Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze
solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the
back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape's classes down in the dungeons, where their breath rose in a mist before them and they kept as close as possible to their hot cauldrons.
"I do feel so sorry," drawled Draco Malfoy one Potions class, loud enough for the whole room to hear, "for all those poor people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas… because no one wants them at home."
His pale eyes slid deliberately toward Harry. Harry stiffened but kept his eyes fixed on his cauldron. Elian, however, lifted his gaze.
"I feel sorry too," Elian said, a slow smirk curving across his lips, "for people who can't tell the difference between a house and a home."
Draco's expression twisted. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped.
"Exactly," Elian replied smoothly.
"That sarcasm won't change the fact that you're not wanted at home either, Vale," Draco sneered.
Elian's smirk didn't falter. "Funny, Malfoy, your taunts won't change the fact that Slytherin got crushed by Gryffindor in the Quidditch match." His tone was effortless, almost amused. "And honestly, your jealousy of Potter shines brighter than your so-called flying skills."
Those words made Draco scowl, but he held his tongue for the rest of the class. Harry gave Elian a silent nod of gratitude, Ron flashed him a quick thumbs-up, while Hermione fixed him with a stern look.
It was true, however, that Elian wouldn't be returning to Golden Valley for Christmas. The week before, Professor McGonagall had gone around with a parchment, making a list of students who would remain at Hogwarts over the holidays. Harry had signed up without hesitation, and Elian had followed suit immediately after. Ron and his brothers were staying too, because Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.
When they left the dungeons at the end of Potions, they found a massive fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous boots stuck out from beneath it, along with a loud puffing sound that gave away Hagrid's presence.
"Hi, Hagrid, want any help?" Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.
"And what exactly would you do, Weasley?" Elian drawled with mock innocence.
"Well…" Ron began.
"Never mind, that might overwork your gigantic brain," Elian cut in, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Hagrid let out a booming laugh, the tree quivering as his shoulders shook. Harry and Hermione coughed loudly, though it sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter.
"Oh, shut it, Elian," Ron muttered, cheeks reddening.
"Thanks for asking, Ron, but I've got it handled," Hagrid said, still chuckling as he adjusted his grip on the trunk.
"Would you mind moving out of the way?" came Malfoy's cold drawl from behind them.
"Trying to earn a bit of extra pocket money, Weasley? Hoping to be a gatekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts? That hut of Hagrid's must look like a palace compared to the pigsty your family lives in."
Ron bristled, his fists clenching, and he was about to hurl himself at Malfoy when Elian shot an arm out in front of him, blocking his path.
"Let me go, Elian!" Ron snapped, his voice trembling with fury.
"Does it hurt to hear the truth?" Draco sneered, his pale eyes glittering with mockery.
A slow, deliberate smirk curved across Elian's face, one that radiated mischief and danger all at once. Malfoy faltered, instinctively taking a step back, he knew that smirk too well till now, and it never meant anything good for him.
"I'm curious, Malfoy," Elian drawled. "Do you bad-mouth other people's families because you don't have a good one yourself, or—" he let the pause linger, eyes glinting, "—is it just part of your no-good personality?"
Malfoy's face flushed scarlet. He lunged without thinking, seizing Elian by the collar.
"You—"
"Oh, how the tables have turned," Elian whispered darkly, completely unfazed.
Malfoy drew back his fist to swing, but before he could strike, a familiar silky voice cut across the corridor.
"What's going on here?"
Professor Snape.
Elian's smirk widened dangerously. Perfect.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender, voice loud enough for Snape to hear.
"Oh no! Malfoy is attacking me, sir," he gasped theatrically.
Snape's eyes narrowed, clearly irritated. Malfoy instantly dropped Elian's collar, his anger dissolving into panic.
"I believe it's against school rules to fight, sir," Elian said smoothly, adjusting his collar with deliberate care. "And Malfoy just broke them in front of you."
"No, sir! He provoked me!" Malfoy protested.
"I've no idea what he's talking about," Elian replied innocently. "And even if I had said something, surely words should be answered with words, not fists."
Snape's lip curled.
"Two points from Slytherin. Move along."
