Chapter 49: Christmas Eve

"Oh, you both look so cute!" Delilah gushed, and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley nodded, leaning in for a dreaded cheek pinch.

Harry pouted, not at all liking being called 'cute,' while Justin wore a resigned expression as he accepted the compliments and pinches.

Harry had decided to spend Christmas Break with me this year. I'd offered but hadn't expected him to agree. I was touched he'd accepted. Though he was also going to spend time with all of his friends who lived in the Muggle world this holiday as well. He'd be hanging out with Hermione, Dean, and a few others for a big get together later in the week before heading back to Hogwarts.

I merely stood nearby, smirking in amusement as I watched the scene. We were inside a ballroom with dozens of other people, all wearing suits and dresses worth more than a car. Delilah was here with her parents, though she'd distanced herself from them to stop by and say hello when Harry and I had entered with the Finch-Fletchleys. Harry was here on my invitation, and both Justin and Harry were glad to have somebody they knew at the party.

I was glad to see Justin was fine, too. Harry had somehow changed things at Hogwarts enough in a way that prevented Justin from being petrified. In fact, only Miss Norris, Colin Creevy, and Nearly Headless Nick had suffered from the Basilisk's gaze this time around, according to Harry. That was a relief, and it made it a lot easier to relax and enjoy the evening.

Once again, I was at a Christmas ball, the same one I'd attended last year, but this year, my invitation came from Sir Briar, my 'business partner.'

And speaking of him, the ancient man in the wheelchair who had invested in my business along with Delilah's father, was looking my way. I gave him a polite nod and moved over to him to give him my greetings. Harry shot me an annoyed look as I left him to his fate, but I pretended not to notice.

"Good evening, Sir Briar," I said politely, giving him a bow in greeting.

"Eh, good to see some young ones with proper manners these days," he cackled. "All that rock music is rotting their brains."

"Good thing I don't listen to rock. It's too loud, hurts my eats," I chuckled along with him. "Would it kill them to actually sing instead of shouting everything? It's like they're trying to make us deaf!"

"Indeed, indeed," Sir Briar nodded. "Youngsters don't know what proper music is like."

"Quite. Oh, and thank you for inviting me, Sir. And may I say that your hair looks great tonight," I said, complimenting the full head of hair that wouldn't look out of place of a man half his age.

"It does, doesn't it?" the wealthy businessman said, running a hand through it. "Your products truly work as advertised. Haven't had this much hair in decades."

"The nurses probably can't keep their hands off of you," I said with a wink, and he cackled again at that.

With the ice broken, other people soon began to come up and chat with us. I met quite a few people Sir Briar knew, and made connections with more influential individuals.

"I hear you're expanding your operations," Sir Briar eventually said. "Buying new buildings for new factories. Any new miracle creams in the works?"

"Afraid not," I replied with a shake of my head. "Just trying to meet demands for now."

"You'll want to try and think of something for next year," one of the men nearby suggested. "Your current products are excellent, but the public is quick to forget and find the next fad."

"Hmm, you're quite right about that," I agreed. "Do you think a toothpaste that can help whiten teeth would sell well?"

We spoke some more about business, and I made friends with some new investors very interested with some potential future products, before things shifted to other matters.

"So, who's the chap you brought with you, Mr. Rose?" a portly man who was a high-ranking judge inquired.

"That would be one of Justin Finch-Fletchley's friends from school," I replied. "Harry Potter is his name."

"A schoolmate, is it? We were all quite surprised to hear that young Justin wasn't going to attend Eton last year," a member of the House of Lords said. "This new school is somewhere in Scotland, I believe?"

"Yes, it's rather exclusive," I said. "Less than a hundred people were allowed in last year, if I'm not mistaken."

Intrigued murmurs rippled through the crowd that had gathered around me. "My, I wonder what the requirements are to attend such an institution!" a woman wondered, running a finger along the rim of her wine glass.

"I'm am unfamiliar with the boy's name," another person mused.

"Ah, that would be due to the fact the poor child lost his parents at an early age," I said with a shake of my head. "Tragic accident, very terrible. Harry's parents were alumni of the school, and was thus offered a spot there. Though thankfully the boy has been raised well by his aunt and uncle. From what I understand, his uncle, a Mr. Dursley, works as one of the top sales managers for Grunnings."

"Grunnings, eh? I hear they make drills and other tools. Heard good things about the quality," one man said, and listened as some people who likely knew the bosses of the bosses of the men who owned the company Vernon worked at chatted amongst themselves.

