“I really don’t feel comfortable hiring someone who refuses a background check,” James Roden sighed as he worked on a crude doodle he was decorating his desk calendar with. He used the side of the pencil tip to shade in the woman’s breasts as he tried to decipher the thick German accent of his business partner, who’d been running their most profitable clubs in Berlin for the last ten years. “What’d you say this bloke’s name was?”

James rolled his eyes as he wrote down the name Nor King in big letters, and then started retracing the letters over and over as he listened to Aldo sing the praises of his former bouncer who was probably a wanted criminal. Why else would this Nor bloke refuse a background check?

“Okay, I get it,” James huffed, feeling bored with the conversation. Aldo was usually impossible to please. If he was impressed with this Nor fellow enough to ring up and pester James about hiring him, he must be good. He wouldn’t be the first bouncer that had been hired with a less than stellar background and he probably wouldn’t be the last. “How much do think he’ll cost me?”

James had been lighting a fag when Aldo told him how much he’d paid the bouncer for the work he did in Germany, and he couldn’t help but cough and hope that he’d lost his knack at currency conversion. “That’s almost twenty-five thousand pounds a year. Are you mad?”

Aldo went back to singing the bouncer’s praises, listing the clubs he’d worked for before, all of which were very well-known, but James couldn’t help but notice that they were also spread from one end of Europe to the other. “This chap sure does move around a lot. Are you sure he’s not wanted?’

James still had the phone to his ear when one of the bartenders opened his door, causing his soundproofed office to instantly fill with blaring music from the club below. He covered the receiver and yelled over the noise. “What is it?”

“Some bloke’s here to see you!” yelled Evan, who’d been one of James’s top bartenders for the last two years. He closed the door and his voice returned to a normal pitch. “He says he has an appointment. I didn’t know you set appointments, boss.”

Evan smirked, showing deep dimples that James knew were the cause of many large tips. It paid to have handsome bartenders. If the women were happy, they’d come back and as long as a club had lots of women, the men were sure to be there with their wallets open.

“Name?”

“King.”

“Yeah, yeah, let him in,” James said, and then waved Evan off and went back to the phone. Aldo was still rambling, having not noticed that James had stopped paying attention. “Listen, Aldo, your chap is here. I’ll ring you later.”

James hung up the phone just as Evan opened the door, and once again his office was filled with blaring music. He stood up and was just coming around his desk when Nor King walked into the room. James couldn’t help but grin, and he decided right then that this bouncer was going to be worth every quid of twenty-five thousand he was going to have to pay him.

Nor was a full head taller than James, and while James was a bit soft in the middle, this man was extremely fit. Not that he hadn’t expected that, most bouncers were built like Nor, with bulging muscles and washboard abs. Other blokes might be threatened by a man as tall and well built as Nor, but James was thrilled. It paid to have handsome bouncers too and the one in front of him was sure to gain a fan club quickly.

Unlike Evan, who had a clean-cut look, Nor was every father’s worst nightmare with his well-worn black leather jacket and faded jeans. He sported a neatly trimmed beard that matched his fiery red hair, which hung wild and loose to his broad shoulders. He was a perfect bouncer. His rugged good looks would appeal to the women that came to the club, while his dangerous appearance was enough to intimidate the men who might get out of line.

James stuck out his hand in greeting. “James Roden.”

Nor shook his hand, and James couldn’t help but gape at the size of the hand that had completely engulfed his. “Nor King. Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Roden.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” James said, walking back around his desk and gesturing to the chair facing him. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Nor pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair, looking comfortable in a faded Led Zeppelin concert shirt that certainly did nothing to hide his muscular chest and arms. James wasn’t certain if the man in front of him had fashioned his "look" to give off an air of casual indifference, or if it just came naturally to him. Either way, the effect was perfect. While you couldn’t always stop a fight by intimidation, it certainly helped in most cases. And for the ones who didn’t catch the hint, Aldo had assured him that Nor had never had any problems handling the rough customers.

“What sort of name is Nor anyway? Is it short for something?”

Nor shook his head as he flopped down in the other seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Nope, it’s just Nor.”

“It’s unusual, but I guess it suits you.” James said, chuckling a little as he pulled another cigarette out of his pack and then offered one to the other man. “Do you smoke?”

“Sure,” he said and reached forward to pull a cigarette out of James’ pack. “Thanks.”

James lit his cigarette and then tossed his lighter to Nor as he leaned back against his chair and studied the bouncer. The beard and sheer size of the man could cause you to miss it, but he was still very young, perhaps not more than twenty or twenty-one at the most. James’s keen eyes spotted a tattoo of Celtic knots that wrapped around the entire span of Nor’s left bicep when he casually ran his fingers through his long hair and took a lazy draw off his cigarette.

“So, Nor, tell me. . .How long have you been doing bouncer work?”

“About three years,” he said as he took another drag off his cigarette. “Give or take a few months.”

“I noticed that you seem to move around a lot,” James asked, still curious about the man’s background. “Is there a reason?”

“Not really,” Nor said, shrugging nonchalantly, which calmed James considerably. Most criminals tensed when you asked them about their past. “Life’s short. I reckon I’ll see the world while I can.”

“You’re young, you’ll settle eventually. How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Twenty-one this past March,” he said as he leaned forward and tapped his cigarette on the ashtray sitting on the desk. “I usually tell the people in the clubs I’m twenty-five. People start fucking with you if they think you’re a kid. I learned that real fast.”

“Eighteen is young to work as a bouncer? How’d you get into it?”

Nor laughed as he leaned back against the chair. “I was doing some construction work for a club in Paris, a fight broke out between two of the other blokes over some bird. I stopped it and got two broken ribs for my effort. When I showed up for work the next day, the owner couldn’t believe it. He said anyone who could stop a fight like that, take a beating for the hell of it, and then show up for work the next day was wasting their time working in construction. I’ve been a bouncer ever since. It’s easier than hard labour and the pay’s better.”

“Hopefully you still don’t take beatings,” James said, arching an eyebrow. “I can’t deal with a bouncer who’s out sick all the time.”

“I’m a lot bigger than I was at eighteen. I learned that lesson too--size does matter. I hate working out, but I do it because blokes like you aren’t going to hire some skinny kid just ’cause he can take a beating. I left home before I finished school. I know I won’t find a better paying job so I stay fit.” Nor smirked, his blue eyes glinting in an unreadable emotion as he took another long draw off his cigarette and lazily blew out the smoke. “ I don’t take beatings often, but I’m not afraid of them either. If a fight breaks out, I deal with it and I’ve never missed a day of work because of an injury. To tell you the truth, nowadays I can usually scare the shit out of them before they start swinging. Fear is a bouncer’s best friend and I use it to my advantage.”

James laughed, totally impressed with the lad in front of him. “You dress like that on purpose. I love it.”

Nor snorted, rolling his eyes as he tapped his cigarette on the ashtray. “Yeah, my wife hates it. She wouldn’t speak to me for a week when I got my ear pierced. But I don’t mind…At least I get to be comfortable when I work. It’s better than wearing a suit and tie.”

“True, true,” James agreed as he put out his cigarette. “Listen, Aldo mentioned that your wife was an excellent bartender. If she needs a job, we have an opening.”

Nor pulled a face, not looking too thrilled at the offer. “I think she wants to get out of working in clubs. It really doesn’t suit her.”

“I heard she was quite talented,” James said, feeling extremely disappointed. Aldo had raved about both Nor and his girlfriend, though it was obvious they had recently gotten married. Poor bloke, tied down at twenty-one. Still it would be nice to hire both of them. “This club is extremely busy, even on weekdays. Our good bartenders can easily take home a couple hundred quid a night.”

“You mean your pretty bartenders,” Nor said, arching one amber eyebrow at him.

“Aldo said she was very attractive” James said, unable to hide his smirk. “If that’s true, she could do well here.”

“I’ll tell her,” Nor said, still looking less than pleased at the idea of his wife working in the club. “But I doubt she’ll be interested.”

“Mention it, that’s all I ask,” James said, as he held up his hands in defeat. “So when can you start?”

“I’d like to know how much I’m making first,” Nor said, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“How does twenty-five hundred a month sound?” James said, wincing internally at paying a bouncer that much, but he had a feeling that Nor would be worth a few extra pounds a month and he wanted him to be happy with the pay. Maybe it’d stop him from taking off in a few months when he got bored and decided to move to another country. “But I’ll expect you to work for it. This club is filled with drunken idiots every night of the week. Unlike the other muscled fools I’ve hired I can tell you’ve got a brain, so I’m making you my head bouncer and I’ll need you here a lot. We’re talking fifty, sixty hours a week.”

“Work doesn’t bother me,” Nor said as he stood up. He took his jacket off the chair, and casually pulled it on. “I can start tonight if you need me.”



~*~


Blinking Christmas lights glowed in the darkness, making the fluffy white snow on the ground reflect the festive colors. Ron walked with a spring in his step, casually smoking the cigarette he had bummed off one of the bartenders at the club as his heavy boots crunched in the snow. He could Apparate back to the hotel, but he had a few things to do and didn’t mind the walk. It’s not like he had to worry about someone spotting him at half past three in the morning. Not that he really worried about it all that much anyway. He’d altered his appearance so much his own mother probably wouldn’t recognize him. With the exception of his red hair, which Hermione had firmly refused to let him glamour to brown, he really bore no resemblance to he kid he was when he’d left home at seventeen.

Thinking of home made his heart hurt, especially now that he was back in England. The Burrow was just an Apparation away, but he couldn’t go to them, not yet, and he refused to dwell on it too much. Ron was in too bloody good of a mood to let a little homesickness bother him. Usually he dreaded the holidays, but for the first time in a long time, he actually felt a bit merry.

With a newspaper tucked under his arm, he flicked the cigarette across the street and walked up to the hotel that was their temporary home until they could find a flat. As far as hotels went, this one was posh to Ron. They’d stayed in some real dives when they’d been younger and poor as dirt. Hell, they’d slept outdoors more times than he could count. Unfortunately, money hadn’t really entered into their equations when they’d taken off to find the Horcruxes, and the uproar over their disappearance was more than they had expected. The whole Wizarding world was looking for Harry, so the money Harry had pulled out of his vault before they left had been useless when they found themselves stuck in the Muggle world in order to stay hidden.

Ron walked into the hotel that had a real front desk, a lobby and a nice restaurant on the first floor. Life was certainly looking up as far as he was concerned. They may not be able to go home, but at least they’d be a little more comfortable until they did.

