The text, music, and MIDI file of the Christmas carol in this chapter
can be found here. Happy listening!

Standard disclaimers apply. Harry Potter, all related characters, and
various media incarnations are copyright of the very talented J. K.
Rowling, Scholastic, and other international companies involved in its
creation and distribution. Will Stanton and "The Dark Is Rising" series
are both copyright of the wonderful Susan Cooper.

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light
A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion
By: Gramarye

Chapter Seventeen - Watchman's Light

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Break forth, O beauteous heavenly light,
And usher in the morning;
O shepherds, shrink not with affright,
But hear the angel's warning.
This child, now weak in infancy,
Our confidence and joy shall be,
The power of Satan breaking,
Our peace eternal making.

--Traditional Christmas carol

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It was the end of term, and with the first falling of snow that stuck to
the ground came the reminder that exams were approaching. Students
who had been a little lax about their assignments were now fixtures in
the library, burning the proverbial midnight oil and earning the equally
burning contempt of Hermione, especially when she found that someone
had borrowed a book she needed for an Arithmancy essay and, horror
of horrors...hadn't returned it.

"Of all the rude, inconsiderate..." she fumed, storming away from
Madam Pince's desk. She stalked back to the table where Ron, Harry,
and Neville sat and stood in front of them, puffed up with indignation.

"Hermione, calm down," Neville said worriedly, setting down his well-
thumbed copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. "Is one
book that important?"

She whirled around, glaring at him. He blanched and buried his face
in his class notes.

"I NEED that book!" she snarled. "You'd think that people would have
the common decency to return books promptly, especially when there are
others who need to read them...."

"Wait...you mean there's a book in here you haven't read yet?" Ron
exclaimed in mock surprise. He pressed a hand to his heart and
fluttered his eyelashes. "Harry, catch me, I feel dizzy...I think I'm
going to faint...oh...oh...OW!"

Hermione, having extracted her revenge with a neat kick in the shin,
stomped off to the stacks.

"It's your own fault, Ron," Harry said. "You shouldn't bait her like
that."

Ron growled as he gingerly rubbed his leg. "Well, that's no reason
to resort to violence!"

"I suppose she felt there were extenuating circumstances," Neville said
quietly, smiling to himself.

"What was that?" Ron snarled, turning on him.

"Nothing, nothing." Neville hid his smile behind The Standard Book
of Spells, Grade 5.

Despite their worrying, the exams went smoothly for the four of them.
All of the reviewing that Will had asked them to do at the beginning
of the year paid off in the more practical exams, like Transfiguration
and Charms. That freed them up, creating precious time that could be
spent studying for other classes--like History of Magic and Potions--
that were less pure magic and more textbook-oriented.

Snape, true to his word, had given as an exam a Potion they had never
studied--a complicated elixir used to treat burns caused by dragon
fire. But even in that class, they had a strong enough grasp of the
basics to produce a correctly made concoction. Harry worked with
Neville, and he noticed a muscle in Snape's jaw twitch uncontrollably
when they handed him their completed potion. It was far better than
any perfect mark could have been.

Some people weren't so fortunate. Harry and Ron returned from dinner
one evening near the end of exams to find Hermione sitting alone at
one end of the common room, holding a sobbing Natalie in her lap.

From the look of things, they had been there for some time. The
shoulder of Hermione's robe was soaking wet, and she looked very
frazzled, but she continued to rock the younger girl back and forth,
holding her close.

Harry took a tentative step forward, but Hermione shook her head
slightly.

"Potions," she mouthed, shooting them a fierce look that told them to
let her alone for a while.

They nodded understanding. She went back to stroking the crying girl's
hair and murmuring soothing words, and they tiptoed up the stairs to
their dormitory.

Ron closed the door behind them and flopped down on his bed,
pillowing his head on his arms. "Poor kid," he murmured into the quilt.

"'Poor kid?'" Harry said, surprised. "I thought you didn't like her."

