Disclaimer 1: This is fanfic. That means I do not own any of it. I just borrow it to play with for a little while and let people see the pathetic results if they really want to.
Disclaimer 2: I'm not making any money from it. It's just for fun.
Disclaimer 3: What isn't borrowed is all made up. None of this is real or most likely at all realistic. Please don't trust any of the information in here. Most likely you know more about whatever I'm writing about than I do.
Disclaimer 4: Attitudes, views and opinions expressed by the characters or in the story are not necessarily those of the author. Even when writing Science Fiction or Fantasy I do not tend to attempt to create perfect/better worlds in which everybody gets a happy end ... or whatever is best for them. Please accept that some characters will have a bad ending or be unhappy.
Disclaimer 5: I intend no insult to anyone. If I offend anyone I'm very sorry. Please understand that it was an accident as I tend to be very clumsy in these things.
Notes: So, Hogwarts Christmas with everybody staying around, and do the changes affect what Harry sees in the mirror of Erised?
Harry No. 5 and the Philosopher's Stone
Chapter 12: The Mirror of Erised
December came with a lot more snow than Harry thought he'd ever seen in his life. The teachers arranged a sleigh ride down to the village for everybody, though you had to be at least 13 to be allowed to get off and go shopping for Christmas presents by yourself. There also was sledging on the grounds, though, and snowmen building and several delightful snowball-fights.
Hagrid carried several large trees into the Great Hall and the teachers decorated them with ornaments that simply flew right out of their wands. Harry managed to squeeze through the mass of students crowding around and watch Professor Flitwick up close, but he still couldn't tell exactly how it was done. Most likely it was very advanced magic.
Each dorm got its own smaller tree as well and the children hung their stockings next to it on Christmas eve.
"So is there really a Father Christmas after all?" Neville asked Ron when they went to bed.
"Of course not," Ron scoffed. "It's just the house elves. They get the gifts our parents and friends and the school give us and make them appear in the stockings just like they do with the food in the Great Hall."
"That's nice of them," Harry said with a yawn and soon after that he was fast asleep.
The next morning brought him a nice full stocking and two parcels under the tree. He smiled, reassured that his aunt and uncle could not be angry with him for choosing Hogwarts over Smeltings if they sent this many gifts.
The stocking held mostly candy, some of the wizarding kind and some Muggle that he assumed must have come from his old friends from the primary institute. He didn't get a lot of mail from them anymore, but he too had remembered to send them some chocolate that Hagrid had been nice enough to buy for him at a Muggle shop.
There also was a new computer game which was a little disappointing because there were no computers at Hogwarts. The teachers said that they wouldn't work with all the magic there. Of course his aunt and uncle couldn't have known, though. And there was a little wooden flute.
The fist parcel was much better, though. It held a stuffed dragon to cuddle and take to bed with him and a nice warm woollen scarf in Gryffindor colours. Harry was delighted with these gifts, but the second parcel beat all the rest. It contained a large silvery cloak made out of some strange material that felt almost like water and when Harry tried it on he disappeared.
"Oh wow, an invisibility cloak!" Ron exclaimed and all his dorm mates stared at him in wonder.
"They are really, really rare and really, really expensive," Seamus explained. "Your parents must be really, really rich!"
"But my parents are dead," Harry said. "You-Know-Who killed them when he attacked the nursery institute."
And he told his dormmates how and why his old headmaster had told him.
"And my aunt and uncle are Muggles. They must have sent the computer game and the stuffed dragon and scarf."
"I think the scarves are probably from the institute," Neville said. "Because we all got them and they are in our house colours. Our Muggle parents don't know those."
"But who sent Harry the invisibility cloak then?"
Nobody knew and Hermione even said it was suspicious and he'd better not wear it. So Harry packed it away for now and went down to the Great Hall to show off his new scarf, dragon and flute instead.
Draco was already there with a green and silver scarf, a huge box of candy and a brand new elegant looking chess set.
"Draco always gets the best sweets," Ron explained as they passed the box around.
"Yes, I think my parents must work at a sweets shop. They know all the best stuff and send so much of it. They must have a way to get it extra cheaply."
Then he set up the chess set and they spent many hours playing. Ron was an excellent player and beat all of them. Even Hermione!
Harry on the other hand lost every game, but he didn't mind. It wasn't important to be good at chess after all and it was very nice to see Ron and Draco enjoy themselves so very much.
That night however Harry couldn't sleep. The thought of the invisibility cloak and all the places he could go with it just wouldn't leave him alone.
