A/n: Well folks, I know it's been a while, but we are awful close to Christmas and I had a sneaking suspicion a new chapter for this fic might be on some people's wish list, so here is the first of two very Christmas-y chapters.

A warning: those of you hoping for cute Weasley family fluff...well...be ready for something else...kinda....

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 15: The (First) Tale of Christmas

"Happy Christmas Eve!"

Ron's cheerful response received a scowl from his best friend before he bent back over the pile of papers on his desk.

"I'm not quite sure what's so happy about it…"

"Oh Harry, don't be such a scrooge," Ron said, entering his friend's office fully and shutting the door behind him. "Haven't you learned by now to get your work done early on Christmas Eve?"

"Well what about you?" Harry retaliated, glancing at the pile of books in Ron's arms.

"I got all my work done three days ago."

Harry grabbed at his chest, looked mortally offended.

"You've been done for three days? I'm ashamed to call you my best friend."

"Laugh it up, scroogey. You're just jealous cause I'm all done with my work and Kingsley's still riding your arse."

Harry grimaced, staring down at the large quantity of papers on his desk.

"So what are the books for, then?" he asked, changing the subject. "Last minute Christmas shopping?"

"Ha, of course, because all Hermione ever wants for Christmas is a nice book," Ron replied with a roll of his eyes. "Not quite so, my friend. I can't buy her books for presents anymore, because she has so many that I usually buy one she's already read."

"Then what're all those for?"

"For you, actually," Ron said, dumping the massive pile of books onto his desk. "Kingsley said they might be useful."

"Oh, joy of joys," Harry muttered darkly as he glanced at the cover of the top book. "Psychology books?"

"That's supposed to be my question. What d'you need psychology books for?"

"He's got to be kidding me," Harry grumbled, sitting back and rubbing his face wearily. "There's no way I can get started on that now."

"Get started on what?"

Harry picked up a very fragile-looking bit of parchment hidden amongst the mess on his desk and passed it on to Ron.

Ron read aloud:

"'Release the followers of the Dark Lord and no one will be harmed'? Ha, you're trying to figure out who wrote that threat in, aren't you?"

Harry gave Ron a withered look.

"Yes, I can see how this would amuse you."

"Sorry, it's not funny, really," Ron amended, placing the threat back on the desk. "But that case has been closed for over two months now. The trail's cold. How do you plan on figuring it out now?"

"It's taken me this long just to get my hands on the original copy. Kingsley reckons I can somehow figure it out, even when a team of Unspeakables couldn't."

"Well," Ron said, glancing over his friend's shoulder to look at the old note. "It seems like the bloke's obsessive compulsive."

"How on earth d'you figure that one?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"The writing," Ron said with a shrug.

"There isn't any writing," Harry replied sarcastically, apparently offended that Ron thought this a joke. "It's all been cut out of a newspaper."

"Exactly. Do you see how ridiculously neat the whole thing is? It looks like someone spent the better part of a day piecing the thing together. Other death threats are just thrown together haphazardly, but this one looks as if it was done by someone wanting to get it perfect."

Harry stared at him, and Ron shrugged again self-consciously.

"Or, you know, maybe he's just really artsy. But you notice this?" he continued, pointing out the w in will, which was written in a purple ink. "That's not from the Prophet, or any other newspaper. It's a promotional ad from George's shop."

"It's just a scrap of paper, though."

"I worked at the place for a year, Harry. I think I know what a Wheezes promotional ad looks like when I see one, even if it's been hacked up and pasted on an old bit of parchment."

"So what does that tell you?" Harry asked, now intrigued.

"Well," Ron hesitated, thinking. "Back in August before Hogwarts started up George was giving out flyers left and right for a new line of love potions. If it's from that flyer, it means this has been planned out for quite some time, which means we can't just sit back and assume he's forgotten about the whole thing like we have."

"So why haven't you bothered taking a crack at this thing, if you know so much about it?"

"Cause it was assigned to you," Ron replied with a cheeky grin. "I've finished all my work. There any way you can finish this thing later and come to the game?"

"The Annual Cannons' Charity Quidditch Match? You still bother going to those?"

"Hey, they're due," Ron piped up a defense for his favorite Quidditch team. Age and children had not assuaged his fanatic alliance. In fact, he had only spread on his zeal for the Chuddley Cannons, as Rosie and Hugo were just as big of fans as he was.

"Well, you enjoy that. Guess I'll see you all tomorrow, yeah?"

"That depends," Ron replied, looking up at Harry seriously. "Is Ginny still planning on making her Christmas cake?"

"Yes, so you'd better find a better excuse not to eat it this year than having a gastrointestinal problem that prevents you from eating everything but it."

"I'll figure something out later. So are you going to be able to make it to the game or not? We have to leave in about an hour."

