Harry Potter and His New Standards

Chapter 32: Exits

"'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer
The poor man's heart through half the year."

"I grew, day by day, more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others."

*()%()*

When Holly turned to look once more after she had passed Hagrid's cabin, the Elves were already gone. They had vanished, taking their vade mecum glow that filled the dark, drab morning with them. She felt that all that was left of the prodigious Autumpne kin was the charm hanging around her neck and the Pensieve tucked beneath her arm.

But somewhere in the pit of her heart, where Eowilindë's rippling words had been deeply etched, Holly knew that she would go back.

Through the powdery snow blanketing the sloping lawn, up the castle steps, into the entrance hall. She watched Draco's argentine hair disappear down the steps toward the dungeons, then trudged on wordlessly with Ginny.

Their cloaks were white with snow and their footprints left puddles in their wake. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would come up later to make the scene look less suspicious to any passerby.

Past the passage behind the bookcase on the fourth floor, up more staircases until they were in the corridor on the seventh floor. To the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Password, crawl over the wall, through the emptycommon room... her yearning to return back to Anendel and the coromindi was deliberately replaced by the desire to sleep it off. They ascended the winding stone staircase. Ginny left through the sixth door up, Holly continued to the top of the tower.

She looked around her dormitory, which was empty. A new fire was alive in the grate, and that was all that stirred.

Holly sat her Pensieve down on her trunk at the end of her four-poster. She figured that if she didn't start unloading now she never would, and so Holly opened her backpack and started extracting her denim quilt from it.

Humming, she shook breakfast roll crumbs off it. She folded it in half and laid it over the foot of her mattress.

"Santa baby, just slip a sable under the tree

--For me.

Been an awful good girl,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

"Holly, dear? Is that you?" creaked a habitual voice from the wall

Holly could see her shadow reflected in the mirror. She replied, "Hi, Willow.

"Santa baby, a '54 convertible too

--Light blue.

I'll wait up for you, dear,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

"Good to hear you singing, dear."

"It's Christmas," Holly manifested, "Sleigh bells gotta ring... birds gotta sing.

"Think of all the fun I've missed,

Think of all the fellas that I--haven't kissed

Next year I could be just as good

If you check off my Christmas list."

Holly dumped the rest of the contents of her book bag on her bed. She put the few articles that had been inside in their respective places before sweeping all of the roll crumbs onto the floor and whisking them beneath her bed with her foot. The house-elves would be delighted to find more junk beneath her four-poster, she was sure.

"Buh-bum, buh-bum..."

She discarded her trainers, scarf, mittens and her cloak, then began searching for a new outfit to wear, feeling slightly dirty wearing that same ensemble again (even though she was quite sure it had been washed).

"Santa baby, I want a yacht and really that's not

--A lot.

Been an angel all year,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

She extracted a red zip-up and a fraying pair blue jeans that were hopelessly bleach spotted. Holly changed quickly behind the scarlet hangings of her four-poster then stood in front of Willow while she secured her belt.

"Your hair looks rather depressed today," Willow informed her.

"I know," Holly sighed, examining her drab waves in the mirror. "No Instant Ringlet Serum this morning. It feels nice, though," she added, touching her locks.

She lifted a hair tie from the top of Willow's stand, where a myriad of colors and styles of scrunchies and ponytails decorated her frame. Holly swept her hair up with her fingers then tightened her disheveled ponytail before sitting down on the floor.

"You know what would really spruce that up, sweetheart?" Willow suggested genially.

"Big earrings," Holly responded, crossing her legs and pulling forward her jewelry box. "New years resolution, Willow:" Holly said, turning her head sideways after poking slightly gaudy hoops through the first piercing in either ear, "haircut."

Encouragingly the mirror replied, "Oh, that will be wonderful, dear."

Holly ran her fingers down the thin, barely visible chain of her necklace. She extracted the Charm from behind her hoodie and looked at it in the mirror, running her thumb over the smooth surface of the gem.

'Your disposition changes, you inveigh against your heart.'

Holly's eyes strayed away from her amethyst Charm and met her own gaze in the mirror.

'Do not allow yourself to be overcome by misfortune... secure your ways in faith and moral aspiration before time has its way.'

Holly sighed deeply and pushed a stray hair out of her eyes.

'When shadows call, fly away.'

She reached out for the dustbin near the edge of the room and dragged it forward. Lightly Holly touched her index finger to the iris of one eye and dragged her contact downward until it wrinkled.

'I anwa ná lá ve ta yéten.'

She pinched the wrinkle and pulled the eyepiece out. Holly looked at it on the tip of her finger, at the honey brown circle it put on her flesh. She flicked it into the trash. She repeated the same process with the contact in her other eye.

'The truth is not as it seems.'

Holly pulled her glasses out of the jewelry case and cleaned them off on the hem of her shirt. She flipped them open and tucked them behind her ears, pushing them up on her nose.

She replaced her earrings with smaller ones and glared at her reflection in the mirror. How's that for truth, Eowilindë? she thought nonchalantly. Did you sense Voldemort inside my head, maybe? Will he overcome my dealings with misfortune? I'll secure my damn faith. I'll fly from the shadows.

What difference will that make if the truth is I might just end up in St. Mungo's if I lose my consciousness and start attacking people?

Holly stood up and looked at her eyes behind her glasses in Willow. One was spoked blue, the other: blacker than night.

Though sleep suddenly seemed out of the question, she crawled betwixt the sheets of her four-poster nevertheless. Holly pulled her quilt around her shoulders and shut her eyes, bending one knee and wrapping a foot around her other leg. She stuck her hand outof the hangings and dropped her glasses on her bedside table and forced a yawn.

Just as she shrugged her shoulders to loosen a knot in her muscles, the door of the dormitory opened and Hermione pattered into the room.

*()%()*

Hermione hung up her cloak and tucked her scarf and mittens into its pockets. She found Impigergra Veneficus and the pamphlet on how to use identifier potions. Next, she dug through her trunk to find the potion vial that Holly had nicked from Snape and took up her set of liquid measurers, as well.

The pamphlet tucked as a bookmark between the pages about the Dominatinis Potion in Impigergra Veneficus and the potion vial and her measurers in the pockets of her robes, Hermione opened the dormitory door and started out.

After exiting the seventh floor corridor, she hurried down the next four staircases until she stood in front of the door leading into Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. She looked either way for a sign of some predator that might question her duty as a prefect to investigate this bathroom.

She pushed the door open and closed it silently behind her. Myrtle's hollow sobs were echoing off all the walls, but Hermione ignored them. She opened the cabinet under one of the sinks and reached her arm in, eliciting her backup potions kit.

She brought everything into the largest stall, where the identifier potion was boiling over the chamber pot. Hermione opened her backup potions kit on the floor and propped Impigergra Veneficus against the base of the toilet bowl. She hung her liquid measurers on the empty toilet paper holder, sat the potion vial on the floor, and flipped open the pamphlet.

A particularly loud lamentation of Myrtle's made her jump. Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and began reading the pamphlet to herself.

'The Identification of certain ingredients within a prepared and matured potion is an arduous task. One must be equipped with proper materials, including a quill and parchment so as to record the clues of what the sample contains...'

She skimmed forward.

'1: Allow the prepared identifier potion to cool to room temperature.'

Hermione hastily put out the flames she had long before started beneath the cauldron. She read through the directions several times as the identifier potion's heat abated. She performed a weak cooling charm on the contents of her cauldron, then started at the top of the list once more.

Hermione prepared the post-brewing ingredients, all of which were in her backup potion kit, and took out her ink and quill, which were tucked into the case. She prepared the quill to write.

'3. Use a vacuum-bulb tube to draw the sample potion.'

She grabbed her pipette and did so.

'5. Shake sample well.'

Hermione sighed and shook the presumed Puppet's Wine that she was preparing to squirt into the identifier potion.

'4. One droplet at a time, release the sample solution into your identifier solution. Use the color guide included within this pamphlet to liken the given tinctures to their ingredient range. *'

She checked the footnote, which read:

'* See Arsenius Jigger's extended text on identifier potions for specifications.'

Hermione flipped open the folded section of the pamphlet, which extended to a large page of boxed-in color codes and the broad categories this active ingredient may fall into.

She took a deep breath and released a drop of Dominatinis Potion into the cauldron.

*()%()*

'Cálëanta,' the voice echoed in his mind, 'Believe... and you will find the way, my Cálëanta.' Harry grimaced. In sotto voce it added, 'You must decide when it ends, Cálëanta.'

He shook the snow off his cloak and hung it on the hook near the door. If Cálëanta didn't mean 'Harry' in Quenya, he didn't know what he'd do.

Ginny kept her eyes away from his while they'd trekked back through the forest with the Elves. She didn't wish much to speak with him, or even look at him.

Holly had stridden silently at Malfoy's side, meeting his gaze only once (accompanied by a casual, challenging look).

Hermione was jumpy about the potion she was brewing in Moaning Myrtle's lavatory. It would show the results of the sample Holly had stolen from Snape's office. If it was, indeed, Dominatinis--where did they go from there?

Ron was clueless as to anything, good or evil, going on within his sister's life. Ginny wouldn't share, and Harry would prefer to stay off the topic himself.

Harry rubbed his eyes, peering at himself in the mirror. His eyelids appeared slightly puffy behind the lenses of his glasses, and he was ashen-faced from managing little sleep. Ron, absolutely content, had already climbed into his four-poster and drawn the hangings shut.

Harry parted the curtains shading his bed and lay down on the mattress. He struggled clumsily with the bedcovers beneath him for a moment, attempting to pull them down to make the effort of covering himself with them simpler. It wasn't long before he gave up, shutting his eyes.

Glasses still resting on his nose, wand still between his fingers, Harry began to drift off. One more mystery, secret, or odd recount might throw him over the edge.

*()%()*

"Santa honey, one little thing I really need

--The deed

To a platinum mine,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

Holly had books in the crook of either arm pertaining to all aspects of elvish culture. She entered the library and ambled over to the round desk, within which Madam Pince usually stood. All the lanterns were alive and flickering, but there was no sound of the librarian's solitary squeaky shoe. In fact, there was no sound at all other than that of an occasional book flapping by in the Restricted Section and the synchronized clicking of at least two clocks.

"Down here, Miss Black!"

Holly leaned over the desk and looked down. Tiny Professor Flitwick stood behind the countertop in the area that Madam Pince typically inhabited. It appeared as though he was in the process of making a staircase out of books to a pre-constructed platform of volumes for him to stand upon.

"Uh, hi, Professor," she greeted him. It was always slightly uncomfortable speaking with Flitwick, as, being younger she didn't feel the superiority to be permitted to look down on him so. "I've got some books to return."

"Good, good, I'll need to see which volumes they are, then," he squeaked.

After the professor successfully finished the building of his stair steps, Holly carefully handed one book over the counter at a time, and Flitwick flipped through the massive record book to find each volume's title, then checked her name off beneath it. With each flick of his wand her name was erased from the aged parchment.

"Let's just put these away, shall we?" he said feebly, not visible over the pile of books.

"I'll carry them professor," she offered.

"Good, good," he said, carefully hopping down from his platform like a swimmer fearful of the water's temperature and walking right beneath the hinged countertop. She gathered all the volumes into her arms once more and strode to the 'E' section, careful not to knee Flitwick in the back of the head.

"Let's see now... ah...." The professor stopped, craning his neck. The gaping space where all of the books had once sat was above both his and Holly's heads. "Oh, bother--I'll fetch my wand..."

"I got this, don't worry." She sat the volumes down on the nearest table and smiled down at Flitwick.

"Oh, many thanks, Miss Black," he said with a sigh. Flitwick continued, "I should have known that the one day I was to fill in for Madam Pince that a student would come in with books so far over my head..."

"Not a problem, Professor F." She smiled weakly at Flitwick before he turned and waddled in the other direction.

Holly began to sort the books into alphabetical order, singing simply to hear something other than the ruffling of books in flight and the ticking of clocks.

She took the few editions that began with 'E' and fit them into their respective places on the bookshelf. Holly carried the 'C's and 'D's to the next row over.

"Come and trim my Christmas tree,

With some decorations bought at

--Tiffany's.

I really do believe in you,

Let's see if you believe in me."

She had a particularly difficult time getting The Culture and History of the Autumpne Elves into its slot, and had to grasp the lower shelf and jump up in the air to push it in.

"You're a bit bowlegged, love."

Holly looked up from the ground and sighed. She turned around and gazed at Draco, who was leaning against the nearest bookshelf, arms crossed leisurely in front of him. "I'm not bowlegged," she said stoutly.

"Just a bit," he insisted, holding up his hand and showing a minute space between his index finger and thumb. "Or, you're simply wide-hipped, so your legs don't really come together right. Maybe you just stand like a bloke, that's all."

Holly gazed over her shoulder at him for a moment. "I'm not the most feminine, but that doesn't make me a guy, Malfoy." She picked up Dedication: a Brief Outlook On the Bewitching of the Cretionis Lapillus and walked around the table, keeping herself distanced from Draco. "You should know all about that."

"Oh, enough with your ten Sickle words," Draco drawled, "no need to impress."

She looked sideways at him before disappearing around the other side of the shelf.

Draco appeared around the corner in a moment. "Your hair looks a bit sad today." Behind her, he touched it. "It's not really curly, is it, butterscotch?" Holly ignored him, but her momentary halt told him enough. "Sacharissa's Instant Ringlet Serum," he said, "My mother has some in stock. Makes all hair types spectacular."

Holly didn't say anything. "It looks like it's growing in black," he added.

"It is not growing in black," she barked, striding toward the 'W' shelf.

"No offense meant, treasure," Draco assured her, trailing her progress across the library. When she stopped to slip Weaponry and Wars of the Majestic onto the shelf, he lifted her ponytail. "But, really, it does look black."

"Well, it's not," she warranted, pulling her hair away and turning to look him in the face. Draco was a bit taller than she was, Holly noted. But there was always one stray lock of hair that fell into his eyes as if his head had been inclined and his gaze fixed on a point beneath him.

As Holly turned to walk away, Draco caught her by the wrist. He pulled her toward him, and she felt his warm hand close around the other wrist as well. Her breath caught, and she looked up at him, alarmed. When his eyes flickered back and forth between hers and a smile upturned his lips, she knew his meaning.

Holly tried to pull away, but his tepid grip tightened. "Well... when did this happen?" he asked, voice at its lowest and grittiest.

"Second grade," Holly said quickly, trying to mistake his question. "Teacher sent me to the office when I read the class, 'Suck the Slimy Piano' instead of 'Sam, the Silly Pirate.' Vision test, optometrist visit, and suddenly I've got two corrective lenses hanging crookedly on my face and tax payers state-wide paying for it all."

Draco blinked a couple times then said, "Interesting."

She shrugged her shoulders and replied, "I live on the edge." But when she tried to pull away, Draco guided her closer.

"Still, that wasn't what I meant." He released one of her wrists. Holly's instincts telling her to use this hand to escape him was utterly overcome as he lightly pushed her glasses down her nose. Draco was close enough so that she saw him in clear distinction when he grinned. "They're nearly as opposite as Mad-Eye Moody's."

"'S not my fault that my chromosomes can't agree on having the same damn color for each eye, all right?" She yanked her arm away from him and pushed her glasses back up.

Holly strode out of the library, Draco on her tail. "It's not a curse, love," he guaranteed her as they went through the doors, "it simply sets you apart."

"Lord knows that otherwise I'm just one to blend in with the crowd!" she said loudly.

He jogged to catch up with her. "Something going on, Black?"

"Plenty," she responded dryly, not looking at him.

Draco swung himself in front of her, hindering her stride. Holly bounced off of his chest, and after recovering, glared at him with as much pride as she could muster as a blush rose to her cheeks. When she moved to the right, he moved with her. Two steps to the left, and Draco stood in her way once more.

"I'll crawl between your legs if I have to, Malfoy," she told him.

His grin instantly alerted Holly of her mistake. His gaze swiftly traveled around the corridor and in a low, secretive voice Draco inquired, "Do you really think this is an appropriate place for that sort of thing, fancy?"

Holly reached out an arm and pushed him to the side so she could pass. "Who spit on your crystal ball?" he asked.

She found herself standing between the stairs she had just ascended and the unbalanced statue of Lachlan the Lanky. Within sight of this spot was the portrait of the Fat Lady. Vaguely Holly wondered what path she had taken or how fast she'd walked so to reach this place so quickly.

"I'll see you around," she said, expecting Draco to turn away from her and descend the stairs.

He didn't. "There's something fishy about you, Black," he remarked.

"I'm terribly sorry," Holly apologized, "but that just doesn't wash out."

Draco ignored her. "Half a day ago you were laughing and dancing with Elves and talking with me on that big bed in the rotunda." When the image of her room within the coromindi floated back into her mind a little pang in her heart made itself known. It had been only a few hours since she last spoke with an Elf, and suddenly the joy that that little village brought her seemed a light-year away.

"And now," he continued, his mirror-like gray eyes repeating the words that came from his mouth, "you're acting as though the past couple days never happened."

"I don't think anything you've said or done so far has changed my opinion of you in the slightest," Holly lied.

"Still a spoiled, shrill little bastard who would rather chew off his own foot than do a good deed, eh?" Holly raised her eyebrows. "That's what it was before."

"Did I say that?" she inquired. Draco nodded. "Huh. I'll have to jot that one down."

Holly hummed as she approached the Fat Lady. Draco, being a prefect, probably already knew what was hidden behind the portrait. "This isn't still about the St. Mungo's thing, is it?"

Holly rounded on him. "Maybe it is."

He sighed loudly, as though preparing himself for a speech he didn't want to make. "I'm not sure that you're aware of what sort of effects being possessed by the Dark Lord will have on your social life."

An alarm went off somewhere in her mind, and it caused a quick chain of reactions that ended with her saying, "Is it Voldemort, Malfoy? Do you know?"

Draco wore a stoic mask that didn't change a bit when she said this. "It was only a guess, rosebud," he replied.

Holly whipped around and kept walking. "Well what a great predicament it was!" she exclaimed. "Maybe it is Voldemort, Malfoy. Maybe it is." She stood in front of the Fat Lady's portrait now. She was accompanied by a pale, wizened witch in mauve robes that Holly was sure had appeared in this portrait before.

"But there's nothing you can do about it," she said, turning again to face him. His fair eyebrows rose. "I'm of no use to you if I'm being treated in a closed ward."

She rounded on the inhabitants of the portrait who were watching her intently. "He's from Slytherin. You know who I am!" Holly told the Fat Lady. The picture swung forward to accommodate her immediately.

"So, if you have nothing more to do than tell me that I should check myself in so I can have tea with all sorts of Mad Hatters, don't bother with me, Malfoy." She stepped over the wall so she was standing inside the common room when she leaned out of the portrait hole and stated, "I have matters of more importance to attend to."

Draco leered at her from outside the portrait. "Of course you do, diamond."

Holly narrowed her eyes, feeling very unseated, and shut the portrait so she didn't have to gaze much longer at his pretty smirking face. A long sigh cleared her unnecessarily steaming temper, and she wondered what she was to do now.

"Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing

--A ring.

I don't mean on the phone,

Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight."

She ascended the staircase toward her dormitory, considering giving slumber another shot.

"Hurry down the chimney tonight.

Hurry," she twitched her shoulders to the instrumental playing through her memory, "tonight."

*()%()*

Ginny had been methodically cleaning the dormitory, which she always tended to do. Her bedroom had been the only one at the Burrow that her mother didn't have to pick up and scrub down monthly (or weekly, in the case of a certain pair of brothers). Hers was always very orderly, and it unnerved her when even a single frilly throw was out of place.

She'd been known to tidy up the area around her dormmates' beds, and they didn't object. In fact, the only person that she knew would protest was the one whose singing voice had just floated by her door. Holly needed her space to be "lived in."

--A mess that couldn't be reversed by a dozen house-elves was more like it.

Ginny rechecked the various pockets of her book bag for something she had forgotten to stow away. They were empty. She moved to her cloak, which hung on the stand near the door. After she Vanished the small puddle accumulating on the floor beneath it, Ginny dug her hand into one of the deep pockets.

They were typically devoid of any object with the exception of a half-empty tube of lip balm or her wand, since she had no gold to stash within them. But, today that was different.

Her hand closed around something small, shapely, and cold. Curiously, she drew the object from her pocket.

It was a minute hourglass, bright and detailed, with a thin aureate chain slipped through a loop on the top of the charm. Ginny pulled it from the pocket completely, staring as the long chain swung and lightly and slapped against the back of her hand.

It had three bulbs, the center one much smaller than the two surrounding it. All of the sand, which was bright and shimmered like crystal, was gathered in the center. Ginny turned it one way and then the next, but the sands didn't budge.

Either end of the structure appeared to be solid gold, and the banding was inlaid with diagonal cuts of red jasper.

Instead of spindles aligning the bulbs, there were minute forms, posed motionlessly there. On either side of the bulbs there was the same statuesque pole. Against one end of the hourglass was a griffin-like creature. Its eyes were small rubies, and the tips of its dragon-like wings were encrusted with the same minute gems. It held its head high, and its mouth agape. The wings of the griffin curved back around the bulb. Ginny's eyes followed its scaly (or perhaps feathery) body downward. It ended with a pair of talons and a twisting tail. Gripped in the griffin's claws was a sapphire-blue marble. It looked as though the insides of the sphere were crushed and carved.

Beneath the griffin's sharp talons were beautiful, human-like hands, also holding the azure sphere. The griffin's tail twisted lightly about the arms of this different form.

It appeared to be an angel, in a long gown that formed the base of the other end of the hourglass. Her wings were tall, rounded at the top, and ending behind her feet in perfect, feathered curls. She had an elvish face, along with customary elvish ears. Different from the griffin's ruby eyes, the angel had ones of emerald.

It didn't appear as though the two sculptures were fighting over the marble. Nor did it look as though one or the other was giving it up. It sat between them, harmoniously bringing together the contradictory elements that these two beings exhibited.

The same golden spindle was on the other side, but turned the other way.

This has to be solid gold, thought Ginny, bringing the hourglass closer to her eyes. It's so beautiful. But it isn't heavy at all.

'Looks as though you've got your hands on a fancy Time-Turner, Virginia,' said Tom. She brought the hourglass nearer to her eyes yet, and saw that a band of Tengwar swirled around the bulbs like a ribbon, carved lightly and minutely into the glass.

Some manner of memory that had been buried deep in her mind rose to the surface, then. She spoke the words aloud. "The sands of time may run either way by request of a responsible hand." Ginny took a deep breath. "To use when further knowledge isn't within reach; to use when a stint of time closes the door to the greater good."

'Yes, a Time-Turner. An elvish one, by the looks of it. Maybe that Eowilindë slipped it in your pocket when you weren't looking.'

You could have been watching!

'Not really,' he said.

Right. She looked at the top of the hourglass. It was engraved with a cross between several vowels.

'You do know how to use it, don't you?'

The bottom of the hourglass, too, was inlaid with a letter. This one was a 'y,' curving nearly to mock a backward 's.'

No. Aren't they illegal?

Tom paused, then inquired, 'Does it matter?'

Maybe not to you.

He didn't respond to that. 'You turn the dial, then flip the hourglass over. Make sure the chain is around your neck.'

Tom, there's no dial.

He didn't say anything, and she tried to turn either end of the hourglass to no avail. 'Then I'm at a loss. Use your imagination.'

Ginny felt the boy's presence lift, and with that her mind felt somewhat clearer (and purer) than before. She sat down on her mattress, the curtains of the four-poster halfway closed around her, and examined the Time-Turner, carefully turning it over in her hands. Ginny didn't know what she should be doing; she didn't know what she should be thinking.

She didn't know whom she should be telling.

*()%()*

Hermione rushed through the corridors; pamphlet and Impigergra Veneficus still in her arms. "Monosodium Glutamate!" she told the Fat Lady, who was smoothing out a wrinkle in her silk dress. Her friend Vi rattled on about some story another portrait had fed her about why he had been caught running out of the portrait of the mermaid in the prefect's bath at midnight.

Inside the dormitory, she found Holly staring moodily at the frosty map of snow covering the window. She lazily looked sideways at Hermione with one dark eye before turning back to the window.

Timidly, Hermione stated, "I've just been testing the potion and I've got the categories of each ingredient mapped out. But, I need help trying to identify what the individual contents are."

Holly replied, "I'd rather watch the fort, thanks."

She couldn't read much further than Holly's surface--and the girl's thoughts were always hidden behind a thick window--clearly present, but just beyond reach.

Hermione wanted to ask what was wrong, but she figured that Holly would likely snap. She grew all the more moody by the minute, so instead of sticking around, Hermione grabbed a quill, her book bag, and some ink and parchment.

Soon she was banging on Ron and Harry's dormitory door. Harry opened it, rubbing his eyes. "Hi, Hermione," he said.

"I've just been to Moaning Myrtle's..." she began.

"Really, Hermione, we don't need to hear the details," came Ron's voice from behind the hangings of his four-poster.

"Honestly, why are you two still sleeping?" she demanded. "It's nearly half past ten!"

"It's the first Monday of the holidays," Harry said, "and we had a busy weekend."

Ron concurred, "Give us some slack."

She chose to ignore this. "I've used the identifier potion on our sample," Hermione told them. Harry's face awoke and Ron's head poked out of his bed hangings.

"And?"

"And now it'll take a lot of research to determine whether it was Dominatinis Potion or not." She looked between them. "I wouldn't mind having some help."

*()%()*

Ginny had wandered into the Great Hall, finding that there was nowhere that she could be alone with her thoughts. Tom's views were rarely pleasant, and instead of seeking Holly's opinion (Ginny sensed that she was locked up in her dormitory rather than knowing where she was), Ginny ambled around the castle.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was gray and bleak, reflecting the typical winter weather there. The four tables were absolutely empty--Hogwarts was particularly devoid of students this holiday--except for one dirty blond head sitting at the Hufflepuff table.

Justin Finch-Fletchley--he never went home for the holidays.

She'd never actually spoken to him. He was popular with his female housemates, but never had Ginny heard a dirty rumor about Justin and one of the Hufflepuff girls. In fact, she'd never heard anything about Justin at all (with the exception of a few snake-related incidents in her first year that she'd rather forget).

She'd nearly kissed Harry twice that weekend, and though she didn't like to admit it, the fact that he hadn't tried again irked her. Ginny was brave--but had no manner of valiance at all when it came to Harry Potter.

However, she was bold enough to sit down across from Justin Finch-Fletchley and ask him what was going on in his life. Ginny wasn't sure whether the Hufflepuff knew her name, or knew of her existence at all--but what was there to lose?

She grabbed a green apple from a bowl on the table and sat down across from Justin. He looked up, shaking thick hair out of his eyes.

Ginny had never been this close to Justin Finch-Fletchley before. He had clear, untouched skin, not unlike Malfoy's and hazel eyes that looked on the green side today due to the vert turtleneck he wore. Justin appeared very clean, even scrupulously so, and his hair and clothes were both kept tidy and in place.

"Hi, Justin," she said, taking a bite of her apple.

He gazed blankly at her for a moment before replying, "Hello, Ginny."

She swallowed the chunk of apple she'd been chewing and smiled. "What's up?"

"Just reading." She raised her eyebrows, and he held up the book so she may see the cover. It was a biography with a picture of a man in sweeping robes with long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was leisurely tossing a ball of Gillyweed into the air.

"Beaumont Majoribanks," she read, "1742 - 1845. I thought Elladora Ketteridge discovered Gillyweed, like, a century before that." Ginny looked inquiringly up at Justin.

"Probably," he shrugged.

She took another bite of the apple, and watched the picture of the famous Herbologist. Majoribanks winked at her. "Y'know, I'd probably read about him instead, too," she told Justin. "He's cute, in a way."

Justin didn't reply.

Ginny wanted to ask why he stayed in Hogwarts for the holidays every year, even when he seemed to be the only Hufflepuff who ever did so, but she had a feeling that this might just be a very personal question.

Instead she grinned sheepishly at him, and offered him a red apple.

*()%()*

He had seen her walking along the grounds--a dark spot against the pure snow. He'd waited a moment to follow, keeping within her tracks. She had stridden to the Quidditch pitch and ascended the stairs into the Ravenclaw stands.

He climbed those steps silently, as she had, and listened for her voice.

"I have sailed a boat or two--out on the wild blue,

Yonder to dreams that rarely come true."

That was Holly, no doubt about it. She was singing a deeper, more melancholy song than what he had heard her voice vocalize before. She didn't have the greatest of singing voices--it was best applied to lower notes on the scale or songs with a gritty, rock-oriented tone. Still, it was more pleasant to the ears than Pansy Parkinson's infinite warbling. It echoed around the bleachers and hit him in the chest.

"As far as I can see--from this island of green,

I can put my trust in just one thing."

Draco stood where she couldn't see him, but he could examine her profile. She sat with one hand gripping her other elbow, and one foot propped on the bench in front of her.

"Only love sails straight from the harbor.

And only love will lead us to the other shore.

And out of all the flags I've flown,

One flies high and stands alone:

Only love."

He emerged from the staircase, and Holly looked up at him.

"That's a pretty one," he told her. "Who sings it?"

"You wouldn't know her," she replied, gazing out at the pitch again.

Draco could see why this Gryffindor had so few true friends. She was moodier than his own mother, running the gamut of emotions from A to Z, one to infinity.

He settled down next to her, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat to match her posture. Holly didn't pay attention. "Are you excited for Christmas?" he questioned.

"Maybe I'm Jewish."

He turned and looked over at her. Holly's Black eye was the one that was visible from this angle. "You're not," he confirmed. She sighed. A genuine concern was typically the way to win a girl's heart. "How were your Christmases, y'know, before?"

"I was never fond of that ghost..." she looked sideways at him. "I'd rather not talk about them."

Something about the bleakness of this winter day became Holly Black. She didn't appear to Draco to be someone who was meant for sunny days. Her skin wasn't made to tan perfectly and shine beautifully on hot July afternoons. Her hair wasn't that kind that was to blow in a warm ocean breeze. Somber weather was what she was meant to live in. London rain.

He examined her face from the side. Holly had pulled the pink hair tie out of her hair and, in place, adorned a beanie. It was striped with thick blocks of green and gold and, though it didn't match her cloak, it looked very warm over her ears. Her profile was a bit sharp--wizened when it wasn't grinning. Holly's right iris was so dark it was almost marble-like. Holly's nose wasn't large, but it had two indents and a lump just below the bridge of it where her glasses rested. A spattering of barely visible childlike freckles blanketed this bump.

"Did you ever break your nose, Black?" he asked, trying to sound interested.

"Yes," she replied shortly, "When I was thirteen."

Draco grimaced. "What happened?"

She paused for a moment, blinking, as though trying to call up the memory. "Eric Gausen punched me."

"Why?"

"He was the older brother of one of my friends." Holly's brow furrowed in a bewildered way. "Didn't like me--short fuse."

"Well, how did you avenge yourself?" he asked, priding himself on the solicitude in his voice.

A smirk upturned her lips. "I broke his jaw."

The caring mask cracked and dissolved. It was very hard to pity Holly Black when you knew the rest of the story. "Nice job," he replied, deadpan.

"Thanks." Holly shifted her shoulders. "What are your Christmases typically like, Malfoy?" she asked, reverting back to how that conversation had begun.

He sighed, trying to stir up old memories. "They were better when I was a child." Holly didn't look at him, but he could see that she was listening. "My mother would always take me out to the stables before sunrise. We'd take her favorite horse--this beautiful brown mare named Atropos."

"Atropos," Holly echoed thoughtfully, "Isn't that one of Zeus' daughters? The one that snips the thread of life?" Draco nodded. "Cheery."

"I was young, it never bothered me." He sighed, trying to find his place in the story. "Mother would sit me in front of her and let me hold the reins and think that I was steering, when really she guided Atropos with her legs." He shut his eyes, the memory playing vividly through his mind. "We would watch the day break... the sun always rose behind the manor, filtering through the mountains."

Holly looked over at him, and he met her eyes. The severe difference in the color of either iris was slightly macabre, and instead of only the solitary Gryffindor looking at him, it made Draco feel as if there were at least two pair of eyes on him at once. "Then what?" she asked, looking faraway as though she could see his memories painted in front of her.

"Well, we would ride Atropos in the gardens for a while. Then Mother would take me back inside. She would let me see the ballroom--" Holly snorted contemptuously. "--which was always decorated with a few trees. I'd always get to pick one of the baubles from one of the spruces and play with it.

"Mother would always have me play a tune on the piano, then. She would sit next to me and play the harmony. She either knew each song by heart, or she would improvise. I was never sure which. Either way, she was magnificent."

The simplest stories to tell were the true ones that didn't stir up strong regret.

"I thought you hated music," Holly recalled.

"I'm not terribly fond of it, no." Draco watched a befuddled expression cross her eyes. "My mother taught me to play piano--it's no gift."

"It is, too," she insisted. "The only thing I can play is the radio." She looked down at her hands, as though disappointed that they couldn't do anything better. "Are you any good?"

"Not really."

Holly gave him a doubtful look then turned back to stare forward, waiting for him to continue.

"We'd open gifts... she was always so appreciative of the stupid little cards I'd make her, and the mismatched bouquets I'd gather from the garden." Draco attempted an anecdotal smile. "We'd wait for my grandfather to come over that night before we finished the gifts. Before that she would make animals out of snow with her wand and have them chase each other around. Once we watched Dobby bake the cookies and got to have them fresh out of the oven."

"It's almost like working," Holly interjected in a mock reminiscent voice.

"Nearly." He leered at her. "After Grandfather came over, Mother would read to me, sometimes sing to me. I'd always fall asleep in her room--and she wouldn't wake me until all the trees were gone--so I wouldn't see Christmas being boxed up and thrown away."

Holly was silent for a long time, something like sadness on her face. "Malfoy," she said after a while, "where was your dad?"

Draco sighed softly, genuinely, and looked away. He was reeling her in, slowly. "I'm not sure," he said quietly, as though she'd really hit a nerve. And maybe she had. He couldn't think about that. "He never really enjoyed his family at Christmas, I think. I didn't miss him." He paused dramatically. "It was time for my mother and I."

Again, Holly didn't speak. "So... you just grew out of it?"

That was most of the truth, but there was another thing. Draco could almost sense her drawing nearer to him, to lay her head on his shoulder and tell him that it would be all right. "My mother isn't the same as she used to be," he said. "She isn't strong. She doesn't smile, or laugh. She doesn't speak much anymore." He smiled weakly. "My mother used to be some sort of heroine to me--she was tall and beautiful, never unhappy. I think, as I came to realize what my father's really like, she didn't feel that she had to smear that façade on much longer." His shoulders slumped. "Then again, I used to think my father was some sort of hero, too."

Draco awaited Holly's "I'm sorry," but it didn't come. If he had been looking for sympathy, her presence and her thoughtful silence alone would have brought solace.

"Can I hear about your Christmases, now?" he asked.

She shifted around, scratching her back against the seats behind her. "Which orphanage?" she asked.

"There was more than one?" he asked. Holly looked over at him significantly, eyebrows raised. "Start at the beginning."

"Eastport," she recalled with a sigh. "Maine. That's where I was since the--beginning. The children's orphanage there was nice--painted a bazillion different colors with murals and everything, with a big park outside, plus the elementary school nearby..."

*()%()*

Innumerable books and several feet of notes later, all that they had determined was that one ingredient was an alkaline-earth metal. There was no bowdlerized work that made this simpler. Though they had all gone through plenty of parchment, Hermione was quite certain that she was the only one taking notes. She'd seen one of the sheets Ron had binned had a doodle consisting of X's and O's, with three ovals on either end of the parchment.

They sat at a circular wooden table tucked deep into the dustiest, most shadowed corner of the library. The pamphlet was unfolded in the center of the table, with all of the various colored squares circled with slightly smeared ink. Hermione paged through Arsenius Jigger's Indefectible Index to Identifier Infusions.

"Five atoms of nonmetallic elements," Harry declared. He threw down a sheet of parchment that was covered in numbers and arrows and locked his fingers behind his head.

"Great, Harry!" exclaimed Ron. "That narrows it down to five thousand and sixty two possible choices for one fortieth of this potion!"

"Ron, please," Hermione said, fatigued. "There are only twenty-five ingredients in this solution. And judging by this," she pulled his parchment out from the pages of the book that was in his lap, pointing at the sketch of a spiky Bludger, "you aren't doing anything to make the research process move any faster." She glowered at him. "You're supposed to be looking up information on Demiguise hair for us."

Ron blushed crimson and scowled at her, snatching back the parchment.

She turned to Harry. "Thank-you, Harry, that's very helpful. I'm writing down all the typical Muggle elements on this sheet--I'm sure Holly will cave and at least try to determine if some of these combine to make true molecules." Hermione showed him the parchment and her copy of a periodic table, with the second column outlined with a yellow Sorcerer Crayon.

She took up her yellow crayon again and traced a stair step starting in Group 13 with boron, then outlined twenty-two elements, bracketing the noble gases with a blue Sorcerer Crayon.

She began poring over The Indefectible Index to Identifier Infusions once more, weariness making her eyelids heavy.

