A/N: I think I'm just a little too happy about my website, which has recently undergone a makeover. I spent a good hour gloating about it to everyone within a mile radius today and taped the banner to my laptop.
Disclaimer: I own nothing… especially not Harry Potter
Happy Reading!
Chapter Three – An Emotional Upheaval
Though Harry was already starting to feel better, he was not in much better shape. Miranda was funny, nourishing, and still managed to get along with Snape, who was the same tall, grumpy and sardonic man that Harry had learned from. The main difference was what Snape (Severus Snape, who Harry still thought of as just 'Snape' even though there were three Snapes) wore every day. Instead of long black robes Snape wore regular Muggle clothes to work. Harry found this both amusing and slightly frightening, for Snape still had his same long, greasy hair and looked very strange in Muggle clothes. However, as soon as Snape got home every day at exactly four thirty, he would go straight upstairs and change back into his normal attire.
Miranda was a stay-at-home mother, though she occasionally wrote. Most of the time she was bust with Christine, who, as Harry discovered, was far from a spoiled only-child. Christine was, in all actuality, like her mother. Christine didn't attend school like the other kids because of her magical abilities that showed constantly, but Christine had taught herself to read. Apparently, Miranda had a friend named Trish, a Muggle, who stopped by often. This Harry found out in his first week of living with the Snape, or Simpson, family.
Miranda was sitting on the couch with Christine on her lap, and Christine was trying to read from a book. Harry was sitting on the bed, as usual, thinking about the best way to destroy Voldemort. In all actuality Harry had been ready to kill Voldemort, for he had recently destroyed the last Horcrux, but he had gotten injured before he had been able to come up with a good plan. Several people Harry knew had been murdered between now and the time when Dumbledore had escaped death, including Mundungus Fletcher, who had been a casualty in a Death Eater robbing; Susan Bones, who had been killed with the remainder of her family; and finally Charlie Weasley. This last death had happened two years previous, and the entire Weasley family had been devastated. It was during this time when Ginny went to Harry for comfort and Harry had been unable to deny her. They had been together ever since.
The doorbell rang and Miranda looked up.
"Uh oh, I forgot," said Miranda in alarm, moving Christine off her lap and onto the couch.
"What is it?" Harry asked, groping for his wand.
"It's Trish," Miranda said. "I forgot she was coming over. Quickly, Harry, help me hide any magic – she's a Muggle."
Harry and Miranda hid any signs of magic and then Miranda opened the front door. Trish stood there, holding up a record and giggling.
"Hey," Miranda said, throwing the door open enthusiastically. "Come on in."
Trish came into the house and handed Miranda the record. Miranda looked at the record and giggled. Neither of the grown women took notice of Harry as they read the album. Harry watched in confusion as the women laughed and finally jumped up and down together, excitedly flailing the album.
"Put it in, Maria!" Trish exclaimed excitedly, and the women ran into the sitting room.
Trish stopped giggling when she saw Harry sitting there in the bed.
"Who're you?" Trish asked, confused.
"I'm, er," Harry said, and glanced at Miranda, who nodded curtly. "Charles Burns. My friends call me Monty."
Trish laughed and shook Harry's hand.
"Wow, nice name," Trish said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Burns. What brings you here?"
Harry paused to collect his thoughts. A story quickly formed in his mind.
"I was in a car accident," Harry said calmly. "Burned up my legs and chest."
Trish looked horrified.
"Wow," she breathed. "That's terrible."
Harry shrugged.
"It's not so bad – Maria and Seth helped me."
Trish turned to Miranda with an amused expression. She placed her hands on her hips and grinned mischievously.
"So, Seth does have a heart, then?" Trish said skeptically, and Miranda laughed.
"Shove it, Trish," replied Miranda. "Let's get this started before he gets home."
"Put it in, then!"
Miranda took the record out of its slip and walked over to the record player that sat on a desk. She put the record on and turned back to Trish, who was standing by the foot of Harry's bed. Miranda furrowed her brows.
"Is it track five?"
"Yes."
Miranda nodded and turned around again, fiddling with the record player. When she stepped out, the sounds of a cash register started playing from every direction. Trish sat down on the edge of Harry's bed, smiling. Harry didn't know what the heck this was, but the music was catchy.
