Hello, my lovely readers! Long time no see :DD First of all, thank you for the love you show this story - it keeps motivating me to update faster :D Second of all, thank you for patiently waiting for this chapter! Just to assure you all, I will NOT abandon this story. The updates can be late because I study and work simultaneously, hope you'd understand :)

Also, this is a prettyy long chapter! But the more, the merrier, right? :DD

Without further ado, have fun reading!


The air was different. Everywhere one went, sounds of jingles and sights of mostly red, green and white decorations could be heard and seen. Nature's cotton falling from the sky collided with the objects that only came out once a year. Scents of cookies and other delicacies wafted from the lodgings of people. And everyone appeared to be in great spirits.

Christmas was finally here.

It was a well-known fact that Hogwarts always adorned itself in the most magnificent enrichments whenever Christmas arrived. And this time around, it was no exception. In fact, it was done with even more consideration. Since the Ministry was now operating at Hogwarts, they wanted to make sure that they decorated the castle more marvellously than the Hogwarts staff themselves.

Therefore, when Christmas was only a week away, Professor Umbridge could be seen ordering house-elves around, in her attempts to turn the castle into a palace full of the holiday spirit.

Her efforts did not run futile, because Hogwarts experienced its transformation in all its splendour. With the hallways being laden with lights and tinsel, wreaths and ornaments decorating every doorway, and the Great Hall boasting four magnificent pine trees that were turned into beautifully adorned Christmas trees, it was clear that Umbridge had really outdone herself, even if it was the only thing she had done that satisfied the majority of the castle.

The few students who stayed back for these holidays got to experience all the magical endeavours, but for the very first time, Harry Potter was not one of them.

He had boarded the Hogwarts Express in winter. Sirius had invited him to spend his Christmas holidays at the Grimmauld Place, making it the first truly intimate godfatherly thing he had done for his godson.

Everything was planned out carefully, of course, as Sirius was still a convict in the eyes of the Ministry, and his house was the Order's top-secret meeting place.

The whole process went like this – first, Sirius asked McGonagall, when she visited his house for a meeting of the Order, if Harry could spend Christmas here with him. The Grimmauld Place was completely safe, and since it was the secret place of the Order, it was even more protected.

McGonagall, feeling sorry for both the man and the boy, had immediately gone to Dumbledore to discuss this with him. The headmaster had agreed at once, as he believed that Harry was in dire need of having a breath of free air and a chance to recollect himself before he could take on his Occlumency lessons.

Once the headmaster's approval was issued, a note was sent to Harry, apprising him of the invitation. It also included Ron and Hermione, but seeing that both of them had declined, it made things easier for the Order.

According to the structured plan (it was all explained in the note), Harry was to tell anyone who asked that he was going to spend Christmas with the Weasleys. And at King Cross, Mr and Mrs Weasley were supposed to pick him up, in order to erase any suspicion from the students who were related to the authoritative sector of the Ministry (the relatives of Death Eaters were to be avoided at all costs).

After that, the Weasleys had the duty of dropping Harry off at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, the house where he would stay for the rest of the holidays and was not allowed to go outside.

Normally, all this planning and people treating him like he was a ticking bomb would have made Harry snap. When he first learned that he was being watched by the Order for his protection, he had felt like he might explode. But then again, it might have been Voldemort's anger as well, now that he thought about it.

Nevertheless, this time, he didn't mind being watched over at all, because as long as he got to spend some quality time with Sirius, he could tolerate anything. It wasn't just about spending Christmas outside Hogwarts for a change, but it was also about spending some real time with his godfather and living with him.

Hence, he didn't complain or got angry even once when the whole plan started for implementation.

Fortunately, it went smoothly and Harry was safely delivered to Sirius's house, where he possibly had the best Christmas ever. Sure, the lavishness of Hogwarts was nice, but it was nothing compared to spending time with one's only family.

The Order had two meetings during his stay, and he was not allowed to attend them or listen in on them. Now, this was something that did infuriate him. Voldemort was after him and he was the one who could feel the wizard. So, he believed that he had every right to be a part of these meetings. But nobody paid him any heed.

Besides that, he had an amazing time at the Grimmauld Place. He got to explore the huge house, got to learn about Sirius's family's history, got to help him discard the Blacks' old belongings (which were very interesting), got to decorate the whole house with Christmas spirit, and most importantly – got to catch up with his godfather.

None of the conversations they shared over this time faltered or ran dry. Harry told Sirius everything. Because of the tight security at Hogwarts, he wasn't able to update him at all, which was why this visit granted a great opportunity.

Everything – from the private classes to that fateful visit to Dumbledore – was shared by Harry. Sirius proved to be a really great audience, as he always listened intently, never interrupted, and gave the best responses, in Harry's opinion.

He was also super jolly, which was why the two of them could often be found laughing amidst their conversations. Harry dearly loved this jokester part of Sirius.

However, that part did not arise when he finally told him about the Occlumency lessons.

"Snivellus?!" Sirius exclaimed, "He appointed Snivellus?"

It was two days before Christmas, and Harry was helping Sirius go through some more of his family's old belongings.

"Yep," Harry replied, observing an interesting looking glass ball.

"Why?! Why does he like him so much?"

"You should ask him."

"You know what? I will," Sirius declared, before standing up to pace about the room, "The next time Dumbledore comes here, I'm going to question him. Snivellus?! Seriously?!"

Harry was surprised to see him like this. Sure, he and Snape detested each other, but Harry didn't think he would get so worked up.

"Hey. Sirius, calm down," he told him, "Dumbledore appointed Snape because he is very skilled at Occlumency. And obviously, he wants an expert to teach me something this important, right?"

Sirius considered his words for a moment, before sighing, "I guess you're right. But I swear, if he even laid a finger on you –"

"Don't worry. He won't," Harry interrupted, "Because if he did, I won't go easy on him."

Sirius smiled proudly and slapped his godson's shoulder with appreciation, "Now, that's my boy!"

Harry grinned up at him, "Really, you don't need to worry."

His godfather nodded and sat back down. Suddenly, he sighed.

"It's just...sometimes I don't understand what Dumbledore even sees in him," he said, absentmindedly inspecting a silver necklace.

"Dumbledore trusts him," Harry shrugged, "And wholeheartedly, as far as I can tell."

"Well, I personally believe he's up to no good," Sirius added, with a hint of remorse in his voice.

"Ron and I think so, too," Harry told him, "But Hermione always begs to differ. She thinks that we have no reason to doubt Snape when Dumbledore trusts him."

"Hmm...that's true, I suppose," said Sirius, rubbing his chin, "But nevertheless, be very careful during these lessons, all right Harry?"

"Yes. I will."

The two went back to discarding the items spread out before them. Sirius occasionally broke off the activity to tell Harry the history of the object that sparked interest in the older wizard, while the younger one listened intently.

Amidst this endeavour, Harry spied a couple of small packets lying in the heap. Intrigued, he picked them up from the pile, to find out that they were seeds to grow some plants. The plant that was pictured on these packets was called the Flutterby bush, and Harry instantly recognized it from the Herbology lessons he took last year. It was easy to recall because it was a very striking plant, with beautiful and fluorescent purple flowers growing on it here and there. Neville would surely love to grow one of these.

