A/N: Yes, I know it's been two months since Christmas. The combination of procrastination and trying to finish a story that ended up being twenty-one pages long meant that this story was never going to make it up before Christmas! Though the holidays are over, I hope you still enjoy this fic.

Written for the Hogwarts Life Challenge, Stage Five, Part I. Prompt: Staying at school — You've spent every holiday so far at home. This year, now that you have the choice, you'd prefer to switch it up a little. Write about a change in a character's life.

Little by Little

Grey, dusty light filtered through the window, illuminating the disarray of scattered clothes, books, and various food wrappers strewn across the floor of Harry's room. Harry blinked blearily, sitting up slowly and wincing as his sore body protested. Damn Gawain Robards and his mad training regime, Harry thought violently, recalling how he had had to drill a sequence that involved climbing a rock wall while firing curses over his shoulder five times before Robards had deemed it acceptable.

He supposed he should count his blessings that he was able to enroll in the Auror training program so soon after the war. Due to what Kingsley called "extenuating circumstances and exceptional demonstration of skill," he had been allowed to simultaneously complete his additional study while beginning training. This, unfortunately, meant that his days were filled with intense physical workouts, his nights with studying up on various poisons and antidotes, curses and countercurses, and his weekends with sitting examinations. His schedule left very little time for sleep, let alone spending time with the one person he longed for more than anything.

He rolled over in bed, his gaze landing on the framed picture on the nightstand. Ginny winked at him, blowing him a kiss, and he grinned, though his heart ached to see her. He remembered their Floo call a few weeks ago, the last time he had seen her before both their studies had overwhelmed them to the point of several sleepless nights and a frenzy of reading.

He had been sitting by the fireplace, a heavy book balanced across his lap. His eyes skimmed over the words without really taking them in. He glanced at the clock; it was past two in the morning. Just a little nap, he thought, rubbing his eyes. A minute or two…

"Psst!"

He glanced up, blinking owlishly. It took him a moment to notice the head sitting in his fireplace, grinning up at him. Her hair blended into the flames, the hot air lifting it around her head like a halo, and her warm, chocolate-brown eyes sparkled in the firelight.

Harry's face split into a grin. "Ginny!" he said, sliding out of his chair and onto the floor. "I wasn't expecting you to call this late."

"Well, I've been procrastinating for so long, I figured I'd see if you wanted to procrastinate with me," she said, smiling cheekily.

"It would make procrastinating a lot more enjoyable," Harry agreed.

"I knew you were a sensible man," said Ginny, laughing.

"Are you in the common room?" said Harry.

She nodded. "Everyone's gone to sleep except me. Even Hermione turned in, though I'd bet she's reading by wandlight upstairs right now. And not even her textbooks," she added conspiratorially. "She reads for fun. I swear, the girl's from another land."

Harry laughed. His heart felt light; he hadn't realized how much he had missed her. They sat in silence for a moment, Harry drinking in the sight of her. "What are you thinking about?" said Ginny, giving him a sideways grin.

He suppressed a smile. "Just how much I'd like to kiss you."

"Ah," said Ginny, pursing her lips. "Please don't. I'd like to actually be able to kiss you when I see you again, and I don't think burning your face off would be the best way to ensure that."

"Speaking of seeing me again," said Harry, sitting back on his heels. "I've been meaning to ask. You're coming home for Christmas, right?"

She bit her lip.

"What?" said Harry.

She sighed, embers dissipating into the air. "I don't think I am, actually."

"Oh." Harry sat back, disappointed. "Why not?"

She avoided his gaze. "I just…I think it would be too hard. Going home. Having Christmas without…" She blinked, hard.

Harry wished more than anything that he could step through the fire and gather her into his arms. "Yeah," he said, his voice rough. "I know."

"Do you think Mum will be angry?" Ginny said softly. "I know she probably wants us all together. Well…not all of us, I guess." She tried to smile, but Harry could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

"Ginny," he said gently. "I'm sure she'll understand. It's going to be difficult for all of you. You have the right to cope however you need to."

"I'm not sure she'll see it that way," Ginny sighed. "But thanks."

"Well, maybe…"

She looked up at him. "What?"

He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Harry," said Ginny, watching him. "What?"

"I…" He ducked his head, feeling awkward. "I thought maybe you could spend Christmas with me."

There was a long silence.

"Never mind," Harry backtracked quickly. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's stupid —"

"No, it's not," said Ginny hastily. "I just…I thought you'd spend it with my family. Or Teddy and Andromeda."

"I don't really want to intrude," Harry mumbled. "On any of them. Your family is…and it's Andromeda's first Christmas without Tonks, and…"

"Right," said Ginny softly.

"It was a stupid idea," said Harry. "Forget it."

"Harry," Ginny said. "I…I want to, but…"

He glanced at her. "What?"

"Nothing. Never mind." She looked away. "Look, I should probably get back to studying. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Ginny —"

But she had pulled her head out of the fire. Smoke drifted lazily toward the ceiling as the flames shrank, coal crumbling as the light finally went out and cast the room in darkness.

As he remembered their conversation now, Harry's smile faded. Despite the fact that he had had very little free time, what time he did have, he used to write her letters. Though she always replied, her responses were often short and vague. Was she angry with him? He hated to admit it, but he still had no clue how girls' brains worked. He made a mental note to ask Hermione what he had done wrong the next time he saw her.

