Minister of Magic Percy Weasley leant back in his office chair and groaned. It was almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and instead of spending the day with his wife and children, he'd been sitting here doing nothing but moving papers from one pile to another.
The clock on the wall behind him let out a tentative chime, pointing towards "Why are you still here?". Percy couldn't help wondering the same thing.
A nearby squeak caught his attention, and he frowned, puzzled. The Ministry had wards against vermin which were checked every day. And after their experiences with Peter Pettigrew – the literal rat – then they'd been adjusted to include Animagi.
The noise sounded again, and Percy got up to investigate it.
It appeared to be coming from a bookcase on his left, from one of the shelves closer to the ceiling. He'd need a ladder to reach it. After an incident involving two secretaries, the junior minister for Protection from Muggles, an escaped Bludger and a full teapot of boiling tea, levitation spells – of any sort – were banned from use on Ministry premises.
Ten minutes and three offices later, Percy was setting the ladder against the bookcase, where the squeaks were growing more frequent, if no louder.
Climbing up, Percy began gingerly moving items, trying to avoid getting them out of order or blowing them up. Previous ministers had been paranoid enough to rival Mad-Eye Moody on a good day.
Finally, in the far corner, he spotted a little tin mouse, with tinsel wrapped around its neck and a little santa hat perched jauntily over one ear.
Even as he gaped at it, its nose twitched and it let out another squeak.
Cautiously, Percy ran his wand over it, looking for hidden jinxes and curses. Only once he was certain – half an hour and 20 squeaks later – that it was clean did he gingerly reach for it.
As soon as his fingers brushed it, there was a brief tingle of magic, and the mouse exploded upwards. Percy jerked backwards and almost fell off the ladder as red and gold fireworks coalesced into a Gryffindor lion, still wearing the tinsel and santa hat.
Then his breath caught in his throat as another banner popped into existence above the lion. "Merry Christmas from Weasley Wizard Wheezes!". Beside it was an image of Percy's younger brother, George, and his twin, Fred.
Fred had been killed in the final battle against Voldemort, and to see his image all these years later, young, innocent, grinning mischievously . . . His youngest daughter was older than Fred had been . . .
Percy slumped against the bookshelf as tears slowly began to roll down his cheeks. The twins in the image grinned at him as he reached out to gently brush a fingertip over Fred's image.
"We miss you, Fred," he murmured, almost to himself. "George is living his life, but you can tell he's not whole. At least Harry survived. It wasn't in vain, little brother. You didn't die for nothing."
The clock on the wall behind his desk chimed more urgently, and Percy realised he'd been staring at his brother's image for over an hour. He hurriedly slid down the ladder, resolving to return it tomorrow.
With a last brief glance, he collected his outer robes and hat and left the office.
Once they were sure he wasn't coming back, the twins in the image turned to each other and exchanged high fives.
"Mischief managed, Forge?" asked one.
"Mischief managed, Gred," answered the other.
With matching cheeky grins, the image dwindled to a small dot and then winked out of existence.