"Why'd you let me do that?" Ron's grumpy voice came from across the table, just as a piping hot mug of cocoa came sliding across its surface and into his awaiting palm.
"I told you not to do it," replied Harry. He blew some of the steam from the top of his foaming drink. He could still feel the burn of cold from outside on his face.
"That's not true, you were beside me the entire way and you kept telling me to keep going," said Ron as he plopped down on the bench across Harry. His body was wrapped in a thick woolly blanket.
Unable to wait any longer, Harry took a sip from his drink and cursed as it burnt his tongue. However, not a second later, a pleasant warmth started to fill the rest of his body.
"Ron, I told you to stop going," said Harry, his tongue still a touch sensitive from the hot cocoa. "Why would I ever let you try to pull off a Wronski Feint in this weather? It's not my fault you couldn't hear me over the wind." He looked out through the kitchen window to where icy winds blew gusts of snow in the air.
The tips of Ron's ears reddened and he snuggled further into his blanket. "I feel like a right tit," he muttered.
"I feel like a right tit."
"I feel like a right tit."
"I feel like a right—"
"Oi! What's going on here!" Ron shouted, looking around in confusion.
A strange echo of Ron's voice was repeating itself on loop from somewhere in the room.
A second later, as if apparating on the spot, two stocky redheaded twins appeared out of nowhere, and slid on either side of their brother. They wore matching grins on their glowing faces.
"I feel like a right tit." The voice repeated itself again.
"Yes, I suppose you would, dear brother." It was the one on the right side of Ron who spoke up. Harry was fairly certain it was Fred.
"I right tit, indeed," George chimed in, setting off the twins to laugh like a pair of loons.
Knowing that neither Ron nor Harry understood what was going on, the twins basked in their own satisfaction. That was until Fred pulled from his pocket clunky pink object and tossed it on the table.
"What are you doing with Aunt Muriel's teeth?" Ron asked, looking disgusted.
Sitting on the surface of the table, between himself and Ron, was a pair of dentures with two rows of perfectly white teeth bridged by fake games.
"These aren't Muriel's teeth, they're better! They're called Dictating Dentures!" Fred stated proudly with a grand flourish of his arm.
"New product?" Harry asked.
"A Prototype," George corrected. "It's not quite on the shelves yet. We've got a few kinks to work out first."
"I thought you said you were done testing your products on me?" Ron looked between his brothers, betrayed.
"That's not true at all, Ronniekins. We said last year that we would stop using them on you at Hogwarts. We couldn't go wasting perfectly good pranking material on you when there was a toad just begging for it."
"Croaking for it, more like," George sniggered. "We've always known you were a bit thick Ron, but I don't see any suitable replacements—" He bent over and looked under the table as if expecting to find someone there "—we've got a ghoul… but he's no Peeves."
Ron's face was red. Whether from embarrassment, the cold, or out of anger, Harry wasn't sure.
"How does it work?" Harry asked, genuinely curious at what they had come up with this time.
"What it's supposed to do is sound like other people," Fred explained as the two of them leaned in over the table.
"We fooled around a bit with a charm that's meant to absorb sound, and we got it so that it can repeat back the sound it picked up originally," George explained fairly simply. Harry was certain it was far more complex than they were letting on. The twins exchanged a look, and Fred continued. "Our problem is that we can't seem to get the spell to stick, and it wears off after only a few uses." He took out his wand and tapped the dentures.
"I—feel… liiike…a—a –a –"
The sound died.
"See what we mean?" Fred held out his arms.
"That's genius," gushed Ron, his jaw hanging open.
"Bless him, Fred. It looks like we've got ourselves our own little fan."
The red of Ron's face was definitely from embarrassment this time.
"It's still a work in progress, but we're glad it worked today," said George to Harry, while Fred mussed Ron's hair.
"Why'd you do it?" Ron asked, still sore.
As if hearing the words come out of his mouth, a small gold blur shot into the room and looped around their heads. The twins shouted after it. Wands were pulled, spells were fired, but the buzzing figure evaded them with carefree dips and dives and dramatic drops. After an over-enthusiastic blast from Fred's wand nearly collided with the Weasley family clock, the brothers guiltily put their wands away before something catastrophic happened and Mrs. Weasley came stomping down from upstairs.
"Come on Fred, I think it's about time we pop back to the shop to close up. Maybe we'll bring home some Christmas goodies for our dear brother." There was a wicked smirk on the twins' faces as they left the Burrow, their eyes staring disdainfully at the broom mounted figure hovering over Ron's left shoulder.
"You don't think they really meant that do you?" Ron asked nervously, after hearing the distant cracks of their departing apparation.
Harry laughed and told Ron not to worry about it. Fred and George would never pull anything too nefarious on him, and in truth, Ron had it coming. It had been a never ending retelling of 'the greatest broom race in half a century' since they had boarded the Hogwarts Express and returned to the Burrow.
Perhaps worse than the boasting, was the trophy he came home with. About twenty years back, some clever Ravenclaw had charmed a miniature Quidditch figure with a similar spell to that put on a snitch. It quickly became tradition for the winner of the race to keep hold of it over the holidays.
The only problem was the enchantment appeared to have started getting a bit funny in recent years. Now, it was peskier than the horde of Cornish Pixies. So far the twins had woken up to find it trapped in their pants, submerged in their tea, and whizzing about their heads like a stubborn fly that just wouldn't go away at all times of the day. It was only a matter of time before they ran out of patience.
"Hey, Harry?" asked Ron, sounding uncertain. "Do you think Hermione's mad at me?"
"Er—what?"
