Harry spent Christmas Eve hiding.

He'd never admit he was hiding, of course, not in so many words, but he woke early and very pointedly dressed and left The Burrow before the morning sky had even begun to lighten.

The fields surrounding The Burrow were a dull snowy gray, monochrome against the gray clouds so it was difficult to tell where horizon ended and sky began. His breath clouded in front of his lips as he walked through the snow to the low stone wall at the edge of the property and brushed away a place to sit. All around him was the hush of an early winter morning, all the small sounds of waking up muffled by the frozen white blanket.

It was the first moment he'd had properly to himself since Ginny had knocked on his door not twelve hours before. He desperately needed a moment or two to think, but now that he was alone, all that seemed to fill his mind was a high-pitched buzz. A thousand different things were vying for his attention and didn't want to queue properly so he could think about them in an orderly manner.

One thing pushed to the forefront, the memory of Hermione pulling him aside as he excused himself from company for the evening, whispering to him, "What about Neville?"

"What about him?" he'd whispered back. "He made it clear we're through. We haven't even spoken since we broke up. I don't see that this has anything to do with him."

"Harry, he'll want to know," Hermione had told him. "You were friends first, and you'll be friends again, someday, once everything stops hurting—"

"It'll never stop hurting," Harry had interrupted. "It hasn't yet, and I've no hopes it ever will." He'd stamped down the sudden stab of grief and longing, but Hermione saw it before he could, and bit her lip. Harry had shaken his head. "Tell him if it makes you happy. I'm going to bed before the torches and pitchforks come out."

Truth was, he didn't know how he felt about Neville knowing. He'd find out eventually, of course; he corresponded with too many people for it to be kept a secret for long. Would Neville be happy for him? Or would he see his son as a physical representation of the act that had torn them apart?

Harry scrunched his eyes shut as the forbidden thought finally came to the forefront of his brain. No. He was not going to allow himself to think like that. Neville could think that all he wanted, but Harry refused to think of his son, his and Ginny's son, with the stigma of what that evening had done to his life. It was a disgusting thought and one that he felt ashamed had even surfaced. He shunted it off into a corner and forbade it to ever show itself again.

That line of thought banished, a new one wiggled to the front of his mind, though it wasn't a new thought at all but one that had visited so many times that the corners had been worn off. It was of Neville, of course, a long list of could-have-beens and should-have-dones, the thick-throat feeling of wanting nothing more than to be in his arms, the twisting sensation in his chest of needing something so badly that could never be had. This feeling was an old pain, almost a friend now, and one that he poked like one runs a tongue over a sore tooth or prods a bruise, to see if it still hurts.

He allowed himself a little self-pity. Christmas Eve, his first without the man he'd always considered his soulmate, stuck at a house full of people who were displeased with him at best and furious with him at the worst. To leave now would only make his situation worse and probably cause Ginny undue pain. He knew that he could be the man he needed to be now, but he was certain that he would need to spend a good portion of the next several years proving it to the family he'd just alienated. As far as he could tell, Hermione and Andromeda were the only ones willing to speak to him; Andromeda had closeted him by the fire after dinner, shielding him from the barely concealed glares of everyone else in the room with a spirited recount of Teddy's latest adventures, for which Harry was quite grateful. When he'd finally gone up to bed, George had rolled over and put his back to him when he walked in the room, though to be fair, it was possible he'd been asleep.

As the clouds lightened from gray to white and Harry stopped feeling cold and started feeling just plain numb, he trudged back across the yard and let himself into the blessedly warm kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was already up and fussing with the coffeepot.

"Good morning," she said, a little stiffly. Harry's face fell slightly, and Mrs. Weasley seemed to notice, because she paused in what she was doing, sighed, and held her arms out. It took a moment before Harry realized she was offering him a hug. Bewildered, he stepped into it, and she patted him on the back.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you two," she said as she let go and held him at arm's length, "But you're still family, and we still love you. And you're freezing, dear, go sit by the fire before you catch a chill." She turned him and gave him a little push into the living room, where the fireplace was already roaring. Harry gratefully sank onto a squashy couch nearest the flames and felt himself begin to thaw.

It wasn't long before the rest of the Weasleys and their spouses began to stir; as they filed into the kitchen, yawning, Harry felt very conspicuous, and as soon as George had stumbled across the threshold he fled back to the room where he was staying, with no further plans to emerge and bother anyone else that day.

It wasn't hiding, not exactly. He was sure that if anyone wanted to come find him, they would—but nobody did until Ron brought him a sandwich around midday.

