Author's Notes: Which Magical family do you think Harry will end up with? I already have an answer; This is me being inquisitive. I never even thought about whether the Twins had been in Slytherin until they were reassuring Harry. Poor Samantha Pitts ended up going to Hogsmeade in case Harry needed to be rescued. Good thing she sent a message to Snape before going.
The next morning when Harry woke early he found a pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
He looked around suspiciously. He'd never gotten decent presents before. He checked them and, sure enough, they were addressed to him.
"Merry Christmas," he said to no one and began opening them one by one. Hagrid had given him a roughly whittled wooden flute. Harry blew into the mouth piece—it sounded like an owl's hoot.
He set it aside and opened the next parcel. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had written a short, detached note about receiving his message that he'd be staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday and taped a fifty-pence coin to it. It was the first time he'd gotten anything worthwhile from them. Moth-eaten socks and ratty hand-me-downs were the usual wrinkled sorts of things he'd gotten from his relatives stuffed in the smallest box they could find with only a bare piece of twine around it.
His next package contained sweets—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Harry felt a jab of guilt. He hadn't sent anything to her or Hagrid, not having expected anything. He would write to them thanking them for the gifts.
There were seven more packages.
Harry unwrapped a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Goyle, the book from Diagon Alley that Harry had been eyeing when he'd gone with Hagrid (Curses and Counter-Curses by Professor Vindictus Viridian) from Sally-Anne, a box of licorice wands from Crabbe, a 30-galleon cheque and an owl-order catalogue of Quality Quidditch Supplies from Malfoy, and a thick tome (Useful Dark Artifacts: Ancient and Modern by Professor Wendy Murloch) from Theodore.
The first-year Slytherin was quite overwhelmed by all of it. He should have known better than to assume he'd receive nothing. Now he'd be caught out for not having given anything to his housemates.
The next gift Harry chose was a heavy square one. He blinked in surprise at the neat, squashed and sharply looped handwriting—Professor Snape had even sent him something! He tore open the envelope which had been under the green ribbon wrapped around the plain silver and black wrapping paper. I hope these are well-received, the note said. Impatient, Harry ripped through the paper and found a slender leather-bound photo album.
He immediately remembered the professor's question from the previous night. With shaking hands, Harry popped the clasp and opened it. The first page held black-and-white Wizard photos of a long-haired girl in a Hogwarts uniform. She was smiling warmly in most of them or slightly waving, and in one of the photos ducked shyly behind a tree whenever Harry would look at her. He turned the page and found more of them except the smiling girl had transformed into a young woman.
The next page was filled with eye-popping color photos. There was no doubt that it was his mother with her bright green eyes and long red hair. She was smiling for the camera in white wedding robes. Next to her was a tall man with messy black hair and a calm, confident grin full of straight teeth. So that was James Potter, his dad. He wore glasses and his hair was very untidy, sticking up in the back just like Harry's.
Harry's heart clenched as he saw three more precious wedding photos of them. Even though his father was in them, it was his mother who seemed to be front and center in them.
In the bottom right corner of that last page, his mother wearing cornflower blue robes was holding a swaddled baby in what looked to be a hospital nursery room. In dark green robes that were open in the front, his father stood behind her with an arm around her shoulders. With proud smiles, his parents were both peering down at the bald, wriggling newborn, whose eyes hadn't yet opened.
It was Harry as a baby.
With a reverent touch at the edges of the photo, Harry didn't dare trace their faces. All the wedding photos were waving excitedly at him as if they recognized him. It was a little unsettling, but not upsetting.
He closed the album and set it down carefully. He let his fingers idly trace over the plain black leather cover. Harry's heart felt like it was near to bursting with emotion. Professor Snape had given him the best present of the bunch.
Gently placing it aside, he lifted the last present. It was very light in his hands as he unwrapped it.
Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.
He picked it up, letting it fall over his fingers. Under his hands, it was like water woven into material. He knew it had to be some sort of magical item as he'd never felt such a thing before.
Harry threw it around his shoulders. It hardly weighed a thing. Closing the front, Harry did a double-take when he looked down. His feet were gone! He rushed to the mirror on the wall. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him—that is, just his head floating in midair. His body was completely invisible. He pulled the cloak forward, and his face disappeared too in the mirror, though from Harry's perspective it was like looking through filmy black gauze.