Suddenly, Harry had a brilliant idea.

"Say, Sirius," he said, holding up the seed packets, "Do you have any use for these? Can I take them?"

"What are they?" Sirius asked, as he took those packets to inspect them.

"Just some seeds to grow a very interesting looking plant," Harry answered, "I figured this would be the perfect Christmas gift for my friend, Neville. You know Neville? Neville Longbottom?"

"Oh, you mean Frank's boy?" Sirius said, "Well, as long as they're not dangerous, go ahead. Or else they'd get thrown in the trash, since I could care less about plants."

"Great. Thanks," Harry replied smiling, as he took those packets back and pocketed them, "Honestly, I'm surprised that these were among your family's possessions."

"Oh, my folks weren't all bad," Sirius said, while assessing a small jewel-encrusted box, "And by that, I mean they had hobbies. I don't know who had planting as one, though."

"Probably your brother," Harry smirked.

"Regulus?!" Sirius exclaimed in mock horror, "Very unlikely!"

They both laughed.


Two days went by in a flash, and finally, the Sun was rising up to bring forth the much-awaited day – Christmas.

Harry, Ron and Hermione all had a great Christmas. However, it began on varying levels for all three.

To begin with, Ron's Christmas was off to a bit of a frustrating start.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! went his bedroom door. Someone was knocking – no, hammering – it.

"Ron, wake up!"

It was Ginny, in her attempts to wake her brother up.

Shockingly, the obnoxious sound of that hammering did not disturb Ron's slumber at all. He was having a fantastic dream.

He saw himself at the international Quidditch stadium, wearing robes of bright orange. He was a part of the Chudley Cannons!

Overly delighted, he beamed at his teammates, all of whom were congratulating him on the epic victory he had made them achieve by his awesome Keeper skills!

"You go, Ron!" yelled Galvin Gudgeon, the infamous Seeker of the team.

"You were amazing!" exclaimed Joey Jenkins, one of the beaters.

"I'm proud of you, mate," said Michael Ford, the captain of the team and Ron's absolute favourite.

The redhead grinned at them, then realized that the enormous crowd below them was chanting his name.

"Ron! Ron! Ron! Ron! Ron!..."

"RON, WAKE UP!"

The cry made him wake up with a yell, leading the dream to disappear and the real world to kick in so suddenly, that he had to take deep breaths to calm himself down.

He turned around to find Ginny, leaning close to him with her vivid hair falling forward, sporting an annoyed expression on her face.

Ron swore loudly, not being considerate.

"What the hell, Ginny?!" he yelled, enraged, "Couldn't you just knock at the door?!"

"I've been doing that for the past five minutes and it was not working!" Ginny shouted back, "It's not my fault you're such a sound sleeper!"

"Well, it's not my fault, either," Ron replied, rubbing his eyes to get rid of the abrupt sleepiness.

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Whatever. Mum was getting on my last nerve by repeating 'Wake Ron up. Wake Ron up,' like a mantra. Anyways, she says you have to come downstairs and have breakfast with the whole family first. After that, you can open your presents."

Finally, at her words, Ron noticed the overflowing pile of Christmas presents at the foot of his bed, all waiting for him invitingly. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to start the day.

"Wait a second. Today is Christmas!" he exclaimed, then looked at Ginny with one eyebrow up, "You won't greet me with a Merry Christmas or something?"

"Shut up and get dressed," she said and left the room.


After one noisy and very eventful breakfast with his whole family, Ron finally found himself in front of the many Christmas presents he had received. Excited, he began unwrapping them and checking what he got.

The pile gradually reduced in number as he opened up his presents. Harry had gifted him a box full of all sorts of Muggle snacks (he'd been curious, and Harry had to help out), Hermione had given him his very own Broom Servicing Kit, as he was now the official Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. The same old maroon sweater was also there, but Ron tossed it aside without a second glance. He knew too well that his mother would demand that he wore it for the rest of the day, but he would worry about that later.

The rest of his presents were from some of his other friends, and his relatives. One of the perks of being from a huge family was that you got a lot of presents – but almost all of them were not what you were hoping for.

Similarly, Ron's relatives had only gifted him articles of clothing, magical junk, and what the heck – even books. Sighing with disappointment, he tossed these gifts aside, munching on the Muggle snacks as he went.

The present that he was the most excited about was Lavender's. Before the holidays, she had told him that her Christmas present was going to be 'very special', and that he was going to love it.

Ironically, her present was the last to turn up.

At the point when it came into sight, Ron's room was a literal mess. The gift wrappers littered almost every inch of his bedroom floor and the opened gifts that he didn't really care about were tossed carelessly here and there. But the gifts he did care about were placed carefully by his side.

Lavender's present was generous in size, and Ron saw a note attached to its front. Bemused, he read it.

Dear Ron,

Before you open this present, I just wanted to let you know its purpose. This present is to show you how much I love you, even though it doesn't cover the whole amount. But it's a start! I hope you love it as much as I want you to love it. Can't wait to see you again. Merry Christmas!

With the greatest love,

Lavender

Ron smiled at the wholesome note. For the record, he already knew that Lavender was in love with him. She had confessed her true feelings at some point in their relationship.

However, Ron didn't return her feelings.

Sure, he simply adored his girlfriend and found her amazingly beautiful, but he wasn't too certain about love. Besides, he always believed that love in a relationship like his and hers was a crappy concept.

He had explained all this to Lavender of course, and thankfully, she made it clear that it didn't bother her. So, all was fine.

Nonetheless, that note did leave Ron happier, and much more excited.

With a beating heart, he slowly unwrapped the sacred present, taking it steady because his gut told him to not rush it. If Lavender said it is special, then it must be special, he thought.

The unwrapping revealed a simple cardboard box, but that didn't falter his hopes. Still carefully, he took out the tape that was securing the box. Then, he leaned back – took a deep breath – and reached forward to flip open the flaps and peer inside.

It was the colour that hit him first. But slowly, the objects inside the box came into his clear vision, and once they completely did...his mouth dropped open.

Folded neatly and resting on one side of the box were a set of robes. Orange robes.

Astonished, he picked up the fabric, to check whether it was what he thought it was.

He was proven right.

Lavender had gifted him the Chudley Cannons merchandise.

And not just any merchandise. Ron flipped over the folded robes to check their other side, and his mouth fell open yet again. He realized that these were the official robes of his favourite Quidditch team, a part of its sports gear. And written on the back of it, in bold black against the bright orange background, was his own name, with the number '6' beneath it, indicating his position on the team – the Keeper.

Suddenly, Ron understood what product she had given him.

A month or so ago, the management team of the Chudley Cannons introduced a new product to their line, which was customizable robes. These robes looked exactly like the ones the players wore at their games, but the buyer could have their own name on it, instead of an official player. Hence, this product gave the impression that the buyer was a part of the team, even if it was indirectly.

