𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 || HJP

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN : CHRISTMAS

"I will find you."

A/n : Hey hey hey, I'm back with another unedited chapter. Please comment and vote : )) 

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Earlier, Harry had appeared somewhat distant to them, and now, as they rode the train through a dark tunnel, he sat in silence, avoiding eye contact with anyone. His thoughts seemed to have retreated into the depths of his mind. (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder if he even knew where they were at this moment. She felt unsure about how to grab his attention and lift his spirits. She was aware that his mind was already burdened with overthinking due to the events involving Mr. Weasley the previous night, and it seemed that something they had heard earlier had only added to his anxieties.

As the train clattered through the shadowy tunnel, Mrs. Weasley leaned across Ginny (with (Y/n) not seated beside Harry) and whispered, "Are you all right, Harry, dear? You don't look very well. Are you feeling sick?"

Everyone's eyes were on him. Harry vigorously shook his head and fixed his gaze on an advertisement for home insurance. (Y/n) knew all too well that he was being untruthful.

But all she could do was watch him.

"Harry, dear, are you sure you're all right?" (Y/n) overheard Mrs. Weasley's concerned voice as they strolled around the neglected patch of grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place. "You look ever so pale... Are you sure you slept this morning? You go upstairs to bed right now, and you can have a couple of hours of sleep before dinner, all right?"

Harry nodded; (Y/n) could tell that was exactly what he needed. When Mrs. Weasley opened the front door, he swiftly passed by the troll's-leg umbrella stand, ascended the stairs, and disappeared into his and Ron's bedroom.

Mrs. Weasley and the others entered the kitchen, creating a lively atmosphere. (Y/n) was about to join them when Ron firmly grasped her arm, prompting her to look up at him with a puzzled expression. Ron, being taller than Harry, had to tilt his head down to talk to her.

"You should talk to him," Ron said straightforwardly, and (Y/n) immediately knew he was referring to Harry.

"Why me? Can't you do it instead? After all, he's your best mate, and you're his best mate," she suggested, gently pulling her arm away from Ron's grasp.

"Yeah, but we all know I'm not great at comforting people, and I'm not too keen on giving Harry a hug," Ron confessed.

"You don't have to be a pro at comforting him. Just ask him if he's genuinely okay. If he says he is, tell him he's lying because we all know he isn't. Make him feel like you genuinely care about him, like you don't blame him—" (Y/n) advised.

"Yeah, I do care about him, that's why I'm talking to you right now, even though I'd rather not leave you two alone in a room together," Ron explained.

"Why wouldn't you want us to be alone in a room together?"

"You, Hermione, and I all know you have a way with words when it comes to Harry—"

"That's not true; he'd listen to you if you talked to him. I'm sure he'll be fine if it's you—"

"He won't, but if it's you, he might just open up. Let's just forget about this Cho and Harry kissing—"

"No, he won't—WHAT?" (Y/n)'s eyes widened, and her forehead creased even more. "What do you mean, 'let's forget about this Cho and Harry kissing'?" she asked in utter disbelief. Ron hesitated briefly before replying, "Do you really think seeing Harry and Cho kissing would affect me?" She inquired, seeking clarification.

"Yeah," Ron admitted, a knowing look in his eyes as he addressed (Y/n). "Don't give me that look, Sabrina. I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I am your twin. You might fool Hermione and Harry into believing that you've lost interest in my best mate, but I swear I can see right through you. To be honest... I thought there was something going on between you and Harry, you know? I thought he felt the same way about you..." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, before continuing, "But that doesn't matter right now. What Harry needs is reassurance from you." His gaze was intense as he looked directly at (Y/n).

(Y/n) found herself at a loss for words, her thoughts spinning in confusion. Ron had just unveiled something she had been denying within herself. Did she truly have feelings for Harry? What was it about him that attracted her, and how could she even entertain such feelings? Was it her genuine affection, or was it because she now inhabited the body of Sabrina Weasley, a character in the story who had a crush on Harry? Or could it be her own emotions? The questions swirled in her mind, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

Ron must have noticed her silent contemplation because he broke the silence by snapping his fingers right in front of her, successfully regaining her attention.

"Go on, talk to Harry," he urged, his voice gentle yet determined.

(Y/n) wanted to express her hesitation, to convey that her mind was a whirlwind of unanswered questions, and that Ron should consider the feelings of those around him. After all, he knew... he knew... But she couldn't bring herself to admit that Ron might be onto something about her feelings. She didn't want to entertain that possibility, as he couldn't possibly comprehend the complex emotions she was grappling with.

She let out a heavy sigh, "Alright, I'll talk to him. But if he doesn't improve, it's your turn to comfort him, understood?" she said, her tone firm. Ron nodded and flashed her a grateful smile. "Thanks, sis," he said.

(Y/n) shot him a meaningful glare before making her way upstairs. She couldn't help but mull over the experience of having a brother, something she hadn't encountered in the real world. She pondered how to approach her impending conversation with Harry.

Upon reaching the floor that housed Harry and Ron's room, she stopped in front of their door. She stood there for a moment, considering her approach when she entered and what intriguing words she could use before inquiring about his well-being. Deciding to wait for him to open the door, she positioned herself in anticipation, hoping he would come downstairs and find her waiting outside their room.

After a brief moment of waiting, she decided to knock and maintain her guise as Sabrina. However, just before her knuckles met the door, they froze in mid-air. She had heard Harry's voice from the other side, engaged in conversation as if speaking to someone within the room. She pressed her ear against the door, eager to eavesdrop:

"It's not my own neck I'm saving," she heard Harry say tersely. It was evident that he stood right in front of the door, likely preparing to leave.

"Oh, I see," a voice, oddly familiar to (Y/n), responded. "This is no cowardly flight — you are being noble." She furrowed her brow, trying to place the voice. It wasn't one of the Order members; she had met nearly all of them and knew their voices well. Besides, it seemed Harry was alone inside, leading her to believe it was probably one of the portraits. She just couldn't quite recall which one.

"I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore," the familiar voice continued when Harry remained silent.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Stay where you are."

"I haven't moved!" Harry retorted. "So, what's the message?"

"I have just given it to you, dolt," replied the portrait. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.'"

"Why?" Harry asked eagerly. "Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?"

"Nothing whatsoever," the voice replied cryptically.

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

"You know," the Portrait retorted, even louder 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 popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you 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 alone recognize danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning..."

(Y/n) suddenly realized who the voice belonged to—it was Phineas Nigellus, one of the portraits in Dumbledore's office and Sirius's grandfather.

"He is planning something to do with me, then?" Harry asked swiftly.

"Did I say that?" replied Phineas Nigellus. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to listen to adolescent agonizing... Good day to you..."

"Fine, go then!" Harry bellowed, and (Y/n) was quite certain that Phineas had probably left his portrait because Harry added, "and tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!"

After a few seconds, (Y/n) heard a dragging sound followed by a body being thrown onto the moth-eaten covers. She was certain it was Harry—a furious Harry—who had dived onto his bed. In that moment, she decided it was best not to talk to him. When Harry was furious, he tended to yell, and she had no desire for a shouting match. Instead of heading downstairs, she made her way to her own room. She'd wait until his anger had dissipated before attempting to talk to him.

-----

(Y/n) lay in bed, oblivious to the world as she had slept through the entire night. It was only when Mrs. Weasley gently shook her and Ginny awake that she groggily realized it was morning. The room was dimly lit by the soft, winter sunlight that filtered through the heavy curtains of Grimmauld Place, casting a muted glow over everything.

Downstairs, the festive spirit was in full swing as everyone bustled around the old, dark house, adorning it with Christmas decorations. The sound of laughter and cheerful chatter filled the air, and the aroma of Mrs. Weasley's homemade breakfast wafted through the gloomy corridors. It was clear that everyone was in high spirits despite the somber surroundings.