"It's salami," he said by way of greeting, and Harry almost thought he was going to plunk the plate down on the desk and leave sullenly. Instead, he surprised Harry by setting it on the nightstand between the two beds and taking a seat on the edge of the other bed.

"All right, Ron?" Harry asked after an awkward moment of the two of them staring at the sandwich.

"I've been talking with Ginny," Ron finally said. "She's thrilled you two're having a kid. How am I supposed to hate you when you've made her happy?"

"I'll try to be more despicable straight away," Harry said, reaching for the sandwich.

"But it's supposed to be my sworn duty as her brother to protect her from things like this," Ron protested mock-pompously. "It's in the manual and everything." Harry sighed and began counting off on his fingers.

"One: I didn't do anything wrong. Neither did she. Stupid, yes; wrong, no. Two: no one actually got hurt. Well, I mean, I did...and Neville did..." Harry's mouth twisted. "Okay, rephrase: Ginny didn't actually get hurt, and that's who we're talking about here. Three: do you really think Ginny needs protecting? She's been holding her own since she was thirteen, and she knew exactly what we were getting into. Four: I mean to do right by her. She won't let me marry her, which I suppose is a bit of a relief, to be honest, but I'm going to do everything she lets me and a fair few things she wouldn't if she knew about them. You know me, Ron." He met Ron's eyes unflinchingly. "I may still have to prove myself as a father, but you know the kind of friend I am."

"Yeah," Ron admitted, "Yeah, I do." He furrowed his brow. "What kind of stuff wouldn't she let you do?"

"I'm meeting with Gringotts first thing Tuesday, for one," Harry said, judging that now it was finally safe to pick up the sandwich. "Our jobs are dangerous, you know that. If something happens to me, she and our son need to be provided for. You can imagine how well that'd go over with her."

"Point," Ron agreed. "She's got more pride than a hippogriff. She was chewing her liver when she asked to stay with us, but it was either us or Mum and Dad, and there was no way she was going to ask them for help."

"You know I'll take care of her as best I can," Harry said.

"Yeah. I know." Ron fidgeted and Harry took that as a cue that he could take a bite of the sandwich and ease his growling stomach. Ron watched him chew and swallow before clearing his throat. "What's this going to mean for you and Neville?"

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "I swear, Neville's the first thing people keep bringing up after they're done telling me what an idiot I am." Suddenly no longer hungry, he dropped the sandwich back to the plate. "It doesn't mean anything for me and him. We're not together anymore. We've moved on." Somehow he didn't feel right lying to Ron. "All right, he's moved on. I'm..."

"You've hardly budged," Ron supplied. "Every time you think of him it still hurts. And it's not getting any easier no matter how much time goes by. Right?"

Harry shot him a suspicious look. "And how would you know about that?"

Ron shrugged. "I felt the same way when Hermione and I split up that one time. Remember? I moped for a bloody year before you convinced me to crawl back to her, begging."

"That was different," Harry said. "She hadn't stopped loving you, either, she was miserable too. I knew that if one or the other of you swallowed your pride and asked for another chance..."

Ron leaned forward. "Every time Neville comes round for dinner, or writes, he asks after you," he confided in a low voice. "Asks how you're doing. Whether you're okay. If you're seeing anyone." He smiled conspiratorially. "That doesn't strike me as someone who's moved on."

Harry's heart gave a little leap in his chest, but he shook his head. "Don't set me up with false hopes, Ron. Even if what you're saying is true, it doesn't take into account this latest development—and I get the feeling Neville won't be nearly as excited about my having a son as I am."

"There is that," Ron agreed reluctantly. He gestured at the sandwich. "If you don't eat that, Mum's going to come up and force-feed you." Harry obligingly picked up the sandwich and took another bite, though it didn't taste nearly as good as it had before Ron had brought up Neville.

"Are you?" Ron asked suddenly. Harry swallowed.

"Am I what?"

"Excited."

"Once I get past the stark terror, yeah," Harry admitted. He stared at his sandwich. "I never thought I'd have a kid. I still feel like I'm a kid. When am I supposed to start feeling like an adult?"

"I'll let you know when it happens to me," Ron said wryly.

Evening had fallen by the time Harry timidly descended from the bedroom. The entire family was gathered in the living room, taking up every available seating arrangement, chatting animatedly—it would appear that Mrs. Weasley had finally given up the Christmas Eve tradition of stupefying everyone gathered with the warbling tortures of Celestina Warbeck. Teddy and Victoire were sprawled on the hearth in front of the roaring fire, their faces pink from the heat as they roasted marshmallows on pokers in the flames.

