Ron had been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, and Hermione had been confined to her bed, as had Harry. He’d awoken nearly a full day later to the news that Ron would survive, but that his face and body would be badly scarred. Mrs. Weasley was often by his bedside, scolding him for his antics and treating his wound. She would run her hands over Harry’s forehead and mumble about how much she loved him. It made Harry’s chest feel very warm. Or was that the salve that she kept slathering on him?
In and out of consciousness, Harry was unsure about the passing of time. Sometimes, he would wake up and Luci or Tonks or Ginny would be beside him, instead of Mrs. Weasley. At one point, he thought that he might have said something embarrassing to one of the four of them, but he wasn’t sure which, and he wasn’t sure what. And he was terribly aware, however drowsy, that he was shirtless, and he remembered thinking that he’d be very uncomfortable over the presence of Luci, Tonks, and Ginny, were he more sentient.
When he first felt a real sense of being alert, Tonks was sitting in a chair to his left, reading a book.
He groaned, and she jumped to attention.
“What do you need?” she asked.
“I’m so tired,” he muttered.
“The glass punctured your pleural cavity,” said Tonks.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” she said, “has something to do with your lungs. But you’ll be all right.”
Harry, suddenly aware of his naked torso, pulled the quilt up to his chin.
“How’s Ron?”
“Fred and George are bringing him home any minute, but he’s in a bad way. You should be prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” asked Harry, sitting up, but still clutching the covers around him.
Tonks smiled in a strange motherly way at his modesty, but then responded, “The damage. He’s pretty cut up.”
Harry’s heart sank.
“Why are Fred and George coming?”
“You’ve slept almost to Christmas!” replied Tonks. “It’s less than a week away. The whole Weasley clan will be arriving shortly. Now, I’d better go tell everyone you’re really awake this time.”
Tonks left the room, but she was gone no longer than ten minutes when Mrs. Weasley brought Ron into the room, Fred and George on her heels.
It was true “ Ron looked awful. He had large cuts over his left eye, on his right cheek, and above his top lip.
“All right, Harry?” mumbled Ron.
“Yeah. You?”
“Been better,” he said, groaning as his mother lowered him into his bed.
“Another attempt on our brother’s life, eh, Harry?” said Fred, grinning.
Harry didn’t find this remotely funny, and he scowled in response.
George held up his hands in capitulation. “We’re only joking. You’re going to have to work on that Christmas spirit of yours.”
“Got it, Mum?” asked Fred.
“Yes,” responded Mrs. Weasley. “You boys can go up to your room and unpack.”
Fred and George disappeared from the doorway, and Harry watched Mrs. Weasley tuck the quilt around Ron.
“Now, I want both of you to rest,” she said to them. “Is that clear?”
Harry and Ron nodded, and Mrs. Weasley left the room with a distressed sigh.
Harry turned to Ron. “I’m sorry, mate.”
Ron shrugged, though he was lying down, so it was hard to tell for sure.
“Hazard of hunting for evil cups.”
“Yeah, but it’s my fault we were there in the first place,” said Harry.
“Technically, it’s Hermione’s fault,” disagreed Ron, “but I can’t blame her, due to loving her and all, you know, so…”
“Gee, thanks,” came Hermione’s voice, and she stood before them in the doorway. She was only there for an instant, however, because she proceeded quickly to Ron’s bedside.
“How are you?” she cooed.
“They tell me I’ll live. You all right?”
But Hermione didn’t answer, because she was now kissing Ron ferociously. Harry turned away, wishing that he were still asleep.
A few days later, Bill and Fleur arrived at Grimmauld Place, and they had brought Charlie with them. Harry and Ron were both feeling well enough to go down to dinner in order to welcome them all. The three of them apologized copiously for not being here when Ron was hurt, but they said they’d tied things up in their respective locations as quickly as was possible. Bill and Fleur told everyone about their tropical honeymoon, including how a large lizard of some sort had fallen onto Fleur while she’d been sunbathing, which brought hearty laughter from all.
Mrs. Weasley’s joy at having her whole family home was obvious, but she could be heard mumbling about how Percy’s presence was all she needed to complete her holiday. Harry hoped, for her sake, that the estranged son would make an appearance.
