Andrew planned to ask a Gryffindor first-year when Neville's birthday was. Then he began getting ready for the day. He had never experienced a proper Christmas and wanted to enjoy it—and perhaps find some inspiration along the way.
Writing in a vacuum would only make a story feel shallow. Stories needed to draw on life, especially when it came to a major holiday like this. Relying on imagination alone was a good way to get things embarrassingly wrong.
Naturally, no one was in the common room when he got up. But by the time he returned from his usual run, figures had gathered by the fireplace. Christmas presents were clearly a powerful draw.
"Morning, Andrew. Merry Christmas! Fancy a game of Wizard's Chess?"
A first-year staying at school greeted Andrew enthusiastically. Whether he was itching for a game or eager to show off his new set was anyone's guess, but the marble chess pieces did look rather nice.
His playing, though, left something to be desired.
In less than fifteen minutes, with several others watching, Andrew happily used a promoted soldier to take down his opponent's king.
"You fool!"
The fallen king hurled the sort of insult Ravenclaws reserved for their harshest moments at the losing player. The spectators laughed without restraint.
"It was making too much noise and throwing off my concentration! Otherwise, I'd never have let that soldier get promoted!"
He pressed down on the new piece's head, stuffed it upside down into its box, and said, "Let's try the old set!"
Ten minutes later, a smile spread across his face. "See? I told you it was the set. Andrew played well too, of course."
Andrew kept smiling. He had gone easy on him; it was Christmas, and he had no intention of bullying a child too badly.