Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices. From the moment he wakes up to when he goes to bed, he must make about one-hundred-and-three or so, he’s sure of it.

There are difficult choices about what to do in Hogsmeade. There are difficult choices about playing Quidditch (generally about which person he should hit with a ball of iron). Difficult choices about food, friends, essays, spells, brooms, Fanged Frisbees, Fizzing Whizbees and even about what underarm deodorant to buy.

Sometimes there’s a choice to make just after he gets up in the morning. Today all of his socks seem to have disappeared or are in the wash. He can’t even seem to find the ones his cousin, Wilimina, gave him last year that hopped towards the nearest laundry hamper when they got too dirty. Should he nick a pair of Malfoy’s (Crabbe’s are too big and stretched) and possibly pay for it later? Or should he just go around all day with no socks?

He decides on the latter and makes his way to the Great Hall with cold ankles.

He’s not five minutes into his bacon when there is another important choice to make.

“They don’t make socks big enough for your feet, eh?” a forth year sneers.

Should he punch the fourth year in the head or hex his hair so that it falls out (a very useful hex that he picked up from a rather unfortunate incident with his mum)? This time, he decides on the former and receives a detention from Professor Sinistra, who happenes to be walking past.

After a filling breakfast he’s off to Charms, one of his few NEWT level classes. He would have liked to have taken Potions with Malfoy and Crabbe but he’d not managed to get an ‘A’ on his Potion’s OWL. His parents, who just so happened to own a very prestigious apothecary in Scotland, had not been pleased.

Upon arriving in the Charms classroom, Goyle chooses to sit behind Daphne Greengrass, a particularly good-looking girl in his year. Malfoy and Crabbe aren’t taking Charms this year so he ends up partnering with Pansy Parkinson to practice a sleeping charm.

Goyle doesn’t particularly like Pansy. Her laughter is more like an annoying shriek that hurts his ears and he ends up half-listening to her gossip about Daphne Greengrass (here he chooses to withhold the fact that he thought Daphne was much prettier then Pansy) while they practiced putting each other to sleep.

He comes out of Charms fully rested and goes on his way to break. He’s sure Crabbe is around somewhere, but Malfoy is in Arithhmancy, he thinks. Or it could be Ancient Runes, he’s not exactly sure.

What should he spend his break doing? Hew could always sneak down to the kitchen for some snacks. Or he could go start his Herbology essay (due tomorrow)...

Once in the kitchen, house-elves scuttle over to him, bearing trays of his favourite sweets.

He looks around happily at his selections. After several moments of deliberation he cannot decide if he wants some of Plunkie’s secret stash of Quidditch Creams or some rhubarb pie.

The pie would be good, but he is going to have lunch soon...

His mum’s voice floats through his head. No pie now, Gregory. You’ll ruin your appetite!

“Yes, mum,” he murmurs almost silently, before taking a Quidditch Cream.



Goyle has absolutely no idea where his friends are. It’s lunch and they are sitting nowhere at the Slytherin table. He even checks the Gryffindor table, just in case Malfoy’s having a go at Potter. He’s nowhere to be seen.

So without having to flank Malfoy, he is pleased to find himself sitting next to Daphne Greengrass.

Once again, he is faced with a difficult choice. He would like to talk to Daphne, but she would probably look at him with that weird, girl-look (which made them look like they were about to get sick all over him or something).

Goyle takes a deep breath. “Um, Daphne?”

She looks over at him, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Could you, uh, pass the potatoes?”

“Sure,” she says with a smile, handing him the dish of potatoes before going back to her friend.

He doesn’t really want potatoes, but he piles them onto his plate so she doesn’t think he’s an idiot. He wouldn’t want anyone thinking that about him.

“Hey, Goyle!”

Malfoy strides towards him, a big smirk on his face.

“Hi, Malfoy,” Goyle says thickly through a mouthful of potatoes.

“Where’ve you been?” Malfoy demands.

“Here,” Goyle answers.

He chooses not to add the fact that he’s supposed to be here. It is lunch, after all.

“Crabbe and I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Malfoy says. “Come on.”

Goyle spares a glace for his half eaten bowl of soup, grabs a thickly buttered roll and follows Malfoy out of the Great Hall.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Malfoy doesn’t say anything.

“Why weren’t you and Crabbe at lunch?” he tries again.

“Because we were looking for you,” Malfoy snaps, leading him across the Entrance Hall.

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” Malfoy says slowly.

“Where are we going?” Goyle asks.

“Outside,” Malfoy answers.

Indeed they do go outside. Crabbe is waiting by the lake. It’s particularly windy outside and Goyle wishes he’d brought a scarf.

“Finally,” Crabbe groans. “It’s freezing out here.”

Malfoy shoots him a look and beckons them closer. When they’re all standing together, their foreheads almost touching, Malfoy looks around.

The only other people on the grounds are a couple of third years near the pumpkin patch, and Hagrid, the stupid Care of Magical Creatures teacher. He’s striding into the forest with a big piece of meat over his shoulder and Goyle is reminded of the Thestrals last year.

Malfoy looks frighteningly determined. Goyle wonders if this is about his meeting with the Dark Lord he had been talking about the other day on the train. He would not tell them what had happened and Goyle hopes that is what this meeting is about.

“Crabbe, Goyle,” Malfoy says slowly.

They both look up obediently.

“I need you to help me kill Dumbledore.”