"Didn't she seem a bit, you know—strange on the train? She could hardly look at me, and she pretty much vanished without a goodbye when we got to the station." Ron's brows were furrowed tightly in thought. Harry could tell he was upset with the idea he had done something.
In fact, he had noticed Hermione's odd behaviour, and was quite positive it had something to do with what she'd brought up with him the afternoon before Slughorn's party. It was the first time he had truly noticed the distance which separated them all. It was frustrating to no end, knowing where the problem lay but not having a solution in sight.
"I don't know, Ron. You know how she gets sometimes," Harry said, not wanting to bring up what Hermione had told him in confidence. "Maybe it's just because she was meeting her parents instead of coming with us over the break."
"Do you think she's having a good time?" Ron asked. "You know, with her parents and all. She doesn't talk about them all that often. I bet they missed her a lot."
"Maybe." Harry didn't know what to say. Hermione hardly spoke of her home life anymore, and he figured there were reasons for it.
"What was that?" Ron asked, bringing Harry out of his quiet contemplation. There was a thin smear of foam over Ron's lip from the cocoa had just finished. "I couldn't hear what you said."
"Nothing," Harry dismissed quickly. "What time is everyone coming over tonight?"
"Mum said they'd all be apparating home with dad from the Ministry," Ron answered, standing from his spot across from Harry. He gathered their mugs and took them to the sink. "Speaking of which, I think it's about time we go and chop the sprouts mum wanted ready for supper."
What started as a small pile of sprouts, quickly escalated to a thorough non-magical cleaning of the main floor of the Burrow, rounding the ghoul back into the attic, putting away Mr. Weasley's collection of television antennae, and plugging the hole in the floor near the backdoor where the gnomes had burrowed through. Pretty soon Ginny was roped in to the numerous tasks Mrs. Weasley had set out in order to present the Burrow at its finest. Although, he still couldn't quite understand how polishing the family clock for the fourth time in under an hour made any difference.
The first cracks of apparition signaled their freedom from their laborious duties. Mrs. Weasley quickly sent them off upstairs to freshen up before joining the others. Throwing on a green jumper with golden snitches that would occasionally buzz around the stitching, Harry made his way back downstairs.
He recognized a fair few voices as he entered the kitchen, and was greeted with the sight of Mr. Weasley hanging his overcoat next to the front door, and Mrs. Weasley embracing Kingsley alongside Mad-Eye and Tonks.
"Wotcher, Harry!" The Metamorphmagus rushed towards, only to trip against a leg of the dining table and tumble into his arms.
"Tonks!" Harry grunted at the impact. "I saw you less than a week ago! I didn't know that you were coming."
"And miss the chance to see you again? Never!" she exclaimed, gathering her feet again, and handing her cloak off to Mr. Weasley. "Besides, my mum and dad went out to visit some muggle relatives in America."
"Potter." A gruff voice cut in from behind Tonks, and one that immediately shifted her off to the side.
"It's nice to see you again, Professor Moody."
"I thought I told you to stop calling me professor—I never was." His ripped and scarred face cracked an ugly, albeit friendly smile.
From the front door, Harry could see Kingsley approaching him next. Taking note of the company around him, Harry to his chance to address something which had been bothering him for days now. "Do you think I could talk to you all in private? Its Order related, and I think it might be something important."
An impassable mask settled over Kingsley's face, taking over the open and affable expression he'd worn seconds before. He nodded sharply, and led them all to the sitting room around the fire.
"This will need to be quick, Harry," Mr. Weasley said kindly in a hushed voice. "Molly won't like that we've separated ourselves with you, and she wants to start dinner soon."
Understanding, Harry went straight for the heart of the matter. "I think Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."
The reactions were not what he had expected, with only Mr. Weasley betraying any shock on his face. Tonks frowned, Mad-Eye had a gnarled smile, and Kingsley's face was as blank as a canvas.
"Harry, I don't…" Arthur paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and tried again. "My family historically has a great many reasons to dislike and distrust the Malfoys, as do you I'm sure—but Draco Malfoy? A Death Eater?"
"The lad's entire family is full of them, Arthur. I wouldn't put it past Lucius pushing his son to join in order to please You-Know-Who, and let's not forget the mad bitch he has for an aunt," Moody spoke up.
"It is an interesting thought, Harry," said Kingsley pensively, staring off deeply into the orange glow of the fireplace. "I will be the first to admit that I haven't considered any Hogwarts students as possible Death Eaters. He recruited from Hogwarts before. I don't see why he wouldn't try again."
"Well—yes, I suppose it's possible, but what could they gain from having him join now other than run the risk of exposing himself? Anything in relation to the Malfoys has been kept under incredibly close watch since Lucius was sent off to Azkaban." Arthur looked to the others in support.
"What led you to believe this, Harry? It's one thing to accuse the boy based on history, but another thing to do so with evidence." Kinsley's dark eyes scrutinized him closely. In that moment, he pitied whatever criminal had the misfortune to fall under his ire.
As briefly as he could, Harry explained everything which had come to pass, from his run in with Malfoy on the train, to the letter he received from his mother, and the conversation he'd overheard with Snape.
"Looks like the boy is as foolish as his father," Mad-Eye grumbled. He took a seat, and the rest followed suit. "At least it clears up some of the shite we've heard coming out of Hogwarts this year."
"Yes, it definitely appears so…" Kingsley's voice faded away softly, before turning his attention back to Harry. "Tell me, have you responded to Mrs. Malfoy's letter?"
"No," he replied, "I wasn't really sure what to do or say."
"Good, if the situation is what it appears to be, I'm not sure much can be done for Mr. Malfoy. Minister Scrimgeour has been cracking down harshly on any suspected Death Eaters and possible affiliates. Uncovering one at Hogwarts, especially with it being the son from an influential family with close ties to high ranking Death Eaters, would be a fantastic boost to his public image and the war effort."
