Scraps of parchment and paper covered the entire surface of the battered table in the tent living room. The more scrunched up, messy sheets were covered with Harry's impatient scrawl. The neater, fresher sheets were adorned with Hermione's smart, even hand. Their notes, their theories, their meandering thoughts presented out before them in a convoluted mess that represented the state of their minds.

Nothing about the state of their tent gave away that it was Christmas morning. Not the soft, morning light that filtered in through the canvas walls in square cut-outs the shape of the outside hut's windows. The bowls full of blue flames were a normal feature in their hideaway, keeping it warm enough for them to not freeze to death on their rock.

Harry sat alone at the table, his finger running idly over the rim of his cup of tea. Hermione was bustling around in their bedroom, packing her beaded bag ready for their next big adventure. Christmas with Bathilda Bagshot. Harry didn't want to get in the way and instead mulled over the notes that they had been compiling over the last couple of days.

Their plans to leave the country and seek out the counsel of the last Dark Lord were scattered all over the table. Breaking into a prison made their last adventures pale in comparison. There were so many variables for them to address, so many steps. In two days, they barely had even a skeleton of a plan, just more hurdles for them to navigate. The first issue was working out how to leave the country. Portkeys were the obvious choice, but neither of them had visited Germany and so couldn't fix a tangible lock on the location to create the form of transport. That left them portkeying to France, where Hermione had once been on holiday, then apparating in bursts to the East, camping outside muggle towns so they could restock and get their bearings.

After a while, their agenda was getting longer. They would need maps, supplies, phrasebooks to talk to foreign muggles… they had much to accomplish before they could make their trip.

The sound of Hermione returning into the living room jerked Harry out of his musings. He pushed himself out of his seat.

"Everything packed?" He asked her. She shot him a nervous look in response. Coming over, she placed her bag on the table. It made a hollow thunking sound that didn't match its appearance at all.

"All we need for an overnight stay, yes. Plus presents, supplies, potions… I think I've covered every sort of emergency possible."

"Do you think we should bring the tent?" Harry posed, now feeling nervous himself. After the disaster at the Lovegoods, they had to outline every possible thing that could go wrong and plan for it.

"No, really it's best that we keep it here. If, God forbid, I lose this bag, all our supplies would be gone with it."

"Ah, good point." Harry picked up his cup of tea and drained it. "I'll grab my coat and Cloak and then we can make a move." He tapped his chest, checking that his mokeskin pouch and signal medallion were under his shirt and jumper. "We've lost enough of the morning as it is."

Hermione put her hands on her hips, giving him a very direct and pointed look. Harry quickly got away before he got into too much trouble for his remark.

"And whose fault is that ?" Hermione called after him as he went over to where he hung up his coat and cloak. He looked over his shoulder, giving her his crooked grin.

"When I had the idea of making you breakfast in bed for Christmas, I wasn't expecting you to think that I was the breakfast."

"You brought in food without a shirt on, Harry. What was I supposed to take from that?"

Harry turned to hide his grin as he pulled his coat on. Maybe he had planned to be rewarded for his efforts in making Hermione a full spread of breakfast. He just didn't expect it to be possible to have enough in them to have sex twice in one morning.

"What can I say? My favourite thing about Christmas is the morning… opening presents… enjoying them." He said as he reached Hermione, still grinning, shaking out his Invisibility Cloak. Hermione gasped and smacked his arm.

"I am not your Christmas present." She scowled at him, but she couldn't hold the fake anger for long. She rolled her eyes and sighed, then she smiled, her eyes gleaming. "And I've already told you, you need to be patient for your present. You'll be getting it later."

Harry pouted and that, sticking out his bottom lip in a truly ridiculous expression.

"Fine."

They started to extinguish the blue flames around the tent. With their emergency portkeys ready in their concealed pockets, they left the tent and made audible sounds of discomfort as they stepped out into the chilly shack. Harry shuddered as he pushed the door open, the icy, salty breeze lashing them at once.

"Brrr…" Harry rubbed at his arms. "Why didn't I bring gloves?"

"Because you're an idiot."

He lifted a brow at her response, watching as she pulled her gloves out of her pockets and pulled them on. He huffed out a sigh, it misting around him.

"Show off."

He threw the Invisibility Cloak over them both, but it did next to nothing to shield them from the cold. Their hot breaths starting to mist up his glasses as they huddled together under the cloak. Hermione looked up at him.

"Do you want to apparate us?"

He brought his arm around her, resting his cheek against her shoulder.

"Yeah… to my mum and dad first then."

He gripped the handle of his hawthorn wand and skillfully disapparated them off the icy rock. The crushing pressure of apparation was a welcome reprieve from the cold, but in a split second, they were staggering back out into the chilly weather.

Gasping out breaths of surprise, both of them blinked in the dazzling white scene around them. Fluffy fresh snow covered the headstones around them, the ground concealed under a pillowy sheet of pure white. Soft flakes were drifting around them, a light dusting that barely gave away that two people had just appeared in the graveyard, both invisible.

Harry had brought them right to his parents graves. There was no need to wander through the village when he knew precisely where to go. It did, however, mean that he didn't have the walk to prepare himself. His legs wobbled a little when his eyes at once latched onto his surname, repeated twice, stark black letters against white marble.

At his side, Hermione was the vigilant one. She checked their surroundings, letting off a non-verbal homenum revelio. It appeared that they were alone in the graveyard. She could see figures through the trees, walking out in the village square. Of course, there would be people heading off to visit family. It was Christmas Day.

