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Pomona’s fork stuck to her hand despite attempts to release it. Minerva chuckled beside her.

“Misguided sticking charm?” the woman asked with a smugly entertained smile.

Pomona’s eyes rolled as they took the longer route to offering Minerva a sidelong glance. “You know I haven’t mucked up a sticking charm like that since my fourth year,” she responded. She lifted her hand, the fork still stuck to her index finger and palm. “’tis the season, Minerva.”

“’tis the season of sticky hands?” Minerva seemed to take delight in deliberately dropping her fork to the table and noting the ease with which it left her possession.

“For wreaths, Mistleterva,” Pomona corrected with great emphasis, carefully removing the fork from her hand and placing it alongside the knife on her empty plate. The plant resin and what it had removed from Pomona’s skin were visible on the utensil. She gazed up to find Minerva’s features organised into a combined display of disapproval, amusement and affection.

“What have I told you about calling me that?”

“That you hate it,” Pomona answered unapologetically. “But I know you don’t really—your eyes never lie—so there’s little point in saying it, is there?” Quick as a fox, Pomona’s hand shot out with a finger extended to lightly poke Minerva’s nose. She pulled away immediately after, with a slight tugging sensation as the plant resin sought to keep the connection between the two.

Minerva’s hands rose to push Pomona’s away but it was already gone. Her eyes narrowed. “Staff table, Pomona.”

Pomona batted her hand at that—a perpetual opinion of that which would subdue displays of true character—and grinned a toothy grin. “It’s Christmas.”

Minerva and Pomona scanned the few students remaining through the Christmas holidays. The remaining students were far too busy with animated conversations and dreams of new possessions to care a spot for the teachers left at the staff table. Most of them were probably surprised to find professors continued existing through the holiday, rather than being placed back in cupboards until the next term-time.

“Are you coming to Wilhelmina’s?” Minerva inquired.

Pomona laughed at what was obviously both a question and an admission that she was right. “Me, miss a party? Did Filius spike your juice?”

Minerva made a show of inspecting her glass and replying with affected dejection, “No, not yet.”

“Soon, Mistleterva, soon.” With that, Pomona was off on a discussion—or perhaps informed monologue—on the creation of pine cone and berry wreathes, which she had to do by hand because ‘magic simply didn’t do them justice.’


.:.


Wilhelmina smiled as she admired the wreaths adorning the walls of her cottage. She had hardly witnessed such an abundance of different material before: varied evergreen growth (a staple of the season), ivy, bent, twisted and woven deciduous twigs, pine cones, nut husks, berries, reeds, and even some flowers and feathers. They were lit with the soft golden glow of candles—all spelled for containment as a precautionary against boisterous party behaviour—and the steady wash of light from the fire burning in the fireplace, which was also decorated with boughs and sprigs.

A grate sat over a portion of the fire, above which a pan held chestnuts just beginning to roast, in wait of the mouths that would eat them.

Her eyes slipped lower to the back of a great big arm chair, which looked inviting until one noticed the length from the floor to the cushioning of the seat and how unlikely it was that one would scale it with grace. She smiled at Hagrid’s chair and at the thought of Hagrid himself, for whom she had enlarged her cottage interior for the evening. She liked to think that the decorations and ambiance of the room kept it homely and cosy enough. Size certainly didn’t dictate the comfort of a home, as she knew from experience that Hagrid’s largely proportioned hut could be just as little and lovely as any other home. Filius’ house, which she had only seen once, was the opposite in proportions and similar in effect. His small chair sat on the other side of the back door from Hagrid’s.

Wilhelmina’s cottage was tidy with the hint of clutter that made it hers, although she acknowledged with a slight smile that it was clear she had cleaned for the gathering. A table along one wall held various Christmas foods, primarily desserts: mince pies, fruitcake, her Christmas pudding on a spelled heating platter, a small chocolate Yule log, and a plate with some sausage rolls and other nibbles. Most of her guests arrived after their meals and sought sweeter fares upon arrival; she knew some might even come with their own edible gifts of pies or sweets.

The table beside it held mulled wine in a container spelled with similar warming charms. It was often the only drink Wilhelmina herself provided, for others brought along drinks from home or pubs. A good number knew where to find Wilhelmina’s stash of spirits, too, if they got too desperate before the rest arrived.

Sofas, armchairs, recliners and cushions—for pets or people—took up much of the space along the other walls and before the fireplace. The lot of them had seen better days of brighter colours and fewer scratches, but with Wilhelmina’s constant flux of animals to tend and home on a temporary basis, she could hardly stop a little wear and tear. Throws and cushions seemed to help. She liked the look, anyway, and thought that ought to be enough for her friends.

The twinkling of a tree in the far corner of the room caught Wilhelmina’s eye. The silver and gold decorations contrasted the long green needles of the Scots Pine, which she herself had collected from a friend in Scotland. She loved the way the pine scent spread throughout her cottage to remind her that life kept on going and growing through the winter; Pomona had taught her that.

This year, Wilhelmina had been working on her charms. What looked at a quick glance to be animated tinsel was actually the words to O Christmas Tree in sparkling golden font circling loosely around the branches and, behind the tree, back up the trunk to the top. She knew that if she stood close enough she would hear the song itself. Instead, she appreciated the lights jumping around and between the branches and needles as if in play, reflected in some of the shinier ornaments. Others were homemade—either by her own hands, her friends and a number of the children she had known, many of whom were no longer children.

Whenever the Christmas tree finished its song, the words looping around the gifts beneath the tree—lyrics to Silver Bells—would begin to sing their song. Wilhelmina smiled to see the string of words spike up once to knock a silver bell on a low branch and set it to chiming along with the others on the tree. She thought Filius might enjoy that most; he was very fond of charms that involved singing and personification, if she recalled correctly.

Her gaze began to journey up to what she knew was an unlit star above the tree—waiting to be lit by the partygoers—but instead was captured by movement in a nearby picture frame. Wilhelmina turned and grinned outright at the painting, which was one of her newer acquisitions; she had purchased it to hang just for the festive season as it was rather large and took up half of one whole wall. The other half sported a large parchment that read “Naughty or Nice” with Wilhelmina’s name at the top in green and one mark in both the ‘naughty’ and ‘nice’ columns.

In the painting, nine ladies were dancing as eight maids and their cows were pushing them off to the side, followed by seven swans in a porta-pond, six geese in a cart, five golden rings rolling in a pyramid, four fluff-feathered birds calling to one another in what may have been vexation, three French hens, two turtle doves and a partridge in one of those walking trees that one could find in places like the Forbidden Forest. Wilhelmina knew from watching the painting a number of times that it could get quite raucous and wild by the end—as was the point of the song, she thought. She had spelled the frame with a silencing spell but found the painting hilarious even without sound. Each cycle was different: some went smoothly, some less so. Wilhelmina had a feeling this would be one of the less synchronised performances as she witnessed one of the cows head-butt one of the dancing ladies.

Wilhelmina turned to gaze out the windows in the back of the room and above her back door. It was still light enough that she could clearly see the snow falling down throughout her back garden and beyond, to where it met the forest behind her house. She smiled at the falling snow and the chill it inspired within her as she stood inside her cosy cottage and cherished the warmth of a fire, the season’s festivities and the friends to come.

Yes, Wilhelmina thought, there was just the right feel for a Christmas party.

.:.


Before planting herself by the door, Wilhelmina checked a piece of parchment she had stuck to the inside. Upon it were the lyrics to I’ll Be Home for Christmas with a drawing of a Christmas tree and, beneath that, many lines. It was Wilhelmina’s form of RSVP spelled into the invitation; those who couldn’t make it signed their name on the back of the invitation with whatever comment they wished to leave. Filius had taught her the charm after the party had become a tradition many years back. Wilhelmina didn’t tend to mind as far as logistics—no one came prepared for food and space was hardly an issue—but she liked to give those she had invited to at least attend by name and sentiment, that others might see it and keep the absentees in mind and heart.

Most names and comments she had already seen, but one was new; people occasionally didn’t know if they could attend until the last moments. It was a pity that Semperabsian would miss the party again, but then he tended to. She smiled again at Mafalda Hopkirk’s comment, which read, Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…but be sure to have enough cheer for me here at the office. It was such a pity Mafalda couldn’t attend. Improper use of magic and run-ins with the Statute of Secrecy always seemed to surge during the holidays, but more often than not Mafalda managed to work her department to its fullest and fend it all off enough that they could slip out for Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, some years she didn’t quite meet the deadline.

Wilhelmina sat herself down in the recliner closest to the door and spent time with her pack—a black and tan Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, a fluffy white Samoyed, and a large Savannah cat—until her first human guests arrived.


Wilhelmina was alerted to the presence of a guest by her pack bounding off. Pan hurried to the door to bark and wag his fluffy white tail; Lina circled the floor excitedly beside Wilhelmina’s chair with quick stares to the door; Aradia jumped up to her favourite perch to wait for knowledge of whether she knew the visitor.

“Oof, ye scoundrels,” Wilhelmina grumbled as she pushed herself up from her chair. Lina may have been small, but when all that weight was directed into two little legs pushing off Wilhelmina’s thigh and abdomen, it could sure feel like a lot.

She opened the door to find Pomona Sprout’s smiling face. She was empty-handed, save the old and ratty bag that often hung at her elbow. “I figured the wreaths count as gifts.”

Wilhelmina laughed and took the woman in, from brown-coated boots that may once have been black to one very colourful and uncharacteristic hat…

“Don we now our gay apparel, fa la la la la, la la la la!” Pomona sang, before Wilhelmina could comment on her new head adornment. “I figured you also hadn’t had any carollers, what with living so close to a magical forest you’re practically in a tree.”

“And Hogwarts isn’t?” Wilhelmina countered with a good-natured smile. “Isn’t there some phrase about glass houses?”