So naturally, the product was a big hit and was sold out in just a few weeks. Which was why it seemed surprising how Lavender managed to get it. They were not dating a month before.

Still feeling awed, Ron stood up and let the robes fall to their full length. They looked even more magnificent now, with the sunlight coming in from his window making them shine.

Feeling excited all over again, he tried on his new robes. They were a perfect size. He hurried over to his mirror to inspect himself – and his mouth fell open in a grin.

He didn't want to boast, but he looked amazing. He looked like he could fit right in the Chudley Cannons team and play alongside them effortlessly as their Keeper. It was like a part of his dream came true.

"Wow, Lavender..." he suddenly murmured, feeling gratitude wash all over his body for his girlfriend.

After thoroughly checking out the robes, he hurried back to the box. Lavender's presents didn't end, as Ron found even more merchandise.

She had given him a wristwatch, that had a Quaffle and a Snitch instead of hands, a little badge that showed the whole team pumping their fists in the air and then flying off to the sides, disappearing from view, two wristbands with CC written on them, and a book on the team, that talked about their history and achievements.

Ron tried everything on himself. Then holding the book against his chest, he turned around for inspection in the mirror again. He really looked like a Chudley Cannons' superfan – a thought which made him realize he could wear this exact attire at a live match of the team, if he ever saw one.

As he admired himself more, he didn't hear his bedroom door swinging open.

"Ron, have you seen –"

It was Ginny, but she stopped in mid-sentence as her sight fell upon her brother. Her voice had caused him to turn around and look at her in a startled way.

Open-mouthed, Ginny took him in from head to toe – wearing bright orange robes, with a bright orange badge pinned on to a lapel, his arms sporting a bright orange wristwatch and wristbands, and his hand clutching a bright orange book. He also looked like he was wearing a hat, because of his ginger hair.

For a second, Ginny didn't speak.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Hey! What's so funny?!" Ron yelled, immediately going into defence mode.

"Oh my goodness, look at you!" she guffawed, "You look like a freaking clown!"

"No I don't!" he retorted, then held himself in a dignified manner, "I look great."

"Not even close," she shook her head, wiping the tears from her face, "You look ridiculous!"

"Like I want your opinion," he said and turned back to the mirror. He was used to Ginny's disdainfulness.

"Who even gave you such monstrosity, anyway?" Ginny asked, smirking.

"For the last time, it is not a monstrosity!" Ron snapped, feeling angrier by the minute, "It's the merchandise for the Chudley Cannons! And it's the best present I've received today."

"But who gave it to you, though?" Ginny asked, making her brother sigh. He wanted to kick her out of his room.

However, he knew it wasn't worth it. "Lavender," he finally replied, inspecting his badge to avoid looking at Ginny's face.

She, meanwhile, started scoffing, "No doubt! Only someone as stupid as Lavender could gift you something like this."

Those words momentarily left Ron speechless. Did she dare call Lavender stupid in front of him?!

Yes, she did dare. And he was not going to have it.

"Listen, Ginny," he said, his voice shaking with anger, "I can tolerate you ridiculing the Chudley Cannons. I can tolerate you ridiculing me even. But I simply cannot tolerate you, or anyone else, ridiculing Lavender. Do you hear me?"

But Ginny wasn't taking him seriously. Instead of getting frightened by his anger, like he expected she would, she merely smirked.

"Oh, are you in love with her?"

Ron heaved out a frustrated sigh, "Shut up! I don't have to answer your stupid questions. Besides, this family does not give Lavender the appreciation she deserves!"

It was true. The news of Lavender being his girlfriend didn't excite his family members that much. His parents knew who she was because they had been acquainted with the Browns several times, as Mr Brown worked at the Ministry. However, they didn't seem too appreciative. Mrs Weasley had even gone on to say that Lavender had a 'boring personality.' However, Ron didn't take much notice because she obviously didn't know the girl like he did.

His brothers were not interested, which was expected. But on the other hand, Ginny absolutely hated Lavender. And for no apparent reason.

Which was why she was getting on his nerves.

"You're just going to make your room look more ridiculous," Ginny was saying, eyeing his bed and posters.

"Well, it's not your business, now is it?" Ron snapped, "Also, why do you hate Lavender so much? I'd love to know."

At his question, she rolled her eyes and groaned, "Oh Merlin, isn't it obvious?! She's super annoying! Always whining and being dumb."

Ron smirked, "If you ask me, that sounds more like you."

Ginny's features contorted into a scowl.

"Don't you dare compare me to her," she hissed.

"You're right. I shouldn't," he said, his smile growing wider. He loved teasing her. "After all, why should I compare a goddess like her with a hag like you?"

He had hit a spot. Ginny fell slack-jawed at his words. Her expression was so comical that Ron had to resist the urge to laugh.

"You have no right to say that to me!" she yelled.

"And you have no right to say all those things to Lavender!" he shouted back, "Seriously, what did she ever do to you?"

"Oh, I'm going to make you pay!" she said, ignoring his question – and punched him. Thankfully, Ron narrowly dodged her attempt, making her groan with exasperation.

"I'm telling Mum!" she bellowed and finally left the room, closing the door with a loud BANG.

Ron sighed, relieved to have gotten rid of her at last. Then carefully, he started to take off Lavender's gifts from himself, while also trying to block out Ginny's annoying voice floating through the whole house, as she complained to their mother about him.

I wonder why Mum doesn't do anything for Ginny's rudeness, he thought bitterly, as he stored the merch safely in his wardrobe, her darling daughter, isn't she?

As if on cue, his mother's voice called out.

"Ronald! Come down here this instant!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he murmured and put on his ugly maroon sweater before going downstairs to meet his Mum. He didn't want his Christmas to be full of constant bickering…


Meanwhile, in another part of Britain, Hermione's Christmas was off to an okay start.

"Hermione, wake up."

At her mother's voice, the brightest witch of her age started to stir at once and sat up in her bed, yawning. She saw her mother piling clean laundry in her closet. Suddenly, Hermione remembered what day it was.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," she said with a sleepy smile. Mrs Granger smiled, too, and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

"Merry Christmas, dear," she replied, hoisting the empty laundry basket, "Come down, will you? Breakfast's almost ready."

"Coming," Hermione said, a bit groggily, as her mother left the room. Yawning and stretching, she spied Crookshanks lying upside down on her bed, near her feet.

"Merry Christmas, Crookshanks," she smiled, caressing the cat's belly, making him purr, "Let's go down for breakfast, shall we?"

He seemed to understand her, because in the next moment, he had gotten off her bed and had walked out of the room, with his bushy tail high in the air.

Still yawning, Hermione was about to get up, too, but something on her bedside table caught her eye. It was the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

Strange, she thought, curiously reaching for the newspaper, the issues don't come out on Christmas.

When she read the main headline for the day, she shook her head with disbelief.

"Hogwarts gets turned into a Christmas Palace – courtesy of the High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge," screamed the front page, with the Great Hall in all its festoons pictured below it. Umbridge was standing right in the middle of the image, smiling and waving. Hermione wanted to curse her off the page.

