Snowmelt dripped down the stained-glass windows like fine threads of silver.
Sean was finishing his return gifts.
What he didn't know was that Professor McGonagall was watching the misty horizon with a faint, knowing smile — and somewhere down in the dungeons, even the nearly ever-burning cauldrons had grown still.
Expectation was a curious thing.
It appeared just before joy arrived.
---
In the Great Hall
Sean tucked his planning map into a beautifully wrapped box. In another box, he placed his notes from the past few weeks — refinements and breakthroughs regarding potion rituals.
Whitey, poor owl, had only just recovered some strength…and was already being sent off with more deliveries.
After handling important work, Sean found himself receiving all sorts of unexpected gifts in return.
Most Hogwarts students had sent letters of thanks, stuffed with little mince pies, Christmas pastries, sugared nuts, and candies:
"Mr. Green, thank you for your notes."
"Green's Notes will probably be my favorite books of all time."
"Your chapter on Merlin-era magic history still isn't complete—oh, I mean, Merry Christmas, Mr. Green."
There were so many letters that Sean set two quills writing at once.
Beside the Christmas tree, Justin and the others were whispering.
"Professor? You mean that professor?" Hermione asked curiously. If any student knew more than the others, it was Justin.
"I doubt it's Snape," Ron muttered. "He confiscates everything, even Quidditch Through the Ages."
Everyone knew Snape despised Quidditch.
"Maybe," Justin said mildly, which only made the others more curious.
Harry and Ron exchanged a puzzled look but didn't pry, instead digging back into their presents.
---
Harry's small parcel came from the Dursleys.
Inside was a broom — a completely ordinary one — along with a short note asking whether he wanted to stay at Hogwarts for the summer holidays.
"No way… I mean, I wish…"
Harry stared at the note, then at the broom. The usual irritation he felt whenever he thought of the Dursleys dissolved for a moment, like snow melting on warm stone.
The Dursleys had no idea a magical broom was different from a normal one — they simply assumed all brooms could fly.
But what mattered was this: they remembered he liked flying.
It left Harry dazed for quite a while before he began opening the rest of his gifts.
Hagrid sent a massive tin of treacle toffee — Harry decided he'd heat it by the fire before eating it.
Ron gave him a book called Flying with the Cannons, all about his favorite Quidditch team.
Hermione bought him an elegant eagle-feather quill.
The last package was from Mrs. Weasley: a brand-new hand-knitted sweater and a huge raisin cake.
As he propped up Mrs. Weasley's card, guilt crept up again — he couldn't help thinking of Mr. Weasley's flying car, and the trouble that followed.
Just then, an extra envelope slipped out:
"Dear, don't worry about the car anymore.
It came home on its own.
—Love, Molly"
In that instant, Harry felt as though the fireplace blazed twice as warm.
---
"All right, Harry — ready?" Justin suddenly called.
"Yes!" Harry answered quickly.
He turned and saw Ron grinning, Hermione holding a gift box, and Neville standing there with his own package held tightly.
They exchanged mischievous glances — and then circled around Sean.
Sean paused mid-letter, staring at them all in mild confusion.
What were they planning this time?
Sean's calm green eyes swept over them. Hermione broke first:
"Sean — Merry Christmas. Did you forget our gift? You dummy."
She set a beautifully wrapped box in front of him.
"This is our second winter together. Merry Christmas," Justin added warmly, sliding his own box beside hers.
Then Harry, Ron, Neville…
The pile grew higher and higher, until Neville could no longer reach. Only after Justin reminded him that he was, in fact, a wizard did Neville finally panic-cast a Levitation Charm to stack his box on top.
Snowflakes drifted gently down from the enchanted ceiling, and Sean's pile of gifts soon rivaled the height of the Christmas tree.
The small group of friends settled around the fire again, chatting excitedly like they'd just completed some fun group mission.
Every so often Ron yelped — Sean had given him a brand-new set of Trickster's Wizard Chess.
And sometimes Neville — still under peer pressure — would transform into a plump orange cat and shuffle around the room while Hermione and Justin chased after him.
"This is your fault, Ron!" Hermione snapped mid-chase.
But Ron's joy didn't last:
"Scabbers! Merlin's beard—get—Neville—away—from—him!"
Neville's cat-paws were trying to swat Scabbers.
Ron grabbed the rat's tail with one hand, reaching for Neville with the other — only to smack into Harry's table. The pudding wobbled dangerously.
Ron clutched his hand and howled.
---
It truly was a merry Christmas.
Sean looked at the pile of gifts —
five sweaters, Hermione's extra scarf, Justin's additional pair of gloves.
A voice drifted out from Justin's letter:
"My mother says the best things worth caring about are the good news that falls quietly to the lowest places when the snow begins to fall."
Sean raised his head.
All the young wizards were saying it together.
Justin in the lead; Hermione pink-cheeked from running around; Harry holding a chubby orange-cat Neville, trying to make him spit out Scabbers's tail; and Ron tugging the rat free while forcing a painful smile.
"Say cheese!"
Colin Creevey had appeared from nowhere, snapping a photo with gleeful precision.
And in that moment, everyone saw it — the small, unmistakable smile tugging at Sean's lips.
Up at the staff table, Professor Dumbledore led the school in his favorite Christmas carols. Hagrid's booming voice grew louder with every mug of eggnog.
Percy never noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge to read "DUNCE," and went around cluelessly asking why everyone kept laughing.
Draco Malfoy loudly mocked Harry's new sweater from the Slytherin table — but when he glanced at Sean, he loudly implied those sweaters must be extremely high-end, even though they were all lovingly knitted by Mrs. Weasley.
This winter…
It felt like all their precious memories were tossed into the fire, warming the room,
one glowing moment at a time.