"Wait, Severus."
As Snape turned to leave, Dumbledore called out to him, asking candidly, "What is this?"
He held up the parchment in his hand.
Snape paused, then his expression grew somewhat peculiar.
"You don't know?"
"Evidently—I am not as all-knowing as people often claim. In fact, I often feel I know too little."
Snape looked Dumbledore up and down, his gaze as if he were watching a troll on its tiptoes doing ballet. His lips curved slightly, a mix of mockery and schadenfreude.
"How rare—someone actually sent me a Christmas gift, but not the great Dumbledore?"
Snape's biting tone didn't faze Dumbledore. The old Headmaster simply drew his wand and waved it towards the gift boxes overflowing in the room, and the Potions Master couldn't help but peer over.
The gift boxes gently swayed, then settled still.
Dumbledore sighed regretfully, saying, "It seems there genuinely isn't one."
"Oh," Snape responded dryly. He had just seen it—Dumbledore's room was overflowing with gifts, almost touching the ceiling. Thinking of the paltry few gift boxes in his own chambers, Snape suddenly lost the urge to mock. He didn't care about the number of gifts at all—he just didn't want to see others' unintentional displays of gloating.
With a flick of his finger, a piece of paper shot towards Dumbledore like a bullet.
"These are the instructions."
By the time Dumbledore caught the paper, Snape had already turned and strode away. The white-bearded Headmaster pushed up his spectacles, then looked down, quickly figuring out the usage.
"Oh—an invention that could replace Muggle telephones? A very interesting idea—"
He muttered a spell, examining the magic on the parchment—or rather, the Book of Friends.
"A clever concept, a brilliant combination... It seems Mr. Gray's study of alchemy is already bearing fruit—and he's very talented—no wonder Morrie is so pleased—"
Considering that he was the only one who hadn't received the gift, Dumbledore recalled the children's expressions that day and vaguely understood something.
"So that's it... a clever and sensitive child... isn't he? Unlike Harry, this child probably dislikes being guided—"
He seemed to be talking to himself, but soon, an old, faint voice echoed in the room.
"Ralf rarely sees an eleven-year-old child like this," the voice said. "A bit like Albus Dumbledore in his youth; also like Tom Riddle in his youth—clever, perceptive, and unique."
Dumbledore's gaze fell, and he said humbly, "Oh, you're praising me too highly. When I was eleven, my knowledge of alchemy was as much as any ordinary child's."
At the point where his gaze landed, standing in front of the fireplace, was a very ancient house-elf. His skin was wrinkled, and he was wrapped in a tea towel bearing the Hogwarts crest. His ears were filled with fluffy white hair. He was so thin that his body looked as if it could easily snap, yet his large green eyes were remarkably clear.
He spoke in a whispered voice, "Albus Dumbledore is truly arrogant. By saying that, he's implicitly acknowledging his own uniqueness and believing he should know everything."
"Don't be so blunt, dear Ralf," Dumbledore said helplessly. "You see me too clearly, which often makes me feel quite exposed."
He wiped his spectacles, sat in front of the desk, and gently requested, "Would you mind helping me organize these gifts? I need to write something."
"Ralf is happy to serve, Master."
The house-elf bowed, stepped back a few paces, and extended his slender fingers.
The gift boxes overflowing in the room began to untie themselves. Books swiftly flew into bookshelves, arranging themselves neatly.
Clean food items jumped into cupboards, and with a soft "snap," the cupboard doors closed.
Various cards and letters fell into several boxes, neatly stacked on the table, waiting for Dumbledore to review them when he had time. Other items were arranged in various corners of the room.
As for the problematic gifts, they gathered into a cluster, mercilessly squeezed and crushed by magic.
Not long after, Ralf, along with these "trash" items and wrapping paper, vanished from the room.
On the table, only two or three gift boxes remained unopened—those only Dumbledore could personally unseal.
While the elf was busy, Dumbledore wrote his name—[Albus Dumbledore]—on each Book of Friends.
All the professors who remained at school for the Christmas holidays had no families, perhaps not even relatives. They all chose to gift one of their one-on-one linked Books of Friends to Dumbledore.
Thus, Dumbledore, who hadn't received a Book of Friends as a gift on Christmas Day, ended up with a Book of Friends thicker than anyone else's that morning.
Putting away the Book of Friends, Dumbledore sat at his desk, contemplating for a long time. The shadows of time swept across his eyes, stirring ripples deep within his blue gaze.
Similar? Of course, very similar.
Upon reflection, Wade Gray in the crowd that day, the way he looked at him, was so much like his younger self.
But Dumbledore would also not forget how he had messed up his own life.
After much contemplation, he carefully picked up his quill and began to write a letter:
[Dear Morrie,
I have received the gift brought by your owl, and I must say, it is remarkably ingenious—even magnificent. It's difficult to imagine this being the work of an eleven-year-old... though, in some ways, its composition is quite straightforward. But it is precisely because of its simplicity that it is even more remarkable, and I trust you understand what I mean... I can almost envision the profound changes it will bring to the wizarding world in the future...
To be honest, this fills me with both delight and apprehension—what kind of education should we provide for such a talented child?The last time I encountered a student so brilliantly unsettling was fifty years ago... you must remember that student—Tom Riddle... I will not be so arrogant as to believe that my personal attitude determined Voldemort's path. But I must also admit that my education of him was undoubtedly a failure...
Prodigious and precocious, with emotions restrained by intellect and isolated by their own wisdom... even standing among countless people, they are solitary, for their minds and sharp senses make it easier for them to perceive the selfishness, greed, and ugly desires, the prejudiced arrogance within human nature... They will maintain a certain distance from others, disguising their inner disappointment and indifference towards humanity with humor, kindness, or politeness... They will be more prone to losing their way than more clumsy children...
You know, I speak not only of Tom Riddle, nor only of Wade Gray.
Therefore, regarding your student Wade, I have some perhaps undeveloped suggestions...
Dear friend, we adults, when facing children far younger than ourselves, often develop an unconscious arrogance due to our greater knowledge and experience... looking down on those children with a condescending superiority, wielding absolute power like monarchs, imparting the information we want them to know, withholding what we believe they should not know, manipulating them with words, guiding them towards the direction we wish to see...
What immense arrogance!
More dangerously, we often fail to recognize this arrogance.
Because we delude ourselves into believing we are making the right decisions, that it is to make them "better people"...
I cannot say this is entirely wrong, for a child's mind is often not mature enough, and their words and actions lack restraint. Without proper guidance, they can easily go astray, causing harm to themselves and others... But for a student like Wade Gray, conventional education might only have the opposite effect...
If there is one insight I have gained 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, determine everything…]