"Ron!"

Harry nearly fell off his chair. It was the last thing he expected...company! And it was wonderful. Seeing Ron step out of the floo was like getting an unexpected second wind. The restless feeling that had plagued Harry for the past weeks evaporated like mist, chased away by a wave of cheerfulness that left him feeling almost giddy with happiness.

"Harry! Happy Christmas, Mate!" Ron bellowed as he pulled Harry into a bear hug. Harry thumped Ron heartily on the back, but stopped quickly when he felt the other boy wince. In his excitement, he’d forgotten about Ron’s recent encounter with the brains...

"Sorry, Mate," he said sheepishly and pulled away. "Didn’t mean to hit you that hard. How are you feeling? And what are you doing here?"

Harry knew he probably looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop grinning. He was going to have someone to talk with on Christmas! Harry didn’t mind the idea of spending Christmas alone, since he pretty much spent all of his pre-Hogwarts Christmases alone, anyway. But now, staring at Ron, he was struck by the realization that he’d been - of all things - lonely.

"I’m visiting you, bonehead," Ron said. The elder boy dropped a sack he’d brought with him on the floor and flopped down into one of the chairs Dumbledore had conjured before he left. "Mum told me yesterday that I could come visit you today, and she said that Dumbledore agreed to let us hang out in his office. I couldn’t just let my best mate spend Christmas alone, could I?"

The sincerity in Ron’s voice was clear, and Harry felt a rush of affection for his friend. Of all the decisions he’d made in his life, by far the best was sitting with Ron on that first trip aboard the Hogwarts Express.

"Besides," Ron continued. "I had to get away from Mum. She’s driving me right bonkers fawning over me. At first I thought it was kinda neat, but now it’s becoming downright oppressive. Today, she actually asked me if I needed help tying my shoes." Ron shook his head as he tried, unsuccessfully, to kick off one of his trainers.

"Imagine that," Harry snickered as he took the seat opposite his friend. "How are you feeling?"

"I feel great." Ron shrugged as he finally managed to remove the stubborn shoe. Harry couldn’t imagine being comfortable enough in Dumbledore’s office to kick off his trainers, but for some reason, Ron was good ok with it, despite the fact that he’d only been in the Headmaster’s office a few times.

"Madame Pomfrey says I’ll be good as new by the time school starts up again," Ron added. "Check it out, though."

Harry watched as Ron leaned forward and pushed his jumper aside to show a long, angry red scar that ran from the hollow of his collar bone all the way to the edge of his shoulder. As far as scars went, it was an impressive one.

"Whoa, mate," Harry whistled. "That’s a right good scar you’ve got there. Can’t Madame Pomfrey fix it?"  Harry was surprised that the scar still looked as bad as it did. Looking at it, he felt a sharp twinge in the pit of his stomach, reminding him, rather unpleasantly, of how close they’d come to disaster.

"Well, to tell the truth," Ron whispered conspiratorially. "I asked her not to." Harry looked up, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

"Why?" he asked in disbelief. "I’d give just about anything to get rid of this one," Harry said, pointing to the accursed lighting bolt on his forehead. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want a reminder like that.

"Well, the way I see it, the girls might like it," Ron gushed. He pushed his jumper back into place, kicked his feet out in front of him, and stretched out in the chair. "You know Lavender Brown?" he continued. Harry nodded.

"Well, Ginny told me that before we left for break, she was going on about how brave I am, and how she wants to see my scars, and stuff," Ron added emphatically, wagging his eyebrows up and down lasciviously. Harry laughed. Personally, he thought it was a bit warped to remain scarred just to impress a girl, but he could see Ron’s point, to some degree.

"I don’t know," Harry quipped. "Scars can be a bit of a pain, too. But maybe you’ll have better luck with yours."

"Let’s hope so, Mate. I’d much rather have some pretty girl chasing me around than some crazed lunatic."

