Disclaimer : I do not own the rights of the Harry Potter series. Wish I did though.

The hospital wing smelled of antiseptic potions and fresh linens, the soft rustling of Madam Pomfrey's robes the only sound as she bustled about, preparing for her latest patients.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat in a row on the edge of the beds, the events of the previous night still weighing heavily on them. None of them had slept much. Even after the adrenaline wore off, the image of the troll was impossible to shake.

Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she examined them. "Honestly, first-years fighting a troll… what were you thinking? You could have been killed!"

No one answered. Hermione sat stiffly, hands folded in her lap, her eyes focused on the floor. Ron winced as the nurse dabbed a mild healing salve on a scrape along his arm. Harry, arms crossed, barely reacted when she inspected the shallow cut on his cheek.

"Well, you're lucky," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head. "Nothing but minor cuts and bruises. Could've been much worse."

The trio exchanged a glance. They all knew how close it had been. If they hadn't acted fast… if the club had swung just a little differently…

"Right, off you go, then," the nurse said, straightening up. "And next time, leave the dangerous creatures to the professors."

Ron muttered a quiet "Yes, ma'am," as he slid off the bed. Harry followed, glancing at Hermione, who had yet to move.

She finally stood, smoothing out her robes. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." Her voice was quieter than usual, more careful.

As they stepped out into the hallway, none of them spoke right away. The castle felt different this morning—calmer, but heavier somehow.

Ron stretched his arm with a wince. "Well. That was something."

Harry nodded, eyes distant. "Yeah."

Hermione hesitated before saying, "Thank you. For coming to help me."

Ron stuffed his hands in his pockets, suddenly looking anywhere but at her. "Yeah, well. Couldn't just leave you there, could we?"

Harry gave her a small smile. "We're friends now, right?"

Hermione blinked at that, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, she smiled—just a little. "Yes. We are."

They walked down the corridor together, the weight of the previous night still with them, but something lighter settling in as well.

The first real bond of their friendship.

Ron Weasley stood on the bench in the Great Hall, dramatically gesturing as he recounted his version of the troll incident. A group of first-years sat around him, hanging on every exaggerated word.

"There we were," Ron declared, "trapped in the bathroom, face-to-face with a massive twelve-foot troll, its club smashing into everything! Hermione, completely helpless in the corner—"

"She wasn't helpless," Harry interjected.

"She was literally just sitting there doing nothing!" Ron shot back.

Hermione, who was calmly reading a book, gave a small sigh.

Ron grinned. "Anyway! So, knowing we had to act fast, I stepped forward—"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You mean we stepped forward?"

Ron waved a hand dismissively. "Same thing. Anyway, we needed a distraction, so I, being the tactical genius that I am, lured the troll's attention—"

Harry smirked. "By screaming? I'm also sure I'm the one who told you to distract it..."

Ron cleared his throat. "Details."

Harry shook his head.

Ron pressed on. "While I had the troll focused on me deliberately, Harry took a pipe and smacked it from behind!"

Harry nodded.

Ron beamed. "And then, I brilliantly cast Wingardium Leviosa on its club and sent it whacking the troll "

Ron puffed out his chest. "And with the troll stunned, I was about to finish the job when—"

Harry coughed. "When I grabbed the pipe and knocked it out."

Ron blinked. "Right, but I softened it up first."

Harry snorted. "Sure, let's call it that."

Ron huffed. "Point is, we won! Heroic! Daring! Legendary!"

One of the first-years frowned. "So, basically, Harry hit it twice, and you used its own club against it?"

Ron hesitated. "Uh… well, yeah."

Harry smirked. "You did have a great moment with the spell, though."

Ron perked up. "Exactly! That's the key takeaway! Without me, we'd have been—"

Hermione went back to her book. "Harry probably would've just hit it a third time."

Ron groaned while Harry burst into silent laughter again, wiping his eyes.

This whole interaction was actually something he needed. Something to remind him that he lived. Teasing Ron was only a plus.

A first-year whispered to another, "I think I'll just tell people Harry did everything."

Ron dramatically flopped back onto the bench, shoving a treacle tart into his mouth while Harry continued to laugh into his pumpkin juice.

He barely had time to chew before a very familiar voice cut through the noise of the Great Hall.

"Ah-ha! There you are!"

Percy Weasley marched toward them, his prefect badge gleaming as if it were judging them too. He looked furious, brows furrowed, arms crossed, practically vibrating with disappointed older brother energy.

