An especial thanks to my best friend who helped me with ideas for the chapter (I had an author's block, that sucks) Sorry if there's any misspelling. I literally stopped writing at 4a.m. so I didn't have the time to check it out.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything except Charlotte, Isabelle and eventual OCs.
oOo
Chapter 10 - Mirror of Erised
.
November passed by pretty quick—now that the Quidditch game was over, everyone calmed down for a bit and they had nothing to look up to, except for, maybe, a pile of homework.
If someone expect the teachers to go easy on them, they were severely disappointed.
According to most of them – McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape – the fatigue over the game season was not an excuse for stopping their studies. Well, Charlotte thought that, at least, it was Professor McGonagall and Flitwick's way of thinking, because they did care about their education.
Snippy Snape only did for the joy of it. Because getting innocent -not so innocent- first years miserable every single day of the year was his way of being happy.
What a pleasant bloke.
Still, without all the stress and anxiety, everyone -mostly- focused on the classes. With dampened moods, to be honest.
As Charlie promised Hermione, she had, indeed, started paying more attention at lessons – not History of Magic, though. That was nearly impossible – and she had yet to get into trouble with the greasy git, as she began calling him in her head or whenever the man wasn't around, much to Hermione's displeasure.
The cold man noticed—the girl also noticed he did.
He was really obvious, actually.
Probably, Snape was waiting for her to say something stupid that would lose her a few points -she had never landed in detention-, but she hadn't done a thing.
At the classes, she sat quietly between Harry and Hermione, following every instruction carefully and writing down every single word he spoke.
It was unnerving to her classmates, as they were grew used to her always talking back. However, now, no matter what Snape did or tried to say to get a rise out of her, she remained unmoving and silent, calmly staring back at him with emotionless orbs.
Even if she was, literally, everything but calm on the inside.
Every so often, she had to clutch her hands into fist tightly, folding them on her lap underneath the desk, holding back the urge to just let one of her swirling thoughts come true.
Most of them involving her fist flying right to that crooked nose of his.
Unfortunately, punching one of your teachers wasn't an acceptable or 'ladylike' behavior, and she could get in trouble for it.
And yeah—she was totally ignoring the fact that she shouldn't be hurting anyone. Period.
Perhaps she really had anger issues.
…
Oh, that's alright.
Fortunately, November was finally over and everyone got quite cheery once more. Their assignments were put aside, as everyone was more worried about their list of presents for friends and family, for Christmas was coming—Charlie was driving Hermione, not to mention her other two roommates, mad with all of her incessant babbling. It was her favorite holiday, after all.
One morning in mid-December, the girls were awakened by a too overly eager Charlotte, nearly screaming at the top of her lungs. It was odd that, for once, the curly haired muggleborn looked slight bummed for being so rudely awaken so early in the morning. Or maybe it was the fact that someone was up early than her. Someone that sometimes could sleep through a hurricane without even moving an inch.
Bluntly ignoring the complains and grimaces she was receiving, Charlie carelessly threw the blankets off her, only half of it remained on the bed, and let her bare feet touch the floor, shivering as her skin felt the coldness underneath her. Chip took total advantage the moment she left the bed, and crawled from under the covers at the end of the bed where he was sleeping, before jumping on the abandoned pillow and curling himself into a fur ball, purring as he fell asleep.
"Go back to bed." A Soft voice drawled sleepily behind her.
Parvati had turned on her side, opening one of her eyelids with much effort to peek at a beautiful antique alarm clock on her nightstand, groaning as she did so. "It's barely six in the morning…"
Though that didn't seem to be Charlotte concern today—of course, at any other day she would be awfully moody if someone, as in her best friend, interrupted her slumber this early. Speaking of, Hermione was staring at her as if she'd just grown another head, yet she sat on her bed and yawned instead of getting back to sleep. Not that she would have actually succeeded, anyway.
If there's one thing the grey eyed witch learned, was that no matter if she was exhausted, Hermione could never close her eyes again if someone woke her up. Not that it happened to be daily occurrence, of course. It was unlikely to find someone other than her, who was up even before the sun came up—well, perhaps the Headmaster himself, who had a habit of taking strolls around the grounds when everyone was still in dreamland. Dumbledore once said that it helped with organizing his thoughts.
Charlotte would know. Most of the time, that was the reason why she would sneak off the Lake Cottage. Sitting by the water, hearing the owls peeping in the distance or the sound of the leaves shaking in the wind. It was relaxing and something she often needed.
While unaware to her roommates' displeasure, she mustn't have noticed she was making a lot of noise as she searched inside her trunk, because not a second after she closed it shut, she felt something collide with the back of her head.
A single slipper stopped at the side of her left thigh.
"Can you keep quiet, Black? There's people trying to sleep here, if you didn't notice!"
Came the muffled hiss from Lavender's bed.
Glancing over her shoulder, she could only see the blond locks spilled across the mattress. Apparently, Lavender didn't want to put up with the noise – or her- anymore, so she had her pillow shoved on her face.
Charming.
She rolled her eyes, but was too much in good mood to say anything, so she let the silence be her only answer, then she skipped to the window. The freezing morning breeze greet her as soon as she opened it, goosebumps rising all over her arms, and she rubbed them together to keep warm.
Even with the weather, she couldn't find in herself to shut the window—not when she had such amazing sight from where she was standing.
When in the spring, she loved to see the variety of colors the world had to offer—though, it was hard not to appreciate the beauty of winter. Especially now that Hogwarts was covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and everything around was completely turned to white. Charlotte felt like she was inside of one of those snow globes, like the one Ted once gave her.
Somehow, the view made her think about innocence. Purity. All of that snow…so simple, yet so breathtaking.
Perhaps that's why she loved the season so much, even if autumn was her favorite one. To her, it was a way to feel like getting some of that innocence back—the same one she lost as a child.
It was strange, but it worked.
Maurice was nowhere in sight, she noticed. Her owl might be at the owlery or stretching his wings a bit—he loved flying around when the weather was cold, something he started doing frequently since she came to Hogwarts.
After a few minutes standing by the window, just observing, her stomach rumbled and Charlie finally moved from her spot to seize the clothes she had left at her bed, leaving the window wide open as she sauntered to the bathroom—Hermione was getting up from her bed the moment she locked the door.
