Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Seventeen - Watchman's Light

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Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light, And usher in the morning; O shepherds, shrink not with affright, But hear the angel's warning. This child, now weak in infancy, Our confidence and joy shall be, The power of Satan breaking, Our peace eternal making.

    --Traditional Christmas carol

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It was the end of term, and with the first falling of snow that stuck to the ground came the reminder that exams were approaching. Students who had been a little lax about their assignments were now fixtures in the library, burning the proverbial midnight oil and earning the equally burning contempt of Hermione, especially when she found that someone had borrowed a book she needed for an Arithmancy essay, and horror of horrors...*hadn't returned it*.

"Of all the rude, inconsiderate..." she fumed, storming away from Madam Pince's desk. She stalked back to the table where Ron, Harry, and Neville sat and stood in front of them, puffed up with indignation.

"Hermione, calm down," Neville said worriedly, setting down his well- thumbed copy of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi". "Is one book *that* important?"

She whirled around, glaring at him. He blanched and buried his face in his class notes.

"I NEED that book!" she snarled. "You'd think that people would have the common decency to return books promptly, especially when there are others who *need* to *read* them...."

"Wait...you mean there's a book in here you *haven't* read yet?" Ron exclaimed in mock surprise. He pressed a hand to his heart and fluttered his eyelashes. "Harry, catch me, I feel dizzy...I think I'm going to faint...oh...oh...OW!"

Hermione, having extracted her revenge with a neat kick in the shin, stomped off to the stacks.

"It's your own fault, Ron," Harry said. "You shouldn't bait her like that."

Ron growled as he gingerly rubbed his leg. "Well, that's no reason to resort to violence!"

"I suppose she felt there were extenuating circumstances," Neville said quietly, smiling to himself.

"What was that?" Ron snarled, turning on him.

"Nothing, nothing." Neville hid his smile behind "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5".

Despite their worrying, the exams went smoothly for the four of them. All of the reviewing that Will had asked them to do at the beginning of the year paid off in the more practical exams, like Transfiguration and Charms. That freed them up, creating precious time that could be spent studying for other classes--like History of Magic and Potions-- that were less pure magic and more textbook-oriented.

Snape, true to his word, had given as an exam a Potion they had never studied--a complicated elixir used to treat burns caused by dragon fire. But even in that class, they had a strong enough grasp of the basics to produce a correctly made concoction. Harry worked with Neville, and he noticed a muscle in Snape's jaw twitch uncontrollably when they handed him their completed potion. It was far better than any perfect mark could have been.

Some people weren't so fortunate. Harry and Ron returned from dinner one evening near the end of exams to find Hermione sitting alone at one end of the common room, holding a sobbing Natalie in her lap.

From the look of things, they had been there for some time. The shoulder of Hermione's robe was soaking wet, and she looked very frazzled, but she continued to rock the younger girl back and forth, holding her close.

Harry took a tentative step forward, but Hermione shook her head slightly.

"Potions," she mouthed, shooting them a fierce look that told them to let her alone for a while.

They nodded understanding. She went back to stroking the crying girl's hair and murmuring soothing words, and they tiptoed up the stairs to their dormitory.

Ron closed the door behind them and flopped down on his bed, pillowing his head on his arms. "Poor kid," he murmured into the quilt.

"'Poor kid?'" Harry said, surprised. "I thought you didn't like her."

Ron scowled and rolled over onto his back. "Well, yeah...but no one ever *deserves* Snape."

        *        *        *

Soon enough, the exams were over, the results were posted, and amid the post-exam celebrations and lamentations over grades came yet another vocal disagreement between Ron and Hermione.

It was nearly time for most of the school to board the Hogwarts Express for the holidays. The rattle-bang of packed trunks falling down stairs mingled with loud discussions of holiday plans and travel arrangements from London to various final destinations. Students who were going home gathered in small groups to find travelling friends, while those who had chosen to stay talked about the Christmas feast and dreamed of the long, lazy days that lay ahead of them.

The night before everyone was scheduled to leave, Ginny and Hermione were sitting in the common room, reading in front of the roaring fire and watching Ron beat Harry at wizard chess for the third time that evening.

Out of the blue, Hermione spoke up. "Ron...I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I just kept putting it off. I...I don't think I can come to the Burrow with you and Ginny."

