Christmas in the Burrow

"Very good!"

With satisfaction, Ginny was looking at her sons who had just changed for Christmas dinner at their grandparents' house. Originally, Albus had been supposed to inherit his brother's rarely used and therefore still immaculate dress robe, but this was scarlet, and Ginny wouldn't expect Albus to go out in Gryffindor colours.

She had bought him a green robe and conjured some silver-coloured snake embroidery on its corners. When the two brothers now stood side by side under their mother's scrutinising gaze, one in red, the other in green, the sheer contrast made them look even more impressive than if they had worn the same colours.

"You look amazing, boys!" she shouted proudly. "Your sons are outranking you," she teased her husband, who was just entering the door, "every Christmas they look better, while you look older ..."

Harry grinned. "Men never look as old beside their sons as women do beside their daughters. Just wait until Lily is the appropriate age, then I'll return your favours ..."

Now the nine-year-old Lily had also come into the living room – she had wished to wear a red robe, much to Albus' displeasure – the family was ready to leave.

"May I throw the floo powder, Mum?" asked Lily.

"If you want, you can even be the first to see Grandma and Grandpa."

Lily beamed; with a solemn gesture she threw the floo powder into the fireplace, whose flames were now turning emerald green, stepped into the flames, shouted loudly "To the Burrow" and disappeared. Her brothers did the same, Harry and Ginny followed last.

When Albus arrived, James had just freed himself from Grandma Molly's arms to greet his grandfather and those relatives who had already gathered in the Weasley house that anyone called the Burrow.

"Albus!" cheered Molly, cuddling her grandson extensively. Then she paused. "Albus, why are you wearing a green robe? Is that fashionable now?"

"Er, Grandma, I'm a Slytherin ..."

Of course, Molly had heard about it, but she was so embarrassed by the shocking fact of having a Slytherin for a grandson that she had done her best to repress this knowledge and now had to be reminded of it by Albus.

"Oh yes, of course, how silly I am ..."

Albus grinned a little to himself and looked around: Everyone around who wasn't wearing neutral colours like black or anthracite was wearing Gryffindor red. He was the only in green. Let's see how many stupid remarks I'm going to get today. Albus raised his head. We shall do honour to the House of Slytherin. Scorpius' remark from the first evening at Hogwarts came to his mind, and again he had to grin.

He said hello to his grandfather and his uncles, aunts and cousins, one after the other, as far as they were already there.

With Victoire, however, he only exchanged a polite nod of the head. Although Gryffindors and Slytherins had made peace for the time being and he was on good terms with James again, he and his cousins still avoided each other as much as possible at Hogwarts; they were not necessarily hostile, but unsure.

Hermione, Ron, Rose and her little brother Hugo were the last to come out of the fireplace, and again there was the usual course of helloes, although Hermione was reserved towards the Potters. Only for Lily and of course for her admirer James did she at least have a smile. Albus and Rose avoided each other.

Once everybody was present, Molly called her guests to the banquet table. The seating arrangement, set by Molly, had the Potters and Hermione's family sitting directly opposite each other. Whether Molly wanted to enforce a kind of reconciliation or was simply too distracted to remember the quarrel between Hermione and the Potters – who could have judged?

Albus was sitting right opposite Hermione. They eyed each other coolly and scrutinisingly.

Albus didn't love Hermione any less than before – rather more, because he knew she was in danger of losing her soul. But what was sitting opposite him just wasn't Hermione – not really. Part of it might still be her, at least a shadow of herself, but the rest was controlled by someone Albus didn't know, but hated.

Determined not to dodge, even as he felt the room grow colder again, their gazes bored deeper and deeper into each other until they almost resembled the threatening stare of boxers before a fight.

A general "Aaaah!" when Molly put the feast on the table put an end to the silent duel.

Everyone had known that Molly's table would bend, and everyone had brought along hunger. Thus, the few conversations mainly focused on the meal, and Grandma received her well-deserved praise from all sides, but otherwise there was a silence of contemplative enjoying around the table.

Only when everyone had finished eating, the younger children Lily and Hugo, uninterested in their parents' quarrel, left the table to go and play, and the adults enjoyed various stomach-clearing drinks, Uncle George thought the time had come to open the conversation. Of course, there could only be one thing to talk about:

"Well, Al," he asked with a grin, "how are you doing with your Death Eaters?"

Albus was not offended. When George said something like that, everyone knew it was a joke.

"Thank you very much," Albus beamed at him, "in our free time we are torturing house elves, it's very funny."

Everyone chuckled, only Hermione scowled.

"Seriously, Albus," Grandma Molly interjected, "have you made friends yet?"

