(Nothing do I own that you knew before reading this fanfic.)

Chapter 8 The Return of Hope

"BOO!"

Screams erupted from the small hole by the rock, loud terrified screams. Peter clung to Lucy, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver were in the tightest embrace imaginable for neither could breathe, Ron and Harry seemed to be one person, while Susan and Hermione became one mangled glob. Mr. Winkle wasn't clinging to anyone; instead he had jumped nearly a mile high and came down with a soft thud.

"Oh dear," said the White Witch, only it didn't sound like her at all, not that the Hogwarts students knew what she sounded like. However, the voice was deep and cheerful, the sound coming from the gut and swirling around until it was made into music as soon as it escaped the lips and floated joyously into the world.

"You're not her," nearly screamed Mrs. Beaver hysterically, her eyes wide, her grip not loosening from around her husband's neck.

"Father Christmas!" Lucy shouted, jumping up and out of the hole.

"Heh," snorted Ron, "he does kinda look like garden gnomes, only fatter and much easier to look at."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"What?" asked Ron, "He does, disregarding the fact he bears gifts during the holidays of course."

"Of course it's me, who else would be chasing you throughout half of Narnia during winter?" Father Christmas snarled. "Why you guys still in that hole?"

The group filed out. Father Christmas walked over to his sleigh. There were nine reindeer hitched to the sleigh, the leader having a very shiny red nose. When Father Christmas came back he was hauling a rather large brown bag that was patched up here and there.

"As Weasley pointed out, I come bearing gifts."

"You know my name?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Of course I do, Ronald. Who do you think I am? The mayor? I'm Saint Nick!"

"But it's not Christmas time," Susan said confused.

"I'm Father Christmas! I can bring gifts whenever I choose to!"

"Then why don't you bring them more often?" Lucy asked.

"Because I haven't chosen to!

"Confounded bustards!" Father Christmas bellowed. "I come to give you gifts of importance and all you can do is ask me pitiful questions?"

"One last question," began Peter. "I thought ever since the White Witch it has always been winter but never Christmas? How then can you be here?"

"The White Witch's power is beginning to die," Mr. Winkle said. "Aslan has returned!"

"Before we get too sidetracked with silly questions," Ron started, "weren't you going to do something with the presents?"

"Presents?" puffed Father Christmas. "Oh yes, gifts!" and the jolly voice came back to the fat man, the pale red covering his cheeks and nose darkening as his mood lifted.

"For you, Mrs. Beaver, I give you these two splendid pot holders. Mrs. Clause made them by hand. She gets so bored up there all alone; she thought she would do something productive besides chasing out the Abominable Snow Monster." He handed her the most two beautiful pot holders anyone had ever seen. "No matter how hot that oven gets, as longs as you wear those, you will never burn your hands, er paws again."

"And for you, Mr. Beaver, I have finished the tunnels under your damn, but I do not think you will ever need them again. Since that won't matter, I decided to fix your dam up. Everything is as good as new; no signs of a break-in."

"Th-th-th…" was all Mr. Beaver could stutter, but the thank you was there just as if he had spoken it.

"Peter, Son of Adam, these are your gifts, but be warned. These are not toys, but tools." With that, Father Christmas brought out a silver shield with a bright red lion across it. Along with the shield he gave Peter a sword, just the right weight for him, along with a sheath and sword belt. The sword hilt was of gold. "The hour draws near when you will need them." He then turned to Susan.

"Susan, Eve's Daughter, these are for you." He handed her a bow and a quiver full of arrows and a small ivory horn. "Use them wisely, for I do not intend you to fight in any battle, but the arrows never miss their target. When you blow this horn," he gestured to the small horn in her hands, "help of some kind will come, no matter where you are."

"Lucy, Daughter of Eve, I give you these," and he handed her a small diamond bottle, though it looked like glass, and a small dagger. "The bottle will cure anyone, whether it be you or a friend, if they become injured. You only need a few drops to do the trick. The dagger is only to defend yourself in great peril, for you also are not meant to fight any battles."

"Harry, Adam's Son, these shall help you greatly in battle." He gave Harry a shield that looked just like Peter's and a felt medieval flail. Harry's green eyes widened in shock. He was now holding a sinister grey weapon. Its handle was easy to grip and a chain sprouted off the tip. A huge grey ball hung at the end, completely surrounded by spikes over an inch high. "Not all things are nice and pretty especially during war. You will see many things and you will fight many foes." As Harry lifted up is flail, he was surprised how light it was. He saw Father Christmas turn to Hermione.

"Hermione, Eve's Daughter, your gift is this." He brought out an early medieval crossbow with a quiver of arrows. The crossbow weighed no more than three pounds and had a golden finish. The string on the bow was made of hemp and the bow itself was of wood and horn. "These too," he pointed towards Hermione's arrows, "do not easily miss. Use with great care and do not be too willing to go into battle."

"And for you, Ronald, Son of Adam, I present you with this," as he spoke he revealed a Viking Axe Tomahawk. Ron gripped the firm wooden handle and touched the slight curve of the iron blade.

"Um, Sir, I think this blade is dull," Ron said disappointedly.

"It is only dull for you, but for your enemies it will not seem so dull. Use it well, for you were meant to go into battle, and maybe even lead a charge." Ron gulped. Facing Aragog was one thing, but Aragog didn't have swords or crossbows or axes, just fangs and creepy legs. He didn't know which he'd rather face. Then he smiled suddenly. "Well, I have always wanted a tomahawk."

