Harry Potter and the Carnelian Key

Harry pressed his forehead against the cool glass and gazed out the window of the speeding train, watching as the world flashed by in a blur of white. It seemed so strange to be aboard the Hogwarts Express in the dead of winter, and Harry felt a mild sense of disorientation, even though it was his ninth journey in the same familiar seat. It was getting to be dusk - the nights were coming early now - and Harry knew that they must be getting close to London. He was happy that they were almost there, but at the same time, a little disappointed that the ride had to end. The scenery had been breathtaking all day, first in the morning when the snow had fallen in huge, fluffy flakes, and then after, when the frost had settled the countryside into a still state of glittering splendor. Harry sat back in his seat, and glanced at his friends, who were still sleeping soundly. They had both drifted off over an hour ago, Hermione curled up next to Harry on the long seat, with Ron stretched out on the seat across from them. He wondered if he should wake them so that they could start gathering their things, but they looked so peaceful that he decided to let them sleep a while longer. Harry got lost in his thoughts once again as he took in the last remnants of open landscape. When the rolling fields at last began to meld into the telltale signs of suburban London, he turned reluctantly to his friends.

"Hey, you two. Wake up."

"Mmnnrrrhhmm," Ron groaned.

"Hermione," Harry said gently, tugging lightly on her hair.

She wrinkled her brow. "I don’t understand," she mumbled.

"It’s not that difficult. It’s time to wake up. We’re almost there."

Hermione blinked her eyes open and they immediately dropped closed again. "I don’t want to."

"Well, you don’t have a choice. We’ll be stopping soon." Harry nudged her continuously until she finally drew herself into a somewhat seated position.

"I was dreaming," she told him accusingly. "And now I don’t remember."

"Well, you should thank me then," Harry teased her. "It must have been a dreadful nightmare."

"What?"

"You said ‘I don’t understand.’ That must have been really scary for you."

She glowered at him. "You’re hilarious."

"Ron!" Harry cried mercilessly.

"Will you shut your bloody hole, man?" Ron demanded in a clear voice, though he didn’t move or even open an eye. "Some people are trying to sleep here."

"Naptime’s over. Move your bloody arse."

Ron lazily shot Harry an obscene gesture, and snuggled deeper into the cushions.

"Ronald," Hermione said sharply, smoothing her sleep-disheveled hair into a ponytail. "Get up."

"Do not call me that."

"All right. Ronald Arthur. Come on, we have to get changed."

Ron began grumbling some unintelligible gibberish, but finally rose and pulled some trousers and a shirt off of the shelf above his seat.

"You two can change in here," Hermione said, yawning as she slipped some clothes out of her knapsack. "I’ll go to the restroom."

Once the door to their compartment had slid shut, Harry shook off his robe and pulled the T-shirt he’d been wearing underneath it over his head. "Maybe I should have gone to the restroom and let you two change in here," he said.

"Shut up."

"Not until you tell her."

"Shut up."

"It’s been two weeks."

"And it’ll be two more, or maybe fifty, if you don’t stop it right now."

"All right, all right," Harry said lightly, kicking out of his wrinkled trousers and pulling on a fresh pair of khaki ones. "For now."

For the first few days after Ron had confessed his feelings for Hermione to Harry, Harry had mercifully refrained from mentioning it to him again, assuming that Ron would talk about it - or better yet, tell her - when he was ready. But after a fifth day of listening to Ron talk at him about everything under the sun except for Hermione, Harry had had enough. It was as though Ron thought that if he just kept words coming out of his mouth - words that conveniently left out any mention of a certain fluffy-haired brainiac - that Harry would miraculously forget the ones he had uttered that night in the common room. Harry had a mental image of his own head filled with little words - new words coming in through his ears, and pushing the old ones up and out the top of his head, with Ron continuing to talk and talk until the words "I’m in love with Hermione" tumbled out and blew away. But Harry knew that was just an image, that those words would never leave his memory, and he was fairly sure that Ron knew that too. So having grown weary of Ron’s incessant discourse, Harry had taken a new approach, and had started to pester him about telling her on a semi-regular basis. Surprisingly, Hermione herself had noticed nothing unusual. Ron’s behavior was remarkably unchanged whenever they were around her, as long as he kept a comfortable physical distance. Harry had been impressed at first, but then had reminded himself that Ron had probably been camouflaging his feelings from Hermione for a long time, and was in good practice. Besides, he thought, they would always be friends, first and foremost. Some pesky feelings of love and eternal adoration were no reason to stop calling Hermione a know-it-all when the circumstances called for it.

A few minutes of silence had passed while they dressed, and then Ron said randomly, "You’re a total git."

"And your hair is sticking up in all directions."

Ron didn’t miss a beat. "So’s yours," he replied, not even looking at him.

"Ha ha," Harry responded. "Do you ever cut yourself on your sharp wit?"

"All the time."

Harry balled up his robe and threw it at Ron, who tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin as he dodged it.

There was a soft rapping on the door. "Are you guys done?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, sliding the door open as Ron fastened the last two buttons of his shirt.

"I think we’re slowing down," Hermione said. "We’d better get our things together."

Twenty minutes later found them taking turns crossing through the enchanted barrier at platform 9 3/4, to where Hermione’s parents waited on the other side. They had hurried off the train and had beaten most of the other students to the barrier. Harry was the last of the three to step through, and when he did, he saw Hermione wrapped in her father’s arms with her mother lingering nearby and Ron looking on apprehensively. Harry imagined that the reality of where they were had just hit him, and he was probably very nervous about spending the next four days completely immersed in the unfamiliar world of muggle life.

Ron had insisted on accompanying Harry back to Hogwarts on the 27th. Harry had at first insisted otherwise, not wanting his own impending house-arrest to interfere with Ron’s holiday, but Ron would hear nothing of it. Finally, Harry had agreed, secretly very grateful that he wouldn’t have to spend a week and a half at the castle alone, but wondering whether Ron was doing it more for Harry’s sake or for his own. Maybe he really just didn’t want to be around Hermione without Harry there to serve as a distraction.

Mrs. Granger now took her own turn hugging her daughter tightly. "We’ve missed you so much, sweetheart. We’re so glad to have you home. And to have your friends too," she added, greeting Harry and Ron. "How was your trip?"

"Fine, thanks," Harry said. "Beautiful, actually. I’ve never traveled through England in the winter before."

"It was a good day for it then, eh?" Mr. Granger said cheerfully. "Snowed buckets today. Roads are a little slick, but nothing to worry about."

Ron however, did indeed look worried. "The roads are slick?" he whispered to Harry as they maneuvered through the crowd towards the doors. "That’s bad?"

"Sometimes people have car crashes because they slide off the icy roads," Harry explained in a hushed voice. "Didn’t your dad ever drive you around in the winter?"

"No, just as a treat, in the summer usually."

"Well, don’t worry. Muggles drive in the snow all the time. They’re used to it."

Ron looked unconvinced, and once they were in the Grangers’ car, nearly cut off the circulation to Harry’s fingers as he gripped his forearm like a vice.

"Ron," Harry whispered finally. "You’re killing me here."

"Oh, sorry," he said, letting go reluctantly.

"Geez," Harry said, inspecting the red mark that Ron had left on his skin. "This is the arm I use to catch the snitch, you know."

"Sorry," he whispered again.

"What’s that about a snitch?" Hermione’s father called from behind the steering wheel. "You’re talking about that magical sport, right? What’s it called?"

"It’s called Quidditch, Dad, and it’s utterly maniacal. They’re both going to get themselves killed one of these days."

"Oh, Hermione, we are not," Ron said. "Your daughter has some slight issues with overreaction," he said in the general direction of the front seat.

"Our Hermione?" her mother inquired innocently. "Never..."

"Mum!"

"Well, dear...they obviously know you well."

An irritated noise escaped Hermione’s throat, and she crossed her arms and turned to stare out the window, grumbling. Harry thought he heard her mumble something that sounded very much like, "Even my own parents."

Harry nudged her knee with his own in a reassuring gesture, then proceeded to join Ron in describing all of the details of the game to Hermione’s parents, their explanation occasionally punctuated by Mrs. Granger’s cries of things like, "Good Lord! You fell all the way to the ground?" and "You actually broke the poor boy’s nose?"

"I told you, Mum," Hermione said. "It’s crazy."

"Here’s our street," Mr. Granger announced. They had been driving for about an hour, and now they had turned onto a street lined by immaculate gardens and stately suburban homes.

"Wow," Harry said under his breath, as he took in house after house. This certainly put Privet Drive to shame. They reached a cul-de-sac, and Mr. Granger negotiated the car through a wrought iron gate and up a long driveway, pushing a button on the visor to open the garage door. They pulled inside and everyone piled out, collecting up luggage, and Harry noticed that Ron had suddenly gone very quiet. He seemed to be watching his feet, and had gone somewhat red in the face.

"You all right?" Harry asked him quietly.

"Huh? Yeah. I just...I never realized," he whispered, motioning around him with an arm to indicate the lavish house.

"I know. Me neither." Harry’s heart went out to his friend when he saw the completely unnecessary but familiar look of shame in his face. He knew that Ron was probably thinking of the Burrow, and was embarrassed that Hermione had even stayed there, after growing up in a place like this.

"Are you guys coming?" Hermione called from the open doorway into the house.

"Yeah," Harry replied, helping Ron lift the strap of his heavy bag onto his shoulder, and then grabbing up his own luggage.

They stepped into the kitchen, and Harry had to consciously will his jaw not to drop. The room was enormous, with long counters around three walls and an island formed by the fourth, with another island in the middle. Beyond the far counter sat an impressive cherry dining table, onto which Hermione dropped her things as casually as if it were a cardboard folding table. Harry sat his own luggage gingerly on the floor.

"Now, Hermione, don’t leave those things there," her mother scolded and Harry immediately picked his bags back up. "Show the boys their room and the rest of the house."

"Make yourselves completely at home, boys," Mr. Granger bellowed, passing Hermione the suitcase he’d carried in. "Hermione will show you where everything is. Don’t feel the need to be shy around here."

Harry and Ron nodded politely as Hermione said, "Don’t worry, they won’t. The first guest room, Mum?"

"Yes. I didn’t put a lot of blankets down, boys, because it tends to get a little warm upstairs at night. There are extras in the cupboard across from the loo, though, so help yourselves if you need them." Harry and Ron nodded again. "Dad and I will start dinner," she told Hermione. "It should be ready in about thirty minutes."

"Good," Hermione said. "We’re famished. Come on, you two."

The rest of the house was equally as impressive as the kitchen, but had a very lived in feel, which Harry appreciated. Ron seemed to be taking it all in with marked anxiety, but Harry thought he would probably relax soon. The Grangers certainly lived well, but gave off no air of superiority, and Harry thought that if he had met them on the street having no idea that they were dentists, he probably wouldn’t have pictured them living in a place quite so grandiose.

"Here’s your room," Hermione said, leading Harry and Ron into a bedroom a short way down the upstairs hallway. You have to share because we’ll have relatives in the other guest room, and the den too, probably even on the pullout sofa in the parlor."

"How many people are coming?" Harry asked as he dropped his things onto the bed nearest the door. The room was furnished nicely, with twin beds in two corners, and a long dresser opposite them. The beds were covered with comfortable looking quilts, which didn’t match but complemented each other beautifully. They looked handmade and well-loved.

