27. Dumbledore, Discussions, Decorations.

"Of all the seasons we could have gone out of the castle on a wild goose chase around the streets of England," McCoy growled, "it had to be winter."

"You could always use a heating spell," Ron pointed out.

McCoy glared at him in annoyance. "If I was actually able to do that, do you think I'd be complaining?"

Ron considered him for a moment. "Definitely," he said finally, "because if you could do magic, you'd probably make yourself too hot..."

"If there was snow here," McCoy snapped, eyes twinkling at the youth before him, "you would have a mouth full of it by now."

"Which I would spit back at you."

Moody, who had been living up to his name and walking several paces ahead in annoyance, suddenly stopped dead and held out his hand to prevent the others from walking into him.

"This is it," he said simply.

"Where?" McCoy asked.

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, the irascible human was gaping at what had once been a gapless join between houses 11 and 13. An old and ordinary yet slightly forbidding house seemed to be growing from the side of house number 13, ruthlessly shoving the row of other houses to the side as it continued to expand. The ground shook violently as the pavement and road elongated to accommodate this new addition to the neighbourhood, upsetting several bins, which regurgitated their half rotten contents onto the ground.

They continued to gape until the transformation had stopped; noticing with something akin to worried amazement that no-one in the area besides from them had noticed that anything was amiss. Even the clanging as the bins continued to roll around in the road drew no attention, aside from the few irate drivers who swerved around them but otherwise left them there.

"Fascinating. It would appear that the sudden development of a previously non-existent building in a short period of time has been unnoticed by the general population of this area."

"Do you always have to talk like that?" McCoy snapped, still staring at the building before him with a certain wonderment crossing his features.

"It is hardly possible for me to adopt any alternative speech pattern merely to adhere to your preferences, Leonard."

"Of course not," McCoy scoffed, "because adopting a non-tangible aspect would be ridiculous."

Spock allowed himself to raise an eyebrow at this unexpected role reversal. "I was not intending for you to interpret that statement literally."

"And now," McCoy said with an unmistakable air of triumph, "you see why I get so irritated."

"I am not irritated."

McCoy glared at him. "You always have to find a way to poke holes in my arguments, don't you?"

"I think that's a rhetorical question," Kirk said quietly when Spock opened his mouth to reply.

"Let's just go in," McCoy snapped, stomping up to the front door.

"McCoy," Moody snapped, "you can't just go barging-"

The warning was lost on the grumpy physician, who opened the door with enough force to wake the dead which, it could be argued, it did.

"BACK AGAIN, I SEE!" The portrait of the enraged woman screamed; spit flying towards them as the rest of the group warily followed McCoy in. "SCUM AND FOUL BLOOD TRAITORS TAINTING THE LEGACY OF MY ANCESTORS! IF THEY COULD SEE YOU NOW THEY WOULD BE *THRASHING* IN THEIR GRAVES-"

"Shut up you bat!" McCoy suddenly bellowed, having finally reached the end of his temper after the day's events.

This had the effect of actually shutting up Mrs Black, who was currently staring at the doctor, eyes widening in rage and quivering so madly they suspected she could fall out her portrait at any moment.

"HOW *DARE* YOU?" She screeched, jabbing a finger in his general direction. "YOU DARE TO INSULT THE GREAT FAMILY NAME OF BLACK? IF I WASN'T STUCK IN A PORTRAIT-"

"Shut up!" Sirius roared, jerking his wand at the portrait which was soon covered by the curtains, leaving a group of weary people in the abrupt silence. "Glad to see you're back," he said wryly, pulling them into the nearest room and shutting the door so that they wouldn't re-disturb Mrs Black.

"How is he?" Sirius asked quietly once they had all sat down.

"He's recovering quickly," Fred answered.

"Though they can't find a cure for the venom," George added.

"Which keeps his wounds open," Fred explained.

Sirius breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God," he murmured, allowing himself to fully sink back into the chair.

"You'll be able to see him soon, Sirius," Mrs Weasley said comfortingly.

Sirius snorted. "I'd be able to see him much sooner if I wasn't trapped in here like a criminal."

