There may as well have been a sword hanging by a single, loose thread over Harry's head. At any moment, he expected it to drop – and his life would end right there and then. Harry's mind, meanwhile, could not decide on how to react. A part of him desperately hoped that it was all a mistake, that their theory had been wrong, and that there really was nobody out for his life. At the same time, though, another part of it seemed to want to accept that possibility with open arms. Harry had never been religious, but if there were an afterlife…then at least he might see his parents again.

Harry grew almost paranoid in Potions, double- and triple-checking the colour and scent of the solutions in his cauldron against the reference in the book and cleaning his cauldron before and after each class like his life depended on it – as it might. Outside of class, though, thankfully, there was not much time for Harry to spend worrying, for the majority of their free time was spent in the library or in open classrooms in Hogwarts's many corridors, reading as much as they could as part of their new quest of trying to teach themselves self-defence.

'If our theory is right, then we can't just walk around the castle completely defenceless,' Hermione had said the morning after they had gone to Professor Vesnova. 'What if Snape, or some accomplice that he might have, wants to ambush us? What do we do then? Send up sparks? Professor Quirrell's class is useless.'

Harry, surprised at Hermione's excoriation of a teacher, took a second to reply. 'What do we do, then? What do we even teach ourselves?'

'There are useful self-defence spells that supposedly aren't too hard to learn,' Neville answered. 'There're things like the Disarming Charm, I think, or the Siren Charm, that Gran said even a first-year can learn. She said she was going to teach them to me anyway this summer.'

'Let's learn them, then,' Hermione decided. 'We'll go to the library and look for books and teach them to ourselves. The sooner we learn some basic self-defence, the better. We don't know when something could happen.'

It took no time at all to find the resources that they needed in an elementary spell-book. Learning the spells, however, took far longer. Despite their supposed simplicity, they were still at least as complex as the most difficult magic that they had done in their classes. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, though, they had no option but to learn them, and they persevered. After three days of continued trial and error, Harry managed to perform the Disarming Charm for the first time, to his great surprise and relief.

When they had learned these two spells, they moved on further through the book, trying out other spells, but many of these proved beyond their level. Now, though, instead of hitting their heads against a wall that they could not crack, they turned their attention to different things, such as how to identify poisons visually – something that turned out to involve an absurd amount of memorisation for every rule and exception – as well as reading up on what kind of 'dark spells' a wizard who sought to do harm might use. Once or twice, the name 'Nicholas Flamel' crossed one of their minds again, and in curiosity, they took a break from their informal 'studies' to look for the name, but never managed to find it.

The spells that they found in the books seemed almost tame. Some of them even appeared funny at first glance – such as the one that turned one's bogies into bats – but Harry's sense of security was quickly shattered by Hermione.

'Of course these are tame,' she pointed out. 'These books are from the general library, not even the Restricted Section. Do you think there'd be seriously bad spells in them?'

'These don't even scratch the surface of dark magic,' Neville affirmed. 'From what Gran's talked about, dark wizards can use far, far, worse.'

Despite that knowledge, all that they had learned in the last few weeks gave Harry the impression that he at least had some shield, albeit a flimsy one, against the sword. Yet, despite the possibility always being in the back of Harry's mind, the attack that he expected never came, even as November came to an end. Nothing resembling an attempt on Harry's life took place, and Harry was left more confused – and despite the safety, anxious – than ever. Had Dumbledore caught on to what was happening and put Snape under closer surveillance? Or had he already uncovered the conspiracy and de-fanged it before it could harm him again? He could not tell, and that simply amplified his nervousness.

Finally, one night in December, Harry decided that he needed at least some kind of answer. He sought out Professor Vesnova once again in the library, wanting to know what Dumbledore had said to her when she had told him about the poisoning incident. At first, Neville had insisted on going with him, but Harry, craving a bit of time by himself, asked him not to. After much back-and-forth, he reluctantly agreed, making Harry promise to be careful and not take any detours.