As (Y/n) made her way through the musty, narrow hallways, she could faintly hear Sirius Black's jovial voice. He was in an unusually good mood, and even though he was in his room, his singing echoed through the house. The hauntingly beautiful melody added an eerie yet strangely comforting quality to the atmosphere.

Her heart warmed at the thought because this marked a significant change for Sirius. For far too long, he had spent his Christmases in the company of Dementors and Death Eaters in the cold, desolate cells of Azkaban. This year was different, and it was also Harry's first Christmas with Sirius, which made it even more special.

Speaking of Harry, something was amiss. He was acting strangely, avoiding everyone, especially (Y/n). She had learned from Ron that Harry hadn't come down for dinner the previous night, just like her because she had dozed off. Ron had his own theories, suggesting that (Y/n) and Harry had decided to spend their dinner alone together, engaging in activities best left unspoken.

Curiosity got the better of Ron, and he decided to investigate. He ventured to their room, fully expecting to find (Y/n) and Harry engaged in something other than just hugging. To his surprise, he found Harry asleep, and (Y/n) was nowhere to be seen.

(Y/n)'s reaction to Ron's assumptions was swift and fierce. She slapped his arm hard, causing him to flinch. The dimly lit room seemed to crackle with tension as they locked eyes, exchanging a glare-off. "You and your filthy mind! What do you think Harry and I would do if we were alone together? shag? We're not even dating!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with indignation.

Ron remained silent but raised an eyebrow, suggesting that he believed otherwise, much to (Y/n)'s frustration. Before she could strike him again, Ron wisely chose to make a hasty exit, sticking close to Mrs. Weasley whenever (Y/n) approached him or entered a room.

As (Y/n) stepped into the frigid drawing room, hoping for a moment of respite, she was met with an unexpected sight. Harry sat there alone, his gaze fixed upon the window, where the sky outside was slowly fading to a wintry white, hinting at an impending snowfall. The room seemed colder, not just in temperature but in atmosphere, as a sense of detachment hung in the air.

Her surprise was evident in her voice as she uttered, "Oh, you're here."

Harry momentarily turned his head to acknowledge her presence, but just as quickly, his eyes returned to the ever-whitening sky outside. (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation at his apparent disinterest.

Summoning her courage, she ventured further, "I heard you didn't come down to dinner last night."

He responded with a nonchalant tone, still not bothering to face her, "I didn't feel hungry last night."

Her concern deepened, and she probed further, "Do you have a problem?"

Harry's reply came swiftly, "No."

"Yeah?" she pressed, her voice tinged with worry.

"Yeah," he affirmed, but his gaze remained fixed on the window.

"Did you know? It's so disrespectful when you don't look at someone when you're speaking to them," (Y/n) scolded, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

Harry stubbornly held his silence, his refusal to meet her eyes intensifying her exasperation.

"Harry," she called out his name, and when he stubbornly refused to turn and meet her gaze, she decided to maintain her silence for the time being. There was a hint of frustration in her voice, for she wasn't entirely sure why she was making the effort to engage him in conversation at this very moment. In truth, she didn't particularly relish the idea of talking to him right now. Some unspoken tension had lingered since that night—not related to what happened to Mr. Weasley.

"It's cold here," she added, her voice carrying a subtle note of longing, as if hoping that her words might compel him to finally acknowledge her presence.

Taking a deep breath, she let out a heavy sigh when Harry remained resolute in avoiding her gaze. The room's chill seemed to penetrate deeper into her bones. She strained to discern his expression, attempting to lock eyes with him, but he persistently averted his face, choosing to fixate on some obscure point in the distance.

"Fine then, if you want to be alone," she retorted, her tone tinged with a mixture of resignation and defiance. "I won't bother you. But if you want to talk to someone, just know, I'll be there."

With those words, she turned away, her footsteps echoing faintly as she exited the room. She half-expected Harry to call her name, to utter some form of protest or acknowledgement, but as the door closed behind her, she heard nothing—just an eerie silence that hung in the air like an unspoken question.

As she walked away from the room, her thoughts churned with confusion and frustration. She couldn't quite understand Harry's behaviour. She was acutely aware of the guilt that weighed upon him, the silent blame he might be directing towards himself. But why would he be avoiding her? After all, she hadn't taken any action or uttered a word to suggest that she held him accountable for what had happened to Mr. Weasley. The same sentiment extended to Ron, Ginny, and even Fred and George, yet the emotional gulf between her and Harry remained, and it left her with more questions than answers.

When (Y/n) entered the kitchen, she found Ron standing there, his expression a curious mix of anticipation and concern. He was clearly eager to know if she had managed to have a word with Harry, or if, by any chance, Harry had initiated a conversation with her. Their interaction was becoming increasingly elusive, with Harry avoiding not only Ron but also her. However, all (Y/n) could offer in response was a noncommittal shrug, and that elicited an unmistakable scowl from Ron. It was evident that he shared her worry for Harry.

"I can't believe he actually ignored you," Ron blurted out in disbelief as (Y/n) recounted the events that had transpired earlier in the drawing room. She had been engrossed in a book borrowed from Tonks, who had discovered her penchant for reading, even though she wasn't the real Sabrina. Still, she had accepted the book with gratitude.

During lunch, Mrs. Weasley had called for Harry from the drawing room, yet he had paid her no heed and, instead, made his way upstairs.

Ron and (Y/n) shared a momentary glance, their brows furrowing in mutual confusion. When Mrs. Weasley caught them exchanging that perplexed look, they hastily averted their gaze, almost as though they had been caught in some clandestine act.

The clock ticked on, and around six o'clock in the evening, the doorbell rang, unleashing the ear-piercing screams of Mrs. Black once more. The unsettling noise seemed to hang in the air, a constant reminder of the grim atmosphere that had enveloped Grimmauld Place.

After Mrs. Weasley had lit the fire in Ron and Harry's room and had assured them that she would send sandwiches up to them through Kreacher, (Y/n), Ron, and Ginny found themselves bewildered by this sudden display of maternal care. Their brows furrowed in shared confusion as they exchanged glances, wondering why Mrs. Weasley was being unusually attentive.

Their unanswered questions hung in the air like an unspoken riddle, waiting to be solved. And then, just when they least expected it, the door creaked open, and Hermione walked into the room. Their collective surprise was palpable because, until that moment, they had believed she was away skiing with her parents.

"Hi, Herms!" (Y/n) greeted with a cheerful exclamation as she recovered from her surprise. She got up from her seat and hugged Hermione, who returned the embrace with a warm smile, saying, "Hello, Sabrina."

"What are you doing here?" Ron inquired after Hermione and (Y/n) shared their hug. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad?"

Hermione, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold, explained, "Well, I've come here for Christmas. Skiing was enjoyable, though I did have a close call." Her hair still held traces of snow, adding to her wintry charm.

Ron, wearing an amused expression, couldn't quite fathom her near-mishap. "You nearly had an accident just by sliding down a snowy mountain with planks strapped to your feet?" he asked incredulously, breaking into laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes in response, but the corners of her lips couldn't help but curve into a smile.

Curiosity got the better of (Y/n), and she couldn't resist joining the conversation. "What did you tell your parents to persuade them to let you come here on Christmas Day?"

With a brisk and confident tone, Hermione explained, "Well, I told them that everyone who is serious about their exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. Although they were a bit disappointed, they want me to do well, and they'll understand. Anyway," she concluded with a bright smile, and (Y/n) couldn't help but return it.

"That's wonderful, then," (Y/n) remarked.

Hermione scanned the room, her gaze darting around in search of a familiar face. "Where's Harry?" she asked.

