Book of Memories

Chapter 16: A BAD CHRISTMAS

All of that was no help to Harry's mood, which had slowly worsened. He had truly thought of living as an outcast wizard as he had once before thought he might have to do, as scary a prospect as it might have sounded -- and for that matter, it still did.

Harry had, in a rage of fury, made his Aunt Marge -- who wasn't even an aunt to him, she just forced him to call her that -- blow up like a balloon when she did the unthinkable. Harry could clearly recall the scene vividly, as he could recall anything involving that wretched woman.

"This Potter, Aunt Marge had said loudly, seizing the brandy bottle that was in front of her and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, "you never told me what he did?"

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked extremely tense. Dudley even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents. They knew very well that this was a very sensitive subject to Harry but they were going to mess it up anyway...

"He -- didn't work," Uncle Vernon said, with half a glance at Harry. "Unemployed." Uncle Vernon never looked more strained.

"As I expected!" Aunt Marge said, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who --"

"He was not," Harry had said suddenly. The table went very quiet at that comment. Harry had been shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life. It was just not something Aunt Marge, after all Harry had been through, should have been allowed to say.

"MORE BRANDY!" Uncle Vernon yelled, who had gone very white, in an attempt to quickly change the subject. He then emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge's glass, trying to make her forget. "You, boy," he snarled at Harry. "Go to bed, go on --"

"No, Vernon," hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry's. "Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect) --"

"They didn't die in a car crash!" Harry said, who had found himself on his feet.

"They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you to be a burden on their decent, hardworking relatives!" Aunt Marge screamed, swelling with fury. "You are an insolent, ungrateful little --"

But at that point, Aunt Marge had suddenly stopped speaking. For a moment, it looked as though words had failed her. It appeared at first that she was swelling with inexpressible anger -- but the swelling didn't stop. It was then that everybody who was looking at her realized what was happening. Harry, overcome with fury, had caused her to magically enlarge. She rose out of her chair, her arms becoming stubby and sticking out weirdly. Uncle Vernon tried to subdue Harry but Harry ran up to his room, pulled out his wand from his trunk and insisted she deserved it -- and truth be told, she did.

Harry had then gathered his things, stuffed them in his trunk and set out into the dark outside, leaving two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Department to handle the incident. He thought there was nowhere to go. He had thought Hogwarts would never take him back -- just the previous year had he been sent an official warning because Dobby, the house elf, had used magic to make Aunt Petunia's pudding masterpiece paint the walls of the Dursley kitchen as it crashed to the floor.

This assumption was true, and had the Ministry of Magic not got word that Sirius Black, Harry's then-suspected murder of a godfather, was after Harry (which was also false), he would have most likely been exiled from the wizard world. Having heard many times about the wizard prison Azkaban, Harry considered for a seemingly long and lonely ride on the Knight Bus, to hide from the Ministry of Magic and live as an outcast.

To his almost relief, the Minister of Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge, cornered Harry in front of the Leaky Cauldron after his Knight Bus trip there to retrieve money from his Gringott's vault. It was then that Harry found out that he would, in fact, not be expelled but was left for a week wondering why had gotten off without punishment -- and then he overheard a conversation saying that Sirius was supposedly out to kill him.

Harry was jolted to his senses from his thoughts one fine, wonderful, glorious, sunny... bright... -- gloomy, upsetting, dark and decaying Sunday afternoon by someone slapping him in the face.

"Wake up, Harry," said Ron. "Hogsmeade!"

"I don' wanna go to Hogsmeade," said Harry thickly, his face planted firmly in his pillows.

"Well get up anyway. It's after breakfast."

"I don' wanna get up anyway," said Harry, turning over so he didn't have to look at Ron's happy face.

"No use!" Ron shouted towards the exit. Harry heard a faint voice, which sounded like Hermione's, saying, "Fine," irritably. He was starting to get used to hearing irritated voices. To hear someone else sound like that began to make him feel happier: more people that could share in his depression. Hermione's footsteps came closer and closer until --

"Harry, get your lazy ass out of bed! You're not going to feel any better laying in bed!" she said, her eyes popping with anger. "Get out! Be happy!"

