Beyond the Boundaries of Time Chapter 3: Snowfall in the City of Dream, a Harry Potter + Fallout Crossover fanfic

Chapter 3: Snowfall in the City of Dreams

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Fallout

The snow wasn't cold. That was the first thing everyone noticed. Fluffy drifts piled up on street corners, blanketing car roofs and window ledges, drifting across the sidewalks in gentle, swirling gusts of wind—but not a single person shivered at its touch. It felt soft, even warm, like cotton batting that gave underfoot with a satisfying crunch. Overhead, the evening sky sparkled with faint stars and a smattering of snowflakes, each shimmering as though lit from within.

All of it, of course, was a meticulous illusion woven into the Vault 112 simulation. Yet for the inhabitants—who had spent generations in endless loops of contrived suburban bliss, horror-scapes, or mid-century fantasies—this latest creation by Dr. Jennifer Braun felt like magic. It was 24 December, 2189, in real-world chronology, yet the bustling streets of 1950s New York City glowed with holiday cheer as though untouched by time.

One year and five months had passed since a scrawny eight-year-old child named Harry Potter—now "Violet"—had tumbled unexpectedly into Vault 112's virtual domain. Over that time, Dr. Braun's relationship with the vault's occupants had radically shifted from tyrannical manipulator to benevolent caretaker. Gone were the sadistic "games," the cyclical resets. Instead, life in Vault 112 thrived under Jennifer's new guiding principle: a genuine desire to nurture, to create rather than destroy. And in no one was this transformation more apparent than in Violet herself.

That Christmas Eve, the entire simulation brimmed with excitement. Grand holiday lights adorned every skyscraper, radiating multi-colored brilliance against the night. Enormous wreaths with bright red bows hung on lampposts. Store windows displayed elaborate, animated scenes of dancing dolls, toy trains, and Santa's workshop. A towering Christmas tree dominated Rockefeller Center, each branch twinkling with ornaments and tinsel. Carols drifted through the streets, piped in through hidden speakers or spontaneously sung by groups of merry vault-dwellers.

The occupants, many of whom had hazy memories of a pre-war world, were breathless with joy. Some had originally hailed from New York before everything was destroyed by nuclear fire in 2077. The sight of an unblemished, 1950s Manhattan—alive with laughter and decked out in Christmas splendor—brought tears to their eyes. They walked about the streets in wonder, greeting each other with holiday wishes, savoring the gentle swirl of snow that didn't freeze their hands or soak their boots.

A New Self, A New World

Across the street from a charming corner café, a child stood admiring the festive lights. This was Violet—formerly known as Harry Potter. She wore a short, burgundy coat trimmed with faux fur and a stylish matching hat perched atop her long, dark hair. A swirl of snow, luminescent and gentle, eddied around her ankles.

In the year and a half since her arrival, Violet had undergone a profound transformation. Physically, she now presented in a way that felt right for her: a young girl of slender stature, soft features, and bright, curious eyes. Mentally, she had soared far beyond the constraints of ordinary intellect. Dr. Braun, who had begun by carefully tutoring Violet in basic science, math, and art, soon realized the child was a prodigy of staggering depth. Day by day, month by month, Violet's mind devoured knowledge like a supercharged vortex.

When Violet's ninth birthday passed in July 2189, Jennifer extended her curriculum, introducing advanced mathematics, quantum physics, engineering theory, survival tactics, ballistic sciences, marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, even cryptology. By December, Violet could parse nuclear equations, restore old vehicles (at least theoretically), and maintain firearms with a sure hand. She learned multiple Earth languages—English, French, Russian, Mandarin, Arabic, Spanish, and more—until she could converse with any vault occupant or archived language file with effortless fluency.

And then there was music. Jennifer's resources in the vault's deep archives included stored data for countless instruments—guitars, pianos, violins, brass, woodwinds, exotic creations from distant eras and lands. All re-creatable within the simulation. One evening, on a whim, Jennifer offered to teach Violet basic piano. Within weeks, the child could play Chopin waltzes, then Beethoven sonatas, then advanced jazz improvisations. The same phenomenon repeated with guitar, violin, cello, saxophone, flute. Violet's uncanny ability to learn soared beyond anything Jennifer had seen—even in her centuries of manipulating the simulation.

Although the child's IQ had been previously measured at 320, by autumn it was clear that Violet was still in the midst of a cognitive metamorphosis triggered by her earlier "Arcane Field Resonance" (the so-called magic). Another test a few months back registered an intelligence quotient of 496—off every chart known. She tackled problems that would stump entire scientific communities, outpacing Jennifer in raw mental processing. Yet despite this brilliance, Violet was still gentle, shy, easily flustered by attention, and deeply insecure from her early abuse under the Dursleys.

Jennifer had embraced a new role: mother, mentor, guide, and protector. She taught Violet not just intellectual skills but life lessons—kindness, empathy, the value of cooperation. She prepared her, too, for the grim possibility of an outside world. "If you ever need to leave this vault, darling," Jennifer would say, "you must know how to survive. You must know how to defend yourself." And while Violet was hesitant to imagine a world beyond these simulation walls, she dutifully learned, mastering marksmanship and wilderness survival (as best as it could be taught within a digital environment).

