The night’s snow had stuck to the windowpane, masking the corners like frozen cobwebs on the tiny attic window of Ron’s room. With only a few hours of restless sleep, Harry was up with the sun. He leaned against the headboard, forearms resting on his knees as he re-read, for what seemed like the thousandth time, his letter to Ginny. It had ended up being rather lengthy, both the front and back of the parchment was covered in his untidy, tiny scrawl. Already, the edges were crinkled and a corner dog-eared from the wear.
Midway through the fifth reading of the morning, Ron began to stir. Harry quickly grabbed a spare, blank sheet of parchment, and began to fold his thoughts to her inside it. Creasing the middle and then the bringing the two corners together, with another fold here and there, Harry was able to secure the letter in a self-made envelope. Before Ron was fully coherent, Harry tucked it under his mattress to be delivered later.
“Morning.” Harry greeted him tentatively. He knew that it was less of an apology he had given him and Hermione last night and more of a continuation of an argument. It was time, he felt, for the real thing.
“Morning.” Ron growled and let out a deep yawn, reaching with his elbows to the ceiling.
“I’m really sorry.” Harry jumped right to it.
“I know.” Ron said, still stretching. “You’re forgiven.”
“I am?” Harry wasn’t expecting to get off the hook that easy. Before he could think better of it he asked, “Aren’t you still mad?”
“No, well...” Ron let his arms falls to the side and swung around to face Harry. “No.”
“Look, Ginny and I thought it would be- We didn’t think it through.” Harry started his explanation anyway, his now empty hands dangling between his knees.
“I was in a bad mood yesterday, from the moment I got up actually.” Ron stood and scratched his backside while shuffling his way to the door. “I just let it get to me more than I should have.”
“How’s Hermione?” Harry trailed off, expecting the worse.
“She wasn’t too thrilled at first, but she came around to the idea.” Ron smirked, and headed for the loo, leaving Harry time to think about it.
“She came around to the idea?” Harry asked a few minutes later when Ron came back, “I thought Fred and George cast a counter-spell, like your Dad told them to do.”
“They were,” Ron smiled again, “but they were too late.”
Speechless, Harry just sat there and Ron clearly enjoyed the moment. It was Harry’s first confirmation the he and Hermione were definitely, unmistakably a couple.
“I’ve been really worried about her lately.” Ron walked over to his chest of drawers and began to rummage through them, his face flushed up to his ears. “Did you know there have been attacks on Muggles near her home?”
“No.” Harry replied, ashamed that he had been too wrapped up in his own concerns that he forgot Hermione. He knew that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were causing havoc, he often looked for names, but otherwise dismissed the rest of the particulars, there were just too many.
“That’s why I sent Pig home with her. She can send word right away if something happens.” He pulled out a jumper that he had grown out of, tossed onto a nearby chair, and continued his search. “I know she misses her parents, I would too.”
“Do you think she’s safe?” Harry asked the obvious.
“Dumbledore said that he’d put up wards around the Grangers home with their permission.” Ron, satisfied with what he had, slid the drawer shut, his blush receding. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah.” Harry understood why Ron has been a bit on edge lately, he too had a lot on his plate.
With his fresh clothes in hand, he walked back to the door and chuckled, “I guess it’s the old man in me.”
After his shower, Harry returned to the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley alone, preparing breakfast.
“Here, let me do that.” Harry came over to the stove and started cracking eggs into the fry pan right beside her.
“You like to cook?” She asked him, lighting the stove with her wand.
“Only when I don’t have to.” Harry dropped the eggshell into the rubbish bin. “The Dursleys made me cook. Of course I don’t know how to cook with magic, though.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Weasley lifted another heavy cast iron pan onto the stove and laid six large sausage links inside. “I’m sure the muggle way is just fine too.”
“Yeah, it just takes more time.” Harry watched over the eggs with a turner in hand, prodding the them every once and awhile with its corner to check the progress.
“You’re up early.” Mrs. Weasley commented, “Sleep well?”
“Just fine.” The eggs were starting to pop and sizzle. “Ron’s up too, he’s wrapping.”
“Is he, now?” With a flick of her wand, she summoned a plate for Harry to put the fried eggs on.
“Ginny still asleep?” He slid the turner under an egg and gently flipped it over, not breaking the yolk.