So, this is why they created an issue for Christmas, she thought angrily, wanted to show off, over such a petty thing!

The very next article made her blood boil.

"The verdicts of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter still under scepticism – how far will they go?"

Nothing special then, she thought, staring at the article with iration, I can't wait for Harry's account to come out for the world to see.

At this thought, she glanced at the jar sitting on her reading desk and got up to check on it. The beetle masking the troublesome woman was sitting on a stem, munching on a leaf.

"Merry Christmas, Rita," Hermione said, smiling a little. If it wasn't for the journalist in disguise, the beetle looked positively cute.

Leaving the beetle and the jar, she went to get ready to start the big day.

After attiring herself in a simple blue sweater and blue jeans, and tying her waist-length hair in a ponytail, Hermione went downstairs for breakfast, the Daily Prophet clutched in her hand.

The beautiful Christmas tree that was set up in one corner of the living room caught her attention for a while. Below it, the floor was teeming with Christmas presents.

It was a tradition at the Grangers' household that all Christmas presents were to be set beneath the tree, in the usual Muggle way. However, their Muggle style largely differed from the one the Dursleys' had.

For one thing, the Grangers usually lived a quiet and peaceful life, with little to no bickering. Hermione got along very well with her parents, as she had inherited a lot of their qualities. Loving quiet places was one of them.

A peaceful ambience was present in the kitchen when Hermione entered it. The aromatic scent of bacon and sausages was in the air. Her father was already seated at the table, sipping his tea, and her mother was at the stove. Crookshanks was eating from his cat bowl near her.

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Hermione greeted, before kissing him on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione." He spied the newspaper in her hand, "Got your paper, I see?"

"Oh yes," she answered, taking a seat, "The Ministry decided to put out an issue on Christmas, for the very first time."

"What's special?"

"Nothing at all," she said, handing him the newspaper.

For a few moments, there was silence, in which Mr Granger inspected the newspaper while Hermione observed her fingers, waiting for his opinion.

"So, this is Hogwarts," he declared, eyeing the Great Hall picture with interest, "And who's this woman?"

"Dolores Umbridge. The one I told you about?" Hermione promoted, "The horrid woman?"

"You mean the one about whom you said, and I quote, "The worst teacher I've ever seen?" Mrs Granger said with a smile, as she placed sausages and bacon on Hermione's plate.

"Yes, exactly," her daughter beamed.

"It's a shame that we haven't seen your school yet," her mother went on, peering at the Daily Prophet over her husband's shoulder, "Don't they have parent-teacher conferences? Or something similar?"

"Well, there are some occasions where families can meet their kids at school," Hermione explained.

Mrs Granger's eyebrows perked up, "Oh? How come we never got invited?"

Hermione gathered her wits before answering this one.

"You see, Mum, the thing is...only wizards and witches can visit Hogwarts."

Both of her parents gave her a confused look. She gulped and went on.

"It's kind of...concealed against Mug – I mean, non–magical folks, like you two," she said, trying hard not to make things awkward, "So, people in this community can't visit it. Can't even see it properly. It's for the protection of both sides, you know. But don't get me wrong, I really, really want you two to see it!" she finished.

To her relief, her mother smiled.

"Oh, I have no doubts about you wanting us to see it," she said, "A bit disappointing that we won't ever get to visit your school, but you know...one cannot have everything one wishes for."

"I guess so," Hermione replied in a small voice, "But I wish there was an exception."

"Don't worry, dear. And don't feel guilty," her mother advised her, as she squeezed Hermione's hand from where she sat at the table, "Now have your breakfast. It's getting cold!"

Hermione smiled at her and obeyed. Light chatter started occurring as the family had their breakfast. Actually, only Hermione and her mother were talking, because her father was still immersed in the Daily Prophet.

Mr Granger was a curious man, a trait he had passed on to his daughter. Therefore, he was very keen when it came to the wizarding world, and liked to keep tabs on it. Not just because Hermione belonged to this realm, but also because it was so different from his normal life, that it was bound to be interesting.

Which was why he didn't sound too surprised when he finally put down the paper and started talking about Harry.

"The Ministry is still on your friend's case, hmm?" he said.

"Sadly, yes," Hermione replied, cutting her bacon, "They're getting on his nerves."

"It's about time he did something about it," he remarked, "Because they don't seem to be backing down."

"Oh, he is doing something about it, all right," she told him, thinking of the beetle in her room, "It's just taking a bit longer than expected."

For the record, her parents knew nothing about the beetle's true identity. Hermione knew all too well that they'd go ballistic if she were to tell them it was actually a woman. Hence, she had lied and said it was a beetle she got attached to at school and wanted to keep as a pet.

"Well, I hope he is successful in his attempts because the Ministry looks hungry," her father was saying when she zoned back in, "And your headmaster, they're after him too."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "They actually believe that Dumbledore's plotting against them and wants the position of the Minister of Magic. I suppose they're mad at him for coming to Harry's aid when he faced expulsion."

"Poor boy," her mother commented, "Facing so many hardships at such a young age."

"Yes," Hermione sighed sadly, "I hope he's having a great Christmas. It's what he deserves."

Her father nodded in reply while her mother raised an eyebrow.

"Come to think of it, we've never been properly introduced to Harry," she declared, "We've met Ron several times."

"His father is an interesting bloke," her father commented.

"That he is," her mother agreed – then smiled, "So, when are we going to meet him?"

For some reason, Hermione blushed.

"Oh, I'll introduce you all at the end of the year," she said, "At the train station."

"Good." Another smile.

Smiling back, Hermione had the fleeting thought of telling her mother about her crush on Harry. Ever since Cho came into the picture, it was getting much harder to keep her love for him a secret, while also trying to mask her true feelings. Yes, she couldn't confess to him, but she also couldn't hoard up this huge secret inside herself any longer. She wanted to share it with a companion, to lighten the burden.

But Hermione had no one.

She obviously couldn't tell Ron; it would be as good as telling Harry. No, she needed a female Secret Keeper, who would sympathize with her and give her good advice, and just listen to her rant about it. However, Hermione never considered her mother as an option for this – until now.

It seemed like she knew Hermione was into Harry, because after all, she was her mother. And who knew girls better than their mothers?

Thus, Hermione decided that she would tell her. But not in front of her father, obviously!

In the meantime, some fifteen minutes later, the family completed their breakfast. Mr Granger moved himself to the living room, taking the Daily Prophet with him.

Meanwhile, Hermione helped her mother clear the table. It was now or never.

"These countertops are getting old, don't you think?" Mrs Granger was saying, "I believe we need renovation."

"Mum, I have to tell you something," Hermione declared, feeling nervous and excited concurrently.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Well…" she placed the plates in the dishwasher, stalling for time, "I...I like someone. Back at school."

Her mother instantly smiled, "Ah. Turns out you do like something other than studying and reading."

Hermione laughed at her joke, "Of course I do!"

"So, who is this lucky boy?" her mother asked, smirking.

This was getting fun. She obviously knew who it was, but she was testing Hermione. And Hermione wanted to do the same.

"Can't you guess?" she prompted.