*()%()*

Holly spoke of Christmases that Draco had never known. Stringing popcorn with thread and needles, playing scratchy old Muggle LP's, reading the same stories year after year, having snowball fights in back alleys. They would visit the petting zoo if they were lucky.

Her holiday seasons were enjoyable as a young child in Eastport--but she was taken to a church orphanage in Cleveland when she was nearly eight. There, it seemed, the only thing that kept her sane was an elder orphan named Matilda--who insisted she be called Matt.

"She was thirteen or fourteen, I think. She taught me hand-claps and songs, showed me how to cheat when I did chores and helped me collect pictures from donated magazines for my scrapbook."

"What happened to her?"

"She'd been in remission with leukemia for years. She got it again when she was sixteen. Matt died on Christmas Eve when I was ten."

That year she had started in her witches' academy. They were permitted home on the weekends, and the doors weren't open for the holidays.

Holly had been moved to Minnesota some years after the death of Matt--to a very small school in Hibbing. These were no longer the days of being a young, sweet, parentless thing. She didn't befriend stray dogs and play hopscotch. Holly no longer helped the kids with homework, and no more did she crochet with service workers.

In her early teenage years Holly was shipped back and forth between the Hibbing state facilities and a St. Cloud orphanage owned by some upper-class religious organization she didn't remember. Each time she got herself into trouble, she had to pack her bags.

An elderly couple had been sponsoring her for years, without her knowledge, and when they were finally allowed to take Holly home, she settled down.

Her holidays were spent making cookies, drinking hot cocoa, and skating on the lake with her friends. "It never rains in the winter there," she explained. "Ever. No... the winters are for snowing." She would charm the birch trees in her foster parents' yards so they were always iced with glittering frost. Each and every evergreen was filled with fairy lights, and she would bewitch the snow to make massive drifts for sledding.

"It was deadly cold--a beautiful day would be above freezing. But somehow, after being with it for so long, you became accustomed to it. I think we all put on extra blubber to survive."

They'd watch the local school in basketball and ice hockey games--there were always dozens of handsome Muggle boys up for the holiday tournaments. Holly and her wizarding friends were typical home-schooled Muggles as far as the public school kids could see.

"It's all very boring, I know," she finished. "There's no grand scale to it--no horseback riding, no house-elves doing my bidding, no visits to the dragon zoo... just me and my stupid little orphan life." She snickered half-heartedly.

"No, no," he said, "Black, that's a hell of a lot more interesting than Malfoy custom." Somewhat truthfully, he informed her, "Suddenly I feel like there's nothing I can possibly complain about when somewhere there's another little Holly Black having the time of her life trying to teach a stray mutt full of fleas new tricks."

"Well my dad found me, now, so I'm pretty much living the orphan dream." Her brow furrowed. "I guess."

"What was it like?" he inquired.

She looked at him. "What was what like?"

"Y'know... when you found out that your father was looking for you."

Holly sighed, scowling slightly. "Strange." Her features relaxed, and she looked out into the gray winter sky. "When it happens to children that had never met their parents, it's a dream come true. It's what they wish for each time they blow out their candles. But--I was fifteen." She shrugged. "A long time ago, I'd given up hope. It was impossible. I though that if I had parents, they were drug addicts living in a trailer park somewhere in Vermont. I didn't want them. I didn't want to know who they were."

He was going to reach out and touch her wrist lightly, but she moved away from it--subconsciously, it seemed. Holly Black didn't want Draco Malfoy's comfort or pity. "Dumbledore just appeared at my school one day--the principal never told me about the owls. Neither did my foster parents, and I'm not sure why. He told me that he would be back in a few months. He showed up on my doorstep at the very end of May and simply had me pack my bags. Before I knew it I was half a world and six hours out of my element." She shrugged. "Sirius' story didn't make things any clearer--it just seemed like a load of crap that fit in the right time frame. But I accepted it."

The story didn't seem over, but with a silence, Holly feinted that it was. "Do you ever regret it?"

She wasn't going to beat around the bush by playing dumb, but she didn't say anything for a junction. Holly took a deep breath, like trying to inhale courage from the air around her, and said, "Yes."

Holly stopped bouncing her leg. "I'm not meant for this at all." Draco opened his mouth to ask how she wasn't meant for it, but she continued. "My blood's here, and so is my family's history. My dad says that his father, his father's father, and his father's father before that believed that if you were born a Black, you're royalty. You're a perfect pureblood that was to be sorted into Slytherin and come out at the top of the class. And well..." she held out her arms, "here I am."

He'd let her go on. She would spill out her heart for hours, unbidden, if he let her. Draco knew that the willing sharing of secrets formed a potent bond, as words could do. Holly didn't fight the string reeling her in.

"What do you mean, 'here I am'?" She didn't explain, but just looking at her--Draco got the point. "You should talk," he stated, "I'm not exactly the model Malfoy."

"Right."

"I'm not!" he insisted vehemently.

She laughed bitterly. "Thank God."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "Is your father a model Malfoy?"

Draco thought about that. "All right, yes, I see your point." He scooted an inch nearer to her and asked, "Do you think you'll go back someday?"

"Probably," she replied.

Draco didn't like this subject at all. Considering she was living an orphan's dream, Holly was very downbeat.

A silence developed between them. Draco watched his hands in his lap.

She didn't want comfort from anyone. She just wanted someone to know.

"What do you want for Christmas?" she inquired suddenly.

He leered at her. "Are you going to get me something?"

"No. I was just asking."

"Oh." Draco tried to think of something that would sound truly wonderful to a girl's ears. 'I want a best friend?' No... that was too obvious. 'Someone to confide in.' No, that was, if possible, worse. He settled on, "I want a camera."

"A camera?" she echoed, "That's not expensive or special--whatever would you want with a camera?"

He explained, "I've just realized that I don't have any photographs of the people I care about." He glanced sideways at her. "How will I remember them when they're gone without photos?"

"You have a Pensieve, Malfoy," she told him.

"Those take memories away from you."

Holly said, "I think that if you really care about people you don't need pictures to remind yourself of them." She crossed her arms. "Besides," she added, "since when do you have people that you care about?"

He let a short silence make their thoughts converge.

Holly looked at him. He had her. "And you, Black?" he asked, "What do you want for Christmas?" She shrugged. "Oh, please--surely you've at least wanted something since you were a child."

"Well I can't have it now, anyway..." she said.

"What was it?"

He sensed another sob story, but she didn't have one. "A puppy." He raised his eyebrows. "A golden retriever."

That wasn't so bad. "A golden retriever, eh?" She nodded. "Why one of those?"

"Just because."

That was a good enough answer for Draco. He asked, "What would you name it?"

It didn't take Holly a split-second to think about that. "Roux," she said, "I'd name him Roux."

"As in... kangaroo?" he inquired, wrinkling his nose.

"No," she responded patiently, "as in R-O-U-X, Roux."

"Well, why can't you have a dog?" he asked.

"Pretty sure that it said on the acceptance form that I could have either an owl, cat or toad," she reminded him. "No dogs."

"Well didn't Weasley used to own a rat?"

Holly shuddered. "As long as it's gone now..."

"And Pansy Parkinson has a big old snake, I know. Crabbe's got some fish. Prevletz has a tank full of spiders." Draco shrugged. "Why can't you bend the rules a bit and have a dog?"

"Dogs aren't fish," she said. "They can't be left alone all day--they chew up anything they can fit their mouth around and piss everywhere!" Holly put her hands in her pockets. "Still, a girl can dr--"

He looked at her. Holly had frozen like she'd been hit with a well-aimed jinx. Her right hand came out from its respective pocket, holding something that looked like a large glass egg.

"What's that?"

She held it up, cradling it loosely in her hand as if it fit perfectly in her palm. It was a thinner than an egg--and looked like a paperweight. Solid glass, he thought, pure as the Elves.

"A light," she said. "A light to make the darkness nothing more but shadows. However, it is a light that cannot eliminate the Darkness within the soul." The words rolled naturally off her tongue, but they weren't words that she had originally planned.

Draco looked sideways at her. "Er--I see."

"Check your pockets."

"What?"

"Check your pockets, see if you have anything!"

Draco sighed and plunged his hands into his cloak pockets. He didn't expect to find anything, and thought that when he pulled his hands up that they were empty. That wasn't the case.

A finger on his right hand was slipped through a silver chain. Dangling at the end of it was a small, circular mirror. "To check if my makeup's still in place," he said dryly, "Handy."

He swung it up and caught it in the palm of his hand. He could see now that the mirror simply provided a background to a silver dragon--bent to fit within the circle, it had frigid opaline eyes. A band, engraved with many minute inscriptions, caged the beautiful beast. "To reflect the truth when all else is blind to my bearing."

"This is getting weird," Holly said, getting to her feet so suddenly it surprised him. "I need to go."

"Wait, Black--"

By the time he was at the bottom of the stairs, she was careening back toward the castle.

*()%()*

Holly's lantern was ablaze when Hermione had drawn the heavy curtains of her four-poster shut. She'd grudgingly agreed to researching the selected elements, but didn't appear to be right on it--she'd tossed the parchment on her untidy bedside table and hidden herself away in her own four-poster.

The only Gryffindors that remained for Christmas were Harry, Ron, Ginny, Holly, and Hermione. She found this odd, as there was nowhere safer than Hogwarts School in times like these. Ginny, who had dropped into the library ten minutes before Professor Flitwick locked up, said that there was a total of three Hufflepuffs staying in the castle for the holidays (according to Justin Finch-Fletchley).

She didn't mind, however. It gave them a few more freedoms--and it was rather fun to have the common room to themselves at night.

Then again, she'd been too sleepy to remain awake to watch Harry and Ron command their chess sets into battle in front of the common room fire, and she knew that they probably wouldn't make it through an entire game anyway.

Hermione drifted off long before the light of Holly's lantern went out. She'd walked into a strange dream. Hermione was swimming in the Gulf of Lions off the beaches outside Toulon. She was helping the mermaids decorate a Christmas tree with long strings of seaweed and shells she'd collected from the beaches.

When the chief chose her to be his son's squaw, Hermione tried to run--or, swim. Before she could get two frog kicks away, however, an army of lobsters was after her, the commanding general (a large, disfigured, purple crab) demanding that she wed the chief's son or they would be forced to keep her in a tank until she was ripe. They would pawn her off to the summer home of Elizabeth II where she would be cooked and eaten.

The first set of pincers had just snatched her big toe when a shout yanked her back into consciousness.

It was still light in the dormitory, she could see this through the crack in her hangings. Shuffling sounds seemed to be coming from every direction.

"What the hell d'ya think you're--HEY!"

Hermione poked her head out of her hangings and was met with a peculiar scene. Two witches in kiwi-green robes were rushing about the room, and McGonagall was standing at the door in her dressing gown and floppy nightcap, looking grave.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

No one answered. Holly, still in her blue jeans and zip-up, was fighting off a third unidentified witch in bright robes.

"She's not about to come quietly, Ethel--"

"O' course not, poor thing mus' be scared out of her life."

"Poor thing? She's at least six feet in height! Looks as though she'll have to be sedated..."

"Oh, dear..."

"What's going on?!" Hermione demanded. All of her sleepiness had dissolved. She recognized the witches as St. Mungo's Healers--but why were they here?

Holly gave up feminine gentleness and shoved the third Healer away violently, making to round her four-poster whilst the witch fell to the floor with a thump. She'd grabbed her wand and held it forward--not aiming at anyone in particular but making it clear that she now posed a greater threat.

Hermione caught a good look at her in the light--tears were beginning to show in her eyes. She knew what was happening. Holly dodged a Stunner from Ethel and croaked, "This is Draco Malfoy's doing!" She blocked a Stunner from the particular Healer who felt no sort of pity for Hermione's dormmate.

Holly looked at Professor McGonagall, whose mouth had thinned to a line. She looked torn between her stern animus and ruth for her student.

Hermione wanted to snatch her wand and jinx the Healers and her professor, then continue to help Holly devise the plan for a quick escape attempt. But her gut told her she shouldn't.

"Professor," her dormmate pleaded, "you know it isn't--"

But the third Healer had recovered from her fall, and the red beam of her meek Stunning Spell hit Holly square in the chest. She crumpled, wand clattering out of her hand and rolling across the wooden floor, right into the fire.

"Ethel, Margaret--put her on a stretcher. Make sure to conjure some irons... we can't have her possessor come through." The squat witch with graying black hair giving orders stepped over Holly's weak form and picked up the wand that Holly had knocked away form her.

"Her wand!" Hermione said, "Professor, Holly's wand is..."

But the weapon had emitted a loud bang, and roseate smoke billowed out from the grate. When the smog had cleared, Holly's wand was gone.

"Professor, I don't understand!" Hermione exclaimed, mind returning to the matter at hand.

"Miss Granger," she said quietly, "would you gather up Potter and the Weasley children? Take them to the headmaster's office."

Ethel and Margaret followed the squat Healer out the door, floating Holly between them. She was laid on the stretcher on her back, chained down heavily. McGonagall gave Hermione a look of sorrow, then turned to follow the brightly robed witches.

Her nerves seemed to have frozen. Every possible reaction she should be having seemed to be escaping her mind's reflexes. After a moment, Hermione forced her legs to move. She rushed over to the fireplace--but there was no trace of Holly's trusted wand.

Hermione stared at the flames, dumbfounded. What sort of wand-maker wouldn't put a permanent Flame-Freezing coating on their wands?

Her brain went back into action, and she rocked backward onto her knees and launched herself out the dormitory door, leaving it wide open in her wake. She ran into Ginny, pulling on a gray dressing gown inside out, forthwith. "What's happening?" she demanded, her voice an octave higher than usual. "Where's Holly?"

"They're taking her to St. Mungo's--we need to get the boys and get to the headmaster's office, now."

They met Harry and Ron just half a turn up the boys' dormitories staircase. Ron was trying to pull his head through a sleeve of his tee shirt, and Harry was holding his wand backward.

"Where's Holly?" importuned Harry.

"A group of Healers just took her away--McGonagall says to go to Professor Dumbledore's office," Hermione responded hurriedly.

The four of them rushed through the common room and burst through the portrait of the frenzied Fat Lady. "What is it, children?" she asked, "Who were those strange witches? Not professors, surely!"

They were past the statue of Lachlan the Lanky when she shouted, "Fine, then!"

They bolted through corridors and stumbled down the staircases, flying through occasional shortcuts behind tapestries and bookcases. On the second floor, the gargoyle in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office jumped out of the way before the entire password was out of Harry's mouth.

They ran up the moving stairs in a single file, and Harry hit the door once with the griffin knocker before pushing through.

Dumbledore was striding around his office, talking to the portraits. "Anhwei, see that they leave unimpeded. Melvil, I want you to attract attention in the waiting room when three Healers and a stretcher enter--no one should see her. Phineas. PHINEAS!"

"Mmm?"

"Alert whichever members of the Order that are in the old Black house. If no one's present--don't say a word to the house-elf. Do you understand?"

"It is the duty of the human understanding to understand that there are things which it cannot understand..."

Dumbledore scowled deeply at the clever-looking ex-headmaster. "Yeah, all right, I get it..." The reedy-voiced portrait disappeared through one side of his frame.

"Dilys... see that they make their way past the other patients safely. Also, watch for Sirius Black--handsome, late thirties... looks as his name sounds. Give him directions, and talk fast." The silver-haired witch straightened her corset and left.

"Hershel, Gustav..." the respective heads stood up immediately. "Report back to me which ward she is brought to--she has long, dark hair and will be chained to her stretcher." They nodded simultaneously and rushed out of their frames.

"Professor--"

Before Harry could finish, Dumbledore had conjured extra armchairs and arranged them in a semi-circle in front of his desk. He motioned for them to sit, and Hermione complied so readily that it felt as though Dumbledore was controlling her limbs.

"Draco, you may sit."

Hermione looked around. Malfoy was standing in the shadows, arms crossed.

"I'm fine, sir," he drawled with just enough propriety for his manner to get by.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. The headmaster turned to the other four, eyes boring into theirs each in turn. "Mister Malfoy has reported to me the eccentric behavior of your housemate."

He knows, Hermione realized suddenly, gazing at Dumbledore's azure eyes. He knows about us going into the forest...

Then, it was foolish to imagine that the headmaster wouldn't realize that all of the Gryffindors staying back for the holidays were gone. Yet, now he knew where they'd gone and why.

Malfoy must have told him, she thought, turning to look at the Slytherin behind them.

He hadn't.

"Amolas sent a messenger with news of your arrival in Eldarinwayávië." Hermione sensed the breath catch in the rest of her friends' throats. "Don't misunderstand me, I'm perfectly partial to having the beauty of an Elf and their white horse in the castle. It was also a relief to know that the six of you were in safer hands than my own.

"However, I imagine that the separate journeys that led you to the heart of the Forbidden Forest were not quite so safe. You may not have noticed the constant protection of Elvish eyes."

Though she felt horribly guilty for breaking half a dozen school rules, Hermione wished Dumbledore would bring his musings to the present. "Miss Black and Mister Malfoy's journey was cut short, as you know, when they were taken in by the I Felya óh Quildë--or the Cave of Quiet. It's infamous among the Elves, who know both of its good and evil.

"Mister Malfoy claims that Holly had been having strange fits--reverse seizures, or sorts," the headmaster continued. Hermione trusted that if Malfoy were lying, Dumbledore would have sensed that. "She'd been 'blacking out, holding her head, freezing up completely, and screaming as if she was being attacked by a pod of mother manticores,' if my quoting is correct."

Draco didn't answer. "These are clear symptoms of possession, and Holly didn't seem so steady in her defiance." Dumbledore seemed calm--so calm that it made Hermione's stomach churn with a cross between guilt and anxiety.

"She's being possessed?" said Harry. "But, who...?"

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly, looking at Harry over his half-moon spectacles. "Voldemort?" Harry inferred.

"I had feared that the quick testing ran after her last expedition into the Forbidden Forest didn't detect all that was there," he said in a lull. Why was he so passive? The headmaster had just been sending out frantic orders to the portraits on his walls, and now he hadn't a care in the world?

Hermione looked at Holly's godbrother. He was tense all over, and waves of complicity radiated off of him as if he'd dropped the shield that was held in front of Sirius' daughter and allowed an onslaught. Harry hadn't done anything wrong, and she wanted to voice that, but her lips seemed to be glued shut.

"Well, they can get rid of him... right?" assumed Ginny.

Dumbledore looked over the frames of his glasses at her in the same fashion that he had done with Harry only seconds before. "I thought so," he stated.

Hermione glanced over at Ginny, and she wasn't the only one. Draco, too, was looking at her, but not with suspicion--with acute cognition. Harry and Ron didn't seem to scent out a thing. When Hermione caught Malfoy's eye, he looked casually at her for a moment before averting his gaze.

"Well--what are they going to do to her?"

"Conduct more progressive, thorough examinations to see what's truly occurring," the headmaster manifested apathetically. "The Healers can better explain the process to you."

He leaned forward over the desk, locking his fingers in front of him. "Now," Dumbledore began, voice softer than before, "is there anything you wish to share?" His searing cyanic eyes moved to each of them in turn. They were like Galórion's, she noted, but touched with age. "Any matter to voice--before it is too late?"

Hermione glanced at Malfoy's lean form out of the corner of her eye. What is he hiding? Draco was keeping a lot from the surface, of course, but what did Professor Dumbledore think needed to be laid out in front of them right now?

No one voiced a thing.

"Professor," Harry said timidly, "when may I go to see her?"

Dumbledore sat back, eyes sad. "Wait for Sirius' answer."

On cue, Fawkes appeared on Dumbledore's desk in a burst of flame. The headmaster leisurely unfolded the parchment that the phoenix had dropped. "He is going to St. Mungo's," he stated, slowly pushing the letter across the desk. One sentence was on the parchment in barely legible scribbles.

I'm on my way there.

"Pack a few things," he said, "and I will go with you to Hogsmeade."

Dumbledore scratched something on a piece of parchment, rolled it up and sealed it with his wand. He held it out to Fawkes. "Bring this to Minerva, will you?" The bird took it in his mouth and vanished with a great spurt of fire.

"You could Floo into Diagon Alley--but that would attract a lot of attention this late at night. Travelers, though there are many at this time of year, don't typically journey by the Floo Network so late. The old Black house would be an apt destination, but I'm not at liberty to say how to find it." He looked at Draco when he said this. "I suggest you take the Knight Bus."

"Can we go as well, professor?" Ginny questioned.

"Of course," he replied, as though this term had already been negotiated. "I will be in the entrance hall."

"Get your things together," Harry told the girls, "and we'll meet you in the common room." He glanced over at Draco, as if daring him to think that he was permitted to come along.

"Pack lightly," the headmaster advised.

Where was the speech harbingering a Dark time to come?, Hermione wondered. What happened to the dire predictions of Holly's fate and the warnings against being a thorn in the Dark Lord's side? And why, why was Dumbledore counseling them to pack light?

*()%()*

Dumbledore saw them off, signaling for the Knight Bus and giving them money for the trip. They took it, however hesitantly, and boarded the crude violet bus.

Harry's uneasiness increased as he recalled the smoothness of the rides on this triple-decker. They were brought to the center level and given the four rickety beds nearest the back.

The Knight Bus was rather full--presumably due to the holiday season. Many witches and wizards with sacks of brightly wrapped gifts had boarded, some toting the rest of their families, others holding fearfully on to festive gelatin desserts. Instead of being offered only hot cocoa for the thirteen Sickle deal, eggnog was an option.

Stan, the conductor who was a tad less pimply than how Harry recalled him, had added that for seventeen Sickles he would throw in a rendition of "Firewhiskey under Fairy Lights." Harry laughed half-heartedly, but afterward wondered whether he'd been joking or not.

With a sonorous BANG they were skirring past a little village, each house topped with a foot or more of snow. All the beds had slid backward a few inches, but were back to where they began when Ernie slammed on the breaks.

Harry looked out his window, cupping his hands alongside his eyes to see. A wizard emerged from the bus, two large suitcases in hand and with his child riding on his shoulders.

BANG! Long rows of buildings on either side of the Knight Bus retracted backward, changing a dingy city alley into a wide, open drive. A moment later, they were sliding crookedly on the ice before coming to a teetering halt on two tires. The bus fell back down on all four wheels.

Stan reappeared on their floor then passed into the one above. He came back, tailed by a young couple holding hands and each laden with several bags of gifts, clothing, and food. They descended the short stairway nearest Ginny's bed.

BANG! A dark forest path through many bare, coniferous trees. Harry could make out a few lights in the distance.

Possessed. By Voldemort. Why her?

The answer is obvious, mocked an inner voice of Harry's--one that sounded a lot like Malfoy. You. If Voldemort can't snag you, he'll get someone nearby.

There was no fighting the reasons. And dwelling on that would come later. Now was the time to wonder what would happen if it were true. If the tests came back, every one positive, and it was confirmed that someone by the name Tom Marvolo Riddle had dug a hole into her mind--what then?

Dumbledore said that his influence could be removed--but only partly. Harry looked at Ginny. She still wasn't rid of Riddle's spirit, and even though he wasn't sure whether she'd ever gone to St. Mungo's afterward, his part was played by a memory through a diary. How much harder would it be to overcome a spirit if it were the current, living, more powerful Voldemort behind the curtain?

That must have been what Dumbledore meant... when he'd asked them all to share anything that they felt should be set forth. Perhaps he saw that as a suitable time for Ginny to share her Soul-Switcher secret.

The Knight Bus stopped, a log pile fleeing away from it like the city citizens running from Godzilla or King Kong (or both) in those old Japanese films. It seemed that every time Harry ever got to watch the television when the Dursleys were out long enough, the only thing on was Inoshiro Honda's Godzilla, King of the Monsters. Once A Bill of Divorcement with John Barrymore and Katharine Hepburn was shown on a film channel--that was a treat.

A witch with a large box of wizard crackers exited and with a BANG the bus was headed down a thin, icy road alongside the Firth of Lorne. Rain splattered helplessly against the windows, and they halted, front wheels in the ditch.

Stan led a young, deep-skinned witch with wet polka dotted robes to their level. She looked no older than eighteen, but carried a toddler in his pajamas on her hip. She was settled down in a bed two away from Hermione's.

"Shh," the girl said, rocking her toddler back and forth, kissing him on the forehead. She pushed her frizzing plait over her shoulder and told him, "Pai just doesn't have enough time for us this Christmas, caro."

She pushed her battered suitcase underneath the bed and sat down, closing her doleful eyes, tears falling gently down her cheeks.

Harry felt his stomach churn, and forced himself to look away from her. Out the window he saw a blond man standing with his arm around another woman on his front porch.

The issues of this young mother took his mind off of his own.

BANG! The bus was speeding down the cobbled streets of a cozy little village, a green, hilly landscape in the background. The driver slammed on the breaks, and moments later Stan had fetched two leggy brunette witches that were clearly sisters.

"Mon Dieu, il est un cochon!"

"C'est vrai," laughed the one behind her, "c'est vrai. Parler des porcs, j'ai aussi faim comme loup."

"Moi aussi..."

BANG! The bus skidded to a halt in front of a grand chateau along the Loire river. BANG! They stopped to let off an ogre arm in arm with a dumpy witch somewhere in the mountains. BANG! The bus hitched for a moment before the cessation of motion. A group of wizards that appeared to be triplets speaking with strong Cornish accents was led out of the bus. BANG! Stan and Ernie both had to help a little old witch carry her baggage out into the snowdrifts in front of an old Victorian house which were taller than she was.

"If we don't stop stopping," Ron remarked, "the stopping will never stop."

BANG! Harry recognized this place--an empty shoppers square in London. The bus spun 180 degrees before the wheels locked on the ice this time. Stan bounced up the stairs and stood akimbo in front of their beds. "You four," he said, as if they weren't gathering up their things. "'Ere's your stop."

They gathered up their things. When Harry made to snap the front pocket of his book bag shut, he paused. The shiny tie of his velvet moneybag shimmered in the light. He looked over at the young witch, sleeping now with the toddler tucked under her arm, one hand wrapped around the base of his mother's braid for support.

There were only a few Galleons and half a handful of Knuts left, but it was something. The rest of his companions were down the stairs when he knelt down on the floor and slipped the moneybag into the witch's suitcase. Harry looked closely at her pretty, walnut-complexioned face, frowning with troubled sleep.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered before following the others to the first level.

*()%()*

"Hey, Dilys," Harry said quietly. The portrait of the Healer cum headmistress smiled at him. "What floor?"

They hadn't bothered with the Welcome Witch, who was asleep at her desk. The waiting room was completely empty.

"'Tis a special one," she said. "Find your way to spell damage, on the fourth floor. Seek the portrait of Quong Po... I shall meet you there."

Each level of the hospital was rather dark. Occasionally a Healer walked past, but the activity otherwise seemed to be minimal. The fairy lights spotting garland that was hung along the ceiling of the main halls buzzed at them from time to time--other than that, the halls were ominously silent.

On the fourth floor, Ginny and Ron took the left side of the hall while Hermione and Harry covered the other. They were at the very end when Ron announced that he'd found the portrait.

Quong Po was a small, bald Asian wizard who was working feverishly at grinding something to powder inside his painted mortar. His portrait covered the area from the floor to the ceiling. "Sir?"

The wizard looked up. He feverishly waved his pestle at Harry, his eyes thin with warning. "He's mute," Dilys said, stepping into the portrait. "Though Quong Po is best known for his work with Chinese Fireball dragon eggs, he had a joust at the Elixir of Life. A particularly nasty attempt at the elixir vitae sizzled his tongue."

She shook her head at the wizard and muttered, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that too much hellfire yielded hellish results?"

"Where do we go--er--professor?" Ginny inquired.

Dilys raised her eyebrows at her. "Ah, yes. Quong here needs a password--behind him is a lift to the ward you are seeking. Aye, he guards that lift day and night... being that he's mute he cannot share the password." She sighed, "Nor can he accurately relay information of an intrusion."

"So... what's the password?" pressed Ron.

"Empirico-rational."

"Thanks, Dilys," Harry said.

"The best of luck with the results of Holly Black." She nodded to them and stepped out of the frame.

Harry repeated the password, and Quong Po grudgingly swung forward. They climbed into the lift.

It was quite the machine--wide enough to fit several Healers and stretchers in at once. It was eerie and drab, the walls around them reminding Harry more of old wire fences than of sturdy hospital equipment. A lantern hung from each of the corners, lighting the lift with a numinous illumination.

Harry pushed the only button on the solid metal pad. Quong Po's portrait swung shut immediately and the lift climbed upward.

It stopped behind two solid wooden doors. They were engraved with a crude jest at a blessing.

"Hope, the patent medicine

For disease, disaster, sin."

"What's that supposed to mean?" inquired Ron.

Under her breath, Ginny replied, "The means of healing the patients on this floor is less magic than it is... cold hope."

Harry took a deep breath as the wooden doors swung open. They stepped out of the lift and onto the landing. They were in an unhappy corridor--undecorated and plain--the white walls stretching as far as he could see. A heavy plaque on the wall beside him read, "Floor six: Perilous."

*()%()*

She felt a sharp prick on her forearm, like the bite of a famished mosquito when you were sure there were none around. Holly made to lift up her arm to smack the bug--it had to be a freaking insect--but she felt as if she was cloaked from head to foot in lead.

The pain receded, and she felt someone apply a bandage.

"D'ya reckon we've managed teh draw 'nuff Essence?"

"Plenty, Ethel--the first tests are not consistently accurate. Put these in some test tubes and send them to the empirical labs. I'm going to take a coffee break."

"Cheers."

Holly waited until both sets of footsteps had faded before forcing her eyes open. She stared upward into the beastly light, squinting. Opening her eyes had taken such effort that Holly was sure she wouldn't be able to get out of that supine position and bat the lamp out of the way.

She shut her eyes tight, preparing for the exercise, when a shadow passed over her. Holly looked up again and came face to face with perse eyes and a great deal of jet-black hair.

She found her voice. "WHOA!"

"AAH!"

Holly pelted upward as the face retreated. She looked around frantically, the last events she recalled coming to mind. Her head throbbed from the sudden movement. Everything was blurred--Where are my glasses?--but she was positive this wasn't her dorm.

She looked at the man at her bedside. He wasn't quite in focus, but when he spoke her heart flooded with relief.

"There are the eyes I remember." He held out her glasses and she took them, sliding them behind her ears. Everything came into sharp focus.

Holly was bedded in a small room with white walls. A table of instruments, some whirring and flashing, was in the corner to her left; a tall cabinet was in the corner to her right. A blazing lantern was connected to her headboard, dangling above her head. One empty bedside table was just far enough out of the way so that she couldn't reach it.

On her right side, sitting in an old rocking chair, was Sirius.

"What time is it?" she demanded.

"Half past seven," he said.

"In the morning?"

"That's right."

"Where am I?"

"St. Mungo's."

She ran this through her head a couple times. "Where's Malfoy?"

Sirius grimaced. He looked different from the father she recalled. His hair had grown wildly out from the new chop that he'd gotten to clean up before they met. It hung around his face, disheveled. Sirius' eyelids were drooping slightly from lack of sleep; his robes were wrinkled.

"I can tolerate a string of questions, but that one is off-putting," he stated. "And I don't know."

Holly sighed, wishing she could wring Malfoy's neck. "D-do the Healers know--?"

"Not yet."

"No, I mean, do they know who's supposed... um..."

He shook his head. Holly sat back, shutting her eyes. "The Order has been informed, but that's all."

"The Order... the Order... oh, the Dumbledore groupies?"

Sirius didn't answer. She opened one eye and looked at him sideways.

"The Dumbledore groupies," he confirmed.

Holly hung her head. Don't think about it--just don't think about it.

She felt her father's hand close over her own. "Look at me," he said quietly. She did. "With a little heart, this will be a distant memory by tomorrow."

"I don't think a little heart will really matter if--"

"Shh." Sirius squeezed her hand. She looked down at it. It was then that she noticed that her wrists were shackled with a light, plastic-looking object. Her ankles, too, were attached with chains to the foot of her bed.

"I don't want to stay here," she whispered. Her eyes burned with the thought of being locked in this room until she died, wilted and naïve to what happened outside of that little chamber.

"You won't have to," he said.

"How do you know?" she barked.

It took a moment for her father to recover from being snapped at. "Because, if they try to keep you I might abduct you myself." His smile faltered and burned out.

His hand released hers and wrapped around her back. Sirius tipped his daughter toward him, letting her face fall onto his shoulder. She made to wrap her arms around him, but her chains caught on the bars of her headboard with a soft clank.

Somehow Sirius managed to move from his chair to the bed without forcing Holly away. She reached her arms around him and grabbed the fabric of his robe on his upper back.

Holly cried into his shoulder--she sobbed like a child. She couldn't function; she couldn't bring herself together. The only thought that was in her head was that she might have to stay there until the sun burned itself out. Visitors on the holidays, the Daily Prophet after breakfast. They wouldn't let her do anything on her own for fear that she might attack them if her restraints were loosened.

Holly's tears ran out.

*()%()*

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all sat around her bed, not saying a word. They all knew that each of the others would like to speak with Holly alone, but had done nothing to capitalize on it.

Harry would apologize for having anything to do with Voldemort; Ron would maybe nervously ask whether she was all right, and then spend the rest of his time there in silence; Hermione would have Holly relive every moment of the past few months when this intruder made itself known.

Ginny... Ginny just wanted to have Holly alone. If anyone, she could confirm what was going on before those tests came back.

Holly had grown bored, as Blacks tend to do. Sirius was off to the fifth floor of the infirmary, fetching four teas and one hot chocolate--less out of hospitality and more for the desire to stretch his legs. Holly, in the meantime, had taken up the 3 November issue of The Quibbler and was paging through it back to front with one eyebrow cocked in interest.

A knock on the door lifted them out of their sleepy silence. It swung open, and a mediwitch entered carrying a great bouquet of coral-pink roses in her arms.

"Oh--my--Lord," Holly murmured, dropping The Quibbler.

"These came for you at the Welcome Witch's desk, miss," the Healer stated. Holly took the posy in her hands, gingerly smelling the roses. She coughed. "They've been tested for dangerous substances."

"Did you have to make them smell like Iron Out? Ack..."

"The odor will wear off, miss," the Healer assured her, taking the massive nosegay as Holly held it out, cringing at the uncharacteristic fetor of the roses. "There has to be at least three dozen roses there. Here's the card..."

Holly took the small envelope between her fingers and thanked the witch. She opened the envelope and pulled out a scrap of colored parchment that matched the roses. The remaining shock on her face heightened and was tinted with slight anger as she read the card.

"Who are they from?" Ron inquired.

She looked up at him over her glasses, not lifting her chin. "That," Holly said, "is none of your business."

"At least read us the card and let us have a guess at it," he pleaded.

"Fine." She pulled the card out of the envelope once more and recited, "This is a message from The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures concerning your request for a permit to breed Ukrainian Ironbellies in your backyard. We regret to inform you that, though ambitious, this idea is highly illegal and downright idiotic. We will all be keeping a close watch on you and all of your loved ones in fear that you might actually attempt to follow through with this endeavor of lunacy."

Holly hid the card away in its envelope and sat on it. "They could have been a bit less bitchy about it, don't you think?"

"Well I think they certainly compensated for that with their generous gift," Hermione replied aridly.

"I'd make a good waiter, don't you think?"

Ginny turned around to see Sirius standing at the door with a tray in his hands. "Tea, tea, tea, and another tea..." he said, handing out the cups to each of the four students around her bed, "and the lone hot chocolate."

Holly took the generous mug in her hands. "Tea's nasty."

Sirius, who didn't have anything to drink, sat down in his chair, dropping the tray to the floor. "Where did the flowers come from?" he asked Holly.

"The front desk."

"Whom did they come from?" he pressed.

"The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures," she explained, raising the mug to her lips and watching her father over the rim of the cup while she took a drink. Sirius leveled her with a knowing look, and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Yeah," she confirmed, coming up for air, "nice people."

Sirius sat down in the chair near her bed, pressing his thumbs together, his face hidden by his lengthening hair. Hunched over, he resumed his sullen posture--looking dark and out of place against the whitewashed walls. There was a rap on the door, and he looked up.

The door opened once again, and this time a tall witch entered. She had high cheekbones and dark eyes, her wizened face framed by a thick bob of curling argent hair. Her posture was prideful and held together with decorum.

The witch's keen eyes scanned the room for a moment.

"Well look what the Kneazle showered, powdered, lipsticked, name branded and dragged in. That dress looks just like my mother's curtains," remarked Sirius. He narrowed his eyes and continued, "Serene Whitlam... always a joy. Must you insist on living year after year? I thought you had a liver disease."

"My liver is in perfect condition, Sirius Black," she snapped in a voice very matured by age. "A remarkable organ... it produces bile. Sirius, you must have one the size of Wales."

In unison, all the heads in the room swiveled toward Sirius. He looked unperturbed. "Speaking of things the size of Wales, have a seat, Serene."

The witch scowled deeply and drew herself a chair with her wand. She sat down on the opposite side of the bed that Sirius was on, holding herself up as if there were spikes on the back of her chair.

"Everybody, this is my mother-in-law, Serene Whitlam."

