On the last morning before Christmas, just after the snow had stopped, Neville stood on the stone steps in front of the entrance hall, his breath forming little puffs of white mist in the cold air.
"Unbelievable!" Michael muttered, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Tomorrow's the Yule Ball, and you're heading home now? What's so urgent that it can't wait even one night?"
Neville pressed his lips into a smile, his eyes sparkling. Stroking the handle of his suitcase, he glanced at Wade and said softly:
"I… there's something urgent at home. I have to go back…"
Not far away, Augusta Longbottom was speaking quietly with Professor McGonagall. She wore a hat topped with a stuffed vulture, her thin face set in a stern expression that made a group of younger students instinctively give her a wide berth.
"By the way, Harry," Neville turned and said, "Could you apologize to Ron and Ginny for me? I meant to tell them last night, but when I got back, I was busy packing and forgot…"
"What do you have to apologize for?" Harry asked in puzzlement.
"Oh, I… I invited Ginny to the ball earlier. But now I'll have to break my promise." Neville said guiltily, "If she ends up unable to go to the ball, it'll be my fault."
"In that case, why rush back now?" Michael grumbled, clearly regretful that Neville would miss the ball.
"Yeah," Wade agreed. "Waiting a couple more nights wouldn't make much difference."
"I know… I know one or two days won't matter to them… but I can't wait any longer. And neither can Gran…"
Neville's voice dropped so low it seemed the cold wind might carry it away.
Then he gave a hopeful smile and said, "I just hope everything goes smoothly… I only feel really sorry for Ginny. She was so looking forward to the ball…"
Theo scratched his hair awkwardly. "Well, I haven't asked anyone either—it all seemed like too much trouble. No one really cares about me anyway… ah, I mean, if Miss Weasley doesn't mind, I could take her to the Yule Ball."
"That would be wonderful!" Neville said gratefully, breaking into a smile.
"…We'll need to be there before ten o'clock," Augusta Longbottom said to Professor McGonagall. "We've already arranged an appointment with the healers at St. Mungo's."
"Merlin bless, may all go well," McGonagall replied. At that moment, she seemed so gentle that many students were taken aback.
"Come along, child." Augusta, handbag on her arm, patted Neville's shoulder as she passed by.
Neville waved to his friends who had come to see him off, then quickly picked up his suitcase and followed after his grandmother.
In the snowy courtyard, the pair of them trudged toward the gates, one step deep, one step shallow—their figures looked both fragile and steadfast.
Ryan suddenly sniffled. "Strange… it's not like we haven't been apart before. We're separated every holiday. So why does it feel so hard this time?"
"Probably because it's freezing and your snot's frozen solid!" Michael teased.
"In two weeks, we'll all be back in class together anyway. No need to act like it's some tragic farewell. Come on, come on, let's get back inside—we'll freeze to death out here!"
He said this while dashing back toward the castle, and the others laughed and followed.
"Wade," Hermione leaned close and whispered, "Do you know why Neville suddenly had to go home?"
"Yes, I know," Wade answered in a low voice. "But it's Neville's private matter. I can't tell you."
"All right." Hermione sighed. "Actually, when I heard them mention St. Mungo's, I could already guess… and I think you're right—not saying anything is better."
Wade gave a slight nod.
As he was about to step inside, he couldn't help but glance back—
Neville carried his suitcase in one hand, while carefully supporting his grandmother with the other. Augusta Longbottom's figure looked especially frail and small, but Neville's back was straight and steady.
That round-faced boy who usually seemed silly and childlike—at this moment, he was every bit a man capable of supporting his family and standing on his own.
…
On Christmas morning, Wade was jolted awake by a racket of banging and clattering.
He opened his eyes wide and threw back the curtains, only to see several house-elves quietly arranging Christmas gift boxes. But something inside those boxes was thrashing about violently, making a tremendous noise.
"Mr. Wade Grey is awake!" Zoe squealed. "Sir, please open your presents quickly, or the whole room will be buried!"
That was no exaggeration—large and small gift boxes were stacked all the way to the ceiling. If not for the house-elves' hard work keeping them in place, Wade's bed would already have been swallowed by the pile.
Wade immediately grabbed his wand and gave it a wave. The teetering boxes froze in place, as if glued together by an invisible adhesive, and finally stabilized.
Zoe jumped back in relief. "Oh, that's better… I've only ever seen Professor Dumbledore receive so many gifts before."
"Too many presents are not always a blessing."
A voice suddenly rang out in the room. "Christmas gifts from unknown senders are not always given with goodwill."
The oldest house-elf at Hogwarts had appeared. As his severe gaze swept across the room, Zoe and the others stiffened with nervousness.
"Mr. Ralph!"
The elves hastily bowed, then vanished with a sharp pop.
"Good morning, Ralph." Wade smiled. "Did Professor Dumbledore send you to find me?"
"No. He guessed you might receive many gifts this year, so he asked me to check on them."
As Ralph spoke, he waved his long, slender fingers. The sticking charm Wade had just cast was instantly undone, and several boxes began rattling again, as if wild boars had just been rudely woken inside.
Then, twenty or thirty boxes hopped out of the pile and landed in front of Ralph. After a few seconds of noise, they finally stilled.
"These boxes carry a sinister aura," Ralph said. "Believe me, I have great experience in sensing such things."
"I would never doubt your judgment."
Wade pulled on a robe, got out of bed, and walked over with interest. Staring at the selected boxes, he asked curiously: "But may I see what's inside them?"
Ralph gave him a tolerant look. "Some boxes are better left unopened. The moment you lift the lid, misfortune may strike. But a few, perhaps, can be shown to broaden your horizons."
He chose a grayish-purple box and opened it—inside lay a bloody dead cat.
The next contained a heap of pale severed fingers.
The third burst open with jets of bubotuber pus, which Ralph casually siphoned back into its bottle.
The fourth seemed at first glance to hold a translucent crystal ball—but peering closer, Wade saw that inside the orb floated a fist-sized severed human head.
Wade: "…"
Seeing that Ralph was about to open a fifth, Wade quickly cut in: "All right, all right, no need to open the rest!"
He was thoroughly revolted by those few "gifts."
"Then I shall take these away," Ralph said politely. "In the future, sir, please be cautious when opening gift boxes—even from familiar senders."
"I understand." Wade sighed, then asked casually, "Is there any way to trace who sent them? I suppose they weren't careless enough to write their names?"
"Indeed not." Ralph replied lightly. "But do not worry, child. Dumbledore will find a way."
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