Ron groaned, still mid-bite. "Oh, great."

"I cannot believe you, Ronald!" Percy started, his voice carrying enough that a few nearby students turned to listen. "Fighting a troll? Are you mad? You could have been seriously hurt! And you, Harry! And you, Hermione! What on earth possessed you three to do something so reckless?"

Ron slumped lower in his seat. Harry still looked amused but had the sense to at least look at the table. Hermione, despite usually respecting authority, only folded her arms, clearly unimpressed.

Percy wasn't done. "Do you have any idea what could have happened? The troll could have crushed you! Or worse, the professors could have expelled you! And Mum—Mum would have hexed you herself if she'd heard! You have a responsibility, Ronald, as a Weasley, to—"

"Ah, lay off him, Percy!"

Fred and George swooped in from behind, grinning like they'd been waiting for this moment all morning. George clapped Ron on the back, making him nearly choke on his treacle tart.

"We heard all about it," Fred said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Our dear little brother, bravely standing against a twelve-foot troll—"

"—Using Wingardium Leviosa like a true dueling master—" George added.

"—And Harry, our new favorite first-year, smacking it with a pipe like a proper Gryffindor—"

"—And Hermione, strategically supervising the entire thing—"

Hermione huffed. "I was not supervising!"

Fred waved a hand. "Point is, you should be proud! Our little Ronniekins, out there making history!"

Percy's face twitched. "That is not the point—"

George threw an arm around Ron. "Come on, don't be so grumpy about it! Maybe Ron's setting a new standard for Weasley bravery."

Fred gasped dramatically. "Imagine! People might start saying, 'Oh, you're a Weasley? Like Ron Weasley ?'"

Percy looked appalled. "That is not happening."

"Oh, I dunno," George said thoughtfully. "Seems possible."

Fred grinned. "Hey, we should tell Mum!"

Percy's expression turned to pure panic. "Do not tell Mum!"

Harry had to turn away to hide his laughter. Ron, meanwhile, looked at his brothers with a mixture of exasperation and gratitude.

Percy took a deep breath, clearly about to restart his lecture. "Regardless of all that, I just want to say—"

"Save the speech, Percy, we know," George cut in.

"Yeah, yeah, rules, responsibility, shame upon the family name, blah blah—" Fred added.

Percy scowled. "No, that's not—"

"But don't worry, we'll make sure Ron doesn't wrestle any more trolls without adult supervision," George said solemnly.

"Or at least without a bigger pipe," Fred quipped.

"FRED! GEORGE!" Percy shouted, thoroughly red in the face now.

But the twins had already grabbed Ron and started dragging him toward the end of the table. "Come on, little bro, let's get you a victory feast."

Hermione sighed and followed, muttering something about immaturity. Harry trailed behind, still shaking with silent laughter.

The roar of the crowd still rang in Harry's ears as he sat up in the hospital wing, wincing at the sharp pain in his ribs. His head throbbed, and his right shoulder ached every time he breathed too deeply. The match had been over for hours, but the adrenaline had long since worn off, leaving him with nothing but the bruises and a splitting headache.

Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, muttering about reckless children on broomsticks as she placed a bottle of some foul-smelling potion on his bedside table.

"Drink that," she ordered. "It'll ease the pain and help with the bruising."

Harry took the vial hesitantly. It smelled worse than the time Dudley left old milk under his bed for a week, but he gulped it down in one go, coughing as the bitter liquid burned his throat.

"Honestly," Madam Pomfrey huffed, shaking her head. "First-years playing Quidditch. Absolutely ridiculous."

Harry didn't argue. He wasn't even sure how he'd ended up here. The last thing he clearly remembered was the match itself—the chaos, the excitement, and then…

The game had started off well. Slytherin had been aggressive, playing dirty as usual, but Gryffindor had held their own. Oliver Wood had made incredible saves, Fred and George had fought off Bludgers like knights defending a castle, and Angelina Johnson had scored a beautiful goal early on.

Then the trouble had started.

His broom had gone wild. Completely out of control. It had jerked, spun, tried to throw him off. He'd clung to it for dear life as it twisted in the air, refusing to let him regain control. He'd barely heard Hermione's frantic shouting over the roar of the crowd.

Then, suddenly, everything had stopped. His broom had righted itself. He hadn't had time to think about why. All he'd known was that he had to finish the match.

