I own no one, the characters are JKR's except for Charlotte. The plot, however, belongs to me.

A Merry Christmas Tale

It was a dark and stormy night.

An appropiate description, despite the fact that the darkness was perfectly fitting at seven o'clock in December and that the storm was in fact a blizzard that would, come morning, have covered the entire land in a blanket of white.

The shortest day of the year.

Yuletide.

It was the perfect Christmas setting, the fire burnt bright in the grate, a beautiful tree hung heavy with decorations -magical yet simple- gracing the space between the table and the fireplace. Presents clustering at the base of the tree, the remains of a delicious feast spread out on the dining table and a half dozen children laughing and playing on the hearth, occasionally shooting hungry glances at the presents.

"Not before morning." The parents laughed.

Before long the oft-uttered cry went up, "Tell us a story Grandfather!"

The old wizard, who'd been staring into the fire ever since the dinner had been finished, now looked up. "And which story would that be?" He leant close and winked at the youngest, "A proper Yuletide tale, all about snow and secrets?"

"Tell us about the Battle of Salisbury plain." A young girl piped up, a five year old cluching a battered toy hippogriff.
"Yes, tell us that one!" The call was taken up by six eager voices.

"I don't think that's really appropriate." One of the fathers frowned.

"Are you sure you want to hear that one? I've told you often enough." The Grandfather looked at the children.

"Yes! Yes!"

He shrugged at the father, "Can't argue with the majority." Then he leant back and the children shuffled about, getting settled for the story.

"Now, you've all heard about the terrible war that was fought when I was barely older than you are now?"

The children nodded excitedly.

"Well, the war had been raging for years, but one day, on the very day of the Spring Equinox, both armies lined up on Salisbury plain to finally fight it out. The winner would decide the fate of the world.

"Did you fight in it?" One young boy interrupted, and was hushed.

"Of course I did, and so did many others: my friends, my father, there were hundreds of us on the plain the day the sun rose that day. But there were even more on the other side of the field. War-witches and warlocks riding broomsticks, young witches and wizards brainwashed into fighting, creatures blackmailed into joining their cause, all practiced murderers with the blood of our friends on their hands.
Our goal was to reclaim Stonehenge from our enemies. Once we had it, the power in the stones would defeat them forever. All of us had lost relatives to our enemies, your great-grandmother, my mother, died at the hands of their leader.

"There might have been more of them, but we were fighting for freedom and right, and our dedication made each of us as good as two of them.
We lined up and raised our wands, and I won't lie and say I didn't feel scared at that moment, seeing how strong or enemies looked.
But then our genral stepped forward, and I couldn't feel anything but awe and pride.

"His voice roared out over our ranks, strengthening our resolve even as he cursed our enemies. He lifted his wand and our banner flew in the sky, he looked at his nemesis, the enemy general, with eyes of fire and the signal to charge was sounded.

"Ah, my children, how can I describe the next few minutes? One couldn't see the sky, so many curses were thrown, red from one side, green from the other. I saw the wizard beside me knocked down by curses but I had no time to help him, I had to fight.

"The sky above, what I could see, was crossed with lightning as our magic drew on the ancient power of Stonehenge not half a mile away. We could feel the power inside us and it was as if the air itself fought with us.

"I shot battle curse after battle curse at our enemies, and many more came back at me, my robes burnt from incendary spells, I nearly dropped my wand as one shot a disarming hex at me. I lost two of my closest friends that terrible day."

"And the general?" This was their favourite part of the tale.

"He was fighting his greatest enemy, the one, it is said-" he dropped his voice again"-Who it was prophesised would either kill him or be killed by him. A bold and eager murderer, a hero in many exaggerated and cheated victories. He was tall and strong, with death in his hands and in his heart.

"But even with all the power the general's enemy held, even with the knowlege of so many false victories behind him, our leader was as strong as steel, his hands were ablaze with flame and his eyes-" He stopped and opened his own eyes wide-" His eyes were like the killing curse itself!"

The children gasped.

"But then, just when it looked like he might win, that his enemy might fall, the upstart avoided the curse that would have ended his life and shot a spell which threw our valient general to the ground and blasted his wand from his hands!"

The room was silent, the children all but trembling in excitement.

"The upstart stood over our brave leader, and threw the curse that would have ended his life.
But the general was too fast, he rolled out of the way of the curse, and leaped to his feet. Then, before his enemy realised what he was doing, he snatched his enemy's wand, pointed it at his nemesis and spoke the killing curse. I swear the flash of green lit up the sky as the upstart collapsed in the dirt, dead.

"And so did Harry Potter fall, and when he died, his army panicked. They fled the field, disorganised and terrified. We ran after, led by our valient general, and routed them completely. We chased them over the plain, over the road and they ran from the battlefield and the sacred stones of Stonehenge.
We had won."

The children smiled, feeling sleepy now that the excitement had worn off. The parents shooed them off to bed, reminding them of the presents awaiting them in the morning.

As they left, one child, the same child who had suggested the story turned to her grandfather. "Grandpa, what happened to the general? Did he find his wand?"

And Draco Malfoy, Death Eater, veteran of dozens of battles, smiled at his granddaughter. "He found it, but by then he didn't need it anymore, but that, Charlotte, is a story for another night. Sleep well my dear."

Charlotte hugged her grandfather goodnight and went off to bed, head still buzzing with tales of Lord Voldemort and his valient Death eaters.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Skull Bearer.