Bittersweet Symphony

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Minerva McGonagall's quill sailed across parchment after parchment, her square glasses hanging precariously on the very tip of her nose. Ron marvelled at how quickly she signed and sorted the documents. Stacks of neatly arranged parchments nearly filled the entire surface of her immense desk. He couldn't recall ever seeing Dumbledore's desk in such a state.

He'd arrived at the castle early, so he took advantage of the extra time to swing by the greenhouses. As he'd hoped, he'd found Neville hard at work in Greenhouse three, wrangling some especially feisty young mandrakes. Ron still found it hard to digest that Neville was actually a professor, but he couldn't deny that in his third year since taking over for Professor Sprout, Neville was clearly in his element. They chatted for several minutes, both promising to get together for a proper catch-up session before the onslaught of the holidays set in.

He hadn't run into anyone else on his way to McGonagall's office, but he'd heard Peeves' cackling laughter echoing to him from a distance; hopefully the ghost had been giving Filch a proper what for.

The Headmistress of Hogwarts sighed heavily, eying a recently signed document as if it were stained with troll drool. She rubbed at her temple, and Ron noted that she looked much the same as she had during his school years, save for more than a few prominent streaks of gray threading through her tightly pulled back hair.

“Apologies for being a bit behind, Ronald,” she said crisply, never ceasing her parchment shuffling. “Unfortunately, progressive education initiatives seem to most often entail progressively complicated paperwork.” She looked over the top of her glasses and smiled thinly.

“I'm sorry if I've added to your workload, Headmistress.”

“Please, call me Minerva, Ronald. Alumni need not be quite so formal.”

“Right. I'll work on that.”

He gazed around the familiar office, at the portraits of past Headmasters and Mistresses, most, like Dumbledore, dozing peacefully. Some were absent from their frames, while others remained attentive and watchful. McGonagall had retained a few of Dumbledore's odd little devices, which clacked and puffed away on their rickety little tables. She'd also added a fair amount of Quidditch memorabilia to the mix; Ron smiled at the autographed picture of McGonagall with Oliver Wood that occupied a prominent position on her desk.

McGonagall picked up the topmost of what looked to be her final sheaf of papers and tutted loudly. “Merlin's balls.”

Ron couldn't keep the smile from his face as McGonagall looked up from the parchment.

“If this paperwork won't be the death of me, all of these new professors will.”

“Oh?” Ron didn't know what else to say. He played along, as it was clear that McGonagall needed to vent a bit of frustration.

“A requisition for sixty-seven Flume's Perfect crystal balls, size nine, triple A quality. In addition, one hundred gross of MacFusty's Premium Incense, in patchouli, is also requested.”

“Is that out of order, then?” Ron hadn't the faintest idea of how long a crystal ball lasted. Did they wear out, and what appened to them if they did? He'd never given them much thought, even during Divination classes.

McGonagall shook her head as she dropped the parchment and pulled open a drawer. Ron's eyes went wide as she extracted a flask and proceeded to take a right healthy swallow of whatever was inside. She then closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and replaced the flask to its drawer. “Yes, well, that's much better.”

Ron pretended to cough so as to cover his sniggers.

“In answer to your question, Ronald, yes, this order is most unusual. The crystal balls used in the Divination classroom are original to Hogwarts, and as far as I know, in prime condition. While there has been much debate concerning the potency and effectiveness of older divination devices, I'm not at all certain that such theories warrant such an undertaking.” She shook her head once more, making some marks to the requisition. “I suppose I should expect as much with new instructors. Always full of ideas and schemes to prove their knowledge to the old guard.”

“Yeah, I'd imagine,” Ron said, still smiling.

“I shall speak to Professor Longbottom about her requisition. Hogwarts is not overrun with galleons, and even if each one of our crystal balls were in need of replacement, size seven will do quite nicely, I should think.” She made a few more notes before dropping the parchment and shoving the entire stack off to the side. “Pardon my rant. I've been most pleased with Professor Longbottom's performance in Sybil's stead, but her logic can be most impossible to decipher at times.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah, Luna always had a unique way of looking at things.”

“Indeed. Now, on to your business.” McGonagall opened another drawer and removed still more parchments. She re-inked her quill and set about signing each one.

Ron's proposition to McGonagall stemmed from something Harry had said on the night after Skeeter's article in the Prophet had been published. He'd expressed an interest in earning his N.E.W.T. Equivalent, and the more Ron thought about it, the more it seemed completely absurd to have a grown wizard, the Head of Aurors no less, take a test intended for young people who'd yet to prove their skills.

There was no doubt whatsoever that Harry was infinitely qualified for his Hogwarts completion certificate, while same would most likely be true of everyone else in their year that hadn't completed their N.E.W.T.s.

Surprisingly, McGonagall had agreed with the idea wholeheartedly. She'd contacted the head of the Department for the Administration of Educational Standards immediately, and only a few days after Ron had proposed his plan, McGonagall had informed him that all the paperwork was in process and would be ready to send out by the twenty-second. Ron had been floored again when his former Head of House had inquired if perhaps he'd like to pick up Harry's certificate in person, to ensure that it could be hand delivered in time for the holidays.

“I really appreciate all the time and effort you've put into this, erm, Minerva.”

“My pleasure, indeed, Ronald. A wonderful idea, and a very thoughtful gesture. I'm sure Harry, as well as the sixteen other alumni, will be quite pleased and surprised.”

“That's what I'm hoping.”

McGonagall paused to look up and smile again before returning to her papers. “How is Harry doing after that Skeeter business?”

“Um, he's fine,” Ron replied, hoping that he sounded sincere. “He's making the most of his time off. He's brilliant, just brilliant.”

McGonagall didn't respond but only peered over that top of her glasses at him for a long moment before returning to her parchments.

Ron shifted in the squishy armchair, finally settling back and gazing past the Headmistress to the spectacular winter's day unfolding beyond the huge expanse of leaded windows behind her. His mind wandered for some time until he heard a latch click and the door to the office creak on its hinges. Footsteps approached from behind, and Ron watched as the new arrival strode up to McGonagall's desk, clearly unaware that anyone else was in the office.

“Sorry to disturb you Minerva, but I have some requisition forms that require your immediate approval if I am to procure necessary supplies in time for Winter term.”

“Of course, Severus,” McGonagall replied, taking the proffered sheaf of parchments. “I shall sign them as soon as my business with Mr. Weasley is completed.”

Snape turned partway around, one eyebrow arched high. “Mr. Weasley. How pleasant to see you.”

“You can call me Ron, Professor Snape.”

“Indeed,” Snape answered coolly, folding his hands behind his back and turning to face Ron fully. “You are guardian of Theodore Lupin, are you not?”

“That's right.”

