When Michelle woke up the next morning, she wasn't sure how to feel. Would it be the day after the Christmas party? Would it be the day of the Christmas party again, like some Groundhog Day loop? Would it be the day her father got the cuckoo clock? Or–worst of all–would she go even further back in time?

She got dressed like she usually did. When she stepped out of her room, she glanced around, and saw Christmas decorations on the ceiling.

No. Not again.

But wait. These ones were a little different. They were red and green streamers, which weren't in the house on the day of the Christmas party.

She knew she had to brush her teeth before making any judgments. She could never think with that dry, sticky taste in her mouth. She arrived at the bathroom and started brushing her teeth, before pausing when she looked in the mirror, the toothbrush still in her mouth.

She looked different, though she couldn't exactly pinpoint how. Same stringy brown hair, same brown eyes, same stubby nose, same thin lips... but something was different. Her facial features were a little different, a little younger. She didn't look exactly fifteen.

She had to meet her family before figuring anything out. After finishing brushing, she cautiously headed to the den where they ate breakfast. Sure enough, it was decorated, though with different decorations than on the day of the Christmas party.

Walking closer to the table, Michelle saw they were having waffles and French toast—at least, her father and brother were. Her brother's waffles were drowned in chocolate syrup and he was eating like a pig, while her mother was eating cornflakes and unsalted eggs on brown toast.

Her mother looked up at her, and Michelle did a double take. Her hair was long. It almost reached her waist, when it was usually shoulder-length. She had cut it about a year ago. This had to be more than one year before when Michelle was fifteen. She couldn't have grown it so quickly.

Looking at the rest of the table, she saw that her father's hair was all frizzy and spiky, when it was usually straight, and her brother looked very different. He was much shorter and more childish-looking.

Trying not to lose her cool, she took a seat at the table. "Uh, Mom?" she asked as she piled French toast onto her plate. "What are we doing today?"

Mrs. Webster looked surprised. "Don't you remember, Michelle? We're going to see The Nutcracker. You were so excited about it."

"Excited?" scoffed Tommy between his waffles. Michelle winced at his uncouthness despite the situation. "That's putting it lightly."

Mr. Webster laughed. "Yeah, you'd think we told her we were going on a vacation to paradise itself."

Michelle remembered. A pageant of The Nutcracker that she had seen when she was thirteen. She was very excited for it, but of course, Tommy had ruined it.

"Do we really have to go?" whined Tommy, stuffing more waffles into his mouth. "It sounds so boring."

Mrs. Webster frowned disapprovingly at him. "Tommy, please. We're doing this for Michelle. We were very lucky to get tickets for this." As an afterthought, she added, "and don't talk with your mouth full."

Woah. Michelle was taken aback. Had her mother been replaced by an alien? That was twice she had scolded her brother in the span of thirty seconds.

Her mother's voice softened. "Next year, you can choose what we do for Christmas."

That was more like it.

After breakfast, Michelle retreated to her room, thinking about what was happening. She was going back in time. That was the only explanation. It was a wild, impossible explanation, but she couldn't think of another. What had caused this? Things had been perfectly normal before...

Before messing with the cuckoo clock! She almost slapped herself for not thinking about it earlier. Maybe that story her father had told her about the curse was true. He had mentioned it being some kind of Christmas curse, and she had relived Christmas party and was currently reliving the Christmas pageant. She had to turn the head back the right way around. Maybe that would return everything to normal. It was a wild guess, but it was the only one she could think of.

But how could she access the clock? It was in... Michelle wracked her mind... what was the store her father had mentioned it being from? Anthony's Antiques. That was it. She had to get to the store and turn back the head. But how?

She decided to try taking her mind off it. There was no use worrying about it now. She looked at the shelf in her room, seeing a rather worn collection of Harry Potter books. Reading those always helped her relax.

She picked one up without checking the title and opened it. It was the fourth one, the one she had been up to at that time. Her eyes scanned the words, trying to get invested in the story, but the thought of the cuckoo clock kept sneaking into her mind. She forced herself to block her thoughts out, and slowly started to focus on the story of Frank Bryce instead.

"Shel!" She heard a rapid tapping on the door. She cringed. Tommy. Of course.

She lay the open book upside down on the bed and stood up to lock it, but before she could, Tommy opened it. Oh, right. Her lock was broken at this time. Her father had fixed it about a week later.

