A/N: Essentially, what you recognize belongs to the goddess that is J.K. Rowling, and what you don't belongs to lil' ol' me.
That Christmas break, both the Weasleys and Genevieve had gone home, though Genevieve and her father were invited to join the Weasleys at the Burrow for Christmas Day, an invitation they graciously accepted.
Genevieve had spent the first night home regaling her dad with tales of her and the twins' antics, of Charlie's determination to make her like animals, and of her classes. Her father had been delighted to hear that she was happy at Hogwarts and once even said, "Your mother would have loved to see this. She would be so, so proud of you."
Genevieve stopped blabbering, hugged her father, and said, "I know." In all honesty, it could be hard to miss someone she'd hardly remembered. But with her father's stories and her own fuzzy memories, sometimes it felt as though she was right there with them, and that was when it hurt the most.
Christmas Day came with much anticipation. Genevieve had given her father a hand-knitted (okay, magic-knitted) scarf, which he loved, and she was planning on giving the twins a fresh supply of dung bombs among other joke materials, and for Charlie she had bought a miniature broomstick, which operated as though it were full size.
When they arrived, they were greeted by many hugs and introductions. Genevieve met Ron, who would be attending Hogwarts her third year, and Ginny, who would follow the year after. She especially liked Ginny, noticing the girl's spirited nature.
The twins gave her a book with great ideas for future pranks, which she would pore over later, and Mrs. Weasley had knitted Genevieve her own jumper, which was adorned with a cursive 'G'. It was easily her favorite piece of clothing.
Charlie, however, took her into another room for her present. "I figured, for the sake of you overcoming your phobia, I'd get you a pet of your own. Something nice and gentle." He opened the door to a small room, where, nestled in a bed of blankets, lay a small, snow-white kitten.
Genevieve's heart melted. How could she possibly fear anything like this? "Aw, thank you so much!" She hugged Charlie tight before tentatively petting the kitten, whom she, with Charlie's advice, decided to name 'Snowflake'. The kitten took a liking to her immediately, cuddling in her lap and napping.
"Its name even matches yours," Charlie teased. "So you can't hate it."
Genevieve scoffed. "Like I could ever."
Christmas dinner was a merry event, with the families chatting and laughing well into the night. It was, by far, the best Christmas Genevieve could remember.