Ok so this chapter is a little longer... sorry if it's a bit unreadable... I have a cold :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything apart from Charlie... oh and Rachel and Peter (heh, forgot about them) Everything else belongs to JK!

I awoke the next morning and paused for a few seconds before I realised where I was. I smiled to myself and turned to gaze out of the window at the white powder gently falling past the glass and gathering on the sill. I had always loved snow. I just loved the cold really and could often be found sitting on a window seat somewhere wrapped in a doona with a cup of hot chocolate.

Speaking of…

I poked my head out of my plethora of blankets and sized up the distance from my bed to where my dressing gown and ugg boots lay in a crumpled heap near the door. I took a deep breath and threw back the covers, leaping over to my extra clothing and throwing it on before I could feel the sudden chill. The thing I loved about the cold was the fact that I could rug up and feel toasty warm without the added humidity and sweatiness you got with summer not feeling like my fingers were about to freeze off.

There was a knock on the door and it opened abruptly. I jumped in fright and spun around to face the culprit.

"Oliver!" I admonished as he poked his head around the door frame and grinned sheepishly.

"Morning sunshine." He greeted me wryly.

I glared at him, turned to my dresser and began a feeble attempt to drag a brush through my thick red-gold hair.

"Mum just sent me up to let you know she's got a pot of her hot chocolate going if you're interested." He threw me a lopsided grin. "It is eleven O'clock you know."

My eyes widened a little but I shrugged thinking it was the holidays and so what if I caught up on a little bit of sleep. But Mrs Wood's hot chocolate, now that sounded like something to wake up to.

I drew my hair up behind my head in a messy bun and turned to my friend, returning the grin.

"I would never say no to hot chocolate, you know that as well as the next person."

"Hmm…. Probably better, I have known you for seven years Charlie."

"I won't hold that against you." I told him as we reached the top of the stairs.

"Thankyou."

"You're welcome."

We wandered into the kitchen and I nearly fainted at the heady cinnamon and chocolate scents coming from the pot on the stove. Mrs Wood stood over the pot, stirring it occasionally with her wand. She looked up at the both of us as we entered and smiled.

"Good morning Charlotte. Sleep well?"

The corners of my mouth twitched at the standard motherly question as I took a seat at the table, reaching for the morning paper.

"Yes thankyou, although someone could have woken me up you know."

"Nonsense!" She reproved, handing Oliver two plates with toast and jam. "Oliver only just showed his face as well. You must have needed the sleep."

As if on cue, Oliver yawned into the jam, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. I smiled at him fondly suddenly thinking he looked rather cute when he was sleepy.

I shook my head to clear it. Where on earth had that come from?

"Charlie?"

My head snapped up at Oliver's question, only to feel myself blush. His knife was poised over the jam pot and he was looking at me with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh yes fine." I said with a wave of my hand, hurriedly bringing the paper up to cover my reddening face.

What on earth was going on? I had been acting like this for a while now. Catching myself thinking thoughts I really shouldn't be thinking – I was beginning to scare myself. Oliver and I were best friends, nothing more, nothing less.

"Here you go dear."

I looked up as Mrs Wood placed a steaming hot mug of chocolate in front of me and eyes lit up, all disturbing thoughts gone.

"Oh by the way Charlotte, Phillip and I uncovered another room the other day." She winked at me over the entertainment section of the newspaper. "I think you'd be interested in taking a look later on – see if you can do something to fix it up for us will you?"

I nodded, smiling in curiosity. The Wood family had owned the huge mansion in the Scottish countryside for generations and recently, Mr and Mrs Wood had embarked on a renovation vendetta, uncovering countless numbers of bricked up rooms in the process. Some were filled with long lost family heirlooms; others had been bricked up for a very good reason and still more were empty and filled to the brim with dust. I was more than a little intrigued to find out why Mrs Wood was smiling at me so knowingly and Oliver was fighting to hide his grin.

I finished my hot chocolate and retreated back up the stairs to my room, showering and changing into my everyday clothes before heading back downstairs.

"Right, so where is this room?" I asked, cornering Mrs Wood in the kitchen.

After two wrong turns and nearly missing a nasty fall through the floorboards, I found myself in front of the third door on the right on the fourth floor. I frowned at the chipped paint on the surface and pushed on the wood, wincing slightly as the door creaked open.