"Can't. I have to remember everything you just said about this threat and turn it in as a report. But you have fun watching the Cannons get slaughtered yet again."

"And you enjoy figuring out your psychopath, Mr. Scrooge," Ron said, walking out the door and closing it behind him. He smiled a bit as he heard Harry grumble behind the closed door.

Ron headed down to the Atrium, pausing briefly in front of the lift to speak to his brother Percy about the game that night.

"I'm just saying that the Arrows have an edge going into the game. But who knows? Maybe you'll finally get that Christmas miracle and the Cannons will come out on top."

"Thanks for the support, brother dearest," Ron muttered as Percy smiled at him before entering the lift.

"Enjoy it then, and I'll see you tomorrow!" Percy called out as the golden grilles shut on him and he ascended.

Ron waved him off before heading into the Atrium and Apparating home.

"Hermione?" Ron called out, closing the back door behind him as he entered the house. "Rose? Hugo?"

He went into the hallway and shouted out as someone stepped on his toe and ran off in a blur of frizzy auburn.

"Sorry, Dad!" Rosie shouted from the bathroom. "I'll be ready in a little bit!"

Ron rubbed his toe a bit before putting it back on the ground gingerly.

"We've got an hour yet, so take your time," Ron said as he headed into the kitchen.

He howled in pain again as someone new stepped on his toe.

"Sorry, Dad," Hugo's big brown eyes stared up at him. "I'm ready to go though!"

"We've still got an hour!" Ron said, entering the kitchen fully to find his wife stirring a pot on the stove.

Ron smacked himself on the forehead as he only just remembered the other errand he had neglected to run.

"Shi—oot," Ron amended, knowing his son was still behind him. "I have to run to Diagon Alley."

"But you just got in," Hermione turned around. "Why don't you sit and have some soup first?"

"Can't," Ron said, even as his stomach rumbled in protest. "I'll just pop over for a second and then we'll all have dinner before we go to the game."

"All right then," Hermione replied with a frown. "Don't take too long."

"Can I come, Dad?" Hugo tugged at his coat. "I'm all ready to go!"

"Fine by me, but we've got to go now!"

"The game starts in an hour!" Hermione shouted after them as they disappeared via the Floo network.

"What are we getting?" Hugo asked excitedly, bounding down the wintry streets of Diagon Alley five minutes later.

"I've forgotten a part of your mum's gift," Ron said, stuffing his left hand further into his pocket and holding tighter to his son's hand in his right. "Make sure you don't let go…I don't want to lose you and have to watch the Cannons without you."

"You wouldn't leave me!"

"I make no promises when it involves the Cannons."

Hugo just laughed before stopping a second to look into a display case.

"C'mon, Hugo, we're on a strict schedule," Ron said, adopting his best Hermione voice.

"Bud Da-ad," Hugo whined, pointing to the solid gold chess set in the window. "Lookit! How cool would it be to play with them?"

Ron cocked his head to the side and stared as the golden king tipped his crown to the father and son pair in a royal fashion. Hugo squealed in delight and Ron rolled his eyes.

"It's not necessarily the look of the chessmen, son, it's how well they take direction and how much experience they have," Ron nodded sagely, before yanking on his son's hand to hurry him along.

"That's only what people say when they have a cheap chess set," Hugo said, not noticing his father's ears tinge a bit pink that had nothing to do with the cold. "Hope I get a new set for Christmas!"

"Christmas isn't always about the presents, you know," Ron squeezed his son's hand. "I've told you the story about that, haven't I?"

"Yeah, Dad," Hugo said, an automatic attempt to dodge one of his father's stories.

"Oh, good, then it'll sound familiar!" Ron said and Hugo's attempts to pull away and run were thwarted as Ron held on tighter to his hand.

"You whore."

The unfamiliar woman was backing away from him, tears and fear in her bright blue eyes.

"I never meant it to get this far!"

Do you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back?

"The hell you didn't!"

"I swear it! I love you, and only you!"

Don't lie!

"LIAR!"

He lifted her up only to hit her again. And as she fell, her short blonde hair was lengthening and turning darker, bushier….

"No, stop! Please!"

He picked her up by the throat and squeezed tightly. Her now brown eyes were begging of him to release her, but his hold did not waver. She began to choke and splutter, and just as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, a voice shouted from behind him.

I was only saying—

Yeah, I get it, you don't care!

"STOP!"

He dropped her to the ground, where the woman he loved—no, had loved—lay still.

So why are you still here?

Search me.

Go home then.

"Incarcerous!"

The spell hit him before he could react, and scorching hot ropes wound their way up his arms. He couldn't move, couldn't say a thing…but his arms were on fire….He looked down to see the ropes had turned to serpents and were burning him.

I get it. You choose him.

Ron, no—please—come back, come back!

