"How was it?!" the familiar voice of Ginny Weasley greeted her, calling out from her bedroom upon hearing the front door to their flat open. Imogen kicked her boots off and placed them neatly next to their brass umbrella stand. Ginny appeared from her room in a powder pink bathrobe. "You're back awfully early." She stood in the doorway, wringing out her copper red hair with a mint towel.
Imogen nodded her head. "Dean let me use his fireplace to get back to the Ministry. I've just disaparated from there." She took off her beige coat and placed it on its hook. "Much faster than flying."
"I can't believe they make you fly," Ginny remarked, repeating herself. They had had this conversation many times before.
Imogen shrugged. She cast her eyes upon the brightly lit apartment. Ginny's cat, Dawn, was curled on their green velvet sofa, purring softly. Her mail had piled up on the tile entry table next to the bits and bobs it had collected over the years. Imogen's plants, which Ginny appeared to have neglected in her absence, were soaking in the rays of the afternoon sun by the windows. She smelled something wonderful emanating from the kitchen.
"Are you cooking?" she turned to Ginny, who had moved to scratch behind Dawn's pointed ears.
"Just reheating leftover Thai from last night, sorry." Imogen was disappointed, but not surprised; Ginny rarely cooked.
"No problem, I'll just grab something from downstairs." She referred to the less than fabulous cafe that sat beneath their flat. Ginny made a face in response. It was rather a run down, muggle-owned establishment that only featured two foods worth eating: minestrone soup and a cheesy toast.
"How was Dean?" Ginny asked, looking up from Dawn again.
"Very, very handsome," she responded with relish, "Why did you dump him, again?"
"Who knows?" Ginny replied dryly, "I was fifteen! Should have invested in that one when I had the chance, I suppose."
Imogen chuckled, knowing her flatmate was joking. "He says 'hello'."
"I thought you weren't going to tell him we lived together."
"He already knew," Imogen shrugged, remembering his line with a smile, call it "an abuse of power".
Ginny let out a "hm" but did not pursue the topic further. She began to return to her room "Oh!" she exclaimed, stopping in her tracks, "Before I forget, be sure to pack your brooms for the Burrow. I think we'll have enough people this year that my parents won't have enough. I've told Harry, Ron, Angelina, and George to bring their own too, but theirs are rather old."
As Ginny left, Imogen couldn't help but feel nervous and yet somewhat excited at the mention of George Weasley. Years before, before he became a husband and father, she found herself enamored with this humor and good looks. She looked back fondly, remembering the first Christmas she'd spent with the Weasley family.
Like many people, even in France, the Wizarding War had left Imogen an orphan. She'd spent most of her holidays since the war alone. When her teammate, Ginny, an already seasoned member of the Holyhead Harpies learned that she, a recent transfer, intended to do "nothing at all" for Christmas, she immediately invited her to stay at the Burrow.
George took to her immediately, as he appeared to do with all newcomers. Ginny said afterwards she'd only noticed a difference in her brother's behavior when he wouldn't let up. "Usually, he makes sure someone's comfortable - and usually rather annoyed with his antics - and then he leaves them to their own devices. But with you," Ginny explained, "he seems to be intent upon annoying you to the point that you never come back."
Yet Imogen was charmed rather than annoyed. And he appeared charmed in return. On Christmas Eve, they'd shared an innocent kiss under the mistletoe, garnering wolf whistles and jeers from those who witnessed it.
However, no one witnessed the events of later in the evening, when everyone went to bed, and George snuck down from the attic to the sitting room, where Imogen laid restless. He'd kissed her more fervently than before, and, without a word, led her to the shed behind the Burrow home.
She shook off her thoughts, reminding herself that he was a happily married man and a father of a little boy and, very recently, an infant girl.
Instead, she turned her attention to Dean Thomas, to whom she had just minutes before bid "goodbye". She'd been most impressed by him on their all-too-short stroll through St. Andrews. As expected by all accounts of the man, he was extremely handsome, intelligent, natural, and kind.
"I should send him a thank you letter," she thought to herself, grasping at straws, trying to find a reason to speak to him again. She proceeded to her room with haste, forgetting about her hungry stomach and thinking only of the contents of the letter.
Draft after draft went to her recycling bin. "Flamel's sake!" she exclaimed in biting French, "I am a writer, am I not?!" Finally, gathering herself, Imogen wrote a clear, legible, and acceptable letter to Dean.