"Mm," said Ron, not looking up from the board.

"You CAN'T?" Ginny wailed. The book she had been reading fell to the floor, forgotten. "But why?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "I've decided to stay at school for the holidays. Tuesday last, I let McGonagall know that I wouldn't be leaving, and I posted a letter to your mother yesterday morning, explaining the situation and apologising."

"But...but...." quavered Ginny.

"I'm terribly sorry to spring this on you at such short notice...I hope you'll understand," Hermione said, smiling apologetically.

"Mm...whatever you want," Ron said with a shrug. He took Harry's last bishop. "Check."

Ginny was distraught. "Please come, Hermione," she begged, her lower lip quivering dangerously. "Mum's been so looking forward to having you visit. And it won't be any fun at home without you--being with all those boys, all by myself. No offence, Ron," she added hastily.

"None taken, brat," he said absently. He nudged a pawn with his finger, prodding it to move forward one square. "Check."

Harry grumbled moodily and propped his chin on his hand, studying the board. His king was in a treacherous spot. Maybe if he moved his knight to take Ron's pawn....

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said, "but I wouldn't feel right going without Harry. After all, Christmas is a time best spent with family, and I don't see why--"

"'Wouldn't feel right'?" Ron interrupted. For the first time that evening he looked up, taking his eyes off the board. "What kind of language is that?"

"Perfectly sensible language, thank you very much," she said.

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "Sensible language my--"

"Ron!" Ginny scolded, cutting him off.

"Well, listen to her!" he shouted. "There's absolutely no logic in her argument. She says that Christmas should be 'best spent with family', blah, blah, blah, and then turns around and all but declares that she's not going home, either!"

A light went on in Ginny's eyes, and she frowned, brow furrowing in deep suspicion. "Yes, Hermione, why is that?"

"Because...well, *someone* should stay here with Harry," Hermione spluttered. "There's no reason why *he* should have to spend Christmas alone just because Voldemort is making everyone paranoid."

Ron flinched, and glared at her. "Look, I'll tolerate the name when *Harry* says it, but--"

"Fine." She waved one hand distractedly. "Let's just keep to the subject at hand, okay?"

"Fine, then. If you don't want to come to our house for Christmas, you should just say so."

"Now you're being ridiculous," she snapped.

Ron's scowl deepened. "*Don't* call me ridiculous."

"Hermione, you still haven't answered my question," Ginny pressed.

"There's nothing to answer."

"*Now* who's being ridiculous," Ron remarked in a vicious aside.

"Ron, shut up," Ginny said. "All I wanted to know was why spending Christmas here with Harry--"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "Ginny, I already *told* you. I don't want Harry to be here alone over the holiday."

"Harry won't be *alone*, you--"

"Ahem!" Harry noisily cleared his throat.

They stopped arguing, and turned to look at him.

"Is Harry permitted to speak, or is Harry not allowed to contribute to this fascinating conversation that seems to directly concern him?" he said facetiously.

Ron muttered something he couldn't quite catch. Ginny poked her brother and hissed a irritated "Ron!" Hermione stared off into the fire, not looking at any of them.

"All right," Harry said. He did his best impression of Will's stern, professorial frown. "I don't want to spend our last night together listening to this. If Hermione wants to stay at school, there's no one to stop her. She shouldn't have to make up a reason."

"I wasn't making anything up," Hermione said resentfully.

"I know," he replied. "That isn't the point. It's true that I can't go anywhere for the holiday, but that shouldn't spoil everyone else's. I'm not making Hermione stay here...she wants to, that's all."

"But...but I won't get to give you and Hermione your presents on Christmas morning," Ginny said, pouting.

Harry smiled wryly. "The best Christmas present I could get would be for you to apologise--*all* of you."

The fire sent up a multi-coloured shoot of sparks, and a fine rain of ashes pattered down on the hearth.

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny said, smiling meekly.

"I'm sorry, too," Hermione added with a little nod.

Ron just glowered at him.

"Ron?" said Harry, giving him a pointed stare.

Ron huffed, puffing out his cheeks in an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry," he said. "Now can we *please* finish the game?"

"Go right ahead." Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling an odd sense of fatigue. He didn't want to have to do anything like that again any time soon...it took a lot out of him.

