Chapter 219: Harry's Christmas
Aside from the corpses still being cleared away, several bonfires had been lit throughout the centaur village by the house-elves.
The horse-folk resided in tents shaped like yurts. A few fruit trees still stood in the village courtyard, likely left intentionally by the centaurs. These creatures were not adept at farming and preferred hunting, but as omnivores, they needed some fruit in their diet. The trees were a practical choice.
Several wooden racks lined both sides of the yard, hung with unknown cuts of meat. In the corners lay wooden spears, bows, arrows, and other weapons.
This tribe was clearly different from the one near Hogwarts that had once known Hagrid. That earlier group was more civil, more humane. In contrast, this one—judging by its surroundings and earlier actions—was cruel and warlike.
"Puff," said Phineas, raising his voice slightly, "have you found any clues in this tribe? Any paintings, stone tablets—anything that could record their history?"
Puff shook his head. "I haven't, young master. This tribe seems newly founded. The wood used to build the village hasn't fully dried, and the meat they've hung isn't cured yet."
Phineas reached out and touched the wall of a nearby tent. As Puff had said, the wood still held moisture.
"Did you manage to find the location of their previous village?" he asked.
Puff bowed and shook his head again. "I'm sorry, young master. Puff has not found their former home."
"It's fine," Phineas said, waving it off. "Just take me to the nearby cave."
Puff nodded, took Phineas by the hand, and in an instant, they vanished.
When they reappeared, they were standing before the entrance to a large cave.
Phineas studied it closely. As he'd suspected, it had some connection to the centaur tribe. It wasn't a natural formation—tool marks were evident, crude though they were. That roughness itself was revealing. A wizard would've used magic to carve it seamlessly, leaving no trace of construction.
Phineas raised his gloved left hand and conjured a wisp of blue flame. It was Gubraithian Fire—eternal and resistant to outside forces. Perfect for lighting.
The glove he used was a magical item acquired during the Gryffindor legacy exploration. It had been damaged while defending against a vampire ambush, but after a holiday's worth of restoration, it was finally usable again. This time, Phineas no longer used it to store magic, but purely to cast spells, to prevent further damage.
After all, repairing such an item wasn't easy. It wasn't an alchemy tool that could be easily recreated. It was a true magical artifact, saturated with ancient magic from centuries of use by Godric Gryffindor himself—and modified further by Phineas with personality-giving magic. Truly unique.
That was why Phineas had taken extra care this time. Replacing or repairing it again would be nearly impossible.
With his wand in his right hand and the fairy fire glowing in his left, he moved forward cautiously.
He chose not to use his wand for lighting spells since he wanted it ready for defense. The glove, while less powerful, was perfect for simple utility magic like Gubraithian Fire. If his wand were ever disarmed, the glove would serve as backup.
Though Puff was with him, Phineas knew better than to rely entirely on his companion. Puff wasn't omnipotent. Strength, after all, must come from within.
They entered the cave.
The fairy fire cast a dim, ghostly glow, barely enough to light their path. Everything seemed cloaked in a bluish mist.
The cave was vast—much larger than it appeared from outside. Built into a mountain, it sloped steadily downward, its deepest reaches hidden underground. That explained the space.
The air wasn't as cold as Phineas had expected, likely due to the lack of wind, but it still held the clammy chill of moisture. Dew had condensed along the cave walls, forming icicles, while the floor was streaked with frozen water stains. In the flickering blue light, the whole place looked otherworldly—like an icy realm from a fairy tale.
But Phineas didn't trust such beauty.
The more beautiful something appears, the more dangerous it tends to be. Bright-colored snakes and mushrooms, lush forests bursting with vibrant flowers—all could hide deadly poisons.
Danger could lie in wait anywhere.
But in this case, Phineas was wrong. No creatures stirred. No sounds echoed through the tunnel. Nothing attacked.
The cave, it turned out, was utterly lifeless.
It was made of bare stone and ice—no plants, no creatures. No inscriptions. No signs of Hufflepuff. No treasure.
Phineas frowned. After all that effort, he had found nothing—not even a hint about the centaurs' past.
Still unwilling to give up, he turned to Puff. "Send word to Popsicle. I want house-elves in here immediately. Have them clear the cave—no ice, no rocks, nothing extra. Mount torches on the walls. And if they find anything—objects, carvings, statues—anything out of place, they're to alert me at once. There must be something here. This place can't just be an empty cave."
While Phineas fumed in frustration, Harry was enjoying a Christmas unlike any he'd ever known.
It was his first time spending the holiday in the wizarding world, and for once, he was with people who cared for him—family and friends who truly meant something.
Sirius, his parents' dearest friend, had arranged the whole celebration. Ron was there, too.
Phineas had set them up on a private island near Britain, where they stayed at a secluded Muggle-style villa. Unlike the usual wizarding castles, this place had hot springs, entertainment rooms, and even magical household gadgets.
Harry had never seen anything like it.
There was a pot that cleaned itself, a teapot that produced milk with just hot water, and a wand that changed the room's lighting and temperature with a flick. Everything was unfamiliar, enchanting, and fascinating.
Even Sirius brought a house-elf to serve them.
On Christmas night, they had a grand feast. Sirius took Harry and Ron flying on broomsticks—top-grade brooms from the French Quidditch team. He even gave Harry some personal coaching, helping him develop both physically and magically.
During quieter moments, Sirius pulled books from the villa's study to teach the boys household spells and simple practical magic—stuff not covered at Hogwarts but useful in daily life.
In truth, Hogwarts' early curriculum focused more on magical control than spell variety. But daily magic required precision—and minimal power.
Harry had never expected to receive Christmas presents. But on the morning after Christmas, he awoke to find a small pile of gifts waiting with his name on them.
"Merry Christmas," he muttered in disbelief, pulling on his coat and stepping out.
Ron was already awake, sitting by the Christmas tree and unwrapping gifts.
"Merry Christmas," Ron said cheerfully. "What do you think you'll get?"
Ron's pile was much bigger, but Harry didn't mind. He reached for the first gift, wrapped in thick brown paper. It was from Hagrid—a rough, handmade flute. Though clumsy, it was full of heart.
The second package was from his aunt and uncle. It contained a fifty-pence coin.
"How… friendly," Harry said dryly.
Ron, fascinated, had never seen Muggle money. Harry gave him the coin.
Looking at the remaining gifts, Harry asked, "Hagrid sent this, and my aunt and uncle… But what about the others?"
Ron blushed and pointed to a large paper bag.
"That one's from my mum. I told her you thought you wouldn't get any presents, so she knitted you a Weasley jumper. We all get one every year—me, George, Fred, Percy… and Phineas too."
Harry opened the bag to find a bright green sweater and a box of homemade sweets.
"She knits one for Phineas every year too. Mine's always dark purple."
Then came a gift from Phineas: a photo album. As Harry opened it, his eyes misted.
Sirius entered and, seeing the album, paused. "Is that from Phineas?"
Harry nodded. "How did you know?"
"He asked me for old Hogwarts photos just before Christmas," Sirius said, pointing to one of himself, James, and Lupin. "Lupin told me he asked him too."
Harry pointed to a photo of his parents holding him as a baby. "What about this one?"
Sirius stared. "We took one like that, but… not in that setting. I haven't seen this exact picture before."
"He must have contacted someone else who knew your Mum," Ron offered. "He's always talking with older wizards. He even calls your mum his senior sister. They must have been really close."
Sirius made a mental note to ask Phineas more about it later. He had a lot of guilt toward his younger brother. Now, finally reunited, he wanted to make amends—if only he could find the right moment.