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Harry made his way down the grand staircase, guided by the delicious aromas wafting through the manor. He'd changed into his best clothes—which, admittedly, weren't particularly impressive—and had made a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to flatten his unruly hair.
"Remember," Anakin advised as Harry approached the dining room, "formal dinners have rules. Watch what others do first."
"I've never been to a formal dinner before," Harry thought back nervously.
"Neither had I at your age. Just don't use the Force to grab bread rolls and you'll do better than I did my first time."
Harry was about to ask for elaboration on that intriguing comment when he heard a tremendous crash from the dining room, followed by a familiar voice.
"Wotcher! Sorry about that!"
Harry entered to find Tonks standing amid the wreckage of what had once been an elegant flower arrangement, her hair cycling rapidly between mortified pink and apologetic blue. Susan was doubled over with barely suppressed laughter, while Anna was helping Tonks right an overturned candelabra.
"Nymphadora Tonks," Amelia said with the weary tone of someone who had expected nothing less, "breaking family heirlooms since 1988."
"It's tradition at this point," Tonks grinned, her hair settling on a festive red and green pattern. "Hello, Harry! Surprise!"
"You didn't tell me Tonks was coming," Harry said to Susan, delighted.
"We wanted it to be a surprise," Susan explained. "Tonks always spends part of Christmas Eve with us before heading to her parents."
"Ruins something expensive, eats all the pudding, and then leaves," Anna added cheerfully. "It's how we know the holidays have officially begun."
Tonks kissed Anna's forehead affectionately. "Someone has to keep things interesting around here. You lot are too proper without me."
As if on cue, Pippy and two other house-elves Harry hadn't met appeared with soft pops, quickly cleaning up the broken vase and scattered flowers.
"Pippy is so sorry, Mistress!" the elf squeaked, though she didn't look particularly distressed. "Pippy should have moved the Fitzgerald vase! Pippy knows Miss Tonks always knocks it over!"
"Not your fault, Pippy," Tonks said cheerfully. "My special talent is finding new things to destroy each visit."
"Let's eat before Tonks brings down the chandelier," Amelia suggested dryly, gesturing everyone toward the dining table.
The dining room was magnificent, with high ceilings and walls adorned with magical paintings. The long table could easily seat twenty, though tonight it had been arranged for just five, with elegant place settings of fine china and silver.
Harry hesitated, unsure where to sit, but Susan gently guided him to a place between herself and Tonks. No sooner had they settled than the house-elves reappeared, serving the first course—a delicate butternut squash soup garnished with toasted pepitas and a swirl of cream.
"So, Mister Potter," Amelia began once everyone was served, "Susan and Anna have told me a great deal about your first term, but I'd like to hear from you. How are you finding Hogwarts?"
"It's amazing," Harry replied honestly. "I never imagined a place like it could exist."
"That's right," Amelia nodded. "You were raised by Muggles, weren't you? Your mother's sister and her husband?"
"Yes, my aunt and uncle."
"I knew your parents, you know," Amelia said, her expression softening. "Not as well as some, but we crossed paths often in those days."
Harry's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "You did?"
"Indeed. Your father was in Auror training when I was already established in the department. Quite the troublemaker in his Hogwarts days, from what I heard, but he became an exceptional Auror candidate."
"I've heard he was good at Transfiguration," Harry said, hungry for any information about his parents.
Amelia chuckled. "More than good. During one training exercise, he transfigured his instructor's wand into a rubber chicken mid-duel. Only your father would have the audacity—and the skill—to attempt such a thing."
"What about my mother?" Harry asked, sounding more eager.
"Lily was brilliant—one of the most naturally talented witches I ever met. She had a gift for charms work, but she was also remarkably kind." Amelia's smile was genuine. "She once charmed all the interdepartmental memos at the Ministry to sing Valentine's messages instead of their usual content. Took three days to undo it, and no one could prove it was her."
Harry found himself grinning. Every tiny detail about his parents was precious, a piece of the puzzle of who they had been.
"They sound amazing," he said softly.
"They were," Amelia confirmed, her tone warm. "Your mother used to bring you to the Ministry occasionally. You were barely walking, but already showing signs of accidental magic. Once, you somehow summoned every quill in the Auror office at once—they came zooming down the hallway like a flock of strange birds."
The main course arrived—roast goose with all the trimmings—giving Harry a moment to compose himself. The house-elves served without saying a world, their obvious pride in their work evident in every movement.
