After the whole situation on the girl's toilet on Halloween night, Harry and Ron seemed to find themselves forming new a friendship with Hermione, of all the people. Harry had to admit, he felt a bit uncomfortable with their proximity, but he also didn't want to be outright dismissive of them, so he kept his mouth shut for the most part. It seemed to be the right choice too, because Hermione's prowess and hunger for knowledge would serve him well in his new little quest.
"What are we doing on the library again?" Asked Ron with his most bored voice.
"I am helping Harry figure out a way to get past the three-headed dog in the third floor. YOU are doing your Herbology essay," Hermione hissed to him.
"I'm more busy trying to see how you got so willing to help Harry break the rules," Ron snapped back. Madam Pince shushed him on the background. "Sorry…"
Harry chuckled at their antics, shaking his head.
It was quite difficult to convince Hermione when he first explained what he found in the Forbidden Corridor — she wasted quite a lot of time trying to berate him afterwards — but then he had explained a bit more about the Force and how it worked in its mysterious ways. The fact that it had directed it towards the Forbidden Corridor seemed to satisfy her. The rule-breaking went almost entirely ignored after that.
"Most of the time it's just a strange feeling or a hunch, a sense that you should do something here, move your arm there — but I felt the trapdoor almost scream at me, urging me to look what was beyond it," is what he had said.
"What do you think it's guarding?" Hermione suddenly asked, waking Harry up from his thoughts.
"I have a theory that it may be related to the Gringotts vault that was invaded before the start of term. It was the same vault me and Hagrid emptied when he brought me to Diagon Alley on my birthday," Harry explained.
Hermione frowned. "What was in there?"
"A package and nothing else," Harry replied and added, "whatever was inside was either really valuable or dangerous. Hagrid wouldn't tell me what it was."
"Maybe we should ask him," Hermione suggested.
Harry shook his head. "Last time I tried, he changed the subject. Anyway, have you found something useful?"
Hermione sighed, closing the book on her hands. "Nothing yet, but it may be in this book right here."
"I guess we'll have to borrow it for a time. It's almost time for class, we have to go," Harry said, raising from his chair.
"Blimey. Already?" Ron asked, stunned. "I haven't finished my essay yet. I have to hand it over today."
Harry grimaced and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Should've started earlier, mate."
Ron made a funny face and said, "Oh, no…"
They grabbed their things and signed a paper with Madam Pince, recording the borrowing of the book about magical beasts they had in hands, and got off from the Library. On their way to class, much to their interest, they passed a limping Professor Snape — who had a very soured and pained expression.
"What's wrong with his leg?" Harry could help but ask.
"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron bitterly.
Harry watched the man's back carefully as he limped out of view, his dark robes swinging behind him. Ever since his first lesson with Snape, Harry just felt this dark aura around the man that really worried him. It did not help to ease his sentiments on the man when he heard every now and then how he fancied the dark arts, eagerly studying them.
"You don't think…" Harry started, but stopped himself. He had no proof for what he was about to say — it was nothing but a baseless accusation.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing… Better hurry or else we'll get late to class."
The very next day, 9 November, was a very cold and windy day at Hogwarts, so students walked around dressed warmly. However, the school spirit was vivid as ever for Quidditch season had finally arrived. Today was the day of the opening game between the fiercest of rivals in the Hogwarts Inter-House Cup: Gryffindor vs Slytherin.
Harry found himself seated at one of the stands of the Quidditch Field alongside Ron and Hermione. Bets were set on the table and it seemed that the Gryffindor team was in quite a pickle at the moment, because barely anyone — not even Gryffindors — betted on them.
"They don't have a proper Seeker — at least that's what Fred and George told me," Ron had said when Harry asked about it.
So, they watched as the game developed quickly, with the players zooming around the air, marking goals with the Quaffle and avoiding the Bludgers sent in their direction by the other team's Beaters.
