Mum's the Word

Having finished his Auror duties for the day, Harry Apparated outside the wards of the Burrow with a crack! on the Tuesday before Christmas. He shivered in the cold evening air and pulled his coat a little tighter around his body as he passed through the wards and walked briskly up the snow-covered path to the Burrow. The sight of the ramshackle, dangerously crooked Weasley home made him smile in anticipation of the warmth of both its interior and the family that dwelled there.

He passed the chicken coop (feeling a brief pang of sorrow for its inhabitants - it was the birds' least favourite time of year, after all) and rapped once on the door before pushing it open and entering.

"It's only me," Harry called, removing his scarf and hanging it on a coat peg by the door. He was just shrugging out of his jacket when Mrs Weasley came bustling from the living room towards him.

"Harry, dear!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close for a warm, motherly hug. He patted her back awkwardly and she withdrew from the embrace to grasp his hand and pull him towards the kitchen table.

"You really don't have to knock, dear," she said, sounding a little peeved. "This is as much your home as anyone else's. Come on, let's get you sat down by the fire. You're the first one home, you know. Ginny's still at Shell Cottage, but she'll be bringing Bill and Fleur over in about half an hour. Ron owled to say he's doing some last minute shopping for Hermione's Christmas present and George has gone to help him, so Merlin knows what they'll come back with. That boy! He's had weeks to get her something, but oh, no! Always leaves it to the last minute! Percy and Arthur are in a meeting with Kingsley and it's running a little late."

Tiny though she was, she pulled out a chair and bodily pushed him into it by his shoulders, taking the opportunity to try and flatten his manic black mane as she did.

"I really wish you'd let me cut your hair, Harry. I found a bottle of Cuthbert Frobisher's Hair Heaven in Diagon Alley this morning and I've been dying to try it out. It's guaranteed to tame even the most unruly mops or your money back, you know," she chirped, obviously quoting straight from the product's label.

"Er, thanks, Mrs Weasley," spluttered Harry, trying to keep the alarm from showing in his voice. He had absolutely no intention of letting her anywhere near his hair with her wand - especially after she'd almost scalped Ron the week before (Ron had since taken to wearing a woolly hat - complete with pom-pom - everywhere he went. Even indoors). "Maybe in Spring though, eh?"

She stepped away and faced him with a frown on her kindly face. "Spring? Whatever do you want to wait that long for? It'll be down to your knees by then!"

Harry grinned. "But it'll be long enough to wrap around my neck and keep it warm in the meantime."

Mrs Weasley rolled her eyes in exasperation. "That's what your scarf is for, dear! Heavens! What is it about young boys these days, and their aversion to a decent haircut? Honestly, it's exactly the same with all six of ... I mean, all five ..."

The dark-haired teenager watched in dismay as her lower lip trembled briefly, and he knew she was thinking about Fred. The urge to get up and hug her was nearly overwhelming, but he was afraid it would tip her over the edge and straight into the grief that was always lurking just around the corner, ready to pounce on her at the slightest provocation. Just as he decided to give in to the impulse and hope it made her feel better instead of worse, Mrs Weasley rallied herself with one huge sniff and gave a shaky sigh.

"Never mind. Spring will have to do," she mumbled. The matronly witch plastered a smile on her face and waggled a finger at him in mock warning. "But don't think I'll have forgotten about it. I'll be chopping that mop of yours before the first crocus blooms. Now, let's get you something to warm you up. How about a nice bowl of chicken soup? I've already started on it, but I'll just throw a few more things into the pot. That should keep you going until the others arrive."

At Harry's nod, she turned and busied herself pulling out chopping boards, setting vegetables to be sliced, and adding more water and stock to a large pot on the stove. Harry watched her bustling about, marvelling at her ability to do so many things at one time. She had enchanted a scrubbing brush to furiously tear into a large metal container over the sink and it valiantly attempted to dislodge the remains of what must have been her lunch. Two feather dusters brushed soot from the hearth back into the fireplace before zooming into the living room to perform the same duty there. A large quilt was being crushed to death by the mangle near the pantry and the drops of water being squeezed out fell into a waiting bucket with a series of soft plop, plop, plops. Mrs Weasley waved her wand at the chopping board and the knife which had been happily hacking at turnip and carrots stopped instantly, allowing the vegetables to float over to the pot. Their place on the chopping board was quickly taken up by a large red onion and three leeks. Already, the delicious smell from the stove was beginning to make his mouth water.