Nearly fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door.
Hermione, no doubt.
And before the bushy haired witch could say anything, the door opened and Charlotte appeared with a toothbrush in her mouth and her pajamas hanging on her arm, hair dripping wet, as she used her free hand to turn the doorknob.
"I'm almost done." She tried to say with her mouth occupied, but it probably ended up as something else entirely, but the other must have understood, because she nodded—not before rolling her orbs at her, though.
The instant she was finished, Charlie let her friend in and walked back to the dorm where the other two girls were still sound asleep. The door closed behind her and she crossed the room and sat on her bed, waiting for Hermione to come out.
Her fingers touched the end of her damp locks and she sighed.
Where was her wand?
The last thing she needed was to get sick because she went out in this weather with her wet hair.
Opening the drawer on her bedside table, she found her wand made of yew right under her sketchbook that Charlie got out and dropped on her bed, before grabbing her wand and murmuring a drying charm she had seen Andromeda and Tonks using so many times in the past.
By now, she could do it without mistakes, though the first time she tried the spell a few months back, she almost blew her head off, and the second time hadn't worked at all. Gratefully, by the third trial there was no accidents, so it was an improvement.
There was a warm breeze coming from the tip of the stick, evolving around her head and to her shoulders, her hair blowing backwards—in less than two minutes, her hair was all dry.
With nothing to do but wait, she clutched her sketchbook, sitting with her legs crossed over the bed, with her back supported by one of the bedposts, and started drawing an adorable-looking Chip, curled in his sleep. She couldn't fight the smile at the cute scene.
Right when she was finishing the last details of her drawing, Hermione came out of the bathroom, her uniform in its usual neatness, not a single thing out of place—hers only stayed the same because her muggleborn friend always complained about the care, or lack of, she had with her stuff.
It was like talking to a wall since she'd never changed.
So after a while, Hermione took upon herself to watch out for everything. Including Charlotte's belongings.
It's was truly peculiar how much she had in common with Remus.
"Ready to go?"
Meeting the brown eyes staring at her, Charlie nodded and jumped out of the bed—her cat remained motionless, although he slightly opened his eyes to see what was the commotion about, not taking long to go back to ignore the two of them.
oOo
"Stop,"
"You didn't brush your hair, did you?"
"So what if I didn't—Hermione!"
The entire way from their dorm to the Great Hall went like this. Never mind that they were attracting attention from the few people that were already awake—considering the time, the halls were nearly empty and the place was silent, so even if they weren't exactly being loud, their voices seemed higher than usual.
The moment the two girls passed through the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione opened her mouth – Charlie controlled the urge to massage her temples or roll her grey eyes in exasperation -, ranting about…oh, yeah. Actually, most of the times she managed to block out whatever came from her friend, so Charlie had no idea what Hermione was ranting about.
No matter.
Sure it was the usual thing. If not… let's just nod at everything and hope we're not agreeing to anything stupid. Note to self: never, like never, space out whenever you're talking with Fred or George.
She'd learned that lesson as an always-spacing-out-eight-year-old-girl.
Granting, no one could blame her for wanting to be anywhere but there, while listening to somebody – as in your best friend – rant about how you should behave or dress up like. Or even about your freaking hair.
Like—seriously?
It was almost Christmas!
Who even cares about how her hair looked like?
Apparently, Hermione did. A lot.
"I've been trying to make you brush your hair for months—"
"And for months I told you my hair's just fine like that,"
"For Merlin's sake! It wouldn't kill you to do it once in a while."
"Yes, it would."
Hermione huffed irritably. "Charlie…"
"'Mione." The mocking tone wasn't lost on the other.
"I'm only trying to help you." She said, still completely unmindful of the eyes that were fixated on them. Charlotte wondered how that would look to someone else—two first-years up at barely seven a.m. wondering in the halls, with one of them all but tugging the other's hair while the other tried to push her off. "One of these days, someone will mistake your hair for a bird's nest. I don't really have a choice, you know…my hair is too curly, so I'm always trying to tame him a bit,"
By now, they were marching through the door and into the Great Hall, their footsteps echoing in the silent castle.
As her eyes surveyed around the room, Charlie saw there were only four Ravenclaws, one Hufflepuff and two fifth-year Gryffindors, none the she knew. She was mentally thanking merlin, marveling the fact that no one from Slytherin had showed up…
That is, if she wasn't counting Snape. Her eyes went to the Staff Table where the professor was sitting with no one other than McGonagall and, at the main sit, Dumbledore himself, who turned his twinkling blue eyes to her figure once she entered, and smiled at her, raising his goblet at her ever so slightly, as a greeting.
She smiled back and waved a little, forgetting that Hermione was still babbling beside her as they went to their usual sit.
"…yours is so beautiful, and you don't even take care of it. My mother said that when growing up, a lady should always keep—"
"'Mione!" Did you ever feel the need to facepalm so badly, but you had to control yourself because there was people around you, and you didn't want them to think you more insane than you already were? Because she did. Charlotte was feeling it right now.
There was no bloody way she hearing that 'growing up' talk. Again.
She already had it with Andromeda, Ms. Weasley and Tonks, who acted more like a schoolgirl with a crush than a grownup woman. No choice in the matter, though. Those three had a way to make everyone listen—even if they had to tie you to a chair so you wouldn't escape. Molly and Andy were downright frightening when they wished to be.
Nymphadora would just annoy the hell out of you until she got what she wanted. Apparently she would have the same problem with Hermione. Merlin…
Charlotte closed her eyes and groaned in frustration, not believing she was about to do that just to make her best friend shut up.
"I'll let you brush my hair every single morning, if you wish. Just keep quiet about it for five minutes, would you?"
Why she wasn't surprised that there was no peep coming from the other as they ate their breakfast.
If that was a slight hint to the many years to come…Charlotte knew she was done for. No matter what, she knew she would anything for her friends. Especially Hermione, Ron and Harry.
Odd thing was—
She didn't mind. Not a bit.
oOo
It took a while for the boys to appear at the Great Hall—nothing out of ordinary, as they were one of the last to come down from their dorm. Ron never changed, because ever since she'd know him, he would be the last one up out of every Weasley in their house.