Gregory Goyle’s life is filled with difficult choices.

If you happened to be walking along the grassy hills of Ottery St Catchpole in the summer of 1987, you might have come across a young girl with a bob of sun-bleached hair. It really didn’t matter what day of that summer it was, you could have stumbled across her at any one of them. Sometimes she was even out when it was raining.



If you did happen upon the young girl with a bob of sun-bleached hair, she might very well have given you a crown of freshly picked flowers, because during most of the summer of 1987, that was an art she was trying to perfect.



“Would you like to be part of my flower crown?” Luna Lovegood asked the daisy in front of her.



The daisy said nothing and continued to sway in the light breeze.



Luna smiled, gently plucked the daisy from the rest of the stem and wove it in with the others. She then leaned back to survey her work.



It was, in her six year old opinion, the best one yet. Of course, she was not nearly as good as her mother, who was, in Luna’s six year old opinion, the best flower crown maker on Earth. There could have been someone better then Lucy Lovegood somewhere other then Earth, but Luna was yet to meet them.



And so, proud of what she had accomplished, Luna placed her crown on her head (first giving it a final check for the elusive wart-skinned pixie) and set off through the grassy hills of Ottery St Catchpole to show her mother what she had made.



The Lovegoods lived in a house that was nestled snugly between two hills. Luna and her father rolled down these every evening when he got home from work. The house was old. Countless people had lived there before them, and all the old pictures and paintings that they had left had been stored up in the attic. Luna, when she was bored, enjoyed going up there and talking to them. The old man with the moustache told funny stories.



“Mummmm?” Luna called as she hauled off her shoes in the hall.



She was met with no answer but that did not phase her even the slightest. Perhaps her mother was dancing to music on the wireless in the kitchen, like she did sometimes when she thought nobody was looking.



Luna raced into the kitchen. The wireless was on but her mother was nowhere to be found. Luna took a cherry from the bowl on the table and continued her search.



After she had searched the whole house, calling “Mummmmm!” over and over again (she had even dared to shout out Lucy, a name that only adults referred to her as) she came to the conclusion that her mother was down in the basement, which Lucy called her ‘workplace’ and Luna secretly called ‘the Cave’. She could never hear anything down there.



She tentatively walked down the stairs and knocked on the door of the Cave. Her mother’s musical voice floated out from under the door.



“Luna?” it asked.



Luna pushed open the door to find her mother in front of a cauldron, a measuring cup full of silvery liquid in one hand and her wand in the other.



“Hi, Mum,” Luna said, glad she had finally found her.



Her mother, glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose, laid down the measuring cup and went over to her daughter. “Hello, my moon,” she said, pressing a kiss onto Luna’s forehead. “All done playing?”



Luna nodded. “Look what I made, mum!” She indicated the daisies on her head.



“They’re absolutely beautiful! Luna, your father should be home any minute, would you go and meet him, please?” Lucy said lightly.



“Why can’t I stay here with you?” Luna asked.



Lucy smiled softly. “Well, Luna. I’ve got to try and make something that might help a lot of people. But, you see, if anything goes wrong, it has a funny affect on little girls!”



“What?” Luna inquired curiously.



Lucy leaned forward for dramatic effect. “They stop growing!”



Luna’s eyes widened. “Really?”



Her mother nodded solemnly, fighting back a grin.



“But I want to be big like you!”



“Then you should go and meet your father!” Lucy said.



Luna nodded and skipped out of the room.



“Goodbye, darling! Try not to get any grass stains!” her mother called after her.



Luna went to close the door. She wondered what her mother was trying to make. Would it be a potion?



But surely it wouldn’t affect her if she was out here? Her mother had once told her that there was a kind of Shield Charm around the Cave. She was such a curious girl that she made it look like she closed the door to the Cave, but she actually left it open just an inch.



She got down on her belly and looked through the crack in the door. She had never seen her mother work before.



Luna watched her mother pour the silver liquid into the cauldron. Nothing happened. Her mother peered into the cauldron.



Quite suddenly, her mother pressed her hand against her head.



Is she checking to see if she’s sick? Luna wondered.



Lucy Lovegood fumbled for her wand, swaying on the spot. She dropped to her knees before falling onto the floor, motionless.



“Mum?” Luna whispered.



Her mother did not respond.



“Mum? Are you sick?”



Her mother’s light hair was strewn across her face. Luna wanted to go and brush it off.



“Luna? What are you doing down here?”



Lionel Lovegood looked from his daughter to the partially open door.



“Daddy… I think Mum’s sick…” Luna said slowly.



Lionel strode over and peered into the Cave.



“Luna,” he said, his voice sharp. “Luna, go upstairs, please.”



“But what about-”



“Now, Luna.”



Her eyes wide at of the tone of her father’s voice, Luna did as she was told. Perhaps she would find the ther-mom-meter for her mother…







*

Luna had wandered away from the group of people out of boredom. They had all gotten up and said things one by one. She had wanted her father to come with her (he was sad for some reason) but he would not.



She sat down in the grass and began making another flower crown. Eventually, when she was almost finished, her father came over to her.



“It’s all over now, Luna,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder.



“Can we go home now?” Luna asked.



He nodded.



Her father took her by the hand and they began walking.



“Daddy, where’s Mum?” Luna looked around, as if expecting her mother to appear.



