Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Hermione quickly changed the subject. "Harry, when do you plan to act?"

"Christmas," Harry replied after a moment's thought. "The school will be mostly empty then, so it'll be safer to sneak into the Restricted Section."

Hermione sighed regretfully. "Alright. I'll be going home for Christmas, so I guess I won't be able to help."

Christmas was a grand occasion.

It marked the end of the first term, with students enjoying a two-week break until New Year's. Professors had already arranged for students to register their plans. Most of the students chose to go home—Hogwarts was fun, but after half a year, they missed their families.

In the first-year boys' dormitory, only Harry and Ron stayed behind.

Christmas Eve.

Harry didn't act that night. Instead, he was dragged off by the Weasley twins to celebrate. They had stolen Wood's vodka and ended up drinking themselves silly in the dormitory.

Christmas Morning.

Harry was awoken by Hedwig pecking at him.

She perched on his pillow, hooting indignantly. She hadn't seen him in months and had been made to work all night delivering gifts. Clearly, she wasn't pleased.

Thanks to his Witcher constitution, Harry felt none of the aftereffects of last night's drinking. He sat up, ready to start his morning workout—until he noticed the small mountain of presents at the foot of his bed.

Christmas gifts.

He hadn't expected this many.

Ron stirred awake, yawning as he waved at Harry. "Merry Christmas, Harry. Oh, and you too, Hedwig."

He blinked sleepily. "Why are you up so early?"

"Planning to work out," Harry replied as he pulled on his clothes. "But I suppose I'll spend the morning opening gifts instead."

"Working out? After last night?" Ron shivered, now fully awake. "You drank so much vodka yesterday and still want to exercise?"

He stared at Harry in astonishment.

The twins had stolen two bottles of Polish vodka, and Harry had drunk more than one by himself. He'd been so drunk he'd pulled down George's trousers and made him dance the "Four Little Swans."

And now Harry looked completely fine?

Harry nodded, picking up the first gift—a package wrapped in brown paper. It was from Hagrid: a crude bone flute that reminded Harry of his old horse back in the Witcher's world. He liked it.

The Dursleys had sent a fifty-pence coin, which Ron found fascinating.

Mrs. Weasley had sent a hand-knitted sweater in bright green along with a box of fudge. Harry appreciated the sweater, though he wasn't thrilled about the color.

"If it were red, it'd be perfect," Harry said, setting it aside. "Green always reminds me of… unpleasant things."

Ron nodded in agreement, thinking of Slytherin.

Hermione sent chocolate, while other Gryffindor students contributed magical sweets.

Even the professors sent gifts.

McGonagall gave Harry two sets of Transfiguration notes—her own and a copy of his father's.

Sprout sent seeds along with detailed planting instructions. Flitwick gifted him a wand-care kit.

And then there was Snape.

Ron eyed the plain brown wrapping and the ominous handwriting on the label. The heavy atmosphere emanating from the package made it stand out, especially with its bold signature: Professor Snape.

"Snape sent you a gift?" Ron asked incredulously.

Harry weighed it in his hands. "Take a guess."

"Poison to blind you?" Ron shuddered. "Or a potion to scar your face? You always said he wanted you to look like that."

Harry didn't answer, tearing off the wrapping to reveal a box still marked with its price tag: £9.15.

"What's this?" Ron asked, puzzled.

Harry opened the box. Inside was a pair of brand-new sunglasses. Since returning to this world, he hadn't worn any sort of glasses.

"Sunglasses," Harry explained. "A Muggle accessory."

"But why would he send you that?" Ron asked, still confused.

Harry tried them on. "They hide my eyes—and my face."

Snape had chosen a pair with the largest frames possible, almost the size of a fist, which covered nearly half of Harry's face.

"You really do look different," Ron admitted, nodding.

Harry tossed the sunglasses aside.

He didn't like them. Although Witchers had excellent night vision, wearing unnecessary accessories was still an annoyance.

The morning was spent opening gifts.

By noon, the dormitory door burst open. George and Fred stumbled in, pale and weak, supporting each other.

"Harry, are you alright?" they croaked.