"Surely Albus must be told?" stated Mr. Weasley, straightening up in his chair.
"Of course he will. My duty to the department dictates I must report any evidence regarding Death Eater activity, and if anyone knows the validity of Mr. Malfoy's situation it will be Albus."
"What about Snape?" Harry broke in impatiently. Malfoy's guilt was as good as an admission of Snape's own.
Kingsley's eyes had yet to leave the flames and Mad-Eye was busy taking a sip from his flask. Only Tonks and Mr. Weasley acknowledged his question, their eyes looking pitying towards him. He felt his skin prickle with irritation.
"We'll talk to him, lad," Moody said, after wiping his mouth.
Mr. Weasley lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Harry, did it occur to you that Severus might have been pretending to offer help, given his nature as a spy."
Harry had to fight the urge to shrug away from Mr. Weasley. "I was there, I heard the two of them talking. Snape wants to help him, and even if Malfoy doesn't let him, he's still protecting him! How can you possibly trust—"
"It isn't our duty to decide the trustworthiness of Severus Snape," Kingsley finally said, returning to the conversation. The light of the flames flickered in his dark eyes. "He is a part of the Order. One we rely on and the information he brings. Dumbledore seems to believe that Severus is his man, and in all likelihood it was Albus who told Severus to speak with Mr. Malfoy. We will bring him our concerns, and the matter will be settled."
"Dumbledore has been wrong before. I know that better than anyone," said Harry, not caring he came off sounding petulant. He could hear Trelawney's spectral words playing in his mind, and chilling his very soul just as they had the first time back in Dumbledore's office. "He could be wrong about trusting him."
"And there lies the crux of the issue: Trust." Kingsley's voice was soft but strong. "The Order is an organization that runs on trust. In times of war, it is trust in our comrades and their responsibility, and trust in our own cause that gives us strength. Without trust, we fall into chaos. I trust Albus Dumbledore's judgment, and that is enough for me. No good comes from falling into paranoia."
Mad-Eye snorted from beside Kingsley and raised his flask in salute before taking another sip.
The corner of Kingsley's lips quirked. "The exception, not the rule," he said. "Trust no one blindly, Harry, because that is just as dangerous. But paranoia will break us down from the inside. It did so in the last war…"
"Oh! Would you look at that, dinner is ready to be served!" Mrs. Weasley's voice came from the doorway behind them. She shot Mr. Weasley a disappointed look as she marched in, and he couldn't quite meet her gaze. "Come, come, Harry dear, we're all set for. There will be plenty of time to chit chat all together later."
She took him by the arm and led him to an empty spot at the table next to Ron and Ginny.
"Finally," Ron exclaimed as Harry settled in beside him. "I've been waiting all day for this." His eyes stared ravishingly at the feast set out in front of them. Harry couldn't blame him, the smell of it all was mouth-watering.
Slowly, the table started to fill as the adults filtered in from the room and took their seats, and a continuous stream of compliments were expressed in favour of Mrs. Weasley and what she had put together. As various dishes started to get passed around the table, Ron leaned towards Harry while handing him a bowl of mushed turnips and asked under his breath, "Where'd you disappear to?"
"Just talking to your dad, and catching up with the rest of them," replied Harry, eyeing his friend purposely. A look of understanding came over Ron's face.
"Dad wasn't picking your brain on muggle contraptions again, was he?" he asked loudly, giving Harry a subtle nod. Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley tilt her head closer in their direction.
"No, just asking about my school year," Harry answered back clearly.
Just then, a soft ding sounded from the Weasley clock in the other room, and a pair of simultaneous CRACKS followed instantly. A few moments later, the front door opened, sending in a gust of cold wind, and the figures of Bill and Fleur shuffled inside.
"Wonderful! Everyone is here now!" Mrs. Weasley cheered, shooting to her feet and ushering the couple to their spot around the table. "The food is coming around now," she announced, "but before we begin, I just wanted to say thank you and welcome to our guests. I know we all have been going through difficult and stressful times… this year has not been kind… but having you all here today—to celebrate Christmas together—with us…" She stopped. Her mouth opened and closed chokingly as tears welled in her eyes.
Stepping forward and taking his wife by the hand, Mr. Weasley took over. "What Molly is trying to say is us Weasleys are a big family, but we're not one looking to stop growing anytime soon. All of you are part of our family. For some, it will soon be official—" He looked over to Fleur and raised his glass. Bill gathered her in his arms and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips. She gave a terse smile to everyone in the room. "—for others, who by good fortune we chanced upon, we love you all the same." Mr. Weasley turned to Harry at the conclusion of his speech and raised his glass again, before calling for a cheers.
"CHEERS!" the room shouted.
"Hear, hear!" the twins called out together.
"And Merry Christmas!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, raising his glass a final time.
Harry felt a pressure build up behind his eyes and suddenly put a lot of focus in filling his plate.
"Here, Mum, have some parsnips," George offered graciously, setting them on her plate. "You always used to say they would make us feel better when we were upset."
"Are you sure it wasn't the other way George?" Fred asked with a cheeky smirk. "That it wasn't the parsnips making us upset?"
"You just might be on to something there, Fred. Here Mum, take some parsnips anyways, I'm sure they are delicious."
Mrs. Weasley let out a watery laugh, and quickly embraced her two sons.