"What is the pretty girl is a crazed lunatic?" Harry asked with a smile. Ron, however, was undeterred.

"As long as she doesn’t have red eyes and a snake face," he responded quickly. "Hey, I’m getting hungry. Think there’s any chance of getting something to eat?" Ron rubbed his stomach and, as if on cue, it growled loudly.

Harry almost laughed out loud. Sitting around, talking to Ron about pretty girls and food seemed so normal. So very, very normal. And it had seemed like ages since Harry had felt like anything was normal in his life....

"Harry!" Ron prompted. "Earth to Harry... you there?"

Harry shook his head. "Yeah, I’m here. Just thinking of how glad I am to see you." Harry replied happily as he stood and marched to the floo. "Christmas breakfast coming up!"

One fire call to the kitchen, and several plates of steaming sausages and eggs later, the two boys were sitting comfortably in front of the fire, nearly immobile from the amount of food consumed. They had spent the better part of the hour laughing, eating, and discussing almost anything they could think of. Harry found out that Hedwig was safe and well-fed at the Weasleys; that Hermione was doing well, and would return to Hogwarts after break; and sadly, that Voldemort was once again operating in the open, with Death Eater attacks becoming more frequent.

"What’s the Ministry doing about the attacks," Harry asked nervously. He already knew the answer, but still, it seemed like an appropriate question to ask. Ron just snorted, though.

"Nothin’. They don’t know what to do," he mumbled around a last mouthful of sausage. "They’re completely helpless. Although, Fudge seems to think you’d be able to help somehow."

Ron was quiet for a moment, and Harry had the distinct impression that he was waiting for him to say something. But Harry wasn’t quite sure what to say. "Yeah, I’m the chosen one," seemed inappropriate, even if true. And "Fudge is an idiot," was just too obvious. So instead, Harry opted to simply chew on his lower lip. After a few moments, Ron cleared his throat and continued.

"There was an article in the Daily Prophet yesterday that said that Fudge is trying to get custody of you."

Ron’s comment startled Harry. "Yesterday?" he asked in confusion. "Are you sure?"

Ron nodded, but to Harry, it just didn’t make sense. He’d had the paternity test last week - Fudge was there and saw the results. Why would he be trying to get custody of him now, Harry wondered. And more importantly, could he? As much as he disliked Snape, Harry knew he was at least relatively safe with the bat. With Fudge, he’d be in deep trouble. Harry made a mental note to ask his father about it when he returned. Maybe it was just Fudge’s way of preening for the media.... of trying to garner enough support just to stay in office...

Almost unconsciously, Harry stood and walked to the large picture window overlooking the quidditch pitch. It was amazingly bright outside. The sky - a deep cornflower blue - was unbroken except for the sun which sat high in its mid-afternoon position. The brilliance of the sun, however, was nearly matched by the dazzling expanse of snow that lay over the grounds, and Harry was left wondering if the sun and ice were secretly battling to see which could outshine the other. The were both beautiful, but in the end, Harry hoped the sun would win. He closed his eyes, allowing himself, just for a moment, to drink in the warmth of its rays as they streamed through the window and bathed the office in a rich, honey colored light. It felt delicious, and it took a moment before he was able to pull himself out of the feeling enough to register the fact that Ron was talking to him.

"Harry, are you o.k.?" Ron asked quietly from Harry’s side.

Harry looked at his friend, noting the worried expression that rarely crossed the elder Gryffindor’s face. It was clear that, despite its simplicity, the question was heavily weighted. To Harry, the question seemed to convey a deep, visceral concern that struck an aching chord somewhere inside of him. It felt as if it was the first time since any of this had happened - since the Ministry, since Sirius, since Snape... that someone had asked him, really asked him, if he was doing o.k. And as much as Harry wanted to tell Ron that he was fine... the words wouldn’t come. They were hopelessly tangled in the knot forming at the back of his throat, and the best that Harry could manage was an unconvincing nod.

