Harry Potter: The Golden Boy

The grand parlor of the Gryffindor ancestral mansion was bathed in the soft glow of enchanted candles, flickering gently above them as if the flames themselves were dancing to the rhythm of the festivities. Below a towering Christmas tree that reached nearly to the vaulted ceiling, its branches heavy with countless enchanted ornaments that twinkled and shimmered with magic, stood Nicholas and his friends. Each ornament seemed to tell a story—miniature dragons curled around glass baubles, enchanted stars that twinkled with soft melodies, and tiny, flying broomsticks that zoomed in and out of the tree.

“Merry Christmas, Nicholas!” came the cheerful chorus from his friends as they stepped forward, presenting their meticulously wrapped gifts. Each package was as unique as the giver, wrapped in fine paper and ribbons, sparkling with enchantments that subtly reflected the personalities of the gift-bearers.

Nicholas smiled graciously, bowing his head slightly as he accepted the presents, one by one. "Thank you, Louis... Merry Christmas, Draco... Pansy, this is truly wonderful," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. He took care to meet each friend's gaze, showing his appreciation with the dignity expected of him, yet his warmth was unmistakable.

When it was his turn to give, Nicholas handed out his gifts with equal care, noting the glimmers of excitement in his friends' eyes as they eagerly unwrapped them. Each present had been chosen thoughtfully, and tailored to each recipient.

Draco, who prided himself on his composure, couldn’t contain his enthusiasm as he tore open the wrapping. His usual aristocratic coolness evaporated for a moment, replaced by pure delight. “This is magnificent, Nicholas! Absolutely brilliant!” he exclaimed, holding up the gift for everyone to see. His pale face was flushed with excitement, and he shot Nicholas a broad grin, his usual arrogance softened by the shared camaraderie.

Pansy, standing nearby with Amara and Mei-Ling, watched Draco with a smirk. "Honestly, Draco, control yourself," she said with playful disdain, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. She carefully unwrapped her own gift, her usual sharp demeanor momentarily softened as she admired it. Amara nodded approvingly as she opened her present, her usual composed grace unbroken, though a quiet smile touched her lips. Mei-Ling, ever the quiet one, delicately unwrapped her gift and gave Nicholas a small but appreciative bow, her gratitude evident in her eyes.

Blaise, standing slightly apart, raised an eyebrow as he received his gift, his usual aloofness not betraying much emotion. Still, Nicholas noticed a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. Louis, meanwhile, chuckled as he unwrapped his present, making a playful comment in French before nodding his thanks to Nicholas.

The scene was filled with warmth and joy, but not without the air of sophistication and refinement that came with their status as heirs of some of the most prominent wizarding families. The atmosphere was formal, yet touched with a genuine friendship that had grown between them.

As the gifts were exchanged, the magical instruments in the room played soft, enchanting music—harps, flutes, and violins floating serenely above the ground, their melodies blending perfectly with the festive scene. Bathilda Bagshot, seated near the crackling fireplace, glanced over at the group, her wise old eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as she worked on her sewing, her gnarled fingers moving with surprising dexterity. Beside her sat Hannah Abbott, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of shyness and curiosity. She had been invited to join them, but her timid nature kept her slightly apart from the group. Nicholas, ever the gracious host, noticed her hesitation. He smiled warmly and beckoned her over.

“Hannah,” Nicholas called softly, his voice carrying a noble grace that seemed to transcend the simple words. “Won’t you join us? It’s Christmas, after all.” Though gentle, his tone held an unspoken authority, a blend of kindness and dignity that made it impossible for anyone to refuse.

Bathilda, still seated by the warm hearth, smiled approvingly. Her hands rested in her lap as she watched the interaction unfold. “Now, do go on, dear,” she encouraged in her warm, grandmotherly voice. “It would be most impolite to keep your new companions waiting, especially the host.” Her tone was firm but laced with a gentle push, as though reminding Hannah of her place in this moment of civility.

Hannah hesitated, glancing around the room. The flickering firelight reflected on the polished floors and the ornaments that adorned the towering Christmas tree, casting a golden hue over the gathering. The eyes of the group fell on her, though not all with the same warmth. Some were welcoming, some curious, and others—particularly Pansy—held a faint air of disdain, their judgment cloaked behind proper manners. Louis’s gaze remained neutral, but there was a noticeable flicker of interest in the way he watched her.