"How has your day been, Mrs Weasley?" he asked, shuffling his chair closer to the fire and shoving his hands in front of the roaring flames to heat them up.

Mrs Weasley paused in her stirring of the pot and Harry wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but she seemed to stiffen slightly. He winced, hoping that he hadn't just reminded her of some dreadful incident in Diagon Alley he didn't yet know about.

"Oh, it was fine," she replied with a high-pitched chuckle.

Harry frowned. He was familiar with that chuckle. She had something on her mind, all right. But what?

Whatever it was, he didn't find out straight away. Mrs Weasley resumed her stirring of the pot and began to chat about her trip to Diagon Alley; her visit to the apothecary's, 'It's where I found the Hair Heaven. Just in this morning and selling like hotcakes. I was lucky to get a bottle before they all sold out!', and her lunch with George 'He's slowly coming round, dear. He even smiled at me during dessert, but that might've had more to do with the fact that someone asked for my autograph just as Tom served the custard tarts, than anything else. Still, it's a start'.

"Someone asked for your autograph?" asked Harry with a broad smile.

Mrs Weasley shrugged indifferently as she stirred. "I know. Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it? Someone asking for my autograph as if I was some sort of celebrity."

Harry disagreed. "No. It doesn't sound silly. People admire you for standing up to Bellatrix Lestrange and then finishing her off. Half the country's been dying to do that for years, and you stroll up to Voldemort's most dangerous ally and wipe the floor with her on your first encounter. Actually, now that I think about it, can I have your autograph?"

"Oh, you!" she exclaimed, whirling round to brandish her wooden spoon at the sniggering teenager. A piece of carrot flew off the end of it and smacked him on the cheek.

"What?" Harry gasped in amusement as he peeled the carrot off his face and popped it into his mouth. "You'll give a complete stranger your autograph, but I can't get one? Will you sign my arm?"

"I'll sign your rear with the back of my spoon if you don't stop your teasing!" she threatened, and they both laughed at the image her words evoked.

"Speaking of autograph hunters, Harry, I expect you'll be having to fend off even more of them shortly."

"That's not possible. I can't even walk down the ruddy street without some screaming teenager or photographer chasing me. I actually had to Disillusion myself at work yesterday. Did you know that? And not to catch some stupid Death Eater, either - just to go down to the cafeteria for a sandwich. It's a nightmare."

"Well, there aren't many Death Eaters left, so Kingsley will be releasing you from your duties soon enough and then you can go back to school for your seventh year. And perhaps you should start taking your sandwiches to work with you, instead of buying them when you get there? I could make you up a packed lunch in the mornings and leave it on the table for you to pick up before you leave, dear."

She looked at him hopefully and he nodded gratefully, making her beam with delight.

"If it's not too much trouble, Mrs Weasley," he said. "That'd be great."

Was it just his imagination, or did she stiffen again?

The matronly witch gave him a wavering smile before abandoning her pot and pouring him a cup of tea while he waited for his soup.

"There you go, dear. Get some of that down you for the moment."

She patted his cheek affectionately and left to resume her pot-watching.

Harry blew on the cup and took a cautious sip of the hot liquid, staring at the witch's back in confusion as he swallowed. What was wrong with her? That was second time she had reacted oddly to an innocent comment. Had he done something wrong? Offended her somehow? He wracked his brains, running through the conversation they'd had since he arrived, but couldn't see how he may have upset her.

Thinking it just his overactive imagination, Harry gave a mental shrug and drank his tea. It warmed the parts that the fireplace couldn't reach and soon he was as cosy as he could be.

"You were talking about more autograph hunters?" he piped up after swallowing another mouthful of tea. Mrs Weasley nodded.

"Yes. I got an owl from Augusta Longbottom this afternoon. Her brother Algie's got a very sweet tooth apparently and bought himself an entire box of Chocolate Frogs yesterday. Augusta was less than impressed, of course. Can't say that I blame her - a man of his age stuffing his face with confectionary. Oh, well. Takes all sorts, I suppose."

