The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|77| St. Mungos

Christmas morning was everything I expected it to be and then some. No longer feeling sullen over the events of the last two days, I was happier than I could imagine. Last year's Christmas was nothing compared to the Black Holiday Celebration. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view; and even the stuffed elf heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards.

I woke up on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of my bed. I woke Hermione up and ran to Harry and Ron, who were already halfway through opening their own large piles.

"Whoa," I gasped.

"Good haul this year," Ron said sifting through broken paper. "Thanks for the Good Luck Charm for my broom, beats Hermione's– she's got me a homework planner—" Harry held one up as well.

In my pile, I had found the one with Hermione's loopy handwriting on it. Instead of a homework planner, like the boys, I was given a book– 101 Different Potions and their Antidotes.

"Nope, I got a cool Potions book," I laughed.

Harry had gotten me a few loose charms— a snitch, potions vial, and wand— to add to the new charm bracelet Ron chose.

"Well done, boys," I smiled, "I love them. Truly."

Back in the girls' room, my pile consisted of presents from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley— another lovely burgundy sweater and added some pastries this year; Sirius's present was a small bag, charmed with an infinity spell, allowing me to stuff as many items I need; Hagrid sent me a wallet that matched Harry's, who propose it was most likely an anti-theft wallet being it prevented me from putting in any money; Fred and George gave me a sample of their Skiving Snack Box. The last few presents were from Dumbledore, who not only sent me a load of sweets, but also sent along Dobby's gift: a weirdly drawn present. I had just turned it towards Harry, Ron, and Hermione to see when there was a loud crack, Fred and George Apparate at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Merry Christmas," said George. "Don't go downstairs for a bit."

"Why not?" said Ron.

"Mum's crying again," said Fred heavily. "Percy sent back his Christmas jumper."

"Without a note," added George. "Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything..."

"No," I gasped, "he's such a prat."

"That he is," agreed Fred. "We tried to comfort her... Told her Percy's nothing more than a humungous pile of rat droppings—"

"— didn't work," finished George. "So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go."

Once we had our Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and I planned to pay Mr. Weasley another visit; especially on Christmas. Our journey to St. Mungo's was quite quick, as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. I and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for us; we strolled casually toward the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped 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; holly hung around every doorway, and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each topped with a gleaming gold star. It was less crowded than the last time we had been here, although halfway across the room I found myself shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril.