Author's Notes: Beta Notes: Greetings, readers! For those of you who aren’t aware, your beloved author of Rebuilding Life is experiencing a real-life time crunch. Not only does Kezza write this fantastic fic, she also attends Uni full-time, mothers three rambunctious, adorable children, is smack in the middle of a four-week, student-teaching practicum for unruly ten-year-olds and has six (count ‘em, folks… SIX) costumes to sew and hand-sequin for her daughters’ upcoming November dance recitals. She literally has had no time to write.

Thus my kind note: I’ve been holding onto Chapter 41 on purpose. Why? For two reasons: the first being a way to calm Kezza’s nerves about not having anything to post; and second, because our beloved Kezzabear is a review-crazed addict. Reviews are her heroin, kids. If I’d given this chapter back in its normal time-frame, you would’ve read it over a week ago and would likely be getting ready to read Chapter 42. (Which is also on my hard drive… *grins lasciviously*)

You want to know why this is a problem, I expect? Why I feel the need to hold back from you? Because there is no end in sight to Kezza’s crazy life. I’m feeding you bits here and there on purpose, so you won’t have to go a month or so without an update. It’s for your own good — and the sake of my dear friend’s sanity. When you all clamour for updates, she writes. If she has no time to write and you’re still clamouring… well, it flips her out a tiny bit. It makes her feel a teensy bit guilty.

So here I am, the responsible beta, solving this problem. I think it’s a good answer, don’t you?

One last thing: do her a favour and review. She loves them. She exists for them. And she misses you.

Cheers,

Jen aka goingbacktosquareone

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The week stretched on with no word from Ron. Hermione grew pale and only ate when Neville forced her to, sitting over her and loading up her plate and then her fork. Ginny reminded her to go to class, to brush her teeth, to go to bed. Harry had tried to convince Hermione that Ron, never a very diligent letter writer, had simply been too busy to write. Ginny wrote to Fleur, asking if Bill was all right and Thursday morning had brought her response.

“She says she hasn’t heard from Bill,” Ginny whispered to Harry behind the Daily Prophet. “It’s been nearly two weeks since she had a letter and she started writing in French. I don’t know what it says but I think she’s concerned.” Harry eyed Hermione carefully. Neville was cutting her bacon for her and she sat with a goblet of pumpkin juice that she’d not drunk.

“That’s it, I’m going,” Harry whispered back. He pushed his chair backwards suddenly.

“You — now?” Ginny raised her eyebrows. “Just tell Kingsley. He can send someone.”

“I just … it’s Ron,” Harry said.

“I know,” Ginny whispered. Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. “Fleur said Mum and Dad don’t know Bill hasn’t written. We can’t tell them.” Ginny lost her battle with the tears and Harry pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back softly and whispering into her hair. The Daily Prophet lay like a blanket over their breakfasts and although Harry could feel every eye in the Great Hall on them, he tried to focus on Ginny.

“What?” Hermione asked, her voice slightly raspy. “Is it from Ron?” Harry shook his head slowly and Hermione turned away to stare at the Hufflepuff table.

“He’s really missing, isn’t he?” Neville asked quietly.

“Fleur hasn’t heard from Bill,” Harry explained as Ginny sniffed and straightened up. Hermione’s knuckles were white as she held tightly to the goblet and Neville eased it from her grasp as her hands began to shake and it threatened to spill down her robes.

“Why?” Hermione asked suddenly. “Why is this happening? Must there always be an emergency?” Her voice was rising, ringing out shrilly in the Great Hall.

“It’s probably just a hold up with the post birds-”

“Don’t you lie to me, Harry Potter!”Hermione leapt from her seat. She was pale and shaking but her eyes were boring into his face. “We’ve been through too much together for me to believe that and in case you’ve forgotten, Ron was there too! Why haven’t you gone to look for him yet? WHY?” She broke down crying and Neville pulled her to her feet and began to lead her outside, Harry and Ginny followed hastily.

The Great Hall was deathly quiet; the only sounds the clattering of their feet and Hermione’s sobs. As they reached the door Harry halted, turning around at the sound of Luna’s voice.

“Aren’t you pretty? A bird as handsome as you should be a bit better at this,” she chided the magnificent owl perched on her arm. Luna was walking towards them, carrying a sand-coloured owl with brown flecks on its wings and the largest orange eyes Harry had ever seen. It had a blunt looking black beak and large, vicious looking talons.

“That’s a Pharaoh Eagle Owl,” Ginny said slowly. “Sometimes, when he was working in Egypt, Bill would send letters with them. They aren’t very reliable though. Perhaps they think post delivery is below them.”

Hermione stared at the owl which blinked at her impassively.

“Has it got a letter?” Hermione whispered to Luna. The owl hooted, ignoring Hermione and fluttering over to Harry’s shoulder. He yelped as the owl dug it’s talons into his shoulder.

“I wish you birds wouldn’t do that,” Harry said, wincing. The owl stuck a leg under Harry’s nose haughtily and as soon as he pulled the letter off the owl soared up and out of the Great Hall. Harry turned the letter over carefully. His name was scrawled on the outside of a thick parchment envelope in Ron’s handwriting.

“It’s from Ron,” he said neutrally. The other four stared at him.

“Open it,” Hermione eventually said. Her hands were still shaking and without thinking too hard about it Harry reached for her hand and pulled her out of the Great Hall.

“Should we follow them?” he heard Luna ask as the doors swung shut behind them, muffling Ginny’s answer. He gathered it was no, however, when no one followed them.

Hermione sat down suddenly on a bench in the Entrance Hall and dropped her head into her hands, resting her elbows on her knees. Harry sank down next to her, the envelope clutched in his hands.

“Where’s Ginny?” Hermione asked. Harry shrugged, his trembling fingers sliding under the back flap of the envelope and breaking the seal.

“Why did he write to me?” Harry asked quietly as he pulled out the piece of parchment inside. “Why didn’t he write to you?”

“I don’t care,” Hermione whispered. “We don’t even know … maybe he didn’t write it.”

“It’s his handwriting,” Harry pointed out. He unfolded the letter, smoothing it on his knees. Hermione’s eyes were glued to the flagstones in front of her and her hands were clenched in tight fists in her lap. Harry cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

Dear Harry,

Thanks very much for your recent letter. I wish that you’d given me a warning about the singing card attached to the same owl and that your letter hadn’t been a Howler which arrived right as we happened upon a magically-sealed cave that we had located with some difficulty. I guess whoever was inside had sealed it up for a reason because Bill and I got knocked out and chained up in a musty Egyptian tomb.

We’re lucky I carry a picture of you in my Muggle wallet, you great git! Yeah, that’s right, we’ve been masquerading as Muggles and I carry your picture in my wallet. Well, you should probably know it’s one of you, me and Hermione that Ginny took on your birthday.