Dear Dean,
I would once again like to thank you for your interview today.
Perhaps one day I will be able to know the more interesting facets of your personality, career, and experiences.
Until then, I hope you will respond with the answer to a pressing question I forgot to ask: What color socks were you wearing during our tour?
Cordialement,
Imogen A. Lighthouse
Satisfied, she sealed and addressed the letter, then stood from her antique letter desk and strode across the room, passing her wrought iron bed, her lilac duvet still made up from before she left for Romania. She opened the window and brought her wand to her mouth as if it were a microphone. "Hoo" she chimed, mimicking the sound of an owl.
Not five minutes later, a smart looking tabby barn owl appeared at the sill, chirping happily. "Hello," Imogen greeted it, fetching a treat from the jar on the other sill, "Here you go." The owl took the treat from her finger with a singular eager motion. Imogen then held out the letter, which the bird obligingly took before flying west though the orange and pink sunset..
Imogen suddenly remembered she was hungry, even more so than before, and made her way out the door to find something palatable at the diner downstairs.
With a whoosh of air, Ginny and Imogen landed outside the Fidelius boundaries of the Burrow. They had landed uphill of the house, holding their respective suitcases, brooms, and, in Ginny's case, a cat carrier containing a seriously malcontent Dawn.
The countryside was covered in powdery snow and the small building in the distance was lit up like a Christmas tree itself. Imogen remarked on the latest addition, which made the haphazardly stacked building even taller.
"Every time someone gets engaged, they add another room," Ginny explained, referring to the happy news of Percy and John's impending nuptials. Imogen smiled and began walking towards the Burrow home.
Ahead of them, two figures had just reached the doorstep. "It looks like Hermione and Ron," Ginny decided, watching them enter the house. Sounds of indiscernible greetings and joy drifted toward them.
Imogen and Ginny continued their trek, which took about a half an hour. Ginny had explained years before that even with Voldemort's downfall, they kept up the protective charms, just in case and loyalists came around. Imogen sympathized. Her younger brother, who had inherited their parent's property, had done the same.
Finally, they arrived at the front door and were greeted as expected, with bone crushing hugs from Molly Weasley and less intense, but nonetheless appreciated embraces from Arthur, Hermione, Harry, Bill, and Gabrielle. A heavily pregnant Fleur grabbed each of their hands tenderly. "I cannot hug these days," she explained, rubbing her stomach gently. Ginny and Imogen laughed in response.
Ron stood aside from all the hugging, nervously holding his newborn daughter, Rose, looking as if he were afraid to drop her.
"The older kids, Victiore, Domi, and Ted, are all out playing in the garden, disturbing the gnomes no doubt," Arthur mentioned to Ginny, who was looking adoringly at her new niece.
"And everybody else should be along shortly!" Molly announced, clasping her hand together. "George and Angelina said they may be late though, they didn't get much sleep last night."
Ron chuckled, "Guess they're not as instinctually good at this newborn stuff as we are, eh 'Mione." He nudged his wife playfully.
Hermione turned to her with a look of light anger on her deep, golden brown face. "That's easy to say when I was the one who stayed up with her all night!" She rolled her eyes and looked to Harry, who was snickering in the corner.
Imogen broke ranks first, eager to clear from the doorway, lest any Weasleys slam into her upon arrival. She strode deeper into the sitting room and planted herself on the stool in front of the consistently out of tune piano. Outside the crooked window, she watched as Teddy Lupin, Harry's godson, kicked a gnome clear across the garden, his hair changing to a vibrant fire engine red as he did so.
Ginny, now holding a pacified Dawn, followed her lead. She rolled her eyes at the sight. "Boys," she remarked with a snort before sitting down.
Harry, noticing the women peering out the window, joined them. "I've never seen a kid so energetic," he explained, "I can't wait to get him on the Quidditch pitch later. I got him a broom as an early present."
Ginny giggled at the idea. "I bet Andromeda loved that."
"She did not," Harry responded with a smirk. He left them and moments later appeared outside, joining his godson in eradicating Molly's garden of gnomes. His wild, grown out mane of jet black hair bounced with each kick. Teddy, overjoyed with the interaction, made his hairstyle shift to match, though his was a shade of brilliant chartreuse.