“Luna… your mother’s gone,” Lionel said sadly.



“Gone where?” She wove the last daisy into her crown.



“Up there.” He pointed upwards.



“She’s in the sky?” Luna asked disbelievingly.



He nodded.



“Well, when’s she coming back?”



“It’ll just be you and me for a while, but you’ll see her again. I promise,” Lionel assured her. “But if you ever want to talk to her, just tell me and we’ll come here, okay?”



“Can I talk to Mum now?”



Her father led her across the grass to a big block of stone sticking out of the ground. He then walked off a little ways, his head in his hands.



“Daddy says this is where I can talk to you while you’re gone away,” Luna said slowly. “You can bring me back a piece of cloud when you come back!”



She looked up at the clouds. “I made you a flower crown to make you feel better… Come back soon please, Mum, and make Daddy happy again.”



If you happened to be walking through the hills of Ottery St Catchpole during the summer of 1987, you might have seen a little girl with a bob of sun-bleached hair place a crown of daises on her mother's grave and walk away, hand-in-hand with her father.

If there was one thing James Potter hated, it was winter. Sure, presents and puddings were ace, but that was only one slice of the whole winter pie.

He always had to shovel the walkway without magic, which, according to his father, built moral fiber. It seemed as if winter was just a big excuse for building moral fiber, or for making family memories in the Potter household, as no magic was allowed when decorating the tree, baking puddings or cleaning up wrapping paper. There were suffocating kisses from his Aunt Fanny, damp socks and carol-induced headaches. Luckily, or so he thought, James was staying at Hogwarts this year for the Christmas holidays.

“I love winter!” Lily announced, her cheeks pink from the cold, as she sat down next to him on the couch by the fire.

“That would have to be one thing that I agree with you on, Evans,” Sirius said, shaking the snow from his hair.

James grumbled something that sounded a lot like, “Blegh, winter…”

“It’s really nice outside, James,” Lily said, sliding her chilly hands under her legs for warmth. “Do you want to go skating for a bit?”

Sirius snorted loudly, but quickly turned it into a cough after a glare from James. Remus smiled from behind his newspaper knowingly.

“Er - I would, Lily. But, I’ve got - er - stuff to do,” James invented quickly. “With…Peter… Ah, I’m probably already late! You know Pete, nasty tempter when you keep him waiting, you might have to come down later and collect me in a matchbox!”

“What kind of stuff?” Sirius asked slyly.

“Stuff,” James growled.

He then jumped up and promptly left the common room.


*

The ceiling of the Great Hall conveyed a grey sky swirling with fluffy bit of snow as James shoveled potatoes into his mouth. Avoiding Filch so that he didn’t get hung upside down from the ankles in a grubby, smelly office sure did make a man hungry.

“Hey, Potter!”

Lily plopped down next to him and poked him in the shoulder.

“Let’s race,” she said through a grin.

“Er - wot?” he asked, his mouth unattractively filled with potatoes.

“Put on your ice skates and we’ll have a race!” Lily challenged, eyes shining.

“When you say skating…you mean on the Lake?” James asked lamely.

Lily nodded.

“On ice?”

“Yes, James. What other kind of skating is there?” Lily sighed.

“Well, that time last year Sirius and I spilled some pudding and - oh, never mind…” James trailed off, getting the vibe that Lily didn’t really want to hear about Pudding Skating.

“Well?” Lily prompted.

James ran a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, Lily. You know, you’re an awfully sore loser.”

“Oh, really?” Lily raised an eyebrow. “What if… If you win, I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you.”

He gave a nervous laugh. “We’ve already been to Hogsmeade together. Twice.”

Lily adopted a disconcerting grin. “Yes, but who says I’ll go again?”

James almost lost his composure. Almost. “I know you can’t keep away, Evans.”

It took every ounce of strength in his body to walk out of the Great Hall, leaving behind an annoyed redhead and a half eaten piece of shepard’s pie.

*

James crept across the Entrance Hall, hidden under his Invisibility Cloak. A pair of ice skates were slung over his shoulder and a thick woolen hat jammed on his head.

Things had been going so well with Lily. She hadn’t been serious about not going out with him, had she? She wouldn’t chuck him and start ice skating with someone like that prat Big-ears What’s-his-name from Hufflepuff, would she? He couldn’t take any chances, which was why he was pushing open the great oak doors and slipping out onto the grounds in the middle of the night.

It had stopped snowing earlier that night and now the crescent moon was trying to shine out from behind the clouds. There was smoke curling out of the chimney of Hagrid’s cabin but there was no activity behind the windows. James could only see a scatter star, but his wand illuminated the way for him.

James ploughed through the thick blanket of freshly fallen snow towards the Lake, leaving a deep path. He was a quick learner, this should be easy.

He took off the cloak and jammed Remus’ skates onto his feet. They were a bit big, but James didn’t own any, Peter’s were too small and if he had asked Sirius for his he would never hear the end of it.

Shakily he stood and tottered onto the ice. “Well,” he muttered to himself, “this isn’t so bad.”

He slid his foot forward and pitched sideways, falling flat on his back, glasses askew.

“Bollocks,” he grunted, “that hurt.”

“Merlin, this is too good,” came a painfully familiar voice from over his right shoulder.

James craned his neck pitifully to look at her. Lily stood at the edge of the Lake, skates in hand, large red earmuffs on her head, looking thoroughly amused.