"I love your speaker system, Maria," Trish said with a contented sigh. "It's like magic – speakers everywhere, and so well-hidden!"
Miranda winked at Harry, who grinned.
"Money! It's a hit. Don't give me that do-goody-good..." Miranda sang along with the song.
Trish jumped up and they began singing together, laughing and dancing. Christine laughed, too, and climbed over to sit next to Harry. Harry watched, smiling, as the two thirty-eight-year-olds sang and danced to this music. An electric guitar started and Miranda did a headbang. Both Trish and Miranda started playing air instruments and Harry laughed out loud. Christine and Harry both laughed as the two women laughed and whatnot, and the front door opened. Severus stepped inside and when he saw the two women dancing like idiots as well as Harry and Christine laughing, he merely shook his head and rolled his eyes. Miranda pranced over to Severus and put her arms around his neck, laughing. She leaned back and he dipped her, an amused look on his face. Harry was reminded nauseatingly of the only other time he had seen them in this position – only then, he reminded himself, it had probably been an accident.
"Is it Floyd Friday again?" He asked sarcastically as Us and Them came booming out of the magically amplified speakers.
"So smart," Miranda replied as if she was talking to an infant, pinching his cheek.
He arched a brown and dropped her to the floor. He straightened up, dusted his shirt off, and strode into the kitchen, reminding Miranda over his shoulder that it was her turn to cut the grass.
o-o-o
Christmas was drawing near, and one December morning, approximately two weeks from Christmas, Harry was able to successfully stand up for longer than it took to walk to the kitchen. As a celebration, Miranda invited Harry to come with her as she took Christine down the street to learn how to ride a bicycle without training wheels. Harry had happily agreed to tag along, but he wondered whether riding a bicycle in December was safe. When he shared his thoughts with Miranda, she laughed.
"Not to worry, Harry, we haven't even had a frost yet," Miranda assured him, and they strode into the kitchen to see Severus on one knee in front of Christine.
Or, Harry thought, it looked like Christine. Under all the elbow, shin, knee, and wrist pads, a helmet a mouth guard, Christine looked distinctly disgruntled and armored. Severus gave the chinstrap on the helmet a tug and straightened up. Christine whimpered.
"Daddy, it pinches," she moaned, fiddling with the chinstrap.
"Stop complaining," Severus said. "I don't want you to get hurt."
Christine waddled forward and past Miranda and Harry, who were both staring at her. Miranda tore her eyes away from her daughter and looked doubtfully upon Severus.
"Is it all necessary, Severus?" asked Miranda. "We're teaching her how to ride without training wheels, not making her ride motocross."
Severus, who opened his mouth to ask what the bloody hell motocross was, closed his mouth and took a dignified breath, looking more like an overgrown bat than he had since Harry had seen him five years ago.
"Yes, I think so," Severus said. "Get out of here before I change my mind."
Miranda opened her mouth to yell at Severus for ordering her around, but Harry grabbed her sleeve and pulled her outside. She took Christine by the hand, picked up the bicycle, which was charmed feather-light, and they began down the street. Harry limped along, wondering where they were going. Miranda was pointing out different things to Christine, who was listening intently with the attention span of someone thirty years older. They must have looked like an amusing couple with Harry the gimp, Miranda the chatterbox and Christine the padded wonder.
They reached the place where Miranda would be teaching. They sat her on her bike and Christine adapted quite quickly, though she was having a hard time maneuvering with all her armor. Miranda pointed down the street towards a nearby hill.
"Are you ready for that, Christine?" asked Miranda.
Christine grinned and squealed in delight in a way that told Harry she was, in fact, ready.
"Okay," Miranda said. "Let's go."
The trio walked to the top of the street, where there was a hill. The hill was not very steep, but steep enough to be potentially dangerous for a five-year-old. Christine had no such qualms. She hopped on her bike and began pedaling down the hill, a manic glint in her eye that made Harry nervous and Miranda swell with pride.
"Er – be careful!" shouted an anxious Harry, who remembered Dudley's first bike ride; it had not been productive.