Feeling bold, he went ahead and paid for a second room. He pocketed the plastic keycard, humming a tune that was still in his head from the club and grinning like an idiot as he got into the lift. Ron was going to get lucky tonight and it wasn’t sneaking into the loo, or rolling around on a couch that was too small for his large frame. Ron was going to have Hermione all to himself and that was enough to make any red-blooded wizard smile. He was still a newlywed, after all. He and Hermione didn’t get to enjoy the novelty of it nearly enough.

He fumbled with the stupid key to the room, having never quite gotten used to them and he was very happy when Hermione pulled open the door for him. Her long hair was up in a ponytail, with stray stands framing her face and neck. She wore a faded black tank top, and a pair of old cutoff shorts that had once been her favorite pair of jeans. They had eventually got so worn that no spell would fix the holes in the knees, so Hermione had made them into rather short shorts. Personally, Ron liked them better as shorts, with the frayed edges showing off her shapely legs. Hermione’s thriftiness usually drove Ron mad, but if cutoff shorts were the benefit of her caution, he would deal with her nagging.

Like Ron and Harry, she also had a tattoo on her left arm. The Celtic knots in hers were smaller, more feminine and wrapped around her firm bicep sideways like a twisting snake instead of in a simple band like the boys had opted for. Hermione used to hide it with glamours, but after she had discovered her talent for bartending, she had just stopped bothering. She wasn’t the only female bartender with a tattoo, and in a way it gave her a rougher image that made men a bit more hesitant. So Ron was perfectly fine with it in plain view like his and Harry’s were.

No Muggle could possibly know that the black Celtic markings on their arms were so much more than a simple tattoo. The three of them were connected by the ancient Celtic magic Hermione had woven into the ink they’d used, ink that had contained blood from each of them. If need be, they could always find each other. There was no place that one of them could be that the others couldn’t find them. Considering the lives they lived, being able to find each other no matter what was essential to their survival. Ron secretly suspected that Hermione stopped hiding her tattoo because it was as much of a comfort to her as it was to him. He just liked seeing it on his arm. He felt better knowing that Harry and Hermione were just a spell away. They’d never lose each other.

The three of them would probably hide the marking with glamours when they finally got to go back home, when they were going to be expected to have real lives and real jobs. Hermione wouldn’t be a bartender, Ron wouldn’t be a bouncer, and Harry wouldn’t be a man on a quest, half-mad with his need to destroy the separate parts of Voldemort’s soul. None of them would have to be rogue vigilantes that attacked by night and did what they could to help a world they couldn’t live in. One day soon they’d have the normal lives they were meant to. But lately Ron had started to wonder how easy it was going to be to become a regular wizard again. The Muggle world was really starting to grow on him.

“So?” Hermione said impatiently when Ron just stood at the door admiring her in her jean shorts and faded tank top. “Did you get the job?”

“Who are you talking to?” Ron said, putting on an act of being affronted as he walked into the room. “Of course I got it.”

Hermione squealed, jumping into his arms out of nowhere and Ron had to drop the newspaper he was still holding to catch her. She wrapped her legs around him, her fingers tangling in his long hair as she planted a kiss on his lips. It was really hard to hold back his body’s natural response to her, but he tried because he knew Harry wouldn’t appreciate them shagging while he was still in the room.

“You two disgust me,” Harry said dryly, looking up from the large book he was flipping through to arch an annoyed eyebrow at both of them “I liked you both much better when you were dating other people. Can’t we give that artist boyfriend of Hermione’s a ring? At least she shagged at his place. I can’t even use the shower or sit on the couch without thinking about what you two might have done on it when you think I’m sleeping.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Ron said, and then grinned back at Hermione who was still in his arms. “Guess how much they’re paying me.”

“Twenty thousand,” Harry said from the chair across the room while Hermione was still thinking.

“More,” said Ron, still grinning madly.

“Really!” Hermione asked as Ron flopped down on one of the two beds in a hotel room that would have been nice if the three of them weren’t cramped in it. She was still sitting on his lap, her smooth bare legs around his waist as she idly ran her fingers through his hair, brushing the strands lovingly off his face. “Tell us how much.”

“Twenty-five hundred a month,” Ron said, winking at Hermione as he wrapped his arms back around her, pulling her closer. “That’s enough to get a real flat with two bedrooms. None of us will ever have to sleep on the couch again.”

“I’m so proud of you.” Hermione leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder. She sighed deeply in contentment, and then pulled back to look at him, her nose wrinkling in disgust. “You smell like cigarettes.”

Ron laughed. “I was working in the club all night. What’d you expect?”

“I hate that,” Hermione huffed, leaning back against him and wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his back. “I don’t mind bartending, making drinks at least requires skill and the ability to combine a certain amount of ingredients in a precise fashion, but I hate the cigarette smoke. Don’t those people know that secondhand smoke is deadly?”

“Forget that,” Harry said, finally closing the large tome he was reading. “Twenty-five hundred pounds, are you shitting me? They’re going to pay you twenty-five hundred quid just to sit there, check IDs and look scary?”

“Right in one! Are they mad or what?”

“Whatever,” Harry said, laughing. “Congratulations, mate! That really is great.”

“Oh, bugger, I almost forgot,” Ron said, lifting Hermione off him and setting her on the bed as he got up. He retrieved the paper he’d had with him and held it up. “Look at what I knicked!”

Hermione squealed and bounded off the bed, but Harry snatched it first, dashing to the other side of the room and settling back on the chair he’d been sitting in. He stared hungrily at the front page, his green eyes, no longer hidden by glasses, scanning the article as he unfolded it. Hermione ran up to him, shoving him to the side and sitting on the arm of the chair to also look at the paper.

“Oh my God, look, there’s an article right here on the front page about you,” Hermione said, pushing at Harry’s arm. “Let me see it, Harry.”

“Bugger off, I grabbed it first,” Harry said, still reading, though he had to turn to the side when Hermione tried to grab it. When she reached for it again, she fell over the chair, landing on Harry’s lap and they both started laughing. Harry held up the paper and looked down at Hermione still sprawled across him as she struggled to grab the paper. “Will you let me read the bloody paper! I’ll give it to you in a second.”

“Next time I’ll knick two,” Ron said, walking up and pulling the paper easily out of Harry’s hand as he still held it out of Hermione’s reach. He took it over to the small table in the corner of the room, and laid it out as a picture of Harry blinked back at him, smiling shyly and making him look so young and clean cut Ron hardly recognized him. “Now both of you can read it.”

Harry and Hermione huddled around the paper, both of their eyes scanning it greedily. Harry groaned just as Hermione gasped and started reading out loud.

“Reports from Germany say that three people were spotted leaving the scene of the latest attack on a Death Eater camp just outside Berlin. While information is sketchy, there was said to be a man of average height with dark hair amongst the trio of revolutionaries that brought down the small camp, leaving eight Death Eaters stunned and bound for authorities. This is just one of many recent reports of vigilantes attacking by night and leaving before authorities can question them. It’s impossible to ignore that the famed Ghosts of Redemption who have intrigued our world for over three years bear stunning similarities to three Hogwarts students who disappeared almost four years ago. While descriptions of the heroic vigilantes have varied somewhat over the years, some facts are always the same. The sole female of the group is always described as slight, one man, exceptionally tall and the third, a man with dark hair and quick reflexes. With this latest report of the Ghosts once again bringing You Know Who’s followers to justice the one question that continues to plague us has to be asked once more. . . Is the Boy Who Lived closer than we think?”

Hermione stopped reading and silence filled the air as the three of them absorbed the information. Ron finally cleared his throat. “Maybe you ought to start glamouring your hair, Harry.”

“Nah,” Harry said, his eyes scanning the newspaper, obviously curious about what else the article said about them. “They’ve already seen it black, and I don’t mind them suspecting us. It’s better than everyone thinking we fled in fear. That hacked me off.”

“The Ghosts of Redemption,” Ron huffed, rolling his eyes. “Couldn’t they have thought of a better name?’

“I like it,” Hermione said, looking up from her continued reading to grin at Ron. “It’s mysterious.”

“Whatever,” Ron said, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the dresser. He flopped down on one of the beds and pulled his wand out of a discrete holder Hermione had sewn into all his jeans. He summoned the remote and turned on the telly while Hermione and Harry continued to read. He’d already read everything that was of interest, or rather; he thought he had until he saw a game of Muggle football on the screen. He really was slipping. “Hey, Harry, look up the Cannon scores?”

Harry flipped to the back of the Daily Prophet and winced. “Lost two hundred to thirty to Puddlemere. Sorry, mate.”

“Ugh, sorry I asked,” Ron groaned and then went back to flipping through the channels.

It took Harry and Hermione a while to finish with the paper. It’d been a really long time since they’d had news from the Wizarding World and it was nice to have a paper in English. Ron’s French and German were passable, but reading in a different language was beyond him. Only Hermione had mastered the two other languages to the point that she could read the Wizarding newspapers and translate them for Harry and Ron.

When she was done Hermione settled next to him on the bed they shared, while Harry went back to reading the book he’d had on his lap when Ron had shown up. Ron knew that he was researching the Muggle orphanage that Voldemort grew up in, which they strongly suspected was connected to the last Horcrux. They’d been disappointed to find the Orphanage in ruins, and therefore almost impossible to quickly search. Not that Ron was surprised. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup had taken them close to two years to finally locate. Ron had wanted to wear the bloody thing around his neck after the hell they had gone through finding it and then destroying the Horcrux inside it.

“Why aren’t you reading?” Ron asked, surprised that Hermione was relaxing when she usually spent all her waking hours either working or researching.

She sighed in exasperation. “I already read it and I had a very good theory, but Harry wants to read it himself. Who knows, maybe he’ll see something I didn’t.”

“What’s your theory?”

“Well, Charles Spurgeon started the orphanage. He was a famed Baptist minister and I think Voldemort might have hidden the Golden Griffin in the church where he preached. What better place to hide a part of your soul than a church?”

“Yeah, Voldemort strikes me as really religious,” Ron said sarcastically. “I don’t think he’d put it in a church.”

“That’s what Harry said,” Hermione said, sounding annoyed with both of them. “But we are talking about his soul here. He may be more superstitious than you think. It’s connected to the orphanage like the cave was, and it’s the last place anyone would look.”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m going to go to the church tomorrow,” Hermione said as she brushed a few strands of wispy hair that had escaped her ponytail away from her face. “It’s going to be near impossible to search it in daylight, because it’s still quite popular. We’re going to have to break in at night in order to really spend time looking.”

“Of course we are,” Ron said dryly. “You know, if I ever get tired of being a bouncer I could take up as a burglar. I’ve almost perfected breaking and entering.”

“We’ve only got one more,” Hermione said, her voice both longing and hopeful. “We’re almost home.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting that little chore of defeating Voldemort once we get rid of the last one,” Ron said, hating to be practical and kill her hope. “We’ve still got a long way to go before we can go home.”

