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Harry didn’t remember his past time at Hogwarts that well, but he remembered it well enough to be confident that catching the Hogwarts Express at Christmas time felt strange. Like he knew that he would only normally get on the train when it was reasonably warm. This time he was wearing every layer he could put his hands on, including an ancient Weasley jumper of Ron’s, and he was still cold.
“Is this train always cold in winter?” He asked Hermione.
“Freezing,” she nodded. “Sometimes we try to sit nearer the engine to see if that will warm us up.”
“Does it?” asked Harry.
“Not really,” responded Ron, shrugging. “I think it’s all in the head.” He tapped the side of his head.
Harry grinned.
“Here,” said Hermione, withdrawing her wand. “Warming charm, should help.” She waved her wand at both boys, then pointed it at herself, sending a massive shudder of heat through Harry and then leaving his extremities tingling over the change in temperature.
“Thanks,” he responded.
Hermione shrugged. “There’s no sense in freezing to death, Harry. You’ll get cold faster than us too.”
Ron, probably guessing at Harry’s discomfort at the way that conversation was headed, opened the door to an empty compartment and shuffled the other two in. “At least there’s plenty of space at Christmas. Though it’s not like a lot of people stay at school,” he shook his head. “Weird.”
“People will start off with their friends at Christmas,” pointed out Hermione. “Plus the few who stay behind, and the ones who are more likely to take other routes at Christmas. The train isn’t such a big deal at this time of year the way it is in September.”
Ron glanced at Harry, smirking. “Was that in Hogwarts: A History?” He asked.
“Well if you must know, I did read it, but it was in a library book I found last year,” scowled Hermione.
Harry giggled. “Do you want to hear what Snape told me about my Mum?”
“Snape knew your Mum?” asked Ron, completely distracted from baiting Hermione.
“Yeah, they were in the same year at school,” grinned Harry. “They were friends before they even got here. Snape knew Aunt Petunia too.” He glanced at Ron and then Hermione, checking out their expressions, which were so far reasonably neutral. “Aunt Petunia definitely didn’t like him much when we stopped by Privet Drive in the summer.”
“Who can… I mean, well he’s in good company, isn’t he, your Aunt sounds horrible,” commented Ron.
“Yes,” nodded Hermione. “Your Aunt disliking someone is practically a character recommendation at this point.”
“True,” grinned Harry, genuinely enjoying them bad mouthing his Aunt, even though he’d never been brave enough to try it himself. “Snape said something similar. But a few weeks ago he was telling me about some accidental magic my Mum did when he was there.”
“Oh,” gasped Hermione. “Snape actually told you about their past together?”
“A little bit, yeah,” smiled Harry. “I didn’t want to repeat it while we were at school,” he added, trying to outwardly justify keeping the story to himself for so long. He had certainly been fairly slow to share, partly because he didn’t want to upset Snape by sharing private stories indiscriminately, but partly because having it as a tale just for him felt nice. It was still tempting to back out now, but he wanted to talk about it. How Snape really wasn’t as bad as Ron seemed to think, because he’d been friends with Harry’s Mum.
“Is it embarrassing?” asked Ron, suddenly enthusiastic.
“Not really,” replied Harry. “He was trying to explain that my Mum didn’t get into trouble for accidental magic, because I was worried about it. But it was also part of Aunt Petunia really hating it.”
“Ah,” said Hermione, patting Harry’s knee and earnestly adding. “It really isn’t typical to get into trouble you know, Harry. Even for massive accidental magic explosions.”
“You’ve mentioned that,” pointed out Ron.
“Harry still doesn’t really believe me,” countered Hermione.
Harry shrugged. “Sorry, it’s a hard habit to break. It’s a good story though, would you like to hear it?”
“Yes, sorry Harry,” replied Hermione. “Go on.”
“They were going out for dinner at a local pub,” said Harry. “For Aunt Petunia’s 12th birthday. So she’d been allowed to bring along a friend, and she’d just started high school so she was really keen to impress her friend – it sounded like she was a bit like my Uncle Vernon when he’s trying to impress his boss I reckon. But my Mum was also allowed to bring a friend, and she took Snape, who she’d been hanging round with all through that summer.”
“I’ll bet she didn’t like that!” laughed Ron.
