Slowly and silently, the snow fell towards the ground. I looked up, letting the white snowflakes touch my cheeks. They melted the moment they touched the warmth of my skin, leaving behind a feeling of a lover’s soft touch. It looked beautiful, the dance of the small crystalline figures against the dark blue of the night sky. Far above, the stars twinkled brightly, their light being magnified in the coldness of the winter air.

‘Are you okay?’ Ginny quietly asked, appearing at my side. She took my hand into hers and squished it reassuringly.

I looked down at her and smiled. ‘Yes, darling. Yes, I’m okay. And if you’re okay, too, then everything is all right.’ She nodded, signalling me that she indeed was okay. My eyes then wandered towards the festively decorated house in front of us. ‘We’ve come home for Christmas, and that’s one reason that makes it all right.’

Ginny smiled knowingly and followed my gaze. Her brown eyes started to gleam with happiness upon seeing the skilfully painted windows and brightly shining bush in the small front lawn; apparently, someone had thought that the evergreen thorn needed fairy lights – and I had a distinct feeling that I knew who exactly had that idea.

‘I agree,’ Ginny said after some moments, bringing my thoughts back to her. ‘We’ve come home.’

Hand in hand, we walked through the small front garden. Each of us held a huge bag in one hand, full with presents that were wrapped in colourful paper. It had been fun going Christmas presents shopping for our grandchildren; though for Ginny it had been quite an exhausting day, especially so shortly after her illness.

The front door was decorated lovingly with an advent wreath that sported bright Christmas bulbs and red ribbon. Tiny lights twinkled through the green of the wreath, and I could have sworn I saw a little fairy flutter from left to right.

Ginny knocked, and mere moments later, the door was opened. I only glimpsed the auburn head of our daughter before there was a shout of surprise, quickly followed by small running feet and happily screeching children. ‘Gran’pa! Gran’ma!’ our beloved grandchildren exclaimed excitedly. Being hugged and squished tightly, we made our way into the house.

‘What do you mean you’re not coming?’ James’ voice came through the speaker, the surprise and slight annoyance clearly audible. ‘Christmas is a family holiday. You have to come. Everyone misses you already. The children constantly ask when their grandparents will come.’

‘I’m sorry, James,’ I said. Continuing, trying to explain, I added, ‘You know that your mother isn’t the youngest anymore –’

‘So what? Al and I come and get you.’

I shook my head; my son wasn’t able to see me but I’m sure he noticed my negation in my voice when I responded, ‘The Healer forbid travelling at all if her condition doesn’t change.’

‘Dad, there are ways and methods to get both of you safely here, without making things worse for Mum.’

‘I’m really sorry, James. If we don’t come, don’t be too angry at us, okay?’

There was a silence, then the phone was hung up rather abruptly. I closed my eyes, guilt washing over me. But I knew I’d done the correct thing; Ginny didn’t feel too good at all, and I cared too much for her wellbeing than to risk it. Was it wrong to stay away from the family at Christmas if maybe the life of a beloved one depended on rest and peace?

‘Don’t punish yourself, Harry,’ a quiet voice spoke near my shoulder. I looked around and saw Ginny standing next to me. She wore only slippers and a dressing gown; she was very pale, and beneath her eyes, dark rings testified that she hadn’t slept much.

‘You shouldn’t get up –’

‘How can I stay in bed when I feel perfectly fine?’

I shook my head and grabbed her shoulders, turning her around and steering her towards the living room. She protested, weakly, but I made sure she laid down onto the sofa, a cuddly blanket covering her completely. ‘You’ve heard what the Healer said, Ginny,’ I said, my voice stern. ‘You should rest and try to get better.’

‘But I’m fine –’

‘You aren’t.’

‘Harry James Potter, I’m not ill or something. I’m just getting old.’

‘And what do you call dizzy spells, eh? Is that aging?’

‘Stop shouting –’

‘Me shouting? Never –’

‘Yes, you’re shouti—’

We were forced into silence. I wanted to say something to Ginny, not sure exactly what and why, but I couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t voice what I was thinking.

From the look on Ginny’s face, she experienced the same. That couldn’t be a coincidence. That was magic. But neither Ginny nor I had our wands with us. So, who –?

‘If Master and Mistress stop arguing, Sibel will give their voices back.’

Of course, it could have only been Sibel, our house-elf.

I turned around, facing the small creature. Her big pale eyes reminded me of Kreacher, but her dressing style was very similar to Dobby’s; right now, she was wearing an old skirt of Lily’s, its colour not at all matching the bright green shirt she was dressed in and which had been a Christmas present to her from Ginny years back already. She loved the cloth to pieces and cared for it with a dedication that was only surpassed by the love and care she had shown towards our children. Since Kreacher’s death two years after the Battle of Hogwarts she had been there for us. Sibel had helped raising our children, had cooked so many delicious meals and helped with parties. She was an equal member of our family. That was reason enough to listen to her opinions and take them into account.

So if Sibel thought we were shouting, then she was right.

I squatted down, signalling with my face and arms that I was sorry. Sibel flipped her fingers, and the charm was broken.

‘I’m sorry, Sibel. I didn’t mean to shout at Ginny,’ I said, looking at my wife.

Ginny smiled and bent down, planting a quick kiss on my forehead. ‘I’m sorry as well. Thank you for stepping in to stop our quarrel.’ The last sentence was addressed at Sibel.

The little house-elf smiled brightly and then vanished with a pop. A moment later, we could hear her working with the pots and plates in the kitchen once more.

