Disclaimer: redundancy...I mean, my name really isn J. K. Rowling...in fact, the 'i' and the 'l' and the 'n' are the only letters that are in my name.
Also, little Paradise Lost quote by John Milton near the end, courtesy of Jean.

AN: Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Chapter 26: Of Christmas and Confusion

The hollow echoing of Harry's footsteps was the only sound permeating through the empty Hogwarts corridors, save for the dripping of the thick condensation from the marble statues and frosty glass windows lining either side of his path.

As Christmas break had just started, and the majority of the student population had vacated the premises, Harry was free to pursue his plans for Hermione's Christmas gift; she had also left a few days prior, with the only thing on her mind being their plans for after the holidays.

"Are there any muggle things we'll need for our experiments?" Hermione had asked right before she left.

"Batteries," Harry had concluded immediately, "Every shape, size, and voltage you can find – just lots and lots of batteries. Oh, and a few voltmeters and ohmmeters too, if you can."

Now, after extensive research in the library, Harry had concocted a plan that would both allow him to discretely glean the information he needed to construct Hermione's Christmas present, and also win back the house points he had caused Ravenclaw to lose – and reaching up to knock on his Head of House's office door, he mentally prepared himself to execute the first stage.

"Come in!" the professor's squeaky voice exclaimed from within.

Harry pushed open the door, stepping into the spacious office, which was nearly filled to the brim with books and parchment.

"Oh, Mr. Potter!" Professor Flitwick said happily, sending a cheerful smile his way.

"Hello professor," Harry began politely – of all the professors at Hogwarts, his Head of House was the one he respected most; he was brilliant, kind, accepting, enthusiastic, creative, and on top of all that, he was a badass duelling champion. "I hope you're not too busy."

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Potter! As always, your presence is a welcome distraction."

Harry grinned, taking a seat in front of the desk.

"Now, what is on your mind, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, you see, professor, some recent extra-curricular research has peaked my interest in a certain subject, and I was hoping to inquire into the possibility of doing an extra credit project."

Professor Flitwick frowned ever so slightly "You are already at the top of your class, Mr. Potter – near perfect marks – you are hardly in need of any extra credit."

Harry shifted in his seat. "Actually, I was hoping that instead of the marks for my project going toward my grade, you could convert them to house points."

The professor blinked, and then chuckled softly. "Still sore about Professor Snape's punishment?"

"Fifty detentions and one hundred points! It wasn't fair," Harry muttered.

Professor Flitwick's chuckles grew louder, as he shook his head. "Had I been the one to catch you, I would have done the same. Entomorphis was once considered a curse, Mr. Potter – it has very specific origins in the dark arts and external human transfiguration…it's been considered one of the harsher legal hexes. Though it does not cause any permanent harm, save for perhaps embarrassment, it's not a pleasant spell to be hit with."

Harry only shrugged.

"Well, I would be pleased to grant an appropriate amount of points for your work – have you begun your project yet?"

"Like I said, only some preliminary research. I was actually hoping for some guidance…"

"Oh, really?" the professor asked, grinning.

"Yes – you see, I've been researching the creation of portkeys."

"Oh, my! What a fascinating study! May I ask what sparked your interest?"

"Well, I purchased a portkey from the Ministry last year, so that I could go back and forth between my…house and Diagon Alley. I was fascinated with how it worked, so I did some experiments, and then some research at the library, on the creation and maintaining of a portkey. I know that the basis for the manufacturing of a portkey is the portus charm, but I was wondering about the details – specifically, how is the portkey tied to its destination?"

Professor Flitwick looked positively gleeful. "So you picked up on that? Brilliant! Well, Mr. Potter, I would like to start by pointing out that there are several methods of tying a destination to a portkey. The most common is to use an arithmantic matrix to record coordinates. However, on occasion, simple magical objects like runestones are used as anchors for each other; in the same way, human magical signatures are sometimes used to anchor the portkey."

"Runestones…" Harry mused, "I think I read something about that method…"

"Yes, it's rather rare, because of the theory behind the use of runestones – you see, to be able to transport a witch or wizard, they need to be specially engraved, making their creation very difficult and their use very specific. The Ministry very rarely authorizes such privately made portkeys."

