Love is the Greatest Magic

"Wait, Severus."

Just as Snape was about to turn and leave, Dumbledore called after him and asked frankly, "What is this?"

He raised the parchment in his hand.

Snape froze for a moment, then his expression grew somewhat strange.

"You don't know?"

"Clearly, I am not as omniscient as people boast. In fact, I often feel that I know far too little."

Snape looked Dumbledore up and down as though he had seen a troll standing on tiptoe to dance ballet. The corner of his mouth curled, seeming both mocking and gleeful.

"How rare—someone gave me a Christmas gift but did not give one to the great Dumbledore?"

Snape's cutting tone did not change Dumbledore's expression. The old Headmaster merely drew his Wand and waved it at the gift boxes filling the room. Even the Potions Class professor could not help peering inside.

The gift boxes trembled slightly, then went still.

Dumbledore sighed regretfully. "It seems there truly are none."

"Oh." Snape replied flatly.

He had just seen it—the room was piled high with Dumbledore's gifts, nearly reaching the ceiling. Thinking of the handful of gift boxes in his own bedroom, Snape suddenly lost any interest in mockery.

He did not care in the least about how many gifts there were—he simply did not want to see someone else's unwittingly smug face—

With a flick of Snape's finger, a slip of paper shot toward Dumbledore like a bullet.

"That is the instruction manual."

By the time Dumbledore caught the note, Snape had already turned and strode away. The white-bearded Headmaster adjusted his glasses and lowered his gaze. Before long, he understood how to use it.

"Oh—an invention that can replace Muggle telephones? What an interesting idea—"

He recited the Spell and examined the parchment—or rather, the magic on the Book of Friends.

"An ingenious design, a brilliant combination... It seems Mr. Gray's studies in Alchemy have already begun to bear fruit—and he is quite talented as well—no wonder Murray is so pleased with himself—"

Thinking of how he alone had not received a gift, Dumbledore recalled the expressions on the children's faces that day and vaguely understood something.

"So that was it... A clever and sensitive child... Is that so? Unlike Harry, this child probably does not like being guided—"

He seemed to be talking to himself, but soon an old, faint voice sounded in the room.

"Ralph has rarely seen an eleven-year-old like this," the voice said. "A little like Albus Dumbledore in his youth; and like Tom Riddle in his youth—clever, insightful, and different from the rest."

Dumbledore looked down and said modestly, "Oh, then your assessment of me is a little too high. When I was eleven, I knew as much about Alchemy as any ordinary child."

At the end of his gaze stood a very old House-elf before the fireplace. His skin was wrinkled, and he was wrapped in a tea towel bearing the Hogwarts crest. His ears were full of fluffy white hair. He was so thin that he looked as though he could be snapped in half, yet his large green eyes were remarkably clear.

In that whisper-like voice, he said, "Albus Dumbledore is truly arrogant. By saying that, he is admitting that he is different from the rest and believes he ought to know everything."

"Do not be quite so blunt, dear Ralph," Dumbledore said helplessly. "You see through me too clearly. It often leaves me ashamed."

He wiped his glasses, sat down at the desk, and asked softly, "Could you help me organize these gifts? I need to write something."

"Ralph is happy to serve, Master."

The House-elf bowed, stepped back a few paces, and extended his slender fingers.

The gift boxes piled throughout the room began to unwrap themselves. Books flew swiftly into the shelves and arranged themselves neatly. Clean food jumped into the cabinets, and with a pop, the cabinet doors shut. Various Greeting Cards and letters fell into several boxes, stacked neatly on the desk for Dumbledore to examine when he had time. The other items were placed in different corners of the room in turn.

As for the problematic gifts, they gathered into a clump and were ruthlessly crushed and ground to pieces by magic.

Before long, Ralph vanished from the room with the "trash," wrapping paper, and the like.

Only two or three unopened gift boxes remained on the desk—ones that only Dumbledore himself could open.

While the elf busied himself, Dumbledore wrote his own name on every Book of Friends—Albus Dumbledore.

All the professors who remained at school during the Christmas holiday had no families, perhaps not even relatives. Each had chosen to give Dumbledore one page from their Book of Friends, which could only be used for one-to-one contact.

Thus, Dumbledore, who had received no Book of Friends as a Christmas gift, still ended up with a Book of Friends thicker than anyone else's that morning.

After putting away the Book of Friends, Dumbledore sat at his desk and thought for a long time. The light and shadows of passing years swept before his eyes, sending ripples through the depths of those blue eyes.

Was he similar? Of course he was.

Thinking back carefully, Wade Grey's gaze when he looked over from within the crowd that day had been so much like his own in his youth.

But Dumbledore would not forget how thoroughly he had made a mess of his own life.

After pondering for a long while, he finally picked up his quill with care and wrote a letter—

Dear Murray:

I have received the gift your owl brought. I must say, it is exceptionally ingenious—even great. It is difficult to imagine that this was the work of an eleven-year-old child... Of course, in some ways, its construction is actually quite simple and easy to understand. But it is precisely because it is simple that it is all the more remarkable. I believe you understand what I mean... I can almost see the earth-shaking changes it will bring to the Wizarding World in the future...

To be honest, this both delights and frightens me—for a child of such extraordinary talent, what kind of education should we give him?

The last time I encountered a student so intelligent that he made people tremble was fifty years ago... You must remember that student as well—Tom Riddle... I will not be arrogant enough to believe that my personal attitude determined Voldemort's life. But I must also admit that my education of him was undoubtedly a failure...

A precocious child of extraordinary talent, whose emotions are restrained by thought and isolated by his own intelligence... Even standing among countless people, he is lonely, because his mind and perceptiveness make it easier for him to see the selfishness, greed, ugly desires, and stubborn arrogance in human nature... He will keep a certain distance from others, using humor, kindness, or politeness to conceal his disappointment and indifference toward human nature... He will lose his way more easily than those clumsy children...

You know, I am not speaking only of Tom Riddle, nor only of Wade Grey.

Therefore, regarding your student Wade, I have some suggestions that may not be entirely mature...

My dear friend, when we adults face children so much younger than ourselves, we often develop an unconscious conceit because we possess greater knowledge and experience... We look down on those children with a sense of superiority, wield absolute power like monarchs, instill in them the information we want them to know, withhold the information we believe they should not know, manipulate them with words, and guide them toward the path we wish to see them take...

What arrogance!

More dangerously, we often fail to realize this arrogance.

Because we believe we are making the right decisions, that it is all for them to become "better people"...

I cannot say that this is absolutely wrong, because children's thoughts are often immature, and they do not know how to restrain their words or actions. Without proper guidance, they can easily stray onto the wrong path and harm themselves and others... But for a student like Wade Grey, ordinary education may only have the opposite effect...

If I have gained any insight from my many years of failed education, it is this—love is the most difficult and most powerful magic in this world. It is mysterious and unfathomable, yet it can change everything and determine everything...