Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or its universe.
Shoutouts: Thanks to Thanos, x102reddragon, PotterWithABokken, and Kit Willow for their awesome beta work. Check out their stuff!
The Shadow of Death
Chapter 23: A Wonderfully Weasley Winter Wonderland
Clawed, fleshy noises scraped down from the attic in time with the ghoul's festive, if not slightly offbeat, pipe-banging. Grunts, thuds, moans and explosions wound together through the ramshackle house Arthur Weasley had called home for nearly forty years.
He stood at his bedroom window watching a solitary figure trudge through the thick snow surrounding his home. The young man seemed tiny as an ant in the distance, thin wisps of steam puffing from his bundled form like a muggle locomotor.
'Strange, seeing a dead person walk up to your home.' Steam fluttered about his face as Arthur lifted a mug of hot chocolate to his lips. A shiver ran through him as warmth licked against the cold in his limbs.
It wasn't the first time he'd seen such a sight, but it had been many years since the last occurrence. Screams, flashes of spellfire, death and blood tore through his mind's eye. 'Memories best left forgotten.'
"But we're reliving those times now, aren't we?" He tapped his finger against the hot porcelain mug, his eyes never leaving the approaching person.
War was upon them all, though Britain refused to believe it. They'd all pay their dues and more. "War doesn't care about purposeful ignorance, does it?"
A world-weary, sorrowful sigh escaped his lips. Arthur closed his eyes, images of the past playing before his eyes like an old muggle film. "And we're doomed to repeat the past."
Brother would kill brother. Blood, chaos and smoke would fill the streets, muggle and magical alike. Friend would suspect friend, wheels of contempt rolling over their previous affection. Children, forced to fight, would grow cynical, haunted, well before their time.
He'd seen it all, and more, and the person coming to his house stood at the centre of the coming maelstrom.
"Why did Albus insist on you coming here?" he murmured. "You're not mates with any of my children. Why?"
A loud bang tore through the house and white flakes of dust fluttered into his drink. He took another sip with a put-upon sigh.
"FRED! GEORGE!" Molly's high, shrieking voice rattled the windows. "NO PRANKS ON CHRISTMAS! GET YOUR BROTHER OUT OF THAT STOCKING NOW!"
Arthur's lips quirked up. 'As much as things change, many things stay the same. Small comforts, Arthur. Small comforts. There'll be time for war later. Just not today.'
Laughter, far from the troubles of the outside world, rang through the house amid his wife's screams. Arthur set his mug on his chest of drawers and made his way downstairs.
He plastered a bright smile on his face as he rounded the corner to the kitchen. Despite his earlier thoughts, flickering shadows loomed at the edges of his mind, claws shrieking like diamonds over glass.
"Happy Christmas, Weasleys!" Arthur spread his arms, chuckling when Ron was launched onto the floor from a red and gold stocking.
Molly shot him with a glare and pointed at him with a wooden spoon. A dollop of batter dropped to the floor with a squelch. Arthur bit back a smile, his wife doing the same as she turned around.
"Happy Christmas, Dad." Ginny's pale, translucent form floated down from the storey above. A sad, longing smile stretched across her young face.
Arthur's lips twitched down, a lump lodging painfully in his throat. He pried a forced smile onto his lips and glanced at his daughter. 'Another reminder of all he's taken from us.'
With a shake of his head, Arthur gave a broken reply, "Happy Christmas, Ginny."
His dead daughter gave him a small smile and floated off to the edge of the room.
Arthur forced himself to look around the room. Ron drooled over the table, Molly hovering nearby. Fred and George whispered in a corner, handing each other wrapped items and shooting their youngest brother furtive glances.
Warmth flowed through him as if he'd finally been able to stand by a fire after toiling for hours in the snow. 'This is why we fight. For these moments.'
Bitter empty gripped his heart as his eyes fell back on Ginny. The house, full as it often felt, had become less. Arthur's eyes trailed over the worn furniture in the kitchen, to the unique, dust-covered clock in the corner. A frown tugged at his lips.
Bill was off scouring another ruin in Egypt, the goblins uncaring of the holiday. Charlie had written, saying that a dragon on the reserve had fallen ill and couldn't make it.
But Percy's departure from the family stung his breast worse than a swarm of hornets. 'Best not to linger on it. We won't likely see him today.'
