A/n: Is Christmas over yet? ::cries::

Guys, I'm so sorry this took so long. I really got hung up on the flashback for this chapter. But thanks to some major help from my sister, I'm really liking what it turned into. So you should definitely thank her for making this chapter (and the flashback) possible. ;)

Note: Seriously, why would anyone bother reading this chapter without reading the last two? If you read this chapter but not the last two you will be VERY CONFUSED. DON'T DO IT.

And with that out of the way, let's all try to get past this Christmas once and for all.

The Tales of Weasley the Father
By dieselwriter

Chapter 17: The (Third) Tale of Christmas

George sat on the hard chair of the waiting room, his nephew sat on his lap as he continuously raked his fingers through the child's soft, bright red hair. If Hugo was displeased of the petting he did not vocalize it.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier," he said as he rhythmically stroked the child's head.

Hugo remained silent and pale, listening or thinking, George wasn't sure.

"You had me worried…and that accidental magic…it surprised me. Was that your first time?"

Hugo nodded.

"Very impressive."

Loud footsteps echoed down the hall and both Weasleys jumped to their feet, readily anticipating, and secretly dreading, the approaching Healer. Both were therefore surprised when Neville Longbottom came into view, looking disheveled.

"George!" he huffed, bending over as he grasped at a stitch in his side. "Hugo! Thank God I found you…how's Ron?"

"How did you know…?"

"I ran into Ron at Diagon Alley and he told me to get out of there…I only just heard about the attack and one of the Healers mentioned a Weasley…how is he?"

"We don't know," George answered, looking down at his resolutely quiet nephew before glancing back up at Neville. "We're waiting for the Healers to give us an update."

"Oh, right, of course," Neville stood up, looking down at the plastic bag he was holding and hesitating before holding it up to Hugo. "You mind giving this to your dad the next time you see him?"

Hugo nodded and stepped forward, grabbing the bag and going back to sit down, peaking inside it.

"He okay?" Neville whispered, nodding over to the small boy as his brow furrowed at the contents of the bag.

George glanced at Hugo, seeing more of Ron in him now than ever before. How long had it been since he had seen his brother that quiet, that startling shade of white, worrying over their father after that snake had bit him?

"I'm sure he'd be better if his dad were here."

"You want me to wait with you?"

"Nah, you should go back to your wife," George said, shooing him away. "It's Christmas Eve; you should be with family."

"So should you," Neville sighed mostly to himself, glancing behind him as if hoping Ron would come walking down the hallway. "I told Hannah that I was just coming by to check on him…I'll stop by later, okay?"

"Yeah, sounds good, Neville, thanks."

Neville waved him off and walked back down the hall, his determined strut making George wonder if he were really going back to his wife. He turned back around and sat down on the chair next to Hugo.

"So what's in the bag?"

Hugo avoided eye contact as he held out the book for his uncle to see.

"What'd he buy this for?" he asked, turning it over to glance at the back before handing it back over.

It might have been his imagination, but it seemed as though Hugo were fighting a smile before he shrugged. George sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the white ceiling.

His silent musings didn't last long as Neville came barreling back down the hall, a wide smile splitting his round face.

"George!" he yelled and doubled over again, short of breath. George remained sitting, waiting, his heart hammering in his chest. "George, I just spoke—to Kingsley—he's seen Ron—"

Now his mouth was completely dry and his hands were shaking madly.

"He's fine, George; Ron's okay."

And now he was sure his heart had stopped.

"That's…fine?"

Neville gave him a peculiar stare as his smile faltered.

"Ron's fine."

"But…" George shook his head; had he fallen asleep while waiting? Was he dreaming? He had seen his baby brother at the bottom of that hole; he had seen him with his cloak charred to a crisp, his face mired with a large, ugly bruise, his hands an angry red with white, burnt flesh…he had taken Hugo away at that point and called for help.

"Kingsley didn't give any details, but he said Ron would be all right."

George swallowed but gave a shaky grin as he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Well, can…can we go see him?"

"I don't know," Neville said, "I only got to speak to Kings—"

"Mr. Weasley?"

Neville and George both jumped as a blond Healer spoke up from behind them.

"Yes?" George replied, finding his voice.

"Your brother's stable now. I can take you in to see him."

George's nerves returned as Hugo practically Apparated at his side, grabbing his uncle's hand tensely.

"I'll…I'll see you guys later, all right?" Neville piped up, obviously not wanting to intrude on the family affair as he streaked down the hall before anyone could object.