"I suppose I was happy with my parents," said Harry softly, turning over so he didn't have to face Hermione, "but I don't remember that." Harry wrenched the curtains on his four-poster closed, blocking out the faces of two people that just wouldn't shut up.

Hermione tutted her loudest yet and by the sound of stumbling footsteps, she had grabbed Ron by the arm. Harry turned over and pulled the curtains back just enough to watch them leave. When they were out of sight, he closed the curtains again and stared up at nothing. Perhaps he should have gone? Anything is better than being constantly reminded why you have been blowing off all the people that have been trying to help you.

Even Quidditch had lost it's fun. While Gryffindor was still on track to win the Quidditch Cup for the third year in a row, Harry's performance degraded with each successive game.

"NO!" bellowed Ron, putting his foot down at the very thought. "Harry, you are NOT quitting!"

It wasn't helping Harry's decision at all that snow was pelting him in the face.

"Okay," said Harry brightly. "I won't quit."

He knew this would confuse Ron and by the look on his face, it did. There was a moment of silence before... on the inside --

"I wish Quidditch kept me distracted but for some reason, an annoying image of something white floating a few inches above Sirius' dead body keeps popping into my head. I'd like to see you concentrate with that," he coldly added, turning on his heel, dropping the Golden Snitch and heading back to the castle.

After all, he needed to go to Divination and hear Professor Trelawney's latest prediction on his death. As he climbed the ladder up to the steamy, perfumed classroom, Professor Trelawney looked upon him, her stupid glasses enlarging her already putrid nose well beyond normal proportions.

"If you're going to tell me that I'm going to die," said Harry furiously, his temper getting the best of him, "at least be right this time. I'm getting sick of waiting."

The horizon never looked darker and the Order of Merlin plaque no longer provided any relief.

"Maybe if you hold it tighter?" Hermione suggested over lunch.

"Nope," said Harry, holding it so tight he felt it cutting into his fingers. "Better order thirty two of them, one for each hand and year."

"It's been fifteen years, Harry," said Hermione curtly. "You'd only need thirty."

"No, sixteen," said Harry defiantly. "I've decided that I didn't like the first year, either."

It took a moment for Hermione to understand that what Harry meant was that now he decided he didn't like the first year of his life. As usual, Hermione reacted by tutting loudly and going back to what she was doing. In this case, that meant eating. Harry looked up to see what the sky was doing. Maybe if he got it off his mind for a minute, he could possibly forget about it all together? No, he concluded. Although the snow piling on top of the ceiling of the Great Hall looked pretty enough, there was just no comparing it to... other stuff.

Christmas neared. Decorations in the castle were starting to sprout up, mistletoe being placed in strategic spots around the castle. Harry tried for dear life this year to avoid being caught under any with any girls. This was a requirement, as Cho had finally made a grand appearance but she totally ignored Harry at all costs, deciding instead to hide behind a group of Ravenclaw girls, giggling as they swept passed.

"Best not to keep things bottled up," Madam Rosmerta had said, and Harry certainly wasn't denying anyone of the fact at how miserable he felt. Harry thought to conveniently forget the words in between and instead concentrate on "If she really loves you, she'll come back." Why did Madam Rosmerta have to use the 'L' word? There wasn't any truth to what she said, Harry told himself. Sure, he got some strange feelings in his stomach those few weeks with Cho, coupled with a swelling happiness, but it wasn't... that... was it?

Harry had to admit, despite his mood, the humongous snow-covered Christmas trees in the Great Hall, bedecked with everything from hollies to hooting owls and... pictures of famous wizards and witches of the age, were a sight to behold. Ron pointed out Harry's own picture to him, guessing what he would do... and Harry quickly pulled it off and pocketed it, to later throw in a fire. The only problem with this was that, when they had left the Great Hall that breakfast and returned for lunch, there was another picture of Harry. Either Professor Trelawney predicted Harry would do such a thing... or it was just painfully obvious. He suspected the latter as Professor Trelawney couldn't even predict his death properly, as she had been doing incorrectly for three years now.

