The joy of their Quidditch victory was quickly washed away by the cold, harsh realities of life.
Several days passed, and they had practically inhaled half the dust in the library, yet they hadn’t found a single shred of a lead on the name “Nicolas Flamel.” “Could we be looking in the wrong place?” Harry rubbed his sore eyes, staring at the mountain of ancient books stacked before him.
Ron collapsed directly onto the table, whining weakly, “I bet this guy doesn’t even exist at Hogwarts.
Someone definitely made him up to trick Hagrid!” Rayleigh pretended to read *An Illustrated Guide to Medieval Witchcraft* beside them, while mentally deriding their efforts.
*Are you kidding me?
What on earth are you guys searching through?
Nicolas Flamel is centuries old!
Searching through ‘Directory of Modern Wizards’ or ‘Great Wizards of Recent Times’—you’d have to be stupid to expect him there!
And Ron, why are you reading ‘A Date with a Vampire’?
What, are you going to find him inside a romance novel?* “Christmas is almost here,” Hermione announced gravely, closing a heavy copy of *A History of Modern Magic*.
“Rayleigh and I are going home for the holiday.
I expect you two to keep searching for clues while you’re at school.
Don’t slack off.” Her tone carried an unquestionable authority that forced Ron to swallow the complaints brewing in his throat.
“Don’t worry, Hermione,” Harry nodded earnestly.
Christmas.
The word made Rayleigh pause in his page-turning.
Although he had regularly exchanged owl post with his parents since school started, a sudden wave of homesickness welled up in his chest.
He missed his old man—unscrupulous and shameless, yet fiercely protective—and his mother, stern on the outside but soft on the inside.
The very next day, Rayleigh kicked off his “Santa Claus” shopping spree.
Since he was heading home, he needed to prep gifts for his “famished” friends and professors.
Um…
as for Harry’s gift, it was an exquisite model Quidditch player.
Perched atop the model was a Seeker in a Bulgarian team uniform riding a Firebolt, capable of flying autonomously within a hand’s-breadth radius above a table and performing various high-difficulty maneuvers.
It was a limited edition Rayleigh had shelled out a fortune for in Diagon Alley.
“He’s the Savior, after all—he deserves something with style,” Rayleigh thought, packaging the model with satisfaction.
For Ron’s gift, Rayleigh leaned into his inner troll.
It was a prop Gold Galleon that looked utterly ordinary.
However, a single incantation would make it pop, splitting into a dozen identical Gold Galleons.
Although these duplicates would vanish after a few minutes, the prop was reusable indefinitely.
“Since you’re always crying broke, buddy can only help you out this much.
Copium is a form of magic too!” Rayleigh chuckled mischievously.
He didn’t dare give Ron actual money; that wasn’t making a friend, that was raising a son.
Hermione’s gift was the simplest, yet the most expensive: a copy of *Advanced Transfiguration Applications and Progression* personally signed by Professor McGonagall.
The pages were crisp, smelling freshly inked, and filled with complex diagrams and spell breakdowns that Rayleigh couldn’t understand a single word of.
“God-tier gear for the top student—spot on.” As for Neville and his unlucky roommate Seamus, Rayleigh simply bought a massive crate of the latest products from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes in bulk.
Belch Powder, Fever Fudge, Canary Creams—you name it, he bought it.
“Hope those two survive until next term,” Rayleigh offered a three-second silent prayer for them.
The professors’ gifts required even more careful thought.
Professor McGonagall received a lifelike magic cat ornament carved entirely out of obsidian, with green emeralds for eyes.
A gentle touch would make it emit cute meows and roll around on the desk.
Rayleigh almost couldn’t bring himself to give it away.
Snape’s gift, on the other hand, was the ultimate manifestation of Rayleigh’s twisted sense of humor and concern.
A whopping twelve bottles of exquisitely packaged shampoo!
Printed on the bottles in fancy script were the words: *Potter Family Secret Recipe · Heavy Duty Oil-Control · Soft & Silky Gloss Shampoo*.
“Heh, old bat, that’s what you get for constantly looking for excuses to pick on Harry!” Rayleigh could practically visualize the twisted expression on Snape’s face upon receiving it.
“Twelve bottles, one a month, enough to get you through to this time next year.
No need to thank me, my name is Lei Feng Stark!” As for Dumbledore, Rayleigh really didn’t know what to send.
Ultimately, he chose the most unpretentious gifts imaginable: a thick wool scarf, a pair of wool gloves, plus three pairs of wool socks warm enough to make one’s toes sweat.
“Old folks need to keep warm, can’t have him catching a chill.” After picking out a few other items tailored to each professor’s tastes, Rayleigh’s little vault declared bankruptcy once more.
Dragging his empty coin pouch behind him, he boarded the Hogwarts Express home alongside Hermione.
