Chapter 50: Christmas Morning
Christmas Day arrived in the blink of an eye.
Early in the morning, the owls outside the window were a little noisy.
Melvin woke up to them and slowly opened his eyes.
The firewood and coal in the fireplace had burned down, leaving only a handful of black embers. The room was still warm, the air dry and slightly stifling. He cast a spell to crack open the window, and a cold breeze immediately entered. Outside, he could hear the north wind whistling through the gardens and the tower.
A pile of packages lay on the carpet beside his bed.
He changed out of his pajamas and slowly finished washing up.
Who could believe Hogwarts had hot water 24 hours a day?
All he could say was that the house-elves were the foundation of the school.
When he left the bathroom, the stifling air that had accumulated overnight had completely cleared. Melvin then went to his side of the bed to open the Christmas presents he had received.
His old friends were across the ocean, so he wouldn't be receiving gifts from them this year. He had only been at Hogwarts for three or four months and hadn't met or befriended many wizards, so there weren't many gifts, and he counted them quickly.
Mrs. Marchbanks had sent him some cookies, though they didn't look particularly attractive, apparently handmade.
Several elective professors had gifted him exquisite men's jewelry, perhaps believing it suited his style. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick sent him books, and Professor Sprout sent dried flower buds with a lingering fragrance.
Dumbledore also gave him a storybook, "Tales of Fungi: Origins" by Beatrix Bloxam. The cover included an editor's recommendation:
"These stories morbidly focus on the most horrifying themes: death, disease, bloodshed, dark magic, twisted personalities, and the most repulsive bodily eruptions."
Melvin didn't bother guessing the headmaster's thoughts and decided to find an opportunity to give the book to students so they could understand the reading.
Snape sent him a small vial of antidote for the Silencing Potion, which seemed quite sharp.
Sensing the potion's malicious aura, Melvin discreetly put it aside, intending to sell it to Mr. Borgin someday.
The last letter was the most unusual. It wasn't written on parchment, and the ink had no scent. It was purely Muggle in origin, but the envelope bore the seal of the Department of Owl Management and stamps from both the Magical Congress of the United States of America and the British Ministry of Magic.
Upon opening it, he saw it was from an assistant:
"Melvin,
Hello, it's me, your forgotten subordinate, Claire. I know you'll be surprised to receive this letter, and I was equally surprised when I began writing it. After arriving at Disney, I tried to contact you (calls, messages, emails) but got no response. The cinema didn't have your contact info, and I even suspected you had been arrested.
Then someone from the Woolworth Building contacted me. Honestly, I don't know how they found me. They knew my address, knew I was looking for you, and asked about your time at the cinema, how those special effects were achieved... I suspect they're from an official agency, a Pentagon office, or something like that. Their questioning is very peculiar, you know? Fits my image of a scatterbrained bureaucrat.
A relatively kind Mr. Graves told me that you're volunteering at a remote, underdeveloped school on the British frontier. Without electricity, water, or internet, it's hard to reach you through normal channels only by letter. This is the seventh letter I've sent; the six previous ones were returned, saying they had to censor it for international mail. Damn, I'd rather believe you were arrested for leaking state secrets or something. Back to the topic:
I don't know how you managed it. I thought I would be trained in a Hollywood company, but I was directly hired at Walt Disney. I receive the same benefits as regular employees, and my promotion was incredibly smooth. Everyone thinks I have a special background.
Because my promotion was so smooth, I will be transferred to Paris after the Christmas holidays to help manage Disneyland's operations, which opens next year...
Boss, are you still my boss? Contact me as soon as possible.
Merry Christmas! I hope you get this before Christmas.
Your unfaithful subordinate, Claire."
Melvin left the letter with a slight smile. He opened the inkwell, and while waiting for the quill to fill with ink, he began thinking of his response.
Headmaster's Office
On the shelf, Fawkes, the phoenix, curled up with his ragged cloth cap, legs tucked in, pecking with a nearly human expression of complaint. Too sleepy to open his eyes, he still couldn't go back to sleep upon waking. His short beak clicked in protest, chattering incessantly like an old hen incubating eggs.
The portraits of former headmasters had also regained consciousness.
Some frames were empty; their portraits were no longer inside, perhaps because they had left the night before and were unlikely to return for the holidays. The empty frames caused envy among the other portraits.
Portraits of the same wizard were interconnected. For example, Madam Devante was not only the headmistress of Hogwarts but also the director of St. Mungo's Hospital, allowing her to travel between the hospital and school. Several headmasters also had portraits in their families, allowing them to travel during holidays.
For them, this symbolized the family's continuing legacy. Some headmasters came from once-recognized pureblood families, but no one had heard of them recently. For instance, Headmaster Phineas Black's family had no enrolled descendants for years, possibly indicating the Black family had died out.
The portraits huddled together, speaking quietly with lowered gazes. A dozen delicate silver pieces rested on a round, thin-legged table, spinning and emitting small puffs of smoke.
The headmaster, having risen early, was unpacking his Christmas packages.
Almost all the gifts were books, even from professors. Only Melvin had gifted a package of Muggle whistling candies, hollow rings that emitted a soft whistle when placed in the mouth.
Dumbledore took one, and his mood improved slightly.
Opening the cover, he found a radiant smile: the wizard in a sky-blue tuxedo revealed white teeth.
Beneath was a long author biography: Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, four-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award…
"Ah…"
The portraits of headmasters behind him looked on disdainfully, but Dumbledore examined the book with enthusiasm. He flipped through a few pages and placed it nearby, intending to return to it later and read more carefully.
Next were letters from old friends:
"Mrs. Marchbank and Mr. Toftie of the Magical Exams Authority…"
"Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Alastor Moody of the Ministry of Magic…"
"And your sincere Minister, Cornelius Fudge…"
Dumbledore read and responded to each letter carefully, even if it was a simple Christmas greeting. After all, many of his old friends were aging, and each correspondence could be the last.
The centenarian wizard had experienced this many times.
Newt Scamander, living in seclusion in Dorset, sent a letter mentioning that his grandson, Rolf, would start school next year and requested help with his care. Nicolas Flamel, temporarily residing in Paris, casually inquired about the progress of the Philosopher's Stone project and urged Dumbledore to contact him if needed.
Molly, traveling, enclosed a box of sugar sweets in her letter, noting that she and her husband would visit their second child, Charlie, in Romania this year. The other children would stay at school during the holidays, and she hoped the headmaster would exercise strict discipline.
Soon, only the last letter remained.
Dumbledore picked up the envelope, a complex expression on his face, silently examining the marks on the parchment, hesitant to open it.
The envelope was grimy, even crumpled, stained with dust and dirt. The seal was dark red, almost like dried rat blood.
It was worn and emitted a strange odor.
Dumbledore stared at it for a long time but eventually, without opening it, placed it in a wooden box inside a drawer.
Due to the limited angle of view and distance, the portraits of former headmasters on the back wall couldn't see the envelope's details. They could only faintly make out the wax seal:
"Numengarde – Sent"
(End of Chapter)
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