Jingle Bells

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Hey everyone, LuxRadium here! I have a confession to make. I haven't actually read the entirety of the raws for this novel. I know this might come as a shock to some, but yes, that means I don't know what happens in the story. Like all of you, I'm just going along with the flow.

There are about 550 raw chapters, and the author seems to be on a long hiatus. Reading that many incoherent MTL chapters, especially with my busy college schedule, just isn't feasible for me. I'm also actively trying to keep this as a hobby rather than turning it into a chore.

I don't want to set up a Patreon either, as it might start feeling like a job, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on that.

Anyway, thank you all for your support, and happy reading!

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"Is that so?" Vizet asked, brows knitting together. "But this... this isn't even high-quality tail hair, is it?"

Hagrid's method of collecting unicorn hair had been rudimentary at best — simply twisting the strands into rough braids and leaving them as bandages. Time had dulled their sheen, and frayed ends hinted at their lack of proper preservation.

Ollivander, however, shook his head in delight. "If you were judging by potion ingredient standards, perhaps not. But wandlore is an entirely different art!" His fingers trembled with excitement as he examined the silvery strands. "There's not a trace of curse in these hairs... which means the unicorn must have given them willingly."

He lifted the tail hair towards the light, watching how it shimmered faintly. "Unicorns are creatures of purity. If you take their hair by force, even the smallest strand will carry a curse — a subtle one, but a curse all the same. It lingers in the magic, like an invisible stain, affecting the wand's bond with its user."

"But these..." He ran the strands between his fingers, eyes gleaming. "These are pristine. They don't need purification at all!"

Vizet's frown deepened. "The curse of the unicorn..." he murmured, his mind racing. "But unicorn tail hair is also used in potions — doesn't that mean —"

"The magic of potion-making is different." Dumbledore, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. His voice was calm, patient. "The trinity of magic, crucible, and flame can break down the tail hair, dissolving the curse entirely."

He adjusted his half-moon glasses and added, "That is — except when it comes to unicorn blood. The curse in that cannot be purified, not by flame nor magic."

Vizet's gaze sharpened. "Unicorn blood? Does its curse grow stronger?"

"Far stronger," Dumbledore said gravely. "To obtain unicorn blood, one must kill the creature. It is a terrible crime. The reward is a prolonged life, yes — but a cursed one. Whoever drinks unicorn blood will live... but they will be bound to a half-life, neither truly living nor truly dead."

A heavy silence settled over the shop, broken only by the distant jingling of a shop bell outside.

Ollivander cleared his throat, shaking off the solemn mood. "Well then! No need to dwell on such grim things." His excitement returned as he gently tugged the unicorn bandage from Vizet's grasp, inspecting it anew. "Now, back to what truly matters — wands!"

He launched into a long discourse on wandlore, discussing the finer details of core selection and magical conductivity. Vizet took the opportunity to ask the lingering questions he had from his studies, absorbing every detail.

Eventually, Ollivander didn't accept the bandage handed it back, but not before carefully plucking a few strands of tail hair from it. He grinned, calling it a Christmas gift.

As Vizet left, Ollivander watched him go, an amused smile on his face. "What a kind boy," he murmured.

Then, his expression turned serious as he glanced at Dumbledore. "But, Albus... should you not tell him?"

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes followed Vizet until he was out of sight. "Not yet," he said quietly. "We still don't know the true target of the robbery — nor who is pulling the strings."

Ollivander frowned. "You risked your life just to recover a ledger. That thief almost got away. If you hadn't stopped him yourself, he might have escaped. And yet, just as he was caught, all his memories were erased — gone."

Dumbledore's expression darkened as he recalled that moment. He had intercepted the wizard at the border, just as he was activating a Portkey meant to whisk him away to Europe. A pendant around the thief's neck had flashed with eerie green light, and in an instant, every memory the man had ever possessed had vanished — leaving him as blank as a newborn.

It had not been an accident. Someone had prepared for this exact scenario.

"Yes," Dumbledore finally said. "The ledger contained details on Harry's wand… and Vizet's."

Ollivander's face tightened. "Are the Death Eaters gathering information? Do they mean to investigate Harry — or is this aimed at Vizet?"

Dumbledore exhaled slowly. "It is unclear. The Saints would not act in this way — not without at

least informing you first."

"But the Pureblood Party?" Ollivander suggested warily. "Could they be behind this?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore admitted. "Or someone using their name for their own ends. Many did such things in the past… there is no reason to believe it has stopped now."

Ollivander hesitated. "Do you intend to investigate?"

Dumbledore's gaze lingered on the street outside, where fresh snow had begun to fall in lazy drifts. "Yes," he said softly. "For Harry, for Vizet… and for the future."

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Vizet and Luna stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, leaving the warmth of the pub for the crisp winter air of Charing Cross Road. The city bustled with life, and as they walked north, the streets became livelier, filled with pedestrians wrapped in scarves and coats, their breath curling in the cold.

Snow had fallen in London, leaving soft white drifts along the edges of the pavement. Christmas trees stood outside shopfronts, their branches dusted with frost. Ribbons and twinkling fairy lights adorned windows, casting a warm glow against the evening gloom, while great wreaths of holly and pinecones hung on every door.

From within the shops, a familiar tune floated out each time a door swung open —

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way..."

The festive atmosphere was infectious. Luna walked with a spring in her step, her gaze darting from one decoration to the next, her silvery eyes alight with wonder. Her joy was unguarded, spilling over in little hums and the occasional delighted gasp.

Vizet walked beside her, his voice soft as he explained their surroundings.

"This area is mostly commercial streets, like a Muggle version of Diagon Alley," he said. "Shops here sell everything — clothes, books, food... even things for transportation. If you need something, you can usually find it here."

Luna tilted her head, considering his words. "It's different from what Dad told me," she murmured dreamily. Then, as if remembering something important, she added, "Oh! I should change into Muggle clothes, shouldn't I?"

Vizet chuckled. "Things are different now. You don't have to worry so much. Muggles celebrate Halloween too, you know."

Luna turned to him with interest. "They do?"

"Yeah, they dress up as ghosts and monsters, then go door to door demanding sweets. Trick or treat!" Vizet deepened his voice in a dramatic growl, attempting a menacing imitation.

Luna burst into laughter, her voice as bright and clear as a silver bell. "Ghosts? Like the ones at Hogwarts? Lady Grey and the Bloody Baron? Or do they mean something else?"

"They have their own versions," Vizet said, grinning. "They imagine all sorts of creatures — ghouls, vampires, even walking corpses. They call them zombies."

Luna's eyes widened. "Inferi?"

"Not exactly," Vizet corrected. "Muggle zombies are different. They don't fear fire or light, and they, uh… eat people."

Luna gasped. "Muggles have to deal with those kinds of creatures? That's incredible!"

Vizet chuckled. "They're not real, just things from their stories. Books and movies."

"Movies?" Luna echoed, the word unfamiliar on her tongue.

"Like the pictures in the Daily Prophet, but much bigger. Moving images with sound, played using special devices."

Luna looked completely enchanted by the idea. She clung lightly to Vizet's sleeve, her fingers barely brushing the fabric. Though she wore an expression of curiosity, her grip betrayed a small hesitation. The bustling city, with its flashing signs and chattering crowds, was nothing like the quiet village of Ottery St. Catchpole where she had spent most of her life.

Everywhere she turned, she saw something new — metal carriages that moved without horses, glowing signs with shifting images, strange-looking devices displayed behind shop windows. The air even smelled different, a mix of crisp winter, roasted chestnuts, and something faintly metallic.

For Luna, this place was like stepping into another world entirely.