Chapter 158: Harry
The wizarding world—or at least the British part of it—had some surprisingly familiar customs.
Back when Alexander Smith had been living in the Muggle world, he vaguely remembered a New Year's tradition from Chinese culture: families hiding coins inside dumplings, and whoever found one while eating was said to have good luck for the coming year.
At Hogwarts, that same spirit of fortune showed up during dessert at the Christmas feast. Tonight's most eye-catching treat was a flaming red Christmas pudding.
Percy Weasley was lucky enough to bite into a small crescent-shaped piece of silver hidden inside his serving. Unfortunately, he didn't realize it at first and nearly broke a tooth, grumbling about it between mouthfuls while simultaneously scarfing down more pudding. Alexander quietly thought it was homesickness fueling his appetite.
The best part of this Christmas banquet, however, wasn't the pudding—it was the magical firecrackers.
Unlike the Muggle kind, these weren't limited to one per person. You could open as many as you wanted, limited only by your imagination or your tolerance for magical surprises.
Inside each cracker were amusing little gifts worth no more than two gold Galleons. After Alexander found the adorable hamster from his earlier cracker, he'd stopped. But now, seeing Ron go wild with them, Harry joined in too, letting go of his previous obsession with the guinea pig-like gift and throwing himself into the game.
One of Harry's crackers even gave him a full set of wizard chess—though Harry didn't seem too thrilled. Now he had no excuse to refuse Ron's constant invitations to play.
As for Alexander, what surprised him most was the gift in one cracker: a copy of a Doraemon comic.
"Seriously? That's where that went?" Alexander muttered under his breath. "I was gonna price that at three Galleons..."
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Gryffindors truly were chaos incarnate.
Harry and Ron had planned to head back to the common room and read quietly, but Fred, George, and Percy dragged them into a snowball fight outside. The afternoon passed in a blur of snow and laughter, and even after their clothes were soaked through, no one wanted to leave. Instead, they huddled beside the enchanted stove in the Great Hall, as if trying to prolong the magic forever.
Harry ended up playing wizard chess with Ron (and losing), while Percy offered completely unsolicited advice on potion brewing, speaking with the authority of a textbook.
Eventually, evening fell. Dinner was simpler than lunch, with warm drinks, turkey sandwiches, toast, jam pudding soaked in wine, and Christmas cake.
Afterward, the twins renewed their commitment to a "family Christmas" by stealing Percy's prefect badge and running laps around the hall. Percy chased them in vain.
Harry and Ron were once again delayed from returning to the Ravenclaw Tower, lingering to watch the antics.
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At 10 p.m., the pair finally declined the twins' offer to stay in Gryffindor Tower for the night.
Harry almost said yes. This had been the happiest Christmas of his life—he finally felt like he had a real family, real brothers. But something tugged at him, a quiet need for solitude.
Only Alexander knew why.
After pretending to sleep, Alexander waited. The moment Ron's breathing grew deep behind his bed curtains, he noticed movement from Harry's bed.
This time, Harry didn't stash the cloak under his bed like in the original timeline. He slipped it on while still in bed, the shimmering fabric flowing over him like liquid moonlight.
From Alexander's perspective, the curtains on Harry's bed rustled and flattened—but no figure emerged. Only a faint indent in the blanket hinted that someone had been lying there.
Then the shoes by the bed disappeared one by one.
The door to the dormitory creaked open… and closed again, though no one could be seen.
Alexander rose silently, becoming a blur of shadow himself, and Jerry, the tiny black kitten on his shoulder, clung to him like a second shadow.
At the same moment, in his office at the top of the castle, Professor Dumbledore looked up from his work and smiled slightly—knowingly.
The ancient enchantments layered through Hogwarts stirred like tendrils of ivy, slithering invisibly along the stone walls. Somewhere down the corridor, Filch stopped in his tracks and turned his head sharply, a tingle on his neck making him turn toward the sixth floor.
Alexander frowned... then smiled.
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All day long, one thing had been burning in Harry's mind:
His father's invisibility cloak.
The Deathly Hallows.
And Dumbledore's cryptic message: "Use it well."
Harry had taken those words to heart. This time, he didn't even tell Ron, didn't want to inform Alexander, didn't want to involve anyone else.
He wanted to use it alone.
As he tiptoed through the corridor, the castle lay open before him. Wearing the cloak felt like floating through a dream—weightless, silent, and unseen. For the first time, Harry felt the intoxicating thrill of total freedom.
He paused at a junction.
Where should he go?
Before he could decide, footsteps echoed from a nearby corridor. He pressed his back against the wall instinctively.
Filch appeared, scowling and sniffing the air. His sharp, rheumy eyes scanned the hallway, focusing on the faint trail of snowy footprints Harry had left behind.
"You little brat… I know someone's here," Filch muttered. "That sixth-floor patrol was no mistake."
Harry stiffened. Filch couldn't see him—but he knew.
Suddenly, Filch turned back. "Professor, like you asked—someone's out of bed. I couldn't see them, but Mrs. Norris alerted me. I think it's a Ravenclaw."
Severus Snape emerged from the shadows, his robes billowing like smoke.
"Ravenclaw?" he repeated slowly. "Then all we need to do is block off the route to their common room."
Harry, still frozen nearby, couldn't see Snape's face—but Alexander could.
From his hidden vantage, Alexander watched Snape purse his lips with an expression that bordered on petty irritation. Paired with that awful, curtain-like hairstyle, it made him look like a scowling princess from a tragic play.
Alexander stifled a laugh.
With a wave of his wand, he conjured a photograph of Snape's sour expression, perfectly timed.
"That's tomorrow's Christmas gift," Alexander whispered to himself with a wicked grin.
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Meanwhile, Harry was rapidly losing color.
Filch must have known a shortcut—his grating voice was now dangerously close. Harry's pulse quickened. He backed away slowly, heart pounding.
Then, salvation—a door ajar on the left.
Holding his breath, Harry slipped inside, careful not to make the slightest sound. Once he was safely hidden behind the door, Filch and Snape passed by, unaware.
Harry leaned against the cold stone wall and exhaled, heart still racing.
Elsewhere in the castle, Dumbledore and Alexander shared the same expression: quiet amusement.
The show had begun.
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(End of Chapter 158)
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