Chapter 619: A Gift from Makki
Though Relf had already inspected the remaining Gift Boxes, Wade remained on high alert—
He directed two Magic Puppets to carry every Christmas Gift Box into the Closet Space, then settled beside them with a book in hand, while the puppets handled the opening.
A jellyfish-shaped Magic Puppet, nearly half a man’s height, rose from the Basement, its dozens of antennae swiveling with nimble precision as it dismantled boxes, sorted contents, and recorded each item with uncanny accuracy.
Books, candies, magical tools—
The most absurd discovery? Someone had bought him a Daydream Quill.
Wade couldn’t help but sigh in disbelief.
The Feather Quill’s handle bore a label that read: Inventor: Wade Gray.
Now, for the Aslan Magical Workshop, Wade was practically a brand. Machionni would’ve gladly stamped his name on every product they made.
Human gifts were all too predictable.
But the House-elf gifts were delightfully unique.
Dobby had gifted him a pair of mismatched socks. The crooked cauldron and owl designs stitched onto them looked like they’d been handcrafted—Wade doubted he hadn’t made them himself.
Zoe gave him a mosaic portrait made from Merpeople scales, its shape clearly outlining Hogwarts Castle. When held to the light, it shimmered in dazzling, multicolored hues.
Habi surprised him with a small flock of pale-yellow chicks—barely out of their box before they started scurrying wildly across the floor. The Cloak swooped in, snatching them all into a makeshift cage with a swift motion.
Fell sent a small box of herbs—likely gathered personally from the Forbidden Forest, still glistening with dewdrops.
And then there was Makki.
Wade suspected he’d somehow learned about the second project.
His gift? A jar of Gill Sac Grass.
After clearing all the gifts and cross-checking the list to ensure no one had been missed, Wade stretched his stiff shoulders and stepped out of the Closet Space.
The bedroom bed had already been made. The air was warm, but somehow heavy and dull.
Wade grabbed the Flying Broomstick leaning beside the bed, swung onto it with a fluid motion, and shot out the window. With a flick of his fingers, he snapped his fingers behind him—the open window slammed shut with a sharp crack, dislodging a few flakes of snow from the sill.
The broom cut through the cold wind in a sweeping arc, streaking like a falling star toward the snow-covered ground in front of the castle. Just before touching down, it halted abruptly.
Wade landed lightly on the snow, and almost instantly—crack!—a sound like distant lightning split the air.
House-elf Makki had appeared beside him, eyes wide with anticipation, hands outstretched.
“Christmas happiness, Makki,” Wade grinned, handing the broom into his grasp and gently nudging the Little Sprite to carry it back to the dorm.
“Makki, you sneak!”
Zoe’s voice rang out from nearby. She’d been too slow. Fuming, she stomped her foot and turned back toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Makki smirked, tongue poking out playfully—no shame at all for stealing her moment.
After sending Zoe off in a huff, he cradled the broom in his thin arms and looked up at Wade.
“Thank you, Mr. Gray! Makki loves it!”
Wade chuckled. “You’ve already opened it?”
“Just a little,” Makki said. “Human Muggle life is so… interesting!”
Wade’s gift to the House-elves had been Muggle Society Humor Comics—vivid, hilarious, and so absurdly relatable that even without text, one could laugh until tears streamed.
“Reading books lets you see worlds you’ll never touch,” Wade said, watching Makki step barefoot onto the snow. “But comics can do that too.”
He frowned. “It’s freezing out here. Come back inside. Would you like a skein of wool as a gift? Dobby knits socks—maybe you could too? School doesn’t forbid self-made clothing, does it?”
“Makki’s fine! Makki isn’t cold!”
Suddenly, Makki launched himself forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Wade’s knees—so hard he nearly knocked the wizard off balance.
The Little Sprite looked up, eyes glistening like rain-drenched glass.
“Black Lake is just as dangerous as the Forbidden Forest,” he whispered, “but Mr. Wade will win. The Gill Sac Grass will help you so much!”
“Thank you, Makki. If the second project takes us to the lake, you’ll be a great help.”
Wade didn’t mention he’d already mastered the Bubble-Head Charm. Instead, he gently ruffled the Little Sprite’s head and said softly,
“Go back now… Oh, and share the comics with Zoe and the others. Make peace, okay? Christmas shouldn’t be spoiled by fights with friends.”
Makki nodded fiercely—crack!—and vanished with the broom.
…
Time slipped by in a blink. The sky had already darkened.
Wade finally finished all his assignments and even managed to squeeze in an essay on Alchemy—Professor Mor now required him to publish at least one article per month in the magazine. Wade had already prepared material for next February.
“Please, just put the Feather Quill down!” Michael leaned against the shelf, still holding a bottle of hair oil, his curls freshly styled and smelling faintly of pine.
“Wade, if you don’t change, we’ll be forced to attend the Ball in our school robes!”
Harry and the others in the Umbrella Room burst into laughter. The girls, meanwhile, had been absent all afternoon—too busy preparing for the Ball.
Only then did they return to the dorms, each rushing to change.
Wade opened the closet. Inside, a silver-gray silk shirt glowed softly, and beside it, a deep-blue formal robe—its hem trailing smoothly, crease-free.
He’d ordered it a week ago from Madam Malkin’s Robe Emporium. It had arrived yesterday afternoon.
He slipped into the outfit and stood before the mirror. Not bad.
Heading downstairs to the Common Room, he found Michael leaning against the railing.
“Well?” Michael spread his arms wide, spinning in a showy circle.
He wore a crimson robe, edged in gold at the collar and cuffs, adorned with golden buttons and cufflinks. A chain of silver hung from his chest, bearing a trio of antique-looking magical artifacts—Silver Hourglass, Serpent Biting Its Tail, and a string of ancient runes inscribed coins.
Wade glanced at them through his second pair of Horn glasses.
They looked cool, sure—but the magic radiating from them?
Less than what a kitchen plate emitted.
“You look like you’re ready to steal three girls at the Ball,” Wade said honestly.
Michael waved a finger. “Half. Just half.”
Wade groaned. “…Maybe share some of that confidence with Harry? Even one percent would help him stop stressing over asking a dance partner.”
“Ah, well,” Michael said, flipping his hair with a smirk, “some things are just innate.”
(End of Chapter)
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