Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER FOURTEEN –

Christmas Surprises

After seeing Ron and Hermione depart for their respective homes next morning, Harry settled down to get two days of correcting done while he still had the chance before he joined the other teachers in sharing dinner in the staff room on Christmas Eve. Apparently, it was a tradition going back over six hundred years and, since he was a teacher, he hadn't been able to avoid attending. Keen to keep McGonagall from asking awkward questions, Harry felt it best to attend and, since it apparently went long into the night (it was the one time the teachers really let their hair down) and he didn't want to keep Mrs Weasley up half the night waiting for him, he decided he wouldn't go to The Burrow until Christmas morning.

Unknown to the both McGonagall and Mrs Weasley though, he had no intention of spending the night at Hogwarts.

Sneaking through the snowy night to Dumbledore's tomb, Harry looked forward to warming himself in front of the fire in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Instead, he found himself in a much colder atmosphere. One glance at Dumbledore's face and the marrow within his bones seemed to freeze.

'Who died?' he asked, wishing Dumbledore would stop staring at him like he knew he had to say the one thing he wished he would never have to say.

'Place your wand in the centre of the table and sit down.'

No pleasantries, no kind tone. Harry remained standing, ice trickling down his spine.

'It's Professor Lupin, isn't it?' Harry's stomach felt like a lump of cement.

'Nobody has died, Harry, least of all Remus Lupin.' Dumbledore still stared at him with that terrifying look on his face. 'Now sit down!'

Reluctantly, Harry forced his legs to bend as he took his wand out and put it on the table. As soon as he was seated, a bell chimed seven times and the surrounding kitchen blurred. It looked like he was viewing it through a window on a rainy day. He glanced, startled, at Dumbledore.

'It's all right, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'It's a Secrecy Cocoon. It activated when you sat down. I just want to be extremely certain that our discussion is private.'

'Secrecy Cocoon?'

Dumbledore took a deep shaky breath. 'It is an aid employed by Aurors during such matters as interrogating Death Eaters and is highly suspicious of anything resembling good manners. Had I greeted you politely, the Cocoon would have folded in upon itself, sucking its immediate surroundings into nothingness with it.'

That explained the abrupt tone.

'It sounds like a Dementor.' Harry gave a shudder.

'It was inspired by the Dementors.' Dumbledore's voice echoed the disgust he felt towards Azkaban's former guards.

Harry gazed at Dumbledore. Despite his assurance that his uncharacteristic rudeness was merely to satisfy the requirements of the Secrecy Cocoon, his eyes still betrayed his dread of a most difficult and painful task.

'Does all this have anything to do with that test you got Professor Lupin to do on me last month?' The lump in Harry's stomach wasn't getting any smaller.

'Unfortunately, yes,' Dumbledore sighed. 'Do you recall, when you realised that I had used Legilimency on you, you asked me to explain "what that was all about"?'

Harry nodded. 'You refused because Hermione and I had to get back to school.'

'That was the more urgent reason, yes. But I also wanted time to closely examine and analyse the evidence which the test had uncovered. I have considered the results and am afraid that I can find no other interpretation.'

'And what did you find?' Harry knew this wouldn't be good.

'Lord Voldemort's sixth Horcrux,' said Dumbledore heavily.

Harry felt a jolt of surprise. 'But that's great! Is-isn't it?' he faltered as Dumbledore's expression remained serious.

'Ordinarily, such news would be cause for elation but unfortunately, in this instance, it is not.'

'Why? What is the Horcrux, sir?'

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze. 'You, Harry.'

'Me?' Harry stared uncomprehendingly at Dumbledore, who nodded sadly.

'Your scar. I don't know why I didn't see it sooner,' he murmured, shaking his head. 'It all makes perfect sense now.'

'What makes perfect sense, sir?' Harry tried to understand how he could be a Horcrux without realising it, but gave up.

Dumbledore gazed up at Harry. 'What do you remember of the test Remus performed upon you?'

Harry didn't need to cast his mind back; the memory of his parents' murders and Voldemort's downfall had haunted all his sleeping hours since, and several waking ones as well.

'I saw Voldemort murdering my parents. I was Voldemort murdering my parents.'

'And shared Voldemort's thoughts and feelings?' Dumbledore prompted.

Harry nodded.

'Do you recall what Lord Voldemort was going to do when he murdered you?'

'I – he was going to turn me into a Horcrux,' Harry said tonelessly. 'But he didn't succeed. My mother's protection stopped him and made the Avada Kedavra rebound back on him.

'That is what everyone, including myself, believed,' sighed Dumbledore. 'How wrong we were.'

Harry stared at Dumbledore as he picked up Hermione's wand and conjured a sheet of parchment and a letter knife.

'You shall no doubt recall from Professor Slughorn's memory,' Dumbledore continued, 'that to create a Horcrux, a wizard commits a murder, then tears his soul in two.'

Harry nodded as Dumbledore folded the parchment and then cut the fold with the knife, creating two equal pieces, each half the size of the original. He put one piece aside, but still held the second between himself and Harry.

'Now, when a wizard commits a murder, that act alone will not split his soul, it will only weaken it, like a crease.' He folded the parchment a second time. 'It is only when the wizard purposely grasps his soul to make a Horcrux, that half of it tears away.' He again dragged the knife through the crease and put one of the pieces aside.

'Each time he removes half of his remaining soul,' Dumbledore continued to fold and tear the remaining parchment, putting half aside, 'he diminishes himself as well, making himself less human and more like a creature with no soul. This is evident when examining Lord Voldemort's increasingly less-than-human appearance over the years. The extremely handsome young man whom you met in the diary changed until he became the grotesque creature you witnessed rising from the cauldron the night Cedric Diggory died. The creature you saw that night is what Voldemort looked like when he entered your parents' house sixteen years ago.