Harry frowned. "So it's illegal."

"I suppose one could put it that way, Mr. Potter. The Ministry of Magic does not consider any portkeys that are not made or authorized by them to be legal."

Harry tapped his fingers on the desk, enthralled in careful calculation. "Is it…the actual spell work, or the unregistered use that's illegal?"

"The charm work is by no means illegal," Professor Flitwick said, laughing slightly "It's simply uncontrolled use that the Ministry is wary of."

"Then…" Harry smiled. "You wouldn't mind giving be a quick demonstration of the portus charm, would you? You know, just to give me a kick start for my project."

Professor Flitwick's face lit up merrily. "Oh, of course, Mr. Potter! It would be my pleasure!"

Harry was still, sitting at the Ravenclaw Table beside Terry, who was scarfing down some pudding. Aside from them, the five Weasleys, and then Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Draco (he and his mother had chosen to spend the holidays at the school, interestingly enough…) were the only students left in the school, save for the two petrified students in the infirmary. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been petrified only a few days before the holidays – naturally, the collective blame was on Harry, though most of the Hufflepuffs were wary of expressing their opinions in light of what had happened to Zacharias Smith; which, indeed, had fueled the rumour that the latest petrification was revenge on Hufflepuff House for Smith's words. Fortunately for Harry, none of the study group members believed that he was behind the whole debacle, which he was thankful for – though he didn't mind everyone thinking he was evil, he did prefer to keep his friends.

"So, anyway, I need to think of something real clever to send to Anthony – something that'll scare him right out of his skin," Terry was saying rapidly, through a mouthful of pudding.

Harry grimaced. "You do know the name you picked is supposed to stay secret, right?"

Terry rolled his eyes. "Anthony isn't even here! Honestly….say, what's your name?"

"Harry Potter."

Terry scowled. "No, the one you picked out of the sack."

"Not telling. 'S against the rules."

"Of all the times to adhere to the rules…"

"Oi, Harry!"

"Boot!"

"Come join us outside!"

The two Ravenclaws glanced over to the twins, who had migrated over to the doors of the Great Hall.

Terry excitedly sprang to his feet. "Are we having a snowball war!"

"Yeah!" the response came from Ron. "Even Ginny's joinin' in!"

"Ooh!" Terry said, rubbing his hands together. "You've got to come, Harry!"

Harry nodded. "Of course." He looked over his shoulder, at the Slytherin table. "Hey, Draco, Crabbe, Goyle! Want to join us?"

The three Slytherins looked at each other intently, seemingly engaged in a silent conversation, before they all nodded slowly.

"Aw…why'd you have to invite the Slytherins along?" Ron complained as the trio began to make their way towards them.

Harry smirked. "A perfect opportunity to promote inter-house unity – plus, Weasley, if you've improved any from last year, then you'll have a chance to utterly destroy them."

Once everyone had fetched their snow gear, they made their way outside to the courtyard, which was covered in billows of wind swept snow. Immediately, the twins hopped up onto one of the snow-blanketed benches, announcing in their grandest voices:

"Hear ye, hear ye,"

"This here marks the second annual,"

"Hogwarts Battle of the Snowballs!"

"We shall fight for the prestigious title of – "

"His Majesty, the Lord of Snowballiness!"

"As there are nine competitors,"

"We will split into three teams – "

"And of the winning team, all three members"

"Will be crowned!"

"I call Potter!" Draco immediately spoke up.

"Too bad, Malfoy Junior," Fred said, smirking.

"We've got dibs."

"Wait," Terry said, "What if I want him on my team?"

George sighed. "Like we said,"

"Too bad."

"But that's not fair!" Ron exclaimed. "You three are the best players!"

George leered at his brother mockingly. "You scared,"

"Little bro?"

Ron reddened. "Of course not! You go ahead, make your team – I'll conquer all of you!"

Terry buried his face in his hand, whilst Harry smirked beside him, eyes glinting rather evilly, along with the twin redheads'.

