Disclaimer: No Harry Potter likes to be watched constantly by some JK Rowling he can't see.

A/N: Happy Christmas to all! I have been wanting to get back to this, and I just so happened to have a Christmas chapter half-finished, so I wrapped it up to put it out today. I also reread a lot of this story to date over the holidays to remember what's actually going on. I feel like I'm in a better position to continue it, now. However, I won't promise any regular updates, as my top priority is still A Sensational Story. (For my FFN readers, A Sensational Story is being updated exclusively on AO3 and is nearing completion.)

Chapter 32: Christmas Abroad

"Not another prophecy!" Hermione shouted.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Harry said.

"Are we sure it's real?" Sirius asked. "Grindelwald could've been faking it."

Harry shrugged: "Maybe, but Dumbledore believed it—both of them."

Dan sighed heavily. "Alright, give it to us again, son."

Harry checked the note he had written and recited Grindelwald's prophecy again.

Hallows will bring the turn of the war.

The four corners of the Earth stand against the darkness, and the four corners stand with it.

One must fall, and one must fail; one must flee, and one must fade. And all Hallows will rule.

Hallows call Death's own to Death. Hallows bridge the two worlds. Hallows aid their Master. Hallows turn thrice in hand and thrice in time, and thrice again to make up nine.

Hallows will bring the turn of the war.

"Well, obviously, the Hallows refers to the Deathly Hallows," Sirius said. "I mean, they were on the table when he gave it."

"Which Harry owns a third of," Hermione pointed out worriedly.

"You mean which we own two thirds of," Harry corrected. He pointed at Sirius. "Dumble—Albus Dumbledore said you were the rightful owner of the Stone, even though Grayson is holding on to it."

Sirius grimaced, remember the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore after they'd taken the Stone from the Gaunt shack. "Yes, and probably a good job I didn't keep it. Nasty business, that. Beedle's stories are all good fun until you realise they're warning you to stay away from the really scary magics that are actually real. Unfortunately, it sounds like we're stuck with these. So, if the Hallows are going to be key to the outcome of the war, do we think that means Voldemort's going to be after them?"

"Or one of the other Dark Mages," Remus spoke up.

"I don't know," Harry said. "You have to ask Dumbledore, but maybe? He'd definitely try to get the Wand if he knew where it was. I wouldn't know how much he believes the other two are good for."

"If that's what it means," Hermione said. "The prophecy's talking about what the Hallows do. Maybe it means we're meant to use them somehow."

Sirius and Remus both paled. "That might be even more dangerous," Sirius said. "Well, the Cloak and Wand by themselves are dead useful…er, no pun intended, for once. Anyway, we can use them. But the Stone? I don't know what good it does anyone. And I don't think I want to know what happens when the same person uses all three. I definitely don't want you trying it, Cub."

"Do any of the stories say what happens if someone does that?" Harry asked.

"Only that they become the Master of Death, whatever that means," Remus answered with a shake of his head. "It could be nothing, if they were made by real people."

Harry nodded: "Yeah, that's kinda what Grayson said."

"But given the history they have individually, I have a feeling we wouldn't like it," he continued. "And that goes double considering the last part of the prophecy here—calling Death's own to Death? Bridging the two worlds? That doesn't sound friendly to anyone living."

"What about the middle part? The four corners of the Earth?"

"Maybe something to do with how global the war has got?" Remus offered. "You might have noticed both sides have four Grand Mages leading the charge—at least if you count Jugashvili. That would fit the four corners against four corners part."

"The question is," said Sirius, "what does the next line mean, about what happens to them? Does it refer to the light or the darkness?"

"Knowing prophecies? Probably either. Or both."

There was silence as everyone thought through the implications of that, punctuated only by Harry grumbling, "I hate prophecies."

Christmas at Beauxbatons wasn't that different than Christmas at Hogwarts, although it wasn't as snowy. The castle was bedecked with Christmas trees, holly, and the like. The local chorus of wood nymphs did a whole concert of Christmas carols. The muggle-borns produced a mural of Father Christmas, although in line with the French tradition, he was accompanied by the sinister-looking Père Fouettard, who would punish the naughty children. In response, a couple of the pureblooded German expats produced a mural of Odin riding his eight-legged horse (which also had wings in the wizarding version), but it was all in good fun. While the war raged across Europe, for most of the school, it couldn't touch Christmas just yet.