Looking from afar right now, Harry realized just how dangerous and reckless this whole sport was. First of all, the broomsticks were used as the primary way to get around the field and the game happened almost completely high in the air. Harry would gladly let them all know that, if brooms were just a tad bit faster, they'd be just as dangerous as much high velocity vehicles he knew throughout his previous life, such as a podracer. Brooms did not have a single security mechanism to maintain the wielder on top of it and had little to no way of actually controlling their trajectory so precisely like one would do with a ship or a repulsorcraft.
Secondly, and the worst offender on this entire game, was the goddamn Bludgers. They were bewitched iron balls tasked to hunt and hit the players in the air at high velocities, so that the players would have an obstacle to overcome. Just for context, the field's floor was NOT made of a material to cushion any falling player — in fact, it was just a simple grass field ready to let gravity do its job in case a player fell from their broom.
Harry glanced at Hermione, which actually looked much less worried about any of that, and commented on it.
She laughed it off. "Don't worry about it, Harry. There are plenty of professors watching. They can stop a student from falling if necessary."
This did not reassure Harry in the slightest. He still found himself on the edge of his seat when one of the players appeared to lose balance on top of their broom, narrowly avoided being hit by a Bludger — or worse, actually got hit by one. He took it back. This insane game was barely less dangerous than podracing, and that's only because you could commit a foul and be punished for it. The only thing that actually distracted his mind from the deadly danger these kids were was the absolute fantastic comedic gold that was Lee Jordan's — a Third-year Gryffindor — commentary on the game.
The game went on like much of the school expected. It turned out that Slytherin had the better team and held the upper hand for most of the game, dancing around the Gryffindors with plenty of skill. Their Seeker ended up finding and catching the Snitch very late into the game, which made for a very good showdown for a while, but at last the game was over. Victory to Slytherin it was.
Moments later, when students were shuffling themselves back to the castle, Harry got lost amidst the crowd and ended up separated from his friends. He was pushed around by the sea of people and into the other side of the crowd.
There, he overheard something very interesting.
"That damn thing, I will tell you. How are you supposed to look at all three heads at once?" Snape's voice invaded Harry's ears despite the chatting around him. He turned to see the man in question talking to Mr. Filch.
"Want some help bandaging it up again?" The Caretaker asked while looking vigilantly at the crowd.
"Another time, perhaps. I have to prepare my next lesson," Snape said.
Harry narrowed his eyes and disappeared among the crowd, completely unnoticed by the two men. When he finally found Ron and Hermione again, he immediately told them what he had heard.
"I wasn't sure before, but now I think there's a great possibility that Snape tried to get past that three-headed god at Halloween," he said conspiratorially. "Ron, don't you remember how he was going on a completely different direction than the other teachers that day?
"Yeah! He did do that! Do you think he let the troll inside Hogwarts as a diversion?"
Hermione's eyes went wide.
"Do you even realize what you are saying?" Hermione asked in a hushed tone. "I know he's not nice, but he's a teacher. He wouldn't try to steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."
"Honestly, Hermione, you think all teachers are saints or something," snapped Ron. "I'm with Harry. I wouldn't put past Snape."
"I think we need to investigate a bit more, to make sure we are really going in the right direction," Harry said with finality. "If it turns out I'm wrong, so be it, but it doesn't hurt to be careful."
"I wonder what's that dog guarding if Snape wants it so much," Ron said.
"I wonder why is it even at this school," Harry commented somberly.
Later that day, the trio found themselves inside of Hagrid's hut. The giant poured them three cups of strong hot tea.
"Somethin' wrong?" He asked when he saw their thoughtful expressions.
Hermione jumped in first. "Hagrid, do you think Professor Snape would try to steal something from Hogwarts?"
"What?" Hagrid's face grew big in surprise. "Why would yeh think o' it? 'Course not."
"I found something about him today," Harry said. "I think he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he might be trying to steal whatever it's guarding."
Hagrid almost dropped his teapot.
"Who told yeh abou' Fluffy?" He asked.
"It has a name?" Harry shot back amused.
"'Course he has — he's mine — bought him off from a Greek lad I met at a pub las' year. I lend him ter Dumbledore ter guard the…"
"Yes?" said Ron eagerly.
