Our Fathers

Chapter Ten - Pain

The receptionist was peering over the counter at Harry suspiciously, as Harry surreptitiously smoothed his hair over his scar. "Are you sure you're all relatives?" she demanded, eyes locked on Harry's, rather obviously, not Weasley-red hair.

"All related," Bill snapped, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulders possessively. "I thought family by adoption was included? Perhaps you'll step aside now?"

Harry blushed furiously and Ron grinned over at his eldest brother. Yes, Bill certainly had the right idea about things - no need to bring up the fact that it was Harry Potter standing in the reception area of St. Mungo's, nor a simple lie saying he was a cousin, which the nurse would've been forced to accept... no, Bill had chosen a half-truth which made Harry beam in acceptance. And Ron knew his mum and dad would approve of it - had Dumbledore allowed it, they would've taken in Harry years earlier.

The receptionist gave a sniff and reluctantly stepped aside. "Down the hall in room 203. I suppose your parents are in there, as well."

"She's a right sour bitch, isn't she," Fred whispered loudly when they were just out of range of her hearing. "I thought St. Mungo's was supposed to be a cheerful sort of place."

"You haven't been here before?" Harry asked, staring around at everything curiously.

Ron shook his head. "Fred and George usually didn't do anything horrible enough to warrant the emergency ward and it's too expensive for just a regular visit.. Mum would just lug us down the road to the mediwitch living in town."

"Do you think he'll be awake?" Ginny asked, getting back to the matter at hand. They passed a group of doctors talking in quiet tones and Bill led them through a set of double doors into a hallway identical to the last one, all in stark white paint.

"203," Bill murmured unnecessarily as he stopped in front of a plainly marked door. He turned hastily, eyes roaming over the six others standing there. "I just wanted to warn you... the burns did a lot of damage, and not all of it is repairable when the patient is asleep - well, that's what the doctors said, at least. And the new skin they grew - it's not the same colour as the rest, since it's not tanned..."

Ron glanced at the door worriedly, but Percy was the one who responded, his voice shockingly not in the least arrogant for once in his life. "We'll be alright, Bill. Do you want to go in first?"

Bill nodded and grabbed the doorknob, pushing into the room.

Ron's first impression of the room was the bright white glaring from all corners - so impersonal, and so unlike the walls of Bill and Charlie's room at the Burrow with two navy blue walls for Charlie's love of Puddlemere United, and two in garrishly bright emerald green to appease Bill's taste for the Kenmare Kestrels. Perched on a chair next to Charlie's bed was Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley was seated in a chair beside the tiny window, sleeping. And then there was Charlie, lying motionless on the white sheets, the barely imperceptible rise and fall of his chest as the only proof that he was alive.

Bill had been right in warning them all, Ron mused. Charlie's face was shaved of its customary beard, a fact which, in and of itself, was enough to make Ron stop abruptly. Charlie had grown it in his last year of Hogwarts. Ron had been four years old at the time; hardly old enough to remember the controversy which had sprung up around the appearance of the beard at Christmas that year, but subjected to numerous retellings of the tale every Christmas since. The owner of the beard thought that it looked distinguished and added to the rougish Quidditch Captain persona, which he'd cultivated so carefully, while Mrs. Weasley thought it made Charlie look like a bum. Mr. Weasley had quite liked it, according to quiet comments aside to Ron during the frequent retellings, but had been afraid to tell Molly that. The Great Beard Debate had continued for years, until even Mrs. Weasley admitted that she couldn't imagine Charlie without it.

And now, it was gone. In its place, a new growth of skin spread in stark white when compared with the deep tan of Charlie's cheeks and nose and forehead. The new skin cut across his neck and past the collar of the hospital shift, reappearing in a streak on the back of one of Charlie's hands, but not the other. To make the sight even less acceptable, his hair had been shaved, though a slight fuzz had begun to grow back since the accident a few days earlier. He looked freakish, like one of the characters on the funny shows on the telly at Lupin's flat. He didn't look like Charlie.

Mr. Weasley glanced up as everyone filed into the room and stood slowly from his chair. "Shh... your mum's asleep. She's barely slept since we heard." He rounded the bed and proceded to hug each Weasley, and Harry, who was practically a Weasley anyways. Ron scowled and squirmed away in embarrassment when his turn came, even though no one else in the room would've cared about the indignity of a 15-year-old boy being hugged. Harry didn't seem to mind at all.

Bill moved over to take his father's seat, reaching out to grab Charlie's hand. "Has he gotten any better since yesterday?"

