November turned into December in a wave of snow and good-cheer. Even the professors seemed to look forward to the break from classes. One day Harriet and Hermione came down to the Common Room and found someone had charmed the Gryffindor bedsheet lion into a Santa hat. It jingled now when you prodded with a wand, and roared if you bowed or curtsied at it.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, when she tried to pull it down and learned about the existence of Permanent Sticking Charms. "What if Professor McGonagall sees this?"

"She'll think it's funny," Lee said, from where he was sitting in the window sill. His tarantula, Rosie, was trying to juggle several tiny silver bells, and tossed one at his head when he turned away from her. "Hey!"

That, Hermione did laugh at. They were still giggling when they shoved their way through the people in the Common Room and headed towards the library. It was their last chance to research—the train taking all the students home for the holidays was leaving tomorrow morning.

Harriet had been very careful not to say anything about having to stay behind; Ron had confided in her that he and his brothers were also staying, and he had told her in a whisper that Neville was remaining as well. This, Harriet felt, was all the companionship she could possibly need.

Millicent and Sally-Anne were already there. Sally-Anne was as peaceable as usual, but Millicent looked like she had swallowed a storm cloud. "You tell them," she said in a furious whisper as Hermione and Harriet sat down and stowed their bags at their feet.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. "Did you find something?"

"No," Millicent said, scowling. "But she's ruined Christmas."

Harriet cast an exaggerated look around. "You didn't tell her about Father Christmas not being r-e-a-l, did you?" she whispered. Millicent reached a long arm across the table and thumped Harriet.

"She's bloody signed herself up to stay here!" Millicent hissed. "When any one of us would have taken her home!"

Hermione frowned. "Oh, Sally-Anne," she said. "You didn't! Oh, maybe it's not too late. We'll go talk to Professor Sprout right now!"

Harriet, feeling vaguely uncomfortable, offered Sally-Anne a grin. "It's not too bad," she said easily. "I'll be here to keep her company, won't I?"

Sally-Anne glowed. But Millicent and Hermione only looked angrier. "I ought to have known," Hermione said. "You were really leaving your packing to the last minute."

"Well, so have I," Millicent said crossly. "And I'm going to be on that train tomorrow. But if you'd just told me—"

"I didn't want to bother anyone," Sally-Anne said.

"Tonks, I can stand," Millicent went on. "Those Ministry men never would have let her go. But Hufflepuffs don't stay during the holidays. Sally-Anne's breaking a hundred year tradition. She'll be the only one in her bloody House. Sprout was damn near in tears over it."

"Are you really going to be alone?" Harriet asked.

Sally-Anne nodded. "I didn't want to tell anyone," she said softly. "My mummy asked me to stay—she's still in New York. They're having all kinds of trouble with the Nutcracker sets, and need her there. But it's alright, Milly," she said sweetly. "Harriet's staying, too. We'll keep each other company."

"We can do one more than that," Harriet said cheerfully. "If Hermione doesn't mind you using her bed, you can come bunk up in the Tower with me."

Hermione and Millicent brightened. "Oh, yes," Hermione cried. "We'll make her an honorary Gryffindor! Then no one's breaking any traditions."

"But doesn't it get awfully cold up there?" Sally-Anne asked. She was trying to hide behind her hands, but couldn't disguise how pleased she looked.

"We've got the best fires in the whole school," Harriet told her. "You'll wake up sweating. Please, Sally-Anne? I'm the only girl in the whole House staying this year."

Sally-Anne fidgeted. "Oh, alright," she said at last. "We had better go ask Professor Sprout and McGonagall if I may, though."

"They're still in the hall," Millicent said. "They're decorating it. I'll run and ask them." She shoved her chair away with a loud scrape and took off pounding out the door. Madame Pince looked up with a sharp expression, and started to come over.

"Come on," Harriet said, grabbing her bag up. "We'd better go too."

