'Tis the Season

Harry had been invited to the Burrow for Christmas. Hedwig had brought him the letter at breakfast, but he had been running late for practice, and he hadn't had time to read it until he got home that afternoon. He flung the letter down on the kitchen table. He poured himself a glass of juice and sat down heavily, staring at the invitation, and arguing with himself about whether or not he should go.

He had ended his relationship with Ron last year, and he hadn't talked to any of the Weasleys since. Sitting in the stillness of his kitchen, the pictures came rushing back to him, and he remembered it just as vividly as the day it happened.

He had come home from a weeklong Quidditch tournament to find Ron on their couch, making out with a boy Harry had never seen before. He was draped audaciously over Ron, but the boy had jerked away hastily when he heard Harry come in the room. Ron shot up, his cheeks and lips flushed, with a look of total shock on his face. Harry had blown up, naturally, and began screaming so loudly that he was sure the whole block could hear him. He told Ron he wanted him, and all of his stuff, gone by the time he got back. Then he stormed out of the house, slamming the door so hard that he heard pictures breaking on the floor.

With all the gold Harry's parents had left him, and with the money he was making playing professional Quidditch, Ron didn't have to work. They had talked about this before they'd moved in together. Ron could've worked, had he chosen to, but he had wanted his calendar free for Harry's irregular schedule. It was Ron's decision. Sure, Harry was away several days each week, but he didn't think that gave Ron the right to snog someone in their house. He wondered how long the two of them had been carrying on, and berated himself for allowing something like this to go on right under his nose and not know about it. When he came back home the next day, Ron was already gone. The house was static and soundless and unbearably big. Harry couldn't stand the sight of that couch. His stomach churned and he felt sick every time he looked at it. He took it out in the yard and burned it. He burned their mattress and all the sheets, too. No telling what Ron and that nameless boy had done on those, either. He stood back and watched as the last vestiges of his life with Ron burned bright and then smoldered down into a dusting of ashes and embers. Harry wanted to forget all about Ron; he didn't want anything left to remind him.

Harry had felt so betrayed. Ron had been his one constant, the one person who was always there, and always knew exactly what Harry needed. He felt almost naïve afterward that he had allowed himself to be deceived in such a low and sordid way. He and Ron had been together for eight years, and out of all the couples they knew, Harry felt that his and Ron's relationship was the strongest. Well, except for maybe Sirius and Remus. They had the kind of relationship that everyone envied. There was a palpable electricity when ever they were in a room together. They were almost nauseatingly inseparable until... well, until Sirius died. Even now, the loss of Sirius left a gaping hole in Harry's life. Sometimes, late at night, Harry would wake up and forget, just for a second, that he was gone. He shook his head, trying to dislodge those thoughts.

Mrs. Weasley had invited him to the Burrow last year, but he had declined. The memory of Ron on the couch with that other guy was still too fresh in his mind. It had happened just a couple of months before Christmas, and he knew if he saw Ron again that soon, he would've probably killed him. That Christmas had been one of the worst he'd ever had, including the ones he'd spent with the Dursleys.

He never was one for drinking, but as the holidays got closer, and the realization of being alone again hit him like a fist in the stomach. He had slowly started comprehending that it would be much harder than he thought. Since he first came to Hogwarts, back when he was eleven, he had always spent Christmas with Ron. The thought of spending Christmas alone was too much for him, and he had gone out on a cold night, two days before Christmas to buy a large bottle of rum. He didn't even like rum and couldn't quite understand why he chose it. He had started early on Christmas Eve and drank himself into oblivion before passing out on the couch early in the afternoon. He woke up the next morning, feeling sicker than he ever had. But Ron's memory was as clear as ever, and at times, Harry could've sworn that he heard Ron's voice echoing off the stark walls. He started drinking again, determined to kill any brain cells that still held Ron's image.

Now, he weighed his options and at last, decided he'd accept Mrs. Weasley's invitation. Harry loved the Weasleys and loved being at the Burrow. Other than Hogwarts, it was the only home he'd ever known, and he didn't want to spend this Christmas like he had spent the last one. He wasn't going to let Ron's mistake ruin his holiday. He owled Mrs. Weasley, thanking her for remembering him, saying that he'd be happy to attend, and that he'd be arriving by Floo Powder on Christmas Eve.

