On The Hunt: Chapter 37

The ancient walls of Grimmauld Place had never hosted a Christmas quite like this one. Kreacher bustled about with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, muttering complaints about "too many blood traitors" while simultaneously ensuring every surface gleamed and every decoration hung perfectly. The old house elf had grown fond of Harry, and by extension, had grudgingly accepted the diverse collection of Order members who called his master's ancestral home their temporary headquarters.

Harry stood in the renovated drawing room, watching Daphne levitate ornaments onto the towering Christmas tree with casual flicks of her wand. Her blonde hair caught the firelight as she worked, and he found himself smiling despite everything. The days had lately been a blur of planning, researching on Horcruxes, and trying to stay one step ahead of Voldemort's growing army.

"You're staring," Daphne said without turning around, though he could hear the amusement in her voice.

"Am I?" Harry moved closer, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. "Can't imagine why."

She leaned back against his chest. "Gabrielle will be here soon. She and Fleur are both coming through the Floo."

"How has she been doing?" Harry asked, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Fleur, I mean."

Daphne turned in his arms, her blue eyes searching his face. "Better. The healing sessions with the mind healers have helped. She's... different, though. Harder. More focused."

"After what she went through, it’s understandable. War changes people."

"It does." She reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "But not always for the worse. Look at us."

Harry smiled and leaned down to kiss her softly. They had taken to showing affection whenever they got the chance. It was their little way of keeping the growing darkness at bay, not allowing it to come between them in any shape or form. When they broke apart, the sound of the Floo activating echoed from the kitchen.

"That'll be them," Daphne said, taking his hand. "Come on."

They found Fleur standing in the kitchen, brushing soot from her blue robes while Gabrielle stepped out of the fireplace behind her. Harry scanned Fleur keenly, looking for any sign of distress but finding none. The girl had been so broken after her ordeal in the maze, but now, she looked... renewed. Her silver hair was longer now, falling past her shoulders in soft waves, and her blue eyes held a steel that hadn't been there before.

"'Arry," Fleur said warmly, embracing him. "You look well."

"So do you," Harry said, returning her hug before he turned to Gabrielle with a loving smile. He knew how hard it had been for her to stay away from everything all this while, but it had taken her some time to get back to her best, and with things calming down in the political sphere, it was time for her to return to the land of the public.

Gabrielle didn’t waste a moment stepping forward and hugging him tightly. "I missed you," she said, leaning up to brush her lips against his in a soft kiss.

"I've missed you too," Harry replied, holding her close. Over her shoulder, he saw Daphne watching with a soft expression.

"Where is everyone?" Fleur asked, looking around the empty kitchen.

"Upstairs, mostly," Daphne answered. "Though I suspect they’d all soon start to gather here. It’s nearly time to eat."

XXXXX

True to her word, everyone started to gather soon, and the room was expanded to accommodate everyone, the long table covered with an elaborate Christmas dinner. Harry looked around at the assembled group that included several of the Order and his group members, and a few others who had nowhere else to go for the holidays. It wasn't the family Christmas he'd dreamed of as a child, but it was something better in its own way.

Sirius sat at the head of the table, Amelia at his right side, both of them looking more relaxed than Harry had seen them in weeks. Susan sat across from them, chatting animatedly with Ginny about something that involved a lot of hand gestures. The twins were regaling Bill with a story that had him laughing so hard he nearly choked on his wine.

"You know," Tonks said from Daphne’s right, her hair a festive red and green, "this is the first Christmas I've actually enjoyed in years."

"Why's that?" Gabrielle asked from her spot on Harry’s left, looking over at the metamorph who glanced over.

"Usually spend it with my parents," Tonks explained. "Don't get me wrong, I love them, but Dad always gets melancholy about the war, and Mum starts reminiscing about Narcissa and Bellatrix and how they spent Christmas during childhood." She gestured around the table. "This is better. Chosen family, you know?"

"Chosen family," Neville repeated thoughtfully. He glanced at Tracey who gave him a loving smile that he returned. "I like that."

"Speaking of family," Sirius said, raising his voice to address the table, "I'd like to make an announcement."

The chatter died down as everyone turned to look at him. Amelia's cheeks flushed slightly, and Harry noticed her hand slip into Sirius's under the table.

"Amelia and I are engaged," Sirius continued, his grin widening as a cheer went up from the assembled group. "We finalized the agreement today, and we wanted to tell everyone together."