"Mate, it’s going to be ok, you’ll see," Ron said, as he patted Harry stiffly on the back. "Just because you have a rotten family doesn’t mean anything. Hell, look at Percy. I mean, it’s all going to work out, ok?" he finished weakly.

Ron’s attempt to console Harry came out a little awkward, and Harry suspected that his friend was trying to think of what his mother might say in under the circumstances. But it didn’t matter. In fact, he desperately hoped that Ron was right - that everything would work out. But in truth, Harry was having a difficult time believing it. The circumstances just seemed too far beyond complicated to ever actually "work out."

Harry shrugged. "So, you know, then?" Harry thought it sounded rather lame even as he said it. Clearly, Ron knew. He wouldn’t be surprised if the entire school knew by now.

Ron snorted. "Hate to tell you, Harry, but the whole world knows. You, Snape, the paternity test. Everything. The Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, Wizarding Radio, you name it - they’re going bonkers."

Harry groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. Not that he was expecting anything different, but on some level, he was hoping that maybe it wouldn’t be such a big deal, in light of the news of Voldemort’s return. Apparently though, the press couldn’t get enough of him, notwithstanding the fact that the most evil wizard known to their world was once again roaming the streets.

"Brilliant," Harry sighed. "What are they saying? I mean, besides the obvious..."

Ron looked pensieve for a moment before responding.

"Well, that’s the odd thing. They’re going crazy over this, but more about Snape than you. I mean, you’re in there in everything... but everyone’s going on about what a hero Snape is, and how much he’s given up to keep you safe, and junk like that." Ron eyed Harry worriedly before continuing...

"They’re saying that he had a family, and that they were killed. I overhead Mum and Dad talking about it one night, too. Is it true?" Ron’s question hung heavily in the air. Harry couldn’t answer. Instead, he looked forlornly at his shoes and let the silence speak for him.

"Oh, man." Ron hissed and ran his hand through his hair. "Harry, I’m sorry."

"Me too." Harry replied quietly as he thumped his head against the window. And he was. Desperately sorry.

"Harry," Ron asked warily. "You’re not feeling guilty about that, are you? I mean, it’s not your fault. Anything that happened to them was not your fault."

Harry felt his stomach clench violently. Ron was not known for his perceptive nature, but it seemed to Harry that his friend must have learned a few things over the years, because Ron was able to pinpoint, with amazing accuracy, the heart of what was bothering him. It was the question that had plagued him relentlessly since the paternity test, finally expressed in words. Had he, Harry, been somehow responsible for their deaths? Presumably, he was only a baby when it happened, but still... it would make sense... It would explain why Snape hated him so very much...

"I know," Harry began, "But..." Ron cut him off.

"No buts, Harry. You didn’t do anything. You were just a baby."

"I know," Harry tried again, holding up his hand in a silent plea for Ron to hear him out. "But what if they died, for some reason, because of me? Don’t you think that would explain why Snape hates me? Don’t you think that would give him a right to hate me?" Harry was staring at his friend, willing Ron to see things his way, but Ron was only shaking his head.

"Harry, it might be the reason he hates you, but it’s not really an excuse. He’s the one who joined the death eaters, so it’s his fault."

Harry’s stomach dropped. "Was that it, then? A Death Eater attack? Did the Prophet say that?" Ron nodded slightly.

"Yeah, and I overheard Mum and Dad saying something about it. No details, just that they thought it was an attack."

Both boys were still standing by the window, staring quietly out at the bleak landscape below. It hadn’t snowed since the day Snape told Harry about their relationship, but it had remained unusually cold, and the once powdery snow had formed a brittle crust that sparkled brilliantly in the sun. Harry watched the flickers dance across the ground and silently

contemplated the revelation. It was possible that Voldemort killed them, but something about the explanation felt wrong.

"That doesn’t make sense," Harry said, chewing on his absently. "If Snape was a Death Eater, why would Voldemort kill his wife and son?" He turned expectantly to Ron, but it seemed as though Ron didn’t have any better ideas than Harry.

