Chapter 08: Winter Holidays
“You all better write to me!” declared Marlene as she dragged her trunk with her outside the common room. “And NO talk about class or homework! It’s the winter holidays!”
“I promise.” answered Rick with a nod.
Lily was of the same mind. “Me too! Wait, Rick, where is your trunk?”
“In my dorm, why?”
“You’re not going home for Christmas?”
Marlene’s face froze in disbelief, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape, as if Rick had just declared he didn’t believe in Christmas. For her, the winter holidays were sacred, full of laughter, warmth, and the comforting presence of family. The idea of someone willingly staying behind, alone, in the drafty old castle during what she considered the best time of the year was almost unthinkable. Her shock hung in the air for a second too long, long enough for Lily’s sharp elbow to jab her in the ribs. The subtle but pointed nudge jolted her memory, and the realization dawned with a pang of guilt: Rick’s family situation was... complicated. She winced inwardly, suddenly regretting the question that had come so naturally to her.
“Nope.” he replied unbothered.
He drew his wand with a smooth flick and cast a levitation charm on both girls’ trunks, causing them to rise gracefully off the ground and float along behind him like obedient shadows. It was a small gesture, but one that spared them the strain of hauling heavy luggage through the castle and down to the waiting caleche outside. The girls fell in step behind him, exchanging glances and slipping into a quiet conversation that carried a mix of excitement and longing.
Marlene, her voice a mix of pride and anticipation, spoke about her holiday plans: brushing up on spells and getting extra dueling lessons from one of her older cousins, conveniently done under household wards that wouldn't register underage magic. Her eyes sparkled at the thought of practicing without restriction, and the promise of controlled chaos clearly thrilled her. Lily, on the other hand, groaned at the unfairness of it all. As a Muggle-born, she had no such luxury. Still, she let it go with a resigned sigh and shifted the conversation to her own hopes for the holidays: reconciling with her sister, spending meaningful time with her parents, and diving into potion-making as her magic-free hobby. With a determined glint in her eye, she explained her plan to visit Diagon Alley for supplies, already picturing the bubbling cauldrons and neatly labeled jars she'd fill their kitchen with.
For his part, Rick intended to finally find the kitchen or just fly all day but he didn’t speak aloud the latter part, Lily may have stayed at Hogwarts just to make sure he didn’t or at least didn’t unsupervised. She had been annoyingly protective of him ever since her fall at the beginning of the year but he had said nothing about it. The reason for that was because she did it out of care, something that no one ever showed him before. Miss Willson did but because it was her job not because she actually cared about him. The hug she gave him when he landed on the ground after catching her during her fall was a memory he would cherish for the rest of his life.
When they reached the castle’s entrance they saw a familiar Hufflepuff speaking with what could only be her older brother. They looked too much alike to not be siblings. The older boy too was a badger.
“...Yes, Robert. I’m sure.”
“Amy… Don’t let father-”
“I’m not, I just don’t want to bring down everyone’s mood on such a joyful holiday by fighting with him.”
“If you’re sure…”
Amelia’s brother wrapped her in a warm, lingering hug, murmuring something too soft to catch before giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He cast one last glance at her, full of reluctant concern, and then turned to join the throng of students heading toward the waiting carriages outside. As the crowd thinned, Lily gently excused herself from Rick and Marlene and made her way to Amelia. The two girls exchanged a few quiet words, their conversation private but clearly tinged with purpose. When they both glanced Rick’s way, Lily’s eyes were soft with unspoken worry, and Amelia gave a solemn nod, an agreement sealed without words, quiet and deliberate.
“What was that about?” asked Marlene when Lily came back.
“Pretty sure she got Amelia to watch me like a hawk.” was Rick’s flat answer.
“I just know you’re going to get yourself into trouble.” commented Lily.
At Flinch’s final, echoing call for departure, Lily stepped forward and wrapped Rick in a tight hug. Her arms clung to him with the kind of intensity that tried to convey everything she wasn’t saying aloud, worry, care, and a quiet promise to write. Rick returned the hug, but stiffly, his posture awkward like someone not quite used to receiving that kind of warmth. When she pulled back, her place was immediately taken by Marlene, who gave him a far gentler squeeze, less crushing, more comforting. He offered both girls a quiet, sincere “Happy holidays,” and received matching smiles and well wishes in return. Then, he stood in silence, watching them disappear beyond the castle doors, their laughter lingering faintly in the cold air as the carriages rolled away into the snowy distance.
