See Ch. 1 for disclaimer.

Would've got this up sooner, but FFN's document manager was acting up again. (glares)

Anyway, RL is terrible: piano competitions coming up in early January, and I really need to practice that 27 page long Grieg piano concerto (yes, it's 27 pages, Grieg just had to make it that long!); SAT II this Saturday, more specifically U.S. History, and I have to study and do practice tests; applications for governor's school, part of which needs to be turned in soon; and school in general, with lots of homework and tests--calculus makes me sigh in frustration, while chemistry makes me want to hit myself.

If it says anything about my life, I wrote this entire chapter over Thanksgiving break, in five days. The entire thing, when I could find some time to sneak writing in, between piano and SAT II and calculus homework. Didn't manage to write a single word of it before then. But... I'm still alive and writing and trying to stick to the chapter-a-month goal I set myself; I'm not going to put this story on hiatus--it irritates me to no end when other writers do that, and I don't want to start doing that.

RL, stop torturing me. You're turning into Bellatrix Lestrange.

I suppose everyone would rather read the chapter than my complaints. ;) Anyway, happy belated Thanksgiving to everyone! And thank you to my reviewers!

Chapter 23

Harry woke in his bed to the sound of singing.

"Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, all seem to say, throw cares away…" And then another voice joined in, Lupin's matching tenor to Sirius's baritone, exultant and bright. "Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, to young and old, meek and the bold…"

He smiled into his pillow, still drowsing a little. He had come to 12 Grimmauld Place the day before, for the Christmas hols, and he already felt as though he would like to stay there forever, with Sirius and Lupin and the rest. He much preferred this to Slughorn's Christmas party, which he had attended with Luna, and Hermione had come with Ron. Somehow, Malfoy had managed to cut in, Snape had hauled him off, and then Ron had disappeared from his sight. He and Luna had found Ron later, listening to Trelawney's dire predictions with a distinctly exasperated expression on his face; Harry had not asked where Ron had gone off to, although he had noticed him glaring at Malfoy from time to time. It had been a singularly dull party; Slughorn's many enthusiastic remarks did not hold a candle to Sirius's carols.

I ought to get up, he thought to himself, but didn't move, not yet.

"… One seems to hear, words of good cheer, from everywhere, filling the air—Oh how they pound, raising the sound, o'er hill and dale, telling their tale…"

With a wistful sigh at the loss of warmth, he threw off his covers and sat up. Quickly pulling a jumper over his sleeping clothes, he slipped downstairs and came to the kitchen entrance. Harry tilted up his head; he could smell breakfast.

"… On on they send, on without end, their joyful tone, to every home…" Lupin's voice broke off, leaving Sirius's voice foundering in surprise. "Harry, come on in. What are you doing, standing out there?"

Harry blinked and entered the kitchen. "How did you know I was there?" he demanded. The three in the kitchen—Sirius, Lupin, and Tonks—had been sitting with their backs to him; now they turned around in unison.

"Ah." Lupin tapped the side of his nose with a knowing air and winked at him. "Just my spectacular sense of smell."

Sirius coughed and slid a plate piled high with food over to Harry. "Tuck in, Harry. Tonks, are you going to be staying?"

Tonks, who was precariously balancing her chair on its two back legs, brought the chair down with a loud clack. "Not much longer, I'm afraid," she said. "Then I'm off to work, and then I have my guard duty for the night. I won't be able to come to the meeting this evening." Her hair was black, her eyes were grey, and when Harry looked up from his breakfast to look more closely at her, he nearly started in surprise. He had never met Bellatrix Lestrange in person—had only seen her picture in the papers, and then Dumbledore's memory in the Pensieve—but Tonks looked like what he remembered her to be as a younger woman defiant in the Wizengamot, all black and grey and forceful looks, and an untouched beauty later wasted by Azkaban. "Where's your guard duty again?" Harry asked. "I thought it was Hogsmeade."