"I don’t know, Mate," he replied. "It was all kept very hush-hush. Even Mum and Dad don’t really know what happened. But it was about the same time that your Mum and Dad were killed. Rita Skeeter is saying that you’re the ‘lost son’ along with being the ‘chosen one’, whatever she means by that."

Harry groaned. Leave it to Rita Skeeter. Turning his back on the window, he slumped back down into the chair and dropped his head into his hands.

"No, I’m not Snape’s lost son," he said, deliberately avoiding the topic of being ‘the chosen one.’

"Snape showed me a memory of his wife and son when he told me that he... that we..." Harry shook his head. It was harder to get the words out than he would have imagined. He’d been living with the idea for a few weeks, but still, admitting it out loud, to another living person, was unexpectedly painful.

"... that we’re related," he finished weakly.

Ron followed Harry’s lead and flopped back down in the chair next to his friend. "I didn’t figure you were. Rita Skeeter’s convinced that you are, though. She thinks Snape’s wife died, and that he hid your identify for some reason."

"Does anyone believe her?" Harry asked. Ron just shrugged.

"Some do. But folks who know you or knew your parents don’t believe it." Ron caught his mistake only after it was out. "I mean, nobody who knew your mum or James Potter. Sorry, Mate," he stammered.

"You didn’t say anything wrong, Ron." Harry said forcibly. "James Potter was my father. More so than Snape ever could be." And as he said it, Harry felt feel a raw ache embed itself into his chest. His Mum had loved him, and so did James. In spite of their choices, Harry was sure that they had loved him.

"Mum says they loved you very much," Ron offered, as if reading his thoughts. Harry felt his eyes begin to prickle, but he pushed the feeling aside. Still, it felt good to hear someone say it - to know that someone else could confirm the fact that once, he had been a loved child. Harry nodded gratefully, and for few minutes, the two boys sat in heavy silence. After a few minutes, Ron cleared his throat.

"So, how’s it been," he asked as he tried to keep his voice light. "I mean, how’s he been? A bigger git than normal?"

Harry thought about the question for a moment before answering. Truthfully, he didn’t think Snape had been all that bad. At least not since the first few days, anyway. But recently, Snape had been mostly...absent.

"Well," he began. ‘We don’t see each other much. He’s making me stay in the dungeons until school starts again, but we really don’t cross paths. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone. Oh, except for he took my broom and cloak. That was really rotten." Harry was still angry about that - he really wanted his stuff back, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to get it.

"You’re serious?" Ron asked incredulously. "He’s got you under his thumb, and he’s basically just leaving you alone?"

"Well, yeah. I guess so," Harry replied. "He deals with me when he has to, like when we went to the Ministry for testing. But other than that, he pretty much ignores me." Harry stared absently at the fireplace, and idly he wondered how much more time he and Ron would have together before the visit had to end. He didn’t want to spend anymore time on Snape than he had to, but at the same time, it felt good to talk about things with someone else.

"It’s odd, really," Harry continued. "When this first happened, I thought for sure he’d be at total git. He was, at first, and he still is, whenever we’re in the same room. But that doesn’t happen too often. He actually gone today, but I don’t know where he went," Harry finished.

"Probably out feeding on unsuspecting travelers, the bloody vampire," Ron quipped easily. A second later, though, he looked up expectantly at Harry.

"Sorry, Mate," he apologized. "But I don’t have to be respectful or anything now that he’s your dad, do I?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, and he’s not my dad. He’s my father." Harry hated saying that word. Hated that he had to say it about Snape, of all people. "And I don’t care what you say about him, because I would probably agree with it." He tipped his head back against the soft fabric of the chair and sighed.

"But, I think the best thing, for right now anyway, is to sort of keep my head down, you know?" Harry said quietly.

