Christmas at the Burrow
The Burrow was a whirlwind of laughter, bright lights, and holiday cheer. Snow dusted the crooked roof, and the smell of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking wafted through every corner of the house, mingling with the scent of pine from the towering, over-decorated Christmas tree crammed into the already crowded sitting room. Fairy lights blinked merrily, and enchanted ornaments zoomed around the tree in dizzying circles, adding to the vibrant chaos that only a Weasley gathering could create.
The entire family was there—spouses, children, and more redheads than should have been allowed in one place. Harry stood in the doorway to the living room, nursing a cup of Mrs. Weasley’s famous hot chocolate as he watched the bustling scene before him. Ron was sitting on the couch, grinning at his wife with an almost sheepish look on his face as Hermione stood over him, arms crossed and expression severe.
“Honestly, Ronald, what were you thinking?” Hermione demanded, her voice carrying over the cheerful chatter. “Those quills are a menace! And George, I’m shocked the Ministry hasn’t shut down your shop for selling them!”
George, sprawled lazily in an armchair beside Ron, snorted, utterly unrepentant. “Shut down Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes? Perish the thought! Hermione, they’re quills. They’re supposed to be helpful.”
“Helpful?” Hermione repeated incredulously, holding up a piece of parchment that was covered in tiny, dancing Hippogriffs and what looked like an entire essay written backward. “You call this helpful?”
“Absolutely,” George said with a straight face. “They’re promoting creativity, efficiency, and a healthy appreciation for artistic expression. Right, Ron?”
Ron, looking torn between placating his wife and enjoying the spectacle, took a sip of butterbeer. “Er, well, it does make paperwork more… interesting?” he offered weakly, shooting George a sidelong look.
Harry smothered a laugh behind his cup as Hermione sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “I’m serious. They’re causing chaos in every department, and you know Kingsley’s going to have words with you, Ron. You work there, for heaven’s sake!”
“Worked,” Ron corrected with a smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “And for what it’s worth, Kingsley loves them. Said something about livening up his day. But—” he leaned forward and reached for Hermione’s hand, his expression softening “—I’ll talk to George about them, alright? Just don’t let them ruin your evening.”
Hermione’s frown melted, and she huffed in a long-suffering manner. “Honestly, Ronald. I don’t know what to do with you.”
“Lucky for me, you’re stuck with me,” Ron said lightly, squeezing her hand.
“Trapped forever,” Hermione agreed with a small, reluctant smile.
George waggled his eyebrows. “I’d say more ‘blessed beyond measure,’ but that’s just my opinion.”
“Blessed, my foot,” Hermione muttered, but Harry could see the amusement dancing in her eyes.
He shook his head fondly, stepping further into the room just as Mrs. Weasley bustled by, balancing a large tray of steaming mince pies. “Oh, Harry, dear, there you are! Have some pie—no one’s had enough yet!” she chirped, beaming up at him.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley, really,” Harry protested weakly, but she was already pressing a warm, flaky pie into his hand.
“Nonsense!” she declared. “You’re looking far too thin. Eat up, or I’ll have to force-feed you myself.”
Harry chuckled, giving in as he took a bite of the delicious pastry. Too thin? he thought wryly. He wouldn’t have described himself that way. After years of working as an Auror, he felt he’d filled out pretty well—no one could say he looked underfed anymore. Well maybe just Mrs. Weasley.
Around him, the Burrow buzzed with life. Percy was in deep conversation with Audrey, who was looking mildly exasperated as he lectured her on some Ministry protocol. Bill and Fleur were off in the corner, smiling as they watched their daughter, Victoire, chase after a tiny enchanted snowball, her golden curls bouncing. Charlie, back for the holidays, was leaning forward animatedly, regaling Teddy Lupin and Andromeda Tonks with one of his latest dragon-taming escapades. Teddy, eyes wide with excitement, was hanging on to every word, while Andromeda listened with a serene smile, occasionally shaking her head fondly at her grandson’s enthusiastic reactions.
Neville Longbottom, looking rather dapper in dress robes, stood near the fireplace, chatting animatedly with Luna Lovegood, whose bright yellow dress and radish earrings added an extra splash of color to the already vibrant room. They were laughing softly, their heads close together, and Harry’s heart swelled with warmth. It was moments like this, surrounded by friends and family, that made everything worthwhile.
-
The evening wore on in a whirlwind of laughter, gift-giving, and a delicious Christmas feast that left everyone groaning in satisfied exhaustion. One by one, family and friends either retired upstairs or said their goodbyes, apparating home with warm hugs and promises to meet again soon. The Burrow slowly quieted as the night deepened, the only sounds left being the crackle of the fire and the soft murmur of voices in the living room.
Harry sat comfortably on one of the well-worn sofas, gazing around at the familiar faces of those who remained. Ron and Hermione were curled up together in the armchair beside him, Hermione’s head resting on Ron’s shoulder as she absentmindedly twirled her wand between her fingers. George was lounging in an armchair opposite them, his feet propped up on a footstool, looking utterly content. Neville sat cross-legged on the rug by the fire, his expression relaxed, and beside him, Luna leaned against the arm of his chair, absently petting a small, glittering ornament she’d plucked from the tree.
It was a scene of perfect calm—until Harry broke the silence.
“Malfoy gave me a fountain pen,” he blurted out.
Six pairs of eyes turned to him in varying degrees of surprise and confusion.
