Harry returns from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 359 Double Standards
“But,” Vivi shook her dark green sweater, “why did Mrs. Weasley send you the gift she gave me?”

“I guess it was to save trouble,” Harry shrugged. “But I think they were worried you might not be at number twelve Grimmauld Place, so they sent it to me as well—look, here it is, Papiyas’s, Cassandra’s, and Anne’s…”

He flipped through the gifts below; Pappy's sweater was Hufflepuff yellow, while Cassandra's and Anne's were a lighter shade of light green and grass green.

It seems that the color of the sweaters is determined by the house—but here's the problem: all three Slytherins can only wear house green, so Mrs. Weasley chose three different shades of green.

This is the only way to differentiate them; it wouldn't be good to use the same color for everything, would it?

But then again, this color of sweater just doesn't look good.

Vivi took off her pajamas, revealing her flawless figure to Harry.

She picked up the sweater and put it on. To be honest, although the sweater wasn't very attractive, then again…

"I think this dress looks pretty good," Vivi said, walking up to the full-length mirror and looking at herself from all angles with satisfaction.

Harry pouted.

"What clothes look good? It's clearly the person who looks good." He chose to tell the truth.

That makes sense; after all, a pretty girl like Vivi would look good even wearing a urea bag.

The modeling part.

Even though Harry had praised her many times, Vivi would still be happy to receive compliments.

She bent down and kissed Harry on the cheek.

“This is a reward for your sweet talk,” she said.

“I’m just telling the truth,” Harry replied.

When it was time for breakfast, the girls who had received Mrs. Weasley's gifts changed into their own clothes, including Cassandra.

To Harry's surprise, he thought a girl like Cassandra would never wear such a... indescribable sweater, but to his utter astonishment, Cassandra accepted it readily.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know what you’re thinking.” Cassandra gave Harry a disdainful glance. “Do you really think I’m that kind of arrogant, haughty person who looks down on everyone?”

“Of course not,” Harry quickly explained.

"Heh." Cassandra clearly didn't believe her, but she was too lazy to say anything more.

"I've already asked Kreacher to prepare Christmas dinner, and Ruby and the others will be joining us too," Sirius said while eating breakfast. "I'm thinking of making some eggnog later, anyone want to help me?"

“Let me help you, Mr. Black,” Miss Farley said from the side.

Vivi and Harry exchanged a glance, both seeing the smile in each other's eyes.

Still calling him 'Mr. Black'?
Given how well you two know each other now, shouldn't you just call each other "Sirius"?

"Oh, you're one of them," Sirius said, his face neither flushed nor pale. "Are there any others?"

“No, I need to have a chat with Mr. Potter.” Vivi emphasized the words ‘Mr. Potter’.

It's a bit weird.

Sure enough, Miss Farley pouted, silently protesting her boss's squeak.

Christmas 1995 was peaceful; nothing major happened.

Harry even received a blessing from Dumbledore, though it was a message delivered to him by Phineas.

Through the message, Harry also learned of Dumbledore's recent whereabouts—he was tracking down clues about Voldemort and seemed to have made considerable progress recently.

“It seems that Professor Dumbledore is truly contributing to the peace of the British wizarding world,” Vivi said meaningfully. “If it were me, I would carry out our original plan—no matter what, we must make sure everyone is aware of Voldemort’s return.”

“Professor Dumbledore thinks this will kill a lot of people,” Harry said, crossing his legs.

“Is that so?” Vivi shook her head noncommittally. “It’s just a few people dying. If they could have believed Dumbledore and the rumors that Voldemort had returned, how could they have died? To put it bluntly, Dumbledore isn’t the Minister for Magic, so he doesn’t have the obligation to babysit, understand? He’s just the Headmaster of Hogwarts, only responsible for the students of Hogwarts. As for the British magical community? That’s the Minister for Magic’s business.”

“What I find most interesting,” Cassandra began, “is that even someone as virtuous as Dumbledore still has a considerable number of people who don’t believe him, preferring to trust the Ministry of Magic—so on this point, I support Grindelwald; not everyone deserves to be saved.”

If Harry hadn't been influenced by these two women and hadn't received his education in the Malfoy family, he would definitely have thought this choice was incredibly cold-blooded.

But now that he has received a proper education, he naturally wouldn't think there's anything wrong with this statement.

“Respect, and blessings.” Harry shrugged. “It’s what we should do. Those who believe Voldemort has returned will be on high alert… Of course, since Professor Dumbledore has chosen this path, we can only respect his choice.”

“He was a noble man,” Papbi said with some regret.

She did feel quite sorry for him, after all, Dumbledore was a good person, and apart from his sexual orientation not being quite right, he hadn't done anything too wrong.

As for Tom Riddle Jr., it can only be said that even if Dumbledore were a master educator, he couldn't reform him. After all, those born bad seeds are not easily reformed.

Aside from news about Dumbledore, this Christmas was not much different from any other day.

On Christmas afternoon, Ron called Harry.

“Hey, bro.” Ron was wearing sunglasses, and the scenery behind him seemed to be the Alps.

He was wearing a full set of ski equipment, which looked quite expensive, showing that Mr. Granger was not a stingy person.

Ron looked very relaxed and happy, as if he had just had a great time skiing.

"Long time no see," Harry greeted him. "Looks like you're having a great time, aren't you?"

“It’s alright. Hermione’s parents are planning to go skiing this Christmas,” Ron said with a grin. “Hermione wasn’t really keen on coming; she thought she’d rather stay home and do some homework—but I thought it was a really cool idea, so…”

He patted his shoulder and pointed to the Alps behind him.

“I’ve come here,” he said.

"You can ski?" Harry asked in surprise.

