Choosing Family: Hogsmeade Saturday

[sapphirequill]

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All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, and I am neither Jo nor am I in anyway affiliated with any of said companies: ergo, I in no way, shape, or form own the creative entities with which I am playing. In addition, I have not made nor do I intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.

Particular thanks must be given to Tithenai, Malefi, and Phoenix Writing, who are making this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own.

Detailed author notes can be found before the prologue.

Originally posted 8 Dec. '05; edited version posted 17 Mar. '06

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Hogsmeade Saturday

Harry Potter didn't think there was a more gratifying phrase in the English language than 'Hogsmeade Saturday.' Well, perhaps 'Hogsmeade Saturday after defeating Voldemort and soundly trouncing Slytherin for the Quidditch cup.' Sadly, though, that phrase wasn't used very often. However, Gryffindor had defeated Slytherin – several weeks ago and largely because the snitch decided to swerve right rather than left but defeated nonetheless – and Voldemort had been relatively quiet, at least for the last couple of weeks, so he decided to take what he could get and make the most of it.

He was particularly enjoying this Hogsmeade trip – the stores festively decorated with garlands and candles, the carollers singing, the snow lightly falling. Last year, Harry had been hit with a hex in a meeting of the DA which had reacted very badly with a potion he'd tested in class earlier in the afternoon. As a result, not only had he missed the Hogsmeade trip, but he'd also spent the latter half of November and all of December in the hospital wing, missing the Christmas feast and most of the holidays, as well, since Madam Pomfrey had frowned on both large groups and long visits.

Pleased with the gift he had purchased for Hermione, Harry wove his way through the crowds of people in Dervish and Bangs towards the door, Another advantage of Ron and Hermione finally admitting they are mad for each other, Harry thought, is that they've managed to keep each other occupied while I found presents for the both of them.

Ron and Hermione had been dancing around each other for years without actually doing anything about it. The betting pool – arranged by the twins, of course – had reached unprecedented amounts as they continued to face obstacles: Ron's density, Hermione's pride, their mutual obstinacy. They had finally been forced to admit their feelings for each other during the winter holidays of their sixth year. Harry had urged his friends to take advantage of his inability to leave the hospital wing to give Ron and Ginny a chance to experience life with Muggles, and the two youngest Weasleys were invited to spend the last week of holidays with the Grangers. Ginny got along splendidly with Hermione's Muggle cousin who lived nearby, leaving Ron and Hermione to spend a great deal of time together, and New Year's Eve was apparently the end of their denial. They still refused to tell Harry the whole story, but for weeks after their return the words 'broom-cupboard' or 'orange' had made them blush, and while Ron glared at Crookshanks in a way that he hadn't done since the Scabbers incident of third year, Harry'd caught him surreptitiously feeding the half-kneazle in the common room on more than one occasion.

Finding a Christmas gift for Ron had been relatively easy. Despite consoling himself about having to use yet another family hand-me-down by claiming that Bill's keeper gloves were 'lucky,' he was certainly going to need newer ones if he wanted a chance at playing professionally after graduation. His game had become much more consistent with two years' practice, and the professional scouts who were coming to Gryffindor games and practices to see Harry play were staying to watch Ron.

The new gloves were sufficiently costly that there was no way Ron would accept them if they had come solely from Harry, so he had gotten Ginny and the Weasley twins to agree to getting the gloves as a gift from the four of them together. After hearing what the twins claimed they were intending to get for their younger brother, Harry thought that the plan itself may have been a better gift to Ron than the gloves. He and Ginny had selected a pair, and as part of her share she had been elected responsible for transporting them back to Hogwarts, wrapping them, and hiding them until Christmas, an arrangement Harry was more than happy to endorse.

His female best friend had been a bit more difficult to select a gift for, since Harry refused to punish himself by supporting her obsessive study habits. He had been very tempted to simply walk in to the bookstore and ask for the largest, dustiest book they had, but that had been his solution for several gifts over the past two years, and while it was a very successful approach, he thought it best to attempt something different occasionally.

There had been several possibilities in Scrivenshaft's, but nothing had seemed quite right until he'd found a wizarding music box in Dervish and Bangs. It was rectangular, not very large, and made of a highly polished cherry wood; moreover, it could even be charmed to play Muggle music.

Hermione had been named Head Girl, to the surprise of absolutely no one, and claimed to be thrilled to have a quiet room of her own in which to study. Harry had been confused a couple of weeks into term, therefore, when she had begun spending more time in the common room despite being clearly frustrated by the antics of the younger students while preparing for her more difficult NEWTs. Several weeks, a couple of comments, and one illuminating conversation with Ginny later, Harry realized that Hermione found her private room a little too quiet. The music box, Harry hoped, would provide background noise without being distracting.