Which, he realized, would be today. He glanced at the clock; he had several hours to kill before he was supposed to meet Ron so they could Apparate together to King's Cross to pick up Hermione. He flopped back, dreading the mountain of textbooks and hours of studying awaiting him.

Sighing, he rolled over and dragged himself out of bed.

"Ahhh!"

He narrowly avoided breaking his neck as he slipped on a textbook, tumbling to the ground. Groaning, he sat up and looked around, only now registering the mess around him. He sighed, pulled out his wand, and began to set things in order. Books flew into the air, sliding neatly onto the bookshelf. The food wrappers disappeared, and the clothes shot across the room and into the closet rather haphazardly, though Harry was beyond trying to put them away neatly. Dusting off his hands, he tossed his wand onto the unmade bed and traipsed into the washroom, yawning.

By the time Harry stepped outside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the sun was hanging low in the sky, sending orange and pink rays through the hazy grey clouds. Harry stood on the doorstep, shivering slightly. Snow drifted lazily through the air, fluttering past in gusts of bitter wind. The roofs of the surrounding buildings were dusted white, the ground slushy with mixed dirt and snow.

There was a loud crack, and Ron materialized at the end of the path up to the house. "Hello!" he trilled, grinning widely.

Harry rolled his eyes as he went over to Ron. "Could you be any more irritating?"

"Can't help it," said Ron cheerfully. "The woman I love is finally coming home after four months apart. You couldn't make me less happy if you threw me in a freezing lake with nothing but shorts on."

"Don't give me any ideas," Harry warned, smiling despite himself. Ron clapped him on the back, and Harry let out a yelp as pain shot through him.

"Oh, sorry," said Ron, laughing. "I forgot, you're probably still sore from the walloping you got yesterday."

"It was not a walloping!" Harry protested. "I did just fine, I'll remind you."

"Yeah, you definitely improved after the third or fourth time," Ron said, grinning. "At least you stopped falling off the wall."

Harry elbowed him. "It's not like you were perfect either!" he said.

"I'm not the one who had to go a dozen times," Ron reminded him.

"Five!"

Ron chuckled. "If you say so. Anyway, ready to go?"

Harry pulled out his wand. "Don't Splinch yourself, Weasley."

"I won't!" said Ron defensively.

Harry laughed and spun away from Ron, Grimmauld Place dissolving before him. The uncomfortable tightness of Apparition descended on him, and a moment later, he reappeared, wincing as the cacophony of chattering family members on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters crashed down on his ears. Through the chaos, he heard the quavering whistle of the Hogwarts Express.

Ron appeared next to him with a crack. "See? I don't Splinch myself anymore," he said proudly, examining his body.

Harry rolled his eyes, focusing on the red blur that had appeared at the far end of the platform. Ron straightened, his eyes glittering. Harry could practically hear Ron's mind singing.

The train drew closer, clattering into the station and rolling to a stop. All along the platform, doors began to open, students leaping off and into the arms of their waiting loved ones with squeals of delight. Ron grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him down the platform, craning his neck over the crowds of people.

"Ron! Harry!"

They turned. Something hurtled at them, a blur of bushy brown hair and flying robes. Hermione flung herself into Ron's arms, and he lifted her off her feet, spinning her around and then bringing her in for a passionate kiss. Harry let out a loud gagging noise. Ron made a rude gesture behind Hermione's back.

At last, they broke apart, both looking rather flushed. Hermione turned to Harry and yanked him into a bone-crushing hug, too. "I missed you both so much!" she cried. "How have you been?" She pulled back, surveying them both. "I think Auror training has done you both a lot of good," she said, looking Ron up and down appreciatively.

"I definitely have a six pack now," said Ron, puffing out his chest. Harry snorted, and Ron shot him a glare. "Whatever, it's close enough," he muttered, scowling. Hermione giggled. He turned back to her and held out a hand, his smile confident even as his ears burned red. "Ready to go home?"

She grinned. "Definitely."

They set off, weaving their way back through the station. Harry hung back, glancing around as the last of the students disembarked into their families' arms.

"Harry?"

He turned, his heartbeat quickening — but it was only Hermione, watching him with a sympathetic expression. He felt the last bit of hope in him dissipate.

"I thought she might have changed her mind," he said, looking away.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Hermione, reaching out to take his hand. "I tried to convince her, but she wouldn't listen to me."

"Is she angry with me?" said Harry, half-dreading the answer.

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know. I don't think so. She wouldn't say." She squeezed Harry's hand. "Anyway, she'll be all right," she said softly. "Let's go home."

Harry nodded and followed her to a secluded corner away from the crowd from which they could Disapparate. Ron was waiting for them.

"Ready?" he said as Hermione slipped her hand out of Harry's and into Ron's with a smile.

Harry took one last look over his shoulder. Then, with a sigh, he turned on the spot.

He reappeared at the base of the stairs leading up to Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He sighed, gazing up at the dull grey façade of the manor. Though it was more his home than any other place at the moment, his heart still tightened every time he set foot in the house. He couldn't shake the lingering memories that haunted the house like ghosts: Tonks tripping over the umbrella stand; Remus sitting at the kitchen table, smiling across at Harry; and, of course, Sirius leaning casually against the banister, Sirius singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs, Sirius comforting Harry in a pantry, Sirius pressing a package into Harry's hands with a promise that would never be fulfilled.

