– 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. ‘We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and
we can’t find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I’ve read
his name somewhere.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’,’ said Hagrid flatly.
‘Just have to find out for ourselves, then,’ said Ron, and they
left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.
They had indeed been searching books for Flamel’s name ever
since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to
find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was
very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel
might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn’t in Great
Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our
Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical
Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And
then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of
thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow
rows.
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided
to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started
pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to
the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if
Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a
specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of
the restricted books and he knew he’d never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at
Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
‘What are you looking for, boy?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry.
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.
‘You’d better get out, then. Go on – out!’
Wishing he’d been a bit quicker at thinking up some story,
Harry left the library. He, Ron and Hermione had already agreed
they’d better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel.
They were sure she’d be able to tell them, but they couldn’t risk
Snape hearing what they were up to.
Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had
found anything, but he wasn’t very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments
between lessons it wasn’t surprising they’d found nothing. What
they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince
breathing down their necks.
Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking
their heads. They went off to lunch.
‘You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ said
Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’
‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,’
said Ron. ‘It’d be safe to ask them.’
‘Very safe, as they’re both dentists,’ said Hermione.
*
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too
good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory
to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual,
so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat
by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork –
bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting
Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t
work.
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly
like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made
it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and
battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to
someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather.
However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.
Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him
and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet
and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was
confusing: ‘Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send
him, we can afford to lose him.’
On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the
next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents
at all. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing
he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of
bed and pulled on his dressing-gown.
‘You too,’ said Harry. ‘Will you look at this? I’ve got some
presents!’
‘What did you expect, turnips?’ said Ron, turning to his own
pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s.
Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown
paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was
a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.
A second, very small parcel contained a note.
We received your message and enclose your Christmas present.
From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a
fifty-pence piece.
‘That’s friendly,’ said Harry.
Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.
‘Weird!’ he said. ‘What a shape! This is money?’
‘You can keep it,’ said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was.
‘Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?’
‘I think I know who that one’s from,’ said Ron, going a bit pink
and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. ‘My mum. I told her you
didn’t expect any presents and – oh, no,’ he groaned, ‘she’s made
you a Weasley jumper.’
Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted
sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.
‘Every year she makes us a jumper,’ said Ron, unwrapping his
own, ‘and mine’s always maroon.’
‘That’s really nice of her,’ said Harry, trying the fudge, which
was very tasty.
His next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.
This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was
very light. He unwrapped it.
Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor,
where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.
‘I’ve heard of those,’ he said in a hushed voice, dropping the
box of Every-Flavour Beans he’d got from Hermione. ‘If that’s
what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.’
‘What is it?’
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was
strange to the touch, like water woven into material.
‘It’s an Invisibility Cloak,’ said Ron, a look of awe on his face.
‘I’m sure it is – try it on.’
Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a
yell.
‘It is! Look down!’
Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to
the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just
his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He
pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
‘There’s a note!’ said Ron suddenly. ‘A note fell out of it!’
Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized 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.
There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was
admiring the Cloak.
‘I’d give anything for one of these,’ he said. ‘Anything. What’s the
matter?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the
Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?
Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door
was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry
stuffed the Cloak quickly out of sight. He didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!’
Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large
yellow F on it, the other with a large yellow G.
‘Harry’s is better than ours, though,’ said Fred, holding up
Harry’s jumper. ‘She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re
not family.’
‘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 as he pulled it over
his head.
‘You haven’t got a letter on yours,’ George observed. ‘I suppose
she 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 disapproving. He had clearly come halfway through unwrapping his
presents as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which
Fred seized.
‘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.
*
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A
hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver
boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually
bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper
hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn’t just
bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them
all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a
rear-admiral’s hat and several live, white mice. Up on 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 him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly
broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry
watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called
for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek,
who, to Harry’s amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat
lop-sided.
When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a
stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a grow-your-own-warts kit and
his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared
and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs
Norris’ Christmas dinner.
Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the grounds. Then, cold, wet and gasping
for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common
room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn’t have lost so badly if Percy
hadn’t tried to help him so much.
After a tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and
Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much
before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all
over Gryffindor Tower because they’d stolen his prefect badge.
It had been Harry’s best Christmas day ever. Yet something had
been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed
into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and
whoever had sent it.
Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to
bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he’d drawn the curtains
of his four-poster. Harry leant over the side of his own bed and
pulled the Cloak out from under it.
His father’s ... this had been his father’s. He let the material flow
over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the
note had said.
He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the
Cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only
moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.
Use it well.