"We're going to go and have a look at the gift shop, all right, Sirius?" prompted Hermione, rising to her feet. "Let's go."

"I don't want to go to the gift shop," Ron said truthfully, not wanting to miss out on the family fun.

"Yes," she told him, "you do."

They all got to their feet, Ginny followed Harry out the door. Tom cackled. 'Atop of it all she's got relation problems. It's a beautiful life.'

*()%()*

"What's in the bag, Serene?" inquired Sirius, motioning at the large clutch that Holly's grandmother had on her lap. "Severed head?"

"No," she said stiffly, "it is Holly's Christmas gift."

She watched her grandmother open the clasp and dig her hand into the bag. Serene extracted a box, professionally wrapped in shimmering green paper and tied with a gold ribbon.

Holly took the gift when she held it out to her, and gazed at it for a long moment. "Go on, no need to wait."

She hooked the ribbon with the tip of her finger and pulled it away from the creases, which she then undid. Holly pulled on the top of what looked like an old hatbox to reveal several objects wrapped in tissue inside.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Serene continued bickering.

"You know, I don't think Holly wants you here," he informed her.

"And why in Merlin's name not?" she questioned pretentiously.

"Because you're... what's the word I'm looking for?" He tapped his chin in mock thought. "A barking lunatic."

Serene made a scoffing noise. "I see she's inherited the Black countenance. She's a spitting image of her father. Poor dear..."

Holly looked up from the pages of Witch Etiquette and said, "Excuse me?"

"When her hair curls most say she's identical to her mother," Sirius replied. "And, some claimed that Charisse was a replica of you.... If there's any reason to feel sorry for her--"

"Okay, hello!" Holly said loudly, gripping the book in one hand and waving it for attention.

"You look upset, dear," Serene said, reaching to pat her hand. Holly withdrew it. "Is it something we said?"

"No, Serene, she's angry they keep changing the flavor of butterbeer." Sirius turned to his daughter and said, "I'm sorry, Holly. Charisse didn't look a bit like your grandmother. You wouldn't be here today if Charisse Whitlam looked like her mother."

"Apology accepted," she said, eyes still on her grandmother. "Look, grandma--" she began.

"Grandma? Please, dear, I'd prefer--"

Holly sharply pointed her index finger at her. "Don't go there with me." Serene's jaw dropped momentarily before she resumed her prideful mask again. "Thanks a lot for the book and the votive candles," she said. "I'm sure there's nothing like learning proper etiquette while rejuvenating the spirit and opening the Inner Eye, really."

Serene smiled grimly.

"Clearly," Holly continued, "you've been well informed of me." She held up the volume of Witch Etiquette. "Either way, I don't think we got off on the right foot." She dropped her voice and finished, "Maybe you should come back another time."

After staring blankly at Holly for a moment, Serene stood abruptly and strode to the door. "Well, Sirius, I'd love to stay and watch you suck your stomach in for the next twenty minutes, but your daughter has just made it clear to me that I do have other commitments that should be attended to." She clutched her handbag and opened the door. "Pleased to meet you, Holly," she closed rigidly. She nodded at her father, "Sirius, it was as pleasurable as it has ever been."

"I love you like a cold sore," he responded, sneering.

Serene left in a huff, slamming the door behind her.

Sirius made a long, angry noise under his breath that Holly supposed was at one point going to be a string of actual words. "Hot chocolate--" he said suddenly, "d'you want more hot chocolate?"

Holly looked down into her mug. It was nearly empty. "I suppose," she replied, holding the jar-like cup out to him.

He took it and left.

*()%()*

Ginny saw Sirius walk past, looking flustered. She cast a glance back at the trio, who were examining a tea set that skated along the tray beneath it, performing magnificent tricks.

She hurried out of the gift shop without a word and to Quong Po's portrait. He accepted the password, and opened just enough to let her sneak through.

Sirius had made them go to Grimmauld Place the night before, insisting that they get sleep and that Holly wouldn't be awake to know of their support until the next day. They'd gone, unwillingly, and had used Floo powder the morning to get to St. Mungo's. The fireplaces were only open in the daytime hours, as it was in many buildings anymore, to prevent a nocturnal trespassing.

When Ginny reached the landing of the sixth floor she found the Herpo the Foul: Possession ward and looked through the small window above the slot where a piece of parchment reading, "Black, Holly P." proclaimed the inhabitant of that room. Holly was the only one in there, reading a book with a look of disgust on her face.

Ginny sneaked through the door and pulled one of the many chairs right up to her. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Fine, I s'pose," Holly replied, shutting the book. "Serene has high hopes for me," she told her, holding the volume up for Ginny to see the title.

"Witch Etiquette," she read, "A guide to decorum of our age. Nice."

"Do I have 'scapegrace' written across my forehead, or something?" Holly inquired, throwing it into a shoebox on her lap. "I might have more use for the votive candles."

Ginny didn't want to ask where her grandmother was now. "Holly," she said, cutting to it before the rest reentered, "what makes you think you're... y'know."

Holly gazed at Ginny; her uncovered eyes rater eerie. It made her feel as though there were many eyes on her at once, both inquiring and knowing. "I'm not sure," she replied. "I'd have these weird fits all the time. It used to just be the feeling that someone was watching me behind my back--and not just a prickle or anything... it was like they were really examining my every move."

Ginny nodded for her to continue.

"The feelings kept getting worse and worse, and more frequent. They were just coming out of nowhere. Each time I would drop everything I was doing... sort of like a reflex, blocking whatever intruder it was from reading what I read, knowing what I thought.

"Then, in the cave with Malfoy, they became really awful. It would start with feeling I was being watched, then it felt like a thousand needles were being driven into my brain." Ginny grimaced.

"It felt like my thoughts were being sucked away from me and pushed through some filtration system before being thrown back in my head, all mixed up." She knitted her eyebrows, looking mildly bewildered. "A couple times it got so bad that I lost my sight. I looked everywhere, my eyes wide open, and couldn't see a thing. -Like every image was missing the right nerves and going straight to another source.

"They stopped once I woke up in Eldarinwayávië."

Holly sighed and gazed at Ginny, waiting for answers.

'She's not being possessed. Getting a bit vertiginous isn't being possessed.'

Ginny agreed. "That's nothing like what my experience was like..." she replied timidly. "Nothing at all. don't think you're being possessed."

"Well, who knows?" Holly shrugged, fixing her eyes on something Ginny couldn't see. "The powers from your experience were coming from a diary... it's not quite the same."

'She's not being possessed, honestly.'

Tom, I believe you.

"Well, you know that there's enough hope behind you that there's no way those tests will come back positive." Ginny patted her hand, and Holly smiled. "Try not to think about it."

Holly laughed bitterly. She recovered from her change of attitude and asked, "How about you? How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"How's Tom?"

Ginny considered her for a moment before listening to her own intruder. 'Tell her I'm dandy.'

She sighed and revealed, "He says that he's dandy."

'Note the sarcastic tone.'

"I'm telling my family as soon as I can," Ginny manifested.

"Who's making you?"

"Harry is."

"Ah." She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably, jerking heartlessly at the chains binding her to the headboard. "How close to the surface is he?"

'Must everyone ask that?'

It's kind of important, Tom.

"He won't say," she told Holly. "But I can hear him all the time. He never shuts up."

Tom cleared his throat indignantly.

Holly nodded sagely but didn't say anything about it. "Does he ever, y'know, sort of control you?"

Ginny nodded. "Once in a while," she began, dropping her voice in case someone was listening, "it's just like he makes me shrug or grab something. But, when Harry and I were being attacked by the Malumi--"

"You were being attacked by the Malumi?!" Holly exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Shh!" Holly clapped a hand over her mouth to comply. "A big pack of them, yeah. We took care of most of them with Stunners and Impediment Jinxes, but one had feinted being Stunned and had grabbed me when Harry wasn't looking."

"What happened?" Holly hissed frantically.

"It disemboweled me, Holly, what do you think?" Holly shrugged. Ginny sighed and plugged on, "Every time Harry took another step the Malum would press his blade harder against my neck. I didn't know what to do, but--Tom did."

"What did he make you...?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "We'd found an elvish arrow. I took it and--" She swallowed the great block of speech impediment that was rising up her throat.

"Okay, I've got it, that's all I need to know, Ginny." Holly rubbed her eyes behind her lenses. "If I'd the Supantoris book I'd be able to tell you what this means, but since Tom isn't talking, you'll just have to wait, okay?"

"There's one more thing," Ginny said, "I just remembered."

"What?"

"I was unpacking all of my things yesterday and when I--" The door opened.

Quickly, Holly slipped the envelope out from under her and held it out to Ginny, who took it and slid it into the pocket of her slacks by some sly instinct that told her that Holly didn't want the letter seen.

Harry entered by himself. "The others are looking for you," he said to Ginny.

He gave her an unneeded look that signified his intention. Ginny rose to her feet, patted Holly's arm, and walked toward the door. She watched Harry's eyes as she passed him. Dark, solid malachite fixed gravely on his bedded godsister.

When she was out the door, she peeked briefly through the window. Holly was gazing up at Harry in a questioning way as he made to sit down next to her.

Ginny turned, and walking out of the ward she pulled the card out of her trouser pocket.

Holly Black

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

She turned the envelope over and opened it, pulling out the apricot-shaded parchment. A very slanted, practiced handwriting graced it.

I'll Apparate in tonight.

-D. M.

It took no more than a nanosecond for Ginny to figure out who D. M. was. She glanced around the corridor, as if he'd already be there. Ginny sighed. 'He's going to get himself caught.' He laughed. 'Git.'

If he does get caught, he'll get away with it. This is Malfoy we're talking about. He'd buy the Healer in question's house and feed his family to the giant squid if he doesn't let him by.

She should let someone know about this, but she couldn't. Something told Ginny that it wouldn't be long before Holly was angry with a lot of people... Ginny didn't want to be one of them.

*()%()*

"I'm really, really sorry, Holly," Harry began right away shaking his head and stepping toward her bed.

"Save it, will you?"

He took a deep breath. He couldn't put it off until later--what if there wasn't a later? "Look... it's my fault if Voldemort is after you. He's proven before that he knows exactly how to get through to me, and if this is another ploy at that, I don't know how many times I could apologize to get you to forgive me--"

"Harry, come on--"

"And I honestly don't know how to stop it--I may as well just give myself over to Voldemort so he stops trying to get you guys--"

"Harry..."

"The last thing I want is for you or Ron or Hermione or Ginny or Sirius or anyone to is get mixed up in this and get hurt because I'm too bloody afraid to face up to Voldemort myself--"

"Damn it, Harry, please--"

"And if you have to stay here I'll hunt him down myself and kill him--he can't keep an innocent life under his wing forever."

"Would you knock it o--"

"Nothing seems to be going the right way right now, and this bit is too much for me to handle, and I'm sure he knows that--"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU PSYCHOPATH!" she roared, jerking at the chains that bound her.

Harry jumped. Holly was panting slightly, as if yelling so loud was an exercise. He was sure that if she could break loose from her shackles she would probably strangle him.

"I've had it up to here with you!" she exclaimed, raising her hand as high as the shackles would let her. "You need to stop taking all this out on yourself!"

Harry chewed on his tongue.

"All it sounds like is that you want pity, and you're not going to get it." His brow furrowed. "Nearly all your life you've had anyone and everyone who supports Dumbledore feeling sorry for you."

He was going to retort, but Holly kept talking.

"The Order, whoever they are, know that they can't take care of Voldemort. They know that you have to do that." Holly shut her eyes, as though trying to calm herself down. "Blah-blah, blah-blah.

"If they find that the person messing with me is Voldemort, you can't sit around taking it out on yourself. What you need to do," she said, holding up a hand to stop him from talking, "is take action."

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly, still not very willing to listen to Holly's reasoning but sensing that he should act like he was.

She sneered in a grim way. "It would hurt you a lot more if it were Ron or Hermione who had something like this happen to them. Or, something like what this is supposed to be."

"Of course it wouldn't--"

"It would," she affirmed. "Hermione and Ron haven't had direct contact with Voldemort--they haven't hurt his operations in any way at all. Sirius has." Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "And, though indirectly, I guess I have too." She threw her hands into the air and drawled, "Whoops.

"So you need to get some things done before he strikes again and all that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"You need to help Hermione figure out what's in that potion and, if its what we think it is, find a way to counteract its effects." Harry sighed dejectedly. "You need to put your head together with Ginny's and think of how you can use Riddle to your advantage."

"How are we supposed to know what good Riddle can do if we haven't even seen Ginny in that form?" Harry asked. "He might not even be capable of coming in contact with solid objects, for all we know!"

"Well make Riddle come out, then," Holly suggested.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he snapped back.

"A moment of weakness will give him his window."

"What sort of weakness?" Harry demanded.

She leaned forward slightly, narrowing her eyes and lowering her voice. "You'll figure it out," she growled.

Harry rubbed his temple, squeezing his eyes shut. Holly began to speak louder. "You need to see exactly what's going on with the Malumi," she said. He could sense that she was moving closer to him to make her point. "You need to get back to the Elves and propose that they negotiate with Fudge--or at least talk to Dumbledore so we can get some real warriors on our side for when the time comes."

"Holly, you can't say this like it's going to be a walk through the park," Harry interjected.

"I'm not!" she insisted. "And if I get out of here I'll help you with it. In the meantime, keep your pants on, a'right? I'm not finished." Harry scowled at her. "You need to master your Supantoris..."

Harry laughed bitterly.

"What?!" she snapped, "You just need to work on human transfiguration or something... McGonagall will explain the procedure to you, I'll bet. I'm not sure whether you're aware what a good tool being an Adopter is, Harry--"

"Don't you get it?" he asked angrily.

"Get what?" Holly fired back, her eyes attenuated.

"Being a Pellmorph is anything but a privilege, Holly," he told her.

She scowled, her face looking very sunken. "It's going to be nothing but a curse if you don't start looking at it from another angle."

He ogled at her, but she stared determinedly back. Those eyes seemed to be drawing him in either direction. "Such as?" he managed to say.

"If you were... Seamus Finnigan," she said, holding out her palm, "you'd be working right now on turning into the first guy who has a decent looking skanky girlfriend under thirty."

Harry raised his eyebrows, but with a little thought he determined that this was most certainly true. "Okay, under forty," she added, misinterpreting his expression. "Forty-five.

"And I'm not advocating this," she added hastily, "it's only an example. Because Seamus is a horny little son of a bitch who would jump on any girl who uncrossed her legs for him."

"That's true."

"So... Seamus. He's not a complete idiot, so he'd know that it would probably be easier to work on turning into someone close to him. Now it would take him less than five minutes to figure out that he should turn into Dean so he can get into Parvati's pants--I mean, he couldn't go wrong."

"Seamus wouldn't do that--"

"Oh-but-he-would," she said. "And this is just an example, and if I narrated it much further, Parvati would probably be pregnant by Seamus and whatnot so I'm not going to."

"What was the entire point of that?" inquired Harry.

"To let you know that you need to think of something to get you started on this--or someone, I guess." She grimaced.

"It's not that easy," he said. She rolled her eyes imperiously and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine! What would you use it for, Holly?"

She glared at him as if this was a simple equation and he was wasting her time. "Knowledge," she said, "Power. I'd turn into the Minister and make a speech, put the good word out. I'd turn into Lucius Malfoy and hear what there is to hear at a Death Eater meeting."

He looked at her, silent. She was just another Supantoris mountebank.

"Finally," she said, "the rest need to master what they're good at. Defense spells, sure, but their Supantorises more importantly. Ron needs to throw fire, Parvati needs to disappear at will, and Hermione needs to..." Holly frowned. "Hermione needs to.... -What does she need to do?"

Harry considered this for a long moment. "I--I don't know..." His brow furrowed in concentration, but he couldn't recall for the life of him what Hermione's Supantoris was.

"Well, find out," she commanded. "Now--recap. Potion, Ginny, Malumi," Holly began, counting it off on her fingers, "Elves, Supantoris, and everybody else's." She held up six fingers. "Got it?"

*()%()*

Ron stabbed at his mince pie.

Sirius had ordered them back to the mostly empty Grimmauld Place. Tonks was hanging around, a dirty blonde today with bright eyes, and Ron's mum had stopped in as well.

The Healers had run the same tests over and over, and never did they share the results. "Tomorrow," one mediwitch had said, "perhaps the next day. It's very hard to catch these things, Mr. Black."

"We'll be having a little Christmas here tomorrow," Molly told them quietly, dishing Harry some more potatoes. She smiled cheerfully. "Should be fun, shouldn't it?"

"I didn't bring any of my gifts from Hogwarts," stated Harry.

"Me neither."

"Same."

"Mine aren't here either."

"Well," Molly continued, bustling around the shady Black kitchen, "you can just send those out with the post when you get back, can't you?"

She beamed at them and then stepped into the pantry.

Hermione leaned forward. "So you say that her fits weren't anything like what happened to you?" she whispered.

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing like it! There's something else at work here, and I haven't a clue what it could possibly be."

"Maybe she's just finally gone off the deep end," suggested Ron, twisting a finger in the air.

They stared at him. "Or... not, y'know..."

"Well what else do you think it is?" Harry questioned. "A Legilimens or something?"

"No, no," Hermione said, "Eye-contact is practically necessary to perform Legilimency."

"So maybe it's Malfoy!" hissed Ron, looking mildly excited coming to this conclusion. "Maybe Malfoy's a Legilimens and he's been looking into her head too hard or something!"

"But, she said its been going on for months," reminded Ginny. "And she would have put two and two together if it happened only when she was around Malfoy, don't you think?"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. She rubbed her temple. "It has to be some ailment that the Healers aren't looking for, or someone's doing this from long-range. It--"

She stopped, lips parted. Hermione didn't blink--it didn't even appear as though she was breathing. Her face went a shade or two paler before them.

"Hermione?" said Harry tentatively.

"Oh my goodness..." she breathed. "I--I've just understood something. I need to see Holly, or Sirius, or somebody... oh no..."

"Well, hey, look!" Ron said brightly, "There's three visible people right here!"

"Mrs. Weasley!" called Hermione, voice hitting a point an octave higher than her normal tone. She jumped to her feet and rushed to the pantry, but Molly met her halfway.

The mother looked closely at Hermione's face, growing alarm in her own. "What is it, dear?"

She demanded, "When do the Floo stations close at St. Mungo's?"

"Oh no, I'm certain that they've already been closed," she informed her, glancing at her watch. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I need to talk to Sirius! Oh no..." Hermione did a little jig on the spot, wringing her hands nervously.

"You'll just have to sit up and wait for him, dear," Molly said. "We don't have an owl to send, I'm sorry..." She walked past her, balancing various muffin trays and an armful of ingredients.

"In the meantime," Ron put in, "you could tell us why you're such a mess."

"Oh, Ron, if she doesn't want to share, be a gentlemen and leave the girl alone!" scolded his mother.

"But, Mum--"

"I--I'm going to bed," Hermione concluded. "Mrs. Weasley, if Sirius comes home--please wake me, will you?"

She nodded. "Certainly, dear."

Then Hermione rushed out the door and up the stairs, muttering madly to herself. Ron looked around at his sister and Harry, but all they had to return was equally befuddled stares.

*()%()*

"Really, Mr. Black, one day by her bedside is more than enough," the Healer pushed. "We understand your desire to stay at St. Mungo's, but, honestly, you should go home."

"I'd really rather--"

"Dad," Holly said. Sirius looked at her over the Healer's shoulder. Even she looked exasperated with him. "Go home. Get some rest. I'm not going to be abducted or anything." She smiled encouragingly in his direction.

"I--" Her father scowled. "Oh, fine... get off me!" he hissed at the Healer as he tried to push him out the door. The wizard withdrew very quickly.

Sirius took up his cloak and slipped it over his shoulders. While he put on his gloves he said, "If you need anything, Holly..."

"I'll call a Healer since I can't really get the message to you." She smiled.

Sirius nodded. "Do you want me to take the things from Serene?"

"Please," she urged, pointing at the hatbox at her bedside. "You can read up on etiquette if you get bored."

"I'm sure I'll be doing that," Sirius said, patting the box. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "I'll be here first thing in the morning."

"Sleep in," she told him, waving a hand, "you look like shit."

Sirius hesitated a moment at the door, his hand gripping the handle. The Healer gave him a stern look, and her father fired a corrosive glare back. He smiled enliveningly at Holly then opened the door and strode away.

"Hello, Miss Black, my name is Byron and I'll be your Healer this evening," the wizard said vaguely, scribbling something on his clipboard.

"Byron," she repeated under her breath. "Like the poet?"

"No, like my uncle," he informed her, looking up from his clipboard. "And there's nothing poetic about that."

Holly held up her hands in mock surrender.

"Now if you would please remove your glasses, I want a quick look at your eyes."

"Yeah, yeah, window to the soul," Holly said, pulling her glasses off and folding them in her hand. "I get it."

*()%()*

"I'm terribly sorry, Misteh Malfoy, but all gifts mus' be scanned by a Healer."

Draco rolled his eyes and put the box up on the desk. He bent toward it and said, "Roux!"

The nighttime Welcome Witch jumped a foot in the air as the contents of the box barked happily at the sound of his voice.

"Now, would you let me get to the room I'm looking for before my present suffocates?"

"Yeh mean yeh didn' poke holes in the box?" she gasped.

"Not one," he affirmed, attenuating his eyes.

"A dog would certainly not be le' in teh any ward in this buildin' without yeh checkin' with the Healers--!"

"It's not a dog," he said, aggravated, "it's a puppy. And I'll need the keys to Holly Black's room. She's on the sixth floor, is she not?"

"I'm very sorry Misteh Malfoy," the witch said in a steadily heightening key, "but I will not be givin' out keys teh restricted rooms nor will I be lettin' any dogs further into this infirmary."

Draco examined the Welcome Witch for a moment. She was young, only a few years out of Hogwarts, he guessed, though he didn't recognize her. She wasn't the prettiest thing under the sun--she reminded him much of a teapot.

Draco leaned across the desk, getting his face very close to hers. "Look--" he glanced down at her nametag, "--Julie, I really need the key to that room. The girl in there may never be coming out, and I don't think anything could cheer her up more than getting this puppy for Christmas."

Her wide eyes flickered downward as he slid a handful of Galleons across the desk. Draco grabbed a stray lock of her untidy ecru hair and twisted it around his finger. "So," he continued with his voice lower yet than before, "would you please let me up there?"

He watched her emotions and better judgment battling behind her eyes. Five... four... three... two...

"Oh, a'right," she said, giggling. She extracted a key from below the counter and slid it to Draco. "And the lift's behind the portrait of Quong Po on the fourth floor--password's Empirico-Rational."

"Thanks, Julie," he said sincerely, letting a smirk pull at the edges of his lips momentarily. He took up Holly's gift, which slid across the box, whimpering a little, and set off.

When he finally reached the correct room, key in hand, he saw that there was a Healer in the room with her. "Damn..."

He ducked behind a statue of a witch that reminded him a lot of Professor Sprout and waited.

*()%()*

Sirius returned to Grimmauld place on the Knight Bus. He hated staying in his old house--but he was in London for the new house, and these lodgings wouldn't last for long.

Tonks and Molly were in the kitchen, gabbing over a cuppa. Sirius only vaguely realized when he entered the room that he seemed to cast a shadow in it. Tonks' bright hair and equally blazing personality combined with Molly's motherly fulfillment made Sirius look like a vampire.

"How is she, Sirius?" Molly asked, voice no louder than a murmur.

He dug around for some cereal. "Fine," he replied sleepily, "She only cried, y'know, for ten minutes."

Tonks clicked her tongue. "Have the Healers said anything about the test results?"

"No," he responded bitterly, settling for oatmeal. "They do them over and over--clearly they aren't satisfied with the feedback." He poured the tea water into his bowl.

"Oh, yes, that reminds me," Molly said, lowering her teacup. "Hermione wishes to see you--it seemed rather urgent."

Sirius glanced at her over his shoulder. "Hermione?" he repeated. The girl hardly spoke to him--he imagined that she thought him a reckless brute and a bad influence. "Why?"

"I'm not exactly sure... should I wake her?"

"No, no... I thought I heard someone in the library anyway."

Sirius grabbed a spoon and took his bowl out the door. Once it shut behind him he leaned back, toward the crack. Three... two...

"He's my first cousin once removed and all that, I know," said Tonks. She sighed audibly before swooning and adding, "But he is so tick."

"I know, dear," Molly agreed. "I feel guilty, but he really is a gorgeous man."

Sirius smirked and stepped away from the door.

*()%()*

The Healer finally walked out of Holly's infirmary room, locking the door behind him. Thankfully, he walked away from the statue Draco was hidden behind. He waited until he could no longer hear footsteps before toting the box to Holly's door, setting it down on the floor, and sticking the skeleton key in the keyhole.

He lit the lanterns with his wand and carried the present inside. Holly was already sitting up. "You bastard..."

"Now really," he scoffed, "is there a need for that?"

"You turned me in!"

He considered her for a long moment before agreeing, "Yeah."

"And now, here I sit--FOREVER--because Dumbledore had a bunch of Healers come and abduct me after midnight yesterday," she stated. "You son of a bitch, if I wasn't cuffed to the headboard I'd break you in two..."

He examined her shackled wrists and ankles and raised an eyebrow. "Kinky," he observed.

"I'll call the Healers," Holly threatened, "I swear I will..."

"No need," Draco informed her. He walked nearer, trying not to show his caution, and sat the box down on her lap. "Anything I can do for you?"

"You could apologize," she barked, eyebrows high.

"No, honey, I don't want to set a precedent." Draco continued, "I figured you'd be angry with me, so I brought your Christmas gift early."

"You can't appease me out of this, Malfoy," she growled.

"Think what you like, sugar. Go on," he urged her lazily, "open it."

Holly glared at him for another moment before removing the ribbon and tearing vehemently at the wrapping paper. "A dog kennel," she said dejectedly, looking at the box. "Great..."

"Keep opening," said Draco.

Holly ogled at him, tardy realization spreading across her face. She slowly pulled open the box, as if absolutely volitional not to show him her excitement. She took up the carrier, which was only big enough for a pup or lap dog, and when she had a look at what was inside, the effects were instantaneous.

All frustration melted off Holly's face and was replaced by the most sickeningly bright smile he'd ever seen. She shrieked through closed lips, knowing that if she screamed aloud the Healers would come running.

Roux skidded to the front of the kennel, yipping.

Holly opened the wire door of the cage and extracted the fuzzy pup with a ribbon tied around its collar.

Draco had picked the mellowest dog there was, just in case he would be stuck with it at a later date. However, he knew of pets and their masters. Roux was bound to be hyperactive once he became accustomed to Holly's presence, and when he was without her he'd brood. She hugged the retriever to her chest, and it licked her jaw sleepily. "Oh my God!" she simpered, scratching the dog behind its ears. "Malfoy--why...?"

"I reckoned the flowers weren't good enough," he said, "because you knew that I needn't purchase roses..."

"That doesn't matter!" she said. "Any normal person would be content with a bazillion roses..."

"No joke," he muttered. Holly didn't appear to hear him; she simply rocked the puppy back and forth, smiling widely. "The merchant wouldn't let me take one from the younger, more dependant batch, so I hope this pup's all right for you."

"It's so sweet..." she cooed, playing with the fur sticking up over its collar. "You're so sweet," she added. "I can't believe you'd do this for me!"

Draco smirked. Holly Black was a little materialistic, and materialistic girls were his bread and butter.

She let the dog lick her nose.

"I bought him a collar--check the tag."

Holly pulled the neon blue collar out from behind the ribbon and fingered the square nametag. "Roux," she read, smiling. "Did you check whether it was a guy or girl?"

"Yes..."

She lifted it up and tilted her head a bit to the side. "Op, yep, it's a boy."

Holly kissed Roux on the snout and hugged him. "Now I'll have to get you that camera..."

"Black, you don't--"

"I suppose I could just steal Colin's. I'm pretty sure he's wearing a vial of Harry's dirty bath water around his neck, so he could spare the camera for his idol's godsister, right?"

"Black--"

"I mean, he's got a zoom lens that has to be three times longer than the length of the things most boys obsess over, if you know what I--"

"Black," Draco cut her off, "I can buy myself a camera. Don't fret over it."

She frowned a little, leaning back into her pillows.

Boosting conversation, Draco stated, "I never thought that Healer would leave--I sat out there for ages..."

"I know. He just stood around, writing on his clipboard. I started playing the wink game..." she informed him.

"The wink game?"

"Yeah," Holly affirmed. "Close one eye, he's next to the door." She demonstrated. "Close the other eye, he's in front of the door." She showed him again. "Next to the door, in front of the door."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He probably thought you were flirting with him."

"Yeah..." she said reminiscently. "He probably thought I had a neurological disorder."

He pulled a chair up to her bedside and patted Roux's head. Draco didn't like dogs very much, but this one was helpless. "I brought the Evening Prophet," he stated, pulling it out of his bag, "have you read it yet?"

"No--I read some of the November third issue of The Quibbler, though," she said, "I had a blast. Did you know that the captain of the Kenmare Kestrels had an extra hand implanted into his brainpan that pops out with lightning speed when he needs to get the Snitch?" Holly pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead and made snatching movements with her hand.

"I was not aware of that," he said, an involuntary smile spreading across his face.

"Yes--'Seth Audleberg has been one of the most celebrated Seekers in the league for half a decade. His two hands have caught more Snitches than the rest of the Kestrels' preceding Seekers put together.'

"'OR HAVE THEY?'" She wiggled her fingers dramatically, eyes wide, and Draco laughed. "No press is bad press, I s'pose. What's really going on in the wizarding world today, then?" she asked, pointing at the paper and stroking the side of Roux's face.

"Pettifoggers." He smiled. "Well," he began, flipping open the paper, "some official wizard or another came up from a third world country in Africa and made a speech." He showed her the picture of the brightly-robed black man standing behind a podium. "Says here that when he was a child he had to walk fifteen miles every day just to fetch water..."

"They should've moved," she said vaguely.

Draco nodded. He continued to skim the article. "'We are wishing for the support of your ministry...' blah, blah, 'War is among you now as it has been in our country for years,' et cetera, et cetera..." He let the paper fold over his fingers. "Look, a footnote. 'If one gathered all the gold spent in the western wizarding nations for food in one week, the wizarding community in a third world country could be supplied for over one year.'"

"I think we're being overcharged for our groceries," Holly remarked, smoothing the hair on Roux's back.

"I agree," he said. Draco opened the paper and looked at the different headlines.

"Malfoy," she sighed, turning her head on her pillow, "What would you do if you were in my place?"

"And the Dark Lord were possessing me, you mean?" he asked. Holly gave him a look. "Well, I'd probably order in dementors to give me a Kiss."

She gasped.

"What? I wouldn't want to be conscious and knowing forever!" Holly blinked a couple times, as though trying to process this. "Besides, eternal nothingness is fine if you happen to be dressed for it--hey! The Wizard Jumble!"

She stared at him. He got up and rummaged through the cupboard on one wall. It wasn't long before he found some ink and a quill. "Let's see," he said, dipping his quill, "L-E-N-Z-E-A-K."

He started jotting down letters on the margin. "So--you think I'll be in here forever?"

"No," Draco said placatingly, "You want to know what I think, flower?"

"Yes, I do."

"I think," he said, looking up at her, "that you'll be out of here by tomorrow afternoon." He glanced at his watch. "All right, this afternoon."

"Really?" she said, smiling weakly.

"Though I am not naturally honest, I am sometimes so by chance." He smiled winningly at her. "I don't think you're being possessed at all--these fits aren't symptoms of possession. No, you've either got something that can be fixed with a daily dose of some potion that tastes like grass, or someone close to you has a nasty little secret." He looked down and scratched out a bad attempt at figuring out the first Jumble. "Dumbledore knows it, too--he told the rest of them to pack light, and didn't really seem terribly concerned about the Dark Lord coming through one of his students so close to Potter."

"Somehow, your words comfort me," she commented.

"Well I'm just that sort of wizard," Draco said. "Is 'kenlaze' a word?"

"No."

"How about..." he examined the paper, "'lakenez'?"

"I doubt it," she said, pulling the dog's front paws over her shoulder.

"I've got it--'neakle'!"

Holly rubbed her eyes. "You forgot the 'Z'."

Draco scribbled angrily over the words he'd come up with thus far. "Thou whoreson Z, thou unnecessary letter..." he grumbled.

"Damn it, Malfoy, the word's Kneazle! K-N-E-A-Z-L-E, Kneazle!" she cried, waking the puppy who abruptly licked her chin.

He looked at Holly for a moment--she'd gotten very close to his face. "Did you eat salami today?" he asked.

"Did you wash your face with ugly soap?"

He let a pleasant smile cross his face. "You're simply darling..." he drawled.

*()%()*

Hermione had been the one in the library, naturally, standing over the study desk and pouring over numerous books with strained eyes and a nervous face. She'd explained her hypothesis on what Holly was experiencing, and Sirius thanked her profusely, assured her everything would be fine and ushered her to bed.

He'd just finished putting the final book in its respective place, and had taken his empty bowl of oatmeal into the kitchen. He walked along the dark hallway; many years ago had he memorized those floors and how to move silently across them. Sirius opened the door to the study.

The fire was alive, lighting much of the room. There was a shadowy figure that Sirius recognized sitting in his usual chair by the fire. "I do believe you're sitting in my place of brooding."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said, "I thought this was your place of grieving."

"No, that's in the drawing room."

"That's not your peeved place?"

"No, peeved place's my old room."

Sirius slid into the other armchair near the fire and sat his cup down on the table between them. He used to play chess there, by himself. Once his father would sit across from him and show him how to adeptly use his set of Gobstones, but he died so long ago all Sirius recalled was his voice and his face--simply because they were much like his own, now. Sometimes when he caught his reflection in a mirror, he would see Rigel Black looking back at him.

"I would offer you some brandy, but that's irresponsible and I'd hear about it from Molly in the morning."

Harry looked at Sirius, green eyes alive behind the glasses and underneath his bangs. He was curled up in the chair as a child would be, but he straightened out after a moment, perhaps embarrassed. Sirius couldn't tell. "Thanks for the thought."

He smiled at his godson. "It's awful late."

"I slept in this morning." Harry sighed and seemed to turn in on himself.

"I don't find that staying up late and staring at the fire is an enjoyable pastime--and Ron's upstairs, I know." Sirius paused for a drink. "What're you thinking on?"

"Nothing." He stood. "I think I'll go to bed."

Sirius furrowed his brow. Harry wasn't going to fall asleep; he knew that. He would probably sit on his bed, listening to Ron breathe, and fix his surly gaze on the light the moon cast through the window until Phineas Nigellus dropped in.

"Okay," he said, "er--sweet dreams."

As Harry walked out of the study, Sirius decided that it is best that he take his wallowing with him. He put Harry's odd mood out of his head, or tried to, and drank his brandy.

Harry had left the opposite chair quite empty, and Sirius felt old loneliness sinking in once more. Too often had Sirius sat in Grimmauld Place, completely alone, and chosen this spot to relive his memories. Unlike in Azkaban, he could summon happy thoughts without the Dementors absorbing them. Yet, the memories of freedom, of James, of Charisse, and of innocent youth only brought pain. Because then, Sirius was alone. He had no family, the Whitlam witch didn't count, and no one even trusted him with the simple deed of walking outside.

He wasn't alone now--a portion of the Weasleys was abound, as were Harry and Hermione. Tonks may have taken to the sofa in one of the sitting rooms, he wasn't sure. Yet all that Grimmauld Place presented to him were memories of troubled youth and a recent year of being solitary and made him recall things that once were. Things that were better; easier.

He leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes. He thought, perhaps he thought aloud, and it wasn't long before he heard someone say his name.

Sirius' eyes snapped open and he looked to the door. Ginny Weasley was standing just inside the study, looking nervous.

Two summers before, she was nearly the most enjoyable company he had. She was happy, usually, but wasn't all sunshine--like Tonks, for example. Ginny had experienced her own pain, betrayal, and shame, and she bore the burden much better than Sirius did his own. When all the thoughts and memories within him had acquired individual screaming voices, Sirius couldn't find solace in telling an oversized cross between a bird and a horse.

Remus was never there when he needed him, and though he probably only did so in half-drunk delirium, Sirius could confide in Ginny Weasley. Once or twice, only, he supposed he'd spilled out his anxious state. She was only a few years out of childhood, and yet she was a lovely listener. She had a way of appearing in the room when he needed to see her most. She never said much to Sirius for some time while he used her for penitence; she was afraid of him, he imagined. Ginny never dared cross the space between them to hug him, or pat his hand. She sat where she did, rigidly, but willingly listened to his every word.

Sirius had once been subjected to Ginny's little secrets--as the summer reached its end. Those about Michael Corner, whom she didn't really believed she 'liked' but did serve to anger Ron in the future and distract her from whomever else she thought she'd loved. She never did share this name, but Sirius had a fair couple guesses. Both she hid quite well, and though one was natural, the other was sinister--love-hate, and not by any choice of hers.

She would bear the information in his dazed confessions to the grave, as he would never spill a word Ginny had told him. When around the rest of the kids and the members of the Order, they didn't act to be any better acquainted than an adult and a child who happened to live in the same neighborhood.