“She really wasn’t happy,” agreed Harry. “Snape said he and my Mum decided to keep their distance, and whilst they were waiting for food they went out to play on the climbing frame out the back of the pub.”
“I don’t blame them,” said Hermione.
“Aunt Petunia obviously spent that time going on at her friend about how childish they were, but obviously the friend didn’t really agree with her, so after they’d all eaten, the two of them turned up at the climbing frame too, Aunt Petunia still complaining.”
Ron snorted. “So she’s always enjoyed complaining then?”
“Definitely,” grinned Harry. “Snape said he and my Mum had been trying to cross the monkey bars, but neither of them were very good at it, and when Aunt Petunia arrived, she decided to push him off.”
“Of course.” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“My Mum reacted, probably trying to stop her, and the climbing frame actually moved to trap her inside it – like a prison – completely by accident.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a better person,” laughed Ron.
“And did she get into trouble?” pressed Hermione.
“That was Snape’s point really,” pointed out Harry. “She didn’t get into trouble at all, even though the guy who owned the pub had to saw a bit of the climbing frame off to get her out. And her parents knew that she’d done it.”
“So did your Aunt too, presumably?” suggested Ron.
“Well, yes, Snape did admit she wasn’t pleased. Her friend laughed at her when she got angry about being trapped, and it was her birthday. She was really cross, I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Ouch,” said Hermione. “So punishing you for accidental magic was likely partially revenge for what your Mum did to her?”
“Maybe,” shrugged Harry. “Snape seemed to think so. He said she hated my Mum being special, and I know she’d hold onto a grudge forever – she was upset with the neighbour for ten years because they once painted the shared fence the wrong shade of green.”
“Probably green that’s the problem there,” grinned Ron, waving his Gryffindor scarf.
“Yeah,” grinned Harry. “If only I’d known.”
------
Privet Drive at Christmas was always a tastefully decorated affair. Petunia would tastefully decorate the tree in only two colours of tinsel with matching baubles, and everything would always be perfectly aligned – and definitely not done by Harry. Occasionally a card Dudley had made at school would make it onto the mantelpiece, though Harry’s would only ever go as far as the bin. There would be a perfectly arranged wreath on the front door, and no lights at all that anyone could see from outside the house.
The Weasleys’ wasn’t like that. The instant Harry walked in the front door he could smell Christmassy things cooking, and a distinctly chocolatey aroma. Once Molly had finished squeezing him with a particularly enthusiastic hug and he could step out from under her, he could see exciting animated decorations bouncing around every corner of the house. Some of them looked very much like the Cornish pixies Seamus had pointed out to him in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and he wondered briefly if they were hazardous. But then, as he stared at one, it waved enthusiastically at him them sprayed some sparkling dust in his direction out of a tiny wand, which was very much not how Seamus had described Cornish pixies.
There were lights everywhere.
Fairy lights – some of them literally fairies with lights coming out of them – covered so much of the space both inside and outside the house, that it was no longer necessary to turn any of the main lights on. Even the stairs were lit from every angle. Then, in the corner of the living room, there was a healthy looking, but not enormous, Christmas tree, the only place in the entire house that wasn’t decorated.
“Arthur dug that up yesterday,” said Molly, looking primarily at Harry, Ron and Ginny. “We thought you might like to decorate it.”
Ron and Ginny groaned. “You always get us to do that,” they protested in unison, even as Harry beamed at her.
“Really?” he gasped.
“We’ll help,” put in Fred and George.
Molly eyed them cautiously. “That would be very helpful, but no booby traps this year or you’ll be eating Christmas dinner outside with the reindeer!”
“You have reindeer?” asked Harry, impressed.
“Figure of speech,” shrugged Ron. “Probably.”
Fred and George glanced at each other, then down at Harry. “We’ll be good,” they chimed together, Fred winking at George in a manner that Harry suspected meant they were going to put the booby traps somewhere else.
“We can decorate now?” he asked.
“Yes, of course dear,” smiled Molly. “Fred and George will get the boxes down, they won’t take long. I’ll get you a mince pie – got to keep your energy up for decorating you know.”
Harry, somewhat accustomed to the business of the house by now, decided not to worry, and simply waited where he was until everyone had stopped rushing about.