The entrance to the Great Hall was now capped with enormous fir trees. The air smelled like snow, and fir tree, and something sharp and bright. Hermione, peering through the doors, said, "You'd better take that Hufflepuff tie off."

"Here, take my tie," Harriet said cheerfully. "I hate wearing it. There, now we just need a Sorting Hat!"

Sally-Anne pulled the tie over her head. "It feels awfully weird," she told them, and ran a finger across the golden lion at the bottom of the tie. "And lions are awfully scary—that's why I didn't want Gryffindor in the first place."

"We'll all be nice lions," Harriet told her. She peered around Hermione's shoulder—the professors and Millicent were standing near one of the enormous, undecorated trees. "Look, Millicent's already talking to the professors. We'd better go in, they look happy now."

Professor McGonagall was smiling faintly when they got there. Professor Sprout was beaming. "What a novel idea," she told Millicent. "Yes, I believe that would work. Sally-Anne, my dear, your friend says you want to be a lion for the holidays?"

Sally-Anne flushed red from the attention. "Please," she managed.

"Well, if Professor McGonagall has no objections—"

Professor McGonagall removed her tall witch's hat in a swift move and put it on Sally-Anne's head. With a wave of her wand, a mouth opened in the middle and announced, "Gryffindor!"

"I will always welcome another well-braved cub," Professor McGonagall said as she took her hat back. "Miss Perks may set aside some of her clothes and the elves will bring them up to the Tower. In fact, Pomona, if you would like to trade—" They turned away, toward the trees again.

Harriet clapped enthusiastically. Even Millicent seemed cheered, despite the reflexive wince. "That's settled," she said happily. "Now I won't have to worry about either of you going spare while we're gone."

"We'll just drive each other spare," Harriet said and slung an arm around Sally-Anne's shoulders. "Look, Sally-Anne, come up to the Tower tomorrow after everyone's left, and I'll show you around. It's really crowded right now. Everyone's trying to finish all their Christmas presents."

"Alright," Sally-Anne said gratefully. "Only what are we going to do now?"

"Not the library," Millicent said at once. "I'm going to go three weeks without seeing any of you—I'm not spending our last day together reading books."

Hermione harrumphed.

"Come on," Millicent said. "You can't tell me you really want to go look through thousand year old books written on pieces of maybe-human skin."

That discover hadn't gone over well with any of them. harriet shuddered remembering; she'd spent half an hour in the haunted loo, scrubbing her hands aggressively.

"Well, no," Hermione said.

"Then it's settled. We have to do something fun."

"My dears," Professor Sprout said over her shoulder to them, interrupting PRofessor McGonagall. "There's a skating party going down to the lake. Why don't you go with them?"

"But the decorations!" Sally-Anne said. "Milly, didn't you say you wanted to come down and help the professors?"

Professor McGonagall, who was now trimming the tree with tinsel, said dryly, "I was told there would be a bonfire, Miss Bulstrode. Your Head of House mentioned you had an affinity?"

Millicent went all over red. "We'll come back for dinner," she told Sally-Anne. "Look at all the decorations and things. It will be ready by then, right, Professors?"

Now Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout were growing enormous golden and silver bobbles out of the ends of their wand, and sending them flying to rest on the branches.

"Hopefully," Professor McGonagall said, and gave the tip of her wand a spin, which turned her bauble clear with golden sparkles. "There's a better chance of it if you leave us be, Miss Bulstrode."

"Well," Hermione said. "That's settled then. I'll run up and get my skates and Ron's, since Harriet's already got her coat on. Harriet, do you want me to take your bag? No? Alright." She disappeared out the doors.

"Let's go, Perks," Millicent said, and steered Sally-Anne towards the dungeon.

"I'll just stay here then," Harriet said to nobody, feeling put out. It wasn't her fault she was cold all the time, she thought. She hoped Hermione brought her back a scarf.

The professors were busy, so she skulked around the farthest of the empty trees, and took a look around. No one was watching.

"Convenusto," she said in a whisper, moving her wand in a widdershins circle and giving two even flicks.

