Hyacinth POV
I woke up to the smell of cinnamon and pine and a house that sounded... happy.
Not quiet the way Privet Drive had been, where the happy sounds pushed me into an isolated silence that felt like just another way to make me small. No, here the sound drifted towards me in a way that made my chest feel warm. Laughter bounced up the staircase, as someone downstairs was arguing with an elf about whether nutmeg belonged in cocoa, and I assume Dad was playing the piano in the parlor while trying very hard to remember the lyrics to the carol while it was painfully clear he didn't.
Tilly had strung holly down the banisters and charmed fairy-lights to drift like slow snow. The big drawing room had a tree so tall the top brushed the enchanted ceiling and shed glittering frost that never melted on the carpet. Packages piled high around the base, some wrapped like jewelry boxes, some like someone had lost a war with ribbon. The large tag read: From Moony, "Figures" I muttered.
For a second I just sat on the landing with my knees tucked under my chin and let the sound of it soak in. No banging on a cupboard door. No "get breakfast on before Dudley wakes up." No pretending I didn't want anything so I wouldn't cry when there was nothing to open anyway.
This was all mine, my family and my Christmas.
"Hyacinth!" Narcissa's voice floated up the stairs, warm and brisk. "If you let Sirius keep playing that piano we shall have a duel at dawn. Come down and save us, darling."
I snorted, yanked on my jumper, and padded down.
The room was absolute chaos in the best way. Narcissa fussed placing a scarf around my neck even though we were indoors. Lucius gave me one of those elegant little nods he does, like I'd passed some test just by existing. Draco was shoulder-to-shoulder with Neville by the fire, pretending they hadn't realized they were talking about the same seedlings. Andromeda and Narcissa were mock-glaring over the canapés, Ted was telling Dora that hair the color of sugared plums was 'very tasteful actually,' and Gran Augusta had already commandeered the good armchair and was stabbing at the fire with her cane.
Dad spotted me and lit up. His smile hit me like sunshine.
"About time," he said, coming over to plant a kiss in my hair and then stage-whispering, "Save us from your aunt. She keeps threatening to put bells on me."
"I would never," Narcissa said, entirely lying, and then added a silver bell to the end of his ponytail with a discreet charm. It chimed when he moved. I couldn't help it, I chuckled at the sight. He squinted at the air like he could catch the spell by glaring hard enough.
Tilly produced cocoa and a plate of cinnamon stars that tasted like someone had distilled every good thing about winter and put it in a biscuit. That's when everyone headed toward the tree.
Presents, it turns out, are very different when the people giving them know you.
I gave Dad a leather wrist-cuff I'd carved with layered protection runes, keyed to him and me so that if he took a hex in the forearm it would shudder and bite the spell caster instead. He put it on immediately and waggled his eyebrows like he was considering testing it on Lucius just to be sure it worked. I also gave him a tiny framed copy of our first photo together of me glowering at the camera because I was overwhelmed, him grinning like a fool because he wasn't, and he went very quiet and pressed his thumb to the glass.
"For my bookshelf," he said, voice rough.
Uncle Remus got a new journal I'd charmed with a Protean link to mine so I could send him notes when the mirror felt too loud, and a scarf in earth colors that didn't itch (Tilly helped). He did that soft-eyed smile he does when he's trying not to get misty. "They're perfect," he murmured, and tucked it immediately around his neck.
For Aunt Cissy, I'd saved three phoenix feathers from the sanctuary that I had found and asked Tilly to help me set them into a hairpin of gold wire and moonstones. Her fingertips hovered over it like she was afraid to breathe too hard, then she slid it into her hair and it looked like she'd been born with phoenix fire tucked there.
"Exquisite," she said, and when she kissed my cheek, her eyes were shining.
Lucius got a small polished plaque I'd restored from the Black library, the original family motto engraved clean and bright: L'amour familial est toujours pur. He ran his thumb over the words; for a second, something unguarded flickered through his expression. He bowed his head to me. "Thank you," he said simply, and slipped it into his inner pocket.
