Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm not even sure what else to say at this point!

At the hospital, I navigated my way to the fourth floor, Spell Damage. I found the family in the Offensive Magic Damage ward, which was, unfortunately, full to brimming with wizards and witches in various states of injury, thanks to Voldemort's minions.

Fleur was in a bed at the end, surrounded by Harry and all the Weasleys who'd been with me in the kitchen, plus Bill, of course. Her face was slack and even whiter than usual. Her normally lustrous hair was dull. Bill's face was tearstained and his expression was one of fury. He clutched her hand ferociously.

I slipped in between Ron and Ginny and didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

After a few minutes, a Healer-in-Training came round. "Mrs. Weasley?" he said to Fleur, trying to rouse her.

"Oui?" she said wearily.

"We've gone over your files and the results of all our diagnostic spells. Because of the quickness of your response, you've suffered minimal internal damage. There's no reason you shouldn't be able to get pregnant again within the next month or so."

She stared up at him with dim eyes. "Eez zat so?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, clearly a bit nervous.

Fleur turned her head away from him and stared at the wall. Bill glanced up at the young trainee. "Get out of here," he growled, and the trainee scuttled away as fast as he could without sacrificing his dignity.

"Two months," she whispered, stumbling a little on the second word, which was evidently difficult for her to pronounce. "For two months I 'ave been planning . . . waiting . . . dreaming . . . ." She trailed off. "My poor baby."

We all fell into silence, except Bill, who had begun to sob. I couldn't torment her with a vision of the future, not here, not now.

At some point, the senior Healer came by. "Mrs. Weasley, I am terribly sorry for your loss," he said briskly, but sincerely. "There's no reason for us to keep you here. You should spend the rest of Christmas at home. We'll give you a few more doses of anti-hemorrhaging potion to take over the next twenty-four hours. Is that all right?"

She nodded listlessly, and Bill helped her up. We all shuffled back so he could draw the curtain around her bed; he needed to help her out of her hospital robes and back into her street robes. They emerged a few moments later looking much as they had when they'd come downstairs for Christmas that morning -- had it really been that very morning? -- except for the twin, deadened expressions on their faces.

We Flooed back to the Burrow where, mercifully, Charlie's body had been removed, and Molly and Arthur had apparently gone with it to make the funeral arrangements. The house was cold, and it seemed larger than it usually did. Someone made tea, which no one drank. At some point, Harry and Ginny withdrew to the upstairs; I assumed Harry was bursting with guilt and needed to foist it upon my poor mother.

About an hour into our vigil, Ron stood up. "I'm going to go out walking. Anyone else?"

I jumped up. I felt awful, but I couldn't stay in the house any longer. "I'll come."

He nodded, and we bundled up and headed outside. The sun was setting, but the sky was just a glaring shade of silver. I could see my breath as I exhaled.

"So you knew about this ahead of time?" Ron asked briefly.

"Yeah," I said.

"Could we have saved him?"

"No."

"All right," he said, and it was the last we spoke of it.

It felt better, to be out in the open, though we both had our wands at the ready just in case. The darkness descended, and I was glad Ron knew where he was going, because I was hopelessly lost. At length we came upon a tiny Muggle shop. "Let's go in," Ron said, and I thought I knew what he was planning on doing.

Inside it was wonderfully warm. An elderly Indian man stood behind the front counter reading a newspaper in a language I couldn't begin to decipher. "Sir?" Ron said.

The man looked up. "Yes?"

"Our -- our telephone is down back home. May I use yours? I'll, er, I'll charge the reverse. Er, reverse the charges, rather."

The proprietor looked at Ron rather suspiciously, but I fished a twenty-pound note out of the recesses of my coat and held it conspicuously. I'd gotten in the habit of carrying Muggle money since my days at Muggle primary school. "May I see your selection of magazines?" I asked pointedly.

He looked at the money, then told Ron, "Go ahead. And don't bother reversing the charges. It's the least I can do. You two look like you've been through the wars."

I felt tears in my eyes again. "Thank you, sir. I really would like to see the magazines."

He nodded and led me to the magazine section, where I pored over a Muggle women's magazine and ogled their techniques for hairstyling and make-up. It felt ridiculous, after witnessing Charlie's death and Fleur's miscarriage, that I could be so soothed by a mindless women's magazine. But I remembered long, lazy afternoons when Mum and I read them and painted each other's toenails, and I felt calmer. Everything would be all right in the future. I knew that, knew it as surely as I knew my eyes mirrored my father's.

I chose a couple particularly ridiculous magazines, then made my way to the front counter. It was then I heard Ron on the phone.

". . . just fell to the floor. Dead. They killed him, Hermione. And then Fleur -- they gave her a miscarriage, right there in the living room. It was unreal." A pause. "The rest of us, we're all fine. I mean, I guess some of us got hit, but we just shook it off, y'know?" Pause. "I haven't spoken to him. He sequestered himself with Ginny." Long pause. "I'm sure you're right. Then again, has Harry ever NOT felt guilty about something that happened to us?" Pause. "No, no, I know." Pause. "So when do you think you can be here?" Pause. "Thank you. Thank you so much." Pause. "I love you too. I'll see you soon." Then he hung up, and I hurriedly tried to looklike I hadn't been listening.