A delicately frosted glass ball emerged from the tip of her wand, and with her hand shaking, she set it on a branch, where it hung lightly.

When it didn't shatter into sparkles, or disappear in a flash, or fade back into nothingness, she beamed. "Convenusto," she said again, and thought warm thoughts. This glass ball was a gleaming red. She put it next to the first one.

No one seemed to see her, or care. Harriet dug into her bag. It was still there, tucked in the middle of her Potions textbook. She flipped to the end, nearly the last page, and re-read it quickly.

was so pretty.

I liked the little pears Profesor Flitwick made the best. They reminded me of the tree at home. I wanted to ask if I could send one to Tuney, but I didn't know if her school would let her hang it up. They seem so strict there!

I'll bring one home next year, when we have the holidays together. But until then, I'm going to hang them all around my bed and the Common Room.

Convenusto Cumpiro, I think that's how Profesor Flitwick spelled it. A deasil circle with the wand at exactly chest height, and two flicks at the end, the first flick only a little bigger than the second. Neither flick should reach higher than your shoulder.

Harriet scrutinized the little drawing and put the book away very carefully. She'd been practicing all last night—but hadn't actually tried it. "Convenusto Cumpiro," she said, waving her wand carefully, and watched as a fat glass pear blossomed out the end to join the other ornaments. She made a second, then a third, each of them the same sweet and glowing gold.

She picked up the last one off its branch. It was cool when she picked it up, and firm and slick like glass.

Had her mum ever sent Aunt Petunia one of the pears? The diary ended at Christmas Eve. Harriet had torn through it after the Quidditch match, and now she was in agony over it. Four measley months of her mother's life wasn't nearly enough!

She wanted to know more! Did her mother get a good grade in Transfiguration, her worst subject? Did her Slytherin friend—Sevy—ever forgive her for going to Gryffindor? What about Dorcas, who was struggling with her wand work, or Mary, who was homesick, or Marlene, who was always getting into trouble for being smart. Did they all really have to serve detention on Christmas day for laughing at her impression of Professor Slughorn?

Something crashed down behind her. She fumbled with the pear, and nearly dropped it, whirling around to see—

An enormously tall man, the one who had guided them on the boats. He was adjusting a new tree, making sure it fit the stand. She was scrunching up nose, trying to remember his name, when he looked up. His eyes were friendly black beetles between his beard and his eyebrows.

"Alrigh' there, Harry?" he asked. "Sorry I startled yeh. Did'n want to say sumthin', yeh seemed pretty busy makin' ornaments."

"Um," Harriet said. "I'm—did you bring in all these trees?"

"Yeah," he said. "Cut 'em down, too. Now, lemme see." He gently took the pear from her numb fingers, and considered it before breaking out into a smile that seemed three miles long. "Lily were always good at these," he told Harriet, and handed the pear back carefully. "I don' think James ever managed more'n the round ones. Not for lack of tryin', yeh know. Just couldn' get the wand work righ'. They all exploded comin' out."

Harriet stared.

"Ah, Hagrid," Professor McGonagall called. "Excellent choices as always." Her shoes clicked as she came over. "Hagrid grows and cuts all the Christmas trees for the castle," she told Harriet.

"Tha's nothin'," Hagrid said. "Jus' the right compost and not too much water. Here, Harry, show the professor what yeh made. I reckon she's got her mum's touch, Professor McGonagall. Got tha' spell right off." He smiled at Harriet.

"Miss Tonks?" Professor McGonagall said.

Harriet was still holding the pear. She hung it back on the tree, fumbling, and gasped when it fell and shattered. "I've got to go—" she said desperately, and ran.

Outside the Great Doors, she huddled into her coat and wiped at her eyes. It was windy—when it shifted she could hear the laughter and screams from the lake, smell the smoke of the bonfire. She drifted toward them, and watched the brightly dressed skaters.

The doors creaked open again. It was Hagrid, Harriet knew. No one else shook the ground a little just by walking.