****

The holidays approached quickly, and Harry dreaded it more everyday. He reprimanded himself several times throughout the week for agreeing to go. He thought about owling Mrs. Weasley, saying something had come up, and he wouldn't be able to attend. But when he thought of the alternative, of staying in this lonely, empty house all by himself, he decided that going to the Burrow was his only viable option.

When five o'clock came on Christmas Eve, Harry gave a sigh. This was it, the countdown was over; it was the zero hour. He squared his shoulders resolutely and made his feet take him across the room. He grabbed a fistful of Floo Powder, and stepped into the fireplace.

"The Burrow!" he called.

It sounded strange on his tongue. He never thought he'd say those words again. He was swept up in a whirl of colors and shapes, spinning until he was almost sick. He really did hate traveling by Floo Powder. His feet hit solid ground at last.

His eyes barely had time to focus before he was met by a large crowd of enthusiastic Weasleys. There was Mr. Weasley, Ginny, Charlie, Bill, Fred, George, and Percy. They all seemed so happy to see him, and he felt a twinge of regret that he had shut them out of his life. They hadn't been responsible for Ron's actions. They patted Harry on the back and shook both of his hands vigorously.

"Harry, how have you been? It's been a long time," Mr. Weasley said.

"I'm good, thanks," he answered.

"You deserve a good flogging for staying away so long," Fred joked.

"I was reading about your latest match," Charlie told him. "It sounded like you played excellently. Puddlemere is a shoe-in for the Cup this year."

"Well, it's not just me, you know. Oliver's pretty good, too," Harry said modestly.

"Oh, don't try that humble act with us," Bill chided. "We know how big your head really is."

Harry rolled his eyes, but laughed, and Bill gave him a wink.

"Molly's in the kitchen," Mr. Weasley said. "She'll never forgive me if I keep you in here any longer. You're all she's talked about the whole week. Go in there and see her."

The kitchen was warm, and smelled like apples, cinnamon, and pumpkin. Harry barely stepped in when Mrs. Weasley turned around and saw him.

"Harry, dear!" she said, dropping her load of potatoes in the sink and rushing over to him. She grabbed him around the neck so tightly that he started choking. Her apron and shirt sleeves were covered in a fine dusting of flour. Her hair and been pulled back, but thick strands of it had come loose and were laying limply in her face.

"Oh, it's been so long," she sobbed. "We've missed you so much." She began crying loudly into his shirt.

Harry really didn't know what to do or say to her, so he patted her awkwardly on the back, his eyes roaming over the kitchen, thinking about how it looked just the same as it did the last time he was there.

And that's when he saw him. Ron. He was over in the far corner of the kitchen, sitting on a stool next to the back door. Their eyes met, but only briefly, and Ron had to look away. There was something in Harry's gaze that made him cold in spite of the warmness of the kitchen, and it hurt him to see that bitterness in Harry. Harry's hand stopped mid-pat, and his mouth fell open slightly. But in only a second, that initial shock of seeing Ron had passed, and Harry's eyes became icy. Mrs. Weasley noticed something too, because she let go of Harry and looked back and forth between him and Ron. Ron was staring blindly into the sink and at the curls of potato peels, seemingly ignoring the fact that there were two other people in the room.

"Well," she said, trying to break the tension the only way she knew how, "Arthur is trying to put up a Christmas tree the Muggle way. Maybe you could help him, Harry?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said, though his voice had an edge to it. He turned on his heel and walked back into the living room.

Ron moved uncomfortably on his stool and leaned to one side, laying his head dully against one of the cabinet doors.

****

Harry stepped back in to the living room, and sure enough, right in the middle of it was a partially assembled tree.

"Need any help with that?" he asked.

"A lot," said Ginny. "Dad has no idea what he's doing."

Mr. Weasley shot her a reproving glance, and said, "It's coming along nicely, but you're welcome to help if you'd like."

Harry walked over to the metal stand, stepping around the other pieces of fake fir that lay scattered on the floor. Apparently Mr. Weasley was having trouble figuring out how to attach the branches to the pole. Harry had a lot of practice at this, as he was the one who had to put the tree up at the Dursley's every year. They always had a fake tree because Aunt Petunia thought real ones were too messy.

"It's really simple," he explained, picking up a branch and fitting it into the metal ring around the pole. "You start at one side, and just keep putting them in until you get back to where you started. Then you take the top part and fit it down into that hole there. That's all there is to it."