Suddenly, Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was
open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he
stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this,
anywhere, and Filch would never know.
Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something
held him back – his father’s Cloak – he felt that this time – the
first time – he wanted to use it alone.
He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the
common room and climbed through the portrait hole.
‘Who’s there?’ squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He
walked quickly down the corridor.
Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and
thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the
library. He’d be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took
to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility
Cloak tight around him as he walked.
The library was pitch black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to
see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was
floating along in mid-air, and even though Harry could feel his
arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library.
Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books
from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters
spelled words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. Some had
no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly
like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe
he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering
was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was
there who shouldn’t be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on
the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He
pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.
A piercing, blood-curdling shriek split the silence – the book
was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and
on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once.
Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He
passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked
straight through him and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched
arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He
had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid
attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he
didn’t recognise where he was at all. There was a suit of armour
near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.
‘You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was
wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library –
Restricted Section.’
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was,
Filch must know a short cut, because his soft, greasy voice was
getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied.
‘The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch
them.’
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around
the corner ahead. They couldn’t see him, of course, but it was a
narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right
into him – the Cloak didn’t stop him being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his
left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his
breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get
inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked
straight past and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply,
listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very
close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the
room he had hidden in.
It looked like a disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks
and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned
waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was
something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that
looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the
way.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an
ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an
inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru
oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and
Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously
than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only
himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right
behind him.
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly
back to the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and
there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked
over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all
invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and
this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind
his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a
hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d
touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only
air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her
eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little
closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then
he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same
time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his
arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It
stuck up at the back, just like Harry’s did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly
touching that of his reflection.
‘Mum?’ he whispered. ‘Dad?’
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked
into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other
pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old
man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees – Harry
was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily
back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he
was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a
Chapter 12
The Mirror of Erised
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,’ said Draco Malfoy, one Potions class, ‘for all
those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because
they’re not wanted at home.’
He was looking over at Harry as he spoke. Crabbe and Goyle
chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them. Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than
usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that Slytherin had
lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a widemouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry as Seeker next. Then
he’d realised that nobody found this funny, because they were all
so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to
taunting Harry about having no proper family.
It was true that Harry wasn’t going back to Privet Drive for
Christmas. Professor McGonagall had come round the week
before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry had signed up at once. He didn’t feel sorry for
himself at all; this would probably be the best Christmas he’d ever
had. 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 large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet
sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them
that Hagrid was behind it.
‘Hi, Hagrid, want any help?’ Ron asked, sticking his head
through the branches.
‘Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.’
‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’ came Malfoy’s cold
drawl from behind them. ‘Are you trying to earn some extra
money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you
leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a
palace compared to what your family’s used to.’
Ron dived at Malfoy just as Snape came up the stairs.
‘WEASLEY!’
Ron let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.
‘He was provoked, Professor Snape,’ said Hagrid, sticking his
huge hairy face out from behind the tree. ‘Malfoy was insultin’ his
family.’
‘Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,’
said Snape silkily. ‘Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be
grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.’
Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.
‘I’ll get him,’ said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy’s back, ‘one
of these days, I’ll get him –’
‘I hate them both,’ said Harry, ‘Malfoy and Snape.’
‘Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,’ said Hagrid. ‘Tell yeh
what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.’
So Harry, 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 you got left until yer holidays?’ Hagrid asked.
‘Just one,’ said Hermione. ‘And that reminds me – Harry, Ron,
we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library,’
‘Oh yeah, you’re right,’ said Ron, tearing his eyes away from
Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his
wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.
‘The library?’ said Hagrid, following them out of the Hall. ‘Just
before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?’
‘Oh, we’re not working,’ Harry told him brightly. ‘Ever since
you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who
he is.’
‘You what?’ Hagrid looked shocked. ‘Listen here – I’ve told yeh
– 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. ‘We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and
we can’t find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I’ve read
his name somewhere.’
‘I’m sayin’ nothin’,’ said Hagrid flatly.
‘Just have to find out for ourselves, then,’ said Ron, and they
left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.
They had indeed been searching books for Flamel’s name ever
since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were they going to
find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was
very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel
might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn’t in Great
Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our
Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical
Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And
then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of
thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow
rows.
Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided
to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started
pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry wandered over to
the Restricted Section. He had been wondering for a while if
Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a
specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of
the restricted books and he knew he’d never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at
Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
‘What are you looking for, boy?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry.
Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at him.
‘You’d better get out, then. Go on – out!’