“I haven’t seen her this morning, no.” She was bent over, half way inside the wizarding icebox.
“Oh.” Harry mumbled and reached to feel the contents of his back pocket, making sure that it was still there.
“I expect the two of you will behave yourselves.” She emerged from the icebox with butter and a jar of marmalade, setting them on the table.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Finished frying all the eggs, Harry laid it on the table as well, then returned to the stove to tend the sausages.
“You can call me Mum, you know.” Mrs. Weasley directed plates from the cupboard. “If you’re comfortable, of course, not that I’m...”
“I, uh...” Harry didn’t know what to say to such a gesture.
“Ma’am and Mrs. Weasley will do just fine.” She smiled, letting him know that she was not expecting an answer. “However you want to address me.”
“Thanks.” He briefly returned the smile before turning back to the sausages. It wasn’t that he didn’t think of her as his mother of sorts, she was the closest thing he had to one. Harry just had never called anyone ‘Mum’ and wasn’t sure if he should start.
The smell of cooking sausages permeated throughout the house, leading Ron’s nose to its source.
“Morning, Mum.” He said, taking a seat at the table and loading up.
Harry sat beside him, he too filled his plate. Ginny had not yet made an appearance this morning and he was wondering if she was purposely avoiding him as long as possible.
“Where’s Dad?” Ron asked between bites, his table manners improving somewhat.
“At the Ministry.” Mrs. Weasley finally joined them. “Lots to do, but I expect him home later this evening and all day Christmas. Fred and George will be here to stay this evening too.”
“What about Bill and Charlie?” Ron asked seconds before shoving a piece of toast topped with egg in his mouth, purposely leaving out his ‘other’ brother.
“Charlie won’t be able to join us, and Bill is spending the holidays with Fleur and her family.” Harry noticed that she was disappointed with the arrangement. “I suppose he needs to meet the future in-laws.”
“Iz key rul go mrri gurr.” He was back to his old habits.
“Yes, Ronald.” His mother disapproved of his distasteful display, “He’s really going to marry her.”
Mrs. Weasley had finished eating, prepared a plate for Ginny, and put the extra food away. Harry had made to start washing, but was told to wait. So with nothing to do, Ron having retreated back to his room, he sat and nibbled on cold toast.
Nine thirty rolled around before Ginny entered. Harry shot up from the miniature toast tower he was building, with leftover marmalade acting as the glue to hold it together, and watched her stumble tiredly in. Her plaid lavender robe hung loosely around her, revealing a white t-shirt and flannel, blue-ticked pajama bottoms as the ties dangled towards her knees with every step. Harry could make out her cloudy eyes, failing to hide them behind her slept-in hair. Mrs. Weasley warmed up her plate as she took a seat at the opposite end of the table, not looking up once at Harry or her mother.
“Do you have wash?” Mrs. Weasley asked, gathering the all the dirty kitchen towels.
“Yeah.” Ginny dully said. “In the hamper, I’ll get them later.”
“I’ll do it, I just wanted to know.” She dropped the towels into a large wicker basket. “How about you, Harry.”
“No, I’m fine, thanks.” Harry replied, squashing the edible tower with his index finger. Mrs. Weasley had left them alone.
Before the door fully shut, Harry stood and pushed up his sleeves. Picking up his glass, fork, and plate, he walked over to the sink and started to run the dishwater. Going back to the table once more to retrieve what dishes were left, Ginny made to get up and join him after taking a few small bites. He shook his head gently and nodded her back to the table.
As she settled down, thinking that he should just get it over with, he reached into his back pocket. She watched him walk around the table and place the envelope next to her plate, letting his fingers linger on top of it, trying to decide if he should leave it or take it back. Harry sighed and gave her a broken smile before making his way back to the sink. Hearing the fork hit her plate and the distinct sound of unfolding parchment, he tried to concentrate on the task before him.
Harry began to go over the letter in his head again, imagining what part she was reading, and listening for a reaction to what he thought might garner one. With half of the dishes washed, and having finished recalling the first page, he waited for to hear the parchment turn over. Taking on the pan he had fried the eggs in, he put his worry and anticipation to good use and scrubbed it out. Dipping it into the rinse, he finally heard what he had been listening for, and began to recite in his head the last page.