"Um...six I think? Six staying overnight, anyway. My aunt and uncle, she’s my dad’s sister, they’ll come down from Manchester, and they have three kids. Aunt Betsy is a lot younger than my dad, so their kids are little. Eight, five, and...ten months now, I think. And they’ll pick my grandmother up in Stoke-On-Trent on their way down. They’ll all be staying overnight. My mum’s side all live within about an hour’s drive, so none of them will need to sleep over. The house will be full, though, I promise you that. My mum’s brother and his wife will be here, and my mum’s sister. They have five kids between them, but my one cousin, David, won’t be coming. He’s at University over in the States for the year. And...my other grandparents - they live in London - my mum’s parents. My grandmother made those quilts," she finished, indicating the covers that Harry and Ron were now sitting on.

"Wow," Harry said, running his hand over the faded but well-preserved patchwork. "That’s a lot of people."

"Oh yeah. It’ll get crazy. Everyone is quite normal on their own, but get them all together in one room and the hidden lunacy emerges."

"Sounds like Christmas at my house," Ron said, smirking.

"I don’t know," Hermione replied with a smile. "One thing the Grangers lack is a George and Fred, so probably not just like Christmas at your house."

"True, very true," Ron agreed.

A small wave of nervousness washed over Harry at the idea of meeting so many new people, but he was also excited that he would be spending the holiday in the midst of such a large and close family. But one thing was bothering him. "Herm, who do we have to be careful around?" he asked. "You know, about what we say?"

"Well, all of the adults know I’m a witch, and my oldest cousins, Sarah and Danny. But the younger kids don’t know, and they have big ears, so do be careful."

"Right."

"Hey, where’s your room, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Down the hall, I’ll show you." Hermione picked her bags up from the doorway and led them down the hall to the door at the very end, just past the bathroom.

It was just like Harry had always pictured it. The furniture was a beautiful dark mahogany, but there wasn’t much of it, just a double bed with two nightstands, and a dresser and writing desk. But then there were the bookcases. Two huge units full of perfectly lined up volumes, arranged by size and genre, no doubt, with a comfortable looking armchair in between. Harry could almost see her in his mind’s eye, curled up in the chair in her nightgown, engrossed in some thick and dreadfully boring book. The walls of the room were a soft but cheerful yellow, the fluffy comforter a pale blue covered with tiny white flowers. The whole room was very pretty, but primarily, it was functional.

"So this is it," Hermione said, piling her bags in the corner next to the desk. "The room where I spend my non-Hogwarts days."

"It suits you," Harry said genuinely. "It’s nice."

"Thanks."

"Have you read all of these?" Ron asked, scanning the titles on the bookshelves.

"Yeah, mostly."

"Blimey, Hermione."

She shrugged. "I read a lot during the summers."

"Summers...winters...spring...autumn..." Harry joked and Hermione seized a pillow off of the bed and threw it at him. He caught it, laughing. "Should we go down and help your parents with dinner?" he asked, tossing the pillow back onto the bed.

"Yeah, all right. It’s probably about ready anyway."

All that remained for them to do when they got downstairs was to set the table. Dinner was quite enjoyable, for Harry and Ron at least. Hermione’s parents were eager to tell all the stories they could think of about Hermione’s childhood, much to their daughter’s dismay. After a particularly embarrassing one involving a five-year-old Hermione, a swimming lesson, and a slightly too big bathing suit, she was more than grateful when they were interrupted by a loud and sudden rattling at the window.

Mrs. Granger let out a startled yelp. "What on earth?"

Mr. Granger rose hastily and rushed to the window, peering into the night. "I don’t...There’s nothing there!" he said with confusion.

"You can’t see with the lights on in here, John," Mrs. Granger pointed out frantically.

But Harry caught sight of a flapping wing and jumped to his feet. "Oh! It’s for me. I’m sorry. Here..." Harry crossed over to the window and quickly lifted the glass, allowing a large tawny owl to swoop inside on a blast of frigid air. "Come here," he told it with annoyance, as it circled the room flapping its wings madly.

Harry was vaguely aware of the Grangers’ utter bewilderment surrounding him as he tried to catch and maintain the owl’s attention.

Ron cleared his throat nervously. "Um, does anybody else see insane boy speaking to thin air here?"

"Ron, it’s Dumbledore’s owl," Hermione said, the first to catch on, like always. "It’s okay, Mum, Dad, it’s invisible to everyone except Harry."

"Oh," her mother replied weakly. "Of course it is."

The owl finally seemed to tire of it’s grand merrymaking, and settled onto Harry’s shoulder. "You’re heavy," he told it crossly as he quickly removed the letter from its leg. Both of Hermione’s parents gasped when the parchment suddenly appeared in Harry’s hand. "Sorry," he told them sheepishly. "This will only take a minute. Do you have a pen?"

Mr. Granger nodded numbly, reaching into his shirt pocket and offering Harry a fancy emerald green fountain pen engraved with his initials.

"Thanks," Harry said, taking it as he quickly skimmed Dumbledore’s words.

 

Dear Harry,

I do hope you’ve had a comfortable journey on the Hogwarts Express and that you have arrived at the Grangers’ without incident. I expect Gumdrop back within the hour -

 

"Your name is Gumdrop?" Harry asked the owl incredulously.

Hermione laughed. "That sounds like Dumbledore."

 

- with news concerning your plans for tomorrow. BE CAREFUL, and remember our agreement. Oh, and do try to get into some Yuletide mischief - but not too much, now. I wouldn’t want to be receiving a howler from Mrs. Granger! Completely spoil my jolly holiday cheer, that would.

Merry Christmas!

Dumbledore

 

Harry chuckled. "That man is completely off his rocker," he said, scribbling his reply on the backside of the parchment.

"That’s common knowledge," Ron said, spooning another helping of corn pudding onto his plate. "Funny how he’s also the most brilliant wizard of the modern era."

"What are we doing tomorrow?" Harry asked, pen poised in midair.

"Um, probably just sticking around the house," Hermione said. "Maybe we’ll go into town for a bit."

Harry quickly relayed the information to Dumbledore, and reattached the parchment to Gumdrop’s leg. He offered the owl a biscuit from his plate, which it immediately snatched up, and with a final proud flapping of wings, it swept out the window into the frosty night. Harry closed the window with a shiver. "I’m really sorry about that," he said, settling back into his chair at the table. "It’ll be coming several times a day. Hopefully it’ll be more discreet from now on."

The Grangers seemed to recover from their shock pretty quickly, and Harry assumed they were used to adjusting to the unexpected, what with having a witch for a daughter, and all.

"Oh! Maggie, we should tell them the one about the time that Hermione was in that little play, with that boy, what was his name?"

"Bartholomew Randolph the third," Mrs. Granger provided dramatically.

"Right, right," Mr. Granger laughed. "Oh, this is a grand one, it is. We even have pictures. Go get the photo album, Maggie."

"Dad..." Hermione groaned, dropping her face into her hands. "Kill me," she muttered. "Just kill me now."

* * * * *

An offending bright light reddened the inside of Harry’s eyelids, and he groaned in protest as his brain sharpened into consciousness. He opened his eyes reluctantly and cursed Ron and himself for not having drawn the curtains. He rolled over to look at the bedside clock, and was shocked to see that it was already after ten. Ron was still snoring loudly, lying on his stomach with his face smashed against the pillow and his mouth hanging open.

Harry snorted. ‘Perfect blackmail photo,’ he thought as he stumbled out of bed and into his slippers. He padded to the bathroom, and easily finding everything he needed, showered quickly, then dressed in jeans and a burgundy checkered shirt. It always felt good to wear something other than plain black school robes, and now more than ever, since these clothes actually fit him. Over the summer he had finally grown tired of wearing Dudley’s oversized hand-me-downs, and had owled Hermione to send him some muggle clothing catalogs. He had placed his order with her, and she had sent away for the clothes, paying with muggle money, which he had later paid her back for in galleons from his Gringott’s vault.

Coming out of the bathroom, Harry saw that the door to Hermione’s room was open, so he poked his head in, but she wasn’t in there. He headed downstairs, and a heavenly aroma drew him towards the kitchen. He entered the room and halted just inside the doorway, smiling. Hermione’s mother was standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen with her back to him, stirring the contents of an enormous bowl. The counters were covered with waxed paper and cooling racks and were strewn with flour and colored sugars and measuring cups and spoons. She had the radio playing and was singing along quietly, dancing a little in time to the music. Harry felt a stab of wistfulness as he watched her, thinking of all the times he had imagined having a mother who baked cookies...

He moved into the room, clearing his throat a little so as not to startle her. He thought she might be embarrassed to be caught in her moment of mild abandon, but when she turned around and saw him, she smiled warmly.

"Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well?"

"’Morning. Yeah, I slept great. So did Ron, he’s still snoring like a freight train up there."

She laughed. "You didn’t get too hot? Or too cold?"

"No, I was perfect, thanks," he said, pulling out a stool to sit at the counter. "What are you making?" he asked, sniffing deeply.

"Everything. All kinds of cookies and candies to serve at the festival. Those are gingersnaps in the oven there," she said, pointing. "You can try one when they come out."

"Can I help?"

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Sure. Sure you can. Actually," she said, turning to retrieve her bowl from the center island, "my arm’s about to fall off."

Harry laughed as she set the bowl of thick dough on the counter in front of him. "You’re a young and strapping lad. Try to stir that," she said, passing him a wooden spoon. "Oh, and here, put this on," she added, reaching for an apron on a peg next to the ovens. He took it and slipped it over his head, tying the strings in the back, and then set to work on the contents of the bowl.

"So what’s this going to be, then?" he asked, sneaking a taste when she turned to check on the gingersnaps.

"Those are Russian teacakes. You shape them into balls and roll them in those colored sugars. They’re Hermione’s favorite."

"Oh," he said with a chuckle. "I’d better not screw them up, then."

She laughed. "You can’t screw them up, really. They’re easy...Would you like some breakfast? I can make you some eggs or something...though I prefer the cookies myself."

Harry smiled. "I can wait for the cookies."

"Awww, a boy after my own heart," she said, turning her attention to her next recipe card. Harry set to stirring in earnest as Bing Crosby’s voice rang out from the radio and strains of "White Christmas" filled the room. A warm and contented feeling settled over Harry and he realized for the first time what people meant when they talked about ‘the Christmas spirit.’ He suddenly felt like jumping up and running outside to make angels in the snow.

"So how’s school, Harry?"

"What? Oh, school’s fine. Well...not as fine for me as it is for Hermione," he joked, "but I do pretty well."

"Hermione says you’re very smart."

That took him by surprise, and he thought about the Potions exam they’d studied for a couple of weeks before. She hadn’t seemed to think he was so smart that night. He had passed the exam, but not with a grade he was exceptionally proud of. "She does?" he asked, with a sort of confused chuckle.

"Mmm-hmm. She says you don’t know it, though. Because it’s not the kind of ‘smart’ you get from books."

"Oh." Harry thought about that. "I guess that might be true."

Mrs. Granger’s voice sobered. "She says you’ve been through a lot."

