Chapter 25: Twelve Days of Christmas

Christmas Countdown: 12 days

When Hermione came down for breakfast the next morning, the Great Hall was quiet.

Too quiet.

Hermione had been buried in her own problems the last few days, but even she knew what a mess the Hogwarts mealtimes had devolved into. It was like walking into the jungle during mating season. But this morning, almost everyone hunched over their plates with sullen looks on their faces, shovelling food into their mouths as if they couldn't even taste it.

Hermione's eyes swept the room for Harry, who sat by himself at the end of the Ravenclaw table, absorbed in a textbook. He didn't notice her until she took a seat beside him. His eyebrows rose a little in surprise, casting a quick glance at the Hufflepuff table before turning back to her. "Good morning. Sleep well?"

Hermione nodded. She had slept in the infirmary last night, and Harry had brought her food and stayed with her until curfew. She smiled, remembering how he'd worried over her like her mum, making sure she was warm and had enough to eat. Hermione could admit to herself that she still had feelings for him. But at some point last night, when the world was quiet, she'd realized that if they never became more than friends, that was okay too.

Hermione filled her plate with fresh fruit and pancakes. "Why is everyone acting weird?"

"They are?" Harry glanced around. "Oh, I guess they are quieter than usual. It's an improvement, at least."

"Well, maybe, but it's still odd."

Roger Davis sat a few seats down from Hermione. It took a few tries to get his attention, and when she finally did, he frowned. "You didn't hear? The Headmistress cancelled the Yule Ball last night, as punishment for the abuse of love potions." He picked at his food. "And now everybody is on their best behaviour, in case she decides to reconsider."

Michael took the seat beside Roger. "I'm actually relieved they cancelled the Yule Ball. My mom was mad at me for missing Christmas Eve with the family, and my date was suggesting we do something called 'cosplay.'

Roger snorted. "At least you had a date." He glanced over at Harry. "You didn't have one either, did you? It's probably why you don't care."

Without looking over, Harry said, "Oh, yes that's probably why."

"Now that the Yule Ball's cancelled," said Michael. "Slughorn's Christmas party is way more important. The professor relaxed the standards for attendance, but spaces are still limited, and everyone who's not invited is trying to be someone else's plus one. You and Hermione might want to be on your guard."

"Alright, I have a huge favour to ask from everyone," said Harry. "Call it a Christmas present, if you want. Love potions and Yule Balls were…fun, and all, but can we just leave them in 1995 where they belong? When I come back next year, I'd like to see people focusing on the important things, like preparing for OWLs, or at the very least the Triwizard Tournament."

"Oh right," said Michael. "Jeez, I almost forgot. When is the second task again?"

"In February," said Roger. "They have about a month to solve the dragon's egg riddle." He took a bite of his eggs, a smug grin spreading across his face. "Marguerite figured out the clue right away, without any help. She said the whole task would be, 'Easy as cake.' Well, she did ask me for advice, but…"

"Dude, stop it, there is no way Marguerite is talking to you," said Michael.

"Yes, she did! She's nice. She even promised that she'd go to the Yule Ball with me…well, before it was cancelled."

"Oh, now that's just bull—"

Hermione turned from their argument. Slowly, she pulled a list out of her pocket, clutching it between her fingers. "Umm…Harry." He turned to her, his lips still pressed to a cup of milk. "I thought about what you said, and I brought you a copy of my schedule. There's also a list of things you can help me with." Harry set the cup down and took the list from her, scanning it. "I sorted it into a table by level of importance—Low, Medium, and High—and I included instructions for each task, and umm…I don't expect you to do them all, but whatever you feel like…I guess."

She felt herself blushing, realizing just how many things were on that paper. She felt like she was taking advantage.

Harry pulled a pen from his pocket, and started circling.

"I think I can help you with these," said Harry. "But I will need to borrow something from you. As for this one…"

Harry's eyes fixed on one item, and she could guess what it was before he pointed at it. "We can save that for after break," Hermione said.


Days until Christmas: 10

"Hello, Professor," said Harry, extending a hand. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced. I'm Harry Potter, and I'll be filling in for Hermione today. How may I assist you?"

Tonks looked up at him uncertainly. She'd been warned that he was coming, which was why she was sitting at her desk instead of surrounded by a mess of papers on the floor. All the same, she still had her doubts about him. Plus, this whole arrangement was sort of…weird?

"Take a seat anywhere you like, Harry," she said. "Here's the stack of papers to grade, and this is the rubric. If you have any questions, please let me know."