"Shouldn't have said that," Hagrid said gruffly. "No more questions. Don't ask any more questions. That's top secret, that is."
"But Snape is trying to steal it," Ron argued.
"Rubbish!" Hagrid insisted. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher. He wouldn't do this sorta thing."
"Now, yeh three listen ter me. Yeh're meddlin' with things that ought not ter be meddled in. It's dangerous," the giant warned. "What that dog's guardin' is strictly between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel."
Harry smirked and, a moment later, Hagrid realized his mistake.
"Shouldn't have said that. I should not have said that…"
December rolled around and slowly Hogwarts was covered in snow. The Great Lake was frozen solid and the horizon was snowy white. The first thing to happen once it was clear there were several feet of snow on top of the ground was that the Weasley twins had decided to prank a handful of people in school. Their preferred method was bewitching a series of snowballs so that they followed people around — Professor Quirrell was the poor soul who got the most of it, as the balls always aimed to the back of his turban. Harry was actually one of the targets of the snowball bombardment, but sadly for the twins he was too attuned with the Force to ever be hit by them.
There were fewer owls coming to Hogwarts this time of the year. Hagrid had commented with Harry about the work he had to go through with the resilient ones that managed to battle the stormy sky and deliver the mail, having to nurse them back to health before sending them off again.
"Do you know if Padme doing alright?" He had asked the giant a bit worried.
"She's doin' fine, but yeh should call her back an' cancel any owl delivery fer a while," Hagrid advised. Harry followed the suggestion.
No one could wait for the start of the holidays. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors and some classrooms had become too icy and windy. The worst place was no doubt the dungeons, where Snape's class happened. There, their breaths produced mist and it was normal for noses to start bleeding every now and then.
"I feel really sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted home," said Malfoy in one of the Potions class. He was looking over Harry as he spoke. Crabble and Goyle chuckled.
Harry, who was measuring powdered spine of lionfish, just ignored them. Ever since the loss of Gryffindor's team during the first Quidditch match of the year, the aristocrat's spawn had gained his nerve back to taunt Harry. Malfoy seemed careful, though, to not piss him off that much. There was one day he was particularly mean and Harry decided to have some payback on the way. It ended with Malfoy hanging by his robes somewhere in the dungeons — he hadn't even seen anything, as Harry put him there by levitating him using the Force.
Good riddance, really, that Harry wasn't going back to Privet Drive on Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come around the week before with a list of students who would be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, and Harry gladly signed it up. Ron and his brothers were also staying, because Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be visiting Ron's other brother Charlie in Romania.
Hermione, however, wasn't staying.
"I see that you have packed already," commented Ron, looking up from his Wizarding Chess march against Harry.
"Yep!" She nodded. "Be sure to help Harry through the library about information on Nicholas Flamel and the three-headed dog while I'm away."
"But we already looked a hundred of times," Ron argued.
"Kight on D3 to E5," Harry ordered the piece to move. One of the white knights in the board slides to the position.
Hermione leans against the table. "We'll have to look in the Restricted Section, then."
"Queen to E5," Ron countered Harry's move, not realizing he was right where the boy wanted.
Harry looked off the game with a raised eyebrow. "And how exactly we're gonna get there?"
"I don't know. Use the Force," she said with a grin.
Harry chuckled and got up his feet. "See you around, then. I'll be sure to send you a letter if I find something." He offered his hand to her and they shook hands.
"I expect no less. Happy Christmas, you two."
"Happy Christmas," the boys said.
"Oh, and rook takes queen on E5."
"WHAT?! How I didn't see that?"
"You got distracted by Hermione. Pay more attention next time."
Once the holidays started, since there was no way of entering the Library's Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince, Harry and Ron actually found themselves putting this Nicholas Flamel stuff in on hold for the time being. That could only mean one thing… Harry was more bored than ever before. The rounds of chess against Ron quickly got old, because no matter how much he tried, his redhead friend just was the better player.
Ron in particular spent most of his time in the common room, playing wizarding chess in the Great Hall and playing with their housemates around the castle. Harry just wasn't in the mood to follow his example, so he decided to go on an alternative route.
