Chapter 7: Double, Double Toil and Trouble
December 20, 1991 – Friday
Potions Classroom
Christmas was coming, and the air at Hogwarts buzzed with a growing sense of anticipation. One crisp morning in mid-December, the castle awoke to find itself blanketed in several feet of fresh snow, turning the grounds into a picturesque winter wonderland. The lake lay frozen solid, its icy surface gleaming under the pale winter sun. Meanwhile, the Weasley twins were up to their usual mischief, earning themselves detention for charming snowballs to chase Professor Quirrell, bouncing off the back of his turban with every step he took. The sight of Quirrell nervously flinching as the enchanted snowballs pursued him became a source of laughter, lightening the spirits of students weary of the cold.
The stormy skies made delivering mail a dangerous mission for the school owls. The few that managed to struggle through the blizzards arrived bedraggled and exhausted, their feathers clumped with ice and snow. Hagrid, with his usual tenderness, took them in and nursed them back to health by the fire in his hut, offering warm food and gentle care until they were ready to take flight again.
No one could wait for the holidays to begin. The Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall offered some relief with roaring fires crackling in their hearths, bathing the rooms in a comforting glow. However, the drafty corridors were another story—frigid and biting, they had become a maze of icy chills and cold stone. A bitter wind howled through the windows in the classrooms, making every lesson feel like a test of endurance. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes in the dungeons, where the freezing temperature made the air so cold that their breath formed misty clouds in front of them. Students huddled as close as they could to their hot cauldrons, hoping to absorb some of the warmth.
It was during one of those icy Potions classes that Draco Malfoy, with a smirk curling his lips, decided to deliver one of his usual jabs. "I do feel so sorry," he drawled, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, "for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home." His pale eyes flicked over to where Harry, Buffy, and Dawn sat, the disdain in his gaze unmistakable. Crabbe and Goyle snickered on cue, their laughter adding to the unpleasantness of the moment.
Dawn didn't hesitate to shoot back. "We don't have to stay," she said, her tone sharp with defiance. "We only signed up to stay because we're waiting on my mom to finish setting up her new house." Her words cut through Malfoy's smugness, drawing the attention of several other students who turned to see how he would react. There was a brief silence before Malfoy's sneer returned, but it was clear that Dawn's retort had taken some of the wind out of his sails.
As the lesson continued, the warmth of the cauldrons did little to thaw the icy tension hanging in the air, but for Buffy, Harry, and Dawn, the knowledge that they would soon be reunited with Joyce brought a sense of comfort. The holidays were just around the corner, and even the chilly dungeons couldn't freeze the anticipation of the warmth and joy that awaited them at home.
Great Hall
As they emerged from the cold, damp dungeons after Potions, Harry, Buffy, and the others were met with an unexpected sight—a massive fir tree blocking the corridor. Its dense branches rustled slightly as it shifted, revealing only the tips of two enormous feet sticking out from underneath. The sound of labored puffing and grunting made it clear who was behind the towering tree.
"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, leaning forward and poking his head through the thick, fragrant branches. The needles tickled his face as he tried to peer around them.
"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron," came Hagrid's deep voice from somewhere behind the tree, muffled by the sheer weight of the load he was carrying.
Just as Ron was pulling back from the tree, a cold, disdainful voice cut through the air. "Would you mind moving out of the way?" Malfoy's drawl was laced with its usual venom. He sneered as he continued, "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose—that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to."
Malfoy's words hit like a slap, and before anyone could react, Ron and Willow, their tempers flaring, lunged at him. Ron's fists bunched into Malfoy's robes, while Willow's eyes flashed with anger as she grabbed him from the side. They barely registered the sound of footsteps echoing up the stone stairs.
"WEASLEY!" Snape's voice sliced through the tension like a whip. The harshness in his tone made them release Malfoy instantly, their grip loosening as they turned to face the approaching professor. Snape's dark eyes flicked between them, narrowing in icy disdain.
"They were provoked, Professor Snape," Hagrid's booming voice interjected from behind the tree, his large, weathered face appearing amidst the branches. His usually kind expression was shadowed with disapproval as he glanced at Malfoy. "Malfoy was insultin' their family."
"Be that as it may," Snape responded, his voice smooth and dangerous, "fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid." The subtle satisfaction in his tone was unmistakable as he added, "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."
Malfoy, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like hulking shadows, took the opportunity to swagger forward, pushing past the tree with deliberate roughness. Needles flew everywhere, scattering across the stone floor as the trio passed, smirking in triumph. The glint in Malfoy's eyes was malicious as he threw a last contemptuous look over his shoulder.
"I'll get him," Ron muttered through gritted teeth, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. The fury was etched deep in his voice. "One of these days, I'll get him—"
"I hate them both," Harry growled, his voice low and seething with resentment. The animosity in his gaze was mirrored in Buffy's and Dawn's eyes as they nodded in agreement, the tension between them nearly palpable.