The trio exchanged uneasy glances, uncertainty etched across their faces.

"Well, he's avoiding us," (Y/n) stated matter-of-factly.

"I reckon he's keeping away from us, especially after our visit to St. Mungo's. He didn't even touch his dinner last night," Ron chimed in, his brows furrowing in worry.

Ginny's voice carried an edge of irritation as she added, "And he won't meet anyone's eyes. It's like he's trying to hide from us."

Hermione's curiosity deepened, and she probed further, "What exactly happened at St. Mungo's to make him act this way?"

With somber expressions, Ron and Ginny recounted what they had overheard the previous night, shedding light to Harry's distress.

Hermione bit her lower lip, her mind racing with concern and determination. "Where is he?" she finally asked.

"He's in Buckbeak's room." Said (Y/n). She had quietly sought him out earlier, lingering at the door for an extended moment, contemplating whether to approach him again. In the end, she had decided against it.

"Alright, I'll go get him." Said Hermione. Without further ado, she left the room.

After waiting for a few minutes, (Y/n), Ron, and Ginny heard footsteps from outside the room. They knew that Hermione had succeeded in talking to Harry.

"He talked to Hermione, but didn't talk to you," Ginny said, turning to (Y/n).

(Y/n) remained silent, her arms crossed. She was curious to know what Hermione had told Harry to make him agree to the conversation.

"Shut up, Ginny," Ron retorted.

"What? I didn't mean to offend her," Ginny defended herself.

Before Ron could say anything else, the door to the room swung open. Hermione and Harry entered, and the flickering fire in the room cast dancing shadows on the walls. It was evident from Harry's expression that he hadn't expected to find (Y/n), Ron, and Ginny in the room.

"I came on the Knight Bus," Hermione said airily, pulling off her jacket, answering Harry's question. "Dumbledore told me what had happened yesterday morning, but I had to wait for the term to officially end before setting off. Umbridge is already furious that you all 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 (Y/n), and the three girls and Ron all looked up at Harry.

"How're you feeling?" Hermione asked.

"Fine," Harry responded stiffly.

"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she impatiently remarked. "Sabrina, Ron, and Ginny say you've been avoiding everyone since you returned from St Mungo's."

"They do, do they?" Harry retorted, glaring at Ron and Ginny, but he didn't look in (Y/n)'s direction, which irritated her even more. Ron looked down at his feet, but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.

"Well, you have!" she exclaimed. "And you won't look at any of us!"

"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry said angrily.

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

(Y/n) couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"Very funny," Harry snapped, turning away.

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

"Yeah?" Harry growled, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow falling thickly outside. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it."

"We wanted to talk to you, Harry," (Y/n) finally spoke up, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back –"

"I didn't want anyone to talk to me," Harry said.

(Y/n) looked at him sharply, her gaze like a piercing icicle.

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," Ginny said angrily, her voice cutting through the frosty atmosphere, "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."

Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. (Y/n) looked away from Harry, her eyes darting to the crackling fire, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill in the room. He had just turned to face Ginny, but he didn't even glance her way, as though she was nothing more than a lifeless mannequin or an empty chair. She wanted to leave the room. Unsettled thoughts swirled within her, and she couldn't bear the weight of what she was thinking and feeling.

"I forgot," Harry admitted.

"Lucky you," Ginny responded coolly.

"I'm sorry," Harry said sincerely. "So ... so, do you think I'm 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?"

Harry appeared deep in thought.

"No," he said.

"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," Ginny stated 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."

Harry looked skeptical, but at the same time, relieved.

"That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though –"

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

"This was different," said Harry, shaking his head. "I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake ... what if Voldemort somehow transported me to London –?"

"One day," Hermione sighed with exasperation, "you'll read Hogwarts: A History, and perhaps it 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."

"You didn't leave your bed, mate," Ron chimed in. "I saw you thrashing around in your sleep for at least a minute before we could wake you up."

Harry resumed pacing up and down the room, lost in thought. He grabbed a sandwich from the plate on the bed and devoured it hungrily.

Sirius tramped past their door towards Buckbeak's room, singing "God Rest Ye, Merry Hippogriffs" at the top of his voice. (Y/n) suddenly leaped from her seat, causing everyone to look at her as she declared, "Well, all is fine now, so...I'm going to read something." Without casting a glance back at Harry, she swiftly left the room.

As she walked through the old, dark house, heading to her room to read, (Y/n) couldn't escape the tumultuous thoughts that swirled in her mind.

Images of Harry and Ginny spending their Christmas together in this gloomy place filled her head, and she couldn't help but visualize them laughing and sharing moments of joy. It was as if their holiday happiness had been set in stone, and (Y/n) felt like an outsider to their love story.

She arrived at her temporary room, the dim light filtering through the curtains, creating a somewhat somber atmosphere. As she settled down with her book, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a mere spectator in a story where she didn't belong.

How foolish she had been to entertain the idea that Harry might have feelings for her beyond friendship. How could she have visualized herself as someone more special to him, especially when it was evident that Harry and Ginny were meant to be? The thought of changing their course felt out of place.

How foolish she had been to believe that Harry might have feelings for her beyond friendship. How could she have imagined that she could be more special to him when it was already written in the story that he would marry Ginny in the future? Why had she even considered the possibility of altering Harry's endgame to include her? Wouldn't that change the entire story? And if Ginny and Harry, and Hermione and Ron were destined pairs, what about Sabrina's endgame? What happened to her in the books?

-----

As the sun gently nudged the curtains, (Y/n) awoke to a new day. Hermione had roused her from her slumber the previous evening, inviting her to share a meal and adorn Grimmauld Place with the festive trappings of Christmas. However, (Y/n) had excused herself, pleading a throbbing head. She believed her ruse had hoodwinked Hermione, but in truth, Hermione sensed the inner turmoil (Y/n) harboured; she merely chose to keep it locked within.

Across the room, Ginny lay still, ensnared in the clutches of dreams, while Hermione was alert and spirited. She extended a handful of parcels that she'd already unveiled. Three books stood atop one another, accompanied by a dainty pink perfume flask cradled in Hermione's hand. A smile graced her lips as she scrutinised the fragrance, gently applying it to her wrist, as if coaxing its aroma to bloom. (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder about the origins and significance of these gifts. Her eyes, however, were inevitably drawn to the knitted jumper. A quick glance at Hermione revealed her hurriedly retracting the wrist that bore the lingering scent, her cheeks flushed with a delicate blush.

With a cheerful greeting, Hermione addressed (Y/n), "Happy Christmas to you, Sabrina!"

At that very moment, (Y/n) became acutely aware that today was indeed Christmas. Memories from the previous night surged forth, and she offered Hermione a smile tinted with both sweetness and sorrow.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione!" she warmly reciprocated. Christmas it was, and yet it was to be unlike any she had ever known. She had not anticipated celebrating this festive occasion in this world. Having spent several months here, her questions had multiplied with the passage of time.

Her thoughts meandered back to her world, pondering whether it, too, was embracing the spirit of Christmas and how her eccentric uncle, Orius, was navigating the holiday season alone. Her friends occupied her thoughts as well; did they yearn for her presence as much as she yearned for theirs? Memories of their shared Christmas celebrations, dating back to her mother's absence and before her untimely death, tugged at her heartstrings. Those cherished moments with her friends, even if tinged with an air of peculiarity surrounding Uncle Orius, remained etched in her memory.

A sigh escaped her lips.

Tears threatened to well up as she longed for her friends and her odd Uncle Orius. Home felt like a distant dream in this unfamiliar place. She couldn't shake off the reality that she was a visitor in a world that was not her own.

Hermione noticed her sudden silence and asked, "Are you alright?"

(Y/n) held back the tears that wanted to escape and took a deep breath before a forced smile graced her lips. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?" She tried to conceal her emotions in her voice, but Hermione saw through it.