“Yes,” Pomona answered seriously. “I shouldn’t throw stones from mine.” She offered her fullest grin as she stood outside in one of her nicer robes under the falling snow. “But the day cordial teasing turns to stone, we’ll both be black and blue all over. Now, are you going to let me in?”

The door opened wide enough for the two of them. “As if you ever need ask.”

Aradia, who had decided she did indeed know Pomona, returned with one of the dogs’ stuffed toys and carried it proudly to Pomona. Aradia was a very canine character despite her feline form—very close to a wild serval—and had acquired the habit from one of Wilhelmina’s old retrievers, who had taken on the task of raising Aradia. The cat’s tail was fluffed at the end with excitement and wagged almost like a dog’s, although it appeared as a more nimble and controlled display.

Pomona took the toy as if it were a gift of the highest honour—for it was, of course—and gave Aradia a few strokes to the head after the cat had made some of her peculiar chirping sounds. She was also sure to offer Pan and Lina some good strokes and scratches.

Once the first guest had properly greeted the animals, it was their opinion that the party had begun in earnest. Wilhelmina was inclined to agree.



Poppy Pomfrey’s arrival was met with another round of barking, the circling of one very excited spaniel and the delivery of a slipper. She took this in stride and threw the slipper, which the cat immediately ran after, once again under the impression that it was a dog.

Her gaze travelled up as Wilhelmina took her in.

“Mistletoe,” Poppy stated with little inflection as she stared up at the sprig above the doorway. “I swear you’ve grown worse with your new bachelor lifestyle, Wilhelmina.” Nonetheless, she leaned in to kiss one of Wilhelmina’s cheeks, ever so gently graze her lips and kiss her other cheek.

“No worse,” Wilhelmina defended through a smile. She gestured to the holly on her front door and clarified that she was simply sticking to her theme and traditions. “The prettiest sight to see is the holly that will be on your own front door.”

Poppy’s features softened as she stepped into the glow of the warm main room. “It certainly is beginning to look a lot like Christmas.”

Her tone was approving and slightly awed, which was enough gratitude for Wilhelmina and then some.

Pomona, who had not noticed the mistletoe above the door, hurried over to correct her grave mistake and bestow her own kisses upon Wilhelmina, who couldn’t say she minded the belatedness given the enthusiasm with which it was coupled.



Minerva McGonagall arrived to a similar commotion, although Wilhelmina couldn’t quite place the article that Aradia had retrieved this time. Minerva grasped the cloth and opened it in preparation to scrutinise it with the stern expression she still wore from being on duty, but upon spreading it was immediately evident what Aradia had given Minerva as a gift: underclothes.

This broke the ice immediately as Minerva lost herself to laughter. Wilhelmina appreciated the sight of Minerva’s shifting features even as she felt herself redden with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, Min, I thought she’d bring a shoe or the like,” Wilhelmina managed at last.

Minerva’s laughter continued as she folded the garment and leaned forward to slip it into Wilhelmina’s vest pocket, pressing a chaste kiss to the woman’s lips as she did so. She shut the door behind her and bent to stroke the pesky cat.

“For goodness sake, Willa, as if I haven’t seen those before!” She placed a tin of biscuits—homemade without the elves’ help, she had told Wilhelmina days before—and joined Pomona and Poppy, who were still expressing their entertainment over the cat’s antics. “I see I have cackling cohorts,” she greeted with a little smile. “Although I assure you there is nothing funny about Wilhelmina’s undergarments.”

Wilhelmina smiled to see it all jovially unravelling before her as they fell into old traditions with the humour of new occurrences to spice things up and eventually become part of the jokes and references that lived on. She felt profoundly grateful to have the teachers there that evening—as the presence of the Deputy Headmistress always reminded her—and mentally sent her thanks to Albus and Severus, poor sods, for remaining in the castle Christmas Eve. She extended her inner gratitude to the ghosts keeping extra eyes on the students and reporting to the house elves, who were always a Floo-call or Apparation away.

“Come now, Wilhelmina!” Minerva called to her. “You needn’t be glued to the door when you’ve got a canine doorbell.”

Wilhelmina joined her friends before she could be summoned a second time. Just like Minerva to keep her from having time to put her pants back where they belonged—somewhere other than her pocket.



The shoe was apparently meant for Augusta Longbottom, who arrived next. That meant young Neville was asleep and with the recent Hogwarts graduate who would do anything to avoid her family. It was a reprieve for both women: Augusta from baby care in her older age and the young woman from a family she couldn’t stand.

Augusta gripped the shoe and turned it once in her hands; she didn’t return it to the cat. “I see that Minerva is in attendance.”

Wilhelmina laughed and greeted Augusta warmly, helping her out of her cloak after a kiss on the cheek. “She is. She’ll be delighted to see you, I’m sure.”

“Mm.” Augusta’s response was non-committal, but Wilhelmina knew the woman was just as sure. She placed her vulture hat on the hat stand in the corner and turned on Wilhelmina. “I was just very nearly trampled by a reindeer!”

Wilhelmina wasn’t quite sure how that could be her fault, given reindeer tended to have their own free will—especially during their flying season—but Augusta didn’t seem to be looking for her to own up to anything, either.

“There I was, innocently Apparating in and snap, a reindeer is waiting in wait to flatten me from the sky! Imagine that: Augusta Longbottom attempting to attend a party at a dear friend’s house only to be run over by a flying deer at the last moment. Now there’s a sure-fire way to put a damper on a party, I’ll tell you. Whoever gave those ruddy deer flight was a few knuts short of a sickle!”

“Evolution and natural selection of magic, I expect,” Wilhelmina murmured through lips twitching toward a smile.

“What, dear? Do speak up; I’m flustered,” Augusta reminded in a dramatic tone. When Wilhelmina shook her head, Augusta waved her hand and pulled a tumbler from her purse. Immediately after, she filled it with amber liquid from a container that looked to be an ink jar but was apparently meant to be deceiving. A surprising portion of it was gone when she pulled the tumbler away from her lips again. “I’ll just go and join the girls, then. They’ll never believe they almost lost me. I’m surprised Minerva’s managed to lose a shoe without noticing this early in the night, too…”

With that she drifted off to repeat the tale of that time she narrowly avoided death by deer.

Wilhelmina had to wonder how she was held responsible for the actions of most animals when she could hardly predict or pre-empt the behaviour of her own species. An ink jar? Sometimes she wondered if Augusta was more snake than lion.



Muriel Prewett arrived with a bang. She had acquired a cane, at some point, and used it to knock upon the door; Wilhelmina realised this when she opened it to find the cane reared back for another strike. Aradia came pouncing along with a little pouch, which Muriel handed to Wilhelmina as soon as it was received.

“It’s snowing,” Muriel announced to Wilhelmina in lieu of a greeting.

“It is,” Wilhelmina agreed, for she wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do. She ushered Muriel inside, but the woman remained firmly upon the welcome mat with snow gathering on her hat.

“It’s always snowing for your little winter gathering.” She glared up at Wilhelmina in a not entirely unpleasant way, but the sort of look a grandmother pinned upon a grandson who was clearly pulling his sister’s hair when no one else was watching. “Why is it always snowing for your party, hmm? What do you have against my hair remaining manageable?”

“You could come inside,” Wilhelmina reminded, with the door quite open to her side as she pointed in over her shoulder.

“I could.” Despite the statement, Muriel did not take a step.

Wilhelmina sighed. When Muriel got an idea in her head, it was impossible to get it out short of very convincing proof right before her eyes, which only worked about half the time anyway. Unfortunately, the idea she had in her head this time was correct, which only made it worse. It was indeed Wilhelmina’s fault that her party brought snow and that, consequently, Muriel’s hair began to look something akin to a puffy grey cloud.

“I made a deal with Claus.”

Muriel stared her down with eyebrows that were growing steadily closer to her nose. “You made a deal with Father Christmas for snow during your party?”

“No.” Wilhelmina could scarcely believe she was having this conversation. “A different Claus. Aunt Christmas, or something of that sort.”

Muriel’s eyes were narrow with thought, which created a humorous picture to Wilhelmina, who witnessed the expression against the backdrop of gently falling snow that swirled peacefully around the woman and caught at her hat, eyelashes and clothing. At last she asked, “Every year?”

“Every year,” Wilhelmina confirmed.

Muriel sighed and at last took a step inside. “I should invest in a festive indoor hat, then, if you insist on persisting in your vendetta against my hair.”

With that, Muriel joined the party, frizzing curls and all.



Rubeus Hagrid was gifted with the honour of receiving Aradia’s very favourite toy, a spindly-limbed little plushie that made sounds and had compartments for little treats. Pan and Lina also went wild, enough to break Wilhelmina’s rule of no jumping to prance around Hagrid’s feet. They looked even tinier as they jumped up at his knees.

“Oh ho ho!” he greeted them. Wilhelmina thought he looked exactly the way an animal’s Santa would look, with endless pockets capable of holding treats uncountable and a lap big enough for the whole pack. Pan howled along with Hagrid’s low voice and subsequent laughter.

Hagrid pulled out big home-made dried yam treats for the dogs and unwrapped a long frozen ice cube filled with steamed meat and broth for the cat. Each gently took the treat—Wilhelmina was watching them carefully as a reminder to follow their training on this matter—and scurried off to three corners to consume their goodies.

He straightened up—quite the feat given his distance from the floor—and offered Wilhelmina an apologetic look. “Was almos’ here when I thought ‘gee, I only packed treats fer the beasts!’ an’ it was too late to go’n nab anythin’ proper.”

Wilhelmina gave him her widest smile and reached for his hand to kiss the back of it beneath the mistletoe, which was poking at the man between his eyes. He blushed and chuckled.