"Come in, Ginny."

She walked toward him, and Sirius instantly sensed that she had something to say.

*()%()*

Sirius was cast into shadow; the only thing very clear in her vision was his goblet--filled with brandy or firewhisky, no doubt. Sirius was stressed (as was apparent just like when he'd exited an Order meeting in the dining room two summers previous). When she said his name, he looked up but hesitated before his reply.

His voice sounded, inviting her into the study, and a familiar thrilling and partially fearful sensation ripped through her. Holly knew. Harry knew. Ginny had to confess her secret to an adult before she could speak to her family--Sirius would know what to do. Sirius always knew what to do. Pity he didn't always obey his instincts.

She walked over the old, wooden floors that creaked with every few footfalls. Ginny stopped next to the empty chair, and Sirius motioned for her to take her seat. She did so, falling slowly into the armchair and looking across the table at the older man.

There was still a small thrill of being familiar with Sirius Black, being seen near him. This may have been credited, in part, to his dark, handsome looks. His haunted, beautiful face that transformed into one of extant youth with his rare smiles was a mysterious mask, and it befuddled most people just to watch Sirius' face go blank and scant, as it so often did, with some emotion or memory no one knew. Ginny had taken time to examine this expression before, and he wore traces of it just then.

"We haven't chatted for a long time."

She nervously sat down her coffee cup. It was filled with milk, but somehow carrying it with her made her feel maturer. "I know."

Yet, it felt like they had spoken just the day before, and perhaps the day before that--and before that. But it was Holly--Ginny had opened up to the girl by some instinct that told her that she was a ready substitute for Sirius. And Holly, finding some Black trait that coded so, found it easy to tell Ginny things that she dare not share with the Trio.

So she sat, with that dark space that was Sirius Black, and prepared to tell him what she needed to. Somehow, it seemed facile to speak to him compared to how it had before. And Ginny knew why. Though she had felt resentment toward Holly at first, she'd befriended her. And in doing so, Ginny in some way befriended Sirius. They were the same, in a way, and now confiding her burden in Sirius came as simple as it did discussing it with Holly.

"Sirius, I need to tell you something."

*()%()*

Sirius bounded into Holly's room no later than five in the morning. She woke up when the door opened--it was very difficult to sleep on the hospital beds--and blinked.

Draco was gone--she didn't recall him leaving. Holly knew that she'd dozed while he lined Roux's cage with the Evening Prophet pages that he'd finished doodling on. He must have left when she fell asleep, taking her glasses off before he went. Another flower, a white lily, was sitting atop her dog's carrier. Her dog... she smiled.

"Good morning," Sirius said cheerfully, sweeping down and giving her a kiss on the cheek. He handed Holly her glasses. "One more series of tests, and then you're out of here." He bore no sign of having little to no sleep the night before except for being mildly dark about the eyes.

Holly sat up. Though she'd only gotten maybe three hours of sleep herself, suddenly she was very alert. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," he replied. "All the test runs came back negative, thankfully." Sirius saw the dog cage. "What's in there?" he asked, looking alarmed.

"My dog," she smiled.

"Your dog?"

"My dog." He bent down to pick up the cage. "His name is Roux."

"As in kangaroo?" he asked.

"No, as in R-O-U-X, Roux."

Sirius popped open the carrier door and extracted the puppy. "It's still a pup--where'd you get him?"

She hesitated, but didn't see any use in lying. "From Draco Malfoy."

Sirius really looked alarmed this time. Light eyes popping, face white, he stared at her. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah..."

"Merlin!" Sirius held Roux out at arm length, and the puppy wagged his tail happily, lifting his legs.

"Dad, it's only a puppy." Holly reached up and took the dog in her arms. "I told him that I'd always wanted a little golden retriever to name Roux, and he's rich." The puppy settled down in her lap, pressing its snout against her navel.

"You're friends with a Malfoy now?" he asked, looking disgusted. "Narcissa's boy? Did this happen over that little fiasco in the Forbidden Forest with the Elves?"

Her gaze snapped up to him. "You know about that?"

"Yes I know about that, but under the circumstances..." he sighed, "I just haven't had time to rail at you for it."

"What now?" she demanded, "Are you going to pull a Harry and proscribe my treating Malfoy like anything other than the inimical vampire he's become and tell me that I will never receive your approbation as a member of the Black family and be the subject of myriad anathemas unless I leave this scum behind me?"

"Of course not, I have great ken as far as the toil of your common monster. My best friend is a lycanthrope, you know." He smiled at her, but it seemed to pain him to do so. The stretching of his lips stopped somewhere between the tip of his nose and his eyes, making his leer nothing but a contortion of the mouth. "Amazing ken. Practically mephitic, it's so good."

"You're lying to me..."

"I wouldn't do that. Why would I want a grumpy daughter over the holidays, hmm?"

Holly stared at Sirius, mind blank. She wasn't going to question it... she wasn't going to question it.... After she'd recovered she said, "Empty the newspaper out of the bottom of his cage, will you?"

"No."

She lifted her manacled hands.

"Milk it for all it's worth, then, big malingerer," Sirius muttered.

Holly confirmed, "An honorable philosophy."

It was some time before a Healer came in, Byron again, looking tired and disgruntled. He held the key to the chains that bound her, and Holly was unshackled immediately. She gratefully crossed her legs and gently rubbed her wrists as Byron told them what their final exam would consist of.

"You just sit there, Miss Black," he said as professionally as he could manage with his half-closed eyes, "and tell us if you feel anything."

Holly looked between Byron and Sirius. Her father gave her an encouraging nod, and she smiled weakly at her Healer.

Byron walked over to the door, where she could just see another Healer's face through the slit-like window. He knocked on it and loudly confirmed, "We're ready."

He turned back to Holly, remaining close to the door, and urged, "Anything at all."

Holly rubbed her hands together nervously, watching Roux struggle to crawl over her thigh.

It was a moment before it began. The eyes on the back of her head, the needles slowly penetrating her cerebellum, digging into her mind. She cleared her throat, not sure which would let her leave St. Mungo's faster--telling the truth, or acting as if nothing was wrong.

"I--I can feel the... y'know..." It was difficult to explain without sounding ridiculous. Holly grimaced, unsatisfied with her feeble vocabulary use, but Byron got the message.

He leaned back and opened the door. Byron muttered with the other Healer for a moment, then nodded, and walked back into the room. He said, "you're free to go."

He'd gotten her clothes from the Healer outside the door. Sirius took Roux out of the room with him and Holly changed back into her washed bleach-stained jeans and hoodie, gratefully pulling on her socks and trainers. Her Charm had been slipped into one of the pockets of her jeans, and she clasped that around her neck and hid the gem under her shirt.

She looked around her room, and her eyes rested on the flowers Draco had given her. Holly leaned over the bouquet of roses and smelled them--the scent of Iron Out was gone, and they again had the aroma of roses. Sirius had agreed on taking the Knight Bus--Roux couldn't Floo. Either way, she'd probably look ridiculous carrying roughly thirty-six roses and a single lily onto the bus.

She snatched one of the apricot roses and the albescent lily and clutched them in one hand, feeling only a little guilty for falling so helplessly for Draco Malfoy's charm.

Holly walked out of her room, hoping never to be anywhere near the St. Mungo's 'perilous' ward again. Outside the room stood Hermione, wringing her hands. She attempted to smile in an appeasing fashion, but it turned out to be something of moue.

Holly glanced at her father, who looked at the floor, then back at Hermione.

"I--" she began, "I've something I need to tell you..."

*()%()*

Holly sat at the other end of the sofa that they'd chosen on the Knight Bus, staring sulkily at the floor and scratching her new dog behind the ears just a bit too hard.

She shouldn't have told her, Hermione thought. She just should have let it be and allowed someone else to let her down easy at a later date. Hermione glanced at her. Holly continued to gaze fixedly at the floor, stroking the back of Roux's head.

The Knight Bus skidded to a stop a block away from Grimmauld place. Sirius didn't want any questions asked. Holly gently put her puppy into its kennel and clutched her two flowers in one hand, walking off the bus first and not bothering to thank Stan or Ernie.

They walked down the icy street in silence, Holly insisting that she'd be just freaking fine without a cloak, thank-you-very-much, and going ahead of them. "Does she always have to take things straight to heart?" Hermione muttered, walking alongside Sirius. She would have very much enjoyed the occasion--he really was a beautiful man--if under different circumstances.

Sirius sighed. "She's like a cross between Phineas Nigellus and my mother," he said frigidly.

"So..." Hermione said, trying to put the temperaments of either of these portraits together, "she's sort of like you."

Sirius considered her with his cyanic eyes for a junction before saying, "So it would seem."

Holly had stopped on the sidewalk between numbers eleven and thirteen and made a noise of frustration. "Well, here we are, and here's eleven," she motioned to her left, "and thirteen," she pointed to the right. "I don't see where I'm supposed to be going, and me and Roux are getting cold."

If Hermione dared correct her grammar, she was quite sure that Holly would summon a winter that lasts two thousand years.

"Hold on a moment, Holly, I've got it right here..." Sirius muttered, digging around in his cloak pocket. "Dumbledore trusts me with a spare one."

He handed her a yellowing piece of parchment. She recited, "'The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.'" Holly dropped the hand with the parchment slip in it to her side. "Yeah, I already knew that. So... that's great--where is it?"

A moment later, realization dawned upon her face as Hermione imagined her seeing the house appear between eleven and thirteen. "Ah."

Sirius unlocked the front door, informed Holly to be very quiet in the hall, and they entered the old house.

Once they were far enough away from Mrs. Black's portrait, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley (all of whom had managed to rouse themselves) bombarded Holly with questions of her health. Ron's mother had made a magnificent breakfast, and Holly reluctantly sat down next to Ginny to eat.

Molly bustled about, dishing them all more than enough food. She encouraged them to tuck in before following Sirius into the pantry.

They ate in silence, partly because of the early hour and partly because it didn't take a philosopher to see that Holly was in a bad way. Eyes flicked nervously in her direction every few seconds, to see nothing but a hatchet-face. She was feeding Roux from a spare plate and bowl--she poured him her tea and took a handful of bacon for him to mix in with her own egg yolks. She always methodically cut around them, preferring the whites.

Hermione wasn't sure what Holly would do if she told her then that her wand had been taken out with the ashes by the house-elves assigned to Gryffindor tower.

Holly left the dining room after only a few minutes, Roux under one arm, flowers and kennel in the opposite hand. She'd poked her head into the pantry and asked Sirius where she could take a shower, since she felt like a "grease-ball" after being deprived of that for only two days.

She was asleep in the most beat-up bedroom, the one with the balcony, within half an hour--her wet hair shielding her face, puppy asleep behind her head.

*()%()*

Ginny ascended the flight of stairs that led to the guestroom Holly slept in after she'd gotten some more shut-eye herself.

The bedroom that had once been Mrs. Black's had the appearance of something that was once a grand, beautiful chamber. Now it looked to be wrecked beyond repair. The wallpaper was hanging off the wall in great, long shreds and the yellowed canopy dangled crookedly from the ceiling. The wooden furniture about the room needed dusting and the plush chairs in front of the fireplace were timeworn and ripped. The oak-framed mirror against the wall was cracked and speckled with scratches; it spoke in several different tones at once if one were to look into it.

A sizable family portrait hung on the wall opposite the bed. Sirius was still in it, she saw, but unwillingly so. He sat against the frame with his arms crossed, young face extremely surly.

The room was cold--the dirty glass doors leading to the balcony were thrown open, exposing the view of the snowy lawn behind the Grimmauld Place. Holly leaned over the loose banister, her puppy sitting at her feet, singing in a lower more melancholy voice than usual that was nonetheless careful and practiced rather than naturally rippling.

"Peaceful waters, raging sea,

It's all the same to me.

I can close my eyes and still be free.

When the waves come crashing down,

And thunder rolls around,

I can feel my feet on solid ground."

"Hey," Ginny said, much less circumspectly than any of the others would have sounded when approaching the witch. She bent down and picked up the puppy leaning against Holly's heels, cradling it in her arms like a baby. "What's his name?"

"Roux," Holly said, squinting at the white winter sun.

"Like--a baby kangaroo?" The puppy snuggled itself into comfort in her arms.

"A baby kangaroo is a joey," she explained. "This is a baby dog called R-O-U-X, Roux."

"I see." She scratched him under his chin. "He's sweet."

"The mellowest one Malfoy could find," Holly commented, looking far-off.

"Is that why you're in such an off mood?" asked Ginny, "Malfoy?"

"Oh, no," Holly said, looking over at her at last.

Roux squirmed out of Ginny's arms and trotted back into the bedchamber. She and Holly went after him. As Holly closed the glass balcony doors, having to wiggle the door-handle violently on one panel when it got stuck, Ginny sat down on the mattress. A broken spring poked her sharply, and she moved over to the left.

Holly flipped a smoldering log over with the metal tongs by the fire, sending up a shower of sparks and boosting the flames again. Ginny looked at her long, drab waves and questioned, "Is it because you don't have any Instant Ringlet Serum for your hair?"

Holly looked over her shoulder while she put the tongs back on the correct hook. "That might be part of it," she said with a fragile simper.

Ginny held out the card Holly had slipped to her the day before. "When did he show up last night?"

Holly off-handedly reopened the envelope and pulled out the slip of parchment, grinning sheepishly to herself. "After midnight," she told her. Holly sat down next to Ginny and slid the parchment back into the envelope, hiding it in her hoodie's pocket. "Donated a handful of Galleons and hit on the witch at the front desk to get the password for the sixth floor, to have permission to take Roux up with him, and to get a key for my room."

"Malfoy money and charm is all you need to get anything you want from the world," Ginny commented disdainfully.

Holly sighed shortly. "It is," she said, looking far-off again.

'Looks like this Malfoy has an admirer...'

"You're keen on him!" Ginny gasped, pointing accusatorily.

Holly whimpered, "No..."

"Yes!"

"No..."

"Yes, you are!" Ginny turned toward Holly and tucked one foot under her. "Draco Malfoy has you weak at the knees, Holly Black!"

"No--" Ginny looked at her dubiously. "No! He's just sort of charming, that's all..."

"You're enraptured," she said dramatically, placing a hand over her heart.

'Ravished,' Tom suggested roguishly.

"Ravished," repeated Ginny.

'Captivated,' he teased with a wordsmith's air.

"Captivated."

'Enamoured.'

"Enamoured."

'Just how you are with Justin,' he denoted.

Ginny caught herself just before her lips formed the words.

"Whatever, Gin, think what you like," Holly said passively.

"Alright, backtracking..." Ginny thought to herself for a moment before saying, "What is causing this fit of the sullens, then?"

Holly stood up and snatched Roux into her arms--he'd been drawing closer and closer to the fire with his tail in the air. She turned to Ginny while Roux licked her chin contentedly. "Ask Hermione," she said grimly.

Down the first flight of stairs, past two doors on the left, and into Hermione's room.

Nobody.

Down the second flight of stairs, through Mrs. Black's hallway, and into the library off the side of the house. Hermione was curled up in a big, leather chair with a thick book in her lap.

She looked up when Ginny entered. Hermione pushed her hair over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows.

"I've just been to see Holly," she informed her.

Hermione bit her lip.

*()%()*

Holly had slept most of the day, but Ron encountered her that evening in the drawing room, standing in front of the tapestry that depicted the very detailed Black family tree. He was to tell her that dinner was ready, and hint that everyone was waiting (impatiently) for her. "'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,'" she read with a laugh that reminded him distinctly of a branch snapping in two. She acknowledged his presence, but ostensibly didn't truly speak with him.

"I never really thought I was French in any way, shape, or form." Holly motioned to a section of the family tree completely inhabited by Coeurfoncés, Noirfleurs and the like. After observing that she was related to the playwright Malécrit who had written "Hélas, J'ai Transfiguré Mes Pieds," Holly traced her lineage through a short German blood run of Schlangegeliebters and Grünersohns.

He read it, and wished that he'd spent a little more time looking at the tapestry two summers before, when instead he had spent many lazy, pointless weeks in that gloomy old house. Having obtained this information beforehand, Ron would have known both living Blacks' true scapegoat for being as sinister as they sometimes were.

"Morgana," Holly said. "She's my great-grandmother... lapped over one hundred times or so. That's cool."

It appeared that Holly was also a descendent of Yvain, an actual legitimate child of Morgana (with King Urien).

Treading carefully, Ron asked, "Wasn't she, you know--evil?"

"So she had her shortcomings," Holly said nonchalantly, a spot of cheer in her voice. "She was a Healer, too. I still find that I'm a more colorful person, being related to the Queen of Shadowland."

Ron pondered Holly's penchant for all things nasty for a moment, seeing yet another apparent explanation of recent events laid before him, before telling her it was time to eat.

They all sat about the table at dinner, which was a grand feast prepared by Mrs. Weasley complete with every traditional Christmas delicacy known to wizard-kind.

Tonks stopped in, with chin-length hair of chunky streaks of vibrant red and green at the side of Lupin who looked a little fatigued but otherwise cheerful. Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley all came by for dinner as well. The long dining room table more than accommodated all of them, and even the settings looked grand and schematic (with the exception that Lupin's silverware didn't match the rest of theirs since it wasn't, well, silverware).

Kreacher, thankfully, didn't appear even once to rain on their parade.

The holiday cheer was only dampened by Holly's mood, which had at least improved now from surly to slightly melancholy. She spoke only to her father, Ginny, and her new puppy, which she silently insisted joined in on the festivities. She didn't touch much of the food, as usual, with the exception of a little of his mum's olla podrida. Holly didn't eat a lot of the Hogwarts dishes, either--she wasn't accustomed to them, he reckoned. Ron had seen her hold onto the occasional plates of strawberries, sandwiches, and ice cream like they were the only food given to her for months.

When Ron was full to the bursting point of puddings, cranberry sauce, turkey, and various forms of chocolate, he sat back in his chair. He'd probably eaten the fastest out of all of them, second only to Sirius--who was already tilting back on two chair-legs and chewing on a toothpick while he held palaver with his peers.

The only girl at the table who wasn't casting dreamy stares at the man from time to time was Holly.

She was busy feeding the new pup bits of mincemeat--talking to it avidly as if it were the only thing in the room.

Tonks tapped Holly on the arm and said something. She clearly couldn't hear over the commotion, so the girl leaned forward over the table, lips forming a request. Tonks asked her question again and Holly nodded and shortly after she shook her head.

Holly had to repeat herself several times, louder each shot at it, before Tonks heard response. Ron caught something that sounded like "kangaroo," but he couldn't be sure.

They took to the drawing room after everyone had finished and settled around in the various old loungers, sofas, and pillowed Windsor chairs that Sirius had magicked into a circle. He'd found a massive Christmas tree in the meantime and decorated it with silver bobbles after setting it directly in front of the old tapestry that listed the Black family tree.

They passed around the gifts and forgot conformity to typical present opening. Everyone tore into his or her packages at once. The adults all had much smaller piles than the rest (and 'the adults' suddenly seemed to include Fred and George), but Ron tried not to mind it.

He opened the package from his mother first, so not to save it for last and be disappointed when he received the same thing--again. Maroon jumper emblazoned with a large 'R,' and enough food to feed all of Gryffindor.

Fred and George gave him a deluxe box set of Dirty Dainties, which he promptly hid under his the spare wrapping paper while the twins sniggered. Sirius' gift was a book titled Renaissance of the Cannons: How to Assist the Endeavour. When Ron glared resentfully at the man, who sat with Holly's dog in his lap, he laughed healthily.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but that team's a lost cause," he shrugged. The puppy turned onto its back and Sirius scratched its stomach. "If you want to see them make it to the league again your best hope is to... what was the motto changed to in '72? Oh yes, '...just keep your fingers crossed and hope for the best.'"

Ron threw a wad of Spellotape and wrapping paper at his head, and Sirius smacked it with one hand, still snickering youthfully. "Open it!" Ron opened the book bitterly, and two silver coins slid to the bottom. He bent his head to read them. Free lap dance at the Red Lantern [Diagon Alley, London]. Performer of your choice.

His eyes snapped up to Sirius, who held a finger in front of his lips and winked.

Tonks, who claimed that she would rather sit through a Celestina Warbeck concert than spend Christmas Eve with her mum, stood and handed candy out from a box. "I tend to forget that I have other family I can provide for," she informed everyone as she handed Ron a bag of Every Flavor Beans.

Ron noticed an orange jumper at Holly's feet. "Looks like you're part of the family now," he said, pointing to it.

Holly glanced dubiously at him, but Mrs. Weasley chimed, "Oh yes--and all that orange yarn and nothing to do with it! All it does is clash with Weasley hair..."

"What's on yours?" he asked.

She held it up. "Braids?" Holly suggested uncertainly, pointing out the designs spaced on the front.

"No letter?"

"Doesn't look like it."

After the gifts were open and they'd all shouted their thanks around the room to the givers, creating a festive hullabaloo, the dozen of them mingled while Sirius passed out gobletfuls of eggnog. They toasted to something, Ron wasn't sure what--it was a lot of Tonks' abstruse (but sunshiny) jargon and neologisms, and drank. It was rather sugary.

Holly's puppy precariously slipped down Sirius' legs and crawled off his feet, trotting toward its owner with the great crimson bow that Ginny had tied to it sliding off sideways. It hopped into the space between Holly's crossed legs and rolled onto its back, tail wagging happily. She kissed its snout and said, "Go say 'hi' to Ginny!"

The pup complied immediately, scrambling out of its cradle and jumping on Ginny, paws on her collarbone as he licked her face. Ginny cringed a little. Holly noticed. "C'mon, Gin," she said, "his breath is better now than it will ever be."

"I know--" she groaned, gently pushing the puppy away.

"Oh, don't be such a prude," Holly sighed, clapping for the dog to come back.

Sirius, who was playing host, insisted on trying to force Lupin closer to Tonks each time he walked past. Finally, when Lupin had stood after Arthur called him over, Sirius rushed over and shoved him right into Tonks' lap. Lupin's eggnog tipped onto his shirt and he acquired a furious blush. After hurriedly apologizing to Tonks (still sitting on her legs) he got up and started running after Sirius, who sat his pitcher of eggnog down in Lupin's path and took off.

They ran several times around the drawing room, Sirius laughing maniacally until Lupin tackled him to the floor. No one made an attempt to stop him from beating Sirius senseless, not even Sirius himself. "I just had to do it, Moony, mate," he croaked as Lupin got a hand over his throat, "you had it coming...!"

Who said over-thirty wasn't adolescent?

Fred and George were running about, causing the typical ruckus, but when Holly caught Fred by the trouser leg after he mussed up her hair, he nearly fell into the fireplace--which put an end their games.

Ron's parents were sunken into a plush sofa, gabbing contentedly over eggnog. Molly seemed to have consumed a bit too much, in fact, and Sirius had to take her goblet from her after some time.

"Oh, good thinking, dear," she said, hiccuping. "You know, I've been drinking--"

Sirius nodded smartly, eyebrows raised.

"I mean... I've been thinking." She laughed tipsily for a junction before shaking the fit off and continuing. "I've been thinking... you really are a hunky lad, Sirius..."

"Tell me something I don't know, Molly," he said, bending down and smiling kindly. She giggled, and Sirius gave Arthur a meaningful look.

Ron's dad picked up on it straightaway, and helped Molly up. "I think it's time you go to bed, dear," he said, handing his own goblet to Sirius and leading her out of the room.

"It's time we're off," Fred announced, getting to his feet.

"Yes, it's far past our bedtimes," George agreed.

Fred added, "And we have a few projects that need attending to."

"Although personally we are quite content with existing explosives--" said George suggestively.

"--we feel we must not stand in the path of improvement," Fred concluded.

They departed, but not before waking Mrs. Black's portrait by smacking their palms on the corridor walls.

Tonks left an hour later. Lupin decided to stay, figuring that lodgings here were less lonely than those at Hogwarts.

Sirius forced them all into bed at one in the morning, claiming none-too-convincingly that he was sick of having them around and if they didn't shut up he'd curse them all into oblivion. More, it was that he had to get Holly out of bed and into Diagon Alley by eight so he could buy her a new wand at Ollivanders (her old one had fallen into the fire in her dormitory when she attempted fighting off the Healers).

Ron and Harry went up to the bedroom that they'd shared two summers previous with their arms full of gifts. Phineas Nigellus was leaning against the edge of his portrait looking jaded. When they entered, he sidled out the other side of the frame.

"Merry Christmas, Ron," Harry said, turning onto his other side.

Ron glanced over at his back and responded, "You too."

*()%()*

Hermione knew where to find her.

She walked silently down the stairs, through Mrs. Black's hallway, and into the dining room. Flickering light was visible beneath the pantry door. Hermione looked at the shadows it cast on the floor of the dining room, sighed, and pushed through it.

Holly was sitting on the counter with her legs over the sink, one knee bent. She had a bowl of cereal in one hand, a spoon in the other. She was still dressed in her clothes from the day before.

"What're you doing?" Hermione asked.

"Sublimating my rage for you toward this breakfast food..."

Hermione took two steps toward her and closed her eyes. "Holly, I'm truly sorry," she stated.

"Uh-huh," Holly replied, looking uninterested.

"And I would have told you sooner--"

"No you wouldn't have," she accused, pointing her spoon outward. "You would've rather kept it to yourself and Memory Charmed the first person who figured you out..."

"Look, Holly, I didn't want to send you to St. Mungo's--and I didn't deduce what your symptoms meant until I'd heard the complete story myself, so I really couldn't do anything to prevent it," she insisted.

"You could've prevented it by using someone else as your experiment," Holly snapped.

"I did! I tried everyone else!" she affirmed. "And none of them put up much of a fight..."

"Well, don't I feel special," she responded dryly. "And don't lie. I know one person you haven't tried."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she barked. "Ginny. You haven't tried it out on Ginny."

Bitterly, Hermione confirmed, "You're right, I haven't." She put her hands on her hips. "How did you reason that?"

"Well I imagine that you'd be so surprised at what you found that you'd leave me alone," Holly said. "And her secret's going to be out soon so you better get on that before her privacy need not be invaded."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I don't understand why you're nagging me for this! You're out of St. Mungo's and the probability of you being possessed is zero!"

"It's not so much the hospital visit that threw me for a loop," Holly informed her, pointing one finger in the air vaguely. "Actually, it's more or less the fact that the things I thought I could keep in solitude have been--how do you say?--infringed upon."

She was tired of being patient. "Can you blame me for keeping it to myself when this is the reaction I get when the facts are laid out?"

"Well what sort of reaction did you expect?!" Holly slid off the counter and took a step toward Hermione, using her height to her advantage. "You can't just go around doing your own thing when it's a danger to anyone else--"

"It's not a danger, Holly!" Hermione drew herself up to her full height, but Holly was still like a tower. "It's just--"

"An uninvited ingression?" she suggested. Hermione stood her ground.

"You're the one who keeps secrets, Holly," she breathed. "You took a look into someone else's Pensieve. You stole from his bag--"

"Yes, I know, I'm such a threat to Snape's privacy--"

"A long-anticipated quest into the Forbidden Forest. A blossoming friendship with your godbrother's rival."

"Knock it off."

"Straight hair, and two different colored eyes. You fancy my boyfriend. And you have a past," she said in a menacing voice, taking a daring step toward her, "that doesn't exactly mark you down as a golden child. Does Sirius know?"

Holly looked livid. "It's hard to be the secretive one anymore." Hermione exhaled sharply, glaring at her. "Get out."

She was feeling far too bold. She tipped her chin up and didn't dare blink--it was like trying to stare down a dragon.

Holly's face was gaunt and angry, and her eyes looked wet but hadn't yet settled with true tears. In a split-second Holly pushed Hermione so hard that she knocked her head against the wall. She threw her cereal in Hermione's face and roared, "GET THE HELL OUT!" throwing her spoon and bowl to the floor with a ringing clatter.

Tears sprung to Hermione's eyes, both in rage and pain. She shrieked at Holly, but didn't dare retaliate with words. In a second she'd burst out of the pantry, swiping bits of cereal from her face, and was running to her room.

*()%()*

Sirius, Mr. Weasley, and Lupin had forced Harry, Ginny, and Ron out of the library, but he was sure they were listening nonetheless. Mrs. Weasley was still sleeping like a log upstairs.

Sirius stood behind his daughter, ready to grab her by the back of the shirt at any moment and hold tight. Lupin was behind Hermione, not so much on his toes, but wary of the possibility either way.

"You're not children," Mr. Weasley admitted, looking between the brunettes, "and only children can be forced to apologize and move on."

Holly jerked angrily as Sirius reached out to put a calming hand on her shoulder, and he withdrew it quickly.

"You both have the right to be angry," he continued, "but it didn't call for violence, cursing, and... cereal throwing."

All eyes swiveled to Holly, who was trembling very slightly. "I think it did," she stated stoutly.

"What you did was childish," Mr. Weasley scolded. "And I have half the mind to treat you like children and owl your parents."

"I'm right here," Sirius stated, pointing to himself.

"Sorry about that, Sirius--I forgot." Sirius shrugged. Sometimes he forgot he was someone's father, too. "What are each of you angry about?" Arthur asked with a counselor's air.

"Frankly, she's invaded my space," Holly explained, growing paler in her state rather than flushing.

Mr. Weasley's eyes traveled over to Hermione. "I went to find her to apologize, and she's accusing me of keeping great, Dark secrets when she has a myriad of those herself."

"But they aren't so secret anymore," Holly snapped, cocking her head to one side.

"Slow down, slow down," Mr. Weasley advised, holding out his hands as though restraining them. After a moment he continued, "I don't know what to do about the both of you. All I can say is to stop this nonsense before... well just stop this nonsense."

"I have a suggestion," Holly said, putting a hand in the air. Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "How about we lay out all of our secrets right now, so we can get this out of the way?" Arthur sighed loudly. "I'll go first."

She stepped forward. "I've been cycled through four orphanages," she stated, holding up four fingers. "Four. Not because they felt I needed a little variety--more or less, it was because I was a bad kid. Not the worst, but horrible compared to most of the other kids my age. I've been getting into fights since I was a toddler, and became steadily worse over the years. I used to be proud to say that I've broken many more bones in others than in me. I didn't tell anyone about being shipped back and forth--with the exception of Ginny--because I thought I could put it behind me. I've gotten better, I suppose, but I still have a short fuse."

"As you see, I have two different colored eyes. I've had my friends help me dye them, and even tried an eye-patch for kicks once. Finally I resorted to colored contacts. Don't even get me started on my hair. I'm a little self-conscious since I didn't thin out until I was fourteen and still can't fit the average pair of jeans or find a bra quite so small as I need it."

"Holly--" Lupin began firmly.

"I'm not done," she said. She continued, still speaking rather fast. "I have a Cretionis Charm that was once my mother's," she told them, pulling a round pendant out from under her hoodie that Sirius recognized instantly. "I took a long time planning a trip into the Forbidden Forest to seek out the Elves to have this little baby's powers restored. Oh, and I may as well say it before I forget, it was ordered to be made by Cliodna, who gave it temporary healing powers, which she told me when she talks to me while I sleep."

Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I've befriended Draco Malfoy--Lucius Malfoy's son. Y'know, Lucius Malfoy... big time Death Eater who's used Unforgivables even more often than he's spent a fortune on things their family doesn't need? Yeah.

"I've illegally driven cars and enchanted things that weren't to be enchanted," she said. "And finally, though I'm underage, I do this whenever the hell I please."

She motioned to the floor and told Hermione, "Your turn," before Disapparating with an incensed crack that echoed about the room and set off all the portraits in the corridor at once.

Sirius strode out of the room to silence the portraits in the hall just in time to see three pairs of feet disappear as they ascended the stairs.

*()%()*

Ginny opened the unlocked door into Mrs. Black's old room, and found Holly hidden in the covers of the bed, tightly gripping the blankets in her hands. She stepped forward, personally quite unafraid of her temper when it wasn't directed toward her, and said, "I heard what you said in there..."

Holly sighed.

"--you're really that flat-chested?"

She actually smiled. "Sad, isn't it?"

Ginny laughed. "I really like your hair that way," she added, motioning toward Holly's sleep-tossed locks. "What do you call that?"

Holly gently scrunched her hair and replied, "Psycho Sheik."

Ginny moved to sit down next to her, but Holly hissed, "Careful!" She straightened a fold in the covers, which revealed Roux sleeping cozily at his master's side.

Ginny lifted the pup, and he squirmed restlessly in her arms, whimpering. She shushed it and sat down next to Holly, letting the dog down in her lap. Roux stirred for only a second more before finding himself comfortable and dozing off again.

"Since we're sharing secrets, I tell you what..." Ginny pulled a pillow out from behind Holly and used it to pad her own back, "I'll pick it up from here."

Ginny relived all of what happened from when they split up in the forest onward, including the times that Harry had tried to kiss her along with Firenze's eerie stargazing method. She recounted what Eowilindë said to her before their parting.

In turn, Holly relayed the tale of her and Malfoy pulling off the stream and running into a "weird blue thing that gave crappy directions," and a "massive Cerebus-offspring monster." She explained falling through the waterfall into The Cave of Quiet and finding the deceased dragon there. Every detail she could recall about her conversations and fights with Malfoy was relayed, as was everything she'd learned from Anendel. She, too, told Ginny of the ominous predictions Eowilindë had shared.

What she could recall from the conversations she'd later had with Malfoy, both the one in the Quidditch stands and in her room at St. Mungo's, Ginny almost fell in love with the boy herself.

Before she forgot, Ginny told Holly about talking with Justin, who (as far as she could see) shared all her likes and dislikes. She giddily told her that they seemed like soul mates... or fraternal twins separated at birth. Either or.

"Let me get this--uh--straight," said Holly, closing her eyes. "You both feel that wearing orange is a, quote: 'sin to your delicate complexions'."

"Yep."

"You both take time out of your nights to listen to the rerun of Fey of the Ravishing on the WWN."

"That's right."

"Okay... he owns a couple of Celestina Warbeck records."

"Yes."

"You both read trashy Higgins novels."

"They aren't trashy!" Holly rolled her eyes. "And, yes! What else do you think I have to do during the summer holidays?"

"He follows the Holyhead Harpies--the only all-woman Quidditch club competing in the British and Irish league."

"Isn't that cool?"

Holly shook her head, mouth open but no words coming out. "Mmm."

"What?" inquired Ginny, "What's wrong?"

"Isn't it obvious he's..."

"He's what?" she asked, knitting her eyebrows.

She lowered her voice and hissed, "He's gay as a picnic basket!"

"What?!"

"He's gay!" exclaimed Holly incredulously.

"Holly, no...!"

"Yes!"

"You don't know that," Ginny stated, "you haven't even met him!"

"You know what? I'll stop," said Holly, holding up her hands in a universal sign of surrender. "I'll tell you what I think when I meet him, okay?"

"Fine." Ginny looked at her wrist to find that there was no watch there. "I need to be off to bed--and you're going to Diagon Alley early..."

"That's true."

Ginny stood, gently pushing Roux off her lap. "Don't let Hermione get to you."

"Did she tell you why...?"

"Oh, yeah," Ginny nodded, "I know all about her ratting on you and Malfoy to Sirius."

Holly raised her eyebrows and blinked languidly. "Yes... what a bitch..."

"'Night."

Holly smiled weakly. "Merry Christmas."

*()%()*

Holly crammed the remains of her bagel into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and stepped into the fire. "Ollivanders!"

The sensation of being pulled into a tornado's funnel always made Holly slightly nauseated. She clamped her eyes shut after watching several fireplaces go by and flattened her arms to her sides. There were so many better ways to travel...

She landed in a heap atop old ashes sitting in the bottom of a small grate. Holly struggled out, finding that she was much too large for that fireplace. Once she was standing on the floor of the tiny shop, she put on her glasses and everything came into sharp focus.

Ollivanders was a small, dusty store; the air was thick with unfamiliar magic. Thousands of narrow wand boxes were piled scrupulously from floor to ceiling along all the walls, rectangular gaps between them in spots where wands had most recently been removed. It rather looked like a huge game of Jenga.

Sirius was standing near the door with his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet. He had given her a short speech about overreacting and violence that morning which was none-too-forceful with his own past in mind.

Her father had a look about him that fit his surroundings. It may have been from growing up in an old, dusty house--or it could just be the dusky lighting and quietude that reflected his dark cloak and jet black hair the right way.

A soft voice sounded from some area of the shop that she wasn't immediately sure of. "Good morning."

A very aged man with white hair and orb-like eyes so pale they appeared blind came out from behind a small hallway behind the desk that concealed more wands yet. He didn't smile, but the lines around his eyes deepened as if he did.

"Holly Black," Mr. Ollivander said knowingly, and she felt cold inside in a way that reminded her slightly of speaking with Eowilindë, but frightened her in a different manner. "I've been anticipatng your arrival for many years."

She cleared her throat nervously and apologized, "Sorry for the delay."

"You have the look of a true Black," he noted, "yet I remember your mother well--and some spell of hers is close to your heart."

Holly had to stop herself from instinctively clasping a hand around her Cretionis Charm.