Tonks shook her head. "It was Hogsmeade. I've been transferred to Azkaban momentarily, because one of the Aurors got in an accident, and Gawain Robards thought better to have more Aurors at Azkaban than less, and anyway Dumbledore's at Hogwarts, so he decided Hogsmeade could spare a person." Oh, Harry thought. That explained her appearance, he supposed, what with Bellatrix Lestrange on the loose. She paused, a small sardonic smile on her face. "Of course, I was delighted. It's a very cheery place."

"About as cheery as my mum," muttered Sirius.

Lupin said, "By the way, Harry, Molly said they'd be coming over today, so you won't be stuck with us old men."

Sirius straightened up abruptly. "I'm not old!"

Lupin pretended to think for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sirius. You're not old, you're far too immature to be old."

Harry snorted into his bacon, coughing slightly. Sirius threw him an indignant look. "And my own godson makes fun of me," he sighed. "Anyway, Tonks, be careful in Azkaban. I mean, especially since you're in the high-security level—"

"Where the Death Eaters are?" Harry interrupted, wondering.

"Yeah," Sirius said, his eyes dark with their shadows of memory. "I was in that level. Used to hear the other prisoners moaning and screaming all the time when the Dementors came, and then of course I had to change into Padfoot. I doubt it's the same with the Dementors gone now, though. They keep their minds and don't go insane, Tonks. You have to watch out for that."

"Don't worry, I know what'll happen," said Tonks. "You know what? Just look at the irony—an Auror's getting advice on guarding Azkaban prisoners from an escaped Azkaban prisoner. I think Robards would have my head, the nice badger he is," she added rather irreverently. "But I'd better be leaving right now—I need to file some paperwork." She shuddered a little and added, as if her tone were not enough to convey her feelings about it, "I hate paperwork," as she got to her feet.

"I liked the paperwork at Hogwarts," said Lupin.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "You got to look at your students' essays and make fun of their grammar and spelling. Of course you would like it, you're allowed to let loose your inner devil then and criticise to your heart's content. I do that, I'm cited for insubordination."

Lupin grinned at her. Harry had the sudden impression he was looking now not at Professor Remus Lupin, but Marauder Moony. "But you aren't coming here for Christmas?"

"Azkaban duty then."

"That's crazy," Sirius said. "How can you miss Christmas?"

Tonks shrugged. "I'll manage. Just don't drink too much firewhisky—I don't want you getting drunk." She threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and with an inaudible murmur of her destination, vanished.

"She didn't even give me time for a reply," Sirius sighed. But Harry was looking at him, eyebrows raised. "Firewhisky? When did that start? I don't remember you doing that."

"That's because he drank while you weren't here," Lupin said out of the corner of his mouth. "I had to yell at him for some time before he stopped, just after the Ministry attack. You notice that he seems much more sober now, Harry?"

"He would also like to register the complaint that Mr Moony is talking about him as if he weren't here," Sirius said pointedly.

"You should've seen him when he moped," Lupin went on. "Inclined to go on for ages."

Harry tried to suppress a smile. "Good thing you put your foot down then."

"I need to do that more," said Lupin musingly, looking at Sirius, who slid down in his chair with a look of resignation on his face. "It's rather fun, and you need it anyway. It's hardly true to say that you are mature in the first place. Lily always said that about you."

"Lily was too serious all the time," Sirius said.

"I think she would've had good reason," said Lupin.

There was a momentary silence. Harry looked between the two men apprehensively, before finally breaking the silence with a question. He still remembered his thoughts on the Hogwarts Express, all those months ago: … you've never asked about her, you've only asked about your father… "So, uh—what was my mum like, anyway?"

Sirius and Lupin exchanged looks as if asking each other, Why is he asking about her now? Sirius sat up and smiled in reminiscence. "Fiery temper. She was a fighter, by Merlin. Before she started going out with James—well, you should've heard the awful rows they had in the Gryffindor common room. She thought James was an idiot, until around seventh year when they had to work together as Head Girl and Head Boy. Then she found he could take responsibility sometimes, and her view of him changed for the better."

