After the scarred wizard handed over the Liquid Luck, the rest of the witches and wizards in the room quickly followed suit, lining up to present Richie with their own welcoming gifts.
Because Richie's arrival was a total surprise, the gifts were completely random.
He received various potions, bizarre magical trinkets, and some wizards just handed him straight Galleons.
Richie looked incredibly confused, but Annabelle nudged him and told him to just accept everything.
By the time the impromptu gifting ceremony finished, Richie was awkwardly cradling over twenty different presents in his arms.
"Hahaha! I appreciate the respect you've all shown my grandson!"
Dawson clapped his hands together, his face split in a massive grin.
"And since you've all shown me such face, it's only right that I return the favor."
"This year, I will sell exactly one more perfume formula."
The second those words left Dawson's mouth, the atmosphere in the hall violently shifted. The wizards' faces lit up with eager, almost hungry smiles, and they immediately crowded closer to Dawson.
"I've been waiting all night to hear you say that!"
"What are you selling this time, you old cowboy?"
"Oh, Dawson, you are far too generous!"
Watching the sudden shift, Richie instantly understood exactly why he had just received so many random presents.
They weren't actually giving him gifts to be nice; they were buttering up his grandfather.
"Come on, let's go see what he's selling."
Annabelle clapped her hands. Instantly, the house-elf Geeth popped into existence beside her.
"Take Richie's things up to his room," she ordered.
"Oh... the Young Miss wants Geeth to put the Young Master's things in his room..."
"But the Young Master did not tell Geeth to do that..."
"Oh, Geeth is disobeying the Young Miss! Geeth... Geeth is truly wicked..."
Seeing Geeth raise his hands to start violently bashing his own head again, Richie quickly intervened.
"Geeth, take these things up to my room."
"Geeth understands!"
Hearing the order directly from Richie, Geeth immediately snapped his fingers. The massive pile of gifts vanished, and the elf popped away right after them.
Watching the elf disappear, Richie just stared in exasperation.
"Are all house-elves this..."
"Actually, he just specifically didn't want to take an order from me, so he used you as an excuse to avoid it."
Annabelle rolled her eyes.
"One of these days, I'm going to make Dad fire him!"
With that, Annabelle grabbed Richie by the collar and casually dragged him into the center of the hall.
Knowing better than to fight back when his aunt was annoyed, Richie just hunched his shoulders and let himself be dragged.
Seeing the crowd gathered around him, Dawson cleared his throat loudly.
"We gathered right here exactly a year ago for Christmas."
"If I remember correctly, last year I auctioned off the formula for Yew-Wood Slumber Dew."
"A simple dab on the temples before bed releases the scent of rain-washed moss and fir needles. It completely cures dizziness, headaches, and chronic insomnia."
"It might sound like a simple remedy, but for the stressed-out French aristocracy, it's an absolute lifesaver."
"Now... who did I sell that one to again?"
Dawson scanned the crowd and locked eyes with a short, stout wizard.
"Leo! It was you, wasn't it?"
"I hear your 'Soothing Waters' is currently the absolute hottest commodity among French witches."
"Even though you heavily diluted my original formula."
The short wizard proudly raised his glass.
"I diluted it fifty times over! It sits exactly one drop below the Ministry's threshold for a regulated magical potion!"
"That way, I use a fraction of the ingredients and make ten times the Galleons!"
The surrounding wizards erupted into laughter.
"Hahaha! You sneaky bastard, Leo!"
"No wonder he showed up wearing custom-tailored robes tonight!"
"Ugh, I missed last year's party. When I heard how much he was making, I literally wanted to curse myself!"
Dawson let the laughter die down naturally before speaking again.
"Which brings us to tonight!"
"Tonight, I will auction off one more perfume formula!"
"Standard rules apply: highest bidder wins. But ultimately, I reserve the right to decide who takes it home."
The crowd fell dead silent. Every single pair of eyes was glued to Dawson.
Dawson drew his wand and gave it a sharp flick. A trail of glowing red light shot into the air, slowly tracing the intricate outline of a blooming rose.
"The Rose Messenger Perfume."
"It's an incredibly subtle, mild rose scent. Its primary function is to make the wearer completely captivating—much like a rose in full bloom."
"After applying it, the wearer simply breathes into their cupped hands and silently visualizes their target's name. The target will immediately be drawn to the wearer and pay them far more attention. However, it does not magically override their free will or subjective feelings."
"If the target notices the sudden attraction and gets suspicious, you simply smile and say: 'Perhaps it's just the scent of the roses.'"
Hearing the description, the wizards exchanged heavily weighted looks, their eyes gleaming with sheer greed.
Dawson had laid out exactly what the perfume was: the ultimate social lubricant. It was the perfect tool for breaking the ice or sparking an initial connection.
And more importantly, unlike highly illegal and dangerous Love Potions, it didn't generate fake romantic feelings or trigger Ministry alarms.
In French wizarding society—a culture that prided itself on restrained elegance but was constantly seeking the next spark of romance—the Rose Messenger Perfume was basically guaranteed to be a massive, explosive bestseller!
"One hundred Galleons!" a wizard immediately shouted.
"Two hundred Galleons!"
"Two hundred and twenty!"
The bids fired off in rapid succession.
Eventually, the formula was won by the scarred wizard—the same man who had given Richie the Liquid Luck—for a staggering eight hundred Galleons.
The other wizards murmured in awe, genuinely impressed by how much the scarred man was willing to drop.
But beneath the praise, there was a heavy undercurrent of bitter jealousy.
One man's massive victory was everyone else's massive loss. With their own thoughts spinning, the crowd quietly returned to eating the food on the table.
For Richie, the late hour meant this was essentially a midnight snack.
Once everyone had their fill, the wizards started making their excuses. One by one, they trickled out into the cold night until the hall was completely empty, leaving only Dawson, Annabelle, and Richie.
"Hmph. Look at them. Like a pack of hounds: the second they catch the rabbit, they bolt."
Dawson stabbed the last piece of steak on the table with his fork and casually chewed it as he looked at Richie.
"Well, little Richie? Not a bad haul, right? Grandpa got you over twenty Christmas presents tonight."
Richie shook his head, looking genuinely confused.
"Grandpa... if these perfumes are basically guaranteed to sell out, why don't you just make and sell them yourself?"
"You'd make way more money than just selling the formulas."
Dawson just shrugged.
"I know exactly how much money they make, kid. But running a business takes time."
"And right now, time is the one thing I'm completely out of."
Dawson snapped his fingers. Above them, the floating candles instantly snuffed out, leaving the hall bathed in shadows.
"Take a good look at me, Richie. I'm an old man pushing seventy."
"I honestly have no idea which night I'm going to fall asleep and wake up hanging out with your violently temperamental grandmother in the afterlife."
"The actual Godwin family is down to exactly three people: me, your mother, and your aunt."
"Your mother married a Muggle and totally assimilated into their world."
"And your aunt has her own career at the Ministry."
"I'm not going to waste the few good years I have left trying to hoard a massive family fortune that neither of them actually wants or needs."
"However..."
Dawson paused, turning to look directly at Richie.
"I suppose there is one other option."
"Tell me, Richie... how attached are you to your last name?"