And he had, by almost swallowing the Snitch.

Harry groaned at the memory, pressing a hand to his sore stomach. He could still feel where it had hit his ribs before he'd instinctively tried to catch it with his mouth. The moment had been exhilarating, shocking, and, honestly, a bit disgusting.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue as she examined his arm. "Honestly, Mr. Potter, you're lucky you didn't crack a rib. And catching a Snitch like that? Merlin help me, you're going to be a nightmare for my hospital wing, aren't you?"

Harry gave her a sheepish smile. "I hope not."

She didn't look convinced.

Before she could continue fussing, the door creaked open. Ron and Hermione peeked in, looking relieved when they saw him sitting up.

"You're awake!" Hermione said, hurrying over. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by a Bludger," Harry muttered.

Ron whistled. "Well, mate, you did kind of hit the ground like a sack of potatoes after you spit out the Snitch."

Harry blinked. "I did what?"

Hermione sighed, setting her books down on the bedside table. "You fell. Not far, but it was enough to knock the wind out of you. Madam Hooch said you landed awkwardly on your side, which is probably why you're so sore."

Harry groaned again. "Great."

Ron grinned. "Still, you won us the match! The way you caught that Snitch—blimey, no one's ever seen anything like it! Fred and George haven't stopped talking about it all night."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Because I almost swallowed it."

Ron snorted. "Exactly. It was brilliant"

Hermione, however, looked less enthusiastic. She was frowning slightly, her hands folded.

"What?" Harry asked.

She hesitated before speaking. "Harry… your broom. It didn't just malfunction."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.

Hermione lowered her voice. "Someone was jinxing it."

Harry frowned. "Jinxing it?"

"I saw Snape," Hermione whispered. "Muttering under his breath, eyes locked on your broom. And when I got to his stand, he was using a spell. I set his robes on fire to break his concentration."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Wait, you did that? I thought it was an accident!"

Hermione looked a little guilty but nodded.

Harry was still processing what she had said. Snape. Jinxing his broom.

Before he could respond, Madam Pomfrey returned, hands on her hips. "That's quite enough excitement for one night. Out, both of you."

Ron and Hermione protested, but she gave them a stern look. "Mr. Potter needs rest. You can visit him tomorrow."

Grumbling, Ron patted Harry's arm. "See you in the morning, mate. Try not to swallow anything else."

Hermione shot Harry one last serious look before following Ron out the door.

As Madam Pomfrey dimmed the lanterns and left him alone, Harry lay back against the pillows, his mind still racing.

Snape.

Jinxing his broom.

He had won his first Quidditch match… but something told him this was only the beginning.

The next morning, after Madam Pomfrey finally let him go, Harry found Ron and Hermione waiting for him outside the hospital wing, looking as if they had been bursting to talk all night.

"You alright?" Ron asked as they walked down the corridor.

"Bit sore," Harry admitted, rolling his shoulder, "but I think I'll survive."

"Good," Hermione said briskly. "Because we need to do something about what happened. Ron told me you knew the Gamekeeper, so I believe we should tell him about it since the professors are not... available."

Harry nodded. He'd spent half the night thinking about what Hermione had said about Snape. He still wasn't sure he believed it, but the idea of his professor trying to kill him wasn't something he could just ignore.

They hurried across the snowy grounds, pulling their cloaks tighter against the chill. Smoke curled from the chimney of Hagrid's hut, and Fang's deep bark echoed through the crisp air as they knocked on the door.

"Jus' a sec!" came Hagrid's gruff voice.

A moment later, the door swung open, and the enormous gamekeeper beamed when he saw them. "Ah! Harry! Thought yeh might drop by after yer big match."

He stepped aside to let them in. Fang immediately bounded up to Harry, nearly knocking him over as he slobbered all over his robes.

"Gerroff, Fang," Hagrid muttered, pulling the dog away. "Come in, come in. Got the kettle on."

The trio stepped inside, grateful for the warmth. Hagrid busied himself with the teapot while they settled onto the oversized chairs.

"So," Hagrid said, setting down a plate of rock cakes. "What's on yer minds?"

Harry and Ron glanced at Hermione, who sat up straighter. "It's about Snape."

Hagrid paused, raising an eyebrow. "Snape?"