Harry edged towards the headstones. He looked up to the snowy cap on the marble. His hewn stag that he had left on Halloween was gone. He wasn't surprised. Anything from a Death Eater to a squirrel could have taken it. Still, it was a shame it was missing.

Between them, they started to cast their protective charms. Practice had made them very efficient. When the final spell wisped out of Hermione's wand, she pulled the Cloak from Harry first so he could be the one to make the first move. He took cautious steps towards the graves, carefully walking around the slightly raised mounds. He stepped to their headstone, his cold fingers reaching for the names carved in stone. Gently, he traced over Lily first.

"Merry Christmas mum," then he ran his fingertips over his father's name, "dad."

His breath caught and a tear slipped loose. A terrible ache built up, but he didn't crumble as he did when he first visited. He backed away, moving to Hermione's side. She took his hand.

"I know it's hard for you too. Spending Christmas without your family." he said to her, his cold hand tightening around hers. He sighed, bringing her hand up to his mouth where he kissed her fingers. She looked at him, her eyes dewed with tears. She nodded, her lips twitching a little. Then she sniffed and turned to Harry. He knew what she wanted and was immediately there, bringing his arms around her and holding her close to him.

Hermione held on to him for a little longer. Harry rested his head on hers, his eyes on his parents' headstone. They hugged in silence, both sinking into their own personal losses while taking comfort from each other. After a couple of minutes, Hermione drew away from Harry. She turned from him, but not before putting her hand on his cheek. Her touch communicated her heartfelt gratitude for his understanding and sympathy.

She then surprised him by sinking down on her knees in the snow. She waved her wand, conjuring a wreath of Christmas roses to rest at the base. Harry sighed at the delicate white flowers, his eyes stinging at the gesture. She then rose up, dusting the snow off her jeans.

"Thank you," Harry said, his cold hand reaching for hers at once, "they're perfect."

Her answering smile to his compliment had him squeezing her hand in his. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Did you want to go to the cottage?" She asked softly, her breath misting out.

"No. There's too much risk of being spotted with all this snow. The cloak doesn't stop us leaving footprints."

"Okay. Let's remove the enchantments then and go straight to Bathilda's. We can't stay in one place for too long."

"Agreed."

Under the cloak once more, they peeled away the charms they used. Once the graves were visible and no longer concealed, Harry tugged them both back into apparation, depositing them not far away.

The soft pop of their apparation was quiet enough to not echo around the street. Harry brought them past the front gate of the house, the path not swept clear of snow. Their feet immediately creaked in the fresh snow. Hermione gripped his arm tightly at once.

"Harry, the fidelius… it's not up."

He stared up at the cottage, surprised. Sure enough, in front of them was Bathilda's cottage, not shielded with enchantments and privacy charms.

"We should be able to see it though."

"Not this far. When I brought you here after Hogwarts, her house didn't show up until I was at the front door."

Harry shared a worried look with her.

"She wouldn't lift it without a reason."

"But she knew we were coming."

That point caused Harry to bite his lip. He made his way up to the cottage, ignoring the way his feet made his presence very obvious. Hermione joined him, still gripping his arm. His chest started to tighten, fear coiling loose as he dared to think, dared to worry. What if they got to her? What if he brought the attention of the Ministry down on her head?

What if Voldemort learned about her when he had entered Harry's mind when at the house last time?

Trying his hardest to not panic, Harry pushed his hand through the gap in the cloak and used the eagle knocker on the door. His and Hermione's shallow breaths sounded overloud as they waited for signs of life.

When they heard a soft thump, followed by lots of shorter quieter thuds, they both sighed with relief. It was the unmistakable sound of Bathilda Bagshot's bustling footsteps, the pitter-patter of her short legs, taking her through her book-filled house. Harry checked over his shoulder, scowling at the footsteps that he and Hermione made. In front, he heard the security chain scraping back and the door creaking open.

A small, aged face peered at them through the gap in the doorway. Harry tugged the Cloak off them, causing a sharp shriek of fright.

"Who are you? What do you want?" A scared, frail voice demanded. Wide, rheumy eyes bulged from under heavily lined eyelids.

"B-Bathilda, it's us," Hermione said at once, her face paling. Harry dropped his arm from her side, his heart freezing in her chest. "Harry and Hermione."

"The only Harry I know is a hundred and six," The old witch brought her eyes over to Harry. "And is very good at boules."

There wasn't a single spark of recognition in them.

Don't panic. She thought you were your dead father when she first met you. She might just need a moment to remember.

"I'm Harry Potter…" Harry said as calmly as he could. "You knew my mum and dad… and my grandparents. They used to live down the road."

"Potter?" Bathilda stared at him. Her lined brow furrowed. "James… and Lily."

"That's right. They were my parents." He paused. "You knew me when I was a baby and… we reunited. We stayed here last month for a few days." Harry didn't want to look at Hermione and see the confirmation of his fears on her face.

They took it for granted how sharp she had been for their last visit. They thought her remarks about her age and losing her marbles were just jokes, passing comments. Here wasn't the fussing grandma that barely left Harry alone. She was scared of him. Of them. And if she didn't remember them, then she likely didn't remember the threat outside her home.

"Bathilda," Hermione slowly approached her, her voice shaky but gentle, "I know you're confused, but we really are friends of yours. Can we come inside? Maybe we can help jerk your memory."

