Christmas began with silence.
Not complete silence. Hogwarts probably did not know how to be completely quiet. Somewhere beyond the wall, the lake water shifted. Stone creaked from the cold. One of the boys who had also stayed for the holidays was snoring in a way that suggested a personal conflict with his own nose.
But the voices were missing.
Malfoy's.
Crabbe's.
Goyle's.
Blaise's.
For a few seconds, I lay beneath the canopy and stared into the darkness.
Then it occurred to me what day it was.
Christmas.
In my previous life, it mostly meant food, a few messages from people I barely spoke to for the rest of the year, and the annual pretense that television was showing something new.
Here, I had an enchanted castle.
The difference was noticeable.
I sat up.
Several packages lay at the foot of my bed.
I stopped.
There were not many.
That, at least, made sense.
The first was from Hogwarts, if you could call whoever had wrapped a set of sweets for the students staying over Christmas the sender. The second was from Ollivander. A small box contained a cloth for taking care of my wand and a short note written in his thin handwriting.
A good wand deserves a present too.
I read it twice.
Then set it aside.
The third package was soft.
Someone had written on the paper:
Couldn't be bothered guessing the size. B.Z.
I unwrapped it.
A scarf.
Dark green, simple, without the Slytherin crest, without writing, without anything that might try to shout on behalf of its owner.
Blaise.
I gave a quiet snort.
Of course his present looked as though even the fabric considered itself too well-mannered to draw attention.
Underneath it, I found a much smaller package.
The paper was more expensive.
I did not need to read the signature.
Inside was a small silver tie pin shaped like a snake.
The note contained one sentence.
So you'll stop looking like you get dressed in the dark. D.M.
I looked at the pin.
Then at my own tie hanging over the back of the chair.
"Idiot."
I put the pin back in the box.
I did not throw it away.
That was a mistake I could make consciously.
The last package was the strangest.
Small. Wrapped crookedly. The paper had clearly lived another life before this one.
On top:
Oliver
No surname.
I opened it.
A book.
Not new. Practical Household Charms and Other Useful Magic, an edition from more than a decade ago, with a slightly worn spine.
There was a note tucked between the first few pages.
I thought you might find something useful that isn't about Potions, curses, or whatever it is you stare at for too long. Merry Christmas. Hermione
For a moment, I only stared.
Then I flipped through a few pages.
Drying charms.
Repairing buttons.
Removing stains.
Simple warming charms.
Next to one of them, someone had once written in pencil in the margin: do not use on wet socks while wearing them.
I smiled.
Very practical.
Very Granger.
I put the book on the pile.
Only then did I notice that I was sitting there staring at four presents as though someone had just left me a chest full of gold.
Four.
The previous year, I had received none.
Not counting the things handed out to every child at the orphanage.
I stood up.
There was no reason to sit there and make an event out of it.
It was Christmas.
There was food.
That was reason enough to go downstairs.
The Great Hall looked even more absurd than it had a few days earlier.
The house tables were gone. In their place stood one large table for the students and teachers who had remained at the castle. The Christmas trees glittered along the walls. Enchanted snow still fell from the ceiling and vanished just above the floor.
The singing suit of armor had survived.
Unfortunately.
Harry and Ron were already sitting at the table.
Ron was wearing a maroon jumper with a huge R on it.
Harry's was green.
When they saw me, Ron raised a hand.
"Oliver!"
I stopped.
That was still a little strange.
Not Peverell.
Oliver.
I walked over.
Harry shifted his plate to make room.
"Sitting with us?"
"If you promise Weasley won't sing."
Ron looked offended.
"I don't sing."
"Not yet."
I sat down.
There was more food on the table than the entire school could have needed.
Hagrid sat several seats away, telling Flitwick something with enormous enthusiasm. McGonagall had a paper crown sitting crookedly on her head and looked as though anyone who pointed it out would automatically lose five points.
Dumbledore sat at the end of the table wearing a hat with a stuffed vulture on it.
I did not ask.
Not everything required an explanation.
Ron pointed at my scarf.