Harry took his time with each fork, he was running out of dishes fast, and Ginny still had not finished the letter. He bit his lip and set the sausage pan in to soak, watching the thin layer of soap bubbles spread apart as the grease rose to the surface of the hot water. Not wanting to stand idle any longer, Harry started to dry. With a stack of plates finished, he shouldered the towel and crossed the kitchen to put them away, keeping his eyes glued to the floor, not daring a glance her way. Taking his time, he shifted the plates in the cupboard needlessly and followed the worn path back to the sink, where he met a pair of turquoise fuzzy slippers. He quickly turned his attention to the pan, trying to ignore the fact that his heart went into overtime and brain cells ceased to function whenever she was this close to him.
Ginny reached in front of him, the bulky sleeve of her robe pushed up past her elbow, slipping her plate and fork against the back edge of the sink. Subconsciously holding his breath, he watched her slowly pull away. Harry thought he saw a faint smile in her puffy eyes as she looked at him back over her outstretched arm. There was hope that he was forgiven or at least understood.
Having thoroughly scoured the sausage pan, taking more time than he thought necessary, thinking that she might think he was stalling, which he was, Harry eased the pan into the rinse. Noticing her reach for it, he turned back to wash the remaining plate and fork. Moments later, he felt the towel lift off his shoulder. Sliding the last of the dishes into the adjacent basin, Harry took the opportunity to rinse his hands while Ginny was busy, hastily drying them on his pant legs and returning to the table now that the task was all but done. Capping the marmalade jar and covering the butter, he returned them to the icebox.
This was harder than he thought; the not knowing, the waiting, the silence. As tempted as he was, Harry did not reach her they way he knew how. It would have been very hypocritical of him, since it was his outright refusal to do so that sparked the argument last night in the first place.
Mrs. Weasley bustled in, enchanting the now full laundry basket to follow behind her. “You two done in here?”
“Just about, Mum.” Ginny’s voice cracked.
“Good, then I want you to go get dressed and we can cheer the place up a bit.” She smiled, “You can see that I haven’t had the time and Christmas is just not the same without the decorations.”
“Alright.” Her voice cracked again, putting the last of the dishes away before heading for the door.
“Harry, would you mind telling Ron.” Mrs. Weasley asked.
“Sure, no problem.” He popped out from behind the icebox door and followed Ginny out.
Harry used the free time to wrap his gifts with the exception of Ron’s, who was not more than ten feet away, and Ginny’s. Thinking that he was being silly, but still determined all the same, he wanted her to see if first. His logic being that if she hated it, finding them completely hideous, no one would ever have to know but him.
It was late in the afternoon and the lack of decent sleep was catching up with him. Having finished with the decorations, he and Ron stretched out on the floor in front of the fire, starting game of wizards’ chess and Ginny curled up in her favorite chair with large book. Harry tried desperately to keep his eyes open and his mind in the game, but nodded off anyway, jerking his head back up when it slipped off his hand. Ron laughed and told him it would all be over in a few moves anyway.
Sure enough, Ron had him at checkmate, officially ending the game. Harry collapsed where he lay, resting his head on his arms, facing the warm fire.
“Here, you might like this.” Ron tossed a pillow off the sofa, it landed just in front of him.
“Thanks.” He said through a yawn and reached out to pull it under his head.
“Mind if I borrow Hedwig?” Ron asked, heading upstairs.
Finding just the right spot, he muffled, “Nuh-uh.”
Comfortable on the hearth rug, the crackling warmth of the fire lulled him fast asleep. From that point on, he was aware of nothing.
“I see we haven’t missed too much excitement.” Harry could hear Fred’s snicker.
“We’ll have to liven it up a bit.” He heard George laugh, followed by a rapid snapping noise, sounding like the muggle fireworks Dudley would set off to scare the neighborhood kids.
Bolting up off the floor, his glasses askew, he had slept so hard that he momentarily forgot where he was and the time and day. Harry looked directly at Fred and George, wondering how long they’d been there and what they’d done to him.
“Have a good nap?” George slid over the back of the sofa, landing casually on the other side.
“Uh, yeah.” Harry ran his hand quickly through his hair and fixed his glasses. He noticed that the ceiling had been enchanted, just as their store had been, and realized that must have been the noise he heard.