Concern etched across Hermione's face. "Is it about Harry and Cho?" she suddenly inquired. (Y/n) realized that Hermione wouldn't understand her – she wouldn't grasp what she was feeling because in this world, she was Sabrina Weasley – a Weasley – a pureblood witch with older brothers, a younger sister, and parents – a complete family – the complete opposite of her reality.

She shook her head in response.

Even though Hermione sensed her sadness, she would probably think it was just because of what she had witnessed between Harry and Cho. She would never imagine that (Y/n) was grieving over something else – something more profound.

"Don't lie to me, Sabrina," Hermione said. "I know it's hit you hard, but... you need to let go of Harry, completely. I understand it's not your doing to fancy him, that we can't control our feelings, but perhaps it's time to move on? Harry... he's bound to ask Cho out when we return to Hogwarts, especially after their kiss."

(Y/n) didn't know how to respond to Hermione.

Hermione noticed and sighed, saying, "Well, don't you think it's time to open your Christmas gifts?"

Hermione pointed to the foot of her bed, and (Y/n) followed her gaze, where she saw a pile of presents. The heaviness she had been carrying inside was lifted slightly as she saw the gifts – thinking that she had received presents from famous characters in the real world.

With a childlike anticipation, (Y/n) eagerly began to unwrap her gifts, each one revealing a new surprise. First, there was a hairbrush and a mirror thoughtfully bestowed upon her by Ginny, undoubtedly a gift to help her maintain her vibrant red locks with care and grace.

Next in line was a homework planner from Hermione, a no-nonsense accessory that bore a stern proclamation: "Do your homework today or you'll pay!" It was a subtle reminder of Hermione's studious nature and a subtle nudge to keep up with her academic responsibilities.

Sirius, Ron and Lupin's contribution manifested in the form of defensive magic books, hinting at their concern for her safety and readiness in the wizarding world. These were the kind of gifts that reflected their experiences and wisdom.

A maroon scarf, lovingly picked out by Bill, served as a token of warmth and familial affection. Charlie's gift, a fresh set of quills, hinted at his understanding of Sabrina's love for writing and the importance of nurturing her creative pursuits. It was a thoughtful gesture, acknowledging Sabrina's talents and interests.

Fred and George, known for their mischief, had left a stash of sweets that she hesitated to indulge in. Perhaps she was wary of their unpredictable pranks, but their gesture brought a smile to her face nonetheless.

Last but not least, a beautifully knitted blue jumper from Mrs. Weasley awaited her. The shade perfectly matched her eyes.

However, as the pile of presents dwindled, (Y/n)'s initial excitement waned. She couldn't help but wonder why Harry's name was conspicuously absent from the list of givers. Had he, of all people, forgotten to get her a gift?

"Hermione," she finally broke her silence, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment, "what did Harry give you as a present?"

Hoping against hope that Hermione might reveal that Harry had overlooked her as well, she held her breath.

"Oh," Hermione replied, her voice lacking the enthusiasm of earlier, "he gave me a New Theory for Numerology. Why? What did he give you?"

(Y/n) struggled to find the words, her gaze falling to the floor. The joy she had felt upon seeing the presents had vanished, replaced by a growing sense of hurt. Harry hadn't even bothered to give her a token of his friendship or appreciation.

"He... didn't, did he? He didn't give you a present?" Hermione asked, disbelief evident in her tone.

-----

After Hermione and (Y/n) got up and dressed, (Y/n) noticed Hermione carrying a gift. Hermione informed her that it was intended for Kreacher, and afterwards, they left the room. They could hear the various inhabitants of the house exchanging "Happy Christmas" greetings.

As they descended the stairs, they encountered Harry and Ron.

"Happy Christmas, Sab—" (Y/n) didn't acknowledge Harry or his greeting. Instead, she turned to Ron and said, "Happy Christmas, my dear brother, and thanks for the gift," before hastening her pace without waiting for them.

Ron cast an inquisitive glance at Hermione, silently inquiring about the situation. Hermione merely shrugged and mouthed, "later." Meanwhile, Harry observed (Y/n) from behind as her red, long, curly hair bounced with each step she took.

Upon entering the basement, (Y/n) was met with a heart-wrenching sight. Mrs Weasley stood by the stove, her eyes, cheeks, and nose as red as her vibrant hair, clearly having cried for hours. When Mrs Weasley noticed (Y/n)'s presence, she tried to put on a brave face and managed a weak "Happy Christmas."

Recalling what Fred and George had shared with her earlier about Percy's ungratefulness towards the jumper Mrs Weasley had knitted for him, (Y/n) felt a surge of sympathy for Mrs Weasley. Without hesitation, she approached and embraced the distraught woman, who hugged her in return. (Y/n) couldn't fathom how someone could make their own mother cry, especially during Christmas, all because of differing beliefs. She thought about her own relationship with her mother and couldn't imagine causing her such pain. However, she realized that not everyone's family dynamics were the same.

In that moment, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the basement and were taken aback by Mrs Weasley's distress. Mrs Weasley weakly greeted them with a "Happy Christmas," and Ron and Hermione quickly averted their gaze. Harry, on the other hand, looked at (Y/n), who turned away from him. She had no desire to engage with Harry at the moment.

Ron, trying to change the somber atmosphere, asked, "So, is this Kreacher's bedroom?" as he strolled over to a dingy door in the corner opposite the pantry. (Y/n) watched him, hoping for a distraction from the emotional tension in the room.

"Yes," Hermione replied, her voice carrying a subtle tremor of nervousness. "Er ... I think we'd better knock."

Ron rapped on the door with his knuckles, but the door remained stubbornly silent, yielding no response.

"He must be sneaking around upstairs," Ron speculated, displaying his signature lack of patience. Without further ado, he decided to take matters into his own hands and flung open the door. The sight that greeted him was far from pleasant. "Urgh!"

Harry peered inside. However, (Y/n), eager to avoid Harry's presence, chose this moment to offer Mrs Weasley a comforting pat on the back. She whispered to her that she was heading upstairs to her room, citing her lingering drowsiness as an excuse. Mrs Weasley nodded in understanding and replied, "Okay, dear. I'll make sure Ron wakes you and Ginny up when it's time for breakfast." With those parting words, (Y/n) left the basement, making her way towards the room she shared with Ginny.

(Y/n) had claimed to be drowsy, but the truth was far more complex. It was Christmas, yet she felt like a displaced soul, yearning to return to her own world, for she couldn't shake the reality that she didn't belong in this world.

As she ascended the stairs to her room, the portraits lining the corridor couldn't help but cast judgmental glances her way. Their whispers, though rather rude, faded into insignificance as she chose to disregard them. Upon reaching the landing outside their room, she quickened her pace. The door to their room beckoned, and she entered quietly, finding Ginny still in the throes of slumber. Without hesitation, she flung herself onto her own bed, burying her face in the pillow.

Exhaustion consumed her—mentally, emotionally, and physically. She felt burnt out, like a flickering candle on the verge of being snuffed out. She longed to escape this bewildering world. Christmas was supposed to be a time of joy, but it felt like the day of her mother's funeral, her heart heavy with sorrow. A yearning to cry welled up within her, but there were no tears, only a profound and suffocating heaviness that settled in her chest.

(Y/n) had spent the entire morning cloistered in her room, a haven of solitude amidst the festive chaos of the Grimmauld Place. Oblivious to the world outside her door, she cocooned herself in a cocoon of her own making.

Ginny and Ron had made valiant attempts to coax her out for breakfast, their voices dripping with sibling concern. Then came lunchtime, and still, (Y/n) remained ensconced in her private retreat.