"We think he tried to jinx Harry's broom during the match yesterday," Hermione said seriously. "I saw him, muttering under his breath, eyes locked on Harry's broom. And when I set his robes on fire, the jinx broke—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hagrid interrupted, holding up a massive hand. "Hang on. Yer tellin' me… yer think professor Snape was tryin' ter kill Harry?"

"Well, yeah!" Ron said. "It was obvious! No one else was muttering spells, and Harry's broom was going mental—"

"Rubbish," Hagrid scoffed. "Snape wouldn' do somethin' like that."

"But Hagrid, I saw—" Hermione started, but Hagrid shook his head.

"Listen ter me," he said firmly. "Professor Snape may not be the nicest bloke at Hogwarts, but he's one o' the teachers. Dumbledore trusts him."

Ron rolled his eyes. "That's not exactly reassuring."

Hagrid frowned. "Look, I dunno what yeh think yeh saw, but Snape wouldn' try ter hurt Harry. 'Specially not when he's meant ter be helpin' keep Nicolas Flamel's stone safe unti—"

Dead silence.

Hagrid's face froze mid-sentence. Hermione's eyes widened. Harry and Ron stared.

Then, very slowly, Hagrid clamped his mouth shut, as if trying to shove the words back in.

"…What stone?" Harry asked.

"Nothin'," Hagrid said quickly. "Forget I said anythin'."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid," Ron groaned. "You can't just drop something like that and expect us to let it go!"

"There is something that he's supposed to protect then ?" Hermione pressed.

"I said, forget it," Hagrid said firmly, getting up and busying himself with the kettle. "It's none o' yer business, an' yeh'd do well ter keep yer noses outta things that don' concern yeh."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged a look.

This was definitely something they weren't supposed to know.

For the next few weeks, the trio searched everywhere in the library for the name Nicolas Flamel.

It wasn't easy.

Despite Hermione's confidence that the library held all the answers, they combed through book after book—titles on magical artifacts, wizarding history, even famous alchemists—but found nothing on Flamel. No mention of a stone.

Harry, despite the frustration, kept searching, flipping through pages every evening, determined to find some clue.

Ron, however, was not as patient.

"This is pointless," he groaned one evening, slumping back in his chair. "If he was that famous, we would've found him by now!"

Hermione shot him a withering look over the top of Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century. "Maybe if you actually helped instead of complaining every five minutes, we'd be done by now."

Ron sat up, offended. "Excuse me! I've been helping loads!"

"Staring at the ceiling doesn't count," Hermione snapped.

Ron threw up his hands. "Well, excuse me for not wanting to spend another night drowning in dusty books with nothing to show for it!"

Hermione huffed and turned back to her book. "Honestly, Ronald, some of us actually care about solving this mystery."

Ron grumbled something under his breath but pulled a random book closer, flipping the pages without really reading.

Harry, meanwhile, ignored them both, still scanning the index of Famous Magical Discoveries. His eyes were starting to blur from reading so much tiny text, but he refused to give up.

And yet, after days of searching, they were no closer to finding the answer.

Then, one morning, the castle was suddenly filled with the sounds of excited chatter and laughter. The corridors were lined with garlands, enchanted snowflakes drifted from the ceilings, and the scent of warm cinnamon and roasted chestnuts filled the air.

Christmas break had begun.

The Gryffindor common room was warmer than ever, the fire crackling in the hearth and the Christmas decorations twinkling from every surface. Most students had gone home for the holidays, leaving Harry and Ron free to enjoy a break from their exhausting and so far, useless search for Nicolas Flamel.

Harry lounged in his chair, tossing a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean in the air and catching it in his mouth. "I think this is the first time since term started that we haven't been running around or nearly dying."

Ron, sprawled across the sofa with his feet hanging off the end, groaned in agreement. "No homework, no Hermione making us read five extra books, absolute paradise."

Harry snorted. "You do know she's going to give us a lecture on 'time management' the second she gets back, right?"

Ron sat up with a horrified expression. "We should enjoy this while we can."

Before Harry could respond, the portrait hole swung open.

"Ah, excellent! You're awake!" Fred declared, striding in with George at his side. Both wore identical mischievous grins—never a good sign.

Ron sat up immediately. "No. Whatever it is, no."

Fred feigned a wounded expression. "You don't even know what we're going to say!"

George nodded. "That's just rude."

Harry smirked. "Go on, then. What are you going to say?"

Fred pulled out a small, round object wrapped in brown paper. "Behold! Our latest creation, the Everlasting Snowball."