“Not going home to your family either?” asked Amelia who had made her way to him.
“I wouldn’t call the staff of Wool’s Orphanage family.” he replied watching the caleche go through the castle’s gates.
He completely missed the flicker of surprise and quiet heartbreak that flashed across Amelia’s face. While she had guessed from his clothes and careful mannerisms that Rick came from a less fortunate background, something she’d noted just as she had with Marlene, the idea that he was an orphan had never occurred to her. The realization hit her like a cold wind. Suddenly, it all made sense: his aloofness, his independence, his silence when others spoke of family. The thought of growing up as a lone magical child in a Muggle orphanage, surrounded by people who couldn’t possibly understand his world, was a bleak and lonely image. No wonder he didn’t want to return for the holidays. In her mind, it was more than just dreadful, it was isolating in a way she hadn’t truly imagined until now.
True to the unwavering loyalty and kindness that defined her house, Amelia made a quiet vow right then and there: she would make sure Rick enjoyed the holidays. Not just endured them, but genuinely enjoyed them, laughed during them, felt warmth and comfort and a little bit of the magic that came not from wands, but from being cared for. If the world hadn’t given him that before, she would do her damnedest to make sure Hogwarts did.
“Come on, let’s find the kitchen.” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder but he moved away instinctively.
“I thought you already knew where it was?” he asked skeptically.
“I do. Doesn’t mean I can’t have fun watching you trying to find it.” She answered him with a grin and for a moment he looked impassively at her before shrugging his shoulders.
“I don’t even know where to start. I’m almost certain it’s near the great hall but I didn’t find anything. I didn’t even hear other students talk about it.”
“That’s because the kitchen’s location is a well kept secret. Very few students actually know where it is or how to access it.”
They stepped out from the castle entrance into the hushed stillness of the holiday-emptied corridors, the stone walls echoing faintly with their footsteps as Rick set off on yet another aimless exploration. With no firm destination in mind and a determined glint in his eye, he wandered through staircases and hallways like a curious ghost hunting for forgotten secrets. Amelia, with nowhere better to be and a strange fondness growing for her unusual companion, followed him without protest. The castle, normally bustling with voices and chaos, now felt like a sleeping giant, silent, echoing, and oddly intimate. Only a dozen or so students remained behind, none of whom either of them knew well. The exception was Severus Snape, but Rick showed about as much interest in engaging with him as he would a pile of old cauldrons. Amelia mirrored the sentiment exactly.
It took three days of aimless wandering, fruitless speculation, and the occasional trapdoor detour before Amelia, with a smirk tugging at her lips and a glint of mischief in her eyes, let it slip, offhandedly, almost as if it weren’t the holy grail of castle secrets, that to reach the kitchen, one simply had to tickle a pear. Rick froze mid-step, mind clicking like a lock finally finding its key. Of course. There was only one painting he’d come across that featured a prominently displayed pear, nestled in a bowl of other fruit.
Without saying a word, he turned and began walking with purpose, tracing the path through the castle’s underbelly with the sort of confident determination only someone on the verge of a long-awaited breakthrough could summon. Amelia followed, her steps light and victorious, a smug satisfaction blooming across her face. She didn’t gloat out loud, she didn’t have to. The look she wore said it all: Told you so.
“I don’t know if I should be proud of myself for being right or bang my head against the wall for missing it.”
He stood before the familiar painting, its vibrant fruit bowl now taking on new significance as he stared at the unsuspecting pear nestled among the others. This was it, the concealed entrance to the kitchen, hidden in plain sight in the same shadowy cellar where he'd previously stumbled upon the Hufflepuff common room. The realization sent a ripple of triumph through him. What once had been a mundane still life now held the promise of discovery and reward.
“It’s also incredibly unfair that if you get hungry during the night, you won’t get caught by going to the kitchen. I have to cross the faculty wing to reach it.”
“If Gryffindors weren’t such troublemakers, maybe they wouldn’t have put the faculty wing where it is.” the redhead joked.