Albus was amused by his granny's question. He had already been at Hogwarts for three and a half months, did she really think he didn't have any friends there yet?

"Yes, of course," he replied, "and not so few at that."

"Oh, yeah," Rose now interjected pointedly, "lots of reeeeally nice friends: a Malfoy, a Lestrange, a Macnair, an Avery ..."

"... a Roy MacAllister," Albus completed the list calmly and, turning to his grandmother, added explanatorily: "That's the one whom the Daily Prophet has declared a 'Neo Death Eater' and number one public enemy."

"My goodness, Albus," Molly said, dismayed – the irony had escaped her – "do you think this is the right company for you?"

"I'm proud of this company," Albus said with a smile. "Those who are not slandered in the Daily Prophet are living wrong anyway."

"Let me guess," Hermione now intervened with an acid expression, "that was a direct quote of Roy MacAllister now, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Albus replied, looking at her particularly harmless, "and those who are praised too often in the Daily Prophet are living even more wrong. This was a direct quote of Albus Potter."

There were smiles around the table, for everyone was aware that the Daily Prophet praised no one more often and more unrestrainedly than Hermione.

"Does it happen to be true," Rose now demanded, "that you also belong to the gang of these so-called" – she wrinkled her nose – "'Incorruptibles'?"

"Of course that's true," Albus said kindly – it was an open secret anyway – "I always stick to the best."

"You're barely in Slytherin and already sound like Draco Malfoy," Ron growled.

"Who are the Incorruptibles?" asked Grandpa Arthur curiously.

"They are Slytherin's leading Death Eaters," Rose replied before Albus could say anything.

"Oh, you know, Rose," Albus replied, beginning to enjoy his own coolness, "as long as I get to choose who I hang out with, I'd rather stick with a couple of intelligent Death Eaters than with people who parrot babble." Rose blushed slightly. "However, I haven't met any Death Eaters in Slytherin yet."

Molly tried to relax the increasingly toxic atmosphere by asking something she thought was harmless: "Do you have a little girlfriend at Hogwarts, too?"

Ginny, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George and Ron rolled their eyes at the ceiling. Their mother could be so embarrassing!

Albus grinned. That was the opportunity for a sideswipe to Rose!

"'Course, Grandma, you know I am into red-haired girls ..." He paused for effect, while Rose was looking visibly confused under her flame-red hair. "Luckily, we have one in Slytherin, and she's very nice!"

Rose scowled at him.

Arthur tried to change the subject: "Well, George and Ron, how's business?"

George and Ron were equal partners and managers of "Weasley's Wizard Weazes".

"Oh yes, thanks, going well," George replied, who had been watching Albus, grinning all the while, and was noticeably disappointed at the change of subject. "We are planning to expand our product range, so we don't just want to produce joke articles, but all kinds of smart magic items that make life easier. Nevertheless," he sighed, "I am so busy with the day-to-day business that flashes of inspiration have become rare. What we would need is a creative product developer, but where to get one?"

"I think I know one," Albus said, looking forward to how Hermione would look in a moment.

"Do you?" asked George with interest. "Who is it?"

"Roy MacAllister."

Hermione choked on her firewhisky, had a coughing fit and stained her skirt suit. Ron patted her on the back and then cleaned her clothes with Tergeo.

"In a company where my husband is a managing director," she decided authoritatively after the cough had gone away, "this individual will not be working, no way!"

"May I remind you, beloved sister-in-law," George said extremely softly, but with a sly undertone, "that there is a clear distribution of responsibilities in the company and that product development, together with the associated personnel decisions, is my job?" He now turned back to Albus. "What did he invent so far?"

"For example, a broom that Squibs and even Muggles can fly with. It was a birthday present from him to Bernie Wildfellow. Bernie is a Muggle and therefore cannot do magic," he explained in response to the questioning looks from the others.

"A Muggle at Hogwarts?" asked George in wonder. "How did he get there?"

"By a special decree of your beloved sister-in-law," Albus replied, not without irony.

George gave Hermione a look that revealed considerable doubt about her state of mind.

"I had good reasons," she told him coolly.

"He was in Hufflepuff first," Albus said, "but he didn't make any friends there, only with us. That's why we – that is, we, Slytherin's leading Death Eaters," he emphasised with poignant sarcasm, "accepted him into Slytherin and are now doing our best to help him. Roy, for example, built this broom for him."

"Very clever!" Percy now interjected, trying to sound ironic. "However, MacAllister's touching Mugglophile attitude can't be very serious, after all, or he'd be supporting the Ministry's policy!"