"She was quick," added Lupin. "She used to snipe rather clever insults at James, and she liked to experiment with magic. She thought chaotic magic was fun and useful, and she took over the running of the Potter estate after they got married—she oversaw all the transactions and contracts and such, since James didn't have a head for that kind of stuff. And she loved Charms. Charms and Potions. Those were her favourite subjects."

Might as well ask, thought Harry. "I heard from Professor Slughorn that she and—Snape were Potions partners. How'd that happen?"

A scowl blossomed on Sirius's face. Lupin still seemed superbly unruffled, although a look of understanding stole across his face. No doubt he thought the awkward change in subject was because of what he must think Harry thought of Slughorn's remark, especially taking into consideration the animosity between Harry and Snape. "Because they were the best ones, of course," he said. "I wouldn't know—none of the Marauders were in NEWT Potions—but they managed to not sabotage each other, I think. Even then, they weren't on particularly good terms, I think. Especially after the incident in fifth year." He inclined his head a little.

"Oh." Harry realised what Lupin must be referring. "You mean the—Mudblood insult?"

"What do you think?" Sirius said, glowering at the far wall as if the far wall were Snape. "She fumed for the rest of the day, and snapped at James when he tried to talk to her for the rest of fifth year. What do you think?"

I don't know, Harry thought with a vague sense of irritation. How was he supposed to know? Although I thought she was angry about more than just the insult, now that I think about it… Just letting my dad do all that stuff in the first place, and I thought she was almost amused by everything, until the insult, and then she blew up—not at Snape, but at James… it didn't seem like she'd known Snape before that, just more that she was "doing the right thing"…

He shrugged. "I don't know." There was really only one person he could ask about that, but it wasn't as though Snape would let him ask, and he didn't really want to. "I was just wondering…"

Sirius's face softened. "You should know more about them," he said. "Didn't Petunia ever tell you anything?"

Harry snorted. "Other than telling me they died in a car accident and that they were fools? Nope."

Lupin sighed. "Hagrid told me you had a photo album," he said. "He owled me about it a while back, asking for pictures. Why don't you bring it down, and we'll tell you some stories?"

"Oh!" Sirius looked hopeful. "I'd like to see that."

Harry jumped up eagerly. "All right, I'll get it," he said, and hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Back in his room, Harry pulled out the photo album he had treasured ever since Hagrid had given it to him at the end of first year. As he turned to go back downstairs, his eyes fell on the pocket watch and golden charm—his birthday gifts from Ron and Hermione—he'd put on his bedside table before going to sleep. He paused, then walked over and put the golden chain around his neck, flicking the pocket watch open.

Ron's hand pointed to "sleeping," Hermione's and Snuffles's to "eating." He thought, Tonks in Azkaban. That's got to be terribly depressing. "Clocca adere Tonks," he said out loud, and watched as another small hand formed on the face of the watch, reading "Tonks" and pointing to "travelling." Then, thinking of the two Marauders waiting downstairs, he did the same for Lupin.

Just in case.

He closed the pocket watch, letting it settle against his skin, and left the room, his spirit still light as he thought of his parents' pictures.

oOo

Hermione's favourite part of Christmas was, without doubt, decorating the Christmas tree. (Although opening presents came in a close second.)

"One day til Christmas," Matthew Granger said cheerfully as he brought in another box of ornaments, cradling it carefully in his arms. "We're a bit behind on the decorating, I've got to admit."

Hermione, towering over her father as she stood on a stool to reach the top of the tree, squeaked as the box bumped her in the back of her leg, instinctively reaching for her left arm to make sure none of the ornaments that she had hung from it might slip off. "Ow! Watch where you're going, Dad, all right? And that's what you always say—we're a bit behind on the decorating."

"Well, look at the Pemberleys across the street," her father said. "They got their lights up two weeks ago. We don't even bother."

"I'd rather you stayed inside anyway, it's freezing out there," said Elena Granger, standing off to the side. She had been turned into a tinsel-hanger of sorts; the glittery material covered her shoulders, and she looked almost comically worried as she turned to inspect the state of the ornaments. "Good, these aren't broken. I'm always afraid they will be."

