The Great Hall buzzed with the usual chatter as students enjoyed their Halloween feast. The tables were piled high with all sorts of delicious food—roast turkey, pumpkin pies, and steaming bowls of mashed potatoes. The enchanted ceiling sparkled with floating jack-o'-nterns, and ghosts glided between the tables, adding to the festive atmosphere.

  Harry sat with the Slytherins, picking at his food while Bise and Daphne argued about Quidditch tactics. Across the hall, he noticed Ron, Charlie, and Neville ughing loudly about something.

  Harry sighed. While he enjoyed the camaraderie of his house, he missed the easy, carefree energy of his brothers and their friends.

  Just as dessert appeared on the tables, a thunderous bang echoed through the hall. The doors flew open, and Professor Quirrell stumbled in, his turban askew and his face pale as parchment.

  “Troll—in the dungeons!” he gasped, clutching his chest. “Thought you ought to know!”

  He colpsed in a heap, sending the hall into chaos.

  Students screamed and scrambled from their seats, some running toward the doors while others froze in panic. Dumbledore stood, his commanding voice cutting through the noise.

  “Silence!”

  The hall fell still as the headmaster’s presence demanded attention.

  “Prefects, lead your houses back to the dormitories immediately,” he instructed. “Teachers, come with me to the dungeons.”

  As the Slytherins were herded toward their common room, Harry’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of Ron and Charlie slipping away from the Gryffindor line. He frowned, already knowing what they were up to.

  “They’re going after the troll,” he muttered to himself.

  “Let them,” Bise said with a shrug. “If they’re stupid enough to get themselves killed, that’s on them.”

  Harry hesitated, torn between loyalty to his house and his family. Finally, he broke away from the group, following his brothers.

  Harry caught up to Ron, Charlie, and Neville near the entrance to the dungeons. They were armed with random items—a candlestick, a broomstick, and what looked like a frying pan from the kitchen.

  “Are you lot insane?” Harry hissed. “There’s a troll loose!”

  Charlie grinned. “Exactly! How often do you get a chance to fight a troll?”

  “This isn’t a joke!” Harry snapped. “Do you even know how dangerous they are?”

  Before they could argue further, a deafening roar echoed down the corridor. The troll appeared, its massive frame blocking the passageway. It stood nearly twelve feet tall, its gray skin covered in warts and its small, beady eyes glinting with malice. In its hand, it gripped a club the size of a tree trunk.

  “Okay,” Ron whispered, his face pale. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

  The troll lumbered toward them, its club swinging wildly. The boys scattered, dodging its attacks.

  “Use magic!” Harry yelled, pulling out his wand.

  Charlie aimed his wand at the troll. “Stupefy!”

  The spell hit the troll but only seemed to irritate it. It let out a furious bellow and turned its attention to Charlie.

  Harry’s mind raced. He remembered reading about trolls in one of Bill’s old Defense Against the Dark Arts books. They were incredibly strong but not very bright.

  “Distract it!” Harry shouted.

  Neville, to everyone’s surprise, took the lead. He threw his frying pan at the troll, hitting it squarely on the nose. The troll roared in anger, giving Charlie and Ron a chance to regroup.

  “Wingardium Leviosa!” Ron yelled, pointing his wand at the troll’s club. To Harry’s astonishment, the spell worked. The club floated into the air before crashing down onto the troll’s head.

  The troll swayed for a moment before colpsing to the ground with a resounding thud.

  The boys stared at the fallen troll, breathing heavily.

  “Did we... just do that?” Ron asked, his voice shaky.

  Charlie grinned. “That was brilliant!”

  Before they could celebrate further, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, and Professor Quirrell arrived, their expressions a mix of shock and fury.

  “What is the meaning of this?” McGonagall demanded, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel.

  Harry quickly stepped forward, trying to come up with a pusible expnation. “We—uh—heard the troll was near the Gryffindor common room and thought we could stop it before it hurt anyone.”