Imogen glanced at Ginny, who was intently watching the scene. "He seems well," Imogen approached the topic carefully. Discussing Harry with Ginny was like playing with fire- fun until it's not. Sometimes she was happy to talk about her ex-fiance, eager to show off their mature friendship and platonic love. Other times, she was defensive. It was hard to tell until it was too late.
"Yes," Ginny agreed, appearing to be in a good mood, "Quitting the Auror program and going to teach at Hogwarts seems to have done him a lot of good." She looked through the window absentmindedly and Imogen thought it best to drop the subject while Ginny was still in good spirits.
The sound of the front door opening called their attention. The same ritual of hugging and greeting which was performed for them was now done for Percy and his fiance John. The two looked to be in good spirits, their faces beaming at the family surrounding them.
After hugging the two men, Imogen entered the kitchen, eager to get away from the noise. There she found Gabriell, Fleur, and Molly working diligently to prepare snacks for the crowd. "Is there anything I could do to help?" She had been quite skilled in her culinary classes at Beauxbatons, receiving top marks every year
She remembered her father's words upon seeing her third year scores "If only you could get the same scores in Arithmancy or Rune," he sighed, failing to hide his disappointment that Imogen would most likely not be some great scholar like her older brother had been.
"If you don't mind, dear," Molly turned her attention from the stove and called Imogen back to the present, "There is a recipe for canapes on the table, there." She motioned with her wooden spoon to the oak table in the center of the room. "All the ingredients are all somewhere in the kitchen, so a summoning charm should do the trick." Imogen took the recipe from the table and read it in its entirety.
Ingredients:
8 thin pancetta
25g parmesan cheese
120g creamy but sharp blue cheese
8 large dates, made from plums plucked on a full moon
Handful rocket leaves
Puff pastry
Honey to drizzle.
Dice pancetta, rocket, dates & cut pastry into small triangles (Conscidius fruxium will do)
Layer rocket, pancetta, dates, blue cheese, and parmesan onto pastry triangles
Coquus minimus or - maximus depending on preference
Her brow furrowed. "Conscidius fruxium," she thought to herself, racking her brain. "Molly," she called, "I've never seen this spell before."
"Which one, dear?" Molly responded in an absentminded manner that reminded Imogen strongly of Ginny when she was focused on something.
"Conscidius fruxium," she repeated the spell as it was written.
"Oh sorry, love," Molly turned to face her, "I should have mentioned. I came up with that one."
"The recipe?" Imogen inquired, still eyeing the card suspiciously.
"Yes, dear," Molly answered, turning back to the stove, "And the spell."
Even Fleur looked a little shocked. Developing spells was no easy task, and it was dangerous work. "You must be joking, belle-mère," Fleur looked to Molly in admiration. Gabrielle perked up from her work as well.
Molly sighed haughtily, "You French women think you're so ahead of the curve on household magic, don't you?" She returned to stirring the stew which would be served for dinner that evening.
"Elle a raison, hm?" Fleur murmured to Imogen with a sly smirk. Imogen couldn't help but blush, Fleur's usual veela charms, now coupled with the radiant glow of pregancy, made her more beautiful than ever.
"What's that dear?" Molly asked, her face turning a little pink, shooting her eyes from Fleur to Imogen and back.
"She said you are right," Imogen assured her, "We are an arrogant group." Molly relaxed into a smile. Imogen got to work, using Molly's invented spell to perfectly cut the ingredients without so much as creating a crumb. Imogen, amazed with this new spell, stood next to Molly, peering over her shoulder, as if she were to watch long enough, Molly would invent a new spell on the spot.
"You're hovering, Imogen," Molly peered back, over her shoulder. Her eyes, Imogen noted, were the exact same color as her daughter's.
"Do you have anymore?" Imogen asked eagerly, "Any other spells you've developed?"
"None that would be useful right now."
"But you have?"
"Yes, of course," Molly was becoming quickly exasperated, "You don't work as a housewife as long as I have without developing one or two of your own charms."
"So you have just a couple charms them?" Imogen's journalist instincts were kicking in, sensing that Molly was holding back. Fleur snickered over her work, amused that for once it was not she who was annoying the Weasley matriarch.
"Well, no," Molly sighed, giving up, "Probably around fifteen." Imogen, Gabrielle, and Fleur gasped in astonishment. "But they're all very simple tricks to do menial work. Nothing to write home about."
