"It's just a Firebolt, isn't it? Why's everyone acting so shocked?" Daphne looked up at the excited students in the hall and said dismissively.
She'd had one a year ago—it had been gathering dust under her bed ever since.
"You've got some nerve saying that. What a waste," Rhys said helplessly. He truly couldn't understand what Professor Flitwick had been thinking, giving such a fine item to someone like her. It was a complete waste of a masterpiece.
"Then should I lend it to the house Quidditch team?" Daphne, realizing that her behavior might indeed seem wasteful, quickly tried to make up for it.
"Forget it. I think it's better left under your bed," Rhys said without a moment's hesitation, immediately crushing her idea.
Unlike Helga, who bought a Firebolt for her house's seeker with her own money, Rhys had absolutely no desire to deal with those Slytherin Quidditch players. Watching them win was somehow more unpleasant to him than losing himself.
"Oh, alright then," Daphne obediently followed his advice.
The Great Hall stayed lively for quite some time. Students from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff crowded around their Seekers, eager to admire the Firebolts up close—and maybe even touch the broomsticks so expensive they wouldn't dare dream of owning one.
When Harry and Cedric, surrounded by their friends, finally carried their Firebolts out of the hall, their gazes met briefly in midair—and in that instant, the air between them seemed to spark with tension.
Both of them knew just how much a good broom could mean to a Seeker.
"This year, Hufflepuff will be the one holding the Quidditch Cup," Cedric said firmly.
"No, the Quidditch Cup belongs to Gryffindor," Harry countered, unwilling to back down.
The tension in the air grew thicker.
"Hmph!" Malfoy, overhearing their exchange, gave a cold snort and swaggered right between the two of them. The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team followed behind him, forcing a path straight through the crowd gathered around both Seekers.
Watching Malfoy and his teammates walk away, Cedric suddenly said, "As long as it's not Slytherin lifting the cup, I can live with it."
"Same here," Harry replied, a faint smile spreading across his face.
Surprisingly, the hostility between them seemed to ease, and the two groups of students left the hall together.
Standing behind them, Rhys had witnessed the entire exchange—and he was so furious that his whole body trembled. Even after returning to the common room, he couldn't stop fuming.
What on earth was Malfoy thinking?!
Has Slytherin really turned into the glue mending the rifts between other Houses now?!
"Alright, don't be angry," Daphne said, noticing Rhys's dark expression. She tugged him toward a table by the common room fireplace, trying to calm him down.
"I'm not angry," Rhys said irritably. "I'm just frustrated that I have to share a House with that group of idiots. Why can't Hogwarts implement some sort of expulsion policy—kick out the students we don't want and send them to other Houses? Hufflepuff would be perfect! Didn't Helga Hufflepuff say she'd take anyone? Then just dump Draco and his lot over there!"
Daphne tried to imagine Malfoy showing up in Hufflepuff and slowly lost control of her expression.
"I don't think Cedric Diggory would accept him into Hufflepuff…"
"Then let him transfer schools. There are so many magical academies out there—surely one of them would admit him for the right price," Rhys muttered, already feeling pessimistic that as long as Malfoy remained in Slytherin, the House's reputation would never recover.
Daphne sighed. "Which school would be blind enough to take him…"
Astoria, who had been quietly listening to her sister and Rhys talk, noticed how downcast Rhys looked. She reached into her robe and took out a small, ornate lunchbox.
When she opened it, it was filled to the brim with chilled, frosty ice cream.
"Don't frown, have some ice cream. It's raisin yogurt flavor," Astoria said, choosing her remedy carefully. "It's the Sorting Hat's fault Malfoy ended up here—it should've just sent him straight back home."
Rhys froze, unable to respond.
After all, the Sorting Hat's decision-making logic had been created by the four founders themselves—and who could have predicted that it would still be in use nearly a thousand years later? Back then, how could he have imagined that wizarding families would one day fall so far from what they once were…
Fortunately, the rich scent of yogurt ice cream and the sweet-tart flavor of raisins quickly dispelled the frustration in Rhys's heart. Although it didn't meet his usual standards of "purity" for ice cream, the ingredients were well chosen—so it wasn't bad at all.
Salazar Slytherin had only one strict requirement when it came to purity: ice cream.
Ice cream, in his view, should always have a single, pure flavor. Cream should taste purely of cream; vanilla, purely of vanilla—no unnecessary additions allowed.
Once he had calmed down, Rhys began playing small intellectual games like Wizard's Chess with the Greengrass sisters. It wasn't until late at night that the three of them finally left the common room and returned to their respective dormitories.
The next morning, Rhys woke up in a quiet, empty dormitory. If there was one good thing to say about this generation of Slytherin students, it was that they valued family—something rare among them. Unlike Rhys, all his roommates had chosen to return home for Christmas.
Being the only one left at school during a family holiday would normally be great material for teasing, but the one staying behind was Rhys. Even if Malfoy had seven times his courage, he wouldn't dare joke about that to Rhys's face.
Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and only complained about it with his cronies on the train back to London.
The first thing Rhys did after getting up was open his pile of Christmas presents.
In the few years since his return to the world, he had met quite a few people and made several friends, so the gifts they sent him now formed a small mountain at the foot of his bed.
On top of the pile sat a large yellow parcel, tied with a letter.
Rhys opened the letter and found that the gift was from Helga.
The letter read:
[Salazar, can we make peace? I need your help. If possible, would you come make the doll components with me over Christmas? Also, Merry Christmas!]
Rhys stared at the letter Helga had sent and let out a cold laugh. Now, of all times?! Helga, you must be joking!
And why should he spend his lovely Christmas holiday doing hard labor for her? If a holiday isn't for resting, what's the point of calling it one?
He tossed the letter aside and began unwrapping Helga's gift.
He felt a slight twinge of awkwardness, realizing he hadn't prepared a Christmas gift for her at all—they didn't usually bother with such things.
In the old days, a good meal together and a few newly created spells exchanged between them were more than enough to mark the occasion.
But as he tore open the wrapping, Rhys couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath. Helga's gift was truly extravagant!
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