When they got there, at last, almost everyone was already in the room, chattering and the sound of cluttering filled the hall, some students talking animatedly amongst themselves, while others still had a faraway, tired look, yawning to shake their sleep away. By the Ravenclaw table, a few students had their faces shoved in books, their spoons hanging in their fingers as they did a small pause on their meal to read another sentence.
It didn't come as a shock that Charlotte didn't make to Ravenclaw—not that she didn't like reading or wasn't smart enough. It was the whole studying part that she wasn't too fond of. Although she liked learning something new…
She was a walking paradox. Great.
"Are you staying for the holidays?"
Looking up from her bowl full of oat porridge with honey, berries and bits of apple, she faced the ginger across the table, not really sure if he had directed the question to herself, but answered anyways after swallowing.
"Not sure, yet." She shrugged her shoulders in a dismissive manner, though her mood was somewhat dampened as she recalled something. "Have to wait for Moony to reply first. He's been occupied."
That was true.
As much as she was happy for her godfather, Charlotte couldn't help but notice that, perhaps, his job – whatever it was – was taking a toll on him. He was so busy nowadays, that she hadn't received any letter from him after the last one he sent the day of the Quidditch game.
And he used to owl her almost every week…
Hermione frowned beside her, before throwing a sympathetic glance her way. The witch knew how worried Charlie was about Remus—she had even seen her a few times, after midnight when she thought everyone was asleep, sitting by the window, staring at the sky as if Maurice would appear at any second with a letter from her godfather.
Hours into the night—nothing ever came.
And when that happened, she used to go to bed, burying herself in the blankets, with a dejected look on her face, that had Hermione's heart clenching in sadness for her best friend. She was getting worried herself, and she really hoped that Remus would reply soon.
Neither of the boys noticed the way her shoulders sagged, or how she fell quiet and didn't take her eyes off her meal for the rest of the conversation. Charlotte felt a hand subtly poke at her elbow, and meet the brown eyes of her friend.
She offered Hermione a small smile, trying to reassure her that she was fine. Hermione wasn't fooled, though. Either way, she didn't mention anything about it anymore—something that Charlie was grateful for.
How could she get, from the bubbly girl at the dorm to the gloomy one currently sitting at the Gryffindor table, so fast?
Charlotte drowned out the rest of the conversation, choosing to focus on her breakfast—she counted the minutes until classes started. Anything to distract her from thinking about her godfather.
Not even five minutes later, while she was twirling her spoon in her oatmeal, not feeling that hungry anymore, she felt a nudge at her side that made her snap her head upwards.
"Hey,"
She hadn't even realized when the twins came in, so she was fairly surprised to find George sitting at her left. Meeting his worried gaze with a questioning look of her own, the girl waited for him to say something, but he was interrupted by a voice before he could say a word.
"Isn't that your owl, Charlie?"
Neville, who was a few rows away from her with Dean and Seamus, was pointing at something above their heads that was flying across the Great Hall, coming straight towards her.
When she looked up, Charlotte was pleased to note that Neville, indeed, had been right—Maurice flapped his wings, soaring close to her with not only a letter, as she had expected. A medium, nicely wrapped package was hanging from his beak by a tiny rope and dropped right in front of her, luckily avoiding the several plates of food around.
Not wasting a second, she searched for the letter first, instead of just opening the bundle. It was strange, though, because Christmas still was a few days away, so it was a bit early for a Christmas present.
Without noticing that Hermione had been looking at her the entire time, a smile on her face, she unfolded the paper and read it eagerly.
Dear Charlie,
I'm deeply sorry that I hadn't been able to write you as much as I used to. Regrettably, it was required for me to do a job out of town for a while, and contacting with you proved to be a hard task.
The Tonks were nice enough to offer me assistance, though I refused. It was my job to do, and mine only. They understand. Do not fret about it. I'm alright, dear. I know you possibly got quite a fright by my lack of response, and for that I apologize.
I fear we won't be spending this Christmas together, I'm sorry. There's still plenty to do over here, and I hope you'll understand. But you can stay with Andromeda if you rather not stay at Hogwarts-what I really doubt considering your new companions. I promise I'll make it up to you.
Onto a better note, on my way back home, I found something that I thought you might like – pretty useful as well. And no…that's not your Christmas present, if you wondering. Although, it very well could be.
Sometimes, the better things in life are the ones that we don't see, but feel.
I hope you doing fine, sweetheart. And even though we won't be together this holyday, I'll spend these days thinking of you. You're never alone.
Have fun. Don't get into much trouble.
Happy Christmas, little firebird.
.
Love,
.
Moony.
A grin was etched on her lips as she finished, though there still some sort of sadness at the thought of not spending her favorite holyday without Remus—it was the first time it happened. And she didn't like the feeling. Not at all.
Especially when she gathered from his letter that he wouldn't be writing her for a while.
Was she pouting at the moment? Definitely. Not that she cared. Could someone even blame her for it?
"Are you okay?" George was staring at her, his twin stealing glances at her every now and then over his shoulder.
Charlotte folded the letter in her hands, sighing as she did so. Plastering a smile on her face that she hoped was happy and convincing enough, trying not to whine like a child denied of their favorite sweet. "Yeah…I'm alright now."
The redhead seemed to believe her, fortunately.
"What did you get?" the youngest Weasley was regarding the package with curious, extending his hand across the table—Charlie slapped his fingers away before he could even attempt to touch it. "Ouch—was that really necessary?"
"Yep. Stop being so nosy," she sent him a fake glare then took the present in her hands, weighting it a bit—it wasn't heavy and she heard no noise coming from it as she shook it. Sharing a look with the trio, who merely shrugged at her, Charlotte tore the wrapper, not really caring that she was making a mess while there was still people eating around her. Some pieces of paper flied all over her, falling onto the bench or the ground.
So what if she was acting like a total maniac? It was completely normal to freak out over a present you just received from someone you haven't talked to in a month…right?
Right.
She was holding a dark green box, trembling with anticipation. What would Remus get her? He said she would like it, and she totally trusted his opinion. No one knew her better than her godfather.