"About time," McGonagall said dryly from her seat near the window, though her eyes twinkled with humor. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to make an honest woman of her."

"Minerva," Amelia protested, though she was smiling.

"When's the wedding?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"After the war," Sirius replied, his expression growing more serious. "We've talked about it, and we don't want to do anything rushed. When this is over, we want to do it properly."

Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest. After everything Sirius had been through—Azkaban, being on the run, losing so many friends—he deserved this happiness.

"Congratulations," Harry said, raising his goblet. "To Sirius and Amelia."

The toast was echoed around the table, and Harry caught Sirius's eye. His godfather's expression was soft with gratitude and something else—relief, maybe. Or hope.

As the night progressed, the celebration continued around them. A few hours had passed since Sirius’ announcement and while Harry stayed by his godfather’s side, he kept his eyes on various interactions going around the room.

Fleur and Bill were looking rather comfortable as they talked, and he didn’t fail to notice Daphne and Gabrielle exchanging a look he couldn't quite interpret. Before he could ask about it, Kreacher appeared at his elbow with a fresh bottle of wine.

"Master Harry," the elf said in his creaky voice, "Kreacher thinks it is time for present giving, yes?"

"Presents?" Harry looked around, realizing that somehow the evening had flown by. "Already?"

"It's nearly midnight," Bill pointed out as he looked away from Fleur, checking his watch. "Officially Christmas morning now."

"Well then," Sirius said, standing and offering his arm to Amelia, "shall we adjourn to the sitting room?"

XXXXX

The sitting room had been transformed into something from a fairy tale. Presents were piled under the tree, the fire crackled merrily in the grate, and someone—probably Flitwick—had charmed snowflakes to fall gently from the ceiling, disappearing before they hit the floor. It felt like every attempt had been made to divert the attention from the darkness growing outside the walls that surrounded them, which was completely fair. Voldemort’s rise did not deserve the right to steal their happiness.

Harry found himself sitting on the sofa between Daphne and Gabrielle, watching as gifts were exchanged around the room. The twins had given everyone joke products from their shop, Ginny had knitted scarves for everyone (though hers were not as good as her mother's, but still admirable), and McGonagall had surprised everyone with a bottle of her private stock of Firewhisky.

"I have something for you," Daphne said quietly, pulling a small wrapped package from behind a cushion. "Both of you, actually."

She handed identical packages to Harry and Gabrielle, her expression nervous. "Open them together."

Harry unwrapped his carefully, revealing a small silver pendant in the shape of a phoenix. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and he could feel magic humming through the metal.

"It's beautiful," he said, looking up at her. "What does it do?"

"Look at Gabrielle's," Daphne said instead of answering.

Gabrielle held up her own pendant—identical to Harry's except for a small difference in the phoenix's wings. She saw Daphne pull out a similar one from her jumper and show it to them.

"They are connected," she said, understanding immediately. "Like a communication charm?"

"Better," Daphne explained. "I spent weeks working on them with Professor Flitwick. They're keyed to our magical signatures. If one of us is in real danger—life-threatening danger—the other two will know. They'll also let us find each other, no matter how far apart we are."

Harry stared at the pendant, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of it. "Daphne, this is—"

"Practical," she said firmly, though her cheeks were pink and her gaze was filled with love and warmth. "We're going to be separated sometimes. When we're hunting Horcruxes or fighting Death Eaters. I couldn't bear not knowing if you were safe."

Gabrielle was already fastening hers around her neck, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "No one 'as ever—" She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

"You're my family too," Daphne said simply. "Both of you. This way, we'll always be connected."

Harry pulled Daphne into a fierce hug, feeling the pendant warm against his chest as he fastened it. "Thank you," he whispered against her hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, and then they were both pulled into Gabrielle's embrace, the three of them holding each other close.

"My turn," Harry said when they finally broke apart. He'd been nervous about his gifts, but seeing Daphne's thoughtfulness gave him confidence. He pulled out two small boxes, handing one to each of them.

Both opened their boxes together, gasping when they saw the matching silver bracelets inside. The bracelets were simple in design but clearly enchanted, with small emeralds set between intricate knots.

"They were my mother's," Harry explained. "Sirius found it for me in the family vault. She wore them in some of the photos from her Hogwarts years. I thought... I wanted you two to have something of hers."

Both their eyes filled with tears as they fastened the bracelets around their wrists.

Daphne was the first to speak, "Harry, I can't possibly—"

"You can, and so can you," he said firmly, glancing from one to the other. "She would have loved you two. I know she would."