I bought the magazines and we walked back to the house, where we found Arthur and Molly, along with Tonks, Remus, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Mad-Eye Moody, and everyone who'd been there when we'd left. Bill and Fleur had apparently retired, which was perfectly understandable. The house was strangely quiet; no one seemed to want to say much of anything.

I was sitting on a windowsill, staring off into the night, when Ron sat up straight, as though he'd scented something, and jogged over to the front door. Molly looked up anxiously, but Ron opened the door and let in Hermione, who slipped in quietly. She looked around and managed to catch Harry's eye, who seemed surprised to see her. Dad shrugged Mum off for a moment, and the three friends retired to the kitchen, where they would converse in that way that only the three of them could. Ginny, looking resigned, made to retire, when her father spoke up.

"Your brother's funeral will be the day after tomorrow," Arthur said. "We'll need all of you to help clean the house tomorrow to get ready for the guests." We all murmured our assent. "Molly and I would like to thank you for everything. Whoever needs to stay here tonight is welcome to."

One by one, the mourners shuffled off to bed, but I sat on the windowsill still, wide awake. I had no idea of the time. I just knew I couldn't go to bed quite yet.

When everyone else had gone upstairs, Molly asked Arthur to make her some warm milk to bring to bed. When he'd left the room, Molly approached me.

"Will Fleur be all right?" she asked quietly.

My heart nearly broke. Here she'd just lost her son, and she was asking after her daughter-in-law. "She'll be fine. In fact, you'll have a grandson before next Christmas."

Molly exhaled in relief. "Thank heavens. Oh, thank heavens."

"I'm so sorry, Molly," I said, beginning to cry again. "I wish I'd been able to save Charlie."

Molly shook her head. "Without your warning, we might've all been dead. And Harry would've been in You Know Who's hands. If anyone brought this on, it was me. This is just what Gideon said would happen."

I felt my heart give a queer knock. "No, Grandma. You can't blame yourself. You musn't."

She shook her head again. "I'll always blame myself a little. That's what being a mother is. And a mother who brought a curse upon her family . . . ."

Arthur walked back in, mug of warm milk in hand. "Molly? We should go up to bed."

Molly nodded, took the mug, and began to climb the stairs. Arthur followed, then turned to look at me. "Thank you for the warning, Susan," he said, and went up after his wife.

Finally I was alone in the parlor. The wind howled outside disconsolately, and I imagined that the wind felt much the same way I did.

I knew if I went up to the room I was sharing with Mum, I'd be intruding on Ginny and Hermione's time together. I desperately needed to talk to someone, but everyone here had their counterpart except me.

Impulsively, I cast a glance at the fireplace. It wasn't impossible that I could --

I scurried over to the fire and grabbed the jar of Floo powder. Kneeling on the mantle, I tossed a pinch of the silver power into the flames, stuck my head into the fire, and cried, "Longbottom residence!"

The fireplaces moved past dizzily, and I fought the urge to close my eyes against them. After a few moments, I could focus on an unfamiliar family room. Black and white wizarding photos of a smiling young couple adorned every wall; the woman bore a strong resemblance to Neville, and I realized with a start that the couple must have been Neville's parents.

I heard footsteps almost immediately, and a beam of wandlight danced over the hardwood floor. "Show yourself!" hissed Neville.

"Neville, it's me, I'm in the fireplace."

He looked down, saw me, and crouched down to get at eyelevel. "Susan, what are you doing here?"

"Happy Christmas to you, too," I said.

"Sorry, let me try again. Happy Christmas, Susan, what are you doing here?"

I sighed. "Today has been completely pants, to say the least, and I wondered if I could . . . come over?"

"Now?"

"Now."

Neville looked around nervously. "Well, my grandmother went to bed ages ago . . . ."

"Please, Neville."

He looked at my face and seemed to grow braver even as I watched. "Yeah, come on over."

"I'll be there in three shakes," I said, and withdrew my head. Then I went over to the coatrack, took my present for Neville out of my coat pocket -- I'd been carrying it around for ages -- ran my fingers through my hair a few times, took another pinch of Floo powder, and stepped through the emerald flames to Neville's living room.

He was waiting for me, and I noticed for the first time he was in his pajamas. The sight of him barefoot, looking at me in concern, set me off, and I began to cry for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.

"Shhh," he said, taking me in his arms. "It's all right."

"It's not," I choked out. "Charlie Weasley is dead."

"How?" he gasped.

But I just cried, until Neville led me over to the couch and sat me down. "It's all right, Susan. Tell me what happened."

I looked into his eyes and saw the concern. "I don't want to upset you," I said through sobs.

His face changed. "Bellatrix Lestrange," he said. "It was her, wasn't it."

