Everyone's mood seemed to be a lot higher as Christmas was just around the corner. Sirius, for example, seemed determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much, if not more than they would have done at Hogwarts, and he worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognizable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers;
magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view, and even the stuffed elf-heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.

Tori awoke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of her bed. She heard two cracks, and the twins appeared right beside her. Hermione and Ginny both flinched, making Tori laugh.

''Merry Christmas," said George. "Don't go downstairs for a bit."

''Why not?" Ginny asked.

''Mum's crying again," Fred sighed heavily. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper."

''Without a note," George added. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything."

''We tried to comfort her,' said Fred, fiddling with a package in his hand. "Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings."

''Didn't work," said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog. "So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon."

Ginny and Hermione began opening their presents but Fred handed Tori the package he was previously holding. "This only came in this morning, so I didn't have time to wrap it, but I hope it's alright."

Tori smiled at him, opening the box only to gasp. A silver necklace with a red gem laid in it. "Oh, it's... beautiful... oh, how much did you spend on this?"

"It doesn't matter. I wanted it as soon as I saw it. Here, I'll help you put it on."

Tori lifted her hair up and turned so he could put it on before turning and hugging him.

"I'm going to be sick," George muttered loudly.

Tori opened the rest of her gifts after the twins had left. Tonks had gotten her a picture frame with a note that said Tori could change the photo to any memory with a tap of her wand, she received a Weasley sweater and a grey hat from Molly and Arthur, new quidditch gloves from Ginny and Hermione, a box of Cauldron cakes from Ron, an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans from Harry, a "secret" stash of Weasley Wizarding Wheeze treats from George and a book of advanced spells from Lupin.

She was surprised to see she had gotten a gift from Sirius as well. It was a small brown pocket watch with had engraving of trees on the back. Tori traced her thumb over it before quickly getting dressed.

She slipped the pocket watch in her pocket and headed downstairs with the rest. She could hear the various inhabitants of the house calling ''Merry Christmas" to one another.

Molly was the only person in the kitchen when they arrived there. She was standing at the stove and sounded as though she had a bad head cold as she wished them ''Merry Christmas", and they all averted their eyes.

''So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?" Ron asked loudly, strolling over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. Tori had never seen it open.

''Yes," said Hermione, sounding a little nervous. "Er... I think we'd better knock."

Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles but there was no reply.

''He must be sneaking around upstairs," He said, and without further ado pulled open the door. "Urgh!"

Tori peered inside from her seat in the kitchen. Most of the cupboard was taken up with a very large and old-fashioned boiler, but in the foot of space underneath the pipes, Kreacher had made himself something that looked like a nest. A jumble of assorted rags and smelly old blankets were piled on the floor and the small dent in the middle of it showed where Kreacher curled up to sleep every night. Here and there among the material were stale bread crusts and moldy old bits of cheese.

In a far corner glinted small objects and coins that Tori guessed Kreacher had saved, magpie-like, from Sirius's purge of the house, and he had also managed to retrieve the silver-framed family photographs that Sirius had thrown away over the summer. Their glass might be shattered, but still, the little black-and-white people inside them peered up at her haughtily.

''I think I'll just leave his present here," Hermione said, laying the package neatly in the middle of the depression in the rags and blankets and closing the door quietly. "He'll find it later, that'll be fine."

''Come to think of it," Sirius announced, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as they closed the cupboard door, ''Has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?"

''I haven't seen him since the night we came back here," said Harry. "You were ordering him out of the kitchen."

''Yeah..." said Sirius, frowning. "You know, I think that's the last time I saw him, too... he must be hiding upstairs somewhere."

''He couldn't have left, could he?" Harry asked. "I mean, when you said 'out', maybe he thought you meant to get out of the house?"

''No, no, house-elves can't leave unless they're given clothes. They're tied to their family's house," Tori said from her spot at the table. Sirius nodded in agreement.