'With the tiniest fragment of his soul still intact.' Dumbledore held up a very small piece of parchment.

Harry glanced across to the discarded pile and saw that there were five steadily decreasing pieces.

'It is true,' continued Dumbledore, 'that your mother's sacrifice protected you from the Killing Curse, but the curse did not then rebound back upon your attacker. What stopped Lord Voldemort that night was his own greed. By tearing his soul in two for a sixth time,' Dumbledore demonstrated with the tiny scrap in his hands, 'he reduced himself too far. His sixth Horcrux was the straw which broke the hippogriff's back.'

Harry stared at the miniscule fragment of parchment remaining. It was barely larger than his thumb.

So was this it? Was this the secret of how he, a small baby, had beaten the greatest Dark wizard in the world? By tempting Voldemort to tear his soul one time too many?

'But Voldemort didn't create the Horcrux,' said Harry. 'He tried, but his wand was trapped between our foreheads and he couldn't get past that point – my mum's protection stopped him. Then I couldn't feel magic anymore, or anything. Because I wasn't anything. Just pain. And the last thing I thought was how did this tiny baby, which was too weak to accept my soul, manage to reduce me to a soulless nothing?'

He looked up and was surprised to see Dumbledore sitting opposite him. The memory had been so vivid, he had thought he was in Godric's Hollow, not London.

'You were reduced to a soulless nothing?' Dumbledore's eyes seemed to penetrate to the heart of Harry's own soul as he tried to stammer an explanation. 'It's all right, Harry.' Dumbledore raised a hand to stop him. 'I fully understand the connection you have with Lord Voldemort, and such an identity crisis is not unexpected. But rest easy,' he added as Harry's eyes widened fearfully, 'Lord Voldemort has not likewise been sharing our confidences. I have protected against that.' He waved his hand at the shimmering veil surrounding them.

'And despite Voldemort's memories, I am afraid that he did succeed in creating that Horcrux. Had he not, he wouldn't have been reduced that final step, you would not have that scar on your forehead and the two of you would not share a connection.

'As I told you after you rescued Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets, Voldemort transferred part of himself to you the first time he attacked you, although I thought it had been unintentional. I now know that he had very much intended to transfer part of his soul to your dead self but, because he did not succeed in killing you, he made the mistake of believing he was also unsuccessful in creating the Horcrux.

'That is why you speak Parseltongue and feel when Voldemort is close and witness what he does. Because he marked you as his equal, more equal to him than any other being in the world.'

Harry felt the colour drain from his face.

'Which means,' Dumbledore continued, 'that my interpretation of the last lines of Sybill's prophecy was also not entirely accurate.'

'That I have to either kill Voldemort or be killed by him?' Harry's mouth felt very dry.

Dumbledore nodded.

'But … how?' Harry shook his head in confusion. 'How do I kill Voldemort if I'm still alive? I mean, the sixth Horcrux will still exist, so Voldemort won't be able to die. But if he kills me, then how will he die at my hands, because I'll be dead; I won't be able to kill him. But –'

'Stop, Harry.' Dumbledore's eyes glistened, 'before you give yourself a headache.' He closed his eyes, causing a single tear to escape from beneath his lashes and make its way slowly down the withered cheek.

Harry stared at the ancient face before him. He had not been afraid to die in his fight against Voldemort, and was still prepared to do so, but would it do any good? Would his death merely be added to the countless others whose deaths had brought the world no closer to a release from evil?

Numb with shock, his voice was little more than a whisper. 'Is there any way to destroy the sixth Horcrux without destroying me?'

The look in Dumbledore's eyes as he opened them and gazed at Harry said it all. Silence stretched between them for several minutes.

'Then how am I the Chosen One?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Because, as the Prophecy states, you are "the one with the power to destroy the Dark Lord." What you need to discover is how exactly you are to use that power.'

And with a shaking hand, he picked up Harry's wand. Holding it so that it pointed straight up, he tapped the end of it once upon the table. As the kitchen came clearly into view, the silence was broken by what sounded like a record of a bell being played backwards, seven times over.

x

Harry spent most of the night tossing and turning, trying to see some way around the prophecy's outcome, but failed; finally collapsing into an exhausted sleep just before dawn, his mind a confusion of tangled scenarios.

So he wasn't in a very Christmassy mood when he was woken by Snape.

'What time is it?' he snapped.

'Six thirty.' Snape seemed to find it very amusing.

Harry groaned and pulled the blankets back up over his head. 'Go away. I only got to sleep an hour ago.'

'I know.'

The blankets disappeared, causing Harry to curl up in a tight ball against the cold.

'Now get up!' Snape grabbed Harry around the shoulders and pulled him, struggling, into a sitting position. 'The headmaster wishes to see you in the drawing room – something about joyous greetings or some such sentiment – then you need to depart for the Weasley residence.'

A silver goblet filled with a substance with closely resembled tar and smelt worse than a sewer was thrust under Harry's nose. 'Drink!' ordered Snape, his dark eyes glittering maliciously.

'What is it?' Harry forced his eyes open enough to stare suspiciously at the drink.

'Nothing deadly.' Snape sounded disappointed. 'A little cocktail of my own brewing. It will make you alert – well, alert enough to prevent your … friends' the lip curled, 'being suspicious that you were doing anything other than sleeping peacefully at Hogwarts last night. Now drink!' He pressed the cup to Harry's lips, forcing him to swallow the disgusting liquid. Despite it tasting as bad as it smelt, the promised effect was almost instantaneous; Harry felt suddenly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. How long the potion would last, he didn't know, but Snape could have made a fortune selling it to OWL and NEWT students.