Then facing the whole group, Father Christmas said, "The time of the White Witch is over and the time for Narnia to blossom and bloom by the very breath of Aslan has come. Goodbye and I wish you all well." With a small wink, Father Christmas walked back to his sleigh and with a crack of his whip he rose into the air, the Red-Nosed Reindeer leading the way.

( )

"We have to get out of here," whispered Draco. Pansy and Edmund nodded. "Any ideas?"

"We could, er…" Edmund trailed off, not helping in the least.

"Over power him," Pansy said, gesturing towards the dwarf. "There's five of us and one of him."

"One problem," Edmund interrupted, "He's out there, and we're in here."

"Get him over here," Goyle said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, smart one," Pansy said sarcastically, "how are we supposed to do that? Just say, hey, Mr. Dwarf, come over here so we can get out? No."

"No, but we could get him over here and once he's here, just get him close enough to the bars so we can reach him." Edmund said, a plan forming in his head. "The bars are big enough to fit our whole arm through. We could always strangle him you know."

"That isn't all that bad," Draco commented. "I like the way you think."

"So how are we going to get him over here?" Pansy asked.

"I have a feeling it won't be too hard," Edmund smiled. "Look," he nodded his head towards the dwarf, "he's curious."

True enough, the dwarf was ever so slowly inching closer and closer to their cell. Although he was trying to act inconspicuous, it was all too obvious. Every time he moved, the keys would jingle and he would slap his hand down upon them to silence them, creating a scene and a funny one if that. The five children tried to muffle their laughter as the dwarf drew near. But they didn't stop whispering to each other so as to encourage the dwarf's curiosity.

Nearly ten minutes passed before the dwarf was close enough to go into action.

"You know," Pansy said loud enough for the dwarf to hear, "the secret to the Cave of Riches is near here."

"You don't say," Edmund commented, keeping an eye on the dwarf. "I hear it holds more than any man…or dwarf could imagine."

The dwarf was almost touching the bars.

"Yes, riches untold a thousand times over," Draco drawled. "They say that the entrance is guarded by goblins, but that's a myth. There's nothing guarding it anymore. Why, anyone could just walk right up to it and get their hands on all that gold."

"Gold?" asked a gruff voice. The five captives looked at the dwarf who had his nose between the bars. "Did someone say gold?"

"Yes," snorted Pansy, her nose in the air with disgust.

"Where?"

"Why, the Cave of Riches of course," Edmund said. Casually he and Draco moved closer to the dwarf, their arms across their chest.

"Why haven't I heard of it, eh?"

"You haven't heard of it?" three voices sounded at once. The dwarf just shook his head, the keys jingling ever so softly.

"Well, it's not far from here," Draco continued. By now the dwarf was almost inside, his whole thick body pressed against the bars. "Well, Ed," Draco said carelessly, "I think now is a good time to tell him." And with that, the two boys lunged at the dwarf who was so surprised he didn't have time to yell or jump back.

The two boys pinned him against the cell, Edmund grabbing his beard and Draco with his arm around the dwarf's neck. Draco squeezed the dwarf's neck until he turned a shade of blue. Seeing as he couldn't make a fuss even if he wanted to, Edmund let go of the beard. As soon as Edmund had released the beard, Draco pushed the almost passed out dwarf into one of the bars and the dwarf fell limply to the ground.

"Why didn't you just bash him in to start out with?" Goyle asked.

"Because," Draco began irritably as he grabbed the keys, "if you had been listening you would know that a dwarf could have easily gotten away. They're surprisingly strong. We needed him quiet and almost dead."

"You killed him!" Goyle said in alarm.

"No," Edmund almost laughed. "He's out cold, but not dead. Though I'm not much sure what use he is alive."

Minutes later, Draco tried the eleventh key but the lock still wouldn't open. Letting out a string of foul language he tried the twelfth then thirteenth. Everyone grinned as the door swung open.

"Who would have thought the unlucky number would be so helpful," Edmund said gleefully.

"We aren't done yet," Pansy warned. "We still have the whole castle to escape from." They looked down the winding corridors, all going somewhere different yet they looked all the same.

"We're doomed," Goyle said in despair.

"Not if this door leads out," Edmund smiled. "But we have to find the right key."

"Count to thirteen again," Goyle prompted.

"One, two, three, four…" Finally when the number thirteen was said and the key thrust into the door, the lock opened. After high-fives they slowly entered the darkness.

( )

"We almost there?" asked Ron. The group had been hastily walking ever since Father Christmas had left. They were to meet Aslan at the Round Table, quite a few miles away still.

It was hard going at the present for the snow was melting at an alarming pace and as it melted came the slush and gigantic puddles. But even so, flowers popped up and the trees turned into green giants. A warm breeze blew gently along, warming up the group, even the threesome without jackets.

Just as Mrs. Beaver had picked up a bunch of lovely daisies and thrown them all about while singing, "Spring, Spring, oh what a marvelous thing," all the joy passed. In front of them was a river, about seventy feet across. The ice was still solid, but they had no way of knowing for how long.

"Isn't there any other way?" Hermione asked.

"Not for miles," answered Mr. Beaver. "We best be crossing. Spring won't wait."

"I sure hope the ice does," Ron mumbled. He gripped his tomahawk tight in his hands and put a foot on the thawing ice.

Sorry that this took a small while updating. Please review. They make me feel like this isn't a waste of time. So yeah, please review and I'll mentally send you a cookie.

*huggles*