"So, do I," Buffy, Dawn, and Willow echoed together, their faces darkening with the same simmering anger.
"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," Hagrid said with a hearty grin, trying to lift the gloom that had settled over the group. His breath puffed out in the cold air as he adjusted his grip on the giant tree he was hauling. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."
The suggestion sparked a flicker of interest, and with a few shared glances, Willow, Harry, Ron, Buffy, Dawn, and Hermione decided to follow him. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they trailed behind Hagrid, the towering fir tree swaying with each heavy step he took. As they approached the Great Hall, the scent of pine and fresh holly filled the air, mingling with the warmth of roaring fires that spilled out from inside.
When they entered the hall, the sight took their breath away. Professor McGonagall was overseeing the decorations, her sharp eye ensuring every detail was perfect, while Professor Flitwick was busy adding his magical touch. "Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?" McGonagall directed; her tone brisk but approving.
The hall was a dazzling spectacle. Festoons of holly and mistletoe draped elegantly along the walls, their dark green leaves and red berries vivid against the stone. Twelve enormous Christmas trees stood proudly around the room, each one more beautiful than the last. Some were adorned with shimmering icicles that caught the light and reflected it like delicate crystal shards, while others were wrapped in glowing candles that flickered like warm stars against the deep green branches.
"How many days you got left until yer holidays?" Hagrid asked, his voice booming as he looked down at them with a smile.
"The weekend and one day of lessons," Hermione replied, already mentally counting down the hours.
"That reminds me," Dawn interjected, her voice low but insistent. "We've got half an hour before lunch; we should be in the library." Her reminder was directed not just at Hermione but at Harry, Ron, Buffy, and Willow as well. The subtle nudge made it clear—there was still research to be done, not only on Nicolas Flamel but also on Glorificus.
"Oh yeah, you're right," Ron groaned, tearing his gaze away from Professor Flitwick, who was enchanting golden bubbles to sprout from his wand and drift lazily onto the branches of the newly placed tree. The bubbles shimmered, catching the candlelight as they floated in the air like tiny ornaments.
"The library?" Hagrid echoed, raising a bushy eyebrow as he followed them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"
"Oh, we're not working," Harry said with forced brightness, trying to play it off casually. "Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel, we've been trying to find out who he is. We're also trying to find out about…"
"You what?" Hagrid's face blanched, and he looked alarmed. "Listen here—I've told yeh—drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."
"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," Hermione pressed, her curiosity burning in her eyes.
"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added, leaning in. "We must've been through hundreds of books already and we can't find him anywhere—just give us a hint—I know I've read his name somewhere."
"I'm sayin' nothin'," Hagrid said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. His expression was a mix of stubbornness and worry, making it clear that he wasn't budging.
"Well, we'll just have to find out for ourselves, then," Ron muttered, throwing an exasperated glance at the others. Without waiting for a response, they turned and hurried off toward the library, leaving Hagrid standing in the hallway looking disgruntled.
The Library
Hermione and Dawn carefully unrolled a long list of subjects and book titles they had compiled for their research, the parchment unfurling across the table like a roadmap to secrets they desperately needed to uncover. Both of them wore expressions of determined focus, their quills already in hand as they prepared to dive into yet another round of searching. Meanwhile, Willow and Ron, less systematic in their approach, marched off down a towering row of dusty bookshelves, pulling volumes from their places almost at random. They shared a look of grim resolution as they stacked the books in their arms, hoping one of them might hold the answers they sought.
At the same time, Harry and Buffy exchanged a silent glance before drifting toward the far end of the library where the Restricted Section loomed. The air grew colder there, and the dim lighting cast long shadows between the shelves. They had been toying with the idea for days—maybe, just maybe, the elusive names of Flamel or Glorificus would be buried within the forbidden texts. The dark spines of the books seemed to watch them, as if guarding the knowledge they held.
"What are you two looking for?" a stern voice interrupted, sending a jolt through the twins. Madam Pince had appeared behind them as though she had materialized out of thin air, her sharp eyes narrowing as she brandished a feather duster like a weapon. The librarian's presence was as formidable as the books themselves, and Harry and Buffy instinctively stepped back from the velvet rope that separated the Restricted Section from the rest of the library.
They had already agreed with Ron, Dawn, Willow, and Hermione not to risk asking Madam Pince directly about Nicolas Flamel. They knew she could probably tell them exactly where to find information about him, but the risk of Snape overhearing was too high. The idea of Snape discovering they were poking around about Flamel was unsettling enough. As for Glorificus, they suspected Snape might already be aware of their interest in that name; surely Dumbledore would have informed the staff about the threat she posed.
Buffy, thinking on her feet, decided to approach from a different angle. "Do you know anything about Glorificus?" she asked, hoping the question seemed casual.
