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The gift that Pandero had “procured” from Father Christmas was truly an enigma. At first glance, it was nothing more than a simple paper-wrapped box, yet it inexplicably radiated an air of absolute invulnerability.
No wonder Pandero had looked so smug at the time, his expression practically declaring, “If Ian doesn’t plead with me, he’ll never get this present open.” The young wizard, indeed, found himself utterly helpless in his attempts to unwrap it.
“What in Merlin’s name is inside?” As the old adage goes, the more unattainable something is, the more one obsesses over it. At this moment, Ian felt as though ten thousand Animagus-transfigured Professor McGonagalls were clawing at his heart.
However,
Both his hands and his magic proved utterly useless against Father Christmas’s present. Ian even attempted to use a severing charm strong enough to slice through enchanted iron, but the box remained resolutely intact. Its colorful ribbons remained pristine, unruffled, as if silently mocking his efforts.
By now, Ian was no longer concerned with the actual contents, he simply had to know what was inside.
“Am I really going to have to beg Pandero?” Ian muttered under his breath, wiping sweat from his brow as he disdainfully tossed aside the vial of corrosive potion he had been considering. Even a concentrated dose of acid, potent enough to eat through solid stone, had failed to so much as smudge the wrapping paper.
The potion was still bubbling where it had splashed onto the floor, eating through the flagstone with alarming efficiency. The present, however, remained unscathed, looking as though it had merely been sprinkled with a few drops of water. While the surrounding area was now riddled with pits and reeking of burnt minerals, the gift sat undisturbed, looking elegant, untouchable, and maddeningly perfect.
This gift was proof that some things in the magical world simply did not abide by conventional rules. If one had enough of these, Ian mused, they could probably build an unbreakable tower stretching up to the stars.
“I don’t even want it anymore!” He huffed, giving the present a frustrated kick before hesitating, sighing, and carefully retrieving it. With a defeated expression, he dusted it off and tucked it back into his enchanted pouch. His attachment to the gift now resembled that of an emperor with a harem of three thousand, yet obsessing over the one beauty he could never claim— his unattainable ‘white moonlight.’
The room was filled with an assortment of other presents, all of which Ian had painstakingly gathered from beside his dormitory bed. Despite the relatively small number of students who had remained at Hogwarts over the holidays, he had received an impressive number of gifts.
The belated Christmas had certainly lived up to expectations. The sheer number of presents stacked before him formed an awe-inspiring sight, one that could easily be described as a small mountain.
At the very least, it was larger than three or four Ians combined.
“This is undeniable proof of my excellent social standing,” Ian muttered to himself, carefully sorting through the packages. Not only were there gifts from his fellow Ravenclaws, but several had also come from students in other Houses.
This was likely a result of Ian’s habit of casually offering magical advice to his classmates. One particularly bold Hufflepuff had even sent him a packet of magically enhanced Chomping Cabbage seeds which is clearly the result of a successful experiment inspired by his guidance.
Evidently.
Ian’s advice had been useful to her. Who said Hogwarts lacked brilliance outside of Ravenclaw? If things continued this way, he believed Hufflepuff might soon produce another Newt Scamander— though this time, in the realm of magical botany.
Of course.
That was assuming the ambitious young witch, who had an alarmingly reckless imagination and a tendency to ignore his warnings, didn’t end up as dragon fodder when she inevitably attempted to befriend a Welsh Green after graduation.
“Slytherin House only sent one gift? Unbelievable! They truly are incorrigible. My compensation hasn’t even arrived by Christmas!” Ian muttered, making a mental note of this grievance before returning his attention to unwrapping the rest of his presents.
Christmas presents must have been the inspiration for blind box designs. Regardless of whether he needed them or not, the anticipation before unwrapping them truly allowed Ian to revel in the festive spirit.
The largest present came from Hagrid. He hadn’t used traditional wrapping paper but had instead placed Ian’s gift inside an enormous wooden barrel.
“Please don’t let a magical creature jump out of it,” Ian thought nervously as he pried open the lid. Fortunately, Hagrid had refrained from such surprises— this time.
