It had been nearly five years since the first Christmas that Harry Potter had spent in the old cottage at Godric’s Hollow, sharing the holidays with his best friends, Ron and Hermione, as well as the love of his life, Ginny. Now, Ginny was his beloved wife, and they were hoping to start a family in the near future.

The cottage itself exuded warmth as Harry, Ginny, and their guests, Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley – although Hermione had insisted on hyphenating after they married, into Hermione Granger-Weasley – sat in the comfortable moss green lounge chairs that Ginny had purchased last summer. The kitchen smell of the already-eaten roasted chicken and green bean casserole had followed them into the living room, and the two young couples balanced dessert plates holding thick slices of spicy pumpkin pie piled high with whipped cream, which Ginny had artfully squirted out of the tip of her wand.

Harry waved his own wand, and the lights dimmed throughout the cozy room. “Shall I light the fireplace?” he asked, wand poised to do so if everyone else agreed.

“No, let’s just do the jack-o-lantern for now,” Ginny said, shaking her head slightly. “We can always light the fire later, if the cottage cools down. I’m actually a bit warm at the moment.”

“Mmmfph tgllua…” Ron agreed through a mound of whipped cream, causing Hermione to sigh, barely refraining from starting a “Ronald” comment concerning her husband’s lack of table manners.

Harry tucked the wand up his sleeve holster, always mindful of the fact that his father, James Potter, had died after laying his wand down in this very room, mistakenly believing he would never need to use it to defend himself and his family from the darkest sort of evil which had lurked, unsuspected, just beyond the cottage walls.

Twenty-two years since his parents’ deaths, mused Harry, staring absently at the glowing grin of the large, carved pumpkin sitting silently at the corner of the stone hearth. The fireplace remained cold and dark, and he couldn’t help wondering about all the cold, dark Halloweens this cottage had seen before Harry had come of age and reconstructed the damaged sections so it could be lived in again. He could only hope that James and Lily Potter would have been pleased to know that Harry still considered this to be his family home and wanted to raise his own family-to-be here in the coming years.

The jack-o-lantern flickered as the candle within slowly melted, and the distinctive aroma of scorched pumpkin flesh gradually replaced the kitchen smells, bringing a true ambience of Halloween into the small cottage.

Outdoors, evening had darkened into night rather early for this part of late autumn. Thick clouds had covered the sky before sundown, and the moon had barely risen, not yet high enough in the sky to penetrate the thick gloom of the cloud cover. A full moon, Harry thought to himself, and his next thought flew to the memory of his late friend, Remus Lupin, who would have needed to down a goblet of Wolfsbane Potion before the moon rose.

“It’s a Lupin Moon tonight,” the dark-haired man told his friends. “I just realized.”

“I still miss Remus and Tonks,” said Hermione. “I always think of them whenever the moon is full. Not that I don’t think of them at other times, too,” she hastened to add. “Just especially at the full moon.”

Ginny and Ron both nodded, each lost in their own memories of the brave werewolf and his metamorphmagus wife, both of whom had sacrificed their lives during the Battle of Hogwarts to help defeat the evil Voldemort once and for all.

They ate their dessert slowly, savoring the spicy pumpkin and the flaky crust, as the wind blew shadows against the cold windowpanes. They could hear the limbs of the old garden trees creaking in the rising gusts, but there was no hint of rain from the clouds overhead.

“A dry Halloween,” Ron observed, laying his empty plate down on the maple coffee table. His fork overbalanced and toppled off the plate, falling silently to the braided rug. “Ugh,” Ron groaned, leaning over against his full belly to pick up the fork. “I ate way too much.”

Hermione and Ginny just looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

Harry scraped the tines of his own fork across the plate a few times to catch up every last crumb, then followed Ron’s lead and set his plate on the coffee table. After the two women had finished, they all settled back, allowing their dinner to digest as they stared at their silent guest glowing on the hearth.

After a lengthy interlude of comfortable silence, Ron mumbled, “I want a story.”

“What?” Harry peered at his friend.

Ron stretched out his legs, bumping against the edge of the low table. “A story. You know – it’s Halloween. We need a good ghost story.”

