Several hours in front of the living room fireplace and several mugs of Tontu's cocoa finally began to disperse the effects of the Dementor attack. Hilda shifted her mug in her hands. "Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, turning to the boy sitting beside her on the sofa.

Harry nodded. "I think so. I just...those Dementors. When they were near us they gave me horrible memories."

"What kind of memories?"

Harry was silent for a few moments before continuing cautiously. "I heard my mum the night she died."

"Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry scratched Twig behind the ears and gave a forced smile. "It's fine, Hilda. I don't really remember them. Something about the Dementors just overwhelmed me." He looked up from the fire. "Did you hear anything when the Dementors came for you?"

Hilda bit her lip. "I heard...something. A man and a woman fighting. I don't know who they were, or why it was important, but it made me feel the same way you did."

"Lucky you didn't pass out," Alfur said, glancing up from his paperwork. "Or we'd be done for."

"Do you think they'd have killed us?" Harry asked.

"They wouldn't have killed us," Alfur replied, shaking his head. "They would have done something far worse: kissed us."

Harry and Hilda shivered. "That sounds pretty awful."

"It is, and it's not just a normal kiss: they would have sucked the soul from your body, leaving you an empty shell. Not dead, but not alive, either."

"That's awful. I can't believe those things are just a few miles from here," Hilda said, looking towards the windows.

"Well, so long as they don't ever come near the house," Johanna said, entering the room with two more mugs of cocoa.

"What does a wizard have to do to get put in Azkaban?" Hilda asked.

"Whatever they've done, it must be awful. I wouldn't wish their fate on anyone, regardless of the crime." Johanna sat down next to Hilda. "I know this may be the last thing you'd do after this afternoon, but you are absolutely forbidden from going anywhere near that island."

Hilda shook her head. "I wouldn't go back there if you paid me to."

"That's my girl. Who's up for another game of Dragon Panic? You're getting quite good, Harry. This time you might have a chance of beating Hilda."

"That sounds like a challenge," Harry laughed.

That night, Hilda woke from another nightmare. She got out of bed, tiptoed past Alfur's drawer and went downstairs to the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of milk and decided to take this time to explore the rest of the house. There were still about a dozen rooms she hadn't yet seen.

She chose the kitchen door opposite the one to the living room and opened it. The room she entered must have been the Great Hall, the original building from which the rest of Dahl Manor spread out from. It was massive, its ceiling twenty-foot high and supported by enormous solid log beams. A viewing gallery encircled the space, and from its railings hung old shields, battle-axes, tapestries, and banners. Above the roaring fireplace-big enough for Hilda to lie down in-was a banner bearing the Dahl family motto: Pericula ludus. The center of the room was dominated by a fireplace large enough to for her mother to parallel park the Land Rover. Hilda padded across the flagstone floor and stopped by the center of the table as something caught her eye.

A plate sat at the head of the table. On the plate were the half-eaten remnants of her mother's spaghetti dinner. Next to the plate was a half-empty goblet of wine and an ashtray. A cigarette was still burning in the tray.

Hilda looked around the shadow-strewn room. Suddenly every dark corner seemed inhabited, and a thousand eyes were watching here. "Hello?" she called out. "Tontu?" A creak sounded from the gallery above. Hilda's head swiveled up, just catching a shadowy silhouette stepping out of sight. Hilda drew her wand. "Who are you?" she asked. Her voice echoed off of the walls and ceiling. "What are you doing in our house?" There was no answer. "Lumos."

"Accio rug," A voice whispered. Before Hilda had a chance to identify the intruder, the oriental rug she was standing on was ripped out from under her, sending her crashing head-over-heels onto the floor. Her wand fell from her hand, rolling under the table. Footsteps ran around the gallery and through a door above, the slam echoing through the house. Hilda scrambled to her knees and searched under the table for her wand. As she did so, he hand brushed against something smooth and cold. She grabbed her wand, then shone it over the mysterious object.

It was a silver cigarette case, the initials of its owner engraved on the lid: RED. Satisfied with her find, and in no hurry to pursue the mysterious guest, she pocketed the case and went back to bed.

The days passed, and soon it was Christmas Eve. To celebrate, Johanna had invited Frida, David, and their parents to dinner, with the invitation to stay over. A further party was planned for Christmas Day, with the Weasleys, the Lovegoods, and the Grangers due to attend. Hilda had also insisted on inviting Professor McGonagall and Mr. Filch.

"You want Filch at our party?" Harry asked, looking at Hilda as though she had three heads.

"He's really nice when you get to know him."

"I thought I already knew him."

Hilda shook her head. "You'd be surprised," she replied cryptically.

A trip was made to Diagon Alley for Christmas shopping. The three returned home that night, their arms full of presents, and entered the hall. "Alright, everyone to your rooms. I'll get the wrapping paper out."

