For those who came in late:

A large chapter this time. I've managed to get my hands on a copy of the book in question, so this one's a little closer to canon.

Whatever, let's get on with it:

"Yule is better than Christmas," Draco started the fight.

"I dunno," Ron frowned, "Yule is traditional, but Christmas always comes at the same time..."

"Too soon," Hermione murmured, "or so my parents say."

"What?" Ron frowned.

"Seriously Ron, even before Guy Fawkes Day the shops are getting their decorations up! My parents always grumble about that. In fact, I remember a cartoon I saw on the telly where Christmas decorations were up at Easter time. I thought it was funny," she added defensively.

Ron had to think, then his stomach reminded him when chocolate eggs arrived in Ottery St-Catchpole. "Ugh," he said at last, "Eight months of Christmas would be too much."

"What's Christmas?"

Harry's quite understandable question silenced everyone.

"Or Yule?"

The stunned silence had an extension built on.

"Well," Hermione began, "Christmas is on the twenty-fifth of December, it's supposed to be the date when Jesus Christ was born..."

What followed was a confused mess for poor Harry. He actually ended up taking notes, and reviewing them prior to writing it up for his dad. What he wrote was this:

Dear [several crossed-out words] Arch-Mage,

My friends tell me that Christmas is coming this month. It is sort of like Saturalia, in that friends and family gather in good will and reverence to their gods, exchanging presents.

Christmas comes on a fixed date but Yule changes to the middle of winter and the [again, several crossed-out attempts] solstice. Draco likes Yule better than Christmas since its less Muggle.

At Christmas someone called Father Christmas or Sander Claws is supposed to come down chimneys and deliver presents. I think that's a story for small kits.

I will try to find a nice present for you this Saturalia as I like Saturalia best. Try not to jump in the fire but I won't mind if Aldir does because I bet his head's still full of imp chips.

Hermione is staying at Hogwarts over Christmas because she wants to learn everything and Ron says he'll stay with me as well since we're mates but we are not married. Hermione also says she would have loved to invite us to a mundane Christmas party. But I would rather come home for Saturalia.

Blessings of the Nine,

Associate Harry Potter

When Ra'jirra received this missive, he just smiled sadly; evidently the lad was feeling homesick. Hardly surprising. He knew the feeling. He'd felt it many a time on the roads around Cyrodiil, not to mention those terrible months following Ernie Haines around Earth-1.

Sallissa was curled around a candle, an apple deflating in her mouth, and Ra'jirra smiled as he leaned back from the desk he was working at. If it wasn't for the little snake, he could be forgiven for thinking that Black Plateau's portals were just a figment of Sheogorath's imagination. The round walls of the Arch-Mage's quarters at the Arcane University embraced him. They also embraced the small mountain of paperwork that had been lying in wait, but you couldn't have everything.

Taking up his dip pen, a new concept imported from Earth-1, he added a short note on Harry's letter: So they have their own form of Saturalia? At least they're civilised like that. The old Khajiit stuffed it into a pigeonhole, and drummed his silvering fingers on the chair arm thoughtfully.

"You know," he addressed the air, "Might be a good idea to do some shopping tomorrow."

He leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling idly. The ceiling had nothing to say on the issue.

Ra'jirra lowered his gaze to Harry's letter again, whereupon an idea struck. Chuckling, he pulled a fresh piece of paper and charged the pen again. He wondered what old Dumbledore would make of it. After all, a cultural exchange was supposed to go both ways, wasn't it?

Meanwhile, in Snape's office:

Snape noticed that young Parkinson sat in the spare, uncomfortable wooden chair he kept for students without any expression of distaste. Presumably she knew what he was trying to do.

"The Christmas holidays are coming," he began, "were you intending to spend them with your family?"

It wasn't just curiosity; it was to do with confirming a roster of those students who would or could not return home, either because they wanted to know more about the wizarding world, or for their own safety. There were at least three of the latter he knew of; he also wondered if Potter would end up gracing the Christmas feast with his presence.