Harry climbed out of the portrait hole and made his way down the staircases to the library. Halfway down, on the third-floor landing, he ran into Professor Quirrell, who seemed rather disoriented. Quirrell had begun climbing up the staircase to the fourth floor as Harry descended, but a quarter of the way up, he suddenly turned around, back onto the landing before descending the next flight of stairs with Harry.

Professor Quirrell went all the way down to the library before splitting ways with Harry, neither of them having spoken a word to one another besides 'hello'. Harry wound his way through the bookcases, finding Professor Vesnova exactly where they had found her the last time they were here. Several books were open on her desk, and several pieces of parchment, all with compact, indecipherable handwriting, were laid out over them.

'Excuse me, Professor,' Harry said quietly. 'Are you busy?'

Professor Vesnova looked up. 'Oh, good evening, Harry,' she said, sounding a little surprised. 'No, I'm not too busy.'

'Can I…uh…can I ask you something?'

'Sure,' Professor Vesnova replied. She furrowed her brows. 'Is this about – you know?'

'Yeah, it is.'

Professor Vesnova drew her wand and waved it three times in the air silently before putting it away. 'Just a spell so that nobody you wouldn't want to hear will hear,' she explained. 'What did you need?'

'I…uh…I just wanted to ask…' Harry started, suddenly not knowing how he could ask the question in a way that did not seem far too overreaching. 'I wanted to ask if you knew if Headmaster Dumbledore…uh…'

'You wanted to know if I told the headmaster what you told me?' Professor Vesnova guessed.

'Uh…yeah,' Harry replied. 'If that's not too much.'

'I understand. You must be very worried,' she replied in a way that somehow made Harry feel like she truly did understand. 'It's terrifying for anyone to know that someone out there is trying to poison children, especially an eleven-year-old.'

Harry swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat that refused to go away, sitting in tense silence before Professor Vesnova continued. 'Well, I did tell Albus – I should say Headmaster Dumbledore, maybe – everything that you told to me. The theory that we came up with about the angel's trumpet extract, too.'

'What did he say?' Harry asked eagerly.

'He told me that he knows that something's going on in Hogwarts,' she answered. 'But he has suspects and is keeping track of what they're doing.'

'Did he tell you who he suspected?' Harry asked. 'We had a theory…we thought that it might have been Professor Snape who did it.'

'No, he didn't tell me who he was keeping track of,' Professor Vesnova answered, somehow completely unshocked at the notion of a professor being involved in the murder of a student. 'But if you would come to suspect Professor Snape, then I think the headmaster would, too.'

'That's good,' Harry breathed, his voice not quite conveying the feeling of relief that he felt in knowing that Dumbledore was aware of what was happening and was doing something. He was most likely, for the foreseeable future, at least, safe.

'It's good, but don't just sit back as if everything was normal,' Professor Vesnova warned. 'Remember what I told you last time we spoke, about how notables are always targeted first? I've given some thought to what had happened and asked around about the students in your year. Filius – er, Professor Flitwick – thinks that this girl, Tracey Davis? He thinks that she's an unlikely target for someone to try to poison.'

'I know,' Harry said grimly, the clouds of doom momentarily floating back over the newly cleared sky. 'I know it's much more likely me that they were trying to…to kill.'

Something akin to sympathy and commiseration flashed across Professor Vesnova's face, which suddenly made Harry realise that the teacher sitting in front of him was, really, young enough to be his older sister. They even had similarly black hair, though her eyes were brown to Harry's green, and there was something about the look in them that made Harry tremble a little…

'Have you been sleeping well?' she asked unexpectedly, only strengthening the image that had just come into Harry's mind.

'Uh…better now, but still…not really,' Harry replied, surprised at himself for how readily he admitted something that he had barely talked about to Neville and Hermione, not wanting to worry them.

'Have you been eating well?'

'Better now, too.'

Professor Vesnova sighed, rubbing her face. 'I'm sorry. I must've worried you too much last time, and your friends, too. I should've known better than to tell you in such strong terms.'