However, it was when Mrs Weasley herself stood at her doorway, her eyes a mix of maternal concern and stern disapproval, that (Y/n) reluctantly emerged. The matriarch of the Weasley clan scolded her gently but firmly, reminding her that neglecting her studies was one thing, but neglecting nourishment was another. Ron, never one to mince words, added his own two knuts, telling Mrs Weasley to "shut up."

Sirius, ever the mischievous one, caught wind of the tense atmosphere and decided to play the jester. He waved away the tension like a wand through the air, changing the topic with a hearty dose of humor. His infectious laughter filled the room, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though the cloud of melancholy had lifted.

Laughter echoed in the Grimmauld's dirty kitchen, but beneath the mirth, it was clear that (Y/n) carried a weight that couldn't be so easily dispelled.

After a hearty Christmas lunch that left everyone feeling content and slightly drowsy, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione gathered to plan another visit to Mr. Weasley at St. Mungo's. Mad-Eye and Lupin would once again serve as their escorts.

Surprisingly, Mundungus Fletcher made a timely appearance just in time for Christmas pudding and trifle. He'd managed to "borrow" a car for the occasion, as London's Underground didn't run on Christmas Day. The car, (Y/n) suspected, had been borrowed more in the spirit of theft than true borrowing. It had been enlarged with a spell, similar to the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia. Despite its ordinary exterior, this enchanted car could comfortably accommodate eleven people with Mundungus at the wheel.

Mrs. Weasley hesitated before getting into the car. (Y/n) could practically see the conflict within her - disapproval of Mundungus battling with her reluctance to travel without magic. However, the chilly weather outside and her children's persistent pleas ultimately swayed her decision. She settled herself into the back seat, wedged between Fred and Bill, with a show of good grace.

The journey to St. Mungo's was surprisingly swift, thanks to the minimal traffic on Christmas Day. (Y/n) and Harry were seated next to each other, with Ron on the other side of (Y/n). Harry attempted to engage her in conversation, but (Y/n) remained steadfast in her silence, causing him to give up.

A small stream of witches and wizards, moving with an air of secrecy, made their way to the otherwise deserted street leading to the hospital. They exited the car, leaving Mundungus to wait around the corner. The group strolled casually toward the window where the green nylon dummy stood, then, one by one, they stepped through the glass, disappearing into the mysterious world of St. Mungo's.

The reception area of St Mungo's exuded a warm, festive charm. Crystal orbs, which usually bathed the hospital in soft light, now shimmered in shades of red and gold, transforming into oversized, radiant Christmas baubles. Sprigs of holly adorned every doorway, and brilliant white Christmas trees, magically covered in sparkling snow and glistening icicles, dotted every corner. Each tree bore a golden star at its pinnacle, casting a magical glow.

Compared to their previous visit, the room was less crowded, though halfway across it, Harry found himself unceremoniously bumped by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril. She smirked, attributing the encounter to a "family argument," and pointed Harry in the direction of the fourth floor for Spell Damage.

Upon reaching Mr. Weasley's bedside, they discovered him propped up with the remnants of his turkey dinner on a tray across his lap. He wore a somewhat sheepish expression as they all greeted him and presented their gifts.

"Everything all right, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley inquired, her tone laced with concern.

"Fine, fine," Mr. Weasley replied, a tad too enthusiastically. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

Suspicion crept into Mrs. Weasley's voice as she replied, "No, why?"

Mr. Weasley brushed aside her concern airily, beginning to unwrap the pile of gifts before him. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry – this is absolutely wonderful!" His enthusiasm bubbled as he opened Harry's gift, a set of fuse-wire and screwdrivers.

(Y/n) couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment. Harry had brought a present for Mr. Weasley, but it seemed her own gift had been forgotten. Her decision to ignore Harry the entire day had intensified with a grudging edge.

Mrs. Weasley's satisfaction with Mr. Weasley's response appeared less than complete. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry's hand, her eyes sharpened as she examined the bandaging beneath his nightshirt.

"Arthur," she interjected, her voice snapping 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."

Mr. Weasley's initial response seemed like a stammered attempt to downplay the situation. He appeared somewhat frightened and instinctively pulled the bed covers higher up his chest. "What?" he stammered. "No, no – it's nothing – it's – I –"

But he seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley's relentless scrutiny, finally giving in to her questioning.

"Well – now don't get upset, Molly," he began, his voice quivering slightly. "But Augustus Pye had an idea ... he's the Trainee Healer, you know, a 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 –"

(Y/n) couldn't help but be incredulous at this revelation. Stitches? Did Mr. Weasley genuinely want to be stitched up like a Muggle when there were undoubtedly more painless magical methods available to mend his injury?

Mrs. Weasley emitted an ominous sound that seemed to straddle the line between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin nonchalantly moved away from Mr. Weasley's bedside, heading over to the werewolf who stood alone, gazing longingly at the commotion around Mr. Weasley. Bill mumbled something about needing a cup of tea, while Fred and George, ever the pranksters, enthusiastically joined him.

Mrs. Weasley's voice rose in volume with each passing word, and it became apparent that her fellow visitors were hastily seeking refuge from her mounting ire. She demanded, "Do you mean to tell me that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"

Desperation colored Mr. Weasley's response as he pleaded, "Not messing about, Molly, dear. 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?" Mrs. Weasley's patience was clearly wearing thin.

Mr. Weasley hesitated before continuing, "Well ... well, I don't know whether you know what – what stitches are?"

Mrs. Weasley let out a snort of mirthless laughter. "It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," she remarked, her tone dripping with disbelief, "but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid –"

"I fancy a cup of tea, too," said Harry, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him, but (Y/n) walked slowly. She didn't want to be with Harry at the moment, but right now, she'd rather be anywhere else than hear Mrs Weasley's anger directed at Mr. Weasley. 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 Harry, glancing at (Y/n), who resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him.

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?" Ron asked angrily, irritation brewing 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 retorted, 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!" Ron exclaimed furiously. "Now get back in your own picture and leave me alone!"

He rounded on the others, who were all keeping determinedly straight faces. If (Y/n) had been in a good mood, she would have laughed out loud.

"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, Harry came to an abrupt halt, his gaze fixated on the small window set into the double doors that marked the beginning of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. Behind the glass, a man peered out at them, his nose pressed against the pane. He possessed wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad, vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

(Y/n) couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was something oddly familiar about the man.

"Blimey!" Ron exclaimed, also captivated by the sight.

"Oh, my goodness," Hermione suddenly gasped, her voice breathless with surprise. "Professor Lockhart!"

(Y/n) couldn't help but make an "ohh" sound of recognition.

Their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher pushed open the doors and approached them, clad in a long lilac dressing gown.

"Well, hello there!" he greeted them with a self-assured grin. "I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"

Harry muttered something to Ginny, who grinned mischievously.

(Y/n) felt a pang of regret at witnessing this.

"Er – how are you, Professor?" Ron inquired, his tone laced with a touch of guilt. After all, it had been Ron's malfunctioning wand that had caused Professor Lockhart's memory to deteriorate so severely that he ended up in St Mungo's in the first place. Although, in fairness, Lockhart had been attempting to permanently wipe Harry and Ron's memories at the time.

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" Lockhart responded with exuberance, producing 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!"

(Y/n) couldn't believe she was experiencing this in real life. If she had cringed while reading the second book whenever Lockhart would say something like that, it was an entirely different sensation facing it in reality.

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

The smile slowly faded from Lockhart's face. He stared intently at Harry for a few moments, then asked, "Haven't we met?"

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

"Teach?" Lockhart repeated, his expression growing somewhat unsettled. "Me? Did I?"

Then, almost alarmingly, the smile returned to his face. "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 as he was about to proceed with his autograph offer, a head emerged from a door at the far end of the corridor, and a voice called out, "Gilderoy, you naughty boy, where have you wandered off to?"