The atmosphere of the house was soon full of warmth and affection. The Burrow glowed with a good cheer that was almost infectious. Laughter bounced between its wooden walls and crooked floors, as stories and jokes were shared between bites of full meals. Mrs. Weasley was pushing and prodding and encouraging Kingsley to go out and find a wife of his own, much to the enjoyment of Mad-Eye; Ginny was busy talking with the twins about their joke shop, and they'd even taken out the Dictating Dentures to show off to her and Tonks, only to get scolded by their mum; and Bill was excitedly detailing his plans for him and Fleur's wedding to his father.
As the night wore on it seemed as though it was only Harry struggling to enjoy himself. He felt out of place amidst the mirth of the Burrow. Even the food, which drew great praise from everyone, was beginning to lose its tastes. His laughter was false, smiles forced, and interest feigned. His mind simply refused to settle amongst the dark thoughts which had been plaguing him for some time.
He was certain the others had noticed his sullen and gloomy mood throughout the meal, but thankfully nobody spoke up.
"Tonks," Mrs. Weasley called out later in the meal, while clearing away some people's empty plates. Others kept theirs and went in for seconds. "I was so pleased when you accepted my invitation, but I was surprised you weren't already booked up." There was something sly about the way Mrs. Weasley spoke.
"Yes… well—" Tonks swallowed a large chunk of turkey, nearly choking herself. She coughed a couple times to clear her throat, and the tips of her hair turned a reddish color. "Um, I managed to find an opening."
"Bloody girl almost blew open the Order's cover with that stupid boy!" Moody barked from across the table.
This time, Tonks went red to the roots, clearly flustered. "He's not stupid!" she shouted back, like a teenager would to their parents. "Besides, he would make a great addition to the Order. The interest is already there."
Moody's magical eye circled in its orb before stopping and pointing directly at Tonks. "All I know is that when you are part of secret order, you bloody well don't invite someone not a part of the order to a dinner filled with members of the same order."
Tonks stuck her tongue out at her mentor. "It's not like he's here anyway," she said glumly. "Stuck on Ministry duty."
Before Harry could figure out what they were talking about, another soft chime rang throughout the house.
Bill was the first to jump to his feet, rushing to the other room where the clock sat. Everyone was dead silent, holding their breaths in anticipation.
"No, this can't be right?" Bill's disbelief could be heard clearly.
"What is it dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked, while running to the clock to see for herself. "Oh! Arthur!" she shrieked, seconds later. "Arthur! He's home!"
Without any more warning, the front door of the house burst open to reveal a stocky, well-muscled and strangely tanned redhead.
"Bloody hell Nymphie, what are you doing at my house for Christmas?"
"Charlie!?" Tonks stared at him with utter bewilderment.
"Am I interrupting something?" Charlie closed the door with a shiver. He then carried his travelling trunks to the stairs and dropped them to the floor with a thump. He looked puzzled at the sight of Mad-Eye and Kingsley.
"What are you doing here?" Tonks asked. The rest of the Weasleys were too shocked to talk. Ron's mouth was gaping like a fish, the twins were whispering fiercely between themselves, and Ginny was wiping at her eyes.
"Well, this is my house, is it not?" he pointed out. "Should I not be asking you what you're doing—"
Charlie didn't have the chance to finish, as Bill came running into the room and engulfed his brother in a bone crushing hug. Mrs. Weasley wasn't too far behind, joining in the embrace of her two sons. Arthur came over as well, and calmly waited for them to finish, before pulling Charlie into his arms.
"Why?" It seemed to be the only word Mrs. Weasley could find. Tracks of tears ran from her red puffy eyes.
"I thought it was about time I came home," Charlie smiled, coming to join them at the table.
"It's been so long," Mrs. Weasley sniffled.
"It's only been two years—"
"Two years! Two years is a long time Charles!" Ginny snapped.
Charlie's face immediately softened upon seeing his younger sister. "I wanted to come back so, so bad." He pulled her into a warm hug. "When I heard— I knew I needed to come home while I still could. I did what I could to move as quickly as possible, but Bill would know, contracts aren't the easiest things to break on short notice."
Bill nodded in agreement, as did Fleur. She stared distantly in the direction of Charlie and Ginny, her eyes tender and lost in thought.
"I managed to negotiate a deal—my last day of work was yesterday. I packed my things, took about six portkeys, and now I'm here." He looked around the room and shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't have any time to find gifts. I hope I'm a good enough Christmas present."
"Oh, Charlie! You are the best present we could have asked for. I have half a mind to lock you in your room to keep you from leaving ever again," Mrs. Weasley gushed.
"She's serious about that you know," Fred said.
"Tried it on us when we first opened up the shop," George continued.
"Don't worry, I'm here to stay." Charlie laughed and picked up an empty plate to fill. "And if the food is always like this, then I don't think I'll ever want to leave."
"What about work?" Mr. Weasley asked.
Charlie sheepishly run a hand through the back of his close-cropped hair. "I… uh, didn't really plan that far ahead. Maybe Fred and George could do with an few extra pair of hands at their shop for a little while. I heard it's been pretty popular," he suggested, and the twins looked positively giddy with the idea. "There's a Welsh Green reserve up north as well, or maybe now that Hagrid is a professor, he could do with some help looking over the forest."
Having sat off to the side for long enough, Mad-Eye and Kingsley took the opportunity to introduce themselves. With pleasantries out of the way Charlie quickly dug in and ate enough to rival even Ron at his most ravenous, repeatedly claiming how he'd missed his mums cooking more than anything in the world while away.
After finishing his third helping of food, Charlie turned to face Harry. "Glad to see I'm not the only one who likes to play with fire here," he said with a good-natured grin. He gestured to a collection of brown scarred skin on the side of his face.
"Oh shut up you ginger prat! Harry's burns are way more handsome than yours." Tonks smacked Charlie upside the head.
"How do you two know each other?" Harry asked in amusement.