"Wow," Harry breathed out. He pulled the cloak off, turning back to his pile of presents, and noticed a piece of parchment on the ground.
Your father left this in my possession before he died.
It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.
There was no signature, and Harry had never seen the loopy, tidy handwriting before.
He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? Should he show it to Professor Snape just in case it was dangerous?
One thing was for certain. He couldn't keep this cloak that made him invisible—This Cloak of Invisibility—in his trunk when his roommates reappeared from holiday or it was liable to be taken like his old jim-jams.
He immediately pulled on his slacks and polo shirt, and then pulled a set of robes over his head. He shoved the cloak into an inner pocket of the robes and checked it in the mirror. He didn't see any difference.
Since he was done unwrapping gifts, he went to his desk abutting four others and pulled out parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle. He sat down and began to write apologetic thank-you letters. Since the windows could no longer be opened, he was forced to hand deliver the letters to Hedwig in the Owlery so she might deliver them.
Soon enough he'd go downstairs to get washed up and then head to breakfast.
It was the best Christmas Day Harry had ever experienced. Even though Prefect Pitts walked with Harry everywhere he went, it didn't ruin Harry's mood at all. The Christmas Day decorations were fantastic and the feasts were marvelous. Harry was so full that he ended up napping in the stone loft when he returned to the common room between meals.
Dinner was an even greater extravagant affair. After watching the Weasleys at the Gryffindor table do it, Harry snapped open one Christmas cracker after another. He'd gotten a rear admiral's hat, a pack of non-explodable luminous balloons and a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit. Having received plenty of Christmas presents, Harry avoided snapping open any more crackers as he wasn't sure what he would do with the items he'd gotten. The prefect next to him hadn't pulled apart even one.
It wasn't until Harry climbed into his bed close to midnight that he was free to think about what had been a small worry niggling him all day: the Cloak of Invisibility. Harry pulled it out of his pocket. Again, he wondered who had sent it to him and for what purpose.
Could he really believe that it was his father's? It was a nice idea to ponder as Harry let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk and as light as air. Use it well, the note had said.
He couldn't resist putting it on again. He whipped it around onto his shoulders and closed the front. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.
Use it well.
Harry jolted to complete alertness. With this cloak he could go anywhere in Hogwarts and Mr. Filch and Professor Snape would never know.
Excitement at the prospect flooded through him as Harry stood there in the dark and silence. Throwing the cloak over his head, he crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and across the common room. He noticed there was a light on down the corridor where Professor Snape's office resided.
Harry hesitated. If he went out the portrait hole invisibly, Professor Snape would be notified… but if he went out without it on… at least Professor Snape would think he was breaking curfew and not in possession of a magic cloak.
Quickly Harry shoved the cloak into his pocket and pushed open the portrait. He could feel the Thin Woman's glare on him and then heard a shuffling. When Harry turned around, the tall, thin woman in an emerald dress was gone, her fan abandoned in her black-upholstered chair. Running to turn down the nearest corner, Harry threw on the cloak and held his breath.
Sure enough, the portrait creaked open again, and Professor Snape walked out looking down the corridor both ways.
Harry's heart was racing, especially when the professor headed towards him. Harry flattened himself against the cold stone wall as Professor Snape stalked past.
Mr. Filch's office lay not far beyond the corridor once the professor left the dungeons. Harry felt his stomach flip.
Acting on instinct, Harry turned into the labyrinthine of corridors rather than pass by the entirely too observant portrait. He knew a different way out of the dungeons.
Soon enough he was in the dark, narrow corridor aside of the library. The hallway was illuminated by moonlight streaming through the windows.
A low feline growl emanated off the walls.
It was Mrs. Norris! Harry turned and only caught a brief glimpse of the cat's tail in the soft light.
"You found 'im, my sweet?" Filch's voice carried from down the passageway. "Professor, Mrs. Norris caught whiff of a student only a few doors down from here. His trail will be warm for her to follow."
"Proceed, then. Don't wait for permission," came Professor Snape's clipped tone.
Hearing their footsteps, Harry looked around tensely and found a door slightly ajar two paces away from him. He squeezed through the opening and held his breath.
They walked by without noticing anything amiss.
That had been close, too close for Harry's comfort. He was going to have to find a way to leave the Slytherin House without tipping off the portrait so he could explore Hogwarts properly.
He looked around the room he'd hidden in, noticing that it was some sort of classroom. It didn't look recently used though…
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 as if it belonged there. It was a magnificent mirror, which looked as if it'd been placed there to keep it out of the way.
