I sat at a wide desk, illuminated by the soft, amber glow of a magical lamp. On the polished surface stood six black boxes. The cases for the six rings were made with the same quality as their contents.
I had long pondered how to distinguish the other members of our council — which I had recently begun calling the "Slytherin Council," as that's what the entire second-year Slytherin house called the gathering of their "leadership." We needed a symbol or a marker that would, firstly, show others that this particular person belonged to a privileged group — they were to be respected and obeyed.
Secondly, and even more important than the first point — we needed to soothe the egos of the council members themselves. Any person, especially a teenager, I believed, strives to stand out from the masses, proving to themselves that they are certainly not like the others, because they stand out among them… by something! And this "something" I gave them. I gave them the feeling that they were among the chosen few who, together with the council, could achieve almost anything. Those who carried out our "requests" understood that they were from this special cohort — maybe not the most influential yet, but someday… someday they might receive such a ring and rise even higher within this special stratum of society.
In short, you get the idea. Beyond the sense of belonging, we needed a tangible symbol, a method, a means that could be touched and shown. Otherwise, after a certain time, some would start to wonder: is someone falsely claiming to be on the council? Does this council even exist? After all, there's no visible marker.
The solution I came up with was as elegant as the concept itself. The Slytherin Ring was to be the embodiment of pureblood pride, power, and impeccable taste. Made of noble silver with a slight matte sheen that seemed almost alive in the candlelight.
At the center of the ring — an elegantly engraved serpent, majestic, with smooth curves and recognizable predatory grace. The serpent was both the ornament and the main symbol, for what else could be on the ring of Slytherin's finest if not the symbol of the house itself?
Around the serpent were thin contour lines of relief. Dark lines that seemed to play with dark reflections in the shadows between the serpent's coils. This was a hint at secrets not meant for everyone to comprehend.
On the inner side of the ring, an inscription was engraved: "Semper Purus" and, of course, "Slytherin Council."
The accompanying letter for the gift was composed in a similarly lofty vein. Though there, I additionally emphasized what the ring signified, what it symbolized, and why we would wear these rings. Naturally, it included congratulations and stated who the gift was from and what it was. I deciphered the abbreviation on the case — "To a Member of the Slytherin Council" — naming it specifically in the letter with due formality.
One could say that on this day, a secret organization of Slytherins was officially created. That's precisely why I formalized everything in writing. I hoped that with time, it would grow from pompous nonsense, eliciting laughter, into a hidden council with influence over all of Slytherin and the school.
I had already tested my own ring. It sat confidently on my finger, heavy enough to remind of its presence, and overall, the ring looked solid and elegant. It was perfectly unisex, suitable for both girls and boys. Why didn't I make the rings personalized? Because I initially planned for these same rings to be passed down from one generation of students to the next. But then I refined my idea — this was now just a prototype for the time being, until I could create something more practical and unique.
Of course, such an item shouldn't be stored in a trinket box but in a worthy setting. For this purpose, I ordered from the craftsman who made these rings six black wooden cases covered in leather. The lid opens softly, with a gentle click of the hinge, and inside, the ring's owner is greeted by deep, dark velvet lining. In the center — a neat indentation where the ring fits snugly and doesn't shift when shaken.
They resembled cases for expensive jewelry… I'm talking nonsense, usually, jewelry in such cases is more expensive, but I decided to splurge — it is a gift, after all.
I carefully placed another silver ring into a box — the miniature serpent on the ring. The symbol of Slytherin. A seemingly simple ring, but made with quality.
"You're scheming something again," Draco said, appearing in the doorway. He looked a bit sleepy but still curious… or perhaps suspicious. "What are those boxes?"
"Gifts," I replied calmly, without looking up. "For Christmas."
"That many?" he wondered, coming closer and peering over my shoulder. "They're all the same."
"Almost," I said, carefully adjusting the ring in its case. "This one's for Avery. This — for Cassius. And this — Blackwell's ring. Two more — for Amanda and Isabella Nott. The last one, as you see, is mine."
Draco frowned.
"And why are you doing this? They'll… they'll see you gave everyone the same thing. Are you trying to bribe them?"
I looked at my brother. Nine years old, but already with that disdainful expression on his face — a simple grimace reminiscent of Father's emotions.
"No, Draco. A bribe is an attempt to buy a person with something valuable. A gift is an act of attention, not necessarily expensive. Anyone who receives one of these black cases could ask their parents to buy more expensive jewelry. But the true value of my gift lies not in the craftsman's work or the price of the silver in these rings."
