That night, Gryffindor's common room was on fire.
Not literally, of course.
But the crackling fireplace, the cheerful voices, and the booming laughter made it feel warmer than ever.
This was Gryffindor's victory party.
Harry took one look at the lively crowd and thought—
"Damn. The rules in this place are loose."
"You can throw a full-blown party inside a dorm?"
Everyone else was buzzing with excitement, but Harry…
He didn't feel much of a need to celebrate.
So after hanging around for a few minutes, he used "I'm exhausted" as an excuse and headed back to his dorm.
No one stopped him.
They understood—after all, he had single-handedly crushed Slytherin's entire team.
They let him go without a fuss.
Not long after, Hermione also excused herself, smiling as she told her friends she was going to rest.
The moment she stepped into the spiral staircase, the temperature dropped.
Compared to the warmth of the common room and the muffled cheers behind her, it was like she had crossed into another world.
Meanwhile—
Harry quickly climbed the stairs and entered his room.
"Meow…"
A small black cat looked up at him.
Harry felt the exhaustion creeping in.
He yawned, stripped off his robes, and dove into bed like a monkey.
The second his body hit the icy sheets—
"Holy sh—!"
His breath hitched.
It was freezing.
Shivering, he yanked the little cat into his arms, hoping to steal some warmth.
The startled feline let out a few confused meows, but Harry didn't let go.
And just like that—
He drifted off to sleep.
He didn't hear Ron and Neville return.
He didn't meditate.
He just slept.
The next morning—
Harry blinked groggily, stretched his arms, and let out a massive yawn.
The cold weather had set in.
He was fully dressed for winter—
A white dress shirt, a blue wool sweater, and a long black Hogwarts cloak wrapped snugly around him.
Reaching under his bed, he grabbed his Nimbus 2000.
And then—
He left.
Soaring through the morning sky…
This was one of his favorite parts of the day.
Flying leisurely over Hogwarts, looking down on the castle and its surroundings.
Passing by Hagrid's hut.
Gliding past the Whomping Willow.
Speeding toward the distant mountains.
A lake below had frozen over, shimmering under the pale sky.
Harry exhaled.
"When's it finally gonna snow?"
Suspending himself in the chilly air, he took a deep breath.
The cold sharpened his senses.
Before long, his fingers started numbing.
So he turned back, drifting toward the Gryffindor tower.
Stopping just outside his dorm window.
The glass was frosted over, obscuring the view inside.
Harry breathed on it—
A misty circle of warmth melted the ice, revealing the sleeping figures within.
He smirked.
Gently, he pushed the window open—just a crack.
The cold whooshed inside.
Even in their deep sleep, his roommates shivered.
"Cold…" Dean mumbled, rolling over.
Harry grinned.
He pulled a small letter from his robes…
And tossed it inside.
Then, without missing a beat—
He sped away.
Seconds later—
A furious roar shook the tower.
"DON'T THINK I DON'T KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!
YOU CAN SLEEP IN, BUT YOU CAN'T OPEN THE DOOR?!"**
"OPEN THE DOOR!!"
"YOU CAN SLEEP IN, BUT YOU CAN'T OPEN THE DAMN DOOR?!"
"I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!"
"HUH?! HUH?!"
"YOU HAD THE GUTS TO SLEEP IN—SO OPEN UP!!"
"DON'T THINK YOU CAN HIDE, I KNOW YOU'RE HOME!!"
"PFFT!!"
"OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN UP! OPEN UP! OPEN UP! OPEN UP!!"
High above the castle, Harry hovered on his broom, grinning ear to ear as he listened to his own pre-recorded audio blasting through the dorm.
He was having the time of his life.
By the time he finally returned to the room, he was greeted by—
Four sets of deeply resentful eyes.
Neville: "I don't feel okay anymore. You need to take responsibility."
Ron: "Same."
Dean: "Me too."
Seamus: "Count me in."
Harry: "Responsibility, my ass!!"
He chucked his broom at them and bolted out the door.
At breakfast—
Harry's little black cat leisurely strolled across the table, sniffing at everyone's food.
One by one.