The panel on the top of the music box was designed to hold a photo, and Harry was certain that without much effort he would be able to convince Colin to part with one of the many pictures he had taken over the years of Ron, Hermione, and himself to put there.

The easiest gift to find, by far, would be Ginny's: being the youngest of seven and the only girl, she had created a long, detailed list, complete with the colour, size, and cost of each item, as well as where it could be purchased. When asked, Ron had given him a copy, and Harry had discovered that one of the boys had Charmed it to update itself, crossing off items that had been claimed by others. After a closer look, he'd also been reminded of Ginny's sadistic streak.

Under no circumstances was he going to get her a Harry Potter action figure.

When Harry had turned seventeen this past summer, he had discovered the downside to being an adult: he no longer had the luxury of trust funds and caretakers when it came to protection from the merchandisers of the wizarding world. Being neither an escaped criminal nor the headmaster of Hogwarts meant most people believed he was easier to approach and to manipulate. While this was partially true in that people were aware he spent the school year at Hogwarts, he did have good advisors, not to mention a mind of his own. Unfortunately, in light of his less than immaculate reputation – due largely to the rumours spread by the Daily Prophet – as much as he would like to, the PR nightmare that would ensue if he were to refuse altogether would be disastrous. Since Fudge had been removed from office and replaced by Amelia Bones, the reputation of the Ministry of Magic was improving, but it was not yet what it should be, and the wizarding world was happy with their vision of Harry as the symbol for the 'side of light.' Both Dumbledore and Madam Bones had spoken with him on the subject, and after a great deal of agonizing, he'd decided he could stand the humiliation of a few carefully controlled interviews and a limited selection of products.

The only benefit to the entire 'business' was that it had created a legitimate way to pay Remus his stipend from the Black vaults.

When Sirius had died, he'd officially left everything to his godson. Letters to Remus and Harry had explained that he didn't want to make things worse for Remus, who had enough difficulties as a werewolf without being accused of fraternizing with a convicted criminal, but he had intended to split the inheritance between them, and Remus should shut up and take it. Remus, of course, hadn't, but he'd been hired as Harry's representative in making any decisions regarding what could be produced and managing the entire enterprise. He also supervised the distribution of the profits made from the sales to assorted charities, and the amount Remus had been willing to accept was far less than what the average firm would charge for the same duties. However, since Remus was living in the newly redecorated house on Grimmauld Place, and Harry refused to accept any rent – someone had to keep an eye on Kreacher, after all – Remus was adamant.

Harry still had a while before he was expected to meet Ron and Hermione at the Three Broomsticks, so with Ginny's list in hand, he headed up towards the centre of Hogsmeade. His destination was a small curiosity shop which had recently opened next to the post office, a place called Siren's Song. He would be looking for – he checked once more to be certain – a purple and orange bullfrog alarm clock, 20 centimetres high (2g, 6s, 3k). As he entered the store, he realized that even with Ginny's careful instructions, he was out of his depth. The store was a riot of colour and shapes, with objects covering every flat surface, dangling from the shelves, flying across the ceiling, and crawling along the floor.

He looked around for a moment, then headed directly towards the counter in search of an employee. The witch behind the counter, who looked rather like Trelawney must have when she was young, seemed to know exactly what Ginny wanted once he read off his instructions and offered to retrieve one for him. He accepted gratefully and moved aside from the counter to look at the items on the wall while he waited.

His attention was almost immediately drawn to a small sculpture, about 10cm square. It was carved in a grey and black stone, which, upon reading the card next to it, he discovered was actually something called 'snowflake obsidian'. A wolf and cub were curled up into each other, and the expression on the adult wolf as he looked down on the cub was one of such intensity and love that Harry caught his breath. He started slightly as the cub opened his eyes and stretched before leaping on some invisible prey. The younger continued to run in circles for a few moments while the older watched indulgently. Harry almost missed the paw that snuck out to trip the cub, causing him to collapse in a heap against his assailant. The cub seemed to grin at Harry as he panted for a moment before settling back into his nap. The adult wolf gave Harry an amused glance before he gazed back at the cub, returning them to their original position.

He was so caught up in his examination that he did not notice Ron and Hermione had found him until Ron placed a hand on his shoulder. Harry managed to control his impulse to defend himself but vowed to pay more attention in the future.

"What's got you so preoccupied, Harry? I called your name four times."

He pointed at the carving, "The wolves – they're... compelling."