“I know.” Hermione rested her head on Ron’s shoulder as he watched the football game, which wasn’t nearly as exciting as Quidditch, but acceptable enough to hold his attention. It was several minutes before she spoke again. “Did you ask the owner if they had any openings for me?”

Ron was silent, pretending to watch the football match when she nudged him for an answer. “Yeah, they have an opening,” he sighed, wishing she hadn’t asked. “But you don’t want to work in another club. Let me work, you’ll have more time to help Harry.”

“I can work and help Harry at the same time. We’ve both been doing it for four years,” Hermione said, sounding exasperated. “I wouldn’t work full time, but it’d be nice to have some extra money.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “We’re married now, why not let me be a proper husband?”

Hermione was silent long enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and he instantly regretted the statement. He did have plans of getting shagged before the evening was out, and the last thing he needed was Hermione hacked off at him.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Hermione said stiffly, her voice icy.

“Good plan,” Ron said, willing to let the argument go. Funny, he had thought their bickering might subside a little once he finally got a ring on Hermione’s finger. He turned to her, meeting her eyes for a long moment. “I, um. . . Got another room. It’s just a few doors down.”

“Why would we want to move?” she said, her voice mystified. “We’re settled here. Is it bigger?”

“No,” he said slowly, looking to Harry who was engrossed in his reading and lowering his voice. “I got one just for us. Harry can stay here.”

“Oh,” she said, and then bit her lip, also looking to Harry.

Ron instantly saw the guilt on her face and had to fight the urge to groan out loud. Harry was his best mate. He never once regretted his decision to leave school and go with him to search for the Horcruxes, but he had gone through hell to get Hermione to the point they were at now. They had each spent years dating Muggles because they were both so sexually frustrated that they needed an outlet. They never admitted it, but they both knew it was because they didn’t want to cause Harry to feel uncomfortable with them dating when the three of them were stuck in such close proximity all the time. But the tension and passion between them had finally been too much. Guilt or not, Ron had been bloody tired of one-night stands with birds he’d met at the clubs, and he’d been even more tired of Hermione’s boyfriends. He had proposed very soon after they had become intimate and Hermione had surprised him by saying yes. The past many years had made them very aware of how fragile time and life were. Enough was enough; they were married now. They were allowed to stay in their own room for one night.

“Say yes,” Ron growled. “Harry will be fine. He doesn’t need us to mind him.”

“You know that’s not it,” Hermione argued. “It’s rude to just go off and leave him here alone.”

“I can hear you,” Harry said, not looking up from his book. “Get out of here. . .A break from watching you two groping each other sounds good to me.”

“You don’t mind?” Hermione asked, still sounding worried.

“If I minded would I have performed the binding ceremony?” Harry said, finally looking up and arching an eyebrow. “I am aware of what married people do, Hermione.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go.” Hermione still hesitated, and this time Ron did groan out loud. “It really is a waste of money.”

“Ron’s making enough,” Harry said, and then went back to reading. “Piss off.”

“Thanks mate,” Ron said, seizing the opportunity and grabbing Hermione’s hand as he rolled off the bed. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Hermione was still sputtering about needing to gather her things as he pulled her out the door with nothing but the clothes on their backs. He fumbled with the key when he reached their room, and Hermione huffed and took it from him.

“It’s not that hard, Ron,” she said, sticking the key in the door and then opening it. She held up the key as he walked in after her. “See the little arrows, just make sure they are facing down and--”

Ron cut her off by kissing her, using his bulk to his advantage as he kicked the door closed and trapped her against the wood. He groaned out loud at the feel of her pressed against him. Hermione whimpered, and he thrust his tongue past her parted lips, drinking her in as his hands slid under her tank top to cup one small breast through the very sensible cotton bra she was wearing.

He ground himself against Hermione, wanting her to know how much just touching her turned him on. Her head lolled to the side as his lips trailed down the smooth line of her neck.

“We really should talk about Harry,” Hermione said with a breathy sigh.

“Lets talk about all the wicked things I’m going to do to your body instead,” Ron said, not to be distracted, his other hand running up her shapely thigh, finally gripping her arse. “I really like these shorts.”

“Please just listen to me for one minute,” Hermione said, gently pushing him away. “I have an idea.”

Ron groaned in frustration, but he knew better than to argue when Hermione was being this stubborn. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“What if we went home,” Hermione said quickly, holding up her hand when Ron opened his mouth to argue. “Only for one day. It’s Christmas and we haven’t seen our families in four years. I’d like to tell them that we’re married and if Harry and Ginny happen to rekindle something--”

“And then we’ll have to disappear again,” Ron said, hating to be the voice of reason. He wanted to go home too, if even for one day. “What purpose would that serve Harry?”

“It might give him hope,” she said, a sad smile forming on her lips. “I think he’s losing it, Ron. He’ll never be able to defeat Voldemort if he’s forgotten why he’s fighting. Seeing Ginny again might give him what he needs.”

“Do you think he still loves her?” Ron asked, mystified. They hadn’t dated that long, and it had been a very long time since they’d left home. Still, he had to admit, Harry had only had a few fleeting encounters with Muggle women that were too short to even be considered a relationship. He hadn’t even seen Harry look at a woman in a long time. It was possible he still harbored feelings for Ginny. “And what if she’s married or something? Four years is a bloody long time.”

Hermione shrugged. “We’ll still get to see our families on Christmas. I think we all need that. I’m starting to wonder why we’re fighting too. We’ve been disconnected for too long.”

“Cor, Hermione, we’d have to be really careful. Christmas is the last time we should be considering going home,” Ron said, biting his lip and really pondering his wife’s idea. “It’s risky.”

Hermione fisted her hand in his shirt and pulled him down until he was eye level with her and smirked mischievously. “Since when do we let that stop us?”

Ron smiled back at her, feeling a pulse of lust shoot through him. “I think I’ve been a bad influence on you.”

“Very bad,” she said, her voice playful once more as she leaned into him until their lips where a breath apart. “You’ve almost completely corrupted me.”

“Almost?” Ron said, arching an eyebrow. “How bout’ we see if I can do the job properly, Mrs. King?”

“Sounds good to me,” Hermione said, and then captured his lips boldly, making Ron groan as her tongue pushed into his mouth.

Thoughts of Harry and the enormous issues that always plagued them drifted from Ron’s thoughts as his wife’s body arched into his seductively. He could think about all that later. For now, he was suddenly feeling very. . .Festive. 

 Fred and George Weasley sat in their office in Diagon Alley. It was perhaps a bit over-decorated even for the holiday season. Their artificial fairies looked real, glowing in bright colors of red and green as they danced around strings of exploding popcorn that would go off at different times. The singing Christmas lights that were draped over the windows and around the edges of the ceiling were currently engaged in a cheery chorus of Jingle Bells. Their mother always wondered how they could possibly think in all the chaos. She just didn’t understand that Fred and George thrived off this type of insanity.

Life was good. They now had fifteen stores spread across Europe, all thriving. Even with the darkness that had descended on the Wizarding World, people still needed to laugh. It couldn’t all be death and war, all the time. While their shops were becoming very well known, what wasn't common knowledge was the fact that they were developing dueling aids for both the Ministry and the bands of Phoenix fighters. These witches and wizards seemed to feel better fighting on their own instead of being hamstrung by the strict regulations set forth by the Ministry.

Fred and George didn’t just donate their time, having gone out on missions with the Fighters themselves, but their products as well. Whatever profit was lost was more than made up for the galleons they had earned on the products they’d sold the Ministry of Magic. Fred and George certainly had no problem sticking it to them. They were ruddy worthless anyway and they certainly drained a good amount out them in taxes every year.

Neither of them were married, though Fred and Angelina had tossed around the idea. George was still happily single, flitting from one bird to the next, and enjoying his life as a bachelor immensely.

The war had worn on them of course, but over all they really couldn’t complain. Christmas time was upon them and they were feeling very cheery as they sat at their desks, facing each other. They were working on a new line of adult products that were supposed to help spice up the bedroom. With any luck, they’d have them out by Valentine’s Day.

“We could put a mild aphrodisiac in champagne,” George mumbled, writing down the idea on the parchment in front of him. “It’s a bit bland, but you know sometimes it’s the simple stuff that’s the most popular.”

“Too right,” Fred said, also writing down the idea. “You know, I went into one of those Muggle adult stores with Angel, ruddy brilliant ideas in there.”

The two of them were instantly engrossed in plotting, chuckling merrily as each idea became a bit more outrageous than the next. Being on somewhat of a roll, they were extremely disappointed when their secretary opened the door to their office, setting off the exploding popcorn. They had to wait until the smoke cleared before they could speak over the noise.

“Wha’ is it?” Fred snapped as Diana, who was just a few years younger than them, entered. She was mellow enough to deal with the chaos, and organized enough to keep them both in line. It didn’t hurt that she was also stunning, with long black hair that hung down to her lush hips. George had been talking about asking her out on a date for the past six months. “We’re on a roll here!”

“Sorry,” she said, not the least bit disturbed by the Fred’s outburst. “There’s some bloke here who says he knows you. I told him you were working, but he’s persistent.”

“What’s his name?”

“Nor King. . .He’s a bit dodgy looking.”

“Nor King?” George said, shaking his head at Fred. “Never heard of him? You?”

“Nope,” Fred said and went back to his parchment. “Tell him to come back later. We were just getting somewhere.”

She sighed, looking disappointed. “I don’t fancy telling him that. I told you, he’s right scary looking.”

“Is he giving you a hard time?” George asked, sitting up straighter and eyeing Diana. “I’ll handle it if he is.”

She rolled her eyes, tossing her hair behind her as she turned to leave. “I’ll deal with it.”

When the door shut, more exploding popcorn went off and George went back to his parchment as the sound echoed around their office. Distracted now, he sketched the name Nor on his parchment, wondering what the bloke could have wanted and feeling a bit guilty for letting Diana deal with him on her own. She was so lovely to look at, and he thought of her more than he would ever admit.

He traced the letters NOR back and forth as he thought about Diana and the way she looked in her red sweater. His quill was still tracing the letters when something struck him. He flipped the letters of Nor, writing out the name Ron King on the parchment.

His head shot up just as Fred burst out. “Nor King!”

“It’s him!” George said, jumping out of his chair the same time Fred did.

The two of them got stuck in the doorway, their bulk to their disadvantage as Fred stepped back to let George through. They scrambled out to the store that was packed with customers and salespeople, stopping at Diana’s desk that was behind the counter. “Where is he?” they said in unison.

“I sent him packing,” she said, pulling a face at both of them. “You don’t know that fellow do you?”

