Emerson Wilmore was an exemplary Ravenclaw student, known for her unwavering dedication to academics and an unyielding moral compass. However, things took a twisted and deviated turn in her life after her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory, was murdered by L...
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Christmas morning arrived at Hogwarts with all of the enthusiasm of a dementor's kiss. Nothing glittered. Nothing sparkled. There were no floating baubles drifting lazily through the corridors, no enchanted snow falling indoors and no Christmas trees groaning under the weight of ornaments and sweets. The castle felt hollow, stripped back to stone and silence, inhabited only by ghosts, shadows, and a very small collection of students who had nowhere safer to go.
In the Slytherin dormitory, that fragile quiet was brutally murdered.
"OH COME ALL YE FAITHFUL—!"
Enzo's voice rang out at full volume, enthusiastic, loud, and catastrophically off-key.
Theo shot upright in bed with a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a death rattle.
"LORENZO!" He shouted hoarsely, shielding his eyes against the morning sunlight that was too bright.
Enzo stood in the middle of the dormitory, arms stretched wide, wearing a Santa hat he had absolutely no business owning, let alone wearing. He looked delighted, like a man who thrived on chaos and was personally offended by silence.
"JOYFUL AND TRIUMPHANT—!"
Theo let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a threat. He rolled over, dragging his pillow over his head. "I swear on Salazar Slytherin's grave," He muttered hoarsely. "If you don't stop singing in the next three seconds, I will hex your vocal cords into retirement."
Enzo ignored him completely, climbing onto the foot of Theo's bed like an overexcited toddler on Christmas morning. His arms were still spread wide like he was performing for a sold-out audience, one sock missing from his foot.
"Good morning to you too, sunshine," Enzo replied cheerfully. "Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad! Happy whatever-you-call-it-when-the-world-is-ending-but-you-still-deserve-presents!"
Theo slept for four hours that night. His bedside table was still cluttered with parchment, ink stains, and diagrams of runes that blurred together sometime around three in the morning. His head throbbed, his eyes burned, and his brain was still half translating ancient symbols even as Enzo continued to sing.
"Why," Theo muttered darkly. "Are you like this?"
"Because it's Christmas," Enzo answered, as if that explained everything. He bounced on his heels and clapped his hands once. "And because we're alive. And because there are presents."
Theo groaned. "I slept for four hours."
"That sounds like a you problem," Enzo said cheerfully, spinning once. "It's CHRISTMAS."
"It is six in the morning."
"It is six on Christmas morning," Enzo corrected smugly. "Different rules."