"Enough about the past," Tonks declared, changing the subject with characteristic tact (or lack thereof). "Harry, tell Amelia about the troll! Susan's letter made it sound positively epic, but I want to hear it from you."
Harry felt his face heat up. "It wasn't really—"
"Harry was amazing," Anna interrupted. "When I got cornered by that troll in the bathroom, I thought I was done for. But Harry came rushing in and cast this incredible shield charm—not just a normal one, but some sort of barrier that completely contained the troll! I've never seen anything like it."
"You're exaggerating," Harry protested. "Anna was incredibly brave. She distracted the troll long enough for me to cast the spell."
"What kind of shield charm was it?" Amelia asked, her tone casual but her eyes sharply interested. "That's advanced magic for a first-year."
"Just a variation on the basic Protego that Professor Flitwick taught us. I added a bit of visualization to make it more... containment-oriented." Harry said with a convincing tone.
"He's being modest," Anna insisted. "It was like nothing I've ever seen in our defense books."
"Magical theory has always fascinated me," Harry explained, remembering the cover story he and Anakin had prepared. "I've done a lot of extra reading."
"You sound like your mother," Amelia observed with a smile. "She was always experimenting with spell modifications too."
"Speaking of impressive magic," Tonks cut in, morphing her nose into a perfect replica of Dumbledore's, "I heard our young Harry here got special permission to join the Duelling Club. Youngest member in decades!"
"Is that so?" Amelia raised an eyebrow, looking impressed. "Professor Flitwick doesn't make such exceptions lightly."
The conversation flowed easily after that, moving from Harry's classes to Susan and Anna's experiences at Hogwarts. Harry gradually relaxed, enjoying the warm family atmosphere that was so unlike the tense, judgmental dinners at the Dursleys.
As pudding was served—a magnificent Christmas trifle that drew appreciative gasps from everyone—the topic turned to current events.
"The Ministry's been in an uproar about security at Gringotts," Amelia mentioned. "That break-in back in July still has everyone on edge, even though nothing was taken."
"I remember reading about that," Harry said. "But if nothing was stolen, why is everyone still worried?"
"Because," Amelia said gravely, "whoever broke in managed to bypass some of the most sophisticated magical security in Britain without leaving a trace. That's not just concerning—it's terrifying."
"Speaking of security," Anna added, helping herself to more trifle, "Dumbledore's been questioning all the portraits about the troll incident. Trying to figure out how it got in, I guess."
"Any leads?" Amelia asked sharply.
Anna shook her head. "None of the portraits saw anything. At least, that's what I heard from Nearly Headless Nick."
Harry frowned, remembering his conversation with Adelaide Blackwood's portrait—the one who had seen Quirrell rushing toward the third-floor corridor during the troll incident. Apparently, Dumbledore hadn't spoken to her, or she hadn't shared what she'd seen. Either way, it was strange.
"Curious," Anakin commented in Harry's mind. "Why wouldn't Dumbledore be thorough in his investigation?"
"Maybe he already knows," Harry thought back. "Maybe he's watching Quirrell too."
After dinner, they moved to a cozy sitting room where a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Tonks entertained them with increasingly outrageous metamorphmagus transformations—including a spot-on impression of Professor McGonagall that had even Amelia chuckling—before regretfully announcing she needed to head home.
"Mum will hex me if I'm late again," she explained, giving Harry a quick hug. "See you at Hogwarts, Harry! Try not to save the world too many times before term starts again."
Once Tonks had departed via Floo (knocking over an umbrella stand in the process), Harry found a moment to quietly ask Susan about the house-elves.
"I've never seen creatures like Pippy before," he said. "Do all wizarding families have them?"
"Only the older, wealthier families, usually," Susan explained. "House-elves are bound to wizarding families and serve them."
"Bound?" Harry frowned. "Sounds like slavery to me!" Harry and Anakin said at the same time, Anakin in Harry's head and Harry with his mouth. Anakin sounded angry, and Harry could feel his anger.
"Not exactly," Susan said quickly. "They want to serve. It's their nature. Pippy gets upset if we try to do too much ourselves."
"That still doesn't sit right with me. Do all Magical families have one?" Anakin said darkly inside Harry's head, his voice was so loud and more powerful than usual that Harry was sure Anna and Susan could hear him talk.