“You know a gift to them is a gift to me, Hagrid,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone of voice. Hagrid was a grown—very grown—man with the big sweet heart of a boy; she loved that about him and always sought to be gentle. “No better gift than a happy critter, am I right?”

“’course!” he boomed with a great big smile, boyish despite the beard surrounding his mouth. He sauntered to his special chair. Wilhelmina knew that eventually, when her little pack was finished munching, they’d all scramble or request help up to his massive lap, where they would all take delight in having room to share space and play all on one two-legger.

Hagrid was a gift himself. The gift, through the years, was getting him to realise it—or at least to help remove all the voice of old nay-sayers and bullies from his precious mind and heart.



Aradia wasn’t quite sure what to bring Sybill Trelawney upon her arrival, which was becoming a tradition in itself. It was as if the cat could tell that the invite was one of sympathy and not particular endearment. Wilhelmina hated the thought of someone stuck up in the castle nibbling her hair, or whatever the woman did. At least Albus was likely to be plotting or waltzing solo around his office and Severus likely to be brewing—often hangover potions out of altruism or smug superiority, according to Poppy—and scheming, in his disdainful version of holiday tradition.

The cat at last brought her one of the shinier ornaments from the tree—Wilhelmina gave the creature a look and filed away the thought that she’d have to replace it—and Sybill grasped it with shaking hands. She stared at it with wide eyes that were only amplified by her unfortunate choice of eyewear.

Wilhelmina stepped in to kiss her cheek, as the mistletoe demanded, but was held back by Sybill’s hand and trembling voice.

“I See I face grave danger tonight,” she whispered with her eyes still locked on the ornament. She blinked. “I need not fear the canine, but a plant incises too!”

Wilhelmina wasn’t at all sure what to do with this nonsensical statement, so she decided she would let it pass without comment. Instead she inquired, “Would you like help with some of your shawls?”

Sybill shook her head, although it was not a motion of dissent and instead of disconnect with whatever form of intuition she felt she had with the shiny bauble. When her head was stationary once more, she plucked at one of her stoles and pulled it tighter around herself. “Oh, no, Wilharmony, they protect me from those who might curse my Sight or tamper with my Inner Eye.”

“It’s Wilhelmina,” the hostess corrected though she knew it was no use, “and I offer to take your cloak, instead.”

The woman nodded her head of flyaway blonde curls and allowed Wilhelmina to help her out of her cloak, all the while clutching the ornament to the point that Wilhelmina thought it might shatter in her fingers. When she was free of her outdoor apparel, she made her way into the room.

Wilhelmina noticed that she took a seat as far away from the Christmas tree and any other plant as possible. Aradia was watching her with an expression inquisitive uncertainty.

There was at least one to every family of blood or choice, Wilhelmina concluded with a quiet laugh to herself. She ignored what she thought may have been Minerva’s glare burning into her temple and took her seat by the door once more.



Bathilda Bagshot arrived to find herself greeted with a handkerchief. For the cat’s sake, she pretended to use it to wipe her face and brush the snow from her hat before returning it to one pleased feline.

She met Wilhelmina’s kiss on the cheek with one of her own and they swapped sides in a surprisingly synchronised manoeuvre. That completed, Bathilda held out a plate of frosted cakes topped with sanguine-coloured fruit slices.

“I brought cauldron cakes with plagentines I picked just last night,” she said as she handed Wilhelmina the platter and slipped out of her cloak without assistance. “They tend to go down a bit loud, as you might recall, but they’re quite a treat in taste and organising thoughts. If I do say so myself.”

“As you should,” Wilhelmina granted with a broad grin. She took a few steps back to place the platter down on the table next to Minerva’s tin. “Best cauldron cakes in the Isles.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far,” Bathilda protested, but her smile was pleased. “It’s always nice to have an excuse to get away from my desk; I’m beginning to get a hunch.”

“Nonsense.” Wilhelmina grasped Bathilda’s cold hands—dry and venous but beautiful and powerful for the words they had produced—and attempted to warm them in her own. “Always love to have our claim to fame in attendance.”

Wilhelmina could feel Bathilda use her thumbs to flick her fingers into Wilhelmina’s palms from within the grasp and laughed at what was clearly some good fight and zest in one of the oldest and dearest among them.

“Nonsense to that,” Bathilda countered. “I have no desire to be ‘Bathilda Bagshot the Historian’ here, when I could be ‘Bathilda the Batty’ who tricked Mabel Prewett into wearing shoes charmed to tap-dance during the winter ball.”

Wilhelmina’s eyes widened as she bit back a chortle. “You got Muriel’s mother into tapping shoes for a ball?”

“I haven’t told you that story?” Bathilda asked as she removed her hands from Wilhelmina’s and reversed the grip to pull the younger woman away. “Well, let me tell you the story. It’s ancient history now, which puts it right in my domain.”



Aradia had no idea what to bring when three guests arrived at once. In the end she brought one of Wilhelmina’s hats, which Rolanda Hooch promptly placed on her head to the great amusement of her partners in arrival, Irma Pince and Amelia Bones. The cat chirped along with the general sounds of pleasure, fluffed tail wagging at so many visitors just for her. Pan and Lima were equally pleased with all the human guests that had come to play with them.

Rolanda kissed Wilhelmina’s lips with a quick peck, fond and friendly, before handing her a wrapped gift that was clearly wine. “Irma told me I couldn’t wrap a square gift with a guide and two assistants, so I had to recover my honour by wrapping something more difficult.”

“She failed,” Irma remarked as she kissed the corner of Wilhelmina’s lips. “Sloppy, P-grade work I could best on a broom.”

Rolanda’s eyebrows shot up as Amelia continued laughing; Wilhelmina hoped her friend would capture enough air. She too took delight in Rolanda and Irma’s competitive streak.

“Is that so?”

“Blind-folded, in fact—”

“I brought you this,” Amelia cut in, having recovered from her onslaught of laughter and deciding to push her friends’ flirtatious bickering to the background. “Or, I brought it for Aradia. People are always bringing you gifts for the dogs but never seem quite sure what to bring a canine cat…” She held out a collar that changed colour in beautiful splashes of alternately cold and warm hues; a bell hung from the centre ring.

Wilhelmina took it carefully and wrapped her arms around Amelia, kissing the woman twice on both cheeks followed by one light press of their lips. “Thank you. She’ll love it. I do too.”

Amelia didn’t seem quite sure of what to say as her cheeks warmed with colour. She appeared relieved as Wilhelmina ducked down, not expecting or requiring a response, and fit the collar around Aradia’s neck after the cat gave it a few good sniffs. She moved her head experimentally and chirped happily at the melodious twinkling of the silver bell. She shot off across the room and darted down the corridor, bounding from room to room with her impressive high jumps. Wilhelmina smiled to see it and saw, from the corner of her eye, that Amelia did too.

The bell and bounding cat seemed to draw Irma out of her conversation and back to her setting. She removed a large, thin black book from her bag and handed it over with a jet-black quill and ink jar which Wilhelmina knew to be filled with ink, coming as it was from Irma.

“It’s a guest book. I read about one in old gatherings and thought it was a fine idea. It floats around during the party and people can write what they wish in it, to be revisited throughout the year and perhaps at next year’s party.” Irma opened the first page to reveal some writing appearing on its own. “I also gave it a little spell to record what we may be too busy to note down, but it’s easily removed with a swipe of the wand if it’s unnecessary.”

Irma drew her wand over the words, Irma and Rolanda bickered over who would best succeed at airborne gift wrapping, possibly with blindfolds. The words disappeared under her wand.

“I haven’t quite worked out the kinks on censorship for the details one might consider relevant, so we may need to keep an eye out for anything too…invasive.”

“It’s lovely,” Wilhelmina assured as she took the book from Irma and grinned down at the first page, which now read, Wilhelmina thinks I’m lovely.

Irma had always vouched that many books had more personality than some people. Perhaps she was onto something.

The three witches went off to greet the others while Wilhelmina unwrapped the wine—a little chaotic in the wrapping, she had to admit—and set it on the table.



Filius Flitwick received a sock, which perplexed Wilhelmina as she didn’t recognise it as one of her own. Minerva wasn’t shedding socks now, was she? No, she was more likely to be wearing stockings.

He seemed equally surprised at his cat-given gift and not entirely sure what to do with it, as his hands were full with a choir toad and a pie. Wilhelmina bent down to kiss his cheek and take the pie before her pack could get at it.

The toad got to the sock before Filius managed to, shooting out its tongue to capture it from the cat’s mouth with the sticky liquid at the end of its tongue. The cat was so surprised that her mouth loosened around the article, which flew back with the toad’s tongue towards its mouth. Wilhelmina saw the toad’s eyelids beginning to close—an indication that its eyes were pressing down against its mouth to aid it in swallowing—and snatched up the sock before it could become toad food.

Filius used his free hand to pluck the sock from Wilhelmina’s grasp. He inspected it carefully. At last he concluded, “Pomona is here.”

“You can distinguish Pomona by her socks?” Wilhelmina thought it was about time that she stop being shocked by her circle of friends, but somehow it didn’t seem feasible in moments like these.

“You spend as much time around Pomona as I do, you get to know her feet in all their states,” he replied, with an odd mixture of admiration and aversion, all very softly-stated in his voice. “At least I know this sock has seen worse than a toad’s tongue.” He smiled up at Wilhelmina; she read the relief and amusement there. “I’ll go return it to her.”

Wilhelmina nodded and chuckled to herself at the cast of characters she was hosting all beneath one roof. It seemed an impossibility, somehow, and yet she had the pleasure of similar attendance each year.



The other arrivals were no less special or valued to Wilhelmina, although they did not occur as memorably. A few more guests after Filius, answering the door became an activity any partygoer took on as the party commenced with its constant, slow drift of an arrival here and a departure there. Wilhelmina was pleased to know that the party had started in earnest.


.:.


