Daphne frowned. "What is this? It’s not going to turn me into a vampire, is it?"
Forget the ugly sweater—the glass bottle filled with red liquid looked seriously suspicious.
Thank you, Mother Nature—or to be precise, thank you, Re’em!
Thanks to that magical beast, Tom actually had a pretty impressive Christmas gift to give this year.
He’d soaked the Re’em’s fur in a special herbal solution, enhancing its already formidable magic resistance. Tom even tested it himself: the clothes made from it could withstand multiple stunning or petrification spells, even when he cast them seriously.
Granted, the craftsmanship was... not great. It didn’t look all that nice.
But since the clothes were meant to be worn under other layers, it didn’t really matter. Out of sight, out of mind.
The Re’em’s blood, though—that was the real treasure. It boosted strength and overall physical health. Way more valuable than the fur itself.
He gave both gifts—clothes and blood—to Hermione and Daphne.
Most people would kill to get their hands on something like that, but Daphne? Daphne looked like she was about to cry. Tom didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh.
"There’s no way you’re turning into a vampire," he tried to reassure her. "Just pretend it’s medicine. Grit your teeth, drink it fast, and it’ll be over before you know it."
"It’ll make you stronger too. And you won’t catch colds as easily in the winter," he added, trying to coax her like you would a grumpy toddler.
Actually, no—he was really coaxing a grumpy toddler.
She’d already caught two colds this semester. Girl really had the constitution of a wet paper towel.
Daphne still looked like she wanted to cry, but Tom’s gentle tone softened her up a bit.
"Mom said the same thing," she mumbled, her small face scrunched up. "She also told me to thank you properly. She said both gifts were really valuable."
Tom waved it off casually. "Come on, you and I don’t need to stand on ceremony like that."
"Hehe, that’s what I told her too."
After much coaxing and a bit of trickery, Daphne finally downed the Re’em blood in one gulp. Her little face twisted in disgust—yeah, the taste was not her thing.
Within moments, her pale skin flushed red. She shrieked in panic.
Luckily, Tom quickly explained it was a normal reaction. That calmed her down a little, but she still hurried to shut off the two-way mirror.
She definitely didn’t want Tom seeing her looking like that.
Once their video call ended, Tom stretched his arms, ready to go outside for some fresh air before diving back into magical lessons with Grindelwald.
Grindelwald was... a bit of an unusual case. They had run some experiments the day before and discovered that his consciousness could stay in the study space to rest or return to his main body.
But whenever Tom needed him, Grindelwald had to shift back into the study space to teach.
Which was very interesting.
Even without the other restrictions, if Tom and Grindelwald ever had a falling out in the future, Tom could just summon him at will to the study space. Sure, Grindelwald might be able to multitask, but that would still mess with his focus and power.
Then again, Tom doubted things would come to that. Not with the system’s power backing him. Not even someone as powerful as Grindelwald could fight against that.
Just as Tom was about to step out, a flash of fire lit up mid-air in his bedroom.
Without thinking, Tom pulled out his wand.
Before he could do anything, the flames swirled and solidified into a fiery red bird, its talons gripping a neatly wrapped package.
The phoenix eyed Tom—who was still aiming his wand—and let out two angry squawks, clearly offended.
"...Fawkes?" Tom asked, lowering his wand halfway to show he wasn’t a threat.
Of course, Tom didn’t speak bird, but the phoenix flew over to his desk, dropped the parcel, and started cleaning itself with an air of dignity.
"Grindelwald! Hey, Grindelwald!" Tom quickly called him through their link.
Grindelwald, who had been deep in magical discussion with Andros, blinked in confusion. "What is it?"
"Come take a look at this bird. Is that Fawkes?"
Grindelwald watched through Tom’s eyes, silent for a few seconds before giving a small nod. "That’s Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes. What’s he doing here?"
"I think he’s delivering a Christmas present," Tom said, pointing at the package on the desk.
Same old rule: ’I can refuse a gift, but you better not forget to send one.’
At Hogwarts, Tom was usually the one receiving gifts—Slytherins knew how to show appreciation—but when it came to Dumbledore, Tom had to play the other role and send one instead.
Still, as the old saying goes: ’Today I bow, tomorrow I rise.’
One day, when Tom’s power was undeniable, even Dumbledore would be the one offering gifts first.
But now? Tom had expected nothing in return. He thought Dumbledore would just ignore the whole thing.
Instead, the man not only responded but actually sent Fawkes to deliver the gift. That level of formality was... surprising.
This was Tom’s first time seeing Fawkes in person. Even when he’d been to the Headmaster’s office, the bird was never there. His timing had always been off.
And now here it was—Dumbledore using a phoenix for deliveries. Only Dumbledore would do something so extravagant.
Currently, the only known phoenixes in the wizarding world were Fawkes and another named "Sparky," the team mascot for the New Zealand Quidditch team, the Moutohora Macaws.
"I want a cool magical pet too..." Tom muttered wistfully, glancing at Fawkes.
He took out some herbs he’d gathered from the Forbidden Forest—nettle, dittany, and others—and offered them as a snack.
Fawkes seemed pleased and nibbled slowly, clearly appreciating the gesture.
Only then did Tom unwrap the rectangular package, catching Grindelwald’s full attention.
Inside were three thick notebooks.
Tom opened the first page and found a note in Dumbledore’s handwriting: {These are backups of my correspondences with Nicolas over the years. I hope they’ll aid you in your study of alchemy.}
Tom flipped through the pages—all were in chronological order, dating from 1905 to 1990. Three entire notebooks filled with discussions about alchemy between two of the greatest minds in the field.
The content was wild and imaginative, but even a skim would offer tremendous insight—if you had a solid enough foundation to understand it.
Tom recalled that Dumbledore was born in 1881, which meant he was just 24 when the first note was written. Nicolas Flamel, on the other hand, was already over 500.
Talk about an age gap.
"Mr. Grindelwald," Tom asked suddenly, "did you ever meet Nicolas Flamel?"
Grindelwald’s expression twitched.
Meet him? He fucking hated him.
If it hadn’t been for that old fossil, Paris wouldn’t even exist anymore.
And then—as if on purpose—Tom stacked the three precious notebooks on top of a certain book.
{Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.} The favorite of every Hufflepuff.
"Tom, you’re still reading that childish nonsense?" Grindelwald finally snapped, unable to hold back anymore. "This book is no different from fairy tales! Aside from a few exceptions, most magical creatures aren’t even worth knowing about."
Tom gently stroked the book’s cover and replied with a peaceful smile, "But I think it’s a pretty good read. Something to relax with when I’ve got time to spare."
He looked admiringly at the cover. "Newt Scamander really is an incredible wizard. He helped establish a structured understanding of magical creatures and turned it into a legitimate field of study. Doesn’t that count for something?"
Grindelwald nearly exploded.
Andros, standing nearby, glanced sideways at Grindelwald’s rapidly shifting expressions—white, then green, then red. What the hell was going on? Did he seriously hate magical creatures that much?
"You’ve got time to spare?" Grindelwald thundered. "At your age, you haven’t even mastered basic dark magic! And you think now’s the time to relax?"
"Stop reading that useless garbage and come learn some proper magic!"
Tom was grinning on the inside, struggling to hold back laughter.