Harry grabbed a sheaf of papers, walked over to a nearby student desk, and sat down to work. The next twenty minutes passed in total silence, the only sound the scratching of their pens. Tonks started feeling restless, even more than usual while grading. She kept glancing at Harry, who was engrossed in the process, a slight furrow of concentration on his forehead. She felt a little jealous—it took her weeks to figure out how to grade essays properly, but he hadn't asked her one question.

When he finished his stack of papers—completed in record time—he returned them to Tonks. "Anything else?" he asked.

"Umm…" She shrugged. "I'm almost finished with these, but there's still the quiz from last week." And the one from two weeks ago, but she was just pretending that one was a freebie. Everyone gets full marks, yay, no complaints.

Harry picked up the quiz papers, but then stopped. "Hermione came here a lot, and I'm assuming she did more than help you grade papers."

"Yeah, well, we talked and stuff, but I don't expect you to do that."

"I know, but…well, I know I can't actually replace Hermione, but I still want to make sure I'm doing this right. I would hate to hear later that I'd come across as standoffish or creepy."

Tonks sat back in her chair, frowning. She hoped Hermione hadn't told him about their private conversation. "Don't worry, Harry, you're doing fine. Besides, anything you can do to help me make a dent in my grading would be beyond helpful."

Tonks often wondered—usually while grading, and often at 2:00 am on Monday morning—how the professors at Hogwarts kept up with it all. In Beauxbatons, there were two professors for each subject, which they only taught 4 hours a day, and they had a dedicated hour for tea time at 12:30. Hogwarts had the same number of students, but half the professors, and teaching 400 students a week was the easiest part of her long list of duties. She didn't know how she would have made it through the year without Hermione's help.

The next hour passed in silence as Harry made his way through about half of her grading pile, which was jaw-dropping to say the least. "Wow, thanks! You're a life saver," she said, when he returned it to her. "How did you do that so quickly?"

Harry didn't hear her—his eyes had turned to the materials she'd set out for the next lesson. "Err…Professor, when are you going to teach us offensive spells? We've been learning shields since the start of the year."

"You know, it is called Defense against the Dark Arts," said Tonks, quirking a grin. "Honestly, I'm trying to follow the Ministry mandated curriculum, and even if I skip the boring parts, it's still mostly shields and evasion tactics."

"I guess no one here has heard the phrase, 'The best defence is a good offense,'" Harry mused, running a hand through his hair. "Well, even if we can't learn offensive spells, we could find more useful ways to practice besides casting spells over and over."

"I see," said Tonks, leaning back in her chair. "Have you got any ideas?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering. "When Professor Quirrell taught here, he always challenged us to think critically about how we would face our opponents. Not that everyone needs to be coming up with creative battle tactics—some people just need to get the basics down. Even so, we don't want the students casting a spell just because it's the one we taught them, either. It might work in 95% of fights, but in that other 5%, it's going to get them killed."

Harry shifted on his feet, his eyes fixing on some far off point in the room. "I would have my students practice by splitting off into teams—the 'good guys' and the 'bad guys.' The good guys would practice the new spell, while the bad guys would be looking for ways to attack the opponent. It's actually similar to what you did during our first class, Professor. It would simulate a real battle, but would also help them to discover the weaknesses in their defence. Getting knocked down during a mock battle sticks in their memory a lot longer than hearing it in a lecture."

"That's a good point," said Tonks.

Harry nodded. "It could be a good motivational strategy, too. For example, in one lesson I'd start the class with a mock battle, and give them the stipulation that some students can't use their arms or legs. Then, I'd ask them what strategies they'd come up with to defend themselves, before starting a lesson on binding spells. At that point, the class is invested in learning not only the binding spell, but how to break it and how to fight around it."

"Wow, I'm impressed," said Tonks. "It looks like you've really given this some thought." She smiled. "Do you want my job?"

He quirked a grin. "Thanks, but uhh…I have a lot of other things on my plate right now, and I really don't have time for dark curses."

Tonks shrugged. "Fair enough, but at least consider hosting a study session. The students could learn a lot from you, especially things that I don't have time to teach them."

"Err…well…" Harry scratched his head. "We did try that a few years ago, but it didn't pan out for various reasons." He shrugged. "I suppose I could send out a survey and see if there's interest."

Harry's watch beeped, and he glanced at it while walking backwards. "Oh, shoot, okay. I've got to run, but I'll see you in class, Tonks—I mean, Professor."

He dashed out of the room, and Tonks got out her Auror mirror and called Hermione. "He's been downgraded from sociopath to stalker—no, that's as far as I'll go. Anyway, will you be sending him back next week?"