Harry, Fred, and George devastated the competition – completely, utterly, and mercilessly. Terry ended up with a sprained ankle, Ron's nose was broken (courtesy of an 'ice ball'), Draco's hair was irrevocably mussed up, Crabbe and Goyle were unconscious, and a permanent shiver seemed to be racking Ginny's small frame. 'Team Slytherin,' as they had dubbed themselves, much to the chagrin of the actual Slytherins present, were once again crowned Lord Snowballinesses, and for the next few days, strutted about the castle with their reddened noses stuck in the air, acting like pompous gits with nothing better to do than boast and lord their victory over the others.

After that was washed out of his system, Harry obsessively set to work on Hermione's Christmas present. After doing some idle experiments with the portus charm, and carefully recording the results, he started the tedious, intricate process of carving runestones. Under normal circumstances, such a task would require spell work far out of even his reach – but with some of the special skills and personal advantages he possessed, it was a viable option. He already knew Hermione's first, middle, and last name, her birthplace, and her birthdate – and with those figures, he was able to construct a 3 by 3 arithmantic matrix, and find the determinant, and the corresponding runes. He also had access to Hermione's DNA, which he infused the stone with. A potion was required for this; it took an entire week to brew, and by the time that was finished and he had carved the runes with the blessed ritual knife he owned (he actually thanked the Fates that he had come across it all those months ago) – it was Christmas Eve.

Snow was falling on Christmas Eve afternoon, slowly wafting through the atmosphere, thick with frost. However, the imminent cold, much to Harry's relief, could not penetrate the stone walls of the castle, or dampen the fire that Harry sat beside, writing Christmas letters. He wrote one to all the study group members, out of the goodness of his heart, including Hermione's – to which was attached her present. He wrote letters as well to Terry, Draco, and the Weasleys, to which were also attached small presents. His next letter was for Mr. Borgin – he figured, just for the hell of it, that it would be quite fascinating to see if a response was ever sent – and the one after that was to Kreacher, to read to Walburga's portrait.

By the time he had finished writing all the letters, his hand hurt, and the walk to the owlery was a well appreciated reprieve; and by the time he had addressed and sent all the envelopes, it was dinner time, which passed quickly into the tranquility of evening, and then bedtime. Late into the night, much to Harry's displeasure, Terry wouldn't stop talking and fidgeting, every so often having the nerve to hum a Christmas carol. It was only after midnight that he, and subsequently Harry, fell to sleep.

Dawn was not yet peaking over the eastern horizon when the wind was knocked out of Harry, courtesy of Terry's knees.

"It's CHRISTMAS!"

"You don't say," Harry coughed out, elbowing Terry off. "What time is it?"

"Uh…I dunno…"

Harry snorted, rolling his eyes with a scowl. "Figures."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that – it's Christmas, you know."

"Yes, I do know – that everyone seems to lose their sense of decency on this bloody holiday."

"You're such a bastard on Christmas."

"And you're such a brat on Christmas."

Terry cuffed him over the head.

"What was that for?"

Terry smirked. "Get over yourself and come open your presents."

Harry gaped at him for a moment, before shaking his head, chuckling. "Fine. Let's go open some presents."

Pushing Terry off of the bed, Harry following toward the door, ducking his head prominently as they passed by the mirror.

"What are you doing?" Terry inquired dubiously.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Nothing."

"You were looking away from the mirror," Terry pointed out, jogging down the stairs into the common room.

"Er, yeah – bad luck, it is."

Terry choked slightly. "Bad luck? You're not superstitious!"

"I am sometimes."

"Right," Terry said, sitting down at the Christmas tree, which was sparkling with the light of magical candles, reflecting off the sprinkling charmed snow, and then frowning. "Is that…cabbage?"

Harry blinked, picking up a box that appeared to be wrapped in crisp green cabbage, his name written in red sparkles on top. "Well, I suppose I know who picked my name." Carefully, he tore the cabbage off, finding a glittery, garishly shaped pair of enormous spectacles on top.

"What on earth are those things?" Terry asked, ripping open one of his packages and pulling out a new robe from his parents.

"I…don't know…" Harry mused, turning over the tag on it, "Spectrospecs...You See best when your eyes are clear…"

"Well that's sort of…redundant…" Terry frowned. "What else is in the box?"

