The Tenth Weasley - CH - 96

The morning dawned soft and grey, snow still drifting gently past the tall windows of Weasley Manor. Harry woke to the smell of spiced bread and the low murmur of voices downstairs. For a moment, he lay still, letting it all sink in.

This was home. Not the stone walls of Durmstrang or the echoing corridors of Hogwarts, but this—creaking floorboards, Molly’s cheerful humming, and the rustle and laughter of a dozen people getting ready for the most festive day of the year.

He pulled on his dressing gown and padded down the stairs. The sitting room was already half-buried in parcels and wrapped boxes, the great tree in the corner glittering with charmed candles and ornaments that sang in tiny, tinny voices whenever you walked past.

Fred and George were arguing about where to hang a particularly ugly glass mermaid. Ron was sitting cross-legged on the hearthrug, polishing a battered chess set that Percy claimed was “an heirloom,” but Harry suspected was actually a leftover from some lost Hogwarts tournament.

Ginny spotted Harry and called, “Finally! Mum says you’re on wreath duty.”

“Wreath duty?” Harry asked warily.

“Charming them so they don’t shed needles all over the carpet,” she explained, hands on her hips.

Before Harry could reply, the fireplace erupted in green flame.

“Permission to invade?” came a familiar voice.

James Potter stepped out in a swirl of dark robes and snowflakes, looking every inch like he’d just stepped off a Chocolate Frog card. He grinned when he saw Harry.

“Merry Christmas, son.”

Harry felt something warm and painful twist in his chest. Even though he’d been calling Arthur and Molly Mum and Dad for years, James always called him “son” with the same easy affection.

Before he could answer, Lily stepped gracefully out behind James, her red hair caught up in a green ribbon, her arms already full of gifts.

“Oh, it smells wonderful in here,” Lily said, glancing around the packed room. “Molly must have been up since dawn.”

“You have no idea,” Fred muttered under his breath.

Charlie Potter bounded out of the fireplace next, nearly tripping over the log basket.

“Ron!” Charlie called, waving. “You’d better be ready for chess rematch after lunch!”

Ron brightened immediately. “I’ve been practicing all term!”

Rose Potter emerged last, looking shy as she clutched her tiny knapsack of presents. Ginny hurried over to pull her into the chaos.

Sirius Black arrived a moment later, followed by Remus Lupin—who was juggling a basket of pastries and a sheaf of parchment notes about the bakeries he was helping the Weasleys run.

Andromeda and Edward Tonks appeared next, followed by Nymphadora—Tonks—whose hair was an eye-watering shade of lime green today.

“Blimey,” Ron muttered to Harry. “She tries to outdo herself.”

Tonks must have heard, because she winked and made her nose elongate absurdly. “Wait until you see what I’ve got planned for later,” she announced.

The room felt suddenly twice as full.

Sirius stepped forward bumping against Harry’s back. “I brought gifts,” he declared. “And firewhisky for tonight.”

“You are not putting firewhisky in the eggnog!” Molly called from the kitchen.

Sirius looked offended. “You wound me, Molly.”

“You did it last year!”

“That was an accident,” Sirius protested. “Remus, back me up.”

Remus sighed. “He’s telling the truth. He meant to spike the punch.”

Everyone laughed as Molly bustled in, flour streaked across her cheek, and began hugging each arrival in turn.

“Molly,” Andromeda said warmly, “you look wonderful.”

“So do you, dear,” Molly said, giving her an extra squeeze. “Arthur will be thrilled you could all come.”

Arthur soon appeared from the hallway, already in his best robes, and greeted the Tonkses with a wide grin.

“You know,” Arthur said as they all began drifting toward the kitchen, “we’ll need to start calling this a reunion instead of a holiday.”

“Considering how much family we collect?” Sirius quipped. “Probably.”

Arthur came bustling in, face beaming.

“James! Lily! Wonderful to see you. Did you have any trouble with the Floo?”

“None,” James said, clapping Arthur on the shoulder. “Honestly, this is becoming a tradition. You’ll have to start charging us rent.”

Molly appeared, wiping her hands on her apron and looking flushed with happiness.

“Don’t be silly, James. You know you’re always welcome.”

Harry felt a swell of something that was hard to name. This strange, sprawling family—blood and not—was exactly what he’d always hoped for, once upon a time.


The Weasley family had always been odd among purebloods. Many of the old families observed Yule and ignored Christmas entirely, insisting it was too Muggle, too Christian. The Malfoys, the Notts, the Greengrasses—if they celebrated at all, it was in private, and with a certain lofty disdain.

But Arthur and Molly had never cared about such things. They loved Christmas—trees and puddings and silly paper crowns—and they celebrated it with the same wide-hearted gusto as everything else.

