After pouring the liquid from the stone basin into the prepared hen's beak, Harry picked up the locket left behind by Regulus. With Kreacher's help, he arrived at the Black family tomb next to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Regulus, no longer an Inferius thanks to Dumbledore, lay peacefully in a marble coffin, dressed in clothes Kreacher had meticulously prepared. Nearby, Sirius and Lupin, drenched in sweat, were digging a grave with shovels.
On the afternoon of December 22, 1992, at 3 p.m., a funeral was held—one without a host and with only a few friends and family present. Nearly thirteen years after his passing, Regulus Arcturus Black was finally laid to rest.
Afterward, Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts to continue his examination (or rather, exploitation) of Tom Riddle's diary, while Sirius made his way back to Harry's house in Godric's Hollow.
Soon, after an entire day of heavy snowfall, Christmas arrived.
With snow blocking the front door, Harry had no choice but to move his morning exercise routine to the living room.
"Good morning, Sirius, Lupin." An hour later, Harry greeted the two men, who were rubbing their eyes as they came down the stairs.
"Good morning, Master Sirius! Master Lupin!" Kreacher and Dobby, both wearing the locket of Regulus around their necks, bowed in unison.
After breakfast, it was time to open Christmas presents.
Besides Sirius' gift—a biting accordion—and Lupin's present—a graduation photo of Harry's parents—most of Harry's gifts were similar to last year's. What truly surprised him, however, was the sheer mountain of gifts Sirius had received, nearly filling half the room, while Lupin's could be counted on one hand. For a moment, Harry almost believed Lupin was just a terribly unpopular person.
It wasn't until lunchtime that Sirius unintentionally revealed the truth—Lupin was a werewolf.
"A werewolf? But Lupin, you look perfectly normal." Harry scrutinized him with curiosity. Having spent over a year in this wizarding world, Harry had long realized that its rules differed from those of Faerûn. Yet, upon hearing the word 'werewolf,' the first thing that came to his mind was still 'lycanthropic curse.'
"Werewolves, sometimes called lycanthropes, are humans who transform into wolves when the full moon rises. This condition is caused by lycanthropy. While they may resemble ordinary wolves, there are distinct differences. Furthermore, werewolves have no control over their transformations and lose their sense of self after changing, sometimes even attacking their closest friends. That said, once they revert to human form, they can remember everything that happened during their transformation."
Lupin chuckled bitterly. "When I was four, my father offended the werewolf Fenrir Greyback. In retaliation, Greyback broke into my bedroom through the window while my father was out and bit me. From then on, I became a werewolf. My parents tried every method to cure me, but nothing worked. We all thought I'd never be able to attend Hogwarts—after all, no parent would want their child near a werewolf…"
"…But then, when Albus Dumbledore became Headmaster, he found a way to let Remus attend Hogwarts," Sirius said with a grin. "To accommodate him, Dumbledore had a Whomping Willow planted on the school grounds to conceal a passage leading to the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade. Every full moon, Remus would transform there. His werewolf form was violent, and the villagers would always hear eerie howls from the Shrieking Shack on those nights. Dumbledore, ever the schemer, let the ghost stories spread. But of course, a little haunting wasn't going to stop James and me…"
Sirius puffed out his chest proudly. "We figured out the truth and decided we wouldn't let our friend go through it alone. So, the three of us started studying Animagus transformation. James was the first to succeed, then me, and finally, Peter, with our help. James and I took on large forms so we could keep werewolf Remus in check, while Peter, as a rat, handled scouting and other small tasks… Say, Harry, would you like to try learning Animagus? It's great fun!"
"Sirius! Don't mess around! Harry is only in his second year—his body is too young for Animagus transformation! Do you even remember what happens if you force the transformation without enough magical power?" Lupin shot Sirius a sharp glare.
"Speaking of which, what were my father's and Sirius' Animagus forms?" Harry asked.
"James was a stag, and Sirius was a large black dog," Lupin replied with a smile.
"I've noticed something—Professor McGonagall, Sirius, my father, and Peter all transformed into normal animals: a cat, a dog, a stag, and a rat. Does an Animagus form always have to be an ordinary animal?"
"There's no rule saying it must be a mundane creature," Lupin said, stroking his chin. "Many have tried transforming into magical beings, but… let's just say their attempts rarely end well. The best outcome I've heard of was someone managing to keep half of their skull intact."
--
The Christmas holiday passed quickly. After watching Sirius excitedly drag a reluctant Lupin onto the Knight Bus, Harry used the Floo Network to reach Diagon Alley. From there, he took a taxi to King's Cross Station.
Once on the train, about ten minutes later, Hermione—Crookshanks perched on her shoulder—struggled to slide open the compartment door. With Harry's help, she placed her luggage on the overhead rack before Ron sauntered in, proudly carrying a new owl cage.
"Hey, Harry, look! I got a new pet in Diagon Alley yesterday!" Ron set the cage on the table. Inside, a tiny, feathery gray puffball bounced around energetically, chirping at an ear-piercing pitch. Grinning, Ron patted the cage. "Errol's getting too old to carry letters, and I needed a pet, so my parents and I agreed on this little guy!"
"What's its name?" Harry asked.
"Uh… It's called Pigwidgeon," Ron muttered, scratching his head as his earlier excitement faded into embarrassment.
"Pigwidgeon?" Hermione leaned in to inspect the hyperactive creature. Crookshanks, still on her shoulder, also curiously peered at the tiny owl.