After ruffling Harry's hair, Ron's dad rounded the bed again, perching on the edge near where Bill was sitting. He motioned for everyone else to come around behind him to listen. "It's easier to tell everyone this at once... I suppose I should start at the beginning, since most of you haven't heard the whole story... The mating season for dragons is midsummer, and they lay their eggs at the beginning of November. Usually, the nests of different females would be many miles apart, but because they are on a reserve in Romania, they're much closer together than they would naturally be. Two of the female dragons were put much closer to each other than they should've been, and they got into a fight - fire, aerial stunts, and everything else which goes along with it. Charlie and a number of other workers at the preserve went in on broomsticks to stop the fight before any of the eggs could be harmed and... Charlie swerved when he should have ducked."

Ron winced, an image forming in his mind of Charlie twisting and turning around an angry dragon, much as Harry had during the first Triwizard task. He'd been watching the whole thing, and all the compeditors but Harry had nearly been burnt to a crisp while trying to retrieve the golden egg that was the objective. Ron couldn't imagine doing something like that for a living, but Charlie loved the dragons...

Mr. Weasley leaned over and stroked Charlie's cheek tenderly. "The doctors told me that when he was brought here, most of his hair had been burnt clear off. He was a wreck... and they can't reconstruct his ribs until he's awake. The Skele-Gro won't work properly, they said. When he was hit by the dragon's flame, he fell from his broom. A friend of his, Martin, caught him across his broom, and it cracked half of his ribs in the impact."

"When will he wake up?" Ginny demanded. Ron turned to glance away from Charlie and noticed Ginny pacing the meager length of the room. He wasn't sure if she'd been doing it throughout the entire conversation or not. Percy was wringing his hands and Harry had a wince affixed to his face - probably remembering the time he'd been forced to use Skele-Gro to regrow all the bones in his hand. Ron certainly remembered that stunt, and remembered just how glad he'd been that he wasn't the one lying there.

"Ginny..." Ron's dad gave a long sigh, grabbing Ron's attention instantly. A sigh from Mr. Weasley was seldom a good thing. "He's in a coma. The doctors don't know if he'll wake up again or not."

"Of course he'll wake up!" Ginny snapped, her voice growing shrill. George headed over to comfort her, but she pushed him away. "He has to wake up! It's Christmas in three days, he's got to argue with Mum about his beard again! And he has to tease me about Harry and try to steal my Transfiguration essay and -"

George finally managed to grab up his sister and she stopped talking, bursting into tears instead. Ron looked away, always uncomfortable when his sister started crying. He never knew what to do about her when she got that way. He caught Harry's eye and tried to communicate, but Harry was too busy flushing over Ginny's comment to catch it.

It was Percy who spoke up next, over the din of Ginny's sniffles. "How long will they allow us to keep him here?" It was an odd comment, Ron thought. Why wouldn't they let Charlie stay at St. Mungo's? He was sick, after all, and the hospital was normally paid for by taxes.

Apparently, his dad didn't find the comment odd at all - rather, he sighed again and the tips of his ears turned red in either anger or embarrassment. "It depends how long the money holds out... the treatments are above and beyond a normal visit. They don't get many dragon burns. But... hopefully he'll be awake in a few days and we won't have to deal with things like that."

Percy leaned on the back of Bill's chair, lowering his face enough to try to catch his father's eyes. "Dad, if you sent an owl to Minister Fudge, I'm sure he'd be happy to let you take the International Affairs position, yet -"
"NO!" Mr. Weasley snapped, instantly catching Ron's full attention. Ginny's sniffing stopped, and Ron thought he heard his mum waking up as well. "I don't want the bloody job, Percy. Drop it."

That certainly wasn't an answer Ron was willing to take, nor Percy, it seemed. Despite the inappropriateness of arguing in a hospital room, Percy snapped right back at his father. "Those sodding plugs aren't worth Charlie's life!"

"No amount of money is going to wake him up, Percival! If this is his time, there's not a bloody thing an extra Galleon will do about it!"

"Not just an extra Galleon, an extra ten thousand a year!" Ron snarled, taking up his least favourite brother's argument without thought. If there was one thing which Percy and Ron had in common, it was their shared hate of poverty and of opportunities lost due to that state. For once, at least, they stood together. "With ten thousand bloody Galleons, we could take him anywhere for help!"

Mr. Weasley stood up abruptly, face flushing an even deeper red, which was mirrored by Percy and probably by Ron as well. "Percy, Ron, the hall. Now."

No one would meet Ron's eyes as he followed his father outside and until the door was closed quietly, not even his dad spoke a word. He turned to his sons and was silent for another moment before jumping into a withdrawn lecture. "This is a hospital. Your mother was asleep, your brother might be dying, and the two of you want to argue over money with me? This is neither the time nor the place for this..."

"And what will be the time?" Ron countered. "We've got guests, so you won't talk about it until they've left, and then I'll be back at school, and it'll be too late for you to change your mind about it!"

"I will not be changing my mind. The decision has been made. I am the head of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, and my reasons for keeping that position are my own. Do you understand me?" Arthur Weasley was usually a man who would compromise on any point, be it job or family. Ron was shocked to find him refusing to even talk about his decision, when he'd normally burst into an explanation with only a word of interest.