"Yes," the girl smiled suddenly, "Daddy's taking us to China to see Chinasat-5 get launched. I've never seen a Chinese launch site," and her voice started to speed up with excitement, "I mean, I've heard of their Long March rockets but never seen one! I mean, you say 'launch site' and everyone thinks of Cape Canaveral, not even Baikonur Cosmodrome –"

"That's enough," Snape interrupted, and applied himself to making a note that Pansy Parkinson would be with her family. He knew nothing about rocketry or spaceflight, after all, he didn't really care what muggles did as long as they left him alone. Just like most wizards.

"Now then," and his black eyes fixed on the girl again, "when you return, I hope that this rivalry between you and Zabini can be brought under control. I cannot help noticing that a larger number of my snakes have been under Madame Pomfrey's care that in previous years, and that, in many cases, this has not been the fault of those in other Houses."

Pansy sat up straighter. "With all due respect," she said carefully, "Zabini seems obsessed about this pureblood business. In case you haven't noticed, he and his friends like to pick on people who aren't."

Snape folded his hands. From what he understood, Pansy's father was quite influential in the muggle world, even having the ear of some high-up people in the muggle government. That could be a problem, especially if that terrifying woman... what was her name? Hatchet? Was still in power.

"Be that as it may," he said quietly, "I want you to at least try to maintain cordial relations with your fellows in your House. Slytherins are not well-liked in the wizarding world, I'm sure you've noticed just here. As such," and he rose dramatically, looking more than ever like a particularly dyspeptic vampire, "we must maintain a unified front to the world. You, and Zabini, need to understand that."

"How? With this pureblood shit fucking everyone up?"

Snape said nothing; he just stood very still, raising one eyebrow at the girl's outburst. He didn't need Legillimency to recognise the frustration and anger there. Merlin knew he'd tried to get Zabini to pull his head in, but the boy was firmly convinced that he was right. To make it worse, the stupid boy had pulled out the "magic thieves" card!

Not even the Dark Lord had considered the notion seriously: that muggleborns somehow stole magic from the more deserving magical race. Mind you, he hadn't considered the correlation between the increased ratio of muggleborns to purebloods and the decreasing number of surviving magical families either. No, to him, muggleborns were just mongrel abominations against The Way Things Should Be, full stop.

Snape leaned back, tapping his fingers together as something else came to mind. Pansy was just the girl that boy got on worst with. From what he'd heard, Blaise was contemptuous of girls in general. Perhaps it was to do with his mother being a Black Widow...

"Your appalling language aside, which I will overlook this time," he said at last, eyeing the girl forbiddingly, "I repeat, we must maintain House unity in front of the other students. As a member of Slytherin, I expect you to be as cunning as him in devising some scheme for doing so." Pansy began to speak, but Snape overrode her. With a wave of his wand, the office door unlocked. "That will be all, Miss Parkinson, I do not need to know your ideas. Call it plausible deniability, if you wish. Good evening."

As the door closed, he rubbed a hand over his forehead. He could swear that every year, the students outdid themselves in being more and more dunderheaded. He could only hope that Parkinson wasn't so thick she missed that heavy a hint.

Subsequently in the Library:

"Hello Granger."

Hermione had been easy to find: just look for the biggest stack of books in the library. Pansy had grinned at the sight, again, before speaking up.

"What?" The sound of a frantic quill scratched to a halt. "Oh! Hi Pansy. What brings you here? I've got an assignment to do for Charms about the Severing Charm, but I'm not sure if I have enough detail..."

Pansy glanced at what Hermione had already written. "Hermione, we only need three feet!" The Gryffindor's work was already over six feet long! "You don't need to put everything in you know. Can I tell you something?"

Hermione looked uncertain. Pansy leaned in. "Professor Snape gives you Acceptable because your work's always too long," she explained, "I had a little lecture from him earlier tonight, and I saw your last essay with just that scrawled on it."

The bushy-haired girl just gaped, utterly thunderstruck. "But..." she managed to get out before commencing goldfish imitations.