All in all, it was a reminder of the mostly carefree Christmases from before the war. While Harry and Hermione were at the school, there was really only one incident that was unusual, and it was only vaguely war-related. One morning near the end of term, many owls arrived at the castle carrying copies of what might soon become the latest best-seller in magical France: Harry Potter and the Tournament of Doom.

"Well, here it is," Harry said, holding up the cover of the latest volume of his autobiography—wow, that sounded really pretentious when he thought of it that way.

"It looks good, Harry," Hermione said honestly. "It'll be good to get the full story out."

Writing his account of his fourth year at Hogwarts had been much more pure catharsis than the interesting bits of plotting out a book or the satisfaction of setting the record straight. He needed to write this one not for himself, but for Cedric, to show how he and the other Champions had carried themselves that year.

To that end, Harry had vetoed showing the fight with Voldemort in the graveyard on the cover. That would put the focus too much on himself. Instead, the four champions were lined up against an array of the creatures that had been in the Tetrawizard Tournament at various points.

He also didn't mention being hit by the Killing Curse and meeting his parents at all, nor the details of La Pantera's dark ritual. (Dumbledore had vetoed that. He didn't want people getting ideas.) But he did include most of the rest of what happened in that year, especially seeing as a lot of it was public record to begin with. It was the angle he wanted to take (after talking with Remus and Dumbledore and his family) that was important: showing the Tournament as a real competition. Everyone knew the Tournament had been a ruse for Voldemort's plan. Many knew that it had been rigged in Harry's favor. But that wasn't the way he had experienced it. He had spent the whole year thinking about the Tournament itself and only guessing at the plot behind it. To him, the competition had been real (and considering that Voldemort rigging it had nearly failed, it actually was). Only, it took a catastrophic turn at the end. That was the message he wanted to get across.

Many of their friends were excited about the book, even though it was darker than his previous ones. (And, for that matter, even though the story was much more publicly known.) Taking his PR lessons from Andi and Sirius to heart, Harry refused to play favourites by signing any of them, although he graciously accepted the compliments he received for it.

Cho only came up to him later, away from the crowds. "Thank you, Harry," she said, clutching her copy to her chest. "For writing this. Cedric deserved to have his story told."

"You're welcome, Cho," Harry said. "It's…well, I guess it's kind of what I do at this point."

"Everything was so crazy that year; it's good to have someone writing up properly—besides Rita Skeeter, I mean."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, we agree there," he said.

Cho smiled uncomfortably and hesitated a moment. "Harry, look," she said, "I know you weren't doing autographs earlier…but, it's just that you were so nice about Cedric on the dedication page…I was wondering…"

He sighed. He understood what she meant. The whole book felt a little bit like writing a letter—maybe even to Cedric—and everyone else who had suffered as a result of Voldemort's return. And short as it was, the dedication page was a big part of that. For Cho, it would be fitting to sign there. He looked at Hermione, who shrugged. Then, he made a show of looking around to make sure no one else was watching. "Here," he muttered, and he took her copy and signed the page quickly.

"Thank you, Harry," she said. They stared at each other a bit longer, as if she wasn't sure what to do, before she turned and walked away.

"Er, Happy Christmas, Cho," he called after her a bit too late.

She stopped and half-turned back toward him, waving awkwardly: "Happy Christmas, Harry."

It was only after they got home to their Paris apartment that Harry and Hermione learned about the other side in the book war that they didn't even know was happening.

"Apparently, you writing best-selling books is something Voldemort felt he needed to answer," Remus told them.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Voldemort wrote a book?"

"No, of course not. Lockhart did. Voldemort wouldn't bother with something like that. But he did make his own move. Right now, this is the best-selling new book in Britain." He held out a copy of a book. It was professionally done (unsurprisingly with Lockhart behind it), though the style was different. The cover was more subdued and abstract—an elegant green with a stylized image of a witch and wizard as a beacon of light fending off what he assumed were a shadowy horde of muggles. His jaw dropped even more when he read the title.

"The Birth of a Nation? Are they serious? They actually went there?"

"They didn't!" Hermione gasped.

"They did," Emma confirmed. "We already took a look. It's pretty bad."

"It's not just in Britain, either," said Remus. "You can get it in France, though not easily. They're certainly trying to publish worldwide, but there's not as much of a market, not to mention it's the publication of what's considered an illegitimate regime."

"Bloody hell," Harry said. "Remus, please tell me we got my book into Britain to counter this."