A motherly-looking Healer, adorned with a tinsel wreath in her hair, came bustling up the corridor, her warm smile radiating welcome.

"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 informed 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 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," Ron began, gesturing helplessly at the floor above, "actually, we were just – er –"

But the Healer was beaming expectantly at them, and Ron's feeble mutter about "going to have a cup of tea" petered out into nothing. They exchanged helpless glances before reluctantly trailing Lockhart and his Healer down the corridor.

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

The Healer pointed her wand at the door of the Janus Thickey Ward and murmured, "Alohomora." The door swung open, and she led the way inside, maintaining a steady grip on Gilderoy's arm until she had seated him in an armchair beside his bed.

"This is our long-term residents' ward," she explained to Harry, (Y/n), Ron, Hermione, and Ginny in a hushed tone. "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 quite well, although 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."

(Y/n) and Harry surveyed the ward, noting the unmistakable signs that it had become a permanent home for its residents. Personal effects abounded around the various beds, far more than in Mr. Weasley's ward. For instance, the wall around Gilderoy's headboard was plastered with pictures of himself, all displaying beaming, toothy grins as they waved at the new arrivals. Many of these pictures were autographed to himself in disjointed, childish writing. The moment the Healer settled Gilderoy into his chair, he eagerly pulled a fresh stack of photographs toward him, seized a quill, and embarked on a feverish signing spree.

"You can put them in envelopes," he instructed Ginny, tossing the signed pictures into her lap one by one as he completed 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, appearing faintly puzzled, then beamed once more and resumed signing with renewed vigor. "I suspect it is simply my good looks ..."

In the bed opposite, a sallow-skinned, mournful-looking wizard lay, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. He mumbled to himself, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. Two beds down, a woman's entire head was concealed by fur. At the far end of the ward, flowery curtains had been drawn around two beds, providing some privacy for the occupants and their visitors.

"Here you are, Agnes," the Healer said cheerfully 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 responded with several loud barks.

(Y/n) couldn't believe what she was witnessing. Magic was one thing, but this – it was so strange and unbelievable that she was utterly amazed.

"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 continued, bustling along to the mumbling man. She placed a rather unattractive plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside cabinet and affixed the calendar to the wall with her wand. "And – oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"

Harry's head snapped around as the curtains were drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward. Two visitors were making their way down the aisle between the beds. The first was a formidable-looking old witch dressed in a long green gown, a moth-eaten fox fur, and a pointed hat adorned with an unmistakable stuffed vulture. Trailing behind her, looking thoroughly dejected, was none other than Neville.

With a sudden rush of understanding, Harry realized who the people in the end beds must be. He desperately searched for a way to distract the others so that Neville could slip away from the ward unnoticed and without questions. However, both Ron and (Y/n) had also looked up at the mention of "Longbottom," and before Harry could intervene, Ron called out, "Neville!"

Startled, Neville jumped and cowered as though narrowly avoiding a bullet.

"It's us, Neville!" Ron exclaimed cheerfully, rising to his feet. "Have you seen –? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"

"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" Neville's grandmother inquired graciously as she approached the group.

Neville appeared as if he'd prefer to be anywhere else in the world at that moment. A dull purple flush crept up his plump face, and he avoided making eye contact with anyone.

"Ah, yes," his grandmother acknowledged, peering at Harry and extending a shriveled, claw-like hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."

"Er – thanks," Harry replied, shaking her hand. Neville continued to avoid looking at him, his face growing deeper in color.

"And you three are clearly Weasleys," Mrs. Longbottom continued, extending her hand regally to Sabrina, 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 somewhat startled that Mrs. Longbottom knew her name but shook hands nonetheless.

"Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy," she remarked, 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." She gestured toward the two beds at the end of the ward, causing the stuffed vulture on her hat to tremble alarmingly.

"What?" Ron exclaimed, his amazement evident. (Harry desperately wanted to stomp on Ron's foot, but such gestures were considerably more challenging to execute discreetly when wearing jeans instead of robes.) "Is that your dad down at the end, Neville?"

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

Neville took a deep breath, gazed up at the ceiling, and shook his head. Harry couldn't recall ever feeling more sympathetic toward someone, yet he couldn't fathom a way to extricate Neville from this situation.

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

"I'm not ashamed," Neville murmured very faintly, still avoiding eye contact with Harry and the others. Ron was now on tiptoe, attempting to glimpse the occupants of the two beds. Sabrina tried to do the same, but her height proved a hindrance.

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

Hermione and Ginny both gasped and quickly covered their mouths. Ron, who had been trying to get a look at Neville's parents, now looked thoroughly embarrassed, while Sabrina stood in somber silence.

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

Neville's mother had slowly approached them in her nightdress. She no longer wore the plump, cheerful expression Harry had seen in Moody's old photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her face was now thin and worn, her eyes appeared disproportionately large, and her white hair was wispy and lifeless. She didn't seem able or willing to speak, but she made timid gestures toward Neville, holding something out in her trembling hand.

"Again?" Mrs. Longbottom sounded slightly weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well – Neville, take it, whatever it is."

Neville had already extended his hand, and his mother dropped an empty Drooble's Best Blowing Gum wrapper into it.

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

Neville quietly responded, "Thanks, Mum."

His mother then tottered away, humming to herself as she made her way back up the ward. Neville glanced around at the others, his expression defiant, as if daring them to laugh, but Harry had never found anything less amusing in his life.

"Well, we'd better get back," Mrs. Longbottom sighed, pulling 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."

As they left, Harry was fairly certain he saw Neville slip the sweet wrapper into his pocket, and then the door closed behind them.

"I never knew," Hermione said, her eyes glistening with tears.

"Nor did I," Ron admitted, his voice somewhat raspy.

"Nor me," Ginny whispered.

Sabrina merely shrugged her shoulders.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny turned their attention to Harry.

"I did," he replied gloomily. "Dumbledore told me, but I promised I wouldn't tell anyone... That's what Bellatrix Lestrange was sent to Azkaban for – using the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" Hermione whispered, her horror evident. "The woman Kreacher's got a photo of in his den?"

A heavy silence hung in the air, interrupted only by Lockhart's frustrated voice.

"Look, I didn't learn joined-up writing for nothing, you know!"

-----

As (Y/n) lay in her bed, the dimly lit room cast long shadows across the walls. Her mind was heavy with thoughts, and her chest felt burdened with an unexplainable sadness. The lively chatter of the Weasley family during dinner had failed to lift her spirits, and even Harry's attempts to engage her in conversation had gone unanswered.

Restlessly, she tossed and turned, unable to find solace in sleep. Hermione slept peacefully beside her, and Ginny was on the other bed, lost in her own dreams. But (Y/n) couldn't escape the turmoil within her.

She thought about the Weasley family and how complete they seemed, despite Percy's stubbornness. Their unity and happiness contrasted sharply with her own reality. Her mind drifted to her mother, the warm and caring presence who had brought so much light into her life. Christmases spent dining out and sharing heartfelt conversations by the window flashed in her memory. Her mother had been a beacon of kindness and love.

Her thoughts shifted to her absent father, a distant figure she barely knew. It was her mother who had been the true source of warmth in her life. Then, her mind wandered to her friends who had stood by her side when her mother passed away. Uncle Orius, usually reclusive, would emerge on Christmas, offering her money and preparing special meals. She missed that life dearly, especially the moments when her mother had been alive.

But now, inside this book, surrounded by fictional characters, that life felt like a distant dream from a faraway land. Her heart ached at the memory of Harry forgetting to give her presents. She had hoped that spending Christmas in this magical world would bring her happiness, but instead, it had become one of the saddest times she could remember. No one here could understand her, and she couldn't confide in them about her true origins. They wouldn't believe her, and she felt utterly isolated.