Aberforth Dumbledore snuck in as the sun was beginning to set. He brought with him some of his best drinks in dusty bottles—though dust did not indicate quality, with his drinks—and arranged them on the table. Wilhelmina watched him without approaching. He had begun the little Christmas Eve ritual a decade or so back, after she had spent a few evenings drinking with him during the time she was checking up on his goats. He never made any comment on it, but had started stopping by for a few minutes each year to drop off his drinks.

Every Christmas Day, Wilhelmina packed up the bottles—it was rare that one was ever finished off—and headed up to Hogsmeade, where she brought them back to him in person and never made mention of how she had attained them. There they would drink and chat a while, slow and without a surplus of words, until Wilhelmina would head home again. She had an inkling that he was lonely, with his dead family and the sore relationship with his brother; she was sure he appreciated a Christmas regular who came just for him. At least Albus had the staff and students who remained at Hogwarts.

Some years he approached for a few words—never about the drinks—before he left again. This year, after the drinks were placed, he paused with his hand in mid-air as if contemplating his next move, whether to speak or not. He saw Pomona stand in the corner of the room; it appeared to make his decision for him. He walked back out the door without making contact.

Wilhelmina wasn’t hurt or bothered, nor did she think he was, really; surely he knew they would have their time on the morrow. She had met a good number of animals like him, skittish and ready to lash out due to whatever past had led them there. They just took patience and finesse.

She turned to see Pomona standing on a foot stool.

Pomona’s wand was before her face as she prepared to speak into it, with some mild version of the Sonorus spell, surely. She was grinning. “I just wanted to dedicate a song to all of you gathered here.”

“Who gave that woman a wand?!” one voice near the kitchen called. It may have been Muriel.

“Damn Ollivander!” another voice returned. It sounded like Irma.

Pomona laughed and ignored them. She started in on her song, which turned out to be not all bad, compared to what one might have expected based on the teasing. Her voice was rich and low with sparing use of vibrato; it was heightened by her open, smiling mouth and relaxed performance. Wilhelmina was sure the woman would ham it up. There was a reason Kettleburn was always after her for participation in plays he was sure he would produce.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year. With the kids jingle-belling and everyone telling you ‘be of good cheer!’ It’s the most wonderful time of the year. It’s the hap-happiest season of all. With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings—” here Pomona dipped her rainbow hat and winked, gesturing it around the room at all of them as she sang the next lines “—when friends come to call! It’s the hap-happiest season of all!”

Filius joined her then, with a high voice and a healthy vibration used less sparingly than Pomona’s; the toad croaked low at the end of each line.

“There’ll be parties for hosting—” Pomona replaced her hat and pointed her wand at Wilhelmina; confetti snowed down around her and drew a laugh. “—marshmallows for toasting—” The wand turned to the fireplace, where Irma was holding her own wand as she watched. A marshmallow appeared at the tip, to Irma’s shock. She threw it at Pomona; Wilhelmina Vanished it before an animal could snatch it. “—and carolling out…of the snow!” Pomona fixed the line, for she and Filius were well beyond the reach of snow as they sang together. She held up her hands and made a face. “There’ll be scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago!” She winked down at Bathilda there, who chuckled gleefully.

A good number of other voices joined in for the next verse. “It’s the most wonderful time of the year. There’ll be much mistletoeing—” Pomona circled her wand over her head and sprigs of mistletoe popped into existence above the groups gathered in the room. Voices were muffled as the singers partook in holiday tradition. “—and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near. It’s the most wonderful time of the year!

“There’ll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting—” This time Pomona Summoned sticks that floated above the fire, tips skewered with marshmallows resting above the flames. “—and carolling out of the snow. There’ll be scary ghost stories—boo!—and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago! It’s the most wonderful time of the year. There’ll be much mistletoeing and hearts will be glowing when loved ones are near…It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

It was clear to Wilhelmina that Pomona was making quite the effort to keep from laughing as they all finished the last few repeated lines of the song. When at last they finished, Pomona stepped off the stool to a round of applause.

“All of you, take a bow!” she shouted over the sound, rather than taking a bow of her own. Wilhelmina could see the woman was still wielding her wand. As soon as the words were out, the floating mistletoe was replaced with bows, which fell down upon the guests’ heads. Wilhelmina laughed as one dropped down upon her own. She tucked it into her hair, just for her own entertainment.

Pomona was nibbling on one of the golden marshmallows when Filius stood to replicate the stool a few times and stick-charm them all together. Hagrid lifted the man up and kept the tower of stools steady. Filius flicked his wand and levitated that very same wand before him, a rather impressive display of combined wanded and wandless magic.

“I will follow the lovely and enthusiastic Pomona with a calm rendition of a quintessential song of the season: The Christmas Song, also referred to as Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire.” Here Filius gestured to the new batch of roasting chestnuts. He gave the toad a stroke and then began, much less theatrically than Pomona but with more evident training. His position as the choir teacher and conductor at Hogwarts held him to that much.

Wilhelmina was distracted by a quiet knock on the door. She left her place by the table and hurried to find Rosmerta—who was never fond of her surname—out in the snow, smiling. She carried with her a box of supplies.

“Left the Inn to my sister for a time,” she said as Wilhelmina let her in. They met in a brief kiss beneath the mistletoe, each at the corner of the other’s lips; Rosmerta had to stand on the balls of her feet to do so, despite Wilhelmina being of average height. The woman had decided it was not the day for her sparkling heels.

“One day you’ll have to leave it to someone other than your sister and bring her along,” Wilhelmina remarked as she walked with the newest arrival to the kitchen. She knew better than to take the box from Rosmerta, who always wished to do all she could and then some on her own; Wilhelmina preferred to step in at the ‘then some’ tasks, but carrying a box was nowhere near that line.

“Hogsmeade isn’t ready for that yet,” Rosmerta responded, flashing a smile over her shoulder. Wilhelmina couldn’t understand how the woman didn’t appear to age in her face; she looked as young as ever. “I’m a spot too selfish, too. Thoughts of this get me through the rowdier and less pleasant busy moments of the season. Besides, Belisama needs some good hard work from time to time.”

Wilhelmina could hear Filius singing his song as she watched Rosmerta set up the ingredients for the posset she made each year during the party, whenever she made it over. She handed one warming pot to Wilhelmina.

“Brandy eggnog,” she explained as she returned to the hob, where she poured milk into a large pot.

Wilhelmina grinned as she carried the warming pot to her drinks table. Rosmerta’s brandy eggnog was always a hit, just like her posset. The woman seemed to enjoy her sweet and creamy drinks.

Filius had finished his song; applause followed. He had convinced Bathilda and Horace to join him, somehow—the latter probably through the fame of the prior. Filius was in the process of convincing Amelia to join in the song.

“What would we sing?” she asked him, still firmly seated beside Rolanda.

Filius glanced up and caught Wilhelmina’s eye. “What do you think, Willa?”

Wilhelmina considered this. She glanced to the unlit star above her tree and it sparked a song in her mind. “Have Yourself a Very Merry Christmas. To light the Christmas tree star.”

“I think I can handle that,” Amelia admitted with a little smile. “It’s for a good cause.” She stood and took her place on the other side of Bathilda.

“Let’s go twice through,” Filius instructed. “With a little harmonising, if we can.” He waved his wand as if conducting, despite that he was in the line of singers himself.

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight. Have yourself a merry little Christmas; make the Yule-tide gay—” Wilhemina thought she heard Pomona’s voice join in there “—From now on our troubles will be miles away.”

Here Bathilda’s voice journeyed up to a reedy soprano with Filius’ rich tone to back her; Horace remained low and Amelia bridged the two in the middle. It warmed Wilhelmina’s heart to hear them sing together, with many of the crowd joining in softly. “Here we are as in olden days, happy golden days of yore. Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more.”

Wilhelmina removed her wand from her hip as they approached the final verse for the first time. “Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough—” Wilhelmina lit her wand and directed it toward the tree, right up to the top where the star hugged the highest branch. She shot off the light and saw it followed by the lights from many other wands throughout the room. The sight of the star shining so brightly with the light of all those she had invited sent a shiver over her skin and caused her throat to tighten, enough that she could only whisper the final line. “—and have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

She was able to join in again for the second round of the song. She even heard Rosmerta singing from the kitchen. During the final lines, the starlight above the tree shone brighter and lit the room, overwhelming even the firelight before it died down to a steady glow. It made Wilhelmina smile, an expression that remained even after the last note of the song finally faded from the voices of its singers. She started the applause and knew, this time, that it was for all of them. The last decade had not been kind, but the Fates had brought them all back together again for another year. They could only hope it continued and sit in gratitude that they had it to celebrate now.

When the cheerful chatter rose again, Wilhelmina ducked out the front door to sneak around back and prepare for their next activity.

The snow felt light and festive against Wilhelmina’s face. She laughed as one snowflake melted on the tip of her nose; she caught the next on her tongue, which peeked out just enough to capture it before returning to the warmth of her mouth. She walked up to her own back door and knocked.

Rolanda opened the door with a lop-sided grin. “What a happy surprise to see you here!”

Rosmerta appeared right behind the woman looking eager and all the younger with her youthful anticipation. “Is it time?”

“It is,” Wilhelmina confirmed. “Don ye now your warm apparel.” She heard Pomona add the ‘fa la la’ as the woman headed off to fetch her cloak.



Ten minutes later, everyone was warm and toasty in their outwear and following Wilhelmina toward the barn behind her house. Along the way, they passed a pen containing reindeer munching away at grass Wilhelmina had left for them, or on their own cud. The doe nearest them gave one of her softer bellows.

“Why are they all male?” Horace asked as he stared at them, apparently wary of their antlers.

“They’re not,” Wilhelmina replied. “They’re actually all female. Does have antlers, too. They tend to form herds while the bucks tend to join up only for rutting.”