This was probably because Dudley's weight, but it also could have been the fact that Harry, who had been incredibly jealous, had given Dudley a little extra push down the hill, which was much like this one. But nobody had pushed Christine. She sped off on her own with a grace that only a witch could have achieved. This grace was, unfortunately, short lived. She swerved halfway down the hill and, being unable to gain control with all her bulky padding, slid the bike sideways. She was flung off and landed with a screech on the street, which she continued sliding down. Miranda and Harry both swore loudly and began chasing after the child. Well, Miranda sped off, but Harry could do no more than begin limping down the street at a very slow pace. Christine rolled and landed with a sob at the feet of a pale, blonde woman. Miranda reached her daughter, nether noticing nor caring that the sole of her left combat boot had become completely detached from the rest of it. The woman, who was cloaked and had been passing by, stopped and dropped to her knees in front of Christine, who was screaming for her mother, and propped her up. When Miranda dropped to her knees in front of the woman and Christine, the woman looked from the child to Christine to the limping Harry, who was not very far down the hill. The woman showed no sign of emotion except for the faint crease between her brows.
"Broken wrist," the woman said quietly. "She will need hospital assistance."
"I can take care of her," Miranda replied hastily, picking up Christine from the ground. "Thanks, though, for the help."
The woman stood and straightened her cloak, still emotionless.
"I daresay you can," the woman said, and strode off.
Harry, at long last, reached the bottom of the hill, panting and clutching a stitch with one hand. In his other hand was the bicycle, which was far less battered than Christine.
"Is she okay?" Harry asked, gazing at the child's many cuts and scratches.
Miranda nodded and stood with her back to Harry. They stood there, back-to-back in the middle of the street, both knowing what they were doing.
"See any Muggles, Harry?" Miranda asked.
"No," replied Harry.
"Good. Apparate to the sitting room. Go!"
They both turned on their heels and vanished on the spot. The pale woman watched from behind a tree as the threesome apparated. A cold, December breeze came through and blew her hood off, releasing her white-blonde hair. The woman then, too, apparated to her manor to alert Lucius that she had finally found Miranda Kent and Harry Potter.
Meanwhile, Miranda and Harry arrived in the sitting room with a simultaneous crack! Miranda was still holding a sobbing Christine, who appeared to hate apparition as much as she had disliked falling, and Harry was still clutching the bike. Christine was wailing, in apparently terrible pain, and Severus stepped in the room to investigate the source of the noise. When he found the place of commotion and saw Miranda holding Christine, who was sporting many injuries, he rushed forward.
"Broken wrist, Severus," Miranda said over the sounds of the screaming Christine. "I'm dead horrible at mending bones."
Severus touched his daughter's arm and it mended instantly. He then picked up Christine from her mother's arms and walked into the kitchen with Miranda and Harry at his heels. Severus sat down the crying child upon the kitchen table and turned back to Miranda, who was white-faced.
"No more bike," Severus said in a dangerous voice. "Not ever."
Miranda's mouth dropped open and Christine cried harder.
"What are you on about?" Miranda exclaimed. "She just fell, that's all! She probably would have been able to steady herself if she hadn't been disabled with all that nonsense padding!"
"She broke her arm!" Severus yelled.
"Yeah, and you fixed it in a second. That's all there's to it!" Miranda yelled back. "You can't keep her locked up forever."
Harry had quietly slipped into the sitting room, undoubtedly so that the family could have this private conversation without intrusion.
Severus and Miranda continued to argue, their voices getting louder and louder until they were both just about screaming. Their arguments were growing redundant.
"You can't keep her from doing dangerous things, Severus!" Miranda protested, appalled at the thought. "She's a human being and has every right to life as you do!"
Severus yelled back, "I'm not letting her get hurt again."
"You're so over-protective!"
"I am not!"
"Yes, you are!"
Severus slammed his fist down on the table, making Christine jump slightly in alarm and cry louder. Miranda clenched her fist so hard that her nails broke the skin of her palm.
"We're going to do as I say, do you hear me?" Severus shouted loudly. "And I say no more damn bike! No more dangerous games!"
Miranda raised a shaking finger towards Severus and he saw that she had a faint trickle of blood from her cut palm running down her wrist. Severus backed off slightly, thinking that she was going to hex him, but she did not. When she spoke, her voice was shaking and lethal, and Severus knew that he had crossed the line. Miranda hated absolutely nothing more than being told what to do, especially when the orders were bad ones.