Though Kreacher and Harry had done their best to make the place habitable (Harry had even convinced Kreacher to move Sirius's mother's portrait to a rarely-used room upstairs), the ghosts remained. Harry was hesitant to believe they would ever be fully gone. He couldn't stand to even open the door to Sirius's room; he had been sleeping in a spare room that hadn't seen the light of day for twenty years, Kreacher had told him as they fixed up the room. He thought he had a good understanding of Sirius's misery — if the gloom didn't kill him, the memories might.

Wearily, Harry started up the stairs, but before he had even touched the doorknob, a loud crack sounded behind him.

"There you are!" said Ron, sounding slightly out of breath. "We got to the Burrow and you'd disappeared. Aren't you coming?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine here." He glanced up at the house again, a heavy weight settling in his stomach.

He heard footsteps approaching. A hand landed on his shoulder. "Come on, Harry," said Ron. "You can't seriously be thinking of spending Christmas alone."

"It's not Christmas yet," Harry reminded him.

"So you'll come for Christmas, then?" Harry didn't answer. Ron made an exasperated noise in his throat. "That's what I thought," he said. "Come on."

He grabbed Harry's arm and marched him up the stairs, taking a moment to unlock the front door with a tap of his wand. Unceremoniously, he pulled Harry inside and yanked him down the hallway, depositing him at the foot of the stairs.

"All right," he said, towering over Harry with his arms crossed. "Out with it."

"What?" said Harry dully.

Ron kicked him. Harry yelped. "Will you stop being such a git and use your mouth? What's the matter with you?" Ron demanded.

"Nothing!" said Harry defensively. "I'm fine to spend Christmas here. Really. I wouldn't mind a quiet holiday."

"Right," Ron drawled. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that you 'don't want to intrude on our family' and you 'feel like you're being a nuisance'?"

"I —" Harry closed his mouth, nonplussed.

Ron nodded. "You're an idiot," he said matter-of-factly, plopping down beside Harry. "You know you're a part of our family now, right? Mum will go mad if you don't show up. And then I'll have to try to get her to see that it's not her fault, it's yours for being such a twit, which of course will take up the precious minutes I could have spent snogging my girlfriend." Harry made a face. "So will you stop being such a bloody idiot and just come for Christmas?"

"Well, Ginny's not coming," said Harry, unable to keep the moroseness from his tone. Ron whapped him upside the head. "Stop doing that!" Harry said, scowling.

"First of all, stop pining over my little sister," said Ron sternly. "Second — that's the whole point. Mum's already dealing with…well, you know." He swallowed audibly. "And now Ginny's not coming, either, and she won't tell any of us why. Mum needs you, Harry. She can't lose any more of us."

Harry glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead, unblinking, his shoulders rigid, hands curled into fists on his knees.

"You mean it?" said Harry softly.

Ron shoved him. "Of course I mean it, you git. Now get off your arse and let's go!"

Mrs. Weasley was delighted to hear that Harry would be spending Christmas at the Burrow after all. Upon his arrival, she strangled him with a hug, thrust a steaming mug of hot chocolate into his hands, and whisked his rucksack away to Ron's old bedroom, where he would be sleeping.

"Got him to come around, then?" Hermione called from the sofa as Harry and Ron came into the living room, Harry drinking deeply from his mug.

"Did you ever doubt I would?" said Ron, bending to kiss the top of her head. At the last second, she turned her face so their lips connected instead. Harry wrinkled his nose, averting his eyes as he sipped at his hot chocolate. He gazed out the window, watching a particularly fat flake of snow spiral past the glass. Was Ginny watching the snow, too? Or was she caught up in her studying? Or perhaps — the thought came unbidden to Harry's mind, making his stomach squirm uncomfortably — she was wrapped up in someone else's arms. Was that why she had been avoiding him? Having had a whirlwind romance with him, was she now sick of him?

"Oi!"

A pillow clocked him in the head. Hot chocolate slopped over the edge of his mug as he staggered.

"Ron!" said Hermione reprovingly.

"Oh, he's fine," said Ron, waving a hand carelessly. Somehow, he had wound up on the couch with Hermione, and their limbs were tangled together, something that greatly annoyed Harry for some reason.

"What was that for?" Harry grumbled.

"Stop wallowing in your misery," said Ron, grinning. "It's Christmas! Lighten up!"

"Okay," said Harry tonelessly.

Ron sighed. "I swear to Merlin, you're such a spoilsport. Just because you're alone at Christmas —"

"I'm not alone!" said Harry defensively. "I mean…I don't think I am. Am I? Ginny's still my girlfriend, right?" This last question was directed at Hermione, who looked rather alarmed.

"Er…" she said. "I think so. I'm…ninety percent sure."

Harry flopped into a chair. "Ninety percent. Great."

Ron let out a noise of exasperation. "Look, mate, if you're this worried about Ginny, why don't you just go talk to her?"

Harry shook his head. "She doesn't want to see me."

"Fine," said Ron, extricating himself from Hermione and stretching languorously. "Go ahead and wallow. I'm going to go raid Mum's dessert stash. You coming?" he added to Hermione, holding out a hand.

"Oh, Ron, shouldn't we save the desserts for —"

"Don't worry, she's made about a hundred," said Ron, rolling his eyes. "She won't mind if we eat just a few." After a moment, Hermione slid her hand into his and let him lead her into the kitchen, leaving Harry alone.

He sipped what was left of his hot chocolate, feeling uncontrollably irritated. Why couldn't Ginny just talk to him about whatever was going on? And why did Ron and Hermione have to rub their perfectly functional relationship in his nose every chance they got?

