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HRA# Chapter 81: The Professors’ Gifts and Peeves’ Performance
🕑 Added 2025-03-28 21:42:44 +0000 UTCThe final accusation from the red-haired boy before his demise!!
Struggling—everyone could struggle.
To be honest, Percy was screaming so miserably that even Harry couldn’t bear to look at him directly.
“He slandered me, Fred, George,” Harry said, his expression unchanged. “Remember to come back early. After unwrapping the gifts, we still have to attend the Christmas feast.”
“Yes, our great Gryffindor lion king,” Fred and George said in unison, giving an exaggerated bow before dragging Percy out with sheer force.
Ten long scratches stretched across the carpet to the door, each mark a testament to the victim’s excruciating suffering—especially when the dormitory door slammed shut with a sudden bang.
With a soft click, Percy’s cries for help were sealed outside, and the dorm returned to its quiet state. The only sound was Jaina pecking at nutshells atop the cabinet.
Harry turned his head—and immediately saw Ron staring at him, his face blank with shock.
“Want some fudge?” After a moment’s thought, Harry picked up a gift from Mrs. Weasley beside him.
“Sure,” Ron said, as if erasing the earlier scene from his memory. He reached out happily. “I really like the kind Mum makes—it’s got a rich, creamy taste.”
To this day, we still don’t know exactly what Fred and George did to Percy that Christmas. By the time the three brothers returned to the dorm, Percy’s eyes held a spark—of light, yes, but also of murderous intent.
Many hands make light work, and just before the feast began, Harry managed to sort through the pile of gifts, jotting down names to ensure he wouldn’t miss anyone for next year’s Christmas returns.
The professors’ gifts to him were uncovered as well. Professor McGonagall had given Harry a complete broomstick maintenance kit, complete with a maintenance manual - sorry, a care manual, including oiling instructions and such. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised to receive something like this from McGonagall.
Professor Snape, meanwhile, gifted him a book titled Advanced Poison Research. Accompanying it was a small note scribbled with a few heartfelt lines. The gist? Don’t rashly pick fights with others, but if you do, make sure to leave no threats behind. Oh, and a few numbers were included.
Harry flipped through Advanced Poison Research and followed the numbers to their corresponding pages. Each one detailed a colorless, odorless poison—hard to detect, with effects ranging from mild punishment to a one-way trip to the dinner table.
Gifts from key figures like the professors were always handed to Harry personally for unwrapping after others spotted them. Snape’s gift naturally drew considerable attention, but after a quick glance, Fred and George sent it off to Harry’s bed with looks of profound respect.
In their hearts, they made a silent vow: Beware Snape. Beware Harry.
Professor Flitwick’s gift was a set of notes from his younger days. Though the exterior looked worn, the contents were pure gold—insights into his early research on charms. A brief skim convinced Harry it’d be inspiring.
Professor Sprout’s gift was, well, alive. A plant, to be precise—one that could bite. So “alive” felt like a slightly odd descriptor.
A seedling of a Chinese Chomping Cabbage.
“Cabbage,” as it’s called in China—also known as “bok choy” or “napa cabbage,” depending on the region.
The Chinese Chomping Cabbage is a ferociously magical plant. From the moment it begins to grow, it savagely snaps at anything that gets close—animals, plants, anything really.
This particular Chinese Chomping Cabbage was a reward Professor Sprout had promised Harry earlier. Since the start of term, he’d been darting to all seven of Hogwarts’ greenhouses, brimming with curiosity about magical plants and herbs.
Given Harry’s knowledge of Herbology and the skill he’d shown in club lessons, Sprout had finally agreed to give him this dangerous plant as a Christmas gift.
She’d also included a note with precautions, stressing that the school generally didn’t allow lower-year students near Chinese Chomping Cabbages and repeatedly urging Harry to be careful.
Harry, of course, wasn’t worried about it hurting anyone. He planned to plant this adorable little menace in a suitcase.
After all, I’m just a crazy little cabbage.
It’d be a while before this Chinese Chomping Cabbage produced seeds, though. Right now, it was only about five centimeters wide, sitting in its pot looking small and rather cute.
