Gwen's home looked as it always did when she returned after a term away—so to say, dull and lifeless.

To understand Gwen, one must understand the entirety of the Graham family tree. Her paternal great-grandparents had been entirely pureblood before her favorite grandfather Phineas met a Muggleborn witch from his class. Phineas and Hattie married—and had their first child—remarkably young, leaving them plenty of time to have two more children after their eldest son: Harold (soon to be known exclusively as Haz), and then Hugh, the middle child, and lastly was little Jane, the youngest.

Haz was the first to go to school. Four years later, Hugh would be set to go, and a year after him would be Jane.

But, in an attempt to spare the gory details of a slow death by Dragon Pox, here is the short version: Neither of the youngest Graham children made it through the ailment. Haz was left an only child, and his parents were left heartbroken. Haz finished his Hogwarts career with no younger siblings to leave his legacy behind with.

On the other side of the family, Blythe Baron, the youngest of her four brothers and three sisters, had the pleasure of a lovely childhood. No suspicious deaths by wizardly ailments for the Baron family.

Blythe and Harold met in a Muggle pub when they were seventeen. Both had snuck in illegally with their friends with the intent of getting pissed off their arses and having the time of their lives—the chance of meeting their future spouse was just an added bonus.

     Two years later, they were married. One year after that, Gwendolyn Graham was born.

     Of the Graham family tree, Gwen was undeniably the fire that set it alight. The family was completely bland without her lively presence to excite everyone. Her paternal grandfather Phineas had been her number one fan, always by her side when she'd tell him her ideas to bring some life to the boring Thanksgiving table, or her plan to play a prank on her mother when she looked inside her Christmas stocking. Phineas and Gwen were an inseparable pair, and the holidays were when their unsuspecting family would get the brunt of their mischievousness.

     Phineas died at fifty-three, when Gwen was thirteen. It wasn't any sort of a surprise, either. He had been sick for months prior. That year's Christmas was the first Gwen had to execute the pranks they'd planned all alone. The year after that, nobody awoke to any sort of pranks.

     Hattie and Haz, the only two left of their once beloved wizard family, were among the sixty-seven people to speak at Phineas's funeral. There were four-hundred attendees, and what felt like every single one of them made sure to tell Gwen how much of a great man her grandfather was.

     Blythe's side of the family was rare to come around for the holidays, though her favorite brother annually made sure to ship Christmas presents to Gwen—even if he thought she was a bit younger than usual. It was the thought that counted, right?

The gift that was on Gwen's bed when she returned home for the holidays was most definitely from the aforementioned uncle, who had splurged and decided to get her three whole Muggle picture books that had a max reading level of seven.

"Brilliant," Gwen said, staring down at the books. She dropped her bags onto the wood floor behind her and picked one of the books up, frowning. "Because I'm just the right age to be reading about Peter Rabbit."

"Just put your stuff down for now, Gwen," came her mum's voice, lingering in her doorway. "We're having supper soon."

Gwen turned. She tilted her head. "You waited to eat for me?"

Her mum smiled, lifting a shoulder. "You're our only child, love. Of course we waited up. Now don't be too long; your father still gets grumpy."

As Blythe glided back down the hall, Gwen laughed to herself, shaking her head. As if her father would ever get grumpy over anything. She found it hard to believe he'd ever been through any hardships in his life; he was such a placid fellow, and that blithe smile he always had on his face surely did not say 'both of my siblings died when I was a boy and my father passed away three years ago'.

Gwen exhaled a sigh, sitting on the edge of her bed. She glanced around her bedroom. It looked untouched from the way she'd left it in September. Stray sweaters were strewn across her desk chair, jumpers and long-sleeved shirts she'd idiotically sworn up and down she wouldn't need for Hogwarts. Now that it was actually the time of year for them, though, she regretted not taking every warm piece of clothing in her closet. And why was it so bloody cold inside her bedroom, anyway?

Her desk was littered with old letters from Jackie, Walker, all her friends at school. She'd never found a place for any of them to go in her room, so they always stayed put where they landed when the owl dropped them through her window.

She stood, rubbing her arms. The chill must've been coming through the window; her mum had probably cracked it during the warm months and forgotten to shut it once the flurries came in.

The sun had long since set on new Surrey, but with the untouched snow resting on the ground like a reflective blanket, it didn't look even half-past five. The flames of her neighbors' gas lamps in their lawns flickered in sync with the rushing wind. Down the street, the Muggle church bells were ringing out. Eight o'clock.

"Gwenny!" Her father's voice echoed up the hallway, and a moment later a floating pot appeared in her open doorway. It wobbled around in the air, and Gwen could've sworn it was putting a hand on its hip and narrowing its eyes at her. "It's time to eat. I'm starved!"

"Coming!" she called back. She smacked the pot out of her way and rolled her eyes, but as always, she couldn't stop the laughter. "See you haven't gotten any less dramatic, then?"

He was grinning at her when she arrived in the kitchen, holding his bewitched pot under his arm. "Nope, I'm just the same. Though you—you've gotten at least a foot taller!"

He reached out, taking her face in his hands, ignoring her moans and pleads.

"Oh, my little baby," he said, sticking out his lower lip. "How I've missed you. You've grown too much, Gwenny. I'll have to shrink you to fit you in your bed."

"Mum," Gwen called, her voice muffled as her father squished her cheeks, "can't you help me?"

"I don't get involved in Wizarding business," Blythe replied, blasèrent, without even turning around.

Gwen shrugged out of her father's grasp, laughing, unable to keep a straight face as she swore. "I hate you both."

Christmas morning was a sunny one—a fact that, her father hoped, would melt some of the blasted snow off their porch so he could read the Prophet outside for once in a blue moon.

     Gwen frowned at the mention of the paper. She still hadn't asked her father about his job. For all she knew, it could've been a boldfaced lie. But she doubted it.

     Just looking at him, it was obvious Haz Graham had been through it. He'd begun working on a scruffy beard, from the looks of it, and the unkemptness of it brought a new rough appeal to him. He looked like a different man with it. And his eyes were hollow, much less life inside them than had been there before... His smile, though, stayed the same. That was the one constant Gwen could rely on her father for. His humor never once disappointed.

     "Is Hattie coming today?" Gwen heard her mother ask her father in the kitchen, when they'd both gone to clean up breakfast. "I know it's probably risky—"

     She heard her father exhale a sigh. "I don't know. I tried to reason with her—it's dangerous, is what it is. She fought back, said something along 'I'm fifty-six, Harold, I'm not ancient,' and I told her how unsafe it would be to travel the whole town by herself—"

     "What about Apparating?" Blythe suggested. The sink turned on. "I know that's a thing you lot do."

     "I didn't bring it up," sighed Haz. "I wouldn't want her Splinching herself just to see—No, it's all too risky. Plus, with the enchantments over the house, I wasn't sure she'd even be able to find—"

     "What enchantments?" Gwen asked, unable to stop herself. She'd glided over to the door of the kitchen without either of them noticing. "Sorry to eavesdrop."

     Her mother smiled, her hands buried in the sink. She pulled them out and wiped them off on a rag. "It's nothing, love. Just a few safety spells your father cast. Don't you worry about it."

     Gwen looked to her father, but he was averting his eyes from hers.

     "Come," he said, and offered a smile, "let's open presents!"

Among some new jumpers from her mum and a brand new Nimbus 1000 from her dad, Gwen was happy to receive a rather hefty box of Zonko's products shipped from Walker, a Chudley Cannons jersey from Jackie, and a collection of Virginia Woolf's greatest works from Lily (with a note enclosed saying she figured Gwen would enjoy Woolf's books, and thanks again for Alice in Wonderland).

A rough scrap of parchment also came in with the post, much smaller than the others and scribbled with messy handwriting: Happy Christmas, Gwen. Hope you won't be too upset over what we're about to do. See you soon. Remus.