"I'm not that clumsy, Elena," Matthew said, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

"You're clumsy enough to run right into me, hmm?" Elena raised an eyebrow, but didn't move away as her husband tilted up her chin.

Hermione grinned, turning away, and slid off another ornament from her left arm. She had heard many times the whimsical tale of how her parents had met—of how a young Matthew Granger, running at full speed in haste to get to his next class, had collided with Elena Cavendish and sent their belongings flying everywhere.

I'll put the angel… let's see… between the silver mirror and the dove, that'll do, she decided, and looped the thread onto the evergreen branch, taking care not to disturb the other baubles. There was the little white cloth rabbit which her grandmother had passed down to her, and there was the glittery snowflake she'd made in primary school when she was eight. She caught a glimpse of red and green as she leaned to the right—the holly decorations, set around the windows.

There was a momentary silence behind her, full of implications. Hermione tried hard not to giggle out loud, and instead said, suppressed laughter in her voice, "Oh, Mum. Dad. If you want a good excuse, you can just hang lots of mistletoe all over the house."

And a pause. "Hermione, what did you think we were doing?" her mother's calm voice floated over to her.

"Nothing," Hermione said brightly. "Nothing at all." Snogging, she thought rather more bluntly in her mind.

"Uh-huh," came her dad's voice. Hermione heard some shuffling. "Come down the ladder when you're done, Hermione, there's hot cocoa in the kitchen. Elena, I've got to go buy some brandy for the snapdragons."

"I thought you were supposed to get that some time ago," Hermione said.

"Well, I'll just get it now," said her father with a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. Hermione hung the last ornament she had on the tree and stepped down the ladder.

"I shall never know how you and I managed to make our practice so successful, what with your procrastination," Elena said. There was a faint smile hovering on her face.

"Make sure you drive slowly," Hermione said. "And be careful—of the ice," she quickly tacked on, having noticed the strange, inquiring glance her mother gave her. Her parents didn't need to know about the Death Eaters, she thought. They might panic, and pull her out of Hogwarts. She didn't want that to happen.

She heard the slam of the car door, and then saw through the window the family car pulling out of the drive. "Hermione? Here's the hot cocoa your father mentioned."

Hermione blinked and turned around. Her mother stood there with two steaming cups. "Thanks, Mum," she said.

Elena Granger nodded in reply; her dark brown eyes watched Hermione disconcertingly. "Sit down, dear," she said abruptly. "I want to hear about how you're doing in school."

Er… "Everything's going quite all right," Hermione said, smiling at her. "The Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn—you remember that Professor Snape teaches Defence now, right?—he's given us the option of an independent study project, for extra credit. You're supposed to pick a really hard potion to brew, and he approved my proposal."

"That's nice." Her mother smiled, but her face seemed so calm and unmoved that a small seed of uncertainty grew in Hermione's mind. "And your friends? Harry and Ron? I hope you've already got their Christmas presents picked out."

Hermione sipped her hot cocoa. "I have," she said; then added, upon seeing Elena's inquiring look, "I gave them books."

"Books—" A flash of amusement passed over her mother's face. "I'm sure they'll appreciate the academic help."

Hermione thought of the books—One Hundred Hexes One Needs to Know, for Harry, and On Applying Duelling Strategies, for Ron. "Yeah, it'll definitely help them," she said.

"And how is the magical world right now?" her mother asked. She added, "You see, we never get to see each other much now, and I just hope everything's going all right. I hardly had the chance to ask you this summer, since you left for your friends' houses. We've… drifted apart." Her voice was almost wistful.

"Everything's fine," Hermione said in a light voice. "There's been a bit of a political fight, and a new Minister of Magic was elected, but other than that it's been rather peaceful."

She looked at Elena. There was an odd half-smile on her mother's face, and in that moment Hermione knew that she did not believe a single word Hermione said. "Rather," she repeated politely. "I suppose this must be old news then. I wish you'd told me about this sooner, though." She leaned forward and handed Hermione a crumpled piece of paper.

