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On the other side of the room, Ron, still unwilling to give up, reached for yet another box.
This time, he pulled out a long, thin, flexible strip of something. It shimmered faintly with a strange, pearly sheen and looked like a glossy, sinewy ribbon of muscle.
"What's this now supposed to be? Some kind of weird chewy snack?" he mumbled, frowning as he held it up to his nose and gave it a curious sniff. Then, without a second thought, he opened his mouth and leaned in, ready to take a bite.
"Wait… stop!" Hermione cried out just in time. She darted forward and snatched it from his hand in one swift motion, inches before his teeth could sink into it.
Gripping it carefully, she held the strip up to the light and examined it with narrowed eyes. After a moment of close inspection, her expression eased slightly, and she handed it back to Ron.
"It's an Occamy spine," she said with certainty, then pointed to the barely visible spiral ridges that coiled along its length. "Professor Kettleburn taught us how to identify these markings back in Care of Magical Creatures class."
Ron stared at her blankly, clearly drawing a complete blank. "So… what does it do?"
Hermione turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief. "Were you sleepwalking through that class?"
Harry and Ron exchanged a quick glance, and in unspoken agreement, both wisely decided to keep their mouths shut.
Hermione's glare immediately expanded to include them both.
"Occamies are incredibly magical creatures," she began, folding her arms. "They can change their size depending on the space around them, shape-shifting in response to their environment. In North America, some wizards have even hunted them to use their spines for wand cores… but that's illegal, obviously."
"Er… then this…" Ron looked down at the semi-translucent strip in his hands with sudden unease. "You don't think this one's illegal too, do you?"
"Don't worry," Hermione replied confidently. "Hunting wild Occamies is against the law, yes. But their spines themselves can still be bought and sold legally through magical materials markets. And I've even heard that wands made with Occamy cores are especially powerful when it comes to Transfiguration."
"But… what good is that to me?" Ron asked, still looking completely lost.
"Sell it," Hermione said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's probably worth a lot. You should ask at Mr. Ollivander's shop. This kind of material is pretty rare here in Europe."
"Seriously?" Ron's face lit up the moment he heard the words worth a lot. "You mean… I might finally be able to get myself a new wand?"
He turned the gleaming Occamy spine over in his hands, slowly running his fingertips along its length. The cord was cold, slick, and firm beneath his skin, with a strength that felt almost alive. As he toyed with it, he could already hear the joyful clinking of Galleons in his mind, the crisp, musical sound of coins tumbling into a pouch.
"Thanks for the reminder, Hermione! I'll go to Diagon Alley first thing tomorrow!"
He lowered his voice, the excitement making it come out as a breathless whisper. His eyes were gleaming, sparkling with anticipation, as if he could already see his new wand taking shape in his imagination.
"Don't celebrate too soon," Hermione warned him calmly, though her attention had already drifted back toward the tree and the mysterious boxes still hanging from its branches. "That's only if you actually get a chance to visit Diagon Alley, and if Mr. Ollivander is willing to pay you a good price for it."
"He will," Ron said with firm conviction, carefully tucking the rare Occamy spine deep into his pocket, his fingers giving it a final, protective pat. "This stuff's rare! Right, Harry… do you want to try your luck again?"
He turned eagerly to Harry, who had been quietly observing the chaos with an unreadable look on his face.
Harry shook his head and let his gaze wander across the room, watching as the excited first-years eagerly tore into their own presents, some laughing, some squealing with joy.
"No, I think… I've probably used up all my 'luck' already."
His voice was light, but there was a trace of dry humor in it as he recalled the peculiar prizes he had drawn so far; a button that tried to bite him, a notebook whose cover kept shifting into bizarre new patterns, and a small pouch of candy that supposedly made the eater burp up colored bubbles.
Just as they had all noticed earlier, the items that came out later seemed to grow progressively more… ordinary, or perhaps more strange, in ways that felt less like gifts and more like jokes.
"Look," Hermione whispered, nudging Ron and Harry gently with her elbow and lowering her voice, "some people only opened one box, but they look like they really loved what they got. But the ones who kept going, opening more and more…"
She tilted her chin toward a few older students sitting with small piles of odd little trinkets, like a rubber duck that danced on its own or a whistle that mimicked birdsong but kept going off-key. Their expressions were unmistakably underwhelmed.
"It's like the ones they got later were thrown together with a lot less care."
"This tree's got brains," Ron muttered under his breath. "Knows exactly who's greedy."
"Maybe it's not brains," Harry said thoughtfully, eyes lingering on the enchanted tree's softly glowing ornaments. "Maybe… it just knows how to tell what someone truly wants, deep down in their heart."
Just then, a voice like a silver bell floated in from behind them, light and dreamy, as though carried on a drifting breeze.
"Actually, what hangs from the tree… aren't boxes at all. "They're tiny little sun-eggs."
"Sun-eggs?" Ron blinked, completely lost. "What's a sun-egg supposed to be?"
Luna stood nearby, her head tilted at a dreamy angle, those wide, wonder-filled eyes fixed on the glowing branches of the magical tree.
