The First Day

Harry sprawled on the floor of the sitting room, leaning against the armchair where Ginny was curled into its depths, reading the Sunday Prophet. He felt his eyelids droop and the print of the copy of Quidditch Quarterly he was attempting to read blurred and swam. Ginny absently stroked his hair, and he leaned into it like Crookshanks. He reckoned if he could purr, he would have. Ron tossed a throw pillow at him. 'All right, mate?'

Harry nodded, scrubbing his hands over his face. 'Yeah. Just didn't sleep well...' He arched his back, stretching. 'Bad dream...' He let his head fall back against Ginny's knee. 'Well, not so much bad, but just a little... odd...' He cracked open one eyelid. 'What time did you get home last night?'

Ron's ears burned slightly. 'After midnight,' he coughed.

Ginny turned a page of the newspaper. 'Did you see George at all?' she asked Ron, a hint of anxiety coloring her voice.

Ron frowned. 'No. Why?'

'He just seemed a bit off last night is all,' Ginny said with a shrug. 'And I haven't seen him yet this morning...'

'I haven't seen him,' Harry volunteered. 'And I've been down here since six-thirty.'

'We're supposed to decorate the tree today,' Ginny said softly. 'After lunch. Everybody's -' Her voice caught briefly, but she continued. 'Everybody's supposed to be here - Bill, Charlie, Percy... We haven't all been here to do that since Bill left for Egypt.'

Harry touched the back of her hand gently. 'It's his first Christmas without...'

'I know!' Ginny snapped, keeping her voice low. 'It's the first Christmas without him for the rest of us, too! I just want us to have a good Christmas... Especially after last year.'

'It can't get any worse than last year,' Ron muttered.

'It's already worse than last year,' Ginny retorted. 'We may not have known where you three were, but at least we could hope you were alive.'

'Stop it,' Harry said, in a voice louder than he had intended. 'Arguing about what it was like last year isn't going to help. And trying to make this year into the best one ever isn't going to make any of us forget that Fred ought to be here, Stunning a gnome, transfiguring it into some god-awful sparkly shade of gold, then dressing it in one of Ginny's old doll dresses over your mum's protests.' He got to his feet. 'And the one thing we will not do is try and prod George into having a bloody good time.' He stormed for the scullery to fetch his coat, and stalked back into the sitting room. 'I'm going to go fetch Teddy. I promised Andromeda I'd take him for the afternoon, since Merlin knows she won't have a tree or paper chains or fairy lights. And it's Teddy's first Christmas, damn it!' Harry yanked the front door open, and stomped outside. Ginny blinked when the faint pop of his Apparition reached their ears.

Ron picked at a loose thread in his jumper, allowing the silence between him and Ginny to widen into tense eddies. He cleared his throat and pulled the thread, unraveling the cuff a little. 'D'you want to fetch down the colored paper, or shall I?'

Ginny carefully refolded the paper, not meeting Ron's eyes. 'I'll get it.' She started to walk out of the sitting room, but Ron reached out and snagged her wrist.

'It's all right, Gin.'

Ginny managed a wavering grin. 'Yeah...' She pulled her wrist from Ron's grip and ran up the stairs to a small cupboard where Molly kept their Christmas decorations. There were a few fancy, blown-glass ornaments - the ones that Molly had been able to save from seven pairs of small, grabbing hands. The others had been constructed from paper, glue, and more glitter than Ginny thought was possible. Those were the ones they had made, when Molly needed a few hours of peace and quiet from the excitement of Christmas. Ginny sat down on the worn carpet runner and lifted the lid from the carton. The top ornament was one Bill had made when he was five. It was an outline of his hand, a few straggly pieces of glitter still clinging to the paper. Charlie had gone on a jumper binge one year, and made a series of nine jumpers, each colored the same color as their Christmas jumpers, with their initial in a contrasting color on the front. She wondered if they ought to leave the one with a bright yellow "F" on the front off the tree this year. A hand snaked over her shoulder and snatched the miniature Fred jumper. Startled, she tilted her head back. George stood behind her with the ornament crumpled in his hand. He stood there for a long moment, saying nothing, then retreated back into his room. Well, I suppose that answers that question, Ginny mused to herself.