"It is for your own safety," Spock interjected.

Sirius whirled on him. "Nobody asked you," he spat, "and quite honestly, I don't see why you're still here. You've done your bit, haven't you? You've 'saved' Harry from the visions."

"I have," Spock replied. "Nevertheless, I feel the need to remain. My assistance may be required on another occasion."

Sirius snorted. "How noble."

Spock lifted an indignant eyebrow. "I am hardly fabricating such motivations, Mister Black. If Mister Potter does indeed suffer another instance of telepathic connection with Voldemort," he ignored Sirius' flinch at the name, "he will require my assistance. Of that, there is no doubt. I am merely being logical."

"Logical," Sirius snorted.

"Logic is the way of my race," Spock said shortly, unwilling to explain further to someone who so clearly would not appreciate the explanation and would twist it to suit his own prejudices.

"You have some questions to answer, boy," Moody suddenly snapped, rising from his seat, "and this is not the place for it."

"Which location would you suggest?"

"A room where no ears can listen in," Moody replied, pointedly glaring at the students.

"Shouldn't you wait for Dumbledore?" Kirk asked. "Any theories could be discussed at the same time."

Moody seemed to debate for a moment before finally stomping over to the fireplace. "Get in," he growled.

"In?" McCoy replied, blinking at him.

"Yes, in. Now. We don't have all day!"

"...How will burning us alive solve anything?"

"Leonard," Spock said with an extraordinary amount of patience, "surely you realise that he is merely attempting to coerce you into travelling by Floo."

McCoy sighed. "I just can't pretend to take things literally like you do..."

"Indeed, you cannot. It would appear that that talent is reserved for the Vulcan race."

Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk. "That was a...surprisingly accurate imitation, Jim."

Kirk grinned. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Just get in the bloody fireplace!" Moody demanded, eye whizzing to point at all of them in concentrated rage.

"Alright," McCoy muttered, stepping in and standing there, resisting the urge to fidget. "I keep expecting to be flattened by a man in a bright red suit..."

"It's the time of year for it, Bones."

McCoy glared at Kirk. "I'm sure you'd use a situation like that as black mail to get out of your next medical."

"You can count on it."

"Throw down a handful of this powder," Moody growled, putting a swift stop to the banter, "and call your destination loudly."

"And clearly," Ron added with a pointed glance at Harry.

"Dumbledore's office?" McCoy asked.

"Obviously."

"Right," McCoy murmured, grabbing a handful of the colourful powder. He threw it down dramatically. "Dumbledore's office!" The words were punctuated by harsh splutters as the doctor disappeared from the fireplace.

Kirk shook his head. "Too much powder, Bones," he said needlessly, a grin plastered firmly on his face as he imagined the irate man emerging on the other side, coughing.

"You next," Moody said, stomping over to Kirk and thrusting the powder into his hands.

Kirk dutifully took a handful, walked calmly over to the fireplace and threw the powder down, shouting out the destination as he did so. He disappeared without incident.

"Now you," Moody announced, moving over to Spock.

The Vulcan calmly took a measured handful of the powder, almost weighing it as he did so to ensure that he received the correct amount and would not suffer the same fate as McCoy.

"Hurry up," Moody urged, looking faintly annoyed.

"You either do these things properly," George replied for him, "or you don't do it at all, right Harry?"

"Er...yeah." Harry was clearly embarrassed about whatever memory they were sharing, turning slightly red at each mention.

Spock walked swiftly over to the fireplace, examined it slightly and then calmly threw the powder neatly onto the ground before him, managing to call out the destination with more dignity than the other two officers had managed together.

Before he disappeared, they heard him mutter, "Fascinating..."

Fred chuckled. "Some things never change."

"You'd better stay here, you lot," Moody ordered, fixing everyone else in the room with his piercing glare, before turning his back and disappearing from the room.

He emerged moments later, stepping smoothly and without incident into Dumbledore's office, where the three officers were waiting patiently.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking perfectly composed despite the fact that several unexpected visitors had just materialised in his fireplace and were now standing before him with varying degrees of awkwardness and suspicion. He promptly made to reach for the bowl of sweets which he usually reserved for students, but appeared to decide that, based upon Moody's expression, now was most definitely not the time.

