Wishes

By: Airelle Vilka

Chapter 17 Christmas Quidditch

The afternoon was clear and bright; the crystal winter sun reflected off the thin blanket of white on the ground – it had not snowed for an entire week. With Avalon still on her shoulder and her Nimbus 2001 in hand, Airelle walked swiftly toward the field. She had picked up an old set of robes, including a warm over-cloak, on the way from a house-elf. She did not want her professor's robes damaged by a stray Bludger or even a stray player. She'd seen too many referees get whacked inadvertently by a broomstick handle, or worse.

As she walked, Airelle muttered several Shielding Charms for self-protection. Normally, any Quidditch referee needed to be an expert flier; Airelle's Auror license was proof enough for that. She blinked at the sky and wished for a good pair of Muggle sunglasses, but instead settled for a well-placed Dimming Illusion on her eyes. Shooing Avalon off for a brief moment, the ex-Auror also encased herself to stop her robes from billowing and tangling in the wind. The last thing a referee required was obstructed vision.

The field loomed ahead, giant and alive with hundreds of people up in the stands. Some of the professors were there as well, but Airelle did not see Dumbledore or any of the teams. Thus, her conclusion was that the game would not start for at least another twenty minutes. Retightening her ponytail, the Illusions professor made her way to the far side, where Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, was conversing with McGonagall.

"Madam Hooch?" she called out, and the two looked up. McGonagall's glasses were pushed up, slightly askew, and there was a slightly worried look in her eyes. Possibly, it was because of the player substitution for the Gryffindors. But then again, this was just a fun game, not a chance to get closer to the Quidditch Cup…

"Ah, Airelle," said the Transfigurations professor, her chin hidden by a thick red scarf with gold edges. McGonagall, like Snape, had worn black almost all the time that Airelle had ever seen her; but for matches, she would always put on some accessory to signify her pride of her House. Airelle suddenly realized she had not worn anything blue. But referees were supposed to be impartial. If she had strutted out there in blue robes, that would be blatant support of one team. Plus, someone could even mistake her for a player and foul her. Airelle did not need anything broken at the moment.

"Hello, Minerva," she answered back, trying to direct Avalon towards the stands where a blanket of blue told of the presence of Ravenclaw supporters. McGonagall's eyes flew to the little owl, and Airelle smiled apologetically.

"Oh, this is Avalon… she insisted on accompanying me as far as the – ow! – field."

"I see," said the other professor. "Well, just make certain that she is away from the field when the game begins."

"Certainly," said Airelle. "Err…are you presiding over the commentary, Professor?"

A thin smile stretched McGonagall's face. "The day I stop keeping my eye on Lee Jordan shall be the advent of the Apocalypse."

At that, both Airelle and Madam Hooch laughed. Lee Jordan was the Weasley twins' best friend, and had a tendency to make some of the most… interesting… commentaries Hogwarts had ever heard.

"If you say so," said Airelle. "Madam Hooch, may I take a few loops around the field? I haven't flown in a while." In truth, she had practiced just the other day with Neville; Airelle merely wanted to get the feeling of flying before a crowd again.

"Go ahead," said the witch, and Airelle did not need to be told twice. She bounced up on her Nimbus like a feather, and streaked up a hundred feet into the cool winter air before starting to circle around the field, Avalon still at her side. Below, she could see the distribution of the crowd clearly – on one side, scarlet and gold banners glinted in the sun, saying things like 'Roar, Lions!' and 'Eighty-Eight to Make Gryffindor Great!' There was even an old, tattered one flashing 'Potter for President' in the top stand. Airelle flew lower and squinted, and sure enough, the banner was held by Hermione Granger on one end and Hagrid on the other. The huge gamekeeper towered above everyone, and Airelle could hear his voice even from her vantage point. On the other side, velvety blue banners decorated the stands, accompanied by profuse cheering – the Ravenclaws. On the edges, and scattered between the crowds, were members of the other two houses, dressed in neutral black. Many of them were on the Gryffindor end, but quite a good deal were on the Ravenclaw one as well.

Another voice invaded Airelle's ears just then – Lee Jordan had apparently gotten up to the booth and was warming up.

"And that is Professor Vilka circling up there on her Nimbus, and now, zooming towards the Ravenclaw end of the crowd – she'll be refereeing the game, and what an excellent flier indeed – played for the Ravenclaw team back in her day, Professor McGonagall tells me… and it is evident, the lady is a Chaser to the bone… ahem, anyway, here comes Headmaster Dumbledore, and it looks like the players are just about to file onto the field."

Airelle looked down and saw Dumbledore's amber robes swish towards his seat, accompanied by Professor Lupin. There was no sign of the teams yet; they must still be in the locker rooms. No sign of Snape, either, she thought. Perhaps he is still in my room, fascinated by the candle-holder. Airelle smiled and swooped to the field, halting a few meters above the ground next to the Ravenclaw end.

"HELLO, Professor!" roared a voice, and she turned around on her broom. Alica Tylon and Tracy Patts were close by, waving at her with a huge blue flag that they both had to hold to keep it from falling. It depicted a shimmering eagle, soaring above two pictures – a black raven and a clawed foot.