Despite those straightforward instructions, Mr. Weasley still looked somewhat confused. He had grabbed a piece for himself, but he seemed uncertain as to what to do with it.

"Here, I'll show you again," Harry said, taking the limb from Mr. Weasley. He peered over Harry's shoulder and watched him carefully.

"I think I understand now," Mr. Weasley said, but Harry noticed his brow was still furrowed in concentration.

"Look, Dad," said Charlie, "it's like this."

Charlie picked up a piece and fitted it perfectly to the pole. Harry was thankful that at least one of them understood.

Mr. Weasley tried again, and this time he did it right. He let out a cheer of accomplishment, and Harry couldn't help but smile.

It was so nice to be with them all again. They had always treated him like another son, and he knew there was no way he could ever repay them for all they had done for him. He felt that twinge of guilt again, and decided that from here on out, he would make sure the Weasleys were a part of his life, Ron be damned.

It took almost an hour, but the tree was assembled at last, and Mr. Weasley stood back proudly to admire it. He called Mrs. Weasley in from the kitchen. To Harry's utter displeasure, Ron came with her.

"That's really nice, Arthur, dear," said Mrs. Weasley.

But Harry could tell by the tone of her voice that she thought he was wasting his time when there were much more important things that needed to be done.

"I told you I could do it. Not a bit of trouble at all," he said with satisfaction. "What do you think, Ron?"

"It's nice, Dad," Ron said quietly, almost mimicking Mrs. Weasley's reply.

Harry gave a start when he heard Ron's voice. After being apart for over a year, he hoped he had forgotten the way Ron's voice sounded, but he hadn't. It sounded just like he remembered it, and suddenly his ears were filled with fragments of Ron's speech that he had heard over the years.

Harry was jerked away from his reminiscing when someone appeared in the fireplace. It was Remus. Harry stayed in touch with him, owling him a few times a year, but he hadn't seen him a quite awhile. There was even more gray in his hair than Harry remembered, and his face looked much older than it ought to.

Harry joined the crowd of Weasleys over at the fireplace. He noticed he was standing next to Ron, so he moved to the other side, joining Percy and Charlie. They welcomed Remus warmly, shaking his hands and patting him on the back, much like they had done to Harry when he arrived. When the crowd thinned, Harry walked towards him.

"I didn't expect to see you, but I'm glad you're here," he told him.

Remus smiled, though Harry could tell it wasn't a true smile, it looked nearly painful.

"I almost didn't come," he said. "I owled Molly at the last moment."

Harry knew exactly how he felt.

"Harry, sorry to interrupt, but we could probably use a little help over here," George said. There was an uncharacteristic sound of worry in his voice.

Harry turned to see Mr. Weasley in a jumble of green cords. He had the longest strand of Christmas lights Harry had ever seen, and was evidently trying to unwind them, but had only succeeded in getting himself lodged in the tangle.

"Want to help?" Harry asked Remus.

"No, no, you go ahead," Remus said softly. He moved wearily past them and sat down heavily on the couch.

Harry looked sadly at him for a moment, before walking over to help Mr. Weasley.

"Um, Mr. Weasley, how exactly did you manage to get tangled so quickly?" Harry asked, trying to swallow the laugh he felt moving up his throat.

"I'm not exactly sure myself," Mr. Weasley answered good-naturedly.

"Ok, let's try this," Harry instructed, picking up the free end of the cord. "I'm going to try to run this back through."

He managed to slip a couple of feet through a few snags, wrapping the free end around his elbow and hand to prevent it from lumping up again, but then he ran into an extremely tight knot.

"Here, Bill," he said, holding out the bundle. "Come over and hold this. I need both hands to get this undone. Hold still, Mr. Weasley."

He handed his free end to Bill carefully, and tried to pry the knot apart. He gripped it tightly between his fingers and pulled. It gave a few inches, but after that, it wouldn't budge. Bill leaned in to lend Harry a hand, dropping most of the length he had been holding in the process. In a few minutes, Percy strolled over haughtily.

"Harry, if you can't do it, just say so. Move over and let me try."

Percy worked at it for a few minutes, but only seemed to make it worse by getting his fingers knotted up.

"No, no, Percy, that's all wrong. It's like this," Charlie said, and he, too, joined the ever-growing group.

