The Tenth Weasley - CH - 68

The snow had begun to fall by the time the fireplace in the Potter Manor settled back into a soft, crackling hum. Harry stepped away from the hearth, brushing soot off his robes, his mind still clouded with unanswered questions. Rose bounded past him, laughing as she ran toward the wide staircase that led to her room, her arms full of packages they’d collected during their Diagon Alley visit.

Lily followed her with a small smile. “Don’t forget to put those away before dinner, Rose!”

“Alright, Mum!” she called back, disappearing around the bend.

Harry stood alone in the hallway, watching the last flicker of green die down in the hearth. The warmth of the house did nothing to melt the cold knot that had taken root in his stomach.

For the rest of the evening, he kept to himself. He skipped tea. Pretended to read. Avoided Sirius when he came by with another batch of wizarding crackers and tales from the Auror Office. And when dinner was served, Harry sat in silence as James and Sirius debated the latest Cannons vs. Harpies match, and Lily gently scolded them for ignoring Rose’s story about her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.

It wasn’t until he was back in his room, seated on the cushioned windowsill overlooking the snow-covered garden, that he let himself think.

Really think.

He replayed the moment in Diagon Alley again and again—the tingling at the back of his neck, the voice inside his head commanding him to walk, the way his hand had dropped Rose’s before he took that first step toward Knockturn Alley.

Bring the girl with you, the voice had said.

Not bring her because she’s with you.

Not bring anyone.

The girl.

Harry’s breath fogged the glass in front of him as realization sank in like a weight in his chest.

“They weren’t after me,” he whispered aloud.

His voice sounded strange in the stillness of the room.

“All this time, I thought I was the target. Because of who I am… because of my past. But they weren’t trying to control me. Not for me. They wanted her.”

He leaned back against the frame and closed his eyes.

Rose.

It had been about Rose.

If he hadn’t broken the curse. If he hadn’t resisted… he would’ve walked her straight into their hands. Whoever they were. Whoever had followed him through that crowd, masking their wand beneath heavy cloaks and smiling faces.

And worse still—he had no idea why.

What did they want with her? To hurt the Potters? To make a statement? He remembered Sirius once muttering something about how James had “stirred the cauldron too many times” in the old days. Could this be revenge?

A knock on the door made him jump.

It creaked open slightly, and Lily poked her head in. “You alright, Harry? You didn’t say much at dinner.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied quickly. “Just tired.”

She gave him a soft, searching look, but didn’t press. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”

The door closed with a click.

Harry exhaled slowly, his eyes falling on the wand resting beside his pillow.

He didn’t know what this was yet. He didn’t know who those cloaked men were or what they wanted with Rose.

But he did know one thing.

He wasn’t always going to be there to protect her.

And if he wanted to stop them—if he wanted to make sure no one ever got close again—he needed to be ready. Smarter. Stronger.


Snow coated the rolling hills outside Potter Manor in a soft, glistening blanket that shimmered under the pale winter sun. The manor, adorned with garlands of enchanted holly and floating candles that exuded warmth and cheer, looked like something out of a wizarding painting. Tinsel sparkled down the banister of the grand staircase, and dozens of wrapped presents had been neatly arranged beneath the towering Christmas tree in the drawing room, its ornaments twinkling like stars suspended in time.

For the first time in years, Harry found himself in the middle of a completely muggle Christmas celebration. The Potters had gone all out. And yet, amidst all the magical cheer and warm food, Harry felt… oddly out of place.

It wasn’t that the Potters had been unkind. In fact, James and Lily had tried very hard to make the holidays special. Too hard, Harry thought.

Lily baked his favorite shortbread biscuits and always asked if he wanted more pumpkin juice. James offered to play wizard chess or fly broomsticks, but somehow, the invitations felt rehearsed—like they were trying to fill the gaps left by Charlie, who had remained at Hogwarts over the break.