"Inside? Well, carol singers rarely wish to come inside."

Oh Bathilda…

"We aren't carol singers," Hermione was losing her composure, her voice starting to break. "You… you made us promise to visit you for Christmas. When we were here last… when I brought Harry here because he was injured and…" Hermione broke off, putting her hand over her mouth.

Harry took a step towards Bathilda, resting a comforting hand on Hermione's arm as he moved past her.

"Please, can we come inside? We… we can help you find your Marbles."

Her eyes widened at that. "You know about my Marbles?"

"Yes… and much else. Please, I'm sure you'll remember us. It just needs a little time, and maybe a cup of tea?" Harry assured her. Bathilda, thankfully, nodded then and stepped back, opening the door to let them in. Hermione gasped out in relief behind him. Harry stepped inside, noticing then that Bathilda was in her dressing gown and slippers.

"I'm entertaining a guest at the moment. I hope you don't mind."

Harry froze in the hallway. Hermione had shut the door behind them. Bathilda didn't even look at them as she went through. Harry raised his wand at once, following, alert. He looked down, thrill shot through him when he saw a pair of shoes at the door. Shoes that he would never imagine Bathilda wearing. They were dragonhide heeled boots.

"...young people claiming to know Old Bathilda. Perhaps you will know them, Rita dear."

"No." Hermione gasped at once.

Not hesitating, Harry strode into the living room. He dodged the piles of books, entering without any introduction. Hermione was at his side. He could feel her rage burning off her, her magic swelling to life.

Sitting in one of Bathilda's old, squishy chairs was indeed Rita Skeeter. She sat with the air of one lounging upon a throne. Her dyed blonde hair was in the same rigid curls it had been when Harry first met her. Her smugness burned like a poisoned brazier.

It took Harry bursting in for Rita to realise that Bathilda's guests hadn't been figments of the old woman's senile mind. When her eyes found Harry, she let loose a piercing scream.

"Harry Potter!"

Before she or Harry could react, Hermione pushed past Harry, slashing her wand before her in a vicious attack. Rita had no chance. Struck with a body-bind, she went as rigid as a board in the seat and slumped slowly to the ground.

"YOU BITCH!" Hermione shouted, books toppling from their towers as her magic shook loose.

Harry looked over to where Bathilda was now cowering in the far corner of her living room. She let out a squeal as she tripped fallen books. Harry rushed over to her at once, grasping at her arms before she managed to hurt herself in her panic.

"It's okay, Bathilda. We aren't here to hurt you."

Bathilda blinked up at him and grasped at his coat suddenly in her gnarled fingers.

"Oh James. I… I don't understand what's happening. Who is that woman and why is she in my house?" She wrapped her arms around his waist. Harry patted her thinning hair, looking over his shoulder to where Hermione was standing over Rita's frozen form.

"How dare you!" Hermione hissed, snapping her wand up. Rita levitated upwards, her eyes bulging with terror. "How dare you prey on an innocent, kind old lady for your own gain! How dare you meddle with a mind like hers, you wicked cow ."

While Hermione lost any form of restraint she had, Harry focused on Bathilda. The poor woman was trembling in his arms.

"Hermione?"

"Did you not have your fill of tormenting Bathilda, extracting her family secrets, you had to come back and take more? On Christmas?"

Bathila pressed her face into Harry's chest. She was terrified, but not of Rita. She was scared of Hermione.

"Hermione!" Harry called. His girlfriend's head snapped around. Her face was contorted with a level of fury he had never seen her possess.

"What?" She snapped at him.

"You're scaring Bathilda."

A heartbeat of silence passed between them. Hermione's enraged brown eyes moved from his face to the tiny woman he was shielding in his arms. She took a step back, her face immediately falling, her mouth dropping open as her jaw went slack.

"Oh Bathilda…" Hermione whispered. "I'm sorry."

With a flash of white light, Hermione lifted the body-bind. Rita shrieked as she dropped down to the ground where she had been suspended before. Seeing that Hermione was in somewhat control, Harry gently let go of Bathilda.

"Hermione is with me, Bathilda. She isn't going to hurt you. Now… I'm just going to talk to her. Okay?"

The little old witch nodded in response to his suggestion. Relieved that Bathilda was safe, Harry came over to join Hermione, raising his own wand. If Rita was scared of Hermione, it was nothing compared to what she felt towards Harry. He had never seen anyone look at him with such open terror.

"P-please… don't hurt me." Rita pushed herself back from them. Her back connected with the chair. Hermione glared down at her, pointing her wand back at the journalist.

"Why? Why come here?" Harry demanded, standing over her. She threw her arms over her head, starting to sob with fear.

"I… I'm researching…"

"Researching?" Harry asked, then he spotted Rita's crocodile skin handbag on the floor. He snatched it up, opening it. His stomach clenched tightly as he reached in. He swallowed down a shout of outrage when his fingers pushed aside a very familiar acid-green quill. He then found her wand and a vial of clear liquid. He clutched it, throwing her bag aside. He held the bottle up in front of her, his arm shaking with rage.

"DID YOU GIVE THAT TO BATHILDA!?" He roared. Rita let out a muffled scream.

"N-no… I swear. I didn't need to. She was… more than happy to talk to me about her relationship with the Potters…"

"You… you're researching my parents?"

Rita just stared up at him, her face milky white with fear. Then she looked between him and Hermione's wands.