Perhaps it was a wallet for sketching like the one they saw once. Or new quidditch equipment. No… he wouldn't have got her that. What's the point? Her broomstick was doomed and she knew for a fact she wouldn't be getting one this year. She only hoped this wasn't some sort of joke, and Remus sent her a talking mirror.
Charlotte recalled the times when she visited the Weasleys at the Burrow—they had one of it. Awful thing.
Whenever she walked in front the mirror, the witch fought the desire to shatter it into thousand pieces. As if it wasn't enough having everyone at home telling her to smarten herself like a proper growing lady, the comments of how she looked like a 'scruffy teenage boy' and 'how surprising that you can even see where you going…considering that tangled mess on your head that you call hair, covering you whole face'.
She guessed that when Ms. Weasley went to buy the insufferable thing, the vender forgot to mention the tiny detail that she would be regretting the moment it began talking.
Charlotte almost crossed her fingers, grimacing as she thought about it. It better not be a damned mirror, or Remus wouldn't hear the end of it. Everything else was okay, except for a dress, of course. Even a—
Jacket?
What?
Her fingers touched the leathery cloth of dark blue color, narrowing her eyes and letting her expression fall into confusion. A jacket… Why had her godfather presented her with a jacket?
Remus wrote that it was something she would like, and she did, don't get her wrong. It was beautiful. Though what use a jacket had other than warming her? Charlotte didn't think that's what he meant when he wrote that.
But then…he said it could be her present. Godric.
Now she was most certainly puzzled.
"Wicked,"
"Nice jacket, Fair Lady."
Fred and George, without her even noticing, being lost in her thoughts, were quick to seize out of her hands, looking at it admiringly. "Hey! Do you mind?", Charlotte protested, trying to take it back from them, frowning when they moved it just out of her reach. Giving up with a groan, she turned to Hermione.
"Are you staying, then?" her best friend asked, pointing at the letter.
Seeing everyone else getting up from their seats, most already leaving the hall to go to their classes, Charlotte gathered her stuff, taking the letter and shoving in her backpack, her friends following suit.
"Apparently," she came behind the twins, stealing her jacket back before they could do anything. "Moony's busy."
"Oh…" Hermione face fell. "I'm sorry, Charlie." They started marching out of the Great Hall together, Ron and Hermione at each side of her.
Smiling at her friends, she patted the girl on the shoulder. "It's okay, 'Mione. Honestly."
This time, she knew she was being completely truthful.
Yeah, her guardian wasn't here, but Charlotte would make the most of the situation. She had Hermione, Ron and Harry with her. It was more than enough to make her happy.
oOo
Throughout the day, the Weasley twins managed to be punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again.
No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons – as if it wasn't cold enough already-, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.
Aside from that, everything was going just fine—that is, until Malfoy decided to be the annoying brat he was and opened his mouth.
"I do feel so sorry," he said, one Potions class, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home."
He was looking over at Harry as he spoke—Malfoy had the nerve to glimpse at her for a second. Git. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that the Slytherins had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then he'd realized that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family.
It was true that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive for Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn't seem sorry for himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had. Considering the Dursleys back at his home, Charlotte could see why. Harry mentioned them a few times—they didn't sound like a pleasant lot.
Ron and the twins were staying, too, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were going to Romania to visit his brother Charlie.
Not resisting the chance to retort, Charlotte put on a bewildered expression. "Why are you going home, then?"
Her voice was loud enough for the people closest to her listen, purposefully so, and she heard the snickers coming from them. Charlotte felt a light kick at her shin, hissing at the pain spreading through her leg but ignoring Hermione altogether. Snape was at the other side of the classroom, so he hadn't overheard anything. No harm done.
Of course what she told Malfoy was a lie. Half of it, anyways.
The girl knew how much Narcissa loved Draco, even if he behaved like a despicable being most of the time, and her being a Black and all… Well, the wrong side of the Black family. Charlotte bet Narcissa hadn't grown up with a great example of a lovable family. She had Bellatrix as a sister, that's saying a lot.
Thanks Merlin that Andromeda choose to leave.
Lucius Malfoy was a completely different case, altogether.
That man…Charlotte doubt he had even an ounce of goodness in his heart. Even with his own son. At least, she'd never seen it, because if anything, Draco sometimes seemed fearful of him. It was true that Lucius spoiled him with gifts and things of the best quality, yet she guessed everything was just a way to brag to the world that he was a powerful man that could have anything he wished for, not out of love for his child.
Sometimes, she felt sorry for him. Not that she would ever speak that out loud.
Nonetheless, Charlie did not regret saying it, albeit it wasn't the overall truth. Though, getting a rise out of her cousin was really amusing.
As she guessed he would, Malfoy instantly got quiet and proceeded to glare at her, only Godric knows what was going on in that mind of his as he narrowed his eyes at her, his mouth firming into a straight line and she noticed his fingers twitching upon the table.
She smirked at him.
Absolutely worth it, Charlotte thought as she turned her back on him and carried on with her task. In her eyesight, she saw his two minions trying to calm him down until Snape's ruff voice echoed in the dungeon, and the three finally stop glaring her way and focused on their own work.
Idiots.
oOo
When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.
"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.
"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron."
"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."
Guessing what Charlie was about to do, Hermione grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back to her side, giving her a look that clearly told her to stay put. However, no one could stop Ron in time, so he dived at Malfoy—inopportunely, Snape choose that exact moment to come up the stairs.
"WEASLEY!"
Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.
"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."
"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."
"You imbec—hmm…"
Not for the first time, and surely it wouldn't be the last, Hermione slapped her hand over her mouth to stop her from finishing. Snape stop in his tracks and turned around, facing her with a sinister look—though he had an anticipating and almost eager glimmer in his eyes. "What was that, Black?"
Obviously, she could not speak with a hand over her mouth, so her friend tried to appease the situation.
"It was nothing, professor."
Only he scorned her way, "My question was not directed to you, Ms. Granger." Then he took another glimpse at Charlotte, his mouth suddenly tilting upwards in a satisfied smirk. "Five points from Gryffindor, Black."
And just left, his black robes flying behind him as he walked off.
The git had been waiting for her to do anything so he could have an excuse to dock points from her. Unbelievable.