He sat, brooding, until he heard footsteps on the stairs.

"Harry, dear, I've put your things in Ron's room," said Mrs. Weasley, leaning on the banister at the foot of the steps. "It'll be a bit cramped, I'm afraid, but it's the best we can do."

"It's fine, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, smiling. "Really, I appreciate you letting me stay here at all."

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Weasley. "You're family, Harry, we wouldn't just let you spend Christmas all alone in that awful house…"

"Well, thank you anyway," said Harry. Mrs. Weasley smiled and bustled off to the kitchen. A moment later, he heard muffled shouting — evidently, she did mind Ron eating the desserts.

Smiling slightly, Harry drained the rest of his hot chocolate, feeling warmth spreading outward from his stomach. Perhaps Ron was right — whatever was going on with Ginny, he couldn't let it ruin his Christmas.

Setting his empty mug down, he got up to go rescue Ron from Mrs. Weasley's wrath.

The days leading up to Christmas passed in a blur. Harry caught glimpses of the other Weasleys every now and then. Bill and Fleur dropped by for dinner occasionally. Both of them, Bill told Harry, had been helping to refortify Gringotts; apparently, the dragon had done a great deal of damage to several intricate protective spells as it had clawed its way out of the bank, something that made Harry feel quite guilty.

"Don't worry about it," said Bill dismissively when Harry brought this up. "Honestly, we've been telling the goblins for ages that we ought to stop using dragons as guards anyway. Charlie's right, they need to be out in the air. You did that dragon a favor, Harry."

Charlie, meanwhile, was often to be found out in the shed with Mr. Weasley. A few days after he had arrived at the Burrow, Harry had been reading in the living room when a loud revving noise suddenly cut through the silence. Upon investigation, Harry found Mr. Weasley and Charlie clustered in the shed over a sleek motorcycle.

"We've been trying to replicate Hagrid's flying motorcycle," Mr. Weasley explained. "The original doesn't work quite as well since crashing in Tonks's garden, so I thought Hagrid might like a new one."

Charlie grinned, sweeping his sweaty hair off his forehead. "That, and you wanted an excuse to tinker with a Muggle vehicle," he said, winking at Harry. Harry grinned.

"Mind you don't tell your mother that," said Mr. Weasley, examining the engine of the motorbike. "As far as she's concerned, I'm doing a favor for an old friend." He prodded one of the wheels with his wand thoughtfully; it promptly exploded, blasting a hole in the top of the shed and sending up a thick cloud of black smoke. Mr. Weasley coughed, using his wand to dispel the smoke. "I don't suppose there's any chance Molly didn't hear that?" he said to Harry, blinking through a faceful of soot.

"ARTHUR WEASLEY!"

Mr. Weasley sighed. "Well, I suppose it was only a matter of time." He trudged out of the shed rather sheepishly.

Harry saw very little of Percy; the third Weasley brother still spent long days at the Ministry, but when he was home, he spent every minute with his family. Harry suspected he was still trying to make up for the months he had spent estranged from them. Though Mrs. Weasley seemed to have forgiven him wholeheartedly, Ron still got a sour look on his face whenever Percy entered the room. At first, Hermione often tried to bridge the gap between them, talking to Percy about his work and attempting to encourage Ron to participate in the discussion, but Ron generally gave monosyllabic responses when prompted and Percy didn't seem to know what to say to his brother, and eventually Hermione gave up.

But the Weasley brother Harry saw even less of than Percy was George. In fact, in the days leading up to Christmas, Harry didn't see George once. He never left his room; Mrs. Weasley brought him trays of sandwiches every so often. She seemed to have given up on trying to convince him to come out. Ron told Harry in an undertone that George had been in a worse sort of stupor than usual since the beginning of December, refusing to speak to anyone and spending his time locked in his room. He hadn't been showing up at the joke shop, either; the rest of his brothers were alternating shifts to keep the shop open. Passing his room one night, Harry heard muffled sobbing through the door, and the unmistakable sloshing of liquid in a bottle. Harry doubted it was butterbeer. He wondered if he ought to knock — but if it had been him sobbing like that, he wouldn't have wanted an audience. Guilt swirling in the pit of his stomach, Harry continued up the stairs.

Two days before Christmas, much to Harry's surprise, Andromeda Tonks showed up on the doorstep, Teddy sitting securely on her hip.

"I expected to spend Christmas alone," Andromeda explained as Harry relieved her of her bags, "but Molly sent an owl a few days ago, inviting me, and — well, I thought, what was the point in sitting around, feeling miserable by myself? So here I am." Her eyes were shining, but she blinked hard, forcing a smile. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

"Merry Christmas, Andromeda," said Harry softly.

Teddy cooed, reaching out for Harry; Harry lifted his godson carefully out of Andromeda's arms. "And Merry Christmas to you, Teddy," he said, bouncing the child gently. Teddy smiled widely, and his hair turned jet-black, sticking up all over his head. Harry grinned. "He's gotten better at that," he said as Teddy burbled happily, grabbing Harry's glasses off his nose and waving them triumphantly.

"Yes," said Andromeda, gazing fondly at her grandson. "Dora was a quick study, too." She swallowed visibly. "I should go and find Molly, thank her for inviting me." And she took Teddy back, sparing a moment to pluck Harry's glasses out of Teddy's grip and return them to their owner before moving briskly down the hallway. Over Andromeda's shoulder, Teddy waved a fat fist at Harry, his hair turning bright bubblegum pink. Throat tightening painfully, Harry turned away.