Decorating the tree was as fun as it had always looked. Harry got very tangled in the tinsel – which was much more itchy than he’d ever given it credit for – and Fred and George speeded everything along by using magic to perform stunts with the lights, making them dance as they wrapped themselves around the tree. They charmed a decent number of baubles to leap onto the tree themselves too, but that was fine with Harry, they left him plenty of space to hang things at the bottom of the tree, plus watching the baubles dance around each other and even fight over particular branches was brilliant.
George lifted Harry up to reach the top of the tree and place the fluttering snitch. As soon as he placed it, a tiny halo floated out to hover above it, completing the tree.
“It looks brilliant,” grinned Harry, as George placed him back on the floor.
“Of course,” laughed George. “Better eat your mince pie now though Harry, or Mum will start worrying you’re going to disappear!”
Harry stuck his tongue out at George, but he still grabbed the mince pie and bit into it. This was already shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.
----
It was only a few days later, still more than a week before Christmas, when the already full house started to fill up even more. First Charlie came home, then the next day Bill arrived with his new girlfriend – Fleur Delacour. The arrivals turned out to be quite different from the summer.
In the summer, when the two oldest Weasleys had turned up, they’d shared a room, up on the top floor with Percy opposite. This time, Fleur – though she failed to get permission to share with Bill – ended up with their room to herself, and Bill moved in to share with Percy.
Bill was pretty much the only person who could handle sharing with Percy.
Charlie, to Harry’s surprise, moved in with Harry and Ron.
Charlie seemed entirely unfazed by the whole thing. He squeezed his huge frame into the corner of the room, possibly magically extending the room slightly, and moved a lot of Ron’s rubbish from the floors, hiding it in various ever-expanding cupboards. Then he settled down as if he’d been there all along, cheery as ever.
Ron baulked a little, he’d done a lot of sharing space recently, but Charlie would be much harder to persuade to leave him alone than Harry. But then he’d always admired his big brother Charlie, so the annoyance quickly faded. Harry didn’t mind.
He also carefully didn’t mention to anyone that it was still infinitely bigger and cheerier than his cupboard.
Fleur was a little harder – surprisingly – to get used to. As far as Harry could see, she’d scarcely moved her stuff into Bill and Charlie’s room and been introduced to the rest of the family (poor Ron hid in embarrassment for an entire 24 hours), when she cornered Harry.
“So, ‘Arry, how ‘ave you been? Cedric said he was not able to find out much about what ‘appened at the end of that tournament,” she greeted him, not pausing for pleasantries.
Harry stared at her, partly impressed that she was treating him as though he was still fifteen, partly panicked, because he didn’t know about things that he clearly should.
Apparently, his alarm showed as she patted him on the arm reassuringly. “It is OK if you remember nothing, ‘Arry, I would just like to know how you are. Viktor and Cedric are concerned also.”
“Oh,” he stammered, smiling a little. “I’m OK,” he said, “just small.”
“You were always our little one,” smiled Fleur. “It makes no difference to me.”
Harry smiled. “Thanks, I think!”
“My Bill says you are a little younger too though – up ‘ere?” She tapped the side of her head. “And you don’t remember Hogwarts so well?”
Harry blushed, trying not to imagine them discussing him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’m not quite the same as I was. I’m managing though, Ron and Bill and everyone have been really helpful.”
Fleur, to Harry’s momentary alarm, suddenly wrapped her arms round him, squeezing him tightly. “The rest of the champions are ‘ere for you too, ‘Arry. You only need to ask. If anyone gives you trouble at school, you should definitely go to Cedric.”
Harry raised his eyebrows at her, surprised. Not that he and Cedric were enemies by any means, but he’d barely spoken to the boy – man – in the last term. “Err, OK.” He managed to splutter out. Apparently sufficiently for Fleur as Bill appeared at the bottom of the stairs and distracted her.
“Alright Harry,” he grinned, taking Fleur’s arm and tugging her away slightly, possibly because he was aware Harry didn’t like relative strangers getting so close, it was hard to be sure.
“Alright,” smiled Harry tightly, giving the pair of them a nod and slipping off as soon as they distracted one another to try to find Ron.
Ron was still hiding in their room, embarrassed by asking Fleur to the dance, even though the girl had apparently completely forgotten about the whole thing. He was also absolutely no help to Harry, because Harry needed to go Christmas shopping.