"Tch. Only two," Elian muttered under his breath.
Snape's head snapped around.
"Did you just click your tongue at me, Vale?"
"What are you talking about, sir?" Elian asked, widening his eyes in feigned confusion.
"Five points from… the other houses," Snape snapped. "Now move."
Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle shoved past the tree, scattering needles, Snape sweeping behind them.
"Did he just take more points for a tongue-click?" Ron asked, dumbfounded.
"Well… that didn't go quite how I pictured it," Elian admitted, sounding almost disappointed in himself.
"Of course not, you reckless fool," Hermione snapped, arms crossed. "Do you ever think before you speak?!"
"Well, Malfoy disrespected Weasley's family," Elian replied smoothly, his smirk never fading. "And I, being a very good friend, thought I'd help him out."
"Don't make excuses, Elian," Hermione shot back, her glare sharp enough to cut stone.
"Honestly, Granger, you're impossible to please," Elian sighed, mock-offended.
"Come on, cheer up, it's nearly Christmas," said Hagrid, trying to lighten the mood. "Tell yeh what, come with me an' see the Great Hall, looks a treat."
So Harry, Elian, Ron, and Hermione followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
"Ah, Hagrid, the last tree—put it in the far corner, would you?"
The Hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls, and no fewer than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, some glittering with hundreds of candles.
"How many days yeh got left till the holidays?" Hagrid asked.
"Just one," said Hermione. "And that reminds me—Harry, Ron, Elian, we've got half an hour before lunch. We should be in the library."
"Oh yeah, you're right," said Ron, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who was sending golden bubbles drifting like fairy-lights across the branches of the new tree.
"The library?" said Hagrid, frowning as he followed them out of the hall. "Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren't yeh?"
"Of course, Hagrid. We like learning when everybody else doesn't," Elian replied smoothly, his voice dripping with faux innocence.
"But weren't we searching about Nicholas Flamel?" Harry asked brightly.
The group froze.
Elian slowly turned to him with the most deadpan stare imaginable—Brilliant, Harry. Absolutely brilliant.
Hagrid's eyes widened, his face shifting from confusion to shock.
"You what?" said Hagrid, frowning. "Listen here — I've told yeh before — drop it. It's nothin' to you what that dog's guardin'."
"We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that's all," said Hermione.
"Unless you'd like to tell us and save us the trouble?" Harry added quickly. "We must've gone through hundreds of books already and still can't find him anywhere. I know I've seen his name before."
"I'm sayin' nothin'," Hagrid said flatly.
"Guess we'll just have to find out for ourselves, then," Ron muttered, and the three of them left, leaving Hagrid looking thoroughly disgruntled.
"I salute your innocence, Potter," Elian said dryly as they hurried toward the library.
Harry blinked at him. "Why?"
"Never mind," Elian replied, his tone unreadable.
They had indeed been searching for Flamel's name in books ever since Hagrid had let it slip. Elian, however, was doing something else alongside it. While helping them hunt through the library for Nicolas Flamel, he was also slipping into as many Defense Against the Dark Arts classes as possible, using his every-house privilege to keep a close eye on Quirrell.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were convinced that Snape was trying to steal whatever lay beneath the trapdoor. Elian, however, was trying to piece things together for himself.
First, what was the connection between his bracelet and Quirrell?
Second, during the Quidditch match, why had both Snape and Quirrell been muttering incantations while staring at Harry?
If one of them had been trying to harm Harry, then the other must have been trying to stop it. If, as Harry believed, Snape was the one trying to curse him—then why would Quirrell, of all people, try to protect him? Knowing Quirrell's timid nature, he certainly didn't have the willpower to defy someone like Snape. So what exactly was he muttering?
Or… was it the other way around? Could it be that Snape had been trying to protect Harry from Quirrell?
And if that was true, then perhaps Quirrell was the real threat all along.
But then, even if Quirrell had tried to harm Harry—how did that connect to the secret thing hidden beneath the three-headed dog?