Tracy, seeing Airelle staring, shouted over the noise, "See, Professor Vilka? Raven…Claw."

"Very amusing, Miss Patts," she replied, now noticing another bird, drawn directly below the raven. It was large and dark brown, with a pinkish-red bald head. "But… what on earth is that creature?" If she didn't know any better, it looked like a…

Alica turned the flag around to see what the professor was pointing at, and laughed. "Oh, that would be Edwin."

Avalon, who had been hiding in Airelle's collar, finally peeked out as Airelle asked, "Edwin? I do not think we've been introduced."

"My pet turkey vulture," said Alica as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I've had him ever since I was born. My great-grandfather Newt gave him to me… thought Edwin was an owl – blame the poor man's vision. But in any case, Edwin delivers my letters well… but he does not get along with the owls, so Headmaster Dumbledore allowed me to keep him at Hagrid's, even though Professor McGonagall protested—oh, my word!"

Alica nearly dropped the flag in her rush to get to the front stand. "Oh, wow!" she exclaimed. Airelle blinked. Tracy, meanwhile, assumed the same expression and began grinning like a hyena.

"What?" asked Airelle incredulously.

"What, she says," muttered Alica, climbing over the front row and kicking some people in the process. "You have an owl in your collar!"

"Oh, this little critter?" said Airelle, finally realizing what they'd been looking at. Avalon climbed out completely and sat on her shoulder, hooting happily. "This is Avalon."

"She's adorable…" Tracy was saying, petting the black feathers gingerly. Avalon nipped the girl's finger affectionately.

"Oh," said Airelle, seeing her window of opportunity, "if you like her so much, can you two convince her to stay with you until the game is over? I cannot really have her flying around up there, it's too dangerous."

"Yeah, sure, Professor," replied Alica, taking Avalon in her hands. "Someone might mistake her for a Snitch covered in tar."

Tracy snorted, but Airelle was not amused. "Thank you, girls," she sniffed, and floated away, leaving the two chortling behind her. They seemed to have forgotten all about the notebook. For some reason, it made Airelle regret that she had not told Dumbledore anything about the incident. Perhaps if she had said something, the attack could have been prevented… But then again, she'd have to explain how she knew about the not-so-secret room in the first place… and who opened the cabinet…

Lee Jordan's voice drowned out Airelle's thoughts yet again. "And here come the Ravenclaw team!" he announced. Airelle looked back to see seven blue-robed figures emerge from the locker room, the first being their new Seeker, a fifth year called Terry Boot. The team had an excellent one the previous year, a now-graduate named Cho Chang. She had been the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, the boy who was murdered by Voldemort. Boot now seemed determined to make the history of the former Seeker proud. Ravenclaw cheers filled the air.

Airelle reached Madam Hooch, who gave her a whistle and some instructions. Out of the corner of her eye, the Illusions professor saw a tall, slender figure in black robes sit at the very edge of the Ravenclaw end.

So Snape decided to come after all. Interesting, she thought, and after accepting a 'good luck' from Madam Hooch (after all, referees had been known to mysteriously disappear during games and turn up in the Sahara Desert), she soared towards the center, where Boot and the rest of the Ravenclaws were receiving last-minute pointers from their captain. Lee Jordan's voice boomed over the crowd again.

"Nice entrance, Ravenclaws, and now, the Gryffindor team is coming onto the field."

Airelle turned to see what was happening. There was a roar from the crowd as Neville Longbottom was the first to step onto the snowy grass. He had donned spare red Quidditch robes and was smiling nervously. Right after him came Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, and the Weasley twins, Fred and George. They all looked fairly confident, and walked towards Airelle and the center circle. Lee Jordan began speaking again.

"The Gryffindor team is sporting two new members, as all the reserves and two players are out for the holidays… those are Ronald Weasley, and Neville Longbottom… and I am sure they will make this game a great and interesting event."

Airelle stared at the ground as Neville and the rest stopped next to her. She suddenly remembered Snape's words concerning Longbottom: "…that bumbling embarrassment to wizardhood – he shall humiliate his House in front of the entire school…"

God, I hope not, she thought, and looked up. "All right, people," said Airelle to the teams, pursing her lips, "this is an extra treat for you all, so I don't want any trouble. Make trouble, and I'll make you acquainted with the Jelly-Legs Curse. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," they chorused, grinning.

"Good." She put the whistle close to her mouth. "Shake hands…"

"And they're off!" roared Lee Jordan from somewhere high up as fifteen broomsticks rose like rockets into the air above the crowds. "Gryffindor in immediate possession of the Quaffle, beautiful work there, Alicia – she is streaking along like the wind…"

And the wind it was. Airelle barely had time to turn her eyes as the players zoomed past her. She'd never refereed before, and did not know how to keep an eye on all of them. Finally, she decided to go higher and take a wider scope. It worked; it was just like practice broom-riding during her Auror training. Wham!—the Quaffle was overtaken in mid-air by Ravenclaw, with a madly howling crowd -- it all went so fast, Ravenclaws scored, then Gryffindors…

Before Airelle knew it, the score was forty-thirty, Gryffindors in favour. She focused her attention on the Gryffindor Chasers… and—

"Wow!" shrieked Lee Jordan as if he'd just seen angels descend from the sky. "Neville Longbottom intercepts the Quaffle, he is… oh, wow!—"

Even Harry Potter paused on his broom and watched with the rest of the crowd as Neville sped towards the goal posts toward the Ravenclaw Keeper, the red Quaffle under his arm. "WOW! —" Lee Jordan was still shouting, "come ON, Neville! I'm telling you, this guy is zooming there, marvelous, and he's not even on a Firebolt--"

"Jordan!" Professor McGonagall's stern tone did not illustrate pleasure. "Get on with it!"