Neither Ron nor Harry were allowed to go to Diagon Alley alone. Despite knowing that Cedric lived fairly close to the Weasleys, Harry was also confident that this was not what Fleur had meant when she said he could ask Cedric for help.
“We need to get them something though,” he told Ron, exasperated that his friend didn’t have any ideas.
Ron shrugged. “I don’t usually make a big fuss, no one seems to mind – it’s an advantage of being the youngest. A few chocolates here and there, I never have any money to spend on Christmas anyway.”
Harry blinked at him. “But it’s my first Christmas here, I have to show everyone how grateful I am!”
“Harry,” began Ron. “They know, alright. You don’t need to worry. They’d rather you were safe here and not lost in Diagon Alley, I promise. Plus, I guess now you’re the youngest, so you really don’t need to worry.”
“Lost in Diagon Alley?” asked Charlie. “New board game?”
“Harry’s efforts to say thank you,” grinned Ron.
“Oh Harry,” grinned Charlie. “We’re as grateful as you are!”
“What?” That made no sense at all. “That’s not..”
Charlie rolled his eyes, winking at Ron when he thought Harry wouldn’t see. “You’ve got Mum off our backs, she’s got a new project that’s not any of us, and she’s happier.”
“It’s still a big deal,” insisted Harry quietly.
“Fine,” grinned Charlie, completely unperturbed. “I’ll get Mum’s permission to take you, but you need to promise to shop like a five year old Weasley, not a worrying about being grateful fifteen-year-old-five-year-old with access to his Mum and Dad’s vault, deal?”
“Aren’t fifteen year olds better at choosing presents?” asked Harry, slightly baffled.
“Definitely not,” laughed Charlie, whisking him into the air. “Coming Ron? I’m going to go ask Mum.”
“Yeah, go on,” agreed Ron. “There’s some Quidditch stuff I wanted to take a look at.”
--------
Diagon Alley was even busier than it was at the start of term, practically bursting at the seams with witches and wizards attempting to buy presents. After a tense few moments where he’d nearly been swept up in a wave of bodies more powerful than his ability to hang onto Charlie’s hand as they headed down the street, Harry was now sitting safely on Charlie’s shoulders, his head comfortably above the crowd as they emerged from Gringotts.
“Right then, Harry? Where are you hoping to go and can you see a path to get there?” asked Charlie.
“Gambol and Japes? Sugarplums? Flourish and Blotts?” suggested Harry.
“Flourish and Blotts?” questioned Charlie. “That’s a bit…”
“For Hermione,” laughed Ron. “You can only buy Hermione books, even if you’re channelling your inner five year old.”
“Ah,” nodded Charlie. “Got you.”
“Can I find something muggle for your Dad?” asked Harry.
“Sure,” agreed Charlie easily, “just nothing too fancy, I’m trusting you. We’ll do that at the end.”
“I need to look in Quality Quidditch Supplies,” added Ron. “Well, need. I really want to.”
“I think we can manage, but no trying to persuade Harry to buy you stuff – I’m going to look after his money.”
“As if!” protested Ron.
In fact, though the outing was busy, it was a welcome change of pace for the three boys. After a few days of constantly being surrounded by family members, the anonymous surge of total strangers was nice, relaxing even – once Harry had got up on Charlie’s shoulders and he wasn’t worried about getting lost. From this vantage point – far higher than any he’d ever achieved on his own – he could really take stock of his surroundings and enjoy himself. Have a laugh at Ron’s dream of possessing a gold-plated, fully impervious broom, and at his suggestions for books Hermione might like that were entirely based on weight. He got to watch Charlie debate over things his siblings might like, carefully distinguishing between their interests without ever really going too far.
Of course, choosing presents himself was tricky. He’d thought that the recommendation to channel his 5 year old would come naturally, but in reality it was a hard thing to accomplish. He couldn’t really explain it – and he had genuinely tried – but he felt guilty. Eventually, it was Charlie who set him straight.
Harry had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot.
Harry had been staring intently at a packet of exploding toffees, thinking of Fred and George.
“Why’s your face all scrunched up like that, Harry?” Charlie had asked. “I thought this was supposed to be fun?”