"Uncle Percy," Albus now said in a serious tone, "I'm afraid this is a poor logic of yours. Yes, we like Bernie and have accepted him into Slytherin; but this does not necessarily mean it is right to allow the wizarding world of Britain to be swamped by sixty million Muggles!"

"See?" interjected Hermione with her notorious I-told-you face. "This is typical Death Eater scaremongering!"

George ignored her. "What else has your superstar invented?" he asked.

"For example this," Albus replied, pulling a water clock from his robe's pocket. "It's Roy's Christmas present to me. You can record sounds with it." He touched the clock with his wand to start the recording and opened the tiny tap. The water started flowing slowly into the lower chamber.

"Very impressive," said Hermione sniffily. "That puts your Roy almost at the level Edison was at one hundred and forty years ago. Compared to what's available in sound technology in the non-magical world today, it's primitive, isn't it?"

Hermione began a long lecture in which she described the technologies of the Muggles in the brightest colours to the other guests: Computers, internet, cable TV, aeroplanes, high-speed trains, nanotechnology, space flight and so on. Grandpa Arthur, who had always been passionately interested in Muggle technology, often nodded excitedly. Then she started contemptuously telling her audience about the backwardness of the magical world, and there was real hatred in her tone when she started talking about the opponents of the opening to the Muggle world: minor minds at best, at worst Death Eaters who needed the wizarding world to establish their tyranny there! It was her favourite subject and she spent a long time on it while the other guests exchanged increasingly uncomfortable glances. Even Arthur had stopped nodding and was looking at his daughter-in-law with increasing concern.

"Hermione," Harry interjected, when she finally caught her breath while the water clock was running out, "that's all fine, and yes, Muggle technology is fascinating. But how are we going to use it and at the same time maintain the secrecy of the wizarding world from the Muggles?"

Hermione looked at him coldly. "Who's saying that we have to maintain it? Of course, we have to proceed cautiously, step by step ..."

"... but in the end, the wizarding world and the Muggle world are to be merged, right?" probed Harry.

"In principle, yes, they are," confirmed Hermione, who didn't seem to care about the horrified looks of the others, and added forcefully: "Nowadays it's about overcoming borders and being open. What's the problem?"

"The problem is," Ginny replied, "that we can do magic and they cannot. They won't like that. And by the way, my deeeear sister-in-law, you would do well to apologise to my son for using the expression 'Death Eater scaremongering' when you yourself have just confirmed that you are pursuing the very goals he is blaming you for, and that he has hit the nail on the head with his concerns!"

"It's still scaremongering!" insisted Hermione, increasingly agitated. "Who says Muggles can't do magic? I can, Harry's mother could, and even your dear MacAllister can do it!" she exclaimed, turning to Albus. "All Muggle-born! And Bernie, too, is just proving that so-called nonwizards actually are able to do magic!"

"Bernie cannot do magic!" shouted Albus, annoyed and upset. "Why else would he need a special broom? His magical energy is so weak that he cannot even work a Lumos spell. The only thing he brings out in the process is a little dark red spark!"

"See?" yelled Hermione triumphantly. "So he can do magic. This spark is the beginning ..."

"No!", Albus cut across her. "It's the end! He is not making any progress! You can't really call that 'magic'! Magical skills are something you inherit, you can't learn them!"

"Inherit, right?" Hermione glared at him. "I knew that sooner or later you'd start with that pureblood nonsense, Slytherin!"

Albus remembered a phrase from the Stadium commenter during the last Quidditch match: Slytherin is slowing down the match. He paused, leaned back and looked back at Hermione. "Did I say anything about purebloods?" he asked provocatively calmly.

"You say it has to be inherited, so you have to have wizard blood! But I didn't inherit it, nor did your Roy, nor your Grandma Lily! We don't have a single drop of wizard's blood!"

"That's not true, Hermione," Albus replied as calmly as he could. "Wizards and Muggles have only been separate for a few centuries and were mixed before. A few drops of wizard's blood is something practically every Muggle has."

"There you go!" shouted Hermione, as if Albus had just confirmed something. "Then why shouldn't they be able to do magic?"

"Not 'there you go'!" replied Albus, annoyed. "That all Muggles have a few drops of wizard blood is as true as that all North Africans have a few drops of Germanic blood because the Vandals invaded there sixteen hundred years ago ..."

"Are you into Muggle history?", Arthur interrupted him in a desperate attempt to bring the conversation back to calm.

"I don't, but Roy does, and I know from him."

"Of course, your guru is always right!" snapped Hermione.