But that cuteness was deceptive.
When Ron poked a short stick he’d found under the bed near it, the “adorable” plant chomped it into splinters in two or three bites—right in front of everyone. Ron swore he’d never go near it again.
Fred and George, on the other hand, had gleaming eyes. They turned to Harry simultaneously.
“Don’t even think about it!” Percy snapped, his voice stern. He seemed to reclaim his authority as an older brother and prefect in that moment. “I’m not writing to Mum saying you used a cabbage to bite someone’s backside off—she’d lose her mind.”
“Good heavens, Percy!”
“We hadn’t even thought of using it to bite off someone’s backside until you said it!”
“You’re a genius!”
Fred and George took turns fawning over Percy, winking at him incessantly.
“Cut it out!” Percy huffed coldly. “This isn’t a joke. Harry, don’t give them any seeds. You don’t want to wake up to half the school missing chunks of their backsides, do you?”
Honestly, Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
He’d said it before, but he’d say it again: Hogwarts students were geniuses.
Powerful spells and astonishing potions gave them the foundation to let their imaginations soar.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” Harry assured earnestly, despite the twins’ frantic winking.
By the time they headed to the Great Hall, Fred and George were sulking as if Harry had committed some unforgivable sin.
Beware the twins.
Today, Hogwarts had once again been meticulously decorated by the professors. Though not many students stayed for the holidays, no detail was overlooked—it was practically grand.
Well, upon entering the Great Hall, Harry realized there were actually quite a few students who’d stayed.
The four long tables were laden with over a hundred plump roast turkeys, mountains of roast meat and boiled potatoes, platters of tasty little sausages, bowls of buttered peas, and dishes of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce.
The food alone was lavish, but for growing kids, play was just as important as eating.
The tables weren’t just piled with food—every few steps, there were heaps of wizard crackers.
Harry hadn’t gone far when George shoved a cracker into his hand and yanked it open. The next moment, a deafening boom—like a warship firing a cannon—rattled his skull.
That wasn’t all. A plume of blue smoke engulfed them instantly. It wasn’t choking, though—from the exploded cracker burst a lady’s hat, which George caught and plopped onto his head with an elegant flourish.
Harry, however, just wanted to kick him in the backside. George had absolutely done that on purpose to startle him.
“Oh! Harry! You’re finally here!” a loud voice called from the head table. Hagrid strode over, his face flushed and beaming with joy.
“You look sharp, Hagrid,” Harry said, giving his friend a hearty hug and a genuine compliment.
Hagrid let out a laugh so loud it rivaled the cracker’s explosion, drawing every eye in the hall.
Today, Hagrid had kept his promise and worn the suit Harry had specially ordered for him. With his height and build, paired with that suit, he was undeniably the most striking figure in the room—even Dumbledore couldn’t outshine him.
The contrast was jarring. Hagrid used to strike students as a clumsy, unkempt oaf, but this suit transformed him into—what Harry could only describe as—a suited thug.
Forgive Harry for calling his friend that, but it fit perfectly.
His sturdy frame, broad shoulders, and powerful muscles couldn’t be hidden, even under the loose-fitting suit. Hagrid had clearly trimmed his beard and tamed his usually wild hair, tying it back neatly.
But honestly, that tied-back style only made him look more… dynamic.
He’d even spritzed on some cologne—strong enough that Harry sneezed.
“Sorry, Harry,” Hagrid said, patting his back and lowering his voice as much as he could. “Dunno if you saw, but I’ve got your Christmas gift stashed at my place. Didn’t want you lugging it over here—too much hassle.”
Clearly, these two drinking buddies had picked out similar gifts for each other.
“No need to whisper, Hagrid,” Ron said nearby, exasperated. “We all heard you. You two are unbelievable.”
Ron knew Harry’s gift to Hagrid was really for his own convenience—something to enjoy over drinks when he visited. Hagrid’s gift to Harry followed the same logic. Hagrid tried to be discreet, but with his booming voice, who in the room couldn’t hear?
“Oh? That so?” Hagrid chuckled, still trying to hush himself. “Anyway, you coming over tonight, Harry? I got some stuff from America…”
“Hey, Hagrid! McGonagall’s looking over here!” Ron warned.