“Go ahead,” James groaned. “Laugh at James Potter, the great unable-to-skate nancy.”

Lily laced up her skates. “Why didn’t you just tell me you couldn’t skate?” She glided out next to his and offered him her hand.

James took it and was hoisted up, leaving him to lean unsteadily on Lily, which he didn’t quite mind. “I don’t know. You’d think I was an idiot.”

Lily laughed. “I already know you’re an idiot,” she said with a level look. “But it’s not like I’m going to care if you can’t skate. As much as you’d like people to believe you are, you’re not perfect.”

James didn’t know whether to smile or scowl.

“Now, c’mon. One foot in front of the other. It’s really just a lot like walking.”

Forty-five minutes later, James had bruises in places no bruise had ever been before, and he probably couldn’t out-skate his five year old cousin, but at least he could stand.

“Now,” Lily grinned. “How about that race?”

As expected, James lost terribly, veering off course and falling headfirst into a snow bank, but Lily took pity on him and went to Hogsmeade with him anyway.

“Don’t be so stupid, Eloise,” Eloise Midgeon told herself firmly as she looked into the mirror. “Eddie Carmichael’s a great, dirty idiot.”

It was what Juliet Stebbins would have told her, had she been there, instead of in third period Charms, where Eloise was also supposed to be.

She pressed the palm of her hand into her eye to stop the tears that were threatening to leak out.

Eloise was so sick of all this stupid acne. Someone had managed to invent a spell that mends bones in about a second, but they couldn’t even get rid of a couple of pimples.

Well… More than a couple. But still…

The clever nickname Eddie Carmichael had thought up for her was Crater-face. She was having a hard enough time getting a date for the Yule Ball without having everyone compare her face to the surface of the moon!

“Eddie Carmichael is a great, dirty idiot,” she repeated, before leaving the bathroom to make up a good excuse as to why she had missed Charms.

*

Eloise stuck her fork into an unsuspecting piece of broccoli, just a little more forcefully then was necessary, glared at it for a moment, and then bit it in half.

“Let’s put frog spawn in his tea or something,” Juliet Stebbins suggested.

Eloise shook her head. “He’s not worth the effort, Juliet.”

“I just think it would make you feel better,” Juliet shrugged. “Imagine his face when he realizes there’s a bunch of unhatched tadpoles in his stomach.”

Eloise took another bite of broccoli and smiled in spite of herself. “No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Hey,” Eloise said, looking up. “What’s Jeremy looking so smug about?”

Jeremy Stebbins, Juliet’s younger brother, sauntered over and sat down next to Eloise.

“Did you hear?” he asked. “Dumbledore’s booked the Weird Sisters!”

Eloise sighed. She was tired of hearing about the Yule Ball. The girls in her dorm never stopped giggling about it- nor did the rest of the school. She was faced with the question, “Have you managed to get a date yet, Eloise?” at least twice a day.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Juliet replied. “Why are you grinning like an idiot?”

“I’ll have you know I’m grinning like a charming young man who’s going to the Ball with Stacy Fawcett!”

“You stopped acting like an immature berk and asked her then?” Juliet asked dryly.

And here it comes, Eloise mused, in five, four, three, two, one…

“Haha. Very funny. Have you gotten a date yet, Eloise?” Jeremy asked, good-naturedly.

“Oh, bugger off,” Eloise said sullenly, before stalking out of the Great Hall.

*

Eloise and Juliet, arms linked, plowed their way across the grounds. They passed a gaggle of boys from Beauxbatons. Juliet smiled broadly.

“So,” Eloise asked, trying to leave her bad mood behind her. “Which one of them is Andre?”

“He’s the blonde one,” Juliet said, indicating the boy who kept glancing back at them, a slight blush creeping across her cheeks.

“He’s cute,” Eloise agreed.

“And he’s got friends. I can ask him-”

Eloise shook her head. “No thanks, Juliet. I’d rather no one was backed into going with me.”

“Oh, come off it, Elle,” Juliet snapped. “They wouldn’t be ‘backed in’. Plus, I saw the redhead staring at you!”

Eloise gave her a look. “Maybe I just won’t go…”

Juliet stopped her. “Don’t be daft. Your dress robes are gorgeous and you’ll look gorgeous in them!”

Eloise shrugged. “Mum did pay a lot of money for them…” Maybe she would just go for a bit, and leave if things got too embarrassing.

“Besides!” Juliet said cheerfully, seeing she had swayed Eloise’s decision. “What do we need men for? We can see from my brother that they’re total idiots.”

Eloise laughed.

*

Eloise had never seen the Entrance Hall look so… colorful. Everywhere around her people were pairing up, looking happy and excited.

She talked for a moment with Cedric Diggory, school champion and fellow Hufflepuff, who told her that she looked nice before going off to meet his date, Cho Chang.

Well, she felt that she looked nicer then she normally did. Her robes were a pretty violet color and her hair was done. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be as bad as she had thought.

After meeting Andre, Juliet’s date, who’s English skills were lacking, (“C’est… nice to… meet you…”) she filed into the Great Hall, which made Eloise heave a content sigh, as it was beautifully decorated, with the rest of the students. She caught a snowflake that fell from the ceiling and laughed softly when it did not melt.

She sat at one of the small, lantern-lit tables with Juliet, Andre, several of his French friends, and, to Eloise’s extreme displeasure, Eddie Carmichael and his pretty date.