"Right." Ron guided his bishop two spaces diagonally. "Check...and mate in four."

Hermione snorted, and Ginny giggled, grinning.

Harry pushed his king over, conceding defeat. Sometimes, he would swear that Ron was toying with him, drawing the game out and keeping Harry's meagre hopes up until the very last moment--and then crushing him utterly. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Ron actually took pleasure from it...and the suppressed grin he saw on his friend's face as they put the board away did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

        *        *        *

Harry and Hermione saw the four Weasley siblings off the next morning with bright, cheerful words and promises of daily letters.

The twins did their best to cheer up glum Ron and teary-eyed Ginny by spraying them with their newest joke development: Weasley's Premiere Disappearing Ink. The ink was mostly harmless, except for the small fact that the *ink* didn't disappear on contact, but the surface it was sprayed on did. Ginny got caught in the full force of the spray, and the last glimpse that Harry and Hermione saw of their friends was that of Ginny smacking Fred with one hand as she tried to keep the pieces of her vanishing robe from falling off with the other. Her outraged shrieks stayed with them all the way back to Hogwarts.

The two of them spent a pleasant few days together with their remaining hallmates. Endless rounds of card and chess games and snowball fights took up much of their time, and long, leisurely naps accounted for the rest. When they tired of being sociable, there were always plenty of entertainment options. Hermione's parents had sent her Christmas presents early--a giant parcel of healthy but tasty snacks and four or five books--and she was quite willing to share both with Harry. With the help of home cooking and pleasure reading, they bided their time quietly until Christmas Eve.

Harry's first impression of Christmas Eve dinner in the Great Hall was that the people who had chosen to stay at Hogwarts over the winter holidays were a different group from the scattering of students who usually remained. Many students from Muggle or mixed families, like Hermione, had remained at the school, while nearly all of the students from pure wizarding families had gone home.

"You know why it's like that, of course," Hermione had said when he mentioned his observation to her. "Muggle parents--the smart ones, at least--would rather have their children at school, where it's safer. Especially after...well...."

She didn't need to continue. One only needed to have seen the haunted, faraway look that occasionally appeared in Colin Creevey's eyes to understand everything.

Christmas Eve dinner was the usual elaborate affair, with roast turkey and beef and chicken, all sorts of vegetable dishes, loaves of fresh crusty bread, and an array of sweets and desserts that would have done a pastry shop proud. Though the sheer amount of food was staggering, everyone knew it was only a prelude to the feast that waited for them tomorrow evening.

He wondered what Ron and Ginny were doing at that moment. Maybe they were sitting down to dinner, too. Maybe Mrs. Weasley was just putting the piping hot food on the table, smiling broadly as she lifted the lid of dish after dish, asking her brood if they wanted--

"More bread, Harry?" Seamus asked with his mouth full, holding out a basket filled with steaming rolls.

He was one of fifteen or so Gryffindor students who had chosen to stay at the school between terms. There were a fair number of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws at the table as well, but the only Slytherin present was a morose-looking Blaise Zabini.

The teachers who had remained over the holidays were talking quietly among themselves, though their voices grew louder and more insistent with every glass of mulled wine. Professor Sprout launched into a long discourse about the Christmas trees that ringed the Great Hall, loose strands of grey hair flying wildly about her face as she became more and more excited. Professor Sinistra remarked that there would be a meteor shower within the next week, and invited all of them to visit the Astronomy Tower and see it for themselves. And Dumbledore presided over the feast, great waves of contentment and bonhomie radiating from his smiling face.

It was with great difficulty that Harry, Hermione, and their housemates slogged back to the Gryffindor dormitory to collapse in the common room. Drowsy murmurs of conversation drifted through the warm, still air, followed by snoring as people dropped off in their chairs.

Harry let out a tremendous belch that made the pieces on a nearby wizard chess set rattle, and sent an unsuspecting pawn toppling off the table in surprise.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I see I wouldn't have missed anything if I'd decided to go home for the break. Is this what you and Ron would do every night after dinner if I wasn't here--gorge yourselves and fall asleep immediately after?"

"Nah," Harry said good-naturedly, scratching his belly. "We wouldn't fall asleep *immediately*. Ron says it's bad for one's digestion."