But Jordan wasn't listening; Gryffindors had scored due to Neville, and the crowds exploded. Airelle had time to see Harry Potter's mouth hanging open before he resumed searching for the Golden Snitch. Neville was tearing back towards a Ravenclaw Chaser, who now had the Quaffle, and Airelle wondered if Snape was kicking himself in the head watching this. It was amazing – Neville's dream had come true, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it. He seemed a different person up here between the clouds and the earth – more confident, like a turtle…so clumsy on land, but as graceful as a stingray in the water. So it was here, in the air.

"Fifty-thirty… nope, Ravenclaws score again, fifty-forty, better pick it up there-- hey, wait, is that--"

Airelle turned on her broom just in time to careen out of the way of Harry Potter, who, she recognized, was performing a Wronski Feint the likes of which she'd rarely seen among adult players. The other Seeker, Terry Boot, had noticed this and nose-dived after Potter. Of course, the Snitch was not near the ground; Potter was merely trying to outmaneuver Boot on his superior broomstick ("Look at that Firebolt go! That swoop…"--"JORDAN!" -- "Sorry, Professor…") But where was—

Airelle suddenly noticed a gold glimmer shoot past her. She whirled, and saw it. The Golden Snitch was hovering right near her broomstick, using it as protection. She hesitated--Gryffindors were in the lead; should she move and let Potter see it? But then…then, the Ravenclaws would lose. And Airelle was a Ravenclaw… but she was supposed to be impartial…

See, this is why they should not have picked me as referee, said Airelle to herself, and flew upwards, leaving the Snitch floating freely in midair. Potter spotted it, but the little winged ball had bolted by the time Potter's Firebolt reached the place. Airelle turned her attention to the Ravenclaw team, who seemed to be having trouble getting the Quaffle past Ron Weasley. He was, at the moment, performing a Starfish and Stick move in front of the goal-posts, and the Ravenclaw Chasers were finding it difficult to score. Neville, meanwhile, had joined Katie Bell in a double attack on the Ravenclaws, taking the Quaffle from them…

"And Longbottom does it again-- sixty-forty… Ravenclaws in possession now…about to score, wait, Alicia Spinnet intercepts…Ravenclaw Chaser Jones takes it back-- oh, this is an aerial fight!-- Katie Bell takes it…ten more points for Gryffindor! Score is seventy-forty… nope, seventy-fifty…Longbottom is--whoa!"

Airelle spun on her Nimbus to see Neville gyrate out of control on his broom. He regained his balance, but Airelle knew what had occurred – he'd been fouled by Jones, who was looking apologetic. Airelle had no choice, however…

"Professor Vilka awards a penalty to Gryffindor," announced Lee Jordan, and was greeted by boos from the Ravenclaw crowd. "Ten more points put away, Gryffindor in possession, score is eighty-fifty."

Just then, Fred Weasley swung a Bludger that Airelle did not see. Apparently, it was meant to knock off Jones, but as Airelle rose up, she only heard the whoosh of air seconds before it smacked into her side.

"Ouch!" yelled Lee Jordan as Airelle doubled over in pain, glaring at Fred, for lack of doing anything else. "That must have hurt… Professor Vilka hit hard by a Bludger, let's see if she's okay…"

Airelle straightened up after a short time; she'd been hit by harder things than that. Now, that only left one question… should she award Ravenclaw a penalty, like Snape would if he'd been refereeing?

Airelle raised a hand.

"She's all right, only an accident," said Jordan, and Fred heaved a big sigh somewhere behind Airelle's back. In the stands, she could hear cheers from the Gryffindors. Maybe she should have taken out that penalty after all…

"Ravenclaw in possession now…Potter and Boot still circling up there like birds of prey… no sign of the Snitch for fifteen minutes…"

Airelle watched Jones and another Ravenclaw Chaser throw the Quaffle back and forth, surpassing Katie Bell and Neville, and score another ten points past Ron Weasley, who looked furious.

"And the score is eighty-sixty!" yelled Lee Jordan in accompaniment to cheers from the Ravenclaws. "Alicia Spinnet in possession of the Quaffle, ducks a Bludger by the Ravenclaw Beater, whirls around Jones – ducks another Bludger—" (Airelle watched carefully and stayed well away from the said Bludger as it flew under her) "and…score! Ninety-sixty!"

More Gryffindor cheers came from below. Airelle gripped her broom-handle, and dropped like a stone for ten meters, taking a semi-safe position close to the Ravenclaw goal-posts. Most of the players were on the other side at that point; Ravenclaw Chasers held the Quaffle—

"Jones scores… ninety-seventy… Longbottom grabs the Quaffle, he's really pushing his broom out there—"

Airelle saw the red blur that was Neville go straight towards her and the goal posts. She flew out of the way and recognized the zigzag movement as one of the tricks she'd taught the boy herself. Nice, very nice.