Wishing he’d been a bit quicker at thinking up some story,
Harry left the library. He, Ron and Hermione had already agreed
they’d better not ask Madam Pince where they could find Flamel.
They were sure she’d be able to tell them, but they couldn’t risk
Snape hearing what they were up to.
Harry waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had
found anything, but he wasn’t very hopeful. They had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as they only had odd moments
between lessons it wasn’t surprising they’d found nothing. What
they really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince
breathing down their necks.
Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined him, shaking
their heads. They went off to lunch.
‘You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?’ said
Hermione. ‘And send me an owl if you find anything.’
‘And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,’
said Ron. ‘It’d be safe to ask them.’
‘Very safe, as they’re both dentists,’ said Hermione.
*
Once the holidays had started, Ron and Harry were having too
good a time to think much about Flamel. They had the dormitory
to themselves and the common room was far emptier than usual,
so they were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. They sat
by the hour eating anything they could spear on a toasting fork –
bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting
Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t
work.
Ron also started teaching Harry wizard chess. This was exactly
like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made
it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and
battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to
someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather.
However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.
Harry played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent him
and they didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet
and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was
confusing: ‘Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send
him, we can afford to lose him.’
On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the
next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents
at all. When he woke early next morning, however, the first thing
he saw was a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.
‘Happy Christmas,’ said Ron sleepily as Harry scrambled out of
bed and pulled on his dressing-gown.
‘You too,’ said Harry. ‘Will you look at this? I’ve got some
presents!’
‘What did you expect, turnips?’ said Ron, turning to his own
pile, which was a lot bigger than Harry’s.
Harry picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown
paper and scrawled across it was To Harry, from Hagrid. Inside was
a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.
A second, very small parcel contained a note.
We received your message and enclose your Christmas present.
From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Sellotaped to the note was a
fifty-pence piece.
‘That’s friendly,’ said Harry.
Ron was fascinated by the fifty pence.
‘Weird!’ he said. ‘What a shape! This is money?’
‘You can keep it,’ said Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron was.
‘Hagrid and my aunt and uncle – so who sent these?’
‘I think I know who that one’s from,’ said Ron, going a bit pink
and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. ‘My mum. I told her you
didn’t expect any presents and – oh, no,’ he groaned, ‘she’s made
you a Weasley jumper.’
Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted
sweater in emerald green and a large box of home-made fudge.
‘Every year she makes us a jumper,’ said Ron, unwrapping his
own, ‘and mine’s always maroon.’
‘That’s really nice of her,’ said Harry, trying the fudge, which
was very tasty.
His next present also contained sweets – a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione.
This left only one parcel. Harry picked it up and felt it. It was
very light. He unwrapped it.
Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor,
where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped.
‘I’ve heard of those,’ he said in a hushed voice, dropping the
box of Every-Flavour Beans he’d got from Hermione. ‘If that’s
what I think it is – they’re really rare, and really valuable.’
‘What is it?’
Harry picked the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It was
strange to the touch, like water woven into material.
‘It’s an Invisibility Cloak,’ said Ron, a look of awe on his face.
‘I’m sure it is – try it on.’
Harry threw the Cloak around his shoulders and Ron gave a
yell.
‘It is! Look down!’
Harry looked down at his feet, but they had gone. He dashed to
the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him, just
his head suspended in mid-air, his body completely invisible. He
pulled the Cloak over his head and his reflection vanished completely.
‘There’s a note!’ said Ron suddenly. ‘A note fell out of it!’
Harry pulled off the Cloak and seized 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.
There was no signature. Harry stared at the note. Ron was
admiring the Cloak.
‘I’d give anything for one of these,’ he said. ‘Anything. What’s the
matter?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harry. He felt very strange. Who had sent the
Cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father?
Before he could say or think anything else, the dormitory door
was flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounded in. Harry
stuffed the Cloak quickly out of sight. He didn’t feel like sharing it with anyone else yet.
‘Merry Christmas!’
‘Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!’
Fred and George were wearing blue jumpers, one with a large
yellow F on it, the other with a large yellow G.
‘Harry’s is better than ours, though,’ said Fred, holding up
Harry’s jumper. ‘She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re
not family.’
‘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 as he pulled it over
his head.
‘You haven’t got a letter on yours,’ George observed. ‘I suppose
she 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 disapproving. He had clearly come halfway through unwrapping his
presents as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which
Fred seized.
‘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.