Meanwhile, Percy had taken up the thread of argument again. "You could make something of yourself, Dad. Instead, you sit around with little Muggle toys and let the rest of us wallow in poverty! We're the ridicule of the Ministry; you're the ridicule of the Ministry! Twenty years ago, there were people saying you'd be the next Minister of Magic, Mum told me! What happened to you?"

"Do you realize what it's like?" Ron continued, glancing at Percy for support. "Maybe not having money doesn't matter to you, but do you realize what it's like, going to school and wearing robes older than you are? I don't have to tell anybody what my name is, they can guess it from Bill's old robes!"

"No," he began quietly, "I don't know what it's like, I'll admit that. My parents had a good deal of money. My parents did not approve of your mother. In fact, my parents and your mother's parents were in a blood feud when we were at school together. My parents wrote me out of the Will. I last saw my parents in 1963, the day before the wedding. Your aunt Morgainne inherited all the money and married a Dark Wizard, not long after they disinherited my brother Ronald,too. So no, I don't know what it's been like, but there's a perfectly good reason I gave up the money, and I've been married to her for thirty-two years. We've gotten by. We weren't planning on seven children, but I bet the both of you are glad we had a child after Charlie, now aren't you? And now, this is the end of this conversation."

"Not bloody likely," Ron replied. He crossed his arms, trying to look as foreboding as possible, though it was unlikely his father would care one way or another. "I'm going to graduate and go make more money than anyone else in the family, somehow, and you know what? Maybe I won't give you a Knut of it!"

Percy winced visibly, glancing nervously at the closed door. "Ron, isn't that taking things a little -"

"Course it's not. He won't take a perfectly viable job in order to help us, why should I help him?" Ron leaned against the wall and settled in for an argument. He was exceptional at getting his father riled up.

He would be disappointed. Mr. Weasley's shoulders slumped and he seemed to deflate against the wall. "Christmas Eve, there will be five guests dining with us. Maybe six. I'm sorry you feel that way about it, Ron, but I would appreciate it if you could leave off your fussing until they have left. You will not mention the job to the guests. You will not mention how angry you are at me. Once they've gone home, you are welcome to yell as loudly as you like." He turned and grabbed the doorknob. "Discussion over." Mr. Weasley yanked the door open and stalked back into the hospital room, closing it quietly but swiftly behind him.
Percy jumped in immediately. "Ron, I know you're upset - and I am too - but isn't this taking the money thing a bit too far? It's not as if he's taking a lower paying job. We've always been this poor."

"But don't you see...? This might be the last chance for him to take it! They might not offer him another, if he turns this one down. I'm so sick of being poor..." Ron kicked idly at the antiseptic white tile floor.

"Let's go back inside, Ron," Percy sighed after a long moment of silence. "Mum will want to ask how your term was."

Ron followed Percy back into the room, of course, and answered all of the questions his mother posed. He also sat and held Charlie's hand and talked quietly to Harry as the others took their turns. However, he utterly refused to look his father in the eye.

The next two days passed without significant event. Charlie didn't wake, Fred and George spent the time in an unusually solemn manner (though they did take a break to harrass the dog), Ginny helped her mum with the preparations for Christmas Eve dinner, and Bill tried to pry the identities of the four surprise guests from Lupin, who'd been told long in advance. Ron knew one of them, of course - Sirius was to take human form when the others arrived, and there would finally be an explanation of the circumstances to the rest of the family. As for the three others, Ron only had a guess: maybe it would be the family who would be taking Harry in? Mr. Weasley seemed annoyed by the whole affair, in the short period of time he spent away from St. Mungo's, but Mrs. Weasley seemed delighted to be cooking for such a large table and Ron couldn't tell whether she was looking forward to the guests as much as the food.

Ron and Harry spent the time locked away in Ron's room, wrapping presents and chatting about the Quidditch team's chances of winning the Cup, how much of a git Malfoy was, and how obnoxious the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Medea Menin, had proved to be over the previous term. The revelation on the stairwell beneath the Divination classroom, and the events leading up to it, seemed to have been forgotten completely. The dinner grew closer and preparations grew more frantic until the time for revelations finally arrived.

"Ron! Harry! We'll be having dinner in about an hour!" Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed up the stairs.

Harry jumped to his feet, pulling Ron up with him. "It's time! Sirius is going to change now... think your dad is ready to lock Percy up?"

"I'll do it myself," Ron grinned. "I'm surprised he'll actually come out of his room. He's still working on a bill that will be submitted to Fudge in the end, something about the Werewolf Classification. He never comes out of his room when he's half done."