'It's okay,' Harry muttered. 'I've gotten used to it. It was probably good, anyway. Hermione and Neville and I learned some spells to defend ourselves that we probably wouldn't have thought to learn otherwise.'

Professor Vesnova looked at him for a moment. 'It's good that you learned them. I'm sorry, though, that you had to,' she said quietly. 'I should've also told you what the headmaster told me on my own, and not waited for you to come and ask me.'

'I know I've just told you to be careful,' she continued after a short pause. 'And I think you should, but also try to relax a little. Your life…well, I don't think whoever tried to poison you will try anything again anytime soon. Definitely not after their first attempt failed, and especially now with the headmaster watching more closely. Just…you know…keep your friends close, and watch each other's backs. I know I essentially told you to be paranoid the last time…well, I shouldn't blame you or tell you to not be – it's natural – but just know that there are other people also watching over you now. You don't need to fend for yourself alone.'

'Even if you're afraid, it's sometimes better to try to forget and just live,' Professor Vesnova remarked after another long silence.

'I'll try, Professor,' Harry replied quietly.

'Don't bother with the "Professor",' she said. 'I'm only, what, eight years older than you? I'm no more a professor than you are. I probably wouldn't be if…well, just call me Anna.'

Harry nodded. 'Okay. Anna.'

'That's much better,' she said with a chuckle. 'Is there anything else you wanted to ask me about? Otherwise maybe you should start going back. It's getting a little late.'

Harry shook his head. 'I'm good.'

'Do you need a pass to go back up to Gryffindor?' Anna asked. 'It's late and I wouldn't want the Prefects to get you in trouble.'

'Yeah, please.'

'You know, sometimes I enjoy being a teacher. I can go wherever I want whenever I want,' Anna said as she wrote on a scrap of parchment. 'In Novgorod – maybe I should say in the Koldovstvorets – everything we did outside of lessons had to be on a teacher's permission. To be fair, it was for security, because of what was happening, but…well, I still like being the teacher for a change.'

Harry laughed a little, and said good night to Anna, returning to Gryffindor Tower. On the way back, he ran into Professor Quirrell again on the staircase, and once more, neither of them talked the whole way to where they parted.

When he arrived back in Gryffindor Tower, he found Neville and Hermione waiting for him in a corner of the Common Room. Both beckoned to him when they saw him return through the portrait hole, a relieved look on their faces. Harry joined them, telling them everything Anna had told him.

'If Dumbledore's on it, then we can relax a little,' Neville said, sounding as if much tension had just been defused from his body. 'Granted, we shouldn't throw away caution altogether, but if Snape knows Dumbledore's watching him, he probably wouldn't dare do anything crazy.'

'We'll probably be safe for now,' Hermione agreed. 'But we still need to keep our wits about us and doing what we've been doing. Just because Professor Snape might not do anything crazy doesn't mean he won't do anything at all.'


December continued, and the winter deepened. The grounds were soon covered by a thick layer of white snow and grey ice, as if a quilted blanket had descended down upon the earth. Soon, classes had ended for the term, and students were packing their trunks to return home for the winter holidays.

Harry had the option to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays, and he took it gladly, though not without a little bit of melancholy. On one hand, he did not need to return to the Dursleys, who, he was sure, would not be thrilled at all to have him back in their house, 'disrupting' their holidays. On the other, though, nearly everyone he knew was returning home. Neville was leaving, Hermione was leaving, Dean was leaving, and Seamus and Raul, too, were also leaving. Out of everyone in the first year, it seemed like only Ron was remaining – and Harry was not particularly looking forward to almost three weeks of being cooped up inside with only him for company.

Harry, Hermione, and Neville kept up their habit of almost living out of the library, buried in books. The last two days, they had distracted themselves with trying to find out more about 'Nicholas Flamel' after finding the name in one of the potions books that they had looked in, which had briefly noted his contribution to the discovery of a powerful antidote to some broad class of potions. They had tried to research further down that road, but that trail led directly to a dead end, without them encountering even one more mention of the name.