So anyway, the guys who locked us up were really apologetic … after a while — when they realised we were telling the truth: that’s the war’s over, that we won and that I really do know Harry Bloody Potter personally. Bill started off by cussing me out for having a moving picture in my Muggle wallet but then we figured the guys who got us were wizards and he was thanking me for it!

Here’s a tip for the future though — if you’ve got your hands chained up to the wall of some musty old pyramid it’s a bit hard to reach the wand hidden in your sock! They came in and fed us but … we’re okay now. We found what we’re looking for, we’ll be home for Christmas and we’re bringing presents.

Ron

P.S. The ruddy owl won’t take my letter for Hermione. Bill reckons it’s too fat and heavy. Stupid, stuck-up Egyptian snob of a bird. Tell her I love her, mate.

Hermione started to cry, great heaving sobs of relief as she snatched at the letter. Harry let her have it and patted her back gingerly as she traced the postscript with one forefinger.

“He’s okay, he’s fine,” he said quietly. Hermione took a deep breath and turned to look at Harry.

“I want ... can I keep it?” Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.

“Course.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said before bursting into tears again. Harry shook his head ruefully as Ginny stuck her head out of the doors to the Great Hall.

“What did he say?” she asked. She looked small and frail, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “Is he all right?”

“He — he’s fine,” Hermione stammered.

“Then why are you crying like some great girl?” Ginny asked as she slipped around the door and came towards them.

“Beats me,” Harry said, grinning. “Reckon it’s cause she’s a girl though.”

“He said it, Ginny,” Hermione said suddenly pressing the letter into the other girl’s hands. Ginny smoothed it out and began reading.

“Oh dear,” Ginny said as she scanned the letter. “It looks like we got Ron into a spot of bother. Mum’s going to kill me.”

“He could have been in real danger!” Hermione said suddenly, her eyes flashing.

“He’s all right,” said Ginny, shrugging.

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed before she sat up straight. “Look at the bottom.” Harry watched as Ginny’s eyes flickered to the bottom and went wide.

“He actually said it,” Ginny breathed. “Well I’ll be …”

“Said what? What did he say?” Harry asked irritably.

“He used the ‘L’ word,” Ginny informed him solemnly as she handed Hermione the letter.

“The what?” Harry asked in confusion looking between the girls as Ginny giggled and Hermione smiled blissfully.

“The ‘L’ word, Harry,” Ginny said, laying a hand on his chest and fluttering her eyelashes at him. “He said love.” Harry scratched at the back of his head.

“He’s never said it before,” Hermione said softly.

“But you said he writes every second day,” Harry said.

“He’s never said he loves me,” Hermione said simply.

“But … he does,” Harry said forcefully. “I know he does!”

“I know he does,” Hermione said, “but it’s nice to hear it.” She folded Harry’s letter meticulously and tucked it inside her robes.

**************

The remaining days of term were a whirlwind of classes and hastily finished homework so that the break would be free. Hermione had recovered her good humour and Pigwidgeon brought a letter from Ron, bigger than he was, two days before they were due to go home for Christmas.

“Poor ittle, wittle Pig,” Ginny crooned as Hermione tore open the fat envelope at the breakfast table. “Did big bad Won-Won make you carry that huge letter all the way to Hogwarts? Poor birdie.” Pigwidgeon pecked at her fingers and Ginny yelped.

“Don’t call him Won-Won,” said Hermione idly.

“Vicious little …” said Ginny, glaring at the little owl. Harry watched with amusement as Arnold, who had taken to stowing away in Ginny’s pocket and darting out to steal bacon from Harry’s plate at breakfast, fluffed out his fur. He could have sworn the little pigmy puff was baring his teeth — if he had any — at Pig.

“He’s not vicious,” Hermione crooned holding a hand out to Pig. “He’s a wonderful, gorgeous, smart little bitty owl, yes he is.” Pig hopped onto Hermione’s hand and up her arm as Ginny scowled at them.

“How come he lets you talk to him like that?”

“Because Pig knows Won-Won wuvs her,” Harry interjected, smirking.

“Can you just read your own letters and leave me in peace?” Hermione snapped, tired of the silly games and eyeing her letter hungrily.

“What letters?” Ginny asked, laughing. Her face fell as Errol landed with a splash in her cornflakes and she grimaced. “Stupid bird.” Pigwidgeon bounced up and down on Hermione’s arm and looked for all the world as if he were laughing.

Ginny gingerly pulled the owl out of her breakfast and pulled the letter from his leg before setting him next to her bowl. She pushed the bowl away with a frown and prodded at Errol experimentally before sighing and unfurling the scroll, noting that Liberty had swooped down and was offering Harry her leg proudly.

“It came through,” Harry whispered, staring at a bundle of parchment in his in hand. “I did it.”

“The babies?” Ginny asked as she stilled her hands on the scroll of her mother’s letter. Harry nodded, his eyes searching the parchment in front of him.

“They’re not really babies, one of them is two and the other is nearly four,” he murmured. “But the paperwork is all here and Dad says he took them to Sirius House yesterday.”

“I hope Mum doesn’t smother them.” Ginny grinned at Harry and they both laughed, knowing it was a distinct possibility.

“What does she say?” Harry asked, gesturing at Ginny’s letter as he folded his own and tucked it in his bag.

“Dunno,” Ginny shrugged, unrolled the scroll at last and scanned the short missive. “Bring your dress robes?”

“That’s it?”

“Well it says ‘Dear Ginny, looking forward to seeing you all for Christmas, Dad will meet you at Kings Cross, bring dress robes, love Mum’,” Ginny replied.

“That’s a bit odd,” Hermione murmured. “It’s not like you need dress robes for Christmas. You don’t suppose she’s starting a new tradition or something, do you? I wonder if she means me as well. I’m going to visit my parents but I’ll be at the Burrow most of the holidays, I suspect.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Ginny said dryly as they picked up their bags to follow the rest of the school shuffling off to class. “Did young Ronald say when he’d be coming home in that enormous roll of parchment he sent you?” Hermione shook her head but clutched it dreamily to her chest.

“He said it again, you know … right there on the first page …”

Ginny rolled her eyes and stalked off muttering something under her breath. It sounded like ‘lovesick fools’ but whatever it was, it was definitely not a compliment judging by the expression on her face.

*************

When they arrived at Kings Cross for the Christmas holidays Arthur greeted Harry, Ginny and Hermione warmly.

“You didn’t have to meet us,” Ginny said as she hugged her father. “We’re old enough to Apparate home by ourselves now.”

“Ginny, you don’t even have your licence yet,” Hermione chided.

