Trouble In Paradise
            --a *Harry Potter* fanfic by AngieJ (also known as Ebony Elizabeth)
 
DISCLAIMER:  All of the characters, settings, and major plot lines belong to J.K. Rowling.  Any original characters, settings, or plot developments are only possible because of the foundation she’s provided.  This teacher and aspiring writer is ever so grateful that she has allowed us to enter Harry’s world through her novels.
 
A/N:  I’ve been around these parts since March 2000.  After being the bridesmaid of Harry Potter fan fiction (always a reviewer, never an author), this is my very first fic in this fandom.  Hope you enjoy!  <g>  Special thanks to Penny, Carole, Heidi, Pippin, Michelle, and Cassandra Claire for their beta reads, encouragement, and/or advice.  Also thanks to my cyberbuds at the Harry Potter for Grownups e-group for their help with the Christmas dinner... Scott, Michelle, Neil, Penny, and many others contributed good advice.
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WARNING:  This fic begins on Christmas Day 2008, ten years after the Hogwarts canon is scheduled to end.  All of the characters you recognize from the canon are now adults and will behave accordingly.  That this fic contains adult themes goes without saying.
 
Also, this is not a shipper fic per se.  While I do have a definite ship preference, this fic is not R/H or H/H or D/H or D/G or anything else... yet.  This originated because I wanted to explore the other point of view, so to speak.  I also have the unique handicap of not being able to write “happily ever after” stories... I like to explore everyday problems even in the midst of a jeweled fantasy.  Flames are welcome (I have stock in asbestos), but are unlikely to sway me towards sugar-coating the issues in TIP.
 
You have been duly warned.  ;)
 
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Chapter One -- Christmas With The Weasleys


 
The most wonderful time of year to be a Weasley is at Christmas.  No holiday festivities I’ve ever attended, wizard or Muggle, can be compared to the atmosphere at the Burrow.  On this particular Christmas afternoon, I stood at the doorway of the main room, soaking in the light and love.  As I watched all the little ones open their gifts, chortling with carefree joy and gloating over their growing piles, I couldn’t help but compare their gaiety and glee with the Christmases of my own childhood.
 
“Mummy, look at what Uncle Ron and Aunt Herm gave me for Christmas!”  
 
Before I could reply, a Quidditch figurine flew into my face.  I caught it easily.  A miniature Cho Chang, dressed in the mint green robes of the Wimbourne Wasps and flying a state of the art Firebolt 2010, winked at me.  
 
Tamping down a pang of bittersweet nostalgia, I let the toy fly back into my small daughter’s hands.
 
“And what do you say to them, Malinda?”
 
In an instant, she raced off, calling “Thank you!” even though my brother and sister-in-law were nowhere in sight.  That was unlike Ron and Hermione.  Usually they were right on the floor with their many nieces and nephews, two overgrown children very much in love with life... and each other.
 
Everyone else was in the vicinity, however.  Arthur and Molly presided over the festivities with the graciousness and warmth that was their hallmark.  There was Percy in the thick of things, being as Percy-like as the occasion permitted.
 
“No, Elizabeth Molina, you’ll hurt yourself... Gryffin, put that down, you and Raven have had enough Chocolate Frogs to last you a lifetime... *Malinda!*  If you don’t stop that... I *fail* to see what is so blasted funny, Liz.”
 
Lizeth, who was Charlie’s wife, was laughing so hard that tears were falling liberally from her grey eyes.  “You are.”
 
“She’s right, honey.”  Penelope was the only one who could handle Percy in the midst of a dictatorial tirade.  “For heaven’s sake, they’re children.  Let them have a good time.”
 
“A good time” was an understatement.  The living room was filled to overflowing with Weasleys, half Weasleys, and spouses of Weasleys.  Toys, gifts, and wrapping paper were littering the floor faster than Percy’s best tidying spells could handle.  Children of all ages darted here and there in their excitement, most with the same shade of coppery red hair.  My Malinda and Liz’s daughter Elizabeth Molina with their chestnut brown and strawberry blonde hair respectively were the exceptions.
 