“Yes, well, you will need to purchase another copy of the text that I use in my class: Ivanoff's Primary Potions: Principles, Practices & Proper Protocols for the Beginning Pupil, twelfth edition. He has apparently misplaced his copy. In addition, his wand is broken and will also require replacement prior to the start of next term. There is very little a student can do in Defence Against the Dark Arts if they are lacking these vital instruments.”

Ron sat up and leaned forward. “I wasn't aware that he'd lost his text or broken his wand.” Most likely they were lost in the abyss that lay beneath Teddy's bed or in his closet.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Indeed.”

“Don't worry Professor, he'll have both when he returns to school after the hols.”

Snape nodded curtly. “Excellent. I have already dispatched an owl regarding this issue; I trust that will serve as a reminder, then.”

“Right.” Ron sighed heavily and McGonagall cleared her throat.

“It is a pleasure having Theodore in my advanced class. His wand skills are quite impressive for a pupil his age.”

“He's a bright kid.”

“Indeed.”

Ron stared back at Snape, who returned the gesture. The greasy git hadn't changed at all, save for that he now wore extremely high collars to conceal the scars left on his neck by Nagini. It had been a fair shock to them all when Snape had re-surfaced months after Harry had vanquished Riddle, still weak but full of explanations and overloaded with phial upon phial of extracted memories.

Snape had been on the side of light after all, and anticipating Riddle's double-cross, had taken anti-venom potion for years. While that had explained his sallow complexion and irritable nature, it was quite difficult for Ron to forgive Snape, despite the Wizangamot's acquittal of all charges against him. He'd treated Harry very poorly, and Ron was certain that a good portion of Snape's abuse and intimidation had been genuine and side effects of a potion or part of a role that he'd been forced to play.

“Ronald, here are your papers,” McGonagall said. She rose from her chair and rounded her desk, holding out a large parchment envelope. “Please give my warmest regards to Harry, your family and Andromeda. I regret that previous engagements will prevent me from accepting your parent's most kind offer to attend your holiday celebration.”

“I'll do that, for sure. Thank you, Minerva. For everything.” He offered his hand, and McGonagall shook it heartily.

“My pleasure, Ronald. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Headmistress.” Ron stared at Snape, who at first stared back impassively but then started to speak, stopped, and then took a step toward Ron.

“Mr. Weasley...Ronald. I would request that you extend my regards to your family as well.”

Ron was certain that he hadn't been able to sufficiently hide the incredulous expression from his face, as Snape arched his eyebrow yet again.

“I'll do that, Professor.”

“And to Harry, as well.”

“Sure,” Ron agreed, even though he had no intention of doing so.

“Thank you,” Snape drawled. “And Happy Christmas.” He held out his pale, long hand, and Ron stared at it as if it might bite.

Ron looked to McGonagall, who smiled thinly. And did she nod ever so slightly?

“Right, okay.” Feeling more than a bit self-conscious, he quickly reached out and shook Snape's hand. Snape withdrew his first, again looked as if he had something to say, reconsidered, and with an odd half bow to McGonagall, turned on his heel and strode from the office.

“Thank you, Ronald,” McGonagall said. “Good bye.”

By the time Ron made it to the bottom of the winding staircase, Snape had already disappeared. As he made his way to the public floo on the first floor, he hoped Harry would appreciate the equivalency certificate; he'd had to shake Snape's hand to get it.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Ron pushed blindly through the floo, barrelling from their hearth and nearly falling over the coffee table and headlong onto the floor. He regained his balance and glanced around their sitting room, brushing off his jacket and denims. “Harry? Where are you? Harry!”

“No need to shout. I'm right here.” Harry rounded the corner from the hall, heading directly for the refrigerator. He retrieved a bottle of Guinness, popped the cap with a snap of his fingers, and took a hearty swallow of the beer.

Ron approached the counter top that separated the kitchen from the sitting room. He felt like shouting, and he knew that his cheeks were probably flushed red, so he took a few deep breaths before speaking. Harry watched him impassively, sipping on his Guinness as if nothing were amiss.

“What the hell was that all about, then?” Ron asked.

“What was what? I didn't feel like hanging about the Cannons locker room, so I left. Nothing to it.”

“It was a bit more than that, Harry.”

“Where's Teddy?”

“I dropped him off at Andromeda's. I wanted to talk without him around.”

Harry snorted, but still attempted to maintain a cheerful expression, which even Ron noted was strained to the breaking point. “There's nothing to it,” Harry continued. “You and Teddy were enjoying yourselves chatting with Wood and that new Beater of his...”

“Wilby.”

“That's him. I simply decided that I'd slip out and go home. Is there a problem with that?” Harry shrugged and headed for the sitting room.

Ron intercepted him. “Hold up. There was much more to it than that, and you know it.” Harry smiled crookedly and tried to push past, but Ron would have none of it. Harry was attempting to ignore what had just happened, and Ron didn't want to back down.

“You left without a single word to anyone. Teddy and I were a bit frantic over that, and if that wasn't enough, the way you treated Oliver was really rude.”

“Ron, you're making too much out of it. I'm the Head of Aurors; I think I can take care of myself in a crowded public place.” He lowered his head and pushed past Ron to drop onto the sofa. “And I don't think I was being rude at all, just honest.”

“Honest, were you? Harry, you insulted Oliver right there in front of all his players, the media, everyone. And after all the trouble he went through, securing those box seats at the last minute. Oliver was great, and if I didn't know better, I think he actually managed to interest Teddy in Quidditch, which is a first.” Ron sighed. “If a person has thoughts like that, there are times when they ought to keep them to themselves.”

Harry stared at Ron, his expression darkening. “Good advice. I'm sorry that what I said offended Oliver, but it was true: the only reason he was offered the job as Head Coach of the Cannons was because no one else wanted it. Am I wrong?”

“Of course not, and no one knows it better than Oliver. He doesn't need you to remind him of it. But that's not the point.” Ron sat down next to Harry. “You've not been yourself since Skeeter's article, and I've given you your space so that you can get sorted. But if there's anything going on I should know about, I think you should tell me what it is.” Ron knew he was pushing a bit harder than he should, but Harry's behaviour during and after the Quidditch match had been so off that even Teddy had noticed it. He found it increasingly difficult to keep his composure, and he didn't know how long he could keep it up, either.

Harry sighed and stared into the empty hearth. “There's nothing wrong. I simply wasn't in the mood to go to the match, but you'd gone to so much trouble that I didn't want to annoy you by refusing. That's all.” He looked to Ron, but averted his gaze almost immediately. “Nothing's wrong.”

“I want to believe that, but I don't. So I'll ask again: what's up with you, Harry?” Ron noted that Harry's right hand was trembling.