Madam Pince's severe expression softened for a brief moment as she considered the question. Her brow furrowed in concentration. "Glorificus… the name rings a bell," she mused quietly, as if sifting through a mental card catalog. "I do recall hearing it in connection with something rather dark… But which book I might have seen it in, I can't quite recall." She gave them a pointed look. "I know why you're asking—your precognitive dream about her has been causing quite a stir. You're trying to find out more to protect your cousin." Her tone held an edge of sympathy, but also a warning. The twins nodded, appreciative yet aware they were at another dead end.
Returning to the table where Hermione, Dawn, Ron, and Willow were buried in their own research, Harry and Buffy exchanged tired looks with their friends. The frustration was palpable. For nearly two weeks they had been scouring the library in every spare moment between lessons, combing through book after book for even the smallest reference to Nicolas Flamel or Glorificus, but with no success. Wesley and Faith had even joined the search, with Wesley going so far as to owl the Watcher's Council for assistance. Yet even they had come up empty-handed, leaving the group feeling as though they were grasping at shadows.
The pile of books before them barely made a dent in their ever-growing list of possible sources, and each failure to find anything worthwhile seemed to weigh heavier on their spirits. After another futile five minutes of scanning pages, they exchanged resigned looks and closed the volumes with soft thuds. There was nothing more to be found here today.
With stomachs growling and minds cluttered with unanswered questions, they pushed their chairs back and gathered their belongings, deciding to head off to lunch.
December 24, 1991 – Tuesday
Gryffindor Common Room
Once the holidays began, the castle's festive atmosphere seemed to wrap Dawn, Willow, Buffy, Ron, and Harry in a warm, carefree bubble. The usual pressures of Flamel and Glorificus were pushed aside in favor of enjoying the rare freedom that came with an almost empty school. With the dormitory all to themselves, they could spread out and laugh as loudly as they liked. The common room, usually buzzing with students, was now quiet and cozy, with crackling fires that made the drafty stone walls feel a little less cold. The group easily claimed the best armchairs near the hearth, where they spent hours lounging and indulging in treats they toasted on long forks—thick slices of bread crisped until golden, fluffy English muffins split and warmed until steaming, and sticky marshmallows roasted until perfectly gooey.
As the hours passed, they entertained themselves by devising elaborate (and utterly unrealistic) schemes to get Malfoy expelled, each more ridiculous than the last. It was the kind of harmless plotting that had them in stitches, their laughter echoing off the high ceilings, even if they all knew deep down that none of their ideas would ever work.
Ron and Willow, eager to share one of their favorite pastimes, decided to teach Harry and Dawn wizard chess. Buffy watched from the sidelines, half-amused and half-bemused by the game that was both like and unlike the chess she remembered from home. Wizard chess was more intense than the Muggle version, with the pieces coming to life, arguing, and sometimes even refusing to follow orders. It was less like a game and more like commanding troops in a tiny, magical battle. Ron and Willow's set was ancient and worn, each piece chipped and faded from years of use. The board had been passed down through their family, first to their grandfather, then to them. But if anything, the age of the set worked to their advantage; the pieces were loyal to a fault, carrying out their orders with a level of precision and trust that only came with time and familiarity. They barely needed to direct the figures—the chessmen seemed to know their masters' intentions before they even gave the commands.
Harry and Dawn, on the other hand, struggled with Seamus Finnigan's loaned set. The pieces, new and stiff, often hesitated or outright ignored instructions, leading to plenty of frustrating (and hilarious) blunders. Still, they laughed their way through the learning curve, making the best of their misbehaving pieces while Willow and Ron watched with knowing smirks.
Christmas Eve crept up on them quickly, and by the time they headed to bed, the castle seemed even more peaceful, draped in a hush that only deep snow and holiday cheer could bring. There was a shared sense of excitement, not just for presents and Christmas dinner, but especially for Dawn, Harry, and Buffy, who were eagerly awaiting Joyce's arrival the next day. Her owl had promised she'd be there for Christmas morning, and the thought of seeing her again filled them with a warmth that no fire could match. As they climbed into bed, thoughts of family and togetherness swirled in their minds, and they drifted off to sleep with smiles on their faces, eagerly anticipating the day ahead.
December 25, 1991 – Wednesday
Gryffindor Common Room
The next morning, the crisp air of Christmas mingled with the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room as Buffy and Dawn made their way downstairs. They paused when they heard the sound of Harry's excited voice drifting up the staircase.
"Merry Christmas," Ron greeted, still bleary-eyed but grinning from ear to ear as he joined Harry near the glittering tree.
"You, too," Harry replied, his eyes wide with disbelief as he looked at the small pile of presents beneath the tree. "Will you look at this? I've got presents!"
Buffy couldn't help but laugh at her brother's amazement. "Of course, you got presents, you didn't think Mom—err—Aunt Joyce, Dawn, or I would forget you, did you?"