Suddenly aware that he was wearing only pyjamas, he growled, 'Would you mind leaving while I get dressed?'

Throwing him a last glare, Snape stalked from the room.

When Harry entered the drawing room, the first thing he noticed was an enormous tree obscuring most of the tapestry. Numerous intricately patterned stars hung from its branches, as though someone had magnified snowflakes (which was probably the case). Two wrapped presents rested at its foot. And perched on top of the tree, singing more sweetly than any angel, Fawkes blinked down at him.

Harry's heart swelled. If this was to be his last Christmas, then it was promising to be his best ever.

Turning, he blinked moist eyes at Dumbledore, who smiled back at him from the sofa in front of the window, Snape standing guard at his shoulder.

'Fawkes does tend to have that effect on people.' He beckoned for Harry to join them. 'Merry Christmas, Harry.' He reached up and squeezed Harry's hand.

Dumping his presents on the sofa, Harry leant down and embraced Dumbledore. He had never, as a small boy, had the chance to give a loving grandfather a big hug on Christmas Day; as Dumbledore was the closest thing he would probably ever have, Harry was certain he wouldn't mind him playing catch up. As he released his hold, he saw that Dumbledore's eyes were also very misty.

Blinking rapidly, Dumbledore said, 'I suggest we exchange gifts and send you packing, Harry, before we are all swallowed up by spontaneous sentiment. If you would please be so kind as to do the honours, Severus?'

Snape's eyes glittered dangerously for a brief second before he strode silently to the far end of the room to retrieve the presents. Harry tossed a cushion from the sofa onto the floor and settled himself at Dumbledore's feet, pulling his presents down into his lap. Snape cast him an uncertain glance as he returned.

'Would you like to go first, Harry?' Dumbledore's moustache twitched at Snape's expression.

Without further ado, Harry handed the smaller of his packages up to Snape, whose expression closed as he looked at it.

As Dumbledore accepted his own present, he commented, 'The purpose of the wrapping, Severus, is to be removed, thereby revealing the gift inside. Why thank you, Harry.' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brightly as he unwrapped several pairs of thick woollen socks and a bag of sherbet lemons. 'This is probably the most thoughtful Christmas present anyone has ever given me.'

Next to the sofa, Snape eyed Harry warily as he slowly unwrapped his present, revealing – a book.

'That makes a pleasant change,' said Dumbledore, peering closely at the copy of Advanced Potion-Making. 'I'm the one who usually gets the books.'

Snape flicked through the pages, his expression closing even more as he read his own handwriting littered over every page. His eyes darted to Harry's.

'I understand Professor Slughorn gave your old copy away by accident. I thought you might like this one.' Harry held his breath, hoping Dumbledore wouldn't be too suspicious of the charged tension suddenly sparking the air.

Perhaps also very aware of Dumbledore's curious glance, Snape's lips moved fractionally. 'Thank you, Potter; that was … thoughtful.' Harry wondered what it had cost Snape to say that.

'And now, Harry' Dumbledore broke the tension, still eyeing them curiously, 'it is time for your gifts.' He handed Harry one of the presents which had been lying beneath the tree. The card read, 'From your "oldest" friend. And Fawkes.' Unwrapping it, Harry saw that Dumbledore had given him a bottle filled with sparkling pearly liquid, and five long golden feathers. He was pretty sure the liquid was phoenix tears. There was also a folded piece of parchment which gave directions on how to use the tail feathers.

Looking up, Harry met Dumbledore's gaze. 'Thank you, sir. Very much.'

'I'm certain you'll put them to good use.' Dumbledore glanced up, expectantly, at Snape.

Aware that he couldn't postpone the moment any longer, Snape passed Harry a heavy parcel wrapped simply in brown paper. The card was also quite plain, with only two words: 'For luck.' Snape's face gave nothing away, but Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over the half-moon glasses.

Already surprised that Snape had given him a present, Harry was astounded when he tore away the paper and discovered a large bottle of Felix Felicis. Considering what he had still yet to face in his battle with Voldemort, he was going to need all the luck he could get, so for Snape to brew him a whole flask …

He blinked up at Snape, completely at a loss for words. He fully expected to find Snape sneering at him, but instead, the Potions master looked extremely embarrassed.

'I believe, Severus,' said Dumbledore conversationally, 'that that means "thank you".' He chuckled as Snape stiffened.

'And now, Harry, we shall have a Christmas toast and then get you dispatched before Severus is swallowed up by "spontaneous sentiment".' The moustache twitched as he inclined his head at Snape, who threw him a look which would have frozen Hell, before stiffly fetching a bottle of mead from the sideboard.

After they each held a full goblet, Dumbledore said, 'We are all thinking it, so I shall say it. This may well be the last Christmas any of us sees, so I shan't toast a future which may not exist. Instead, here is to memory. May all the joys of Christmas, past and present, beat in our hearts until our hearts no longer continue to beat.'

As Harry drank the warm honey liqueur, he reflected that it was probably the strangest toast he had ever heard.

x

'So you got away all right, dear?'

Mrs Weasley bustled about, removing Harry's cloak. 'No problems?'

'No, Mrs Weasley.' Harry suppressed a grimace as she pressed a kiss against his cheek. By the sink, he saw Fred and George grinning evilly and threw them a don't-you-dare look over their mother's shoulder.

'What's the matter, Harry?' George's grin widened as Mrs Weasley disappeared through to the living room to rustle up more help with dinner. 'Don't you enjoy maternal affection?'

'Poor orphan Harry.' Fred turned from the potatoes he was conducting with his wand, skins hanging off them as they peeled themselves. 'Never truly known a mother's love, but don't worry, our mum's got plenty to go around.' Both twins burst out laughing as Harry threw them another dirty look and stalked from the room.

