Friday, 22 December.
The Great Hall carried a different atmosphere that morning.
The usual noise of Hogwarts remained—cutlery clinking against plates, owls swooping overhead, students talking over one another—but beneath it all sat a restless excitement that only came before holidays. Trunks had already been packed. Goodbyes were being exchanged across tables. Even professors seemed slightly less strict than usual.
I sat at the Slytherin table with the other first years, finishing breakfast while around us conversations drifted almost entirely toward Christmas plans.
Before things dissolved completely into excitement, I spoke.
"Everyone returning home for Christmas should use the vacation properly," I said evenly. "Don't just waste the next two weeks enjoying yourselves."
A few groans answered immediately.
I ignored them.
"Learn the legacy spells passed down in your families," I continued. "Consolidate the advantage you've gained this term. Take interest in your family businesses, your family libraries, your political connections."
Several of them straightened slightly at that.
"And most importantly," I added seriously, "no experimenting with dark magic."
That quieted the table almost instantly.
"It corrupts the soul slowly but surely," I said. "And at our age, none of us are prepared to handle that corruption properly. Before fourth year, none of you should attempt to study dark magic."
Nyx groaned dramatically and leaned back in her seat.
"Yeah, yeah, we know, Alastair," she said. "You've already told us this."
A few others laughed quietly.
"Do you ever stop sounding like a fifty-year-old Ministry official?"
"I'll consider it eventually," I replied calmly.
Nyx rolled her eyes before immediately pivoting toward Selene.
"More importantly," she declared, "Selene, you're coming to the Yule Ball this year, right?"
Selene nearly choked on her tea.
"The Yule Ball is for older students," she said flatly.
Nyx waved dismissively. "Technicalities."
The table dissolved into lighter conversation after that.
Holiday parties.
Family traditions.
Winter estates.
Embarrassing relatives.
Ancient pureblood customs that sounded increasingly ridiculous the longer they were described aloud.
For once, nobody spoke about club politics, representatives, or dueling schedules.
They were just children looking forward to Christmas.
After breakfast, we gathered our belongings and headed toward the carriages waiting outside the castle. Snow blanketed the Hogwarts grounds in white, crunching softly beneath our shoes as students made their way toward Hogsmeade Station.
The train platform was even louder than usual.
Owls hooted overhead.
Parents' letters were reread.
Students shouted last-minute farewells across the snow-covered station.
I stayed with the Slytherins for a while after boarding, talking casually as the train slowly began pulling away from Hogwarts. Eventually, once the castle had disappeared behind snowy hills, I excused myself and made my way toward another compartment farther down the train.
I slid the cabin door open.
Inside were Cedric, Blake, and the twins.
Fred looked up immediately.
"Look who finally decided to show up."
George gasped dramatically.
"Isn't it our dearest Study Club President?"
I ignored both of them and sat beside Blake.
The twins took that as encouragement somehow.
The journey back to London passed pleasantly enough after that. Between Fred and George, silence became physically impossible. Cedric tried maintaining dignity for approximately twenty minutes before giving up entirely and joining the chaos.
Even Blake looked more relaxed than usual.
The train compartment filled with easy laughter, arguments over wizarding sweets, exaggerated retellings of the professor duels, and increasingly questionable theories from the twins about how many rules Hogwarts actually possessed versus how many Filch simply invented personally.
At some point, Fred leaned across the compartment.
"You should come to the Burrow for Christmas."
George nodded immediately.
"Mum would absolutely adopt you on sight."
"Temporarily," Fred clarified.
"Probably."
I smiled faintly.
"I already have plans for Christmas itself," I admitted. "But I'll try to visit around New Year's."
The twins accepted that surprisingly easily, though both immediately began plotting what they called "future collaborative ventures," which sounded deeply concerning.
Eventually, the train slowed as London came into view beyond frost-covered windows.
King's Cross Station arrived soon after.
Students spilled onto the platform in waves, reunions beginning almost immediately as families gathered near the barriers.
After saying goodbye to Cedric and managing—with considerable difficulty—to escape an extremely enthusiastic Mr. Weasley asking increasingly complicated questions about the Study Club, Blake and I finally made our way toward the quieter end of the station.
Kreacher stood waiting near the back wall.
The old elf inclined his head the moment he saw us.
"Master Alastair. Miss Black."
Without further delay, Blake and I each took one of his hands.
The world twisted sharply.
A familiar pressure squeezed against my chest as space folded around us—
And a moment later, we appeared before the dark iron gates of Grimmauld Place.
The moment we stepped through the front door, the difference was impossible to miss.
Grimmauld Place no longer felt abandoned.
The oppressive layer of dust and decay that had once clung stubbornly to every corner was gone. Dark wooden walls gleamed beneath the warm glow of enchanted lamps, silver fixtures polished to mirror brightness. The heavy curtains had been properly arranged, the ancient furniture restored instead of merely tolerated, and even the air itself felt cleaner.
The house still retained its identity.
Black family colors remained everywhere—green, silver, dark polished wood, old stone—but now they looked noble rather than suffocating.
Alive rather than decaying.
Blake slowed slightly beside me, eyes moving carefully across the entrance hall.
"You've done well in my absence, Kreacher," she said sincerely.
The old elf straightened immediately, pride practically radiating from him.
"Young Mistress' praise honors Kreacher," he said, voice trembling slightly with emotion. "Kreacher made the Noble House proper again. Kreacher cleaned. Kreacher restored. Kreacher removed infestation and filth left by traitors."
That last part was muttered darkly beneath his breath.
Before Blake could respond, two loud pops echoed through the hall.
Kipp and Liri appeared instantly.
"Miss/Master has returned!" they squealed together, practically vibrating with excitement.
Kipp rushed forward first before stopping abruptly halfway, clearly remembering at the last second that launching himself at members of the Black family was probably unacceptable behavior.
Liri was less restrained.
She threw herself directly at me, who barely managed to catch the tiny elf before impact.
"You came back!" Liri said happily, ears twitching wildly. "Liri told Kipp Master Alastair would return before Christmas!"
Kipp nodded vigorously beside her.
"Miss Blake too! Kipp said Miss would return with books!"
I blinked.
"...Why books specifically?"
Kipp looked confused by the question.
"Miss always has books."
Blake let out a quiet laugh.
The sound echoed strangely through the entrance hall.
Not because it was loud.
Because Grimmauld Place sounded unfamiliar with laughter.
Kreacher looked faintly scandalized by the younger elves' behavior for approximately three seconds before visibly giving up trying to maintain order.
"The dining room has been prepared," he announced stiffly. "And guest rooms have been restored. Kreacher also organized the Black family library as instructed."
That immediately caught my attention.
"The restricted shelves too?"
Kreacher's expression grew deeply smug.
"Especially the restricted shelves."
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