"But we don't have a tree to put them under!" Hilda said.

"Then what's that?" Harry asked, pointing through the open living room door. Hilda and Johanna looked in and nearly dropped their packages in surprise.

A tree had been set up near the fire, its branches decorated with fairy lights and festooned with garlands and ornaments. The walls had been hung with pine branches and strings of cranberries, and several stockings had been hung on the fireplace mantle. "What on earth?" Johanna asked, walking into the room. "Who could have done this?"

"Quite the display, isn't it?" Tontu asked, walking into the room, chewing on a piece of toast.

"Did you do this?" Hilda asked.

The Nisse shook his head. "The old man did."

"Old man? What old man?"

If you could see Tontu's eyes, he'd be rolling them. "I don't know who he was, he just came in with the tree and decorated it. Then he left."

Johanna frowned. "I don't like the idea of strangers walking into our house, regardless of their intentions."

"It certainly isn't the worse thing," Hilda pointed out. "You don't see many burglaries where someone leaves things behind."

"Was it Santa?" Harry asked. "Is Santa real?"

Alfur shook his head. "Santa only comes out of hibernation on Christmas Eve."

"...Well, now I have a dozen more questions."

That night Hilda snuck next down the hall and knocked on Harry's door. "Wuzzappnin?" Harry asked, rubbing his eyes as he walked out into the hall.

"We're doing a stakeout," Hilda said, handing him a flashlight.

"What? Why? Are we going after Santa?"

"It wasn't Santa who broke into our house," Hilda said. "Someone's been here with us, possibly since the day we got here."

"How do you know?"

Hilda told him about the intruder in the Great Hall and showed him the cigarette case. "We're going to catch him tonight," Hilda said. "And I think I know just where to start."

Somewhat anticlimactically, the door to Rasmus's room was unlocked when they reached it. Hilda pushed the door open, grimacing as the hinges squealed, then led the way in, clutching the cricket bat she'd found in the hall closet before her.

The bedroom was well-kept and obviously inhabited. A hotplate on the dresser was warming up a tea kettle, and the sheets on the bed were unmade. Hilda checked the toilet, finding nothing but shaving supplies and used towels. Next to the bedside was an overflowing ashtray. Hilda picked out one of the butts and compared it to the cigarettes in the case. "It's a match," she whispered.

A narrow, circular iron staircase led up to the tower above. Just as Johanna was about to step on the first riser, the sound of feet clanging down from above froze them in their tracks. "Hide!"

Harry and Hilda dove into the armoire opposite the bed. "This is the second armoire we've been in together," Harry mused.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," Hilda whispered.

The footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs and padded softly across the carpet. Hilda pushed the dresser door open a crack and peered out. A white-haired man in a red dressing gown stood before the bed, his back to them. Hilda crept out of the dresser and swung the bat.

Harry heard a muffled crack, followed by a man's cry of surprise. He climbed out and found Hilda standing over the prone body of a bearded elderly man in a red outfit. Harry was about to ask if the man was dead when he gave a low moan and muttered something unrepeatable. "Did you just hit Santa with a cricket bat?" Harry asked.

"'Fraid not," Hilda said, lowering the cricket bat and looking sheepish. "I need you to get the first aid kit out of my bedroom. My grandad is going to need an ice pack."

After helping Rasmus Dahl into the armchair by the fire and applying ice to the growing lump on his head, Hilda fished his chocolate frog card from her coat pocket and compared the two. He'd aged considerably: the face was lined with more wrinkles, the dashing Van Dyke goatee had been replaced by a grandfatherly white beard, and his muscular frame was withered and hunched. In his red bathrobe, Hilda couldn't fault Harry for mistaking him for Father Christmas.

Harry returned from the hotplate with a cup of tea and handed it to the old man. Rasmus grunted in thanks and took a sip.

"You're not dead," Hilda finally spoke, hands on her hips.

"Not yet," Rasmus replied. His voice was low and growly, possibly the result of his cigarette habit. "You nearly did me in—great swing by the way."

"Thank you."

Rasmus sat up and looked Hilda over. "So you're my granddaughter, then. It's very nice to meet you. Last time I saw you up close, you were just a babe. And you're Harry Potter," he said, turning to the boy. "I knew your grandparents, your father, too, when he was just a boy. You look just like him." Harry smiled at the statement.

"Where have you been?" Hilda asked, trying to shift the conversation back down the right line of questioning.

"I've been here," Rasmus replied, gesturing to the room around him. "Here, there, everywhere."

"Everyone thinks you're dead," Harry said.

"My mum would be happy to know you're alive," Hilda pointed out. "Maybe I should go wake her."

"That won't be necessary," Rasmus said quickly. "She might not be as understanding as you."

