It was always somewhat disorienting, staying at her parents' house. Hermione's old room was more or less unchanged, and it often felt like stepping into someone else's life. She had done her best to put this part of her life away, to start fresh with Holly in New York, but the parts of herself that she had left behind were always here, waiting for her.

Hermione snapped the photo album shut and shoved it back under the bed, where it needed to stay. It wouldn't do to dwell on what-ifs and might-have-beens.

As she headed down the stairs, she could hear her daughter chattering away to her parents and shook her head slightly. She'd raised Holly to be confident at expressing her opinions, so the extrovertedness wasn't new for her, but since she had been home, Holly seemed more...something. Blunt, perhaps. Not quite as polished as Hermione was used to her being, which seemed an odd change for her to have made in France. Hermione remembered the Beauxbatons students from fourth year; Hogwarts had been an uncultured nightmare for a lot of them, including Fleur at first. Hermione thought fleetingly of Victoire; she would have started school this year, too, and where would Bill and Fleur have sent her? If it was Beauxbatons, was there any chance of her and Holly making the connection that they were cousins? Maybe her parents were right; keeping Holly's family a secret from her was only getting more complicated the older she got.

"Anyway, so Dupont's got the quaffle, he dodges both bludgers, and—oh, hi Mum."

"Holly was just telling us about a match between—who was it again, dear?" Jean asked.

"Ombrelune and Bellefeuille."

Hermione chuckled. "You actually went to a Quidditch match, where your house wasn't even playing?"

"I'm in—" Holly froze for a split second, and Hermione frowned as she sat beside her on the couch. "Papillonlisse. So yes, I, er...I went to a match for the other houses." Holly met her gaze, but her ears were turning red.

"Oh. You just never mentioned anything about Quidditch before, in your letters."

"Well, I know you don't really like Quidditch."

"That's not true. And I'm interested in everything you're doing at school."

"Okay. Well, anyway then, the bludgers both miss him by inches, and…"

Hermione listened as Holly continued with her animated play-by-play of the match. There definitely hadn't been a lot of Quidditch talk in their house, so maybe Holly had really taken a shining to the sport after being properly exposed to it. But it felt as if she were sitting on the couch with Rose instead.

She shook her head of the unbidden thought. Her other daughter could have inherited her fear of flying just as sure as Holly had, and she had no way of knowing one way or the other. Looking at old photos of herself and Ron had done her head in. "I'm going to make tea," Hermione announced, dropping a kiss to Holly's forehead as she stood. A strong cup of earl grey was exactly what she needed.


Holly got up early on the morning of Boxing Day and dressed quickly. Rose had raved about her grandmother's famous Weasley jumpers, and had fortunately included the fact that they were all to wear them for the Quidditch match. She supposed there was nothing they could have done about Uncle George's supposed twin radar, but she didn't need to give the rest of the family any more clues that she wasn't who she claimed to be, like turning up to play in the match in the wrong sweater.

Uncle George had said that one Nosebleed Nougat would do the trick, but Holly stuffed an extra one into her pocket just in case. She couldn't very well have Molly fix her right up and then send her back out to play.

The Burrow was relatively quiet downstairs, but Holly was convinced that at least two or three members of the family were up and about at all times; this morning, it was her grandfather, Uncle Percy, and Aunt Angelina. "Good morning," Holly said to them as she entered the kitchen.

"Good morning, Rose," Uncle Percy greeted her. "Excited for the match today?"

"Oh, yeah, I can't wait!" Holly tried to inject a sufficient amount of enthusiasm into her voice, but she wasn't sure she quite got there.

An hour later, the whole family was gathered out in the orchard. Holly was clutching Rose's broom in one hand and the Nosebleed Nougat in her pocket in the other. Her dad and Aunt Ginny were arguing over whether Aunt Angelina, who would normally be playing with Aunt Ginny's team but was refereeing instead today because she was pregnant, could be replaced with a reluctant Aunt Fleur, or if someone from Ron's team should have to sit out. Well, Holly's trick would take care of that problem.

Feigning a cough, she turned her head and slipped the Nougat into her mouth. Sure enough, after only a couple of minutes, she felt the drip begin from her nose. Molly, ever observant, noticed first. "Oh, goodness me!" she exclaimed, rushing to Holly's side. Behind her, George winked at Holly. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up, dear."

"Hang on, Mum, I'll take her," Ron interrupted, stepping abruptly away from Aunt Ginny.

"What about the match?" Ginny asked indignantly.

"Start without us," Ron called over his shoulder, steering Holly back toward the house.

Ron sat Holly down at the kitchen table and pulled out his wand, casting a spell that had her nose feeling instantly back to normal and another that cleaned the blood up from her jumper. Holly watched as he then summoned two cups of tea and sat down across from her. "You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked as he handed her a cup.

"What do you mean?" Holly returned nervously.

Ron leveled his gaze at her. "Come on, Rosie. As your dad and co-owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, you don't think I know the difference between a real nosebleed and one that Uncle George gave you? What's with the Nougat? Why don't you want to play in the match?"

"I just…" Holly shifted in her chair and stared into her teacup to avoid Ron's piercing gaze. She had really thought that using Uncle George's trick sweet would be a simple solution. "Don't feel up to playing this year."

"But why?" Ron pressed. "I'm not mad or anything, of course, but this isn't like you. Whatever the reason is, you can tell me. You can always tell me anything, Rose, as long as it's the truth."

Holly's stomach twisted. She had the same arrangement with her mum. The truth, always. It wasn't fair, what they were doing with their parents. They should have just written and told them that they had met at school, and dealt with the consequences, whatever they might be. "Anything?" she asked softly.

"Anything."

Holly took a deep breath and gripped her teacup so hard she was worried it might break before she admitted, "I'm not Rose."