For those who came in late:

Harry's friends are about to enjoy a proper Cyrodiilic Saturalia feast, before this omake finally wraps up. Hairy Fishmas.

Inside the (decorated) Faregyl Inn:

"Do I have to wear these?" Harry grizzled as he adjusted the heavy formal robes for the umpteenth time. Draco was already wearing his with an air of experience, and Neville was also standing a little taller, his own formals showing signs of relative age. Harry, on the other hand, was certain he looked like he was dressed in a hideous boring tent. Ron, on the other hand, had gone with his school robes which looked much more comfortable, thank you very much, but wouldn't be if he kept grinning like that.

"Yes," Draco carefully smoothed his face into neutrality, then reached over to readjust the shoulders on Harry's robes. Harry squirmed again irritably. "After all, we are of Ancient and Noble Houses," Draco patiently realigned Harry's robes again, "and we have to present ourselves in a proper and respectable fashion."

"And we need to g-get used to them anyway," Neville added. He'd already almost tripped trying to turn around after donning his formals. "Besides, we'll b-be sitting down anyway."

"And eating," Ron said absently. The other three boys exchanged a look. Hopefully Zul gro-Radagash's lesson from yesterday would still adhere – enough.

Before Ron could twig and take offence, there was a rap at the door to their room. "Are you decent?" Hermione's voice was rapid and wavering with nerves. "I need to talk to Harry about..."

Harry found himself on the receiving end of a trio of pitying looks. After about three months, they'd learned the signs of a Hermione in "I desperately need to know everything" mode.

Almost before he'd finished saying "Come in then," Hermione had more or less burst through the door in a spray of desperate and frankly rather silly questions; it wasn't until he pinched her lips shut that they stopped. "Peace, Hermione," he began, "It's really quite simple. There'll be a few snacks and drinks to start with, then Dad calls us to table and delivers the prayer, since he's head of the house, then we all eat. Then afterwards the little gifts are given out, and the big ones are taken back home before we light the bonfire." As if to punctuate his words, there was a great wooden crunch with added swearing from outside. Apparently part of the bonfire had lacked structural integrity.

"There'll be singing, dancing, and the leaping of the fire once it dies down, then we go to bed. Great fun!"

Hermione just blinked, trying to process her expectations against the apparently less formal reality. Then, "Oh! Do we have to take our presents down then?"

As it turned out, that was indeed the case. Below a wooden sculpture of a stylised tree with nine diamonds, the children's packages stood out from the local cloth packets and bags like Orisimer in a ballet troupe. The boys all rightly predicted that they would get books from Hermione, and the smart sickles were on Ron giving mostly sweets, although one of the packages in eye-destroying Chudley Cannons orange (complete with animated players hurtling around) was a little large for that.

At first Hermione thought of batteries when she saw the diamonds glowing, but then remembered. Magic, of course. "Some of the rich families use glow crystal from Ayleid ruins," Harry remarked.

The inn's tables had been pushed together in a line running the length of the room, and the villagers, along with a sprinkling of guests, were eddying about, talking, laughing, drinking and eating. The village children were naturally clustered before the heap under the tree, speculating on what they would get or just going blind watching Ron's favourite gift wrap.

When Harry and his friends came downstairs, they were naturally the focus of attention. Ron soon found himself extolling the virtues of quidditch in general – and the Chudley Cannons in particular – to a knot of children (who were probably fascinated more by his talking with his mouth full.) Draco attracted a somewhat older audience, having a wider range of conversation topics about the wizarding world, and prior experience in conducting himself at such parties. Neville ended up talking shop with a travelling potioneer, who was fascinated by his descriptions of marvellous ingredients and radically different brewing techniques. Harry was catching up with friends he hadn't seen in months, while Hermione found herself a seat and sank into the Wasteland Survival Guide again.

In the kitchen, S'jirra straightened from the oven where her famous potato loaves were baking to perfection and looked around. Normally the village women would be filling the room to bursting with busy hands and gossip, but not this time. The Potter house elves had apparently learned that a feast was in the offing, and returned with a determination to "do a rightness for Lord Harryjames and his Rajerry and family."

Despite that, they soon learned that nobody took the making of S'jirra's famous potato bread out of her claws, be they ogre or elf.

As a result, the elves were chopping and cutting and basting just about everything else, while a knot of womenfolk clustered around the table S'jirra was working at, imbibing Tamika's, sharing the news, and kneading the dough with a ferocity that varied with the juiciness of the gossip. At times it looked like they were battering a particularly malleable scamp to death.