"I am not going to be arsed by this!" Miranda said in her voice that was far more dangerous than any hex. "You do what you damn well please, alright? But I am not going to be bossed around by you any more! You always do this – you'll lock her up and never let her see the light of day, just like they did to me, but you'll just be glad because she's safe. She's not safe, Severus, not any more than you, or me, or anybody else is safe in this god damned war! So you can do as you like, but don't expect me to be a part of it any more. I'm sick of you and I'm sick of this. I'm leaving."
Severus scoffed as Miranda turned her back on him and headed for the door. She had opened the front door by the time he found his voice.
"You can't leave!" He said harshly, and he instantly knew he had said the wrong thing.
Miranda froze in the doorway and slowly turned around, her eyes full of anger.
"Oh yeah?" She said in a challenging, low voice, pulling her wedding band off her finger and dropping it to the ground, where it made a clanging sound that sounded far distant. "Watch me."
With that, she turned and walked outside, slamming the door behind her.
A ringing silence followed, penetrated only by Christine's sobs. Severus stood frozen where he stood, knowing he had been wrong and that he had gone over the line. Miranda had been right. He understood now why she had felt so strongly about freedom and danger, because she had been forced to hide most of her life and hadn't been able to experience any of the little things that life offered. She had never been able to ride a bike, never went on walks with her mother or faced any simple, five-year-old feats. All these things she wanted to give to her only daughter – the daughter she almost lost in the very beginning and the daughter she was determined not to raise the same way she had been raised.
Severus thought about running after her and apologizing, but his coldness and pride held him in the kitchen like a prisoner. He rubbed his left forearm unconsciously and turned swiftly to dote upon his daughter's abrasions.
Harry, who had heard the entire argument, pulled the sheets over his head and closed his eyes tightly shut. He was not sure who he felt worse for at this point – Snape or Miranda. He feigned sleep and pretended not to hear when Snape went up the stairs with a crying Christine, whose wounds had been healed as quickly as Miranda had said. He tried to fall asleep and pretended he didn't hear when Snape came back down the stairs and stopped in the foyer. He pretended he didn't hear the distinct sound of clothing rustling as Snape sunk down and picked the ring up off the floor. He pretended he didn't hear Snape's shuddery sigh as he climbed the stairs to his room. How could everything go so wrong in less than five minutes? Harry wondered as he rolled over and stared at the ceiling, ignoring the pain that had returned to his legs and chest. He didn't know, but he hoped Miranda would be back by morning.
Miranda was not home by morning, however. In fact, a week and a half passed and she still hadn't returned. This was particularly difficult for Harry because it meant a whole lot more "quality" time with Snape for Healing; Miranda used to be the one to tend to Harry. Snape, however, had become more withdrawn since that cold December day and ignored Harry altogether unless absolutely necessary. Snape still went into work every morning, leaving Christine with Harry. Harry and Christine were very fond of each other. She called him "Uncle Harry", much to Snape's dismay, and Harry often taught her magic, for Christine could do wandless magic. This was because, not the Progenitor Veneficium, but merely because her parents were so powerful. Harry told her stories about his years at Hogwarts and about Voldemort, who Christine was always very curious about.
One day, after Harry had managed to get Christine down for a nap (with the help of a nifty sleeping charm) he went in search for something to watch on the Muggle TV. There were some tapes, most of them videos for little kids, but Harry had reached the back and bottom of the pile when he came across a video titled Wedding Footage. Harry raised his eyebrows. He knew that it had happened, but he still couldn't picture Snape getting married. Not only that, but he was sure Snape wouldn't be too happy if he came home and saw Harry watching his wedding video. Talk about awkward. Still, the temptation was killing him…
After checking that he had enough time, Harry pulled the video out and dusted it off, then coughed as the dust went up his nose. He stuck the video in the VCR and turned the television on. He pushed the Play button.
The video came into focus. Snape and Miranda sat at a round table together, dressed in wedding apparel. Miranda was beaming and even Snape looked as if he was suppressing a smile. Harry wondered who was holding the camera, but his question was soon answered.
"So," came to voice of McGonagall. "Severus, I never thought I'd see this day, not in a million years."
Snape gave back a snappy retort. McGonagall laughed.
"Yes, well, now that it's taken me an hour to figure out this kiddeo-vamra, what are you two going to do next, now that you're married?"