“Good grief,” Hermione groaned. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Her husband snorted. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? We tell ghost stories on Halloween. Don’t Muggles?”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other.

“Yeah, I suppose,” shrugged Harry. “But I think it’s mainly kids who like to do it.”

“Well, in our world, even adults love to tell ghost stories on Halloween,” asserted Ron. “And Ginny is terrific at telling them, aren’t you, Gin?”

The red-haired woman scoffed. “If you say so.”

“Well, I do,” said her brother. “Tell us a good one then.”

Ginny looked around the room. “What would you like to hear?”

Harry grinned at his wife. “Something really creepy!”

Ginny stared at various parts of the cottage living room, apparently seeking inspiration from the polished wood furniture, the standing coat rack, a tarnished mirror over the mantelpiece, the glowing pumpkin, and the expectant faces of her waiting audience. A strong gust of wind blew a small branch out of a tree, sending it tapping against the window before it fell all the way to earth. The tree branch seemed to trigger a memory for Ginny. “How about the Legend of the Dancing Tree?”

Ron sat up quickly. “Oh, yeah! That’d be perfect!”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged, and Harry hid a smile, knowing that Ginny had hit upon something that Hermione had never come across in her readings.

Settling back into her chair, Ginny began to spin the tale, her voice soft and whispery. Harry waved his wand again to completely darken the entire downstairs, so that only a faint hint of moonglow from behind the cloud cover outlined the multi-paned windows, like faint eyes spanning either side of the chimney. The jack-o-lantern glowed on, the candle flame nodding in time to the cadence of Ginny’s whispery voice.

“It began several centuries ago in the Welsh countryside, a quiet place by day, although it looked rough and wild to those accustomed to the faraway cities. At night, the locals would close their heavy wooden shutters against the darkness, throwing a stout bar across the boards to protect themselves from the evils that rode the night wind beyond the stone walls of their small homes.

“The fear of witches and wizards had been handed down from generation to generation, and all manner of misfortune was attributed to those who wielded the curse of magic powers against the unwary.”

Hermione giggled.

Ginny glared at her. “What’s so funny?”

The bushy-haired woman smiled. “Just hearing a witch telling a story where witches are portrayed as evil. I’d always thought those stories were told only by non-magic folk as warnings against witchcraft. I used to believe witches were bad until I learned that I was one myself.”

“I’m trying to set the scene, if you don’t mind,” Ginny grumbled. “And I would like to finish without constant interruptions. The story is more effective that way.”

Hermione waved a placating hand. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet. You were definitely setting a creepy scene. Please do go on.”

Harry and Ron grinned at each other.

After a moment to gather her thoughts, Ginny took up the reins of her story once more.

“Many innocent people were falsely accused of witchcraft through the centuries, and quite a few of them were executed for possessing the powers of the demons. Some were drowned, some were burned alive, and some fell victim to the Dancing Tree.”

Harry almost made the mistake of asking what the Dancing Tree was, but Ginny went on to explain.

“In those days, they didn’t properly hang the condemned by breaking their necks, causing almost instantaneous death. Instead, the victim – whether guilty or innocent – had a rope tied around their neck and was then hauled up off the ground, dangling from the end of the rope thrown over the thick limb of the killing tree. The hapless person suffocated to death quite horribly, kicking vainly at thin air, appearing to be dancing above the ground in their agonizing death throes.

Ron gave a delighted, theatrical shudder.

Ginny’s voice whispered on. “Most people accused of witchcraft were, of course, innocent. Others who possessed the gift of magic managed to escape the fate that awaited the falsely accused. It was true that witches and wizards could often escape death, or even prison, as long as their magic was powerful enough to get them out of a tight situation. Several individuals managed to Disapparate through sheer will, right under the noses of their accusers and would-be executioners. That’s why the Muggles would often ‘test’ the accused, to see if they could survive various deadly tortures. If they did survive, they were known for certain to be of magical nature, but many innocents died – many more than those who were, indeed, magical – because they fell victim to the fatal tests.