“How tasteful,” Horace responded with a slight twitch to his nose. He was not the sort of man to seek out females only for certain acts and fight off all equally interested males. No, Wilhelmina knew he preferred to have a little harem of fame; he didn’t limit his collection to one sex, either.

“Why have you put them in a pen?” Poppy inquired. She knew Wilhelmina wasn’t often the sort to put animals in cages when it wasn’t required.

“Apparently if I don’t, they trample Augusta,” Wilhelmina answered with a grin over at Augusta, who shot her a scandalised look. Wilhelmina laughed. “But I didn’t, really. That pen stays up year-round and I threw some grass in it. They flew right in and can fly right out, when they want. Bit like trying to keep a human in a room with a broom and four unlocked doors.”

Wilhelmina was amused to find that none of her guests inquired after the red-nosed doe on the far side of the pen. Then, they had probably all heard her talk on the Rangifer tarandus magicanus ‘rudolphus’ variety of reindeer, known for their red nose and its ability to glow during travel.

When they reached the barn, Wilhelmina headed straight for a large parchment that was tacked to an interior wall. It was covered with schedules, equipment lists, animal names, tasks and other miscellaneous scribbles until she stood directly beneath it and whispered, “Of gentle heart and gentle hand, I will not harm where e’re you stand.”

The words faded away from the parchment. It remained blank for a number of seconds until even lines began to appear in the shape of the forest and area surrounding, and inclusive of, Wilhelmina’s home. Seconds later white dots and a few silver or gold slowly developed on the parchment, moving or remaining stationary within the lines of the forest. Wilhelmina nodded and whispered, “Horn and blood were safe with me; I stole no treasured parts of thee. White as snow to match the moon, hide yourselves and return soon.”

The regular barn writings returned to the parchment. Wilhelmina pulled a horn from her bag—gifted freely to her by a dear, dying unicorn she had cared for—and walked outside into the snow. She brought the horn to her lips and played it like a flute where the holes had been carefully cut. The tune was high and hauntingly beautiful in the quiet winter air, trilling quickly between pitches with the quick motions of Wilhelmina’s fingers.

She smiled as she removed it from her lips. “They should be here in a moment. Men, remember to take care in making slow motions and keeping your voice gentle and steady. This herd has been socialised with men before but their innate feeling is still to flee if spooked, and men can spook them more easily.”

Hagrid, Horace and Filius nodded. Wilhelmina was least concerned about Filius; the unicorns had always taken a liking to him. It had only increased her fondness for him.



Jazzabell was the first to approach, as she always was; she and Wilhelmina had a particularly strong bond and spent much of their time together. Wilhelmina would never call Jazzabell ‘her unicorn’ unless she was equally ‘Jazzabell’s human’, but she would certainly consider the two of them friends.

When Jazzabell approached with no hesitation, the others followed quickly after. There were eight white mares, two white stallions, three young unicorns in some state of silver with one just growing its horn, and two unicorn foals of pure gold. She recognised them all as they were most often the ones that came to her call; there were others deeper in the forest that she seldom saw, unless they required attention.

Jazzabell nudged Wilhelmina in the shoulder with a soft muzzle; the creature was careful with the horn that protruded from her forehead.

“Hello, Jazzabell,” Wilhelmina greeted with a smile and a gentle but strong voice. “Would you like bells on?” She received a second nudge and replaced her horn with her wand, which she used to spell little silver bells into Jazzabell’s mane. The unicorn pranced around in a circle and seemed pleased with the jingling of the bells.

Wilhelmina felt another nudged to the back of her shoulder and repeated the gesture on the others, save one mare who seemed disinterested. One stallion appeared especially pleased as he went off to trot in circles and throw his head around, blowing puffs of breath with his ears forward and tail arched high. He looked eager; Wilhelmina thought he might do well as one of the drivers for Hagrid’s sleigh. She took great care in adding bells to the foals, a colt and a filly, who seemed very excited to get their bells on and prance around, too.

Wilhelmina Accio’d the sleighs one at a time. Each was wooden and white, with the words to Sleigh Ride floating in gold font and singing around each sleigh. She used minimalistic tack with the unicorns—two for each sleigh, save Hagrid’s which took four—as she would be with Jazzabell in the front, who took voice commands well and whom all the others would follow. Jasmine, the Rudolphus reindeer, was added to the front of the first sleigh; the others received black-nosed does who were equally lovely.

Out of the corner of her eye, Wilhelmina saw Pomona touch her wand to the word decorations surrounding her sleigh. The words changed to those of Jingle Bells, the full version, and Wilhelmina heard it jump in the singing to, “Now the ground is white, go it while you’re young, take the girls tonight and sing this sleighing song.” Wilhelmina laughed and shook her head as she helped Filius into the first sleigh and boarded up, Minerva and Irma behind her.

“I think it’s much more pleasant than a thestral carriage,” Irma commented as she settled herself next to Minerva, who spread a tartan blanket over both of them and nodded her head.

“It was unnerving to be driven by the invisible and more unnerving yet to finally see them. Unicorns are much more pleasant on the eyes.”

Wilhelmina clicked her tongue twice, loud and clear through her open lips, and Jazzabell started forward through the field of snow. Wilhelmina turned behind her to the second compartment of the sleigh. “Don’t be too hard on thestrals, now. They have a hard life. Unicorns don’t mind them, either; sometimes they interbreed.”

Minerva’s eyes widened. “Would one see half a white skeletal horse, then? Ghastly.”

Wilhelmina couldn’t help but laugh as she shook her head. She knew well enough that Minerva cared about all creatures large and small in her heart, so it didn’t particularly bother Wilhelmina if her words didn’t always convey it.

“I read about those once,” Irma stated. “They’re apparently sought after, having both the wings of a thestral and the horn, hair and half-potency blood of a unicorn. Unfortunately they’ve combined the thestral’s trait of invisibility with the unicorn’s skittishness and can only be seen when they wish. Good for them, I suppose, if half those who might wish to see them would also wish to see them dead for goods.”

Wilhelmina was pleased that Irma had clearly read the book she’d lent on hybrid hardiness and magical creatures. Regardless, she dropped her attention to their conversation and offered it to the scene around them; she knew Minerva and Irma would quiet to the surroundings soon after.

The falling snow created a quiet white noise that Wilhelmina couldn’t have described properly if she tried, for it was lighter than the pitter-patter of rain but louder than the hushed sound of the very small snowflakes that hardly seemed to touch a surface before melting. Wilhelmina’s ears were always searching for it in the background, even with the pleasant pealing of the unicorns’ bells and the movements of the animals and sleighs through the snow.

The snow was untouched throughout most of the field. It glittered in the light of the rising moon as if dusted by specks of diamond. Wilhelmina smiled to hear it and, behind her, heard Minerva and Irma’s silence, though others in the train of sleighs still spoke.

The human sounds quieted as they entered the wood path, which Wilhelmina and Pomona had worked on for a few hours each day during the days preceding the party. It was evident in the steady, smooth ride through the trees and in the snowflowers planted alongside the track, just far enough into the edge of the wood as to not be disturbed by traversing animals and sleighs. Other snowflowers speckled the woods behind the path, growing even in their shady spots. The flowers glowed with their own light.

The current of air stirred up by the movement of the travellers set the bellflowers to chiming as well, planted as they were between the snowflowers.

Jasmine’s red nose cast a glow upon the near surroundings as well; the light led the party on through the forest path. Winter night birds sang love songs to each other from the high boughs of the trees. The bushes and ground of the forest were less snowy than the field beyond the forest, with the thick evergreens to catch at most falling snow. In some places, where the deciduous trees stood tall in their seasonal rest with empty crowns dipped to the evergreens’ reign, snow fluttered around the branches and down to the trunks, where it settled upon the plants and earth beneath. Small lights moved through the trees and plants, darting or dallying, and Wilhelmina might have guessed they were the elusive snowfairies, if pressed to make a conclusion. They were beautiful, whatever they were.

Wilhelmina admired the contrast of the dark forest with the glow of the snowflowers and Jasmine’s leading light, all with the backdrop of chiming bellflowers and the song of silver bells and soft seasonal tunes. She turned to watch Filius, whose eyes were closed as he listened to the music all around them.

Over her shoulder, she saw that Minerva and Irma were rosy as they sat close together beneath Minerva’s blanket, two of their mittened hands clasped together while they watched their surroundings. Wilhelmina smiled to see the breath leaving their lips and entering the chilled winter air.

They were rounding back toward the house, now, which meant they were approaching the halfway point; time always trotted by during the sleigh ride. Wilhelmina had never considered herself much of a singer—her dog Pan matched pitch better than she did—but she was inspired with an idea that she had faith Filius would follow immediately.

“Just hear those sleigh bells jingle-ing, ring ting tingle-ing too. Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you,” she sang, breathy and inconsistent but recognisable.

Filius, bless his musical heart, did catch on immediately. “Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling ‘yoohoo!’ Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you.”

Minerva and Irma joined in now with voices considerably better than Wilhelmina’s but not quite at the calibre of Filius’. Wilhelmina always thought Minerva’s slight Scottish brogue transferred well to song. “Giddy-up giddy-up giddy-up, let’s go. Let’s look at the snow. We’re riding in a wonderland of snow.”

Wilhelmina could hear the other sleighs taking up the song now, quiet and controlled with the calm of the forest but audible to all in the train of sleighs. She could hear Hagrid singing from the back, too. She quietened her own voice as there was less need for it now. Instead, she smiled to hear Minerva and Irma singing the next line over their linked and mittened hands.

“Giddy-up giddy-up giddy-up, it’s grand, just holding your hand. We’re gliding along with the song of a wintery fairie land. Our cheeks are nice and rosy and comfy cosy are we; we’re snuggled up together like two birds of a feather would be.”