Ron frowned. "What's so special about a snowball?"

Fred grinned and, without another word, chucked it straight at Ron.

Ron flinched as the snow smacked him square in the forehead—only for it to not break apart. Instead, it bounced right off, landed on the floor… and immediately launched itself back at him.

"What the—?" Ron yelped as the snowball hit him again.

Fred and George burst out laughing. "It won't stop until it finds a new target!" George said gleefully.

Ron scrambled over the back of the sofa, ducking as the snowball bounced off the armrest and came after him again. "GET IT OFF ME!"

Harry was doubled over with laughter as Ron ran in circles around the common room, trying to outmaneuver the tiny, persistent menace.

"Try passing it on!" Fred called.

"TO WHO?" Ron yelled.

Fred pointed at Harry. "He looks like he wants a turn!"

"Absolutely not" Harry laughed, dodging behind an armchair.

Ron, realizing he had no other option, suddenly turned and chucked the snowball straight at Fred.

Unfortunately for Fred, he wasn't ready. It smacked him in the face before dropping to the floor—and a second later, it rebounded straight back at him.

"AH!—" Fred ducked, but the snowball hit him again.

Now it was George's turn to collapse in laughter. "You should've seen your face!"

Fred scowled, trying to swat the snowball away, but it just kept coming back. "Alright, maybe this needs some tweaking."

"Maybe?!" Ron shouted from behind the sofa.

After a few more minutes of chaos, Fred finally managed to kick the snowball into the fireplace, where it vanished in a puff of steam.

Silence fell over the room. Then—

"I hate Christmas," Ron muttered, rubbing his forehead.

Harry, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, shook his head. "I dunno… I think this might be the best one yet."

Fred clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Oh, come on, little brother. It's all in the holiday spirit."

"I'll show you holiday spirit," Ron grumbled, throwing a cushion at him.

Eventually, after much grumbling (mostly from Ron) and a few more laughs, the four of them dragged themselves up to their dormitory, still snickering as they collapsed into bed.

Tomorrow was Christmas Day.

Harry woke up on Christmas morning feeling warmer and more comfortable than he ever had at the Dursleys'. The Gryffindor dormitory was quiet, except for the faint snoring of Seamus and Neville, and the occasional muttered word from Ron, who was still buried under his blankets. The fire in the common room had kept the castle from feeling as cold as it should have, and outside the window, everything was covered in a fresh layer of snow.

For the first time in his life, Christmas actually felt like Christmas.

Harry sat up, stretching, and that's when he noticed something at the foot of his bed—several parcels wrapped in colorful paper.

His stomach flipped. Presents.

He had presents.

Ron stirred, blinking blearily at Harry. "Merry Christmas," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes before noticing the pile of gifts at the foot of his own bed. "Brilliant! Mum always sends loads." He sat up quickly, reaching for the nearest package. "Go on, open yours!"

Harry hesitated for only a second before reaching for the first package, unwrapping it carefully as though it might vanish if he moved too quickly. Inside was a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green, with a large golden 'H' stitched into the front.

Ron looked over and grinned. "Oh, you got a Weasley jumper! Mum knits them every year—mine's always maroon, though. Always maroon." He pulled out his own jumper, holding it up with a sigh. "Yep. Maroon."

Harry, however, didn't mind one bit. The jumper was soft and warm, and the fact that Mrs. Weasley had thought to include him made his chest feel oddly tight. He set it aside carefully, pulling open the next gift—this one contained a large box of homemade fudge.

"That'll be from Mum, too," Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate frog. "She always sends food. Percy gets books, though."

Harry smiled, placing the fudge next to the jumper before reaching for the next parcel. This one was small, wrapped in simple brown paper, and had no note. He pulled at the twine, unwrapping it slowly. Inside, folded neatly, was a silvery, shimmering piece of fabric that felt almost weightless in his hands.

Ron had been unwrapping another chocolate frog but froze the moment he saw the fabric. "Blimey," he whispered. "That's an Invisibility Cloak."

Harry blinked. "A what?"

Ron reached out and ran a hand over the material, watching as it shimmered under the light. "They're really rare. And expensive. Where'd you get it?"

Harry checked the wrappings again and noticed a small, folded piece of parchment tucked inside. Heart pounding, he opened it.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

There was no signature. No clue on who had sent it.

Harry read the note again, his hands slightly unsteady. His father's. This had belonged to his father.