As amusing as the thought of Neville's eccentric uncle making his way through an entire box of Chocolate Frogs was, Harry didn't really see what it had to do with autograph hunters, or why his grandmother was owling Mrs Weasley about it.

"Anyway," continued Mrs Weasley, reaching on her tiptoes to grab the salt from a shelf and adding it to the pot, "as Algie was making his way through his fifth frog..."

The witch shook her head in disapproval and Harry stifled a laugh.

"...whose picture do you think he found on the back of the card?"

Oh. No. Please. Not that, too. He hadn't even posed for a ruddy photograph...

A feeling of dismay swept through him and he waited with bated breath to hear what she would say.

But his dismay was quickly banished when Mrs Weasley said:

"Neville's! And Ron got a mention in it, too! Imagine: my little Ron's name on a Chocolate Frog card!"

Harry was torn between astonishment and relief as she turned her head to beam at him.

"Neville's? How'd they get a picture of him? He's been just as busy as me and Ron trying to catch the last of Voldemort's supporters."

Mrs Weasley spun around to face him, spoon in hand, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I know. But do you remember that new reporter from the Prophet who followed him for three weeks in October, hoping to get an exclusive? Well, before Neville chased him off, his photographer got a picture of him arresting Rodolphus Lestrange. You remember, that one that made the front page? Hogwarts' Hero Captures Parents' Torturer?"

Harry nodded. That was one of the most high profile arrests of the last seven months and a personal victory for Neville, whose widely-admired parents had been tortured into insanity by the dark wizard when he was just a baby. The mere fact that one of the famous Aurors' torturers had been arrested by their own son made for a phenomenal headline and the Daily Prophet hadn't been able to get enough of it - the story ran in various forms for an entire week (which had pleased his grandmother no end, but annoyed the normally affable Neville into an almost apoplectic rage, much to Harry's amusement).

"Well, the Prophet sold the rights of that image to Delphinius' Divine Delights, the manufacturers of Chocolate Frogs, and ... well, look for yourself."

She thrust her hand into the pocket of her flowery pinafore and pulled out a small blue card, which she held out to him. Harry rose, took it from her and pulled his chair back to the table. With his elbows on the table, he held the card before him and studied the picture. It showed a surprisingly fierce looking Neville Longbottom marching towards the camera with a dark scowl on his scarred face.

"Bloody hell. Was this taken before he 'chased' that reporter off?"

Mrs Weasley nodded. "Language, Harry, dear. But yes, it was. Right after he'd arrested Lestrange. Good, isn't it?"

"Dunno if 'good' is the word I'd use," Harry remarked, throwing her a grin. "'Scary', yes. You wouldn't want to mess with him, would you?"

He dropped his gaze to read the text:

Harry didn't know whether to laugh with glee (Neville would die of sheer mortification when he saw this, and Ron would be livid that his much-loathed middle name was now public information), frown with frustration (he didn't much like the rather grandiose titles the card had afforded him) or cringe with fear (if Neville's card was anything to go by, he'd soon be looking at a mirror image of himself with an equally embarrassing list of his own accomplishments).

He opted for laughing (for the moment).

"Neville won't be too thrilled about this," he said with a chuckle.

"Perhaps not. The poor boy. But his grandmother is beside herself with pride. She even made Algie eat another fifteen frogs, one after the other, in case there were any more cards with his picture on it. They've not found any more just yet because Algie was violently sick when she handed him frog number sixteen. So that card you've got is a copy of the original. But she's promised to send any of you or Ron if she finds any - once Algie's recovered, of course."

"Really? Oh. That's ... great," mumbled Harry, appalled at the thought of not even being able to eat a piece of chocolate without fear of seeing his own bemused face staring up at him. Still, he wouldn't be suffering alone.

He gave Neville's picture a wry grin. "Ron's bound to be on one, too, if it's any consolation," he informed the scowling photo.

"Oh, do you really think so?" gushed Ron's mother, abandoning the soup pot to snatch the card and take a seat across from him. She ran her fingers lovingly over the photograph of Neville, no doubt imagining her youngest son in his place. "When I saw his name on this, well, I had thought that just maybe ..."