The pair bounded down the stairs, Ron at Harry's heels, and plowed into the living room. Only Charlie and Percy were missing from the Weasley ranks. Harry took a seat beside Professor Lupin on the sofa, grinning over at Ron as he joined his friend. Ron grinned back and turned to watch Snuffles pacing the length of the room impatiently.

Bill, who was sitting on Lupin's other side, was watching the dog curiously. "Are we about ready for whatever this is, Mum? And I think someone should let the dog out..."

"Don't worry, he won't make a mess on the carpet," Lupin answered, turning to give a wink to Harry and Ron. Ron snickered along with Harry as Bill wrinkled his brow and went back to staring at the dog.

Percy finally arrived, last as always, and Ron's dad made sure his most uptight son was at his right hand. Ron noticed that he had his wand lying within easy reach. It had taken months and the death of a classmate to convince Percy that You-Know-Who was no longer a fairytale... could he possibly accept the truth of Sirius Black's innocence in one night?

"Well," Mrs. Weasley began, taking up a place in front of the fireplace, "our guests will be arriving in just a moment, but there's something all of you need to be warned of before that happens."

"One of them is a Muggle?" Fred asked.

George perked up immediately. "Oooh, is it Harry's cousin? Fred, where are the candies?"

Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to be amused. "No, it's not Harry's cousin and thank you, George, for reminding me to dig through your drawers for those foul things. No... one of our guests has a bit of a reputation which needs to be addressed before he's allowed to join us. He was accused of a very heinous crime, which he is innocent of, I might add... but the holiday could not be complete for Harry were he not to join us."

Ron laughed softly as Fred and George looked bored, Ginny curious, Percy taken aback, and Bill as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but eluding him. "I suppose it would be easier if he would just show himself, and we can answer all the questions at once." She looked over at the dog. "Well, is that enough of an introduction for you?"

And in an instant, Sirius was standing as a man and brushing off his wrinkled shirt. "I suppose I can live with it, Molly."

As expected, Percy was on his feet first. "Mum! Mum, that's Sirius Black!"

Mr. Weasley grabbed Percy by the shoulders and pulled him back into his seat. "Yes, Perce, it's Sirius Black. Now please, let him explain."

Sirius seemed ready to do so when something happened that Ron certainly hadn't counted on. Bill, usually the most easy-going of the Weasley brothers, didn't bother with his wand. Instead, he shot out of his seat and crossed the room in a bound, wrapping his hands around Sirius' neck. Ron couldn't hear what Bill was saying, but Mrs. Weasley could, and it wasn't anything he'd likely be repeating in the house soon, as she started screaming at him. It was Lupin who finally saved Sirius, crossing the room after Bill to pull Ron's eldest brother off of Harry's godfather. Bill, however, continued struggling and his words turned to a howl of anger. "James and Lily - how could you do it, you bastard!?"

Sirius rubbed at his throat and stepped back. "I didn't, Billy. I wasn't the Secret Keeper, I swear! We thought it would be too obvious, so I was to be the decoy while Peter performed the spell and went into hiding!"

"So you blew up a dozen people? How does that follow?!" Bill kicked at Lupin, trying to squirm away from the werewolf to launch another attack. "Re, let go of me! They were your best friends, how can you believe him?!"

"Because Peter wasn't dead," Lupin snapped, dragging Bill back toward the sofa. "I saw him with my own eyes, just a few months ago."

"Wasn't dead?" Percy asked, furrowing his brow in confusion and taking the situation much more calmly than Bill. "Then does that mean -"

Harry stood up to gather attention. "Yeah," he said. "It means he's dead now. Voldemort murdered him when he was unable to bring Malfoy to him. Er, Draco Malfoy, I mean. That was the night Voldemort killed Lucius. Peter's dead now."

"And hopefully rotting in Hades for what he did," Sirius finished. "It's a long and utterly depressing story. I'll tell it in full to those who want, later on, but to summarize... James, Peter and I became Animagi to help Remus when he was a wolf. I'm a large dog and was able to escape Azkaban because the dementors do not recognize the presence of animals. I've been hiding out ever since, and as Remus' dog for the past six months. Good enough?" When no one responded immediately, he crossed the room and pulled Harry to his feet and into a crushing hug. "'Lo, Harry. 'Lo, Ron."

"Hi," Harry grinned.

"Can we eat now?" Ron put in, attracting a laugh from Fred and George. "I mean, Sirius hasn't eaten anything but dog chow in ages! He should eat... and I'm starving!" Well, he was always starving, so that didn't seem to be a surprise to anyone.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Not quite yet. We're waiting for the others, yet."

Ron watched Sirius take a few steps down the sofa and crouch in front of Bill and Lupin. "I swear to you, I'd never hurt James, nor harm a hair on Harry's head. He's my godson... Do you believe me, Billy?"

Bill glanced at Sirius for a moment before turning to look at Lupin. "Why didn't you tell me, Re?" His voice cracked and he fell silent for a moment to compose himself. "I've been going about thinking Peter was a hero for fourteen years..."