Eloise ordered a plate of spaghetti and actually enjoyed supper. Andre knew some very funny jokes concerning a Boggart, wizard and Bowtruckle who all walk into a bar, and though it was in very disjointed English, she laughed all the same. But when everyone was finished eating, the tables were pushed aside and it was time to dance, her stomach dropped. Now it would matter that she did not have a date.

Andre swept Juliet off for the first dance after the champions had finished and Eloise stayed seated, her good mood dropping. It disappeared completely when Eddie and his date came back for drinks.

“It’s too bad you didn’t get a date, Eloise,” Eddie said, grabbing a Butterbeer. “You almost don’t look like an ogre tonight.”

“It’s really great you did get a date, Eddie,” Eloise growled. “I don’t know how you managed to cover up the fact that you’re a great dirty bastard who has really, really bad breath.”

With a jab of her wand she made his eyebrows fall out and then she stomped out of the Great Hall.

*

The library was empty except for a third year surrounded by books. Eloise, still wearing her dress robes, strode towards the Historical section, where she knew she would not be bothered.

She could be upset or she could be angry. Being upset about it was stupid, she decided after a minute, so she elected for angry. She fell into a chair and opened the book she had found at Beatrice’s Books for the Romantically Inclined last Hogsmeade weekend, and tried, unsuccessfully, to read the words before her.

“Stupid bloody Eddie and his stupid bloody date…” she grumbled.

“Were you looking for somewhere private to brood?” came a voice from behind her. “Only because you’re sitting at my table.”

Eloise swiveled around in her seat, startled. A boy stood there (she thought she recognized him as a seventh year Slytherin) carrying a large stack of books, his glasses sliding down his nose.

“What?”

He struggled to push his glasses back into place. “You’re sitting at my table.” He indicated several scrolls of parchment on the table that she had not noticed earlier.

“Oh,” Eloise picked up her book, slightly flushed. “Sorry.” She read his nametag, pinned just below a prefect badge: Felix Harper.

He dropped his large stack of books into the table. “Er- I don’t think the Historical section of the library is the best place to be dressed so-” he gestured at her dress robes, “It’s pretty dusty.”

Eloise forced a laugh. “I guess you’re right. I’ll just… go back to my dorm.”

“But,” Felix Harper said, “weren’t you reading?”

She nodded. Maybe the best thing for her to do would be to put on her pajamas and go to bed.

“Well, then don’t let me stop you.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and opened a large, dusty volume.

She didn’t really want to go back to her dorm… “Oh… alright.” She sat back down.

Eloise opened her book for a moment, and then closed it again. “Can I ask you a question?” she asked suddenly.

Felix looked up, surprised. “Okay.”

“But you can’t think I’m weird or anything.”

He nodded.

She took a deep breath and pushed on. “Why aren’t you at the Yule Ball?”

He raised his eyebrows. Eloise pinned it as a ‘I thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be timid’ kind of look. “I don’t like dances,” he said shortly.

“Oh,” Eloise said pensively. “Is that like ‘I don’t like Herbology because I can’t make anything grow’ or ‘I don’t like Herbology because getting dirt stuck in my nails is annoying’?”

Felix gave a small smile. “A little bit of both… I think. But I like Herbology.”

Eloise flipped though her book. “Well, the Ball was rubbish,” she said with a frown.

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows again.

“No. The Great Hall is bloody gorgeous and everyone seemed to be having a great time.” Besides Eddie Carmichael, she thought, rather cheerily, who is, at the moment, sans eyebrows. That thought lifted her mood just a bit.

“Oh,” Felix said, closing his own book. “I see.”

Eloise picked at a spot on her chin nervously. “Um, do you mind if I stay here for a bit?” she asked.

Felix gave her that same small smile. “Is that like ‘do you mind if I stay for a bit because I don’t want to go back to my common room with a bunch of savage first years’ or ‘do you mind if I stay here for a bit because I think you’re charming and scintillating company’?”

Eloise laughed (which, Felix thought, was something that she should do more often, as it made her face look much nicer). “A little bit of both.”

And, although she did not go to the Yule Ball and dance the night away, Eloise had a lovely time that night anyway.

A crash, a scream, and a thud.

Lavender Brown raced down a flight of half collapsed stairs, her wand clutched tightly in her hand. So far, since she had finished helping all the underage students out of the castle, she had not encountered any trouble. More crashes issued from the corridor at the bottom of the stairs and dust billowed up towards her.

She rushed off the staircase and into the corridor. A jet of purple light, which she avoided by diving behind a cracked statue, whizzed past her head.

Several feet away the squat figure of Alecto Carrow stood over a fallen student, her wand pointed at his chest. Lavender squinted to see through the dust and smoke filling the air and saw Ernie Macmillon, his chest rising and falling heavily, blood pulsing from a gash on his forehead.

Alecto cackled. “Think you’re brave? There’ll be no medals for you where you’re going.” An arrow of sickly yellow light shot out of her wand as Ernie lurched out of the way. It missed his chest but hit his thigh, causing him to cry out in pain. “Didn’t like that, did you, blood traitor?”

Still hidden behind the debris, Lavender watched the scene in front of her, unsure of what to do. Should she get help? By the time it would take to find someone, Ernie would surely be dead. Think you’re brave? She looked down at the Gryffindor badge pinned to her robes. You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart.

