Chapter Sixty-Two: Christmas Eve

"Who did this?" Madam Pomfrey asked indignantly, fetching a potion and handing it to Lee Jordan to drink.

"It was that Slytherin, Rogier! Rogier Travis!" Ron cursed angrily in the hospital wing.

"Ron, it wasn't entirely Rogier's fault," Hermione spoke up, earning an even more disgusted look from Ron.

"Not his fault? He's the one who threw the punches and left Jordan this badly hurt."

"But Jordan insulted Slytherin first."

"Hmph, what insult to Slytherin," Ron said dismissively. "Dirty Slytherins, everyone in the school knows that. Jordan was just stating facts."

"He just couldn't stand us winning, so he used it as an excuse for revenge. Harry, what do you think?"

"Hermione, Ron is right," Harry nodded affirmatively. "He clearly planned this in advance."

"Even if Jordan's words were a bit out of line, there was no need to go this far."

"You guys..." Hermione stamped her foot in frustration and ran out of the hospital wing.

Regarding Rogier beating up a classmate, no one in the school brought it up again. As if nothing had happened at all, everyone intentionally or unintentionally ignored it.

After Monday's Potions class, Rogier handed in his potion assignment. Following a friendly exchange of views with Snape, he now only needed to submit five phials each time.

"Fine." Snape glanced at them and put the potions away into the cupboard.

"Professor, aren't you going to say anything?" Rogier looked at Snape curiously. His right leg was visibly injured, and he was walking with a distinct limp.

"Say what?" Snape glanced at him and sneered unceremoniously, "Do you expect me to praise you?"

"If you could defeat Gryffindor on the pitch, that would be far more convincing than your fists." Snape couldn't fathom why a young wizard would loathe Quidditch.

"Never mind then," Rogier shook his head. "Brooms are only useful on the pitch; my fists are useful everywhere."

"Don't forget you're a wizard! A bouncer wizard?" Snape looked at Rogier with exasperation, wondering what on earth was inside the boy's head.

...

With Christmas approaching, owls delivered mail almost daily. Asset manager Andrew had repeatedly begged Jessica to send messages, complaining that people in the financial district were hounding him for investments every day.

"Ha, investments? They just can't stomach losing," Rogier shook his head, tossing Andrew's letter aside.

Jessica had purchased a shop in Diagon Alley to sell the Magic Instant Cameras. The shop was diagonally opposite Gringotts. Turning left out the door led straight to Knockturn Alley, making it a prime location. Two thousand Magic Instant Cameras were ready; all that remained was the Christmas opening.

"Rogier, are you going home for Christmas?" Daphne asked, cradling a book as she loathed the rote memorization of History of Magic.

"Mm, the Shadow Golem House is opening for Christmas, so I have to go back and prepare. Don't worry, your Christmas gift is already ready." Rogier looked toward the main doors as Hagrid carried in a massive fir tree, with Harry and Ron helping out nearby.

"Really?" Daphne said happily, "Give it to me now!"

"No," Rogier shook his head. "A Christmas gift only has meaning on that specific day."

"Tch, it's always like this every year." Daphne twirled the juice in her cup and turned her gaze toward the Great Hall. Both Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy arranging decorations there, while Hagrid hauled the fir tree against the wall.

Every wall of the Great Hall was draped in festive garlands of holly and mistletoe, and dozens of Christmas trees were decorated in completely different styles. Professor Flitwick waved his wand, adorning the tree in front of him with hundreds of floating candles.

"How strange," Daphne propped her chin on her hand as she watched Harry and Ron.

"What is?"

"Those two actually started going to the library to study recently." Daphne didn't think much of Harry Potter's fame as the-boy-who-lived anymore; despite having little contact over the past few months, she felt he wasn't particularly extraordinary—not even as good as Hermione.

Aside from showing exceptional talent in Quidditch, he was just as clueless in every other subject as the red-haired Weasley.

"Hermione constantly complains to me that they always borrow her homework to copy. Now that they're actually going to the library to study, I seriously suspect they've been hit with the Imperius Curse."

"We shouldn't always view others through old lenses; people change." Rogier neatly stored away Alexander's letter. The Soviet muggle government had descended into utter chaos, teetering on the brink of collapse. By comparison, the situation within the Soviet Ministry of Magic was somewhat better, retaining at least a semblance of order.

The unbreakable alliance—what an ironic title for a song.

While the Orthodox Christmas fell on January 7th, they had presented the entire world with an unprecedented Christmas gift on December 25th.

At King's Cross Station, Jessica waited on the platform eagerly. Spotting her son returning, she ran over and gave him a big hug.

"You've grown taller, and sturdier." Jessica pinched and inspected her son from top to bottom, gesturing at Rogier's height with a hand and nodding happily over and over.

"And Quidditch?" Sitting in the car, she complained that her son actually disliked the sport.

"Mum, flying around high up in the air is so dangerous." Rogier adamantly refused; if flying lessons didn't have exams, he wouldn't even want to take the class.

"When I was at school, I always dreamed of joining the Quidditch team, though unfortunately, I didn't even make the Hufflepuff reserves." Jessica reminisced about her youth, expressing regret that her son had no interest in Quidditch.

The villa by the Thames was adorned with Christmas decorations, and a tall Christmas tree inside was draped with ribbons of various colors. Downstairs, Jessica prepared owl treats, confident that her son would surely receive plenty of gifts.

The living room was piled high with gift boxes, leaving Rogier up to his ears in work. Although he had a magical quill to write out greeting cards, he still needed to carefully consider what to give each person.

Before long, a stack of greeting cards towered on the desk. Jessica smiled happily, gratified that Rogier had made so many friends.

Rogier's very first gift was for his mother, Jessica. The present wasn't particularly expensive—it was a collection of his own magical photographs from Hogwarts. Binding the pictures into an album, he couldn't help but quietly praise himself: I'm getting more and more handsome.

"Bubble, go to Andrew's place and fetch the pocket watch I bought."

"Right away, little master." Bubble vanished from before Rogier's eyes and returned within a few breaths, holding a gift box.

It was a Patek Philippe enamel pocket watch. Its circular case featured an exquisite landscape painting rendered in traditional enamel techniques, lifelike and brilliantly colored. The creamy-white dial paired with an in-house Patek Philippe movement looked both elegant and refined.

Tucking the greeting card for Daphne inside, a ribbon automatically tied itself into a bow on top.

The gift for Hermione gave Rogier quite a headache. The brilliant young witch practically lived in books. He really didn't want to gift his fellow young witch textbooks or study notes, yet after much thought, those were the only things likely to make Hermione genuinely happy.

"Right, I might as well gift her a self-defense spell." Reflecting on Hermione's adventurous escapades at Hogwarts, Rogier couldn't help but feel a twinge of anxiety for her. And so, the decision was happily made!

The gift for Elena was a hand-made Magic Instant Camera, Snape's was a magical cloak, Professor McGonagall's was a crystal cat sculpture... Working straight through until noon, Rogier finally closed the very last gift box and handed it over to an owl for delivery.

He had sent holiday regards to almost everyone he knew, even Mr. Paul far away in Wales. As for unfamiliar wizards, even someone as renowned as Harry meant nothing to him.

"Is this my Christmas gift?" Jessica noticed a wide, flat gift box resting on the table and asked curiously.

"I won't tell you!"

Watching her son scamper back upstairs, Jessica burst into a happy laugh.

The fire in the fireplace roared warmly, and the hands of the grandfather clock ticked steadily upward. The Christmas of 1991 had arrived, quiet and serene.