But for all that, Violet remained the same sweet soul who had first asked Jennifer to stop hurting the vault's residents. The child who collected small kindnesses like precious stones. The child who blushed whenever the neighbors called her "Little Violet." The child who, on quiet evenings, still opened old archives about a magical world she might have inhabited—where her parents, Lily and James, had died protecting her. That knowledge, along with her blossoming identity as a girl named Violet, was the core of her existence.

Snowy Streets and Holiday Cheer

Now she marveled at the city Dr. Braun had conjured for Christmas. She had read about mid-century New York in old digital archives, studied black-and-white photographs of Times Square, read about the iconic Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall, listened to 1950s holiday tunes. But to stand here, her breath fogging lightly in the simulated winter air, the lights reflecting off glass storefronts, was another experience entirely.

"Mum," Violet said softly, addressing the tall woman at her side. "Thank you for doing this. It's…beautiful."

Jennifer Braun turned, her own breath visible as well (though purely an illusion). She had taken on the appearance of a woman in her late thirties—though truly, she was centuries old by now. She wore a stylish, fur-collared coat and a subtle smile. "I'm pleased you like it," she replied. "I thought a change of pace would do us all good for the holiday season. And many of our neighbors lived in or near New York before the war. They deserved a taste of nostalgia."

Violet nodded, her gaze drifting to a line of old-fashioned taxis honking cheerily at each other. "It seems so real," she whispered. "I almost forget it's a simulation."

Jennifer set a gloved hand gently on Violet's shoulder. "Real enough to enjoy, I hope. Come on—let's have some fun. The others are waiting by the skating rink."

They joined the flow of simulated citizens—both the vault residents, whose faces Violet recognized, and a scattering of "fillers," digital extras that Jennifer had programmed to populate the city. The crowd bustled along the snowy sidewalks. Vendors sold roasted chestnuts, and holiday music emanated from window displays. Everything was aglow with the warmth of the season.

In front of an imposing art deco building that Jennifer had modeled on the real-life Rockefeller Center, the other vault inhabitants gathered by an enormous ice rink. A shimmering Christmas tree soared above them, bedecked with tinsel and ornaments. The rink below was packed with giggling skaters in 1950s-style coats, hats, and scarves.

"Violet!" called Mrs. Fitzgerald—a kindly older woman who ran a small bakery in the prior suburban simulation. She now looked more stylish in a period-appropriate coat and hat but retained the same welcoming smile. "Come, join us!"

A chorus of greetings went up, and Violet's cheeks flamed with shy delight. She hurried to them, returning their waves. Dr. Braun followed at a more leisurely pace, hands tucked in her pockets.

A Family on the Ice

"Ever been skating before, Little Violet?" asked Mr. Anderson, a tall gentleman who had once described himself as a pre-war banker. He stepped forward, brandishing a pair of vintage ice skates. The rest of the group, about ten or so, stood clustered by a bench where more skates were piled, waiting to be used.

Violet lowered her gaze. "N-no," she admitted. "I read about it, but never…"

Jennifer nudged her gently. "Another skill to learn, my dear."

A tingle of excitement ran through Violet. She was always delighted by new challenges, no matter how trivial. She let Mr. Anderson help her lace up a pair of white figure skates. The snow—still strange in its warmth—speckled the bench and dusted her boots.

"Here goes," she murmured to Jennifer.

She stepped onto the ice, wobbled, and nearly lost her balance. A small squeak escaped her, prompting encouraging laughter from the onlookers. Some children from the vault—she recognized the Johnson twins—zoomed by, giggling as they circled her in a show-offy swirl.

Violet steadied herself, mind racing. She had read the mechanics of skating, watched old videos of ice dancers. She tried to align everything she knew: shift her center of gravity, keep her legs slightly bent, let the blade's edge grip the ice. Within a few seconds, she pushed off and glided shakily forward. Then more confidently.

Laughter welled up in her. She wasn't falling! "Mum!" she called out. "Look!"

Jennifer offered a wave from the rink's edge, content to watch for now. Mrs. Fitzgerald and Mr. Anderson took to the ice in their own skates, encouraging each other with gentle smiles. The Johnson twins wove in and out, chasing one another in arcs. Several other neighbors tested the slick surface at a more cautious pace.

Violet gained speed, carefully adjusting her ankles. She admired the swirling reflections of the giant Christmas tree in the ice. Festive music surrounded them—strings of holiday songs drifting from a nearby bandstand. The entire scene felt impossibly vibrant, as though the tragedy of the Great War had never occurred.

After some minutes, Jennifer joined the fun, gliding across the rink with effortless grace. She had once told Violet she had the skillset of entire civilizations stored in her memory. Indeed, her skating technique spoke of a professional's experience. Vault 112 had made her something more than human, granting her centuries to learn and re-learn.

"You're a fast learner," Jennifer said to Violet, smiling. "I imagine you'll be skating circles around us soon."

