Work Text:
“We could stay,” Bill offers for the third time. “You could. Maybe with your gran, or Sirius and Remus if you wanted.”
They’ve had this conversation before. Harry’s going to get frustrated if it goes on much longer. “You promised to believe me. I told you I liked the plan.”
“You did.” Bill’s shoulders slump. “Suppose my mum’s guilt trips are getting to me.”
“Do you want to stay?” Harry’s never really had a family Christmas, and he doesn’t feel the need to start. What he saw of the Dursleys, and the bit of the Weasleys they managed last year between cursebreaking sessions for Harry’s scar, wasn’t encouraging. Very loud. But still: “If you want to go to the Burrow, maybe I can stay here? If we go to the library first. I’m nearly done with my books.”
“No,” Bill says. He’s at the hob stirring stew that Harry’s already thinking about how to salvage. Rice, probably. Maybe cream, if it hasn’t spoiled. “I like our plan, too. Christmas at the beach. It’ll be nice to have a quiet one.”
Harry thinks so too. Holiday on holiday.
But then he sighs when a big bubble in the pot pops and splatters. Time to take over. Ideally without Bill stopping him. He sets the cream by Bill’s elbow after checking the date, and starts up another burner for the rice.
“Did you want white or brown rice?”
Bill grabs the box of brown and frowns at the directions.
“Can I at least get the ingredients measured out while you pour that cream in and turn the heat down? You never let me do anything.”
Bill waves for Harry to go ahead and busies himself with the cream. This might actually be edible. Harry debates pushing his luck and cracking into the tinned vegetables, but decides it’ll be enough to avoid the takeaway menus.
“Alright, H. If your gran asks about holiday plans, what will you tell her?”
Sometimes Molly tries to get Harry and Bill to tell on each other. Some parts of having a gran are very irritating.
“That you and I are excited for Christmas on the beach.” Harry debates, then adds: “And I don’t want anything from her and Arthur.”
“He’s been asking if you’d like to call him your granddad,” Bill says. “Did you know that?”
“Yes. He asked me too.” Harry stirs the rice into the water quickly while Bill’s busy chewing over how Arthur acts sometimes. He drops the spoon before Bill can take it and shoo him away, since he needs to be in here to supervise.
“Suppose you’ll do what feels best,” Bill says. “Oh, and Sirius and Remus owled while you were organizing your chocolate frog cards. They want you to come visit overnight again. Did you like it last time?”
“There was a bed,” Harry offers. “And Remus made omelettes. But he put mushrooms in them.”
“Anything fun besides the eggs?” Bill sets a tempus for the food and beckons Harry toward the sitting room. Harry makes a mental note to sneak back in and turn off all the burners ten minutes early. He doesn’t fancy blackened rice. “Sirius said he wanted to take you flying, right?”
Harry shrugs. They did fly, but then Sirius just talked about how his dad used to walk around with a Snitch. Trying to catch it on the ground is either stupid or bragging, and Harry doesn’t like to think that his dad was either of those things.
“Do I need to write them again?”
Harry shrugs again. “I don’t think they’re doing anything wrong. They just like to talk about my parents, but mostly my dad. And they ask a lot of questions about living here.”
“You don’t normally mind questions.”
“You believe me when I tell you answers.”
“I see,” Bill says, voice tight. “I think I do need to have another word.”
“Don’t be mean,” Harry says. Because it feels like the thing to do. Then he checks the tempus countdown. “I’m just going to get a glass of water.”
“If you’re going to fiddle with the stew, can you make sure I seasoned it alright?”
Oh, thank Merlin. Harry grins and gets the salt down from the cabinet. He wonders if Bill even knows where they keep it.
Then he decides it’s safe to throw in some corn. Bill knows he’s doing it, anyway.
There’s a whoosh like the Floo when he comes back a few minutes later.
“Do you mind company?” Bill asks. His jaw is tight. “Sirius and Remus want to know if they can join us and talk more about Christmas. You can eat in your room if you don’t want to.”