Imogen's mouth gaped. Fifteen housework charms. She had heard of extraordinary witches developing a charm that would go down in textbooks for years to come, but fifteen? Unheard of. "Molly," she exclaimed, "That is… étonnant!" She was at least at a loss for the English words necessary to convey her amazement.
"'Astonishing'," Fleur assisted with the translation this time. She chuckled and turned to Molly. "I suppose we French women have no room for arrogance any longer." This made Molly laugh heartily.
"You should write a book!" The words left Imogen's mouth without thought. They were instinctual but sincere. "Yes, Molly, you really should!"
"Pish, posh," Molly waved them off, but a twinkle in her eye let Imogen know that the seed was planted. "Get out of the kitchen if you're done with the canapes. You're a distraction, Imogen Lighthouse!"
Imogen put her hands up in defense. "Yes ma'am, but think about it. I know people in publishing who would sell their right arms to give you a book deal." It was true. Books had been written by witches and wizards who had developed one spell, let alone fifteen. It also didn't hurt that this woman was famously linked to Harry Potter. Imogen was sure she could get Molly Weasley a book deal.
She exited the kitchen, a spring in her step, so distracted that she didn't even notice the tall, copper headed man standing in her path. "Oh, sorry, Ron!" she blurted. Stepping back. it was clear that the figure she'd bumped into was not Ron afterall, but rather his older brother. "George, I mean," she muttered, peering into his bright brown eyes.
He stood in the entryway, his presence overshadowed by that of his newborn daughter, who was receiving the bulk of the welcoming attention. He still had his coat on and held both his and Angelina's suitcases in hand. "Just get in?" Imogen asked, embarrassed.
"Yeah, we were up all night and just a few minutes before we were about to come here, this one decided it was nap time," he nodded his head to Roxanne, who was wrapped sweetly in Angelina's arms.
"With a two week old, you take the nap times you can get," Angelina confirmed, "Wouldn't want to risk a disaparation waking her."
"There's my boy!" called out an enthusiastic Molly, who came traipsing into the foyer to hug the last of the family members who would arrive that day. "Hello Angelina! And Roxy! Where's little Freddie?"
Angelina and George shared knowing looks between each other. "Sorry, Molly," Angelina answered, "He couldn't wait to get outside to see his cousins." She nodded her head toward the back garden, where the sounds of yelling children emanated.
Molly waved her off with a smile. "I'll have to hug him later, then!" She turned and went back to her cooking in the kitchen.
Imogen nodded to them both and moved back into the sitting room. "Everyone's here," she informed her flatmate, who was staring intently out the window again.
Ginny turned her gaze to Imogen, a mischievous grin on her face. "Let's play then!" She rose from the stool and began to throw her long red hair into a messy ponytail. "Quidditch!" she bellowed, stirring Arthur from his nap on the couch.
George clasped his hand in excitement and Angelina rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same. "Here you are, grandpa," she said, placing Roxanne into the arms of the still sleepy Arthur, "I suppose we have a game to play."
"Are you up for it, love?" George asked, placing a hand on Angelina's back. She shot him a dirty look in return. Imogen and Ginny pretended not to notice.
"Have fun!" Percy chimed, rocking a baby Rose in his arms. John stood up, kissing Percy on the forehead.
John, Imogen, George, Angelina, and Ginny raced through the kitchen, brooms in hand, to the back garden, where Bill, Ron, Hermione, and Harry were already playing with the older kids.
"Quidditch?" Ron inquired excitedly. "Did someone grab our brooms?" Ginny tossed him his as an answer.
"Mine's right here!" Teddy squealed in excitement, running to fetch his Nimbus5000 that was leaning against the adults cheered him on as he rode it back to the group.
"Keepers pick?" Imogen suggested as she handed Harry his broom. "And should we switch up brooms? Mine and Ginny's are really nice."
"That's fine by me, but you and Ginny can't be on the same team," Ron replied, standing next to her as the opposing team's keeper.
"I want to play as well, Daddy" Victiore announced, tugging on Bill's coat.
"Me too," chirped Dominique.
"You're too young to play!" Victior shouted at her younger sister.
"No I am not!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Girls!" Bill bellowed, "Neither of you get to play if you're going to act like this." His daughters looked to him in distress. "Dom, you can play, but you are going to be my assistant." She nodded seriously and grabbed his hand. Imogen tossed him her second broom, which she'd used on the Holyhead Harpies, figuring he'd need all the support he could get if both he and Dom were to share it.
