Harry Returning from Hogwarts Legacy

Chapter 868: Chapter 352: Double Standards (Part 2)

Aside from Dumbledore’s news, this Christmas wasn’t much different from the usual days.

On the afternoon of Christmas day, Ron called Harry.

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

He was dressed in a full set of skiing gear, which looked quite expensive. It was clear Mr. Granger wasn’t a stingy person.

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

"Long time no see," Harry greeted him, "Looks like you’re having a good time, aren’t you?"

"It’s okay. This Christmas, Hermione’s mom and dad planned to go skiing," Ron said with a grin, "Hermione wasn’t too keen on coming. She thought it would be better to spend the time doing homework at home—but I thought it was a cool idea, so..."

He patted his shoulder, pointing at the Alps behind him.

"I came here," he said.

"You can ski?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Of course." Ron struck a cool pose, "I’m a Quidditch player, after all. For me, skiing isn’t difficult at all. I find that these skis are way easier to control than a broomstick."

"That’s true," Harry nodded.

"Of course, if you have the chance, I recommend you give this sport a try. Right now, besides Quidditch and Wizard Chess, skiing is my favorite sport!"

Ron was so excited that his freckles seemed to be jumping.

"Hmm..." Harry was quite tempted. After a moment of consideration, he said, "Coincidentally, Vivi is going back to Vienna tomorrow, so maybe I’ll discuss with Cassandra and them, and we could go back with Vivi and stop by the Alps for half a month."

"Oh, by the way," Ron suddenly remembered, "My mom and dad plan to come back the day after tomorrow, and they’re going to visit Neville’s mom and dad at Saint Mangos Magic Hospital. Are you planning to go?"

"Let’s go together," Harry nodded, "After all, Neville is our good friend and a member of the Dueling House. It’s only right for us to visit his parents in the hospital."

With that plan, the skiing can be postponed for now.

There was another reason Harry didn’t mention; he intended to see how Neville’s parents were doing while visiting.

"Alright, Harry," Ron waved at Harry, "Then I’ll continue skiing, see you the day after tomorrow—"

"Bye," Harry waved back.

Time passed quickly, and before you knew it, the Weasley family brought Ron and Hermione to 12 Grimmauld Square.

"Merry Christmas, Harry," Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry, who was wearing a sweater. She glanced at the girls also wearing sweaters she knitted, nodding in a touched manner as she warmly greeted everyone.

"Thank you for the sweater, Mrs. Weasley," Vivi smiled softly while greeting Mrs. Weasley, "It’s beautiful."

"Oh, thank you, Vivi," Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together in delight, "It’s not the sweater that’s beautiful but you, my dear—"

Cassandra hid behind Harry, discreetly pouting.

"Let’s have a meal first," Little Sirius suggested, "After we eat, we’ll set off for Saint Mangos together—I’ll drive..."

"Didn’t you have a bit to drink this morning with Miss Fari?" Harry turned to Little Sirius, "Driving after drinking?"

"Who are you, my mom?" Little Sirius rolled his eyes, "I just had a tiny bit of wine; it doesn’t affect my driving..."

"I’ll drive," Miss Fari said, "I got my driver’s license while in Vienna..."

"Alright, if you want to drive," Little Sirius immediately changed his tune.

During the meal, Ron was very animated as he shared his skiing experiences and insights from the Alps with Harry.

Hermione, sitting next to him, kept rolling her eyes. After some hesitation, she decided not to reveal the embarrassing story of how Ron ended up buried in the snow pile.

To rescue Ron, Hermione even used magic.

They soon arrived at Saint Mangos; the roads were nearly empty, with only a few wizards heading stealthily to the hospital.

Miss Fari’s driving skills were indeed impressive, certainly better than those of Little Sirius and Mr. Weasley, who loved to floor the accelerator when driving.

After getting out of the car, Miss Fari drove it to wait for them around the corner.

They sauntered up to the shop window where a mannequin in a green nylon dress stood, looked around to make sure no one was watching, and stepped through the glass one by one.

The waiting room was full of festive cheer: bright crystal bubbles turned red and gold, like giant Christmas ornaments, shimmering brightly.

Even though Christmas had passed for several days, the hospital still hadn’t taken down the decorations, maybe to let the patients feel some Christmas spirit?

Every doorway was adorned with holly, and magic-enhanced Christmas trees covered in snow and ice sparkled brightly in every corner, topped with a glistening golden star.

There were fewer people than usual, but while in the corridor, Ron was pushed aside by a witch with a walnut stuffed up one nostril.

They passed through many double doors and saw a rickety staircase with grotesque portraits of healers lining the walls.

As they climbed, the healers shouted diagnoses of bizarre conditions, devising all sorts of terrifying treatments.

Ron was quite annoyed, especially when a medieval wizard yelled that he clearly had a severe case of scatterpox.

Medieval, indeed, the Old English was a bit archaic but not too hard to understand.

"What on earth is that?" he angrily asked as the healer followed Ron through six picture frames, pushing other subjects aside.

"It’s a chronic skin disorder, young master. It leaves scars, making you even less sightly than you are now—"

"Who are you calling unsightly?" Ron’s ears turned red.

Unsightly?

I admit I’m not that handsome, but unsightly?

Can’t stand it!

"The remedy is to place toad liver on the throat, standing naked under the full moon at the site of an eel’s eye—"

"I don’t have scatterpox!"

"Yet your face shows conspicuous blemishes, young master—"

"Those are freckles!" Ron fumed, "Go back to your frame and leave me alone! Quack!"

"A quack heals great diseases!" the portrait shamelessly retorted, leaving Ron speechless.

The interactions between Ron and the portraits had everyone else around them laughing heartily.

Ron’s face grew redder and redder as he was genuinely flustered by these boundary-less portraits.

Thankfully, a few steps further, they managed to leave the portraits behind.

"Finally, no more annoying nuisances," Ron muttered.

"That’s not fair, Ron," Hermione chided with a chuckle, "They aren’t annoying. I think they mean well—maybe they genuinely mistook your freckles for some serious disease."

"Yeah, right!" Ron retorted irritably, "If someone mistook your former large front teeth for rabbit flu and insisted on treating you, would you be so nonchalant?"

Hermione took a deep breath, her small face visibly reddening quickly.

"See, you know it’s rude too," Ron pointed at Hermione with a teasing grin.

And right after, Mrs. Weasley flicked him on the head.

Ron’s grin disappeared, replaced by a mild pout.

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