Chapter Nine: In Which Christmas is Celebrated
"Lily, sweetheart! And James, you're so tall!" Grandma Molly exclaims over the Potter siblings. "Albus, honey, you're looking—well," she adds, somewhat doubtfully.
Al makes a heroic effort not to scowl. He's just learned that his siblings have plans to spend Boxing Day at Malfoy Manor, and, even worse, Dad is encouraging them! Mom is glaring impartially around at the company.
Everyone is here: Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur, Uncle Percy declaiming about something or other, while Teddy swaps tall tales with James, his arm around Vic's waist. She's carrying little Harry Lupin, who's about fifteen months old and can actually walk himself; his parents are worried he'll get trampled. Vic's pregnant again, too—Al suspects she has the typical Weasley fertility.
"The decorations look lovely, Molly," Dad says, smiling.
"Thank you, Harry," Grandma Molly blushes. "It's nothing really."
"So, I'm going to wait for Dudley at the gate," Dad says. "You got our owl that they might be coming, right?" He looks anxious.
"Yes, of course, Harry dear," Molly says comfortingly. "I think it's great that you're reaching out to your relatives."
"Really?" Mom mutters sourly, but Dad pretends not to hear.
Albus looks around the party, already filling up with relatives he's known his whole life. He hates that he's old enough now to be bored by Christmas. It seems wrong somehow.
For lack of anything better to do, Al follows Dad toward the gate. He's seen Dana around school, of course, but the rest of her family only on Christmas cards. Their pictures never move, which used to confuse him.
"Dad?" Al asks, once they're several steps away from the crowd of Weasleys. "What's the story with you and the Dursleys, anyway?"
"Well," Dad says, and then stops. He doesn't speak for a long moment, and Al squints at his face in the dark. "I…Petunia Dursley was my mother's sister. After my parents died, she was the only family I had left. So Professor Dumbledore sent me to live with them, and they agreed to take me in."
Albus rolls his eyes. "Dad, I know that part already. I meant, what's the story?"
"I don't know what you mean," Dad claims—mendaciously, in Al's opinion.
"Why is it such a big deal that they're coming tonight? Why do we never visit them when we're so close with Mom's family? Why is Mom mad Lily invited them? Everyone's acting like they're worse than the Malfoys, which is ridiculous." His tone makes it clear that, to Albus at least, there is no one worse than the Malfoys.
"Al, I...Petunia and Vernon—and Dudley—weren't very…kind to me, growing up. I—we lost touch, after the war. I mean, I knew Dudley got married, and I saw them when Dana got her Hogwarts letter, but…well, it's complicated, Al."
"Family always is," mutters Albus, thinking of Lily, James, and the Malfoys.
"Lily, are you sure about this? We're going to miss dinner—" James protests.
Lily, undeterred, leads him a few paces further into the woods behind the Burrow. "I told you, it's your Christmas present! Besides, you're going to love it!"
"Lily—"
"Okay," Lily pulls her brother to a sudden stop. "Now, grab this twig."
"This is some kind of prank," James says resignedly. "You're going to humiliate me in front of the entire family."
"Wouldn't be the first time," Lily grins. "Just pick up the twig."
"I'll have you know I'm only cooperating because it's Christmas," James says, but he touches the twig in question.
"Have fun! Merry Christmas!" Lily calls, and waves at him. James feels a tug behind his navel, and then he's whirling to a stop in a little clearing in the middle of a wood.
And he's not alone.
Whistling, Lily makes her way back to the Weasley Family Christmas Dinner, feeling very proud of herself. "Vulpecula," she breathes on the glass of the Two-Way Mirror her parents got her on the eve of her first year at Hogwarts.
"Lily!" Vulpecula says happily. "Get James off okay?"
"Absolutely. How about you?"
"No problems on this end," Vulpecula's grinning. "Mom and Dad don't suspect a thing. Grammy Cissy gave me a weird look when I made Tairi's excuses, but I think we're good."
"She won't tell? I didn't explain about James's Christmas present, and there could be awkward questions," Lily says anxiously.
"Your mother, you mean," Vulpecula nods. "Like she'd have a word to say to Grammy Cissy."