Harry’s smile fell away and he looked up to meet her eyes, and then dropped his own back to the lump of dough in his bowl. He started stirring again. "Yeah."

She seemed to hesitate. "I think that’s about ready," she said, eyeing the dough. "Why don’t you wash your hands, and then you can start rolling them."

He nodded and rose, crossing over to the sink, and Mrs. Granger removed the gingersnaps from the oven. Once he was settled back on his stool with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk, Mrs. Granger spoke again.

"Hermione talks about Hogwarts all the time," she said, rolling the first teacake as a demonstration. "Especially about you, and Ron." She paused, not meeting Harry’s eyes, and she seemed nervous. "But I always have the feeling that she’s talking around things. You know, not telling us everything."

A gnawing sense of discomfort sent butterflies into Harry’s stomach. He shifted nervously, realizing that he had no idea what Hermione’s parents knew and didn’t know about their world, about the goings on, about...Voldemort. Mrs. Granger pushed a plate and the bowl of dough back towards Harry, and produced dishes of colored sugar, and he took over rolling the cookies.

"I used to think she was just being a typical secretive adolescent," she said, adding ingredients to a new bowl. "But she’s told us a lot of other things I don’t think she would have divulged if that were true. She told us about that Viktor Krum, you know. What did you think of him, by the way?"

Harry smiled a little. "I think he’s all right. Polite. Respectable. Incredibly famous," he added with a chuckle. "He treated her kindly. But I think he cared about her in a different way than she cared about him."

Mrs. Granger nodded. "That’s what I thought," she said distractedly and then she sighed. "When she came home last summer...she seemed a wreck," she said hesitantly. She looked up at Harry and he found that he couldn’t look her in the eye. "She was very worried about you."

He swallowed and nodded, focusing his eyes on his task. "Well, she needn’t have been," he lied, trying to sound lighthearted."There was nothing wrong with me."

Mrs. Granger hesitated again. "She said you’d been through an ordeal," she said quietly. "She wouldn’t say more. But then the next day, just out of the blue, she asked us if we had any idea what evil was." She paused. "She’d said things like that before, usually when your name came up."

Harry felt his muscles clenching, and Mrs. Granger must have sensed his discomfort. "I’m sorry if I’m overstepping my bounds, Harry," she said gently. "The last thing I’d want to do is to dredge up anything painful for you. I just...there’s something that I need to know. Mr. Granger and I have been putting two and two together for a long time. From things Hermione’s said, cryptic answers the Weasleys fed us at the Leaky Cauldron, the way our daughter looks at you, the way that Ron does, the way you all three look at each other. Not at all like teenagers should. Like none of you have any idea what it means to be carefree. Even when you’re laughing, teasing. There’s a tension, something underneath, something unspoken."

Harry stared at his hands, never ceasing his work. His heart was pounding. Obviously, they’d really been paying attention. What was she expecting him to say?

"I’ll probably never know what it is. I’ve accepted that. But I do need to know one thing, Harry, and then I won’t bring it up again." She clearly took his silence for permission to ask, because she continued, "I could be totally off base here, totally misunderstanding, or jumping to conclusions, but..." she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Is our daughter in danger because of whoever it is that you are?"

Harry froze, and Mrs. Granger seemed to be holding her breath. She had no idea how on base she was, Harry thought. What could he say? Should he deny it? He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to lie to her...she had a right to know, didn’t she? It was her daughter, for Merlin’s sake.

Harry took a shaky breath and lifted his gaze. He looked her right in the eye. "She could be."

A momentary flicker of terror flashed in her eyes, and then her expression turned stoic. She seemed to force a small smile, and again, Harry couldn’t look at her anymore, and he dropped his head.

"I care about your daughter, Mrs. Granger," he said in a wavering voice. "And people that I care about need to watch their backs these days. Hermione has a lot of people watching her back, though, myself included, and I promise you," he paused and forced himself to look at her again, to drive his point home. He spoke as clearly as he could. "I promise you that I would die before I let anything happen to her."

The words hung in the air for an agonizing minute, and Harry couldn’t tell whether they eased her fear or just added to it. Finally she smiled weakly and reached out to pat his hand. "You’re a good friend," she said.

He shrugged. "One good turn deserves another."

She nodded her agreement, and returned to her stirring. "These are sugar cookies," she said, in an obvious change-of-subject sort of voice. "You three can decorate them when they’re done, if you want to."

"Okay."

A catchy and upbeat tune started on the radio, and Harry recognized it as ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.’

"Oh, this is my favorite," she said, her cheerfulness returned, though whether genuine or not, Harry couldn’t tell. She reached to turn up the volume, singing along more loudly this time. "Do you have a favorite Christmas song, Harry?"

"Uh-huh. ‘Angels We Have Heard on High.’"

"Really?" She looked impressed. "That’s a very mature choice for someone your age."

Harry nodded, smiling softly. "My aunt and uncle used to take us to church on Christmas Eve," he told her. "It was the only time we would go - I guess they thought it was worth the trouble in the name of propriety, and all," he said scathingly. "Anyway, one year - I was about eight, I guess - there was this woman, this beautiful woman, in the choir. She had long red hair, and all I knew about my mother at the time was that she had had red hair. Well, this woman looked about the right age, and I saw her smiling at these two kids in the front row, and I guessed she was their mother. So..." he paused, and he could feel himself blushing. "So, I pretended, just while I was there...that she was my mother too." Mrs. Granger gasped, and lifted a hand to her heart. "And then the choir sang that song, and she sang the harmony, and it was so beautiful...and ever since then, it’s been my favorite."

Mrs. Granger smiled at him kindly, and Harry looked down, embarrassed at the words he hadn’t really intended to say. "I’ve never told anyone that before," he said.

"Well, I think it’s a lovely story."

Harry heard a rustling, and footsteps behind him, and then it stopped, and someone laughed.

"What are you doing?"

Harry turned on his stool and saw Hermione, looking amused as she dropped a large paper sack onto the table.

He grinned broadly. "Making cookies!" he announced merrily.

She laughed again, coming up to the counter and fingering the feminine ruffle of the apron at his chest. Then she frowned, and pointed at the plate of lopsided balls, sparsely covered with sugar. "Like that?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey!" he retorted. "Be kind. I’m a newbie here."

Mrs. Granger looked over her shoulder at the plate of dough. "Those are okay," she said encouragingly. "They just need a little...shaping."

"Here," Hermione said, settling onto the stool next to him. "Like this." She pinched some dough off of the lump in the bowl, and rolled it quickly between her palms, creating a perfectly rounded prototype.

Harry frowned. "Well, just wait till you try to roll it in the sugar," he said defensively. "It’ll just get smashed when you try to make the sugar stick."

She deftly dropped the piece of dough into a dish of red sugar, rolling it lightly, and proudly coming up with a fully covered example of what it was obviously supposed to look like. "You’ve been trying too hard," she said.

"Know-it-all," he muttered, trying to hide a smile, and she hit him on the arm. He pinched off some more dough, and when he imitated her motions, the result really was much more appealing than what he had created up to that point.

"I found that bag of ornaments in the attic, Mum."

"I see that. Where did you find them? I’ve been looking for weeks."

She shrugged. "They were buried." She reached over and broke off a bit of the last cookie on Harry’s plate, and popped it into her mouth. "Where’s Ron?"

"He’s still sleeping, I think."

"No he’s not," came Ron’s voice as he entered the kitchen, looking rested and freshly showered. He stopped short when he saw Harry and nodded in indication of the frilly apron. "Waiting for your prince to come and take you to the ball?"

"Ha ha," Harry said dryly. "You’re a funny little chap, you are."

"And you’re a funny little lady."

Hermione’s mother picked up one of Harry’s teacakes and handed it to him, nodding in Ron’s direction, and Harry threw it, hitting Ron smack in the forehead.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, rubbing at the abused area.

"Don’t complain," Harry said. "That’s the only one you’re getting."

* * * * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione spent the entire day helping Mrs. Granger with the baking, adding more decorations to the house, and sitting around the tree drinking eggnog and hot chocolate, taste-testing their work. Harry couldn’t remember ever having felt so happy and content, despite the conversation he’d had with Mrs. Granger that morning. He couldn’t explain it, but somehow, being in this house with his friends, so removed from their usual world, he felt as though nothing bad could ever happen to them.

‘This is what life is supposed to be like,’ he thought, as he watched Hermione hand Ron an ornament for placement on the tree in a place too high for her to reach. They argued a little over which way it should face, and Ron won out in the end by virtue of his height and the fact that it was his hand on the ornament. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed.

"Here," he said, smirking crookedly as he handed her another ornament. "You can make that one face whichever way you want."

She took it, scowling. "It doesn’t much matter," she said, turning the orb around in her hands. It was covered with little photographs of her as a child. "It’s equally humiliating from all perspectives."

"Awww," Harry said from his place on an ottoman near the picture window. "I think it’s cute."

"Shut up, you," she said, shooting him a look and dropping it back into the box. Then in an exaggerated cheerful voice, she said, "Well, I think that’s it! Not another empty spot on this tree!" and she gathered the box up in her arms, heading for the hall closet.

Ron chuckled and collapsed in an armchair, and Harry turned to gaze out the window at the snow falling in the moonlight. After a few minutes, the lights in the living room went out, leaving them in darkness except for the sparkling tree, and Harry turned to see Hermione standing by the lightswitch.

"Oh," she breathed. "It’s beautiful."

"Yeah," Ron said, taking in the shimmery evergreen. "We did good work."

Harry had to agree. The tree was gorgeous, covered with hundreds of tiny white lights and sparkling tinsel, and ornaments of every hue which melded into a rainbow of color amongst the warm glow of the lights. Without warning, a large yawn found its way up Harry’s throat and he glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was after midnight. He rose from the ottoman and dropped onto the sofa, stretching out and facing the tree.

"I want to sleep right here," he said cozily, only half-joking.

"You can if you want to," Hermione said.

"What? I was only kidding."

She shrugged. "I like to sleep in here at Christmas time. I always used to when I was little."

"Well, okay," Harry said, yawning hugely and already feeling his eyelids drooping. "Sounds good to me."

"We all can," she said. "I’ll go get some blankets and pillows," and she disappeared upstairs.

Ron groaned loudly and rose from his seat too. "Coming to change?" he asked.

"Nope."

Ron shrugged and started to follow Hermione upstairs, but after only two steps, he looked back at Harry and waved his hand tiredly in the direction of the stairs. "Hell with it," and he pulled off his sweater and belt, then sprawled out on the floor in his T-shirt and trousers.

Hermione reemerged a few minutes later dressed in some comfy looking sweats, and laden with blankets and pillows. She dropped most of them onto the floor, then slipped a pillow under Harry’s head and shook open a thick afghan.

"Here you go," she said, draping it over him and tucking it snugly around him in a motherly fashion.

"Mmmm, thanks," he mumbled, snuggling into the pillow and smiling.

She chuckled and perched on the edge of the sofa next to him. "There’s still just a little boy inside you somewhere, isn’t there?" she whispered.

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbled.

She bent and kissed him on the cheek, and then said, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas."

"You want to be tucked in too?" she asked Ron playfully as she rose.

He was busy spreading the remaining blankets on the floor in makeshift beds for the two of them, and he kept his eyes fixated on his task. "Um, no, I’m good thanks," he muttered, his ears going slightly pink.

