A Christmas Scheme III

Title: A Christmas Scheme III
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandom: Harry Potter Series
Pairings: Harry/Romilda
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: Harry pov, lying Romilda, some Weasley bashing, pureblood Harry
Summary: Third and Final part in A Christmas Scheme Trilogy.  Harry goes to the Weasleys’ for Christmas and finds himself defending his pureblood girlfriend, Ro.

Harry Potter had only gone back to Grimmauld Place to change.  He had taken a shower at Ro’s and had dragged her back to bed afterwards.  He had made her French toast for breakfast, surprising her.  He knew he’d let it slip his mother was a pureblood, and most witches did not expect pureblood heirs to cook.  Still, he kissed the surprise off her face and only flooed out when she had to go to her Uncle Atlas’s home.

Now he was at the Weasley’s for Christmas Day.

He was hiding from Ginny.

They had broken up last February—on Valentine’s Day—but he doubted she had given up on him.  Ginny was like a hippogriff with a steak.  She pounced and didn’t stop tearing you apart until you were swallowed whole.

“Harry.”

He looked up.  It was George.  He could see the scar where his ear had been cursed off, marring his face. 

He smiled wanly—without teeth.  He never felt carefree enough to fully smile around the Weasleys, especially not with Ginny lurking.

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here all by yourself?”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

George nodded in acknowledgement.  “She brought her new boyfriend.”

“She did?”  Harry looked out from his hiding place, trying to catch a glimpse of this mysterious boyfriend among all the ginger hair.  “Who is he?”

“Some Quidditch player.  He’s probably supposed to make you jealous.”  George shrugged.

Harry sighed.  “I have a girlfriend.”

“You do?” George asked, clearly surprised.  “Ron never mentioned.”

“I haven’t told him or Hermione.  I didn’t want to see them fake encouragement.”  He took a sip of his firewhiskey.  It didn’t even burn his throat anymore.

Clapping him on the shoulder, George murmured, “Surely you can’t mean that.”

“Surely I can.”  Harry’s eyes flashed green.  “Everyone wants me to marry Ginny.  I know what’s expected of me.”  He sighed.  “I’m not going to oblige.”  He looked down into his glass.

“Well,” George admitted, “I can’t pretend I’m not disappointed.”

“I know, George.  I know.”  And wasn’t that just the truth?

He was in another corner when Hermione found him.  She had been married to Ron for a couple of months and she still had the honeymoon glow about her.  “Oh, Harry,” she sighed.  “Why don’t you go find yourself under the mistletoe?”  She looked up at him so hopefully.

Harry stared at her for a long second before he admitted, “My girlfriend’s not here.”

“Oh?” Hermione was trying to sound curious, but he could see the light go out of her eyes.  “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” he told her.  “She works for The Daily Prophet.”

“You’re dating a—reporter?”  Now her voice definitely sounded strained. 

He gave her a look.  “Don’t say it like that.”

“How am I supposed to say it?”  Hermione crossed her arms.  Oh, now she was going to get bossy on him, as if he hadn’t done his reading for O.W.L.s.  Just what he needed for Christmas.

“Hermione—”  He sighed.  Maybe he should have gone to the Clearwaters’ with Ro.  It was a new relationship, but she would have been thrilled.  It would have been hard not to admit to her Uncle Atlas, that his name was anything other than ‘Harrogate Potter,’ but Ro would hopefully get over her shock.  She hadn’t noticed his scar the first morning they’d met—and he’d put a glamour on it ever since.

Audrey, Percy’s wife, wandered over.  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing—” “Harry’s dating a reporter at The Daily Prophet—”

Audrey looked between them.  “And you didn’t bring her?”  At least she was taking a reasonable attitude. 

“She had to be with her uncle,” Harry explained.  “It is Christmas after all.”

“Oh,” Audrey looked a little lost.  “Do we know her?”

“Er—” Harry paused.  “She’s Penelope Clearwater’s niece.”

Audrey’s face darkened at the name.  Penelope Clearwater had been Percy’s girlfriend his final year at Hogwarts.  They had only broken up because they disagreed with the changes at the Ministry when Voldemort’s followers had taken over.

Audrey turned and indicated to someone.

Great, more people were getting involved.

Percy came over, as pompous as ever.

“You never told me Penelope Clearwater had a niece,” she accused.