*****

Harry lay on his back on the sitting room floor, staring into the branches of the tree over his head. The strings of fairy lights twinkled in the dark sitting room, and without his glasses, the seemed as far away as the stars in the sky. George had finally come down for lunch, looking as if he hadn't slept in days. He filed dutifully into the sitting room with the rest of them, and sat in the corner, watching them hang the paper chains Ginny and Ron had made earlier. Harry thought they had made even more than Ginny had two years ago, but he wasn't about to complain about it. George remained in the sitting room, his eyes fixed on a point none of them could see, through the familial bickering over whose ornaments went where on the tree, and the proper way to string lights on the branches.

Teddy had gazed at the tree with open-mouthed amazement, giving everyone a measure of much-needed relief from the uneasiness of celebrating, as long as they could keep their attention focused on Teddy, and the obvious delight he took in "helping", his coos and giggles drawing smiles from the rest of the family.

Harry reached up and lightly set a glittery silver bell to swinging. Molly had pressed a large box of arts and crafts supplies in his hands, and insisted he make an ornament of his own to add to the tree. A pair of sock-clad feet appeared next to him, and Ginny stretched out next to him, resting her head on his shoulder. 'I can't figure out whether to be thrilled that we finally get to have a normal holiday this year, or to dwell on the people who aren't here to celebrate it with us...' he mused.

'I knew it was going to be difficult for George, but I didn't know he was going to withdraw back into his shell,' Ginny said, as Harry's arm tightened around her shoulders. 'Has he been like this long?'

Harry reached up and touched another ornament. It was the one Ron had made the year before they started school and was, unsurprisingly, in the shape of a Snitch, heavy with gold and silver glitter. 'I'm not really sure...' He squinted through the tree's branches, trying to bring the lights into focus. 'I guess the past couple of weeks,' he murmured. 'But Ron and I just thought he was in a strop because a few of his ideas weren't working out very well.' Harry shifted a little, moving Ginny's shoulder into a more comfortable position on his shoulder. 'Ron said he overheard George and Katie talking one evening, and George said it wasn't really working without Fred. Said George tried to make up for it later by agreeing to try one of his ideas, but...'

'But Ron just thinks George is trying to make nice and doesn't really mean it,' Ginny snorted. 'Naturally.'

'I don't think that's true, though,' Harry muttered. 'But it was after that that George just seemed to stop trying. I don't know if it's because Christmas and his crisis of confidence just happened to coincide or if he's feeling tetchy because it's Christmas and he couldn't think of anything new without Fred for the holiday and it all sort of came roaring back to haunt him.'

'Christmas was one of their favorite times of year,' Ginny said sadly. 'They loved to organize snowball fights after lunch. Force Percy to wear his jumper, even if he didn't want to.'

'They did that my first year,' Harry told her, with a smile. 'Put it on him without letting him put his arms through the sleeves, then frog-marched him down to the common room, ordering him to eat lunch with the rest of us and not the other prefects.'

'That sounds like something they would do,' Ginny snorted. She gazed up into the tree silently for several long moments. 'I can't imagine how awful it must feel to know you'll never have that again...'

*****

George drummed his fingers lightly on the windowsill. A small pile of colored paper littered the floor at his feet - the remains of the miniature jumper ornament Charlie had made. George remembered when Charlie made it. He and Fred had been eight, and Charlie had been in his third year of school. He and Fred had insisted that Charlie make their jumpers exactly alike. Even though there were several ornaments in Molly's box that Fred had made as a child, their presence didn't bother George as much as the jumper had. It was a reminder of everything he wouldn't have this year - nobody to help take the mickey out of Ron over the inevitably maroon hue of his jumper; no snowball fights with charmed snowballs that played Christmas carols as they flew across the garden - that had been Fred's idea; even the thought of making Percy wear his jumper because it clashed horribly with whatever swotty outfit he'd chosen to wear that morning didn't hold half as much of its appeal as it had the last time they were together for Christmas. 'How long ago was that?' George wondered aloud. 'My fifth year? Had to be... It was the year Sirius broke out of Azkaban, and we had the tower all to ourselves.' George waved his wand at the shredded paper and it disappeared. 'I can't believe it was only five years ago. Feels like a lifetime...'