At last, Christmas Day arrived. Harry was awoken unceremoniously by Ron lobbing a pillow at him.

"This is abuse," Harry complained, rolling over and opening one eye blearily. "You're abusing me."

"You'll live," said Ron, sounding amused. "Come on — presents!"

Yawning, Harry followed Ron downstairs. A wondrous sight awaited him; dozens of presents wrapped in various bright colors of paper were scattered under the enormous Christmas tree, spilling out from beneath it like an avalanche. A chorus of "Merry Christmas"es greeted Harry and Ron as they entered. The others had already begun opening presents: Fleur was pulling on a lavender Weasley sweater, though Harry noted that it didn't have a letter on it.

"Thank you, Molly, eet is lovely," said Fleur, hugging the sweater around her and smiling dazzlingly at Mrs. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She seemed far away, lost in her own thoughts. Harry felt a pang go through him as he realized that she would have knitted one less sweater this year. George was still conspicuous in his absence.

Spotting Harry and Ron at the base of the stairs, Hermione stood up and pulled them both into a hug. "Merry Christmas!"

"You, too," said Harry and Ron together, Ron kissing the top of Hermione's head.

She pulled away, though Harry noticed her fingers lingering on Ron's shoulders a moment too long. "Come on, I've already separated out your presents." She led them over to the tree, where she had neatly stacked their packages away from everyone else's.

"There you are, Harry, that one's yours," said Hermione, pointing at one of the stacks. Smiling at her, Harry sat down to open his presents.

"Oh, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, opening her present from Harry: an album entitled Celestina Warbeck: The Complete Collection. "Thank you!"

"Fascinating!" said Arthur, poring over the book Harry had gotten him: A History of Aeronautical Engineering.

Ron ripped open his own present, a new Chudley Cannons poster. "Cheers, mate," he said, grinning at Harry as he unfolded it.

"Oh, thank you, Harry!" Hermione breathed, unwrapping an updated edition of Hogwarts: A History. She looked as though she were longing to crack it open right there and then, but at Ron's amused glance she set it aside, albeit reluctantly, and began to open the rest of her presents.

Across the room, Andromeda had just opened Harry's present for Teddy, a stuffed purple dragon. Teddy seized it, squealing with delight as the dragon flapped its wings, spitting out an orange ribbon.

"Looks like we've got a future dragon trainer on our hands," said Charlie, grinning. "Isn't that right, Teddy? Want to work with dragons, like your uncle Charlie?"

Teddy flung the dragon at him; it smacked him in the face. "You'll catch on," said Charlie confidently, handing the dragon back to Andromeda. Harry met her eyes over Teddy's head; she gave a grateful smile, and he nodded in return.

Settling back against the couch, Harry began to open his presents. Mrs. Weasley had knitted him a new sweater, scarlet with a gold H on it. Ron's, Harry saw with amusement, was maroon as usual. He seemed to notice his mother's subduedness, however, and pulled it on without complaint. Ron had gifted Harry a new pair of trainers that shouted at him when the laces came untied. Hermione had, of course, given him a book, though to her credit it appeared to be an interesting read on the top Quidditch teams in Britain.

At long last, they all began to get up, vanishing the wrapping paper with their wands and dispersing to grab breakfast. They spent the rest of the morning enjoying their presents; Hermione immediately curled up on the couch with her book, the simple but nonetheless lovely necklace Ron had gotten her dangling from her neck.

Mrs. Weasley ordered everyone out of the kitchen at one in the afternoon so she could begin preparing an extravagant dinner; she seemed determined to bury herself in work. Waving away Harry's protestations that he was more than happy to help, she shooed him out of the kitchen along with the rest of the Weasleys. He spent the rest of the day flying with the Weasleys (and missing his Firebolt sorely as he struggled to get a goal past Bill on an old Cleansweep that continually tried to buck him off).

Finally, long after the sun had set, Harry, Ron, Bill, and Charlie reentered the Burrow, sore and thoroughly mud-splattered, to find a glistening feast set out on the table. After enduring Mrs. Weasley's reprimands at dragging mud in, they sat down with the rest of the Weasleys, Hermione, and Andromeda. Teddy was already asleep, and George was still missing.

"Merry Christmas, everyone," said Mr. Weasley as they all tucked into dinner. Only one person wasn't eating; Mrs. Weasley stared off into space, her food untouched. Following her gaze, Harry saw that she was looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, where Fred's hand pointed solidly at "Lost." Mr. Weasley, noticing, leaned over and whispered something in Mrs. Weasley's ear. She shook her head, tears spilling over onto her face, and let out a soft sob. The others stopped eating.

"Mum?" said Ron. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, sounding as if she were barely holding herself together. "It's fine, I'm all right…"

Bill stood, moving around the table to lay a hand on his mother's shoulder. Mr. Weasley took one of her hands in his, rubbing it gently. "It's okay, Mum," Bill said, his voice tight. "We — we all miss him, too."

Mrs. Weasley seemed to dissolve. She put her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body.

Percy got up uncertainly. "Maybe I should get George — it's Christmas, he should be here with us…"

"N-no," Mrs. Weasley sobbed. "Don't, he — he needs his space, I d-don't want to bother him…or — or Ginny…I'll be okay…." Her sobs redoubled, and she crumpled forward, burying her head in her arms.