'Where else could we look?' Hermione had grumbled as she slammed shut a book the night before her and the other students' departure from Hogwarts. 'It feels like we've scoured every book here.'

'There's the Restricted Section,' Neville suggested. 'But we can't get in there without a teacher's permission. I don't think McGonagall would be very willing to write us a blank pass without asking at least fifty questions about what we're doing first. And even then, our chances probably aren't very good.'

'Professor Cauverina probably wouldn't, either,' Hermione said glumly.

'She likes you, though,' Harry pointed out. 'And she's nice about giving students things.'

Hermione blushed a little, looking a little pleased with herself. That look, though, was soon replaced by a frown. 'I don't think she would. She didn't want to give us a pass to research spells. I doubt she'd want to give us an unlimited pass for this.'

'What about Professor Vesnova, Harry?' Neville asked. 'She seems to really like you. Maybe you could get one from her?'

Harry snorted. 'And have her know that we overheard the conversation between her and Dumbledore?'

'Oh, right,' Neville said, blushing and looking down at his book.

It was with unsurprisingly empty hands that they returned to Gryffindor Tower that night.

The next morning, Harry saw Neville and Hermione off in the Entrance Hall as they queued up to board the carriages – horseless carriages, actually – that would take them to the train station in the town of Hogsmeade from where they had come. Harry could not help but feel saddened and envious as he watched the mass of students creeping towards the carriages, all going home to parents, siblings, and a hot, home-cooked dinner. It was made all the worse with the realisation that he was going to be almost alone, without anyone to talk to, in a nearly empty castle.

'I'll send you something from Paris,' Hermione, who was going to be spending a week in France with her family, promised as the time of their departure neared. 'Send your owl – Hedwig, was it? – out to me. They're smart and can find me, even out of the magical world.'

'I'm sorry, I tried to ask Gran again if you might be able to come over,' Neville said apologetically. He had sent a letter to his grandmother several days ago, asking her if Harry could stay over for the holidays, but this was met with a 'no' from his grandmother. 'But she's been so busy these last few months. It probably wouldn't have been the greatest idea anyway.'

'It's okay,' Harry replied. 'I understand. I'll be fine here.'

Finally, it was their turn to board the carriages. Awkwardly, Neville shook Harry's hand, and Hermione gave him a very brief hug, blushing, before they jumped on the carriage, Harry helping them drag their trunks on as his face, too, heated up. The carriage door closed, and without delay, they were on their way.

'Try to do some research!' Hermione called as the carriage drove away. 'If you can! Make sure you get some rest though!'

The corridors of Hogwarts were now eerily silent, deprived of their usual crowd of students. The only one Harry encountered on the way back to Gryffindor Tower was Professor Ross, the History of Magic teacher. The Gryffindor Common Room was empty, too, save for Ron, who sat in the corner, playing wizard's chess by himself.

Harry sat down briefly on an armchair before Ron invited him to play wizard's chess with him. Lacking anything else to do, Harry agreed, hoping that it would not be a decision that he would come to regret. Thankfully, Ron seemed to have gotten much more normal, for lack of a better word, than he had been in September, and barely mentioned anything about the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. They played three games in total, Ron winning the first two and Harry winning the third. Ron was quite good at the game, Harry thought – unsurprising, seeing how much he played – but was rather predictable with his tactics.

The Great Hall was equally deserted during lunch. The four House Tables and the staff table had all been removed and placed against the sides of the room. In their place, one large table had been set up in the centre of the room, apparently for both students and staff. Headmaster Dumbledore sat at the end with Professor McGonagall. Several students sat by them, eating quietly and looking rather intimated by the two teachers. Professor Cauverina and another teacher that Harry thought was called Professor Babbling sat together near the middle of the table, sandwiched on either side by students. Professor Quirrell, meanwhile, sat all alone at the other end, shooting occasional nervous looks up the table.