When he returned five minutes later, having dumped his stuff in Ron's room, half the family had been sidelined from other pleasures so that the kitchen was suddenly bustling with noise, movement and smells. Harry's stomach rumbled as he made a beeline for Ron top'n'tailing beans at the far end of the table. As he sat down, Mrs Weasley looked up from stirring something on the stove.

'Ginny, can you check the recipe for that sauce in Witch Weekly? How many eggs does it say?'

Ginny fetched the magazine in question from the dresser, flicking through its pages until she got to the cookery section. 'Um … eight.'

As Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at the pantry and the required eggs soared towards her, Ginny kept flicking through the Weekly, checking out the stories which seemed to be essential to the daily survival of so many witches.

'Oh, who does she think she's kidding?'

Harry glanced up, frowning. 'Who?'

'Rita Skeeter,' Ginny said, rolling her eyes. In the background, Harry saw Mrs Weasley's mouth tighten into a very firm line; she had not thought much of Rita Skeeter since Harry had been in the Triwizard tournament. If Rita was up to her old tricks, Hermione would certainly have something to say about it. She was the one who had realised how the disgraced writer was getting all her juicy gossip and had threatened the former reporter with exposure if she didn't learn to keep her quill to herself. The only article she had written in two years had been an interview with Harry about the night Voldemort had come back.

'What's she up to now?' asked Ron.

'She reckons Death Eaters kidnapped her and dragged her off to You-Know-Who.'

Fred looked up from the potatoes. 'Why?'

'According to this,' Ginny held the magazine up, 'he wanted to check out her memory, of all things.'

'What's so great about her memory?' George had stopped in the middle of conducting the potatoes into slices. Ginny shrugged.

'And what happened?' Fred wanted to know.

'Noting. She escaped.'

'What?' The twins abandoned the half-finished spuds and went to stand behind their sister, looking over her shoulder at the article about Rita Skeeter's miraculous escape from He Who Must Not Be Named.

'Come off it,' George stared at the page, 'there's no way she'd be able to get her wand around all that lot?'

'What?' asked Ron, beans hanging in midair, forgotten.

'She's listed all the spells she reckoned she used against You-Know-Who to get away from him. Even Aurors wouldn't know half that stuff. You'd better watch out, mate,' Fred looked across at Harry, 'if she keeps this up, she'll nick your title of Bravest Person To Face You-Know-Who And Live To Tell The Tale.'

Harry made sure Mrs Weasley had her back to him as he poked his tongue out at Fred.

'So how did she manage to get away?' Ginny frowned at the article.

'Probably tried to get an exclusive interview and You-Know-Who chucked her out.'

Harry joined in the laughter which greeted George's comment but, unseen by the others, he and Ron exchanged a quick look. They had their own theory on how Rita Skeeter had wriggled her way out of Voldemort's grip. An illegal Animagus, she had been turning herself into a beetle for years to get in and out of places she shouldn't have been.

'When did all this happen, anyway?' Harry asked.

'Um,' Ginny checked the date on the magazine's cover. 'A couple of weeks ago.'

'And it wasn't all over the Prophet?'

'They probably wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot wand,' George said. 'I'm surprised she got Witch Weekly to print it. They don't normally pay for tripe like that.'

'She probably paid them,' Ron muttered, prompting another round of laughter.

After everybody had gone back to their designated tasks, (Mrs Weasley hadn't been impressed that they'd taken time out to discuss someone as worthless as Rita), Ron looked across at Harry. 'How come you didn't get me a present?' he asked indignantly as Harry reached for a bean.

'I did,' Harry told him. 'It's upstairs. I want to be there so I can see your face when you open it.'

Ron immediately dropped a handful of beans and knocked over two chairs in his haste to get up to his room.

'You stay right where you are, young man, and finish those beans.' Mrs Weasley stood in his way, shaking a finger at him. 'Or there'll be no dinner for you.

'But, Mum …'

'But Mum, nothing, Ron Weasley.' Mrs Weasley's expression would have stopped the Hogwarts Express in its tracks. 'Beans,' she pointed towards the table, 'or no dinner!'

Too afraid of his mother to even mutter under his breath, Ron picked up the fallen chairs and sat back down, pulling the bowl of unfinished beans towards him. It took a few minutes before he had calmed down enough to attempt any sort of conversation with Harry.

'So, how was McGonagall when you left this morning? Did she do her nut 'cause you wouldn't stay?' Ron glanced across at his mother, but she was still standing guard near the door.

'No.' Harry reached for another bean. 'She seemed to think I'd earned a reward after I got all those essays done.'

He wasn't sure why he was pretending he'd spent the night at Hogwarts rather than telling Ron he'd been in London. He was sure Ron would be able to handle the news about his scar, yet part of him felt contaminated somehow, unwilling to bring others in on the secret in case they got infected, too.

'Are you sure your journey was all right, dear?' Mrs Weasley swept past, balancing a pot of boiled pumpkin on the end of her wand. 'You look awfully pale.'

'He's fine, Mum.' Ron rolled his eyes. 'What?' He glared at Ginny, who was staring at Harry.

'Mum's right,' she said as she started laying the table. 'He is pale.'

Determined to steer the conversation into safer waters, Harry asked, 'So what did you get for Christmas, Ron?'

Ron launched into a full description of his presents ('I couldn't believe it! Mum knitted me a jumper which wasn't maroon.'), interrupted several times as first Bill and Fleur, then Remus and Tonks (whose hair was a vibrant shade of red for the occasion), arrived.

Much to Ron's disgust, he wasn't able to sneak up to his room before dinner, so his present lay untouched. He tried several times to get Harry to just tell him what it was, but Harry was determined not to spoil the surprise. Ron's only hope seemed to be in helping his mother get dinner on the table as quickly as possible, making the end of said dinner arrive that much sooner.

