The Potter-Weasley Christmas Party

"Professor Longbottom?"

Neville looked up from the fanged geraniums he was tending. "Miss Weasley," he said, setting down his watering can and wiping his hands on his robes. Fifteen-year-old Victoire Weasley was standing in the doorway of the greenhouse, her cheeks pink from the December air. "Do come in; I've put a warming charm on the whole greenhouse."

Victoire smiled at him and ducked inside. "Thank you." She exhaled heavily and pulled her hands out of her pockets. "It's much better in here."

"Look out for the Venomous Tentacula," Neville said, pointing to the plant in question, and Victoire scooted away. "What can I do for you, Victoire?"

Victoire smirked at the sound of her given name. Neville rarely called any of the Weasleys by their surnames—it got too confusing, what with there being so many of them. "Dad sent me this," she said, reaching into her coat pocket and pulling out an envelope. "He told me to give it to you."

Neville took the envelope from her outstretched hand. "Christmas invitation?" he asked without even looking at it, and she nodded.

"You'll come this year, won't you?" she asked, sweeping her long hair behind one ear. Neville was often struck by how much she looked like her mother. Victoire's voice was unmarred by any hint of a French accent, but the blonde hair, the blue eyes, the creamy skin—that was all Fleur. "You can't miss it."

"Have I ever missed it?" Neville ripped into the envelope and gently pulled out the invitation. In red script, someone had written, You Are Cordially Invited to the 17th Annual Potter-Weasley Christmas Party. Date: December 24. Time: 6:00 PM. RSVP by Owl to The Burrow.

Beneath the writing was a family photo of the Potter-Weasley family gathered around last year's Christmas tree. Neville smiled faintly as he recognized the scene. In the foreground of the photo, Albus Severus Potter was throwing a snowball at his brother's head while Ginny rolled her eyes and Ron egged him on. Percy sat stiffly in the left corner while his wife and their daughters made faces at the camera; Charlie was trying to walk across the frame while Louis and Freddie each clung to one of his legs. Near the right edge of the photo, Arthur and Molly were kissing under a sprig of mistletoe, and Victoire was hand-in-hand with Teddy Lupin, and George was dressed up as Santa Claus with a laughing Angelina on his lap, and he, Neville Longbottom, was nowhere in sight, because as usual, he was the one taking the photograph. . . .

"Professor Longbottom?"

Neville blinked and tore his eyes away from the photo. "Yes," he said, setting the invitation down next to his watering can. "Yes, I'll be sure to make it. Owl your dad and tell him to set a place for me."

Victoire grinned. "I will." She looked toward the greenhouse door and shuddered as she saw a gust of wind blow the snow up into the air. "I'm going to be late for Charms," she said, digging her hands into the pockets of her cloak. "See you later, Professor."

"Stay warm, Victoire," Neville said with a tight smile, and the eldest Weasley took a deep breath and began to sprint toward the castle. With a very quiet sigh, Neville picked up his watering can again and began to sprinkle the fanged geranium.

The Potter-Weasley Christmas Party was a tradition they'd started the year after Voldemort's defeat. At first it had been the Potter-Weasley-Granger-Lovegood-Longbottom Christmas Party, and they hadn't even given it a title at all; it had just been a get-together with a group of friends. But then the Granger had become a Weasley, and after that the Lovegood had moved away with her new husband, and somewhere along the line Neville's name had disappeared for no reason at all.

"The Potter-Weasley-Longbottom Christmas Party," Neville said aloud, and even though nobody heard him but the plants, he thought it had a nice ring.

"You came!" cried Hermione Granger two weeks later, throwing open the door to the Burrow. "Everyone! Professor Longbottom's here!"

Neville groaned, but he was smiling. "Don't say it too loudly," he said, stepping inside and handing Hermione the Christmas present he'd brought. "Don't want to ruin the party vibe."

He was only half-joking, but Hermione laughed anyway and pulled him into the house. "You're one of the first to arrive," she said. "So far it's only me, Ron, and the kids."

"Still quite enough to get a party started," Neville said, following Hermione into the kitchen.

"Professor Longbottom!" Rose Weasley was sitting at the table with a cup of tea in one hand, but she jumped up when she saw him. Hermione ducked into the living room to put his gift under the tree. "You're here! You came!"

"Everyone seems quite surprised by this," Neville said. "Did you think I wasn't coming?"

"We knew you were coming, mate," Ron called from the living room. "We're just excited to—oy, Hugo, let go of Daddy's hair—to see you!"

Neville smiled and poked his head into the living room. "Hullo, Hugo," he said. The six-year-old hid his face. "Still shy, I see."

"Dunno where he gets it from," Ron grunted as Hugo curled up into a ball on the couch and accidentally head-butted his father in the gut. "Merlin knows it's not from me."

"No, you're not exactly the timid type, Ron," said Hermione as she passed them on her way back out to the kitchen.

"That's more me, I think," said Neville. He sent Hugo a smile. "We calm, sensitive types turn out brilliantly in the end, Hugo, don't you worry."