Rick shot her a flat, unimpressed look, then stepped forward with the air of someone bracing for something ridiculous. He reached out and tickled the lone pear nestled in the painted fruit bowl. To his amazement, the pear shivered, giggled, yes, giggled, and began to swell outward like a balloon being filled. Within seconds, it transformed into a bulbous, greenish-gold door handle. With a bemused glance back at Amelia, he grasped it, turned, and pushed.
The portrait swung open on silent hinges, revealing the long-rumored Hogwarts kitchens. The sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. Inside bustled dozens of tiny figures, no more than three or four feet tall, darting between towering countertops and enormous stoves. Their spindly limbs moved with uncanny speed, their bat-like ears twitching with focus. Dressed in mismatched scraps of fabric that looked more like discarded tea towels than clothing, the small beings moved about with quiet purpose and efficiency. Rick stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, at the magical workforce he had never imagined existed.
“What are those?” he asked in a whisper to Amelia behind him.
“House elves.”
“Elves? That’s not how I imagined elves from The Lord of the Rings.”
“The what?”
“The Lord of the Rings. It’s a trilogy of fantasy books. It tells the story of…” He trailed off and changed his mind about explaining what it was. “Nevermind, talk for later. What are house elves, exactly?”
“In one word? Servants. They’re… magical beings that like to serve others. Many noble families have at least one and sometimes more.”
“Why are they dressed in rags?”
“Giving clothes is the worst thing you could do to a house elf as it will free them from their magical contract. In their culture servants do not own clothes, it’s a great shame for them to be given some.”
Seeing one of his eyebrows rise in question, she explained further.
“House elves live on the magic of their contractor. They work for a wizard or a witch and in return they give a very small amount of magic to them so they can live. A free house elf is an elf without purpose that will be driven insane and die.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is. Sometimes it’s better for them though.”
“Why?”
“Some families are… abusive.”
“Isn’t it illegal?”
“It isn’t, no. House elves are considered as a lower life form than witches and wizards. Just below Goblins in truth. As such, wizards and witches’ laws do not apply to them.”
“From a muggle perspective that sounds like slavery.”
“I suppose it would.” she replied after a moment of hesitation.
“However, that's a screwed perspective. Muggle thinks they’re the only sapient species on Earth so slavery is of course related to humans. They would treat house elves the same as magicals do if they knew they existed. Perhaps even worse.”
“Not all families treat their elves badly. Some are very happy.”
She found herself unexpectedly surprised by Rick’s nuanced understanding of the complex status house elves held in wizarding culture. While she had heard of muggle-born students being outraged by the practice, some even going so far as to campaign for the elves’ freedom under the banner of anti-slavery, Amelia had always dismissed such efforts as naïve idealism. To her, it was simply the way things had always been. House elves served because they wanted to; interfering in that balance seemed misguided at best. Yet Rick’s words struck a chord she hadn’t expected. His detached but thoughtful view of both magical and muggle cultures made her pause. Perhaps, she considered, the real problem wasn’t the servitude itself, but the lack of protections. Even if house elves were culturally inclined to serve, that shouldn’t mean they were left vulnerable to cruelty. Sapient or not, no living creature deserved to suffer under someone else's heel simply because tradition allowed it.
“They’re the ones that do everything in the castle aren’t they? Food, Laundry, cleaning…”
“Pretty much.”
“And they love doing it.”
“Yes.”
“That’s so weird but I won’t judge. If they’re happy then more power to them.”
Feeling curious and with lunch drawing near, Rick politely asked the nearest house elf for two cups of tea. The elf, who cheerfully introduced himself as Barmy, was overjoyed to have visitors to attend to. His large eyes sparkled with excitement as he snapped his fingers, and in less than a minute, two steaming cups of fragrant tea appeared on a polished tray with a few complementary biscuits for good measure. As Rick sipped his drink, he gently asked Barmy a few questions about life as a house elf and what it was like to work at Hogwarts. The elf answered with enthusiasm, bouncing slightly on his heels, clearly proud of the work he and his kin performed. Rick listened intently, nodding thoughtfully at the answers, grateful for the unexpected hospitality. After thanking Barmy sincerely, he and Amelia stepped out of the kitchen, the warmth of the hearth and hospitality lingering like a spell behind them.
“That was… quite the experience.” he said and Amelia chuckled.
“Barmy is a very excited elf. Not all of them are like that.”
Walking back up to the ground floor in the direction of the Great Hall to have lunch, Rick couldn’t help but ask Amelia what she intended to do for the rest of the Holidays.