“I'm naked, and we've got to be at the Burrow first thing in the morning, Merlin knows why.” He made to stand, but Ron placed his hand on Harry's chest in an effort to keep him seated. Harry roughly shoved Ron's hand away and literally leapt from the sofa.

“I'm not done here,” Ron called after Harry.

“I am.”

“Harry--” Ron started, but he was interrupted as Harry suddenly whirled around.

“Not now, Ron.” Harry's tone was threatening.

"Why not now?” Ron moved to stand before Harry. His heart pounded in his chest. “Harry, please.” He reached out, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder.

“This is the last time I'm going to say this: leave it, Ron.” Harry carefully but firmly pushed Ron's hand away, turning to head for their bedroom.

“But Harry...”

“I said, leave it,” Harry barked without turning around.

Ron watched as Harry stalked down the hall and out of sight. While disappointing that Harry hadn't been willing to talk, it hadn't come as that much of a surprise, either. When pressed, Harry most always became defensive. He'd have to continue to bide his time, but more than ever, Ron believed that something unusual was definitely amiss. Teddy had mentioned just that morning how he'd noticed that Harry would leave the flat for hours at a time every other day, and when he'd return, offer no explanation of where he'd gone or what he'd done, which was also unlike him.

"Brilliant. Just brilliant."

He fetched his own Guinness, drinking it alone in their kitchen, for once at a total loss as to what to do next.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“Ginevra! I could use your help!”

Ron winced, as it felt like his mum were screeching directly in his ear, even though she was half-way across the kitchen. “Don't think she heard you,” he muttered as he returned to his potato peeling.

Molly levitated a large pot over to the stove. “I suppose this'll teach you not to fall so deeply into your cups the night before Christmas Eve.” She summoned a bunch of rosemary and began plucking the tiny leaves. “There's some Madame Ciara's in the cupboard in the third floor loo.”

“Thanks, mum.” Ron supposed she had a point, but he felt far worse than he should have. He'd only had five bottles of Guinness and two shots of firewhiskey the night before, which wasn't enough to be the cause of the throbbing headache that now pounded inside his skull. He'd hadn't slept well, nor much the previous night, mostly due to being pre-occupied with Harry's behaviour. On top of that, he'd been roused from the sofa at an ungodly hour by Teddy, who couldn't wait to get to the Burrow.

As usual, it was barely controlled chaos as his mum prepared for the upcoming holiday festivities. The kitchen was a hive of motion as pots and pans levitated to and fro, dishes perpetually washed themselves in the sink, and utensils floated hear and there, stirring and spooning and ladling as if there were no tomorrow. His mum ceaselessly kneaded, mixed, cut and chopped with a seemingly endless store of energy, her hair in complete disarray and her apron in dire need of a thorough cleaning.

“I didn't drink that much, mum.”

Molly blew at a stray wisp of hair worrying her right eye. “If only I'd a galleon for every time I'd heard that in this kitchen.” A bowl whizzed by Ron's head to land on her cutting board. “At the rate your going with those potatoes, we won't be having them until after the New Year.”

Ron paused to stare at the sack of potatoes on the floor at his feet, more than half of which remained. “Yes, ma'am.”

It was to be the usual orgy of family for the holidays: he and Harry and Teddy, of course; Ginny had been able to come home due to a last minute cancellation of one of her post-season exhibition games; George and Lee would spend the entire holiday, per usual; Charlie had flooed in from the preserve in Australia; Percy and his wife, Twyla had promised to appear at some point on the Eve, and Bill, Fleur and Victoire were due to arrive early Christmas morning. Ron looked forward to such gatherings for the most part, and this year everyone looked to be coming home, which hadn't happened for some time.

“Ginevra!”

“Yes, mum, here I am.” Ginny bustled into the kitchen, laden with a small but clearly substantial wooden trunk.

“Oh, you've found the good silver,” Molly observed. “Good, good. Set it on the table, next to Ron there.”

“Had a bit of a time getting it away from the ghoul.” Ginny dropped the trunk on the tabletop inches from where Ron hunched over peeling potatoes.

He jumped, dropping his knife. “Thanks, Gin. Always so considerate.”

“Not a problem, Ron,” Ginny cooed, patting his head. She stared at him intently.

“What?”

“The ghoul's still wearing one of mum's old wigs. Seems he liked looking like you way back when, despite the boils.” She nodded. “Yup, an amazing likeness if I do say so myself.”

Ron groaned. Ginny could always be counted upon to remind everyone how the ghoul in the attic had taken to wearing his old clothes in order to be more like him. It amused her to no end. He hadn't heard about the creature throwing on his mum's old wigs, though. That was a new one. “Pity your final match was postponed,” he grumbled, retrieving the knife and wiping the blade on his denims.

“Yes, isn't it? Else wise I wouldn't have been able to come home and spend time with my favourite brother.”

Ron snorted. “Bill's not here yet.”

“Ronald,” Molly said reproachfully. “Be civil.”

“I will if she will.”

Ginny sniggered as Teddy ran into the kitchen, a swarm of miniature Quidditch players in hot pursuit. He made one circuit of the kitchen before Ginny joined in the chase, both of them whooping and laughing loudly. The flying toys followed the pair faithfully, executing intricate maneuvoures as they dodged the array of airborne kitchen utensils filling the kitchen's airspace.

“Lupin pulls away from Weasley; she can't catch him, he's gonna get the snitch!” Teddy ducked to the left, bouncing against Molly's worktable. A small stack of pie tins and assorted utensils tottered over to crash to the floor.

“Oi! That's enough of that, Theodore!” Ron barked. “You'll put an eye out, running wild like that.”

“Sorry, Uncle Ron,” Teddy replied, flushed and out of breath. “Just having a bit of fun.”

“Well, there's work to be done without you adding to the mess.”

Molly continued working on her rosemary in silence, a bemused expression on her face.

“Calm down, big daddy,” Ginny said as she knelt down to help Teddy pick up the fallen items. “No need to get your knickers in a twist. See, all cleaned up.”

“Yeah, see?” Teddy added, his swarm of Quidditch players hovering in formation inches above his head. “Back to normal.”

“Whatever that is,” Ron grumped, dropping another peeled potato into his cauldron of water.

“Well, Ron is right, we've still plenty to do before everyone else arrives.” She gestured at the trunk. “Could you and Teddy give that silver a good polish? It never looks as nice just charming it.”

“Sure mum.” Ginny picked up the silver trunk. “C'mon Teddy, you can give me a hand with this in the sitting room. Too crowded out here.”

Teddy frowned. “Do I have to?”

“I'll tell you all about my last match against Puddlemere if you help me,” Ginny coaxed.

“Okay!”

“Since when do you like Quidditch?” Ron asked, his knife frozen in mid-peel.

“I've always liked Quidditch,” Teddy stated matter-of-factly as he followed Ginny out of the kitchen.