"A man after my own heart," Harry said as he picked his way across the living room to perch on the arm of a sofa. "They're only good when you burn them."

Teddy twisted around and gave Harry a gap-toothed grin.

"Nuh uh," Victoire said, carefully turning her poker. "You've gotta get them nice and brown and then you take off the outside and eat it and then roast the inside."

"That takes forever," Teddy protested.

"Better than tasting like soot," Victoire returned.

Harry felt a small thrill, like a static shock, as it occurred to him that within a few years, it might be his son roasting marshmallows on the hearth on Christmas Eve. His eyes sought out Ginny on the sofa across from him, who was also watching the children on the hearth. She seemed to feel his gaze, because she looked up and smiled at him. It would appear that she was thinking the same thing.

"So what are you going to name him?" Audrey asked, looking from Ginny to Harry, drawing him into the conversation. The rest of the chatter around the room grew silent; Ron and Mrs. Weasley may have reconciled the situation, but the rest of the family was apparently still wary of anything having to do with it.

"We...haven't actually talked about it yet," Harry said uncomfortably. He looked to Ginny.

"I'd like to name him after his father," Ginny said offhandedly, though she glanced at Harry as though for approval.

"What? No, please don't saddle him with Harry," Harry said with some alarm. "One of the things I'd want to go back and ask my mum would be why the blazes she inflicted that name on me." Next to him on the couch, George snorted into his mug of cider. Ginny looked somewhat dismayed. Obviously he'd just spoiled some plans of hers. "We'll talk about it," he promised her. "We've got, what, six months to figure out what to call him?"

A bell sounded from the kitchen and Hermione hopped to her feet. "That'll be the ham," she said somewhat breathlessly. "And that means dinner is done."

"Let me help you get it all to the table, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, also standing.

In short order, everyone was crammed around the kitchen table, with barely enough room to navigate a knife and fork. Conversation was once again flying warmly about the family, though Harry felt largely ignored. That suited him fine. He was not in a particularly talkative mood; his tendency toward introspection today had not worn down even after long hours of staring at the wallpaper in his room. The ham was excellent, and he told Hermione so; she was sitting at his right when she was not bobbing out of her chair to do some other kitchen task. She had been the driving force behind the Christmas Eve dinners for four years running now, but she had outdone herself this year. Ron had confided that her culinary aptitude had arisen from her close work with house-elves that year as a part of her position at the Ministry. "Don't know what they've been teaching her," he'd said earlier that day, "But if she keeps cooking like this I'll have to have my robes let out."

Harry let his mind wander from the conversations around him, and didn't speak another word through the rest of the meal, not even the pudding that Fleur had crafted. No one seemed to particularly notice when he excused himself from the table, and only Ginny and Mrs. Weasley seemed to take note of him putting on his scarf and gloves and wool overcoat and slipping out the front door.

The sky had cleared during the day, and the snow that had been blank white before now glinted silver in the moonlight. The stars were bright and crisp in the cold air. Harry walked for a minute or two, just to get some distance, and then simply stood, watching his breath mist and then disappear.

He didn't know how long he had stood there—not long, his nose wasn't cold yet—before he heard footsteps in the snow behind him. He turned, and was surprised to see Mr. Weasley walking toward him. A flutter of apprehension rose in his middle.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said in greeting. Harry nodded. Mr. Weasley looked somewhat uncomfortable—not from the cold, but as though he wasn't sure how to say something. He reached into his pocket, drew out something very small. "When I first learned that Molly was going to have Bill..." he smiled, ran his hand through his hair. "Ginny hit the nail on the head last night. I was sixteen, she fifteen, neither of us prepared in the least bit, but the worst part was telling her parents."

Harry coughed. "I can relate."

"I know you can. That's why I was so glad to receive from her father the same thing I'm going to give to you." Mr. Weasley pressed a small silver disk into Harry's gloved palm. Harry stared at it, bemused. It looked more like an old bus token than anything else, but it was blank on one side, while the other was intricately engraved with Ginevra Molly Weasley and what appeared to be a coat of arms, under which was inscribed 11 August 1981. "It's a tradition, particularly among pureblood families, to have a coin engraved for each child on the day of their birth," Mr. Weasley explained. "The other side is reserved for the birth of their firstborn—the heir, as it were." He cleared his throat. "Your father was from pureblood stock—I imagine you found a coin much like this one in your vault at Gringotts, among your parents' possessions." Harry nodded numbly. "In a perfect world, your parents would have given that coin to Ginny tonight, or last night, to exchange with you when your son is born." Mr. Weasley offered a sad smile. Harry wasn't sure how to respond. "It means that the parents of the witch and wizard in question accept and celebrate the new child, and approve the child to be one of the family heirs," Mr. Weasley clarified. "It was more important to have these coins when bloodlines and inheritance were important to prove—it's now more of a sentimental thing than anything—but..." he seemed to run out of words, and rubbed his hands together against the cold.