"Remember they've got lots more essays and things to read than just yours." Pansy pulled Hermione's essay towards herself. "You don't need to put down everything, just enough. And... wait a minute. This bit here..."

"Yes, that's from Delfina Crimp: A Life of Spells and Sewing. She invented the spell in the 1400s you know –"

"But what about this part here? That implies the Severing Charm was invented in the 1200s by Emmaus Twilfitt."

"But it's in The History of Magical Clothiers! And besides, if you read on, until Crimp refined it, you could end up setting the cloth on fire if you weren't careful, in fact several tailors burnt down because –"

"Which is written by one Timothy Emmaus Twilfitt, it says on the cover," Pansy glared at the book in question. The modern Twilfitt, portrayed against the backdrop of the family business, silently cleared his throat nervously. "Of course he'd claim his family invented it first!"

Hermione did the goldfish for a good minute. "But why write it down if it's wrong?"

Pansy didn't answer. "Honestly Granger, you've forgotten half the assignment. Six feet plus of history about the diffindo. You forgot that you're supposed to also write about its usage, right?"

Hermione's jaw dropped in utter horror and her face turned white. In the ensuing efforts to prevent the Gryffindor from a full-blown panic attack, Pansy Parkinson quite forgot her initial intention: to ask Granger to pass a message to the infamous Weasley Twins.

A day or two later:

Dumbledore stared at the green-robed man in surprise. "You want to what?"

Dunard Geonette smiled. "It's all the Arch-Mage's idea, really. From what we can tell, this 'Christmas' of yours is at the same time as our Saturalia celebration, so he had the idea that, since Harry can't go home for Saturalia, we could bring Saturalia here. You're all invited of course," he added as an afterthought.

"Er..." Dumbledore thought in small circles. "We usually have Christmas in the castle here. Er, in the Great Hall. A feast..."

"In the evening?" Dunard's eyes lit up. "May we request an invitation? Um, we'd also like to be allowed to put up a couple of decorations, and give a Saturalia prayer to the Nine. Nothing long-winded, the Arch-Mage would have our guts for garters." The man chuckled. "I remember he had some choice words when he attended a Saturalia at the Imperial Palace, the Imperial chaplain went on for a full hour..."

"Decorations you say?" Dumbledore stroked his beard. "And would there be presents?"

"Of course! I'm expecting to receive Harry's within a few days. Of course we'd need to visit the castle to give them to him." Dunard gazed at the Headmaster as though the answer was obvious.

As a result, on December 25:

Harry awoke early, which was unsurprising. Sallissa had returned with a promise from Dad that there would be a proper Saturalia waiting, and that meant –

"Presents," Harry goggled at the small pile sitting at the foot of his bed. He then glanced around the room he shared with Ron, Seamus, Neville and Draco. Ron's four-poster had its pile of brightly decorated boxes and bundles. Harry parted the curtains and was hit full force with Ronald Weasley's snoring. However, Harry was not averse to grabbing the minotaur by the horns. "Oi Ron! Wake up! It's Saturalia I mean Christmas presents!"

The only response, if you could call it that, was the momentary injection of a sound like "gerrugghh" into the sound of a Weasley palate being repeatedly sucked into a Weasley larynx.

Harry thought for a bit, then began to extend his hand and reach into the Aurbis for a little lightning, before remembering a word. With a grin, he retrieved his wand, and after a bit of thought, the motions came to him.

"Aguamenti!"

The stream of fresh, cold water had its effect, namely Ron entering a transition period of drowning noises before finally awaking. "Ugh! Bloody hell Harry, were you trying to drown me?" He squinted at the excited boy. "Oh yeah, this is your first Christmas isn't it? Um, Happy Christmas then." He frowned, trying to remember Mum's drying charm. If he wasn't so sleepy, he probably would have used it and gone straight to sleep again.

"I can't believe all these presents and the mages are coming later to celebrate Saturalia with us!"