Ron stared after them, shaking his head. “Merlin's balls.”

Molly crossed over to him, wiping her hands on her apron. “He reminds me of you when your were that age.”

“Don't know about that. He's more like his dad, if you ask me.”

Molly shrugged as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “It's good either way. You're doing a fine job with him, Ronald. Andromeda's quite proud of you, as am I. And Harry, too.”

Ron made a noncommittal noise as he continued peeling. “I'm not doing anything special.”

“Yes, you are.” She leaned down to leave a quick kiss to the top of his head. “So, did you remember to bring the decorations?”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. Got both the pretties and the lights from George yesterday. He says the lights are top quality and guaranteed to work, but I didn't know how to test them.”

Molly returned to her chopping block, summoning a new bowl and a bundle of sage. “And he's bringing the...the...whatever it is we need to operate them?”

“He says he's got it all sorted. We'll be able to plug them in, just like the Muggles do.”

“Well, I certainly hope it works. Harry should be surprised. Do you think he's found us out?”

Ron shook his head. “Nah. He doesn't have a clue.” He wasn't sure whether Harry knew about their little surprise or not. As pre-occupied and distant as he'd been of late, Ron felt rather confident that Harry didn't suspect anything different about the upcoming holiday celebrations.

“Good, good. A fine idea of yours, and Merlin knows your father is more than excited about it. He's got a box chock full of his favourite plugs handy just in case they're needed.” She chuckled. “First time we're having eklectric lights in the Burrow. I wish we weren't waiting until the last minute to find out whether it will work or not.”

“When's dad due home?”

Molly glanced at her clock; Arthur's hand still pointed to at Work. “He hoped to be done with the office by noon, but you know your father.”

“Yeah.” Ron returned to his peeling, and a moment later, he felt his mum's hand smoothing his fringe away from his forehead.

“You could use a haircut.”

“Probably.” He looked up and grinned, but his mum had that look on her face. “I'm fine, mum.”

“Yes, yes, I knew you'd say that.” She sighed and returned to her preparations. “It's never easy, is it?”

Ron shook his head. “No, doesn't seem as it is.”

“Well, even though I know I've a better chance of seeing a dragon do the jig, you know you can always tell your old mum anything.”

Ron nodded. “I wouldn't count that dancing dragon out. I'd bet Charlie could do it if he put his mind to it.”

“You've a point there,” Molly agreed with a chuckle. She glanced at her clock again. “I see George is still at work as well.”

“He and Lee will be by later this afternoon. You know how dead set George was on having Wheezes open today. To maximise holiday sales, you know.”

Molly snorted. “Scandalous it is. Shops open on Christmas Eve.”

The back boor banged open, and Charlie strode into the kitchen, followed closely by Harry. A gust of cold air came with them, which Ron found quite refreshing.

“It's bloody freezing out there,” Charlie announced brightly. He held a broomstick in one hand while Harry closed the door.

Molly jerked her head toward the stove. “There's water in the kettle for tea.”

“I was thinking of something a bit stronger to warm us up, right Harry?” Charlie grinned as Harry nodded and disappeared into the pantry. “We've managed to get the broomshed sorted, and all the brooms are cleaned, trimmed, polished and ready for the annual Weasley Invitational match tomorrow.”

Ron sniggered at Charlie's little joke; he'd always referred to their holiday Quidditch matches that way.

“Where would you like this?” Charlie asked, holding out the broomstick he'd brought in.

Molly looked up, again wiping her hands on her apron. “Here, let me.”

Charlie handed it over, and Molly took the broom gently, slowly turning it over. Ron watched as the firelight danced on the broom handle's freshly polished surface.

“Wonderful job, Charlie. It's lovely.” Molly placed Fred's Cleansweep on the right side of the fireplace, carefully leaning it against the stones. “Right. So then...what's next?”

Charlie crossed over to stand behind Ron. “As soon as Dad gets home, we'll have a jaunt out into the woods to find us the perfect tree.” He placed both hands on Ron's shoulders. “You're doing a bang up job on those spuds, little bro.”

“Thanks. It's been my life's ambition, ya know.”

Charlie laughed, mussing Ron's hair as Harry returned to the kitchen, carrying what looked to be a very old bottle of firewhiskey.

“Now there's a good lad,” Charlie boomed. “Just what we need to take the chill off.”

Harry handed the bottle to Charlie. “You'll join us Molly?” Not waiting for an answer, he opened a cupboard and pulled out four mismatched glasses.

“Charles Iago Weasley, don't you think it's a bit early for that?”

Charlie took two glasses from Harry, setting one on his mum's chopping block and the other next to Ron's pile of unpeeled of potatoes. “Aww, Mum, it's gotta be noon somewhere. Besides, it's the holiday, and a little nip'll do us good.”

“Hear, hear,” Ron added, happily dropping his paring knife as Charlie poured him a rather healthy shot. He looked to Harry, who smiled back in response.

After Charlie had filled all of their glasses, he held his own high. “A toast.” He moved to stand next to Molly, who eyed her firewhiskey with trepidation.

Ron stood and crossed over to Harry, throwing an arm around his shoulder.

“To family,” Charlie said.

Ron squeezed Harry's shoulder and raised his own glass. “Yeah. Family.” He looked at Harry, who smiled crookedly back at him.

“C'mon, mum,” Charlie prodded. “All for one.”

Molly took a deep breath before swallowing the potent alcohol. Everyone else followed suit, and as the firewhiskey warmed his belly, Ron felt Harry's arm curl about his waist. Perhaps family was just what Harry needed.

At least Ron hoped it was, anyway.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“I think we'd best get serious about our mission, or else we'll be in deep trouble.” Harry pulled the zip of his coat all the way up and shivered.

“No worries.” Ron followed close by Harry as they walked through a rather large wooded expanse some distance down the lane from the Burrow. Molly had tasked them with collecting some pine cuttings for making garland. He knew his mum had cooked up the entire expedition as an excuse for he and Harry to be alone; Ron couldn't recall a time when they'd decorated the Burrow with pine garland. “Over there. Looks like we could use that.” He pointed to a stand of pine trees some yards off.

“Alright, let's get to it before we're frozen solid.” Harry changed direction, walking briskly across the frozen ground. His boots crunched loudly on the carpet of twigs, fallen leaves, pine needles and scatterings of snow. Ron jogged a few moments to close the distance between them, catching up to Harry and slipping an arm around Harry's waist.

“Is that the right sort? I haven't a clue if it is or not.”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno. Looks like it might be wispy enough.”

“Too bad it's so cold out here.” He slowed his pace, gently pulling Harry to a stop. “Nice place for a bit of quiet time, yeah?” He stepped in front of Harry, pulling him into a tight hug. “There, that's better, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.” Harry snuggled in close, wrapping his arms around Ron's hips. “Much, much better.” He buried his head into the crook of Ron's neck, sighing deeply.