Ginny caught my gaze. ‘I’m feeling better, really.’

‘I guessed.’ My voice trailed away while my eyes looked deeply into the warm brown of hers. ‘I’m just worried about you, that your illness can get worse, you know?’

‘Yes, I do. And I’m thankful for you looking out for me.’ She fumbled with the blanket. ‘Let’s make a deal, shall we? If the Healer says I’m fine to travel, we’re going to celebrate with the family, okay?’

‘And if Healer Hawks says no –’

‘Then we’ll stay here. I promise to rest a lot and gain back strength.’

It was the honesty in her voice that let me nod, sealing the deal.

Dinner was delicious. Despite our sudden arrival, Lily and our daughters-in-law, Lynne and Carole, had prepared enough food to last for an entire week for double amount of persons present. So “fitting two more people who don’t eat too much anyway� – that’s how Lily phrased it when Ginny asked if we were causing trouble – was no problem at all.

A problem had been who would sit next to whom; all children wanted to sit next to their grandparents. In the end, our son-in-law, Alexander, created a plan for every single meal so that every child had a chance to sit next to Ginny and me.

‘Are you sure that will work out?’ I had asked Alexander when he presented the plan. ‘How many meals do you plan to have today?’

Lily had chuckled. ‘Dad, that’s not one single day but all the days you’re here.’

I had apologised for my stupidness.

‘T’at’s oki, Gran’pa,’ Lexa had said, crawling onto my lap. The four year old girl resembled her mother, Lynne, very much. Snuggling her fair-haired head against my shoulder, she had added, ‘Fat’er Christmas will bring you glasses t’en.’ Her smile when looking up had been broad, and I had hugged my granddaughter close.

‘Thank you, my dear.’

‘You’re welcome, Gran’pa,’ Lexa had responded, snuggling even closer. I had tightened my hug.

Albus had stood in the doorway, smiling. When I had noticed him and had smiled back, he had mouthed, ‘You two give a lovely picture.’

After dinner, everyone gathered around the chimney. The two cosiest armchairs were reserved for Ginny and me, and the children didn’t tire in handing us one pillow after the other so that we could sit very comfortable. Lexa and her twin sister, Lucy, were then crawling onto my lap whereas Beth claimed the right to sit on Ginny’s. The boys and Samantha sat down, cross-legged, on the floor.

Ginny narrated stories to them, both Muggle and wizarding ones. As a child I had grown up with Muggle stories; the Dursleys didn’t on one hand know any wizarding tales and on the other hand didn’t want to know them. Once I started celebrating Christmas at Hogwarts and later then with the Weasleys, I had heard many wizarding fairytales.

‘What are you thinking at?’ Lucy questioned, tearing my thoughts back from the Burrow Christmases to the here and now. Her light blue eyes were worried.

I smiled reassuringly and lifted my hand to touch her cheek. ‘I’m remembering the many Christmases I have already celebrated.’

‘Were they good?’ Willy piped up, coming closer to sit directly next to my legs. The other children scurried closer to my armchair, too, surely hoping to get to hear a story from their grandpa for a small change.

Chuckling, I started telling them about my first “real� Christmas…

It was around midnight, and the children were already gone to bed. Ginny had said goodnight a while ago, as had Lynne and Albus. Lily was cleaning up the kitchen, Carole helping her, while Alexander and James were quietly talking on the sofa across from me. Each of them had a glass with a bit wine in their hands, nipping at the fine Pinot Noir now and then.

The fire in the grate was slowing dying down. The last flames flickered, drawing a fantastic play of shadow and light at the brick wall of the chimney. Little sparks jumped up from time to time, and the wood cracked in the crackling fire. My eyes were drawn to this little spectacle, but my mind had wandered off…

‘Dad? Are you all right?’

I blinked away the memories and looked up. I recognised my daughter standing in front of me. Her auburn hair escaped her ponytail, but she didn’t notice or care. All she cared for at the moment was my wellbeing.

Smiling reassuringly, I responded, ‘Nothing. I… just remembered something.

‘Christmas with your uncle’s family?’ Lily asked quietly, surprising me. It must have shown in my face because she explained, ‘Granddad Weasley told us about the Dursleys, years back.’ She sat down on the armchair’s armrest. ‘He said that you never really had the chance to celebrate Christmas with a loving family as a child. He said you didn’t know what Christmas really meant up to the age of eleven.’

I sighed inwardly, the flashing memories of decades back still hurting me. Everyone had always told of how great a holiday Christmas with the family has been, but I had never experienced it. Dudley on the other hand had got the biggest presents a child could imagine. I had only got – if anything at all – old socks of Uncle Vernon or worn-out clothes from Dudley. Nothing new, never anything sparkly or colourful. Did it hurt me? Yes. Am I embittered because of it?

Probably.

You know you are, a silent voice, my consciousness, spoke up. It surprisingly sounded like Lucy.

I looked around at my children and their spouses, and thought of their children, my grandchildren, lying in their beds upstairs. Being surrounded by them all, knowing what love and family really meant, let me re-answer my own question.

Definitely.

‘What happened, happened a long time ago, Dad,’ Lily quietly said. Before I could fully realise that I must have voiced my thoughts out loud, she embraced me in a loving hug. ‘What matters is the here and now. You’ve come home to a family that loves you. And never again shall you celebrate Christmas alone.’

Blinking away the tears of happiness but failing miserably, I returned the hug.

‘Yes, I’ve come home.’