And then—
With a haughty flick of its tail—
It turned up its nose and strutted away.
Too good for peasant food.
THWAP!
A loud pop echoed through the Great Hall.
A house-elf suddenly appeared.
Small and hunched, it balanced a silver platter in its hands—
Piled high with fresh fish.
The moment the scent hit the air—
Harry's cat perked up, eyes gleaming.
With a thrilled little mewl, it pounced forward and devoured its meal with absolute joy.
"Thank you." Harry said casually.
The house-elf—
Burst into tears.
"THE GREAT HARRY POTTER THANKED ME!!"
To a house-elf, a single word of gratitude from their master was the greatest gift imaginable.
No one at the table even blinked.
This was a daily occurrence by now.
At some point, the kitchen elves had started delivering gourmet meals specifically for Harry's pet.
Every single day.
And honestly?
Seeing Harry's adorable little cat strut around like a tiny queen, tails swishing through the hallways—
It had awakened something in many of the girls at Hogwarts.
Now, half of them were regretting their life choices.
"Why did I pick an owl…?"
"WHY DIDN'T I GET A CAT?!"
Harry, meanwhile, had become completely desensitized to the house-elves' dramatic reactions.
Still, something caught his eye.
"Hey," he asked, "What's with the bruises?"
The house-elf fidgeted nervously.
"Well, sir… You see, every day, we, um—have to… fight each other for the honor of delivering food to Harry Potter's cat…"
Harry: "(⊙_⊙)…"
"...Okay. Yeah. Um—maybe just… go back to work now."
"Yes, sir!"
With a quick nod, the house-elf vanished on the spot.
Life at Hogwarts continued.
Day after day, Harry moved between classrooms, navigating a routine filled with:
Herbology Charms Potions Transfiguration …and of course, the library.
To some, this might have seemed exhausting.
But to Harry?
This world—the world of magic—was infinitely more exciting than the mundane life of Muggles.
Hogwarts, with all its mysteries and wonders, had him completely enchanted.
Every day was fast-paced, but every day felt incredibly fulfilling.
He could feel himself growing stronger.
Time slipped by like sand through fingers.
In the blink of an eye, a full month had passed since the November Quidditch match.
The wild rumors that had once spread like wildfire across the school—
Now?
No one really talked about them anymore.
Not because they had been forgotten—
But because everyone just accepted them as fact.
"Flint and Higgins… are totally a couple."
From that moment on—
Whenever they saw Harry from a distance—
They immediately changed direction.
Night fell.
Hogwarts was bathed in warm candlelight.
After finishing their most important meal of the day, many students returned to their common rooms—
Sure, they could go to the library to study—
But in this kind of freezing weather?
The cozy, heated dorms were way more tempting.
Among the crowd, Harry and Hermione made their way back to Gryffindor Tower.
The cold was biting.
Every time they exhaled, their breath crystallized into mist—
Drifting like tiny white clouds in the night air.
Harry couldn't help but notice—
A group of younger students ahead of them had become obsessed with this phenomenon—
Blowing out breath after breath, giggling as they created long trails of white fog.
And then—
He saw Hermione doing the exact same thing.
As they walked, Harry suddenly stopped.
Hermione, puzzled, turned to him.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Harry didn't answer.
Instead, he tilted his head back, gazing up at the vast black sky.
Tiny specks of white light shimmered against the darkness.
A slow, warm smile spread across his face.
He looked down at Hermione, his voice soft, almost amused.
"It's snowing."
Hermione's breath hitched.
For a moment—
She had been completely captivated by the way Harry smiled—
So pure, so unintended—
And then—
Her voice shot up, filled with delighted excitement.
"It's SNOWING?!"
A chain reaction followed.
Her words rippled through the crowd like an electric shock—
Students froze mid-step.
Confused, surprised, thrilled—
They all tilted their heads back, staring into the sky.
One by one, murmurs filled the air.
"It's snowing…?"
Harry lifted a hand.
A delicate white snowflake landed in his palm—
Cold against his warm skin.
For a second—
It rested there, whole, perfect.
And then—
It melted.
Disappearing.
.
.
.
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