After the potion took effect, the falcon quickly recovered its vitality, then departed the pub carrying its heavy cargo of gifts.
Accompanied by several sharp cries—irritated yet dignified—the eagle's shadow gradually vanished into the distance...
"Fortunately, Britain's merely an island. Were this Egypt, Amun would run away from home."
Ramos Tiamat shook his head with amused affection, his tone carrying both indulgence and gentle mockery.
"Father, next Christmas..."
"Have You considered how to celebrate?"
Beyond gift wrapping complications, the reciprocal exchange would pose an enormous challenge.
Tiamat harbored dark premonitions—next year's gifts would at least double. Amun would probably die before agreeing to another such expedition...
Tiger rubbed his forehead with mounting exasperation.
"Bloody hell..."
"Damned Christmas. Does God expect us grabbing His divine appendage, congratulating Him on excellent work?"
Clearly, he'd grasped the predicament too. This year's gifts alone threatened overwhelming chaos.
Especially from Slytherin.
As if engaged in competitive display, Atlantic Bursted'sBasilisk staff proved most extravagant.
The staff body was forged from pure obsidian metal, winding serpentine patterns carved along its length—flowing and spiraling with shifting light like living venomous snakes dancing, displaying heart-stopping beauty.
The staff head bore platinum-mithril wrapping, crowned by a deep emerald gem carved into a Basilisk skull. The serpent's head reared proudly, cheeks bulging, razor fangs seeming to emerge at any moment. Basilisk eyes formed from amber cat's-eye stones flickered with malevolent radiance.
The staff carried intrinsic Petrification enchantments—insert any wand for perfect compatibility, enabling spellcasting through the artifact itself.
True master craftsmanship. In any pureblood noble's possession, this would serve as generational heirloom.
Under Tiamat's knowing observation, Tiger gripped the staff by its tail, swinging it through empty air like a baseball bat.
Exceptional balance. Stroking the sharp serpent fangs, his fierce features displayed profound satisfaction.
Subsequently, Tiger dispatched the staff to Uncle Martin, requesting reinforcement enchantments.
After all, skull density wasn't inconsiderable either.
r(￣?￣)q
Examining the gift signatures, Ramos Tiamat smiled mysteriously—these included not merely Slytherins who'd originally supported Tiger.
Obviously, allegiances had shifted...
Tiger clearly sensed the sentiment within, naturally refusing perfunctory reciprocation.
Beyond his personal collection, big brother Arthur's treasures were completely ransacked...
Though most students had returned home, Hogwarts castle maintained festive vibrancy.
Harry had never experienced such atmosphere—whether sumptuous feasts or marvelous Christmas crackers filled him with pure joy and warmth.
"Good God, I absolutely cannot consume another morsel..."
Ron wrapped sausage in orange sauce, struggling to swallow while choking until his eyes rolled backward.
Harry quickly offered pumpkin juice.
"Ron, I believe you require circulation. Your stomach threatens explosion."
"No, I think rest enables continued consumption." Ron protruded his belly, constantly drawing deep breaths.
"Two drumsticks—requiring only single bite!"
He spoke with complete seriousness. The table's fireworks and crackers remained untouched—how could he bear abandoning the Great Hall?
Just then, falcon Amun flew into the Great Hall, its taloned package appearing exceptionally heavy.
Amun couldn't manage stable landing. Through frantic wing-beating chaos, Amun crashed headfirst into the cracker pile, scattering explosives everywhere.
"Oh heavens, what befell the creature!"
Harry startled violently.
Percy rose clearing crackers, unsurprised while producing potion to feed Amun, simultaneously arranging food.
"This occurs every Christmas. Last year Cedric's two owls nearly perished from exhaustion."
"Should you possess excessive friends, Harry, I recommend preparing additional potions for Hedwig."
Wizards perpetually treasured owls—anyone's. They served as messengers and emotional anchors.
"Oh, these appear destined for you lot."
After packages scattered, gift boxes tumbled forth. Names on attached tags captured Percy's attention.
"For us?"
Harry rose accepting the gift box. After identifying the name clearly, he quickly patted Ron, who continued craning his neck backward.
"Ron, there's yours as well."
"Mine?" Ron struggled straightening, his blinking eyes displaying confusion.
He'd already received all expected gifts this morning—couldn't conceive of additional friends.
Percy organized gift boxes, shouting toward nearby crackling fireworks:
"George, Fred!"
"Cease playing—packages await you."
Soon everyone surrounded the Gryffindor table, unwrapping packages.
Percy collected Dumbledore's and professors' packages, eagerly approaching the staff table.
"Oh! It's Tiger!" Discovering the greeting card within his gift box, Ron couldn't suppress exclamation.
He'd genuinely never anticipated Tiger sending gifts, considering he'd only contributed homemade candy from his mother.
In his impression, Slytherins never regarded such shabby, inexpensive offerings.
Yet he possessed cunning intelligence. Previously, Ron had solemnly written Hermione correspondence:
[Hermione, Merry Christmas.]
[For the candy's sake, I'm already Tiger's friend. You cannot strike me anymore.]
[by: Ronald Bilius Weasley]
Upon reading this letter, Hermione nearly laughed from irritation—how could she not comprehend Ron's intentions?
Extracting the weighty item from packaging, Ron's pupils gradually dilated as he experimentally swung it several times.
"Harry, what constitutes this?"
The metallic-gleaming baseball bat bristled with dense rivets, appearing rather menacing.
But as boys naturally attracted to straight, elongated, stick-like implements possessing aggressive attributes, Ron's face nearly bloomed with delight.
"This represents..."
Observing blood stains faintly remaining upon rivets, Harry suddenly felt somewhat speechless, his youthful features wrinkling considerably.
"It's a baseball bat—similar to ground Quidditch sports. Given opportunity, I'll instruct you..."
He deliberately ignored the rivets, preferring Ron remain ignorant of the implement's authentic purpose.
"Brilliant! I adore this contraption!"
Before Ron could respond, the Weasley twins cheered first, their eyes overflowing with rapture.
Harry turned observing George wielding a dagger, continuously stabbing Fred as viscous crimson blood slid along wound and blade tip...
"Oh! No! Fred!!!"
Harry's face immediately paled, yet George and Fred erupted in laughter.
"It's fabricated, Harry."
Fred produced his own dagger, depressing the blade tip as brilliant red blood flowed from the handle, staining fingertips.
"Oh, merciful Lord..."
Harry exhaled tremendously. Moments earlier, he'd felt nearly frightened to death.
"Naturally, it can also prove genuine."
George pressed the handle gem, spearing table sausage and consuming with evident relish.
"Harry, examine yours immediately!"
Ron impatiently patted Harry, who hesitated considerably.
Honestly, he harbored ominous premonitions.
Yet under Weasley brothers' insistence, he finally tore open wrapping.
"Heh... I anticipated this..."
Observing the large-caliber revolver and ammunition within the box, Harry felt his entire being threatening complete fragmentation...
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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