"Well, I told my parents that the O.W.L. exams are really important, and it would be great to stay here and revise with everyone," Hermione, who had just gone upstairs to comfort Neville, explained to Mr. Potter with ease why she had given up skiing with her parents. Mr. Potter seemed quite curious about the sport of skiing.
"She's not serious, is she?" Taurus' eyes widened. "She wouldn't ask us to revise with her during Christmas, would she? It's Christmas after all!"
"She looks pretty serious, mate," Ron said pessimistically. "Haven't you noticed that she's already pasted her revision schedule on the wall?"
In the living room on the other side, Harry and Ginny were still chatting with Neville, who had finally been willing to come downstairs. Neville looked as if he hadn't slept for several days. His hair was even messier than that of the Potter father and son. I sat down on the creaking sofa and listened as Harry patiently assured Neville that he had really never left the dormitory. Neville seemed to relax a lot all of a sudden, reached out his hand to grab a piece of smoked fish sandwich from the plate and started gobbling it up.
"And you don't forget what you've done, do you?" Ginny asked Neville, propping up her chin. "There aren't big chunks of blank spaces in your memory, where you don't know why you're in a certain place or what you've just done, right?"
"I often forget what I've just revised. Is that counted?" Neville replied nervously.
"That doesn't count." Harry waved his hand decisively. "Apart from Hermione, who can remember immediately what they've just revised?"
"Then you definitely haven't been possessed by You-Know-Who," Ginny stood up and shrugged. "I'm the one with the most say in this house. After all, he did possess me once."
I looked up in confusion. Ginny had already flicked her long hair and walked out of the living room. Neville, who was in a great mood and had wolfed down a plate of sandwiches, mumbled that he wanted to eat something more and went to the basement with an empty plate in his hand.
"She was really possessed by You-Know-Who?" I was very surprised. Although there were many rumors at the end of the second year about why Ginny, a pure-blood, was locked in the Chamber of Secrets, I didn't expect that the most absurd one turned out to be true.
"Yeah," Harry replied. "Because Lucius Malfoy put You-Know-Who's diary in her schoolbag, and You-Know-Who's memories lured her."
The whole living room fell into silence. I suddenly realized that this was the first time I was alone with Harry since the D.A. meeting that day. But I opened my mouth and didn't know what to say — I didn't want to talk about Lucius Malfoy, and I didn't want to talk about the mistletoe that night either. But it seemed even more awkward if I said nothing at all —
"Hey, come and give a hand!" Mr. Black's voice came from the entrance hall, and I let out a big sigh of relief. I had never helped prepare for a Christmas with so many people before. When I visited Aunt Petunia's house, I once suspected that she was trying to smear glue all over my chair to stop me from wandering around in her house. I was also convinced that if I got close to the ingredients in the kitchen, my cousin Dudley would be infected with evil magic after eating the things I had touched. And this year, we were going to spend Christmas in an old and musty house, and we had to deal with the sudden whims of Mr. Black and Mr. Potter from time to time — the two of them wanted to make a fountain of mead in the kitchen. Fortunately, Mrs. Potter, who was carrying a large box of ingredients, arrived in time, followed by Mrs. Black who had just come home from work, my mother and Tonks. Otherwise, we suspected that the whole basement would be flooded with the fragrant and sweet mead.
"I swear I only went a little bit overboard." Mr. Black mumbled. Mrs. Black raised her eyebrows and briskly chased the two men out of the kitchen, only allowing them to be responsible for hanging holly and gold and silver streamers on the chandelier.
"Lizzy!" Mom opened her arms and gave me a hug before even taking off her scarf. There were still tiny water droplets on her hair from the melted snowflakes outside. Tonks was curious about the aroma of the wine wafting from the kitchen and shook my hand with a smile. Today, she was in the form of a glamorous blonde woman.
The unhappiest one in the whole number 12, Grimmauld Place should be Kreacher, the strange house-elf of the Taurus family. It looked at us resentfully as we decorated the old house with all kinds of Christmas streamers, brought in a huge Christmas tree to block the Black family tree, and put Santa hats and beards on the elf heads displayed on the wall of the entrance hall. Under Hermione's reproachful gaze, Taurus could only clear his throat and drive Kreacher out of the room where we were working. Hermione was even thinking that she should spend some time preparing a Christmas present for Kreacher.
"Don't give it clothes," Taurus said immediately. "It can't leave here. It knows too many things about the Order of the Phoenix."
"Of course I know that!" Hermione replied impatiently. "But it deserves a new quilt! It has done so much for your family — "
"Oh, believe me, the years of life my dad and I have lost being so angry and annoyed with it are more than enough to offset all its efforts," Taurus said indifferently as he ruffled his hair, and then shouted at Kreacher, who was trying to move the Christmas tree again, "We've already cast the fixing spell. You can't move it — get out! Stop causing trouble!"