Filius jostled around in his seat with excitement as he turned to watch the train of sleighs and listen to their song as he sang. “Let’s take the road before us and sing a chorus or two. Come on, it’s lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you!”

Wilhelmina heard Irma correct the next lines of the song and couldn’t sing for her laughter. “There’s a Christmas party at the home of Grubbly-Plank; it’ll be the perfect ending of a perfect day. We’ll be singing the songs we love to sing without a single stop at the fireplace while we watch the chestnuts pop—pop, pop again!”

Minerva amended the next lines back to magical Britain, rather than the Muggle American version that had become more popular. “There’s a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy when they pass around the posset and the pumpkin pie. It’ll nearly be like a picture print by Salimar and Chives. These wonderful things are the things we remember all through our lives.”

Filius led them through some of the verses again and the group quieted as they saw the end of the forest path approaching. The unicorn sleigh ride through the snow was coming to an end for another year. Wilhelmina was sad to see it end again and pleased they had all experienced it again, but chiefly she could feel the excitement sparking through her limbs as she pictured her next activity, which had long been one of her favourites.

.:.


It didn’t take long for Wilhelmina to disconnect the unicorns from the sleighs. She didn’t need to touch the foals, who had trotted along on their own. Wilhelmina left the sleighs as they were for the moment, in a line near the barn, and Summoned the riding equipment she would use, including helmets for herself and her fellow riders—one was better safe than sorry. Rosmerta seemed to ghost her every action.

“You don’t have to wait for Christmas Eve, you know,” Wilhelmina remarked as she started tacking a few of the unicorns up with gentle bitless bridles and wide-girdled, suede-topped bareback pads for traction. Jazzabell had put herself first in line, snorting her breath out in excitement for what was to come. “I ride many other days of the year.”

“I know, I know,” Rosmerta replied with a smile. She offered her hand to a second mare, one Wilhelmina called Mathena, and stroked the soft muzzle that was pressed into her palm. “I promise I’ll come along another time this year. There’s just something about doing it on Christmas Eve with all of you.”

“You can say that again,” Rolanda affirmed as she followed Wilhelmina’s movements in tacking up another mare; stallions were more difficult to handle. “It’s seldom I pick the ground over the sky, but I’ll always part with my broom long enough for a unicorn ride on Christmas Eve with the unicorn whisperer here.”

Wilhelmina felt herself blushing as she walked over to help Pomona tighten up her girdle. “Missing out, the lot of you. Come ride in the spring when the trees are waking up, or in the summer when everything’s green, or in the autumn when it snows leaves.”

“How could we turn that down?” Pomona teased with a bright smile. She stroked the mare’s back and offered a few gentle words to it as Wilhelmina grinned and knit her fingers together to offer her hands as a step up. Pomona stepped into the grip and pulled herself up over the mare’s back with Wilhelmina’s help.

She turned to see Rolanda seemingly fly onto a tacked mare’s back. Wilhelmina swore the woman had never had a bad day with gravity in her life; sometimes she seemed weightless—hollow-boned and light as a bird. Wilhelmina walked over to Rosmerta, who was waiting for a leg up.

Once Rosmerta was sitting comfortably astride Thena’s back, Wilhelmina headed toward Jazzabell and Summoned a stepping stool. In her sprightlier days of youth, she had been able to mount a horse bareback from front, side or back without trouble. Her years had drawn her closer to earth and given her the sense to use assistance.

But when she moved to use the stool, Jazzabell ducked down in a move that was clearly an invitation. Wilhelmina felt warm all over with humbled gratitude. She was gentle in bringing herself up over Jazzabell’s back and spread the weight evenly to make it easier as the unicorn stood. When she was upright, she pranced around in a circle and snorted, clearly ready for the ride.

“They’ve got the warm up from the sleigh ride already,” Wilhelmina said once she had ridden up close enough to the others. “But we’re not warmed up, so let’s walk and trot a while first. If you can remember how to sit a trot, galloping won’t be a problem—it’s easier.”

Rolanda, Pomona, and Rosmerta nodded. If they had been unicorns, they might also have been snorting from the nostrils with how excited they were to move. Wilhelmina smiled and directed Jazzabell into a walk ahead of them, admiring the feel of Jazzabell’s strong muscles beneath her and the sound of silver bells and horse breath.

They walked a few moments in the long field beside Wilhelmina’s cottage. Wilhelmina urged them into a trot after that, until she could tell that Pomona and Rosmerta were steady and balanced.

“And off we go!” she called back to them as she squeezed her legs lightly for grip, grasped the hair above Jazzabell’s withers, and clucked twice for a gallop. Jazzabell took off as if she had been waiting for the request all evening. The transition was a little uncomfortable—it always was—but Wilhelmina successfully stuck the pace change and soon felt as if she were flying through the field of snow.

She turned to gaze over the field as she directed Jazzabell into a wide u-turn back toward the cottage. Movement caught her eye. Yes, Wilhemina swore she saw her pack of two playful pups and one overgrown kitten gallivanting down the field away from her cottage. If her eyes didn’t deceive her—and she very much doubted they did—there was a grey tabby cat running and pouncing along with them.

Wilhelmina smiled and pulled close to Jazzabell, who was running full-tilt as she followed the gentle curve that Wilhelmina was instructing. It was an honour to feel the unicorn’s powerful muscles working to their fullest and to ride the wind above her.

Pomona was calling out behind her; Rolanda joined in with a high warbling sound of elation. Rosmerta rode silently as she did each year. Wilhelmina knew that if she saw the woman’s face, the euphoria would be evident.

They finally rounded their wide field turn and raced back toward the cottage, eventually passing near the pack of spirited animals at a safe distance. The two dogs and two cats followed after them, running with all they had to follow the herd back to the barn.

When they got close enough, Wilhelmina slowed them all to a trot and had them trot around the reindeer pen twice, then walk around it another two times. The smaller animals caught up after the rounds of trotting and recommenced pouncing around in the snow.

Rolanda, Pomona, and Rosmerta dismounted looking windswept, hat-haired and happier than a boggart in a bureau. Wilhelmina slipped from Jazzabell and kissed her massive cheek as she blew out her breath, ears forward and demeanour happily relaxed.

Wilhelmina could hear her friends raving about the ride as they all removed the tack, which Wilhelmina collected and sent to her cleaning room, where she would clean them up the next day. She took care in towelling down the mares, who were chomping at snow for the water. They knew there was water available for them within the barn, which made Wilhelmina all the more amused to see them choosing snow instead.

She gave Jazzabell one last hug around the neck, the side of her face pressed up against the mare’s strong muscles, before pointing to the forest with an inquisitive face. Jazzabell touched her horn to the top of Wilhelmina’s head and trotted off, the other unicorns not far behind.

She was then struck in the back with something big, wet, and hard. Wilhelmina knew exactly what it was even before she heard Irma’s clear shout.

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!”

The red team—those whose names had appeared in red on the Naughty or Nice list—must have been lying in wait for when the unicorn riders were finished. Wilhelmina laughed and ducked behind the wall of the barn. This year’s fight was commenced with cheating, then. She couldn’t expect anything else from a team lead by a Slytherin. Thankfully, it didn’t mean they would win.

It also hardly matter that the match had started with cheating right off the drop; eventually it always ended up there, as some of the teachers—Minerva primarily—would have been aghast to have the students find out. Possibly that they, as grown adults, had snowball fights at all.

Wilhelmina was clear in two rules. The first was that Irma and Rolanda had to be on separate teams; their competitive streak tended to rile up even the most surprising of people. They also made excellent team leaders and neither was a sore loser or lousy winner. The second was a general ‘no magic’ rule that, unlike the first rule, was broken every year by the end.

Minerva hurried past her, already breathing hard; Wilhelmina smiled at the little secret. Minerva had to duck one snowball and jump another as she made her way to the house.

“Where are you going?” Wilhelmina heard Irma demand.

“Inside. I didn’t check my team—”

“Red,” Irma emphasised as she tugged Minerva down behind a barrier of snow she had crafted. “Throw and duck, Minerva, throw and duck!” Wilhelmina was already laughing at the interaction but lost herself when Irma asked hotly, “Where were you? You missed our secret strategising in the kitchen. We’ll have the ice trophy off Rolanda this year!”

“I think you mean ‘the green team’, Irma,” Minerva corrected; Wilhelmina had to strain to hear it over her own laughter and the sounds of the ambush. “It’s made of more than just Rolanda, you know.”

“Details,” Irma dismissed with a grunt that indicated great effort.

Wilhelmina heard a snowball collide with the outer wall of the barn and realised it was about time she get her head in the game. Irma was after Rolanda’s trophy, they already had a strategy and her green team was the underdog already. Wilhelmina ducked around the barn wall to spot Rolanda behind one of the sleighs with one mark hanging just over her head.

Wilhelmina groaned. Rolanda had been hit once within the first minute of the game, which meant she had two more to go. The woman always fought like a feral cat when she’d been hit within the first five minutes. Surely Irma knew that? Then, perhaps that was part of the plan…

It was no use trying to sort out the scheming of a Slytherin or the retaliation of a Ravenclaw, so Wilhelmina gave it up and ran as fast as she could to the sleigh beside Rolanda’s. Two snowballs flew past her head. It was going to be a long game.



Wilhelmina survived the game. She had one hit left on her when Rolanda made the final throw of the game, which managed to hit Irma’s weak defensive spell—once again, magic had found its way into the game—and crack into two separate balls that whizzed through the shield to hit both Irma and Poppy, who were the last two standing from the red team. Wilhelmina guessed that there was a touch of magic to Rolanda’s throw and snowball, too, but made no comment as she gripped Rolanda’s gloved hand in a prolonged high-five.

“Two years running,” Rolanda said through a wicked grin.