Anger surged through Harry; Ginny could ignore him if she liked, break up with him if that was what she wanted, but he couldn't bear to see what she was putting her mother through. Without stopping to think, he stood up, marching out of the dining room.

"Harry?" Ron called after him. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer, taking the steps two at a time. He burst into Ron's room and rifled through his own rucksack, finally pulling out a small box and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans. He hurried out of the room and down the stairs, making his way quickly toward the front door. Stopping only to pull on his coat and check to make sure his wand was in his pocket, he wrenched open the door, stalked out into the snow, and Disapparated.

He reappeared in a snow-covered Hogsmeade; it looked like something out of a Christmas storybook. But Harry didn't pause to admire the snow-capped buildings and golden light pouring through frosted-over streetlamps. He made his way down the curving road, at last arriving at the shabby, worn-down looking pub.

The bartender didn't look up as Harry entered. "We're closed, come back — Potter!"

Harry smiled. "Nice to see you, Aberforth."

Aberforth's blue eyes twinkled, reminding Harry painfully of Dumbledore. "I imagine you're not here to have Christmas dinner with me," he said.

"No," said Harry apologetically. "I was wondering if I might be able to use the passage into Hogwarts. It's easier than going up to the gates."

"Couldn't buy a butterbeer first, could you?" Aberforth grumbled, but he smiled as he led Harry to the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore. She gave a mysterious smile, her portrait swinging open to reveal the hidden passageway. "I hope whatever you're doing's worth all the trouble."

"It is," Harry assured him, hoisting himself into the tunnel. "Thanks, Aberforth." The portrait swung closed behind him, and he set off at a fast pace, following the winding tunnel.

A few minutes later, he arrived at the end of the passage. He pushed open the door, hopping down into the deserted Room of Requirement, and immediately strode to the opposite wall, opening the door out into the corridor.

He had to stop as his heart contracted. He hadn't realized how much he had missed Hogwarts. Though it now held memories of death and loss, it was also the first place he had considered home, his safe haven for so many years. Shaking off the nostalgia, Harry began to move toward Gryffindor Tower.

"Potter?" said a shocked voice from behind him. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He turned; it was Professor McGonagall. She stared at him as if she didn't quite believe her eyes.

"Hi, Professor," said Harry, smiling despite himself.

She didn't smile back; in fact, she looked quite suspicious. She drew herself up to her full height. "Why were you allowed on the Quidditch team in your first year?"

"Because you saw me catch a Remembrall," said Harry, grinning at the memory.

She relaxed visibly. "My apologies, Potter. We still can't be too careful, after all."

"I understand," said Harry, sobering. "Have there been any problems?"

"No," said McGonagall, exhaling. "Luckily. But how on earth did you get past all the security? I should think I would have heard if Harry Potter had shown up at the gates of Hogwarts."

"Ah," said Harry sheepishly. "I thought there might be something like that. I came through the Hog's Head passage."

She frowned. "I need to have a word with Aberforth." Harry laughed. McGonagall regarded him, all business. "Well, Potter, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"Er…" said Harry, suddenly self-conscious. "I, er, I was hoping to visit Ginny, Professor."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Ah, I see," she said, seeming amused. "Well, go on, then. Who am I to stand in the way of young love?"

Harry grinned and set off down the corridor. "Thanks, Professor!" he called over his shoulder as he sped away. She shook her head exasperatedly, heading in the opposite direction.

Several minutes later, Harry came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. She gave a start at seeing him.

"Er — password?" she said, sounding rather flabbergasted.

Harry stopped short. "Oh — er — I don't suppose you could just let me in?" he said hopefully.

"No," she said stonily.

"Oh, come off it," said Harry, frustrated. Just when he was so close, he had to hit another obstacle. "I lived here for six years! I saved this whole bloody castle, for goodness' sake!"

She folded her arms. "You may be a war hero, but I'll be damned if I ever let anyone into this room without a password," she said, looking haughtily down her nose at him. "You can sleep outside, if you like."

Harry opened his mouth — to tell her off or plead with her, he wasn't quite sure which — but a voice behind him made him stop.

"Harry?"

He turned; Ginny was standing at the top of the stairs, openmouthed. All the anger he had been feeling towards her ebbed away. He had the odd feeling of thrashing butterflies in his stomach, partly caused by the fact that she was even more beautiful than he remembered, and he couldn't quite believe that she was only a few feet away from him, and partly caused by the fact that she was still staring at him, and he had no idea how to interpret her expression.

"Hey," he said weakly.

Her eyes were shining; without a word, she stepped forward and threw her arms around him, pressing her lips to his with surprising force. He let out a startled "Mmph!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said the Fat Lady, sounding irritable. "Snogging in corridors, have you no self-respect?"

"Good point," said Ginny breathlessly, pulling away from Harry. "Snargaluff."

"Well, hold on, now!" said the Fat Lady, flustered, as the portrait hole opened and Ginny dragged Harry inside. "That's not what I —"

The portrait closed with a definitive snap, shutting out the Fat Lady's protests, and Ginny pulled Harry against her again, pressing frenzied kisses to his lips.

"Ginny — what —"

"Shut up," she whispered between kisses, "and take off your shirt."

"What?"

"You heard me," said Ginny, stepping back and letting her robes fall to the floor.

"But I've never — we've never —"

"First time for everything," she said, her voice shaking slightly.