He nudged Bill out of the way and bent down to get a closer look, trying to tell where the knot began. He tilted his head in every direction possible, shifting his feet as he changed positions.

"Um, Charlie," Ginny laughed softly, after a few minutes, "I think there's a problem."

"Of course, there's a problem!" Charlie said, clearly irritated. "Dad's all tied up and we can't seem to get him loose."

"No, that's not exactly it," she answered.

She pointed down to Charlie's left foot, which had become entangled in the end that Bill had dropped.

"You were supposed to be holding it!" Charlie yelled at Bill.

"I was holding it, but I thought Harry could use some help. You were just standing by, watching."

"Boys," Mr. Weasley interjected, "I understand that you're upset, but I'm the one in the middle of this whole thing, so if you wouldn't mind..."

"Sure, Dad, sure, as soon as Bill unties me."

Bill knelt down and grabbed Charlie's heavily wrapped leg, trying to work the wires loose.

"Fred, George, I could use a little help over here, you know?" Harry grumbled.

"Oh, right, coming," Fred said, as he jostled forward. George followed him.

Percy was tugging in all directions trying to free his fingers, and Harry thought it best to stay out of his line of fire. He, Fred, and George started working on a different knot at Mr. Weasley's back. Between the three of them, they managed to undo a large section of it, tossing the freed cords over their shoulders as they unraveled Mr. Weasley. Half of the long strand was untied when they reached the knot that contained Percy's fingers.

"You still haven't gotten that done?" George asked him.

Percy gave a great sigh. "Obviously not, George, or I wouldn't be standing here now, would I?"

"Let me see it," said Harry.

"It doesn't go that way, it goes this way," Fred corrected him.

"Move, I'm going to have a go," George persisted.

"No, you're making it worse. That's backwards," Fred scoffed.

"It is not. It's your head that's backwards," George retorted.

Harry shook his head. Fred and George were absolutely no help at all.

"Bill, Charlie," Harry said, trying to crane his neck around the quarreling twins, "any luck?"

"No," Charlie said wryly. "Bill's managed to get himself tangled up worse than I was. Don't ask me how," he added, when he saw Harry open his mouth to speak.

Harry went to move towards them, but was caught by something around his throat. He looked down and noticed that there were several cords around his throat, spiraling down to his waist. Oh great, he thought. He looked up to Fred and George for help, but they were staring down at him, in the exact same predicament.

"How did we possibly get ourselves into this mess?" he asked them.

"You were supposed to un-tangle Dad, not en-tangle us," Fred said dryly.

"Really, Harry, this is most unprofessional," Percy rebuked.

"This isn't my fault!" Harry yelled, incensed. "You were the ones who asked me to help."

"Where's Ginny? Maybe she can help."

"I'm over here," came a small voice from the floor. Harry craned his neck in the opposite direction, looking for her. "I was trying to help, but somewhere along the way, this cord went this way, and that cord went that way, and well, I'm in no better shape than the rest of you."

Harry would've thought it was hilariously funny had he not been caught up in it. How a whole Wizarding family could manage to tie themselves up in a knot of Christmas lights was beyond him. Sometimes being raised by Muggles wasn't an entirely bad thing, he thought.

"Remus?" Mr. Weasley asked, straining to see over the mass of bodies surrounding him. But there was no answer, and when Harry looked to the couch, Remus wasn't there.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Harry asked no one in particular.

As if in answer to his question, George screamed, "Ron, get your worthless arse in here and help us!"

Ron heard him from the kitchen, and felt a current of fright run through him. He didn't want to go in there, he didn't want Harry to see him. He thought he was safe, successfully hiding himself in the kitchen and out of the way. Then George called him again, and Mrs. Weasley insisted that he go in there. He slid off his stool and grabbed his wand off the table.

"Why didn't you use your wands before you tied yourselves up?" Ron asked, without trying to hide his irritation.

"Because Dad, here, thought it would be cute to do things the Muggle way," Charlie said in a sarcastic tone.

Ron used a very effective Liberating Spell, and Harry watched as the cord of lights whirred past him, hissing, and unwinding themselves. He was very embarrassed. It was bad enough being in the same room with Ron, but when they needed Ron to rescue them, it was more than Harry could stand. As soon as the wire had unwrapped itself from him, he stepped away, rubbing his neck. Ron seemed to take a step forward, but Harry gave him a warning glance. Ron read it immediately. He wasn't going to press his luck. He'd try again some other time. He turned and went to join Mrs. Weasley back in the kitchen.