"Ah, Alastor," he said instead, eying everyone serenely, "to what do I owe this visit?"

"I brought them here to answer a few questions," Moody said gruffly, pacing slightly further into the room so as to inflict his intimidating presence more effectively upon the officers.

"Ah, yes, I had suspected a scene like this," Dumbledore murmured.

"Where are they really from, Albus?" Moody demanded, pointing at the three men standing silently to the side of the desk.

"They are from the future, Alastor, as I told you when they arrived."

"You told him?" McCoy asked in surprise.

"You have, of course, heard of the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore replied, "who are responsible for all projects which are considered to be out of the Ministry's hands. Given both the opinions of the Minister and Professor Umbridge, I should say that their involvement in this instance was necessary. We do, after all, need to return you to your own universe without incident."

"Like the Death Eaters getting us," McCoy muttered irritably.

"I'm surprised they haven't already," Kirk remarked.

"Never underestimate the enemy," Moody warned, staring at him. "They're probably gathering their forces."

"I don't doubt that their delayed intervention is mainly due to Tom's disappearance," Dumbledore murmured.

"Tom?" Spock asked, his sharp ears picking up on this detail.

"A tale for another day, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said regretfully. "I suspect that it would be unwise to stop Alastor from questioning you for too long."

"How are you able to control Potter's visions?" Moody asked without preamble, staring at Spock as though he could see through his soul.

"As I have previously explained," Spock replied patiently, "I am a natural telepath and therefore am able to shield Mister Potter's mind from the unprecedented communications."

"How did you learn to control this ability?"

"It was customary on my planet to introduce children to the mental disciplines from an early age."

"Was?" Moody barked. "They no longer teach mind discipline?"

Spock's jaw tightened. "They continue to encourage the discipline," he countered.

"His home planet was destroyed," Dumbledore supplied quietly, "in circumstances which are not relevant to this discussion, Alastor."

Moody's eyes narrowed. "Everything is relevant."

"I ask," Dumbledore continued sombrely, "that you do not question him on his home planet, Alastor, and that is final."

Moody didn't look too happy about this, but didn't push the point. "There are laws restricting the use of this ability?"

"Of course," Spock replied, as though any other concept was repugnant.

"Can we be sure of this?" Moody asked Dumbledore.

The older wizard nodded. "I'm certain of it."

"Do you have any proof?"

"His mind," Dumbledore replied simply, "and that is all the proof we need. Indeed," he continued wryly, "it is the only proof we have."

"So he could be lying."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "It's my understanding that Vulcans don't lie."

"And of course," Moody spat back, "that's what he says."

"I trust his word," Dumbledore said, as though daring Moody to contradict him.

Moody harrumphed. "The word of a prime suspect is never something to trust, Albus."

"He's not the prime suspect!" McCoy snapped. "He's the one who protects Harry's mind!"

"Which is suspicious enough, in itself. We don't know that these visions even exist."

"Of course they exist!" McCoy argued, going slightly red in the face at the thought that anyone would dare negate Spock's word. "What else could it possibly be?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"It is Tom, Alastor," Dumbledore interrupted. "There is no doubt about that."

"How can you be so sure?" Moody demanded, looming over the older wizard, who looked unruffled. "You haven't even seen the visions. You only have the word of the boy and the mysterious man from the future." His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"I have never given you cause to doubt my reasons for trust, Alastor."

Moody snorted. "Which of course you can't tell me."

"Regrettably, that is not possible."

Moody gave a brief and irritated sigh, glaring at Dumbledore, but apparently they had been through this argument too many times to start again in the middle of an investigation. "How did you get here?"

"We were on the Bridge of our ship," Kirk replied calmly, "when a strange mist appeared. After that, we were here and Voldemort had taken our place along with a few of his Death Eaters."

"He's on your ship?"

"Yes."

Moody began pacing. "How much damage could he do?"

"None at all," Kirk replied confidently, causing Moody to stop in his tracks and stare at him.

"Magic is non-existent in their universe," Dumbledore explained.

