I do not own Harry Potter.
The snow outside Godric's Hollow was falling fast. Lily and James were snug inside, however. It was Christmas Eve, and neither of them could remember one more beautiful. Harry, now almost 6 months old, was curled up in a cradle magically rocking by the fire. There were three stockings hung from the mantle. James and Lily were curled together on the couch, watching the snow fly outside their large sitting-room window.
"It's so funny to think that no one can see in such a big window," laughed Lily quietly, in care of the baby.
"Do you think we would see them if they were looking right in, their nose pressed up against it, unable to see us? I think I would laugh and make faces," James said. To prove his point, he thumbed his nose and stuck out his tongue at the street outside.
Lily burst out laughing but covered her mouth with her hands, converting a loud chuckle into an ungraceful snort.
James scooted away from her, eying her suspiciously, teasing her, "This can't be MY wife. I would never marry a woman who snorts."
Lily shoved him under the blanket. "Right, 'Prongs,'" she laughed. James looked up and pretended to run his hands through his hair as he used to when he was young- and vain.
"Not so handsome now, am I?" he lamented. "At least I've still got all my hair. Can't say the same for Peter, though, poor fellow."
"What are you talking about? I'm the one who's gained thirty pounds."
"And given birth. I've got no excuse."
Lily pulled him back over to her, tousling the blanket. "Ack! That's cold! Pull that back up!" he shouted.
"Shhh! Shhh! You'll wake the baby!" Lily clapped her hands over his mouth. She pulled him even closer to her. "And you know I can warm you up without help from any old blanket."
The two of them were silent as they embraced for a few minutes, the snow still falling, the fire still crackling.
"We're still such children, you know that, right?" Lily said after a moment. "How is Harry ever going to grow up to be a functioning human with nuts like us for parents?"
"He'll grow up to be a nut. There's nothing wrong with that. Say, you want to sleep in here tonight? Just . . . just to be like kids again? Wake up on Christmas morning, with all the lights . . . "
"Alright," said Lily, laying her head against his shoulder. "Good night, James. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Lily. You too, Harry," James jerked his head towards the sleeping boy.
Across town, in another well-hidden house, Narcissa was setting up for the midnight Christmas dinner that was a strict tradition 12 Grimmauld Place. She had persuaded Lucius to abandon any grand party at the Malfoy manor and had returned home to prepare for one of the only things that had stayed the same since her childhood.
Yet it wasn't the same. It was only Bellatrix and her left of the children, though both of them brought husbands to the table. Andromeda had been absent for three Christmases, Sirius for five. Now even Regulus was gone. There were no children at the table, either; even if Regulus was still with them, he had graduated and would have no longer have been treated like a child. Narcissa patted her bulging belly, knowing that, with a bit of luck, next year there would be the laughter of babies again. She wished Bellatrix had gotten a start on her family; she had been married for much longer and had not yet produced an heir for the Lestranges. It must have been rather disappointing for the family. Bellatrix was still working for pureblood society- she claimed it was for the good of their society and that she would not rest to raise a family until she could be sure her brood will grow up in a proper world- but Narcissa thought that by delaying domestic life she was undermining their "way of life" just as much as the pro-Muggle-borns. After all, that was what was expected of her.
The festivities of the evening went on with forced jollity but dampened spirits beneath. At midnight, however, the feast ended with a snap- that of Apparition. Lucius, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus had all been called to the Dark Lord's side for a midnight meeting- at Christmas, of all days.
Narcissa stood up, drawn past annoyance and into desperation. She had been clinging feebly to that memory of Christmas, and she wanted it badly, like a little child. However, she sat down as soon as she stood, and renewed eating her slowly chilling turkey. She said nothing.
At the Tonks household, there was another Black feast going on- for the rejects. Andromeda had Nymphadora dressed in a lovely red dress, and the child had insisted on turning her skin green for the occasion. Ted brought over his Gobstone set and played Sirius in several rounds as Andromeda attempted to imitate the meal they would have had if they were back in their childhood home. Sirius wished she wouldn't put so much pressure on herself; he hardly actually missed the fancy dinner with too much turkey and mince pies that made his stomach heave. Christmas- or anything with his family- wasn't particularly a happy memory for him, but he respected Andromeda's nostalgia. It was a pity, though, he thought, that she was dreadfully clumsy and spilled more wassail than she made into cups, and the pie turned out lopsided.