He nodded. "We've managed to smuggle a few copies in. No telling how far they'll get, though. Of course, your first three are all over the place."

"What's it about?" Hermione asked. She took hold of the book and started leafing through it.

"Hermione!" her brother protested.

"Well, we ought to know, Harry. It should help us respond to it better."

Remus grimaced. "You won't like it."

Over the next quarter hour, Remus explained the story as he had heard it, with occasional contributions from the rest of the family. None of them had had the stomach to read it all the way through, but they had seen enough to get a good idea. The story started with Albus Dumbledore's publicly known association with Gellert Grindelwald and his hesitation in fighting him during the war, and it extrapolated from there, impugning a lot of nonsense behind the scenes (and that was when Lockhart wasn't just making things up). The young Dumbledore, he said, was taken in by Grindelwald's dream of dismantling the Statute of Secrecy and establishing a wizard hegemony over the muggles, heedless to the dangers it would pose. They disagreed over methods and personal grudges, but Dumbledore never gave up the dream.

After Grindelwald's War, Dumbledore inserted himself in the most powerful positions in the wizarding world to spread his pro-muggle propaganda. He embraced muggle-borns and their families and led the Ministry to be lax in enforcing the Statute of Secrecy in relation to them, both at home and abroad, including pushing America to give up its strict segregation (which was true). He dismantled the protections that were designed to keep wizards safe from the numerically superior muggles. He even encouraged wizards to "mate" with muggles, a practice that was described in such lurid and disgusting terms when he looked up the passage that Harry caught himself almost agreeing with Lockhart before the thought about it for more than five seconds. Lockhart made it seem like the muggles were animals (which, after all, was what some extremist purebloods actually believed) and did a shockingly good job of selling it. Also, there was some weird subplot about a muggle-born man forcing a "good pureblooded girl" to marry him that sounded suspiciously like Ted and Andromeda Tonks.

Finally, the righteous purebloods struck back. They gathered together under the leadership of the Dark Lord (the book didn't print his name even when it would be appropriate, although that was probably more to avoid tripping the Taboo) and fought to reverse the excesses of Dumbledore and his Ministry puppets. One of Dumbledore's plots nearly killed the Dark Lord, but he returned and overthrew the Ministry to take over for himself and make the world safe for the "true" witches and wizards.

What really got Harry's blood boiling was when Lockhart insinuated that his parents' deaths were part of a Machiavellian scheme on Dumbledore's part to set them up as live bait in a trap to kill Voldemort. Harry would then be raised by muggles and return to the magical world as a muggle-loving "saviour" to carry on Dumbledore's legacy. There was even a moustache-twirling monologue where Dumbledore talked about suppressing the Potters' wills to keep Harry from being raised by a pureblood family, including a really out-of-place line about getting his hands on the Potter fortune and arranging some kind of political marriage for him.

"That rat-bastard!" Harry growled after Hermione pulled the book away from him to keep him from lighting it on fire.

"Calm down, Harry," she chided.

"You saw what was in there, Mione! He made Dumbledore look like a monster. And he made me look like an idiot."

"And you're surprised? This is Voldemort we're talking about. And like it or not, he kind of has free reign back home."

"It's part of his larger narrative," said Remus. "He made you look like an innocent dupe manipulated by Dumbledore. Which is kind of an odd angle, making you a non-threat, but it obviously fits the narrative of Dumbledore being the evil mastermind."

"And yet he still wants to kill me," Harry grumbled.

"It's standard practice for dictatorships, Remus," Dan corrected. "In the muggle world, at least. The enemies of the state are simultaneously weak and pathetic and mocked relentlessly, and an existential threat to everything good and righteous."

Hermione perked up. "Meaning they're using muggle tactics?" she asked. "In fact, does Voldemort know Lockhart stole the title from the muggles?" Hermione asked.

"Not just the title," Emma said. "We looked it up; he stole something like half the plot, too."

Harry snorted: "Typical. Reminds me of the old Harry Potter Adventures books. I'd almost suspect Lockhart of doing those too, except he's not old enough."

"Now there's a thought, Harry," Hermione said. "We should tell people in Britain they're using muggle ideas. We can still do leaflet drops, can't we?"

At that, Sirius, who had been morose throughout the conversation, suddenly grinned.

"We can try."