Right now, many of the tables were already laden with platters of meat, vegetables, and a gravy tureen you could drown a newborn kit in. The leader of these elves... what was his name? Oh yes, Benny... had told her it was "coming from Lord Harryjames' manor, Miss Sijerry, being in the Potterses for two hundred years, and it is oh so good to be using it again."

Speak of the scamp, Benny was standing in front of her. "All is being ready for table Miss Sijerry," the little brown creature declared, "We can be taking out once the orders is being given."

The Khajiit matron looked thoughtfully at the loaves in the oven... now. She hefted her paddle and began to extract the first one, then braced herself as the house elf did something that caused the loaf to float off the paddle and towards a basket already full of loaves. As it landed, the steam coming off it stopped dead, same as the others, and the final loaf was quick to follow.

"Elves will be setting the table," Benny repeated, "When Miss Sijerry is giving the order."

S'jirra thought for a moment. "You arre all so small," she observed, "and therre are many people out therre. This one thinks that afterr the prrayerr when all arre seated would be best to prrevent trrampling."

Benny just smiled smugly. "House elves have better ways," he explained, "Miss Sijerry has no need to worry."

S'jirra emerged from the kitchens and whispered into her husband's ear. Ra'jirra nodded, finished his tankard, then moved to the head of the table before clapping his hands sharply. "Harry!" he called, "up here please, bring your friends, where's J'dargo?"

There was a porridge of shuffling and pushing for space. Harry found himself sitting at one end of the table across from his mum, while J'dargo and his wife Zahana parked beside him. Hermione sat next to Zahana, fascinated by the face of Kisimba, who stared back at her, while the boys found themselves across the table. Silence fell, except for some childish whispering from those who were more interested in the presents under the tree. Ra'jirra remained standing, then began to speak.

"This night, this Saturalia night, is a night for giving thanks," he began formally. "In a week, a new year comes, the days lengthen, and the eye of Magnus gazes upon us longer.

"Therefore, let us give thanks," and everyone bowed their heads over clasped hands. Ron, Draco, Neville and Hermione were a little slower to follow suit.

"To Stendarr, for thy gifts of kindness and mercy, we thank thee.

"To Julianos, for thy gifts of truth and wisdom, we thank thee.

"To Talos, for thy gifts of strength and protection, we thank thee.

"To Zenithar, for thy gifts of provision and ease, we thank thee.

"To Mara, for thy gifts of peace, we thank thee.

"To Dibella, for thy gifts of love, we thank thee.

"To Arkay, for thy gifts of the seasons and the cycles of all things, we thank thee.

"To Kynareth, for thy gifts of the air and spirit, we thank thee.

"To Akatosh, for thy gifts beyond all gifts, we thank thee.

"O Nine Divines, know that we are grateful for that which we have, and we do not sorrow for that which we do not. For we have more than some, and less than others, regardless, we are blessed with what is ours.

"We give thanks to thee for our health, we give thanks for our family, we give thanks for our warm homes, and, O Divines, we give thanks to thee for our lives."

A low solemn chorus replied, "For all this we thank thee, O Nine Divines."

The old Khajiit turned to the stylised tree and began casting lighting spells on it with a ritual air, leaving the topmost diamond for last.

"Then let us partake of the feast," and Ra'jirra's tone relaxed, "since if we don't eat our wives' cooking they'll probably kill us!"

S'jirra was about to get up amid the good natured laughter to start bringing it in, but there was a sudden, short breeze that attempted to pull some of the candle flames into the kitchen. Everyone gaped as the previously empty table suddenly groaned under the weight of roasts, bread, and vegetable dishes.

Ron didn't hesitate. He was loading his plate with potatoes, carrots, chicken and sausage almost immediately, before drowning it all in gravy even while the first fork-load was en route to his mouth.

"Bloody hell Ron," Neville said disgustedly.

Bad manners notwithstanding, it would later be agreed that this year's Saturalia feast was something magical. The fact that, if one was seeking something, it invariably appeared in front of you almost immediately, probably explained that feeling.

Once the roasts were reduced to rubble and the gravy boats ran aground, there was another display of house elf power as the ruins vanished, to be replaced with sweeter victims. Sweetrolls and cakes were quickly disposed of, and soon demands for presents were heard from the younger generation.