Ron leaned closer, peering at the note. "No name? That's weird." He looked back at the cloak. "But still, your dad had an Invisibility Cloak? That's brilliant."

Harry nodded, running his fingers over the material. His father had once worn this, had once used it. It felt like a piece of him, something real that connected them.

Ron grinned. "Try it on!"

Harry hesitated, then threw the cloak over his shoulders. Immediately, his body vanished from sight. He lifted his hand, seeing nothing but air where his arm should be.

Ron let out a low whistle. "That's so cool."

Harry couldn't help but grin. He pulled the hood up, making his head disappear too.

Ron snorted. "Alright, that's just creepy."

Harry pulled the cloak off again, folding it carefully. He didn't know why, but he felt like he had just received something priceless. Something that truly belonged to him.

Ron yawned and stretched. "C'mon, let's head down to breakfast. I want to see if the twins got anything dangerous this year."

Harry nodded, placing the cloak and the note carefully beside his bed. He didn't know who had sent it, but he had a feeling this cloak was going to be very, very useful.

As Harry finished setting aside his real presents, his eyes landed on the last, most pathetic-looking package in the pile. It was small, lumpy, and wrapped in wrinkled brown paper. There was no festive ribbon, no tag—just a note stuffed in the folds.

He unfolded the scrap of paper and immediately recognized Uncle Vernon's messy handwriting:

We received your message. Here's a present. Don't expect anything next year.

Harry tore open the package and found—

"A fifty-pence piece?" Ron said, leaning over to get a better look.

Harry sighed, holding up the dull silver coin. "Yeah. That's from the Dursleys."

Ron scoffed. "Merlin, they really know how to spread the holiday cheer."

Harry tossed the coin onto his bedside table with a shrug. "Could be worse." Then his eyes drifted back to the green Weasley jumper, soft and warm where it lay. It already is better.

Ron, sensing he wasn't in the mood to dwell on it, sat up and grinned. "So, about that Invisibility Cloak…"

Harry perked up immediately. He grabbed the cloak, running his fingers over the smooth, silvery fabric again. A real Invisibility Cloak. One that had belonged to his dad.

Ron nudged him. "You have to try it properly."

Harry didn't need any more convincing. Grinning, he threw the cloak over himself, adjusting it so it draped over his whole body. He glanced down and he was completely gone.

Ron gawked. "That's so weird. Your head just vanished."

Harry laughed. "I know, right?" He lifted the hood, and his head reappeared. Then, feeling a surge of excitement, he slipped off the bed and walked over to the door, moving as quietly as possible.

Ron watched in fascination. "Blimey… it's perfect."

Harry grinned, creeping around the room, testing how silent his steps were. He stood behind Ron for a moment before whispering, "Boo."

Ron yelped and nearly fell off his bed. "Don't do that!"

Harry burst out laughing and pulled the hood down again, vanishing from sight. "This is amazing."

Ron clutched his chest. "It's going to give me a heart attack."

Still laughing, Harry pulled the cloak off, folding it carefully. His mind was already racing with possibilities. He had no idea who had sent it, but whoever it was… they had just given him the best Christmas present ever.

Ron stretched and stood up. "Right, let's head down to breakfast before Fred and George steal everything decent."

Harry, still grinning, nodded and grabbed his Weasley jumper, pulling it on. It was slightly oversized, but it was warm and smelled like fresh wool and something sweet like cinnamon. Like home.

"Looks good on you," Ron said, tugging on his own maroon jumper with a sigh. "Even if yours isn't maroon."

Harry smirked. "Jealous?"

Ron scoffed. "Of you? Never."

Still chuckling, the two of them left the dormitory and headed down for what was shaping up to be Harry's best Christmas yet.

The rest of Christmas Day was easily the best Harry had ever had. The Great Hall was decked out in glittering decorations, the tables overflowing with food, and laughter echoed through the castle. Snow continued to fall outside, but inside, the warmth of the fire and the buzz of excitement made it feel even more magical than usual.

Ron had been right about Fred and George by the time they got down to breakfast, the twins were already causing trouble, enchanting snowballs to bounce off the back of Professor Quirrell's turban. Percy had tried to stop them, but as usual, they completely ignored him.

Harry had never eaten so much in his life. Roast turkey, potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, it seemed endless. Even Ron, with his bottomless appetite, leaned back in his chair at the end of the meal and groaned, "I don't think I can move."

