Harry and Ron were having a magical Christmas at Hogwarts. The boys woke up early on Christmas Day to each find a pile of presents in front of their beds. Ron's was made up of a significantly larger number of parcels but Harry was astonished at the number he had received. He had been hoping for, even expecting, a couple of them, instead of the half dozen presents waiting for him.

"Merry Christmas," said Ron, as he got up.

"You, too," said Harry. "Look at all the presents I received!"

"What did you expect, turnips?"

"I just mean, there's too many."

"Too many presents?" exclaimed Ron. "You can't have too many of those. And, anyway, it doesn't seem that many, to be honest."

"No, I just mean, who are they from?"

"I think you need to open them to find out."

Harry shot Ron an annoyed look, but then shrugged. "All right. Do you want to open them together?"

"Sure."

They pushed both piles closer together, and sat down on the floor, each picking the first parcel from their side. Harry received a wooden flute from Hagrid, which sounded a bit like an owl. It came with a short note.

"Hagrid says thank-you for the teabags," he told Ron after reading it.

Ron waved it off. "It wasn't my idea, was it? Trust Hermione to come up with something like that."

"Well, they are a muggle thing. But, yeah. I didn't think of it, either. It's easy to forget about muggle things in the magical world." Harry frowned. "Even if sometimes they're more convenient."

"Like what?" asked a disbelieving Ron.

"Like pen and paper," grumbled Harry. "Makes writing so much easier."

"Nah. That's just your scrawl, mate. Hermione's writing is just fine."

Harry scowled. "That's because she practices more. But she finds quills annoying, too."

Ron shrugged and opened another of his presents, this one containing a couple of new quills, of all things.

"Speaking of..." he snorted. "Let me guess... Yep, this one's from Percy."

After opening the note from his relatives and giving Ron the fifty pence coin, Harry opened the lumpy parcel with – as Ron guessed correctly – presents from Mrs Weasley. He pulled out the jumper and put it on, and then saw the dark-covered book underneath, next to the home-made fudge.

"That one was my idea," said Ron. "I asked her to send it for you. But I guess she thought you should get some real presents as well."

"A book, Ron? Whatever made you think of that?" asked Harry teasingly, and grinned widely.

Ron turned pink. "It's not that sort of book. It's-"

"Nature's Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy," Harry read from the cover.

"Yeah. It's written by prejudiced, crazy gits, so don't believe anything they write. But I asked Mum, and she said the Potters are mentioned in it. You did say your relatives didn't like magic, and didn't tell you about your parents. So I thought... And Hermione said-" He broke off, and turned red.

Harry might have been bothered by the fact that his friends apparently talked about him behind his back, but right then he was too busy looking for the entry under his name.

"Ron... This is... Thank you, Ron, I-" He stopped talking as soon as he found the entry under 'Potter'. He did not bother with the text at first, and went directly to the family tree, which took up a double page. There he was, his dad, at the very bottom of the tree, with his birthday written underneath.

"It's an old edition," said Ron. "Mum and Dad got it as a wedding present. You might have been in it, if it were a newer edition. But they'd probably have 'forgotten' to add your mum's name, what with her being a muggleborn." He grew even redder, and ducked his head.

"Ron, if this was a wedding present-"

"No, I didn't mean it like that. We're blood traitors, remember?" Ron said rather proudly. "It's been stuck in the attic ever since my parents got it. I don't think any of us even had a look through it. But I thought you might find it useful."

"Thank you," Harry said again, without looking up. Then he cleared his throat, to cover all traces of emotion. "Charlus Potter, and Dorea Potter, nee Black. Those were my grandparents. My dad was an only child – no surprise there – and so was my granddad, but my grandmother..." He searched the appropriate entry without looking up, and missed the look on Ron's face. "Look at that! My grandmother seems to have some relatives. Quite a few, actually. There's her brother-"

"Er, Harry." Ron decided it would be better to interrupt him at that point. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but those are the Blacks."

Harry looked up with a quizzical look, to find Ron staring at the book with distaste.

"Well, yes," he said carefully. "My grandmother was named-"

"Harry-" Ron interrupted him, then halted. "I forget sometimes how many things you don't know," he mumbled to himself. "The Blacks are one of the oldest and darkest families in Britain, Harry. Slytherins, all of them. Even if you're – sort of – related to them, I don't think they're the sort of people you want to get to know better."

"I'm... I'm related to a dark family? But-"

"It doesn't mean anything," Ron said quickly. "All pureblood families are related. There's just not that many of us around. I think I'm related to the Blacks as well. And I'm sure not all of them were evil. Your dad was fighting against you-know-who, wasn't he. So his mum can't have been evil, right?"

Harry did not look entirely reassured, and closed the book, to find Ron looking at him contritely.