"Here now," he said, and offered her a ragged brown handkerchief. It smelled like hay when Harriet put her nose in it. "Did'n mean to upset yeh."

Harriet sniffled. "Sorry I ran away," she said damply. "I wasn't expecting, no one talks about them to me. Not really, not people who actually knew them. Did you really know my mum and dad? Or just—"

"Jus' hear about them? S'spect people 'ave been doin' that to yeh, pretendin'. Nah, we were mates. I knew yeh, too, when yeh were a baby." Hagrid put an enormous hand on her shoulder. "Made sumthin' for you, for Christmas and all. I was gonna wait, but I don' think there's anythin' wrong with yeh getting it early. Listen, tomorrow after everyone leaves, yeh come down to my house and we'll have tea. I'll tell yeh about yer parents and give yeh yer present. How's that?"

Harriet wiped her nose. "I'd like that," she said. Hagrid was smiling again, his teeth very white against his beard.

"I thought yeh would. Come down any time yeh like, I'll be there."

"Thank you," Harriet said. He'd known her as a baby? He was going to tell her about her parents! She hugged him, fiercely, and he put a hand on her head.

"Enough a' that," he told her, and rubbed her head very gently. Millicent and Hermione and Sally-Anne were running down the path. "Yeh run along now, go play with yer friends."

Harriet pulled away, face red, and saw how his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Alright," she said. "Bye, Hagrid."


There were carriages all lined up below the castle the next day after breakfast. Hermione and Millicent stared at them with some trepidation. "Something's got to be pulling them," Millicent said uneasily. "Something invisible. If they've got the ghost doing it and ours ends up with Peeves—"

"Oh, honestly, Millicent," Hermione said. "The ghosts can't leave the grounds. If you ever read something outside of romance novels—"

"Oh, honestly," Harriet said loudly. "I'm going to miss the two of you, if you ever actually leave."

Sally-Anne laughed. "That's really rude," she told Harriet.

"Hmm, let me try again," Harriet said. "Please leave, you're driving me barmy."

Millicent cackled. "I see how it is, Tonks," she said. "Just watch, the second we leave, you'll be weeping and wailing."

"Go!" Harriet said, and gave her a big shove. "Or the world may never know!"

Millicent cackled again, but climbed into the carriage. "Keep an eye on her, Perks," she called. "Too much crying can make you sick." Sally-Anne followed her, and kissed Millicent's cheek, saying something softly.

Hermione looked amused. She hugged Harriet fiercely. "I'll write," she said. "You two, try the library still, alright?"

Harriet hugged her back. "We'll have our nose to the grindstone," she said. "Have a good Christmas, 'Mione. And Bulstrode, I guess."

They were leaning out of the carriage, making faces at Harriet and Sally-Anne when the long line started moving. For a second, Harriet was scared Hermione would fall out, but Millicent reeled her back in by the back of her robes and slammed the little window shut on Hermione's dismayed shriek.

They stood there, waving goodbye, until the carriages had passed through the gates and started the long, winding climb to Hogsmeade station.

Sally-Anne was sniffling a little. "I'll miss them," she said to Harriet. "Oh, but I'm a little glad, too. Is that wicked? I couldn't hardly take any more of their talking about going home."

"Let's not talk about that, Harriet said, stamping feeling back into her cold feet. She agreed, as little as she wanted to mention it. "If I start crying, the tears will freeze and I'll have to scrape them off. Bet it'll get the first layer of skin, too."

Sally-Anne groaned. "That's disgusting," she said, and towed Harriet back towards the castle by her hand.

It wasn't at all hard to be merry once everyone had left, like Harriet thought it might have been. They raced back to the castle and startled a group of pigeons that were pecking around in front of the doors. They laughed when all the birds took off and tumbled head over tail in the harsh wind.

Hogwarts felt just as good now as it did when all the students were there—centuries of happiness were ground into the stones. "Did the elves bring your things up?" she asked Sally-Anne as the big doors clanged shut behind them.

