windkaze
patreon
HRA# Chapter 82: Snape’s Gift and a Nighttime Castle Adventure
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 17:22:42 +0000 UTCFrom Peeves’ exaggerated mimicry of gestures and expressions alone, Harry could already feel just how revolting that particular headmaster had been. For instance, he had banned students from playing Quidditch because a pure-blood student got injured during a match—Harry strongly suspected this was why Dumbledore never showed the same fervor for Quidditch as Professor McGonagall did.
Phineas—that was the headmaster’s name. Harry still remembered it because the first time he confronted Dumbledore in the headmaster’s office, this Phineas had been distinctly unfriendly. Even the portraits of the other headmasters didn’t seem to like him much.
Beyond that, Peeves also mimicked how this headmaster treated Muggle-born students—his behavior was both vile and laughable. He’d even hang misbehaving students in the dungeons and whip them, a practice that drew angry jeers from many students.
—Among everyone at today’s Christmas feast, perhaps only Filch would feel any nostalgia for this headmaster.
All because of his dungeons and whips.
Honestly, Harry was relieved that by the time he enrolled, Hogwarts had abolished these… unreasonable rules, and the headmaster wasn’t this detestable Phineas. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure what he might’ve done.
As the Christmas feast drew to a close, nearly every student agreed that Phineas was likely the most despised headmaster in Hogwarts’ history—especially after Peeves, at the students’ insistence, mimicked the other headmasters too.
The contrast was stark.
Peeves was the star of the evening. Harry noticed that many students even began to change their opinions of him because of it… Well, Harry could only pray for them—pray that tomorrow, if they ran into Peeves in the corridors and greeted him warmly, they wouldn’t get pelted with water balloons.
Expecting Peeves to completely abandon his mischief was impossible. In fact, enduring an entire day like this had clearly been a struggle for him—it was simply the nature of a poltergeist.
No pranks, no life. That was real.
“Merry Christmas, Professor Snape,” Harry said as the feast wound down and he’d eaten his fill. Spotting Snape approaching, he asked, “Care for a drink?”
He’d secretly filled his cup with Firewhisky, a fiery drink he loved, especially in the cold of winter.
“Excessive drinking will unsteady your hands,” Snape replied, his face expressionless. “Perhaps the Ministry should pass a truly useful law—banning minors from drinking.”
“Don’t worry, Professor,” Harry said nonchalantly. “This much won’t affect me—oh, by the way, have you tried the gift I gave you? I thought it was pretty interesting.”
“An intriguing concept,” Snape said, perking up slightly at the mention of the potion recipe. “Not difficult to make, with a unique effect, but ultimately hollow—it only changes appearances.”
“But it’s shiny, isn’t it?” Harry grinned. “I call these kinds of potions ‘toy potions.’ Their biggest purpose is to be fun—as long as they’re entertaining enough, that’s all that matters.”
There were plenty more amusing potions from Azeroth’s alchemy profession. Harry had traded for lots of quirky recipes from other potion-makers in the past. If he got the chance and found the right materials, he’d love to recreate them in this world.
“Toy potions…” Snape’s expression shifted subtly. “I think you should be cautious with the talents your mother left you. I’ll send this potion to The Flowing Curse on your behalf.”
Though it sounded like a magazine for Charms research, The Flowing Curse was actually a potions journal. Whenever master potion-makers made new discoveries, they’d publish them there.
Every year, countless novice potion-makers tried inventing new recipes, sending their results to The Flowing Curse in hopes of overnight fame. Sadly, most lingered in the realm of failed poisons.
“If their average intelligence exceeds that of a troll and their eyesight is intact, they should give it a fair evaluation,” Snape said dryly. His tone made Ron, who was gnawing on a pork chop nearby, shudder and avoid looking up.
“Send it to a magazine?” Harry asked, surprised. “Is that necessary?”
“Of course,” Snape nodded. “I believe Madam Primpernelle’s Beautifying Potions shop would be eager to make use of that gift, Harry.”
With a slight gesture toward Harry, Snape turned, his black robes billowing as he left.
It dawned on Harry what this shiny appearance-altering potion could mean for witches. They wouldn’t need to chug a whole bottle until they gleamed like mirrors—just a sip before heading out or attending a party would do.
Hmm, faster than Madam Primpernelle might be Fred and George.