  McGonagall looked unconvinced, but Snape’s gaze lingered on Harry, as if he suspected there was more to the story.

  “You’re lucky to be alive,” McGonagall said sternly. “Trolls are not creatures to be trifled with. Fifty points will be taken from each of your houses for this reckless behavior.”

  Charlie opened his mouth to argue, but Harry nudged him sharply. “Yes, Professor,” he said quickly.

  As they returned to their dormitories, Harry couldn’t help but feel a mix of pride and exasperation. They had taken down a troll—something few students could boast—but the risk they had taken was enormous.

  Ron nudged Harry. “You have to admit, that was pretty awesome.”

  Harry rolled his eyes. “Let’s just try not to get killed next time, okay?”

  The crisp autumn air buzzed with excitement as students gathered around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch for the first match of the season. The energy was infectious, with banners flying high, enchanted confetti raining down from the stands, and the cheers of students echoing across the grounds.

  Harry, however, wasn’t as enthused. He sat in the Slytherin stands, arms crossed, watching as the pyers mounted their brooms and took to the sky.

  “Not exactly Puddlemere United, is it?” he muttered to Bise Zabini, who was sitting beside him.

  Bise raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  Harry shrugged. “I’ve watched professional games. This feels... sloppy in comparison.”

  As the match began, Harry found himself in an awkward position. Slytherin was pying against Gryffindor, and the cheers around him were deafening as the green-cd pyers took control of the Quaffle.

  “Come on, Slytherin!” someone shouted from behind him, their voice filled with enthusiasm.

  Harry’s eyes darted to the Gryffindor stands, where he saw his brothers Ron and Percy yelling just as loudly for the Gryffindor team. They were waving enchanted banners that spelled out “Go, Gryffindor!” in fshing red and gold letters.

  Who am I supposed to cheer for? Harry thought, feeling a pang of unease. His housemates would expect him to root for Slytherin, but how could he go against his brothers?

  As the game progressed, Harry’s initial impression didn’t change. The Slytherin team was aggressive but cked the finesse he had seen in professional Quidditch. Meanwhile, the Gryffindor team had energy but struggled to match Slytherin’s precision.

  Marcus Flint, the Slytherin captain, scored a goal, and the Slytherin stands erupted in cheers. Bise nudged Harry. “Aren’t you going to cheer?”

  Harry forced a half-hearted cp, his mind still elsewhere.

  Then Gryffindor retaliated with an incredible save from their Keeper, Wood, followed by a goal from their Chaser, Angelina Johnson. The Gryffindor stands erupted in jubition, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his brothers celebrating.

  “Traitor,” Bise teased, noticing Harry’s grin.

  As the Snitch came into py, Harry leaned forward, his interest finally piqued. The Seekers, a Slytherin seventh-year and Charlie Potter, dove after the golden ball with speed that was thrilling, even for Harry.

  Charlie’s maneuvers reminded Harry of the professional pyers he admired—calcuted, daring, and precise. It was clear that Charlie was more than just "The Boy Who Lived"; he was a skilled athlete.

  With a daring dive, Charlie caught the Snitch, ending the match with a Gryffindor victory. The Gryffindor stands exploded with cheers, while the Slytherin side groaned in disappointment.

  As the crowd dispersed, Harry stayed behind, watching the teams leave the pitch. Bise cpped him on the shoulder. “You don’t look too broken up about the loss.”

  Harry smirked. “It’s just a game.”

  “Just a game?” Bise scoffed. “Don’t let Flint hear you say that.”

  Later that evening, as Harry sat in his room, he thought about the match. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his divided loyalties. He was a Slytherin, but his heart was still tied to his family in Gryffindor.

  “I’ll cheer for my house,” Harry decided, “but I’ll always support my family.”

  It was a compromise he could live with, even in the complicated world of Hogwarts.

  The first term at Hogwarts was coming to an end, and the excitement for the holiday season was palpable. The halls were decked with enchanted garnds, floating candles, and glittering ornaments, and the students were buzzing with pns for the break.

