Ouroboros || harry potter

Chapter Thirty-One

(Harry)

The jewel glowed a mocking deep orange. A sizable pile of baby gifts sat haphazardly on the floor by one of the orange trees within Gryffindor Manor's ginormous, over-the-top conservatory. Letters covered one of the conservatory's little tables, all to "Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived". Some included variations of "& Guardians" on the postage. The first he had pulled out had been dated barely a day after the fateful Samhain night.

Salazar glared at the postal box in helpless hope doing so might actually make the next time he opened it reveal the expected package of formal robes he needed for the Bones party. He turned the little knob and the box resized. Inside was another present wrapped in paper covered with cheerful moving ducks that had comic book clouds appearing with the words "quack, quack" every few waddling steps. He huffed and pulled the present out, telekinetically moved it to the pile, and closed the postal box's door once more.

He should have pushed back against Cassiopeia when she decided to pay for clothing for all his parties. Going through ten years of The-Boy-Who-Lived fanmail could have been avoided if he had just said no. How many people could possibly expect an eleven-year-old orphan to dress up correctly anyway?

Another pile of old letters addressed to him and his guardian filled the interior of the postal box next. He tossed them all at the buried table and tried again. The box resized to almost his height and revealed a box pronouncing "Child's First Quidditch Team Gear — Illuminate your Child's Talent Early (Team Members Not Included) ". Salazar dramatically reached out and made a fist in the air as he mentally grabbed the huge box and yanked it from the postal box. It made a loud thud as it dropped by the existing pile of much more realistic-sized presents for a toddler. (Though, until this latest, he had thought the other presents just as ridiculous.)

"Right," Godric remarked from behind him, "You'll not get through all of that in time for the party. Olen, Mipsy!"

The two House elves pop-clicked into the room.

Salazar sighed and looked over to them all even as Godric explained, "Can you help Sally organize his mail? The thing is filled to the brim with presents and things from the last ten years."

"I be doing that!" chirped Mipsy.

"Master Rie called Olen too," countered Olen, his ears drew backward and against his head like an offended cat. It only enhanced how utterly offended he sounded. "We be doing it together."

Mipsy frowned.

Salazar remarked, "I need it emptied by lunch. You don't need to sort any of it. I'm expecting a package with clothing for the Bones' party and it won't show up until everything else is removed–" He yanked the pamphlet about the box out from under various letters in annoyance and glanced over it once more. "–apparently."

He caught the two elves sharing a grudging look of acceptance. Then Olen snapped his fingers, causing the pile of presents and letters to rise into the air, and Mipsy picked up the box. Then they pop-clicked from the room.

Godric noted with far too much cheer, "Now that's down, sword training. The entire first basement floor is set up for training and dueling. Let's use it. It's been forever."

A disagreeing sound escaped Salazar before he could suppress it. "It's been a week ." The unimpressed look Godric sent him had Salazar rising all the same.

They continued their normal routine of sword training, including a few rounds blind. Once they got through warming up, going through repetitive forms, dueling with and without glasses (or with a blindfold), and then cooling down, it was lunchtime. The floor down was the kitchen which was already warmed and filled with the smells of delicious food.