He wished he knew how to tell his mother he preferred to not make a fuss this year. He didn't want to have the large tree in the corner of the sitting room, festooned with the memories of his childhood. He didn't want a handmade jumper from Molly, or a box of sweets from his other brothers. He didn't want to eat so much at lunch that it was necessary to surreptitiously unbutton their jeans before they left the table. He didn't want brightly colored paper chains decorating the walls and mantle. He just wanted it to be a regular day.

It was impossible, though.

Every baby needed a first Christmas. On their first Christmas.

Even George had to admit Teddy deserved to have this.

Just as long as he didn't have to try and be happy about it.

*****

Ron slid into his place at the table the next morning, frowning slightly. 'Where's George?' he asked, a note of hysteria tightening his voice. 'Did he leave for the shop already?'

Molly shook her head and put a bowl of porridge in front of Ron. 'I haven't seen him since he went back upstairs after we decorated the tree yesterday.'

Ron pushed his breakfast away. 'I'll be back in a mo...' he muttered. He ran up the stairs, not caring if he woke everyone up by treading heavily on the creaky stairs. He skidded to a stop in front of George's bedroom door, sliding a little, as the carpet runner bunched under his feet. Ron's arms windmilled as he struggled to maintain his balance, then he began to pound on George's bedroom door. 'George! Come on! You can't not open the shop with me today! George! I can't do it by myself!'

On the other side of the door, George curled into an even tighter ball, wincing each time Ron's fist crashed on the door. He pulled the pillow over his head to muffle his brother's bellows. He could still hear quite well out of the remains of his mangled ear, although he heartily wished he couldn't.

'George, please! I don't know how to do everything!' Ron nearly wailed. He leaned against the firmly shut bedroom door and stood there, panting, jumping when the scrape of parchment sliding against the wooden floor reached his ears. Ron bent down and picked up the scrap of parchment and thumbed it open. Go away, it said. Ron slid down to the floor, gazing at the note. He glanced up when Harry stopped on the landing on his way down from the attic. Harry reached down and grabbed Ron's arm, hauling him to his feet.

'Leave him be,' Harry muttered, dragging Ron downstairs. 'Ginny can help out during the day. She wanted to pick up a few shifts for extra pocket money anyway. And after breakfast, we can run down to the village and ring Hermione from the telephone box. I'm sure she won't mind helping you out for a few days. I'll come by after work, and help put things to rights after you close up for the day.'

'But what if we run out of something?' Ron moaned.

'Then you'll make more,' Harry told him crisply. 'Everything's written inside that notebook of theirs. You've been doing that since the shop reopened. And Ginny's charms are brilliant, so she can do some of it, too. And there's not much Hermione can't do.' He shook Ron slightly. 'You'll be fine.'

Ron stared at him, hollow-eyed. 'What if I cock it all up? George will never forgive me...'

Harry heaved a sigh. 'It's not a shrine to Fred,' he said sharply. 'And I don't think you're going to turn everything arse over elbow in three-and-a-half days. You've got too much invested in it now, mate.'

'I just work there,' Ron reminded Harry quickly. 'It's not mine...'

'If you say so...' Harry pushed Ron through the kitchen door. 'Do you even have Hermione's telephone number?'

'I think so,' Ron replied faintly. He turned to Harry. 'Do you really think I can do this?'

Harry could see the old insecurities rise to Ron's eyes. 'I do,' he said firmly.