Mr. Ollivander stepped closer, and Holly could see herself reflected plainly in his moonlike eyes. "Tainted innocence," he said, and Holly took a small step backward. "The colors of your eyes."

He looked at her father, and she felt a large burden lift from her.

"Two wands to date, Sirius Black. Ebony and dragon heartstring, thirteen inches--still working well for you?"

He grinned half-heartedly. "Like a dream."

Mr. Ollivander looked back at Holly, who was dreading yet another jab at her essence. It didn't come. "Which is your wand arm?"

She held out her right arm--Holly knew the drill.

"Very good." He tossed up his measuring tape and it began to find the dimensions from her shoulder to index finger. As the tape did its job, Mr. Ollivander recited, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Miss Black. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

As the measuring tape measured from her chin to the floor, Holly informed him, "My old wand always aimed slightly off to the left, so I wouldn't mind getting another gimpy one--since I'm pretty used to that, and all."

She was quite sure that Mr. Ollivander, who was rustling about taking wands from the walls and shelves, didn't hear her until he responded, "Never have I had a complaint of an Ollivander wand malfunctioning."

Holly thought this may be due to the fact that not many people in their right minds would desire coming back to this shop too often rather than that his wands were actually perfect, but didn't say a word.

"That will do," Mr. Ollivander told the measuring tape, which promptly fell limp to the floor. "Now," he continued, walking back to Holly, "a Black's wand isn't simply a piece of wood that is nice to have on hand; no, a Black's wand is a weapon. A powerful wand will suit you well."

He opened the first box. "Maple and unicorn hair, ten and a half inches--it's rather springy, have a go."

Holly took the wand in her hand, and inquired, "What d'you want me do?"

"Swish it a bit," Mr. Ollivander said.

Holly looked from him to the wand. She jerked the wand around as though conducting a symphony, and he took it back before she could get to beat three. "No, no... beechwood and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Give that a try."

She swished the wand to no effect. "No, that can't be right... unicorn hair in holly, nine and a quarter. It's good and flexible, try that."

Nothing.

"Hmm... oak, dragon heartstring--eight inches," he said, snatching back the unicorn hair wand and giving her another, "Sturdy wand, but a little jumpy. Swish and flick."

Holly took a moment to turn the wand over in her hand--it wasn't comfortable--then obeyed. Teal sparks shot from it briefly, but the spell ended quickly.

She looked at Mr. Ollivander hopefully, but he shook his head. "Dragon heartstring seems to be the core you need; however, the Antipodean Opaleye doesn't agree with you." Holly exhaled loudly as he put the wand back in its box. "Shoulder to fingertip, again?"

The measuring tape sprung to life and showed him twenty-nine inches.

"Hmm... right, that will do." The measuring tape fell to the floor once more.

She tried wand after wand. Mr. Ollivander made her use several different methods of testing them. Though Holly was getting tired of jabbing, swishing, flicking, and twirling, Mr. Ollivander seemed to find it all to be a great show.

"The heartstring of a mixed-breed is what we need, I believe..."

Mr. Ollivander disappeared down the hallway and Holly sighed, looking at the ceiling.

"And I was so sure that the holly and Hebridean Black wand was going to work," said Sirius.

"I guess the wand didn't like the cliché," Holly groaned.

Mr. Ollivander came back, his arms full of wands. "Welsh Green and Ridgeback, yew--no, no--Horntail and Vipertooth, beech... oh, that isn't it either--Birch... Longhorn and Ironbelly... oh, an awful combination for you, I blame myself--Maple, Short-Snout and Fireball... feisty thing that was--ah, no, it doesn't like you either...--Opaleye and Black, ebony--ah!"

Holly looked at him hopefully.

"Close, but no tobacco leaf, if you know what I mean..."

He dropped each box onto the mound cum mountain of wands on the floor. Mr. Ollivander's eyes swept the room and landed on the single wand on display in the window. He strode over to it and lifted it from its pillow.

Carefully, he held the sable wand out to Holly. "This heartstring came from a stray Black-Horntail breed. Yew, thirteen inches--temperamental as a Veela wand, but potent. Yes, it is a weapon worthy of any Black's care."

She took it in her hand, a strange trepidation spreading through her, and as her fingertips touched it an electric shock wove up her arm.

"You've been using a wand for many years, Miss Black--show me a dueling stance." Holly felt stupid, yet she obeyed and switched into a combative position, holding the wand out in front of her like a trusted sword, wand arm parallel with her slightly bent knee. She balanced herself with her other arm out behind her, feeling foolish and thanking Merlin that no one was outside watching.

"Go!" the old man exclaimed excitedly.

Holly sighed and pivoted, bringing both her left leg and arm forward, wand shooting black scintilla out from under her left arm as she snapped her wrist.

"Oh, bravo!" Mr. Ollivander cheered, clapping once. "Excellent, excellent--I would fear dueling any Black, and certainly facing you and that wand would ignite cowardice in the boldest of wizards."

"Well, we hope she won't be facing down even a one-legged beetle any time soon, so wizard-duels are out--of--the--question," Sirius said, taking the wand from Holly and giving it to its maker, giving his child a cautioning look.

"Of course, Mr. Black, of course," Mr. Ollivander said, both less joyous and frightening compared to her father all the same. He gingerly placed the wand into an empty box on the counter, wrapping it in brown paper and tying it with splintering string. Sirius paid for it, and as Holly prepared to climb back into the tiny fireplace, Mr. Ollivander stopped her.

"As I said, Miss Black," he began, "that is a potent wand you possess. Poisonous wood, stubborn core. Take care in what you choose to do with it."

*()%()*

They all stared at her.

Ginny's mother was shaken and tired as it was, complaining of a throbbing headache and a weak recollection of what went on in the past eight hours. Her father was disheveled with just awaking, the little red hair that remained on his head standing up like a row of spikes. Ron was continually rubbing his eyes.

"You're what, dear?" Molly asked groggily.

She took a deep breath, and repeated herself. "A Soul-Switcher," she stated, "I'm a Soul-Switcher."

Arthur was the only one who appeared even vaguely aware of what this meant. Ron blinked goop out of his eyes, digging his index finger into the inner corner of one. Molly shook her head, gazing intently at her daughter.

"A Soul-Switcher," echoed Arthur. He scratched his head. "So that means you have another..."

He trailed into a sigh, and looked sadly at Ginny, waiting for a correct explanation.

She rooted her feet to the floor and shut her eyes, wishing that some invisible force would give her strength. "Holly's been helping me research Supantorises for quite some time now, and we reckon mine is Soul-Switching. Er, so once I find the ability, I can both physically and mentally change into someone else and back."

Ginny waited for this to sink in. "Who?" inquired Ron dumbly.

She clenched and unclenched a fists apprehensively, eyes moving from one member of her family to the next. "Tom Riddle."

Their fatigued minds came to in an instant. Ron, who had been gazing lazily at the floor jumped. Her mother and father shared looks of wide-eyed shock, fright lingering in each expression.

Arthur opened his mouth, but Ginny quickly cut him off. "It's nothing like before, though. I have complete control over everything, and it can't be removed or reversed so you may as well save the questions about how to fix it."

She jammed her hands into her pockets and bit the edge of her lip.

There was a long moment of heavy silence. Her family stared at her, and she looked defiantly back. As tears gathered in her mother's eyes, Ginny felt her own grow wet. "I can't change it," she said, voice shaking only a bit. "And I don't know what you're going to try to do about things being different, now."

The silence was deafening. The absence of sound reverberated off all the drawing room walls, the unspoken words being whispered through every barrier.

The summer after Tom's first invasion had been filled with silences like these. Once the facts sunk in, her family had no true reaction but disbelief. They would look at each other but hesitate to speak, move closer but never touch. The dreary hush didn't end until her birthday, when all the present Weasleys gathered around Ginny one by one and wrapped her in a big, clustered hug.

This time, Molly came forward first. She stood on tiptoe to kiss her daughter on the cheek and wrapped her arms around her middle, saying, "Nothing is going to be different, dear."

But it was going to be--already it was completely different. It would all go to hell--even Holly admitted that possibility.

Arthur encircled his wife and daughter in one embrace, kissing Ginny on the top of the head like he always did. "We trust you, pumpkin..."

No they didn't. They stopped trusting her when she'd ignored her father's consistent advice about avoiding things that think without visible brains. The situation hadn't improved since she was an eleven-year-old--and she couldn't handle it then, either.

Ron came last, saying nothing at first. He rested his chin atop her head while his long arms reached to touch them all. "'S all right, Gin," he murmured.

No it's not! Why didn't they understand? Lying about it was no use to her!

Her tears disappeared before they started to fall. Ginny wanted to vow that Tom would never tear up the one thing in her life that remained constant. He couldn't! But nothing was certain anymore.

*()%()*

"'Go and pack'," Holly repeated, looking around her grandmother's bedroom. "Pack what?"

There were a few Christmas gifts that sat around the bed, she supposed, along with her hoodie from the day previous. Holly opened the old drawstring bag that Sirius had handed her and started dropping things into it.

For Christmas her father got her a radio, which now sat on her bedside table. It looked like a shrunken version of a mid-nineteen forties Muggle radio, yet she surmised that it was the newest design in the wizarding world. With a press of a button and the turn of a dial the sounds of the WWN filled the room.

"--on Oldie Oasis, here's Doppelgänger with their adaptation of, 'Gilded Bells.'

"Village sidewalks, quiet sidewalks

Draped in holiday style

On the air

There's a vibe

Of Christmas..."

Roux took the time that she stood still to lie down over her feet. She slid them out from under the pup and lifted him in her arms. She spun, easily shifting her weight from one foot to the next, singing along with Doppelgänger's crashing guitars and gritty voices with a harmony that better matched that of a singing sorceress.

"Kids sniggering

People passing

Meeting grin after grin

And on ev'ry street corner you'll hear--

"Gilded bells, gilded bells

It's Christmas time in the village.

Ring-a-ling, hear them ding,

Yeah, soon it'll be Boxing Day."

The lily and rose still sat next to her bed. They'd been without water for very long, but both remained positively lovely.

The bed had been tidied sometime while she was gone, and when the fading blankets weren't tossed around, Holly felt less like crawling back under the covers and dozing off. She sat Roux down on the floor and looked inside his kennel. She coughed.

"You know to go on the newspaper, I'll give you that," she said, waving a hand in front of her nose. Holly hesitantly withdrew the layers of the Daily Prophet with two fingers, then looked around. She strode over to the balcony and threw the dirtied papers outside. "You don't need to tell anyone I did that."

She'd tried taking him outside that morning, but all he did was sit on the cement doorstep and scrunch up his eyes--trying to shake snowflakes off his snout.

Holly looked around the room for something to line the interior of Roux's kennel with. It didn't seem that the room had been touched in years, and there was no sign of an active person who perhaps, say, read the paper dwelling here.

She opened the chipped old cabinet along one wall, hoping to find something useful. A few yellowed book pages fluttered to the floor, and Holly bent to look at the etching on one of them. When she realized that it was of a dead man hanging from a rope tied around his ankle, Holly quickly pulled back. She kicked the page under the cabinet and hoped she'd never have to see it again.

The space within the cabinet was empty with the exception of a pile of old rags in the very corner. They'd have to do. She grabbed onto them, and from the rags poked out two wrinkled, floppy ears.

Holly shouted and dropped the bundle, stumbling backward several steps and staring at the rags in horror.

They straightened into a small, hunchbacked figure--hairy ears, snout-like nose, and hands and feet far too large for its scrawny frame. An old sheet was wrapped around it like a toga, but the creature shook it off to bare a lot of drooping skin and a dingy loincloth. It spun around and glared up at her through its beady gray eyes, and only then did Holly realize that this hideous thing was a house-elf.

"What were you doing in there?" she demanded.

"Don't have to answer--you're not master," it growled, turning away, "dirty little Mudblood, brings frowzy animals into the Mistress's good house, she does..."

The door opened and Sirius entered, eyes quickly scanning the room. "Kreacher!" he said in an incredulous tone, eyebrows arced, "Where the hell have you been, you mangy hybrid?"

"Master always likes his little jeer--" he croaked, "Kreacher was sleeping."

"Nearly credible. You're getting better at this," Sirius noted, nodding a little. He looked at her. "Did he scare you?"

"It was in the cabinet," she murmured.

Sirius peered suspiciously at the house-elf for a moment. "What did he say to you?"

"Uh--something about dirty, little Mudbloods and frowzy animals," she relayed.

"Well, Kreacher," he said, with a wide, fake smile, "today is your lucky day. This is, in fact, the heir to Grimmauld Place."

The house-elf stared at her. "Has the Mistress seen her?"

"No," Sirius told him, suddenly very stern, "and she doesn't need to. Go clean the drawing room."

"Yes, Master, of course..." Kreacher concurred, bowing low. While he shuffled away Holly heard him muttering, "Spurious devil of noble blood..."

"Don't mind him," Sirius said as the house-elf disappeared out the door. "He likes to sit around in this old room--he's bitter." Sirius put his hands in his pockets. "Nice jumper."

Holly looked down at the fuzzy orange thing Mrs. Weasley had given her. She'd nicked one of her father's button-down shirts to wear layered beneath it, as it was the itchiest thing she'd ever put on. He didn't appear to notice. "Thanks."

Was it just her, or was his hair much longer than it was the day previous? Maybe it was just straighter. He motioned to his own and said, "Mine buttons." He smirked. "I guess Molly thinks I'm old enough to figure out how to work those now."

Holly smiled at him.

"Are you ready yet?"

"No," she said, "have you ordered my contacts yet?"

"No." Sirius stepped toward the door. "You don't need them. Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses," he said sagely.

"Look, Dorothy--"

He pointed at the radio and said, "The Tumbling Boulders. I like this one."

Their 70's-rock take on "God Rest You, Merrye Hippogriffs" had just begun playing on the WWN.

He said, "Hurry up, I need to leave for the Ministry soon."

Sirius left, singing, "God rest you, merrye hippogriffs.

Let nothing you dismay..."

He was just out the door when there was a loud rap on the balcony glass. Holly turned her head; she watched a streak of brown plumage with ear tufts land on the shaky banister.

Holly stepped to the doors, embellished with carvings, and pushed them open. A noble eagle owl was perched on the golden banister, head high. Its great, bright eyes glared at her. She stepped toward it, and it extended a leg in a resigned fashion, talon clutching a piece of parchment.

She picked it from its grip and the owl took wing at once. Holly watched it fly off for a moment before reentering the bedchamber and opening the note.

Your gift for Little Ginger is shredding my bedcovers. Meet me by the Potions classroom when you return double sharp. I'll be there. - D. M.

It was only after Holly caught herself smiling dumbly at his slanted handwriting that she hurriedly stuffed it away into her pocket.

She took the rags Kreacher had been wrapped in and lined Roux's kennel, gently pushing him inside. Holly switched the radio off when it was halfway through the first verse of "Angels and Sorcerers," and fit it into her drawstring bag. She slid the rose and lily inside as well, leaving the healthy blossoms exposed before she drew the bag shut.

Holly threw it over her shoulder, picked up the kennel, and walked out of the room only pausing a second to look at her surly father in the old family portrait on the wall.

*()%()*

Ron cringed. "What's that smell?"

"It's perfume," replied Hermione, who had just entered the drawing room.

"It smells like wood-chips," he gagged. She glared resentfully at him. "In a rose garden!" he covered feebly, melting under her gaze, "Roses..."

Holly entered, looking characteristically thrown together in her familiar tatty blue jeans, a pinstriped button-down shirt, and her orange Weasley jumper. Ginny moved to stand next to her immediately, throwing a look of caution at the Trio.

Sirius forced an unwilling Holly into a black traveling cloak. In the hallway they were all covered in kisses and embraces from Mrs. Weasley and approached with either a hug or a firm handshake from Mr. Weasley. Lupin was gone renting Sirius a room at the Leaky Cauldron, but had left them all with a "see you soon," at breakfast.

When on the street, Harry walked between Hermione (who did smell a lot like wood-chips) and Ron whilst they headed for the end of the block.

"Will you signal the Knight Bus, Ginny?" requested Sirius, pulling a velvet coin bag out from within his pocket and opening it.

"Sure." She stepped to the curb and held out her wand arm.

"You know," Holly stated, her sudden cease of silence making Harry jump a little, "you could just let us stay in London until the Hogwarts train rolls back in."

He looked up. "And let you all run around the city, scaling tall buildings in high winds to frighten Muggles and hang around in open alleys trying to look "cool" so as to avoid being jumped by junkies?" He laughed--or barked. "I'm afraid not!"

Holly gazed blankly at her father for a long moment before inferring, "Like you and Lupin used to do?"

He gazed at her darkly for a junction. "All right," Sirius began, while silently counting out the amount of money he needed to give each person, "I will be at the Leaky Cauldron for the majority of the holidays, if anyone needs me..."

He poured thirteen Sickles into Holly's hands.

"Remember not to get into any mischief unless the outcome is a certain win-win," he advised off-handedly while he handed Ron thirteen Sickles.

"As for Christmas gifts, I'm open to anything so long as it has nothing to do with nasty surprises, illegal actions that actually hurt someone in the end, shovels, or fermented cheese," continued Sirius while he gave Hermione thirteen Sickles.

The Knight Bus appeared with a sonorous BANG, and while Stan Shunpike piped his speech from the doorway no one paid him any attention.

"Avoid the Forbidden Forest and any of its inhabitants unless absolutely necessary," he continued, issuing twelve Sickles and twenty-nine Knuts to Ginny. "And you know what I mean by that." He looked at Holly. "Okay, maybe you don't. Circumstances that involve necessary involvement with Elves, centaurs, or any other forest or lake-dwelling being mainly include those instances that life-threatening," he stated, pouring the remnants of the coin bag into Harry's hands and counting out what he needed.

Sirius took back the excess coins that Harry didn't need, apologizing with, "I really can't suffer through a trip to Gringotts before having some of Tom's kirsch.

"Okay!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Do we have everything we need?" He counted them all, pointing to each adolescent in turn, and stopping on Holly (who was number five). "Wand?"

She held it up. Harry had forgotten about the Black family trip to Ollivanders, and he hadn't yet gotten the chance to look at the new wand, anyway. Now that he did, however, he was impressed. Holly held a polished Ollivander model betwixt two fingers; it was long and thin, jet-black and shimmering under the weak morning sun.

"Good," Sirius said, and Holly lowered her arm. Harry watched the wand, he didn't know why, until it disappeared into the pocket of the cloak she was wearing.

Hermione, who was nearest the man, was addressed by Sirius first. He hugged her briefly, and she flushed deep scarlet. It was a marvel that Sirius still had an effect over the women around him like he were the crème de la crème of sentimental singers. The only girls Harry could make blush were twelve year olds.

"Listen," he said to her, hands on her shoulders, "if you ever need help, you know who you can talk to. Right?"

She nodded, smiling a little sheepishly. He grinned at her and said, "'Bye, Hermione."

Hermione turned reluctantly and boarded the Knight Bus, giving Stan Shunpike her coins. "Is the 'ot chocolate ready, Ern'?" he asked loudly.

Sirius shook Ron's hand briskly and told him, "Stay out of trouble, all right? Molly will see that it's credited to my influence if she gets an owl about you."

"Don't worry about it, Sirius," Ron said.

Sirius smirked and patted him on his upper arm. "See you. Don't muck it all up or you'll be a bachelor until you die."

The redhead stared at him. The words 'Like you?' appeared to be on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. "Uh--yep. Happy Christmas," Ron replied. Then he, too, boarded the bus.

Sirius embraced Ginny next, who turned a new shade of magenta. Harry felt yet a stronger pang of jealousy. "You be careful, you hear me?" he said, voice more soothing than it should have been. Ginny nodded, drowning in Sirius' hug. "If you're worried about anything, anything at all, get help straight away. And don't let Holly boss you about, all right?"

"All right," she sighed.

Sirius let go of her and said, "Have a good holiday."

Ginny nodded. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Black."

"Please--that makes me sound old." Sirius cringed. "It's Sirius." Ginny smiled, her magenta flush deepening.

Holly was next. He didn't cover her with a fatherly hug or start immediately on his parental speech. Sirius simply gazed at his daughter, and she watched him back.

Finally breaking the silence she prompted, "Yeah?"

"If I get one owl about you, so help me Merlin--"

"Uh-huh, merry Christmas," replied Holly, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder and making to board the bus.

"Wait a second--" Sirius grabbed the wrist of the cloak she was wearing, and she turned to him. "You need to be careful, okay? Don't run headlong into anything uncertain, and that new wand of yours--"

"Poisonous wood, stubborn core, potency, bleh-bleh, I know."

Sirius scowled a bit, then held his arms out. Holly put down Roux's kennel and slipped into them with the comfort of a toddler going to her daddy after bashing her head on the corner of a counter. Harry could see her face--her eyes closed and shoulders relaxed. He wanted this--the closeness of a real parent, in whose presence he could find solace.

"Watch yourself, now. I want to see you again in June."

"Okay."

Sirius kissed her forehead and released her. Holly turned to board the bus, but not before Sirius got to give Roux a last pet and say, "You too."

Harry was last to be addressed, as he had supposed he would be. Sirius gazed intently at him, extending his arm and placing one strong hand on his shoulder. The older man's eyes flickered back and forth between Harry's for a moment before he said, "I received the letter about your Supantoris from McGonagall."

He was surprised this topic hadn't come up earlier. However, what with both the festivities and conflicts of the past few days--the thought had rarely crossed his mind. Harry swallowed and awaited Sirius' continuation.

"And I'm not going to harp you on it," he said, "because I believe you're old enough to be entrusted with making the right decisions all by your lonesome."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You do?"

The light lines in Sirius' face deepened immediately. "No," he faltered. "Dumbledore is just taking this whole freedom ordeal for a crash test, I hope."

"So," Harry inferred, "you're saying that I should stop breaking rules so that Dumbledore's testing will stick around?"

Sirius drew himself up to his full height. "You make that decision."

Harry watched him for a junction until his gaze appeared to prick the older man's balloon and Sirius deflated back into his normal stature. "Tell me what you really think, Sirius."

His voice dropped to a murmur. "God forbid that you do anything but work on becoming an Adopter."

Why? Considering that the file Professor McGonagall sent to the Ministry listed him as a Spark-Tosser, the only thing he would lose down the road was a few N.E.W.T.s.

"C'mon," called Stan, "don't 'ave all day."

Sirius glared at him, and Stan retreated, moving up one step. "Transfiguration will help you the most, but nothing's like one-on-one instruction... McGonagall will do all she can if you ask her--and she'll be waiting for you to ask. I can promise you that."

Harry nodded and Stan sighed impatiently behind him. Sirius glanced over Harry's shoulder at the young man, and Harry could sense Stan retreating once more. "What do you think about it, Sirius?"

Sirius' face told him that he was thinking of many replies, both truths and lies, at once. "As long as you don't abuse it," he said finally, "it's a wondrous gift. And don't think otherwise. Master it--and you'll save more than only your own life."

Harry had just opened his mouth when Sirius cut him off and started pushing him toward the bus. "Well, I think I've said enough. Have an excellent holiday, God bless you, et cetera, et cetera."

"But--"

Sirius patted him on the shoulder, still in his oddly rushed state. "Don't let anything get out of hand, all right? Keep everybody in check, study for your exams, find a great witch to marry, and all that." He pulled Harry, who stood stiff, into a rough hug then pushed him up the steps, exclaimed "Happy Christmas!" and let the bus doors swing shut, unperturbed.

Harry stared at the man through the Knight Bus' doors with his jaw hanging. Stan took Harry's money and sat him down next to the rest that had come from Grimmauld Place. The first stunning BANG jolted them backward just after Stan handed Harry a full mug of hot chocolate, which splashed down his front. He Scourgified it immediately, wishing he'd kept the extra two Sickles.

Holly was removing her cocoa from the floor, being that she was sitting sideways in her chair with her back to the driver. She took a sip from the mug, hunching over it so her hair shielded her face.

By the third time Ernie had made the Knight Bus jump a great distance, Holly was the only one left with any hot cocoa, but it was growing cold, as she looked relatively peaky. Ron was busying himself by making a pyramid with the empty mugs when the bus exploded with sound and they were whipping down a snowy street.

Holly lost her cocoa this time, and it splashed on a nearby man. He turned about and found the last one holding a mug. Dressed in Muggle clothing, it was a man who'd eaten himself into repletion. He'd been making conversation with a bald man clutching a briefcase. "Watch your drink, will you?" he squawked, narrowing his eyes.

"Well excuse me," she snarled, "but at this velocity it's really quite difficult to control free liquid, so shove off, ass crack!"

The man glared furiously at her, clearly incensed to see an adolescent so uncaring toward her elders. It didn't help the situation when Holly caught the bald man gazing at her as if she was an untamed savage and she snapped, "What're you looking at, Rogaine failure?" in his direction.

On cue, the bus skidded to a halt in front of the gates that separated Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. Harry dragged Holly out of her seat just as she snatched Roux's kennel and threw her bag over her shoulder. She shook him off and led the way off the Knight Bus.

*()%()*

Hermione could feel maladjustment resting heavily on her shoulders, curving her spine and paining her mind. Her head ached and her muscles were knotted--she wouldn't be surprised if Holly had bewitched her when her back was turned.

She gently guided her dormitory door open, hoping not to meet Holly behind it. She was, indeed, gone, and Hermione sighed with a mild relief.

Hermione emptied her bag out on her coverlet. Along with the two sets of clothes she'd packed were her Christmas gifts. Sirius appealed to her need for relaxation with a book of warlock poetry and short stories. He said he didn't know half the words himself, but was certain that this book would rest her mind with what was contained in the other volumes she constantly had her nose in, and he was probably right.

Fred and George gave her an unlabeled package of what appeared to be three tall candles, but the wicks were rather long; she didn't have the courage to light them.

From the Weasleys came the customary jumper, pink this year, and an array of Mrs. Weasley's superb cooking.

But Hermione felt the need to destroy something, and ripping a layer of foil off a chocolate bar would suffice just then. She dug in her cloak pocket for the candy Tonks gave her, but her fingers enclosed something different, something small, something foreign.

From the depths of her cloak Hermione pulled a ring. It was designed much like golden ribbon--woven and turned around itself in loose knots. The edges of the ring were inlaid with a magnificent striated strip of platinum that shone like no metal Hermione had ever seen. It shimmered with the luster of gemstone. She stepped toward the fire, and the band blazed alive with reflected incandescence.

Strange to her, however, was that the longer she wondered what the purpose of this jewelry was, the clearer the answer became. As she slipped the ring onto the middle finger of her right hand, her hunch formed into truth, and the truth into set words.

Idril Celebrindal of Gondolin and her bare silver feet heard the tacit message of the ground beneath her. She apprehended all tongues of her kind. A mere one of her sacred hairs shall grasp all idioms of your race. But grasp the speakers, it shall not.

Hermione swallowed. She'd forgotten her spat with Holly, her need for chocolate, and her purpose for standing in that dormitory. She needed to visit the library.

*()%()*

"No one's here?"

"Of course not. Slytherins have better things to do over the holidays than hang around here."

"I thought your cretins were still around..."

He looked at her. "They don't count."

"And you?"

"I have better things to do over the holidays than sit at home, starting over on the books in my library."

She frowned. Your library.

Draco led her to a stretch of bare wall and drawled, "Slìdan," revealing the Slytherin common room password without a second thought. A door materialized in front of them. Draco opened it and motioned inside. "Ladies first."

Holly nonchalantly waved a hand at it. "Go ahead."

"I'm not the lady here," he said evenly, a grin teasng her better judgment.

Holly snorted. "Like I am..." She walked past him and into the common room.

"Manners are love in a cool climate, rosebud," he purred, following her inside.

She didn't look at him, but quietly replied, "Manners are the hypocrisy of a nation."

Stepping into the Slytherin common room was much different from stepping into the Gryffindor common room. Where the first feeling of Gryffindor tower is that you've just stepped into a bonfire, the Slytherin commons gave Holly the sentience of being caught in a swamp. Everything was dank, green, and slightly eerie.

The long, low room was cold and didn't contain much evidence of the holiday season. There was a flaccid blood red curtain with tinsel-like trimming hanging about one of the fireplaces and an empty punchbowl on one of the tables.

Holly and Draco followed a trail of rosy punch drops and empty cups to find the two grotesque forms of Crabbe and Goyle, passed out on the floor. Shirts untucked and drool running down either of their cheeks, they possibly looked even more bovine when in slumber.

Draco groaned the appropriate quotation, "O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains! That we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and applause transform ourselves into beasts."

Draco Malfoy definitely brought some form of classic grace into her two-syllable world. He was a Shakespeare of their age--smooth-talking and always accompanied by the right verse at the right time. But Holly would not be up-ended. She sighed and added, "This happy breed of men, this little world."

He gazed at her. "Richard II," he said appreciatively. "You read Shakespeare?"

"Not by choice," she assured him, "But certain lines stick with you."

"Friends, Romans, countrymen--" he said in a booming, theatrical key.

"--lend me your ears;" she finished, being none-too-fond of having to memorize that particular oration.

"I come to bury Caesar,"

"--not to praise him," she summed up, rubbing her eye in grim memory.

Draco smiled and motioned toward a door on the opposite side of the room. She followed him. "Did you like that play?"

"It was a bit depressing, but decent," she responded. "I liked Cassius--he was a slimy, jealous murderer... but sleek."

"I've come to notice that the spawn of the infamous Sirius Black didn't fall too terribly far from the tree."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"

"The innocent obsessed with the splendor of evil, of course." Draco shrugged. "Eventually, you'll get sucked in, fetish."

"I'm talking about Cassius in Shakespearean plays, not Voldemort. Anyway--he was just ridiculously cunning; it was interesting. I don't have anything against 'the noble Brutus,' either, you know."

"I liked Cassius too," Draco admitted. "Mostly because my middle name is Cassius. I felt a certain attachment to the jealous murderer."

She smiled. "Is it really?" He nodded. "How very Roman of you."

"Yes--as though 'Draco' wasn't bad enough, they made it 'Draco Cassius'." He rolled his eyes.

"You live such a difficult life," Holly assured him cynically.

"What?" he snapped, "As though your name could be any worse!"

"Holly Portia."

He stopped and turned to her. "Portia?"

"Portia," she rumbled dramatically. "Bland, isn't it?"

"Bland?" echoed Draco. "Portia! Daughter of Cato! Who could ask to be named a nobler name? That's like an agnomen."

"Malfoy, Portia killed herself by swallowing hot coals because she missed her husband and feared the second triumvirate," Holly reminded him, monotonous.

Draco, after leading her to the end of a long hallway (lined on one side with seven doors), started up a staircase that looked near crumbling.

"Yes, but all under influence of her father. Fieriness was in her blood--Cato killed himself so not to be taken into Rome as Caesar's captive. He believed that was the lowliest, most dishonorable thing that could ever happen to him," Draco explained. "A very fitting title for you, Miss Holly."

"You respect that? Dying for your beliefs?"

"Sure. Would never do it myself, though."

"Why not?"

Draco stopped on the stairs and looked at her. He stated, "I would never die for my beliefs because might be wrong."

Holly nodded thoughtfully when he turned his back to her.

"There are other Portias as well," he said loudly, "such as the beauty in The Merchant of Venice. She was compared to the noble Portia Brutus herself--I think Shakespeare respected her."

"Good for him." Draco opened the solitary door that stood at the landing of the stairway and showed her inside. "You're interested by all of this common, Elizabethan Muggle crap?"

"I hold no grudge against genius, be it Muggle or magical." Draco shut the door behind him and Holly gazed over in his direction.

Holly, too late, looked around the room he had led her into. A commodious circular room, too dank to be in one of the towers, with only one four-poster. There were bookshelves literally overflowing with volumes and magazines; quilt stands hung with heavy blankets; and sills dotted with planners, calendars, books, and foreign little instruments lining all the walls. Two monstrous ebony wardrobes and a matching desk sat against the wall, above this desk hung a large Arithmancy chart betwixt a moving map of the planets and their moons in orbit and a glittering star chart. Near the fireplace, which was as grand as those in the common room, were two armchairs facing a square table devoid of a centerpiece.

"A customized Malfoy dormitory?" Holly assumed.

Draco smirked. "However did you guess?"

"When speculation has done its worst, two and two still make four," she explained half-heartedly.

"Mmm." Malfoy strode over to his four-poster, adorned with emerald-green hangings pulled back and secured with silver tassels, and strenuously plucked something off his bed with a small ripping sound. To her he carried a flame-colored kitten by its stomach. "I felt that if this fuzz ball deserved to be considered a part of any family, it deserved to be considered part of the Weasley family." Holly set down Roux's kennel and took the ginger kitten from him. "I'm not exactly sure as to why."

The cat dug its claws into her arm and mewled fearfully. Holly cursed under her breath and pulled it away from her jumper, holding it by its stomach. It clawed at her hands.

"This is a hellaciously nervous kitty."

"Want to give it a bow?"

"Purple!"

Draco leisurely tapped his wand on the kitten's neck and a mulberry ribbon shot from it. The ribbon tied loosely around the cat's throat before spinning into a well-worked bow.

"I said purple not mauve."

He frowned. "All men see in only sixteen colors. Peach, for example, is a fruit, not a color. Pumpkin is also a fruit. I've no idea what 'mauve' is."

"Well when I ask for a purple ribbon, you give me a God damn purple ribbon!" Draco sighed exasperatedly and tapped his wand on the cat. The ribbon abruptly became violaceous.

She smiled at him and cooed, "Thanks!"

Holly took up her dog's kennel once more and started toward the door.

"Stop by later?" Draco proposed, gracefully sliding his hands into his pockets.

"Yep, I'll have your money right to ya."

Holly struggled to open the door with her wrists, and Draco came forward to help her. He turned the handle with one long, manicured hand and opened the dormitory port for her. "That's not what I meant, lamb."

Holly looked at him meaningfully before walking out. Draco gently shut the door in her wake and she smiled to herself as she descended the stairway. "I am bewitched with the rogue's company," she cited, turning to follow the hallway wall, "If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged."

*()%()*

"Gum... gum... gum..." Harry searched though his cloak pockets. "Nope, sorry, Ron, I--"

His gait slowed. Harry's fingertips had caught onto a thin, cool string within his pocket. He cautiously lifted his hand from within the fabric and pulled out a lengthy silver chain. At the end hung a pendant, and it, too, was argentine. He took the pendant in his opposite hand and examined it.

"What's that?"

He gently ran one thumb over the textured front, looking at the picture embedded into it. It was a golden tree, each of its seven limbs adorned with crystalline leaves that shone like starlight.

In each branch lies Maedhros' determination, Maglor's endowment of tongue, Celegorm's ambition, Caranthir's reckoning, Curufin's influence, and Amras' and Amrod's commitment. Only the purest of hearts will be guided by the wisdom of Fëanor's sons.

"I have no idea," he lied. Harry handed the pendant to Ron, who held it in front of his face and squinted.

"Odd--did you get this from Eowilindë?" He handed the necklace back.

&luo;I don't know." Harry looked intently down at the charm, wishing he had an idea whom this Fëanor and all of his sons were. "Should I put it on?"

Ron shrugged. "It looks innocent enough."

Harry carefully unclasped the chain and secured it around his neck.

"You might want to hide it, or Hermione'll throw a fit about forgetting to take necessary precautions against magical harm." Hermione had, coincidentally, sped ahead of them to use a different passage so as to stop and use a lavatory before reaching the tower.

Harry tucked it into his robes just as Ron said, "Rârian," to open the portrait of the Fat Lady. Lucky Harry had hidden the pendant, as they met Hermione on the other side. She braced herself with one hand on the edge of the portrait hole as she climbed out of it.

"New ring?" said Ron in greeting, motioning toward her hand.

Hermione stopped and looked at the hand on the edge of the portrait hole, as did Harry. Indeed, there was a golden band on her finger, molded into an elegant, swirling design. Though Ron's eye for limpid emotional problems was blind, he was sharp with apparent matter. "Er, yes," she responded. "I found it in my pocket earlier. I think it might be from Eowilindë."

Harry and Ron nodded sagely.

"Have either of you found anything?"

Together, they shook their heads.

"Hm... well I'll be off to the library. Come find me if anything happens." She finished her climb through the entrance hole and swiftly walked down the corridor.

After they entered the tower and the Fat Lady swung shut behind them Harry said, "Please explain to me why lying to Hermione was the right thing to do."

"It's the holidays, mate!" Ron elaborated immediately. "As though we need to help her anymore with her research!"

*()%()*

"Riddle me this:" boomed Holly, sidling into Ginny's dormitory with Roux at her heels and her hands behind her back, "What does December have that no other month has?"

'Hanukkah, Kwanza, New Year's Eve, Boxing Day...'

"Er--Christmas?"

Holly frowned. "Well, that too. The answer was 'the letter 'D,'' but no matter. Riddle me this: what is behind my back?"

'A large letter "D" cut out of parchment?'

Ginny repeated Tom's remark, and Holly smirked. "I wish." Holly unbent her arm and slid the object behind her back into view. "Voila," she said, "kitty." In her palm Holly balanced a fiery red kitten with a silky purple bow tied about its neck. "It's a lady kitty," she added. "Merry Christmas."