“Still not listening?” Harry checks.
When Bill nods, he squares his shoulders. “I won’t tell on you if you don’t tell on me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.” Bill puts a hand in Harry’s hair and brushes it back. Like usual. “You might be due another haircut. Unless you’re aiming for a ponytail, too.”
“Not for me. And no haircuts with Molly,” Harry says firmly. She’s been sniffing around, but he sees what Ron looks like after his cuts. “I’ll go back to that place by Gringotts.”
Bill’s lip twitches. “Acceptable. Come in with me tomorrow morning?”
The fire roars again while Harry’s nodding. Sirius exclaims over the two of them and their lack of jumpers, even though they’re inside.
Remus just waves and lifts a loaf of bread that smells fresh. He’s good at baking.
Harry watches as Bill sets the table with magic and heaps too much into Harry’s bowl. He’s always serving up Harry’s food like Harry won’t notice how much extra he’s getting.
“Thanks, Moll—I mean, Bill,” he says sweetly.
Bill scowls and swaps their dishes, then serves an actual Harry amount into the clean one.
Remus snorts into his butterbeer. Then he blinks and stares at the bowl when he tries the stew. “Did you go to a class, Bill? This is quite good.”
Harry very carefully doesn’t smile. No telling on each other.
“Just getting a lot of practice,” Bill says. His eyes still skitter all around when he lies. “I feel like I’ve got a kitchen sprite clattering around. I barely remember adding this corn.”
“Sure,” Sirius says dismissively. “Harry, are you sleeping enough?”
“I mean, it’s daytime.” Harry checks the window. Kind of early for dinner, even, but he and Bill went Christmas shopping after lunch and must have walked Diagon ten times over trying to find a history book Percy hasn’t read yet. “Er, are you?”
Remus muffles a laugh, but Harry doesn’t know what’s funny. “He just hovers,” he tells Harry. “Godfather duties, or something. Hey, I have a dragonfruit in my bag. We went to a special market in muggle London yesterday.”
Harry smiles, because that sounds wicked. Once his stew’s gone and Remus and Sirius have danced around the topic they came over to talk about for ten minutes, he puts his spoon down.
“Kid duties,” he says. “I have to eat that dragonfruit right now.”
Bill touches his shoulder and smiles. “Maybe in the sitting room? We’ll be out in just a few. You might need a clean spoon. I’ve never had one of those before.”
Upon investigation the fruit takes a sharp knife to cut, so Harry’s duties are postponed until the grown-ups finish their conference and he can get into the kitchen. He busies himself with the last few chapters of his book, hanging upside down over the arm of the sofa.
“You’re going to fall,” Sirius says the moment he comes into the sitting room.
More hovering. Harry tosses the fruit his way. “That needs to be cut. Since you’re babying me, you’d better do it.”
Remus laughs from his belly. He’s much more fun when he does that than all the crying led Harry to believe. He sits next to Harry and doesn’t even try to flip him right side up.
“Bill tells us you’re having Christmas on the beach.” Remus doesn’t ask it like a question, so Harry waits. And the rest comes in short order. “Does that sound like a fun Christmas?”
“Wicked,” Harry says. “I’ve never had water from a coconut before, and I’m going to try it. Do you think palm trees are hollow? Only, if coconuts are filled with water they’re probably heavy.”
“I don’t think they’re hollow,” Remus says.
Sirius drops a bowl in Harry’s lap, nudges him until the blood rushes out of his head when he sits up, and picks up the thread. “You don’t want Christmas? Colored lights and a tree and presents and big family dinner. Do you feel like you’ll be missing out?”
Harry frowns. Then he takes a piece of the fruit and chews it over. “I’m excited for Christmas on the beach. I want to do that.”
“Have you ever made a snowman?” Sirius presses. “I don’t want you to miss it.”
Harry looks out the window again. There’s snow on the ground right now. “Suppose we could do it today. No one’s in the courtyard.”
“Fair enough,” Sirius says, transfiguring his shoes into snow boots.