"If you hadn't faked your death you wouldn't be in this mess," Hilda said. "Why did you do it?"

Rasmus sighed. "It's complicated, Hilda. Maybe when you're older, you would understand."

"Try me."

Rasmus chuckled. "You sound just like your mother. Johanna never took no for an answer." He settled back in his chair. "In my travels I met many interesting people and creatures. Some became my friends, some not so much. After a while, those in the latter camp began to come looking for me. It was during my Scandinavian expedition that they sprung their trap. I barely got away with my life, but I knew that if I continued to carry on as I had before, the people I loved the most would become caught in the crossfire."

Hilda nodded. "So you disappeared to keep mum safe?"

Rasmus sighed. "It was not an easy decision to make. Goodness knows I wanted to watch you grow up, but no one could know I was alive, not even her."

"I don't understand why you couldn't at least write once in a while."

"That's why I said you'd understand it more when you're older. I did stick around, though. Once in a while, I went out to the old house in the valley and watched you from afar. I'm glad to see you've inherited my talent for adventure."

Hilda reached into her robe pocket and handed over the cigarette case. "You dropped this in the Great Hall the other night. I had a hunch it was you from the initials."

Rasmus took the case and smiled. "Clever girl." He looked up at the clock on the fireplace mantle. "It's getting late, you should go to sleep."

As they were leaving, however, Rasmus asked Hilda to stay behind. "Go ahead, Harry," Hilda said. "I'll be to bed in a bit." Harry nodded and returned to bed.

Rasmus led Hilda downstairs to a door Hilda had never noticed before. "Have you been to the portrait gallery yet?" Rasmus asked as he fished a key from his robe pocket. Hilda shook her head. "Good, then let me give you a tour."

The room inside was cold and windowless, and the smell of dust filled the air. Rasmus pulled his wand from his pocket and waved it at the wall sconces, lighting them to reveal the walls were filled to the brim with portraits. Hilda walked over to the nearest one and inspected it. "Why aren't they magical portraits?" she asked.

"I had them all frozen when I moved back here," Rasmus explained. "I never really liked talking to my family when they were alive, so why talk to them now?"

He led her over to a set of paintings over the fireplace. "That is my mother, Johanna," he said, gesturing to the one on the left. It was a beautiful woman, in her late teens, with a kind smile gracing her porcelain face. "I named your mother after her. And that is my father, Count Magnus."

The man in the portrait beside Johanna's was tall and gaunt, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut diamond and a gaze even sharper. He seemed to be gazing directly at Hilda with a look of contempt. "Mum said you didn't like him," Hilda remarked.

"I did not," Rasmus said, frowning up at the portrait. "I hated him, and he returned the sentiment in full. My mother died giving birth to me, and I that alone would have caused him to hate me, had I not also been born a squib."

"You were born a squib?"

Rasmus nodded. "Or, at least, everyone thought so. Even when I showed my magical ability at age eleven, I still managed to anger my father by going to Hogwarts."

"Wouldn't he have been happy?"

Rasmus sighed and shook his head. "The Dahls have always gone to Durmstrang, since time immemorial. Durmstrang is...rather different compared to Hogwarts. Our family has always dabbled on the wrong side of the magical spectrum. My father was accused of consorting with dark creatures, and of trying to raise the dead."

Hilda grimaced. "How awful."

"There has always been a darkness in the Dahl blood, Hilda," Rasmus said. "But you'd know that, wouldn't you?"

Hilda froze. "What?"

"Tell me something, Hilda. Is She listening?"

Always, Old Man.

Hilda nodded, attempting not to look her grandfather in the eye. Rasmus knelt down beside her. "Look at me, Hilda. Good, now listen carefully. She does not control you, and hopefully, she will never control you. Not if you fight her. She cannot be trusted, do you hear me?"

I saved your life, Hilda. Remember?

"She saved my life."

"She saved Her life. Do not let her tell you otherwise. She lies. She always lies."

Hilda bit her lip, feeling the fear rising in her stomach. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if I have no choice?"

Rasmus shook his head. "You always have a choice. Promise me you will try to do what's right."

Worse than Dumbledore, the Voice muttered. The Greater Good. Black and white, such a foolish human concept.

Hilda tried to push the Voice away and gave her grandfather a brave smile. "I promise."

We'll see.

Rasmus nodded but didn't smile. "Yes, we shall." He kissed Hilda's forehead. "Merry Christmas, Hilda. I'll see you tomorrow."

The next morning came with a foot of white snow that turned the landscape around Dahl Manor into a frosted wonderland. Hilda woke early and ran downstairs to the living room. It turned out she had been the last person to wake.

"Merry Christmas, Hilda," Johanna said. "We've been waiting for you."

Tontu appeared with a mug of cocoa and handed it to her. "No need to give me your gift: I already opened it."