Harry noticed Charlie sitting beside Luci, chatting with her while Malfoy glared disapprovingly, and he wondered why she hadn’t been to see him since he’d awoken. The thought caused a heavy sensation in his heart, so he tried to focus on the warmth of being surrounded by the Weasley family and their overwhelming love.
Christmas was upon them before they knew it. An ample pile of presents greeted Harry that morning, glowing up at him from the foot of his bed. Ron was busy unwrapping his own parcels, which, so far, consisted of a box of Chocolate Frogs and a new pair of Quidditch gloves.
“Happy Christmas, Harry!” Ron said jovially, obviously infected with the holiday spirit and having forgotten his troubles.
Harry smiled through a yawn. “Happy Christmas.”
First, he opened a collection from Fred and George, which included the Four-Pronged Extendable Ears he’d sampled at the wedding. How many times had he needed these before now? Better late than never, he thought.
Hermione had given him a N.E.W.T. preparation journal that assisted you in scheduling your study time for each subject. Harry groaned. Ron held up an identical journal and rolled his eyes.
The next package was small. Harry didn’t know who had sent it, and nothing was attached to reveal the benefactor. Hermione would have been appalled and scolded him until she was blue in the face, but he began to open it anyway.
It was a beautiful pocket watch with his name imprinted on the front. He opened it.
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live,” came Dumbledore’s voice, sounding oddly far away.
Harry gasped, dropping the watch into his lap.
“What was that?” asked Ron.
“I… I don’t know…” Harry replied, picking it up again. On the back was engraved Dumbledore’s Man. He felt a stab of pain in his chest and his nose began to sting as his eyes watered.
He opened the watch again.
“Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you,” chimed Dumbledore, in that same ethereal tone. Harry studied the odd watch, which had twelve hands, and tiny planets moved along the face, where numbers should have been.
“Ruddy brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “Who’s it from?”
“No idea.”
“Really? Lemme see.”
Harry handed the watch to Ron and continued to look through his presents, but he was very preoccupied. Who had given him such a personal gift? And it was expensive too.
Downstairs, Draco Malfoy had also received an anonymous Christmas present. He sat at the table with an extravagant emerald green cloak around his shoulders. Harry overheard him telling Luci that there was no note attached, but that he was sure it was from his father. Harry was sure, however, that his own mysterious gift was definitely not from Malfoy’s father.
“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Luci grinned up at him as he was walking past her seat.
He stopped and smiled back at her. “Merry Christmas.”
Harry’s attention to Luci seemed to upset Malfoy, because he spilled pumpkin juice all over his new cloak.
“Oh!” Narcissa exclaimed as she began to vacuum the liquid with her wand.
“My father will get me a new one,” Malfoy drawled portentously, batting his mother’s hands away.
“Your father’s in Azkaban,” Harry pointed out.
Malfoy sneered. “At least my father is alive!”
Immediately overcome by fury, Harry leaned across the table, clenched his right fist, and plowed it into Malfoy’s face, so hard that his glasses slid down his own nose.
Malfoy shot up from his seat, his hands going to his face. Blood trickled down his chin.
“How dare you?” his mother spurted, getting to her feet.
“Episkey,” she chanted, and Malfoy’s nose healed itself.
“Have you gone mental, Potter?” he spat.
Harry was so engulfed in his rage that he could barely speak. “You asked for it, Malfoy,” he hissed.
“SHUT! UP!” Luci yelled, now standing too.
Harry and Malfoy ceased their bickering and both turned to her. Silence drifted through the room and all eyes were suddenly on Luci.
“My god!” she continued, furiously. “What is it with you two?”
After a moment of quiet, in which everyone apparently thought that the question was rhetorical, Malfoy replied derisively, “He hit me!”
Luci turned on him. “Can you blame him?”
Malfoy gave her a reproachful look. “You’re on his side?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side!” she groaned, exasperatedly. “I’m just exhausted from trying to referee the two of you! Can’t you be civil to one another? It’s Christmas, after all!”
Malfoy started to open his mouth again.
“I don’t wanna hear it!” Luci said, holding up a hand.
“You can’t talk to my son that way!” growled Narcissa.