Days until Christmas: 9

Harry sat in the library, gazing out the window at the first snowfall of the year, the little golden chain a familiar weight around his neck.

God, he had missed his time turner.

The potion that Professor Sprout brewed for him had taken care of his weird sleep cycle, but it hadn't prepared him for the loss of his prized possession. He felt a little like an amputee victim. In the months that followed, he often found himself reaching for it, and discovering it wasn't there.

But the best part was, Hermione had lifted the enchantment on it, so he could use it anytime. In the last few days, Harry had come up with at least six experiments he wanted to try and twelve ways to prank people, but he'd decided to keep himself on task. He would get plenty of time to use it to keep up with Hermione's tight schedule.

At around 2:00 pm, a few 7th years from Beauxbatons approached his corner. Uncertainly, they glanced down at his table's card tent, which said, Welcome students, I'm Hermione.

"Are you teaching English?" one of them asked.

"Yes, I am. Please take a seat," said Harry.

On the hour, Harry started his lesson. He didn't tutor often, but he was more than confident he could handle it. He taught science every week, after all, and he'd also mentored in duelling. Harry got halfway through explaining a grammar concept when he noticed his students' blank looks. They didn't understand him.

Harry tried speaking slower and with simpler phrasing, but how much could he simplify the past perfect? He'd thought they would at least be familiar with it, since it was in their 6th year curriculum. The lesson shifted into awkward conversation, with Harry asking questions and the students looking constipated while trying to think how to respond. Next time, he would have an article to talk about, and maybe some picture cards.

At around 2:40pm, Boris Krum showed up. He sat down at the end of the table, slouching into a chair and folding his arms. Harry set his jaw and sat up straighter. He would not let the Quidditch player see him floundering.

After the lesson ended, Boris remained behind as the others dispersed. "Where is Hermione?"

Three words. That's all it took to make Harry's blood pressure skyrocket. "She's busy," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "I'll be taking over this class for a while."

"How long?" asked Boris.

"Let me see," said Harry, leaning back in his chair, stroking his chin. "We never came up with an official agreement, but I think I like teaching English. In fact, I may just teach all the English classes for the rest of the year."

There were a few moments of silence as Boris glared at him. "Hermione is a much better teacher than you."

Harry smiled, gesturing to the window. "Look outside, Boris. There's so much snow! Why don't you go play out there with the other kids? It's certainly a lot less mentally taxing than studying. It wouldn't do for you to get too smart, because then you'd start wondering why there's a Snitch in Quidditch, and then where would we be?"

Boris stood, the bulk of him rising to tower over Harry, a vein in his forehead pulsing as he stared him down. Harry met Boris's glare with his own, his anger chilled into a blade of ice. "You like big words," said Boris. "But you are a small man. My friends say you are dangerous, but I did not believe. You are just a weak, little baby."

"Your friends are quite perceptive," said Harry, letting the ice seep into his words. "And when I was a baby, I killed Lord Voldemort. Just imagine what I could do to a bottom feeding troglodyte like you."

Boris didn't flinch. "Hermione should not spend time with you."

"That's for her to decide. Now run along, before you get an aneurysm from all the big words."

Boris grinned, long and slow like the Cheshire cat. "I will not hurt you now, because I promised Hermione. But do not push me." His eyes glittered, and his breath was hot on Harry's face as he leaned forward. "Or I swear on my house that I will destroy you."

Boris turned and left the library, the door closing with a bang. As the ice left his veins, Harry felt himself shaking.

Congratulations, said Slytherin. We have made our first mortal enemy. Nice work, idiot. I'm not the one who's going to have to explain this to Hermione.


Days until Christmas: 8

Daphne shivered in the dungeons of Hogwarts, throwing her dark cowl over her head as she made her way down the icy corridor. At her side walked several more hooded companions, chanting in a deep monotone, all of them processing deeper into the darkness as the clock struck the midnight hour. Daphne bit her lip, trying to figure out how she'd gotten into this situation.

Well, actually, she did know. This all started when she'd been caught bawling her eyes out in the Beauxbatons common room.

Somehow, in spite of Marguerite's guidance, things had gone from bad to worse with Neville. He'd gone from not knowing she existed to actively avoiding her. This morning, when Neville saw her in the hallway, he cringed and fast walked in the opposite direction. Daphne made it to the Beauxbatons common room before she broke down sobbing.

She felt someone press into the sofa beside her. "What's wrong?" Lavender asked.