Inside the barrel was a trove of raw magical materials. Among them were incredibly rare unicorn feathers and, to Ian’s delight, a collection of frog brains, something he had repeatedly pestered Hagrid for.
The half-giant’s gift was as rugged as his outward appearance, but it was clear he had put considerable thought into it. Gathering such an array of materials from the Forbidden Forest was no small feat.
Ian could almost picture Hagrid sneaking into the forest at odd hours, carefully collecting supplies just for him.
“I hope he likes my gift too,” Ian mused as he carefully stored each item. The present he had prepared for Hagrid was a complete set of enchanted dragon figurines.
Though each figurine was only the size of a palm, they could not only move but also breathe fire and interact with their surroundings. Out of personal interest, Ian had even included a few fantastical dragon models beyond those known to exist.
There was a frost dragon that could exhale icy breath, a skeletal dragon that spewed eerie blue flames, and a comically small dragon with exaggerated, cartoonish features. He was certain Hagrid would be overjoyed.
“When I refine my enchantments, I’ll sell magical battle pets in Diagon Alley and revolutionize the future of wizarding duels!” Ian had made sure to send gifts to nearly everyone he knew— any student he had exchanged nods with at least three times had received one.
It wasn’t that Ian was particularly generous, but minor alchemical trinkets cost him virtually nothing to produce. It was an easy way to hone his craft and foster goodwill— a triple win for him.
He gained twice, and his classmates gained once. Compared to Hagrid’s generous barrel of rare materials, the other students’ gifts were largely symbolic.
Still, Ian took great pleasure in opening them.
The Weasley twins had sent him a bundle of sweets. Ian, however, didn’t dare eat them. This gift, along with the rather questionable “Elder Sister’s original undergarments” from a mischievous night-class student, was promptly stashed in a hidden chamber within the Room of Requirement. Perhaps, years from now, some unsuspecting soul would stumble upon the relics he had conveniently “forgotten.”
“It’s not that I dislike them,” Ian reasoned. “I just have a strong sense of self-preservation.”
He continued unwrapping his gifts. Compared to the dubious offerings, the complete set of collectible Chocolate Frog cards he received from the factory heir was an impressive show of generosity.
For someone who often seemed strapped for cash, so much so that he once tried using Chocolate Frogs as tuition for night classes, he had given away an astonishingly valuable collection. It was like discovering a wizarding version of the legendary Spicy Prince’s hidden fortune.
“The Ravenclaw students mostly sent books. I appreciate that,” Ian noted, already opening his seventh volume. The ever-enthusiastic Penelope Clearwater had gifted him a copy of ‘The Legend of Merlin’.
His two roommates had also given him books. One was ‘Magical Creatures in the Cauldron’, and the other was ‘The Secret War: Following That Man’s Struggle’.
Both were rare volumes, not even available in Knockturn Alley.
Perhaps fate was giving Ian a subtle nudge, for the very next present he unwrapped was ‘Magical Creature Classification and Sentencing Standards’— a gift from none other than Cho Chang.
“…”
Ian suspected that some of his Housemates might have a few misconceptions about him. Thankfully, the professors held no such illusions. His excellent rapport with staff had even earned him Christmas gifts from all four Heads of House.
Professor McGonagall had sent him a finely crafted brooch, engraved with the symbol of Transfiguration. It seemed her present also carried an unspoken expectation for Ian to delve deeper into her discipline.
Professor Flitwick’s gift was a notebook brimming with personal annotations and spellcraft notes, a private compilation of his own research in Charms, never before published but undeniably filled with valuable knowledge. Professor Sprout’s contribution was a set of maintenance kits for magical tools. Ian’s frequent assistance to Hufflepuff students had clearly left a good impression on the professor.
“My dear uncle didn’t send me potions,” Ian muttered as he opened the final gift from a Head of House, discovering an alchemically enchanted item layered with a Protego charm.
It was most definitely purchased.
Ian reckoned that Snape was worried the current dangers lurking at Hogwarts might one day entangle him. Clearly, Snape had no idea Ian was still plotting ways to set Voldemort on fire again. His concern was about as effective as Ian fretting that Snape’s perpetually greasy hair might someday make him go bald.