"Friends from Hogwarts," said Charlie, snaking his arm around Tonks' shoulder and squeezing her into a painful embrace. "Me and Nymphie were in the same year together."
"Mum thought they'd get married one day," Bill teased from across the table. He was finished talking to his father and was now leaning attentively in their direction.
"Probably still does," Charlie laughed. "But the only women I'm interested in right now, are the ones with tails and a habit of breathing fire." Reaching forward to fill his glass, a golden blur shot past his arm, causing him to flinch and knock over a pitcher of pumpkin juice sitting in front of Fleur.
Before anyone else could react, Harry's hand shot out and caught the tumbling pitcher without it spilling a drop. Looking up, his eyes met Fleur's for the first time that evening, and he found it nearly impossible to looks away.
"Merci, 'Arry," she said, her words sweet and lightening his mood on their own.
"What was that?" Charlie exclaimed, stealing away Harry's attention from Fleur.
"Nothing." Ron said nervously. Just behind his left shoulder, the tiny golden head of his trophy peaked out guiltily.
"Wait—I know where that's from!" Charlie shouted, his eyes filling with an almost childlike excitement. "Why didn't you tell me you won the race!"
Ron, who'd kept unusually quiet since Charlie's return, lost whatever uncertainty had restrained him from speaking before. A stupid grin grew across his face, and he immediately fell into telling the story of his great victory. It was the same one he'd told dozens of times, but this one appeared to mean the most to him, with Charlie hanging on his every word.
It was as the table was getting cleared and desert was being prepared to be served, when the family clock chimed a third time.
DING
All activity in the house froze.
"Percy?" Mr. Weasley was the first to say. His voice was barely more than a breath, as if he couldn't believe his own words. "Percy." he said again, moving to look out the window. "It's Percy!" Mrs. Weasley ran up beside him, gripping his shoulders with white-knuckles. "Is that… the Minister? What's he doing with Scrimgeour?"
Without wasting a second, Mad-Eye hobbled out of his seat, took out his wand, and summed his coat from the front door. His electric blue eye whirled around in its socket and tracked the unseen figures through the wall. "We'll be needing your floo, Arthur," he stated.
"Molly, thank you so much for hosting us," said Kingsley, while taking a pinch of floo powder from the pot Mr. Weasley had brought out from the cupboard. "It's a shame we couldn't stay for dessert."
Moody followed and grabbed a handful himself, just as Kingsley disappeared in the flames. "Get a move on girl, unless you want to explain to the Minister and your boyfriend what the hell you're doing here of all places." he growled at Tonks before vanished himself.
"Oh shit! Heath," Tonks said, wide-eyed. She scampered quickly towards the fireplace. They only had seconds to spare. "I'll stop by as soon as I can!" she promised and waved goodbye.
The last flash of emerald had only just disappeared when the door opened to reveal a wind bitten, red-faced Percy Weasley. Stepping in behind him was the ever stony-faced Auror Conner, who almost had to push Percy through the threshold of the doorway and into the house. Following close behind them and entering in a confident manner, was a man Harry had only ever seen in the Daily Prophet.
Rufus Scrimgeour wasn't a particularly tall man, or a large one even, but something about him held a commanding presence. His wiry mane of grey hair resembled that of an old prideful lion, his eyes were cunning and sharp, and the thin scars that littered his aged face betrayed his experience in fighting wars. He looked very much like a man he did not want to cross. He used a cane to walk, but the strength surrounding the man suggested he wasn't dependant on its use.
The last to enter the Burrow was Auror Fardale, an easy smile on his face as per usual.
"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley shouted and locked her estranged son in a desperate embrace. "It's really you." She grabbed hold of his face, his features strewn into a deeply uncomfortable expression. "It's a miracle to see you both home together. Our whole family together again, with my Percy and Charlie—"
"Charlie?" Percy interrupted, stiffening at the mention of his brother's name. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet.
"Hiya, Perce." Charlie waved, though his gaze was hard. In fact, he wasn't the only Weasley displeased with their brother's unannounced appearance. Ron was scowling along with Ginny, Bill stared with open disappointment, Mr. Weasley had suddenly found the stove to be a very interesting thing to look at, and the twins had a devious glint to their eyes.
"I didn't know you were coming home," said Percy. His eyes were pointedly directed at the Minister as he spoke, but the man simply smiled, seemingly pleased at the developing scene.
"I thought it was about time to act a Weasley and be with my family," Charlie replied. The meaning behind his words was not lost upon anyone in the room.
Someone coughed something which sounded suspiciously like 'He's got a point'. Lingering in the doorway, having entered last, trailing the rest of the new arrivals, was Fardale. He excused himself for a glass of water.
"Yes, a big happy family." Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed upon them all like that of a predator. "Percy has always said the same to me when he talks of home." He sauntered through the main floor of the Burrow, examining every surface as if it held some sort of importance. "You must forgive me—Percy has been invaluable to me in recent months and when I saw your name—" he looked at Charlie "—on the list of incoming international portkeys I couldn't help myself from reuniting the family."
"It's much appreciated, Minister. Almost too kind of you," said Arthur, weighing his words carefully.
"Yes, yes, it is Christmas after all. In the spirit of the season, I simply couldn't resist."
"Come on in, please—have a seat and help yourself to anything. There is enough to feed you all," Mrs. Weasley invited.
"No, no, I couldn't my dear," Scrimgeour declined with a firm shake of the head. "My knee has been troubling me in these cold temperatures—the lingering effects of an old wound, you see—and I think I could do with a bit of a stroll outside." His eyes snapped towards Harry, "Why doesn't this young man accompany me?"
Immediately, Harry thought of Auror Conner's warning from Slughorn's party.
