Three Animagi and a Werewolf

Chapter 31: The Season of Cheer

On the Eve

All was peaceful at the Lupins' cottage on the moors. Though Death Eaters had visited Malcolm's flat in London and left it in a shambles, it appeared that they had not bothered to seek out his relations at all. Alastor Moody had been suspicious at first, and he and a team of aurors had examined the house, garden and woodlands beyond with a fine toothcomb. Yet they had found nothing untoward. Nonetheless, Lily and John had reinforced their protection charms and Dumbledore had added some of his own. It was now not only impossible for anyone to enter the house unless the door was opened to them from the inside, but they also had to state the correct password - an individual one for each person - at all times. Apparition was only possible in one exact position within the entire clearing, and no one was able to approach the house without apparating in that precise spot.

It had not been more than a couple of weeks since the rescue mission to Slytherin's Rock, and yet that day had thankfully receded to the back of everyone's mind. Although the wireless had sat silently in its spot since the day when Death Eaters had attacked the Wizarding Wireless Network's headquarters and the Daily Prophet's reporters had since been so intimidated that they no longer dared to write anything against Lord Voldemort, though more people had died in the meantime and others had been tortured, Faith was managing to feel quite cheerful about Christmas now. The year's last full moon was behind them, and Professor Dumbledore himself had brought Malcolm round to stay with them six days ago and she was pleased to note that it seemed to be doing him good. There had been a bit of a crisis four days ago, when he had attempted to get out of bed without help and collapsed halfway across the room, but he was much improved since then. Potions of all kinds that she had never even heard of before had helped to revive him, and though he still looked very drawn and insisted on keeping his acquired stubble to cover up the hollowness of his cheeks, he seemed in slightly better spirits than he had been.

The one thing that still worried Faith, however, was the change that she had noticed in him. To her he was gentler, showing more affection than he ever had done. He was quieter than before, to be sure, but he often found kind words to say rather than teasing her. This was all very well, but it was not right, it was not like him. And then there was the far bigger problem. The minute she had heard that Malcolm had come to stay at the cottage, Bridget had hurried round. Faith had been glad, thinking that her coming would cheer her brother up. Yet his reaction had been nothing like what she had expected. She had had to exercise all her powers of persuasion to get him to see Bridget, and when he had seen her, his behaviour had been distant, almost cold. Bridget had gone away near to tears, and although she had returned every day since, not much had improved. Today, Christmas Eve, Faith knew that Bridget would come again, but again she feared that her brother would be as odd as before.

With a sigh, she finished the last touches to the icing on the Christmas cake and stood back to admire it. She heard the step in the hallway creak and went to investigate. She found Malcolm just reaching the downstairs hall. His smile when he saw her was, perhaps, just a little too quick - and more than a little guilty.

"I told you to wait upstairs until John comes back indoors," Faith said reproachfully.

"I can manage to walk the stairs on my own, thanks," Malcolm replied. "I'm feeling a lot better this morning and I wanted some fresh air."

He began to walk slowly, but determinedly, towards the door, taking his cloak off the hook in passing.

"Wait!" Faith called after him, and she went to the closet and returned a moment later, holding out a walking stick. Malcolm stared at her, then he shook his head decidedly.

"No way," he said. "There is no way I'm using that."

"You're not going out that door without it," his sister informed him, and the look on her face told him she was just as determined as he was.

"Faith," he began cajolingly, "I'm better. I don't need a support."

"Better, perhaps, but not perfect. I realise I can't stop you from stretching your legs, but I won't let you go out that door without some kind of support. You may be glad of it after a while."

She held the stick out further, an expectant look on her face. With a sigh, Malcolm took it. Faith gave a satisfied smile.

"That's better. Go on, then. But not too far. If you're not back here in an hour, I'll send John after you."

Malcolm hugged her, and again she was reminded of how different he was nowadays. At one time, nothing in the world - and certainly not a mere insistence on the part of his little sister - would have made him do what was good for him. She helped him button up his cloak and watched him walk down the garden path and head towards the forest through the snow. Yes, she was glad he was here and it was Christmas. All the same, she could not feel entirely happy.

Malcolm walked out into the garden and looked around him. To his left, just on the edge of the woods, John was watching over an axe as it chopped firewood. His arm, though still bandaged around the elbow, was now free of its sling and he raised it in greeting. Malcolm waved back, but continued in a different direction, leaving John to watch him go with a frown.

* * *

Snow sparkled on the window ledges of the house where Rose Evans now lived alone with her younger daughter, and a wreath of holly hung on the front door. Remus had been standing on the steps there for quite a while now, counting the red berries and the number of sharp points on the dark green leaves. He even began debating what material the red bow at the top of the wreath might be. Was it real velvet, or velveteen? He looked around him. So far the street had been deserted, but now a balding man on the other side of the road had just come out of his door in a chequered blue dressing gown and stooped to set a black cat down on the doorstep. He paused on his way back into the house to eye the young stranger in the fur-edged cloak curiously, then went inside. A minute or so later, the man's balding head appeared alongside that of a woman wearing a pink hairnet, peering down around the edge of a lace curtain from an upstairs window.

Remus turned his attention back to the door. There was nothing for it. He had two options, and two options only: Ring the bell, or turn around and go back home. He reflected. If he rang the bell, he would have to go through with what he had come here to do in the first place. If he did not, he would not have avoided his task, merely put it off to worry about some more and perform it at a later date. Of course, he could let James do it. That would, perhaps, be the easiest. It would make no difference to Lily. It would make no difference to James. But for some reason, he wasn't quite sure why, it would make a difference to Remus Lupin.

He began to contemplate this mystery. Why did it make such a difference to him whether it was he or James who spoke to Lily? Perhaps, he thought, because Lily had always been friendly and open towards him, and because getting James to do it seemed like a backhand, even cowardly thing to do. Yes, that might be it. Yet he was nervous, afraid. Again, he did not quite know why. The worst thing that could happen was that Lily would want nothing more to do with him. She couldn't hold it against James, and surely that was the main thing: for James and Lily to be happy. Even if she did refuse to have one of James's best friends in her house. Remus shook himself. Lily wasn't like that ... was she? There had been plenty of people his parents had thought they could trust, people they had thought loyal and intelligent, and yet each and every one of them had disappointed them bitterly, had invented excuses at first, had broken off all contact, had avoided them like the plague ...

"Excuse me!" Remus jumped and turned round. The balding man from across the road had come back out and was waving across at him. "Can I 'elp you?"

"No, thank you!" Remus called back. "I'm just ... visiting!"

"Oh!" The man paused, then went on, "Me wife an' I thought maybe the doorbell weren't working!"

Remus shook his head. "It's all right! Thank you!"

"Oh," said the man again. He added doubtfully, "Well. Merry Christmas, anyway!"

"Merry Christmas!" Remus replied.

The bald neighbour hesitated, then he returned once more to his hair-netted wife. Remus hastily rung the doorbell without further thought. He heard it ring inside the house and waited. He was just starting to think - or secretly hope - that there would be no answer when he heard footsteps drawing closer, there was a clicking of keys in the lock and the door opened. It was Mrs. Evans who stood in the hall. Her hair was tied back in a bun, she wore a bright red apron with a picture of a cross-eyed reindeer over a plain black dress and there were tell-tale traces of baking powder on her nose and cuffs.

"Good morning," she said in a friendly voice. "Merry Christmas."

Remus cleared his throat. "Erm ... Merry Christmas, Mrs. Evans. I'm ..."

"Remus Lupin, isn't it?" she asked, surprising him.

"Yes. How did you ..."

"Lily pointed you out to me once at King's Cross. I rarely forget a face. You're one of James's friends, aren't you?"

"That's right."

The woman smiled kindly. "Do come in."

She stood back and Remus entered, pulling his gloves and scarf off while she closed the door behind him.

"Let me take those," she said, taking them and helping him off with his cloak.

