As time passes, the number of people at the stands and in front of the shop windows decreases. It is ten o'clock already. I have reached a huge artificial lake in the middle of the city, next to a big road, where another ten or twenty stands have been placed. My hunger is painful now. I see a beggar sitting underneath a huge poster showing Christmas advertising. Father Christmas, wearing not his usual red but emerald green robes. This is painful again. I close my eyes. Memories return and smash my head like Bludgers:

A dark castle. The screams of people. People I know. And the smell of blood. Is she among them? Who could tell? I wait. A day, two days. the Dark Lord takes his time. But he comes, eventually. Accompanied by his followers and... her.

"Minerva." I whisper. She attempts to speak. Unsuccessfully. "What have you done to her, you bastard?" I am beaten.

"Stop it, you fool! I won't have this inappropriate kind of behaviour inside my castle! Save it for the Muggles!"

Muttering. I feel a wand against my chest. "If I have to ask again, Severus, you won't survive the day. Nor will this one." They tie her up where I can see it.

"Don't tell," she whispers. "Whatever they do, don't..."

"Crucio!" She screams. I groan and close my eyes. But the torture continues. Her piercing screams seem to tear me apart.

"Stop, stop!" I can hear myself yelling, but the screaming continues.

"The hiding place," Lord Voldemort demands. I bit my lip. Try to break the chains, but keep my eyes shut. "Where is Albus Dumbledore?!?" I can't breath. Can't think. Mustn't tell! Mustn't let them kill her!

The screaming stops.

"NO!"

I feel my chains loosening. Fall on my knees and crawl forward. She is still breathing, but only just. Her face is as pale as my hand when I touch her cheek. I am crying.

"Tell me!"

I look up. The Dark Lord's face is glowing, his wand still directed at the unconscious Minerva. "I will not ask another time!"

"NEVER!"

"Crucio!"

"Stop! Please stop!" I hold her trembling body. She is too weak to scream.

"Will you tell me what I want to hear?"

"Yes - anything!"

A flash of blinding green light.

"Gather round, gather round! We want the picture to look perfect, don't we? Now look at Santa and smile! That's good. Thank you so much, Santa!" Suddenly the place is full of small children. American students. None of them higher than my waist.

"Are you another Santa?" one of the boys asks me. I give him a puzzled look.

"Now, Marc, you know you mustn't talk to strangers," his teacher rebukes him.

"But he looks a lot more like my idea of Santa," the boy retorts. The teacher is not pleased.

"No, he does not," she says. "Santa is wearing a red hat. But apart from that - look at him! He cannot even understand a word you're saying." She gives me a very contemptuous look. "He is not educated, you know."

"Mind your attitude, Madame," I reply in a soft and dangerous voice. "I am in possession of abilities so powerful they make the mere education you perhaps received look like nothing at all!"

"See?" the boy grins. "I told you he was Santa!"

"Oh," the teacher says without dropping her contemptuous tone, "British, are you?" I do not reply. I am watching the boy who apprehensively stares back. His face is glowing.

"Stupid boy!" I snap. "What are you staring at? There is no Santa Clause! Surely you don't believe in rubbish like that?"

The child's face changes. His big, dark eyes are close to tears. "B-b-but..."

"Bugger off!"

"Excuse me?" the teacher shrieks. "You are talking to a child here!" I give her the most evil smile imginable, thinking that I have not had so much fun since my arrival a few days ago.

"I do not blame him for being a complete idiot. I daresay it is hardly a student's fault if their teacher happens to be a brainless self-righteous bitch." And with this I turn and leave the place.