Christmas Eve

'Leave me alone! No... stop it, stop it!' shrieked Ginny with amusement.

'Now now, little sis, it won't hurt.... Much...' laughed Fred as he chased her around the snow-covered garden.

George loomed up behind her. 'And she was so willing moments ago. I don't know Fred, we try so hard and look at the thanks we get...'

Harry smiled to himself as he watched the escapade before him. He had just enjoyed a huge dinner courtesy of Mrs. Weasley, and he was now stuffed to the brim. It was extremely cold, not even the Warming Charms provided by Mr.Weasley could help that, and so he sat wrapped up in every single scarf, hat and cloak he owned, looking peculiarly like Dobby under an Engorgement Charm. He glanced up to the heavens, and saw before him a clear, wintery sky. Instantaneously, he looked towards the star of Sirius. The vague happiness he had felt a moment ago was now replaced with a dull sadness, one he was all too used to feeling. Six months had passed since the battle for the prophesy, though to Harry it felt like six minutes. He would never forget the image of Sirius' graceful fall, the surprise and the shock upon his handsome face one moment, and gone the next. He would never forget the reckless devotion his godfather showed him, living on rats and sneaking him broomsticks. He would never forget the barking laughter, nor the way his face expressed concern for Harry in such strengths he had never thought possible.

Harry wiped a tear from his eye, hoping no one had seen it. He gazed thoughtlessly for a few more seconds at the Dog Star, before whispering 'Miss you, Snuffles', and bowing his head.

A second shriek snapped him from his stupor, and he smiled, although sadly, at what he saw.

Fred and George had finally caught Ginny, and were now binding her in what seemed to be a clear, jelly-like bandage. Harry watched, puzzled for a second, before smiling genuinely this time, as Ginny began to stagger around the garden like a walking piece of elastic.

Fred beamed with delight. 'Wobbling Wraps! The new product from the infamous Weasley Wizard Wheezes! Available-'

Though when they were available, Harry would never know, as a tremendous scream drowned out his last words.

'Fred! George! Release your sister at once! I've warned you about those things before, and now you've gone too far. I want every single wrap, canary cream, joke wand and every other ludicrous product you've got in that room. Now!' Mrs Weasley stood fuming in the doorway, her wand shaking dangerously. Few people dared to argue with her in these tempers, yet George was one of those who tried.

'But, Mum-'

'Don't you 'But, Mum' me; give me the products, or no presents!'

It was quite apparent from the looks of all around the table that this threat was going too far. Bill dropped his goblet of Fire Whiskey in outrage, whilst Arthur attempted to reason with his wife.

'Now, look here Molly, perhaps if we just-'

Once again, Mrs Weasley interrupted her addressee. 'I don't want to hear it Arthur. I'm sick to the back teeth of those two, and their absurd ideas. I don't see why they couldn't get a nice steady job, like...'

At this she trailed off, a misty look appearing in her eye. Harry knew what she had been about to say. 'Like Percy'.

Yet, Percy was no longer the wondrous prodigy he once had been. He followed the Ministry blindly, caring for nothing and no one, nothing but power. After the hurried and embarrassed dismissal of Cornelius Fudge, a replacement was found within days, and so it was that Amelia Bones became the new Minister. However, a contingent of high-powered witches and wizards thought Amelia's appointment had been unfair and unjust. A conspiracy began which suggested that Albus Dumbledore was influencing Madame Bones, and that she was not acting at all of her own accord. A huge propaganda trail began, and a wide range of highly dubious evidence brought against Ameila (of which, many members of the Order campaigned tirelessly that it was fake, though to no avail) and after only 2 months, Amelia Bones was thrown from office.

After a matter of days, a replacement was heralded. The Minister was now none other than Narcissa Malfoy. Harry had heard Mr Weasley speak of her with disgust, and spoke openly about how Narcissa was nothing but a tool for Voldemort, the same- although distorted- reason that had lost Madame Bones her job and reputation.

The change to the Wizarding world upon Narcissa's appointment was gargantuan. Any pureblood wizard known, or suspected, of loving or harbouring any feeling other than disdain for muggles and mudbloods had been discharged without delay. For anyone found harbouring a muggle or mudblood, the penalties ranged from a heavy fine to a stay in Azkaban.

The Wizarding world had changed. For how long, no one even dared venture a guess.

However, the Weasleys were not ones to dwell on unhappiness (or ignore a cause for celebration) and it was as a result of this that Harry Potter found himself shivering around the outside table, on a crispy, snowy 24^th December.

In spite of this, the usual Christmas cheer was reserved for the twinkling fairy lights, and bouts of idiocy provided by Fred and George. As much as the people tried to ignore the current climate in their world, Harry could see the unease hidden behind the grinning mask each Weasley wore. He wondered, for a moment, if his expression was the same.

'Come on now, everyone! Bedtime. The quicker you get to sleep, the quicker the big day will arrive!' Mr Weasley's cheery voice roused Harry with a start.