To Harry's dismay, he saw Mr. Weasley pick up the strand of lights again. There was a collective groan and the rest of the people in the room back away.

"Never fear, never fear," Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I think I'll use a bit of magic for it. Some of these Muggle things can be tricky." He waved his wand, and the cords wound themselves, thankfully, Harry noted, around the tree.

"Can we use magic for the rest of it, Dad?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"Now what would be the fun in that?" Mr. Weasley asked her. "No, I think we ought to do it the Muggle way. Besides, the worst of it is over. All that's left is putting the ornaments on.

Mr. Weasley grabbed an ornament from a large heap on the floor, but he was having trouble with the hooks.

Harry tried to explain. "You just run the hook through the loop and hang it around the tree limb."

Mr. Weasley caught on to this much faster than he had assembling the tree, and soon he was picking up ornaments from the glittering pile and hanging them cheerfully.

"I still don't know why we couldn't use magic," George whispered to Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

"He'll be here all night hanging those blasted things," Fred agreed.

Harry's mood had dampened slightly after the run-in with the Christmas lights. Not so much because of the incident, but because it was just one more reason for him to have to see Ron. Nevertheless, Harry picked up a moldy, oddly shaped snowman and threaded a hook through the tattered gold loop on its head. Before he had time to hang it on the nearest branch, Mrs. Weasley entered and announced that dinner was ready.

There was a congestion of bodies as they all tried to squeeze through the narrow doorway. Harry eyed Ron wearily, making sure he was well into the kitchen before Harry moved again.

Mrs. Weasley had had to use an Expansion Spell to make the table big enough to seat everyone. The enlarged table caused the already-small kitchen to seem even more cramped, and Harry had to shuffle around with his back against the wall to get to his chair. Mrs. Weasley went to the back door to call Remus in. He entered with a powdering of snow in his hair and on his clothes. He slid quietly into the chair opposite Harry, almost unnoticed. Ron was careful to choose a seat farthest away from Harry. He didn't want to be seen or talked to by anyone, and he repeated a silent prayer that the dinner would be over soon.

The feast Mrs. Weasley fixed brought back memories of the food Harry hadn't had since being at Hogwarts. An enormous roasted chicken sat in the very center. The skin was a blend of deep gold and brown, and it was peppered with spices. A bowl of white, fluffy mashed potatoes stood next to it with thick ribbons of gravy meandering down. A large dish held great mounds of stuffing, surrounded by several glass plates of tangy, red cranberry sauce. There were three baskets of rolls, dripping with butter, spaced evenly at intervals along the table. Plump green beans lay steaming in a deep saucer, and there were sunny, yellow baked apples dappled with cinnamon arranged on a tray. For dessert, there was an over-sized strawberry shortcake, at least three layers high, stuffed with fat, juicy strawberries, and topped with sharp peaks of whipping cream.

The kitchen was soon filled with the clinking and clanking of forks, spoons, knives, plates and glasses. Harry helped himself to as much food as his plate would hold. He had forgotten what it was like to eat real, home-cooked food. He didn't think it was worth the trouble to cook for one person.

"I ought to come home more often if you're going to cook like this, Mum," Charlie mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"Thank you, dear, but do remember not to talk with your mouth full," Mrs. Weasley reprimanded him.

"Father, did Mr. Fudge locate you before you left the Ministry yesterday? I believe he was looking for that proposal on the Muggle Protection Act you promised him," Percy stated in his overtly matter-of-fact voice.

"Come off it, Perce," chided Fred. "It's Christmas Eve. I doubt Fudge will come down the chimney and throw coal in Dad's stocking."

Everyone, excluding Percy, laughed. Even Harry laughed. This familiarity that he had long resisted moved into his body, and he felt something inside himself relax.

"How's the shop going, George?" Bill asked. "Still helping a new generation of students torture Filch?"

"You bet. We may be gone, but we're certainly not forgotten at Hogwarts," George told him.

"I don't think Filch will ever forget you two," Ginny said. "He's still got the scars."

"And he deserves every one of them, the wanker," Fred said.

"Fred!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "I will not allow that kind of language in my kitchen!"

