and whispered "Muffliato."

"What's your problem?" Ron asked heatedly.

"You are. You've been a right arse about everything for the past few months. Answer this right now, do you accept me for who I am or don't you?" Heather replied acidly

"Harr-" Ron began

"That's what I thought. You still can't even use my name!" Heather cried, checking to make sure the spell was still in effect.

"You told me too!" Ron argued

"Yeah, because I didn't need you messing up and using the wrong name around the wrong person. That wasn't me saying that I wasn't a girl, Ron, I just needed to make it as idiot proof as possible for you." Heather growled. She hadn't meant for that last part to come out. Ron's face went bright red and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"So I'm an idiot, huh?"

"Well, you sure are acting like one." Heather retorted, crossing her arms.

"Fine, Heather. See, I remember. How can I forget." Ron bit out.

"Well, how was I supposed to know! It's like when I said you don't have to call me Heather you took that to mean you didn't have to remember what I am."

"That's just ridiculous." Ron replied.

"You know, I actually believed you last year when you said that if this is who I was, I was still your friend. Its good to know how far our friendship actually goes."

Ron didn't answer immediately. "Yeah, well…it doesn't feel the same to me either."

"What doesn't?" Heather asked.

"Us. I mean, its like you're…" Ron cut off suddenly.

"Like I'm a girl?"

Ron walked several steps away and sat down on the stump of a tree. Heather stood there watching him, her arms still crossed. It was a full minute before Ron spoke again. "It's like I've lost my best friend. I mean, it's not like you aren't the same person, it just…feels different."

Heather moved closer, the anger draining from her slowly. "I'm a girl now, Ron. That's going to make things different. I told you though, I'm the same person."

Ron kicked a pile of snow and didn't look at her. "Yeah" he grunted.

"Ron, its like this. I'm still your friend. I know you and Hermione have something going on right now and I'm not getting in the middle of that, but I'm still the person who you sat down with our first trip to Hogwarts. The only difference is I'm a girl. That's it."

"I don't feel like I can talk to you about bloke stuff anymore." Ron sighed and Heather realized they'd reached the actual issue Ron had.

"Like girls and stuff? Mate, just cause I don't like them like you do doesn't mean we can't talk about them. Just like I had hoped I could talk to you about guys."

Ron blushed again. "Yeah, sorry about that. I knew I was being a prat but couldn't stop myself."

"Well, next time you can try again." Said Heather, letting a small grin cross her face.

"How's this Har-Heather, can we start over again?" Ron asked, standing and meeting her gaze for the first time.

"We can. But I want you to use my real name when no one is nearby. Even if you screw up, I need to know that you know who I am."

"I can do that."

"Ok good. Lets get back inside."

After that, Christmas looked like it was going to be a merry affair. Heather played exploding snap with Fred and Bill while Ginny and George decorated the living room. When they were done everyone admired their handiwork. The room glowed with enchanted lights and decorative paper chains adorned every piece of furniture. Atop the tree was a small golden angel, that on closer inspection was revealed to be a stunned garden gnome in a tutu. The snow of the night before had left the windows of the kitchen almost completed blocked. As they were finishing up Christmas lunch, Mrs. Weasley let out a loud gasp. Following her gaze through the frosted window, Heather saw Percy Weasley, followed by the Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, coming up the garden path.

According to Scrimgeour, once they had both gotten inside, they had been in the area and Percy had been adamant about stopping to visit his family. This went over in much the same way as a lead balloon flies, as Percy made no sign of wanting to speak to anyone in the family besides his mother. This wasn't much of a problem however, as that feeling was reciprocated by most of the table. On the pretense of requesting a guide for a tour of the garden, He asked that 'Harry' come with him. Wondering how the Minister of Magic could use such a feeble excuse and expect it to be swallowed, Heather followed him out into the bright early afternoon.

As she had expected, Scrimgeour beat around the bush for almost fifteen minutes before finally getting to the point. "You know, Harry," he said as though trying to be caring, "whether you are the chosen one or not, people believe you are, you see. After all, how many times now have you faced down He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and lived?"

Heather didn't say anything. She thought she saw where he was going but had no intention of helping him along.

"My point is, you're a symbol of hope for many people. That someone might be able, you could even say destined to bring an end to him. I'm hoping that once you realize this, you might feel, almost a duty to support the Ministry." Scrimgeour continued after a minute.

There it was. He wanted a mascot. On top of making wrongful arrests so as to look as though he was making progress in the fight against Voldemort, now he wanted "The Chosen One" to publicly support his actions.

"And what exactly would that entail, Minister?" She replied slowly, measuring each word before saying it.

"It's quite simple really. If you were seen at the Ministry every now and then, people would get the right impression. We could make it worth your while, of course. I hear from Dolores Umbridge you intend to become an Auror one day. I could put you in touch with my successor in that department.

"No, Minister. I'm sorry that wont work. Because, you see, I don't agree with what you or the Ministry are doing. Locking up Stan Shunpike or retaining Umbridge, for instance.

"Well Harry, Dolores is a talented witch who has given many years of service to the ministry. It wouldn't be right to dismiss her just because of a few small mistakes she might have made during her tenure at Hogwarts." Scrimgeour said quickly, bypassing the Shunpike comment.

"So, torturing students and ordering off the books dementor attacks on me are small mistakes?" Heather asked, the heat rising in her face. She brought up her right hand to show him, the back of which still had I must not tell lies scarred permanently into the skin.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand. It would seem that, like your hero Dumbledore, that you choose to disassociate yourself from the Ministry, who I might add is working tirelessly to protect both you and the entire wizarding community."

"I don't want to be used." Heather answered. "I don't remember you, or anyone else there, coming to my defense last year. You all wanted to carry the line that everything was peachy, and you're doing the same thing now. No, I'm sorry minister, I won't help you."

Scrimgeour considered her for a moment. She could tell he was angry, but was doing a very good job of hiding it. He decided to change tacks entirely.

"What is Dumbledore up to?"

"No idea, and I wouldn't tell you even if I knew." Heather answered, turning her back on the Minister and returning to the house.