When Daphne didn't answer, the girl pulled the crumpled paper from Daphne's hand. Blinking, Daphne looked up to see Lavender reading the crumpled invitation to Slughorn's Christmas party, understanding dawning in her eyes.

At this point, Lavender declared that she could fix Daphne's problem. She told Daphne to meet her outside the Slytherin dorms that evening. Desperate and a little curious, Daphne did as requested. At a quarter past eleven, she was met by three figures wearing dark cloaks, their cowls obscuring their faces. They carried unlit candles in their hands, along with several arcane spell books.

Daphne's shoulders slumped—she knew a prank when she saw one. "Just get the curse over with and leave," Daphne complained, already too miserable to care.

"What?" said Lavender, throwing back her hood. "We're here to bring you the guidance of the spirits. The cloaks are just because it's cold. That's why we brought you one too."

"Guidance of the spirits…?" repeated Daphne.

"Yes!" Lavender beamed, holding out the cloak. "Come with us, and we'll show you!"

Which is how Daphne ended up following the girls into the Hogwarts dungeons—the real one, not the fake Slytherin dungeon that was actually just a basement. It was so cold that Daphne could see her breath, and she had to step carefully to avoid ice patches.

"Umm," asked Daphne, dodging a falling icicle. "How much further?"

Still singing in chant, Lavender responded, "Twenty-one more steps."

Daphne set to counting, and precisely 21 steps later, Lavender swerved right and pulled open a large wooden door that was twice her height, the wood groaning at the movement. Daphne followed the girls into a warm room that was bathed in the glow of torchlight. Sage and cinnamon wafted from incense holders along the walls, and candles were placed on the floor at each vertex of a red chalk pentacle.

The two mysterious companions took off their hoods, and Daphne wasn't surprised to see that it was Parvati Patil and Luna Lovegood. Parvati was Lavender's best friend and partner in crime, and Luna was…kinda weird. She didn't seem to have a group of friends, but she would pop up randomly whenever strange things were going on, almost like she was causing them somehow.

"The Book of Life, Moon Goddess," said Lavender, extending a hand to Luna.

"As you wish," said Luna, who pulled an oddly bound green book from her robes. Daphne had to stare at it for a few seconds before she realized it was covered in leaves.

"Ruby Sorceress," said Parvati, in nervous tones. "Does the Book explain how to do the summoning if there's 4 people? It is a strange number for a calling ritual."

"On the contrary, Sky Maiden," said Lavender, flipping to a bookmarked page. "It is perfect. We have one for each element, and the fifth left empty for spirit."

"Okay, what's with the weird names?" asked Daphne. "And why is that book moving?"

Lavender smiled, turning the book to display the cover. "The leaves grow with the amount of magic in the room. The names are to put us in tune with the energy of the elements. You have a name of power too, and we will discover it in due time, if you wish."

"Uhh…" Daphne rubbed her shoulders, suddenly reminded that her warm, safe dorm was very far away. "I thought we were just going to gaze into a crystal ball or look at the astrology charts. Why do I feel like we're about to do a dark ritual?"

Parvati chuckled, and Lavender shook her head, giving Daphne a patient look. "It is impossible to create darkness from the union of the elements. They are the purest form of life. Now come, we must prepare to call the spirits. They will have the answers you seek."

The girls beckoned her over to the pentacle, where Luna had already taken her place in the upper left corner. "Daphne, you will go here, on the sign for Water. Think of the element flowing within you, and become one with your inner deluge of power. We will now begin the ritual."

This is so ridiculous, thought Daphne. Lavender has officially lost her marbles. All we're going to do is summon a headache, and then I'm going to go back to my dorm and take a long, hot shower.

And yet, as the chanting began, Daphne reluctantly closed her eyes and tried to think of water. If there was even the smallest chance this could give her answers, then she couldn't waste the opportunity. It was sort of fitting, that the book was made of leaves. She thought that Neville's element would be Earth. She could be the ocean to his seashore, the rain to his forest. She smiled, and figured out the perfect name for herself—River Wanderer.

Daphne joined in the chant, feeling the water rising within her, calling to the missing element in their circle. Daphne sensed the brush of magic, an electric hiss that shocked her into opening her eyes.

The room had gone dark and cold, and there was an uneven shape growing out from the air in the fifth point. It was bright, as if it ate the light around it in its attempt to be born.

Daphne screamed, and stumbled back out of the circle. The girls gasped at the break in the magic, and opened their eyes to see the glowing thing collapse back into nothingness. The light in the room slowly returned, as if the fire had to learn how to burn again.

Daphne was breathing very, very fast, shaking and feeling as if she might cry.