Despite the mixed reactions, Hannah found courage in Nicholas’s warm invitation. Ignoring any hint of hostility she hadn’t yet perceived, she stood up from her place by the fire, her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she stepped forward. "Hello, everyone," she greeted in a quiet, almost timid voice, offering a small but sincere smile.

Nicholas returned her smile with a gracious nod. “We’re pleased that you’ve chosen to celebrate Christmas with us, Hannah,” he said, his voice gentle but formal, each word deliberate. His charm and manners were undeniable, as was his natural ability to set others at ease, despite the weight of his title. His smile extended not just to her, but to his entire group as he sought to ensure that the room remained harmonious.

He then turned toward Bathilda, offering her a deeper, more formal bow of respect. “And Merry Christmas to you as well, Madam Bathilda,” he added. “Your presence here is a gift in itself.”

Bathilda gave a soft chuckle, her eyes twinkling with affection for the young heir. "Oh, nonsense, my dear boy," she replied with a wave of her hand. "You make this old woman feel far too important."

Without further delay, Nicholas walked toward the grand Christmas tree, its branches glittering under the weight of enchanted ornaments. He reached down and selected two neatly wrapped boxes from beneath the tree, their blue wrapping paper shining with a faint shimmer of magic, the red ribbons tied perfectly into elegant bows.

“I had but an hour, perhaps less, to prepare these gifts,” Nicholas said with a modest smile, “but I do hope they will bring you both some joy.” His voice held the quiet confidence of someone who understood the gravity of even the smallest gestures. He stepped toward Bathilda first, presenting her with one of the gifts.

“For you, Madam Bathilda,” he said, holding the box with both hands in a gesture of respect.

Bathilda’s eyes softened as she accepted the gift. "You are far too kind, Nicholas. It’s been many years since I’ve received a present," she said, her voice carrying the weight of time and memories long past. She carefully set the box on her lap, her hands tracing the delicate wrapping.

Then, with equal grace, Nicholas turned to Hannah and offered her the second gift. “And this, Hannah, is for you,” he said, his tone both warm and formal, a balance he maintained effortlessly.

Hannah’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t expected to receive a gift, least of all from someone as noble as Nicholas. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice full of sincerity as she accepted the box. Her hands trembled slightly as she took it, overwhelmed by the unexpected attention. “I don’t…” she began, her words trailing off, feeling out of place and unsure if she was worthy of such a gesture.

Nicholas interjected smoothly, his tone reassuring and kind. “No need to worry about giving a gift in return, Hannah,” he said with a soft smile. “There’s always time next Christmas.” His gaze lingered on her for a brief moment, offering a sense of calm and understanding that brought an unexpected flush to her cheeks.

Blushing furiously, Hannah ducked her head shyly, feeling the weight of his kindness. Nicholas, noticing her reaction, chuckled softly, his laughter light and teasing, but not unkind. Turning back to his friends, his eyes sparkled with the same warmth. The festive atmosphere in the room had everyone in high spirits.

“Wimby,” Nicholas called out, addressing the dark grey house-elf standing dutifully by the bay window. “You may now open the window. I’m sure my friends are eager to receive their gifts from their family and friends around the world.”

The house elf, who had been silently awaiting his master’s command, gave a slight bow. “As you wish, young master,” Wimby replied, his voice carrying a tone of respect and loyalty. He raised his finger in his right hand and gave it a quick, precise wave toward the tall bay window.

With a faint shimmer, the glass panes slowly swung open, revealing the snow-covered landscape beyond. A chill breeze swept in briefly, carrying the scent of winter, but it was quickly overshadowed by the arrival of countless owls swooping in through the open window. The room filled with the gentle flapping of wings as the majestic birds flew inside, each carrying carefully wrapped gifts in their claws.