Remus pulled the collar of the roll-neck jumper he was wearing a little higher. He had no wish for Mrs. Evans to see the fresh scars from a few nights ago that shone there.

"Do go through into the living room," the lady was saying now. "It's that door on your left. Lily and I are baking biscuits. Would you like some?" She took a closer look at his pale face and thin figure and added thoughtfully, "Or maybe something more substantial? Sandwiches, perhaps. Do you prefer cheddar or corned beef?"

"Erm ... cheddar please, Mrs. Evans," Remus replied, realising that she was unlikely to take 'no' for an answer.

Apparently satisfied, Rose Evans hung his cloak in a closet and disappeared through a door at the back of the hall. Remus hesitated briefly, sniffing the air. The biscuits smelt good. He then went through the door indicated to him and found himself in a comfortable living room, where he took a seat on the sofa. He did not have to wait long. Lily soon appeared, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Like her mother, she was wearing an apron over black - hers had a snowman on it - and her red hair was in a loose ponytail from which a couple of strands had detached themselves, falling across her face. Lily tucked these behind her ears and smiled at Remus.

"Hello," she said. "This is a surprise, if ever there was one. What brings you here? Were you looking for James? If so, I'm afraid you're out of luck. I haven't seen him today."

"No, I wasn't looking for James. I came to see you."

Lily was about to enquire further, but just then her mother reappeared, bearing a large plate of sandwiches and some paper napkins. Remus rose quickly and offered to help her, but she waved him aside.

"You sit right back down, young man," she said, setting the plate down on the table. "Help yourself to a sandwich while I put the kettle on. Do you take sugar?"

"Two."

Mrs. Evans smiled. "Really? So did my husband."

She paused a moment, a distant look on her face. Then she flashed another smile and left the room. Lily looked after her thoughtfully.

"Is something worrying you?" Remus asked her.

Lily shook her head. "Not really, no. I mean, it hasn't been long since ... Dad ..."

"Yes, I see. Christmas has come round a little too soon perhaps."

Lily's smile returned, though it was a little fainter now. She sat down and said reminiscently, "Dad loved Christmas. He used to look forward to it for months in advance. He started buying presents as early as September - just after I left for Hogwarts. And he'd go hunting for the tree. You see, it couldn't be just any old tree, bought a week before Christmas from the salesman at the local petrol garage. It had to be the tree. Often it turned out to be far too big." She laughed. "I remember one year, he couldn't even get it in the house. He had to cut a big chunk of it off the bottom just to get it through the door. He didn't waste the lower branches, though. He sawed them off the trunk, took a couple of odd pieces of wood and spent hours fixing the branches onto them so that Petunia and I could each have a 'tree' of our own. He was the one who always insisted on our baking biscuits Christmas Eve, too. My mother used to take both of us into the kitchen and we would bake all day long while Dad was nowhere to be seen, and in the evening we wouldn't be allowed in here."

She broke off as her mother returned with the tea tray.

"Here you are," said Mrs. Evans, placing a cup in front of Remus. "Two sugars. And I've put you a biscuit in the saucer, just in case you'd like to try."

She sat down, and it became clear that there was no way Remus would be able to speak to Lily in private until he had tasted the biscuit, drunk his tea and eaten a sufficient amount of sandwiches. Only after he had praised the biscuit to Mrs. Evans's satisfaction and consequently had another pressed upon him, eaten four sandwiches and politely refused a third cup of tea did Lily's mother pick up the somewhat emptier plate and tea tray and leave them alone again. There was a pause, then Remus said,

"I'm surprised you're still going ahead with all this. The tree ..." - he indicated the modestly sized specimen in the corner - "... the biscuits."

"Dad loved Christmas," Lily repeated. "He wouldn't have missed it for the world. We felt that we ought to go ahead with it because of that. It hasn't been easy," she added slowly.

"No, I can imagine it wouldn't be."

Again, they fell silent, Remus feeling unsure what to say next, Lily lost in her own thoughts and memories, until eventually she asked,

"So, what urgent matters are troubling your mind?"

"What makes you think it's anything urgent?"

"Well, I was under the impression from what James said that you'll be at the Hall tomorrow and we'll be seeing each other there. I therefore assumed that whatever you wanted to see me about must be urgent, or it could have waited until tomorrow."

Remus rubbed a crease between his eyebrows with his forefinger and continued his search for the right words. Lily waited a while, then she broke the silence again,

"Urgent or not, I gather from your silence that whatever it is, it's serious."

Remus stopped rubbing his forehead and glanced at her across the coffee table. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, it is serious. It's ... James asked me to ... He thought ... No, that's not the right way to begin at all."

He frowned. Lily studied him, her head a little to one side. Finally she said gently,

"Don't look so worried. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I can take quite a lot more than people think, you know."

"I'm sure you can. But the question is: How will you take it?"

"You won't know that until you come out with it." She paused, then added, "Is this about ... your problem?"

He looked at her in surprise. "My ... problem? What do you know about that?"

"I know there was some reason why you disappeared from Hogwarts one night and everyone was so worried about you. Why you weren't there sometimes when we had lessons, or in the common room of an evening. Why you didn't want to go on seeing Heather ..." Lily suddenly grew awkward. "You see, I know that there's something wrong with you, and that there's no cure."

Now Remus was staring at her, surprise mingled with anxiety. "You know that? How?"

"I feel rather guilty about that part," Lily admitted. "I'd gone round to see your mother about performing protection charms for people with your father's help, and I saw those photographs on the wall. I was curious about this secret of yours that you didn't want to talk about and I ... I let on to your mother that I knew something was up. I let her believe I knew more than I did, and she told me ..."

"What exactly did she tell you?"

"Only that your parents have tried everything possible, but there's no cure. She said something about your dad blaming himself."

Remus nodded slowly. "That's right. He did ... Sometimes I think he still does. But it wasn't his fault. It's no one's fault, it just ... happened."

"What happened, Remus?" Lily asked. "That's the part that I don't know."

Remus avoided her eyes and lapsed into silence once more. Lily got up, came around the table and sat down beside him. She put her hand on his arm.

"You can tell me," she assured him. "Whatever it is." After a moment's hesitation, she went on, "Is it something to do with your grandfather?"

It was sheer surprise that made Remus look at her now. "My grandfather?" he echoed. "No. Why?"

"Oh." Lily, also surprised and a little worried that she had touched on something she shouldn't have, said ever so softly now, "It's just that I heard something once about him being ill. He ... died, didn't he?"

"Yes," Remus confirmed matter-of-factly. "He died when I was very young. I hardly remember him. He was ill for years, there was nothing anyone could do ..."

He continued to look at Lily in some bewilderment for a moment. She looked very pale and anxious and he could not see why. Unless ...

"Lily," he said slowly, "You've not been thinking that my problem is the same as my grandfather's, surely?"

"Are you saying it isn't?"

"No. No, it's nothing like that. I'm not what you could call ill. I'm not dying or anything like that."

Lily's face cleared. She heaved a sigh and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she was smiling.

"Well, thank goodness we've got that sorted. With all this mystery and your mother's talk of there being no cure, and now your sudden wish to speak to me, you had me worried! I can't quite see what all the fuss is about yet, of course, but at any rate I'm glad to know you'll be with us for a while yet."

"You are?"

"Of course." She squeezed his arm. "Come on, Remus, surely you know I've always been fond of you. There's really no need to look so uncertain. I keep telling you you can tell me anything you want - especially now I know it's not as drastic as I was beginning to fear."

"It's drastic enough. My parents lost a lot of friends because of it."

"Without knowing the details, it sounds to me as though these so-called friends weren't true friends. A true friend would never let you down. I certainly don't intend to. So go on, tell me. I'm ready for the terrible truth, whatever it may be."

"It's ... not all that easy for me to tell you. You see, I've never told anyone before. People have found out, but I've never actually gone to someone and told them outright ..."

Lily nodded, and seeing how distressed he was, grew serious once more. "I don't know how to make it any easier for you, I'm afraid. Would it help to tell you that I appreciate your courage in coming to me yourself? That I feel honoured to be the first to hear it from your own lips? Or that I can't imagine anything so terrible that it would make me turn against so good a friend?"