“She did too.” Fred stood next to his sister, who was still curled up in the chair with the book leaning open against her chest. He poked her on the shoulder with his finger, effectively waking her up.
“Leave me alone.” Ginny blindly swatted at him and tried to slink deeper into the chair to escape any further prodding. “Sod off.”
“She’s such a delight, our baby sister.” George said sarcastically.
“Always a lady.” Fred vigorously ruffled Ginny’s hair, aggravating her even more, before he fell down on the couch next to his brother.
“Shut up.” Ginny was fully awake now and closed the textbook.
“Us?” George mocked being greatly offended. “Shut up?”
“From what we’ve heard, you’re the ones who were told to shut up.” Fred fired playfully back at Ginny who was gently tugging away at the snarls.
“No thanks to the both of you.” Ginny grounded out, stifling a yawn. “Where’s everybody else?”
“Mums in the kitchen-“
“-Dad’s still at work-“
“And I’m right here.” Ron appeared from the kitchen with a roll in hand.
“Need another-” Fred smirked.
“Shut up.” Ron put a stop to their razzing before it even started, Ginny snorted at his choice of words. “Unless you’d like me to let something, accidentally-on-purpose, slip.”
“Are you blackmailing us?” George asked, taken aback that their little brother would do such a thing. “You wouldn’t, not mum’s little Ronnykins.”
“Yes.” Ron was confident, he pinched off a large chunk, ready to pop it into his mouth. “I’ve learned a few things.”
“He doesn’t know anything.” Fred muttered to the other.
“He couldn’t.” George agreed.
“He’s bluffing.”
“One.”
“Who?”
“Dunno.”
“Push?”
“Maybe?”
“Keep?”
Harry gave up within five seconds; twins, just like girls, had a language all their own and attempting to decipher it could be harmful to one’s sanity.
Soberly facing their lanky younger brother, who was now standing next to Harry, both replied with reservations, “You win.”
“Molly, the house looks wonderful!” Mr. Weasley complimented his wife upon his late arrival, greeting her with a peck on the cheek before sidling around to the other side of the table to join everyone for dinner.
Harry would have to agree, they did spruce it up for the holidays. He and Ron had gone out to the garden and gathered some evergreen boughs and fresh holly. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley arranged them beautifully. Tying red, tartan ribbons around them, making the garlands that now graced the mantle, table, and banister. Harry had been given the task of placing the paper chain, which the three of them had spent an hour putting together, around the tree. Thinking that it didn’t matter much, here and there would suffice, he was mistaken when Ginny directed him to move it to another location. She would shake her head yes or no as he held it at various heights on the tree until it was just right. Slightly annoyed, he realized when he stepped back to check out his handy work, she was right. Being the tallest, Ron placed the antique, blown glass star, to top off the tree, it shimmered brilliantly off the fairy lights. Fred and George’s ‘Instant Christmas-in-a-Box’ completed the spectacle. It’s snowflakes and baubles of green and red, covered the parlor and kitchen ceiling with extra Christmas flair.
“Fred, could you please pass the honey?” Harry asked across the table. Mrs. Weasley had prepared the traditional mugga, a thick wheat porridge that Harry wasn’t too fond of not matter how much honey, jam or cream he stirred into it.
“How was your day?” Mrs. Weasley asked, pouring her husband a glass of mulled wine to be passed around the table to him.
“Oh, the usual.” He sighed, unfolding his napkin and placing it on his lap. “More attacks, more people missing. It’s not getting any better.” Mr. Weasley took a long draft and added, “But let’s not talk about that, it’s Christmas.”
“Here, here.” Fred and George joined in.
Dinner was wonderful, Mrs. Weasley had prepared roasted beef, baked potatoes, butternut squash, and miniature minced pies accompanied by a wide variety of puddings. Filling his plate more than once, he and everyone else enjoyed the Christmas Eve feast.
After Mrs. Weasley had told them not to worry about the dishes until later, Harry and the Weasleys spent the later hours of the evening listening to the annual Wizarding Wireless Christmas programme that consisted of holiday music, celebrity interviews, and news. Fred, George, Ron and Harry played multiple games of Exploding Snap while Ginny danced with her father around the parlor to a lively Christmas jingle. Mrs. Weasley, finally putting down her knitting, cut in to dance with her husband when a slow, melodic carol was played. Harry watched Ginny pull her hair off her face, her cheeks flushed and slightly out of breath. Catching his gaze, she smiled back before returning to watch her parents dance. Forgetting that he was still playing against George, Harry scorched his eyebrows at the lapse of concentration.
