There was a long silence at this. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked absolutely stunned. Harry had been expecting surprise, but this seemed a bit less elated than he'd been hoping for.

"The house?" he ventured, "This one, I mean?"

Nothing. They continued to stare at him in absolute shock.

Harry looked over at Ron and Hermione, trying to see if they thought this was odd behavior, but with a lurching feeling in his stomach, saw that they were both staring at him, open-mouthed.

"Err, Harry..." stammered Mr. Weasley, "That's...that's too much."

"Oh!" Harry said, relieved that that was the issue, "No it's not! I want you to have it."

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said very patiently, as though speaking to a small child, "It's not your fault that our house burned down..."

"I know it's not," Harry said, starting to frown a bit, "I just...want you to have it, that's all." Why was everyone being so odd?

"That's very kind of you, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, putting his arm around Mrs. Weasley's waist, who had sat on the arm of his armchair, "But Molly and I are fine. We'll find a place of our own soon, and be out of your hair."

"Out of...you're not [I]in[/I] anyone's hair!" Harry said, wondering how on Earth they could all be so daft. Even Lupin was eyeing him uncomfortably, and Hermione had suddenly become very absorbed in her box of Bertie Bott's, tracing the looping script with her finger.

"Err – Harry," Fred said, "It's fine, really."

"Most of us are on our own now anyway," George said. But Harry could tell that wasn't the reason they were declining.

"Harry," Ron said, from his right, and when Harry turned, he noticed he had the same downcast, flushed expression he always got when Harry paid for things, "You can't keep giving us things."

"Why not?" Harry retorted, irritated that Ron could be so stubborn about money.

"We'll manage fine on our own."

"Why? Why should you 'manage' when you don't have to?" Harry said, and was surprised at his own passion on the subject. "It makes me happy to...Look, you keep forgetting that you've given me things too, things that are important, a lot more important than a house, or, or robes, or..."

He trailed off, sensing that the Weasleys were still quietly resisting the notion. He felt the wool of his collar itching his neck.

"What's this then?" he demanded, holding the fabric between his finger and thumb, "Were you just being polite?"

"Harry, what a thing to say!" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded, "On Christmas Day!"

"Then what's the problem?" Harry asked sadly, "You need a house – I have a house. Why can't it just..."

But this wasn't how he'd wanted it to be, and he certainly didn't want to fight with the Weasley family on Christmas Day – not when they were being so kind to him, not when they were all getting along so well, and finally having a good day for once.

"I didn't mean to be rude," he said quietly, "You're right, of course. I just thought...I'm sorry. I've spoiled it."

"It wasn't rude at all, Harry," Mr. Weasley said gently, "It was incredibly generous of you. I, for one, am humbled, and very grateful...I just can't help but think..."

He stopped himself, seemingly having decided that what he was about to say had better be rephrased.

"This house has been dead for many years, Harry," he said gently, "I can't help but think that you're trying...to bring it back to life."

Harry nodded jerkily, and looked back at the floor. He knew what Arthur meant. No matter how many cheerful Weasleys he crammed the house with, or no matter how hard Molly scrubbed, Grimmauld Place would never be the Burrow, Sirius was not going to come strolling through the door, and Arthur and Molly weren't ever going to be his Mum and Dad – what was lost, was lost.

"Besides dear," Mrs. Weasley said, "We could never accept something like that – it wouldn't be fair to turn you from a family member into a benefactor."

Harry shrugged, trying to return to normalcy. He didn't want to be a wet blanket, not when everyone was so happy – it was time to stop all this gravity.

"It's just a house...I shouldn't have made a big deal out of it," he said, grinning casually, "I just...wanted to give you something really great...you know, to kind of pay you back for everything."

"Oh, Harry dear! You don't have to pay us back for anything," Mrs. Weasley said, crossing to him, seizing his head in both hands, and planting a firm kiss on the top of his head, "That's what family is for. Now, why don't we clean up here a bit, and you kids can go play with your new toys?"

"Honestly," Ron muttered, "We're not five!"

But Harry saw him hungrily eyeing Ginny's new Shooting Star.

Later that night, after a delicious dinner, and after Ginny had begged and pleaded to take a ride on her broom (and been rebuffed) for the final time, the younger set found themselves drifting upstairs to relax while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin cleaned up downstairs.

"So you're off, then?" Harry barely heard, as he walked upstairs.

"Yes," came Lupin's voice, "I've probably stayed too late already, but..."

His voice, however, trailed off into indecipherable muttering, and Harry was surprised to realize, for once, that he didn't feel the urge to eavesdrop. He was clinging to the warm, full, happy feeling in his midriff, and didn't want a single thing to impinge.

"Look," Hermione whispered urgently, handing Harry the Daily Prophet.

"Nope," Harry said firmly.

"You'll want to read this," she said, urgently.

"No I won't," Harry reassured her, "For just one day, I'm taking out my remote control and pushing 'pause' on the entire world."

"Can they really do that?" Ron asked, intrigued, "Remote whatsits?"

"Controls. No," Hermione replied abruptly, then turned back to Harry, "They were hiding it."

Harry stopped climbing the stairs for a moment, and grimmaced. Hermione really knew how to play to his weaknesses – she knew he wouldn't be able to resist answering the inevitable questions that such a statement would provoke.

"Why would they hide the Daily Prophet from us?" Ron asked, nervously.

"Didn't you see Mr. Weasley at breakfast?" Hermione asked him in an urgent whisper, leaning in closer, "He put the paper face down and slid it over to Lupin before he stood up. I thought it was fishy...and when Lupin caught me trying to read over his shoulder, he folded it up. When we went to go open presents, I caught him sneaking it into the umbrella stand."