Harry was unsure of where it would be appropriate for him to sit, but Dumbledore took the initiative and beckoned him over. 'Good afternoon, Harry,' he called. 'Would you care to join us?'

'Where should I sit?' Harry asked.

'The one right across from Professor McGonagall is open,' Dumbledore replied. 'You could take that.'

Harry, feeling like the intimidated first year that he was, shuffled over and sat down across from his Head of House. He did not know if he should start eating, and sat silently in awkward stillness for the better part of a minute before Professor McGonagall gestured towards the food in the centre of the table, giving a slight smile.

'There is no need to starve yourself just because you're not at the Gryffindor table, Mister Potter,' she said wryly. 'I assure you, every plate will hold your lunch the same.'

'I can assure you that they've all been rigorously tested for their…ah…ability to be loaded with more food than is necessary for one to necessitate a trip to Madam Pomfrey's,' Dumbledore added with an amused twinkle in his eye. 'If not by myself, then certainly by Professor Cauverina. Is that right, Eferia?'

'Albus, what's with the need to slander me?' Professor Cauverina shot back, miming a look of indignation. 'Bathsheda here has gorged herself far more times than I have.'

'Bathsheda also has the advantage of twelve years on you, Eferia,' Professor McGonagall reminded her. 'Will we need to do a comparison of – shall we call them incidents? – per year?'

Professor Cauverina blushed, and the teachers broke out in chuckles. Professor Babbling said something to Professor Cauverina, which, judging by the shade of her face, only seemed to cause her more embarrassment.

As Harry ate, he listened in as Headmaster Dumbledore conversed with Professor McGonagall, the other teachers, and even the students. Once or twice, he asked Harry something, and though they had spoken multiple times before, somehow, being addressed by Dumbledore in front of the entire school – or at least, those who were still here – felt different than speaking to him in private, and Harry found himself struggling to find words on one or two occasions.

Neither Dumbledore, nor McGonagall, nor anyone else said anything about Nicholas Flamel – though Harry was not really expecting them to. Most of their conversation, if Harry had to be honest, were not even on subjects that he would ever expect his teachers – Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore included – to so passionately discuss: who was the favourites for the Quidditch League trophy, whom some celebrity was getting engaged to, or their thoughts on the winter fashion line-up from this designer or another. It was as if everything was normal and carefree – there was nothing dangerous hidden in the third-floor right-hand-landing corridor, and there was nobody plotting anything against the school.

On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry ran into Anna in a corridor close to the Great Hall, wrapped up in several layers and reading a thick book. As he walked past, she looked up, and upon recognising him, smiled.

'You're staying here over the holidays, Harry?' she asked.

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, I am.'

'What're you planning on doing today?'

Harry shrugged. 'Not much. There's nobody still in Gryffindor Tower that I want to talk to.'

'Your friends went home for the holidays?' Anna asked, adopting a sympathetic look on her face.

Harry nodded again. 'They left this morning.'

Anna closed her book. 'Do you want to go for a walk, if you aren't doing anything?'

'Aren't you reading?'

'I haven't been reading for half an hour,' Anna replied, rolling her eyes at the book. 'This book – it's an old text about elixirs – and it's been translated absolutely terribly from old, archaic French into old, archaic Russian. I can barely make out the words, much less what they mean. I've had it. Come?'

Harry nodded, and he followed Anna out onto the grounds. The snow that had been falling since the previous night had stopped, but now, the grounds were covered in nearly half a metre of snow, and the temperature had dropped significantly. Even with the jumper underneath his winter cloak, he could feel the biting sting of the northern wind.

'This is the first time I've seen this much snow since I was maybe…four or five?' Anna remarked as they walked, pointing her wand at the ground and melting a path in front of them.

'Isn't there a lot of snow in Russia?' Harry asked stupidly.