From the easy chairs and sofa, adults chattered on companionably, sipping on mulled wine, sparkling pumpkin juice, and my own sorrel with plenty of butterrum.  Ginny was introducing around her latest... Winston Higginbotham was the heir to the Higginbotham Potions bottling fortune.  Then again, Ginny has had the uncanny knack of drawing famous wizards like a magnet since her Hogwarts days.  Her long and colorful dating history included no lesser wizards than Draco Malfoy, founder and CEO of Malfosoft Corporation, and Harry Potter of... well, suffice it to say that he’s Harry Potter.  
 
“Of course, I was Head Boy in my time myself,” Percy was saying to Winston, who seemed notably impressed.  Obviously a kindred spirit.
 
Ginny was steering Winston away.  You could tell she was trying to conceal her irritation.  “Come, dear... let’s see if we can’t find Ron and Hermione.”
 
Bill had Penelope and Liz in stitches over his Fleur impersonation.  Fleur Delacour is his ex-wife, and he swears never to marry again.  In the five years since they’ve been divorced, I’ve never seen him with the same witch on his arm twice.  I was rather surprised when he showed up solo this time.
 
Suddenly, strong arms encircled my waist.
 
“Watch out, Angelina... you’re standing under the mistletoe.”
 
I looked up.  Sure enough, the little red berries were situated just above my head, whistling and whispering all sorts of suggestive things.  Wizarding mistletoe, so I hear, is a bit different than the Muggle version of the plant.
 
“Why should I watch out, when I’ve got you right where I want you?”
 
Turning around quickly, I slammed the man who dared intrude upon my reverie against the wall right outside the doorway.  When I looked up, it was into a very familiar face.  But not quite familiar enough for me to snog in the manner the mistletoe demanded.
 
“Nice try, George,” I said, laughing and hugging him.  “But Merry Christmas to you anyway.”
 
George released me and shook his head with admiration.  “You’re getting better, Angelina.  Much better.  We’re identical to the last freckle.  Even Mum can’t tell us apart.”
 
“That’s because Molly doesn’t sleep with one of you.  I can tell you assuredly that you are not identical.  Although I hear you’re not half bad yourself... tell me, are you still breaking your heart over that damned Italian Muggle filmmaker?”
 
“No.  This one’s Indian... from Bombay.  And there is nothing of the Muggle about him.”
 
I shook my head.  “You know, you really ought to settle down.  Find a nice wizard, buy some property, adopt a kid or two.  You can even have Malinda if you want.”
 
“No, he can’t have my daughter, woman... whatever is the matter with you?”
 
George and I broke our embrace.  There stood Fred, grinning above a stack of colorfully wrapped parcels.  Directly behind him, Ron and Hermione were conversing in low tones.  Neither one of them looked too pleased.  
 
“You’re right when you say that Malinda is your daughter,” I said, kissing my husband’s cheek.  “She might not have the red hair, but she’s a true Weasley... and is this all for me?  Really, honey, you shouldn’t have.”
 
I started to grab one of the packages, but George quickly took it from me.
 
“He didn’t.  We did.”
 
“Hot off the 3W assembly line,” Fred said, low.  “Trick gifts... open them and they explode.”
 
“Just like seventy percent of your other products,” I pointed out.  “What’s so special about this one, then?”
 
“Try it,” George said, handing the parcel with a wicked gleam in his eye.
 
Fred elbowed it out of my hand.  It flew across the hall to Ron, who easily caught it without breaking off his conversation with Hermione.
 
“What’d you do that for?” I complained.
 
“Because I don’t fancy sleeping on the sofa tonight,” he replied.  “What George didn’t tell you is that when a Power Powder Parcel explodes, it disintegrates into a fine powder that goes absolutely everywhere.  Depending on what type of powder you get...”
 
“Any portion of your skin it touches will instantly become covered with scales, hair, or feathers.  No spell on Earth can reverse it, either, for twenty-four hours,” George finished with a flourish and a bow.
 
“I say, Angel,” that’s Fred’s nickname for me, “this is going to be a smashing hit, watch and see.  The board’s predicting that with this and our other new products, 3W’s going to have a spectacular first quarter for 2008.  Stock will go through the roof.”
 
The look on George’s face boded no good for someone.  “Fred, I do believe we have an excellent test market for our newest product.”
 
“Percy,” my husband said.
 
“Not to mention that tight-assed bloke Ginny’s trying to pass off as a holiday date...”
 
“Excellent!”
 
