Winter Wonderland
Godric’s Hollow at Christmastime was a winter scene right out of a song. The streets were lined with piles of snow. Drifts of fluffy white sat prettily on the eaves of houses and hung on the sturdy boughs of the trees. Swirling lights of red, yellow, green and blue danced along each avenue, flitting from house to house and swooping over the snow-white lawns like little birds.
Philip stared out the window of his father’s sedan, a standard Ministry-issued car that Philip’s father had augmented with heated leather seats and a premium music system. His father didn’t care for conversation while he was driving, preferring music instead. For the last hour, they had been listening to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. They had reached the Fourth Movement, and the chorus was now singing “Ode to Joy” in German.
In his mind’s eye, Philip could still see Pauline’s green eyes, feel the warmth of her hands in his and the soft brush of her lips on his cheek.
I must write her, he told himself. If I don’t do it tonight, I’ll lose my nerve and I won’t do it.
Once in the house, the two repaired to the dining room. The House Elves had prepared dinner for them – roast beef, mashed potatoes, and shoots of asparagus sauteed in butter.
Finally, his father spoke, his voice soft and hesitant. “How was your term?”
“Fine. I’m learning loads. The workload gets a little overwhelming at times, but the curriculum is all very interesting.”
“Good. How are you doing in Arithmancy?”
“As best as I can,” admitted Philip. “I have a friend in Ravenclaw who organizes study sessions for us. My scores have really improved since I joined her study group.”
“You’ll need at least an E in your Arithmancy O.W.L. if you want serious consideration from Ministry. A strong score in History would also be quite helpful.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“What about Quidditch?”
“We haven’t had any practices yet. All the games are in the Spring, now, after O.W.L.s.”
“That’s right. A wise decision by McGonagall. Think you’ll make the team this year?”
“I’m not sure. They may choose Kilgress ahead of me. It’s her Seventh Year, and she was Seeker last year.”
After the meal, Philip retired to his room. All of the furniture in the room – the full bed, the wardrobe, the dresser, bookcase and desk were all finely carved and polished to a bright shine. Each piece had been in his father’s family for hundreds of years. His collection of adventure novels, some of which had also belonged to his father, beckoned to him.
It would be nice to read something fun for a change, rather than worry about what spell or charm might appear on the next test.
No. I better write Pauline. If I wait any longer, I’ll lose my nerve.
He sat at his desk. The wooden chair was stiff and rickety. It would have collapsed long ago, save for the magical charms holding it together. Without the enchanted seat cushion, it would be hard and uncomfortable to sit in for long periods.
From his drawer, he pulled a sheet of unlined stationery, cotton, ivory in color, of a sturdy weight suitable for quill and ink. In his crisp, flowing script, he wrote the date and, “Dearest Pauline.”
For several minutes, he stared at those two words, unsure of what to write next. I just saw her. What do I say that I didn’t or couldn’t say during that whole train ride?
Outside his window was a lovely winter evening scene. He decided to describe it to Pauline:
Outside my window, snow is falling. Faery lights are blinking in the windows of the house next door. I grew up in Godric’s Hollow, so I tend to take all of this for granted. Coming home this evening, I saw everything with new eyes. I thought of what you would notice if you ever visited.
You could stay at Morwena’s. Goodness knows, their house is big enough, though she did say she often visits her grandmother in Druid’s Grove over Christmas. Tess’family has a big house, too, though as she was saying this afternoon, it gets quite full with family this time of year.
My father and I live in a grand old house, just the two of us. There are three bedrooms upstairs and another downstairs, plus father’s study. Stacy Hind sometimes stays the night in our downstairs bedroom when her house is full of Christmas guests. I’m sure we could squeeze you in for a couple days, if you ever stopped by.
He read the letter through. It was more and yet far less than he truly wanted to say. He wanted to write how he could stare into her green eyes forever; how he wanted her kiss on his lips, not just his cheek; how often he had thought of her lying beside him in his bed.
It’s too much to say, he decided. She probably thinks of me as just a pal, the way Rhiannon, Stacy and Sadie do. She wouldn’t want to kiss me on the lips. If she had, she would have done so by now.
Still, what he had written was hardly sufficient for a full letter. He continued on:
I hope you can come and visit us someday. I’m sure, as we grow older, things like that will be easier to arrange. It would be nice to meet your family as well. I have been to France, but not for a few years. It would be fun to see France from your eyes.
For several minutes, he agonized over the closing. “Love” seemed too much, especially if she wasn’t in love with him, but “Sincerely” was not enough. Finally, he settled on Fondly. Shall I write ‘Philip’ or ‘Hark?’
He wrote, Fondly, Philip, embellishing that first P with a smooth, graceful curl. He read the letter through once, then folded it, set it in an envelope and gave it to his family owl to mail. He wanted it on its way as soon as possible, so he could not destroy it later in a fit of doubt.
No picturesque scene greeted Liam and Patrick upon their return to Biggleswade, only sheets of rain. Perfect weather for cooking, thought Liam.
Their mother met them at King’s Cross. Liam made sure his young boys found their parents before pulling his cart over to where his mother and brother were standing.