Harry felt it was rather fortunate that he adopted this approach because his stomach was rumbling quite loudly (the only thing he'd had since he left Hogwarts yesterday was Snape's Wake-Up potion), and it wasn't too much longer before loaded dishes and platters were soaring into position on the table, chairs were being scraped back across the floor and everyone was settling down to yet another of Mrs Weasley's fine Christmas dinners.

A few times, Harry noticed both Bill and Mr Weasley glance almost anxiously towards the yard, but neither Percy nor Scrimgeour appeared in the distance and the tension finally started to relax from their shoulders.

Halfway through dinner, Tonks was in the middle of explaining to Harry the principles of fighting off the Cruciatus curse when an odd sound at the far end of the table drew their attention. Fleur had gone quite pale and had one hand clamped tightly over her mouth. Bill jumped to her aid, helping her to her feet then, without explanation, she rushed from the room.

'Gee, Mum,' Ron grinned feebly. 'I didn't think your cooking was that bad.' Nobody laughed at the joke.

'I hope she's all right.' Mrs Weasley was staring in the direction of the bathroom.

'If she keeps this up, she'll be skin and bone.' Bill was still on his feet; he looked like he wasn't sure if he shouldn't perhaps follow her. 'This is the fifth time this week.'

'The fifth time?' Mrs Weasley's head shot around. Harry was surprised to see an excited look on her face. He knew she had spent the best part of a year fighting against Bill and Fleur's engagement, but he thought she had finally realised they were made for each other when Bill had been attacked; she had certainly seemed genuinely happy at their wedding. So why was she suddenly thrilled that Fleur was sick?

'Molly,' sighed Mr Weasley. 'Don't go counting chickens before they hatch.'

Harry glanced at Ron, confused. 'What chickens?'

Fred looked at Lupin. 'You really need to talk to him.'

After dinner, Mrs Weasley rushed off to see Fleur settled comfortably in bed and Ron dragged Harry upstairs so he could finally open his present. Much to Harry's surprise, several presents were also piled on the end of his own bed.

'Mum must have done that before,' said Ron, munching on a jelly snake as he tore the wrapping from Harry's present. 'Wow, Harry!' he breathed, batting a hand at the snake as it tried to wrap itself around his neck.

Eyeing the snake warily, Harry rummaged amongst his parcels until he found one from Fred and George. Tearing the paper nervously, he got a pleasant surprise when a segmented box of gold chocolate snitches was revealed. Each compartment had its own lid, which was fortunate, as the snitches behaved just like the real thing when released. Luckily, Harry's reflexes were up to the task and he leaned back against the wall, rapture coursing through his body as the gold melted on his tongue before fluttering down his throat.

His other presents proved to be a mixed bag. Mr and Mrs Weasley had given him the usual jumper (emblazoned with a lightning bolt) as well as a Christmas cake decorated with a three-dimensional village with moving fondant people, Hermione, a large crate of Honeydukes chocolate in case he ran into any Dementors, and Ron had given him a bottle of Firewhisky. Uncorking the bottle, Harry took a sip.

For a moment, he felt nothing; then, suddenly, he was gasping for air as someone threw a match onto the middle of his tongue. Flames rushed down his throat, burning fibres he hadn't realised existed, then settled in the base of his stomach, exploding at random like sunspots, sending hot gusts of air shooting back up his gullet. When Harry tried to suck in cool air, he was surprised he didn't breathe fire.

Ron tore himself away from his examination of the Quidditch model long enough to gaze across at him, a stupid grin on his face. 'Welcome to manhood.'

'I thought these sorts of drinks were supposed to put hairs on your chest,' sputtered Harry. 'I think that stuff just burnt them off!'

Ron collapsed back on his bed, laughing and clutching his side.

'You think it's so funny, you have some!' Harry thrust the bottle at Ron indignantly.

'No way,' Ron had tears running down his cheeks. 'Fred and George force-fed me a whole bottle of that stuff last summer. That was enough to last me a lifetime.'

Desperate for some coolness, Harry jumped up and flung the window open. As he reached out to break an icicle off the edge of the roof (sucking ice should surely help), he noticed Lupin and Tonks wandering hand-in-hand through the garden below. They glanced up at the sound of the icicle snapping, waving and calling for him to come down and join them.

'Where are you going?' Ron struggled to sit up; the snake seemed to have tightened its grip.

'Outside to see Remus. Want to come?'

'You're the one who needs talking to.' Ron tugged impatiently at the snake, stretched its tail to reach his mouth and bit hard. The snake immediately loosened its grip.

Harry caught up with Lupin in the orchard. Tonks was a couple of rows away, absently picking frozen berries off a bush and crunching them in her teeth, but she kept tossing sly glances their way.

'So, what was this really important thing everyone reckons you want to say to me?' Harry didn't like the way Lupin was looking at him; it was a mixture of seriousness, nervousness and pride.

'I was wondering if you would do me a favour.'

'Sure, anything.'

Lupin glanced across at Tonks, who grinned wider. Looking back at Harry, he took a deep breath.

'Would do me the honour of being my best man?'

It took Harry a moment to realise what Lupin had said. He gaped at Lupin, then across at Tonks, then back at Lupin.

'You two?'

Lupin nodded.

Harry still gaped. 'The two of you? You and Tonks?'

Tonks had abandoned her berry picking and now leant against Lupin's shoulder, her arms wrapped around him. 'So is that a yes?'

'Yes?' Harry stared at them. 'Yes. Yes, it's a yes. Most definitely! When?'

'Monday.' Lupin pulled Tonks back against himself and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Harry blinked. 'What? Monday? This Monday?'

Two nods.

'Isn't that a bit fast?'