Gwen frowned. Surely he had meant that to go to someone else. What on earth would he be doing to Gwen on Christmas day?

"Oh, Gwen," said her mother, and she sat up suddenly. "Pose with your father, dear. We can't forget this year's picture.."

     With an obligatory roll of her eyes, Gwen sat up next to her dad, herself kneeling on the ground and him on the couch. He wrapped his arm around her and tugged her into his torso. Together, they grinned at the Muggle camera Blythe held up. She counted down from three and the flash popped, stinging Gwen's eyes.

     "Brilliant," her mother said, peeling the photo out of its slit and faffing it around. "Another year done."

     A knock at the door sounded across the house. Haz and Blythe shared a glance, and Gwen eyed her father's hand inching toward where he kept his wand in his jacket's inner pocket.

     "Couldn't be anything," Blythe said, firmly. "You put up the spell, right, Haz?"

     He nodded slowly. "Only members of the Order, et cetera. Probably, it's only Moody with good news."

     Haz was the one to open the door, while Gwen and Blythe stayed back in the den. A moment later, his voice came, clearly confused: "It's.. for you, Gwenny."

     "Gwenny," came a familiar, ponderous voice. "We'll have to remember that one, lads."

     "Oh, bloody hell." Gwen stood, gathering her own wand and heading to the front door. Sure as she thought, all four Marauders stood just on the other side of the threshold, wrapped up in all sorts of layers to combat the bitter cold of the morning. 

     "Happy Christmas," said Remus, who was at the side.

     "Give us a moment, dad," Gwen said. She narrowed her eyes at the Marauders and, once she was assured her father was safely out of earshot, crossed her arms. "I've got half a mind to hex you all senseless, showing up unannounced like this."

     Remus shoved James by the shoulder. "Prongs's got something to say to you. Hear him out."

     "Gwen," he said, wringing his hands subtly, "I'm really sorry. I was an utter prat. I, uh..." He glanced over his shoulder to the rest of them, and they all took the wordless hint, scooting back simultaneously to give them some space.

Gwen couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips at the gesture.

"I know we said we couldn't be.. together," James continued, quite sheepishly. "But I was wondering if we could still be friends. You're a wonderful witch, Gwen. I don't think I could bear it if... I just don't want to lose our friendship over something so daft. Can you forgive me?"

She twisted her lips off to the side, regarding him. Her arms were crossed over her chest. He tried to read her face, but she'd slipped into a complex expression, one James could not figure out truly meant. Slowly, though, a soft smile spread across her face.

"We can be friends," she decided, with a nod. "And, James—I'm sorry, too. For everything. Even though you were the one that broke my rib..."

He laughed, lifting his shoulders innocently. "I may have taken it a bit too far."

She raised her eyebrows, the smile spreading wider across her face as she exhaled a laugh. "A bit? James, I had to drink an entire bottle of Skele-Gro to fix it in time to come home for the holidays!"

"Right, right." He grinned. "That was my fault."

"Oh, your fault, alright," she said, laughing. "Anyway, did you just come here to ruin my holiday?"

He held up his pointed finger, then turned around to the rest of the Marauders and waved a hand. "She's in, lads! Let's do this!"

Gwen's brow furrowed, as James grabbed her by the hand and pulled her out into the cold. "James, what the hell are—?"

"You're going to need this," he said, shrugging off his own coat and holding it out. "If all you've brought is that thin jumper. We're going to be out here for a while."

"Doing what, might I ask?" she demanded—though it was chilly, and she did slide into James's coat for warmth. "It's Christmas day, don't you lot have families to see?"

"No," Remus and Sirius said in sync.

"We're playing a Muggle game today," Peter, who clearly no longer hated Gwen (as long as James didn't), explained. "I saw some little kids on my street playing it. It's called... uh, football, I think?"

"Right, then what are the rules?" Gwen asked, looking between them all. The boys shared a look. None of them spoke up. Gwen rolled her eyes. "None of you know?"