Hermione looked, and inwardly winced. If the large banner of the Daily Prophet emblazoned across the top of the article was not enough of an attention grabber, the moving pictures below it, with the Dark Mark hanging in the air and frightened looking wizards and witches gathering underneath it, were. YOU-KNOW-WHO GATHERING ARMY OF INFERI, the title of the article read. "Um," she said, and stopped; she had no idea as how to get out of this situation, and she doubted her mother would let her off easily. Damn.

"An army," said Elena. She enunciated each word crisply and clearly, and they fell like icicles and shattered as they reached Hermione's ears. "Of… Inferi. And apparently these 'Inferi' are—moving. Dead. Bodies." She stopped after each word, her eyes watching Hermione.

Hermione moved uncertainly under her mother's watch. "I can explain it," she said hopefully, but all the castles in the air which she had built seemed to dissipate even as she spoke. Now they won't let me go back to Hogwarts, they'll pull me out—but wait. I'm of age. I'm seventeen. She seized upon the thought and held it close to her, as though trying to block out the sceptical whisper of, But that's only in the wizarding world. "Really, I can." Her words were empty, devoid of meaning. She knew it, and she was sure her mother did as well.

"I'm sure you can," her mother said, and the lack of sarcasm in her voice only made Hermione ever more hyperaware of the undercurrents of meaning running in the conversation. "I hope that the situation was settled, although those magical officials appear to be panicky, and don't know at all what to do," she added, looking at the picture. "And all these mentions of You-Know-Who—Hermione, I have read your books on the history of the wizarding world, and I would like to think that I am not a fool. If this Dark Lord of yours was defeated the first time only after decades of terror, I'm surprised he's been taken care of in only a few months. Also, this references many other—" She allowed a pointed pause, before continuing, "—incidents that have been attributed to this You-Know-Who. Like the collapse of the bridges, and several murders. Which you never told me about. I'd like to know why."

Hermione wavered for a moment, hesitating, then said, "All right. I didn't want you to know. I was afraid you'd be worried. That's all."

"That is not all," her mother said sharply. "We treat you as a responsible adult, Hermione, and that means you're also supposed to act as one. Hiding away threats from your own parents is not an act of responsibility—is it a crime for us to be worried, or for us to know something? What is happening?"

Hermione winced again. When Elena Granger's voice was like that, all clarity and emphasis and a drive for knowledge, there was no way she could lie her way out of it. Her mother, at these times, was like a niffler, digging deep into the earth to find what she sought, and, if deflected in some way, struck for the lode of gold at a different angle—and never, ever gave up on trying to get there.

This is going to be a very long day.

oOo

Narcissa Malfoy was on edge.

Draco knew it. His mother had been glancing at the clock every other minute, and there was a look in her blue eyes that was half-expectant, half-fearful. She'd been that since he had come home, and although at first he thought she was going to talk to him about his task at Hogwarts, it seemed there were too many other things on her mind.

He had an inkling as to why. There were only two sitting at the table, when there were three people who lived in the manor.

"Mother?" His voice cut into the silence that hovered over the dining table. "If I may ask, where is Aunt Bellatrix?"

She turned to him and smiled. Just a little. And there was doubt in the smile too. No, he thought. Not doubt. Surely she doesn't doubt the Dark Lord. "She had to do something for the Dark Lord," she said. "And get an early Christmas present for me and you. If everything goes right, your father will be out of Azkaban soon."

There was only the gleeful cry in his mind, a Yes!—and he nodded and tried hard not to laugh and throw his arms around his mother. "That would be nice," he said. "It would be a very good Christmas present."

oOo

It was Christmas Eve.

At the Burrow, Ron Weasley yawned and slumped in his chair, pointedly not watching Bill and Fleur, who were snuggling close together. Fred and George played Exploding Snap nearby, and Ginny was playing with her Pygmy Puff. His mother looked cheerful, with no signs of the tears she had cried the day before when Percy, in reply to her hopeful owl asking him to come home for Christmas, had scribbled in neat handwriting on a scrap of parchment, No thank you.