And then there was Sirius Black. Every time he appeared, the atmosphere shifted. James reverted to his schoolboy self, regaling them with stories of past Gryffindor mischief, none of which cast Slytherins—or bookish students like Harry—in a particularly favorable light.

Harry often sat quietly, sipping his cocoa, as they laughed. He had learned to smile when needed, to laugh when expected.

But it wasn’t his world.

Rose, on the other hand, was thriving. She was gleaming with excitement, rushing from person to person, tearing through every room with Astoria Greengrass, who had returned for another visit just two days before Christmas.

It was Christmas Eve when Daphne arrived.

She came through the Floo Network in a flurry of green flames, her traveling cloak dusted with snow and her expression cool but polite. Astoria squealed in surprise, running to hug her sister.

Rose blinked and stepped back, slightly startled at Daphne's sudden appearance. “You didn’t tell me your sister was coming for Christmas,” she said to Astoria, smiling tightly.

“She only decided this morning,” Astoria replied, still beaming.

Daphne’s eyes met Harry’s briefly. She gave a short nod. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas,” Harry said with a small smile. “Didn’t think you'd actually come.”

“Well,” Daphne said, brushing snow from her shoulder, “it is Christmas, and Astoria wouldn’t shut up about how much fun she was having here.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—!” Astoria began, clearly caught off guard.

“It’s fine,” Daphne added quickly. “Besides, I figured you needed someone to save you from choking on syrupy niceties.”

That earned a small smirk from Harry.

With Daphne’s arrival, something shifted in the house.

Rose had always been the center of attention—the energetic little sister, the one who could charm anyone with her wit and wonder. But now, she watched Daphne closely, especially when Daphne stood near Harry, when she laughed at his dry comments or when he asked her to help him set up the enchanted snow globe on the mantelpiece.

Astoria noticed it too. And soon, the three girls—Astoria, Daphne, and Rose—were circling each other in subtle rivalry.

“You know,” Rose said later that evening as they sat by the roaring fire in the drawing room, “you never told me how you became friends with Daphne, Harry.”

Harry raised a brow. “She’s my housemate. We’ve been in the same.”

Astoria leaned in with a mischievous grin. “She’s more than just a housemate, though. You two always disappear into your private rooms. Blaise too.”

Rose gave a pointed look. “Oh yes, the exclusive club.”

Harry snorted. “We study, if that’s what you mean. Daphne’s the only person I can revise Arithmancy with without wanting to jump into the lake.”

Daphne, lounging on the armrest of Harry’s chair, glanced at Rose coolly. “It’s not a competition, Rose.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Rose replied sweetly.

The tension was light enough not to cause a scene, but Harry felt it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, “Anyone want to go help Sirius with that levitating sleigh thing he’s obsessed with?”

All three girls replied at once.

“I will,” said Rose.

“I should go too,” said Astoria.

“I’d rather not,” Daphne added, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

And so, the lines were drawn.


Christmas morning at Potter Manor dawned quiet and cold, with soft flakes of snow dusting the tall windows of Harry’s guest room. A gentle warmth radiated from the enchanted fireplace, and for a moment, he simply sat up in bed and stared at the neatly wrapped packages that had been arranged on the foot of his bed while he slept.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, letting the moment settle in. There were many gifts. More than he expected.

The first he noticed was a silver-and-green wrapped box from Daphne Greengrass. A small card in elegant script read:

“To Harry. Happy Christmas. I figured you’d use this more than anyone. —D.”

Inside was a beautifully enchanted self-refilling ink bottle and a matching dark wood quill set with a charm to never blot or smear, engraved subtly with serpents winding up the shaft. Practical. Thoughtful. Very Daphne.

Next was a slim box from Blaise. Inside was a pair of black dragonhide gloves. Nothing flashy, but of the highest quality. A note attached read:

“For dueling, or breaking into forbidden rooms. Merry Christmas, mate. —Blaise.”

Harry smirked at the blunt honesty.

