had their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione and Margaret were planning to pay Mr Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin.

Fred and George were somehow still struggling to open her gift, much to Margaret's amusement.

Mundungus turned up in time for pudding and trifle, having managed to "borrow" a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day.

Margaret had a feeling that the owner of the car neither had the knowledge of nor gave the consent for, it being taken. It had a similar Enlarging Spell put upon it as the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia – normally proportioned on the outside, but eleven people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably.

Mrs Weasley hesitated at the point of getting inside, her disapproval of Mundungus battling with her dislike of travelling without magic; finally, the cold outside and her children's pleading triumphed and she settled herself into the backseat between George and Bill with good grace.

"Hey," says Fred, grinning, as Margaret ended up between him and Hermione, who was next to Harry and Ron.

"Hi," she says. "What's up?"

"The roof," he says, making her roll her eyes. "Keep rolling your eyes and they might fall off one day."

"Keep doing that and I might have to shut you up," she tells him, and his eyes widen playfully.

"Hmm... Sounds like a rather difficult task," he says, leaning closer.

"Not that difficult," she mutters as the car rumbled to life, "Not difficult at all."

"Are you sure, Margie? I've been told I'm a charming talker- what's that?"

Margaret had removed her pocket cassette player with the dual earphones from her side bag. She held a pair out to Fred.

"What's this, you ask? It's magic of music, Gred" she informs, putting her own earphone in. "Put these in your ears."

He looked down at them distrustfully and glanced up at her. She urged him on and he raised an eyebrow, finally putting them in. Pressing play, Margaret adjusted the tape for the slight static to clear and I'll Be There For You by The Rembrandts started playing in their ears.

Fred flinched at first but got the hang of it as the song went on, nodding his head along to the beat. He even started mumbling the chorus, and Margaret didn't realize she was staring at him until he looked back at her, an excited expression on his face.

"THIS IS REALLY GOOD!"

The car swerved dangerously and everyone turned to him, startled at his random outburst.

Margaret pulled one earphone from his ear. "You're yelling, Fred," she tells him lowly, amused.

"Blimey," he says, smiling sheepishly at everyone before looking back at her and whispering, "This is really good!"

"I know, right? Wait until you watch Friends," she says, changing the cassette to Pulp's new album Different Class.

"What's that?"

"Friends is a television show. It's quite popular and it's absolutely hilarious; I think you'll really like this character named Joey..." she rants on while adjusting the cassette, before noticing his half-confused and half-amused expression; she gives him a shy smile, "Sorry... I'll show it to you someday though."

"Will hold you to it," he promises as Pulp went on something about misshapes, mistakes and misfits.

Two more songs played on, earning her cheeky grins from Fred at the suggestive lyrics, before they arrived at St Mungo's. There was very little traffic on the roads. Everything was closed due to it being Christmas. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping sneakily up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital.

Margaret pocketed the earphones and the player as they got out of the car, which Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them. They strolled casually toward the window where the horror dummy stood, which was when Margaret realised that this was the third consecutive year she would be spending her Christmas in a hospital.

She did not realise, however, that she had frozen in her tracks until Ron poked her on the shoulder to urge her to step through the glass.

The reception area looked pleasantly festive – the crystal orbs that illuminated St Mungo's had been turned to red and gold so that they became gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; garlands hung on every doorway, and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each topped with a gleaming gold star.

There was a chorus of Merry Christmas when they entered Mr Weasley's ward; the man in question looked amiably surprised, propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray in his lap. They all handed him his presents, which none of them had wrapped as it would be too tedious for him with his injuries.

Mr Weasley took his sweet time seeing all the presents from his children, complimenting them all. Everything was quite minimal as it was still a hospital. Finally, he got to Margaret's present, squinting past his glasses to read:

"Airplanes and Other Things That Fly: A Complete Design Detail. Ah! This – is – ingenious!" says Mr Weasley brightly, causing Margaret to grin. "It's been my greatest wish to find out how these contraptions stay up in the air – how did you know, Margaret?"

"Lucky guess," she lies easily, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. "It's quite an interesting read too. I know how boring being stuck in a hospital can be..."

The ones who were paying attention to their conversation turned to her in puzzlement, and instantly she knew she had said too much.

"It's nothing, I was an active kid who got hurt way too often," she lies again, adding a laugh for good measure. Either way, they were all reassured by this as they turned back to Mr Weasley who started discussing airplanes at once.

Margaret exhaled slowly in relief, cursing herself for her slip up. She was getting too comfortable, spending too much time around them was making her blurt out things; which was not a good sign in her head. She felt the sudden need to get away.

She noticed Fred looking over at her, and when she caught his eye, he inclined his head in question. Smiling at him in reassurance, she looked down to check her watch which read quarter past four o'clock.

Tapping Ginny on the shoulder, she whispers, "I need to use the restroom, I'll be right back."

Ginny nodded and Margaret, turning on her heel, walked out of the room just as Mrs Weasley asks, "Everything all right, Arthur?"

Once on the fourth floor, it was not difficult to find the Janus Thickey ward number 49 for permanent spell-damage. It seemed to be the only ward there.

