Chapter 18-Christmas Wishes And The Heart's Desire

Chapter 18: Christmas Wishes and the Heart's Desire

"Whatever happens, Harry, I want you to know that I'm proud to have known a great warrior such as yourself."

Harry looked over at Fred, a soft smile gracing his face. "Likewise. You've fought bravely, Fred, and with honour. I won't forget your sacrifice – victory will belong to us both."

Fred nodded, eyes tearing a little. "They will sing songs of this day."

Harry's smile faltered a bit. "Who're they?"

"Fair maidens and brave warriors such as ourselves."

"Alright, then, I'll trust you on that one."

"Wise choice. Now, on my count – one, two, THREE!"

At that moment, Fred burst through the roof of their snow fort, drawing rapid fire from Ron and George while Harry crawled to the side.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

And with that, Ron and George's snow fort rose through the air like a floating castle, only to come crashing down their heads a moment later.

Seeing their foes vanquished and covered in the ruins of their former home base, Harry and Fred let out a whoop of victory, and shook hands fervently.

"Really Harry, a pleasure," Fred was saying, when he was tackled to the ground by George, who he just barely managed to kick away so he could make a break for it, his twin hot on his tail.

Meanwhile, Ron glared at Harry.

"That's cheating!" Ron said angrily, "You used magic!"

Harry looked at him, aghast. "You don't mean you expected us to conquer you the muggle way?"

"Yes!"

Harry shook his head. "Well, you should have said so."

"It was implied!"

"Doesn't count. Besides, it's too late now. We already won."

Ron scowled. "Just like a Slytherin, playing dirty."

Harry grinned. "As I recall, you were the one who proposed doing battle with this Slytherin."

Ron rolled his eyes.

"So, Harry Dursley," Ron began as he brushed snow off himself, "What do you want to do now? It's still a couple of hours before sundown."

Harry smiled subtly. This was the the perfect time to implement his plan. "Didn't you say you know the groundskeeper?"

Ron looked surprised at his question. "Who, Hagrid? Yeah, I know him."

"Is it true that he's half giant? I heard a rumour...I'd really like to meet him."

"Oh, sure! Hagrid's brilliant, and I'm sure he'd love some company."

Harry nodded excitedly.

The path to Hagrid's hut (for that's what it was, apparently - a hut) was an uneasy crawl down the snow covered slopes Hogwarts sat upon. It wasn't too steep, but it was slippery and vaguely treacherous nonetheless...Harry thought it might have something to do with all the ice. They ended up tripping and slipping down part way, but in the end it shortened their journey, which Harry was thankful for, because it was starting to get a bit chilly out. The sooner they got back to the castle, the better.

With three sharp raps, Ron knocked on the large door of the hut, and not a few moments later, an enormous man answered, who Harry recognized as the man that showed them to the boats on September 1st. More importantly, though, he bore a marked resemblance to the boy he'd seen in Tom's memories – Rubeus Hagrid, an unusually large Hogwarts student who had a penchant for collecting dangerous magical creatures. Tom was convinced that if someone knew about the Cerberus on the third floor, it would be him. Tom also seemed to be under the impression that Mr. Hagrid was rather thick, and would be easy to coerce into revealing information.

"Well if it isn' Ron Weasley, and – well who's this you've brought with yeh this time, Ron?"

"Oh, this is my friend Tom Ev-"

Harry stuck out a hand, kicking Ron a bit. "Harry Potter, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Hagrid's eyes went wide. "Well bless my soul – Harry Potter? I haven' seen yeh since yeh were jus' a little 'un!" he exclaimed, shaking Harry's hand avidly before ushering them into his hut.

Harry could not help but notice how rustic and homey the place was – in fact, he thought it was rather charming. It definitely had...what do people say? Character? It certainly wasn't a dull place, despite the earthy, muted colours that painted it, which were cheerily offset by the bright red socks hanging near the hearth and the pink umbrella in the corner. It was all one room, so he could see a small kitchen to his right, and a quilted bed on his left. The place Hagrid showed them to was a rickety wooden kitchen table, seated dead centre in the charmingly cluttered hut.

"You knew me when I was a baby?" Harry inquired curiously as he sat down.

"Well of course I did! I was the one who brought yeh t' Dumbledore the night that...well...yeh know..."