A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. Molly looked between him and the door, concern plastered on her face beneath a dusting of flour. Her hand twitched toward the wand in her apron.
"I forgot to mention we'd have a guest today." Arthur walked to the door. "Albus asked if he could join us since he doesn't have any family here."
"Hoo fs ih Da?" Scone crumbs flew from Ron's mouth, giving him the appearance of a rather pale, freckled and ill-mannered chipmunk.
Wind buffeted the family as he opened the door. A tall raven-haired boy with green eyes peeking out from beneath a wool hat and a scarf stared at them.
"Come in, Harry." Arthur stepped aside. "It's alright if I call you Harry, right?"
The boy nodded and stepped into the house.
"Welcome to The Burrow, Harry. You can put your jacket on the rack." Molly stepped up next to him. "I'd give you a hug but I'm covered in flour."
"Something I am rather glad for, Missus Weasley." Harry shrugged out of his thick covering. "I do not care for physical affection."
Ron thumped his chest and coughed. "Great… Mister Doom and Gloom is here. Dumbledore's off his nut if he thought we wanted you here."
"Ronald!" Molly glared at her youngest son, her mouth set in a thin line.
Harry waved her off. "It is fine Missus Weasley. I assure you the feeling is mutual."
"What's your issue with Harry, Ronnikins?" Fred pulled Ron in for a one-armed hug from his left.
"Yeah," chirped George, coming in from Ron's right. "Harry's never done anything to us."
"Aren't you forgetting something, George?"
"Oi," Fred yelled, "I'm George, you're Fred! But what am I forgetting Fred?"
"Oh, George, my much less intelligent brother, you have forgotten—"
"Headquarters," they finished together.
Ron shoved the twins away. "He's a prat. He looks down on us because he's rich!"
"I turned you away because you followed me around like a lost, annoying puppy for a week, Weasley." Harry rolled his eyes.
Arthur put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "That's enough, Ron. Harry is our guest and it's Christmas. We should make him feel welcome."
The youngest Weasley brother glared at the food stacked on his plate. "Fine."
Silverware tinked, chairs scraped and the children chattered and laughed as the Weasley Clan tucked into their breakfast. Arthur couldn't stop the smile crossing his face each time he caught one of them sneak quick peaks at the small pile of presents under the tree in the sitting room.
A cloud of gloom still hung over them, however, sucking away much of the happiness the day should have brought. The Weasleys each snuck furtive glances at Harry, who merely scowled down at his food.
The young man stiffened a bit more at each look. Arthur sighed. His family was many things, but none of them were subtle.
"So, Harry," Ginny's quiet, ethereal voice broke through the din. "Any witches at Hogwarts caught your eye?"
The others fell silent and turned their eyes to him. Ginny stared at him as if trying to pierce him with her serious, forlorn eyes.
"Ginerva!" Molly's fork slipped from her fingers and clattered to the table. "That isn't appropriate. Harry's betrothed." She turned to look at him. "But how is your relationship with that French girl, Harry? Flour was her name, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry's fingers twitched over the spoon held in his right hand, the pink of his knuckles giving way to bone white.
"It is fine, Missus Weasley." He turned back to his meal, eating with purpose.
"It can't be all that bad," George commented after swallowing his food. "Fleur seems like a fine bird, if you can get around her icy exterior."
"Plus… you know…" Fred's hands waved in a curving motion.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "There's more to a witch than looks, Fred. She seems like a bit—" Molly shot her daughter a glare. "—ter person. Can't be all that great."
"Enough, boys." Arthur wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Harry obviously doesn't want to talk about it. Drop it."
"Our apologies, Harry." Fred and George stood with a bow.
"Please take a sweet as an apology." George pulled a brightly wrapped toffee from his morning robes and tossed it toward Harry.
The young man stared at the confection for a few moments. Molly opened her mouth to rebuke the twins as Harry opened the sweet. Arthur reached forward, his eyes wide. The twins stared at Harry, open mouthed, their eyes shining.
Only for Harry to tear the treat in half and throw it in each of their mouths.
"There is no way I am eating anything you give me," he called over the twins' violent gagging.
Glinting saliva pooled at the twins' feet. Ginny shifted from them while Ron leaned forward over the table, covering his food.