The children watched in awe as the owls descended, delivering presents from all corners of the world. They brought gifts adorned with elaborate seals and luxurious ribbons, each parcel wrapped in a style unique to its sender’s homeland. A small collection of owls even arrived with packages from faraway lands, carrying gifts tied with silk ribbons, delicate parchments, and embossed crests. Some of the owls were grand and regal, while others were small and swift, each carrying their burdens with the precision of long-practiced grace.

Nicholas, his arms already full from the avalanche of gifts now piling up in front of him, struggled to keep hold of the presents, his balance wavering under the weight. The scene was almost comical—the usually composed heir of the Gryff family, now juggling parcels with an air of flustered amusement.

Before long, a soft thud echoed as the gifts slipped from his grasp, tumbling onto the floor in an untidy heap. Nicholas burst out laughing, his infectious laughter quickly spreading to the rest of the group. Draco, Louis and the others were all soon clutching their stomachs, trying to contain their amusement as they glanced at the chaotic pile of presents.

“I suppose I’ll need some help,” Nicholas remarked with a grin, dusting off his hands as he stood over the disheveled mess.

… 

The soft click of a door closing reverberated behind Nicholas as he stood in the heart of the room he had just entered. It was the legendary office of Godric Gryffindor himself, a room steeped in ancient history and magical heritage. The office, or “cabinet” as it had been called during the Middle Ages, exuded an aura of wisdom and power. The walls were lined with shelves filled with volumes bound in the hides of magical creatures, their spines worn but dignified, betraying the age of the tomes they held. Nicholas's gaze swept over the room until it landed on the centerpiece: an ancient table, polished and untouched by time.

Nimsy, one of the Gryff family’s house-elves, had told him that it was the very same table Godric Gryffindor himself had once used. Despite the centuries that had passed, there was not a single scratch or sign of decay—testament to the careful maintenance performed daily by the elves. Beneath his feet, Nicholas could feel the luxurious softness of a lion’s mane that had been fashioned into a carpet, adding a majestic touch to the room.

With quiet reverence, Nicholas walked toward the table and sat in the heavy, ornately carved chair that faced it. He ran his fingers over the surface, feeling the smoothness of the wood beneath his fingertips. His eyes wandered to the gift placed carefully in front of him—wrapped in red paper with a yellow ribbon, a present from his grandfather. What could it be? His thoughts danced with curiosity, but before he could untie the ribbon, the door creaked open.

A young girl with sleek black hair cut into a sharp bob stepped into the room. It was Pansy Parkinson, her usual air of confidence softened by the dim light of the office. and her sneaky movements. “Pansy,” Nicholas greeted, his voice calm but inquisitive. “What brings you here at this hour?”

Pansy stood just inside the doorway for a moment, the faint shadows of the room dancing across her face as she met his gaze. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted softly, a hint of frustration lingering in her tone.

Nicholas tilted his head slightly. “What about the others?” He glanced past her, expecting to see someone else, but the hallway behind her was empty.

“They’re all asleep now,” she replied with a sigh, stepping further into the room. “Even Hannah cozied up with those two girls in no time.” Her voice carried a note of annoyance, though she tried to mask it.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is it because you’re sharing a room with a so-called half-blood?” he teased, a playful glint in his eyes. He gestured for her to come closer, adding, “Hannah’s a friend now, Pansy. You’re better than that.”

Pansy’s steps faltered, and when she approached his side, he saw the conflict in her eyes. A flicker of guilt washed over her, and Nicholas knew that his words had struck a chord. He sighed inwardly—he hadn’t meant to chastise her. Her views, though distasteful to him, were not entirely her fault. They had been drilled into her by her parents, woven into the fabric of her upbringing. He didn’t want to push her too hard, but he hoped he could gently nudge her toward change.

“I’m just teasing,” Nicholas added, his tone softer. “I don’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Pansy looked away, visibly uncomfortable with the topic. “I know, Nico,” she muttered, her displeasure evident. “I just… I can’t see her the way I see you, or the others. But…” Her voice softened. “If you’re going to treat her as your friend, then I suppose I will too. For you.”

Nicholas smiled warmly. “Thank you, Pansy,” he said, his voice filled with gratitude. His attention drifted back to the unopened gift on the table. “I can’t seem to sleep either,” he admitted after a brief pause. “Everything feels so new to me. Last Christmas, it was just me, my mother, and Aunt Betty. Now, suddenly, I’m here, part of this grand wizarding world, with a family history I didn’t even know I had— a very prestigious history.” His voice trailed off as if he were speaking more to himself than to her.