All these fragments rattled in Elian's mind, but he knew something was still missing; one last piece to tie everything together. Elian briefly considered seeking help from the distorted voice in his black stud, but quickly dismissed the thought. He didn't even know who—or what—was behind it, and relying on an unknown entity felt far too reckless. The only path left was to uncover the truth about the secret object tied to Nicholas Flamel. If he could piece together what it was and why it mattered, then perhaps he could predict whether Quirrell or Snape intended to steal it.
As Elian, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still hopelessly combing through shelves for Nicolas Flamel, Hermione suddenly paused.
"Elian—can't you just sneak into the Restricted Section? If he's mentioned anywhere, it's bound to be in there."
Elian raised a brow. "And who told you I could slip into the Restricted Section, Granger?" he asked smoothly.
"Don't play dumb," Hermione shot back, her tone sharp. "I've caught you reading books way beyond our level more than once. And don't forget—you even gave me a whole lecture about what would happen if you were caught."
"Correction, Granger," Elian said, raising a finger dramatically. "I never actually said those books came from the Restricted Section. And that 'lecture,' as you call it, was simply to get you to stop pestering me while I was reading."
Hermione huffed, frowning at him. After a moment, she rolled her eyes and returned to her book, muttering something under her breath. She knew better than to try and win an argument against him when he was in that mood.
As they left the library, Hermione said anxiously,
"You will keep looking while I'm away, won't you? And send me an owl if you find anything."
Elian gave her a mock-disappointed look.
"Oh, Granger, try doing something that's not studying over the holidays. You're starting to sound like Professor McGonagall with every passing day."
Harry and Ron both snorted in agreement, nodding their heads. Hermione drew in a sharp breath, ready to scold Elian.
"You could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is," Ron suggested quickly. "It'd be safe to ask them."
"Very safe," Hermione replied dryly, "as they're both dentists."
She spun back toward Elian to deliver the scolding she'd been holding in,only to find he had already vanished.
Once the holidays began, Harry and Ron were having far too good a time to bother with thoughts of Flamel. Elian, however, had other priorities. His mind was busy turning over ways to slip into the Restricted Section of the library without risking expulsion. For a fleeting moment, he considered obtaining signed permission from a teacher, but that was laughable. No professor would ever give a first-year access to such books. The greater obstacle, however, was Harry and Ron themselves. With no lessons to distract them, dodging their watchful eyes proved more troublesome than Elian had anticipated.
Whenever Elian tried to leave the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Harry always found a way to stop him. They spent hours lounging by the fire, spearing anything they could balance on a toasting fork—bread, English muffins, marshmallows—and devouring it between bursts of laughter. More often than not, their conversations turned to plotting elaborate ways to get Malfoy expelled. The ideas were so ridiculous and amusing that even Elian found himself drawn in, laughing along until he completely forgot the work he had set out to do.
Ron also began teaching Harry wizard chess. Meanwhile, Elian spent his free time with Tuffy in secret, since whenever Ron challenged him to a game, Elian would win with ease.
"Check and mate, Weasley."
"Another one."
"Sorry, but one match a day only."
Ron groaned every time he lost to Elian, but with each game he picked up new tactics and improved steadily.
On Christmas Eve, when the common room had gone quiet and everyone else was asleep, Elian sat by the fire, quill in hand, writing a letter to Stephen. His search for Nicolas Flamel had yielded nothing so far, and a thought struck him, perhaps Albert's private library might hold something useful. Carefully, he wrote:
Send me all the books related to the history of magic that are in our house, Stephen. And don't let that man know about my request. Oh, and… Happy Christmas.
Elian Vale.
Elian carefully tied the parchment to Marco's leg and watched the owl swoop out the window into the night sky. Only then did he finally let himself sink into bed.
The next morning, his rest was broken by a sudden, booming:
"Happy Christmas!"
Elian groaned, squinting his eyes open just enough to see Ron and Harry hovering by his bedside, their faces lit with the excitement of the holiday.
"Same to you, my dear dunderheaded friends," Elian muttered, voice half-sleepy, half-playful as he sat up lazily.
"Let's try being nice for one day, Elian," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, that was me being nice, Weasley. Considering I was just woken up by someone screaming in my ear at sunrise."
"Leave the antics for later, you two," Harry cut in quickly.
"Let's open our presents!"
