With Christmas just a few days away and Mr. Weasley's return that morning, Sirius' Christmas spirit seemed to have spread to the other inhabitants of Number 12 Grimmuald Place. Fake snow fell in the hallways, garland wrapped all the way up the staircase, and the kitchen perpetually smelt of warm spices and sweet puddings.
Admittedly, the Christmas holidays were going marginally better than Harry had expected. Ginny and Hermione made quite a determined pair when they set their minds to it and they were clearly in agreement now. Ever since the 'brood-ervention' (Ron's word), Harry was re-engaging with the building's holiday inhabitants. And the evening of the 22nd of December saw him seated in the middle of the table during a cacophonous and cluttered dinner.
The group eating in the kitchen that night was significantly larger than usual. Order members had been flitting in and out all day to give Mr. Weasley well-wishes, with many of them deciding to stay a bit longer after smelling the feast that Mrs. Weasley was orchestrating in the kitchen. As most of the Order already had Christmas plans, the evening had become an impromptu celebration before everyone went their separate ways until the New Year.
Despite his never-ending headache and the consistent ill feeling that had coiled in his stomach since his dream, Harry couldn't help the grin that was creeping its way on to his face. With Ron on his right arguing about quidditch with Sirius and the twins, and Hermione on his left animatedly discussing the merits of a muggle studies curriculum with Emmeline Vance and Hestia Jones, Harry felt more settled than he had in weeks. So much so that he didn't even protest when Ron dumped a spoonful of potatoes on to Harry's plate before his own. Used to his insistence that Harry eat more (a Weasley trait it seems), Harry merely smiled as Ron continued to add food to their plates, not once breaking stride in his ardent defense of the Chudley Cannons. Catching Sirius' gaze, Harry had to smother his laugh at the exaggerated eye roll his godfather sent his way. It was nice to see him so thoroughly enjoying himself. Harry found himself hoping this good cheer would last for the rest of the break.
A clink of glass drew Harry's attention across the table to where Ginny was laughing uproariously as Tonks imitated Bill, the two mirroring each other and proposing obnoxious toasts. Even Remus, who sat on Bill's other side, seemed rather amused by their antics.
Harry found himself grateful to be removed from some of the more serious members of the dinner party. Down the table, Kingsley, Moody, and Mr. Weasley were bent together in deep discussion, with Mrs. Weasley darting between them and the kitchen. Harry drew his gaze away from them quickly, before he could get sucked in – whatever their discussion was about, they certainly weren't going to share it with him. There was no use ruining dinner over this same argument, especially when the day had been going so well for once. He'd gotten four hours of dreamless sleep before his nightmare and he hadn't even woken Ron up with the noise. Feeling fairly well- rested, Harry was enjoying listening without having to participate. Following Ron's lead, Harry reached across the table to grab a mini treacle tart to add to his growing pile.
"Now that is a muggle habit if I've ever seen one! Aren't you on your holiday? What do you even have to keep track of, Harry?"
Harry jumped, startled at being addressed. Pulling his hand back and forfeiting the tart, he turned to see Emmeline, Hestia, and Hermione all looking at him.
"Er...what?" Harry managed to stutter out.
Hestia covered her mouth to stifle a laugh while Emmeline continued, "We were just talking about the differences between muggle and magical schools. Hestia here never took Muggle Studies," she said with a grin over her shoulder as the witch in question gave a careless shrug. "Hermione and I were lamenting Hogwarts' insistence on quills when pens are an option."
Despite his confusion, Harry nodded, having had this same conversation with Hermione and Dean at least once a term. Chancing a glance at Hermione showed her puzzled as well, her brow furrowed the way it did during a complex lecture.
Their combined confusion was clearly visible, as Emmeline gave a chuckle. "Sorry, but I noticed you had writing on your hand, and it must be pen! I was always writing homework reminders on my hands when I was at school. The looks that I would get from..." Emmeline turned out to be quite the story teller, her animated hand motions and effusive tone drawing attention up and down the table. However, Harry didn't quite hear the rest of Emmeline's story, still trying to follow why she called him out. Hermione caught on faster than Harry, her mouth open and eyes widening as they dropped to stare at Harry's left hand, resting on the table. Following her gaze, dread quickly replaced any lingering pleasant feelings as he noticed the pink lines on his hand were visible due to his raised sleeve.
Attempting to be subtle, Harry slowly pulled his arm back up his sleeve until the words were covered again. Appetite gone, but not wanted to draw any more attention his way, Harry turned back to his plate of food all while praying Hermione would stop staring at him. If he didn't engage, hopefully the topic would drift away.
Unfortunately (and Harry wondered to himself why he ever entertained otherwise), luck was not on his side. As Emmeline wrapped up her story, she leaned forward across Hermione to speak to Harry again.