“Actually I needed to come for the children,” Arthur said gesturing at the group of students huddled together at the end of the platform with Professor Crockwell. Matthew, a second year Hufflepuff boy and his younger sister Eve, a Ravenclaw, had been in hiding with their parents and the family of a first year Gryffindor named Louise when a Death Eater raid had taken their parents. The three children had been well hidden in the basement and discovered by Muggle authorities some hours later. They were to come to Sirius House along with Marie, the Muggleborn Gryffindor who’d lost her family when Death Eaters had blown up her house shortly after she got her Hogwarts letter.

The four of them looked small and lost and Hermione hurried over to bring them over to meet Arthur.

“Oh,” Ginny smiled as the students began trailing after Hermione. “Where’s Mum then?”

“She’s at Sirius House,” Arthur answered with a smile. “I told Mrs Chumley we’d bring her boys along. I’ll ah, need your help to round them up.”

It wasn’t long before Gilbert and Gerald were standing with them and the little group of students who’d be going to Sirius House for the holidays. Gerald was scowling and Gilbert was bouncing on his toes excitedly, waving to Dexter and Othello as they left with their parents.

“Where’s Hamish?” Harry asked, surveying the assorted trunks in front of him. They were topped with Liberty’s cage, Crookshanks’s carrier and the little travel tote for Arnold that Ginny had recently acquired as a gift from George.

“Oh, he’s staying at school for a couple of days and then his mum’s picking him up and they’re going to Switzerland for Christmas!” Gilbert babbled excitedly. “He said he’d probably visit the place where they make those Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs and stuff and bring us back a heap of stuff! He’s so lucky. I’m going to travel when I’m bigger. Did you ever want to travel Mr — Harry? I mean I think going camping sounds fabulous and Dexter reckons they always go camping for the World Cup and we might be able to go with him next time. Have you been to the World Cup? Did you like it? Was there camping?”

“Yeah, I don’t much like camping,” Harry muttered.

“Mum reckons you helped her get a job at this place,” Gilbert prattled on, dancing about. “Have you seen where we’re going?”

“Yes I have,” Harry murmured, staring helplessly at Mr Weasley who was eyeing the large pile of trunks and other baggage with a frown.

“Is it a big place?” Gilbert prattled on. “I’ve never lived in a big place, Mum said it was a big place but then she’s never seen Hogwarts. She said me and Gerald might have to share a room because of all the other kids but I don’t mind that because we usually share a room. It’ll be fun having other kids around though. I don’t know the girls very well ... D’you think boys can be friends with girls? I’ve not got any friends that are girls yet at Hogwarts. Dexter reckons girls are yucky but you seem to really like ‘em, Harry.” Gilbert looked up at him expectantly and Harry could see Arthur smirking at him.

“Yes, I think you can be friends with girls,” Harry said eventually, shaking his head at Ginny who was dissolving in helpless laughter.

“Right then!” Arthur said rubbing his hands together. “Glad you could all join us for the holidays. Well not exactly us, because the house isn’t big enough for all of us, but we’ll see a bit of you I expect. Let’s get going and see if Molly isn’t waiting for us with some hot chocolate. She’ll have my hide if I let you stand here freezing your ears off much longer! Right then … I’m not good at shrinking things and we can’t take one of those trolley things down the street. You lot are all dressed right for Muggle streets?” He cast a glance around the group; Gerald still scowling heavily, Gilbert still bouncing and the four orphaned students staring at Harry in awe.

Hermione smiled and went to her trunk, extracting a familiar beaded bag. It didn’t take long for all the trunks to be swallowed up into the one bag which Arthur insisted on carrying. Hermione tried to explain that Muggle men didn’t carry beaded handbags but Arthur was having none of it, consenting only to Hermione casting a mild Confounding charm on the bag so that it appeared to be a brown leather satchel to any Muggle who looked closely at it. Harry picked up Liberty’s cage and Hermione and Ginny each carried their pets and the group left Kings Cross and braved the chill to take the short walk to Grimmauld Place.

As they approached, the wind began to howl around their legs and Harry thought his fingers were going to freeze right through his gloves. He was holding Ginny’s hand but he could barely feel it.

“Next time we get taxis,” he grumbled. Ginny smiled at him and pressed closer to his side. Harry couldn’t help it; he smiled back at her and leaned down to kiss her soundly. Ginny blushed at the sound of muffled giggling coming from the two first year Gryffindor girls but it just made Harry smack at her lips exaggeratedly until Ginny pushed him away, laughing.

“Honestly Harry,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “You should set an example.”

“Oh, that’s a very good example,” Ginny said with a sly grin and Hermione frowned at her.

“Are we here? Is this it?” Gilbert chattered excitedly as the street lights winked into existence around the little square in the middle of Grimmauld Place. Gilbert peered through the gate. “Oh this looks like a super place for a snowball fight! I hope it snows for Christmas — do you hope it snows, Harry? Oh I suppose you won’t be here anyway … unless — will you?” The boy looked up at him hopefully.

“Only Father Christmas could beat me here on Christmas morning,” Harry said. Gilbert beamed and scampered up the street calling out that he’d find number twelve for them. It didn’t take him long and Harry laughed as he watched the boy caper about on the footpath outside Sirius House which was sporting the biggest door wreath Harry had ever seen.

“Can we go in, can we go in?” Gilbert called as the rest of the group approached. “How tall is the house? It goes up forever!” Gilbert tipped his head back so far Harry thought he might tip over.

“It really is very good of you,” said Matthew. His sister had been clinging to his hand since they left the train station. Harry just shrugged uncomfortably.

“Well then, let’s see,” Arthur broke in. “How about you press the doorbell there, lad.” He nodded at Gilbert who dashed up the steps eagerly and leaned heavily on the bell. A Christmas Carol blasted out from behind the door and Gilbert jumped back, laughing with delight. Arthur smiled. “George charmed it.”

The door swung open and Fleur stood in the doorway, her silvery hair shining in the light from several lamps shining along the hallway. Gilbert stared at her, mouth agape.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“You are … Gilbert?” Fleur asked softly and Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. “Your mother, she is in the kitchen. Your brother, he is ‘ere?”

“All here, safe and sound, Fleur dear,” Arthur said marching up the steps and beckoning to the children clustered behind him. “Right then, in we go, straight down to the kitchen with you lot, hang your coats up here, that’s the way.” The children had followed him up the steps and Harry could see them clustered in the doorway, divesting themselves of hats, scarfs and coats. Harry, Hermione and Ginny followed the younger students inside. The hallway was festooned in wreaths and garlands and ribbons that wound their way up the banisters.

“Wow, it’s huge,” Gilbert said in awe, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. He peered up the staircase. “Is the kitchen up here?”