"Aren't you a little too excited about presents, Potter?" Elian asked, stretching with a sly smirk.
"Because he thought he wouldn't be getting any," Ron replied.
Elian's eyes shifted toward his own bed. To his surprise, there were five neatly wrapped packages stacked at the foot of it. For a moment, his smirk faded. Back at Golden Valley, Albert never bothered with Christmas gifts, too busy at the Ministry, too absent to care. Holidays for Elian had always meant silence, spent alone in his room. This...this small pile of presents was something he had never really known.
The first parcel he opened was from Hagrid.
"You got one from him too," Harry said, holding up a small wooden flute.
"Hagrid made you a flute?" Elian asked, raising a brow.
"Yeah, and it even sounds like an owl," Harry replied with a grin.
Elian unwrapped his own gift, revealing a book bound in thick leather. The title read: Taming Magical Beasts: A Beginner's Guide.
"Hagrid is… surprisingly perceptive," Elian murmured, running his fingers along the pages with an odd mix of curiosity and quiet appreciation.
"Look at this, Elian!" Ron suddenly squeaked, holding up a coin. "It's Muggle money, Harry's uncle and aunt sent it to him."
Elian glanced at the fifty-pence piece, then at Harry. For a moment, he wanted to ask, Is that seriously all they gave you? But when he saw how Harry's eyes lit up as he eagerly opened his other gifts, Elian decided against it, saying nothing.
"Don't you think, Potter," said Elian, eyeing the packages, "that these two parcels look suspiciously alike?"
"Yeah, I think so," Harry replied, curious.
"I think I know who one of those is from," Ron cut in, his ears turning pink as he pointed at both Harry's and Elian's large, lumpy parcels.
"My mum," he admitted awkwardly. "I told her Harry wasn't expecting any presents."
"But why send me one, then?" Elian asked, raising an eyebrow. "I never told anyone whether I was expecting anything."
Ron shuffled. "You never told her your name at King's Cross, so I… might've told her for you. My mum sort of… goes overboard with this stuff, so she might have made one for you as well."
"Made?" Elian repeated, eyebrows arching.
"Yeah," Ron groaned. "Mum knits us jumpers every year. Looks like she's made one for you lot too."
Harry and Elian tore open their parcels eagerly. Harry's was a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green, while Elian's was a deep cyan with neat white embroidery across the front.
"That's really kind of her," said Harry, popping a piece of fudge into his mouth. It was delicious.
"Now I'm regretting what I sent to your home, Weasley," Elian remarked as he pulled the jumper over his head.
"What?!" Ron froze mid-unwrap, staring at him. "What did you send? Why didn't you tell me? And what do you mean by regret?!" The questions tumbled out in a rush.
Elian, however, looked utterly unbothered. "Oh, nothing. It's not bad… just not in the same league as what your mum sent." His tone was sarcastic, but beneath it lingered a faint edge of jealousy.
Ron and Harry tore into a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione; Elian, however, received a neatly wrapped stack of books on various magical subjects.
"She sent you books for Christmas?" Ron asked, half laughing, half appalled.
"She probably realised there's no point wasting them on someone who can't even spell Transfiguration right," Elian said dryly, already flipping through the first volume.
Harry snorted into his Chocolate Frog, nearly choking with laughter.
"That was one time, Elian!" Ron groaned, his ears pink. But Elian was already unwrapping his fourth present, completely unmoved.
Before Elian could unwrap his fourth parcel,
"Elian, look at Harry!" Ron squeaked.
Elian let out a long sigh. "Now what?"
He turned his head only to find Harry's face floating in mid-air — the rest of his body completely gone.
"Oh, an invisibility cloak," Elian remarked, his tone flat and wholly unimpressed.
Ron gawked. "What do you mean 'Oh'? Do you even realise how rare that is?"
Harry glanced down at himself, baffled. "Um… guys, is it really that special?"
"Special?!" Ron spluttered, his eyes shining with envy. "I'd give anything to have one of those!"
Elian lazily gestured toward a bit of parchment resting on Harry's lap. "Well, Potter, looks like there's a note with it. Read that first, it'll tell you whether it's truly worth the fuss or not."