''They can leave the house if they really want to," Harry contradicted her. "Dobby did, he left the Malfoy's' to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it."

Fred and George chuckled, most likely remembering the night they had flown Arthur's car to go and get Harry.

Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, ''I'll look for him later, I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course, he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died... but I mustn't get my hopes up."

Fred, George, Tori, and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.

Once they had eaten their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Tori, Harry, and Hermione were planning to pay Arthur a visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to ''borrow a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day."

The car, which Tori doubted very much had been taken with the consent of its owner, had been enlarged with a spell-like the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia had once been. Although normally proportioned outside, ten people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. Molly hesitated before getting inside — Tori knew her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of traveling without magic — but, finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the back seat between Fred and Bill with good grace.

The journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Tori and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually towards the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass.

The reception area looked pleasantly festive: the crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo's had been colored red and gold to become gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star.

Tori had visited the hospital once before when her father had an incident at work. She was about six at the time and didn't remember much of it.

They found Arthur propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray on his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

''Everything all right, Arthur?" Molly asked after they had all greeted Arthur and handed over their presents.

''Fine, fine," Arthur said, a little too heartily. "You— er — haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

''No," said Molly suspiciously, "Why?"

''Nothing, nothing," Arthur assured airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry — this is absolutely wonderful!" For he had just opened Harry's gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers.

Molly did not seem entirely satisfied with Arthur's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

''Arthur," she said, with a snap-in her voice like a mousetrap, ''You've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

''What?" Arthur said, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. "No, no — it's nothing — it's — I — "

He seemed to deflate under Molly's piercing gaze. "Well— now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in... um... complementary medicine... I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies... well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds —"

Molly let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to another, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Arthur; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea, and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.

''Do you mean to tell me," Arthur said, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, ''That you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

''Not messing about, Molly, dear," Arthur assured her imploringly, ''It was just — just something Pye and I thought we'd try — only, most, unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped —"

''Meaning?"

''Well... well, I don't know whether you know what — what stitches are?"

''It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," Molly said with a snort of mirthless laughter, ''But even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —"

''I fancy a cup of tea, too," said Harry, jumping to his feet. "Now that you say that, I want one too..." Tori agreed.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with them. As it swung closed behind them, they heard Molly shriek, ''WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"

''Typical Dad," Ginny chuckled, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. "Stitches... I ask you..."

''Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione fairly. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?"

''Fifth floor," said Harry, remembering the sign over the welcome witch's desk.

They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with more portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.

''And what's that supposed to be?" He asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.

"'Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now —"

''Watch who you're calling gruesome!" Ron snapped, his ears turning red.

" — the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes —"

''I have not got spattergroit!"

''But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master —"

''They're freckles!" said Ron furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces.

''What floor's this?"

''I think it's the fifth," Hermione glancing around. "Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, ''One more —"

But as he stepped on to the landing he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

Tori let out a mix of a gasp and a laugh. "Blimey!" Ron yelped, also staring at the man.

''Oh, my goodness," said Hermione suddenly, sounding breathless. "Professor Lockhart."

Their ex-Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved towards them, wearing a long lilac dressing gown.

''Well, hello there!" He said. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

''Hasn't changed much, has he?" Harry muttered to Ginny, who grinned.

''Er— how are you, Professor?" Ron asked,
sounding slightly guilty. From what Tori had heard it had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had damaged Professor Lockhart's memory so badly that he had landed in St. Mungo's in the first place, though as Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time, Tori's sympathy was limited.

''I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart exuberantly, palling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

''Er— we don't want any at the moment, thanks," said Ron, raising his eyebrows at Harry, who asked, ''Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?"

The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, ''Haven't we met?"

''Er... yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?"

''Teach?" repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. "Me? Did I?" And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming.

''Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

But just then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor and a voice called, "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?"