"Never mind the Blacks, Ron," he told his friend. "This was still a great present. I now know what my grandparents were called." He smiled encouragingly.

Ron smiled back hesitantly, and they went back to opening presents. A couple more presents from Ron's family, and then it was Harry's turn again. The next parcel he opened held another surprise for him.

"Look at that. Dudley's written back," he said.

"Don't tell me you actually listened to Hermione and sent that book."

Harry grimaced. "I sort of did. What," he added at Ron's look. "I wanted to find out how he'd react."

"Right." Ron went back to unpacking his presents, but finally curiosity won out. "Well? What did he write?"

"Let me see..." Harry skimmed over the letter for a second time. "Insane spelling, check. Calling me freak in every other sentence, check. Complaining about my writing skills – the cheek of him! Oh, look at that, doesn't complain about receiving a present. Oh-ho-ho, but apparently the book doesn't meet with his high standards – doesn't answer most of his questions, can you believe it? Oh, and then he goes on about how obviously easy our school has to be compared to his that we have such simple books. Ha! If he only knew! And, anyway, he can't have forgotten already that he used to copy all my homework-"

"Sounds jealous, if you ask me," sniggered Ron.

Harry thought that over. "He does, doesn't he? Also, he sounds like he wants to know more about magic – for all that he claims it's freaky. Git."

"Git," Ron also said at the same time, and both boys laughed at the coincidence.

Harry frowned and looked at the letter again. He had missed the comment when reading the first time, but on second reading, he picked up the envelope again, and turned it over to watch a simple ballpoint pen drop out of it.

"Huh," he said, surprised.

"What's that?"

"It's a pen. Dudley sent it-"

"What, like a Christmas present?"

Harry snorted. "No, he sent it because he could barely read my writing, he claims."

Curious, Ron asked to use it, and tried it on a piece of parchment. It was not very impressive.

"It works much better on paper," Harry told him.

Losing his interest at that point, Ron picked up another parcel to open, and Harry held his breath as he saw what it was. Ron noticed his reaction.

"This one's from you, then?" he asked casually.

Harry nodded.

Ron unpacked a carefully folded poster, and a scarf and mittens with the Chudley Cannons emblem on them. He unfolded the poster, to display seven quidditch players on their brooms, flying all over the quidditch pitch shown in the background.

"Thanks, Harry," Ron said enthusiastically. "This must be their newest poster. Hadn't even seen it yet." With that, he got up and hung it up next to his bed.

There were two very similar-looking presents, wrapped in identical paper, and the boys picked them up simultaneously.

"Guess we know who sent these. Want to bet they're books?" joked Ron.

Harry was sure to lose the bet, from the feel of it. "I think there might be something else inside as well," he said.

"All right, let's see."

As it turned out, they were both right. Hermione had sent them each a book and some chocolate frogs. Ron's was a muggle book about chess strategies.

"They know chess in the muggle world?" asked a surprised Ron.

Harry just rolled his eyes. His present was 'Curses and Counter-Curses' by Vindictus Viridian. He had recognised the title in the catalogue, and told his friends how Hagrid had stopped him from buying it.

"Look at that," he said. "First, Hermione makes me send Dudley a present, and then she buys me the book I wanted in order to hex him."

Ron shook his head fondly. "I guess she thinks a book's a good idea, no matter what."

At that point, Ron still had a couple of presents left to open – which was not surprising, considering the size of his family – and Harry also still had one unopened parcel in front of him. After Ron had finished opening his presents, and both boys had marveled at Harry's invisibility cloak, the other Weasley boys came up to their dorm and they all went down for breakfast.

That night, after a day of celebration, Harry found the Mirror of Erised. As he looked into it, and realised what he was seeing, his heart began to beat louder, recognising the family he could not remember ever seeing before.

His parents would have been easy to identify from the descriptions he had heard of them, even if they had not been standing right behind him, their hands on his shoulders. He wondered if he would be able to match anyone else to the names from the book Ron had given him. The thought had barely occurred to Harry that the people in the background rearranged themselves, half of them standing behind his mum, and the other half behind his dad.

His aunt and uncle were completely missing, but Harry spotted Dudley's face by the edge of the mirror, looking in towards the mirror space from round the corner, as scared as he had been when they had met Hagrid.

On the other side of the mirror, he saw a couple behind his dad, both black-haired and smiling at him, and realised those must be Charlus and Dorea. His grandparents. He identified his muggle grandparents as well, and then went back to staring at his mum and dad, trying to memorise every last detail about them.

He still noticed the very handsome man who alternately kept looking at Harry and at his dad, also wearing a smile, though there seemed to be something unbearably sad about him.