"Longbottom scores!" roared Lee Jordan, and the stadium exploded. "Great job…never would've thought…score is one hundred to seventy…"

Airelle watched Neville pull out of a short dive next to the goal posts. He caught her eye before heading back, and smiled. Neville Longbottom, smiling while fifty meters in the air—a moment to remember.

"And Chaser Jones in possession of the Quaffle…some excellent players the Ravenclaws have here-- he scores…hundred-eighty… Katie Bell seizes the Quaffle now, guarded closely by Fred Weasley…go, Katie, she passes it to Alicia—oh, wait! Quaffle taken by Jones again!—what an intercept, and he's up there, flying towards Ron Weasley—better watch out, Ron—he saves it, but…no, Jones does a superb Reverse Pass to his fellow Chaser--Ravenclaws score again! Hundred-ninety!"

Airelle blinked into the wind, which had now picked up somewhat, and saw Harry Potter turn around and around on his broom amid the cheers. He had apparently spotted something, but was not sure whether it had been the Snitch. Boot was flying close by, also staring around like a hawk. Turning her attention back to the rest of the players, Airelle found that the Ravenclaws had scored again—it was hundred-hundred even. Oh, dear.

"What a game," Lee Jordan was saying, "too bad this won't count towards the cup—we should really have the number of points for each house according to the number they win in the game—heh, sorry, Professor—anyway, Gryffindor Chaser Spinnet has the Quaffle—she decides to pass it to Longbottom—WAIT! IS THAT THE SNITCH?"

Potter had swooped down suddenly, and a murmur ran through the crowds. At first, Airelle thought he was doing another Wronski Feint—but—

"Oh, no," she said aloud, but no one heard her.

Sure enough, there was the Snitch, at the bottom of the field, hovering just feet from the ground. Airelle only saw it as a glimmer of gold in the distance, but Potter—

"He dives!" yelled Lee Jordan as Harry hurtled past Neville, who scored again, taking advantage of the distracted Ravenclaw Keeper. Boot went after him as everyone cheered – people were jumping out of their seats – Airelle flew closer to see, and…

Harry Potter pulled out of the dive, looking surprised. The Snitch had disappeared—or did it?

Terry Boot, who had arrived there about the same time, was also staring around wildly. No one had seen the Snitch fly off, so…

Airelle looked around the field. Lee Jordan was beginning to say something, when Harry caught Airelle's attention again. He seemed to have realized something, and began to shake his right arm feverishly.

"What on—"

Harry finally got his wish. Out of his red sleeve, a small, walnut-sized ball fell into his hand.

"HARRY HAS THE SNITCH! TWO HUNDRED-SIXTY TO A HUNDRED!" howled Lee Jordan, and the crowds exploded. "GRYFFINDORS WIN! EIGHTY-EIGHT POINTS ARE OURS!"

With groans from the Ravenclaws, Harry Potter was buried beneath six scarlet-robed people, and it was in this odd medley of arms and legs that the Gryffindor team descended onto the ground. The red banners in the stands were waving frantically; people were whistling, whooping, and generally making the sort of noise that could shatter glass. Airelle grinned as she, too, floated downwards. This was the first Quidditch game she'd seen in years; had she really forgotten how deafening they were? Or was she just getting old, and found loud sounds intolerable? Nah.

The applause had not died down at all; people were coming onto the field now to congratulate the Gryffindors. The Ravenclaw team was getting handshakes and pats on the back as well; they had been worthy opponents. The Slytherins who had bothered to attend the game, Airelle noticed, just remained in their seats. That, however, did not include Snape; he was also pushing his way past the Gryffindors towards the Ravenclaws. Over the whole scene, Dumbledore's magically magnified voice drowned out the conversations.

"Excellent play," he said, "by both teams… one of the best I've seen in a while. Congratulations to the Gryffindors, who are awarded eighty-eight points… which, if I am not mistaken, puts Gryffindor House in the lead for the House Cup—" (there was more cheering at that) "—but do not forget that Ravenclaw House put up an excellent fight, and deserves ample applause as well. Now… it is getting late, so I urge you all to head back inside for another Christmas Feast… and tomorrow, you may go to the carnival at Hogsmeade, which shall be going on all this week…"

Airelle stopped listening as she was approached by Tracy and Alica, Avalon flying close by.

"Great game," said Tracy, although she did not sound too happy at the loss. "Neville was unbelievable!"

"But you should've awarded Ravenclaw that penalty," added Alica as Avalon perched on Airelle's shoulder. "After all, you did get smacked in the side by a Bludger…"

"I agree," came another voice, and to Airelle's surprise, it was Neville. He was red in the face and grinning. "How are you doing, Professor?"

"It was an accident, Mr. Longbottom," said Airelle, smiling back and shifting around in the thin snow. "And I am quite well… I can also say the same for you. Congratulations, you and Mr. Weasley saved the Gryffindor team."