Violet laughed, though her cheeks remained rosy with effort. She was brimming with a childlike glee she seldom allowed herself. At times, her advanced mind weighed on her—days spent pondering quantum mathematics, cosmic uncertainties, and the heartbreak of a lost magical world. But in this moment, she was simply a nine-year-old girl, discovering the joy of swirling across an ice rink, surrounded by friends and holiday cheer.

They skated until the overhead lights began to shift, indicating nightfall. Jennifer had programmed the simulation to mimic late-night darkness by around eight or nine in the evening, giving them the full sense of a short December day in Manhattan. The group disembarked from the rink, cheeks flushed, laughter echoing off towering façades.

Music in the Winter Air

Later, after they had exchanged warm goodbyes with neighbors who drifted off to explore decorated shops or find cozy restaurants, Jennifer and Violet strolled alone down a wide avenue reminiscent of Fifth or Sixth. Above them, strings of golden lights spanned the street. Cars cruised by, and digital pedestrians hurried along with shopping bags.

"Time for the next surprise," Jennifer said, eyes twinkling. She gestured down the block, where a marquee announced a special show at a grand theatre. "I've arranged a little Christmas Eve concert. Care to perform with me?"

Violet's eyes lit up. "Perform?"

Jennifer nodded. "You're quite accomplished on instruments now, my dear. I was thinking we could treat everyone to some festive music."

Violet hesitated, her natural shyness surfacing, but the sparkle in her eyes suggested delight. "W-will they want to hear me?"

"Of course they will," Jennifer assured her, tucking Violet's arm into her own. "You're brilliant. And it's Christmas Eve—everyone's longing for joy."

That settled it. They walked together to the theatre, weaving through the throng of passersby. A gentle hum of excitement thrummed in the air. At the front doors, an usher greeted them with a polite nod, tipping his hat. Of course, he was part of the simulation—Jennifer's creation. The real vault residents who had received invitations would be scattered among the seat rows inside, eager for the promised show.

Through the ornate lobby they went, gilded railings and deep-red carpeting reflecting an era of mid-century glamour. A poster stood to one side, proclaiming in bold letters:Christmas Eve Spectacular, Featuring Dr. Braun & Miss her name printed so publicly made Violet's stomach flutter. She was used to small gatherings in the suburban simulation, not grand announcements.

Jennifer noticed her nervousness and squeezed her hand. "We'll be fine," she murmured. "No pressure. This is a gift, not a test."

Beyond the velvet curtains lay a vast auditorium with rows of plush seats. A stage gleamed at the front, framed by a wide proscenium arch. Huge garlands and poinsettias decorated the edges, and twinkling fairy lights looped across the stage border. In the audience, maybe a hundred or more souls sat in small clusters—vault residents who had come for the show. They waved at Violet and Jennifer, smiling. Some wore furs, some wore suits and ties, reveling in the glamour of the simulation's design.

A hush fell as Jennifer and Violet climbed onto the stage. Waiting in the wings were two grand pianos, plus a medley of other instruments—violins, cellos, guitars, and a small brass section. Jennifer gave a polite bow to the audience, and Violet did the same, cheeks pink.

"Good evening," Jennifer began, her cultured voice carrying effortlessly. "Merry Christmas Eve, everyone. We hope you've enjoyed the day's festivities."

Applause and cheers rose from the seats. People were in high spirits, brimming with holiday warmth and nostalgia. Jennifer continued, "We thought it fitting to mark the occasion with some carols and songs. Violet here"—she turned to rest a hand on Violet's shoulder—"has graciously agreed to share her many talents with us."

Another wave of applause, accompanied by murmurs of encouragement. Violet managed a small, shaky smile. Her intense intellect could handle advanced mathematics in a heartbeat, but performing in front of a large crowd still tugged at old anxieties.

Yet she took a steadying breath and stepped to the piano. "I'll start," she whispered to Jennifer, who nodded. Settling on the bench, Violet let her gloved fingers rest on the keys for a moment. She pictured the notes in her mind, each chord a swirl of color and shape (a sensation she experienced due to her synesthetic approach to advanced cognition).

Then she began to play.

A gentle introduction of "O Holy Night" drifted through the auditorium, the notes warm and resonant. Violet's touch was delicate yet assured, her interpretation both classical and faintly modern. As she progressed, her anxiety fell away, replaced by a rapt focus. She forgot the crowd, forgot her self-consciousness, and let the music flow through her.

Somewhere in the second verse, Jennifer joined in, standing at a microphone to sing with a lilting soprano. The contrast was exquisite: a child's graceful piano arrangement supporting a voice that soared with centuries of practiced skill. The melody reverberated through the theatre, moving the audience to tears.

When the last chord faded, the applause was thunderous. Violet's cheeks glowed, but she bowed her head, grateful. She saw tears glistening on faces in the front rows—people moved by the holiday spirit, the memory of a world lost, and the sheer splendor of the moment.

They continued with more carols: "Silent Night," "Joy to the World," "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," each arrangement tinted with the subtle genius that Violet brought to every endeavor. Then she switched to violin for a medley of festive tunes. The sweetness of the strings cut through the hush of the crowd, painting nostalgic images of yesteryear's Christmases.