As Elian unwrapped his fourth parcel, he found a miniature bookshelf, no larger than his palm, complete with tiny volumes on the history of magic, the very thing he had asked Stephen for the night before. A neat little note rested inside, reading simply: "Happy Christmas."
Elian smirked, slipping the bookshelf into his pocket beside where Tuffy still snored softly, curled up and oblivious to the noise. Across the room, Ron and Harry were still marveling at the shimmering folds of the Invisibility Cloak when the dormitory door banged open.
Fred and George Weasley tumbled in with their usual energy, grins wide. Harry hastily bundled the cloak out of sight, his heart giving a jolt, he wasn't ready to share this particular treasure with anyone just yet.
"Merry Christmas!"
"Hey, look, Harry and Elian got a Weasley jumper, too!"
Fred and George stood proudly in their new blue jumpers, one stitched with a large yellow F, the other with a large yellow G.
"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demanded. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."
"I hate maroon," Ron moaned half-heartedly, though he still tugged it over his head.
"Oh, Weasley, this world is bigger than colours," Elian remarked dryly, slipping his fifth present under the bed with careful subtlety. The small parchment tied to it read, Open it alone.
Ron frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You haven't got a letter on yours," George cut in, eyeing Ron's jumper. "I suppose Mum thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid – we know we're called Gred and Forge."
"What's all this noise?"
Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disappointed. He had clearly come halfway through unwrapping his presents, as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm.
"Oh, Mr Prefect, it's been a while," Elian said, with a mock bow of respect.
Before Percy could retort, Fred seized his jumper.
"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."
"I – don't – want –" said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.
"And you're not sitting with the Prefects today, either," said George. "Christmas is a time for family."
They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his sides by his jumper.
The Christmas dinner was spectacular in its own right: a hundred fat roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of sizzling chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver boats brimming with thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table.
Elian pulled a wizard cracker with George, which was "unintentionally" aimed at Percy. With a bang, Percy was engulfed in a cloud of red-and-white smoke, spluttering furiously while Elian and George struggled to keep straight faces. Harry and Ron were doubled over with laughter.
Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read aloud. Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey, their brandy flames casting a festive glow.
Harry caught sight of Hagrid, red-faced and booming for more wine, before leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss on Professor McGonagall's cheek.
"Damn!" Elian exclaimed loudly, his fork clattering on his plate. Ron nearly choked on his turkey from laughing at both Hagrid and Elian's outburst.
As Elian rose from the dinner table, he briefly caught Professor McGonagall's gaze. For a fleeting moment, her stern features softened with an unusual warmth. Elian pretended not to notice, slipping away with a flicker of intrigue tugging at the corner of his mind.
During afternoon, Harry, Elian, and the Weasleys launched themselves into a raucous snowball fight on the grounds. Laughter echoed across the frosted lawns as snow flew in every direction, leaving them soaked, shivering, and gasping for air. By the time they tumbled back into the Gryffindor common room, their fingers numb and cheeks flushed, the fire's glow felt like heaven.
There, Harry christened his new chess set with an inevitable defeat at Ron's hands. To his annoyance, the loss was made worse by Elian, who insisted on "motivating" Harry's knight and bishop with ridiculous pep talks. The enchanted pieces, apparently inspired by Elian's theatrics, marched gallantly, but straight into Ron's carefully laid traps.
It was, without question, the best Christmas Elian had ever spent. The castle, usually alive with noise and mischief, now slumbered in peaceful silence. One by one, the common room's firelight dimmed as students drifted off to bed, until only Harry remained awake, restless in thought.
Harry quietly reached under his bed, pulling out the shimmering folds of the Invisibility Cloak. With careful movements, he draped it around his shoulders and slipped away through the portrait hole, vanishing into the night.
From across the room, Elian stirred. He had been lying awake too, his sharp eyes catching the faintest ripple of movement as Harry left. Yet he made no move to follow or stop him. Tonight, Elian desired solitude more than company.
When the room was finally his alone, he leaned down and reached beneath his bed, pulling out a small package he had kept hidden all day, the fifth and final present.
As Elian carefully unwrapped the present, he found a pair of finely crafted glasses nestled inside, with a folded parchment attached. He set the glasses aside and opened the note.