--

When Lavender was ten her mother took her to the cinema.

As they queued up in front of the booth marked ‘tickets’, Lavender dressed in an old frock that she had found in the family’s ‘emergency Muggle situations’ box, she turned to her mother.

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking a man dressed in a funny-looking tartan jacket waiting in front of them.

Her mother smiled fondly down at her. “We’re here to see a movie.”

Still, Lavender was lost. “What’s a movie?”

“It’s something Muggles do for fun,” she whispered. “You watch a big screen and people act things out on it.”

“Oh.”

The movie featured a broad-chested, attractive man and a busty heroine. The woman reminded Lavender of her mother, beautiful and unflinching. There were some parts that she didn’t quite understand because she spent a large portion of the film wondering over the screen. It was like a giant photograph with sound. She had enjoyed it immensely.

“Did you enjoy it?” her mother asked her as they filed out of the cinema.

“I really did!” she beamed. “I don’t think I could ever be as brave or as pretty as she was.”

“Don’t be silly!” Her mother brushed a strand of hair off Lavender’s face. “You’re my little lioness!”

Lavender herself did not quite believe it, but she smiled anyway, glad that there was someone who thought she was brave.

--

“Abbot, Hannah!”

Lavender gazed up at the ceiling of the vast hall- it was unlike anything she had ever seen. Shiny stars winked down at her and the moon loomed, large and reassuring, in the distance.

The tall girl next to her was shaking with nerves; she had confided to Lavender during the boat ride that she was very worried she would not be Sorted into a good House. Lavender was a little nervous herself.

She thought of her parents. Her mother a brave Gryffindor, her father a Ravenclaw. She did not think she was at all brave like her mother or smart like her father. Where did that leave her?

Lavender jumped at the sound of her name being called; she hadn’t been listening. Swallowing her nerves, she hurried forward and sat on the stool. The old, dusty hat was placed on her head. It fell right down over her eyes. She hoped that the other people who had been Sorted before her had washed their hair recently.

Ah, yes. Let’s see what we have here.

She was surprised at the voice, but her father had told her this would happen. She waited patiently for the hat to continue.

You seem to have a strong sense of loyalty, as well as a fair amount of courage…

The hat was silent for a moment, then, We’ll make it… “GRYFFINDOR!”

The Sorting Hat was plucked off her head and she was shepherded towards the Gryffindor table. She was the first person to be placed there. Gryffindor… She would have never thought that she would be Sorted there.

Wildly happy, she sat down next to a handsome blond boy, blushed from head to toe, and giggled when he shook her hand in congratulations.

--

Lavender strolled slowly down the corridor, making for the library. She had just left the Room of Requirement after her forth DA meeting and was feeling very good about it. It had been the first time that she had ever successfully stunned anything.

She slowed her pace as she heard voices. It was not very late, so she would not be in trouble for being out of bed, but she would like to avoid any encounters with Filch or Umbridge, who were always patrolling the corridors lately.

As she advanced slowly, she could see two seventh year Slytherin boys standing in front of a girl up ahead. She was short and skinny, obviously not very old. Lavender crept forward quietly to hear what was being said.

“Are you deaf?” one of the boys demanded. “He said that it costs two Sickles to use these stairs.”

The young girl shook her head timidly. “I-I’ve taken these stairs before… you don’t need to pay.”

“Used these stairs before, have you?” the other said. “That’ll up your staircase tax to two Sickles and five Knuts.”

The girl’s eyes glistened in the lamplight. “I haven’t got any money,” she whispered.

The boys took their wands out of their robes. “Oh dear,” the tall one said. “That won’t do, not at all. What do you do to people who skip off on the staircase tax, Danny?”

Danny slapped his wand against the palm of his hand, causing red sparks to shoot from the end.

Lavender didn’t wait to hear what they did to people who skipped the staircase tax. “Leave her alone,” she said loudly. Her stomach felt like it was going to jump up her throat. They were seventh years, after all.

The boys spun around in surprise, afraid they had been caught by a professor, but relaxed when they saw it was only her. “Stay out of this, Gryffindor.”

The sound of her House name reassured her. “Why are two big Slytherins like you picking on a little first year?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level.

The tall boy laughed. “Would you rather we picked on you?” He directed his wand towards her.

Without letting herself think of what would happen next, she whipped her wand out of her pocket and cried, “Stupefy!”

The tall boy collapsed in a flash of red. Danny took one look at his friend, snarled something crude at her, and took off down the stairs, leaving the other boy sprawled in the corridor.

Lavender stood there for a moment, looking at the unconscious Slytherin, breathing heavily. She had just stunned someone! Umbridge would have her head for this. Shakily, she smoothed down her hair.

The girl looked even more scared. “Don’t worry,” Lavender said gently. “You won’t get into trouble.”

She nodded. “T-thanks for helping me,” she whispered.

Lavender smiled. “What House are you in?”

“Ravenclaw.”

“I’ll walk you back to your tower.” Thinking for a moment, she took her wand and levitated the stunned boy into a little alcove behind a tapestry, at the end of the hall.

They both continued on down the corridor, the boy not visible to anyone passing by. Lavender smiled to herself. Someone would find him. Eventually.

--

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

Lavender took a deep breath and jumped out from behind her hiding place. “Expelliarmus!” she cried, pointing her wand at Alecto.