“Pardon?” Hermione asked, straightening slightly. “What do you mean, a fountain pen?”
“Yeah, that’s not weird,” Ron pointed out, brow furrowing. “I’m still stuck on why he gives us gifts at all. I mean, he’s a git, but… fancy stationery isn’t exactly dark magic.”
Harry shook his head. “It’s not just the pen. You remember the mismatched socks, or the paperclip book?”
George chuckled, leaning forward with interest. “Or how about that singing plant?” he asked, his grin widening.
Harry rolled his eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “Oh, that one was probably the most useful,” he admitted. “I put it next to Walburga Black’s portrait at Grimmauld Place. Drove her absolutely mad until she finally unstuck herself from the wall.”
Ron burst into laughter. “I wish I’d seen that!” he chortled. “Did it really work?”
“Like a charm,” Harry said dryly. “But that’s the point—all of his other gifts have been like that. Silly, bizarre, or just plain annoying. This one…” He glanced back at the sleek fountain pen resting on the table beside him. “This one’s normal. And that’s why it feels off.”
“Maybe he’s finally grown up?” George suggested with a smirk. “Who knows? People change, even ferrets.”
“Or maybe he’s messing with you,” Ron added, shrugging. “Trying to throw you off your guard.”
“I don’t think so,” Harry said slowly. “It just… didn’t feel like that. Something’s off. I’ve seen him three times this week at the Ministry, just wandering around. Malfoy never does that. And—” He hesitated, glancing at Luna. “You said something earlier, Luna. About Malfoy?”
Luna blinked dreamily, her large eyes focusing on Harry. “Oh, yes,” she said softly. “I love Draco. He gave me candy when I was locked in his cellar during the war.”
Everyone fell silent, stunned by the calm, matter-of-fact way she spoke about such a dark time.
“You never mentioned that before,” Hermione said quietly, exchanging a look with Ron.
Luna shrugged, looking thoughtful. “It was just sugar quills. But it was the only kindness anyone showed me back then. I always thought it meant something, even if he was scared to do more.”
Harry shifted uncomfortably. He knew how dangerous it was to assume good intentions of someone like Draco Malfoy, but… then again, he also knew how fear and pressure could force people into roles they weren’t meant to play. He cleared his throat.
“Right,” he said, trying to steer them back on track. “So, Luna, you haven’t seen him in a while?”
She shook her head slowly. “No, not for weeks, I think. He usually visits my father and me every second week of the month, just to see how we are. But this month, he didn’t even reply to my last owl. That’s not like him at all.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “So he’s been avoiding you too?”
“Maybe,” Luna murmured. “Or maybe he’s busy with something important. Draco’s always been a bit… unpredictable, hasn’t he?”
Harry nodded, but the feeling of unease only tightened in his chest. “It’s more than that. Something’s changed. I can’t explain it, but it’s like… he’s trying too hard to act normal. To pretend everything’s fine.”
Ron snorted, shaking his head. “This sounds familiar. Are we back in sixth year again, Harry? Because if you start dragging me into broom cupboards to spy on Malfoy, I’m out.”
Harry scowled, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. “I’m serious. It’s different this time.”
“You’re always serious when it comes to Malfoy,” Ron retorted, though his tone was more amused than mocking. “Come on, mate. Why are you even worried? So, he’s being a bit off. It’s Christmas."
Hermione cleared her throat softly, and both men turned to look at her. “Maybe he’s just… tired?” she offered hesitantly. “I mean, it’s not that strange for someone to act differently, Harry. Especially around the holidays. Everyone’s under a lot of pressure.”
“Not Malfoy,” Harry muttered stubbornly. “He thrives on being smug and mysterious. This just—” He broke off, frustration simmering in his chest. “I don’t know. It’s like… it’s like he’s trying too hard to be normal.”
Neville, who had been quietly listening up until now, finally spoke. “Why don’t you just ask him?” he suggested, looking around at the others. “If you’re that concerned, Harry, just pull him aside and ask what’s going on.”
“Because—” Harry faltered. “Because I—”
“Because he’d look ridiculous, that’s why,” Ron interrupted, smirking. “Hey, Malfoy, did you send me this really nice present because you’ve secretly been replaced by an evil twin? That’s a quick way to get laughed out of the Ministry.”
Harry sighed, slumping back against the cushions. “I know how it sounds. But I’m telling you, something’s not right.”
The group fell into a thoughtful silence. George yawned exaggeratedly, stretching his arms behind his head. “Well, if you’re that desperate, I can always whip up some Veritaserum. Slip it into his tea, see if he starts confessing his undying love for you.”
“George,” Hermione warned, though she was biting back a smile.
“I’m kidding,” George protested, grinning wickedly. “Mostly.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime, mate.” George winked. “But seriously, Harry—let it go. If Malfoy’s up to something, I’m sure it’ll come out sooner or later. Until then, enjoy your fancy pen.”
“I suppose,” Harry muttered, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to. Not completely.
Hermione leaned forward, her gaze softening. “Just… keep an eye on him, if it makes you feel better,” she said gently. “But don’t jump to conclusions, okay? He’s not… he’s not the enemy anymore.”
Harry looked at her, something unspoken passing between them. Finally, he sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
But even as the conversation shifted and the group settled into a lighter mood, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling in his gut—that strange, uneasy sense that something was wrong.