Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. You got to put up and decorate a tree, listen to holiday music, bake cookies for Santa (if you still believed) and put presents under the tree. The next morning you are supposed to wake up full of joy excited to see how that mythological man changed your family room. Did he add more decoration on top of the presents he brought? Did he eat the cookies you spent making with your mom for him? You weren’t allowed to have any because they were for Santa, but she let you lick the spoon before washing it. Christmas morning is waking up your parents early because Santa was already here and there is no need to wait any longer and you just can’t sleep anymore anyway! Christmas morning was supposed to be strewn bits of wrapping paper, warm, laughter, hugs, the smell of cinnamon in cocoa, and most importantly Christmas was supposed to be happy…

Numb… Cold and numb was all she felt as she stared down at the table in front of her, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap as if she were trying to break them. Maybe the pain in her hands could distract her from the pain in her chest. The one she was trying so desperately not to think about though it grabbed her fragile ribcage in its hands and squeezed so hard she didn’t know how she could bear it any longer. It had come in overwhelming waves earlier that night like a white-hot fireplace poker being slid right into her heart. Sending even the tears that had fallen down her face to burn their trails on her porcelain fine complexion.

The clap of a cheap paper cup reverberated from the table in front of her pulling her dull sapphire eyes that held no sparkle from her hands to the table, and then to the man that had set it there. His eyes were familiar, but they were kind, even if one was starting to blacken from where she had hit him. His hand reached up to try and comfort her, but she visibly flinched away from him. He withdrew his hand and sat down across from her at the table. “Your grandmother is on her way to bring you home. It shouldn’t take too long for her to get here, but in the meantime, I brought you some hot cocoa. I know it isn’t the best, but it’s what we have… Do you want to wait until she is here to talk about what happened?” Santario wasn’t in trouble they had made it perfectly clear that they knew it hadn’t been her. In fact, when the man tried to take her arm that night to bring her to the ministry, he hadn’t even seemed mad when she swung on him and managed to punch him in the eye.

Santario swallowed and tried to wet her lips that felt like sandpaper as she stared down at the thin hot cocoa in front of her. “Which one?” Was that her speaking…? Her voice sounded dry, hollow, and empty.
“Excuse me? Which one what?” His voice calm, but slightly confused.
“Which grandmother?”
“Oh, that would be Césarine de Clairmont. She said she would floo in and take you to France. As soon as they get a secure connection set up.”
He was met with silence an unnerving silence as she sat there staring at the drink that was not as hot as the poker in her chest but was starting to get cold. Silently she reached up grasping the paper cup with her left hand and shakenly brought the drink to her lips taking a sip. It was nothing more than glorified water to her devoid of the rich goodness and comfort it normally provided.
“Thank you.” It was hollow, that was not the name she had wanted to hear but given her current state, the man wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
“Miss Martin, would you like to wait until your grandmother is here-"

She cut him off, “It started like any other winter holiday. Only this time they had waited until I got home to decorate the tree. They wanted to do that with me.” She took another sip of the drink before placing it back down on the table and clasping her hands in her lap once more. The man was silent now he had done his job long enough to know that right now she needed his patience, not his persistence.
“They had found us last night… Mother pushed me into a closet and cast some spells on it. She told me to be quiet and stay still no matter what happened. No matter what happened I needed to survive… Three people came in. I couldn’t see that well, but I heard their names. Gideon, Abbandon, and Loralei... They came in talking about how they needed to finish what they started because they knew my father had not stopped helping the auroras look for them.” Her dull eyes flashed up to the man in front of her in an accusatory fashion.

“That is correct I was the Auror working with him.”
“That was when the cruciatus curse hit them both.” She had stood in that closet for what seemed like an eternity listening to their screams. Her wand had been in her hand and she tried to will herself to leave the closet, but no matter how hard she tried she found herself being useless to help them. She could only stand there and silently cry. USELESS STUPID GIRL! WHY DIDN’T YOU DO ANYTHING TO HELP THEM?!
The door opened and someone entered. “You don’t need to go on any further… We can do this another time.”