Although I knew I’d be squealing with laughter at the end result of all this in just a moment, my poor mother-in-law would be red faced and sputtering and poor Percy would be furious.  It was my duty to disapprove.  “Fred, no.”
 
It was too late.  He grinned again and blew me a kiss.
 
“Business calls, love.  Be back in a minute.”
 
With that, George and Fred morphed into Gred and Forge.  As they walked into the living room and I heard, “Merry Christmas, everyone... Percy!  We’ve brought presents... wait, kids, let your Dad go first...” I *had* to smile in spite of myself.
 
“Some things never change, do they?”
 
I turned around.  Hermione was standing right behind me, watching the unfolding joke as well.  Try as I might, I couldn’t read her face.
 
As long as I’ve been a Weasley, and even longer than that, Hermione has been part of the family.  Even before she and Ron married five years ago, before they began dating in earnest towards the end of their Hogwarts years, she was considered almost a second daughter.  When she and Ron went from being best friends to a couple, it came as no surprise to anyone.  I don’t even think she’s ever dated anyone else.
 
I always envied Hermione and Ron their friendship.  While Fred and I were also friends for a long time before becoming romantically involved, it’s not nearly the same thing.  There’s always been an unspoken empathy between the two of them.  You could see it even when they were engaged in one of their characteristic good-natured spats.  
 
My theory is that their closeness came because they both knew what it was like not to fit in... to be a bit of an outcast.  Hermione was the Muggle-born witch that was too smart for her own good.  Ron was the boy wizard who grew up poor and was doomed to stand in his dearest friend’s shadow.
 
Some wondered, back in those long-ago days when we were all still fighting Voldemort and even more recently, how Harry Potter fit into their reconfigured relationship.  It turns out that he did, very easily.  The Weasleys have considered him an honorary member of the family since they ran into the supertalented, awkward orphan kid almost twenty years ago at the King’s Cross Station.
 
It’s common knowledge that he never considered being jealous of what Ron and Hermione had.  At Hogwarts, he dated a few lucky witches, but was too preoccupied with Voldemort breathing down his neck to worry about finding lifelong love.  He’s spent the past ten years dealing with the residual element that remained like mildew after their leader was taken out a couple of years after my class graduated.
 
Those were hard times.  They left their mark on us all.  But Hermione... I still don’t know the half of what she and Ron and Harry went through.  They were all there during various stages of the final fight, and the rumors of who was responsible for what ranged from the plausible to the ridiculous.
 
Whatever happened, it changed them.  Ron, who always seemed to me a bit insecure and paranoid, mellowed out and became a successful Quidditch Seeker.  He’s quite dashing and has legions of diehard fans.  Harry withdrew from society for a good three years, only coming out of whatever hole he was recuperating in once every blue moon.  After his seclusion, he moved in with his godfather Sirius Black.  Together, they formed an anti-terrorist organization, the Black and Potter Foundation.  I had the sneaking suspicion that Sirius and Harry’s charity fundraisers were a genteel cover for operations that were a bit sexier, but I had no way of knowing for sure.
 
And Hermione, because of all the suffering she witnessed, tabled her plans to become a professor and followed another career path.  She attended Paracelsus Mediwizarding Institute for three years, forged paperwork, and made history by finishing four years of Muggle medical school in two.  She’s now a trauma surgeon and mediwitch who discreetly splits her time between wizarding and Muggle hospital facilities.
 
I’ve known her more than half my life.  We were not the best of friends growing up, but when we became Weasleys we became sisters.  Along with Penelope, Ginny, and Liz (Fleur always looked down her lovely nose at us, so we didn’t bother chasing after her companionship), we were helping our men build the modest Weasley family name into a dynasty that even the late Lucius Malfoy couldn’t sneer at, God rest his evil soul.
 
I was thinking all this in the instant that it took for me to form a reply to her idle question.  So I replied slowly, “You’re right.  Some things never change.  As long as there are people, there will be childhood.  That’s what Christmas is, really... a celebration of the child in all of us.”
 
Hermione was silent even as the living room exploded into hysterical laughter as red feathers began to sprout all over Percy’s face.
 
“Children,” she muttered to herself.  “Do you ever wish that you were a child again, Angelina?”
 
“Often.  Especially when I have to wrestle with the powers that be at the Prophet.  But adulthood has held some small consolations... sometimes I think I married a man who’ll always be a boy.”  As the children squealed and the adults tried their best not to chuckle, I tried to suppress my own mirth.  “That in itself keeps me young.”
 