Neville blushed. "Thank you, Professor. Although Harry got the Snitch…"

"I'm very proud of you," said Airelle. "Even though I should have really been rooting for the Ravenclaws."

"AHH! HYPOCRITE!" yelled Tracy in mock horror, and shrugged as Airelle rounded on her. Alica's grin mirrored Tracy's.

"Oh, come now, Professor, we know you won't favor anybody."

"Yes, indeed," said Tracy proudly. "Unlike—"

"Unlike who, Miss Patts?" asked a cold, dry voice from behind them, and Tracy stopped abruptly. Turning around, she gave Severus Snape her best angelic smile.

"Erm… unlike the bigot in the Muggle movie 'Twelve Angry Men,'" she replied quickly, grabbing Alica's hand. "Oh, dear, we're late for the feast… we should really be going… have to catch up on holiday Potions homework, honestly…" With that, she and her friend took several steps backwards, and walked away at a very decent speed, leaving Snape to stare murderously after them. Neville began to leave as well, but a look from Snape stopped him.

"Mister Longbottom," he said smoothly, while Neville was trying very hard to avoid his black eyes. "I see that Professor Vilka has taught you much about how to fly."

"Y…yes, Professor," he replied.

"It is a pity she cannot teach you about the values of your other classes, such as Potions. Or is it that you're only confident on a broom, and make a mess of everything else?"

Airelle glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville, but he had the nerve to do it in front of her. Avalon, apparently sensing Airelle's mood, burrowed back into the Illusions professor's collar.

"No, sir," replied the Gryffindor, and looked up at Snape. There you go, urged Airelle, watching the altercation between her best friend and her student. Don't shrink, Neville.

"I will strive to do well in all my classes," continued Neville. "Professor Vilka has taught me much, and I… I am grateful to her." He looked at Airelle, asking wordlessly if what he'd said was right. Airelle nodded, and watched Snape's reaction. It was not a pleasant one.

"Is that so?" the Potions Master sneered. "And are you proud of what you have… accomplished?"

Neville was quiet. Then, he said, "Yes, sir." Airelle cheered mentally.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Very well, Mr. Longbottom," he said. "We shall see how you fare… we shall see."

And he swept off towards the castle, leaving Airelle and Neville to look at each other in puzzlement.

"What the heck was that all about?" exclaimed Airelle, pacing around on the thick green carpet that stretched throughout Snape's underground bedroom. Her friend sat in the armchair by the fire silently. Both of them had gone to the feast, but only briefly; Snape had eaten very little, and left early. Airelle, sensing something was on his mind and still angry with him about Neville, sent Avalon off to the Owlery and followed him to the dungeons and through the passageway to his bed-chambers. Now, she was determined to vent her anger.

"What?" he asked, as if he had no clue what Airelle was speaking of.

"You know perfectly well," she snarled. "So what if Longbottom screws up in your classes? He's terrified of you, and the only time he does something right, you have to go and criticize him about it. Some teacher."

"Don't tell me how to teach," he said dangerously, standing up, the fire roaring in the grate. Airelle scowled and crossed her arms.

"I'm not telling you how to teach… I'm telling you it's not good to scare your students to death just because they are Gryffindors."

"You don't understand—" he began. Airelle, of course, interrupted.

"I understand perfectly," she cut in. "It's just like Black's case. You resent him, and Lupin, and the whole of Gryffindor House, just because of Potter. But Neville is not even that great a friend of Potter's…and he's from as pure-blooded a family as you can get."

"Airelle, I know all that."

Airelle was not really listening. "You'll come up with any excuse," she said quietly, looking down. "Do you know what that boy has been through? Never mind the attack on him and Delilah Haze… his parents…" Now, she glared up at him, eyes blazing. "Frank and Alice Longbottom…they were great Aurors… tortured by Voldemort. They do not even recognize him when he goes to visit them in St. Mungo's Hospital. They've been reduced to shells of their former selves, babbling and unable to even live outside a padded room. How dare you put him through any more pain?"

Snape looked down at her, apparently speechless. He was not used to having people talk to him this way. Airelle was one of the few who did it.

"I did not know about the Longbottoms," he finally said, softly. "During my Death Eater days, I had confronted them on several occasions… but…"

"They had the Cruciatus Curse put on them," said Airelle, her anger fading somewhat. "They were very active against Voldemort, and he did not like it."

"I imagine so," Snape replied, striding past her on the marble path towards the exit. "I am sorry for them. The Cruciatus Curse is something that no one should be subjected to." Airelle stared at him; her friend had said the words with the air of one who knew it from firsthand experience.

"It's all right," she said, walking closer to Snape and giving him a small smile he didn't see; his back was turned to her. "I shouldn't have been so rash in my words."

Snape turned around and perused her face. Once again, he looked tired, but it vanished in a second. It seemed as if he had wanted to say something, but then thought against it, and uttered something else.

"Airelle?" he asked. She suddenly realized that no one except Snape had the gift of saying her name so perfectly – "eye-rell," the vowels rolling gently on the tongue like waves. He had not lost his vocal talent, ever since she'd seen him in that clearing, behind the Death Eater mask, so long ago.

She shook her head slightly and replied, "What?"

