On the last day before Christmas, Hogwarts was steeped in the restless excitement of the approaching holiday.
Holly and mistletoe hung from the corridors, and Hagrid dragged enormous Christmas trees through the Entrance Hall, leaving damp trails of melting snow across the marble floor. Professor Flitwick fluttered around the trees, charming delicate silver icicles into place. Though he looked slightly flustered, he was clearly enjoying himself.
"Sign-up sheet! Sign-up sheet!"
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of a joint Gryffindor–Slytherin class, holding a long roll of parchment as she carefully noted the names of students staying at Hogwarts over Christmas.
"Potter, are you staying?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered without hesitation.
To him, Hogwarts was practically paradise compared to that house on Privet Drive.
Ron raised his hand as well. "I'm staying too, Professor. A few of my brothers are staying."
Draco Malfoy immediately sneered, deliberately raising his voice so everyone nearby could hear.
"Look at that. Some people are staying because nobody wants them. Either their families can't even afford the train fare, or perhaps they don't have a home at all."
His gaze swept over Harry and Ron with open contempt. The smug superiority in his expression made it almost irresistible to punch him.
Ron's ears turned scarlet. His fists clenched at his sides, and he looked ready to charge forward.
"I'm staying too, Professor."
A cool, even voice cut cleanly through the tension.
Tamara closed her book and lifted her eyes to meet Professor McGonagall's.
"What?!" Draco blurted, staring at her in disbelief. "You're not going back? But nearly everyone's leaving! Hardly anyone from Slytherin is staying. Goyle and Crabbe are both going home!"
"Then I'll see you after the holidays," Tamara replied flatly, as though it were of no consequence.
Her reason for staying was simple.
Winter at Wools Orphanage was unbearable.
There was no proper heating—only drafty windows and thin, damp blankets that never seemed to dry. Compared to that, even the cold stone dungeons of Hogwarts felt luxuriously warm.
Besides, once the castle emptied, she would finally have the freedom to do certain things without curious eyes watching her. Exploring the Restricted Section. Investigating that mysterious corridor on the fourth floor. Researching magic that was better left unseen.
"If you're staying, then I'll—" Draco began, jaw tightening, clearly preparing to declare that he would remain as well.
"Don't be ridiculous, Draco."
Tamara didn't even let him finish.
"While you still have family, you should spend time with them."
She paused, then added calmly, "And don't forget to bring me that book."
Draco's expression twisted with frustration. After a moment, he exhaled sharply in defeat.
"Fine. Then… Merry Christmas, Tamara."
"Merry Christmas."
The day the holidays began, the Hogwarts Express waited at Hogsmeade Station, hissing clouds of white steam into the icy air.
Students swarmed toward it, dragging trunks and owl cages, filling the platform with laughter and chatter. Snow crunched beneath hurried footsteps.
Tamara stood at the castle entrance, watching the crowd depart. She felt no sadness—only a quiet, growing satisfaction.
Finally.
Silence.
Peace.
An entire flock of noisy sparrows, gone.
She turned to go back inside and savor the solitude when a voice called out behind her.
"Tamara! Wait!"
She paused.
Hermione Granger came running across the snow-covered grounds, breathing hard. She wore a thick brown coat and a bright red scarf wrapped snugly around her neck. In her gloved hands, she clutched a neatly wrapped box.
Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, but her eyes shone brightly.
"Huff… I'm glad I caught you."
She stopped in front of Tamara, taking a moment to steady her breath before holding out the box with both hands.
"This is… a Christmas gift for you."
Tamara's eyebrow arched slightly.
"A gift?"
She hadn't expected that.
Though she had helped Hermione in the library—and even saved her once—Tamara had never imagined the Gryffindor bookworm would go so far as to prepare a present.
"Yes!" Hermione nodded eagerly, sincerity written plainly across her face.
"Thank you for helping me this term. Even though… even though you always say I'm stupid, I know you're just pushing me to improve."
She hesitated, then continued more softly, "My dad brought this book from the Muggle world. It's about logic and mind mapping. I thought… you might find it interesting."
Tamara looked into Hermione's bright, hopeful eyes.
The unfiltered kindness there made her skin prickle.
This sort of pure, uncomplicated goodwill was almost more unbearable than the Cruciatus Curse.
"I don't—"
She instinctively began to refuse, her voice cool and edged.
But her hand did not move to push the box away.
Because at that precise moment, the System chimed inside her mind.
[Ding! Sincere gift of friendship detected.]
[Task: Reciprocity.]
[Since you have received a gift, how can you fail to return the courtesy? Accept the gift and offer a warm farewell.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
"…Troublesome," Tamara muttered inwardly.
With visible reluctance, she reached out and took the box.
"I don't usually read Muggle books," she said coolly, "but if it's about logic… perhaps I can use it to pass the time."
It was the closest she could manage to gratitude.
Hermione's face lit up instantly, as though someone had switched on two tiny lanterns behind her eyes.
"That's wonderful! I even made you a bookmark—it's tucked inside."
From the distance, Hagrid's booming voice echoed across the grounds.
"Train's leavin'!"
"I have to go!"
Hermione adjusted her scarf hurriedly.
And then—
Before Tamara could react—
Hermione suddenly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her.
"Merry Christmas, Tamara! I'll miss you!"
The hug lasted no more than a second.
By the time Tamara's mind caught up with what was happening, Hermione had already released her and dashed toward the train, boots crunching in the snow like an excited little bird taking flight.
Tamara remained frozen in place, still holding the box.
Her expression darkened instantly.
"She… hugged me?"
She stared down at her robes as though they had been contaminated by something infectious.
"That mudblood dared to hug me?!"
The outrage echoed violently in her thoughts. She felt an overwhelming urge to cast Scourgify on herself repeatedly—perhaps even Incendio in the direction of the departing train for good measure.
Yet she did neither.
The box remained steady in her hands.
And the fleeting warmth from that unexpected embrace—the faint echo of another person's heartbeat—lingered stubbornly against her chest.
The train's whistle shrieked.
Steam billowed.
Slowly, the Hogwarts Express began to move, carrying its cargo of laughter and noise away from the castle.
Tamara stood in the biting wind long after it had disappeared from sight.
At last, she let out a slow, complicated sigh.
"…Whatever."
She turned and walked back toward the castle doors, which swung open silently to admit her before closing with a heavy thud behind her.
The corridors were already quieter.
Emptier.
Colder.
She glanced down at the wrapped box in her hands.
A Muggle book about logic.
With a handmade bookmark.
Her fingers tightened slightly around it.
"She's just a slightly noisy mudblood," Tamara muttered to herself, as if repetition could reduce the weight of what had just happened.
And yet—
She did not throw the gift away.
Nor did she cast a cleansing charm.
Instead, she carried it with her into the silent depths of Hogwarts, the faintest trace of warmth lingering stubbornly beneath layers of indifference.
Christmas had begun.
And for the first time in a very long while, Tamara found herself holding something she did not quite know how to categorize.
Not strategy.
Not power.
Not advantage.
Something far more inconvenient than any of those.
Something dangerously close to affection.
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