"Do all magical families have one? Can they leave this place if they wanted to?" Harry asked, some of the warmth disappearing from his voice.
"Yes, but only the oldest and wealthy houses have elves." Susan admitted. "They're magically bound to their family unless presented with clothes, which frees them. But most house-elves don't want freedom."
"That sounds like slavery," Harry said, unable to keep the edge from his voice.
"I had the same reaction when I first understood," Anna said, joining the conversation. "But it's more complicated than that. House-elves actually need the magical bond with wizards—it's part of their magic. And most would be devastated if freed."
"So they're happy being..." Harry struggled to find a word that wasn't offensive.
"Servants?" Anna suggested. "Yes, genuinely. Pippy has been with our family for over seventy years. Auntie once offered her payment and she cried for three days, thinking she'd done something wrong."
"We treat our elves well," Susan assured him. "They have comfortable quarters, days off, and are never punished. Not all families are as kind, unfortunately."
"That's an understatement," Amelia said, having overheard. "The treatment of house-elves is something I've tried to reform at the Ministry for years. Not by forcing freedom on them—which most don't want—but by establishing basic rights and protections."
Harry nodded slowly, still troubled but unwilling to criticize his hosts' way of life without understanding it better.
"It's a complex issue, Padawan," Anakin's voice was thoughtful in Harry's mind. "Slavery in any form is not right. But we should learn more before judging. For now, enjoy your time with these people who genuinely care for you."
As the evening wound down, Harry found himself stifling yawns. The day's travel, exploration, and emotional revelations had left him exhausted.
"I think it's time we all retired," Amelia said, noticing Harry's fatigue. "Tomorrow is Christmas, after all."
Christmas. His first real Christmas, with people who wanted him there. The thought filled Harry with a warmth that had nothing to do with the crackling fire.
"Thank you for having me," he said sincerely, looking around at the Bones family.
"Thank you for keeping our Anna safe," Amelia replied simply. "That makes you family in my book, Harry Potter."
Family. Another word that filled him with unexpected warmth. As Harry climbed the stairs to his room, he couldn't help but feel that whatever mysteries awaited with Quirrell's book or back at Hogwarts, they could wait. For now, he had something he'd never really had before: a place where he truly belonged.
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Sleep eluded Harry that night. Despite the luxurious comfort of his four-poster bed—easily the most comfortable he'd ever slept in—his mind refused to quiet. Thoughts of his parents, of Quirrell's book, of Adelaide Blackwood's testimony about the troll incident, all swirled in a restless eddy that kept him staring at the moonlit ceiling.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Harry slipped out of bed. The manor floor was cool against his bare feet, but not uncomfortably so. He pulled on his dressing gown and quietly opened his door.
"Where are we going, Padawan?" Anakin's voice was soft in his mind.
"Just walking," Harry thought back. "I can't sleep."
The manor was different at night—the grand hallways bathed in silver moonlight streaming through tall windows, the portraits snoring gently in their frames. Harry padded quietly past them, not entirely sure where he was going until he noticed a sliver of golden light spilling from beneath a door at the end of the corridor.
He approached cautiously, wondering if someone had simply left a lamp burning. But as he drew closer, he heard the soft rustle of papers and the occasional clink of a teacup being set down.
"Someone else is having trouble sleeping," Anakin observed.
Harry hesitated, hand raised to knock. Would it be rude to disturb someone so late?
Before he could decide, a voice called from within. "Come in, Mister Potter. The door's open."
Startled, Harry pushed the door open to find Amelia Bones sitting behind a large oak desk, reading glasses perched on her nose and several files spread before her. The room was clearly her study—walls lined with bookshelves, a comfortable seating area near the fireplace, and various magical instruments that reminded Harry of Dumbledore's office.
"How did you know it was me?" Harry asked, stepping inside.
Amelia gestured toward what looked like a small, ornate mirror on her desk. "Security charm. Shows me who's outside my door." She smiled slightly. "And Susan and Anna never hesitate before knocking. They barge right in."
"I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry began, but Amelia waved him off.
"Nonsense. I could use a break from these reports." She removed her glasses and gestured to a comfortable armchair across from her. "Trouble sleeping?"
Harry nodded, sinking into the chair. "Too much to think about, I guess."
"I find that's often the case during the holidays," Amelia said, setting aside her work. She flicked her wand, and a tray with a teapot and two cups floated over from a side table. "Tea? It's chamomile—helps with sleep."