They exchanged teary glances before they nodded, sniffing. They recognized the significance of what Harry had just done, and it made them all the more emotional.

“I’ll forever treasure it,” Gabrielle said softly, and Daphne agreed, nodding.

“I know you will,” was all Harry said, a loving smile playing on his lips.

"My turn then," Gabrielle said, pulling out a flat package. "For both of you to share."

Inside was a photograph, but not like any Harry had seen before. It moved, but slowly, a bit dreamlike. In it, the three of them sat in the middle of a clearing surrounded by flowers—bluebells, buttercups, and pale lavender blossoms that swayed gently in the breeze—talking and laughing. Harry was lying with his head in Daphne's lap while Gabrielle braided flowers into his hair. They all looked peaceful, happy—the way they might have been in a world without war.

"When did this happen? " Daphne asked, her voice wondering.

"It didn’t," Gabrielle replied. "I created it. It is not a memory of what was, but what could be. What will be, when this is all over."

Harry traced the edge of the photograph with his finger, watching their peaceful selves in the image. "It's perfect," he said. "We'll put it up at our future home, for when we finally move there after everything is said and done."

"When we move there," Daphne agreed with a small smile as she traced the surface of the photograph delicately, as if afraid she might break the moment therein, and they sat in comfortable silence, watching their future selves in the magical photograph.

XXXXX

Later that night, after most of the gifts had been exchanged and the celebration had wound down, Harry found himself in the kitchen with Sirius, Amelia, and Susan. They'd been having a quiet conversation about wedding plans when the subject had taken a more serious turn.

"We've talked about children," Amelia was saying, her hand intertwined with Sirius's. "We've decided... not to. Especially with the war going on."

"I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world," Sirius agreed, his voice heavy. "Not while Voldemort's still out there. Not while people are dying every day."

Susan nodded from her seat across the table. "I think that's wise. There will be time for children after the war, if you still want them."

“That is what I was talking about,” Sirius replied. “We are not thinking about children at all.”

"You really don’t want children of your own?" Harry asked, concerned. He'd grown up without family, and the idea of Sirius sacrificing his chance at children bothered him more than he’d expected.

"The Black line will be fine," Sirius said firmly. "You're my heir, Harry. You always have been, and you always will be. When you and Gabrielle marry, she'll become Lady Black. Your children will carry on the family name."

Harry understood, but still, a part of him did not feel it was right.

"But Sirius—"

"No buts," Sirius interrupted. "I've made my choice. Amelia and I have made our choice. We don't want children of our own. We want to be the aunt and uncle who spoil your children rotten and then send them home to you."

Amelia smiled at that. "I've been Aunt Amelia to Susan her whole life. I'm good at it. I think I'll be good at it with your children too."

"Besides," Susan added with a grin, "someone needs to teach the next generation of Potters proper respect for the law. And someone else needs to teach them how to break it creatively."

They were all laughing when the Floo flared green in the next room. The laughter died as they heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. The tall figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the doorway, his face grim.

"Kingsley," Amelia said, immediately shifting into her professional mode. "What happened?"

"St. Mungo's," he said without preamble. "Death Eater attack two hours ago. They're gone now, but..."

“St. Mungo’s!?” Amelia asked in surprise as they all shot to their feet. “Why was there no alarm?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kingsley replied grimly. The answer did not seem to satisfy Amelia and the look she gave Kingsley screamed they’d be getting to the bottom of it later. Kingsley gave her a solemn nod.

"How many?" Sirius asked, his face pale.

"Fourteen dead. Dozens injured. They targeted the long-term care ward and the witness protection floor."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. "The Longbottoms?"

"Alive," Kingsley said quickly. "They were in a different ward. They’re both stable."

"I should go check on Neville," Harry said.

"We'll come with you," Daphne said, appearing in the doorway with Ginny and the twins behind her. Apparently word had spread quickly through the house.

They found Neville and Tracey in the hospital wing that Madam Pomfrey had set up in one of the spare bedrooms. He was sitting beside his parents' bed, holding his father's bandaged hand while his mother slept fitfully beside him.

"How are they?" Harry asked quietly.

"Dad's going to be fine," Neville said without looking up. "Took a Cutting Curse to the arm, but it wasn't deep. Mum... she doesn't understand what happened. Pomfrey had to give her a Calming Draught."

"And you?"

