It all came to a head on Christmas Eve. Wizards and witches all over the world would look at that as being some sort of "poetic justice." Ballads and epics would be written about it. For the thirteen people at the Burrow that year, there was nothing poetic. Just a flash of light, and then chaos.

It seemed like every Christmas since Ginny had left Hogwarts 7 years ago. All of them, with the exception of Charlie, gathered around the fireplace at the Weasley's, sipping hot buttered rum around the fire. Charlie was observing dragons in Norway as he usually did during the winter months. They talked about those who had fallen and about those who had shown their true colors. They never talked about who was next. It was too painful to guess, much too terrible to be wrong about it, even worse to be right. If there was one thing the wizarding community had learned in the past 11 years, it was that You-Know-Who was unpredictable at best. With his return to power had come death, and terror. Thousands of witches and wizards had thought that Harry Potter would save them. Thousands were wrong.

They hadn't known that then, though, and had just continued with Christmas as they always had. Mrs. Weasley had started on her tirade earlier than expected this year, so all were on a bit on edge.

"Honestly Bill. If you'd just let me trim it a bit," she began at the dinner table. Bill, who had heard this line quite enough just rolled his eyes and came back with his old stand-by about the goblins not particularly caring how long his hair was. Fred and George began to laugh, and Neville began to look nervous. Generally the more the twins laughed, the longer he spent as some sort of creature.

"This is no laughing matter!" Mrs. Weasley continued. "For Pete's sake, I've got seven grown children, and not a single grandchild in the bunch! It took years to get Fred and George serious enough to marry their girlfriends, and I've just about given up hope on Ron."

Ron began to look a little pink. His life as a confirmed bachelor had irked Mrs. Weasley terribly, but he wasn't about to give it up for her. He stared at the wall, hoping that if he was unresponsive the tirade might pass to Ginny or back to one of the others.

"-And it's in all the papers. I overheard the Patils when you're father took me to that nice restaurant for my birthday," she began to mimic Mrs. Patil's rather nasal inflection. "'Honestly, dear! I can't see how Molly'd be daft enough not to notice her own son was having a relationship with a full-fledged veela!'"

Her voice rose in both pitch and decibel. Pretty soon the whole thing had Mrs. Weasley so worked up that she'd stormed off to the attic. To Ginny it seemed her mother rather liked the attic, considering she spent so much time there.

"It seems the ghoul will have good company tonight," Mr. Weasley muttered. "I'm off to bed, see that you try not to anger her too much tomorrow, all right?"

The group nodded their assent as a whole. Mr. Weasley tired easily these days, his job at the ministry had taken its toll. He'd retired years ago, with full benefits, due to a nasty little incident with a Death Eater while the ministry had been building the new prison. Dumbledore had been right. The dementors had allied with You-Know-Who in a heartbeat, and a new prison was built, one where the dementors would never serve.

They sat in silence for awhile. Angelina was sitting on the arm of Fred's chair, one arm about his neck, the other playing with his hair. Her brother, who was usually planning something to harass Percy or Neville, was looking up at his wife with an incredibly goofy grin on his face. He absolutely radiated contentment, much like a cat sitting on a warm hearth. Ginny envied him. He was absolutely sure of his love for Angelina and her love for him. Ginny wanted that certainty. She wanted to know if she was supposed to settle down and get married to Neville, wanted to know that when she opened the present she knew she was getting tomorrow, she would say "yes." That certainty was just out of her reach though. She knew Neville loved her with all his heart, knew that he'd do anything in his power just to please her. Unfortunately, she also knew that in her heart she saw Neville as much more of a friend than a husband, much more of a confidante than a lover.

"I daresay Dumbledore will appoint someone soon. He can't be both honorary Minister and Headmaster for very long, not now that McGonagall's gone," Percy began, snapping Ginny out of her contemplative revelry.

"Perce," Ginny cut in. "She's not really gone, just different."

"Well, I'd have to say that she can't run Hogwarts if she's stuck as a cat, now can she?"

Minerva McGonagall had been a permanent cat for a few months now. There was supposedly no cure for the curse, which had left her stuck in her animagus form. She lived in Ginny's flat in the residential area of Diagon Alley, and seemed to have adjusted quite nicely. When Fudge had stepped down as Minister, Dumbledore had been offered the title. He'd rejected it, but agreed to act as Minister until the new year dawned, and a new Minister could be appointed. Percy was in a position of great power at the Ministry, head of International Magic Relations, and seen by many as having both the drive and the power to become Minister. Ginny was completely opposed to the idea, because as head of Magical Games and Sports, she wasn't exactly keen on the idea of Percy being her superior.

