A/N: I am so sorry it's taken me so long to update this story. Grad school is hard and my personal life is... well, if I told you how the past few months have been going, you wouldn't believe me. So basically, life is kicking my ass right now. I swear I haven't given up on this story, these chapters are just insanely long and thus take a tremendous amount of time to write. Anyway, enjoy this chapter with fully original content! Hooray!

As always, reviews/follows/faves are always appreciated.

The weather worsened drastically after that first Quidditch game, the cool fall air turning to biting chill and driving rain as November turned to December. The mood in the Great Hall was quiet each morning as the enchanted ceiling unfailingly showed heavy rain, occasionally turning to sleet if it was cold enough. It was on one such morning, with Ron sleepily shovelling food into his mouth, Harry resting his head on the table in exhaustion, and Hermione alertly flipping through the pages of a book searching for references to Nicholas Flamel, that a thoroughly harassed looking brown owl flew over their heads, dripping water and dropping a soggy letter right on Harry's head.

"Thanks, Errol," he muttered bitterly, picking up the letter and tossing it to Ron before putting his head back down on the table.

"Oi, watch it, mate," Ron chided, picking the letter out of his scrambled eggs, "you got it in my breakfast."

Harry flipped him a rude gesture that made Hermione tut and shake her head disapprovingly. Ron stuck his tongue out in response, sliding his finger under the thick parchment and scanning the words rapidly.

"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed loudly, making Harry lift his head and Hermione offer him and inquisitive glance. "It's Mum and Dad – they're going to Romania for Christmas!"

"So?" Harry mumbled, not quite grasping the problem.

"So," Ron sighed in exasperation, "I'm not! They say I have to stay here for the holiday!"

"That's rubbish," Harry replied calmly, setting his head back down on the table. "You'll come home with me instead."

"Brilliant, thanks Harry!" Ron grabbed a quill from his bag and scrawled Mum, Harry says I can go home with him instead on the back of the letter, folding it back up and whistling for Errol.

"I suppose I should tell Dad," Harry said tiredly, as he sat up and pulled a piece of parchment from his bag, taking the quill that Ron offered him. "I'll take this up to the owlery for Hedwig after classes today."

The last few days of class came and went in a haze of sleepiness, with Harry wanting nothing more than to curl up next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, especially after the difficult practices Oliver was putting the team through. At last, it came time to board the Hogwarts Express back to London, and Harry donned his heavy winter cloak with mounting excitement. It had only been a few weeks since he had seen his father at the Quidditch game, but he still could not wait to be home. The three of them grabbed a compartment for themselves, joined, before long, by Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who started a lively conversation about muggle football that Harry and Hermione joined, while Ron stared on with a bewildered expression on his face, occasionally chiming in with questions like, 'But there's really only one ball? And it doesn't move on it's own?' After about an hour and a half, during which time they established that Hermione was (surprisingly) a lifelong Tottenham Hotspur supporter, which prompted Dean to cross his arms across his chest and refuse to speak to her (which she deemed 'childish' and 'absurd'), they all gave in to the exhaustion that had been hovering over them for weeks, dozing off in their seats.

Ron was beyond distressed to learn, when he awoke, that the woman with the sweets trolley had already passed them by, and he slumped down in his seat irritably, scowling at anyone who dared to talk, until Harry got up and went in search of food for them. He came back, arms laden with goodies – chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties and miniature treacle tarts – and dumped them all on the seat next to Ron, who dug in greedily.

"Thanks, mate," he said through a mouthful of mince pies, and Harry grinned widely.

"Happy Christmas, everyone," Harry said, waving a hand to indicate that they should all help themselves, and the sentiment was echoed right back.

The five of them chattered happily until the scarlet steam engine slowed, darkness settling outside the window as they pulled chugging into Kings Cross station, Harry pressing his nose to the glass, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of his family. But Ron sees them first, tugging on Harry's sleeve and directing his gaze to the three men standing in the middle of the platform, crowded by people who recognize the three Marauders, who know why they must be here, people who want to catch a glimpse of little Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. But Harry doesn't care about all the people watching and waiting, he vaults off the train before it even comes to a complete stop, pushing his way through the mass of witches and wizards and wrapping his arms tightly around his father's waist.

"Dad," he sighed happily, and James squeezed him tightly before letting go so Remus and Sirius could have a chance too.