A grim smile stretched his gaunt features. "How would you like to attend a carnival tonight?"

Airelle stared at him. "Carnival? You're joking. You mean the one in Hogsmeade?"

"Aren't you perceptive…"

"Very amusing," she said, turning back towards the fireplace so he wouldn't see her smile. "Right now?"

"It's going to be eleven at night by the time we get there," replied Snape from behind her. "If you want to see something other than the Midnight Fires, then yes, we should leave now."

Airelle looked down at herself. She had given the Quidditch robes to a house-elf and was now in her plain black work robes. She supposed it would do for Hogsmeade… but then again… it was Christmas…

"Very well," she said. "But I'm not dressed for the occasion."

"Give it a rest, Airelle," said Snape irritably. "What is it with females and dress robes?"

Airelle's reply was a snort, and she raised her wand to herself. She owned five pairs of the same sort of robes; changing one would not hurt.

"I'm not a professional at this," she said, "but here goes…Decoratum!"

There were several loud poofs, then something that sounded like nails on a blackboard. When the smoke cleared, Airelle glanced down at herself. She had transfigured her sleeves to become transparent, and they floated like air around her thin arms, reaching down to the middle of her fingers. Jewel-like blue crystals were sprinkled here and there on the translucent material, winking brightly in the firelight. The rest of her robes still looked completely normal, save for one more addition – the front was turned into a V-neck slit, and the same airy fabric as the sleeves stretched over the skin there, the blue crystals shimmering intensely.

"Hmm… not too shabby, if I do say so myself," announced Airelle, pleased with the result. She finally looked up at Snape, who was staring at her with a mixture of horror and admiration on his face.

"You plan to go to Hogsmeade like that?" he asked.

"What's wrong with it?" Airelle shrugged. "This is far better than the Muggle dress."

Snape crossed his arms, looking perplexed. Still, he did not take his eyes off her, and for some reason, Airelle found that very unnerving. Finally he said, "I suppose so. It's not exactly what one would call 'dress robes;' it is more like a cross between wizard and Muggle attire."

"And we all know how much you like that sort of cross," laughed Airelle good-naturedly. "In any case, I'll be wearing a winter-wrap over this. So don't worry, even if we go into The Three Broomsticks, Madam Rosmerta won't comment on it."

"Somehow I doubt that," muttered Snape, but followed Airelle anyway as the spell lifted them up the dark passageway towards the dungeons.

Airelle pulled her cloak tighter around herself; it was slightly colder in Hogsmeade than at Hogwarts. Neither Snape nor the many people at the carnival seemed to pay much attention to the weather, though. All the houses, shops, and taverns were decorated with multi-coloured fairy lights, which were also strung in garlands across the street from one house to another. A silver moon shone high, hanging like a pendant in the dark firmament. Witches and wizards saluted each other with 'Merry Christmas!' and overflowing jugs of butterbeer. Business was great today at The Three Broomsticks, apparently. Light snow fell from the sky and settled in people's hair and robes, and an overall cheerful mood pervaded the atmosphere.

"Snape, look!" Airelle suddenly exclaimed as they walked through the main street. Right below the hill that housed the Shrieking Shack was something that looked like a giant Muggle Ferris wheel, around which was clustered a throng of pointed hats. Most of these were adults, since Hogwarts students were probably still at the feast and would not see the carnival until the next day.

"Ah, so they built it just in time," said Snape, gazing in the same direction as Airelle. "Care to have a closer look?"

"Of course," she replied, and took off, cloak trailing behind her. It billowed out and revealed her transparent and sparkling sleeves. She stopped, face already flushed from the cold, and waved at her friend.

"Well, come, don't sit—I mean, stand there like a bump on a log, let's go!"

Snape shook his head. "There is no way in hell you're getting me on that thing."

"I'm not saying anything," Airelle answered, her expression glowing. "And you were the one who told me to go and take a closer look."

"All right," sighed the professor, and joined her in a fast walk towards the hill.

The Ferris wheel was forty feet high, and absolutely splendid. Airelle arched her neck over the crowd, and saw that in its center, a large Christmas tree decorated with candles was slowly rotating on its axis. The outer rim of the wheel consisted of seats, and each one was different. Airelle recognized some that were shaped like magical creatures – dragons, fairies, even a Golden Snidget – and some that resembled everyday magical objects, such as a wand twisted in coils to make the seat, or a piece of parchment, or a broomstick… But no matter what the shapes, no Muggle could ever mistake this for a non-magical object, because the seats were not attached to the center – or to anything, for that matter. They simply floated slowly in midair, lazily making their giant circle, and occasionally showering the crowds on the ground with red and green snowflakes.

Airelle smiled as she watched a solitary wizard, then a couple, then a family, then some friends all take seats (which could fit up to four) and drift up, up into the sky, making room for new people to board. It was peaceful.

"Lovely, isn't it?" she asked Snape, not taking her eyes off the wheel and the tree in the middle.

Silence. And then—

"To a certain extent," he said. "But that is not what I wanted you to see."

She glanced back at him, smiling and shrugging. "What could possibly be nicer than a carnival with magical attractions? Come on, let's go on it."