He didn't seem to understand.
"Then why give them gifts at all?"
"Because a token of attention can sometimes be worth more than words or even deeds," I said, softly closing the lid of one of the boxes. "People tend to forget promises, words, and even actions. But a small material gift they wear every day serves as a constant reminder. Maybe you'll understand what I mean later."
I picked up the next ring and held it up to the light. The metal reflected the lamp's gleam, and I once again admired the beautiful color of the silver — and winced slightly at the price. A simple silver ornament, which, mind you, is many times cheaper than gold. And yet, wizard jewelers create such things much more easily than even their colleagues will in twenty years when things like laser engraving machines appear. The thing was, the order wasn't from a catalog but was a custom concept the craftsman was creating for the first time. That tripled the final price. Overall, there was another reason — the craftsman was overcharging, but fine, at least the work turned out well.
"You see," I continued, "I'm not buying their friendship. I'm investing memory into it. When a person wears such a mark, they unconsciously remember who gave it to them. And sometimes, that can play an important role."
Draco sat down opposite me, resting his cheek on his hand.
"And you give gifts to everyone?"
"To almost everyone I know," I answered, starting to tie ribbons on the boxes. "Even the professors. They, by the way, are harder to please. Not every teacher will appreciate silver, but almost everyone appreciates politeness and attention from one of hundreds of students who didn't forget even their professor and didn't hesitate to send a symbolic gift."
He was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked:
"Everyone? Even if you're on bad terms…" He arched an eyebrow skeptically, deciding to ask, "You mean, you give gifts to enemies too?"
I smiled.
"Absolutely. Sometimes it's precisely your enemies who deserve the most elegant gifts. Not for reconciliation, but as a reminder. Let them puzzle over what exactly you meant to say."
"Like what?"
"For example, I once sent one person a vial of Boil-Cure Potion, and I'll send one this year too," I said with a slight smirk. "With the note: 'In memory of our first year.' He was the one who slipped an ingredient into my cauldron back then, which caused my friend to get hurt, and I got a reprimand. I won't go into details, but after my response, he ended up in the hospital wing. Of course, I left no traces, because Slytherins should act like all smart people do. So, I left him a vial of a potion that contained the very ingredient he slipped into mine."
Draco gave a quiet snort of amusement.
"And did he get the hint?"
"I think so, considering he still avoids meeting my eyes. And that's the main thing I realized. Sometimes, one well-chosen gift is enough to make a person stop trying to be your enemy."
I placed the last box in a row, carefully aligned them, and exhaled.
"You see, Draco," I said more calmly, turning towards him, "the world isn't held together by spells or strength. It's held together by people. And by how you shape their perception."
Draco nodded, though his eyes showed he didn't understand. I just hoped something would stick in his memory. I viewed every such conversation as an investment. Even with a child. Especially with a child. The more I could instill now, the less I'd have to break later.
He stretched, yawning, and turned back at the door.
"And what will you give me this year?"
I chuckled.
"You've already received your gift."
"What did I receive? I didn't receive anything!" my brother exclaimed in surprise, and I barely held back a laugh. In moments like these, it was hard to believe he could grow into such a little shit.
"Wisdom."
He snorted disapprovingly and left. Of course, I had prepared a real gift for him too, but why spoil the surprise?
I remained seated, looking at the black boxes. Sometimes, explaining something to others makes you understand that "something" better yourself.
The gifts were to be sent with owls on Yule morning — or rather, Christmas morning, when most recipients would be busy unwrapping presents.
By the way, the rings were custom-made by one of the best jewelers in Diagon Alley — one of those who didn't refuse to work with non-magical jewelry as well. Yes, silver is cheaper than gold, but the best silver — the purity of the alloy, impeccable polishing, meticulous handwork… I didn't skimp: fine engraving, hidden settings for enamel, even shine without tool marks, the serpent coiled so that from the side it formed an elegant letter "S." And they all sat comfortably on the finger, unobtrusive yet immediately eye-catching. In short, however you looked at it, the gifts turned out splendid — if only as jewelry for now, but that wouldn't last long...
My parents didn't grill me. I explained why I needed the money: a rush order and a deposit for the craftsman — and they allocated the necessary sum but strictly forbade me from touching the childhood vault. Yes, I have a decent amount there, but my parents insisted I not use those funds without good reason. So the payment went through them — fortunately, the project looked "symbolic" enough not to raise extra questions.