"Why did you do that?" asked Luna, her voice soft as a whisper.

Lavender and Parvati, however, stood gaping at the fifth point with wide, terrified eyes.

"What…but the book said…" Lavender stopped, words failing her.

The scented air in the room was oppressive, tainted—Daphne would choke if she stayed a moment longer. She fled, wiping tears from her eyes as she ran. That's it! she thought. It's official! I'm not dating anyone ever! If I need a date to Slughorn's party, I'll just bring my cat!


Days until Christmas: 7

Angelica Johnson sat in the library, huddled over a book she could barely understand. The golden egg sat beside her, its warped shell reflecting the glow of candles in the fading twilight.

She ran a hand through her hair, her forehead furrowed in frustration. She had searched every book in this section, but she couldn't find anything useful to complete her task. She wasn't even sure exactly what she was looking for. When she first got her egg, she couldn't figure out how to pry it open. So, since she found it in a dragon pit, she decided to use a blasting spell, but all it did was melt the egg and cave in half the side. It was only after she'd heard that her competitors had taken theirs into the bathroom that she tried plunging it into the tub. When it opened, the song was half-garbled, and she could barely understand.

The clue said something about seeking a treasure, but did that mean she needed a finding spell? Couldn't she just use "Accio blah blah?" And where would the treasure be, for that matter? If she was supposed to dive into the frozen Hogwarts lake, she would need a powerful warming charm and a way to breathe underwater. But what if it was a riddle, and she was supposed to find the treasure inside her all along? There was no way to tell.

Annoyed, she tilted her head back, a hand over her eyes. Her competitors, as she'd learned, had figured out the egg's clue weeks ago, and come up with their own plans of attack. In fact, they had so much free time they were dating around and hosting ridiculous after school classes.

She wouldn't have minded being pushed to the limit—that was the point of this game, after all. But she didn't think she'd be struggling alone.

Something fell to the ground behind her, making a gentle thud. She turned back and saw a book lying on the floor, it's pages open to a diagram of a plant.

"Seriously?" she said, scowling into the empty air. "Who is doing this? I told you, I don't want any help!"

But the air remained silent—the cheating coward was using an invisibility spell. With a frustrated sigh, Angelica bent down to put the book back on the shelf, but her eyes caught sight of the diagram anyway. She felt a mixture of irritation and relief. It wasn't how she wanted to find out, but at least she knew she was on the right track.


Commodore Price stretched his legs out, trying to get comfortable. He had paid extra for the legroom on the flight, but it still wasn't enough. A person with a particularly large luggage passed by, and he had to scrunch further into the seat to avoid getting his feet trampled.

He sighed and opened his magazine. After several months in a submarine, he was looking forward to getting away from cramped spaces. He would only have two weeks back home in London, and he planned to make the most of them. Taking walks around the city, visiting relatives, and playing with his son were on the list of things to do.

He was still struggling to get comfortable when a cart passed by him, loaded with drinks. A gorgeous brunette stewardess smiled at him, offering him a choice of beverages. It took a second for him to find his voice. "Umm…I'll have a glass of wine. Red, if you have it."

She nodded, pulling out the bottle. His eyes traced her fingers, so pretty and slim, like the rest of her...

"I see you're in the military," she asked. "What branch?"

"Navy," he said.

"My brother was army," she said, while he tried to stop staring at her legs. "He was injured in the Gulf War, honourable discharge. Let me know if you need anything," she said, with a wink.

"I…uhh…I will." She handed him the drink. "Thank you kindly, ma'am."

You have a wife, you have a son, his brain reminded him sternly as she walked away, but it's not like that stopped him from staring.

It was about an hour later when the brunette showed up again, and he had to admit, he hadn't stopped thinking about her the entire time. "Excuse me." She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "You have a phone call."

"I…I do?"

"Yes. Please come with me."

As if on autopilot, his legs stood up and followed her behind a curtain. They were alone, hidden from the rest of the passengers. He was shaking with nervousness, because maybe he did have a phone call, or maybe…

"Umm…I'm hoping I didn't give the wrong impression," he stuttered, not even sure what he was trying to say.

Suddenly, she was on him, backing him into a wall, and his entire body froze.

"I have several questions to ask you," she said, her manic gaze boring into his. "And you will answer them honestly. You have one minute to tell me everything you know about the Trident programme, including the location of every submarine under your command. You will also tell me what you know about the Ministry of Magic."

"Ministry of Magic?" he panted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

The gleam in her eye brightened, as if she wanted to devour him. "Oh, yes, you do, you just don't remember. But you will soon."