Reaching inside, Harry pulled a small book out. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

At that, Terry burst out laughing.

"What?"

"That's a children's, book, Harry! A book of fairy tales! My mum used to read one for me every night before I went to bed when I was little."

Harry's eyebrows rose, as he opened the book up to its table of contents.

"I wonder why Luna would send you something like that?" Terry inquired through his giggles.

"I never read fairy tales when I was small," Harry mused quietly, tracing his finger down the list of stories.

Terry sobered slightly, frowning. "Why?"

"Dudley had plenty of books – but I wasn't allowed to touch them. I wasn't allowed to touch anything of his. Apparently, freakishness is contagious…" Harry whispered absentmindedly as he flipped through the pages.

Terry was silent, staring down at the new book in his own hands. Finally, taking a deep breath, he reached into the pile, picking out another present and handing it to Harry with a grin. "This one's from me!"

Starting, Harry snapped The Tales of Beedle the Bard shut, taking the other package out of Terry's hand. Tearing the paper off, he found a small, golden rimmed mirror inside. "What's this?"

"It's called a Foe-Glass," Terry said, "You see the dark shapes in the background? They're supposed to be your enemies, whoever they are – the shapes will become clearer as your enemies approach you."

Harry grinned. "Brilliant!"

Terry smiled cheerfully, evidently pleased by the response. "I thought of getting you a sneakoscope, but it'd probably whistle all the time with you around."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Probably. I got something for you too, you know."

"Even though you didn't pick my name?" Terry said, eyes lighting up.

Harry shrugged. "You are spending the holidays with me."

Smiling goofily, Terry tore the packaging open, letting out a quiet "yes!" when he removed the contents. "A book on warding and curse-breaking! This is amazing!"

"You seemed pretty keen on it last year."

"Can't wait to read it! Now – you hungry? I'm hungry! Really hungry!"

Harry rolled his eyes.

In only a few minutes, both boys were dressed snugly, in preparation to race down the frigid corridors. Harry made it to the Great Hall only a few moments before Terry, but waited for his huffing, puffing fellow Ravenclaw before sitting down.

"Blimey, mate – where'd you learn to run so fast?"

Harry glanced over at him. "You don't want to know."

"Probably not."

Harry glanced around the Great Hall, finding most of the teachers at the head table, and the Weasleys waving them over to the Gryffindor table.

"Did you get some mail this morning?" Harry asked as he sat down at the table, eyes flickering to Ginny Weasley as she seemed to flinch away from his presence.

Both twins grinned. "Oh yes."

"We certainly did."

Ron frowned. "Why'd you get them more stuff from Zonko's anyway? – they've got tons already!"

"Well," Harry drawled, "First thing, it's from me and Terry, and second – it's for all of you to share. Third, well, the twins gave me an early Christmas present a few days back – a kit from Zonko's – I think they wanted me to set up a huge prank for this morning. But it slipped my mind completely."

Both twins groaned in disappointment.

Meanwhile, Harry glanced around the Great Hall. "I wonder where the Malfoys are?" he mused.

"Who cares," Ron said flippantly, slapping some pudding on his plate. "Probably doing whatever Death Eaters do on Christmas Day."

Harry scowled. "They're not Death Eaters."

"But his father –"

"Is his father," Harry interrupted. "Draco Malfoy isn't a Death Eater. I don't believe his mother ever was either."

Terry blinked. "How d'you know?"

"She doesn't seem like the type."

Terry snorted.

"Well," Ron said, mouth stuffed with pudding, "Doesn't change the fact that he's behind the whole Chamber of Secrets thing."

Fred cuffed him over the head.

"Ow! What was that for?"

Fred shook his head. "Stupid little brother."

"Everyone knows the Heir of Slytherin"

"Is none other than our very own"

"Harry James Potter," they finished together with a flourish.

Harry chuckled under his breath.

Ron shifted nervously. "It's not really you, right? Because Hermione said…and at study group…"

Harry smirked. "I dunno. What do you think, Ron?"