After loosing three more rounds of Snap and failing to answer his riddle during a game of ‘The Old Grey Mare’, the consequence of which won him a hard punch in the shoulder from Fred, he followed Ginny into the kitchen to finally tackle the dishes.
Harry surveyed the scene from the end of the table, he had a hard time figuring out exactly how six people could have created such a mess. Various pans stacked in one corner, blistered with what remained of their former contents. Bowls encrusted with dried porridge, smears of puddings, and left over, half-eaten bits of potato’s and squash dotted what had once been white plates. It was a staggering amount of work, at least it seemed to be after such an enjoyable evening.
“That’ll keep you busy.” George smirked, shifting a large stack of plates on the counter next to Ginny to clear the way to pour himself a fresh glass of mulled wine.
“Are you offering to help?” Ginny asked, tying her mothers apron around her petite waist.
“I would, honestly...” George did his best to sound sincere, examining his free hand, “but I’m allergic to water, it makes my skin shrivel up and fall off.”
“I could do a lot worse if you don’t get out.” Ginny told him, tying the final knot behind her back.
“I know you could and would.” George took a quick sip, “You’ve learned from the best.” He smiled, passing Harry on the way of the kitchen.
Ginny, still at the counter, was trying to organize all the dishes, sliding the stack that George had moved to join with the others. Gathering all the glasses first, utensils, bowls and plates, followed by the real work, the pots and pans, she created an assembly line of sorts. Taking up his familiar station, Harry started to run the water and dispensed a fair amount of liquid soap into the basin, the suds reaching up past the rim by the time he had turned the spigot off. With Ginny humming by his side, arms bared and a dishtowel slung over her shoulder, they began.
Finished with the first glass, Harry carefully dipped it into the rinse and went back to wash out the next. It was no sooner that his hand left the hot water before Ginny would pluck it out and up onto the rack, her humming rose slightly as she waited for the next item.
Harry finished with the second, this time letting his hand linger on the glass. Waiting to see what she would do, secretly hoping that she would take it from him, but Ginny waited patiently for him to let go. Again, she snatched it up, humming the tune her parents had danced to earlier that evening with an added playfulness.
Not sure of what to make of this, Harry paused and looked directly at her, expecting to see Ginny looking right back at him. Instead, she was skimming the water with her finger, chasing left over suds in time with the melody like they were performing an odd ballet dance.
This continued through the rest of the glasses, plates, and bowls. Harry would try to keep up, slipping three or more items in at a time, only to have each one quickly removed. Somehow, Ginny had even found the time to dry and put a few items away. She was taunting him, she was challenging him- this was a game and she was winning.
Not one to accept defeat, Harry took up the implied offer. Having scrubbed a handful of forks, he would dangle them one at a time over the rinsewater, letting them go at sporadic intervals to catch Ginny off guard. Harry accidentally let one go while her hand was still reaching for the last one he had dropped, its tines hitting the back of her hand before falling into the water. Ginny shook it off and retrieved it off the bottom, giving Harry an unexpected bump from her hip with an extra ‘dmm-hum’ in the song.
Deciding that forks were dangerous enough and that knives were out of the question, he called the game off while they finished with the rest of the utensils, by going back to ‘work’ as usual.
Sizing up what was left of the lot and the foul condition in which the wash water had become, Harry pulled the plug and drew another basin full of hot, soapy water before hitting the pots and pans. He laughed aloud to himself as he looked down at his pruny fingertips while he waited for the sink to fill, thinking that George was right, maybe he too was allergic to water. Ginny eyed him as he laughed, he could tell that she knew what he was thinking, and by the looks of it, she wouldn’t let him getaway with it either.
He took on the toughest first; the thick, crusty layer of dried porridge that ringed the mugga pot. Harry pushed it into the water, letting it sit for just a few moments. He stretched and repositioned his sleeves, noticing that Ginny had begun to drum her fingers on the edge of the counter, showing the first signs of impatience at his delay. Humming a few out-of-tune notes himself, Harry grasped the scouring pad firmly and went to work.
