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The Burrow smells like warmth. Cinnamon, pine, freshly baked cookies, and…a slight smell of something burning.
Charlie kicks his boots off and wanders into the living room. “Oi” he calls out. “Where is everyone?”
Molly bustles into the room, arms wide, smile wider as she reaches for her son.
“Charlie! It’s about time you got here. Everyone else is in the kitchen.” She waves her hands towards the Christmas tree as a small puff of smoke curls towards the ceiling. “And don’t mind that.”
George wanders in with a mug of hot Butterbeer in his hand, slaps Charlie on the back, and gives him a half hug.
Charlie raises an eyebrow at the tree.
“Smoke?”
George waves him off. “Psssh…holiday ambiance.”
Charlie looks closer at the tree and notices an ornament he had never seen before. A large clear glass sphere filled with what looks like gold foil. It’s shimmering and emitting definite plumes of smoke.
“George—why is that ornament smoking?”
“It’s my newest prototype,” George says. “A Scorch-Sphere.”
Charlie groans. “George…”
Ginny and Ron enter the living room, Ginny snickering at George’s latest creation while Ron stuffs his face with cookies.
“It reacts to people with a high affinity for magical creatures,” George adds, puffing up. “ Gives a bit of sparkle, a glow. Very tasteful. Absolutely harmless.”
“Then why is it smoking like it wants to set the tree on fire?” Ginny questions.
George waves a hand. “Minor calibration hiccup.”
At that precise moment, the ornament begins to tremble.
Charlie takes one step forward. “Is this thing supposed to…”
The Scorch-Sphere launches off the tree like a Snitch, streaking across the room, leaving a trail of glittering smoke.
“GET DOWN!” Ron shouts, diving behind the sofa.
Ginny laughs “Oh, this is brilliant.”
Charlie holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, calm down, you little—”
The ornament stops dead in the air.
And turns.
And aims directly at him.
“Oh no,” Charlie whispers.
“Oh YES,” George beams.
With a soft roar, somehow both adorable and deeply concerning, the Scorch-Sphere zips forward and hovers millimeters from Charlie’s nose. The gold inside swirls furiously, like a creature wagging its tail.
Charlie blinks.
The ornament bobs excitedly.
“George,” he says, “why is it doing that?”
“Well,” George coughs, “it… might’ve been keyed to imprint on the first magical signature it deemed ‘draconic.’”
“Draconic?” Charlie sputters. “I am NOT a bloody DRA…”
Before he can finish, the sphere releases a tiny, warm puff of air. A soothing rumble vibrates through the glass.
Ginny gasps. “Oh! It likes you!”
“It thinks you’re its mum,” Ron wheezes from behind the sofa.
Charlie scowls. “I am no one’s mum.”
The ornament gives a louder rumble, as if offended, and circles Charlie’s head like an overexcited baby dragon.
“George,” Charlie hisses, “turn it off.”
“I can’t,” George says brightly. “It’s bonded.”
“BONDED?!”
The ornament selects that exact moment to land gently in Charlie’s hands. The warmth radiates instantly, seeping into his palms. The swirling gold calms. The faint dragon-hum settles into a soft, contented purr.
Charlie stands frozen, the entire family watching as the ornament curls into his cupped hands like something alive.
“Oh no,” he says quietly. “It’s imprinting.”
“Oh yes,” George repeats smugly. “Successful test run!”
“GEORGE!”
But it’s too late. The Scorch-Sphere wiggles once more, then settles into Charlie’s grip, glowing faintly.
Ginny leans over the arm of the sofa. “What are you going to name it?”
“I’m NOT naming it.”
The ornament lets out a tiny, pitiful whine.
Charlie sighs, defeated. “…Ember.”
The sphere brightens happily.
George pumps a fist. “YES! NAILED IT!”
Molly claps her hands, delighted. “Oh, Charlie, you have a new little one!”
“I WORK WITH DRAGONS, MUM, NOT—WHATEVER THIS IS.”
But when the ornament snuggles deeper into his hands, curling warm and trusting and entirely his, Charlie softens.
Just a little.
—
That night, long after everyone else has gone to bed, Charlie sits by the fire with Ember humming in his palms. He tells himself he’s only holding it because it won’t let him put it down. He absolutely does not whisper a quiet “goodnight” before drifting to sleep.