Arthur rubbed his temples as their tongues lolled from their mouths, swollen and viscous. Molly, for once at a loss for words, gawped at the three of them.
Their swollen tongues plopped on the table with a fleshy squelch amidst clattering cutlery. Gurgling laughter bubbled through the small dining room as the twins bowed before Harry.
A knock at the door cut through the air.
"Go get cleaned up, boys," Arthur muttered, standing from his chair. "We have guests."
Muffled murmurs drifted through the worn door. Arthur would rather they had waited for another day to visit, but he couldn't turn them away.
"Happy Christmas." His smile was thin, worn.
Kingsley, Remus and Tonks shivered on the snow-covered doorstep. Their shoulders drooped under colossal weight and pale skin sat stark beneath dark, wrinkled bags.
"Long shift?" Arthur stood aside, taking their jackets. The door snapped shut behind them.
"Wotcher, Arthur." Tonks layered multiple warming charms over herself and her compatriots. "Too long a shift, and Knockturn was quiet. Bloody pointless having us there every night."
Remus cleared his throat. "I'm sure Albus has his reasons, Tonks."
"Well I don't see 'em." Tonks stomped into the kitchen, her red eyes widening at the food. "People were dying left and right a few weeks ago, then everything stopped after Hogsmeade. And, as usual, the Ministry's no help. It's a tad fishy, innit?"
Kingsley stood behind his partner, who'd begun stuffing her face. "We shouldn't be talking about this, Nymphadora."
"I should say not," Molly growled. "Not in front of the children. Besides, it's Christmas. We shouldn't be talking about such things today."
"They are going to see it at some point, Missus Weasley." Harry's eyes settled on Ginny. "Some of them already have."
Thick silence settled over the room. Green eyes looked at the clock in the corner of the room, manic obsession glassing over them. It was gone in a flash.
'He's seen something,' Arthur mused. 'There's more to him than Albus let on.'
"Ackshully, Ha'ee." Tonks beat a hand against her chest as she swallowed a large helping of eggs. "I have something I need to talk to you about. Let's go upstairs for a minute, yeah?"
The boy's face hardened before he nodded and followed Tonks upstairs. Arthur's eyes drilled into him as he left.
'It's been so long since I last saw that look.' Arthur took in the exhausted, bland expressions on Remus and Kingsley's faces. 'And he's far too young for it. But war doesn't care, does it? He'll be another casualty of it before long, just like the rest of us.'
—0v0—
Scraping chairs and joyous shouts thundered up the stairs behind them as they climbed to the highest storey of The Burrow. The cloud that had pervaded the kitchen had followed him up the ramshackle home.
Tonks stopped at the stairs' apex, rubbing a hand on her neck.
"Erm, look, Harry." Her hair shifted to a deep crimson. "I'm rubbish at this, but I wanted to say I'm sorry for bringing up Hogsmeade. It couldn't've been easy, me bringing that up and—"
Harry raised a hand. "Save it, Tonks. What happened, happened and I will deal with it in my own way."
She scratched the back of her neck again. "Remus said you were intense, but—"
"Why did you ask me up here?"
"It's about Sirius." Tonks's hair dulled, becoming part of the dust-covered wall. "I know you two don't get on—"
Harry snorted. "An understatement."
"—but he's finally admitted himself to Saint Mungos." Her narrow eyes flashed orange. "He's getting help, but he's not allowed many visitors. It'd mean the world to 'im if you popped in."
Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Harry replied, "I will believe it when I see it, Tonks. He can come to me when he is out of Saint Mungos."
Harry pushed off from the wall and walked down the short hall. Heavy thumps shook and cracked against the floor. Tonks, eyes and hair violent red, pushed him against the wall.
"You're a right arse, you know that?" she hissed. "He's your family, the last you've got! All he wants is to fix what's broken and you're throwing it back in his face."
"I have no family." Harry broke her hold on his robes and pushed her back. "Voldemort saw to that and none of you cared enough to find me afterwards."
Tonks's hand cut through the air. "They tried for years, Harry. Surely that has to count for something?"
"No." Spectres danced in the corner of his eye. "They failed and my life was hell because of them. You. Were. Not. There. So keep your nose out of my affairs."
He turned, robes whipping behind him as he descended the stairs.