She was not amused. "Well, I for one don't plan to spend Christmas Eve sprawled in an armchair. Can you drag your bloated body away from the fire long enough to join me in a little...'excursion'?"

"What did you have in mind?"

A crafty smile slowly spread across her face, an expression so unlike her normal business-like manner that Harry actually felt alarmed.

"Go get your Invisibility Cloak, and I'll tell you."

        *        *        *

"Now you can't tell me that this isn't much better."

"I never thought you'd go for something like this."

Under the cover of the cloak, Hermione had led Harry up the twisting flights of stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. The night was calm, clear, and cold, with only a few breathy cirrus clouds drifting high in the sky. There was no moon, and no outside light except the dim lantern they had with them, so there was nothing to diminish the milky brightness of the stars spilled across the deep blackness. It was like standing on the top of the world, with only the chill stone beneath their feet to keep them from falling into the endless sky.

"Do you do this often?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes," she said off-handedly, which Harry knew was Hermione-speak for 'every single chance I get'. "Sinistra wrote a chit for me last year, saying that I could come up here if I needed a quiet place to study late at night. But it's more fun this way."

Harry pondered the un-Hermione-like answer, but chose to let it pass.

They stood there for a long time, bundled up against the nose-prickling cold, tracing the familiar patterns of the constellations and planets that they had spent long hours studying in Astronomy class. Hermione spotted the Pleiades almost at once, while Harry pointed out the bright cross made by Cygnus. Soon, they fell to making up stories about their own constellations, picked from the random patterns of stars they saw. Hermione had just finished a story about a cluster of stars that she identified as a man taking a bath in a bucket when Harry raised a hand in warning.

"Did you hear that?" he breathed.

"Hear what?" Hermione whispered, turning white. The thought of being caught sneaking around the school on Christmas Eve was enough to drain all the colour from her face.

Before Harry could answer, the wooden trapdoor in the floor began to open, pushed up from beneath.

He hurriedly closed the shades on the lantern and flung the cloak crookedly over himself and Hermione. They crouched down on the flagstones to minimise the chance of being seen. It had to be Filch and Mrs. Norris--who else would be in the Astronomy Tower late at night on Christmas Eve?

A head of messy brown hair poked up out of the trapdoor.

Will sniffed the crisp air, eyes closed.

"Beautiful night," he said reverently, his breath drifting up like wisps of smoke.

Still crouching, Harry cautiously lifted the cloak from his head at the same moment that Will chose to open his eyes.

"Good evening to you," he said with a nod.

"Hullo," Harry replied, grinning sheepishly.

"Glad to see that you're taking advantage of this lovely weather. Is that Miss Granger with you?" He peered into the depths of the Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione, hearing her name, scrambled out from under the cloak. She looked suitably abashed. "We weren't doing anyth--"

"Did I ask if you were?" Will interrupted lightly.

Her cheeks, already rosy from the cold, darkened to a vivid crimson.

Will climbed through the trapdoor and closed it as Harry and Hermione stood, brushing chips of stone and dirt from their knees. Harry rolled the cloak up into a tight ball and tucked it under his arm.

The Old One threw his cloak over one shoulder and leaned against one of the parapets that ringed the open tower. In his dark blue robes and long cloak, he almost blended into the surrounding night.

"I had a private chat with your headmaster tonight, concerning your progress," he said. "He is very pleased with your achievements, even more so given the restricted resources and limited time frame we have had to work with. I thought, since I was here, that I would stop by and tell you so myself--but I soon found that a little detour was necessary."

He noticed the Invisibility Cloak stuffed in the crook of Harry's arm. He tilted his head to one side, staring at the magical garment with his detached, professional air. "Is that...would you mind if I had a look at that?"

Harry reluctantly handed it over, the slippery cloth running through his fingers like fine silk or satin.

"Ingenious device," Will murmured as he turned the cloak over in his hands. "Combining practical fashion design and organic materials...the hair of the Demiguise, if I'm not mistaken. I'm certain my colleagues in the Biological Anthropology Department would love to get their hands on a fabric like this." He sounded very scholarly.

Harry shot a confused glance at Hermione, only to discover that she was nodding sagely, a look of complete comprehension on her face.

Will handed the cloak back to Harry. "But enough of that. What brings the both of you up here on this lonely night?"

"She was bored."

"He was being a slug."