"They hatch people's wishes," she said airily, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. "But… some of the wishes get tangled up in Blibbering Humdinger, so that's why what hatches comes out all strange and funny."
And with that curious explanation, she floated away like a leaf on the wind, joining Ginny with a cheerful smile to share some sweets she had pulled from her gift box, leaving the trio behind, exchanging puzzled glances.
"Er… alright." Ron gave an awkward shrug. "Well, it does look like Ginny's found herself a new friend."
But then his attention wandered once more, back to the "Galleons" nestled deep in his pocket.
The presents hanging from the tree seemed endless. Every time a box was plucked from a branch, a new one grew in its place, shining and tempting. But there was a pattern: the more boxes someone opened, the less special the later gifts seemed to become.
Even so, the students stayed gathered around the tree, drawn in by curiosity and excitement, eyes wide with wonder as they watched each new arrival unwrap their own surprise, eager to see what kind of treasure they might uncover.
Meanwhile, up at the professors' high table, Professor Flitwick was speaking in hushed tones with Professor Sargeras.
"Those trees… they're using Legilimency, aren't they?" Professor Flitwick asked, his voice filled with intrigued admiration.
"Only a bit," Sargeras replied gently. "Just a soft, surface-level probe. Enough to sense what the children desire most, deep in their hearts."
"A marvelous bit of spellwork," Flitwick said with heartfelt admiration.
"It was something you taught me in fifth year," Sargeras replied with a small, humble smile. "I just made a few adjustments of my own."
"Ah, yes… I remember now," Flitwick said, his eyes lighting up with sudden recollection as he set down his cup of eggnog. "The Seven Elegant Applications of Common Charms!"
"That's right," Sargeras said with a nod. "I blended in some advanced magical theories as well. And, well, the results in practice turned out even better than I expected."
"Oh, Sargeras… you must have faced so many challenges along the way…"
Professor Flitwick's voice trembled ever so slightly, just a faint ripple beneath his usual cheer, and there was something warm and wistful behind his words. "When I was younger, I dreamed of writing a monograph about this kind of magic too… but I never had your kind of talent or your perseverance. In the end, I had to let it go."
"It's not too late even now, Professor Flitwick…" Sargeras said gently, meeting his eyes with a sincerity that left no room for doubt. "The best time to plant a tree was ten years ago. The second-best time is right now."
"You speak wisely, Sargeras…" Professor Flitwick sighed, and his small shoulders seemed to droop slightly with the weight of time. "But I'm an old man now. Honestly, I just don't have the courage to pick up the pen again."
"Don't you want to leave behind a book with your name on the cover?" Sargeras asked softly. Though his voice was calm and steady, there was an unmistakable note of encouragement woven through it, rare for someone so reserved. "A book written by you, filled with the wisdom you've gathered over the years?"
"A book…"
Professor Flitwick echoed the word under his breath, and in his voice was a sadness that reached deep.
"Yes… what a tempting thought. But I'm not like you. I've spent most of my life explaining other people's spells to my students…"
Yet even as he spoke, something stirred within him, a faint spark returning to his voice.
"But seeing you take those theories and ideas from old parchment and bring them to life so fully… that gives me more comfort than writing any number of books ever could. Even if the ideas I once dreamed of have probably long gone out of fashion…"
"Please don't say that, Professor…" Sargeras lowered his head slightly, his tone warm, sincere, and filled with quiet reverence. "If it weren't for the inspiration and guidance you gave me back then, this tree would never have been born today. You didn't just teach me what magic is. You taught me the meaning of magic."
"The meaning of magic…"
Professor Flitwick murmured the phrase, and slowly, almost unconsciously, his posture straightened. A gleam of moisture shimmered in his eyes… but this time, the tears were not from sorrow. They were from pride, and joy, and something even deeper.
He picked up his napkin and, with the swift, practiced motion of someone who didn't want to be seen crying, dabbed at the corners of his eyes.
"You're right, Sargeras. It is about meaning! What we seek isn't dazzling tricks or spectacle, but the understanding of a power that flows through all things, and the desire to create something with it."
His gaze turned to the center of the Great Hall, where the magical tree stood bathed in soft, golden light, ever-brimming with gentle magic and quiet wonder. The boxes hanging from its branches continued to form and open silently, each one cradling the hopes and wishes of the young witches and wizards below. Some were bright and certain, others hazy and still taking shape.
He looked at the students gathered around its roots, their faces filled with pure joy, curiosity, and the occasional flicker of confusion, all painted with the innocence and excitement of youth.
And slowly, a smile bloomed across his face. It was a smile of deep contentment, of quiet pride, of fulfillment that came straight from the heart.
When he spoke again, Professor Flitwick's voice had regained its usual spirit. But now there was a new richness in it, something stronger, steadier, and shining from within.
"This is the best Christmas gift we could ask for, Sargeras," he said. "For all of us."
The magical tree stood quietly in the hall, its branches aglow with light and wonder. The gift boxes continued to bloom and unfurl, each one capturing a wish born from the hearts of the children, each one glowing softly, silently, as magic itself filled the room.
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[Chapter End's]
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