"He's the brightest mind at Hogwarts, ahead of many a teacher," Albus countered. "I would be a fool not to learn from him. Prove to me that it's not true! Now, with regard to North Africa, even today blond children are still being born there, whose vandal blood shows through. It's just an incredibly rare phenomenon, just as rare as Muggle-born wizards are, compared with the Muggle population as a whole. If you say all Muggles can do magic, just because there is such a thing as a few Muggle-born wizards, you might as well say all North Africans are blond!"

As all guests were listening spellbound, no one noticed that at that very moment a small strand of hair fell from Hermione's head, floated a few inches above the floor and then, flying towards Harry, disappeared under the table.

"Bravo, your Death Eater guru did a thorough job of indoctrinating you!" bitched Hermione.

"I'd rather say his arguments convince me and yours don't," Albus let Hermione's aggressiveness drip off him.

"Apart from that, Hermione," James now intervened surprisingly, "MacAllister may have weird views, but he's really no Death Eater!"

"You're only saying that now," Rose sided with her mother, "because he saved you from being kicked out after your graffiti, even though you tried to blame them on the Slytherins."

Now Albus came to his brother's defence: "For Slytherin, the matter is settled and will not be mentioned again! And when it's settled to us, no one else has to harp on it!"

"Oh, I seeee," Hermione drawled, "why it's been so suspiciously quiet between Gryffindor and Slytherin for a long time. First you swear sacred oaths to stand behind me, but when it comes to saving your own backside, you are buckling, grovelling and making a deal with the enemy!"

This, in turn, Victoire did not want to take: "Gryffindor is standing behind you, Hermione! But standing behind you doesn't necessarily mean to consider any dissenter a ..."

"Yes, that's exactly what it means!", Hermione cut across her. "And I thought you understood that! Instead, you are defending one who is able to say 'mudblood' without flinching!"

Bang! Someone had Apparated in front of the house.

Hermione startled. "What was that?"

"That," George said smugly, "is the typical sound made when one of your manners watchdogs from the Ministry is Apparating to lecture adult citizens about using very nasty, nasty words."

Hermione groaned in annoyance. "Percy, send him away!"

Percy was readily jumping up, but George and Bill pushed him back into his chair.

"Oh no, dear brother," George said sweetly, "you know the Ministry's decree, you probably wrote it yourself. The lecture has to be received by the person who said the nasty, nasty word. Hermione? Harm set ..."

Red-faced, Hermione jumped to her feet and stalked to the front door accompanied by the gleeful giggles of the other guests.

Arthur and Molly looked extremely distressed. Usually, Christmas in the Burrow was a picture-perfect family celebration, full of warmth and heartiness, but this time it got completely out of hand.

"Well?" asked Molly, who seemed to breathe a sigh of relief at the prospect of a Hermione-free minute, "will one of our grandchildren be visiting us these holidays?"

"I'll do," shouted James, who loved to tinker with Muggle technology together with his grandpa in his shed.

"Hugo will definitely," Ron said. "He's already asked if he can stay right here."

"Yes, of course he can," Molly beamed, "and as long as he wants to!"

"In that case, I'm sure Lily will stay here too," Ginny added, "the two of them are still bosom buddies."

"I guess they're smarter than their parents," said Molly pointedly. "And you, Rose?"

"I'd like to come next weekend. Before and after that I already have dates with some girlfriends, and I also have to revise."

"Albus? When Rose is here, you're coming too, aren't you?" asked Molly kindly, while Albus was annoyed with himself, for he – like Rose – was turning pink at this question.

"I'm sorry, Grandma, I usually love to, but this time, I'm spending the holidays with Scorpius. The Malfoys invited me to their Manor."

"Oh," Ron interjected sniffily while Hermione came back and sat down again, "congratulations, you're moving in high society! So, you won't have time for the plebs, of course!"

Even before Ginny or Harry, who were visibly annoyed by Ron's stupid remark, could answer him, Albus snapped back:

"I'm friends with Scorpius because I like him, not because his family belongs to high society! And who's the plebs? You're the husband of the Minister for Magic, you belong to high society yourself!"

"Well," Molly interrupted, determined to stop the storm brewing again, "let's all go into the living room and make ourselves comfortable!"

After the family had endured Molly's kitschy favourite songs in the living room – as they did every year – the atmosphere was very relaxed because the Potters and the Granger Weasleys were now able to avoid each other.

Bill joined Harry and Ginny. "Wow, I never before saw such a spurt in development as with your little one. In summer he was still a real child, today he seemed to be a very intelligent fifth-year student rather than an eleven-year-old. The way he countered Hermione, the entire attitude, the demeanour – it had a lot of style!"