“Christmas shopping’s supposed to be fun?” Ron had inserted.
“I’m worried it’s not good enough,” Harry had groaned. “They’ve been really great to me.”
Charlie had frowned. “And this is a great idea. They’ll enjoy it, and it’ll feel like it came from the version of you that they’ve been helping. Isn’t this what they’ve been trying to get you to do? To embrace it? Sometimes literally.”
That had sent Harry off thinking about all the enforced hugs and teasing from the twins. How they’d gone out of their way to show him what he could have. The time they’d practically fed him breakfast.
He was thinking so long, that Charlie had felt the need to prod him. “Harry?”
“They do still like big me, don’t they?” He had finally whispered. “And everyone else.”
“Harry,” Charlie had sighed. “We all love both. But why not let us all – including you – enjoy the little version while he’s here? Have you never heard all those muggle clichés about appreciating your kids while they’re little?”
Harry had bitten off any thoughts about Petunia as quickly as he could, knowing that they’d show up on his face immediately. The Weasleys had truly been trying to show that for months. “You all really mean it.”
At that, Charlie had picked up two packets of the exploding toffees in one hand, and Harry in the other – making sure they were eye to eye before he spoke again. “We all really mean it.”
And Harry had believed him. Of course he’d believed Fred and George before, so he’d probably need reminding again, but in that moment he’d believed.
By the time they were ready to head home, Harry’s small rucksack was filled to the brim with sweets and silly joke toys for the various Weasleys. The only book he’d bought was a comic – because even at 5 he wasn’t prepared to get Hermione anything that wasn’t a book. It was a comic about wizard life though, which he thought was very informative – even though Charlie and Ron had both been rather surprised by it, he might even borrow it from her occasionally. For Arthur, he’d bought a muggle transformer toy that with a couple of easy motions switched from a dinosaur to a robot. It was a bit too big to fit in his rucksack, so Harry could see the end of it poking out of Charlie’s, but Charlie had conceded that it was the perfect present for his Dad.
Even more fun than the shopping trip was sneaking out of the floo and into Ron’s room without getting spotted. Charlie cast a disillusionment charm on the three of them, and they got to walk right past Molly and Arthur deep in conversation without them even batting an eyelid. Once they were safely hidden in Ron’s room with their cargo, the door safely locked, Harry lay down on his bed, giggling madly in a sort of giddy relief.
Ron, who had probably done that sort of thing loads, looked at him a bit sideways, so Harry explained.
“I was sure someone was going to catch us,” laughed Harry, aware that he’d been in much worse situations where getting caught was much more serious. That was sort of why it was funny, he’d been so worried about it.
His friend continued to look perplexed, but as Harry giggled, it seemed his mood was contagious and by the time they’d managed to get everything wrapped and labelled all three of them were giggling their heads off.
This was genuinely how Christmas should be.
------
Christmas wasn’t quite ready to be full on yet though. Despite Molly filling the table with all of her sons and more food than even they could believe, Percy found a way to interrupt the festivities that evening. He started by tapping his wand against his glass, causing little tinkling sparks that were reminiscent of the sort of thing speech givers do at muggle weddings, but simultaneously completely different.
The noise, however, stopped, and everyone stared at Percy, most of them sizing up the actual importance of his announcement versus Percy’s interpretation of its importance. Ron had been firmly expecting something about the Minister of Magic.
“I have to tell you all something,” stammered Percy, much less pompously than was typical for him, glancing at Ron and Harry. “Before it’s in the paper.”
“In the paper? Percy,” Molly smiled. “What have you been up to?”
“I, err,” Percy swallowed. “I caught Peter Pettigrew,” he blurted out. “Kingsley sent him to Azkaban today and we’ve confirmed he’s arrived and is unable to transform back to escape.”
“Scabbers,” gasped Ron, turning to taking in Harry’s horrified face.
“He really showed up?” whispered Harry.
“He did,” nodded Percy. “You were expecting him?”
“Ron said…” Harry looked up at Ron.
“I told him Scabbers wouldn’t look for me, he’d look for you,” said Ron. “He was worried about Scabbers attacking us.” Ron smiled apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t think he’d really show!”
Percy waved him off. “It’s fine. I managed to find his old cage and he was obviously looking for shelter, like when I owned him originally. It’s as well you didn’t see him to make him nervous.”
