Time had flown by with the gentle rhythm of holiday leisure, and Christmas Day had finally arrived like a long-awaited gift itself.
In the early morning light, Harry sat cross-legged on his four-poster bed. He gazed dreamily through the frost-etched window at the snowflakes drifting past in lazy spirals.
The snow had been falling steadily for days now, transforming the Hogwarts grounds into a winter wonderland that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Though the castle felt somewhat deserted with so few students remaining for the holidays, overall, Harry had spent a surprisingly pleasant week.
The silence of the nearly empty dormitory was deep but not oppressive—it was the kind of peaceful quiet that came with safety and belonging, so different from the tense, alert silence he had known at Privet Drive.
He couldn't say exactly how many students had chosen to remain at Hogwarts for Christmas, but during the past week, apart from the familiar faces of the professors going about their holiday duties, he had encountered only one lonely first-year Gryffindor student who seemed even more overwhelmed by the castle's emptiness than Harry felt, and that Ministry Auror who had been the unfortunate target of their wayward snowball during their courtyard battle.
Fortunately, with Ron's companionship and Hermione's constant chatter about everything from ancient runes to the proper way to preserve magical plants over winter, Harry hadn't felt the crushing loneliness that had once only been his holiday experiences.
Loneliness was an incredibly difficult feeling to endure.
Despite his contentment in the present moment, Harry couldn't help but let his thoughts drift to the Christmases he used to spend at the Dursleys' house on Privet Drive. Those memories were like old wounds that had healed over but still ached when the weather turned cold.
Those had been undoubtedly the darkest times of his life, years when Christmas had felt more like an endurance test than a celebration.
He could still picture it all—pressing his eye to the crack between his cupboard door and the frame to peer into the living room.
There would be Dudley, his body dwarfing the pile of presents surrounding him, screaming with greedy excitement as he tore through wrapping paper. Mountains of discarded gift wrap would pile up around him like colorful snowdrifts, each piece representing another expensive toy, another electronic gadget, another indulgence that Harry could only dream of receiving.
Uncle Vernon would be sitting in his favorite armchair laughing with heartiness at his son's joy. Aunt Petunia would flutter around the scene like an overexcited bird, her camera clicking constantly as she would try to capture every greedy expression that crossed across Dudley's face.
Meanwhile, Harry himself would be curled up in the suffocating darkness of his cupboard under the stairs, his knees drawn up to his chest in the cramped space, counting the cracks in the low ceiling above his head.
It was a ritual born of desperate boredom and the need to focus on something, anything, other than the sounds of joy and celebration happening just a few feet away from his prison.
Sometimes, if the holiday spirit moved her or if she was feeling particularly magnanimous after a few glasses of sherry, Aunt Petunia would remember his existence long enough to toss him a pair of Dudley's old socks or perhaps some cheap chocolate from Uncle Vernon's drill company.
The chocolate was always old and partially melted, creating a sticky, unappetizing mess that clung to the wrapper and left an unpleasant aftertaste.
Shaking his head to dispel these unwelcome memories, Harry patted both cheeks with his palms as if he could physically slap away the lingering shadows of his past.
He shouldn't allow himself to wallow in such dark recollections, especially not on Christmas morning in a place where he was truly wanted and cared for. As Adrian had once told him, people should look forward toward the possibilities that lay ahead, not remain trapped and immersed in the miserable experiences of their past.
Ron was still fast asleep, so Harry didn't disturb him.
Instead, he walked quietly across to the windowsill, where a small pot housed Guru, and lifted it from its flowerpot, holding the small plant-creature in his arms.
"You seem to have gotten heavier again," Harry whispered in the kind of fond.
At the sound of Harry's voice, Guru stirred from its plant-like dormancy. The small creature shook itself vigorously, leaves rustling like tiny applause, before executing a surprisingly nimble leap that carried it directly onto Harry's messy black hair.
"Hey, don't do that," Harry protested. He reached up with both hands to gently grab it, but Guru proved to be remarkably agile for a plant, dodging his grasping fingers.
