The Road Not Taken: Chapter Fifteen

Jun 22, 2011 14:45

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Chapter Fourteen

The Road Not Taken: Chapter Fifteen



Harry kept his promise to Madam Pomfrey all through the days leading up to Christmas. He stayed indoors, worked on his homework in the library and played exploding snap with the twins at night. Tale of Harry’s bout of the flu spread fast, earning him some teasing from Ron and Seamus, at least until George and Fred stepped in with their own tales of their brothers’ woes with the wizard’s flu.

Harry didn’t have much appetite, but Madam Pomfrey had been insistent that he eat to regain his strength. He didn’t like the way she kept muttering about weight and height charts - Harry knew his frame was supposed to be bigger, taking after his father, but years with the Dursleys’ and their favorite form of punishment - taking away his food - had robbed him of the height and heft he was meant to have.

On Christmas Eve, Harry went to bed looking forward to the feast and maybe a game of wizard’s chess with the twins - they had wrangled Ron’s set from the other first year and were teaching Harry the basics. It was nice, in an odd way, to spend so much time with the twins. I never got to know them this well so early, Harry acknowledged. It’s…nice.

Harry woke on Christmas day to a pair of bodies flinging themselves onto his bed.

“What - what?” Harry flailed, still foggy with sleep.

“Happy Christmas, Harry!” The twins hollered.

Harry fumbled for his glasses. His curtains were pulled back, spells broken by the twins’ enthusiasm. Fred and George had dumped presents onto the bed and were busy sorting through them as Harry sat up.

“This one’s for us, us, us, oh, one for ickle Ronnickins,” they tossed a package at a sleepy-eyed Ron. “And one for Seamus, Mum’s been busy this year!”

Harry curled his legs under him as the twins pawed through the presents. Seamus had his own pile on the end of his bed. Ron and the twins all had good sized bundles in front of them, compared to Harry’s.

Harry started opening his presents before the twins could say something. The way they were eyeing their piles and then Harry’s was a conversation Harry did not want to have. Ever.

The top parcel was Hagrid’s. Inside was a rough-cut wooden flute. There was a book from Hermione - a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry grinned down at the title. He was glad to have thought of sending his own presents this year. He hoped Hermione liked her book on supplemental charms. Neville had sent him a backgammon board. Harry had been stumped as to what to get Neville, so he’d gone with a big box of wizarding candy. He’d have to get Neville to teach him how to play backgammon.

The note from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia was there, too. Harry made a face and set it aside.

“What’s this now?” Fred picked it up. “Your relatives sent you…what is this?”

“Fifty pence piece,” Harry said. “Muggle money.”

“Figures you’d get sent money,” Ron said.

“Fifty pence, mate?” Seamus made a face. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Ron asked.

“It’s like,” Seamus shrugged. “Knuts. It can’t buy anything, really. It’s, uh, like an insult.”

“But why would -”

“Would you look at that,” Fred exclaimed, cutting Ron off to Harry’s relief. “Mum’s made Harry a sweater, too!”

“Of course she did, you asked her to,” Ron snapped.

Harry smiled down at the hand-knitted emerald green sweater. He pulled it on over his pajamas and opened the fudge. “I’ll have to write her a thank you card,” he said. “Thanks, Fred. Thanks, George.”

Harry found the package with the invisibility cloak and opened it. Fred and George’s eyes were huge as Harry pulled out the silvery folds.

“A note’s dropped out,” Fred held it up.

“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 read out. He had to blink fast and focus on the feel of the smooth material under his palms.

“What’s all this noise?” Percy Weasley stuck his head in through the door. Fred and George scrambled off Harry’s bed to go annoy their elder brother. Harry wrapped his gifts in his cloak and put them in his locked trunk for safe keeping. Fred and George had wiggled into their own sweaters and were bugging Ron and Percy into theirs. Even Seamus had gotten a sweater, a bright scarlet one with an S on the front.

“Come on, come on,” said George. “We’re all wearing ours. Time for breakfast. You’ll not be sitting with the prefects either, Percy. Christmas is for family. Come on, Harry!”

Laughing, Harry followed them down to breakfast.

~*~

Hogwarts’ Christmas dinner was as extravagant as Harry remembered. A hundred fat, roasted turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of 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.

The fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys bought ever year, with their little plastic toys and flimsy paper hats inside. 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 at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet and was chuckling at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him. Professor McGonagall was leaning in close to Professor Sinistra as they giggled like the girls they once were. Even Snape was at the feast, a dark shadow against the other professors’ festive robes. Harry was grateful that Quirrell stayed away that night. He didn’t want it marred by the man and his parasite’s presence.

Harry finished a full plate of food, to his delight. The flaming Christmas puddings he picked at - laughing with the twins when Percy almost broke a tooth on a silver sickle embedded in his slice.

When Harry left the table, he was laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-exploding, luminous balloons; a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit and his own brand new wizard chess set.