Ron stood awkwardly off to the side until James grabbed him for a rough hug, and he relaxed, grinning into James' coat. He had been very upset to learn that he would be unable to return home for Christmas, as he greatly missed his family (not that he would admit it to anyone who asked), especially his annoying little sister. Christmas with Harry's family would be nice too though, better than staying alone in the castle. And from the constant banter exchanged by the three men, he could just tell that it would be far more enjoyable than he expected.

"Right, boys," James said authoritatively, ruffling Harry and Ron's hair, "are you ready to go home?"

"Yes!" Harry sighed, wrapping an arm around Sirius' waist and tucking himself into his godfather's side. He couldn't wait to be back in their little cottage.

"Excellent. Now, Ron, we live a bit far, so we'll have to take you two by side-along apparition, alright?" James addressed the red-haired boy, who looked more than a little apprehensive at the idea.

"But what about our things?" he asked cautiously, and Remus stepped forward at that point.

"I'll send them along now," he answered, his tone rather like a teacher addressing his student. "I've always been rather skilled with a wand," he added with a wink, and Sirius gave a quick, barking laugh before James shot him a look that quelled him instantly. With a wave of his wand, Remus sent the trucks away, and Ron gaped, rather impressed.

"Ron, take my hand," James instructed, and he did as he was told. "Harry, you go with Sirius, alright?" His son grinned up from where he was practically glued to his godfather and gave a small nod. "Three – two – one –"

He spun on the spot, and Ron found himself feeling as though he were being squeezed from every possible angle, as though some invisible force were trying to press him into a tiny little ball to be blown through a straw at someone, and just as he felt as though the sensation might actually cause him lasting physical harm, he was released, drawing in the deepest breath of his life the moment he felt his lungs were able to comfortably expand again.

"Sorry," Harry muttered when he and Sirius popped into the room next to them. "I know it's not much fun, but it's the fastest way to get here other than Floo, and Kings Cross isn't exactly the most convenient place to find a fireplace. Anyway, this is it, welcome home."

Harry eyed his best friend with trepidation as his blue eyes scanned the room, taking in everything he could see.

"It's not very big," James began explaining, running his hands through his hair nervously. Thirty-two years old and he still felt like he was being judged as to the competence of his adulthood every time he showed someone the home that he had created. "And we don't have a spare bedroom, so I'm afraid you'll have to share with Harry…"

"It's great!" Ron said quickly, looking around at James and grinning widely. "I love all the Christmas decorations!"

"That'll be Sirius," Harry told him with a chuckle. "He gets really into the holiday."

It was a slight understatement. The ceiling was covered in tiny glistening white orbs, meant to look like Muggle fairy lights, and a gigantic tree stood in the corner of the room, every inch covered in twinkling baubles and little icicles. Garlands hung from the windows and the doorframes, little mistletoe leaves and berries hanging in the middle of each strand (which had always mystified Harry, since none of them had every had anyone to kiss, although Sirius jokily placed big sloppy ones on the cheek of whomever he managed to bump into underneath, usually Remus).

On Christmas Eve, they gathered around a very old Muggle radio, fiddling with the tuner until they found the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols being broadcast from Kings College, and they listened quietly as a Yule log crackled in the fireplace and the five of them sipped on the lamb stew that Remus made. When the broadcast had finished, Remus poured them glasses of eggnog (which Sirius spiked for the adults).

It was only a matter of minutes before Sirius was belting out Christmas carols from the top of his lungs, grabbing Harry and Ron's hands and pulling them to their feet as he encouraged them to sing and dance.

"Won't the neighbours hear?" Ron asked, laughing heartily, while Sirius attempted unsuccessfully to get Remus to join in the merriment.

"Nah," Harry answered, grabbing Ron's hands and swinging them around in an odd little dance – Sirius had charted singing Joy to the World (with some altered lyrics) as loudly as possible, and James was playing drums with his hands on the wooden coffee table.

Joy to the world, the boys are home
let us receive our gifts!
Let every stomach prepare for food
and Remus and Sirius sing
and James and Sirius sing
and Remus and James and Sirius sing!

Joy to the world, for Harry's home
and he has brought his friend!
While we all sleep tonight, Santa flies his sleigh
delivering lots of toys
delivering lots of toys
deliver, delivering lots of toys!

They applauded him exuberantly when he had finished, and Sirius bowed so deep, the tips of his curly hair brushed against the floor.