"Hang on!" said Harry as she pulled off her sweater. She was wearing a thin tank underneath. Harry felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "What — what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Ginny snapped, apparently deciding to take matters in her own hands as she yanked Harry's coat off and tossed it aside.

"I thought — aren't you angry with me?" said Harry, dumbfounded.

"No," said Ginny shortly. "Now take off your shirt!"

"Ginny —" He held her at arm's length, observing her. Her face was flushed, and there was a hard glimmer in her eyes. "What are you doing?" he said again, gently.

She let out a frustrated noise, shoving him away. "What's the use of you?" she snapped, snatching up her sweater.

Harry took a step back, blinking. "I…"

"You show up here, out of the blue, even though I said I didn't want you to come, and now that you're here you don't even want to kiss me?" She hurled the words at him.

"I do!" said Harry hastily. "I just…it feels like something else is going on."

"Nothing's going on!" she shouted, something seeming to break inside her. "I just wanted to forget, for one goddamn second, that my brother is dead! Is that too much to ask for? Is that —" She clenched her jaw, flinging herself into one of the squashy armchairs. "Forget it," she said, her voice hardening.

Harry stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, before he shook himself out of it. He scooped up his coat, draping it over his arm as he made his way to the other armchair and sat down. Ginny avoided his gaze, staring unblinkingly at the fire.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Why?" she deadpanned. "I'm the one who should be. I'm the one who wanted to use you."

"Is that why you didn't want to see me?" Harry said. "Because you were afraid you'd be using me?"

There was a long silence before she replied. "Don't you see?" she said, her voice shaking again. This time, Harry recognized it as her repressing tears. "It isn't fair. It isn't fair that I have you and he has nothing. It isn't fair that he never got to have a real relationship, or get married, and I have everything I want." A tear slipped down her cheek; she wiped it away furiously. "It isn't fair," she said again, her voice hollow.

"I know," said Harry quietly. "When — when Sirius died — I kept thinking about how he spent most of his life locked up one place or another, how he hardly got to enjoy the sunshine. And I keep thinking now about how I'm only three years younger than my parents were when they died. And I've got my whole life ahead of me, and they only got twenty-one years." He reached out and took Ginny's hand, seeing it as a good sign that she didn't try to shake him off. "It isn't fair. None of it is fair."

She sniffled, curling in on herself.

"Come home, Ginny," Harry said softly. "Don't spend Christmas alone."

"I can't go back," she whispered. "Everything's different now. Everything's changed."

"And some of it will never be the same," said Harry gently. "But you keep moving forward. And eventually, you build a new normal. A normal without him. And it'll never be like it was, he'll never be…not gone." He swallowed, hard. "But…over time, you learn to work around the gap he left. And it gets easier, little by little."

She brought her eyes to his, blinking; a tear fell. Automatically, Harry reached out and wiped it away. "Come home," he whispered.

At long last, she nodded.

The journey back through the tunnel seemed to take no time at all. Ginny's hand was warm in his, and though they didn't speak, the fact that she was beside him was more than enough. Stopping only to bid Aberforth a merry Christmas, Harry led Ginny out of the Hog's Head and into the snow-dusted street.

"Hold on to me," he said quietly. She linked her arm with his, pressing herself against him. Shivering slightly, Harry Disapparated.

They appeared at the end of the pathway to the Burrow. Harry heard Ginny's breath hitch. He turned to look at her; she was staring up at the house, her face tight, her shoulders drawn inward.

He took her hand and squeezed it. Her eyes met his; in them, he saw a steady resolve, a fierce determination, the things that had made him fall in love with her in the first place. But now they were stronger, bolder, more intense than he had thought possible. Fire had tempered her, and he knew she was strong as steel.

"Hang on," said Harry as Ginny started up the pathway. She stopped and looked back at him. "I want to give you something before we go in." He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small, black velvet box. "Merry Christmas, Ginny."

"I didn't get you anything," said Ginny, taking the box automatically and turning it over in her hands.

"It's all right," said Harry. "Just open it."

She flipped open the box; he heard her suck in a startled breath. A ring glinted in the box, a deep emerald gem set in an etched silver band, glistening in the moonlight.

"Harry —" Ginny said nervously.

"It's not a proposal," said Harry quickly. "I found it in Sirius's house. He kept it with a box of letters from my parents; I think it must have been my mum's." Harry carefully extricated the ring from the box. "When I propose to you," he said in a low voice, "I'll get you a ring made just for you, for us, and for our love. But this ring is a promise. A promise that I'll love you as much as my dad loved my mum, as long as I'm alive, Ginny."

She blinked hard, staring at the ring. Harry held it out to her; she extended her shaking right hand, and he slid it onto her ring finger.

"Merry Christmas," he said again. She stepped in toward him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, so different from the frenzied, frantic kisses in the common room. He felt her breath against his skin, warming him.

After a long moment, they broke apart. Ginny intertwined her fingers with Harry's; he could feel the ring pressing into his palm. Together, they made their way up the pathway; the door to the Burrow gave way easily under Harry's fingers. Ginny's grip on Harry's hand was vicelike. He heard her swallow.

The house was quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware. As they entered the dining room, everyone stopped eating to look up. Mrs. Weasley, who had been staring straight ahead with an empty look in her eyes, let out a soft gasp.

"Ginny," she breathed.

"Hi, Mum," said Ginny softly.