“No, it’s down …” Harry trailed off having caught sight of the space where Mrs Black used to hang. The same frame was still there but in place of the hateful woman who had screamed obscenities at those who passed was a handsome young man, his glossy black hair shining in waves nearly to his shoulders, his full lips curved in a welcoming smile and his eyes clear and bright as if they sparkled.

The portrait didn’t move or speak but it was clearly of Sirius.

“How …” Harry gazed at the portrait, barely noticing as Hermione, Ginny and Fleur began herding the children down the stairs into the kitchen, Gerald was dragging his feet, still scowling heavily at his surroundings.

“We couldn’t get it to move magically,” Arthur said, his voice held a note of apology. “Mrs Chumley was a bit afraid of a moving one in any case but we hired the best artist we could and he worked on that night and day these past two weeks. Do you like it?”

“But …”

“I know you didn’t tell us to do that,” Arthur said, “but we thought it only fitting. The House is named after him and the wall needed something. See here, it’s got his name on the frame and we’ve got frames ready to go for the children if they have any special photographs of family they want to hang in their rooms. Mrs Chumley’s started things off, here.” He pointed to a series of photographs of two chubby boys that were hanging on the wall of the staircase.

“Molly’s got tea ready in the kitchen before going home and Fleur’s staying the night to help them all settle in,” Arthur continued. “Of course if you don’t want to stay …”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Harry said, tearing his eyes away from the portrait. “It’s … you’ve done more than … this really can be a home, can’t it?”

“Of course it can,” Arthur said softly. “There’s a lovely meal in the kitchen waiting for young tummies and then a huge tree begging to be trimmed up in the drawing room. But most importantly, those women in there have got love just oozing out in spades for these kids. They’ll be well taken care of, Harry.”

“Thank you,” Harry said. Arthur smiled and clapped him on the shoulder as they made their way down to the kitchen.

Molly greeted him effusively, two small faces peeping out from behind her robes. The two children from St Mungo’s were shy but Gilbert soon had them laughing and giggling as he pulled funny faces at them from behind Gerald’s back. For his part, Gerald was making a show of disliking everything but even he couldn’t fail to be impressed by Molly Weasley’s cooking.

Mrs Chumley talked animatedly with all of them, finding out all the things they had been doing and being suitably impressed by their exploits in class. The little Ravenclaw didn’t say anything throughout the meal but the others eagerly told her all about Potions and Charms class and the time Hagrid had accidentally brought a Bowtruckle to lunch with him and it started making a nest in Professor Sprout’s hair. After tea they all traipsed up the stairs and the children selected rooms. Gilbert raced all the way to the top of the stairs and opened a door.

“This is so cool,” he shouted down the stairs. “It’s just like in the Tower! Can I sleep in this one, Harry?”

“You can sleep wherever you like,” Harry said, swallowing the lump in his throat, knowing Sirius would approve of this exuberant boy taking over his bedroom. Ginny sensed how difficult this was for Harry and squeezed his hand tightly.

“He’d like this,” she said and Harry nodded. Gerald had taken Regulus’s old room and the trunks had been delivered to their owners’ new bedrooms before everyone gathered in the drawing room.

It was after midnight when Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys arrived back at the Burrow. They spent all evening trimming the huge tree Hagrid had sent over and Harry was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

It was late when Harry woke the next morning. Weak sunlight filtered through the tiny window in Ron’s room and Harry’s watch told him it was half past ten.

“Blimey,” he muttered, scrambling out of bed and searching hastily for a pair of trousers. He pulled a jumper over his head and donned a pair of thick socks and a pair of battered trainers before heading downstairs to breakfast.

The kitchen was deserted except for Angelina, sitting at the table reading The Daily Prophet and drinking a cup of tea.

“Morning, Harry,” she said. “Molly left you some breakfast.” She gestured to a plate that lay on the table.

“Where is everyone?” Harry asked, sitting opposite her and sliding the plate towards himself.

“Hermione’s gone to visit her parents,” Angelina said, “and Ginny and George are having a conversation with their parents, in there.” She gestured towards the living room.

“Oh,” Harry raised an eyebrow and began to eat. “And you’re sitting out here all alone because …?”

“Waiting for Georgie,” she said. “I was talking to Fred but it got too cold out there.” She shivered a little and stared out the window.

“How is … um how are you?” Harry asked. Angelina shrugged and began folding creases in one of the serviettes sitting on the table.

“They’re telling Ginny about the baby,” said Angelina a bit distractedly as she pulled the serviette into the shape of a bird.

“Oh, okay,” Harry said as he chewed his breakfast. She didn’t seem very talkative and Harry had no idea what to say. He was glad when George bounded into the room only a moment later.

“Harry! You’re awake! Finally!” he said as he swooped over to Angelina and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Harry watched as she turned her head to George slightly and he pressed a kiss to her cheek, one of his hands coming to rest on her stomach.

“I am,” was all Harry said as he watched Angelina smile for the first time since he’d come down and present the bird to George on one open palm. George loosened his hold on her and pulled his wand out. He waved it at the bird and charmed it to fly around the kitchen.

It would have been fluid and graceful except that Ginny walked in at the precise moment it flew past the door and it smacked her in the face, unfolding and falling flat to the floor, twitching feebly. Ginny scowled at the serviette before she looked up at Angelina and George.

“Well, congratulations,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks,” Angelina said, smiling back.

“Well, now that you both know our news …”

“I didn’t tell Harry,” Angelina interrupted.

“Harry already knows,” George said.

“No, I didn’t tell him about the wedding.”

“The what?” Both Harry and Ginny stared at the other couple in shock.

“Christmas Eve,” George said.

“That was … fast,” Ginny said, sitting abruptly in the chair next to Harry.

“You’ll come, won’t you?” Angelina said anxiously. Ginny eyed her carefully.

“Of course,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Angie’s been worried that you wouldn’t want anything to do with it,” George said quietly.

“Why?” Ginny asked, frowning.

“I know how you feel about Fleur,” Angelina said.

“Yeah but she’s all … girly,” Ginny said with a grimace. Angelina burst into tears and Ginny looked increasingly alarmed.

“See?” George said, patting his fiancée on the arm. “I told you, she’s fine with it.”

“I can be girly,” Angelina wailed. George grinned at her.

“I know …” he trailed off suggestively and Angelina hit him on the arm.

“Oh I’m very pleased,” Ginny said getting up and sliding into a chair next to Angelina. “George couldn’t choose anyone better.”

“Really?” Angelina sniffed.

“No, he couldn’t,” Ginny reassured her. “I know you didn’t really expect this but … he’s happier than he’s been for months.” Ginny took her hands and squeezed them in her own.

“My family’s a bit disappointed in me,” Angelina confessed. “They keep looking at me sadly, as if I won’t ever be happy, you know. They think … they think I might be settling for something.”

