The days were drawing in. Rain turned to hail, and autumn to winter; the bitterest winter Delilah had ever known. Some mornings when she woke with her new alarm clock, it was so completely pitch black outside of the tall window at the foot of her bed that she couldn’t believe it wasn’t still the middle of the night. She dragged herself from her bed only when she heard the other girls moving around above her, and sometimes the flash of daylight that broke through between the dark mornings and long evenings was so brief that she found herself sitting at the dinner table wondering where on earth the day had gone.
Why couldn’t anybody see how miserable she was?
Because there’s nobody to care, she answered herself.
Lisa and Padma were friendly enough, but when Delilah didn’t go out of her way to join in with them, they didn’t seem to notice her absence. Ariadne continued to be downright hostile, apparently revelling in eliciting more and more vicious retorts from Delilah, who always resolved to respond with scornful indifference, but in reality seemed incapable of resisting the opportunity to lash out.
‘Did you really only get sixty-three percent on your History of Magic essay, Delilah? Aren’t you a bit disappointed, especially since it was about the Centaur Sieges of Champagne-Ardenne? I’d be kind of embarrassed to do so badly on a test about my own country’s history.’
‘Centaur conflicts are hardly an integral part of “my country’s history”. I’ve never known anyone in France to discuss them. What have they got to do with anything?’
‘Oh, so you’re saying you only bother to get good grades in subjects you approve of?’
‘Yes, because I’m not a colossal bore like you.’
‘What’s that for?’ Ariadne said, pretending at hurt disbelief. ‘No need to be nasty.’ Then she glanced smugly around the common room at the other Ravenclaws, who were shifting uncomfortably in their chairs; Terry, sitting stiffly in an armchair by the fire, was staring with fixed interest at a copy of The Daily Prophet which he clutched artificially high in his lap.
Delilah had taken out a subscription to Witch Weekly and scanned every single page for clues, terrified that Connie would overestimate her deductive powers and put in something so subtle as to be indistinguishable from an innocent line of copy. As a result she sometimes felt she was losing her mind, a lunatic searching for treasure among piles of inconsequential bric-a-brac, ‘if blackheads are the thorn in your side, try our all-new pore-pinching Pecker Potion, available from all good … We chatted with top photographer Matilda Eglantine about how best to hide your flaws from the lens … Dear Disgruntled of Devonshire, Sounds like your dastardly sister-in-law is worthy of a good hexing – in my opinion, a nice swift Tonsorial Tonsil number would set her straight…
Desperate for somebody to discuss the riddle with, Delilah had written to Remus Lupin. She had kept the letter brief, thanking him for his kindness on the Hogwarts Express and including a few sundry updates on her Hogwarts life, then copied out the Whispers entry (which seemed to have etched itself word-for-word onto the inside of her brain) and asked for his opinion. Snape didn’t even seem convinced it was a message from Connie at all, she’d written, and said it was of absolutely no consequence even if it was. I just wondered what you thought?
It was well into November before she received a response.
Dear Delilah,
Thanks for your lovely letter, and sorry for the delay in getting back to you. As you can imagine, things are relentless here. I’m so pleased to hear you’re settling into life at Hogwarts – I’m sure it’s a difficult adjustment though, so do be kind to yourself. I’m really impressed with how maturely you’re handling all the upheaval you’ve experienced lately, and I think of you often. I wonder what you have lined up for Christmas? Are you planning a visit to your mother? If we can both manage it, it would be a pleasure to meet up for a festive drink.
You should know better by now than to listen to the grousings of Professor Sourpuss though! In fact, he brought the WW excerpt you found directly to the headmaster’s attention, who shared it with everybody in the Order at the first available opportunity – terrifically good luck that you happened to find it, and brilliant of you to have decoded it so quickly. I’m afraid to say we ultimately agreed with Snape’s assessment that the message was too cryptic to be useful in locating or assisting Constance, but we found the information that she and Matilda were alive and well far from ‘inconsequential’. On the contrary, we’re now keeping a close eye out for more clues in other publications (as I’m sure are you) and trying to determine whether she used one of her journalistic connections to place the message, or just submitted it anonymously and hoped for the best. I’ll be sure to keep you posted on any developments in that area, but as I know you’ll understand, we all need to be careful what we put in writing these days, so–
‘Miss du Lac?’
