HP: Wormwood and Lightning Wood

Christmas is just around the corner, which means the holidays are coming soon, and everyone is eagerly looking forward to going home.

A funny thing happened during this time: the Weasley twins cast a spell on some snowballs, hitting Quirrell on the back of the head. They laughed heartily, their bright red short hair standing out starkly against the snow. Upstairs, Filch's sharp shouts could be heard.

Unsurprisingly, the two brothers were punished.

Harry, Ron, and Draco were overjoyed, praising Fred and George for their excellent work. "They even put a spinning spell on the snowball!" Ron laughed, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

West and Harry, of course, wouldn't be returning to Privet Drive for Christmas; they had already signed the registration form for staying at school for the holiday. Ron and his twin brother were also planning to stay, as the Weasleys were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

Draco, knowing the Potters were staying at Hogwarts, invited them to Malfoy Manor. West, of course, wouldn't go, as Snape would be staying at Hogwarts for Christmas. Harry, not wanting to face the Malfoys alone and wanting to spend Christmas with West, declined Draco's invitation.

The weather was already cold, and the Potions class, held in the underground classroom, was even colder, with students trying to stay close to the steaming cauldrons for warmth.

Harry rubbed his icy hands, occasionally jotting down notes. Hermione, dressed like a little bear, was still shivering. Draco and Ron looked the coldest; for the sake of style, they wore only their house robes and were shivering uncontrollably.

After Snape's billowing black robes passed by, West quietly slipped the tip of his staff out of his sleeve and cast a warming spell on Harry and the others.

The Potions Professor suddenly turned around, his gaze falling on West. His dark eyes narrowed into a dangerous arc. Seeing West give him a fawning smile, he ultimately just snorted coldly, raised his wand, and cast a large-area warming spell, quickly warming the classroom.

The students breathed a sigh of relief, thinking to themselves, "Why is the Potions Professor being so kind today?"

After Potions class, West helped Snape tidy his desk, earning Snape's sarcasm, "Potter, when did I hire you as a teaching assistant?"

West, unfazed, continued organizing the students' papers. He had long since learned to ignore Snape's sarcasm and glean the words he wanted from them. "Helping you is no small matter. And, you can call me West, Professor."

Snape looked as if he'd swallowed a live cockroach. "Mr. Potter, go do your own thing."

West turned a deaf ear.

"...Vest."

"Okay, Professor," West replied with a smile, but he had already finished organizing his paper. "You don't have any classes next, right? Where are you going?"

"So you're starting to inquire about the old professor's whereabouts now?" Snape glanced at West with impatience.

"The professor is in his prime; how can you call him an old professor?"

"...the glib-tongued Potter."

West was still kicked out by Snape.

The Christmas holidays begin tomorrow, and Hermione and Draco have already packed their bags and gone home.

West was still preparing a gift for Snape.

He hasn't been happy lately, and as time goes by, he feels "his" presence more and more, as if their souls are slowly merging into one.

Strange memories churned in his mind like undercurrents in the depths of a black lake—a silver orchid elixir brewed on a moonlit night, annotations on the yellowed pages of an ancient book, and a pair of hands stained with dragon blood stirring a potion in a cauldron.

Disturbed, West plunged his quill into the inkwell, splashing ink onto the parchment beside him, creating swirling patterns.

When West recalled these memories, a surge of restlessness welled up inside him.

To be honest, this knowledge is an inexhaustible treasure trove, but it constantly makes him question his own identity.

Who is he? Where did these memories come from?

West shook his head, banishing these chaotic thoughts, his eyes gradually hardening.

Anyway, he's now West Potter, with a twin brother named Harry Potter and a haughty professor named Severus Snape. That's enough.

West's gift to Snape was a prescription he had extracted from his mind—Anti-Thought Potion, which could counteract Legilimency. He found no record of this potion on Snape's bookshelf, indicating that the potion had most likely been lost to time.