"... and I thought Sirius was the villain for twelve," Lupin finished. "I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Dumbledore said so... it was 'need to know' information. The more who knew, the more likely it was that someone would catch up to him."

Bill nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I tried to strangle you, Sirius."

"I'm sorry I put itching powder in your sheets your first night at Hogwarts," Sirius responded solemnly.

"That was you?" Bill demanded, the seriousness of the situation melting away immediately. Sirius was good at that sort of thing, Ron mused. "But I thought it was Davy Gudgeon...!"

"Nope!" Sirius grinned. "It was his itching powder, however. I... borrowed it."

"They'll be here in just a moment," Mrs. Weasley put in. Sirius stood up in response and rounded the couch to stand behind Harry. "Now, I want the whole lot of you to be on your best behavior. I doubt they're your favourite people, but they've no one else to spend the holiday with, and the wards on Hogwarts are being strengthened tonight, so they certainly can't stay there..."

Ron blanched and leaned over to whisper to Harry. "Oh no," he moaned. "It's McGonagall, isn't it!" Harry winced in silent agreement.

It wasn't McGonagall... it was much, much worse. Out of the fire tumbled none other than Professor Snape and - to make the blow even more unbearable - he was followed by Draco Malfoy. Ron gaped, completely speechless, as Snape turned to his mother and nodded politely. "Thank you for the invitation, Molly. Albus will be along in a few moments. He needed to make sure all the house-elves had been relocated for tonight."

"Noooo," he heard Fred moaning softly. Ron agreed. His attention, however, was riveted on Malfoy. "Wow... he looks like shit," Ron murmured to Harry. Not that he spent much time looking at Malfoy, of course, but he really did look terrible - worse than Harry, with deep bags under his eyes, ill-kempt hair as compared to the glossed back tresses of months past, and a complexion nearly as sallow as Snape's. They certainly suited each other.

Malfoy glared over at Ron and Harry briefly, until he focused on the man standing behind the sofa. His mouth dropped open and he grabbed Snape's shoulder. "Professor! Sirius Black!"

A chorus of the five youngest Weasleys and Harry responded. "He's innocent, Malfoy."

Snape glanced over to look at the rest of the room, and the expression of utter despair which appeared on his features at his first sight of Sirius Black was one Ron knew he would cherish for years. "Black," he sneered. "Why is it that everywhere I go -"

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly. "It's Christmas, Severus. Happy Christmas Eve... why don't we all go into the kitchen, then? If Professor Dumbledore will be joining us, we'll leave room for him... Sirius, would you help me with the food?"

Sirius and Snape exchanged another glare of loathing before the former followed Mrs. Weasley out of the room. It seemed that his mum's ability to diffuse arguments extended much farther than the confines of the Weasley family, Ron mused. Harry leaned over and murmured, "Does this mean I have to be nice to Malfoy?"

"No nicer than I plan to be," Ron shot back, doing his very best to ignore Malfoy as he stood uncomfortably on the hearth.

Snape took a few steps forward as Bill and Lupin rose to their feet. "Hallo, Severus," Bill said with a surprising smile, offering a hand. "How's teaching?"

"No better than ever," he replied with a snort, shaking Bill's hand briskly. "And Egypt? Still working for Gringotts?"

"Of course! Although, the Jerusalem branch is looking for a curse breaker, and I've about covered all the known magical archaeological sites 'round Cairo. Don't you have family in Israel?" Bill gestured for Snape to follow, along with Lupin.

"Yes, an uncle in Tel Aviv..." They disappeared into the kitchen and Snape's voice - thankfully - trailed off. Fred, George, Ginny, and Percy made a quick escape as well, Percy leaning down to Ron's ear to hiss, "Remember, Mum said to be on your best behavior. No hexing the Slytherin."

And so Ron and Harry were left in the living room with Malfoy. He supposed they were probably meant to be friendly to him but Ron didn't see how it was possible. It was Malfoy, after all. "Stuck with the Muggle-lovers for the holiday, Malfoy? Gone down in the world a bit?" Ron couldn't help but grin. Needling Malfoy (and coming out on top) was one of his favourite pasttimes.

"Ron," Harry hissed, "Snape's in the kitchen -!"

"It was you sorry lot or Snape's uncle in Tel Aviv, and at least the lot of you speak proper English." He gave a halfhearted sneer before staring back at the ground.

Malfoy standing there, unable to hide behind the muscle power of Crabbe and Goyle, was a target too perfect for Ron to overlook. "Well, I'm certainly surprised that Snape hasn't passed you off on relatives yet. Who'd want to deal with a bigot like yourself, after all?"

