"Who did this?" Madam Pomfrey demanded, her voice sharp with anger as she pulled a bottle of potion from the cabinet. She tipped a measured dose into a cup, forced Lee Jordan to drink it, and glared around the hospital wing as though the culprit might still be hiding under one of the beds.
"It was Slytherin's Roger!" Ron burst out furiously from beside Lee's bed. "Roger Travis did this!"
"Ron, it wasn't entirely Roger's fault," Hermione said, frowning as she looked at Lee's bandaged face. The moment the words left her mouth, Ron turned on her with a look of pure disgust.
"Not his fault?" Ron said, his ears going red. "Jordan's lying here looking like he got trampled by a troll because Roger beat him half to death."
"But Jordan insulted Slytherin first," Hermione argued. She sounded frustrated, but she refused to back down.
Ron snorted. "What insult? Dirty Slytherin? Everyone in the school says that. Jordan just said it out loud."
"He only did it because he couldn't stand us winning," Ron continued, folding his arms. "He took the first excuse he could find to get revenge. Harry, you know I'm right."
"Hermione, Ron's right," Harry said after a moment. His expression was serious, and there was no hesitation in his voice. "Roger clearly planned it from the beginning."
"Even if Jordan went too far, there was no reason to beat him like that," Harry added. He glanced at Lee's swollen eyes and bloodstained bandages, and his face tightened.
"You two…" Hermione stamped her foot, angry and disappointed all at once. Then she turned and stormed out of the hospital wing, leaving Ron muttering under his breath behind her.
Strangely, after that day, almost no one in the school spoke openly about Roger beating Lee Jordan. It was as if the whole incident had slipped into some unspoken gap in Hogwarts life. Everyone knew what had happened, but students and professors alike avoided mentioning it, as though ignoring it would make the uncomfortable truth disappear.
After Potions on Monday, Roger handed in his latest batch of completed potions. Thanks to a rather "friendly" discussion with Professor Snape, he now only needed to submit five samples each time, which made the entire arrangement far less troublesome.
"Acceptable," Snape said after one glance. He placed the vials back into the cabinet with his usual cold efficiency.
"Professor, aren't you going to say anything else?" Roger asked curiously. His gaze flicked down to Snape's right leg, which was obviously injured, and the professor's faint limp had not escaped him.
"What would you like me to say?" Snape asked, giving him a thin, unpleasant smile. "Are you expecting praise?"
"If you can beat Gryffindor on the Quidditch pitch, that would be far more convincing than using your fists," Snape said coldly. For the life of him, he could not understand why any young wizard would dislike Quidditch.
"Then never mind," Roger said, shaking his head. "Brooms are only useful on the pitch. Fists work everywhere."
"Do not forget that you are a wizard," Snape snapped, his black eyes narrowing. "Or should I start calling you a boxer with a wand?"
Roger only smiled, apparently unbothered by the sarcasm. Snape glared at him for another moment, clearly wondering what strange thoughts went on inside the boy's head.
Christmas approached quickly, and the owls began arriving almost every day with letters and parcels. Andrew, the family's asset manager, sent message after message through Jessica, repeatedly saying that people in the City were contacting him daily about investment opportunities.
"Investment?" Roger laughed softly when he read the latest letter. "No, they just can't accept losing."
He tossed Andrew's letter aside without much interest. Jessica had already bought a shop in Diagon Alley for the magical instant camera business, and the location was excellent. It sat diagonally opposite Gringotts; turn left from the door, and the entrance to Knockturn Alley was not far away.
Two thousand magical instant cameras were already prepared. Everything was ready, and all that remained was for Shadow Golem House to open for business at Christmas.
"Roger, are you going home for Christmas?" Daphne asked, holding her History of Magic book with a look of deep resentment. She had never liked the subject, and rote memorisation made it feel even more unbearable.
"Yes. Shadow Golem House opens over Christmas, so I need to go back and help prepare," Roger said. He looked up from his letter and added, "Do not worry. Your Christmas present is already ready."
"Really?" Daphne's eyes lit up at once. "Give it to me now."
"No," Roger said, shaking his head. "A Christmas present only means something on Christmas."
"Tch. You say that every year," Daphne complained. She swirled the juice in her glass, but her gaze had already drifted across the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were decorating the hall, while Hagrid came in carrying a large fir tree with Harry and Ron helping behind him. Holly and mistletoe hung along the walls, and dozens of Christmas trees stood throughout the hall, each decorated in a different style. Professor Flitwick waved his wand, and hundreds of tiny candles sprang into place among the branches before him.
"How strange," Daphne said, resting her chin on one hand as she watched Harry and Ron. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she had discovered something unnatural.
"What is?" Roger asked.