For the finale, Violet sat at the second piano while Jennifer returned to the first. The two played an intricate duet that combined classical motifs with jazzy, Christmas-themed improvisations. Their hands flew across the keys, weaving a tapestry of sound that rose to a triumphant close.

Silence reigned for a beat as the final chord hung in the air. Then the crowd roared with approval, applause echoing off the ornate walls. Violet and Jennifer rose, took each other's hands, and bowed deeply. Flowers landed at their feet—digitally conjured bouquets tossed by some enthusiastic neighbors.

Violet's heart soared. She glanced up at Jennifer, who smiled warmly. For all her mother's immense knowledge, it was moments like this that reminded Violet that Jennifer was truly human at heart, capable of empathy and joy.

A Private Stroll and Reflection

After the show ended and the crowd dispersed with effusive holiday wishes, mother and daughter stepped back into the simulated city streets. The hour was late; neon signs glowed over snowy sidewalks. Despite the bustling illusions, Jennifer had dialed down the crowd level so they could walk in relative peace.

They strolled down a side street to a small park reminiscent of Central Park's edges, the hush of falling snow more pronounced here. Trees were garlanded with tiny lights. A lamp post cast a warm, golden glow across a bench near a frozen pond.

Jennifer guided Violet to the bench, where they sat side by side. The hush of the city enveloped them—distant traffic hum mingling with subdued holiday music from some unseen source.

"That was remarkable," Jennifer said softly, removing her gloves. "You played beautifully, dear."

Violet fidgeted with her coat sleeves, a sheepish grin on her face. "It was f-fun. I…I never imagined I'd like performing. But seeing everyone so happy…"

Jennifer studied her for a moment. "You've grown so much, my Violet. Not just in skill, but in confidence. I remember when you couldn't speak above a whisper."

A faint blush tinged Violet's cheeks. She recalled how terrified she'd been upon arriving, convinced any show of ability would earn her punishment, as it had under the Dursleys. Now she felt safe, loved, and encouraged to embrace her gifts.

Jennifer gazed across the park, snow drifting around them in lazy whorls. "Do you remember when I said I wanted you to be prepared for the outside world?"

"Yes," Violet answered softly. She could sense a serious tone creeping into Jennifer's voice.

"The outside… it's inhospitable, you know. Radiation, mutated creatures, collapsed civilization. But there are survivors—descendants of those who either hid in other vaults or managed to live in the wasteland. If someday you do decide to leave, I want you fully equipped, physically and mentally."

Violet nodded, hugging her arms around herself. "I u-understand. I… I guess it's scary, but… part of me wonders what it's like out there."

She didn't want to imagine a blasted, post-nuclear ruin—her father's and mother's wizarding world likely also gone or drastically changed if it even existed in the same continuum. Yet her inquiring mind chafed at indefinite confinement, no matter how gilded. She felt a curious restlessness sometimes, a desire to see more than illusions.

Jennifer noticed and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "For now, you're safe here, dear. It's Christmas Eve. Let's not dwell too much on gloom. I just… want you to know that I've put together a sort of 'survival kit' for you. It's an encoded program that will teach you anything else you need if we ever face that decision."

"Thank you," Violet said. "For everything."

They sat in companionable silence, watching a few digital squirrels scamper across the snow, leaving footprints that shimmered in faint light. It was magical in its own right—an illusion, yes, but brimming with holiday warmth.

Memories of a Lost World

A few minutes later, Violet said, "Mum, I'm thinking about Lily and James." She only used her parents' first names aloud when she was feeling contemplative. She had read about them, learned their story, seen moving photographs in the archives from that strange newspaper, theDaily Prophet. She knew they'd died for her in 1981, that they were revered by wizarding society for defying a Dark wizard named Voldemort.

Jennifer gave her a gentle squeeze. "They're always in your heart, darling."

Violet nodded, eyes wistful. "If they'd lived… I wonder if they'd want me to have a Christmas like this. Maybe we'd have had real snow, real gifts. They might have taught me real magic, not just illusions or guesswork."

Jennifer exhaled softly. "I can't say I know the answers. But from what we've read, they wanted you to be safe and loved. I think they'd be overjoyed to see you living so freely, with your intellect and your identity treasured. They'd marvel at your accomplishments."

A tear slid down Violet's cheek, though she smiled. "I hope so."

They spoke quietly of Lily and James for some time, conjuring them in imagination: Lily's bright green eyes, James's playful humor. The tragedy that tore them away weighed heavily, but Jennifer offered comfort. Here and now, Violet was forging a new path, unencumbered by Dumbledore's manipulations or the burdens of a prophecy-laden destiny.

At last, they rose from the bench, deciding to return to the "hotel" Jennifer had set aside for them in this simulated city—an elegant suite on a high floor with sweeping views of the skyline. As they walked away, the snow swirled behind them, slowly obscuring their footprints.

Twilight Celebrations

Back at the hotel, an establishment modeled after iconic 1950s grandeur, a doorman in a crisp uniform held the door open. Velvet drapes lined the lobby, a huge Christmas tree illuminated the center, and festive brass elevator doors glinted in the light. Jennifer led Violet to the elevator, pressing the button for the twentieth floor. Soft Christmas music played overhead.