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking at her as they followed Snape.
"I'll get him," said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, "one of these days, I'll get him —"
"Not if I get him first," Charlotte snarled as soon as Hermione let her go. "Not to mention Slimy Snape—can you believe him?"
The boys agreed with her; Hermione kept quiet, though.
"I hate them both," said Harry, "Malfoy and Snape."
"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."
So the three of them followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree — put it in the far corner, would you?"
The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked.
"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me — Harry, Ron, we've got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library." She didn't need to say that to Charlotte. Either way, she would just end up being dragged to wherever Hermione wanted to go, so… yeah.
"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.
"The library?" said Hagrid, following them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"
"Oh, we're not working," Harry told him brightly. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we've been trying to find out who he is."
"You what?" Hagrid looked shocked. "Listen here — I've told yeh — drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."
"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.
"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere — just give us a hint — I know I've read his name somewhere."
"I'm sayin' nothin'," said Hagrid flatly.
"Please, Hagrid," Hagrid shook his head at Charlie's request. "At least give us a hint."
But he remained silent, avoiding their eyes.
"Just have to find out for ourselves, then," said Ron, and they left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.
They had indeed been searching books for Flamel's name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn't in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.
Remus might know something about it. Her godfather knew about a lot of things, but she could not ask him without raising suspicious, because she was positive that he would ask why she wanted to know about it. Not to mention the fact that, if she sent him a letter it was possible that he would only be able to answer by the end of the month.
Not really helpful.
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to the Restricted Section and Charlotte marched straight to the session with all the books about Hogwarts, dated from a century ago.
The black haired boy had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn't somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books, and he knew he'd never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by older students studying advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.
"What are you looking for, boy?"
"Nothing," said Harry.
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him. "You'd better get out, then. Go on — out!"
Charlotte watched the scene play out with an amused glint in her greys eyes. She shut the book she was currently holding, not finding anything remotely helpful. Holding back at groan at her failure, other two books forgotten over a table at her side, she decided to put everything back in their shelves.
A few steps away from her place, apparently Harry wasn't quick enough at thinking up some story, so he left the library, Charlie following silently behind his crestfallen figure. He, Charlotte, Ron, and Hermione had already agreed they'd better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel. They were sure she'd be able to tell them, but they couldn't risk Snape hearing what they were up to.
The duo waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but they weren't very hopeful. They had been looking for two weeks, after all, but as they only had odd moments between lessons it wasn't surprising they'd found nothing. What they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down their necks.
Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking their heads. They went off to lunch.
"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you?" said Hermione. "And send me an owl if you find anything."
In a few days, Hermione would be leaving with her parents. they were traveling somewhere near London and they wouldn't be returning in time for the Christmas day. Luckily, Charlotte had requested the items on her list of presents a few days back, so everything should be arriving soon—she could give Hermione's present before she left.
"And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," said Ron. "It'd be safe to ask them."
"Very safe, as they're both dentists," said Hermione.
Charlotte didn't hold back her snort at the ginger's puzzled face, linking her arms with the other girl as they sauntered away.
oOo
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual, so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork — bread, English muffins, marshmallows — and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn't work.
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron's set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family — in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren't a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.
Harry played with chessmen Seamus had lent him, and they didn't trust him at all. He wasn't a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing. "Don't send me there, can't you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him."
While the boys were making themselves comfortable downstairs, Charlotte hadn't left her dormitory yet—she was kind of enjoying the silence in the room, now that Lavender and Parvati weren't there. She had nothing against the Indian girl. Actually she could be pretty nice. Though Lavender got to her nerves, and the last thing she wanted was to be in a mood in her first Christmas at Hogwarts.
She missed her bushy haired friend, though. Things would be way better if she was here, but she understood that Hermione wanted to spend a time with her parents after not seeing them for months.
The hours ticked by, and she let herself curl in the sheets, wrappings of Cauldron cakes and Pumpkin Pasties across the floor around her bed—if only Hermione could presence the mess she was making in their dorm, she would go berserk.
For the first time, her friend wasn't there to keep things clean and organized. Not that she minded that much—it made her feel like she was back home. Her bedroom resembled a battlefield most of the times…if Remus didn't order her to clean it or ended up doing it himself.
Running her fingers through her dark hair, she got up from her laying position and decided to change before going to bed. She wasted basically the whole day just hanging in the dormitory, doing nothing but sketching and having her fill of sweets. It was barely past eleven p.m., she glanced at Parvati's nightstand to see the hour on her clock.
Charlotte lazily sat on her bed, stretching her arms above her head, then she moved to kneel in front of her trunk, taking her nightclothes with her. As she was standing, the young witch noticed the jacket her godfather gave her, laying over the end of her bed.
She stepped forwards and clutched the jacket in her small hands, twirling around to go back to tuck it inside her trunk. In a misstep, however, she accidentally tripped over one of her charcoal pencils on the floor– the irony-, and lost her balance, her hands straightened in front of her to stop the fall.
It didn't work, though, and she almost fell flat on her face, the jacket escaping from her clutch, landing a few inches away from her reach. Letting out a hiss as she felt a stinging sensation at her foot, Charlie grimaced when she got up, however, immediately stopping when she heard the sound of something rolling on the wooden floor.
Her eyes caught something in the corner—a little vial with a swirling mist inside of it. It was hard to see in the darkness of the corner it got to. Stumbling across the room, the girl squinted her orbs at the glass thing as she held it directly in her eyesight.
Where did it came from?
Surveying around the room, she wondered if it belonged to one of her two roommates—she was positively sure it wasn't Hermione's, she never seen it with her before. Praying she hadn't broken anything, she checked the container for any fissures or scratches, grateful and relieved to find none. But then again, she did spot something else entirely.
The lid, a bright gold color, had three letters at its top. If she had blinked twice, she would never even notice it.
R.J.L.
This was Remus'?
Of course she had seen the man carrying vials like this tons of times in the past. He was always using it for his doses of wolfsbane. She'd never noticed her guardian engraved his initials on it, however.
So it was meant to be hers… Charlotte only needed to find out what exactly it was for.
