Christmas morning arrived with an unusual stillness in the Slytherin dormitory. No rushing footsteps, no excited chatter—just the soft rustle of blankets as Sia blinked awake to the muted winter light filtering through the enchanted windows.
A small pile of presents rested at the foot of her bed.
She reached for the one wrapped in the stiff, precise folds that could only belong to her parents. A part of her already knew what to expect, but she unwrapped it anyway, revealing a polished set of potion instruments and a thick, leather-bound book titled The Art of Inventing Potions.
Then she saw the letter.
Her hands clenched before she even unfolded it.
Sia,
Your mother and I hope you are making use of your time at Hogwarts efficiently. We expect that by now, you have mastered the material appropriate for your age—though, considering your lineage, you should be progressing far beyond that.
At your age, we had already formulated new brews of our own. Your lack of innovation is disappointing. There is no brilliance in merely following recipes, Sia. If you have not yet begun the process of invention, rectify that immediately.
She exhaled sharply, jaw tightening.
They never failed to remind her, never let her forget that she would always be less than they were. She set the letter down, trying to push down the bubbling irritation that threatened to ruin what little joy she might have had left for the morning.
But then she noticed the last paragraph.
Now, regarding the matter we discussed before you left—has anything happened? Dumbledore has taken an unusual interest in our family, and we cannot determine whether this stems from idle curiosity or a more pressing concern. We assume this means you have failed to keep a low profile? Or has he simply caught wind of rumors?
Regardless, your duty remains the same. Your oaths remain the same. You will reveal nothing.
Sia felt something cold settle in her stomach.
She had managed to avoid standing out so far—or so she thought. Had she been careless? Had she said or done something that made Dumbledore suspicious?
Her grandmother's letter, sitting beneath her parents', was written in her usual flowing script.
Merry Christmas, little one. Your grandfather tells me you have learned quickly under his tutelage, though you still hesitate. That is natural. But strength is not found in waiting—it is in knowing when to strike.
Sia huffed a quiet laugh. That sounded exactly like him.
Be mindful of prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. Trust is a fragile thing, and some will extend it only as long as it serves them. Be careful.
Sia froze.
Her grandmother too?
Something was happening.
She stared at the parchment, heart beating slightly faster. Was Dumbledore close to discovering something? Should she be relieved? His magic—his soul—had felt powerful when she first arrived at Hogwarts, almost suffocating in its intensity. Would he help her, if he knew? Or would he try to take advantage of whatever lay dormant in her bloodline?
She didn't know.
A movement on the other side of the dormitory caught her attention. Andromeda sat up, stretching, her dark curls falling over her shoulders as she blinked the sleep from her eyes.
"Merry Christmas," she mumbled, glancing toward Sia.
Sia forced her thoughts aside and mustered a small smile. "Merry Christmas."
Andromeda swung her legs over the side of the bed, rubbing her face. "Let's get these over with, shall we?"
She reached for the presents beside her, unwrapping them with little enthusiasm. The gifts from the Black family were exactly what Sia expected—formal, practical, and impersonal.
But there were two other gifts.
One from Ted.
And one from her.
Andromeda opened Sia's first, and her lips parted in surprise before she smiled widely. "You shouldn't have," she said, but there was warmth in her voice. "Thank you."
Sia gave Andromeda an elegant silver bracelet with tiny protective runes etched into the metal. The enchantments weren't flashy—just subtle, layered protections designed to shield against minor hexes, detect deceit, and provide a small sense of warmth and calm when worn.
It wasn't just jewelry—it was something practical, something meant to keep Andromeda safe, especially knowing she was hiding her relationship with Ted and that her family would not approve. Andromeda, despite trying to act nonchalant, was deeply touched by the thoughtfulness behind it.
Sia nodded, watching as Andromeda unwrapped Ted's gift next. A small, delicate trinket—a charm of some sort—fell into her palm. Sia saw the momentary softness in her expression before she schooled her face into something neutral, but she knew Andromeda well enough now to see that she was pleased.
"Did you open mine?" Andromeda asked.
Sia blinked, then searched through the pile until she found Andromeda's gift to her. She unwrapped it carefully, and her breath caught slightly when she saw what was inside.
Andromeda gave Sia a high-quality enchanted quill and a set of rare potion ingredients—items that would be difficult to acquire for a student. But beyond their practicality, there was a personal touch.
The quill was enchanted to never spill or smudge, perfect for someone as meticulous as Sia. It was also charmed to subtly resist the pressure of the writer's hand when they were feeling tense or upset, almost like a grounding tool.
The potion ingredients were rare but not impossible to use—things that would allow Sia to experiment and maybe even start working toward inventing something of her own, just as her parents expected—but on her own terms.
When Sia unwrapped the gift, she hesitated for a moment, recognizing that Andromeda understood her in a way few people did.
It was thoughtful. Not just something expensive or extravagant, but something meant for her.
She glanced up, smiling slightly. "Thank you."
Andromeda smirked. "You're welcome."
Then she stood, stretching again. "I have to get ready—I'm meeting Ted in thirty minutes."
Sia raised an eyebrow. "How scandalous."
Andromeda rolled her eyes. "See you later."
Sia watched her leave, then sat in silence, her thoughts drifting back to the letters from her family.
She needed to be careful.
Was Dumbledore a threat? Or an ally? She didn't know, and that uncertainty unsettled her.
Eventually, she pushed the thoughts aside, picking up the book her parents had sent. The Art of Inventing Potions. She might as well start on it.
She settled into the armchair in the common room, flipping through the pages, absorbing the complex theories and techniques. She had been reading for forty minutes when she heard a quiet throat clearing.
Her head snapped up.
Severus stood ten feet away, watching her.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. He was deliberately keeping his distance, his posture still, unreadable.
But there was something in his eyes.
Something calculating.
Sia closed the book slowly.
"…Morning," she said cautiously.
Severus didn't move. "Morning."
The air between them stretched, filled with something she couldn't quite name.