He’d given this a lot of thought... the issue of how to deal with Snape. And it seemed to Harry that, since maybe he was responsible - even indirectly - for Snape’s past losses, the least he could do was not give the man a hard time in the present. He would just keep his head down; not argue; and within reason, do what he was told. If he could keep that up until he turned seventeen, he could walk away from Snape with no regrets. Or, at least not many regrets.

"If you can do it, Mate," Ron added skeptically. "No offense, but you don’t exactly have the best track record." Privately, Harry thought that Ron had a point, but he didn’t see any sense in acknowledging the obvious. Ron, however, was still thinking through the issue.

"But, if you can, maybe he’d ignore you in potions, too," Ron gushed excitedly. "Without Snape deducting points every lecture, we’re sure to have a chance at the House Cup."

Ron’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Harry found himself laughing at his friend’s reasoning. "Can you imagine?" he asked. "Here I was feeling lucky because Snape’s been ignoring me. It would be a real gift if he ignored me right into the House Cup, wouldn’t it?"

"No kidding," Ron agreed. "Hey, did he get you anything? I mean, like a Christmas gift?"

"You’re joking, right?" Harry asked in disbelief. He and Snape didn’t exactly have a gift-giving type of a relationship. Frankly, Harry thought they barely even had a speaking type relationship.

"Well, don’t worry about him," Ron said as he leaned over and picked up the large sack he’d brought with him. Harry had forgotten all about it, but Ron seemed to have been waiting for the right time to open the bag.

"I guess I’ll just have to fill in as good ole’ St. Nick!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Always wanted to do this..." Rummaging around, Ron finally managed to extricate a rather worn package from the depths of the sack. Harry immediately recognized as the present he’d sent to Ron via Hedwig.

"Hey, that’s your gift," he exclaimed. "You didn’t open it yet?" Harry thought he might know why.

"Nah, wanted to wait and open gifts together," Ron announced before diving back into the sack. He pulled out four additional gifts. "Here," he said as he tossed a large, garishly wrapped package to Harry. "You go first. Bet you can’t guess."

The wry smile on Ron’s face gave it away as Harry ripped open the package with delight. He wasn’t much of a gift person - living with the Dursleys had taught him how unimportant "things" could be - but he always looked forward to this particular gift. Tearing through the jumble of holiday paper and ribbons, Harry found one of Mrs. Weasley’s trademark jumpers - burgundy and gold, of course, with a large H in the middle. The box had barely hit the ground by the time he pulled the sweater on, and while it wasn’t the height of fashion, Harry loved it just the same.

"Thanks, Mate. I love it!"

Ron sniggered. "You would," he jeered. "Here, try this instead..." he said, and tossed another, heavier package across the chair. And so it went, for the next half hour, the two friends opened gifts, explored their presents, and generally tried to put the subject of Snape behind them. It wasn’t until the floo came to life and spat out two tall, red haired youths that Harry realized how late it was.

"Ron, Fred!" Harry jumped to his feet in surprise. "It’s great to see you! This is turning into a better Christmas than I could have asked for," Harry beamed.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," the twins declared in unison. "Wouldn’t be Christmas without you, Mate," George said, as he thumped Harry on the back.

"Yes, indeed, Little Harry," Fred added, as he pulled Harry into a hug. "Christmas wouldn’t be complete without a visit with the ‘Long Lost Son’ of our favorite greasy professor." Harry winced as Fred rubbed his knuckles across the top of his head. "Glad to see he hasn’t turned you into potions ingredients..."

"... or chained you in the dungeons," chimed in George.

"Not yet," Harry laughed as he pulled away from Fred’s good-natured, albeit painful grip. "But there’s still time."

"Fear not," Fred consoled as he pulled a small package out of his pocket and set it gently on an unused table. Waving his wand once, the package suddenly expanded until it nearly covered the sideboard. "We bring you tidings of great joy," he said happily as he motioned Harry to come foward.