At 8 Sparta Court in London, Hermione Granger watched and clapped, grinning, as her father brought out the Christmas pudding, decked with a sprig of holly and flamed with brandy. She carefully pushed away thoughts about the events in the wizarding world, even as she glanced over at her mother, who glanced back. They had reached a compromise, although she wasn't looking forward to it; she'd managed to wrangle permission from the Order for her parents to go to Order headquarters at her mother's insistence ("I want to see what they're doing to stop all this," Elena Granger had said, and Hermione had reasoned to herself, Well, it's under the Fidelius. Maybe they'll be satisfied by that. Because when her father had got home, he'd sided with her mother and looked at Hermione with unhappy eyes). And, anyway, wasn't Christmas a time for happiness and celebration?

At Hogwarts, Severus Snape sat at the Head Table and nodded to the others in greeting. He felt apprehensive. He had got rid of the poisoned mead that Slughorn had, but doubtless something else would occur to worsen the situation in any case. He could not help but frown, Hogwarts whispering reassurances in his mind—don't be pessimistic, she said, don't worry, but he did, all the same—and his thoughts flew to—

—Azkaban, where Nymphadora Tonks was on guard duty with the other Aurors from Section A and B. They had all met at the center of Azkaban, switching guard positions from time to time, sharing stories and laughter and jokes, as though to ward off the depression that still lingered in the prison, the mark of the Dementors. When the next shift came, Tonks said, "I'll take it," and leisurely jogged off, listening to Fitzwilliam McKay tell an anecdote about his grandmother's Christmas cake. She paused to make sure all the brooms she'd borrowed from Dumbledore were where they were supposed to be, then continued on.

And outside the prison, outside the wards, on the far shore, Bellatrix Lestrange straightened up from where she'd been conferring with the other Death Eaters and waiting for nearly an hour, and walked over to a lone, cloaked figure. The solitary Death Eater was kneeling on the ground and had his wand out, muttering to himself every now and then. He paused, then spoke something Bellatrix found incomprehensible, and a square of air in front of him flared with gold and silver light, tracing out the runes that held the wards of Azkaban, before fading back into the night.

"Is it done?" she said edgily.

Francis de Rozier turned his face towards her, grey eyes set in an implacable face. "Yes, it is, Madame Lestrange," he said. "The wards have been altered according to plan. Shall we start?"

Bellatrix's face seemed to transform, from wasted paleness to a fiery delight. "Of course," she said, and made a gesture to the others. One by one, they simply stepped through the wards—the wards that otherwise might have kept those marked by the Dark Lord out, but with Rozier's expert tampering, would keep any other Ministry Aurors and fighters away instead. They might be notified, but they could not enter and aid those already inside; could only watch from the outside, unable to do anything. And she intended for none to leave alive, if she could help it. "And I shall do the honours."

She raised her wand. "Morsmordre!"

And green streaked across the sky, unseen by those within Azkaban.

And in the parlour of 12 Grimmauld Place, many of the Order members gathered to converse and socialise, and Harry Potter laughed as he listened to Sirius and Lupin regale him with tales of their Hogwarts days. The pocket watch he wore around his neck was closed, so he could not have known that, even as he was laughing, one of the hands on the watch changed position, pointing to mortal peril.

oOo

"Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells..." is the "Carol of the Bells," a Christmas carol which one may hear quite a lot in holiday commercials. Snapdragons and Christmas puddings I learned about from Wikipedia. (Wikipedia, what a wonderful site.)

Lily needs more attention in the HP books. (Girl power!) I hope JKR does that in Book 7.

Originally I was going to make Draco Malfoy's section longer than it is, but then I decided to have Narcissa Malfoy's viewpoint after Azkaban (and frankly, also because I wanted to get the chapter out before school started after break and hit me like a ton of bricks again), so... uh, it's shorter.

Question: The OotP movie trailer recently came out. What does everyone think of it?

The next update will probably be around Christmas, which nicely coincides with Azkaban. Maybe, if I remind myself over and over again, I'll even manage to get that second part of FtS out, although now I'm beginning to doubt I can.

Please make a RL-harried writer feel better and review. :)

Talriga