Happy Christmas
"To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....”
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Tom sat in Transfiguration and kept the scowl off of his face with a well practised ease as he lowered his hand.
Professor Dumbledore had posed a question to the class regarding the transfiguration formula and Tom’s hand had been the first and one of the only to shoot into the air. But as usual, Professor Dumbeldore’s eyes seemed to skip over Tom to call on another student. The Shafiq girl had answered ‘not a complete answer’ Tom thought sullenly, and earned Ravenclaw a point. If only the professor let Tom show just how much he knew! Just how brilliant he was. Tom knew he was the best in the class. He was smarter and tried harder than anyone else, even the others had commented on how late he stayed in the library.
“Now to hand back your last essay assignments.” Professor Dumbledore intoned, parchment in hand. “Overall very well done, a fine ending assignment before the holidays. How you managed to write a three foot essay entirely in iambic pentameter is beyond me, Mister Lovegood.” His eyes twinkled as he returned the Ravenclaw’s paper.
Tom hastily unscrolled his own assignment when it reached his desk. He had received a nearly perfect score and had earned Slytherin five points, but the absence of any comments from the professor was noticeable.
He didn’t understand. Didn’t he deserve praise like the others? More so than the others as he was better. Didn’t he deserve accolades before suspicion?
He knew the Professor didn’t like him, though wasn’t entirely sure why. Clenching his jaw, he placed the scroll in his satchel, appeased that at least he surely received the best marks and only house points.
Tom’s steps dragged as left the classroom once they were dismissed and he was one of the last of the students to leave the room, mind still whirring.
His route took him past one of the many courtyards cloistered within Hogwarts on the way to the Great Hall for lunch and he spotted a familiar head of cocoa hair. He slowed his gait and watched as she sat on a stone bench. Thanks to the impressive spell-work and heavy stone walls of the castle, the Highland winds didn’t reach the courtyards, but snow still fell in fat flakes down to blanket the floors and statues of the square. Ixchel had brushed the snowfall off of a seat and her head was tilted up, catching the heavy flakes on her tongue. Tom hesitated for only a moment, feeling strangely ill at ease disrupting her quiet moment before stepping out into the yard, snow crunching under his footsteps.
The cold immediately nipped at his cheeks and nose, bordering on uncomfortable, and he scowled. ‘Why was she out in this misery?’
“Hi, Tom.” Ixchel turned to gaze up at him, snow clinging to her lashes. “Isn’t it nice?”
Tom slipped into the bench beside her, brushing off more snow but still managed to feel some of the flakes dampen the seat of his robes. “It’s cold.”
She rolled her eyes, “Yes, but it’s still pretty.”
He took in their surroundings again at her insistence. It didn’t snow much in London; too much smog. And what did land quickly turned to dirty slush that lined the street. She was right, the snow here was pretty. Everything seemed nicer at Hogwarts.
Still much too cold though.
“What are you doing for Christmas? I was wondering if you’d like to come to mine for dinner? I brought it up to my mother and she thought it was a lovely idea.”
Tom was pleased he was asked and greedy at the thought of seeing a truly magical home. What would it have been like to grow up in a setting where magic was the norm? Somewhere he should have been born; at Thistledown, an extraordinary house filled with extraordinary things, with a proud wizarding family, instead of the greying walls of Wool’s where children were cast aside and forgotten.
But Slughorn had already come into the common room a few days prior to let the Slytherins know he would be hanging up the signup sheet to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Tom had been the first to sign up. A thrill shot through him. He would get to stay here away from Wool’s, away from the others. Get to stay at the home he created here at Hogwarts.
“I’ll be staying at school but...thank you.” He added belatedly.
Ixchel smiled, telling him that sounded lovely, but if he changed his mind her offer was still there. Conversation slipped into mediocre, comfortable subjects, and they sat shivering but made no move to leave. Ixchel explained a new charm she was toying with; she was thinking about tweaking a tracking spell in order to find key phrases in books. Her thought process was intuitive to only herself, but Tom asked after it regardless and Ixchel explained as best as she was able, promising to share her notes.