Harry nodded slowly. "I see, well, it's lovely to see you again, then."

Hagrid beamed at him. "Likewise, Harry, likewise!" He went over to the kitchen and brought back a plate. "Cookies?"

Ron refused, and Harry politely followed suit, figuring there was a good reason Ron (who was always hungry) passed up a chance to eat.

"Well, suit yourself. Now, what brings yeh all the way out here?"

"Harry wanted to meet you," Ron piped up, causing Hagrid's smile to widen even further.

"I was curious as to what exactly you do here, Mr. Hagrid," Harry said.

"Oh, jus' Hagrid, Harry, jus' Hagrid! Anyway, I'm the one who watches o'er the grounds here at Hogwarts, and I take care of all the magical creatures aroun' here too."

Harry tilted his head a bit. "I figured as much, but I was wondering, with the creatures, what's it that you actually do?"

Hagrid looked very pleased by the question. "Well," he began, "It really depends on the sort of creature, yeh see? Some of 'em just go off 'n do their own thing, but some of 'em need some tender lovin' care, if yeh know what I mean. They need feedin', and watchin', and company and all that."

Harry was smiling as he listened. "So what kind of creatures do you take care of, Hagrid?"

"Oh, well there's the creatures that P'fessor Kettleburn works with, yeh know, for the Care of Magical Creatures class. I've got a colony of flobberworms out back that I keep around, and I keep some fire crabs down by the lake. It's always a challenge keepin' them away from the salamanders living near by...they don' particularly get along, yeh see," Hagrid said, sounding a little distraught about the last part.

Harry nodded solemnly, and Ron was starting to look quite entranced.

"What about bigger creatures?" Harry asked.

"Oh, well, I'm the one that keeps all the thestrals healthy and clean, and I keep a couple of hippogriffs aroun' here too. Third year magical creatures, they are. Oh, and unicorns too."

"Unicorns!" Ron exclaimed, "You have unicorns?"

"Oh, sure I do! They make 'emselves scarce in the winter, but yeh come down 'ere when it gets a bit warmer, and I'll introduce yeh."

Harry and Ron looked at each other and grinned.

"I think I might really enjoy that, Hagrid, thank you."

"Yeah, thanks Hagrid!"

"Oh, it's no problem at all, really."

"And what about creatures that aren't used for the Care of Magical Creatures class?"

"Well...there are some who make a home here at Hogwarts, yeh see? And I try to keep 'em comfortable, and safe away from all the students. For instance, I make sure the grindylows are well fed down in the Great Lake, and I keep the bugbears away from the students, deep in the Forbidden Forest."

"Bugbears?" Ron said curiously.

"Oh, yeah, funny little things they are, once yeh get to know 'em. But not so good around strangers – they can be a bit temperamental...they rather enjoy scaring people, yeh see."

"Do you take care of any fairies, Hagrid?" Harry could not help but wonder.

"Ah, that, Harry, is quite a challenge. Yeh see, I got me pixies 'n me brownies, and they need lots of attention, those ones – the challenge is keepin' 'em away from the students, so they don't go off causing trouble. Especially gotta watch out for those joint eaters."

Ron gulped audibly. "Joint eaters?"

"Oh, yeah, yeh want to stay away from those, Ron."

Ron nodded, a bit pale.

"I sometimes get nomad types to," Hagrid said thoughtfully, "A herd of wild hippogriffs, a kelpie, or a shellycoat here or there. I make sure they enjoy their stay here at Hogwarts."

"So, any magical creatures on the school grounds – you'd know about them?" Harry inquired.

"Oh of course! I take care of all of 'em!"

Harry nodded, a curious look on his face. "Because, you see, I heard this rumour the other day, about a giant three-headed dog chained up in the third floor corridor."

Hagrid grew alarmed at that. "Fluffy? How did yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" Ron asked, looking between them with wide eyes, "There's a giant three-headed dog and it's called Fluffy?"

"Yeah, he's mine – bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the -"

"The?" Harry prompted.

"Now see here, yeh ought not go asking questions about that, yeh hear? That's between Dumbledore an' Nicholas Flamel -" Hagrid stopped short at that, looking furious with himself. "I shouldn' 'ave said that."