"Alright, alright," Harry conceded with a helpless chuckle, lowering his hands in surrender. "I'll allow you to stay there for now, but you're not coming to breakfast like that. People already think I'm strange enough without adding 'boy who wears vegetables as hats' to my reputation."
Recently, Guru had developed this particular fondness for using Harry's hair as both a comfortable resting spot and a vantage point from which to observe the world.
Apart from this new quirk, Guru showed no other significant changes from its earlier behavior patterns. The little creature still spent the vast majority of its time in what appeared to be a peaceful, plant-like sleep, conserving its energy for brief bursts of activity.
But whenever Harry called its name or needed its attention for any reason, it would immediately awaken.
With Guru comfortably settled on his head like a living hat, Harry sat into the armchair beside his bed and opened a book about ancient runes.
Golden sunlight streamed through the frost-covered window falling across the yellowed pages of his book and casting everything in a warm, honey-colored glow that made even the cold stone walls of the dormitory seem welcoming.
"Harry?"
After an unknown amount of time, Ron's voice came from behind him.
Harry turned around to find him sitting on his bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"What are you doing?" Ron asked, his voice still carrying the slightly slurred tone that came with having just awakened from deep sleep.
"Studying," Harry replied straightforwardly, holding up his book as evidence.
"!" Ron's eyes widened dramatically, and he was suddenly as alert as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.
His roommate had been secretly studying behind his back!
This was perhaps even more surprising for him than if Harry had announced he was planning to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team.
"Are you feeling alright? Have you been replaced by Hermione through some sort of Polyjuice Potion scheme?" Ron said with genuine incredulity, his voice rising with each word. "This early in the morning on Christmas Day, and you're—"
Before Ron could finish voicing his complete bewilderment at this unprecedented display of academic enthusiasm, his wandering gaze was suddenly captured by something far more interesting and immediately relevant to his priorities.
At the foot of both their beds, which had been empty when they had gone to sleep the night before, there were now piles of colorful gift packages.
"Presents!" Ron exclaimed with joy.
Harry followed his friend's gaze and felt his own heart leap with anticipation as he realized that Santa—or whatever magical equivalent delivered presents to Hogwarts students—had indeed paid them a visit during the night.
The foot of his bed was piled high with packages of various sizes and shapes.
Both boys immediately abandoned whatever they had been doing and threw themselves into the delightful ritual of unwrapping their Christmas gifts.
Harry began with the largest package, which bore the familiar handwriting of Mrs. Weasley on its tag. This year, she had knitted him another sweater—a crimson lion sweater. The sweater was accompanied by variety of homemade treats—mince pies, fruit cakes, and ginger biscuit. All of them had the distinctive Weasley touch.
Next came Hagrid's enthusiastic contribution—a hand-carved wooden flute that, according to the accompanying note, had been made from a branch of the Whomping Willow during one of its calmer moments.
Professor Lupin had sent a collection of rare chocolate from around the wizarding world, each piece infused with subtle protective charms that would provide small boosts to mental clarity and emotional stability. There were gifts from other professors as well, each one thoughtful and personal in its own way.
When Harry unwrapped the final package in his pile, his face creased with confusion and curiosity. Inside was a large bag filled with an impressive variety of sweets from Honeydukes, but these weren't the usual ones found on the shop's regular shelves.
"Blimey... these are all limited-edition candies," Ron observed after leaning over to examine the contents more closely, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and undisguised envy. "Look—Chocolate Cauldrons that actually bubble, Fizzing Whizzbees that change flavor mid-flight, and are those... are those actual Golden Snitches made of honey? This collection must have cost a small fortune. Who in the world sent you something this extravagant?"
Harry searched through the packaging repeatedly, examining every crease of wrapping paper and every corner of the box, but found no accompanying letter, note, or card that might identify the generous sender.
"I honestly have no idea," He finally said, feeling both grateful and slightly unsettled by the mystery. "It could be one of the professors, I suppose."
"Maybe Professor Westeros?" After thinking for a while, Ron could only think of Adrian. "He definitely has the means to afford something like this."
"Probably," Harry nodded.