He gave a meek smile at her last words. "Yes, that might help. Well ..." he sighed. "The fact is, Lily ... I ... I am ... not so much ill, as cursed."

"Cursed?" she repeated, looking mildly alarmed once more.

"Yes, I think that describes it best. I'm ..." he looked down at his hands "... a werewolf."

There was silence. It reigned so completely for such a long moment that he looked up again to glance at Lily nervously. She was staring at him open-mouthed. Her expression went from incredulous to shocked and back again.

"No," she whispered finally. "No, that can't be true. Not ... not you."

"I'm afraid it is true," he said heavily. "I've been a werewolf since I was three years old."

"Oh my God!" Lily gasped, one hand over her mouth as she continued to stare at him. "Then you've always been ... as long as I've known you ..."

He nodded. Lily's expression changed again, the incredulity giving way to unmistakeable horror and something else that he couldn't quite fathom. Was it pity? She asked, keeping her voice under careful control,

"Is it ... very awful?"

Remus said quietly, "I don't like to talk about it, really."

"Won't you talk about it to me? Please? I want to understand."

He hesitated, then began slowly,

"It doesn't get any better. Over the years, you get used to planning your life by the cycles of the moon. You even get used to the feeling of sickness that increases as the moon is waxing. You get used to the pain, the scars, the throbbing in every muscle as you awake when the moon has waned again. But ..."

"But?"

"Even though I've transformed so many times now, I can never get used to the feeling of helplessness. The moment when I feel myself transform, when I still know who I am, but I also know that any second now all knowledge, all conscious thought will be gone. For a short while, I'm still capable of conscious, human thought, but my body is no longer my own, I no longer have any command over it. That's the worst part. I could kill someone in that moment and I would be conscious of it, but I wouldn't be able to stop myself."

Lily's eyes were damp now. Without warning, she suddenly put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured into his shoulder. "I wish there was something I could do."

A slow smile crept across his face. "You just did," he said softly.

Lily sat back and smiled tearfully back at him. "Did you really think I would throw you out? That I'd want James to sever all ties with you because of this? Because of something that happened to you when you were three years old, through no fault of your own?"

Remus shrugged his shoulders. "My parents have experienced it often enough. I've learnt to take no one's friendship for granted."

Lily shook her head, still smiling. "Even if I had reacted that way, do you think James would have taken any notice? If so, then I think you underestimate his friendship. He's so fiercely loyal to his friends that I think he'd sooner throw me over."

"No. You underestimate his feelings for you. Nothing matters more to him than you do, I'm sure of it."

With a slightly doubtful look on her face, Lily remarked, "Well, let's just settle for the fact that he's very fond of both of us, shall we? And then you can tell me why James wanted you to tell me all this anyway. Not that I'm not glad you did," she added hastily, "I am. But you said James had asked you to talk to me. Why?"

"I think he felt he didn't have the right to reveal my secret to you without my consent."

"That explains why he didn't tell me himself, but not why he wanted me to know."

Remus cocked his head a little to one side, and gave her a slightly amused look. "Are you sure you're not secretly a legilimens?"

"Quite sure. But I have a very close friend who's excellent, perhaps some of her talent has rubbed off over the years. But let's get back to the point, shall we? Why did James want you to tell me all this?"

"Because of something he did for my sake. Something he would never have done if I weren't what I am."

"Go on," she prompted when he hesitated. "What did he do?"

"He ... broke rules," Remus said.

Lily's brow creased into a frown. "Remus, James spent at least half his time at Hogwarts breaking rules. It must be something more extraordinary than that."

"Well, yes," he admitted grudgingly. "It was actually a law that he broke. He and Sirius and Peter ..."

He paused once more, then explained the whole story to her in full. Lily sat and listened, her green eyes widening with nearly every sentence. When he had finished, she sat in silence for a moment. Finally she said confusedly,

"So James is ... can be ... he can turn into a stag? Just like that? Without warning?"

"As swiftly as McGonagall can change into a cat. Yes."

"That's ... odd."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that I've always found the idea of a human being turning into some animal a bit strange. I mean, to think I could be going for a stroll in Hogsmeade with James or ... or even kissing him ... and he could suddenly change into an animal."

"I don't think there's much danger of that. After all, James can choose when to transform ..."

Lily looked up sharply, the way he had emphasised the word 'choose' striking her painfully.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean ... When I said I find it strange, I meant ... that anyone would want ..."

"It's all right," he assured her, smiling faintly again. "No offence taken."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. Because I meant what I said earlier. If I go offending one of his best friends, I'm really worried James would send me packing. And I wouldn't like that. I'm afraid I really am quite besotted with him. Antlers or no antlers."

This time, Remus laughed outright. "At least he's seasonal. Well, I think I'd best be going now. I've kept you away from your baking for much too long."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I'm glad you came. And I'm sure my mother won't mind if you stay for lunch."

"No, really," Remus said. "You may not have noticed, but the last full moon hasn't been gone long, and I feel pretty much dead on my feet. I think it's time I went home and got some sleep." He rose from the sofa. "I'll see you tomorrow then, at the Hall?"

"Of course."

She accompanied him to the door and handed him his cloak, gloves and scarf. As he pulled them on, she said affectionately,

"Take care of yourself, Remus."

* * *

Christmas Day

*I can't breathe,* Laura Lovegood thought, panicked. *I can't breathe, there's no air, my lungs - my lungs have collapsed.* She tried to move her hand to feel her chest, but couldn't. It refused to obey her command, and with every effort she made the pain increased, spreading from her shoulder to her elbow and then her wrist. *I must get up,* she thought. *Up off the floor.* But her legs were no more willing to cooperate than her arm had been. They too were throbbing with pain, as was her head, her chest, her back ... *At least open your eyes.* Even this proved impossible. *There's nothing to see anyway. Only darkness. Darkness and cold and brick walls that keep out all air, all light, all hope. I'm going to die. I'm going to die! There's nothing anyone can do, it's too late, they'll never find me in time.* She gave a strained gasp. *Malcolm. I won't be able to warn him. Travers got away. He's got to run.* But what could she do, lying here in Travers's cell - her cell? Nothing. She was helpless. *No. No, no, no, no, noooo!*

With a great shudder that ran through her whole body, she opened her eyes. The left one felt odd. Hard and swollen. She could not see much on that side. But the right eye blinked in the sudden, unexpected bright light. Laura tried to turn her aching head, but found it impossible. She gave a low moan, and almost immediately, a murmur of voices that she had barely noticed before broke off. Instead she heard slow, cautious footsteps. A head came into view, square-jawed, red-haired and freckle-faced.

"Oliver," said a pleasant voice as the lips in front of her moved. "I think she's awake."

There were more footsteps and a second head, this one dark and oval, appeared.

"Miss Lovegood?" said a new voice. "Can you hear me?"

Laura attempted to move her lips. They felt stiff and heavy. She ran her tongue over them and tasted something dry and rough.

"I hear you," she said weakly.

Both young men looking at her sighed with relief.

"Can you feel anything?" the red-haired one of them said, and as he spoke for the second time, a memory began to resurface. Gideon. Gideon Prewett. And Oliver McKinnon.

"I feel ... like every nerve in my body ... is on fire."

"Each and every one? You're sure?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Great!" He smiled broadly and said to his companion, "Oliver, I think it's safe to let Moody know she's awake and out of danger. That'll make his Christmas, I'll bet."

"Will do. You going to wake the brother?"

Gideon nodded while Laura did some more thinking. Brother ...

"Lance?" she murmured.

"He's right here," Gideon informed her.

Straining to raise her head a little, Laura looked past him. Sure enough, there in a chair sat Lance. His head had dropped onto his chest. His hair was dishevelled and he appeared not to have shaven for days. His tie was undone and his glasses hung loosely from the hands in his lap. Gideon strode over and touched his shoulder. With a start, Lance sat up. Leaning back on her pillows, Laura heard faint murmurs of voices that she could not make out, then approaching footsteps once more, a pressure at her side, and presently Lance's face appeared.