Sirius had a pretend duel with Nymphadora with some peppermint sticks and wondered if maybe someday he would ever get married and have children. James had already started; wasn't it about time he did, too? Then he remembered what Remus had said about growing up. He forced the idea from his mind, as if to spite Remus.
After Nymphdora nearly caught Sirius's hair on fire- her wizard powers were beginning to show; she had gotten too excited- Andromeda took her up in her arms. "We'd better get to bed. Don't want to be awake when Santa gets here!"
Nymphadora laughed and forced her face into that of Santa Claus's. Then her head snapped down on her shoulders- she had fallen fast asleep, still with a white beard.
"She works herself too hard with those transformations," Ted chuckled.
"Well, it takes a lot of energy to change forms," said Sirius, as if he knew- which he, of course, did.
"I'm sure it must," yawned Andromeda. "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have to get Nymphadora to bed- and off myself, too. You're welcome to stay the night, Sirius. Ted can conjure you up a bed."
"Thanks," said Sirius. "Merry Christmas," he added, as Ted joined his wife and child on the way up to their rooms. Sirius stretched out on the cot- Ted had been too tired to arrange anything more elaborate- and gazed out at the stars, wishing he was back with James for one of those Christmases he had stayed with him. Those were the days . . .
Mr. Crouch was still at the Ministry at 2 am Christmas morning. He had been on the phone for the past half-hour with the man in charge of wizard connections in the Muggle government. In order to get Christmas off for most of the Ministry workers, he had to put in a lot of extra time himself.
"We're putting up a high terror alert for our policemen, alright?" the Muggle had told Crouch. "We figure if there's to be any action of this terrorist group of yours, it would be on one our holidays."
Crouch was nonplused. "Your holidays? What? Why's that?"
"Well, because you're all devil-worshipers, right? We figure that would be the best time to do it."
"Sir, we celebrate Christmas, too. We're not wizards because of our religious views; it's based solely on powers allotted at birth. Most of those involved with the terrorist organization, the Death Eaters, will be at home with their families, just as your citizens will be."
"Really?" The man sounded genuinely shocked. "Well, I'll be darned . . . we'll call it off, then!"
Mr. Crouch hung up the phone and shook his head. He had been at the Ministry since 8:00 that morning, and he was dead tired- and he hadn't even gotten all his Christmas shopping done. The Ministry was empty except for one guard- Dorcas Meadowes, the Order of the Phoenix member who had volunteered to watch on Christmas. She was Jewish and said it didn't matter to her what she did Christmas Eve.
"Merry Christmas, Barty," she wished Crouch as he left, sweeping his cloak around him and recalling Ebenezer Scrooge. "I'll keep good watch on the place."
"Right," replied Crouch. "Any idea what one gets for a 19-year-old son at 2 in the morning on Christmas?"
Dorcas whistled. "A little late, are we?"
"A bit," Crouch shrugged it off. "Well, good-bye."
Severus Snape and Peter Pettigrew- the Death Eaters without large families and celebrations to hold them up on Christmas Eve- were the first to arrive at the meeting. The Dark Lord was pacing impatiently; he seemed tenser than usual.
Bartemius Crouch, Jr. was somewhat quick as well. He had been asleep, having no grand parties, but, having none, also had no distraction from the pain in his arm. As he swept from the house, he noticed through his mother's open bedroom door that his father was not even home yet. Stopping briefly downstairs, he saw that there were no presents under the tree- only the empty stocking he and his mother had hung earlier. "Pathetic," he had scoffed at them. He took his father's down and threw it into the fireplace, where flames erupted. Though there was a fire going, he Apparated.
The others showed faithfully, though. The Dark Lord drew them around.
"Christmas," he said. "The Ministry will be empty."
"My dad's still there," Barty grouched. "He wasn't at my house."