"She didn't kill Charlie," I said, "but she -- she -- Fleur was pregnant, and now --" I burst into tears again, and leaned against Neville for support. His arm went around me immediately, and he smoothed my hair as I sobbed.

"That bitch," he hissed.

"She's dead," I offered.

At this, he started. "DEAD??"

"Tonks killed her. She was on the Aurors' hitlist."

"Blimey." His hands dropped into his lap. "Blimey. Dead. She's dead."

I took his hands. "Yes."

"I just saw my parents today," he babbled. "I always visit them on Christmas. I wish I could've told them that she's dead. Maybe they'd -- well, they wouldn't -- but then again -- and my grandmother --"

Now it was my turn to calm him. "Shh," I said, rubbing my thumbs along the backs of his hands.

"If she didn't kill Charlie, who did?" he asked, coming back to reality a bit.

"Antonin Dolohov."

"He nearly murdered Hermione at the Department of Mysteries," he said. "Tonks ought to have killed him, too."

I shook my head. "I'd rather we not sink to their level."

"I know," he sighed, and put his arm around me again. "And Fleur? She was pregnant? And now -- ?"

"Not anymore. That was -- HER."

"Bloody hell. What won't they do?"

"I don't know," I said, suddenly weary. I looked straight at him. "I'm tired of talking about all this."

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted --"

"I did. Now, I just want --" I didn't bother finishing my sentence, just leaned in and began kissing him.

After a few minutes, he broke away and put a halting hand on my shoulder. "Susan, we've both had bloody awful days, and I don't want you doing something you'll regret later."

I shook my head. "I'm not going to regret this."

"Why don't we exchange Christmas gifts?" he offered. "Then afterwards, we can -- er, if you want, we could --"

"All right," I cut in, and put my hand into my trouser pocket. "I got you this," I said unnecessarily, and thrust a little box into his hands.

He opened it up and drew out a small, flat circle of wood that had a small symbol burned into it and a little hole for the leather cord that made it into a pendant. "I'm rubbish at Runes, but it's supposed to say 'light' or 'goodness.' And the wood is rowan wood."

He stared at it for a moment, then looped it around his neck swiftly. "I'll never take it off," he said.

"Not even to shower?" I asked, giggling a little.

"I'll put a Water-Repelling Charm on it," he said, though he smiled. "It's perfect."

Now I leaned in to kiss him again, but he pulled away. "I haven't given you your gift yet, Susan!"

"Right," I said. "Lay on, Macduff."

He looked confused by the Shakespeare, but didn't question me; the next thing I knew, I was holding a small potted plant.

I looked down at it, and its glossy green leaves seemed to quiver. "What is it?"

"It's an Ever-Blooming Tactilia plant," he explained. I shook my head; I hadn't come across it in my years of Herbology. He continued, "It's supposed to bloom whenever someone pure of heart touches it."

I looked at him. Pure of heart? What if the person touching the plant was living a lie?

But it was clear he wanted me to try it, so I brushed the backs of my fingers against the leaves. Before I could even draw my hand away, the buds at the tips of the stalks relaxed, and a host of mauve blossoms opened their little faces to me.

"It's beautiful," I said, stroking the smallest bloom. "It's lovely."

"There's one more thing I wanted to give you," he said, and his voice was strange.

I placed the plant on his coffee table. "Yes?"

At this, he leaned in as if to kiss me, but instead put his lips to my ear. "I love you, Susan."

Something coursed through my body, and I clutched his pajama top spastically. "D'you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. I wouldn't have said it if I hadn't meant it."

"Oh, Neville, I love you too. So much." And I kissed him, and before long I'd pinned him under me on the couch, and our shirts were abandoned somewhere along the way, and --

I barely slept at all that night; after a few hours with Neville, I realized I had to get back to the Burrow or risk rousing an enormous amount of suspicion. After a protracted good-bye, I Flooed back to the Burrow, where I went back to my windowsill, this time dragging a blanket from the couch to cover me. I leaned my head against the window and dozed off, knowing full well I'd be woken by the first early bird to come downstairs in the morning.

The early bird turned out to be Mum, who came down about two hours after I'd fallen asleep. When I heard her footsteps, I opened my eyes immediately, registered her presence, and smiled tentatively at her.

"All right?" I asked quietly, then wanted to smack myself. What an idiotic question.

To my surprise, she nodded. "I didn't kill Harry last night, which showed some greatness of will on my part, I think." When she saw my surprise, she sighed. "He's determined to blame himself. As if I didn't have enough to deal with at the mo'."

"I'm sorry," I said through a yawn.

"No, I chose Harry," she said firmly. "He's my problem for as long as he'll have me. Hopefully, for as long as we both shall live."

For a moment, I imagined the wedding my parents would have if I could bring Harry back with me. They'd certainly been through enough; it would be lovely to see them united for once and for all.

"Susan?" Ginny's voice broke through my daydream. "Let's get breakfast, yeah? I don't want to be alone."

I nodded and jumped down from the windowsill. "I make a mean porridge," I offered, and padded barefoot after her.