Harry found his voice. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley," he said, but it sounded vastly inadequate. He closed his hand over the coin, which somehow felt much heavier now that he knew its significance. He looked up into Mr. Weasley's serious face. "It...means a great deal to me. Your approval." Mr. Weasley smiled, and reached out to grip Harry's shoulder.

"You'll make a good father, Harry. My grandson is very lucky indeed."

The next morning, Harry stumbled downstairs rubbing his eyes blearily. As was perhaps dictated by law, Teddy and Fleur had roused the entire household as soon as the sky had begun to show hints of dawn, beginning with their guardians and by extension everyone else as their shrill young voices explained very loudly and earnestly why everyone must wake up right now. Harry remembered Dudley acting the same way, but he had never shared in the excitement—the first time he'd ever received a present on Christmas morning had been his first year at Hogwarts.

The pile by the fireplace this year was quite large—everyone had at least one parcel that had been delivered by the owls overnight. Harry had never figured out how owls knew to delay delivery of gifts until the night before Christmas, or the birthday of the recipient. He yawned, not willing to spare the brain cycles at the moment to ponder it, and flopped into an armchair. The rest of the family filled in the spaces around him, and Mrs. Weasley began passing around mugs of coffee, looking more tired than usual herself.

The adults let Teddy and Victoire rip open their lion's share of parcels first, still waking up but amused at the children's reactions to their bounty. It appeared that the winners were Victoire's plush toy pony that whickered and pawed the ground realistically, a gift from Ginny, and Teddy's child-sized Quaffle that would return when thrown. Harry firmly believed in starting children early for a lifetime appreciation of Quidditch.

The smaller parcels for adults were then passed around and opened in turns; Percy was pleased with his new raven's quill that produced its own azure blue ink, a gift Harry had labored over for some time; Charlie hooted with laughter at the false Snitch that bared sharp teeth and growled, courtesy of George; Mrs. Weasley admired Fleur's embroidery handiwork on a pair of dainty linen handkerchiefs. The traditional Weasley jumpers were no surprise, of course; while the Weasleys had a great deal more money now that they no longer had to scrape together several Hogwarts tuitions, by this point the Weasley jumper was a staple.

Ginny paused in unwrapping a small parcel, looking piercingly at Harry, who was watching her closely. "Harry, I've already told you no."

Harry cleared his throat, aware that everyone had quieted down and was now watching their exchange with interest. "I know. But I'd like you to have it anyway." He reached over and opened the box for her. Here in the bright light, the ring was absolutely dazzling, as though determined to make up for twenty-three years of dark storage in its wooden box.

"I—Harry, I couldn't. Not your mother's ring. Save that for someone else."

"There's only going to be one mother of my first son," Harry said firmly, with a gentle note. "And whether you like it or not, you and I are devoted to one another on some level, if we're raising this child together. There isn't any escaping that. You may not ever be my wife, but you'll always be my son's mother." He took her hand, slid the ring onto the fourth finger. "On your right hand, if it makes you feel any better," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Save the left for the bloke you do marry someday."

Ginny's eyes shone with tears, and from the corner of his eye Harry could see that her expression was mirrored among most of the women surrounding them. "You are so noble it makes me ill," she said, but there wasn't any real force behind the words, and she did not remove the ring when Harry let go of her hand.

Harry surreptitiously surveyed the room and was pleased to discover that, for the first time since Friday's dinner, the general consensus seemed to be that of approval and acceptance. Hermione smiled warmly at him when his gaze met hers, and it was then that he finally knew that his transgression had been forgiven, and the celebration could begin.

That afternoon, Harry had just pulled a cracker with Teddy and was coughing in the star-spangled smoke it had produced when a knock sounded at the door. Mrs. Weasley looked up from studying her new leather gloves and stared at the door in confusion.

"But...we're all here already," she said in befuddlement as she put the gloves aside and made her way to the door.

Harry's mouth went dry as his eyes automatically went to Ron and Hermione, who met his gaze with wide eyes themselves. No. They weren't all there. Someone was missing, and if he was on the other side of that door...

Harry hastily stood, brushing confetti off his lap as he made his way to the stairs, but he froze in the middle of his escape as Mrs. Weasley squealed in delight.

"Neville! Oh, what a brilliant surprise! Happy Christmas!"