"He's growing into a true Slytherin," Harry said, "they appreciate things like attitude, demeanour and style. On top of that, some of his friends are much older than he is. Among the Incorruptibles he is by far the youngest, and of course it is important for him to be taken seriously by them, especially by MacAllister."

"He also had to mature quickly," Ginny added, "to get over the break with Hermione. It was a terrible shock to him; you know how he used to adore her. For a moment I was afraid it would break him, but no, he matured. He had to learn that even his much beloved Hermione is just a human being who can go wrong, and that in spite of that, he can still love her – though he didn't show it today, of course."

Meanwhile, Albus and his little cousin Hugo showed each other their Christmas presents.

"This," said Albus, pulling from his robe a glass sphere in the size of a table tennis ball, "is a happiness barometer. Scorpius gave it to me. When you hold it in your hand, you can tell by its colour how happy or unhappy you will be the next 24 hours. The brighter the ball, the happier you will be and vice versa. Black means something like 'disaster'."

"I don't think I would want to know something like that," said Hugo, taking the sphere in his hand and looking at it somewhat anxiously, as if he feared it was about to turn pitch black. However, as it made no effort to do so, but took a friendly grassy green in his hand, he was reassured. "Look, Rose," he called his sister over, "I'll be happy for the next 24 hours!"

Rose sat down with interest, but avoided looking at Albus, who in turn pretended to speak to Hugo alone.

"The colours also play a role," he explained to him, "you can tell from them what kind of happiness or unhappiness you can expect: Green represents people around you and whether you feel comfortable with them, for example, quarrelling when the sphere is dark, or that everyone feel good with each other when it is light green, as it is now. No wonder, you are going to stay in the Burrow with grandma and grandpa. Red means fighting: light red if you win, dark red if you lose, blue for something factual, so for example good or bad grades."

Rose, who didn't want to ask Albus, held out her open hand to her little brother, and Hugo obediently put the happiness barometer on her palm. The sphere started to change colour in pulsing succession, and Albus involuntarily felt reminded of a woman trying on different dresses before opting for one. Gradually the intervals between the colour changes became longer, the differences between the hues smaller, until the happiness barometer in Rose's hand had decided: on a deep, dirty dark green.

"That rubbish is something only Slytherins can believe in!" she shouted, slamming the sphere down on the table in front of Albus, then stalking away.

After Albus had breakfast with his parents the next morning – for James and Lily had stayed in the Burrow –, his father asked him for Roy's water clock to listen to Hermione's tirade from the previous day.

"Did you really have to do that to yourself?" asked Albus afterwards.

"Yes, I did" Harry replied, "I'll have to step into her shoes soon, so I'll have to feel what she would say and how she would say it."

"Do you already know when you're going to do it?", Albus demanded.

"The date is set," his father informed him. "But I will only share it with Roy, who will let you know at noon on the day in question."

Albus frowned at him. "Why don't you tell me? Don't you trust me?"

Harry smiled indulgently.

"Of course I do. But please trust me too: I know a lot about conspiratorial techniques. We agreed that everyone would only know as much as they need to. I want to avoid any of you acting conspicuously out of nervous tension and possibly making yourselves suspicious."

Lost in thought, Albus turned the water clock upside down. He was surprised to hear Hermione's monologue now backwards, it sounded really funny. His parents also listened with amusement.

But then all three of them stared at the water clock in growing horror, for words were clearly to be distinguished from the gibberish, very slow, drawling and somehow muffled, as if spoken from a grave, but easy to understand:

"Albus – – – Ron – – – Harry – – – Rose – – – Ginny – – – Help – – – Help me – – – I – can – no – longer – – I – am – locked – in – – It's – so – narrow – – I'm – suffocating – – I'm – dying – – Help."

The clock ran out.

The Potters sat around the table, frozen.

"What was that?" asked Ginny finally.

"It must have been Hermione's soul," said Albus, trying hard to fight back his tears. "She's smuggling messages out. Bernie told me about this phenomenon. It's his hobby to find things like that."

Ginny propped her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands.

"Interesting," Harry muttered, recovering his poise. "She named you first, Albus, because she was talking to you. She called for her daughter, but not for her son, because he wasn't in the room ..."

Harry looked up at the ceiling, pondering.

"Although her soul is virtually cut off from the outside world, she feels what's going on around her. She senses the presence of people, and of all those present, she has begged for help from the ones who love her most."

Ginny looked up. She hadn't cried. There was something steely in her gaze that Albus had never seen before in his mother:

"Do you now finally and definitively know why you have to do it?"

"Yes, I do," said Harry.