Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 74: Christmas Eve

“Kyle, come build a Yeti with us!”

Fred and George called out enthusiastically, inviting Kyle to join their snowy creation.

But Kyle declined without hesitation. Their artistry was on another level—abstract, with free-flowing lines that gave their work a mysterious, avant-garde charm. Kyle thought, I’m just an ordinary guy with average skills. How could I contribute to such a masterpiece?

No, he didn’t deserve to be part of it.

...

A bit further on, a group of young Hufflepuffs had gathered around the Black Lake, marveling at the way the heavy snowfall had caused it to freeze over. They were debating whether to drill a hole in the ice to catch a few fish, dreaming of a fresh stargazy pie.

Nearby, other students were engaged in a spirited snowball fight. Kyle spotted an older Gryffindor student slyly stuffing a stone into a snowball, intending to aim it at a Slytherin.

Unfortunately, his aim was a little off. The “special” snowball traced an arc through the air and nearly struck Professor Oren, who happened to be passing by.

“Young man, you must take more care during a snowball fight,” Professor Oren said calmly, flicking the snowball aside with his wand, “and avoid mixing in stones. I’ll let you off without deducting any points this time, but don’t let it happen again.”

The Gryffindor nodded emphatically, relieved.

The students had a fantastic time—everyone, that is, except Filch. He was visibly irritated. The young wizards didn’t seem to care much about polishing their shoes, leaving muddy footprints everywhere as they tramped back into the castle. This oversight significantly increased Filch’s workload. Eventually, he set up a chair by the castle entrance and wouldn’t let anyone inside until they polished their shoes.

Later that morning, in History of Magic, Kyle managed to fall asleep within thirty seconds, achieving a quality of rest far better than he’d gotten in the dormitory. Had Kanna not nudged him at the end of class, Kyle reckoned he’d have slept until noon.

“Half the students are dozing off,” Kanna remarked, rubbing her slightly reddened eyes, as if she’d just woken up herself. “Why can’t the school just hire a new History of Magic professor?”

“Probably because Professor Binns doesn’t need a salary,” Kyle shrugged. For that reason alone, his position is irreplaceable. Not to mention, Professor Binns worked year-round. Unlike other professors who were often called away by personal matters, his attendance was impeccable.

Besides, the History of Magic exam was notoriously straightforward. As long as you read the textbook before the test, an ‘E (Exceeds Expectations)’ grade was nearly guaranteed. Neither the school board nor Dumbledore himself would likely ever agree to replace such a perfectly reliable instructor.

“That stingy old bee,” Kyle scoffed, expressing his disdain for Dumbledore’s relentless exploitation of senior faculty.

...

As December arrived, the weather grew colder, but the studentsʼ spirits only seemed to rise. It was a complete transformation from their drowsy mood the previous month. Christmas break was around the corner, and they were eagerly counting down the days to two full weeks of freedom. In such an atmosphere, focusing in class became nearly impossible, and they spent more time daydreaming than listening.

Initially, the professors tried to rein them in with point deductions, hoping it would keep them in line, but it had little effect. The students would shape up for a few minutes, only to drift off into distracted reverie shortly after. Realizing this, most professors eventually gave up. They were used to this pre-holiday restlessness—every year, it was the same. Since they weren’t teaching anything new in these last few classes, they turned a blind eye to minor lapses, so long as they didn’t go too far.

Well, all except for two professors, of course.

Professor Binns, entirely indifferent to Christmas, continued his History of Magic lecture in his usual monotone, recounting the invention of the Self-Stirring Cauldron as if it were a tragic ballad.

“The Self-Stirring Cauldron,” he intoned, “enchanted to stir potions on its own, was invented by Gaspard Shingleton in the late 20th century. For this reason…”

The other was Professor Snape. He didn’t care why students were unfocused, and unlike his colleagues, he had no leniency to offer. Any non-Slytherin caught not paying attention lost three points immediately. Thanks to his vigilant efforts, Slytherin’s house points surged ahead, nearly a hundred points higher than second-place Ravenclaw by the day before break. Professor Snape was very pleased with the result. Slytherin’s six-year winning streak looked secure.

The evening before the holiday began, Kyle ran into a somewhat frazzled Hagrid in the Great Hall. This was the first time Kyle had seen him since that late-night escapade in the Forbidden Forest. Out of guilt, he and his friends had been avoiding Hagrid for the past month. But now that they were face-to-face, Kyle couldn’t ignore him.

“Hagrid! How have you been?” Kyle called, waving.

Hagrid looked down at him with a distracted smile. “Kyle, hello there! Sorry, can’t stop to chat. I’ve got loads left to prepare—by Merlin’s beard, I nearly forgot Hogwarts is on holiday tomorrow. Seems like Halloween was just the other day!”

Even as he spoke, Hagrid didn’t slow his pace, striding toward the castle in a rush. Kyle had to jog to keep up.

“Need a hand?” Kyle offered.

“Well, if you’re not too busy…” Hagrid thought for a moment. “Could you fetch some mistletoe for the decorations? The feast’s about to start, and I’m worried I won’t get everything done in time.”

“Of course,” Kyle agreed, and together, they made their way to Hagrid’s cabin by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Outside the cabin stood two massive fir trees, each with a trunk around 60 to 70 centimeters wide, along with a small pile of holly and mistletoe.

“Just grab some of that holly and mistletoe, and I’ll take care of the rest,” Hagrid instructed, bending down to hoist the two fir trees.

Kyle could see the strain on Hagrid’s face as he struggled to lift them both. His cheeks flushed from the effort; it was clear even for him that lifting both trees at once was a challenge. Just then, Hagrid heard a voice behind him.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

Suddenly, the weight of the trees vanished. Startled, Hagrid turned to see Kyle, wand outstretched, casting the levitation charm.

“Blimey! Impressive bit of charmwork!” Hagrid exclaimed.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Kyle shrugged modestly. “Anyone can do it.”

“Really?” Hagrid blinked, puzzled. Back in his school days, things weren’t like this. Could it be that today’s Hogwarts students were all this capable?