'Well, I didn't actually live for too long in Russia itself. When I was very young, my family lived in Leningrad,' Anna answered. 'There was always a lot of snow there. But after my father…well, when I was five, my mother moved with me back to Kiev because she wanted to be closer to her father. There isn't as much snow in Ukraine as there is in Leningrad. And then I went to school. The Koldovstvorets is in Novgorod – that's quite close to Leningrad, actually, but the school had charms that melted the snow in the winter, since it could sometimes get way too much up there. From the second half of my fourth year until my sixth I was in Berlin at the Reichszaubereigymnasium, and there isn't as much snow there, either. Then I came to London, and there, too, wasn't as much snow. Here, it feels a little like childhood again.'

'You've moved around a lot,' Harry observed, awed.

'Wasn't all voluntary,' Anna said darkly. 'I left for Berlin because things in Novgorod were…not hospitable. And then after my sixth year, the Reichszaubereiministerium – that's the Prussian magical government – sent all the students from Russia away because of…well, I honestly don't even know what happened. I heard the magical tsar forced them to, or something.'

'Is that how you came here?'

'No, no,' Anna replied. 'I had to finish my seventh year back in Novgorod, but then…well, with everything going on, I had to leave. I wanted to go back to Germany – or Prussia, whatever – but the tsar's government was only giving out a very small number of exit permits, and I couldn't get one for Berlin. I tried Vienna, then München, but there weren't any, either. I almost got one for Barcelona, but then someone grabbed it before me. Finally, there was one for London, and I came here.'

'Why were there so few exit permits?' Harry asked, perplexed.

'Because the tsar's government was losing badly in the civil war,' Anna replied. 'They wanted all the manpower they could get to fight the other side. The tsar, the brute he is – saying that might get you killed now, I heard – thought that the solution was to force everyone they can to stay in the country.'

Harry did not know how to reply in light of the conversation's sudden shift in mood. 'That's…barbaric…' he said finally.

Anna shrugged. 'That's just what the tsar does. And…I mean…my grandparents lived through Stalin, and I heard that was much worse. At least most of the people I knew got out, though many others weren't so lucky.'

They walked for some time longer around the grounds, mostly in silence. 'How do you like Hogwarts?' Harry asked after a while.

'Oh, I like it,' Anna replied. 'I don't actually have to teach anything this year, since nobody's signed up for the classes that I'm supposed to teach, anyway. Plus, there're a lot of things that I have access to here, thanks to Albus. The library here is much bigger than the one we had in Novgorod and in Berlin. Albus also has a personal collection of books, though most of them are in Eltrys, which I…uh…have trouble reading.'

'What exactly is Eltrys?' Harry asked. 'I mean, I know it's a wizard language, but what do people do with it? Do they speak it? Or is it just for writing?'

'It's a lot of things and not a lot of things, and some people make it out to be…a lot more than it is,' Anna answered with an odd sigh. 'And it's not just a wizard language – a lot of magical species that aren't people can use it, too, like goblins or dwarves or centaurs. It's an old language – much, much older than English or German or anything else – and a lot of very old works are written in it, unfortunately.'

'It also has two written forms,' she continued. 'One is Runic, which is the original form, and one is the Common. The Common form is what you'd find in the books, and the Runic form is the basis of enchanting. In Berlin, we had to study Eltrys for a year, but only in the Common form, and even that I'm terrible at. I can't even begin to look at the Runic form. It's simply such a weird alphabet.'

'Is it that hard to learn?' Harry asked, interested.

'Yes,' Anna replied without a second of doubt. 'The language itself isn't that odd – it just takes a lot of studying – but the Runic form for enchanting is so confusing. They're old, archaic runes, and they're written in a way that's not meant to represent the sound of the words, but I think the concept of them? It's a little like Chinese, if you know how that works, but even worse, because each rune doesn't have a specific sound associated with it – it depends completely on the runes that it's written with. Honestly, I'm not even sure how it works specifically. If you're really interested, and you'd probably have to like pain to be, I think there's a class here on it that you can elect to study.'

'It sounds hard,' Harry mumbled. 'Interesting, though.'