“Where’d he go?” George said, hardly able to breathe at the thought of Ron actually being in the store. Their whole family had been looking for him for four years. The idea of sending him away made his chest hurt. Ron, Harry and Hermione missing had always been the one black cloud that had hung over their success. He’d lost track of the number of times he and Fred had wished they’d been kinder to their youngest brother in their youth, that they’d given him more of a reason to trust them before he’d just run off with Harry. They never doubted that they’d had a good reason for leaving, but it would have been nice to know what it was. “Did you see which direction he took off in?”

“How can I see anything past this mess?” Diana said, lifting her hand to the insanity that was their store during the Christmas season. “But he just left. You should be able to catch him.”

The two of them took off, roughly pushing their way past the customers until they were out and looking up and down Diagon Alley wildly, standing on their toes looking for the tall, lanky form of their youngest brother.

“His hair is probably glamoured,” George said breathlessly. “He’d stick out like a sore thumb otherwise.”

“I’ll go this way,” Fred said, gesturing down one end of the street. “You take the other.”

“You lads looking for someone?” a low voice asked in a thick German accent.

Fred and George turned, seeing a very tall, muscular man leaning casually against the wall, wearing sunglasses and smoking a cigarette. His red hair was long, hanging almost to his shoulders, and his beard was the same strawberry colour as their brother Charlie’s. He was dressed in a scuffed black leather jacket and muggle jeans, making him look extremely out of place, but he didn’t seem to either notice or care.

“Yeah, have you seen a chap about your height come out of the store,” George asked. “He’s young, freckled, sorta thin.”

To their surprise, the man doubled over, laughing hysterically. Fred and George stared at him, each pulling a face. He was probably mad. His appearance certainly didn’t put it out of the realm of speculation. He looked right dodgy.

“What’s your problem?” George asked. “Did you see him or didn’t you?”

“Hold on,” the man said, holding up his hand, his accent now suspiciously gone as he continued to laugh. “I’m trying to retain the memory of actually pulling one over on you two.”

It was then that they both recognized the laugh, perhaps a deeper pitch than it had been, but still distinctive. They stared at the man in awe as his laughter drifted off. He ran a hand through his long hair and then took another casual drag off his cigarette as one red eyebrow arched over the rim of his sunglasses. He was still grinning and that’s what really gave him away. It was hard to forget that smile, even half hidden under a neatly trimmed beard.

“Oh my God,” Fred said, tilting his head to study the man better, his voice quiet and amazed. “Ron?”

“Shhh,” he said, looking back and forth down the alley. “I don’t look that different. Can we go back to your office? I feel sort of exposed out here.”

Understanding that causing a scene could put them all in danger, they both nodded. “Yeah, come on,” George said, and then turned back towards the store.

Fred walked next to Ron, looking up at his large frame, shaking his head and speaking under his breath. “What sorta glamour did that? We’d sell out of it if we could package it.”

He smirked as he flicked his cigarette across the street. “This isn’t a glamour. It’s just me.”

“You’re kidding?” Fred gapped. “You were rail thin when you left.”

“You do what you have to survive,” Ron said, his voice suddenly sad as he walked into the store and looked around at the masses of people, their arms full of gifts. “Looks like you lot are still doing good.”

“Yeah,” Fred said, the success not feeling quite so great at the moment. “You’ve had a hard go of it, haven’t you?”

Ron put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. “Don’t feel bad. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

It struck Fred that Ron hadn’t just changed outwardly, turning out to be both taller and far more muscular than they had all imagined, he’d also grown up. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and it didn’t escape his attention that Ron had craftily avoided giving any indication of what his life was like now. That only made him wonder once again what his life had been like for the past four years, and ponder what it could have been that drove he, Harry and Hermione to run away. It had to be more than just Voldemort being back, none of them had believed that. There was something more, but what?

“No interruptions, Diana,” George said was he opened the door to their office, gesturing for Fred and Ron to enter.

Diana’s gaze was suspicious as she narrowed her eyes at Ron, tilting her head to study him, but Fred didn’t worry on it too much. He’d trust Diana with his life and he had a very strong feeling that she may end up eventually being much more to their family than a secretary. George was mad for her.

Fred cast both a Locking and Silencing charm on the door and then both he and George turned to Ron, who pulled off his sunglasses and looked back at them. It was obvious why he’d worn them, without them he looked a bit more like the brother they remembered.

“Wha’. . .Why did. . . Oh, fuck it,” George said, and then pounced on Ron, hugging him tightly. Ron returned the hug with a vigor that was surprising as he patted George on the back affectionately. “We missed you!”

Not to be left out, Fred also hugged his younger brother who was now so much bigger than him, but what did he care? It’d been a long ruddy time since he’d seen him, and he was healthy and alive and there, when he’d been gone for so long.

“How’re Harry and Hermione?” Fred asked once the three of them finally pulled apart, three sets of eyes glassy, though they each did a very manly job of fighting actual tears. “Nothing’s happened to them?”

“No, they’re fine,” Ron said, shaking his head and running a hand through his long hair distractedly as he blinked his eyes a few times. His voice sounded choked and it wasn’t surprising that it took him a bit to speak again. “It was just easier for me to slip in by myself. I can usually pull off going into the Wizarding World without being recognized. They still need Glamours, but I look different enough to go without.”

“I’ll say, cor, but you look different,” George said, shaking his head. “I would have never recognized you.”

“I noticed,” Ron said, smirking as he pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair. He turned back to his brothers; neither of whom missed the tattoo that wrapped around his arm, making him look even more intimidating. It was a bit hard to wrap their brain around the fact that the man standing in front of then was the same scrappy brother they had tormented for so many years. He shook his head, and then pulled them both into another hug, causing them to nearly bang their heads together. “I never thought I’d say this. . .But I missed you two!”

“Are you home for good?” Fred asked, his own voice choked. “Please say you are.”

Ron sighed, stepping back and pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. “I wish I could.”

“Whatever it is. . .We’ll help you,” George said desperately. “No one’s been the same since you lot left. We’re family, Ron. You should have let us help.”

“Look,” Ron said, taking a cigarette out of his pack and then putting it back into his jacket hanging on the chair. “Like we said in our letter. . .We do have to do this on our own. It’s what Dumbledore wanted and we’re doing a fair job with it. That’s more than I should tell you, but there it is.”

“We thought it might have had something to do with Dumbledore,” Fred said, shaking his head as Ron lit his cigarette. “You don’t know how hard we looked for you. All of us. . .”

“I do know,” Ron sighed as he took a drawl off his cigarette and then shakily blew out the smoke. “Sorry, you don’t mind if I smoke, do you? I’m a bit nervous.”

“No,” Fred said, and then transfigured his quill into an ashtray and pulled up a chair next George’s desk. “You want a drink? I think we could all use one?”

“You have one?”

“Of course!” George said, leaning over Ron as he sat down and reaching to his bottom drawer to pull out a bottle of Ogden’s and some glasses. “It can’t all be work.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Ron said, laughing and quickly downing a shot that George poured for him, hissing at the burn. “Cor, Muggles don’t know what they’re missing! This is the good stuff!”

Fred eyed him, hating that he was smoking, but he was too bloody glad to see Ron to say anything. “So you’re living with Muggles then. . .I noticed those are Muggle cigarettes you’re smoking.”

“Listen,” Ron said, leaning forward and tapping his cigarette on the ashtray. “Don’t tell Hermione that I smoke when you see her. I only do it sometimes, but she’ll still have my arse.”

Both twins chuckled as they sipped at their own drinks, not missing that Ron had once again avoided admitted anything, but amused anyway. “Got you on a tight leash, does she?” George said.

“She better,” Ron said, taking another long drawl off the cigarette and lazily blowing out the smoke as he smirked. “It’s sorta her job . . . Seeing as she’s my wife.”

Fred and George both coughed on their whiskey.

“Y-you’re kidding?” George gasped when he found his voice.

“Nope,” Ron said, holding up his left hand, showing off a simple silver band that shimmered with a glint of magic. “Harry did the binding ceremony just a few months ago.”

Fred laughed. “Oh, mate, you are so dead. Mum’s going to go spare when she finds out you got married and she missed it.”

Ron sighed. “I know, that’s sort of why I’m here. We both feel a bit guilty, and we wanted to tell everyone,” he leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially. “We can’t stay for long, but we’re all homesick and I have a plan if you’re willing to help.”

Fred and George didn’t even have to exchange glances before they answered in unison. “Absolutely!”

“I look horrid,” Hermione said, eyeing her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head sideways to look at the long, flowing blue dress she was wearing, and feeling very odd. She hadn’t worn a dress in ages. “Maybe I should just wear some khakis?”

“Then wear khakis,” Ron sighed as he stretched out on the bed, lacing his hands behind his head as he waited. “Either way, you’ll look lovely.”

A small smile formed on Hermione’s lips as she turned around, feeling her cheeks heat a little as she stared at Ron. “You don’t think it’d be out of place? I should probably wear a dress. What will your mother think?”

A knock sounded on the door to their hotel room that Ron had managed to talk Hermione into keeping. He opened the door to see Harry standing there, looking nervous and uncomfortable. He had on jeans and his green jumper that was still relatively new, as opposed to the rest of his clothes that were a bit ratty. He looked at Ron hesitantly. “Do you think I should have worn robes?”

“Oh Jesus,” Ron said, and left the door open as he went back to the bed and flopped onto his back. “This is my family we’re talking about. I doubt they’re going to judge you lot on what you’re wearing. Are you forgetting the dress robes my mother forced on me for the Yule Ball? Trust me, they won’t care what you’re wearing.”

“My mum and dad are going to be there too, Ron,” Hermione said as she pulled a fresh pair of khakis and a blue blouse out of her drawer. She eyed Ron’s leather jacket. “You aren’t going to wear that horrid thing, are you?”

Ron looked down, eyeing his scuffed jacket that he’d worn for the past two years. He’d feel naked without it. “Yeah, it’s the only jacket I own. I’ll freeze my arse off without it.”

“You could wear a sweater like Harry.”

“No, Hermione,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I like my jacket.”

“At least shave.”

“No, I still have to go back to work in a few days,” Ron said, feeling his beard and considering it for a second before he shook his head. He’d feel really naked without his beard; he’d had one for too long. “There’s nothing wrong with having a beard. Dumbledore had one.”

Hermione huffed, putting her hand on her hip. “So you’re just going to show up all scruffy?”

“I don’t look scruffy!” he said indignantly, and turned to Harry for back up. “Do I?”

“Um.” Harry moved in front of the mirror Hermione had been looking in. “Maybe I should have cut my hair.”

Hermione turned to eye him, tilting her head as she studied Harry’s hair that was nearly as long as Ron’s, curling over the collar of his sweater in shiny black waves. “I could give it a trim if you want.”

