Snow drifted over the square, settling on the black iron railings outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. The old townhouse looked as gloomy as ever, its soot-stained windows hiding the warm glow within. For one night, the ancient Black home felt less like Order headquarters and more like a family home. Inside, Christmas had won.

Garlands lined the banisters, enchanted candles floated overhead, and a glittering fir tree stood proudly in the drawing room. The scent of roast turkey, mulled cider, and Molly Weasley's baking filled the house. For one evening, the war felt far away.

The Order crowded the room. Sirius lounged on the sofa while Remus smiled over his tea. Arthur enthusiastically explained battery-powered fairy lights to Kingsley. Moody sat by the fire, magical eye spinning ceaselessly. Fred and George were already trying to make Ginny laugh. Everything felt... normal.

Almost.

You stood near the doorway with a butterbeer, pretending to admire the tree while watching your target.