“Do my homework, work on future classes to be one step ahead, making sure you don’t kill yourself while flying and… that’s about it.”
“Sometimes, I really want to punch Potter for making Lily fall off her broom.” he grunted when he heard the part about Amelia being his safety net while flying.
“Marlene told me you already did that.”
“Yes but it was for Lily, not for making her scared out of her wits that I will fall to my death every time I get on a broom.”
Things had been uncomfortably tense between Potter and him ever since the day Rick clocked him in the face hard enough to draw blood. Professor Hooch, preoccupied with tending to Lily after her fall, hadn’t seen the punch land, and, much to Rick’s mild surprise, neither James nor the rest of the Gryffindors ratted him out. Not that Rick would’ve cared; he would’ve taken the detention without blinking. The real consequence had come later when Marlene told Lily what happened. The ensuing lecture had been a masterpiece of righteous fury and heartfelt concern, and Rick recalled it with something close to fondness. For the first time, someone had scolded him not out of authority, but out of genuine care.
“Wait, so you’re pretty much free then?”
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can help me with something?”
“Sure. Depends on what that is.”
“I want to give Lily and Marlene something for Christmas but I have no money. What are my options? What do girls even like to receive as a gift?”
She paused, brows furrowed in thought, as if carefully sifting through her mental list of possibilities. Her lips pursed, eyes drifting upward in contemplation before she finally nodded to herself and spoke, her tone thoughtful and assured.
“Food. You can hardly do wrong with food, provided it doesn’t taste bad.”
“Won’t the food be spoiled by the time it arrives?”
“For fresh food, yes if you don’t know the stasis charm but things like cakes or biscuits, no.”
“I see. What about birthdays? Marlene’s is January 15th and Lily’s the 30th.”
“Same.”
“... Being penniless sucks.” he said sourly as he sat down at the Hufflepuff table.
“Penniless?”
“Pennies are the smallest currency in muggle Britain. A hundred of them make a pound, the actual currency. I guess it’s a bit like a knut?”
“A hundred is a lot.”
“That’s because we base everything on a 10 base metric. Easier to count when the only thing you have to do is add or remove a zero. The French came up with that.”
“That’s clever.” she admitted.
“Any idea how to make money?”
“Do you need more school supplies, Mister Wald? You have enough money to last the school year, you don’t have to worry about it.”
Professor McGonagall was making her way down the Great Hall, her sharp eyes scanning the tables with practiced ease, when her ears caught the tail end of Rick’s comment about money. She slowed almost imperceptibly, her mind instantly leaping to the most practical conclusion: he must be concerned about affording school supplies. It was a common enough worry among students from modest backgrounds, and her mind was already tallying what might be needed and how best to discreetly assist, should the situation require it.
“I’m good until the end of February, Professor.”
“Then why the concern about money?”
“I wanted to buy small gifts for my friends.”
“Ah!” she said in understanding. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. The money of your scholarship is yours to use as you see fit, however. Use it responsibly.”
Rick blinked in surprise, the words catching him off guard. Was that a hint? Had she just given him permission, subtly, to use his scholarship funds for something other than the bare essentials? The idea was both thrilling and unsettling, like being told he was allowed to enjoy something for once.
“I will, professor. Provided I know how to access it.”
“It’s held by your legal magical guardian.”
“I… have one?” he replied in surprise and confusion.
“Every student at Hogwarts does. Usually it’s a magical relative but in the case of Muggle-born it’s their head of house.”
As her words sank in, the pieces clicked into place with surprising clarity, and a spark of inspiration flared in his mind like a lit wand tip in a dark corridor.
“I see. Thank you, professor. I have one last question if I may.”
“Yes?”
“How do I get new school supplies?”
“Each Saturday during the holidays students, provided they have an authorization slip from their magical guardian, can exit the castle to go to Hogsmeade. Is that all?”
“Yes, professor.”
With the conversation over, Minerva went to the teacher table, leaving behind a grinning Rick.
“Now I just have to find someone willing to explain to me how the knut, sickle and galleon work with each other and to guide me to the right stores tomorrow.” he looked intently at Amelia who rolled her eyes.