Ron scowled and rolled over onto his back. "Well, yeah...but no one
ever deserves Snape."

* * *

Soon enough, the exams were over, the results were posted, and amid the
post-exam celebrations and lamentations over grades came yet another
vocal disagreement between Ron and Hermione.

It was nearly time for most of the school to board the Hogwarts Express
for the holidays. The rattle-bang of packed trunks falling down stairs
mingled with loud discussions of holiday plans and travel arrangements
from London to various final destinations. Students who were going
home gathered in small groups to find travelling friends, while those
who had chosen to stay talked about the Christmas feast and dreamed
of the long, lazy days that lay ahead of them.

The night before everyone was scheduled to leave, Ginny and Hermione
were sitting in the common room, reading in front of the roaring fire
and watching Ron beat Harry at wizard chess for the third time that
evening.

Out of the blue, Hermione spoke up. "Ron...I've been meaning to tell
you this for a while, but I just kept putting it off. I...I don't think I can
come to the Burrow with you and Ginny."

"Mm," said Ron, not looking up from the board.

"You CAN'T?" Ginny wailed. The book she had been reading fell to the
floor, forgotten. "But why?"

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. "I've decided to stay at school
for the holidays. Tuesday last, I let McGonagall know that I wouldn't
be leaving, and I posted a letter to your mother yesterday morning,
explaining the situation and apologising."

"But...but...." quavered Ginny.

"I'm terribly sorry to spring this on you at such short notice...I hope
you'll understand," Hermione said, smiling apologetically.

"Mm...whatever you want," Ron said with a shrug. He took Harry's last
bishop. "Check."

Ginny was distraught. "Please come, Hermione," she begged, her lower
lip quivering dangerously. "Mum's been so looking forward to having
you visit. And it won't be any fun at home without you--being with all
those boys, all by myself. No offence, Ron," she added hastily.

"None taken, brat," he said absently. He nudged a pawn with his
finger, prodding it to move forward one square. "Check."

Harry grumbled moodily and propped his chin on his hand, studying
the board. His king was in a treacherous spot. Maybe if he moved his
knight to take Ron's pawn....

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione said, "but I wouldn't feel right going
without Harry. After all, Christmas is a time best spent with family,
and I don't see why--"

"'Wouldn't feel right'?" Ron interrupted. For the first time that
evening he looked up, taking his eyes off the board. "What kind of
language is that?"

"Perfectly sensible language, thank you very much," she said.

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "Sensible language my--"

"Ron!" Ginny scolded, cutting him off.

"Well, listen to her!" he shouted. "There's absolutely no logic in her
argument. She says that Christmas should be 'best spent with family',
blah, blah, blah, and then turns around and all but declares that she's
not going home, either!"

A light went on in Ginny's eyes, and she frowned, brow furrowing in
deep suspicion. "Yes, Hermione, why is that?"

"Because...well, someone should stay here with Harry," Hermione
spluttered. "There's no reason why he should have to spend Christmas
alone just because Voldemort is making everyone paranoid."

Ron flinched, and glared at her. "Look, I'll tolerate the name when
Harry says it, but--"

"Fine." She waved one hand distractedly. "Let's just keep to the
subject at hand, okay?"

"Fine, then. If you don't want to come to our house for Christmas,
you should just say so."

"Now you're being ridiculous," she snapped.

Ron's scowl deepened. "Don't call me ridiculous."

"Hermione, you still haven't answered my question," Ginny pressed.

"There's nothing to answer."

"Now who's being ridiculous," Ron remarked in a vicious aside.

"Ron, shut up," Ginny said. "All I wanted to know was why spending
Christmas here with Harry--"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Ginny, I already told you. I don't want Harry to be here alone over the
holiday."

"Harry won't be alone, you--"

"Ahem!" Harry noisily cleared his throat.

They stopped arguing, and turned to look at him.