'Maybe, but not for me,' Anna said. 'My friend, Ilse, you know, the one who managed to go back to Germany, used to work on enchantments. She explained it to me several times, but I still don't understand any of it.'

'How about you?' she asked. 'How do you like Hogwarts? Not counting the last few weeks.'

'Fine. The classes are good – well, most of them, at least. Most of the people here are decent, but there're a few that don't seem too nice,' Harry said, thinking of Parkinson and her gang, and especially of Malfoy. 'They've insulted me and my friends and tried to get us in trouble.'

'There'll be people like that everywhere,' Anna advised. 'Sometimes they can grow up and change and become good people, but sometimes they don't, or get even worse. You just have to learn how to deal with them. Don't make them think that you're a target they could attack without consequences. Make them learn that early, and they'll leave you alone.'

'They don't really come after us anymore,' Harry noted. 'I don't think any of them have bothered me in a while. They just laugh at us when we make a mistake in class.'

'See, they're already learning,' Anna said. 'Don't let them bother you too much – well, if they really get worse, then you should bring it up with a teacher like your Head of House or something – but if they're just being petty, ignore them. Don't let them taint your experience.'

Harry nodded. 'I'm not. I still like it here. It feels like…it feels like…'

'Like you belong somewhere?'

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded again. 'Yeah, it does.'

'Me too, Harry.'


Harry had been worried that he would have nothing to do over the holidays, but in hindsight, he needed not have. He spent the better part of his days in the library, continuing to research spells, potions, and sometimes Nicholas Flamel. Now, though, as he looked through books that were further and further away from his level, he felt burnt-out and tired, seemingly taking little more in. The trail for Nicholas Flamel, too, only seemed to get colder, and still no trace of the name could be found.

Often, he would run into Anna in the library, and she would ask him what he was researching. Harry, needing to keep what they were doing a secret, lied and told her that he was looking into Eltrys, which, in his defence, sometimes, he actually was. More than once, Anna replied with an eye-roll, calling him a masochist, before giving him a piece of chocolate before returning to doing whatever she was doing.

At breakfast on the fourth day of the holidays, Harry was surprised to see Hedwig gliding down towards him. Quickly, he moved his plates, making space for the owl to land. When Hedwig landed, Harry could see two envelopes grasped in her beak. Excitedly, having a feeling that he knew who they were from, he took them from her and looked at the names on them.

One of the envelopes was made out of regal-looking parchment, and on it, in rather lopsided handwriting, was Neville's name. The other envelope, meanwhile, looked much more standard, made of lightweight, white paper. Harry flipped it over, and as he had expected, Hermione's name was written neatly across the front.

'Thanks, Hedwig,' Harry said, tossing his owl a piece of fruit, which she devoured readily. 'You must be tired.'

Hedwig gave a quiet hoot that Harry took to mean 'yes'. 'Why don't you go and rest?' he said, patting her on the head. 'You've flown a long way. Thanks.'

Hedwig hooted again, this time sounding proud, before taking off and flying out through the top of the Great Hall. Harry looked at his letters. He could not decide which one to open first, and after several wasted minutes of indecision, he shuffled the envelopes at random and, closing his eyes, picked one up at random. It was Hermione's. Using his knife like Uncle Vernon used to, he carefully cut open the envelope along the top and extracted the letter within before unfolding it with anticipation.

Hello, Harry,

Hope you're getting some rest and not getting too bored. How's Hogwarts over the holidays? It must be very pretty outside with all the snow. What have you been doing? Have you found anything interesting from the library?

We arrived in Paris two days ago. It's beautiful here, too. The Christmas decorations are all out, and they put out a huge Christmas Tree in the Galeries Lafayette. It's super busy everywhere, though. On the Avenue des Champs-Élysées, you almost can't see anything but people.

Dad dragged us to a football match. It was really boring. The club that won scored only one goal the entire match. Quidditch is much more interesting, honestly. Who'd have thought I would say that one day?

Please tell me what's happening at Hogwarts! Who's still there? I know Ron's staying for the holidays (I'm so sorry) – is he annoying you? What have you been doing all day? Don't spend all your time reading! It'll wear you out.