“NO!” Ron said, jumping up from the bed. “We’re already late, no changing, no hair cutting. . .lets just go!”

“I want to wear khakis!” Hermione shouted back, as she went to the bathroom, yelling from behind the door. “What if we have to leave in a rush? I’ll never make it in a dress.”

“Mental,” Ron sighed, shaking his head and looking to Harry. “Do I really look scruffy?”

Harry winced. “You might want to take out your earring. Your mum hated Bill’s.”

“Maybe,” Ron said, making a mental note to take it out before they got there. “Are you nervous?”

“A little.” Harry shrugged. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, pulling a face. “My mum’s going to freak when she finds out that I’m married and Hermione’s parents don’t even know me real well. They’ll probably hate me.”

“You might want to lose the jacket,” Harry said diplomatically. “It is kinda scruffy.”

“This is my lucky jacket,” Ron whined. He felt fidgety and his stomach hurt. This was a bad idea. It would be much easier going home when they had finally defeated Voldemort. He whispered under his breath to Harry. “Bugger, but I need a cigarette.”

“Don’t you dare,” Harry said, his eyes going wide. “Hermione will go mental.”

“I know,” he sighed, feeling resigned. “I just wish Hermione would HURRY UP!”

“Okay!” she yelled from the bathroom, and then opened the door. She stood there wearing a very pretty blue blouse that was neatly tucked into her khakis. She’d braided her hair in the bathroom, and stray wisps of curly hair were already escaping the long braid, but Ron thought it looked lovely like that. “I’m ready.”

“You look very nice,” Harry said.

“I think you look sexy as hell.” Ron pulled her to him and planted a kiss on her lips. “Maybe you should change. My brothers will go mad with jealousy.” His fingers ran down the V cut of her blouse, and then he tugged at the material, making an attempt to look down her top. “I like this blouse. I can almost see your--”

Hermione swatted his shoulder as Harry groaned in disgust. “Stop being crude! I expect you to behave tonight.”

“Of course, Mrs. King,” he said, releasing her and making a feigned look of innocence. “Anything the lady wishes.”

“It’s Mrs. Weasley tonight.” Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Feels weird. . .Your mother is Mrs. Weasley. I think I like Mrs. King better.”

“We’ll change our names when we get back home if it makes you feel better.”

“If we get to go back home,” Harry said, his voice suddenly sad and resigned. “You lot might want to make the most of tonight. It could be the last time--”

“What a cheerful Christmas thought,” Ron cut him off, pulling a face at Harry. “Thanks for sharing!”

“Lets just go,” Harry said, shaking his head. “We’re already late.”


~*~


Molly Weasley stopped cooking and wrung her hands nervously as she glanced out the window for what had to be the hundredth time that day. She was even more distracted today than she had been the evening before. The Christmas Eve party with family, friends and Phoenix members had been fun and festive and Molly cooked all the right things and smiled the way a good host should, but in the back of her mind she’d really been thinking about the smaller gathering they were having today. Just their immediate family and Hermione’s parents, that’s what the twins said Ron had wanted. They had said he was adamant that the less people who knew the better. Ron didn’t want to put anyone in danger. . . Anyone but himself, that is. He never had a problem doing that.

She looked to the clock that she’d set on the table as she prepared Christmas dinner for her family, seeing Ron’s hand, as usual, on mortal peril and was suddenly consumed by doubts that he, Hermione, and Harry would actually show.

“I told you,” Fred said as he came into the kitchen. “They’ll be here.”

“Are you sure?” Molly asked, her eyes stinging as she went back to cooking as a distraction. “This just isn’t some prank?”

“Mum,” George said, coming in behind his brother, sounding genuinely hurt. “We wouldn’t joke about something like that. . .He’s coming.”

“What could they be up to?” she said, shaking her head. “I wonder why they’re so late?”

“It’s not that late,” Fred said as he placed a comforting arm around her. “Give them time.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is?” Ginny said coming into the kitchen, still wearing her Auror robes she’d had on when she had got off early from work. She reached for a cookie still cooling on the stove. “You’d think Merlin himself had risen with all the fuss you’re making.”

Her mother swatted her hand. “Those are Ron’s favorite! You leave them be!” Molly pulled a face at her youngest child, eyeing her simple black Auror robes and long hair that was up in a messy ponytail. “Aren’t you going to change? Why not put on that pretty dress Fleur gave you for your birthday? It looks lovely on you.”

“What for?” Ginny said, arching a cynical eyebrow. “It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone. Unlike you lot, I don’t think Ron taking off for four years earns him a party when he finally decides to grace us with his presence. What he really deserves is a swift kick in the ars--”

Molly gasped, scandalized. “Ginny Weasley!”

“I’m not changing,” Ginny said defiantly. “I’m on call tonight.”

“You did that on purpose!” Molly shouted, her nervousness making her sharper than usual. “How could you agree to be on call when you knew Ron was coming home!”

“There is a war going on, Mum,” Ginny said, her voice icy. “It doesn’t stop just because the supposed Hero of the Wizarding World decides to come home for Christmas.”

“Ahhh,” George said, grinning. “So it’s not Ron coming home that’s had you in such a tiff, it’s Harry!”

“Her lost love,” Fred added, also smiling.

“Bugger off!” Ginny yelled, her face growing flushed.

“Touched a nerve, I think,” George said, arching an eyebrow at his brother. “What say you, Fred?”

“Definitely touched a nerve,” Fred agreed, as he tilted his head and studied Ginny. “I think you’re still in love with our dear Harrykins?”

In the blink of an eye, Ginny pulled her wand out of her robes and had it pointed at Fred’s throat. “Say it again,” she dared in a low, evil tone.

“Put your wand down,” Molly said, coming to stand next to Ginny and forcing her to lower her wand. “I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight, young lady. I will not have your bad attitude ruining the Holiday for everyone.”

“Fine, but I won’t like it and I’m not kissing their arses,” Ginny said, slipping her wand back into her robes and leaving in a huff. She could be heard calling out as she walked into the living room. “Dad, is the eggnog done yet?”

“Didn’t she say she was on call?” Molly said, looking at the kitchen door in concern.

“Don’t worry about it,” Fred said, grinning as he put a comforting arm around his mother once more. “Forge and I know plenty of Sobriety Charms. I think she needs a drink.”

“Or ten,” George added. “When’d she get so pissy?”

“The day after Harry left is my guess,” Fred said, shaking his head. “This evening is definitely going to be interesting.”

George scoffed. “Very interesting.”

~*~

Using an Invisibility spell that Hermione had created, Ron, Harry and Hermione sat outside the Burrow in the cold, waiting for someone to arrive. It was just their rotten luck that no one had walked up to the front door for the last twenty minutes and they were all freezing their arses off. Ron silently thanked himself for not giving into the pressure and ditching his jacket as he shivered.

“Let’s just risk it,” Harry whispered next to him, which was weird, because Ron couldn’t see him, but he was more than used to it. They used the same spell every time they launched a sneak attack on a Death Eater camp. “It’s ruddy cold out here.”

“You think I don’t know that!” Ron hissed back, rubbing his hand up Hermione’s arm, trying to warm her through the sweater she had pulled on over her blouse. “We can’t risk it. Christmas is too bloody obvious. They’re probably watching the house. We have to wait.”

“What if they’re all there. We are late,” Hermione whispered, her teeth chattering. “M-maybe we should risk it.”

“No,” Ron said, shaking his head, which was futile when they couldn’t see him do it. “I’m not risking anything. It’s Christmas. Do you want it ruined by a Death Eater attack?”

“Why can’t we Apparate inside again?” Harry asked, his teeth also chattering.

“Fred and George said most of the Wizardng houses have Anti-Apparation wards up nowadays. I don’t feel like getting splinched, do you?”

Harry and Hermione sighed in unison, and the three of them went back to waiting in silence. Fifteen minutes had passed and still no one had shown up. Ron was just about to try to work out another way to sneak into the Burrow, when the front door opened. His breath caught when Ginny walked out, a cup of eggnog in her hand. She took a long drink of it, staring silently at the snow-covered garden. She looked older than Ron had remembered, having always kept her at sixteen in his mind. Her long hair was up in a messy ponytail and her black robes were simple, but still fitting enough to show that his sister had certainly grown up. Seeing her as an adult was shocking.

“She’s wearing Auror robes,” Harry whispered, his voice awed and nostalgic. “Do you really think--”

“Forget that,” Ron said, pulling both Harry and Hermione forward. “Lets do this.”

Hermione cast a Silencing Spell using nonverbal magic, and then another more complicated one that covered their footprints in the snow. She really was a ruddy genius, his wife. Ron wondered briefly if he always would be amazed by her


Ginny stiffened as they got closer, and he wondered if she somehow suspected their close proximity. If she did, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The three of them had been a breath away from Death Eaters who hadn’t even sensed a stir in the air when they had used this technique.

A frown marred her features as she shivered, and then turned to go back in. It was an effort, but all three of them did manage to slip into the Burrow before the door closed. Instantly, the sounds and scents of home and Christmas assailed Ron. He stood there sort of dumbstruck as Christmas music played over the wireless and the chatter of one too many people shoved into a small space filled his ears. He inhaled the sweet scent of Christmas cookies baking, and his eyes got misty as he looked around at his family.

“Did you reinforce the wards, Dad?” Ginny asked, still frowning as she looked back to the door.

“I did it last week,” Charlie said, coming in from the kitchen, also holding a glass of eggnog and Ron was surprised to see that like him, Charlie also had a beard. “Why?”

“I dunno,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “I just got the feeling someone was watching the place.”

“Should we go check it out?” Charlie asked, looking concerned.

“Maybe,” Ginny said, glancing at the door once more. “Just let me grab my jacket. We don’t need to tell mum, she’s already in a state because The Golden Child is returning.”

Ron gaped at his sister and the bitterness in her tone. He’d never done anything great in school like Bill, Charlie, or Percy. He wasn’t witty like the twins, and he wasn’t the last child and only girl like Ginny. Ron had always felt like the forgotten one and he’d never completely shaken that feeling. The Golden Child. It was so incredibly ironic that he couldn’t help but laugh.

Everyone paused and it was then Ron realized Hermione must have lifted the silencing spell. Ginny turned around, her wand drawn and pointed towards Ron though she still couldn’t see him. She looked really dangerous all of a sudden, and Harry obviously sensed it, because he lifted the spell on himself first, making himself visible. “It’s just us,” he said, shaking his hair that was covered in snowflakes.

Hermione also lifted her spell. “We didn’t mean to scare you,” she added as she brushed at her sweater and braid, that was wet with melting snow. “We just didn’t want anyone to know we were here. We had to sneak in behind Ginny.”

