Christmas morning dawned with soft golden light streaming through frost-kissed windows. Snow blanketed the world outside, and the Tonks house seemed to hum with excitement and coziness. Somewhere in the kitchen, Ted Tonks was humming along to a carol while Andromeda conjured up warm cinnamon scones. The living room, however, belonged to the kids.
Pajamas, blankets, and mugs of steaming cocoa were the morning uniform. The enchanted tree twinkled gently in the corner, its baubles catching light like tiny stars, and beneath it lay a modest but heartfelt collection of gifts.
The trio had sent out their presents to friends and classmates days earlier via owl. Neville would be getting a rare herbology guide. Terry Boot a levitating chess set. Even Professor Sprout had a potted mini-willow that danced in rhythm to seasonal tunes. But this morning was for each other.
"Alright," Dora said, bouncing on the couch and rubbing her hands together. "Present time."
"Iris, yours first," Hadrian said, passing her a neatly wrapped package with a sprig of holly tied into the ribbon.
Inside was a leather-bound flying journal, filled with hand-drawn charts and tips, blank space for flight logs, and a tiny charmed quill that would record her words even while in motion.
Iris's eyes widened. "This is—wow. It's perfect."
"I noticed how much you love flying," Hadrian said, pretending to be casual. "Thought you might want to track your progress."
She gave him a tight hug, burying her face into his shoulder for a moment before releasing him. "Thank you."
Next came Dora's turn. She tore open the wrapping on her package like a child too excited to pretend patience, revealing a sleek wooden box. When she opened it, she gasped.
Inside was a set of enchanted combs and clips — but these weren't ordinary. They were attuned to metamorphmagi magic, responding gently to changes in mood and expression. A tiny note in Hadrian's handwriting explained:
"Thought you'd like something that complements your transformations. Subtle glamour enhancements too. You're already brilliant — this is just the cherry on top."
Dora blinked. Then blinked again.
And then, without warning, she leaned in and kissed Hadrian on the cheek.
He stiffened in surprise, and so did Iris, though her surprise quickly turned into an "I knew it" smirk.
Both Dora and Hadrian turned bright red.
Dora's hair, quite without her permission, exploded into bright, rosy pink.
Hadrian's own hair followed suit, turning a vibrant ruby red as if mimicking his flushed face.
"I—er—thank you," she said, suddenly very interested in the wrapping paper.
"No problem," Hadrian mumbled, fidgeting with a piece of ribbon.
They both very clearly pretended nothing had happened. Iris, however, made no such attempt.
"Would you two like me to give you a moment?" she asked sweetly, chin propped on her hand. "Or shall I just start planning the wedding now?"
Hadrian groaned. Dora groaned louder. They both laughed through their embarrassment.
Then it was time for Hadrian's present.
Iris handed him a package wrapped in parchment scrawled with cheerful flying badgers. Dora followed with her own, a little box tied with a ribbon that shimmered faintly.
From Iris, he received a custom inkwell set with a runic quill holder and a rotating charm that filtered out dust and ink clots. Practical, clean, clever—just like Iris.
From Dora… he found a small carved stone orb the size of a walnut. When he activated it with a tap of his wand, it unfolded into a pocket-sized illusion projector. With a flick of her wand, Dora showed a memory: the three of them laughing on broomsticks, waving wildly at the sky.
"It can record new moments, too," she said shyly. "Memories worth keeping."
Hadrian was silent for a moment, then quietly said, "That's… maybe the best gift I've ever gotten."
This time, it was Iris who changed hair color — hers went snow white from emotion. Her ability only allows for color changes and letting short hair grow again, which took quite a bit of effort to develop. "Alright," she said briskly, "that's enough sappiness for one morning. Who wants breakfast?"
As they left the tree behind and made their way to the dining room, there was an undeniable new warmth between them — not just the crackling fire or the smell of cinnamon. It was something growing slowly, steadily, under the surface.
Something that even magic couldn't quite explain.