Surprisingly, I've been organised enough to write something seasonally appropriate. Also surprisingly for me, this chapter is fluffy, and it's a song fic. Did you know there are three different versions of this song? The writer had to change it twice because first Judy Garland and then Frank Sinatra said it was too depressing. The version I've used here is the middle version, sung by Garland in Meet Me in Saint Louis.

A Christmas Chapter

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,

Let your heart be light,

Next year all our troubles will be out of sight

It's the evening of Christmas Day. They've spent the day at the Burrow- Mum, too, and Tonks is pretty sure that even Fred and George found her intimidating. It's easy to forget, when it's your own mother, just how scary she can seem. The Weasleys have spent the last year rolling their eyes at Molly's dislike to Fleur, although now they've met Mum they might realise that trying to get her to accept Remus has been fifty thousand times more difficult than getting Mrs Weasley to put up with Fleur. Bill and Fleur had been noticeably absent from today's Christmas Dinner. Ginny told Tonks that they wanted to have their first married Christmas alone.

"Bet they're spending all day sucking each other's faces off," she'd said, rolling her eyes, "Their mouths'll probably be too busy to even eat,"

"French cooking, though," Tonks pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's Christmas. You're not supposed to eat croquettes or croissants or whatever on Christmas Day,"

"Fair point,"

"I'm glad you two are here instead," Ginny said.

"Aw, thanks," Tonks said, ruffling Ginny's hair. The noise and cosiness of the Burrow was brilliant, but she felt slightly envious of Bill and Fleur having Christmas alone together, especially since this was going to be the last Christmas she and Remus would have before Spudge arrived. It would also be the first Christmas they'd have together at all. That's a strange thought, because it seems like they've known each other for years, and that their relationship and all the drama that's come with it has been going on for ages. A fortnight ago Remus had been asking what Tonks wanted for her birthday, and he'd mumbled that hadn't bought her a present before. Tonks assured him that that was fine and he didn't need to buy her anything, ever. But it felt strange that this was actualy his first reason to need to buy her a present.

Perhaps Mum sensed that they wanted some space tonight, too, because when the three of them got back home an hour ago, she announced that she was going upstairs for a lie down. Once Mum left the room, Remus had sat down on the settee and Tonks snuggled up to him. Since she wasn't drinking, Remus said that he wouldn't either today, but Tonks and the Weasley twins had persuaded him into it. As a result, he's tipsy now, which means he's even more adorable than usual. He's been cute and smiling and affectionate all day. Now, she's leaning against his shoulder while he strokes her face and hair with one hand and rubs the bump with the other. His fingers have been getting slower and Tonks suspects he might be falling asleep, which would be lovely, because she misses falling asleep with him.

Just as she's thinking that though, Remus sits up abruptly and says, "Dance with me,"

He doesn't give her time to answer, instead jumping to his feet and holding his hand out. Tonks wasn't expecting that, but she grins back and lets him pull her up. He flicks his wand at the record player, which still has the record he was playing last night in it. It's a Muggle carol service. Oxford or Canterbury or somewhere, little boys with squeaky voices singing hymns at a pace of two beats per minute. Tonks reckons it's dreary, but her husband loves it. She suspects he'd have liked to have been in a church choir, although that was never going to happen and obviously Remus would never admit that he'd wanted to. He puts one arm around her waist, pulling her as close as he can (the bump makes that not as close as she'd like), holds the other hand in his against his chest, and sways her to the beat of the hymn. Tonks is hesitant to say so out loud, but she likes that dancing lets him lead her and hold her and be bigger than her. She likes him holding her like this. Often, because she likes protecting him and taking care of him and because he can be such a girl, Tonks feels kind of blokey with him. Which usually she doesn't mind, but it's nice to let him play the proper male role once in a while.

Remus is good at dancing. It's one of the many random and unexpected skills he has: drawing, DIY, using computers, speaking Spanish. She likes how he's always surprising her with knowledge or expertise like that. Occasionally, he'll look proud or even slightly cocky when he fixes the leak in the shower or says, "parto en el agua". Few things make Tonks happier than when her husband looks pleased with himself. When he genuinely looks as if he likes himself. She might be giving herself undue credit, but Tonks is sure she sees that look more often on his face these days.

