───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Was that the reason why Dumbledore wouldn't meet her or Harry's eyes? Was she really being possessed by Voldemort? She felt dirty, contaminated, as though she was carrying some deadly germ, she had been the snake... Then, she thought about it. Were she and Harry the weapons? Did Sirius just say it wasn't her because he was worried? Were they being used by Voldemort? Was that they were locked in during the summer? Was that why they were always guarded? Did they- did they really attack Mr. Weasley? Was it not them who were being protected, but they were the ones being protected from?

Blair looked beside her and met Harry's eyes and immediately knew they were thinking the same thing. "Are you all right, Blair, Harry, dears?" whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning across Ginny to speak to them as the train rattled along through its dark tunnel. "You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?" They were all watching them. They shook their heads violently and stared up at the advertisements.

"Blair, Harry, dears, are you sure you're all right?" said Mrs. Weasley in a worried voice, as they walked around the unkempt patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. "You two look ever so pale... Are you sure you two slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now, and you can have a couple of hours' sleep before dinner, all right?"

They nodded; they had an excuse not to talk to others. When the door opened, Blair and Harry immediately hurried into their shared bedroom with Ron and Blair sighed in relief when Phineas Nigellus's portrait was empty.

Blair turned to look at Harry seriously. "Harry..."

"I know, Blair." Harry nodded before letting out a sigh. "But how did we become the snake?"

Blair shook her head. "But that wouldn't make sense... We couldn't have gotten to London and back in a few minutes though I wouldn't put it past Voldemort, and Hermione was with me..." Blair's eyes widened. She could have hurt Hermione. Her head suddenly snapped up. "Harry... If he's possessing us, he can see where we are right now... Where Sirius is..."

Harry's eyes widened in horror. "Blair, we have to go. We need to keep them safe. Where do we go? Hogwarts?"

"No. There are lots of people at Hogwarts, who knows what could happen?" They went silent and thought of a different place to stay at.

Harry sighed frustratedly. "Let's think about where later. We need to go first..."

Blair and Harry each took one end of their trunks and dragged it halfway toward the door when a sneaky voice said, "Running away, are we?" They both jumped. Phineas Nigellus had appeared upon the canvas of his portrait and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.

"Not running away, no," said Harry shortly, while they continued dragging their trunks.

"I thought," said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, "that to belong in Gryffindor House you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you two would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks."

"It's not our own necks we're saving," said Blair tersely. Their trunks were now right in front of the door.

"Oh I see," said Phineas Nigellus, still stroking his beard. "This is no cowardly flight — you are being noble."

Blair and Harry ignored him. Her hand was on the doorknob when Phineas Nigellus said lazily, "I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore." Blair and Harry spun around.

"What is it?" Blair quickly said.

"Stay where you are."

"We haven't moved!" said Blair, her hand still upon the doorknob. "So what's the message?"

"I have just given it to you two, you dolt," said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.' "

"Why?" said Harry eagerly, dropping the end of his trunk. "Why does he want us to stay? What else did he say?"

"Nothing whatsoever," said Phineas Nigellus, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Blair and Harry impertinent. Blair's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. They were exhausted, they were confused beyond measure, they had experienced terror, relief, and then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to them!

"So that's it, is it?" Harry said loudly. "Stay there? That's all anyone could tell us after we got attacked by those dementors too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Blair, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brains might not be able to cope with it!"

"You know," said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, "this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjays, that there might be an excellent reason why the headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you two? Have you two never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you two alone recognize danger, you two alone are the only ones clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning..."

"He is planning something to do with us, then?" said Blair swiftly.

"Did I say that?" said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to listen to adolescent agonizing... Good day to you..." And he strolled into his frame and out of sight.

"Fine, go then!" Harry bellowed at the empty frame. "And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!" The empty canvas remained silent.

Fuming, Blair and Harry dragged their trunks back while Harry threw himself onto his bed. Blair sat down at the foot of Harry's bed and leaned against it. It seemed impossible that less than twenty-four hours ago Cho Chang had been approaching her under the mistletoe and Hermione Granger finally became her girlfriend.

Blair felt so tired, but she was scared to sleep. What if something happened again? She was sinking into shadows... It was as though a film in her head had been waiting to start. She was walking down a deserted corridor toward a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway onto a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left...

She reached the black door but could not open it... She stood gazing at it, desperate for entry... Something she wanted with all her heart lay beyond... A prize beyond her dreams... If only her scar would stop prickling... then she would be able to think more clearly...

"Blair, Harry," said Ron's voice, from far, far away, "Mum says dinner's ready, but she'll save you two something if you want to stay in bed..." Blair opened her eyes, but Ron had already left the room.