The older woman raised her eyebrow, "Is it Harry?"

Just hearing his name from her mouth made Hermione turn red. Her expression gave Mrs Granger everything she needed to know, causing her to eject a sly smile.

"I had a hunch," she said, "The way you talked about him since you came back said it all."

"What?" Hermione asked, vividly confused.

"I was once a girl just like you, sweet," her mother continued, pushing a chair inside the kitchen table, "I know what it feels like to have a crush. The misty look you got in your eyes whenever you mentioned him reminded me of my youth days."

"Wow, Mum. You're so good at observing," Hermione told her, in amazement.

"Oh? But pray, it seemed so obvious."

"Well, for you. But definitely not for my friends," Hermione said, focusing on her fingernails, "None of them seem to have any suspicion. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing..."

Mrs Granger frowned, "Nobody knows about this?"

"No."

"You haven't told anyone?"

"I can't," Hermione said with exasperation, "If I told anyone, Harry would get to know about it somehow, and I don't want him to know. I just..." she trailed off, sighing, "I just...don't want to ruin our friendship."

For a moment, Mrs Granger contemplated her daughter – before pulling out the chair she just pushed in and taking a seat on it.

"Sit," she told Hermione, motioning to the chair beside her, "And tell me all about it. You seem to have been holding on to this for quite some time."

"Oh, you can't imagine," Hermione sighed, sitting down, "It's been months on end."

"Are you ever going to tell him?"

"Like I said – I don't want to ruin our friendship."

"So he doesn't like you back?"

The question made Hermione's stomach drop.

"No," she replied, with a heavy heart, "He obviously doesn't. Because he has this huge crush on a –"

She inhaled sharply, stopping mid-sentence. She was about to call Cho 'A good for nothing trollop' but doubted if it would seem appropriate in front of her mother.

"A girl," she resumed, "One year ahead of us. She plays Quidditch, too – you know, the sports for magical people – and is very pretty, which is why Harry likes her so much."

"Hmm," her mother said, "I hope you don't have a grudge against her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She obviously did have a grudge against Cho, but she was not going to tell her mother that!

"No, I don't. I mean, why would I hate a girl just because Harry likes her?" she laughed, lying through her teeth.

However, most unfortunately, Mrs Granger saw right through her.

"Dear, you can't dislike someone just because your crush likes them, you know?"

"I know," Hermione said firmly, realizing that she couldn't conceal anything from her mother, "But Mum, she is a horrible human being!"

Her mother shook her head, "Nonsense, Hermione. She can't be. It's just your emotions."

"No, but she is!" the younger woman exclaimed, feeling frustrated with the older one, "She likes Harry back, but only because she sees him as a reliable source. Her boyfriend died in June, Mum! This year."

"Poor girl. Must be looking for love."

That was too much. Hermione wanted to slam her fist on the table, but she refrained herself and instead cried, "No, that's not the point! She's going to use Harry for her own benefit! I know it –"

"Okay, okay. Calm down," her mother patted her hand, "No need to get too worked up over this."

"I cannot help it," Hermione said, angrily, "I cannot stand you taking the side of that good for nothing trollop!"

There, she said it. Right in front of her Mum.

But she didn't seem too bothered.

"I'm not taking her side, dear," she simply said, "I'm only stressing upon the fact that you might be seeing this girl in a different light because of your emotions."

"My emotions?"

"Yes. Sharing this with me made a lot of your emotions, the ones that were being hoarded up for so long, unleash themselves. Your crush on Harry, the disappointment of him not liking you back, and the frustration of him liking another girl, which automatically led you to dislike her. See my point?"

Hermione opened her mouth to argue – but stopped.

She wondered if she was right, and that it was really her emotions that portrayed Cho as a bad person?

"What do I need to do then?"

"Control your emotions, of course," her mother advised her.

Immediately, Hermione thought of Harry. He also had to control his emotions, but for entirely different – and much more dangerous – reasons. They had so much in common...

"Okay then," Hermione sighed, "I'll try my best. However, I cannot accept her at all. I can only endure her."

"Well, that's understandable," her mother smiled, "Just leave the situation as it is. Don't try to do things to chase after Harry, okay?"

"I don't," said Hermione.

"Still, you might think of it at some point. Don't do anything and just go with the flow. Things can change if they want to. But right now, I don't want you focusing on anything not worthy of your time, and can get in the way of your studies, all right?" her mother finished in a formal tone.

Even if she was being supportive at the moment, both Mrs Granger and her husband were very keen on Hermione's studies. Although she had never disappointed them, they always preferred it when her top priority was her studies. Being dentists, it was in their nature.

"Of course, Mum," Hermione said, meanwhile.

"Good," her mother smiled, "Now tell me, why do you like Harry?"

The question was so sudden that Hermione laughed, "Why do I like him?"

"Yes. Why do you have a crush on him?" her mother asked, "Surely, there must be some qualities or other factors that led you to like him? I know it's not the fame."

"Absolutely not," Hermione agreed, "It's just that the question is too...broad. There are so many things – I can't possibly list all of them down!"

"Well, we're not in a hurry," her mother countered, glancing at the living room, where her husband was resting on an armchair, reading the Daily Prophet, "We've got the whole day."

"Okay then. I'll try," Hermione said, feeling giddy all of a sudden. After taking a deep long breath, she began with one of her most favourite topics in the world.

For the next 10 to 15 minutes or so, Hermione talked of nothing but Harry. She told her mother about his Muggle background, how caring and endearing he was, how he always seemed to understand her, and how he almost never picked fights with her. She informed her about his forgiving and kind nature, his talented endeavours, how brave and loyal he was, and how he always exceeded everyone's expectations of a hero.

The way she was talking, Hermione could easily pass off as a member of Colin Creevey's fan club for Harry, but she was admiring him for completely different reasons. To begin with, she saw him as a person, unlike all the other people who admired him and all the other girls who had crushes on him. They always connected him with the things he had done to defy Voldemort.

But Hermione observed him in a completely different way. She saw the way his face always lit up whenever Hedwig arrived with a letter, how white his teeth looked when he grinned, how he was always trying to flatten his short messy hair absentmindedly, how his eyes focused on a book he was reading and how he had a peculiar habit of drumming his fingers on a table whenever he attempted an academic task.

Hence, it was clear that the bright witch loved to observe the Boy Who Lived – something which had long developed as her inconspicuous habit.

While she talked, her mother listened intently, her smile never wavering. Her daughter looked adorable when she talked about the boy she liked. Her cheeks turned rosy, her face became exceptionally bright, and her eyes shone so much that their brown colour almost looked golden.

The way she was talking about him also created some confusion in Mrs Granger's head. Did her daughter only like this boy, or was there something more profound?

"And he is gorgeous, Mum," Hermione was meanwhile saying, her eyes wide with excitement, "You would know – you've seen him. He is so beautiful. His eyes are especially what entrance me the most. They have such a magnificent shade of emerald green –"

"Okay! Okay! I think I got the gist," her mother laughed, "I can see why you like him so much."

"I said a lot, didn't I?" Hermione laughed, too.