It happened so fast. Harry noticed in surprise as Rita's forehead and cheeks suddenly flushed a dark green. Then she rapidly started to change, shrinking. Hermione let out a snarled "oh no you don't !" Harry realised then what was happening. He stepped forward, mind blanking. He didn't know the spell for stopping animagus transformations. His shoe knocked aside Rita's discarded teacup. With a jerk of his wand, he summoned the cup upwards. He caught it quickly, throwing himself to his knees just as a bright green beetle fluttered on the carpet.

With a slam, he trapped the beetle under the cup. Angry fluttering rattled against the china. He looked up behind his shoulder to Hermione, then saw Bathilda still cowering. Harry kept on hand holding the teacup down as he pulled Rita's handbag to him. He snatched the wand out, plunging it into his pocket.

"If she used memory charms again that might be why Bathilda's so confused," Hermione said quietly. "Why don't you take Bathilda into the kitchen while I deal with Rita? Keep talking to her. Strong relationships can push through memory magic. You can get through to her."

Harry looked over to the frail old woman, frozen with fear.

"I'll do what I can." He said, then looked down at the tea cup. Hermione understood, taking over holding the cup down. "What are you going to do with her?"

"Find something to hold her in more securely for starters. Don't worry. I'm going to make sure she doesn't get away with this." She said fiercely. Harry watched her carefully.

"I want to question her before you… do that."

Hermione met his look, silent for a moment, then she gave a curt nod.

"Of course. Now go." Hermione told him.

Harry made his way to Bathilda at once. He extended a hand to her and breathed out a sigh of relief when she took it

"Come on, Bathilda. I'll make you a pot of tea."

He led her to the kitchen, glancing over to where Hermione was whispering something savagely under his breath. A satisfied smile crept over his face. Rita would wish that she never darkened Bathilda's doorstep once they were done with her. They had to silence her permanently… without committing murder. Rita Skeeter wasn't worth spliting their souls over. However, there were some fates worse than death. Forcing Rita to live out her days as a beetle in a jar listed up there. Maybe even making her forget that she was even a witch…

"What is going on James?" Bathilda whispered, pulling Harry out of his dark thoughts. "I… I thought I knew who that Rita woman was, I was sure, but now I can't be certain."

"She's a nasty piece of work and I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner." It hurt to be called his father's name, but he had to take it easy with her. Her mind was fragile.

Stepping into the dining room, Harry let out a soft sigh. There was a Christmas tree pushed in the far corner, glimmering with lights. It was the only decoration, but the bright coloured baubles were cheery enough to lift Harry's spirits a little. If she had remembered to decorate one tree, her mind wasn't too far gone. He just had to bring her out of whatever Rita had done to her. That she thought he was his father was a good sign. She hadn't recognised him at all at first.

He did look a lot like his father, after all. It probably didn't help that he was also now wearing the same glasses.

It felt nicely familiar to be back in Bathilda's kitchen. He filled the kettle and set the flame underneath to boil. As he fetched what he knew was her favourite teapot, Bathilda then shuffled towards him, her slippered feet hissing softly on the floorboards. He could feel her watching him avidly as he made his way around her kitchen, knowing exactly where everything was. He fetched the strainer, the sugar bowl, putting everything in place on the wooden counter.

He then met her scrutinising stare as he set out a tea cup and saucer for her.

"Why are you not making yourself one, James?"

He didn't answer. He swallowed down the stab of pain the name brought him. The kettle whistled and he took it from the hob. He poured in a little hot water, swished the pot around, then he emptied it.

"Why did you do that?" Bathilda asked, watching him.

"To warm the pot." Harry said at once, then he realised why what he had done was strange. He had learnt at the Dursleys to warm a teapot before using it. Before he had the means to warm anything with the tap of his wand. He said nothing else as he grabbed some tea leaves, putting them in the warmed pot. He then filled it with the hot water, steam billowing up as he did. When he set it aside to brew, he then turned to Bathilda.

Her wide eyes set shards of pain through him.

"You are not James Potter."

She grabbed his hand. Harry winced and held back the swell of grief he was barely keeping contained. She then held his hand in both of hers, bringing it towards her where she cradled it to her chest. Her eyes started to shimmer and there, at last, was the glint of recognition.

"You are his son."

Harry licked his dry lips before answering. "Yes."

"You know how to brew a pot of tea the muggle way because you were raised in a muggle home." She said and with each word, her voice lost the frail shakiness. "Raised away from magic because of what happened here, to your parents… to you. The Boy Who Lived."

He ignored the tears hot on his face and he breathed out his sheer relief. He lowered himself down so he was eye level and she reached for his face at once. He closed his eyes as she searched his face the way she had done that first time they met.

"Oh my boy…" She gasped out. "I… I fear my memory is not it's best. I am so sorry."

"It isn't your fault," he said immediately, eyes springing open. He looked into her streaming eyes and chose to not remind her of why she had forgotten. He instead brought his arms around her and hugged her.

"I am afraid I can't recall the purpose of your visit," Bathilda's thin lips pressed together in a look that resembled one of shame. It hurt to see it. None of it was her fault. Harry straightened, her hands moving from his face. He took them in his and held them.

He answered her.

"I've come home to spend Christmas with my family."