Outwardly, Remus is a placid person, so sometimes it can be hard to tell if he's placid on the inside. Tonks has been working on how to read that in him, and he's been trying to get better at telling her when he's anxious or agitated. Considering that she's the one growing a human being inside her, and that he's, well, older (Tonks cannot help rolling her eyes at the thought of this word), perhaps it's strange that he's the one changing. In Tonks' opinion, change is good. That's kind of inevitable when you can change your own appearance, though she knows that in Remus' life, change has usually been bad news. It's no wonder then that he's hesitant about change, and needs time to get used to it. And he's been proved right, since a lot of the changes in their world the last few months have been catastrophic ones. Since the Death Eater coup in August there's been a seismic shift in what counts as normal and safe. What counts as life, really. But right now, with her husband holding her, and the gentle pressure of the growing baby on her stomach, the smell of the Christmas tree and the mulled wine Remus has been drinking, and the fairy lights twinkling around them, Tonks wishes they could stay like this, her and him together, and never, ever change.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,

Make the yuletide gay,

Next year all our troubles will be miles away

His heart is fluttering so hard that he's sure Tonks must be able to feel it. He'd holding her and they dance slowly beside the Christmas tree. She's got her eyes shut as she rubs her face against his cheek (Remus hasn't worn facial hair for years, but she'd remarked a couple of times that she thought he'd look handsome with it, so he's trialling growing some stubble over Christmas. It's itchy and he can already tell that he'll have to shave it off when it gets wispy enough to feel like fur on his face. But for the moment it feels alright, and the light friction of his wife's face on it makes his stomach growl pleasurably). It's been a wearying day (Christmas always is, Remus reckons, though he knows Tonks disagrees) and he can tell that now she is tired and relaxed. He hopes he's been getting better at relaxing lately too, though right now he feels only utter thrill.

There were perhaps eight or nine days in total when Remus enjoyed being a newlywed, interspersed by days of despair, and abruptly cut short by the pregnancy news, Mad-Eye's death and the fall of the Ministry. What followed was a fortnight of arguing, and then the biggest mistake he's ever made in his life. By some miracle his wife forgave him. Dora tells him that he should stop claiming that he doesn't deserve her, but how can he not think that now, after she let him back when he tried to abandon her and the baby? Everything he knew she was already- kind, patient, understanding, selfless- proved to be a thousand times truer over those weeks in August after he returned. She took him back into her home and listened when he wanted to talk. She helped him understand where all his panic had come from, and how they could get through it, together. Sometimes he supposes he's getting better, and when he isn't, Tonks is there gripping his hand and rubbing his shoulders. Remus is happier to let her do that these days. He might have just about got his head around the idea that whatever their marriage and child will bring down on them, she wants it brought down on her. She wants him. Tonks been telling him that for years though it's only now that Remus is starting to believe her. 'Starting' being the operative word.

Acknowledging all this makes him feel warm and content. Remus hasn't had the headspace to consider it deeply much lately. When he has, it's been in statement form: "She's amazing", "She's so special", "I am the most fortunate man on this planet". Given all that's been happening, everyone has been pre-occupied concentrating on Order work. To resist the Ministry coup and Hogwarts upheavals would be a suicide mission, so the Order's purpose is now protecting the information they have and gathering new intel. Remus' stomach flips so often at hearing a new piece of information, or news of an attack, a supposed sighting of Harry or Ted, that it's stopped flipping around his wife. His heart beats harder so much out of fear these days that it doesn't beat harder out of love much more. Or perhaps he's being dramatic. Perhaps this would have happened anyway and is a normal part of relationships. Given the upheaval of what went on between him and his now-wife before, perhaps it's expected that settling down to domesticity is a jolt back to reality. Living together means he sees her and talks to Tonks every day, so the thrill of their relationship the first time around has faded.

Today, though, it's been different. Remus has felt butterflies every time she's looked at him, and his mind keeps wandering away to thoughts about why she's so incredible and how accommodating she's been lately. At three o'clock this morning Tonks crept into his bedroom, elbowed him and whispered, "Merry Christmas, husband," over and over in his ear until he woke up properly, then announced she had an early present for him.

"Early as in the middle of the night?" Remus had yawned, grimacing at the brightness of her hair, which had turned a glowing orange colour in her sleep. Her birthday had been on Monday, and he didn't have enough money to buy her a birthday present, a Christmas present, and a bonus "early" Christmas present.

She beamed at him, which made his stomach flip and his skin break out in goosebumps where she was touching him. Those joyful physical reactions to her have continued all day, making him embarrassed and elated in equal measure. (The early Christmas present was wrapped in garish wrapping paper, and Dora shoved the parcel at him, drumming her fingers over the baby bump in anticipation. When Remus opened the parcel, he found it contained pair of boxers with World's Sexiest Husband printed on, and a pair of socks emblazoned with World's Best Daddy.