Harry shook his head. "Don't worry about it Hagrid. I was just curious, is all. Ron and I will forget all about it, won't we Ron?"

Ron nodded, looking very confused about the whole thing, but Hagrid seemed quite satisfied with that.

"Now," he said, "Can I get yeh some tea?"

It would appear that Tom was correct. Hagrid was a lovely person, a pleasant conversationalist, and a wonderful host, but he really wasn't too bright.

"The Philosopher's Stone."

Harry frowned. "The who's what?"

Tom scowled at him. "The Philosopher's Stone. It's an alchemical compound fabled to manufacture wealth and eternal life for its owner."

"Wait, what? How can a stone do that?"

"I am no alchemist, Harry, or else I would have made one for myself long ago."

"Fair enough. So..." Harry began questioningly.

"So what does this tell us?" Tom asked patronizingly.

"That...Dumbledore's hiding the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts for some reason."

"Yes, and what might that reason be?"

"Well, you said that Hogwarts is one of the safest places there is, right? Maybe it's just here for safekeeping?"

"And what's wrong with that theory, Harry?"

Harry frowned. "I thought that was a pretty good theory."

"But you're missing something," Tom said impatiently.

Harry bit his lip, making a face that could only be interpreted as the face of someone in deep thought. "Well...I suppose there's the question of why it needs to be protected...but that's obvious. It's really valuable, right?"

"Yes, and it's fair to assume that it has always been protected. But why Hogwarts? Why now?"

Harry's eyes widened. "If you know about the Stone, it's at least 10 years old! So where's it been for the last 10 years? Why would they move it now? That's it, right? That's what we're missing."

Tom seemed pleased with his deduction. "So tell me, Harry, why here? Why now?"

"Because...someone's looking for it! Professor Dumbledore knows that, which is why he offered to hide it here for that Nicholas Flamel guy."

"Correct. Now, who might be looking for it?"

Harry's eyes lit up. "Voldemort!"

"Precisely."

"So Voldemort's sent Professor Quirrell to find the Stone for him."

Tom glared at him a bit. "We don't know for sure that it's Quirrell, Harry. We cannot afford to make leaps like that."

Harry pouted. "Well, what do we do, then?"

Tom raised an eyebrow, making it clear that he wasn't going to answer for him.

"Well, we need proof, I suppose, that Professor Quirrell works for Voldemort."

"And how can we acquire said proof without exposing ourselves?"

"Well, I suppose the easiest thing to do would be to wait until Quirrell...or whoever it is...tries to steal it, and then meet him there, and introduce myself."

"...introduce yourself?"

"Well, yes, that's what one does when one wants to make a friend, isn't it?"

"...make a friend?"

"Well, yes, that's what this is all about, isn't it? We want to make friends with Voldemort 1.0, right?"

Tom sighed, looking a bit exasperated. "Yes, Harry, we want to 'make friends' with Voldemort."

"1.0."

"What?"

"He's Voldemort Version 1.0, and you're Voldemort Version 2.0, otherwise known as Tom."

"...indeed."

"So, what would you normally be doing around this time?" Harry asked curiously.

He and Ron were sitting in the Great Hall, enjoying treats on Christmas Eve night. It was about a half hour before curfew, and they were alone, seeming very small in that cavernous room. Every time they shifted in their seats, or took a bite and chewed, echoes reverberated off the vast stone walls around them, reminding them that they were present and awake, and quite alone.

"Well, you know, the usual."

"No, I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"I don't know what the usual is. I've never celebrated Christmas before."

Ron stared at him, baffled. "You've...never celebrated Christmas before?"

Harry shook his head.

"Blimey, mate, that's sort of messed up, isn't it?"

"I guess so. So what is it you usually do on Christmas Eve?"

"Well," Ron began contemplatively, "Usually we have a nice dinner, you know, with ham and mashed potatoes and carrots and typical family dinner foods and whatnot...everyone's home then, so it's usually quite loud – everyone wants to know everything about what everyone else's been doing. And after that is desert – only meal of the year where there's more sweets than actual dinner. Mum loves Christmas, and she and Ginny start baking weeks ahead of time. There's usually cookies everywhere by the end of it...lots of gingerbread and shortbread. Honestly, it's a bit ridiculous – by the end of it, none of us want to taste another teaspoon of sugar again! That is, until New Years...