"Is Harry permitted to speak, or is Harry not allowed to contribute to
this fascinating conversation that seems to directly concern him?" he
said facetiously.

Ron muttered something he couldn't quite catch. Ginny poked her
brother and hissed a irritated "Ron!" Hermione stared off into the
fire, not looking at any of them.

"All right," Harry said. He did his best impression of Will's stern,
professorial frown. "I don't want to spend our last night together
listening to this. If Hermione wants to stay at school, there's no
one to stop her. She shouldn't have to make up a reason."

"I wasn't making anything up," Hermione said resentfully.

"I know," he replied. "That isn't the point. It's true that I can't go
anywhere for the holiday, but that shouldn't spoil everyone else's.
I'm not making Hermione stay here...she wants to, that's all."

"But...but I won't get to give you and Hermione your presents on
Christmas morning," Ginny said, pouting.

Harry smiled wryly. "The best Christmas present I could get would be
for you to apologise--all of you."

The fire sent up a multi-coloured shoot of sparks, and a fine rain of
ashes pattered down on the hearth.

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny said, smiling meekly.

"I'm sorry, too," Hermione added with a little nod.

Ron just glowered at him.

"Ron?" said Harry, giving him a pointed stare.

Ron huffed, puffing out his cheeks in an exasperated sigh. "Yeah,
yeah, I'm sorry," he said. "Now can we please finish the game?"

"Go right ahead." Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling an odd sense
of fatigue. He didn't want to have to do anything like that again any
time soon...it took a lot out of him.

"Right." Ron guided his bishop two spaces diagonally. "Check...and
mate in four."

Hermione snorted, and Ginny giggled, grinning.

Harry pushed his king over, conceding defeat. Sometimes, he would
swear that Ron was toying with him, drawing the game out and keeping
Harry's meagre hopes up until the very last moment--and then crushing
him utterly. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Ron actually took
pleasure from it...and the suppressed grin he saw on his friend's face as
they put the board away did nothing to alleviate his concerns.

* * *

Harry and Hermione saw the four Weasley siblings off the next morning
with bright, cheerful words and promises of daily letters.

The twins did their best to cheer up glum Ron and teary-eyed Ginny by
spraying them with their newest joke development: Weasley's Premiere
Disappearing Ink. The ink was mostly harmless, except for the small fact
that the ink didn't disappear on contact, but the surface it was sprayed on
did. Ginny got caught in the full force of the spray, and the last glimpse that
Harry and Hermione saw of their friends was that of Ginny smacking Fred
with one hand as she tried to keep the pieces of her vanishing robe from
falling off with the other. Her outraged shrieks stayed with them all the way
back to Hogwarts.

The two of them spent a pleasant few days together with their remaining
hallmates. Endless rounds of card and chess games and snowball fights
took up much of their time, and long, leisurely naps accounted for the
rest. When they tired of being sociable, there were always plenty of
entertainment options. Hermione's parents had sent her Christmas
presents early--a giant parcel of healthy but tasty snacks and four or
five books--and she was quite willing to share both with Harry. With
the help of home cooking and pleasure reading, they bided their time
quietly until Christmas Eve.

Harry's first impression of Christmas Eve dinner in the Great Hall was
that the people who had chosen to stay at Hogwarts over the winter
holidays were a different group from the scattering of students who
usually remained. Many students from Muggle or mixed families, like
Hermione, had remained at the school, while nearly all of the students
from pure wizarding families had gone home.

"You know why it's like that, of course," Hermione had said when he
mentioned his observation to her. "Muggle parents--the smart ones, at
least--would rather have their children at school, where it's safer.
Especially after...well...."

She didn't need to continue. One only needed to have seen the haunted,
faraway look that occasionally appeared in Colin Creevey's eyes to
understand everything.