“Are you happy?  With Fred, I mean?”
 
“Always,” I said without hesitation.  “That doesn’t mean we don’t have our bad times or our fights.  Quite the contrary.  But underneath it all, no matter how angry I get with him or vice versa, deep down we know that we were meant to be.”
 
Hermione sighed.  Were her eyes filling with tears?
 
“I used to say the same thing.  All the time.”
 
“Used to?  Hermione, what’s wrong?”
 
She looked away.  “Nothing.  I’ve just come to realize that childhood itself is a lie.  I never wish to be a child again.  All the promises that life makes you when you’re young... all the dreams...”
 
My sister-in-law never finished her statement.  Without so much as another glance at me, she walked into the love and light of the bright living room.  I hoped that some of it would filter into her troubled heart and soul.
 
 
*************
 
Dinner was a spectacular affair that began with prawn cocktail, ended with mince pie and Christmas pudding, and in between included all sorts of dishes from a wonderfully dressed turkey to roast potatoes to mashed parsnips.  Molly really outdid herself this time, and she absorbed all of the compliments quite nonchalantly.  She also gave credit where it was due.
 
“Really, it was nothing.  All of my daughters helped me.  Ginny helped with the puddings and purchased the crackers.  Penelope made the pies and Liz made the stuffing.  Hermione made that heavenly... what do you call it, dear?”
 
“It’s gingerbread,” she said, forcing a smile.  “Quite popular... I got the recipe from an American Muggle patient.”
 
“Yes, yes.  And Angelina brought the sorrel... the butterrum was quite nice, mixed with all the spices as it was.  I’m sure there isn’t a drop of that left, and only a bit more mulled wine and pumpkin juice...”
 
With those words, the dining room window burst open.  A snowy white owl, aging yet still capable, fluttered in with a basket almost three times as big as she was.
 
“Hedwig!” Elizabeth Molina exclaimed.  “Uncle Harry!”
 
As Hedwig opened her beak and dumped the Christmas basket in the middle of the table, sending dishes all over the place, everyone looked around.  Where was Harry?  None of us could remember a holiday dinner that he’d missed in recent years.  Sometimes Sirius would come with him, if that handsome middle-aged wizard hadn’t accompanied some lucky young witch (he favors those half his age or less) home for the holidays.  
 
When Hedwig flew away and there was still no sign of Harry, Arthur shrugged and opened the basket.
 
“Just as I thought,” he said, handing Ron the note.  “Bless the boy, he must have somehow known we were running dry.”
 
Arthur lifted out bottles of butterbeer (which Bill quickly charmed to a wonderful bubbly warmth), several varieties of wine (“I’ve got dibs on the Cabernet Sauvignon!” cried Charlie), even a few of the sparkling pumpkin juice the children loved so much (“I’ll pour it, Dad,” said P.J.).  Then there was fruit... so much of it that I was sure the basket had been enchanted to allow room for it.  All of it was tropical, and everything from fresh pineapples to guava were included in the array.
 
At the very bottom were the Christmas presents.  Harry is rich, but he also happens to be very thoughtful.  All of the children had their own gifts.  He also remembered each couple, Bill, and Ginny.
 
“Mum, look!” Gryffin and Raven, Percy and Penelope’s twins, cried together, holding up their gifts.
 
“Two extra large assortments of Honeyduke’s sweets,” Penelope said, smiling at her red-feathered husband, who was in an extremely ill humor.  “You musn’t be greedy.  You’ll have to send some of that to your brothers and sisters at Hogwarts via owl post.”
 
“How sweet,” Ginny sighed over her gift, a delicate crystal snow globe featuring the Hogwarts founders, dancing.  “He remembered that I collect these.  After all this time.”
 
“I’m less concerned about the gifts than I am about him,” Molly said, cutting into their  excitement for a moment.   “Whatever could keep him away at a time like this?”
 
Hermione’s face was like a mask.  “Read the letter, honey,” she implored her husband.
 
“Ah, that’s just the thing.  Here...”
 
----------------
 
Dear Ron and Hermione,
 
You both know nothing short of death could keep me from sharing Christmas cheer with my favorite family... and my work.  Sirius and I are in the South Pacific, securing new clients for the Foundation.  I wish I could be more specific, but I will tell all in due time.
 