The red-haired witch was beaming with pleasure at the thought of her son appearing on a Chocolate Frog card.

"Ron'll definitely have one. He did defeat the most vicious werewolf in history, after all. He saved my life on countless occasions. Not to mention that amazing stunt with the Chamber of Secrets when he opened it just to get Basilisk fangs. He destroyed one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, freed Muggle-borns from the then corrupt Ministry, broke into Gringotts and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts ... they'll probably need two cards to get all of that down."

"Two cards?" breathed Mrs Weasley in giddy delight. She slapped Harry's wrist playfully when he laughed at her expression. "One will be more than enough to be getting on with, or his head will be too big to fit through the door."

She looked at the card again then leaned over the table and whispered conspiratorially: "I might get this framed and stick it on the mantelpiece. Then invite Neville and his family over for dinner next week, just to watch him blush when he sees it!"

Harry threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"You're evil!" he gasped, chortling in admiration.

"I know. Where do you think Fred and George got their streak from? But if you tell anyone, I'll deny it - after I hex you, of course," the Weasley mother said with a mock snarl. She ruined the effect by pocketing the card and cheerily announcing, "Now, let's see how that soup's coming along."

It made Harry very happy that she'd managed to say Fred's name this time without flinching. It was another hopeful sign that she was on the road to recovering from her grief, although he knew that journey was not over yet. In fact, Christmas was going to be a bit of a trial for the whole family, what with it being the first one they would celebrate without Ron's older brother. The Weasleys had made an attempt to decorate the house with tinsel and there was a Christmas tree in the living room, but they were noticeably lacklustre in their efforts. The tree wasn't as colourful as usual, the tinsel drooped miserably across the walls and Mrs Weasley hadn't even started on the mince pies yet - which was unusual for her. She normally had them prepared a fortnight in advance. He mulled the thought over in his head as he swallowed the last of his tea. No sooner had he set the cup on the table than it was removed, and ten minutes later, a steaming bowl of chicken soup was in its place. Mrs Weasley pressed a spoon into his hand and he took the first delicious mouthful.

"Mmm," he murmured at her appreciatively around a mouthful of chicken and potatoes. "That's great, Mrs Weasley."

There could be no denying it this time. He saw her stiffen as she waved her wand over the mangle and removed the quilt. But before he could ask her what was wrong, she rolled it up and brought it to the table with her, dropping it on the surface as she took a seat to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and she swallowed nervously - a motion mimicked by Harry as he placed his spoon in the bowl and watched her.

"Harry, dear ..." she began, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear and offering him a shaky smile. Harry's stomach plummeted. What the hell had he done to upset her?

"You've known me for quite a while now, haven't you?"

He nodded automatically, wondering where she was going with this.

"You can eat your soup while I talk, you know," she said, pointing to his steaming bowl. "It'll get cold otherwise."

Realising that it would also make it easier for her to say whatever it was that she needed to say, he picked up his spoon and started shovelling chicken soup into his mouth once more. The motion seemed to relax the matronly witch.

"Good. That's better. So, you've known me ever since your first year at Hogwarts and have been an almost permanent fixture at the Burrow ever since ..."

Suddenly, Harry's chicken tasted a bit rubbery. What was she going to say? That he'd overstayed his welcome and should now push off? Surely not. Where would he go?

"... you've been Ron's best friend for over seven years, and now you're Ginny's boyfriend ..."

Oh, great. It was a belated 'mind where you put your wandering hands, or I'll kill you' speech. Which was unfair. He and Ginny had been as good as gold whenever she came home from Hogwarts for her holidays. Apart from that time when she'd unexpectedly floo-ed home at Halloween (without McGonagall's knowledge) and Arthur had caught them snogging a bit too passionately in the pantry, of all places. Still, it had been Ginny's hand on his bum, not the other way around. Perhaps Mrs Weasley had found out and misconstrued it? And now she wanted him to get lost?

"... and you know how very fond I've become of you. You do know that, don't you?"

Mrs Weasley's brown eyes were fixed on him earnestly and, much to his relief, he realised that he needn't worry about being given his marching orders. The warmth and love that shone from her face was unmistakable. He swallowed his chicken and nodded.