"I suppose you have no proof for this either?" Moody asked snidely.

"As a matter of fact," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling slightly despite the circumstances, "I do. These three gentlemen have a certain amount of magical ability," he explained, gesturing towards them but keeping his eyes locked on Moody, "but are unable to control it to the extent even our first years students can."

"Can they use it at all?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I suspect that, if the circumstances were dire enough to provoke a strong reaction, they would be able to, yes, but they would have little or no control over the consequences."

"Passive magic only," Moody murmured as if to himself, pacing around the room once more. "This could put the students in danger, Albus."

"We have no other option, Alastor. If we turn them out of Hogwarts, they will be discovered by the Death Eaters and we would have no way of controlling Voldemort's return."

Moody growled. "You have a habit of causing impossible situations, Albus."

"It is a rather unfortunate talent."

"It seems," Moody finally snapped, turning back to the three officers, "that we have no choice but to keep you here, but be warned," his voice became low and threatening, "if I see so much as one sign that you're working with the Death Eaters, you'll be out of here before you can so much as think of trying to lie."

"Fair enough," Kirk said calmly, "though I assure you, we're not on the Death Eaters' side. We just want to get back to our ship."

Moody snorted. "And bring a mass murderer back to our world in doing so."

There was a heavy and stifling silence.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If that is all, Alastor?"

"For now," Moody replied.

"In that case," Dumbledore said with an attempt at a light voice which wasn't quite successful so soon after such a weighty discussion, "I believe you have a celebration to get back to."

"You're sending us back?" McCoy asked.

"Mister Potter will require further surveillance," Spock explained.

"I thought you wanted us out of reach of Death Eaters," McCoy elaborated.

"Grimmauld Place is equally as safe as Hogwarts," Dumbledore said. "As an unplottable house which can only be seen when its existence has been revealed by the Secret Keeper, I think it's safe to say that you won't be disturbed."

"Now," he said, clapping his hands and leading them back over to the fireplace, "you have a celebration to return to and I, unfortunately, have a mountain of paperwork that no amount of magic seems to shift...such is the burden of a Headmaster." His eyes twinkled. "I will join you all when I can."

McCoy shook his head. "Lord, not again..."

"Calm down, Bones. Technically, they're safer than the transporters."

"Thank you so much for reminding me of those death traps, Jim," McCoy growled.

"No problem."

"Leonard, there is no danger."

McCoy gaped at the calm Vulcan before him. "Danger?" he squawked. "I was talking about the landing..."

Spock's eyes widened slightly as he realised that he had inadvertently opened a can of worms. "Ah," he said finally. "My apologies..."

"Now you've gone and done it," Moody growled, having apparently spent enough time with McCoy to at least take an educated guess at why McCoy was so worried.

"I'm not going in there!"

"Oh dear," Dumbledore murmured, apparently apologetic. "Then it seems you shall have to travel by flying motor cycle."

"...Flying motor cycle?"

Dumbledore nodded, keeping a completely straight face. "Hagrid is, of course, the only capable – ah – pilot."

All colour had drained from the surgeon's face. "You've got to be kidding."

"Alternatively," Dumbledore said, just as seriously as before, "there is the possibility of asking Professor Snape or Madam Hooch to fly you there by broom. Both, I assure you, are very competent and swift flyers. There would be no time lost."

"Would that not be a somewhat conspicuous mode of transport?" Spock asked.

"There are spells for maintaining secrecy," Dumbledore replied.

"No," McCoy snapped, staring at everyone in the room as though they were mad, "absolutely not."

"Are there any more options?" Kirk asked innocently.

"Thestral."

"No," McCoy growled, the memory of Kirk's near disaster of a ride still firmly in his mind.

Dumbledore's eyes were beginning to twinkle. "Foot."

"How about," McCoy asked with deep weariness, "a car?"

Dumbledore pretended to mull that over. "Unfortunately, none of our professors can drive that particular Muggle vehicle, but I am quite certain that a few would be willing to give it a try. They are, after all, extremely fast learners."

"I thought you said the Floo network was being watched," McCoy said in desperation.