"Anyway, after eating, we usually just hang about by the tree, take turns telling stories in front of the fire, and everyone gets to open one present, and we all take turns guessing what it is, and whoever gets the most wrong has to run outside with no shoes on, and then..."

Seeing Harry's eyes beginning to glisten, Ron sobered a bit. "It's all rather dull, actually."

Harry smiled sadly. "No, it doesn't sound dull at all. Really, it sounds brilliant, all of it. I hope that...had things been different..." He took a deep breath. "I think I'd have liked to have a Christmas just like that."

Ron looked away, not quite sure what to say to that.

With no Dursleys to cook for and wait on, Harry slept in until Tom made his presence known on Christmas morning.

The Slytherin dormitories were rather like his old cupboard in that they had no windows – well, they had windows, but the sun was never more than a distant, muffled light drenched in the green waters of the lake above, seeming very quiet and far away. It wasn't quite bright enough in the mornings to force him to wake soon after sunrise. He'd gotten into a routine, of course, at Hogwarts; he went to bed at the same time every night, and had no trouble waking up in the mornings. But last night...well, he wasn't quite sure when exactly he fell asleep, because he'd done so with a book in his hands. Despite the fact that waking up to pain was never pleasant, Harry was thankful Tom had wakened him before he drooled on A Beginner's Guide to Spell Crafting too much.

There was no one around, but Harry went through the motions of dressing himself in his uniform just as he did every morning – Ron had taken to teasing him about wearing his school uniform over Christmas break, but what he didn't realize is that Harry might even prefer a pink frilly dress to Dudley's old cast-offs. They reminded him just a bit too much of Number 4 Privet Drive, a perfectly horrible place for perfectly horrible people, who were under the impression that being horrible was somehow normal. Ever did he endeavour to forget the whole thing.

Upon entering the Common Room, he was surprised to see that, resting under the small decorated evergreen that sat in the corner, was a small package that had not been there the night before. Curiously, he took the package in his hands, and upon seeing a small card with his name on it sitting on top, he began to unwrap it.

His attempts to unwrap it were clumsy – he'd never unwrapped a present before – but when he finally managed it, something thin, fluid, and silvery-grey slipped through his fingers and went slithering to the floor.

Harry picked what appeared to be a glimmering, silver cloth off the floor, staring at it with wonder in his eyes. It was perhaps the softest and smoothest thing he'd ever held in his hands, like water woven into silk.

Wrapping the material around himself, Harry looked down to see how it looked on him, but, suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. Eyes widening, he dashed to the mirror in the corner, and gaped at what he saw. Sure enough, his own face stared back at him, but only his face – the rest of him had completely vanished.

An invisiblility cloak, Tom supplied helpfully.

"Yes, because that wasn't entirely obvious," Harry replied with humour, ignoring the pain in his head.

He rubbed his forehead, and that was when he noticed a small note lying on the ground beside him.

Pulling off the strange cloak, he reached down to pick up the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

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.

Harry stared at the note, puzzled.

Dumbledore's handwriting, Tom commented mentally, curiosity evident in his thoughts.

Harry frowned. "How curious. I suppose my father was quite close to Dumbledore then?"

There was no answer.

"Well then..." He smiled. "I know exactly what I'm going to do with this."

The remainder of the day, Harry spent exploring the castle under the guise of his invisibility cloak. The ability to roam the castle uninhibited was...freeing, and he quite liked it.

The first thing he had done, of course, was visit the restricted section in the library. First years couldn't get passes, so Harry hadn't had the chance to check it out yet, much to his disappointment and Tom's ire. After scanning the enormous shelves with an huge grin on his face, he went about looking for a copy of Magick Moste Evile, which, to Harry, was quite legendary at this point. Tom said it was an essential reference book, and among several of his housemates it was well known as the one book their parents had that they weren't allowed to touch. When Harry finally located it he was thrilled to find that not only was is adequately creepy and mysterious looking, it was also gigantic. It would take him ages to read through it all! A worthy challenge indeed.

The restricted section of the library was a little like heaven to him. So much knowledge gathered in one place, and all of it, to varying degrees, forbidden. He blamed it on Tom – he got a certain thrill from knowing things he wasn't supposed to know. Yes, definitely Tom's fault.