They stepped out into a luxurious corridor with patterned carpeting. The number on their suite door matched some classic film reference—Jennifer's private joke. Inside, the suite offered plush sofas, a flickering fireplace (simulated, of course), and wide windows revealing a panoramic view of the city aglow in Christmas lights. It was every inch the Manhattan holiday fantasy.

Jennifer set her coat aside and offered to help Violet remove her hat and coat as well. "Let's relax," she said, turning toward a small kitchenette area. "I have hot cocoa ready to go."

Violet smiled, rubbing her hands together, though she wasn't truly cold. The simulation's winter never penetrated enough to cause discomfort. "Thank you," she said. "Mum, this is lovely."

Within minutes, they sat on a velvet sofa, each cradling a mug of cocoa topped with whipped cream. The fireplace crackled merrily. From the window, they could see Times Square's neon lights in the distance, flickering through gentle flurries.

Violet's mind was in two places at once: part of her still soared with the musical performance's adrenaline, while another part drifted to more introspective thoughts about the future, about her parents, about the illusions of this city.

"Mum," she ventured, "when you said I might leave someday… do you think the others might want to leave too?"

Jennifer took a sip of cocoa. "Some might, but many are content here. It's not perfect, but it's far kinder than the nuclear wasteland outside. They've all made peace with this existence. And thanks to you, they don't live in fear of resets or cruelty."

Violet tucked her legs under her. "Do you think that's… real living?" She paused, uncertain how to phrase her thoughts. "I mean, it's a simulation. Is it enough?"

Jennifer's expression softened. "The residents, for the most part, believe it is. They have free will now, they form genuine relationships, feel genuine emotions. Yes, the cityscapes and snow are illusions, but the love, the companionship—that's real."

"That's good," Violet murmured. "I don't want to hurt them by leaving or anything."

Jennifer stroked Violet's hair. "They love you, but they also understand your unique situation. If the day comes when you want to see the outside, they will support you, as will I."

They fell silent, sipping cocoa. On the mantel above the fireplace, Jennifer had placed a few photos—digital renderings of pictures Violet had drawn or downloaded from the vault archives. One showed Lily and James Potter, animated in the wizarding style, waving gently with uncertain smiles. Another showed the two of them—Jennifer and Violet—taken in the prior suburban simulation's park, both smiling under a sunny sky.

Eventually, the soft lull of Christmas carols from a hidden speaker lulled Violet into drowsiness. She set her mug down and curled up against Jennifer's side. The older woman slipped an arm around her, humming a gentle tune.

Midnight Surprises

A melodic chime rang through the suite, indicating midnight. Christmas Day, at least in simulation time, had arrived. Jennifer gently roused Violet. "Darling, would you like to open a present now, or wait until morning?"

Blinking sleepily, Violet murmured, "Present? I—I can open it now?"

Jennifer chuckled. "It's tradition, you know—some families open one gift at midnight. The rest can wait till morning."

Violet, curious, nodded. "Yes, please."

They rose and headed to a small, decorated tree in the corner, where a few wrapped boxes lay. Jennifer picked one up, handing it to Violet. It was wrapped in silver paper, topped with a lavender bow that matched Violet's ribbon.

"Go on," Jennifer urged.

With careful fingers, Violet undid the bow and peeled back the paper. Inside, she found a leather-bound journal, embossed with her name on the cover in gold letters:Violet Potter. She traced the lettering with reverence.

"I commissioned a special binding from the simulation's archives," Jennifer explained. "The pages are acid-free, designed to last. I know you have notebooks for scientific data, but I thought you might like a personal journal, a place for your thoughts, sketches, memories."

Tears pricked Violet's eyes. She opened the journal, finding pristine pages waiting for her words. "Thank you," she whispered. "I love it."

Jennifer's hand rested gently on Violet's shoulder. "Merry Christmas, my darling."

They embraced in the cozy glow of the fire, the hush of midnight wrapping them like a soft blanket. Outside, the simulated city sparkled as though cheering them on, every light a star in the man-made firmament.

Into the Christmas Morning

When Violet woke the next morning, the winter sun filtered through the windows. She dressed in a festive outfit—a simple red-and-white dress with a warm shawl—then joined Jennifer for a lazy breakfast of waffles and berries. There was talk of meeting the vault residents later at Central Park (so named in the simulation, though it was merely another carefully crafted environment) for a grand Christmas Day festival.

First, though, they opened the rest of their presents. Jennifer, for her part, was delighted to receive a painting Violet had created. It depicted the two of them standing in an abstract swirl of color, half representing the real world's ruin, half the vibrant illusions of the simulation. Over their heads, a ghostly Lily and James hovered protectively, each figure sketched with delicate artistry. The swirling lines conveyed a sense of cosmic fusion—Arcane Field Resonance, technology, and love blending into a single tapestry.

"It's beautiful," Jennifer breathed, eyes glistening with emotion. "You've captured… so much in one image."

Violet ducked her head shyly. "I wanted to show… how I feel about everything."

