Chapter Text
The end of November brings with it the first flurries of winter and the first full breath Peter’s had in a long, long time.
He thinks he would know the date without the calendar tacked to the back of the first year boys’ dorm or the whispers of students excited for the upcoming hols, simply based on how much weight his soul holds. Peter’s always liked winter, the bright joy of Christmas and freedom buoying him under warm blankets of wool and cold ones of snow.
It hasn’t been the same since— well, since, but Hogwarts and the Weasley house had continued on and now so could he, for Harry, who appears as excited for December as Peter feels for Halloween.
They’ll have a good Christmas this year. Peter will make sure of it.
He spends weeks thinking— planning, scheming— and nearly misses the date entirely; he sneaks out only days before and only just makes it back in time, placing a carefully wrapped bundle on the top of the pile at the end of Harry’s bed. He wishes he’d gotten something for Ron, too, and maybe Percy, but he can’t think of how to explain away the few things he has access to. Maybe next year. If there is a next year.
Later, the boys will wake and Harry will be surprised there was anything more than a single fifty-pence piece taped to a nearly empty card, and Peter’s heart will hurt enough for the whole month. Harry will open silvery fabric and a cryptic note, and Peter will think that bastard. And Harry will sit in a genuine Weasley sweater, long after bedtime, holding a photo pried from a newly repaired frame and trace Peter’s handwriting, “The Last Good Saturday.”
And maybe— just maybe— Peter will realize he’s done something right.