"Excuse me, madam," he called Madam Pince over the counter. "Is there anything on magical technology available in the library?"
"Care to be a bit more specific, dear? There are plenty of ways of going about it."
"I'm mostly talking about magical machinery," he expanded.
Madam Pince thought for a bit. "You may want a book on magical runes, then. But these are from an elective subject you can take on the Third Year forward, you know."
"Is there any problem?" He asked a bit unsurely, but the woman shrugged and directed him to a bookshelf a bit deep into the library. There she gave him something like a beginner's guide to magical runes and another talking about the applications of runes and enchantments in machinery.
Even though the technology was greatly inferior from where Anakin came from and the practical uses of magic would probably be a bit of a challenge to figure out, Harry felt very much into home territory when he first started to read the textbooks Madam Pince gave to him. He couldn't help but miss the times he spent dealing with droids, shuttles or spaceships, making upgrades and figuring out coding algorithms.
After reading for a few days, he decided to offer Hagrid one day to take his old non-functioning wizarding wireless set and try to repair it himself. The giant was skeptical that he could do it, but relented nonetheless since the radio wasn't even working anymore. Harry immediately jumps on the opportunity of engineering the thing back into shape. He's probably taken some time, perhaps the entire holiday or rest of the year, to figure out how to make the thing work again, but that was a challenge that actually filled him with joy.
As Christmas Eve approached, Harry found himself without a way to buy presents for his new friends, but one day he commented that with Seamus Finnegan and he had told him that some of the stores in Diagon Alley take mail orders by owl. Harry writes to the bookstore and the Quidditch shop later on the very same day. He orders a book on diagnostic and detection spells against curses for Hermione and a Chudley Cannons scarf for Ron. For Hagrid, he ordered a book on dragons after he realized how much the man likes them.
When Christmas morning arrived, Harry was very suddenly woken up by Ron room screaming inside the dormitory.
"Harry, wake up! Come on, Harry, wake up!"
Harry grumbled and reached out for his glasses. "What is it, Ron? I told you to not wake me up early. I've spent the entire night working on that radio."
"I know, mate, but you've got to see this," Ron said shakingly pointing at the foot of his own bed. There were packages there that weren't on the night before. "You have some packages too!"
Harry, who hadn't even downloaded his soul yet, looked absently to the foot of his bed, seeing plenty of present packages there. "Oh…" It takes Harry a second to realize what exactly that meant, but when he did, he found himself quite delighted.
"Happy Christmas, Harry," Ron wished with a grin on his face, which Harry return.
"You, too," he said still a bit sleepy. "Wanna take a look at what we got?"
Ron smile grew on his face. "You bet."
The very first thing that Harry opened was a small envelope, which turned out to be from the Dursley of all people. He opens it out of morbid curiosity and finds himself hold a fifty-pence piece, which Harry actually found pretty hilarious — their level of pettiness could surprise him from time to time.
Ron looked absolutely fascinated by the fifty-pence piece. "Weird! Is it muggle money?"
"Yep! You want to keep it?" Harry offered.
"Sure!"
Secondly, Herry went for a parcel wrapped in thick brown paper with the words inscribed "To Harry, from Hagrid". Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. It appeared that Hagrid had whittled it himself. Harry blew it — it sounded very much like an owl.
"Oh! I think I know where this one comes from," Ron said after taking a peek on Harry's next package — a very lumpy parcel. "I told mom you wouldn't be expecting any presents. I bet this one is from her."
So, Harry puts the handmade whistle on the bed and opens the package next. It turns out that Mrs. Weasley had indeed been the sender; the package contained an emerald green jumper with a large purple letter "H" on the front and a large box of fudge. He makes a mental note to send a "thank you" letter to the woman later.
But then came the final parcel, which looked much fancier than the others. This one Ron didn't know who could have sent it and neither did Harry. He thought of Hermione for a brief moment, but remembered that the girl didn't possess an owl to send him something.
"It's very light," Harry commented, package in hands. He unwrapped it. Something fluid and silvery gray went slithering to the floor where it laid in gleaming folds. Ron gasped loudly.
