When Christmas Came Knocking

December had barely begun, and Hogwarts was already preparing for Christmas.

The place was old-fashioned, slow, and devoted to tradition in many ways. But when it came to spreading holiday cheer through the castle as early as possible, it moved with astonishing speed. Almost overnight, garlands of ivy and holly appeared on the cold stone walls of the corridors. Two unusually tall Christmas trees rose in the Entrance Hall, their branches laden with glittering little candles and silver baubles that spun on their own. The people in the portraits joined in, dressing in finer clothes. A few even put on Santa hats and went visiting around the castle to show off their holiday attire.

The Great Hall grew more splendid by the day.

Floating candles still hung overhead, their flames looking warmer than usual in the winter air. Thick swags of ivy and holly hung beneath the ceiling, gold and red ribbons draped from the edges of all four long tables, and behind the High Table, a few little golden birds slowly flapped their wings.

Naturally, the twins weren't about to let the season pass them by.

They began making trouble systematically.

First, they slipped singing Christmas cards into other people's textbooks. The moment a book opened, its card burst into a loud, spectacularly off-key holiday song. Then, somehow, they acquired a batch of frosted gingerbread people that hopped about on their own. They ran through Common Rooms and corridors with younger students chasing after them, until they charged into the library and Madam Pince expelled them on the grounds that "the library is not a pastry battlefield."

"I suspect that if they don't join the Ministry of Magic after graduation, they'll have to start a circus," Justin said in all sincerity.

"I think the Ministry of Magic would be riskier," Gavin disagreed.

"Why?"

"Because a circus can usually only do so much damage."

"..."

Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff Common Room looked more and more like a place made for winter.

The fire burned brighter. The long sofas and low stools were crowded almost every evening, while the earth and grass roots beyond the round windows filtered the cold outside into a softer, dimmer light. Older students discussed whether they would go home for the Christmas holidays. Younger ones cared more about whether they could take a few Hogwarts specialties home, and whether they could put off their holiday homework until the last three days.

Some began making gift lists. Some secretly knitted scarves. Others earnestly analyzed which professor was most likely to let their guard down on Christmas Day and allow students two extra helpings of pudding in the Great Hall.

"Professor McGonagall wouldn't," Ernie said.

"I never said she would," Justin replied.

"What about Professor Sprout?"

"Maybe."

"Professor Snape?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Justin looked at the person who'd asked, his face full of respect for the sheer audacity of the suggestion. "If he let you have an extra helping of pudding, I'd suspect it was poisoned."

The Common Room erupted in laughter.

Against all that growing holiday bustle, the contrast with St. Mungo's became more striking.

As Christmas drew near, more people came to visit St. Mungo's. The corridors were always full of relatives carrying pastries, bouquets, and Christmas gift boxes. Whole families often stood outside the wards, talking and laughing quietly, or trying to sound cheerful as they told a patient things like, "Once you're better, we'll go home for the holidays."

The more of them there were, the lonelier Cordelia seemed.

Other patients' rooms felt a little desolate after the visitors left.

But the bustle passed right by her door, as though it had never considered entering. Laughter and conversation reached that point, struck an invisible reef, and flowed around it.

When Gavin traveled from Hogwarts to St. Mungo's on Saturdays, he felt the contrast even more keenly.

In the morning, he was still at Hogwarts, watching students discuss the Yule Ball, the twins assaulting unlucky passersby with holiday sweets, and the piles of pumpkins and berries in the Great Hall glowing under the candles like an overly lavish oil painting. After three in the afternoon, he stepped through the Floo Network onto the excessively clean floor of St. Mungo's and immediately felt a different kind of winter.

No fireplace.

No singing Christmas cards.

No crowd around a long sofa arguing about whether to go home.

Only visitors coming and going, one group after another, while Cordelia still sat by the window with a book in her arms, like a small shadow left on the shore beyond the tide of celebration.

That sharp contrast made both the warmth of one place and the loneliness of the other feel more tangible.

And amid those days, Gavin finally began to reach the point he had been waiting for.

His magic had started to grow more slowly.

It felt like filling a hollow rubber ball with water. At first, it went in easily, but the more water it held, the fuller it became, and the harder it was to force any more inside.