Snape's face soured. "I'd rather tap dance."

"Aw, it's not that bad, is it? Have you ever seen this kind of carnival before?"

"Actually, I have not," he replied. "But trust me, there is something else you ought to observe while the both of us are here, on Christmas. We came all this way… I might as well show you."

Airelle looked at him, intrigued. "Is it something you've discovered as a professor here? I know we have been to many places in and near Hogsmeade…"

"I know," said the Potions Master slowly. "We have been there before… although perhaps now it will offer you a new view. A different perspective, so to speak."

"Well, all right," she answered, following him away from the village towards the hills, "but I'll tear you limb from limb if it's not better than this Ferris wheel… I've never seen anything like it…"

"Oh, my word… I've never seen anything like this."

Twenty minutes of climbing later, they were standing at the top of a tall hill that bordered the village on one side. Airelle remembered it well, everything… including the scene behind them. What once were mere saplings had now metamorphosed into tall trees, bordering the mighty fir that had been planted at the spot hundreds of years ago. They used to come to the place as students, and just sat under the never-changing fir and watched the people below. Now, the view was as glorious as it had been two decades in the past…but even better. The entire village was flooded with lights of all colors, as if a rainbow had forgotten its way home and descended on Hogsmeade instead. Thin threads of moonlight wove themselves in people's hair, reflected in their eyes, and were played like strings of a violin in their laughter. Bright stars sparkled in the velvety blackness; they seemed so low now, hanging there like silver berries just waiting to be picked. She had an absurd desire to reach up and touch them, stuff them in her pocket as if this were the last time she'd ever see them…how strange. The crisp winter wind ruffled her hair playfully with its cool fingers, teasing her to trust it, to jump off and float with it. Soft snow landed on her ears and nose, and melted into her hair. Above them, the branches of the fir whispered to unseen forces. Or maybe, they were whispering to the two visitors. The ground was fresh and covered with white. Save for their two pairs of footsteps, it was pure, unblemished. Airelle felt like they were intruding on a panorama meant only for the eyes of Nature herself.

"We have never come here in the winter," came Snape's voice close from behind her. "This is why I wanted you to experience it."

"It's beautiful," she said earnestly, watching gray mist from Hogsmeade's many smokestacks snake upwards into the sky.

"Do you feel different now?" he asked quietly.

"Mm-hmm," she replied. "I feel like I did when young. Free, without worries. I seem to have forgotten them down there, at the bottom."

"I first returned here soon after I left the Death Eaters," he said. "Since then, I have visited it every year. You're the only person who knows."

Airelle turned around and smiled. "And I promise I shall remain the only person who knows." She knew Snape did not want her to bring a tour group up here; this was something more than just a good view. This was a piece of their life; like the dungeon room, it had remained unchanged. They could still be here together without being judged, free to think as they would. Snape did not bring her here to make up for the argument about Neville; she knew her friend too well to think he'd actually apologize directly. There was another reason for this, and a better one.

"Well," she continued awkwardly when her friend did not say anything, "here's hoping we make it here next year."

He nodded, and Airelle turned back to the village. What she had uttered was right; who knew what a year would bring? With Voldemort, every day was an uncertainty, every memory precious. But now was not the time to think of him, in any case.

"Snape?" she asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind if I did something completely childish and silly right now?"

There was a pause. After what seemed like minutes, Snape finally replied dryly, "Go ahead, indulge yourself… but don't kill me in the process."

She turned back around to face him, and a big smile made its way across her face. "All right, then. But I am not held responsible for my temporary bout of insanity."

Snape crossed his arms, looking not the least bit alarmed. "What exactly are you planning?"

"This!" Airelle bounded away from him, onto an edge of the hill jutting out into the atmosphere. Whirling around, she whisked off her cloak and threw it away from her. It landed softly in the snow, as did her stone-topped headband and ponytail strap, leaving her long white hair all out, streaming as she spun around in circles, now only in her robes with the transparent sleeves, the tiny blue gems sparkling in the night like its native stars. For once, Airelle was not afraid of tripping on her own clothing as its folds glided out in her body's wake; her eyes closed, and for a single moment, she felt like she was a part of the air itself, her arms floating like wings, teetering precariously on the precipice – almost beyond infinity…

Her eyes opened again, and her senses returned to earth once more. Dearly grasping onto the feeling, Airelle backed away, laughing silently. If someone saw her (or even the both of them) right now, that someone would think Airelle and Snape had both gone mad. But if this was madness, then it was the most beautiful feeling she had ever experienced. And now, Airelle knew what it was. She had thought of it many times before… the last time being, oddly enough, in Hogsmeade…her first week as a Hogwarts professor, and on the very day she and Snape had stood near the Shrieking Shack…

The word 'carefree' did not exist for her anymore; it had ceased to occupy a place in her brain on Graduation Night. But she wished, oh, she only wished there'd be a night when the feeling would come back – a soaring, haunting grace that would lift her sky-high without aid of the fastest broomstick…pure happiness…

"I remember a poem," she said out of the blue, walking back towards Snape and bypassing her things on the ground. "It is by Emily Dickinson, and it begins… 'Much madness is divinest sense, to the discerning eye…'"

He did not reply.