No sooner had Snape left than the twins popped up like rolling globs of putty, emerging from a blind spot. They shoved Ron aside and flanked Harry, one on each side.
“No wonder you never badmouth Snape, Harry. If the old bat treated me like that, I’d probably lick his arse,” George said as soon as he sat down.
“Right,” Fred chimed in. “George takes the right cheek, I’ll take the left—”
“Wait, why don’t you take the right and I take the left?” George protested.
“Fine, I’ll generously give you the right,” Fred said magnanimously. “You’re my best brother, after all.”
“Ugh! Can you two take your disgusting talk somewhere else?!” Angelina shouted from across the table. “We’re still eating!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ron grumbled. “You’re getting grosser by the day, Fred, George.”
“Shut it, Ron, or we’ll show you what brotherly love really means,” Fred threatened.
“Why not threaten Angelina instead?” Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.
“Anyway, Harry, our great king,” Fred said, throwing an arm around Harry’s shoulders.
“Indeed, our king,” George continued. “During your cozy chat with Snape—”
“Two lost yet devout followers happened to catch wind of something shiny—”
“It’s light!”
“Right! The light of lights!”
“—The toy potion!!”
Fred and George traded lines rapid-fire, then synced up in perfect harmony.
“Harry! For the sake of your most faithful disciples!”
“Oh great Harry-god! Grant us the potion!”
“We’ll offer Galleons as tribute! May the great god—”
“Enough! That’s enough!” Harry interrupted, sealing the noisy twins’ mouths with a jet of water. He rubbed his face in exasperation.
Honestly, Fred and George always reminded Harry of those pushy goblin salesmen he’d dealt with back in Azeroth.
Fast-talking, info-dumping machines.
“No need for Galleons. I gathered the materials from the Forbidden Forest anyway,” Harry said, pulling a few vials of potion from his dragonhide pouch and setting them on the table. “Right now, I’ve only got this shiny potion. It makes you look spotless—spotless enough to reflect light.”
“Can I have one too, Harry?” Angelina asked, intrigued.
“Of course,” Harry replied, then added, “But the effects are still in testing. If you notice any side effects, let me know.”
The trio’s movements froze for a split second.
“No problem!” Fred assured him.
It was a wonderful Christmas. Harry’s only regret was that he hadn’t received gifts from Quirrell or Voldemort—after he’d gone out of his way to send them presents early, giving them plenty of time to prepare something in return.
He wondered how they’d reacted when they got his gifts.
Next came the roast turkey, followed by flaming Christmas pudding. If you were lucky, you might find a silver coin inside—assuming you didn’t chomp down too hard.
Percy found one, which left him both thrilled and wincing in tooth pain for a while.
By the time they left the Great Hall, everyone’s stomachs were noticeably rounder, bulging under their robes like overstuffed sacks.
Without a moment’s rest, Fred and George declared war—a snowball war.
The twins were brimming with endless energy. They whooped as they charged out of the hall, heedless of the cold, and within seconds had lobbed snowballs at Ron, Harry, and anyone else emerging from the feast.
It didn’t take long for it to escalate into a four-House free-for-all.
Right in front of the Great Hall, snowballs of all sizes zipped through the air like a storm. The chaos intensified until people abandoned hand-rolled snowballs altogether, using wands to launch volleys in ranks.
Yep, primitives like Ron, still rolling snowballs by hand, went down in seconds under a barrage of a dozen hits. Harry dragged him off the battlefield.
Even hours later, sitting by the Gryffindor common room fireplace wrapped in a blanket and playing wizard chess, Ron was still fuming. He vehemently denounced the cheating use of magic in a snowball fight.
“Pawn sacrifice, Harry! Right here, sacrifice the pawn!!” Percy, sitting beside him, was more excited than the actual player.
Uh, Percy had bailed—er, retreated—from the battlefield around the same time as Ron. No surprise there, since Fred and George had targeted him first.
Brotherly beatdown, indeed.
“I’m not against sacrificing a few soldiers for the ultimate victory, but ditching a knight here is just reckless, isn’t it?” Harry said, staring at Percy in disbelief. “Can you quiet down?”
Percy was a colossal chess dunce.
Worse, he loved backseat coaching but refused to play himself.
Since losing the last game, Harry had seen through him—honestly, Ron’s wizard chess skills were top-notch, no question.
