"Wait, Severus."
As Snape was about to turn and leave, Dumbledore called out to him and asked frankly: "What is this?"
He waved the parchment in his hand.
Snape paused, and then his expression turned a bit peculiar.
"You don't know?"
"Clearly, I am not as all-knowing as people claim. In fact, I often feel that I know far too little."
Snape looked Dumbledore up and down with his gaze as if he was watching a troll trying to do a ballet. The corners of his mouth twitched with a mixture of mockery and schadenfreude:
"How rare—someone sent me a Christmas gift but not the great Dumbledore?"
Snape's cutting tone didn't faze Dumbledore. The old headmaster merely drew his wand and waved it toward the room filled with gifts, causing Snape to lean in curiously.
The gift boxes swayed slightly and then went still.
Dumbledore sighed regretfully and said, "It seems there truly isn't one."
"Oh," Snape responded dryly.
He had just seen it—the room was packed with Dumbledore's gifts, piled nearly to the ceiling. Thinking of the few gift boxes in his own quarters, Snape suddenly lost his enthusiasm for mocking Dumbledore.
He didn't really care about the number of gifts—it was just that he didn't like seeing the smug, unintentional boasting of others.
Snape flicked his fingers, and a slip of paper shot toward Dumbledore like a bullet.
"That's the instruction manual."
By the time Dumbledore caught the note, Snape had already turned and strode off. The white-bearded headmaster adjusted his glasses and glanced at the paper. In a short while, he figured out how it worked.
"Oh—an invention that can replace Muggle telephones? Quite an interesting idea."
He recited a spell, examining the magic on the parchment—or rather, on the "Book of Friends."
"A clever concept, a genius combination... It seems that Mr. Grey's studies in alchemy are starting to show results—and he is quite gifted—no wonder Murray is so proud."
Reflecting on how he was the only one who didn't receive the gift, Dumbledore recalled the expressions of the children that day and began to understand.
"So that's it… a smart and sensitive child, isn't he? Unlike Harry, this child probably dislikes being guided."
It seemed as if Dumbledore was talking to himself, but soon, a quiet, elderly voice echoed in the room.
"Ralph has rarely seen such an eleven-year-old," the voice said. "A bit like young Albus Dumbledore once was; and also like Tom Riddle—intelligent, perceptive, and different."
Dumbledore looked down and humbly replied, "Oh, I think you overestimate me. At eleven, my knowledge of alchemy was no more than any other ordinary child."
In the direction of his gaze, standing in front of the fireplace, was an extremely old house-elf. His skin was wrinkled, and he wore a tea towel adorned with the Hogwarts crest.
His ears were covered in soft, white fur, and he was so thin that his body looked as if it could easily snap. Yet, his large green eyes were remarkably clear.
The house-elf said in a whisper-like tone, "Albus Dumbledore is truly arrogant. By saying that, he's admitting he was different from others and believes he should know everything."
"Don't be so blunt, dear Ralph," Dumbledore replied, helplessly. "You see me too clearly, which often makes me feel quite ashamed."
He wiped his glasses, sat in front of his desk, and gently asked, "Could you help me organize these gifts? I need to write something."
"Ralph is happy to serve, Master."
The house-elf bowed, took a few steps back, and extended his long fingers.
The piles of gift boxes around the room began to unwrap themselves.
Books flew swiftly to the shelves, arranging themselves neatly. Clean food items jumped into cabinets, and with a "pop," the doors closed. Greeting cards and letters fell into several boxes, stacking neatly on the table, waiting for Dumbledore to review them later. Other items were arranged in various corners of the room.
As for the problematic gifts, they clustered together, mercilessly compressed and crushed by magic.
Before long, Ralph disappeared from the room, taking the "trash" and leftover wrapping paper with him.
On the table, only two or three gift boxes remained unopened—those were the ones that only Dumbledore himself could unwrap.
While the house-elf was busy, Dumbledore signed his name on each of the "Book of Friends"—Albus Dumbledore.
The professors who stayed at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday had no families, and perhaps no relatives either. They all chose to give Dumbledore a page from their own Book of Friends, which were meant for one-on-one communication.
So, even though Dumbledore hadn't initially received a Book of Friends for Christmas, he ended up with one thicker than anyone else's that morning.
After putting the book away, Dumbledore sat at his desk, lost in thought for a long time. The passage of time seemed to dance before his eyes, rippling deep within his blue gaze.
Is there a resemblance? Of course, there is.
When he recalled the way Wade Grey had looked at him that day in the crowd, it struck Dumbledore how much it resembled his own younger self.
But Dumbledore could never forget how he had made a mess of his own life.
After much contemplation, he carefully picked up his quill and wrote a letter—
---
[ Dear Murray:
I have received the gift your owl brought me, and I must say, it's quite clever—even remarkable. It's hard to imagine that this is the work of an eleven-year-old... Of course, in some ways, its construction is relatively simple.
But it's precisely because of its simplicity that it's all the more impressive. I'm sure you understand what I mean… I can already envision the tremendous changes it will bring to the wizarding world in the future.
To be honest, this both excites and frightens me—what kind of education should we provide for such a talented child?
The last time I encountered a student so brilliant it made me tremble was fifty years ago… You probably remember that student too—Tom Riddle…
I am not arrogant enough to believe that my personal attitude determined the course of Voldemort's life. But I must also admit that my education of him was undoubtedly a failure...
Gifted and precocious children, whose emotions are controlled by their intellect, are also isolated by their own brilliance...
Even when surrounded by many people, they are lonely, for their minds and insight make it easier for them to see the selfishness, greed, and ugliness of human desires, and the arrogance of prejudice...
They will keep a certain distance from others, using humor, kindness, or politeness to disguise their inner disappointment and coldness toward humanity... They are more likely to lose their way than those clumsy children...
You know, I am not just talking about Tom Riddle, nor only about Wade Grey.
Therefore, I have some suggestions for you regarding your student, Wade, which may be somewhat immature...
My dear friend, we adults, when dealing with children who are far younger than us, often develop an unconscious arrogance due to our greater knowledge and experience…
We look down upon these children with a sense of superiority, like monarchs who wield absolute power, feeding them the information we want them to know, withholding what we deem inappropriate, and manipulating them with words, guiding them toward the path we wish to see them take...
What arrogance that is!
The more dangerous part is that we often don't even realize this arrogance.
Because we believe we are making the right decisions, aiming to turn them into 'better people'...
I cannot say that this is absolutely wrong, because children's minds are often immature. Their words and actions lack restraint, and without proper guidance, they can easily go astray, causing harm to themselves and others…
But for a student like Wade Grey, ordinary education might have the opposite effect...
If there is anything I have learned from my many years of failed education, it is this—love is the hardest and greatest magic in this world. It is mysterious and difficult to understand, yet it has the power to change everything, to determine everything...]
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