Sure enough, McGonagall’s sharp gaze had zeroed in on them.
“Let’s hold off, Hagrid,” Harry said, patting his leg. “I think you’ve had plenty already. We’ll plan for another day. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh, alright then. Merry Christmas!” Hagrid grinned and plopped back down at the head table.
McGonagall seemed to ask him something, but Hagrid just giggled, downing glass after glass of wine. His face grew redder until, to everyone’s shock, he planted a kiss on McGonagall’s cheek—prompting cheers and whistles from the whole hall.
Most astonishing was McGonagall’s reaction. She didn’t look angry at all. Her face flushed, and her black top hat tilted askew.
It was a holiday in every sense—even the sternest professor couldn’t stay serious today. The castle brimmed with festive cheer.
Ron got hooked on the crackers, pulling them one after another. Harry couldn’t even eat in peace—every few minutes, a loud bang made him tense up instinctively, unable to relax.
Muggle crackers might spit out cheap plastic toys or flimsy paper hats, but wizard ones were far flashier. Sometimes, the blue smoke cleared to reveal lively white mice scampering across the table.
Harry had to act fast to keep them out of his creamy mushroom soup. Honestly, he was starting to regret not bringing Jaina along—she’d have made a feast of those mice and had a grand holiday herself.
Might as well take a few back, Harry thought. With a flick of his wand, he turned the liveliest mice into neat wooden blocks and pocketed them.
For Hogwarts’ older students, this Christmas feast stood out not just because of Hagrid’s image-shattering suit but because of a rare sight in the Great Hall—a spirit who’d never appeared at any celebration before. Well, “spirit” wasn’t quite right. More like a poltergeist, since regular ghosts couldn’t touch the living.
It was Peeves.
Everyone knew what a rotten troublemaker Peeves was. He lived for chaos and pranks—like dumping soup bowls on people’s heads mid-meal.
So, older students knew he was strictly banned from school feasts, even regular dinners.
Yet here he was at the Christmas feast. Instantly, students clutched their belongings and shot pleading looks at Dumbledore.
But Dumbledore didn’t shoo him away. He stood and welcomed Peeves instead.
Peeves looked different today. His clothes were cleaner, and he wasn’t lugging anything revolting. He genuinely seemed here for the feast.
Though Harry noticed him visibly restraining himself from flipping plates as he passed the tables—a restraint far too obvious.
More than that, when Peeves passed Harry, he turned and gave him a slight bow.
“He bowed to you, Harry!” Ron whispered, eyes wide. “I can’t believe Dumbledore actually let him join!”
“Don’t freak out, Ron,” Harry said, busy stuffing roast meat into his bread. “It’s the treatment a castle protector deserves.”
And it proved true—even Peeves could curb his prankish urges when he wanted to.
The Christmas feast wasn’t ruined by the unexpected guest. It got livelier. Peeves pulled six small balls from somewhere and started juggling them midair.
The balls flew up and down, blurring into a streak, his skill earning cheers from swathes of students.
The applause only egged him on. He followed with a series of acts—air-riding an invisible unicycle, playing dead, and mimicking the mannerisms of a long-ago headmaster.
Thunderous applause erupted.
Honestly, even students who’d been at Hogwarts for six years never imagined Peeves had such talents—nor had some of the professors.
They now wished the holiday would end just so they could regale their friends who’d gone home with tales of this extraordinary feast—and savor their jealous misery.
Peeves became the night’s star, especially with that spot-on impersonation of the former headmaster. It was a riot—his uncanny mimicry, his cryptic tone.
At first, Harry wondered if Dumbledore allowed it because he held a grudge against that headmaster. Timing-wise, that predecessor would’ve been in charge when Dumbledore was a student.
By the performance’s end, Harry wasn’t just wondering.
Uh, Dumbledore definitely had a grudge against that guy.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
Comments
Danny
Down with the tyrant! Bring back quidditch!
Samuel S.
Hagrid and mcgonagal? Omg!
Vick
If you hate Headmaster Black, you're a friend. For me Dumbledore in this fic is a bro.
