Milliways

Twas the night before Christmas, as Harry cinched the hat to his head, and set the colorful presents beneath the tree; one box after another. “Thought so,” came the familiar voice. A turn, the red hair a decade and a half since that fateful first train ride to Hogwarts, freckles still present, the eyes more sullen than before. “Ron…” Harry didn’t want to explain, again, of not letting the experience of the Dursleys occur to his best friend’s children. Not that he’d ever accuse a Weasley of not loving their children, but Harry understood the predicament. “One for you,” Ron stated, the point to the ornament. Red revolved into green, advertising. “Milliways?” Harry asked as he took it. “Bit famished,” Ron suggested.