"Laura ..." He bent over her and she felt a pressure on her hand.

"Hello, Lance," Laura replied.

He smiled uncertainly, and even as she felt once more the strain of speaking, of even keeping her eyes open, she realised that he had never smiled at her like this before. There was a far deeper affection in his smile than she had ever been aware of, and it was in his voice too as he enquired, "How do you feel?"

"I'm aching all over. But that freckle-faced auror colleague of mine seems to think that's good news," she said with a little more strength.

"It is," Lance said eagerly. "The healers weren't sure if your body would be able to cope with all their treatment."

"Well, as long as you're all happy that it's hurting like hell." She winced. "I suppose it matches how I look. I must be a mess."

"You look fine," Lance told her.

Laura looked sceptical. She closed her eyes a moment, partly to relax them, partly to clear her thoughts. Amid the turmoil of what she realised now had been a memory of her ordeal, she knew there was something important. The cell. Baxter and Robinson. Travers gone.

"Malcolm," she murmured, and her eyes opened again suddenly. "Lance, has he been warned? The Death Eater that was being guarded, Travers ... it's important that ..."

"Shh, it's all right," her brother assured her, though his smile faded slightly. "Mr. Moody told me you're not to worry about that."

"But ..."

"He's fine," Gideon put in quietly, returning to the bedside. "Or he will be. But we can't talk about that here. Mr. Lovegood, I'm sorry, I think the healers want to check on your sister."

"Ah yes. Of course," said Lance. And kissing Laura on the cheek, he said "Merry Christmas", and drew aside.

* * *

Iris Snape sat back and admired her work. Each candle was arranged perfectly on each richly green branch of the voluminous Christmas tree. The tinsel sparkled, the baubles reflected the candlelight and the parcels beneath the tree had just the right proportions. The fairy that crowned the top of the tree wore a shiny white dress, her golden tresses fell prettily to her waist. And yet something bothered Iris. Was it the expression on the fairy's face? Maybe. Didn't she look, somehow ... frightened? Were her wings perhaps not quite the right shape? The feathers drooping? Or was it the lighting? Did the glow of the candles lend too ominous an appearance to the dark green of the twigs? Was there something wrong with the shade of green? Something that reminded her of something wicked. She looked again at the baubles. They were red. Bloodred. She shivered. The hand that held the paintbrush trembled a little as she pointed it at one of the offending circles of red upon the canvas. She attempted a brushstroke, but it came out jerky, obscuring the area she had been about to correct and making it a blur of blood red and dark green, a blur that was shaped almost like a leering green mouth with a slithering red tongue. With a small gasp, Iris dropped the paintbrush and stepped back from the painting. She backed away from it, further and further, until her back came up against a wooden door. While one hand clasped the iron bolt behind her, she drew her wand with the other and waved it around the room. The oil lamps went out. Turning around, Iris slid back the bolt, opened the door and stepped out onto a rickety wooden staircase. She closed the door behind her, locked it with a tap of her wand, and began to roll down the sleeves of her robes.

"Ah, there you is, Mistress!" said a voice from below.

Iris gave a small start, spotted Mirmy the house elf standing at the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath, and responded.

"Yes, Mirmy. Were you looking for me?"

"Yes, Mistress. You has a visitor in the drawing room."

"A visitor? For me?"

"Yes, Mistress. It is Miss Coronis."

"Josie?"

Returning her wand to the pocket of her robes, Iris descended the stairs and hurried to her bedroom. She took a short moment to check her appearance, in particular making sure there were no marks of paint on her robes, then she went down to the drawing room. Josie was waiting there, dressed today in what was clearly meant to be festive red and green, with a large bow on the front of her blouse. When Iris entered, she put a big orange bag down on an armchair and came forward to hug her.

"Good afternoon," said Josie. "I just thought I'd pop in to wish you a happy Christmas. Not that I was sure if you actually celebrate Christmas in this house, but I thought it was a better idea to bring along some seasons greetings to someone who doesn't want them than not offer them to someone who does, if you get my drift."

"Absolutely," said Iris with a faint smile. "And a very happy Christmas to you too. We don't normally celebrate Christmas in this house - my husband, you see, doesn't really approve. But while he's out ..." She shrugged, her expression slightly guilty.

Josie grinned. "In that case, while he's out, I've got something for you."

She returned to the bag on the armchair and took out an oddly shaped, brightly wrapped parcel which she now held out.

"I had no idea what to get you, and I'm afraid you might find this pretty awful, but I did make it myself and thought maybe you'd appreciate that it's the thought that counts."

Slightly flustered, Iris took the package from her and thanked her. She unwrapped it to reveal a rather lopsided example of homemade pottery. Presumably it was meant to be a kind of sweet dish - certainly she couldn't imagine what else it was meant to be - and it had greenish reindeer and pink snowmen all over it. Josie said apologetically,

"You probably think it's dreadful."

"No," said Iris truthfully. "On the contrary. It's wonderful." She looked at Josie and smiled again. "Thank you. I am, quite honestly, touched."

Grinning again, Josie said, "You're welcome. But I wouldn't show it to Mr. Snape if I were you. Or even to Sev. Goodness, if he sees what hideous creations I'm capable of, he'll probably dump me tomorrow! I suppose ... he isn't in ...?"

"I'm afraid not. He went with his father to ... well, I take it they're going to be 'busy' all day."

"Hm." Josie frowned. "And I'll bet whatever they're busy with is nothing either of us two would enjoy ..."

"Or even approve of. Quite."

There was a silence, then Josie asked suddenly,

"Just what exactly do you enjoy, Iris?"

"Would you really like to know?"

"Yes."

Iris hesitated a moment, then she took Josie by the hand and led her upstairs, right back to the dark attic space where she had been before the girl arrived. She locked the door behind them and waved her wand for light. Josie looked around her. The small, dark space was simply full of large, rectangular shapes draped with sheets, and right in the middle was a canvas depicting a Christmas scene - but a scene unlike any she had ever seen before. At first glance it was just a big, green Christmas tree with red baubles and tinsel and a fairy on top, but when you looked more closely ... She shuddered, and Iris took a deep breath.

"So it isn't just my imagination after all. There is something sinister about it. I enjoyed it while I painted it, but when I sat back and looked at it again ... it's rather horrible, isn't it?"

But Josie shook her head slowly. "I think it's magnificent. It expresses something. The whole atmosphere of this Christmas. At first glance it's just like any other Christmas, the fairy's on the tree, the tree's all big and sparkly, the presents are piled high, but underneath ... Secretly, we're all seeing Dark Marks everywhere, even in the reflection of a branch of pine in a glass ball, and every shade of red we see reminds us of blood and death."

She touched her own red skirt uncomfortably. Then she looked more closely at the fairy.

"There she sits," she said slowly, "looking all pure and clean and pretty and calm. But really she's scared stiff, isn't she? Desperate. But her beautiful white wings have been battered and she can't get away. That's right, isn't it?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do," said Josie with certainty. "You know very well." She turned and looked at Iris. "That fairy is you."

Iris stared at her for a moment, then gave an odd, self-conscious little laugh. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"It's really quite obvious. She's perched all the way up there, trying to rise above all the blood and dark omens around her, but now that she's made it to that perch at the very top of the tree, she can't go any further, she's trapped. Her wings are crippled. She's you, all right. Besides," she added with a smile, returning abruptly to something more like her usual manner, "if she's not you, she's your identical twin. She looks exactly like you."

"Perhaps she does. As for the rest ..."

"What's under all these sheets?" asked Josie, strolling among them. "More dismal Christmas trees?"

"Oh, all kinds of things."

As she walked among them, Josie peeped under the sheets covering some of the paintings. She saw pictures of submissive-looking house elves being towered over by cruel-faced masters, centaurs in harnesses, vampires on leashes ...

