It was predictable that, from that moment on, Mr. Dawima would exist in this world only as a Flobberworm.
Harry did not feel cruel. Compared to the fate of those who had been harmed by Dawima—whose names appeared on the wanted posters—this punishment was remarkably merciful.
However, Harry was not paying attention as he walked and accidentally stepped on the Flobberworm.
Back in the dining area, Harry waited in the restroom until the effects of the Aging Potion wore off. He changed his clothes and then sat down across from Ron, who only looked up a moment later.
"Hey, mate," Ron greeted him. "What took you so long?"
"My stomach wasn't feeling great," Harry replied. "I think we should head back. Mr. Granger might be getting impatient outside."
"Right," Ron said, carefully putting away his precious wand.
As they exited the Leaky Cauldron, Harry spotted Mr. Granger, beaming.
"Uncle Granger!" Harry and Ron greeted him in unison.
"My boys!" Mr. Granger said, opening his arms and pulling each of them into a warm hug. "Come on, let's stop by Harold's shop to pick up a few things, then we'll head home."
Mr. Granger was clearly in an excellent mood. Harry and Ron were each given a donut, supposedly from an American chain.
Unable to resist his enthusiasm, they agreed to spend one more night at the Grangers' house. Uncle Granger promised to bring them back early the next morning.
Ron, eager to test his new wand against Hermione, could only sigh, since young wizards were forbidden from performing magic outside school.
"Honestly, that rule doesn't make much sense at home," Ron muttered.
"It does," Hermione replied. "We're in Muggle territory. Think about it—the Ministry of Magic can detect a spell cast near our house instantly, and they don't even need to know who did it. Who do you think they'd blame? Oh yes… Hermione."
They spent another night at the Grangers', and the next morning Mr. Granger drove them back to the Leaky Cauldron.
From there, Harry and Ron took the Express back to Hogwarts. Since it was the holiday season, the castle was unusually quiet, with only a handful of students reading in the Great Hall.
They were the only ones left in the dormitory, which was already piled high with Christmas presents.
"Look, this is the jumper my mum knitted," Ron said, pulling it from the stack and holding it up. A large red "R" was stitched across the front.
"My mum made this one too. I heard Percy, Fred, and George got theirs—and you and Hermione as well," Ron continued. "Since you both start with 'H,' the bigger one's Hermione's, and the smaller one's yours."
It was common knowledge that girls developed earlier than boys, and Hermione was a year older than them.
Without saying a word, Harry picked up the blue jumper and pulled it on at once.
"It's really warm," he said with a smile. "I like it a lot."
He stretched and then glanced at a thin package set aside.
"That one's from my aunt," Harry said with a shrug. "No idea what it is."
"Open it," Ron urged, leaning closer.
Harry unwrapped it and pulled out several photographs.
"Oh… it's my mum," Harry said softly, enchanted as he flipped through them. "There are five of them—all of her."
Ron leaned in and said sincerely, "She's really beautiful."
"You bet," Harry laughed, already deciding what he would give his aunt in return. "A few beauty potions should do nicely."
Suddenly, Ron pointed at one of the photos.
"Hey… this person looks really familiar!"
Harry examined the picture. A young girl was holding onto a boy's arm; her warm smile seemed to mask the faint melancholy on his face.
The boy had dark, greasy hair and wore long black robes.
"It's Professor Snape," Harry recognized him instantly. "See? I told you—Professor Snape and my parents were close. I think I know what to give Professor Snape for Christmas."
"What?" Ron asked.
"This photograph."
Harry took an envelope from his drawer and slipped the photo inside.
"Hedwig," Harry called. "Take this to Professor Snape."
After sending the owl off, Harry returned to sorting through his presents: Hagrid's flute, the Weasley twins' biscuits, Miss Farley's Energy Potion, several potion ingredients, Hermione's large horseshoe-shaped box of chocolates…
Then he pulled out a silvery, shimmering fabric that looked as though it had been woven from liquid water.
"Wow… is this the Invisibility Cloak?" Harry said in disbelief.
He had seen something similar before—Cassandra owned one.
"Look, a note fell out," Ron said suddenly, pointing to the floor.
Harry set the cloak aside and picked up the letter. The handwriting was thin, elegant, and rounded—completely unfamiliar to him.
Your father left this in my keeping before he died. It is time for it to be returned to you. Use it well. Merry Christmas.
"Who sent this?" Harry wondered aloud, turning the note over. There was no signature.
"Maybe a friend of your dad's," Ron said, staring at the cloak with envy. "If I had something like that, I wouldn't need anything else."
Harry held the note, lost in thought. He had the strange feeling that he had seen that handwriting somewhere before…
Harry and his friends were not the only ones receiving Christmas presents.
Far away, at Malfoy Manor, Draco was celebrating as well.
The young heir's life had always been comfortable, predictable, and free of hardship. As he often boasted, his father could buy him the very best, and the Christmas presents he received each year were invariably superior to those of his classmates.
Unlike Dudley, Draco was not obsessed with gifts. He spent the afternoon sorting through them and carrying them into a small study across the hall.
It was the first time he had ever entered that room, which he had heard once belonged to a distant ancestor.
After placing the presents inside, he heard a dull thud behind him.
A notebook had fallen from somewhere, landing at his feet.
Draco picked it up and examined it carefully.
The notebook looked old, but not worn. Its pristine cover gleamed under the light, clearly marking it as something of exceptional quality.
Draco fell in love with it instantly.
He summoned the house-elf, asked for a quill and ink, sat at the desk, and prepared to write his name.
"Draco Malfoy…"
Something strange happened.
He noticed the ink slowly sinking into the page.
Confused, he stopped writing and watched closely. His handwriting began to fade, as though it were being absorbed by the notebook.
A moment later, the words vanished entirely, replaced by a new line written in an elegant, refined hand:
"Hello. I am Cassandra Malfoy."
/------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/
Read more chapters on my Patreon: https://patreon.com/SailorTranslations?utm_medium=unknown&utm_source=join_link&utm_campaign=creatorshare_creator&utm_content=copyLink