Christmas day came in Britain, the same as it did in France. Families found what solace and good cheer they could with each other and did their best to keep things feeling normal for their younger children, but the mood was decidedly dark—darker than it had been at any Christmas since 1980.

And for one family, it was their time to shine for the entire country by giving it their all despite all the complications to their efforts.

Mandy Brocklehurst looked out at the crowd and took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This year's Christmas play was a big night—perhaps even a make-or-break night despite her family's respected position. For months after the Battle of Hogwarts, they weren't even sure there would be a Christmas play this year. They certainly didn't have as much time to prepare as usual. But shortly after the disaster on Halloween, she'd received a letter from Great Grandfather telling her that Minister Rookwood had authorized a play. (Reading between the lines, it was probably yet another effort to instil a sense of normalcy.) And though he didn't say it in as many words, it was clear that the Dark Lord himself had approved the script.

That fact almost made her more worried than if he hadn't, but when she actually read the script, she was relieved. Compared with the horrific lies in The Birth of a Nation, this year's play, The Life and Times of Salazar Slytherin, was positively tame. The Dark Lord, through Rookwood, had made them make a few changes, but Great-Grandfather had pushed back and had avoided having to include any outright falsehoods. The spin was still heavy, of course, with Slytherin as the principled protector of the magical world and Gryffindor and the other Founders as misguided, too soft, and each falling to their own vices—but not outright evil, surprisingly. It was much more a tragedy than a political screed.

Although in Mandy's mind, the idea was clearly to show why Hogwarts deserved to be renamed Slytherin School—because Slytherin was the only one who supposedly remained faithful to the "proper" direction of the school as a bulwark for the wizarding world.

Still, things were looking up for the Theatre. The play looked like it was going to go well. But the show was about to begin, she saw something that made her blood turn to ice in her veins. Up in the Minister's Box, glowing were red eyes looking down at the stage. The Dark Lord himself was watching. It was only her lifelong training in acting that let her turn around and return to the backstage area without collapsing in a panic attack. The rest of the cast saw her looking suddenly pale, sweating, her heart racing, and she soon drew their attention even though she didn't say anything.

"He's here," she whispered, and no one needed clarification.

A wave of fear rippled through the cast—not good, but better than if they were taken by surprise when they walked onstage. Terrified whispers broke out among them. "Bloody hell!" "He's here for the show?" "Did you know he was coming?" "No, I didn't know. Nobody knew."

Mandy was immensely grateful that Great-Grandfather stepped up and took charge before anyone bolted. "Calm down, everyone. Calm down," he said, loud enough that his voice might be audible from the seats, but he pressed on anyway. "If the Dark Lord is here, that doesn't change anything. We put on the best show we can, the same as always. The Ministry already agreed to the script, and I will handle the recognition of…our guests. All of you simply need to do the play, just like we practised. We're ready for this, even if…" He paused, thinking of a politically acceptable comparison. "Even if Salazar Slytherin shows up tonight too, we're ready. Now, let's go out there and put on a show."

That was the pep talk they needed, even if it only brought most of them down from panic to merely very nervous. For her part, Mandy was now very glad she had only a small part in this show. She was playing the part of Helena Ravenclaw. Great-Grandfather had tasked her with doing the research to act the part in his letter, but that hadn't been easy. The Grey Lady had been…odd this year. She was restless even by ghost standards. All the old House Ghosts were, in fact—not surprising since their Houses had been abolished, and then Peeves's murder had made it so much worse. But for the Grey Lady, it was like she was having some kind of slow-motion breakdown. She'd taken to wailing with despair in abandoned towers and lashing out at anyone who approached. And she had clammed up entirely when Mandy had mentioned her mother's diadem.

Oddly, the edits to the script had included some very specific wording regarding Ravenclaw's diadem. She wasn't sure what to make of that.

Great-Grandfather began the show with a tastefully understated recognition of their honoured guests, and the play progressed from there with bold strokes. The introduction was not shy about showing the friendship between Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor. Both being powerful warlocks, they roamed the British Isles and even into Scandinavia fighting threats to the wizarding world, working as a team and seemingly the best of friends. In their travels, they often relied of the help of the greatest scholar of magical lore in the land, Rowena Ravenclaw, and her friend, the great Healer, Helga Hufflepuff.

But Slytherin and Gryffindor were often appalled by the inability of so many witches and wizards in Britain to defend themselves against the threats that spread across the land. Not that they lacked the will—most of them were willing and eager to learn the advanced magics the warlocks had to teach. They just didn't have the knowledge to protect themselves adequately.