Lupin shrugged. 'We're not showy people, nor are we into gushy romance.'

'Just a quick, simple, quiet ceremony,' Tonks explained. 'Nothing fancy. We still come out married on the other side and nowhere near as much expense.'

'And Mrs Weasley's OK with that?'

'Molly doesn't know.' Tonks didn't say that nearly as guiltily as Harry thought she should have. 'The only person who knows is you. I'll tell Hermione when she arrives this evening, and that'll be our two witnesses.'

Harry frowned at both of them, his excitement rapidly evaporating. 'What's going on?'

'Nothing. We're just not letting the whole world know.'

'Why?' Harry wasn't happy with Lupin's explanation. 'Is it because of Voldemort?'

'Not really.' Lupin was still being evasive.

'Then what?'

'I'm an Auror, Harry.' Tonks pulled Remus's arms more tightly around herself.

'And I'm a werewolf.'

Harry gazed at the pair of them, sadness welling up in his chest. 'But it's so unfair!'

'It doesn't matter, Harry.' Tonks gave a small smile. 'We would still be married, happy together. The Ministry can go jump. If they want to be a bunch of snobs and miss out on all the fun, then that's their loss. We'll still be married.'

'So, are you still with us?' Lupin looked like he was holding his breath.

'Wild Thestrals couldn't keep me away,' Harry grinned. 'Just promise me one thing.'

They both gazed at him expectantly.

'Don't use Firewhisky for the toast.'

x

'Oh, Harry, isn't it wonderful?' Hermione was positively glowing.

'Shhh, keep it down. The others will hear,' hissed Harry. He and Hermione were hiding in Ginny's bedroom, talking about the exciting development.

'No, they won't.' Hermione dismissed his concerns. 'Ron's mum is too busy warbling away to that singer she likes. Mr Weasley and Bill are talking politics with Professor Lupin. Fleur's throwing up again, Fred, George and Ginny are busy getting ready for tomorrow and Ron's in his room drooling over that game you gave him.'

Despite having the perfect opportunity to see how Gryffindor's next match would go, Ron had wasted no time setting Harry's present up so that they were playing against Bulgaria. He had then spent the next few hours making it very difficult for Viktor Krum to stay on his broom, or even just follow the game, as Bludger after Bludger (not all of them hit by the twins) smashed him hard in the face, though Harry noticed that several Bulgarian Bludgers managed to unseat Fred and George as well.

'Another wedding,' Hermione was still overflowing with happiness. 'Who'd have thought, two in one year. Oh, what am I going to wear?' She suddenly jumped up and began rummaging through her things, tossing rejected items over her shoulder until Harry was buried under a pile of fabric.

'Nothing!' Hermione sat back on her heels, a very dejected look on her face. 'Oh, this just won't do. I have to have something special to wear.'

'Why does it have to be special?' Harry fought his way up through the jumble of clothes. 'I thought Remus and Tonks wanted to keep it simple.'

'They only want to keep it secret from everybody. That doesn't mean we still can't dress up. Oh, how am I going to do this? What to wear, what to wear … we need to go shopping.'

Harry felt like a Bludger had hit him. 'What do you mean we? Why can't I wear what I wore to Bill's wedding? It's still new, I've only worn it once.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Hermione exasperatedly. 'Those are wizard's robes. You can't go wearing them at a Muggle wedding.'

Harry thought about it. 'No, I suppose not. So, how are we going to do this? I might be filthy rich but it's all in wizarding money; I can't exactly go waltzing up to a Muggle shopkeeper and try to pay them with a fistful of Galleons.'

'Point.' Hermione frowned, pondering their dilemma. 'This is going to take some considering. Let me sleep on it, I'll come up with something,' she said, confident that she would be able to solve the problem.

When Harry went to bed that night, there was a surprise waiting for him. Turning back the blankets, he found three small glass phials, labelled, corked and sealed, lying in the middle of the sheets. The accompanying card said 'I thought you might like some new memories to add to your collection. Merry Christmas, Remus.'

Picking up the phials, Harry read the labels … and almost dropped them in astonishment. Lupin had given him his memories of James and Lily's wedding, their reception and Harry's christening. 'Wow, Remus,' whispered Harry as his eyes misted. He was still trying to blink back tears when Ron returned from the bathroom. Harry hastily shoved the phials into his jeans pocket.

'What's wrong with you?' Ron stared suspiciously at his friend's moist eyes.

'Er … I had another sip of the Firewhisky,' Harry said the first thing which came into his head. 'I thought it might improve with each try but it doesn't.'

'I could have told you that,' laughed Ron. 'I've had a lot more than just a couple of sips, you know.' Still laughing, he flopped down onto his own bed and began directing his game.

Changing into his pyjamas, Harry climbed into bed, grateful that Ron had believed his lie so quickly and thinking that his friend should be glad, in his turn, that Hermione wasn't around to hear Krum's nose break yet again.

The next day, a Friday, Hermione managed to get Mrs Weasley to OK her going into London with Harry to shop for some dark creatures to use in class, Tonks and Remus offering to accompany them for both security and advice. Ginny had gotten herself a day's work helping Fred and George with their Boxing Day sale, so she was going to be busy with that, and Ron turned his nose up, declaring he had far more important things to do than spend the day fawning over Cornish pixies and Red Caps. (Subjecting Bulgaria to another embarrassing defeat was probably pretty high on his priority list.) Bill said he needed to get something for Fleur's nausea from the Apothecary's in Diagon Alley and joined them in Flooing to the twins' shop.

'OK, what's going on?' Bill rounded on them almost as soon as they left Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes.

'What do you mean?' Tonks was a picture of innocence.