"Almost time."

When Christmas Day arrived, Hogwarts looked almost like a different castle.

That morning, the light reflecting off the snow outside woke Gavin.

It had snowed all night. Everything outside the castle was a clean white, making even the stone walls, which usually looked faintly damp, seem brighter. The dormitory was unusually quiet. Ernie and Justin were still asleep; clearly, neither intended to rise early on the first morning of the holidays.

Then he saw a small pile of presents at the foot of his bed.

Nothing extravagant.

But certainly not a small number.

"...All right." Gavin sat up and delivered his verdict. "Apparently, my social rating is higher than I thought."

He opened the nearest one first.

It was from Justin: a box of expensive-looking Muggle chocolates and a card with decidedly messy handwriting. It read:

"For you. Stop judging perfectly normal sweets for their 'lack of structural elegance.'"

Gavin read it and shook his head.

"That's because you've never tried an American cake."

Beside it was a set of quills and ink from Ernie, in colors so stately they looked ready for a Ministry of Magic paperwork exam. Cedric had sent a new pair of windproof gloves, explaining, "So your hands won't freeze while you're yelling at people from the sidelines." Cho Chang had given him an old edition of a travelogue she thought he would like. On the title page, she had carefully written:

Don't always keep your head buried in books. Look at the world once in a while.

Even the twins had each sent him a gift.

Inside were two candies that looked exactly alike, along with a note:

"Eat with caution. Or don't."

Gavin took one look and decided to put them in the "items under observation" pile for now.

As for his own gifts, he had prepared most of them days ago.

For Dumbledore, he had chosen a Muggle fountain pen and a stack of well-made notepaper. Given the choice, Gavin would actually have sent him a knitting kit or sweets, but he couldn't do that yet. In a sense, he "didn't know Dumbledore well enough," so he had to choose something suitable for a headmaster.

For Professor McGonagall, a minimalist silver-framed bookmark.

For Professor Flitwick, an elegant deck of Muggle playing cards.

For Professor Sprout, a sturdy pair of Muggle gardening gloves.

And for Snape, a complete set of glass storage vials.

They came in every size, sealed well, and were spotless. They were suitable for storing potion ingredients, or for giving anything that needed careful handling a more dignified resting place.

When Justin heard that Gavin planned to give Snape the glass vials, his expression had been something to behold.

"You're giving Snape a present?"

"What's wrong with that?" Gavin asked.

"My main concern is whether you'll survive the next Potions Class after he gets it."

"If I survive, that proves the Christmas spirit at Hogwarts is real, doesn't it?"

For Hermione, Gavin had bought a dark blue sweater from Oxford.

It wasn't especially flashy. The stitching was fine, the cuffs and collar neat, and it had a proper collegiate look. It was another apology for his thoughtless words last time.

Gavin was wondering whether Hermione would accept the sweater.

Something tapped against the window.

Tap—tap, tap.

He looked up and saw an owl perched outside on the windowsill.

It was an eagle owl with beautiful shades of brown in its feathers and warm amber-orange eyes that stood out against the snowy winter light. It was medium-sized, on the smaller side for an eagle owl, which gave it a dignified air as it perched there. Yet the slight tilt of its head as it looked at people made it hard not to find it adorable.

Like a tiny ruler trying very hard to look fierce.

"That bird looks like a cross between Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick," Gavin said.

Justin happened to walk over and glanced at it.

"If the professors hear that comparison, they'll probably fail you."

Gavin got up and opened the window.

The eagle owl hopped in with steady poise, paused lightly on the sill, then presented the letter tube and small parcel tied to its leg. It looked thoroughly professional.

He took out the envelope. Written on it were the words:

"From Cordelia."

"..."

Gavin smiled when he saw the sender. He wasn't surprised at all.

After all, he was the one who had given Cordelia this owl.

Weeks ago, he had decided to give the lonely Cordelia an animal to keep her company. What could be more suitable than an owl?

An owl could deliver letters and provide companionship.

Two benefits in one.

He opened the letter first.