“I’m glad you’re not going back to London for Christmas. I’ve heard things are getting a bit grim.” Ixchel said. “Will you come to Thistledown for New Year’s Eve, at least?”
Tom looked at the girl beside him and nodded. Ixchel beamed at him, gap between her teeth on display, and squeezed his hand beside her. Tom didn’t let go right away. Her grip sung through him in a way that was nearly electric. Half of him was paranoid that Mrs Cole would burst in and catch him, ruining it all, but Mrs Cole was far, far away, and logically he knew he had nothing to be concerned about except Ixchel’s discerning gaze.
“Come on,” He said, pulling her up a little awkwardly as he had never held someone’s hand in his own to help them up, “let’s get to lunch.”
He woke up to a small bundle of packages at the foot of his bed.
They were wrapped in festive greens and reds tied with shiny gold ribbon with the ends curled. The cards all said ‘To Tom’ in both familiar and unfamiliar handwriting.
Perhaps his roommates would scoff at the paucity- only a handful of gifts, but they weren’t there as he was the only one of the boys to have stayed behind for the holidays. It wasn't as if his professors gave holiday gifts to their students, and he expected Hell would sooner freeze over before Mrs. Cole sent him a gift when she wasn’t obligated.
Still sitting in bed, he opened the presents with an enthusiasm he would never admit to. They were from Ixchel and her mother. Fizzing Whizzbees, toffees, chocolate oranges, a sleek new quill, wool socks, a scarf, and mittens. The two largest presents were addressed to him in Ixchel’s hand.
The first had a gaudy tag decorated with a pair of nifflers in Father Christmas hats giving a chaste kiss under mistletoe. Tom rolled his eyes and quickly crumpled it up, envisioning her amusement when she saw it in a shop.
It was a slate grey jumper. There was no label sewn in and it was finely stitched, he thought, as he ran his fingers over the cabling. He put it on over his pajamas. It was a bit too big, but looked handsome on him, bringing out the blue of his eyes and Tom marveled at owning a jumper made of wool, not the more inexpensive fabrics the orphanage had favoured.
He brushed his teeth and combed his hair before opening his last present in an attempt to draw out the moment and the feeling of having gifts.
It was a book. Hogwarts: A History . The binding stated it was a first edition and when he opened the cover a slip of paper fell out onto his lap.
“I saw this and thought of you. It’s a new book on Hogwarts (hence the name, hah!) that’s just come out last month. I was tempted to read it myself but I’ll have to just wait and you can tell me all about it. Happy Christmas, Tom!”
He sat holding the book, his mind strangely blank as he leafed through the pages. He had never been a grateful person, never would be by any means, but he felt as if he ought to have given Ixchel something in return. She was, well, a friend now Tom admitted. He hadn't had a friendship, not since Dennis and Amy. Before they mucked it all up and he returned the favour tenfold. The urge to see her seised him, but he stamped it down.
His stomach chose then to protest, growling, and he decided that he would be better off having breakfast than stewing. He slipped his new socks onto his feet, and carefully took off the new jumper Ixchel gave him, mindful of spills.
Hogwarts was wonderfully quiet without its hordes of students roaming the castle. The stillness was fresh and lovely to Tom as silence was something he so seldom experienced. The teachers were there of course, but there were very few students to clutter the corridors, as no more than twenty children had stayed in the school for the holidays.
His steps echoed in the solitary corridors of the school that were decorated with festively coloured candles and garlands of holly and pine, growing more extravagant the closer he came to the Great Hall. The Hall itself was a stark contrast to the Christmases spent at Wool’s in its lavishness. Mighty pine trees stood where the students sat and ate during term time. The Christmas trees’ fragrant boughs were heavy with bright fruits, delicate fairies, and transfigured robins flit from tree to tree. Glass baubles were terribly passé seeing as what was happening with Germany as of late.