She seemed a little taken aback by his clearly unamused reaction to her playfulness, and a mildly hurt look crossed her face. It was gone quickly, though, and she shrugged. "All right."

Harry tried to frown at Ron, but he was already settling into his covers, and had turned to face the tree with his back to them.

Hermione seemed frozen in place for a second, staring at Ron’s back, and then cheerfully offered, "Good-night."

"Goodnight," he replied, somewhat flatly.

Harry felt badly, knowing that she was probably misunderstanding Ron’s emotional distance, and he reached out and nudged her arm. "’Night, Herm," he said quietly.

She turned back to him and smiled a little. "Goodnight, Harry," and then she settled onto the floor herself.

Harry gazed at the tree for a few minutes, taking in its glittering beauty, and then the lights all faded together in a solid golden blur, and his eyes dropped closed.

* * * * *

"My Lord? You wanted to see me?"

"Indeed, Wormtail."

Peter Pettigrew suppressed a shudder as he bent to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robe, the greeting required of all Death Eaters. He hated that Voldemort called him that, called him by the name his friends had given him. It only reminded him that he had been weak once, had been their pawn, the butt of their jokes. And he hated that they had a power over him still. Their memories flooded into his brain every time Voldemort said his name. Wormtail. Their faces would flash before his eyes - sweet Remus, noble James, daring Sirius. And he’d feel the pain all over again, the pain of their rejection, and then the anger would wash over him, and he would remind himself that they deserved what he’d done to them. He knew it was true, but it didn’t stop him from flinching at the sound of their name for him. He supposed Voldemort liked that, took pleasure in knowing that he made him cringe.

"I want to know of our progress."

"W-well, M-m-my Lord, I am still waiting on word from N-n-nott."

Voldemort scowled at him with disdain. "I seem to have to keep reminding myself that you have proven useful in the past, Wormtail," he said in a painfully slow drawl, "in order to resist the urge to eliminate your sniveling carcass from my presence!" he shouted the last few words, and sent Wormtail skidding across the stone floor with a swift kick in the ribs.

Wormtail gasped in pain, but knew better than to cry out. "I am s-s-s-sorry, Master," he managed after a moment, and he forced himself not to grimace as he pulled himself to his hands and knees. "What would you have me do? I will do w-w-whatever you -"

"I want you," he growled, "to find out whether they were successful. Surely that is not too challenging a task for your feeble rodent brain. You will simply hunt Nott down like you hunt your prey, rat. And you will bring me answers."

"Y-y-yes, Master."

In a flash of black robes and flaming eyes, Voldemort swept out of his chair and to Wormtail’s side. He bent to grasp Wormtail’s chin in his hand, and he pulled him roughly to his feet.

"Do not disappoint me, Wormtail," he hissed. "Time is of the essence."

"Yes, Master," Wormtail managed through Voldemort’s tight grip, and he stumbled as Voldemort suddenly released him.

"Very well, then."

Wormtail didn’t move, just stood stiffly, debating his next words. The decision to speak them was an agonizing one, but he wanted to be a faithful supporter, and didn’t that include informing his master of his concerns?

"Do you have something to say, Wormtail?"

"I-I-I do, My Lord. I have concerns, My Lord, about...about this plan." He braced himself for another attack, but Voldemort merely tossed back his head and laughed his high pitched laugh for what seemed like hours.

"And what are these concerns, rat?" he asked through the last strains of his amusement, in the tone of someone who is humoring a small child.

"I-I worry, My Lord, of the fact that they are very nearly being informed of your plan...My...my Lord. If anything were to go amiss..."

Voldemort fixed him with a long, considering glare. "Are you somehow under the illusion that I am stupid, Wormtail?" he asked calmly. "Do you think that I have not thought my own plan through? Do you think...do you actually think...that those imbeciles are more clever than I am? That they are more powerful than me? That he is more powerful than me?" The dark lord was now bellowing angrily at his quivering servant.

"No, no, My Lord. Of course not."

"Hmmmm. Perhaps you need a small reminder, Wormtail, of just how powerful I am."

"N-n-n-o, My Lord," Wormtail whimpered. "P-p-please. Pleeeeaaase..."

Ignoring Wormtail’s pleas, Voldemort stepped forward, pointing his wand. And mercilessly he growled, "Crucio."

* * * * *

Harry sat up with a start, and immediately felt confused. He’d been dreaming, he knew, because his heart was hammering in his chest. But the harder he tried to remember the dream, the faster the images seemed to disintegrate until all that remained was black nothingness.

"Harry?" came a groggy voice.

Harry grimaced. "Shit," he mumbled.

"What?"

"Um...nothing. I’m sorry I woke you," he whispered. "I, uh, I was just getting up to go to the bathroom."

Hermione sat up, peering at him through squinted eyes. "No you weren’t," she said, reaching up and gently pulling his arm away from his face. He only then realized that he’d been rubbing his scar.

"Does it hurt?" she asked seriously.

"No. No, not really," he replied, pressing the fingers of his other hand to his forehead and frowning.

"Harry," she said, as if daring him to even try to lie to her.

"No, I mean it," he replied, pressing again to test the level of pain. "It really doesn’t hurt."

"Then why were you rubbing it?"

"I don’t know. It aches a tiny bit, I guess," he replied, dropping his hand. "But, honestly, it’s hardly anything."

"You should tell Dumbledore immediately. When Gumdrop comes in the morning -"

"Hermione, I swear, it’s nothing. I can’t even feel it anymore," he told her truthfully.

She stared him hard in the eye, and then let go of his arm reluctantly. "Has it been hurting at all?"

He shook his head. "No," he admitted. "Not since..."

"Well, then, ‘almost nothing’ is something, isn’t it?"

"Hermione, really -"

"Harry," she said firmly, reaching back up to grasp his hand. "Please."

Seeing the flicker of fear and the genuine concern in her eyes, he couldn’t argue with her. "All right."

* * * * *

"There you go," Harry said with a smile, handing a steaming cup of hot chocolate to a little girl with pigtails peeking out from underneath her hat. "You want some cookies?" he asked. She grinned and nodded, and he chuckled at the gap where her two front teeth should have been. He turned around to the counter behind him and placed three cookies on a small plate. "Here you go. I made that one myself," he told her, pointing, and she giggled.

"Thank you," her mother said, leading the little girl towards the door.

"You’re welcome. Merry Christmas. And don’t forget to brush!"

"You are having entirely too much fun doing this," Ron said, shaking his head in disbelief as he filled an umpteenth cup with hot chocolate.

"Oh, where’s your Christmas spirit, Ronniekins?"

"It’s here," he assured him grudgingly, "It’s just nothing compared to yours. You’re making me look bad to the patrons, here." He cast him a sideways glance. "What’s up?"

Harry shrugged. "I am merely enjoying the festivities, my friend."

Harry and Ron were situated at a folding table in the lobby of the Grangers’ dental practice, amongst a dozen trays of cookies and candies and several large coffeemakers filled with hot chocolate. They’d been serving the festival-goers for several hours, and while Ron was getting antsy, Harry was enjoying every minute.

"Don’t you think it’s weird," Ron asked, passing cups to an elderly couple who were holding hands, "that people come to the dentists’ office for sweets?"

Harry laughed. "Yes. But they are giving free toothbrushes to everyone," he said, nodding towards Hermione who was standing near the door with a large box, making sure no one left empty-handed. "And what better way to drum up business than to be the leading cause of tooth decay in your town?"

"I guess," Ron agreed, then he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Doesn’t this place give you chills, though?"

Harry frowned. "What?"

"Just imagine it. Having to have your tooth fixed with a drill." He shuddered. "There really are benefits to magic."

Harry laughed. "Yeah, there are."

Their conversation was interrupted by an excited squeal coming from the vicinity of the door. "Hermione! Sweetheart, how are you?" A small woman with fluffy hair strangely reminiscent of Hermione’s had just swept through the door and promptly wrapped Hermione in a tight hug.

"Hi, Aunt Betsy," she replied, hugging her back. "I’m great. How are all of you?"

Two small children had accompanied Hermione’s aunt inside, followed by a tall man with a baby in one arm, and an elderly woman on the other.

"Grandmother," Hermione said happily as she drew back from her aunt’s grip.

"Hello, dear," her grandmother said in an unsteady voice, reaching out and drawing Hermione to her with two shaking arms. Hermione embraced her affectionately, but carefully, and then took her arm to lead her further inside. "Here, let’s find you a chair," Hermione said. "How was your trip?"

Harry immediately stood up and moved his folding chair from behind the table, setting it a short distance away. Checking its steadiness, he motioned Hermione over. She led her grandmother to it, and the woman accepted the chair gratefully.

"Thank you, dear," she said with a warm smile, reaching out to pat his arm.

"You’re welcome, Mrs. Granger."

"Grandmother, these are my friends from school. This is Harry Potter, and that’s Ron Weasley."

Ron rose to greet her too, and she cooed when he took her hand and kissed it without hesitation.

Harry and Hermione both raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged. "Mum," he said simply to Harry, and Harry nodded his understanding. He could totally picture Mrs. Weasley teaching her boys how to greet an elderly woman respectfully.

Further introductions followed, and when Hermione finally had a chance, she turned to her Uncle Jack, and reached for the baby. "Isaac! I can’t believe how big you are!" The baby squealed with laughter as she took him from his father’s arms and covered his face with kisses. "And you two!" she said, turning to the other children. She bent and kissed them both quickly on the cheeks. The little girl, Emily, smiled, and held out her arms, and Hermione hugged her to her side with her free arm, but the older child, Matthew, scowled and wiped his cheek where she had kissed him. Ron laughed out loud.

Just as they finished with the introductions, another group of people appeared and all of the squealing and hugging repeated itself. Hermione’s parents emerged from the back of the clinic and provided the introductions this time. Hermione’s mother’s brother, Richard, had arrived with his wife, Claire, and their two teenaged children, Danny and Sarah. Danny looked very clean-cut and polite, and seemed about fourteen, Harry thought, but Sarah definitely looked older, around eighteen maybe. Harry was startled by how much she looked like Hermione - except for her hair, which was smooth and blonde.

The small reception area was crowded now, with Harry and Ron trying to join the conversation while simultaneously performing their serving duties. After a while, Hermione’s mother snagged Sarah, and the two of them squeezed behind the table, telling the boys that they would take over.

"You’ve done more than enough, boys," Mrs. Granger said with a smile. "Go and have some fun now."

They moved gratefully to the coat rack by the door, waving for Hermione, who broke away from her family, letting out a frenzied breath.

"Sorry," she told them breathlessly. "They just don’t get to see me very often."

"That’s okay," Harry said, pulling on his gloves, and then his coat. "It’s understandable."

They were just about to slip out the door when a middle aged woman and two children squeezed inside.

"This is it," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. "I promise," then more loudly, she said. "Hi, Aunt Katherine."

"Hermione! Darling, I hardly recognized you," the woman said amiably. "I almost walked right by you! I’m sorry!"

Hermione laughed. "That’s okay." She hugged her, and Harry heard her whisper, "How are you?"

The woman smiled. "I’m fine, love. Just fine."