"New?"
"Blaise."
"Zabini gave you a scarf?"
"Yes."
Ron looked as though he had just received information requiring a complete reorganization of his understanding of Slytherin.
Harry noticed the pin on my tie.
"And that?"
I sighed.
"Malfoy."
Ron choked on his pumpkin juice.
I did not help him.
Harry hit him on the back several times.
"He bought you a present?"
"Apparently."
"Why?"
"I've been trying to figure that out all morning."
Ron got his breath back.
"Maybe he's going to adopt you."
I looked at him.
"Weasley."
"What?"
"Don't ruin Christmas."
Harry laughed first.
Ron followed a second later.
And somehow, it went from there.
I could not remember the last time I had sat at a table without waiting for the meal to end.
It was loud.
Fred and George had stayed too, which automatically reduced the chances of a peaceful Christmas to zero. One of the enchanted crackers exploded so violently that Percy spent the next ten minutes wearing a purple top hat nearly two feet tall.
Fred offered me one.
I looked at him.
Then at the cracker.
Then back at him.
"What are the chances I lose a finger?"
"Low."
George leaned in from the other side.
"At worst, a fingernail."
"Wonderful."
I pulled.
The bang echoed off the walls.
Something golden shot straight upward, turned into a flock of miniature bats, and flew over the table for several seconds before disappearing.
Inside was a small set of Gobstones and a paper crown that read:
LEAST SUSPICIOUS PERSON IN THE ROOM
I put it on.
Ron looked at me.
"Suits you."
"You're jealous."
"A little."
Harry tried not to laugh too loudly.
He failed.
For a while, nothing important happened.
It was surprisingly good.
After lunch, we went out onto the grounds.
"No," I said when Ron handed me a snowball.
"You don't even know what I was going to do."
"You're holding snow and looking far too pleased with yourself."
"That proves nothing."
Harry stood behind him.
A snowball hit me in the shoulder.
I looked at Harry.
He froze.
Ron started laughing.
"Potter."
"It was an accident."
"You were holding it in your hand."
"It slipped."
"Horizontally?"
Harry took a step back.
Ron made a mistake.
He was still laughing.
I picked up some snow.
"No."
Ron stopped.
"Oliver."
"Yes?"
"We can talk about this."
"Too late."
After five minutes, it no longer mattered who had started it.
Fred and George appeared from nowhere and immediately turned an innocent exchange of snowballs into open warfare. Ron was hit in the face three times. Harry hid behind a stone bench. George tried to flank me from the direction of the lake.
It did not help him.
I did not use the eye.
I did not need to.
It was enough to watch where people were running.
After a while, everyone was wet, freezing, and convinced they had won.
Fred lay in the snow.
"I can't feel my left leg."
George looked over.
"That's mine."
Fred lifted his head.
"Oh. Right."
Harry sat down beside me on the bench.
There was snow in his hair.
Ron was trying to shove George into a snowdrift.
For a while, we watched.
Harry spoke first.
"Did you get many presents?"
The question was ordinary.
I shrugged.
"A few."
"Me too."
He said it a little differently.
I looked at him.
I knew.
Of course I knew.
The cloak.
Dumbledore must have given it back to him that morning.
Not that cloak.
Not a Hallow.
James's.
But Harry apparently still had not decided whether he wanted to talk about it.
I did not help him.
"Anything interesting?" I asked.
Harry hesitated.
"Mm-hm."
That was all.
I smiled faintly.
He did not notice.
Or he noticed and decided it was not worth asking.
Good.
Ron shouted when George finally shoved him into the snow.
Harry jumped up.
"Help him?"
"No."
"Thought so."
He went to help.
By evening, the castle had grown calmer.
Not immediately.
After dinner, Fred and George discovered that one of the suits of armor reacted when the lyrics of its Christmas carol were changed, so for nearly an hour they tried to teach it a version McGonagall definitely should not hear.
She heard it.
The experiment ended.
Ron was playing chess with Harry.
I watched for the first three minutes.
