The Vatican.

Dawn’s hidden residence.

The dim house flickered with light as green flames flared in the sitting room fireplace. Dawn stepped out of the fire, already restored to his original appearance.

He stretched lazily.

Snow drifted past the window. He had intended to sleep first, but as he turned, he noticed an exquisitely wrapped gift box sitting just outside the door.

Only two people knew this location.

Dawn walked over. As expected, a note lay on top in Horace Slughorn’s hand.

[Richter, Merry Christmas.]

Dawn raised an eyebrow.

He truly had not expected Slughorn to send him anything.

In truth, the Potions master had wrestled with the decision for a long time. If left to his own preferences, he would have sooner fed the gift to a dog than deliver it to Dawn.

But the Unbreakable Vow weighed on his mind. For the sake of a smoother future, Slughorn had reluctantly prepared a Christmas present for the young man who had forced his hand.

Dawn, cautious by nature, examined the package thoroughly before opening it.

Inside lay a large, glittering bottle of Felix Felicis.

No surprise.

But Dawn was extremely satisfied.

He slipped the potion into his wallet, then opened Professor McGonagall’s gift.

Inside was a book on curses.

Unfortunately, it was one he had already read in Harris’s collection.

With a small shake of his head, Dawn tossed the book casually onto his desk.

He entered his bedroom, thinking about the coming operation to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak, and soon drifted into deep sleep.

He was not in a hurry.

The professors would not leave the castle the moment term ended. There were always matters to settle, and some stayed deliberately for the Christmas feast.

So Dawn decided to act after Christmas passed.

Days slipped by.

Soon it was December 25.

On Christmas Day, snow blanketed the world. The earth was pale with frost, and people in thick coats ran laughing through the biting wind.

In the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts, Dumbledore stirred awake.

The slightest movement caused a pile of presents beside his bed to collapse, several boxes tumbling onto him.

He sighed in resignation.

As a wizard of global renown, he received mountains of gifts every Christmas. Opening them and sending replies took an entire day.

It was troublesome.

But each gift carried someone’s goodwill.

And even amid the turmoil surrounding Voldemort, he reserved a day to honor that goodwill.

Sitting up in bed, he reached for the nearest present and unwrapped it.

“Ah. A Collection of Wizarding Jokes. I read this ten years ago, but perhaps it merits another look.”

He placed the book beside his pillow and opened another package.

Inside was a sweater embroidered with a lion.

“Splendid. Molly remains wonderfully skillful.”

Next came a full bottle of Felix Felicis.

He smiled faintly. He could easily guess the sender. Few people he knew distributed Felix Felicis so liberally, and Slughorn was foremost among them.

He set it aside and unwrapped a lion-emblazoned box.

A golden Snitch model burst out, fluttering its wings.

“A charming little thing.”

With a flick of his wand, a Bludger from last year’s gift and a Quaffle from the year before floated from a cabinet. He placed the Snitch beside them.

He continued.

Professor Flitwick had sent a book of goblin lore.

Professor Sprout had sent an ornamental plant, its perforated leaves producing festive sounds as wind passed through them.

As for Snape—truthfully, throughout both student days and years of employment, the Headmaster had never once received a Christmas gift from him.

He found himself idly wondering what Snape might put in a box if that day ever came.

Lost in such thoughts, he opened another package.

Inside were brightly colored sweets in strange flavors.

He popped one into his mouth.

“Dragon’s blood. Curious.”

He glanced at the tag. “From Professor Hickman. A pity there are no cockroach clusters.”

He poured the candies into a large jar reserved for such treats.

Then he reached for a smaller box. It had been expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm.

Inside rested a magical gramophone and a complete set of vinyl records.

His expression softened in surprise.

He recognized the sender at once.

Lifting the gramophone, he found a note affixed beneath it.

[Albus, Merry Christmas. This will likely be my last Christmas gift to you. I thought it best to leave you with my favorite possession. No need to thank me. – Nicolas Flamel.]

The Headmaster sighed quietly.

Since the Philosopher’s Stone had been destroyed the previous year, Flamel no longer possessed the means to brew the Elixir of Life.

The inevitable farewell approached.

Though sorrow lingered, he believed death to be a grand adventure. And he respected Flamel’s choice.

He rose from bed, waved his wand, and neatly arranged the scattered gift boxes along the walls, clearing a path.

At his desk, he placed the gramophone at one corner and set a record spinning.

As he removed record after record from the box, he noticed something unexpected buried beneath them.

A delicate bracelet.

A note clung to it.

[Albus, nothing can restrain a free phoenix. However, if you place this on one, it should cause its consciousness to fall into eternal sleep. Probably.]

Dumbledore expression grew solemn.

He glanced toward Fawkes’s perch, intending perhaps to test it, but the phoenix was not present.

With a faint shake of his head, he set the bracelet aside carefully.

He resumed unwrapping gifts.

Then his eyes brightened.

From another box, he drew a book titled One Hundred Ways to Knit Woolen Socks.

“Oh, I rather like this.”

He smiled warmly.

Inside the box lay a folded note.

Curious to see who understood him so well, he unfolded it.

The smile on his face stiffened for a moment.

[Headmaster, as the student who knows you best, I imagine you must be delighted to receive this. But do you know what I want?

Dawn Richter.]

___________

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