“Honey, no one ever settles for George,” Ginny said with a smirk. Angelina laughed and wiped away the remnants of the tears on her cheeks. Ginny handed Angelina a conjured handkerchief. “Are you happy?”

“Yes,” Angelina whispered.

“Then you need to start acting like it,” Ginny said with finality. “Now, you aren’t going to make me wear some sort of soppy dress to this thing are you?”

“Nope, you can wear what you like,” George said, running a hand across Angelina’s shoulders. She shivered visibly at his touch.

“Is this why Mum said to bring dress robes?” Ginny asked suddenly.

“Dress robes?” George asked blankly.

“Well it is a wedding …” Ginny trailed off and shrugged.

“Whatever you like, Ginny,” George repeated. Ginny nodded and watched as George ran his hands down Angelina’s arms and across to rest on her slightly swollen stomach. He smiled slightly as he looked down at his hands and then kissed Angelina’s cheek.

“Well, okay then,” Ginny said. George nodded briefly before pulling Angelina out of her seat.

“Let us go and see a man about a dog!”

“A what?”

“Dunno,” George shrugged, laughing. “I heard a Muggle say it once and it sounds funny.” Angelina grinned at him and the two of them linked arms and headed for the cloaks near the back door.

They slipped out, laughing and joking. Harry saw George tuck his hand into Angelina’s and then they were gone, the door swinging shut silently behind them.

“Big news,” Harry said quietly into the stillness.

“Yeah,” Ginny was staring at nothing. Suddenly she straightened and turned to Harry. “How’d you already know she was having a baby?”

“George told me last time we visited,” Harry confessed.

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“He asked me not to,” Harry said. Ginny nodded slightly before sitting pensively and watched him finish eating.

“It’s pretty big,” Ginny said. Harry looked up at her tone. She was staring at her hands, but she wasn’t really seeing them, he could tell. “Big news I mean.”

“Yeah …” Harry trailed off, uncertain what she was thinking.

“I mean, it’s good news,” Ginny said. “Well sort of, it’s not news I’d want to get — oh, I mean right now. I don’t mean forever, um … one day I could use news like that … probably … Merlin, I’m messing this up.”

“Me either,” Harry said firmly, abandoning his breakfast. “I don’t mean forever either. Merlin knows I want to have children, but …”

“I’m not even eighteen,” Ginny said, “but if you had asked me this time last year I would have told you I wanted to have a baby and it would have been true.”

“Why?” Harry asked, not understanding. She had been only sixteen and a half then, still in school. It had been the middle of a war.

“The one thing that would have been … did you know one of the first years died, right before Christmas?” Ginny said. Harry shook his head, stunned.

“No,” he said softly, gently, the horror in his mind threatening to overcome him.

“I didn’t know him, not well,” Ginny said, a silent tear rolling down her cheek. “His name was Duncan. He was just a little Hufflepuff kid who forgot he wasn’t supposed to speak in the hallways and … and … he didn’t survive the torture.” Ginny dissolved in tears and Harry pulled her into his lap, rocking her gently, the horrible tale too awful to believe.

“Oh, Ginny,” he whispered into her hair.

“There is only one thing that could take away that horrible, awful feeling,” Ginny said quietly as her sobs subsided. “I think that’s why Angelina and George are so at peace with this. They’re both so … it’s like a balm. I was eating breakfast when Angelina arrived and George he just … I couldn’t believe it. His face just lit up when he saw her. You know how he’s looked jumpy or jittery for months? Like he’s always looking behind him or next to him for something and sometimes he stops, like he’s waiting for someone else to say something or do something?”

Harry nodded. He’d seen George stop and turn to look for his twin. He’d seen him leave doors open a little longer than necessary or hesitate before sitting in a chair that had no empty seat next to it. He’d seen George sit, staring into space wearing one of Fred’s old jumpers and twirling the wrong wand in his hand.

“This morning he was … different,” Ginny said slowly. “I don’t know how exactly, he’s still sad. It’s so awful to see him sad. But he smiled and his eyes sort of wrinkled up at the edges and it was like his eyes were smiling too. Of course, when he inexplicably kissed her belly I may have asked a few too many pointed questions.”

“He looked different.” Harry smiled. “It’s a bit unexpected but I think it’s a good thing for George.”

“I don’t know if this is a truly healthy thing, but it’s a good thing,” said Ginny, nodding. “I know all I wanted to do that day we found out about Duncan was smash things but … Tonks sent me a letter. I don’t know how it got through. Fred and George had charmed some sort of quill to write in code I think. She wrote all about being pregnant and feeling the baby kick and it was just … so beautiful and I wished that I was pregnant because it sounded so wonderful and hopeful and we were running out of hope fast. That’s what this is for them. It’s hope.”

******************

The next two days passed in a flurry of activity. Penelope had forgotten to cancel the church and George and Angelina had taken Percy up on the offer to use it for their ceremony.

“Too cold to get married outside,” George said, on Monday morning, waving at the blanket of snow that had fallen overnight.

“Well it’s a good thing you’ve not invited many people then, if you want to have the reception here,” said Molly as she scrubbed vigorously at the kitchen windows. “Merlin knows we don’t have a lot of room inside.”

“I don’t think we need a big to-do,” George said quietly from his seat at the table where he’d been told to sit and shine a few ancient pieces of battered silverware.

“Oh nonsense,” Molly scoffed, handing Harry and Ginny some cleaning rags and pointing them to an already pristine shelf in the corner of the kitchen. “A few decorations aren’t a big to-do.”

“Christmas decorations are fine, Mum,” George said wearily.

“I don’t mind,” Molly insisted, standing back to inspect the windows. “You could have a lovely purple theme or perhaps blue. You’ve always looked nice in blue. Wouldn’t take long at all to hang a few streamers, maybe coax a few more fairies out to light the place up. Oh, we could get your father to see if he could borrow that marquee, the one with the heater, from that fellow at the Ministry. Oh … what’s his name … Figgers, Fidgeon … Fedders …”

“We’ve only invited close family, Mum,” George said, setting a silver tureen down with a thump, “for a bite to eat, not a three course meal.”

“Yes, I know, and you’re lucky that Auntie Muriel isn’t very put out,” Molly said with a sniff. “If she hadn’t already planned a trip down to see Great Uncle Jasper I wouldn’t hear the end of it for months. So, purple or blue?”

“What?” George asked, scowling at the three silver goblets he was to polish.

“For a colour scheme, dear,” Molly said patiently, inspecting a tray that she had pulled from the pantry.

“We don’t need a colour scheme, Mum,” George replied. “I told you, Christmas decorations are fine.”

“Just string up some extra mistletoe,” Ginny said cheekily and grinned at George. He smiled back weakly.

“I do hope Ron and Bill are back in time,” Molly said as she unearthed more serving trays and platters from a cupboard under the sink and piled them on the table. “The wedding is in three days!”