Retrieving the jacket from the ground, she slipped the vial inside one of the inner pockets of the clothing, and carefully this time, laid it over Hermione's bed. No one would be in the dorm but her, so it was okay.
With her pajamas in hand, she went to the bathroom to change, then fell in a dreamless sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
oOo
Despite her attempts, Charlotte didn't figure out anything about the flask with the mist the next days, and was feeling very disappointed because of it. She carried the leathery cloth up and down the castle with her, hoping to find an answer. Harry and Ron questioned her about it, "Why are you acting like a madwoman?", and she would ignore them ever so nicely – oh, the sarcasm-, feeling too frustrated with everything to spare them a glance.
Her bad mood was gone once she woke up at Christmas morning.
There was a large pile of gifts at the end of her bed—she knew who most of them were from. Maurice chirped behind her, perched at the windowsill and obviously enjoying the cold breeze.
"Morning, Mau'," her hand came across the remaining of a cereal bar and crushed it slightly before extending it to the owl, who took it appreciatively and began nibbling at it.
Not even getting up from her warm and comfortable bed, she crawled closer to the presents and wasted no time in opening them.
She gained a new kit of endless pencils of all imaginable colors from Tonks. It had a charm that made it so the pencils would never come to an end. She loved it. From Andy, she got a beautiful silver bracelet with two pendants: one being a star, and the other a dog. She knew what it stood for, and she vowed to never take it off. Ted bought her a brand new book of 'Beauty and the Beast' and she was really grateful, because her old one was almost losing its cover.
Mr. Weasley sent her a muggle game – of course he would, she thought with a smile. He was obsessed with muggle things- she never played before, but she would try it soon. Ms. Weasley made her a nice, deep purple scarf and gloves, not to mention a dark blue jumper with her initial in grey color at the middle. Molly's jumpers always made her feel so loved. Charlotte didn't get the reason Ron didn't wear them.
Fred and George, bought her a lot of pranking items from Zonke's. To think she would only be able to visit the store in her third year… Ron got her a box filled with one of her favorite chocolate, 'Thanks, Ron'. Hermione gave her a book, not surprising, about the different types of magical creatures, something she knew Charlie liked, and Harry gave her a snow globe with a miniature of Hogwarts and a stuffed dog. It was really adorable.
Even the teachers got her something. Hagrid's present was a nice fingerless glove, though she had no idea as to what it was made of. Professor McGonagall's was a case with a sketchbook inside of it. The girl was touched that the woman gave her something like that—she was expecting a book, to be honest. And lastly, even Professor Dumbledore had bought her something. It was an enchanted tiny piano of the size of her fist, that played by itself. Its melody was really soothing—this would be nice to listen every night.
When she was done, Charlotte scrambled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the day. She didn't take too long to leave, giving a glance at the bed right beside hers, deciding to put on the jacket and finally leaving the room.
She hadn't seen Chip at the dorm this morning, so she guessed he was taking a stroll around the grounds. Charlotte shrugged to herself and went to the boys' dormitory.
oOo
"…Hagrid and my aunt and uncle — so who sent these?"
Harry's voice came from the other side of the door the moment she got upstairs.
"I think I know who that one's from," She heard Ron say. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and — oh, no," he groaned, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."
Moving from her spot, her enclosed the doorknob and twisted, letting her from enter their eyesight. "Knock, knock. Merry Christmas, boys!"
"Merry Christmas, Charlie." They spoke in unison, grinning at her as she closed the behind her.
Charlotte grinned back, and looking down, she pointed at Harry's hands. Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.
"Ms. Weasley?" and he nodded. "I always loved her sweaters—she made a lot of them for me since I was a child. Don't know why you never wear yours, Ron."
"Every year she makes us a sweater," said Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."
"That's really nice of her," said Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.
"It's maroon." He gave emphasis to the word, grimacing at the color.
"Don't see the matter…"
Charlotte dismissed his excuse with a wave of her hand, choosing to sit at what she presumed to be Neville's bed, watching as Harry unwrapped the last of his presents.
Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped and Charlotte widened her eyes, but for different reasons.
"I've heard of those," he said in a hushed voice, dropping the box of Every Flavor Beans he'd gotten from Hermione. "If that's what I think it is — they're really rare, and really valuable."
"What is it?"
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was strange to the touch, like water woven into material. Wait a second… Remus told her that James had a cloak like that, and they used it all the time when they were at Hogwarts.
This couldn't be just a coincidence.
"It's an Invisibility Cloak," said Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is — try it on."
Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a yell. "It is! Look down!"
Harry looked down at his feet, but they were gone. He dashed to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulled the cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
Something in the ground caught the attention of the other two behind Harry.
"There's a note!" said Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"
Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:
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.
Charlotte listened as she read it out loud. There was no signature.
In her mind, she had two hunches of who could have wrote that: Hagrid or Dumbledore. The last was most likely, since the headmaster enjoyed being all mysterious, confusing everyone with his enigmas.
That wise old man…
Well, at least she knew she was right. The cloak was indeed James'.
Harry was staring at the note, while Ron admired the cloak.
"I'd give anything for one of these," he said. "Anything. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?
Before they could say or think anything else, the dormitory door was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry stuffed the cloak quickly out of sight.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look — Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it, the other a G.
"Harry's is better than ours, though," said Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."
"Ouch—what do you mean with 'not family', you morons?"
Surprised because they didn't notice her sitting there when they barged in, the twins plopped down on the bed, both at each side of her, squeezing her between them.
"Fair Lady! My sincere apologies!"
"It was not our intention to hurt your feelings!" Fred pretended to be ashamed, but ended up ruffling her hair jokingly.
"Hey, stop that—"
The girl tried to slap his hands away, to no avail.
"You don't count, little Lottie. Mum absolutely adores you."
"Right you are, George. One would think you're her favorite child, and you're not even her daughter—look at her sweater!" the ginger head pouted, tugging the end of the blue material. "That's so unfair!"
He let go of her and threw himself, in a way too dramatic manner, on the bed, making the girl roll her eyes at him, but she was never able to keep a smile off her face when these two were around.
"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."
"I hate maroon," Ron moaned halfheartedly as he pulled it over his head.
"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observed. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid — we know we're called Gred and Forge."
"What's all this noise?"
Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seized.
"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."