I do hope you and your family enjoys the basket.  Each item was sent with all my love.  I’m thinking of you both and will see you as soon as I can.
 
Your friend forever,
 
Harry
 
-----------------
 
“That explains it, then,” Charlie shrugged.  “It can’t be helped, anyway... perhaps we’ll see them by New Year’s.”
 
“Trust him to think of sending word,” Bill said.
 
“And the children’s presents,” Penelope added.
 
“If he were anybody but Harry, he’d be a great irritating git,” George said.  “Too good to be true.”
 
“I wonder if he’s still seeing Cho,” Liz said to Ginny.
 
“Seeing?  Shagging, you mean,” Ginny muttered.  “There’s nothing serious in all that.  I don’t think Harry’s capable of commitment.  Just like Sirius, that one is...”
 
Molly had heard this last bit of conversation, and didn’t like it much.  Our mother-in-law is the most pleasant person in the world, but she cannot bear ill being said about those she loves in her presence.  Even if it is the truth.
 
“We’ve got a few moments before the Minister of Magic’s Christmas speech is broadcast over the wireless, don’t we?  Let’s all share the most important thing that has happened to us over the past year since last Christmas.”
 
The children looked confused.  Almost all of the adults groaned.
 
“Mum, must we really?” my husband complained.  Anything that reeks of sentimentality is anathema to him.
 
His twin was the first to agree.  “I think I’m going to gag.”
 
“Be quiet,” Arthur told them.  “You may be adults, but you will honor your mother’s wishes.  Can’t hurt anything, can it?  Well, then!”
 
“Arthur, you begin,” his wife implored.  “Show them how it’s done.”
 
The look on Arthur’s face said it all.  “Ah... well, honey, I... I... I’m thankful for this wonderful family of mine.”
 
“*And* your promotion at the Federation.  Running all of Muggle Affairs now, aren’t you?  Isn’t that something to be thankful for, now?”
 
“Ah, yes,” Arthur said.  We all knew about this promotion already, and felt the exercise was redundant, but we applauded anyway.
 
“And I,” Molly added, “am happy to announce that Witch Weekly has just hired me to write their general housekeeping column.”
 
More applause.  And so it went.  Bill was a step away from being promoted above his current position as a vice-president at Gringotts of Diagon Alley.  Charlie and Liz’s magical creatures zoological park and resort, Dragonworld, had been extremely successful in the two years that its doors had been open and was now undergoing expansion to double its current size.  
 
Percy had been promoted to Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts... and head of Gryffindor House.  Penelope had made partner at her wizarding law firm (“How does she have time to do all that between babies?” Fred whispered to me and George).  P.J., Percy Junior, had won accolades as a second year prefect and was fully expected to be named Head Boy next school year.  The twins were doing quite well in their wizarding kindergarten, and were now able to read simple spells.  Their other children had remained at Hogwarts during the holidays, but P.J. reported that Margaret (Maggie), Mary, Paul, and Joseph (Joe) were all doing splendid work and were well liked by all... except for a certain group of Slytherins.  As Hermione observed, some things never change.
 
George and Fred announced the anticipated growth at 3W, short for Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Ltd. due to new items like the Power Powder Parcels.  I reported that I’d decided to give up my position as a sports columnist and sports section editor at the Daily Prophet to write feature stories and columns.
 
“This will give me more time with Malinda,” I said.  Penelope winked her support.
 
Ron and Hermione were next.  He turned to her.
 
“We have much to report, don’t we, love?  What first?”
 
“It doesn’t matter, does it?  You do know what I don’t want announced, and I trust you will honor that.  That’s all that matters to me.”
 
We all stared at her in alarm.  Never had Dr. Hermione Granger-Weasley made such a startling speech at the dinner table.
 
Noticeably uncomfortable, Ron cleared his throat.
 
“We-e-ll... er... Hermione and I recently purchased a large number of Malfosoft shares.  Enough to have major voting impact.”
 
You could have heard a pin drop.
 
“Malfosoft?” Ginny sneered.  “Ron, are you insane?  The Federation Department of Justice is doing its very best to bring poor Draco to his knees.”
 