Jennifer set the painting aside with great care. "It's perfect," she said, voice thick.

They shared a warm moment, tears threatening but overshadowed by gratitude and tenderness. Then they dressed in coats and hats to face the bustle of Christmas Day in 1950s Manhattan.

The streets were even more alive than the night before. Families roamed from store to store, windows filled with leftover Santa displays, children giggled at the spectacle of (fake) reindeer on street corners, and carolers roved in clusters, weaving holiday tunes into the crisp air. Vault residents embraced each other, exchanging warm greetings. They marveled at how Dr. Braun had outdone herself—this was an entire city, fully realized, a testament to the skill and imagination of a woman who once used that same brilliance for torment.

Gathering in the Park

By midday, many made their way to "Central Park," a sprawling green space with winding paths, huge oaks draped in snow, frozen lakes for skating, and rolling hills for sledding (with toboggans conjured at will). Jennifer and Violet strolled in, greeting neighbors, helping small children build snowmen. The smell of roasted nuts and cocoa permeated the air.

They found a quiet bench near a pond, ironically reminiscent of the place they'd sat the previous night but on a grander scale. Vault residents glided by on ice skates. Families tossed snowballs in friendly mock battles. The entire scene bustled with an energy that belied the vault's fundamental limitations.

Mrs. Fitzgerald ambled over, cheeks rosy. "Merry Christmas, you two," she said, handing them each a small candy cane. "I must say, Dr. Braun, you've outdone yourself. I almost feel like I'm back in my childhood."

Jennifer smiled. "I'm so glad, Mrs. Fitzgerald. This place… it was important to many of you, wasn't it?"

The older woman nodded, eyes distant. "I was raised in Manhattan—my parents had a tiny apartment in Hell's Kitchen. It wasn't always easy, but Christmas… oh, it was magical. We'd walk these paths when I was a girl, feeding birds. Then the bombs fell, and I thought I'd never see anything like it again." She wiped a tear. "You've given us back our memories."

Violet swallowed hard, deeply moved. She glanced at Jennifer, seeing the flicker of humility in her mother's expression. The old Jennifer Braun might have shrugged it off, bored with mortal sentiments. But this new Jennifer was touched and grateful to be forgiven, to be embraced by those she once tormented.

"Thank you for the kindness," Jennifer said softly to Mrs. Fitzgerald.

The woman smiled. "No, dear, thank you. And you, Violet. We know you're the reason Dr. Braun found her heart again."

Violet blushed, hiding half her face in her scarf. "I d-didn't do much," she whispered.

They parted ways soon after, the older woman heading off to join some acquaintances near a snowman-building contest. Meanwhile, Jennifer and Violet continued along a winding footpath, lined with lampposts that looked straight out of a vintage postcard. They paused at a small arched bridge crossing a frozen pond. A group of people skated below, waving as they passed.

Violet leaned over the stone railing. "They're so happy," she observed. "It's strange—knowing all this is virtual, but their emotions are real."

Jennifer nodded, stepping beside her. "Reality is more than physical matter, Violet. Emotions, experiences, connections—these can be real in any environment."

A comfortable hush fell. Then Violet said, "I've learned so much since July—firearms, survival, advanced mathematics, medicine. I can paint and play instruments. I can speak a dozen languages. I… I feel like I'm changing so fast."

Jennifer turned, searching Violet's expression. "Does it frighten you?"

Violet considered. "Sometimes," she admitted. "I'm grateful, because I want to keep learning. But I worry I might lose the… the simple parts of me. The parts that just want to hold your hand and skate or scribble a silly drawing."

"Oh, darling." Jennifer pulled her into a gentle hug. "You're still a child, no matter how vast your mind grows. You'll always carry that wonder. Knowledge doesn't erase innocence—it just broadens your perspective."

"I hope so," Violet said, voice muffled against Jennifer's coat.

They watched the skaters for a time, letting the clang of skate blades on ice fill the silence. Eventually, Jennifer suggested they explore more of the city. The day stretched out, offering carousels, visits to iconic landmarks, impromptu holiday parties. Vault dwellers traversed Manhattan by foot, bus, or old-fashioned taxi, exclaiming over every festive corner.

Evening Lights and a Quiet Revelation

Night fell once more, and Christmas Day drifted into a calm evening. A new hush settled over the streets, the crowds thinning. Snow kept falling in gentle waves, always soft and never chilling. The glow of lampposts and window lights lent a cozy air, reminiscent of a simpler era.

Jennifer and Violet found themselves in Times Square, not the neon-overloaded modern or futuristic version, but the mid-century variant ablaze with retro signs and marquees. A few neighbors wandered there too, drawn by the spectacle. Music played from hidden speakers, a mix of big-band tunes and holiday songs.

They stood outside a movie theatre displaying classic Christmas films on the marquee. On the side of a large building, a giant mechanical Santa figure waved merrily over passersby. The broad sidewalks gave ample room for a final stroll before calling it a night.

Violet paused at a vantage point overlooking the dazzling swirl of lights. She turned to Jennifer. "Mum, can we talk about my powers? My… Arcane Field Resonance?"