“Which means Irma’s going to plan a strategy the whole year round.” Wilhelmina laughed as she pulled herself up and walked with Rolanda out into plain sight. Irma was walking to meet them. The game was proof enough that the bookish types were not necessarily inadequate athletes, despite the loss.

“Good game,” she praised as she arrived, hand outstretched. “We thought we had you. Looks as though the trophy’s yours again and I’ll just have to best you next year.”

“You’ll just have to try,” Rolanda agreed with a smile as she took the hand and shook. “It’s nice to know the cheats didn’t win.”

Irma barked out her laughter as she headed with them toward the door. “Ha! They did! I saw that last throw, there. Very clever use of refractive properties there, Rolanda, but cheating all the same.”

“Aye, fair’s fair,” Rolanda remarked. She slung an arm over Irma as they headed inside to get out of their snow-wear and warm up by the fire.

Inside, the group settled in for more posset and eggnog. Wilhelmina lit brandy atop the Christmas pudding and served the warm slices with custard drizzled over the top. The valiant snow warriors all popped open Christmas crackers then to marvel at the little toys that danced around the room, made music or performed some other endearing trick. Soon they were seated in their coloured crowns, laughing and munching on desserts.

When nearly all were finished eating in a formalised way—there would always be nibbling—Pomona stood and gathered a pouch from her bag. She withdrew a peppermint and offered it to Minerva with a smile.

Minerva, who had always been fond of mints, thanked her friend and popped it into her mouth. She promptly began to sing a holiday song—something that sounded like Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, at least until Minerva’s eyes widened and she clamped her mouth shut. It only muffled the sound, which seemed to escape through her nose and ears. She glared up at Pomona but dared not say anything or the song would emerge at full blast again.

The other partygoers, Wilhelmina included, laughed and laughed. Bathilda raised her hand into the air. “Pomona, me next, me next!”

The peppermints went around the room after that, with most guests taking a turn with the song sweets. Even Wilhelmina braved one; she was embarrassed when Silent Night started up in her voice, for she knew the song was not within her vocal range. No one seemed to mind. She was grateful that Pan started howling along with her, for he managed to match the pitch the others were singing around her and mask her voice some.

Wilhelmina saw Pomona spill red wine on her shirt as she leaned over to return the leftover peppermints to her bag. When she stood, she had her wand in hand and was wielding it at the stain. Wilhelmina heard her start to say Evanesco, which should have been evidence enough that she should not be using her wand as at any other time the woman would have chosen Scourgify or Tergeo. Things only got worse when Aradia stepped up behind Pomona as the woman was taking a step back to steady herself.

Less than a second later, Pomona was falling backwards over the cat as her Vanishing spell flew straight across the room. It hit Sybill, who was biting her lip, straight in the face. She covered her mouth with her hands as soon as the spell had hit.

Wilhelmina rushed over; Poppy was close at hand. “You alright?”

At the same time, Poppy asked, “Sybill, are you hurt?”

Sybill’s eyes were wider than ever as she pulled her hands away from her face and bared her lips back. There, where once her frontal incisors had been, was empty space. “My teeth,” was all she managed, the sound very airy and almost pluralised.

“Let me see,” Poppy said with surprising tenderness as she held Sybill’s jaw in one hand and leaned in to peek, wand lit at the opening of the woman’s mouth. “It looks fine—they were Vanished root and all, so nothing too dangerous. Just be careful with eating and use a straw for now. We can’t do much until tomorrow, when Pomona can Summon them back; no one else would be able to Summon your exact teeth back and Pomona couldn’t handle the task in her present state.”

Pomona was just recovering from her fall and regaining her feet again. She gazed across the room to Sybill and her face fell. “Sybill, I’m sorry! That was stupid of me.”

“I Thaw it would come with my Inner Eye. I should have theen it thooner and thtopped it,” Sybill responded.

“I think we all know what to get Sybill for Christmas now,” Poppy declared as she removed her hands from Sybill’s face. “We’ll leave it to Pomona.”

Pomona approached looking very sorry indeed. “I could take a Sobering potion and Summon them, Sybill.”

Sybill gazed at her lips with every successful ‘s’ sound they made, then sighed. “Don’t bother. I Thee grave danger for you if you Thober uthing a potion. Thave yourthelf my fate.” She wandered off then, bumping a chair-side table as she went, leaving Pomona to nod solemnly and plant herself down in the chair.

Wilhelmina hurried off to collect her wooden wand box. When she returned, Pomona lifted her wand up before Wilhelmina had even opened the box.

“Confin—confis—confistskate—take it,” Pomona said. She dropped it in the box when Wilhelmina lowered it before her. Wilhelmina made her way around the room and collected the wands of those in attendance.

“You all know the drill.” Wilhelmina pointed to a circular hold in the side of the box. “If you’re sober enough to perform a wandless Accio, your wand will come to you—including if adrenaline sobers you up fast. Your wands are safe here.” She took a look around the room. “Who here has had fewer than three drinks?”

A few hands went up. Wilhelmina nodded. “If you need to get home, ask those with raised hands for a side-Apparition down by the road or have them speak into the Floo for you. I’m disallowing Apparition on my property now, just in case.” She smiled and dropped her serious tone of voice. “Now you can drink and be merry safely! Let’s get Sybill here a straw.”

In the commotion, Wilhelmina managed to lose track of Augusta and Muriel, who had appeared to be in a tiff off in the corner by the tree. The sight and sound of it was not at all unusual to anyone who had witnessed the pair in the same room. In many ways they were similar—especially in their attention to gossip—but it was perhaps that trait itself that set them off in each other’s company. Regardless, they had disappeared somewhere; Wilhelmina guessed it was somewhere nearby, within or just outside the cottage. She was sure they would emerge again later.

There was certainly enough excitement to keep all entertained even without two star ladies of the spotlight.

.:.


It was nearing midnight when the next set of commotion hit the party. Wilhelmina expected—or at least was not surprised by—a great many incidents at her party. She could not say she had expected Frosty the Snowman to burst through her front door.

He was wearing Pomona’s colourful hat, which Wilhelmina suddenly realised had disappeared well before the snowball fight, and singing Frosty the Snowman. It was clear that this was another of Pomona’s pranks, set up before her wand was rightfully confiscated.

The partiers let him by and he twirled about the room as he sang. It was odd to hear Frosty singing about himself in the third person as he gestured to the parts he was made of—corn cob pipe, a button nose, two eyes made out of coal—but Wilhelmina found herself impressed with his build. Pomona had clearly been practicing her snow people. A few years back, she was capable of mostly snow blobs.

During the last verse, the snowman snatched up one of the brooms by the backdoor and made his way out as he sang, “Catch me if you can!”

Pomona yelled, “Stop!” and hurried after it, for he still possessed her hat. She followed him out the door as he waved goodbye and said, “Don’t you cry, I’ll be back again some day.”

Wilhelmina somehow didn’t doubt it. She also didn’t doubt that the movement she now saw coming from out in the cold into the warmth of her den was a gnome that had snuck in through the open door. Wilhelmina watched it as it waddled over to Pan, the sleeping Samoyed, and tugged its way onto the fluffy dog’s back. Pan woke slowly, assuming it was Lina or the cat; he yelped when he felt the gnome grip at his ear. Aradia was pawing at the little creature with curious swipes, which the gnome imitated as it shrieked.

The shriek set Pan off. He was up with a start and ploughing through the room to a roar of laughter from those gathered within it, who had yet to stop laughing from the appearance of the snowman and Pomona chasing after it. Lina barked and Aradia chirped as they followed after the dog and his hitch-hiker. They followed the pair right back outside and into the snow, where Pan rolled frantically around to free himself from the gnome’s clutches.

When the deed was done, Pan returned to his bed within the den and flopped down with a sigh that seemed to come from his entire body. Wilhelmina didn’t blame him; gnomes were grabby creatures.



Not long after they received another guest. Wilhelmina was puzzled and a touch concerned when she heard the tell-tale crack of Apparation. When she saw that it was an elf, her worry vanished. Elves were always more capable of getting around with Apparation and she could tell by the clothes this one wore—a fine green robe—that he was a friend. He also carried a large pouch at his belt.

The elf padded up to Wilhelmina, who bent down until one knee rested on the floor.

“I bring gifts from the North Claus,” he announced. He pulled a parcel from his pouch, which grew in his hand; he passed it to Wilhelmina.

“Which Claus?” she asked the creature as she took the gift. “And thank you.”

“No thanks for me,” the elf responded evenly. Most elves of the Clauses were educated and spoke well enough, unlike many other magical families’ elves. Perhaps it was the fact that the Clauses elves had been freed centuries back with proper clothes, but found the job so honourable that the following generations of elves continued to work there with benefits. The elf looked Wilhelmina square in the eye as he emphasised his next words. “Your Claus.”

Wilhelmina beamed. “Thank you again—and yes, to you.”

The elf seemed unsure of what to do with the gratitude; he twisted at his robe and attempted a smile, which really only succeeded in being exceedingly toothy. He hurried around the room delivering the gifts to those he saw. Others, for whom he must have known were present but could not see, he left on the tea table in a neat pile.

He stared up at Wilhelmina’s wall. First he gave an elven cackle at the 12-days painting. Then he stared at the list beside it. “Pomona is leading in naughty. Mistress Claus knows.” He turned to Wilhelmina and nodded. “She will be stopping by soon. I, Bartlebus, have more gifts to deliver. Merry Christmas.” With that, he disappeared from the room with another loud crack of Apparition.

Pomona was the first one out the back door to set up watch for Mistress Claus. She hurried out and parked herself right in the snow to watch the sky. Wilhelmina sat herself down next to the woman.

“Sybill’s going to be fine.”

Pomona nodded but didn’t look away. “Stupid of me, but it’ll be mended soon ‘nough. She doesn’t seem t’mind sippin’ her sherry through a straw.”