The Death Eater’s wand flew out of her hand as she spun around in anger.

Lavender ducked back behind the rubble as Alecto produced another wand, probably Ernie’s, from her robes. “Crucio!” she shrieked. The spell hit the wall, smashing it to pieces.

“Tarantallegra!” Lavender grunted in retaliation, but it missed her victim.

Alecto laughed and advanced upon her, making a slashing motion with her wand. Lavender hissed in pain as she felt a long cut open across her chest. She stood over her. “Avada-”

But she did not get to finish the spell. A flash of white light filled the corridor and she crumpled to the floor.

Lavender looked up, her eyes wide with fright and shock at Ernie, leaning against the wall for support, holding the wand that Alecto had lost.

“Thank you, Lavender,” Ernie managed breathlessly.

As she headed down the corridor, towards the sounds of screaming and crashing, with Ernie leaning on her shoulder for support, she kept her wand pointed in front of her, ready for anything. She now knew that she was, truly, a Gryffindor.

One of the most pivotal points in a young witch or wizard’s life is the day they receive their letters of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On their eleventh birthday some are surprised, some expectant and most very excited. Only a few are sorely disappointed.

--

Hermione Granger lay on her living room floor, a brand new book open before her.

Her birthday had been a small affair. Presents over breakfast, happy birthday sung while sipping coffee and orange juice. Her parents were taking her out to supper at a restaurant that evening.

There was a tap at the window. Hermione looked up from her book to see a small tawny owl perched on the flowerbox outside.

Her eyes widened in amazement. There were no owls common to anywhere around her town, and even if they were, the majority of owls were nocturnal!

Slowly, not knowing what else to do, she stood and pushed open the window to get a better look. The owl flew in and landed on the coffee table, something rectangular and white clutched in its beak.

“Dad!” she called out, staring at the bird in the middle of her living room. “Could you come here for a moment?”

As her father trotted down the stairs, the owl dropped whatever it had in its mouth, ruffled its feathers and took off again out the way it came.

Hermione picked up the white rectangle. It was an envelope! Curiosity bubbled over inside her as she slid her finger in the slit and read the letters enclosed.

Her father appeared in the doorway. “What is it, Hermione?”

Wordlessly, she pressed the envelope’s contents into his hand and ran upstairs. She reappeared moments later, tears in her eyes and a large volume of Distinguished Schools of the United Kingdom in her arms.

“Oh, it can’t be real!” she said miserably. “I couldn’t find ‘Hogwarts’ mentioned anywhere in any of my books!”

--

Remus Lupin sat in an old tire swing in his backyard, watching the daylight fade to dusk.

His father had left for Scotland early that morning, angry and frustrated at not finding a Hogwarts acceptance letter on their doorstep first thing that morning. Remus was anxiously awaiting his return.

His whole life he had wanted to attend the magical school that his father had told him about, but he had rarely entertained a hope. How could he be allowed to attend a school with so many children who never regarded safety rules at the best of times? He would have to be homeschooled.

But still he could not help reading about the history of the school and wondering in amazement over the secret passageways and moving staircases. How could people think he was unnatural in a place that defied every law of physics and reality ever known just by existing?

Slowly, they sun sank behind the hills and the small amount of hope that Remus had kept alive like a flickering flame throughout the day went out. If his father was not back with good news by now, there was no good news to be had.

His spirits as low as they had ever been, he trudged into the house, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

Hogwarts, a History lay open on his bed. Remus picked it up and tossed it carelessly into his wardrobe. He was not angry. He just felt cheated and disappointed.

There was a knock at his bedroom door. Remus looked up as his father entered the room.

“What happened?” Remus asked, dreading the answer.

Wordlessly, his father held up a thick envelope addressed to Remus Lupin.

Unnatural or not, Remus Lupin was going to Hogwarts.

--

Bellatrix Black lay on her bed, teasing the small kitten on the floor with a ribbon. Every time the kitten jumped up, claws outstretched to paw at the ribbon, she jerked it away and the kitten to fell over sideways onto the hardwood.

Bored, she rolled over onto her back, leaving the kitten to search for the vanished ribbon. The sound of someone running up the stairs echoed through her house. A few seconds later her bedroom door burst open, her sister panting on the threshold.

“What?” Bellatrix snapped.

Andromeda held up a large envelope. “This just came for you!”

She looked at the spiky green ink spelling out her name and address. “Okay,” she said.

Her sister scooped up the meowing kitten, still holding the letter. “It’s from Hogwarts!” she said eagerly.

Bellatrix stood up, beginning to get annoyed at Andromeda. “I know.”

Andromeda looked at her, confused. “Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “You’ve been accepted!”

Bellatrix shrugged. “It’s not like there was any doubt I’d be going.” She took the offered envelope and tossed it onto the bed. “Unlike you.” She laughed and left the room without a backwards glance at the acceptance letter to her future.

--

Argus Filch’s eyes flew open as the sunlight from the window began to creep across his bed.

Eleven! He was finally eleven! It felt like he had been waiting forever for this day to come.

Quickly he stuffed his feet into his slippers and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

His mother sat in her dressing gown at the table, sipping coffee. She smiled when she haw him. “You’re up early, birthday boy.”

“Has the post come?” he asked breathlessly.

She shook her head.

His face fell and a brick of disappointment settled in his stomach.

“I haven’t even sent our letters out yet, Argus,” she said softly. “It’ll be here shortly.”