A sharp voice cut across the room, and Delilah jumped guiltily and sat up in her chair.
‘Yes, Professor?’ she said sheepishly.
‘Since you are clearly too much the expert in identifying and resisting the Choking Curse to pay attention, perhaps you’d like to answer my question?’
A long, pregnant pause followed, and the class craned round to stare.
‘Sorry Professor, I…’
‘Would you, then, care to tell us what it is that you find so much more riveting than my class?’
Delilah tried to slide the letter furtively into her textbook, but Snape was too quick: he was already striding across the room, and plucked the page up nimbly between his long fingertips. With a sinking heart Delilah watched his eyes scan down to the second paragraph, which he stared at for several seconds before turning back to her with blazing eyes.
He threw the letter back down on the desk.
‘Stand up,’ he snapped.
‘…Wh…?
‘Stand up,’ he repeated, grabbing her by the arm and marching her to the front of the class. He turned to face her and raised his wand.
‘Miss du Lac,’ he announced to the room, breathing heavily through his nose, ‘is going to demonstrate for us her expert skills in resisting the Choking Curse.’
Delilah barely had time to register those words.
Breathe consciously.
‘Asphyxi-‘
‘PROTEGO!’
Snape nimbly dodged his own spell reflecting off Delilah’s Shield Charm, and raised his own wand again with a snarl.
‘Expelliarmus!’ Delilah shrieked, and Snape’s wand jumped a few inches out of his hand before he caught it again in mid-air.
‘ASPHYXIASTUM!’ he bellowed, but her attempted Disarming had given Delilah a few seconds’ head start and she ducked to her knees, dodging the flash of yellow light from Snape’s wand by a whisker, and threw herself behind his desk.
After a moment’s silence she raised her head tentatively above the desk, and the class erupted into applause. She straightened, gazing around the class in surprise, then flushed furiously and, without looking at Snape, scurried back to her seat amid clapping and back-slapping, trying to suppress a grin.
‘A slapdash and undignified attempt,’ Snape said derisively once the applause had died down, ‘but I suppose an effective one. Now, on page 79 you will find…’
At the end of the class Delilah found herself surrounded.
‘That was incredible Delilah, you really took him on!’
‘Where did you learn to do that? Duelling classes at Beauxbatons must be amazing!’
‘Did you see his face when you Disarmed him?’
Delilah just glowed, revelling in the attention and praise, until Snape’s voice broke through the rabble.
‘Everybody, get off to your next classes. Miss du Lac, you will stay behind.’
After a couple more back-slaps and congratulations the class dispersed, and Delilah turned to Snape’s desk with trepidation.
He sat with his arms folded, staring at her as she approached. She forced herself to meet his gaze and stood before him, shoulders squared.
‘Who taught you to duel?’ he asked.
‘What?’
‘It’s a simple question.’
Delilah, who had been expecting a diatribe about the letter from Remus, had to struggle for her composure.
‘Why?’
‘Well, you didn’t learn that at Beauxbatons.’
‘No. My dad taught me.’
‘Why?’
‘What do you mean, why? Because Voldemort’s back. We’re at war. He wanted me to be able to defend myself.’
‘I see.’
That seemed to be the end of Snape’s line of questioning, so Delilah, after a moment’s hesitation, decided to exploit their private meeting.
‘Professor, can I ask you something?’
‘You just have.’
‘Yes,’ she plunged on, ignoring the sarcasm, ‘I was just wondering though, can I go back to France this Christmas?’
‘No.’
The abruptness of this refusal startled her briefly into silence.
‘To see my mother,’ she added redundantly.
‘Obviously. But no. The situation has already been explained to you.’
‘But… Is there no way at all?’
‘No.’
‘But…’
‘Shall I write it down for you? Because I fear I have at my disposal no simpler language with which to convey my answer.’