"I'm, er ... f-fond of you, too," Harry said awkwardly. He felt his face flaming with embarrassment and cursed himself for not being able to express his feelings more naturally. Why was it he could finish off Voldemort with one simple spell, but he couldn't say 'I think you're brilliant' to his best friend's kindly mother?

But his answer pleased the witch nonetheless. She leaned across the table and grabbed his free hand, holding it tightly.

"You know that ever since Fred ... ever since he died ..."

She took a deep breath to steady herself and he dropped his spoon to lay his other hand on top of hers. The gesture made her smile.

"Well, ever since that day you've been living with us and are even more a part of this family than you were before - if that's possible. You've cried with us, and laughed with us. You're always there whenever we need you, and Merlin knows we've needed you these past months. Even before that, you saved more lives in this family than I care to count. But you did it - not because you're Harry Potter, and therefore, expected to be brave - but because you care. Because you're a dear, sweet boy with a heart that's even bigger than his reputation. I love you for that."

A burst of golden warmth exploded in Harry's stomach that had nothing to do with the fire, or the soup. He swallowed hard as Mrs Weasley removed one of her hands from beneath his and sandwiched both of his between hers.

"I ... I love you, too, Mrs Weasley."

She smiled at him, but this time it was tinged with a little sadness.

"I was wondering, dear ... if you didn't mind ... that is ... if you think it's alright ..."

She smiled nervously and Harry hoped her 'I love you' hadn't actually meant 'I lurrve you'. How would he face Arthur if she proposed?

Much to his relief, she didn't.

"The thing is, I know those horrible relations of yours were never much of a family to you, were they?"

"Not as much as you've been. Not in a million years," he said honestly.

She beamed once more.

"Well, that's as I thought. So, I was just thinking, would you consider us your family now? Your real family?"

Harry was moved almost to tears. He fought furiously to hold them back. "I already do. I mean ... that is, if you don't mind that I do ..."

"Mind?" Mrs Weasley sniffed suspiciously. "Well, of course I don't mind, dear! I had hoped you would say that. But, the thing is, family doesn't knock at the door. And it doesn't ask permission to use extra blankets in Winter. Neither does it need to weed the garden alone. There are plenty of people here to pull their weight, not just you. This is your house Harry. You may come and go whenever you please. You can help yourself to blankets and food as much as anyone else can. You can ask me to make you a lunch box for work so that you don't have to run the gauntlet of autograph hunters every day. And ..."

There was a pregnant pause as she bit her lip nervously. Harry was too choked with emotion to try to fill the gap in conversation.

"And ... if you want ... you can call me, oh, dear! What a silly sausage I am!" Mrs Weasley broke off again and Harry could almost see her mind whirling furiously as she debated whether or not to continue. "Let me just say this: if it makes you feel more like a part of the family, why don't you call me 'Aunt Molly'?"

He was speechless. Somehow, he thought she had been about to suggest something else, but had changed her mind because she was unsure as to how he would react.

Mrs Weasley misunderstood his stunned silence.

"You don't have to, if you don't want to, dear. I realise it must be a bit strange to call someone else 'Aunt'. I just ... I just want you to feel at home ... really at home. If it makes you feel uneasy, you can just call me Molly. Hermione does. I won't mind, really I won't. It would just be nice of you to call me something other than 'Mrs Weasley' all the time ..."

She couldn't say any more because Harry had risen and circled the table to pull the surprised witch into a hug.

"You're more of an Aunt to me than Petunia Dursley ever was," he whispered fiercely. "You're more family to me than I ever thought I'd have. More than I deserve. If you want me to call you 'Aunt', I'd be honoured. I love you, Aunt Molly."

And for many long minutes, they stood embracing in the kitchen, oblivious to the fact that Mrs Weasley's soup was bubbling over the rim of the pot...

*~*~*~*

Harry awoke very early on Christmas morning, roused by the insistent peep of his Muggle watch. He fumbled tiredly and shut it off before it woke Ron up, then rose and dressed as quietly as he could. With all the stealth that he could muster, he slipped out of the room, down the stairs (gingerly avoiding the creaky step) and out of the house. Within fifteen minutes of his alarm going off, he was twisting on the spot directly outside the redundant wards and Disapparated to Godric's Hollow.