"Ginny thought it looked a bit daft and named it Pigwidgeon," Ron huffed. "She thought it was adorable, and by the time I wanted to change it, it was too late—the little idiot only responds to that name now. Call it anything else, and it just ignores you. So, now it's Pig."
"Pigwidgeon is a fine name, isn't it, Pig?" Harry playfully wiggled his finger at the tiny owl, making a series of soft cooing sounds.
Pigwidgeon immediately turned to stare at Harry, its little eyes widening in what could only be described as absolute bewilderment.
Hedwig, perched in her cage beside Harry, shot the young owl a withering look before letting out a disdainful hoot.
"Hoot." Harry turned, his tone mildly scolding.
"Hoot, hoot hoot!" Hedwig flapped her wings in irritation but ultimately conceded to Harry's reprimand.
Having witnessed yet another bizarre 'hoot conversation' from Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. After everything they'd seen—from dragon roars to cat meows—Harry mimicking owls was hardly surprising anymore.
Back at Hogwarts, students quickly resumed their studies—especially those in the Research Institute. By the second week of the new term, students in the Institute's mathematics class had finally completed their primary school syllabus. Ahead of them now lay what Professor Valery frequently described as 'very, very simple'—middle school mathematics.
Yet, the adorable little wizards still basking in the sweet embrace of elementary school arithmetic had no idea what kind of hell awaited them next.
And just like that, time marched on to February 14th—Valentine's Day.
That morning, as usual, Harry got up early to lead Hermione and the others on their morning training. But today, something was different. In the Great Hall, a few people who had risen as early as they had were busy writing something on the surrounding walls.
"Probably just the castle's maintenance staff," Harry thought. After all, this castle had stood for quite a few years.
After their training, everyone returned to their dorms, exhausted, to wash up and change. But as they passed through the Great Hall, Harry noticed that those people had started putting up papers and decorations on the walls.
By the time Harry came back down for breakfast, he wasn't sure how everyone else felt, but he personally felt like his vision had been assaulted.
The four walls were covered in enormous, dazzling pink flowers. Worse still, countless heart-shaped confetti pieces drifted incessantly from the pale blue ceiling.
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor table, where Ron sat with a look of utter disgust, aggressively stabbing his fork into his mashed potatoes. And Hermione—hmm. Harry wasn't sure if his eyes were deceiving him, but the usually composed Hermione seemed to be… giggling?
"What the hell is this?" Harry asked as he sat down, brushing confetti off his bacon.
Ron simply pointed toward the staff table, his expression making it clear that he wasn't in the mood to explain.
Harry followed Ron's gaze and saw Lockhart standing there, dressed in a blindingly pink robe that matched the decorations. He waved grandly for everyone to quiet down, while the other professors sat around him with stiff, sour expressions. Among them, McGonagall and Snape looked the most displeased—one seemed to be gritting her teeth to keep herself from yelling, while the other… well, he looked as if he'd just been informed that he was about to be forced to perform a ballroom dance with Lockhart in front of the entire school.
"Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!" Lockhart announced loudly. "As of this morning, I have already received forty-six Valentine's cards! My heartfelt thanks to each and every one of you! Now, I took the liberty of arranging a little surprise for us all… and that's not all!"
He clapped his hands, and from the entrance hall marched in twelve particularly surly-looking dwarves.
(Harry: "Wait… does this world have halflings?")
And they weren't just any dwarves—Lockhart, in his infinite creativity, had them dressed with golden wings and carrying harps on their backs.
"My friendly little Cupid messengers!" Lockhart declared happily. "They'll be roaming the school all day, delivering your Valentine's cards! And the fun doesn't stop there! I'm sure my fellow professors will be eager to join in the festivities! Why not ask Professor Snape to teach you how to brew a Love Potion? Or, if you're interested, Professor Flitwick knows more about enchantments that make people swoon than any wizard I've ever met—that sly old dog!"
Professor Flitwick promptly lifted his newspaper to shield his face.
As for Professor Snape, judging by his expression, Harry was fairly certain that if anyone actually dared to ask him about Love Potions, that person would be found dead in their bed by nightfall—cause of death: lethal poisoning.
"Hermione, please tell me you weren't one of those forty-six people," Ron begged as they left the Great Hall for their first class, his face full of desperation.
Hermione didn't answer. Instead, she suddenly became very interested in rummaging through her bag for her schedule.
All day long, the dwarves kept barging into classrooms to deliver Valentine's cards, driving the teachers absolutely mad. By the afternoon, as the Gryffindors headed upstairs for Charms, one of the dwarves suddenly sprinted after Harry.
"Oi, you! Harry Potter!"
One particularly grim-looking dwarf elbowed his way through the crowd, pushing toward Harry.
Receiving a Valentine's card *in front of an entire crowd of first-years—especially when Colin Creevey, Hogwarts' biggest photography enthusiast, happened to be there—*made Harry want to cast Fireball on every single witness.
A silver mist swirled around him—then, in the blink of an eye, Harry vanished.
However, the dwarves eventually tracked him down.
"I have a musical message to personally deliver to Harry Potter!"
During Potions, a squad of dwarves stormed into the classroom, one of them dramatically strumming his harp.
With no other choice, Harry cast Mass Suggestion (6th level).
The dwarves cheerfully redirected their efforts to annoying everyone else.
Gryffindor: -10 points.
By the end of the day, the utterly exasperated male students, led by Harry, officially declared war on Lockhart.
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