On Christmas morning, Orli woke early. Heavy snow was falling across the castle and grounds. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a giant frosted pumpkin in the winter landscape, while beside it, Hagrid's little hut resembled a gingerbread house dusted with icing sugar. The Durmstrang ship's hull gleamed with a coating of ice, smooth and crystalline, its rigging painted white with frost.
At the foot of her bed, as in previous years, lay a small pile of presents. The first package was from Hagrid—he'd knitted something plump and greyish-white from coarse wool. Orli studied it for ages before deciding it was probably meant to be a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
The second package bore Dobby's name, wrapped in paper as bright green as his eyes. Inside were several beautiful hair ribbons, accompanied by a rather wistful little card: "Dobby wishes Miss Orli a perfect Yule Ball! (Dobby heard from Winky and Miss Hermione that there is a Yule Ball this year, but Miss did not ask Dobby to help with her hair.)"
Orli had to summon Dobby immediately to explain face-to-face that she actually wasn't planning to attend the Ball.
The third gift was from Harry—a set of Exploding Snap cards, each featuring different potions with tiny annotations. Ron's contribution was a bag of Dungbombs, which Orli promptly kicked under her bed. She and Hermione had each given Ron a Canary Cream disguised as a cauldron cake, hoping he'd get a delightful surprise first thing Christmas morning.
Before opening Fred and George's package, she paused. But inside was nothing that overstepped friendship's boundaries—just a dozen gorgeous quills in various colours, including self-inking, spell-checking, and quick-wit varieties.
Hermione had given Orli a set of books, all in French—new works by the renowned French Potions Master Guérande. Years ago, during a holiday in France, Hermione had bought Orli some of his books; as Beauxbatons' official textbook author, his potion treatises were invaluable references.
Naturally, Mrs. Weasley had sent her annual package—this year containing a sparkling bracelet. Orli could tell immediately it was meant for tonight's Ball. Her heart ached slightly; the aftermath of refusing Fred was still spreading through her like poison.
After that, only bare carpet greeted her. The packages were finished, but the one she'd most anticipated hadn't appeared. Orli even lifted the rug, checked the windowsill and under the bed, but found no overlooked gifts.
Hadn't exchanging Christmas presents become an unspoken tradition between her and Snape? Irritation bubbled up inside her, though she wondered if she'd expected too much. How could she count on Snape remembering to send her a gift? He was probably wondering which female professor to ask as his partner for tonight. The thought made Orli suddenly regret the present she'd given him.
She'd put considerable thought into Snape's gift—knowing he might attend tonight's feast, she'd chosen understated yet exquisite obsidian cufflinks that looked remarkably like his eyes. She'd even enchanted them with a steadying charm to help with his potion-brewing. But tonight, those same hands might encircle some female professor's waist, take her hand, and spin her round and round the dance floor...
Her stomach clenched violently. She hadn't even eaten breakfast, yet felt nauseated enough to be sick. She glanced sideways at the bag of Dungbombs under her bed, grateful she wasn't attending the Ball. If she saw Snape dancing with someone else, she might not be able to stop herself from hurling the entire bag straight into the middle of the dance floor.
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