“About two hundred years ago, a genuine witch named Arbutus Windmere was brought up on charges of witchcraft and consorting with demons, and she was one of the unfortunates whose wand had been captured and destroyed by her Muggle accusers. A trespassing child had secretly witnessed her wielding her wand, casting spells in private, causing her garden to flourish during a time of withering in the general community nearby. In all likelihood, Arbutus had not caused the withering – most certainly the result of a natural drought or other pestilence – but the fact that her fruits and vegetables grew green and heavy while her neighbors’ gardens turned brown and crumbled to dust caused great suspicion, and the child’s testimony had the law at the witch’s door, and her wand was confiscated and destroyed, thus abruptly reducing her access to her magical powers.”

Hermione stifled a sympathetic groan.

“It was All Hallows’ Eve when Arbutus was led to the ancient, gnarled oak known as the Dancing Tree. A night, much like tonight, when thick clouds scudded across the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the full moon, and a cold wind whipped through the branches overhead, making them creak and groan with sorrow for the coming loss of life, for the Dancing Tree was as much a victim as any who had had their lives jerked slowly from their bodies at the end of a weathered rope.

“Unknown to the Muggle populace of the olden days, the Dancing Tree had known its share of magical rituals, and its very roots had absorbed a great degree of magic from the witches and wizards who had used the grounds shaded by the tree’s overhanging limbs for their own rituals.

“Accused, tried, beaten, and bound with heavy ropes surrounding her entire body, Arbutus was led barefoot to her doom, stumbling over the uneven wild ground, and dragged along whenever she chanced to fall. Once at the tree, her executioner flung the killing rope high overhead – once, twice, thrice – and it missed the limb every time. The onlookers began to mutter that the witch was causing the experienced hangman’s aim to falter, but on the fourth attempt, the rope slithered over the stout oak limb, and the tree shuddered in sympathy for the condemned woman’s waning moments.

“’Have you any final words for this world?’ asked the priest, his long robes whipping against his legs in the cold wind.

“Arbutus looked him in the eye, then looked around at the fearful crowd. ‘Yes, I am a witch,’ she shouted, ‘But I have never harmed a single soul since the day I discovered my magic. So many times, I could have offered my gift to help others, if I did not fear for this very thing which has come to pass. I could have helped my neighbors’ gardens grow thick and green this year, as I did my own behind my wall, but my fears have proven well founded, as I stand here with the hangman’s rope around my neck. I offer you this instead – take from my garden to feed your families after I am gone, and sleep with full stomachs as I lie cold in unhallowed ground.

“’I give goodness in return for your evil. I have harmed no one, but you are determined to kill me. Therefore, I curse the ground upon which I stand, in the shadow of the Dancing Tree. From this night forward, on All Hallows’ Eve, if the moon be full, whosoever stands upon this ground In the Shadow of the Dancing Tree is Cursed with Death! The Cursed ones will not die instantly, but exactly one year to the day after the Shadow of the Dancing Tree has fallen upon them, they will die in violent circumstances. Be WARNED! This Curse will last from generation to generation, so let your children and great-grandchildren be wary. The Dancing Tree shall stand as my witness, for it shall outlive all of you!’

“The muttering folk did not notice, but over their unwary heads, the Dancing Tree’s limbs shivered more than the wind would account for. Arbutus had cursed the ground beneath her bare feet, the ground within which lay the magic-imbued roots of the giant tree, and the tree absorbed the Curse in the very moment of her utterance, as her magical powers flowed out through her feet.

“’May God have mercy upon your soul,’ intoned the priest, crossing himself and stepping back from the trembling figure of the bound witch. The hangman, a strapping stout fellow in a black death-mask, threw himself against the rough rope and hauled the witch’s light weight aloft, where her legs kicked pitiably against the thin air as she slowly strangled to death. The poor Dancing Tree shuddered with each of the woman’s violent jerks until she finally went limp and swayed silently at the end of the rope. The russet leaves had already begun to fall from the tree by the end of October, but with Arbutus’ death, all of the remaining oak leaves abruptly withered to brown and fell en masse to the rocky ground beneath the gnarled branches.