It was still dark when he Apparated under cover of his Invisibility Cloak by the war memorial. The square was empty of townsfolk, as he knew it would be. The only lights that shone were the streetlamps dotted on the square's perimeter and in the streets leading from it. Harry shrugged off his Cloak and stuffed it in his knapsack, then looked up to get a treasured glimpse of the marble figures of his parents smiling down at his infant self. His father's hair stuck out just as untidily as his own, his mother's arms curved lovingly around their baby boy. He smiled wistfully, wishing that they could know their sacrifice had not been in vain.

"You won. You beat him, in the end," he whispered, drinking in his fill of them for several minutes before turning away and walking towards the church. He passed through the kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard and moved around the church to the tombstones that protruded from a blanket of snow. Deeper into the graveyard he went, following the path that he and Hermione had taken a year earlier. The thought reminded him of something and he pulled his wand from his jeans pocket and raised it, moving it in a circle. A wreath of Christmas roses sprang into being before him and he grabbed them before they fell.

"Thanks for that, Hermione," he said softly, conjuring a Lumos to light the rest of his way to the rear of the graveyard. He shone it on the headstones and knew his journey was nearly over when he passed the lichen spotted grave of Kendra and Ariana Dumbledore. Two rows later, he stood by the shining white marble of his parents' headstone.

Harry stopped to read the inscription. One year ago, he had stood in this exact spot and grieved -truly grieved - their loss for the first time. Oh, he had felt their loss keenly all his life, grown up at Hogwarts hearing about their bravery; tried not to cry when he saw other boys and girls being hugged by their parents when the Dursleys only ever treated him like an encumbrance; wished with all his heart that they could take him to Quidditch matches and laugh and clap with him when his favourite team scored - but he had never known his loss so intensely before he stood on this spot and saw the cold, indifferent stone that marked their final resting places.

He stepped forward and brushed snow from the top of the headstone, then removed what there was of it lurking in the grooves of the lettering.

"Hello Mum. Hello Dad. It's Harry," he whispered, then felt rather stupid. Of course it was him. Who else would be calling them 'Mum' and 'Dad'?

"Oh, alright. You probably knew it was me. Anyway ... I just wanted to come and tell you that we won. I should've done it earlier, and I'm sorry I didn't, but ... well, things have been a little hectic since the war ended. Yes, that's right: it's over. Voldemort's dead. Your sacrifice paid off. But I'll bet you knew it would, eh? I wish I'd been half as confident about the outcome as you two were. Not that it matters, I suppose. Confident or not, I beat him in the end. I think the only one more surprised than me was Voldemort himself, though he didn't have much of a chance to express it ..."

For the next hour, Harry stood before the graves of his parents in the chilly morning air and related the story of his years of struggle against their killer. He spoke with reverence of Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin, Hogwarts, and of all the friends he had met along the way. He made no mention of the Dursleys, opting not to ruin the moment with the unpleasantness their names conjured up. Somehow, he felt it would upset his dead parents to know his formative years had not been happy ones.

Finally, when the wind picked up enough to bite through his warm jacket, and snow began to fall on his lashes, he knew it was time to go. The Weasleys would be rising shortly and Mrs Weasley would be frantic if she realised he wasn't in the house.

Sighing, Harry laid the Christmas wreath on their graves.

"I've got to go before the Weasleys send out a search party," he said, grinning wryly at the white marble. "You'd like the Weasleys, really you would. They've been my family ever since I went to Hogwarts. Ron's my best friend - he's the one I told you about, the one who thinks he has to prove that he's as good as his brothers and sister, when all the time he doesn't have to prove anything. Not to me, anyway. He's the best friend I ever had, next to Hermione. Did I tell you they're going out with each other? And then there's Ginny ..."

Absurdly, he blushed when speaking about her, even though he knew they couldn't actually see him.