The paper was clean, and the handwriting delicate, though it had a faintly uncertain quality, as if its writer had not held a pen in a long time.

Cordelia began by thanking him for the Christmas gift he had sent—

The eagle owl.

She wrote earnestly that it was beautiful, that its eyes were lovely, and that it was clever. Then, in a tone that tried to sound composed but could barely contain her delight, she said that they could write to each other often from now on.

The next line sounded most like her.

After that, she complained a little:

"But the other gift you sent, the floral dress, is too big."

Gavin paused when he read it.

Then he gave a quiet laugh.

"What is it?" Justin asked.

"Nothing." Gavin folded the letter. "I just thought of something funny."

The final paragraph read:

"Your present is in the parcel. Don't tell me you don't need it."

A very Cordelia-style threat.

Gavin opened the little parcel. Inside was a Self-Writing Quill.

It was beautifully made, with a slender, dark blue shaft and a narrow band of silver near the end. Clearly, she had chosen it with care.

Gavin remembered that he had complained before about how much time writing took.

He picked up the quill and twirled it between his fingers. It felt good in his hand.

"Wow, what's that?" Justin leaned in again.

"A research aid," Gavin said.

"Is that what you call quills in the East?"

"Then why did you ask?"

"You're in a good mood today."

"Am I?"

"You've smiled more today than you usually do in a month."

"I'm pretty sure I smile a lot." Gavin disagreed.

"Hah." Justin rolled his eyes. He decided not to argue with someone so lacking in self-awareness. Opening presents was more important.

Gavin sat down at the desk and began his reply.

When he finished, he rolled up the letter and tied it to the eagle owl's leg.

The owl obligingly let him straighten its feathers. Its amber-orange eyes watched him quietly, solemn and graceful, though it tilted its head now and then, looking irresistibly cute.

"Off you go," Gavin said.

Snow was still falling outside when the eagle owl beat its wings and flew away.

He stood by the window, watching its silhouette cross the white sky.

He wondered what expression Cordelia would wear when she read the letter.

That evening was the Hogwarts Christmas feast.

Not many students had stayed at school, yet the Great Hall seemed livelier than ever. The long tables had been shortened, bringing everyone closer together. Turkey, roast goose, Christmas Pudding, roast potatoes, gravy, buttered carrots, stuffed sausages, and all kinds of desserts covered the tables. Their rich aromas seemed enough to keep out the cold beyond the windows.

For once, Gavin hadn't made himself a Chinese meal.

Harry looked a little surprised when he saw Gavin spear a piece of roast goose and pair it with Mashed Potatoes.

"You're not having your special food today?"

"It's nice to try something different now and then," Gavin said.

Ron immediately agreed.

"That makes perfect sense to me."

His plate was already piled so high it was almost invisible.

Harry grinned at Ron and bent over his own plate to carve his turkey.

As they ate, they chatted on and off about the holidays, the heavy snow, the pile of singing frosted biscuits the twins had produced that morning, and the new pair of wool socks Ron had received that were unmistakably Weasley family style.

The Great Hall was warm. Candlelight, firelight, the smell of food, and laughter mingled together. A scene like this could make a person forget a great many troubles for a while.

Then, halfway through something Harry was saying, Gavin suddenly stopped.

It was a small movement.

The knife and fork in his hands paused. His throat shifted slightly, as though something had caught there.

Harry noticed and asked with concern, "Are you all right?"

Ron set down his cup and looked over too.

Gavin raised a hand to his brow. Two seconds passed before he slowly let out a breath.

"I'm fine," he said.

"Really?" Harry frowned. "Your face changed all of a sudden."

Gavin looked up at him, then smiled.

"Something just went down the wrong way," he said. "Don't worry so much."

Harry watched him as if he wanted to make sure once more, but Gavin looked normal again, so he nodded.

"That's good."

"Mm."

He lowered his head again and continued cutting the meat on his plate. His movements looked no different from usual.

But only Gavin knew—

Just now, the pool had finally filled, and his magic had stopped growing. It was a strange feeling.

As though someone had knocked once on a door deep inside him.

He kept his eyes lowered and slowly set down his knife and fork. His expression did not change, but he knew one thing.

The time had come.