But Harry had other plans. His fingers twitched slightly at the thought of the Invisibility Cloak hidden safely under his bed. He had been itching to try it out properly.

Later in the afternoon, after an hour of wizard chess (which Ron won, of course), Harry pulled Ron aside near the common room fireplace.

"Let's go test it," he whispered.

Ron's eyes lit up. "The cloak?"

Harry nodded. "I have to see how far I can go without getting caught."

Ron hesitated, then grinned. "Alright. But where?"

Harry thought for a second. Then a wicked idea crossed his mind. "What if I, you know… we scared Malfoy a little? I mean, we never got him back for the fake duel..."

Ron's grin widened. "Now that is a brilliant idea."

It didn't take long to put the plan into action. Harry slipped upstairs, retrieved the cloak, and with a giddy sense of excitement, draped it over himself.

"Can't even see your feet," Ron whispered, eyes gleaming.

Harry smirked. "Perfect."

The two of them crept out of the common room and made their way toward the entrance hall, where Malfoy was boasting to Crabbe and Goyle about something completely unimportant.

Harry silently positioned himself behind Malfoy. He waited for the right moment, then leaned in close and whispered "Malfoy…"

Malfoy froze mid-sentence, his face draining of color. "W-what?"

Crabbe and Goyle looked confused. "Huh?"

Harry grinned and took it a step further, he grabbed Malfoy's scarf and gave it a light tug.

Malfoy shrieked.

Ron, watching from the staircase, had to clap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

"WHO—WHO DID THAT?!" Malfoy spun wildly, clutching his scarf as his eyes darted around in panic.

Crabbe frowned. "What're you on about?"

"I—I felt something! Someone whispered..."

But there was nothing. Only the empty air.

Malfoy took one last terrified look around before bolting up the stairs, pushing past Crabbe and Goyle as he fled.

Ron finally lost it, doubling over in silent laughter as Harry hurried back to him.

"That," Ron gasped, "was the best thing I've ever seen in my life."

Harry grinned. "I know."

After that, they spent the rest of the evening lounging in the common room, stuffing themselves with more sweets and listening to the crackling fire. But all the while, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the cloak.

That night, long after the castle had gone silent, he finally made up his mind.

'I have to try it alone.'

Slipping out of bed, he grabbed the cloak and threw it over himself, glancing around to make sure Ron was still fast asleep. He tiptoed out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and carefully slipped out of the portrait hole.

The castle at night was an entirely different place. The torches flickered low, casting long shadows across the stone walls, and the air felt colder, more mysterious. It was both thrilling and eerie to walk through the empty corridors unseen.

Harry had no real plan, he just wanted to explore. To see how far he could go without being noticed. But as he wandered, he found himself in an unfamiliar corridor. It was long and dusty, a part of the castle he didn't remember ever visiting before.

Then, at the very end of the hall, he saw it.

A tall, magnificent mirror, standing alone against the stone wall. Its gold frame gleamed even in the dim light, and at the very top, an inscription was carved in curling letters:

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Curious, Harry stepped forward. The glass was polished, reflecting the empty corridor behind him. But then..

He gasped.

There were people in the mirror. Two person stood just behind his reflection—smiling, waving. And Harry knew, in an instant, exactly who they were.

His parents.

James Potter stood tall with messy black hair, grinning at him. Beside him, Lily Potter had long red hair and bright green eyes, the same as his, filled with warmth and pride. Both of them were looking right at him.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. His fingers twitched at his sides, wanting, needing, to reach out, to touch them.

But when he turned around… the corridor was empty.

He whipped his head back to the mirror. They were still there, smiling softly, watching him.

His parents. His family.

For the first time, Harry didn't care about the cloak. He didn't care about being out past curfew or the risk of getting caught.

He just stood there, staring, drinking in every detail of their faces, afraid to blink in case they disappeared.

Harry didn't know how long he stood there, staring at his parents in the mirror. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach out, even though he knew they weren't really there.

A part of him wanted to stay forever. But another part, the one that still had enough sense left, knew he had to show someone.

And there was only one person he wanted to tell.

He tore his eyes away from the mirror with great effort and hurried back through the corridors, moving as fast as he dared under the cloak. The Gryffindor common room was silent when he slipped back in, the fire burned low in the hearth.

Harry crept up the stairs, then shook Ron's shoulder. "Ron—Ron, wake up!"