It was very early, he thought to himself, there was still lots of time for it to come.

The day passed with Argus sitting at the open window, watching the sky for any sign of an owl.

As the moon climbed to its highest point in the sky, Argus furiously wiped his wet cheeks with his sleeve, sick with disappointment. He had waited all day, not even touching his birthday cake.

His mother put her hands on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that the owl’s just gotten lost or delayed.”

“Maybe…” he said slowly, but in his heart of hearts he knew that his letter would never come.

Molly Prewett never had much luck with boys. It was fine in the beginning. They offered to help her with her Charms homework, walk her to class and said things like, “Don’t be silly, I like your freckles!”

But when some of her more delicate qualities emerged into the budding relationship, such as her tendency to snort when laughing or her unshakable habit of mothering everyone around her, they were a little less eager to help, and did not seem to like her freckles half as much as they had said they had.

Molly’s brothers reassuringly told her that she needed a real man, and they knew this from experience, being one hundred percent ‘real men’ themselves, to handle an extraordinary gal such as herself. A confident, strong man that would take care of her. She appreciated the effort, but by that point she had learned to accept that all boys her age were as hopeless as a Hippogriff with its head cut off.

That is, until she started seeing Arthur Weasley. He was a type of boy that she had never encountered, or even heard of, before.

When she was with Arthur, she did not have to worry about her quirky tendencies, because he had a dozen of them himself. On their first date he had shown her his collection of Muggle plugs.

Just a week into the summer holidays after their sixth year of school, she received a letter from him, telling her that he had a surprise date planned. He would be at her house at six and she should wear Muggle clothing if she could.

Molly had learned long ago about his fascination with Muggles, and didn’t question that what Arthur had in mind would be interesting. Whether it would be interesting for her as well was a different matter entirely.

Deep in the recesses of her wardrobe she unearthed an old sundress and a pair of sandals. They would have to do.

As the clock struck six a loud noise that sounded something like a horn being blown, sounded throughout the house. Molly dropped her hairbrush in surprise. It sounded like it was coming from the street outside her house.

Molly stuck her head out the open window. “What in Merlin’s name-” she began, but stopped when she saw what was at the end of the walkway.

Arthur Weasley was clearly visible, sitting in the driver’s seat of a large, red automobile. He saw her staring and waved.

A car? Molly hung out the window for a moment, utterly speechless. Where on earth did he get a car?

She ran down the stairs, calling to her parents that she would be back shortly, before they could see Arthur and forbid her to go.

Molly paused with her hand on the doorknob. Didn’t you need to learn to drive those things? They had to be much more complicated than a broomstick. Did she trust Arthur enough to drive it?

Moments later she was buckling herself into the passenger seat.

“Evening, Molly,” Arthur greeted, grinning from ear to ear.

“Arthur Weasley,” she said sternly. “Where did you get this?”

He gripped the steering wheel. “Borrowed it off a friend for the night.”

She looked at him, seeming so in charge in the driver’s seat. “Well, can you drive it?”

He laughed as he pressed his foot down on a pedal. “Of course I can drive it! You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Molly sat back in her seat, reassured by his words.

And with some sputtering and only a few strange noises, they were off.

--

The world was a blur of flashing lights and sound.

Molly strolled through the enclosure, hand in hand with Arthur while trying to pick the candy floss out of her hair.

She had never been to anything like this before in her entire life. Big, mechanical objects (something called a ‘ferret wheel’) had whorled them through the air. She has screamed until her voice was hoarse and had later spilt mustard all down her front.

A stand nearby caught her eye. A large, stuffed bear hung from the roof.

“Oh, Arthur!” she said enviously. “Look at that!”

Arthur turned to her, smiling. “Do you like it?”

Molly nodded. “It looks so soft!”

“Alright then,” he said, striding purposely towards the stall.

“Arthur, wait!” she called after him. “I didn’t mean I wanted it!” She was unsure of how much it cost to play the game.

The man running the stall handed Arthur a large hammer. “Win something nice for your lady?”

Arthur pushed his glasses up his freckly nose. “Yes, sir!”

“Arthur, you really don’t have to-” she tried.

“I’ll try for the big bear,” he told the man, handing over some coins. “Only the best for my lady.”

“Hit it as hard as you can to ring the bell,” the man instructed.

There was a tall pole with a bell on top of it. Arthur hit the bottom on the pole with the hammer. A marker shot halfway up the pole.

Molly laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably rigged anyway.”

He looked at her, still smiling. “I’m getting you that bear, Molly.” He pushed some more money into the vender’s hand.

After several more attempts, the marker had not made it past halfway.

“Last try,” Arthur said grimly, handing over the last of his Muggle money.

He brought the hammer down and the marker sailed straight towards the top, making the bell sound.

“Well, we have a winner!” the vender called out, handing the large bear to Arthur.

Molly happily took the prize from him, trying to discreetly pocket her wand. “Oh, it’s wonderful!” she told him with a smile.

Arthur gave her a suspicious look and smiled knowingly. “I guess I never really realized how amazingly strong I am.”

She laughed and took his hand. “Oh, I’ve always known.” A loud and obvious snorting sound issued from her nose as she laughed. A scarlet blush rose from under her collar.

Arthur smiled. “Did anyone ever tell you how sweet your laugh is?”

Molly Prewett had finally found herself a real man.