Their simultaneous answers made Will chuckle.

"It must be strange to spend the holidays here," he said. "My school wasn't one to permit students to stay after the end of term. I always suspected the teachers wanted us out of there as quickly as possible. Not that it bothered me, you understand--being home for my favourite holiday was exactly what I wanted."

Hermione's face lit up. "Christmas was my favourite holiday at home, too. I used to go to church with my parents on Christmas Eve, see all the candles and beautiful hothouse flowers, listen to the nasty little choirboys howl out the canticles--"

"Easy, now," Will said, raising his hands in mock defence. "I was a 'nasty little choirboy' myself, once upon a time."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes." He smiled nostalgically. "Sunday services in the choir loft, mouldy robes that had seen far better days, dripping beeswax burning our fingers. Plus carol singing through the village in the best of the ancient traditions."

Hermione's eyes went very wide. "You did carol singing, too? Our church choir used to sing outside the shops on Christmas Eve, and the Sunday school classes went with them."

Harry felt that he had to get back into the conversation somehow. "I never knew you could sing, Hermione!"

"Well, what do you expect?" she countered, hands on her hips. "You never asked! I used to sing with the choir every Christmas and Easter until I went off to school. And after that...well...I just didn't see the point."

The offended pride had gone from her voice, and she looked rather embarrassed, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the stone.

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

She hesitated. "Well, I spent the holidays at school, and I wasn't going to church anymore by that time anyway, and...I didn't want to go, that's all. I had other things to think about." She tossed her head impatiently, almost defying them to challenge her choice.

"Things change as you grow older," Will said gently. "What was so important to you when you were small doesn't matter as much, after you've grown up a bit." He regarded Hermione thoughtfully. "And I think you grew up quite a lot, after that first year."

Harry looked over at Hermione, and saw that she was shivering--but she didn't look cold.

"I...I don't really know," she said slowly. "Mum and Dad weren't happy when I told them that I didn't want to go--mostly because I didn't know how to explain it. And I still can't. It's just...it doesn't mean as much to me, not anymore."

"I see." Will's face was unreadable.

Hermione shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear her mind. Her voice regained its normal confidence. "Anyway, I'm a witch, aren't I? Shouldn't I be celebrating Yule or one of those other old holidays? They're probably just as pertinent, when you stop to consider that so many of the contemporary Christmas traditions were originally based on older, pagan festivals that the Roman Catholic Church 'borrowed' in order to...."

She trailed off when she realised that no one was listening to her textbook explanation, and stared down at her hands.

There was an long silence.

Abruptly, Will began to hum a tune that sounded very familiar. Harry's ears pricked up at the soft sound, and he tried unsuccessfully to fit words to the music. It wasn't until Will had gone through the song a second time that he recognised it as the melody of the old carol, "Here We Come A Wassailing".

Hermione had joined in the second time around, humming quietly as well. When they had finished, she looked a little more cheerful.

"I always did like that one," she said.

Will sniffed dismissively. "I wasn't so fond of it...but then again I had to learn a rather high descant for it, and it never sounded quite right to me after that."

"Come on, Hermione, sing something!" Harry prodded.

She shook her head quickly, smiling a smile that tried too hard to be modest. "It's been far too long. I'd probably sound all horrible and croaky."

"Come on, please?" He put on his best pout.

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeease?"

"*No.*"

"I bet you're scared."

"I am not!" she said indignantly, though she was gnawing on her lower lip. "I...I just don't want to sing right now, all right?"

"How about a challenge?"

Both of them turned to look at Will.

"A challenge," he repeated. "After all, I have to redeem the honour of nasty little choirboys everywhere. Miss Granger, you will sing a carol of your choosing, and I'll do my best to top you, and so on. Let's see what we come up with."

"I'd never beat you," Hermione said. "You're so much o--" She all but swallowed the taboo word, stopping herself before it could escape her lips.

Will gave her an owlish look. "I might be older than you, but the last time I sang Christmas music my voice was an octave higher. Certain vocal techniques used by a boy soprano might not work for a full-grown man. I'm at a disadvantage in that respect."

"But what happens if you win? Or if I win? How do we win?" Hermione anxiously twisted a strand of hair between her fingers.

"Who said anything about winning? Consider it a matter of personal curiosity."

