[Third Person poV]
Lance sat perched on the windowsill of his room, one leg folded beneath him while the other hung lazily over the edge. A book rested on his lap, half-read, and a steaming cup of tea sat near him, a casual flick of his wand away. Outside, snowflakes drifted gently through the air, layering the castle courtyard in a soft white blanket. The rhythmic fall of snow was hypnotic, and for a time, he let himself get lost in it—quiet, peaceful, distant from everything else.
That stillness was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Young Master," came Bedivere's familiar, calm voice. "I've come bearing more gifts. May I come in?"
Lance sighed, his shoulders slumping as he glanced back at the unopened pile of presents already gathered in the corner. "Just bring them in and add them to the rest," he replied, opening his book again without much interest.
"Are you certain, sir?" Bedivere asked through the door, hesitating slightly. "These appear to be from your friends at Hogwarts—Arthur and… Mer-Lynn, if I'm reading the labels correctly."
Lance's head snapped up. "What?! They sent me something?" His voice shifted instantly from indifferent to excited. "Well, what are you waiting for? Bring them here!"
The door opened, and Bedivere entered carrying two neatly wrapped boxes stacked in his arms. Lance practically leapt off the windowsill, landing lightly on his feet.
He grabbed the first package—Arthur's—and tore through the wrapping with enthusiasm. Inside was… an empty scabbard.
"A sheath?" Bedivere murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Is this some sort of inside joke?"
"Shhh." Lance held up a finger, unfolding the attached letter.
He began to read and he could practically hear Arthur's voice in his head, dripping with amusement.
"Dear Lance, I know that you're perfectly fine carrying the hilt of your sword around in your pockets like a common commoner, but as a Knight in training, my heart aches for that poor blade—forever denied the comfort of rest. You, too, have been denied the exquisite pleasure of properly drawing your weapon in the heat of battle. Truly, it is an experience unlike any other. I grieved for you until I could grieve no more. Thus, with the aid of my ever-faithful white-haired assistant, I have procured a suitable vessel for your new partner."
Lance had to stop there, clutching his stomach as he broke into laughter. "Someone was definitely enjoying themselves writing this," he said between chuckles, shaking his head.
Still grinning, he flipped the letter over and continued:
"In all seriousness, the scabbard is enchanted with a function similar to mine. You'll be able to shrink it down and wear it as a charm around your neck—so that we can match. Don't make it weird. I just thought it'd be cool. Merry Christmas, sincerely, Arthur King."
Lance exhaled a short laugh and muttered, "He's so weird" But his grin didn't fade.
Reaching into his robe, he withdrew a sleek black hilt. With a light tap, a shimmering blade burst forth, forming into a gleaming claymore. Bedivere's eyes widened slightly at the sudden transformation, though he recovered his composure just as quickly.
Without hesitation, Lance slid the blade into the scabbard. There was a faint hum, and the sword settled perfectly into place. "Fits just like a glove," he said with satisfaction, tilting it to examine the craftsmanship.
Moments later, the scabbard began to shrink, the material folding into itself until it was small enough to fit in his palm. Lance smirked and looked toward Bedivere. "Bring me a chain. I'll wear it as Arthur suggested."
Bedivere nodded and departed silently to retrieve one.
In the meantime, Lance reached for the second gift—the one marked with Merlin's immaculate handwriting. This one was smaller, thinner, and noticeably less festive. He unwrapped it carefully and raised an eyebrow at the sight of a single book titled The History of the House of Slytherin.
A small folded note fluttered out and landed on the cover. Lance picked it up and read,
"Read it. You're going to want to if you ever plan on making friends with people in your House, you loner. —Merlin."
Lance stared at the note for a long moment, a faint twitch forming in his brow. "Charming as ever…" he muttered dryly before rolling his eyes. Still, he placed the book carefully on the table beside him instead of tossing it aside.