"I — don't — want —" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew. Charlotte thought it was well deserved. The guy should stop with that annoying superior attitude of his for five minutes.
"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."
They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater, leaving the three friends watching they walk away with entertained grins on their faces.
oOo
The trio hanged in the common room for a while, and headed to the Great Hall for the meal. It was like a chain reaction the way Harry, Ron and Charlotte started to salivate the moment the doors opened and the delicious smell of food hit their nostrils.
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.
Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet, and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry and Charlotte watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat lopsided.
Alright then…
In midst of breakfast, an owl flew by her and dropped a little note on her lap—only it wasn't Maurice. Charlotte observed the owl make its way to the Staff table, and land atop of the podium, right where Professor Dumbledore stood. His blue eyes met hers over his half-moon lens—they were twinkling with a meaningful look on them, offering her a subtle nod of his head.
Her eyebrows scrunched as she read.
I sincerely request that you join me after your afternoon activities.
One should open their eyes to the possibility of discovery of something truly splendid at the end of the journey, instead of standing blindly at the brink of ignorance.
~Very Merry Christmas ~
Stealing another glance at the Headmaster from her place at the Gryffindor table, the only reaction she got out of him was a wink, before he turned around and resumed his chat with Professor Flitwick.
Leave it to him to completely mess up with her head with a single note. She had no idea of what he meant.
Deciding to ignore it for the meantime, Charlotte and her friends finally left the table. Harry was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers – the twins fault-, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and they had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs. Norris's Christmas dinner.
Charlotte, Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.
The snow crunched beneath their feet as they strolled through the grounds, Charlotte was telling them about the vial she found a few nights back and Dumbledore's note. Harry and Ron were just as confused as she was.
Where was Hermione when you needed her?
"Where is it?" Ron nudged her with his elbow. Stopping under a tree, Charlie opened the jacket and looked inside the pocket for the flask. She found nothing though. Her eyes narrowed.
She didn't lose it; Charlotte was entirely sure of it.
The only time she took it was when she saw the vial for the first time, and then she shoved it in the pocket. She'd been so careful—if it had fallen off somewhere she would have notice.
"What was it?"
Harry's voice startled her, and she merely spared him a brief glance before she knelt down on the snow, taking her jacket off and searched for the little container. "I can't find it…"
Almost five minutes afterwards, and she still wasn't successful.
"This must be a joke."
Groaning in defeat, she stood up and brought the clothe with her rather forcefully. It did the trick.
Right when she turned the jacket upside down, something fell from it, falling onto the snowy ground soundlessly. "What— "
Harry took it for her, returning it to her waiting hands. "Here."
"Thanks," Charlie examined the vial. "I don't understand, though. It wasn't here one second ago, so how— "Trying to make a point, she dropped the little thing within the pocket, watching with surprise as the flask disappeared in front of their eyes.
"Bloody hell, Charlie…how did you do that?"
She shook her head, her lips tilting upwards. "It wasn't me, Ron." Letting it drop from the clothe once more, the three saw the vial in her hands. "It must be some sort of Concealment Charm. How could I forget that?"
Whispering the last part to herself, she shook her head again.
"That's so cool, imagine what we could do with it…"
She drowned out the rest, too focused on her thoughts to pay attention to Ron's ramblings.
'Moony…'
Why she wasn't surprised?
She definitely loved her godfather.
oOo
They parted ways as they returned to the castle. While the boys went to their dormitory, Charlotte made her way to Dumbledore's office. Now she was left standing in front of the gargoyle's passage.
She tried to pass through but the gargoyle did not move. It must require a password, she though. How was she supposed to know?
"Ah…I don't have one."
If the statue could talk, she bet it would say something along the lines of "If you have no password, then you're not allowed to proceed."
Holding back a whine, she grimaced. Charlotte wanted to go to bed—she was exhausted.
"Professor Dumbledore told me to come… could you, please, let me in this time? I promise I'll have your password the next time."
The gargoyle fixed her with a stare, or at least it felt like it, and she could not help but to stay still as a rock. Normally, she would have demanded to see the Headmaster – probably, she would have insulted the gargoyle a few things, by now-, however, last thing she desired was to be seeing bickering with a statue.
A few moments of tense silence, the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind her split in two. Behind the wall was a spiral staircase that was moving smoothly upward, like an escalator. As she stepped onto it, Charlotte heard the wall thud closed behind her. Charlie rose upward in circles, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, the girl saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.
Moving forwards, she raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before she could. Charlotte let herself in, taking into the sight.
It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also a wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat.
Distracted with looking around, she jumped in fright when someone came up behind her.
"Goodnight, Charlotte."
Dumbledore came from the back of his office, his steps were nearly inaudible as he took a sit in his chair and urged for her to do the same, extending his hand towards a chair directly in front of his desk.
Making herself comfortable, she waited for him to say something.
"Are you aware of the reason I called you here, Charlotte?" She shook her head and, if she admitted to herself, was feeling a bit nervous.
"No need to worry, Ms. Black. You've done nothing wrong," Yet. "It came to my attention that you received quite a peculiar gift from Remus. Am I correct?" She gave him a nod. "Do you know what it is?"
He patiently waited for her answer, folding his hands together over his lap.
"He gave me a jacket a few days ago… I just found out today—I guess. It has a concealment charm, perhaps?" It came more like a question than a statement. Dumbledore seemed pleased for some reason.
"Yes, yes… You are, indeed, correct, Charlotte. Nice deducted." He said, making her cheeks feel warm for the praise. "Remus supposed it would be a useful thing to have—"
Dumbledore paused.
"And what of the other one?"
Charlotte stared at the smiling man, shaking her head. "Frankly, I still don't know what it that." her fingers tapped the arm of the chair she was sitting in nervous habit.
"May I see it?"
Nodding, she overturned the inner pocket of the jacket, the vial making an appearance when it landed on her hand. She gave it to Professor Dumbledore who took it from her grasp, and carefully inspected it.
"Ah, I see…" at her puzzled expression, he continued. "This is filled with memories. Remus', to be precise."
Memories?