“She says that like I don’t know,” George muttered mutinously.

“Now, have you got your robes, dear?”

“Yes, Mum.”

“I should make sure Ron’s dress robes are nice and pressed-”

“It doesn’t matter,” George said, pushing his chair back. “I told you, I don’t care if you all wear dress robes or not. Let the poor bloke wear what he likes.”

“Well …” Molly trailed off uncertainly before taking a deep breath. “If he’s going to stand up with you-”

“He’s not,” George said shortly.

“Oh, did you ask Percy then?” Molly asked. “Is he all right with being in a wedding? It’s just he’s not been very interested, not that I can blame him, poor boy.”

“No, I didn’t ask Percy,” George said. “Can we just drop it please?”

“We really should fill out the programmes,” Molly said, frowning. “You need to decide who your best man is going to be-”

“No,” George said, clutching the back of the chair. “No best man.”

“Well you need to have someone-”

“No!” George said through gritted teeth. “No colour schemes, no heated monstrosities in the garden and no best man! There isn’t one!”

“I’m sure one of your brothers would be happy-”

“No,” George whispered, his voice anguished. “Not one of them.” Without warning George threw aside the chair he’d been clutching. It crashed to the floor and cracked apart down the middle. The noise brought Arthur racing in from the sitting room where he’d been sent to polish picture frames. Harry and Ginny stood motionless as George began hurling the silver he’d been polishing to the floor, the ancient pieces bouncing wildly across the floor, fresh dents marring their surface.

Arthur dropped the polishing cloth in his hand and raced to his son, folding his arms around him and stopping the senseless destruction. George sank to the floor, bringing his father with him and turned and began sobbing helplessly.

“No best man,” George whispered over and over again. “No best man, he’s gone.”

“Okay,” Arthur said quietly, holding George, tears dripping down his own nose and into his son’s hair. “No best man. You don’t have to have a best man.” He stayed on the floor rocking George as if he were a little baby and Molly sank into a chair, her face white and her hands shaking. Ginny began levitating the silverware back onto the table and Harry quietly began repairing the dents as best he could.

Things remained a little tense at the Burrow until the next morning when, in the middle of shining all the candlesticks in the house, the back door flew open and a flurry of snow blew in along with two figures, shrouded in cloaks and scarves.

“It’s a bit nippy here.” Ron’s voice floated out from one of the shrouded figures and Hermione, who had been scowling at a particularly lopsided and tarnished candlestick, leapt to her feet and threw her arms around him, not waiting for him to unwind the scarf or remove his cloak.

“Let a man breathe, Hermione,” Ron mumbled. Bill chuckled as he shrugged off his cloak and hung it by the back door.

“I love you too,” Hermione said, still clinging tightly to his neck. Ron somehow managed to extricate the scarf from his neck and face, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment. He smiled sheepishly at Hermione.

“Missed you,” he said softly.

“Missed the mistletoe too, you great git!” George called, pointing his candlestick above Ron’s head. Harry stifled a snort and Ginny giggled as Ron’s gloved hand gave George a two fingered salute and he bent his head to kiss Hermione, heedless of his audience.

“We’re still he-ere!” George sang, several minutes later and Ron broke the kiss to glare at his brother.

“You’re ruining this for me,” he said.

“Take it into the other room then,” George said. “I don’t want to lose my toast - we just had breakfast.”

“Oh! Is there any left?” Ron asked eagerly. Hermione gave him such a look of reproach that he bent to kiss her again without another word.

The wedding preparations were interrupted briefly by the news that Bill and Ron had just come from Sirius House where they had delivered a particularly special present to the Chumley’s.

They’d found Gilbert and Gerald’s father.

“I mean he’s not quite the same as he was,” Ron said as he tucked into a large roast beef sandwich at the lunch table. “Splinched himself getting out of the Ministry, he did, mangled up his left arm good and proper, but he’s still pretty handy with most things.”

Ron and Bill had uncovered a group of at least ten men who’d fled England and spent the past week madly contacting the small groups of other witches and wizards who were hidden and scattered across Europe and the Middle East.

“They built up an incredible hidden network,” Bill explained. “But they’d hidden themselves in the Muggle world so well none of them had been able to verify the few vague rumours they’d heard about the end of the war. Most of ‘em were so badly frightened or injured that they couldn’t get home and check. None of managed to hold down a Muggle job long enough to do more than eat, let alone earn a plane fare and none of ‘em were willing to just land back in Diagon Alley or risk their magic being tracked.”

“They’re all coming home now?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Ron answered, “Kingsley’s givin’ ‘em all a hand and anyone we know about should be home before New Year’s.”

The news of this success dissipated any lingering tension and Ron and Bill’s return, together with Charlie’s arrival from Romania, meant the Burrow began to feel a lot more like Christmas. Charlie had arrived bearing a new scorch mark on his neck and a sackful of Christmas gifts. The only thing that marred the approaching festivities was the still gaping, aching hole where Fred used to be.

******************

The afternoon before George’s wedding Bill suggested having a night out. Charlie wholeheartedly agreed with Bill.

“Well, a night in really,” Charlie clarified, gesturing at the swirling snow. “Bit cold out.”

“A night in where?” George asked from the couch in the Burrow’s sitting room, his head resting on Angelina’s shoulder as he stroked her stomach gently.

“Shell Cottage,” Bill replied. “We’ll all go there, just the lads. Leave the ladies to do something … ladylike and have a few drinks.”

“It’s a big Muggle tradition,” Charlie said from his seat near the fireplace.

“Is it really?” Arthur asked excitedly, laying down his newspaper.

“Oh yeah,” Charlie said carelessly. “They reckon it’s like a farewell to the bachelor life. Call it a … buck’s party I think.”

“What do you do at a buck’s party?” Ron asked.

“Drink and talk of fine women,” chortled Charlie.

“Sounds like a brilliant plan!” Bill proclaimed.

“Eet sounds ridiculous,” said Fleur from the doorway, her arms were crossed and she looked particularly put out. Harry heard Angelina snigger at the look on Bill’s face.

“Ah, but my dear sister-in-law,” Charlie said in an almost perfect imitation of Professor Slughorn, “the ladies also have a gathering where they discuss erm … lacy stuff and … um, other girl things.”

“You weel never get married Charlie,” Fleur sniffed haughtily as she turned away from him. “Beel, a word.” As Bill scrambled to his feet George chuckled softly and shook his head.

“Why don’t you go, George?” Angelina asked quietly. “It sounds like fun and … it’s not everyday all your brothers are here.” George’s hand stilled on her stomach and he closed his eyes. Angelina gasped and covered her mouth with her hand; tears sparkled in the corners of her eyes. George sat up straight and lifted a hand to her cheek.