His eyes traveled to her book. "What are you reading?" Before she could stop him, he ran towards her bed and picked it up, scanning the page.

"Tommy!" She grabbed it out of her hands. "Stop! It's not a toy." She could barely stand dog earing it, let alone getting the germs of Tommy the Terror all over it.

He pouted at her. "I just wanted to check it out. You never let me look at your books."

Michelle had to admit, six-year-old Tommy did look pretty cute when he was pouting. Great. That was the third time in the span of two days that she had thought of Tommy the Terror as cute. What was happening to her?

She quickly recovered. "Well, you can't!" she snapped. "You'll just ruin them."

He pouted again. "Can you at least tell me what they're about?"

Michelle hesitated. If she humored him, he'd probably leave sooner.

"Alright," she conceded, placing the book back on the shelf. She'd have to find her place later. "As long as you don't touch them."

Tommy looked pleasantly surprised and nodded excitedly, climbing onto her bed.

"It's about a boy who's a wizard," explained Michelle. "His name is Harry Potter. When he's eleven, he gets a letter from a magical school for witches and wizards."

"What's the school's name?" asked Tommy.

"Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Tommy wrinkled his nose. "That's a weird name."

"Don't you know it?" Michelle was a little surprised. Tommy constantly mentioned that his friends at school were always talking about Harry Potter. "The books are everywhere."

"Yeah, but you never let me look at your ones," complained Tommy.

Michelle paused. Straining her memory, she remembered that when Tommy had asked her if he could read the books this day, she had expressly told him no, insisting he'd ruin them. He had asked if she could at least read them to him, or even just describe what they're about, only for her to say no again before kicking him out of her room. He had responded by basically throwing a tantrum and snatching one of the books from her—the fourth one then as well, if she recalled correctly—and tearing it in some places while drawing on it in others.

Okay, so maybe she could've tried sharing with him. She was just very protective of her books, wanting them to remain in as immaculate of a condition as possible, and having little brother germs all over them wasn't very appealing to her. But still. He didn't have to respond by destroying one! It was her property, after all. And of course, her parents had immediately taken his side just because he was younger. Maybe she had been partially at fault, but so had Tommy.

"Michelle?" Tommy's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Are you gonna tell me more or not?"

Maybe reading the books to him wouldn't be a bad idea. He had destroyed her one because she refused to share, but maybe reading it to him would satisfy his curiosity, at least for a while.

"You know what, Tommy?" She couldn't believe what she was going to say next. "Why don't I read a book to you?"

Tommy's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?"

Again, Michelle had to suppress the urge to think of him as cute. "Yeah, really." She grew stern as she headed to the shelf. "But no touching, no grabbing, and—"

"And if there's so much as a fingerprint on it I'll skin you alive." Tommy rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

Michelle took Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone off the shelf. As she sat back down on her bed and opened it, Tommy eagerly leaned over. She held up her hand and inched away from him.

"Don't get too close to the book." She cradled it like a newborn child or valuable jewel.

Tommy obediently scrambled back, settling into a cross-legged position on the bed a generous distance away.

Michelle cleared her throat before beginning to read the words she had practically memorized. "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."

After about five minutes, Michelle heard a knock on the door. "Michelle?"

It was her mother. She closed the book and placed it back on the shelf before opening the door. "Yes, Mom?"

"I wanted to tell you it's time to get ready for the Christmas pageant." Her eyes scanned the simple day clothes Michelle hadn't changed out of. "I'm surprised. I'd think you'd have gotten dressed already."

"She was reading Harry Potter to me," Tommy piped up before Michelle could reply.

The experience of doing so honestly wasn't that bad. Sure, Tommy had interrupted every few paragraphs to comment or ask questions, but Michelle didn't mind. Actually, she rather liked it. It was nice to see him get so invested in the story. He had touched the book once or twice, but not damaged it in any way, and had even thanked her for reading it to him at one point.

Mrs. Webster smiled approvingly at Michelle. "That's very nice of you, Michelle. See, spending time with your brother once in a while isn't that bad, is it?"

"No. It isn't," Michelle replied honestly.

Uploading on Christmas day after a brief hiatus. I can relate to Michelle because I read Goosebumps to my sister when she was six, including the book this fic is based on. Thankfully, she's nowhere near Tara or even Tommy levels. Actually, I kind of am towards her.