A Christmas Scheme II

Title: A Christmas Scheme II
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom: Harry Potter Series
Pairings: Harry/Romilda
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: jealous stepbrothers, Harry is definitely a pureblood
Summary: Romilda and Harry’s Christmas affair continues under the mistletoe…

Romilda breathed out at the snowflakes fluttering in her stomach.  Harry had put a glamour on his forehead (like he always did) and had come over for Christmas Eve.  It had only been a fortnight, but they had become inseparable.  They would meet every weekday at the little coffee shop off of Grimmauld Place and on the weekends they would go into Muggle London and—well—date like Muggles.

This certainly wasn’t pureblood courting.  Anything but.

She turned her head and looked over to where Harry was lying against the pillow. 

No, definitely not pureblood courting.

Romilda was only glad that her father had never given her an allowance large enough to get a vined ring, and Uncle Atlas, free spirit that he was, didn’t believe in them.  Otherwise, she wouldn’t have been acting as if mistletoe was for more than just kissing for the past hour.

Harry reached out and pushed her hair over her slim shoulder.  “You’re smiling, Ro.”

“Am I?” she asked, snuggling closer.  She reached out and gave him an eskimo kiss.  “You’re smiling.”  He was even showing teeth.  He had never done that at Hogwarts, at least that Romilda saw.

“I know I am,” he agreed, pulling her closer and running a hand over her shoulder, a touch as light as ice particles. 

“I suppose we’re going,” Romilda whispered carefully.  “I can tell Clarissa that I am going steady with a mysterious wizard who won’t even give me his six generation pureblood surname.”  She widened her eyes comically.

His bright green eyes narrowed slightly.  His fingers trailing down her arm, he whispered, “How can you possibly know that?  Neither of us are wearing vined rings.”

She smirked to herself. 

This had definitely not been part of her research but Harry had let it slip that his mother’s great uncle was so abhorrent, he hadn’t even let his daughter have a wand.  If his mother’s great uncle was a wizard—well, that would mean Lily Potter wasn’t his mother.  A pureblood certainly was.  And the Potters, well, everyone knew James Potter was at least fourth generation.  It wasn’t a leap to think that if Harry’s mother was from some twisted, inbred family, they were at least six generations, and she only would have been allowed to be seen with a sixth generation wizard herself.

“You think I can’t spot pureblood cheekbones?” she teased, reaching up and grabbing his chin between her thumb and forefinger, angling his head slightly.  “You were so confusing when I met you with that little thing you call a ‘mobile.’”

Harry leaned forward and kissed her lingeringly.  “I thought you were a Muggle,” he reminded her, “until you told me to send you owl post.”

“Well,” she sighed, “no need to keep the Statute of Secrecy with another wizard.  I can only pretend so far.”  She rolled her eyes but smiled at him winningly.  “I after all barely passed my O.W.L. in that subject.”  She smirked again.  “Not that you would have passed.”

He didn’t bother to correct her, leaning forward and kissing her again.

“Have you told anyone about me?” she asked, genuinely curious. 

Romilda knew there had been a hullabaloo when Harry hadn’t become an Auror.  Apparently, the Aurors wouldn’t take Ron Weasley without Harry—and the Weasleys had not been pleased.  She did, however, suppose that Harry was still talking to the family given that he had been dating Ginny less than a year ago.  He probably still talked to the know it all Muggleborn.  Romilda honestly couldn’t remember her name.

A guilty look passed over Harry’s face.

Ah, he hadn’t then. 

She stiffened slightly despite her best effort not to react.

He ran his hand down her shoulder again and over her arm.  “You’re not my dirty little secret,” he promised.  “You’re just all mine.”

Romilda relaxed.  “If you promise.”

“I do,” he swore.

“I’m still telling Clarissa,” she told him firmly, “—and Astoria.”

His eyebrows rose slightly.  “Astoria Malfoy?”

She grinned at him.  “Who do you think played matchmaker?”

Harry looked even more surprised.

“Well,” she amended.  “I offered Astoria encouragement when encouragement was needed.  It was hell when the Carrows were practicing Unforgivables on students.  No one trusted anyone else.  If I hadn’t given little encouragements and offered to pass notes between them, Astoria might not be married to Lord Malfoy.”

“I thought you said you were in Gryffindor.”

She laughed a little.  “I was.  And Astoria was in Ravenclaw.  What of it?  We’d known each other since we were first doing accidental magic.”

“Huh.”  His fingers were running up and down her arm now, tickling her.

“You must have been gone by then,” she surmised, only speaking the truth.

“—Yes,” he agreed carefully.  “I heard about it, of course.”  He opened his mouth to say more, but then Romilda heard the floo connect downstairs.  She had forgotten to lock it for the night.

She sat up quickly, listening, holding the blankets to herself.

Harry sat up with her, grabbing his wand, always on alert.

“Ro?” Roland called from downstairs and Romilda instantly relaxed.  “Are you here?”