"It is," Dumbledore conceded, "but these circumstances are much less suspicious than those in which you travelled to Grimmauld Place. While it would have been potentially damning to have you seen travelling by Floo before the news of Mr Weasley's attack had arrived, we can now simply say that you are spending the Christmas holidays with the Weasley family and Mister Potter."

McCoy thought about that for a moment. "Damn it." He sighed in resignation and began walking obediently towards the fireplace. "Alright, but if I get burned to a cinder, I'll never forget your involvement in this," he warned, glowering at the two remaining officers, "and will make you wish you'd never seen a hypo."

Spock raised both eyebrows. "While your threat admittedly has merit, given your reputation and demeanour when wielding a hypodermic syringe, I would hardly consider it effective due to its over-use, or even remotely plausible in this instance."

McCoy took his place and narrowed his eyes at Spock. "Why not?"

"It is physically impossible for a pile of ash, regardless of quantity or its previous dexterity when it existed as a human being, to hold that particular medical instrument."

McCoy opened his mouth to argue, but Moody, with an impatient growl, threw a large and generous handful of powder into the fireplace, bellowed the destination over any coughed protests and settled back with a self satisfied hum of triumph.

"Who's next?" He asked menacingly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "That, I think, has closed that particular debate."

Kirk, also chuckling in amusement, stepped into the fireplace and soon found himself standing behind McCoy in an empty and slightly run down room in what could only be Grimmauld Place.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it, Bones?"

"No," McCoy replied, "it was worse. I tripped over the fire grate and crashed headfirst into that armchair."

Kirk grinned and moved swiftly over to allow Spock entrance to the room. "At least you had a soft landing."

"Not everyone finds it easy to just step out of a fireplace after being blinded by smoke."

"Leonard, if you simply allow yourself approximately 3.5 seconds in which to regain your balance, you would not find yourself in difficulty."

"That's not the point, Spock," the surgeon replied irritably as they exited the room. "The point is that they need to invent an easier way of travelling."

"If this universe follows our own in principle on the basis of Muggle technology," Spock said, "then your wish will be granted with the invention of the air car in 2060, the invention of the transporter in-"

"By which point," McCoy interrupted loudly, "I'd be dead."

"That would appear to pose a problem," Spock conceded.

As they drew towards the upper floors, they heard bustles of activity and short bursts of laughter, punctuated by the occasional crash and shouted instruction or reprimand from Mrs Weasley, who appeared to be reaching the end of her rope.

"No! Put that down," she ordered. "You can't carry boxes stacked up like that by wand, you'll-"

There was a loud thud.

"Drop them?" They heard Fred suggest innocently, his voice almost drowned out by raucous laughter.

"Sirius!" Mrs Weasley suddenly screeched, "stop encouraging them! We're supposed to be moving boxes downstairs, not demolishing furniture..."

"Sounds like they're busy," Kirk murmured before pushing the door open.

The room, they noticed immediately, looked like a small bomb had blown it into a state of barely organised chaos. To one side, standing well away from any damage and laughing silently so as not to attract the wrath of Mrs Weasley, were Harry, Ron and Hermione, who had arrived while the officers were at Hogwarts.

In the middle of the room and guiltily still wielding their wands were the twins, both of them struggling not to grin even as their mother stood before them, hair coming slightly out of its bands and hands firmly planted on her hips. Behind her and grinning shamelessly was Sirius, occasionally interjecting unhelpful remarks to Mrs Weasley's tirade.

Abruptly, Mrs Weasley caught sight of them and hurried over, her features slightly frantic after struggling to keep everyone in order. "Thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed, all but pulling them into the room. "We're trying to get these boxes downstairs but," she said with a pointed look at the twins, "it's going rather more slowly than I would have liked."

"We'll help," Kirk promised cheerfully, already walking over to one of the abandoned boxes and picking it up easily. "What exactly is inside them?"

"Christmas decorations," Sirius replied. "The less dangerous ones, anyway. My family had a strange idea of the concept of celebration."

"Let's just say," Mrs Weasley interjected wearily, "that we no longer have to worry about exploding baubles or melting miniature trees."

"I didn't even know you could do that with magic," McCoy said vaguely.