"Those two have actually started going to the library recently," Daphne said. She no longer cared much about Harry Potter's reputation as the saviour of the wizarding world. After several months at school, she had decided he was not particularly impressive, and in most subjects, he was not even as capable as Hermione.
Apart from his talent for Quidditch, Harry seemed just as lost in class as the red-haired Weasley. Daphne had heard Hermione complain more than once that the two of them were always borrowing her homework to copy. Now that they were suddenly studying in the library, Daphne found it deeply suspicious.
"I think someone may have put them under the Imperius Curse," Daphne said solemnly. "It is the only reasonable explanation."
"We cannot always judge people by old impressions," Roger replied. "People change."
As he spoke, he carefully folded Alexander's latest letter and put it away. The Muggle government in the Soviet Union was already in complete chaos, nearly at the point of collapse. Compared with that, the Soviet Ministry of Magic was in slightly better condition, at least managing to maintain basic order.
An unbreakable union—what an ironic song title. The Orthodox Church celebrated Christmas on January seventh, yet on December twenty-fifth, they would present the whole world with an unprecedented Christmas gift.
At King's Cross Station, Jessica was already waiting on the platform when the Hogwarts Express arrived. The moment she saw her son step down from the train, she hurried forward and pulled him into a tight hug.
"You've grown taller," Jessica said, holding him at arm's length so she could look him over properly. "And stronger too."
She pinched his arm, measured his height with her hand, and nodded with obvious satisfaction. Roger endured it with the helpless patience of a son who knew escape was impossible.
"Quidditch?" Jessica asked after they got into the car, her tone turning regretful when the subject came up. "You really still have no interest in it?"
"Flying around in the sky is too dangerous, Mum," Roger said firmly. He had no intention of joining a team, and if flying class did not have an exam attached to it, he would not bother with that either.
"When I was at school, I always dreamed of making the Quidditch team," Jessica said, smiling at the memory. "Unfortunately, I never even made the Hufflepuff reserves."
She sounded genuinely regretful that her son had inherited none of her enthusiasm for the sport. Roger, however, remained unmoved.
Their villa on the banks of the Thames had already been decorated for Christmas. A tall tree stood inside, its branches wrapped with colourful ribbons, while the rooms glowed with warm light and festive ornaments. Downstairs, Jessica prepared food for the owls, confident that her son would receive plenty of gifts this year.
The living room was piled high with boxes, and Roger became extremely busy almost as soon as he returned home. Even with his self-writing quill handling the greeting cards, he still had to think carefully about what to give each person.
Before long, a neat stack of cards appeared on the table. Jessica watched with a warm smile, pleased that Roger had made so many friends at school.
Roger's first gift was for his mother. It was not expensive, but he had carefully collected magical photographs of himself at Hogwarts and bound them into an album. As he flipped through it, he could not help admiring his own face.
"I'm getting more and more handsome," he said with complete seriousness.
"Bubble, go to Andrew and bring back the pocket watch I bought," Roger called.
"Yes, young master," Bubble replied.
The house-elf vanished from sight and returned only a few breaths later with a gift box. Inside was a Patek Philippe enamel pocket watch, its round case decorated with a delicate landscape painted in traditional enamel. The scene was vivid, the colours were rich, and the off-white dial paired beautifully with the movement inside, giving it an elegant and understated charm.
Roger placed Daphne's greeting card inside the box. The ribbon wrapped itself neatly around the lid and tied into a butterfly knot at the top.
Choosing Hermione's gift was much harder. The little academic star seemed to spend nearly every day reading, but Roger really did not want to give her textbooks or study notes. After thinking it over, however, he had to admit that those might genuinely be the things most likely to make her happy.
"Right," Roger murmured after another moment of thought. "What about a protective spell?"
When he remembered how adventurous Hermione's life at Hogwarts tended to become, he could not help feeling a little worried for her. Once the idea settled in his mind, the decision was made.
He gave Elena a handmade magical Polaroid camera, Snape a charmed cloak, and Professor McGonagall a crystal cat sculpture. Gift after gift was wrapped, labelled, and sent off, and he remained busy until noon before finally closing the last box and handing it to an owl for delivery.
He sent holiday greetings to nearly everyone he knew, even Mr. Paul, who was far away in Wales. As for unfamiliar wizards, even someone as famous as Harry Potter had nothing to do with him.
"Is this my Christmas present?" Jessica asked curiously when she noticed the wide, flat gift box still sitting on the table.
Roger gave her a mysterious look. "I'm not telling you."
Jessica laughed softly as she watched her son run back upstairs. In the fireplace, the flames burned bright and warm, and the hands of the clock climbed slowly toward midnight.
Christmas 1991 arrived quietly.
.....
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