*
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A
hundred fat, roast turkeys, mountains of roast and boiled potatoes, platters of fat chipolatas, tureens of buttered peas, silver
boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce – and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic crackers were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually
bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper
hats. Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn’t just
bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them
all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a
rear-admiral’s hat and several live, white mice. Up on 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 him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly
broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry
watched Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he called
for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek,
who, to Harry’s amazement, giggled and blushed, her top hat
lop-sided.
When Harry finally left the table, he was laden down with a
stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of nonexplodable, luminous balloons, a grow-your-own-warts kit and
his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared
and Harry had a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs
Norris’ Christmas dinner.
Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight in the grounds. Then, cold, wet and gasping
for breath, they returned to the fire in the Gryffindor common
room, where Harry broke in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. He suspected he wouldn’t have lost so badly if Percy
hadn’t tried to help him so much.
After a tea of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and
Christmas cake, everyone felt too full and sleepy to do much
before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all
over Gryffindor Tower because they’d stolen his prefect badge.
It had been Harry’s best Christmas day ever. Yet something had
been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbed
into bed was he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and
whoever had sent it.
Ron, full of turkey and cake and with nothing mysterious to
bother him, fell asleep almost as soon as he’d drawn the curtains
of his four-poster. Harry leant over the side of his own bed and
pulled the Cloak out from under it.
His father’s ... this had been his father’s. He let the material flow
over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the
note had said.
He had to try it, now. He slipped out of bed and wrapped the
Cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he saw only
moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.
Use it well.
Suddenly, Harry felt wide awake. The whole of Hogwarts was
open to him in this Cloak. Excitement flooded through him as he
stood there in the dark and silence. He could go anywhere in this,
anywhere, and Filch would never know.
Ron grunted in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something
held him back – his father’s Cloak – he felt that this time – the
first time – he wanted to use it alone.
He crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the
common room and climbed through the portrait hole.
‘Who’s there?’ squawked the Fat Lady. Harry said nothing. He
walked quickly down the corridor.
Where should he go? He stopped, his heart racing, and
thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the
library. He’d be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took
to find out who Flamel was. He set off, drawing the Invisibility
Cloak tight around him as he walked.
The library was pitch black and very eerie. Harry lit a lamp to
see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looked as if it was
floating along in mid-air, and even though Harry could feel his
arm supporting it, the sight gave him the creeps.
The Restricted Section was right at the back of the library.
Stepping carefully over the rope which separated these books
from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles.
They didn’t tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters
spelled words in languages Harry couldn’t understand. Some had
no title at all. One book had a dark stain on it that looked horribly
like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck prickled. Maybe
he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering
was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was
there who shouldn’t be.
He had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on
the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interestinglooking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He
pulled it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, let it fall open.
A piercing, blood-curdling shriek split the silence – the book
was screaming! Harry snapped it shut, but the shriek went on and
on, one high, unbroken, ear-splitting note. He stumbled backwards and knocked over his lamp, which went out at once.
Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside – stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he ran for it. He
passed Filch almost in the doorway; Filch’s pale, wild eyes looked
straight through him and Harry slipped under Filch’s outstretched
arm and streaked off up the corridor, the book’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.
He came to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armour. He
had been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn’t paid
attention to where he was going. Perhaps because it was dark, he
didn’t recognise where he was at all. There was a suit of armour
near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.
‘You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was
wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library –
Restricted Section.’
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was,
Filch must know a short cut, because his soft, greasy voice was
getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied.
‘The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch
them.’
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around
the corner ahead. They couldn’t see him, of course, but it was a
narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right
into him – the Cloak didn’t stop him being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his
left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his
breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get
inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked
straight past and Harry leant against the wall, breathing deeply,
listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very
close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the
room he had hidden in.
It looked like a disused classroom. The dark shapes of desks
and chairs were piled against the walls and there was an upturned
waste-paper basket – but propped against the wall facing him was
something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that
looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the
way.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an
ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an
inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru
oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and
Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously
than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only
himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right
behind him.
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly
back to the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and
there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked
over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all
invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and
this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind
his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a
hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d
touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only
air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her
eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little
closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then
he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same
time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his
arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It
stuck up at the back, just like Harry’s did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly
touching that of his reflection.
‘Mum?’ he whispered. ‘Dad?’
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked
into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other
pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old
man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees – Harry
was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily
back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he
was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a
powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.
How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and
Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously
than when the book had screamed – for he had seen not only
himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right
behind him.