He tried to remember Hermione's warning, but he couldn't think of anything bad the cloak might do to him and so in the end he gave in and put it on. For a while he just wandered though the corridors pretending to be a ghost and startling the sleepy portraits, but then he decided that he ought to go to some really forbidden place and when he happened past the library he went inside and into the restricted section. He picked out a book at random just to see what sort of story the teachers thought to be unfit for eleven year olds, but when he opened it the book started screaming horribly and he dropped it in fright and ran.
Not a moment too soon! He'd only just whisked out of the library door when Filch and Snape appeared at a full run. Harry turned and ran in the opposite direction until he finally felt he could run no more.
Clutching at a stitch in his side he stopped and gasped for breath but unfortunately he wasn't safe yet.
Quite suddenly Mrs Norris appeared in front of him and in this desperate situation Harry decided to try hiding instead of running. The door of an unused old classroom stood open not far from him and Harry ducked inside and closed the door behind him. It would keep the cat out in any case.
Nobody came and after a while Harry's heart stopped beating so fast and his side stopped hurting. His curiosity woke up again and he began to quietly explore the room. It was filled with old dusty furniture. Most of it consisted of the usual desks and chairs but there also was a very elaborately framed mirror that soon drew Harry's attention.
He stepped in front of it and saw ... Was that himself? He had Harry's scar in any case, but he looked much older and there were two adults next to him. The man was probably his father James. He looked like the boy in the picture Draco had found, just adult. Was the woman his mother, then?
And then, a little in the background, there were three more people, a very thin woman, a fat man and a young man that somehow reminded Harry of Dudley. But what could Dudley be doing in a mirror with Harry's dead parents?
Harry stared and stared until a sudden noise reminded him that he had to go back to bed. After all tomorrow was the only holiday left before classes started again.
He used that day to show the mirror to Ron, but for some strange reason Ron did not see dead people in it, nor was he any older there. He merely saw himself as he was surrounded by all his classmates who looked adoringly at him and had eyes for nobody else.
Harry wouldn't really have minded that, but Ron refused to share the mirror and he wanted another look at his parents. He hadn't looked at his mother enough, and while he could see his father in the picture in the library, his mother wasn't anywhere else he knew.
And so Harry returned that night once again wearing his cloak, but as he rushed to the mirror he was interrupted by an unexpected voice.
"Hello Harry. Back again?"
Harry shot around and froze in horror. It was the headmaster himself!
"So I see you have found the mirror of Erised," the old man stated calmly.
"I'm sorry," Harry exclaimed, but the headmaster didn't seem interested in that.
"And do you know what it does?"
"No Sir," Harry shook his head meekly.
"Well, what does it show you?"
"Dead people," Harry admitted dutifully.
"Dead people?" the headmaster echoed aghast.
Harry nodded. "And myself, and Dudley and two strangers."
"What dead people, Harry?" The headmaster seemed very agitated.
"My parents," Harry explained. "In the mirror they look all alive."
"Then why do you call them dead people, Harry?"
"Because they are dead. The headmaster told me."
"I do not remember telling you any such thing," Dumbledore said firmly.
"Not you, the other headmaster."
"What other headmaster?"
"The one of the primary institute," Harry explained patiently. "They died in the attack on the nursery institute. That means You-Know-Who killed them, doesn't it?"
The headmaster stared at him for a while, but then finally nodded.
"Yes, yes it does. Please forgive me. I do not think it wise to tell a child as young as you such a terrible thing and I did not expect anybody else to do so either."
Harry nodded.
"It is not nice to know. I would have liked to meet them when I'm old enough. But I have an aunt and uncle. I will ask to meet them."
Dumbledore nodded. "I am sure they will be delighted to meet such a fine young man."
Other teachers had always reminded him that his parents might choose not to meet him.
"And I think you should know what the mirror actually does," the headmaster continued. "It shows us our wishes, you see. You still wish that you could meet your parents when you are sixteen, so the mirror shows you that meeting. It is not good for people to spend so much time on impossible dreams, though," he continued. "I will have the mirror removed to free you from the temptation. Please don't look for it again."
Harry nodded obediently despite the desperate pain in his heart. He would never see his mother again. That one look would be all he'd ever get.
"I know," he said. "Dreams are bad. Don't dream, be productive."
"Oh now, I wouldn't go as far as that," the headmaster said once again turning everything Harry knew about adults, and especially teachers, upside down. "A little dreaming is quite healthy. It is just that they ought to be hopeful dreams. If for example a young seeker were to dream of helping his house win the Quidditch cup that would inspire him to train hard and improve his chances to actually do so. I call that a very productive dream. Dreaming of things that can never happen is not productive and will only make you unhappy. Do you understand that difference, Harry?"
"I ... think so."
It was very complicated, though. Maybe that was why nobody had tried to explain it to him when he was younger. Just avoiding all dreaming was so much easier than sorting the dreams into categories.