Astoria's gift was next. Wrapped in crimson and gold—cheeky for a Slytherin—it contained a box of enchanted chocolate frogs, each with a personal note about the magical creature on the card. But more than that, the card read:

“Merry Christmas, Harry! Thank you for showing me Hogwarts through your eyes. You’re very cool, even if you’re all green and broody. —Astoria.”

He chuckled.

Then came the pile from his family. Molly, of course, had sent another of her infamous hand-knitted jumpers—this one emerald green with a golden H stitched in the center. A large parcel contained homemade fudge, spiced pumpkin tarts, and treacle toffee. Arthur had slipped in a mechanical trinket enchanted to mimic the ticking of a Muggle pocket watch, “just in case the Hogwarts clocks ever break,” as he wrote.

Percy had sent a new academic planner, labeled meticulously with dates and color-coded sections. Fred and George’s gift exploded glitter when he opened it, revealing a box labeled “Emergency Mischief Kit—Use Responsibly (or don’t).” Ron’s was a new Chudley Cannons poster.

Even Bill and Charlie had contributed. Bill sent a protective charm bracelet carved with ancient Egyptian runes, and Charlie, in his familiar messy scrawl, wrote:

“Stay safe, Harry. Merry Christmas. I’m proud of you.”

Harry paused at that. It meant more than he’d admit.

Then came the Potters’ gift.

Harry hesitated before opening it.

Wrapped in elegant dark red paper, it was from James and Lily—though he suspected Lily had chosen the gift. Inside was a rare, out-of-print book: “The Evolution of Ancient Magical Runes: Volume I” by Iona Carrow. Carefully preserved. Priceless for someone interested in runic magic. A folded note was tucked inside:

“You don’t have to say thank you. We just want you to know you’re not forgotten. —Lily & James.”

Harry stared at it for a long time, unsure of what to feel.

Rose, standing in the doorway with a wide smile, held out her own gift awkwardly. “I didn’t know what to get you,” she said, cheeks pink. “So I made something.”

Harry opened the box. Inside was a magically animated drawing of him, Rose, Astoria and Daphne all sitting in the Potter's living room. The sketch blinked, waved, and moved gently like a photograph. It was a strange, heartwarming blend of talent and sentiment.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said quietly. “Thank you, Rose.”

Lastly, there were two letters that arrived via separate owls just that morning.

One was from Sirius Black—charismatic and flamboyant as ever. His gift was an enchanted deck of wizard cards that shuffled and cursed insults at whoever lost the game.

“To keep your mind sharp and your ego sharper. —Padfoot.”

The second was from Remus Lupin. A quiet, neat package with a leather-bound book called “The Ethics of Power: Dark Magic, Light Hearts.” The note attached read:

“I think you’ll find more of yourself in here than you expect. Stay curious. Stay kind. —Moony.”

By the end of the morning, Harry’s bed was buried in paper, ribbons, books, sweets, trinkets, and memory.

He had never felt so seen. Or so overwhelmed.

Daphne and Astoria eventually left via Floo, leaving a slightly calmer—but still awkward—Potter household. Sirius remained in and out, and though the awkwardness between Harry and the adults never quite vanished, it softened under the warmth of winter evenings, shared meals, and quiet laughter.

Eventually, it was time to return to Hogwarts.

On the morning of departure, the Potters all came with him to King's Cross Station. This time, Rose clung to Harry’s arm, still laughing about something Astoria had said before she left. James gave Harry a firm nod. “Keep your head down, son. Trouble seems to chase you.”

Lily hugged him gently. “Write to us if you need anything.”

And Sirius just said, “Try not to fight any professors this term. Unless they really deserve it.”

Harry smirked. “No promises.”

He boarded the train with his trunk, Rose waving behind him. As he slid into his compartment, settling into the cushioned seat and watching the platform fade through the frost-kissed window, Harry realized something:

He wasn’t quite the same boy who had left Hogwarts for the holidays.

And whatever came next, he was ready for it.