Fred looked unusually apologetic, and they all laughed again. Harry's eyes accidentally caught Ron's, and he noticed that Ron had been staring at him.

Harry's face burned. He grinded his teeth and curled his fingers into fists under the tablecloth. How dare Ron look in his direction. How dare he think that what he did could be forgiven, much less forgotten. Harry could hear pieces of conversation droning in his ears like he was underwater, but there were deafening jolts of anger coursing through his veins, up to his brain and back again, stifling all other sounds. It was all he could do to mumble incoherently and get up from the table. He stumbled blindly passed the group, not noticing their open mouths or their shocked eyes.

It was near freezing outside and snow was falling heavily in large, soft clumps, but Harry had a fury boiling through him, and he didn't notice. For the first time tonight, he honestly and truly regretted coming here. He never thought about Ron anymore. He had moved on, had taken the shattered pieces of his life that Ron and left him, and put them jaggedly back together the only way he knew how. But seeing Ron tonight brought all the memories and lies and deceit crashing back down on him, and he knew tomorrow he'd have to start rebuilding again.

It had taken him months to learn how to stop himself from crying when he went to bed and realized there was no one there that night and there wouldn't be anyone there when he woke up in the morning. He learned, though, and despite all the tears he shed those first few months, he couldn't remember the last time he cried over Ron. He had to fight with himself not to scream when he'd come home to a still and silent house, day after day and night after night. This took awhile, too, but at last, when he could feel the scream coming up in his throat, could feel his lungs expanding, he started listening to that voice in his head telling him that it wouldn't do any good, it wouldn't change anything. So after all of that, Harry became a real person again, and did things that regular people did, like going to work and shopping for groceries and paying bills. After all of that...and it was ruined in just a few hours.

If he could've reached the Weasley's fireplace without having to walk back through, past all those inquiring faces, he would've gone back home. He would've gone back to his home, where there was nothing to remind him of Ron, and where he could sleep from now until this horrible holiday was over with.

He could sleep, and time would pass without him knowing, and things would happen without his knowledge, and when he woke up again, he could hope that enough time had passed and his life had rebuilt itself and he could be a regular person again. His only fear was sleeping for too long, and allowing his subconscious to replay tonight's events over and over until an impression of Ron, faint and shallow, had be laid there, and he would wake up thinking this last year hadn't happened and that Ron would still be there. Only when he woke up, Ron wouldn't be there and the rebuilding would start all over. Anger was Harry's only security. He felt safe there, and compacted, and it held all those little pieces of his life together. So whenever he felt sadness or hurt trying to invade the foundation he had so carefully laid, he sought for the anger, and it was like putting cement over a crack.

Harry was jarred from his thoughts when he heard the back door creak open faintly. He jumped slightly, but didn't turn his head. He knew by the footsteps and the aura that filled the porch that it was Ron. Harry crossed his arms over his chest tightly and braced himself.

"Harry..." Ron said uncertainly, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"What do you want?" Harry asked blandly. His eyes found a spot far out in the mass of dark, snow-clouded sky and locked there. He wasn't going to look at Ron.

"I...I thought you might want a jacket or something," Ron said quietly, barely louder than the first time.

"I don't want anything that you're offering," Harry answered in an impassive monotone.

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. He knew that Harry was mad, and he knew he had every right to be. But he didn't know he'd be this distant. It had been over a year after all, and even if he and Harry couldn't be like they used to be, Ron had hoped that they could at least be civil. He thought if he could get Harry by himself and talk to him, Harry might understand. Or at least began to. Ron tried again.

"Harry, could we talk?"

Harry didn't say anything for a second. He took a deep breath and reached down to gather some form of strength before he answered. He kept his eyes focused on that spot in the sky.

"I don't have anything to say to you," he said softly, though Ron couldn't mistake the poorly contained anger.

"But if you would just--," Ron tried to blurt it out as fast as he could, but Harry was too quick for him.

"I said I don't have anything to say to you!" he screamed at Ron. His outburst had caught him off guard, and he forgot that he'd been trying not to look at Ron. His eyes stared fixedly into Ron's face.

"But if you understood--,"

"If I understood what? What, Ron? If I understood why you felt the need to bring someone in to our house and shag him senseless on our sofa?" Harry's voice was shaking. All the hurt that he had lived with all this time was fighting its way out.

"It wasn't like that."

"What was it like then? Why don't you tell me, because I have no idea!"