Miranda propped her feet onto a chair, looking comical in her combination of wedding dress and combat boots. She draped her arm over Snape's shoulder.
"Well, I thought we'd go into hiding. Doesn't that sound like a blast?" Miranda said with energetic sarcasm. "And by the way, Minnie, your dress robes are positively smashing!"
McGonagall laughed and Harry smirked.
"Thank you, Miranda. Yes, it would seem that every Death Eater and even you-know-who himself wants your blood. How does that make you feel?"
"Who are you, Freud?" Snape said, rolling his eyes.
"Who's Freud?"
"Never mind."
A pause ensued, in which McGonagall messed around with the camera a little. Miranda was still smiling all the while, apparently very happy. After a few moments, the camera had been adjusted and McGonagall zoomed up close again.
"So, who is this for?" Miranda asked.
"Well, you two," McGonagall replied. "30 years from now, you and your children will watch this and recall fondly the memories you've all shared."
Miranda snorted. Harry, too, found the comment to be rather cheesy.
"Child, you mean," Miranda said, patting her stomach affectionately.
Snape edged away slightly, bracing for what he knew was coming.
"So this baby, how did it come about, anyway?" McGonagall asked.
Miranda burst out laughing and Snape buried his face in his hands, mortified. Even Harry couldn't help but crack a smile. It seemed that McGonagall was having fun harassing Snape. Harry turned off the video and put it back where he'd found it. The second the TV had been turned of, the front door opened and Snape came in. His old, ripped jacket had a dusty-looking layer of snow, as did his hair.
"Isn't it early, sir?" Harry asked with polite interest.
"Yes," Snape replied quietly. "Quite early."
Without another word, Snape climbed the stairs and a few second later Harry heard the click of the bedroom door. Harry almost preferred the scowling, angry Snape to this new Snape. He couldn't help but feel absolutely terrible for Snape at this point; how could the happy couple in the video be the same two people that he was thinking of? If only they had known what was coming, then, and he hated to think of the beaming smile on Miranda's face or McGonagall saying "30 years from now, you and your children will watch this and recall fondly the memories you've all shared." Harry sighed and flopped to the floor, ignoring the pain that seared through his chest. This was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined.
But no matter how difficult this was for Harry, the ordeal was the hardest on Severus. It was he, not Harry, who had to try and comfort Christine late into the night as she cried for her mother. It was he who was forced to go every day without knowing where his wife was – the only woman he had ever loved. He didn't know what to do, for try as he might, he could not keep his mind off of her. They had never been apart this long. He didn't know what to tell his daughter, either.
A few days before Christmas, a while after Miranda had stormed out into the unknown, Severus was reading to Christine as Harry limped about the kitchen, preparing dinner. Christine slid off the couch and looked at her father sadly. Severus stood and picked her up, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear just as Miranda had done to him what felt like ages ago.
"Daddy, when's Mummy coming home?" Christine asked innocently.
Severus didn't know what to tell her, for he could not answer the question himself. He looked at the girl, who was a spitting image of her mother, and tried to sound confident.
"Soon, I expect," Severus replied quietly. "She just needed some time for herself."
"How come?"
Severus wasn't sure how to explain what had happened between Miranda and him. How was he supposed to explain to his daughter that they had fought because of her? It was not her fault, surely, but the girl was five years old. He opened his mouth to say that he didn't know why when Harry gave a shout from the kitchen, signaling that dinner was ready. Severus sighed, placed Christine down, and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the kitchen, grateful for the first time that Potter was around.
That night, Harry sat in the kitchen, a mug of hot chocolate between his hands. The clock told him the time was just past two A.M., but Harry couldn't sleep. This was not unusual, as the pain associated with his wounds often kept him awake. There was a sound and Snape appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in nightclothes, which Harry found both strange and disturbing. Harry got up quickly to leave Snape alone but Snape held up a hand.
"You may stay, Potter, it doesn't matter," he said quietly.
Harry shifted uncomfortably and lowered himself back into his chair. Snape crossed the room, sat down across from Harry and put his face in his hands. Harry, not knowing what else to do, summoned a mug of hot chocolate out of nowhere and slid it across the table. Snape looked down at the mug and wrapped his hands around it, welcoming the comfort of the warmth spreading to his cold hands. Harry had not felt so awkward since Arthur Weasley had given him "the talk", which was experience Harry had not had at the Dursley's and one which Harry would have happily forgone. The loathing and tension that usually filled the gap between Harry and Snape was penetrated and replaced by guilt and remorse.