As head of the house, Ra'jirra went around the table dispensing packages to the assembled. The Cyrodiilic tastes tended to the practical: tools, food, new clothes and so on. Several children had received nuts in the shell, along with toy weapons, and were clustered together enjoying two childhood pleasures: making a noise and a mess at the same time.

Hermione's gift ideas, as the boys feared, began and ended in a bookstore. Draco found himself bemusedly leafing through Machiavelli's The Prince, while Neville was nodding over The Cauldron's Not For Burning: What You Need to Know About Potioneering. Ron was staring at the book on aerobatics in confusion. "What's this for?" he finally asked.

"I thought some of the manoeuvres in there might be useful in quidditch," Hermione explained. "If they can be done in an aeroplane a broom should be able to do them too."

Ron looked back at the book thoughtfully.

Ron's presents were mostly sweets, as expected; blocks of Honeydukes' chocolate accompanied Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans and licorice wands. Harry's present, however, revealed something inedible.

"Mum made you one of her jumpers," Ron groaned, glowering at the emerald green woollen garment. A somewhat wobbly H adorned the front of it. "I bet mine'll be maroon again," he added, "I keep asking her for Chudley orange but she never remembers."

The others privately thought that Ron's mother forgot on purpose.

"Better put your gifts away quick," Ra'jirra informed them, "it's about time for the bonfire."

Hermione would have liked to quiz Harry on the copy of The Third Era Timeline that he'd given her, but she was shooed up to her room to put gifts unwrapped and not away before more or less being pushed out the door.

In the village square, all was light from the great conical fire, putting the moons to shame. Already the sounds of lutes, recorders and drums could be heard, along with enthusiastic singing of 'The Imperial Volunteer', a lively jig about a fellow whose willingness to help got him into enough scrapes to fill out officially six verses – not including the unofficial bawdy ones.

Food had been replaced by drink and dancing; children of all ages careered about in their games, burning off their dinners and excitement. Ra'jirra was swirling S'jirra in the steps of a folk dance vaguely related to the terrible fates befalling 'The Imperial Volunteer'. All was handclaps, shouting, laughter and merriment.

As the night wore on, the bonfire collapsed into itself, and an air of expectancy grew. Something was about to happen.

"Harry?" Hermione poked the slightly comatose boy, unable to remember. "Isn't there something you do with the bonfire?"

"Huh?" Harry's stomach grudgingly let some blood flow to the brain. "Oh yeah, the leaping of the bonfire – here we go!"

The couple were young, and from their builds and pointed ears they were elves. After quick words were exchanged, they turned as one, walked away from the fire, then turned and ran towards it. With clasped hands and whoops, they jumped almost as one. A great cheer went up as they landed gracelessly on the far side, with plenty of helping hands to pick them up and prevent them stumbling back into the flames.

Hermione, Draco, Ron and Neville just gaped, mouths open.

With that leap, other couples began to tempt fate. The young went first, sometimes using magic to assure they wouldn't land in the fire, and several times healing magics were employed. "Shouldn't they apply a flame-freezing charm?" Hermione finally broke and asked.

"A what?" Harry looked at her in confusion.

"A flame-freezing charm! Honestly Harry, don't you remember Magical History? It prevents the flames from burning you, just gives a tickling..."

"Where's the thrill in that?" Harry asked. "'Sides, there's spells for fortifying acrobatic skill, or resisting flame, and everyone knows basic healing spells."

As the fire died, the ages of the couples rose (although since some were elves, it was hard to tell.) Harry sat up when Ra'jirra and S'jirra took their run, clearing the last burning logs of the flames. "I need more exercise," Ra'jirra puffed on the other side, whereupon S'jirra laughed and clouted him on the arm.

By now, parents were picking up tired and sleeping children and taking them back home; the musicians were playing slower tunes and the laughter was more scattered. "C'mon you five," Ra'jirra said, shaking shoulders, "Time to go to bed. We've got a long day to the Imperial City tomorrow."

Harry and his friends stumbled, yawning, back into the inn. When they were installed in their rooms, Ra'jirra took the opportunity to kiss his wife before escorting her to their own rest. Tomorrow he and Harry would take the children back to the Arcane University and then back to their world, but for tonight, the most important thing was falling asleep in his wife's arms, in their own bed and their own home, surrounded by friends and family.

A/N: And with this chapter, Home For the Holidays is ended. Now you know what I did on Christmas Day in 2013. Now perhaps I can get on with some of my other fics!