18th December, 1893 — Winter Festival, Hogsmeade

The holiday season hit Ester hard sometimes – she never thought of herself as lonely until Christmas crept around the corner to remind her of the life she had once had. Of course, they had always been stifling before – James’ parents had inevitably been critical and loitering and generally insufferable, and arranging for the same tedious dinner and decorations every year had lost some of its novelty – but now that her habits were more desultory, she did miss the mania of it, just a little.

She had been in Hogsmeade that afternoon, so before she left Ester had wandered into the park which was all lit up for winter, and full to the brim with families. She found herself people-watching almost longingly in spite of herself, and was near the gingerbread stall when a child close by caught her attention. Their face crumpled in disappointment as their gingerbread man fell apart and into a patch of snow, dirtied and dismembered. Whether upset was looming, or they just looked so forlorn, Ester couldn’t help herself: they were peering at her now.

“There, there,” she said kindly, and, since their adult supervision seemed to be otherwise preoccupied, Ester stepped up to the booth herself to buy the child another. “Now, how’s that?” she asked, peering back at them once she had presented them with the new gingerbread man.

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