Much as I wanted to badmouth the Dursleys, I knew that doing so would only bring me a tiny bit of short-term satisfaction. These men and women were powerful, and a single bit of idle gossip could ruin a lesser man, which Vernon Dursley very much was.

And while I'd be happy to see that whale get his comeuppance, it would also hurt Harry indirectly, because if Vernon lost his job due to a casual comment I made here, then they might have to sell their house, and then the Blood Wards wouldn't protect Harry any longer.

Thus, I swallowed my hate and lathered the tub of lard in praise, hoping that perhaps some goodwill made here just might trickle down to Harry when he had to return to Number 4 Privet Drive next summer.

"You know, Mr. Rose, I heard that you had a bit of a kerfuffle over the summer," somebody, a woman with connections to the Board of Directors for the BBC, said, reminding me of the attempted kidnapping.

'Well, technically it was successfully, but I escaped just fine,' I thought to myself, before responding to her. "That was just a misunderstanding, Miss Colhoun. It was just a case of mistaken identity."

"Is that so?" she inquired, no doubt sensing a juicy story.

"Quite. They let me go after realizing their mistake," I told her. She tittered, as if I'd told a funny joke, and I couldn't help but compare her to Rita Skeeter in my head.

"That must have been quite the misunderstanding," Sir Briar chuckled dryly.

"It certainly sounds like it. Reminds me of the time I was on duty…" an elderly man with military medals proudly on display said, beginning a long-winded tale of military bravery and heroism I was pretty sure was exaggerated.

Two hours went by, and thankfully, this time there was no signs of another kidnapping, for me or for Delilah. In fact, my girlfriend took me over to meet her mother, who greeted with a tiny smile when Delilah introduced me to her.

"I've heard quite a bit about you, Mr. Rose," Mrs. Hunt said.

"Good things, I hope," I laughed.

"I believe she said something about a trip to France together," Delilah's mother confirmed, sighing, "How romantic!"

"It was," I nodded.

"He was quite the gentleman," Delilah agreed.

We continued to speak for a bit longer, but I was able to confirm that Mrs. Hunt was a lovely woman, who had a quick wit and a lot of funny stories about her daughter, which I gleefully listened to, even as Delilah turned red.

However, all good things come to an end, and the party began to wind down, people trickling out. Justin and Harry were growing tired as well, and the Finch-Fletchleys took them both home for a sleepover, which I hoped Harry would enjoy.

Meanwhile, that just left me and Delilah to ourselves. We went back to my apartment, and spent the rest of the night watching cheesy late night movies. It was a lot better than last Christmas, that was for sure! Nobody had died at all!

'Though there's still time before the New Year,' I thought to myself as I fell asleep on the couch, tucked in beneath a warm blanket next to Delilah who was already snoring away.

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Cyrus Greengrass POV

'Another party, another bloody batch of fools trying to talk to me about more foolish regulations,' Cyrus grumbled to himself. He kept a polite and amiable mask on his face as he listened to some Ministry flunky attempt to convince him to back his latest tariff increase.

Leaving aside the fact this particular peon was one of Malfoy's disposable catspaws, the proposed economic change would raise prices for potion ingredients and reagents coming in from certain places outside the British Isles by two percent. That might not seem much, but it would hurt many potioneers' bottom lines and force them to choose cheaper and less effective local ingredients. And there were many ingredients that Magical Britain didn't produce and had to import.

House Greengrass owned many farms and produced a large amount of the country's potion ingredients, around sixty percent to be precise, but the real money they made came from trade. They bought ingredients from the rest of Europe and then sold them to potioneers in Diagon Alley and beyond. Raising the tariff would force the Greengrasses to pay more to import them, which would hurt their own bottom line as he had to raise prices at home to make a profit.

This was a thinly veiled attempt to try and hurt the finances of House Greengrass, and Cyrus knew it. He also knew that this was but one string to Malfoy's bow. If he refused to support the tariff, Malfoy would go after him another way.

Worse, Cyrus knew that this tariff would benefit not just the Malfoy's, who had their own competing trade firms in countries that wouldn't be affected by said tariff, but also the Longbottoms, who controlled the remaining forty percent of the local potion ingredient farming in Magical Britain.

This law was yet another dangerous and unsubtle dagger to try and force the Greengrasses to side with one side or another. And he hated it.

When the flunky finally left, Cyrus fought back a sigh. At his side, his wife squeezed his arm, somehow able to sense his exasperation.

'What did I do to get a woman like her?' he thought to himself as he flashed Cynthia a smile. Sure, their marriage had been arranged, like most in upper society, but she was his rock, and they'd had a chance to get to know each other in Hogwarts before their nuptials, creating a bond that lasted to this day.