"These are all very good!" she exclaimed. "All rather sinister, but you really can paint, and each painting tells a story - a sad story, of course, but very powerful. You should sell these, Iris. I think people would understand ..."

"Oh, I'm sure my husband would understand! Right before he killed me."

Josie glanced at her across the collection of covered-up canvasses. "He's got no idea of this collection?"

"No. I'm trusting you not to tell him."

"Of course." Josie looked down at a very large chest. "What's in here? More tales of woe?"

"No, rather a different collection."

Feeling intensely curious, Josie opened the chest. She looked through the paintings in it one by one, making little noises of surprise and wonder every now and then.

"Now these are really pretty," she said, holding up a painting of a unicorn with a dazzling silver mane galloping across a green meadow before a golden sun. "Wow! When did you paint these?"

"Years ago," said Iris dully. "Before my marriage to Augustus."

Josie returned the painting to the chest and said, "Why did you marry him? I mean, you're a sweet sort of person, and it seems to me like your husband is rather an arrogant sort of ... well ..."

"Brute? Yes, I suppose he is."

"I expect you'll tell me he wasn't always like that."

Slowly, Iris shook her head. "No. No, he ... he was always like that."

"Then why on earth did you marry him? That's if you don't mind me asking," Josie added, worried that she may have gone too far.

"I don't mind," Iris said quietly. "But if you don't mind, there's something I'd like to ask you first."

"All right. Shoot."

"Why do you come here?"

"Well, today I came to deliver a poor excuse for a Christmas present."

"I don't mean that. I mean in principle. Why should you want to be here? Why should you want to go out with my son? I know as his mother I should be blind to his faults, but I am not. There is too much of his father in him, and he follows his father's ideals too closely. Don't misunderstand me - I am fond of my son. But surely a girl like you can't find much fun in being with him. You want someone happier, someone you can laugh with."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you? I used to think so myself. I don't know why it is that I landed up with Sev. Perhaps it's because he's such a challenge. It's my dearest ambition to see him laugh," she said with a twinkle.

Iris shook her head. "Don't count on it, Josie. I've been trying that since he was three years old."

Shrugging, Josie persisted, "So what about you and Mr. Broody, sr.? How did you hook up?"

"My parents wanted me to marry well," Iris explained. "My husband's family were not only wealthy and respected, but they were purebloods. And so our families arranged for us to be married."

"You mean you had no choice in the matter? None at all?"

Iris shook her head. "No. If I had been allowed to choose, I would have chosen rather differently. Still ... there is nothing I can do about that now. But Josie, you're a nice girl, and I'd like to give you a warning if you don't mind: Think carefully about what you're doing. I know you think you have everything under control, but don't be too sure of yourself. Don't take it all too lightly. You may think your differences of opinion with Severus are unimportant, but his opinions are his father's, and they are strong. He upholds them firmly. Don't make the mistake of thinking you can change someone that fanatical."

"If there's even the slightest chance of making him a better person, don't I have a duty to try?"

"No," Iris said firmly. "You have a duty to protect yourself from what you know to be a dangerous situation. I don't know what your secret is, Josie, but I sense that there is something different about you. Be careful that it isn't something that could destroy you."

* * *

Somewhere along its journey northwards the Hogwarts Express passed over viaducts and railway bridges that ran across rarely used roads. One such road led on to a narrow lane lined with trees on one side and an uninterrupted hedge on the other. Just at the point where the hedge was at its densest, anyone magical who knew of its location could plunge an arm into the thicket and take hold of an iron bell pull. After waiting a few moments, perhaps peering at a map with a carefully practised puzzled expression in case any muggles should choose just this moment to pass by, the hedge would part, allowing the visitor entrance to a tree-lined main drive.

This had once been the only means of access to Wandwood Lodge, the house built by Roderick Longbottom in the early 1800s. Later, a second access had been created which, though tucked away, nevertheless could theoretically be stumbled across by the odd stray muggle postman seeking to deliver a letter or two in this secluded spot.

But, on the whole, it was rare to meet a muggle down this path, and visitors normally still used the original gateway, then followed the drive round a bend to the house.

Wandwood Lodge was an odd sort of cross between a cottage and a manor house. It had two main floors with five bedrooms and one bathroom upstairs, a dining room, drawing room, living room and smoking room on the ground floor, and below that a basement that held the kitchen and comfortable lodging space for up to half a dozen house elves. Yet for all its size there was something very rural about it, overgrown as it was with ivy and with its thatched roof and tiny windows.

Old Roderick had spent most of his days in the smoking room, being a heavy smoker married to a notoriously asthmatic wife. They had had three sons together, of whom the eldest had departed home at the tender age of seventeen to seek his fortune in Egypt. His venture proved successful, but one morning he was found with an ancient ritual dagger stuck right through the breast pocket of his pyjama jacket. Some said it was the curse of the mummy's tomb that had struck him down, those less romantically inclined that it was his manservant Barnsley, who had never been heard of since.

Roderick's youngest son had been less interested in treasure, but he too had travelled far, his search being for knowledge, not wealth. He had explored many continents and studied magic rites so old that they were remembered only by the oldest tribesmen in their native villages, and he catalogued and cross-referenced them, intending one day to write a book upon the subject with which History of Magic teachers the world over could bore their students senseless. But somewhere in the ocean his ship had been attacked, it was suspected by a tribe of very hungry merpeople, and all that had remained for the rescue parties to find had been the crow's nest and a collection of soggy notes on the Disillusionment Charms performed millennia ago by the people of Atlantis.

The middle son had been very different from his two brothers. He had stayed at home and 'stuck in the mud', as the expression goes, faithfully tending the flowerbeds and his ageing parents, and had achieved nothing in particular, at least not in the sense that the word is usually taken to mean. After his parents' death, this son continued to keep up the house, and he and his wife had produced four children to fill the spare bedrooms, a son and three daughters.

Roderick's eldest and youngest sons had been well-known throughout the wizarding world as adventurers and brave men, and people had remembered their stories and written books about them. But it was the middle son, the most inconspicuous and unadventurous, who had really succeeded. For his legacy was one that endured ... he had given life and made a home, a home that was still in the family even now, though he himself was long dead and forgotten.

It was a grey brick building that waited at the end of the drive, with an archway on either side of the door. One of these led to the now long disused stable yard, the other to the extensive gardens, covered at this time of year in a thick layer of snow. Behind the front door lay a hallway with stairs going up and doors leading off it in all directions.

One of these doors was that of the drawing room, with its French windows overlooking the terrace, and it was here that Augusta Longbottom received her guests this Christmas Day with a gracious air. She was a tall woman, no longer young but possessed of a strong personality that made up for what could at no time have been regarded as a pretty face. Her style of clothing gave the distinct impression of being of the last century, but this suited her very well. Her manner was regal, and when talking she gave the impression of bestowing a royal gift upon a humble subject. Yet, oddly enough, the severe facade was not what struck Aurora most about her. Perhaps it was her own special gift that made her more perceptive, but it seemed to her that this woman's life centred almost entirely on one human being: her only child, Frank. However stern she may appear at other times, her eyes always softened when they looked upon her son, and her voice changed when she spoke his name. He was, very clearly, the apple of his mother's eye.

Aurora said politely, "It really is very good of you to have us, Mrs. Longbottom. Not everyone would allow strangers to intrude on their Christmas."

"It is our pleasure to have you here," said Mrs. Longbottom condescendingly. "Frank rarely invites anyone home."

There was a knock on the door and a man came in. Aurora knew at once that this must be Frank's father, even though she could see no immediately obvious resemblance between the two men. Richard Longbottom could not have been more unlike his wife. He was a stocky man with grey hair far receded from a low forehead, a friendly smile and gentle grey eyes, the only physical feature he shared with his son. Once introduced to his guests, he welcomed them both not exactly heartily, but warmly, and Aurora was sure at once that here was a man who was of an extremely kindly disposition. A quiet man, but one who was very affectionate and caring. In fact, she took an immediate liking to him.