Christmas Eve dinner was the usual elaborate affair, with roast turkey
and beef and chicken, all sorts of vegetable dishes, loaves of fresh
crusty bread, and an array of sweets and desserts that would have
done a pastry shop proud. Though the sheer amount of food was
staggering, everyone knew it was only a prelude to the feast that
waited for them tomorrow evening.

Harry wondered what Ron and Ginny were doing at that moment.
Maybe they were sitting down to dinner, too. Maybe Mrs Weasley
was just putting the piping hot food on the table, smiling broadly as
she lifted the lid of dish after dish, asking her brood if they wanted--

"More bread, Harry?" Seamus asked with his mouth full, holding out a
basket filled with steaming rolls.

He was one of fifteen or so Gryffindor students who had chosen to stay
at the school between terms. There were a fair number of Hufflepuffs
and Ravenclaws at the table as well, but the only Slytherin present was
a morose-looking Blaise Zabini.

The teachers who had remained over the holidays were talking quietly
among themselves, though their voices grew louder and more insistent
with every glass of mulled wine. Professor Sprout launched into a long
discourse about the Christmas trees that ringed the Great Hall, loose
strands of grey hair flying wildly about her face as she became more
and more excited. Professor Sinistra remarked that there would be a
meteor shower within the next week, and invited all of them to visit
the Astronomy Tower and see it for themselves. And Dumbledore
presided over the feast, great waves of contentment and bonhomie
radiating from his smiling face.

It was with great difficulty that Harry, Hermione, and their housemates
slogged back to the Gryffindor dormitory to collapse in the common
room. Drowsy murmurs of conversation drifted through the warm, still
air, followed by snoring as people dropped off in their chairs.

Harry let out a tremendous belch that made the pieces on a nearby
wizard chess set rattle, and sent an unsuspecting pawn toppling off
the table in surprise.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "I see I wouldn't have missed anything if
I'd decided to go home for the break. Is this what you and Ron would
do every night after dinner if I wasn't here--gorge yourselves and fall
asleep immediately after?"

"Nah," Harry said good-naturedly, scratching his belly. "We wouldn't
fall asleep immediately. Ron says it's bad for one's digestion."

She was not amused. "Well, I for one don't plan to spend Christmas Eve
sprawled in an armchair. Can you drag your bloated body away from the
fire long enough to join me in a little...'excursion'?"

"What did you have in mind?"

A crafty smile slowly spread across her face, an expression so unlike
her normal business-like manner that Harry actually felt alarmed.

"Go get your Invisibility Cloak, and I'll tell you."

* * *

"Now you can't tell me that this isn't much better."

"I never thought you'd go for something like this."

Under the cover of the cloak, Hermione had led Harry up the twisting
flights of stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower. The night was
calm, clear, and cold, with only a few breathy cirrus clouds drifting
high in the sky. There was no moon, and no outside light except the
dim lantern they had with them, so there was nothing to diminish the
milky brightness of the stars spilled across the deep blackness. It
was like standing on the top of the world, with only the chill stone
beneath their feet to keep them from falling into the endless sky.

"Do you do this often?" Harry asked.

"Sometimes," she said off-handedly, which Harry knew was Hermione-
speak for 'every single chance I get'. "Sinistra wrote a chit for me last
year, saying that I could come up here if I needed a quiet place to
study late at night. But it's more fun this way."

Harry pondered the un-Hermione-like answer, but chose to let it pass.

They stood there for a long time, bundled up against the nose-prickling
cold, tracing the familiar patterns of the constellations and planets that
they had spent long hours studying in Astronomy class. Hermione
spotted the Pleiades almost at once, while Harry pointed out the bright
cross made by Cygnus. Soon, they fell to making up stories about their
own constellations, picked from the random patterns of stars they saw.
Hermione had just finished a story about a cluster of stars that she
identified as a man taking a bath in a bucket when Harry raised a hand
in warning.

"Did you hear that?" he breathed.

