On the morning of the twenty-fourth, the snow stopped.
Sunlight came through the gap in the curtains and laid a thin line of gold across the floor. Henry opened his eyes and needed a moment to account for his surroundings.
This was not his permanently dim bedroom in the Slytherin dungeons. The view beyond the window was not the dark expanse of the Black Lake.
The plaster patterns on the ceiling, the books arranged on their familiar shelves, the particular quality of light, it was the room he had slept in since childhood.
He rose, dressed with the help of the household staff, and came downstairs in a dark grey cashmere sweater and neatly pressed trousers.
William and Harry were already in the sitting room, both kneeling on the carpet and sweating, apparently engaged in a serious attempt to open the trunk by force.
"Henry!" William looked up the moment he heard footsteps. "Hurry, open it, we can't get in!"
"Come on, all of you." Diana's voice came from the foot of the stairs. She was already in her dark blue coat, hat, and gloves, entirely composed. "We need to leave."
The drive to Sandringham House took just over two hours.
Two black Land Rovers left the gates of Kensington Palace and moved through the quiet London streets toward Norfolk.
Henry, Diana, and his two younger brothers occupied the first; Charles followed in the second with a stack of documents he said he could review on the way.
William and Harry were asleep within ten minutes of setting off, slumped together against the back seat with their heads touching and their mouths slightly open.
Diana drew a blanket over them with careful, unhurried movements.
"They stayed up far too late last night," she said softly. "Talking about opening your presents in the morning."
Henry nodded, watching the scenery move past the window.
"Nervous?" Diana asked.
"About seeing Grandmother?"
"Yes."
"Not really." He smiled slightly.
Diana smiled back and said nothing. But she reached across and squeezed his hand briefly.
When Sandringham House appeared through the windscreen, Henry found himself understanding for the first time why some people described it as something out of a storybook.
It was a large Victorian building in red brick, set in the centre of a broad estate with manicured lawns and stands of trees.
The snow had settled along the rooflines and windowsills, and in the afternoon sun it gave the whole thing a soft, layered quality that was rather different from anything he had seen at Hogwarts.
William and Harry woke as the convoy turned through the estate gates, both pressing their faces immediately to the glass.
"We're here, we're here—"
The cars drew up before the main entrance.
A familiar figure was waiting at the door: Paul, the Queen's senior household staff member, in his customary dark overcoat and white gloves. He saw Henry step out and inclined his head slightly.
"Welcome back, Your Highness Henry."
"Paul." Henry nodded. "Is Grandmother already here?"
"Her Majesty is in the Garden Room, waiting for everyone." His gaze moved briefly to the small figure standing half a step behind Henry, dressed in a neat tea-towel, blinking at the house with large round eyes.
Paul, as a man of considerable professional experience, raised one eyebrow and asked nothing dramatic.
"And this would be?"
"My assistant, Lucy," Henry said. "She'll be staying with me for a few days."
Paul nodded, asked nothing further, and gestured toward the door. "Please come in."
The Garden Room fireplace was going well.
The Queen sat in her preferred armchair with a tartan wool blanket across her lap and a cup of tea in hand, wearing a light grey wool cardigan and her pearl necklace, a combination that had not changed in decades.
When Henry entered, she set the cup down and looked at him with the particular focused attention of a grandmother who has been waiting and who intends to inspect the results.
"Henry."
"Grandmother." He crossed to her and gave a slight bow. "Merry Christmas."
She studied him from head to toe.
Charles, nearby, directed his gaze at a painting on the wall with the air of a man who has decided this moment has nothing to do with him.
"You've lost weight," the Queen said.
"I haven't, Grandmother."
"Are they feeding you properly at Hogwarts?"
"Yes."
"Then why do you look thinner?"
Henry laughed despite himself. "Quidditch practice," he said. "And a few other things."
Elizabeth patted the armrest of the sofa beside her chair.
"Sit down. Have some tea with me."
The garden room had more occupants than usual for this hour.
Prince Philip sat in the armchair on the other side of the fireplace with a glass of sherry, engaged in what appeared to be a moderately heated discussion with Charles about whether the decorations on the Christmas tree were hanging at a different angle to last year's. Diana sat beside the Queen and was speaking to her quietly.
William and Harry had been permitted to play in the sitting room, on the carpet only and without touching anything breakable.
Lucy stood half a step behind Henry, holding the Spare Corgi Commemorative Edition, the corner of her tea-towel in an extremely tight knot.
Prince Philip's gaze found her and settled there with undisguised curiosity.
"Is that your assistant?"
"Yes, Grandfather. Lucy, this is His Royal Highness Prince Philip."
Lucy bent into a deep, careful bow. "Your Royal Highness—"
"Right, right, no need for all of that." Philip waved a hand. "Are you a house-elf?"
"Yes, Your Royal Highness."
"Can you cook?"
Lucy blinked. "Yes, Your Royal Highness. In the Hogwarts kitchen—"
"You'll cook breakfast tomorrow, then," Philip said, with the satisfied tone of someone who has made a sensible decision. "I want to find out which is better, the Hogwarts kitchen or the Sandringham kitchen."
Lucy looked immediately at Henry.
Henry gave a very small nod.
"Yes, Your Royal Highness," Lucy said softly.
Diana covered a laugh. The Queen, holding her teacup, allowed a slight smile.
"Philip," she said, "don't alarm the poor thing."
"I'm not alarming anyone!" Philip said, with complete innocence. "I simply want to—"
A knock at the door interrupted him. Paul entered, followed by several staff carrying silver trays set with delicate afternoon tea arrangements and a fresh pot of steaming black tea.
"Tea is ready, Your Majesty," Paul said.
The Queen nodded, and her gaze moved to Henry.
"Henry," she said, "aren't you going to tell us about the gifts you've brought?"
Henry rose, took the Spare Corgi jar from Lucy, and carried it across to his grandmother.
"This one is for you, Grandmother," he said.
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early chapters: p*treon.com/palevolt100