December 25, 1991, dawned over London with a soft, almost shy light, as if the sun didn't wish to wake the world too soon. In Hampstead—a neighborhood of red-brick houses and immaculate gardens—snow fell gently, blanketing trees, iron railings, and rooftops in a quiet, white shroud.
Inside one of those homes, in a room filled with books, academic trophies, and family holiday photos, Hermione Granger opened her eyes.
Still half-asleep, her hair more tangled than usual and her eyes heavy with sleep, she slowly sat up in bed. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, hugging her pillow for a moment as if clinging to the last fragments of her dream.
But then she saw it.
At the foot of her bed, on the plush carpet, lay seven perfectly wrapped packages—each in a different colored paper: some glossy, others matte; some tied with golden ribbons, others with green bows—all arranged with a care only someone accustomed to magical precision could achieve.
Hermione blinked in disbelief.
"Seven?" she murmured, a smile already tugging at her lips. "It can't be… Is it them?"
She sprang out of bed, barefoot, wearing her blue flannel pajamas and striped socks, and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the gifts as if they were sacred relics.
"Of course it's them," she thought, brushing her fingertips over the first package. "Nathael and Celestia, Draco, Kate, Carrie… all of them."
She picked up one at random. It was wrapped in brilliant red paper, folded with surgical precision and tied with a golden ribbon forming a flawless bow. She unwrapped it carefully, unfolding the paper without tearing it—as if she wanted to keep it forever.
Inside was a scarf.
Not just any scarf. It was made of thick, soft wool, a deep crimson that shimmered with scarlet hues in the morning light. The moment she touched it, she felt a faint tingle—almost as if it were alive.
"Magic?" she whispered, surprised.
Then she spotted the note tucked in a corner.
She unfolded it.
Merry Christmas, Hermione.
—Kate
Nathael helped me find it in Hogsmeade. He said it'll always keep you warm, no matter how cold it gets. And it matches Gryffindor.
Hermione pressed the scarf to her face and smiled.
"Kate…" she thought, a warm knot forming in her chest. "She's not even magical, yet she understands more than many who are."
She put it on immediately. And indeed, the room's chill vanished. It wasn't just warmth—it was comfort. Like being gently embraced.
"Thank you, Kate," she said softly. "Even though you're not here… thank you."
She kept the scarf on and reached for the next gift. This one was smaller—about the size of a candy box—wrapped in silver paper adorned with golden stars.
She opened it.
It was a photograph.
A magical photograph.
In it, all six of them stood together: Nathael in his ever-present black jacket, calm and smiling, with Celestia perched on his shoulder; Draco, arms crossed but without his usual arrogance; Kate, laughing with bright eyes; Carrie, shy but wearing a genuine smile; and Hermione herself in the center, radiating a happiness she didn't remember feeling before.
The photo moved. In one moment, Nathael said something that made Kate laugh. In another, Celestia let out a haughty meow from his shoulder. And in the center, all five walked side by side down a snowy street, as if the world held no secrets from them.
There was a note on the back.
Merry Christmas.
—Carrie
Hermione blinked. A tear welled in her eye.
"It's… perfect," she thought, her voice trembling. "It's not expensive. It's not flashy magic. But it's real."
She wiped the tear with the back of her hand and smiled.
"I'll frame it," she said aloud. "I'll put it next to my bed at Hogwarts. So I'll never forget… I'm not alone."
The third gift was wrapped in dark—almost black—paper, with silver filigree that seemed to shift if stared at too long. The bow was fine silk: elegant, understated.
"Obviously Draco," she thought with a mischievous smile. "No one else would wrap a present like it's a diplomatic treaty."
She opened it carefully.
It was a book.
European Folklore and Legends, read the golden title on the cover, illustrated with dragons, fairies, and creatures Hermione had only heard whispers of.
Inside, a note:
As a know-it-all, I thought you'd enjoy something even the professors don't know. This book belonged to my family's library. It contains stories not even common library books mention.
—Draco
Hermione traced the cover with reverence.
"Thank you, Draco," she said softly. "I always knew there was more to you… and this proves it."
She set the book aside carefully and looked at the four remaining gifts. Her heart beat faster.
"These are from Nathael and Celestia. I know it."