"You opened all of them," Johanna said sternly. Hilda noticed that most of the presents under the tree had had their wrapping torn off and then taped back together haphazardly. The Nisse shrugged half-apologetically before vanishing into the Nowhere Space behind the television set.

"He's lucky he's a good cook or he'd be out in the snow," Johanna muttered.

"Mum, be nice. It's Christmas."

Johanna smiled. "Of course. Let's open presents, shall we? We can start with the Weasleys' gifts; the owl post delivered them early this morning."

In what Harry explained was a Weasley tradition, the first presents they opened were hand-knitted jumpers. Hilda's was red, her name on the back in blue letters. A very small red jumper had even been knitted for Alfur, as well as a little one for Twig, who did not seem as enthused. "You'll have to be nice and wear it when Ron and his family come for dinner," Hilda said, pushing the sweater over the whining deerfox's antlers. Twig huffed hid under the sofa, presumably to die from the indignity of it all.

Johanna pulled hers on and laughed. "It's a little too big," she said, rolling up the long arms.

"Mrs. Weasley does one-size-fits-all," Harry explained. "Don't worry: Ron taught me a spell that'll adjust it just right."

Hilda gave her mother a photo of her, David and Frida at the Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match. Hilda didn't mention that it had been one of the last pictures Colin Creevey had taken before his accident. Johanna gave her a pair of self-warming gloves and a new beret to replace the one that had been singed by Professor Lockhart.

Frida gave Hilda a new sketchbook and a handmade set of flashcards with exam-prep questions, as well as a copy of Rita Skeeter's new memoir, You Can't Make This Stuff Up: Twenty Years of Conversations and Investigations. David gave her a book on Troll behavior and a self-wrapping scarf.

Harry received a replica Golden Snitch from Hagrid that could be charmed to follow the owner around. Harry set it on Twig, who was chased out from under the couch and out of the room by the whirring golden ball, to everyone's amusement.

Luna Lovegood gave them a year's free subscription to the Quibbler (this month's headline: Loch Ness Monster sues photographers for breach of privacy).

Alfur received a typewriter that Johanna had paid a shop-owner in Diagon Alley to shrink down to elf size (she'd raised a few eyebrows in the shop upon her request).

The final three gifts had names, but the name of the sender was ungiven. Johanna's box contained a set of charmed binoculars that could see up to a range of ten miles. Harry's gift was a guide on Dueling and defensive spells. Hilda's was a small, filigreed wooden box, inside of which was an iron key engraved with a cursive R. "Who do you think these were from?" Johanna asked.

Hilda smiled. "I think I can guess."

As Johanna, Alfur and Tontu prepared for the guests and Harry went to his room to change, Hilda ran up to Rasmus's room. Sure enough, the key fit the lock, and Hilda opened the door to find the room had been stripped of all personal possessions. The furniture was covered in dust sheets, and the fireplace looked as though it hadn't been used in years. Hilda walked over to the desk, but there was no note on its surface.

"He just left," Hilda said. "He lied."

He always lies, the Voice purred. Hilda's gaze fell on the empty crystal ashtray. Anger filled her, and she watched as it flew from the top of the desk and shattered against the wall.

Harry came running at the sound. "What happened?" he asked, standing in the doorway. He looked around. "Where's your grandfather?"

"Gone," Hilda said simply, before brushing past Harry and heading to her room.

Not much needs to be said about the party. It was cheery and festive and all of the other usual adjectives to describe a Christmas gathering. Hilda enjoyed herself, or at least gave the impression that she was. She taught Dragon Panic to Ron and Hermione, although Ron said he much preferred Wizard Chess. David and Frida filled her in on their vacation activities and marveled at Dahl Manor and its decorations. Filch and McGonagall made their appearances, and all of the students (save Hilda) failed to recognize the surly caretaker out of his disguise. "I guess Filch never showed up," Harry said as they were cleaning up. Hilda grinned but said nothing.

New Year's came and went as well, and then it was time for the kids to return to Hogwarts. At the portkey spot, Hilda gave Johanna the key to the tower. "So that's what it unlocked," Johanna said, smiling as she felt the key's weight in her palm. "What secrets did you find?"

"Nothing," Hilda said simply. "It's just a stuffy old bedroom. I didn't go up to the tower."

"Well, some mysteries just lead to mundane answers," Johanna replied before hugging her daughter. "Stay safe, please. Professor McGonagall warned me about the petrifications."

"It'll be alright, mum. Harry and I are on the case."

"That's just what I'm afraid of," Johanna said, frowning. "Please Hilda, let the teachers handle it. I'm afraid you'll just get hurt."

Not with me by your side, the Voice said.

Hilda nodded, a sly smile quickly gracing her lips. "Don't worry, mum. We'll be fine."