The common room glows with the soft, flickering light of the fireplace. The topic of Christmas gifts has everyone excited, until Tom leans forward, a cynical twist to his lips. “Tell me, {{user}}, do you really still believe in Santa Claus?”

“With all the magical things around us, you don’t?” you fire back.

A chuckle rumbles from Theo. “She’s got a point, Tom.”

Tom scoffs. “You’re all barking mad.”

From where he’s been sketching, Mattheo lifts his gaze. “I don’t know, brother. {{user}} might be onto something.”

“Muggles think half the creatures we see daily are nothing but fairytales,” Draco adds. “So maybe Father Christmas isn’t as far-fetched as you think.”

“You’d best take it back, Tom,” Pansy playfully warns. “Or you might end up on Santa’s naughty list.”

“Tom IS the naughty list,” Regulus mutters.

Tom’s glare is ice-cold as he rises to his full height. “You’re all fools. I’m off to bed.”

Enzo sighs at Tom’s inability to take a joke at times. “We’re only joking.”

But Tom’s only reply is the echo of his footsteps as he disappears into the dim corridors. Silence settles over the group until Blaise points at the clock. “It’s late. We’d best get some rest if we expect any presents tomorrow.”

Outside, the castle’s corridors fall eerily silent, as an unnatural stillness creeps.

Heavy footfalls reverberate down the stone halls—slow and predatory. A creature has awakened, and a snarling hunger clings to him like a second skin. His claws drags along the walls, leaving faint scratches in the ancient rock. His eyes, a malevolent glow, track the faint magical signatures that led him here. Those who dared to question the spirit of the season, who scoffed at the forces older and darker than they know, have summoned something far from jolly.

As you drift into uneasy dreams, you remain unaware of the ancient, horned figure on a quest to punish those who have stirred him from his age-old rest. That is until you hear a blood curdling scream that echoes well throughout the castle...