She didn’t object, and the following morning, after Rick secured his permission slip from McGonagall along with five gleaming galleons, Amelia gladly took on the role of guide and gave him a full tour of Hogsmeade. Their first stop was a small, quiet shop tucked between two larger ones where Rick purchased the essentials: a fresh quill, a small bottle of ink, and a neat stack of parchment, practical but sparse, and totaling just 1 galleon and 10 sickles. With 3 galleons and 7 sickles still jingling in his pocket, Rick turned his focus toward a new goal: finding thoughtful gifts for Lily and Marlene without spending more than three galleons. It wasn’t just about giving something, it was about showing he cared.
Amelia dragged him to Honeydukes when he found everything he wanted. He ended up spending his whole budget.
“You didn’t get yourself anything?” the redhead asked with a curious glance as they stepped out into the crisp, snow-laced street. Her voice was muffled slightly by the black liquorice wand perched between her teeth, a glossy and unusual sweet Rick couldn’t immediately place. The peculiar treat jutted from her mouth like a mock pipe, lending her an oddly whimsical air that clashed amusingly with her inquisitive tone.
“Eeehhh, no?”
Amelia mentally shook her head in a blend of disbelief and exasperated amusement. "Honestly, Rick. Of all people to spend every last knut on others." And yet, despite her bemusement, she felt a quiet swell of admiration. It said something remarkable about him, he thought first and foremost of his friends, not himself. That wasn’t a trait she associated with most Gryffindors, who, in her experience, had a flair for bravado and a tendency toward self-importance.
But it was Christmas. And in Amelia’s mind, there was an unspoken rule, no one left Honeydukes for the first time without at least one treat of their own. Rick, in her opinion, more than deserved something sweet in his life. So, with a decisive smirk, she plucked the liquorice wand from her mouth and, without hesitation, popped it right into his. His reaction was priceless. His eyes widened in shock, a rare flicker of vulnerability flashing across his normally composed face, quickly replaced by the unmistakable gleam of joy when the taste hit him. She watched in satisfaction as he savored the flavor, clearly caught off guard by the indulgence. After a few seconds, he carefully pulled it from his mouth, as if uncertain of what the protocol was, and offered it back to her with an uncertain glance.
“That’s delicious. What is it?”
“Liquorice wand.” she replied, putting the wand back in her mouth.
“So that’s what Liquorice tastes like.”
Amelia didn’t say a word, but a quiet ache bloomed in her chest. The way he spoke, the unfiltered surprise in his voice, it made her wonder if this really was the first sweet he’d ever tasted. The idea lodged itself in her heart with a weight she couldn’t quite shake. Her expression softened, and without hesitation, she gently pushed the liquorice wand back into his mouth. It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was hers. She had more tucked away in her coat pocket anyway, this one, she decided, was his.
“You don’t like it?” he asked as he began to chew slowly on it, accepting the gift.
“Too sweet for my current mood.” She lied.
“Would a snowball fight cheer you up?”
She couldn’t help herself, her lips curled into a genuine smile, her mood already lifted by his simple, playful question. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she drew her wand from the holster strapped to her wrist and gave a quick flick. The snow at her feet stirred, whirling upward in a brief flurry before forming into three perfectly round snowballs that hovered in the air like loyal sentries. She turned to Rick with a predatory grin that said everything before words could.
His eyes widened in alarm as the realization hit, and without waiting for the first snowball to fly, he bolted like a startled deer, knowing full well he was about to be hunted. Amelia gave chase, laughing freely as she unleashed a barrage of snowballs with wild abandon. Her aim wasn’t vengeance or precision, it was pure joy. Each throw was an expression of playfulness, a shared escape from responsibility, and a way to remind herself and Rick that sometimes, just sometimes, it was okay to be a child again.
“That’s not fair!” he shouted, dodging a snowball by jumping to the right.
“Don’t care!”
“Hufflepuff your uncle! The sorting hat should have put you in Slyth-”
She burst into laughter when one of the snowballs smacked him squarely in the face, sending a fine spray of powder flying in all directions. For a moment, Rick just stood there blinking, white flakes clinging to his eyelashes and the bridge of his nose. But then, with the resilience that always surprised her, he ducked behind a low stone wall and reemerged with a snowball of his own already in hand. She had to give him credit, he wasn’t a sore loser. In fact, his counterattack came with such focused determination that it caught her off guard. The snowball war had officially escalated.