Pansy, caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability, was silent for a moment. She hadn’t expected such a confession from him, but their eyes met, and she could see the mix of awe and uncertainty in his expression. It was rare for someone like Nicholas—who always seemed so composed—to let his guard down like this.

“And you?” Nicholas asked, breaking the silence. “Are you all right being here, spending Christmas away from your family?”

Pansy’s face softened, and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “I’d rather spend Christmas with you,” she said quietly, her words carrying more weight than she likely intended. “And with our friends.” She paused, hesitating before continuing. “My father doesn’t really care. He was the one who suggested I come here in the first place. ‘Make connections among the purebloods,’ he said.”

Nicholas's smile broadened, his eyes warm with understanding. “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Pansy. Truly. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” He gestured toward the unopened gift on the table before him, the red wrapping paper still intact. “Care to join me in discovering what’s hidden beneath this rather mysterious package?” He shifted slightly in his chair, making room for her by patting the empty space beside him. "Come sit," he invited.

Pansy obliged, moving to sit close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. As she settled in beside him, she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and Nicholas caught the fresh, delicate scent of oriental lilies lingering around her. The fragrance stirred something within him, a subtle yet pleasant distraction. She smells wonderful, he mused.

Refocusing on the task at hand, Nicholas began carefully unwrapping the gift, his fingers deftly working at the folds of the paper with deliberate precision. As the layers peeled away, the contents of the box became visible. Both pairs of eyes widened slightly in curiosity. "Motorola MicroTAC," Nicholas read aloud. His attention was soon drawn to a small note affixed to the box.

"Merry Christmas, my dearest grandson. I understand the depth of your longing to speak with your mother, Marilyn, especially during this time of celebration. I have already informed her of your current circumstances, but rest assured, I will never stand in the way between a mother and her child. You may speak to her yourself on this joyous day. Do take it outside, though, as the magic within our estate will interfere with its workings.

                                                                                  With affection and pride, your Grandfather."

The letter’s tone was warm yet dignified, carrying the unmistakable authority and grace his grandfather always exuded.

Nicholas’s heart surged with excitement as he carefully read through his grandfather's letter once more. The words filled him with a sense of anticipation, and when he finally unboxed the gift, he marveled at the sleek design of the device before him. The Motorola MicroTAC rested in his hands, compact yet elegant, the dark casing gleaming under the flickering candlelight. Its size seemed unusually small for something that could connect people across great distances, with its iconic flip design and slender antenna. It felt both modern and foreign, a stark contrast to the world of magic that surrounded him.

Pansy, who had been quietly observing him, leaned in with a furrowed brow. "What is that?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and a hint of skepticism. The strange object in Nicholas's hand was unlike anything she had ever seen.

"It’s a mobile phone," Nicholas explained, his excitement barely contained. He glanced up at her with a grin. "Muggles use these to communicate, even across countries. As long as there’s a signal, you can speak to anyone, no matter how far away they are."

Pansy’s lips parted slightly in surprise, though the concept seemed entirely foreign to her. She leaned back, studying the device as if it were some peculiar magical artifact. "A phone? You can contact anyone with that small thing?”

Nicholas nodded, already pressing the buttons with eager fingers, the tiny screen lighting up as it activated. "I need to call my mother," he said, his voice filled with determination as he rose from the chair. His thoughts immediately turned to his mother, the woman who, despite the distance, was surely thinking of him on this Christmas night.

Pansy tilted her head, her gaze lingering on the phone, doubt clouding her features. "Do you really think that… Muggle-thing will work here? With all this magic in the air?" Her tone carried a blend of curiosity and disdain, the familiar pureblood prejudice seeping through her words as she glanced around the room as if expecting to see the magical interference swirling visibly.