“He didn’t even try to escape?” asked Ron. “Even though we know all about him?”
“Presumably his brain’s as fried as Harry’s, and no one will have been trying to remind him of anything, he’s just a rat,” Percy shrugged. “I was careful what I said around him, and I kept a locking charm on the cage. Handed him over to Kingsley a couple of days ago.”
“Wow,” said Ron, impressed that Percy had actually taken care of something without making a fuss about it.
“Thanks, Percy,” smiled Harry. “I was a bit worried about Scabbers!”
“Told you there was nothing to worry about,” grinned Ron, slightly sheepishly, wrapping an arm round Harry and squeezing.
“Good job, Percy,” added Molly. “I’m so proud you managed to sort all of that out yourself. Though in future if you could warn me that we’re housing a multiple murderer that would be lovely.”
“He wasn’t at home, Mum,” laughed Percy. “I took him to work as soon as he appeared.”
“Oh,” nodded Molly, apparently largely satisfied.
“Nice job, Percy,” chorused the twins, unexpectedly clapping him on the back.
“Thank you,” choked Percy.
Ron looked down at Harry. “You feel OK about Scabbers now?”
“What’s Azkaban?” He asked.
“Wizard prison,” whispered Ron. “Full of these nasty creatures called Dementors.”
“Ronald Weasley!” Molly made clear to the entire table just how good her hearing was. “You will not be filling Harry’s head with stories of monsters when he’s only just got over the last monster you told him about!”
“Voldemort?” Ron frowned, he’d barely told Harry anything about Voldemort.
“Scabbers!” laughed Charlie. “She means Scabbers.”
“Oh, that,” swallowed Ron. “Sorry, Harry.”
“And you, Harry, will not be asking him about it later!” She added. “Don’t think I don’t recognise that look.”
“OK,” nodded Harry.
Ron grinned. “You’re the youngest, everyone’s got there before you,” he commented. “Can’t get away with anything.”
-----------------------------
Harry was convinced that knowing Scabbers was out of the picture would help him to sleep better, and for several days he was right, he slept peacefully in his own bed, waking up well rested. Then, on Christmas Eve, the story appeared in The Daily Prophet.
There, moving in a black and white wizard picture, was Peter Pettigrew.
Harry didn’t need to read the words, just the sight of the man was enough to trigger the huge weight of his old memories. In the light of day, he stared at the picture, checked that the words still declared him locked up, and went on with his day.
The night was a different matter.
All day, all anyone had been talking about was Christmas day – presents, food, fun and games. Arthur had even managed to get a muggle television working after Hermione had told him it was the best time of year to watch it. But underneath, all Harry could think about was Peter Pettigrew.
He closed his eyes and the rat was there, beneath his eyelids, staring at him. Harry clenched his fists and determinedly convinced himself to sleep, not sure whether wizard Santa was a real thing, and keen not to give anyone an excuse to make him miss out on a Christmas present this year.
At roughly 3am, he woke himself up with a shout, firmly convinced that Peter Pettigrew was standing over him ready to obliterate him just like he had those muggles.
“Harry! Harry!” Charlie was shaking him, shaking away the evil rat but also meaning Harry was awake when Santa might be visiting.
“I’m asleep,” muttered Harry.
“No you’re not,” laughed Charlie. “Come on, tell me what’s up. Is it Scabbers?”
“SShhh, Charlie, I’m asleep!” repeated Harry.
“You can be, if you explain what the problem was first,” persisted Charlie quietly, his tone clearly something he’d inherited from his Mum when she was feeling particularly immovable.
“Pettigrew,” mumbled Harry, still not prepared to look Charlie in the eye. “I was dreaming he… you know.”
“Scary stuff,” nodded Charlie. “Come on, come share with me, I’ll chase him away if he comes back – make sure he doesn’t interrupt Father Christmas.”
“Yeah,” nodded Harry. “Can’t interrupt him, shhhh.” His eyes were still mostly closed, but he held his arms out towards Charlie, and he clearly got the message, lifting Harry out of his bed with him and carefully lying them both down in his bed.
“Go to sleep, Harry,” whispered Charlie, his spare hand running through Harry’s hair making him feel almost like the man was hypnotising him.