"I was lonely and you..." Ron began.

"I wasn't enough for you, huh? All that time together, and I wasn't enough?"

"No! You were more than enough," Ron answered eagerly.

There was a silence.

"What was his name?" It came out before Harry could stop it.

"What?" Ron asked him, not understanding at first.

"What. Was. His. Name?" Harry accentuated each word. He didn't know why he was asking again. He really didn't want to know the guy's name. He knew the name would run like a marquee over and over again in his mind. But he had to know. He had to know what was so special about him that made Ron chose him over Harry.

Ron's face went white, and Harry braced himself for a word that he knew would shatter the air like a gunshot.

"I don't know," Ron said, barely audible. His eyes stared unfocused on a large snow bank that had blown against the porch.

"You don't know?! You don't know his name?!" Harry was screaming so loudly he thought his voice might cut out. He couldn't believe Ron would stoop so low. It only made the deception that much worse. "I thought you were a fool, but now you're just pathetic," he spat.

Ron was doing now what Harry had been doing earlier. He kept his eyes locked on the mound of snow, not wanting to see the look on Harry's face. He didn't want Harry to see his eyes, either; to see that everything Harry was saying was nothing he hadn't said to himself a hundred times. Harry was throwing enough painful memories at him, and he didn't want to give him any more ammunition. He was afraid to say anything else, so he stayed silent until Harry asked him another question.

"Where did you meet him?"

Again, it was information that Harry really didn't want, but he needed to throw it all back in Ron's face and make him hurt the way Harry had been hurt.

"At the library," Ron murmured quietly.

Harry let out a sardonic laugh. "At the library? And all this time I thought it was some place steamy and romantic. Did he sweep you off your feet and make your stomach flutter?" he mocked.

"I told you, it wasn't like that," Ron said, prying his eyes away from the pile of snow and looking sincerely into Harry's.

"Yeah, but you still haven't told me what it was like," Harry snapped back.

Ron took a step towards Harry, as if trying to find something in him to reach out to.

"Don't you dare come near me!" Harry yelled. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, and his whole body was stiff with fury. "Why don't you just go back inside?" He gestured wildly towards the house. "I don't want you out here!"

Ron was shocked by the conviction in Harry's voice. He stood there staring, but only for a moment. The look in Harry's eyes and the expression on his face was too much. Ron turned slowly and walked brokenly back into the house.

Harry sat down on the steps dejectedly, and put his face in his hands. He was exhausted. That fight had taken more out of him than he had been prepared for. He sat there until he felt the cold stinging his bare arms, and seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He rose with a grunt, and stomped his feet on the porch to knock the snow loose from his shoes and to rid his feet of the numbness that had set in.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Remus were standing in the kitchen, and it seemed that everyone else had gone to bed. The talking stopped abruptly when Harry entered. They had heard his and Ron's fight no doubt.

"Are you alright, Harry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Harry said thickly. "I think I'll go to bed, though."

"Uh, Harry," Mr. Weasley faltered, "we had to put you in Ron's room. There wasn't any other place. Ron is sleeping in Percy's room," he finished quickly when he saw the dismay in Harry's face.

Harry shrugged. It didn't really matter anymore, he thought. This night couldn't possibly get any worse.

He went upstairs and reluctantly entered Ron's room. He was still fuming over Ron's poor attempt at an explanation, but being back in this room hit him like a blow to the face, and it took him a moment to shake it off.

He and Ron and first admitted their feelings to each other in this very room. It was during the summer of their fifth year, when he and Ron had been laying, cramped, in Ron's small bed. Harry had been sweating and couldn't sleep for Ron laying so close to him. Maybe it was the late time of night, maybe it was the darkness in the room. Harry couldn't tell. But he had known that Ron was still awake and as restless as he was, and when he leaned over to place his lips cautiously on Ron's, Ron returned the kiss. That had been the beginning of it all.

He knocked his fist against his forehead, trying to bring himself back to reality. That was years ago, he told himself. Too much had happened since then. He lay there in Ron's room, in Ron's bed, tossing and turning. He could smell Ron's scent on every inch of the covers, and although he hadn't smelled it for so long, it was still achingly familiar. He couldn't help but think how many times he and Ron had consummated their relationship in this bed. And on the frayed rug next to it on the floor. And against the wall over by the closet. Harry could almost smell that, too, and almost feel Ron's eager hands. The memories began piling up behind his eyes, one thudding down after the other. He put his hands up to his head, as if that would stop it.

