Christmas Morning: A Game of Gifts
The Slytherin common room was alive with festive cheer. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and students exchanged presents under the towering Christmas tree.
Harry sat on the couch, a small pile of presents on his lap, with Hermione and Daphne beside him.
He unwrapped Hermione's gift first—a box of homemade chocolates.
"Simple, but thoughtful," he said, smiling.
"Well, I didn't have access to a secret vault of treasures," she quipped.
Daphne's gift came next—an intricately bound book detailing the noble bloodlines of wizarding families.
"A political guidebook, huh?" Harry smirked. "Trying to prepare me for high society?"
Daphne gave a knowing smile. "You'll need it."
Finally, he reached the last gift. The moment he unwrapped the ancient, silvery fabric, he knew exactly what it was.
The Invisibility Cloak.
He ran his fingers over the material, pretending to be surprised.
"Incredible!" he exclaimed.
Hermione, ever cautious, narrowed her eyes. "Just don't use it for anything reckless."
"Of course not," Harry lied smoothly.
Daphne, however, wasn't fooled. She arched an eyebrow, already seeing through him.
Then, Hermione turned the tables.
"And where are our gifts?" she asked expectantly.
Harry blinked. He had been so consumed with his training that he hadn't prepared anything.
Think fast.
A smirk tugged at his lips. With a flick of his fingers, he conjured a delicate diamond necklace for Daphne, infused with a subtle shielding charm.
For Hermione, he pulled out something far greater—Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem.
Hermione tilted her head. "What is this?"
Daphne, however, recognized it instantly. Her eyes widened. "Where did you get this?"
Harry grinned mischievously. "A little bird told me."
Daphne narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something."
Harry leaned in, his voice playful. "Give me a kiss, and maybe I'll tell you."
Daphne didn't hesitate. With a smirk, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. The contact sent a spark through him, unexpected but not unwelcome.
When she pulled back, she fixed him with a demanding look. "Now talk."
Harry only chuckled. "It's a gift, not a story."
Daphne huffed in frustration as Harry, still grinning, suddenly vanished beneath his invisibility cloak.
"Catch me if you can," he whispered before disappearing into the corridors.
Daphne shot up from the couch, already in pursuit.
Hermione, shaking her head, muttered, "I need to know more about that diadem…"
As Harry wandered through the castle under the cover of his cloak, he felt it—a gentle pull, like a whisper nudging at the edge of his mind.
It wasn't magic.
It wasn't a spell.
It was suggestion.
Dumbledore.
Harry exhaled slowly. He could ignore it. He could turn around and pretend he hadn't felt anything.
But no.
It was time.
Time to meet the man who thought he could control him.
The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet as Harry moved under his Invisibility Cloak, his footsteps light against the cold stone floor. The castle had a strange stillness at night, as if it was holding its breath, waiting. But Harry wasn't afraid of the dark corners or the creaking staircases—he had been walking these halls long enough to know that the real dangers lay elsewhere.
The feeling of suggestion in his mind persisted, gentle yet insistent. It wasn't a spell—more like a silent beckoning.
Dumbledore.
Harry narrowed his eyes but didn't resist the pull. Instead, he followed it. If the old man wanted to see him, then he would oblige.
He wasn't the same naive child from the books. He had no blind faith in Dumbledore. The man played a long game, manipulating events from the shadows, always appearing when it suited him. And yet, despite his caution, Harry couldn't help but feel a strange curiosity.
What did Dumbledore truly want from him?
Tonight, he would find out.
The Room with the Mirror
The air grew colder as Harry turned a corner, his steps slowing. He could feel it before he saw it—the presence of something ancient, something powerful.
Then, there it was.
The Mirror of Erised stood tall in the center of an abandoned classroom, its ornate golden frame gleaming in the dim light. The room itself was barren, save for dust-covered desks pushed against the walls, as if the mirror had been placed there deliberately, hidden away from wandering eyes.
Harry stepped forward, lowering his hood. He knew what the mirror did. It showed one's deepest desires, reflecting what the heart longed for most.
Taking a steady breath, he looked into the glass.
At first, he saw himself—just his normal reflection. But then, the image shifted.
His mother appeared, her green eyes—so much like his—filled with warmth and pride. His father stood beside her, smiling, a protective hand on his shoulder. But the scene didn't stop there.
More figures emerged.
Women, their faces familiar yet slightly blurred, stood around him. He recognized Hermione, her intelligent eyes filled with admiration. Daphne, cool and composed, yet standing close as if she belonged by his side. But beyond them, others lingered—shadowed but undeniably real.
A smirk tugged at Harry's lips.
"So… this mirror shows what I desire most?" he thought, amused.
His family. His wives.
He expected to feel sadness at the sight of his parents, a longing for what he had lost. But instead, he felt something else—determination. He would not let himself be defined by the past. He would carve his own path, take what he wanted, and build his own legacy.