"Ah, Cyrus," a slimy voice called out.

"Lucius. Narcissa. A pleasure," Cyrus lied, turning to the couple. "How are you doing today?"

"Quite well, quite well," Lucius said while the wives exchanged pleasantries and thinly veiled barbs as they 'complimented' each others' outfits.

"Wonderful! Although, I heard your House Elf passed away over the summer. Terrible when that happens," Cyrus noted.

"Yes, it seems the poor thing worked itself to death," Lucius replied, and Cyrus could see the man's jaw tighten at the reminder.

"A common occurrence from what I understand. I've never had that happen myself, though I have more than a single House Elf serving me," Cyrus said, rubbing that fact in.

"I saw that the Senior Vice-Director for the Department of International Relations was speaking with you," Lucius said, switching the topic with the grace of a floundering fish. "Did he perhaps have anything interesting to say?"

"I'm afraid not. The poor man who was trying to convince me about the change in tariff laws was clearly uneducated in the nuances of global economics, otherwise he'd never have tried to promote such a short-sighted taxation policy, especially one that would interfere with any trade in France and Spain," Cyrus replied smoothly, while mentally scoffing at the blatant attempt to find out what his opinion was towards the proposal.

"Hmm. Well, I'm sure you'll do what is best," Lucius Malfoy said, delivering a rather unsubtle threat. Cyrus resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the silver-blond man and his wife departed.

"For a man who styles himself a noble, you'd think he'd have better comebacks," Cynthia said in a low voice, and Cyrus snorted.

"It's because Lucius is used to dealing with simpletons who wouldn't know a metaphor from an innuendo," he replied, and his wife giggled.

It was true, too! Lucius Malfoy had been playing in the political equivalent of the kiddie pool for too long and had forgotten what it was like to cross wits with somebody who wasn't a brown-nosing sycophant or a buffoon. Or both, like Fudge.

Minister Fudge was an idiot who'd gotten his position because everyone had wanted a puppet instead of somebody who'd actually do things. It had seemed a good idea in the wake of the Dark Lord's defeat, and he'd voted for him in the Wizengamot, but Cyrus was man enough to admit he'd been wrong.

The current Minister was an easily manipulated stooge, it was true, and because of this, Fudge could be bought by literally anyone with two galleons to rub together. He bounced between sponsors and yes-men constantly, and both Dumbledore and Malfoy were constantly pulling his strings. It'd created a right mess, no mistake about it.

"What will we do if he manages to come through on his threat?" Cynthia wondered, her mood turning serious.

"If Lucius tries to harm our wallets, he'll be in for a rude awakening," Cyrus declared. After all, a certain Squib had been buying ridiculous amounts of his stock recently.

'I cannot believe he seriously bought that much,' Cyrus thought to himself. The patriarch of House Greengrass still couldn't understand! How had that boy done it? Buying multiple tons of ingredients each and every month, and still wanting more! He'd been forced to open up three whole new greenhouses and an orchard to accommodate the amounts Edward Rose nee Hunch desired. And it looked like that wouldn't be enough.

He'd been able to keep up so far thanks to one of his ancestor's brilliant foresight to preserve excess potion ingredients and keep them for later sale. This didn't work for every product, as some, like Mandragora Leaves, just didn't keep well once plucked, even with magic, but plenty others, especially rather basic ones like Wigentree bark, could keep for decades if stored right without magic, and centuries if stasis spells were involved. And the Greengrasses had been stockpiling supplies for generations.

And yet Edward Rose would deplete these formidable stocks of ingredients within a few years if his buying trends continued!

Cyrus shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't fathom it! All thanks to the boy selling to the Muggle world. Something that still worried the Greengrass patriarch. And yet these huge purchases from the Squib of House Hunch were making him money. Lots and lots of it. Edward Rose bought more in a single month than all of Britain's potioneers did in a year, combined!

The tariffs and taxes the Light and Dark factions wanted to impose on him to force a decision would have given Cyrus some trouble before, but now? They were nothing. A bothersome distraction, at most.

'Perhaps I should reach out to Mr. Rose again,' Cyrus mused. 'Hmm… what was it he said? 'Not White, Black, or Grey, but gold plated?' Yes, I think a 'Gold' faction might just be what we need around here.'

Until then, however, he had a boring Ministry party to endure.

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Remus Lupin POV

The holidays were the worst, In Remus' opinion. Things started to go downhill around Halloween, when he was forced to remember the deaths of his close friends and the loss of two others.