Your mother left these for you. Use them carefully. These are Truth-Seeking Glasses, and before you think you can use them casually, remember: they can tamper with your sense of reality.
Happy Christmas, Mr Vale.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
"So that's what that look meant," Elian muttered, recalling the rare warmth in Professor McGonagall's eyes during Christmas dinner.
He turned the glasses over in his hands, the faint glimmer of their surface catching the firelight. Elian had read about Truth-Seeking Glasses in the library—they were said to be forged from Kesanium, the same rare material used to create the legendary Mirror of Erised. Where the mirror revealed one's own deepest desire, the glasses granted a far more dangerous gift: they showed the innermost longing of others.
But there was a warning. If worn more than once a day, the glasses could distort the user's perception of reality itself, blurring the line between desire and truth.
Elian stared at the glasses for a long moment before carefully placing them back in the box they had come in. He climbed into bed and lay staring at the ceiling, thoughts swirling in his mind. Why would his mother leave something like this for him? And who was she really? The questions looped endlessly, refusing to settle, until sleep gradually claimed him.
The next morning in the Great Hall, Elian sat absently rotating his bracelet, his mind still tangled in thoughts of the Truth-Seeking Glasses and their purpose. His focus broke when Harry and Ron came rushing over, barely able to contain themselves.
"Elian, do you know what Harry saw last night?" Ron whispered, eyes wide with excitement.
"I'm not a seer, Weasley," Elian replied flatly, not even looking up.
Ron rolled his eyes, but before he could fire back, Harry leaned in, his voice urgent.
"I met my parents."
Elian gave him a sidelong glance. "You might have dreamed."
"No, I didn't," Harry said quickly. "They were there… trapped in a mirror."
The bracelet slipped still in Elian's fingers. He understood at once what Harry had found, the Mirror of Erised.
To confirm his suspicion, Elian slipped a hand into his pocket and drew out the Truth-Seeking Glasses. He removed his own pair and slid them on.
"Showing off your new specs already?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Sometimes your brilliance even outshines mine, Weasley," Elian said dryly, his gaze fixed on Harry.
Through the lenses, two adults appeared beside Harry. They shared his features, the man with a gentle hand resting on Harry's head, the woman with her hand placed softly on his shoulder. Both were smiling, their presence warm and unmistakably parental.
Then, without warning, a sharp jolt of pain shot through Elian's head. He tore the glasses off and slipped his own back on, forcing his expression into calm indifference. Harry and Ron didn't seem to notice; they were already caught up in their own excitement, whispering about visiting the mirror again that night so Ron could meet Harry's parents too.
"Want to come with us tonight, Elian?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Thanks for the offer, Potter, but I'll pass. And I'd recommend you do the same," Elian said evenly.
"But why?" Ron pressed.
"Because sometimes dreams aren't meant to be mistaken for reality," Elian replied, his tone caught between sarcasm and something heavier.
"I'm telling you, that wasn't a dream!" Harry hissed.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Elian muttered, shrugging him off before slipping out of the Great Hall.
That night, while Harry and Ron were busy preparing to sneak back to the Great Hall, Elian lay in his bed, feigning sleep. He waited until their footsteps faded, then quietly pushed back his blanket and stood. From beneath his trunk he drew out the miniature bookshelf Stephen had sent him. Setting it on the table, he poured out the shrunken volumes.
"Engorgio," Elian whispered, with his wand aimed at the books. At once, the books swelled back to their proper size, thudding gently onto the surface. He crossed to the corner where Tuffy was curled up and nudged him awake.
"Guard the door," Elian murmured, "and let me know when they return."
The little Dragon nodded sleepily, positioning himself by the entrance while Elian turned back to the books.
Elian sifted through the pile of books, growing more frustrated with each page that yielded nothing on Nicolas Flamel. His eyes finally landed on a thick volume titled The Crimes of Gellert Grindelwald.
He nearly set it aside in defeat, convinced it would be another dead end, until a line halfway through caught his attention. It stated that Nicolas Flamel, the greatest alchemist of all time, had been among the few who aided Albus Dumbledore in defeating Gellert Grindelwald.