"Per'aps, I could join ze Minister and 'Arry as well?" Fleur spoke up suddenly from her spot at the table.
"I think that would be a wonderful idea," Mr. Weasley said just as Bill was going to speak up. His hand gripped his son's shoulder tightly in warning.
"I think Harry will do, thank you," Scrimgeour said, a nonnegotiable note to his voice. His cutting gaze caught and held Fleur's own. "Miss Delacour I presume?" he inquired, to which she sniffed haughtily in response. "Percy mentioned wanting to get to know his brother's new fiancée. I wouldn't want to impede his desire to do so, before the opportunity passes by."
With a quick spin out the door, the Minister gestured for Harry to follow. Both Conner and Fardale made to follow. "I have no need of protection," he said, calling them off. "Your evening was spent with myself rather than with your families—a poor trade. The least I can offer you is a home cooked meal."
The bite of the wind was harsh once they'd stepped outside the comfort of the Burrow. A fresh layer of snow had settled upon the ground as more tumbled down from the sky in thick white flakes. Harry opened his palm and watched as they melted upon contact with his skin. There was a queer silence held between them, almost as if they truly were going out on a simple stroll.
"You weren't shocked with my appearance this evening," Scrimgeour finally said. "I suppose Conner gave you my warning."
"He did."
"That's good. I did not want to catch you entirely off guard." They followed the path, which rounded Mr. Weasley's shed. Leaves and frigid, shrivelled flowers crunched beneath the thickening layers of snow. Scrimgeour looked over his shoulder to Harry, countless white flakes caught in the tresses of his tangled mane. "Did you know, that a day doesn't go by without me hearing your name at least a dozen times?"
"I'd wonder why in times like this the Ministry doesn't have anything better to do than gossip about what I'm up to at school," said Harry, dryly.
"Such is the nature of humans, Harry… they gossip."
"And such is the nature of the Ministry… it is incompetent."
Scrimgeour paused mid-step. "You have a sharp tongue on you," he chuckled. "It reminds me a lot of Amelia."
"Madam Bones was a fine woman," said Harry. "She was one of the few who came to my defense in my case against the Ministry."
"I do recall the incident. She was a good friend of mine, actually. In fact, she was the one who recommended I run for Minister when the world was calling for Fudge's head."
They stood in calculated silence for a moment. Harry was unsure where the Minister was going with this.
"The Ministry… what a mess it was, especially after that evening. Lucius Malfoy being caught red-handed after having Fudge's ear for so long, the return of You-Know-Who, and that mess in the Department of Mysteries—I still have Unspeakables coming up to me today with complaints." There was a hint of dark humour in his voice. "You have my condolences as well, Mr. Potter. I only wish Sirius Black would have lived to see his name cleared."
A sliver of irritation pressed into Harry at the mention of Sirius' name. He didn't like the way the Minister was trying to use it to gain favour.
"You see, Harry, all of these issues—all this corruption—is that of the old Ministry. Your hate, your anger, your distrust—I can see it on your face even now—is left at the feet of Cornelius Fudge. It is different now."
"Is it?"
"I can't fault you for this attitude, but at some point you must grow to look beyond your prejudice and bias." A passion burnt deep in the depths of the Minister's sharp eyes. "I have a family I rarely see, because it's my job to take care of this nation. I've worked countless hours to right the sinking ship Fudge abandoned. I've plugged as many holes as I can and reshaped its structure to keep it afloat. The Ministry is not as it once was."
"And what of its crew?" Harry retorted. "What of people like Delores Umbridge?"
The question appeared to have wrong-footed the man. "Delores? What—I'm not entirely sure of what Madam Umbridge has to do with anything, but if you would like to know, she has mentioned you harbour an ambition to become an Auror—an admirable career path if I might add."
White hot rage pumped through him in that moment, to the point he was surprised he hadn't melted the snow around them. "That woman is a monster." he grounded out through clenched teeth.
"A monster? I… Is there a reason you say so?"
"She tortured children with a blood quill for an entire year rather than teach. The only office she should be familiar with is that of the Warden's in Azkaban."
Scrimgeour's eyes widened in shock, forming a series of wrinkles along his weathered brow. "I will set up an inquiry the moment I return to my office," he promised. A fresh sort of excitement took over him then. "You see, Harry! This is the type of work still needed to be done! Together, wrongs can be righted and we can bring stability to the nation."
"Together? How would that work?" Harry asked carefully, trying to read his intentions.
"It would be nothing too difficult or time consuming. You see, as I mentioned earlier, it is the nature of human's to gossip. So, I say, let them gossip. Let me hear your name a hundred times in one day if I must."
"You want me as a mascot."
"I want you as a beacon of hope against the darkness. Let the people see their 'Chosen One'. Let them see the Ministry standing beside him. It will be a lift to the public seeing their hero, and when the Ministry finally defeats You-Know-Who we will let you be there for the glory."
Harry felt a pit settle in his stomach and his heart still. "You think I'm doing this for glory? That I'm looking for attention or some sort of selfish reward?"
"No, no, of course not! It was a poor choice of words—I meant, it will only add to the triumph of victory having you there when it is all over."
"This isn't some sort of game to me, Minister," said Harry coldly. "I don't particularly care for any sort of triumph or what the public thinks of me. I want Voldemort dead. That is all that matters."
"Of course, we all want to see the mad man defeated. The Ministry will see to that."
"Stop!" Harry shouted, his temper finally getting the better of him. "Enough of this! Flowery words and public imagery won't win me over, and it certainly won't beat Voldemort. There's no one else on this earth who knows him as well as I do, so don't start telling me what it will take to stop him. My parents knew the price. Sirius Black knew the price. Amelia Bones did as well. This war only ends with death—either ours or his."
