The snow outside Hogwarts had been falling for three days straight.
The world beyond the windows was silent and white, every tower and turret haloed in frost. Inside, the castle glowed — fires burning steady, garlands winding up the staircases, faint laughter echoing down empty corridors.
For the first time in months, Talora woke without dread.
Her chest felt light. The ache that had haunted her bones was gone.
And beside her, in the next bed, Shya was snoring softly into her pillow, cosmic eyeshadow smudged even in sleep.
For once, life felt still.
Warm.
Safe.
Two days before Christmas, Shya and Talora stood in the snowy lane of Hogsmeade, hands cupped around steaming mugs of butterbeer.
The village shimmered with icicle lights; the air smelled of sugar and pine.
"I'm doing it," Shya declared suddenly, setting her mug down with purpose.
Talora blinked. "Doing what?"
"My nose. I'm getting it pierced."
"Here?"
"Yes, here. Spontaneity, Bob. It's the essence of youth."
Ten minutes later, they were inside a small apothecary-turned-piercing shop, the walls lined with glass jars and glittering gold studs.
Shya picked a delicate gold ring with a crescent diamond, simple but perfect — the same kind her grandmother used to wear.
Talora watched as the witch worked, then grinned when Shya looked in the mirror.
It gleamed against her skin, warm and radiant.
"Looks incredible," Talora said softly. "Very you."
"You should get one too " Shya said excitedly, snapping a picture with her camera and scribbling a quick note to her parents she sent it that night by owl.
"Second piercings?" Talora suggested, her eyes lighting up.
"Only if you do it with me," Shya countered.
An hour later, they were walking out of the shop, the new, small gold hoops in their ears joining their pink diamond and emerald studs catching the light with every step
Christmas Morning in Ravenclaw Tower
The Ravenclaw common room shimmered in dawn light. The massive blue-and-bronze tree reached the ceiling, glittering with ribbons and stars that rotated lazily in the air. Snowflakes drifted from the enchanted ceiling, vanishing before they touched the floor.
Talora was up first, tying back her short, wavy bob—hair that seemed plain brown until the light caught it and set the waves glittering like gold.
She looked—alive. She was wrapped in a plush, dove-gray robe over simple silk pajamas, her nails painted a fresh rose-pink.
Shya was a contrast — slowly sitting up in her black hoodie and flannel pants, hair mussed but shining under the soft light, her new gold nose ring catching the glow.
Then they saw it: the mountain of gifts at the foot of their beds, wrapped in silver and gold paper, the air shimmering faintly with scent of cinnamon.
"Bob," Shya whispered. "I think Harrods exploded."
Talora laughed so hard she had to hold her side. "We should warn the house-elves about avalanche risk."
The girls quickly jumping out of bed, and rushing to open their presents.
From Shya's parents: a quilted Chanel bag , a pair of gold hoops shaped like tiny suns, and a handwritten note:
"You make everything shine brighter. Love, Mum & Dad."
Her brother's gift came separately — a small velvet box with white gold and diamond paper clip earrings, and a note:
"I picked these myself. Don't lose them or I'll charge you, Love Arya."
"P.S Send me more magic pictures, I want to see if I can figure out how they move"
Shya snorted and clasped them on immediately replacing the pink diamond studs, and having the studs replace the hoops. She had also gotten her mother's reply — a small letter scented with jasmine:
"You look beautiful, baby. Your dadima would have loved it. Gold suits you — it's in your blood."
Shya read it twice, smiling so wide it almost hurt.
From Talora's parents: a mint-green Gucci trench coat, a stack of pastel sweaters from Paris, and a Hermès perfume bottle engraved with her initials, and a loving and somewhat intimidating note:
" Love you Talora, keep working hard and making us proud, Love Mom & Dad"
"P.S if you ever stop writing like that again, I will come to that magic school somehow, I promise you I will make it happen. Love you always, Mom"
Her little brother's package came in lopsided wrapping paper, a hand-drawn picture of the two of them labeled "Lola and Me and Her Magic Cat", and a box with ladybug earrings — ruby bodies, black diamond wings.
Talora touched them reverently, eyes soft. "He made Mum help him pick the stones."
"That's the cutest thing I've ever heard," Shya said. " Want me to help you put them on bob?
"No, should I just put my emerald studs where the hoops are, and put these into the main ear holes" Talora pondered
"Absolutely " Shya confirmed
The laughter still lingered when Talora reached for the next small stack of parcels — three, each tied with a different colored ribbon.
"Oh! The girls sent things," she said, sliding the blue-ribboned one toward Shya.