"Yes, please," Harry accepted the delicate cup she offered. "Do you always work this late?"
"The Head of Magical Law Enforcement's work is never done," she replied with a wry smile. "Especially when one is also trying to prepare for Christmas morning."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their tea. Harry found himself studying Amelia's face—the lines around her eyes, the silver strands beginning to thread through her auburn hair.
"I've been meaning to ask you something, Mister Potter. You told Susan that you didn't even know that magic existed until you received your letter, and she told me that two days ago. I found that odd. " Amelia finally said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. "When Dumbledore placed you with your Muggle relatives after your parents' deaths, were there regular check-ins from anyone in the wizarding world?"
Harry blinked, surprised by the question. "No, not that I know of. I didn't even know about magic until my Hogwarts letter came."
Amelia's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "So you had no contact with the wizarding world for ten years? No visits from Ministry officials or representatives from Hogwarts?"
"None," Harry confirmed. "My aunt and uncle told me my parents died in a car crash. They..." he hesitated, uncertain how much to share.
"Careful, Padawan," Anakin cautioned. "But a limited truth may serve you here. This woman could be a powerful ally."
"They don't like magic," Harry continued carefully. "Or anything 'abnormal,' as they call it. They weren't... they weren't kind about it."
Amelia set down her teacup with deliberate precision. "Define 'weren't kind,' if you would."
Harry stared into his tea, finding the words difficult. "They made me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs until two years ago. They didn't... feed me properly sometimes, as punishment. My cousin was allowed to hit me. That sort of thing."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. When Harry looked up, Amelia's face was a controlled mask, but her eyes blazed with cold fury.
"I see," she said, her voice deceptively mild. "And Dumbledore placed you there? Without subsequent checks on your welfare?"
Harry nodded, trying to ignore the anger that he felt towards the Headmaster. "I assumed he must have had reasons."
"Oh, I'm sure he did," Amelia replied, her tone making it clear what she thought of those reasons. "Harry, what happened to you was neglect and abuse. As the magical guardian of an orphaned child, Dumbledore had a legal and moral obligation to ensure your wellbeing."
"She's right," Anakin said. "No child should endure what you did, Padawan. The Jedi Council would never have allowed such treatment of even our youngest initiates."
"I want you to know that I take this very seriously, Harry. I will be looking into your placement situation."
"You can do that?" Harry asked, surprised.
"I'm the Head of Magical Law Enforcement," she reminded him with a small smile. "And more importantly, I care about what happens to you."
Harry felt a strange tightness in his throat. "Thank you," he managed.
"This is an ally worth cultivating," Anakin observed. "She has both power and compassion—a rare combination."
A silence fell between them. Harry sipped his tea, feeling a strange mix of vulnerability and relief at having shared even that small part of his life with the Dursleys.
"There's something else," Harry said suddenly, surprising even himself with the decision to speak. "About Hogwarts. About the troll."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"It was Professor Quirrell who let it in," Harry said, the words rushing out now. "I know because a portrait told me—Adelaide Blackwood. Her frame is in a corridor near the staircase that leads to the third floor. She saw Quirrell running toward the third-floor corridor during the commotion, not toward the dungeons like he'd announced."
Amelia's expression sharpened instantly. "Are you certain of this information?"
"The portrait was," Harry confirmed. "And Quirrell's been acting strangely all term. He pretended to be afraid of everything, stuttering and jumping at shadows. But recently he's completely changed—claims he got treatment at St. Mungo's for anxiety, but it happened overnight."
"Have you told anyone else about this?" Amelia asked, her voice now taking on the crisp tone of a professional investigator.
Harry shook his head. "No. I wasn't sure who to tell, or if anyone would believe me. I didn't actually see Quirrell myself—it's just what the portrait said."
Amelia studied him for a long moment, her gaze penetrating. "You were clever to question the portraits, Mister Potter. That shows good investigative instinct." Her expression softened slightly. "But you were naive not to tell a responsible adult immediately. If Quirrell is indeed responsible for letting a troll into a school full of children, he's extremely dangerous."
Harry looked down. "I know. I just... wasn't sure who to trust."
"That's my fault," Anakin said. "I encouraged your independence, but I should have pushed you to report this information sooner. Sometimes I forget how young you still are."