Harry had been paying close attention to their exchange, and jumped in surprise when he heard a voice right in front of him. He looked down into the face of a young girl, who was standing entirely too close for comfort.

"Hello," she said demurely. "I’m Veronica. I’m thirteen. What’s your name?"

Thinking that she was far too young to be speaking to him in that tone of voice, Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Um, I’m Harry. I’m, uh..." She moved closer and he took a step back, colliding with the window. "I’m pleased to meet you, Veronica."

Someone snorted behind the girl, and she stepped aside, fuming, to reveal a younger, dark-haired boy of about nine, that Harry could only assume was her brother.

"Her name’s Vernie," he said, speaking to Harry but looking at his sister pointedly, "and she’s twelve until April."

"Shut up, Gabriel," she said, poking him angrily in the stomach, and sounding every bit a twelve-year-old.

Ron caught Harry’s eye and they both had to look away to keep from laughing.

"Hey, you two," Hermione interrupted hastily. "It’s good to see you!"

Gabriel stepped forward and hugged her warmly, clearly unashamed of his love for his cousin, unlike Matthew. Vernie followed, and then pulled away when she spotted Ron.

"What’s your name?" she asked.

"Uhhh..."

"Hey!" Gabriel’s shout provided a welcome distraction. "Matthew! Hi!"

Harry could hear Matthew’s groan from across the room. "Hi, Gabriel," he replied with a scowl, and his father nudged him admonishingly on the shoulder. "How are you?" he asked, somewhat more politely.

Gabriel squeezed eagerly through the crowd. "I’m good. Hey, do you want to go skating?"

"Oh, sorry," Matthew said, not sounding at all sorry. "My dad’s taking us sledding."

"Oh."

"That’s right, Gabriel," Hermione’s uncle said apologetically. "But you’re more than welcome to join us if you’d like. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind."

"Daaaaddd..." Matthew hissed, and his father gave him a warning glare.

"Oh. No," Gabriel said quietly, staring at his feet. "That’s okay."

Matthew let out an audible sigh of relief.

Ron leaned in and whispered to Harry, "Well, that’s not very nice."

"No," Harry agreed, shaking his head and frowning.

"Hey, Gabriel," Ron spoke up. "We’re going skating," he said motioning in indication of Harry, Hermione, and himself. "Do you want to come with us?"

The boy’s face lit up at that. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. "We’re going right now."

Matthew scowled again, obviously jealous that the other boy had gotten an invitation from the cool, older kids, and he hadn’t.

But Gabriel’s smile quickly faded. "Oh, I don’t know. I’m not very good. I’d probably just slow you down."

"No, that’s okay," Harry said quickly. "I’ve never skated before at all. They’re going to teach me. I’m sure you’re better than me."

Hermione smiled at Harry and Ron proudly as Gabriel’s own smile returned. He turned to his mother. "Can I go, Mum?" he asked quietly.

"Sure, lovey."

"Me too, Mum?" Vernie asked anxiously.

Sarah, who had obviously overheard everything, interceded from her place behind the table. "Oh, Veronica," she called, "I was hoping you’d stay here with me. I brought some make-up with me that I thought would look great on you."

"Really?" the younger girl asked, her eyes sparkling eagerly.

"Yeah. I could put some on you if you want."

"Well, okay," Vernie said, stealing a glance at Harry and Ron. "I’d like that." She quickly sidled over to Sarah, obviously hoping that the promised makeover might help her to win the attention of the two boys.

Hermione looked at Sarah gratefully and mouthed, "Thank you." Sarah smiled and winked.

"Well, okay, then," Hermione said energetically. "Let’s go."

Gabriel grinned and took her hand, and the four of them escaped into the cold afternoon.

They walked to the end of the lane, through the crowds of people gathered on the sidewalks, and past the huge tree in the town square. Harry took it all in contentedly, just listening as Hermione engaged her young cousin in talk of school, and what he had learned so far that year. ‘Typical,’ Harry thought. They finally turned the corner at a small church, and the lake came into view just beyond it. The frozen surface was covered with skaters, and four large, strategically placed speakers sent holiday tunes echoing across its distance. Several booths were set up around the perimeter on the near side. One displayed a sign for hot chocolate and coffee, another for scarves, hats, and gloves, and a third for skate rental. This one they approached immediately, in order to get properly equipped for their afternoon. The skate rental, it turned out, was free, and once they all had a pair in their size, they found a bench where they could sit to trade their shoes for the skates.

When Hermione’s skates were snugly tied, she stood up easily, and then frowned when she saw Harry fumbling with his own. "Harry," she said, in the same disapproving voice she used to correct him on homework, "that’ll never hold. Here..." she said, dropping to her knees and untangling the mess he’d made of the laces, and then starting over properly.

"Hermione..." Gabriel said pleadingly, holding out the ends of his own laces to reveal one that was somehow much longer than the other.

‘I’ve got it," Ron assured her.

Once all of their skates were tied securely, they all rose to head for the lake. The second he was on his feet, however, Harry’s sense of balance abandoned him, and his ankles turned out over the narrow blades. He pitched forward and fell directly into Ron’s quick arms, but his sudden dead weight was too much, and they both tumbled over into the snowy grass. Gabriel burst into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, and even Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

"Urgghh...Harry, get off me," Ron gasped from underneath him, and Harry maneuvered to the side.

"Heh. Sorry," he said, sitting up and rubbing his ankles, chuckling. "I guess there’s a reason my sport is Qui-" Hermione’s eyes grew wide and Harry quickly caught himself. "-um, not skating. Right. There’s a reason my sport is not skating." Hermione let out a sigh of relief, and Ron coughed nervously. Gabriel’s laughter trailed off, and he looked between the three of them with confusion.

"Um, right," Harry said loudly, struggling to his feet. "Let’s get to that skating, then."

"Right," Ron said, rising more easily and reaching out to help hold up his unsteady friend. Harry stumbled again, and Hermione and even Gabriel reached out quick hands, too.

"Okay," Harry said. "Okay, I think I’m good." He straightened up cautiously and smiled in triumph. "There. Hah! I’m doing it."

Hermione smirked. "Doing what?" she teased him. "Standing still? That’s a huge accomplishment."

"Hey! It is for me," he said, laughing at his own inability. They started forward somewhat shakily, and then Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "Oh no."

"What’s the matter?" Gabriel asked, concerned.

"Um...um...nothing," Harry replied lightly. "Nothing’s the matter. I just, uh...I just realized that I didn’t go to the bathroom. Right. I definitely should have gone before I put on these skates."

"Oh," Gabriel said sympathetically, but Ron and Hermione were looking at him as though he’d just told them that Draco Malfoy had kissed a dozen fluffy bunny rabbits.

"Harry," Ron hissed. "What is the matter with you?"

Harry raised his eyes pointedly in the direction of the sky. Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to catch on, so he whispered, "Poorly timed mail service approaching. Ten o’clock." He tilted his head in the direction of the nearing owl.

Ron and Hermione both looked to their lefts out of reflex, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione..." he whispered, nodding in indication of her cousin.

"Oh! Oh, right. Um, come on, Gabriel. Let’s let Ron take Harry to the bathroom, and then they’ll join us on the ice, okay?"

Now Gabriel looked between them as if they had actually told him that an invisible owl was trying to deliver Harry a letter. "Okay," he said uncertainly, and he let Hermione lead him away.

"Good grief," Ron said with exasperation once they were out of earshot. "Who’d have thought it would be so much trouble to try to live like muggles for a few bloody days?"

By now, Gumdrop had closed the distance between them, and landed heavily on Harry’s shoulder. "Ooomph," Harry said, and he staggered a little under the owl’s weight. "Uh, Ron, do you think we could..." Harry motioned to his shoulder and Ron snapped to attention.

"Oh, right," he said, looking around. "How about behind there?" he asked, pointing to the scarf vendor’s booth.

"Fine."

Ron helped lead Harry over, and they snuck behind the stall when no one seemed to be looking. Harry removed Dumbledore’s letter from Gumdrop’s beak this time and read it hurriedly.

 

Dear Harry,

I must admit that I was disturbed by what you wrote this morning, but I cannot say that I am very surprised. Actually, I am more surprised that it has not happened sooner. Though I suppose that if Voldemort has been refraining from killing, like we discussed, there would be no reason for you to feel any pain. I take it as good news, however, that the pain was minimal, as there is no possibility that he was at all near you or that he killed someone. He was probably just feeling incredibly angry for some reason. I do wish that you could remember what you were dreaming, but alas, I digress. You were right to tell me what happened, and I want to know immediately if it happens again. Be alert! Inform me of anything that may happen that you find the least bit suspicious.

I assume that you are at the festival now, and I do hope that you are having a good time. I spoke to Sirius just this morning, and he and Remus are fine. He asked me to send you their holiday greetings. He, too, was concerned by your letter, but I managed to prevent him suffering a complete and total breakdown of nerves! I do fear, though, that your dear godfather will not be sleeping soundly until you are once again within the walls of this castle. Nonetheless, he and I both want you to enjoy yourself. Send my hellos to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger.

Until later,

Dumbledore

 

Harry refolded the letter quickly, and shoved it into his pocket, from which he withdrew a small pad of paper and a pen.

"So weird," Ron muttered under his breath, eyeing the paper and pen, and Harry laughed. He pulled off his right glove to write a quick response, assuring Dumbledore that he felt fine now, and that he was indeed safe and at the festival, and then sent the owl on its way.

"Everything all right?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied, steadying himself against the wall of the booth as he rose from his crouched position. He hadn’t told Ron about his scar hurting, and neither had Hermione, as far as he knew. It just didn’t seem important enough to warrant an explanation. ‘Or maybe I’m just in serious denial,’ Harry thought. But he quickly dismissed the thought. ‘This is supposed to be a fun afternoon.’

"Ready?" Ron asked him, eyeing Harry nervously as he wobbled on his feet.

"Uh-huh."

They made their way carefully to the ice, and spotted Hermione and Gabriel skating slowly around the edge. Hermione seemed quite capable, and Harry was impressed with the ease with which she circled the ice. Gabriel was less steady, but at least he was on his feet, Harry thought, wondering if he’d be able to say the same for himself in a few minutes. When Hermione and her cousin got close, Ron helped Harry onto the ice, just as the others caught up.

"Do you feel better now?" Gabriel asked knowingly.

"Oh, much," Harry told him, with exaggerated relief. "Thanks for asking."

Gabriel smiled and the others tried not to laugh.

"Well?" Hermione whispered, and Harry withdrew the note from his pocket and handed it to her. Ron and Gabriel were distracted as Ron tried to show the boy how to skate backwards, and Hermione skimmed the note quickly. She nodded and then wordlessly concealed the note in her own pocket.

"All right," she said loudly. "This is the moment of truth." She linked her arm tightly through Harry’s and pushed off slowly. He stumbled a little, but didn’t fall, as he carefully put one foot in front of the other.

"Hey! I can do it!" he declared happily.

"Actually," Ron said, gliding over, "Hermione’s doing it," and he quickly slipped a strong hand under Harry’s free arm to relieve some of the burden of his weight from Hermione.

"Thanks," she panted.

"Heh heh. Sorry," Harry said.

"It’s all right. But the idea is to skate, Harry, not to walk across the ice," Hermione said, demonstrating a proper stroke.