"Will you wear them tomorrow?" Tonks had asked, glowing. She was so enthusiastic and earnest and full of love for him, that Remus couldn't help laughing.

"Of course I will. Happy Christmas,"

"Merry Christmas,"

He'd kissed her, and she'd climbed under the covers to cuddle for a while, before sighing that she should get back to her mother's bedroom before Andromeda woke up and wondered where she'd got to. When Tonks had kissed him goodbye and left, Remus burst out laughing again, wondering how on Earth he had met somebody like her). At the Burrow, Remus knew that he was sounding more amused than anybody else when she made jokes or did something daft. Usually he doesn't want to touch her in front of other people, but today he had wanted to, and he needed to keep reminding himself that he shouldn't. And then he balked at how not touching his wife in public had gone from don't to can't to shouldn't.

There's no-one watching now, so her wraps his arm further round Tonks' waist and pulls her closer, so that the bump is pressing against his stomach. He likes that, and he likes touching her waist and hips to explore the weight she's put on there. It proves that this child exists. It's growing inside her and will be making its appearance in the Spring. It's actually going to happen, a real baby, their baby. His baby. His blood, with all the horror which that brings. Remus is learning to live with the idea that Tonks wants him and whatever a future will bring with him, although he's still wracked with guilt and panic about what he might have done to the child. Tonks had a choice. The child did not. Dora keeps insisting that it won't be a werewolf. Lycanthropic reproduction has become her specialist subject these last few months, and she keeps showing Remus questionably-sourced articles regarding werewolf offspring. He supposes that this obsessive research and hyperfocus must have been what she was like at school. She's always telling him anecdotes from when she was at Hogwarts, but she rarely mentions actual schoolwork or exams. Considering how much she loves (loved) her job, it used to surprise Remus that Tonks doesn't talk about the effort, dedication and stress it took her to get into Auror training, let alone pass. She was accepted straight from school, the youngest person in seven years, and nobody else has been accepted since. Despite how much she likes showing off, she doesn't bring that up often. Perhaps she reckons that talking about how she had to work for it make her look uncool or nerdy, too much like Hermione Granger (there is, however, a Hermione-ish-ness in the way Tonks' research is a desperation to be proved right). The Blacks, Remus knows well, are always able to balance intelligence with seeming cool. He has never known how to manage that, and it's a relief that at his age it's no longer important.

Remus reads the werewolf baby articles she finds, though only so as not to hurt her feelings. He doesn't trust what any of Tonks' research claims. He cannot escape the belief that he has inflicted the worst of himself onto his baby. He doesn't want to deny it, either. Why deny the inevitable? Why lie to himself? It'll only cause him more pain when the baby is born like him.

Remus feels dread about his child being born a werewolf, but not about his child being born. He's learning to separate the two ideas in his head and, werewolf aside, the can't wait to be a parent. To be one of those men who push the pram and change nappies and all the other stuff Mr Weasley has explained to him in cheerful detail. At Christmas Dinner this afternoon, Arthur tried to describe the Muggle bottle-cleaning contraption he obtained from a questionable source when the twins were babies. Remus hadn't understood what Mr Weasley was talking about, and Arthur enthusiastically promised to get the equipment out from the cellar next times Remus comes over. Over the last few months, Molly and Arthur have been full of ideas and advice and promises of donated baby clothes. Molly has shown Remus a batch of babygrows and knitted cardigans, and it was strange and lovely to imagine them being worn by the child he has created with Tonks. Remus hopes it's more like her than him.

Right now, the fingers on Tonks' left hand are stroking his neck, skimming from his collar to his hair. It makes him imagine the tininess and the strength of baby fingers, and how his baby is growing fingers right now, inside his wife, in the bump which is pressing against his stomach. The whole thing is exciting and bizarre, like Tonks waking him up in the middle of the night to give him an early Christmas present (he kept his promise, and is wearing the socks and boxers now). Remus has to bite his lip to stop himself bursting into laughter again.

Once again as in olden days,

Happy golden days of yore.

Faithful friends who are dear to us,

Will be near to us once more.