"Right, well, Ron's asleep now," the blond-haired man started off cautiously, obviously thrown off by Neville's sudden disappearance. "But he was actually in a lot better shape than what we first anticipated. The cloak he was wearing was Auror-issued fire resistant…something you helped manufacture, if I am not mistaken?"

George made a mental note to gloat after this whole mess was over.

"Well, the cloak protected him from the majority of the blast—"

"How could a piece of fabric protect him from an explosion?"

The Healer momentarily surveyed him before continuing.

"The injuries suggest that the actual impact of the explosion didn't seriously affect him."

"And how is that possible?"

"I…I am not sure," he fumbled again as he ushered them forward, down the hallway. "But my best bet is that he set up a Shield Charm. It would help absorb most of the impact. But not even the most powerful Shield Charm can counteract an Explosion Potion. The cloak protected his body from the heat but his hands still received deep second degree burns. Burn-Healing Paste was applied and seems to be working well, but we'll have to keep him for observation for a few days—"

"But—but Neville—I mean, Kings—er, the Minister…" George took a deep breath to help clear his head before he continued. "He said he was fine—"

"He will be, sir, it's just a precaution in case of infection."

George grimaced; that did not sound pleasant.

"It's standard procedure, Mr. Weasley. I'm confident your brother will make a full recovery."

He stopped in front of a door and George and Hugo halted as well, their nerves kicking into high gear. The Healer smiled kindly at them both.

"He'll be asleep for a while yet, but you're welcome to go see him. My name is Healer Casey, and I'll be Ron's primary Healer for his stay at St. Mungo's. I'll be back in a little while to check up on him, but please let me know if you need anything."

He opened the door and waited patiently as they stumbled their way inside before shutting it behind them, the echoing thud sounding like they had entered a jail cell instead of a hospital room.

George and Hugo shared a nervous glance at each other before stepping further into the room, Hugo's hand still gripping tightly to his uncle's.

George scanned the figure in the lone bed in the room, and his breath hitched as his eyes roamed over his brother's heavily bandaged hands. There were also faint hints of welts across his cheeks and forehead, and a few strands of his bangs were singed. But apart from that he looked fine, much more so than he had sitting at the bottom of that hole, covered in ash, dirt, and debris.

Hugo released his hand and ran over to his father, reaching automatically for his hand before thinking better of it and settling for Ron's arm instead.

George grabbed a chair nearby and sat down, watching as Hugo delicately fingered his father's bangs, examining the burnt hair.

He jumped when Hugo turned abruptly around to face him, tears streaming down his face.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," he managed to squeak out before he dropped the sack he was carrying and launched himself at his uncle, hugging him fiercely.

George nearly fell out of the chair in surprise.

"I didn't mean to hurt you….I didn't mean to run off….I'm sorry!"

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he replied soothingly, returning the hug. "You didn't hurt me too bad, it's fine."

"You were scary…you never yelled at me before…not like that."

A sob shook his little frame and George felt his heart break.

"I never had a reason to yell like that 'til today. When there's a serious situation and I tell you to do something you do it, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered as he snuggled into his uncle's chest.

George gave a weak smile as he hugged him back harder, glad to know he wouldn't be known as the scary shouting uncle from now on, and even more glad that Hugo was talking again.

They were interrupted a few minutes later as the door was practically blown off its hinges as a frightened Hermione Weasley barged into the room, her daughter clinging to her hand and looking extremely frightened (by her mother or the situation was impossible to tell). A pale-faced Harry entered hurriedly after them, looking everywhere and anywhere but his injured friend in the hospital bed.

"Hugo!"

Hugo needed no more invitation than that before he scurried over and hugged his mother with as much energy as he could muster, she doing the same in return. Rosie stood off to the side, her eyes glued to her father's bandaged hands.

"Are you all right? Did you get hurt? Did the Healers check you over?" Hermione asked, fussing over her son as she took in his white face, checking for nonexistent injuries.

"I'm okay, Mum; nothing happened to me—it was all…it was all Dad."

Hermione still clung to him as she looked over at her husband. They all stared at Ron, but he did nothing more than mumble a bit in his sleep. They all jumped as Harry moved, pulling out a chair for Hermione to sit in, which she willingly accepted after placing Hugo in her lap.

"Did you let Mum know?" George asked Harry.

"Yes, she's on her way," Harry answered in a monotone, pulling up his own chair and sitting while motioning Rosie to join him, which she did.

"Good."

They all remained silent, Harry seemingly itching to say something but unable to formulate the words.