Nicholas paused, the momentary doubt creeping into his own mind. But then he recalled his grandfather’s instructions. "My grandfather mentioned it won’t work inside the house," he explained, his voice steady and certain. "But if I go outside, I can use it. Mother must have been waiting for my call all day." His gaze drifted to the window, and for a brief moment, a melancholy shadow passed over his face. He imagined his mother, perhaps sitting by their own Christmas tree, waiting for her son’s voice. The thought tugged at his heart, and he murmured softly, almost to himself, "She’s probably missing me just as much. She might even be crying…"

The silence that followed was heavy, yet tender. Nicholas turned to Pansy, offering her his hand with a gentle smile. "Should we conclude the day tonight?"

Pansy blinked at him in surprise, then slipped her hand into his without hesitation. Together, they walked toward the door, the soft glow of the hallway lanterns lighting their path. They remained silent as they neared the entrance, the warmth of their shared company lingering between them.

As they reached the corridor, Nicholas stopped and slowly let go of her hand, turning to face her with a soft smile. "Good night, Pansy."

Pansy returned his gaze, her expression gentler now, the earlier skepticism replaced with a quiet fondness. "Good night, Nicholas," she replied.

… 

Nicholas stood in the crisp evening air, the grand estate behind him casting long shadows across the snow-covered grounds. He clutched the Motorola MicroTAC in his hands, feeling its weight, both physically and emotionally. The sleek black plastic was smooth beneath his fingers, but it carried far more significance than just being a piece of technology—it was his link to his mother, Marilyn. As he dialed the number, his breath clouded the air in soft puffs, mixing with the falling snow. His fingers hovered over the buttons, feeling colder with every second of hesitation.

The phone rang, and with each beep, Nicholas’s heart pounded louder, his thoughts racing. What would she say? Would she be upset that he hadn’t called sooner? He bit his lip, his gaze drifting to the glittering stars overhead as if searching for answers. Finally, a soft click broke the silence, and then a familiar voice, one that sent warmth flooding through him.

"Hello?" Marilyn’s voice, though quiet, carried a hint of surprise. Nicholas closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the sound. It had been far too long since he’d heard her voice, and for a second, he forgot the words he had carefully planned.

"Mother," Nicholas finally managed, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of emotions he hadn’t fully anticipated. "It’s me… Nicholas."

There was a pause on the other end, brief but enough for him to feel her shock through the line. "Nicholas! Oh, my darling, it’s really you!" Marilyn’s voice brightened, though there was an underlying note of disbelief. "I wasn’t expecting you to call. How are you? Where are you calling from? I thought—" she stopped herself, as if unsure how to finish the sentence.

“I’m at Grandfather’s estate,” Nicholas replied cautiously, unsure how much to reveal. He couldn’t tell her everything—about the magic, family legacy, or the strange and new life he was now a part of. “I wanted to hear your voice. It didn’t feel right not to call you on Christmas.”

Her response softened, filled with the maternal warmth he had longed for. "Oh, sweetheart, it’s been so long. I’ve missed you more than you could know. Christmas hasn’t been the same without you here. The house… it feels so empty." She hesitated, then added, "I suppose your grandfather has you preoccupied with… family matters now."

Nicholas nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “Yes, something like that,” he said, the guilt swirling in his chest. “I’ve been learning a lot… It’s been quite an adjustment.”

There was a wistfulness in her voice now. "I always thought things would be different for us, Nicholas. I imagined we’d spend more time together. You’re so far away, and I barely know what your days are like anymore."

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He missed her too, more than he had allowed himself to admit. “I miss you, Mum,” he confessed quietly, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon. “I was thinking… maybe you could visit? It’s been so long since we’ve spent time together. And… maybe you and Father could—"

"Nicholas…" Marilyn interrupted softly, her tone laced with sadness. "You know things between your father and me… they’ve always been complicated. We’ve gone our separate ways. I’m not sure there’s anything left to fix."

Nicholas felt a lump form in his throat, but he pressed on. “But maybe it’s worth trying. For my sake, if nothing else? You always said we were a family, no matter what. Can’t we try, just this once?”

There was a long silence on the other end, and Nicholas could almost picture her deep in thought, her brow furrowed as she considered his words. "I don’t want to get your hopes up, darling," Marilyn finally said, her voice soft but firm. "But perhaps… perhaps you’re right. Maybe it’s time to talk to your father. For you."