Shya smiled, tugging it open. "Padma's handwriting. Always immaculate."
Inside was a set of deep-indigo stationery embossed with Shya's initials in gold leaf — the paper smooth, the edges gilded.
A note read:
"For your midnight ideas and genius quips. You write like you duel — beautifully."
Shya ran her fingers over the gold. "She gets me. She really gets me."
Talora opened hers — a matching indigo journal, but hers was scattered with faint, silvery constellations across the cover.
Padma's note inside read:
"For the one who dreams in light. Write it all down before the stars forget."
"She's such a poet," Talora murmured. "I love her."
"Me too," Shya agreed. "She's banned from ever changing friends."
The second gifts were wrapped in pastel yellow with soft velvet bows — Mandy's.
Shya found a glass vial of enchanted hair serum that shimmered between rose-gold and violet, a handwritten tag hanging from it:
"For when your curls have more personality than most people."
Talora's box revealed two velvet headbands, one blush and one ivory, both embroidered with tiny pearls that caught the light.
Her note read:
"Because you're the kind of girl who makes old Hollywood jealous."
Talora beamed. "She really didn't have to, but I adore her taste."
Shya grinned, holding up the vial. "Honestly, she's enabling me. My hair's going to have an ego."
The last parcels were wrapped in rich emerald green — Lisa's.
Inside Shya's box was a gold bracelet with a small charm shaped raven elegant and subtle.
Talora's held a gold one, with a charm shaped like a blooming flower.
A folded note read:
"Because even when you're worlds apart, you match. Merry Christmas, my Bobs."
Talora's lip wobbled slightly as she fastened hers on. "I'm going to cry."
"Don't," Shya said softly. "Only I can make you cry on christmas."
They both laughed, the sound bright and easy in the quiet of the tower.
After a while, Shya leaned back against her headboard, eyes half-lidded.
"So, what did you get them?"
Talora smiled. "For Lisa — a monogrammed perfume case from Paris, filled with enchanted refills courtesy of madame Rochelle. For Mandy — that cashmere scarf set she's been eyeing at Gladrags. And for Padma — the entire signed Spell-Theory collection from Flourish and Blotts."
Shya let out a low whistle. "You're setting impossible standards, Bob."
"Please," Talora said, grinning. "You're just as bad."
Shya smirked. "Maybe. Lisa's getting those limited-edition enchanted makeup brushes from Milan, Mandy's getting a pair of French silk gloves charmed for warmth, and Padma's getting that antique ink set from 1803 with Ravenclaw themes. It's practically history."
Talora laughed. "Of course you'd give history."
Shya shrugged. "Ravenclaw pride, Bob."
They both dissolved into giggles again, surrounded by ribbons and wrapping paper, the tree's glow painting soft gold across their faces.
Outside, the snow kept falling — silent and endless — while inside Ravenclaw Tower, everything felt whole.
Their gifts to each other waited last.
Shya handed Talora a small box tied with silver ribbon. Inside was a silk shawl, soft as air, embroidered with constellations that glowed faintly when touched.
"It's woven with light threads," Shya said. "You need more sparkle."
Talora smiled, eyes bright. "You're the best."
Talora's gift was a delicate gold mother of pearl crescent-moon pendant. "It's enchanted to glow if you ever get lost," she said. "Just… in case."
Shya slipped it on, her voice quiet but steady. "Guess I'll always find my way home, then."
They grinned at each other.
"Merry Christmas, Bob."
"Merry Christmas, Bob."
Meanwhile,
The Slytherin common room was cool, elegant, and gleaming with green light. The Black Lake shimmered darkly beyond the windows; the air smelled faintly of pine and polish.
Roman was already awake, sprawled across the sofa in a dark-green robe, hair perfectly tousled, unwrapping gifts with theatrical enthusiasm.
Cassian sat near the fire, still in his navy dressing gown, quiet and poised — all focus, no fuss.
"Mate, you're missing the festivities," Roman said. "I've been unwrapping things for ten minutes and haven't seen you smile once."
Cassian arched a brow. "You've been talking for ten minutes, too. Coincidence, I'm sure."
Roman laughed, tossing him boxes. "Those ones are from your aunts. Go on."
Cassian opened the first carefully — inside, a fine wool scarf in deep charcoal and a small letter in precise handwriting:
"Sirius asked me once what kind of man you'd become. I told him: one who chooses his own path. Merry Christmas, Cassian. — Aunt Andromeda."
He folded it neatly, something flickering in his eyes.
From Narcissa Malfoy, there was a box of imported chocolates, perfectly wrapped with Malfoy precision, and a polite note:
"For the season. Remember you are never alone, though solitude suits you."