"Yes, but I don't blame you. We tend to go overboard when discussing the drivers to our most impassioned feelings," her mother smiled, "But I want to ask you one more thing."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure you're not in love with him?"

For a moment, Hermione fell silent. After some thinking, she decided to tell her mother the truth.

"It's something I wanted to tell you," she finally said, "Yes, Mum. I think – no, I believe I am in love with him."

Mrs Granger raised her eyebrows at her response, "Really? Hermione, you do realize love is a very strong conception?"

"Yes, I do," Hermione answered, afraid to meet her eyes, "I am aware of everything about love. I even remember what you told me about it. Which is why I am completely sure that it is love what I feel for Harry."

Silence pervaded them for a few moments. Mrs Granger was staring at her daughter as if she had never seen her before, apparently at a loss for words. Even though the situation had become immensely awkward, Hermione decided it would be best to let her mother speak first.

When she did, she sounded stunned.

"Are you sure, Hermione?"

"Yes, Mum. Completely."

But her mother shook her head.

"Oh no, no, dear. You cannot be sure. You're still young! At 15, you are bound to be a bit behind on the whole love concept. You won't understand its full strength. As a matter of fact, I didn't understand its concept when I was even above 18 –"

"But I do, Mum," Hermione insisted, "I understand. I know it."

Her mother's eyes widened, "But honey, how can you be so sure?"

"Because I can sense it. I –" she paused, trying to find ways to translate her feelings into words, "I can see the difference. I've had silly crushes in the past, but they are nothing compared to what I feel for Harry. It's much more...intense. Deeper. It's like I am readily prepared to do literally anything for him. So, Mum, if that isn't love, then what is it?"

More silence followed those words. It seemed like the terms 'love' and 'Harry' in the same context coming out of her mouth were not sitting right with her mother, even if her explanation was more than reasonable.

"It's okay, Mum," Hermione said, squeezing her hand, "I don't want you to worry. Maybe I'll figure it out more. Things can change. You said so yourself."

Finally, her mother's face started to ease down.

"You're right," she said, smiling again, "Things can change. I just don't want you making important life decisions in a rush, okay?"

"Okay," Hermione replied, not telling her mother that she had given the subject enough thought to last a lifetime even.

Before either of them could say more, Mr Granger called, "Are these presents going to open themselves or something?"

"Wow, I can't believe we forgot about Christmas presents!" Hermione said, in surprised wonder.

"Well, there is a first time for everything," her mother replied, whilst standing up, "I guess that puts an end to our discussion."

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Hermione asked anxiously, following suit.

Her mother laughed at her question, "Mad? Not at all, dear! In fact, I am glad you opened up to me. Having such intense emotions cooped up inside is never good for a person."

"That's true, I felt so frustrated at times," Hermione said, smiling with relief. After a moment's pause, she added, "And Mum?"

"Yes?"

She went up to her and gave her a back hug.

"Thank you so much for listening to me," she told her, "And being so supportive."

"It was nothing, dear," her mother replied, patting one of her hands that were tied around her middle, "Now, we shouldn't keep the presents waiting, should we?"

"No," Hermione giggled, and followed her into the living room.

As usual, the activity of unwrapping Christmas presents was very fun and entertaining. Like Ron, many relatives of Hermione had also given her books, but unlike him, she had gratefully embraced them, as they served to be good additions for her personal bookshelves. Besides them, she had received different objects, clothes, and accessories, a couple of them by her parents as well.

From the magical world, she had received only five presents. One was from Ron, and it was the usual – books. It seemed like Ron didn't put in much effort in choosing a Christmas present for Hermione, because judging by the state of the books he gave her, he might have found them lying around uselessly in his house or might have wanted to get rid of them from his possession. Nevertheless, Hermione didn't mind one bit – because books were books, no matter what. '10 Things Not to Do Around Mokes' and 'The History of the Anteoculatia Jinx' were their labels. She put them aside carefully.

The second present was from Ron's mother, and she had gifted Hermione an absolutely cute headband that she had sewed herself.

The third present was the one she was the most anticipated about – Harry's. Unwrapping it produced a long thin box that was white and blue in colour. It had no labels or markings of any kind.

When Hermione opened it, her eyes widened in awe.

Inside was the most beautiful quill she had ever seen. Ample in size and impressive in length, it boasted flamboyant colours – largely a deep turquoise, with varying shades of blue and jade green, that were accompanied by pretty splashes of silvery white.

It was unlike anything Hermione had seen before.

Staring at the quill in utter amazement, she picked it up for a closer inspection, which was how she realized that the slit was actually golden.

The structure of this quill made it clear that it was not from the Muggle world. The bird had to be a magical creature, but Hermione couldn't place it at the moment. Probably because she was so wonderstruck.

Nobody had given her anything this extraordinary before. And here was Harry – being the first person to do so.

Hermione stroked the soft feathers of the quill, mesmerized. The colours were so bright that she was sure anyone could see this quill from far away.

Unequivocally, her old natural owl quill was getting replaced from the 'favourite' position.

Feeling in love with this present, Hermione reached for its box to check it again and came upon a note.

Dear Hermione,

A few weeks before, when I was writing an essay on stars for Divination, I realized I never properly thanked you for the eagle quill you got me for Christmas, in our first year. You know it is my favourite! So, consider this present as a thank you. You won't believe how many people from the Order I had to disturb just to get the perfect quill for you (serves them right for not letting me in on the meetings), but it will be worth it if you like it. After all, gotta return the favour, right?

Hope you're having a great Christmas!

From Harry.

Hermione had to read the note thrice, just to make sure it was she Harry had addressed it to, and not some other girl. Then she read it four more times, her heart swelling up after each skim. It was delightful to think that he had gone to lengths to find the perfect quill for her, and disturbed the whole Order in the process.

I guess we really are returning favours, she thought, smiling furtively, because I went to lengths to find the perfect gift for him, too.

She read the note again, it was just that heartwarming, before clutching it against her chest, missing him dearly. It was crazy how he could make her swoon even in his absence.

She had obviously decided that this was the best Christmas present she had received, maybe ever.

Nevertheless, little did she know that she was going to find its contender in just a couple of minutes…

After setting aside Hagrid's present (A box filled with rock cakes), Hermione was surprised to find that she had received a fifth present from the wizarding world, as the number was always four.

When she read the name of the sender, she smiled.

"Oh, Neville..."

It was, in fact, a present from her forgetful friend, wrapped in a paper decorated with glitter. Hermione removed the ribbon and the paper carefully, to reveal a wide but thin wooden box. She lifted the lid – and gasped.

"Wow, this is beautiful!"

For inside the box rested a magnificent necklace. It was not a simple one, with just a chain and a little stone burdening it in the middle. Instead, the gleaming gold chain of the necklace sported not one, but nine red diamonds, all of them shimmering under the living room light and the sunlight coming in from a nearby window, varying in size as they went down the chain; the smallest ones near the end and with the biggest one resting right in the middle. Little white crystals surrounded each stone, contrasting the red colour brilliantly.