"I'm fine," Neville said, but his voice cracked slightly. "I wasn't there. I should have been there."

"You couldn't have known," Tracey said gently. "None of us could have."

"They went there to kill defenseless people," Neville continued, his voice getting stronger. "People who couldn’t do anything but suffer helplessly against Death Eaters. They killed fourteen people just for entertainment."

"Fourteen people who died because we haven't stopped them yet," Harry said grimly.

"No," Neville said firmly, finally looking up. "Fourteen people who died because Death Eaters are evil. This isn't our fault, Harry. This is their fault. And we're going to make them pay for it."

Harry met his friend's eyes and saw a determination there that matched his own. Around them, the others nodded in agreement—Daphne with her jaw set, Gabrielle with her hands clenched into fists, and the other with matching expressions of grim resolve.

"Yes," Harry said simply. "We are."

XXXXX

Christmas morning dawned gray and cold, matching the mood that had settled over Grimmauld Place after Kingsley's news. Harry woke early, unable to sleep, and found his way to the kitchen where Kreacher was already preparing breakfast.

"Master Harry is up early," the elf observed, looking up from the eggs he was scrambling. "Kreacher thinks Master Harry did not sleep well."

"No," Harry admitted, pouring himself a cup of tea. "Hard to sleep after yesterday."

"Kreacher understands," the elf said, his voice unusually gentle. "War makes sleep difficult. But Master Harry must eat. Must keep his strength up."

"I'm not really hungry."

"Kreacher insists," the elf said firmly, plating eggs and toast. "Master Sirius will be angry if Kreacher lets Master Harry waste away."

Harry smiled despite himself and accepted the plate. He was picking at the eggs when Gabrielle appeared in the doorway, her hair properly kept despite the sleep. She always looked elegant, Harry couldn’t help but think.

"Couldn't sleep either?" she asked, settling beside him at the kitchen table.

"Keep thinking about those people at St. Mungo's. About the Longbottoms. About what's coming next."

Gabrielle took his hand, her thumb tracing circles on his palm. "We can't save everyone, Harry. I know that's hard for you to accept, but we can't."

"I know," he said quietly. "Doesn't make it easier."

"No, it doesn't."

They sat in comfortable silence, sharing the breakfast Kreacher had prepared, when Daphne joined them. She looked as tired as Harry felt, with dark circles under her eyes.

"Did you sleep at all?" Gabrielle asked, concern evident in her voice.

"A little," Daphne lied. "I kept thinking about what Neville said. About the defenseless innocents they killed."

"It’s fucked up," Harry said grimly. “But I’m more concerned about what Kingsley said.”

“What did he say?” Daphne asked as she took a seat to his right.

Harry told them about the lack of warning and the alarm not going off, which delayed the auror reinforcements.

“That’s concerning,” Daphne remarked quietly. “Could there be a mole? In St. Mungo’s?”

The question was foreboding and they exchanged concerned glances with each other. It was not out of the realms of possibility for there to be a more in the hospital, and if there truly was, then things were far from safe.

“I believe the aurors would be conducting their investigation into it,” Gabrielle said. “We should know why the alarm didn’t go off when they’re done.”

Harry nodded absently, but he was highly concerned about what Daphne had said.

A place like St. Mungo’s couldn’t be allowed to fall.

XXXXX

The rest of Christmas Day passed quietly. Neville spent most of it with his parents, who were being treated by Madam Pomfrey to the best of her abilities. The twins worked on new products in the basement, their usual chatter subdued. Ginny helped Fleur in the kitchen, and Bill had left to work on strengthening the wards around the Weasley house. The others had devoted themselves to spell practice in the basement.

As evening approached, Harry found himself in the library with Sirius and Dumbledore, discussing their next moves. The headmaster had arrived that afternoon, looking older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him.

"The attack on St. Mungo's was calculated," Dumbledore was saying. "Tom knew exactly who to target and when. It is my suspicion that he has sources inside the hospital."

Harry’s lips pursed as he stared at Dumbledore. “Then we have to flush this mole out.”

“We cannot act drastically, Harry,” Dumbledore replied. “This is dangerous. We do not know who are involved, and in a place as vulnerable as St. Mungo’s, we cannot take risks.”

“We could relocate the patients to somewhere safe,” Harry proposed. “As a temporary solution.”

“We cannot move patients in serious conditions, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed. “And most of the patients there are severely troubled. Even the slightest disturbance could have catastrophic effects.”