Ron gulped quite audibly. "But you cursed Smith for accusing you –"

"Actually, I didn't curse him – I hexed him. And it wasn't that bad…it only lasted for a couple of days. And I didn't curse him because he said I'm the Heir of Slytherin – I don't care about that. He accused me of trying to kill people just because they made me angry. Both Hermione and Neville liked Colin Creevey – I'd never do something like that to them. And I wouldn't kill a classmate."

"So…" Ron said slowly. "You're not the Heir of Slytherin?"

"No, moron. I may not be prefect material, but I'm not a cold-blooded murderer."

"And yet you take great joy in inflicting various curses and hexes on your fellow students without getting caught," Percy suddenly sniffed distastefully.

Harry frowned. "How's that any different than what everyone else always does? From what you do?"

Percy looked quite affronted. "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"I saw you break up with Penelope before the holidays," Harry pointed out, "She was crying for days. You hurt her because of your own personal feelings." He shrugged. "Sometimes I curse people – but at least they deserve it."

Percy, red-faced and looking quite furious, rose from his seat with a huff, marching out of the Great Hall.

Harry popped a marmalade-covered sausage into his mouth. "Did I say something wrong?"

Terry buried his face in his hands.

The day passed slowly, monotonously – too much so, for Harry's taste. After their breakfast, the group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws went outside – much to Harry and the twins' displeasure, the idea of another snowball war was shot down in favour of constructing various snow-creatures. It was only when the twins charmed them to move that things got interesting.

Lunch had been a cold affair, with all six students suffering from the havoc Fred and George's charmwork had wreaked, shivering as they slurped the soup that the Hogwarts elves had kindly cooked up for them.

The afternoon thereafter was quiet – Harry and Terry spent several hours in a fiercely competitive game of exploding snap; it was only at dinner that Harry first saw Draco. After a brief and slightly awkward exchanging of gifts, Harry resolved that his day was pretty much over, and made his way up to the dorms.

Still pointedly looking away from the mirror, Harry made his way behind the curtains of his bed, casting a muffliato and pulling Jean's portrait out from under his pillow.

"Merry Christmas brat!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Could you try to be nicer?"

"Nice? You're talking to me about being nice? You left me under a pillow all day! On Christmas!"

"Right. Sorry."

"That didn't sound very sincere," Jean said suspiciously.

"That's cuz it wasn't."

Jean rolled his eyes. "So, what'd you get?"

"Uh, well, I've still got that stuff from Zonko's from the Weasleys; I accidentally-on-purpose forgot to use them today – I'm totally using them on Dudley. I got a copy of Moste Potente Potions from Draco, and a Foe-Glass from Terry."

"Oh!" Jean exclaimed, "Those are useful."

Harry glanced over at the small mirror he had laid on his bed, watching the myriad of dark shapes shift in the background. Laini, who seemed to have just woken up, slithered over to the mirror and began to hiss at it.

"Except I've no idea who most of those shapes are."

"Once they get close enough, you will."

"True," Harry said, scooping Laini up in his arms, smiling as she hissed contentedly when he began to stroke her head.

"And what did you get from your Secret Santa?"

"My what?"

"The person who picked your name!"

"Oh, it was Luna. Well, she gave me…cabbage…"

"Cabbage?" Jean choked out.

"Yeah, cabbage. And she gave me this book – The Tales of Beedle the Bard."

"Ah," Jean said, "A book of fairy tales…"

"You know about it?"

"Yeah, it's been around a long time…more than five hundred years. But it's all British lore, so I don't know much about the actual stories inside. Beedle may have been a seer though."

"Huh….speaking of which, I really think Luna's some sort of seer…she gave me these." He put the spectrespecs on, adjusting them and then gasping.

Meanwhile, Jean seemed to be choking on something. "W-what the hell are those?"

"Spectrespecs…" Harry whispered. "I…I think they make auras…or maybe ambient magic… visible…"

Jean's eyes widened dramatically. "Seriously?"

"Yeah…your portrait…Laini…the ward I set up around the bed – they're all…like, different colours, and textures suddenly…it's like they're covered in a thin layer of steam or something…it's vibrating, and pulsing…"

Jean whistled. "That's something. Did she say what it's for?"