"He is a relative," Malfoy snapped. "We share a grandfather five generations back. He's probably the closest relative I have, at the moment. And isn't this supposed to be a time of bloody good cheer? Just sod off!" He turned and stalked across the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Ron stared in his wake, slack-jawed. Malfoy, retreat from an insult-war? Yet another shade of grey crept into his black-and-white world. "Harry, did he really just...?"

Harry sighed loudly. "He has no choice but to be here. Snape's his godfather, as little as he seems to want the job. Let's just ignore him, please?"

Ignoring Malfoy was easier said than done, especially when the git was sitting directly across from Ron. Mr. Weasley had managed to anger his son even more - on top of placing him across from Malfoy and Snape at the dinner table, he'd also separated him from Harry and forced him to sit between Percy and Fred, as if forcing his family into continued poverty wasn't enough. It was a dinner never to be forgotten in the annals of Weasley holiday history - only Bill managed to seem cheerful, and he was forced to mediate between Sirius and Snape the entire meal. Mr. Weasley spoke in quiet tones to Lupin and Professor Dumbledore, probably about Harry, while Ginny managed to keep Harry from listening in on the conversation. She also managed to sink her elbow into the butter dish again.

Meanwhile, Percy was attempting to entertain Sirius with an outline of Bill 1996H103 Against the Werewolf Beast Classification, Bill was deep in discussion with Snape about some Egyptian artifact, and Fred and George appeared to be silently communicating across the table - no doubt trying to poison Snape. And that left Ron to glare at Malfoy. To make it worse, Malfoy didn't bother to glare back.

Ron ran over the dozens of childish things he could do to get Malfoy's attention in the back of his head. He could launch food into his face... maybe he could 'accidentally' kick him under the table... would it be tasteless for him to mock the Slytherin about his lack of friends? Probably... He poked at his food with a deep scowl. Malfoy was only a meter away, and he could do nothing to provoke him.

Dinner was drawing to a close when Snape stood up and moved around the table to stand behind Harry and Lupin. Ron watched him take a vial from his breast-pocket and bend between the two to dump it into Harry's cup of pumpkin juice. "One dose of Hyupnos Draught. Happy Christmas." He gave a sneer - although, Ron mused, it could've been a failed attempt at a smile - and rounded back to his own chair.

Hyupnos Draught? Was that the name of what Harry was taking? But Ron knew he'd already taken a dose of it for the day... he leaned around Fred, trying to catch Harry's gaze with a look of warning. It was never safe to double the dose of a potion, especially if you didn't know what you were doing... but Harry merely shrugged at Ron's unvoiced question and downed the entire glass of juice and potion at once.

Ron frowned, hoping the double dose wouldn't do anything harmful to his best friend, and accidentally met Malfoy's eyes as he moved his gaze back to the food on the table. He'd looked at Malfoy before, of course, dozens of times but that sudden exchange of glances gave new depth to the least expected of people. Instead of hate and loathing, Ron saw... sadness. Maybe envy too, but definitely a deep despair.

Malfoy looked away, but Ron didn't seem to be able to force himself to do the same. He remained staring in surprise at the top of Malfoy's messy blonde head until Snape rose once more and complimented Mrs. Weasley on her excellent cooking. "And thank you for inviting the both of us, Molly. I know how strained your relationship was with Draco's father, and I am very glad it could be looked over in this case. It was certainly more pleasant than a meal at my uncle's would've been."

"No, no, it was my pleasure, Severus!" Ron's mum beamed, standing as well. "Must you be going, then?"

"I did promise my uncle that I'd bring Draco for a few hours, I'm afraid. Thank you very much for saving me from being forced to spend more than that in his presence. And good luck in Egypt, Bill. Draco? Shall we?" Snape moved back from the table and, to Ron's relief, Malfoy didn't look up as he went to join the professor.

Mrs. Weasley led the pair from the kitchen, and Ron was only able to catch part of what she was saying as they headed for the fireplace. "Oh, we will have to do this again sometime..."

Obviously Fred had heard as well, as he suddenly slumped forward and banged his head against the table. "Noooo," he moaned softly, "I'm supposed to leave Hogwarts and never see the wanker again..."

George echoed the sentiment. "Oh, absolutely spiffing, now I've got to spend a happy holiday with the master of all thing dour and the Malfoy brat for the rest of my life. Bloody hell."

The twins had spoken too loudly - Mr. Weasley stared disapprovingly down the table, but Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling in mirth. Harry met Ron's gaze with a great deal of sympathy although, Ron mused, maybe Harry would have to deal with the horrors as well. This would hardly be his last Christmas with the Weasleys, now that there had been a first.

Lupin was next to leave the table, dragging off Fred and George to explain to them who exactly Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail of Marauder Map fame happened to be - Ron thought he heard one of them scream, "We're not worthy!" Sirius then got up as well and rounded the table to where Harry was sitting. Ron finally realized that godfather and godson had been separated by half a dozen people for the entirety of dinner. Did that, then, mean that his mum and dad knew what he'd overheard as well? The convict knelt and murmured, loudly enough for Ron to hear, "Can we go talk? Upstairs? There's a few things I've got to tell you."