"It's fine, Harry; you heard Healer Casey."

Harry jumped at Hermione's voice and Rosie glared at him, indignant, for he had almost dropped her as well.

"Yeah, it's really effing perfect, isn't it? Happy Christmas, it's my fault Ron's at hospital."

"Harry!" Hermione's eyes narrowed dangerously as she pulled Hugo closer to him, in order to shield him from Harry's pessimistic attitude and inappropriate language. But her eyes lost their murderous glint as her gaze drifted to the white plastic bag near her husband's hospital bed.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" Harry grumbled, cuddling his niece in an attempt to alleviate his foul mood.

"That bag by the bed; whose is it?"

"Oh!" Hugo exclaimed, jumping off his mother's lap and retrieving it for his mother. "It's for you!"

"But what is it?" Hermione asked, even as she peaked inside the sack and Hugo sought residence in George's lap once more.

"Your present!" Rosie piped up. "That's why you couldn't find it under the tree earlier, Mum; Dad's been keeping it secret from you!"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she pulled the book out of the sack, but she smiled nostalgically as she read the cover.

"I didn't think Ron liked buying you books?" Harry asked.

"He doesn't; he usually buys me ones I've already read."

"Then why'd he give you one?"

"That's the story!" Rosie and Hugo both spoke up and gave each other identical mischievous smiles when their mother looked highly embarrassed with them both.

"How do you know…?"

"You have to ask?" Rosie gave a sly grin.

"Dad loves telling that story," Hugo finished for her.

"Dad loves telling any story," Rosie amended.

George snorted at the pair of siblings and Harry gave a small smile. Cheeks still flushing, Hermione opened the book and her eyes glazed over as she picked up the frayed envelope.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyeing her misting eyes with slight trepidation. "What is that?"

"Uncle Harry, you're just as nosy as Mum was earlier today," Rose teased her uncle, the look on her face all too reminiscent of the playful expression her father wore so often.

"Well then you should tell them the story!" Hugo spoke up, bouncing in his uncle's lap in excitement. "Dad always likes to hear that story 'round Christmas!"

But Rose blushed, looking at her father and losing the grin she had previously been sporting.

"I dunno…I mean…Dad always tells them…I probably wouldn't be very good at it…."

"It's okay, Rose," Hermione broke out of her reverie to interrupt her daughter. "Dad loves hearing his stories probably more than he loves telling them."

Bolstered by her mother's reassurances, and only with the briefest of hesitations to glance at her father's sleeping form, she began to recite the story her father had told her multiple times before.

"Hey."

He didn't really know why he bothered saying it; Hermione was just as mad today with him as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that, but it had been the first time since their disastrous conversation three nights ago that he had had the courage to talk to her alone.

Of course, the whole point of only talking to her when Harry was around was to make sure he'd have his back if a flock of canaries were sent to attack him. That was turning out to be very probable if the look Hermione gave him was any indication to her current feelings.

"I, um, I was just…I got you something."

Hermione said nothing; she remained sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea out of the mug in her tense fingers. Ron crept forward, feeling as if he were provoking a large, angry Chimaera, and placed the gift on the table next to her before backing away quickly.

"It's just…it's a late Christmas present, I guess," he said, shrugging as Hermione stared at the cover coldly.

"I've already read it."

Nearly falling over at the shock of her speaking at all, he felt a strange smile bubble up inside him as he replied.

"Maybe you should check it out anyway. It might be different than you remember."

Hermione (against her better wishes, Ron suspected) picked up and opened the book, her eyebrows rising in surprise as an envelope fell out of it next to her mug. She picked it up and glared at him suspiciously before opening it.

It may have been Ron's imagination, but her brown eyes seemed to soften as she lifted the delicate silver chain out of the envelope and stared (marveling, perhaps? or was she inspecting it for imperfections?) at the small sapphire pendant.

"I knew we'd probably be Horcrux hunting come Christmas, so I got ages ago, but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to give it to you since, well, I left, but I was able to get it to you and…well…I know it's not much, but Ginny helped me pick it out. Do you like it?"

His jaw was clenched and his long fingers were entangled in each other nervously, waiting for a response. He tensed further as she dropped the necklace back in the envelope and placed it back on the table.

"All the sweetheart necklaces were out of stock then?"

"I—but…what?" Ron floundered at her icy retort. "What's that got to do with…you know about that?"

Any compassion she might have felt was gone in an instant as her eyes hardened, boring into his befuddled blue eyes.

"Lavender mentioned it."