"I understand trust doesn't come easily to you, Mister Potter," Amelia said gently. "But this is precisely why we have authorities—to handle dangers that children shouldn't face alone." She straightened in her chair. "I'll look into this matter personally when I return to work. For now, I want you to promise me something."
"What's that?"
"If you discover anything else concerning—anything at all—you'll tell an adult you trust immediately. Whether that's me, Professor McGonagall, or Professor Flitwick. You're still a child, Mister Potter, no matter how talented. It's our job to protect you, not the other way around."
"She's right," Anakin agreed. "We've been operating too independently. In the Jedi Order, even Padawans report to the Council when they discover threats."
Harry nodded slowly. "I promise."
"Good." Amelia checked the elegant clock on her mantle. "And now, it's well past midnight. Christmas morning will be here before we know it, and I suspect my nieces will be up at an ungodly hour to open presents."
Harry smiled at that, rising from his chair. "Thank you for the tea. And for... listening."
"My door is always open to you, Mister Potter," Amelia said, her voice warm. "Not just at Christmas."
As Harry made his way back to his room, he felt lighter somehow, as if sharing his burdens—even just a few of them—had lifted a weight he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
"You did well, Padawan," Anakin said softly. "Building trust with the right allies is essential. And Amelia Bones strikes me as the right kind of ally indeed."
"I think so too," Harry thought back, climbing into his bed. This time, sleep came easily, carrying him into dreams not of cupboards or trolls or mysterious professors, but of a Christmas morning that, for once, held the promise of joy.
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Harry woke to a soft tapping on his door. For a bewildering moment, he thought he was back in his cupboard at the Dursleys, before the elegant blue hangings of his four-poster bed at Bones Manor came into focus. Weak winter sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting the room in a gentle golden glow.
"Harry? Are you awake?" Susan's voice called through the door, she sounded very excited.
"Coming," he replied, quickly pulling on his dressing gown and slippers. When he opened the door, he found Susan and Anna already dressed in matching Christmas jumpers, practically bouncing with anticipation.
"Come on!" Anna urged. "It's present time!"
"Ah, the enthusiasm of younglings on gift-giving occasions," Anakin commented, his mental voice tinged with amusement. "Some things are universal across galaxies."
"Do I have time to get dressed first?" Harry asked, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair.
"Absolutely not," Susan declared. "Christmas morning is strictly pajamas-only until after presents. It's tradition."
"Apparently we're barbarians before noon on Christmas," Anna added with a grin.
They led Harry down the grand staircase to the main sitting room, where an enormous Christmas tree dominated one corner, surrounded by a surprising number of wrapped packages. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, and Amelia Bones sat in an armchair nearby, wearing an elegant dressing gown and reading what appeared to be the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.
"Happy Christmas, Mr. Potter," she said, setting aside her newspaper. "I trust you slept well after our late-night conversation?"
"Yes, ma'am. Happy Christmas," Harry replied, surprised to find he meant it. Christmas at the Dursleys had always been an exercise in exclusion—watching Dudley tear through mountains of presents while he received, at best, an old pair of socks.
"Well, don't just stand there," Amelia gestured to the pile of presents. "I believe several of those have your name on them."
Harry blinked in surprise. "Mine?"
"Don't look so shocked, Padawan," Anakin chided gently. "People who care about you want to give you gifts. It's a normal part of having friends."
"Of course yours," Anna said, already diving into the pile and emerging with several packages. "Here!"
Harry found himself seated on the floor with a small stack of wrapped gifts before him. He stared at them, momentarily frozen, until Susan nudged him gently.
"You're supposed to open them," she teased.
The first package was from Hermione—a handsome leather-bound book titled "Magical Theory: Beyond the Basics" with a note expressing hopes that he was having a wonderful holiday and reminding him to practice shield charms. From Professor Flitwick came an elegant set of dueling gloves made of supple dragon hide with a note explaining they would help with wand control during complex movements.
"Those are quite advanced," Amelia observed, eyebrows raised. "Professor Flitwick must think highly of your dueling potential."
The Bones family's gift came next—a beautiful winter cloak in deep blue with subtle warming charms woven into the fabric.
"Your old one looked a bit thin," Susan explained, a touch of pink in her cheeks.
"It's perfect," Harry said sincerely, running his fingers over the soft material. "Thank you."
There was even a small package from Tonks containing an assortment of joke products from Zonko's and a note reading: "For emergencies or boring classes. Use wisely or not—I'm not your mum."