And true to her word, Mrs. Weasley had sent the family owl, Errol, with a letter to both Ron and Harry.

Ron and Harry,

Hope you're having a great time. Just wanted to remind Harry that we'd be glad to have him stay with us for Christmas vacation. Professor Dumbledore said it would be perfectly fine and if anything Ginny tells us is true, you're coming, Harry or we're going to drag you here ourselves.

Have a lovely day,

Mrs. Weasley

Harry always knew Mrs. Weasley to be a kind and gentle lady but when she wanted to be forceful, there was no one more mean except perhaps Professor Snape. He supposed it would be a good idea to spend one Christmas among friends and pseudo family and so when the time came to sign his name on the list of students staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, Professor McGonagall had asked twice whether Harry had forgotten to sign. And, for the first time in months, he giggled when she walked off the second time. Hermione caught the sound of it and giggled back but Harry quickly kept the rest of his giggling to himself, not wanting Hermione to think he resigned from thinking about Sirius -- among other things -- and putting on a face to match.

For the first time ever, Harry (and Ron, too, for that matter), boarded the Hogwarts Express to go home -- or at least the place Harry would like to be able to call home. The train ride was uneventful. Many, many students were surprised to see Harry on the train as most everyone in the school knew he spent each Christmas at Hogwarts. After finally hearing the last of the "You're going back to the Dursleys'?" to which he would reply "Whatever potions you've been making and drinking, please, by all means, let me have some," and being forced by Hermione to not sleep the entire time, Harry succumbed to talking -- talking about one of his least favorite subjects: going home to see your relatives.

It had the strange effect on Harry, hearing about Hermione's aunts, uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers (all of whom were still alive) and how they would be staying at her parents' house, of sparking a little bit of holiday cheer into him. He recalled, however vaguely, his first encounters with the Mirror of Erised. Perhaps it was the effect Hermione wanted; Ron saw it too. Harry went on and on about the people in the mirror with green eyes like his, noses like his and the old man with his knobbly knees. Hermione shed a tear when Harry said, in detail, how he reached a hand behind him while looking in the mirror towards the woman he knew to be his mom and, as they already knew, only felt air.

Harry silently slipped back into gloom, though not as bad as before, as he realized how horrible it was to only know what his relatives looked like because he happened to find a mirror that showed what the on-looker's heart wanted most. He sat silently, ignoring the words coming out of Hermione's mouth ("Look at me, Harry. Okay, look at my finger. No... just great, fine, keep staring at that finger then, I don't mind" -- and she made it more visible -- "Honestly..."), recalling the nightmares of his parents disappearing in a flash of green light while a voice cackled with laughter.

Mrs. Weasley's first reaction to Harry was to wrap him in a great two-armmed hug shouting, "Harry!" She oddly neglected her own two children returning for Christmas which made it obvious she was going to try her very best to cheer Harry up. He wouldn't object; it was something.

They had dinner, talked for a bit about the previous term, Harry making sure to give plenty of details on the detestful Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons ("THEY'RE ACTUALLY DOING THAT?" bellowed Mr. Weasley; "THE NERVE!" shouted Mrs. Weasley) and turned in for the night.

Harry had an excellent dream. He was standing in his parents' house in Godric's Hollow and both of them fell out of the tip of his wand, which, when he looked down at it, looked nothing like a wand at all. It was long and golden, several feet in length. He couldn't say exactly how long, but it was longer than he was tall. At the top, there was the mouth of a skunk holding a pure white crystal and attached to the mouth, there was the body of a squirrel making up the handle of what was, unmistakably, a staff. At the end, the squirrel's tail finished it.