"He doesn't want to be on his own with us," Harry said bitterly. "Not after what he heard Moody say..."

Blair sighed and rubbed her chest. "Hey, Harry. Did you see it? The black door?"

Harry nodded silently before opening his mouth then closing it again then he finally spoke. "I wanted it. I mean, I felt that I wanted it. Did you?"

Blair just nodded before leaning back against the foot of Harry's bed. "Go to sleep, Harry."

"Yeah, you too, Blair."

And so Blair dropped back off to sleep, waking much later in the early hours of the morning, with her stomach aching with hunger, she stood up and nudged Harry, who had seemed to just wake up as well. They saw Phineas Nigellus back in his portrait, and Blair thought that Dumbledore had probably set Phineas Nigellus to watch over them, in case they attacked somebody else.

The feeling of being unclean intensified. Blair thought she had to ran away with Harry. She then longed for her parents again, wanting to spend Christmas with them one last time. She thought of Oliver. Hopefully, he had a better Christmas than her. And Hermione... Blair smiled softly. Hopefully, she was fine. She was the only reason Blair had to stay there against the million reasons to leave.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Blair could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas.

Blair could hear his voice echoing up through the floor in the cold and empty drawing room where she and Harry were sitting alone, watching the sky outside the windows growing whiter, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that they were giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about them, as they were bound to be doing. When they heard Mrs. Weasley calling their names softly up the stairs around lunchtime, they retreated farther upstairs and ignored her.

It was around six o'clock in the evening that the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Blair merely settled herself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak the hippogriff's room where they were hiding, trying to ignore how hungry she felt as she fed Buckbeak dead rats. Harry stroked Buckbeak mindlessly.

It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later. "I know you two are in there," said Hermione's voice. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."

Blair stood up and ran to the door. She opened it, pulling Hermione into a hug. "Mione."

Hermione smiled, hugging her back. "Hey, Blair."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked Hermione, walking over to them. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."

"Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing," said Hermione. "So I've come for Christmas." There was snow in her hair and her face was pink with cold. "Anyway, Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who's serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand. Anyway," she said briskly, "let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum's lit a fire in there and she's sent up sandwiches." Blair and Harry followed her back to the second floor. When they entered the bedroom, Blair was rather surprised to see both Ron and Ginny waiting for them, sitting on Ron's bed.

"I came on the Knight Bus," said Hermione airily, pulling off her jacket before Blair or Harry had time to speak. "I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he'd given you all permission to visit. So..." She sat down next to Ginny, and the two girls and Ron looked up at Blair and Harry.

"How are you two feeling?" asked Hermione.

"Fine," said Harry stiffly. Blair nodded silently.

"Oh, don't lie, Blair, Harry," she said impatiently. "Ron and Ginny say you've been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo's."

"They do, do they?" said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet.

Ginny seemed quite unabashed. "Well, you have!" she said. "And you won't look at any of us!"

Blair scoffed. "It's you lot who won't look at us."

"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Very funny," snapped Harry, turning away. Blair nudged him slightly.

"Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood," said Hermione sharply. "Look, the others have told me what you overheard last night on the Extendable Ears —"

"Really?" Blair said in a low voice. "All been talking about us, have you? Well, we're used to it..."

"We wanted to talk to you two, Blair," said Ginny, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back —"

"We didn't want anyone to talk to us," said Blair, her temper rising.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," said Ginny angrily, "seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels." Blair remained quite still and looked at Ginny.

"I forgot, sorry," Harry said.

"Lucky you," said Ginny coolly.

"We're sorry, Gin," Blair said sincerely. "So... so do you think we're being possessed, then?"

"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing?" Ginny asked. "Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"

Blair and Harry looked at each other, racking their brains. "No," they said.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," said Ginny simply. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."

Blair felt a smile coming onto her face. That was one problem down. Harry spoke in a small voice. "That dream we had about your dad and the snake, though —"

"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione said. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year."

"This was different," said Harry, shaking his head. "We were inside that snake. It was like we were the snake... What if Voldemort somehow transported us to London — ?"

"One day," said Hermione, sounding thoroughly exasperated, "you'll read Hogwarts, A History, and perhaps that will remind you that you can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts. Even Voldemort couldn't just make you fly out of your dormitory, Harry. Blair was with me in the common room, and I saw her thrashing around in her sleep about a minute before I could finally wake her up."

"You were doing that too, mate, you didn't leave your bed at all," said Ron.