…
At King’s Cross Station in London, Rayleigh spotted the man standing out like a sore thumb in the crowd instantly.
Mr.
Watson Stark wore a flashy pink suit, gold-rimmed glasses, and hair slicked back so shiny it practically reflected light, standing on tiptoe to peer around.
“Dad!” Rayleigh waved enthusiastically.
Catching sight of his son, Watson instantly broke into a wide grin that crinkled his entire face, sweeping Rayleigh up into a bone-crushing bear hug that nearly snapped his ribs.
“Oh, my sweet boy!
I missed you to death!
Anyone picking on you at school?
Any little girls writing you love letters?” “Stop, stop, stop!” Rayleigh struggled out of his grip.
“Where’s Mom?” “Your mom’s waiting in the car.
She said she didn’t want to look at my goofy face,” Watson shrugged, completely unbothered.
Back home, Rayleigh celebrated his twelfth Christmas since arriving in this world.
The following day, Hermione visited the Stark residence as an invited guest.
Standing awkwardly in front of the castle-like villa while holding a present, Hermione experienced her very first tiny doubt regarding the “ordinary Muggle family” Rayleigh kept talking about.
Opening the door was Rayleigh’s mother, Natasha Liebes.
Dressed in a sharp women’s suit, she stood tall and straight, radiating a powerful aura.
Yet the moment she laid eyes on Hermione, the sternness characteristic of her military background melted away.
“You must be Hermione!
Come in, come in!
Rayleigh mentions you all the time.
What a pretty and clever girl.” Natasha warmly took Hermione’s hand, her eyes sizing her up from top to bottom like a mother evaluating a prospective daughter-in-law.
Hermione had never dealt with a welcome like this before.
Her cheeks flushed crimson in an instant, leaving her stumbling over her words.
Thankfully, her mother and father stepped forward first, shaking hands with Rayleigh’s mother.
With an encouraging look from her own mother, Hermione managed to squeak out: “H-Hello, Auntie.” Rayleigh covered his face nearby.
*It’s over, Mom’s background-check mode has been activated.* At lunch, the atmosphere grew even stranger.
Rayleigh’s father, Watson, enthusiastically struck up a conversation with Hermione’s father, Mr.
Granger.
“Mr.
Granger, it’s an honor to meet you!
Rayleigh told me you’re an expert in the field of dentistry.
Magnificent!
Truly magnificent!” Watson raised his wine glass, his face flushed with delight.
Mr.
Granger waved his hand modestly.
“Not at all, I’m just an ordinary dentist.” “Ah, don’t be so modest!” Watson leaned in mysteriously.
“Speaking of which, we’re practically in the same line of work!” “The same line of work?” Mr.
Granger blinked in confusion.
“That’s right!” Watson slapped his thigh.
“You clear out the holes up top, and I unclog the holes down below!
We’re both contributing to the noble cause of human ‘unobstructed flow’!
Different approaches, same principle!” *Pfft—* A mouthful of pumpkin juice squirted straight out of Rayleigh’s mouth.
Hermione’s face was so red it looked ready to bleed; she desperately wished she could dig a hole and crawl into it right then and there.
Mr.
Granger’s expression was equally priceless.
He opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to explain the distinction between dental caries and the intestinal tract, but Watson gave him zero opportunity.
“Come, come, Brother Granger!
I’ve been researching a new ‘minimally invasive painless anorectal expansion’ technique lately, and it aligns perfectly with your ‘root canal therapy’ philosophy!
We simply must have an in-depth discussion another day.
I’ll send you our hospital’s latest endoscope model…” The atmosphere at the dining table degenerated into an awkward yet wildly hilarious spectacle.
Rayleigh felt that after this meal, Hermione would most likely sever all ties with him.
After finally making it through and seeing the Granger family off, Rayleigh collapsed onto the sofa in exhaustion.
When the holidays ended and he prepared to return to school, Watson pulled Rayleigh aside once more, stuffing a heavy purse of coins into his hands.
“Son, spend freely when you’re away from home.
Don’t mistreat yourself out there.” Rayleigh weighed the bag; his dad had been exceptionally generous this time.
Immediately after, his dad gave Rayleigh a look that said, *You know what I mean.* Rayleigh understood completely, of course.
Gritting his teeth in pain, he pulled out 20 Stamina Potions and shoved them into his father’s hands.
That was twenty whole Stamina Potions!
Potions he had worked so hard to grind out from monsters!
This time, his private vault was truly bled dry.
Still, there was no choice.
His mother’s sharp, knife-like glare was locked onto him, softening only after he handed over the Stamina Potions.
It seemed that before long, he might be getting a new little brother or sister.
…Or maybe quite a few little brothers and sisters.