If Percy hadn’t been yammering and meddling, Harry doubted he’d have lost so badly last round.
“If you graduate and can’t find a decent job, Ron, you could totally go pro,” Harry said, watching Ron’s knight lop off his king’s head. He sighed, conceding defeat. “You’re great at gobstones and wizard chess. That’s a talent.”
“Really, Harry?” Ron beamed, already daydreaming about winning a gobstones league championship.
Young minds—always buzzing.
This was the first holiday the first-years had spent at Hogwarts, and Ron was so excited he couldn’t settle down.
They played hard until curfew, when Ron eagerly demanded Harry fetch his Invisibility Cloak so they could sneak out for a night adventure.
Harry had done some nighttime wandering before—but not in the castle. His escapades had been in the Forbidden Forest, gathering herbs that only bloomed at night or collecting animal materials more easily found after dark.
So, Hogwarts at night was still unfamiliar territory.
In this ancient, history-laden castle, many places harbored spirits—especially old objects with centuries behind them. Most had their own essence—sentient, in a way. Harry found it kind of creepy.
Like that time he used the bathroom on the right-hand corridor of the third floor and realized the innermost toilet had a spirit. Apparently, students who’d been wronged would come there to vent or pour out their frustrations.
Harry generally steered clear of such things.
Some spirits appeared by day, others roamed at night. This was Harry’s first time wandering Hogwarts after midnight, and he encountered plenty of beings he wouldn’t see in daylight.
Poor Ron, though.
Every time Harry suddenly turned his head, chatting with something invisible in an empty corridor, Ron couldn’t help but clutch his arms tighter. He’d instinctively edge closer to Harry, then reason himself back to a safer distance.
“He’s gone?” Ron asked after Harry fell silent once more.
“Yeah, gone. Well, more accurately, she’s gone,” Harry replied.
“Right, right, she… I didn’t think those, uh, spirits… I mean, that they’d have genders. If they don’t even have bodies, like you said, how do they have genders?” Ron mumbled.
“It depends on how they came to be and what they’ve encountered since. There’s no fixed rule,” Harry shrugged, walking on. “Some spirits look like cabinets or tables, even.”
Harry actually enjoyed talking to Hogwarts’ ancient spirits. Too bad most were too weak to converse directly—they could only hum faintly or express simple emotions like anger, joy, or confusion.
The stronger ones could talk, but their memories were spotty, like buckets with limited capacity. They could only hold so much, and once full, they’d forget their oldest recollections. Harry often had to reintroduce himself every time.
As for spirits with solid forms and intact minds, Harry hadn’t met a single one—a real shame. He’d have loved to hear their take on Hogwarts and the wizards of ages past.
“You’re saying students were fighting behind you?” Harry raised an eyebrow, glancing behind the suit of armor. Sure enough, it was just a wall.
“Huh, there’s a path, right?”
“Not a path? A secret room? The password is—”
“What? Raise your arms?”
From Ron’s perspective, Harry was muttering to himself nonstop—asking questions and answering them alone. It was getting creepier by the minute, downright unhinged.
Finally, Harry drew his wand and tapped the statue’s arms, making it raise them in a triumphant pose.
The wall behind it melted like water, bricks sliding apart to reveal a round opening—a hidden chamber.
Pushing aside his nerves for a moment, Ron darted in for a quick look.
“Nothing valuable, Harry,” Ron said, disappointed. “Not surprising, though. If there was anything good, it wouldn’t be left for us—but there’s some unopened chocolate on the table. Want some?”
Stuffing a piece in his mouth, Ron tossed one to Harry.
“Nah,” Harry shook his head, tossing it back. “I don’t like sweets at night. Come on, I bet you wanted a thrill sneaking out like this.”
As he spoke, Harry stepped forward, but after a few paces, he didn’t hear Ron reply—or even follow.
“Ron?” Harry turned, puzzled, and saw Ron standing stock-still.
“Where is she?”
“Huh?”
Harry didn’t catch it.
“Where is she?!” Ron suddenly shouted, voice trembling with urgency. “Lottie Lawrence! Where is she?!”
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Vick
Oh.... fuck! Poor Ron.
OBS
Love potion in chocolate, with age it becomes more potent.
Vick
Did Ron get possessed? 🤣