Amusingly, after that holiday, Mother started letting me go to Diagon Alley more freely — though only accompanied by one of the house-elves. I could counter any of Mother's orders to the elf by convincing the magical servant with arguments, even to the point of sending it back to the manor… But why bother, when I was fine with such company and didn't want to upset Mother — she was already making concessions by allowing me to go out without her personal escort.
The shopping went smoothly: a couple of days in narrow shops, a few meetings with the craftsman, a short fitting, and approval of the sample. I decided this year's gifts would be symbolic: in the future, I planned to order brooches for a wider circle of subordinates. But first — a full set for the key figures, the council participants, then distributing marks of distinction among the rest.
The plans were, of course, ambitious: ideally, both the rings and future tie-pins should gain practical value. For example, they could be enchanted with tracking charms, notification markers, or a simple "friend-or-foe" recognition system. But not now. Firstly, that would turn them into artifacts, sharply increasing the cost and attracting unwanted attention. Secondly, no one would accept an unfamiliar enchanted item — it would raise suspicions. Even if I dared to do it now, it would seem excessive. Better to move slowly and carefully.
For now, just elegant trinkets. Later, I'll find a reason — like saying anyone can order such a ring, but the version with additional charms making them unique… Under that pretext, I could hide the enchantments I need.
In the accompanying letters, I directly stated that this was the mark of the "Slytherin Council" — a symbol of trust and responsibility. That was important. As for gifts for acquaintances and professors, I took the simpler route: took last year's list, picked gifts of similar value, and changed the recipient's name so the gift wouldn't be repeated. At least I didn't have to rack my brains over every gift like last year.
Though there were some I put real effort into. For example, I thought long about what to give Nymphadora Tonks, who had been persistently avoiding me since our conversation. Perhaps I acted foolishly by mentioning our familial connection at the end of the talk without explaining anything, but I certainly didn't want to admit my mistake. Still, nothing irreparable — everything can be fixed with a well-chosen gift.
I decided to give her an interesting book: The Metamorphmagus Gift. Notable Metamorphmagi. Despite the title, the French author paid little attention to theoretical definitions, instead detailing life with this gift — or curse, depending on the point of view. That's how the author reasoned, having suffered for years from his peculiarity until he looked at it from a different angle. Unfortunately, there were far fewer metamorphmagi in the magical world than even wizards among Muggles. In all of Britain, you'd barely find a couple of dozen bearers of this gift, so literature on the topic was scarce. And such a strong Metamorphmagus gift might belong to Tonks alone in all of Britain. So, while that author's book explored the topic wonderfully, its print run across Europe was minuscule, and I had a hard time procuring a copy.
Along with the book, I included a letter with the classic gift text but added an apology, saying if I had accidentally offended her, I asked for forgiveness. All this, citing that I had noticed her efforts to avoid my company.
So, I only went to great lengths for a few gifts — including those for Draco and my parents. Overall, the holidays differed little from last year's, except that my parents were to take me to the annual ball organized by the Ministry. Formally a reception, but due to the dancing, it was called a "ball."
The last time I attended was when I was ten. As Father explained, there was no point in bringing the heir last year — I had already been introduced to society, and now I was older. Though I perfectly understood that beyond this, Father had hidden motives to appear as an almost complete family — likely related to the upcoming election campaign starting in a couple of months. From my meta-knowledge, I remembered Cornelius Fudge would become Minister.
Honestly, many hoped Dumbledore would agree to take the post. I think if the Headmaster had run, he could have become Minister without any electoral struggle. Too many respected Dumbledore — from the old guard who lived through the war with Grindelwald to generations raised on tales of the great light wizard, who studied at the school where he first taught Transfiguration, then became Deputy Headmaster, and finally succeeded Armando Dippet as Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Whatever one might say about him, Albus Dumbledore was an extremely influential figure in Britain — and beyond. He was essentially a hero for all of magical Europe, and even the New World's history of magic textbooks gave the old wizard his due. I can't even imagine how Father tries to oppose the "light" faction with such an imbalance of power… No wonder purebloods lose more privileges every year, weakening us in political circles, which in turn allows more to be taken from us. A vicious cycle designed to equalize purebloods with Muggle-borns — at least in rights. But I doubt it will stop there, and I certainly didn't like it.