"This is — Goodness, Harry. Those are really valuable, really rare."
"What is it?" Harry picked the shining silvery cloth off the floor. It felt so strange to touch it, like water woven into the material.
Ron stared in awe as he said, "it's an invisibility cloak. I'm sure of it — try it on."
Skeptical, Harry throws the piece of cloth over his shoulders and watched dumbstruck as his body and the cloak disappeared. Harry grins almost madly.
"There's a note!" Ron pointed out. "A note just fell out of it.
Harry pulled off the cloak and seized the letter. It had a narrow and looping handwriting, very elegant calligraphy.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it is returned to you. Use it well. A very Happy Christmas to you!
Harry sits himself on the bed, carefully caressing the cloak. There was no signature, so he had no idea who had sent it to him.
"I'd give anything for one of those," Ron said gawking at the cloak. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," Harry dismissed him. He felt very strange about. He couldn't really confirm that this cloak had belonged to his father, could he? Who would send him this cloak?
Before he could say or think anything else, Fred and George entered the dormitory. Harry quickly stuffed the cloak out of sight. He didn't feel like sharing it at the moment.
"Happy Christmas!" They both said.
"Hey, look! Harry got a Weasley sweater too."
Fred and George were wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow letter F on it, and the other a G. Strangely enough, they were each wearing their twin's sweater.
"Why are you changing clothes? You want to prank some one with that old twin joke of yours?" Harry asked amused. Surprise flashed briefly on the twins faces before Fred, wearing George's sweater, stepped up.
"What to you mean, Harry? I'm George," he said confidently.
Harry grinned. "Nah! I won't fall for that, you know. You are very different from each other. I can tell."
"Harry, what are you talking about?" Ron looked confused, but the twins seemed to be having the time of their lives.
"How?" Fred asked in awe.
"People can't tell us apart," George added.
That got a chuckle out of Harry. Nobody felt the same on the Force, not even millions of clones with the same face and genetics. He pointed at Fred and started:
"Fred, you are the one who takes the lead the most — always talks first and the most in conversations. You're a brainstormer, always thinking of ways to prank your next target and then deciding to act on it when everything is ready. You also crack more jokes and one-liners, but sometimes fail to see the lines you shouldn't cross when it comes to people's feelings. You're bold and has lots of nerve."
"And you, George, are the smooth talker. You're undeniably more charismatic than your brother, despite taking your cue from him most of the time. Every time something goes wrong, you're the one that jumps in to mitigate the damage. You are very cunning and resourceful, and has a lot of tact and sympathy. A great level-head you have in comparison to your brother. I wouldn't be surprised if the Sorting Hat considered putting you in Slytherin before realizing you were much more of a Gryffindor."
…
"Blimey…" Ron voiced after a brief period of silence installed itself in the room. "I've never seen that before. Someone taking apart Fred and George."
"We're just as surprised as you, Ronnikkins," Fred admitted still stupefied.
"What's all that noise?" Percy entered the room with his own sweater in arms. It was grey with a black letter P on it.
Ron jumped in. "Harry can tell Fred and George apart."
Percy looked confusedly at them and said, "of course he can. Just look at their sweaters," and then marched out of the room. The four of them looked at each other and in the next instant they were all laughing.
The rest of Christmas Day went smoothly, which staff and students trading pleasantries between each other, conversing warmly and organizing games and fun activities. Harry watched everything from afar with a slight smile on his face, welcoming the change of pace the school suffered. He thought that Hogwarts was very much a nexus in the Force, but now that the thoughts of the people inside of it were less in quantity and more in quality, he could truly feel just how powerful this place was.
That night, Hogwarts had a great Christmas dinner with everybody that stayed at the castle. Hundreds of fat, roast turkeys; roast potatoes; platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce. It was a banquet on the proportions of those festive feasts that happened at the Galactic Senate Building once in a while, but much warmer and welcoming, and much less diplomatic. A very carefree ambient indeed. Even Mr. Filch and his demon cat appeared to be a bit more open to the public, though they were still both unpleasant by nature.