Andromeda pretended to be tired. A few years ago, her daughter would have scoffed, "What? You don't get tired, Mum," but this year Nymphadora was too wrapped up in her husband to notice. Andromeda went up to her bedroom and lay down on her bed. The bed she used to share with her husband, and now shares with her daughter. Andromeda is still there now, ruminating about how different this Christmas has been from every other Christmas Day she's ever known. She remembers childhood Christmases playing with Bella and Cissy, arguing about decorating the Christmas tree, and wriggling on Grandmama Rosier's knee while Grandpapa read them stories. As they got older, Christmases became more fraught. Firstly as Cissy grew beautiful and Bella grew capable, and Andy found herself the unremarkable one. She'd wake up early on Christmas morning to do her make-up, in the hope that her grandparents would mention how she looked, instead of cooing over Cissy's long eyelashes and dainty bone structure. Andy would rehearse with insights and one-liners in advance, though her wisecracks never went down as well as Bella's did. She'd often find herself starting a game of Exploding Snap with Sirius. At least she'd always be his favourite. And as she grew older still, Andy began to feel more uneasy about her family's beliefs. The adult conversations around the Christmas Dinner table weren't boring anymore. They were disconcerting, all the more so when Bellatrix joined in the discussion with thrill and relish in her tone. As the years went on, Exploding Snap with Sirius became more than a distraction- it became an escape. And then Ted happened, and being away from him at Christmas was an ache, though not as painful as having to listen to the beliefs Andromeda's family had about people like Ted, and how the Blacks stated them as fact. There came a point when that was too painful, and Exploding Snap was not enough of an escape. Andromeda knew that she would have to escape for real.

Christmas with Ted's family was different to Christmas with Mother and Father and Andy's sisters. It was rowdier and more disorganised. During Christmas Dinner, Ted's father would keep dashing into the kitchen to check on the next course. Ted's sister would pop upstairs to change her outfit. The telephone would ring and his mother go to would answer it. His brother would sneak off for cigarettes. In the Black family, everybody sat down to Christmas Dinner and did not stand up again until the house-elves had cleared away the pudding, so the constant wanderings in and out of the Tonks family seemed rude. It jarred Andromeda. When Nymphadora was small, the noise and attention and the copious amounts of sweets consumed would make her over-excited, which would eventually lead to her having a strop. Andromeda's parents would have sent her to her room for throwing a tantrum on Christmas Day, though Ted's family would roll their eyes at Nymphadora and go back to bickering about which film to watch on their television. It took Andromeda more years than she'd like to admit, to get used to the freedom Christmas with Ted's family. When Nymphadora was older, her cousins (who has been born and grown into small children by that time) would be fascinated by her morphing abilities and her stories of boarding school, toads and potions lessons. Andromeda had never spoken to Muggle children before and was equally interested in her nieces and nephews' experiences of primary school. Ted once took her to see his nephew's nativity play, and they always visited the Christmas fete, where his sister had the job of running the tombola. Sometimes they went to a church service, even though Ted wasn't religious and Andromeda barely understood what any of it meant.

Today, the Burrow had been as chaotic as Christmas was with Ted's family. Molly fussing and bossing as usual, Arthur blundering in a way which was both sweet and irritating, and those infernal twins cracking jokes and playing tricks. Remus had taught all the children at Hogwarts, and Nymphadora was very friendly with Molly's only daughter, so despite the Weasley's best efforts, Andromeda had felt out-of-place. She'd been an extra part, like she had as a teenager when standing between Bella and Cissy. Once they'd got home tonight, Andromeda had felt that even more, and knew that she'd rather be alone upstairs than with Nymphadora and Remus. They are not the type of couple whom it is excruciating to be around (everybody at the Burrow had grumbled that Molly's oldest son and his wife were such a couple, and all the Weasleys were relieved that they hadn't attended), although seeing one's daughter so infatuated cannot help but be an uncomfortable experience. In some ways, Andromeda's memories of falling for Ted seem as if they could have been last year, though the fact that it's her daughter now flushed and beaming with love shows bluntly that it is decades since Andromeda was first fell in love. She'll become a grandmother in the new year. Andromeda stares up at the ceiling and says the statement again to herself: I am going to be a grandmother. I will have a grandchild. How in Merlin's name has she got this old? How has so much of her life gone by? When Andromeda was a child Grandmama Rosier seemed ancient.

Moreover, there's revulsion that the man whom Andromeda's daughter is in love with, married to and expecting a child with, is a werewolf. He is a danger to Andromeda's family and he always will be. Andromeda is still guilty that she let this happen. She should have seen more and asked more. When Nymphadora was withdrawn and unhappy all those months, Andromeda accepted the explanation that she was upset about Sirius dying. Andromeda was so sad about it herself that she projected the sadness onto her daughter. Now, she could kick herself for not pushing further. Or maybe she could have acted even earlier. She was never hugely interested in who Nymphadora was going out with, so she could have taken a leaf out of Molly Weasley's book and stuck her nose in more. Nymphadora was usually irritated at Andromeda for something, so being cross at her for interfering in her love life would just be another item on a long list. Andromeda could have coped with her daughter calling her an interfering old fool if it would have kept her safe and happy and away from men who turned into monsters every month.