‘OK, OK,’ Delilah snapped, snatching up her satchel. ‘I get it.’ She swung her bag on to her shoulder and stomped towards the classroom door, smarting with disappointment and irritation at Snape.
‘You know what?’ she said at the doorway, turning back to the desk where he still sat, arms folded.
He raised an eyebrow.
‘You’re just…’
She felt her throat swell and, mortifyingly, realised that if she spoke another word her voice would crack, so she just left the room and slammed the door behind her.
*
‘I am so, so excited for Christmas!’ Lisa exclaimed, swinging her foot up on to the side of her bed to lace her shoe. ‘I’m going to buy all my presents in Hogsmeade, are you?’
Delilah was brushing her teeth at the sink in the dormitory and had a mouthful of foam, so just responded with an enquiring look.
‘It’s Hogsmeade weekend, hadn’t you heard?’
Delilah hadn’t heard, but as she rinsed her mouth from the tap, she found that the idea of leaving the school grounds for a few hours did wonders for her spirits. She stowed her dizzyingly heavy Gringotts withdrawal in her handbag, and as they made their way down the main stairs, they discovered that overnight the school had had a festive makeover: the bannisters had been entwined with lengths of lush holly, and the Entrance Hall dotted with a number of enormous, lavishly-decorated Christmas trees; the fireplaces were strung with twinkling fairy lights, and all the doors had green-and-red wreaths the size of bicycle wheels pinned to them. As they made their way through the Entrance Hall they passed Professor Flitwick, who was producing several feet of silver-and-gold paper chains from the tip of his wand and levitating them up to drape between the chandeliers. After a leisurely breakfast they made their way through the doors of the Great Hall and out into the blinding sunshine of a crisp December morning, the frosty grass crunching underfoot, past the caretaker checking permission slips for underage students, and through the school gates, where they bumped into Cho and Marietta.
‘My dad’s impossible to buy for, I’ll probably just lame out and get him a bottle of Ogden’s,’ Marietta was saying.
Cho groaned, ‘ugh, my dad’s the same but he doesn’t drink and he doesn’t like sweet things so chocolate’s out too, nightmare…’
‘What about a book?’
‘Could do but he’s read practically everything…’
‘Still, we could have a browse in Treadwell’s, I need to go in there anyway, my mum wants the new Scarlett Lorelei.’
‘Do you think I need to get something for my brother’s girlfriend? They’ve been together for over a year, it’ll be so awkward if she gets me something and I don’t have anything to give her, but just as awkward if it’s the other way around – I’ve asked him to do some subtle digging but he’s hopeless…’
Delilah kept silent.
‘…and after Treadwell’s can we stop in at that jewellery place so I can find something for my stepmum?’
‘Yes, and we’ve got to go to Madame Puddifoot’s, apparently she’s doing these insane Christmas Cloud Cakes this year that make you puff out clouds of icing sugar so it looks like you’re breathing smoke…’
‘Hey, guys,’ Delilah cut in as they reached the high street, ‘I think I’ll leave you to your shopping and go and see the Shrieking Shack.’
‘Are you sure?’ Cho said in surprise.
‘We could all go and do that first if you like?’ Lisa suggested kindly. ‘I said we’d meet up with Padma in a bit but there’ll be plenty of time.’
‘No no, I’m sure you guys have seen it a million times, but I never have. Maybe catch up with you later?’
Without waiting for an answer Delilah gave a cheery wave and strode off purposefully, a tight feeling in her chest. She snuck a glance over her shoulder to see them disappearing into the bookshop, and then leant against the wall of The Three Broomsticks, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.
What was the point in this stupid bloody expedition, this stupid bloody bag of money, when she had nobody, literally nobody at all, to buy a Christmas gift for?
The idea of browsing in the shops with the other girls, helping them pick out gifts for their families, had been too much; eventually one of them would ask her whether she didn’t have any gifts to buy, and she would have to admit she hadn’t, and then she was sure she’d start crying and spoil the mood. They’d be kind and sympathetic, which would make her cry more. Then there would be the questions; questions which she was forbidden from answering.