He barely had time to process his thoughts when a calm, familiar voice spoke from behind him.
"I see you have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
Harry turned, keeping his expression neutral.
Dumbledore stood near the entrance, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the faint candlelight. His hands were folded behind his back, his posture relaxed, yet his eyes—those sharp, knowing blue eyes—studied Harry with quiet amusement.
The Conversation – Words and Masks
"I didn't hear you coming, Professor," Harry said casually.
Dumbledore smiled. "That tends to happen when one is lost in their own reflection. Tell me, Harry, do you know what this mirror does?"
Harry tilted his head slightly, pretending to be uncertain. "Not exactly."
Dumbledore stepped forward, his gaze flickering toward the mirror. "It shows the deepest desires of our hearts. For some, that is family. For others, power. And for a man like myself, nothing but a simple pair of warm socks."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. A lie. A deliberate misdirection. Dumbledore never spoke without purpose, and this was no exception.
Instead of calling him out, Harry simply asked, "And what do you see, Professor?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Ah, now that would be telling, wouldn't it?"
Harry smirked. "Fair enough."
Dumbledore studied him for a moment before asking, "And what is it that you see, Harry?"
Harry met his gaze without hesitation. "My family. And my wives."
A flicker of surprise passed through Dumbledore's eyes. It was brief, but Harry caught it.
"Wives?" Dumbledore repeated, his voice light with curiosity.
Harry shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Desires of the heart, right?"
Dumbledore chuckled, but there was an undertone of intrigue in his amusement. "Indeed. A rather unorthodox vision, but the heart wants what it wants."
They stood in silence for a moment, the mirror reflecting their images back at them.
Then, Harry changed the subject. "Why is this mirror here, Professor? Shouldn't something this powerful be better protected?"
Dumbledore nodded approvingly. "Very astute, Harry. Yes, the mirror is dangerous in its own way. It does not give knowledge, nor truth—only reflection. Many have wasted away before it, unable to tear themselves away from what they desire but cannot have."
"And you're warning me not to do the same?"
"Precisely. I will be moving the mirror soon, so I suggest you do not seek it out again."
Harry gave a slight nod. He had no reason to argue—he had already learned what he needed.
But there was something else he wanted.
A chance to ask his question.
"Professor," Harry began, keeping his voice calm, "why did you leave me with the Dursleys?"
Dumbledore's expression didn't change, but there was a moment—a fraction of a second—where something flickered in his gaze.
Regret? Guilt? Calculation?
The old wizard sighed softly. "That is a complicated matter, Harry. One I promise to explain in time."
"That's not really an answer," Harry said, his tone polite but firm.
Dumbledore smiled faintly. "No, I suppose it is not. But trust that I had my reasons. Your safety was always my priority."
Harry held his gaze. "And yet, I was anything but safe in that house."
Dumbledore's twinkle dimmed, just a little. "Sometimes, Harry, we must endure hardships to grow stronger."
Harry clenched his jaw but didn't press further. He knew Dumbledore was hiding something. The man wouldn't reveal everything just yet.
But that was fine.
Harry had time.
And he would find his own answers.
Leaving the Room – A Silent Agreement
As Harry turned to leave, he paused. He could feel Dumbledore watching him—not with suspicion, but with curiosity.
The old man was still trying to figure him out.
"Goodnight, Professor," Harry said smoothly.
"Goodnight, Harry," Dumbledore replied, his voice soft, thoughtful.
Harry walked away, leaving the mirror—and Dumbledore—behind.
But as he stepped into the shadows of the corridor, a single thought echoed in his mind.
Harry moved silently through the corridors of Hogwarts, his Invisibility Cloak wrapped tightly around him. His encounter with Dumbledore had gone as expected—a game of words and veiled intentions.
Dumbledore was a manipulator, no doubt about it. But unlike many others, his manipulation wasn't born of malice. He played his games for what he believed to be the greater good.
And Harry?
Harry didn't care.
As long as Dumbledore didn't interfere with him, he had no reason to go against the old wizard. Not yet, anyway.
With that thought, he entered the Slytherin dormitories, navigating his way to his private room in the dungeons. It was past curfew, and most students were already deep in sleep.
But Harry wasn't done for the night.
A small smirk played on his lips as he reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the cool surface of his ring. His personal pocket universe—his secret domain, untouched by time or interference.
And waiting for him inside was his final Christmas gift.
With a pulse of magic, the air shimmered, and in an instant, he was there.
A warmth greeted him immediately, a stark contrast to the cold stone walls of Hogwarts. And at the center of the room, wrapped delicately in silk and ribbons, lay Petunia.
She gazed at him with a knowing smile, her body presented like a perfectly wrapped gift.
"Merry Christmas, Harry," she purred.
Harry's smirk widened as he stepped closer.
Tonight was far from over.