"The Ministry has been fighting this war for years, boy," Scrimgeour finally snapped. He dug his cane into the frozen earth and took an abrupt step forward. "I didn't get these scars by hiding like a coward."
"And I didn't get mine sitting on my arse either," Harry spat back.
"No wonder Dumbledore has been protecting you all this time. You're just like him—pretending to be a hero, and distancing yourself from the Ministry and the real world. The great man who defeated Grindelwald!" Scrimgeour announced grandly, his voice getting swallowed by the wind. "What has he done to defeat Voldemort? He disappears from Hogwarts for days at a time as if no one will notice. Where is he going?"
"What does Dumbledore have to do with any of this?"
"Your Minister is asking you a question," he ordered.
"And I'm not giving you an answer."
The man let out a bitter laugh. "So it's as they all say then…" he trailed off, now pacing impatiently back and forth. "They warned me that looking for your support would be fruitless. Do you have nothing to say to me, for all the good I am trying to do for our people?"
Harry remained silent.
"Dumbledore's man through and through, aren't you?"
There was a pause.
"No. I'm my own man, Minister." Harry replied, and walked back towards the Burrow.
The scene he walked in on when entering the house would have had him laughing had he not been in such a foul mood. Bits of food were strewn across the room, with most of it spattered across Percy and his glasses. Mrs. Weasley was off sobbing in the corner with Mr. Weasley trying to console her, and each of the Weasley siblings looked on guilty.
Noticing his re-entry, Fardale made his way over, purple faced from chocking on his own laughter. Auror Conner came over as well, completely unimpressed with what was going on around him. "The Minister?" he asked.
"Outside." Harry replied. "He wanted me to tell you it's time to leave."
Auror Conner's eyes peered interestedly at Harry, likely detecting the brimming displeasure in his voice.
"About bloody time," Percy cursed, wiping his glasses and hurriedly gathering his things. Stomping through the house, he left without a goodbye. Conner followed, whereas Fardale lingered behind a moment longer, thanking Mrs. Weasley again and snatching a pair of sausages for the road.
Exhausted, and not caring to see what happened next, Harry climbed the stairs to Ron's bedroom, wanting to find some time to think on his own. However, upon reaching the top floor landing, he was met with the sight of Fleur already there, wearing the floor down with her heels as she paced, somewhat anxiously.
"Oh, 'Arry," she gasped, apparently caught off guard by his sudden appearance. "Ze Minister eez gone? How was eet?"
"Entirely unpleasant," he answered with a sigh.
"What did 'e want?"
"For me to be the poster boy of the Ministry." He rubbed along the burn on his jaw in frustration. "He talked about a load of bollocks I don't care about. He should've tried running his recruitment speech by someone who actually knows me."
"He was horribly transparent in 'is attempt to get you alone," Fleur said. She reached to tie back her silvery hair, and in doing so, rode up the material of her sweater and revealed the smooth sloping skin of her abdomen. Harry struggled to keep his eyes on hers, while she continued. "There eez much you Englishmen are missing in ze subtlety of politics."
"You mean Percy didn't really want to come to the family feast?" Harry joked.
"Non, I think not," Fleur laughed prettily. "My parents would 'ave 'ad none of zat charade." A wistful smile filled her lips and the soft glow of the dimly lit stairwell danced enticingly in her eyes. "By ze way, Gabrielle says merci for ze Christmas gift you bought her, but she eez sorry she couldn't wait for the matin de Noël."
"Tell her I don't mind," he grinned. "I'm just happy she liked it."
The thought of gifts sparked a reminder in his mind, and he realized now was the best opportunity he would have. "Actually…" Harry said slowly. "I have my gift for you, and I think it I'd like to give it to you now—just between us."
Something flashed across Fleur's face then, something much too quick for him to decipher.
He followed her into the bedroom, and watched her as she stood off to the side and gazed out the window, her fingers playing with the sleeve of her jumper. Kneeling at the side of his bed, Harry opened his trunk with a simple click. Sitting folded at the top, as if waiting patiently for this exact moment, was the cloak given to him by Helena Ravenclaw. It shimmered in a way that reminded him of Fleur's pale blue eyes.
The fabric slipped effortlessly between his fingers. Boom, boom, boom. His heart hammered against his chest like a drum. His throat was dry. His body was wracked with nerves. It all seemed like such a great idea until this. He was terrified in a way he had never experienced before.
He decided to start easy, and reached beneath the cloak.
"I made a promise to you a few months back when you were taking care of me in Grimmauld Place," said Harry, rising to his feet with his hands hidden behind his back. "I know how much you can hate the weather out here."
From behind his back, he pulled out a pair of cozy-looking, but very obviously homemade mittens, fashioned in the three stripes of red, white and blue of the French flag.
"Zat eez very sweet, 'Arry." A soft smile split Fleur's face as she took them in her hand and touched them to her cheek.
"The mittens were knitted by—well, a friend I suppose. He's really a house elf and actually quite barmy, but he's rather sweet and I think you would like him. Dobby was very proud of what he made." Harry felt himself ramble. The nerves were back again and his hands were trembling. "I have something else," he added, feeling his throat tighten with each word.
Reaching into the trunk again, his stomach flip-flopped horribly, and his mind was a whirl with a thousand different possibilities and another thousand outcomes of what would happen next.
He lifted the cloak from his trunk, and heard a sharp intake of breath.
"I wanted it be special," he said with a touch of vulnerability." Something you couldn't just pick out of a catalog. I got lucky, I suppose. My friend Luna, er—she introduced me to another friend of hers, who gave me this."
When he unfurled the cloak in that moment, the only word he could use to describe it was magical.