Ron blinked at him. "They are?" Something else tickled his brain. "Anyway, don't you get presents usually?"

"Not as many as this," Harry admitted as, unable to stand the tension any longer, he picked up the first one; a familiar looking, straightforward thing of brown paper and string labelled To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was a rough-hewn, hand-carved wooden flute.

Ron thought for a bit, then decided that since the sacred and solemn Christmas ceremony of Unwrapping the Presents was underway, he'd better join in.

"Hang on," he said, picking up a squashy and horribly familiar parcel, "let's open these together," he pointed to a matching item in Harry's pile, "I think I know what they..."

Harry tore his open with rather more enthusiasm than Ron did.

"Oh no," Ron groaned, "Mum made you a Weasley jumper too."

Harry's sample was emerald green, lumpy, and decidedly warm and soft, also wrapped around a box of what turned out to be homemade fudge. "Maroon again," Ron groaned at his own, "I keep asking for Chudley orange but she doesn't listen."

Candour compels us to speculate that Molly Weasley didn't listen on purpose.

Harry's next parcel was a box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. "We should go through all of these," Ron said, eyes riveted to the box, "Maybe one of them's an Agrippa, and I've been looking for one for ages."

"Huh?" was Harry's intelligent response, as he weighed the pros and cons of sweets for breakfast.

"Don't you remember? I told you on the train. Chocolate Frogs have cards in them, famous witches and wizards. If I can get Agrippa I'll have the whole set."

Harry thought for a bit. "Well, tell you what," and he plucked two of the pentagonal packets out of the box, "One each until after breakfast, eh?"

"Sounds good," Ron agreed, and promptly had to chase his frog while Harry's reflexes snared his almost immediately. "Damn," Ron groused, extracting the pentagonal card out, "Flamel again. What's yours?"

Harry glanced inside his packet "Um... Oh hey!" He fished the card out and handed it to Ron. "Joyous Saturalia to you!"

Ron's face lit up. "Agrippa! Great! Hey thanks Harry! Here, have this one." He handed the card to Harry, who regarded the old man depicted with interest, then flipped it over to read:

Nicholas Flamel, celebrated alchemist, is most famously known for his life's work in creating the only known true Philosopher's Stone in existence. Having lived over six hundred and sixty years, he enjoys opera and lives in Devon with his wife, Perenelle.

He put the card to one side and turned his attention to the last present in the pile. It was small, light, and unlabelled. Maybe the label had come off. Oh well. Harry unwrapped it, and a shimmering silver mass spilled out.

"Oh, Merlin," gasped Ron, from where he was vacillating between a lime green and a speckled puce sample of Bertie Botts' merchandise, "If that's what I think it is... try it on Harry!"

Harry looked at Ron doubtfully, then picked the cloth off the ground. It felt odd, like water made fabric, and it was clearly fashioned into a cloak. "I'm not sure I'd look good in silver," Harry said doubtfully.

"No worries if I'm right," Ron grinned, "Try it on!"

Even more doubtfully, Harry draped the cloth over himself, and Ron's eyes bulged out of his head as he crowed with delight. "It is! I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Harry glared at Ron, then attempted to do so at his feet. In this last he was thwarted, as he couldn't see them.

Or any part of himself covered by the cloak, for that matter.

Whirling to the mirror, all he saw was his head – probably in need of a brushing – floating in midair. He tried a little twisting and turning, but there was no sign of any distortion in the air. "This is... it's..."

"An invisibility cloak," Ron finished for him, "I'd give anything for one of those... hey look! A note fell out of it!"

Sure enough, a piece of paper had slid out from under the cloak. Removing the article, Harry took up the letter and puzzled at it. The narrow, loopy handwriting didn't help his deciphering Earth-2 English.

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.

Harry frowned at that. "This is supposed to be my father's," he said, "my birth father's anyway, but who'd he give it to?"