  Harry Weasley packed his trunk with a sense of relief and anticipation. It had been an eventful term, but nothing felt better than the thought of returning to the Weasley Manor and celebrating Christmas with his family.

  As the Hogwarts Express chugged its way back to King’s Cross Station, Harry and Ron shared a compartment with Fred, George, and Percy. The twins were busy recounting tales of their test pranks, while Percy tried to read but kept getting interrupted by Fred conjuring harmless puffskeins that nded on his book.

  “I swear, one day you two will end up in Azkaban,” Percy muttered, batting away another puffskein.

  “Lighten up, Percy,” George said with a grin. “It’s Christmas!”

  Ron nudged Harry. “What do you think Mum’s cooked for us this year?”

  Harry smiled. “I don’t care, as long as it’s Mom’s cooking. I’ve missed it.”

  The train ride passed quickly, filled with ughter and anticipation for the holiday ahead.

  The Weasleys arrived at the manor in the early evening, the air crisp and cold. Snow covered the surrounding fields, making the house look even cozier with warm lights glowing from every window.

  As they stepped through the front door, they were greeted by the rich aroma of roasted turkey, freshly baked bread, and Molly’s famous treacle tart. The Christmas tree stood tall in the sitting room, adorned with handmade ornaments, flickering fairy lights, and a shimmering star at the top.

  Molly rushed forward, hugging each of her children tightly. “You’re all here! And just in time—dinner’s almost ready.”

  Arthur appeared next, cpping Harry and Ron on the shoulders. “Good to have you back, boys. We’ve been looking forward to this.”

  The following morning, Bill and Charlie returned from their respective travels, greeted with cheers and hugs from the younger Weasleys.

  “Look at you lot,” Bill said with a grin, ruffling Ron’s hair. “Getting taller every time I see you.”

  Charlie, who had just finished his training as a dragon handler, was equally enthusiastic. “So, who’s ready for some Quidditch in the snow?”

  Fred and George immediately started making teams, while Percy sighed and muttered something about frostbite.

  Christmas morning at the Weasley Manor was nothing short of magical. The family gathered around the tree, exchanging gifts amidst ughter and chatter.

  Harry, who still marveled at the love and warmth of the Weasley family, received a knitted sweater from Molly, as expected—a green one this year, with a rge silver “H” on the front.

  “Thanks, Mum,” Harry said, pulling it on immediately. It was warm and cozy, just like every other sweater she’d made him.

  Fred and George gifted Harry a box of their prototype prank items. “You’ll need these back at Hogwarts,” Fred said with a wink.

  From Bill, Harry received a dragon-themed quill set, and Charlie gave him a miniature dragon model that moved and roared softly when touched. Percy, ever practical, handed Harry a book titled Advanced Magical Theory: A Beginner’s Guide.

  Ron’s gift was simple but heartfelt—a box of Chocote Frogs, which Harry shared with him on the spot.

  Harry had spent months saving up his allowance to buy gifts for everyone. He gave Arthur a collection of Muggle tools, which his adoptive father inspected with childlike wonder. Molly received a beautiful scarf in her favorite colors. For the others, Harry picked thoughtful little trinkets: a broomstick maintenance kit for Ron, enchanted snow globes for Fred and George, and a sleek journal for Percy.

  Dinner that evening was nothing short of spectacur. Molly had outdone herself with a spread of roast turkey, honey-gzed ham, mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, Yorkshire puddings, and an assortment of desserts.

  As they ate, the family shared stories and jokes, and even Percy loosened up enough to ugh at Fred and George’s antics.

  Arthur proposed a toast. “To family, to love, and to the best Christmas yet!”

  The family cheered, raising their gsses of butterbeer and pumpkin juice.

  That night, Harry y in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of snow falling against the window.

  For the first time in years, Harry felt completely at peace. He had a family that loved him, a home that welcomed him, and a bright future ahead.

  “Happy Christmas, Harry,” he whispered to himself, a smile on his face.