And because they were the Weasleys, no one who got invited ever dared say no.

By mid-morning, the kitchen was packed. Bill and Charlie were busy charming boughs of holly to drape over the archways. Fred and George were setting tiny firework charms in the sconces. Ginny and Tonks were elbow-deep in sugar, rolling out spiced biscuits shaped like dragons, stars, and vaguely lumpy reindeer.

Percy tried, unsuccessfully, to read in a corner. Every time he opened his book, something exploded or giggled.

Harry moved between rooms, helping Arthur enchant the wreaths so they shimmered fresh and green. From the hall, he could hear Molly directing everything like a general.

“Ron—stop eating the biscuits. Fred, George—no fireworks until after dinner! And Charlie, if you track mud through here again, so help me—”

“Mum,” Charlie called innocently, “it’s not mud, it’s pine needles!”

“Same difference!”

Harry caught Ron’s eye and grinned.


They gathered in the sitting room to exchange gifts before the day descended into proper chaos.

Rose sat cross-legged by Ginny, helping her sort packages. Charlie Potter and Ron were already plotting chess strategies, while Fred and George hovered over a suspiciously lumpy parcel from Sirius.

Molly presided over the proceedings like a benevolent queen.

“For you, Lily,” she said, passing over a small wrapped box.

“Oh, Molly,” Lily protested, “you didn’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Molly said firmly. “It’s Christmas.”

Andromeda and Edward found seats near the fire, and Remus tucked himself into the corner with a cup of tea.

Tonks grinned and demonstrated her Metamorphmagus talent, much to Rose’s delight. With a pop, she shifted into a perfect imitation of Professor Snape, scowling furiously.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” she intoned in Snape’s cold voice.

Everyone roared with laughter.

“Brilliant,” Sirius declared. “Do McGonagall next.”

Tonks obliged, her hair flattening into a severe bun.

“Oh no,” Ginny giggled, “stop—”


When it was time for Harry to hand out gifts, he tried not to feel shy as he pulled the carefully labeled parcels from the pile.

He gave Lily a silver locket engraved with tiny runes of protection.

“Oh, Harry,” Lily said softly, touching the delicate chain, “it’s beautiful.”

He swallowed. “I thought…you might like it.”

She hugged him fiercely.

James looked suspiciously misty-eyed but recovered quickly enough to slap Harry on the back. “And this,” he said, thrusting a long, flat box into Harry’s hands, “is from us.”

Inside was a set of enchanted quills, each one charmed never to run dry or blot.

Harry grinned. “Perfect for all my essays.”

“You mean your fan letters,” Sirius teased.

Harry turned pink, and Fred cackled.

For Rose, he’d found a book of illustrated fairy tales. For Charlie Potter, a set of enchanted wizard chess pieces that glowed in the dark.

He saved Hermione’s parcel to open when she could be there, but he set it aside with a private smile.

By midday, Molly’s kitchen smelled of roasting meats and cinnamon. Ginny, Tonks, and Lily set to work arranging platters, while Arthur hovered in the hallway, greeting guests.

Molly fussed over the Yule cake, muttering to herself about the sugared holly decoration.

“Charlie!” she called as he tried to sneak past. “If you think you’re getting out of helping with the vegetables—”

Charlie sighed dramatically and headed for the chopping board.

Fred and George charmed a set of wooden spoons to stir on their own, which ended in disaster when the spoons began flinging mashed potatoes at each other.

Sirius and James laughed until they were wheezing.



By late afternoon, Weasley Manor glowed like a lantern in the snow. Every window flickered with warm candlelight. From the garden, you could hear the sound of music, laughter, and the clink of glasses.

Harry had only just finished helping Arthur move a spare table into the sitting room when the doorbell chimed for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Ginny was nearest, so she dashed over and pulled the door wide open.

“Hello, Luna!” she called.

Luna Lovegood stood in the doorway, her pale hair tucked beneath a knitted hat decorated with tiny fluttering fairies. She smiled dreamily as she stepped inside, brushing snow off her cloak. Behind her came Xenophilius Lovegood, tall and narrow-shouldered, wearing robes in lurid purple and mustard stripes.

“Happy Yule!” Xenophilius boomed, holding out an odd-shaped parcel wrapped in parchment. “A little something for the Weasley family!”

Arthur stepped forward, looking both delighted and mildly wary. “Er—thank you, Xenophilius. May I ask what it is?”

“A preserved Snorkack horn,” Xenophilius said solemnly. “For good fortune. Do keep it away from open flame.”

Ginny stifled a laugh as Arthur accepted the bundle with elaborate politeness.

Luna drifted over to Harry and slipped a folded note into his hand.