Harry’s last thought as he drifted off was that he was going to ask Charlie to do that every time he couldn’t sleep, it was amazing.
And then he was asleep.
Charlie lay awake longer, still absently stroking Harry’s hair, wondering at the whole mess with Scabbers and shrinking Harry. How Snape seemed to imply Dumbledore was already in a position to fix it. Still, eventually Harry’s even breathing relaxed him, and he too fell asleep.
Waking up in the morning was much less relaxing.
“Char!”
Charlie blinked the sleep out of his eyes, squinting at his younger brother, who for the majority of the week hadn’t got out of bed before 11, shaking him awake at – he waved a quick tempus with his wand – 7am. “Huh?”
“Harry’s gone!” Squeaked Ron. “I got up early and everything, and I’ve been to check downstairs in case he got excited about presents, but then he doesn’t normally get excited about presents coz he never believes he’ll get any…”
“Ron, breathe,” grumbled Charlie. “It’s really too early for this.”
“It’s Christmas day,” put in Ron. “Mum’s up already.”
“Mum’s up? That’s your excuse?” Charlie lifted his arm over his eyes.
Ron rolled his eyes. “Harry,” he prompted.
“Right here,” grinned Charlie, lifting the blanket slightly to reveal a small, dark mop of hair.
“What’s he doing there?” asked Ron.
“Nightmare,” shrugged Charlie. “I didn’t want to leave him on his own.”
“Scabbers?” asked Ron, his face softening at the sight of his best friend.
“Yeah,” sighed Charlie. “Not easy to live with someone out to kill you.”
“Unless you’re Harry,” put in Ron. “Then it’s just normal.”
“Not anymore,” pointed out Charlie. “I don’t think he really remembers You-Know-Who at the moment.”
“His family,” pointed out Ron. “Scabbers.”
“I’m not sure his family were actually trying to kill him so much as make him miserable,” pointed out Charlie. “And Scabbers is dealt with.”
Ron pulled a face.
“Yeah, I know, still a pretty stressful normal, no wonder he has nightmares.” Charlie pulled himself up, bringing Harry with him and slowly brushing at his cheek until he woke up.
“Hey, Harry,” grinned Ron. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” groaned Harry, reaching out and patting the book next to Charlie’s bed before Ron realised and handed him his glasses. “Well,” Harry added sheepishly, taking in how he was lying against Charlie once the older boy came into focus. “Nightmare.”
Ron nodded gravely, then grinned again. “Christmas though.”
“Oh yeah,” Harry’s face lit up with pure hope.
“You’ve got presents, Harry,” promised Ron. “I’ve been downstairs and checked.”
“Wicked!”
Charlie laughed, though it hurt to think that Harry had so many doubts about that, even now, even though Ron had told him often enough. Carefully sliding the five year old onto the floor, he shuffled out of bed, stretching as he headed for the bathroom, promising himself that he’d keep an eye out for Harry today.
-----------
Harry had a brilliant morning. He had a pile of presents just like everyone else! In fact, he suspected his pile was actually bigger than the others, and they were all brilliant. His newest Weasley jumper fit his newly smaller frame perfectly, and boasted not only a particularly colourful H, but also a warming charm and – according to Molly – several charms for protection.
He didn’t like to ask what sort of protection, maybe it would zap Draco Malfoy if he tried to abduct him, that would be handy.
He’d got piles and piles of Honeydukes sweets, in particular a decent stack of chocolate frogs. He’d got a couple of completely crazy wizard toys, one of which seemed to be a charmed bee that buzzed around trying to sting him, so he wasn’t completely certain he’d worked out how to play with it.
Christmas dinner had been absolutely massive, and he hadn’t even been allowed in the kitchen whilst it was cooking. He’d sat down once it was ready, watching various dishes levitate themselves into place, giggling as he pretended to catch them and had Molly mock glaring at him over it. By the time he’d eaten everything he could and was sat at the table wondering precisely how he was even going to move back into the other room, Arthur had produced the Christmas edition of The Daily Prophet and was passing round the picture of Peter Pettigrew entering Azkaban prison, praising Percy with every other word. It got to the point where the normally pompous Weasley was blushing profusely, despite his clear pride in his actions, but it certainly made the already jolly family even more cheerful.