"We can make them up as we go," James suggested. "Me and Gwen against Padfoot and Wormtail. Moony, you—?"

Remus saluted him. "Announcements, got it. My finest suit."

After a moment of nothing happening, though, Gwen threw her hands in the air. "None of you even has a ball, do you?"

They ended up settling with a makeshift Quidditch match, which Haz and Blythe would pop in and out of to watch. James had promised to make up for breaking Gwen's rib. In hindsight, two Seekers on the same team wasn't the brightest idea James had ever had, and it made Sirius's gloating all the worse when he was the one who caught the Snitch. Gwen didn't mind, really; at least she'd gotten the chance to show off her new Nimbus 1000. James, Peter, and Sirius had ogled at it, but Remus couldn't've cared less.

     Gwen's mum invited them all in for biscuits and tea, and the other three Marauders rushed in like it was nobody's business. Remus lingered behind as Gwen picked up the extra broomsticks she'd dug out of the garage.

     "Happy Christmas," she told him, passingly. "How are you today, Lupin?"

     "Doing alright," he said. Though Gwen noticed an empty tiredness in his eyes and an ever-present frown on his lips.

     "I imagine I have you to thank for bringing Potter here," she said, nudging his shoulder. "I ought to thank you, then. Wasn't sure he'd ever want to—"

     "Oh, no." Remus shook his head. He shoved his hands inside his pockets. "This was all his idea. Sirius even tried to talk him out of it, but y'know how stubborn he gets."

     "Oh." Gwen couldn't help the warmth that spread across her chest. "Okay. Thanks."

     "No problem."

     She frowned, watching the snow beneath their feet as they headed inside. Just outside the door, she paused, turning back to Remus. "How was last night?"

     He twisted his lips. She could tell, from the way he regarded her, that he wasn't fully used to having her know about his furry problem. And knowing how bright she was when it came to Astronomy, of course she'd track full moons.

     But still, he lifted his shoulders. "Not too bad, thankfully. They've gotten worse as I get older, mostly, but sometimes I'll get off easy. I don't really want to talk about it."

     "Yeah," shrugged Gwen. "'Course. Let's go get some biscuits, Remus."

Unfortunately, due to their slow timing, the others had snuffed up all the biscuits by the time Gwen and Remus made it through to the kitchen. No matter, Gwen thought; she was just content to have friends over on Christmas. She'd never done so before.

"Alright, gang." James looked to the clock above the refrigerator, his eyes narrowing. "Remus, Sirius—Mum doesn't want us out for too long. We should get going."

"You boys are welcome here any time you wish," Blythe told them all, beaming. She'd never said it aloud before, but Gwen knew she'd always wanted a son, and perhaps caring for the Marauders had made her feel a sort of fulfillment of that wish.

"See you on the train, Gwen," Remus called, as he and Peter headed out the door first.

"Don't forget me," Sirius said in passing. "You've a nice house, by the way."

"Well, thank you," Gwen said, much too touched by this compliment.

James was the last one out the door. He lingered for a moment, waiting for the others to get just far enough away. "I really am sorry, by the way. I know you already forgave me, but I still feel—"

"James." She put a hand on his shoulder. "I know. I am, too."

"So we're okay?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Mates?"

"Mhm." Gwen nodded firmly. "Nothing more, nothing less. It's perfectly splendid, this way."

"Perfectly splendid," James agreed with a nod. "Then I'll see you back at school. Have a good rest of your break, Gwen."

She smiled, watching him walk away, though he was still facing her. "You as well, James."

It wasn't until he'd been long gone that she remembered she was still wearing his coat.

VIAS CORNER :P
have a happy lil chapter for once! sry about the intro being so morbid just had to explain the whole family lore for some reason. anyway hwf about platonic!gwames?? its not right... winds in the east, mist comin in. like somefin is brewin.. about to begin...
sry not to be cryptic. anyways HAPPY CHRISTMAS GWAMES NATION!! (its august)