"Hear what?" Hermione whispered, turning white. The thought of being
caught sneaking around the school on Christmas Eve was enough to drain
all the colour from her face.

Before Harry could answer, the wooden trapdoor in the floor began to
open, pushed up from beneath.

He hurriedly closed the shades on the lantern and flung the cloak
crookedly over himself and Hermione. They crouched down on the
flagstones to minimise the chance of being seen. It had to be Filch
and Mrs Norris--who else would be in the Astronomy Tower late at
night on Christmas Eve?

A head of messy brown hair poked up out of the trapdoor.

Will sniffed the crisp air, eyes closed.

"Beautiful night," he said reverently, his breath drifting up like
wisps of smoke.

Still crouching, Harry cautiously lifted the cloak from his head at
the same moment that Will chose to open his eyes.

"Good evening to you," he said with a nod.

"Hullo," Harry replied, grinning sheepishly.

"Glad to see that you're taking advantage of this lovely weather.
Is that Miss Granger with you?" He peered into the depths of the
Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione, hearing her name, scrambled out from under the cloak.
She looked suitably abashed. "We weren't doing anyth--"

"Did I ask if you were?" Will interrupted lightly.

Her cheeks, already rosy from the cold, darkened to a vivid crimson.

Will climbed through the trapdoor and closed it as Harry and Hermione
stood, brushing chips of stone and dirt from their knees. Harry rolled
the cloak into a tight ball and tucked it under his arm.

The Old One threw his cloak over one shoulder and leaned against one
of the parapets that ringed the open tower. In his dark blue robes and
long cloak, he almost blended into the surrounding night.

"I had a private chat with your headmaster tonight, concerning your
progress," he said. "He is very pleased with your achievements, even
more so given the restricted resources and limited time frame we have
had to work with. I thought, since I was here, that I would stop by
and tell you so myself--but I soon found that a little detour was
necessary."

He noticed the Invisibility Cloak stuffed in the crook of Harry's arm.
He tilted his head to one side, staring at the magical garment with his
detached, professional air. "Is that...would you mind if I had a look
at that?"

Harry reluctantly handed it over, the slippery cloth running through
his fingers like fine silk or satin.

"Ingenious device," Will murmured as he turned the cloak over in his
hands. "Combining practical fashion design and organic materials...the
hair of the Demiguise, if I'm not mistaken. I'm certain my colleagues
in the Biological Anthropology Department would love to get their
hands on a fabric like this." He sounded very scholarly.

Harry shot a confused glance at Hermione, only to discover that she
was nodding sagely, a look of complete comprehension on her face.

Will handed the cloak back to Harry. "But enough of that. What brings
the both of you up here on this lonely night?"

"She was bored."

"He was being a slug."

Their simultaneous answers made Will chuckle.

"It must be strange to spend the holidays here," he said. "My school
wasn't one to permit students to stay after the end of term. I always
suspected the teachers wanted us out of there as quickly as possible.
Not that it bothered me, you understand--being home for my favourite
holiday was exactly what I wanted."

Hermione's face lit up. "Christmas was my favourite holiday at home,
too. I used to go to church with my parents on Christmas Eve, see all
the candles and beautiful hothouse flowers, listen to the nasty little
choirboys howl out the canticles--"

"Easy, now," Will said, raising his hands in mock defence. "I was a
'nasty little choirboy' myself, once upon a time."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes." He smiled nostalgically. "Sunday services in the choir
loft, mouldy robes that had seen far better days, dripping beeswax
burning our fingers. Plus carol singing through the village in the
best of the ancient traditions."

Hermione's eyes went very wide. "You did carol singing, too? Our
church choir used to sing outside the shops on Christmas Eve, and
the Sunday school classes went with them."

Harry felt that he had to get back into the conversation somehow. "I
never knew you could sing, Hermione!"

"Well, what do you expect?" she countered, hands on her hips. "You
never asked! I used to sing with the choir every Christmas and Easter
until I went off to school. And after that...well...I just didn't see the
point."

