Revised: March 6, 2022 (finally!)

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Midway through December, snow fell, covering the ground with a thick blanket and leaving the classrooms and corridors freezing. The dungeons were especially chilly, and many students kept as close to their cauldrons as possible.

"I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they're not wanted at home," Pansy Parkinson said one day.

Ever since Harry and Draco had started a tentative friendship, Draco had backed off on teasing Harry. Parkinson, however, seemed to find it up to her to take his place.

The unlikely pair left the dungeons together and saw a fir tree blocking the corridor.

"Need help?" Harry asked.

"Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Harry," Hagrid said.

"So what are you doing for the holidays, Draco?" Harry asked.

"My father received an invitation from the Zabinis," Draco replied. "What about you? Going back to your aunt and uncle?"

"No, I'm better off here," Harry said evasively.

He had been careful not to say too much about his relatives, and to his relief, Draco didn't push the subject. Instead, Harry focused on describing how Muggles adapted to a world without magic and invented technology like the television, the phone, and vehicles. Draco had been impressed despite himself, although he tried to play it off as mild interest. Slowly, Draco was beginning to appreciate what magic-less individuals could accomplish, and as a result began a growing grudging respect for Muggle-borns.

"And think about this," Harry had said once, "before all the cranes and bulldozers, they had to make everything by hand!"

"Whoa!" Draco had exclaimed. "I mean, that sounds cool, I guess," he added quickly.

"It's going to be pretty lonely," Harry said now as they walked around the fir tree. "Not a lot of people are staying."

"You'll be fine, Harry," Draco said. "The Weasleys are staying, I hear. Maybe they'll drag you into their mischief."

"Maybe." The thought of spending time with that rowdy bunch filled Harry with apprehension and eagerness.

Terry Boot was the only one in Harry's dorm that was staying at Hogwarts for the holiday. In the morning, he shook Harry awake. The first word that registered in Harry's tired mind was "presents."

"I've got presents?" Harry said.

Terry gave him a strange look. "Is there a reason why you wouldn't?"

"No." Harry wished he hadn't opened his mouth. "Course not."

The first gift, a hand-made wooden flute, was from Hagrid. His relatives were kind enough to send him a fifty-pence piece. A lumpy parcel revealed a hand-knitted sweater that came with a box of fudge.

"That would be from Mrs. Weasley," Terry told him. "I heard she makes one for all her children every year. It's a tradition for them, I guess."

The last one was a silvery gray sheet that fell to the floor in a heap. "What's this?"

"It looks like some kind of cloak. Try it," Terry said.

Harry threw it over his shoulders, and Terry gasped. "Whoa! Harry, look at yourself!"

Harry walked over to the mirror. Only his head was visible in the reflection, seeming to float in midair. "An Invisibilty Cloak!" Terry sounded envious. "Hey, there's a note."

The writing was unfamiliar and in smooth cursive.

Your father left this in my possession before he died.

It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

So that was the infamous Invisibilty Cloak his mother had mentioned in the journal.

He and Terry headed down to the Great Hall. Terry sat down at the Ravenclaw table, but as Harry was about to join him, he heard someone calling his name. George waved him over to the Gryffindor table.

"I mentioned to Mum you'd be staying here," he explained as Harry sat down.

"It was my idea," Fred bragged.

"Yeah, but I was the one who wrote to her," George retorted.

Harry laughed. "Well, thank you — both of you." He did a double take. "Um, guys?"

"Hm?"

"Is there a reason you're wearing each other's sweaters?"

"What are you talking about?" Fred said, feigning confusion.

"Yeah, you know it's me, Gred," George added.

"And Forge."

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who shrugged and helped himself to another serving of roast turkey.

They all spent the afternoon having a snowball fight; both Fred and George turned on Ron and pelted him with snowballs. Harry decided to take pity on Ron and stuffed a handful of snow in Fred's face. Big mistake.

"Oi! Get back here, Potter!" Fred shouted, abandoning Ron and chasing him around the courtyard.

He caught up to him easily and wrestled him into the snow.

"Give in?"

"Yes, yes. Now get off me!"

Fred moved back, grinning, and helped him up. "Never mess with me, Harrykins."

"Noted," said Harry through chattering teeth.

The grin dropped from Fred's face to be replaced by concern. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm sorry, I —"

Another clump of snow in his face cut him off. He reared back, spluttering, as Harry laughed.

"Apology accepted, Weasley," he said sweetly before running off.

That treacherous little raven, Fred thought with no real malice.

That night, as he was about to get into bed, Terry piped up. "Aren't you gonna try out that cloak?"

"Don't you remember the last time I came in after a nightly adventure?" Harry pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Terry shrugged. "Yeah, but that was before you had your cloak. Go on, I know you want to."

And yes, Harry did. But he didn't want to risk it.

But he did anyway.

And now he was standing in front of a tall mirror with the words Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi carved into the top.

He read it backwards: I show not your face but your heart's desire. Slowly, he walked up to it. And then he gasped.

He could see himself, but there were also several people around his reflection. One of them was a beautiful woman with dark red hair and green eyes. "Mum," Harry whispered.

The man on his other side had unkempt black hair and glasses. "Dad."

This was his family. Harry slowly backed away. His family... Oh, how he wished they were still alive. A lump formed in his throat, and he forced himself to move away. Without looking back, he fled back to his dorm.

"Harry?" Terry sat up. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," said Harry, though his voice trembled slightly. "Go back to sleep."

Terry hesitated, then laid back down.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't stop thinking about the mirror. He barely ate, he barely slept, and he was hardly aware of his surroundings.

So when someone spoke his name in a loud, cheerful voice, he jumped sideways into the wall.

"Whoa, easy, it's just me!" Fred looked at him in alarm. "You okay?"

Harry blinked at him a few times, trying to calm his racing heart. "Yeah... sort of..."

Fred just looked at him, eyebrows furrowed.

"There was this mirror... It showed my parents."

Fred's eyes widened in astonishment. "Ghosts?"

"No, not ghosts." If it had been ghosts, then surely Harry would have seen them before?

"Where is it?"

Harry looked up. "Where's what?"

"This mirror." Fred bounced on his toes. "I want to see it for myself."

"Er... I don't know if that's a good idea. It — it shows what you desire most."

Fred stopped bouncing, his expression sobering. "Oh."

Harry shrugged and cast his eyes downward, ears burning as he waited.

But Fred didn't ask any further questions. "I won't tell anyone. If you don't want me to."

"That would be nice, thanks," Harry replied flatly. "I have to go."

He turned and ran off before Fred could respond. And if he spent that night rereading his mother's journal more obsessively than usual while under the cloak, no one had to know.

I made it sadder. Whoops