Louis was woken up by a faint rustling noise outside his window.
When he opened his eyes, he found the world outside blanketed in white. Snowflakes drifted down, adding a proper festive atmosphere to Christmas morning.
A rare sight—recent years had brought few white Christmases.
And really, if it didn't snow, could you even call it Christmas?
"Louis, are you up yet?"
Mrs. Wilson's voice floated up from downstairs. "Come down for breakfast."
"Got it, Mom."
Louis rolled out of bed, dressed neatly, washed up, and then finally went down.
By then, Mrs. Wilson had already prepared breakfast and was waiting for him to arrive.
"See? Our son stays calm no matter what. Not like other children who can't sit still on Christmas morning."
Mr. Wilson set down his newspaper and waved to him. "Merry Christmas, Louis."
"Merry Christmas, Dad. Merry Christmas, Mom," Louis greeted obediently. "Oh, how's the bath gel I sent you working out?"
"It's wonderful—feels so refreshing. Lately I've even felt healthier." Mr. Wilson looked quite pleased. "That's magic too, isn't it?"
"Sort of," Louis said casually.
"There's nothing… strange in it, is there?" Mr. Wilson lowered his voice, clearly concerned. After all, he had seen potion ingredients before.
"Relax, there's nothing odd. The main ingredient is dragon's blood," Louis explained as he sat down at the table. He caught the aroma of fried eggs and couldn't help feeling a pang of regret.
His own cooking skills were half-baked, and he'd never managed to teach Hogwarts' house-elves to make fried dough sticks. They did know how to make soy milk, but without the fritters, pairing it with bread just felt wrong.
He was starting to miss the taste of home.
"Dragon's blood?" Mr. Wilson asked in awe. "So there really are fire-breathing dragons in the wizarding world?"
"Of course. But they can't be privately kept."
Louis finished and picked up his knife and fork, only for his father to interrupt again: "Aren't you going to open your presents first?"
"What surprise could they possibly hold? Socks and magic tricks, that's all," Louis replied indifferently. He hadn't even glanced at the Christmas tree when he woke up.
"This year's different. You've got a lot of gifts—not just from us." Mr. Wilson sighed, shaking his head in wonder. "Who would've thought our son would be so popular in the wizarding world?"
"A lot?" Louis yawned, turning his eyes toward the tree—only to freeze in place.
Underneath the Christmas tree lay an enormous pile of beautifully wrapped presents, so many that the tree itself was nearly buried beneath them.
"Where did all these come from?" Louis was dumbfounded.
"Owls brought them. If someone uses an owl to send gifts, they must be your friends at school," Mrs. Wilson said with a smile. "It seems you're very well-liked, with plenty of friends."
"Of course—Louis is our son," Mr. Wilson said proudly.
Clearly, the Wilsons had no real idea what kind of child they had.
"Maybe…" Louis muttered. He knew himself better than anyone. Given the things he'd done at school, any package sent to him was unlikely to contain anything good.
What if they were cursed? Or maybe when he opened one, a swarm of cockroaches would burst out? Or worse—something that sprayed pus all over his face?
These gifts were highly suspicious!
"Are there names on these gifts?" Louis asked.
If there weren't, he'd toss them all out. If there were, he'd open them first, and if there was any trick, once he got back to school he'd make sure those senders enjoyed a good ten days or half a month of nightmare survival games until they broke down mentally.
Otherwise, he wasn't Louis!
"Names? Of course. Who sends gifts without signing them?" Mr. Wilson chuckled.
All of them signed? That bold, huh?
Louis raised a brow and casually picked up a package.
It was a broom wrapped in brown parchment paper. The shape was obvious, and from the looks of it, the package was one of the least likely to hide anything nasty inside.
"Lucius Malfoy, with his wife Narcissa Malfoy and son Draco Malfoy, wish Mr. Louis Wilson a happy holiday."
That was the attached greeting.
"Lucius Malfoy… Draco Malfoy's father? They're sending me gifts?"
Louis pondered for a moment, then looked at the other packages. Without exception, they were all from pure-blood families—
including the families of his tormented roommates.
Seeing that, Louis had his guess.
It seemed the pure-bloods' first instinct toward the so-called Heir of Merlin was to curry favor.
He thought it over, then unwrapped the package that didn't look dangerous.
Inside was a brand-new Nimbus 2000. Among brooms, it was like the latest sports car—far superior in performance to the school's Sweeping series, yet just as easy to handle.
It wasn't cheap. As a gift, it was very valuable.
A normal yet extravagant present—though useless to Louis.
For him, it didn't matter what broom he had—he flew while carrying it, not on it. Switching from carrying a bicycle to carrying a sports car didn't change much.
Selling it might be the better option.
"This is… a broom? Why make it so fancy?" Mrs. Wilson asked curiously. Mr. Wilson, however, had seen the Nimbus 2000 before—displayed in the Quidditch shop's window.
"I remember it—the price tag was twelve hundred Galleons." Mr. Wilson was stunned. "One Galleon is about five pounds—this broom is worth six thousand pounds!"
The Wilson family wasn't poor. On the contrary, with Mr. Wilson as a renowned magician, they were well-off.
But spending six thousand pounds on a broom? Anyone would think that ridiculous.
"Who would send you such an expensive gift?" Mr. Wilson asked curiously, taking the broom from Louis. "It can fly, right?"
"Mm. The Nimbus 2000. In the wizarding world, it's basically the equivalent of a Muggle sports car."
Louis explained its value, and when his father heard it compared to a sports car, the six-thousand-pound price tag suddenly didn't seem so outrageous.
"But isn't that too precious as a gift?" Mrs. Wilson said worriedly. "Did you send them anything in return? Can your gift match theirs in value?"
She thought for a moment. "Should I prepare more pounds for you? You should give them equivalent gifts in return—equal exchange is the key to maintaining friendships."
Six thousand pounds wasn't much for the Wilsons; they could easily afford it. But Mrs. Wilson truly worried about her son's social dealings. Mr. Wilson, on the other hand, was too busy examining the flying broom with fascination.
"Don't worry, Mom. My return gift is more than enough."
Louis thought about it carefully. Just being at the same school as them was the greatest gift he could give.
After all, letting them witness a living descendant of Merlin—wasn't that enough?
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