Harry watched as Hagrid got redder and redder as he consumed more wine. The giant got so bold that he even started flirting with Professor McGonagall of all people and, much to his surprise, the woman blushed in flattering.
When the feast ended, Harry and the Weasley returned to Gryffindor Tower, to the cozy fire of their common room. There, they took their chances against Ron in a chess match one after another, mostly losing. Harry got better at chess as the holidays had gone on, finally getting a hold at the game's rules and opening strategies, and could call himself a fair match against Ron, though his friend was still a better and more experienced player at the end of the day.
He and Ron watched Percy pursue the twins, who had stolen his prefect badge, all across the common room. There wasn't much to do before going to bed and they felt too lazy after eating dinner to get up from their very comfortable positions in the sofa.
Yet, there was something on Harry's mind that didn't quite leave ever since this morning: the invisibility cloak and its sender. It was still quite a mystery to know who was the responsible for giving it to him if the item truly belonged to his father. A person who his father trusted very dearly to confide the possession of such a valuable item didn't sound like an enemy of Harry, but he still didn't have any idea of who it might be. He didn't even know his parents' faces, much less the people they interacted with in their lifetime.
Use it well, the strange had advised. Harry had a great idea on what kind of thing he could use it for; so, as everyone was soundly at sleep after a very tiring festive day, Harry put on the cloak and disappeared from the bedroom.
He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room and climbed out of portrait hole.
"Who's there?" Squawked the Fat Lady, but Harry stayed silent and walked down the corridor.
He traversed the castle and found his way into the Library. It was time to finally enter the Restricted Section and take a look at information on his mystery man, Nicholas Flamel. With the cloak at his side, he'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as he had to.
Harry navigated the pitch-black Library in his search for forbidden knowledge, something supposed to be available only to upper year students. He found himself a lamp, out of necessity. The object was used by him to lit the titles of the books as he scanned through them.
Still, he didn't know what exactly he was looking for, and the vague titles also didn't help him one bit — disregarding the ones that were on a completely different language or script that Harry was unfamiliar with. Some had no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it, which, when analyzed more carefully by Harry, turned out to be blood. He could also hear whispers coming from some of the books — words of magic, ancient and powerful, promises of greatness.
Harry's mind shut them down.
He pulled an untitled book out of the shelf with a bit of difficulty. It was large and had a black cover with silver lines. He let it fall open on his knees and…
A piercing, bloody and dark scream echoed through the Force as a face shot up from the book's pages. It sent Harry's senses into a confusing mess before he was able to muster the strength to snap it shut, but the shriek went on and on. He stumbled backwards and ended up knocking over his lamp, which smashed on the floor.
Harry felt a presence coming his way. "Filch," he muttered to himself, adjusting the invisibility cloak around his body. He carefully passed the Caretaker on his way out of the Library. He had come to a halt moments later in front of a suit of armor. Harry had no idea where he found himself in.
"You asked me to come directly to you, professor, if anyone was wandering around at night. Someone has been in the Library Restricted Section."
Harry turned around to see Filch's outline in the dark and, next to him, a towering dark figure who he recognized as none other than Professor Snape. Big trouble incoming, it seemed.
"On the Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, then. Let's search the surroundings."
Harry stood rooted on his spot and watched as Filch and Snape passed right in front of him. Luckly, they couldn't see him, but it was still a narrow corridor and he really doubted the cloak made him intangible to other people.
He backed away as carefully as he could. A door stood ajar to his left and he took his cue to use it as his hiding spot. They walked right past the door, not realizing the slight movement as Harry squeezed through it, and the boy finally breathed a sigh of relief when they disappeared into other parts of the castle.
He turned around to see where he had found himself in and — He felt his blood freeze on his veins, a shiver going down his spine, his breathing seizing. The cloak slipped down into the floor. In front of him stood the image of a person he had long realized he would never see alive again: Padme, his wife, right behind his own image, with a hand down his right shoulder.
He frantically turned around, but saw that he stood alone in the room.
"What kind of black arts is this?" He demanded to Padme's image with a shaky, rage filled voice.