"You'd be surprised," Fred replied mysteriously, giving the kind of smile that would have incurred his mother's immediate suspicion if she'd been looking at him and not busily returning to the boxes.

"Everyone grab one each," she said brusquely, "some of them are quite heavy, so be careful."

Spock promptly picked up four as though they weighed absolutely nothing and proceeded to walk calmly to the door.

"Blimey."

Spock turned back around to face Ron curiously. "Does something surprise you, Mr Weasley?"

"Yeah," Ron muttered, "those were the heavier ones."

"Vulcan strength is vastly superior to that of the human race," Spock replied calmly and dispassionately. "In this lighter gravity, it is not difficult to lift weight such as this."

"Show off," Fred murmured as Spock stepped out of the room.

Together, they clattered and stumbled down the narrow stair case, finally depositing their loads in the living room, where they paused for a brief moment to get their breath back.

"If we split into groups," Mrs Weasley announced, "we should be able to decorate the house quickly."

"I'll go with you, Harry," Sirius said immediately, jumping at the chance to spend more time with his godson. Harry eagerly accepted, leaving Ron and Hermione in a group of two.

Needless to say, Fred and George deliberately avoided pairing themselves up with their mother and went together instead, much to Mrs Weasley's apparent disapproval, but she didn't comment, instead moving over to stand by Ginny's side.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy were left an odd number, since Moody had remained behind in Dumbledore's office after they'd left, presumably to further question the older wizard on the events of the day, and on their trustworthiness, despite the fact that both topics had already been discussed thoroughly.

Taking a box each and leaving the rest in the living room, the different groups drifted throughout the house, finally claiming a room each and getting to work.

Though in some cases, this was easier said than done.

"I do not see," Spock was saying even as Kirk and McCoy opened the box, "the necessity of this ritual."

"It's not a ritual," Kirk explained patiently, "it's a celebration, a way to have fun with people you know."

"I have already observed the practice," Spock continued. "I see no need to do so again."

"Think of it as...re-evaluating your data on the topic of Christmas," Kirk said, rummaging around in the box. "No experiment is complete after one run. You have to compare your evidence before you draw your conclusion."

Spock seemed to consider this, head tilted to one side slightly. "Very well."

Kirk grinned at him. "Good. Now," he held up two colours of tinsel, "the red or the green?"

"There are no qualities with which to distinguish one as being superior to the other."

"For the love of God, Spock," McCoy groaned, "just pick a colour."

"As you wish, Leonard. Green."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" McCoy asked the room at large, hauling a disturbingly real likeness of Santa Claus out of the box.

"You know him too well," Kirk replied.

"After all our arguments, that hardly surprises me," McCoy snorted. He held the object up for inspection, turning it this way and that to get a better look at it in the light. "This is a bit too realistic."

Without warning, the miniature man twitched, and McCoy dropped it as though burnt, staring at it in incredulity.

Kirk paused in hanging up the red piece of tinsel. "What?"

"It moved."

The blond walked over to McCoy and squatted on the floor, picking up the object and examining it closely. "Bones, I think your paranoia is getting to you. It's as still as a statue."

McCoy decided to ignore the typically bad pun from the Captain. "I'm telling you Jim, it moved!"

"That is illogical, Leonard."

McCoy glared. "You can't tell me," he snapped at the Vulcan, "that after all we've seen in this universe, you still think it's illogical for inanimate objects to move."

"I do not hold that belief," Spock said calmly, "in relation to this universe. I do, however, fail to comprehend your continued insistence on the fact that it moved."

McCoy stared at him as though he'd sprung antlers. "It did move."

"Of course," Spock replied.

McCoy continued to gape.

Spock, if he had been human, would have sighed at that point and run his hands through his hair, but as it was he simply placed his hands behind his back and counted to five, trusting a lifetime of discipline to overcome the mounting frustration. "Leonard, I do not doubt the fact that the object moved. I do, however, doubt its continued movement, since it is obviously still."

"I'm not saying it's moving," McCoy finally snapped, "I'm saying it's moved!"

"You are suggesting that we observe it for signs of further movement."