She thought about going straight back to school. Instead, after a couple of minutes, she pushed her way into the crowded pub and ordered a large goblet of wine at the bar. She found a corner table concealed from view by a twelve-foot Christmas tree and pulled out her book.
A couple of hours and a couple more goblets later, she tired of the noise and heat of the pub and traipsed out into the high street. The bright, crisp day had clouded over and it had begun to snow. Strings of brightly coloured lights cast a festive twinkle over the shop fronts, and several windows were already festooned with tinsel and holly. Seized with a tipsy whimsy she went into Honeydukes sweet shop and filled a basket with Toffee Teddies, Strawberry Sparklers and Chocolate Galleons, a solid white chocolate polar bear, caramel-filled chocolate baubles covered in edible gold-leaf and some special Christmas-edition sugar reindeer, all of which she had boxed and wrapped at the counter with shiny red paper and a spectacular gold bow. In Callista’s Perfumerie she found a bottle of the fresh, leafy patchouli scent which Connie always wore – a spritz of which evoked her so powerfully that it was like she’d walked into the room and shouted in Delilah’s ear – and paid extra for a grey satin-lined case which the shop assistant sprinkled with enchanted rose petals that he said would never dry out. Finally, in the hush of a tiny antique jewellers, hung with red drapes and lamp-lit like Aladdin’s Cave, Delilah found a breathtakingly beautiful gold brooch set with sombre garnets and a glittering teardrop-shaped sapphire. She gulped at the price tag, but with the reassuring weight of her Gringotts haul in her handbag, handed over the money and left the shop with a black velvet jewellery box tucked into her coat pocket.
For herself she bought a new pair of thick blue pyjamas decorated with silver stars, and matching bed-socks to stave off the increasingly bitter cold of her lonely dormitory chamber, and on an impulse, after glancing over her shoulder to check no other Hogwarts students were around, a set of delicate lacy underwear. In Treadwell’s she bought a clutch of new books (including Scarlett Lorelei’s new offering, Lilith the Lionheart) and then, her toes beginning to protest the cold, made her solitary way through the snow back towards Hogwarts.
Pansy Parkinson and a hatchet-jawed companion were coming towards her, both wearing garishly-coloured bobble hats and snow boots.
‘Hey look, it’s the Frog,’ Pansy shouted as they passed. ‘Christmas shopping for the Frog Family? Or are you out looking for snails? Let me know if you need any help, I’ll be glad to put some in your bed.’ She screamed with mirth at her own meagre joke, and her friend joined in with a deep grunty laugh.
With that jibe from Pansy and the cheery glow of Hogsmeade High Street receding behind her, Delilah’s wine-enkindled spirits began to sink. Her shopping bags bumped against her legs, and the Honeydukes one in particular was so heavy it was cutting into her wrist. The snow was falling more thickly and it gathered and melted in sodden clumps at the neck of her coat. She’d forgotten to bring any gloves so her hands were blue and white with cold, but she couldn’t even put them in her pockets with her hands full of bags.
Bags of Christmas gifts, beautifully wrapped, that would probably never be opened.
‘Idiot,’ she muttered savagely to herself.
As the black form of the castle rose before her through the snow, Delilah veered away from the main steps and headed towards the West Tower, tramping up the narrow external staircase which led to the Owlery. By the time she’d completed the climb she was thoroughly out of breath and, entering the high, round room, dropped her bags gratefully on the sawdust and unbuttoned her coat.
She wandered through the high chamber, echoing softly with serene hoots and the shuffle of feathers, and stood for a few moments at the window stroking a beautiful snowy who closed her eyes with pleasure at the attention.
‘I need to send a parcel to people who might not even exist any more,’ she told the owl.
The owl looked at her with sage amber eyes.
‘I don’t know why I’m even doing it. I haven’t the first idea where they might be.’
The owl cocked her head as though inviting Delilah to go on.
‘It’s stupid, but… I just really want to send them a Christmas present. Actually, I can’t bear the fact that I’m not going to see them, so this is a pointless exercise to kid myself that I haven’t lost them. It’ll be the first Christmas I’ve ever spent all on my own.’