Ron was still laughing, so it took him a bit to lift his own spell, and when he did he looked down at Ginny, arching an eyebrow. “The Golden Child? Please tell me you were talking about Harry and not me.”

Ginny gaped at all three of them, her mouth hanging open as she slowly lowered her wand. Her eyes flicked over all of them, her eyes lingering on Harry, who was still a bit wiry, but certainly more filled out than he had been when he'd left. That mixed with the long hair, missing glasses that he had ditched when Hermione had found a spell to correct his eyesight and the faint world-weary lines around his eyes spoke volumes about what their life was like. She shook her head, turning from Harry to look up at Ron.

“Ron?” she whispered, being the first one to speak as her gaze ran down from his long hair to his scuffed jacket, and tattered jeans. “Is that you?”

“In the flesh,” he said, his eyes feeling a bit misty as he looked down at his younger sister, who also had worry lines around her eyes. Life had been hard for her, too. “I've missed you,” he said before he could stop himself.

She surprised him by dropping her wand and launching herself at him. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as he lifted her off her feet and hugged her back. “I missed you too, you stupid prat!”

Ron laughed again, his vision blurry. “Now that sounds more like it.”

“He’s here!” Charlie yelled, and then pushed Ginny out of the way. “Stop hogging him,” he said, hugging Ron tightly and patting him on the back. He pulled back, eyeing him with a grin on his face. “Cor, mate, but you grew into yourself. Mum’s going to have kneazles about the earring though.”

“Bugger,” Ron said, reaching up to the gold hoop in his ear, berating himself for not remembering Harry’s advice. “I was going to take it out.”

“Too late now.”

Ron turned to see his dad standing there, tears running down his face and Ron felt himself choke up as he looked at his father, who looked so much older than he had before they left. The little hair that remained was much lighter, with streaks of white running through the red. “Hey Dad,” he said, his voice raspy. He was only dimly aware of Ginny hugging Hermione while Charlie embraced Harry like a brother.

“Hi son,” he said, smiling through his tears before he also hugged Ron, practically squeezing the air out of him. “You look healthy!”

“Healthy!” Fred chortled, coming in from the kitchen with George. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Ron laughed, wiping at his eyes, hating that he couldn’t hold back the tears in front of his brothers.

“Where’s my baby!”

They all turned as his mother pushed her way past the twins, already crying. Ron shifted hesitantly, wishing that he had worn a sweater like Hermione had told him to, because his mother’s mouth hung open as she looked at him in shock. “Ron, what have you done to yourself?”

“I--”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head and pouncing on him, hugging him as fiercely as his father had, her face buried into the collar of his jacket as she sobbed. “I swore I’d let you hear it the second I got my hands on you, but I’m just glad you’re alive!”

“I’m sorry,” he said, choking back more tears. “We never meant to hurt you.”

“No sense crying over it now,” she said sensibly, though it lost some of its meaning as she wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “But, you do need a hair cut.” She turned Harry, also eyeing his long hair. “You both do! Come here!” she said, and then hugged Harry, who looked a little uncomfortable. She pulled back, studying him. “You look very fetching without your glasses. What happened to them?”

“Oh, um,” Harry said, looking quickly to Ginny who had stepped back and refused to meet his eyes. “Hermione fixed them. The glasses were getting in the way.”

“In the way of what?” Ginny asked sharply.

Silence hung in the air, but the twins broke it up by seizing Hermione, each of them hugging her so exuberantly that she looked like she couldn’t catch her breath. “It’s nice to see you too,” she said primly, looking more than a little shocked by their enthusiasm. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Not care,” Fred said, patting her so hard on the back that she nearly fell forward. “You’re family now!”

“Of course we’re happy to see our sister-in-law,” George said, hugging her again and whispering in her ear, though it wasn’t quiet enough for everyone else to miss. “Fleur is getting to be a bore. . .We need fresh blood.”

Ron glared at his brothers. He should have known better than to confide in them. “Thanks for that.”

“Is that true?” his dad said, turning to Ron with wide eyes. “Are you and Hermione married?”

“Look at their hands,” Fred said, not appearing to be the least bit chastised as he held up Hermione’s left hand, showing off the thin silver band that matched Ron’s. “Well and truly hitched. . . Had a binding ceremony and everything, didn’t you?”

Ron’s mother picked up his own large hand, looking at the ring on his finger as more tears rolled down her face. “You got married?”

“I’m sorry, mum,” Ron sighed. “It’s just. . .With things the way they are. . .We didn’t want to wait.”

“Please say you understand,” Hermione said, coming forward and looking at his mother pleadingly. “It broke both our hearts not to have our families there, but we. . .Well, we’re in love and we didn’t know if we’d ever get home. Harry took pictures. We brought some if you want to see them. They aren’t much, but it was a traditional Celtic binding ceremony and Ron wore your family colors.”

Fred and George laughed at that, falling over in their hysterics. “You wore a kilt,” Fred said breathlessly.

“And there are pictures of it!” George rasped. “That’s brilliant!”

“Bugger off,” Ron said to them, his face growing red. In truth, he’d been less than thrilled with having a traditional Celtic ceremony, but Hermione had been so depressed about their families not being there that he had given in and worn the bloody kilt.

“Shut up!” his mother said, swatting at first George and then Fred. “Don’t you dare laugh at that!” she turned to Hermione, and then hugged her. She rubbed her back in motherly affection as she cried once more. “I always hoped you two would get together. I’d love to see the pictures.”

“Do you really understand?” Hermione sniffed, hugging her back tightly.

“I do,” his mother said, pulling back and wiping her eyes as she smiled. “I’m sad to have missed it, but I’m glad Ron did the right thing. Better that then messing around without a proper ceremony. . .Isn’t that right, Fred?”

“Hey!” Fred said, looking scandalized. “We’re just not ready to get married?”

“It certainly seemed like you were when I caught you in the attic last summer,” she said, turning to arch an eyebrow at him. “You should take a leaf out of your brother’s book and do right by poor Angelina. I can only imagine what her parents think of the son I raised.”

Fred’s face flushed as he stuttered. “We weren’t—We were just--”

“Save it, mate,” Charlie said, laughing. “The woman has seven children. She knows exactly what you two were doing.” He turned to Hermione, still smiling. “Do you have a hug for another brother-in-law? Or did the twins squeeze them all out of you.”

“I have one more,” Hermione said, hugging Charlie. “Where’s Bill and Fleur?”

“They’re coming,” Charlie said, pulling away and smiling at her. “Fleur’s been feeling ill.”

“Is she okay?” Harry asked in concern.

“She’s fine,” Charlie said, winking at his mum. “Nothing a few month’s won’t fix.”

“She’s pregnant,” Hermione said, grinning when Charlie nodded.

“Wow, mum, you’re going to be a grandmum,” Ron said, feeling shocked. “You’re getting old.”

“Oh hush, you,” she said, swatting his shoulder as she gave him a watery smile. “Come eat something. You lot look like you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, Ron really looks like he’s been starved to death,” George said, shaking his head. “I can see why you’d want to put some meat on his bones.”

~*~

The night went well. Hermione’s parents arrived, and it did Ron’s heart good to see how happy Hermione was to see them. They’d been as shocked as his parents when they found out Hermione had gotten married, but they seemed to warm to the idea of Ron being their son-in-law, especially when Hermione explained that marital binding ceremonies were irreversible. Ron’s own mother had been quite shocked to find out that Muggles could simply become unmarried by filing papers with the government. “That just doesn’t seem right,” she had muttered under her breath.

Bill and Fleur had shown up shortly after Hermione’s parents, and though Fleur wasn’t showing yet, she did look a little green around the edges, and kept disappearing to the loo every few hours. Dinner had been awesome, and Ron secretly wondered how they were going to go back to Muggle carry out after the feast his mother had prepared. He loved Hermione to death, but he did wish she could cook more than microwave meals.

Percy hadn’t shown up, and Ron hadn’t asked why. . .He didn’t really want to know and in the pit of his stomach he'd always had this horrible feeling that he might run into him one day on a raid of a Death Eater camp.

The three of them had laughed off any suggestions that they were the much discussed Ghosts of Redemption, having agreed beforehand that they didn’t want their families to worry anymore than they already were. It was sort of a wasted effort, because no one seemed to truly believe their denials, but everyone was willing to let the truth lie unspoken for now.

Both Ron and Hermione’s mothers’ had cried when Hermione had pulled out a small photo album filled with pictures of their wedding. Hermione and Ron had forgotten that their tattoos were visible in the photos, and they didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. They’d left them in place, as they were Celtic knots and they matched the ceremony. Harry had rolled up the sleeve of his sweater when things started to get tense, and explained the purpose of them and both mothers seemed to calm considerably when they understood the reasoning behind them. “That does make sense,” Hermione’s mum had said.

“And besides, you can always hide them with Glamours,” Ron’s mum had added.

“I suppose,” Ron shrugged, not saying that he really liked his where he could see it.

Hermione had made a few copies of the wedding pictures for their parents, putting her favourite photo on the top of the pile. Ron had to admit that it really was a good picture of the two of them, but it just made him feel a bit uncomfortable to have his new in-laws watching him kiss their daughter over and over again in the photo. It certainly didn't help that he was bare-chested in the picture and Hermione's gossamer green gown left very little to the imagination. He was just thinking that perhaps they wouldn't really notice, when Hermione's mother smiled slyly at her daughter and said, “Well, you certainly chose a very fit husband now, didn't you?" Hermione had simply laughed and swatted her mum, but Ron was thinking that their patented invisibility spell might have come in very handy right at that particular moment.

“Gifts!” the twins said in unison once they had finished laughing over the pictures of Ron in a kilt. “You lot first,” George said, looking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. “You do have four years worth of presents to open.”

Hermione gasped. “What?”

“We saved them for you,” Ron’s mum said, her eyes watery. “We knew you’d come back.”

Four years worth of Christmas and birthday gifts was a lot to open, and all three of them were feeling a bit overwhelmed. They each had several Weasley jumpers, though Mrs. Weasley said she’d have to enlarge all of Ron’s and Harry’s. Hermione had assured her that she knew how to enlarge clothes, leaving it left unsaid that they’d be gone before his mother would have a chance to alter any of the clothes. The twins had given each of them tons of gifts from the WWW, many of which were products they distributed to the Ministry and the Phoenix fighters.

Fred and George simply shrugged. “Just in case.”

The twins had also given Ron and Hermione several joint gifts that had left Hermione blushing to the very roots of her hair. “Those are more of a late wedding present than Christmas presents,” Fred said, winking at Ron. “They’re from our new line. Might help you spice things up.”