Once they’re outside, the cold air biting Harry’s cheeks but also clearing the insides of his lungs like it always does, Sirius shows him how to roll snow into huge balls and stack them.
“Did you do this with my dad, too?” Harry’s surprised Sirius hasn’t launched into the story yet, if there is one.
“No,” Sirius says. He’s looking at Harry funny. “No, I just wanted to do it with you.”
Oh. “That’s nice,” Harry decides. “I like doing it. But if we have to dress this thing, I’m not giving up my hat.”
Sirius stops him from finding arm sticks with a soft hand on his elbow. “Can I hug you, Harry?”
“Here?” Harry checks. “Sure. We didn’t have to come outside if that’s all you wanted, though.”
Sirius laughs into his hair when he pulls him close. “Fair point. Say I had to work up to it.”
Despite every protest he makes to Ron—there are many—Harry knows he’s not tall. Not much to work up to, strictly speaking. But Sirius has always been an odd duck.
The hug stretches. Lingers. “Do you want to finish this snowman, or was it all a trick?”
“I’m not trying to trick you,” Sirius says. He doesn’t let go, though. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll be done soon.”
Harry leans against a still-too-narrow chest and thinks about how to wrap the rune-carving set he got Bill. It’s supposed to be a nice one; one of the goblins at Gringotts recommended it. Bill’s been saving up for ages.
That reminds him: “What do you want for Christmas, anyway? Remus too.”
“I’m supposed to ask that.”
“Oh.” Harry frowns. “Well, let me know when you’ve worked up to it. Does Remus like to bake? Only, I saw a wicked-looking pizza peel at the shops today. Carvings like a dragon. But I don’t want to give it to him if it’s a chore like it used to be for me.”
“A chore?” Sirius asks. He always has more questions about the Dursleys. “Did you have a lot of chores?”
Harry knows where this conversation ends, so he skips ahead. “Yes, I saw a mind healer. She said I was remarkably polite under the circumstances.”
“Under the circumstances,” Sirius repeats slowly. “What circumstances?”
“Mine. What things do you like? Do you need a broom servicing kit?”
“A broom servicing kit works,” Sirius says. He clears his throat and finally lets Harry wriggle free. “Pizza peel, too. Remus reads otherwise. Books are safe.”
“Muggle books? Or just wixen fiction?”
“Wixen?”
“Magical,” Harry says. “Er, Bill read an article. He said it’s a better term than wizarding.”
Sirius mutters something about teenagers that Harry pretends not to hear. He’s getting better at figuring out when Sirius is talking to him or just himself. “You really are okay with palm tree Christmas? I thought maybe we could take you for Christmas Eve, if Bill was going to be with his family.”
This is Harry’s least favorite thing Sirius does. The worst.
“You said my dad’s parents took you in,” he says. At his usual volume, because if he yells then Sirius will stop listening. It’s something he and Ginny have been talking about lately. “Did they say you weren’t part of their family after that? Were you still stuck being by yourself on holidays?”
“I’m sorry,” Sirius says quickly. “That came out wrong.”
“I want palm tree Christmas anyway,” Harry says. “Coconuts. Maybe we’ll build a sandcastle. Snowman made of sand.”
“Maybe we could do bonus Christmas?” Sirius actually does seem sorry, at least. He has to say it a lot, so Harry’s been getting concerned about if he ever felt it. “Maybe before you go. What do you want from Father Christmas?”
“Very nice working up to it,” Harry says politely. “Books, please. If Remus reads muggle books tell him I just finished The Swiss Family Robinson.”
“A broom?” Sirius offers. “We could also do a broom. You really are a great Seeker.”
“Brooms are very expensive.”
“The Ministry had to give me a lot of money.” Sirius rubs his temples like he always does when Azkaban comes up. “I can afford quite a few brooms.”
“I don’t want one just for me,” Harry says. “I fly with Gin and Ron too much. It’s more fun when all our brooms are the same.”
It’s a little underhanded. But Harry’s not really asking, is he?