Calling it beautiful was an understatement. Hermione was simply awestruck.

With care, she picked up the necklace to observe it properly. The red diamonds looked like rubies, but she couldn't tell whether they were real or fake. Either way, they were distinctly spectacular. It was neither too heavy nor too light. It was just perfect.

Hermione smiled while observing her present, knowing exactly why her friend got it for her.

Neville had been improving greatly in Potions at a steady rate. Ever since he had proved Snape wrong on that fateful day, he had gained more confidence in the subject and strived to do his best. Hermione had helped him in this journey as well, even if the times he asked for her aid became fewer and fewer...

While she could understand that he expressed his thanks by gifting her the necklace, she didn't expect he would do this much. Because judging by its shape and structure, it looked expensive, regardless of the stones being fake or not. She wondered what his gran thought about this.

All the same, Hermione was itching to try it on. So, after carefully setting all her presents in a safe corner and sidestepping her parents, who were immersed in their own presents and discussions, she climbed the stairs to go to her bedroom.

Once there, she took a deep breath, clasped the accessory around her neck, and observed herself in the mirror.

The sight was marvellous. The stupendous necklace was making her otherwise simple pale neck look impressive.

Hermione smiled at her reflection, feeling beautiful. Then sighed. First the quill, and now this. Both Harry and Neville had made her feel special and good about herself. The presents were themselves very amazing, but it was the thought they had put in that really mattered to her.

Clutching her necklace lovingly, she went down the staircase again, the feeling of utter content rushing through her being…


In the meantime, on the same day, the sun had risen on the streets that housed the mysterious Grimmauld Place, introducing Christmas to all its inhabitants, including Harry. And for him, it was off to an excellent start!

He sat bolt right up in his bed, the dream still lingering in front of his eyes, and felt excitement course through his body. Ignoring the pile of Christmas presents at the foot of his bed, he went for his bedroom door and out in the hall, to find his godfather.

"Sirius!" he called, "I need to tell you something!"

However, no answer came. Harry's voice caused echoes to circulate around him, in the otherwise silent house.

"Hey, Sirius! Where are you?"

Still, no reply could be heard. Feeling a wee bit infuriated, Harry scrambled down the stairs that led to the ground floor, all the while calling his godfather's name.

He searched everywhere – in the living room, the kitchen, the hallways, the little rooms that served no purpose, the treasure room, the pantry, and even the dining room, where the Order held their meetings, but still, he couldn't locate Sirius anywhere. He couldn't even find Kreacher, the Blacks' house-elf.

As his search continued, his patience ran thinner and thinner. The news he wanted to convey was exceedingly important and had to be shared quickly. Sirius really chose the best times to disappear into thin air…

At this point, Harry had also searched the upstairs rooms, with still no luck.

Just as he was about to give up and consider his godfather as a raving lunatic, he heard voices.

They floated towards him from above – a low growl, followed by a bark of laughter. Sirius!

Suddenly, Harry realized where he had been all along.

At the very top of the estate resided a huge attic, which served as the living quarters for Buckbeak, the hippogriff Sirius had acquired in Harry's third year. Sirius had grown quite fond of the creature, which was why he was often found in its room, either taking care of it or conversing with it. Right now, it was the most obvious that he was there, but amidst the excitement and hustle, Harry had completely forgotten.

He took the spiral staircase that led to the attic above, particularly sprinting. Short of breath, he emerged on to the topmost landing and threw open the door.

Sure enough, Sirius was there. He was seated on the enormous hay bed of the hippogriff, which had its magnificent grey wings tucked up. Sirius was grooming its feathers and fur, accompanied by Kreacher, who was tending to the beast's head.

"Harry!" Sirius called, grinning, "Come in, come in! You can do Bucky's other wing. He would like that, won't you, boy?" he finished, ruffling Buckbeak's feathers.

"Sirius, I…need….to tell you…something," said Harry, between shallow breaths. The stitch in his side was worsening.

"Yes, yes, you can tell me whatever you want," Sirius replied, cheerfully, "But first sit down. Take deep breaths."

Harry wanted to share the news as fast as he could, but he decided that regaining himself first would be much better. So, he sat down on the attic floor (every inch of it was covered with hay) and caught his breath.

"I need to tell you something," he repeated, once his composure was back.

Sirius looked at him expectantly. Beside him, Kreacher scowled at Harry and said something that sounded like, "Blood traitor."

Harry ignored him, and declared with a smile, "I saw more of the dream."

Sirius' eyes widened, and he immediately demanded, "What? What did you see?"

"I saw more of that corridor," Harry told him, "I think I know where that door is located."

"Really? Where?"

"I think it is in the Ministry."

Silence pervaded them for a moment, as Sirius registered what he had just shared.

"How can you be so sure?" he asked.

"I saw this set of pillars," Harry explained, "They were positioned at the beginning of the corridor. In the dreams I saw before, they always started with me standing in the middle of the corridor. But now, it was different."

Harry paused to envision the dream; the picture crystal clear in his mind…

The black door was there, looking as inviting as ever, but it was farther away. Much farther away than it ever had been. Harry felt like it would take decades just to reach it.

But something was different this time, wasn't it? Craning his neck upwards, Harry could see the long white pillars, looking tall and intimidating, on either side of the fateful corridor. They also seemed oddly familiar, but before he could think about it more, he heard a voice.

"Please, sir. Leave me be."

It was a disgruntled sound, and seconds later, a man appeared in Harry's sight. He was wearing long green robes with a matching hat, and his face displayed a great black moustache. Strangely, the man took no notice of Harry, as he stopped near one of the pillars.

"I may not be the right person to ask," he was telling someone – someone Harry couldn't see, "You should go to the main office for this."

Harry couldn't hear the reply either, but judging by the man's face, it was not something he wanted to hear.

"Sir, please," he said, the frustration evident in his voice, "I am running late. You need to –"

But what the unseen stranger needed to do, Harry never knew, because a strong pulling sensation had gripped him, forcing him away from the scene and leading him to a dark and endless abyss. He tried to resist, but the grip of the force was too powerful.

Suddenly, somebody started calling his name. And it seemed to be coming from a realm he could trust. A realm that was someplace safe and secure. Someplace he could go to without any fear.

So he stopped himself from resisting against the strange force, and let it take him to the voice.

The voice belonged to his godfather.

"Harry! Wake up!" he was yelling. And at that moment, Harry opened his eyes, though he could not remember falling asleep. Sirius was leaning over him, with a concerned look on his face.

"Sirius," said Harry, but failed to continue. His head felt like it suffered one heck of a blow, and his scar was aching madly.

"Are you all right?" Sirius demanded, his eyes wide with worry, as he watched Harry clutch his forehead with a painful expression.

"My scar hurts," Harry managed to say, "Sirius, what...what happened?"

"It was so surreal," Sirius told him, caressing his forehead and noting the scar, that was burning red, "One moment you were telling me about your dream, and the next moment you fell into a kind of a trance. Your eyes all glazed over, seconds before you fell down and fell asleep. Fell unconscious, more like."

Harry was beyond shocked, "But I don't remember that happening?"