"Alright, boys, up to bed," James said, noticing that Harry and Ron's cups of eggnog were empty.

"But Dad!" Harry started to protest, but James merely shook his head and smiled.

"If you don't go up to bed right now, Santa can't bring you any presents," he said triumphantly, but Harry scowled in return.

"Dad, I'm eleven years old, you don't really think I still believe that Santa's real, do you?" he countered, placing his hands on his hips.

"WHAT?!" Sirius bellowed in mock shock, his hand on his heart and eyes wide.

"There, there, Sirius," Remus said soothingly, patting his friend on the arm, "he didn't mean anything by it, of course Santa is real."

Sirius nodded in relief and shot a playful glare at Harry before grinning widely and winking.

"You heard your father, Harry," he said jovially, his arm still around Remus' back, "time for bed so Santa can visit."

Harry groaned loudly and turned to Ron, shrugging before he ran up the stairs two at a time, best friend right on his heels. They turned the corner into Harry's room, still the same blue with Tutshill Tornadoes décor and plopped down on the beds, though neither had any desire to sleep.

"Is Christmas always like this?" Ron asked quietly, staring down at his bare feet.

"Yeah, pretty much," Harry answered with a shrug. "I mean, obviously Sirius makes up new song lyrics on the spot, but otherwise, yeah. Is it not like this at your house?"

"Not really," Ron said slowly, as though he were choosing his words carefully. "A lot less singing, and Mum and Dad don't really drink so much. We haven't really had 'Santa' in ages either. Percy spoiled that secret for us when I was about three, and Fred and George made sure I always remembered. Ginny gets to keep believing though, Mum and Dad make sure of that. If anyone even starts to let something slip Mum boxes their ears." He picked at a loose thread in the hem of his pajama pants. "We don't really decorate like this either. We have a tree, but not all the lights and the garlands and stuff. Everything is homemade decorations that we all did as kids. Mum loves that stuff."

"That sounds really nice!" Harry broke in, wanting to cheer up his friend. "I don't think I ever really made ornaments or decorations or anything. And I'm not sure Sirius would've allowed it anyway, he can be kind of meticulous about his decorations."

"Yeah, I can kind of see that," Ron joked, a smile returning to his face. "It's just strange, not being home for Christmas."

"What are the rest of your brothers doing?" Harry asked, curious.

"Well, Bill is staying in Egypt, but he was going to anyway – Mum thinks he's got a new girlfriend," Ron wrinkled his nose on the last word, and Harry chuckled. "Percy stayed at Hogwarts, something about studying, and Fred and George are going to Lee's house –"

"I feel bad for Lee's parents," Harry interjected, thinking about all the havoc the three boys would wreak during the holidays.

"Yeah," Ron answered absent-mindedly. "And Ginny is staying with a family near us, the Lovegoods. They've got a daughter her age, but we don't see her much. I wonder if her parents will choose to send her to Hogwarts next year. They're odd people."

Harry imagined shy little Ginny in a house full of eccentric individuals, and he felt a twinge of sympathy for her, thinking she must be really missing her family quite a bit. He leaned back in his bed, hands behind his head as he looked up at the little twinkle lights Sirius had placed on his ceiling years ago to look like stars in the night sky.

"Hey Harry?" Ron's voice drifted over from the camp bed as Harry felt his eyes start to flutter shut. "Thanks for letting me come here for break."

"'Course, mate," Harry mumbled in reply, and then sleep enveloped him.

Harry woke before Ron the next morning, and he promptly jumped on top of him, shaking him and lightly punching his arms, until Ron's bleary blue eyes opened.

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry grinned from his place on top of his best friend's knees.

"Geroffme," the red head grumbled in return, trying to push Harry away and roll over, but Harry was stronger, thanks to all of Wood's Quidditch practices, so instead he just pulled his pillow over his head.

"Come on," Harry pleaded, trying to tug the pillow away from Ron. "I bet there's loads of presents downstairs!"

Ron peeked out from under the pillow, just enough to see one freckled cheek and a sleepy blue eye.

"And Remus always makes a really good breakfast," Harry continued, saying the magic words to get Ron to launch forward, so quickly that Harry toppled sideways off the bed.

"Come on, then," Ron grinned, extending his hand to where Harry lay on the floor.

The two boys raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time, until they stood in the living room, James, Sirius and Remus looking up at them in surprise.