“Who says we need any more spice?” Ron said, grinning. “We may already have more than we can handle.”

That comment had earned him a sharp punch in the arm courtesy of Hermione, but he shook it off and pulled the boxes towards him. He sifted through the contents, wondering where on earth Fred and George had gotten the ideas from some of this stuff. He held up a pair of racy underwear that left his fingers sticky, arching a confused eyebrow at them.

“They’re edible,” George explained, smirking and wagging his eyebrows. “There’s an Endurance Potion laced into them, too. Double bonus for Hermione!”

“That’s disgusting,” his mother said, obviously scandalized as she glanced at Hermione’s parents who both looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Please excuse my boys. I swear I attempted to raise them with manners.”

“That hurts, Mum,” Fred said, placing a hand over his heart melodramatically.

When Ron pulled out a small ball that started vibrating in his hand, his mother closed the lid on the box and shoved it to the side. “I think we should let them open the rest of their presents.”

Along with the gifts from the twins, and four years worth of Weasley jumpers, Harry, Ron and Hermione got tons of books (most on Defense Against the Dark Arts) and sweets. Chudley Cannon hats and shirts along with various other clothing items for Ron and Harry, while Hermione had opened boxes with quills and several girly things like dress robes, perfume, and hair ties that Ron knew Hermione would never use, but she seemed thrilled about anyway. After a while, they all sort of lost track of what belonged to who and they put all three of their presents in one pile, saying that they’d sort them out later.

“We weren’t able to buy you nearly as much,” Hermione said nervously once they’d finished opening their presents. “Money’s been sort of tight for us.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ron’s dad assured Hermione, smiling at her kindly. “Just having you here is more than enough.”

“We did bring a few things,” Harry said, getting up and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out several small gifts that he enlarged, and Ron followed suit. “It’s not much, but we did put some thought into them.”

Each of the gifts were from all three of them, since they really didn’t have the money yet to buy a ton of gifts for everyone. They’d bought the twins hand held video games that had instantly captured their attention as they sat back on the couch, completely engrossed in the games. Mrs. Weasley had made a comment about wishing she’d had those ten years ago if they kept Fred and George so quiet. Hermione had chosen a pink sweater for her mother, and very nice pen for her father that she’d had engraved with a personal message from her. Ron had picked out several Muggle cooking gadgets for his mother that didn’t require electricity, most of which he had spied on the telly late at night. For his father, he and Harry had agreed that a Muggle tool kit that ran off batteries would be perfect and his father was delighted as he sat there, making quite the racket with the various drills.

“We’ll try to send you more batteries,” Hermione said, smiling at her father-in-law who looked like a little kid with his tools spread out in front of him. “Both for the video games and the tools.”

They had gotten Bill and Charlie several Muggle rock concert shirts, many of which Ron had had a hard time not keeping for himself. “This is one of my favorite groups,” Ron said, pointing to a black shirt with a prism of colors shooting through the center of a triangle. “And this one,” he said, picking up another shirt that sported four young men walking across a Muggle street. “They’re an older group, but they’re huge. Biggest Muggle band of all time!”

“Abbey Road,” Bill said, taking it back from Ron and studying it. “Cool!”

“Actually, they’re called the Beatles,” Ron said, and pulled a shirt from the box Charlie had opened. “This one is my favorite albums of theirs. See the pictures behind them. Each one of those people is someone famous in the Muggle World. Each member of the band picked out the person they most admired to be in the collage behind them.”

“Let me take a look at that,” his father had said, finally putting down the tools and taking the shirt from Ron. “How interesting?” he said, studying the shirt. “You certainly know a lot about Muggle music.”

“Hard not to considering--” Ron winced when Harry jabbed him in the side with his elbow and then cleared his throat. “Look at the bottom of the boxes. We got you lot some books, too.”

They had gotten Bill a Muggle book on Ancient Egypt, and Charlie one on dragon myths. Hermione had thought they’d find it interesting to read about the Muggle perspective on things. They had also given Ginny a few concert shirts, and some Muggle khakis that she had really liked.

“I hope they fit. I think we’re still about the same size,” Hermione said.

“If not, I can always alter them,” Ginny said, holding the khakis up. “They look really comfortable.”

“Oh, they are!” Hermione smiled broadly, obviously pleased that she’d chosen wisely. “I live in mine. They’d be great to wear under your Auror robes. They’re easy to run in if you have to.” Ginny arched an eyebrow at her, and Hermione shrugged. “We bought you some books too. I know how much you like to read fiction. I thought you might get a kick out of those.”

Ginny held up the book, reading the cover. “His Darkest Desire. What sort of book is this?” she said as she flipped through the book, stopping to read a few words and then blushed. “Oh, thanks,” she said, grinning and putting it back in the box. “I’m sure I’ll. . .um. . .enjoy them.”

It was a testament to how engrossed the twins were in their hand held video games that they let the romance novels slip right by them unnoticed. They finished handing out the rest of their gifts, having bought Fleur several fancy hair ties and a bottle of popular Muggle perfume that she liked very much, especially when she saw that it was from France. As the rest of the family exchanged gifts, Ron ate the cookies his mother made, savoring each one as he leaned back on the couch next to Fred and pointed out hidden tricks to the game he was playing, having gone through his own faze of video game fascination. He had the same hand held system at the hotel, but had hardly played it since he’d started working so much.

It was long after the gifts had been opened that Ron remembered Harry had bought a gift for Ginny, a personal one that was just from him, but he hadn’t given it to her. Come to think of it, Ginny hadn’t given Harry any presents either. She had had four years worth of gifts for Ron and Hermione, yet none for Harry. He sighed, thinking that Hermione was going to be so disappointed that her plan hadn’t worked. It was obvious that Ginny had no interest in Harry.

No one seemed to want the night to end, but eventually it got to be really late. Bill and Fleur were the first to leave, since she was still feeling ill and was obviously very tired. Bill had hugged Ron, his voice choked as he told him to look out for himself. The party wore down after that, and eventually the twins also left, telling Ron that if they ever needed anything, to let them know and he assured them he just might. The defense stuff they made was far more advanced than it had been when he’d left.

Hermione cried openly when her parents left.

Ron’s mum was busy cleaning, though he spied her looking at he, Hermione and Harry longingly as she did so. He got up, bringing the plate of cookies he’d nearly finished into the kitchen. He stood there as she washed the dishes stiffly. “Need help, mum?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re a guest. Go enjoy yourself.”

“I’m a guest now?” he said, sighing deeply. “Funny, I still think of the Burrow as my home.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, turning around and eyeing his large frame before she crushed him in another hug, giving a choked sob. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“We don’t want to leave either,” Ron said, rubbing his mum’s back as she cried. “Being away has been killing us. That’s why we had to come home. Just to remember what we were fighting for.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight alone,” she rasped, squeezing him tighter. “It’s not fair.”

“I know,” he sighed. It really wasn’t fair. “But, what we’re doing is important.” He pulled away from his mum and reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a small cup that he enlarged with the wave of his wand. “Don’t tell anyone I gave this to you, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t let anyone see it. Hermione and Harry will probably kill me for giving this away after the hell we went through finding it, but I wanted you to know that the sacrifice is worth it.”

“What is it?” she said, looking at the once ornate cup that was now chipped, and sporting burn marks around the edges. “I don’t understand.”

“Look,” he said, pointing to the badger engraved on it. “We spent two years looking for it.”

“Oh my! Is it really--” Ron held a finger to his lips before she said anymore. His mother took the cup and studied it. “What happened to it?”

Ron looked behind him. Seeing that no one was there he turned back to his mother and wrote the word Horcurx with his wand on the kitchen table, the letters disappearing just as quickly as he wrote them. His mother gasped again, her eyes wide as she turned back to him.

“Not--”

“Yup,” he said, and then hugged his mum, hoping that she understood. “We’ll be home as soon as we’re done. I promise.”

“I worry for you,” she said, sniffing again and setting the cup down to return the hug.

“I’m a big lad now,” Ron said, rubbing her back again. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself.”

She nodded, pulling away and wiping her eyes as she studied. “You have grown, but you still do need a hair cut. Why don’t you let me--”

Ron laughed. “No, Mum,” he said, taking a protective step backwards. “I like it like this.”

She sighed in defeat. “Fine, but the earring is a bit much. You’re married now, you ought to try looking more presentable.”

“Hermione doesn’t care what I look like.”

His mother sighed in resignation. “I suppose she loves you enough to overlook it.”

“Yeah, she does,” Ron said, winking at her. “Secretly, I think she loves it.”

“That, I highly doubt,” his mother said, shaking her head. “I always liked Hermione. She’s such a responsible girl. She’ll make you a good wife.”

“She already does,” Ron said, and then hugged his mum once more, not knowing when he’d get the chance to do it again.

Everyone was already in bed, but Ron was still restless as he tossed and turned next to Hermione who was sleeping soundly. They’d enlarged the small bed in his old room, but that did nothing to cover the lumpiness. Maybe he just didn’t want to spend his last few hours at the Burrow sleeping. He slipped out of bed, his mind a jumble of thoughts as he padded barefoot and bare-chested downstairs, thinking of the last of his mother’s cookies. He’d have to knick some before he left.

He was almost to the kitchen when voices reached his ears and he stopped his trek towards the sweets.

“How dare you just show up and act like nothing happened!” his sister screeched, making Ron wince. “If you think I’m just going to forgive you because you decided to show up on Christmas, you are sorely mistaken, Potter.”

“Did I ask for your forgiveness?” Harry shot back, and Ron knew his best mate well enough to hear the hurt in his angry tone. “I haven’t asked anything of you. . .Ever!”

“Yes, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Ginny said, and Ron heard hurt in her voice as well. “You’ve always trusted Ron and Hermione. . .Not me! And to think I fell for all that bunk about you loving me? How stupid and naïve I must have seemed to you. I can’t believe that I gave myself to you that night”

Harry laughed incredulously. “Gave yourself? I think your memory’s gone foggy. You threw yourself at me and I tried to stop you!”

“You didn’t try that hard.”

“Well, you were awfully distracting. . .I put forth a pretty valiant effort considering I was seventeen and you were starkers.”

Whoa! Ron’s eyes widened. That was something he didn’t know, and he’d been pissed with Harry enough times that he was surprised that little secret hadn't ever slipped.  Then again, Ron probably would have taken a swing at Harry for sleeping with his sister when she was just sixteen and Harry was smart enough to know that.  Hell, Ron himself had been eighteen before he’d finally done the deed.

“Thank you so much for reminding me,” Ginny huffed, and Ron could just picture her folding her arms. “Well, I hope you enjoyed it because that was the first and last time I'll ever throw myself at you, Potter!”