Harry shook his head, his grin widening, and reached for a small box nestled among the wrapping paper. He handed it to Buffy with a shy, almost hopeful look in his eyes. Buffy took it, her fingers gently tracing the edges of the box as she carefully unwrapped it. When the box opened, her breath caught, and a tear glistened in the corner of her eye. Inside lay a delicate locket, its silver surface polished to a shine. With trembling hands, Buffy unclasped it and gasped softly at the sight within. On one side was a picture of James and Lily, captured in a rare moment of pure joy, their eyes sparkling with love. On the other side was a photo of Harry and Buffy, taken the day after they had first met. The image showed them laughing, arms slung around each other like they'd always been siblings.
"It's beautiful, Harry," Buffy whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Where did you get the pictures?"
Harry beamed, clearly pleased that the gift had touched her. "You can blame Aunt Joyce. I wrote to her after the Quidditch match and told her what I wanted to get you for Christmas. She helped me find the pictures."
Buffy's eyes welled up as she darted forward and wrapped Harry in a tight hug, pressing her cheek against his. "Thank you, it's perfect," she murmured, the gratitude in her voice overflowing with affection.
Dawn, watching the exchange with eager curiosity, bounced on the balls of her feet. "What did you get me, Harry?" she asked, her eyes shining as she looked him over expectantly, a playful grin tugging at her lips.
Harry smiled as he handed Dawn a neatly wrapped box. Her eyes lit up as she tore through the wrapping with barely contained excitement, revealing a velvet-lined case. She opened it to find a delicate charm bracelet inside. Tiny silver charms dangled from the chain—a miniature book, a broomstick, a tiny wand, and a shining star. Dawn's breath hitched as she carefully held it up, the charms catching the light like tiny treasures.
"It's so pretty, Harry!" Dawn squealed, eyes wide with delight. "Each charm means something, doesn't it?"
Harry nodded, a little shy under the attention. "Yeah, they do. The book's for all the research you're always doing, the broomstick's for when you fly—'cause you're getting better at it, by the way—the wand's for, well, you being you, and the star is because you shine the brightest when things are tough." His words were simple, but they carried a depth of meaning that made Dawn's heart swell.
Dawn's eyes glistened as she flung her arms around Harry, squeezing him tightly. "Thank you, Harry! I love it!"
Buffy handed a box to Harry, her eyes shining with a mix of anticipation and affection. "This is from both me and Dawn," she said, watching eagerly as Harry took the present from her. The wrapping paper crinkled as Harry carefully tore it away, revealing a dark wooden box with intricate carvings along the edges. He glanced up at Buffy and Dawn, who were both grinning, before lifting the lid.
Inside was a beautifully crafted watch, the face designed to look like a Quidditch Snitch, complete with delicate golden wings that fluttered gently as the seconds ticked by. Harry's eyes lit up with delight, his fingers tracing the detailed craftsmanship. "I love it, Bells, Dawn," he said, beaming as he showed it off to Ron. The wings shimmered in the firelight, moving with a soft hum that added an extra layer of magic to the already enchanting design.
Just then, Willow descended the stairs, her mischievous grin giving away her playful mood before she even spoke. "So, did you four keep all the presents to yourselves, or are there more?" she teased, her eyes twinkling as she looked around at the piles of wrapping paper littering the floor.
The group laughed and continued opening the remaining presents, the room filled with the sounds of ripping paper, delighted gasps, and cheerful chatter. Soon, only two gifts were left—one for Harry and one for Buffy. The atmosphere shifted slightly, a tinge of curiosity and mystery hanging in the air as they both hesitated, sharing a glance.
With a nod, the twins began unwrapping their gifts simultaneously. Buffy's package revealed a small velvet pouch, and as she tipped it open, a delicate silver chain slipped into her hand. At the center of the chain was an emerald butterfly pendant, its wings shimmering with a lifelike quality as though they could flutter at any moment. She noticed a folded card tucked inside the pouch and carefully opened it, her eyes narrowing as she read the message: This was left in my possession by your mother before she died. Use it wisely.
Harry, having just unwrapped his gift, was holding up a cloak that shimmered like liquid silver. It rippled in his hands, reflecting the flickering flames of the fireplace. "Does yours say the same thing mine does?" he asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and confusion.
Buffy nodded; her brow furrowed in thought. "Mine says, 'This was left in my possession by your mother before she died. Use it wisely.'" She held up the necklace, the emerald butterfly catching the light and casting faint green reflections across the room.
Harry's gaze flickered from his sister's pendant to his cloak. "Mine says the same thing, except it mentions that Dad left it." He ran his fingers along the material, marveling at how it seemed to almost flow like water, as though it were made from moonlight itself.
Dawn, wide-eyed with curiosity, walked over to Buffy and gently took the necklace from her sister's hands, helping her fasten it around her neck. "It's beautiful," she whispered, admiring how the emerald butterfly rested perfectly against Buffy's collarbone.