Ron highly doubted that; as far as he knew, Hermione and Lavender hadn't been on speaking terms since he had dated the latter, but he wasn't about to say anything to the contrary. Not when she had that venomous bite in her tone.

"You really think you can just expect me to forgive you after you buy me a present? Well, I don't want it. I don't want you."

Hermione took that moment to stare down at the book, to compose herself and the angry tears welling in her eyes. That last line tore into Ron, and had Hermione looked up from the book, she would have seen that Ron too was trying to keep himself together.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not enough."

"I know."

They stood in silence for a moment, Ron attempting to keep his hands from shaking, Hermione attempting to stave off her tears as her hands grasped onto the book for dear life, and the envelope lying on the table, neglected.

"What can I do?"

It was a desperate plea and Ron knew it, but his pride had long been laid asunder. Harry had been there to witness it three nights ago.

"Nothing."

You are nothing, nothing, nothing to him.

A feeling Ron was all too familiar with crept into his heart, one he was sure he had put to rest along with the locket, as Hermione threw the book at him, her eyes suddenly sparked with anger even though the text missed him by a foot.

"I don't want your apologies! I don't want your presents! I wanted you! And you left! We thought you were dead!"

"I'm not."

"You were dead to me, Ron Weasley. I got over you. You left and you shouldn't've come back!"

"I did."

The tears that had threatened to fall were now cascading down her cheeks, her eyes roving the room in case she needed something else to throw at him, while Ron was surprisingly concise if not collected, as his hands continued shaking like mad.

"I did come back, Hermione. I made a mistake; I know I did, leaving you. You and Harry…you and Harry could fight it off and I couldn't. You stayed with Harry. You should have. I was weak and I really messed things up this time, Hermione. You don't have to forgive me. I didn't ask you to and I don't expect you to. But…but I'm not dead. I'm here…you don't have to like it, but could you at least acknowledge me?"

He was breathing heavily and Hermione was staring at him as if he was clinically insane, but he didn't care. He'd been spending the past few days with these feeling cooped up inside, and it had just been waiting to explode out of him every time Hermione gave him a dirty look or otherwise snubbed him.

He waited as she opened her mouth, and he steeled himself, ready for the explosion.

"Do you deserve it?"

Blinking in surprise, Ron nearly blurted out the obvious answer: no. An emphatic no, a million times no. He didn't deserve her acknowledgment. He had hurt her and there was no reason for her to pay any attention to him at all anymore. There hadn't been much reason for her to pay attention to him before either. She was smart, pretty, and perfect; he was, well....

We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice, your presumption…

But there was the lingering doubt…didn't he deserve a second chance? He had fought off Voldemort's Horcrux, Slytherin's locket…he had destroyed it only after it had finished toying with his mind one last time…what was it all for if not for this moment, this chance for forgiveness? Perhaps if Hermione had known what he had gone through to get to this point….

Hermione's eyes had been dangerous slits when she first posed the question, but as she watched Ron actually think about the question—it might have been his imagination, of course—it looked as though her eyes lost their hard glint.

Even still, the answer was no. He should just say no. She was expecting a no. It was, after all, the right answer, and Hermione's obsession for right answers told him he should say no.

"I don't know."

She continued to stare at him for what felt like forever; she walked forward and Ron's breathing hitched, but all she did was pick up the book she had thrown at him.

"Thank you for the book," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ron said nothing as she walked quietly out of the tent, apologizing as she bumped into Harry at the entrance.

"She all right?" he asked, noticing the trail her tears left on her cheeks as he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder after her.

"I…I don't know," Ron said, feeling like a broken record, as he sank on the chair behind him, still attempting in vain to control his shaking hands.

"You all right?" Harry asked, green eyes locking onto his in concern.

Ron gave a half-hearted shrug and a mental slap as he repeated himself again.

"I don't know."

"Oh."

They stood in a rather uncomfortable silence before Harry piped up again.

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't—" he shook his head to stop himself from saying it a fourth time. "Nah, not really."

"Well, you want to, er, 'look for food'?" Harry asked, which was their code for 'fill me in more on what I missed while we were separated.'

"Sure, I think I might have seen some 'blackberries' a little ways away."

Ron stood up but hesitated to follow Harry out of the tent. Harry watched him with a mystified expression but Ron didn't say anything as he picked up the envelope from the kitchen table and placed it in his pocket.

"What's that for?"