Ron looked thoughtful, but then the door banged open and Percy Weasley entered, bookended by his twin brothers. He simultaneously looked disapproving and distressed, an attitude reinforced by the fact that somehow he'd failed to get his arms into those of his Christmas jumper – a handsome maroon with a yellow P on the front, and his glasses were askew. More to the point, he was not in possession of his copy of Prefects Who Gained Power, which was rapidly taking on the role of a Bible to him.

Harry, in a sudden fit of prudence, decided that flaunting an invisibility (or was it chameleon?) cloak in front of two obsessive pranksters wasn't a good idea, and shoved it under his bed. Fortunately the twins were more focussed on making sure Perfect Percy didn't manage to get away.

"Merry Christmas! – Hey look, little Harrykins – has a Weasley jumper too – come on Ron! Why aren't – you wearing yours?" the twins chorused. Their jumpers were matching blue with yellow letters (and transposed, knowing those two.)

"I hate maroon," Ron groaned, and Percy couldn't hide a small grin as Fred and George more or less stuffed Ron into his.

"Now then Percy –" the twins turned their attentions back to their big brother, "No sitting with prefects today – Christmas is a time for family – so you'll be sitting – with us!"

As the three boys left – the eldest being frogmarched out, really – Ron and Harry looked at each other. "I think we'd better keep an eye on them," Harry said thoughtfully.

"I reckon," Ron agreed, and they followed his brothers down to breakfast.

The rest of the morning was relatively quiet; except for Harry being scragged by Ron at Wizard's Chess. Earth-2 wizards, as is well documented, have a habit of using magic where it's not really needed, and one example is the highly animated – and opinionated – chess set. It was really like sending some unblooded Pit Dog against Zul gro-Radagash.

Soon it was time for Christmas dinner, and a surprise greeted Harry and his friends in the Great Hall.

"Joyous Saturalia, Harry!" Dunard Geonette and a surprisingly large number of his fellow magi were waiting in the middle of the hall. Hagrid was adjusting one of the immense trees, adding a set of nine diamonds under the direction of one of the Tamriel mages, while others were arranging a respectable number of parcels, mostly cloth wrapped and tied with ribbons, looking a little drab against the backdrop of heavily decorated fir trees aswarm with twinkling fairies.

"You're having Saturalia here?" was Harry's intelligent deduction.

"Of course! It was your father's idea. I'll be giving the prayer today. Anyhow, might as well be seated. Excuse me," and the Breton headed towards the staff table.

"Come on," Harry said, "the sooner we're all seated, the sooner the prayer's done, and we get to eat."

"Makes sense to me," Ron agreed.

"It's only polite," Percy attempted to agree with more pomp, despite the fact he felt naked without his Prefect's badge.

At the staff table, Dumbledore nodded, then rose to his feet, causing a penetrating chime to ring from his wand. "Please all be seated," he declared, eyes twinkling, "before we eat, our guest, ah, mister Dunard Geonette, wishes to say some brief words."

The mage gave the Headmaster a formal bow, then turned. "Today, at home, is Saturalia," he began, "a time of feasting, gifts, and celebrating." He grinned. "So over the centuries we've got the Saturalia prayer nice and short."

Several giggles and chuckles scuttled around the hall.

"So let's get on with it," and he clasped his hands, bowing his head. The Weasleys noted Harry did as well, and the staff just watched with varying degrees of interest.

"This night, this Saturalia night, is a night for giving thanks," Dunard began formally. "In a week, a new year comes, the days lengthen, and the eye of Magnus gazes upon us longer. Therefore, let us give thanks," and one of the other mages moved to the tree where the nine diamonds had been hung. As the Breton spoke, he ignited one after the other, so that nine lights shone.

"To Stendarr, for thy gifts of kindness and mercy, we thank thee.

"To Julianos, for thy gifts of truth and wisdom, we thank thee.

"To Talos, for thy gifts of strength and protection, we thank thee.

"To Zenithar, for thy gifts of provision and ease, we thank thee.

"To Mara, for thy gifts of peace, we thank thee.

"To Dibella, for thy gifts of love, we thank thee.