"Yes, earlier. Almost all my winter clothes. I know you said the fire was very warm, but it's so windy!"

"You'll like it," Harriet said. "Come on, I bet Ron's got something toasting. He was talking all about that at breakfast."

Even the walk up to the Tower was cheerful; several portraits were caroling, and all the doorways were festooned with mistletoe and holly. There wasn't an awful silence, like Harriet had been afraid of. Their footsteps were part of a merry tune, instead.

The Fat Lady squinted at them when they approached. "That one's a Gryffindor?" she demanded.

"Gloria in excelsis," Harriet told her, and she swung open with a huff. She had to boost Sally-Anne over the side of the portrait hole because her shoes kept slipping, and they were flushed with the effort when tumbled into the empty Common Room.

"Oh!" Sally-Anne said, and turned around in a slow circle, eyes wide. "It's so pretty!"

Harriet looked around herself. The seventh-years had hung live fir branches in graceful arches, and floated brilliant twinkling lights just below the ceiling. At night, when all the lamps were out and the fire was burning down, they looked like far away stars.

Sally-Anne was laughing now—she had spotted the lion. "Here," Harriet said. "Do like me!"

She curtsied, and Sally-Anne copied her, much more gracefully. The lion roared obligingly and shook his hat so the bells rang.

"It's wonderful!" Sally-Anne cried. "Magical, and, and amazing! Oh, our Common Room is cozy, but it just looks like a house. This is part of a castle, you can tell."

Harriet beamed.

"Come up to the dorm," she told Sally-Anne. "It's the highest one—everything looks beautiful from up there. You can practically see Hogsmeade. Maybe we can watch the train leave!"

They went up the stairs, and Sally-Anne rushed to one of the windows. "It's almost as good as the Astronomy Tower," she told Harriet without looking away from the window. "It's wonderful."

"And look," Harriet said as she fell back onto her bed. "It's hardly cold at all."

The room as delightfully warm. The small fire flickering in the fireplace heated it enough that the skim of ice across the window had long melted away. Harriet rolled over across the crisp sheets and kicked her shoes off so they thumped across the floor.

"We should go down in a little bit," she said drowsily. "Have you ever toasted marshmallows or bread before?"

"No," Sally-Anne said. She'd taken down her hair, which Harriet hadn't ever seen before. It was sheeting across her cheek in pale gold waves. "I wasn't really allowed to eat sweets or bread a lot. I had to stay at dancing weight all the time, and the ballet master, Mister Chauvet, was really mean if you didn't. He didn't yell or anything, but he'd make us do these stretches—"

"Ugh," Harriet groaned. "Don't tell me anymore, my legs hurt just thinking about it. Anyways, it's brilliant. 'Specially when stuff burns. I'll show you."

"Oh," Sally-Anne cried. "Come quick, the train's leaving!"

Harriet scrambled up and joined her at the window. That brilliant crimson engine and the slick black cars were winding through the hills, south towards London. "They're definitely gone then," she said. "I'm a little glad."

Sally-Anne shot her a smile.

"Let's go down," Harriet said, smiling back. "I bet Ron's there, and probably Neville. Do you know Neville? You'll like him, he's maybe more shy than you are."

The boys were in the Common Room now, crowding on low wooden stools near the fireplace, laughing as they uncovered a basket from the kitchens.

"Harriet!" Ron cried. "Here, come join us. Fred and George got all this lot, but they didn't want any—they're going down to Hogsmeade and won't be back for ages."

There were other stools waiting. Harriet dropped onto one and pulled Sally-Anne down next to her. "This is Sally-Anne," she said easily. "Don't call her Sally, she's got a mean right hook. Here, Sally-Anne, this is Ron, and this is Neville."

"Hello," Neville said around an enormous piece of toast, his hand over his mouth. His jaw worked frantically, and he swallowed, and shook Sally-Anne's hand. He was nearly scarlet, but Harriet thought it was alright, Sally-Anne was red, too.