Lily and James Potter fell out as shadows, just as they had done during a Priori Incantatem two years ago when Harry's wand was forced to duel against Voldemort's wand. They said hello and hugged him. His mom said she would wash Harry' socks and then she went into the kitchen with her husband to make breakfast. Harry sat on a couch and turned on the television to hear that a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle had been mysteriously killed. The news cast said, aside from the fact that he was dead, he appeared to be in perfect health.

"There was no sign of strangling," said the newscaster, "no poison found in his blood, no evidence of broken bones, internal bleeding, bullet holes or anything, for that matter, except, as shown here, a look of horror on his face."

The Harry in the dream stared, swelling with joy, into the terrified, dead face of Lord Voldemort for a long time before waking up all on his own to find his living counterpart to be smiling as well. His dream had shown him what he wished he could have at the moment but a throbbing pain in his temple, which for a terrifying second he had confused for a pain in his scar, prevented him from pursuing the thought. He was tired, tired of wanting... but not getting... tired of hoping but never seeing. And then another thought came to him. Hadn't his dreams usually predicted what was going to happen, if not what was happening at that very moment?

Yes, Harry thought, they had but he was not going to get a staff for as long as he lived (or at least until he was eighteen). Furthermore, his parents certainly weren't going to just drop out of it and go make breakfast. The very idea made the feeling of half joy, half terrible sadness that Harry had experienced when first seeing the Mirror of Erised slowly creep back to him -- and it was just as unpleasant as last time.

Taking a quick peek at the window showed him the night sky which meant that he should go back to sleep. Rain battered the windows like a thousand Blast-Ended Skrewts firing all at once while thunder pierced his ears. Harry wondered how he could have ever managed to sleep through all of it. The worst part of it was that all the snow would become slush, leaving no snowballs to throw at anyone. Within a few minutes though, Harry's snores echoed along with Ron's.

In the morning, he explained the dream to Ron, who didn't know what to make of it.

"Really, Harry, they're not going to just... fall out of a staff," said Ron.

But Harry had failed to mention that the staff he saw was the one Mr. Ollivander had described. Then he came to the conclusion that he only saw it because it looked like the most powerful magical item he had ever seen and that it would certainly be able to bring back the dead. But, after all was said and done, it was pointless, really.

By midday, Ron had apparently taken it upon himself to spread Harry's dream to each member of the Weasley family. Harry had mixed feelings. It was nice that, knowing he would never be able to bring himself to tell that dream to anyone, Ron made Harry stick to his word to Sirius. Harry was also furious at the idea that Ron had actually told anyone such a thing. No doubt Hermione would be catching word of it soon enough.

"You're welcome to stay with us any time, dear," said Mrs. Weasley while at the same time, offering him another glass of orange juice.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking it, but the thanks wasn't for the offer to stay with them, it was for the orange juice.

His spirits continued on a steady rise, being surrounded by people that, where a heart ache in the pit of his stomach (recently replaced by a slowly growing happiness) reminded him, were more than just friends. At first, Harry liked it when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said "good morning" and asked "how are you?" When Harry replied "okay," they only wanted to make sure that he really was okay but it started to get monotonous. It seemed they had all forgotten about Harry's dream, or did they just make a note not to mention it? Or was that Hermione's idea?

On Christmas day, Harry awoke to a mound of presents at the foot of his bed. Ron had already gone down to breakfast so, Harry guessed, he could open his presents in peace.

The first parcel he snatched was small, about the size of his hand. He ripped the paper off it and opened it. Inside was a card -- from Hermione -- and a new sneakoscope! She must have felt bad for not being able to fix the one that Ron had given Harry some years ago as a birthday present. It wasn't her fault, though. Harry was the one who broke it.

The Dursleys were the only ones who would send a Christmas present covered in plain white paper. Harry opened it and inside it, not surprisingly, was a card with a single five pound bill inside it. It was an improvement in many ways and he didn't expect to get anything from them worth more than that without Sirius.

A third parcel, thin and long, was easily predictable. Harry opened it to find another Weasley sweater: dark red with a golden letter H embroidered in the center. But something caught his eye on the weaving of the letter.