"To Arkay, for thy gifts of the seasons and the cycles of all things, we thank thee.

"To Kynareth, for thy gifts of the air and spirit, we thank thee.

"To Akatosh, for thy gifts beyond all gifts, we thank thee.

"O Nine Divines, know that we are grateful for that which we have, and we do not sorrow for that which we do not. For we have more than some, and less than others, regardless, we are blessed with what is ours.

"We give thanks to thee for our health, we give thanks for our family, we give thanks for our warm homes, and, O Divines, we give thanks to thee for our lives."

A low solemn chorus from the table where the Mage's Guild representatives sat replied, "For all this we thank thee, O Nine Divines."

"And that's that," Dunard concluded cheerfully. Then the feasting started.

The magi from Tamriel were more than a little surprised when the food simply appeared out of thin air. Needless to say, there was a lot of it – good traditional fare of roasted turkey, fat chipolatas, enough roast potatoes to empty S'jirra's patch a dozen times over, to say nothing of the vast tureens of buttered peas and gravy! Then came plum puddings drowned in custard, along with peculiar objects, paper tubes twisted shut at their flared ends.

"What're these?" Harry wondered.

"Crackers!" Ron exclaimed, "Take an end and pull!"

Harry gave his end a good yank – and then fell off his seat from the almighty bang and cloud of blue smoke. He lay there, stunned, not registering the four white mice scampering away in panic, until an admiral's hat plopped on his chest.

"You all right mate?" Ron was leaning over and peering into his face. "Should've warned you, they're not like muggle crackers, we do 'em right."

"Harry!" Dervas Oren's face also appeared. "What happened? Can you get up?"

"Yeah, I'm all right," Harry grunted, then looked down. "Where'd this hat come from?"

"It was in the cracker," Ron shrugged. "Along with this joke." He held up a piece of elaborately decorated paper. "'What's green and prances on tiptoe?'"

"An orc in a ballet dress?" Harry guessed, shaking off the Dunmer.

"Umm, no?" Ron blinked confusedly, before giving the correct answer. Neither Harry nor Dervas got the reference either.

More colourful explosions followed, and soon assorted members of the Mage's Guild as well as the staff members were sporting some interesting headwear. Dumbledore himself was wearing a flowered bonnet, and Snape was brooding under a silver crown with green gems.

Quirrell was eyeing the representatives of the Mage's Guild with interest, doubly so as his passenger was watching their actions carefully. It seems that we still have some surprises for them after all, the thing mused. Getting a snake headband that hissed at anyone who came too close, not to mention being able to taste Hogwarts' Christmas cooking again, was lending it almost to bonhomie.

When Harry and the Weasleys left (rolled, rather) from the Great Hall, they were laden with gifts won from crackers, as well as a number of bundles that the Mage's Guild had bestowed on Harry.

The rest of the afternoon was mostly spent burning off the excess calories in a large snowball fight. At some stage, several of the more young-at-heart Mage's Guild members joined in. Seeing that the students, while not in danger, were in need of reinforcements, MacGonnagall, Flitwick and Dumbledore quickly joined in and began turning the tide.

The Battle of Hogwarts made it into the formal report, much to Ra'jirra's amusement. But it also underlined that Earth-2 magic worked a lot differently than Tamriel's. While the Mage's Guild relied on frost to reinforce their battlements, and fire (more precisely, flare spells) to weaken the enemy's, the wizards of Hogwarts were not so limited. The document detailed the spontaneous assembly of snowmen which proceeded to join in the fray, laughing merrily. Snowballs that flew around obstacles. Not to mention those that transformed into... there were birds, paint, and even large fibrous nuts according to the list in the report.

In any case, that evening the most active person in Hogwarts (well, Gryffindor Tower anyway) was Percy Weasley, who was occupied chasing the twins. Something to do with them making off with his pride and joy: his prefect's badge.

As such it was no surprise that Harry only remembered about the invisibility cloak about a minute after going to bed.