The medieval magical community, as Mandy had learnt from Professor Lupin, was more complex and diverse than it was today. Wizards went openly among muggles, and other races like goblins and giants went more openly among wizards than they did now. Magic was less advanced at the time. So many of the spells that were used today were later inventions. Even something as simple as Wingardium Leviosa came from the Renaissance. And in the tenth century, there were no fast widespread methods of magical travel. Brooms were in their infancy; flying carpets had to be imported, and Apparition and Portkeys weren't widely known. The fastest way most people had of getting around was by winged horse. So instead of being concentrated in Hogsmeade and London, most wizards lived in dozens of small, self-sufficient magical villages scattered around the country.

And more to the point, most wizards were taught magic by their parents, or at best by learned elders in their villages. Most spells in use were household magic, or even hedge magic in poorer places—or else arts like nature magic and ritual magic that were all but forgotten today. It was a very different world.

The play, of course, didn't have time to show all of that. It only gave the audience a general sense of the situation to show how important the Founders were to the wizarding world by comparison. In that environment, when Slytherin and Gryffindor saw the lack of magical knowledge in the community and decided that the best solution was to build a single, centralized school for all magical children, it was an incredible, revolutionary idea that changed the entire face of the wizarding world.

After the introduction, the first act of the play was mainly about how Slytherin and the others had worked hard to build Hogwarts. Building and enchanting the castle was the easy part. Convincing parents to send their children away for half the year to learn magic was even harder than it sounded in a community where most of them had never even heard of a public school. For his part, Slytherin aided the cause using a small confidence trick. He searched carefully and found two incredibly gifted children in Wales, Myrddin and Morgên, and he made them his apprentices. For a year, they toured the country as examples of what children could learn to do under a professional teacher, and many parents signed up their own children, hoping they would bring such powerful magic back to their own families.

That wasn't the end of their troubles, either. Having half the magical children in the country in one place made a tempting target, and after Hogwarts opened, the Founders had to fend off various enemies that besieged it. According to the play, it was one of these attacks, by an angry crowd of armed muggles, that sowed the seeds of the breakdown of the school.

The second act began with the Founders discussing among themselves what to do about the muggle attacks. Slytherin said that the castle would stay better hidden if they simply didn't allow muggle-borns to enrol. (The play never used the word mudblood; Great-Grandfather had objected on the grounds that it was historically inaccurate.) The other Founders said that was too extreme a measure. Kind-hearted Hufflepuff couldn't bear to exclude anyone from the school. Ravenclaw considered judging the students by anything but their skill with a wand to be foolish. And Gryffindor, Slytherin's closest friend, insisted that Slytherin was overreacting to the threat. After all, he said, the Church explicitly forbade witch-hunting. There would be no organized muggle forces coming against Hogwarts, and they could handle the rabble.

Slytherin said that the formal ban on witch-hunting did nothing to stop the crowds from coming, and sooner or later, the muggles would come up with something cleverer than billhooks and longbows, perhaps by persuading a muggle-born to help them out of loyalty. The four argued, but Slytherin ultimately relented.

A coldness fell over Hogwarts after that, though. The Founders' vices, hidden when they worked together, grew more and more visible. Hufflepuff gained a suspiciously Hagrid-like penchant for bringing in dangerous creatures to Hogwarts to nurse them back to health. Gryffindor with his hot temper grew more quarrelsome with Slytherin, as their friendship was marred. And Ravenclaw—well, that was where Mandy came in as Helena Ravenclaw to steal her mother's diadem.

Don't think about it. Can't think about it, she thought to herself as she walked out onto the stage. Just play the part. There is no audience. There is only the show.

She gave a monologue about Helena's jealousy of her mother's fame and skill, and how Rowena hoarded the diadem's power for herself. Helena decided she would steal it away and become even more famous, only to find afterward that the diadem refused to work for her as it did for her mother. Afterwards, she was hunted down and murdered in a fit of rage by her fiancé, one of Slytherin's apprentices who was of not just pure, but noble blood in both worlds.

Everyone was shocked when the revelations about the Bloody Baron came out this year. Amidst the Grey Lady's incoherent wailing was interspersed ranting about the wrong he had done to her—an account that was eventually backed up by research of ancient documents.