Then I stopped, because watching Ron murder his pieces with the systematic efficiency of Snape taking points from Gryffindor was becoming unpleasant.
"That's not legal," Harry said.
"It is."
"You took three of my pieces."
"Because they were badly positioned."
"They were exactly where I put them."
"Exactly."
I sat down in the armchair beside them.
Harry looked at me.
"Help?"
"No."
"You too?"
"I have no intention of taking responsibility for this disaster."
Ron looked pleased.
"At least he understands."
"I understand that Potter should resign."
Harry sighed.
"Brilliant."
A few minutes later, his king was surrounded.
"Checkmate."
Harry looked at the board.
"I don't like this game."
"Because you lose," Ron said.
"That might have something to do with it."
The clock on the wall showed a late hour.
Harry looked at it.
Once.
Then again.
Right.
The library.
He tried to act normal.
He was not very good at it.
Ron noticed nothing.
Of course.
Harry yawned.
"I think I'll go to bed."
Ron looked at him.
"Already?"
"It's late."
It wasn't.
At least not for people who, during the school year, could talk in their dormitories much later than this.
Harry glanced briefly at me.
Maybe he was wondering whether I would say something.
I did not.
I knew this night.
I knew his plan better than he did.
That did not mean he needed to know that.
"Good night," he said.
"Good night."
Ron waved a hand.
Harry headed up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower.
I watched him for maybe a second.
Then returned to my book.
Ron reset the pieces.
"Another one?"
I looked at the chessboard.
"No."
"Why?"
"I like my self-respect."
Ron grinned.
"You're scared."
"Yes."
That surprised him.
"Fair enough."
I closed the book.
"I'm going."
"To the dungeons?"
"Mm-hm."
I was not going to the dungeons.
Not immediately.
An empty Hogwarts at night was too good an opportunity to waste.
That was really the only reason.
At least, that was what I told myself when, instead of turning downward, I headed upstairs.
I had no intention of following Harry.
I did not need to.
I knew where he was going.
First the dormitory.
Then the cloak.
Then the Restricted Section.
Then the screaming book.
I almost smiled.
I had forgotten about that book.
The corridors were empty. Most of the torches burned more dimly than usual. Portraits dozed inside their frames. One old wizard opened an eye as I passed, but apparently decided I was not interesting enough and went back to sleep.
On the second floor, I stopped.
Something moved near the end of the corridor.
There was nothing to see.
Normally.
For normal eyes.
My left eye responded with a faint tension.
Not pain.
I focused.
And saw it.
Not a person.
A cloak.
Or rather, the spells woven around the fabric.
They were good.
Very good.
Several layers for concealing light, suppressing outlines, distorting whatever lay behind the cloth. Old enchantments, well maintained, partially fused with the material after years of use.
Expensive.
Carefully made.
And completely ordinary.
Not ordinary as in cheap.
Ordinary as magic.
No pull in my eye.
No cold.
No feeling that I was looking at something that should not exist.
James Potter had apparently simply possessed a great deal of money and very little respect for school rules.
That made sense.
The cloak moved several steps farther.
Harry.
He did not see me.
Even better.
I could have spoken.
I did not.
He passed maybe five meters from me, completely convinced he was invisible.
He was.
To almost everyone.
For a moment, I wondered whether Dumbledore would see through it just as easily.
Probably.
Filch would not.
That was all Harry needed.
I turned and went the other way.
Not my night.
Not my library.
Not my screaming book.
I heard the scream about twenty minutes later.
Not a person's.
The book's.
The sound tore through the corridors so suddenly that I stopped by the stairs.
Then I closed my eyes.
Yes.
I had forgotten how absurdly loud it was.
Somewhere farther away, quick footsteps sounded.
Filch.
Then a voice.
I could not make out the words, but the tone was enough.
I moved on before anyone decided to check this corridor.
I did not hurry.
Harry would manage.
I knew he would.
I turned near the gallery and nearly walked straight into Snape.
I stopped.
So did he.
For one brief moment, we stood facing each other in the empty corridor.
Snape was wearing black robes.
