From around a corner, Billie watched as a slightly older boy tugged a fraying rope attached to what looked to be the smashed remains of a crate. Atop the bits of wood sat a small girl, her hair all askew, giggling as they raced up and down the narrow streets.

It was uncanny how much the boy looked like Joe. Except for the crookedness of his teeth. And his laughter was much too wheezy. Joe's was always so contagious that Billie's face usually ached from grinning. He always knew how to turn the bleak into something magical.

Even when their mother decided Billie was too 'unholy' for Christmas, her brother always seemed to find a way for them to celebrate. It was their own, little secret. They ventured off in the night to join the carolers, or they scrounged about the empty streets for dropped chestnuts or decorations that might have been stolen away by the wind. They found joy in freshly fallen snow and constructed sleds just as crude as the impoverished Hogsmeade children created.

It was the only Christmas she'd ever really known. There were no presents or decorations. No family parties or special dinners. No stories in front of a fire. It was just her and her brother finding the hidden glimmers of joy in a miserable world. While their mother tried to squash out any of their attempts. Though, Billie seemed to be the only one who was punished.

The children dashed by her again, snatching her attention away from her thoughts. The smallest called out to her, and she returned the greeting with a wave. Her smile was strained, her stomach twisting with momentary sadness.

For once, she didn't ask to join in their game, content to be an onlooker. It was soothing, in a way. She could pretend that they were together again. Would they ever be?