In this moment of solitude, she wanted to go home, for the world she truly belonged to. The weight of her emotions bore down on her, and in the stillness of the night, she yearned for a way out, a way back to where she truly belonged.

In the midst of her inner turmoil, (Y/n) desperately wanted to cry, just as she had earlier in the day. She felt the emotional weight bearing down on her, and it was as though her heart was being squeezed in a vice. She struggled to force tears to her eyes, but they simply wouldn't come. Her chest ached, and each breath felt like an arduous task.

Amidst this overwhelming sadness, she heard it—a faint, hesitant knock on the door. At first, she thought she might have misheard, dismissed it as a figment of her imagination. But then came a second knock, and then a third, each softer than the last, as if the person outside was deliberately trying not to disturb the others.

The fifth knock was the softest of all, and it finally spurred her to action. She sat up in bed, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows, casting eerie shadows across the room. She turned her attention to the door, the source of those hushed knocks.

And I'll give up forever to touch you

Silently, she rose from her bed, careful not to wake Hermione and Ginny who slumbered peacefully. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the ethereal glow of the moonlight.

'Cause I Know that you feel me somehow

With hesitation, she reached for the doorknob, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't be sure who was on the other side, what their intentions were. The twins came to mind, mischievous as they were, but she couldn't imagine them knocking so softly.

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

She took a deep breath, summoning her courage, and slowly turned the doorknob. The door creaked open, revealing the corridor beyond.

And I don't want to go home right now.

And there, standing in the soft moonlight, were a pair of warm green eyes that met her own blue ones.

(Y/n)'s heart raced as she stood face to face with Harry, her mind racing with questions. What was he doing here in the middle of the night, knocking softly on their door? It was unexpected, especially after the way he had been avoiding her and even forgetting to give her a Christmas gift. Why was he disturbing her sleep?

He's smiling.

She narrowed her eyes at him, her expression guarded.

"Hey—wait!" Harry exclaimed in alarm, placing his palm on the door to prevent her from shutting it in his face. His urgency was evident, and (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder what had prompted this sudden change in his behavior.

(Y/n) regarded him with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity.

"Sabrina, I want to talk to you—no—don't close the door," he implored, still blocking the door's path as she tried to shut it, again. She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that why you're knocking? Because you want to talk to me? Hah," she added a bitter laugh. "Really? You want to talk now after ignoring me?" Her voice was hushed but filled with the pent-up frustration she had been harboring.

Harry's expression shifted, and he looked genuinely ashamed of his behavior. "Let's get somewhere private first, and let me apologize," he said, his embarrassment evident in his tone.

(Y/n) stared at Harry without a hint of expression on her face as he pleaded for her forgiveness. His face fell further when she firmly refused his suggestion to move somewhere more private.

"No," she said resolutely, crossing her arms. "Apologize here, tell me what you wanted to say. I'll listen to you." Her eyes bore into him, and Harry knew that even though she appeared calm, there was something in her gaze that hinted at her feelings.

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath before he began to speak. "Alright, then," he said, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "I...I came here to apologize for...for ignoring you. I won't make any excuses...I know I was wrong." He paused and met her eyes, searching for any sign of forgiveness. "I know it's wrong to ignore you, and no excuses could justify my actions, but I got overpowered by my emotions and thoughts."

He continued, his voice shaky but sincere. "I thought you believed I was the snake, but I know you wouldn't think like that. I swear, I know you wouldn't. I realized it after a while, but at that time, I thought that you all were thinking of me that way. I also believed I was the weapon Voldemort was after."

(Y/n) remained unyielding, her arms still crossed, but she listened intently.

"But when Ginny told me that I wasn't being possessed, that's when I realized I'm not the weapon," Harry admitted in a whisper. "And I...I was ashamed because I ignored all of you, especially you, after you made several attempts to talk to me. Really, I am so sorry for ignoring you."

As Harry finished, they heard a loud snore from inside the room, prompting (Y/n) to open the door again and step out into the dimly lit corridor of Grimmauld Place. She closed the door silently behind her, leaving the two of them standing in the darkness.

"It's Ginny," (Y/n) stated casually, as though answering an unspoken question.

"Right," Harry replied, his eyes never leaving her face, waiting for her response to his apology.

There was a brief silence before (Y/n) spoke, her voice calm and composed despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. "So, I think the drawing room should be fine with you, right?" She raised an eyebrow at Harry. Even in the dim light, she could see the smile that crept onto his face as he replied, "Yeah."

They walked in silence, partly out of a shared desire not to wake the slumbering portraits. Along the way, (Y/n) noticed Harry giving her brief glances, and it made her heart flutter.

When they reached the drawing room, the fire had dwindled to faint embers. Harry closed the door behind them, and (Y/n) turned to face him. She bit her lower lip, gathering her thoughts, before finally speaking.

"I can't believe you thought that I thought you were the snake that attacked Mr... d-dad," she said.

"Yeah, sorry," Harry replied, his gaze sincere and apologetic.

(Y/n) locked eyes with Harry. Her expression was serious, but her eyes now held a warmth and sparkle that conveyed her unwavering support. She wanted him to understand the depth of her faith in him.

"I hope you know that I will always believe you... that I will always stand by you," she said softly, her voice filled with conviction.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, his eyes never leaving hers. He took a step closer, drawing nearer to her like a magnet being irresistibly pulled. When he was just one step away from her, he stopped, their eyes still locked. His voice remained low as he continued, "For always believing in me."

(Y/n)'s heart pounded loudly in her chest. She felt Harry's presence so close to her that it took all her energy and willpower to turn away from him. She walked toward the closed window, her cheeks flushed, and her heart still racing.

"Wow, look at the snow. It's thick, and the sky... it's beautiful," she said as she stood in front of the window, gazing out at the serene winter landscape. Her cheeks were warm, and her heart continued its wild dance.

The room was bathed in a soft, dim light, with the moonlight casting ethereal shadows across the floor. The embers in the fireplace crackled and popped, their faint glow dancing like fireflies about to surrender to the night. (Y/n) stood before the window, her silhouette a stark contrast against the wintry world outside.

Beyond the frost-covered glass, the world had been blanketed in a thick layer of snow. The landscape was breathtakingly beautiful, the moonlight reflecting off the pristine surface, turning it into a glistening sea of diamonds. The sky, a deep and velvety navy, was studded with stars, each one twinkling like a distant memory.

Harry's presence loomed close behind her, his footsteps softer than a whisper, his breath almost inaudible. The room held its breath, as if time itself had paused to witness the unspoken connection between them.

(Y/n)'s heart raced like a wild stallion, pounding in her chest like the drums of a forgotten melody. She could feel Harry's eyes fixed on her, a silent intensity that seemed to pull her in. Every fiber of her being longed to turn and face him, to get lost in those emerald eyes that held a world of secrets.

But she resisted the urge, staring out into the snow-covered night, her voice steady and warm as she said,"By the way, it's alright, Harry. Let's forget about it," She wanted to tell him that he had forgotten to give her a present, but she decided against it. She didn't want to remind him of something he shouldn't have forgotten in the first place. If he had truly considered giving her one, she preferred to let it slide. She had been upset, but now she was ready to move past it.

Harry's presence was so close she could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, but she refused to look, afraid he might hear the frantic rhythm of her heart.

"Sabrina," he called her name, his voice carrying a hint of curiosity. She turned to him slowly, her eyes briefly closing as if to savour the moment before meeting his gaze.

Her heart quickened as she faced him, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of his presence. He stood so close that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body, and it sent shivers down her spine.

"Yeah?" she replied, trying to keep her composure as her heart raced.