Harry took a closer look and saw that the Hogwarts coat of arms was knitted at all four corners of the letter complete with the snake, the eagle, the badger and the lion. Mrs. Weasley must have had some help with that.

One present was fairly large. It was covered in gold and scarlet paper with a silver ribbon on top of it. Harry pulled it off and clawed the paper open. What was inside made him not believe his eyes.

It was a Pensieve. He picked it up and looked all over it. It was much newer than Dumbledore's. The strange runes on the sides were much more visible... even though Harry still didn't know what they said. The stone making it up was much cleaner and smoother to the touch. Aside from the Pensive itself, the only other thing inside was a note.

You might find a use for this very soon.

To use it, think of what you want to

remove and put your wand to your

forehead, just under your bangs.

Twirl your wand to collect the

thought while concentrating on

extracting it from your forehead.

If you happen to find yourself

inside your Pensieve, I'm sure

you'll find out how to get out on

your own.

You may not get it for a few weeks,

as it took me a few hours of trying

to get it at first.

Happy Christmas

There was no name but only Professor Dumbledore would have sent it. Five years ago he anonymously sent Harry his dad's Invisibility Cloak so who's to say he wouldn't send a Pensieve as well? Currently, Harry had no use for it. He wanted his bad thoughts to stay right where they were so he could be reminded that he was responsible for his current situation...

The last was smaller than any of the others. Harry's heart sank. Who would send him something barely half an inch high and about three wide? He cast it aside, having had enough of small presents, throwing it on top of his bed. Maybe he would open it before he went to bed that night. Yes, that's what he would do. All that would be inside would be a letter from the Dursleys telling him to stay at the Weasley's for Easter as well. Perhaps a note asking for the money they sent in the other box back. They usually sent bigger boxes, but as they spent a good few hundred pounds on Harry last year, they needed to make up for the loss.

Harry looked all over his presents and realized that Hagrid had not sent him something. Hagrid would not be the one to have put something in that small package, he never sent anything smaller than what would be able to hold food or a biting book. No big deal, really... Harry had next to ignored Hagrid for the most part this year. Probably Hagrid's way of reminding Harry of the fact.

Down at breakfast --

"Harry, did you open all your presents?" asked Mrs. Weasley pleasantly.

"All but one," said Harry, sticking two pieces of toast in the toaster. He pushed the handle down and was very surprised when it popped up not a second later, browned just the way he liked it. "Professor Dumbledore sent me a Pensieve."

"A Pensieve?" said Mr. Weasley incredulously. "He thinks you can manage to use it?"

"What's so hard?" said Harry, shrugging. "He told me to just concentrate on removing a thought with my wand to my forehead."

"Harry, I have trouble using one," said Mr. Weasley matter-of-factly. "And only wizards who have had a lot of practice with them don't need to bother using a spell to get the thought onto your wand."

"Dumbledore doesn't use a spell," said Harry without thinking. Mr. Weasley stared at him and instantly, Harry realized what he just said was dumb. Dumbledore, of course, is the greatest wizard of their time.

"Someone sent me an anonymous letter telling me to make sure you opened all your presents," said Ron, looking sideways at Harry.

"Really?" said Harry sarcastically. "Want me to make sure I got both miserable presents from the Dursleys, do they?"

Harry watched as Mrs. Weasley flinched. She always kept to making bad remarks about them to herself but she always made a face at one of their names.

"Both?" asked Ron.

"Yeah. They sent me some Muggle money -- very little of it, mind you -- and another small box which I didn't open. It's just a letter telling me to stay here for Easter, too or asking for the money back. Oh and Hagrid didn't send me anything," Harry added, taking a seat between Ron and Fred, ignoring strange looks from Ginny.

"We did sort of ignore him..." said Ron darkly.

"Must be his way of reminding me," said Harry.