Hanging from his hands was a tapestry of the heavens. As moonlight pooled into the cramped bedroom and passed through the cloth in sharp silver streaks, tiny beads of light blinked into existence in a cosmic pattern he recognized from hours spent on the Astronomy Tower. Stitched into the pale blue fabric were constellations and planets—a hidden map of the night sky and mirror to her mother's famous enchantment. It pulsed with life like a beating heart, sending waves of powerful magic rippling through its woven surface.
Standing there, feeling the puff of breath tickle his neck, he knew Fleur was beside him. It was like sitting back in the attic of Grimmauld Place watching the stars above them. If he closed his eyes he could feel the same warmth about him knowing, he wasn't alone.
Together, rather unknowingly, they had uncovered one of the cloaks secrets. To hide the image of the higher mysteries quite literally in the folds of her cloak was so unequivocally genius, it could only have been done by a Ravenclaw.
"Zat eez Helena Ravenclaw's cloak?" said Fleur breathlessly, her eyes alight with recognition. Her hand reached out hesitantly, stopping a breath away from the fabric not daring to touch it. "How did you find eet?"
"She sort of just gave it to me."
"Gave it?"
"I think she knew why I wanted it," Harry said without thinking. He had almost said too much. He couldn't tell her like this—not now. Not with what happened with Daphne, not standing in the middle of his best mate's room, not with her fiancée just a few floors below.
"Here," he said instead, pushing the cloak further out, inciting her to grab it.
Her touch was tentative at first, as if afraid it would vanish before her very eyes. But once the material was firmly in her grasp, she clutched to it like she would never let it go. The room almost seemed to glow before him, emitting a magic so thick and pure he could have drowned in it.
His heart ached and threatened to burst at the sight of Fleur. Never had she looked so unattainable and untouchable, like a forbidden fruit he desperately wanted to taste. She stood right there, the very image of a dream he dared not to believe. He had never been so tempted in his life.
"Zis is real." Her disbelief had vanished and was replaced with uncontained excitement. "They thought eet was lost to history. Zat she took eet when she ran away!" Her fingers danced along its seams, tracking every pattern. "I 'ave never seen something so expertly crafted. Ze power behind ze enchantments… ze secrets eet holds…"
"How did you recognize it?" asked Harry, surprised by her familiarity with the cloak. "I didn't know it even existed."
"I remember reading about eet when ze Goblins 'ad me search through their archives for ancient artifacts. Especially those of your founders. Ze records only guessed at its possible properties. I 'ad dreamed of one day studying eet for myself, but now I—"
Her eyes flicked up and met Harry's, the words fading from her lips. There was something held between them in that moment…
A spark was all that was needed to set it off; and it came when Fleur strode forward, grasping his face in her hands with the cloak bundled up against the nape of his neck, and planting her lips on his.
From a spark to an inferno, Harry released the blazing heat that had built up within him for months now. He grabbed Fleur by the waist and pulled her roughly against him. The feeling of her hip pressed into him caused him to let out an involuntary moan, deepening the kiss.
His reaction had caught her off guard, or perhaps she'd been hesitant after her initiation, but she quickly followed his lead. Her normally gentle hands pulled sharply at his hair and her tongue darted swiftly into his mouth with a shudder. He ground up against her trying to initiate as much contact as he could between their many layers. They grunted through each other's mouths, so lost to passion it seemed impossible they could be separated from each other's attentions. The scent of lavender was overwhelming, loose strands of her silver hair tickled up against his face, and her hand stroked tantalizingly along the burn on his jaw.
Burns just like Charlie's, Harry thought somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind. Charlie who'd come home to see his family—a family that Fleur would soon be joining. The same one seated together with her fiancée only floors below.
Fleur was to be a Weasley.
She isn't mine, Harry realized with a cold shudder.
He was the outsider here.
She deserved to be happy with Bill, a man safe and kind. Harry brought nothing but death and destruction. The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, it was all meaningless when he was likely to die in the end. Fleur deserved to live and be loved.
Shame flooded over him and he pushed away from Fleur, stumbling over his open trunk and onto his bed.
Looking up, he could see Fleur staring horrified. The cloak was still held tightly in her hand. "'Arry—" she started, her voice low and sweet and trembling.
"No." He couldn't look at her. Not when she looked so lovely and dishevelled. Not when he'd have to acknowledge her regret. Not when the realization of what he'd done cut into him like a knife.
Finally, he forced himself to. She looked torn, her mind working furiously behind furrowed brows and her eyes beseeching him with indecision, as if she wanted to say something—to explain everything. But for whatever reason she held back.
It mattered not to Harry. He didn't want to hear it. Not anymore.
His lips burned with the taste of her filling his mouth, and the maddening pressure of her touch was still playing at his mind. The room spun. He couldn't think with her around him. He wasn't sure if he'd every think clearly again after what had just happened.
Damn the guilt and consequences! He wanted nothing more than to continue where they had left off. But he couldn't.
Daphne.
The name caused him to flinch. It was almost as if his mind took pleasure in torturing him by throwing even more complications into his life.
Voldemort, Malfoy, Snape. He repeated the names in his mind over and over again. They gave him something to cling on to—targets to direct his anger and shame and regret. They were familiar enemies, and the only things that made sense in his life.
The only control I have is in the men I despise, he laughed bitterly to himself.
He closed his eyes. Though they were only feet away, it felt like a giant chasm had opened in the earth between them. Even if he reached out, he wasn't sure he could touch her.
"Joyeux Noël, 'Arry," he could hear her say, her voice agonizing.
Footsteps creaked along the floorboard and soon disappeared down the stairs, leaving Harry alone again, having lost all his warmth.