But Margaret hesitated at the door.

Did she really want to see Alice and Frank Longbottom in that condition? No... She did not.

Was she still surprised that Neville trusted her more than Harry or Ron to invite her to meet his parents? Definitely.

Would she feel guilty for turning down his offer? Perhaps, but she would remain more confused about why he had invited her in the first place.

Her moment of hesitation came to an abrupt end when the door unlocked and a motherly looking Healer stepped out. She looked up at Margaret with cerulean blue eyes and frowned.

"And who might you be, dear," asks the Healer kindly.

"Er – hello. I'm Margaret Xenakis," she introduces. "Um... I've been invited, actually..."

"Invited by a patient, have you? Whom, may I ask?"

"No, by a relative of patients, actually," she answers, hesitating. Then, taking a deep breath and telling herself that it was now or never; she gives the elderly Healer a small smile. "Mr and Mrs Longbottom... I'm friends with their son, Neville. He's supposed to be here."

The Healer's face lit up with realisation and she gave Margaret a warm smile. "Yes, yes, Neville's here with his Grandmother. I'm Healer Miriam Strout, I look after the patients in our permanent residents' ward," she says, turning around and pushing the door open once more. "Here it is. Come in, dear."

Margaret rolled her shoulders to relax and followed Healer Strout inside, who walked briskly down the ward to the very end where two beds were closed off by flowery curtains and peeked inside. Margaret could hear her speaking, her voice quiet and gentle, so she took the time to glance at the other patients in the ward.

There were more touches of personal things around, unlike Mr Weasley's ward, showing that the inhabitants had been there for a while. There was a dazed-looking man who was mumbling something incoherent, his head lolling sideways uncomfortably; a person that Margaret thought was female but couldn't be sure as her entire head was covered in fur and she was huffing with her tongue out. Lastly, there was a man with wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and dazzling white teeth that he flashed at her when he grinned widely.

Margaret's eyes widened as she realised who it was – Gilderoy Lockhart. She rushed down the ward after Healer Strout just as he shouted: "Here for some autographs?"

"You made it..."

She looked up to find Neville who had spoken up rather meekly as he appeared from behind the curtain. The Healer smiled at them and left, muttering something about getting Christmas gifts.

"Of course, I did," she tells him gently.

He nodded, glancing behind him. "Well, c'mon in... although I should warn you- er... they're – they are really not, erm, in the best... in the best, mindset; you could say? Um," he says to the ground, his voice becoming quieter by the word. "I just... I..."

"Neville... You don't have to explain yourself," she says, preparing herself to tell him what she promised herself to say. She takes a deep breath, "For what it's worth – if you tell me even now that I should turn around and walk out of the door and forget this ever happened, I swear on my life I will do that without question."

Neville stared at her, looking taken aback. She kept her face determined, having meant what she said. A beat of silence passed before he gave her a small smile.

"T-Thanks," he says rather hoarsely. "If you still want to... want to meet them though..."

He pushed open the curtain that separated his parents' space from the rest of the ward and jerked his head towards it awkwardly. Margaret exhaled, nodding, and took small steps inside.

The first thing that she noticed was the wide window from where a pool of sunlight streamed in. It wasn't too bright as the skies outside were still threatening snow, but it was the most natural light she had seen in the hospital so far. A wardrobe stood on the side, and Augusta Longbottom was sat in one of the two chairs that were next to it, right beneath the window. There were photo frames above the two single beds and fresh sunflowers in a vase on the nightstand.

The only sign of Christmas came from the small gifts and cards on the nightstand and the red and green bubbles of lights on the ceiling.

Margaret glanced at Alice first.

She was sitting cross-legged on top of the sheets. There were several multicoloured bubblegum wrappers piled on top of one another next to her pillow as though arranged. Even at first glance, Margaret knew that Alice Longbottom would've been beautiful. Her heart-shaped face and full lips finished with soft dark hair framing her face would've made her quite attractive.

But she seemed to have simultaneously aged and de-aged several years. She seemed quite normal, but her slumped shoulders, empty gaze, gaunt face and dark circles gave her condition away.

Alice stared at Margaret blankly, if not serenely, then looked at Neville and made timid motions with her hands.

Neville stepped up to the space between his parents' beds. "Mum, Dad, this is my friend, Margaret. We're at school together..."

Frank Longbottom, in Margaret's opinion, seemed to be in a worse condition than his wife.

Margaret thought he would have been handsome back in the day. There was a hint of youth on his face, even though it was as gaunt as his wife's. His cheekbones were high, his brown hair messy, thin and quite lifeless. A small, light-brown scar started from the corner of his left eye and streaked downward about an inch, a similar mark streaked horizontally across the bridge of his nose. These scars stood out because of how pale his skin was, as though he had not seen the sun in several years.

However, there was not a hint of normalcy in his expression like on Alice's.

Frank's eyes were wide open, but he stared without looking. He did not respond to Neville's voice as his wife had, nor did he seem to notice Margaret's presence. He half-blinked down at the white sheets that were covering his legs, his mouth hanging open absently and his hands twitching once in a while on his sides.