“He should be used to the bars after all those years as a rat,” pointed out Ron at one point, not unreasonably.
Harry decided that despite everything, confirmation of Scabbers in prison was perhaps the best present he’d had all day.
What Harry hadn’t put together was that as a result of Peter Pettigrew’s arrest, Sirius was now in the clear. He’d thought that Christmas Day was crazy and busy, but on Boxing Day he was woken up again – this time by Fred and George poking him and announcing that he had visitors.
A few minutes later, as he staggered down the stairs, he found Sirius, Remus and Snape all standing just outside the floo, Remus desperately holding Sirius and Snape apart as they shouted insults at each other.
“H-hi,” he greeted them cautiously.
“Harry,” smiled Remus, still looking rather strained. “Merry Christmas.”
“Hi Harry,” grinned Sirius. “Did you have a good day yesterday?”
“Yeah,” grinned back Harry, “do you want to see my new Weasley jumper?”
“You see,” put in Molly, apparently emerging from the kitchen, though Harry hadn’t seen her appear. “He’s happy here, aren’t you dear?”
“You have more children than you can count!” protested Sirius. “I have space, and I’m his godfather.”
“Black,” put in Snape, who up until that point hadn’t spoken at all, “perhaps it would be wise – though I understand wisdom is not something you exercise frequently – to allow the dust to settle and actually hold a conversation with Harry before whisking him away from the best home he’s ever known at the first opportunity. He is five years old, there will be plenty of time for you to…”
“What?” interrupted Harry. “What’s going on? I thought you were just visiting.”
“Sorry Harry,” apologised Remus. “We got excited, carried away by the idea.”
Sirius glanced in obvious surprise at Remus, but then echoed his words. “Yes, we were just caught up in our enthusiasm, Harry. We’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Harry?” A different voice spoke out from behind Harry, forcing him to turn round.
“Charlie?”
“Why don’t you come back upstairs with me? You can get your new jumper on and get together a few things to show Sirius and Remus while they finish talking,” suggested Charlie gently.
Harry glanced back at the three men, still poised to continue bickering. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I think that’s a good idea,” he agreed.
Charlie, Harry later discovered, also – once Harry was chatting away to Ron – made sure to head back down to the adults to give them a piece of his mind. He told them in no uncertain terms that suddenly taking Harry away from his home was to no one’s benefit, and according to Fred he was even scarier than Molly. Harry was suitably impressed.
The rest of the holiday passed much less eventfully, anyhow. Slowly The Burrow emptied of its temporary overnight residents, but Remus and Sirius continued to visit pretty much every day, spending time with Harry. Sometimes it was teenager-y time, sitting around chatting about what they were like as teenagers, and what Harry’s parents had been like. Other times, the three of them, joined by any number of Weasleys, would end up racing around like manic children making Molly completely despair of them.
Snape only came the once, citing a need to be far from Sirius for his absence, but he checked the wards and also left Harry a small gift, magically appearing on his bed after the potions professor had disappeared. It was hidden in a small bag, not wrapped at all, but inside there was a brief note. “This was given to me by your Mother when she was only 13 or 14. I’m told it was originally a gift from her parents on the occasion of her completing her first year at Hogwarts, though I’m confident she added her own charm to it.” Harry had opened the bag, peering inside to discover a tiny locket. Inside it, instead of photos, was a tiny charmed doe, galloping around the locket. Harry had slipped it over his head immediately, finding himself taking hold of it regularly throughout the day, feeling as though his Mother was talking to him. It was a fantastic gift.
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The return to school, after such a good break, was hard. Not only because all of the difficulties of last term had reappeared (though at least verbal homework with Snape was an improvement), but also because they were creeping ever closer to taking the dreaded OWL exams.
Everyone was a bit on edge. The other boys in his usually relaxed dorm room started to snap at each other with little provocation, Harry even saw Dean get angry once. After a couple of weeks, Hermione had spent so much time in the library that Madame Pince had provided her with her own special, more comfortable chair.
Harry, in his current state, felt slightly removed from the whole thing. Yes, clearly he was supposed to take his OWLs too, but realistically he couldn’t imagine he was going to do very well – he’d probably only manage to answer one question at the speed he could write – so that really took the edge off. At least, he thought it had.
Then he started having nightmares.