“Happy Christmas, son,” said Annie, and pulled him into a firm hug. “No fond farewell from Vanessa?” she asked. “Or did that occur on the train, away from prying eyes?”
“Nope,” said Liam. “Vanessa and I are over with. She was being a burden, so I let her go. She’s someone else’s problem now.”
“I see. Let’s catch our next train, and you can tell me more about it.”
They changed platforms and caught the Great Northern back to Biggleswade. Liam, however, had nothing more to say on the subject of Vanessa. His main goal on the ride home was to keep Patrick from blabbing too loudly about their magical education, thus violating the International Statute of Wizard Secrecy.
Annie was pleased the boys had avoided getting into fights. “I only got told off by a Prefect once!” said Patrick.
“What about all the times I told you off?” asked Liam.
“Those don’t count! You’re my brother.”
“Do you boys have any plans?” asked Annie.
“Not schoolwork,” said Patrick.
“My friends are wanting me to send cookies again,” said Liam.
“What cookies are we making this year?” asked Annie.
“I’m thinking chocolate chips and ginger snaps.”
“Good choices. I don’t think we have much in the way of baking ingredients. I’ll take you over to the store first thing tomorrow.”
As he got ready for bed that night, Liam found one more long blond strand on one of his wool jumpers. Neither singing nor hissing, it was just another piece of hair. He gazed at it wistfully for a moment before plucking it off his sweater. Instead of throwing it away, he set it in the box with her two letters.
The next morning after breakfast, Annie took Liam over to the supermarket. Liam selected flour, sugar, eggs, vanilla extract and dark chocolate chunks for the chocolate chip cookies, and brown sugar, molasses, ginger, cinnamon, and ground cloves for the ginger snaps.
Back at home, while the rain fell steadily, he baked several batches. He was generous with the vanilla and the chocolate in the first batches and liberal with the spices in the next batches. The cookies were full of holiday flavours.
While the batches cooled on the counter, Liam cut his mother’s wrapping paper into squares and then transfigured them into colourful cloths. He counted off each square of cloth, matching it to a name on his mental list: Lara, Stacy, Monique and Stephanie; Michael, Fortney and Hark; Sadie and Jill; Umberto and Gordon.
If Sadie and Lara get cookies, I better give some to Felwich and Krauss. And if I do them, I’d better do Evans and Reuel, too.
That won’t leave much for my own family, but I can always make more.
He bundled up the cookies in the cloth. In the morning, he wrote notes to all the recipients, making sure each letter was a little different in case some of the girls compared notes. (He knew the boys wouldn’t care.)
That afternoon, he sent the bundles off with Cloud, his owl. Then, he got to work making more cookies for his family.
As Christmas drew near, Liam received many notes of thanks from his friends, and several gifts. All of his Hufflepuff sisters sent him holiday baking: from Stacy, a loaf of pumpkin bread; from Lara, sugar cookies in the shapes of trees, stars, snowflakes and angels, preserved in a magical cocoon so that they were all still warm and unbroken; from Monique, a batch of brownies stuffed with dark chocolate morsels; and from Stephanie, squares of white chocolate fudge.
Philip sent a large hardcover book about the history of British motorsports. There were full color photographs of cars from McLaren, Lotus, Bentley, Aston Martin, Jaguar and others, plus detailed engine drawings and descriptions of memorable races.
Sadie sent a box set of paperbacks about a wizard treasure hunter named Jack Esbat. Liam could see this was a teasing joke on her part. Sadie had never thought Liam’s idea of becoming a treasure hunter was practical, that it was more fantasies from an adventure novel than anything else.
Liam checked each book. There were no scantily clan women featured on any of the covers. Nessa must have been referring to a different series, thought Liam.
On the night of Christmas Eve, Liam received one more gift, another book, this one from Morwena. Handwritten on the inside were the words, “Happy Christmas! Fondly, Wen.”
The book was Modern Quidditch Strategy by Geoffrey Woodbine, a long-time Center Chaser for the Magpies. Liam had studied Beater strategy extensively. This book showed Quidditch from the perspective of the Chasers, both in attack and on defence.
Liam pored over this book, looking intently at each diagram: the standard triangle attack, with the center chaser slightly behind either wing, able to pass to whomever had the advantage; the spike, with all three chasers flying in a line straight down the pitch; and asymmetric attacks favoring one side or the other, attacking whatever side was deemed weaker.
There were also pages of diagrams and descriptions for defense: how to fly into passing lanes to intercept passes; how best to knock a Chaser off balance without drawing a penalty; and formations combining the Keeper and the Chasers to double and even triple team a formidable attacker.
Ol’ Mac better look out, thought Liam. When I’m Quidditch Captain, we are doing this.
He was so pleased with the Quidditch book, in fact, that he wrote Morwena a thank you note. “Thanks for the book,” he wrote. “Best gift I got all season. See you soon. – Liam.”
Though he never learned of it, the cookies he sent and the thank you note that followed caused a bit of intrigue among the Felwich sisters that Christmas. Freya was quite keen to learn who had sent Morwena the cookies, and Morwena was loathe to reveal information …