Chapter 10

The holiday began with Harry's mind far from Flamel. As he was the only Slytherin who stayed for the holidays, he had the whole common room to himself, which meant that he spent most of the time with the Weasleys, even sneaking into the Gryffindor Common Room at evenings. On these evenings, Harry and Ron had the good armchairs by the fire, eating anything they can spear on a toasting fork, as well as passing time playing Wizards Chess where the figures were alive and Harry had to command them like troops in a battle. The chess pieces Harry had did not trust him at all, being loaned from the Gryffindor Seamus Finnigan. He wasn't a good chess player, and they kept shouting different bits of advice of him, which was confusing, "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him." A little fed up, Harry started to become cold with his commands, and, after losing most of his pieces, finally won a game.

When it was time to sleep, Harry returned alone to the Slytherin common room where he sat by the fire, the box Dumbledore gave him at the beginning of the year near him, still unopened. He didn't know why he hasn't opened it yet, it was from his dad… and yet, he could only think that it should belong to Evan instead of him. On Christmas Eve, Harry was restless and found himself again sitting alone with the box.

Outside the sky was dark, snow was falling gently, frosting was sticking to the window and all the kept the room warm was the large fire and torches. Still, Harry felt a small shiver throughout his body, and he curled his blanket tighter around him. He glanced towards the box and sighed. It belonged to him, it was his dad's… yet it was also Evan's, and Harry couldn't help but push away the idea that Evan should have been the one to get it, the one to open it. "But he's not here," Harry sighed. It would be a waste, Harry thought, if I never opened it, if I never saw what was inside. He leaned back in his chair and looked up towards a clock on the fireplace's mantle. It struck twelve. "Merry Christmas," he muttered to himself. Exhausted, he allowed his eyes to close and he fell asleep.

Eight hours later, Harry woke up to a surprise. An extra blanket was laying on him, and, surrounding his chair, was a small pile of packages! He couldn't believe it—it must have been a mistake! With the Dursleys, Harry never gotten a present—not even a gifted paperclip—but now a small pile of package that looked to Harry the size of a mountain was laying before him. The first package he picked up was a very small parcel that contained a note. We received your message and enclosed your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece. Harry disregarded it and picked up the next package, which was a very lumpy parcel. Harry was confused to who could have sent him it and opened the present—only to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of chocolate fudge and a letter.

Hello Harry,

Mrs. Weasley here, Ron's mother. Ron told me that you didn't expect any presents and I just couldn't have that! I hope that this sweater was big enough—and please enjoy the box of chocolate fudge, it's my very own recipe.

Lots of love and Happy Christmas,

Mrs. Weasley

Harry smiled at the sweater, this is very nice of her, he thought to himself and he tried on the sweater—it was a little big, but still very warm. And the fudge was delicious. Draco has sent him a box of candy, and Blaise sent him a book all about Quidditch. Still snacking on the fudge, Harry turned his attention to the box Dumbledore gave him. He took a breath and sighed, "It's Christmas…" he muttered, "Happy Christmas Evan," he said and, after wiping his hands on his pants, he opened the box.

A shining silvery cloth was sitting in it. Harry picked it up and examined it, it was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. Not knowing what it was, but knowing that it was a cloak at least, Harry tried it on. It was light, as though he was wearing nothing. He looked down to see how it looked on him and gave a yell!

His feet—no his entire body was gone! He dashed to the nearest mirror and sure enough his reflection looked back at him, just a head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.

"This was my dad's?" Harry exclaimed, pulling the invisibility cloak off, because that's had to be what it was! He smirked to himself, a whole plethora of ideas coming to him. But first, he had to show this off to Ron!

He met with the Weasleys in the Great Hall for breakfast where the twins pointed out Harry's sweater. He has never in his life had such a wonderful Christmas, he and the Weasleys played the day away, and the Christmas dinner was astonishing. A hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas; silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce—and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. By the end, Harry was stuffed and very sleepy. He made his way back to Slytherin's common room, longing for his bed, when he stopped to see his book. He picked it up and read the page that it was opened to.

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. This lofty stone has always been Flamel's dream, and it was not until Thursday March 25th 1343, according to a letter of his, that Flamel reached his lifelong dream…

Harry let out a loud gasped, "That's it!" He said. Suddenly fully aware he read more, his head spinning as he started to connect the facts. "Dumbledore has the Philosopher's Stone—he helped Flamel make it or helped Flamel with something drastic and now Flamel gave Dumbledore the Philosopher's Stone! Maybe to hold for some reason—either way, Harry was fully awake, and needed to know more. Smiling to himself, Harry took his father's invisibility cloak and pulled it over to him. The cloak opened all of Hogwarts to him! He could go anywhere, and nobody would notice! Excitement flooded through him as the stood in the dark and silence, invisible. He walked out of the common room into the dungeons.

The castle was dark and difficult to maneuver in. Several times Harry was lost trying to get to the library. The corridors seemed longer, the doors all the same, and along the way Harry lost his way so bad that he needed to go into the nearest classroom to see where he was.

It must have been an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look though it belonged there, something that looked as if someone has just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra shru oyt ube canfrn oyt on wohsi.

Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than ever—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? He looked again at the mirror. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he'd touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air—she and the others existed only in the mirror.

She was a beautiful woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes a beautiful emerald, just like Harry's left eye. He noticed that she was crying; she was smiling, but she was also crying. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was untidy. It stuck up at the back. Though they did not look exactly like Harry, they were still somehow familiar. "Mom… dad?" he whispered.

They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry noticed someone else. He was around Harry's age, with raven black hair that stuck in the back and eyes as green as emeralds, the same shape as their mother's. Harry's eyes met his, and this time Harry's eyes filled with tears. Both boys stared at each other crying silently. "Evan," Harry whispered. The boy nodded. Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.

He stood there, staring at Evan. The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

Then, one by one, the Potters started to vanish. Harry shook his head, pressing his hand harder against the mirror, willing that they stay. However each became a vague blur, spiraling deeper into the mirror until only Evan stood. And then he came, another figure, walking from the blurred swirls that the Potters made.

He was a handsome man, a very handsome man. He had dark brown hair that was neatly stylized and brown eyes shaped just like Harry's. He was tall and pale, and stood directly behind Evan, putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry felt a connection instantaneously. He stared at the man and saw all the similarities between him and the Harry. "You're… you're my birth dad," Harry said. The man simply nodded. Soon the Potters came back, Harry's birth father taking a step to the side to allow Lily and James Potter to stand by their son Evan while the more distant relatives, even those that did not look remotely like Potters, stayed in the background.

How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade, and he looked and looked until the distant morning rays distracted him. He couldn't stay there—he had to find a way back to bed. He looked back at his brother, his family, and his birth brother. "I'll be back," he promised. He looked at his birth father, their eyes connecting. Harry stayed hypnotized by the man's beautiful brown eyes as they slowly morphed, his face and body staying the same, until his eyes shone a brilliant red like two rubies. Too enticed by the mirror, Harry did not notice or care. With a final goodbye, he tore his eyes away from his family and ran out of the room.