"Now, now," said Mrs. Weasley pleasantly, "don't go blaming yourself. He probably just forgot, with what Pettigrew lurking about the castle and all. I tell you, I still don't see why Professor Dumbledore lets him stay," she added, getting up and handing Harry the butter, which he had forgotten (he was eating his toast plain). "You're becoming more forgetful every day, dear."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Why don't you three take Ginny and go do something? You're going to rot if you sit inside another day," said Mrs. Weasley.

That night, Harry tossed the small package from the Dursleys into the trash.

Ron convinced Harry to play games of Quidditch with Fred, George, Ginny and Hermione in the Weasley paddock. Without realizing it, the six of them stayed for several hours the first day, throwing a Quaffle around and a Snitch that, at first sight, resembled Fire Quidditch's Spiked Snitch. Upon catching it, however, it squirted you in the face with fake blood (the blades were made of rubber).

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley agreed it was very "distasteful" but Harry found it amusing. Fred refused to accept the twelve sickles that Harry insisted on paying. George then shoved a wand in Harry's face (which unbeknownst to Harry was a trick wand) that turned into a full-size basilisk before disappearing in a flash of white light. Seizing Harry's confusion ("GEORGE!" Harry bellowed furiously), Fred stuffed the Snitch into Harry's pocket. Harry scowled... but was later laughing himself hoarse.

The skies dropped more snow that night, providing plenty of white stuff for the snowball fight. Fred and George had the idea. Harry and Ron had been doing their own planning for days since the twins mentioned it. But it wasn't just a fight. It was a war.

Hermione and Ginny refused to participate after Hermione walked in on Harry and Ron going over strategies (where to hit, how hard to throw, arcing the ball...). Ginny originally wanted to be on Harry's team.

And then the day came. It was on the last day of Christmas vacation.

In preparation for becoming colder than they ever thought possible, Harry and Ron packed on extra layers of clothing while Fred and George most likely did the same in another room (the four were preparing in secrecy). Harry and Ron put on two pairs of pants each (both of them did find it difficult to put jeans on over another pair of jeans), three thick, woolen shirts, dragon hide gloves and the thickest pair of socks they could find. Ron wore his dad's dragon hide boots and Harry wore his own dragon hide boots. Giving Ron his dad's Warmth Cloak (Ron assured Harry that it could only hold out so much before starting to fail, and Fred agreed to it -- "We're going to win anyway, you know"), he nodded to Ron, who nodded back, and the pair of them exited Ron's room. Harry also agreed to let Ginny wear the Invisibility Cloak so that George wouldn't "accidentally" mistake her for the enemy.

And then the time came, just before dinner.

"Ready, Fred?" Harry called.

He and Ron were in the Weasley paddock once again, Bill and Charlie separating them, by several feet, from Fred and George, all of whom were staring at the biggest pile of snow nearest to themselves. Ginny was standing, invisible, next to Harry. Hermione was on the sidelines.

"Ready!" George shouted back.

Harry stared at a particularly large lump of snow at his foot, rocking his fingers back and forth in anticipation to grab it and chuck it at Fred's nose for saying he was going to win. Harry had made sure to lace up his boots tightly as he had had too much experience with snow soaking his socks, making them even more unbearable. It was still snowing lightly, assurance that the snow wouldn't melt any time soon. Currently, he was feeling warm, covered under several layers of clothing. Ron was sure to be toasty for a long period of time. How would Fred and George ever make Ron want to stop?

"You don't reckon they have some tricks up their sleeves, do you?" Ron whispered to Harry.

"Just remember what we went over, okay?" Harry whispered back. Ron gave him a quick nod.

Bill and Charlie stepped off the battlefield. Bill put a hand out, hand closed in a fist and shouted, "One the count of three! One..." -- he put up finger -- "two..." -- and another finger -- "THREE!" -- putting the last finger out then dashed quickly behind Hermione.