In his defense, he was still vibrating with nervous energy from the excitement of the day, and the thought of being able to roam the entire castle undetected was one simply impossible to ignore.

"Who's there?" a very bewildered portrait asked as she found herself being swung open and closed again. If she'd listened, her painted ears would have heard footsteps departing down the corridor.

Harry arrived at the main staircase and stopped, wondering what to do first. He considered trying the library and maybe raiding the books in the Restricted Section. Dad would like a summary of those volumes! Then he remembered he hadn't brought anything to make notes on.

Then his adventure sense kicked in. He wasn't alone, and his companion wasn't a friend. Turning carefully, he noticed a familiar cat. More precisely, Filch's familiar cat.

Mrs Norris was looking around, sniffing in a confused fashion. She couldn't see him, then it struck Harry that she could probably smell him. Slowly, he began to sneak away.

Ears pricked, Mrs Norris followed the mysterious scent.

Harry instinctively began to pick up the pace.

Mrs Norris instinctively picked up hers.

Harry was almost running when he rounded a corner, and skidded to avoid running directly into the unpleasant caretaker of the castle. "What?" Filch squinted into the passage at the unmistakable sound of frantic footfalls. "Who is it? Show yourself! It'll go easier if you do you know..."

Harry didn't believe a word of it, and had to force himself to remember Dad's lessons about sneaking. Tiptoes, lad, and shuffle. Look ahead, and remember what's in front of you. The main thing is being aware of –

"Following someone, my pet! Oh what a marvel, what a fine kitty you are..."

Harry swallowed, looking for an escape. The hallway he was currently attempting to shuffle at speed down had plenty of doors, but all were closed except for that one on the left he'd just passed –

Harry looked back, then at the closed door on his right. Inspiration struck. Taking a breath, he cracked the latch, pushing the door open with a reproachful creak that sounded loud as a dragon's roar, before yanking it closed again. Immediately he backtracked, this time slipping into the opened door and gently pushing it closed, with only the softest grumble of wood on stone.

"You can't hide you know," Filch's voice came from outside, "Hiding in an old classroom like that! There's no way out you know, it'll be the thumbscrews for you, out after curfew doing Merlin knows what! Nasty wicked little brats, looking for..."

Harry made a face at the utterly gross speculations of Filch, and turned to look at the room he was in. It was clearly a classroom, unused, the furniture pushed to the sides of the room, with only something tall and gleaming in the centre.

Curiosity overcame caution, and Harry grasped the Aurbis. Starlight was brought to Mundus, and Harry could see the thing clearly. It was a mirror, inevitably trapped in a needlessly ornate gilded frame supported on claw feet, and with writing around the curved upper edge.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi?" Harry tried to pronounce, about three times, before giving up. Stupid Earth-2 languages, he groused to himself. Why have stupid gibberish on a dumb mirror?

Harry initially just glanced into the mirror at himself, staff in hand, clad in teal robes, surrounded by –

He spun around. Nobody stood behind him. And there was no staff in his hand either. What in the names of Julianos and Zenithar was going on?

Almost fearfully, Harry looked back. Now he noticed that his reflection was taller, older, and smiling. There was Dad, nodding and smiling approvingly, and Mum, and big brother J'Dargo, and Aunty Abhuki...

"No," Harry choked, spinning away from the mirror again. His memory transported him to a night of fire and shouts, and a familiar form lying too still outside Faregyl Inn. He began to shake. The mirror was a liar, it showed lies, it was one of Sheogorath's inventions he was sure of it –

A short time later, the portrait of Henrietta Holmsworthy was annoyed by a voice crying "Pig Snout!" repeatedly. "What?" she groaned in sleepy irritation, glaring at the seemingly empty corridor. "Who's there?"

"Pig Snout! Please, for Arkay's sake, Pig Snout!" The boy's voice sounded like he was about to scream or cry.

Henrietta hesitated before delivering a scolding. Wherever this boy was, he sounded extremely upset. Not running-from-Filch scared, which was odd. "Stendarr save us, Pig Snout!"