Next thing Harry knew, Mrs. Weasley had flung herself on her daughter, hugging her so tightly that her arms shook. Ginny hugged her back, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. Quietly, Harry slipped away, making room for Mr. Weasley to join them, tears rolling down his cheeks.

At last, the three of them broke apart. Mopping at her eyes, Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry and, unexpectedly, pulled him in for a hug, too. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Of course," he said, smiling.

She pulled back, putting a hand on his cheek, before turning away and pressing herself to Mr. Weasley's side. Ginny, meanwhile, had been swarmed by her brothers, who were all hugging her, ruffling her hair; even Andromeda was smiling at her, and Hermione regarded Ginny with a knowing smile. She caught Harry's eye, giving him a look that said plainly, I told you so. Harry grinned.

Finally, they all began to settle down. The Weasleys sat back down, Mr. Weasley drawing up an extra chair for Ginny. She, however, remained standing, scanning the table. "Where's George?" she said.

A tense silence filled the room. "He's up in his room," said Ron finally. "He — he hasn't come down all day. Or at all in the last few weeks, really."

"Oh." Ginny stood there for a moment. "Right," she said finally, her expression hardening. She marched over to Harry, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him out of the dining room.

"What are you doing?" Harry protested.

"You're coming with me," said Ginny decisively, striding over to the stairs. "We're going to go talk to George."

"But —"

She shot him a quelling look over her shoulder as she began to climb the stairs. Defeated, Harry followed.

They arrived at George's door; Ginny threw the door open and marched inside. The room looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Empty firewhiskey bottles littered the floor, joined by what looked like torn-up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes pamphlets and posters. George was curled up in his bed; as Ginny stormed in, he sat up, his eyes widening.

"Ginny?" he said hoarsely, as if he hadn't spoken in a long while. "What are you —"

"Shush," she said, pushing him aside to make room for her to sit on the bed. Harry hung back awkwardly until she glared at him, jerking her head toward the bed. He sat.

"Okay," said Ginny, locking eyes with George. "Enough's enough. You've got to get out of this room. Come down for dinner, spend Christmas with us —"

"You're one to talk," said George sullenly. "When did you get here, five minutes ago? As if you were going to spend Christmas with us."

"Well, I changed my mind," said Ginny determinedly. "Hiding up here isn't doing you any good, George." Her voice softened. "Come on, now. Come down."

"No." He laid back down on the bed, his back to her.

Ginny sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it gently. "Fred would hate to see you like this," she said softly.

"Fred can't see anything," George said in a hard voice. "He's dead."

Ginny closed her eyes; she looked as if she were trying to hold herself together. Harry took her free hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. She looked down at their linked hands; the emerald ring glinted on her finger. Seeming to steel herself, she looked back at George and took a deep breath.

"I know it hurts," she whispered. "It hurts more than a thousand Cruciatus curses, more than all the knives in the world. And sometimes — sometimes I'm almost jealous of him. Being left behind is harder than doing the leaving."

"It's true," said Harry, his throat tight. "As someone who's done both, I would know."

There was a long silence. After a while, George turned around, meeting Harry's eyes. "Do you think it hurt him? Does — does it hurt?" he whispered.

Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "It's quicker and easier than falling asleep," he said softly. George nodded, looking away.

Ginny slid her hand into his. "He's gone, George," she said, her voice quavering. "He's gone, and he left us all behind. So we have to do something with our lives, or what's the point? What was the point in him fighting in the war if we weren't going to make it worth all the sacrifice?"

George looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot, shining with tears.

"Let's go have dinner. One step at a time," said Ginny. "Little by little, we'll get through this." She pulled him up, letting him rest his head on her shoulder and stroking his hair. Slipping his hand out of hers, Harry stood and pulled out his wand. With a flick, the empty bottles and debris vanished and the room began to right itself. The quilt on Fred's abandoned bed brightened in color as the dust disappeared, the half-eaten sandwiches vanished, the clothes strewn across the floor piled themselves against the wall to be washed.

George straightened and pressed a kiss to his sister's forehead. "I'll come down," he said. His voice was thick, but it had a little more color to it, a little more strength.

"Okay," said Ginny. She stood, pulling him off the bed. His legs seemed unsteady; he leaned on Ginny for a moment before finding his footing.

The three of them left the room, Ginny in the lead, Harry at the rear, and George in between, his hand still linked with his sister's.

They came into the dining room; a stunned silence and several staring eyes met them. Without a word, Mrs. Weasley stood and enveloped George in a hug.

"Merry Christmas, George," she whispered, tears pouring down her face.

He didn't say anything, but he wrapped his arms around his mother, resting his head on her shoulder. As Harry sat down beside Ron, Ginny on his other side, Mr. Weasley pulled up another chair and Mrs. Weasley deposited George in it, immediately beginning to pile food up on a plate for him. A chattering broke out over the table; even George managed a small smile as everyone began to eat again, complimenting Mrs. Weasley on the food and complaining that they wouldn't be able to get up after they were finished.

Harry glanced at Ginny. She was watching George, a gentle look in her eyes. As if sensing his gaze, she looked over at Harry, giving him a soft smile. Harry reached over and took her hand, brushing his fingers over her knuckles and the edge of the ring. She leaned over and laid her head on his shoulder.

What Harry had said was true; things would never be the same. There was a lifelong battle to be fought, but as Harry looked around at those he had come to call family — felt the warmth of Ginny's body against his, knowing he would spend the rest of his life by her side — he knew there wasn't anyone else he would rather fight it with.