Within seconds, the air was consumed by snowballs flying every which way. Ron threw several at his twin brothers, missing many times. Harry, in a desperate attempt to not freeze (Ron was not enjoying himself, snow lined the necks of his sweaters) skillfully dodged several snowballs from Fred and George. It was the ones thrown from Harry that made the biggest splash, literally.

"Ouch, Harry!" shouted George, rubbing between his eyes. Harry grinned.

George tried several times to get Harry back for the snowball between the eyes but failed. While Harry and Ron were throwing at Fred and George randomly, it took a few minutes for Harry to realize that --

"Ron, they're aiming mostly for you," Harry whispered in Ron's ear.

"Can't you see the big splotch of water down my front?" he whispered back. "And this cloak is no longer helping. My fingers are becoming numb."

Ron was slowing down as he became colder and colder. His lips turned blue, as did Harry's, Fred's and George's but they all fought tooth and nail. Ron took several snowballs at once to his chest and stomach and a well placed one that landed square on his nose made him step aside and leave Harry to his dirty work.

"Might as well give up, Harry!" Fred taunted.

"Not until my hand freezes and falls off," Harry said. He turned to Ron and said quietly, "Although that may happen sooner than I think. They're freezing."

Using both hands to dig up piles and toss them, it wasn't long before George stepped off. Now with blue fingertips and no feeling left in his right hand, Harry only had to make Fred give up. That was a very daunting task.

"Give it up!" Fred yelled.

Fred must have spotted the motherload of snow mounds because he turned around. Harry took the time to carefully aim a big, tightly packed snowball. He threw it as hard as possible and...

SPLAT!

Fred, bending down, supported by the balls of his feet, tumbled over, snow in his ear and sinking down into his shirts. Fred gave up at this, as his ear was no longer working properly since after ten minutes in. Ron and Harry cheered. Fred and George, having learned how to Disapparate in Harry, Ron and Ginny's absence, bought Harry and Ron a free dinner from the Leaky Cauldron.

"Must be great to be able to Disapparate," said Ron gloomily.

"Is ickle Ronnie-kins jealous?" said George.

"Shut up!" Ron shouted.

"Boys, boys," said Mrs. Weasley, casually striding in. "Ron, dear, you'll be Disapparating soon enough. Just one more year to go after this and you can apply for the test. You too, Harry," she added, noticing him. She walked back into the kitchen and returned with a platter holding four cups. "Now, all of you should take a cup of hot cocoa. I don't know what possessed you six -"

"Four," said Ginny.

"- to go have a snowball fight when it's still snowing!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, sound very distressed that they decided to have a snowball fight when they have to return to Hogwarts the next morning. "Drink up and eat. Fred, you're not going anywhere until you can hear me yelling in your ear. Ron, don't move until your nose is no longer blue and Harry," she added, trying to sound somewhat more pleasant, "I suggest you stay put until your hands thaw out." Such were the injuries of war and Harry and Ron stood (sat) victorious.

"Did you like that snowball between the eyes?" said Harry, grinning.

"Blimey, Harry. Where'd you learn to throw like that?" said George.

"And my ear is still stinging," Fred said, cupping it.

"Who knows," said Harry indifferently, shrugging. "I threw one of those 'POTTER STINKS' badges at Ron two years ago. Hit him on the forehead right where my scar would be."

"Hey, your father was a Chaser," said Ron without thinking. "He had to have a good arm!"

"Yeah," said Harry, suddenly having a mood change. Ron had said the magic word. "My dad..."

He watched as Hermione shot Ron a furious look. Harry pretended to not be trying to listen in as Hermione whispered to Ron, "You shouldn't have said that! You dunderhead!"

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley came back in to collect their cups.

"I'm going to bed," said Harry, standing up and brushing the last bit of snow out of his hair.

Fred, George and Ron looked at each other. It was only eight o'clock. When Harry was out of earshot, Mrs. Weasley exploded into a tirade, having heard what happened from none other than Hermione.