'You four have been practically dancing on air since yesterday afternoon and you spent all last night avoiding looking at each other, like you were afraid you'd give something away if you did.'

They promptly confirmed his suspicions by exchanging guilty glances.

Tonks whispered something in Remus's ear, who nodded and said, 'Well, he does work in a bank.'

Bill was suitably enthusiastic in his congratulations on hearing the news, clapping Lupin on the back and giving Tonks a big kiss and hug. He wholeheartedly supported them in their decision to keep the matter secret, especially from his mother, and even recommended a reliable cheap jeweller in Muggle London. Then, when Harry mentioned that he wasn't sure how he was going to pay for Muggle clothes with wizard money, Bill surprised them further.

'A credit card? How did you manage to get one of those?' Hermione's jaw dropped as she stared at the plastic card in Bill's hand.

'It's not a credit card,' Bill explained. 'It's a Gredit card.'

'Gredit?'

Bill grinned at Harry and Hermione's confused faces. 'It's only available to Gringotts employees. Do you two know how to use E.F.T?'

Luckily Hermione nodded, because Harry had no idea what Bill was talking about, the Dursleys having always been reluctant to take him anywhere, let alone shopping.

'Good.' Bill handed the card to her. 'Press this against the security clips and barcodes on the things you want to buy, then scan the card through the shop's electronic banking terminal – the number is double two, six, five – then press OK. The purchases will go through their system next time they do business, dated then, not now.'

'And the transaction will be in pounds, not Galleons?' asked Hermione.

Bill nodded. 'All of the major credit card companies around the world have a Gringotts employee working in their head office. They process all payments drawn against these cards and bill the cardholder's account each month. The bank does the conversion.'

'And you're the card holder?'

Bill nodded again.

'But …' Harry looked at Bill, forlorn. 'I wanted to pay for the stuff we're going to buy. I was going to let it be my wedding present to you two.' He gazed around at Lupin and Tonks.

'No problem,' said Bill cheerily. 'I'll transfer the money from your vault to the card's account when the bill arrives. So,' he turned towards the apothecary's, 'happy shopping.'

'That certainly simplifies things.' Remus gazed at the card with interest.

'I hope you understood all that, Hermione,' sighed Tonks. 'It was total gibberish to me.'

Hermione grinned.

Once they were through to Muggle London, Hermione confused Harry further. 'Aren't we going to Harrods?' he asked as they stopped in front of a designer boutique in Knightsbridge.

'No.' Hermione didn't look at all concerned by their destination. 'Harrods is open.'

'Yeah, and this place isn't.'

'Exactly.'

Harry glanced around at Remus and Tonks. 'Did I miss something?'

'It's all right, Harry,' said Lupin. 'We want to be here. If we have to be subjected to you spending inexcusable amounts of money on us, I suppose this is as good a place as any to endure it.' He heaved a very theatrical sigh, making the others laugh.

'Well, at least you're finally learning how to accept things from people,' Harry grinned. 'Now, can someone please tell me what we're doing here?'

'Shopping, of course.' Tonks had her face pressed against the window.

'At a closed shop?'

'You'll see, Harry.' Lupin joined his fiancée in staring at the dark interior of the shop. 'I've got four. Is that all?'

'Huh?'

'Yeah … no, five. There's one behind the mirror in the changing room,' Tonks said.

Lupin stared at her. 'The mirror?'

'Mmm. Blind sensor.'

'Thank Godric for that.' Lupin sounded relieved. He took a quick glance around and removed his wand, then tapped the window five times, making it glow, the light expanding outwards like ripples from an epicenter.

'After you, Harry.' Tonks placed her hand in the centre of his back and firmly pushed him straight at the window. Harry raised his hands and closed his eyes reflexively but he never banged into the glass. Opening his eyes, he discovered that Tonks had pushed him through the window.

Once the others had joined him, Hermione and Tonks immediately descended upon the women's section and began 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the outfits there.

'Just remember, we don't have all day,' Lupin called, as he led Harry to where several men's suits were hanging on a rack.

'It's been so long since I've worn anything new that I can't tell what's good and what's not; it all looks so strange.' Remus frowned at his reflection. 'What do you think?'

'It makes you look, I dunno, too pale. Try a lighter one.'

Three suits later, Harry was finally satisfied with his teacher's appearance. Choosing a slightly darker suit in the same colour, Harry added it to their purchases and joined Remus at the tie rack.

'I suppose we really should match them to Hermione's dress,' said Harry, remembering that Charlie had had gold touches on his robes to match the bridesmaids' dresses. 'Did you notice what colour she got?'

'Blue, I think.' Lupin wandered over to where Tonks and Hermione were trying on hats. He said a few words and then returned, carrying a medium blue jacket.

By the time they were finished, they had two grey business suits, complete with shirts, ties and socks and two cocktail-length dresses and jackets, one in blue, the other, cream. There were also two pillbox hats to match the girls' dresses, with small veils which came done over their eyes.

'Just one thing more.' Hermione held them up a few more minutes while she rummaged amongst a pile of silk handkerchiefs.

'What are those for?' Harry asked as she pulled out two to match their ties.

'You'll see,' she grinned.

Tonks watched in confusion as Hermione followed Bill's instructions. Pressing the Gredit card against the security clips released the catches (Harry tossed them into a container under the counter) and when the magnetic strip touched the barcodes, the cost of each item glowed in gold numbers on the front of the card, which was fortunate because none of the articles had prices displayed anywhere. It seemed to be the sort of establishment where the price was available only upon request. Either that, or their clients were so wealthy, price was of no consequence. Glancing at the figures on Bill's card, Harry was inclined to lean towards the latter.