Ginny took the furry cat in her hands, and it mewed appreciatively. She looked from the kitten up to Holly, to the kitten, and up to Holly. Ginny smiled and thanked her sincerely, forgetting to insist that she take the creature away and that she didn't need anything more than friendship for Christmas. "Mignon," she named it.

"What's that? French?" Holly said. "Mignon--funky."

Ginny stated, "'Roux' is no better." The pup skirted forward as though he understood her and was ready to bark in his defense.

"Hey," she replied defiantly, "My dog could kick your cat's ass. Oh!" She dug in the pocket of her worn out jeans and said, "before I go..."

Holly extracted a square-shaped charm hanging on a delicate chain. It was a black tetragon, encased with gold, with four gilded squares set in it, which gave the pendant the look of a checkerboard. "The Quinnox," she called it.

Holly motioned for Ginny to move nearer, then to turn around. She did. Holly secured the jewelry around her neck and said, "It's the ancient symbol of rejuvenation. It's meant for guidance, even if that means that you must make a 180-degree turn." On cue, Holly took Ginny by the shoulders and spun her abound to face the gift-giver.

'She wants you to shag her godbrother before the Chang girl does.'

"What are you insinuating?" Mignon dug her claws into Ginny's hand.

Holly held up her hands and looked somewhere in the region of Ginny's shoulder. "Patience, O, fainthearted one. I need to go change my pants."

Holly strutted toward the door, taking her time, Roux behind her. She hummed a recognizable tune by the Stakers, stepping in time. Ginny could have sworn that Roux, too, was moving with the beat.

"Hey, wait, I have your g--"

But Holly had already gone.

*()%()*

Holly stared at her legs. She picked at the side-pocket of the fuscous-shaded trousers she'd put on, buttoning and unbuttoning it--numb to the pressure her finger placed against her knee in the process. It was a good thing that boys wore pants that were at least a size or two too large in the legs, otherwise these would have never fit her.

Holly looked up and her eyes fell on the Pensieve at her bedside. Sunlight bounced off the silvery shimmer within the bowl, reflecting brightly on the ceiling. She moved suddenly, taking two steps and kneeling in front of her trunk. She pushed it open and clasped her moneybag. She stood, and with the other hand Holly took up her Pensieve.

She pushed the door open and held it with her foot while she dug her wand out of her pocket. "You coming?" she asked Roux, who had sat down a few feet inside the door. He stood, tail wagging, and Holly let him out of the dormitory first.

When Holly reached Draco's dormitory she rapped on the door three times. "Enter," his leisurely drawl answered from within.

Holly pushed the door open and Roux skittered in first. She followed, pocketing her wand while closing the port with her heel.

Draco sat in one of the velvety chairs by the fire. He posed slightly sideways in it, oddly elegant, reading the Daily Prophet. A blue string of twirling smoke rose from an ashtray on the table in front of him. It smelt of coffee and cigarettes, and with that notion it took a lot of effort for her to stop herself from bursting into song over it.

"I don't understand," Draco said without looking at her, "why it is that the Prophet must somehow advertise Christmas every 25^th of December?" He turned to her now. "If we're all God's children, what's so special about Jesus?"

"Somewhere the pope is laughing," replied Holly.

Draco took a swig from his black, plain coffee cup, and he melded a motion for her to sit down with that of setting his cup back on the table.

"You're a sucker for those dirty little Muggle habits," Holly said. "Caffeine, tobacco." She sat. "And you cover it with quoting Shakespeare and refusing to wear elastic. Do you have a tragic flaw?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with me that will bring about my downfall," he replied. "Do you have a quill? I want to have a go at the crossword."

"You're afraid of death like everyone else, then," Holly accused him.

Draco shook his head. "Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I have yet heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear, seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

Holly sighed and pulled Roux into her lap. Draco continued, "No... it's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." He nodded to himself then asked, "What's the incantation used to make birds fly out the end of one's wand?"

"Avis." As Draco scratched down the answer, she showed him her Pensieve. "Do you know how to work these?"

"Y'know," he said, taking his cigarette betwixt two fingers and standing up, "I tried to use mine today." He pulled his Pensieve from a cupboard. He slid the end of the cigarette between his lips and continued, "And I didn't know what I was doing either."

They sat, staring thoughtfully at their shimmering Pensieves together for a long moment. "Library trip?" Draco finally suggested, putting out his cigarette.

"Nah."

*()%()*

Draco watched her as she stood in front of one of his bookcases, finger running along the binding of the myriad volumes there. Holly Black wasn't a typical "Malfoy woman." She wasn't so petit--her hips were too wide, arms too formed. She wasn't so polite--she did what she liked and didn't much mind others. She wasn't so blank--that full ten percent of her brain was functioning, and she wouldn't rest until the world knew about it. Holly Black wasn't so submissive or respectful, so she, like many other women Lucius Malfoy complained of these days, didn't know her place.

He could hear his father critiquing the Black already. "'Love child', is she not?" Draco wouldn't be able to reply to the inquiry. Lucius would plunge on, "I thought so--she had that look of illegitimacy about her... mistaken. She needs to conform to her standard. If I were her father, I would be ashamed. Not that there is much to be ashamed of; the Black name ran out of clout years ago..."

Holly pulled a volume from its shelf and opened the cover, blowing dust from its first page. "Great Works of William Shakespeare," she read. "Considering you know it so well, this looks like it hasn't been touched for a long time."

"Citing Shakespeare is like riding a broomstick," Draco shrugged. "You never forget how."

Holly raised an eyebrow at him. "Right."

"Honest! Pick a passage, I'll tell you which play it's from." If Malfoys were superstitious, he would cross his fingers.

Holly flipped to a page just past the center of the book and looked at it, one hand smoothing the parchment. "Oh, this will be easy for you," she remarked.

"Try me."

Holly looked up at Draco then back at the book and began, "'Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs'...'"

Perfect. Draco rose to his feet as he effortlessly continued the excerpt. "'Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vex'd a sea nourish'd with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.'"

He was very near her now. Draco had taken a smooth step with every few syllables, and found that Holly's dual-colored eyes never left his. The open book was the only thing that stood between them. "Romeo and Juliet," he murmured. She kept her eyes trained on his, stoic mask cracking as he captured her with his most sincere look of passion.

Draco reached over the book just as Holly's cool refusal rebooted. She snapped the volume shut on his fingers and he yanked it backward as she denoted, "Spoken in professional iambic pentameter. Kudos."

She turned and slid the book back into its respective place on the shelf and Draco sighed internally. Why, why don't my ravishing good looks and classic charm work with the Gryffindors?

"Do you care for chess?" he inquired.

"Not really." Holly began scanning his books again. "Chess is a foolish expedient for making idle people believe they are doing something very clever when they are only wasting their time."

Draco turned her statement over in his head before concluding, "You've never won a game, have you?"

She confirmed, "Not once."

He lightly touched her wrist and motioned toward the fire with his free hand. "I'll teach you."

*()%()*

The sun had long since set when Holly made her way to dinner. Draco had a house-elf that brought his meals to him when he didn't feel the need to make an appearance in the Great Hall at mealtimes, and he requested to have his Christmas turkey in his dormitory that evening.

The Great Hall was grandly decorated; many grand pines hung with baubles of smooth gold and icy crystal lined the room. Great curtains of velvety fabric graced the walls, tied with strings of gold and holly. Enchanted snow fell from the ceiling, massive icicles hung from all available beam-pace, and the ghosts caroled merrily near the edge of the High Table. It was a pity that so few people enjoyed such festivity.

Roux trotted along at her heels as she headed for the scantly populated Gryffindor table and sat down across from those who feasted there. Immediately, Harry snarled, "Where the hell were you?"

"I went out," she replied evasively.

"Oh! Out!" smiled Ron sarcastically, "Can't think of why we didn't check there!" Holly glared daggers in his direction and he promptly fixed his attention on his potatoes.

"Don't even try to tell me that any of you lifted a finger in an effort to find me," she murmured, sitting down.

"Hello there," came an unfamiliar voice whilst Holly lifted her puppy onto the bench. She looked up. A scrupulously tidy blond head and two greenish eyes were turned her way. He was in her Herbology class--Justin Finch-Fletchley. "I've seen you before, but I don't believe we've ever actually met." He extended his manicured hand in a gesture of propriety.

"Well, Boy George, it's Justin," she enunciated, taking his hand. He had a feeble handshake that made hers appear robust and rough. "I've only heard fabulous things about you. Holly Black."

"Pleasure," he smirked.

"It's all mine," she rumbled, with a significant glance in Ginny's direction. "What are you doing on this wing of the Great Hall?"

"I'm the only Hufflepuff here, honey."

Holly turned around to face the Hufflepuff table, which was empty, and said, "Would you look at that." She turned back and began to fill her dish with food. "Well it's a privilege to have you dining with us."

"Cheers. Cracker?"

"No," she said, waving a hand for him to withdraw the basket of wizard crackers. "It seems like every time I try one of those I end up with the rats." She shuddered.

"Oh, honey," replied Justin, still offering the basket to her, "you're just going to curse your luck saying that."

"Trust me," she said, "all rodents are out to get me."

They dined in a comfortable silence for a moment before Ron broke it when he started hissing, "Hot! Hot!" He dropped his fork and scrambled to grab Harry's untouched goblet. "Oh my God, my teeth are sweating!"

He drank deeply, draining all the pumpkin juice that Harry had poured for himself. "A little hot?" Harry presumed, watching Ron. Ron nodded.

Holly took advantage of their lapse in activity to ask, "So, where's Hermione? I don't see you panicking over her whereabouts."

"She's in the library," Harry explained. "She told us where she was going, unlike you."

Holly fed Roux a strip of turkey and said, "Well God forbid that I forget to report to the dictators when I go for a stroll."

Ron began, "It seems that you always end up in--" but was silenced with a look of caution from Harry. "--someplace strange."

"Such as?" prompted Justin, looking intrigued.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny glanced around at one another, but Holly pounced on the inquiry. "Oh, y'know--broom closets, rooftops, shrubs, snow-banks..."

"Doesn't sound completely off," Justin shrugged.

"Well, you must not be thinking straight." Holly stuck a finger into her cooling potatoes and held it out to Roux. She snickered to herself.

The ghosts had just begun singing "Angels and Sorcerers" when Ginny asked to have a go at one of the crackers. "I'll pull one for Holly," she said, "and we'll see if that rodent curse is actually true."

And so she did. With a resounding blast that caused Mignon dig her claws into Ginny's leg and Roux to slip off the bench, half a dozen live rats appeared. "I told you!" Holly yelled as she got to her feet and scrambled several places down the bench, crouching while keeping a death hold on the table.

"Go get her," Ron urged, pointing the rats toward Holly, sniggering. "Go on!"

And they did. Each of the slimy things went cantering in her direction. Holly hopped down from the table and jogged an arc back to her seat, standing uncertainly on the spot. The rats, in turn, scampered blindly off the table.

Holly took two long strides to get atop the empty Hufflepuff table. A meal sat near her right, where the house-elves must have presumed Justin would sit. The rats couldn't get to where she stood now, though they were trying. Roux made his way to the rodents and sniffed at them, timidly holding out a paw to swipe at one. The rat squealed at the puppy, which took several frightened steps backward.

He snuck up behind the rats again and began barking. They scattered, and Roux made an attempt at following each one; he ran this way and that, yipping when he got the time. "Oh, don't chase them--don't--ugh." Roux was already nearing the other side of the hall in hot pursuit of two rodents.

Ron was laughing so hard at her reaction to the rats that he didn't even see a baked potato hurtling in his direction. It hit him square in the face then bounced off into one of the pitchers, which splashed milk into the air and all around.

Holly had armed herself with another potato, but this one missed as Ron caught on and dodged. He took two handfuls of mashed potatoes from in front of him and left his seat, scrambling toward the Hufflepuff table.

Holly scooped three small mince pies into her arms and hopped down from the table as Ron neared. She pelted one (which hit him in the shoulder) before he rounded the Hufflepuff table and came at her with speed. Holly rushed away, aimlessly throwing another pie over her shoulder.

She would have gotten away from him, too, if three of those dreadful rats hadn't run out in front of her. She yelped and skipped onto the bench of the Slytherin table. Ron hit her with a massive handful of mashed potatoes in the small of her back, and she threw her third one and got the side of his head. She picked up an apple pie and took off.

Holly jumped down, and made to run away, but Ron grabbed her around her ribs with one arm and pressed the remaining potatoes he held in her hair. She yelped, struggled out of his grasp, and smashed the pie on the top of his head.

He wiped a few apple chunks from his hair and stared at them for a moment before launching himself toward Holly. She caught Ron by the arm and forced the apple slices away from her, but he managed to grab potato from her hair and smear it across her cheek.

"Ahem."

Holly and Ron stopped, then turned slowly toward the source of the sound. They were in front of the High Table, and Snape was glaring at them. Though a number of the professors were smirking slightly and the twinkle of Dumbledore's eyes seemed to illuminate the hall, Snape looked unimpressed.

"Though I assure you that releasing your inner child is amusing, this is not the place for your antics."

"You know, you're absolutely right," said Ron, stepping away from Holly. "We will continue with our antics elsewhere."

"Yes, as always, you're wise in your council."

Braver together, they bowed low, in unison, and turned away. As they passed Dumbledore, Holly saw him wink.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Hermione had arrived. She looked disgusted. "If you're finished, Ron, I'd like to speak with you."

He raised his eyebrows, but didn't argue. He followed her out of the Great Hall immediately, wiping bits of piecrust from his hair and throwing a look of mixed resentment and sorrow at Holly. "Where's my dog..." she wondered aloud.

"What is the name of that rascal, anyway?" Justin asked.

"Roux," Holly answered.

"Like the sauce--spelt with an 'x'?"

Holly blinked dazedly and looked at the new face. "Yeah," she said mildly, smiling.

She didn't regain her nerve until Justin made a sound of agreement and remarked, "Fabulous. He's a cutie with a capital 'Q'."

Holly grinned significantly in Ginny's direction. Roux came scuttling across the hall to a stop at her feet. "Well, I'm off to take a bath--again."

Ginny caught up with her as she ascended the staircase to the first floor. "What did you think?"

Holly turned, leaning against the banister. "Of Justin?" Ginny nodded. "Nice guy. Good hygiene." She started up the stairs again.

"And?"

Holly stopped again, and turned to look at Ginny, who was two steps below her. "If he were any gayer, he'd be Elton John's fanny pack." Ginny's mouth fell agape, not sure what this statement meant in its entirety, but assuming it wasn't a good thing. Holly shrugged a shoulder and said, "Sorry," with a fraction of sincerity. She made toward Gryffindor tower again whilst Ginny went back to the Great Hall, where Justin and Harry sat in an uncomfortable silence.

*()%()*

Sirius sat down on the foot of the bed in his room at the Leaky Cauldron, and it wasn't long before he'd fallen onto his back. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and sighed.

Taxes were done. The final papers on the house in Bolkinwick were signed. His horribly boring desk job at the Ministry of Magic was official. Buckbeak was going to be moved to the Bolkinwick bestiary any day.

There was a knock on the door.

"Password?" Sirius requested, unwilling to move.

"Erm--'I have alcohol'?"

"Approved."

Remus opened the door, which Sirius had left unlocked, and entered carrying two tall, ruby-red glasses. "Hot toddy?"

"Moony, never leave me," Sirius pleaded, sitting up and holding out a hand.

Remus gave him his drink and said, "I'll avoid it." He pointed to the bed and inquired, "May I have a seat?"

"Do you have to ask?"

Remus sat himself down in a sore, worn-out fashion and smiled at Sirius. There wasn't anything quite like spending time with old friends. "Adulthood bites," Sirius remarked, brow furrowed as he drank from the glass.

"Spoken like a true Marauder," Remus replied, nodding to himself.

"I wish I were still seventeen," Sirius mused. "Old enough to do the things that other adults did without getting owled by the Ministry without really being an adult." He shook stray hair out of his face. "Everything was so simple."

"You're right." Remus paused, gazing out the window. Sirius joined in, watching the snow blow off the roof and blur the golden streetlights. Not many people were around Diagon Alley on Christmas Day. "I don't think being a teenager is so easy anymore. Do you?"

Sirius thought of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. What with saving Hogwarts while balancing Quidditch and their studies, life couldn't be facile. Ginny had a threat within her own mind, and his hot-blooded heir had befriended Draco Malfoy--so apparently something was going wrong there, too.

"No," he said, "no, probably not." He took a swig of his hot toddy and said, "Why was it so simple for us, though?"

Remus looked at him and questioned, "How do you mean?"

Sirius knitted his brows and stated, "Voldemort was everywhere--taking lives by the dozen. I didn't have a family, really, or a home. You turned into a wolf every full moon." He shrugged. "Things should have been harder, but they weren't."

Remus sighed loudly. "Things should probably be harder now, too." He tucked one foot under his other leg. "Voldemort is everywhere, restraining from taking too many lives at the moment but constructing something horrible, I'm sure. He's more powerful than before. You have a daughter and, for the most part, a son. Harry is the troubled hero of the age, Holly is, as far as I can see, frustrated with the planet. I, on the other hand, still haven't married, and will be out of a job as soon as the beast legislation is passed."

"You can live with me," Sirius vowed off-handedly.

"I probably will."

"And I can hook you up with a cousin of mine, or something. I'm related to fifty percent of Europe's witches and wizards--you should be in the mix through marriage."

Remus knew there was truth in this. He rubbed his forehead and said, "I wish James were here."

Sirius put down his drink and said, "Me too."

*()%()*

Ginny sat down on Holly's bed and pulled the first drawer of her bedside table open. She didn't mean to nose around, but Holly was taking a ridiculously long time in the bath, and she needed to find some form of entertainment other than the sixth year girls' mirror.

Journal, eyeglass case, matches, tangled necklaces, book, votives... finally Ginny's fingers grazed the wooden border of a picture frame. From the messy drawer Ginny pulled the aged picture of Holly's mother, Charisse, with one of the old trouble-making crew beneath it.

The dark-eyed girl smiled at Ginny, a flash of white teeth with an odd-placed dimple that much matched her daughter's grin. It wasn't so Cheshire, of course; Holly reflected the stirring wide-mouthed smile of Sirius.

The door opened and the girl entered. Quickly, Ginny switched the photo of Charisse for the one of Sirius, Lupin, and the rest. She pretended to examine it closely, watching James play air guitar and Sirius wave his hand in discouragement. "Where's my--oh! There you are."

Roux slid out from beneath the four-poster and scooted proudly to his keeper. Ginny glanced toward the door as she saw Holly's form stoop to scratch her new pet and received a shock.

"Your hair," she croaked, hoping that she didn't sound too appalled.

Holly looked up. Her locks were black with water, uncurled, and choppy. They fell messily about her shoulders, a couple shorter chunks cropped and falling over her glasses.

"Is it all right?" she asked, straightening up with Roux bouncing around her heels.

"Yeah! I mean, of course, it looks wonderful--but I didn't think you were safe with scissors..."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," she said tartly, pulling the device from the heap of clothes under one arm. She strode across the room and stuck the scissors inside Parvati's bedside table. "What're you doing up here?"

Ginny stammered, "Oh, just, y'know... looking at... pictures." And she did, glancing down at the frame. Her eye landed on Sirius, who had succeeded in getting James to stop showing off, and smiled up at her. He winked flirtatiously, a lock of ebon hair falling into his face. He was so handsome, but his features had become recognizable and familiar in a different way--no longer did she think of posters and newspapers plastered with his scant, surly face. She'd seen those nearly every day for a year... now she was accustomed to seeing another face with features like those...

Holly had bent again, pushing her sheared hair behind one ear. She scratched Roux behind the ears. Ginny looked at the picture, then back at Holly. To the picture, to Holly. She pulled the picture of Charisse out from beneath the other frame, and looked between it and Holly. Without brunette curls and honey sweet eyes, Holly bore no resemblance to Charisse whatsoever.

Now, with her hair truncated and drenched to black, her blue eye just visible, Ginny saw it. Holly Black was a painting of a Black, with nothing but her mother's dimple.

Ginny put the pictures back in their respective places and said, "So you're positive that Justin's... y'know..."

"So gay he can put a lisp in the word 'cracker'? Yeah."

Ginny closed the drawer to Holly's bedside table and looked bitterly in her direction. "Yes. And I think you're positively incorrect."

"So be it."

"And that is why," Ginny continued, "we're going to raid his dormitory tonight."

Holly froze. Her eyes snapped over to Ginny's after a moment of staring blankly forward, and she barked, "We're going to what?"

"You heard me."

"Oh, no. No, Ginny, now is not the time to come to an agreement with your inner demons on doing something mildly naughty. Nu uh." Holly rushed over to her trunk and started unloading her shampoo, conditioner, and body wash into it. "I won't do it." A little childishly she added, "You can't make me."

"It's all a matter of proving, by means of material goods, that Justin does not..."

"Suck fags?" Holly finished. Ginny wasn't exactly sure what that was supposed to mean, but she frowned, sensing that it wasn't anything pleasant. "I really don't see what the point is. Wouldn't he notice if two Gryffindors charged the Hufflepuff dormitories and dug through his things?"

"He's going to be visiting the Ravenclaw girls tonight," she said, putting a small emphasis on the word 'girls'. Ginny glanced at the clock on the wall. "In fact, he's probably heading for the west end of the castle right now."

"Just because he's off braiding hair and taking Cosmé quizzes doesn't justify breaking an entering which, I believe, is still not kosher by legal or moral standards." Ginny rolled her eyes. She wanted to inquire, 'What do you know about moral standards?', as Tom readily suggested, but she didn't.

"Besides," Holly continued, taking on a superior, Hermione-like air, "how would we get into the Hufflepuff commons?"

"The entrance is behind a tapestry of Zeus and Cornucopia, and the password is Baucenc."

"Cornucopia doesn't happen to be suckling--" she shook her head violently. "Okay, how the hell did you obtain this information?"

"Justin." She shrugged. "He wanted me to drop by today, so he gave me directions and the key." Holly stared at her with a very dazed expression smeared over her face. "Look," Ginny said, "just come with me. We'll have a look at his posters, his magazines, and things. Besides--the Hufflepuff commons are adorable."

It took some nagging, but Holly finally caved. Strange it took her so long--Ginny and Tom had agreed that Holly would be the first one to agree on breaking into someone's room and rifling through their things. They left Gryffindor tower and started down the many flights of stairs into the entrance hall. Ginny had left Mignon in her dormitory--the kitten was sleeping peacefully on her four-poster--and it took some stern words from Holly to keep Roux inside her dormitory. He didn't seem to want to leave her alone.

Once in the entrance hall, they took the stairs leading down to the kitchens. Holly allowed Ginny to lead her past the various still-life portraits of food. She followed her behind a mirror on hinges; through the third door on the right of what seemed to be a short, pointless hallway; and finally up a short staircase and to a large tapestry depicting Zeus and a cornucopia.

Zeus took an apple from the horn of plenty and tossed it leisurely in the air, catching it in his oversized palm. "Password?" he requested in an echoing, double-toned voice. Ginny gave it to him, and the tapestry rolled upward, revealing a great doorway in the stone wall.

The Hufflepuff common room was a lot like the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom in that it was high-ceilinged and very open. Many rugs were lain across the floor here and there, happy little poufs or armchairs scattered about square tables and arranged in front of the tall, apparently Floo-accessible fireplaces.

"It's like they breed them to be queer," Holly mumbled in an awestruck key. Ginny led the way to the two doors, black and yellow, that led to the dormitories. Through the black door lied the boys' dormitories.

The very first door in the hallway was the sixth years'. Ginny pushed it open, cautiously, and saw that Justin was gone. Throwing the door open until the knob nudged the wall, she entered, Holly behind her.

The room was arranged much like the Gryffindor dormitories would be, if they didn't happen to be round. There were five four-posters against the far wall donned with deep yellow hangings and black canopy ties. Everything was studiously organized. There was a record player near the door at the side of a small radio that shuddered slightly, murmuring bits of a Christmas tune. Two small armchairs were pulled up to a square table that was topped by a glass centerpiece shaped, naturally, like a badger. Holly sighed.

"Suddenly there is no thrill in this whatsoever."

She ignored her. "This is Justin's bed," Ginny pointed out, motioning toward the trunk adorned with stickers spelling out his hyphenated initials. It was the tidiest bit of wall. Immediately she moved toward his Severely Stretchable Storage Space box, which was filled with innocent Muggle records.

"Look at this," she said. Ginny honestly didn't know any of the artists whose records were within the box, but she could judge by the pictures on the covers. "What sort of lady-man would listen to... Aerosmith? The Cars? Def Leppard? BTO? Lou Reed? Jimi Hendrix? How about--" she skipped over the Queen slip cover so as not to rouse a fit of laughter from Holly, "--Cheap Trick?"

"Let me see those," Holly said, taking command of the box. "Hm... Jefferson Starship, Survivor, Ozzy, AC/DC, The Police, Boston, and The Clash. Wow, they aren't even in alphabetical order--I'm impressed. I might have to borrow these sometime."

"You see? You were totally wrong!" Ginny stated.

Holly smirked as she extracted a record from its casing. "This Bangles LP in the Police slip begs to differ."

Ginny's eyes snapped into focus as Holly raided the other record cases at random selection. "ABBA. Blondie. The Cranberries. Gloria Gaynor. Heart. Thelma Houston. Cyndi Lauper. Madonna. Bonnie Raitt. Sister Sledge. Donna Summer. Anita Ward." Holly thrust one hand into the air and one leg to the side after pulling out a record she had missed along the line then exclaimed, "Liza with a 'Z'!"

'It may be a raw, misguided assumption,' Tom remarked loudly, 'but I believe she is jesting at both you and your homosexual lover.'

Oh no, Ginny thought back, not you too!

'If I find anything remotely, so to say, un-queer about that Justin chap, I'll be sure to inform you in two shakes of a Niffler's tail.'

Shut up. He did, but she didn't feel him backing off. Clearly, he enjoyed observing Holly's antics. "I've seen enough."

She turned to leave, but Ginny caught her sleeve. "No--no, what if he just thought that all those artist ladies would be good shags, or something?"

"What sort of straight guy listens to Madonna's music?" Holly shook her head. "They buy half-naked posters to pin up on their ceilings and bring along binoculars and ear-plugs to her concerts." Holly looked up, as though thinking. "Or they use that strange, Y-chromosome linked ability to tune multiple things out completely." She shrugged. "Whichever."

She turned to go again, saying, "Once he comes out of the closet, ask him if I can borrow his Heart record--that's worth a listen. Ooh, barracuda!"

Reality shock was looming over Ginny, but it was worth one more test. "Just--just--" She pulled Holly back toward her. "Take a look at his books, or something."

"Why don't you? You're the one who can't see that he's a mo..."

Ginny couldn't bear it. "Just--you do it."

Holly rolled her eyes and pulled open Justin's trunk. She rifled through books that appeared to be normal volumes required by the school, until she heard a strange noise when moving his Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 volume. She opened it and found a bag of Cooch's Capital Chocolate Chip Cookies. "He's ashamed to show others that he eats fattening foods. Maybe he's just a cross-dresser Ginny... he does seem awful clean."

She found the leisure time reading books at the bottom. "Okay, let's see here. Champion Cuisine."

"So he likes to cook."

"Interior Design--The Best of Wizarding Chinoiserie, Elizabethan, Gregorian, and Rococo." She laughed. "And I was so sure that they were all misguided stereotypes.... Hmm... The Holyhead Harpies--"

"See! Quidditch!"

"--A Season-by-Season Fashion Guide." Holly laughed loudly. "Just looking for some Betty Friedan... here we are." She pulled out a paperback book entitled Feminine Mystique.

Holly put the book down, closed the trunk, and stated, "My work here is done."

She strode to the door, and this time Ginny didn't stop her. "How can you be so sure that he's not just--more in-touch with his feminine side?"

"Oh please," she groaned. "He's read the book that ignited the women's movement in the 1960's... he's gay as turtlenecks, snug corduroys, and loafers all in one day."

It took an oversized stopper to hold Ginny's frustration in. Why didn't anyone believe her?

'Because, you are the only one who seems to think of Justin the way you do.'

So could they stop buying the gossip, the rumors? She thought back furiously. Hold off with talking about him like he doesn't have feelings?

'Apparently you are not familiar with youth, as known by the general public. Besides, I believe that Black more than proved that the rumors are true. Feminine Mystique? Come now, Virginia, there is no surer truth after that was found in his trunk.'

"Oh, bloody hell, would you just shut up already?"

Holly stopped and turned, eyebrows raised. "What?" She appeared too surprised at the moment to be enraged.

Ginny froze in the hallway, suddenly acutely aware of how very tall Holly was. As often observed when long-haired girls shear their locks, she looked much older without the loose curls hanging all about her, hiding her shoulders and collarbone and making her look like a porcelain doll. She was all angles and shadows--bearing more of a resemblance to Sirius' wanted posters than before.

"I--I was..." Ginny didn't know why she was stammering, Holly merely looked confused. Ginny swallowed hard and said, "He was--er--"

"Ah," she said, comprehension melting over her face, "bugging you." She tossed a haphazard consoling look in Ginny's direction then motioned for her to follow. When they were out of the dormitory hall and through the common room, Holly said, "I hope you don't mind dealing with another Slytherin--just for one minute."

Ginny didn't say anything, she wasn't really listening. He couldn't be gay, he couldn't be...

'Answer her.'

What?

'She wants to take you to see Malfoy, "just for one minute".'

"Oh--" Ginny said, answering both Tom and Holly. "Yeah. That's fine."

Holly led the way out of the Hufflepuff and kitchens area up the stairs into the entrance hall. They walked past the grand staircase and trekked into the small network of dungeon corridors. Past the Potions classroom, Holly showed her down a hallway in which doorways dwindled down until it was nothing but dank bricks and flickering torches.

At the end of the hall Holly stopped, looking at a blank stretch of wall. "Slìdan," she said. A door appeared before them, betwixt two torches. Holly glanced at Ginny before making her way into the Slytherin common room.

It was just as Ginny had expected it to be--green, damp, and reeking of plots and Darkness. How is it that the ambitious ended up with what was surely the worst location for a common room in Hogwarts?

'So one can lie down his or her ambitious plots in solitude.'

Crabbe and Goyle were lying on adjacent sofas, and it appeared that the trek there had been a struggle-filled undertaking. Holly sighed. "Well, they've made it that far. Nice job, boys."

"Malfoy has his own dormitory," Holly said over her shoulder as she walked down the dormitory hallway. "His own house-elf, too."

"Oh, that would be wonderful. Can you imagine it?"

Holly held up two fingers a millimeter apart. "I'm this close."

They reached Draco's dormitory, which was on the landing of a short staircase off the end of the hallway. Holly knocked on the door then took a step back, waiting. Ginny peered over the older girl's shoulder, slightly apprehensive for a reason that was beyond her grasp.

The door swung open, and Ginny was greeted with an unfamiliar sight. Draco Malfoy stood there looking pleasantly disheveled. A few hairs were falling into his eyes, though she wouldn't doubt that he had arranged his hair that way on purpose; his shirt was unbuttoned and mildly wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up just beneath his elbows. He gently used his thumb to tug his trousers up an inch--they appeared just half a size too large for him. Draco leered at them, casually flicking some hair out of his face.

I won't look at his stomach--I won't look at his stomach--

'You just did.'

Damn it. He was more thin than muscular, but what little room he had between skin and bone there had to be something taut there that lined his torso just--so.

She tore her eyes away, unwillingly, telling herself that Malfoy would not be subjected to a sequence of soft and naughty thoughts.

"Black, Weasley," he greeted them, his voice uncertain. Malfoy stepped back and held out one long hand, gesturing for them to enter.

Ginny glanced at his hand as she followed Holly in--between his fingers and along the outside of his hand there seemed to be chalk, lead, or perhaps ash. It was dark either way, staining his manicured hands. There was another line of black across his cheek, which he either knew he looked good with it anyway or wasn't aware of.

"I need my moneybag--and my Pensieve."

"By the grate." Draco kneeled down on the floor, where he had placed what appeared to be a wide, thin cutting board. "I would give you a hand, but--I don't do that." There was a blanket beneath him, bunched up beneath his knees.

Ginny let Holly stray from her, and she slowly approached Draco, looking over his shiny blond head at what was on the board. It was a long roll of parchment, on which he'd sketched a stationary woman. She was wearing a long, elegant dress that folded many times about her lean frame. The woman in the drawing was sitting at an old Victorian table in a rose garden and appeared to be fingering a shawl and staring out at something in the sky.

Draco turned to look at Ginny over his shoulder. "You drew that?" she breathed, torn between staring at his smirking face and the beautiful sketch.

"Nope." He raised his ash-blond eyebrows and drawled, "I had a house-elf pencil it in for me. I just like to sit here in front of it, looking as if it's my doing."

Ginny glanced at his steely eyes, which looked more open and warm than usual. "It's beautiful," she admitted. She had never seen anyone draw as well as Dean Thomas, and this portrait was positively magnificent. "Who is it?"

He turned back toward it. "My mother."

I didn't recognize her without the "I just ate a live toad" expression on her face, I reckon.

"For Christmas. It will be going to her a bit belated, since I've been distracted as of late." He picked up one of the dull pencils scattered across the floor and started shading the folds of the woman's dress.

Tom noted that Ginny was letting her guard down, and instantly she remarked, "I thought art was for dreamers and idealists, not future Death Eaters."

Holly had approached now, and stared at the portrait with wide eyes after softly cursing in admiration. Draco didn't pay her much attention. He turned back to look at Ginny, his face veracious, all sharpness momentarily lost except for the renewed veil over his greige eyes.

"Lucius wouldn't appreciate it," he said coldly, turning his back to her again. "But I'm not about to send him a sketch, am I?"

Ginny watched his hands in wonder for a moment. He would draw with his right hand, smear the line with his left, and then switch his pencil into his left hand and use the right to erase. Then, instead of moving the pencil back to his right hand, he would continue draw with his left for a junction, before moving to the other edge of the parchment, where would use his right hand so not to smear the rest of the sketch.

"Did you take your money?" Holly asked, finally rising from her awestricken state.

"No, Black," he stated vaguely, looking down at his drawing for a moment to figure what to do next. "I don't need your recompense..."

"Malfoy..." she sighed.

"Trust me," he said, looking up at her, "I have enough. It was nothing."

"Fine." She opened the little bag and dug in it. "I'm going to guess the sum, then put it on top of some tall piece of furniture."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What's the point, Black?"

"Well," she said, tossing a Galleon onto the top of his wardrobe, "that way you'll have the money. You can't Summon coins, and you're too lazy to climb up there to get the money down. But you'll have it."

Draco leaned down over his drawing once more and drawled, "You've got me there, treasure."

"And I'll no longer be in your debt." He didn't say anything. "Well," Holly said, after flipping the last Knut onto the wardrobe, "I've got what I came for." She fingered her shortened hair, evoking a comment on it.

"I like you, darling, but you haven't got me whipped quite yet."

Holly stopped where she stood, narrowing her eyes distrustfully. Ginny started toward the door, reaching it first, placing one hand on the handle. Draco had stood behind her, rubbing one hand in the other to relax the tense muscles in it. Holly came to the door, and Ginny opened it.

"You could stay," he suggested gentlemanly, "though, I wouldn't be great company."

"That's okay," Holly said. Secretly, Ginny wished that they would stay. She didn't know much about Draco Malfoy other than that he had close ties with Satan; however, he did seem like an interesting bloke.

'You just find him fetching.'

I do not, he's-- Tom soundproofed his area before she could finish.

Holly continued, "We should be on our way, anyway."

"So be it." He moved forward and opened the door for them, since Ginny had dropped the handle when he'd suggested they stay. "Happy Christmas, blossoms."

"Later, Malfoy," Holly said, walking out before Ginny.

She probably would have replied as well--but she was too caught up in the fact that he had swapped the snappish "Weasley" title for an endearment. Blossom.

'Don't get your knickers in a twist, he was talking to Black, too.'

"Oh, and, Black?" Holly, who'd gone out in front of her, turned back round to look at Draco. He smiled winningly. "I did notice. Your hair looks fantastic."

She grinned, but turned to go down the stairs until it got so sunshiny that it lit up the walls. Ginny hesitated, glancing back at Malfoy. His long, lead-smudged fingers were wrapped around the door, his head leaning against his knuckles. He flashed his teeth insolently.

"Would you like me to sing for you, or would you rather gaze at me adoringly in peace?" he murmured.

Ginny threw up her fences once more, but couldn't find an apt comeback. "You have a big pencil-smudge on your face, did you know?" she asked factually.

Malfoy sneered indifferently, aware of his victory. She turned abruptly and followed Roux's tail down the staircase.

*()%()*

"Do you remember when we had that band?" Remus laughed. They were sitting on the rug for some reason, chatting like they never had time to do.

Sirius nodded, rubbing the side of this face while he laughed. "We were awful--I don't even remember what it was called."

"The--," Remus began to remind him.

"Okay, I lied, I remember the name." After a moment Sirius sniggered. "I could still sing the songs for you, if you like."

"You were an excellent lead man, Padfoot," Remus said.