It was a short part, and Mandy was glad when it was over. She did her best to avoid looking at the Minister's box while not looking like she was avoiding looking at the Minister's box. At Hogwarts, even though everyone was pretty sure that the Dark Lord was holding court in the Chamber of Secrets, no one but the Death Eaters and their families ever caught more than a glimpse of him, and that was more than enough. Imagining the audience in their underwear was not going to help in this situation, but luckily, that wasn't the Diagonal Theatre's mantra anyway. "Ignore the audience," Great-Grandfather would say. "There is no audience. There is only the show. We perform only for each other, and most of all for ourselves." And she made it off-stage without incident.

Rowena Ravenclaw died of grief shortly after her daughter, and that was the last straw between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Gryffindor blamed Slytherin for Ravenclaw's death by enabling the "Baron's" worst traits, and he also accused Slytherin of trying to take advantage of her death when Slytherin continued to push to ban muggle-borns from the school. Slytherin tried to reason with him, but Gryffindor was having none of it, and it turned into an all-out duel that saw Slytherin removed from the school for good.

The final scene saw Slytherin as a broken man, yet nonetheless returning in secret to the school he thought had gone astray. In a secret chamber beneath the castle, he placed his final safeguard, an unspecified weapon that his heirs could bring forth to defend the castle from the muggle armies he predicted would one day come, and after that, they could finally place the school on the "correct" path.

Mandy had no idea if the Slytherin's original intent really was for the basilisk to protect the school. Maybe it was. But today, it was certainly propaganda, at least if the rumour that the Dark Lord was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets twice in the past century was true. She suspected there was a reason the basilisk was never mentioned by name in the script. Of course, the real implication was that the Dark Lord had fulfilled Slytherin's legacy by bringing the school solely under his banner.

School had been…strange this year, she thought back. Day-to-day, things were almost normal. Lessons, homework, even Quidditch ran about how they had before, except for the Dark Arts being openly taught and the excruciatingly repetitive propaganda of Muggle Studies. She supposed life had to go on, but it was strange to be living it, just like it was strange to hold this play.

The play was a success, though. The audience applauded loudly at the curtain call, and from what she could see, it seemed honest—not half-hearted nor a perfunctory "we have to cheer" situation. She didn't dare look up at the Minister's box to see the Dark Lord's reaction, but given the lack of curses flying she assumed it was positive.

After all that tension, she was just beginning to relax when the real disaster struck. As the audience was filing out of the theatre, there were several loud bangs from outside, like fireworks. The initial screams briefly subsided, but they were soon followed by more noise—sounds of a panicked crowd and blasts of wind, and then, the smell of smoke coming from the lobby.

The cast and crew all raced out, ready to put out the fire, only to run into panicked theatre-goers running for shelter inside the building. "Out of the way! Out of the way!" was shouted from both sides, and the whole front of the building was on fire by the time Mandy made it to the Alley.

Diagon Alley was in chaos. Most people were running away screaming, and fires were popping up everywhere. Luckily, it wasn't an attack on the Theatre itself, as she had feared, but what she saw was nearly as bad. Pieces of parchment littered the alley like snow, and a group of Death Eaters including the Dark Lord were blasting at them with curses to try to get rid of them. The Dark Lord was throwing fire with his hands just like the stories said, which even his followers were struggling to avoid. It looked like setting the Theatre on fire hadn't been intentional, but they also weren't helping to put it out.

This was a dangerous situation, she knew. Obviously, Dumbledore (or his people, at least) had thought the Christmas play would be a good place for one of their leaflet drops. But in doing so, they had angered the Dark Lord, and when the Dark Lord was angry, it wasn't good for the health of anyone nearby. Even so, the Brocklehursts were dedicated to the Theatre, and Mandy joined them. As she directed a stream of water from her wand at the fire, she began surreptitiously looking around to see what these leaflets said. She noticed a charred piece of parchment near the wall and angled to get a better view.

—EROY LOCKHART: MUGGLE-LOV—

—elling author Gilderoy Lockhart's muggle roots are finally showing th—

—est book, The Birth of a Nation, which transparently steals its title and plot fro—

That was all she got the chance to read before her father elbowed her hard, and she hastily looked back up to putting out the fire. He Vanished the parchment before continuing his own work. It was stupid and risky, she knew. It wasn't good to be seen reading the things even if it was ostensibly to get rid of them. Curiosity did not serve well in times like these.

When the dust settled and the fires were put out, she didn't think anyone had died, but quite a few people had been hurt. It was not the way they wanted to end their Christmas.