Before Elian could read any further, Tuffy fluttered over and landed on his shoulder. Swiftly, Elian shrank the books back to their miniature size and tucked them into his pocket, followed by the tiny bookshelf. Even Tuffy, as if on cue, quietly slipped into Elian's pocket. With everything secured, he returned to his bed, feigning sleep.
A few moments later, Ron and Harry crept back into the room, huffing and puffing from their adventure, and quietly slipped into their own beds. Harry for some reason was looking dissatisfied, but Elian ignored that because he was too busy thinking about the discovery he just made about Nicolas Flamel.
The snow hadn't melted by the next morning.
As soon as Elian woke, he considered telling Ron and Harry what he had discovered about Nicolas Flamel. He found them in the common room, Ron absorbed in a game of chess, Harry fidgeting with his Invisibility Cloak.
"Was last night's adventure that bad?" Elian asked, arching an eyebrow. "Because you two look like you just got a lecture from Professor McGonagall."
"Filch almost caught us," Ron admitted, scowling.
"Oh, so an adventure involving a mirror almost got you expelled?" Elian said, sarcasm dripping from every word."So I take it you're not planning to go tonight?"
"Why not?" Harry asked, confused.
"Are you seriously asking me that, Potter?"
"I think Elian's right, Harry," Ron interjected. "You've already had too many close calls. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they bump into you? Or worse, what if you knock something over?"
"You both sound like Hermione," Harry said dryly.
"If sounding like Hermione means sounding right, then I don't see the problem," Elian replied.
But Harry clearly had no intention of skipping his mirror excursion that night, so, Elian quietly attached a tailing charm to Harry's cloak using one of his wands. He planned to follow Harry and reveal the truth about the Mirror of Erised when the time was right. Until Harry saw it for himself and realized the truth, there was no point trying to stop him.
As night fell and Harry prepared to leave, Elian lay in bed, feigning sleep. He waited until Harry draped himself in the Invisibility Cloak and slipped out of the dormitory. Then Elian quietly rose and drew the wand he had used to enchant Harry's cloak.
"Vercita Stailion," he whispered, twirling the wand in his hand. It lifted smoothly before him, hovering in the air. Gradually, it began to move on its own, and Elian followed, keeping silent as he trailed Harry through the castle.
Elian followed Harry for a while, but the boy was making more noise than was wise. Keeping a safe distance became difficult, and in the darkness, tracking the floating wand proved even trickier.
Eventually, Harry slipped off his cloak and entered a classroom. Elian crept up to the doorway and peered inside. There, he saw Harry sitting before the Mirror of Erised, a serene smile spreading across his face as he gazed into it.
Before Elian could slip inside, Professor Albus Dumbledore appeared in the blink of an eye, perching calmly on one of the desks. Startled, Elian instinctively ducked behind the doorway, trying to process what had just happened. Peeking again, he saw Dumbledore speaking to Harry.
The professor was explaining the Mirror of Erised to Harry, exactly what Elian had intended to do himself, but there was a weight to his gentle voice, a quiet authority that made the lesson impossible to interrupt. Realizing his presence was unnecessary, Elian quietly withdrew, choosing a different route to avoid being seen by Harry.
As he emerged outside the Fat Lady's portrait, a gentle hand rested on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.
Elian smirked without turning his head. "It was foolish of me to think I could outsmart you, Professor Dumbledore."
Slowly, he turned to see Dumbledore smiling gently.
"I'm impressed that you noticed it was me, Elian," the professor said.
"Using the same tricks eventually loses its effect, Professor," Elian replied dryly.
"You are clever, Elian, but don't let that knowledge weigh you down."
"Pardon me, Professor, but knowledge isn't what's weighing me down."
"Then what is?"
Elian's smirk faltered for a moment, but before he could answer, Dumbledore patted his shoulder. "You don't need to answer if you already know, Elian. Just don't try to carry it alone; you are still young."
With that, Dumbledore vanished into the darkness.
Elian exhaled softly. "That cryptic old man," he muttered with a smirk, before making his way to the Gryffindor common room. When Harry returned later, visibly more relaxed, Elian slipped back into bed and finally allowed himself to sleep.