When Harry's carefully brewed tea had done its job, Bathilda suddenly sprung into action, bustling around the kitchen in a fervour. Her besieged memory was dismissed as a much more pressing matter took her attention - entertaining her guests. Tantalising savoury scents soon drifted out of Bathilda's kitchen as their Christmas roast of choice roasted in the large cast-iron cooker. Harry made himself useful, taking over cooking the vegetables. While he dropped his collection of Brussels Sprouts into the waiting pot of bubbling water, Harry found himself humming along under his breath to 'Hark the Herald Angels Sing' that was playing in the dining room. Harry found an ancient looking Wireless that resembled more of a gramophone than a radio. Christmas carols played out of the large trumpet-like speaker, jubilant and cheerful.

"These are muggle carols," Bathilda realised as sat in the corner of the kitchen upon a short stool, her legs swinging a little in time to the music. She'd since changed out of her pyjamas and looked a lot more with it, clutching a large brandy glass in her fingers. When Harry took over the cooking, she chose to sit and watch him.

"All Wireless Networks are monitored by the Ministry. They would not play muggle music like this," Bathilda said. Harry paused at the stove and gave her a grin.

"Not all of them. This radio station is special and they have an important broadcast at two. Dinner should be ready by then."

Hermione then appeared, her hair a little dishevelled. She looked over to Bathilda.

"Table is all set. I've added a few more decorations. I hope you don't mind, Bathilda."

"Of course not, Hermione dear," Bathilda said from her corner.

Since she had 'dealt' with Rita, Hermione had busied herself with making the house as cheerful and festive as possible. She refused to let Rita taint their day. The wretched insect was imprisoned inside an old biscuit tin, trapped behind layers of Hermione's magic. Her only mercy had been a tiny pin-sized hole in the lid so the bug wouldn't suffocate.

Harry tipped the carrots in the pot and backed from the stove, wiping at his brow where the steam made his skin damp.

"Did you use the crystal wine glasses?" Bathilda then asked Hermione.

"Wine glasses?" Hermione repeated. "I… I didn't realise that we were going to have wine."

"You cannot have Christmas dinner without something to drink, dear girl." Bathilda raised her brandy glass. "This is quite the healthy measure you have given me, Harry. Are you trying to get this old girl drunk?"

Harry choked out a shocked laugh.

"N-no."

"Harry, you're tall enough to reach the glasses. I daresay, I would rather you not summon them. They are rather valuable."

He went to where she was pointing and strained up on his tip-toes to fetch the glasses. He marvelled at them. Beautifully carved crystal sparkled as he picked them up carefully. He passed Hermione to set them out on the table.

"No, I'll take them." She said. He returned to his station at the stove. O' Little Town of Bethlehem started playing on the radio. He murmured the words under his breath as he checked on the sprouts.

"You know the words?" Bathilda asked him suddenly. He jumped at the question, flushing as he was caught singing.

"Um. Yes."

He suddenly remembered when he sang in front of Hermione and how she reacted. His face went redder.

"Were you in a choir?"

"No," he said quickly. "I… um… learnt at school. Not at Hogwarts." He looked over, seeing that Bathilda was waiting for more information. He let out a breath. "At my muggle school, we sang hymns and, at Christmas, carols like this."

"Your father was in the Godric's Hollow choir when he was a young lad."

Harry stared at her, his hand touching his glasses briefly.

"My dad sang in a choir?" He asked, a little baffled at the new information.

"Oh yes, it's tradition here for young boys to sing. He sang to you often when you were a baby." Harry looked up, swallowing an intense wave of sadness and loss. He gave a small gasp before holding back the wave. The thought of his dad singing to him made his heart ache terribly.

"I wish I remembered that," Harry confessed quietly, too quietly for Bathilda to hear, "there's so much I wish I remembered."

Bathilda soon left to help Hermione, carrying her brandy with her. Alone in the kitchen, Harry set about getting everything ready. He begrudgingly noticed that it was a lot easier to prepare the meal when he was tall enough to see over the counter. He had been very small the last time he had cooked the meal - only ten years old. This, after all, wasn't the first Christmas Dinner he prepared. He did his utmost to not let memories of the Dursleys darken his mood. It was difficult to not resent how he didn't have the wonderful memories of a family Christmas like others his age. Memories of toys and sweets, fun and laughter. He just had memories of slaving away at the kitchen and then being shut away in the cupboard while his cousin opened his many presents.

When he carried in the turkey, Bathilda applauded.

"One must always applaud the bird," she announced. Harry smiled, loving her eccentricities. He set it down while Hermione went to help him bring in the rest. Joining her in the kitchen, it was the first time they were alone since they eliminated the bug infestation.

"I love you," Hermione whispered to him as he came up to her side, collecting the vegetables and gravy. He kissed her in response. Her nose wrinkled as she drew away, looking at the sprouts. "Though not enough to eat sprouts."

"The more for me then," he said, giving her a lazy grin.

"You like sprouts?" She coughed out a laugh. "You'd eat them out of choice?"

"Yep. Only thing on the table Dudley wouldn't touch." He winced as he mentioned his cousin. Hermione's face fell a little. He carried the rest of the food into the dining room, not wanting to follow up what he spilled about his Christmas experiences with any more awkward memories.

"Would you like to carve, Harry?" Bathilda asked him when he reached the table. He nodded, taking the knife and set about cutting the turkey for them. She watched him with wide, fond eyes then opened the bottles of wine with stabs of her wand. She couldn't reach across the table to pour for everyone, so Hermione did it. Catching Harry's eye, she shyly smiled.

He took his seat, starting a little when Bathilda thrust a cracker at him. He looked at it in surprise.