Imogen and Ron took turns picking terms. Imogen took Harry as Seeker, Ron picked Ginny. Before the match, they switched brooms with their respective counterparts in an effort to level the playing field. Ginny looked a bit sour to have to ride the outdated Firebolt that Harry was so fond of. Ron, on the other hand, was positively giddy on top of Imogen's handcrafted Italian broom, the Volantino IV, which she'd used as Keeper for the French National Team. The broom itself was also outdated, but it was at least from the present millenium.
Hermione, who had been reluctantly put in charge of both watching Freddie and acting as referee, blew the sounding whistle, and all ten brooms rose to the ground. Unlike at Hogwarts or in professional games, they only rose about twenty feet into the air. Teddy and Vic needed some assistance at first, but were soon flying just as well as John, who appeared to also be a novice.
"When was the last time you were on a broom, mate?!" George called out to John from the opposing side of the pitch..
"Erm," he shouted back, "I was a First year, I think!" This sent George into a fit of laughter.
Imogen took to her goal post, John and Bill with Domi perched carefully in front of him on his broom as her Chasers, Teddy as Beater, and Harry as Seeker. Ron, likewise flew to his post, with Victiore and Angelina as his Chasers, George as Beater, and Ginny as Seeker.
The players jeered and talked trash playfully at each other from across the pitch.
"Thanks for the broom, Im!" Ron called out, flying in easy, fluid circles.
"You know, Ron," she shouted back in reply, "I was on that broom when I beat Ireland in the 2000 World Cup! It was a close one, maybe you remember?" She mimicked his motions, spinning easily on his outdated broom. Even she would admit though, that it would have been a smoother motion on her own. Ron looked at the broom in disgust, making everyone bust out in laughter.
"Let's play!" Teddy roared, making everyone laugh even harder. With broad smiles, Harry and Ginny, closest to Hermione on the pitch, nodded to her.
Hermione looked around and uneasily blew a second whistle and the game was off.
Brooms weaved through each other, the riders on top all feeling some emotion on the spectrum from lighthearted playfulness to serious competitiveness. The Bludgers and Quaffles zoomed past, albeit slower than normal as Hermione had enchanted them to be safer for the children playing. The Snitch, however, whizzed through the field at full speed, Ginny and Harry neck and neck in pursuit of the elusive thing.
Imogen paced between her goals, keeping a watchful eye on Angelina and Victiore, the latter of whom was playing exceptionally well for her age. Luckily for her, Bill was quite good at this game, although he was slowed by the added weight of Domi on his broom. John, while a good sport, had not yet learned how to control his broom.
Cheers erupted from the ground where Percy and Fleur had arrived next to Hermione to watch the show. Fleur had hold of Freddie's hand and Hermione looked relieved to only have one job.
Imogen watched as Teddy, with the full force of his small body, hit a Bludger right at his aunt Angelina, who had gained possession of a Quaffle. The ball, which Hermione had also enchanted to be as light as a pillow on impact, landed straight in her face. George, taking note of this, dived next to her.
"Alright?" he asked, stroking her face midair.
"Would be if my Beater was around, wouldn't I?" She flew off abruptly. Imogen averted her eyes from the melodrama.
"Hermione!" Ron whined from the goal post, "That's a foul! You have to call those kinds of things!"
Hermione threw up her arms and cried back defensively, "If only you'd given me a rule book or something, Ronald! I have no idea what is or is not a foul!"
Ron threw his head back in exasperation before returning his focus to the game. Imogen laughed at the exchange, secure in the knowledge that there would be no actual referreement to speak of.
Vic, to everyone's astonishment, had gained control of a Quaffle, and was zooming through the air, her father and sister flying next to her. Bill was being more supportive than competitive, despite Vic's position on the opposing team.
"C'mon Vic!" He shouted excitedly, "Don't let me get that from you! That's it! Get close enough and chuck it in the goal. I can still intercept it if you're too far out. Try to surprise Imogen, don't give her time to block it! You've got it!" Fleur cheered on encouragingly from the sides.
Vic swerved to the goalpost and Imogen knew in an instant which post she was aiming for. Just as she threw it into the left post, Imogen swerved to the right, hopefully convincingly acting as if Vic pulled a fast one on her.
"Damn!" Imogen shouted, before covering her mouth sheepishly, "Good one, Vic!" She returned to the center position.