“Stop calling me Potter! You sound like Malfoy.”

“I’ll call you whatever I like. . .Potter!”

Ouch. . .Ron shook his head and went back upstairs, feeling more than a little bad for Harry. His sister didn’t know how lonely he had really been, and while Ron wasn’t thrilled about the two of them shagging when she had been so young, it was obvious that it had left a deep impression on Harry. He never showed any true interest in other women.

Hermione turned when he crawled into bed next to her, blinking sleepy eyes at him as she brushed a stray curl out of her face. “Is it time to go?”

“Not yet, love,” he said, snuggling under the covers with Hermione and pulling her tightly against him. Their life wasn’t easy, but at least he had his wife by his side. Harry wasn’t so lucky. “Go back to sleep,” he breathed into her hair. “I'll wake you when it’s time.”

“Mmm, kay,” she said drowsily as she intertwined her fingers with his. “It was a nice day.”

“Very nice,” he agreed.

~*~

“What if something happened to him?” Hermione whispered in a concerned voice as she peered into the twins’ old room that Harry was supposed to be sleeping in, but was suspiciously empty. “Where could he be? He knew we had to leave before daybreak.”

“Don’t panic yet,” Ron said, pulling on Hermione’s hand as they went down a few flights of stairs. He stopped in front of Ginny’s closed door. “Maybe they made up.”

“Were they fighting?”

Ron held a finger to his lips and quietly turned the knob on Ginny’s bedroom door. He peered into his sister’s bedroom as Hermione ducked down to look through the gap under his arm. Always curious, she probably wanted a peek too. “I guess they did make up,” she said, letting out a little giggle. “Or made something anyway.”

Ron closed the door again, trying to block the image of his sister and Harry intertwined under her sheets, both sleeping and obviously very naked. “Ugh, I’m traumatized for life now.”

“I’m sure Harry would say that was proper payback,” Hermione said, grinning from ear to ear. “How many times did he accidentally catch us together?”

“Now I feel better,” Ron said, pulling a face. “What’re we going to do? We have to go.”

“Let them sleep a few more minutes,” Hermione said, tugging his hand as she walked down the stairs. “Why don’t we pack up some of your mum’s cookies before we go? She told me to be sure that you take them.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ron grumbled, following Hermione obediently. “I definitely need a cookie after that.”


~*~


Arthur Weasley woke up to the bright rays of morning sunlight filtering into his room. Unconsciously, he reached for his wife, but the bed was empty save him and her spot was cold. It was then that reality descended on him. He remembered Christmas, he remembered the sheer joy of seeing Ron, Harry and Hermione again, and unfortunately he also remembered that they had said they couldn’t stay.

Now worried, he tied on his dressing gown and went to Ron’s room, finding it empty once more. The bed neatly made, the presents he and Hermione had received gone. He sighed, feeling his heart break, not just for himself, but for his wife and his other children who had all missed Ron more than they could ever put into words.

He went downstairs, looking for his wife in hopes of comforting her, but she wasn’t to be found and he started to panic as he went from one room to the next. Finally, he went to Ginny’s room, hoping she knew where her mother was. She would at least help him look for her

“Gin,” he said, opening her door quietly, not wanting to startle her. She had a tendency to throw hexes when woken suddenly. “Have you seen--”

He paused, looking at Molly who sat on Ginny’s neatly made bed. She turned to him, tears running down her face as she held up a slip of parchment. “She’s gone, Arthur.”

“What?” he said, feeling his heart clench as he came forward and took the parchment from his wife, reading the words through blurry eyes.

Mum and Dad,

I had to go.

You know I can take care of myself so don’t worry about that. I promise we’ll come home as soon as we can. I’ll try to find a way to send word, but Ron said it may be difficult. He doesn’t want to put anyone in danger, and I don’t either. We both love you. Harry and Hermione do too. It’s killing all of us to leave, but it is for a good cause. We’re going to succeed and one day we’ll all be together and we’ll be happy. I believe that and I hope you do, too

Please understand. . . Harry needs me. You know I was miserable without him. I guess I need him too. Life isn’t perfect, but we’re going to take care of each other. All of us.

There’s really no way to put all my thoughts and love into one stupid letter, but it’s there. Tell everyone how much I love them and that I’ll think of them everyday.

Already missing you.

Your loving daughter,

Ginny


Arthur sat down on the bed after he read the letter, setting it aside as he put an arm around his wife.

“How do they expect us not to worry?” Molly sniffed as she rested her head against his shoulder.

“They’re young,” Arthur said, wiping at his own tears as he stared around at Ginny’s room that was only missing a few of her most cherished possessions. “One day, when they’re older and they have children of their own. . .They’ll understand.”

“She forgot her jacket,” Molly said, holding up the jacket that Arthur hadn’t seen cradled in her lap. “She’ll freeze out there.”

“I’m sure Harry will make sure she gets a new one,” Arthur said, nudging her gently. “I bet she took the jumper you made her.”

“Yeah,” she said, sniffing again. “I used thicker wool this year.”

“See, she’ll be fine.”

Molly turned to look at him, her brown eyes swimming in tears. “Do you think so?”

“I do,” he said, giving her a watery smile. “You raised them good and strong. They’ll make it. You’ll see.”

“I’ll miss them,” she said, her head falling heavily back onto his shoulder. “All of them.”

“Me too,” Arthur said, his heart hurting more than he’d ever admit to his wife. “Me too.”

~*~

Fred and George sat in their office, still feeling a bit melancholy since their sister had disappeared two weeks ago. They just couldn’t seem to get back into the groove of things and nothing could curb the depression that had descended on them.

“Hey, Valentine’s Day is right around the corner,” Fred said, looking up from his desk to stare at George. “We need to get cracking on the production of those new products.”

“Yeah,” George said, not looking up as he lazily sketched meaningless pictures on the parchment in front of him, not seeming too interested in the products. “We should probably do that.”

Fred shook his head, unable to stand the depression any longer. He slammed his hand down on the table, causing George to look up in surprise.

“I’m going to make you a wager.”

“A wager?” George said, arching an eyebrow. “What sort of wager?”

“I’m betting that you don’t have the bollocks to finally ask Diana out!”

George scoffed, a smile finally lighting his face. “What’re you betting?”

“You choose,” Fred said, just happy to see some life back in his twin. “It doesn’t matter because we both know you aren’t going to do it.”

“Regardless if she says yes or not?”

“Totally irrelevant,” Fred said, holding up his hands. “The wager is you asking her. . .Though I can’t see how she’ll say no. You are both dashing and handsome, if I don’t say so myself.”

“Fine,” George said, smiling evilly. “I ask Diana out and you have to pluck up the courage to make a honest woman out of Angelina.”

Fred gaped. “I’m wagering a date and you’re talking marriage. Can’t you just have me run starkers through the store or something?”

“You said my choice,” George said, still grinning. “That was your mistake. Oh Diana!”

“Wait!” Fred said, feeling panicked.

“Yes,” Diana said, opening the door to their office, arching her eyebrow at George’s cheery grin. She brushed her long dark hair behind her and put a hand on her hip as she glared at him. “I’m not testing anything!”

“Funny you should bring that up,” George said, scratching his chin. “We’ve got this whole line of products coming out and I really like to test everything myself before we release them. You know, to make sure they’re up to snuff. . .Problem is, it really takes two people to test these particular products and I was wondering if you’d be willing to help me out.”

She studied him, her eyebrow still arched. “You’re not talking about the line for Valentine’s day?”

“Right in one,” George said without missing a beat, though Fred did spot that his ears were slightly red. “What do you say?”

“Having seen the products in question, I’ll have to say definitely, no,” she said, and George’s shoulders slumped just as a small smile curled at the corner of Diana’s full lips. “But if you’d like to ask me out to dinner, I might agree to that.”

“Dinner then?” George said, his smile back. “Anywhere you want.”

“Are you sure about this, Mr. Weasley,” she said, eyeing him with dark eyes that swirled with hints of lust Fred didn’t miss. “I’ve been putting up with your antics for two years now. Dinner could be very costly for you.”

“I’m rich!” George said, turning around in his chair to fully face her. “And no price is too great to pay for a night with you.”

“Fine,” she said, nodding her head in agreement. “After work?”

“Sounds good.”

Diana studied George for one long moment, a pleased smile on her face as she turned to leave. “And I’m not testing any of those products with you.”

“We’ll just see about that,” George said as she closed the door. He spun around in his chair and waggled his eyebrows at Fred. “I got a date!”

“I heard, very tactfully put too,” Fred said, laughing. “Asking her to test the new products. . .Couldn’t have thought of a better line myself.”

“And you’re getting hitched!” George said even more exuberantly. “Mum will be thrilled. A wedding is just the thing she needs to snap her out of this funk she’s been in since Ginny left. When are you going to break the news?”

“Can I run it by Angelina first?” Fred said, pulling a face. “I don’t know, maybe even buy her a ring.”

“Yeah, I guess.” George shrugged. “She should know about it.”

Fred rolled his eyes just as the news coming across the wireless in their office reached his ears. He tilted his head and then pointed to the box, since it was within George’s reach. “Turn it up!”

George did and they both listened to the report coming across the wire.

--still no sign of the Auror Ginny Weasley, reported missing by her family just three days after Christmas. Authorities have launched an extensive search, but have found no clues to her whereabouts. Sources close to the family say that Miss Weasley showed no signs of distress and they are quite adamant that she did not run away like her brother Ron Weasley who disappeared four years ago with the famous Harry Potter and their mutual friend, Hermione Granger.

In related news, the legendary Ghosts of Redemption struck again. This time taking down a large Death Eater camp, leaving fifteen of Voldemort’s followers bound and unconscious for authorities. The reports are sketchy, but several witnesses swear they saw not three, but four vigilantes during the attack. With the differing descriptions, authorities are unsure if this is the same group that has launched attacks against Death Eaters all over Europe, but a man with dark hair, sporting an unmistakable scar on his forehead was seen during the fighting. Reports go on to say that this fourth mysterious member of the group appeared to be a slim woman with a youthful face. Her hair was reportedly worn in a heavy braid, but still easily identifiable as red.

Red just happens to be the same shade young Miss Weasley's hair was prior to her disappearance. One really can’t help but wonder if the famed trio has suddenly become a quartet. . .It’s this reporter's opinion that there certainly seems to be a link.

“He’s a swift one, that reporter,” George said, turning down the radio when the report turned to Quidditch. “A link indeed.”

“Sounds like one to me.” Fred grinned. “Four’s a better number than three anyway. . .More well rounded, don’t you think?”

“Much more well rounded,” George agreed, leaning back in his chair. “So, about your wedding. . . ”


Finis