Ron murmured a warming charm on his jacket as Harry hugged him still tighter. The wind rustled the branches of the leafless trees, which clacked together softly, almost sadly, mourning for their long dead leaves. The boughs of the stands of nearby pine whispered and sighed in the winds as well, and to Ron it seemed as if the rest of the world had melted away.

“I love you, Harry. So bloody much.”

Harry lifted his head to look up. “Love you, too.”

Ron leaned in, pressing their lips together. He slid his tongue past Harry's cool lips and into the warmth of his willing mouth. Harry returned the kiss eagerly, adding his own tongue to the dance. Ron could taste hints of the firewhiskey on Harry as the light dusting of stubble on Harry's face rubbed against his own. Harry slowly ground his hips against him, and Ron could feel Harry's hardness through their thick denims.

Ron wanted nothing more than to take away all the pain, the worry, whatever it was that plagued Harry, take it within himself, like sucking poison from a wound. He'd take it all and hide it away, leaving Harry clean and unburdened. He'd do anything, anything at all for his Harry, his life, his love. He intensified their kiss, hugging Harry even tighter.

The wind gusted strongly about them, fingers of cold, moist air finding their way under Ron's collar. Harry pulled away, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He walked a short distance to the nearest pine and absently fingered one of its swaying branches.

“You think this'll do for your mum's garland?”

Ron stepped up behind Harry, wrapping his arms around him. “Harry, please, don't shut me out. Not anymore.”

“We need to talk, don't we?”

“Yeah, we do.”

Harry paused as the wind rose up once more, zephyrs of snowflakes suddenly swirling all around them. “We'd best not go back empty handed, though. Just in case your mum really wanted to make pine garland.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

In the end, Ron and Harry cut several bundles of wispy evergreen boughs with their wands. It took far longer than Ron had thought, as Harry insisted on only taking one or two cuttings from each tree, so as not to damage or disfigure them. They magically bound the bundles and shrank them down for easy transport back to the Burrow.

They were both chilled to the bone by the time they rounded the pond, as the wind had grown steadily colder as the afternoon wore on. The snow remained light, however, with only a minute dusting covering the ground when they trudged through the frozen rear garden. The heavy, grey cloud cover had brought dusk early, and the lamplight showing through the Burrow's rear windows somehow made Ron feel warmer just seeing them.

A pair of gnomes attempted to scurry through the back door and into the warm house with them, but Ron sent both on their way with a swift kick of his boot.

The kitchen was deserted as they removed their coats, the only light coming from a pair of oil lamps on the table and a small fire burning low in the hearth. They'd apparently missed supper, as the last of the dishes were levitating to the drying rack. Low voices and the sound of George's laughter sounded from the sitting room.

“Bloody hell, I'm frozen through,” Ron said around a shiver as he placed the still shrunken pine cuttings on the table.

“It's nice and warm over here.” Harry grinned at him over his shoulder, holding his hands over the softly popping fire.

Ron stood behind Harry and wrapped his arms around him. “Yeah, this is more like it.” He nuzzled into Harry's hair, working his way down to the still cool skin behind Harry's right ear. “Ummm, so good.”

Harry pressed backward into him, his hands gliding up and down Ron's hips. “Ron,” he breathed, turning his head and granting Ron better access. “Ron...”

“Harry.” Ron slowly ground his hips against Harry's backside, his cock wide awake and obviously recovered from their frigid adventure through the woods.

“This is it, you know,” Harry said softly.

“What?” Ron nibbled and licked his way down Harry's long neck. “What's it?”

“This. You, me, us. This is how I'd always imagined that it would be like. What I'd dreamed of, for as long as I can remember.”

Ron kissed his way back up to nip at Harry's ear lobe. “Honestly?”

“Yes. Just like this. You and me.”

“Oh, Harry.” Even though they were standing in the kitchen at the Burrow, with his family literally in the next room, Ron found he'd grown rock hard. He hugged Harry tightly, one hand straying downward to ghost over Harry's own denim-clad erection.

And he knew what Harry was talking about, as he felt exactly the same way. This moment was just like the one where he'd watched Harry flying at twilight: perfect, wondrous, rare. He'd dreamt and yearned for it all as well, probably from that very first day when he'd met Harry on the Hogwart's Express. “I know, mate, I know.”

Harry sighed. “But it's not so simple. I'm not...I can't--”

“Can't what?”

“Not here. Upstairs. In our room.”

“Okay, sure, whatever you want,” Ron growled, kissing Harry's neck as he slowly began to walk them backward toward the stairs.

“Oi, there you are! We were about to put together a search party!”

They both started and Ron whirled around to find Charlie standing on the far side of the kitchen, filling the doorway to the sitting room. His brother moved toward them, a bottle of beer in one hand. The flickering light from the hearth caught his features, showing off the burn scars on his cheek and broad smile.

“Came out for a fresh beer, and what a surprise.” Charlie stopped and stared, his smile growing even wider as he noted Ron's obvious arousal. “Well, didn't mean to intrude, boys. Don't mind me.” He waggled his eyebrows, drank the last bit of Guinness from his bottle, and headed for the cold box.

Ron pulled at his jumper, silently cursing the fact that it was a bit too small and woefully unable to properly conceal his condition.

Harry stepped around him, apparently unconcerned. “No worries, Charlie. We were just going to head upstairs for a bit of a lie down.”

Charlie slammed the door to the cold box, three bottles of beer clutched in one hand. “Oh, no, you can't run off and hide. You've got to join us for a bit of the Holiday spirit. George and Lee are here, and Percy just firecalled that he and Twyla are on their way.” He crossed over to them, holding out two of the bottles. “C'mon, after your lengthy expedition across the wilds of Ottery St. Catchpole, this is just the thing.” He winked, and all three bottle caps popped off and flew directly into the rubbish bin. “Never thought wandless magic would come in so handy.”

“Sounds like a good idea, Charlie,” Harry said, taking a Guinness. “Right, Ron?”

Ron nodded, taking his own beer.

Charlie laughed. “That's the ticket.” He held his bottle high. “A happy Christmas, and thank the Maker, who's blessed us all this past year. Huzzah!”

Ron joined his brother and Harry, clinking their bottles together. “Cheers.”

They all took healthy swallows of the cold beer, Charlie nearly draining his.

“Ahh, now that's good brew, even for Muggles.” He moved to stand between them, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders. “C'mon into the sitting room now, eh? We've got a bit of a surprise for you, Harry.” He hugged them both tight, giving each a rather sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're drunk, Charlie,” Ron said, looking down at his older brother.