“Not taking any chances, since Arbutus was a confessed witch, the hangman then sat on the rope to keep the lifeless body hanging for several hours. The chill night passed slowly, with the full moon looking down upon the human tragedy whenever the clouds parted. Several onlookers lingered to see if the witch could somehow resurrect herself, and none of them noticed that the moon cast its shadow through the limbs of the Dancing Tree upon them, since their gaze remained focused on the body swaying in the cold wind.

“By the light of first dawn, Arbutus’ body was finally let down, and quickly buried in unhallowed ground. The villagers refused to eat of the garden she’d offered them at her last, but instead burnt the produce on the vines behind the sheltering wall at the witch’s humble dwelling.

“Exactly one year later, on All Hallows’ Eve, a deep rumbling shook the earth, and the quake loosened tons of rock from the barren hilltop overlooking the isolated village. A number of people were killed in the violent rockslide – including the hangman himself, as well as the priest – and it was only long afterwards that anyone made the connection between Arbutus’ Curse and the destruction of the Welsh village.

“Through the centuries since then, it is rumored that other people have died as a result of Arbutus’ Curse. Some were knowledgeable about the legend of the Shadow of the Dancing Tree but disbelieving, going to investigate deliberately. Others were completely ignorant and passed under the Shadow unknowingly, but their deaths were later connected to the Curse by people who knew the victims had visited the tree on All Hallows’ Eve at the full moon.”

Ginny sat back, her voice falling silent in the dark living room, and the moon suddenly peeked through the layer of clouds in the sky, brightening the four figures in the darkened room as it shone through the windows beside the cottage chimney.

Harry’s lips twitched slightly before he asked, “Um … how is that a ghost story? I mean, Arbutus’ ghost never came back to haunt the area around the Dancing Tree, did it?”

“Hey, yeah!” agreed Ron. “I never thought about that! It really isn’t a real ghost story when you think about it.”

“But it’s creepy,” Hermione argued. “And that’s really what people like on Halloween, isn’t it? A creepy tale by the light of a jack-o-lantern doesn’t necessarily have to be a ghost story, right?”

Ginny huffed a bit. “I agree with Hermione. It’s creepy, and that’s all you need. I never heard of any ghosts connected with the Dancing Tree, but the whole tragedy is unbearably creepy when you consider how many people have died through the centuries as a result of being touched by the shadow of the Dancing Tree.”

“So you truly believe in the Curse?” asked Harry.

Ginny nodded, as did Ron.

Hermione remained silent for a long moment, then said, “Since I entered the magical world, I’ve seen many things made reality which I would have flatly denied when I lived merely as a Muggle. If Arbutus was real and she cast a Curse, then I would be inclined to believe it’s real.”

Harry nodded slowly. Curses varied widely; some were connected to tangible objects, like the Cursed necklace touched by Katie Bell, while other Curses were quite nebulous, like the Curse cast by Voldemort upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. That one lasted for years until Voldemort’s final defeat, but with his death, the Curse was finally broken. If Arbutus Windmere had Cursed the ground beneath the Dancing Tree, Harry didn’t doubt that its Shadow could cause fatalities.

“Didn’t anyone ever try to cut down the tree?” he asked curiously. “It would seem to be a logical solution – to get rid of the Curse, get rid of the tree itself.”

Ginny nodded slowly. “I think it’s been discussed periodically throughout time, but my impression is that people who believe enough in the Curse are too afraid to harm the tree, for fear that the Curse will kill them in revenge. So the tree remains standing. Some believe the oak is nearly five hundred years old, since it was already ancient the night that Arbutus died beneath its branches.”

Hermione added, “Oak trees can live incredibly long lives, compared to many other varieties. But eventually, it will die naturally, or get struck by lightning, and then I suppose the Curse will be broken.”

Smirking, Harry just had to add, “Unless a new tree grows in its place from an acorn. After all, Arbutus Cursed the ground itself, not the actual tree.”

Ron looked at Ginny, who shrugged. “I suppose anything is possible,” she told him. “You can’t really second guess magic.”

The four young adults continued to sit silently, pondering the legend of the Dancing Tree, until Ron suddenly blurted, “Let’s go!”

