For the amazing Laura (Sable Supernova), Merry Christmas!

This fic was written by OnyxFeather, author of fantastic works such as 'Dementor' and 'Castle of Sin.'

A Christmas Gift Framed In Gold

Christmas is a time for giving. Being centuries old, I have gifted many. Some more memorable than others…

11th December 1892

Muggle-hater.

Muggle-murderer.

Muggle-mutilator.

The taunts were increasing in their inaccuracy as well as their barbaric nature. Albus grew tired of the constant sniping. Yes, he treated them as though they were little more than grossly misleading falsifications, but the words stung all the same. So far, Albus had to admit that his experience of schooling had not been a positive one. He hoped, at the very least it would provide an escape from his equally damning reality back in Godric's Hollow. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out exactly as he had hoped. As much as he tried to hide his disappointment, he wondered whether his mother sensed it in his letters.

Once again, Albus had chosen to escape the hustle and bustle of the evening dining hall to wallow somewhat in his own company. Well, perhaps not entirely alone, a good book always helped alleviate the solitude. He had taken a quiet liking to transfiguration. If only he could use it to transfigure his father's poor reputation.

Professor Fenwick marched past Albus across the opposite staircase. Being incredibly agile, he managed to duck behind a pillar at the very moment Professor Fenwick twisted his oblong head, his unnaturally horizontal moustache quivering from its two triangular corners, as if they sniffed the scent of trouble hovering in the air. Keen not to blemish his pristine record, Albus turned the nearest corner and slid through the first door he could find.

"Hm…I've never come across you before," he mentioned, curiously eying the ornate sight before him.

Inside, he saw an older version of himself – there was no mistaking that twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles. Intrigued by the strange phenomenon, he inched closer. Notable historians and researchers stood in a line, waiting to shake his hands. That could not be – the Minister of Magic? A look of awe coloured their features as they urged to shuffle forward.

"I suppose that is the answer, isn't it?"

He knew exactly what needed to be done.

(That night I gifted young Albus the gift of hope. Hope for a brighter future.).

19th December 1967

So Bellatrix cast a harmless bone-cracking hex on that Mudblood fifth-year. Nasty slug! Dare he challenge her authority? A well-deserved lesson was in order and who better to deliver it. In return she had been awarded her twelfth detention this term. Not that she cared much for education.

Soon to be Lady Lestrange, as a female she had fulfilled her obligation in life. NEWTs were simply an inconvenient formality. Therefore, she took it upon herself to celebrate this Christmas. Finally there would be a worthy heir to her father's fortune. An occasion such as this called for Odgen's finest firewhisky.

Who cared for the hour? Merrily, Bellatrix skipped and twirled through the quiet corridors of Hogwarts, singing in soprano. "Jingle bells, Kringle smells…something, something…awaaayyyyy…wiheee–"

Most ungracefully, she stumbled over the threshold and somehow pirouetted with the momentum that carried her into the empty classroom. She froze as she caught sight of a silver gleam, tilting her head – a lock of black curls fell across her face – she said, "Well, what do we have here?"

A lean, middle-aged man with a finely shaped beard no longer than his chin, stood majestically in a grey tail suit. "Lord Cygnus Black, patriarch to the most esteemed pureblood heritage. Come to dismiss me, your disappointment-of-a-firstborn, have you?"

Bellatrix allowed the bottle in her hand to slip through her fingers and stared at her father with a look of exaggerated shock and mock humility. "How terribly discourteous of me – did I forget to bow?"

She arched her back in a deep bow, holding the hem of her robes in her fingers, giggling to herself as she crossed her feet. "Whooops!" The heel of her right boot wobbled, sending her tumbling to the ground. "Well, I suppose this is the perfect place for such an abomination as myself. After all, I fell in your eyes the very day my dear mother gave bir–"

"Wait, is that? No. It can't be. Can it?"

Bellatrix placed a hand against the cool, hard silver sheet, her nose resting against it. Sliding her weight against her sweaty palm, she dragged herself to a standing position.

It was a trick.

"You – smiling – me…"

Of course it was. Made to torture her with hopes she could never have. Yet still, she found she could not turn away from it. If she were with her senses she would have shattered it by now, for lying to her, tormenting her!