“I do hope he likes the shampoo I sent,” Ian mused. Of course, he hadn’t resorted to store-bought Potter-brand shampoo just to provoke the man. Instead, he had painstakingly brewed an entire batch of magical herbal shampoo himself which was infused with several rare ingredients discreetly sourced from Snape’s own private stores during the yearly supply rotation.
He wondered whether Snape, upon unwrapping it, would dash to inspect his cabinets in panic.
“Right, time to see what my best friend sent me!” Ian beamed, placing the final present in front of him.
It was a gift from Aurora.
As the earliest and closest friend he had made at Hogwarts, Ian had taken great care in selecting her gift— a copy of ‘The Book of Parselmouth’ and a ring forged from the same enchanted material as the Resurrection Stone.
No, it wouldn’t let Aurora speak with souls in the Twilight Realm, but this bespoke “Patronus Ring” was undoubtedly designed to enhance the bond between Aurora and her Patronus.
After all.
The Patronus is, by nature, closely tied to the veil between worlds. Ian vividly recalled how Aurora had struggled for months to summon a corporeal Patronus or forge a stable connection with it.
This particular gift had taken more time and effort than the presents he’d prepared for Dumbledore and Grindelwald, both of whom had received custom-made wizarding chess set, personally designed by Ian himself.
Each piece in the set had been reskinned with enchanting aesthetics far more impressive than any Muggle video game merchandise. Even the pawns had been reimagined as orcs and high elves reminiscent of magical legends.
And that wasn’t all.
The knights rode Thestrals and unicorns; one side wielded the chilling blade Frostmourne, the other bore the blazing sword Fiery Joy. The red king resembled Dumbledore, with a staff in hand, while the black king was unmistakably Grindelwald. Ian had even added magical effects that animated the pieces during battle, turning the set into a true collector’s masterpiece.
Of course.
None of it compared to the time, energy, and sentiment he had poured into the “Patronus Ring.”
“The Resurrection Stone is made from that kind of stone, and my ring is crafted from the same material. If you think about it, it’s practically like I’ve gifted my best friend a Deathly Hallow!”
Ian opened Aurora’s present with eager anticipation.
He remembered that when he and Aurora were searching for magical eggs in the Forbidden Forest, Aurora had mentioned she had already prepared a Christmas gift for Ian— a treasure she had stolen from Grindelwald.
“Let’s see what this so-called treasure is!”
Ian eagerly tore open the box.
However.
Instead of finding some ominous Dark artifact as he had expected, he discovered a small, delicate object with a metallic sheen, its craftsmanship exceptionally fine.
“What is this supposed to mean? Did she just give me a house?”
Ian lifted the object from the box.
It was a key, intricately designed with elaborate patterns and a slightly hollow structure, clearly quite old. Under the light, its surface gleamed with a polished texture.
A key.
…
The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet.
In fact, they could even be described as somewhat deserted.
Since most students had chosen to return home for Christmas, only a handful remained at the castle, and those who did preferred to stay nestled in the warmth of their common rooms.
When Ian emerged from the Room of Requirement, he exhaled a large puff of white mist into the crisp winter air.
At this moment, the usual bustling student activity was absent— no lively figures darting through the corridors, no laughter spilling from classrooms, and no brooms soaring above the Quidditch pitch. The Great Hall, the towers, and the snow-covered grounds of Hogwarts stood in a tranquil hush beneath the soft winter sunlight.
On such days, few students ventured to the Great Hall for meals. However, Ian still encountered a familiar face at the entrance.
“Miss Greengrass! Where’s my Christmas present?” Ian called out, following his personal principle— if he had exchanged nods with someone at least three times, they deserved a gift from him. Daphne Greengrass, who had treated him as if he were a dangerous creature all term, had been no exception.
Yet, he had not received a gift in return.
“Do you expect me to flatter you endlessly?” The young wizard was clearly displeased, making Daphne Greengrass and her companion, Getha Selwyn, visibly tense.
“I… I did send one! It’s in the same box as Cho Chang’s gift!” Daphne Greengrass hurriedly explained, leaving Ian momentarily stunned.
“The Christmas card in there was from you?” Ian recalled and widened his eyes. “As a pure-blood heir, you sent me nothing but a Christmas card?”
