December 28th. Harry's third day in the hospital wing. This morning, he drank Madam Pomfrey's potion without even flinching—as if it were ju
December 28th.
Harry's third day in the hospital wing.
This morning, he drank Madam Pomfrey's potion without even flinching—as if it were just plain water.
His composure left Madam Pomfrey utterly baffled.
Just yesterday he looked like he was on the verge of death—how could he be this indifferent now?
He's faking it, she thought. Definitely faking it. Keep pretending, boy.
Of course, Harry had no idea she was thinking this way. The bitterness in his heart had long eclipsed the bitterness of her mystery brew, and she couldn't see it.
Not long after, Cho arrived.
"Feeling any better?"
"Yeah."
A short, pale exchange—nothing more.
That morning, Harry did nothing but quietly watch Cho.
It was his last chance to be alone with her.
Unless fate intervened, the two of them would rarely see each other again. Different years, different Houses.
…
That afternoon, Cho came by at the usual time.
Harry glanced at the book she held—more than halfway through it.
"Almost done?"
"Mhm. I'll finish it tomorrow."
"Oh."
…
As the sky darkened, Cho stood up after glancing out the window.
"I'm heading back."
Harry said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on the high ceiling. Just as Cho reached the door, he softly said,
"Don't come tomorrow."
Her grip on the book suddenly tightened. After a long pause, she responded with a complex tone,
"...Alright."
When she was gone, Harry turned toward the door and stared at it for a long time, as if he could still see her walking down the stairs and out of the castle.
Madam Pomfrey entered.
"What's going on with you and that little girlfriend of yours?"
Harry looked a little lost.
"I don't know. But… it's over."
The moment he'd spoken those words to Cho, he had firmly drawn a line—one that couldn't be crossed again.
Madam Pomfrey was an experienced woman, but what could she do? She was, after all, just a strict and responsible healer.
She sighed quietly. "Drink your potion."
Harry drank it down in one go, as if trying to use its bitterness to drown out the sorrow in his heart.
"Goodnight, child."
…
The next morning, Harry stood at the front door of the hospital wing in his thin patient robes, letting the wind whip against him.
He hadn't stepped outside in days—and was surprised at how deep the snow had gotten.
The hospital wing didn't get many visitors, so no one had cleared the snow. It surrounded the building like a white wall.
His cheeks were flushed red, and his fingers were stiff from the cold.
But he liked the feeling.
"Harry! Merlin's beard, you came out here dressed like that?" a loud voice shouted.
Harry sighed. "I've been cooped up for three days. I needed air."
Madam Pomfrey didn't care for his excuse. She grabbed him by the ear and started dragging him back inside.
"Ouch! You're gonna tear it off!"
Only then did she let go.
…
Harry spent the day in thought—not just about Cho.
By the time Hagrid came to fetch him, it was already afternoon.
"Pomfrey's still the same as ever," Hagrid grumbled. "Wouldn't even let me come visit."
That was just how she was. In her mind, visitors only disturbed a patient's recovery. If Cho hadn't been so quiet and well-behaved, she probably wouldn't have been allowed in either.
As they exited the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey cupped Harry's face in her large, rough hands—surprisingly warm. Her eyes, framed by crow's feet, sparkled with motherly kindness.
"Child, know this—love, and even heartbreak, helps us grow. May Merlin bless you."
"Thank you, Madam."
"What're you two talking about?" Hagrid asked, confused.
Pomfrey shot him a sharp glare, gave Harry a final warm hug, and turned back inside.
Harry stepped into the deep snow and began to build a mound with his hands. No wand—just his palm resting gently on the surface as he cast a Transfiguration spell.
Boom.
The snow transformed into the shape of a girl—smiling brightly.
Harry softly chanted a Latin spell, one used by South American wizards—an incantation for wandless water magic.
A gentle stream of water manifested from thin air and flowed from the snow girl's head down to her toes—freezing into solid ice.
The sculpture now looked even more lifelike.
Harry stood silently, staring at what he had made.
Then, he raised a finger and pressed it gently to the figure's forehead. He paused for a long time… but in the end, did nothing more.
He lowered his hand.
"Let's go, Hagrid."
"Oh—alright," Hagrid replied, quickly following. He'd been watching the whole time, curious about what Harry was doing, but something had told him not to interrupt.
…
Night fell.
A slender figure crept quietly to the hospital wing's entrance. She looked up at a certain room on the second floor.
The lights were out.
"He's already gone," said a woman's voice. Madam Pomfrey had appeared behind her.
The girl stiffened slightly, caught in the act.
She gave a slight nod and was about to leave—when she noticed something in the snow.
A snow sculpture.
It had been made with magic. There was no way someone could form such detailed eyes, nose, and mouth with bare hands alone.
She stared at the snow girl.
A perfect reflection of her own face.
She studied it carefully, intently.
Then, with a flick of her wand—
The snow girl shattered into pieces.
…
Back in her dormitory, she opened the book A History of Medieval Wizards and began reading from the beginning.
She had started this book two days ago.
And though she had turned every page—
Only she knew…
She hadn't read a single word.
-
-
-
⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter
📢 Important Announcement! 📢
From now on, there will be 20 chapters ahead available on Patreon for early access! 🎉🔥
Also, we're excited to announce our new translation of the Harry Potter fanfiction: The Rebirth of Harry Potter! ⚡📖
🔗 Join here: www.patreon.com/c/MrMagnus
👤 Patreon name: SrMagnus
Thank you for your support! 🙌