Harry Potter: How I Met Your Mother
(Because I can't stand Dramione Pairings)
Part Two: Christmas 1991

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, its characters, or its settings. They belong to JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, and Wizarding World. I do claim my original characters: Hands Off!

I am writing this story for my own amusement and ego gratification. I neither expect nor deserve any sort of financial reward for this work of fiction. If you like this story, please write and post a positive review.

Harry Potter: How I Met Your Mother

I stepped off the train at King's Cross. My Da had owled me in advance and said that he would be at King's Cross to meet me. Despite all the people crowded on the platform to greet their kids and take them home, I had little difficulty picking him out of the crowd

"Dad!" I said.

"Tristan!" he said. We walked up to each other and embraced. "Good to see you again, son. How was school?"

"Tougher than last year," I replied. "If this is Fourth Year, I'm not looking forward to Fifth Year and my OWL exams."

Dad shook his head. "I remember my Fifth Year," he replied. "It was harder. I have confidence in you, son. I think you'll pass."

"Is this all your luggage?" he said, gesturing at my trunk and a carry-bag I had with me.

"That's all of it," I said.

"Let's get you home, then," he said. We walked down to the Floos at the far end of the platform, took handfuls of powder in our hands and went home.

Mum was at home when I came through the floo.

"Tristan!" she cried, "Welcome home!"

"Thanks, Mum, I'm glad to be home!" I replied.

I don't think I need to tell you that our family was mixed-blood. You know that already. While your Woodbine grandparents were magical, not all of their grandparents were: As a matter of fact my grandfather Amos on my father's side was a Muggle farmer in Lancashire while one of your grandmother's great-grandfathers was a shopkeeper neat York. Despite my mother's interest in genealogy, she saw no great reason to trace their relatives or descendants: after all, we were wizards and they weren't. We didn't go out of our way to marry Muggles or Muggle-born witches and wizards, but when we did, we welcomed them into our family.

"We have a Welcome Home dinner waiting for you," said Mum. "Nanette and I have been working on it all day." Nanette was an au pair my mother had hired to help with the cooking and some of the housework. Nanette was a Muggle-born witch who was trying to get an apprenticeship with a jewelry-maker.

We all sat down for dinner together.

"I read in the Prophet that Harry Potter entered Hogwarts this year," said Dad.

"He did," I replied. "I even paid attention while he was being sorted."

"So what did you think of The Boy Who Lived?" said my Mum.

"I was underwhelmed during the Sorting Ceremony," I replied. "He was just a little dark-haired kid with dark hair and eyeglasses. I've seen him around school since then. He's surprisingly scrawny: from the Codswallop put up about him, I was expecting someone who with God-like looks and magical skills that would put Merlin to shame. To be truthful, he looks closer to average."

"The Prophet says that he's a demon on the Quidditch pitch," Dad said.

"That he is," I replied. "I watched him play his first Quidditch game. He's a natural. I understand that this was the first year that he'd been on a broom but he flew like he'd been flying since he grew out of nappies. And he caught the Snitch within the first hour of the game. Not only did he catch it, he did it while someone was jinxing his broom."

"I heard about that," said Titus, who hadn't said anything about that. "Do you know anything about that?"

"No, but I hope that whoever-it-was is not only caught but expelled," I replied. "There's a time and a place for cheating, but the Quidditch Pitch isn't one of them."

"You said something disturbing," said Mum. "You said that he looked short and scrawny."

"He did," I said.

"That's odd," said Mum. "I went to school with James and Lily Potter. In fact I took classes with Lily. And while we weren't friends, I remember that neither one of them were short. James was well-proportioned while Lily was a bit tall for her age."

"Young Potter lives with relatives, doesn't he?"

"I've heard that he lived with them," I said. "I never met them. I think they're Muggles."

"Lily Potter, or Lily Evans, as I knew her back then, was Muggle-born," said Mum. She looked disturbed. "You know how Muggles can be with their children." I was aware even then that some Muggles did abuse their children. Back at Hogwarts, my mates and I and other guys had exchanged horror stories about what some Muggle parents did to their kids when they learned that they were magical.

Then my mother said something that shook one of my assumption. "You don't suppose he's being mistreated at home, do you?"

And despite my Slytherin background, I gave her an honest answer. "No, I never thought of it," I said.

The rest of my Christmas holidays were delightful. I don't think you appreciate what life was like for pure-bloods or near-purebloods in the time before the Second Wizarding War. Looking back, I think that part of it was a result of the joy of still being alive after the Dark Lord's defeat. Many of us believed that the Dark Lord was finally defeated and would never return, and the dark days of fear and horror were over and done with, never to return

Despite the fact that my family wasn't rich like some of the Old Families, we were well-off, as were many of my Mum's and my Dad's friends and relatives. Our gifts could be expensive, our decorations were lavish, our costumes elaborate to the point of excess, and we went about our business of singing and dancing ourselves, not to some Muggle recording artist and a CD player.

Of course I not only attended the parties of family and friends, but I also went to Camilla's. Her Dad knew that I fancied her and despite the fact that we were still well under age for taking formal vows, he favored my courtship. Camilla had ambitions of marrying some wealthy, old-blood wizard who'd buy her houses and jewelry and children and support her in a life of luxury, but her Dad knew that I was a better catch, even if I was unlikely to gift her with the wealth of a Malfoy, a Black or the Greengrasses of old. I was attainable, they were not.

Camilla was a Gattes. The Gattes were half-bloods two generations short of becoming Pure Bloods, respectable enough, but never wealthy. Despite the show at the Gattes holiday party, I was aware that my family was wealthier than hers and that over the years my family had prospered more than hers.

Her father and I are still on speaking terms and once, over a bottle of Muggle Whisky, he confided in me that one of the reasons he'd favored a possible marriage between Camilla and me was that he believed that I could not only make her comfortable but happy. He worried that if Camilla sought someone beyond her status, the best she could hope for would be either as some elderly wizard's child bride or some rich wizard's mistress.

At the time, though, I believed that Camilla and I were still an item. And to be honest, Camilla and I believed it, too. We danced together, made excursions together and, in fair weather, we even had picnics together when the weather was good. I would tell Camilla about my plans to grow and expand my father's business while Camilla told me about her plans for our future house and children.

I remember that year's New Year's Eve party at Camilla's. Camilla's parents had given us a pair of loverly glass goblets, beautiful enough to be Goblin work. Our families' customs were that we'd keep them and, after we'd taken our vows, we'd drink out of them to celebrate our vows.

Little did I know what the future held.