“It’s a list,” she explained serenely, “of all the magical creatures you might find in Norway, in case you missed any.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Harry said, smiling.

Nearby, Sirius Black had spotted Xenophilius and wasted no time crossing the room.

“Xeno!” Sirius called. “You still have that first edition of The Quibbler Compodium? I’ve been trying to find one for years.”

“Oh yes,” Xenophilius said eagerly, “and I’m working on an article about the ethical implications of Nargle domestication—”

They were soon deep in conversation, gesturing animatedly.


It wasn’t long before the next guests arrived—Amos Diggory, his wife Catherine, and Cedric, who looked both polite and slightly overwhelmed by the sheer noise.

“Happy Christmas!” Amos called, shaking Arthur’s hand vigorously. “Place looks wonderful!”

Harry and Cedric exchanged a quick grin and a nod.

“You staying long?” Harry asked.

“Till supper, at least,” Cedric said. “Dad’s already eyeing the dessert table.”

The doorbell rang again, and this time it was a group in smart black aprons carrying trays of food—staff from Moley’s Kitchen, the Weasleys’ newest venture.

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley!” called a young witch with curly hair. “We’ve brought the sweet puddings and the charmed warming plates.”

Molly bustled over, smiling broadly. “That’s wonderful, dear. Just put everything on the sideboard.”

Sirius winked at Harry as they passed.

“Your mom’s Muggle-food-and-magic experiment might be the best idea I’ve ever had,” he said smugly.

Harry laughed. “Might be.”


Soon Bill’s friends arrived—curse-breakers from Gringotts in travel-worn cloaks, who clapped him on the back and teased him about finally buying a house.

“Settling down?” one of them roared over the music. “Didn’t think we’d live to see it!”

Charlie’s old dragon-handler friends came next, tracking snow into the hall and immediately asking Harry about the wild dragon nest he’d found.

Fred and George were surrounded by the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, Lee Jordan perched on the arm of a chair telling a story that had Angelina Johnson in stitches.

Ron hovered near them, half-listening, half-keeping an eye on the food.

Arthur’s Ministry colleagues trickled in, many bringing small gifts—enchanted candles, jars of spiced preserves, a bottle or two of good mead.

Then came the knock that made the entire room hush for a heartbeat.

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, wrapped in a deep green cloak and looking precisely as formidable as ever. But her eyes softened when Molly hugged her tight.

“Minerva,” Molly said fondly, “you made it!”

“Of course,” McGonagall said, brushing snow from her sleeve. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Harry approached a little nervously.

“Professor,” he said, “happy Christmas.”

Her gaze flicked over him, assessing as always. But then she smiled—small, rare, and genuine.

“And to you, Mr. Weasley. Or should I say—” she paused, her eyes twinkling— “our resident Dragon Tamer.”

Harry flushed as Fred and George burst into laughter.


Not long after, Dumbledore himself arrived, blue robes trailing in the doorway and eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. He stayed only long enough to greet everyone warmly, sip a cup of mulled wine, and murmur something encouraging to Harry.

“You have done a great many good things this year,” Dumbledore said quietly as he prepared to leave. “More than you know.”

Then he was gone in a whirl of frost and starry fabric.

Professor Sprout came in shortly after, bright-cheeked and carrying a potted plant that tried to bite Fred.

“For your garden,” she told Molly cheerfully. “Just keep it watered.”


As evening fell, the music began in earnest. Bill had hired a small string ensemble—half-wizard, half-Muggle—and their lilting tunes drifted through every room.

People danced in the sitting room, plates in hand. Arthur led Molly in a careful waltz while Ginny and Luna spun each other around until they were breathless.

Harry drifted between conversations, never lacking someone to talk to. Amos Diggory insisted on retelling the dragon rescue story to anyone who would listen. Sirius clapped him on the shoulder every time he passed.

“You know,” Sirius said conspiratorially, “it’s almost boring how heroic you are these days.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

McGonagall and Sprout sat together by the fire, sipping cider.

“That boy of yours,” McGonagall told Molly, gesturing to Harry, “has made quite a name for himself.”

“He always did have a good heart,” Molly said proudly.


When the pudding was served and the last of the dancing was done, people began to drift away, voices low and contented.

Luna hugged Harry tightly before she left.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For being brave.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he just hugged her back.

The Porters stayed behind to help with the washing up, Lily and Molly chatting in the kitchen while James and Arthur nursed mugs of brandy.

Sirius lounged in an armchair, watching the fire with a look of quiet satisfaction.

“You did well tonight,” he told Harry, voice low. “All of you.”

And Harry thought—yes. They had.

The manor was still bright with candlelight as he finally slipped upstairs to bed, full of good food, good stories, and the knowledge that for all its strangeness, this was exactly the life he’d always dreamed of.