"Here, have a fork," Ron said and passed on over. "You, too, Harriet. We've got bread and marshmallows and muffins, and some sausages. Blimey, Fred'n'George got a bit of everything." He shook his head. "I don't know why the kitchen staff like them so much, they must raid the place twice a week."

Harriet bent over the basket. "There's pineapple," she gasped, and loaded up her fork at once.

She glanced over as she passed the basket, and saw Neville offering Sally-Anne a piece of toast. "It's good," she said as she nibbled it. "Thank you, Neville."

They were smiling at each other, tentatively. Neville was helping her pick something from the basket, now. Harriet stuck her fork in the fire and grinned.

"Go on with the joke then, Neville," Ron said after a few minutes. "Neville's been telling me jokes all day, because Fred and George told him I wet myself once laughing. Hasn't worked yet. He's funny, too."

"I don't know," Neville said and shot Harriet and Sally-Anne an anxious look. "I don't know if you'd like it."

"I love jokes," Harriet said, and put a piece of nearly black pineapple in her mouth. "Sally-Anne does too, or she wouldn't laugh at Millicent as much." She fended off the smack aimed at her with good cheer.

"Go on," Sally-Anne said encouragingly, settling down.

"Err, alright," Neville said. He drew himself up, and waving his toasting fork officiously, asked, "Why've ducks got webbed feet?"

Sally-Anne furrowed her brows. "I dunno," she said.

"To stamp out forest fires," Neville said. He paused for their laughter, and demanded, "Why've elephants got flat feet?"

"To stamp out forest fire!" Harriet said.

"To stamp out burning ducks," Neville told her with a straight face.

Ron started laughing, which rapidly turned into a wheeze. The bit of sausage had fallen off his fork into the fire, he was shaking so much. "Burning ducks!" he squeaked.

They laughed, at Ron and at the joke. Neville was smiling, very pleased, now. Harriet thought it looked loads nicer than his usual worried frown. "Do another," she said. "Go on. Ron's not wet himself yet."

"Hey!" Ron cried. And then, "No, my sausage!"

"Why did the first elephant fall out of the tree?" Neville asked.

"Why?" they all demanded.

"Because it was dead! Why'd the second elephant fall out of the tree?"

"Because it was glued to the first one!"

Harriet made the mistake of imagining it, and cackled helplessly into her hands. The elephant-ish expression of dismay—

"Why'd the third elephant fall out of the tree?"

"I don't know," Sally-Anne gasped. Harriet was glad, she couldn't answer and Ron was wheezing again, bent over his knees laughing silently.

"It thought the others were playing a game. Why did the tree fall down?"

"It wanted to be an elephant!"

It didn't make any sense; Harriet couldn't stop laughing. At Sally-Anne's expression when she realized there was no point to the joke, at Ron's silent shaking as he slid off his stool, and at Neville's pleased expression. She laughed so hard her sides ached.

And then were more jokes, and hot food, and only people she liked, who didn't stare at her or care who her parents were. It was a brilliant way to spend the afternoon.


At four o'clock, Harriet bundled herself up tightly in a sweater and her coat and scarf, slipped on her mittens, and made her way out onto the lawn. Sally-Anne and Ron and Neville were napping on the sofas of the Common Room, stuffed full of toast and the heavy mugs of hot chocolate that had shimmered onto the hearth around two.

Harriet had been too excited to sleep, and had curled into an arm-chair with Lily's journal, re-reading the last few pages. They were a little crinkled where she had fallen asleep on them the night before, and she straightened them out before she put the little book away.

This would be better, she thought. Learning about her mum and dad when they were grown-ups. She liked reading about her mum at eleven, but Lily Evans in her first year felt more like a friend, and less like a mum.

Hagrid's house was a small, squat wooden cabin near the tree line, the little brick chimney sending cheerful smoke into the air. There was a big furrow into snow banks from the hut to the castle, and Harriet hardly had to battle through any snow to get there. She knocked on the door eagerly, and jumped at the furious barrage of barks and the jingle of bells.

