Slytherins & Escape

Snow had begun to fall overnight, transforming the castle grounds into a vast field of shimmering white. The towers and rooftops appeared as though they had been dipped in powdered sugar, signaling the arrival of winter at Hogwarts. Frost glistened on the windowpanes, and the bitter chill of the season crept into every corner of the ancient stone castle. Notices soon appeared in the common rooms, inviting students to sign up if they intended to stay during the Christmas holidays. Harry, unsurprisingly, added his name without hesitation. Anything was preferable to spending another miserable holiday with the Dursleys. To his mild surprise, Daphne Greengrass's name appeared on the list as well.

Harry wasn't sure whether she could not or would not return home, but she didn't seem eager to discuss it. Their shared decision made them the only first-year Slytherins staying behind, joined by a handful of older students. The common room, usually teeming with the noise of arguments, laughter, and the crackle of the fireplace, seemed oddly still. It was a quiet Harry found surprisingly comforting, as though the castle itself was granting him respite.

Draco Malfoy found endless amusement in their situation. "Not wanted at home, are you?" he sneered one day, a smirk stretching across his pale face as laughter bubbled from his entourage.

Harry met Malfoy's gaze evenly. "Better than spending it with you lot," he said, his tone light but laced with enough sarcasm to make Malfoy's smirk falter. The retort earned a snicker from a passing seventh-year Slytherin, and Malfoy quickly turned his attention elsewhere.

Hogwarts, with its towering spires and labyrinth-like corridors, had become more of a home to Harry in a few short months than Privet Drive ever had. It was a place where magic wasn't just whispered about but lived and breathed in every brick and candle flame. The prospect of experiencing it without the usual swarm of students felt like a gift in itself.

When the holiday officially began, the Slytherin dormitory emptied completely. With no one else around, Harry slept deeply and without interruption, waking on Christmas morning feeling more rested than he could remember. Stretching, he noticed a small stack of parcels at the foot of his bed. His heart skipped a beat. Presents? For him? He could hardly believe it. He reached for the nearest package with trembling hands.

The first package, wrapped in coarse brown paper, bore Hagrid's familiar scrawled handwriting. Inside, Harry found a roughly carved wooden flute. As he tested it, a soft, warbling sound escaped, making him grin. He imagined Hedwig tilting her head at the sound, perhaps intrigued or irritated. The thought warmed him, and he made a mental note to thank Hagrid later.

The next package was much smaller and far less exciting. A fifty-pence piece was taped to a brief, dismissive note from the Dursleys: Don't expect more. Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. The gesture was so typical of them that it was almost funny.

The final gift was wrapped in shimmering fabric that caught the morning light like water. As Harry unraveled it, a piece of parchment fluttered to the floor. He picked it up and read:

Your father left this in my care before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. Merry Christmas.

The note was unsigned, leaving Harry puzzled. His fingers traced the fabric, which was lighter and smoother than anything he'd ever felt. Holding it up, he realized it was not merely cloth—it seemed to shimmer and shift as though it were alive. He sat in awe until Daphne entered the common room later that morning.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," she said, her eyes widening as she examined it. Her usual composure cracked just slightly, revealing a mix of awe and envy. "These are exceedingly rare, Harry. This…this is priceless. People would do terrible things to get their hands on one."

Her tone was so serious, so uncharacteristically intense, that it made Harry's stomach twist. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw a flicker of something darker in her expression, but it vanished almost instantly. She handed the cloak back to him with a reluctant sigh. "Be careful with it."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of food and festivities. The Great Hall was an enchanted winter wonderland, with garlands of holly and ivy draped across every surface, floating candles glowing with a soft, golden light, and an enormous Christmas tree glittering with enchanted snow. Hagrid, dressed as an overenthusiastic Father Christmas, told increasingly outrageous jokes, earning groans and laughter in equal measure. The feast was a masterpiece of magic and indulgence, with dishes that refilled themselves and desserts that seemed too beautiful to eat. For the first time in his life, Harry felt a sense of belonging and joy during the holidays that warmed him more than the roaring fires in the hall.

Yet, as the day turned to evening, Harry's thoughts drifted back to the cloak and the cryptic note. Who had sent it? And why now? Curiosity gnawed at him, and the cloak seemed to beckon, whispering promises of discovery. His mind raced with the possibilities. By the time he lay in bed that night, he had made up his mind. The castle was his to explore.

Throwing the cloak around his shoulders, Harry slipped into the corridors, the cold stone floor muffled under his soft footsteps. His heart raced with a mix of fear and exhilaration. The first destination was obvious: the library's restricted section. He had been curious about it ever since Madam Pince had scolded him and his classmates for venturing too close. With the cloak, he moved unnoticed, slipping past the velvet ropes that marked the forbidden boundary.

Lantern in hand, Harry wandered through rows of ancient, forbidden tomes. Some bore titles in languages he couldn't decipher, their spines adorned with glowing runes. Others seemed to hum faintly, as though the secrets within were alive. One book, bound in smooth, disturbingly warm leather, caught his attention. The realization of what it was made his stomach churn, a book bound with human skin. Harry could still see a fleck of hair, perhaps an eyebrow, on the spine. He panted and dropped it with a loud thud. The sound echoed through the silent library.

Panic surged as the unmistakable meow of Mrs. Norris, Filch's prowling cat, broke the stillness. Seconds later, the shuffle of Filch's feet reached his ears. Holding his breath, Harry pressed himself against the shelves, praying the cloak would keep him hidden. Filch muttered about "meddling students" as he searched, but eventually, his footsteps faded.

Relieved but shaken, Harry made a hasty exit, darting through the corridors until he stumbled into a darkened room. Closing the door behind him, he turned and froze. Standing in the center of the room was a massive, ornate mirror. Its golden frame seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight, and intricate lettering along the top read: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Curious, Harry stepped closer and gasped. Reflected in the glass were not just his own features but those of two other figures. A man and a woman stood beside him, their faces achingly familiar. The woman's emerald-green eyes mirrored his own, and the man's unruly hair and glasses were a reflection of his. They smiled at him with a warmth that made his chest ache.

"Mum? Dad?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. Reaching out, his hand met only the cold surface of the mirror. Overwhelmed, he sank to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. He stayed there for what felt like hours, staring at the family he had never truly known.

The sound of distant footsteps eventually pulled him from his reverie. Reluctantly, he left the room, but his thoughts were consumed by the mirror's magic. The following night, Harry resolved to return and bring Daphne. If the mirror could show him his heart's desire, perhaps it could do the same for her.

When he led Daphne to the room the next evening, she hesitated. "What is it?" she asked, her tone cautious.

"You'll see," Harry said, urging her forward. "Just stand here and look."

Her gaze locked onto the mirror, and her expression shifted rapidly. First curiosity, then longing, and finally something close to fury. Her breathing quickened, and she turned away sharply. "You shouldn't look into that mirror again, Harry. It's dangerous."

"What did you see?" he pressed, but Daphne was already walking away, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Torn between chasing after her and staying with the reflection of his parents, Harry hesitated. In the end, he turned back to the mirror, his heart heavy with unanswered questions. His parents' smiles lingered in the glass, and he whispered a promise to them: "I'll be back."

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