After almost an hour, he gave up sleep and traipsed carefully down the rickety staircase and into the dark kitchen. He walked in and poured himself a glass of milk. He slumped down in the nearest chair. It was slightly colder in the kitchen than it had been upstairs, and Harry shivered. This visit wasn't going at all the way he hoped it would. In all honesty, it was a lot harder than he thought it'd be. He felt sure he had been over Ron after all this time. He had dated some, though no one seriously, but he felt like he was finally putting his love life back together.

He gulped down the last of his milk and passed the living room, headed back upstairs, when his breath caught in his throat.

In the living room, illuminated by the glow of the Christmas tree, was Remus. He was half covered in shadow, but Harry could discern his outline enough to tell that he was kneeling on the floor, his head in his hands. He was almost silent, except for the few sobs that escaped him, but Harry could tell by the spasms of his upper body that he was crying. Harry thought this was something he shouldn't be watching, and felt almost guilty, but he was frozen on the spot. Remus was gripping his hair tightly in his hands. The soft light from the tree caught on some of the many gray hairs, turning them bright white. He looked like he was battling with something internal, something that he didn't want to escape, but something that was fighting determinedly nonetheless. Harry knew Remus had a hard time with Sirius' death. Harry, too, had had an awful time coming to the realization that Sirius was gone. He wondered why he hadn't talked to Remus about it. If anyone could sympathize with his loss, it was Remus. He had recognized Remus's withdrawal, but he didn't know it had gone this far.

Harry shook himself from his reverie and turned to go back upstairs. His foot hit on a floorboard, and it made a loud creaking sound. Remus jerked his head up. Harry could see the silent tears flowing down his face, glistening in the subtle light. They both stared at each other before Harry decided he'd better say something.

"I-I'm sorry," Harry stammered. "I was just going back up to bed."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Harry," Remus told him quietly.

"I didn't mean to...intrude on anything," Harry said apologetically.

"You weren't. Sometimes," he sighed, "sometimes, my feelings get the better of me."

Harry stood in the doorway nervously, toeing the floor.

"I miss him, too," he whispered, as much to himself as to Remus.

After a moment, Remus rose stiffly.

"Come here, Harry," he sniffed, sitting down on the couch and patting the cushion next to him. Harry walked over uncertainly, and Remus took his hand as he sat down. They sat there for a long time, Harry too afraid to speak, and Remus lost in some recollection that happened long, long ago. At last Remus spoke.

"It's empty without him."

"I know. Sometimes I wake up and forget for a second that he's gone."

Remus almost laughed. "I never forget. There isn't a second of the day or night that I don't know he's not here." He sniffed again, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "He was taken away from me once, you know. I thought he couldn't be taken away again. It wouldn't be right. But..." he trailed off.

"I thought I'd be able to live with him. Leave the Dursleys forever," Harry said sadly.

"We would've had a good time, the three of us. He always hated that he couldn't take you. He blamed himself."

"But none of it was his fault," Harry said.

"I know that. But he felt responsible for you after what happened to Lily and James. Your parents put him in charge of you if anything happened to them, and when he couldn't help you, he decided it was his fault."

"But it all worked out, didn't it? I survived the Dursleys, and once we graduated, Ron and I moved in together."

"Whatever happened between you two?" Remus asked, turning to look at Harry for the first time.

Harry shook his head. He didn't feel like explaining.

"It's a long story," he said at last.

"Don't make a mistake, Harry," Remus warned. "Sirius and I had a misunderstanding that almost cost us our whole relationship." Remus's hand went limp in Harry's.

Harry thought for a moment.

But he and Ron hadn't had a misunderstanding. There was no mistaking what Ron had done. Harry had seen it with his own eyes.

"I think I'll go upstairs," Remus said suddenly. "Molly arranged for me to have a room to myself. She must've known I'd need it. Just think on it, Harry. There's no need in both of us being miserable."

Harry sat there, blinking at the flickering lights on the Christmas tree. There were so many thoughts racing through his mind, he couldn't chase them all down. He felt something give, though, something that had been a part of him for so long, he hadn't realized it was even there until it started crumbling.

Taking a deep breath, he picked himself up off the couch and went upstairs to Percy's room.