"Back Fang!" Hagrid cried. "Hang on a mo'! Fang, get back!"

The door creaked open a little. Hagrid's cheerful face appeared, and then something large and dark burst through the crack and knocked Harriet back onto the slushy ground. She cried out as her face was thoroughly washed.

Hagrid took the dog by its collar, the bells on it jingling furious, and pulled it off. "Yeh ought t' be ashamed of yerself," he told the dog and gave it a shake. "I told yeh to be a gentleman. Mind yer manners, Fang!"

The dog wagged furiously.

"Sorry about tha'," Hagrid said. "Here, lemme give yeh a hand."

It only took one hand, Harriet learned, for Hagrid to pick her up and set her on her feet. He dusted off the back of her coat, and said, "Hope yeh aren't afraid of dogs."

"I love them," Harriet said at once. "We've got a big, fat cat at home, but I've always wanted a dog." Fang was whining now as Harriet crouched and pet his head and rubbed his ears.

"Come in, come in," Hagrid told her, and herded her through the door. There was a cleared patch of floor—Harriet sat down and let Fang try to prove he was a lap-dog. He crammed his shoulders onto her lap, and Harriet giggled as his leg started thumping a scant second after she scratched his belly.

Hagrid didn't seem like the type of person to care if she was on the floor, like Harriet's mum might have. He just stepped over her and went to the fireplace, where a big copper kettle was hanging. "Water's almos' hot," he said as he poked at the fire. "Take a look around if yeh want."

The cabin was only one room, but a large room, and cheerful. It was a very cozy place to live, Harriet thought.

There were hams hanging from the ceiling, and bunches of herbs drying, which gave the place a faintly forest-y smell. There was a round table by the window, and a bench on one side with chairs on the other. One was a rocking chair with a ball of yarn and a set of needles left on the seat. A crowded wall of bookshelves nestled next to an enormous bed made neatly with a quilt.

"Here we go," Hagrid said as the kettle let out a piercing whistle. "Yeh'll be havin' a weak tea, o' course. Nah, don' get up. Yeh can drink it just as easy on th' floor. And don' make tha' face. Yer short enough as it is. I ain't given yeh sumthin' tha'll keep yeh from growin'."

Harriet took the teacup before Fang could stick his nose in it. "Were my mum and dad short?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Well, yer da was a shrimp right 'til he were thirteen or so. Yer mum was tall, tallest in her year. Went right up like a beansprout th' whole time she were here. Took yer da two whole years to catch up once he started growin'. He used t' come have tea with me and talk and laugh all abou' how he liked tall women, 'til she picked 'im up by th' collar one day, an' then suddenly it weren't so funny."

Harriet drank his words up. It was the best thing she had ever heard.

Hagrid was sitting in one of the chairs now, clanking his own soup-bowl sized cup on the table. "There's tha' smile," he said approvingly, eyes crinkling. "Yeh were always smilin' as a baby. Made yer mum crazy—yeh'd smile at thin air like it were the best thing yeh'd ever seen. I tol' her, weren't nothin' wrong with tha', yeh're jus' a happy baby."

"What did she say then?"

"Tha' she was leavin' yeh and yer da before yeh were a teenager. Said yeh were usin' up all her nerves before yeh were even a year old. But she were laughin' when she said it."

Fang was licking Harriet's hands now, whining softly. She put her teacup down and rubbed his ears until he was drooling. "She loved me," she told the dog almost absentmindedly.

"'Course she did," Hagrid said. "Her and yer da. Would have been proud of yeh, too. I never would 'ave heard th' end a' it, if they were still 'round. They would'a been terrible abou' it. Down a' my house every day, tellin' me this and tha'."

There was a comfortable silence. The fire crackled. Harriet drank her tea as Fang went to sleep in her lap, watching his slow slide onto the floor.