Buffy's fingers brushed the pendant, admiring its intricate design when, suddenly, she vanished from sight. One moment she was standing there, the next she was completely gone. Dawn gasped and stumbled back, her eyes widening in shock as she stared at the now-empty spot where Buffy had just been. "Buffy, where did you go?"
Buffy's voice responded, tinged with confusion. "What do you mean, where did I go? I'm right here!" Her tone was calm, unaware of the chaos she had just caused.
Dawn's gaze darted around wildly, her heart pounding in her chest. "No, you're not! You're, like, invisible!"
Buffy glanced down, her eyes widening in amazement as she realized her entire body had vanished—there was nothing but empty air where her hands, arms, and legs should be. A grin spread across her face as she raised her hand, feeling for the butterfly pendant resting against her collarbone. With a gentle brush of her fingers, she touched the delicate wings, and in an instant, she reappeared. "That is so wicked," she said, her voice filled with awe. "And useful."
Ron stared at her, then at Harry, who was still holding his shimmering cloak. His eyes widened as realization dawned. "I think I know what that is. If it's what I think it is—it's really rare and really valuable."
Harry looked at Ron curiously. "What is it?"
Ron's expression was a mix of admiration and envy. "It's an Invisibility Cloak," he said, barely above a whisper, as though naming it aloud might diminish its magic. "I'm sure it is—try it on, Harry."
Harry didn't need to be told twice. With an eager smile, he flung the cloak over his shoulders. As the silvery material settled around him, Ron let out a shout of surprise. "It is! Look down!"
Harry's gaze dropped to where his feet should have been, but they were gone—just like Buffy's had been moments before. "Wow, you're right, Bells," Harry said, turning back to his sister with a grin. "This is totally wicked—and useful." He took off the cloak, carefully folding it and setting it aside, just as Joyce entered the common room.
Joyce's presence immediately filled the room with warmth. Her smile was wide and genuine as she looked at her three children. Buffy, Harry, and Dawn noticed she wasn't carrying any presents, which struck them as odd given how thoughtful she usually was. They exchanged puzzled glances before asking her about it.
"Well, my Christmas present can't be put in a box," Joyce said, her tone carrying the kind of excitement that promised good news. "I found a home for us to live in. In fact, it's not far from the Burrow, where Ron and Willow's family live. I thought you three might like to spend the rest of the holidays there, decorating your rooms and getting settled in."
Buffy, Harry, and Dawn could hardly contain their joy. "Really?" Buffy asked, her voice bursting with enthusiasm. The prospect of a new home—and one so close to their friends—was more than she could've hoped for.
Joyce nodded, her eyes twinkling as she added, "Ron, Willow, I've already spoken with Molly and Arthur, and they said you two can come stay with us for the rest of the holidays as well. We'll leave tomorrow morning, so you all need to start packing now."
Harry, Buffy, and Dawn jumped up in unison, practically tackling Joyce with a group hug. The happiness that radiated from them was infectious; even Ron and Willow couldn't help but grin at the excitement buzzing in the air. The idea of spending the holidays together, not just at Hogwarts but in a cozy new home within walking distance of the Weasleys, was like something out of a dream.
The rest of the morning was filled with laughter and the sound of eager chatter as the kids began making plans. They talked about how they'd decorate their rooms, what pranks they might pull during the holidays, and how great it would be to visit the Burrow whenever they wanted.
Library
Buffy and Harry moved with careful precision as they emerged from their dormitories in the dead of night. They crept down the stone stairs, their footsteps nearly silent against the cold, worn steps. The Gryffindor common room lay in eerie stillness, illuminated only by the flickering glow of the fireplace, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. They climbed through the portrait hole with practiced ease, avoiding making a sound that might alert the Fat Lady.
"Who's there?" squawked the Fat Lady in her high-pitched, disembodied voice. Her eyes, though wide open, saw nothing but the empty air where Harry and Buffy should have been. The twins, cloaked in their invisibility, offered no response, and instead, they swiftly made their way down the darkened corridor.
Their destination was the library, specifically the Restricted Section—a place rumored to hold the secrets they desperately sought. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly in the darkness, and the chill in the air grew colder with every step they took.
When they reached the library, it was a sight both magnificent and unsettling. The vast room was shrouded in complete darkness, the kind that swallowed sound and vision alike. The shadows seemed to twist and writhe as if the night itself had taken on a life of its own. Harry produced a lamp, its glow casting an ethereal light that floated eerily through the blackness. The lamp's light created the illusion of a spectral orb hovering in midair, its unnatural brightness revealing only fragments of their surroundings. The sight sent a shiver down their spines, amplifying the sense of dread that lingered in the air.
The Restricted Section, an area cordoned off by a thick, velvet rope, loomed at the very back of the library. As they crossed the threshold into the forbidden zone, Harry held the lamp high, its feeble light barely penetrating the darkness. The shelves, laden with ancient tomes bound in faded leather and cracked spines, seemed to exude a palpable aura of age and secrecy.