"He just doesn't want us to worry on Christmas," Ron interrupted, clearly not interested, "Speaking of Remus, just where is ol' Moony off to, anyway? I mean, he didn't even say goodbye."

"Well, you see Ron," Hermione said, her voice heavy-laden with sarcasm, "When you're a member of a secret society, you tend not to talk about it overmuch. Come [I]on[/I]!"

She dragged them into their room, and with a quick flick of the wand, cried "[I]Impeturbatus![/I]"

"You're not supposed to do magic!" Ron said, his eyes wide.

"Ministry permission?"

"Oh yeah," Ron remembered excitedly, looking like Christmas had come twice this year, "I nearly forgot!"

"Look," she said, holding out the paper for both of them to read.

Harry scanned the headline, and had to do a double-take.

"AMELIA BONES DISAPPEARS: DEATH EATERS SUSPECTED"

"Amelia Bones!" Ron repeated, a look of shock on his face, "Dad knows her from work! She's some Ministry bigwig..."

"She's on the Wizengamot," Harry said, his heart sinking.

"And, the head of [I]Magical Law Enforcement![/I]" Hermione emphasized in a heavy whisper, "You know what this means, don't you?"

"The Ministry's in a shambles," Harry said, sitting on the edge of the bed, "First Kingsley attacked, now Amelia Bones missing...There's no telling how many under the Imperious..."

There was a sudden loud "Crack!" that made them all start, and Fred suddenly appeared lounging on Ron's bed, while George strolled over and glanced at the paper.

"Ah," Fred said, "We wondered what you three were talking about that was so top-secret you made the door Imperturbable. Not nearly as salacious as we'd been hoping..."

"Twice as depressing though," George said, his jaw set, "Don't let Mum or Dad know you've seen it. Lupin was trying to—"

"Hide it from us, we know," Harry finished, "Do you ever knock?"

"No," Fred said cheerfully, "But Ginny is – not that you can hear her. Poor thing, fuming in the hallway, beating her wee fists about an inch away from the door."

Harry got up hurriedly, and hastened to let her in.

"Oh, go on, give her another few seconds," Fred pleaded, grabbing at his sleeve, "She turns all red, it's really funny."

Ginny was indeed, flushed and fuming when Harry opened the door.

"What is everyone talking about that I don't know about?" she demanded.

"Sorry, Gin," Harry said, "Come on in."

He re-sealed the door after she flounced in.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Not sure you want to know, really," Harry said, frowning, "It's bad news."

"Literally," Fred added, seriously.

Ginny took the paper from Hermione, and scanned it, her eyes widening. The bedsprings gave a small creak as she sank to the bed next to Fred.

"'Ms. Bones was reported missing when she failed to return home after work on Christmas Eve,'" Ginny quoted morosely, "'just as the Ministry was congratulating itself on the successful return of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt from the Imperius Curse. Yet more disturbing than the timing of this most recent disappearance, is the reminder that the Death Eaters have access into the Ministry even at the highest levels, and that they come not only in search of power, but bearing a grudge.'"

"What do they mean, 'a grudge?'" Ron asked, shifting weight nervously.

"Amelia Bones is hard on crime," Hermione said flatly, "Or was. She's put away dozens of Death Eaters and their sympathizers."

"No," Harry added, remembering something he'd read before they'd left, "Well, yes, but more than that...She was the one who recommended the death penalty for Lucius Malfoy."

There was a long silence at this.

"How can he be just...out there?" Ron scowled, his ears going pink, "Just – walking about 'disappearing' people..."

"Hey!" Fred said, defensively, "The Order's doing everything they can!"

"No one's blaming the you," Hermione hurriedly smoothed over.

"These guys are pros!" added George, his expression uncharacteristically grim, "Plain and simple. The Death Eaters who managed to survive ol' Moldywart's first rise to power, are the ones who are the best at not-getting-caught."

"How?" Hermione asked, "Honestly, I just don't see how it's possible for them to consistently evade capture like this!"

Fred shrugged, "It's easy, really. Be it friends in high places, or learning to cover their tracks really well, being good liars, being more ruthless than the rest –"

"Or frankly, just by being powerful," George added, turning to face his twin. Fred scowled.

"Face it, Fred," George said, "Like it or not, they're some of the most powerful, talented wizards of our time. And they all have a knack for getting themselves out of trouble."

"Sounds like a couple handsome twins you know?" Fred asked Harry with a wink.

"Well, that's a given," George added, as though this were perfectly obvious, "Don't worry, you lot. The Order's still got a few tricks up its sleeve."

But it was hard for Harry and the rest to shake the feeling that the Order was treading in place. Who knew where Lupin, Snape, Hagrid, and Dumbledore were off to...who knew what new "tricks" they were hurriedly trying to stash up their sleeves. But knowing what he did about the prophecy, Harry had a feeling it was all going to come down to him, no matter how much the Order tried to reassure him.

Even more frightening was the prospect that this was all these attacks were merely cogs in a grander design.

"I can't help but get the feeling that Voldemort is deliberately trying to weaken the Ministry," Hermione said quietly, after everyone else had left for bed.

"I know," Harry agreed, "His Death Eaters keep popping up in places they oughtn't be – so far, they've broken into Gringott's, the Department of Mysteries, the Wizengamot—"

"Fudge's Office, the School, the Shrieking Shack," Ron continued.

"They're like termites," Hermione said, "The wizarding world is full of all these holes – they keep making it weaker and weaker."

Hermione left for home the next day, which left both Harry and Ron moping about the house. Finally, Ginny was fed up with the two of them.

"Why don't you at least go do some studying?" she said, after they'd sulked through another chess game by the fire, "If you're not going to be any fun, you might as well be productive."

Figuring this was sound logic, Harry decided to go get some more work done in Bloodlines.