Harry shrugged. "That's what I didn't get…something about Seeing better with clear eyes…"

Jean's eyes narrowed. "You See best when your eyes are clear…"

"Yeah, that's what it said!"

"That's a metaphor, Harry."

"Oh? For what?"

Jean sighed. "For what I've been trying to tell you for months, moron. Even the loony Lovegood girl's noticing now. 'The eyes are the windows to the soul' – ever heard that one?"

"Yeah…" Harry said slowly.

"Yeah, well with clearer windows, you see better into the house, the soul."

"So…?"

Jean groaned. "Focus, Harry – focus and self-honesty. It's impossible to be a Seer when your soul is muffled – when you're fooling yourself, ignoring things you shouldn't be. That's why you're supposed to be meditating –"

"I don't like meditating! It's boring!"

"Yeah, well that's sort of the point, to force self-reflection via boredom…I think…"

"Doesn't matter," Harry argued, "Because I'm not fooling myself about anything –"

Jean barked out a scoffing laugh. "Yes, you are! Damn, do I have to spell it out, kid? You never confront anything important – you just get rid of it or your feelings about it! I meant what I said a few weeks back – you need something to live for; you need to be able to think about what you're doing, and understand why you're doing it. I overlook a lot, brat, but don't think I don't notice – trying to kill Voldemort, ignoring the Dursleys, lying to your friends. And any fear, guilt, anxiety, sadness, you just lock it all away - ignore, ignore, ignore. It'll all take its toll eventually…"

Harry gritted his teeth. "I'm not talking about this with you - you're not a bloody shrink!"

"But I'm your family," Jean snapped, "Your teacher - you're a Seer Harry, my heir, and I've got a responsibility to make sure you do a damn good job of it. Which you can't, right now."

Harry scowled. "I'm not all that inclined to believe you, you know – I'd say I've gotten pretty good at my seer stuff; you should see me at the appointments Fred and George set up! I barely get tired anymore! If I'm so self-deceiving, then how's that even possible?"

Jean scowled back at him. "The reason it's still possible for you to perform divination is that there's more than one way to clear the path to the soul – the same way you can perform magic; Will. You're impulsive, Harry – you don't think things through."

"I think things through!" Harry argued, outraged, slight concern niggling in the back of his mind at Jean's use of his name, "How do you think I ace all my tests? How do I get away with sneaking into the restricted section? How could I possibly make all the plans I have, if I don't think things through?"

"There's a difference between wisdom and intelligence! You're skilled, Harry, and impulsively curious – you do whatever you want, whenever you want; when you want to understand something, to try something new, you do it without a second thought. Sure, that's a form of self-honesty, and I know you believe it's the best way to accomplish anything. But it's also what will get you killed one day...among other things."

"Other things," Harry said dubiously.

"Yeah – have you ever considered that it's important why you do things? Harry, you only ever make judgements based on pragmatism and your own desires. Have you ever given any thought to the reasons? To morals, for example?"

"You're one to talk," Harry scoffed. "Morals, says the man who's wanted in several countries."

Jean scowled. "I've done a lot of things in my life, Harry, a lot of things I regret, even – but I know why I did them. Do you? Have you given any thought to where you're going? And more importantly – why you're going there?"

Harry was silent for a moment.

"I don't want to talk about this," he finally said, petulantly.

"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make heaven of hell and hell of heaven…" Jean muttered pointedly.

Harry frowned at him vaguely.

Shaking his head, Jean sighed. "Fine, fine…what are you going to do then?"

"I'm going to read my new book."

Jean nodded slowly. "Read aloud, will you? I want to hear."

Harry nodded back mutely, picking up the book and beginning to flip through the pages – before he stopped, turning back to the title page. Frowning, he traced his finger over a strange shape beside the title, a triangle inscribed in a circle, cut in half by a line. "What's this…?" he whispered, suddenly lifting up the book and showing it to Jean. "Does that look familiar to you?"

Jean froze for a moment, jade green eyes fixed on the curious shape, before he shook his head stiffly.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure – no idea what it means."

Harry nodded slowly, turning back to the text: "Once upon a time, there were three brothers…"

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