“Mayhap I am, but the sentiment's sincere, nonetheless. Happy Christmas, mates.” He shook them firmly, then started moving them all toward the sitting room.

Ron tried to slow them down. “Harry and me are knackered, so I think we're going to have that lie down now.”

Charlie stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh, you can't. We've got the surprise ready.” He nudged Ron roughly in the ribs. “You know, little brother.” He jerked his head toward Harry. “The surprise.”

“I know, I know, but we're really tired, Charlie, so--”

“It's okay, Ron,” Harry interrupted. “We can rest later.”

“Brilliant,” Charlie replied, smiling widely.

“Are you sure? I thought you wanted to--”

Harry nodded. “Let's see what's going on in there.”

“That's a good fellow.” Charlie took another hefty swallow of beer. “You boys can get to bed later.” He laughed, winking and nudging Ron's ribs once more.

Ron loved his older brother more than anything, but he could get plenty annoying after tipping a few. Still, Charlie's heart was always in the right place, if not his elbows. For the first time, he began to wonder if Harry would enjoy their surprise. It wouldn't be much longer before he found out.

“Uncle Charlie!” Teddy blustered into the dimly lit kitchen, skidding to a halt before them. “Grampa needs a hand with--” He stopped mid sentence when he noticed Harry and Ron. “Oh. It's only you.”

“Nice,” Ron replied sardonically. “Lovely manners, Theodore.”

Teddy pulled a face. “You know I hate that.”

“Yeah, I do. C'mere and give us a hug. Now.” Ron pointed at his feet with his free hand. Teddy rolled his eyes and shambled over to them, hugging Ron as if he were an Inferi; Harry's was a bit more enthusiastic.

“C'mon, mates, let's get to it.” Charlie scooped up Teddy, deftly slinging him over one shoulder. “Dragon rides right here!”

“Not again!” Teddy wailed as Charlie whirled him about in tight circles.

Charlie stopped suddenly, obviously a bit dizzy but still smiling. “In here, boys.” He dashed off to the sitting room with Teddy complaining all the way.

Harry finished the rest of his beer, sending the empty bottle to the dustbin. “Let's go have a look.”

Ron joined him, and they ventured into the sitting room, where aside from Charlie flinging Teddy about, the scene was rather relaxing.

A fire crackled away in the hearth, and the wireless set was tuned to WWN, where Celestina Warbeck sang softly to herself. Lee and Ginny chatted quietly on the sofa, while Ron's mum sat in her armchair, sipping on what was probably spiced punch. The chessboard was set up for Wizard's Chess, and the pieces stirred about impatiently; obviously Charlie had been having a game with Teddy before playing dragon. Teddy's miniature Quidditch team darted to and fro in the far corner of the room, and a rather large, partially decorated tree dominated another corner.

Charlie returned Teddy to his feet just as Ginny noticed their entrance.

“Dad, George, they're here.”

“Hiya, Harry, Ron,” Lee said as hoisted his lanky frame from the depths of the squishy sofa. Ginny jumped up as well, and Molly quickly set down her cup of punch.

“Arthur, aren't you ready yet? What's going on back there? Harry's here.”

Ron glanced at Harry, who was staring at the Christmas tree, which had just begun to shimmy and shake as if it were animated.

“Not a problem, not a problem,” Arthur said from somewhere behind the tree.

“We've just about got it,” came George's voice from the same general area..

“We seem to be having a few technical difficulties,” Ginny commented wryly.

“I'm glad we made it back in time for...for whatever this is.”

Ginny stepped aside to allow Lee to clap Harry on the shoulder. “Happy happy, mate.” He nodded to Ron. “Haven't seen you since yesterday,” he said around a smile.

“Balls!”

“George, language!” Molly scolded.

The tree wobbled dangerously to one side.

“Keep a hold of it! I can't do that and fuss with this converter box at the same time, now can I?” Arthur cried out.

“I am holding it, but you keep jerking on the wires,” George shot back.

“I knew we should have set all of this up well in advance,” Molly said to no one in particular.

“Mum, it'll be fine. Dad and Georgie have things well in hand.” Charlie sipped his beer and sat on an arm of the sofa.

Harry looked to Ron, a most perplexed expression on his face. “Is this the surprise?”

Ron nodded. “Well, erm, I guess it will be. Eventually.”

“Hopefully by the New Year,” Lee said to Ginny, who covered her mouth to stifle her giggles.

“I heard that!” George called out from wherever he was. “Shite!”

There was a loud popping sound, a bright flash, and the Christmas tree nearly toppled over once again. Molly gasped and rushed forward.

“Are you tryin' to eklecticute me or give me a heart attack?” Arthur huffed. “Mind what we're doing here and don't worry about Lee.”

“Arthur, are you both right?” Molly asked, trying to peer around the tree.

“Yes, yes m'dear. We've almost got it sorted. Won't be long now.”

“Would you like some punch, Lee?” Ginny asked as she headed toward the kitchen.

“Sounds great, Gin. Thanks.”

“I'll have one,” Teddy piped up from the chessboard, where he'd succeeded in goading the chess pieces into attacking one another at will.

“Absolutely not,” Molly said. “A butterbeer will do.”

“Grab me another Guinness while you're out there,” Charlie added, banishing his empty bottle.

Ginny waved a hand in acknowledgment as she disappeared through the doorway.

“I reckon I'll give her a hand.” Lee patted Ron's shoulder as he passed by to follow Ginny.

“So, your dad and brother transfigured themselves into a Christmas tree to surprise me?” Harry stared as the tree wobbled some more, amidst a smattering of small pops and sizzles.

“Not exactly,” Ron replied. He looked to his mum. “Should we get a Healer on the Floo? Just in case?”

“I heard that, Ronald!” Arthur finally poked his head out from behind the tree. Loops of green wire with tiny coloured bulbs attached draped over both of his shoulders and around his forehead. “We've got it completely under control.” He attempted a carefree wave of his hand, which was also tangled in the wires.

“Dad! Quit yanking on the lights!”

“Sorry. Didn't mean to.”

There was another loud pop followed by a flash, and for a moment, the tree was illuminated by a multitude of tiny coloured lights.

“That's it! I've got it!” George cried, triumphant.

Arthur jumped, his eyes wide. “Circe's Tits!” He lost his balance in the excitement, falling backward into the nearby wall. The lights flickered and went out.

“Bloody hell, dad! Keep still.”

“Sweet Merlin,” Molly sighed as she sat down in her chair.

“Just another Weasley Christmas,” Charlie sniggered.

“Yeah,” Teddy agreed, rallying his black pawns against the solitary white queen.

Harry nudged Ron. “Was this your idea?”

“Which? The chaos and destruction or the lights?”

“You know what I mean.”

Ron nodded. “It seemed like a good idea. In theory.”