A spark of hope flared within Nicholas. "I’m not asking for everything to be perfect, just that you both try," he said, his voice earnest. "That’s all I want."

After another pause, she sighed. "I’ll think about it. For now, let’s focus on us, alright? I’ve missed you terribly, and I want to see you. I’ll come to visit soon. We’ll spend some proper time together, just the two of us. And maybe… maybe your father could join us, if that’s what you want."

Nicholas smiled, relief flooding through him. "That’s all I want, Mum. For you to come here. It would mean everything to me."

She chuckled softly, a sound that filled him with warmth. "You’ve always been the hopeful one, haven’t you? I’ll do my best. I miss the estate too… the gardens, the way the snow covers everything like a blanket. It used to feel like magic, even though I know it wasn’t."

A bittersweet smile tugged at Nicholas’s lips. "The gardens are still beautiful. You’ll see for yourself when you visit. I can’t wait."

"Neither can I," she replied. "It’ll be good to see them with you, in person this time."

Nicholas shifted slightly, a thought crossing his mind. “Mum, how’s the movie going? Last time we talked, you mentioned being the lead in that big action film. How’s it been?”

“Oh, it’s been quite the adventure!” Marilyn’s voice brightened again, her enthusiasm infectious. “It’s an action-packed movie, set to release this summer. Can you believe it? Me, in an action film!” She laughed, the sound filling Nicholas with pride.

“Really? You? Doing action stunts?” Nicholas teased.

“Well, not all the stunts,” she admitted, playfully. “But I’ve done a fair few! Yesterday, I had to jump out of a window—though, mind you, it was only a few feet high! It’s all camera tricks, but still, it was exhilarating.”

Nicholas laughed, picturing her in such a role. “That sounds incredible! But not too many injuries, I hope?”

“Oh, nothing serious. Just a few bruises,” she said with a smirk. "Although, speaking of injuries—my co-star, bless him, keeps trying to win me over. He’s convinced I’m some starlet waiting to be swept off her feet. Honestly, I have to remind him I’m a bit too seasoned for his Hollywood charm."

Nicholas chuckled. "And what did you say?"

"Well, I told him quite plainly, ‘I have my priorities straight, thank you very much.’ That seemed to shut him up!" Marilyn’s voice was filled with amusement. "It’s flattering, of course, but I’ve no time for that nonsense."

“I’m glad you’re focused on what matters,” Nicholas said warmly. “You’ve always had a way of cutting through the nonsense.”

They lingered a moment longer, exchanging a few more quiet words before finally, Marilyn sighed. “It’s late, darling. I should let you go. But I’ll see you soon. Promise.”

"Promise," Nicholas echoed, a smile on his lips as the call ended.

As the phone clicked off, Nicholas looked up at the sky, the snowflakes gently falling around him. He felt a quiet sense of hope. The road ahead wasn’t clear, but for the first time in a while, it felt like they were heading in the right direction.

… 

“Now, you look very elegant, Nico,” Bathilda Bagshot remarked as she carefully adjusted the collar of Nicholas’s necktie, her fingers moving with the grace of years. The elderly woman had an air of timeless wisdom, and there was something about her that made everyone in her presence feel special. Her sharp eyes, softened by age, twinkled warmly as she smiled at Nicholas. Despite the many wrinkles etched into her face, her hands were steady, and her movements carried an attentiveness that spoke volumes about her character. She treated everyone with the same care, as if they were her own grandchildren, and it was clear that the group of young witches and wizards had come to adore her in the few days they had spent together.

“Thank you, Miss Bathilda,” Nicholas replied, his voice respectful. He couldn’t help but feel a bit flattered by her attention. Over the past six days, she had woven herself into the fabric of their holiday, becoming more than just a guest in the Gryff family’s ancestral home. Her presence had a way of making even the grand, imposing manor feel warmer, more lived-in. Nicholas stood a little straighter as she patted his shoulder, feeling the weight of her approval.