"Look," she began, smoothing her hair, which was frizzy and unruly from its game with the wind, "I'm sorry if I'm not… well, I should really be making more sense…" Airelle looked away at that.

For the first time up there, Snape smiled. "I understand," was his response. "Don't you remember how that poem continues-- 'Much sense, the starkest madness, 'tis the majority…'"

She stared at him, and grinned in order to swallow her amazement. "Once again, Snape, you astonish me. I knew you were proficient in Muggle art, but--"

"Dickinson was half-witch," he said.

"Oh. Oops," Airelle chuckled. "My mistake."

"Thank you for the compliment, however," Snape replied, looking down at her.

She gazed back at him, sincerely. "It was the least I could do," she said. "To repay you."

"For what?"

"Bringing me here. And making me happy for the first time in twenty years."

His smile did not fade. It could be interpreted so many ways – most would see it as a nasty curve of the mouth, but Airelle knew that it was his eyes that showed what the smile meant. This time, it was a mix between amusement and contentment. "Glad I could be of help," he answered.

They stood there for a while, neither one saying anything. The snow kept falling down, softly, on their shoulders, but Airelle did not feel the cold at all. So many things had transpired over time… a little frostiness was the least of her worries. She was not worried now, however; just thinking.

"What's the predominant thing on your mind right now?" Snape asked unexpectedly.

"You're going to laugh," she replied with a grin.

"Try me."

"Grape jelly," said Airelle, shrugging. When he stared at her, she added, "What? I was thinking of the Christmas Feast tonight."

"Do you want to know what I am thinking of?" The question was a potential trap, so Airelle had to structure her answer carefully.

"Romance novels?" she tried with a smile of sorts. "After all, this sounds like a prelude to syrupy sentimentality… 'What are you thinking of, darling?'—'Oh, my dear, my only thoughts are of you.'—'Oh, you make me go all aquiver in my bodice…'—'I was hoping you'd say that, my creamy-skinned flower…'—'Hold me!'" Throughout this dramatization, Airelle was shifting her voice from a squeaky feminine one to a throaty male one, complete with the appropriate hand gestures. Snape looked like he was either going to kill her or kill himself; she couldn't tell which.

"Thank you for that performance of your histrionic abilities," he said slowly, "but I'm afraid it is not the right answer."

"Well, then, what are you thinking of?" she asked, allowing herself to grin slyly. She was one-up on her friend, and that deserved a smug expression on her part.

"I am—" His reply was interrupted. Airelle watched in alarm as Snape suddenly gritted his teeth and grasped the bottom half of his left arm. The teeth did not prevent a small half-moan from escaping into the air, and it seemed to mar the landscape, as if the trees themselves knew what had caused the pain to appear. Snape bent down slightly, but even managed to maintain some of his dignity, and did not make another sound… although Airelle would not have cared if he did.

"Oh, no," she murmured, placing a hand to support him as he lifted up his sleeve slightly. Then, as if suddenly realizing she was watching, he snarled, "Get back!" and turned away. Airelle was undaunted, and pursed her lips.

"I KNOW what that thing is!" she yelled back. "I've seen it with my own eyes more than once. Voldemort is calling you…"

Snape straightened. His sleeve was completely down now, but Airelle knew what lay behind it… the sizzling skull tattoo, with the snake crawling through its eye and mouth. The Dark Mark, Voldemort's brand on all who had ever joined him.

"I must go," he said curtly, but Airelle could not help noticing that he did not look at her when he said it. Suddenly, she remembered her fears… Snape had voiced them aloud that very same day. "Either he explains to us all what has happened, or he shall accuse me of treason and kill me…. If I die, it shall be for mistakes of the past, not the choices I make now."

She knew it was useless to argue. Snape had to go, or else. There was no other way, none whatsoever. The Illusions professor had an urge to grip her friend's shoulder, but thought better of it. He needed to concentrate on the task at hand.

Snape finally looked at her, and there was concern in his dark eyes. "Take your wand," he instructed, "and go back to Hogwarts right now. If Voldemort suspects me, he shall be after you as well. Not even Hogsmeade is safe. Now, go, and do not look back. Return to your bedroom and sleep soundly on Christmas night, and worry about me in the morning. Do you understand?"

You great big idiot, she thought. How could I sleep knowing my best—probably my only—friend is out there, facing the Dark Lord? But nevertheless, she replied, "Count on it."

He nodded once. For a brief second in time, their eyes locked and perused each other as they did in those stupid, stupid Muggle novellas. Then, Snape Disapparated, leaving Airelle alone on the hill to pick up her strewn things. The snow was still falling, but she had not moved from her spot.

"And by the way," she said quietly, knowing he did not hear her, "come back in one piece."

To Be Continued…

A/N: Did you like my description of the Hogsmeade scene? If you're wondering where all the weird imagery came from… I was listening to my new Enya CD when writing. God, she's cool. :) But then again, I was also listening to Cruella's Favorite Villain Songs (Disney). What a combination… Jafar and meditation music… go figure. Hehehe, either way, I hope you liked the hill. And the Quidditch game… I had an unbelievable amount of fun writing Lee Jordan's commentary…