The final package was different from the others—wrapped in simple brown paper and lacking a card. Harry opened it cautiously, aware of Amelia watching him closely. Inside was a fluid, silvery-gray piece of cloth that seemed to flow like water through his fingers.
"Interesting," Anakin murmured. "It feels... different in the Force. Almost as if it's partially in another dimension."
"Is that what I think it is?" Amelia asked sharply, leaning forward in her chair.
Harry looked up, confused. "I don't know what it is."
"It's an invisibility cloak," Anna breathed, eyes wide. "They're incredibly rare and valuable!"
Harry spread the cloak over his lap, marveling at how the part of his legs beneath it seemed to vanish entirely. "Who would send me something like this?"
"There's a note," Susan pointed out, retrieving a small card that had fallen to the floor.
Harry picked it up and read aloud: "Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you."
"No signature," Amelia observed, her expression unreadable.
"Dumbledore," Anakin stated confidently. "Has to be. Who else would have possessed your father's belongings? And the timing, right after you shared information about Quirrell with Amelia... that's not coincidence."
Harry swallowed hard, suddenly overwhelmed. This had belonged to his father—had draped over his shoulders, hidden him from view, perhaps been part of the mischief-making Amelia had described last night. It was the first tangible connection to his parents he'd ever had.
"Mr. Potter? Are you all right?" Amelia asked gently.
Harry nodded quickly, blinking back unexpected moisture in his eyes. "Yes, just... surprised."
Amelia's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Your father mentioned this cloak once to me. I'm not surprised it found its way back to you."
Harry carefully folded the cloak, trying to maintain his composure. "Thank you all for the gifts. I didn't expect... I mean, I've never really..."
"Breathe, Padawan," Anakin advised. "There's no shame in being moved by kindness."
"I think it's time for breakfast," Amelia declared, tactfully changing the subject. "Pippy has been preparing since dawn, and I'm certain she'll be devastated if we let her efforts go cold."
The breakfast that awaited them in the dining room was indeed spectacular—a traditional wizarding Christmas spread that made Hogwarts feasts seem modest by comparison. Golden plates held stacks of cranberry pancakes, eggs prepared three different ways, sausages, bacon, and something called Wizard's Figgy Pudding that steamed with blue flames.
"The flames are harmless," Susan explained, seeing Harry's startled expression. "Just a bit of Christmas magic."
"Don't try to use the Force to put them out," Anakin warned, amusement evident in his voice. "I may have made that mistake once with a similar dish on Alderaan. Caused quite a diplomatic incident."
Harry suppressed a snort of laughter, covering it with a cough when Amelia glanced his way.
"Something amusing, Mr. Potter?" she inquired mildly.
"Just remembered something funny," Harry said quickly. "From school."
"Smooth recovery," Anakin commented dryly. "Very convincing."
"Shut up," Harry thought back, lips twitching.
As they ate, Harry listened to Susan and Anna explain wizarding Christmas traditions—how magical crackers contained not just paper hats but real gifts like chess sets or jewelry, how enchanted mistletoe would chase people around until they received a kiss, and how wizarding carolers' voices could harmonize perfectly regardless of actual singing ability.
"In some old wizarding families," Anna explained between bites of pancake, "they enchant the snow on Christmas morning for special games."
"Like what?" Harry asked.
"Snow sculptures that move, ice slides that go uphill, snowballs that chase specific targets," Susan listed. "Though we keep ours simple—just regular snow for regular snowball fights."
"Speaking of which," Anna said with a mischievous gleam in her eye, "I propose we finish breakfast and head outside before it gets too warm."
An hour later, Harry found himself in the Bones' expansive rear gardens, bundled in his new cloak and facing what could only be described as a snow fortress. Anna and Susan had clearly done this before—their snow wall was impressively engineered with battlements and even a small tower.
"Not fair!" Harry called out, hastily piling snow into a much smaller barricade. "You've had years of practice!"
"All's fair in love and snowball warfare!" Anna shouted back, lobbing a perfectly formed snowball that Harry only just dodged.
"Use the Force to sense the incoming projectiles," Anakin suggested. "But maybe don't obviously dodge ones that would be impossible to avoid normally."
"I know," Harry thought back, gathering snow for his counterattack. "I'm not completely hopeless at this."
The battle was just getting properly underway when a familiar voice rang out across the garden.