"So, anyway, what notes are you writing on your hand? I get the feeling that you aren't the type of kid to be making an essay reminder this close to Christmas."
That earned her a chuckle across the table as Harry turned away from his plate to meet her eyes. Working hard to maintain a small grin, Harry's thoughts were scrambling to craft an innocuous enough lie to avoid further questioning.
"Oh, you know, just a gift idea" he managed, waving his right hand dismissively. "I don't want to forget it!"
Pleased with his quick thinking, Harry studied Emmeline to see if she believed his statement. Her nod seemed positive and she looked to be on the verge of telling another story. In fact, that likely would have been the end of the discussion, conversation switching over to holiday plans. Harry, however, had forgotten just who he was sat next to, as there was no dismissing how Hermione felt about his statement as she scoffed, "Oh, really!"
Refusing to engage, Harry shot her a quick glance before smiling back at Emmeline. "Speaking of, will you be here for Christmas, Emmeline? Or are you traveling?" Harry questioned quickly, but the damage was done, as Hermione's tone had caught Mrs. Weasley's ear.
"Are you alright, Hermione, dear?" she queried, walking up the table with another pitcher of pumpkin juice.
Lungs burning from holding his breath, Harry prayed Hermione would let it go. Hermione sniffed as she looked down at the table. "Oh, it's nothing apparently."
Harry's head snapped to the left. "Drop it," he whispered. She met his angry gaze, lips pursed and eyes blazing.
"I'm just repeating what you've told me," she whipped back through her teeth. "'It's nothing, Hermione.'"
Harry could feel his cheeks heat up and his anger, always boiling so close to the surface these days, spiked. Eyes locked on Hermione who sat straighter in her chair, Harry drew his breath as a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Harry, don't."
It felt like spiders crawling on his back under Ron's grip and Harry abruptly jerked his arm, hoping that he would let go. He did. Quickly.
"Okay, I know, sorry. I shouldn't have grabbed you," Ron mumbled, hands hovering in the air. "But, Harry, please, she's not wrong."
Harry watched as Ron's ears turned red under his gaze. "Aren't you tired of fighting over this?" he continued, words stumbling over themselves in a rush.
Any chance of walking away undetected was gone. Without turning away from Ron, Harry could feel everyone's attention turn towards him. His spine to stiffened and a low buzz began to fill in the space left by the quiet tension. Harry felt his stomach flip, the extra food settling like a rock in his gut. Hands now tightly clasped in his lap, Harry's mind was racing trying to find ways to minimize the damage.
"Alright now," Mrs. Weasley spoke up. "Out with it you lot."
Her hand landed on his back and Harry couldn't fully stop himself as he jerked towards the table and away from her touch.
"Nothing," he breathed. "Just something that Hermione and I disagree on." Harry didn't turn around, he didn't want to see whatever hurt or suspicion that was on her face.
"I'm sure that's true, but it doesn't look like nothing from here," Lupin mildly spoke into the thick silence.
"Well, it is," snapped out of Harry's mouth before he could even think about stopping, his hands twisted tightly around the napkin in his lap. Hermione seemed to be oblivious to his growing unease as she scoffed again, more loudly than before.
"Is this to do with whatever Emmeline saw on your hand?" Lupin continued. Harry turned his way and was met with the same removed concern he'd been receiving since his patronus lessons third year. Lupin's hand rested on Sirius's forearm across the table, as if to keep him in his seat. Sirius himself looked confused, all of that joyous energy vanished. Harry felt his insides constrict, hating that his issues were once again ruining Sirius's good mood.
However guilty he felt, glancing back at Lupin seemed to just strengthen his anger. Really, who was he to sit here and pretend he cared?
"Frankly," Harry spoke, voice cold, even, and unfamiliar, "I don't think it's any of your business." "Now, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley scolded.
"Nor yours," he interrupted, turning his back on Lupin and his godfather to face Hermione again. "And as I've told you, I'm fine. So just drop it." Pushing his chair back, Harry began to chart a route out of the room. "I think I'm done for the evening. Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Weasley."
Darting away from Mrs. Weasley's grasp, Harry wove across the room until Mr. Weasley pushed his own chair back, blocking the one path to an exit.
"Not quite yet Harry," he spoke, calm and unhurried. "I was hoping to have a quick chat with you today anyway. Perhaps you can help me to the living room?"
"Arthur – "
"I'm alright, Molly. Harry will be with me. We can handle a few stairs together. You all carry on with dinner." And, without waiting for a response, Mr. Weasley pushed himself out of his chair, Harry quickly reaching out to steady him. The room stayed silent as the two shuffled out and up to the living room.