"DIDN'T YOUR FATHER AND I MAKE IT CLEAR THAT THERE WERE TWO MORE PEOPLE THAT WE NOT ONLY DIDN'T NAME BUT WE ALSO DIDN'T SPEAK OF?" she shouted furiously. It was so loud that Harry could swear he just opened a Howler. "HIS GODFATHER'S GOOD AS DEAD AND YOU GO REMINDING HIM OF WHAT WE TRIED SO HARD TO MAKE HIM PUT ASIDE FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE! Now I have to go say something to him. And I have absolutely no idea what!"

So that was what the snowball fight was all about. Mr. or Mrs. Weasley must have thought it up. Harry pondered that for a bit as he changed into pajamas, waiting for Mrs. Weasley, whose voice had now become too quiet to hear. Harry pulled out the only record he had of his parents from his trunk: a photo album. The pictures covering the walls of Ron's room of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were barely interesting right now, even as someone managed to throw the Quaffle between three Chasers from the other team... and score.

Pigwidgeon fluttering around in his cage didn't distract Harry either and Harry barely opened the front cover of the album when Mrs. Weasley's footsteps echoed up the hallway and the door creaked opened. She poked her head inside, looking very tense and still thinking, noticeable by the way her upper and lower lips were curled inward so you couldn't see them and the stare she gave Harry. Then she walked inside, her lips separating as she made her way towards Harry, who was sitting on his bed.

"I know you miss them," she said softly. "We all do. Very good people, your parents were. Did anyone ever tell you what they did for a living?"

An explosion took place in Harry's stomach and blurted out, "Weren't they Aurors?" before he could stop himself.

"That evil Michelle woman wasn't being entirely truthful," said Mrs. Weasley, her voice sprinkled with disgust. "I suppose I could tell you then."

Harry never listened harder.

"Lily was likely to become a Paladin, excelled greatly in the healing and restorative arts. She made Madam Pomfrey look like she didn't know what she was doing and best of all, Lily didn't shoo people out of the patients' rooms."

She stared dreamily up at the ceiling above Harry and continued unabated. "It's funny. You wondered how you could do several Charms so well. The Summoning Charm during the Triwizard Tournament and very notably, the Patronus Charm. Your mother had a natural flair for Charms and had a wand to match!

"James, on the other hand, took pride in his talent with transfiguration. Took him five years to become an Animagus but he was top of his class in Transfiguration. I don't recall his line of work as he took up professional Quidditch for a good part of his years after graduating Hogwarts.

"Do try to put them at ease, Harry. Bad moods are contagious, you know. If you're miserable any longer than I fear Professor Snape will became meaner! We always do miss the ones we love," she said in a manner that made it sound like she was saying it for herself too. Or was Harry just imagining that? "Keep them in your heart, Harry," said Mrs. Weasley, looking at Harry again. "Never forget... but accept what happened and let it make you stronger, not weaker."

Dumbledore must have been giving Mrs. Weasley lessons on how to make Harry feel slightly better but confused. Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a light hug, stood up, crossed the room and exited, closing the door behind her. Her "comforting" words didn't last long, not when he would never forget that Sirius died due to his, Harry's, own stupidity.

Stupid parents, Harry thought, opening up to the first photo, staring at them, holding Harry as a baby. If they just stayed alive, none of this would have happened. As if the loss of them wasn't bad enough, Sirius had to go and die as well and worse yet, due to Harry. "Tragic losses so young in life," the voice of someone said in the back of his head. Tragic losses throughout his life, Harry thought miserably...

Before he knew what his hands were doing, they had torn the photo album down the middle and ripped a page in two, separating his mom and dad. When he did realize what they were doing, he helped them finish their work. He didn't stop until not a page remained in one piece.

Harry didn't sleep well that night. Possibly it was because he tried to fall asleep at eight thirty or it could have been because he had several haunting dreams involving green lights and people dying. It became official: Harry felt just as bad, if not worse, than he had before he had come to the Weasley home. At least there was nothing involving Voldemort and a pain in his scar... but that made Harry think of another unpleasant thought: Wormtail and the Book of Memories and Dumbledore.