“I’d like to meet the man who could bring Lucius Malfoy’s son to his knees,” Arthur scoffed.  “Draco may not be as horrid as his father, but he’s still every bit a Malfoy, isn’t he?”
 
“He does have a monopoly on the Wizarding Web,” Bill said thoughtfully.  “Combining magic with Muggle computing was ingenious.  Especially since Malfosoft has such lucrative wizarding and Muggle operations.”
 
“However does he manage to do it?” wondered Liz aloud.  “Go between the two worlds without being detected, I mean?”
 
“Same way my Hermione does it,” Ron said proudly.  “The next bit of news is that I’ve traded up to the Liverpool Lions.  Right after the holidays.”
 
This was just as much of a shocker.
 
“I thought nothing could make you leave the Cannons, Uncle Ron,” P.J. sputtered.  
 
Percy stroked his facial feathers.  “Indeed, Ron.  Do tell how this change of mind came about.”
 
Ron shrugged.  “Time for a change, I suppose.  Finally, my wife is...”
 
“Ron, what did I tell you?  *No!*”
 
Again, Hermione drew our stares.  What was going on?
 
“Dear,” Molly began gently, “what on earth could be so dreadful that it can’t be shared with family?”
 
“Maybe she’s really a veela,” Charlie suggested.
 
“Or a boggart,” was Fred’s bright idea.
 
“Or a man,” George added.
 
Molly flew up, outraged, at her sons.  “Honestly!  Hermione, dear, you don’t have to explain anything.  Now Ron, don’t torment your wife so.”
 
Ron was staring at the wife in question, bewildered.
 
“I wouldn’t have thought that being pregnant with our first child qualifies as torment or even a huge secret.  Obviously I was dead wrong.”
 
Ginny began to squeal.
 
“Pregnant?  Herm, you’re pregnant?”
 
“After all this time!”
 
“Aunt Hermione’s going to have a baby!”
 
We all broke out in the loudest cheers yet.  The children were all thrilled... I know our Malinda was grinning from ear to ear.  I think I used areas of my lungs that haven’t seen air since the Gryffindors won the Quidditch Cup way back in my fifth year.  Fred kissed me, punched George in the shoulder, and shook his younger brother’s hand.  Arthur and Molly looked extremely pleased.
 
It wasn’t until Penelope and Liz went to hug Hermione that we realized something was wrong.  With superhuman force, she shunned their embraces.
 
Then she slapped her husband with all the strength she could muster.  Ron, strong as he was, teetered a little from the blow.
 
Eyes empty, she jumped up from the table, ran into the nearest bathroom, and slammed the door.
 
 
**************
 
The shouts, after Ron followed her in, were jarring.  After only a few moments of the exchange, we ushered the children into the living room and tried to distract them with their new games and toys.  Percy, whose feathers had shrunk the tiniest bit, was dispensing charms everywhere to tidy things up.  Fred and George took the Power Powder Parcels back to the shed, where the rusty old Ford Anglia was still sheltered.
 
Bill and Charlie and Arthur sat around looking distracted.  Molly, Penelope, and Liz were cleaning the kitchen and putting dishes up in all the wrong places.  And Ginny went home with Winston Higginbotham, but not without expressing her extreme embarrassment at Hermione’s behavior.
 
“Tell Herm I’ll have a word with her later, Angie,” Ginny instructed me.  “Winston’s somehow gotten the impression that we’re quite dysfunctional... I have loads of image repair to do.”
 
I wanted to tell Ginny that Winston is an insufferable git.  I decided to let her find out the hard way.  She usually does.
 
By the time the Minister’s speech came over the Wizard Wireless, we were all sitting in the living room.  Ron and Hermione were still in the bathroom.  The shouts were not intelligible anymore, but we heard them.  It wasn’t pleasant.  Fred’s arm curled around my shoulders, leaving the other hand free to muss his red curls in distraction.  Malinda alternated between her father’s lap and mine, a frown marring her small face as she played with her Cho Chang doll.
 
The minute the speech was over, Molly stood up.
 
“Let’s get started with the caroling... Bill, is your old guitar still in the attic?  Go with him, Charlie, and mind you don’t get distracted by the ghoul... he will talk your ear off if you let him.  Elizabeth Molina and Malinda, why don’t you girls lead the singing?  Twins... not you, Fred and George, the other twins... Gryff, Rave, you help.”
 
