"Lord Patrick!" Vance grinned, baring his yellowed teeth. "It seems you're quite popular at this school! At this very moment, in this very room, at least five pairs of eyes are fixed on you!"
"Is that so?" Christopher nodded calmly, his expression unchanged. "There will be more soon…"
The two distinguished guests from Durmstrang Institute spoke in low voices, far too soft for the surrounding guests to overhear.
Had anyone caught their words, they would have been astonished—
The renowned Headmaster Vance was addressing an "ordinary" student with unmistakable deference.
But to the others, it looked like nothing more than a cordial exchange between teacher and student.
"It seems Hogwarts is facing quite a few troubles lately," Headmaster Vance remarked after lifting a glass of sherry and taking a measured sip.
"Oh? What makes you say that?" Christopher asked lightly.
"For instance, the host of this banquet. There's something rather unusual about the aura around him." Vance turned to look at Horace Slughorn, who was chatting animatedly with several guests.
"Indeed," Christopher replied without lifting his head or glancing toward the Potions professor.
"And on a holiday as important as Christmas, Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster himself, isn't even on campus," Vance continued.
"Oh?" Christopher looked up with mild curiosity. "Wasn't Albus Dumbledore here just a few hours ago? How can you be certain he's no longer at Hogwarts?"
"That was a fake," Vance snorted. "A rather mediocre piece of Transfiguration. To be honest, I suspect Dumbledore's magic has declined… Of course, Had I not seen that exact Transfiguration fifty years ago, I might have been deceived as well."
Christopher nearly choked on his ale. He coughed softly before shifting the subject.
"And yet you're not at Durmstrang Castle either, especially on Christmas."
"I merely answered your summons. It's my honor to attend this Christmas party." Vance smiled faintly and inclined his head toward Christopher.
"Dumbledore might be doing the same," Christopher said evenly. "Perhaps he's attending a Christmas party as well."
...
A brief silence settled between them.
At last, Headmaster Vance spoke again.
"I wonder how the Master is doing… Mr. Patrick, do you have any news of his whereabouts?"
"If you mean Lord Grindelwald…" Christopher began slowly.
At the mention of that name, Vance shuddered despite himself.
"As far as I know, two months ago he was fishing for salmon on the shores of Lake Baikal." Christopher paused. "As for now, I can't say. He might be in Alaska, racing sled dogs."
"Is that so…" A trace of relief appeared on Vance's face.
It didn't quite match the fearsome reputation that followed him.
"So why did you summon me here?" He dabbed lightly at the corner of his eye and looked back at Christopher. "To be honest, This old mind of mine simply can't quite grasp it."
"Simply to attend a party," Christopher replied calmly. "Here, try the pudding."
Vance nodded obediently and took a few bites, smiling as he did.
"It's quite good. A touch too sweet, perhaps."
Then, as if casually, he added, "And Rosier and Frederick? Did they come to Britain for a Christmas banquet as well?"
Mid-sentence, Vance's expression shifted abruptly.
As though something had just occurred to him, his voice turned faintly pleading.
"Mr. Patrick, if I've asked something I shouldn't have, I hope you won't take offense."
"It's nothing, Vance." Christopher looked entirely unconcerned. "There's no great secret. Rosier is attending a Christmas banquet as well—his is in London. As for Frederick, I asked him to come and take away a new friend of ours."
"A new friend…" Headmaster Winston Vance murmured.
His gaze toward the boy beside him grew noticeably more complicated.
After a moment, as though gathering his courage, he asked, "Mr. Patrick, forgive me for one final question. You've inherited the Master's will… Will you also inherit his ideals?"
It was not a simple question.
At least, not for Christopher.
He stared at the wine glass in his hand for nearly five full minutes.
At last, after careful thought, he answered calmly, "Why not?"
...
The chaotic banquet was finally winding down.
Most of the guests looked thoroughly satisfied.
Music began rising from all directions.
Horace Slughorn gave a flourish of his wand, and a large stage appeared in the center of the hall.
A specially hired band launched into an energetic performance.
"Now that we've eaten and drunk our fill—" Horace Slughorn's booming voice rang out from the stage. "Let's celebrate properly!"
He strode up to Professor Sybill Trelawney, bowed slightly, and extended his hand.
Several empty beer bottles sat in front of Professor Trelawney.
She staggered to her feet, clearly drunk, and soon the two of them were dancing in a thoroughly uncoordinated fashion.
One pair after another made their way onto the stage.
Meanwhile, a few people had already grown impatient.
"Christopher!"
"Christopher!"
"Christopher Patrick!"
Draco Malfoy forced his way through the crowd, trying to reach the long table at the front.
But just as he approached, he caught sight of several faces he loathed—
"Potter… Granger… Weasley…" he hissed.
The trio, however, paid him no attention.
Their focus was entirely on the notorious Headmaster of Durmstrang.
"Headmaster Vance…" Hermione seemed to muster her courage as she addressed the rather unremarkable-looking old man. "May I ask where Mr. Patrick has gone?"
"Young people," Headmaster Vance said with a grin, his yellow teeth looking especially unsettling, "will naturally be off enjoying themselves."
"The moment Slughorn announced the dance, Christopher went off to invite a charming young lady for a dance…"