"Yeah, erm, Ginny's sort of my girlfriend. Well, not sort of; she is my girlfriend. Must be something about Potter men and redheads, eh Dad? And then there's George. You remember I told you his twin brother Fred died at Hogwarts? He's been having a hard time coming to grips with it, but he's getting there. It helps that he's started to go back to the shop. I think Ron's going to help him out, once we've been discharged by Shacklebolt. Percy's next. He's a bit of a smug twat, actually."

Harry thought about that for a moment, then decided he was being a bit harsh on the Weasley brainbox.

"Well, he was. Not so much anymore. The war made him open his eyes and now he's alright. Especially from a distance."

He imagined them laughing at that and sniggered along with them.

"After him, there's Charlie. Dad, he works with dragons. How cool is that? Course, I didn't think they were so ruddy cool in fourth year, but that's beside the point. Then there's Bill, the eldest child. He's a curse breaker. Used to be absolutely, disgustingly handsome before Greyback mauled him a couple of years ago. Now he's just disgustingly handsome. He's the only person I know who can make serious scars look seriously cool. Arthur's the dad. He's mad about Muggles. Has an entire shed filled with old toasters and television sets. I bought him a set of battery-powered screwdrivers and an electric fire for Christmas, so we probably won't see him until sometime next year while he pulls them apart."

Bending down, Harry traced his fingers gently across Lily Potter's name. He took a deep breath before continuing, strangely worried that he might upset her.

"Mum, I need to tell you about Mrs Weasley. She's Ron's mum. When I was eleven, she helped me get through to Platform 9¾. Even though she didn't really know me, she made me a jumper for Christmas that year. Has done every year since. She hugs me really tight and fusses over my appetite. I've tried to tell her that I'm just naturally skinny, but I think she's on a personal mission to make me as big as Dudley. Nothing less will convince her I'm healthy. She always looks out for me - she offered me a home after the war ended, because I couldn't ... well, let's just say that the Dursley's moved and I wanted to stay in the magical world after the war was over. She ... she said she's always considered me to be her son."

He broke off, unsure of how to explain himself. Deciding just to be honest, Harry continued.

"Mrs Weasley asked me to call her 'Aunt Molly' a few days ago, but I think she wanted to say 'Mum'. I don't think she trusted herself to ask that though, in case she thought it was a slur on your memory, or something. But, the thing is, Mum - it wouldn't be. If you could've met her, you'd know what I meant. She's kind and brave, warm and ... well, really funny when she loses her temper. Don't worry, she's never lost it with me, but she yelled like a banshee when Ron and the twins stole ... er, borrowed Arthur's car just before my second year at Hogwarts. And she nearly hexed the twins in my fifth year when they poured Itching Powder down the back of her jumper."

The wind picked up, blowing strands of hair across his face and carrying his words westwards, but it didn't matter to Harry. He knew his mother would hear him, regardless of how wildly the wind blew.

"Anyway, you'd like her. You'd love her. I do. I know she's not you, Mum. She's not trying to replace you - she'd never want to do that. She's just ..."

How to explain?

"She's just looking out for me. Letting me know that I'm loved. You'd want that, wouldn't you? I know you'd approve of her. Her brothers were Gideon and Fabian Prewett - they were in the Order with you and Dad. She even gave me Fabian's watch for my seventeenth birthday, said it was tradition. So, I was just wondering, would you mind if I called her Mum? Just until I see you again? It would make her happy. Don't worry, you'll always be my number one Mum. You taught me the most important lesson in life: how to love. And I want to share that love, now. I want to give Mrs Weasley the best Christmas gift I can, because she deserves it after all she's done for me. Oh, if only I could make you understand, or get your blessing."

Frustrated, Harry broke off, tugging his jacket around him to ward off the cold. He sighed and his breath misted on the chilly air before being blown away.

Was it stupid to speak to his Mum like this? Would she understand what he wanted - what he needed? After so many years of emotional drifting without the presence of his parents, the Weasleys had offered him the anchor of their love and, like a drowning man grasping at a lifebelt, he was desperate to grab a hold of it and never let go.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the wind suddenly dropped. The Sun peeped over the eastern horizon, banishing the darkness as it cast its first, weak rays over the graveyard.

Directly over his parents' graves.

For a moment, the white marble lit up like a star on top of a Muggle Christmas tree. It shone with warmth and light, glowing softly in his face.