“Of course.” Ron struck a cool pose. “I’m a Quidditch player, you know. Skiing is no big deal for me. I think these skis are much easier to handle than a broom.”

“That’s true,” Harry nodded. “Of course, if you have the chance, I recommend you try it too. Right now, besides Quidditch and Wizarding Chess, my favorite sport is skiing!”

Ron was so excited when he spoke that his freckles were practically jumping up and down.

“Hmm…” Harry was quite tempted. After considering for a moment, he said, “Vivi is going back to Vienna tomorrow. I’ll discuss it with Cassandra and the others. Maybe we can go back with Vivi and take a two-week trip to the Alps.”

“Oh, right,” Ron said, slapping his hand. “My mom and dad are coming back the day after tomorrow. They’re planning to visit Neville’s parents at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Arts. Are you going?”

“Let’s go together,” Harry nodded. “After all, Neville is our good friend and a member of the Duel Hut. It’s only right that we visit his parents in the hospital.”

Since we have this plan, let's postpone the skiing trip for now.

There was another reason Harry didn't mention: he planned to visit Neville's parents and, at the same time, find out what was going on with them.

“Okay, Harry.” Ron waved to Harry. “I’m off to skiing now. See you the day after tomorrow!”

"Bye-bye," Harry said, waving goodbye.

Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, the Weasleys, along with Ron and Hermione, arrived at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry, who was wearing a sweater, then looked at the girls who were also wearing sweaters she had knitted, nodded with some emotion, and greeted them warmly.

“Thank you for your clothes, Mrs. Weasley,” Vivi greeted Mrs. Weasley with a slight smile. “This sweater is very beautiful.”

“Oh, thank you, Vivi.” Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together with some pride. “But it’s not the dress that’s beautiful, it’s you—”

Cassandra hid behind Harry, secretly pouting.

“Let’s grab a bite to eat first,” Sirius suggested. “After we eat, we can head to St. Mungo together—and I can drive, that’s perfect…”

"Didn't you have a little to drink this morning? With Miss Farley?" Harry turned to Sirius. "Drinking and driving?"

"Who are you? My mom?" Sirius rolled his eyes. "I only had a little bit of alcohol, it won't stop me from driving..."

“I’ll drive,” Miss Farley said. “I even got my driver’s license in Vienna…”

“Okay, if you want to drive.” Sirius Black immediately changed his tune.

During the meal, Ron seemed very excited, and he kept sharing his experiences and insights from skiing in the Alps with Harry.

Hermione kept rolling her eyes. After much hesitation, she still didn't tell anyone about Ron's embarrassing moment of being stuck in the snowdrift.

Hermione even used magic to rescue Ron.

They soon arrived at St. Mungo's, where there were few vehicles along the way, with only a few wizards on their way to the hospital walking quietly through the deserted streets.

Miss Farley's driving skills are indeed quite good, at least better than Sirius Black and Mr. Weasley, who both like to step on the gas while driving.

Harry and the others got out of the car, and Miss Farley drove the car around the corner to wait for them.

They strolled to the shop window where the mannequin in the green nylon dress stood, looked around, and seeing that no one was paying attention to them, they walked through the glass one by one.

The waiting room was filled with a festive atmosphere: bright crystal bubbles turned red and gold, like giant Christmas balls, sparkling with light.

Even though Christmas has been over for several days, the hospital has not removed the holiday decorations, perhaps so that patients can feel some of the Christmas spirit?
Holly bushes hung at every doorway, and Christmas trees, magically covered in snow and icicles, glittered in every corner, their tips topped with a sparkling gold star.

There weren't as many people as usual, but in the corridor, Ron was still pushed aside by a witch with a nut stuffed in her left nostril.

They walked through a series of double doors and came to a rickety staircase with a portrait of a grotesque healer hanging on the wall.

As they climbed the stairs, the therapists yelled at them, diagnosing bizarre ailments and devising all sorts of terrible treatments.

Ron was furious because a medieval wizard was shouting that he clearly had a severe case of smallpox.

In the Middle Ages, Old English sounded a bit archaic, but it wasn't too difficult to understand.

"What is that?" he asked angrily, as the therapist chased Ron through six frames, pushing the figures in the paintings aside.

"This is a chronic skin condition, young master. It will leave scars, making you even less attractive than you are now—"

"Who are you calling unattractive?" Ron's ears turned red.

Not good-looking?
I admit I'm not that handsome, but to say I'm not good-looking?
I can't bear it!
"Only by taking a toad's liver and applying it to one's throat, and standing naked amidst a bucket of eel eyes when the sun and moon are shining brightly—"

I don't have smallpox!

"But your face has glaring flaws, young master—"

“Those are freckles!” Ron roared. “Go back to your own picture frame and stop bothering me! You quack!”

"A quack doctor cures a serious illness!" The portrait retorted to Ron without batting an eye, leaving Ron speechless.

The people around him burst into laughter at the interaction between Ron and the portraits.

Ron's face grew increasingly red; he was truly blushing from the portrait's complete lack of boundaries.

Fortunately, after walking a few more steps, the portraits were left behind.

“Finally, there’s no more annoying guy,” Ron muttered.

“You can’t say that, Ron,” Hermione said with a sly smile. “They’re not mean, I think they’re doing it for your own good—maybe they really do think your freckles are some kind of serious illness.”

"Come on, that's enough!" Ron retorted irritably. "If someone thought your old front teeth were some kind of rabbit madness and insisted on treating you, would you still be so relaxed?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and her little face visibly flushed red.

“See, you know it’s impolite,” Ron said, pointing at Hermione and laughing.

Immediately following this was a sharp rap on the head from Mrs. Weasley.

Ron went from laughing to not laughing.

(End of this chapter)