“Hey,” George said softly. “No more crying.” Angelina sniffed and nodded. George kissed her tenderly. Harry looked away after only a few seconds. It seemed like such a private moment but he was also fascinated with watching the couples around him.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hadn’t shown each other any particular affection. They’d showered it on Dudley, of course, but they’d never done more than peck each other on the cheek in front of him. Harry secretly loved the way Molly and Arthur kissed unabashed in the kitchen even though it made the rest of their children complain loudly. He also liked watching Bill and Fleur hold hands at the dinner table and the way Ron played with Hermione’s hair while she was reading.

George and Angelina were different though. They were gentler with each other and their moments seemed more private somehow, as if they were protecting something fragile. But there was still something compelling in the way they looked at each other and cared for one another. Harry wondered if he looked at Ginny as tenderly as George looked at Angelina; if he touched her as gently as Bill touched Fleur or spoke to her as lovingly as Arthur spoke to Molly. He was stirred from his thoughts by Ginny planting herself in his lap suddenly.

“Hi!” she said brightly.

“Hi yourself,” Harry replied with a smile. He gazed up at her for a moment. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail and there was a smudge on her cheek from cleaning whichever random object her mother has assigned for cleaning that afternoon, but she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t help it; he reached a hand up to her neck and pulled her down for a kiss.

“All right, all right,” Ron grumbled loudly. “Fleur says we can go be manly at Shell Cottage. Let’s go before she changes her mind. You can resume the kissing thing tomorrow.” Harry felt a large hand pull on his arm and he broke the kiss with Ginny with a growl.

“Oi,” he grunted.

“No one likes to be shown up like that,” Ron said. “How you can express all that passion without it looking sordid is beyond me. Sometimes I feel like casting a cooling charm on myself just being in the same room when you two look at each other.” Harry blushed spectacularly and glanced at Ginny as Ron hauled him towards the door.

She was grinning at him and winked slowly. Ron shook his head and mumbled something about impossible benchmarks and then they were out the door and Apparating to Shell Cottage before Harry could even wonder that he and Ginny had their own special way of telling the world that they were in love.

********************

“Do you think it matters that … we’re ... you know …” George gestured vaguely at his midriff.

“Expecting?” Bill supplied. George nodded.

“Matters to who?” asked Charlie refilling everyone’s glasses.

“We decided to make a go of it before we knew,” George said absently. “Probably would have been better if we weren’t … you know …”

“Say it with me, George … expecting,” Bill chortled. George threw him a withering look.

“Mum and Dad had a talk with me,” George said conversationally.

“The same one where they tell you to wait?” asked Ron. “I thought you already had that one. Even Harry got that one.” Charlie turned to look at Harry and sniggered. Harry felt his face heat spectacularly.

“Yeah we got that one before Hogwarts,” George replied. He continued in an uncanny impression of his father. “Boys … you may start to notice girls … when you do, you are in no way supposed to touch them prior to, during or after the wedding unless you have my permission.” Charlie snorted.

“That’s not how I remember it!”

“Yes well you got the Charlie designed talk,” Bill said. “George here got the one designed for the twins.” George gestured rudely at his older brother and resumed speaking.

“This was the ‘we are so disappointed in you’ talk,” George took a sip of Firewhisky thoughtfully. “You know what they said to Angelina though? ‘Thanks for the grandkid, dear’!”

“They did not,” Bill scoffed.

“They did so!”

“Did you know that Dad tells you to wait and Mum tells you to be careful?” Ron asked the room at large.

“How do you know?” asked George lazily. “Did you get The Talk from Mum?”

“No!” Ron rolled his eyes. “But Ginny did.”

“Yep, that’s what Mum says,” muttered Harry without thinking.

“And were you, Potter?” Bill asked.

“Was I ..?” Harry asked, suddenly very aware of the silence in the room.

“Were you careful?” Charlie asked with a feral grin.

“If he’s got any sense he’ll be careful not to tell you lot anything!” George said with a leer. He winked exaggeratedly at Harry.

“I rather liked our father’s advice on the subject,” Percy interjected suddenly. “When I get married-”

“You’re going to be pure, Perce,” George proclaimed, raising his glass, “unlike the rest of us degenerates!” He chuckled loudly.

“Hey!” Bill protested from where he lay on the floor. Charlie threw a cushion at his head. It was terribly wide of the mark and narrowly missed bouncing into the fireplace.

“Are you trying to tell these young, impressionable brothers of ours that you didn’t …” Charlie waved a hand drunkenly.

“Have sex,” Ron supplied bluntly before tipping his Firewhisky down his throat.

“Thank you, Ron,” Charlie said. “Have sex, before you got married?” Bill eyed Charlie carefully and blinked.

“I did not,” he said, enunciating every word, “have sex with my wife until after we were married.” He smiled smugly. Ron tilted his head. He wore an expression of extreme thoughtfulness.

“That’s only because she wasn’t your wife then,” he eventually said with no small degree of triumph. Bill grinned. George narrowed his eyes at him.

“You had sex with Fleur before you got married, I caught you that day behind the chicken coop,” George proclaimed.

“Yes, George, but she wasn’t his wife,” Charlie said, looking horrified and swaying just a little. “She was just Fleur then.”

“She has never been just Fleur,” Bill sighed, a dreamy look on his face. They sat in silent contemplation for a moment.

“What if I’m rubbish at it?” Percy said suddenly.

“Everyone is,” George said morosely.

“They are?” Ron asked. He raised an eyebrow. “How come everyone goes back for more then?”

“Even the worst feels bloody good,” George said sagely. “Unless you get too blind drunk because you’re scared witless and … aim wrong.” He burst out laughing.

“George!” Percy looked mortified and took another drink as if to wipe out the memory of what his brother had just said.

“You didn’t?” Charlie groaned. “That’s poor form, George.”

“It wasn’t me!” George cried with mirth. “It was Fred!”

“Merlin,” Ron breathed. “You really did tell each other everything!”

“No, he didn’t tell me that! Angelina did!” George hiccupped before falling silent.

“What happens if you … well if you aim wrong?” Percy suddenly asked. He looked intently at George. “Is that bad?” Charlie made a choking sound.

“Yes, Perce, it’s bad,” Bill said seriously. “The witches don’t like it!” He punctuated every word with a finger stab to the air above him.

“It’s not too bad if they love you,” George said thoughtfully. “She let him try again ...”

“I would be too mortified-” Ron started.

“She loved him,” George whispered, cutting him off. He stood up and swung around to face his brothers and Harry. “She loved him! What am I doing? She loved him! She should be marrying Fred, not me!” He lurched for the doorway.

“She can’t ...” Ron trailed off.

“I know she can’t!” George shouted. He whirled, nearly falling over, “because he’s DEAD!” Bill stood up and wove across the room unsteadily.