Hedwig must be tired, but make sure to send her out again before Christmas! I'll find you a present from Paris. I haven't forgotten!

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

Hermione

Harry tucked Hermione's letter back into the envelope, feeling somehow unreasonably happy that Hermione had thought to send him a Christmas present. The Dursleys had never thought to give him any, though Dudley was often showered with far more presents than he could use – or even could make space for in his room. He next reached for Neville's letter, cutting open the envelope in a similar manner, though the parchment made the job a little harder.

Hi, Harry!

Hope everything's good and that you actually have real free time. The moment I put my trunk down in my room, Gran was dragging me to this meeting and that. First it was an open session of the Ejwent Dexmot, because she thought that I needed to learn how it works (still don't understand), then a bunch of gatherings of family and acquaintances. I hate New Year's. It's always a time for all the rich and notables of the various Ejwentos to show off how, well, rich and notable they are. I don't mind the food, which is thankfully always good, but dressing up in formal robes for hours on end, several nights in a row, while sitting in a corner, bored out of your mind as you watch adults talk is awful.

Just got a letter from Hermione. At least she seems to be having fun in Paris.

How's Hogwarts over the holidays? Hope Ron's not been bothering you too much and leaving you alone. Have you been to the library yet? Is there anything even going on, or are you sitting around doing nothing? If you are, I'm sorry. Join the club.

Expect something from me soon. Hermione says that muggles exchange gifts on the twenty-fifth for 'Christmas'? We normally give presents on the twenty-first. Ancient tradition or whatever – I'm not sure – but just don't freak out when you see a giant owl diving at you at breakfast one of these days. Gran's owls are usually tame. You won't get a head wound. Probably.

Anyway, I hope that this torture ends soon and we're all back at Hogwarts again.

Neville

Harry could not help but smile at the image of Neville dressed up – he had no idea what formal robes looked like, and his mind replaced them with a tuxedo – and being herded around a party so that his grandmother could meet people. He was inclined to agree with Neville – it looked like Paris was much more fun than being forced to go through that.

Before he even finished his breakfast, he had begun drafting his replies to their letters. When he finished, he began making his way up to the Owlery – that was where all the students' owls and the school owls stayed, apparently, though Hedwig had always come to visit him at his own window in Gryffindor Tower. Harry, having never needed to go there before, only knew that it was in one of the taller towers of the castle.

Having no idea where he was going, Harry quickly got lost. Thankfully, on the third floor, he ran into Professor McGonagall, who pointed him in the right direction. After climbing up a spiral staircase much like the one that led to the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry finally managed to arrive in the Owlery.

Around him, above him, flying in and out through the openings in the walls, were perhaps nearly a hundred owls, most of them brown barn owls, though several, probably those belonging to students or teachers, were of different colours and species. He looked around above him for Hedwig, and caught sight of her near the top of the Owlery. She was sleeping, her head tucked under her wing. Not wanting to disturb her – and unsure how to call her, anyway – Harry instead decided to go with one of the school's owls.

Blindly, he held his arm out, hoping that was the way to call them down. Thankfully, it worked, and at least four or five owls glided down from their perches, two landing on his arm and a few more landing around him. He held out the two letters to the owls on his arm, and eagerly, the two each took one, clamping it securely between their beaks.

'This one's for Neville Longbottom,' Harry said to the left owl, not sure if that was the way owls worked. 'He's…uh…at home. And that one – ' he pointed at the right owl, ' – that one's for Hermione Granger. She's in Paris. The muggle Paris, not the magical Paris, if that exists.'

The two owls turned their heads and gave a look that might have said something along the lines of 'Do you think we're stupid?'. The proud hoots that followed most certainly did, though. Without another word – or hoot – the two owls took off from Harry's arm, shooting into the sky. Harry watched, both confused and awed by their behaviour, as they flew tandem up to the edge of the forest before splitting up and disappearing over the mountains.