Harry gave a befuddled smile as Ron mumbled an unintelligible answer before leaving the confines of the tent. He glanced sideways at Hermione, who was sitting outside the tent flap and had her nose buried in her book. She promptly ignored him, but he couldn't help but give a small grin as she read.

"We're off scavenging for blackberries, Hermione; we'll be back later."

She didn't reply, but she inclined her head to let them know she had heard him.

"Right, well, enjoy your book then."

She stared pointedly at Ron, and he thought for a moment that she was going to yell at him again, or worse yet, pretend he didn't exist, before she returned to the pages of her book.

"I will."

Ron had a bit of a skip in his step as he walked towards the bare hedges by the edge of camp. He was by no means out of hot water yet, but this was a slight improvement.

And when he was forgiven (an overt stretch of the imagination, for he could not envision when that would be, given that he could feel her glaring at the back of his head), he would be ready to try giving her the necklace again.

"And no one knows what happened to the necklace."

"That's not true; Dad lost it when the Snatcher's raided their tent."

"That's not true either," a voice rasped, causing everyone in the room to jump a foot in the air. "I found it."

Ron's eyes cracked open and he winced as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, careful not to upset his hands anymore than necessary.

"Raided an old Death Eater hideout four months ago…only got my hands on it two weeks ago. You'd think with the whole Ministry renovation we'd get rid of all the red tape…."

The momentary stupor that had fallen over the room at Ron's sudden liveliness was broken as Hermione stood up abruptly and was at his side in an instant.

"You found it?" she asked, envelope held tightly in her hand.

"Yeah, I figured better late than never."

She pulled out the necklace, the thin silver chain and the sapphire pendant the exact same as she remembered it, and put it on. Everyone in the room looked away, keeping their groans to themselves, as Hermione then kissed her husband soundly on the lips.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Ron shifted his weight and winced, causing Hermione to return to the present situation.

"Are you all right? Do you need anything? Do you want me to call the Healer?"

"No, Hermione, relax; I don't need anything. Healer Casey gave me some good stuff," he said, his smile somewhat dopey.

"In that case," Hermione very, very lightly swatted his arm as she only half-heartedly scolded him, "what were you doing? You scared us all half to death!"

"It wasn't my fault!" Ron defended, looking aghast at this unexpected and highly unfair treatment.

"Travis Scabior?" Harry piped up, looking exceedingly solemn.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Kingsley mentioned it."

"Well, I saw him running around like a crazy person in the middle of broad day light so I dropped Hugo off at George's and went after him…."

Ron told the same story he had already told Kingsley and that Harry had heard secondhand, but as soon as he mentioned Scabior's magical left hand, Hermione interrupted him.

"Impossible!"

Ron rolled his eyes, fully expecting that remark from his wife.

"It couldn't've been Pettigrew's hand, Ron. That's impossible. Spells can't just take on a life of their own—"

"But what about Patronuses?" Rosie interjected.

"Well," Hermione stopped, thinking, "Patronuses are still under the control of the witch or wizard who casts it. Even so, with the spell caster dead, it shouldn't be possible—"

"Spells don't necessarily fade out just because the spell caster dies though, Mum," Rosie interrupted again.

Ron stared at this daughter and wife interaction, stunned.

"How on Earth d'you know all that Rose?"

"Read about it," she shrugged, blushing and avoiding her father's eye.

"Dumbledore's wards were still effective even after he passed on," Hermione admitted, reluctantly.

"And it's not like we're talking about some kiddy attempt at magic, either," George added thoughtfully. "This is an unfamiliar, dark spell that had been performed by one of the most powerful and vilest wizards of all time."

Most everyone in the room stared at him after that remark.

"What, I can't contribute?" George rolled his eyes and huffed.

"But still," Hermione said, determined to get to the bottom of this, "I've never heard of a spell being able to transfer from one person to another on its own accord."

"Hey, don't ask me about it; go talk to the hand!"

Hugo snickered at that remark, but everyone else groaned at Ron's piteous attempt at humor. Rose glared at her brother, who responded: "What? It was funny!"

"I just," Hermione said, seemingly coming to accept the fact that she could not account for this absurdity yet, "I just don't believe a spell can is able to think for itself."

"But it did; it killed Pettigrew," Harry muttered darkly. "And it nearly killed Ron."

Hermione, Rosie, and Hugo winced at that remark, while George glared fiercely at Harry. Ron, confused, watched as his brother stood up and grabbed Harry by the upper arm.

"I think we should step out of the room for a bit, if you'll excuse us—"

He didn't wait for confirmation before hauling his brother-in-law to his feet and dragging him out of the room.