Harry didn't know why it'd been shoved in here because it was lovely, as tall as the ceiling with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet.
There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised strae hru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
His panic faded as his curiosity fiercely came out. Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at his invisible self—that is, see that he currently had no reflection.
He stepped in front of it and gasped loudly at what he saw. He whirled around searching the room. There was no one in the room other than him, and it didn't make any sense since he was still wearing the cloak… because he'd seen his reflection and a whole crowd of people too.
Breathing quickly, he pulled the cloak down and turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was looking terrified and pale, and behind him were ten others. It was too dark to really make anyone out, so Harry stepped closer. The two people standing closest to him were waving and smiling.
Harry made a noise of surprise. They were his parents! He instinctively reached behind him, but only met air. In the mirror, his mother's green eyes matched his. She had dark red hair and her eyes were brimming with tears.
Why was she crying? Harry stepped even closer. The tall and thin, black-haired man, his father, standing next to her put his arm around her, and they hugged each other.
Harry's nose touched the surface of the mirror as he became enthralled with the image it presented. Why was he seeing them? Who were the people behind them?
The esteemed Potter line was wiped out… Professor Snape's voice reminded him quietly.
Behind his parents were what Harry assumed were departed relatives. Some had eyes shaped like his, others had his nose. There was even a small old man with knobby knees like Harry's.
It was his family. Harry's heart twinged. He understood that they were dead, but they were smiling at him, patting his reflection's hair when they got close, mouths moving.
Harry stared hungrily at them, wishing he could interact with them more than anything.
He pressed his hands flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through to reach them. It was a terrible feeling in his chest, half joy, half dreadful sadness.
How long he stood there, Harry wasn't sure. The reflections hadn't faded, and many were animatedly talking to one another as if they were at a great party. He looked among them, wishing he could hear their voices. A distant noise brought him back to his senses.
He blinked his eyes wearily. They watered and blurred and he suddenly realized he was exhausted. He looked up again, and his mother had wrapped her arms around him with encouragement. "Mum…" Harry glanced at the man. "Dad, I need to go to bed."
Lily Potter's reflection nodded in understanding as she drew away slowly and James Potter's hand mussed Harry's reflection's hair worse than it already was. Even though he hadn't felt anybody touch his hair, Harry said, "Cut that out," with a scowl. His dad winked and grinned.
Harry tore his eyes away from their faces and whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry walked up to the portrait and said, "Lineage."
With a frown the portrait swung open and Harry hurriedly pulled the cloak over him. He was already across the common room and going up the dormitory steps when Professor Snape stormed out.
"Potter!" Professor Snape snarled up the staircase. And then Harry heard him take the steps two at a time.
Entering the dark dorm room, Harry shut the door behind him, flung the cloak onto his bed, ripped off his glasses, and cast a quick Switching spell so he didn't have to waste any time getting out of his clothes. Hastily drawing the curtains around the bed and now wearing night robes, Harry tucked himself in and shoved the cloak under his pillow.
The door burst open, a brightly lit wand held high above the professor's head. "Lumos Pyros," came the crisp order. Professor Snape wasn't the least bit out of breath.
Green fire lit itself in its metal sconces. Harry was glad that he was very good at feigning sleep. It certainly helped that he was tired.
The curtains were ripped back, and Harry blinked slowly bringing a hand up to rub his face. "Is it breakfast time already, Aunt Petunia?"
"Oh, don't give me that. What were you doing out after curfew?"
Harry's eyes were barely open, partially hidden behind his hand. "Exploring without being hounded."
A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. "Did it ever cross your feeble mind that there could be a significant reason to continuously guard you?"
"I'm in the safest place in the world with Dumbledore around."
"You idiot boy! You're just like your father!" Professor Snape grabbed the front of Harry's night robes.
Flinching, Harry dropped his hand from his face. He grinned at the thought of being like his dad.
"Perhaps the person that jinxed your broom during the Quidditch match or released the troll inside on All Hallow's Eve!" Professor Snape roared in his face. "The perpetrator is still at large! Where was Dumbledore then, Potter?"
