The 25th of December 1977

-Patronus-

He doesn't go home for Christmas.

He doesn't listen to his drunken father abuse his fragile mother; he has built a wall between them now, to keep the snowflakes out.

He sits on a broken swing in the frozen playground, a green woolen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, performing the patronus charm again and again.

The silver doe trots carefully on the newly fallen snow, its muzzle lifted towards the grey and heavy sky.

Because she does not sit beside him.

It is the first Christmas that he is truly alone, his childhood beliefs extinguished now, his old loves neutralised and rejected.

He holds his wand hand steady, placing all his hope into the wavering silvery figure that sniffs hopefully at the grass peeping out of the snow.