tradition

- 01

THIRD YEAR

The Gryffindor common room was transformed into a haven of warmth and festivity, every corner adorned with magical decorations that seemed to sparkle with their own life. Enchanted garlands looped across the walls, shimmering with a golden glow that shifted as if breathing, while charmed snowflakes twirled gently in the air, vanishing just before they landed on the plush rugs. The centerpiece of the room was an enormous Christmas tree, its branches heavy with enchanted baubles that hummed a soft, cheerful melody, accompanied by tiny fairies flitting among the ornaments. 

A roaring fire in the hearth added its golden light to the room, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls and ceiling. Yet, for all the effort and magic poured into creating an atmosphere of joy, Harry Potter felt none of it. Sitting slumped in a deep armchair, his gaze fixed on the hypnotic movement of the flames, he seemed utterly untouched by the festive cheer around him.

It was Christmas Eve, and the castle was quieter than usual, with most students having left for the holidays. The emptiness only amplified the sense of isolation Harry felt, a sharp contrast to the usual bustle of the Gryffindor common room. His friends, Ron and Hermione, had done their best to lift his spirits earlier in the day. Ron had challenged him to a game of wizard chess, his confident grin faltering only slightly when Harry halfheartedly moved his pieces without paying attention to the board. Hermione, ever thoughtful, had slipped away to the kitchens and returned with a plate of treacle tart, placing it in front of Harry with a small, hopeful smile. He had managed to thank her and take a few bites, but his gratitude felt hollow. Despite their best efforts, his thoughts remained stubbornly locked on the one thing neither of them could fix.

The shadow of Sirius Black loomed large in Harry's mind, eclipsing everything else. Every time he closed his eyes, he could picture the man's gaunt face and wild eyes, the wanted posters that had become all too familiar since summer. This was the man who had betrayed his parents, who had led Voldemort straight to them and laughed as they died. And now, this same man was loose, somewhere out there, hunting Harry. The knowledge was a heavy weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone enjoy the holiday. It felt absurd to celebrate when the man responsible for shattering his family was free, his intentions toward Harry clear and menacing. The twinkling lights and cheerful music seemed almost mocking in the face of it all.

Harry tried, in vain, to let the festive atmosphere around him seep in, to distract himself with the sights and sounds of Christmas. But his mind refused to cooperate, dragging him back to the same dark thoughts over and over again. He wondered if his parents would have felt the same way if they were here now, unable to enjoy the holidays with danger looming over them. The thought twisted in his chest, both comforting and painful—he wanted so desperately to ask them, to hear their voices again, to feel less alone in this. But all he had were memories, fragmented and faint, and the relentless ache of their absence.

The common room's enchantments continued their tireless display, oblivious to Harry's turmoil. The fire flickered brightly, its heat reaching him but failing to warm the cold knot of anxiety in his stomach. Occasionally, a log shifted with a loud crack, breaking the silence but not his trance-like state. The room's magic couldn't penetrate the barriers Harry had built around himself, couldn't touch the guilt and anger swirling within him. It was as if he were separated from the rest of the world by an invisible wall, untouchable and unseen.

As the hours dragged on, Harry remained in his chair, unmoving except to shift his gaze from the fire to the frosted windows. Outside, snow blanketed the grounds of Hogwarts, the pale moonlight making it sparkle like diamonds. It was a breathtaking sight, one he might have appreciated under different circumstances. But tonight, it was merely a reminder of everything he had lost—and everything he had yet to face.