"REINFORCEMENTS HAVE ARRIVED!"
Tonks came bounding through the snow, her hair a festive combination of red and green, a scarlet bobble hat perched precariously on top. She was dragging what appeared to be a sled laden with additional snow weaponry.
"Tonks!" Harry called out gratefully. "Over here! I'm outnumbered!"
"Fear not, young Potter!" Tonks declared dramatically, diving behind his modest barricade. "I bring the ancient Black family snow combat techniques, passed down through generations of winter warfare specialists!"
"Is she always this... enthusiastic?" Anakin inquired, sounding both amused and bewildered.
"Pretty much," Harry confirmed, grinning as Tonks began producing perfect snowballs using her wand.
"I know we can't do magic outside school," she explained, seeing Harry's expression, "but is alright as long is not a powerful spell, so spells like Lumos are alright."
"Is that official Ministry policy?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Absolutely," Tonks assured him with an exaggerated wink. "I call it the 'Save Harry Potter's Dignity Act of 1991.' Very important legislation."
For the next hour, the air was filled with flying snow, laughter, and the occasional yelp when a particularly well-aimed snowball found its target. Harry used the Force minimally—just enough to sense incoming attacks and occasionally guide his throws with a touch more accuracy than would be expected. Mostly, though, he simply enjoyed the simple pleasure of play—something that had been all too rare in his life.
At one point, Tonks morphed her nose into a carrot and her eyes into lumps of coal, calling out, "Look, I'm Frosty the Snowman!"
"Who?" Anna asked, pausing mid-throw.
"Muggle reference," Harry explained, taking advantage of her distraction to land a perfect hit on her shoulder.
"Oi! No fair using Muggle cultural knowledge as a tactical advantage!" Anna protested, laughing as she brushed snow from her jumper.
"You know, Padawan," Anakin observed quietly, "sometimes the most important victories aren't won in battle, but in moments like these."
For once, Harry had no witty comeback. Because surrounded by friends, engaged in nothing more serious than a snowball fight on Christmas morning, he thought his mentor might just be right.
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The final morning at Bones Manor arrived with a gentle snowfall that blanketed the grounds in fresh white powder. Harry stood at his bedroom window, watching the snowflakes drift lazily downward while reflexively folding and refolding a jumper that had long since been perfectly packed.
"You seem reluctant to leave," Anakin observed.
"Is it that obvious?" Harry replied quietly, placing the jumper in his trunk at last.
"Only to someone who's been inside your head for two years. To everyone else, I'm sure you're the picture of subtle sophistication."
Harry snorted. "Was that sarcasm, Master? I thought Jedi were above such things."
"Whoever told you that clearly never met Obi-Wan. The man elevated sarcasm to an art form."
A soft knock interrupted their banter. Harry opened the door to find Amelia Bones standing there, immaculately dressed in formal robes despite the early hour.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter. May I come in?"
"Of course," Harry stepped aside, suddenly self-conscious about the state of his packing.
Amelia surveyed the room with a quick, practiced glance before turning her attention to Harry. "I wanted to speak with you privately before you return to Hogwarts."
"Is this about Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked.
"Partially," Amelia acknowledged. "I've made some preliminary inquiries about his background and recent behavior. Nothing conclusive yet, but enough to warrant further investigation."
She reached into her robes and produced a small, leather-bound book, its cover embossed with a simple pattern of silver stars. "I'd like you to take this."
Harry accepted it curiously. "What is it?"
"A communication journal," Amelia explained. "I have its twin. Anything you write in it will appear in my copy, and vice versa. If you notice anything concerning at Hogwarts—about Professor Quirrell or otherwise—I want you to contact me immediately."
"A secure communication line," Anakin noted approvingly. "Practical and discreet."
"I understand," Harry said, turning the journal over in his hands. "Thank you."
"This isn't just about gathering intelligence, Mr. Potter," Amelia added, her tone softening slightly. "Based on what you've told me, I have concerns about your safety. This journal ensures you have a direct line to someone who can help if needed."
Harry nodded, genuinely touched by her concern. "I appreciate that."
"I've also begun looking into your placement with the Dursleys," she continued, her expression hardening momentarily. "That will take more time, but I want you to know I haven't forgotten."
"She's efficient," Anakin commented. "Reminds me of Padmé—doesn't make promises lightly, but when she does, she keeps them."
