Invisible String | TVD x WIZARDING WORLD

THE TALE OF THE TWELVE GIFTS

Let me begin by saying that Hogwarts at Christmas is not so much decorated as it is violently attacked by holiday cheer. It's like someone gave a Pinterest board a wand and told it to go feral.

There's a Christmas tree in the Great Hall so tall, it may have scraped the troposphere. No one's been able to count how many fairy lights are on it because the fairies keep hexing anyone who tries. The suits of armor have been enchanted to sing carols—except one of them learned the wrong lyrics and now sings "All I Want for Christmas is a Basilisk" in falsetto. One tried harmonizing with Nearly Headless Nick and accidentally summoned a Banshee. The Banshee now joins in. No one's stopped her.

There's enchanted snow falling from the ceiling that never melts, garlands twined with actual whispering pine (don't ask what it whispers), and floating mistletoe that Peeves directs with the finesse of a gremlin playing Cupid.

It's magical. It's beautiful. It's like stepping inside a snow globe designed by a manic pixie dream witch.

And yet.

Despite all the glittering nonsense, the laughter, and the endless supply of treacle tart, there was something tight in my chest that just... wouldn't go away.

It was my first Christmas without my family.

Now, don't get me wrong—I wasn't about to sob into my butterbeer. I didn't need some Hallmark movie moment under twinkly lights. But when you're surrounded by people talking about home—about mums who knit ugly jumpers and dads who fall asleep in front of the fire—it makes your own silence feel heavier. Like grief in tinsel.

Sure, I could've gone home.

But home wasn't safe. Not with Cade sniffing around our supernatural lives like a demon with a clipboard. Dad didn't say it outright, but I knew. He was scared. For me. And Daddy Salvatore doesn't get scared unless hell is sharpening its claws.

So I stayed. Told everyone I wanted to "experience a proper Hogwarts Christmas."

Left out the part where my family includes vampires, witches, hunters, werewolves, and a few Originals and an Original hybrid who painted a masterpiece of me just because I sneezed once and he thought it was mysterically symbolic.

Christmas morning began with Ron snoring like a dying lawn mower and Harry poking me gently on the shoulder.

"Diana?" he whispered.

"No," I mumbled from under my blanket. "I'm a hallucination. Go away, ghost of Gryffindor past."

Harry snorted. "You've got, like, twenty presents. Maybe more. One of them's smoking."

"...Smoking?"

"Like... faintly. Lavender scented. Might be a bath bomb. Or a curse."

I peeked out.

He wasn't wrong.

There were gifts stacked higher than the bedside table. Some wrapped with floating glitter bows. One had a tag that blinked. Another hissed.

Ron stirred, stretched, and stared. "Bloody hell. Is that all for you?"

I gave him a sugary smile. "Guess I made the Nice List. You should try it sometime."

THE GIFT UNWRAPPING BONANZA™️ COMMENCED.

And it was chaotic. Emotional. Slightly cursed. Perfect.

From Dad:

Of course his gift had dramatic flair. A black velvet box. A tag written in silvery calligraphy:

"To my favorite nuisance."

Inside: an obsidian pendant shaped like a crescent moon. It pulsed faintly with heat, like it remembered our bloodline's magic. Like it knew who I was before I did.