Ron groaned and turned over. "Whassit?"

"Get up," Harry whispered urgently. "You have to see this."

After some grumbling, Ron finally dragged himself out of bed, rubbing his eyes as Harry led him back out into the hall.

"This better be good," Ron muttered, pulling his dressing gown tighter around himself as he trudged after Harry. "If we get caught, I swear—"

"We won't," Harry whispered. "Just trust me."

When they reached the empty corridor, Harry pulled Ron forward until he was standing right in front of the mirror. "Look."

Ron blinked at his reflection. Then he squinted.

"What?" he said. "It's just me."

Harry frowned. "No, look closer."

Ron leaned in, then suddenly let out a surprised laugh. "Blimey, I'm head boy!"

Harry stared. "What?"

"And I'm holding the Quidditch Cup!" Ron grinned. "And the House Cup! And the bloody Best Dressed Wizard award, Merlin's beard, I look good."

Harry felt a pang of confusion. "You don't see—"

"My whole family's there," Ron muttered, his eyes still fixed on the glass. "They're just standing behind me, looking proud." His voice grew quieter. "I'm the best out of all of us."

Harry stared at the mirror, but no matter how much he looked, Ron's family wasn't there only his own.

Ron turned to Harry, frowning. "What do you see?"

Harry hesitated. "My parents."

Ron's mouth fell open slightly, and for once, he didn't seem to have a joke ready.

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Ron shivered. "Right, well, I think I've had enough creepy magic for one night." He yawned. "I'm heading back before Filch finds us."

He clapped Harry on the shoulder and left without another word.

But Harry stayed.

He didn't move for a long time, just watching his parents, memorizing their faces. He had never seen them like this before, together.

Eventually, though, he forced himself to leave. He had to.

But the next night, he came back.

And the night after that.

And the night after that.

It became routine. As soon as the common room emptied, Harry slipped out under the cloak and made his way through the dark, silent corridors. Every night, he sat in front of the mirror, losing himself in the reflection of the family he never got to have.

He didn't care that he was spending his Christmas break like this. Nothing else seemed as important.

But on the last night of the holidays, everything changed.

Harry had just settled down in front of the mirror when—

"I should've known I'd find you here."

Harry jumped. He spun around and there, standing just behind him in the dim torchlight, was Professor Dumbledore.

Harry's stomach lurched. How had he not heard him coming?

Dumbledore, however, didn't look angry. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he stepped forward, his expression unreadable.

"Interesting, isn't it?" he mused, looking at the mirror. "The most powerful enchantments are often the simplest."

Harry swallowed hard. "I—I wasn't doing anything bad."

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Oh, I don't think you were." He glanced at the mirror again. "Tell me, Harry, what do you see?"

Harry hesitated. But something about Dumbledore made him want to be honest. "…My family," he admitted quietly.

Dumbledore sighed, a look of deep understanding crossing his face. "Ah. Yes. I'm not surprised."

Harry turned to him. "Sir, what is this mirror?"

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "It is called the Mirror of Erised. A most peculiar object. It shows us nothing more and nothing less than the deepest desires of our hearts."

Harry looked back at the reflection of his parents. His throat felt tight. "It doesn't really work, though, does it?"

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. Then he said, "It does work. But not in the way you might hope."

Harry frowned. "What do you see when you look in it?"

Dumbledore smiled, but there was something sad about it. "Me? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry blinked. "Socks?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "One can never have enough socks."

Harry had a feeling that wasn't entirely true, but he didn't press the matter.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "This mirror will be moved tomorrow, Harry. I must ask that you do not go looking for it again."

Harry's stomach dropped. "But—"

Dumbledore's voice was gentle but firm. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Harry stared at the mirror for a long moment, his parents still smiling back at him.

Then, finally, he nodded.

"It's better this way, trust me," Dumbledore said softly.

As Harry followed him out of the corridor, he glanced over his shoulder one last time.

'Goodnight, Mom, Dad.'

Hiya, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as well.

I'm going to be honest, this chapter went through a lot of corrections. I just felt like it needed it.

Also there is a reason why Harry seems more chill. More relaxed, I'll explain it later. Probably end of the year. It's not a mistake of mine.

Anyway, leave a review if you want to ( 'cuz it's probably bots, I don't count the last two review as reviews. Sorry if you guys are real but bruh don't just advertise yourself like that.)

And don't forget to smile :)