Books with titles in languages Harry and Buffy could not decipher filled the shelves. Their bindings were worn, with some displaying faded gold lettering barely visible against the darkened covers. One particularly grim volume bore a dark stain that was disturbingly reminiscent of blood. The twins felt their skin crawl; the eerie sensation of a faint whispering seemed to emanate from the books themselves, as though the volumes were alive and whispering secrets meant to remain hidden.
Determined to find something useful, Buffy and Harry set the lamp carefully on the floor, its light casting elongated shadows across the rows of books. Their eyes were drawn to a large, black and silver volume that seemed to shimmer with an almost magnetic allure. With great effort, Harry pulled the heavy book from the shelf. It felt as though it weighed a ton, and he balanced it on his knee as he opened it cautiously.
The moment the book's cover was lifted, an ear-splitting shriek erupted from its pages—a sound so piercing it felt as though it could shatter glass. The scream was relentless and chilling, filling the library with an unending, high-pitched wail that pierced through the silence. The sound was deafening, and Buffy's heart raced as she instinctively covered her ears.
"Shut it!" Buffy hissed urgently, her voice a strained whisper.
Harry tried desperately to snap the book shut, but the scream persisted, a high, unbroken note that seemed to reverberate through the very walls. In his panic, Harry stumbled backward, knocking over the lamp. The light flickered and died, plunging the library into darkness once more. The twins' fear escalated as they heard footsteps approaching down the corridor—Filch's footsteps, unmistakably.
In a frantic scramble, they shoved the still-screeching book back onto the shelf and bolted for the exit. They barely managed to slip past Filch, whose pale, ghostly eyes seemed to stare right through them as if they were mere shadows. The twins darted down the corridor, the echoes of the book's horrid shrieks ringing in their ears as they fled into the safety of the darkness.
Unused Classroom
They came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor, the clinking of its metal parts echoing eerily in the deserted corridor. The suit stood sentinel, its empty eye sockets gazing ahead in a silent vigil. Buffy and Harry had been so focused on their hasty retreat from the library that they hadn't paid any attention to their surroundings. Now, in the thick darkness, they found themselves disoriented and unfamiliar with their location.
It dawned on them that they were far from the kitchens, where another suit of armor stood guard. The realization that they were possibly five floors above their intended destination only added to their disquiet.
The tension in the air grew palpable as they heard the faintest rustling and whispering. "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section," a soft, greasy voice said. Harry and Buffy's blood turned to ice at the sound, recognizing it as Filch's voice. His steps were growing nearer, indicating that he must have known a shortcut through the labyrinthine corridors.
"Restricted Section?" came the sharp, cold reply from Snape. "Well, they can't be far. We'll catch them."
Panic surged through Harry and Buffy as the realization hit them: Snape was now on their trail. The two of them stood frozen, barely breathing, as they heard the approaching footsteps. The corridor was narrow, and it wouldn't take much for Filch and Snape to come face-to-face with them. Their invisibility cloaks and necklace offered no physical protection; they were still solid and vulnerable.
Desperately, they backed away, trying to make as little noise as possible. Their eyes darted around, seeking any form of cover. To their left, a door stood ajar, slightly swinging on its hinges. It seemed to be their only chance. Without a second thought, they squeezed through the narrow opening, holding their breaths as they pushed the door shut behind them.
Inside, they found themselves in what appeared to be an unused classroom. Dust motes floated lazily in the dim light, and the air was thick with the musty smell of disuse. The room was cluttered with dark shapes of old desks and chairs, piled haphazardly against the walls. An upturned wastepaper basket lay abandoned in one corner, adding to the sense of neglect.
But amidst the clutter, something stood out—a grand mirror propped against the wall, its opulent frame covered in intricate, gold carvings. The mirror was astonishingly tall, reaching nearly to the ceiling, and stood proudly on two clawed feet. The ornate frame gleamed faintly even in the dim light, its design evoking a sense of majesty and mystery.
Harry moved closer to the mirror, drawn by its unusual presence. As he stepped in front of it, he noticed the inscription carved around the top of the frame: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
"What is a mirror doing here?" Buffy whispered, her voice a mixture of curiosity and awe. Harry, his curiosity piqued, continued to study the inscription, trying to make sense of its cryptic message. The mirror's grandeur and enigmatic presence seemed to offer an unexpected respite from their perilous situation, and for a moment, the urgency of their escape was overshadowed by the mirror's haunting allure.
Harry had to clap his hands over his mouth to stifle a gasp of shock. His heart raced far more violently than it had when the book had screamed. He whirled around, his mind reeling, as he saw not only his own reflection but also two other figures standing right beside him in the mirror. The sight was both astonishing and disorienting. "Bells, come here," he urged urgently.
