Chapter 49: Gifts
On the last day before Christmas, Hogwarts seemed to hum with a restless sort of joy.
Holly and mistletoe had been hung along the corridors. The suits of armour wore garlands like absurdly dignified old men forced into holiday cheer. In the Entrance Hall, Hagrid was hauling enormous Christmas trees across the stone floor, leaving wet trails of slush behind him wherever he went, while Professor Flitwick hovered nearby hanging bright silver icicles from the branches with all the enthusiasm of a child let loose in a sweetshop.
Even Professor McGonagall, though stern as ever, had not escaped the season entirely.
"Names, please. Those staying over Christmas, sign clearly."
She stood at the front of a combined Gryffindor and Slytherin class with a long roll of parchment unspooled from one hand, taking down the names of students who would remain at Hogwarts during the holidays.
"Potter," she said, glancing over the list. "Are you staying?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered at once.
For him, the decision required no thought at all. Hogwarts, with all its dangers and ghosts and impossible staircases, was still infinitely better than Privet Drive.
Ron raised his hand beside him.
"Me too, Professor. A few of my brothers are staying as well."
Draco Malfoy, hearing that, let out a soft, contemptuous laugh and made sure his voice carried.
"How touching. Some people stay because nobody wants them. Either their family is too poor to afford the journey home, or perhaps they haven't got a proper home to return to in the first place."
His pale gaze swept over Harry and Ron with open disdain, and the smugness in his face was enough to make any sensible person want to smack it.
Ron's ears turned scarlet in an instant.
He clenched his fists and started half a step forward.
"I'll be staying too, Professor."
The cool voice cut cleanly through the moment.
Tamara Riddle closed the book on her desk and looked up at Professor McGonagall as if the matter were entirely ordinary.
The room went still.
Draco whipped around so fast he nearly knocked his ink bottle over.
"What?"
He stared at Tamara as though she had calmly announced her intention to move into the Forbidden Forest.
"You're staying? But everyone's going home. Almost no Slytherins are staying. Goyle and Crabbe are both leaving."
Tamara's expression did not change.
"Then I shall see them after the holidays."
Her tone suggested she was discussing the weather, not a decision that had clearly unsettled half the room.
The truth was far simpler than anyone there would have guessed.
Winter at Wools Orphanage was an abomination.
There was no proper heating. The blankets smelled of mould. The windows let in draughts sharp enough to flay the skin from one's bones. By comparison, even the Slytherin dungeons under the Black Lake felt luxurious.
More importantly, an almost empty Hogwarts offered possibilities.
Silence.
Freedom.
Access.
It would be much easier to visit places best unseen when the Castle was not full of students blundering about underfoot. The Restricted Section, for instance. Certain corridors. Certain locked doors.
Draco, meanwhile, had gone rigid with indecision.
His first instinct was written all over his face.
If Tamara was staying, then he wanted to stay too.
His mouth even opened as though he meant to declare it.
Tamara glanced at him and cut the thought off before it could escape.
"Don't be ridiculous, Draco."
The rebuke was cool, but not cruel.
"You still have a family. Spend the holiday with them."
Then, after a beat, she added, "And do not forget the book I asked for."
Draco's face twisted between disappointment and reluctant obedience.
At last he gave in.
"Fine," he muttered. Then, a little more stiffly, "Merry Christmas, Tamara."
"Merry Christmas."
The matter ended there.
Or rather, it ended outwardly.
Inside, Draco looked as though he were trying to recover from a minor personal tragedy, while Harry, sitting two rows over, found himself stealing a glance at Tamara before he could stop himself.
He had never quite worked her out.
Cold as frost.
Sharp tongued.
And yet now, apparently, someone who would remain behind at Hogwarts for reasons she did not bother explaining.
It made her seem even stranger somehow.
A few days later, on the morning the holidays officially began, Hogwarts emptied itself all at once.
The Hogwarts Express waited at Hogsmeade Station in a billowing cloud of steam while students poured out of the Castle in noisy waves, dragging trunks, carrying owl cages, laughing, shoving, calling last minute goodbyes over their shoulders.
Tamara stood on the steps outside the entrance, watching them go.
For most people, it might have been a sad sight.
For Tamara, it felt like the world finally taking a deep and intelligent breath.
At last.
Peace.
No more shrieking first years.
No more pointless corridor traffic.
