There were already raised voices coming from the dining room by the time Harry got back downstairs. He grimaced; he'd been so busy thinking about his own discomfort that he'd forgotten that the Weasleys might be angry, too.

"Like hell I'll be courteous, Mum," George shouted. "What were you thinking, inviting him here-"

Harry sighed and cast a silencing charm on the door before pushing it open. He didn't know why, but he didn't particularly want Malfoy to have to hear this. They should at least say it all to Malfoy's face, he thought—not that he, Harry, had ever done so.

Inside, he slipped into a chair beside Hermione, who grimaced at him. "It's a nightmare," she whispered. "What was Molly thinking ?"

Harry glanced around the table. "Where are Andromeda and Teddy?" he whispered back.

"Andromeda took him and Victoire to bed after you and Malfoy left, thank Merlin." Harry nodded gratefully; Andromeda and the children didn't need to hear any of this.

"Don't talk to your mother that way," Mr. Weasley was saying to George. "Though, Molly, perhaps he has a point. The war wasn't all that long ago. Old wounds take a long time to heal."

Mrs. Weasley's face reddened; with anger or remorse, Harry couldn't tell. Across the table, Charlie met his gaze wearily, and Harry raised his eyebrows in grim solidarity at the whole thing, even though guilt was beginning to fester in his stomach. He'd slept with Malfoy just three days ago, offered him a drink in his own home. He didn't even want to know what George and Hermione would say about that.

Wine? Charlie mouthed at him. He nodded gratefully, and Charlie slid a glass across the table. Charlie loathed family drama, and for once, Harry couldn't blame him. A trip to Romania was sounding pretty good right about now.

"Dad's right," George said loudly. "I know you and Andromeda are chummy now, Mum, but Malfoy was a Death Eater! He almost killed Ron —"

"Not on purpose." Ron said quietly, to Harry's surprise.

George glared at him. "Oh, my mistake, Ron. He was only trying to kill Dumbledore." He turned back to his mother. "The war's never going to be over, Mum. I lost my fucking ear, Bill's disfigured— "

"Thanks, George," Bill said drily. Next to him, Fleur's face was even paler than usually; she put a hand on Bill's arm but didn't say a word.

"—and Tonks and Lupin—and Merlin, Mum, Fred —" George's face had gone red and splotchy under his hair. Harry looked down, his own ears reddening. It had been easy to detach himself from Malfoy before, when it was just the two of them, drunk, fumbling around in the darkness. But here, faced with Fred's empty chair and George's anger, it was something else. A deep shame crept over him for all he'd done.

"George," Charlie said softly. "Please." A silence fell over the table. Next to Harry, Hermione looked down at her lap; Ron reached over and took her hand, his own face red, too.

"Do you think I don't know that?" Molly said at last. "Do you think I don't know that my own son is dead ?" She stared at George, who looked back at her defiantly. "Draco Malfoy was just a boy, same as the rest of you. His mother kicked him out, do you know that? She told him not to come home for Christmas, never to come home again. After all he did for them! His own mother ."

Harry thought suddenly of Wednesday night, the parchment Malfoy had folded carefully into his pocket. Don't ask about my mother, Potter, he'd snapped. The guilt in Harry's stomach eased, but only slightly. Regardless of what Malfoy's family life was like, he was still a git. Always had been.

The room fell silent; George got to his feet and left, slamming the door behind him.

There were tears in Molly's eyes when Harry finally looked up. "You don't have to like him." she said at last. "You don't have to be friends with him. But he's Andromeda's family, and he deserves to have a home for Christmas."

An hour later, Harry was sitting in the living room with Charlie, Ron, and Hermione. The rest of the family had gone to bed, an uneasy truce reached after Molly's final proclamation.

It was the time of night when Harry and Charlie normally might have snuck away from the rest of them, bottle of wine in hand. But with Malfoy upstairs they had nowhere to go. Charlie exchanged a glance with him and Harry knew that he was thinking the same thing.

"George does have a point," Hermione said quietly. "I mean, Malfoy probably has changed, but the war wasn't that long ago, and he was awful to all of us. He did a lot of awful things."

"Teddy likes him, though," Ron pointed out. "And Andromeda. That has to count for something."

Harry felt another pang at this, though whether it was jealousy or something else, he wasn't sure. Teddy did seem to like Malfoy, oddly enough. But then again, Teddy was six years old. He liked everyone.

"I wondered why Malfoy didn't come back down," Hermione said. "I hope he didn't hear any of what George was saying. Even if he deserves it."

"He didn't," Harry said. "He was unpacking, and I—I cast a silencing charm on the kitchen door before I came in." The others looked at him in surprise. "I just—I guess I felt that he should hear it said to his face, you know? If it's got to be said. It's—it's Christmas." Hermione reached over and gave his arm a squeeze.

"Remember what Neville said the other day?" she said thoughtfully. "That Malfoy's nicer than he used to be. He said that he apologized for everything he'd done." They all fell silent at this. Harry turned it all over in his mind. He still couldn't imagine it, Malfoy apologizing.

"Mum should have warned us, though. Even if he's not as bad as he used to be," said Ron after a moment, and they all nodded in agreement at that.

It was close to midnight when they finally turned in, Charlie following Harry up the stairs.

"Sorry about our plan," Harry told him. "Guess you won't be visiting tonight after all."

Charlie laughed. "Are you sure? Maybe Malfoy'd be into that sort of thing." Harry felt his face flush in the darkness, glad that Charlie couldn't see his face. That was an image he really shouldn't think about.

"Night, Charlie," he said after a moment. There was a long pause, in which Harry thought Charlie might kiss him, but didn't.

"Goodnight."

Upstairs, the light was off in the small bedroom he shared with Malfoy. Harry tiptoed in carefully, but Malfoy rolled over when he shut the door.

"They're angry, aren't they?" he said aloud in the darkness. "The Weasleys." Harry tripped over his shoes in surprise.

"Damn," he muttered. "Er—yes, I suppose so. Not all of them though—but yeah, some."

"I told Andromeda they would be," Malfoy said with a sigh. Harry heard him rustling around and wondered, quite accidentally, what Malfoy was wearing to sleep in these days. Stop it, he chastised himself. That thing between you and Malfoy is never happening again. "She thought it'd be over," Malfoy went on. "Thought I should come."

Harry didn't say anything. In the darkness, he changed into his pajamas and got into bed.

Neither of them spoke for a while. "Are you angry?" Malfoy said at last, just as Harry was about to drift off to sleep.

Harry sighed. "I don't know," he said honestly, and Malfoy didn't respond.

Yes, the thing between them had to be over, Harry thought with certainty. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, and there was no way they could come back from all of this.