"Cup of tea?" Remus asked, returning his attention to the newspaper he was holding.

"Can we have coffee?" Ron countered boldly, and Sirius grinned at his cheek.

"No," James frowned. "Tea, pumpkin juice, or water, those are your options."

"What about hot chocolate?" Harry asked, and James sighed, rubbing his hands through his hair.

"We don't have any made, Harry," James answered wearily, as though the boys were trying his patience this morning.

"Hot chocolate is fine," Remus interrupted with a flick of his wand in the direction of the kitchen. "The milk is warming now, it'll be done in a moment. Come, sit."

Harry plopped down on the couch between Sirius and James, while Ron took the armchair across from Remus, nearest the tree. They sat in silence for a few minutes, with Remus occasionally flicking his wand toward the kitchen, until eventually two mugs filled with hot chocolate came floating into the living room. He didn't usually partake in such lavish displays of his skills, but Christmas was a special occasion, after all, or maybe he was just feeling particularly lazy.

"Alright, enough dawdling," Sirius barked out as soon as the boys both had a firm grasp on their hot chocolates, "who's ready to open presents?!"

With a flick of James' wand, presents began soaring through the air toward their respective recipients, while Harry and Ron looked on with glee. Everyone tore into their presents voraciously, with the exception of Remus, who opened each and every gift meticulously, careful to rip as little paper as possible. Sirius was the worst, flinging the wrappings every which way, making a bigger mess than even the most exuberant child.

Harry opened the gifts from his family first – special shoes for Quidditch with extra grip so that he could stand on the broom or hook his feet up onto it for more speed from his father; spell checking quills and anti-bleeding parchment from Remus; XXX from Sirius. Ron had given him a big box of wizarding candies (Harry had given him a bunch of muggle ones), and Hermione had sent him Quidditch Through the Ages. A rather lumpy package turned out to be a sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley – crimson, a large, gold H in the centre - with a box of homemade fudge as well.

There was one final present under the tree, a big thick bundle wrapped in metallic paper, marked To: Harry, Use it well. The Marauders.

"Dad," Harry started, looking inquisitively at James, "who are the Marauders? And why've they sent me a present?"

"I've no idea," James answered, but there was a hint of mischief in his blue eyes as he exchanged glances with Sirius and Remus. "Go ahead, let's see what it is."

Harry tore the paper off and a long length of heavy silver fabric fell onto his lap. He furrowed his brow in confusion and stood, unfolding the fabric until he held in front of him a very long traveling cloak. It was made of mostly silver brocade, with bits of red, gold, and blue all woven in. It was clearly far too large for him, he could tell just by holding it up, but something made him feel as though he ought to try it on anyway, so he did. Ron gasped immediately, but Harry didn't even look up to see his or James', Sirius', and Remus' expressions of surprise. He was far too busy looking down at his body, or at least where his body had been, because it was now gone, vanished into thin air.

"I – I'm invisible," Harry murmured, holding up an arm experimentally, but he could see nothing.

"That is quite a remarkable cloak," Remus said quietly, but Harry did not see the wink he gave Sirius and James.

"What do you think they mean, 'use it well'?" Harry asked his best friend, but Ron merely shrugged.

"Dunno, maybe they mean we should use it to play pranks on Filch!" Ron answered enthusiastically.

If Harry had been paying attention, he might have heard Sirius mutter something then about giving the cloak to the 'wrong boy'. Remus tried very hard to keep a straight face as he attempted to get the two young boys' attention.

"Harry, Ron, there's some fresh brioche in the kitchen," he said, nodding toward the adjacent room, "with some homemade jam. The eggs are just finishing scrambling now and then the bacon will fry. Help yourself to whatever you like, but don't fill up too much, there's not long until dinner, and we've plenty of food to be eaten."

Harry and Ron exchanged delighted looks and flung their gifts aside, racing to the kitchen to pile food high on plates for breakfast.

"They're going to be so stuffed tonight, some wild animal is going to mistake them for a meal," Sirius laughed as he shook his head at the boys.

The rest of the day went much the same as Christmas Eve – astounding amounts of delicious food prepared by Remus, copious amounts of liquor imbibed (mostly by Sirius), and the perfect amount of laughter, singing, and general merriment, before two young boys and three young-at-heart men fell asleep in some form of disarray in the living room.