Wilhelmina chuckled and reached to lean Pomona against her as a steadying measure. “Not at all. Seems to think it heightens her Inner Eye—the straw, that is, not the sherry. Though she might be drunk or daft enough to argue both. She Thees thuch thingth, you know.”

Pomona at last shot her a look of startled amusement. “Willa! You, teasing like that?”

“I invite her in my fight against the world’s loneliness—I always know she’ll come and Severus won’t. She’s a bit of a fixture, isn’t she? A token?” Wilhelmina paused as her gaze followed Pomona’s back to the sky. “Gave up the idea that I needed to like everyone long ago. Doesn’t mean I’m off the hook for fairness, but I think that kind of teasing’s fair.”

“Fair indeed,” Pomona agreed, “an’ downright kind, compared t’what leaves Minerva’s mouth. Never seen a person get under her skin the way Sybill does.”

Wilhelmina chuckled. It was always an odd pleasure to experience one of Minerva’s rants regarding the latest Trelawney incidents.

She continued her conversation with Pomona and enjoyed it for its relaxed humour and unhurried pace. Pomona’s excited gasp alerted her to Mistress Claus’ approach. Indeed, up there in a sky Wilhelmina could see a red glow leading a sleigh. As it grew closer, she could make out the outlines of the Rudolphus at the front, the eight reindeer behind it and the sleigh at the boot.

Wilhelmina smiled to see it. It would always be a sight that brought out the childish glee in her, seeing a Claus fly over a magical area. She nearly held her breath as the sleigh travelled down for a landing on the roof, which would always look impossible—and it would have been, without magic. The roof seemed to elongate to accommodate them all.

A figure hopped out of the sleigh and walked up to the chimney, which was releasing smoke up into the air. The figure didn’t seem to mind, for it jumped up and dove in head first; Pomona was off inside at a brisk jog. Wilhelmina followed after.

She stepped into the room to find the fireplace expanding until Mistress Claus popped out in front of the flames, feet on the ground and stance steady, without any indication of a flame’s touch upon her. She was approaching middle age—somewhere around 60—and wore tailored green robes with white trim and a forest green cloak latched with a brooch at her chest. It had always been her preference to stick with old-time Father Christmas style, remaining with the green rather than switching to the newer red.

Her smile was wide and bright. “I made it at last! And the party is still going. It’s good to see.” Her English was accented but understandable. Her voice was jolly. “Ah, Wilhelmina! Such a pleasure to see you again!”

“The same,” Wilhelmina responded. She felt the smile steadily growing on her face. “Are you staying for a while?”

“Enough for a few dances and some laughs,” Claus replied. “My uncle took London this year so I have a calmer time of it.”

“I’ll fetch the gramophone.” Wilhelmina hurried off and returned a moment later with her large green-horned device. Filius, who had heard the exchange, passed her a record. She quickly pulled it from its sleeve and placed it on the turntable, gently placing the stylus down as Filius wound the gramophone. A light and lively song began to play and, within a few seconds, Mistress Claus was in her arms and they were dancing in the den.

Mistress Claus was passed around from guest to guest like the commodity and pleasant company that she was. Whichever partner she had—including both Hagrid and Filius, despite the difficulties—was soon set to laughing.

She seemed to have waited on Pomona, but after being passed around the room a few rounds she did at last twirl into Pomona’s arms. Wilhelmina was pleased that she was within visual and auditory range; she knew the conversation would be pleasing.

“I’m sure you know the phrase ‘last but not least’, Pomona,” Claus said softly as she linked her arms behind Pomona’s neck.

Pomona smiled. “Somethin’ not too dissimilar from ‘saved the best for last’, in my opinion.”

Claus leaned in and chuckled, low and almost sultry. Her voice was quiet. “I’m not allowed to admit such things directly, but you might not be entirely wrong.”

“Good t’know.”

“I’ve seen you managed to get yourself to the top of the naughty list,” Claus commented with a wry smile.

“Tends t’be the best place t’be. All in good fun, I promise,” Pomona replied.

“I approve. The snowman trick was clever.”

“Thought ya might like seein’ that one, up’n that sleigh o’ yours.” Pomona beamed as she reached into an inner pocket of her robes. “’nd I brought ya another present.” She lifted the gold-tied silver box between them; Claus took it carefully.

She untied and opened it slowly and deliberately, the way children rarely opened the gifts she and her family gave. She opened the lid and gasped. “Snowflower seeds!”

“The variety I’ve been working on. These ones glow gold; thought they’d look nice in your garden up north. I scarified and moistened ‘em so they should be set t’plant t’night when ya get home, in a pot o’ compressed soil in your greenhouse.”

Mistress Claus closed the box and threw her arms around Pomona in earnest this time, drawing the woman close. Wilhelmina’s eyes drifted to the sprig of mistletoe by the door. She concentrated hard on it and called it to her, directing it above the two embracing and dancing women.

“Oh, Pomona! You know, as Santa Clauses we get biscuits, carrots, milk and other odds and ends, but we so seldom get gifts just for us. This is perfect. My mother will be thrilled, too; she loves my growing garden.” Claus pressed her cheek to the top of Pomona’s head and closed her eyes in what must have been appreciation of the moment. When she opened them again, she saw the mistletoe coming to a slow stop above their heads. She asked no questions, just bent to capture Pomona’s lips in all their mischief and sweetness. Her whisper was enchanting as she said, “Come visit me up north some time soon. I won’t make you work in the greenhouse. We can walk the winter wonderland of snow and keep cosy together. Just promise to come visit?”

Pomona’s answer was to kiss her back.

Wilhelmina smiled and looked away, then stood to walk off at a leisurely pace and join Bathilda in a dance around the room.

.:.


Mistress Claus couldn’t stay too long. After she left, the party began to wind down. Some went home, but Wilhelmina’s core group remained. The quiet time of whispers and soft laughter after a party was one of Wilhelmina’s favourite times. The party-goers were resting together or apart, with the general atmosphere of intimacy, after the fun and excitement of the evening’s events.

Wilhelmina saw a grey tabby cat nestled in with Aradia on the perched bed. She didn’t need to check for spectacle markings to know who rested there.

Irma was reading a book by the fire, her face peaceful and her eyebrows beautifully relaxed as she sat on the floor before a chair upon which Poppy sat. She had just finished brushing the snow and debris out of Irma’s hair and had plaited it into one long tail down the woman’s back. Now Poppy massaged her shoulders, careful of the sore spots from the evening’s snowball fight but also in finding the tension and slowly working away at it with her fingertips. Wilhelmina watched them for a moment, admiring the peaceful moment of companionship between the two women.

Behind them, on the sofa against the wall, Horace seemed to be practically interviewing an exhausted Bathilda. Her eyelids were drooping, her head lolled, and she looked faintly senile as she answered him. Hagrid was sitting in his big chair with the two dogs in his lap; he looked content to be in such company, animal and human.

Pomona sat in one of the recliners with a letter set in her lap. She had braved a sobering potion—and suffered the temporary consequences—so she could take her sweet time in sipping wine, slowly, and writing short, personal Christmas cards for all her Hufflepuffs, to be delivered on Christmas Day. She had already Summoned Sybill’s teeth back and the woman had left, exclaiming that she foresaw some terrible and unavoidable attack in her bedchambers that she had to face. Wilhelmina imagined it was the hangover that would be pounding on her head in the morning.

Augusta and Muriel were in the corner gossiping. It seemed fairly amicable, now, as if they had reached some sort of agreement on whatever topic of gossip they were surely discussing. Wilhelmina noticed how close their knees were, and how they occasionally bumped.

Filius sat in his little chair and strummed on a guitar perfectly sized for him. Wilhelmina thought she heard him singing Let It Snow softly, which fit the mood of the room. Thankfully, none of them had to leave if they didn’t wish it; at the moment, none of them did. Wilhelmina was perfectly happy to replace her furniture with extra beds for what remained of the sleeping hours—Minerva would certainly help there. Rolanda and Amelia were seated close to the kitchen; their voices were unobtrusive and low as they caught up on the other’s life.

Wilhelmina passed all of them as she made her way to the back door and ducked out into the chill of the winter air. The snow still glittered like little diamonds under the moon, which shone through a patch of open sky. She could hear the beautiful background noise of the gently falling snow, although now it wasn’t background but foreground against the serene hush of a winter wonderland.

Something deep within her loved the quiet stillness of winter and the after-party calm as much as she loved the brilliant animation of the other seasons and the excited commotion of a party. She appreciated them in very different ways but found the most enjoyment when she could combine them: a sleigh ride through the snow; a unicorn ride through a winter wonderland; a moment of quiet contemplation just outside the remains of another winter party.

The movement of unicorns darting through the trees caught her eyes. She smiled to see their shining coats in the moonlight, out-glowing the snow and the moon while somehow enhancing both to her eyes. She imagined one well-loved old friend whuffling into her hair, warm with the breath of it and content with the nuzzling of a supple muzzle.

The door opened behind Wilhelmina. She heard Filius singing from inside: “The fire is slowly dying and my dear, we’re still goodbye-ing. But as long as you love me so—let it snow; let it snow; let it snow!”

She didn’t need to look to know Rolanda’s presence beside her, wordless and strong. They sat together in the snow, admiring unicorns and the winter and the organisation of their inner thoughts.

At last Wilhelmina’s mind settled down to a slow train of thoughts that landed her, as she least expected, in song. She felt no need to sing it aloud; the thought of her comforted her enough.

Faithful friends who are dear to us gather near to us once more. Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow…

She rested her head on Rolanda’s shoulder and smiled out a sigh. She was grateful the Fates had favoured them all enough that they had managed to gather near once more. It was that, she was sure, that lit and warmed the harshest of winters and provided them room to love the season.

So, Wilhelmina thought as Rolanda lay an arm over her shoulders, let it snow, let it snow…let it snow.