Left with no other option, Hermione nodded shyly.

But the moment she opened her mouth, "O Little Town of Bethlehem" jumped out as though the song had been waiting in the back of her throat the entire time.

Harry listened with growing delight as the two of them traded songs, running through a wide variety of Christmas music with little outward effort. Hermione sang a lovely rendition of "Angels We Have Heard on High" that featured a rapid and tricky vocal run, but Will merely smiled placidly and countered with its original French version, "Les Anges dans nos Campagnes". Flustered, but not to be outdone, she responded with "O Tannenbaum" in German, paying careful attention to the accuracy of her accent. Will, for his part, sang the chorus and the first two verses of the ancient carol "Riu, Riu, Chiu" with sharp, staccato Spanish precision.

"You're quite good, Miss Granger," Will said when she had finished her next song, a pretty version of "Adeste Fideles" that incorporated both the original Latin and its familiar English translation. "A worthy opponent."

Harry thought so, too, but he knew that if he said so she'd never let him hear the end of it.

"You won't beat him, though," he said wickedly, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Her eyes snapped sparks as she glared at him. "Let's see who'll get the beating, Harry Potter."

Will, sensing the sudden tension in the air, moved toward the trapdoor. "I think that's enough for one night."

"No."

Harry blinked, surprised. Hermione had caught hold of the edge of Will's cloak and was looking up at the older man with shining eyes.

"Just one more," she said. She was calm, but demanding.

Will nodded in acquiescence. He leaned back against the stone wall, waiting silently.

Hermione let go of his cloak and turned away from them, staring up at the sky. Without any introduction, she closed her eyes and began to sing.

"Watchman, tell us of the night, What its signs of promise are."

Harry had never heard the song before, but the tune was pleasant and peaceful. Hermione's alto voice, trembling faintly but sure of the lyrics, rang through the empty night sky like a treble bell.

Then, to his amazement, Will responded as if taking a cue:

"Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height See that glory beaming star."

Hermione spun around, her startled expression quickly relaxing into a joyful smile. Her face was intent and earnest as she sang.

"Watchman, does its beauteous ray Aught of joy or hope foretell?"

Will returned her gaze steadily, answering in all seriousness the question she had asked.

"Traveller, yes; it brings the day, Promised day of Israel."

Harry stood as still as a statue, completely enthralled. He could feel the song around him like a pure liquid, surrounding them, shot through with an enchantment that took his breath away. Listening to them and looking up at the sky, he watched the stars twinkle and shine as they must have done on a similar night nearly two thousand years before.

"Watchman, tell us of the night, For the morning seems to dawn..."

A plain melody, uncomplicated and childlike in its simplicity.

"Traveller, darkness takes its flight; Doubt and terror are withdrawn."

Two solo voices that seemed to fill the world with music.

"Watchman, let thy wanderings cease; Hie thee to thy quiet home."

Was that a slight pause before Will sang his last line? It was brief, no more than a beat, but it interrupted the flow of the music long enough to make the final lines stand out as he and Hermione ended the song together in vibrant harmony.

"Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace, Lo, the Son of God is come! Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace, Lo, the Son of God is come! Lo, the Son of God is come!"

The music faded, and slowly, the magic faded as well. They were once again on top of the Astronomy Tower, staring up at the star-filled sky and the wreaths of grey clouds that decorated the velvety night.

Far in the distance, a bell began to toll the hour. They counted twelve strikes.

"Happy Christmas," Will said quietly.

"Happy Christmas," Harry and Hermione murmured.

The words seemed to be a signal for them to depart, and silently they gathered up the lantern and the Invisibility Cloak and trooped off down the stairs, leaving Will alone on the parapet, gazing out into the night.

As Harry walked through the empty halls to the Gryffindor dormitory, his feet felt as though they barely touched the ground. Tomorrow...no, today was Christmas Day. He was at Hogwarts. He was with his friends. They would open presents in the morning, and have snowball fights, and eat far too much at dinner. Life was good. No, more than good...it was wonderful.

In his mind, he could still hear the echoes of the last lines of the carol, sung in the soft alto of one of his closest friends and the rich baritone of a man who had grown to be as important to him as any adult he had ever known.

"Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace, Lo, the Son of God is come! Lo, the Son of God is come!"

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ April 25th, 2002