Everyone continued to watch in fascinated silence. For the kitchen never having been so full of people, it was astonishing at the lack of sound.
“Well, someone needs to talk to him that way,” Luci retorted.
Narcissa scowled, started to reply, thought better of it, and closed her mouth again.
Luci then turned to Harry, whose stomach knotted up under her gaze.
“I know he provokes you, but must you always resort to violence?”
Harry could only stare back at her, dumbstruck. They were less than a foot apart and all he could think about was that intoxicating sweet smell.
“You two are infuriating!” she sighed, throwing her hands in the air and stalking angrily from the kitchen.
Malfoy glared at Harry and then also traipsed out of the room, his mother following closely behind.
“Wow,” Harry breathed to Ron, lowering himself into the seat beside his friend.
“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Guess Malfoy can drive anyone mad.”
“Nice blow, Harry,” Fred called to him.
George nodded. “He had it coming.”
The twins proceeded to reenact Harry’s punch and Malfoy’s stunned reaction. Ginny giggled.
At that moment, to everyone’s shock, Percy entered the kitchen, causing another wave of silence to crash into the room. Mrs. Weasley, tears streaming down her face, jumped from her seat to hug him.
“Happy Christmas, Mother,” Percy said dryly.
“How did you get here?” she asked, beaming. “Who told you where we were?”
“Never mind that,” replied Percy, though Harry would have really liked to hear the answer. “I can only stay a little while. There is work to be done at the Ministry, even on Christmas.”
“I’ll take you for as long as I can get you!” said Mrs. Weasley happily, but the rest of the Weasleys did not look so pleased. Since Percy had turned his back on the family, he had not been a very welcome sight.
After the buoyant holiday celebration, Harry, feeling guilty for upsetting her, broke away to find Luci, whom he prayed was not with Malfoy. Her door was closed, and she didn’t answer when he knocked, so he looked elsewhere and eventually found her in the drawing room with an unopened book on her lap. He could have sworn he heard her humming a Muggle Christmas carol.
“Luci?” he called quietly, because she hadn’t seemed to notice his entrance.
She ceased the humming, instead letting out a small cry, and the book hit the floor with a thud, as she’d gotten to her feet in surprise. Her face flushed. “I… didn’t know you were there.”
“Sorry,” Harry replied, stepping forward to retrieve the book from the floor.
She took it from him and smiled slightly. “About all of that down there...”
“I came to apologize to you,” Harry interjected. “I shouldn’t have hit him.”
She shook her head. “What he said to you was inexcusable. I can’t believe his nerve sometimes.”
“Yeah…” Harry trailed off, turning his eyes to the floor. “Don’t know how you can stand him.”
“He’d ask me the same about you… But I know it hurts. Life without your father, I mean, and no one should ever throw it in your face that way.”
“Is your father… dead… too?”
Luci smiled sadly. “Something like that. I’m really in an awful position here. I care about you both and you hate each other. I can’t take sides, so I just have to try to mediate, I guess.”
Luci admitted to caring about him! He couldn’t help but smile at this.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing,” muttered Harry. “I’ll try to get along with him.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I appreciate that, but I don’t think he’d make the same gesture, and it’s a two-way street.”
“Yeah, he’s always been a jerk.”
“Listen to me, Harry,” Luci said suddenly, firmly.
He was taken aback by her tone and looked at her attentively.
“You have to learn to control your anger, especially if you intend on becoming an Auror. You can’t go around losing your temper at everyone.”
Despite these warnings, Harry felt resentment mounting in his chest.
“Why are you suddenly talking to me like I’m a child?” he asked, defensively.
“It’s just friendly advice,” she replied. “You have to get a grip on your emotions.”
He was suddenly seething, and she could tell.
“Look,” she sighed. “I understand anger; believe me. Better than you know. But it’ll own you, and you can’t let it. Your destiny is too great.”
“I have every right to be angry.”
“I’d be far angrier than you are if I’d experienced half of what you have,” agreed Luci. “But you need to control your reactions to that anger. Not because you don’t have a right to it, but because it’s dangerous not to.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ve never talked to me like this before. What’s really wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it isn’t. We’ve hardly spoken in days.”
Luci looked away, grumbling, “No, you’ve hardly spoken to me in days.”