"Welcome to Wandwood Lodge, my dear," he said to Aurora. "I wish I could say we have heard so much about you, but our son isn't really the gossiping kind."

"I know," said Aurora.

Mr. Longbottom glanced at the clock. "Well, I think we should have plenty of time before our guest of honour arrives. I'm told you positively refused to come unless famous Uncle Algie were present."

Aurora started to protest, but then she caught sight of the twinkle in his eye and realised he was teasing. It pleased her, and she smiled. Richard Longbottom went on, addressing Aunt Enid,

"And what can I tempt to you with, Miss Borealis? A glass of sherry, perhaps?"

"Oh," said Aunt Enid, flustered as always. "Oh ... if it's no trouble ..."

They proceeded into the dining room, where Richard Longbottom handed round aperitifs, but they had not been there long when they were joined by Perky the house elf, who was wearing a festive ribbon around each of her large ears and brought a strong scent of smoke and burnt meat into the room with her. With a sigh, Augusta Longbottom excused herself and went to attend to the catastrophe in the kitchen. Aurora looked around, but saw that Frank's father had gone on talking to her aunt as though nothing had happened.

"Is that normal?" she asked Frank in an undertone.

"Is what normal? Oh, you mean Perky burning the dinner? Yes, that's quite normal. Don't worry, you won't starve. Mother has plenty of experience in dealing with Perky - and plenty of turkey, too." He chuckled. "Poor Perky. She means well."

"Do you have many house elves?"

"No, just the one. We wouldn't have had any, if it hadn't been for Uncle Algie. He won a whole lot of them gambling against some poor fellow he met on one of his travels. He didn't know what to do with them, so he brought them here. He actually wanted to sell them, I think, but Mother wouldn't have it. She said it was bad enough that he'd agreed to use living creatures as gambling stakes. So he gave them away for free instead - at least, so he told Mother - all except Perky."

"Why not her?"

"No one wanted her," Frank said bluntly. "She was always dropping things, knocking things over, and generally getting everything wrong. So we ended up with her."

"Couldn't you just have set her free and let her go?"

"We could, but she'd have hated it. She was a miserable little thing until Mother agreed to keep her. Then she was over the moon, and she's been happy ever since - still as clumsy as ever, mind you."

Aurora sipped her sherry and studied Frank over the rim of the glass. She had never known him to chat so freely, without any apparent embarrassment or hesitation. He seemed quite at ease, and it was only now that she realised she had never seen him really relaxed before. He smiled at her and held out his hand for her now empty glass.

"Shall I take that for you? Would you like anything else?"

"Not just now, thanks."

While he took the glasses back to the tray on the sideboard, Aurora looked around her. It was not a particularly large dining room, but comfortable. There were paintings of countryside landscapes on the wall and many candles had been lit. The table had been draped with a table cloth in red and green and laid perfectly, with deep red napkins, tartan patterned Christmas crackers and wine glasses. It was all very nice, she thought. Warm and cosy and ... homey.

Rejoining her, Frank asked, "Hello, what are you smiling about?"

"Was I smiling?" she asked in genuine surprise. "I didn't realise. I don't know really. It's just all so nice. I'm glad you invited us."

"So am I," he replied.

Aurora was aware once again of how much more easily he seemed to be able to say that here, in his own home. He had been so shy when he had asked her, so unsure of himself. She said,

"You're quite different today, aren't you?"

"Am I?" he asked. "In what way?"

"Less jumpy. More sure of yourself. Not quite so anxious that I'll turn round and say I don't fancy spending Christmas with your family."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you came, you've said hello to my parents, you've met the staff and faced the prospect of burnt turkey with crunchy stuffing, followed by rock-hard mince pies with congealed custard, and you haven't taken to your heels and run for the Knight Bus yet. I'm taking that as a sign that you're not absolutely hating it here."

Aurora laughed so merrily that her Aunt Enid stopped saying whatever she had been confusing Frank's father with at that particular moment and turned to look at her niece in astonishment. Frank led the way over to the other two and murmured conspiratorially to Aurora's aunt,

"Too much sherry, I think."

Aunt Enid smiled. There was a knock on the door just then and Perky appeared once more, carrying an empty gravy boat under her arm.

"Perky is thinking Mr. Algie is here, master," she announced to Richard.

"Ah, good," he said. "Send him in."

"Perky would, sir, if Perky could find him, but he is bringing a big, big plant with him and Perky cannot see round it."

Raising an eyebrow, her master went to investigate. The other three followed. They stopped in the doorway - it was a case of having to. The entire breadth of the hall was spanned at the moment by a large green something. Apart from Perky's statement, only the colour of this object gave away that it was, indeed, a plant. It was completely shapeless and it seemed to be expanding further with every second that passed, growing in all directions and pushing Richard and Perky right back to the dining room door.

"Oh dear," Frank sighed. "This looks like another one of Uncle Algie's great discoveries. Is there any way we can shrink it, do you think, Dad?"

"There might be, if I could get at my wand. Unfortunately, I left it in the smoking room."

"And mine's upstairs," Frank said.

"I've got mine with me," Aunt Enid volunteered, reaching for the clasp of the handbag that was swinging from her arm, but Aurora stopped her quickly.

"No, Auntie. Remember what happened the last time you tried to shrink something? Mrs. Crackleby's vegetable marrow? It grew to the size of a baby elephant. I think maybe I should ..."

But as she spoke, the thing in the hallway was already beginning to shrink and shrivel, and the more of the rest of the house came into view, the more loudly they could hear Mrs. Longbottom's angry shouts at her brother.

"Yes, well ... shall we go back inside and wait for the storm to pass?" Mr. Longbottom suggested.

They did so. Presently the door was opened again, and in stepped Uncle Algie himself, a small man with a brown, monkey-like face and wiry grey hair that grew in all directions, still half tangled up in a scarf that was so long you wondered he didn't trip over it when walking. This he did with a springy step and, once he was in the room, it seemed as though there were no longer any room for anyone else. He was such a presence that one couldn't, somehow, quite take in anything else.

"Algie," Frank's father said, shaking hands with him.

Uncle Algie held out his left hand while the right continued to unwind his scarf.

"Happy Christmas, Dick," the funny little man said cheerfully.

"And happy Christmas, Frankie, m'boy," he added, shaking Frank's hand too. "And ... hello, hello, hello. Who have we here?" he asked, his bright eyes appraising the guests quickly. "Well, well, well. Now this is what I call a Christmas treat. How do you do?"

And he bowed briskly over Aunt Enid's hand, and a little more slowly over Aurora's, winking at her.

"When Gusty told me there'd be guests for Christmas this year, I thought she meant one of her school friends - of the usual creaking gate variety. If I'd known you were so pretty, I'd have left my hat on, just so I could draw it with a swish to greet you."

He imitated the motion anyway. Aurora caught Frank's eye over his uncle's bent back. He mouthed "You wanted to meet him". She grinned.

* * *

A Pleasant Evening

Dinner at Wandwood Lodge passed pleasantly, Augusta Longbottom's occasional tendency to begin a tirade against her 'delinquent' brother forestalled quickly and skilfully by her husband, and after everyone had declared their incapacity to eat another morsel, the table cleared itself, and it was suggested that Frank show Aurora around the house while the older generation withdrew into the drawing room for coffee.

"I hope you don't mind missing out on coffee?" Frank asked her when they found themselves in the hall, not quite sure how they had been propelled out here so quickly.

"No, I don't mind," Aurora assured him. "And I would like to see the house."

"Good."

He showed her round the place, telling her as much of its history as he knew, and Aurora listened with interest. Finally Frank said,

"Well, you've seen it all now."

"No, I haven't," Aurora objected. "You haven't shown me the gardens. I'm sure they must be lovely."

"They are, at any other time of year. But it'll be freezing cold outside now."

"That doesn't worry me. I've been cooped up indoors for so long, Frank. I need to breathe."