Instead she found her fingers shaking. Her father twisted her to face him, a loving look in his eye. For the first time she saw a genuine twinkle in her dark eyes, her red lips stretched into a princess-like smile. That should've told her that this was a dream, because she wasn't the princess, no, that was little Cissy, and she should turn away. But something in her chest ached, a warmth cascaded down her cheek as a knot fastened in her throat. Then as he pulled her in and hugged her close, the tiniest, single sob escaped her lips.

Was it really that hard to love her?

(Bellatrix, her heart buried underneath a cage of ice. That night I gifted her a moment of love, and in return, for a short time, she allowed the ice to melt.).

10th December 1971

Shot-gun sounds fired in the Great Hall, erupting into sparkling reindeers and glittering snowmen. Lily swivelled on her seat and pushed past the two boys currently receiving stern words from a red-faced McGonagall, oblivious to the cacophony.

She thought she'd like it. But no, as always, she preferred being a whiny brat!

Lily's hair flew behind her like flames caught in the wind as she ran across the marble floor, blurs of colour registering in her peripheral vision. Days… She'd spent days practicing the spell that would make Father Christmas ride his sleigh over the card, moving in and out, and over and around the words – for her. What did she do? Shred it to pieces and sent it back.

As her legs started to seize up, Lily burst through a half-open door and stopped, panting for air. Her seething anger abated long enough for her to notice the tall, sentient object that towered above her. She knew what it was, or at least what it looked like, but it didn't show her what she had expected.

"She's the last person I want to see!"

Furious, she turned her back to it. The image was all wrong anyway: her eyes looked more like a gorilla's and her nose like a curlew's. Lily didn't move. She rocked on the spot, twisting her fisted hands tucked under her folded arms. Maybe she was a little curious at what else it might show her?

Tentatively, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, squinting hard. After a moment, she pivoted on her heel and moved forward. Tuney was there, right next to her, a smile on her face. Lily was smiling too. Then Tuney took her arms and together they spun in wide circles. Like they used to before she came to Hogwarts.

Lily remembered the soft petals of the white flowers falling against her rosy cheeks, the wind rushing through her hair. Once, Tuney tripped and fell in the mud. Lily giggled to herself. She got angry and stormed off. It took Lily days to talk her round, but she had, in the end.

Lily sighed. "I miss you, Tuney…"

The next morning Lily posted another card – the normal way, not through owl post – one that would play her sister's favourite Christmas song every time she opened it.

(They say anger is merely a charade, it hides an even deeper sadness. That night, to Lily, I gifted compassion.)

.21st December 1971

Why had he agreed to this? If he was caught now, it would be his fault for being so stupid. Sirius and James were masters at getting others into trouble.

Remus tip-toed, his back glued to the wall, trying to escape Peeves.

"Weeeeeeeeeee… Ickle firsties being naughties. Out in the corridors at this time of night, Filchie will get you."

Ahead, a bobbing yellowy-orange light crept up the corridor. Filch! Panicked, he swivelled and sprinted in the opposite direction, shuddering as he ran through Peeves.

"FIRSTIES ESCAPING! FIRSTIES ESCAPING!"

What was worse, he had no idea where he actually was or where he was heading. Peeves didn't make it any easier by throwing baubles in his direction. As soon as he found a door that unlocked he jumped in and slammed it shut, relieved when Peeve's cackling drizzled away.

Once Remus found the courage to open his eyes, he leant away from the door and attempted to explore his surroundings – a notoriously difficult task in the dark. He moved towards the dusty, white rays reflecting off a shiny surface. As he made out the full moon he sprung backwards, his heart thumping frantically. Not here. Not now…

But then he noticed something odd. Behind him was a diamond-paned window, not the moon. As he drew closer he recognised the four figures standing beneath the moonlight: James, Sirius, Peter…and him. All were laughing and very much human.

Remus frowned. "You don't have to lie to me y'know. I know there's no cure. I wish there were, but there isn't."

He thought about how Sirius and James had just left him. "No one will ever want to be friends with me."

A stone weighing heavily on his chest, Remus eventually left his sanctuary and made for the common room – if he could find it before morning. As he walked out of the classroom something bumped against him.