Sirius smiled. "You remember how wicked we thought it was that when you got sick after the full moon it sort of looked like you were stoned?"

"We really could have been junkies if we weren't pansies," stated Remus.

"I know!" Sirius concurred. "But smoking's gross, needles scare the doxies out of me, and the sound of sniffing is positively revolting."

"Yeah."

Sirius nodded to himself for a moment before denoting, "We kicked the shit out of every other wannabe band in that school."

Remus raised his glass and said, "I'll toast to that."

The elongated glasses for their drinks clanked together noisily, and they both turned back their heads to drink. "Our pleather jackets and beat-up jeans... were we the only kids at Hogwarts that didn't worship bellbottoms?"

"I had a pair, which I believe made it to my mother's attic before I even moved out of the house." Sirius shook his head. "Other than that, bootcut was the deepest into the world of fashion I had ever delved."

"You owned tight screen tees, Padfoot, don't even try to deny it." Remus sniggered at his comrade. "I'm sure the old Hogwarts girls still dream of you in them. Once you hit your damned motorbike stage we saw nothing but denim and leather under your robes."

"Hey, now!" he responded warningly. "I was a proud proprietor of the white T-shirt."

"And still, all the girls around school thought you were a regular old roué."

"Bigger than the Beatles."

Remus made an extravagant show out of rolling his eyes. "Do you still have any of your old clothes?"

"A wardrobe full in Grimmauld Place," Sirius replied. "I haven't the heart to toss them, and no matter how Kreacher tries he can't do it for me."

"Seems to be the only thing he's willing to bung to the fire," Remus mused. Sirius agreed with a grunt. Remus watched out the window for a moment before donning a prematurely amused smirk and inquiring, "Do they still fit you?"

Sirius scoffed, "Are you kidding me?" Remus looked at him over the rim of his glass. Sirius gazed at him in a frightened way for a second before bursting, "Yes, they all do! Every last pair of slacks. And it all remains dead lovely on me, thank-you-very-much." He took a swig from his hot toddy. "Are these Endless Drinkers?"

"Merry Christmas."

Sirius proclaimed, "Moony, you are a godsend."

He laughed. "What wardrobe is it, exactly, that you keep all those clothes in?"

Sirius looked gravely at him. "Are you intending on stealing my possessions at the next Order meeting?"

"No, but I have a feeling that your heir will take it upon herself to have them."

Sirius fixed him with a befuddled look. "You mean... Harry?"

"No," Remus moaned, "what would Harry do with that manner of clothes?" Sirius shrugged. "I meant Holly, you mooncalf."

"Why would she want my outdated clothes?" Sirius shook his head. "Girls don't wear that shit."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Apparently you didn't notice that she stole one of your shirts this morning."

Sirius' glass stopped at his chin. "She did?" Remus raised his eyebrows mockingly. "Little wench..." He took another drink from his hot toddy.

A silence fell over them. Remus watched Sirius as he picked at a stray thread in the rug they sat upon, raven hair shielding his face. Once more it was shoulder-length, and it suited him.

If anyone, Remus thought, Sirius Black deserved his youth back. His life back. He'd lost everything, and only retained scraps of a life without Azkaban, without Voldemort, to hold onto. The only friends that hadn't once betrayed Sirius were dead. The only family that hadn't turned her back on Sirius was his daughter. The only people who trusted Sirius were Remus, Harry, Harry's friends, and select members of the Order.

Sirius was looking at him and feinting a blank, uninterested face but failing. Remus sighed and asked, "Do you want me to talk to your daughter about befriending a Malfoy?"

Sirius spoke into his glass, "Mrphrrrmmphmrrf..."

"Sirius, I can't hear you."

He hadn't taken a drink, but he lowered the hot toddy and looked solemnly over at Remus. "I would never m--"

"I'll talk to Holly," he cut him off.

"Oh thank Merlin," came his rush of a response.

*()%()*

"It's after hours, isn't it?" asked Harry, finding Hermione at her usual table in the very center of the library--where the books in the 'A' section were no further away than those on the 'Z' shelves.

Hermione hurriedly jabbed her middle finger back through the golden ring she'd recently acquired. "It is," she whispered, "and if you're quiet, I can stay in here longer. Professor Flitwick fell asleep."

Harry nodded sagely. "What's he doing in here?" Hermione shrugged. "Do you have any leads on what that ring is about?"

"Er--yes. Yes I do, actually." She took it off her finger and held it up to him. "Do you see that small strip of silver?"

He did. "Yeah."

"That's a hair." Harry looked at her in a mildly befuddled fashion and she dropped her arm. "One hair of Idril Celebrindal of Gondolin. But I have no idea who that is. An Elf, I'm guessing. But she understood all Elvish languages--and this," she held up the ring once more, "is supposed to help me understand all mortal languages."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You seem to know quite a bit about her, considering you don't know who she is. How does that work?"

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her temple. "It's hard to explain." She pulled a thin, leather-bound brown book toward her and held it up to show him the cover. In gold, it read Hélas, J'ai Transfiguré Mes Pieds --Par Malécrit. "Do you know what thmeans?"

"No--something about Transfiguration?" Harry shrugged.

"Yes--it's a play titled Alas, I Have Transfigured My Feet by Malécrit. Now, I could have already told you that--it's a very famous play in that it is horrible. Sort of like films directed by Ed Wood."

Harry shook his head.

"Well, I suppose you don't know about Ed Wood. No matter. Due to the fact that I've spent a lot of time in France, I could have also told you that 'mal écrit' means 'bad writing.'"

"What are you getting at, Hermione?" Harry pressed.

She shook the book a little. "The copy of this play seems to be the only book in this library thawas written in another language that hasn't been Translated. Now, I know enough French to use context clues to understand Malécrit's jumbled sentences, so this ring is a bit worthless to me as far as the French language goes."

Harry nodded, urging her to bring this tale to a conclusion.

"But if you put on this ring," she held it out to him, "and I read this to you--perhaps you could understand it."

Stupidly, Harry said, "I don't know French."

Hermione smiled like a tired daycare provider teaching a six-year-old how to subtract. "That's the point."

"That ring looks awful small--I don't think it'll fit me."

"You'll manage.&dquo; Hermione pressed her jewelry into his hand. When Harry opened his hand and looked at the ring in his palm, it appeared to be several sizes larger. It fit easily on his middle finger.

"Okay, are you ready?"

Harry didn't feel any spectacular sensation spread over him as the metal touched his skin--no greater knowledge filling crevices in his brain. "Er--I guess."

"I'm going to read a short passage, and I want you to tell me what it means. All right?" Harry nodded. Hermione flipped the book open and ran her finger down the page until she found texts that fit her purpose.

In a quick, accented whisper she read, "Mes pieds, Yves, mes pieds! Zut! Je ne

Peux pas saluer Françoise marchant sur

Les poissons rouges!"

Harry heard the French words, flowing and linked--and the language was as intriguing as ever (even when it wasn't the gorgeous Fleur Delacour using it). And though what met his ears was a language he'd never learned, every word made sense, and he could probably repeat them to her at the drop of a hat.

"So--did you understand them?" Harry nodded, an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Well, what did you hear?"

"Er--well--the person was talking to Yves about his feet and how he couldn't greet Françoise walking on goldfish," he recalled.

"That's perfect! Perfect!" she hissed excitedly. "And most people would be misled because the French term for goldfish is 'poisson rouge,' which means 'red fish' instead of 'poisson or' which is actually 'gold fish'. Oh this is wonderful!"

Harry blinked dazedly, and handed Hermione back her ring. "If only this worked for Quenya or Mermish," she said wistfully.

"So--this Idril lady understood all Elvish languages?" Hermione nodded. "Are there more than one?" She nodded again. "I thought it was just--Elvish."

"Oh no. There are several--differing mostly in accent rather than in words. There's Eldarin--which just includes Quenya and Sindarin for the most part. And there are many different titles for the separate languages, so it all gets rather puzzling after a while. Eldarin is also Elvish. Sindarin is Grey-elven. Quenya is High-elven or Valinorean. There's Nandorin and Silvan, and they died off after Sindarin became more common in the Third Age--they're sort of like Latin to the Elves. And, of course, Telerin. It's still spoken, but very uncommon." She smiled at him. "Are you still with me?"

Harry shook his head. "So--what do the Elves in the Forbidden Forest speak?"

"Quenya."

"And that's what Holly knows?"

Hermione nodded. "Quenya nearly died off with Silvan, and after the Third Age was used mostly in very formal occasions. It made its comeback a century or two ago."

Harry nodded. "Do I even want to know how many scripts there are?"

She smiled at him. "There's only one, really. There are different words for all the dots and scribbles that represent vowel sounds and for the strokes that form each letter--but, collectively, its Tengwar, Tîw, or Fëanorian." Hermione laughed sheepishly and stated, "Wow, quite a tangent we were on there...."

But, Harry hardly heard her. He was concentrating on her last word. Fëanorian, Fëanor, Fëanor's sons...

Ron had flatlysed to join Harry in his search for Hermione, not wanting to join in on the study fest. He claimed he had gifts to wrap, and though Christmas Day was nearing its end, Harry pretended to believe him and left on his own.

His hands flew to his collar, now, and from beneath his jumper he pulled out the chain that was connected to the strange pendant he'd found in his cloak. He fingered the flat charm, unhooked the necklace, than sat it in front of Hermione.

"What can you tell me about Fëanor and his sons?"

*()%()*

Ron had finished arranging his Christmas gifts--some went in his wardrobe (Mum's latest maroon creation), some into the dustbin (Hagrid's frightful cooking), some into his trunk (Sirius' book and the two tokens inside), and some under the bed (Fred and George's box of Dirty Dainties). He poured out a bit of the cologne Hermione had given to him so it looked as though he used it--it smelt strongly of diluted urine.

Harry came back from his library excursion with Hermione just as Ron started on his Every Flavor Beans from Tonks. Christmas was incredibly boring sometimes.

"How went the research?" Ron asked, biting off half of a beefsteak jellybean.

"Don't have any leads other than the messages we've both seemed to memorize." In a voice of mock excitement he added, "I can tell you Fëanor was an Elf!" Harry shook his head gravely. "Hermione's ring has a purpose, though--I put it on and I understood every word that she read me from a French play."

"It translates?" Ron swallowed a wood pulp-flavored bean and wrinkled his nose.

Harry shrugged. "Sort of. Mine doesn't seem to do anything but sit there."

"At least it's pretty!" Ron smiled winningly at Harry, and at Harry's deadened look the grin disappeared. "You didn't happen to igure out what Melkor, Valar, and Angainor are, did you?"

Before Harry had left to find Hermione, Ron discovered in his cloak pocket a thin, black chain that wrapped four times around his wrist and clasped at either end. A section of Angainor, mighty chain that bound Melkor, to render the might of the Valar to you. The links bind emotion and election, weakening the recalcitrant of others and strengthening obstinacy in you.

"No. If you want to learn about your little bracelet, you can spend several hours in the library with Hermione reading."

"Hm..." Ron examined the chain around his wrist for a moment before deciding, "I think I'll save it for when I don't want to do my Potions homework anymore and would like Hermione off my back."

"Fine, whatever." Harry had been a little short with Ron ever since he made fun of him for wrapping his presents the Muggle way. "I'm going to sleep."

Ron looked at his rusting, scratched watch. It was just past midnight. "Six hours for a man, seven for a woman, and eight for a fool," he said, without reason.

Harry glanced at his own watch. "See you at noon."

Ron stood from the floor and picked up the last gift he had to give from beside him. He sat his Every Flavor Beans on his nightstand then left to deliver the present.

*()%()*

Holly watched Ron and Ginny's chess sets on the board. They'd long ceased bickering at each other about the outcome of the unfinished game that the two Weasleys had left and begun to dance over the checkered wood as if it was a ballroom floor.

She tapped her fingertips against the armrest on the chair and to herself she sang something by the Sweet.

One of the dormitory doors opened, and she turned to see it reveal a lanky frame and a blazing red head. He reached for the girls' dormitories door, stopped, looked at her, and came her way. Holly watched Ron draw near, and even when he sat down across from her she didn't take her eyes from his.

"What are you doing up?" he questioned.

Holly looked at him suspiciously and said, "Apparently someone left the lock off my cage."

He nodded thoughtfully and held a wrapped gift box out to her over the chessboard, and Holly looked at it distrustfully. She glanced at him, and his eyes were reassuring. Slowly she reached to touch the box, then took it. Holly pointed vaguely to herself, and Ron nodded.

"Ron, you--you didn't have to..."

He smiled, and Holly stared at the box in her hands.

"It's a gesture of Christmas cheer, not a firecracker." Holly didn't move. "You can open it, y'know."

Holly ran her fingers beneath the ribbon, which tore at her touch, and then she worked the folds at the corners to reveal the gift. The box was white, plain, and she opened it.

"Non-Heightening Heels!" She laughed lightly and pulled the strappy black stilettos from the box. "These are new on the market--how did you...?"

Ron watched her strap the heels on. "Completely overstocked. Clearly the whole appeal of these sorts of shoes is to make girls taller. You seem to be the only one who wants to remain your height."

Holly stood up, no taller than before, looking down happily at her shoes. "They feel like... tennis shoes." She wiggled her toes and bent her knees slightly.

"I think they're just trainers with some strong illusionary charms on them." Ron shrugged.

Holly laughed and muttered some spellbound words, touching one shoe lightly. She sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. A rare smile stretched her lips and she said, "Thank you." Holly nodded her head without reason for a moment before saying, "You got my--"

He nodded.

"Okay, because I remember you telling me about one of your brothers having one and you always wishing that--"

He nodded again.

"--um... yeah."

"I received the Fireproof, Long-range, E-Z Reload Wrist-rocket. It's wicked--I put a hole right through the hangings on Dean's four-poster with a pebble I picked out of my shoe."

She bent her head when she smirked this time, and Ron noticed something he should have seen before. "You hacked your hair off!" he blurted. His tone of voice wasn't at all how he wanted it to sound; Holly glared daggers at him. "I mean--it looks nice--yeah--bet it's a lot... erm... lighter, y'know?"

She blinked languidly.

There was magic involved in the smallest of actions, and Ron knew that he'd once heard what it meant when a witch sheared over ten millimeters of her own hair. Fueled by a changing disposition, such a happening will drive the doer's outlook and selections in one defined direction.

A silence grew between them, expanding until all in the common room was silent except for a clock on the wall somewhere and the crackling fire. Holly sang to herself very quietly, but Ron thought he could still catch the words.

"Up town, down town

Little Willy really drives them wild with his run-around style.

Inside, outside

Willy sends 'em silly with his star-shine shimmy shuffle smile.

Mama done chase Willy down through the hall

But laugh, Willy laugh, he don't care at all

Hey down, stay down, stay down--down."

Her voice grew a little bolder, since it probably appeared to her that Ron wasn't listening.

"'Cos little Willy, Willy won't--go home

But you can't push Willy 'round

Willy won't go

Try tellin' everybody bu-ut, oh no

Little Willy, Willy won't--go home."

Ron tapped his chin thoughtfully and asked, "Does that song reek of sexual references, or is it just me?"

"I don't think..." Holly's brow furrowed and she pursed her lips. "Well... maybe..."

Ron looked at the chessboard for a long moment, its scarlet and gold squares begging for a good game to be played atop it. "Care for chess?" he asked.

He thought it was a pointless request, (the last time he'd asked Holly to face him, which was a long, long time before, she'd replied something on the lines of "Life's too short for chess.") he put it up anyway. Thus, he was quite surprised when she accepted the offer.

It was a long, tedious game. The length of the thing was bewildering to Ron as he'd expected a quick victory after he heard her muttering to herself how to set out the pieces (which weren't willing to move on their own for her); "First all the little turtle-men... and then castle, castle, horsy, horsy, priest-guy, priest-guy, and royalty in the middle. 'Kay." Her king and queen ended up backward anyway.

They talked quietly, openly, over the chessboard. Ron found it was simple being truthful when one's mind was really focused on another activity, and he had a feeling that what Holly said was, for the most part, fact. Conversation wove between them in on and off strings--they would chat about Grimmauld Place, Transfiguration, Christmases past, and degnoming. Holly had a remarkable tale of when a close Muggle friend of hers discovered she was a witch, and Ron exchanged a story of when the Muggle kids around Ottery St. Catchpole would tease Ginny and in his frustration he accidentally made them all sprout mushrooms from their ears.

That's what happened when Ron was angry, for some reason. Nothing cool--never did anything blow to pieces or start a conflagration... they just sprouted some sort of fungi. Harry made glass shatter and people fill with air, Hermione made the room grow hot with her anger and tremble, and Ginny had a tendency to snap things in half. Ron's anger was often compared to yeast.

"I'm sure the fungus will start bursting into flame soon, Ron," she assured him. "It's all a matter of the changing body..."

He threw a pillow at her. "Well what happens when you're furious?" He thought about this, and strangely, he couldn't remember anything bizarre happening when Holly was raging about. Did that mean there was another degree to her anger?

She smiled in a sadistic way. "You wouldn't want to be there when it happens."

Her lack of desire to share was sentient, so he let it be. They continued with their game.

He was in a state of stupefaction when Holly announced, "Check and mate," and his king was dragged from the board. She hadn't suffered a single zugzwang, hadn't paused a moment to ponder her next move. Holly played chess the way she walked through life, Ron thought, like an absolute improvident. If she'd just stop and think about what she was doing, he figured, maybe Malfoy would be a little insignificant footnote on our daily lives again.

"How did you do that?" he asked, appalled. It had been a long time since Ron was beat at chess.

Without precedent she replied, "I cheated." She was looking at the results of her game as Ron gazed at her. Holly looked up and smirked.

"Really?" She nodded. "...When?"

"A cheating mastermind never reveals her secrets!" she hissed.

"We're trying this again..."

They did. Holly won. Another time and Holly still managed to cheat square-by-square, right under his nose. "What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded after Holly had successfully checkmated his king a fourth time.

She leaned back in the chair and laughed.

It was very late--or early, depending on how one viewed it--when their incessant chess match-ups were stopped. The door to the girls' dormitories opened and Hermione emerged from it in her nightgown, the dreaded Crookshanks at her heels. "Ron!" she said sleepily, starting toward him.

He shot Holly a slightly frightened look, and her lips parted in comprehension. She couldn't go anywhere, however, and simply sunk deeper into the chair. She couldn't pretend to be asleep, either--that would look even more suspicious. Holly simply stared at him pitifully.

"I thought I heard voices, and--" Hermione stopped and looked at Holly. In a split-second Holly's sorry expression switched for one of menace. Hermione looked about to ask what Holly was doing there, but thought better of it, and said, "Let's go, Ron."

"Where?" he questioned stupidly.

Hermione fixed him with a dangerous glare, and he stood on command. When they reached the dormitory doors, he turned to see if Holly was looking back at them. She wasn't.

Hermione was leading him to his own dormitory in a manner that reminded him strongly of his mum. She whirled on him after they passed the third door. "What are you playing at, Ron?" she demanded.

It wasn't quite like Hermione to jump to conclusions or accuse anyone of any action without consulting several books and a criminal record beforehand, but there had been something strange about the girl lately. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"First the food fight--"

"Oh, Merlin..."

"And now this?" Her voice raised an octave. "Ron, I don't think you should talk to Holly anymore."

This hit him like a brick. He opened and closed his mouth several times, no sounds choosing to escape him. It took Ron a moment to find use of his larynx again and ask, "Why?"

"Holly and I have encountered straits now and in the past, and I don't think having you in the mix will navigate us," she said professionally.

"So I can't talk to Holly but I can talk to you?" he said, showing her his palms whilst he talked with his hands.

"That's right." Ron narrowed his eyes. "What's wrong?" she inquired innocently.

"Nothing, only that you just took hold of my social life," Ron said. "I can't talk to Holly?" he repeated dumbly.

"It shouldn't be terribly hard, should it?" She sounded so insouciant it made Ron slightly uneasy. "I mean, you've done it on your own for months."

Ron swallowed, wishing that these sorts of things didn't come flapping around in his face so often. "If we act like she doesn't exist she'll probably sell us all out to Malfoy."

"Wouldn't she anyway?" stated Hermione.

"Well... I didn't think so." She opened the door to the sixth year boys' dormitory and let him inside.

"Either you cease chitchat with Holly Black or you lose me." She looked up at him with her pretty chestnut eyes, undimmed by weariness. "Take your pick."

Ron gaped at her. "How could you possibly--"

"It shouldn't be a difficult choice, Ron," she stated. He flinched.

"You know my answer," he muttered.

She smiled. It was an unusual smile--bright and radioactive. It lit up her face in a way that was nearly callous. This was so unlike her. "Wonderful," she said. "Good night, Ron." She left.

Ron crawled into bed and clutched his ragged old teddy that he vowed to get rid of every New Year and never did. "You've got to be kidding me with this..." he said to no one in particular.

*()%()*

"Where are you, Varian?" Voldemort demanded.

She stepped forward, out of the shadows. It didn't seem that she'd been standing there near the wall before, and perhaps she hadn't been. "I'm here, my lord," she asserted. It was very clear to him that she was a vampire, now. Her lips were slightly ruddy with something that didn't appear to be makeup, and her eyes glowed a very bright turquoise against her dark, Indian skin.

"Lucius says they have arrived. Where are they?" he asked, cold voice causing Varian to flinch slightly.

"In the Somnium, my lord," she informed him.

"Escort me," he commanded, not looking at her.

Varian walked alongside the Dark Lord, not daring to take a step in front of his smooth stride. She moved in a dreamlike manner, with a gait that was almost too light. Harry followed them through a grand corridor lined with tapestries and portraits, ebony doorways dotting the walls. "There should be more coming, sir," she said uncertainly.

"You do not know this, Varian," Voldemort stated, still not making eye contact with the vampire. "Do not attempt to reassure me of your progress. I will see them before I commend or punish you, child."

Varian's head drooped slightly as she followed Voldemort down a spiraling, double-helix staircase. She didn't look like a child, but to the Dark Lord perhaps she was. They entered a hallway that appeared to be the busiest part of the manor. Many faces that Harry both knew and didn't know passed.

"Sir, they've prepared breakfast in Cenatorius for you--"

"Later, Roxstrom."

"My lord, there's been no reply from Snape on the progress of the Dominatinis Potion--"

"Then you will owl him again, Aronson, or I shall be compelled feed your left foot to the hellhounds for tantalizing me." As each myrmidon spoke to Voldemort, he would reply without looking at him or her and continue to stride forward.

"Master, I have a new report on someone who checked into St. Mungo's from your spies--"

"It will have to wait, Mulciber."

"Lord, the manticore experiments still haven't produced results..."

"Kill them, then," he told the speaker, "I don't have time to support endeavors that don't bear fruit." Varian threw a set of ivory double-doors open at the end of the hallway and Voldemort ascended the gilded stairs ahead of her.

The Somnium was a tall chamber with ballroom-like proportions. Many gothic windows ran along the westerly wall, revealing the snowy grounds of the Malfoy manor where shadows were cast by the morning sun. There was a balcony at the landing of the gilded stairs that overlooked the long, low floor of the Somnium. Of all the rooms Harry had visited in the Malfoy Manor, the Somnium retained the highest proof of Dark glamour that was autochthonous to the Malfoys.

Voldemort closed his pale, spider-like fingers over the golden banister and looked down.

Below him were hundreds of Malumi. They'd been growling in their raspy, lion-like voices at one another. Several of the man-like beasts had been attacking a crouching Malum, and it appeared that one of them had gotten away with its arm. It held the limb in the air triumphantly, and all those around it immediately besieged upon the Malum. The screeching cries of the smaller sorts, the spitting of the viscid kind, and the roars of the tallest Malumi erupted with new vigor throughout the hall as the arm-wielding Malum was taken down. It was attacked in waves and waves of the ravenous monsters.

Voldemort remained expressionless. "Can they be trained?" he demanded of Varian, who stood behind him with her hands behind her back.

"I believe so, my lord. They are positively belligerent."

"I can see that, Varian," he said snidely. "However, can they function as a company?"

Harry could hear the vampire swallow. "I believe so, sir."

"I'm not satisfied with your beliefs, Varian, I need knowledge." Voldemort's thin mouth scowled deeply as he stared down at the Malumi. "Ask Lucius if there is enough dungeon space to house them. Have the harpies sort through the beasts and lead them to their places. The nagas will stand guard until I find use for them."

He turned to Varian. They both appeared strange in the gray morning light. Varian looked reborn, a living vampire who could stand in the sunlight. Voldemort remained as cold and forbidding as he did in the dead of the night, yet something was missing from that veneer. Harry wondered, offhand, if the Dark Lord ever slept.

"Meanwhile, you know what you must do."

Varian searched his ruby eyes with hers, and she appeared to be drawing a blank. "I'm afraid I don't, my lord..."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, Voldemort backhanded the vampire. She stumbled backward a step, holding the side of her face. The way she tried to mask her frightened expression was nearly pitiful.

"Do not be a fool," the Dark Lord hissed, his red eyes blazing. "I need more!" He took a deep breath. "Hundreds... thousands... this will not do, Varian!"

She truckled. "I--I will begin the Collecting immediately, m-my lord." Varian disappeared in a strange, shimmering warp.

Voldemort leaned over the banister once more, watching the Malumi. They'd commenced in tearing up a second frog-monster, screeching, roaring, and spitting horribly. Blood flew everywhere, splattering over the marble floor of the Somnium. A sinister smile turned up the corners of Voldemort's line-like mouth, and he laughed.

*()%()*

There was no better way to start off a boring holiday morning than by putting on makeup and singing "We Didn't Start the Fire".

Holly poked herself in the eye with her eyeliner and cursed. She remembered, then, why she never bothered with the stuff anyway. She finished with the damned eye pencil and ran her fingers through her hair. It was odd how the strands ended so much earlier than before.

It was really cold in there. She wished someone would start a fire, now that she thought about it. It'll be warmer in the Great Hall, she figured. Holly started for the door, assuming that an increasingly cold breakfast awaited her.

The common room bore that horrible anticlimax of a Christmas past. The trees weren't gone, but their meaning had been somehow stripped from them. The festive Boxing Day morning was nothing to the Christmas evening only hours before.

The Fat Lady was still snoozing cozily in her frame, a wreath of holly on her head.

As the song went on it always became harder and harder for Holly to follow the string of where it was going. But the names and phrases stuck together permanently as singable lyrics in her head.

She ducked into the quick passage to the first floor, and came out of it, ready to descend the staircase and reach the entrance hall.

"Little Rock, Pasternak, Mickey Mantle, Kerouac

Sputnik, Chou En-lai, Bridge on the River Kwai

"Lebanon, Charles de Gaulle, California baseball

Starkweather Homicide, children of thalidomide"

"Thalidomide?" She turned around to see Draco. He was standing at the landing of the dungeon stairs with his arms crossed and a scroll in one hand. "The sedative that causes birth defects? What kind of song is this, Black?"

She shrugged. "It's catchy."

Draco nodded pensively. "If you're down here for breakfast, it's already been boxed up and sent to the starvelings and beggars of Hogsmeade."

"Are you kidding me?" Holly sighed. "Great. I'm hungry."

"Listen--come with me to the Owlery to deliver this," he held up the scroll, "and I'll have a house-elf bring some breakfast up to my room for you."

She felt a smile threatening to transform her face, and after battling it for a junction she let it overcome her. "Okay."

He inclined his head toward the stairs that she'd just ascended and said, "Let me here s'more of that song."

She laughed and continued as if she were never interrupted. It was always a bit more difficult, however, to sing when someone was paying her attention. She replied, "Nah." She trailed him to the West Tower and to the Owlery. Draco turned his face up to the many sleeping birds and called, "Erelah!"

A call sounded and Holly saw an owl descending from one of the highest rafters. It landed lightly on Draco's shoulder and she identified it as the Siberian eagle owl that had delivered her the note at Grimmauld Place. It was white, its thrown out chest feathers flecked with black and its wings smoothly changing from snowy white to muddy brown. Its orange eyes stared at her with anything but trust. It made a barking noise.

"It's all right, Erelah," he said to her, gently touching her wing. "She doesn't want to hurt you." Erelah continued to glare.

Draco set her on a post and commenced in tying the scroll he held to her leg. "This needs to go to Mother, all right?" His hands methodically tied the twine, and Holly turned away. She leaned out one of the windows, staring at the shadows that the castle cast on the ground.

She heard the flutter of wings behind her, but didn't turn. In a second there was a sharp pain ripping across the back of her neck. Holly shouted and ducked down half a foot to see the dreaded Erelah fly over her head and out the window, turning its pale face on her for a moment to fix her with a resentful glare.

Draco rushed to the window and berated the owl with a long string of invectives for disobeying orders while Holly pressed a hand to the nape of her neck. She drew it away after touching something wet and warm and looked to see blood smudged across her fingers.

Draco finished cursing Erelah, (the swift owl was far out of view by then) and turned to Holly. "Oh, Merlin..." he withdrew a pale handkerchief from his pocket and slowly cleaned the blood from her fingers. "I'm terribly sorry--she acted as if you were a hawk or something... she's not fond of them."

"Imagine that," Holly said dryly, thinking of the peregrine falcon she needed to change into to achieve her final three N.E.W.T.s.

Draco finished cleaning her fingers and Holly pulled her hair away from the nape of her neck, searching for a spare tissue in her pockets. He moved around her without her noticing and gently touched the kerchief to her neck.

"Oh, no, Malfoy, don't--"

"Really, I insist... damned owl--"

"Quit!" He did. "Just--give me the handkerchief or something."

Draco searched her eyes and pressed the handkerchief lightly to the nape of her neck. "Hold it there," he said. She raised her hand to the kerchief and set it over his. He kept it there for a moment before withdrawing it and letting her do the job on her own. A moment too long, perhaps.

They stood in silence for a junction, and Holly felt a blush threatening to rise as she stared at the icy front of his gray eyes, which seemed to be slowly thawing. "Come back to my dormitory," he said, gritty voice spread more like cotton for a moment. "I'll have you fixed up there."

She followed him blindly, and it wouldn't be the last time. Later she would wonder what made her trust him so.

*()%()*

Harry ran all the way to Dumbledore's office and didn't stop until he stood on the moving wooden staircase. It was then when he took the time to fix the buttons on his shirt and try to tame his wild morning-hair. He'd slept too late, and seen too much.

When he reached the door, Harry paused to listen. He heard voices--only two. One was Dumbledore's and the other was eerily familiar. It made his stomach contract and--he gulped--his scar twinge. He used the brass knocker to rap on the door twice. The voices stopped for a second, and Harry heard the familiar voice whisper a couple words that were replied to by Dumbledore's gentlest, most reassuring voice. Then came the headmaster's voiced permission to enter.

Harry sighed, trying to soothe his nerves. Then, he opened the door and walked into the office. The dreary morning light of winter touched the gold instruments with silver. Yet the office overflowed with its typical warmth that was cast into it by both the fire burning in the grate and by the headmaster's typically undampened spirit.

Dumbledore sat in his usual place behind his desk. His eyes were tired with new weight, but he smiled at Harry nonetheless. "I thought I'd be seeing you soon, Harry," he said pleasantly.

He wasn't sure whether this was a good thing, but he managed to grin back.

His eyes roved the room for the visitor, the keeper of the familiar voice. Harry could have sworn that his eyes passed over the chair she was in and saw that it was empty once or twice before he noticed her presence there. His heart stopped.

Two luminous ultramarine eyes met his. They stared out of a sunken face and were chilly and forbidding, yet fearful. His vision scanned her rich skin, raven hair, and sanguine lips. Varian.

"You," he gasped without thought.

She blinked once, slowly, and didn't meet his eyes again.

"Harry, I believe you've seen this woman before."

Well, no kidding.

"Varian, this is Harry Potter." She showed no inclination to shake his hand, but the timorousness in her luminescent eyes increased. "Harry, this is Varian Brid."

Harry stared at her.

"Varian is a useful spy for me and, more importantly, for the Order." He looked at the headmaster, who gazed seriously at him. "I request that you both trust and respect her and her techniques. She is a valuable asset to our side." Harry nodded wordlessly. Dumbledore turned to the vampire and said, "Thank you for your time, Varian. I will apprise the Order of these developments soon. I believe that Harry, here, will confirm your account."

She looked uncertainly at Harry for a junction before fixing her gaze back on Dumbledore and nodding. "Feel free to return to the manor, Varian. Again, many thanks." The vampire nodded shortly and stood. She was tall and very lean. She looked different than how he remembered her in the dreams, somehow. Younger, more vulnerable. When accompanied by the Dark Lord, Varian put up an incredible veneer that tripled her maturity and independence. Now, in Dumbledore's office, the vampire appeared very--human. Natural, almost.

"Good luck, sir," she said softly. Her voice lacked what little assurance it held when she was around Lord Voldemort. It sounded almost as if she had a guilty conscience.

"And to you, as well," Dumbledore replied, inclining his head politely. Varian faded--her skin and clothing lightening more and more until she blended completely into the scenery. The door of the headmaster's office opened and shut. "Have a seat, Harry." Harry sat down in one of the armchairs facing Dumbledore's desk and looked at the headmaster. "What is it that brings you here?"

He launched into his recount of his most recent dream. Dumbledore listened silently, nodding at intervals. It wasn't long before Harry felt out of breath. He finished his tale with, "So she took off to do his bidding and then Voldemort just looked at the Malumi and laughed."

He inhaled deeply and awaited the headmaster's verdict.

After a junction Dumbledore stated, "That story runs concurrent with Varian's." He fell silent and seemed to await Harry's next question. Somehow, the headmaster always seemed to appreciate students who were bursting at the seams with nosy inquiries.

"How long has she been spying for the Order, sir?" he questioned. "I've never seen her before."

Evasively, he responded, "Quite some time." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at Harry's frustration with the lack of certainty in that reply. "Her orders are to report to me, and me only. Voldemort and the Death Eaters know many of the Order members and their meeting places, and if she were seen around either even once, they would become suspicious. When Varian stops in my office and shares her information with me in confidence, she's safe."

Harry nodded. "So... you still let her do Voldemort's work for him, sir?"

"She will work for him until she discovers a direct threat to wizarding kind in her actions."

Harry wanted to say 'But she's gathering Malumi for him to use against us!' or 'She seemed pretty buddy-buddy with Voldemort considering she's supposed to be spying for our side...' but he remained silent.

"Certain types of vampires are gifted with a strong front of Occlumency, Varian included." Dumbledore paused.

Harry recalled the last vision he'd seen Varian in. Judging by what he heard Voldemort saying, it seemed that she'd been wallowing in the gardens all day because of her condition. "How--" he frowned trying to come up with the words. "Sir, how long has she been a--y'know--"

"A Bruxsa?" Harry nodded slowly. "Nearly six months, I believe." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, awaiting an intelligent question. Harry wasn't sure what he was supposed to say next.

"She seems so..." Again, Harry was at a loss for words.

"Guilty? Nervous?" Harry hesitated, but nodded again. "Varian is very ashamed about her current state. She's been disowned by her family and abandoned by many of her friends."

"That's not on!" Harry burst, suddenly feeling sorry for the guilt-ridden vampire.

Grimly Dumbledore stated, "It is what happens to many witches and wizards when they are bit or, in her case, transformed."

The term hung in the air for a long moment and Harry swallowed. He recollected Dumbledore assessing Varian the first time Harry spoke to him about her, when Harry assumed that the vampire was nothing other than another of Voldemort's minions.

"Varian--" he'd said, "what was wrong with her?" Dumbledore had then told him, "From what you told me, my best guess is that Varian was recently transformed into a Bruxsa." He hadn't thought about the fact that she'd been transformed rather than bitten at that time.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"A Bruxa is a natively Portuguese vampire." Varian sure didn't sound or look Portuguese to Harry, but he let this pass. "One will become a Bruxsa only by a magical ritual. Transforming humans into Bruxsas is a manner of punishment preferred by some Dark witches and wizards."

Harry grimaced. He wanted to know what Varian had done to get her punished by Dark witches or wizards--and punished so horribly--but he had a feeling Dumbledore would share no more. Harry had so many inquiries that were left unstated, yet he sensed the change of topic on the air.

"Now is the pivotal time to protect yourself against the invasion of Voldemort," Dumbledore said, folding his hands on the desk.

"You aren't going to send me to Snape again..." Harry blurted.

"Professor Snape, Harry." Dumbledore smiled. "And, no... I was wrong in thinking you could take on that sort of Occlumency without proper practice of the basics."

"The basics, sir?" Harry echoed. "I thought the basics were clearing yourself of thought and emotion--"

"For that fashion of Occlumency, yes." Harry watched Dumbledore intently, waiting for the explanation. "Nearly every being on this earth is an Occlumens on some level."

"Even Muggles?"

"Even the non-magical, Harry." Dumbledore sighed, preparing himself for a filibuster. "You're a very honest person. It was my folly believing that we could start you with Occlumency at such a level as we did. The morphing and overlapping of memories to block the eyes of a Legilimens without betraying oneself... that is the topmost level of Occlumency." Dumbledore's eyes swept once over his office before he continued, "Being a truthful person, Harry, you are not nearly old enough to keep your honest nature and master the art of Occlumency."