Roman whistled low. "Sentimental and judgmental. Classic Malfoy touch."
Cassian ignored him, but a corner of his mouth lifted.
Roman's own gifts were far more flamboyant: from his parents, a silver Quidditch trunk with custom monogramming, and a fine pocket watch that shimmered faintly with stasis charms.
He grinned. "Stylish and punctual — I think they took Talora's Muggle watch last year as a challenge. Tragic."
Cassian smirked faintly. "A miracle, really."
Among the many gifts were two familiar names.
From Shya: a sleek black onyx quill with silver detailing and a note —
"For the boy who says the most without needing to."
Cassian's expression softened, a rare crack in his composure.
From Talora: a slim box with a single pair of phoenix-feather cufflinks, warm to the touch.
Roman smiled, golden and open. "She remembered I hate cold hands."
But there were two more, neatly wrapped in paper that shimmered faintly when it caught the light.
From Talora to Cassian: a set of obsidian and starlight ink bottles, hand-labeled in delicate cursive.
"For precision and silence — both your languages."
Cassian turned the bottles over in his hands, eyes unreadable but faintly softened. "Thoughtful," he murmured, and meant it.
From Shya to Roman: a vintage Slytherin-green silk tie pin, inlaid with tiny emeralds that glimmered when they caught the firelight.
"For the boy who never stops talking — but at least he looks good doing it."
Roman burst into laughter, fastening it immediately to his dressing gown. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect."
The quiet was broken by the echo of steps coming down the dormitory stairs.
Draco Malfoy swept in, perfectly pressed already, followed by Crabbe and Goyle — who looked half-awake and confused.
"Honestly," Draco drawled, "don't you two have anything better to do than moon over presents like a pair of first-years?"
Roman didn't even look up. "Don't you have anything better to do than critique our holiday, Malfoy? I'm busy being festive. It's an art."
"It's pathetic is what it is," Draco sniffed, though his gaze lingered a second too long on Cassian's scarf. He flung himself into a nearby armchair with all the grace of entitlement.
Cassian glanced up, calm and cool. "Merry Christmas to you too."
Draco smirked. "Oh? Merry Christmas indeed cousin, I suppose that means I should be generous." He reached for a stack of immaculate packages waiting by the hearth.
He made a show of unwrapping them one by one:
From Lucius: a silver-handled wand-polisher and a set of dragonhide gloves.
From Narcissa: a tailored green cloak lined with silk.
From an anonymous "friend of the family": a gold-tipped quill shaped like a serpent.
Each item received an approving nod and a comment loud enough for the room to hear.
Roman murmured under his breath, "Subtle as a Howler."
Cassian didn't bother hiding his faint smirk.
After the last bow had been tossed aside, Draco turned his sharp gaze on his hulking companions.
"Crabbe, Goyle — you were acting strange the other day. Muttering nonsense outside the dungeon corridor. Care to explain?"
The two exchanged baffled looks.
"What are you on about?" Crabbe grunted.
"Didn't say anything," Goyle mumbled.
Draco frowned, irritated. "You did. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
They only shrugged again, dull and blank.
Roman raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Cassian's eyes, however, narrowed slightly — thoughtful, calculating.
"Forget it," Draco muttered finally, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve. "Just don't embarrass me again."
Crabbe and Goyle mumbled their agreement, and the matter — outwardly — was dropped.
Roman leaned back, stretching lazily. "Well, that was festive."
Cassian's voice was quiet, almost a murmur. "Too quiet."
Roman tilted his head, half-grinning. "You mean besides Draco's monologue?"
Cassian's smirk deepened. "Exactly."
Later that day,
"Diplomatic incident incoming!" Shya shouted, already scooping up snow.
"You're terrible at dodging!" Talora laughed, already forming her own ammunition.
"Excuse me, I was strategically flanked!"
Their retaliation was swift, and the fight was a glorious, chaotic mess. It was only when a perfectly aimed snowball from Shya splattered against the shoulder of Cassian Black—who had just appeared on the steps with Roman Nott—that the battle lines shifted.
Cassian didn't even flinch. He just looked down at the snow on his dark cloak, then back at Shya, one eyebrow arched in a silent, formidable challenge.
Roman, meanwhile, grinned. "Oh, it's on."
The two boys joined the fray with startling efficiency. Roman fought with a loud, playful charm, forming alliances and launching volleys with the Weasley twins who joined in.. Cassian, however, was a different kind of opponent—quiet, precise, and ruthlessly effective. His snowballs never missed, and he seemed to have a preternatural sense for when Shya was about to throw, often intercepting her with a well-placed shot that was more tactical than aggressive.