There was a sound from the wall clock as 13 hands rotated. Before, the hands had merely indicated that all were "home." Now they read "mortal peril."

Neville squealed as a great blast came from the kitchen. All of them watched as Death Eaters swarmed in, encircling the twelve in the living room. A hush overcame the room as their master entered. Voldemort looked quite pleased with himself.

Harry began to stand pulling his wand out, to protect his friends, the people he'd come to know as family. It wasn't quick enough. Before anyone could fully comprehend what was happening, Harry was laying against the stone tile on the hearth, his wand in Voldemort's hand, and a trickle of blood creeping from the corner of his mouth.

He was wakened seconds later by Voldemort. He was bound hand and foot to one of the armchairs, and he noticed that each of the Death Eaters was now holding two wands. He knew then that it was hopeless. They were all trapped here, without wands, without hope of escape, and they were going to die, unless something miraculous happened. Maybe he could save the others.

"Let them go Voldemort," he growled in what he hoped was a menacing tone.

The monster tilted its head, and looked at him more closely. There was a gleam in his eye, a shine that proudly proclaimed that he knew something Harry did not.

"Tell me boy," he said in a mocking tone. "Does it always have to be about you? Perhaps I am not here tonight to dispose of you, but one of the others. Although with the death of a Potter there always comes a bonus..." He smiled. "You have your mother's eyes, and your father's sense of self-importance. I wonder if that's such a good thing."

He turned to look at the others, huddled together against the far wall. He seemed to be searching for something. His snakelike eyes narrowed on Neville.

"Well, hello there. Fancy meeting you at the Weasleys' of all places," Voldemort said in mock surprise. Then he resumed on a more serious note. "The reward on the information you carry is quite high Neville. I daresay you've tried you're best to be a good Secret Keeper, to make mummy and daddy proud. But I don't suppose anything could do that. Word is they can't even recognize you. I suppose that's rather fortunate though, seeing as you've messed everything up. Pity you'll make a mess of this, too. When word comes that you've gotten the last of the Potters killed by your ignorance, along with all of the Weasleys, well, I can't possibly imagine you having a reputation as good as Sirius Black's after all this."

Neville stiffened visibly at the mention of his parents. He, like Harry, owed his orphaned
existence to Voldemort. In Neville's case however, he lived with the torment that his parents were mad, rather than dead. In fact, his parents had been getting steadily worse the past few years, leaving both Neville and Ginny to wonder if they wouldn't just be better off dead.

"No one will think that. They'll know I tried to save them," countered Neville. "I may not be a very good wizard, I'll give you that. But I wanted them to live, and that's all that counts."

Ginny stood, and stepped out in front of Neville, her posture exuding defiance. "He's a good person, Voldemort, and it's a great deal more important than being a
good wizard."

A gasp erupted from the Death Eaters. No one stood up to Voldemort. The last minutes of life Voldemort left you with were full of pleading, and begging. That was just the way things were done. And little Ginny Weasley, who at twenty-five still had a little button nose, had dared to utter his name.

Then Percy stood, his voice striking out into the silence that had fallen. "You dare to disrupt Christmas at the future minister of Magic's home?"

This time they all gasped. George slapped his forehead in a physical manifestation of what they all were thinking. How, exactly, had Percy's ego gotten so big that he would annoy Voldemort? While it was an outstanding show and a good bit of hubris, it didn't have quite the effect Percy had hoped.

Voldemort laughed. It was the most terrifying sound any of them had ever heard. "You are an amusing bunch, to be sure. But I grow weary of this. Lucius, you may play with Neville as you like. Perhaps he shall reveal his little secret to us. Take him out to the backyard, perhaps the garden gnomes would like to play, too."

One of the Death Eaters came forward, and lead Neville to the backyard. Percy was standing to the side of the room, cowering in the corner by the dustbin. Voldemort raised his wand, as Percy straightened.

None of them could quite remember what happened next, only that Percy was suddenly holding a wand, and none of them knew why. Then that the words Avada Kevadra were uttered by two people. And when the ashes cleared, one lay dead amongst the scraps of paper from presents that had been destroyed in the blast, and one lay dead in the yard, with only the garden gnomes for company. When the death toll was finally counted, it totaled ten. Owls covered the sky like a great canopy, giving forth the news: 10 dead, and Harry Potter hadn't saved a one of them.