MTLNOVEL Chapter 27: The Notebook
The next gift was also candy—Hermione had sent a whole box of assorted chocolates.
Then, Harry's gaze fell on the package at the very bottom. He unwrapped it, revealing several old notebooks. Resting on top of them was a note.
These are your mother's Potions class notes from her school days.
Harry turned the note over, checking it carefully, but there was no signature.
"Strange... Who sent this?" Harry tilted his head in confusion.
After organizing his gifts and placing them neatly by his bedside, he glanced at his wristwatch. Without hesitation, he grabbed Ron by the collar and pulled him along. "Alright, we've already wasted enough time. If we don't hurry to morning training now, we'll miss breakfast."
Two hours later, the dormitory door burst open with a loud bang. Fred and George strode in, both clad in brand-new blue sweaters—one with a large yellow 'F' stitched onto it, the other with a large yellow 'G.' They looked exhilarated.
"Ron! Where's the new sweater Mum knitted for you? Get it—huh? Where'd they go?"
The Weasley twins searched all over Gryffindor Tower for Ron and Harry. Meanwhile, outside in the snowy fields, Ron, drenched in sweat and with tears shimmering in his eyes from the pain in his hands, was gripping a wooden stick, doing his best to block Harry's relentless attacks.
Opposite him, Harry, also wielding a wooden stick, pressed forward with unyielding intensity, each strike mercilessly targeting the weakest points in Ron's defense.
"What kind of expression is that?! Those eyes, those tears—what are they for?! Do you think those tears will make you stronger?! Charge at me, Ron! Only by facing it head-on can you overcome your fear! Come at me!"
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After breakfast, Harry returned to the dormitory, trying to suppress the excitement bubbling within him. He sat on his bed, picked up the notebooks, and placed them on his lap, carefully flipping through them one by one.
Each cover bore the name Lily Evans, and on the inside of each cover was a photo of a red-haired girl. From first year to fifth year, the girl in the pictures gradually transformed from a youthful, wide-eyed student into a more mature young woman.
It was odd that there were no notebooks from her sixth and seventh years, but Harry didn't dwell on it. At the very least, he now held five of his mother's Potions notebooks in his hands.
Yes, the moment he saw those pictures, something deep within him whispered: This is your mother.
As he stared at the slightly yellowed pages filled with elegant yet slightly rushed handwriting, he could almost see a hand moving swiftly, quill dripping with ink, scribbling across the parchment.
Harry spent the entire day engrossed in the notebooks. It wasn't until Ron came to fetch him for the feast that he finally snapped out of it.
Walking down the stairs toward the Great Hall, Harry stretched his limbs, his joints cracking audibly from staying in one position for too long.
Hearing the rapid pop pop pop sounds, Ron shot Harry a horrified look. "Mate, don't tell me you've been reading in the dorm all day?! Even the Ravenclaws aren't that crazy..."
"Pretty much, yeah," Harry nodded after thinking about it. "I don't know who sent me my mum's Potions notes, but I've learned a lot from them. I really need to thank whoever it was."
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The Christmas feast was magnificent—so grand that even in his dreams, Harry had never imagined such a lavish celebration.
Hundreds of plump, roasted turkeys; mountains of roast meats and boiled potatoes; platters upon platters of tiny sausages; bowls brimming with buttery peas; dish after dish of thick, rich gravy and tangy cranberry sauce—not to mention the endless heaps of assorted fruits.
And interspersed among the feast were stacks of wizard crackers.
These were nothing like the non-magical kind the Dursleys used to buy, which only contained flimsy paper hats and cheap plastic trinkets.
Harry pulled one with Fred, and instead of a mere pop, an explosion like a cannon blast erupted right beside his ear.
A burst of blue smoke engulfed them, and from within the cracker shot out a navy officer's hat along with several live white mice.
At the head table, a similarly deafening explosion rang out. As the yellow smoke cleared, Dumbledore emerged, chuckling as he swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a floral bonnet. Beside him, Professor Flitwick was chattering happily.
After the turkey came the flaming Christmas pudding. Whether it was luck or misfortune, Percy's portion contained a silver crescent-shaped charm, nearly chipping his tooth.
The festive atmosphere only grew livelier. Students and professors alike were caught up in the holiday cheer.
Hagrid, mug after mug of drink in hand, grew visibly redder with each sip. Harry watched in astonishment as the half-giant eventually planted a drunken kiss on Professor McGonagall's cheek. Surprisingly, instead of scolding him, McGonagall—who had clearly had a few drinks herself—simply giggled, her usually prim black hat tilting askew. She seemed like an entirely different person from her usual stern self.
The only one who didn't look particularly happy was Professor Quirrell. But then again, who would be thrilled to sit beside a heavily intoxicated Hagrid, who looked seconds away from toppling over?
By the time Harry left the dining hall, his arms were filled with an assortment of magical trinkets from the crackers, including a bag of non-exploding luminous balloons, a small gadget that could mimic a dangling wart, and his very own wizard's chess set. As for the white mice, Harry made no attempt to find them—especially after noticing Mrs. Norris prowling nearby, tail swishing with predatory delight.
Perhaps it was because they had eaten too much, but after returning to the common room, everyone collapsed lazily into the armchairs. Only the Weasley twins and Percy still had the energy to dash around the castle—though judging by Percy's furious shouting, he was most likely being forced into the chase.
This is the happiest Christmas I've ever had, Harry thought, drifting into sleep.
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The next day, out on the snow-covered grounds...
"What kind of expression is that?! Those eyes, those tears—what are they for?! Do you think those tears will make you stronger?! Charge at me, Ron! Come at me!"
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