His tone carried a distinct note of indignation.
“Could it be… that my father has stopped giving me an allowance?” Daphne Greengrass forced a smile, though it looked more painful than reassuring.
To prove her point, she pulled out her money pouch, revealing a truly pitiful state— only a few copper Knuts jingled inside, not a single silver Sickle in sight.
“I can’t even afford a proper present…”
Daphne Greengrass’s tone was laced with sincerity and helplessness. This was the same young witch who had suffered nothing but misfortune all term after carelessly hurling the word “Mudblood” at Ian. Now, she was clearly struggling.
“She won’t even lend you money? Some friend she is,” Ian remarked, shifting his gaze to Getha Selwyn, who had been attempting to bury her head like an ostrich. At his words, the young witch jolted upright and began fumbling through her own money pouch in a sudden panic.
In her panic, Getha Selwyn’s money pouch slipped from her fingers, landing on the ground with an ominous silence. When she hastily picked it up and pried it open, the contents were even more pitiful than Daphne Greengrass’s.
It was completely empty.
“We’re really out of money. My family isn’t sending me anything at all,” Getha murmured, her tone laced with despair.
“So, you two are officially Hogwarts’ very own broke sisters,” Ian observed, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled out two copper Knuts from his own pouch. He handed one to each of the witches with an air of exaggerated generosity.
“Consider this a reminder fee. Make sure your families send me my compensation soon,” he said breezily before turning on his heel and striding into the Great Hall.
“Liquidating assets takes time…” Daphne muttered under her breath.
The latest whispers from the sixth years suggested that the Greengrass vaults were currently tied up in some rather inconvenient financial matters, though Ian, having already disappeared into the Hall likely hadn’t heard. If he had, he might have pieced together why certain pure-blood families had been abruptly cut off.
It was clear that Dumbledore had finally decided to make the old families bleed a little.
“Did he send you a Christmas gift?” Getha asked once Ian was out of earshot, her gaze flicking to Daphne with a mixture of intrigue and suspicion.
Her tone carried the kind of disbelief one might use upon discovering a so-called friend had attended an exclusive Yule Ball without extending an invitation.
“I heard he sent gifts to loads of people… Maybe he’s trying to win them over?” Daphne reasoned, her thoughts shaped by the pure-blood mentality she had been raised with.
“Then why didn’t he think to win me over? Our family isn’t any less influential than yours…” Getha grumbled, folding her arms in visible discontent.
Daphne had no real answer to that.
“What did he send you, anyway?” Getha pressed on, curiosity gleaming in her eyes.
Daphne let out a slow sigh. “I haven’t dared to open it yet. The way Little Grindelwald was looking at me was… strange. I was afraid that the moment I did, I’d get hit with a Killing Curse.”
Getha’s eyes widened in alarm. She even sucked in a sharp breath.
“He put a Killing Curse in your present? Merlin’s beard! The Dark Lord himself wasn’t that terrifying!”
The sheer sincerity of her reaction left Daphne momentarily speechless.
“…”
She considered clarifying, but before she could, Getha— ever the pragmatist— tentatively suggested taking the gift straight to Professor Sprout, the neutral Head of Hufflepuff House, to lodge a complaint.
Daphne finally groaned.
“I never said the Killing Curse would come from his gift…”
There was a brief silence as realization dawned on Getha.
“?????”
A beat passed before Getha’s face twisted in a mixture of shock and comprehension.
“You think Miss Grindelwald would curse you? No way. If she and Ian really had that kind of relationship, the first person to get blown to bits wouldn’t be you. The whole school’s been whispering that he’s dating the Ravenclaw door knocker.”
Clearly.
Some rumors never arrived late.
“That’s even more ridiculous than the rubbish I had to spread for Professor Lockhart,” Daphne scoffed, shaking her head. If nothing else, her previous experience as a professional gossipmonger had granted her an eye for outlandish stories.
“Who can say for certain…? My father once mentioned that the Dark Lord had an unusual fondness for snakes. The way these powerful wizards think is completely beyond us,” Getha Selwyn mused, her voice tinged with reluctant fascination.