"Wait, he gave me his memories? How— ", Dumbledore stood up and raised a hand, mentioning for her to follow. Charlotte obeyed, observing as she walked to something akin to a sink with what looked like a metal basin, into which runes and strange symbols are carved and precious stones are fitted. It was filled with a silvery substance that appears to be a cloud-like liquid or gas.
"What is this, Professor?"
"This is a pensive." A what? "This allows one to collect their memories, if they so wish to examine them in future. A third person would be allowed to see them as well. You see—Remus put some of his memories inside of this vial so you be able to testify some of them. Do you have any guess of what Remus would want you to see?"
Charlotte thought about it for a moment. Hold on… her eyes widened.
His days at Hogwarts.
His friends.
Her parents.
"Yeah, I do."
Dumbledore didn't need for her to elaborate. He knew.
That night, before she took her leave, Professor Dumbledore promised to show her the memories in two days. Their settled a meeting after dinner, and she would come to his office to take a look at Remus' memories. She couldn't wait for it.
That night she went to her bed with a smile on her face. 'Thank you, Moony.'
oOo
Charlotte fell asleep, unaware that someone just got out of their room the moment she closed the door of her own.
Harry crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbed through the portrait hole.
"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He walked quickly down the corridor.
Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.
The library was pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was floating along in midair, and even though Harry could feel his arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library. Step- ping carefully over the rope that separated these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.
A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek split the silence — the book was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbled backward and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside — stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He passed Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slipped under Filch's outstretched arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There was a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.
"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library — Restricted Section."
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they'd knock right into him — the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.
It looked like 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 as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had 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 ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, 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 when the book had screamed — 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? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirrors trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. 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 very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes — her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green — exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry's did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.
"Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?"
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobby knees — Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
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.
How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.
oOo
"Are you serious?"
"You could have woken me up," said Ron, crossly.
"You two can come tonight, I'm going back, I want to show you the mirror."
Harry told them.
"I'd like to see your mom and dad," Ron said eagerly. Charlotte nodded in agreement, but felt as if there was something wrong about the situation. She didn't say anything, though.
"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone." Harry grinned, then turned to Charlie. "I want to see Remus and the rest of your family, too."
She shrugged. "Not that many people to see."
"You can see them any old time," said Ron, and he was right. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"
Harry couldn't eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the threeheaded dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?
"Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."
"Harry?" His silence was worrying her. Her friend was, in fact, behaving oddly.
oOo
With all the three of them covered in the cloak, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry's route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.
"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."
"No!" Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."
"I've never been at this part of the castle…Are you sure, Harry?"
Charlotte looked around.
"I am, don't worry."
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.
"It's here — just here — yes!"
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.
"See?" Harry whispered.
"I can't see anything."
Charlie only shook her head. This was getting too weird for her. However, she noticed a few strange words at the top of the frame. While the boys talked behind her, the girl was trying to decode it.
It was really hard and she for a second she almost gave up. Almost.
Suddenly the code became clear to her as she whispered the words, forgetting she had company.
"I show not your face but your heart's desire."
Harry and Ron looked at her in confusion.
"Where did you see that?"
She pointed at the mirror. "That's what it means. It was just backwards."
The other two hummed, but in the end, didn't gave much thought about it. So they decided to resume their conversation.
"Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them..."
"I can only see you, Harry."
"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am." He gestured for ginger boy to go first.
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn't see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
"Look at me!" he said.
"What?" Charlotte inquired.
"Can you see all your family standing around you?"
"No — I'm alone — but I'm different — I look older — and I'm Head Boy!"
"What?"
The witch stopped at Harry's left, trying to see the same as Ron. "What are you talking about? I see nothing different…" A frown adorned her features.
"I am — I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to — and I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup — I'm Quidditch captain, too!"
Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.
Charlotte took advantage of his distraction to take a peek herself. Stopping in front of the mirror, she waited for something to happen like it did to Harry and Ron.
What she saw made her gasp, and instantly she could feel her eyes moistening with tears. If out of shock or happiness, she didn't know. She heard her friends' voices calling her name behind her, but they seemed so distant. All she could focus on right now, was the four persons in the mirror.
One of them was herself, yet it was an older version of her.
The others were her parents and Remus. She couldn't quite get why her godfather was there for a moment, because he was still here with her, however, it didn't take too long for her to figure it out.
Remus didn't seem the sad, tired person she knew. In the reflection, he looked so much younger. Happier. And she realized the reason.
He was not a werewolf.
He wasn't a cursed man with self-hatred.
Remus was a normal man that didn't have to go through suffering every single full moon, living with the fear of hurting someone. Of being a monster.
A tear ran down her cheek. She didn't bother to wipe it away.
Her parents… merlin.
They stood at each side of her—their hands on her shoulder, happy and proud faces smiling back at me. Her heart clenched, because she could not feel their touch. Everything was just an illusion, she understood. Charlotte could not stop staring, nevertheless.
All of the wished whispered into the night, the dreams… everything rushed back to her.
Her mother alive.
Her father innocent and free.
A family.
She tried to move on. To forget the pain.
She failed.
"Charlie,"
The figures in the mirror offered her a last smile and disappeared.
Charlotte backed away from it, ignoring the boys, going to a corner of the room and sitting at the ground. The girl was grateful when they let her be and started talking.
"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
"How can it? All my family are dead — let me have another look —"
"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."
"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."
"Don't push me —"
A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking. Charlotte didn't care if she got caught, so she just remained in the same spot.
"Quick!"
Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came around the door, rushing to Charlotte's side when he realized she wasn't moving, and also pulled her under the cloak. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing — did the cloak work on cats? Charlotte was silent. After what seemed an age, she turned and left.
"This isn't safe — she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."
And Ron pulled them out of the room and they went to the common room.
When they passed the Fat Lady, Charlotte went straight to her dormitory, only wishing to be alone for a while. She couldn't say her Christmas was a total disaster, but it wasn't the best one she had.
A few teardrops escaped her eyes as she tucked herself into her bed. She needed to be strong—if not for her, then for Remus. Charlotte sniffled, closing her eyes. The next day would be better. She would be able to see them, even if in a memory.
It wasn't the real thing, but at least it was something.
Her eyes spotted the vial with the swirling memories at her nightstand.
'Tomorrow night', she thought, finally falling asleep.
oOo