Chapter 17
Christmas arrived right on schedule, and the festive mood across the school reached its peak.
Gabin was woken by the excited shouts and laughter. Harry and Ron were already tearing into their presents.
Harry looked especially happy. Before today, he genuinely hadn't expected to receive any gifts at all.
"Merry Christmas, Gray," Harry said. "Come on—open yours. You've got loads. Feels like more than Ron and me put together."
Gabin yawned, pulled on his robes, and shuffled over to the pile beside his bed.
There really were quite a few—far more than he'd anticipated. More than he'd given out, even.
He scratched his head and began unwrapping.
Thinking back, this might actually be the first time in either life that he'd received gifts from others. In his previous world, people were too reserved with affection. Only lovers exchanged presents, and even family rarely did.
Now, sitting almost buried under the stack, Gabin felt a genuine wave of warmth and joy in his chest.
Not bad at all—this feeling.
He took a deep breath. The grogginess from being woken up quickly gave way to excitement.
Let's see what I got.
He picked up the first package—clearly a book, wrapped neatly. The tag read: *From Professor Dumbledore*.
Below it was a short message:
*May you reach the mountains and seas you see in your eyes.*
As Gabin reached to open it, another line appeared beneath the first—seemingly out of nowhere.
*Thank you very much for the wool socks. I've never received anything so warm. They seem to come from the East.*
The words materialized abruptly. Even with his magical perspective open, Gabin couldn't detect the slightest trace of magic—no circuit, no flicker of power.
Probably some kind of automatic reply charm Dumbledore had set on the gift. Or perhaps a delayed message.
Either way, it didn't matter. Gabin unwrapped the package to reveal a thick travel guide—*Notable Destinations of the World (Magical and Muggle)*—detailing famous places across the globe, both wizarding and non-magical.
Perfect. Exactly what he wanted.
Grinning, he set it carefully aside and moved to the next one.
From Professor McGonagall: a lump of dark, unremarkable putty-like substance.
Gabin stared at the blackish blob in confusion until he noticed the attached note:
*Polyputty — made from rare Boggart-derived material. Exceptionally compatible with Transfiguration. May it aid your progress in the subject.*
He gave it a tentative squeeze. Sure enough, its magical circuit was extraordinarily pliable—almost liquid. It accepted overlaying Transfiguration circuits with ease. If the second layer was incomplete, the putty automatically filled the gaps using its own flexible structure.
Excellent!
McGonagall must have noticed he was lagging slightly in Transfiguration and gone out of her way to find this rare material for him.
With this, future practice would be much faster—he could build and understand circuits more efficiently. Combined with his natural talent…
Truly perfect.
Gabin decided then and there: he was officially a fan of Christmas. What had felt a little unfamiliar before now felt… well, *really nice*.
Next was Professor Flitwick: a book on goblin history. Probably because he'd heard Gabin liked reading about the past.
Gabin skimmed a few pages. It included brief mentions of goblin magic, but only surface-level examples—nothing deep.
Professor Snape's gift was a small vial of potion labeled *Verbalis Serum*—a brew that projected a person's inner thoughts aloud without needing to speak.
The note read:
*If you require more, I have plenty. Payment required, of course.*
Professor Sprout sent a single broad leaf. Held under the tongue, it sharpened focus and improved reading efficiency—for a limited number of uses.
Professor Sinistra gave him a small enchanted globe—likely because she knew he enjoyed travel and geography.
Hagrid's gift was another book: *A History of Dragons in Britain and Ireland*. The cover looked aged, but the pages inside were pristine—like a second-hand university textbook from his previous life that no one had actually read.
Madam Hooch sent a small set of bagpipes capable of producing an impressively loud sound.
Professor Binns gave him… yet another book. This one was three castle-brick thick: *The Evolution of Ancient Magic and Its Relationship with Humanity*.
Gabin glanced at the price tag on the back and silently hoped the school paid Binns a generous re-employment stipend.
This single volume probably cost more than everything he owned.
He placed it carefully on his bedside table—displacing a thinner book—and mentally declared it his bedtime reading for the year.
He sifted through the rest. No gift from Quirrell.
He'd expected as much, but it still nagged at him slightly. Getting presents from every other professor except one triggered a faint obsessive itch.
Still—considering Quirrell's current passenger—he'd rather not risk it. If Voldemort suddenly decided to offer up a "perfectly talented vessel," things could get messy.
The remaining gifts were from fellow students: Harry, Ron, Neville, Seamus, and others.
To his surprise, there were also several from girls in other Houses—mostly first- to third-years.
Most were boxes of chocolate. The notes said things like "Let's be friends" or "Happy Christmas!"
The boldest came from a third-year Gryffindor girl:
*Meet me on the fifth floor tonight, Senior.*
Gabin shivered and immediately flicked that particular chocolate onto Ron's bed.
Ron looked up in confusion.
Gabin quickly wrote with floating words:
"For you. This brand seems really good."
Ron shrugged and accepted it without question. Gabin often shared snacks with everyone.
Gabin was generous and easygoing—that was Ron's overall impression of him.
After sorting the chocolates to one side, Gabin turned to the final gift.
From Hermione: a book titled *The Dragonkin Chronicles*—about one-third of a castle brick thick.
He'd actually read it already. A light adventure novel he'd once recommended to her.
It followed a young wizard and a dragon who could take human form on a fantastical journey—full of imagination.
In the real world, of course, magical creatures couldn't transform into humans.
Gabin opened it to the middle section—the part he remembered best.
There, halfway through their adventure, the pair encountered a group of dark wizards. The dragon sensed their malice and warned the human—but the human didn't believe him. They were ambushed, badly wounded, and nearly failed their mission.
"You should have trusted me," the dragon said at the edge of a cliff, now in its true form. "We're friends."
"All right, all right—it was my fault. I was too stubborn," the human replied, apologizing.