The total displayed on the till's computer screen (even though it was turned off) had Lupin protesting about the amount which Harry was spending on them. Even Harry had gotten a shock at just how much the shop was demanding for the privilege of wearing garments with its name stitched on the label and, even though he didn't know the conversion rate to Galleons, he was pretty certain it would make a sizeable dent in his bank vault. Not that it mattered. Lupin was worth it, and Tonks was too.

They found suitable footwear at a shoe shop two streets away and then quickly grabbed a Grindylow from a very unsavoury-looking witch down at the far end of Knockturn Alley.

'That's to stop Molly doubting our story,' explained Lupin as they headed back to Fred and George's.

Monday afternoon, Harry locked himself in the twins' bedroom in order to get the next term's lesson plans drawn up. Hermione said she would help as she wanted to see what teaching was like from behind the scenes, to see if she could handle it.

'I thought you were going to be an Auror like Harry and me,' cried Ron indignantly.

'I'm still not really sure what I want to do after I graduate,' said Hermione, as if Ron's concerns were of no consequence.

'But … if you don't get into the Ministry with us, how are we going to see each other? We'll be off putting creeps like Malfoy's mates in Azkaban and you'll be spending all day pandering to the needs of students like Loony Lovegood. "Oh, Miss Granger, it isn't Dermexem's lotion which stops your skin getting all wrinkled when you're old, it's Mufflepeck bogies."'

'What are you picking on Luna for?' Harry eyed his friend with distaste. 'She's one of the best students at Hogwarts. Out of all the people who were in the DA, only she and Neville helped us when we needed it.'

'OK, keep your hair on,' said Ron defensively. 'It's not like she's your girlfriend or anything.'

Once they were safely behind locked doors, Harry and Hermione used two of Dumbledore's phoenix feathers to transport themselves to behind the Hog's Head inn in Hogsmeade. It was probably the best form of wizarding transport Harry had encountered. No spinning colours, no squeezing through rubber tubes, no mouthful of ash. Fred and George's bedroom just dissolved around them and reappeared as the alley behind the Hog's Head.

'How did you two get here?' Tonks, whose hair, Harry noticed, was swept back in blonde layers, was frowning at them uncertainly.

'Why?'

'You're smoking.'

'Er …' Harry glanced down at his clothes. 'Hermione was showing me how that charm she did on my cousin worked.'

'And she did it on both of you?' Tonks still looked sceptical.

'I did it on myself,' Hermione said. 'Then, because Harry wouldn't believe it wasn't burning me, I did it on him to prove I wasn't lying.' She threw Harry a convincing scowl to portray her displeasure at his lack of faith.

Tonks was still watching the wisps of smoke drifting up from their bodies. 'And what exactly was the charm supposed to be for?'

Hermione promptly launched into a full description of the spells which had seen herself, Harry and Ron hauled before the Ministry. Tonks was clutching her side, struggling to breathe, by the time the story ended.

'We really should get going,' Remus pointed out, checking his watch. 'It's nearly one.'

'What time's the wedding?' Harry asked.

'One thirty, so we'll just have time to change.' He held up the garment bags he was carrying.

Apparating to a back street in Gretna Green, Lupin distributed the outfits to everybody and gave Harry the rings, two simple gold bands. He frowned, puzzled, when Hermione then handed him a bottle of pale flesh-coloured liquid. 'What's this?'

'Foundation,' she replied. 'For your face.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'Hermione, don't. What's this thing you've got for blokes in makeup, anyway? First Bill, now Remus.'

'I just wanted to stop the Muggles asking awkward questions.'

Lupin smiled slightly as he handed the bottle back. 'Questions are only awkward if you don't have unawkward answers ready.'

'OK,' Hermione's eyes were full of challenge. 'What's your unawkward answer?'

'I was young, hadn't had my driver's licence very long, I'd been drinking, wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and crashed. Went straight through the windscreen.'

Even though Harry knew what Remus just said was totally fictitious, he still winced at the mental picture it conjured.

Ducking into a nearby pub to change (Hermione folded the silk handkerchiefs so that three points peeked above the tops of the men's jacket pockets), they then waited their turn in the foyer of a converted old blacksmith's shop where the ceremony was to take place. Harry frowned at the choice of venue, but Hermione explained that it was a local tradition going back at least two hundred years.

The wedding was totally different from Bill and Fleur's. Sure, Harry had known there wouldn't be any fanfare and glitter, but he hadn't quite expected that it would be so … cold. The celebrant, a bald, overweight man with a lisp, didn't even blink when he said Tonks's name, let alone have any difficulty pronouncing it as his toneless voice droned through the words he had recited countless times before. It was just another day at the office for him. Harry felt a little apprehensive when he signed his name under the heading 'Witnesses' – he needed to be eighteen to be an adult in the Muggle world – but he wasn't promptly struck down by lightning and the ceremony concluded without a hitch.

'You've got the same middle name as me.' Harry had been surprised to discover what the 'J' in R. J. Lupin stood for. Celebrating over a pint in one of Gretna Green's drinking establishments, they were discussing the ceremony before heading back down south.

'I know.' Remus had a bemused twinkle in his eye. Tonks's eyes, which hadn't left her husband, were also twinkling, but with pure, unadulterated love. 'But where you were named for your father, I was named after my uncle. Dad was out of town when Mum when into labour and Uncle James took her to St Mungo's. She and Dad felt it was the least they could do to thank him, giving me his name.'

Harry had known Remus's middle initial since the start of third-year but had never thought to ask what it stood for. Now he knew. He grinned. He was enjoying collecting these memories, proof that his parents' lives had been real, as yet another piece slotted into place.

Harry thought of the happiness he would one day get looking back on not just memories of his parents, but also the memories which he was creating now. The grin widened as he raised his glass in a final toast before they headed back to The Burrow.

'To two really great people, Mr and Mrs Remus Lupin.'