She picked up the first. It was small—barely larger than a Rubik's Cube.
Inside, resting on a blue velvet cushion, lay a simple silver ring—no gemstones, but etched with runes so tiny they were invisible unless examined closely.
A note accompanied it:
Happy Birthday.
—Celestia
Nathael and I forgot your birthday in September. But since you're now part of our family, we couldn't let it pass. This is your birthday gift… and your Christmas present is in the other package.
This ring isn't like those trinkets sold in Diagon Alley. It's undetectable by any Ministry method. You can store anything inside it—no matter the size. Use it wisely.
(And yes, I made it myself. Because Nathael still lacks the patience I have.)
Hermione laughed through her tears.
"Celestia…" she thought, slipping the ring onto her finger. "Always proud, but with her heart in the right place."
The moment she touched it, she felt a faint hum—as if the world adjusted around her. She tested it by placing a book inside. It vanished. She retrieved it—perfectly intact.
"Amazing," she whispered.
The next gift was larger. She opened it with trembling hands.
It was a cloak.
Crimson, with golden dragon-shaped borders that glowed faintly—as if breathing. At her touch, a current of warm energy flowed through her.
The note was from Celestia:
Merry Christmas (yes, another gift).
This cloak is reinforced with protective enchantments. It can shield you from Expelliarmus, Reducto, even stronger spells. It's more resilient than a standard Protego. Also… it's stylish. Unlike a certain someone who insists on wearing open shirts in winter. Please don't copy his fashion sense.
—Celestia
Hermione draped the cloak over her shoulders. Instantly, she felt as if an invisible bubble surrounded her.
"This… this is incredible," she thought, turning in place. "Clothing with these properties is nearly impossible to find—and this one doesn't wear out. It's…"
"Perfect," she said aloud.
She folded it carefully and placed it on her bed. She'd decide later when to wear it—but she knew it would be for important moments.
Two gifts remained.
The largest ones.
Nathael's.
The first was a worn notebook, bound in aged leather, its corners bent and pages stained with ink. She opened it reverently.
It was Nathael's notebook.
His notes—written in firm, hurried script—filled every page. They discussed simple spells—Reparo, Lumos, Wingardium Leviosa—but with a depth no textbook offered. These weren't instructions… they were reflections.
"Reparo doesn't just fix objects. It mends intentions. If you repair something in anger, it will break again. If you do it with calm, it will last forever."
Hermione sat on the bed, utterly absorbed.
"He wrote this while he was learning…" she thought, wide-eyed. "And even then, he saw magic like no one else."
A note was tucked at the end:
Happy Birthday. This notebook witnessed my learning. Now, it's yours. Use it well.
—Nathael
Tears returned. This time, she didn't hold them back.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for trusting me…"
She stored the notebook with near-religious care and reached for the last gift.
It was long. Heavy.
She unwrapped it with trembling hands.
Inside, resting on a black velvet cushion, lay a sword.
Not an ordinary sword. The scabbard was crafted from dark leather, carved with roots that coiled into ancient runes. The hilt, forged from silver metal, bore rubies and diamonds that glowed with inner light. And the blade—she didn't even draw it, yet she could already feel its edge in the air.
A note accompanied it:
This is Bannklinge. One of the ancestral swords of the Grauheim family. It shatters spells. Nullifies curses. Cuts through the lies of the soul. Do not wield it yet. First, train your body. Your magic. But when you're ready… you'll shine as the Gryffindor you are.
Merry Christmas.
—Nathael
Hermione touched the scabbard with reverence.
"Bannklinge…" she thought, her voice breaking. "This isn't just a gift. It's a promise."
She stood, surrounded by all seven gifts, and looked out the window. Snow continued to fall. The world was at peace.
And for the first time in her life, she didn't feel alone.
"I have a new family," she thought. "Not by blood… but by choice."
She carefully gathered the gifts, stored them in her new ring, and left the room.
Her parents waited in the kitchen with fresh pancakes and hot chocolate.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart!" her mother said, hugging her tightly.
Hermione hugged them back fiercely.
"Merry Christmas," she said, a genuine smile on her lips.
And in her heart, she already knew:
When I return to Hogwarts… I won't go back alone.
I'll return with everything I need.
Because I already have a home.