Bathilda turned her attention to the rest of the group. “I hope you’ve all had a truly splendid holiday, children,” she said, her voice carrying a gentle authority. Her eyes swept over each of the young faces—Nicholas, Louis, Draco, Pansy, Mei-Ling, Amara, Blaise, and Hannah—all of whom had grown rather fond of her in the short time they had spent together. There was a sense of reverence in the way they looked at her, the kind of respect that came not just from her reputation as a historian but from the genuine kindness she had shown them.

"These past few days," she continued, "have been such a joy. And fret not, for as long as Nicholas here extends his invitation, it would be my pleasure to visit this grand old house and watch over you every Christmas." There was a twinkle in her eye as she glanced at Nicholas, her words carrying a note of affectionate teasing.

The children beamed, the thought of Bathilda joining them for future holidays lighting up their faces. In truth, Bathilda had done much more than merely watch over them. She had enriched their time at the estate with stories and lessons that no textbook could capture. Her tales, which had filled the quiet moments between festivities, ranged from hidden histories of the wizarding world—those she had never written in her famous books—to personal anecdotes from her time at Hogwarts. She spoke of grand adventures in faraway lands, of ancient magic, and of the many famous wizards and witches she had met in her lifetime.

Draco had taken a particular interest in her recounting of the magical artifacts she had encountered during her travels. "You’ve been to Egypt, haven’t you, Bathilda? Did you ever see the tombs of the Pharaohs?" he asked one evening, his eyes wide with wonder.

"Indeed, I did," Bathilda had responded with a smile. "The tombs are filled with ancient magic—curses woven so intricately that they still stand after thousands of years. But it’s not the curses that are most fascinating—it’s the wards. Some of those protective spells are unlike anything taught at Hogwarts. I’ve seen a curse-breaker spend weeks unravelling just one layer."

Pansy had been equally fascinated by Bathilda’s stories of Hogwarts from decades ago. "You went to school with Dumbledore, didn’t you?" she had asked, her voice a mix of awe and curiosity.

Bathilda’s expression had softened at the mention of her old friend. "Yes,I had the very chance to teach Albus," she had said with a nostalgic smile. "He was always brilliant, even back then. But Hogwarts in those days… it was a different place. There were fewer students, and the world outside the castle walls was changing rapidly. It was a time of discovery and danger, much like now."

Her stories weren’t always grand or historical, though. Sometimes, she would share simple, heartwarming tales from her travels, like the time she spent a summer in a small wizarding village in the Alps, where she learned a rare form of wandless magic from a reclusive old wizard who lived in a tiny hut at the edge of a forest. Or the time she had to barter with a magical blacksmith in Romania for a silver-flecked broom that could fly higher than any other.

In those moments, the children had been utterly captivated, huddled around her like a flock of birds eager for every word. Even Blaise, who usually kept to himself, had listened with rapt attention, his usual aloofness forgotten.

Bathilda had a way of making magic feel not just like a skill or a tool, but a living, breathing part of the world around them. Her ability to weave lessons into her stories was something none of them had experienced before. Whether she was recounting tales of ancient duels or explaining the intricacies of spell theory, she had a knack for making every word feel important.

As the holiday drew to a close, the children realized how much they had learned from her—not just about history, but about life, magic, and the importance of remembering where they came from. Bathilda, with her gentle demeanor and vast knowledge, had been a vital part of what made their Christmas magical.

“I do hope we’ll see you again soon, Miss Bathilda,” Blaise said, his voice filled with genuine fondness. He wasn’t always the most expressive of the group, but there was no hiding the admiration in his tone.

“As do I,” Mei-Ling added softly, nodding in agreement. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Bathilda smiled warmly at the children, her heart swelling with affection for them. “You are all far too kind,” she said, her voice gentle. “But it is I who should be thanking you. These past few days have been some of the most delightful I’ve had in quite some time. You’ve reminded me of the joy that can still be found in this world.”

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave the drawing room for the evening, Bathilda gave Nicholas one last pat on the shoulder. “Remember, Nico, elegance isn’t just in how you dress. It’s in how you carry yourself, and how you treat others. And you, my dear, are growing into a fine young man.”