Ron took in a deep, shaky breath. 'All right,' he murmured. 'All right.'

*****

Richard Granger eased himself to the floor, and reached for a handful of popcorn, carefully stringing it on a needle and heavy thread. He watched Hermione frown at a book, written in what she had said were runes. 'I thought you could read those squiggles like they were English,' he quipped lightly.

'I can,' Hermione responded absently.

'So why the fierce glaring?' Richard threaded more popcorn onto his string.

Hermione closed the book and laid it on the table in front of the sofa. 'I have to do this project for my Ancient Runes class,' she began hesitantly. 'I have to translate something somewhat lengthy...'

'And you're thinking about translating that book, eh?'

'Yes... It's just...' Hermione rummaged through a basket and unearthed a pincushion studded with pins and needles. She pulled out a large needle and threaded it with the same heavy thread Richard had used. 'Professor Babbling says she'll take the best one and submit it for publication.'

'And that's a problem?'

'It depends.'

'I need a few more details, Hermione,' Richard sighed.

Hermione poked a piece of popcorn on her needle. 'It's a collection of fairy tales,' she said softly.

'And that's not intellectual enough for you?' Richard laughed.

'It's not that, it's that one of them might actually be... true.' Hermione bit her lip and blindly pushed more popcorn onto her thread.

'Fairy tales aren't true, Hermione. You know that,' Richard chided gently.

'This is magic, Dad, anything is possible,' she retorted. 'But at any rate, Professor Babbling has also said that Dumbledore will also write a commentary of sorts for the piece that's published.'

'I thought he was dead,' Richard blurted in bemusement.

'He is,' Hermione said calmly.

'Then how can he write a commentary?'

Hermione smiled a little. 'All the previous Hogwarts Heads have a portrait in the Head's office. They offer advice and aid the current Head.'

'They can talk?'

'All the paintings at Hogwarts can,' Hermione said matter-of-factly. 'I imagine he'll just dictate it.'

'Oh, of course he will,' Richard said gamely. 'So the story that might be true?' he prompted, nudging the conversation back to its origin.

'I think I might have to start at the beginning,' Hermione said softly. 'There were these three brothers, and they met Death on a road one night. One of them was given a wand of immense power. It could do things with magic other wands were incapable of doing. He used it for destructive purposes and killed a wizard with him he had a quarrel. He bragged about it and another wizard killed him while he slept. The second brother was given a ring with a stone that could recall someone who was dead. Not bring them back, really, but sort of like their ghost. He used it to bring back his girlfriend. But they were both immensely unhappy, and he killed himself. The third brother was given a cloak of invisibility. He hid under it until he attained old age and only then did he take it off and meet Death once more, but this time as friends,' she recited.

'You're saying this really happened?' Richard asked skeptically.

'Not so much, no,' Hermione admitted. 'But those brothers, they existed. They were real. I've seen the youngest brother's grave. And the wand, the ring, and the cloak are real, too. I've seen them as well... And if I write a translation of this collection of tales, I'm afraid the commentary might mention Harry... He's descended from the youngest brother.'

Richard's hands slowly lowered into his lap. 'I can see how this might be a problem,' he said evenly.

'There hasn't been a new translation of that book in centuries,' Hermione added. 'And I really want to do it. But I'd rather not drag Harry's personal life into a public arena.'

'And you think the commentary might make mention of it?'

'Yeah.'

Richard took a handful of popcorn from the bowl and meditatively strung the pieces onto the thread. He knew from what Hermione had told him, when they were preparing to leave Australia, that her friend preferred to live a quiet life and would strongly resist having it dragged back into the spotlight, now that everything was back to normal. 'Then I think you ought to say as much,' he told her, after several long moments. 'And if he can't guarantee to keep Harry out of it, then you won't allow them to publish your translation.'

'But I can't do that!' Hermione gasped. 'I can't just tell Dumbledore something like that.'

'Of course you can,' Richard scoffed. 'You're an adult, aren't you?'

'Yes...'