Ted was more sympathetic towards Remus. Perhaps he saw some of himself in him, which Andromeda would like to scoff is ridiculous. Being a Muggle-born is not the same as being a werewolf. But Ted's the sympathetic type. Andromeda's always liked that about him. In his absence, therefore, she's been attempting to give Remus the occasional chance. Chance to do what, Andromeda can't say.

Nymphadora had told Ted about Remus months before she told Andromeda. Andromeda only found out about it all after they'd got engaged. Perhaps Nymphadora was pregnant by then, too. Andromeda feels betrayed by that, though there was so much to process when her daughter announced that she was marrying a werewolf, that she hadn't had been particularly angry at Ted. She's grateful for that now. She's missed her husband more than ever these last few weeks. Will he know it's Christmas day today? He probably won't have eaten a Christmas Dinner. Will he have eaten at all? Is he lying awake now, thinking of her? Where?

Andromeda does not know the answers.

She rolls off the bed, deciding to make herself a cup of tea (probably laced, she admits to herself). It's hardly late, not even nine o'clock yet. Andromeda heads downstairs and, noticing that the living room door is still open, she finds herself unable not to look in. Nymphadora has her back to the door, with Remus' arms around her back, holding her close. For a few weeks, Andromeda's first thought upon seeing them hold each other like this would be to snap at Remus to get his filthy werewolf claws off her daughter. However, she finds herself acknowledging that this is a moment of tenderness and togetherness. Their faces are pressed beside one another's. That Muggle carol record Remus played for them last night is playing in the background. Andromeda can't help but sense a prickle of jealousy again.

And then Remus opens his eyes. Andromeda doesn't know if he heard her there, or if this is merely coincidence. His gaze locks onto hers and for a moment, they stare at each other. Then, Remus looks away, whispers a couple of words into Nymphadora's ear and presses a kiss to the side of her face. Andromeda has hardly ever seen him kiss her before. For a moment she's perplexed, and for another she suspects he's taunting her, but then Remus prises Nymphadora out of his arms, moves around her and steps towards Andromeda. He holds his hand out to her. Andromeda looks back into his eyes and he cocks his head in a well, aren't you? gesture, as if puzzled by her hesitancy. His puzzlement is even more puzzling, and Andromeda finds herself taking his hand. Months ago, she let Remus touch her face, but she has never felt his long, bony fingers against hers. They are nothing like a werewolf's claws. Remus pulls her over towards the tree and puts his hand on her waist, and Andromeda realises that he is dancing with her. Her first instinct is to shrink away from him, but when he lifts her hand up against his chest and sways her gently, she finds she doesn't want to. Being here feels…nice. Just nice. That's embarrassing to admit, and Andromeda daren't glance round to look at her daughter, whose face will surely be a mixture of questioning and pleased. Much like Andromeda's own, she supposes.

Remus doesn't hold Andromeda any closer, and the distance is as comforting as the contact. Andromeda sighs, more in fatigue than in happiness. Christmas is a time for family, and she has lost two of those. She left her first family- Mother, Father, Bella and Cissy- for the second family of Ted and Nymphadora, although now Ted has gone too. Her husband is on the run and her daughter has grown up and chosen an unpredictable, frightening life which no parent would wish for their child. But, Andromeda thinks, this is still a family. Nymphadora moved back home after Ted left, so Andromeda has seen more of her daughter this Autumn than she has since before Nymphadora went to school. They have always been more similar than either would like to admit, and Andromeda can almost understand why her daughter has made the choices she has. In some ways, therefore, that's a part of her family which has come back to her. Then there's Andromeda's son-in-law, whom she cannot forgive yet, and cannot trust, but who seems to be trying, and growing, and perhaps does love Nymphadora after all. And then there's the baby, arriving in the Spring, making Andromeda a grandmother. She does not like babies. She does not like children. She barely likes this child's father. But she will love the child. She loves it already, despite everything. This new family of three and a half are together for now, and Andromeda's infuriating, complicated son-in-law is dancing with her by the Christmas tree. And, Andromeda acknowledges, isn't that what Christmas is all about?

Someday soon we all will be together,

If the fates allow.

Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow,

So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.


Thank you for reading. I hope you liked this chapter. Thank you so much for all you views, favourites and reviews over this year. It's humbling that so many people read my work, especially those who leave feedback. I am grateful for all of you. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.