Harry grinned broadly and nodded, practically bouncing out of his chair. Sirius didn't return the grin, and Ron realized just what they were about to discuss. He was going to tell Harry he was leaving. It seemed that smile would be gone soon enough.

Ron sighed and sunk into his seat to wait for Harry's heart to be broken. Had Harry ever had a happy Christmas? It seemed this would be another to go down in the books, as 'worst Christmas ever.'

A/N: Well, there's chapter ten! And here's the special cookie I promised last time! It happens just after the end of this section (Part Two: Home for the Holidays) but can be read directly after chapter nine without a problem. Enjoy!

Title: Requiem for an Enemy: A Companion Piece to "Our Fathers"

Author: Indarae

Rating: PG for dark overtones

Summary: The first funeral of the new era of rising Dark leaves a Weasley son in guilt over the deceased.

A/N: I read a piece, a while ago, about Marcus, Oliver and Percy all sitting in a memorial, talking. It's been something that's hung with me for a while. Unfortunately, I can't find the story - if you have an idea of what I'm talking about, leave a note? Anyways, I've had this popping around in the back of my head since I wrote the chapter of 'Our Fathers' that happens at the same time. There, it's Ron watching his brother learn of Marcus' death. I wanted to explore why the death hit him as it did, and this was my chance.

It's been a long time since I've had to attend a funeral. The first was long ago, when I was only a baby, and Dad's sister was murdered. I say murdered, but it was her own fault. Is that a terrible thing to say of my own aunt? I never knew her - she was married to a Death Eater, Dad told me. She betrayed our family and was betrayed in turn by her own kind. We went to the funeral anyway. For us, the bonds of family were always stronger than Light or Dark.

Then there was Uncle Eugene's funeral. He was Mum's brother, the eldest of them, and was a lot like Bill, according to Mum. It was when I was eleven - I was allowed to take the train from Hogwarts back to King's Cross in the middle of the week, and I had to find my way around the London Underground on my own. That funeral I remember - he was a charm tester, working with one of the broom companies, and had been the victim of a terrible accident. I remember crying, and holding Ginny on my lap so Mum could walk to the front of the church to give a eulogy for her brother. We buried him after, and it was raining. I'll never forget the rain - Bill said God was weeping. I didn't believe him.

Only two funerals I've had to attend. Until now, that is. I suppose I've been very lucky - Dad lost his entire family by the time Bill was out of Hogwarts. I was just too young to remember Uncle Ronald or Aunt Morgainne, and my existence hadn't even been decided upon when Dad's parents died. And then there were the Troubles in the 70's - I only remember the end, but I remember the fear. At night, Mum locked the doors and we cowered in the basement of the Burrow. She was always afraid. Bill and Charlie were off at school by the end of it, by the day Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord, so Mum wasn't as worried about them.

She was worried about us, because we were on You Know Who's list. Weasleys have always been Gryffindors, and so have McDougals, Mum's family. The Dark Lord was notoriously hard on Gryffindor families - he seldom tried to convert us, he only killed.

It's amazing I still have family left at all.

And now I've another funeral to attend. Not family, but a kid - no, he's my age. A man I once called a friend. It was such a long time ago... We sat on the train to Hogwarts together, me and Oliver and him. We'd lived on the same street as well, before his family moved away. The best of friends, the three of us - Mum had my desk covered with pictures of days by the pond or the three of us dressed up for church together, until I put them all away.

Oliver and I ended up in Gryffindor together, but he... didn't. And that was the end of that, no matter how much I regret it now. It's much too late to fix it, anyway.

We were all invited to the funeral - only two years out of Hogwarts, we've barely had time to leave our old friends behind and make new ones. Oliver sat next to me, all done up in his Puddlemere United jersey, as he hadn't the time to change between the game and the service. Penny was sitting in front of me, with the other Ravenclaws. Maryam and Sarah, Matthew and Josephus, Mandie and Brandon - all the Gryffindors of my year sat in our pew. The Hufflepuffs were behind us, and the Slytherins across the aisle, how it had always been.

It's sad, how House still holds us apart. Only two Slytherins of our year showed for the funeral, even though he was the first of us all to die. And it wasn't a natural death - the vicar blamed it on suicide, on starting his new job but unable to leave being a child behind - but I know better. He was murdered.

I didn't believe it, at first. Harry Potter told me. I guess he's a Seer - what isn't the boy? - but I've spent the past six months trying to believe the world was still safe. I met Oliver, he in tears, when I Apparated to the Ministry to see if Harry's words were true. "Perce, we all believed. Why didn't you?" he accused me. But the deaths weren't my fault - three, he and his parents, at the hand of the Dark Lord himself.