Alice made a sound, making Margaret turn to her. She was staring at her with her dark blue eyes, her expression blank.

"Go near her," Augusta speaks up for the first time, glancing up briefly from Witch Weekly. "She doesn't recognise you."

"Is that-?"

"Yes, yes, it's all right," says Augusta dismissively.

But Margaret looked at Neville for confirmation. He nodded, gesturing at the space on his mother's bed.

"Just don't make any sudden moves. She recognises people better..." he glances at his father before looking down at his hands solemnly, "...better than Dad does."

Margaret gave him a small smile, trying her best not to display any sympathy. That was probably the last thing he needed.

Taking small steps towards Alice, she felt an odd tingling underneath her skin. Her instincts were trying to tell her something... Perhaps she was nervous. What was she going to say?

As though reading her mind for a change, Neville says, "Tell her... Tell her your name. She listens very well..."

Exhaling, she sat down in front of his mother, watching as Alice's empty gaze followed her moves without processing them, and smiled kindly.

"Hi, Alice... I'm Margaret... I'm a friend of your son here – Neville... Er, we're both Gryffindors, you see. House of the brave," she chuckles a little. Alice blinks and leans closer, settling her gaze on Margaret's necklace that was shining under the light. "Oh, this? It's a family heirloom..." she tells her, holding out her necklace.

Too curious for her own good, Margaret let down the shields around her mind. She could faintly hear Neville's anxious thoughts behind, but she kept her focus on Alice.

She couldn't decide whether she was surprised or not to find out that there were no complete thoughts in Alice's mind. Broken words, more like. They did not connect well, nor did they begin to make any sense.

Alice reached out with a slender hand, brushing her knuckle lightly on the pendant. She backed away when Margaret opened her hand, letting the necklace fall back to her collar. She turned her hand around, her palm facing upward.

For a moment, Alice stared down at her offered hand. And then opening her own, she glanced between the two.

Margaret listened to her thoughts intently, noticing the slight difference. Alice went from feeling confused to understanding a little as she turned her hand in different ways until it matched Margaret's. Then, she lifted her hand and carefully put it in hers, palm facing upward.

Even though Margaret smiled at this, the corner of her eyes went blurry with tears, a knot forming in her throat. She had never felt sorrier for someone.

But no...

She had never felt this trapped... Like there was no escape... There is no escape. She wants to curl up and cry...

But she has to remain strong...

Even if...

Even if the sadness and the agony were too much...

Too much.

There was no escape...

A red fog swirled in her peripheral that she did not seem to notice. She tilted her head to the side, watching absently as Margaret copied the movements...

Or was it Alice copying Margaret's movements?

The dark-haired girl tilted her head her again. She copied her movements slowly.

There was no escape...

There was this feeling of a hundred spiders clawing up her spine, their spiky little legs lit on fire, stepping on each bit of her skin causing burning agony until they had reached her scalp and went inwards.

She gasped inaudibly at the pain... She felt like the burning spiders were clawing the inside of her skin with their spincers, wanting to rip it out...

Then again, she did not necessarily have to feel that way. Did she?

There was no escape...

She just had to remember who she was... Remember... Remember...

She was stuck... She was stuck in a mind, her own mind. Was it her own mind?

Who was she? What was it that made her happy?

This morning opening Christmas gifts with the Weasleys made her happy... or was it this morning? It seemed to be months ago, if not years...

Listening to music with Fred made her happy... but was it music? All she could hear now were screams.

Telling off the Slytherins in school made her happy... but it had been so long since she had seen school... Hogwarts...

Hogwarts... House of the brave.

It sounded so familiar, so close... as though her fingertips were barely out of reach of grasping it.

Hogwarts... Gryffindor.

But those thoughts were not strong enough, no. She couldn't seem to bring herself to care enough to process them... What else made her happy?

Neville...?

When he stood up to Umbridge in Hagrid's class, or when he disarmed Margaret and Harry with one spell, or how much he had improved in his classes; achieving straight A's in Transfiguration. How she knew he would be brave, how he would avenge his parents' fate... because he surely would.

How capable he was, how brave, how strong – even if he did not realise it yet.

Slowly, the horrible feeling started to fade. The spiders were, for the first time in ages, crawling outwards and down her spine... They were leaving... They were setting her free...

Neville...

And she was reaching out... reaching out... There was light at the end of the tunnel.

Neville.

That sounded familiar...

"Margaret? Hey... Margaret?"

Margaret blinked rapidly, tensing in her seat as Alice's hand fell from hers. Neville had shaken her out of her daze and she frowned at her previous thoughts.

Why was she thinking of Neville?

She looked up to find Alice's face lifting into a grin before she burst out laughing; but that was not what shocked her. There was a tinge of red swirling in Alice's midnight blue eyes which were alight with... was that joy? And Margaret realised at the same time that the blurriness in her own eyes weren't tears...

Her telepathy was at work.

"Uh... Mum?"

Alice giggled some more, rocking back and forth in her place.

Margaret glanced up at a very pale and wide-eyed Neville. Augusta Longbottom put down her magazine, walking briskly over to them.