He gave in. They fetched their winter cloaks and went out through the front door, then through the archway. Holding up his wand to light the way, Frank led them on a path that took them away from the illuminated French windows of the drawing room, to a point where a bench stood overlooking a frozen pond. He melted the snow off with a flick of his wand, and steam rose from the wooden seat as the last drops of water evaporated. Aurora sat down with a smile. For a while neither of them spoke. Then Aurora sighed,

"I've had such a lovely day. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm glad you came."

She smiled. "You have a lovely family, Frank."

"They're all right, I suppose."

"They're wonderful," Aurora insisted. "Your father ... he's such a dear. I've been having to exercise all my restraint all evening not to get up, walk round the table and give him a hug."

Frank laughed. "Really? Well, I don't suppose you felt the same way about Mother."

"Oh no, I wouldn't dare hug her! She is rather formidable. And so, so proud of you," she added.

"I suppose. And Uncle Algie?"

"He's a character!"

"Yes."

They laughed again. Frank sat down beside her.

"I've enjoyed today," he said earnestly. "Very much."

"So have I. I've been at peace while I was here. I haven't felt like that for a long time. Lately I've been so restless, always wanting to do something, unable to do anything, having to hide away ... I've felt like a prisoner. Today I've been free and ..."

"Yes?"

"Happy. Yes, that's it. I've been happy. But now ... now it's almost over. Soon we'll have to go back to Gryffindor Hall, and everything will be the same as it was, and I'll have to start thinking again. I don't want to have to think."

"Think?" he asked. "About what?"

"About everything. The war, the future, what I'm going to do with my life from now on, whether I want to ..."

She broke off, casting a quick sideways glance at him. For the first time since they had come out here, Frank felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He said,

"You mean, whether you want to give Sirius another chance?"

"I suppose that's what I mean."

"Do you ... still care about him ... that much?"

"I don't know!" she exclaimed abruptly, getting to her feet.

She turned around suddenly and looked at Frank pleadingly.

"Can't you tell me? You know me well enough. Don't you know what I feel?"

"No," he said sadly. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I wish I could help you."

Aurora gave a frustrated groan and turned away again. Slowly, Frank got up to stand beside her. She wiped her eyes when she felt him approach. He did not comment on it. Instead, he looked up at the sky.

"Not a single cloud," he said. "Look at that star." He pointed. "It's winking at you."

Aurora looked. "That's not a star, it's an aeroplane."

"Is it? So that's why my wishes never come true, I've been wishing on aeroplanes all my life."

She gave a dry little laugh and took his arm. "You're a dear, do you know that?"

He smiled, but it was not a very happy smile. Being a dear, he thought, isn't enough.

* * *

Gryffindor Hall had not seen a Christmas such as this for many a long year, nor could any of the house elves except for Cronky, who was very old, remember seeing their master in such good spirits. The festivities had begun in the morning, when a marvellous breakfast buffet had been laid on for the earliest guests. Bridget had been there with James and Sirius, Peter Pettigrew had joined them very soon, his sister Pippa had come round at lunch time and the Lupins and Malcolm had arrived shortly afterward. The last to arrive had been Lily, who had turned up at about three in the afternoon, having just dropped her mother off at her sister Petunia's house.

Gordon had absolutely forbidden anyone to bring him presents, saying that there was nothing at all that he needed except their company. He, on the other hand, had spared no expense. He had bought dresses for the ladies, the most expensive and high quality Quidditch equipment for James, new robes for Peter, books for Remus ... everyone had received presents they would never have dreamed of, and Sirius seemed happiest of all.

"It's magnificent," he kept gasping when he gazed lovingly at the enormous, shiny motorbike that was standing outside on the terrace. "But it's really too much. I'll pay you back, I promise."

"You'll do no such thing," Gordon said amusedly for the umpteenth time.

After an exceptionally good and rich evening meal, the old wizard looked around the grand drawing room. John and Faith were sitting together on the sofa, looking happier than he had seen them for some time. James, Lily, Remus and Peter were playing Exploding Snap on the floor in front of the fire and Pippa had fallen asleep in an armchair, an empty sherry glass in one hand. Malcolm sat in the chair next to hers and was staring vacantly into the fire, as though none of what had been happening today mattered to him in any way, as though he wasn't even really there. Gordon frowned and got up out of his own chair, crossed the room and went out onto the terrace through the same door through which Sirius was admiring his new machine, and through which Bridget had disappeared some time earlier.

He shivered in the cold night air, but walked along the terrace and round the corner of the house until he could make out a lonely figure standing just by the cherry tree where, years ago, his wife had liked to sit in summer, embroidering cushions while their little daughter played with her dolls on the lawn.

"You'll catch your death of cold out here, my child," the old man said quietly.

Bridget jumped and turned towards him. She did not bother to wipe her eyes.

"Father. I didn't hear you coming. I was just thinking ..."

"About your mother?"

"Yes. About her, and about you. And about myself and Malcolm ..."

"Have you not spoken at all since his return?"

"Not much. I've tried to speak to him, but he's so strange nowadays. It's like he doesn't want to talk to me at all."

"He has been through a terrible ordeal."

"I know! I'm not stupid, or blind. I know it must have been awful for him, that's just it. I want to help him, but I don't know how. He just won't let me. I've spoken to John, but he's almost as puzzled as I am. He reckons Malcolm's still trying to protect me in some way, but that's nonsense. I'm in no danger, if anything he is!"

Gordon shook his head. "I don't think the Death Eaters will really come after him now. It's too late for the process of that potion to be continued. If they had found him in the first couple of days ... but they couldn't. He was safe at Hogwarts, and he'll be safe now, at his sister's."

"I'm not so sure about that. Voldemort must be able to guess where he is, and that John, at least, is as much his enemy as Malcolm himself."

"All the same, the house has been well protected ..."

"I know. I didn't really mean that kind of danger. I think he's in far more danger of being lost in quite another way. And I don't want to lose him, not again."

"Do you care about him that much?"

She nodded. "I do."

Gordon breathed in deeply and studied her thoughtfully. Slowly, Bridget's look changed to one of mild derision.

"I know, you think I've always been a fool where men are concerned," she said bitterly.

But her father shook his head.

"No, Bridget. You made one mistake, and only one, and then you were very young. On the whole, I would say you are a very good judge of character. Malcolm Marley is a good man."

Taken slightly aback, Bridget said quickly, "Oh. I'm sorry, I thought you were going to say ..." She paused and then added guiltily. "Forgive me, Father. I haven't been very fair to you lately, have I? I sent you off to rescue Malcolm and look after John, and I never even thanked you for it."

"You don't have to thank me. I feel I owe you for all the times in the past when I haven't helped you."

With a smile, Bridget said, "All the same - thank you."

He bowed his head, returning her smile. "You're welcome."

They heard the faint sound of laughter coming from the direction of the house.

"Perhaps we should go back into the warm," Gordon suggested, and Bridget nodded.

They walked back along the terrace in silence and re-entered the drawing room together. Malcolm glanced up fleetingly, but quickly looked away again. Gordon returned to his chair and Bridget took a seat on the sofa beside Faith.

"Oi, Sirius!" James called from his seat on the floor. "How about tearing your eyes off that bit of scrap metal out there and playing with us?"

Sirius looked reluctant.

"You can't ride it tonight, anyway," Peter pointed out. "You've had far too much egg nog."

"Not to mention wine and firewhisky," added Lily cheerfully. "Being a wizard doesn't exempt you from the rules of traffic."

"And being the owner of a brand new motorbike doesn't exempt you from playing card games," said Remus, laughing. "And that must be the ninth time in a row that I've lost."

"The eighth, Remus. Let's not exaggerate," Lily corrected him. "Here, have another glass of egg nog for luck."

"Oh no," he protested. "I'm not touching another drop of that stuff. I'm sure you've laced it with loser's lotion or something."

Lily giggled.

