Under My Tree

A whirlwind of snow and ice swirled outside of a little gingerbread cottage. Frozen ground crunched under animals foraging for food and any fools attempting to walk on it, while ice covered the pathway to the front door. A closed door was holding out the storm that was threatening to tear the house to shreds, beating against wood, window and stone.

Inside a woman and child sat around a warm fire, keeping them cozy against the cold. Bundled in a charmed blanket, they watched the snow endlessly falling. Beside the mother lay a book, a photo album of herself and husband, the child's father. Russet-haired and blue-eyed, the child looked like a mirror image of his father, which was a fact that was currently causing the mother a moment of intense pain, a reminder of someone long since missing. Even the Order hadn't heard anything from him in nearly a month. She knew because she had sent post nearly every week, inquiring about his whereabouts.

Now in her lap, the child curled against heartbeat, lulling into a peaceful sleep. A sleep she hated to disturb, but as this was Christmas Eve, they needed to discuss something very important. If it were up to her, she would have Santa leave her husband under the measly tree they had set up on the kitchen table. Voldemort's surviving followers had forced the two into hiding while the child's father worked on gathering them. She hated being locked away in the hamlet, where everyone was secure and an impenetrable fortress.

"Wake up, my little prince." She nudged him with her shoulder. "Come on. Wake up, baby."

"Mummy?" At three, the child wanted nothing more than to sleep, and then see what Santa brought.

"I need to tell you something very, very important, all right?" A kiss on top of his head stopped the tears from spilling from her eyes.

"What is it?" He hadn't quite grasped why he was being woken up from a pleasant nap.

"Sometimes people leave, like mummies and daddies. They don't want to. But they can't help it. Sometimes it's work, family, or friends that make them leave. You know your daddy is an important person and if he could be here, he would. He loves you very much." This time she couldn't hold back a tear or little sob.

"Is Daddy not coming back? Ever? Like when Aunt Luna went away?" Blue eyes stared in brown ones, innocent and confused. She still missed her friend dearly and had been the cause of ending her job as an Auror and watching out for her son instead.

"I...I don't know, Tristen. I hope he does. We both need him so much, but sometimes daddies don't come back home." She held him close, while he started to sniffle.

Suddenly, a knock at the door made them both jump. Putting him under the blanket, she readied her wand. No one knew they were, except for the other families in the hamlet.

Her voice trembled as she called out, "Who's there?"

All she heard was "peasant grass." The password to the house, the only way to disarm all the wards and at the word, ones she felt disappear rather than witness.

As the door opened, she held her breath, hoping against all hope that it was her husband. It wasn't.

Somehow the door had opened without revealing anyone. That wasn't possible. Ginny knew that as Harry had set these wards up himself, along with Hermione and her brother. The trio had made sure her family was safe since she had left the Ministry. Perhaps it was a bit paranoid, and Merlin knew Harry had the right to be after Voldemort (even in death, he had power) had gone after everyone he had loved. Luna's death had been proof enough that the paranoia was warranted.

But who was in her house? "Show yourself, coward." Showing more bravery more than she felt, the wand blew an herb pot into smithereens.

Still nothing. All sorts of warnings rang inside her, willing her to pay attention. She knew this trick, but how? It wasn't Malfoy, as he was firmly placed in Azkaban, and the rest of his unit had been killed in a battle not long after. So where did she know this trickery from?

Now she was angry. No one bested her if any say could be had. Plus her child would be the mercy of some unknown enemy if she was beaten. "The next item will be your head!"

Perhaps the person believed her because the door closed and suddenly the falling of a cloak revealed a man. A little gaunt from the fighting, hair a little scraggly, robes tattered; she would still recognize the figure anywhere, especially the smile on his face.

"Colin!" As she leapt into his arms, the tears did fall, and Tristen ran out from under the covers.

"Daddy!" Into his father and mother's arms in a heartbeat, he squealed with delight.

"Ginny, Tristen. Harry allowed me to borrow his cloak. I felt like I was needed here, with you two." Still tired from the battlefield and making his way to the safe house, he nearly fell over from exhaustion. Ginny sensed it and led him to a chair, with her and their son piling on his lap. Kisses and hugs, and then they all three fell into a deep sleep, smiles on their faces.

When Ginny woke for a brief moment during the night and found Colin still there, she felt as if a Christmas miracle had been given to them. Snuggling closer and warming the fire, she drifted back to sleep, a content sleep that had eluded her for nearly fifteen years.