And it got worse come Christmas, as Remus was forced to spend the time alone without friends or family. His mother had died in childbirth, and his father had passed away shortly after he'd graduated Hogwarts from a Death Eater attack on Diagon Alley. One of the first public attacks perpetuated by the Dark Lord's minions, in fact.

Winter was already a bad time to be a werewolf. Fresh snow made leaving tracks behind a pain to clean up after, and it was a lot easier for a Muggle to stumble onto weird footprints when it snowed so much during the season. It was also bloody cold! Werewolves had fur, but not nearly as much as real canines did. A lack of clothing due to the transformation was also a pain to deal in freezing temperatures. Remus had woken up more than once buck naked in the snow. Not a pleasant experience.

Hence, Remus despised this time of year. However, he had hope that things would change for the better in the coming year. Already, he'd seen signs of it.

Finding a job was hard due to his condition. Prejudice in the Magical world kept him from finding gainful employment for very long, and he had no credentials to do much in the Muggle world. The best he could do was take old, broken items, repair them with magic, and then sell them at flea markets and pawn shops. Hardly a stable way to earn a living.

And yet he now had a job that paid well, and had incredible benefits! Remus had been suspicious when Erroneous Hunch's eldest son had sent him a letter, but he'd gone because he didn't really have many other choices.

To find out the former Death Eater's son had been a Squib had been a surprise. To discover he had fully embraced the Muggle world was another. But what really stunned the werewolf was his ambition and drive to succeed. His method had also raised eyebrows.

Seriously, selling magical medicine to Muggles? Insanity! So what if it was technically legal, the Wizengamot and Aurors would have shut him down at the first hint of it! But Edward Rose had done it, and now Remus was making more money than he'd ever done before! In fact, the werewolf was fairly certain he was making more than his own father, who had been a rather high-ranking member of the Ministry before Remus' curse, ever had.

'And all I have to do is use magic to protect the boy's businesses,' Remus mused. It was an acceptable trade-off.

While he was pondering the changes in his life, Remus couldn't help resist when a yawn slipped out. It was growing late, and his Christmas dinner was being digested, making his sluggish and sleepy. The warm, cozy fire was also helping make him tired.

'Better get some sleep,' the werewolf thought to himself. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, and he had plans to have brunch at his boss's house. Little Harry would be there as well, since James and Lily's son was spending Christmas break with Edward.

Remus was glad that Harry was doing well. He hadn't had much time to speak with the boy, yet, but he had let him know who he was through letters. Harry had been understandably upset that Remus hadn't tried to come and try to visit or take care of him, but Edward had come to his defense by throwing Dumbledore under the bus. Something Remus had mixed feelings about.

On the one hand, Remus couldn't help but want to trust the old headmaster. He was a staple of Wizarding Britain, and famous across the world as well for a number of reasons. He'd allowed Remus to attend Hogwarts even after he was bitten by Greyback in retaliation for his father's anti-werewolf laws – which were now being championed by a woman named Umbridge according to what Remus had heard. And for that opportunity, he would always be grateful to Dumbledore.

But it was clear with hindsight that Dumbledore had been less than forthcoming about a number of things. And Edward's scathing rants about the Order of the Phoenix's lackluster ability to fight against the Death Eaters had hit close to home, much to Remus' shame and frustration.

Pushing those unpleasant thoughts aside, Remus rose from his armchair and began to tidy up, levitating the empty tea cup to the sink while adding another log to the fireplace.

Yet before he could make his way to his bedroom, a scratching sound rang out from the front door. Remus froze, head tilted to the side as he listened closely. The scratches… they were being made in a pattern! One he recognized from his days in Hogwarts!

Rushing over with wand in hand, Remus flung the door open, heedless of the cold air that rushed in. It was dark outside, with the only light coming from the house behind him. Yet he was still able to see that a large yet painfully thin wolf-like dog with mangy black fur was staring up at him, tongue lolling. On the back of the dog, there was a small and familiar bat, shivering in the cold.

"Sirius?" Remus whispered in disbelief, staring at the emaciated black dog. In response, the dog began to shapeshift, turning into a tall, gaunt man with scraggly black hair and a ratty sackcloth covering his body and preserving what was left of his modesty. Dislodged from his spot on the dog's back, Wiggles Von Snubs flapped around the newly formed human's head, making cute little noises.

"Hey, Moony," the bedraggled, deranged looking man said, flashing a smirk. "Mind if we come in? It's kinda cold out here."

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Author's Note: Thanks for reading! If you'd like early chapters, Akashicrecordstrue is the place to go over on Pat-re-On.