She bustled around, as she was wont to do, and soon we were singing song after song.  Some were religious; some secular.  Some were Muggle holiday songs; some were wizarding. You wouldn’t know it from their occupations, but the Weasleys can carry a tune.  The music filled every corner of the Burrow.  It filled me.
 
I know Ron and Hermione heard it.  They couldn’t help but hear it.  I wonder how it affected them.
 
“Grandmother, can we sing ‘What Child Is This?’”  Malinda asked.  “That’s Mum’s favorite.”
 
Molly smiled at her.  “Is it, now?  Of course we can, dear.”
 
Bill struck up a punk-rock version of “Greensleeves” until Molly raised her eyebrows.  He began again, more sedate this time.
*What child is this, who, laid to rest,
On Mary's lap is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?
This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The babe, the son of Mary.*
As we sang, I noticed something.
 
The shouts from the bathroom had ceased.
 
Wordlessly, I slipped away from the gathering and made my way to the bathroom.  The door was closed... but not locked.  I opened it.
 
Ron was sitting on the closed toilet, chin nestled in folded hands.  Hermione was sitting cross-legged on the rug, weeping.
 
He looked up.  She didn’t.
 
“We caused quite a sensation, didn’t we?” he asked.
 
“Quite.”  I looked at Hermione.  “You know, Ron, pregnant women can be very emotional.  I know I was a wreck when I was expecting Malinda.  I couldn’t take a joke... it drove Fred insane.  Remember when he was threatening to move in with George?  And we survived that, didn’t we?”  He nodded.  “You two will be fine.”
 
Ron’s eyes were still troubled, but his lips smiled.  
 
“I think I’ll go join in the caroling, Hermione,” he said.  But when he kissed the top of her head, she jerked away as if he had electrocuted her.  I started to follow him out.
 
“Angelina?”
 
I turned around.  Hermione looked worse than I’d ever seen her.  Contrary to Charlie’s joke, Herm is no veela, but she has grown to be a very beautiful witch.  Brown hair that somehow has gold, bronze, or auburn highlights depending on the light.  Brown eyes fathoms deep, revealing innate intensity and passion that I can only admire.  Smooth peaches-and-cream skin, slightly tanned.  A figure that lanky, mesomorphic witches like me would kill for.  Curves in all the right spots, and none in any of the wrong ones.
 
More than that, she takes pride in her appearance... not being vain, just professional.  Her hair is always neatly done, her clothes are always flattering and suitable to the task at hand.
 
But between her red nose, wild hair, and bloodshot eyes, she looked a mess.
 
“You’ve got to help me.  Only Ginny knows almost everything, but she’s not been very helpful.  I don’t think she understands.  Remember what I said earlier?”
 
I nodded, kneeling to save both of our necks.
 
“I meant it.  My heart is broken into so many pieces that I’m unsure that it will ever be mended again.  I don’t want this baby, Angelina.”
 
I sighed.  So that was it.
 
“Hermione, this is all very normal.  Don’t you think that me and your other sisters-in-law had the same doubts?  Don’t you think Molly felt the same way?  And your own mother?  Motherhood changes your whole life.  But it’s all worth it, isn’t it?”
 
“Is it, now?” she sniffed, rubbing her eyes.  “I don’t want this baby, and that’s that.”
 
“Hermione...”
 
She jumped up.
 
“And there’s nothing in this world that will make me keep it.  I won’t have this child live this lie along with me.  If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will!”
 
For the third time that Christmas day, Hermione Granger-Weasley left a room I was in.  Leaving me once again bewildered by her words and her actions... and extremely sorry for the deep pain she could no longer contain.
 
What on earth was going on?  Both my curiosity and my suspicion were aroused... the twin companions of the journalist.  More than that, Hermione and Ron were two people I’d grown to love.  But most significantly, the love they shared was near legendary not only amongst our kin, but in the wizarding world.  If some sinister unseen force could tear them apart, none of us were safe.
 
I shivered.
 
The family, out in the living room, reprised the tune of “Greensleeves”, this time singing the original lyrics.  The words of the five hundred year old angst-ridden love song made me think of Ron and Hermione.
 
*Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company...
Your vows you've broken, like my heart,
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?
Now I remain in a world apart
But my heart remains in captivity.*

Even if it wasn’t any of my business, I was determined to get to the bottom of this madness.