"You'd be surprised," Lily says darkly. "Mom talks to Grandromeda all the time, and Grandromeda talks to Grammy Cissy…It's not that long a chain of information."
"Don't fret, Lily," Vulpecula insists. "We did good!"
"He is going to love it, isn't he?" Lily agrees, giggling. "Probably having the time of his life right now."
James swears, loudly and creatively. "We're stuck in the middle of nowhere!" He complains at last. "And this is supposed to be a Christmas present?"
"Well," Tairi Malfoy says slowly. "They did leave us some Christmas dinner."
"How are we supposed to get back? Everyone will be looking for us!" James protests.
"They must have thought of that," Tairi says. "It's not as though Lily and Vulpecula could have set up those Portkeys on their own. They're only second-years, after all."
"It's not that I'm not thrilled to see you," James says softly, pulling Tairi into his arms. "But this is ridiculous! When will my sister learn she can't just rearrange people's lives?"
Tairi laughs. "I think it's sweet. You're just upset because you didn't think of this yourself. We get Christmas dinner all to ourselves—no disapproving family, no boring business talk…what's not to love?"
"Well," James grins, leaning closer to Tairi. "When you put it that way…"
"We're all just so happy for you, dear," Grandma Molly gushes. She's seated at the head of the enormously long dinner table, set up in the garden.
Lily, having returned from her charitable mission to give James a romantic dinner with his girlfriend, looks up inquiringly. It hardly seems likely that Grandma Molly is referring to James's Christmas present, but she can't think what else she'd be congratulated for.
"You're finally where you belong," Grandma Molly goes on. "We were all sure the Sorting Hat must have made a mistake with you, and now you're in Gryffindor, with the rest of the family."
"What are Hugo and I, next-door neighbors?" Rose asks sharply. She's on edge because she hates these huge family gatherings. Lily's aware she'd much prefer to sit quietly with Al and maybe Scorpius, studying for exams or researching bizarre areas of magic.
But Lily isn't thinking about Rose. Anger floods her whole body, paralyzing her. She's prepared for anti-Slytherinism from Hamilton, or Wood, the Gryffindors, or the Ministry—but this is her family. Grandma Molly is beaming, and Uncle Percy, and even Uncle George, are nodding in agreement.
Lily wants to scream.
"I d-don't think that's fair at all," Dana Dursley speaks up nervously.
Everyone is so surprised that complete silence falls over the family. Dana's parents look singularly uncomfortable, and her younger brother is the only one unaware of the tension. He's playing some sort of game under the table.
"S-Slytherin is a fine House," Dana continues. "I have a friend, Anne du Winters, who g-got hurt, in the dungeons. The Gryffindors—it was their fault, and they didn't even wait, to take her to the Hospital Wing! It was awful! Some older Slytherins helped her, but she still had to go to the Wizarding Hospital for awhile."
"You didn't tell us your classmate was in the hospital!" Dana's father says furiously. "I knew that place wasn't safe!"
"Dad, I'm fine," Dana says hurriedly, clearly embarrassed. "My point is, not all Gryffindors are very nice. And not all Slytherins are mean. And Lily is one of the nicest people I've met at Hogwarts, from any House."
"Wow," Lily says, touched. "Thanks, Dana."
"Well," Grandma Molly says, and stops. "Whatever you say, dear."
Lily isn't sure whether she or Dana is being addressed, but it doesn't seem to matter. It's funny, Lily thinks, that her father's family (or at least Dana) understand some things about her world better than her mother's. The Weasleys are as old a family as the Malfoys, and they've got a reputation for tolerance.
Lily isn't sure it's deserved.
Elsewhere, Dolores Umbridge stares at her wall. On it hangs a picture of Harry Potter—one of those promotional ones he agreed to have taken at last year's Ministry party.
Pinned over the bottom of his picture is a blurry newspaper photo of a redheaded girl, climbing onto the Hogwarts Express.
Written in sickly green ink, over Harry Potter's chest, are the words, To be punished.
Written over the redheaded girl's left foot is the word, Weapon.
Dolores Umbridge lifts a glass of firewhiskey, toasting the redhead. "Merry Christmas, little girl," she says sweetly. She drinks the entire glass in one gulp. "It'll be your last."