~HP~

The day the other students were to return to Hogwarts, Harry and Ron went down to the edge of the lake, where the flying carriages were to land, to meet Hermione as soon as she arrived.

Harry was wearing his new Weasley jumper, and Ron had opted to wear the scarf and mittens Harry had given him. It still felt like the holidays, even though classes were to begin the next day.

Both boys were smiling as they watched Hermione emerge from the carriage, her own Weasley jumper visible under her coat, Neville following right behind her. Harry's smile dimmed somewhat when she looked at him, her expression somewhere between angry and annoyed. He opened his mouth, but she stepped closer to him, and whispered, "Later."

The four Gryffindors walked up to the castle, Neville thanking the boys awkwardly for the sweets they had sent him.

As soon as they were among themselves, Hermione turned to Harry. "I want to have a word with you," she said with no trace of the anger from before, but entirely serious. She led them to the most secluded corner she could find in the common room.

"What is it?" Harry was puzzled.

"Harry... Look, I was really happy about your present. I've read the book at least half a dozen times, and then I compared it to our defence textbook – Anyway, I really enjoyed it. But, Harry, what were you thinking, writing that inscription-"

"I didn't think you'd feel so strongly about it. I know, you love books, and would never scribble in them, but-"

"No! That's not what I mean. An inscription is a great idea – except where you mentioned three headed dogs!"

Harry looked comically confused, but when he looked to Ron for support, he was surprised to see dawning comprehension on the other boy's face.

"What," he said, looking from one to the other.

"Did your parents see it?" asked a sympathetic Ron.

"They did. Next thing I knew, they were talking about shipping me off to France-"

"What! Why would you tell them-"

"I didn't! Of course I didn't. I lied to them, told them we had learned about them in class – And I did convince them. They don't know any more about my rule-breaking now than they did before-"

"Then what-" began Harry, but he did not get very far.

"Just their mention was enough!" Hermione almost shouted. "Harry you grew up with muggles, as well," she went on more calmly. "You must know what it's like for my parents, hearing about powerful and dangerous things – things outside of their world that they don't know how to deal with, and knowing that I have to."

Harry frowned, unable to fully understand what she was trying to explain to him, and not sure how to respond, even though she had stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.

"Come on, Harry," she said exasperatedly. "You can't tell me you've told your relatives about all our adventures."

"Of course I haven't," said Harry. "But that's the thing. My relatives don't care about me. They always try to do whatever will annoy me the most. So why would I tell them? But your parents, Hermione. I mean, they love you. They care about you, about what you want. I get not telling them about our investigations. They might tell you it's too dangerous. But things that have already happened? It's nothing to do with magic. I mean, don't you want them to know what goes on in your life-"

"I agree it's nothing to do with magic," said Ron. "My mum would drag me back home by the ear if she had any idea about that dog, or the troll, or even the smallest hint of a suspicion about what we're investigating. Harry-" he hesitated, trying to phrase his thoughts properly. "You have some very strange ideas about what parents are like, mate. And I get that. Really. But please don't tell anyone in my family about the trouble we get into."

"Same here," said Hermione. "Our adventures should stay between us."

Silence followed her words, which rang in all their minds after they had been spoken. A strange sense of togetherness came between them, as if they were the only relevant people in the world.

"Alright," said Harry. "Unless we all decide to share some information, everything we do will stay between us." He spoke solemnly, to show that what he said was a promise.

"I agree," said Ron. "No one else needs to know."

They exchanged silent glances, and broke out in conspiratorial giggles. It made them feel giddy, the secret pact between them. They felt connected in the way they had after the troll attack – a unified force against their attackers.

Harry felt a strange sort of happiness. His friends were keeping their mutual secrets – even from their own families – the people they loved most – so that they belonged only to the three of them. Harry felt a little guilty for being so possessive of them, but the guilt, and the worry in the back of his mind that they might be way over their heads, so separate from tempering adult influence, were eclipsed by the joy and feeling of belonging at finally having someone of his own.

~HP~

That evening, the three friends were sitting in a quiet corner in the library. Harry and Ron were finishing the homework they should have done over the break, and Hermione was pretending to read, ignoring their pleas for help.

"How about this, Hermione," said a desperate Ron. "We play a game of chess. If I win, you let me copy four inches –three," he amended at her outraged look. "And if you win... Well, we can think of something. I could even take notes in class tomorrow," he suggested with a grimace, "and share them with you, so you won't have to. Come on, don't you want to find out if I learned anything from that book you gave me?"

Hermione shot him a withering look. "No. You can't just copy a portion of my essay at random. You need to actually understand what you're talking about. And I've seen the sorts of notes you take."

With that, she turned back to her book, though Harry had to wonder how she could possibly read with her nose so high up in the air. A few minutes later, she frowned and set the book down, then answered Ron's hopeful look with another withering one of her own.