Ron's eyes flew open and he rolled, tangled in the blankets, until he couldn't escape and he was falling off the bed.

He landed hard on the wooden floor and squeezed his eyes shut as he placed his throbbing head onto the cold floor, praying for escape from the pain in his arms and the misery in his heart.

"Ron?" Bill knocked at the door before opening it and lighting the lamps in order to see his youngest brother on the floor. "Hey, you okay?"

Ron kept his arms wrapped up in the blanket and shrugged, which was a step up from the normal denial of any and all problems.

"Arms hurt," he grumbled tiredly.

Bill's footsteps came forward and the bed creaked as he sat down heavily on it.

"You sure I can't get you any Dreamless Draught?"

Ron shook his head but kept his forehead on the floor.

"I don't want it. I don't need it."

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't start worrying about it until after the third month of nightmares."

Ron turned his head and cracked his eyes open to stare at Bill, who was looking down on him with a furrowed brow.

"C'mon, Ron, you've been having nightmares ever since you got here—"

"You don't think I know that?" Ron spat, his lack of sleep evident in his short temperament. "I'm sorry," he amended immediately, "I just…I don't belong here. I…need to go back to them."

"Ron," Bill said as he slithered to the floor to sit next to him, "I know you do. And I know you'll find them. Just…be patient. They want you back as much as you want to be back."

Ron snorted his disbelief.

"Doesn't matter if that's true or not," Ron said in a voice that clearly stated he thought Bill's statement was in fact not true. "I still have to get back to them. I'm the one who kept them from saying his name."

"I think you were of more value to them than that."

Bill's reassurances did nothing to alleviate the pit in Ron's heart. That void could only be filled by his best friends. But Bill slapped his thighs and stood as if that settled the matter.

"You want anything, Ron?"

"Nah, I'm good," Ron said, standing up as well and checking the clock. "I'm going back to bed."

Bill turned to look at him from the door, and it was clear to the two brothers that Ron planned to do no such thing.

"Have a good night then."

"Happy Christmas, Bill."

Bill smiled and shut the door.

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

Ron pried off the blanket and made the bed, shivering in the cold even though his arms still burned. He went over to the lone dresser in the room and pried out some clothes to wear for the day ahead.

He hesitated as he looked on top of the dresser, the Deluminator gleaming in the lamplight. Where Bill's words failed Dumbledore's gift could usually give him some comfort, but as the days passed since he left Harry and Hermione in the tent even holding the Deluminator in his pocket couldn't assuage the guilt.

But it was better with it than without, so he placed the surprisingly warm device in his pocket and reached for the only thing that had the power to distract him from his current situation: the small wooden wireless by his bed.

He pulled his wand out and adjusted the station, trying to find any station not spreading Death Eater propaganda.

"God rest ye, merry hippogriffs, let nothing you dismay!" a strong, melodious tenor belted out, and Ron quickly changed the station; Fleur's Christmas fervor meant Ron's patience for carols were running thin.

Celestina Warbeck's classic "Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" sang out as he reached the next station, and Ron rapt his wand hard on top of the wireless to change the station, not willing to remember the last time he had heard that song.

"Ron…?"

Ron jumped, nearly falling off the bed again. He froze and listened, but his name hadn't come from the wireless, and it actually sounded like it came from someone he knew quite well….

"…Broke his wand, crashing…."

Her voice was fading out, and he shoved the wireless aside to pull out the Deluminator from his pocket. It did nothing out of the ordinary, but Ron stared at it as if expecting it to speak to him in Hermione's voice again, looking at it with a mixture of bewilderment, anxiousness, and some other feeling he couldn't quite place….

He compulsively clicked it and the lights went out as usual, but a new small, blue, pulsating light appeared outside the window, and Ron stared at it, mesmerized, only now realizing that the feeling he was experiencing was hope, such that he hadn't felt for the past two months.

This was it.

It took mere minutes to pack up his rucksack, and he quietly tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the hall, unlocking the backdoor and stepping out into the cold, dark night. The earliest rays of morning light were trying to make their way over the horizon, but it was still easy to spot the small blue light bobbing its way along the path to the shed. Ron followed it, nerves settling in. Even if he followed the light to Harry and Hermione, what would he say? What could he say?

He ran a bit as the light disappeared from view behind the shed, and upon rounding the corner he halted in his tracks as the light floated straight toward him.

Ron backed up in surprise but couldn't get away as it settled momentarily at his chest, right by his heart. Heat was emanating from the small orb of light and he felt confidence swell in him as the light entered him, bypassing his coat, sweater, shirt, and skin.

It was a lot like hanging on to a Portkey but instead it was inside him; it was a hard sensation to explain but it didn't matter because he knew it would take him exactly where he needed to be. And it didn't matter if he didn't know what to say…all that mattered was that he was going home.

