Snow had just begun to fall across the rooftops of Diagon Alley as Harry stepped through the archway beside America Chavez, their boots crunching lightly against cobblestone dusted in white. Warm golden light poured out from the windows of the various shops, and the scent of roasted chestnuts and peppermint filled the air. Harry tugged his coat tighter around him, a small smile on his lips. For the first time, he had people he wanted to gift things to—people who mattered.
America was chatting with a shopkeeper about protective wards for clothing when Harry spotted a quaint little shop with bubbling vials and glass shelves glittering in the light. Inside, he found exactly what he was looking for. "This one," he said, tapping a polished wooden box with brass clasps. Inside was a complete beginner's potions kit, packed with labeled ingredients, a small silver cauldron, measuring tools, and parchment scrolls with detailed instructions—perfect for someone without a wand. "For Hermione," Harry murmured to himself, already picturing her wide-eyed excitement. The potions were basic healing brews, calming drafts, and color-changing liquids—nothing dangerous, but enough to spark curiosity.
Next came Kyle's gift. Harry owed him more than words could say. Kyle was the first wizard who welcomed him, who brought him into the magical world without hesitation. At a specialty shop lined with moving clocks and glowing pendants, Harry found it: a magical wristwatch with golden snitch-shaped ends, enchanted to track the time and show direction, flash alerts for magical disturbances, and even whisper the time aloud if asked. "Kyle's going to love this," Harry said as he handed over the Galleons.
Then came the hardest decision. At the owl post office, Harry stood for a long time staring at a simple brown box. Inside was a small hand-bound book, titled "Dueling, My Way – By Peter Griffin." It contained his personal thoughts, techniques, and notes—simplified for a student. He had no reason to send Nymphadora Tonks a gift… other than the quiet memory of her terrified face that day, and the way she'd looked at him when she said "thank you." With a sigh, he slipped in a short note—no name, only the initials H.P., then carefully sealed the box with crimson wax and sent it on its way with a snowy owl.
As the last owl vanished into the darkening sky, Harry exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist in the cold. "You're a softie," America teased, nudging him with her elbow.
"Maybe," Harry said, smiling faintly. "But it's Christmas."
But Harry didn't stop there. He remembered the laughter and camaraderie of his old football team, the way they had embraced him without envy. With an effort that surprised even America, he went to a Muggle sports shop, tried on a dozen pairs of cleats, remembered each friend's foot size, and bought a dozen pairs of quality sports shoes. Back at the manor, he boxed them carefully and labeled them with handwritten notes. Then, using an ordinary Muggle courier service, he sent each package off to his former teammates—anonymously, without even a return address. Just a small thank you, sealed with warmth.
The night was crisp with December chill as snowflakes danced lazily in the yellow light of the manor's lanterns. Inside, Harry adjusted the collar of his tailored navy coat, brushing invisible lint from the sleeve while America twirled in the mirror behind him. "Not bad, Potter," she smirked, straightening his tie a little too sharply. "You clean up alright."
Harry rolled his eyes but smiled. Across the room, Wanda emerged in an elegant winter gown of deep scarlet velvet, trimmed with silver embroidery. Her dark red lips curled in amusement as Sirius appeared beside her, wearing a perfectly matching suit with silver cufflinks. America raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Coordinated outfits. That's not suspicious at all."
Wanda gave her a knowing smirk, brushing a hand through Sirius's freshly combed hair. "We were invited as a family," she said, voice dripping with mischief. "Might as well look the part."
Sirius straightened his sleeves and picked up his enchanted car keys, twirling them around his finger. "You lot ready? The Grangers are expecting us before the roast is ruined." He grinned. "This is gonna be fun. Muggle parties are so weird—it's half awkward smiles and half wine. I love it."
The four of them exited the manor and approached the obsidian-black car Sirius had parked at the end of the enchanted driveway. The vehicle gleamed unnaturally, its chrome details shimmering faintly under the warded lights. America leaned down and peered through the tinted glass. "It's not gonna turn into a flying car at midnight, is it?"
Sirius scoffed. "It's a '67 Jaguar Mark II. Took me weeks to find the perfect one. And no, it's not going to fly—unless I'm trying to impress someone who likes flying." With a snap of his fingers, the car's doors opened automatically. "Climb in."
Harry slid into the passenger seat beside Sirius while Wanda and America settled into the plush, magically expanded backseat. As Sirius started the car, there was a soft hum of magical energy. The engine purred—not like any Muggle machine, but like a beast being gently coaxed forward. With a flick of his wand, Sirius activated a charm and the car shot forward at a speed far beyond what any earthly vehicle should achieve—yet the ride inside was smooth as butter.
"This is illegal," America muttered, watching the city lights blur past them.
"Only if you get caught," Sirius replied, grinning.
"I miss my flying motorcycle," he added with a nostalgic sigh, eyes momentarily distant. "Gave it to Hagrid when I thought I'd never ride it again. And now that everyone thinks I'm dead, I can't exactly go knocking on the door of a half-giant and ask for it back. 'Hey Hagrid, remember that death-defying motorcycle? Mind if I borrow it again?'"
Harry laughed softly. "He'd probably faint on the spot."