Fresh tears had begun falling down her face and she was starting to tremble, but she couldn’t tell if it was from fear, shame, or rage. Then a familiar voice chimed in, “You most certainly can, Sean… I think you have pushed my granddaughter enough for one evening.” The voice was cold, calculated, and unwelcome. Santario looked from the man in front of her up to her grandmother who was now by her side helping her up. “We are getting you straight home. This nonsense is unnecessary! Interrogating a child on Christmas eve with no adult present. Tsk tsk. Now, why don’t you go get some cream for that eye and get home to your own family instead of furthering the knife in the back of mine.”

Santario was grabbed by the arm and whisked down the corridor until they arrived at the fireplace that would bring them home or at least home to her grandmother. “Your bedroom well be ready for you in a few moments. I knew your riffraff of a father was going to get her into trouble someday and now look what has happened.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Rage started to bubble a feeling she had never known that she had possessed before.

A cold hand grabbed her by the chin and forced her to look up into her grandmothers’ eyes. “I will speak about him however I please. This is my home little girl and if it weren’t for him and his obsession your mother would still be alive!” Her grandmother let go of her face and it was as if the pot forgotten on the backburner boiled over. Heat rose in her chest threatening to burn her alive if she didn’t get it out. The edges of her vision dimmed dripping in crimson regret as she rounded on her grandmother.

“DO NOT SPEAK ABOUT MY FATHER THAT WAY YOU COLD HEARTED BITCH!” Santario shrieked at the top of her lungs as she walked over to the first expensive-looking and breakable item grabbing it and throwing it at the wall. It shattered into a million pieces and it set off a chain reaction within her a fire that lit ablaze the gasoline that coursed through her veins. Without another word, her grandmother left her in the den as Santario became an intemperate storm of destruction to anything and everything she could get her hands on.

She threw vases, ripped books apart, threw dirt from the plants everywhere, and pulled down curtains while screaming. However, the screaming eventually turned into crying and crying turned into uncontrolled heart-wrenching sobs in the middle of the den. Sobs which would bring her into the comforting embrace of darkness as she fell asleep.

Around three in the morning, she would wake up only to find herself in a warm and comfortable bed instead of on top of a pile of ruined books where she had fallen asleep. This was no doubt her grandfather’s doing. He was a quiet and reserved man and despite the woman he had married he still had a warm heart hidden somewhere in there. The den had no doubt been repaired by now with no evidence of the storm that had torn it apart. “Kodbey?” Her weak voice called out into the room that was only lit now by a low fire in the fireplace opposite her bed. With a crack, a little elf appeared next to her bed. “Yes, mistress?” “Can you please get me some water and something to eat?” “Of course mistress.”

The elf left and Santario pushed back the duvet and slid out of bed. Looking around her room from what she could see all of her Hogwarts things had been brought here. Pretty much anything from her old room minus the furniture had already been acquired. No doubt this had happened while she had still been in the ministry and while she destroyed the den. She walked over to her desk where parchment was already laid out and her favorite quill sat next to an ink bottle and she started to write. The elf would appear shortly after with her water and some warm food. “Kodbey, one last thing. Can you bring me one of the owls please?” The elf nodded and within a matter of moments he brought an owl in and placed it and it’s cage next to her desk. “Thank you Kodbey.”

Santario would start and stop many letters crumpling them up into balls and tossing them into the fireplace before she was finally satisfied with what she had written. Carefully removing the owl from its cage she would stroke its chest. “You have a decently long journey ahead of you. So stay safe and don’t overexert yourself.” She opened the French doors out to her balcony letting the harsh bitter winter wind into her room. “I am sure you will be able to find him, but Norway is far, so make sure to take breaks if you need to.” With that, she secured the letter to Erik Tharaldson to the owl and let it take off into the night.