"I already know that one of Voldemort's supporters is after me, professor." The tight fingers on Harry's robes loosened slightly. "I don't need a babysitter. I took care of myself without any help for the last ten years, so I don't need you or anyone else telling me what to do." When Snape didn't hit him, Harry smiled lightly. He probably shouldn't have, but he was tired and didn't care. "Anyway, why does it matter to you so much?" Harry asked cautiously, peering through half-lidded eyes at the angry man. The only thing Harry really cared about at the moment was to visit the mirror again, where all his dead family members were and fall asleep next to them.
Professor Snape released Harry, and he flopped back onto the bed. "A world without allies is a dangerous world, Potter," the professor warned and then left, his robes billowing out behind him.
Once the adult had gone, the room was silent again. Harry looked at the wardrobes across from his bed, knowing he didn't have enough of anything to put in his own. And now, he didn't even have the Dursleys to fall back on if anything happened to him. They were no longer his family. Instead of being frightened at the prospect, Harry was relieved.
He pulled out his wand from beneath his pillow. "Nox," he whispered waving it towards the sconces, and the green fire winked out. He pushed the wand under his pillow and fell deeply asleep.
The next morning Harry stared listlessly at the food piled high on the table in the Great Hall. He wasn't very hungry. All he especially cared about was seeing his parents again.
He blinked. Wasn't he supposed to be researching Nicolas Flamel? Harry leaned his chin against his hand as he nodded off. It just didn't seem that important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if someone was trying to steal whatever-it-was? Who cared if someone was trying to kill him?
"Do you feel alright, Potter?" Prefect Pitts was looking at him like a nurse might.
"Mm," he said noncommittally. Harry plotted to get away from his keeper and retrace his steps back to the room with the mirror. An idea struck clear in his mind. He stood up suddenly. "I'm going to the loo."
Pitts as usual followed him.
Harry propped the door open. "I don't want to touch the door after I've washed my hands," he announced.
She rolled her eyes and then returned to the book in her hands.
Once Harry was out of her view, he slipped the cloak over his head. He quietly tiptoed out of the bathroom and down the hall right by her; Pitts never lifted her head.
Shortly after, Harry entered the room with the mirror again. The room was much brighter this time with the low-hanging sun angling in through the windows across from the door.
Without taking off his cloak, Harry approached the mirror and sat down in front of it, his knees touching the glass surface. His parents were dancing this time to music he couldn't hear. They waved in greeting though, not missing a step.
Longingly, Harry watched them.
Then his vision blurred and he realized tears had slipped down his cheeks. Taking off his glasses, he quickly wiped them and sniffled loudly.
When he put his glasses on and looked up at the mirror again, his mother was kneeling next to him with her arms wrapped around his reflection, whispering silently to his ear.
His dad crouched on the other side of him with a hand on his reflection's shoulder, rubbing it in what Harry thought was a comforting manner.
He smiled weakly at them, and they smiled back. His mother mouthed 'I love you, Harry.'
A strangled sob escaped him. He wanted that more than anything to know what it was like to be loved. His palms pressed against the mirror.
There was a noise outside the door that caused Harry to retract his arms, body twisting around to look.
Luminous yellow eyes peered curiously through the crack between door and frame. Harry remained quite still where he was, holding his breath.
After what seemed an age, Mrs. Norris turned and left.
'I'll see you later,' he mouthed to his parents. They nodded in understanding and waved goodbye.
He went back to the loo where Pitts was leaning against the wall. Harry went inside and took off the cloak bunching it into his pocket again. He washed his hands and wiped his face. His eyes were reddened around the edges and bloodshot.
Harry walked out anyway, not even glancing in the prefect's direction. "Back to the dungeons then?"
He felt her eyes pierce a hole in his back. "You took an awfully long time."
Harry shrugged.
A half-day and two meals later, Harry stared listlessly at the dormitory's ceiling. He knew it wasn't wise to sneak out after Professor Snape had warned him, and he respected the adult enough not to. He wondered about the mirror, whether it was a gateway to the underworld or not.
The subsequent morning, Harry sluggishly slipped on clean clothes, not even bothering to try comb his hair down. After hardly eating any breakfast, Harry went to the adjoining loo and Pitts dutifully followed, staying outside the room.
The snow hasn't melted outside yet, Harry thought absently as he passed the windows under his cloak. It had been too easy to sneak past the prefect.
Now, he was walking quickly, wanting to spend as much time as he could in front of the mirror.
And there they were again, his mother and his father, and one of his grandfathers who nodded happily. Harry sank down onto the floor, hugging his knees. Who cared about Pitts and Professor Snape? There was nothing here to stop him from staying with his family. Nothing at all.