No more idiots asking questions whose answers were obvious.
She was just turning back toward the doors, ready to enjoy the silence, when she heard hurried footsteps crunching across the snow.
"Tamara! Wait!"
Tamara stopped and turned.
Hermione Granger came hurrying up the path, cheeks pink from the cold, breath puffing in little white clouds. She wore a thick brown coat and a bright red scarf wound tightly around her neck, and in both hands she carried a neatly wrapped box.
When she reached Tamara, she paused to catch her breath.
"Good. I caught you."
Tamara's gaze dropped to the parcel.
"A gift?"
There was a faint note of surprise in her voice before she could conceal it.
She had not expected that.
Granger was useful, yes. Earnest. Excessively emotional. Intelligent in a rather exhausting way. But the thought of receiving a Christmas gift from her had never once crossed Tamara's mind.
Hermione nodded at once, eyes shining.
"Yes. For you."
She held out the box with both hands, a little shyly but with unmistakable sincerity.
"Thank you for... well, for everything this term. Even when you're rude about it."
She gave a tiny, embarrassed smile.
"I know you only do that because you want people to improve."
Tamara felt a creeping sense of discomfort begin at the base of her neck.
That sort of clear hearted gratitude was unbearable.
Hermione continued before she could object.
"My dad brought the book from the Muggle world. It's about logic and mind mapping and different ways to organise thought. I thought you might like it."
Tamara looked from the package to Hermione's face.
Those eyes were far too open. Far too trusting. There was not a trace of calculation in them.
It was profoundly unnerving.
"I don't—"
She began to refuse on instinct.
The system struck before the sentence could fully emerge.
[Ding! Sincere gift of friendship detected.]
[Task: Reciprocity.]
[Since the host has received a gift, basic courtesy requires a response. Please accept the present and offer the other party a warm farewell.]
[Reward: Love +1.]
Tamara felt her patience leave her body.
What a nuisance.
Still, the task was simple enough. Less humiliating than many.
With visible reluctance hidden beneath impeccable control, she reached out and took the box.
"I do not usually read Muggle books," she said with chilly honesty.
Hermione's face fell for a split second.
Then Tamara added, "But if it concerns logic, I suppose it may be useful for passing the time."
That was enough.
Hermione lit up at once.
"Really? That's wonderful! I put a bookmark inside too. I made it myself."
From somewhere down the slope, Hagrid's booming voice rolled across the grounds.
"Train's leaving! Last call now!"
Hermione startled.
"Oh, no, I have to go."
She adjusted her scarf hastily and stepped back.
Then, before Tamara could prepare for what was clearly the sort of thing a Gryffindor might do without thinking, Hermione suddenly lunged forward and wrapped her arms around her.
"Merry Christmas, Tamara," she said in a rush. "I'll miss you!"
The hug lasted no more than a second.
But it was long enough.
By the time Tamara's stunned mind caught up and issued the command to shove her away, Hermione had already released her, spun around, and run off through the snow toward the waiting train like an overexcited little bird.
Tamara remained exactly where she was.
She stood stiffly on the steps, the wrapped gift in her hands, and the expression on her face darkened to a degree normally associated with curses.
She had been hugged.
By Hermione Granger.
Tamara looked down at herself in blank disbelief, as if expecting to find visible contamination spreading through the fabric of her robes.
That mudblood hugged me.
She did not even bother to disguise the outrage in her own thoughts.
She actually dared.
For a wild instant she wanted to cast Scouring Charms over her entire body, then perhaps an Incendio after Hermione's retreating back for good measure.
But she did neither.
Because the box was still in her hands.
And because, more irritating than all the rest, the warmth of that sudden embrace had not quite faded yet.
Another person's body heat.
Another heartbeat, briefly felt through layers of winter cloth.
The memory of it lingered with maddening clarity.
Tamara stood there in the cold while the train whistle shrieked in the distance and the last of the students disappeared aboard.
Then, very slowly, she exhaled.
"Whatever."
It came out sounding almost weary.
She turned and walked back into the Castle. The great oak doors closed behind her, shutting out the snow and steam and noise of departure.
Inside, the corridors were quiet.
Tamara adjusted the parcel in her arms and continued toward the dungeons.
"She is only a slightly noisy mudblood," she told herself coldly.
It was not, unfortunately, as convincing as she would have liked.
.....
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