The next gift came from Dumbledore himself.
He presented Damon with three phoenix feathers, five drops of phoenix tears, and a small vial of dragon's blood. Alongside them was a letter, carefully written, explaining the uses of each treasure.
Though every item was priceless, Damon's eyes lingered on the tears. Phoenix tears were a universal antidote—there was hardly a poison in existence that a single drop could not cure. If one drop wasn't enough, then two would surely suffice.
He carefully placed the crystal bottle of tears into a padded slot inside his potion drawer. The other two gifts he left casually on his desk. They were valuable, yes, but as they were mainly tied to wandcraft and advanced alchemy, they weren't of much use to him just yet.
Still, electives would begin next year.
Hogwarts offered five: Divination, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies. Alchemy, however, wasn't available until sixth year.
Damon had already made his choice. Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures would be enough—plus, he intended to study Alchemy early. He would skip the waiting line.
News of this spread quietly. At Dumbledore's invitation, Nicolas Flamel himself had agreed to join Hogwarts the following year as the professor of Alchemy. For now, the decision was kept under strict secrecy.
Hermione nearly burst with joy when she heard. Harry and Ron, swept up in her excitement, eagerly put their names down as well.
But Damon wasn't nearly as thrilled as his friends. For him, this was simply a convenient stepping-stone. He welcomed the guidance of a master, yes—but in the end, it was just one small advantage along the path he was destined to walk. He would master every branch of knowledge in existence. His hunger for wisdom, coupled with his boundless talent, left no other possibility.
He shook his head with a faint smile. He was overthinking again.
With the professors' gifts opened, it was time to turn to those sent by people beyond the school.
There were letters from Basda Basak, Amelia Burns, the editor of Transfiguration Today, the president of the Transfiguration Society, several members of the Wizengamot, and a number of the twenty-eight Sacred Houses. What had once been a prestigious alliance of noble families had now dwindled to only three true representatives.
Many more had written, but Damon barely spared them a glance. He skimmed a few letters, recognized a few names, then tossed the rest aside. The unopened parcels began to pile up, and he decided he would let his roommates open them later. They enjoyed that sort of thing—gawking at gifts, marveling at big names, pretending to touch greatness.
When it came to student gifts, the mood grew warmer.
Hermione gave him a book, Ron handed over his favorite comic, and Harry presented him with a silver brooch that shimmered faintly with magic. Seamus, ever reckless, brought him a gadget that exploded as soon as Damon touched it. Neville, in all sincerity, gifted him a georgette—a flower whose twisted petals resembled a human face. Damon very nearly hurled it straight out the window.
The Weasley twins, of course, sent their greetings in the form of a report. A long letter detailed their latest "achievements," accompanied by a bundle of prototypes.
There were flying shoes that sent the wearer tumbling uncontrollably through the air—though the altitude was mercifully capped at two meters. A spray that released horrific stenches, enough to make anyone faint. A prototype of their "extendable ears," which Damon eyed with suspicion before setting aside. He could replicate the effect with magic in far simpler ways.
Still, their ingenuity impressed him.
Not all of it was acceptable. "Sour Pops," for example—candies that literally burned holes in the eater's tongue. Damon rejected them at once, frowning. Was the wizarding world truly so… brutal?
The canary cookies, though—those were clever. A simple custard biscuit that turned the eater into a giant, feathered canary for one minute before reverting them back. Unfortunately, the transfiguration process remained unstable, and the twins had begged Damon for advice.
With a quill in hand, Damon jotted down notes in the margins of their letter, offering solutions where he could. He sealed the reply and set it aside for the owl post.
Other inventions ranged from "biting doorknobs" to "constipation kernels." Ridiculous, dangerous, and yet oddly fascinating.
At times Damon felt like an old, stubborn scholar—shaking his head at pranks that bent the very rules of magic. Perhaps he was too conservative. But then he would remind himself: as long as he became the strongest wizard alive, who would dare call him un-magical? Let them try.
The warmth of Christmas lingered for three full days.
Ever since Dumbledore and Damon's battle with Voldemort, the Headmaster carried himself with a lighter heart. The shadow that had weighed upon him seemed to have lifted. He now believed, with quiet certainty, that even if Voldemort clawed his way back from the darkness again, he would never be able to surpass Damon.
The school itself buzzed with life. Mischief, laughter, and the clash of new and old faces filled the halls. So lively was the atmosphere that many began suggesting Hogwarts establish a new tradition: an "Open Day" after Christmas, inviting former students and distinguished guests onto the grounds.
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall both considered it seriously. Such interactions, they agreed, could inspire the younger generation of wizards. The only hesitation lay in matters of safety.
Eventually, the holiday ended, and reality returned. Harry and his friends blinked in surprise—had the Christmas break truly vanished so quickly?
The Fiendfyre that had raged, the quake that had shaken the castle, Lockhart's disgrace and his near-death collapse, the chaos of the Christmas feast… all of it faded into memory, slowly losing its sharpness.
But just as peace settled in, shocking news swept the school.
With Lockhart incapacitated and no replacement available, Hogwarts had no choice but to appoint a temporary professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The position fell to none other than the head of Slytherin House—Severus Snape.
And so, Snape at last, got what he wanted.
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(End of Chapter)