“Alright,” Sirius says slowly. The seed’s taken hold, just in time for the hold around Harry’s shoulders to loosen. “Arms for this snowman. Bring me a rock and I’ll give them their own hat.”
Harry goes. Their creation looks kind of festive, when they finish up. “Have you made many snowmen? This is my first. Decent, you think?”
“More than,” Sirius says quickly. “The best I’ve ever seen.”
Molly tries to tempt Harry with snowmen and biscuits too, when he and Bill go over to hand off presents two Saturdays before their Portkey.
“Doesn’t seem right,” she mutters as she ices the gingerbread. “You should have what you’ve been missing.”
“I’ve missed palm tree Christmas,” Harry offers. “I’ve never done that.”
No one seems to grasp how wicked the idea of water coming from a coconut is. He thought this was supposed to be the season of wonder.
“Well, at least you’re here today.” Molly always wants Harry to be with her. It’s a little confusing, since she didn’t seem very excited when Bill first found him. “Have you decided if you like ham and leek pie better than cottage pie yet?”
“You always make everything so well,” Harry says. “Your pie crust is wicked.”
If it wouldn’t break her heart clean in two, he’d mention that he doesn’t prefer meat. But they live in this world, not any other.
The comment at least makes Molly smile. She sneaks him a piece of gingerbread that Harry palms and slips to Percy in the sitting room.
“We worked hard to find you a good present,” Harry tells him when his eyes finally flit away from the study guide in front of him to look at the biscuit. “Are you liking your classes this term?”
Percy pats Harry’s head awkwardly and scoots to make room in the armchair. “Here, you’re smart enough. Did you take muggle maths? Arithmancy is giving me hell.”
Harry dives into the equations with relish. He’s missed algebra something awful, along with loads of other things that make sense to him.
“You don’t have to go,” Bill tells him again, even as Harry pulls out a handful of Floo powder and practices saying Remus’s last name. Flooing alone is something Bill only lets Harry do because he says Harry has a good head on his shoulders. He has to be worthy of a comment like that. “If you don’t want to stay overnight again, I can just tell them you’re sick.”
“Sirius would come right over with five Healers. And the really gross pepper-ups.”
Besides, his head barely feels fuzzy. Molly says winter’s a tough time for kids with weak immune systems, but Harry doesn’t like the idea that any of him is weak and so he tries not to think about it.
“The kid version’s only going to be the right dosage until you’re eleven,” Bill tells him. “Soon the gross kind will be the only kind you get.”
“Then I’d better get all my sickness out in the next few months. Would you like to cough on me?”
“The tickle in my throat isn’t bad,” Bill says. “It won’t affect palm tree Christmas. I’m just going to drink some tea and wait for you here. Back after breakfast?”
Harry grimaces. It’s not an easy proposition to get Remus moving in the mornings. “Whenever that ends up being.”
“Well, see if you can’t talk them out of mushrooms at least. Those don’t belong in eggs.”
Harry grins, because he knew Bill was smart but it’s nice to have reminders, and carefully pronounces the Floo address before stepping into the flames.
Bonus Christmas starts out alright, even.
Remus is excited about the goblin book of history Bill’s supervisor helped Harry get, and Sirius seems perfectly pleased with his broom servicing kit.
When Harry pulls out the second part of their presents, both of the men’s eyes go misty immediately. But then Harry thought they would. It was dead difficult to find Quidditch gear from his dad’s old favorite team, since they’ve moved to a new place in the years since James Potter last went to a match.
Still, Sirius tugs his Liverpool United kit over his head and pulls on the end of Remus’s scarf. “Now, this feels right. Puddlemere’s just not the same.”
“This is perfect, Harry.” Remus is at least good at recovering from his tears now. Hardly any turnaround time at all. “How thoughtful of you. Did you get anything for yourself for the team?”
Harry frowns. “I never went to a match, did I? No, these are just for you.”
Sirius wipes his eyes and practically buries Harry under a pile of his own gifts. Maybe Harry should have gotten them each a third thing.