My mouth fell to the floor.

There, covered in dust and the grime of the ages, stood a grand piano. It looked to be at least one hundred years old, maybe more and my practised eye could pick out under the dust that it had hardly ever been played.

I crossed the floor, my feet shuffling across the floorboards and kicking up the dust, towards the piano. I whistled a note and watched in satisfaction as the dust gathered together into one big ball in the centre of the room. I crossed to the window and wrestled it open before guiding the dust ball out into the crisp air. I turned back to the piano again and lifted up the lid to make sure all the strings were in place. There were only a few broken (it surprised me that no one had heard them break before) so I fixed them quickly before moving to check the tuning.

I winced as I played a simple chord and sighed. So this was what Mrs Wood had meant by fixing things. She had wanted me to tune the instrument. There was no denying it was beautiful, most old pianos were, if a little notorious for going out of tune quickly, but fortunately I knew a little spell my mother had taught me that fixed that in a little under ten minutes.

I cast the spell then turned to regard the rest of the room. It was bare except for a small desk with three draws in the corner. I opened the first one and coughed as a cloud of dust sprayed into my face. I sighed and got rid of it the same way as before, turning back to the papers crammed haphazardly into the desk. I pulled the first one out and nearly died with excitement. These were old original Chopin manuscripts – first edition and in his handwriting. I'd only ever seen copies. I reached back into the draws and pulled out Vivaldi, Mozart, Grieg, Bach and some composers I'd never even heard of. It was an amazing library of piano, violin, clarinet and flute scores that the world had never even seen before. I was like a kid in a candy store and didn't even notice the piano playing a finishing chord to signify the end of the spell.

About two hours later, I looked up from sorting out the manuscripts and realised suddenly that I'd forgotten about the piano. I stood up and moved to sit down on the piano stool, fingering the keys. I began to play the opening of my favourite Chopin piece and couldn't stop grinning through the entire score. The instrument was perfect! If I could have, I would've shrunk it a put it in my pocket to smuggle it out!

I jumped about ten feet into the air as something cold and wet smacked into the side of my head. Oliver was standing at the door to the music room, holding a charmed snowball in his hand, trying and failing miserably for an 'it wasn't me' look.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You are so dead."

I whistled softly and the snowball flew out of his outstretched hand and into mine. Oliver wisely took this as his cue to run and I chased him down the stairs and out of the house, casting a quick warming charm around myself before running out of the door.

This sort of thing happened every year. Oliver and I would always end up pelting each other with snowballs and having an all out snow war. It was never clear who won, suffice it to say we always came back soaking wet and laughing so it wasn't all bad. Usually Rachel joined in, her snowballs were always the best, but this year she'd decided to spend Christmas with Peter and his family so fortunately for Oliver and I, we were spared her wicked aim.

I hurled a snowball at Oliver's back, hitting him square in the back of the head. Oliver turned and glared at me.

"The whole point of a snowball fight is to throw snowballs Oliver." I yelled back at him over my shoulder as he chased after me around the frozen pond.

I screeched as he grabbed me around the waist and was probably about to launch into a serious tickle fight but he overbalanced and we fell to the ground.

"Are you sure?" he asked a little breathlessly, "This is so much more fun." He said, poking me in the side.

"Argh! That's not fair!" I yelled, squirming.

Elves were extremely ticklish on their sides, a fact that my so called best friend had discovered during our first snowball fight in first year. Damn him.

I somehow managed to flip over so I was half on top of him, preparing to tickle him back when I stopped; startled, realising our faces were very close.

Nothing happened for a while, the both of us just staring at each other. We jumped as Mrs Wood's voice rang out over the pond.

"OLIVER! CHARLIE! LUNCH TIME!"

I rolled off my friend and sat up, a confused expression on my face. What had just happened? Damn, Oliver was my best friend, I shouldn't be… I couldn't… I mean, he was a human for goodness sake, nothing could happen.

I as jolted out of my reverie as something cold and wet was shoved down the back of my shirt and Oliver ran off laughing around the pond towards the house.

"ARGH! OLIVER!" I screamed after him, jumping to my feet and following him back to the mansion.

Two could play at the 'let's pretend nothing happened' game.