"Snape was right about you." Tonks's hissed words brought him to a screeching halt. "You're a cold, unfeeling bastard, a waste of our time and energy."
Harry looked at her from over his shoulder. "Perhaps… he is right."
He continued his descent and entered a room one floor down. It was small, containing a worn, dust-covered bed and dozens of books stacked in neat little piles. Pictures of famous British politicians, muggle and magical, covered every inch of the walls.
Dust exploded around him when he sat on the bed. His hands rose to rub his temples. Blurred bodies shimmered at the edges of his vision as if he were staring at them through a curtain of water.
"You could have saved me, could've been my hero." Dark silver blood streamed down the boy's front. Half of his skull peeked out from behind crispy, flaking skin. "Why didn't you save me?"
"Leave," Harry rasped. He covered his eyes.
"He couldn't save you, can't save anyone," Neville replied. "Not even himself. There's no good in him."
Spiders crawled over his skin. Serpents writhed in his chest, wrapping 'round his heart.
'It has gotten worse,' he realised. 'They never leave now. Am I going insane?'
Harry stood, ignoring the mirages' almost physical pawing. Burnt, foetid flesh and iron stung his nose. "This is pointless. I should leave."
He closed the door behind him and they clawed at it, clamouring for release. They would catch up before long. Harry closed his eyes and leant against the door.
'I have not slept for weeks. How much longer can I go on like this?'
"There you are." Pale, shimmering hair curtained a translucent and morose eyes. "Mum's been looking for you, Harry. Tonks left ages ago. What were you doing in Percy's room?"
"I needed some space," Harry replied and pushed from the door. "What does your mother want?"
Ginny made to grab his hand and stopped at the last moment, a silver blush dusting her cheeks. "You haven't opened your gifts. You're the only one that hasn't."
He cocked his head. "Gifts?"
A small, grating giggle left her throat. "Yes, Harry. Gifts. You act like you've never had a Christmas. Come on."
Ginny floated ahead of him.
'She is not wrong.' Harry followed her to the sitting room.
His eyes fell upon a small mound of wrapped gifts, stopping him in his tracks. Looking around the room, he saw the Weasleys beaming up at him from their seats on the floor.
"Who—"
Swallowing did nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat. Pain lanced through his head and he slammed his eyes shut. Harry's hands raised, fingers wrapping through his hair.
"Happy Christmas, Harry!" Uncle Siri threw a giggling Harry into the air, hugging him tight when he fell back into his arms.
"Sirius!" His mother blew a strand of hair from her face. "How many times do I have to tell you not to throw, Harry?"
Uncle Siri pointed at his father. "James does it when you're not around."
"Oi!" Harry's father pulled him from Uncle Siri's arms. "That's supposed to be a secret, you prat."
Harry reached out for his Uncle Siri, grubby hands grasping in the air. He whined as his mother took him in one arm, one hand on her hip. He wanted Uncle Siri.
"He's only five months old, James," his mother huffed. "And watch your language. Harry will start talking sooner than you think."
His father waved a hand. "That's months away, Lils! Let's just enjoy the day. Besides, Harry has lots of presents to open."
"Mine first!"
Harry giggled as Uncle Siri dove into the large pile of presents, boxes toppling and flying across the sitting room.
"Why do I still let you two stay in the same room?" His mother pinched her nose.
Warm pressure enveloped him as his father wrapped the two of them in a hug. Harry reached out toward Uncle Siri's laughing figure. He wanted to swim in the presents too!
"Because you love us, all of us. We're a family, despite the situation. Happy Christmas, Lils."
Harry burrowed into the warmth of his parents, Uncle Siri all but forgotten.
"Happy Christmas, James."
"It's time to get into the Christmas spirit, Harrikins!"
Blue wool filled his vision, itching the skin of his head and neck. Harry struggled against the four hands forcing the scratchy fabric over him.
His hands pinned to his sides by a deep blue jumper, Harry glared at the twins.
"Revenge, my dear Harrikins—"
"Is so, so sweet."
One of the twins, he could not tell which, pushed him toward the gifts under the tree. Harry stumbled and pushed his arms through the jumper's sleeves before sending them one final glare.
He tore through the gifts, the desire to leave The Burrow driving his hands. Many were of no note, just small tokens of friendship from those who considered him a friend.