Harry approached the table warily and looked skeptically at the package. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and didn’t have a bow, which was fine with Harry. But he was little unsure of the smoke drifting lazily out of one corner of the box. One never quite knew what to expect when it came to a gift from the twins...

"Uh, how about comfort?" Harry asked as he eyeballed the smoking package. "Aren’t you supposed to bring tiding of comfort and joy?"

George snorted. "Not likely. These are our products, Mate. The only way they’re comfortable is if you’re not on the receiving end."

A vision of Dudley, tongue swollen hanging out of his mouth, suddenly skipped through Harry’s mind, and he sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the Weasleys were on his side.

"Since you’ve just recently, and unfortunately, become... ‘in the family way’ so to speak, Fred and I thought you might need a few tools to help you through the long days with Daddy." George said proudly. "Lots of stuff in here - some tried and true, some a little newer and relatively untested, but all guaranteed to cause confusion and irritation for the unfortunate victim." George waggled his eyebrows and grinned mischievously.

"Just do us a favor," he added, pointing towards the box. "The ones that are in the red packages? Try and write down how long the oozing lasts. We’ve had mixed results..."

"Ah, thanks guys," Harry said apprehensively. "I’ll find a good use for everything." Privately, though, Harry wasn’t so sure. As much as he loved the Weasleys and their products, he was pretty sure there would be a funeral service in his honor if he tried to use anything on Snape.

"So, you two set up in a shop yet?" he asked, trying to change the subject. The twins shook their head in unison.

"Well, we’re exploring options in Diagon Alley, but so far, nothing’s been decided." Fred answered as he waved his wand and tipped Ron’s chair forward, spilling him unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Hey," Ron protested, but Fred just stepped over him and dropped into the chair.

"Mum and Dad don’t know yet, though" he continued. "So my partner and I," Fred tipped his head towards George, "would appreciate if you didn’t say anything to our beloved parents." He winked conspiratorially at Harry. For what it was worth, Harry had no intention of spilling the beans. Ever since he’d financed their operation out of his tournament earnings, Harry had lived with a nagging fear that Mrs. Weasley would find out and become angry with him. So far, though, he’d luckily avoided that situation.

"No problem," he answered, as he idly watched Ron pick himself up off of the floor and shoot his brother a rather rude hand gesture. Fred rolled his eyes in return.

"Really Ronnie-kinz, why don’t you go practice tying your shoes," George teased as he conjured a chair and dropped down next to his brother. "We want to talk to Harry. So, how are you doing, Mate," he asked, gesturing towards the one remaining chair. "Surviving the bat?"

Harry could see that, although George’s tone was teasing, his concern was sincere. And he appreciated the concern... really, he did. But it was a fairly uncomfortable topic, even among friends.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry croaked as he watched Ron grabbed his shoes and then pulled another chair over to the group. Both boys deposited themselves into the open chairs. Harry pulled his legs up underneath him and watched silently as Ron set about pulling his shoes on.

After a minute, Fred chimed in. "Dad says the story at the ministry is that Fudge looked like he was going to lay an egg when the paternity test turned out positive. I would have loved to have seen it! Can you imagine, our dear Minister doing a chicken dance?" Fred suddenly jumped up, tucked his hands under his arms and started strutting around the room making crowing noises and pecking motions with his head.

Harry laughed at the imitation. It was funny, but not quite right. "Yeah, well... actually, he looked like he was having a little bowel trouble, if you asked me." He clenched his teeth, squeezed his eyes tight shut, and did his best impression of Fudge trying to go to the bathroom, which brought a roaring round of laughter from the Weasleys.

"Well, Fred," George said when the laughter had finally died down a bit. "Maybe we’ll have to come up with a little something to help the dear Minister out - sort of a ‘morning constitution’ - if you will."

