Harry's Christmas Gift

Christmas was approaching.

One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts School woke from its dreams to find itself covered in several feet of snow, the lake frozen solid with hard ice.

Damon ate breakfast while reading the newspaper, feeling quite pleased.

Ron, Harry, Neville, Seamus, and Hermione formed a semicircle around him, chattering away idly.

"Ron, did you know your twin brothers got punished yesterday? They enchanted some snowballs to chase Professor Quirrell all over the place, hitting him right behind his turban."

"Those two idiots, what were they thinking?"

Ron shook his head, feeling sorry for his prank-loving brothers—he'd been imitating Damon lately, always trying to speak in a deliberately mature tone.

Hermione flipped through Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, trying to find information about Nicolas Flamel, but still came up empty.

"Damon," Harry spoke up, "you're not going home for Christmas, right?"

"That's right, I plan to stay at school and practice Charms."

Damon forked a piece of sausage into his mouth and suddenly found it a bit greasy—after eating Western-style breakfasts for over three months straight, he occasionally craved a change, like right now, he felt like having some beef noodles.

Just as well, Christmas was coming. He planned to prepare gifts for all the House-elves and build good relations with them; then, he figured, he'd get his beef noodles.

Even if Damon didn't do this, the elves would probably comply if he made a request, but he preferred a reciprocal approach.

Harry ate his breakfast while glancing at Damon out of the corner of his eye, hesitating—he wanted to practice Charms with Damon over the Christmas holiday, but Ron and his two brothers were also staying this time, and they'd already promised to show him a good time.

Should he use this holiday to experience what it was like learning Charms from Damon and see if he could stick with it, or should he choose to have fun?

"Harry, why do you look so down?" Ron threw an arm around him. "I can't wait. When the time comes, you and I will team up, and we'll beat Fred and George until they're begging for mercy."

"Sure—sure."

Harry's smile was a bit forced.

Damon noticed this but said nothing.

Harry's talent was undoubtedly strong, but it had to be said that over these years at Hogwarts, he'd wasted too much time, to the point where he ended up like a chess piece, pushed by Dumbledore along a predetermined fate.

Still, this poor kid's life had been hard enough already. Without this carefree school life, how would he find comfort in the trials to come?

Damon could somewhat understand Dumbledore's feelings now.

But since he was here, many unpleasant things wouldn't happen anymore—so whether Harry bucked up or not didn't really matter.

"Don't just focus on playing!" Hermione shot Ron a glare. "While I'm away, you still need to keep looking for information on that person. If you find anything, send an owl to tell me."

"Of course we will," Ron muttered.

Harry watched Hermione and Ron bicker, smiling faintly, his heart at peace.

Christmas Eve, inside the Room of Requirement.

Damon panted heavily, quietly surveying the scene he'd created—the training dummy, enchanted with a Triple Armor Charm, had been pierced through the chest by something, leaving a huge circular wound like thorny vines, as if struck by some sharp double penetration.

"This spell consumes way too much magic... no, it's my control that's lacking. Rather than relying on will and precision to cast it, this is more like brute-forcing magic to create the effect."

Damon shook his head, dissatisfied with his performance.

This self-created spell had enough killing power, but it was far from its limit, and later, he could increase the number of strikes.

That night, Damon didn't return to his dormitory again, instead sleeping directly in the Room of Requirement.

His roommates had grown somewhat used to this by now.

Even so, they didn't understand why Damon pushed himself so hard.

The next morning, Harry was woken by Ron's shout.

"Damon actually got this many gifts!"

Harry rubbed his eyes sleepily and instinctively looked at the foot of his bed—he'd thought he wouldn't receive any gifts, but instead found a small pile of packages there, one of which, a rectangular box wrapped in red ribbon, looked shockingly expensive.

"Merry Christmas."

They exchanged greetings and began opening gifts.

Harry received a handmade flute from Hagrid, which sounded a bit like an owl's hoot.

Then came Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who only gave Harry a fifty-pence coin—it was hard to say whether this was more of a gift or an insult.

Ron, however, was very interested in Muggle money, so Harry gave it to him directly.

What made Harry happy was that Ron's mother had sent him a gift: a thick, bright green hand-knitted sweater and a large box of homemade fudge.

Hermione gave him a big box of Chocolate Frogs.

Finally, two packages remained: one wrapped in paper, and the other a fancy acrylic box.

Harry decided to open the paper one first, saving what looked like the best for last.

He tore open the paper, and something like liquid, silvery-gray, slid to the floor with a rustle, pooling into a shimmering pile. A note fell out from inside—Your father left this thing with me before he died. It should be returned to you now. Use it well.

Wishing you a very Merry Christmas.

"This is an Invisibility Cloak!" Ron gasped.

"If I could get something like this, I'd give up everything," he said. "Everything—what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

Harry felt something was off about this, but before he could think it over, the dormitory door was shoved open, and Fred and George Weasley burst in.

Harry quickly hid the Invisibility Cloak—he didn't want anyone knowing about it yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Oh! You're opening presents? Blimey, that ribbon looks dead posh. Mind opening it right here so we can have a look?"

They pointed at Harry's last package.

"Sure."

Harry nodded and tore open the rectangular gift box wrapped in red ribbon.

Unexpectedly, there was another layer of protection inside. As Harry ripped through the cardboard packaging, a pleasant scent of perfume wafted into his nose, and a note fluttered down.

[Merry Christmas, Harry. Hope you like the gift I got you—Damon White]

"It's from Damon!"

Harry hadn't expected Damon to send him a gift, especially since he and Ron hadn't thought to exchange presents—Ron was broke, so they'd tacitly agreed to skip it.

"Aha, how's the Duelling Prince's taste in gifts? Go on, open it up and let us see."

Harry nodded and opened the gift box with eager anticipation.

Before he could say a word, the three Weasley brothers were already screaming!

"Merlin's beard! Is this for real!"