"So—back again, Harry?"
Harry's insides turned to ice. His relatives moved aside so he could see the headmaster without having to turn around. None other than Albus Dumbledore was sitting on one of the desks along the wall. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.
He almost responded and then held his breath. He was wearing a cloak that made him invisble… How could Dumbledore see him?
"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said a smiling Dumbledore.
Something twisted inside of Harry.
"So," Dumbledore said, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor right next to Harry, "you like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"How can you see me, sir?"
"Oh, I can't. That's the brilliant part of it," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.
Harry frowned and then it came to him. "You were the one who sent me the cloak."
Dumbledore nodded and then gestured towards the mirror. "I expect you realize what the mirror does?"
"It… shows my dead family…"
"If a greedy person stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, they would be surrounded by piles of Galleons, enough to swim in. If it was someone who wanted to show off, perhaps they would be shown with trophies of sports events they fancy," Dumbledore said calmly. "But the happiest man on earth would be able to use this mirror like a normal mirror. He would see himself exactly as he is."
Harry thought. "It shows us what we want… whatever we want."
"Yes and no," Dumbledore said quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. However," Dumbledore's eyes slipped past Harry to look at the mirror's surface, "this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."
Harry shook his head. "I won't waste away."
"The Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new home tomorrow." Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses with a strong gaze. "I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live: Remember that. Now, why don't you go back to your house's common room before Prefect Pitts does. Hmm?"
Harry stood up, dropping the cloak to his shoulders. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously you have just done so," Dumbledore said with a smile, not put off by Harry's floating head, "But you may ask me one more question."
"What would Professor Snape see if he looked in this mirror?"
Dumbledore's face was gently solemn. "I believe you already know the answer to that, Harry."
Harry stared. "No I don't. How would I know his deepest desire?"
"I, myself, am holding a pair of socks. Thick, woolen ones."
"Socks, sir?" Harry said doubtfully.
"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said sagely. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People insist on giving me books!"
That seemed odd to Harry somehow, but before he could say another word Dumbledore had disappeared.
"Headmaster?" Harry looked this way and that, but Dumbledore was gone. Highly fishy behavior, Harry thought. Harry felt that the headmaster had been less than truthful.
"Right this way, professor," Filch's voice said.
Running to stand by the wall, Harry quickly covered his head with the cloak, just as the door slammed open.
Professor Snape walked in surveying the dusty room with a look of distaste. Then his eyes fell on the mirror and his entire body went rigid.
Even though Harry desperately wanted to wait and listen to the conversation, he quietly snuck to the door.
"Mrs. Norris says that boy has been in this room many times," Filch said with confidence.
"So he has," Professor Snape's voice drawled behind Harry as he slipped through the door. Harry hurried down the corridor back to the Slytherin dungeons.
Looking both ways to check to see if anyone was around, Harry took the cloak off and resolutely walked to the portrait in front of the Slytherin House, who glared at him.
Harry said, "Ghost Shrimp", but the Thin Woman sniffed at him. "That's not the password."
"That was the password an hour ago, before you decided to ditch me," Pitts' angry voice said sternly.
Harry startled a little and then smiled. "I wanted to go visit the Mirror of Erised," he said honestly.
Pitts looked at him attentively. "Why would a dangerous, Restricted artifact like that be lying about?"
Harry shrugged, feeling a bit bereft at the words he choked out. "The headmaster caught me and said the mirror would be moved so I won't be able to find it again."
With a grin, Pitts turned sideways facing the portrait. "The Mirror of Erised is supposed to be legend, and the stories connected to it always end tragically. It's a good thing Professor Dumbledore interceded when he did as the effects of that mirror are addictive and pernicious."
"Addictive? A mirror?" Harry carefully scanned her face and realized she wasn't joking.
"Potter," Professor Snape thundered behind him.
Harry jumped, whirling around. "S-sir?"
"Be sure you attend dinner." Professor Snape turned to the portrait. "Newt's eye."
Still off-kilter, Harry stared after the adult. He knew what Harry had been up to but he didn't punish him.
"If you have any trouble sleeping, let me know," Pitts stated as they walked into the common room.
Maybe it was because the New Year's holiday was near that Professor Snape didn't punish him… Yet, Harry severely doubted that the time of season had anything to do with it.