Ron looked at the black and white canines – the cub was running in circles again – and shrugged as if to say, 'they're ok,' but Hermione asked, "What do you mean, 'compelling'?"

"I don't know; I just feel like I'm supposed to have it."

Hermione pulled out her wand, aimed it at the sculpture, and muttered something Harry couldn't hear. "Well, there aren't any compulsion spells on it, or anything else for that matter, other than the animation charm."

Ron looked at her askance, as though he couldn't believe she thought any respectable store would do such a thing, but Harry was grateful – too many strange and dangerous things happened to him as it was.

The shop girl returned just then with Ginny's bullfrog – possibly the most hideous thing Harry had ever seen – and offered, "If you'd like, we can add standard protection and well-being charms to any of our item at no additional cost."

"Yes, please, on that, and this one as well," he said, pointing to the wolves.

"Do you need us to disappear for a bit, Harry?" Hermione asked while they were waiting for the parcels to be wrapped. "I know we're early."

"No, you're both done." He grinned at the speculative glances they sent towards his bags, "and your gifts have been sent to the castle." His friends knew that there was no need to worry about any sneaky tactics when it came to the gifts they'd bought for him: he'd finally grown secure enough in their friendship to know to expect them, but receiving presents was still sufficiently rare that he savoured the expectation as much as the actual items.

Despite it being nearly noon, the trio of Gryffindors decided that they were not yet ready to eat, so they took advantage of the opportunity to head to the bookstore, figuring that grumbling stomachs would remind them to leave if Hermione became too engrossed in the selection.

Harry had to admit, at least to himself, that he couldn't be certain how much of his enjoyment of the wizarding village came from the village itself and how much was derived from how different his life was here than in Surrey – or anywhere else he spent his summer holidays. In Hogsmeade, he had, within the usual bounds set for adolescents, the chance to wander where he liked, purchase what he wanted, and associate with whomever he wanted. And the ministry aurors, who – let's be honest – are supervising the students because I'm here, are better than the Dursleys or Dudley's gang and not nearly as restricting as life at Grimmauld Place. It was a sense of freedom he had experienced only once before, in Diagon Alley just before third year.

As it turned out, the only one of the three to purchase anything at the bookshop was Harry. He'd found a first edition of a text that Remus had mentioned particularly admiring while the two of them had been wading through the books in the Black library and decided it would make the perfect gift for the older man.

The Three Broomsticks was predictably full, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione were greeted enthusiastically by a table of their house-mates loitering over the end of their meal. The hum of the students' excited chatter was disrupted briefly when Narcissa Malfoy descended the staircase in search of her son. None of the aurors there seemed surprised to see her, and she glided past them as though her husband were the Minister for Magic rather than a dangerous fugitive. After a few words with her son which Harry, unfortunately, could not hear, Crabbe and Goyle wandered off to join a number of upper level Slytherins sitting near the rear exit, and the Malfoys withdrew upstairs.

Aside from a rather loud crash from a table of Ravenclaws, the remainder of their lunch was uneventful, and Harry very much enjoyed the opportunity to socialize with his friends. The omnipresent bodyguards and his curiosity about what was happening upstairs, however – in the time it had taken Harry and his friends to enjoy a leisurely meal neither Draco nor his mother had returned to the main room – kept him from being able to relax fully. The Mystery of the Missing Malfoys... it sounded like a book Dudley would have owned as a child, but Harry would have given a great deal to know what they were doing.

"Harry."

Ron's tone and Hermione's concerned expression told him that yet again they had said his name more than once, and he shook his head to clear it.

"Sorry – caught up in my own thoughts, I guess." He noticed that Madam Rosemerta had returned with their change, and his friends had their cloaks and parcels in hand. He stood and gave them a reassuring grin as he gathered his own belongings. "Ready to finish shopping, then?"

"Not really," moaned Ron, "It's the last Hogsmeade trip before the hols, and I still have no idea what to get m'mum."

Harry grinned with the gloating of a man who had already gotten gifts for everyone on his Christmas list and followed his friends – currently bickering about Ron's tendency to procrastinate – out of the pub.

Several hours later, all three of them had finished their shopping with better than expected success and were headed back to the castle. As they passed the Three Broomsticks, Harry noticed that while Draco was nowhere to be seen, Narcissa Malfoy was speaking with Tonks on the steps of the pub.

The relationship between the two women had never been cordial but had reached a new low in the last year and a half. With the last male of the House of Black declared officially dead, Draco Malfoy was the heir to the Black legacy, and Narcissa had mounted a lavish court battle to have Sirius's will overturned and the entirety of the Black fortunes awarded to Draco.