'Corner must think himself very funny giving me "100 Ways to Woo Your Witch". Perhaps he would enjoy scorpions in his trainers.'
His eyes fell upon Luna's gift, a stuffed stag. Memories best left dead flooded his mind. Harry pushed against them, hiding the gift beneath a blue cloak Fleur had sent him.
"Finally," he murmured, "the last one."
Glittering silver paper glided beneath his fingers, smooth as silk. The paper swam, swirling in on itself like clouds in a tempest. Blue eagles soared across the paper. He unfolded the note sitting atop it.
Harry,
I have spent a great deal of time gathering the items for this gift. There were many who were more than willing to help. It is my greatest hope that this book may bring you comfort during the dark times ahead and teach you what you desperately need to know.
May it guide your hand and be of more use to you than it ever was to any of us.
This is why I fight, toiling against ever-encroaching darkness.
Sincerely,
Albus
Harry ripped the paper, tossing it aside. A plain brown, leather book sat in his palms. His eyes widened at what he saw.
Pictures.
Of his parents at Hogwarts. Their friends. His grandparents. All of them smiling, content and full of life.
Something light and warm swelled in his chest before sudden pain struck his heart like a hammer. Shards of ice shot through his veins and liquid pricked the corners of his eyes.
'I never knew them,' he thought. 'Why? How could this possibly help?'
He turned the page and trailed his fingers over a picture of his parents holding a swaddled bundle. They were tired, so tired, but their smiles could have lit a city.
'My family.' A tear struck the picture and he closed his eyes, pushing the tsunami of emotion away. He failed and tumbled beneath crashing waves. 'We were happy. They loved me and I loved them. This is why he fights?'
On and on the pictures went, the quiet turning of pages the only sound in the room. The rest of the world dissolved, pictures and spectres his only company.
Harry stared at his mother, panic lining her face as he zipped through the picture on a toy broom.
"Just like us," the woman from Hogsmeade tittered, "they're dead because of you."
He ignored her and turned the page.
Minutes washed by in a blur and the book's warmth faded. Shadows stretched and clawed across the wooden floor.
Clippings from papers, muggle and magical. Death filled the pages, each telling the story of Voldemort's first war. Pain and suffering leapt from the parchment, gripping him in an icy claw.
Until the last, an article covering his parents' sacrifice, of his disappearance. A nation in mourning. The Dark Mark loomed above his destroyed home.
His gut twisted and fire blazed through his veins.
'Voldemort took them from me.' Harry's knuckles whitened at the edges of the album. 'And they made me what I am. It's their fault… They will pay.'
Harry closed the album with a resounding snap, causing the Weasleys to flinch. Without a word he stood and exited the house, the album thumping to the floor.
—0v0—
"'This is why I fight'," he murmured.
Steam puffed from his lips, swirling about his head. Harry stared at the glistening mounds of white powder surrounding The Burrow.
Familiar faces flashed before his mind's eye, his parents finally making their debut. His mother crumpled to a heap, his father's battered corpse, replayed time and again.
Another tear fell from his eye, burrowing its way into the snow before freezing. Harry clenched his fists.
'Weak,' he thought.
Red crept like a spider's web from the hole his tear had made in the pure powder. The boy and his mother lay sprawled in the snow. She wept over his burnt and battered body, her sorrow crashing over him in waves.
Harry drowned beneath the tide. His body slack, he drifted and allowed the current to carry him wherever it willed.
He was tossed by the waves, his lungs burning. He knew not which way led to safety. To air. To land. He drowned in the cold, dark depths, warmth a long-forgotten memory.
The water ran red, clouds of blood gushing and curling around him. Milky eyes stared at him through the depths. Mangled, white skin flowed like ribbons in chopping currents. They reached toward him.
And he did not fight.
Ice lanced his heart.
"Why don't you join them?"
Harry whipped around. Arthur hopped from foot to foot in the cold, bundled so tightly Harry could only make out his eyes. He nodded his balding head toward the field below where his children played a game of quidditch.
Harry's lips thinned.
"Too much on your mind?" Arthur nodded. "I know the feeling."
He stayed quiet.
"I've raised six boys, you know." The older wizard smiled at him. "Your silence doesn't bother me as much as you'd think. They've all given me the silent treatment at some time or another."