George finally showed himself, popping up on the other side of the tree and similarly burdened in tangles of lights. “Well, that's done it. The main wire's pulled clean out of the converter. I'll have to get my kit from the shop to mend it.” He attempted to shrug out of the loops of wires and bulbs, nearly toppling the tree again.

“Here, let me help,” Arthur said. “I'll lift this length up, and you come under it. Yes, that one.”

“No wait, you come over here, dad. Through these two loops, and the over this one.”

“No, no, George. This one's the key...”

Ginny and Lee returned from the kitchen with drinks for everyone, save Arthur and George.

“What's happened?” Ginny asked as she handed her mum a cup.

“Thank you, dear,” Molly said, nearly downing the entire cup at once. “Your father and brother are trapped in the Christmas tree.”

“Oh, I see.” Ginny passed Charlie the Guinness and butterbeer. “What shall we do, then?”

“They'll get out eventually,” Charlie quipped.

“Well, Ron, this is certainly quite the surprise,” Harry commented as Lee handed him a beer. “Thanks, Lee.”

“No worries,” Lee replied, grinning widely. “He had them working at the shop the other day. They were really nice.”

“George! I said, lift that one this way, and this one that way!” Arthur had once again disappeared behind the tree.

George's right arm was now pulled up behind his head. “No, no, it's not working. And I'm losing the feeling in my hand. And arm.”

“Oh, dear.” Molly drained her cup of punch just as the flames in the hearth turned green.

Percy and his wife stepped out, loaded down with presents.

“Happy Christmas everyone,” Percy called out cheerfully, his smile fading as he noted his family's somewhat distressed expressions. “What? Are we too early?”

Molly sighed and stood up. “Come along, Ginevra. Let's get them out of the ruddy tree.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“I'd no idea that Percy's wife was so good with knots.” Ron ignited the bedside lamp with a wave of his wand. “Looks like dad and George'll need all the help they can get.”

Harry closed the door and leaned against it, taking a swallow of his beer. “I don't understand how they managed to get so trussed up like that. An Incarcerous couldn't have done a better job.”

“Too right..” Ron pointed his wand at the tiny wood stove in the far corner of the room. “Incendio.” He lit a few candles with his wand tip before sitting on the large bed that now dominated his old room. The space was nearly exactly the same as when he'd lived at home; the walls sported Chudley Cannons posters and memorabilia, as well as a fair amount of Gryffindor artifacts. The main difference now was the absence of ankle-deep soiled clothes, the permanently enlarged bed, and the wood stove.

He drained the last of his Guinness, placing the empty on the bedside table. “Looks like it'll be a bit before George gets the lights sorted.”

Harry nodded, hopping on the tall mattress. He shoved the pillows up against the headboard and leaned into them with a sigh. “You all went to so much trouble for such a little thing. You really shouldn't have.”

“I know how much you like Muggle Christmas lights on the tree.”

“But you like fairy lights.”

“Yeah, but that's not the point. You'd been a bit down, so I wanted to surprise you. 'Course, once my dad caught wind of the idea, he went totally mental with it.”

“But that's not all you did, is it? Stocking the cupboards, the magazine subscriptions, the Quidditch tickets...giving me my space to wallow, even though I know it was eating you alive to just stand there and not talk about it.”

Ron snorted. “That transparent, am I?”

Harry reached over to caress Ron's thigh. “No, not transparent. Just you being you. Always thinking of me first. Always been that way.” He swallowed some more Guinness. “Merlin knows I don't deserve it.”

Ron punched Harry in the shoulder. “Hey, that's not true.”

Harry rubbed at his shoulder. “You could've done so much better, you know.”

“Alright, Harry, that's enough of that shite. There's no one better. There's no one I could ever imagine wanting but you.” He scooted closer. “Time to talk now. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer this time.”

Harry nodded as he picked at the paper label on his bottle. “There's just so much that you don't know. So much about me that you don't know.”

“Like what? You mean from when you lived with the Dursleys?”

“No, no, it's not that. There really wasn't that much to tell about those years. They pretty much ignored me, left me to my own devices.”

Ron moved next to Harry. “Go on. What is it, then?”

Harry paused for a long time, staring at the beer bottle in his lap. “I didn't have much of a childhood. Not really news, that. And then I found that I could do magic, and there was this whole new world. I met Hagrid, and then you, and...well, it was like a dream. It didn't seem real.”

“And then...it turned into a nightmare, didn't it?”

“Yeah. Looking back on it, I can barely believe it all myself. I know I did all those things...so many things...”

“You were fantastic, mate, truly. Brave and honourable.”

Harry shook his head. “But that's just it. It wasn't me. I couldn't have done any of it without you and Hermione. Or Sirius or Dumbledore. So many times I survived simply out of pure, dumb luck.”

“Harry, you can't believe that.”

“I'm nothing special. It was chance, all random chance, don't you see? It could just as easily have been Neville and not me.”

“No, it couldn't have been anyone else but you. I won't believe otherwise.”

“Well, then you're just falling for the hype like everyone else. I'm not a hero, Ron. I had to murder someone in order to survive.”

Ron couldn't believe his ears. “C'mon, mate. You can't feel badly about destroying Voldemort. He was a psychopathic killer who'd have murdered you without blinking an eye. He deserved what he got.”

Harry stared back at him for a long moment. In the attic, the ghoul thumped and moaned while wind buffeted the nearby window panes.

“And what do I deserve, Ron? For all the people that I murdered?”

“Bah. That's nonsense!” Ron's gut began to tie itself up in knots. He'd never imagined that Harry might be harbouring such thoughts. It was ridiculous. He scratched nervously at the scars on his forearms.

“Is it? Shall I list all the names, then? Cedric, Sirius, Bertha Jorkins, Amelia Bones, Dumbledore, Moody, Remus, Tonks, Fred...and a host of others. Have you ever read all of the names on the War Memorial, Ron? I have.”

Ron shook his head. “But you can't blame yourself for all that. You can't...” But even as he said the words, he knew in his heart that Harry did blame himself, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say to counter it. What was there to say? “I had no idea you felt this badly, Harry. I should've known, should've seen it, somehow.”

Harry looked him straight in the eye. “You didn't know because I didn't want you to know. You'd done enough, risked enough. I didn't want to burden you with all this.”

Ron rubbed at his eyes with both hands. “I can't believe you've held all this in for so long.” He rolled off the bed to stare out the small window, wiping at the foggy pane to see outside.

“The odd thing is that it didn't seem so bad years ago. But as time went on, it slowly got worse and worse, heavier to carry. It was such a gradual thing that looking back, I can't see how I made it through. Hermione would probably have an explanation involving delayed reaction post traumatic stress or some such.”

“She probably would,” Ron agreed.

