Chapter 48: Everyone Else Has It
After a while, the Book of Friends gradually quieted down again. Wade guessed they were probably busy setting up new chat groups.
Of course, the Christmas Gift he’d sent wasn’t just the one linked to himself—it included a blank parchment each for two, three, four, and five people, and Professor Mor had even added a stack of ten-person versions. In total, they formed a thick little booklet, properly deserving the name “BOOK.”
In Wade’s vision, every Hogwarts student would one day carry their own Book of Friends. They’d exchange parchments with friends or family, forming chat groups of all sizes. Maybe it wouldn’t be long before a new school rule was introduced: No opening Book of Friends during class—violators will forfeit theirs! Or perhaps students would start competing over the thickness and “value” of their books, some even slipping in blank parchments just to pretend they belonged to dozens of groups.
But Professor Mor had told him to hold off on selling the Book of Friends for now.
A promising path to fortune abruptly cut off—Wade let out a quiet, disappointed sigh. He closed the book and turned to his own gifts.
Under the Christmas tree, the pile of gift boxes was large, most of them from Ferdinand’s employees. Wade had grown up playing around the toy factory with his father. Clever, well-behaved, and undeniably adorable, he’d won the hearts of many longtime workers. Even after half a year apart, they’d sent him gifts—popular Muggle toys, elegant ink pens and notebooks, children’s literature, and more.
A few came from his Muggle school friends from childhood—simple things, mostly candy, greeting cards, and small trinkets. These were nothing new; Wade had already sent gifts of similar value to them earlier.
Then came the gifts from the Wizarding World.
Unlike Wade, who had sent the same gift to everyone, each person had chosen something different—books.
Professor Mor had given him a hand-written alchemy notebook, which Wade carefully tucked away, planning to read it after dinner.
Professor Flitwick sent Compendium of Spells—a book so rare it required a professor’s authorization to borrow from the Hogwarts Library. Wade resolved to read it during the holidays.
Michael sent Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
Hermione gave him The Alchemist.
Padma’s gift was Gilderoy Lockhart’s Wandering with Werewolves.
Theo brought The World’s Oldest Magical Plants.
Liam chose The Aesthetics of the Stars.
Neville handed him Secrets of Transfiguration.
Apparently, Wade’s reputation as a book-loving student had become legendary. Everyone, without fail, had chosen books.
Looks like he’d be busy this holiday.
…
Hogwarts.
When Dumbledore woke up that morning, his shoes by the bed were buried under a mountain of gifts.
He’d been a professor at Hogwarts for nearly a century, and had taught countless students—almost 80% of British witches and wizards were his former pupils. As head of the International Confederation of Wizards and the senior wizard of the Wizengamot, he was widely regarded as the greatest wizard of the age—and the finest headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen.
Though Dumbledore himself didn’t care much for titles or praise, most people certainly did. Across the world, wizards and witches wanted to be on good terms with him.
So every Christmas, Dumbledore received an overwhelming number of gifts—so many they could nearly drown the Headmaster’s Tower.
Fortunately, his mastery of the Invisible Expansion Charm was flawless.
For the entire week after Christmas, Dumbledore usually spent his time opening gifts—something he truly enjoyed.
Not because of their monetary value, but because he could see glimpses of people’s growth, their desires, and occasionally, a little surprise—maybe a harmless prank, or even a Dark Curse hidden inside.
Most people, unfamiliar with him, sent books—Muggle or magical, many of which Dumbledore had already read. Still, he accepted them with a smile.
Those who knew him well understood he was an incurable sweet-tooth. His gifts were usually cakes, chocolate, Cockroach Clusters, Buzzing Bee Candies—sometimes with a deadly potion hidden inside. Identifying them was a game he found mildly entertaining.
And then there were others—people who rarely contacted him otherwise, but who still sent a gift on this special day. A scrap of paper, a dried leaf, or a pair of unattractive, smelly woolen socks. Dumbledore treasured every one.
Just as Dumbledore was opening a gift box that stood nearly half a man tall, an owl suddenly burst through the window and dropped a small package onto his lap.
Had someone just woken up and remembered him, sending a belated gift?
Curious, Dumbledore set the large box aside and focused on the small parcel.
Inside was only a single parchment—and a thin, narrow note.
> My dearest Albus: This is my student—Wade Gray’s work! I’m bursting with pride sharing this joy with you!
> Wishing you well.
> Mor
Even the ever-knowing Dumbledore was momentarily baffled. He turned the parchment over, examined both sides carefully, and confirmed that aside from Mor’s name, there was nothing else written.
Just as he was about to cast a spell to check for hidden enchantments, someone else arrived.
Dumbledore walked into the Great Hall, where Filius Flitwick stood at the door, holding a similar parchment, beaming with excitement.
“Oh, Professor Dumbledore, this is mine! I always knew he’d achieve greatness—but I never thought it would happen so soon! He’s only been learning magic for three and a half months!”
“—Wade Gray?” Dumbledore asked cautiously.
“Yes, who else could it be?” Flitwick said, practically skipping down the corridor, humming a tune.
Dumbledore glanced at the parchment in his hand. As expected, it was blank except for Flitwick’s name.
Next came Professor Sprout. She smiled gently. “I thought about it—this one was meant for you, wasn’t it? I’ll be happy to hear from you anytime.”
Then came Minerva McGonagall. She saw Dumbledore already holding a small stack and frowned slightly as she handed over her own.
“Oh, I thought I was the first! I didn’t expect Pomona to be so quick!”
(Actually, she’d opened other gifts first, and only discovered this one later.)
Finally, Snape arrived, handing over a notebook with a quiet, cynical snort.
“Hmph. I kept my own copy. The rest are unnecessary. Useless contact only wastes my time.”
Dumbledore stared at the stack in his hands.
Everyone had one.
But him?
He was the only one who didn’t know what it was.
(End of Chapter)
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