Nicholas smiled at her, his chest swelling with pride. “Thank you, Miss Bathilda. I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

As the children stepped outside the mansion, they lingered by the grand entrance of the estate, casting one last glance towards Bathilda Bagshot and Hannah Abbott who stood inside the mansion, Bathilda and Hannah looked at them with smiles, gently waving their arm; a gesture of goodbye. The children then slowly made their way down the winding path as the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, Bathilda’s presence seemed to remain, lingering in the air like the soft afterglow of an extinguished candle, leaving behind a sense of comfort and belonging.

Nicholas stood still for a moment, his gaze fixed on the door. He felt the weight of Bathilda’s visit, not just in the stories she had shared or the history she had imparted, but in the quiet, unspoken wisdom that seemed to seep through the cracks of time. Her visit had been more than just a brief holiday interlude; it was as if she had woven them all into the rich tapestry of the magical world, connecting them to something far greater than themselves.

"Nicholas, let's go!" Louis’s voice broke the silence, his tone filled with urgency. Nicholas turned to see his friend standing on the cobblestone path leading down to the road, where the Knight Bus was waiting. Louis's face was anxious, his eyes darting nervously between Nicholas and the enchanted triple-decker bus idling on the street. "If we delay any longer, the bus might leave without us!" Louis called again, his impatience clear as the others began boarding.

They had all arrived here by the Knight Bus earlier, gathering at Nicholas's family estate before setting off for Godric’s Hollow together. The estate in Windsor had been a fitting place to begin their holiday adventure. Now, as they prepared to leave, the grand ancestral manor seemed to watch over them, its towering stone walls and ancient turrets casting long shadows in the fading afternoon light.

The Knight Bus itself was a marvel, a creation of chaotic brilliance. Its towering form, three decks high, seemed almost impossible, swaying gently even when stationary. The purple exterior gleamed, reflecting the last rays of the setting sun, while the windows were dark and foreboding, hiding the mysteries that lay within. As always, the bus appeared as if summoned by magic alone—careening through narrow alleys, taking impossible turns, and navigating the winding streets with a speed that left the air humming in its wake. The interior was no less extraordinary, filled with mismatched armchairs, brass lamps that floated in midair, and an assortment of odd trinkets that clung to the bus as if they had traveled through time itself. Every time the bus stopped or started, the furniture slid precariously across the floor, only to right itself with a loud thud.

Nicholas settled into a plush armchair at the very back of the bus, the chair creaking softly under his weight. He found himself in the middle of the group, with Pansy on one side, Draco and Mei-Ling on the other, and Blaise sitting nearby, his posture as casual as ever. Louis and Amara had taken the two seats in front of them, the latter leaning against the window, already half-asleep as the bus began its jolting journey.

From his seat, Nicholas heard Louis grumbling. "Damn, I was hoping I could sit together with you, Nicholas," he complained, his voice tinged with mock disappointment. His attempt at seriousness only made everyone laugh.

"Too slow, Louis!" Draco teased, smirking as he adjusted the collar of his pristine robes. "Next time, you’ll have to run faster to keep up with us."

Pansy snickered. "And here I thought you were quick on your feet. Guess we were wrong."

Louis huffed in response, crossing his arms in exaggerated frustration. "It wasn’t my fault! I waited for Nicholas!" he said, trying to defend himself, though his tone was more playful than annoyed.

Nicholas smiled at his friend’s antics. "I appreciate the patience, Louis," he said, his voice light, as he glanced around at his companions, all of whom were clearly enjoying the playful banter.

"Well, at least we’re all here now," Blaise remarked smoothly, leaning back into his chair with an air of nonchalance. "We’ve still got the rest of the trip to enjoy each other’s company."

As the laughter faded and the group began to settle down, Louis glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softening. "Thanks for the unforgettable holiday, guys," he said, his voice quieter now, though filled with sincerity.

There was a moment of silence as the words hung in the air, and Nicholas felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. The holiday had been filled with laughter, adventure, and stories they would carry with them for the rest of their lives. But more than that, it had strengthened the bond between them all, making them feel not just like friends, but like family.

"Yeah," Nicholas said softly, glancing out of the window at the snow-covered streets rushing by. "It really was unforgettable."

The bus jerked forward, speeding down the road, and for a moment, everything outside became a blur. Inside, however, the warmth of their strengthened companionship wrapped around them like a protective charm.