'He owes you,' Richard said bluntly. 'After everything the three of you did last year, he owes you this, at the very least.'

*****

Harry pulled a thick jumper over his head and picked up his trainers from the floor and crept out of the attic, without waking Ron. He stopped just inside the kitchen, long enough to shove his feet into his shoes, then grabbed his coat from the scullery and slid his arms into the sleeves, buttoning it as he slipped out of the back door. He noiselessly strode across the frosty garden to the broomshed, and flicked his wand at the door. Harry reached inside and took his new broom down from its hooks. He mounted the Nimbus 2002 he had purchased just a week ago and kicked off, swinging in a wide arc around the house to the window of Ginny's bedroom.

It glowed softly in the darkness, signaling that Ginny was likely still awake. Harry supposed she was reading one of those smutty Muggle novels she hid under her socks from Molly. She often read late into the night during the previous summer, until her eyes drifted shut and she had just enough time to blow out the lamp next to her bed before falling asleep.

Harry maneuvered the broom closer to the house and reached out with one hand, tapping quietly on Ginny's window. He waited a moment, then tapped the glass a little harder. The edge of the curtain moved away from the window, and Ginny's face appeared, wearing an irritated expression, that quickly changed to an impudent smile when she saw him. 'Open the window,' Harry mouthed, motioning to it.

Ginny slid the window up, and leaned nonchalantly on the windowsill. 'Isn't it a little late to be playing Quidditch?' she drawled.

'Come fly with me,' Harry said, holding his hand out.

'I'm not dressed for it,' Ginny snorted.

'So put a jumper on over your pajamas, put your trainers on and come out,' he beseeched.

Ginny's eyes narrowed, and she disappeared behind the curtain. In a few moments, however, she climbed out of the window, balancing lightly on the windowsill, dressed in a wooly jumper and her trainers. 'You talked me into it,' she said, taking Harry's hand so she could climb onto his broom. He slid back a little to accommodate her, and Ginny settled between his thighs, her back firmly against his chest.

Harry urged the broom forward, without a specific destination in mind. 'Want to steer?' he offered.

Ginny's hands closed around the handle and she headed for an abandoned farm on the other side of the village. As they flew over the snow-covered village, Ginny let her mind wander aimlessly. Standing next to Harry in the Department of Mysteries, her heart in her mouth, but knowing he needed her to be the Gryffindor she was. She would have stood beside him, even it meant certain death. Plotting with him to arrange it so he could talk to Sirius. Revealing to him what it felt like to be possessed by Voldemort - something she hadn't said to anyone else. Needing to see him after they won the Quidditch Cup her fifth year, flinging herself at him as he came into the common room. She had seen the surreptitious looks he'd been giving her for months, and had decided to take matters into her own hands. The relief at seeing him alive, if not entirely whole after the first battle at Hogwarts. Being strong enough to let him go after Dumbledore's funeral. Kissing him on his birthday. Wanting to dance with him at Bill's wedding, but being unable to do it. But she knew where he was, the entire time. Even if she hadn't known about his ridiculous disguise, she would have known it was him. The terror she'd felt at not knowing if he'd survived the attack on the wedding and the overwhelming gratitude to discover he had. Those endless weeks and months, waiting for news. Sitting outside his bedroom door after the war, keeping vigil during his nightmares.

She directed the broom around a stand of large oak trees and glanced at him over her shoulder. What did I tell him...? Words weren't necessary...?

'Tomorrow's going to be a bit mad, I think,' Harry said. 'With everyone coming over in the morning. I just wanted a few minutes to ourselves...' He smiled crookedly. 'To have a bit of Christmas that's good...'

'Thank you,' Ginny murmured. 'At least we'll have this to remember...' She pulled up on the broom handle a little, slowing down its speed. The words aren't always needed, but it's still nice to hear sometimes... She turned a bit, so she could face Harry, the broom hovering over the valley. She wrapped one hand around his, her fingers twining with his. 'I love you...'