“It’s my stepbrother,” she explained to Harry, lightly kissing him.  “I thought he was supposed to be at the Ministry tonight but he must have gotten the night off.”

“You have a stepbrother?” Harry asked in bewilderment.

Romilda had climbed out of bed and was quickly putting on her pantaloons.  She opened the door a crack and shouted back, “Be down in a second!  Put on the kettle!”  Then she closed the door and quickly looked for her sweater.  Glancing at Harry, she paused.  “Er—do you want to come down or hide?”  Roland was highly protective of her, he was, after all, eight years older than her, but hopefully he would realize she was an adult witch now and permitted to have her own social life.

Harry was considering her carefully.  “I’ll come down,” he decided.  “What’s his name?”

“Roland.”

Harry paused from getting out of bed, looking up in surprise.

“We’re all named ‘Ro,’” she explained.  “You know how purebloods get.”

He nodded and then quickly pulled on his jeans.

They wandered downstairs, hand in hand, and found Roland in the small kitchen, a teapot in the air magically pouring tea into two floating cups.

“Ro,” he greeted, his back turned to them, “I thought I’d come take you to Christmas Eve service.  We still have time.”

She paused and leaned against the doorframe, never letting go of holding Harry’s hand.  “Why would I let you do that?”  She couldn’t keep the bite out of her voice.

“Now don’t be like that—” Roland turned and paused at the sight of Harry.  “Who’s this?”

“This,” Romilda told him, “is Harrogate.”

Roland looked between them distrustfully, clearly putting the pieces together.  “He can’t come.”

“I’m not going,” Romilda reminded him, grabbing one of the cups from midair and handing it to Harry.  “Father and our sister will be there.  I haven’t seen Father since I was adopted.”

“Father—” Roland tried to defend.

“—left me in the care of house elves until I was six,” Romilda argued, grabbing the second cup and taking a sip of it.  “There’s no love lost between us.”

“Is that why you’re acting out and behaving like a common Muggle?”  He gestured to Harry.

Romilda could feel Harry stiffen beside her, but she placed a hand on his arm to calm him.  She could fight her own battles.

“As much as I appreciate your commentary on my personal life,” Romilda told him carefully, “we are not blood relations.  You have no right.  It is not wizardly of you.—I will remind you that you flooed in uninvited when you clearly told me you would be in the Department of Mysteries all week.”

This only infuriated Roland more.  His blue eyes froze and his left fist clenched around his wand.

Harry shifted beside her. 

Romilda pressed her hand against Harry’s arm to steady him.  Roland would never throw a curse.  He was too wizardly to do that in front of a witch.

“Who are you?” Roland demanded.  “You’re not even wearing socks!”

It was true.  Harry had come down without his socks or shoes, his pullover slightly askew as he had put it on so quickly.

Romilda had fortunately put on slippers.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Romilda spoke before him.  “Out,” she demanded.

Roland glared at her.

“Out, Roland Figg,” she told him point blank although her wand remained up her sleeve.  “If you can’t be polite, you are not welcome.”

“What am I supposed to tell our sister?” he asked now, looking between them.

She shrugged.  “Tell Madam Davies whatever you like.  She didn’t even bother to invite me to Christmas dinner.  I frankly don’t care what she thinks.—Now, are you going to leave?”

Roland tried to stare her down.  The problem was, no one could stare Romilda down, not even Amycus Carrow.

He stormed out not two minutes later. 

Romilda heard the floo connect and instantly relaxed.  She hadn’t realized she had tensed.  Looking up at Harry, she gave him a small smile, “That’s my stepbrother.  As I said, I was practically raised by house elves.”

Harry glanced back toward the living room, but slipped his wand up his sleeve.  Reaching out, he pushed her hair behind her shoulder.  “You could have let me speak for myself, Ro.”

“I needed to put my foot down.  He can’t act like I’m not the Clearwater heiress.  He has no business commenting on my life choices.”

Harry glanced back toward the floo.  “He was wearing a vined ring.”

“Well,” Romilda sniffed, “Uncle Atlas wouldn’t hear of it.  He called it a ‘chastity belt.’  He said no Clearwater would be caught dead wearing one.”  She reached up and traced the line of Harry’s jaw.  “Where are you going for Christmas?”

“My best friend’s family always has a big gathering.  I thought I’d go get lost in it.”  Ah. Ron Weasley then.

She sighed and nodded.  “Well, will you take me back to bed, Harrogate?  You notice I put some mistletoe over the headboard.”

He grinned at her, showing his teeth again.  “I had noticed that, Mademoiselle Clearwater.”

“I had hoped you would.”  She paused.  “Let me just lock the floo in case someone else decides to call.”

He leaned down and kissed her long and slow right there in the kitchen doorway.  If Romilda pushed her cup of tea back into the air, no one noticed.

*Pt 3 coming Saturday, December 27 at 7pm Eastern