"Ow!"

Remus tried to free himself of the tangled limbs. "Get off!"

"Shh…stop shouting!" hissed a familiar voice.

"James?"

"Remus, is that you?"

"No, it's Peeves," said who he now recognised as Sirius, "Of course it's him."

"Where did you go? I thought you were behind us," explained James.

They'd come back for him?

"When we said run, you were supposed to follow," said Sirius.

"Oh." That is all Remus managed to say, and though he couldn't see, he sensed the eye roll from Sirius.

(That night I gifted Remus a promise, that of friendship.).

25th December 1979

Father would be working during Christmas, again. The war, the Dark Lord, they meant far more to him than his own.

Barty held his books tightly against him. Head bent, his chin digging into his chest, he walked briskly down the empty corridors lined with red berry garlands. He had no destination in mind. All he wanted was a moment's peace. Possibly even a reprieve from the voices that haunted him. Crowds only made them worse.

Sweat pouring down the side of his forehead, almost every other millisecond he checked over his shoulder to make explicitly sure that no one was following. He couldn't see anyone. Still, for some reason he could not shake the uncomfortable tingle that flowed down his spine. He hadn't been sleeping well this past week. It was the shadows, they kept him awake. No. It was simply a little anxiety – stress. That is all. After all, seventh year, NEWTs…the year his destiny became finalised…

Suddenly the open air felt claustrophobic. Barty stepped into a classroom, afraid he would faint. He bent over an old desk, his books falling to the floor as he took in deep, slow drags of air. Forearms shivering, he pushed himself upright to test whether the dizziness had faded. That is when he saw it, the object of his open-eyed nightmares – his father.

Barty blinked. Surely not. He looked behind him. There was no one there. Not again. The same visions. He thought he'd snapped out of them after taking his daily calming draughts.

But there was a discrepancy in the image sat in front of him. His father did not look down upon him in revulsion. For once, his wrinkled eyes shone with pride not disappointment. Rather than looking down on him, his father placed an arm around his shoulder, and squeezed him tight beside him.

"All I have ever wanted is for you to be proud of me, father."

Barty sat down cross-legged on the dusty floor, staring at the image before him till his eye-lids drooped shut. Silence had never felt so safe…

(Bartemius, forever tortured by a father's loathing. That night I gifted him freedom from his demons.)

.2nd December 1992

Luna wiped the tissue at her beige top, now a gleaming muddy-brown from the gravy that ran down it. She enjoyed a nice dollop of minty gravy with her Christmas dinner, but not quite like this. Absentmindedly she pushed open the wooden door using her shoulder, as she looked up, she froze.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was looking for the bathroom."

In front of her stood on ornate mirror, lined with an intricately carved gold frame. Immediately upon seeing it she knew: this was no ordinary mirror. She studied the room around her. Certainly nothing spectacular about it, very bare to say the least, not even a smidgen of colour.

"You seem a bit lonely."

Mmm…she should rectify that. It didn't take long. Soon enough, she returned with a decorative garland and wreath, which she gently draped over the mirror.

As she caught sight of herself reflected in the mirror's surface, she realised how bad the damage was. "That isn't going to wash out so easily, is it?" she mused.

A small smile crept across her face as she swiped a hand over her top. "You know, this reminds me of a Christmas when I was nine. Daddy had bought a giant turkey, which he had to shrink to get into the oven. Then when we finally got it into the oven, the oven overheated and exploded. Bit unfortunate really, there was a lot of smoke. Daddy was so flustered, he dropped hot gravy all over my arm and dress – it was beige, like this one. It scalded a little, but I didn't mind."

Luna could picture the memory as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

"That was our last Christmas together," she whispered, staring straight at the mirror. "Do you remember?"

Luna laughed as her mother nodded at her: her white-blonde hair like silk waves over her shoulder, sea-blue eyes shining as they always had done, and one radish earing peeking through her hair. It was lovely to see her again.

(That night I received my first gift: the pleasurable company of a kind-hearted soul as giving as me.)

Like every Christmas before this, patiently I wait, for the next soul that may happen upon me so I might grant them a moment of purest joy, however transient it may be…