Harry watched as Snape stared down into his mug. He was unshaven and sullen-looking, and Harry thought he looked like a completely different person. Snape moved the mug to the side suddenly and buried his face in his arms. His greasy hair flopped onto the table. Harry prayed to whatever higher power that Snape didn't start crying.
"Women are an interesting species, Potter," Snape said from under his arms. "They're predictable and as touchy as your average blast-ended screwt. Miranda was – is the same. She's fine and happy and optimistic and perfect in times of darkness and doubt. But don't tell her what to do, especially if you're commands are wrong commands."
Harry said nothing. Something inside him was telling him that Snape should be left to get these thoughts off his shoulders.
"I wonder where she is," Snape continued in a muffled voice. "My first guess is at that bloody Muggle Trish's house. I don't know where that is, so I cannot possibly go and fetch her. I think I would know if she had been hurt, for the Progenitor Veneficium would transfer half her magical ability to me, and she wouldn't go down without a fight. The Dark Mark burned the day before yesterday, however, and I cannot pretend that was not unnerving. Even so, it's cold outside."
At this last statement, both Harry and Snape looked in the direction of the kitchen window. Indeed, a light snow had begun falling. They turned and faced each other, both without expression. Harry quickly averted his eyes downwards to his mug, for he could have sworn that he saw the trail on Snape's face that only a tear would have left. He took a long swig of his hot chocolate, embarrassed, and then stared down at the porcelain in his hands.
"She'll come back," Harry said quietly; it was the first he had spoken since Snape's appearance.
Snape did not reply immediately, but took a long time to drink his beverage. Harry ventured another glimpse at his former Potions Master. To Harry, Snape looked like a broken man, a lost man. Snape looked like a man who wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with himself. Snape suddenly stood, pushed in his chair, and vanished his mug.
"Goodnight, Potter," Snape said shortly, mechanically, heading for the door.
"Night, Professor," replied Harry quietly, and Snape was gone.
It took Harry a full minute to realize that he had just had a conversation with his previously hated Potions Professor. A conversation that had not included a single sneer, sarcastic comment, or loathsome thought. Harry sighed and slumped in his chair with a shuddery sigh and a frown on his face.
When Severus reached the top of the stairs he stopped. He stood there for a long time, his hand on the railing, his mind spinning. Where was Miranda? Was she gone? His left hand, the one that was not on the railing, came up and sought a chain around his neck. He pulled the chain from under his shirt and fingered the ring on it – Miranda's ring. Or, at lest, it had been. Severus finally walked into his bedroom and slipped between the sheets on Miranda's side of the bed. He buried his face in her pillow, filling his lungs with her honey scent, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
The day of Christmas Eve arrived, and Harry tried to keep the Christmas spirit alive. He conjured a tree out of nowhere and put it in the sitting room. He and Christine decorated the tree, laughed together, and he even picked her up so that she could put a dilapidated star on top of the tree. That night, long after Christine was sound asleep, Snape appeared in the sitting room doorway.
"I require your assistance, Potter," he drawled.
Harry nodded and stood, and together they went to the basement. A mass of magically wrapped gifts stood there in a pyramid shape.
"If you would," Snape said in a sharp voice. "I – lately I've…."
Harry, without further ado, flicked his wand and the gifts soared past them and upstairs to assemble themselves under the tree. Harry knew that Snape had been having trouble doing magic, even with a wand, but it was not surprising. Lupin had told Harry long ago that a great emotional upheaval could sap one of his powers. Harry didn't mention this to Snape and acted as if he hadn't noticed Snape's pathetic attempts at a hovering charm the previous day – he had no desire to face Snape's wrath, whether it be magical or not.
Harry did not wake up to the usual pleasurable warm rays of sunlight across his face, but to something he had not experienced in a long time. It was the feeling of lips on his own. Harry's eyes snapped open and he opened his mouth to tell Christine that even though Christmas and presents were cool, kissing was unnecessary, but Christine was not who he saw.
"Ah, Prince Charming awakes from his slumber!"
"Shut up, Ron."