"Yes."

"That will not happen," Spock said patiently, "because it undoubtedly will not do so while it is being observed. If my understanding of the nature of magic is correct, it has been charmed in order to surprise. Now that we are aware of its abilities, it is not likely that it will perform the same action again."

McCoy groaned and resisted the urge to smash his head into the wall. "Why do you even have to make magic sound logical?"

"You probably shouldn't answer that," Kirk said quietly.

"I had no intention of doing so."

"Good. Just checking."

McCoy growled and slammed the Santa Claus onto a table top. It promptly made a face at him and sprouted razors from its fingers, causing McCoy to leap back and yelp in shock. "I thought you said," he shouted furiously, "that it wouldn't move anymore!"

"You are mistaken," Spock replied. "I commented on the possibility that it would not move for as long as you were suspecting of its intentions. Did you expect it to grow metal claws?"

"Of course not!"

Spock nodded his head, as though everything made sense and then turned back to the decorations that he was putting up, allowing McCoy to fume in silence.

"This is ridiculous! How am I supposed to expect it to move all the time so that it doesn't surprise me?"

"You don't," Kirk chuckled, "because you've put it down."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Don't start, Jim. I have enough trouble just arguing with Spock about this."

"As this is causing you unprecedented levels of stress, Leonard," Spock commented, not taking his eyes of the tinsel, "I recommend caution upon further examining the contents of the box."

"Thank you," McCoy muttered sarcastically. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You are welcome."

McCoy muttered a short prayer and resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. "This universe," he decided, "hates me."

"That-"

"Spock," McCoy growled, "do me a favour and shut up."

For several minutes they emptied the box in silence and watched the room slowly transform into a slightly less grim space, the tinsel playing on the light to give the impression of warmth and homeliness that had never existed before. The mood gradually faded into contentment as all of the major ornaments were placed in appropriate areas, leaving just a couple of reindeer lying innocently at the bottom of the box.

McCoy eyed them warily. "They look too innocent."

"For once, Bones, I think I agree with you."

"That's a novelty."

"The only way to find out what they do, if anything, is to pick them up," Kirk decided.

No one moved, and the tension in the air was tangible.

McCoy uttered a hoarse laugh. "We're scared of plastic reindeer."

"I believe that the pervading emotion within yourself and Jim, Leonard, is that of apprehension rather than fear."

McCoy snorted. "You just keep on thinking that."

Spock stepped forward, reached out, and picked one up. McCoy made an involuntary movement, as though he was considering diving to the floor but thought better of it at the last moment.

Nothing happened, and Kirk looked at the remaining reindeer in faint disappointment. "I half expected them to start flying around the-"

"Don't say it," McCoy interrupted, putting a hand up to stop Kirk's next words. "It could trigger a reaction."

"Are you finished yet?" Sirius asked, casually walking into the room. "Everyone else is getting ready to have dinner and I thought I'd tell you."

"We only have to sort out these reindeer," Kirk explained, taking them from Spock gently and placing them gingerly on a nearby table.

"Careful," McCoy muttered as Kirk lifted his hand off them. "Not too fast, Jim..."

Kirk's hand knocked one of them and McCoy flinched without noticing, stepping one pace closer to Spock as Jim righted the display.

Sirius stared at them in bemusement from the doorway. "Is something wrong?"

"Leonard has assumed that, given the nature of numerous other ornaments, these plastic reindeer harbour some degree of danger to his person."

"Mainly flying," Kirk added.

Sirius glanced from the reindeer to McCoy and back again, a slow smile splitting his face. "Those are harmless," he chuckled. "As a matter of fact, they're Muggle-made – they used to go in my bedroom, since no one else could stand the sight of them."

"Then why did they buy them?" Kirk asked.

"They didn't – I did. The only charm that I put on them made sure that no one else could touch them, so that they wouldn't get thrown out or burnt to a cinder. The only reason that the Santa was acting like that is because my brother happened to get to it before I could, and decided it would be hilarious to have a plastic doll try to bite my fingers off every year...Now, if you've finished," he said abruptly, before anyone could comment, walking out of the room, "it's time for dinner."