“So we’re left to doing nothing but wait around,” Harry muttered. He didn’t like it one bit.

“We’re left to focus on investigating discreetly,” Dumbledore corrected. “Amelia is already working alongside the aurors, and Alastor is also involved. They have experience with covert operations, and it would be best to leave it to them while we focus on other matters of importance.”

"You mean the Horcruxes," Harry remarked. "Are we any closer to finding them?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I have leads on two possible locations. But we must be careful. Tom will have them heavily protected, and if he realizes we're hunting them..."

"He'll move them," Harry finished. "Or set traps."

"Precisely." Dumbledore removed his spectacles and cleaned them slowly. "We must be patient, even though every instinct screams at us to act."

"Patient with this as well," Sirius muttered. "While people die."

"While people die," Dumbledore agreed sadly. "It is the hardest part of leadership, Sirius. Knowing that action must sometimes be delayed to prevent greater catastrophe."

Harry sighed. He understood the logic, he truly did, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. Somewhere out there, Voldemort was planning his next move, building his army who attacked innocents for fun, and preparing for a war that would make the first one look like a skirmish.

Dumbledore stood, his robes rustling. "I must return to Hogwarts. The school will need additional protections as the situation worsens."

"What about the students?" Harry asked. "Will it be safe for us there?"

"As safe as I can make them," Dumbledore replied. "Though I suspect Tom will not target the school directly. Not yet. He wants to rule the wizarding world, not destroy it entirely."

Harry did not look too convinced with that statement but he did not see the need to argue. Dumbledore glanced at him for a moment as he turned to speak to Sirius.

He knew what Harry meant, and although a part of him wanted to be hopeful, he knew there was no lack of students at Hogwarts who would go on to join Tom, and as such, they were threats. But they were children, and no matter how drastic Harry’s actions had been recently, as demonstrated in the nasty affair with the Malfoys, he could not bring himself to hold children responsible. They all had the potential to be saved, and it was his responsibility to prevent innocent lives from getting destroyed when he could see that they could be saved. Those children had killed no one, and he believed they would not.

After Dumbledore left, Harry and Sirius sat in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. The fire crackled in the grate, and somewhere in the house, a clock chimed the hour.

"Do you ever wonder if we're doing the right thing?" Harry asked eventually.

"Every day," Sirius replied immediately. "But then I think about what happens if we don't do it. If we let Voldemort win."

"More people like Umbridge in power. More attacks like St. Mungo's."

"Exactly." Sirius leaned back in his chair. "We're not fighting for a perfect world, Harry. We're fighting for a world where imperfect people can still choose to do good."

Harry thought about that, about all the imperfect people who had chosen to stand with them—Neville, despite his fears; the twins, despite their youth; Daphne and Gabrielle, despite their innocence that had quickly been lost as the war worsened. In no time, they'd all been through a lot.

"I can live with that," he said finally.

"Good," Sirius smiled. "Because that's all any of us can do. Live with our choices and hope they're enough."

As if summoned by their conversation, Daphne and Gabrielle appeared in the doorway. They'd changed into comfortable clothes and looked ready to settle in for the evening.

"Mind if we join you?" Daphne asked.

"Always," Harry replied, making room on the sofa.

They settled in together, Daphne on one side of Harry and Gabrielle on the other, with Sirius watching them with fond amusement.

"You know," Sirius said after a moment, "this is nice. Quiet. Normal."

"Normal," Gabrielle repeated with a small smile. "I 'ad almost forgotten what that felt like."

"We should remember this," Daphne said quietly. "When things get bad again—and they will—we should remember that we can still have moments like this."

Harry looked around at the three people who had become his family, feeling a deep sense of contentment despite everything hanging over them. The war would continue tomorrow. There would be more battles, more losses, more difficult choices.

But tonight, they were together. Tonight, they were safe. Tonight, they could just be.

"Merry Christmas," he said softly.

"Merry Christmas," they replied in unison, and for a moment, all was right with the world.

Outside, snow began to fall softly against the windows of Grimmauld Place, and inside, four people who had found family in the most unlikely places settled in to enjoy what peace they could find in a world at war.

The pendants around Harry, Daphne, and Gabrielle's necks pulsed gently with shared warmth, a reminder that no matter what came next, they would face it together. And in the magical photograph on the mantelpiece, three figures sat in a peaceful flowery clearing, showing them all what they were fighting for.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tonight, they had each other.

And that was enough.

To be continued…