"Bathilda, what-?"

"Surely you have had wizarding crackers before?"

"Yes, but where on Earth did you get them from? In fact… where did you get all this food from?"

It only dawned on him then that Bathilda wouldn't have been making trips to Tesco disguised as muggles like him and Hermione.

"You haven't been shopping have you?" He asked her, alarmed. "It's not safe out there!"

One of the first things Hermione had done once Rita was sequestered away was to restore the fidelius and remove their footprints outside.

"I need not go anywhere, Harry. I receive all I need from my many kind and wonderful neighbours. Us Hollowers look out for one another, you see. Why do you think it is that no one talked to the Ministry when you came here on Halloween? You spoke to them, did you not? Asked them about me?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it, flushing a little as he remembered that he had indeed asked the villagers where she lived when he arrived on Halloween.

"Besides, being old and senile has some benefits. I am not very suspicious. Not a single Auror has come to question me about you… and I have been watching. They patrol the street often, mostly your family's home as that was where you were last spotted."

"Even so…" Harry sighed and took the end of her cracker. He pulled, letting off a loud bang. Thankfully, the cracker wasn't like the ones at Hogwarts and there were no white mice scurrying free. Hermione then pulled a cracker with him.

"We'll deal with Rita and make sure she doesn't blab about our relationship," Harry said.

"And we can ask our friends to keep watch," Hermione added, then she peered down at the hat that Harry got from his cracker. She put her hand over her mouth to hide her giggle. He shot her a look.

"I'm not wearing it."

"Please."

"I look awful in hats!"

"Wear the hat, young man," Bathilda ordered him, faking a stern tone. Even though it was in jest, Harry felt chastened enough to put the red fez on his head. Hermione giggled, making him slouch grumpily. She put on her hat - tall, velvet top hat. He smiled, tilting his head to one side. It actually suited her. Bathilda popped on her hat, a white ermine cap, practically bouncing on her seat with joy as she took them in.

They tucked into their dinner. Harry soon forgot his grump about the hat and enjoyed himself, listening to the songs on the Wireless while they ate. He took the compliments from both Bathilda and Hermione about the food, smiling at both of them. He drank some wine and began to relax, the unpleasant episode of their arrival soon retreating.

"Hermione, my dear, do help yourself to more wine," Bathilda told Hermione when she noticed her empty glass. "This is a time to eat, drink and be merry, you know."

The music suddenly cut out. His head jerked up. He checked the clock on the wall.

Two o'clock on the dot.

"To our listeners, whether you're pure-blood, half-blood, muggleborn, part-troll, part-giant or part-kneazle, welcome to Potterwatch…"

Harry couldn't stop the smile taking over his face at the sound of the voice. He laughed out in delight. He shunted his chair closer to the table, eager to listen. He saw Hermione's eyes light up with the same recognition.

"That's George!" She exclaimed.

Bathilda didn't share their reaction. She gazed at her Wireless, bewildered. Listening, she took a small sip of her wine.

"Today's broadcast is very special because, unless you've been living under a rock-."

"Which could be possible… while on the run. " Fred interrupted. Harry beamed at the sound of the other Weasley twin. Hermione shared his look of pure elation.

"You will know that it is Christmas. So from both of us, Merry Christmas! We hope that wherever you are, you get the chance to have one day of peace with your families. And we want to take this chance to raise a glass and have a moment of silence for those we all wish could be with us today."

Bathilda solemnly lifted her glass. Harry saw Hermione do the same so he followed suit. His thoughts went to the snow-covered headstone that he had just visited. Harry's first ever Christmas had been the only one he had spent with his parents. He dropped his gaze, the left over taste of wine on his tongue reminding him of the Christmas in Grimmauld Place. Sirius had convinced Mr Weasley to let Harry and Ron have wine with their dinner.

"Come on, Arthur. I was drinking Firewhiskey at their age. " Sirius had put forward as his argument.

That had been the first and last Christmas he had spent with his Godfather.

The stark fact settled down in his stomach like a leaden weight. He wished Fred and George would start talking again so he wasn't left hanging with the melancholy thoughts. Finally, the silence broke. A jingle then started, a rather dramatic fanfare that reminded Harry of muggle news reports on the television that he used to sneakily overhear when listening for any information. He drank some more wine.

"Good afternoon, this is the Real News on Potterwatch," Fred said after the jingle, "where we completely tear apart the garbage that Mouldywart's puppet Ministry are printing as news and report the facts as we know them. We're bringing you the real events from eyewitnesses, reported from the ground."

"Since our last programme, much has happened. So much, in fact, that we don't have to use codenames now. We now brazenly introduce ourselves. I'm George Weasley."

"And I'm Fred Weasley. Owners of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes which, by the way, we hope the Ministry idiots who went to raid the shop enjoyed our little surprise. If you are wondering, the paint is very hard to get off. You're going to be stuck with a bright red face for a while."

"Really… did you think we would hide in our shop? The Auror Office left a lot to be desired before it was overrun by Death Eaters and ex-cons, but that's just stupid. Unless you just really wanted to get your hands on our merchandise…of course."

"In that case, it really blew up in your face." George chipped in. They both chuckled at their joke.

"I take it that you know these two gentlemen," Bathilda said, peering over to Harry. He cleared his throat. She didn't look all that impressed with them.

"Um, yes. They're brothers of a friend of ours. We've known them for years."

"Hmm…"

"Our first story is of course the one that everyone is talking about."