Percy looked surprised.  “She did?  How old is she?  Five?”

Audrey indicated Harry.  “Our Harry is dating Penelope Clearwater’s niece.  She’s at her uncle’s today instead of here.”

“Oh?” Percy looked annoyed.  “I only know the Clearwaters are purebloods.  I haven’t a clue who’s who.  Penelope and I never got into familial details.  She could never remember if Ron was Ron or if his name was something else.”

“Poor Ron,” Hermione murmured.

Percy waved her off.

Harry looked into his empty glass.

In the end, he barely made it out of the Weasleys’ alive.  When Ron had found out, he’d nearly blown a gasket.  Ginny had pretended she hadn’t heard, but her eyes were tracking Harry all during Christmas dinner.  The Quidditch boyfriend was only an alternate.  If he was supposed to make Harry jealous, it didn’t work.

He Apparated back to London and walked down the streets with no particular destination in mind, his hands shoved in his pockets.  All the shops were closed and when he looked into people’s windows, he could see families opening presents.  It rather disheartened him.

At about nine o’clock he went back to Grimmauld Place, to the old bag of bricks that still had house elf heads pinned to the walls.  It was rather a musky place.  Not really a home at all.  He only stayed here because everyone expected him in Godric’s Hollow.

At half ten, he finally broke down and flooed over to Ro’s flat.  He was afraid the floo would be locked, but he found it open.  He stood in the little living room, looking at all Ro’s notes spread out for her latest obituary.

He heard a padding on the stairs and smiled when Ro peaked her head around.

She instantly relaxed.  “I thought you were Roland come to scold me again.”

“No, not Roland,” he promised.  “He’s probably at your sister’s.”

“Probably,” she agreed.  Coming up to him, she lifted up her hand and let it hover over his cheek.  A look passed over her face and, carefully, she reached up to his fringe.

He grimaced.  He had forgot to put a glamour on.

A look of understanding came over her face.  “I guess you don’t recognize me either.”

Harry looked at her in confusion.  “Recognize you?”

Turning away, she led him into the kitchen where she put the kettle on with a wave of her wand.  She turned carefully and leaned up against the counter.  “My friends and I—well—” Here now she blushed.  “We tried to slip you a love potion my fourth year.”

“You—”  Harry looked at her.  Really looked at her.  “I thought you said your name was ‘Clearwater.’”  She looked nothing like the young fourth year Romilda Vane with her wild curls and buxom frame who had slipped him a potion from Weasley Wizard Wheezes around Christmas of his sixth year.  She had grown so much taller and her hair was much less frizzy.  She had certainly gotten leggier in the intervening four years.

“Uncle Atlas adopted me my fifth year,” she told him.  “He needed an heiress.  The Vanes never wanted me anyway.”  She was biting her lip now, the way she did when she was nervous.

He came up to her and pulled her lip from her teeth, watching it plump.  “Little Ro,” he whispered.

She blushed, her eyes meeting his, a startling deep brown.  “You look nothing like yourself, Harrogate Potter.  If the scar hadn’t given it away—”

“I like looking nothing like myself,” he admitted, his lips hovering over hers, a near kiss.  “I’ve practically left the wizarding world.”

“You haven’t left me, though,” she reminded him, glancing up seductively through her eyelashes.  She had to know what she was doing to him.  “Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m not leaving you, Ro,” he promised, leaning down and kissing her lightly.

Her arms came up around his shoulders and she pressed closer to him.  He smelled the scent of vanilla in her hair and sighed into the kiss, happiness encircling his heart. 

They only pulled away when the kettle boiled so Ro could wave her wand at the cups.

“How was—the Weasleys’ I take it?” Ro asked as they settled around the kitchen table. 

“Worse than I expected.  I should have far rather have been with you and your Uncle Atlas,” he admitted out loud.

She smiled at him adoringly.  “He would have accused me of using a love potion on you.”  She laughed a little to herself.  “Little does he know.”

“You didn’t have time to slip it into my cappuccino,” he reminded her playfully.

“I could always slip it in now,” she teased.

“I suppose you could.  George Weasley doesn’t sell love potions anymore, though.”

“Who says he’s my only source?”  Her dark eyes twinkled.

He leaned forward and took her hand.  It had been a matter of a fortnight at Christmastide, but he loved this witch, and he had no intention of letter her go.

The End