"What do you want, Mister Weasley?" Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. "You know as well as I that I had no desire to be here."
Arthur chuckled.
"That's true, but you still came." Arthur turned a serious eye toward him after a few moments' silence. "I don't believe the story Albus told me about you. You know the one. Being raised by muggles. It's far too mundane to fit a person like you."
The Elder Wand thrummed and turned to ice against Harry's forearm. His eyes narrowed.
"I won't tell anyone." The Weasley Patriarch gave him a warm look. "Albus has his reasons, as do you. But he did bring you here for a reason."
"What is your point, Mister Weasley?"
"Arthur," he said. "Call me Arthur."
Harry shook his head. "Why?"
"Out of respect." Arthur lowered the scarf covering his face, a sad smile on his lips. "We've both lived through our wars and, gods willing, we'll live through this one. I'm speaking to you as an equal."
A hum left Harry's lips.
"Be sceptical if you like." Arthur laughed. "I don't look like much but I am very observant. And I've seen you, Harry."
He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.
"You're broken," Arthur whispered, "just like so many of us were after the first war. And you aren't sure you can be fixed."
His teeth clacked back together.
"My family used to be wealthy." Arthur's brown eyes glassed over. "The second world war and You-Know-Who's first war drained us of that wealth. And it took so much more. My parents. My cousins. My brothers."
"You sought revenge," Harry whispered.
"To my shame, yes."
Arthur ran a hand down the side of his house, leaving tracks in the light frost coating it. His eyes ran over the abode without really seeing it.
"There is no shame in seeking revenge." Harry did not mention his own desire. "It is part of the human condition."
"You misunderstand," the older wizard muttered. "I was consumed by my desire. I'd just started a family and I missed so much. I was gone for weeks at a time, trying, no… needing to sate my bloodlust. Molly never knew if it'd be the last time she'd see me, each time I left."
A tear fell down his wrinkled face and froze on his chin.
"You regret it."
"Yes," Arthur said. "And no. I don't regret fighting for a just cause, but I do regret how I went about it. I did terrible things, Harry, and witnessed worse. Just as we all did. And in the end, when the war was won, it still consumed me."
Arthur turned, watching his children play. Harry watched with him, wondering if some nugget of knowledge was somehow hidden in plain sight.
"After the war," he continued, "I decided to live a simple life focusing on my family. I'd realised my mistakes. But the shadow of that war affected me for years, and it almost tore my family apart. I was a mess, broken but lucky."
Harry's brow creased. "How so?"
Wind kicked up snow in a deluge around them.
"I didn't let the war run my life, not completely anyway." Arthur leant against the house, shadows gouging the skin beneath his eyes. "Not everybody was so lucky. Many never got over the darkness of the past and they let it ruin them." He looked up. "And I see the same look in your eyes, Harry."
Harry looked away.
"You're running and you don't know what from." His words were whispered, clear as a bell's toll. "And whatever it is, it's consuming you from the inside. Bit by bit. Were it not for Molly, I'd be the same as you."
"How did you get better?" The question trembled from Harry's lips.
"Right now you're unbalanced. I had to rely on Molly to set me right when I couldn't do it alone. My family kept me grounded."
"But I do not have that."
Arthur shook his head. "Don't you? Or perhaps you need to confront them on your own." He shrugged. "I don't have all the answers, Harry. Nobody does. But I do know if you don't do something, and soon, then the past will consume you and leave you a shell of a man. That isn't something your parents would have wanted for you. It isn't what I want for you."
Arthur squeezed his shoulder. Warmth and an unfamiliar feeling wrapped Harry like a snug blanket.
"Don't let You-Know-Who win, Harry," he said, steel in his words. "Even if you kill him, if you are consumed then he. Will. Win."
The gloved hand dropped from Harry's shoulder, stealing the warm, fuzzy feeling away on a cold breeze. Harry watched Arthur go back into the house.
Bitter cold enveloped Harry. The grey clouds above pressed down, squeezed him in a vice. The spectres returned.
But they only watched him with their glassy, bloodshot eyes, waiting for something he was not sure he could give.
Harry turned from their judgemental gaze.
"Why do I fight?" he muttered into the sharp, biting wind. "How do I survive?"