Harry spent the rest of the evening breaking in his new games with the twins. Ron and Seamus had gone out to play in the snow. Percy tried to help Harry with his game, but they ended up losing spectacularly to the twins, which in turn caused Fred and George to steal Percy’s prefect badge and have Percy chase them around the room to get it back.

After a supper of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle and Christmas cake, Harry was too full to do much more than sit in one of the stuffed arm chars by the fire and stare into the flames.

By now we’d be telling Christmas stories by the fire as our coats and boots dried in the mudroom, Harry pressed his lips together. Albus and Lily would cuddle up on either side of me and listen as I read, while James would lay in front of the fire on the rug. Ginny…Ginny had made hot chocolate a few times, I remember. She wouldn’t stay for long, but she was always so tired and had all her deadlines due.

Harry shuffled to bed with the rest of the boys. He lay on his back, mind turning over and over as the hours ticked away. When he was sure they were all asleep, Harry crept out of bed, pulled on his Weasley sweater and swung his father’s invisibility cloak over his shoulders.

Harry let his feet do the wandering. He slipped down dark corridors, shaded with silver moonlight, their torches dark and cold. Even the moving stairs were silent, still in the wee hours of morning. It felt like the castle was asleep and dreaming around him.

Then his feet found a familiar narrow corridor, where a door had been left ajar. Harry slipped inside, shivering, hope and dread both warring in his stomach.

The mirror was as high as the ceiling, the ornate gold frame dulled by the shadows. Harry could pick out the inscription at the top; Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

“My heart’s desire,” Harry felt his throat close up. He pulled the cloak from his body, letting it drop as he came to a stop in front of the glass.

Harry had always thought his mum was a beautiful woman. Her dark red hair and her eyes - just like mine. His father was still tall and thin, with their same cowlick at the back of their heads; yes, Harry could see their features reflected in his. He just wished he had had the chance to know them, before they had died.

He let out a shuddering, gulping breath as his children wiggled their way to the front. Lily, with her dark red hair and hazel eyes, Harry had always thought she’d had his mother’s nose, despite what the paternity spells had claimed. Albus took after Arthur Weasley; he was built solid, a perfect Beater’s body, had he ever wanted to play. His hair had been dark, brown with auburn highlights, the Weasley mark. James’ hair was dark as well, not messy like Harry’s, already as tall as his father - I will always be his father - by the time he was fourteen.

Harry blinked away tears, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he could fall right through it. Even Sirius was there, Remus and Tonks and - Merlin. Everyone, everyone was there, all of his family, his friends, even Draco, of all people, with Scorpius there to make faces at James the younger and - and -

How long he stood there, he didn’t know. He only left when dawn started to pink the sky in the east. “I’ll come back,” he told his children, his parents, his family, before pulling the cloak back around his body and staggering off to bed.

~*~

Harry had trouble avoiding the Weasley twin’s antics, but he was able to get back the next night, and the next. Harry would sit in front of the mirror, eyes burning as he told his children all the stories he’d forgotten about his own first year - and the new adventures he’d had. He kept it at a soundless whisper, aware that Dumbledore had to have a charm on the room.

Harry was expecting the man, but Dumbledore did not come on the third night, but rather on the fourth of Harry’s long vigil in front of the glass.

“Back again, Harry?”

More than you know, Harry closed his eyes on a slow blink. Then he twisted around to see Dumbledore sitting on one of the desks by the wall.

“I didn’t see you, sir.”

“Strange how near-sighted being invisible can make you,” said Dumbledore. “I see that you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised.”

“I wouldn’t call it a delight,” Harry said. He wiped at his cheeks.

“I expect you’ve realized by now what it does?”

“Yes,” Harry let out a shaky breath. He looked back to the mirror, an unwilling smile pulled out of him as Lily and Albus ganged up on their brother to pull him to the floor in a tickle fight.

“Do you, Harry?” Harry heard Dumbledore approach.

“It shows us what we want.”

“Yes and no,” said the old wizard. “It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor 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 possible.”

“What is possible,” Harry echoed. Yes, he thought, staring at his children. It certainly shows that. “I never knew I had my Mum’s nose,” he said. He brushed a hand over his hair. “Or my father’s hair. Or, or anything,” he drew in a ragged breath.

“The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry,” Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, surprised to see a shiny glint to the man’s eyes. “I am afraid I must 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 on and get off to bed?”

Harry took one last long look at his family, his children, all of them, trying to etch them into the dark space behind his eyes. Then he stood, drawing his cloak around him.

“Professor Dumbledore?” He caught the man studying the mirror with a sad smile.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Do you…are there any pictures left of my parents, do you know?”

“I do not know, young man, but I can ask. Did your aunt never show you any?”

“No,” Harry said. “She never showed me anything.” He gave the old wizard a small shrug and left, letting Dumbledore mull Harry’s words over, for once.

Chapter Sixteen

harry potter, the road not taken

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