Blair finally sat down beside Hermione and took a sandwich from the plate before cramming it hungrily into her mouth. She smiled widely. They weren't the weapons after all. Blair and Harry grinned at each other, feeling like joining in as Sirius sang "God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs" at the top of his voice. It was a good thing Phineas Nigellus stopped them before they could run away.

Blair smiled softly at Hermione, who looked at her questioningly. Her smile became wider. She would have to pay back Phineas Nigellus one day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Blair was infected by Sirius's delight and she and Harry worked tirelessly in decorating on Christmas Eve. 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.

That night, Blair slept happily in Hermione's arms as they shared soft kisses and quiet I'm yours's and I love you's while Ginny slept soundly in the other bed.

Blair awoke on Christmas morning and looked around frantically when she didn't feel the warmth beside her. Then, she heard a familiar giggle from behind her and turned around.

"Merry Christmas, love," Blair grinned before leaning in to kiss Hermione.

Hermione kissed her back and smiled softly. "Merry Christmas, and thank you, darling. I loved your present. I'll wait downstairs."

Blair had gotten Hermione a charmed leather notebook with a ruby on the cover. Whenever Hermione would touch the ruby, she just had to say her name and the cover would change to a picture of Hermione and Blair. Also, Blair charmed the notebook so it would take note of any piece of information Hermione would want to take down as long as she has it with her.

Blair had gotten Harry a new Snitch with his name engraved on it, Ron new broom polish, Fred and George new inventions, Ginny new Quidditch gloves, Neville new rare vials for Herbology, Dean new art materials, Cedric a new sweater, she wanted to give Seamus one of her new prank inventions, but thought that it wasn't the time. She got Lupin some of his favorite chocolates, Sirius a new leather jacket since he had given his to Blair's, Mr. Weasley a little model of a flying car and Mrs. Weasley new knitting kits. She gave Oliver a new Quaffle with his name on it, Moody a new hip flask and Tonks a new lamp that doesn't break.

Blair grinned before she started opening her stack of presents. She got books of counterjinxes and defensive magic and a picture of Blake and Olivia with the Marauders, Lily, Marlene and Neville's parents from Sirius and Lupin, a Broom Compass from Harry, a set of treacle tarts from Ron and Ginny, a little model of the Firebolt from Neville and Dean and surprisingly, Seamus, a shirt of the Montrose Magpies, Blair's favorite team of Quidditch, from Cedric, new Weasley's Wizard Wheezes gloves from the twins, a new furry wallet with fangs from Hagrid (you had to stroke it before putting in money), the usual hand-knitted jumper from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, a cloak Aurors usually wore from Moody, a mini-Auror badge from Tonks, a portrait of Blair from Dobby, a signed Puddlemere United jersey from Oliver and a warming blanket with lions and Quaffles printed on it, knitted by Hermione.

Blair went into Harry and Ron's room and gave them tight hugs, thanking each other, greeting each other a Merry Christmas. Fred and George Apparated at the foot of Harry's bed. They gave Blair tight hugs.

Fred ruffled her hair. "Thanks for the new inventions, Little B."

"Merry Christmas, you lot." George grinned at her.

Blair grinned back at them. "Thank you too, Freddie, Georgie. Merry Christmas."

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

"Why not?" said Ron.

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

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

"We tried to comfort her," said Fred, moving around the bed to look at Harry's portrait from Dobby. "Told her Percy's nothing more than a humongous 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."

"What's that supposed to be anyway?" asked Fred, squinting at Dobby's painting. "Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes."

"It's Harry!" said Blair, pointing at the back of the picture. "Says so on the back!"

"Good likeness," said Fred, grinning. Harry threw his new homework diary at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily, "If you've dotted the i's and crossed the t's then you may do whatever you please!"

Blair laughed before going down with Fred and George, thinking of new plans for their products. She went to the basement and waved at Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were on their way to the boiler.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Weasley," said Blair in a light tone. "Would you like me to help?"

Mrs. Weasley wiped her eyes and smiled weakly. "Oh, it's fine, dear. Go on and sit down."

Blair rolled her eyes and helped her anyways. She saw Harry, Ron and Hermione coming out of Kreacher's room. "Did you give it?"

Hermione shook her head. "He wasn't there."

"Come to think of it," said Sirius, 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?" said Blair. "I mean, when you said 'out,' maybe he thought you meant, 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," said Sirius.

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

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, and Ron laughed; Hermione, however, looked reproachful.

Once they had had their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys and Harry, Blair and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Sirius pouted at his lover, who rolled his eyes and silenced the man with a short but sweet kiss.

They got to St. Mungo's using Mundungus's car that he managed to "borrow." 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 were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital.

