Nodding and laughing, Harry answered, "Yeah. I do. Think about it, Ron."
"I don't see anything the least bit humorous about this," Ron insisted.
Even Bill was chuckling now. "Well, if she was looking to get attention away from the boys, she's certainly succeeded. Look at poor Mum. She's beside herself."
Harry turned his gaze to where Molly was having a very serious heart to heart with Georgina over by the dessert table. Even from ten feet away, Harry could see how Georgie was all but glowing as she expanded upon her plan to be a Slytherin between bites of a gooey cherry pastry. He couldn't hear everything, but Georgie seemed to be quoting statistics concerning how much more Slytherins made in the work world than the other houses. Molly was saying that there were more important things than money, but it was a losing battle. The kid had stars in her eyes and Slytherin in her heart. With a start, Harry realized that Severus had picked out the Weasley that really was most suited for his house.
Harry looked up at Ron. "You're not really angry about this, are you?"
Ron glanced over to Severus, who was conversing with Hermione, then looked to where his mother was now extolling the virtues of Gryffindor to a singularly unimpressed Georgina. Despite her physical resemblance to her father's side of the family, Georgie had never looked so much like Fleur as at that moment. She had the same 'I'm above all the rest of you peons' expression on her face that Fleur had worn at Hogwarts for the entire Tri-Wizards Championship.
The raw material might have been there all along to work with, but Harry recognized that Severus had most probably created a monster here today.
With his usual ability to completely ignore reality, Ron gave an optimistic, "You're probably right. She'll have forgot all about it by the time she goes to Hogwarts. Guess this is what comes from having a Slytherin marry into the family."
The words weren't exactly complimentary, so it took Harry a moment to absorb the more important sentiment behind them. Before he could react and thank Ron for what he'd just said, a very pregnant Ginny came hurrying over to them.
"Did you hear what Georgina is saying?" Ginny asked, looking as scandalized as Ron had a moment ago.
Recognizing his cue, Harry hauled himself up out of his comfortable seat. "Excuse me a minute."
Harry brushed his hand across Hermione's shoulders where she sat on the ottoman in front of the winged back chair Severus was in, and then he perched on the wide arm beside Severus' left elbow. "That was very wicked."
"What was?" Hermione asked.
Harry could tell by the amused glitter in Severus' black eyes that his lover was fully conscious of the disturbance caused by his little chat with Georgina.
"Someone talked Georgina into wanting to be in Slytherin House when she goes to Hogwarts," Harry reported.
Hermione's brown eyes bulged as she gaped at Severus. "You didn't!"
Severus' brow arched. "I most certainly did. The young lady in question was quite precocious and showed every indication of being suited for my house."
For a moment, Hermione's face had the same numbed shock the Weasleys had displayed, but then the mischief Harry loved in her emerged and her face cracked into a wide grin. "Bet that went over well."
"Indeed." Severus seemed quite pleased with himself and his accomplishment. "It was quite amusing."
"You promised me you'd be good," Harry reminded him.
Severus met his gaze. "No. I promised you I'd be as polite and courteous as possible. The word good was not mentioned in our arrangement. It is, after all, such a subjective term."
Harry glanced over at Hermione and advised, "Never bargain with a Slytherin."
"I'm afraid Severus hasn't left us much choice in that," Hermione said with a giggle, gesturing over to the couch where Georgie was now attempting to convince her mother to transfigure her blue party dress into Slytherin house colours. "I have to admit, the expressions on their faces are priceless."
"You're enjoying this too much," Harry said to her.
"Tell me you're not," Hermione dared.
Harry looked at the confounded faces around him as the Weasleys' only granddaughter swirled in the centre of the room to show off her newly transfigured green and silver dress. "Well, I guess it's never going to be boring with you here, Severus."
Severus gave another urbane arch of his brow and went back to silently observing the proceedings, looking more to Harry now like a giant black spider sitting in its web, waiting for the precise moment to pounce. He shuddered to think what Severus would do when he actually relaxed in this company if this were the result of his initial, nervous visit.
*~*~*
The Christmas break seemed to fly by. Harry had been worried that Severus and he would get on each other's nerves, spending so much time together, but the days and nights just didn't seem to be long enough – for either of them. He wasn't sure precisely why, but somehow their discussion about telepathic contact on Christmas night appeared to have put Severus more at ease.
If Harry had needed any proof of the change in Severus' attitude, his current situation would have been more than sufficient. Normally, he initiated any physical contact, but tonight, he'd been sitting here on Severus' couch, his nose buried in the latest Qudditch Monthly, when Severus slid onto the cushion beside him and began nuzzling his neck without a word. A month ago, or even a week ago, that would never have happened.
Dropping the magazine, Harry sighed and leaned his head back on the couch, baring more of his throat. He wasn't disappointed. That talented tongue slid downwards, leaving him a shivering wreck. He giggled like a kid as Severus attempted to open his top shirt button with his lips and tongue.
"You're dexterous, but not that good," Harry said.
"Is that so?" Severus challenged.
Harry affected not to notice the slight magical nudge Severus gave the button to loosen it up enough so that his tongue could undo it. He'd learned that the Slytherin propensity for sneakiness could sometimes work in his favour, especially in bed.
"Mmmmm, okay. You're that good," Harry allowed. "Better than good even -"
His words cut off as the fire in the hearth six feet in front of them flared with green sparks. A moment later, Hermione's torso appeared amid the dancing flames. "Harry, Severus? I'm sorry to interrupt you, but . . . ."
The unnatural tremor in Hermione's voice put Harry instantly on guard. Severus, too, appeared to notice the discrepancy, for his face went from embarrassed to a not-quite-worried set in a heartbeat as they separated. Quickly straightening out his clothes, while Severus did the same beside him, Harry sat up and asked, "What's happened?"
"It's . . . it's Ron. His boss just firecalled." Harry's blood seemed to freeze in his veins as Hermione's eyes filled with tears. "Ron's in St. Mungo's. It's bad, Harry . . . really bad."
"Where are you?" Harry questioned, rising to his feet.
"Our place," Hermione answered. "I was just about to leave for the hospital. Could you –"
"We're on our way up. We'll floo to you, then we'll all floo over to St. Mungo's," Harry said, rising to his feet.
With a numb-looking nod, Hermione withdrew from the hearth to clear it for floo travel.
Only realizing that he might have made a major wrong assumption after he'd spoken, Harry turned a questioning eye to Severus.
His lover was buttoning up the last button on his jacket and raising a hand to pluck his summoned robes out of the air.
"We'd best hurry," Severus said.
Despite the fear gripping his chest, Harry was comforted by Severus' seemingly instinctive decision to accompany him.
A dash of floo powder, and they were stepping out of the hearth in the Weasleys' familiar sitting room. The brightly lit Christmas tree in the far corner was a sharp contrast to the shadows in Hermione's eyes.
Harry took Hermione into his arms as soon as he steadied himself, hugging her tight. "It's okay. He's going to be okay. You know how tough he is."
With an unconvinced nod, Hermione allowed herself to be guided to the floo.
Ten minutes later, Harry found himself doubting his own words. Ron was more than bad. He was barely alive. What was left of him looked more like pulp than flesh. He couldn't look at the bloodied, burnt husk without shuddering. There wasn't a bit of skin left on Ron's face. His cheekbones were gaping out of a glistening red expanse of bared tissue. He looked like something from one of those Muggle forensic telly shows, rather than a living human being.