He didn't bother looking back at Shell Cottage; he closed his eyes and with 'Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Potion' playing in his head, he Disapparated.

"You know," Ron said thoughtfully as he stepped forward in line, almost next to checkout, "that was the first time in seven years that I didn't spend Christmas with your Uncle Harry. But I can certainly say that it was one of the best I ever had. I really learned what was impor…tant…."

Ron trailed off as he realized Hugo was not paying the slightest bit of attention, but rather was skimming through a book he had picked up off a display table nearby.

"Cool, Dad," he muttered, turning the page.

Ron rolled his eyes as he continued in a flat voice, "And then we all died, and Christmas was ruined."

"Cool, Dad."

Ron yanked the book out of his son's hands and pushed him toward the counter, where an open clerk with an unnaturally white smile was waiting to help them.

Ron paid for the book and the two walked out of Flourish and Blotts onto the snowy streets of Diagon Alley. Hugo pulled his mittens back on as Ron opened his new purchase and placed a small envelope inside it, before placing it all back in the bag.

"Right, let's get out of here before we catch our deaths," he looked down at Hugo before pulling up the hood of his cloak to confront the bitter wind.

Ron held onto Hugo's shoulder so he wouldn't lose him in the crowd, but he should have been paying more attention to the people milling around as he hit something mushy but solid.

"Ouch!"

"Oh, sorr—" Ron hurriedly apologized, before looking up at the person and smiling. "Neville!"

"Oh hi Ron!" Neville's round face beamed, taking in whom he had run into. "And Hugo too!"

"Hiya, Mr. Longbottom," Hugo waved shyly up at his father's friend.

"Well this is a nice surprise! What are you up to?"

"Just getting some last minute Christmas shopping done," Ron replied, holding up his newly acquired purchase. "And yourself?"

"Off to take my lady home," Neville grinned sheepishly, pointing ahead at the Leaky Cauldron. "We're due at St. Mungo's in an hour."

"We'll walk you there," Ron said, checking his watch before turning Hugo around to walk alongside Neville. "I was hoping to pop in on my brother at the shop anyway."

"Thanks," Neville said, putting his hands deep in his pockets in a sad attempt to stave off the cold.

"We're going to see Uncle George?" Hugo piped up, but the question was lost in the howling wind.

"So how have things been for you?" Ron asked.

"Fine, fine. James has been keeping me up at night, though. He keeps trying to sneak into the greenhouses looking for—excuse me!"

Ron, who had been about to guffaw at his nephew's Hogwarts antics, frowned at the cloaked figure who had just rammed his shoulder into Neville's and kept charging forward.

The cold wind blew off the man's hood, and Ron felt a cold penetrate him that had nothing to do with the foul weather.

"So like I was saying—Ron? Ron, what's wrong?"

For Ron had picked up his pace tremendously, and turned abruptly to enter his brother's shop.

"GEORGE!" Ron roared above the chaos that surrounded him in the tight shop.

"Ron?" George looked confused as he popped his head up from under the counter. "What're you doing here?"

"Watch him," he said abruptly, picking up his confused and displeased son and handing him off like a baton. "And lock the door behind me."

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, looking from his nephew's face to his brother's.

"Just do it!" he cried as he ran out the door.

"Dad?" Hugo felt confusion hit him hard as he tried to wriggle out of his uncle's grip. But George held on strong as he walked to the shop entrance and bolted the door.

"Ladies and gents," George shouted above the melee moving about the small store room. He waited for the shoppers to become relatively quiet before continuing, "We've got a bit of a situation going on outside, so if you'd just like to head toward the back of the shop—"

Grumbles and curses were thrown around but everyone complied as they ambled their way to the back of the store, some still browsing the merchandise on their way.

"Uncle George?" Hugo asked, his annoyance at being carried around like a baby being drowned out by his worry. "What's going on?"

"I dunno," he said, taking his own advice as he walked towards the back. "But I've learned that when your dad gets that attitude, it's best to do what he says."

Hugo, having recognized his father's no nonsense tone of voice many a time himself, nodded as he tried to get a glimpse outside the window.

A crowd seemed to be forming around two people in the middle of the street. A sudden scream of pain from outside was drowned out by shrieks of fear, and Hugo watched the crowd disperse up and down the street.

More shouting, some crying, and Hugo's eyes widened with an unknown fear as there was suddenly, inexplicably nothing. A blinding, intense light, the sound of a bomb going off, screams and shouts and cries and breaking glass and then it was over.

A/n: A cliffhanger?! What kind of awful scrooge am I? But if you all are good little reviewers, you might find the second part to this story as a late Christmas present! (Read as: you'll get the second part in the next few days.)

So I hope you all enjoy your holidays immensely, safe travels, and thanks as always for taking the time to read my story! Loves and good tidings to all of you!

-dieselwriter