"When you mentioned my present, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you," she began.

Both boys were eager for an interruption, and immediately set their quills down.

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

Hermione looked around, to make sure they were not being overheard. "I met Neville and his grandmother on Platform 9¾ this morning. We were a bit early, because I was worried I might be late-" She scowled as the boys rolled their eyes. "And plenty of people were already there, by the way, including Neville and his grandmother. He was talking to Ernie MacMillan and a few other Hufflepuffs, but he waved me over when he saw me. Did you know he's related to Ernie?"

"He isn't," said Ron. "Well, not really. I think they might be distant cousins by marriage, or something-"

"They were talking about a mutual relative – Great Uncle Ernest-"

"Yeah, I don't think he's actually related to Neville. I might be off a little, but I think he's something like Neville's Great Uncle Algie's wife's brother. Or something."

Hermione drew back. "Really? And you know that?"

Ron shrugged. "As I was telling Harry the other day, there really aren't that many of us around."

"Well, Neville just wanted to thank me for the present – a naïve and foolish thing to do, as it turned out. The others wanted to know what he was talking about and as soon as your name came up, Harry," Hermione grimaced and shot her friend a sympathetic look, "everyone was impressed – even the parents – in a not entirely flattering way. They just couldn't see why you'd want to befriend Neville. His grandmother sort of tried to defend him, but mostly she kept telling him that as his parents' son he should be a bit more – I don't know – a bit less the way he is, I guess.

"And then Ernie said he'd already known that from his great uncle Ernest who had been with the Longbottoms for Christmas dinner, and that the whole party had also been surprised when the owl had arrived.

"Oh, and apparently you keep to yourself, Harry. That seems to be the general opinion about you. The grown-ups wanted to know how I had befriended you, and if it was because I'm muggleborn, and you were raised by muggles-"

Both Harry and Hermione decided by unspoken agreement not to look at Ron at that point, who, unsurprisingly, had turned quite red by then.

"Anyway, I came up with some answers that didn't involve any trolls, and even Neville had enough sense not to mention three headed dogs-" She shot Harry a pointed look at that.

"All right, I said it won't happen again," mumbled Harry.

"So that's what I wanted to tell you. I thought sending Neville a present would be a nice idea, but now I think we should be apologising for it, not having him thank us-"

"Don't be silly, Hermione," said Ron. "You think what they said to Neville was odd or rude or even insulting, but it wasn't really. It's just how everyone talks about Harry. Neither of you seem to realise just how-"

"Has anyone ever said those kinds of things to you?" Hermione asked him shrewdly.

Ron blushed. "It hasn't been so bad yet. Haven't gone home yet, have I? I still have the big Weasley family get-together to look forward to. Nothing like being put through the ringer by Aunt Muriel," he joked.

Harry ducked his head, not knowing what to say. He thought a change of topic might be called for at that point.

"So," said Hermione on an exhale. "Any other things that didn't go as planned? What about the other presents we sent? Were they-"

"Those went well," Harry reassured her. "McGonagall actually thanked us during the Christmas dinner the next day – said she was impressed by our use of transfiguration for the packaging – and Snape looked murderous when she said that-"

"Also, Percy said he was impressed, and the twins wouldn't let me live it down for a week," complained Ron.

"Hagrid also said thank-you," Harry went on. "And the last time we went down to his hut, the tea was all gone, so he must have liked it all right."

"That's good, then," said Hermione, but she did not seem entirely reassured. "Harry..." she began after some hesitation. "That book I sent – that might have been, maybe, out of line."

Harry could not believe his ears. Was Hermione admitting to having been wrong about something for once?

"I thought about it again during the train journey today," she went on, "and I realised I really don't know what your family's like. I mean, you've mentioned some really – odd – things about them – and I know you don't want to talk about them," she added hastily, seeing his expression. "So I won't ask. I just – I guess I wanted to say sorry-"

Both boys sat forward, surprised that she had actually said the word.

"-for just sending it to you," she went on as if she had not noticed their reaction. "And you can keep it, of course-"

"Hermione, that actually wasn't such a horrible idea after all, I think. I mean, I sent it to him-"

"You did?"

"Yeah. He actually sent a reply back with Hedwig, and she came back in one piece – which, I guess, is the most important thing."

"So how did he like it?"

"Now you sound a bit too optimistic. He complained about it, said it didn't explain things-"

"What, he had already read it?"

Harry started at that.

"Told you he's jealous," said Ron. "He read the book right away, and still wants to know more about magic-"

"Of course," agreed Hermione. "It must be hard, knowing magic is real, but not being part of the magical world."

Harry opened his mouth to deny that, but then he thought better of it. That was a thought he would need to mull over, he decided.