Gabriel looked on giggling quietly, his confidence obviously growing with the knowledge that at least he was standing up without help. Harry grinned at him widely. "Hey, I’m pretty good, don’t you think?" he joked, and then pretended to look hurt when Gabriel laughed out loud.

They circled the ice several times, until Harry felt confident enough to try skating without help. Ron and Hermione let him go, and he carried on fine at first, until he had to start making the turn at the end of the lake, at which point he landed quite ungracefully on his rump. His two friends hauled him to his feet and he started off again, somewhat more steadily this time. They skated for a long time, keeping to the outside of the lake with the slower skaters. Hermione and Ron were quite patient with their pace, even though Harry knew they were capable of a much faster and more comfortable speed - one that a turtle couldn’t keep up with. At times, Ron would easily skate backwards, facing Harry and trying to carry on a conversation while Harry focused every ounce of energy on just staying upright. He was hardly paying attention to Ron at all, although he was grateful for his proximity, as he was the sole reason that Harry avoided falling flat on his face on several occasions. Hermione and Gabriel skated a little further ahead, Hermione holding his hand tightly and praising him on his rapid improvement. After what seemed liked hours, Harry’s muscles were protesting every stroke, due to the tension he’d placed on them by fighting to stay on his feet.

"Hermione," Gabriel said shyly. "I’m tired."

The two of them slowed to a stop, and when Harry tried to do likewise, he promptly found himself sitting on the ice.

"Okay, Gabe. We can go sit out for a while."

"Uh, actually," Harry said, rubbing his abused bottom, "I think it’s time for Harry to sit out for a while too. I’ll take him. You two stay and skate for real for awhile."

"Is that okay with you?" Hermione asked her cousin.

He nodded, and helped pull Harry to his feet, and they left the ice. They made their way back to their bench, and both collapsed gratefully onto the cold stone surface.

"So this was fun, eh?" Harry asked him, bending to untie his skates.

"Yeah," Gabriel said happily. "Thanks for letting me come."

"You’re welcome." He slipped off his right skate and sighed at the relief it gave the muscles in his foot. "You really wanted to go with Matthew, though, didn’t you?"

Gabriel shrugged and looked down. "I guess. But he doesn’t like me."

Harry’s heart went out to the boy. He remembered what it was like to be nine and to be rejected. Harry hadn’t had any friends before he met Ron, and it had made for a difficult childhood. "Well, I like you," Harry said, and Gabriel smiled.

"I like you too."

"Well, thanks. I can use all the friends I can get," Harry said with a grin, humoring the boy.

Gabriel giggled and nodded towards the lake. Hermione and Ron had moved closer to the center of the ice, and were moving side by side at a pace that much more closely matched their ability. They moved easily, and were carrying on a comfortable conversation. "Are you Hermione’s boyfriend?"

"No. Just her friend," Harry replied, the tiresome assumption originally spawned by Rita Skeeter sounding far less irritating in the innocent voice of a nine-year-old. "She’s my best friend. She and Ron."

"Is Ron her boyfriend?"

Harry smiled. "No."

"They look like it."

Harry looked out at his friends again. Ron was saying something that was making Hermione laugh. She smacked him playfully on the shoulder, and then linked her arm through his. "I know."

"Does that make you mad?"

"What? No," Harry said. "Why should that make me mad?"

"Because she’s your friend too," Gabriel said simply. "He might take her away."

"He could never take Hermione away from me," Harry replied. "We’re all friends. We all love each other."

"Oh." Gabriel accepted Harry’s simple explanation, and seemed to understand it. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"How come? I bet lots of girls like you. You’re cool."

Harry smiled again. "Thanks. I don’t know if lots of girls like me, though, I don’t really have time to pay attention. I keep pretty busy." ‘Pretty busy fighting evil,’ he thought.

"Oh."

"Hey, do you want some hot chocolate? They have some right over there," Harry said, pointing.

"Okay," Gabriel replied agreeably. Harry waited for him to change into his shoes too, and then they walked over together. Thankfully the hot chocolate was free here, too, because Harry didn’t have any muggle money with him, and hadn’t thought about that before they got to the window. Gabriel took a tentative sip of the steaming liquid and shrugged. "It’s not as good as Aunt Maggie’s."

Harry took a sip too and had to agree. "No, it’s not. But at least it’s warm." They walked back to their bench slowly, enjoying their drinks and the cheerful rendition of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ that was now ringing out from the speakers. As they walked, Harry watched Ron and Hermione skate, noting with a smile that Hermione had not released Ron’s arm. Ron seemed to be moving somewhat more stiffly than he had been before she’d touched him, and Harry thought Ron must surely be blushing, even though he couldn’t tell from so far away.

"So how come you came here for Christmas?" Gabriel asked Harry when they were seated once again. "Didn’t you want to go home?"

Harry hesitated, then said his words tentatively. "Well, no, not exactly."

"Don’t your parents miss you?" Gabriel asked in amazement, as though shocked that anybody’s parents wouldn’t miss them.

"Well, I’m sure they would," Harry replied carefully. "But I don’t have any parents. They died when I was a baby."

Gabriel’s eyes widened and he leaned back in surprise. "I’m sorry," he said, somewhat guiltily.

"It’s okay," Harry assured him. "You couldn’t have known." The boy looked stricken, and Harry regretted having told him. ‘I could have just said my parents were on holiday or something...’

"My dad died too."

Harry was momentarily frozen in shock. He’d wondered where Gabriel’s father was when they’d arrived, but he’d just assumed his parents were divorced or something. "He did?" he asked quietly. "I’m sorry."

Gabriel nodded, and stared down at his cup. "Almost exactly two years ago."

‘Oh gosh,’ Harry thought. ‘The poor kid’s dad died at Christmas time...’ "That’s terrible, Gabriel. I’m really sorry."

The boy nodded, but didn’t look up. "He was in a car accident," he said, kicking at the ground with one foot. There was a short pause, and then he asked quietly, "Did your parents die in an accident, too? Cause they died at the same time, right?"

"They did die at the same time," Harry told him. "In a car accident, too." Having been convinced by the Dursleys’ for most of his life that his parents had died in an accident, it was difficult for Harry to bring himself to say that it was true. But he managed to spit the words out anyway. A little pride was no reason to traumatize the poor kid further.

Gabriel just nodded again, and for some reason he didn’t inquire further. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Gabriel said, "They’re coming."

Harry looked up and saw Hermione and Ron crisscrossing through the throngs of skaters towards the edge of the ice. They stepped off, looking tired and red from the cold, and reached the bench out of breath.

"Oh, we’re beat," Ron said, collapsing on the bench next to Harry.

"That’s because you insisted on skating faster than everyone else, just to show off," Hermione said, and Harry chuckled.

"Not true," Ron said defensively. "I...I have long legs!"

"Yeah, that’s convincing,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Ron shot Harry a look.

"Well," Hermione said, dropping onto the small area of vacant bench next to Ron. "I’m pretty tired too." She bent to unlace her skates, saying, "Should we head back? It’s starting to get dark, and the caroling will be starting at the gazebo soon."

"Oooh, yeah," said Gabriel eagerly. "I love the caroling!"

"Me too," she agreed. "Guys?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "That sounds like fun."

"Sure thing," said Ron. He had slid off of the bench and onto the ground to remove his own skates.

Once Hermione and Ron were back in their shoes and all their skates had been returned to the vendor, they started back towards the town square. The gazebo was a permanent fixture just across from the huge tree in the middle of town. The local church choir was going to be situated on the low stage that it provided, with a songleader leading them and the crowd in carols. When the small group reached the square, they easily spotted Hermione’s family, all of whom were camped out near the front of the gathering crowd, obviously staking out the best places. The four of them joined the group, and Mrs. Granger handed them all cups of hot chocolate that she’d been carrying in a small beverage holder.

"This is the last of it," she told them. "We saved enough for all of us to have during the caroling. Thought we’d need it to keep warm."

Harry accepted his gratefully. It had gotten a lot colder since the sun had started to dip below the horizon. They waited for a while, chatting pleasantly, and when it started to get properly dark, people began coming around with boxes of red and green candles for everyone to hold during the singing. Harry, Ron and Hermione each took one, and out of pure habit, Ron started to reach inside his coat.

"Uh, Ron," Harry said quietly. "I think they light these with matches here."

"What?" Ron asked distractedly, obviously a little confused that he couldn’t find his wand, and then said, "Oh! Oh, yeah, of course. I knew that. Of course they do."

A few minutes passed, and then the slowly growing blanket of flickering flames reached them. Harry accepted a friendly offer from a stranger, and bent the wick of his candle into the flame of the woman’s own. He quickly lit Ron’s and Hermione’s candles, and then passed the favor on to a boy about their age that was just behind them. Soon the entire square was lit by hundreds of tiny dancing flames, and Harry looked around, feeling a little awestruck by the beauty of the scene. It was like being immersed in a sky full of twinkling stars. Then suddenly, a chorus of voices broke out into "Joy to the World." The perfect a cappella harmonies sent a slight shiver up Harry’s spine, and he smiled as the choir filed onto the platform of the gazebo. Most of the crowd joined in the singing, Harry included. He wasn’t going to let this experience get away unappreciated.

The songleader turned out to be a rather tiny man, but he was full of energy and a ringing tenor voice, and Harry felt energized just watching and listening to him. He led the group in renditions of everything from “Frosty the Snowman” to “Silent Night”, and Harry participated in disbelief that people actually spent Christmas Eve this way. It wasn’t just a fantasy played out in holiday movies. These people were real, and Harry was a part of them. Thoughts of Voldemort were the furthest thing from Harry’s mind during that hour, and he felt a sharp pang of disappointment when the little man with the big voice asked for the last request.

“I have one!” came a voice from nearby. “Angels We Have Heard on High.”

Harry snapped his head to his left and saw that it was Hermione’s mother who had made the request. Mrs. Granger met Harry’s eyes, and she smiled at him and winked. He smiled back softly, and turned to watch the choir.

The songleader was facing his choristers now, and he brought his hand down, giving them the downbeat. The voices started in perfect unison, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. This time, he didn’t join in the singing, just letting himself listen to the voices float over him on the cold December wind. They reached the first chorus, and several sparkling soprano voices landed confidently on the harmony, and Harry let his eyes fall closed. After a minute, he felt a hand on his arm, and he opened his eyes to see Hermione eyeing him with concern, but smiling a little. He smiled back wordlessly, and she twined her arm around his, hugging it close to her, and resting her head on his shoulder. Harry lifted his other arm and dropped it around Ron’s shoulders, who instantly reached up to return the gesture. And Harry wished the song could go on forever.

* * * * *

Later that night, Harry and Ron were in their room getting ready for bed when there was a light knock on the door.

"Can I come in?" came Hermione’s voice.

"Yeah," Harry replied casually.

"Harry..." Ron hissed. Both boys were wearing their pajama bottoms but were shirtless. Harry hadn’t thought twice about it, but in the blink of an eye, Ron dove across his bed and grabbed his top. He pulled it clumsily over his head just as the door clicked open.

Hermione stopped short and frowned a little in confusion. One of Ron’s arms was still frantically trying to find its way into a sleeve, and his fiery hair was sticking straight up with static electricity.