"Secretly."

"Yes, secretly, because to talk about how Harry Potter escaped again is rather a touchy subject for those with matching Dark Mark tattoos."

"Talking about Harry in general is a touchy subject, but this time, it could really get you killed so just talk about it in private. If you do have an unbearable need to talk about him and you're in earshot of a Death Eater, just make sure you call him a traitor and a terrorist. The Ministry just loves laying those words on thick."

Bathilda was staring at Harry, who winced and kept his gaze firmly fixed on the Wireless. He wasn't looking forward to the telling off he was bound to get if Fred and George would spill the beans on his capture and near interrogation at Voldemort's hands.

"First, let's talk about the bits of the Ministry's version of events are actually true. We can tell you that Harry Potter was definitely involved. It wasn't a double."

"He also was at the Malfoy Manor estate."

"As were his 'collaborators'."

"And… that's pretty much it. There were no Aurors, no 'attempted burglary', no arrest and escaping Ministry custody."

"To tell us what actually happened, we have a special guest. Unlike the idiot journalist that's enjoying a salary of bloodmoney, our guest was actually there. It's because of this guest, who blew his own cover to rescue his mate, that we no longer need codenames. We are joined today by our little brother, Ronald."

Hermione gasped hoarsely just as she drank from her glass. Harry, equally stunned, patted her on the back as she choked.

"So, care to tell us how you're not actually dying from Splattergroit and in fact bravely coming to the Chosen One's rescue?"

"Can I just first say that it's not just my fault why we're a wanted family. Bill was there too."

"Yeah, sounds like a real party which we, your famously rebellious twin brothers, weren't invited to." George said, disgruntled.

"It wasn't like that… we called who we could and went before it was too late. "

"Went to save Harry?" Fred quickly brought them back to the topic.

Harry saw Bathilda turning in her seat, fully facing him. His face flamed.

"What happened, Harry?" She asked, her voice low and quiet.

"Yeah. So… um… Harry was in trouble and a few of us came together to break into Malfoy Manor and rescue him. Harry was only there because that's where they brought him when he got caught. "

Harry winced and chucked some wine down his throat.

"He went to speak to someone - get some information - but they sold him out to the Death Eaters, " Ron continued, being thankfully vague. Hermione sighed in relief next to Harry. Keeping Xenophilius's involvement and betrayal out of it was a smart move. "He managed to get a distress call out to us in time. "

"Convenient," George said cheerily. Harry frowned. Ron had gone from stumbling over his words to talking more coherently.

He's rehearsed what he has to say.

"Harry?" Bathilda whispered. He finally glanced over to her.

"I got caught and it was a close thing, but Hermione and Ron… who you're hearing-" Harry gestured to the Wireless, "- saved me. Along with some of my other friends."

Before Bathilda could scold him as she clearly wanted to, she didn't speak when Ron began talking again.

"Malfoy Manor is where they keep the high-value prisoners. Ones too sensitive for the Ministry to handle. We managed to get in and freed some other prisoners that were being held in the cellar. But Harry wasn't in there… he was up with the Death Eaters… with him. You-know-who was there. "

Harry cringed. He was definitely in trouble with Bathilda now.

"You-know-who was at Malfoy Manor? You saw him?"

"Yeah… scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. " Ron's voice was airy. The way it went whenever he was frightened and unnerved. "We were so bloody lucky… oops language. Sorry mum."

"Yeah, sorry mum." Fred said after.

"Bunch of us cleared out the Death Eaters guarding and then we went in to get Harry. One of us had gone in ahead and we gave them the opportunity to free Harry. It was really touch and go. I… I really have no clue how we got out of there alive. Well… I do. Harry. He managed to get a wand and took on you-know-who himself."

Harry tapped the table, looking down, not knowing where he should look to avoid the death glare that was coming from the ancient witch. He could swear he could feel her magic thrumming out in angry waves.

"Harry duelled?"

"I didn't see much of it. A lot was going on. But yeah, he flew a lot of spells to keep him occupied. It… well…"

There was a moment of silence and for a moment, Harry thought the radio had cut out.

"I've known Harry since we met on the Hogwarts Express. Since then, he's… he's been my best mate. I've seen him do some really impressive things, like knowing how to do the patronus at thirteen and flying around the Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament. I've seen him duelling before, in class and outside it. Nothing though came close to what he was like in front of you-know-who. He wasn't afraid."

Now Harry could feel the burning look of admiration from Hermione coming his way. Fred or George, Harry wasn't sure which, let out a low whistle.

"Thanks Ron for your account," George said, "our little brother will be staying around for the rest of the show, but for now, have some Christmassy music so you can all chat about the latest exploits of our daring Gryffindor champion."

Harry let out a breath as the explosive big band introduction of ' Let it snow' burst into life. He glanced over to Bathilda, seeing her cross look blazing over at him. He swallowed, feeling just as nervous as he did when Professor McGonagall caught him in first year, catching the remembrall on a broom he had never flown before.

Bathilda then sighed and summoned the bottle of wine to her, charming it to fill up her glass.

"It won't happen again," Harry managed to say.

"It better not, Harry." Bathilda said at once. The bottle set itself down with a firm tap. "Because if it does, it will be the last time. I do not know what nonsense Albus put in your head to make you have such poor self-preservation instincts. I have known you for all of two months and in that time, I have had you half-dead on this very table. Now I hear that you were very nearly killed and that the Dark Lord himself managed to hold you captive."