On Christmas Eve, the whole house was almost unrecognizable. Magically conjured snow piled up beside the Christmas tree, and the Weasley twins even made two big snowmen holding toy wands. Mrs. Weasley also brought back some good news from St. Mungo's. Although Mr. Weasley's wound still couldn't heal, the blood that oozed out had turned back to a normal color, and we could visit him in batches after Christmas. Mom also brought a piece of good news — although it didn't seem to be very popular with the others — Dad would have the Christmas dinner with us this year, and then go to St. Mungo's in the afternoon to see if he could offer any help.
"I'm going to finish the Christmas pudding before they start fighting," Taurus said firmly when he heard the news. "And the jelly cake. I won't allow myself not to have these two things on Christmas."
"Be optimistic. Maybe they'll start fighting before the meal," Ron said as he was eating the plum jelly that the Weasley twins had stolen from the kitchen in advance. "Then you'll hear my mom's voice ringing throughout the house — she'll kill anyone who ruins her Christmas muffins. I'm serious."
It turned out that although the atmosphere at the dining table was rather strange, the adults didn't do anything as unseemly as throwing food at each other's faces. However, everyone was on edge when Dad and Mr. Potter greeted each other with forced smiles. Presumably, the gazes of the mothers were too sharp, so the two of them only dryly talked about how nice the weather in London was today (it was actually snowing heavily outside). Mr. Black remained silent throughout. As soon as the plate in front of him was empty, Mrs. Black would serve him another portion of the pudding that gave off an alluring aroma to keep him quiet.
"They think it's because of the snake venom," Mrs. Weasley said to my mother. "Healer Smethwyck said he's seen similar wounds before, just not as large in area. Anyway, the situation is under control now. Arthur is optimistic, but if the wound keeps bleeding — "
"Severus will have a way," Mom said gently to comfort her. "Right?"
Dad glanced at Mom and nodded slightly.
"However, are you really okay with not attending the Christmas banquet at Hogwarts?" Mom asked as she was cutting the steak in front of her. Her portion might have been overcooked because Hermione and I had helped with the preparation, so she couldn't cut it after several attempts.
"The teachers this year all found excuses that were too urgent to be refused," Dad said, twisting his lips into a faint smile and swapping his plate of already cut steak with Mom's. "Dumbledore is very understanding — whether the others are understanding or not is none of my concern."
"Can't anyone rein in that crazy woman?" Mrs. Potter heavily placed a large bowl of stew on the table, making all the plates rattle loudly. She was furious after discovering the inscriptions on Harry's and Neville's hands. She borrowed the Healing Handbook from Mrs. Weasley and tried every method listed under the chapter of "Bruises, Cuts and Scrapes". Then she burst into tears in Mr. Potter's arms out of anger ("She actually dared to leave another scar on Neville's body that can't be removed! And Harry... What will others think when they see those words! She's this evil — disgusting — abominable — She'd better pray that she'll never cross paths with me in her life!").
"It seems that the only person who can control that lady isn't on our side," Dad said calmly after taking away the steak that I couldn't cut and replacing it with his tenderly fried lamb chops. "Otherwise, no one would be that idle, right?"
"I'm not just sitting around at home with James!" Mr. Black retorted loudly with a mouth full of pudding. "The two of us were following Dumbledore's instructions — "
"There are children at the table!" Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Black shouted simultaneously. We, who had been all ears to hear what came next, were immediately dejected.
"Relax, Black," Dad seemed very satisfied and wore a mocking smile. "I didn't say who it was. Why are you in such a hurry to jump out and admit it?"
"Everyone," Professor Lupin, who had been silent all this time, finally spoke up. "I think Arthur is still waiting for someone to visit him at St. Mungo's. It's Christmas today after all."
"I also want to see my parents," Neville said softly. "Um... Is that okay?"
"Of course!" Mrs. Weasley lovingly piled a lot more food onto his plate. "We'll go after the meal. You can set off with us. I think we'd better go in two groups. Having too many visitors at once will also affect the other patients in the ward."
The journey to visit Mr. Weasley in the afternoon wasn't very pleasant. Mrs. Weasley keenly noticed that his bandages had been changed a day earlier. And after learning that this was because he had tried the Muggle "suturing treatment", she let out a terrifying roar — I think the whole floor of St. Mungo's might have been able to hear her screams, which made us, who were crowded in the ward, scurry out in a panic. Dad and Mom had been chatting with Mr. Weasley's healer all the time. I quickly left a word that we were going to have some tea to digest the big meal at noon, and then fled to the tea room with the others.
"Sutures!" Ron's mouth dropped open wide. "I mean, you don't do such crazy things, do you? Sew up the wound with thread? What kind of thread? The kind used for fishing?"
"Muggles have conducted in-depth research on this. Now it seems that there are threads that can be directly absorbed by the skin," Hermione said objectively and fairly. "This method is very effective for non-magical wounds. I think it's just that there's something in the snake venom that melted it."
"Who would use thread to sew — aren't they afraid that the things in their stomach will fall out through the gap?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and seemed to have no intention of continuing this topic with Ron. Harry turned to me and asked, "Do you remember when we came here in our third year?"
"Of course," I sized up the festive atmosphere in the waiting room. "There weren't so many crystal bubbles back then. These ones are quite nice."