"Absolutely, George," Fred chimed in. "I think it’s splendid idea...a real humanitarian effort, if you ask me. "

Harry had no idea what the twins were thinking of, but he could safely say that it was one prank he had no desire to experience in person. They were still laughing when, once again, the grate flared brightly and out stepped a harried looking Mrs. Weasley.

"Fred, George," she exclaimed. "I sent you here to get Ron, not dawdle until the sun goes down!" she scolded. But it was only half hearted, and Harry could tell that she wasn’t really mad at her sons.

"Ah, but the time’s not been totally wasted, dear Mum," George laughed. "We’ve been helping Ron learn to tie his shoes!" Harry looked over at his best friend and noticed a huge knot had taken over his shoelaces. Harry was sure the knot hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

"Shut up!" Ron muttered as he tried, unsuccessfully, to undo the offending tangle. "We’ve just been visiting a little longer with Harry, Mum," he added.

"Never mind, Ron dear," Mrs. Weasley responded as she waved her wand absently towards her son. The jumble of shoelaces fell away, leaving Ron red-faced but otherwise able to walk. Satisfied, she turned to Harry and pulled him into an unexpectedly tight embrace. Harry wasn’t normally a very touchy person, but for some reason, Mrs. Weasley’s embrace felt like coming home. He buried his face against her shoulder and returned the hug eagerly. He felt a little silly, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. He just wanted to postpone the day - the feeling - a little longer, and a hug seemed as good a way as any to do so. After a minute though, he felt the witch gently pull away.

"Happy Christmas, love. How are you," Mrs. Weasley asked gently as she rubbed the fringe from his eyes and placed a small peck on his forehead.

Harry smiled brightly at her. "I’m great, Mrs. Weasley," he replied. And he meant it. He’d had an unexpectedly wonderful Christmas in spite of everything that had happened.

"I’m glad, Harry Dear," she sighed as she patted his cheek. "We’ve been so worried about you. You’ve been through so much lately."

Harry shook his head. "I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley. Especially after today. Thanks for letting Ron come over." He wanted to find a way to let Mrs. Weasley know how much he appreciated her thoughtfulness - to help her to understand that sending Ron was the best gift he could have gotten.

"I’ve had some great Christmases since I’ve met your family, but I think this is the one I’ll remember the most," he said sincerely. And it was. Without even knowing it, he’d desperately needed a friend. And Mrs. Weasley had provided it.

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at him as she rustled her children out of the chairs and towards the floo. "Oh, don’t thank me, Harry dear. I would like to take credit for it, but I can’t."

Harry thought about it for a second. He’d just assumed it was Mrs. Weasley who set up the visit. But if it wasn’t, that left Dumbledore. He was still angry at the Headmaster - deeply, angry - but he also cared for the man, too. At least with his father, it was easy. Harry didn’t like or understand Snape. And Snape didn’t like or understand Harry - end of story. But with the Headmaster... well, it was different. He felt like Dumbledore was one of the first adults who had ever taken an interest in him...ever cared about what happened to him. And Harry found himself in a painfully conflicted position, unsure of how to reconcile the feelings of love and hatred that were warring inside of him. Harry sighed as he watched the Weasleys jam themselves haphazardly into the floo, voicing their goodbyes as they did so.

"Well, then," Harry said to Mrs. Weasley. "I’ll be sure to thank the Headmaster."

Mrs. Weasley gave him one last, knowing look before replying. "Oh, no, Harry dear. Don’t bother to thank Professor Dumbledore for it. He wouldn’t accept the credit either. Your father is the one who asked if Ron could spend the day with you, and he’s the one who worked out the details. You should be sure to thank him."

And with a parting wink, Mrs. Weasley, Ron and the twins were whisked away in a haze of soot. Harry was left alone in the silent office, dumbfounded and confused at the revelation that the most precious gift he’d received that day - the gift of comfort, friendship and normalcy - hadn’t come from Dumbledore, the Weasleys or anyone else who really knew him. Instead, it had come from the one man who, up until that point, Harry had thought understood him least in the world. His father.