“Go where?” demanded Hermione.

“To the Dancing Tree, of course!”

“WHAT!” The other three stared at Ron in disbelief.

“Are you MENTAL?” Ginny glared at her brother. “It’s Halloween and there’s a full moon out there! It’s the worst possible time to even think about going!”

“But think about it,” urged Ron. “We know to be careful, unlike the other idiots who didn’t believe in the legend. We’ll just stay well out of its shadow, and we’ll be just fine.”

“Ronald!”

“C’mon, Mione! It’ll be fun! Something to tell our kids one day—“

“If we live long enough to even have kids,” Hermione retorted sharply, punching her husband’s bicep with surprising force.

“But seriously,” continued the redhead, “in just a few years, we won’t be able to do ANYTHING because we’ll have kids, and we’ll be stuck raising them and can’t go on holidays without dragging them along and all the fun of being young and doing what we want to when we want to will be over. This might be the last, most exciting thing we’ll do before we get stuck with doing nothing but family stuff.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but stopped before a single word came out. For once, Ron had made a stupendous point. Both couples were on the verge of starting families, and children would take up all their time. These last few months before embarking on parenthood had suddenly become precious, due to the simple fact that they were still – for the moment – unencumbered.

Ginny looked at Harry, and he could tell that his wife was thinking the same thing. They both dearly wanted children, but a final adventure before midnight feedings and changing nappies might be fun. Maybe the four of them were a bit too entrenched in action and adventure from their years at Hogwarts, battling Voldemort, trolls, and Defense instructors. Maybe one more wild fling was actually called for…

“Let’s do it,” Harry said, grinning. “We’ll be very careful. It’ll be fun!”

The others stood as he did, and Ron immediately headed for the coat stand near the front door.

Harry turned to follow the other three, when a deep, sepulchral baritone caused his very soul to shiver.

“POTTER!”

Ginny squealed as the tarnished, antique mirror hanging above the mantelpiece wobbled dangerously.

Harry turned to stare up at the mirror, and the silvery features of Severus Snape blurred into sharp focus. The former Potions Master and Headmaster of Hogwarts glared down at his four former students.

“Put your coat back, Weasley,” commanded the mirror. “None of you will be going anywhere tonight.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Ron, although his voice faltered at the fierce expression on Snape’s face. The mirror was practically glowing with eldritch fire, as the image of the older man continued to glare down from his elevated vantage point.

“Hello, Professor,” said Hermione politely. “Happy Halloween.”

The mirror had been Charmed by Lily Potter while the Potter family was in hiding, and when Severus Snape had died in the Shrieking Shack during the Battle of Hogwarts, murdered by Voldemort’s gigantic snake, Nagini, the mirror had awakened, similar to a painted portrait of a wizard who had died. Snape’s own opinion was that a mirror was a rather poor substitute for an actual portrait, the only real advantage being that nobody could stare at him while he was sleeping – the way they could do with wizarding portraits – since his silvery image faded completely away whenever he was not interacting with the occupants of the cottage.

Lily had requested that Severus Snape allow her to Charm a bit of his living essence into the mirror, so that he could watch over her young son, Harry, as he grew up, and Snape had agreed, although with a few misgivings. Lily had not believed that her childhood friend would survive much longer, given his connection with Voldemort, but Snape had not actually taken up residence in the mirror until many years afterward, when Harry was already an adult.

Harry himself had not known about the mirror’s living image until the first Christmas after Voldemort’s defeat, when he’d spent several months restoring the cottage. Snape had appeared suddenly on Christmas Eve, while Harry had been suffering through the uncertainty of not knowing how his family would have celebrated Christmas, had they lived, and what they truly believed about the holiday. To Harry’s relief, Snape had been able to shed some light on the subject, given his background as Lily’s friend, and Harry finally made peace with his own beliefs, lighting a single candle as he remembered his mother saying, “Hang a shining star, Harry! Hang a shining star!”