Some of them are wicked, at least. There’s a tabletop Quidditch set that Ron’s going to be obsessed with, and there’s a book Harry can use to organize all his chocolate frog cards. Much better than the shoebox he’s currently got everything in.
But there are more than a few prank potions and books that don’t interest him at all. Make his stomach hurt, actually. Do they want him to be a bully?
“Interesting,” he says when he opens the bag of dungbombs. “Wow. I didn’t know that many would come in one bag.”
“We had a lot of fun with these,” Sirius says eagerly. “When we were in school. Maybe when you go in the fall, you can bring them along. If there are any left.”
He winks, even though most of what he said is wrong.
“I have another year,” Harry reminds him. “I’m starting after I’m twelve.”
“You’re reading so much,” Remus says mildly. “And you just stay home while Bill’s at work.”
“I do lots of workbooks, and I go for walks,” Harry says. He also climbs onto the roof when no one’s looking, but he doesn’t think saying so will help his case. “I see a teacher every few weeks, but she mostly just tells me to stay curious.”
“Still.” Remus hands him a cup of hot chocolate from Harry doesn’t know where. The man practically gives off chocolate with how much of it he eats. “Maybe you’d like to go earlier. To stay busy. Keep your mind sharp.”
The sharpness of his brain is rather the problem. “The cursebreakers and Healers said I can’t go this fall. So maybe you should keep the, er, dungbombs. And pranks.”
“Cursebreakers?” Remus asks, just as Sirius mutters something about mischief that doesn’t make any sense.
Harry sighs and lifts his fringe off his forehead. Feels less nice than when Bill does it for him. “My scar was causing problems. It’s fixed now, but my magical core was all twisted up like a can of worms. It has to calm down.”
“Magical core,” Remus repeats. He’s starting to sound weird again. Like he did when Harry first met him, and he wasn’t very nice then.
“I’m going to put these away.” Maybe a break will help. Percy made Ginny and Harry take a break from each other last week when their gobstones game got too tense, and it did make the next game more fun. “Do either of you have a paracetamol?”
His head’s itching funnily. Maybe he’s just upset. The Healers said they couldn’t predict what his scar would do to him now that whatever was hurting his core is gone, so maybe it’s a new side effect. He’ll have to tell Bill about it tomorrow.
Sirius whips out a kid’s pepper-up, which is almost as good, and sends him on his way.
Harry tucks all the pranks and the dubious-looking books into a hall closet on his way to the guest room they keep calling Harry’s. The idea of bringing them home makes his stomach hurt.
“Are you feeling alright?” Remus asks as they sit down to dinner. “You look a little warm. Was the pepper-up expired?”
Sirius tuts between his teeth—Harry spares a thought to wonder if everyone’s been taking lessons from Molly—and puts a hand on his forehead.
“You could probably ask first,” Harry says, batting the fingers away.
Sirius puts his hand right back where it was. “Kid, you’re burning up.”
“Don’t call him that.” Remus rounds the table and kneels so he’s in front of Harry. Holds his hands up where Harry can see them. “Hey, you’ve got a spot by your ear. Did Bill not give you magical vaccines? Looks like—“
“Dragon pox?” Sirius nearly yells the words. Makes Harry’s head throb. “I fucking knew it. Having a kid take care of another kid was always going to lead to something like this. I said. Didn’t I tell Dumbledore?”
“Healer said my core can’t handle the shots.” Harry sets his cheek on the table. That feels rather nice, actually. Cool against his skin. “Don’t talk to Dumbledore about me. He didn’t even check I had a bed, before.”
There’s a thwack, and a lot of hissed words, and something goes green. Harry closes his eyes.
This would never have happened at palm tree Christmas.
“We’ll do palm tree January,” Bill promises.
Harry sighs and lets himself be upset for five seconds. Then he grabs one of the new books Remus picked out for him and flips it open. “Maybe our Christmas tradition is my head being weird.”
“You’ve got spots on your elbows.” Bill pats one. “It’s not your head’s fault.”