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly
back to the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared-looking, and
there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked
over his shoulder – but, still, no one was there. Or were they all
invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and
this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind
his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a
hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d
touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only
air – she and the others existed only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her
eyes – her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little
closer to the glass. Bright green – exactly the same shape, but then
he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same
time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his
arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It
stuck up at the back, just like Harry’s did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly
touching that of his reflection.
‘Mum?’ he whispered. ‘Dad?’
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked
into the faces of the other people in the mirror and saw other
pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old
man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees – Harry
was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily
back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he
was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a
powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.
How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought
him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his
way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face,
whispered, ‘I’ll come back,’ and hurried from the room.
*
‘You could have woken me up,’ said Ron, crossly.
‘You can come tonight, I’m going back, I want to show you the
mirror.’
‘I’d like to see your mum and dad,’ Ron said eagerly.
‘And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you’ll be
able to show me your other brothers and everyone.’
‘You can see them any old time,’ said Ron. ‘Just come round my
house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people.
Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or
something, why aren’t you eating anything?’
Harry couldn’t eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It
didn’t seem very important any more. Who cared what the threeheaded dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it,
really?
‘Are you all right?’ said Ron. ‘You look odd.’
*
What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the
mirror room again. With Ron covered in the Cloak too, they had
to walk much more slowly next night. They tried retracing Harry’s
route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways
for nearly an hour.
‘I’m freezing,’ said Ron. ‘Let’s forget it and go back.’
‘No!’ Harry hissed. ‘I know it’s here somewhere.’
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite
direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that
his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armour.
‘It’s here – just here – yes!’
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the Cloak from
round his shoulders and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of
him.
‘See?’ Harry whispered.
‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Look! Look at them all ... there are loads of them ...’
‘I can only see you.’
‘Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.’
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he
couldn’t see his family any more, just Ron in his paisley pyjamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
‘Look at me!’ he said.
‘Can you see all your family standing around you?’
‘No – I’m alone – but I’m different – I look older – and I’m
Head Boy!’
‘What?’
‘I am – I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to – and I’m holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup – I’m Quidditch
captain, too!’
Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly
at Harry.
‘Do you think this mirror shows the future?’
‘How can it? All my family are dead – let me have another
look –’
‘You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.’
‘You’re only holding the Quidditch Cup, what’s interesting
about that? I want to see my parents.’
‘Don’t push me –’
A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn’t realised how loudly they had been talking.
‘Quick!’
Ron threw the Cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of
Mrs Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still,
both thinking the same thing – did the Cloak work on cats? After
what seemed an age, she turned and left.
‘This isn’t safe – she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard
us. Come on.’
And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.
*
The snow still hadn’t melted next morning.
‘Want to play chess, Harry?’ said Ron.
‘No.’
‘Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?’
‘No ... you go ...’
‘I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t go
back tonight.’ ‘Why not?’
‘I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it – and anyway,
you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape and Mrs
Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What
if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?’
‘You sound like Hermione.’
‘I’m serious, Harry, don’t go.’
But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get
back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn’t going to stop him.
*
That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He
was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was
wise, but he didn’t meet anyone.
And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and
one of his grandfathers nodding happily Harry sank down to sit
on the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him
staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.
Except –
‘So – back again, Harry?’
Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked
behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none
other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight
past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn’t noticed him.
‘I – I didn’t see you, sir.’
‘Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you,’ said
Dumbledore, and Harry was relieved to see that he was smiling.
‘So,’ said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor
with Harry, ‘you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the
delights of the Mirror of Erised.’
‘I didn’t know it was called that, sir.’
‘But I expect you’ve realised by now what it does?’
‘It – well – it shows me my family –’
‘And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy.’
‘How did you know –?’
‘I don’t need a cloak to become invisible,’ said Dumbledore gently. ‘Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?’
Harry shook his head.
‘Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to
use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would
look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?’ Harry thought. Then he said slowly, ‘It shows us what we want
... whatever we want ...’
‘Yes and no,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘It shows us nothing
more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts.
You, who have never known your family, see them standing
around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed
by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of
them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or
truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they
have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is
real or even possible.
‘The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and
I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across
it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams
and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don’t you put that
admirable Cloak back on and get off to bed?’
Harry stood up.
‘Sir – Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?’
‘Obviously, you’ve just done so,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘You may
ask me one more thing, however.’
‘What do you see when you look in the Mirror?’
‘I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks.’
Harry stared.
‘One can never have enough socks,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Another
Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People
will insist on giving me books.’
It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that
Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he
thought, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been quite a
personal question.