"I don't understand, sir," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Of course not... of course not..." Dumbledore shut his eyes momentarily and said. "It is complicated. This will sound like an odd request, but please comply. Can you think of one, or perhaps two brilliant liars? Someone who can utterly convince you that all their little--" he smiled, "tarradiddles are verisimilitude?"

Harry raised his eyebrows. It was a strange thing to ask of him, but somebody did come to mind. "I can."

"I can think of one person close to you with no more magical expertise than your own who is, unpracticed though on a higher level than yourself, an Occlumens."

Harry didn't expect him to elaborate much on who it was, but Dumbledore said, "We think of the same person."

"We do, sir?"

He nodded. Harry didn't want to disagree--Dumbledore was a Legilimens, after all, and if he said they were thinking of the same person, they probably were! Dumbledore sat back a bit in his chair. "Holly Black," he said accurately, "is young, but gifted with a first or second level of Occlumency. You know this. Aptly lying can eventually convince oneself that their own imagined falsehoods--are factual."

"You mean... you mean if Holly told others that, er, the enemy is really a friend--she'd come to believe it herself, sir?"

Dumbledore watched him keenly, piercing eyes definitely reading past his own. "Not precisely." Harry sighed, no longer thinking he was on to something. "If, in your situation, she knew her foes--she could never truly convince herself that they could be trusted." Harry looked at him to continue. "But if she had several times claimed that lie, it would immediately come to mind when she needed it--creating a thin veil over the truth."

Slowly, Harry comprehended.

"This veil would not convince a Legilimens of her excuse's substantiation... a lie would be sensed. However," Dumbledore said lightly, "it would prevent most wizards from seeing veritable fact." He spired his fingers beneath his nose and waited a moment before continuing. "Can you think of another brilliant liar? Perhaps a gifted teller of tall tales?"

Harry nodded.

"Draco Malfoy," Dumbledore cited correctly again, "is also an Occlumens. More experienced than Holly, I presume, in that what his father doesn't teach him he may teach himself." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Allow me to explain," Dumbledore said. "You may notice, for example, that Mister Malfoy is a Conjurer. Not his natural Supantoris, but I do know that he can make objects appear at will, without a wand. This he learned out of summer boredom, I presume. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't teach him such things.

"On the topic," the headmaster said, "Draco Malfoy can keep secrets very well, and hide them with not only little fibs but with flattery. A flatterer may be an Occlumens. Some of his tales, though ridiculous, will be readily believed by those around him. I recall that once he convinced many people that one of his comrades was bitten by a flobberworm."

Dumbledore smirked, and instantly Harry grinned back. "So..." he continued, momentarily taking on a businessman's tone, "mad as it sounds, I wish for you to ask Holly Black to share her techniques." His eyes sparkled.

"About how to lie, professor?" The headmaster nodded and smiled. It was nothing to take offense at, but Harry did have some magnificent excuses under his belt. Then again, maybe his false tales could use some work.

"It's a simple starting step," he said. "You will have until the end of the holidays, if that may suffice. Report back the morning before term commences again, and I will guide you from there."

Harry heard the familiar peremptory tone in Dumbledore's voice that announced that they were swiftly drawing upon the terminus of the conversation. Harry stood and thanked the headmaster for something that he wasn't sure of and left.

Lying... that couldn't be too difficult, could it?

*()%()*

He wasn't there. Ginny skirted along the wall and left the empty common room in silence.

'It isn't contagious--he knows that, right?'

Tom was talking about Ron; she knew it. Of course he knows that. What do you take my brother for? She felt him shrug. Stop that. I--I just don't want to talk to him about it, all right?

'Fine. I'm not about to leave, however.'

I wish you would.

Ginny couldn't face her brother. He'd been comforting before, sure, but she could tell he was frightened. Anyone in his or her right mind would be. Ron knew the effect Tom Riddle had on her when she was eleven. And although she'd told herself over and over that it was different this time--it wasn't fact. She couldn't know the truth of the entire thing when she didn't actually understand the concept of Soul-Switching.

The word was that the second soul couldn't overtake the original. Yet, this was Tom Marvolo Riddle. At sixteen he had already done remarkable things--who was to say that his soul couldn't win a battle against her own?

Ginny needed air--she needed a lot of air.

She met Justin in the entrance hall, as they'd planned. As the glossy oak doors swung open, exposing the winter to the inside of the castle, Ginny breathed deep. The sun was out, directly above them, casting no shadows on the snow-coated grounds. The massive icicles that hung from the eaves and the gargoyles were melting, water falling to the ground to surround the castle with pockmarks of softened snow.

The cool air cleared her spirit and the bright sun took the Dark Tom off her mind.

"Oh, Aradia," Justin murmured, "the crackbrain actually followed through."

"What're you on about?" Ginny asked.

"That mad Lovegood duck," he explained. "Yesterday she wouldn't let me and the girls alone. She'd mentioned making snowmen or snow-warlocks if it had been nice enough outside, and sure enough..." Justin pointed to a blonde figure in the distance that was slaving over a ball of snow, "there she be. Unclean little cretin... could she try anything new with that mop?"

They trudged toward Luna, following the boot-tracks that she'd already made. As they drew near, Ginny saw that the Ravenclaw girl was carefully placing peas on the cheeks of the embonpoint snow-warlock to represent freckles (or oncoming gangrene).

The eccentric girl had made no sign that she'd noticed Ginny and Justin there, but she began talking to them (they assumed) nonetheless. Dreamily she stated, "Any average witch can build a snow-warlock, but it takes a true sage to create art."

"A sage like you, Luna?" Ginny said, smiling sidelong at Justin.

She didn't make any indication that she had heard her. Luna simply plunged on with the freckling of her snow-warlock. She pushed a straggly lock of hair behind one ear, exposing an earring shaped something like a Star of David. "This snow sculpture transcends corporeal likeness to express deeper truths about the human condition.... It is about grief and suffering." She smiled hazily at it, her pearly eyes going even more out of focus. "One look at the tortured countenance of this figure confirms that the artist has drunk deeply from the cup of life."

"Really?" Ginny said, mustering up a tone of interest.

"Yes..." Luna finished with the peas and placed the snow-warlock's eyes further apart. "This work shall endure and inspire future generations."

It was melting before their very eyes.

"We'll be back to check on your progress in a jiffy, 'kay, Luna?" Justin motioned toward the lake, where a footpath had been worn.

As they walked over the packed snow, Ginny sang an old tune that she'd learned when she was seven or eight by Paola Raul. It was one of the many songs that her mum would get after her for singing (which was about every song known to wizardkind)... but it was catchy, and it stuck in her head.

It took her a moment to realize that Justin was humming along.

"Paola Raul," Ginny said, laughing sheepishly and feeling herself blush. "'Flat Out'." She normally didn't sing in front of people, and when she did it was a sign of nearing absolute comfort with them. "I love that song."

"I know a song just like that... except it was called 'Straight Up'." He smiled at her, teeth matching the color of the sparkling snow perfectly. "Paula Abdul. I have the 'Forever Your Girl' LP!"

Tom snorted and Ginny mentally hissed to shush him. "Really?" she said, masking her suspicion and fear with interest.

*()%()*

Draco should have realized when he quoted "All the life's wisdom can be found in anagrams," and Holly got a pensive look on her face that he should have fled. Instead, out came the quills, ink, and parchment. He inked "Holly Portia Black," and she, "Draco Cassius Malfoy". Then it was off to work. The sounds of the WWN crackled from behind him--they recovered from Christmas music and were on to songs by the All-Wizarding Dregs, Broomhandle Confessional, Abril Lavid, and the Bleached Streaks.

"All right," Draco said when the scratching of quills had slowed considerably and the WWN was on to playing ballroom music. "What have you?"

Holly cleared her throat. "I've got sour, yam, mossy, fussy, lousy, slur, rum, fir, loom, soy, sold, muss, mousy, flour, sissy, floor, miry, uric, foul, miss, flu, SOS, oily, moo, carcass, sacral, moody, doom, dross, sod, filmy, fry, cud, scud, clod, cur, afro, crud, scaly, diss, USSR, slimsy, mud, surly, sorus, soil, sold, cold, old, fur, fury, foil, and Smurf." She looked up from her parchment and smiled at him. "Want me to make phrases?"

"No thanks." Draco scowled. "I at least tried to find nice ones like 'trophy,' 'lily,' 'hot,' and 'thrill.' But I could point out that your name can be arranged into words like portly, kill, ho, ortho, krill, poky, irk, poorly, yolk, rip, pork, troll, bitch, ploy, polo, rollback, crab, cobra, picky, crook, lock, pock, pill, clot, toil, crypt, cry, ballyhoo, abhor, tribal, chop, Cyril, hob, blot, ill, and BLT."

"Bromide words," he sneered satirically.

"I've got some nice words, too!" Holly insisted. "Like... 'cocoa,' 'comfy,' and--uh... 'sudsy'." Draco rolled his eyes and she grimaced. "One of the phrases I found was 'I sold my rod.' And if you had an extra 'Y' and an extra 'D' you could make, 'Solidify my rod.' Or 'Ossify my rod.' Same thing."

"That one would ignite a party game," he drawled with an amusement privation.

"How about... 'I'm yours'?"

Holly looked up at him and he smirked, watching her indifferent expression change slowly into one of anxiousness. Draco smiled as genuinely as he could, teeth and all, and affirmed, "I know."

She recovered and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "...continuing our Ballroom Hour is Les Fantômes with Le Trot de Renard."

Perfect. "D'ya know how to foxtrot?" he asked. Holly shook her head. He stood up, crossed the room, and held his hand out to her. "Le Trot de Renard is long enough for you to learn it before it ends." He looked at her in suasion.

Holly stood, not touching his hand, and said, "Prove it."

Draco motioned for the open section of his dormitory at the foot of his four-poster. She walked there, and he stood in front of her. "Stay upright. Now, you might want to look at your feet the first time around--but in public, don't do that. You look at me." Holly did, and the dual-colored gaze was challenging. "The time in this song is a normal fox trot pattern--slw, slow, quick-quick--that's used in the progressive moves. Slow, quick-quick is in the box step--I'll show you that bit, too."

"Okay, whatever," she said.

"Patience!" he said in a palliating manner. "Now when I say 'step,' I want you to take one step backward starting with your right foot. Don't close your feet." He waited to be on time with the music before he said, "Step." She moved her right foot back, and he moved his left forward. "Step." Her left foot went back and his right went forward. "Step-step.

"You've got the pattern," he said. "Now, instead of two quick steps backward at the end, I want you to move your right foot over on beat five and scoot your left foot in on beat six. Back into closed position. Ready?" She nodded. "Step. Step. Step-slide." She went to her right, and he went to his left. They remained a foot apart, nearly face to face.

"Good," he breathed. "Now it gets tricky. Step back." She did, with her right foot. He moved with her, his left covering the space where her right just was. "That stays there for two beats. On beat three I want you to think about your left foot again, and on four to turn it outward." She did so, and Draco copied the action on his right foot.

"Is this how Muggles do it?" she asked, her voice breaking the flow of his for the first time in a while.

He shrugged. "Beat five you swing your right foot out here, and on beat six you close your feet again." They were facing each other again. "Let's review." He found the beat and said, "From the beginning, ready?" Draco advanced on Holly, and she calmly backed away, defiantly refusing to look down at her feet. "Step. Step. Step-slide."

"Am I doing this right?"

"Yes! Yes, you are." She smirked a little. "We're supposed to hold hands, y'know, so I can lead correctly."

"I don't care."

"Fine. We'll avoid that, then."

She was a quick learner, which wasn't exactly proven by her attempts at following the dances of the Elves in her confused gamboling manner. "Step." She did, and Draco noticed that it was easier to do this with someone nearly his size. His mother had been his size when he learned the steps. He'd long outgrown that skin, and when he was forced to try the thing with Pansy Parkinson at the Yule Ball two years previous, he found that a much shorter partner was much more difficult to move with. With Holly, it was different. They were nearly commensurate. The arcs and lines of their legs fit each other much better, he noted, and finding her hand for the conversation step and cross over would be much easier, since it hung much closer to his than Pansy's had.

"Turn-swing-close." Their strides were even, and once more they stood face to face. He forced a simon-pure smile and inched his face a little closer to hers. "You're good at this."

"It's the easiest lesson I've had this year." Was she trying to say that his skills were useless, that the dance was easy, that he was an excellent teacher, or that she struggled in class? For an easy response he turned up his lips and 'hmm'ed.

"Promenade position," he announced, not wanting to ponder how every sentence she said managed to be ambiguous. "Now, for this next part you're going to need to touch me."

"Oh no." Was that indifference, sarcasm, or sincerity? Ugh.

"Right hand." She held it up, defeated. He took it in his left, holding it very lightly, and said, "Now wrap your other arm over the small of my back, or something."

"Don't touch my ass."

"I wasn't going to."

"Yes, you were."

"Don't disappoint yourself with the dream, pumpkin." She didn't look at him, but her eyes narrowed. "Now, take a little step with your right foot this way." He gently squeezed her right hand. She did so, and he moved out with his left foot. "Cross your left foot over your right." She did. "Swing out your right foot like you did last time and close with your left foot on beat six."

They were toe-to-toe. Holly turned her chin up just a fraction so her face and his was a mere inch apart. He deliberately licked his lips. The momentary mock of teetering on the edge of control was efficacious and made something spark in his partner's eyes--he couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement, because it was gone in a second. "Okay--" he said, lowering his voice and smoothing it out. "Let's try that." They moved back, he held their hands outward once more--hers was rather warm--and they stepped again. "Step. Cross. Swing-close. Perfect.

"Box step."

"I can do this. I go back first?"

"Yes. Then move to your left." They moved in a small box over the floor. Toe-to-toe again, Draco wondered off-handedly why they weren't stepping on each other's feet. You know, he thought, hers are probably the same size as mine. "Can you do a turning box step?"

"Nope."

"Do you want to stand on my feet the first time around, iris?"

"No, I'll crush them."

They did a turning box step with a show of less confusion and unschemetic movements from Holly than he'd expected. He held her hands to indicate which way to move for sidestepping. They finished with their right turn, and began to step at the beginning again.

By the time Holly had actually mastered the routine, adding shoulder jerks (not typical for the fox trot, but sexier, he'd told her) and hip movements in appropriate places, they were foxtrotting to the samba. When Östliches Küsteschwingen by Doppelgänger began playing on the WWN, Draco started Holly on the East Coast Swing.

"All right--move your right foot over half a step for beats one and two, then your left for three and four. There you are. Right foot back for five..."

Something pleasant was growing between them. It would have been more pleasant if Draco wasn't intending on debauching then destroying it.

*()%()*

Ginny asked, "How's your snow art progressing?" Luna's other snow-warlock was a round-edged, pyramid mocking amorphous mass a few meters away.

The blonde girl hummed pleasantly, not replying for a moment. Finally she said, "I've moved into abstraction." She scooted a step aside, and Ginny and Justin saw that her new snow-warlock was shaped something like a sack of potatoes with a round hole through the middle of it about as wide as two fists.

"Ah," said Justin. He and Ginny looked at one another with identical grins. They'd lapped the lake a couple times and, noticing Luna's black-clad form still on the grounds, went to check on her once more.

"This piece is about the inadequacy of traditional imagery and symbols to convey meaning in today's world," she explained nebulously. Ginny furrowed her brow as Luna continued, "By abandoning representationalism, I'm free to express myself with pure form. Specific interpretation gives way to a more visceral response."

From the corner of his mouth Justin muttered, "What's 'visceral' mean?"

"Related to the soft internal organs of the body or the intestines," Ginny whispered back. Justin's eyes widened and he looked over at her.

"Does it mean anything else?"

She deadpanned, "I sure hope so." Luna didn't seem to notice their murmuring--she was humming something that sounded oddly like an old Smooch song. On the 9^th Day or some such.

'Perceived in or as if in the viscera; profound,' Tom explained. 'Note that her oeuvre is monochromatic.'

"I notice your oeuvre is monochromatic," she remarked.

Luna stopped her humming and turned to look at her over her shoulder, a strand of wispy hair across her cheek. "Well, c'mon," she said, her dreamy tone losing a fraction of its mistiness, "it's just snow."

A few other students could be seen dotting the landscape, adopting the urge for a walk on the clear winter day. Over the mountains, however, Ginny could see dark clouds. Hopefully they didn't move their way.

--They would.

Justin commented, "I see your other sculpture melted."

"This time I'm taking advantage of my medium's impermanence."

"Oh, yeah?" said Ginny.

"This sculpture can be perceived as a work representing transience. As the figure melts, it invites the viewer to contemplate the evanescence of life." Luna stepped away from her abstract blob of snow and held up her arms, palms toward it. "This piece speaks to the horror of our own mortality!"

Nearby, two strolling figures had turned toward Luna, Justin, and Ginny. Ginny couldn't tell who they were, the sun was in her eyes, but she heard their voices.

"Oi, Loony! Bit warm to build a snow-warlock!"

"Our favorite preternatural ignoramus." Ravenclaws, maybe? "Ha, ha, ha, ha!"

"Look, Philistines in the West," Ginny remarked.

Luna sighed. "Genius is never understood in its own time."

Ginny and Justin started their stroll about the lake again. They moved slowly, each equally afraid of the embarrassment of slipping on the packed footpath that was sleek with fresh Christmas snow that had long since melted in the afternoon sun.

'Ask him, ask him...'

I don't want to ask him! she thought furiously. I know the truth.

'No, you're afraid of the truth, Ginny. You always have been. Ask and let reality shock take its toll.'

This conversation--or whatever it is--would be very creepy if we weren't talking about the chance of Justin being--y'know--Ginny sighed.

'Homosexual?'

Yeah.

'At least you admit that there's a chance.'

Well there's a chance that Harry or my brother might be--y'know-- she grimaced.

'Homosexual?'

Yeah. What year is it for you, Tom?

'1943.'

How are you so comfortable with the term--

'Homosexual?'

Ginny grinned, only a little. Yeah.

'I don't know. It doesn't evoke quite the same feelings as "Nazi" would.'

Nazi?

'Yeah. You know of them--right?'

Not really. Er--of course.

'...You don't.'

She scowled. Stop that whole... mind-reading thing.

'Well, when one lives in your head, it's sort of hard not to see what you're thinking.'

"Is something wrong?"

It took Ginny a junction to wake up from her involvement with Tom and see that Justin was speaking to her. She blinked stupidly a moment then said, "No, no everything's fine."

'Ask him.'

How?

She felt Tom's reply, bubbling within her. It skipped over the nerve endings between her brain, larynx, and mouth, then his words were rolling off her tongue. "Justin," she began, her stroll encountering a cessation. Ginny turned to the blond boy, naturally, feeling as if it were just one of those things, in all propriety, she had to do. "I've heard things about you, and I want to be pointed in a definite direction."

Justin furrowed his delicate brow and said, "Fire at me, honey!"

Again the words found her lips before she could think of them. "You're not--" she held the term back, but it was pushed out with the gradual ebb of speaking, "--gay, are you?"

'I thought "homosexual" may be too 1943 for you.'

You're doing this?

She felt Tom's smirk turning up the corners of her own mouth. She forced them back down. Justin had a slightly alarmed look on his face.

See--I told you he wasn't--

"...You didn't know?"

"Know what?" Ginny wished that Tom was still guiding her jargon--suddenly she sounded very stupid without him.

"That I was gay?"

Ginny felt her gradually falling faith come crashing down all at once. "So--you are?" He nodded. A new question sprung to her mind. "Doesn't that make your dormmates uncomfortable?"

"Are you kidding? They have no clue!" Ginny's eyebrows rose, as if she suddenly saw how incredibly well he compared to the stereotypical gay. "Hufflepuffs aren't exactly celebrated for their IQ, darling."

"Hm." Ginny continued pulling apart the pieces of the enigma one by one. "What's with all the girls frolicking around you all the time, then?"

"I'm their gay mascot, or something." Justin shrugged. "I'm like a champagne grape to those fruit flies. And I can French braid like you've never seen."

The disappointment wasn't wearing off, but suddenly Ginny saw that she held a lot of valuable keys now that she'd acquired Justin as a friend. "I guess I've been pretty oblivious to stuff for a long time, then." She blushed.

"Oh, no, honey, you're not the only one! Do you know Ella Midgen?"

"Ohh, that poor girl that used to have horrible acne?"

"Mmm," Justin confirmed gravely. "Her name's actually Elliot."

"Her name's Elliot?" Ginny asked, suddenly losing track of the conversation. "I thought her real name was Eloise! Hm... Elliot sure is a strange name for a girl..."

They began walking again. "Oh, darling, let me explain--his name is Elliot. Most people don't' know that."

"What d'ya mean 'his' name is--" Ginny's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Oh. Huh. I guess Holly really is the tallest girl I know, then."

"And can you believe Ella has six-inch plats to add to that height? Really inconspicuous. Drag queens..." Justin rolled his eyes. "She's amazing with hair-removal charms, though. And her manicurist in Hogsmeade is superb--I went there once to see for myself. It was such a treat..."

I'm blind. I'm completely freaking blind.

'Y-'

Shut up, Tom.

*()%()*

Holly knocked on the fifth years' door and opened it to Ginny's answer from within. She poked her head inside. "No Justin?"

"Nope." Ginny smiled, just a little. "Why, are you naked?"

"No--just checking." Holly walked into the dormitory, Roux just behind.

There was a pause as Holly looked at poster of the Holyhead Harpies near Ginny's bed whilst the younger girl took a deep, calming breath. "You were right," she murmured.

Holly pulled herself out of a heightening daze. "Huh?"

"Justin's--y'know..."

"Homosexual?"

"Why is everyone so comfortable with that term?!" Ginny demanded as Holly sunk into Kylie's beanbag near the fire. The other girl shrugged. "Anyway--yes. He is."

Holly gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"Oh, stop pretending," groaned Ginny. "I feel like a blockhead already."

"You're right," she sighed, "if he were any lighter in his loafers he'd be Hermes." Ginny frowned. "Well, there's always hope. He might be straight in a parallel universe, right?!" She smiled cheerfully, hitting Ginny lightly on the arm with the back of her hand in an encouraging fashion.

"Shut it, you, there's no need for your cocky impulses within twenty four hours of Jesus' birthday." Ginny sat next to her on the floor.

"Sorry." Holly's lips twitched.

"I did find out some interesting information, however," Ginny said, grinning mischievously.

"Ooh! Cough it up!" Holly leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Only if you swear not to intervene in my relationships--ever--again," Ginny said.

"Wha--wha--are you nuts?" Ginny raised her eyebrows smartly. "You were falling in love with a queer guy!"

"I don't care."

"You would've cared when he came out to you!"

"Look--just--try not to stir the waters too much, will you?" Ginny suggested, beat down by Holly's none-too-shrewd debating skills.

"But--I'm that girl who puts soul mates together, makes things happen, and creates happiness in people's lives!" Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm the girl who--"

"You've already chosen someone new for me, haven't you?" Ginny interjected.

"--yes, I have." Holly looked at her so seriously that it was almost mocking.

Ginny wanted to demand, "Who? Why him? What do you have in store?" and then stoutly refuse to allow Holly to go through with it. Instead, she saved herself the trouble by closing her eyes and sighing, "Have at it, then."

"Great." Holly situated herself differently in the beanbag. "So--what did Finch-Fletchley tell you, then?"

Ginny had just opened her mouth to start telling Holly about all the hidden cross-dressers and homosexuals spotted about Hogwarts when there were a series of loud th-thumps from the other side of the room.

They stood as one, looking for the source of the noise. Ginny spotted two raven-topped heads in an uncomfortable tangle on the floor, and recognized--with a horrified cold washing over her like she walked through a ghost--the cruel voice of one of the intruders.

"Ugh," groaned the cold, familiar voice. "Get off me, you cow--you smell horrible."

"Well is it my fucking fault that you two left me on a pirate ship for a week?" hissed the other person.

"We went through hell and back to get ourselves back on that pirate ship. We attended bits and pieces of the Chinese civil war, were mobbed by American girls screaming over a plague of beetles or some nonsense, and were electrocuted by holding onto Ben Franklin's bloody kite. I was nearly guillotined for treason in the French Revolution!" They scuffled on the floor. "It took us less than twelve hours to get back to your little pirate ship--be glad we didn't find you a year after we left you!"

The girl with wild black hair growled and threw the boy beneath her, clutching his throat and kneeling on his arms. "I've had it up to here with you, Riddle!" she roared.

Holly and Ginny looked at each other in shock. Together they rushed toward the bodies, and Holly got behind the dark-haired girl and pulled her off Tom. Ginny looked down at him. He stared up at her, anything but surprised, his cool aqua eyes clashing sharply with his breathless red face. The color began to drain from it, though, and soon he said, "Well, hello there, Virginia."

Ginny shivered at the sound of his voice saying her name. It seemed to ring over any other sound in the room, slowly drifting to the walls and enveloping them.

She looked over at Holly and the girl she was contending with. The unknown girl put up quite a struggle--in fact, Ginny it appeared Holly had never had so much trouble containing someone else. That didn't make sense until Holly finally locked the girl's arms behind her and the girl snapped up her head, the dark hair falling away from her face. Ginny looked at her, and was paralyzed on the spot.

It was Holly.

She stopped struggling suddenly, turning very white, staring back at Ginny. What Holly was this? She had ebon hair that framed her face, which was smudged with the dirt and blood of fighting. So much like Sirius' when it was messy--it curled and waved this way and that after the length of it passed her ears. Her jeans were tattered in a none-too-fashionable way, T-shirt stained with all manner of things. Her blue eye, Ginny saw, had been colored black to match the other one. Her face was thin and she was pallid--sickly looking, almost. Beneath the fabric of her clothes was a body that had become far too thin for its frame. She looked older--much older, and stood redoubtably.

"Holly, let go of her!" Ginny said, looking at the lighter-haired Holly that she knew.

The Holly of the present did so. The other Holly yanked her arms forward and prowled away in a hurry. She looked at her restrainer and the present Holly gasped (the other just had a look of mild shock widen her eyes), and they moved another foot away from one another.

Tom had stood up--but it wasn't Tom anymore. It was Ginny. Contrary to the appearance of her friend, Ginny appeared to be quite young and healthy. Her fiery hair was very long, her freckles were still youthfully present, and her eyes were amber and bright. Her figure had finally filled in in all the right places, and she was wearing robes that, though dirty and torn in places, didn't appear to be previous property of one of her brothers or even bought second-hand. Her hair was tossed over her head and to one side, and though she appeared like she'd been through an ordeal (her hair looked slightly darkened with dirt and her earrings were flipped the wrong way) she was composed.

Ginny stared at her--or herself.

"I'm sorry about the whole trying to strangle you bit," said the intruding Holly, pushing tangled hair out of her face.

"I'm fine," the new Ginny said, lightly touching her neck.

Ginny cleared her throat and looked at her counterpart, who looked back. The other girl smiled vaguely at her, and Ginny questioned, "So--er--what're you doing here?" She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice was half an octave higher than typical.

"I remember this happening to us," the other Holly said suddenly. Ginny looked at her. She crossed her arms over her chest and scrunched up her shoulders. "Scared me shitless for a bit."

"What sort of things did we tell ourselves?" the other Ginny asked. Her companion shrugged.

"How old are you guys?" piped the present Holly, finally finding her voice.

"Eighteen," Ginny said.

"Twenty," continued Holly. Ginny looked sidelong at her and she added, "Almost."

"Barely," Ginny shot back.

That's it? thought Ginny, Nineteen years old?

Roux barked suddenly, launching himself forward from the corner of the room. The other Holly got to her knees and beckoned the pup forward. She scratched his belly when he lied down in front of her and turned himself onto his back. "I remember when you were that small."

"So... you didn't try to get here?" inquired the present Holly.

"Nope," the other Ginny responded, scratching Roux as well.

"So..." Ginny looked between the future Holly and her future self, "You were sent here?"

"Actually there's a bit of a momentous battle going on in 1999 that's thrown your Time-Turner all out of whack," Holly explained, straightening up.

"You have a Time-Turner?" asked the present Holly, looking at the present Ginny with wide eyes. "Or... not yet?"

"Um--" Her eyes flew between all the girls in the room.

"Look, she knows now, it doesn't make a difference," the other Holly informed her.

The present Holly shook it off. "So--who's fighting?"

"We... can't tell you," the other Ginny said, grimacing.

"Are you sure?"

"We don't want to ruin the surprise," replied the other Holly, a smile flitting momentarily across her face.

"We can tell them some things, though, can't we?"

"Just some friendly advice from the future," Holly shrugged, pushing a stray black hair from her brow. "Justin Finch-Fletchley?" Both the present girls nodded. "Yeah, don't go for him--he's gay as Liberace crossed with a clutch bag."

"She already knows that," the future Ginny snapped. "How about something useful... um..."

"Watch out for vampires," Holly informed them suddenly. "If you or one of your friends is bitten--just get to the nearest infirmary right away. No trying to be tough about it."

"I'm going to be a vampire?" Holly gasped, color draining from her face.

"No," the other Holly said, furrowing her brow and looking at her younger self with something like impatience.

"Stock up on saltine crackers before next year," the future Ginny suggested.

"Are one of us going to be pregnant?" inquired Ginny fearfully.

"Nah--but you'll be craving saltines all year if you don't have some handy," said Holly, throwing her comrade a warning look that wasn't quite as disguised as her lie. "If you're stealing things be very careful about it," she continued. "When Malfoy offers you things that you need, just take them." The other Holly paused and rolled her eyes as if she was annoyed. "It's best to just get it over with."

"And if he's got people watching you, don't believe him if he says he's just looking out for you. You know that's not the case, then you and you're friends are just going to wind up somewhere you don't want to be." The other Ginny glanced over at her comrade.

She glared daggers back. "That wasn't my fault," she said through her teeth.

Ginny threw her palms up at her friend and looked somewhere in the region of Holly's knees.

"Listen to Dumbledore, he's--never--wrong," enunciated the future Holly, tearing her eyes away from her partner in crime.

"Hey, this thing's ready to go...." The future Ginny lifted a glittering Time-Turner from the folds of her robes. It was the same one that Ginny herself had found in the pocket of her cloak only a few days before, of course. It was glowing slightly, and it shuddered in her hand. She threw the chain over the other girl's head. "Maybe we'll get where we need to be this time around."

Ginny looked at the two of them. Her brain was tingling with mild shock of seeing herself in three years and with confusion at all of the information she was just hit with. She hadn't registered one word of it, really.

"Anything else?" Holly asked the pair with the chain wrapped around their necks.

"Polyjuice Potion isn't that hard to make," the future Ginny told her, "so as soon as someone around here starts acting like someone else, don't confess any secrets to them until they've been turned right."

"Never trust anyone named Salome," Holly said. "Or Delilah, now that I think of it." That odd grin that lasted only a second flickered over her features again. Ginny wondered, What, can't she smile anymore? "And the keys to Sirius' old wardrobe are in the nearer left-side corner of the drawer of his nightstand," she said. "You'll love his Ramones shirt." She winked at her younger self.

Ginny looked at the two of them, taking in their image before she could forget. Ginny wasn't much taller. Tawny flecks of color in her amber eyes matched the smattering of fading freckles over her nose and cheeks. Under the grime, her ginger hair glowed the fieriest of reds, making her anything but inconspicuous. She looked down at the Time-Turner, brown eyelashes nearly blending in with her skin. Next to Holly, Ginny seemed to glow.

The elder Holly sighed loudly, casting her sable eyes around the dormitory. She ran the back of her hand over her brow and down the side of her face, wiping away a little of the dirt there. Ginny noticed how her shirt crimped and wrinkled over her torso because of the extra fabric that remained after she'd lost so much weight. Her frame was too wide for what little weight she retained. Why so thin? Holly's never been one to diet. She turned her head and Ginny examined her sharpened, hawk-like profile. Holly drew something out from her robes--a black thing Ginny had seen Muggle please-men carrying around London. She drew back a little lever on the back of it and it made a clicking noise.

The other Ginny advised, "You shouldn't do that, you might--"

"Hey--I might accidentally fire and hit Hitler on our way back to the eighteen hundreds and save six million Jews, okay?" She bent her arm up and pointed the barrel of the Muggle wand slightly outward. "Showing up in Salem, Massachusetts with a gun won't be quite as dangerous as showing up with a wand, will it?"

As the glowing of the Time-Turner increased, the elder Ginny lifted her hand to the instrument. Ginny just saw a sparkling diamond ring on her currently bare left ring finger that caught the light from the Time-Turner before the pair disappeared.

Holly and Ginny gazed at each other as Roux sat down in the spot that the two girls had just been, matching looks on their faces.

*()%()*

Ron had beaten Harry at chess--again. Hermione was studiously doing homework (or maybe she was using her spare time to write a tragic novel about house-elf enslavement, one couldn't be sure).

Harry sat back and declared, for once in his life, "I give up."

"Good."

Ron could just make out a voice coming through the thick stone wall, from the direction of the girls' dormitories.

"Birth control, Ho Chi Minh, Richard Nixon back again

Moonshot, Woodstock, Watergate, punk rock

"Begin Reagan, Palestine, terror on the airline

Ayatollah's in Iran, Russians in Afghanistan"

The dormitory door swung open and Holly walked into the common room.

"Where've you been?" demanded Harry. "I haven't seen you since last night."

It was the first time Ron had seen her all day, as well. She looked a little flustered and thrown together. Her hair was pulled back bumpily, and at the back of her head was an untidy bun. Her long-sleeved tee depicting a wavy-haired woman clutching a microphone was wrinkled, her jeans faded, and her faux-suede, powder blue trainers appeared to finally have acquired a spot or two.

"I haven't seen you either," she said shrewdly.

"I've been in the common room half the day," Harry told her.

"Not all day." She started to walk in the direction of the portrait hole.

"Where are you going?" Ron asked, trying not to sound accusatory. When he saw Hermione's head snap in his direction, he knew he should have attempted that tone.

Holly stopped, her eyes straying over Hermione and then to him. She was about to answer when Hermione added, "You're off to see Malfoy again, aren't you?"

Holly's eyes lingered on Ron's for a moment too long. He could see reasoning and comprehension in them--but what was it that she understood? "I'm not that easy to read, am I?" Her eyes finally left Ron's and met Hermione's.

"What do you mean?" There was something in Hermione's voice that didn't at all indicate that she was asking a question.

Holly smirked frigidly, her eyes alive with restrained malice. "I'm thinking about it right now--" her voice lowered, "why don't you listen in?"

Hermione glared resentfully at the girl, raising her chin.

"What are you on about?" Harry ventured to ask his god-sister.

Holly looked around at both he and Ron and said, "You mean she hasn't told you?" Harry and Ron glanced at Holly, then at each other, than finally their eyes rested on Hermione. Hermione didn't look back. Her walnut eyes were frozen solid, and fixed on Holly. "Why don't you let them in on it, Hermione?" Holly suggested. "There's nothing to be afraid of--it's only a secret you'd rather keep. We all have to let go sometime, though, don't we?"

Hermione's frustration was becoming apparent, as Ron felt the heat in the room build. Soon the floor would start trembling beneath him.

The girl was, instead of being flushed, becoming paler and paler. It was odd, but as she bit the insides of her cheeks and her skin lightened until she looked sickly--she appeared positively vampiric.

"I have nothing to tell," Hermione insisted, her voice shuddering.

"Oh really?" Holly momentarily gritted her teeth. "You seem quite prepared to lie to them about me. How does that work?" Hermione tensed. "Ginny thinks I'm pissed off just because you ratted on me to Sirius. And I'm the liar?" A rippling laugh escaped her. Ron was losing track of what was wrong. "I'm not th--"

"You're not the what? The little brat on her high horse?" Hermione clenched her thin hands into fists. "I'm afraid--you--are."

She attenuated her eyes. "I'm not the one who's been lying to everyone for the past few days, putting the wrong people on either side of this!" she exclaimed, color finally rising in her face.

Hermione got to her feet very quickly. Ron and Harry had been prepared for the girl to snap ever since she'd slapped Malfoy across the face three years before. They quickly scrambled out of their chairs to restrain her. She didn't move from the place she was standing, however. Hermione shrieked her apologia. "YOU'VE BEEN DOING THAT FOR YEARS!"

Holly's eyes widened to the size of Galleons. "WELL YOU'D KNOW ALL ABOUT THAT, WOULDN'T YOU?" She heaved a deep breath. "A whole fucking lot of information is open to you, now, isn't there?"

The smaller girl fell silent, shoulders heaving. "What does she mean, Hermione?" Harry asked timidly, looking sidelong at his friend.

Again, Hermione didn't answer, she simply glared daggers at the other girl. The room's temperature continued to rise; it wouldn't be long before Ron began to sweat. The question hung on the air, seeming to echo off the walls.

"Hermione?" The girl finally turned to look at her two comrades, eyes burning with a mixture of frustration and fear. No sound escaped her.

Holly had waited long enough. She took the liberty to reply to the inquiry. "SHE'S A MIND-READER!" she howled, finally dropping her pallid shade for a new one. "SHE'S the reason I was strapped to a bed in St. Mungo's with people talking sweet to me like I was going to SNAP!"