The game carried out much the same. None of the adults tried too hard, except for Ginny and Harry, who were arguably the only one truly playing. Victiore was proving herself to be a natural Chaser, to the point that Bill stopped coaching her halfway through the match. Teddy, though enthusiastic, had trouble aiming his softball Bludgers, sending them into the small crowd on the ground a couple of times. John, still figuring out his broom, managed to score a point, resulting in the most surprised and thunderous applause from the group. Domi, midway, decided she wanted to be with her mum rather than play. Ron looked utterly bored at his post, only lighting up when Bill came with the Quaffle. George and Angelina, Imogen noticed, had not talked to each other since the Bludger incident.
"I've got it!" Harry called triumphantly! "I've got the snitch!" He tore to the ground, landing and proudly hoisting the small golden ball into the air for his team to see. His team erupted in celebration, while Ginny's reluctantly clapped in the name of good sportsmanship.
Imogen landed and clasped his arm. "Well done, Harry!"
Ginny rolled her eyes, "I'll take my broom back, then." She snatched it from Harry's grasp. George snickered, knowing his sister to be a sore loser.
Angelina dismounted and thrust her broom at her husband before storming back in the house. George's smile faltered before quickly returning. "C'mon Freddie," he chuckled, trading Hermione his and Angelina's brooms for his son, who had made her way back into her arms toward the end of the match., "Mum's always more likely to accept an apology when she's looking at your cute little face." He turned to face Bill and Ron, "That's free parenting advice, right there, brothers, better take it!" Ron and Bill snickered as they watched him follow his wife into the house.
"I'm sure Angelina is just tired," Hermione reasoned, eyeing the brooms in her hands with dissatisfaction, "I can't imagine playing Quidditch so soon after giving birth." Fleur nodded in agreement. Hermione, who had given birth to Rose only four weeks ago, instinctively clutched her stomach. "On the subject, Percy, where is my child?"
Percy chuckled nervously, "In with mum. Dad has Roxanne."
"All sorted then," Ron nodded at Hermione, "Another game?" Hermione looked back at him miserably.
"I think not," Bill threw his hand around Ron's shoulders, "Let's go in and get warm. I bet it's almost time for dinner."
With murmurs of the agreement, the large party clambered into the house through the kitchen door. Molly looked at them with mocking disappointment as they tracked in the muck from outside.
Just as Bill had suspected, dinner was soon after served. Beef and vegetable soup with canapes on the side satiated the tired players and warmed them up from head to toe. Molly looked on, please with her work.
Imogen sat next to Hermione, who appeared to be enjoying the meal despite her concerned glances down the table, where Arthur was attempting to feed Rose a bottle. "He looks like he's done this before," Imogen commented, following her gaze.
"What?" Hermione started, "Oh, yes. I suppose he probably has, hasn't he? Although I'm willing to bet Molly rarely used a bottle." She said the last bit in a low whisper, a hint of bitterness in her tone.
"She probably came up with a spell to feed all of them without lifting a finger," Imogen responded, but Hermione appeared to not hear her, distracted, again, by Arthur's movements.
Turning her attention elsewhere, she noticed that George and Angelina were sitting next to each other and any quarrel they'd had was put behind them. Next to Angelina, Freddie sat in his highchair and played with his chopped up stew in delight. Imogen smiled at the young boy, content to smear the meat and vegetables about the tray and himself without care.
Imogen cast her eyes on every member of the table at some point in the evening, observing them and their interactions with each other. She waxed poetic about their inner dialogues, attempted to read their lips, and smiled when they laughed. Stuck between a thoroughly distracted Hermione and Percy, who was too enchanted by John to notice her, Imogen had not much else to do.
She smiled at her cleared plate as Molly whisked it away with a flick of her wand. Imogen knew that charm. "Still", she wondered, "what other charms and spells did Molly Weasley develop?" With little time to dwell on the answer, the family all stood, filing into the sitting room for tea and desserts by the fire.
Imogen stood next to Harry, tea cup in her hand. She typically sought out Harry in these events. Neither of them were related by blood or marriage, to anyone in this room, yet neither truly felt like and outcast. Still, she found solitude with Harry, even if they rarely spoke to each other. They were two orphans, unofficially adopted by this family that seemed to never stop growing.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," Imogen said quietly, raising her glass.
"Happy Christmas, Imogen," he met her glass with his own in a quiet "cheers!"