"Yeah." Ron heaved Hugo off his lap and set him gently on the rug. "Good thing you're calm and sensitive, Nev. Makes you a good cameraman for our Christmas photos."

Something in Neville's chest felt oddly deflated at that. "I do take good photos," he said quietly.

"That's why we keep bringing you back," Ron said with a wink, and Neville wasn't sure whether it was a joke or not.

The front door opened, and Neville heard the familiar sound of James Potter arguing with his brother. "Just because I have a girlfriend doesn't mean you can go around spreading rumors, Albus, and—"

"I didn't tell anyone anything," Albus shot back. Neville migrated back into the kitchen to meet the Potter clan with a big grin.

"Hiya, Harry," he said, waving to his old best friend.

"Neville!" Harry waved back over the heads of his three children. "Good to see—"

"Professor Longbottom!" Albus ran over and began to tug at Neville's shirt. "Look what James did to me!" He tilted his head back and pointed to a brilliant black eye.

Neville let out a low whistle. "Impressive. When did that happen?"

"This morning. And look!" He opened his mouth wide to reveal a missing tooth.

"James hit you in the mouth, too?"

"Did not," James said, elbowing his brother in the ribs. "He lost it on his own."

"Well, that's very impressive, Al—"

He was drowned out by the sound of a knock on the door and about fifteen voices all trying to talk over one another. It seemed that George, Angelina, Percy, Audrey, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and all their children (plus Teddy Lupin, sporting bright green hair) had arrived together. "Professor Longbottom!" Victoire called, but as he turned to wave at her he was faced with a slew of other Weasleys, and by the time the handshaking and hello-ing and "Yes, I came, I always come"-ing was over, everyone had paired off with a cousin or an in-law, and Neville found himself alone in the kitchen.

Well, not entirely alone—there was one other person sitting at the table.

"'Ello, Neville," said Fleur Weasley glumly.

"Fleur." He sat down next to her. Of all the Weasleys, Fleur was the one he spent the least amount of time with. They randomly encountered each other at these reunions every once in awhile, but he never actually sought her out. "You look well."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Thank you." She offered him a glass and a silver pitcher standing on the table. "Gillywater?"

Neville nodded and let her pour him a glass. "Victoire's doing well in Herbology," he said as he sipped the slightly-bitter beverage. "Top of her class, I'd say."

"She works 'ard." Fleur reached into the purse by her side and pulled out a small silver flask. With a quick glance at the living room to make sure no one was watching, she poured a few drops into her own gillywater.

"What was that?" Neville asked as she stowed the flask.

"Firewhiskey." She winked. "It is zee only way I can make it through these family reunions."

"Really?" Neville raised his eyebrows. "You don't like the Christmas parties?"

"They are 'orrible." She took a long sip from her glass.

"But you're a Weasley. You belong."

She laughed. "I am only a Weasley because Bill made me a Weasley. Nobody wants me here. They all seem so shocked when I walk through zee door."

Neville clenched his jaw. "I know the feeling."

"Would you like some firewhiskey, too?" she asked, and to Neville's surprise, he nodded. "It might be a bad life choice," she said with a smirk as she extracted her flask, "getting drunk in front of your students."

Neville shrugged. "I'll be careful. It's not as if they're paying attention to us, anyway."

Fleur tilted her flask into Neville's gillywater and then raised her own glass in a toast. "To zee outsiders," she said, and he tapped his drink against hers and drank deeply. The burn of the firewhiskey was overpowered by the slimy texture of the gillywater, and Neville wondered whether this would get him drunk at all.

"Can't even taste the alcohol," he said, pouring himself another glass of gillywater.

"You want more?" Fleur asked, tapping her flask. "I 'ave plenty."

"Don't mind if I do," Neville said.

When he woke up, the first thing Neville realized was that he was not in his own bed.

The second thing was that he had four young Weasleys gathered around him, whispering to each other and poking him every so often.

"What's going on?" he asked, sitting up, and the Weasleys backed away.

"Professor Longbottom," Victoire said, biting down on her lip. "Do you remember what happened last night?"

"Last night?" Neville glanced around the room until he found a window. Daylight was streaming through the glass panes, and Neville realized he was still at the Burrow. "At the Christmas party?"

"Yes." Victoire looked worried.

"I think you were drunk," James Potter said, grinning as if he were proud to have this knowledge.

"Do you remember any of it?" asked Rose Weasley.

Neville closed his eyes. Flashes of the scene played in his memory: he was drinking gillywater with Fleur . . . they were talking about how unappreciated they felt . . . he was getting up, moving to the living room, yelling at Harry, yelling at Hermione . . . he was ripping open a present from under the tree . . . he was throwing his own present at Ron . . . someone was crying . . . Ginny had her wand pointed at him. . . .

"Get it over with quickly," he said, opening his eyes. "What did I say?"

"Well." Victoire swallowed. "First you were shouting that you were an outcast, because your last name wasn't Weasley or Potter."