“It’s not your fault at all,” Sirius adds. He’s been hovering ever since Mungo’s let Bill take Harry home. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Harry eyes the three half-sipped glasses of plain old non-coconut water on the nightstand and shakes his head. “I just want to read and probably sleep. You could maybe come back tomorrow.”
Bill makes a disagreeable sort of noise. “Mum’s already called dibs to coddle you tomorrow. Got her booster last month, so I’m all out of excuses.”
Oh, that’s going to be annoying. Nice, but awful.
“Maybe Harry’s too tired,” Remus says. He’s being so remarkably decent. Even spelled Harry’s bedroom window to show a sandy beach when he first walked in. “Haz, did you want me to get your box of frog cards?”
He does want to sort them. He’s got that whole new book, and all. Except: “Maybe you can eat a few more for me and we can do it if you come back? My throat’s still sore.”
And the box is under a pile of completed workbooks in his closet. Wouldn’t do to hide all his best things in one place, after all. He’s not that thick.
Remus puts a hand on Harry’s cheek and agrees softly. “Hey, kiddo. I’m sorry. I used to be moonsick a lot, and it’s miserable to be sick on holidays. This must be the worst Christmas.”
Eh. “Not really. But thanks for saying so.”
“What’s worse than dragon pox?” Sirius can be so nosy.
But the mind healer told Harry about more than being polite. “Do you want to know? It’s not a very nice story.”
Bill taps his ankle. “Do you want to tell it? You don’t have to. Do you want soup?”
“Is it from a—“
“I ordered it.” Bill rolls his eyes. “Not going to cook without my kitchen sprite, am I?”
Harry hides his smile in one of the boring water glasses. “Are there green bits?”
“You’re the only kid I know who’d be upset if there weren’t.” But Bill’s smiling as he says it, so it’s fine.
Remus chuckles at that comment, still perched on Harry’s bedspread.
Right. He’s got other people here, too. “I don’t mind telling it, but the mind healer said to ask.”
“The mind healer who called you polite,” Sirius says. “What’s the worst Christmas?”
“Well, I climbed a snowy tree on Christmas Eve to get away from my cousin.” Harry looks out the window. If he squints, Remus even layered a palm tree into his illusion. “Then I, er. Fell out? On Christmas morning. I had frostbite in six fingers. So I spent Boxing Day in the A&E. And my leg was broken, also.”
“Your rotten cousin,” Remus says. His jaw is doing something weird. “That does sound like a worse Christmas. Can we get you some ice cream? Would that be alright?”
He leaves before Harry can answer, and he drags Sirius behind him by the elbow.
Bill looks at Harry when they’re gone. “I’m summoning the soup,” he says. “Those two are bloody exhausting. Can I join you in here?”
“You’re not busy?” Harry really very much wants Bill to stay. It’s been a long day, and it would be good to spend some time with his best mate. “It’s okay if you have things to do.”
“I do have something to do.” Bill lifts the bedspread so he can get in. “Sit with you. Read, maybe. If you want.”
Harry shakes his head and closes his eyes. If he just pretends to slip and catch his balance, then—yes. He leans into Bill’s side and sighs.
A warm arm comes up and around his back. Feels nice against all the green, itchy spots.
“Let’s just think about palm tree January,” Bill says. “Maybe we’ll rent a boat.”
“Or just sit on the beach,” Harry offers. “I can’t swim.”
“Huh.” Bill’s hand pauses, then keeps running up and down Harry’s arm rhythmically. “Me either. So no boat. Or swimming lessons.”
“No boat.” Harry hears a clatter like the soup’s flown in, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I really do want the coconut.”
“I know you do, H.” There’s something against his hair, but it doesn’t feel like Bill’s hand. Chin? Softer than that. Odd. “We’ll get you one. Promise we will.”
Harry believes him. A nice change, to trust that a grown-up will do what they say.
“Will you be able to get leave?” He asks. “I don’t want to cause you problems. Er, more problems. Your dad might be mad again.”