"But how skilled is your father at defense?" asked Rodolphus.
Barty understood.
"Whatever the case, there will be limited guards. We can enter the Ministry and do many things . . . Rookwood, you can now retrieve that prophecy that you have been dancing about with for some time now; no one will see us so I may enter to assist. Others- sabotage. Sabotage anything and everything pro-Muggle-born. Let it be a statement. Let them know we do not play nicely with their silly laws."
A select party alone was sent. Since there would be no need for the expertise of torture and human control, Bellatrix, Mulciber, and Travers were denied their trip this time. Bellatrix did not mind, however, staying in the circle of Death Eaters; her sister's party had grown dull.
Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Augustus Rookwood, having the greatest knowledge of the Ministry, were the chosen for this affair. "And I," the Dark Lord continued, "shall come, as well, seeing as how I am needed to lift my prophecy."
Lucius went straight for the sabotage, knowing just what laws were pending that were to his distaste and having knowledge of their whereabouts. Rookwood went first for the prophecy, prepared to signal his master when he was near.
It was then he encountered Dorcas, who had stood watch at the entrance to the Department of Mysteries, the most important, dangerous, and coveted branch of the Ministry. "Ho!" she shouted at the man in the black hood.
"Stupefy!" he shouted. Yet Dorcas blocked it. However, Rookwood did not even notice; he sped full onwards towards the door.
She crept behind him. She was curious as to what these Death Eaters wanted; if she killed him now, she would never know. The information, as Crouch had said, was worth as many as 12 Death Eaters. Still, with great caution, she called for backup. With a special spell the Order had mastered, she spoke into her wand, knowing that any other Order member sleeping near his wand would hear. "I need backup. Department of Mysteries."
Rookwood seized the prophecy and shot a sign into the air from his wand. "Morsmordre!" he shouted. The Dark Mark floated up . . . and a silky black column of smoke appeared and formed itself into a man.
Lord Voldemort turned and saw Dorcas.
"Fool, you brought me right into the face of a guard!" he tilted his wand to the side and shot Crucio, without speech, at Rookwood, who dissolved on the floor in screams. The wand moved to Dorcas.
She had spent months preparing for this. Since her friend Marlene had died she only increased the pressure on herself. One day, she would have to fight a Death Eater. Yet now, here she was, fighting Lord Voldemort himself.
She hadn't prepared for this.
"Avada Kedavra!" Lord Voldemort cried.
"Protego!" Dorcas cried, in her desperation forgetting that there was no way to block such a spell. She fell and landed in a heap beneath the Dark Mark.
Sirius sat uprightly awake. His wand was talking to him.
Remus rolled over in his bed and seized his own wand. Department of Mysteries . . .
James and Lily sat up and bumped heads together, the noise from their wands and the shouts of their surprise and pain enough to wake Harry and send him into a crying fit.
. Fabian and Gideon Prewett stopped eating candy canes at their mother's house and seized their wands. Edgar Bones pulled his from his belt as he put up the tree, sending it toppling over onto his sister Amelia. Caradoc Dearborn dropped his carton of eggnog and left it spilling all over the floor as he got the message ran out Emmaline Vance pulled on a shawl and a pair of boots very quickly and dashed out into the falling snow. Hestia Jones Apparated instantly. Alice and Frank Longbottom looked at each other and Alice nodded to him; she would stay with the baby.
Rookwood let the Dark Lord further and further into the Department of Mysteries, past Time, past the tub of brains, all the way to the end, to the 97th door.
They were successful; the Dark Lord reached for the prophecy. "Excellent . . . my own Christmas present . . . "
"Stop!"
The Dark Lord turned, saw, the hoard of Order of the Phoenix members, and vanished into thin air, taking Rookwood with him. There was nothing left of them but the fallen prophecy.
"He's gone . . . "
"And look, he got Dorcas!"
The disappointed Order surrounded their fallen companion's body. "A hero!" Caradoc sobbed. "Filthy devil killed you, completely out of balance . . . no one could stand to that alone."
TBC . . . Thanks to ye o faithful reviewers! I love you! You do so much for my self-esteem!