Buffy approached the mirror, her curiosity piqued. As she gazed into its depths, she too saw the two figures beside her and Harry. Her eyes darted around the otherwise empty room, but the figures remained firmly planted within the reflective surface. "Are they invisible? Is that what this mirror does?" she wondered aloud, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and confusion.
Harry, equally perplexed, looked back into the mirror, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The woman stood directly behind Buffy, her smile warm and inviting, her hand waving gently as if beckoning them closer. Buffy reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing the air behind her, but she felt nothing. The woman and the man existed only within the confines of the mirror's reflection, their presence tangible only through the glass.
The woman was strikingly beautiful, with flowing blonde hair that seemed to shimmer even in the dim light. Her eyes were filled with a deep, profound sadness, and her smile, though bright, was tinged with tears. As realization began to dawn, Buffy's fingers instinctively reached up to the locket Harry had given her for Christmas. She opened it slowly, the tiny photographs inside capturing fleeting moments of their past. She compared the image in the locket to the reflection in the mirror and felt a shiver run down her spine. "Harry, I think that's our…"
"Our mother," Harry finished, his voice barely above a whisper. The woman in the mirror was indeed their mother, her eyes glistening with tears even as she smiled. Beside her stood a tall, thin man with disheveled black hair that stuck up at the back, reminiscent of Harry's own unruly locks. He wore glasses and had his arm wrapped protectively around their mother. "And our father."
As the twins continued to stare at the mirror, their parents' reflections seemed to reach out, placing their hands gently on the twins' shoulders. The image was so vivid, so real, that Buffy and Harry instinctively reached up to touch their own shoulders, longing to feel the warmth and comfort of the embrace they saw in the mirror.
Time seemed to stretch indefinitely as they stood there, mesmerized by the reflections of their parents. The scene before them remained unchanged, a poignant reminder of the family they had lost and the bond that still connected them. The silence of the room, punctuated only by their own shallow breaths, was interrupted by a distant noise, drawing them back to reality.
Reluctantly, they knew they had to leave. The mirror's enchantment, though mesmerizing, could not keep them from the demands of their daily lives. They felt the weariness in their limbs and the pang of sleepiness in their eyes. With one last, lingering look at their parents, they whispered, "We'll come back."
Buffy and Harry slowly turned away from the mirror, their hearts heavy but their spirits buoyed by the brief, comforting glimpse of their family. They made their way back to their dormitories, their footsteps echoing softly in the deserted corridors as they prepared to face the new day.
December 26, 1991 – Thursday
Gryffindor Common Room
The next morning, a gentle light filtered through the windows of Gryffindor Tower, casting a warm, golden hue across the common room. The large fireplace crackled softly, filling the room with a cozy warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of the early winter day. The room, usually bustling with the noise of students, was unusually quiet except for the occasional murmur of conversation.
Buffy and Harry awoke to the muffled sounds of the common room coming alive, stirring them from their sleep. They quickly dressed in their warmest clothes, eager to join their family and friends who were gathered downstairs.
As they descended the stairs, they found Joyce, Dawn, Ron, and Willow lounging comfortably in the common room. Joyce, looking radiant and relaxed despite the early hour, was seated in one of the plush armchairs by the fire. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee, her gaze soft with anticipation and affection. Dawn sat beside her, her eyes bright and eager, her hands clasped together in excitement. Ron and Willow were chatting animatedly on the sofa, their faces alight with the shared joy of the holiday season.
The atmosphere was one of warmth and camaraderie, a stark contrast to the cold and quiet of the early morning. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of cinnamon and ginger from the breakfast that had been laid out on a nearby table.
Joyce looked up as Buffy and Harry entered the room, her face breaking into a wide, welcoming smile. "Good morning!" she greeted them cheerfully, her voice filled with the promise of a new adventure. "Are you two ready to head home for the rest of the Christmas break?"
Buffy and Harry, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, nodded enthusiastically. The excitement of leaving the castle for a homey retreat was palpable, and their faces lit up with the anticipation of the holiday ahead.
Potter Home, Ottery St. Catchpole, England
The afternoon sun poured through the windows of the cozy new house, casting a soft, golden light across the rooms. The house, not far from the Weasleys' home, was an old, charming cottage with exposed wooden beams and a stone fireplace that crackled with a welcoming warmth. The air was filled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree and the faint aroma of freshly baked cookies that Joyce had prepared.
Buffy, Dawn, and Harry bustled about, each taking charge of decorating their new bedrooms. The space was filled with the joyful clamor of preparations. Joyce, Ron, and Willow moved between the rooms, offering help, advice, and the occasional festive snack.
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Buffy's room was a vibrant blend of her personal style and holiday cheer. Her walls, adorned with posters of her favorite bands and fantastical creatures, now bore the addition of twinkling fairy lights that wove in and out of the decorations. She had chosen a deep, emerald green for her bedspread, which complemented the rich red of the garlands draped over the headboard.