"And you lot claim I've had too much of everything," Sirius muttered, returning reluctantly from the window to join them. He flopped down next to James. "All right then. Prepare to be beaten by the champion, the lot of you!"

* * *

Frank accompanied Aurora and her aunt back to the great gates of Gryffindor Hall and down the long gravel path. Aurora had slipped her arm through his again and was chatting merrily all the way, while Aunt Enid followed a little way behind them. They waited for her outside the front door, where she turned to Frank.

"Thank you again, so much, for inviting us."

"You're welcome," he replied politely. "I hope you had a nice time."

"Oh, I can't remember the last time I've enjoyed myself so much. Please do tell your parents again how much I appreciated it."

"I will."

Aunt Enid beamed at him and shook his hand. "Well, goodbye, dear boy," she said, and with those words entered the house and left them alone on the front doorstep.

Aurora looked up at Frank, smiling. "She'll be talking about this for weeks and weeks to come, I dare say. She's not had such a treat for years. And you really must say thank you to your parents, and your uncle, for their patience. Aunt Enid isn't exactly the easiest of people to converse with, she does jump rather."

"I'm sure they didn't mind," he said.

There was a pause in which Aurora looked around her at the snowy grounds sparkling in the moonlight and sighed.

"How beautiful everything looks. It's hard to believe that there can be anything evil in the world when you see something so beautiful, don't you agree?"

Frank, who was looking at her rather than admiring the scenery, did not answer immediately. She looked up again questioningly.

"Frank?"

"What? Oh ... yes, I know what you mean. I agree."

"Well," Aurora said with a sigh, "I suppose I'd better go in now. It's late." She shivered. "And it's chilly too."

"Yes. All right."

But still Aurora remained standing opposite him on the doorstep. After a while she said,

"Will you be very busy tomorrow, or will you be popping in at all?"

"Oh, I ... I forgot to tell you," he said hurriedly. "We're going away."

"Going away? Where to?" Aurora asked in surprise.

"A tiny little island off the north coast of Scotland. My grandparents live there. My grandfather's very old, and very ill, so this might be the last time ... Well, anyway, we're leaving tomorrow morning and we probably won't be back for three weeks."

"Three weeks?!" she exclaimed, looking stunned.

"It's not very long, really, when you consider we haven't seen them for about a year. It'll be nice to see them again," he remarked unenthusiastically.

"But ..." Aurora stammered. "But I ... you ... oh."

She looked so crestfallen that Frank was puzzled, and also secretly pleased. Aurora lowered her gaze.

"I'm going to miss you," she said heavily, sounding almost as though she was only just realising it herself. "I suppose it's selfish of me, but I've got so used to seeing you practically every day." Looking up again, she added eagerly, "You'll have to call me by floo network. Will you?"

He shook his head. "I can't, I'm afraid. They're not connected. They like things peaceful and secluded - shut off from the outside world. No floo network, no newspaper, no wireless."

"Do they have owls?"

"It's not easy to get owls to go there and back. But yes, they do have owls sometimes."

"Then you must write to me! Please, Frank, say you will. Not every day, of course, but once or twice perhaps? Will you write to me?"

"Of course, if you want me to. Though I won't have much to tell."

"That doesn't matter, just tell me any little thing. But please promise me you'll write."

Frank nodded. "I promise."

"Good." Aurora smiled sweetly and a little sheepishly now. "I'm sorry to be such a fuss, but I feel so cut off from everything here. Without your visits, I won't know what to do with myself. Besides, I'd be worried if I didn't hear from you for all that time." She suddenly hugged him tightly. "I'm going to feel all at a loose end without you here to look after me, Frank," she said. "You are my guardian angel, you know."

He gave a small laugh at this. "Hardly an angel. But I do my best."

"That's good enough for me," she said, looking at him once more. "Goodbye, Frank. Take care."

And with that, she kissed his cheek and hurried into the house.

Frank watched the door close behind her and remained there, staring at it for a moment. Very quietly he said to himself, "I'm sure I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas present." Then he turned around, walked down the steps, and followed the gravel path back to the iron gates.

Aurora, meanwhile, had flung off her cloak over a nearby chair in the entrance hall and dashed upstairs, ignoring Sirius in the passage, who had just stepped out of the drawing room to fetch his own cloak and Bridget's. From an upstairs window, she watched Frank leave. Sirius joined her at the window.

"Glad to see he brought you home safely," he remarked in a subdued tone.

Aurora turned her head. "Oh. Hello, Sirius," she said as though she had not noticed him before. "Still here? I thought you'd have left by now."

"We were just going. Did you have a good Christmas?"

She nodded. "I had a wonderful time. And you?"

"It was okay." There was a pause in which Sirius looked thoughtful and far more serious than usual. "Look here," he said at last. "About what happened last time, when I came to see you and ... Well, I'm sorry, Rory. I realise I behaved pretty stupidly. Kissing you, I mean. It wasn't the right time, not with all that I'd just told you, and because ... because it was just all wrong. I mean we're not ... like we used to be. But sometimes I do wonder whether that was all just a mistake. I behaved like an idiot at school, I know. I should have seen then that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I'm wondering now if it wasn't wrong of us to give up so easily, maybe if we'd only tried ..."

"Sirius," Aurora interrupted him. "Before you go on, how much have you been drinking?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "I don't see what that's got ..."

"You don't sound like yourself," she said. "All this seriousness and apologising, it isn't you. If you want to apologise and have it all out and make it up, please come back when you're perfectly sober, will you? At the rate you're going you'll be dropping down on one knee before you know it and tomorrow you'll wake up with a splitting headache wondering what on earth possessed you."

He stared at her. "What's got into you? I thought you said you'd had a nice day. And didn't you always want me to be sincere?"

"Yes ... no ... oh, I don't know!" she burst out. "That was then. Now, I ... I don't know what I want any more. I used to think one day I would know, but instead it's like I know less and less each minute. I'm confused, and I'm tired, and I ... I did have a lovely day," she added dreamily. "And I don't want to spoil it. I'm going to bed. Good night."

And she turned on her heel and left him standing there, bewildered. But once upstairs in her bedroom, she did not go to bed at once. She stood instead looking out of the window for quite a long time, wondering why, after having felt so happy and content a couple of hours ago, she now felt so strangely forlorn and restless. She played with a tassle on the curtain and thought of Sirius. Had he meant what he had been starting to say just now, was he truly sorry for everything, did he really consider her the best thing that had ever happened to her? And if he had meant it, how did that make her feel? She shivered and wished Frank hadn't already left. If only he had still been here, she could have told him what Sirius had just been saying. And maybe, though he claimed he couldn't help her in this matter, but just maybe he could have told what this strange cramped-up feeling was that she had inside her.

* * *

"Lily," James began as they stood in the hallway of her home. "Remus told me he visited you yesterday."

"That's right," she said, leading the way into the living room. "He told me everything you wanted him to tell me." She sat down on the sofa and continued, looking upset, "It's so sad."

Sitting down beside her, James nodded. "I know. It's totally unfair. He doesn't deserve to suffer like that."

"No. Nobody does."

"On that point, I'm afraid I might disagree. I could think of a few people ..."

"You wouldn't really wish a thing like that on anyone, James," Lily said firmly.

"I dare say you're right," he admitted. "In any case, I'm glad you've accepted it like this. Not that I ever had any doubts. I knew you were too soft-hearted to hold it against him."

"So are you."

Shaking his head, James said, "I've never considered myself soft-hearted. Except, of course, where you're concerned."

Lily touched his cheek and leaned closer, but taking her hand, James shook his head once more.

"No, Lily, wait. There's ... something I've got to tell you. Something I think you know, but ... Lily, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone in the world."

"James ..."

"Please, let me finish," he begged her, "before my nerve leaves me completely. Lily ..." He took her hand between his and knelt on the floor before her. "Lily Evans. Will you marry me?"

Lily stared at him for a moment, her cheeks going from white to red. Then her green eyes filled with tears and she smiled and nodded. She slid to the floor beside him and they kissed.