It felt like his parents were smiling at him. Giving him their seal of approval. And as ridiculous as the assumption may have been, Harry accepted it as such.

"Thanks, Mum. I knew you'd understand."

He traced his fingers over both his parents' names one last time and rose.

"I love you both. Always have, always will. I'll be back soon to see you again. Thanks for this. It's the best Christmas present ever."

And with that, he took one cautious glance around to check for curious eyes. Finding none, he Disapparated with a soft pop.

Luckily for Harry, he made it back before Mrs Weasley or anyone else rose and snuck into his room just in time to take off his coat and convince a bleary-eyed Ron that he'd been in the bathroom.

"You had to get dressed for that? Ruddy keen, aren't you Harry?"

Harry simply smiled and waited for his friend while he got up and threw on a tatty orange dressing gown (a process which took longer than expected after Ron stubbed his toe on the dressing table and spent ten minutes hopping about the room, swearing). The smell of coffee floated up the staircase while Ron brushed his teeth and Harry began to grow impatient. He had bought Mrs Weasley a special gift and wanted to be present when she opened it but, at the rate Ron was going, he'd miss it altogether. Already, he could hear Charlie and Percy talking in the hallway as they descended the staircase. Eventually, Ron reappeared (with woolly hat insitu) and they left the room and trooped downstairs, joining the rest of the family at the kitchen table.

Unlike previous years, no one had opened their presents before eating. Instead, Arthur thought it a good idea for them all to wait until after breakfast, then open them in the living room, as a family. This was more for George's benefit than anyone else - the remaining Weasley twin would not be wont to open his gifts alone when he had always opened them with Fred - but everyone would feel the benefit of it.

It was an hour later when they were all arranged by the crackling living-room fireplace. Harry opened his presents and put on his new emerald-green Weasley jumper as soon as it was unwrapped. Ron gushed over his framed, autographed Chudley Cannons photo.

"How'd you manage that?" he gasped in wide-eyed amazement, fawning over it as if it were a priceless relic.

"He's Harry Potter, Ronniekins," said George with a roll of his eyes. "They probably swapped autographs."

Harry plucked a chestnut from a bowl on the table and threw it at him which George, skilled Beater that he was, batted lazily away. It hit Percy square on the nose, making everyone laugh.

Arthur was thrilled with his 'skew-divers' and 'ekeltric fire'; so much so that he tried to slip out the living room with them five minutes after he'd unwrapped them. Unluckily for him, he was thwarted in his mission when Molly blocked the doorway and ordered him back.

The room was soon full of torn paper as everyone made their way through the mountain of presents. Ginny snogged Harry in front of everyone after she opened his gift of a new Firebolt Flash, eliciting whistles from Charlie and George and a disapproving huff from Percy. He, in turn, barely refrained from snogging her back when he unwrapped the portrait of Dobby she'd given him.

"Harry Potter! Oh, Dobby is so glad to see you again, sir!" squealed the portrait-elf, hopping with glee inside the frame. The tower of Hermione-knitted hats he wore wobbled dangerously on his head as he jumped and clapped joyously.

"I'm ... I'm really glad to see you too, Dobby," he squeaked emotionally, leaning the portrait reverently against the sofa so that the elf could watch them all and join in the fun.

At last, surrounded by a pile of new robes, chocolates and a bright red hat with a golden flower, Mrs Weasley picked up the small box Harry had given her and he tore his eyes from Dobby's portrait to watch her face. It seemed to take forever for her to pick the Spellotape off the pretty blue paper and lay the wrappings carefully aside (so she could use them later) but, finally, she freed the velvet box and opened it. Harry held his breath as her eyes widened before seeking his out. Slowly, he rose and walked towards her, taking the box from her hands and emptying the contents onto his own. With his heart hammering in his chest, he undid the clasp and dangled the sparkling chain over her head. To his relief, she accepted the gesture, allowing him to lower it and fasten the clasp behind her neck.

For several seconds, Mrs Weasley fingered the golden word nestled on her chest before, with a loud, broken sob, she jumped to her feet, twirled around and crushed him in a hug.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," Harry whispered into her ear. "I love you."

And with those simple words, both their families were complete once more.