Though he realised that the reason for this early night, for it was only nearing ten o' clock, probably was to make Christmas come early, and to alleviate the troubles they all felt even for a short time, Harry wondered if there was a hidden ulterior motive.

Over the past three weeks, there had been a steady increase in Death Eater attacks all around the country. Voldemort's supporters had suffered a huge setback in the summer battle, and it had taken them months to recruit members they found to be suitable, and free those imprisoned. Harry suspected that now the ranks were full, they were stronger than ever before, and the newspaper reports confirmed this. It seemed that every day, there was a new article in the Daily Prophet (which had gained independent status by Madame Bones, much to Narcissa's fury); one day a family with a muggle father would be executed, whilst the next it would be a mass muggle annihilation. Only eight days ago, word had come stating that a pureblood family known to be muggle supporters had been killed during the night. The amount of owls that the Weasleys received the following morning carrying letters from anxious friends and relatives had been nearing ridiculous.

As he entered the house, Harry cast one last glance at the sky, wishing his godfather goodnight, and a merry Christmas.

Ron and Hermione, who had been talking quietly together all night, caught up with their friend as they reached the stairs. 'Hey, whats been up with you?' Ron asked silently, so his mother could not hear and start fretting.

Harry sighed. 'Nothing... just y'know... I got some defence books from Sirius last year...'

Hermione's eyes widened at once. 'Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry, I mean I know its been horrible for you, as it has for us all, but I didn't realise just how much.' She rested her arm lightly on his shoulder, uncertain whether he would start screaming if she hugged him. Harry sensed her discomfort at once, and drew her in, Ron also.

'Best friends... forever.' mumbled Harry to the both of them.

After a few more seconds, they drew apart and began to walk slowly up the stairs, each lost in contemplation.

After speculating on what presents they might get the next morning ('A new broomstick,' said Ron dreamily) and sneaking downstairs for a cup of hot chocolate, Harry finally lay his head down, in the makeshift bed beside Ron's.

'Night Ron', whispered Harry, but all he got in reply was a loud snore.

Harry had been asleep for no more than a few hours when he awoke with a shock. A noise, coming from the attic, had stopped pretending it was in a dream and now admitted that it was real. At first, Harry thought it was merely the ghoul beating the pipes, but when he listened closely he realised it was footsteps, light and nimble. Harry frowned in concentration. He knew that in the Wizarding world, Santa Claus really did deliver presents and gifts, though he did not come down the chimney; he flooed, which lead to the traditional muggle image of a man in a red suit squeezing down the smokestack.

He could feel a curious sensation in his stomach; perhaps it was fear, or maybe inquisitiveness. Whatever it was, it drew him to the window and forced him to look up towards the roof. Nothing, there was nothing there. Harry started back towards his bed, already dismissing it as a squirrel when a second noise began. It seemed, though Harry knew it sounded preposterous, to be coming from the wall opposite the window. Putting his ear to it, he head a soft tap-tap-tap, getting lower and lower.

Harry knocked against the wall, ever so quietly so as not to wake Ron, but it was completely solid. He jokingly hoped the Weasleys did not have a pet basilisk of which they had failed to warn him.

After standing in silence for a full minute, and hearing nothing whilst his legs began to ache, Harry dismissed the sound yet again. It was not until he heard a distant crash, coming from the sound of the kitchens did he move once more.

'Ginny? Fred, George? Is that you?' he called faintly down the stairs. No reply. He set off down the stairs, deliberately missing those that creaked. 'Hello? Is anyone there?' he whispered, the prying Gryffindor nature releasing itself once again.

As he passed the partly open door leading to Ginny's room, he peered in only to find Ginny and Hermione sleeping peacefully. He did this with each room he passed, only to find each resident sleeping quietly. He acknowledged that the noise could simply have been made by one of the many animals that inhabited the house, at the exact same moment he realised that he did not have his wand with him.

He was now only steps from the bottom, and the sensation in his stomach turned to excitement. Harry knew he would not have been able to turn back, even if he wanted to. Yet, he cared not for this. His mind suddenly cared for nothing, except reaching the bottom of the stairway, and finding the disturber of the peace.

He almost jumped down the last few steps, his exhilaration seeming to shake the cold silence around him into a frenzy.

It was when he reached the end of the stairway, and rounded the corner, did every thing feel so wrong but so ironically right at the same time.

Every sensation, every thought and feeling he had ever experienced had led him to this point. He knew it when he looked into the red eyes; saw the nose-less face and the dead white skin.

**********

Harry thought, as one does in mortal peril, that all the accounts of death, and how a person's life would flash before their eyes, were false. He had lived for this moment, knew it could happen, and had imagined it. He thought of nothing else, not even when the wand drew back, nor when the flash of green flooded his vision. Even as he crumpled to the ground, and heard the terrible beginnings of a manic laughter, his thoughts did not wane.