By the time Bedivere returned with a silver chain, Lance was still holding the tiny enchanted scabbard between his fingers, the faintest smile lingering on his face
…
Granger Residence:
Hermione stared at the small, neatly wrapped package sitting before her on the table, her brows furrowing in confusion as she read the label.
"From… Arthur?" she murmured aloud, tilting her head slightly.
She hadn't expected a gift—certainly not from him. Curiosity piqued, she carefully undid the ribbon and peeled back the wrapping paper, revealing a small, leather pouch. A folded note slipped out from inside.
Hermione unfolded it and read aloud softly, "A storage pouch for you to carry your mountain of books. It's an unreleased product, but I know you'll find it useful. Hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas, sincerely, Arthur King."
Her lips parted slightly in surprise. For a few seconds, she just stared at the pouch, touched by the unexpected thoughtfulness. Slowly, a smile blossomed across her face—gentle and genuine.
"How kind of him…" she said quietly, brushing her thumb over the smooth leather surface.
With curiosity tugging at her, she opened the pouch—and blinked in astonishment. Inside were several of her favorite books, all perfectly organized and nestled within an impossibly small space. The enchantment was seamless; it seemed endless inside.
A soft chuckle escaped her, shaking her head fondly. She placed the pouch beside her stack of study materials, a faint blush of gratitude coloring her cheeks. For someone who rarely expected gifts from outside her family, it was an oddly heartwarming surprise.
---
Hogwarts — Gryffindor Common Room
"Will you look at this? I've got some presents!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes wide in pleasant shock as he stared at the neat little pile waiting at the foot of his bed.
Ron, who was already half-buried in wrapping paper, grinned. "What did you expect, turnips?" he teased, turning back to his ownheap of gifts—his was, unsurprisingly, a good deal larger.
Harry picked up the top two boxes, turning one over curiously. "This one's from Arthur," he said with a grin. "And this one's from Hagrid."
He decided to open Arthur's first—it was heavier, solid in his hands. The paper came off easily, revealing a sleek wooden case polished to a shine. When he flipped it open, his eyes widened. "A broom polishing kit!" he breathed.
Ron leaned over, letting out a low whistle. "Blimey, those things aren't cheap!"
Before Harry could respond, Ron blinked and noticed another small package in his own pile. "Wait a minute—he got me something too?"
He tore it open—and froze mid-motion. Then, with a gasp, he held up a crimson and gold Quidditch jersey emblazoned with the emblem of the Chudley Cannons.
"No way!" he shouted, his voice cracking with excitement. "He got me merchandise from my favorite team! Okay—it's official. Arthur is the coolest guy ever!"
Harry laughed, shaking his head as Ron eagerly tried the jersey on over his pajamas. "I'll remind you of that the next time he beats you at wizard's chess," he said, grinning as he moved on to the rest of his gifts.
The room filled with warm laughter, rustling paper, and the scent of butterbeer fudge someone had left on the windowsill. For a brief moment, Christmas morning at Hogwarts felt brighter than ever.
---
Elsewhere — The Headmaster's Office
High above the castle, the firelight flickered across the shelves of trinkets and portraits that adorned Albus Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster himself sat comfortably behind his desk, spectacles sliding slightly down his nose as he examined a small parcel now open in front of him.
Inside were several pairs of socks—each one more colorful and bizarre than the last. Some were enchanted to sparkle faintly, while others bore tiny stitched patterns of stars, moons, and even chocolate frogs.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled behind his glasses as a chuckle rumbled from his chest. "How thoughtful," he murmured. "And just when I was thinking I might need to buy new ones for myself."
From his perch nearby, Fawkes the Phoenix let out a pleased trill. Dumbledore turned his gaze toward his fiery companion, noticing how the majestic bird was happily testing out a new wooden perch—smooth, polished, and slightly curved, clearly crafted with care.
"Ah," Dumbledore said with an amused smile. "So you like the perch Arthur sent you that much, do you, old friend?"
Fawkes let out a bright, melodic cry and flapped his glowing wings, the embers cascading around him like sparks of joy.
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