As always.
He did not look like a man who had just gone out for a healthy midnight stroll.
His eyes moved over me.
"Peverell."
"Professor."
"What are you doing outside your dormitory?"
A reasonable question.
Unfortunate.
"Walking."
"After midnight."
I glanced toward the tall window.
"It's dark. Hard to tell."
His face did not change.
Impressive.
"I believe your house possesses a common room."
"It does."
"I suggest you remember it."
"Yes, Professor."
He walked past me.
Maybe two steps.
"If, however, you happen to see Potter..."
I stopped.
Snape turned his head slightly.
"...please inform him that invisibility is not an excuse for breaking school rules."
I almost looked at him too quickly.
No.
It was not about the eyes.
Snape simply knew James. He probably knew about his cloak, or at least suspected Harry had found some way to wander around at night.
"If I see an invisible Potter, I'll be sure to tell him."
Snape narrowed his eyes.
"To your dormitory."
"Yes, Professor."
He left.
So did I.
For the next three minutes.
Then I turned the wrong way.
By accident.
I did not know exactly when Harry had left the library.
In canon, I remembered the order, not every minute.
It was a little like knowing the map of a city you had seen years ago. You remembered where the important places were. You did not know which street would be closed.
So when I saw the faint distortion of the cloak again at the end of a corridor, at first I barely paid it any attention.
Harry was moving quickly.
Then he slowed.
Disappeared around a corner.
I did not follow him.
Really.
I took maybe ten steps in my own direction.
Then I heard Filch.
"Mrs. Norris!"
Wonderful.
I went the opposite way.
The stairs changed direction exactly when they should not have.
I ended up one floor higher.
Wonderful.
The next corridor was empty.
I walked through it.
And then I saw Harry again.
Not all of him.
The cloak still hung over him, but now he stood motionless beside a door, as though he had forgotten he was supposed to be running.
Then he went inside.
The door closed.
I stopped.
I stared at it.
For several seconds, nothing.
Then I remembered.
Not the library.
Not Filch.
Not even Snape.
The room.
The mirror.
Oh.
Tonight.
I stood in the middle of the corridor.
I could leave.
I probably should.
I knew what was inside.
The Mirror of Erised.
Harry would see his family.
Then he would return the next night.
Dumbledore would eventually find him.
Everything would happen as it should.
I did not have to do anything.
Again.
That thought was becoming very popular tonight.
I took several steps closer.
Not to the door.
Just closer.
I could not hear anything.
Harry was probably already standing in front of the mirror.
Looking at his parents.
People he had never truly known.
I knew this scene.
At least, I knew it from the other side of the page.
I looked at the door.
The mirror did not show the future.
It did not reveal the truth about the world.
It only showed what a person wanted most.
Simple.
Very simple.
I did not like that.
That was new.
Usually, things I did not understand pulled me closer.
Here, I knew exactly what the object on the other side did.
And that was precisely why I had no desire to see it.
Which was stupid.
It was only a mirror.
Magical, obviously.
But still a mirror.
Harry stayed inside for a while.
Eventually, the door moved.
I stepped back into the shadow by the wall.
The cloak slipped out into the corridor.
Harry did not look the way he had before.
I could not see his face through the fabric, but the way he walked was enough. Slower. Without the nervous speed from the library. As though part of him had remained inside the room.
He passed me.
He did not notice.
I waited a moment.
The corridor was empty again.
The door remained in front of me.
I could go in.
No one was stopping me.
Harry was gone.
Filch was gone.
Even Snape was gone.
Just me and something I had known about for years.
I walked up to the handle.
I reached out.
Stopped my hand a few inches from the metal.
No.
Not tonight.
I pulled my hand back.
It was not fear.
Probably.
I was tired. It was late. My left eye had reacted several times that day. That was reason enough.
Tomorrow.
Or never.
The second option sounded less believable.
I turned and headed toward the dungeons.
After a few steps, I looked back.
The door was still there.
Of course.
"Fucking mirror," I muttered.
I kept walking.
I did not go inside.
That night.