Joyce helped Buffy hang a beautiful garland of pine and holly above the window, its rich, earthy scent mingling with the sweetness of cinnamon from the nearby kitchen. Buffy carefully arranged her collection of action figures and other knick-knacks around the room, interspersing them with small, glittering ornaments and snowflakes.
Ron, with his usual enthusiasm, was tasked with hanging up a few mistletoe sprigs around the room. He stood on a ladder; his face flushed with effort as he placed the decorations. Willow, with her knack for creating cozy atmospheres, draped a soft, knitted throw over the armchair in the corner, adding a touch of warmth and comfort.
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Dawn's room was a whimsical retreat, filled with pastel colors and a collection of books. The walls, now adorned with snowflake decals, had been transformed into a winter wonderland. Dawn had chosen a sky-blue theme for her bedspread, which matched the icy, serene tone of the room.
Joyce helped Dawn set up a small, tabletop tree that was covered in delicate, hand-made ornaments. They carefully placed the tree in the corner, near a window where it could catch the sunlight. Dawn's collection of fantasy novels was organized on the shelves, with a few festive touches, like tiny stockings and glittering stars, added for holiday flair.
Ron and Willow, having finished with Buffy's room, moved to help Dawn. Ron hung up a few more garlands and string lights, while Willow arranged some colorful, scented candles on the dresser, filling the room with a sweet, comforting fragrance.
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Harry's room had a more subdued, classic Christmas feel. His bedspread was a deep red with gold accents, echoing the traditional colors of the season. The room featured a small, decorated Christmas tree in the corner, its branches adorned with silver and gold ornaments that shimmered in the light.
Joyce, with a gentle touch, helped Harry hang a few special decorations that had been passed down from his parents. She carefully placed a framed photo of Harry's family on the bedside table, ensuring it was prominently displayed.
Ron, with a cheerful demeanor, added some finishing touches to the room, including a string of holly around the mirror. Willow, ever attentive, made sure the room had a cozy, inviting feel by arranging some soft cushions and a warm, knitted blanket on the armchair by the window.
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As the day wore on, the rooms were transformed into personal havens of holiday cheer. The house, once empty and quiet, now buzzed with the festive spirit of Christmas. The finishing touches—little bows on the door handles, holiday-themed pillows on the beds, and a soft, festive playlist playing in the background—completed the transformation.
Joyce, Ron, and Willow took a step back, admiring the work. The bedrooms now felt like warm, welcoming spaces, filled with the magic and joy of the season. The trio of siblings, exhausted but exhilarated, gathered together, their faces lit with satisfaction and happiness.
The house was ready for Christmas, and the promise of holiday magic filled every corner. As they admired their handiwork, they knew that this Christmas would be one to remember, filled with love, laughter, and the comfort of being together.
January 1, 1992 – Wednesday
Potter Home, Ottery St. Catchpole, England
In the days that followed, the house continued to be a hub of activity and joy. The family spent time exploring the local area, visiting nearby markets and enjoying the festive decorations in town. They took long walks through the snowy countryside, relishing the beauty of the winter landscape.
Evenings were spent in the comfort of the cozy living room. Buffy, Dawn, and Harry took turns reading holiday stories, while Ron and Willow experimented with new recipes in the kitchen, delighting everyone with their culinary creations.
The days were filled with a mix of relaxation and activity. The family played board games and card games, their friendly rivalry and playful banter adding to the festive atmosphere. They also took the time to reflect on the year past, sharing their hopes and dreams for the future.
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As New Year's Eve approached, the excitement for the new year was palpable. The family prepared for a small celebration at home, with Joyce organizing a party with party hats, noisemakers, and a delicious array of snacks. They spent the evening reminiscing about the past year and sharing their resolutions for the coming one.
When the clock struck midnight, they toasted with glasses of sparkling cider, their faces lit with smiles and the twinkle of fireworks visible through the window. The new year was welcomed with a sense of hope and renewal, and the house was filled with a collective sense of optimism and joy.
January 4, 1992 – Saturday
Potter Home, Ottery St. Catchpole, England
As the holidays drew to a close, the house was packed with the last of the holiday decorations, and the once-bustling rooms began to quiet down. Buffy, Dawn, and Harry, along with Joyce, Ron, and Willow, took a moment to savor their last day together before returning to their usual routines.
They spent their final day relaxing, enjoying a leisurely brunch and sharing their favorite memories from the holidays. The mood was bittersweet, with everyone reluctant to say goodbye but looking forward to the new adventures that awaited them in the coming year.
As they prepared to leave, the house felt different, imbued with the warmth and love that had filled it during the holidays. The memories they had created would linger long after the decorations were taken down, and the joy of the season would stay with them throughout the year.
With hugs and promises to stay in touch, they said their goodbyes and left for their respective homes, carrying with them the magic and warmth of the Christmas holidays.