The owl closed her eyes peaceably, as though giving a nod of sympathy.
Delilah gazed up at the hundreds of owls huddled on their perches, reaching right up to the rafters.
‘So, who do you think I should send my pointless parcel off with?’
She glanced at the owl, who opened her eyes and stuck her leg out.
‘Seriously?’ Delilah said in amazement. ‘You did hear what I just said about not even knowing where they are?’
The owl blinked.
‘Well… if you’re sure.’
Delilah retrieved the Honeydukes package and the smaller wrapped perfume box, tied them both to the owl’s leg, and watched her take off through the arched glassless window with a noble sweep of her wings, as though weighed down by nothing heavier than a sheet of parchment.
She took out the black velvet jewellery box containing the brooch, and after staring at it for a moment, slipped it back into her pocket and left the Owlery.
*
The school flurried with excitement as it hurtled towards the end of term, and even the teachers began to introduce Christmas treats into their lessons: the class spent an enjoyable couple of hours in their Charms lesson enchanting a glass cage of twinkling fairies to flash gold and red, and Professor Sprout had prepared trugs piled with lengths of holly, rosehips, hawthorn berries, fronds of conifer and fluffy heads of Old Man’s Beard, and gave them hoops of twisted wire so they could make their own wreaths. In their Potions lesson Professor Slughorn taught them to make Draught of Festive Cheer, a thick cranberry-coloured potion which tasted of cinnamon brandy. The class each gulped down a vial from their cauldrons and immediately felt drowsy and content, and so overflowing with goodwill that even Marietta wished Delilah a Merry Christmas. The common room was filled each evening with the smells of people toasting teacakes and marshmallows on sticks in front of the fire, the coffee tables were strewn with bows and bright paper as everyone wrapped their gifts, and Delilah’s dormitory bustled with the girls packing their bags to go home for Christmas.
Delilah lay on her bed, listening to the chatter through her drawn curtains, with Lapsie resting limply on her chest.
‘…can’t wait to see my sister, oh and my dad has a new puppy! … is it really childish that I still get a stocking on the end of my bed every year? It just wouldn’t be Christmas without it … my mouth is watering already at the thought of my Nan’s cooking; the food’s amazing here but it’s not like home…’
She fingered the black velvet jewellery box in her hand and remembered Christmas at home. The smell of the haphazardly-decorated pine tree in the living room; an ancient Nativity scene in the corner which had been passed down through du Lac generations immemorial, with the little clay figures whose features had faded with time; the wine-soaked cherry log crackling and blazing in the fireplace, filling the house with its heady scent; curls of clove-heavy smoke creeping through from the sitting room to combine with the heat of the Aga in the kitchen and the delicious smells coming from the crockpots on the stove; Genevieve standing at the sink in a cloud of steam and winter sunshine, holding the telephone to her ear with a shrugged shoulder as she sank Marigold-clad hands into hot soapy water, listening to the tiny piped voice at the other end, the radio sobbing softly on the windowsill, ‘on m’a dit que tu t’es mariée, en avril au printemps dernier…’; little Delilah, four years old, creeping up to the kitchen table, thinking herself undetected, to sneak a chunk from the freshly-baked bûche de Noël cooling on a wire rack, and Genevieve turning nimbly to catch her wrist, ‘non chérie, c’est chaud,’ and then turning back to the sink, lowering her voice to an undertone, ‘j’ai peur qu’Ormond va se tuer…’
Delilah sat up as suddenly as though she had received an urgent command. Lapsie flopped onto her pillow as she pulled the curtain aside and swung her feet off the bed, snatched up her handbag, threw the jewellery box on top of her duvet and strode through the dormitory, through the common room and out of the Ravenclaw tower, down to the Entrance Hall and down again to the dungeons, following the path she and Snape had taken the day she’d found the Whispers excerpt, and round a corner where she found, as though by appointment, the very person she sought.
‘What’re you doing down here?’ Pansy sneered.
‘I have a proposition for you.’