“My dad will hold his tongue or I’ll hold it for him. Do you want ice cream, if Remus does come back with some?”
Harry hums, thinking. Then he opens his eyes so he doesn’t accidentally fall asleep and leave Bill trapped. “Might need my blanket. Cold.”
“Yeah. Far from the beach here. We’ll get there, though. Just as soon as you look less like a moldy leopard.”
But the ruffle of Harry’s hair softens the words. Turns them into the kind of thing that makes Harry laugh.
He still leans up and bumps his cheek against Bill’s. “Now you’re moldy too.”
“Good. Can’t leave my mate to suffer alone, can I?”
The next day, Harry’s gran makes good on her threat to Bill and shows up with the sun’s first rays through Harry’s window. The illusion’s faded now. It’s just snowy and dreary out there.
And she brings Arthur, for some reason. If Harry weren’t trapped in bed, he’d hide.
“I’m better for sick days,” Arthur tells him cheerfully. Smile looks forced, though. Like usual. Bill and Molly are both hovering in the hall; Harry can hear the floorboards squeaking. “Molly gets the kids all frustrated and begging her to drop the tinctures and go by lunch. Do you like chess?”
“No,” Harry says politely. “I don’t want to make you stay with me. You’re probably busy. Who’s watching your kids?”
Arthur sighs. “I don’t think we got off on the right foot.”
Obviously. But it’s not actually a question, is it?
“I’d like to try again. If you’re going to stay with Bill.” Arthur looks like he’s sucking on a lemon. A big one. “Then you’re family, aren’t you? And I care for every person in my family.”
“I’m sick right now.”
This is like when the school nurses tried to get Harry to make statements when he was in with injuries. They could pull him from class anytime, couldn’t they? They didn’t have to wait until he needed them.
“So you are. I’ll just check on medicine, shall I?” Arthur bolts. Good.
But then Molly bustles in with an armful of vials for him to take, and Harry wants to yell. Cry, maybe. If it wouldn’t make him a giant baby.
“I just want to sleep,” he says again. Not that she heard him the first two times. He’s getting upset, which means he’s going to have to tattle to Bill about his mum like the baby he doesn’t want to be. “Molly, can you please close the curtains?”
“Just as soon as you finish your tea,” she says.
Harry sighs, but he’s saved from being rude by Bill. “Sleepy, H? Here, I’ll get those curtains.”
He must have been listening outside. Harry should have got him an even better Christmas present. Two rune-carving kits. A cookbook.
Molly submits to Bill’s pointed comments and firm hand on her shoulder eventually. Harry even gets to rest his eyes.
Until there’s a clatter like someone’s dropped a glass and raised voices in the sitting room.
Harry can’t chase down his own answers, of course. He’s woozy from all the medicine and shaky with fever besides. But if he listens hard, he can make a few words out.
It sounds like Sirius and Remus are back. They’re talking about Harry and his presents. With Arthur? Maybe that’s Bill. He and his dad sigh the same, but Bill aims the sound Harry’s way less.
Whichever one it is says something about a bullied, abused kid that makes Harry clap his hands over his ears.
That’s enough of that. He should have learned this lesson already. It’s never anything good when people yell about him.
He hums a Christmas song loud as he can stand before his head starts to throb, and then he decides it’s safe enough to get his box of cards out now while everyone’s distracted.
So naturally Bill’s waiting for him on the bed when he steps out of the closet with his prize. Makes him jump; the box drops and cards fly everywhere.
Bill makes an apologetic noise and waves his wand, then all the cards fly back into their box. The lid drops on with a snicking sort of sound.
“Sorry, H. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m upset,” Harry says. “But I don’t want to tell you why.”
“Alright.”
This is the best part about having a Bill instead of an anyone else. That can be the end of it, for now.
“Mum brought you more soup.” Bill sits on the bed and lifts both an arm and the blankets for Harry. It’s an invitation he doesn’t want to turn down, so he scrambles on. Nearly spills the cards all over again before Bill catches the box. “Oh, were you going to sort these? Remus is over. He has some more cards for you. If you still want them.”
“Yeah. I heard. Does this soup have green bits?” Molly’s offerings usually don’t, but if she made it special for Harry he might get lucky.
“You know, I forgot to check.” Bill rubs Harry’s shoulder. He’s been touching Harry nicely ever since he got sick. Before, too. But more since. “Do you want it? I can look before you decide.”
“I’m not hungry.” The idea that everyone was talking about him turns his stomach. That and all the tea Molly forced on him, anyway.
“You heard, hm? That can’t have been a nice feeling.”
“Maybe I like being the center of attention.”
Harry can barely say it with a straight face. They both know he can’t actually stand it. It’s part of what makes him so itchy around Sirius. Unless he’s had dragon pox all the while, of course. Harry should look into it.
“And maybe I’m going to cut my hair and go work in the Minister’s office.”
Bill couldn’t pull off short hair, but Harry would never say so. Lots of people can’t pull off long hair, and Bill manages just fine.
“Sirius brought some Christmas presents you left at theirs,” Bill says. “I hit the roof. Hall closet was a good hiding spot. Remus said they only found everything because that’s where he keeps his extra blankets.”
“Their house is cold,” Harry says. “I wished I brought my blanket, last time. Now I know where to go.”
“They should listen better, shouldn’t they?” Bill’s still drawing circles on Harry’s shoulder. Not too hard; Vernon used to grip Harry there and squeeze until he saw stars. “You’re not one for pranks.”
“I thought about giving them to Fred and George,” Harry says. “Taking them back here and then giving them away. But some of the pranks seemed…mean. No matter who uses them.”
And Harry didn’t want to be responsible for hurting anyone’s feelings even more than he didn’t want the twins to try any pranks on him. Safer to leave them behind.
“We’ve had more than enough meanness to be getting on with.” Bill summons the new book for Harry’s frog cards. “Come on. I want to see who all you’ve gotten lately. There hasn’t been a proper review in ages.”
Harry thought it was annoying, when he chattered too long about the collections he was still missing and the sets he’d completed. It’s nice of Bill to say it wasn’t, even if it’s not the truth. Only Harry promised to always tell that.
“I was thinking potioneers next,” Harry offers. “I have Damocles Belby, see? But I was reading about Gilga the Alchemist last week. Did you learn about her in Potions?”
“Draught of Living Death,” Bill says. Merlin, he really is smart. He’s been out of school for years. “I always wondered how someone would create that one. How they’d test it.”
From the picture Harry saw, not without incident. But saying so sounds kind of like he’s making fun, and he’s not. He thinks it must take someone very strong to try something that’s hurt them before. Brave, too.
“Did you ever hear the story of Snow White?” Harry asks instead of being accidentally mean. “She bit into a poisoned apple and then fell asleep until a prince came and woke her up. Do you think you could just dip the apple in the potion?”
“Might have to boil it.” Bill sets the back of his free hand on Harry’s forehead. “Could put the pot right on you. That fever is not letting up, is it?”
“Boiling it would make the apple mealy,” Harry decides. “So I guess don’t poison me after all. I thought maybe that way I could sleep without Molly coming in.”
Bill laughs, a long one. A real one. “No mealy, poisoned apples until your fever breaks.”
“Are you keeping Harry up?” Molly herself frowns at them from the hall. “He needs his rest.”
“He’s distracting me,” Harry says. Then, because it’s technically the truth: “I don’t think I’m supposed to itch my spots.”
Molly tuts—nothing compares to an original—and bustles away muttering about salves.
“Go away,” Harry says urgently. “Now I have to pretend to be asleep when she gets back or she’ll put that stinky stuff on my elbows.”
Bill doesn’t move. “You can sleep on me,” he says. “I don’t mind. Close your eyes, H. Pretend I’ve poisoned you with a coconut.”
Harry perks up. “Do you think—“
“Sleep,” Bill tells him, laughing.
Harry doesn’t really need to be told twice.