"Uh, sorry," she said, and Ron blushed as his arm righted itself. He ran his hand through his hair quickly and perched himself on the edge of his bed.

"It’s cool," he replied lightly. "What’s up?"

She moved into the room and closed the door softly behind her. Shrieks could be heard coming from the hallway beyond it, as Emily fought to get her doll back from her brother, who was laughing victoriously.

"Matthew!" came a stern female voice, and the shrieking and laughter died away.

Hermione shook her head a little, looking frazzled, and she dropped heavily onto Harry’s bed.

Harry chuckled. "Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah," she said with a small laugh, and then her face sobered and she said, "I just wanted to tell you guys something."

"What is it?" Ron asked worriedly.

"Oh, no," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "It’s nothing bad. I just..."

Harry tossed the shirt he was folding aside and sat on the bed facing Hermione, waiting patiently for her to say whatever it was she was trying to say.

"I guess I just wanted to thank you both for what you did for Gabriel today. I was really touched by how kind you were to him, and I wanted you to know that I appreciated it."

"Oh," Ron said, "Well, you’re welcome. But it was no big deal."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, nodding.

"No. It was a big deal to him. My Aunt Katherine told me that he couldn’t stop talking about you two during the caroling, and it made her so happy to see him happy."

Ron looked confused, and Harry said quietly, "Hermione? Why didn’t you ever tell us that your uncle died?"

"What?" Ron asked.

"Gabriel told me that his dad died two years ago," Harry continued. "We were at school then. Why didn’t you tell us?"

She dropped her eyes and shrugged, absently fingering the hem of her own pajama top. "It was just after Christmas," she said. "The year that you got the Firebolt from Sirius. We weren’t exactly on speaking terms."

An enormously huge wave of guilt crashed over Harry, and Ron groaned loudly and hung his head.

"Hermione..." Harry started but his voice trailed off. He remembered how upset Hermione had been then, and he’d just assumed it was all because of himself and Ron, and all the schoolwork that had piled up on her. He recalled the night she had just burst into tears and ran up to her dorm, and the next day, when Hagrid had asked them to take it easy on her, that she was going through a rough time.

"Hermione," Ron said heavily. "We are so, so sorry."

"It’s okay," she said. "Hagrid helped me..."

"Still, Hermione," Harry said firmly. "We were horrible friends. Just horrible. I’m ashamed of us," he said, glancing at Ron, who was looking more morose than Harry had ever seen him.

"Me too," Ron said.

"It’s okay," she said again, lifting her eyes and smiling a little. When she saw their faces, she let out a little chuckle. "Really, it’s okay. It’s all in the past." Harry knew they must have looked unconvinced, because she added, "Let’s just say you made up for it today."

"Well why didn’t you ever tell us after?" Harry asked.

She shrugged again. "I didn’t want you to feel guilty. I asked Hagrid not to say anything either."

Harry’s mouth fell open and he sputtered some unintelligible syllables for a moment. Here they’d been horrible to her, and she’d still been worried about them feeling badly. "Hermione, you are amazing," he finally managed, and he leaned forward and kissed her on the top of her head.

"Well," she said with a laugh, "It’s good to know that someone thinks so."

"We both think so," Ron said seriously, and Harry was shocked to see Hermione actually blush a little. Had she just let down her guard? he wondered. Had he just seen a little beyond the six-story wall that she kept up around her feelings?

"Well, anyway," she said, "I just wanted to say thank you. Gabriel had kind of a rough time when their dad died, and I’m sure it’s especially hard for him at Christmas time..."

"Why doesn’t Matthew like him?" Harry asked suddenly. "Gabriel’s a great kid. I don’t get it."

Hermione shrugged. "I don’t know. No reason, really. Kids are just kids. Matthew’s kind of an...adventurous sort," she said, obviously choosing her words carefully, "and Gabriel isn’t....Think of Matthew as Fred, only meaner, and Gabriel as Percy, only not as bossy, and I think you’ll understand."

Ron nodded. "I sure do."

"Well," she said, rising, "I just wanted to tell you that. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Sleep well."

She crossed over to the door and pulled it open, and they heard Hermione’s Uncle Jack firmly saying, "Father Christmas sees everything you do, you know." Hermione rolled her eyes and slipped out of the room.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, the house was filled with the sounds of children and laughter and general holiday cheer as Harry, Ron, and Hermione helped to clean up the after-dinner mess. Christmas dinner had been amazingly delicious, almost as good as what the house elves at Hogwarts prepared every year, and Harry had especially enjoyed the fact that everyone had contributed a dish. The stuffed turkey had been the responsibility of Hermione’s father, with her mother in charge of the Christmas pudding. There had been a ham provided by Hermione’s Aunt Claire, and the others had contributed things like mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, and plum pudding. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had collaborated on some mince pies, which, Harry was pleasantly surprised, had turned out to be quite good. After dinner, the three teenagers had been put in charge of dividing up the leftovers for everyone to take home, and when that was completed, they helped Sarah and Vernie spread the cookies and candies that had been reserved for the family over the immense dining room table. It was while they were engaged in this task that someone yelled from the living room, "She’s on!"

Harry and the others entered the living room from the adjoining dining room, and squeezed around the television with everyone else to watch the Queen’s address. Ron seemed particularly enthralled by the speech, namely because it was on the TV. He had never watched television before, and was obviously finding it difficult to conceal his amazed excitement. He stood on his tiptoes, craning his head over the people in front of him to get a better look.

"It’s fantastic," he whispered to Harry in an awed sort of voice.

Hermione overheard, and raised an eyebrow at him, impressed, and Harry corrected her misinterpretation in a hushed voice. "He means the telly. Not the speech."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You can watch all you want tomorrow," she said to Ron.

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

She laughed. "Yes." Ron’s eyes lingered on Hermione’s face for a moment before he turned back to the television. Harry smiled and looked away, pretending not to notice. Hermione had told them that her family liked to dress up on Christmas, so they had dressed nicely, and she was looking very pretty in a long burgundy skirt and white fitted blouse. Her hair, which had actually seemed to lose some of it’s bushiness when it had grown out to be so long, was pulled up in an elegant twist, and her ears were adorned with some diamond earrings that her parents had given her as a gift that morning. The thing that kept drawing Ron’s eyes, and even Harry’s, though, was the fact that she was wearing makeup. Harry had only seen Hermione with makeup once before, and that had been exactly a year ago, at the Yule Ball. Harry and Ron hadn’t even recognized her at first that night. Today the effect was less dramatic, but even more flattering, Harry thought. Knowing nothing about makeup, Harry couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that was making her look so beautiful, but it seemed to have something to do with her eyes. They just seemed to be jumping out of her face. Harry thought the slight change only accentuated her natural glow even more, and he couldn’t help but stare a little himself. She was a knockout.

After the speech was over, some of the family returned to the kitchen, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled around the fireplace with glasses of punch. Betsy had made a huge bowl of the fruity drink, and some of the adults had been spiking theirs. The mood of the group had been lightening steadily since. It seemed that the women had congregated in the kitchen, the men around the TV, and the smaller children by the tree where all of their new toys were piled. The older kids were spread out amongst the others, and Harry tried to suppress a groan when he saw Vernie making her way over to them. She saw Harry look at her, and she smiled sunnily, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder in what she obviously thought was a flirtatious manner. Harry had surreptitiously managed to avoid her for most of the day, but now she was approaching determinedly and there was clearly no hope of escape.

"Hello," she said silkily. "Mind if I join you?"

Hermione looked up at her cousin with her mouth slightly open, and a mildly disapproving look on her face. Her voice was its usual kind self, though, when she said, "Of course you can join us."

Vernie settled herself on the plush carpeting, spreading her skirt around her, and Hermione rolled her eyes from behind her cousin’s back. "She’s twelve!" she mouthed to Harry, and he chuckled. Hermione had never liked girls who obsessed over their femininity and fell over themselves fawning over boys, and apparently her own flesh and blood was no exception.

"Is something amusing, Harold?" Vernie asked coyly, and Harry had to catch himself before his jaw dropped open. ‘Can she be any more blatantly obvious?’ he thought. Next to him, Ron snorted with the strain of suppressed laughter, and Harry glared at him.

"Actually, it’s just Harry," he corrected the girl.

"Oh? Harry isn’t short for Harold?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Hmmm," she replied thoughtfully. "What about you?" she asked turning to Ron, who immediately snapped out of his amusement now that he was her target. "Is your full name Ronald?"

Ron shot a glance at Hermione who shrugged helplessly if not apologetically, and he said, "Yes, it is."

"Don’t you prefer to go by your full name? I certainly do. Mine is Veronica," she said dramatically, as if they hadn’t already known.

The painful conversation was interrupted by the sound of jingling keys as Hermione’s grandfather, whom Harry had only met that day since he and his wife hadn’t been at the festival, entered the room in his coat.

"We seem to be out of punch," the man announced.

A collective groan rose from the general direction of the television.

"Not to worry," he replied with a smile. "The ladies are sending me to the store for more ginger ale. Does anyone want to go for a ride?"

Harry silently prayed that Vernie would jump at the offer, but in the end, only Gabriel went, obviously wanting to escape Matthew, who had spent the entire day snapping at him every time he tried to talk to him. Finally, it seemed, Gabriel had tired of trying to get into the boy’s good graces. Harry was secretly glad. Putting up with that kind of thing was going to do nothing for Gabriel’s self-esteem, Harry was sure. He knew from experience.

"Oy, Henry!" Hermione’s father called. "Pick up some more Greenall, too, will you?" he asked, indicating his nearly empty glass of gin.

Hermione’s grandfather chuckled. "Will do," he said, putting his arm around his grandson. "Come on, Gabe. Want to drive?" he joked.

"So," Vernie said, turning back to the boys once her brother and grandfather were gone, "Do the two of you play any sports at your school? Football, or rugby, maybe?"

Hermione jumped right in at that question, obviously wishing to avoid another near disaster like the one that had occurred at the lake the day before. "No, Vernie, we don’t have sports at our school. The students don’t have time for things like that."

"Oh," she replied breezily, "I guess I should have known that. I’m sure everyone has better things to do at a school full of geniuses."

Harry choked a bit on his punch, and Ron was completely unable to suppress a laugh. They both looked at Hermione over Vernie’s shoulder, and she was suddenly blushing furiously.

"That’s right," Ron said, not taking his amused eyes off of Hermione. "We geniuses are immensely busy. Laden with schoolwork, we are. Why just last week, we had to memorize two hundred pages of Shakespeare and write an absolute horror of an essay on the philosophies of Plato and Aristotle."

Hermione’s eyes shot daggers at him, but he just smiled widely.

"Wow," Vernie said, clearly impressed. "That must have been dreadful."

Ron’s blue eyes glazed over and he said in a dreamy voice, "It’s just a part of the price we pay for being so remarkably brilliant."

Vernie nodded as though she understood all of the trials and tribulations that went along with being a genius. "Well, nevertheless," she said, eyeing Ron and then Harry as though they were the last tasty morsels of the Christmas pudding, "you both look like athletes to me."

"You think?" Ron replied, still grinning at Hermione, "well, they do allow us geniuses to work out from time to time. The body is just as important as the mind, that’s what the Headmaster always says."