The porridge was really caked on, he would have to use something else to get it off, wishing that he could just use ‘scourgify’ to get the job done. Harry needed something blunt ended and stiff to pry the crud off. Searching the table, he found it, the metal turner. Sliding the edge along inside rim, he took a hard swipe. The turner slipped off, sending a sizable shot of soapy water in Ginny’s direction. He heard her gasp in surprise, then gasping in his turn, he glanced up to see the damage.
‘Oh, no.’ Harry thought to himself, momentarily frozen with the turner still in hand and the other on the side of the pot. Ginny was soaked from the shoulders up. Her eyes closed tight, spotted with large clusters of little white bubbles and blowing off the excess water running down her face through pursed lips, she just stood there.
Realizing that he had better help her, he took the dishtowel off her damp shoulder and carefully began to dry her off. Folding the middle over his first two fingers, he started with her hair, following it down as it stuck to the side of her face, using the end of his soapy pinky to brush off the stands and tuck them behind her ear. Then he wiped across her freckled forehead and down to the tip of her nose. Harry held her chin, gently raising Ginny’s face upward toward his. Biting his lip, he softy dabbed off her right eye, following the arch of her eyebrow, before repeating on the left. When he had finished with both, he had again expected to see her looking back, but Ginny kept her eyes closed.
Not able to help himself, he studied her lips. Absently trailing the cloth down her cheek, he found his fingers moving closer to them. Reaching the corner of her mouth, Harry let towel fall from his hand and wiped away the remaining bubbles with his thumb along her bottom lip. Without another thought of what he was about to do, he closed his eyes and blindly, cautiously, lowered his lips towards hers on bated breath.
But before they reached their destination, a mere heartbeat away from the threshold of no return, his conscience brought him to a standstill. No matter how much he wanted to, no matter how close he came, he would not come between Dean and Ginny. What was more, he would not put Ginny in anymore danger than he already had; of dreams, of visions, by bonds, by prophecy, or by his-
Immediately he let go and stepped as far away from her as possible but still remained at the sink. Hoping that by some small miracle, Ginny did not know how close he had come and that with the knowledge she had after reading his letter, she would understand if she did. He could hear Ginny let out a soft sigh and from the corner of his eye, Harry saw her pick up a stack of bowls and put them away on the other side of the kitchen, clearly giving ample space between them and what almost happened. With his thoughts reined in, the mugga pot bore the brunt of his frustrations.
“Hey.” He turned to see Ron, in his pajamas, standing in the doorway. Harry noticed that his eyes went from him, to Ginny, and back again.
“I uh...” Harry fished for the turner at the bottom of the sink, hastily pulling it up out of the water before rounding back to face Ron to begin his explanation of what had happened.
“I just got a little wet is all.” Ginny closed the cupboard door and returned to the sink and Harry’s side.
“Really, it was an accident.” Harry shrugged with the turner still in hand.
“What did she do to you?” He jokingly questioned him, insinuating that somehow his sister deserved a good soaking. Ron strode over to the sideboard and took a tart off the serving tray, before leaning against the cabinet base taking a bite. “She didn’t, did she?”
“No.” Harry answered straight off, not really sure what Ron was referring to.
“Ron, I didn’t do anything.” Ginny said soberly, stooping down to pick the towel up off the floor. Harry noticed her gaze stayed on the cloth she now held in her hands, “Nothing happened.”
“Uh-huh.” Ron picked up another tart. “You almost done?”
“Yeah, just about.” Harry turned back around and rinsed the turner and the pot. “Just give me a second.”
“Sure,” Ron walked back to the door. “See you upstairs.”
Harry heard the familiar scrape of wood along the kitchen floor, Ginny had pulled a chair out from the table. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her head was bowed, still holding the towel in her lap. He retrieved a fresh one from the bottom drawer and dried what remain before putting them away, finally finishing the night’s work. Feeling like he couldn’t leave Ginny like this, not on Christmas Eve, he took a deep breath and walked over to where she sat. Standing there in front of her, Harry waited patiently for her to acknowledge him. When she did, he smiled and offered his hand. But before Ginny accepted, she took one last look at the towel and set in on the table, leaving it and what almost happened behind.