The offended pride had gone from her voice, and she looked rather
embarrassed, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the stone.

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

She hesitated. "Well, I spent the holidays at school, and I wasn't
going to church anymore by that time anyway, and...I didn't want
to go, that's all. I had other things to think about." She tossed her
head impatiently, almost defying them to challenge her choice.

"Things change as you grow older," Will said gently. "What was so
important to you when you were small doesn't matter as much, after
you've grown up a bit." He regarded Hermione thoughtfully. "And I
think you grew up quite a lot, after that first year."

Harry looked over at Hermione, and saw that she was shivering--but
she didn't look cold.

"I...I don't really know," she said slowly. "Mum and Dad weren't
happy when I told them that I didn't want to go--mostly because I
didn't know how to explain it. And I still can't. It's just...it doesn't
mean as much to me, not anymore."

"I see." Will's face was unreadable.

Hermione shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear her mind. Her
voice regained its normal confidence. "Anyway, I'm a witch, aren't I?
Shouldn't I be celebrating Yule or one of those other old holidays?
They're probably just as pertinent, when you stop to consider that so
many of the contemporary Christmas traditions were originally based
on older, pagan festivals that the Roman Catholic Church 'borrowed'
in order to...."

She trailed off when she realised that no one was listening to her
textbook explanation, and stared down at her hands.

There was an long silence.

Abruptly, Will began to hum a tune that sounded very familiar. Harry's
ears pricked up at the soft sound, and he tried unsuccessfully to fit
words to the music. It wasn't until Will had gone through the song a
second time that he recognised it as the melody of the old carol,
"Here We Come A Wassailing".

Hermione had joined in the second time around, humming quietly as
well. When they had finished, she looked a little more cheerful.

"I always did like that one," she said.

Will sniffed dismissively. "I wasn't so fond of it...but then again I
had to learn a rather high descant for it, and it never sounded quite
right to me after that."

"Come on, Hermione, sing something!" Harry prodded.

She shook her head quickly, smiling a smile that tried too hard to be
modest. "It's been far too long. I'd probably sound all horrible and
croaky."

"Come on, please?" He put on his best pout.

"No."

"Pleeeeeeeease?"

"No."

"I bet you're scared."

"I am not!" she said indignantly, though she was gnawing on her lower
lip. "I...I just don't want to sing right now, all right?"

"How about a challenge?"

Both of them turned to look at Will.

"A challenge," he repeated. "After all, I have to redeem the honour of
nasty little choirboys everywhere. Miss Granger, you will sing a carol
of your choosing, and I'll do my best to top you, and so on. Let's see
what we come up with."

"I'd never beat you," Hermione said. "You're so much o--" She all but
swallowed the taboo word, stopping herself before it could escape her
lips.

Will gave her an owlish look. "I might be older than you, but the last
time I sang Christmas music my voice was an octave higher. Certain
vocal techniques used by a boy soprano might not work for a full-grown
man. I'm at a disadvantage in that respect."

"But what happens if you win? Or if I win? How do we win?" Hermione
anxiously twisted a strand of hair between her fingers.

"Who said anything about winning? Consider it a matter of personal
curiosity."

Left with no other option, Hermione nodded shyly.

But the moment she opened her mouth, "O Little Town of Bethlehem"
jumped out as though the song had been waiting in the back of her
throat the entire time.

Harry listened with growing delight as the two of them traded songs,
running through a wide variety of Christmas music with little outward
effort. Hermione sang a lovely rendition of "Angels We Have Heard
on High" that featured a rapid and tricky vocal run, but Will merely
smiled placidly and countered with its original French version, "Les
Anges dans nos Campagnes". Flustered, but not to be outdone, she
responded with "O Tannenbaum" in German, paying careful attention
to the accuracy of her accent. Will, for his part, sang the chorus and
the first two verses of the ancient carol "Riu, Riu, Chiu" with sharp,
staccato Spanish precision.