Harry knitted his brows together, a subtle gesture that only made him more attractive in (Y/n)'s eyes. His gaze shifted from her to the night sky outside, where stars blinked like distant diamonds. "Which do you like best, night or day?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

(Y/n) hummed thoughtfully for a moment, her eyes drifting to the heavens above. "Night," she answered, her voice carrying a hint of wonder.

Harry turned his gaze back to her, his eyes locking onto hers. "Why?" he inquired, genuinely intrigued.

She smiled, the dim light of the room highlighting the delicate curve of her lips. "Well, it's because it's dark," she said with a playful glint in her eyes.

Harry blinked, taken aback by her unexpected response. He couldn't help but chuckle at her simplicity. "You like the night because it's dark?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "What kind of answer is that?"

(Y/n) grinned back at him, unapologetic for her response. "Why, is it funny?" she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. She didn't mind Harry finding her answer amusing.

Harry let out a soft laugh, his eyes still locked on hers. "Do you really need to ask me that question?" he replied, his voice laced with a touch of sarcasm. "Would I laugh if I didn't find it funny?"

"Fine, let me explain it then."

Harry's teasing grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and (Y/n) found herself drawn into the warmth of his presence.

She tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Well, think about it. In the darkness, you can see the stars, the moon, and all the secrets the night holds. It's like a canvas for dreams and imagination. During the day, everything is so bright and clear, which is great, but there's something enchanting about the mysteries of the night."

Harry regarded her with a newfound curiosity, as if seeing her in a different light. "You have a way of finding beauty in the simplest things, Sabrina."

She shrugged, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Maybe I just appreciate the quieter moments, the ones that belong to the night."

Their eyes locked for a heartbeat longer than necessary, before Harry spoke.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, leaving (Y/n) in surprised disbelief. She pondered if she had heard him correctly.

And all I can taste is this moment

"Pardon?" she asked, seeking confirmation.

And all I can breathe is your life

"I asked if you'd like to dance," he repeated, his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic emotion.

And sooner or later, it's over

(Y/n) maintained her gaze, half-expecting him to follow up with a playful remark like, "I'm just kidding." But instead, he extended his hand towards her, his intentions unmistakable. Her cheeks warmed again with a blush, but she accepted his hand without hesitation.

I just don't wanna miss you tonight

Harry led her to the center of the dimly lit room, where the feeble glow of the fireplace mingled with the moonlight seeping through the window. Their surroundings seemed to cocoon them in a world of their own.

And I don't want the world to see me

Unexpectedly, Harry's voice broke the silence with an apology that took (Y/n) by surprise. "I'm sorry for rejecting you at the Yule Ball," he admitted, his words hanging in the air like an unspoken promise.

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

Although (Y/n) knew that she was merely inhabiting Sabrina's character, her curiosity stirred. Why did he apologise to her again? The Yule Ball rejection was something that happened to the fictional Sabrina, not her. She remained silent, allowing him to continue.

When everything's made to be broken

"Why the sudden urge to dance now?" she inquired, shifting the conversation away from the Yule Ball. Harry's hand found her waist, and (Y/n) mirrored his touch, their fingers entwining.

I just want you to know who I am

Harry pondered her question, his eyes fixed on hers. "I don't know," he confessed, leading her with gentle grace. "It just felt right."

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming

In the absence of music, their dance was born of spontaneity, an unscripted moment. (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder at the randomness of it all, but she chose to embrace the unpredictability of the night.

Or the moment of truth in your lies

"Is this your way of making amends?" she teased, her lips curving into a playful smile.

When everything feels like the movies

Harry's eyes held a mixture of sincerity and embarrassment. "No," he admitted with candor, their bodies swaying together. "Something like this could never be enough to make up for the...." he didn't continue.

(Y/n) let him.

Yeah, you bleed just to know, you're alive

As they continued to sway in the silence of the room, (Y/n) couldn't help but wonder about the intricacies of their connection. Did Harry see Sabrina, or did he perceive her as the person she truly was? With their eyes locking once more, she decided to voice the question that had been nagging at her.

And I don't want the world to see me

"Harry," she began, her voice gentle as they danced, "there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

Harry gazed at her expectantly, his eyes wide and earnest. (Y/n) hesitated, debating whether to proceed. But Harry's unwavering attention encouraged her to continue.

When everything's made to be broken

"What if... what if I suddenly disappeared?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity. Harry's expression shifted to one of surprise at the unexpected question, but he remained attentive.

I just want you to know who I am

"Well then, Ron, Hermione, and I would look for you until we find you," he replied with unwavering determination, his eyes reflecting his commitment. "It wouldn't be complete if one of us went missing."

And I don't want the world to see me

(Y/n) couldn't help but smile at his response. Of course, he would say that, she thought. But she wasn't finished.

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

"What if... what if you looked everywhere for me, but you couldn't find me?" she asked, her heart beating faster in anticipation of his answer.

When everything's made to be broken

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion but continued to respond, their dance continuing in the absence of music. "We wouldn't stop looking for you," he asserted. "Besides, there's magic and everything. I'd make Hedwig write to you to come back, or I'd send a Howler. If all else fails, I'd deliver some type of present, but I'd have Hermione make it a portkey so when you touch it you'd be transported back here."

I just want you to know who I am

His earnestness and the thoughtfulness of his answer filled (Y/n) with a sense of warmth.

"You'll do that for me?" (Y/n) asked, her voice quivering with a mix of astonishment and deep gratitude. Harry nodded, his eyes shimmering with sincerity, his smile a beacon of warmth amidst the shadows.

And I don't want the world to see me

"Yeah," he replied softly, each word laced with an unwavering commitment that sent a rush of emotions through (Y/n)'s heart.

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

Curiosity still tugged at her, compelling her to delve deeper into the extent of his dedication. "You'll go to such great lengths for me?" she pressed, her eyes searching his for any hint of doubt.

When everything's made to be broken

Harry's smile remained steady, reflecting the depth of his feelings. "Yeah," he repeated, his gaze locked onto hers.

But then came the unexpected question that left Harry momentarily stunned. "But what if... what if even magic can't find me? What if you search for me but don't find a trace, as though I've never existed in this world, as if you can't find any evidence of me?"

I just want you to know who I am

For an instant, disbelief flickered in Harry's eyes, as if he couldn't quite believe the gravity of her inquiry. However, as the truth of her words settled in, his expression transformed. With a fluid motion, he spun her around the room, their dance becoming an unspoken declaration. When they once again stood face to face, Harry drew her closer, their connection intensifying.

I just want you to know who I am

"If you're planning to run away or disappear on us," Harry declared with unwavering determination, "even if you were in the depths of the world or in another world entirely," his voice grew even more resolute, underscoring his unwavering resolve.

I just want you to know who I am

Harry brought their dance to a halt, and (Y/n) stopped with him, her heart pounding in response to his unwavering pledge. He held her gaze, his eyes unwavering mirrors of his steadfast determination. "I will find you, no matter what."

I just want you to know who I am

(Y/n) found herself at a loss for words. His earnestness had left her both touched and overwhelmed. They stood in silence, their emotions tangled, as Harry continued to gaze at her with the same unwavering sincerity.

Eventually, Harry broke the silence. His voice was quieter now, but it carried a note of finality. "I think we need to sleep; it's late."

As (Y/n) was about to respond, Harry added softly, "Happy Christmas, Sabrina."

Before she could fully process his words, Harry enveloped her in a long, crushing hug. For a moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their embrace and the lingering echoes of his heartfelt wishes.

Reluctantly, they released each other, and with a final, fleeting glance, they began their separate journeys back to their respective rooms. (Y/n) watched as Harry's figure receded into the dark corridor, her own words of "Happy Christmas, too, Harry" lost to the quiet solitude that surrounded her.