"I'm not Ron, Ginny, I'm Dock! You must be Grumpy."
"Or Sleazy."
"Sleazy isn't one of the Seven Dwarves, Fred."
"Sorry, Hermione, but I don't read fairy tales."
Harry quickly snatched up his glasses and put them on, and he saw six redheads, two people with brown hair, though one of them had liberal flecks of grey, and one person with violent pink hair.
"Happy Christmas, Harry!" they chorused.
Harry grinned and looked at his wristwatch.
"I didn't know you guys were coming," Harry said, getting out of bed.
He flicked his wand and the bed made itself before turning back into a couch. Everyone stood there, beaming, but Harry's grin slid off his face.
"Snape hasn't come down here yet, has he?" Harry asked, alarmed.
They shook their heads.
"Haven't seen any of them," Ron said, shaking his head. "Not even Miranda, and we thought she'd be down here at the crack of dawn."
Harry took a deep breath and explained the situation at top speed. Everyone looked horrified when Harry finished.
"So she, so she just threw the ring down and left?" Hermione said, flabbergasted.
"Well, no," Harry said hesitantly. "I don't think she threw it – more like dropped it."
George gave a low whistle.
"Blimey, looks like Snape hasn't had much of a Christmas, has he?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply when he heard a scream from upstairs, thunderous footsteps, and then Christine came into view, grinning. She ran into the room and stopped in front of everyone, saw nine pairs of eyes on her, and hid behind Harry, who laughed.
"This," Harry said, pulling Christine out from behind him, "is Christine."
Christine tugged on Harry's sleeve and looked up at him, frightened.
"Who are they?" whispered Christine as if nobody but Harry could hear. "They don't look like Death Eaters."
Everyone laughed, but Christine marched up to Tonks and pointed at her, turning her head back towards Harry.
"Cept this one, Uncle Harry," Christine said in a serious voice. "She's got spikes in her hair." She turned back to Tonks, who was trying to keep a straight face. "Let me see your arm. Your –"
She turned her head to Harry, who whispered "left" and gestured to his left arm. Christine swiveled her head back to Tonks and went back to her serious voice.
"Your left arm. Please," She added as an afterthought.
Tonks laughed and replied, "Well, since you asked so nicely."
Tonks pulled back her left sleeve and revealed a perfectly normal wrist. Christine dropped her serious demeanor quickly and smiled.
"Okay," she said. "You're okay. Who are you, anyway?"
Everyone laughed.
"I'm Tonks," Tonks said kindly. "This is Molly and Arthur. Fred and George. Remus –"
"I know him!" Christine shouted, suddenly remembering. "And you! And you!" She pointed to Ron and Hermione. "And… hey!"
Christine gave a shriek as she saw Ginny and jumped over to the redhead. Christine growled at Ginny, teeth bared, and Ginny did the same in return. Christine laughed and hugged Ginny around the legs.
"I remember you," she said. "You were here when Uncle Harry came. Mummy was –"
Christine suddenly stopped and backed off at the thought of her mother, her expression suddenly sad. She ran over and hugged Harry, who picked her up and patted her uncertainly on the back, looking uncomfortable.
"Er…" Harry began, but Snape suddenly appeared in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?"
Everyone turned around to see Snape, dressed, as usual, in his day apparel. Everyone greeted Snape, some variations of "hello" being "Hello Severus," from the adults and "Hello, Professor," from the former students. Snape stood, looking dumbstruck, until his eyes landed on Harry, who shrugged defensively to say "I didn't invite them". He took a deep breath and assumed the greasy, professor-like manner he had so long portrayed.
"Yes, well since you're here, sit down all of you," Snape said, raising a hand. "I'll, oh, er –"
"I've got it, sir," Harry said hastily, conjuring up a dozen armchairs. "Why don't you go and get breakfast ready, sir?"
"Thank you, Potter, I shall."
Harry, with one last glance at Snape as he strode into the kitchen, began talking to the guests about their lives, glad that he had, at least, managed to cover up Snape's inability to do magic. He only hoped the rest of the day would wield a fewer number of surprises.
A/N: I was going to make this chapter longer, but I thought ten pages was long enough of a chapter for today. Next chapter soon, possibly. If not before Saturday, then not for a week, as I'm going to be away for a while. Adieu!