Blair and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them; they strolled casually toward 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 turned to red and gold so that they became 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 topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Blair found herself shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril.

"Family argument, eh?" smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. "You're the third I've seen today... Spell Damage, fourth floor..." They found Mr. Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray in his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents.

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

"No," said Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, "why?"

"Nothing, nothing," said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Blair — this is absolutely wonderful —"

Blair grinned and winked at him, knowing he was probably thinking of doing the same with the car as he did with the Ford Anglia.

Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Blair'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?" said Mr. Weasley, 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 Mrs. Weasley'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 —"

Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; 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," said Mrs. Weasley, 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," said Mr. Weasley 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," said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid —"

"Wow, I'd love tea right now," said Blair, standing up.

"I fancy that too," said Harry, "Come on, Aika."

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

"Typical Dad," said Ginny, 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 Blair, 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!" said Ron, his ears turning red. "The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight about your throat, stand naked by 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," said Hermione.

"Nah, it's the fourth," said Harry, "one more —"

But as they stepped onto the landing, Blair 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.

"Blimey!" said Ron, also staring at the man.

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

Their ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and moved toward 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?" Blair muttered to Harry and Ginny, who grinned.

"Er — how are you, Professor?" said Ron, sounding slightly guilty.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart exuberantly, pulling 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 said, "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 Harry 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 coming back a little bit. 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, "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 one another rather hopelessly and then followed Lockhart and his Healer along the corridor.

"Let's not stay long," Ron said quietly.

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 resident ward," she informed Blair, Harry, 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..."

While she looked around at the different patients, Blair's eyes widened when she realized where they were. If they were in the permanent spell damage ward, that meant Neville was... Blair immediately stood up, looking at them urgently. "We have to go."

"What? Why?" Harry asked confused.

"And — oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

Blair's heart sunk and her head spun around. 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 unmistakably a stuffed vulture and, trailing behind her looking thoroughly depressed — Neville.

Blair and Harry exchanged glances and tried to think of ways to distract others, but Ron had looked up at the sound of the name "Longbottom" too, and before any of them could stop him had called, "Neville!" Neville jumped and cowered as though a bullet had narrowly missed him then he looked at Blair with a pleading gaze.

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

Blair whispered to Ron. "Ron, come on." Ron simply looked at her, confused.

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear? Oh, hi Blair!" said Neville's grandmother graciously, bearing down upon them all.

"Hey Mrs. Longbottom. How are you?" Blair smiled back weakly and shook her hand then she looked at Neville. 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.

Blair watched Mrs. Longbottom talk to her companions and whispered to Neville since they were only a few inches apart. "I'm sorry, Gramen."

Neville managed a weak smile. "It's fine, Caelum. It was bound to happen."

"He's a good boy," Mrs. Longbottom 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.

"What?" said Ron, looking amazed. Blair glared at him. "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. Blair was about to speak up when Mrs. Longbottom beat her to it.

"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 Blair and the others. Ron was now standing on tiptoe to look over at the inhabitants of the two beds.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" said Mrs. Longbottom. "My son and his wife," she said, turning haughtily to Blair, 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.

"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. She no longer had the plump, happy-looking face Blair had seen in the photograph Sirius and Lupin gave. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes seemed overlarge, and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward 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 Droobles 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 tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh. Blair did not think she'd ever found anything less funny in her life.

"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..."

"Wait, Mrs. Longbottom," Blair suddenly said. Neville, slipping the wrapper into his pocket, and Mrs. Longbottom stopped walking. All heads turned to Blair.

"He's not ashamed of them. Neville told me, Dean and Seamus all about how he was proud to be their son. He would always defend their memory, Mrs. Longbottom, and Nev's got as much talent as his parents. He's as brave as them, and he always will be. I- Merry Christmas, Mrs. Longbottom, you too, Nev," said Blair.

Blair saw tears come into the two Longbottoms' eyes and they mumbled their thanks and greetings to Blair before going on their way. Neville gave Blair a quick hug and Ginny a longing gaze before following his grandmother. The door closed behind them.

"I never knew," said Ginny, who looked tearful.

"Nor did I," said Ron rather hoarsely.

"Nor me," whispered Hermione.

They all looked at Harry. "I did," he said glumly. "Dumbledore told me but I promised I wouldn't mention it... that's what Bellatrix Lestrange got sent to Azkaban for, using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" whispered Hermione, horrified. "That woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?" Then, they looked at Blair.

Blair ran a hand through her hair before speaking in a sad voice. "It's not my place to tell."

There was a long silence, broken by Lockhart's angry voice. "Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"

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