"You're quite good, Miss Granger," Will said when she had finished
her next song, a pretty version of "Adeste Fideles" that incorporated
both the original Latin and its familiar English translation. "A worthy
opponent."

Harry thought so, too, but he knew that if he said so she'd never
let him hear the end of it.

"You won't beat him, though," he said wickedly, waggling his eyebrows
at her.

Her eyes snapped sparks as she glared at him. "Let's see who'll get
the beating, Harry Potter."

Will, sensing the sudden tension in the air, moved toward the trapdoor.
"I think that's enough for one night."

"No."

Harry blinked, surprised. Hermione had caught hold of the edge of
Will's cloak and was looking up at the older man with shining eyes.

"Just one more," she said. She was calm, but demanding.

Will nodded in acquiescence. He leaned back against the stone wall,
waiting silently.

Hermione let go of his cloak and turned away from them, staring up at
the sky. Without any introduction, she closed her eyes and began to
sing.

"Watchman, tell us of the night,
What its signs of promise are."

Harry had never heard the song before, but the tune was pleasant
and peaceful. Hermione's alto voice, trembling faintly but sure of the
lyrics, rang through the empty night sky like a treble bell.

Then, to his amazement, Will responded as if taking a cue:

"Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height
See that glory beaming star."

Hermione spun around, her startled expression quickly relaxing into
a joyful smile. Her face was intent and earnest as she sang.

"Watchman, does its beauteous ray
Aught of joy or hope foretell?"

Will returned her gaze steadily, answering in all seriousness the
question she had asked.

"Traveller, yes; it brings the day,
Promised day of Israel."

Harry stood as still as a statue, completely enthralled. He could feel
the song around him like a pure liquid, surrounding them, shot through
with an enchantment that took his breath away. Listening to them and
looking up at the sky, he watched the stars twinkle and shine as they
must have done on a similar night nearly two thousand years before.

"Watchman, tell us of the night,
For the morning seems to dawn..."

A plain melody, uncomplicated and childlike in its simplicity.

"Traveller, darkness takes its flight;
Doubt and terror are withdrawn."

Two solo voices that seemed to fill the world with music.

"Watchman, let thy wanderings cease;
Hie thee to thy quiet home."

Was that a slight pause before Will sang his last line? It was brief,
no more than a beat, but it interrupted the flow of the music long
enough to make the final lines stand out as he and Hermione ended
the song together in vibrant harmony.

"Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,
Lo, the Son of God is come!
Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,
Lo, the Son of God is come!
Lo, the Son of God is come!"

The music faded, and slowly, the magic faded as well. They were once
again on top of the Astronomy Tower, staring up at the star-filled sky
and the wreaths of grey clouds that decorated the velvety night.

Far in the distance, a bell began to toll the hour. They counted
twelve strikes.

"Happy Christmas," Will said quietly.

"Happy Christmas," Harry and Hermione murmured.

The words seemed to be a signal for them to depart, and silently
they gathered up the lantern and the Invisibility Cloak and trooped
off down the stairs, leaving Will alone on the parapet, gazing out into
the night.

As Harry walked through the empty halls to the Gryffindor dormitory,
his feet felt as though they barely touched the ground. Tomorrow...no,
today was Christmas Day. He was at Hogwarts. He was with his friends.
They would open presents in the morning, and have snowball fights, and
eat far too much at dinner. Life was good. No, more than good...it
was wonderful.

In his mind, he could still hear the echoes of the last lines of the
carol, sung in the soft alto of one of his closest friends and the rich
baritone of a man who had grown to be as important to him as any
adult he had ever known.

"Traveller, lo, the Prince of Peace,
Lo, the Son of God is come!
Lo, the Son of God is come!"

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Gramarye
gramarye@postmaster.co.uk
http://gramarye.freehosting.net/
April 25th, 2002