As she spoke, an adult wizard passed by, prompting her to instinctively straighten up and offer a polite greeting.
“Professor Quirrell, good afternoon.”
Getha even added a slight bow, her pure-blood upbringing ensuring her etiquette was impeccable. However, when she glanced up, she was met with the Muggle Studies professor’s gaze— cold and unsettling, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
“You look well too,” Quirrell remarked, his voice barely above a whisper.
A strange prickle crept over Getha’s scalp.
She tried to recall if she had ever done anything to offend this particular professor, but before she could ask, Quirrell had already slipped into the Great Hall, vanishing among the other staff members gathering for lunch.
“Shall we go in?” Daphne Greengrass asked, her gaze flicking towards the Slytherin table, where Ian was already seated, eating and chatting with Aurora.
“Skipping a meal is just an easy way to lose weight…” Getha muttered, clearly reluctant to approach the Slytherin table. She wasn’t keen on sitting at another House’s table either.
“You’re right.”
Despite her stomach growling, Daphne made a swift decision, turning away from the Great Hall. Getha, looking equally conflicted, followed close behind.
“You don’t think he’s planning to claim our table for the entire holiday, do you?” Getha muttered, dread creeping into her voice.
Daphne had been wondering the same thing.
“If it comes to that, we can always sneak into the greenhouses and chew on some herbs.”
Her “brilliant” suggestion didn’t sound particularly appealing.
It had to be said—
The broke sisters of Slytherin had, in an ironic twist of fate, become even poorer than some of the students they once sneered at. While the two of them were plotting how to survive the holiday on foraged plant matter, Ian was comfortably seated at the Slytherin table, enjoying a proper meal.
Of course, even as he ate, his gaze kept drifting upward.
“What are you looking at?” Aurora finally asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
“I’m mourning my losses,” Ian replied with a sigh, a trace of melancholy in his tone.
Just yesterday, he had orchestrated a little Christmas surprise right here in the Great Hall, yet not only had he failed to recover the Galleons he had hidden away— he hadn’t even seen a single Knut of it.
“So, last night’s commotion was your doing…” Aurora quickly pieced things together, her eyes widening in realization.
“Who ended up with that Galleon, then?” Ian wondered if there was still a way to salvage his losses.
“No idea. I doubt anyone knows. During the feast, everyone was too busy dodging falling objects. The professors thought it was just another of Peeves’ pranks,” Aurora said, rubbing her forehead— likely the spot where something had struck her.
“…”
Ian fell silent for a moment.
“Right, of course. It must have been Peeves’ doing,” He declared with a tone of righteous indignation. “I just happened to witness the chaos unfold.”
“??????”
Aurora gave him a long, unimpressed look.
Sensing her skepticism, Ian decided it was best to change the subject.
“So, about that key you gave me, what’s it for? Is it for a mansion in Austria? Can I pick the décor?” His curiosity about the gift had been one of the reasons he had chosen to sit here in the first place.
“It’s not a house key, and no, it won’t let you waltz into some grand estate,” Aurora replied calmly. “But it will grant you access to a vault in a goblin bank in Northern Europe, one my grandfather kept hidden away.”
Ian’s expression shifted.
“I don’t actually know what’s inside,” Aurora continued, “But whatever it is, it must be something valuable. My grandfather went to great lengths to conceal it, and I only managed to uncover its location thanks to my talent.”
Ian’s eyes widened.
“What? You don’t like it?” Aurora tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled. “I thought you’d be thrilled… You do love gold Galleons, after all.”
“No… it’s just…”
Ian quickly fished the key from his pocket. He had considered several possibilities— at one point, he had even entertained the ridiculous thought that it might be a key to the Slytherin girls’ dormitory.
However.
The truth was far more alarming than even his wildest speculations.
“Only you would be bold enough to pull something like this!” Ian felt his heart lurch, his hands tightening around the key as he instinctively cast a wary glance down the table.
Luckily, Grindelwald wasn’t here for lunch. That, at least, was a relief.
Because, in the end—
This wasn’t just about sneaking off with some forgotten treasure.
Aurora had directly exposed one of Grindelwald’s secrets.
(End of this chapter.)
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