“Happy Christmas, my boy!” Slughorn said merrily, wearing a green velvet robe trimmed in white that made him look like a peculiar version of Father Christmas. Tom suspected the man was already a bucks fizz or two deep.
“Happy Christmas, sir.”
The talk around the table shared between both professors and students was jolly and lighthearted. Wizard crackers were shared between students over plates of food even more rich than the start-of-term feast. A seventh year Hufflepuff sitting next to him held out a cracker to share and it exploded with a huge crack and a curl of sparkling smoke. Chocolate frogs leapt from the smoke and darted across the table, one jumping into Tom’s hot chocolate, and sparklers fizzed up to the ceiling. Remaining on the table were several silly toys and baubles which the two bartered over. They had negotiated a Santa Lucia crown for a chess set. The Hufflepuff seemed very pleased with the crown but Tom thought he looked a bit daft with it on his head.
After breakfast, almost too full from the meal, Tom made his way to the library and nestled into a high backed chair to read his new book. Outside of the window, he saw some of the other students playing in the heavy blanket of snow. They made snow angels and built forts in the high drifts, some testing the ice at the edge of the lake before scurrying back to safety, their laughter ringing out.
The following few days were spent in the warm haze of quiet mornings reading by the crackling fire in the common room and exploring the hidden nooks and secreted away passages of the castle detailed in Hogwarts: A History .
He had quickly pored over the book Ixchel had gifted him, feeling both pleased and exposed she knew him well enough to get him such a well received gift. Her book on the castle Tom viewed as home had spurred on further research. He wanted to know everything . Dozens of books from the library were currently checked out under his name and stacked neatly by his bedside and when he made his way through the books available, he would go ask Slughorn about a pass into the restricted section.
The morning of his birthday was grey, and the sunlight was weak.
His birthday itself was inconsequential. Why would he wish to celebrate the day his mother died without so much as holding him and left him to Wool’s? But he took his time combing down his hair and smoothed down the slate jumper and folded the cuffs. The jumper was now the nicest article of clothing he owned, but he wished he had something more formal. Tom had agreed to go to Thistledown for Mrs Eztli’s New Year’s Eve party, but he felt anxiety squirming in his stomach. He had to blend in with the other witches and wizards there. Since the start of term he had been carefully observing the others of his House, mirroring their mannerisms, turns of phrase, and carriage. He wanted to be absolutely sure he appeared to belong. He didn’t want to stand out as the London orphan Ixchel had picked up like a stray; didn’t want to be thought of in such a way. He wanted to be recognized for reasons of his own invention.
He considered himself in the mirror once more. It would have to do.
Professor Slughorn had agreed to meet Tom in his office to escort him to Thistledown. He had to be ingratiatingly thankful to the professor, but it was worth being able to accept the Eztlis’ invitation.
“Mister Riddle,” Professor Slughorn greeted, his gingery-blond mustache twitching. He wore a crushed velvet lilac waistcoat with a bordeaux suit under open robes. “What an invitation; Madame Eztli is well known for her network of international witches and wizards. You’ve made an advantageous friend in the young Miss Eztli, good for you, m’boy!”
Tom smiled back insincerely at the portly man.
“Alright then, let’s get you to Thistledown, wouldn’t want to leave a certain young lady waiting would we?” His eyes twinkled and Tom flushed, embarrassed by the awkward jest. “Oh no need to be so bashful Tom, a witch is bound to catch your eye.”
Tom nearly snorted at that. The older man was wrong. Whatever he was insinuating wasn’t true! He wrinkled his nose at the thought.
“You first, m’boy.” Slughorn said, holding out a delicate china bowl of floo powder.
Tom stepped forward, taking a handle of powder and after a deep breath called out “Thistledown Cottage.”
Cottage was too modest a word for the house who’s fireplace Tom found himself in. Thistledown was a charming hodgepodge of elegant and welcoming. Paintings both magical and static were hung all over the cream raised panel walls. The ceilings had exposed oak beams running their length and the candle sconces gave the room a warm glow.