Draco got a compact dueling kit, complete with weighted practice wands, chalk for circles, a fold-out rulebook I'd annotated with snark in the margins, and a tin of broom polish because I knew he'd notice if I didn't. "For when Lockhart inevitably makes a mess of demonstrations," I said.
He smirked. "So when I inevitably have to save face for the House of Malfoy, I can look good doing it?"
"Obviously," I said, and he looked pleased in a way that made him forget to sneer.
Neville's parcel was heavy with seed packets I'd bartered from Newt's friends and three shallow trays charmed to maintain humidity, plus a little brass greenhouse thermometer shaped like a sunflower. He hugged me so hard my ribs creaked, then whispered, "I saved you the best foxglove cuttings. For your trunk's greenhouse." My throat prickled.
For Aunt Alice, I'd made a charm bracelet of simple silver links, each bead etched with a protective rune keyed to her. She turned it in her hands, her eyes going wet. Then she leaned forward and hugged me tight, whispering, "It's lovely, dear. Thank you."
For Uncle Frank, I'd found and restored a set of old enchanted gardening tools, and restored the charms so they'd never dull. The way his whole face lit up had me smiling when he reached out, squeezed my hand, and said, "Can't wait to put these to use."
Gran Augusta's gift was an old photo I'd found of her Uncle Frank, Aunt Alice, Dad James, my Mum and Dad tucked in a book in the Potter library, so I had it restored and framed. Augusta stared at it a long time, hand trembling on the frame. "Ah, the good old days," she murmured. "Thank you love."
Andromeda and Ted got a healer's field kit I'd kitted out with extra vials and labeled like a maniac, and a blank album charmed to copy photographs you laid on its pages. "For when we start collecting new ones," I said. Ted sniffed and pretended he had dust in his eye. Dora (who had cycled through three hair colors before breakfast) got a pair of hairpins that let her lock a look in place if she wanted to hold it, and a set of joke gloves that made your hands look like dragon claws when you snapped. She used them immediately to swipe Dad's bell. It chimed indignantly as it changed heads.
As for me?
I got so many things, I had to bite my lip not to cry over each one.
From Narcissa: a winter cloak in deep green lined with soft fur, tailored perfectly and enchanted to shrug off sleet. "A lady should never be cold," she said primly, but her smile was wicked.
From Lucius: an antique inkwell and quill set, the nibs tempered to take runic inks without bleeding, with a note attached: For your wards, Lady Potter-Black. Use them to make the world safer than we left it.
From Gran Augusta: instruction hours with a dueling master she trusted. "Power is fine," she said, "but control is better."
From Aunt Alice: A jumper she'd knit herself it was crooked in places, with dropped stitches, but warm and lavender-scented. "I made this," she said softly. "Might not be perfect, but... it's from me."
From Uncle Frank: A small potted plant that looked like a clump of moss until I touched it, when tiny violet blossoms opened and spilled warmth across my fingers. "For your greenhouse," he said. "It likes to grow near foxglove."
From Neville: a pressed book of his favorite cultivars with his scribbles in the margins, and a little hand-lettered note tucked in the back that just said, For when we get home.
From Remus: a little wooden box enchanted to smell like old books when you opened it, inside a handful of chocolate frogs and a tiny sketch of the three of us by the fire. It looked like us.
From Dad... two things.
The first was a silver chain with a small, simple charm: a tiny key of onyx carved like a wolf. "For your trunk suite," he said, but he cleared his throat before he could get the rest out, "and for anywhere else you need to lock a door behind you."
The second came in a long, lumpy tube that rattled. I opened it carefully and jumped when it... honked.
It was a wand, sort of. The second I held it up, it squealed and turned into a rubber chicken in a tiny top hat that shouted, "TA-DA!" and then fell limp again.
I stared at it. Dad looked saintly and Uncle Remus put his face in his hands.
"Twins by owl post," Dad said, eyes absolutely evil with delight. "Consider it a collaborative effort."