They froze when they saw Harry standing by the mirror, looking rosy-cheeked and trying on his new sweater.

George rubbed his eyes.

"I'm fine. Why?" Harry turned to them. "Oh, by the way, thank Mrs. Weasley for me. Her handiwork is excellent—it's very comfortable."

"Why are you fine?" Fred muttered.

"You drank more than both of us combined last night!" George added.

Harry patted their shoulders sympathetically. "It's not about how much you drink—it's about tolerance. You barely drank one bottle before nearly throwing up."

"That was Polish vodka! Forty-five percent alcohol!" George exclaimed, though he was too weak to be convincing.

Harry gave them a look of pity. "Alright, now go to the Great Hall. There's a feast at lunch—get something in your stomachs. Drinking on an empty stomach isn't good for you."

George and Fred groaned in unison.

Eating was the last thing they wanted.

Few students stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas, but the feast was still lavish.

Harry had just loaded his plate with German and French dishes when Snape stormed over, his robes billowing dramatically. He slammed his hand on the table in front of Harry.

"Potter!"

Harry looked up and gave him a calm smile. "Merry Christmas, Professor Snape. What can I do for you?"

Snape scowled, visibly disgusted by Harry's expression. "Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

"A Christmas gift, my dear Professor," Harry replied lightly. "It's my sincerest holiday greeting."

"Is that so?" Snape sneered.

"Don't you like it?" Harry asked innocently.

Snape waved dismissively. "I hope you enjoyed my gift."

"To be honest, I didn't. It obstructs my vision," Harry said, making a small gesture toward his face.

"But it hides your eyes and your face," Snape retorted coldly. "At least you won't look as stupid as a troll anymore."

"Well, I'm glad," Harry replied smoothly. His tone was calm, devoid of any apparent joy. "It's nice to know you remembered me on Christmas, Professor."

Snape's face twisted with suppressed rage, as if the words were stuck in his throat. "Is that so? I sincerely hope your cheer lasts until the end of term."

With a furious swirl of his robes, Snape stalked away.

Once he was gone, Ron finally dared to lift his head from his plate. "Harry, what did you do to Snape? Why was he so angry?"

"I have no idea. I just gave him a Christmas gift," Harry replied, genuinely puzzled.

"What did you give him?" George asked, leaning over despite his hangover. "A toilet seat?"

"No, no, I bet it was bat guano," Fred countered.

"A set of shampoo with excellent oil-control properties," Harry answered, chewing on a bite of steak.

George and Fred stared at him in stunned silence.

"No wonder Snape was so mad," Ron muttered, lowering his voice as if afraid Snape could still hear.

George gave Harry a thumbs-up. "We've never admired anyone's pranks this much. You actually gave Snape something like that!"

Harry frowned. "Why is that so strange?"

"Thank Merlin your gift to us was normal," Fred said, patting his chest dramatically.

"That's because it's Christmas!" Fred declared, ignoring George's protest.

That afternoon, Harry made up for the workout he'd missed in the morning.

Ron, meanwhile, played in the snow with George and Fred—taking advantage of their weakened state to exact revenge for years of teasing.

Naturally, Ron ended up as a snowman.

By evening, he grew restless, checking the time every ten minutes. When the clock finally struck eleven, he leaped out of bed. "Harry, get the Invisibility Cloak!"

Harry opened the box where Dumbledore had placed the cloak. Since receiving it, he hadn't had much use for it in Hogwarts, given how safe the school was.

The cloak was large enough to comfortably cover both of them.

Satisfied that their forms were completely concealed in the mirror, they tiptoed out of the common room.

The Fat Lady muttered sleepily, finding the situation eerily reminiscent of events from a decade ago.

The library was silent.

Madam Pince had long retired for the night. Reaching the Restricted Section posed no obstacles.

"Lumos," Harry whispered, and the tip of his wand emitted a faint light.

They scanned the book titles one by

one.

Some were so enticing—like Powerful Spells—that Ron couldn't resist reaching for them, hoping to learn a powerful curse to use against his brothers.

Harry smacked his hand away.

After checking just one shelf, Harry suddenly froze, his wand raised, staring toward the shadows behind them.