Unfortunately for the Malfoys, capture of the Death Eaters in the Ministry had provided several witnesses for the defence – including Lucius Malfoy himself, much to his wife's annoyance – who could testify to the innocence of Sirius Black. The Wizengamot did, however, acknowledge Draco's status as the Black heir, and a settlement was decided upon which placed anything which was entailed to the estate in a trust for him, to be managed by Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror and a respected member of the Black line, in conjunction with Albus Dumbledore, representative of the Wizengamot and Draco's guardian during the school year, and a representative chosen by Gringotts.

Fortunately for the Order of the Phoenix, the house on Grimmauld Place and Kreacher were not entailed.

The trust was arranged so as to be explicitly inaccessible by Lucius and Narcissa. Their son received a stipend which was sufficiently large that Malfoy did not seem terribly hampered by being restricted to it, which was fortunate, since the majority of Malfoy assets had been frozen shortly thereafter and were being monitored by Wizengamot and Gringotts. The family Malfoy was certainly not impoverished, but the receipts were being carefully tracked, making it much more difficult to siphon funds to support certain Dark Lords. It meant that Tonks was forced to endure repeated confrontations with her aunt who – rightly, Harry had to admit – saw her as the trustee most likely to concede. Even so, 'most likely' did not mean she would.

"You forget something, mate?"

"What?" Harry noticed that while he had stopped to stare, Ron and Hermione had not, and they were well ahead of him. He quickly caught up but recognized the look on Hermione's face and knew that he would need to tell her something.

As they crossed through the gates onto the Hogwarts grounds, Hermione turned to Harry. "You've been distracted all day. Is everything all right?" Her eyes flicked up to his scar.

"Just thinking about how much I enjoy being in Hogsmeade and how thankful I am for crowded trains and wayward trolls." It wasn't a complete lie; he had been thinking that earlier.

"We like you, too, Harry," Ron replied with a grin, but Hermione's gaze sharpened. "Are you certain you're going to be alright over the holidays?" she asked earnestly.

Harry sighed dramatically. "We've had this conversation already." His obvious desire to avoid repeating it went unheeded as the exasperated glance he expected to share with Ron was instead met with an intent look.

Ron's "Are you sure you don't want to come to the Burrow with us, mate?" collided with Hermione's "Because we can stay here with you if you'd like."

"I am absolutely fine with the two of you going to the Burrow while I stay here. Dumbledore said he's expecting some qualified instructors to stay at the castle over the holidays – members of the Order, I expect – to do some additional training with me." He laughed at Hermione's unsuccessful attempt to hide her envy. "And I promise to share everything I learn, so you can't use me as your excuse. I don't know why you're so nervous; you've already met the in-laws."

While Ron punched him lightly and turned beet red, Hermione huffed and glared at him.

In exchange for having Ron and Ginny visit the Grangers last year, Hermione and Harry had been invited to the Burrow for Christmas. Harry had discussed the matter with the headmaster and decided that, given the additional safety precautions that would have to be taken for him to have gone, he would rather not make things more stressful. This was especially true since Bill and Fleur would be getting married over the holidays, and the Burrow was expected to be beyond full as it was. The wedding was also the primary reason for Hermione's tension about the visit. The questions about the status of her relationship with Ron – and when they expected to have their own wedding – had already begun and were increasing as time passed.

"Besides," he added cheerfully, "I think one of the people coming to train me might be Moony."

The conversation drifted back to innocuous and lighthearted topics as they made their way up the path to the school. Before the three Gryffindors had finished crossing the castle lawn, Hagrid met them with the message that Harry was to go directly to the Headmaster's office.

Once Harry had given the password – Sugar Quill – and the gargoyle had moved aside, Harry rode the staircase with some trepidation. Since whatever this meeting was about couldn't wait until Monday morning when he had a training session with Dumbledore scheduled during his free period, and he hadn't done anything – at least, he amended with a mental grin, I haven't been caught doing anything – worthy of a scolding, the topic was likely to be something unexpected and awful or unexpected and nice. And given that it's me, Harry sighed as he knocked on the door on the landing, I know which one I'd put money on.

When Harry opened the door to find the Headmaster sitting on a love seat with a tea service before him and Professor Snape standing by the mantle, glowering into the fire, he increased his mental bet. Definitely something awful.

"Welcome, Harry. Please, have a seat."

As he moved towards one of the large, comfortable chairs flanking the love seat – as far from the scowling Potions professor as he could possibly get – Harry noticed the rather large plate of sandwiches on the table and braced himself for what was likely to be a very long and difficult conversation.

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