By the time a truce was called, everyone was flushed and glowing, trailing snow and laughter back toward the castle.
That evening, the Christmas Feast filled the Great Hall.
Only a few dozen students had stayed behind, all gathered at one long table stretching the length of the hall.
Garlands of gold and silver draped from the rafters. The enchanted ceiling shimmered with soft snowfall; candles floated lazily overhead. The great tree glittered at the front, alive with light and slow-falling snowflakes.
Talora wore a deep emerald velvet dress that ended in a playful, modern swirl at mid-thigh. The soft, graceful neckline swept off her shoulders, and the long sleeves were tailored close to her wrists. The rich fabric was offset by sheer black tights and sleek, knee-high black boots with a low, practical heel. At her ears, the new configuration of jewels caught the light with every turn of her head: in her first lobes, the whimsical ladybug earrings from her brother—ruby bodies with delicate black diamond wings—and in her second holes, the sophisticated emerald studs she got last year from her parents.
Beside her, Shya was her opposite and perfect balance in a fitted black velvet dress with the same chic, abbreviated hemline. The long sleeves provided a sleek silhouette, making her gold jewelry pop brilliantly against her warm skin. She paired the dress with opaque charcoal tights and sturdy, practical black combat boots, a subtle edge to her elegance. The new gold nose ring flashed faintly whenever she turned her head, and her own ears showcased the gifted paperclip earrings in her main lobes, with the simple pink diamond studs glittering above them. Her dark eyes, catching the light like embers, completed the striking picture.
The two girls looked like they'd stepped out of a holiday portrait — bright, beautiful, and entirely unaware of the effect they had.
Cassian and Roman noticed first.
From their seats farther down the table, both boys paused mid-conversation.
Roman's grin faltered into something softer — appreciative, but careful. "Well," he murmured, "Ravenclaw just raised the bar for the evening."
Cassian didn't speak, but his gaze lingered — sharp, intent, quietly unreadable. The flicker of gold at Shya's nose caught his eye; he tilted his head slightly, studying it like a puzzle he meant to solve later.
At the far end of the table, Harry Potter had gone a little pink in the ears. Ron Weasley froze mid-bite of treacle tart, sputtering when he noticed Talora's emerald dress.
Roman, of course, caught that, too.
He leaned back in his chair, smirk faintly playing at his mouth. "Seems Gryffindor's having an awakening."
Cassian's reply was dry. "They'll live."
"Not sure about Potter."
"Or Weasley," Cassian added, glancing once more at the girls. "He's choking."
Roman stifled a laugh. "Should we intervene?"
"No," Cassian said smoothly. "Let them suffer."
It was then that Shya scanned the Gryffindor contingent and leaned toward Talora. "Hey, have you seen Granger? I just realized she's the only one of the Golden Trio not here."
A Hufflepuff sitting nearby, overheard. "She's in the hospital wing," she said quietly. "Something went wrong with a potion, I heard."
Shya's eyes widened for a second before a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. She turned back to Talora, lowering her voice. "Well, maybe that stick that's permanently wedged up her arse has finally started to cause medical complications."
Talora choked on her pumpkin juice, trying to turn her laugh into a cough.
From the corner, Roman shook his head fondly. "They have no idea."
"Good," Cassian said, his voice quieter. "Let them enjoy it."
Roman turned to look at him properly then, his grin turning knowing. "That sounded almost tender."
Cassian's mouth twitched — something that might've been a smile. "Almost."
When Dumbledore rose to toast, the hall fell into golden silence.
"May your hearts stay bright," he said warmly, "and your cocoa endlessly replenished."
The table erupted in applause.
As the feast continued — laughter, soft music, the clinking of goblets — the four of them eventually found themselves drawn together down the table, the candlelight between them flickering like threads connecting all their small, shared glances.
Shya reached into her bag and pulled out a basket. "Distribution time."
"What's that?" Cassian asked.
"Professor presents."
It turned out Shya had spent the past three months crocheting fuzzy socks for every professor in Hogwarts — even Snape.
McGonagall beamed.
Flitwick nearly cried.
Dumbledore put his on immediately, propping his feet on a stool and sighing contentedly.
"Magnificent," he declared. "Warmth for the soul and the sole!"
The table roared with laughter.
Shya grinned proudly. "Mission accomplished."
Shya teased Roman about the amount of pudding he'd stolen from the main dish.
Talora flicked a crumb at Cassian and got a faint smirk in return.
For the first time in months, everything felt normal.
Better than normal.
Like the world had stopped spinning just long enough for them to breathe.