“George ...” he trailed off and put his arms around his younger brother. George stood stiffly for a moment before he clutched at Bill and began to cry.

Harry stared into the fire. He felt sort of warm and removed from reality. He was glad. Part of him knew Firewhisky was not the way to deal with this pain and loss but the greater part of him was glad. He hoped they wouldn’t all be paying for it in the morning.

The six of them sat quietly after George eventually stopped crying, he and Bill leaning drunkenly against one another near the doorway.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” George asked suddenly.

“Who?” Charlie answered.

“Fred …”

“What do you need forgiveness for?” Ron looked at George with a frown.

“She was his girl.” No one seemed to have an answer for that. They sat in silence again for a long time.

“Is she happy?” Percy asked after a while. “Because if she’s happy then ... I reckon that’s all that Fred wants. I want Penelope to be happy and if Roger Davies makes her happy, then …”

“You still want to pound the little snot into the ground,” Bill grunted.

“Yeah,” mused Percy, “bad example.”

“I don’t reckon you have anything to answer to,” Charlie said suddenly. “If you’re happy and she’s happy and Fred’s dead, well-”

“Charlie!”

“Well he is!” Charlie insisted in a rather slurred tone. “If Bill here got dead I’d be happy to cheer Fleur up!”

“You are so drunk right now or there is no way you’d be saying that,” Bill pointed a finger at him lazily.

“I just mean …” Charlie waved an arm and came dangerously close to unseating a crystal vase on a nearby side table.

“Fred would be happy for you,” Ron said. “That’s what he means. He would want you to be with her if it makes you both happy.”

“That’s what I mean,” Charlie confirmed with a nod and a swig of Firewhisky.

“Just make her happy. I reckon that’s all he’d want,” Bill said. He peered at George. “Are you happy?”

“Yeah,” George replied. “I am with her, anyway.”

“And not just because she’s a good shag,” Percy supplied drunkenly.

“You bring everything back to sex,” Ron complained.

“You’re just grumpy because you’ve not had any,” Charlie ribbed him.

“Not because he hasn’t tried, I bet,” chuckled George.

“For your information,” Ron said loftily, “I happen to have had some experience of a sexual nature and I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of it.”

“Good luck,” snorted Harry.

“What’s that mean, Potter?”

“You couldn’t keep your noses out of other people’s sex lives for love or money,” Harry muttered, propping his feet up on Fleur’s carefully polished coffee table.

“Fleur will end yours if you don’t get your feet off of there,” Bill commented. Harry hastily removed his feet, stretching them out underneath the precious piece of furniture.

“He’d have to have one to end,” Charlie commented, taking a swig of Firewhisky from the bottle.

“Maybe he does,” Ron muttered darkly. George lurched to his feet, and took the bottle from Charlie.

“You are all too drunk to do anything about it anyway,” George said, sitting heavily on the coffee table in front of Harry swaying dangerously.

“Thass true,” said Percy as he put his glass down unsteadily and loosened his tie.

“How many has he had?” George asked, watching Percy attempt to untie his shoelaces. “Just pull ‘em off, Perce!” Percy eyed George haughtily.

“Being a little … having had ssssomething to drink dosh not mean one should ignore bashic sssshoecare,” he slurred. George rolled his eyes at him and turned back to Harry, pouring a generous helping of Firewhisky into his glass.

“So, Harry,” George said, splashing a little more of the alcoholic liquid into his own, “who won the bet?” Harry stared at him in silence, a red heat creeping up his neck and onto his face.

“Which bet?” he said casually, taking a sip of his drink. His heart hammered in his chest. Ginny’s brothers all suddenly looked unbearably large. The Firewhisky burned as it slid down his throat.

“You know which bet,” Ron grumbled. “Now answer the question so I can go and Obliviate myself.”

“You can’t Obliviate yourshelf, Ronald,” Percy said, his face inches from his shoelaces.

“Shut up, Perce,” Ron said idly. Percy kept silent, meticulously unpicking the knot in his shoelaces.

“I lost,” Charlie said. “I had first Quidditch win and since you spent that in the hospital wing …”

“I know I already lost,” Bill commented. “Ginny told me.”

“Ginny told you?” Harry asked nervously.

“Wasn’t before you went back to school,” Bill clarified. He stood up and wandered over, picking up the bottle of Firewhisky and upending it into his glass. It was empty. Charlie frowned at the bottle but George leaned forward, his face inches from Harry’s.

“Please tell me the first event wasn’t before Hallowe’en,” George said. “I don’t want to give Ron here the winnings.” Harry shook his head soundlessly. He searched frantically for a way to get out of there but his limbs felt pleasantly heavy from the Firewhisky he’d consumed.

“Ha!” George crowed, standing unsteadily. “I knew it would take her longer than that to convince him to give it up!”

“Not by much,” Harry said, horrified at the words that tumbled, unbidden out of his mouth. He snapped it shut, growing redder by the minute, before he accidentally said anything else.

“Well,” George said, “I believe, gentlemen, that I win!”

“When was it, Harry?” Bill asked, slumped awkwardly in one of the armchairs. Harry eyed him warily but said nothing.

“You are so lucky we are too drunk to beat you up,” Charlie commented idly. His brothers grunted. Harry thanked his lucky stars.

******************

Harry staggered downstairs the next morning. Ron was still snoring in his bed on the other side of the orange-walled bedroom they still shared. As he went past Fred and George’s old room he trailed his hand across it. George had told him the room was his as soon as the wedding was over. He and Angelina were moving into the flat above the shop after their brief honeymoon.

As he entered the kitchen he could see Bill and Charlie sitting at the table, their heads propped on their hands. Percy was standing at the stove stirring a small cauldron which was giving off rather noxious smelling fumes. George was sitting in a chair near the fireplace, hunched over and moaning. Harry sidled into the room carefully.

“Hurry up, Perce,” George moaned. “My head’s about to split in two!”

“One would think you’d be used to it,” Percy said as he carefully measured something into the cauldron. George lifted his head and glared at his older brother.

“I’ll have you know I stopped the drinking a couple months ago,” he growled. “Once I had to clean up Ron I realised how stupid I was being.”

“Is Ron up yet?” Bill mumbled into his hand.

“No,” Harry answered him. Bill jerked his head up and then winced dramatically.

“Potter,” he grunted before laying his head on the table.

“How’d we get here?” Harry asked as he sat down carefully, not daring to move his fragile head.

“Fleur came home and Flooed Dad to come and get us all,” Bill said. “I remember enough to know that he told us we’d be sorry in the morning.”

“Do you … remember anything else?” Harry asked tentatively. Charlie turned to look at him carefully. Harry squirmed.

“You are so lucky we are too hung over to beat you up,” was all he said.