A motherly-looking Healer wearing a tinsel wreath in her hair came bustling up the corridor, smiling warmly at Tori and the others. ''Oh, Gilderoy, you've got visitors!
How lovely, and on Christmas Day, too! Do you know, he never gets visitors, poor lamb, and I can't think why, he's such a sweetie, aren't you?"

''We're doing autographs!" Gilderoy told the Healer with another glittering smile. ''They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"

''Listen to him," said the Healer, taking Lockhart's arm and beaming fondly at him as though he were a precocious two-year-old. ''He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be starting to come back. Will you step this way? He's in a closed ward, you know, he must have slipped out while I was bringing in the Christmas presents, the door's usually kept locked... not that he's dangerous! But," She lowered her voice to a whisper, ''he's a bit of a danger to himself, bless him... doesn't know who he is, you see, wanders off and can't remember how to get back... it is nice of you to have come to see him."

''Er," said Ron, gesturing uselessly at the floor above, ''actually, we were just — er —"

But the Healer was smiling expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter of ''going to have a cup of tea" trailed away into nothingness. They looked at each other helplessly, then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.

''Let's not stay long," Ron said quietly. Tori nodded in agreement. She never exactly liked Lockhart, he wasn't that good if a teacher. The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and muttered, ''Alohomora." The door swung open and she led the way inside, keeping a firm grasp on Gilderoy's arm until she had settled him into an armchair beside his bed.

''This is our long-term residents' ward," She informed Harry, Tori, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a low voice. ''For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognize yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat."

Tori looked around. The ward bore unmistakable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mr. Weasley's ward; the wall around Gilderoy's headboard, for instance, was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment he had been deposited in his chair by the Healer, Gilderoy pulled a fresh stack of photographs towards him, seized a quill, and started signing them all feverishly.

''You can put them in envelopes," He said to Ginny, throwing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he finished them. ''I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail... Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly... I just wish I knew why..." He paused, looking faintly puzzled, then beamed again and returned to his signing with renewed vigor. "I suspect it is simply my good looks..."

Ginny handed the envelopes to Tori, who handed them back to her. "I don't want them!" She whispered.

A sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay in the bed opposite staring at the ceiling; he was mumbling to himself and seemed quite unaware of anything around him. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur; Tori remembered being petrified during her fourth year, although fortunately the damage, in her and Hermione's case, had not been permanent.

At the far end of the ward flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds to give the occupants and their visitors some privacy.

''Here you are, Agnes," said the Healer brightly to the furry-faced woman, handing her a small pile of Christmas presents. ''See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?"

Agnes gave several loud barks.

''And look, Broderick, you've been sent a pot plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month; they'll brighten things up, won't they?" The Healer asked, bustling along to the mumbling man, setting a rather ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and fixing the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And— oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

Tori's head span round. The curtains had been drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking back down the aisle between the beds: a formidable-looking old witch wearing a long green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakeably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville.

Ron had also looked up at the sound of the name ''Longbottom', and called out, ''Neville!" Neville jumped and cowered as though a hex had narrowly missed him.

''It's us, Neville!"  Ron said brightly, getting to his feet. "Have you seen — ? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

''Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" asked Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.

Neville looked as though he would rather be anywhere in the world but here. A dull purple flush was creeping up his plump face and he was not making eye contact with any of them.

''Ah, yes," said his grandmother, looking closely at Harry and sticking out a shriveled, clawlike hand for him to shake. ''Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

''Er— thanks," said Harry, shaking hands. Neville did not look at any of them, but surveyed his own feet, the color deepening in his face all the while.

''And you two are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, proffering her hand regally to Ron and Ginny in turn. "Yes, I know your parents — not well, of course — but fine people, fine people... and you must be Hermione Granger?"

Hermione looked rather startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name, but shook hands all the same.

''Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? And you must be... Silvers, right? Tori Silvers? I'm familiar with your family. I've heard you've helped Neville out as well. He's a good boy," She said, casting a sternly appraising look down her rather bony nose at Neville, ''But he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say." And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward, so that the stuffed vulture on her hat trembled alarmingly.