It was only a brief moment later before shouting could be heard in the hallway.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Nothing! Everything's fine, isn't it?"

"He's in there cracking bad jokes, isn't he? What's wrong with you—"

"I let Pettigrew escape! Scabior wouldn't have that hand if it wasn't for me…this is all my—"

"Oh would you grow up? You sound pathetic—"

"EXCUSE ME! THIS IS A HOSPITAL!"

The remaining Weasley party all avoided each other's gaze as they listened to some new contestant in the hallway fight reprimand them harshly.

"Right, well," Ron said, clearing his throat and attempting to drown out the female's voice booming throughout the room. "How're you guys doing?"

"'m okay," Hugo said shyly, snuggling into his mother's side after having been so unceremoniously forced off of his uncle's lap.

Ron turned to Rosie expectantly, but she avoided his eyes.

"What's wrong, Rose?"

Rosie turned the tassels on her scarf nervously, and Ron understood.

"Oh, Rosie, I'm so sorry; I completely forgot about the game! I bet you're mad at your old dad now, eh?"

"No!" she shouted, tears in her eyes. Ron blinked in surprise as she continued, "I mean, I was, but…" she came forward to hug him awkwardly, minding his bandaged hands, "I'm sorry, Dad."

Ron hugged her back, even as he shot his wife a confused glance. Hermione's serene smile did nothing to help him understand.

"It's okay, Rosie," he said, pulling back. "Could you do me a favor though?"

Rosie nodded her head so hard Ron was afraid she'd tip forward.

"I've got a massive itch on my nose," he said, holding up his useless hands. "You mind scratching?"

Rosie laughed a bit before reaching out her hand and scratching her father's nose.

"A little low—ahh, thank you, Rosie. You've always been my favorite."

"HEY!" Hugo shouted indignantly, jumping off his mother's lap and rushing forward to help.

"Oh good, I needed someone to get my shoulder too—ahh, right there, yeah, that's it," Ron sighed contentedly. "Oh, Hugo, you're a much better scratcher than Rose. Now we've got a competition!"

"Careful, you two," Hermione muttered worriedly but a small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

They were interrupted as the door opened, a solemn George and Harry marching back into the room as a large, unibrowed Healer followed right behind them.

"These two belong to you?" she barked, and Rose and Hugo immediately stepped back, Hugo sneaking around to hide behind his mother.

"Unfortunately," Ron said, hiding a grin.

"Please keep a better eye on them, Mr. Weasley," she muttered before turning to the two culprits, pointing a beefy finger at them. "As for you two—if you cannot respect this hospital's rules, I will be forced to escort you off the premises."

George and Harry shared a gulp before nodding, watching her as she stalked out of the room.

"Nice one, mate," Ron smiled in a reconciliatory manner.

He took it as a good sign that his friend smiled back.

"That," he said, pointing at the door, "is a scary woman."

The door barged open once again and Harry jumped behind George, clearly fearing that Gretchen the Healer had heard him, but it turned out to be Molly Weasley, flocked by Percy and Arthur.

"Georgie!" she cried out, immediately enveloping the first family member she saw in a tight embrace. "How's—"

She took a glance around the room, her eyes locking on her youngest son before she nearly flung George out of the way in her excitement.

"RONNIE!"

"No, that's a scary woman," Ron whispered quietly, but Rose and Hugo heard him and giggled anyway as Mrs. Weasley swooped in, trying to hug her son without causing him more bodily damage.

"So how is he?" Arthur asked Harry, clapping him on the back.

"He'll be fine," he replied, smiling as Molly accidentally reached out for one of Ron's hands and he yelped out in pain. "I think."

"Not for long," Percy whispered, appearing at his other side. "The Arrows clobbered the Cannons 360 to 20. You want to tell him?"

As Hermione stepped up to rescue her husband from the clutches of her mother-in-law, Harry shook his head.

"Now probably wouldn't be the best time to mention that, no."

A/n: Okay, guys, I know you probably aren't too pleased with me, given that I left this whole plot wide open, but I wanted to be able to bring it up later. Don't worry; we'll be finding out a bit more about this hand in an upcoming chapter.

Speaking of, I've got the next 2-3 chapters planned out in my head already, but classes are starting up again, so that basically means that I don't know when the next chapter will be up. But really nice reviews usually put me in the mood to write... ;)

Leave a review and I'll reply asap, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask! Loves as always to my lovely and wonderful reviewers; thanks so much!

~dieselwriter