Jennifer regarded her with gentle curiosity. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

Violet cast her gaze around, ensuring a measure of privacy. "I've been reading more of the old wizarding texts from the vault archives—bits of theDaily Prophet, references to Hogwarts. They describe spells, potions, incantations. Yet my abilities don't look like that. I'm not chanting or waving a wand. It's more… I don't know… intangible."

"That's true," Jennifer agreed softly. "From everything we've gathered, your abilities are triggered by emotion, intention, and perhaps quantum-level energy manipulation. It's not the same system of structured incantations we see in those newspapers. Then again, the newspapers never gave a thorough explanation of the mechanics behind wizarding magic."

Violet nodded, nibbling her lip. "I wonder if I would have learned that system had I stayed. But maybe not. Dumbledore… he bound my magic or did something so I couldn't access it. I guess I'm forging my own path."

Jennifer reached out, smoothing a lock of Violet's hair. "You are. And you've come a long way from calling it your 'freaky stuff.'"

A tiny smile tugged at Violet's lips. "I guess so. I want to keep studying it, though. Not just for power, but because it might help me understand my parents better—understand the world they came from."

"I'll help in any way I can," Jennifer said, voice earnest. "Your father and mother might have thrived with a structured magical education, but they also had hearts full of love and courage. That's the real legacy they passed to you, no matter how your powers manifest."

Violet felt warmth flooding her chest. She gazed up at the swirling snow under Times Square's neon glare, thinking of the intangible threads tying her to parents she never truly met.

A Farewell to Christmas Night

At last, the hour grew late. Most vault dwellers returned to the lodging sites around Manhattan, seeking simulated warmth behind soft-lamp-lit windows. Jennifer and Violet made their way back to their hotel, stepping inside the plush lobby, eyes half-lidded with contentment and fatigue.

Up in their suite, they removed coats and scarves, then settled on the sofa to wind down. The city lights twinkled outside the window, and far below, a few stragglers roamed the sidewalks.

Violet opened her new leather-bound journal, flipping to a fresh page. She took a pen, hesitating a moment before writing:

December 25, 2189 (Simulated 1950s NYC)
Tonight, I feel full of wonder. I performed piano for a crowd, skated on a frozen rink without fear, celebrated Christmas in a city I've never truly seen. It's magical in its own way, even if it's not real magic like the wizarding world might claim.
I miss my parents, even though I never truly knew them. Mum says they'd be proud. I hope so. I feel closer to them every time I understand my abilities. I'm trying to honor their love by living, by learning, by being kind.
I am Violet. I am me—child, genius, artist, musician, potential magician. I am safe, and I am loved.

She paused, re-reading her words, then added:

P.S. I wonder if there might be a day I leave this vault to see what's left of the outside. For now, though, this city of dreams is enough. Merry Christmas.

Setting her pen aside, she gently closed the journal, stroking the embossed cover. Nearby, Jennifer watched with a tender smile, sensing the serenity in her child's posture.

"It's time for bed, I think," Jennifer murmured, rising to draw the curtains. "We've had quite the eventful day."

Violet yawned, nodding. She changed into her nightclothes and slipped under the covers of her soft bed. Jennifer tucked her in, then took a seat at the edge of the mattress, just as any loving mother might.

"Sleep well, my Violet," Jennifer whispered, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "Dream of skating, music, and all the joys we shared."

"Mum," Violet said, eyes fluttering. "I love you."

A rush of emotion filled Jennifer's heart—she remembered centuries of loneliness, of twisted experiments, of replaying horrors upon unsuspecting vault dwellers. It was all so far away now, eclipsed by this genuine bond.

"I love you too," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Violet smiled, her eyes drifting shut. Her breathing soon steadied, the lines of tension smoothing from her face. Jennifer watched her for a few moments, marveling at the child's transformation. From starved, frightened boy to a confident, endlessly talented girl—Violet was the embodiment of hope.

At length, Jennifer rose and switched off the lights. The fireplace's simulated flames cast a dim glow across the suite. She glanced out the window, at the grand city skyline she had created for them, and allowed herself a small, private smile. In that moment, she felt Lily and James Potter would indeed be proud of their daughter, forging her own destiny in a world beyond comprehension.

Morning Dawns, a Chapter Ends

The next day was Boxing Day in the old tradition, though within the simulation it held no special significance beyond another reason to explore the city. Snowfall continued, accompanied by bright winter sunshine that never truly melted the drifts. People meandered through department-store sales, children clutched new toy trains or dolls, and a general air of relaxed festivity lingered.

Yet for Violet and Jennifer, Christmas had marked a moment of reflection and closeness that set the stage for whatever lay ahead. In the weeks to come, Violet would delve deeper into her self-designed experiments on "Arcane Field Resonance," refining her theories, testing her emotional triggers in measured steps. She would continue her inexorable accumulation of knowledge—languages, mathematics, engineering, music—elevating her mind beyond even Jennifer's once-infinite reach.