“There's more to it than some theory, Ron. I was actually possessed by Riddle, remember? He was inside me, an actual part of me, if even for a short while. That could also be at play here.”

Ron shook his head. It was too much to take in. He realised that Harry had a point, as possession was something not to be trifled with. He'd had some very real problems following his encounter with the brains in the Department of Mysteries. They'd left a bit more than some physical scarring behind, and it had taken a fair amount of work to rid him of their lingering effects. “But knowing and talking about it has to be part of the solution, doesn't it? That's half the battle.”

Harry chuckled, but it wasn't happy in the least. “That's just it. I'm tired of battling, Ron. Tired of battling Death Eaters and Rita Skeeter and closed-minded homophobic morons. Every day it gets harder and harder to deal with. I've fought enough, Ron. I don't want to fight anymore.”

Ron turned to face Harry, who stared back at him, his eyes bright. “So don't. Don't fight anymore. Merlin knows you've done your part.” Hope sparked in his heart, as part of the solution suddenly became clear. “If you want to quit the Ministry, then that's what you should do.”

Harry watched him for a few moments before draining his Guinness. He got up off the bed to stand before the wood stove. “How can I do that, Ron? How can I let Kingsley down like that? They created that position for me, remember? Do you know all the rules they bent and twisted and overlooked to allow me into the Aurors without finishing Hogwarts? Without my N.E.W.T.S.? And after what you did? How can I just quit?”

“You don't owe anybody anything, least of all the bloody Ministry for Magic.” He crossed his room to stand behind Harry.

“You're wrong, Ron. I do owe somebody a great deal. I owe that person everything. And I can't let them down, because if I do that, then I'll feel as if I've truly failed at everything.”

Ron enveloped Harry, hugging him tight. He nuzzled at the nape of Harry's neck, taking deep breaths. “You could never let me down, mate, never. You've always been there for me, and you know that I'll always be there for you, no matter what. I'd follow you anywhere, anywhere at all, because without you, there's no point. I'm nothing without you, Harry, and I hope to the Maker that that's enough, 'cause it's all I've got to give.” He kissed Harry gently and continued to hold him. “But you've got me, and everything that's mine, forever. And you won't have to fight anymore, because I'll be there, fighting for you.”

Harry turned around and looked up, a forlorn grin on his face. “Yeah.” He buried his head in Ron's chest, and they stood there, in each other's arms, for a very long time.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

“It really turned out rather nice, didn't it?” Ron gestured at the brightly lit tree in the Burrow's sitting room. Save for a dying fire in the grate, it was the only source of light.

“George and your dad did a wonderful job.” Harry pulled the ragged Chudley blanket down from the back of the sofa and draped it over their legs. “I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I wouldn't have thought that everyone would have turned in so early.”

“All the excitement with the lights must have tired them out.”

“Even Teddy? I suspect George slipped him something to help him sleep.”

Ron sniggered. “Wouldn't put it past him.”

“Well, I'm not looking forward to telling Kingsley that I'm leaving the Ministry.”

“He'll understand. He won't be happy, but he'll understand. Any idea what you're going to do?”

“Dunno. Hadn't really thought that far ahead. I suppose I could come work with you at Wheezes. George could use the help.”

“Yeah, that's an option. I know George would jump at the chance to have you.”

“I've also heard that Oliver's looking for an assistant coach.”

“That's right, he is.” Ron recalled Oliver mentioning that fact during the Tutshill match; Harry'd be great for the job. It'd be too perfect, as not only would Harry be doing something that he loved, there'd be some delectable perks as well. Ron knew he was grinning like a fool as the thought of it, but couldn't help himself. “Brilliant idea! I say go for it.”

Harry chuckled. “You're already thinking of the free tickets and post-match locker room visits.”

“And you're not?”

“Well...”

Ron snuggled closer to Harry. “Thought so. On second thought, it might be quite horrible, being surrounded by a bunch of gorgeous, young, fit blokes day in and day out. Sweaty, randy, mostly naked fit blokes with tight arses...”

“You've been into Unrobed! again, haven't you?”

“Maybe,” Ron replied with a shrug.

Harry leaned in close. “Those young fellows are nice to look at, but I've got my own gorgeous and fit bloke right here.” He kissed Ron, trailing his fingers along Ron's thigh. “And your arse puts all those others to shame.”

“You've a point there.” Ron sipped at his drink. “I do have a great arse.”

“And it's all mine.”

“All yours, mate.”

They sat in silence for many minutes, the only sounds coming from the fire in the hearth and from the Burrow creaking softly from the gusts of wind.

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For the lights. For everything.”

“Shite, I almost forgot.” Ron pulled the Hogwarts envelope from his back pocket. “Here. It's after midnight, so it's technically Christmas now.”

Harry eyed the envelope warily.

“Go on,” Ron prodded, sipping at his Oban. “It's nothing much.”

Harry tore the envelope open and extracted the parchment, angling it to catch the firelight. He scanned it quickly, smiling as he folded it back up. “You had something to do with this, didn't you?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe. Is that a problem?”

“No. And thanks again.”

“You're welcome.”

Harry leaned up and kissed Ron, long and hard, until they both were nearly out of breath. He pulled away, looking around the dim sitting room.

“What is it?” Ron asked.

“I was expecting Teddy to pop up from behind the sofa or some such.”

Ron chuckled as he sunk down into the cushions. “So you really like the equivalency certificate?”

“Of course. I'm sure all of the others do, too.”

“Yeah...wait a minute. How do you know about the others? I hadn't mentioned that.”

Harry cleared his throat. “Erm, well, I wasn't going to mention this until later, but since you're going to find out about it anyway...”

“Find out about what?”

“I've been seeing someone the past few weeks who's been helping me sort things through. A highly skilled expert at both Legilimency and Occlumency.”

“Don't tell me,” Ron groaned. “Snape. He was in the office when I met with Minerva, and he told you that I was there.”

“Basically.”

“And why didn't you tell me about this?”

Harry shrugged. “Knowing how you feel about him, I thought it best not to mention it until I was certain that he'd be not only willing, but able to help me.”

“You sought him out?” Ron asked, more than a bit incredulous.

“Yes, I sought him out.”

“Bollocks.”

“It may take a bit of time, but he's confident that he can help me to gain control over what, if any, residual effects remain of Riddle's possession.”

“But Snape? Couldn't you have found someone else?”

“He's the best, Ron. If I've been able to get beyond our past, you can too. That's what this is all about, isn't it? Looking ahead and not backward?”

Ron made a rude noise and downed his scotch. “Fine, whatever. As long as he can help you, then that's all that matters. Just don't ask me to go to dinner with him or something.”

Harry remained silent and Ron's stomach flip-flopped.

“Right, yeah. Wherever you go, I'll follow.”

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

~*~ fin ~*~