Harry rubbed at his scar, his shoulders drooping.

"I made a mistake. I thought I could trust the father of a dear friend of mine… but it turned out that the Death Eaters had my friend hostage. I didn't know, Bathilda." He glanced over at her, seeing a slight softening in her eyes. "When he turned on us, I got hurt and I managed to get him to spare Hermione. The Death Eaters got what they wanted - Undesirable Number One himself."

The jolly tune in the background cast a stark juxtaposition of the grave topic of conversation.

"I woke up to a Cruciatus curse and found myself totally helpless at Bellatrix Lestrange's feet. I… I was tied up and gagged," his voice went into monotone, "and I knew damn well what was waiting for me. My friend… she chose to stay so… so I wouldn't die alone."

The music seemed to fade into the background as he spoke, retreating back, the jolly notes turning from major to minor. It sounded discordant, wrong, just like the growing whine in Harry's ears. His wrists itched.

"And then he was there. He hurt me with his words first, humiliated me, mocked me… and then came the torture…" He looked up at the Wireless, the music so wrong in his ears. "I had to watch as he snapped my wand and call me helpless. Then… he sat back and enjoyed ripping into my mind."

Both Bathilda and Hermione were shocked into silence as he bluntly described what was done to him. Harry slowly looked over to Bathilda, her anger completely gone.

"I put myself in that position, Bathilda. The whole time that was all I could think about. How it was my stupid fault, trusting in the wrong person. You're angry at me for being careless… and getting myself nearly killed. How… how do you think I feel?" He was starting to feel his control slipping. "When then I saw my friends there, rescuing me, risking their lives for me… lives I put in danger because… because I was so stupid…"

Bathilda was off her chair and scuttling over to him as he put his hands over his face. Hermione had shot up the moment his voice broke. Arms came around him, hands rubbing his back as he leant forwards.

The next song picked up next. One Harry vaguely recognised from hearing it when he was a child.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart…

He drew in a deep breath, shoving his emotions back into the box where they belonged.

"I won't be that stupid again," he said into his hands. Hands that were then taken in smaller, wrinklier hands. They were pulled down from his face and he looked over, finding Bathilda's tear-streaked face.

"You are so young. Too young to have this responsibility put on you. Oh my boy…" She gripped his hands. "I am sorry for my reaction. It was not my place to chastise you for something that you could not help. You didn't choose this… none of you did."

The music came to an end. Another jingle picked up, jolly and cheerful. Bathilda gave Harry a sad look and went off to clear away their plates. As he went to get up to help, she gave him a look that had him sitting back down. Hermione pulled her chair over so she sat closer to him and then sat down. She kissed his cheek.

"Are you alright?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I… I didn't realise I was holding all that back." Hermione gave a low hum in response and rested her head on his shoulder.

"As our regular listeners will know, we run a special feature called 'Pals of Potter'. Now normally we'd speculate about what he's up to, on the run, blowing up the Astronomy Tower and causing general mayhem - which, by the way, Harry, great job."

"Imagine their faces when they learn that it was you who did that," Harry said, then looked down at Hermione. There was a prolonged silence on the radio. Harry looked over, but the machine was still running. Fred's voice then spoke.

"Unfortunately, we are going to have to cut this programme short. Our wonderful fans in the Ministry are closing in on us and we should leave. It's a bank holiday. Give your employees a break."

Harry straightened, alarmed.

"We have to end it here, fellow rebels. Code word will be Lions. Thank you for listening… keep safe and, if you are listening, Harry, thanks for looking out for our bro."

Ron's grumble was audible but incoherent. Then the transmission cut off. A quiet fuzz of static was all that remained. Harry reached at once for his medallion, the metal glinting as he pulled it free from under his shirt. Drawing his wand, he went to mark in a message.

Ron. Was listening. All ok?

While he messaged, Hermione had gone to change the channel of the Wireless so they weren't listening to static. He glanced up as music resumed. It only took a few warbling bars for him to know it was Celestina Warbeck.

Bathilda returned, wielding another bottle of wine. She set them both down on the table. She smiled sweetly over to Hermione before settling down in her chair. She considered them both, her eyes twinkling.

"So, my dears, would you like dessert now?"

Before they could answer, she flashed her wand upwards. Hermione gasped as a metal tin zipped out from whatever hiding place she had kept it. Harry, baffled, just watched on. The tin, Harry noticed, was a biscuit tin. Only in the lid, he spied small holes punctured in the metal.

"Or would you like to interrogate this deplorable excuse of a journalist who you saved me from?"

The only sound in the dining room was the panicked scuttling of a very trapped beetle in a biscuit tin.


AN: I know...

It's not a terrible 'someone might die' cliffhanger. I want to give the Rita comeuppance a full chapter. As and when I will be able to write it... *gulp*. I'm sorry updates have been so slow. I thought about winding this fic down and then continuing a sequel when I have more free time. But there isn't really a good place for me to just be like 'come back for the sequel'. So slow updates and a very large fic it is. This will end up massive. We're coming up to the end-ish of part 2 and then there's part 3... and maybe part 4...

Anyway, regardless where this fic goes, whether as a massive chonky boi or as a series, thank you for being a part of this journey. And Merry Christmas (who knows, it might be Christmas when you read this note).

Also... for those who don't know, in the UK, the Christmas roast is a lunch-time meal. Normally it's had at around 2pm and lasts for bloody ages.