The silvery image of Severus Snape had faded away that night, reappearing from time to time on subsequent July thirty-firsts and other Christmas Eves, since Lily had wanted Snape to pay special attention to Harry on his birthday and at Christmas. Occasionally, Snape “woke up” when an interesting discussion happened to take place under his nose, and would offer opinions – some solicited, some not – concerning the doings of young Potter and his friends. Apparently, Harry and his fellow former Gryffindors were now in for one of Snape’s unsolicited lectures.

“I will ignore that, Miss Granger. Pardon me, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. You know as well as I do that Halloween is not a happy time for me.”

Hermione looked properly chastened. “I’m sorry, sir. It just sort of slipped out…”

Harry looked over toward the coat stand. “Better put your coat back, Ron, until we’ve heard what Professor Snape has to say.”

Ron grumbled something under his breath regarding cauldrons and detentions, but he rehung his coat on the tall wooden stand. Sulking a bit, he flung himself back into the lounge chair and stared unhappily at his empty dessert plate.

“You – NONE of you – will be going to see the Dancing Tree tonight, or any other night when a full moon rides the skies,” Snape stated emphatically.

“But – “

“No buts, Potter.” Severus Snape’s silver face glared down at the black-haired man. “You will listen to what I have to say on the matter, and then you will understand exactly how foolish a journey you were planning to make.”

Harry shrugged, then waved the others to sit down, as he settled back into his own chair. “Go ahead, then,” he said to the mirror. “Tell us why it would be foolish to go to the Dancing Tree.”

Snape looked at Harry, then at Ginny, Hermione, and Ron. When his penetrating gaze returned to Harry, he growled, “Just like your father, Potter. He did many foolish things, too.”

With difficulty, Harry bit back a retort. It had been many years since he’d had to listen to the “just like your father” comments from Snape, and knowing that Severus Snape was the bravest man he’d ever known still didn’t remove the sting from such comments. “Okay, Professor. How is going to the Dancing Tree just like something my father would have done?”

After a moment of intense silence, Snape replied, “Your father did go to the Dancing Tree, Potter. On Halloween. Under a full moon.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Ron snorted. “You’re making that up.”

Ginny and Hermione exchanged looks, then stared back at the mirror in trepidation.

“Indeed, not, Mr. Weasley.”

Harry looked around the living room and felt a sudden chill. Taking out his wand, he lit the cottage fireplace, and the golden glow from the dancing flames soothed his goosebumps.

“Please tell me what you know,” Harry addressed Snape. “I think we should all hear it.”

Snape nodded sharply. “It happened the year that you were born, Potter. Your parents were having a discussion very much like you and your friends had, talking about the Dancing Tree after recounting the tale on Halloween night. James Potter decided that he and your mother should go visit the tree – being very careful, of course, to stay out of the shadow. They left you in the care of Lily’s parents, since you were only three months old, and they Apparated to Wales, along with Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew, Frank and Alice Longbottom, and Rubeus Hagrid. A strange assortment of friends, but all were young – except for Hagrid, who seems perpetually young at heart – and they were all up for an adventure on Halloween.

“I heard the details from Hagrid himself, since I seldom had much contact with the other members of their group. The night was, indeed, much like this one, with a full moon backlighting thick clouds. Their plan was to visit the Dancing Tree, and since Alice had a bit of the Gift, see if she could call up the spirit of Arbutus Windmere when the Veil was at its thinnest.

“Hagrid said the hill beyond the remnants of the village was barren of all but the Dancing Tree. No crops would grow in the vicinity, and even grazing animals avoided a broad area surrounding the ancient, gnarled tree. Thin, browning grass covered the rocky ground, and the night wind whispered through the remaining leaves on the Tree.

“The group stood a fair distance away from the tree at first, trying to determine where the shadow would fall, if the moon were to come out from behind the clouds. The cloud cover was so thick, however, that the moon’s appearance seemed highly unlikely, and they could only guess as best they could at where the branches might cast the shadow.

“Eventually, Alice decided to have a go at contacting Arbutus’ spirit, and she slowly approached the tree, walking around it as she gave it a wide berth. The others watched from a distance, at first keeping a close eye on the sky, but eventually growing bored with Alice’s failure to make contact.

