𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟓 - 𝟔

I assumed that Christmas at Grimmauld Place would be a sordid event, yet it was anything but. By the time Christmas Eve came around, Mr. Weasley had been emitted from St. Mungo's, putting everyone in a good mood—especially Mrs. Weasley.

Sirius had found a small, crooked Christmas tree somewhere in the house, and everyone had taken part in dressing it up with lights and fake snow and strands of popcorn. I loved it. Our tree at home always consisted of only a few bleak silver ornaments and whatever bland decorations mother instructed the house elves to put up.

"Here we go," Mrs. Weasley clapped as she handed her children their presents. I was shocked when not only Hermione and Potter got a present, but I got one too. I knew my name wasn't very popular in this family, and I hadn't expected anything besides the small vial of wand polish mother and father had sent me a few days ago.

I had no idea how they knew I was here, but I figured Dumbledore spoke to them. I was glad I didn't have to witness that conversation.

"A nice big box for Ron," Mrs. Weasley grinned. "And... oh... ah!" She laughed, switching Fred and George's packages back and forth between them before handing the correct parcels to both. "Open them, open them!" She urged. "I want to see your faces!"

Weasley's face  in particular was priceless when he pulled a grey wool jacket with a large red "R" printed on the top left out of his nice big box. 

"It's just what you wanted, actually," Mrs. Weasley hugged him. 

"It's perfect mum, thank you," he said sweetly, and then glared at Hermione as she tried to suppress her laughter. 

I opened my gift to find a hand-knitted scarf, stripped with the colors cream and red. I nearly cried at her thoughtfulness, knowing that she had put so much time into something she would have given to one of her own children. And it was much better than wand polish.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," I said sincerely. "Truly."

She smiled at me, really smiled, for the first time ever. "I wouldn't imagine not making you something." Maybe she was only saying that to be nice, but my chest swelled at the words just the same.

Then Mr. Weasley spoke up. His face was still scarred and bruised, and he still wore a thick bandage around his neck. It certainly wasn't the best he had ever looked, but he was alive, and that was worth celebrating even without it being the Christmas season.

"A Christmas toast," he announced. "To Mr. Harry Potter, without whom I would not be here." Potter swallowed thickly. I was the only one who noticed his discomfort.  

"To Harry," everyone repeated. "To Harry," Sirius added after everyone else with a wink.

"I can't understand why you don't want to wear it, Ronald," Hermione said teasingly as we walked back to our bedrooms. 

"Cause I'll look like a bloody idiot, that's why," he argued. 

"No more than usual," Hermione responded.

I was so used to their bickering that it fell into the background. I stopped walking until I was next to Potter, who had suddenly slowed. I nudged him, and I was relieved when he nudged me back. Ever since our shouting match, we had pretty much ignored each other. But besides that, he had constantly been on edge, irritated, and jumpy. I knew the dream had spooked him, and all of us for that matter, but I sensed there was something else he didn't want to talk about. 

"Look in there," he nodded. I followed his gaze into an open doorway, where the walls were covered in beautifully painted branches with what looked like many colored fruits hanging off them. We stepped inside carefully, knowing how many dangers this ancient house still held. Literally anything could be inside this room waiting to kill us.