"Teddy took offense to that," added Rose.

Neville groaned. "Then what?"

"Then you said you were just as much of a hero as Uncle Harry, even if you took longer to show it, and they didn't have any right to keep your name off the invitation."

Neville sighed. "I'm sure he took that well."

"Not at all," James said, eyes wide. "I've never seen Dad so upset."

"Thank you, James." Neville looked back at Victoire. "What happened after that?"

"You opened one of Aunt Hermione's presents—Uncle Ron got it for her, it was a book about muggle airplanes—and you tore some pages out of it."

"And you were shouting that nobody ever gets you presents," Rose said. "Because you're such an outcast who doesn't even belong with our family."

"And then you picked up the present you got for us."

Neville exhaled slowly. "I remember this part."

Victoire nodded gravely. "You were going to give us an automatic camera," she said. "So that you wouldn't have to take the Christmas photo, and you could finally be in it with us."

Neville dropped his head into his hands.

"You threw the camera at my dad," Rose said. "And then Aunt Ginny hexed you—"

"It was brilliant," James said. "I didn't know Mum had it in her."

"And we brought you up to Uncle Percy's old room so you could sleep off the alcohol," Victoire finished. "You didn't mean those things you said, did you, Professor?"

"No," Neville said. "Of course I didn't."

"Are you sure?" Rose asked. "Because Mum says alcohol makes people honest."

"I didn't mean it," Neville said firmly. "At least, not the way it came out of my mouth."

Silence for a few seconds.

"The camera broke," James said. "When you threw it. Cracked in half."

More silence.

Suddenly there was a six-year-old hand patting Neville's shoulder. "It's okay, Professor," said Hugo Weasley—and he was shaking slightly, but he had an encouraging gap-toothed smile on his face.

It was the first time Neville had ever heard him speak.

"You're just sensitive," Hugo continued. "We sensitive types turn out brilliantly in the end."

Neville swallowed. "Thanks, Hugo," he said quietly.

There was a knock on the door, and then Bill Weasley poked his head in. "You're awake," he said. "Good. Come downstairs, there's something you should see."

Neville sighed and swung himself out of Percy's bed. "I'm so sorry," he said, following Bill down the stairs.

"Don't be sorry," Bill said. "I know where you're coming from. Fleur feels the same way sometimes." He led Neville into the living room, where the adults were gathered around the tree.

"Erm." Neville swallowed. "Hi, everyone."

Nobody said anything.

"Right." He took a deep breath. "I just want to apologize for the way I acted. I know I made this the worst Christmas party we've ever had, and—"

"The worst party?" George repeated. "This wasn't the worst party we've ever had."

Neville laughed sarcastically. "Name one that was worse."

"Don't you remember what happened last year?" he said. "When Dad tried to decorate the tree the muggle way, and it fell over and crushed him? He had two broken legs. That was worse."

"And the year before," Ginny chimed in, "when Charlie brought Teddy a baby dragon for Christmas, and it set all the presents on fire? That was definitely worse."

"What about in 2011, when Harry tried to fly his broomstick down the chimney dressed up as Father Christmas?" Hermione said with a grin.

Harry groaned. "Snapped my broom in half and accidentally taught James about six new swear words."

"But none of you ever got drunk," Neville said.

Ron snorted. "Please. I'm drunk at every Christmas party."

"We owe you an apology, Neville," Hermione said, moving to embrace him. "We never meant to make you feel unappreciated."

"That's why we got you a little something for Christmas." Harry stepped forward with a box in his hands. "Open it."

Neville's chest swelled. "Thank you," he whispered, opening the box carefully. "It's a camera," he said, pulling it out.

"An automatic camera," George said.

"We repaired the one you broke last night."

"We want you in the Christmas photo this year."

"Front and center."

Tears pricked Neville's eyes. "You don't have to do this."

Harry grinned and took the camera out of his friend's hands. "Go round up the kids, Professor," he said. "It's time to take a picture."

"Professor Longbottom!"

Neville looked up from the fanged geraniums he was watering. "Victoire," he said as she came into the greenhouse, cheeks pink from the December air. An entire year had passed since the last time they'd been in this situation, but the sixteen-year-old still looked exactly like her mother, and for a moment it felt like no time had passed at all. "Cold out there."

She nodded. "I came to bring you this year's Christmas invitation." She handed him the envelope. "I think you'll like the photo this year."

Neville slid the invitation out of its envelope. The moving photograph featured the family gathered around last year's tree, as usual, with children throwing snowballs and couples kissing under mistletoe. And there, in the center of everything, was Neville Longbottom, surrounded by his friends and his students, grinning wider than he ever had in his life.

You Are Cordially Invited to the 18th Annual Longbottom-Potter-Weasley Christmas Party, read the red script above the photo.

"You'll come, won't you?" Victoire asked.

Neville smiled as he ran his fingers over his surname. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

[Blindfolded Competition: Random Encounters; Neville & Fleur, no romance, gillywater, bad life decisions]