He was always closer to Oliver. At the funeral yesterday, Oli went up to the front to give one of the eulogies. "When we were little, we were best friends. The two of us - and Percy - we all lived on the same street, did everything together... he was always so good at any sport. It turned into an obsession, for the both of us. We faced off in school, always trying to be the one to come out on top. Then we left Hogwarts and ended up on the same team. We were both supposed to play, this morning. His space was empty," he said. He'd had more to say, he told me later, but he burst into tears and couldn't go on talking. I always thought Oliver was the bravest of the three of us, and he was the strongest, and I was... I was just Percy. The studious one, I suppose. I always watched when they faced off, and never got in the middle of it.

I'm still that way. It took me until this death to step back and see what a blind fool I've been. It turns out he was the strongest and the bravest. The Dark Lord showed up and threatened to kill him if he didn't become a Death Eater... and he didn't. He stood up to the Dark Lord. He's dead, and his parents died with him, but he stood up for what he believed, even at the end.

And we thought he'd be the first to give in.

It embarrasses me now, to think on the things I said to my brothers. I warned them away, after he ended up in a different House, even though Fred and George had known him well, too. They took up the cry as I did. Oliver knew better. "We'll have to beat him in the House Cup, of course," Oliver had said, "but he's still the same bloke we kicked around a football with." And he was, but I was blinded by the colours he wore.

After the funeral, Oliver was still crying. Sarah hugged him, and Brandon told him to keep his chin up. "He was the first," Mandie said, standing and staring up to the altar. "The first of our class to fall... he won't be the last, you know."

"He was never the last at anything," Oliver whispered. "He was supposed to play first string this morning - not me."

The rest of us looked away. Oli had the most reason to grieve of the rest of us. Josephus had hated him for the prank he'd played first year - he planted Sneezing Powder in Josephus' pumpkin juice, because he'd thought it was mine. Mandie and the girls thought he was just the same as the rest of his crowd: crass, sneering, and cold. Brandon hadn't said much, one way or another, but Brandon hadn't known him the way Oliver and I did. Or the way I used to, and Oliver did until he died a week ago. "Why didn't you speak a eulogy?" Oliver asked, after the others had gone, and we sat alone in the church. I didn't know how to respond... but then I realized. I didn't speak for him because I didn't think myself worthy anymore. I spent six months ignoring the evil that had killed him - six months that could've been spent working to destroy that evil. I know I think too much of myself, but if I'd been working for Dumbledore, maybe my childhood friend wouldn't be dead.

Christmas was four days ago. Today should've been my first day back to work, but I told Minister Fudge I couldn't make it. Oliver came to my door instead, and we walked down the street to the cemetery at the edge of Ottery St. Catchpole. The ground is still fresh where he was buried. His parents are across the cemetery - they had plots ready, should they die - but he was too young to go. Oli and I sat together and planted a rosebush in the fresh soil of the grave to finally say goodbye.

"What if I'd been the Slytherin of the three of us?" Oliver asked me. "How would you have looked on me? How would he?"

"It could only have been him," I said. And it was true - he'd been ruthless, even as a child. But, no doubt, I'd have treated Oliver as I treated all the other Slytherins. I'd always been taught that they were evil - look what happened to Aunt Morgainne, when she married one - but one Slytherin has finally proved me wrong.

"We were so stupid," Oliver went on. "All we saw was the table he sat at, and the people he sat next to, and the colour he wore. It was stupid to stop being his friend over something an animate hat said."

"It was stupid," I said. "And I was stupid for forgetting a friend."

"We couldn't have saved him," Oliver insisted, and I know he was right. It was the Dark Lord's wand that took his life, no matter the guilt I feel. Had we been friends after starting Hogwarts, he might've been killed earlier, in fact - a Slytherin doesn't befriend a Gryffindor. It's the mark of a traitor.

But yesterday, after the funeral, the two Slytherins who attended crossed the aisle. "He was a hero," Medea said. "He stood up against something he couldn't possibly beat."

"We never thought he was one," Penny whispered. Her eyes were puffy. Mine were too, I'm sure. Oliver was still crying. "But if it's true... if You Know Who came after him... won't you be next?"

Medea nodded. "I can't go home, not after being seen here. Neither can Phillip."

Brandon spoke up for the first time since before we left Hogwarts. "I'll hide you until the Headmaster can find a better place." Brandon's dad died in the Troubles.

And then Phillip looked over at me and smiled. "He always said you and Oliver had been good friends." I nodded and cried again - the guilt was overwhelming. Had I been a better friend, I already would've been fighting against the Dark Lord.

I have plenty to make up for, Marcus. That's why I'm sitting at your grave, instead of working like I should. Oliver's crying again. But we won't forget what you did - even if the world does. Rest in peace, my friend.