"We never thought Voldemort would be at the play," Sirius told Dumbledore when the reports come in, his head hanging. "I mean, who thought he would be a theatre-lover?"

"As the self-proclaimed Chief Warlock, Lord Voldemort can be expected to involve himself in the social life of wizarding Britain to some degree," Dumbledore said, "and the subject matter of the play was chosen to complement his new regime."

Sirius grimaced. "Damn, I should've thought of that," he said. "Social event of the year—it makes sense he'd make an appearance. Ugh. It's been six months, and I still can't help thinking of that bastard as the mastermind hiding in the shadows. He shouldn't be getting dolled up and going to a show. It just doesn't make sense!"

"I admit it was rather jarring to me, as well," Dumbledore replied. "As close as he came in the previous war, we rarely thought about what it would look like should Voldemort win."

"I did," Remus said. Given his position and his friendship with Sirius, he had of course been the other instigator of the stunt. "I thought about it a lot with Greyback around, but…looking back, I think I always imagined it as some nightmare caricature. It's hard to think about anything over there being normal." He stared at his shoes a minute longer. "I'm sorry, Albus. We didn't think this through…I didn't think this through."

"You should not be so hard on yourselves, either of you," Dumbledore said, and they looked up. "Using the Christmas play was a good idea to spread the leaflets. Many people were there who might be sympathetic to our cause and whom we might not be able to reach otherwise. Unfortunately, even the best of us too often fail to see the consequences of our actions in advance. We can take comfort that the result was not much worse."

Sirius and Remus looked at each other. Dumbledore had been more pensive than usual this holiday—after the meeting with Grindelwald. They weren't sure what to make of it. Harry seemed to understand, but he wasn't talking—besides about Grindelwald's prophecy, which was bad enough.

"We'll be more careful about our operations in Britain in the future, Albus," Remus said. "I know we can't control where Voldemort goes, but we can be more situationally aware and put some more work into predicting the consequences. It definitely doesn't do much practical good to drop leaflets right in his face."

"As fun as it is, but yeah," Sirius agreed.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I am sure you will you will be more than up to the challenge, Remus. As long as we keep the people we wish to help in mind, we will be starting from the right place. None of us are perfect, but that is the most important thing."

With that, Remus and Sirius excused themselves, and Dumbledore approached Harry, who had also been listening in to hear the latest reports on the war. "It is unfortunate that the circumstances are not better, but I do want to congratulate you on your newest book, Harry," he said. "Certainly, the tone and positioning of the narrative are quite different. The events of the Tetrawizard Tournament were very well publicized. But you have risen to the task admirably."

"Thank you, Professor," he said. "It helped a lot to write it."

"Did it, now? You have said the same about your earlier books. It has never been my strategy; I find that organising my memories in other ways helps me to understand them better, but perhaps it is time for me to pursue the idea properly."

"Oh? You're getting into writing?" Harry asked. Come to think of it, that was one of the surprising gaps in Dumbledore's career.

Dumbledore didn't answer directly. "I understand that you are not planning on releasing another book for the duration?" he asked.

"Er, no," Harry said. "I could write one about my fifth year, but the war part of that didn't involve me so much. I figured it made more sense just to keep a diary of the whole war."

"A good practice. It is important for the people who live this conflict to have their stories heard as they happened, and I do hope you get a chance to publish it sooner rather than later. I'm sure it will be even better than your previous offerings."

"Um…thanks. But what about you, sir?"

"Ah, that. Perhaps our recent meeting with Gellert has caused me to look back on my past with new eyes. I think it may be time to begin writing my own memoirs."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Really? Er…now, sir?" he asked. Then, he realised that must sound a bit hypocritical, so he added, "I mean to say, it's not exactly the same as a diary."

"Not for publication just yet," he said. "You know well the complications involved with that. But I wish to make some notes—write a few key passages—enough that those who come after me can piece together the story should the worst happen. I am well aware, Harry, that this war will be a hard and dangerous one. I think I will rest easier if my legacy is thus reinforced. As I think you have learnt, telling your story is an important part of that."

Harry nodded, his face solemn. He didn't like to think about it, but that was never far from his mind when he wrote his war diary. He really didn't know how this was going to end—how they could finally defeat Voldemort for good. The prophecies said he would have the chance, but that was a long way from actually doing it. And he had no idea how to get there.