Harry frowned. “Well, I was unconscious… and with Ron and Hermione here, I’ve just…”
“Exactly,” Luci cut him off.
“Do you have a problem with my friends? Is that what this is about?”
She looked at him in surprise. “No, it’s just that, since you’ve all gotten back, since way before…”
She stopped.
“What?” he demanded.
She looked down at the floor and mumbled, “I’ve… sort of… missed you, that’s all. Nights in the drawing room and stuff…”
Harry’s stomach lurched. He swallowed and choked, “Oh.”
Luci was still staring at the floor, her white-gold tresses falling into her face, chewing on her thumbnail. She looked so… vulnerable. He had an almost unstoppable urge to kiss her. Appalled by this, he took a step back.
Ginny, he reminded himself.
Thinking that his recoil meant that she’d said the wrong thing, Luci, with her nose scrunched up in humiliation, muttered, “Forget I said that.”
“I don’t want to forget it,” blurted Harry.
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed.
He gathered all of his courage and continued, more composedly, “I’ve missed you too. I just thought that we were keeping to ourselves because you didn’t want Malfoy to know.”
She nodded, “We are,” and then shook her head, “I’m just an idiot.”
Sighing in frustration, Harry asked, “Why do you do that?”
Luci gaped at him. “I…” She closed her mouth and shook her head again.
“No, I’d really like an answer,” he continued.
She took a sharp breath. “I guess I just… don’t like myself very much sometimes.”
“That’s crazy.”
“I’m crazy. Unfortunate character flaw.”
Bewildered, he studied her face.
“You know, I don’t like myself half the time either, but it seems like you’re trying to make sure that no one else likes you either,” Harry pointed out.
She smiled faintly. “You have me all figured out then?”
“No!” he said in vexation. “That’s the problem!”
“What do you want to know?” she asked. “Seriously. I’ll answer anything that’s mine to answer.”
Thinking of the Christmas song that she had been humming, he asked, “Are you Muggleborn?”
“Half-Blood,” she nodded. “My mother’s a Muggle. But Draco can never know that, for obvious reasons. God, I miss my mother…"
He saw pain cloud her eyes, so he continued quickly, “And you said your dad is dead?”
“I said, ‘Something like that.’ He’s dead to me.”
“Did he do something…?”
Luci shook her head. “I don’t wanna talk about him.”
“You said you’d answer anything I asked,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, well, I lied,” she said tersely.
Harry was about to accuse her of having a nasty pattern of lying, but he bit his tongue. Instead, he said, gently, “Tell me about your dad.”
Luci averted her eyes. “He’s a bastard,” she said hatefully, so flatly that it seemed more startling than if she’d shouted it.
“What could he have possibly done…?”
“He left, that’s what!” she interrupted, and then she gritted her teeth and concluded, “The end.”
Harry desperately wanted to know the rest of the story, but Luci had become distraught, and he thought it best not to push her. Suddenly, she seemed uncharacteristically fragile.
“OK,” he agreed.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Harry nodded, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was still staring at the floor. After a moment, when she did glance up at him, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes teary.
“Someday, Harry,” she began slowly, “I will tell you everything, much more than you ever wanted to know, but that day is not today.”
Then, without waiting for his response, she Disapparated.
Luci was coming towards him.
“I’ve always wanted to kiss The Boy Who Lived,” she breathed, softly.
Harry eagerly reached out for her.
Suddenly, it was Ginny in front of him, saying, “We can be together again once you kill You-Know-Who.”
He smiled at her. She sent a Bat-Bogey hex upon him. His hands flew to his face.
But when he looked down at his hands, it wasn’t bogies that he saw, but blood. Not his own.
Then he saw Dumbledore lying on the floor before him.
“NO!” Harry heard himself cry out, throwing the quilt from his body.
“All right, Harry?” Ron asked drowsily, awoken by the commotion.
“I… um… bad dream,” Harry responded, slowly, looking down at his hands, just in case.
Ron made a muffled noise of understanding and immediately fell asleep again.
Harry rolled over onto his stomach. Sometimes, after these nightmares, the pounding of his heart was all that he could hear. He lay awake for a long time, his mind churning.