"I really can't thank you enough," Harry said awkwardly. "For everything. This has been the best Christmas I've ever had."
Something in Amelia's expression softened further, though her voice remained brisk. "You're welcome in our home anytime, Mr. Potter. I hope you know that."
A commotion from downstairs—the unmistakable sound of Tonks knocking something over, followed by apologetic exclamations—signaled that it was nearly time to depart.
"I believe the time has come," Amelia said with a slight smile. "Finish your packing. I'll see you downstairs."
After she left, Harry quickly placed the last of his belongings in his trunk, including the invisibility cloak carefully wrapped between layers of clothing. As he closed the lid, he hesitated.
"I should probably cast that protection spell," he murmured. "Just to be safe during travel."
"The one from Quirrell's book?" Anakin asked, his mental tone carrying a note of caution.
"Aegis Reflexio," Harry confirmed. "It'll stop things from getting damaged in transit."
"You're not supposed to use magic outside of school," Anakin reminded him.
"I really need to find a way to bypass that rule," Harry said, scratching his scar thoughtfully. "Maybe I can convince Hermione to knit me an invisibility sweater—'Oh, don't mind me, Ministry, just a jumper casting spells over here!'"
Anakin snorted. "Yeah, because nothing screams 'subtle' like a Ravenclaw scarf waving a wand around."
Harry walked downstairs. The entrance hall was a scene of organized chaos. Susan was checking for forgotten items, Anna was attempting to wrangle her cat into a carrier, and Tonks was alternately helping and hindering both processes.
"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks called out, her hair cycling through nervous purple hues. "Ready for the grand return? I've decided I'm tagging along to Hogwarts with you lot."
"She means Auntie begged her to keep an eye on us because she thinks we're a walking disaster," Anna translated, finally succeeding in closing the cat carrier despite loud protests from within.
"Spoil all my fun, why don't you," Tonks pouted, morphing her lower lip to exaggerated proportions before breaking into a grin. "But yeah, I'm your unofficial fourth-year chaperone. Try to look appropriately awed by my authority."
"I like her," Anakin decided. "Reminds me of Ahsoka, but with less likelihood of getting us all killed in a spectacular fashion."
"That's not saying much for our survival odds," Harry thought back, fighting a smile.
"All set?" Amelia asked, entering the hall with a handful of documents that she quickly tucked into her robes. "The Floo connection to Professor McGonagall's office is only authorized for the next fifteen minutes."
The goodbyes were brief but warm. Amelia shook Harry's hand formally, though her eyes conveyed more than her professional demeanor suggested. "Remember what we discussed, Mr. Potter. Don't hesitate to use the journal if needed."
"I won't," Harry promised. "And thank you again, for everything."
Moments later, he was spinning through the Floo Network, emerald flames whirling around him as Bones Manor faded from view. His last glimpse had been of Amelia's face.
He tumbled out of Professor McGonagall's fireplace with marginally more grace than his previous Floo journey, though he still ended up on hands and knees, glasses askew. McGonagall helped him up with a rare almost-smile.
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter. I trust you had a pleasant holiday?"
"The best," Harry said honestly, stepping aside as Susan emerged from the flames behind him.
As he made his way back to Ravenclaw Tower, Harry felt a curious mix of emotions—gratitude for the warmth and acceptance he'd found with the Bones family, anticipation about returning to the magical education he loved, and an undercurrent of unease about Quirrell.
"We'll figure it out, Padawan," Anakin assured him, sensing his concern. "One mystery at a time, remember?"
"Right," Harry murmured, then louder to Susan, who had asked him a question about dinner, "Sorry, what?"
"I said, do you think they'll have treacle tart tonight? You barely touched Pippy's yesterday."
"Oh, I hope so," Harry replied, deliberately pushing his concerns aside for the moment. "Though I doubt it'll be as good as your house-elf's version."
"Nothing is," Anna agreed, catching up to them. "Pippy's been perfecting that recipe since before Auntie was born."
As they rounded the corner toward the moving staircases, Harry allowed himself to be drawn into their conversation.
He had allies—both visible and invisible—and for the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt truly prepared for whatever might come next.
Well, almost prepared. The journal Amelia had given him pressed reassuringly against his chest from its place in his inner pocket. Just in case.
"Always have a backup plan," Anakin approved. "Now you're thinking like a proper Jedi."
"Or a paranoid space wizard?" Harry suggested.
"There's a difference?"
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