"I'm half tempted to send a disguised owl," Sirius muttered.
As they drove through Erling's quiet streets, the snow thickened slightly, but the car seemed unbothered, gliding above the road with subtle levitation magic. Soon enough, the Granger house came into view—a cheerful two-story home wrapped in strings of golden lights, a tall pine tree visible through the front window. Inside, warm silhouettes moved about, and the sounds of laughter and holiday music drifted faintly into the night.
Sirius slowed the car to a stop with a graceful slide across the snow-dusted curb and glanced back at Wanda. "Ready to meet the Muggle in-laws?"
Wanda gave him a wicked little smile. "Let's just hope you don't scare them this time."
They stepped out into the soft snow, Harry clutching a small bag of presents under one arm, and walked up the Granger steps together. The front door opened before they could knock. Hermione stood in the doorway, wearing a soft green dress and a bright smile that only widened when she saw Harry.
"You made it!" she beamed.
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry said, returning her smile with ease.
And from behind her, Hermione's father and mother stood waiting, smiling warmly, their eyes slightly wide as they took in the polished, peculiar guests stepping into their home on Christmas Eve.
The Granger residence was alive with the warmth of holiday cheer. Twinkling fairy lights hung from every corner, casting a cozy golden hue over the modest living room where the party had gathered in full swing. The aroma of roasted meats, fresh bread, and cinnamon-scented candles filled the air. Glasses clinked, laughter rang out, and the murmurs of cheerful conversation wove through the space as more friends and family arrived, unwrapping scarves and shaking snow from their coats.
Inside, the Grangers had arranged a lavish buffet across the long dining table—carved turkey, glazed ham, various puddings, and trifle desserts stood proudly beside an array of cheeses, fruits, and mince pies. A small bar cart was tucked near the corner, where guests helped themselves to mulled wine, champagne, or soft drinks. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering light over the festive decorations and evergreen garlands.
Wanda, wearing an elegant forest-green dress and a warm shawl, was introduced to the gathering as Lily Potter, the charming and worldly archaeologist. She navigated the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasant smiles and gentle laughter as Hermione's relatives bombarded her with questions about lost cities and ancient ruins.
"So, Lily," asked a rotund uncle in a reindeer jumper, already two drinks deep into the evening. "You must have seen some amazing places in your travels."
"Oh, many," Wanda replied smoothly, sipping from her glass of ginger punch. "But few as beautiful as the sun rising over Petra… or the sheer silence inside the tomb chambers of the Valley of the Kings. Archaeology isn't always about treasures. Sometimes, it's about listening to what the earth hides."
Her words drew admiring nods and soft "oohs" from the gathered aunts and uncles. She answered every question with just enough flourish to make it vivid, but carefully avoided anything that might hint at her real work as a curse breaker in magical tombs.
Sirius, meanwhile, had assumed the role of the dashing Lord Black, dressed in a charcoal suit with silver trim and an easy smile that made every married woman in the room blush and every man curious. "Old money," he casually explained when asked about his line of work. "My family's been around for centuries. We own property, invest in a bit of everything—textiles, imports, merchant fleets. I'm more of a steward than a worker, really." He chuckled. "Don't let the title fool you. I make terrible tea."
The cousins loved him. The aunts adored him. Someone had already asked if he could host a garden party in the summer, and Sirius, wine in hand, was halfway through planning it on a cocktail napkin.
America, pretending to be their niece, stood near the snacks with a plate full of sausage rolls and cocktail shrimp, grinning as she observed the adults navigate Sirius's flamboyant charm and Wanda's poised storytelling. Occasionally, she'd wink at Harry from across the room or sneak Hermione extra snacks from the kitchen.
Harry, meanwhile, found himself seated on a couch with Hermione's cousins, who ranged from shy teenagers to overly curious preteens. He had barely sat down before one of them—a girl with long brown braids—blurted, "Wait, you're Hermione's friend?"
The others looked at Hermione like she had pulled a dragon out of her hat.
Hermione, slightly red-faced, nodded. "This is Harry Potter."
Harry smiled awkwardly, trying not to look too self-aware under the weight of so many stares.
"Seriously?" said another cousin, wide-eyed. "You look like someone out of a movie. Hermione's been holding out on us."
One of the boys leaned forward, whispering, "Are you, like… a model or something?"
Harry laughed. "No, just a student. I've got the same homework and horrible handwriting as everyone else."
Hermione muttered, "He's being modest."
Harry glanced over at Hermione's parents, who stood nearby speaking with Sirius and Wanda. Both Anna and Richard Granger smiled warmly whenever they looked Harry's way, clearly proud that their daughter had found such extraordinary friends. They had known in advance that Harry would be disguised—after all, they'd seen him as himself when they visited Diagon Alley. And yet, the new face, so perfectly reminiscent of the man they'd seen in photographs of James Potter, startled them. Still, it was easy to accept this illusion as part of the magical world they were only just beginning to understand.
The party continued late into the evening—filled with music, stories, light dancing in the living room, and the joy of families coming together. But beneath all the cheer and merriment, a quiet understanding lingered between the Grangers and their unusual guests—that this was more than just a holiday party. It was the delicate blending of two worlds, and the beginning of something larger for Hermione and Harry both.