A completely involuntary but uncontrollable laugh escaped Harry’s throat, and he quickly pressed his fist to his mouth.

"Um, Vernie," Hermione said, rising quickly, "Will you please excuse us?" She hauled Ron and Harry to their feet with surprising might, and dragged them wordlessly into the hallway, leaving Vernie sputtering in protest behind them.

Once they were in the hall, Hermione shut the doors to the living room tightly, and Harry and Ron burst into laughter.

"Geniuses?" Harry asked incredulously. "Your cousins think you go to a school for geniuses?"

She closed the distance between them with two swift strides and hissed, "Will you please keep your voice down?"

"Sorry," he replied, then more quietly, "sorry. I just...geniuses? Whose idea was that?"

"Actually," she said loftily. "It was Dumbledore’s."

Ron’s mouth fell open. "What?"

"For your information," she said, "Dumbledore makes all of the arrangements for students from muggle families to keep Hogwarts a secret from anyone they want it to be a secret from. My name is actually on a ghost list of students at Greenbriar," she declared. "I was already accepted and planning to attend when I got my letter from Hogwarts."

Now Harry’s mouth fell open. Ron looked confused. Having grown up always knowing that he was a wizard, he had no idea about the various muggle schools throughout Britain, but Harry was fully aware of Greenbriar Academy. It was an incredibly prestigious school reserved solely for children with astronomically high IQ’s. The entire student population was only around a hundred and fifty, as there were simply no more children than that in all of Britain that could qualify.

"Hermione," Harry breathed. "You were really going to go to Greenbriar?"

Having recovered from her momentary outburst, she had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Yes," she said.

"Whoa..." was the most eloquent response he could muster.

Ron was looking between his friends with total perplexity. "Uh, could someone please explain?" he asked, and Harry did, causing Ron to promptly join him in speechlessness.

"Oh, please," Hermione finally said with irritation. "It’s no big deal. Can you please just close your mouths now so that we can go back in there?"

Harry just continued staring at her in disbelief, then blindly lifted his hand to Ron’s chin and pushed his mouth shut.

Hermione’s stern expression cracked and she let out a giggle. "Good grief," she said. "Have you both recovered now?" she asked, but her voice died away as her eyes settled on Harry’s hand.

Harry followed her eyes and drew his hand away from Ron’s face, looking at it with confusion. "What?" he asked.

"Harry," she said in a scolding tone. "Where is Dumbledore’s ring?"

"What? Oh," he said sheepishly. "I took it off this morning."

"You took it off?" she repeated in utter disbelief. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"Because," he replied. "It’s ugly and it draws attention. It doesn’t exactly look like something a fifteen-year-old muggle would wear. I didn’t want to have to answer any questions about it."

"Harry! You and Dumbledore had an agreement. That ring is for your protection! He would have an absolute hemorrhage if he knew you weren’t wearing it, not to mention how Sirius would react. I’m surprised at you! I can’t believe you’d be so careless with your own safety." She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him with scathing disapproval.

"Hermione," he said calmly, "Just relax. I have it right here in my pocket. I’ve been checking it."

"You’ve been checking it?" she repeated. "How often? When did you last look at it?"

"Uhhh...when I was getting dressed this morning and I put it in my pocket?" he offered tentatively.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, and he quickly lifted his arms to his chest to ward off her angry smack.

"Okay, okay," he said. "You’re right. You’re completely right," he admitted. He knew she was right, but being in this house with this family made it so easy for him to ignore the fact that he was still a living, breathing target. But he knew that if he wanted to remain living and breathing, he had to take his safety seriously. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, glancing down at the stone and then holding it out for Hermione to see. "See? It’s fine. It’s just like it should be."

She leaned forward to look at the bright amber stone and pursed her lips. "All right," she said grudgingly, but then she reached out and caught his arm as he started to replace the ring in his pocket. "What do you think you’re doing? Put that on right now."

"Hermione," he said with exasperation, "I didn’t have it on before. How am I going to explain it away if someone notices? Like Vernie? She was eyeing me pretty carefully, you know."

She scowled. "Fine. But you’d better keep an eye on it."

Harry grinned at her as he slipped the ring into his pocket. "Yes, mother."

Ron chuckled at that, and Hermione shot them both looks. "Are we done here?" she asked.

"Hey, you’re the one who dragged us out here," Ron reminded her.

"Urrrrggghhh," she growled. "You’re infuriating."

"Why, thank you."

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she led them back into the living room.

Vernie had somehow been roped into playing dolls with Emily over by the tree, and she looked none too happy about it. She gazed at them longingly as they resumed their positions next to the fireplace, and only averted her eyes when Emily said sharply, "Vernie! You’re supposed to be dressing Agatha."

"So," came a mildly amused voice from behind them, and Harry only then realized that Danny had been sitting in an armchair nearby. How long had he been there? Had he overheard everything? "Do you play any sports at your school?" Obviously, he had.

Harry and Ron eyed him warily for a moment, and then Ron looked to Hermione. She rolled her eyes again and motioned somewhat angrily with her hand as if to say "go ahead."

"Yeah," Ron whispered excitedly, and Danny leaned in, eyes shining.

"Well, what do you play? Is it some kind of ‘hocus pocus’ sort of game?"

Harry laughed. "I guess you could say that. It’s called Quidditch," he whispered. "It’s sort of like a cross between football and basketball, only it’s played in the air, on broomsticks."

Danny’s eyes widened. "Nooo..."

"Yes," Ron said. "There are three goal posts at either end of the field, fifty feet high -"

"Ron guards our side’s," Harry interrupted. "That’s his position. He plays keeper."

"Like, like a goalie?"

"Yeah," Ron said, "Anyway, there’s seven players to a team. Besides my position, there’s three chasers - they try to get the Quaffle - that’s one of the balls - through the goals."

Danny nodded fervently, eyes pleading to hear more.

"Then there are the beaters. They fly around with clubs, and try to hit two other balls, the bludgers, at members of the other team. My two twin brothers are the beaters for our house."

"So you play against the other houses? Not against other schools?"

"Right," Harry said. "There aren’t exactly a lot of other wizarding schools to play against."

"Right," Danny said, as though he had known that all along.

"The last position is seeker. That’s Harry," Ron said, motioning towards his best friend. "The seeker’s job is to catch the golden snitch, a little ball with wings. It flies all around, and when one of the seekers catches it, the game’s over. Actually, Harry’s quite famous for it at our school," he said proudly. "No one’s ever beaten him. He’s been playing since our first year, the youngest seeker ever at Hogwarts."

"Wow," Danny said with awe, shifting his eyes to Harry, who dropped his gaze to his lap.

"Well," he said, "Ron exaggerates. I was beaten once."

"Yeah," Ron said, his mood sobering noticeably. "But...but that was an accident. It wasn’t Harry’s fault. The other seeker - he requested a rematch, but...he was a good bloke," Ron finished quietly, glancing at Harry, who was now staring very intently at his glass.

Danny’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth as if to ask, "was?" but he thought better of it and said, "Well, still, that’s a great record. To only lose once..." he paused and an uncomfortable silence followed. "So, how do you win?" he asked after a minute.

"Oh," Ron said, "every time a chaser scores, their team gets ten points. And then whoever catches the snitch gets a hundred and fifty. So that person’s team almost always wins."

Danny was shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow. That’s amazing. So, tell me more. Tell me about your school. Hermione never wants to say anything," he said, smiling at his cousin with a mild look of disapproval that was eerily reminiscent of the one that Hermione had fixed Harry with just minutes ago in the hall.

"What do you want to know?" Ron asked.

"Everything. What kind of classes do you have?"

This conversation proceeded for nearly an hour, as Ron explained everything from Transfiguration to owl post, with occasional input from Harry. Hermione only spoke up to correct things that Ron embellished, and Danny seemed to grow more enthralled by the minute. At last, the conversation was cut short when Vernie managed to break away from Emily and join the group once again. Danny looked disgusted with her untimely appearance, but Hermione seemed relieved, Harry thought. He wondered if Danny now had roughly the same amount of knowledge about their world that Hermione’s own parents did. He made a mental note to ask her later why she was so secretive.

Just as Vernie was opening her mouth to speak, Hermione’s mother entered the room from the hall and declared, "Punch is ready!"

Ron leapt to his feet, grabbing up his glass from it’s place on the hearth, and looked at Harry pointedly. "More punch, Harry?"

Harry rose quickly next to him. "Yes, I think so," and the two boys practically sprinted for the doorway. They crossed through the dining room and into the kitchen without a backwards glance.

"Do you suppose that was rude?" Ron asked Harry as they filled their glasses.

Harry laughed. "Yes."

Ron looked at him with slight remorse, then shrugged and said, "Eh."

"You’re terrible."

"You weren’t in any hurry to stay."

Harry laughed again. "Yeah, and I’m not in any hurry to go back either. How is it that a twelve-year-old can make me feel like I’m on display in my birthday suit?"

Ron shook his head. "Talent," he said flatly, accepting the glass that Harry handed to him. "What’s this?"

"Take that back for me, will you? I’m -"

"Oh no you don’t! I’m not going back in there as full target! We’re half and half. It’s only fair."

"Going to the bathroom," Harry finished with a smirk. "What do you want to do? Come along?"

Ron scowled. "Merlin no. I’ll just...I’ll just wait for you right here."

"Wimp," Harry said, heading for the bathroom in the hall.

"We’re in this together!" Ron called after him.

Harry had to wait at the door to the bathroom, cursing the way his previous glasses of punch had passed right through him. At last, Hermione’s grandfather emerged, and Harry slipped gratefully inside. As he stood at the sink afterwards, he looked at himself in the mirror, trying to see whatever it was that Vernie saw when she looked at him. He wasn’t all that impressed by his own reflection. His scar certainly wasn’t attractive, at least it shouldn’t be to a girl who didn’t know that it branded him as somewhat of a hero. His eyes were all right, he supposed. Rather startlingly green, a feature that could draw someone’s eyes without them really meaning to look, but then they were a bit concealed by his glasses, he knew. The rest of his face was nothing special. Turning his head to the side, he could see that the bones of his jaw weren’t quite as softly rounded as they used to be, but it was nothing to write home about. Well, maybe it wasn’t his face. He stepped back to see as much of himself in the mirror as possible, and examined himself to the waist. He definitely wasn’t skinny anymore. Not like he had been as a kid. He was still quite lean, but more solid looking somehow. Thicker than Ron, but not as tall. He vaguely wondered how tall he was. He had never measured himself. He guessed Ron was probably about six feet by now, and he knew he had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. At last he realized with a start that he had been staring at himself for several minutes, and blushed a little in embarrassment even though no one else was there. He quickly washed his hands, and as he worked the suds over his fingers, thought of Dumbledore’s ring. He dried his hands on a holiday-themed towel and, not knowing when he’d next have a moment of privacy, he reached into his pocket to check the ring. He closed his fingers around the magical object and withdrew it.

And everything around him suddenly seemed suspended in midair. Harry stood frozen in place for a moment, and his heart seemed to jump-start into beating in double time. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself he’d imagined it, telling himself to calm down, willing his sudden rapid breathing to return to normal. He stared at the inside of his eyelids for a moment, then, slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the ring.

The stone was coal black.