A/N: I'm quite proud of this chapter. I consider it emotional, although that could be just because I adore Wayne Hopkins so much. Please tell me your opinions.

It was Christmas Eve and Terry was sitting in front of the fireplace, warming his hands up. His two best friends, Michael and Anthony, would be coming in a couple of hours so the three of them could celebrate Christmas together.

Terry's mother, Eleanor Boot, was in the kitchen, trying to make a roasted turkey. Cooking was never her strongest point, but she always tried hard. Terry's father, Paul Boot, worked for the Ministry of Magic and was expected to arrive just before midnight.

Just as Terry was pondering his father's arrival, a knock was heard on the door.

"Terry, go see who it is!" shouted his Mum from the kitchen.

Terry got up and walked over to the heavy wooden door. He opened them to find his neighbour, Hufflepuff Wayne Hopkins, standing there, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"Evening, Boot. My foster mother said I had to come over and wish you a merry Christmas," Wayne said, offering him a plate of what seemed to be muffins.

"Thanks, Wayne," Terry said, accepting the plate. It was utterly unlike Wayne to be so friendly when there was no gain involved for him. "Your mother does know you're a strict atheist, right?"

Wayne rolled his eyes.

"Foster mother, Terrence," he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "And yes, of course she does. Apparently, it's the polite thing to do."

Terry nodded, amused. It was just like Wayne's foster mother to do so.

"Would you like to come in?" Terry asked.

Wayne hesitated for a moment, before replying, "Of course not, Boot. Why on earth would I want to do that? I thought you'd have Goldilocks and Corner coming over."

Terry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, Wayne, Michael and Anthony are coming over in a couple of hours."

Wayne snorted.

"So you want me to fill your time, so you wouldn't have to be alone? Tough luck, Boot."

He turned to leave, shivering slightly in the cold air.

"If you stay, I'll tell you a story!" Terry said, smiling at Wayne's sudden stop.

"I'm not a ten-year-old, Boot, I don't need your stories," Wayne said without turning around. Terry could sense him slowly changing his mind. "However, if you have hot chocolate, I'd be willing to stick around."

Terry grinned at that, knowing that getting Wayne Hopkins to listen to you was a long and hard process.

"Sure, Wayne, I'm sure Mum will make you some hot chocolate," he said, allowing Wayne to walk past him and enter the house.

Wayne left his dark coat on the hanger and took off his shoes. He looked at the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room and scowled.

"I see you've decorated," he said, frowning at the fireplace.

Hoping to avoid a heated discussion, Terry hurried to Wayne's side.

"Well, as you know, I'm an atheist too," he said, "My family likes celebrating Christmas because it's a tradition, we don't have to be religious to do that."

Wayne shook his head in disapproval and sat down on the comfy red sofa.

"So, how about that hot chocolate?" he asked.

Terry hurried off to the kitchen, alerting his mother of Wayne's presence and asking her to make them hot chocolate. When he returned, he found Wayne staring at the fire.

"So," he said, making Wayne jump, "do you want me to start that story?"

Wayne hesitated.

"Sure, but let's make it an interesting story. Something that deals with Christmas, but isn't all joy and happiness."

Terry smiled, replying, "I think I know just the story."

He sat on the sofa next to Wayne and started his tale,

"Once, a long time ago, a little girl walked down the street, carrying matchsticks in her apron. The weather was very cold and the poor girl had just the small apron and no shoes."

"She had no shoes?" Wayne snorted. "Way to keep yourself warm. How on earth did she manage to lose her shoes?"

"One of them she lost and the other one was stolen by some bloke," Terry offered. "Anyway, the girl was very cold. She didn't sell a single match that evening and she was afraid to go home."

"Ah, the story of my life!" said Wayne with a grin. "Wayne Hopkins, the little match boy!"

Terry rolled his eyes.

"Wayne, you were abused by your step-father because he was a git, not because you couldn't sell matches."

"Don't forget that bloody enabling bitch I used to call my mother, Terrence!" Wayne said in a sharp tone. "If she did what any normal mother would've done and tried to protect me from my step-father, like I would've done for her, I wouldn't be here now and you would have no one to tell this story to."

"Okay, then, back to the story," said Terry. "The little girl was afraid to go home because she still had all of her matches, so she sat down between two houses, trying to warm herself up. It was New Year's Eve and she could smell roasted turkey from every window and hear laughter coming from inside. The little girl decided to light a match so she could warm up."

Wayne snorted.

"Surely that would be even more useless? If she went home with no matches and no money?"

"Well then, what would you do if you couldn't do magic?" Terry asked, feeling annoyed.

"I would go into one of those houses and ask for some food," Wayne said with a grin. "I'm very good at begging."

Terry clicked his tongue and took the hot chocolate his mother brought.

"Well, maybe the girl didn't want to lose her dignity and beg."

"Ah, I've lost my dignity a long time ago, Blue-eyes," said Wayne, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

"Anyway, when she lit the match, she imagined sitting next to a fireplace, all warm and sweet. She felt so nice, but then, alas, the match went out. She found herself staring at the cold, damp wall again."

"Hallucinations are never a good sign," said Wayne good-naturedly.

"How can you be so insensitive?" asked Terry.

Wayne smiled an honest smile.

"I'm not being insensitive, Terry, I'm being realistic," he said, staring at his cup. "Some people deal with sadness that way."

Terry felt a bit odd for not guessing that it was Wayne's normal reaction to depressive situations. It was his defence mechanism, his way of not letting emotions touch him. Terry suddenly felt sad.

"Well, um, she decided to light another match," he said. "Now, she saw a large table, filled with different sorts of food. A roasted turkey, Yorkshire pudding, steaks, treacle tart, muffins, chocolate, strawberries... As the girl reached to have a bite, it all disappeared and she was left staring at the wall again, freezing."

Terry looked at Wayne, who, surprisingly, didn't seem to have much to say. Terry hesitated for a moment, before returning to the story.

"The girl started crying and decided to use another match. Suddenly, she found herself back in the same room, although, this time, her grandmother was there as well. 'Oh, grandma!' the girl cried, 'please, take me with you! I can't let you disappear as well!' She started lightning all of her matches, not allowing them to burn out, just so she could look at her grandmother, who she loved very, very much. Soon, her grandma took her into her arms and the little girl never felt warmer. Her grandmother flew to the sky with her, where they would be happy and warm forever."

Terry took a deep breath.

"The next morning, some passers-by saw the little girl lying dead next to the house. 'She tried to warm herself' said someone, noticing her matches. No one could imagine what wonderful things she'd seen before her untimely death."

Wayne suddenly seemed tired and worn-out. Terry couldn't tell whether it was only his own view on Wayne that had changed.

"I suppose I should go. I promised Tommy I would write him a letter," Wayne said, getting up from his chair.

Tommy Cardigan was a Ravenclaw student, Head Boy and Wayne's boyfriend. Well, Wayne refused to call him that, opting to call him a mentor, although he never denied their relationship being romantic in nature.

As Wayne opened the door to leave, Terry said, "Merry Christmas, Wayne."

Wayne gave him one of his rare genuine smiles, whispering, "Merry Christmas to you as well, Terry."

After Wayne left, Terry suddenly remembered his father's favourite line from a Muggle song, 'All the lonely people, where do they all come from?...'