"Oh Merlin," Henrietta groaned, and activated her frame, swinging it open. "Get inside quick then."

"May Mother Mara bless you," the boy gasped, and her frame shivered as though someone had pressed against it.

As her frame closed up the hole behind, Henrietta frowned. Something, and not Filch, had scared the boy, assuming there was a boy there at all. But she'd seen nobody. "Was I dreaming?" she asked the corridor, "Is anybody there?"

Naturally there was no reply, and soon Henrietta Holmsworthy was asleep again. She mentioned it to her friend Violet the next day, but didn't remember the decidedly Tamrielic beseeching.

The next evening:

"Why are we here?" Ron just wanted to read about Quidditch, or play chess, but no, Harry wanted to show him something he found last night.

"It's the scariest thing I've ever seen here," Harry told him as they approached one of the old classrooms.

"Worse than Snape?"

"Yeah."

"Than that troll?"

"Hells yeah! I think Sheogorath's behind it."

"Who?"

"The Prince of Madness," Harry explained unhelpfully as he pushed the door open, "It's in here."

"It's a mirror," was Ron's intelligent observation.

"Yeah, right," Harry said grimly, "What do you see?"

"Well, I see me, and... hey wicked! Harry, look! I'm Head Boy! And Captain of the Quidditch team!" Ron gaped in delight at the vision. "I'm holding the Quidditch Cup, we won! Oh, Merlin! Even Percy's applauding me!"

Harry nervously looked at the mirror. Himself, clearly a full member of the Mage's Guild, smiled back at him. "I don't see that at all."

"You don't? What do you see?"

"I see... me... a full member of the Guild, I see my family cheering me... and Aunty..." Harry turned away again, eyes screwed shut. "No, Aunty Abhuki's dead, it's not real, it's all lies..."

"I'm sorry you had to see it then," Dumbledore's voice made them both jump. A chair shimmered as if behind a heat haze, before the Headmaster cancelled his disillusionment spell.

"Often wizards cannot see the obvious," he said softly, hesitating as he looked at whatever the mirror showed him before tearing his eyes away and towards the top of the frame. A wave of his wand, and ghostly letters peeled off the frame, before pirouetting around.

"I show not your face but your heart's desire," Harry recited, and then he smacked his face in angry realisation. "Nine save me!"

"The Mirror of Erised can help one refine one's goal in life," Dumbledore observed sagely, "but at the same time, men have wasted away before it, not knowing if what they have seen is real, or even possible." He gazed with a fixed expression of neutrality into the mirror again. "What one sees is neither truth nor falsehood, but something more important and more dangerous."

Harry just frowned, not understanding. "Sounds like one of Vivec's sermons," he muttered. He'd picked up a copy of one once, and Dumbledore was sounding a lot like it.

"I will have the mirror moved to a safer place today," the old wizard declared at last, straightening up and conjuring a sheet to fall over it, blocking the painful sight of himself, Ariana, and his family reunited and whole. "There are those who would spend all their days in here, as transfixed as if they had gazed into the basilisk's eye. I trust you will not seek it out again."

He looked sternly on the two boys, who shuffled their feet and quite clearly wouldn't. Then Ron spoke with true Gryffindor bravery. "So what do you see?"

Dumbledore turned to adjust the sheet, which also hid his eyes rolling up and right. "Myself, holding a nice pair of thick woolen socks." He smiled at the incredulous silence. "As an old man, I find my feet are always cold, and I can never have too many pairs of socks. But people keep giving me books instead," he shrugged. "Still, you've got more exciting things to do than listen to an old man complain about cold feet, haven't you?"

Apparently Harry and Ron did, and the old man was alone at last. Closing the door and magically locking it, he took a breath, dispelled the sheet, and grimly resumed work.

Author's note

Yes, there's a passage lifted directly from my 'omake', Home for the Holidays. That was supposed to be a quickie run off for Christmas, and ended up taking a year to complete.

Now you know what Harry will get Dumbles for Saturalia next year.