She contemplated him — the real him — calmy and shook her head with a sad smile, taking her hands off Harry's reflection. He realized quickly enough that he was looking at a very elegant mirror as high as the ceiling.
"You… You're not real. You're dead," he practically affirmed to himself. Padme's image nodded silently in the face of his words. She then looked behind her and Harry saw another figure approaching.
Luke, he realized. His son was wearing the exact same outfit when he was aboard the Death Star II, but he wasn't alone, because at his side came a young woman who he had recognized too immediately — and Harry felt like an arrow had gone through his heart.
He moaned in pain as he saw the figure of Leia Organa looking at him with an unreadable expression — he just knew what that meant.
"Your sister…" he said to his son's image. Luke looked saddened and nodded solemnly. Harry fell knees-first into the floor. "Oh… what have I done?"
He remembered when Organa's daughter had been captured aboard a rebel ship. He had personally interrogated — tortured, he clarified to himself — her when she boarded the Death Star I. He had watched in ecstasy her pained expression when Alderaan, her home planet, was blown into pieces.
When he looked up again, there were three more people present at his side. Carefully embracing Harry's reflection, consoling him, stood two women. One wore muggle clothing and had a stunningly beautiful dark red-hair, her eyes the same bright-green and the same shape as Harry's own eyes. The other wore simple ragged clothing, a slave's clothing, and she had long brown hair tied behind her head in a bun, beautiful shining brown eyes filled with tears.
His mothers, both of them; Shmi Skywalker and Lily Potter.
Behind them, muffling Harry's reflection's hair, stood a very tall and thin black-haired man. He wore glassed, much like Harry, but his eyes were brown, and his hair was very untidy. This was his father, James Potter.
"What is going on here?" He asked them, all of them, and they all looked up to the top of the mirror. Harry followed their gazes and found himself staring at an inscription carved at the top of the mirror.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
"I don't know what that means," he said. Harry looked back at Padme and she pointed a finger directly at her lips. They moved and no sound came, but he could read what she was saying.
I show not your face but your heart's desire
"Oh…" Harry's voice came out dull. "So, that's it… it's all — it's all a trick."
Harry couldn't hold it anymore. Tears rolled down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably for long minutes of grief and suffering.
"It's… It's too much," he gasped looking at the mirror. "I… I don't deserve this — to be alive, have another chance. Why do I get to live after — after everything?"
His moms released him from their embrace and Harry saw Leia crouch down until she reached his height. She put a hand on the mirror, calling him. He went too and pressed a hand into the mirror.
Her lips moved.
I forgive you
Harry shook his head. "You'd never… not after… You would never. I know it."
"I miss you so much," he confessed and he referred to all of them, even his newest life's parents. "If only I could… Change everything. I'd give up everything to have you back."
But Harry knew that nothing could change what he did. He took his hands out of the mirror and just stayed there, staring at the images of his very big family. They looked all too happy to see him, all too happy and well. They were at his side and they stayed at his side. It was what he most deeply wanted.
What he himself had destroyed.
Suddenly, his mind snapped out of the trance it found itself in, and his senses picked up at a presence just behind. Harry turned around, getting up on his feet, seeing nothing, but this wasn't the same thing when he looked at the mirror — he knew someone was there.
"Show yourself!" He ordered and —
It is Professor Dumbledore who ripples into sight, his expression impressed. He smiles benevolently at Harry, but that does no favors to him as Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
"What are you doing here?" Harry demands to know, venom slipping out of his voice. Dumbledore does not seem to mind.
"Professor Snape informed me that some student was snooping around the Restricted Section. I also passed the Fat Lady on my way around the castle, she told me something very interesting," he explained. "I had a hunch, if you will, to check this room — just to be safe."
Harry didn't trust him. He did NOT trust Dumbledore, and it was perhaps because he was just too benevolent and caring while also holding incredible amounts of political power, both nationally and internationally. Harry would rather not trust well-meaning old men again.
"You are monitoring the mirror," Harry said. Professor Dumbledore nods.
"Indeed. I think you have seen the delights of the Mirror of Erised yourself already. I trust by now you know what it does."