"Strange..."

"All I remember is that I was picturing the dream when I was telling you about it. It seemed so real, as if I was seeing it with my own eyes until I was suddenly in it. I..."

He trailed off, realization dawning upon him. He must have fallen asleep when the transitioning from picture to dream happened.

Sirius seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he said, gravely, "This is very alarming, Harry."

"Why?" he asked, although he had a hunch himself.

"It means You–Know–Who's finally getting the hang of your mind."

A tense pause followed these words, leaving a dead silence in its wake. The only sound was the soft ruffling of Buckbeak's feathers as Kreacher brushed them. Sirius appeared to be thinking, grim-faced. Meanwhile, only one thought was running in Harry's head...if Voldemort was starting to understand how to control his mind, then it was only a matter of moments before he could manipulate him.

Suddenly, he couldn't wait to start his Occlumency lessons.

"We have to tell Dumbledore about this," Sirius spoke up, breaking into Harry's thoughts, "He would want to know."

He turned to look at his godson, contemplating him with his brown eyes.

"What did you see more in the dream, though?" he asked.

At his question, Harry realized he never actually told him. So he launched into it, recounting all the new bits of the dream while making sure he didn't picture it, lest he fell unconscious again.

"And then I woke up," he finished, leaning back against the attic wall with a sigh, "That's it."

"This man...I don't think I know him," said Sirius, "If he was on the committee that sends prisoners to Azkaban then he would have been familiar for me. I believe he must belong to some other department..."

"You think he's a real man?" Harry asked, surprised. By now, the pain in his scar was subsiding.

"Well yes! He could be, by all means," Sirius declared, "But let's not assume more until we've informed the headmaster. He would know what to do. And would locate that corridor, too."

"He would," Harry agreed, then smiled after a moment's pause, "Also, amidst all this excitement, I totally forgot...Merry Christmas, Sirius."

Those words caused his godfather's handsome features to break into a grin, before he engulfed him in a hug, slapping his back good-naturedly.

"Merry Christmas, son. Merry Christmas!" he replied, his cheerful attitude back, "Didn't expect our first Christmas to start like this, huh?"

"Never in my wildest dreams," Harry grinned, causing laughter to erupt out of both.

"Well, let's see about breakfast then, shall we?" said Sirius, before turning to finally regard Kreacher, who was still brushing Buckbeak's coat with a pique face.

"Kreacher, I want you to leave Bucky now and go fix us some breakfast, all right?"

"Yes, master," the house-elf replied, the scowl on his face deepening as he got up from the Hippogriff's bed and exited the room.

"His Christmas is going well," Harry remarked.

"Eh, he's like this on every Christmas. Nothing new," Sirius replied, going over to Buckbeak, "But Bucky here enjoys spending Christmas with me, don't you, boy?"

In reply, the Hippogriff nearly nipped Sirius's nose with his beak. Harry was reminded of Hedwig, who was out at the moment.


After having a hearty breakfast with his godfather, Harry returned to his bedroom to check out his Christmas presents that he had neglected so badly before.

The pile was of its usual size, as the same people had gifted him who did so every year. Ron had given him a big box of Bertie Botts' Every Flavor Beans, accompanied by an interesting little guide book, that showed how to catch a Snitch in several different ways through moving pictures. Hagrid had given him a sack full to the brim with his infamous rock cakes, and a box that contained several treacle tarts. The present given to him by the Dursleys was as pathetic as usual – a hair comb with a note saying, "Fix that bloody hair!"

Next came Hermione's present, and it was so peculiar that Harry couldn't figure it out, even after trying his best.

It was a big book – or he thought it was as it was shaped like one. Tall and thin, it was a hardcover and its front and back had gold designs. The front also embodied a square-shaped thing that looked useless. However, the most frustrating thing about the book was that he couldn't open it. Even after using all of his strength and thinking to use an unlocking charm, the book simply refused to budge. After a few tries, Harry gave up, deciding that he'd ask Hermione about this queer gift.

Quickly, he went through the rest of his presents – only to find out that Sirius didn't give him anything.

It was very odd, but before he could think upon this more, Sirius himself appeared in his doorway.

"Looking for my present?" he asked with a sly smirk as if he knew what Harry was doing.

Harry, in turn, raised his eyebrow, "Yes. Where is it?"

"Well," said Sirius, and proceeded to rummage inside his robes, "I reckoned it would be much better to give it to you by hand."

He found what he was looking for, and it produced it in front of Harry. It was a handheld mirror, but it was unlike anything Harry had ever seen. Having a vintage and retro look about it, the object flaunted beautiful black and silver patterns. Small crystals were encrusted deep within the handle, and the mirror was shining with an unnatural glow. It was simply too exquisite for words.

"What is this?" Harry asked, awestruck.

"The Black's Mirror of Divulgence," Sirius answered, caressing the crystal-adorned handle of the mirror, "It was a family heirloom."

Harry again observed the object. Besides being artistic, he couldn't really see how it could be useful.

"So, what does it do?" he asked, "Show my reflection?"

Sirius chuckled, "Show your reflection? Oh no, Harry, it shows more than just your reflection. It's a way to communicate!"

"What?" said Harry, completely lost.

"One of my family's prized possessions," Sirius told him, "I came upon it a while ago, and remembered the times James and I used it to keep in contact when we were your age."

"You did?"

"Oh yes. My parents would not hear of it, of course," he went on, rummaging in his robes again, "Him and I using their precious inventions. But I sneaked one and duplicated it, and they never knew."

He pulled out another mirror, identical to the one he was holding, and thrust one in Harry's direction, "Here. Say my name in front of it."

"Okay..." said Harry, feeling a bit unsure. Staring at his reflection, he did what Sirius told him to do.

Immediately, a black smoke like wisp started to emerge out of Sirius's mirror, and when he held up to his face, he appeared in Harry's mirror.

"See its magic?" he beamed, waving in the mirror, and in real life as well.

Yes, Harry could see it now. He could see that this special mirror could make him communicate with Sirius. He was amazed beyond words.

"How come you didn't give me this before?!" he exclaimed suddenly, "It would have made things a lot easier last year."

"Like I said, I myself came upon this a while ago. When I moved back here," Sirius informed him, "Then I had to go through the trouble of having it duplicated, since I could find only one, and enchanting your identity across it."

He held up his mirror with a smile, "So, there you go. Do you like it?"

The question made Harry grin, "Definitely! This is bloody useful! Now I can contact you without having to worry about Umbridge and her goons!"

"Yes! But mind you, don't contact me all the time," Sirius said, grinning back, "Just use it when you really need to talk to me."

"Noted," Harry said, inspecting his mirror again, which had now become his favourite present he had received that day...


Sooo I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Yes, I know it would have been much better if I uploaded this around Christmas, but that couldn't happen, sadly :(

Also, this is the first time Ron's POV showed up - do tell me your opinion about it! And you can expect more of his POVs as the story goes on ;)

Lastly, do review and follow! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter :)) With that being said, I'll see you all soon with the 14th chapter. Byee and Stay Safe!