"No, I mean, my dad's wound at that time," he said slowly. "I remember Mom also wrote that his wound was difficult to heal. I'm wondering if it was also that snake that attacked him back then. Dad's healer at that time was Healer Smethwyck, so that's why he said he'd seen similar wounds, just not as large in area."
"But I think they should have thought of this already," he shook his head, his tone firm. "I'm just a bit scared... that snake... I must kill it one day."
"I really like the gift you gave me," he immediately switched back to his usual tone. " 'Tracing the Origins of Quidditch', it's really interesting. I unconsciously read one-third of it this morning."
"Really?" I let out a sigh of relief. "I was worried that you'd find it too boring."
For some reason, Ron had started arguing with a portrait. It sounded like the portrait thought he had Spattergroit and was enthusiastically offering a treatment plan, while Ron insisted that they were just freckles. That medieval healer had followed us through six picture frames in order to convince him.
"Do you like the Christmas gift I gave you?" Harry asked casually. He seemed more interested in the argument between Ron and the portrait.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Thank you... I didn't even know you still had so many photos of Vivian when she was a child."
"Actually, Mom took them," he said. "I haven't told her about this yet. Otherwise, she'd be even sadder. I should have worn gloves like before. But I can't hide one of my hands from her for the rest of my life."
Ron roared that the portrait was not allowed to follow him anymore. We wandered aimlessly to the fifth floor and unexpectedly met Professor Lockhart, who had taught us Defense Against the Dark Arts in our second year. His golden curly hair, bright eyes, and dazzling white teeth — the smile on that face had charmed quite a few girls back then. He cheerfully grabbed us and wanted to give us autographs. We clumsily said that we didn't have any parchment with us. He generously said that he could sign on his robe and then give the robe to us. In order to stop him from taking off his clothes in public, we had to find his healer and divert his attention at the same time. He warmly took my hand and said that he had a lot of signed photos in his ward. Harry quickly pulled his hand away and asked him, "Do you remember me, Professor?"
He obviously didn't remember at all. Fortunately, his healer soon arrived. After hearing that we had once been Lockhart's students, the healer even invited us to have a seat.
"He's recovering well," the healer said affectionately as she looked at Lockhart, who was writing vigorously. "We also hope that this kind of behavior can help him regain some of his memory! The patients in this ward are all very pitiful, but they're also working very hard. This is Mr. Bode. I heard that he used to work in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. He's an amazing person. No one knew what they were doing there — and now no one can understand what he's saying either. But he can already speak, just that it's unintelligible... Look, Broderick! Someone has brought you a small potted plant to wish you a Merry Christmas!"
After finally escaping from the pile of Professor Lockhart's autographed photos, we originally wanted to visit Neville's parents. But Tonks wouldn't let us get anywhere near that floor. It seemed that she was on duty there, protecting the safety of the Longbottoms. Neville, who had spent the afternoon with his parents, looked much calmer and happier. He even showed us a piece of sweet wrapper that Mrs. Longbottom had stuffed into his hand.
"Mom always gives me this," he said. "She never gives it to anyone else. Although the healers always say that she and Dad don't know who I am, I think they do. They just can't say it."
But Neville's happiness didn't last long. After having a conversation with my dad, it seemed that for him, all the remaining Christmas atmosphere in number 12, Grimmauld Place had completely vanished.
"Er, Dumbledore asked your dad to teach you Occlumency?" I frowned and asked in return.
"I'd rather it was you who taught me," Neville's eyes were filled with fear. "Professor Snape said that there would be one-on-one tutoring once a week, and we can't tell Professor Umbridge about it."
"Why do you have to learn this?" Ron asked. "What's it for?"
"Professor Snape just said that it's a favor that Professor Dumbledore asked of him," Neville said dejectedly, burying his face in his hands. "Why didn't Professor Dumbledore want to teach me himself? He clearly knows that I've always... Er, does he also think that I'm too stupid and that it's a waste of his time?"
"Are you kidding?" Harry said firmly. "Don't forget how quickly you learned during the D.A. meetings — only Hermione could outpace you!"
"So, can you teach me, Iris?" Neville looked at me expectantly. "I'm not saying that Professor Snape is bad! It's just that when I look at him, I... I think I might learn better if it were you or Harry teaching me!"
"I don't know how to do it," Harry turned to look at me. "Iris, do you know how?"
"I'm not very good at it either," I said sadly, looking at his disappointed expression. "It's really difficult. I've always been really bad at mastering it."
"If even you think it's difficult," Taurus sighed. "How hard can it be?"
But there was someone who mastered it easily. Finally, after such a long time, I remembered the name of Draco Malfoy. It was a strange feeling. He seemed to have completely disappeared from my life, and I didn't feel any discomfort. Instead, this feeling of remembering him again wasn't very pleasant. He seemed to know instinctively how to close off his mind. My dad's notebook was just a signpost to guide him in the right direction.
"But I might... maybe I can be of some help," I said slowly. "But I need to get something back — something that I should have retrieved a long time ago."