Harry glanced back at the mirror — at his family — and then back at Dumbledore. "It shows the heart's most deep desire."
"Precisely, Harry. Then I assume you also realize the terrible danger it imposes," Dumbledore said. "Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real, or even possible. No students were ever supposed to find it; but then, I see that you have put that cloak of yours to good use."
Harry narrowed his eyes with the way man had put it in.
"Did you send me here — sir?" He added the 'sir' as an afterthought.
Dumbledore sighs. "I anticipated it could happen, but I'd prefer to not put you through such thing. Your reaction to what the mirror showed you was… stronger than I could ever have expected."
So, the old man had seen Harry's interaction with the mirror. He hadn't realized the man had arrived, but he guessed that was because his emotional turmoil.
Professor Dumbledore spoke again, in a very gentle tone," You know, Harry, it does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live."
Rage boiled up Harry's face and he shot the man hateful eyes. "You know nothing, old man, nothing of what I've lost," he spat the words out of his mouth.
Dumbledore eyed him sadly, not minding the blatant disrespect. "The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I must ask you not to seek it again. The mirror contains neither knowledge nor truth."
Harry looked down, flustered at his outburst, slowly putting his rage under control. "Why is it even here?"
Dumbledore pondered for a bit before answering truthfully, "the preparations in its new place weren't reading — they still aren't — but I'm deciding to move it there anyway. This night taught me an important lesson."
Harry didn't feel any deceiving thoughts coming from the man, but still it wasn't entirely sure if he believed. It made sense, however, that Dumbledore was moving the mirror to a new place — probably a more secure one.
"Can… Can I at least say goodbye?"
"Of course," Dumbledore allowed easily.
Harry turns away from him, back at the mirror. He approaches it again, carefully eyeing each and every one there, memorizing their faces and expressions, and the presses his hand on the mirror.
"I have to go," he says sadly. "I love you. All of you," he smiles weakly.
He lets Professor Dumbledore escort him back to the Gryffindor common room, accepting that whatever he saw in that mirror today was something he'll never come across again.
The after-Christmas morning was a very somber to Harry. Ron tried to cheer him up, as did the Weasley twins and Seamus, but he wasn't having it. They tried to ask him what happened, but Harry wouldn't say a thing about the accursed mirror. He stood next to one of the Great Hall's fireplaces, alone, as the other students chatted among themselves on the other side of the room
It was eyeing the burning fire on the fireplace that he remembered — Hogwarts was a nexus of the Force, and no better time it showed itself than now, when the school was almost empty when compared to when classes were happening. There was no anxiety for classes, only tranquility left; There was no flood of emotions, but serenity and control from those who stayed; There was barely any suffering, though some was always present in life.
Harry breathed in and sat cross-legged away from the rest of the people in the Great Hall. He relaxed as he released his breath and let himself sank into the Force around him; Harry could feel it pulsating through him, through the students, through the faculty and staff, and through the walls and grounds of this very much alive castle. He sank deep into a feeling of belonging with his surrounding, losing almost all feeling of his being.
There was none but the Force, after all.
He felt his voice treading carefully through his throat and out of his mouth, softly forming words incoherent noises he had long relinquished control over. Harry reflected over everything he once was. The slave destined to a life of servitude, the one chosen by the Force, the loving and caring husband and the ruthless dark lord. He had been all and he had been nothing. And Harry let these thoughts come and then let them go as they wished, submerging himself deep into his core, where he found his joy and his sorrow, and he let go of them — if only for a brief moment.
And then there was none but the Force, after all.
Harry opened his eyes, expression serene, observing each and every one gathered on the Great Hall. On the floor; seated on the long chairs; on top of the house and High tables; next to him; away from him. Students and teachers, all of them gathered around one single purpose, one single string of feelings. He found himself seeing one among them that had joined him, sitting right by his side in absolute tranquility. Professor Dumbledore opened his eyes to looked at him. His sparkly blue eyes shinned amidst the coldness; a warm knowing smile splattered across his face.
He got up, bowing lightly along the way, and walked out of the Great Hall.