After the excitement of gift-opening had subsided and they had both admired their new treasures, Harry and Ron made their way down to the Gryffindor common room.
However, both boys froze the moment they stepped inside, their mouths falling open in surprise at the unexpected scene.
An unexpected visitor had made himself completely at home in their common room, and not just any visitor—someone who was supposed to be thousands of miles away on another continent.
"Professor!?" Harry exclaimed with delighted surprise.
Indeed, this unexpected visitor was none other than Adrian, looking completely relaxed and remarkably pleased with himself as he occupied the central sofa in the Gryffindor common room as if it were his personal sitting room.
"Hello there, boys!" Adrian greeted them with a warm smile and an enthusiastic wave. "I hope you're both having a wonderful Christmas morning."
At that moment, he was sitting comfortably with his long legs stretched out in front of him, appearing utterly at ease as he worked his way through what appeared to be a slice of pumpkin pie that he had somehow acquired from the kitchens.
"I thought you were supposed to be in America right now, Professor," Harry said as he walked quickly across the room to join his favorite teacher, his voice bubbling with cheerful curiosity. "Did something happen to cancel your trip? Are you alright?"
"Oh, not at all," Adrian set down his food. "My family members all had important matters to attend to, so I had to return. I hope I haven't missed Hogwarts' Christmas feast."
"The feast doesn't start until noon," Ron replied automatically, though his attention was clearly focused on something else. His gaze had locked onto the small table in front of Adrian, where two wrapped packages sat waiting. "Those are..."
"Your Christmas presents, of course," Adrian said cheerfully, "As for Miss Granger—my owl has already delivered her gift directly to her dormitory."
"I have one too?"
Ron hadn't expected to receive a gift from Adrian and felt somewhat overwhelmed.
"Of course you do, Ron," Adrian replied warmly. "Merry Christmas to both of you."
He smiled and pushed the package toward Ron, while Harry reached for his own gift with eager hands.
"What's this!?" Ron gasped after unwrapping his package. Inside was an elegantly designed voucher printed on heavy parchment and stamped with gold leaf, bearing the official seal of the Magical Creatures Shop in Diagon Alley.
In the bottom right corner was a line of text stating that this voucher entitled the bearer to select any pet of their choosing from the shop's inventory, completely free of charge.
Adrian patted Ron's shoulder: "I thought you might need this, after all..."
Well, perhaps it was better not to continue, lest it bring up unpleasant memories for Ron.
Meanwhile, Harry had also retrieved his gift from the package—two small bottles filled with liquid.
One bottle was golden, the other a murky black.
Adrian pointed to the golden potion and explained with a hint of pride, "Felix Felicis—liquid luck. It will bring you several hours of extraordinary good fortune when you need it most."
The pride in his voice was unmistakable and entirely justified. What Harry held in his hands was indeed a perfectly brewed batch of Felix Felicis, one of the most difficult and dangerous potions in existence. More importantly, it had been brewed by Adrian's own hands after years of study.
After countless hours of research, experimentation, and more than a few dangerous failures that had required immediate evacuation of his private laboratory, Adrian had finally succeeded in creating his very first successful batch of the legendary luck potion.
Harry nodded with appropriate seriousness. Felix Felicis was the stuff of legends, mentioned in every advanced Potions textbook but rarely seen outside of theoretical discussions due to the extreme difficulty and danger involved in its creation.
However, just as Harry was about to voice his gratitude and ask about the purpose of the mysterious black potion in the second bottle, Guru suddenly leaped down from Harry's head and, moving faster than anyone could react, snatched the bottle of black potion and swallowed it whole—glass, cork, and all—in one efficient gulp.
"Guru! No!" Harry exclaimed frantically, reaching out in a desperate attempt to stop his pet's impulsive snack, but his reflexes were no match for the plant creature's speed.
"It's perfectly alright, Harry," Adrian said quickly, raising one hand in a calming gesture when he saw the panic beginning to spread across Harry's face. "That particular potion was prepared specifically for Guru anyway. I should have mentioned that first—my apologies for the confusion."
Only then did Harry breathed a sigh of relief.
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