"Neville's becoming excellent at charms," Tori said quickly at the same time Ron spoke up. ''What? Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

''What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. ''Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and shook his head. Tori could not remember ever feeling sorrier for anyone, but she could not think of any way of helping Neville out of the situation.

''Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. ''You should be proud, Neville, proud! They didn't give their health and their sanity so their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"

''I'm not ashamed," said Neville, very faintly, still looking anywhere but at them. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds. Tori wanted to nudge him right in his gut.

''Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. ''My son and his wife,"
She said, turning haughtily to Tori, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, ''were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron stopped craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Neville's parents and looked mortified. Tori felt her heart drop.

''They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the wizarding community," Mrs. Longbottom went on. ''Highly gifted, the pair of them. I — yes, Alice dear, what is it?"

Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. Her face was thin and worn, her eyes seemed overlarge and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She made timid motions towards Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.

''Again?" said Mrs. Longbottom, sounding slightly weary. ''Very well, Alice dear, very well— Neville, take it, whatever it is."

But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper.

''Very nice, dear," said Neville's grandmother in a falsely cheery voice, patting his mother on the shoulder.

But Neville said quietly, ''Thanks, Mum."

His mother nodded for a moment before her eyes glanced at the group. She stopped and looked at Tori. "Same eyes." She whispered before she tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Tori did not think she'd ever found anything less funny in her life.

"Same eyes? Oh, Alice. Well, we'd better get back," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. ''Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now."

But as they left, Tori was sure she saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket.

The door closed behind them.

''I never knew," said Hermione, who looked tearful. "Nor did I," Ron sighed rather hoarsely. "Nor me," whispered Ginny.

Tori didn't say anything but whispering, "Same eyes..." what did that mean?

Tori felt her heart stop. It seemed like the world froze around when she came to the realization.

People had told her before the similarities between her and her family. She had her mother's smile and her father's thick hair.

But everyone has always told her she had her grandfather's eyes.

✧ ✦ ✧

"Hey, you alright? You've seen distant since we've gotten back from St. Mungo's." Fred knocked against the doorframe of Tori's room back at Grimmuald's Place. She turned away from the window, where she was watching the snow in hopes to collect her thoughts.

"Yeah." Tori lied. Fred sent her a look and Tori sighed. "No." Fred let out a small struggle and took a seat next to her. "What's going on?"

So Tori told him about Neville's parents and her new suspicion about her grandfather. "Oh Godric, what if he helped?" Tori gasped.

"You don't know your grandfather was there, Tori. A lot of people have brown eyes."

"Not everyone has the same brown eyes, Fred. My father's eyes are lighter." She replied. Fred pondered that for a moment. "Okay, so what if he was there? He's in Azkaban now, along with Bellatrix."

"They were good people with a son. A son that I know. How many other lives have we ruined?"

"Hey," Fred said quickly, grabbing Tori's hand. "Hey. You didn't ruin anyone's life. You're not your grandfather, or your brother, or your sister, or anyone. You're Tori. And quite frankly, you've made everyone's life better."

Tori met his eyes, slowly nodding. She squeezed his hand tightly wishing she could push the through away from her mind. "Now come on, Mum's going to have us sing Christmas Carols. I think I'm a better singing that George, but you should be the judge of that."

Hand in hand, the two made their way into the kitchen, where everyone suddenly cheered. "Mistletoe." Molly clapped her hands together, pointing above them. "That was bound to grow in sometime soon."

Tori rolled her eyes, yet couldn't hide the smile on her face. She leaned in and kissed Fred, causing George to mock vomiting sounds.

Fred only laughed. "Merry Christmas."

bruh tell me WHY
this chapter with is 4,000+ words
took me two hours to write

YET
yesterday's chapter (1000+) took me like five hours????

also, stop making your comments so funny
i'm in class and i can't laugh at them smh

i do be looking like this in math though

the answer is what now