“Someone decided that maybe the group should form a circle, holding hands, to boost Alice’s power, so they all warily approached the tree. Joining hands, they began to chant in a manner that would have done Sybil Trelawney proud. The chill wind skirled through the twisted branches as they began to walk a circle a short distance away from the tree. Alice reached out with all of her mental powers, calling to Arbutus’ spirit, while the others circled and chanted, hoping their efforts would help pierce the Veil, but they had no success.

“Someone then suggested that perhaps, instead of circling to one side of the tree while holding hands, they should actually begin tracing a large circle around the entire tree, focusing their energies with the tree as their center. That made sense, so they dropped hands and spread themselves out around the tree at a careful distance, then began to circle the tree while chanting, chanting, chanting…

“’I feel something!’ shouted Alice, flinging her arms wide, her head back, her eyes closed. The night wind tangled her long hair about her thin shoulders. ‘I feel something! I feel a presence… I need – I need – I need more energy! Run! Run! Run!’

“The rest of the group began to run around the tree, stumbling over the rocky ground, chanting and gasping with the effort of navigating the uneven hillside.

“’Come, Arbutus! Come, Arbutus! We await you! Come, Arbutus!’ shouted Alice, as the others continued to run and chant.

“Hagrid says he saw the Dancing Tree begin to glow with energy, and then heard a hideous shriek, followed by a thunderclap. At that very moment, the entire hillside lit up brightly – it was the moon! The clouds had broken apart, and the full moon shone down upon the Dancing Tree and the company running in circles around it.

“To the horror of all involved, two of the members were caught in the shadow of the branches when the moon appeared, and although they exited the twisted tendrils of obscurity as quickly as possible, they had been Cursed. Neither actually felt physically different at that moment in time, but they both feared what was destined to pass.

“’Did you find what you came seeking?’ whispered a voice within the Dancing Tree. ‘You should not meddle with powers you fail to understand…’

“Hagrid swears he saw the figure of a bound female hanging beneath a stout limb, and the woman laughed low and long before vanishing.

“The group departed and returned to their respective homes, terrified at what had taken place – both at the rent they had wrought in the Veil, and at their betrayal by the clouded sky. The full moon had had the last laugh, along with the spirit of Arbutus Windmere.”

Snape fell silent as he let his audience fully absorb the story.

At long last, Harry looked up at the mirror. “Those two people who were caught in the Shadow of the Dancing Tree… Those were my parents, weren’t they?”

Snape nodded sadly. “Yes. And exactly one year later, they were murdered by Voldemort.”

Harry pressed his lips together tightly to keep them from trembling. How stupid! How senseless! Trying to contact the spirit of a dead woman … for entertainment, no less! And Lily and James Potter had fallen victim to the Curse of the Shadow of the Dancing Tree.

He glanced around the room at the others, seeing their faces somber in the flickering firelight. Even Ron looked incredibly subdued. When the redhead looked back at him, Harry could see in his eyes that Ron was convinced now that visiting the Dancing Tree under a full moon was entirely out of the question. In all likelihood, they would never visit the Tree at all, given its association with the Potters’ deaths.

Hermione and Ginny looked at Harry and each gave a tiny nod, agreeing silently that they would not be Apparating to Wales this Halloween night.

“Sorry, mate,” mumbled Ron. “I never would’ve suggested it, if I’d known.”

“It’s okay,” said Harry quietly. “I’m just glad that Professor Snape was here to caution us before we got into trouble.”

The young people looked up once more at the tarnished mirror.

“Until Christmas, then?” asked Severus Snape, not quite smirking as he prepared to take his leave.

Harry gave a lopsided grin. “I suppose so. Unless something more drastic comes up before then.”

Snape glared warningly at him before his image melted back into the silver reflection of the firelit living room.

“Anyone for more pie?”

“Ronald!”

Harry and Ginny smiled at each other, although – in the wake of Snape’s story – their smiles felt somewhat tarnished, a bit like the mirror that watched over them from above the glowing fireplace. Upon the hearth, the burning jack-o-lantern continued to scent the air with the smell of Halloween.

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