West copied the prescription for the antidote onto parchment, cast a concealment spell on it, and then sealed it in a silver-green envelope.

The signature on the prescription shimmered with silvery light in the candlelight—

To my most meticulous potion master.

On Christmas morning, when West woke up, there was already a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.

Harry gave him a photograph—one of their rare photos together, taken with Dudley's abandoned old camera. Perhaps after consulting Hagrid or another professor, the photograph miraculously transformed into a magical image.

In the photo, West is sitting by the window with a book on his lap. He was reading when he heard Harry call out, so he looked up and gave the camera a faint smile.

Harry took a selfie with the camera, his face taking up almost half of the photo, a bright smile on his lips.

West smiled gently and placed the photo on the bedside table.

Hermione gave him a copy of "One Hundred Years of Solitude," and Ron gave him a box of chocolate frogs.

The gift Draco sent was a beautiful silver-green jewelry box containing a finely crafted gemstone brooch.

Hagrid gifted him a handmade piccolo, its craftsmanship rustic and charming.

There were also seven or eight anonymous Christmas gifts. West parted the gifts to reveal a dark green gift box at the bottom, with a ribbon tied to a small card that was signed with the initials "SS".

He held his breath and gently opened the gift box, finding inside a book titled "The Complete Book of High-Level Potions." Opening the book, he found it filled with dense annotations, written in elegant and powerful handwriting.

That's the professor's style.

West laughed, flipped through the book briefly, and reluctantly closed it before heading to the auditorium for breakfast.

He stepped out of the Slytherin common room, and a dark figure crouching in the corner lunged at him. West was startled, nearly throwing a spell, but then he heard a familiar voice calling, "West!"

Harry, beaming with excitement like a little elephant, bumped into West, sending him stumbling back several steps. "You have no idea what I received!"

He was already wearing the new glasses West had given him—a super-evolved version that wouldn't fog up or break. There were actually two silver eyeglass chains, but Harry, probably not used to them, had taken them off.

Harry was still holding a package in his arms. "Let's talk in your dorm! Hurry up!"

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle had all gone home for Christmas, so West was all alone in his dorm room.

West led Harry into the Slytherin common room, ignoring the strange looks from the little snakes, and took Harry straight back to his dormitory.

West leaned against the bedside. "Speak, what is it?"

Harry opened the package in his arms and grabbed a silver-grey, liquid-like fabric. He draped the fabric over his head and vanished.

A flicker of surprise crossed West's eyes. "An invisibility cloak?"

Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and exclaimed, "Yes! Look at this letter!"

Harry unfolded the letter and showed it to West:

Your father left this to me before he died, and now it should be returned to you. Please use it well. Merry Christmas!

It was unsigned, but West knew who it was just by looking at the handwriting. That night, when Snape and Dumbledore were researching, he noticed a letter on the headmaster's desk with the exact same handwriting.

Harry was still wondering, "Who gave it to me? But he said it was left by my father."

Then he got excited again, "Whatever!"

Harry deployed the Invisibility Cloak. "We can take turns using it! Or we can go for a nighttime stroll together! Filch definitely won't be able to spot us!"

West sighed and facepalmed. "Harry, do you often go out at night?"

Harry suddenly started stammering and awkwardly changed the subject.

"Oh, by the way," he pulled a green hand-knitted sweater and a box of homemade fudge from his bag, "this is a gift from Mrs. Weasley, and I have one too."

West picked up the sweater, which had a large "W" embroidered on it. He and Harry had only briefly seen Mrs. Weasley on Platform 9¾, yet she had still given them Christmas presents.

West smiled as he put on the sweater knitted by Mrs. Weasley and ate a few pieces of Mrs. Weasley's gummy candies with Harry.

The sweet aroma of fudge mingled with the pine scent of a fireplace filled the dormitory room, while light snowflakes drifted in from outside the window, and a harp playing a variation of "Merry Christmas" drifted from the direction of the auditorium. This Christmas wasn't cold.