"Merlin save me," Aunt Narcissa muttered, but she was smiling into her teacup.
There were serious gifts too, letters by courier from the Grangers, a neatly wrapped parcel of Muggle stationery, a fountain pen, and a soft knitted scarf Mrs. Granger had made herself. 'We took one last trip to the sea,' Mr. Granger wrote. We brought you shells for our new home. Thought we'd make a new tradition.
We ate far too much and the tin of ginger snaps Mrs. Weasley had sent vanished in under ten minutes. Dora led a carol in a voice that somehow didn't clash even as her hair did, and Dad as Padfoot was buried under a pile of tinsel and ribbon as the bell on his ponytail chimed from under a mound. I laughed until my sides hurt.
Later, after dinner the house got quiet in that soft way good houses do.
That was when Professor Snape came.
He arrived through the floo in a sweep of black that made Dora salute and Lucius look fondly exasperated, and then he looked around the room, who was where, who had his wand in his sleeve, who was eating the last mince pie (me) and his mouth flattened into that line that used to make my stomach cold.
"Snape," Dad said in greeting.
"Black," he returned coolly, nodding once. He glanced at Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius. Before he turned to me. "Miss Potter-Black. Merry Christmas." There was no bite to it though. Just the words.
"Merry Christmas, Professor." 'My voice didn't wobble this is progress,' I thought.
We took him to Mum.
The portrait hall was warm with candlelight. Mum's frame, my favorite one of her in soft green with her hair half up glowed. She'd been waiting for us as her and Dad agreed.
"Severus," she said. He stiffened like he'd been struck and then bent, clumsy with a bow he hadn't planned on making.
"I came," he said, as if she might not believe it. "Sirius... asked for potions master." His eyes flicked to me and away. "I didn't know I would be seeing you." He almost whispered.
Mum laughed, and the sound curled around the hall like spring finding a window. "I told him you'd be surprised to see me."
They talked for a long time. About their past, regrets, expectations then moved onto ingredient strains, stabilizing elixirs, about healer protocols and teaching apprentices. About Atlantis', about her asking him to help take care of me and promises to talk with him more. Somewhere in the middle of the talk, the brittle feel in his shoulders loosened, and when she called him Sev, very softly, he didn't flinch.
I didn't intrude more than that. It felt like walking in on a conversation that had been paused for years and had finally found its way again.
When he left, he stopped by me and awkwardly, like it pained him and offered me a small box. Inside was a set of phials crystal, thin, and perfect marked with capacity runes so clean they looked printed. "For your work," he said. "You will have work, I can guarantee that."
"Thank you," I said and I meant it.
After everyone left, I took my cocoa and sat under the tree, the last embers in the fire reflecting in the glass ornaments. I ran my fingers over the new brooch on my jumper, the key at my throat, and the scarf from Hermione wrapped around my knees.
My first real Christmas felt amazing. The warmth of a family pressed close on all sides, laughter still stuck in the corners of rooms, and the knowledge that when I woke up tomorrow there would be breakfast. Because someone had remembered I liked cinnamon stars and not because I'd made them for everyone else.
Dad wandered in and dropped onto the rug like an extremely large dog who'd earned it, bell finally removed. He looked over at me and smiled softly while looking a little tired.
"Good Christmas?" he asked.
"The best," I said.
He reached out and tugged gently at the key on its chain. "Next year," he said, eyes on the tree, "we'll hang phoenix feathers on one of the spires. See how they look against the stars."
My heart did that stupid warm ache thing again. "Deal."
When I finally crept upstairs I saw on my nightstand, Tilly had left a little card in her careful hand: Sleep well, Lady Hyacinth. I'm glad you is home. I smiled into my pillow and fell asleep to the sound of a world that wanted me in it.
And when morning came, I didn't feel like a girl borrowing space in someone else's holiday. I felt like a Potter-Black, with a family, a city waiting, and a sky full of birds already singing us home.