"Righ'," Hagrid said. "S'ppose I should give yeh yer present now." He got up and went over to the bookshelf and selected a book carefully. It had a blank leather spine on it. "Here, come on up to th' table. Don' want Fang droolin' on this."

Harriet scooted around the table and sat at the bench. She was eager, confused a little. She'd never gotten a Christmas present that wasn't from a Tonks before.

"Go on then," Hagrid said as he put the book down in front of her. "Give it a look."

The front cover was blank, too. Harriet opened it, carefully, and was glad she had left her teacup on the floor. She would have spilled it with the jerk she gave.

It was a boy, standing at the seashore. He was snot-nosed a little, grinning with his eyes squinted up, hair so messy it looked like a haystack. Her dad, her James-dad, no older than she was now. He waved frantically at her. If her hair had been shorter, her glasses rounder, they could have been twins.

And underneath it, a still photo, yellowed a little with age. A Muggle picture.

Harriet knew her at once, that long tumble of red hair and the enormous green eyes and the sly smile, like she had a wonderful secret and if you leaned in a little, she'd let you in, whisper it right in your ear. Her mum, just a little girl still.

"Tha' one were hard t' get," Hagrid said. "Had t' go 'round to yer aunt and uncle's place—think they gave them photos t' me jus' to get me t' leave."

Harriet sniffled. She couldn't speak; she'd burst into tears if she tried.

Hagrid seemed to understand. He rubbed the top of her head lightly. "It weren't no trial or nothin'," he said. "An' I figured, yer mum and dad wouldn' be havin' many photos. Lily an' James were friends with them Tonkses an' all, but they only knew 'em for a few years. So I wrote 'round t' the old crowd, askin' for pictures. I weren't much of a picture taker meself, an' I didn' wanna say nothin' 'til I had 'em."

"We didn't," Harriet said in a very small voice. It was hard to think. "Only, one or two."

"Well, yeh keep lookin', then, an' if yeh don' mind, I'll have a smoke."

Hagrid lit his pipe with a long match, and puffed agreeably at it. The warm smell of tobacco filled the room. It was like being on an alien planet, Harriet thought, sitting with a man who'd tell her anything she wanted to hear about her parents. Who gave her two lifetimes in pictures and wouldn't even accept a thank-you.

"Go on then," Hagrid said easily.

Harriet turned another page. Here was a wedding photo, her mum in an enormous poofy dress and her dad in slick black robes. They were smiling fit to burst, her dad looking at her mum like she was the best thing he'd ever seen and her mum blowing kisses.

"Dumbledore gave me tha' one," Hagrid said.

On the page opposite her mum was holding her! Baby Harriet opened enormous eyes, brilliant green like her mum's, and stared. And there was another woman, with her own baby. Her round, smiling face seemed familiar.

"Tha's yeh, yer mum, yer godmum, and her son. They had yeh both righ' in th' same room. Made visitin' real easy."

Harriet pulled her eyes away. "I thought my m—Andromeda was my godmother." She'd never asked—it seemed so obvious.

"Yeh can call her yer mum," Hagrid said easily. "It don' bother me none."

"My mum, then," Harriet said, wonderingly. "I thought she was my godmum. She, she's the one who raised me."

"Well, yer mums were friends," Hagrid said. "But Andromeda were yer mum's boss. It wouldn' been righ'. And anyways, with Alice an' yer mum givin' birth nearly on th' same day, she thought it were a bit of a sign."

"Alice," Harriet said. "Alice who? Who's, who's my godbrother?"

Hagrid puffed and sighed. "Shame they didn' tell yeh. Yeh know Neville? He's been down here more'n once or twice. Comes fer stories an' such, helps me in my garden. A good lad, yer godbrother."

Harriet stared at the picture, looking at the drooling face, the thin wisps of blond hair. A shame no one had told her? It was worse than a shame. "I always wanted a brother," she said. "And I suppose we've got a bit of a tradition, getting new siblings for Christmas."