What had him especially pleased, though, was that being able to access the restriction section would allow him to get started on his project. Well, it wasn't so much a project as the beginnings of a vague-ish ambition. The history books he'd gorged himself on had taught him about many great wizards and witches, but the most data had been collected on Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Voldemort, and he had noticed something very troubling about these three characters. Grindelwald was a dark wizard, Dumbledore was a light wizard, and Voldemort, again, dark. Light, dark, simple, cut and dry. Where did these distinctions come from? What was the difference between a light wizard and a dark one? He figured it must have something to do with the type of magic one practices; light or dark. But why not practice both? What stopped people from becoming exceptionally skilled at both light and dark magic? He hadn't found a clear answer on the question, and Tom refused to comment, so he had come to a decision; as long as he had no reason to believe it wasn't possible, he'd endeavour to master both light and dark magic. Tom seemed very amused and somewhat pleased by this conviction, and had suggested that Harry begin his studies in dark magic on his own time, seeing as he would learn plenty of light magic in school. That's where the copy of Magick Moste Evile came in. It was a shame he couldn't take it with him to read in bed, but he'd resolved to come back to take a look at it regularly. Perhaps Thursday nights.

After leaving the library, he roamed around aimlessly for a while, eyes wide as he observed the vastness that was Hogwarts Castle. Despite the fact that he was in an enormous magical castle full of moving staircases, living paintings, and secret passageways, though, his expedition was rather eventless until he found himself in what looked like a disused classroom. He'd deduced as much from the dark shapes of rickety old desks and chairs which were piled against the walls, which seemed to be covered in a thin layer of dust. There was nothing particularly special about the room...except for one thing. And what a thing it was. Propped against the wall facing him was something that very clearly didn't belong there; something clean, and bright, and grand. It was an enormous mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate golden frame, standing on two clawed feet. Carved starkly along the top were the words:

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'

Curiosity getting the better of him, he took a step in front of the mirror, expecting to see nothing, as he was still under his cloak, but his eyes widened as he observed a reflection. His eyes widened even further when he realized it was not his reflection that he saw – it was his father's. Indeed, he looked just like he did in the monument in Godric's Hollow, except...Harry gasped. It wasn't his father; it was him. He recognized his eyes – no one had eyes quite like him; a bright, almost ghostly green that nearly glowed in the dark. It was him in the mirror, maybe a decade or two older, standing just where Harry was now...

Wait, no, that wasn't right. He wasn't standing; he was floating. It was then that Harry realized that in the mirror, the classroom he was in was filled to the ceiling with water, his older self just floating there with a serene smile on his face. He could see how pale his skin was; his lips were blue. But he was still smiling, and his smile was perhaps the happiest, most content smile he'd ever seen on his face.

Then, slowly, his older self began to open the hand he had been keeping balled into a fist at his side. As he did so, a wispy stream of blood began to stain the water, dancing into shapes of delicate crimson flowers as it did. It was then that Harry saw that his reflection's finger was sliced open, and bleeding profusely. He began to shake, as his mind traveled backward, to a memory, a memory lost in the days before he understood what he saw in his dreams; the days before he knew the name Tom Riddle. He remembered – the knife, the blood on his finger, the bathtub, the water, so cold and numbing and welcoming. Why was he remembering this? He'd almost forgotten. Almost. It was his one secret, the one thing he had never told Tom. And that's when he panicked. Tom was with him. Tom was always with him – Tom saw exactly what he saw, and his secret was no longer a secret.

Frantically, he turned away from the mirror, his heart beating at an incredible pace.

What was that? What was he seeing? Why would the mirror show him something like that?

He glanced cautiously over his shoulder, staring at the words carved on the mirror frame.

'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi'

'I show not your face but your hearts desire'

All the breath escaped his lungs. He didn't understand. He didn't understand at all.

He didn't. He didn't want that. That wasn't what his heart desired. What it did desire, he had no idea, but surely it wasn't that.

Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his breathing. It was just a mirror. Just an image. Just a trick. Just a magic trick.

Once his breathing was steady once again, he steeled himself and said, "It's nothing, Tom. Nothing."

And with that, he fled the room, never to return.