But for now, as the simulated 1950s city settled into a cozy post-holiday lull, Violet remained content. She strolled through Central Park, fed digital pigeons, and sometimes treated passersby to a violin serenade, delighting them with her skill. The vault's residents marveled at this new life, remembering the nightmares they once endured under Dr. Braun's old persona. Now, they embraced each morning with gratitude, discovering fresh joys in a vibrant city that seemed lifted from a perfect memory.

One evening, they gathered again at the theatre for a final holiday party before the simulation cycle would shift to a new theme. Violet performed once more, joined by a small group of musically inclined neighbors for a spirited jam session. Laughter and applause echoed in the gilded hall as multi-generational families swayed to the tunes.

From the wings, Jennifer looked on with mingled pride and wonder. This was what she had once believed impossible: a vault community living in harmony, forging a real society even under the confines of a digital environment. They were free, as free as they could be, and that freedom now nurtured creativity, compassion, and hope.

A Quiet New Year's Eve

The week between Christmas and New Year's soared by in a flurry of winter activities. On 31 December 2189, the city lit up again, this time for a grand New Year's celebration. The ball drop in Times Square was an iconic tradition that Jennifer replicated to the last detail, a glittering sphere of lights descending at midnight. Streets thrummed with excitement, horns blared, confetti rained down. Violet and Jennifer welcomed the year 2190 in each other's arms, marveling at how much had changed in a single year and a half.

For many in the vault, the idea of a new year held symbolic weight. They had been trapped in loops of stasis for so long, never truly moving forward. Now they had a sense of progression, of time flowing meaningfully. Families whispered about possible future expansions—other cities, other eras, perhaps a chance to travel the digital world. Jennifer had assured them all she would expand the simulation as they desired, never again forcing horrors upon them.

Meanwhile, from a tall building's rooftop, Violet looked out over the city after the midnight celebrations died down. Fireworks fizzled in the sky, painting ephemeral blooms of color against the darkness. She felt an ache in her chest—not pain, but yearning. A sense that she, too, was on the verge of something bigger.

She thought of her journal, the new leather-bound pages waiting for her next entries. She thought of Lily and James, forever present in her heart. She thought of the unsolved mysteries of her powers, the possibility of stepping beyond the vault's walls. Part of her worried that if she left, she'd find only a smoldering wasteland. Another part insisted that confronting reality might be worth it—even if only to see the world with her own eyes, to confirm that she was not just a child of illusions.

"I'm here, and for now, that's enough," she whispered to the night sky. But her heart added,For now.

Toward Tomorrow

In the earliest hours of 1 January 2190, mother and daughter retired to their suite once more. The city below shimmered like a sea of colored lights. Violet nestled against Jennifer on the sofa, and they talked softly about the months to come. The sense of calm, of possibility, filled the room.

Jennifer reflected on the times she had scoured the vault archives for clues about Harry Potter's origin, discovering glimpses of a wizarding world, a war, a prophecy-laden child. She considered how that same child now thrived as Violet, forging her own identity. She wondered if Lily and James, from wherever souls go, looked on with pride.

Violet, for her part, considered the next challenges. She had devoured massive knowledge banks, but knowledge was not wisdom. She strove to balance her thirst for understanding with the fragile innocence she still possessed. She wanted to remain the sweet child who giggled at snow sculptures and be the scholar who deciphered quantum anomalies. In the loving arms of Dr. Braun—her Mum—she believed it might be possible.

They watched the sun rise over the 1950s Manhattan skyline, an evocative scene glowing with pastel hues. It marked the dawn of a new year and the possibility of new simulations, new lessons, new leaps in self-discovery. The vault's residents would soon depart these city streets for other illusions, but they would carry the memory of Christmas in New York close to their hearts—an echo of a golden era that predated war and devastation.

And so ended the holiday adventure in a never-was 1950s Manhattan. A testament to Dr. Braun's remarkable transformation, a tribute to the unstoppable genius and gentle soul of Violet, a cherished memory for all who had once known only dread within Vault 112. The snow lingered a bit longer, not cold but warm with possibility. The spirit of Christmas—love, renewal, and hope—remained in every twinkling light, every wisp of swirling flurries.

For Violet, the days of fear were long behind. Ahead lay an uncharted realm of promise. She would wake each morning, open her journal, and choose to live fully: a child of music and mathematics, artistry and resilience, forging a new chapter in the annals of a world out of time.

Nothing—neither war, nor wizarding secrets, nor the bleakness of a post-apocalyptic future—could rob her of the hope she now carried. Within her hands, she held the pen that would write tomorrow, the brush that would paint her destiny, and the intangible energy to shape reality itself.

In the hush of the newly minted year, enveloped in the city's luminous dreamscape, Violet Potter—Little Violet—smiled at her mother, her mind brimming with curiosity, her heart full of love. And somewhere, beyond the simulation's boundaries, the wasteland nights were cold, but in Vault 112, life shone bright with the promise of what might yet be.

Outside the tall buildings and swirling illusions, the real world remained silent. But within these digital streets, a masterpiece of snow and Christmas lights, a child's laughter rang out—pure, unafraid, and ready for whatever came next.

AN:

My P-atreon:

www_P-atreon_com/c/HitmenScribblesChatGPT(Just remove '-' and replace '_' with '.')

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