The house had been decorated for the holiday; icicle lights hung from the beams, gold balloons dotted the ceiling, and trays carrying flutes of champagne and hor d’oeuvres floated by.
He blinked and tried not to stumble on the hearth of the inglenook fireplace as it was his first time traveling in such a way and he was loath to let the others know it.
Swallowing down his nerves, Tom stepped aside in time for Professor Slughorn to come rushing through the floo. Mrs Eztli who had been near the floo receiving guests gave Tom a warm smile, “Lovely to see you again, Tom.” She greeted him with a kiss to both cheeks again, and Tom stood stiffly. “How are your studies going?”
Professor Slughorn interrupted before Tom could boast about his excellent marks. “Rosalía, you look lovelier every time I see you!” He said with a flourish, greeting her the same way she had Tom. He looked around the house, graciously complimenting Rosalía’s hostess skills, the house, and “Was that Mister Bennani, retired quidditch coach? Oh, is that crystallized pineapple I see?”
Tom thought the professor’s polished outfit for chaperoning a student now made more sense with his heavy hinting. Mrs Eztli’s eyes slid to Tom in amusement at the Professor and gave the same wry smile he had seen before on her daughter’s face.
“Please stay if you can, Horace,” she declared, “it would be an absolute joy to have you. I wasn’t sure your duties at the school would allow you the time.”
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay for an hour or so!” Professor Slughorn announced, grabbing a flute of champagne. “Enjoy yourself, son!”
Ixchel must have heard their boisterous professor and had come, turning into the reception area, a silly looking party hat on her head.
She grinned at him and tugged the sleeve of his jumper, the one she had given him, knowingly.
“Come on,” she said, “I want to hear your thoughts on the book. There was a waitlist! I could only purchase the one.”
She led him through the house, and Tom allowed it. They darted through rooms magically expanded, festooned with balloons and streamers and wove their way through the crowds of stylish witches and wizards speaking on very grown up and worldly sounding things to Tom’s ears. He soothed himself with the knowledge that whilst he didn’t get to grow up in such a place, he would build a house like this, better than this when he got older.
Along whatever destination she had in mind, Ixchel smoothly introduced Tom to those who stopped to wish her a happy new year. He thought there was a distasteful number of Krauts.
Ixchel took him to the kitchen, telling him they needed provisions and loaded their arms with food and drink. She led them out into a walled garden that was spelled against the cold and just as warm as the house had been. “Ah, much quieter!” Ixchel breathed, and set up their impromptu picnic. They played wizarding chess and spoke of Hogwarts: A History and similar books Tom had researched in the library. It was easy, Tom thought. Easy to talk, easy to take off the mask that was starting to stick too closely to his skin.
“Speaking of books...”
Tom raised a brow.
“I had an idea.”
“Honestly, you pick up ideas without finishing your last project too much! You’ll get nothing done that way.”
“Hmm I think there’s a phrase, something about a pot and a kettle?” She grinned, tapping her chin as if in thought.
He scowled, ignoring her. He was perfectly fine with plan management. “You had an idea?” He prompted.
“Yes.” She flashed a wicked grin and handed him a tatty notebook. He flipped through the pages, reading the scattered ideas in Ixchel’s looping handwriting. What she was proposing…
“A two way journal?”
“Yes! It would make things so much easier over the holidays. And beyond just us, think of the possibilities.” He could see her shift inward, deep in thought. “It will take ages, all the variations I’ve seen are slow, have word limits, or lose their magic, but I think we could manage.”
“At the very least we’d make a fortune selling it to students who didn’t bother studying for their exams.” He jested.
Ixchel grinned and pushed his shoulder.
Someone must have grown impatient as it wasn’t yet midnight when fireworks were shot, ringing as they soared into the sky, and bloomed into a burst of colours and patterns. He watched a firework curl up to the night sky and explode into a phoenix, swooping over the house and illuminating the inky black ocean that kissed the shore and rocks below.
“Happy Birthday, Tom.”