The moon rose as the sun dipped below the horizon.
The night sky hung heavy and oppressive, though occasional breaks in the clouds revealed faint, twinkling stars, like candle flames reflected in the heavens. In the early hours, a biting wind howled, dusting the bare branches of the Whomping Willow with silvery snowflakes.
The Headmaster's office was silent.
Dumbledore stood quietly by the window.
A slight stir came from the portraits on the wall. Headmaster Everard cleared his throat and said softly, "Albus, the Fat Lady sent word. Someone left through the portrait hole late at night, but she didn't see who."
"I understand."
The portraits of past headmasters watched him nod, then turn and leave the office, his footsteps fading into the distance.
…
The castle was eerily quiet in the dead of night.
Harry scanned his surroundings cautiously, clutching the silky fabric of his cloak. Despite his careful steps, his shoes made faint sounds against the floor, adding to his unease.
He'd just had the best Christmas of his life, but one thought kept nagging at him. As he lay in bed, drifting toward sleep, a question he'd pushed aside during the day resurfaced.
At half past eleven, Harry stared at the canopy of his four-poster bed, wondering what was hidden beneath the trapdoor in the fourth-floor corridor.
By half past midnight, he was wide awake again, pondering who Nicolas Flamel was and who had sent him the Invisibility Cloak.
By one in the morning, his mind buzzed with restless thoughts, sleep nowhere in sight. Eyes wide, Harry finally rolled out of bed, deciding to do something productive—
Test the Invisibility Cloak.
The fabric was impossibly light, smoother than silk, so thin it felt like nothing at all. Draped over him, it was weightless. Harry wrapped it tightly, holding the edges to keep it in place, and tiptoed forward, glancing around nervously.
The portraits on the walls were asleep, undisturbed as he passed. A few light sleepers stirred at the faint sound of his steps, opening their eyes to an empty corridor, muttering groggily before drifting off again.
What an incredible Invisibility Cloak.
Harry's curiosity burned brighter.
Who had sent this magical cloak? A friend of his parents? A Hogwarts professor? Dumbledore himself? Why hide their identity?
Could it be a wizard from outside the school?
He mentally sifted through every adult wizard he knew but found no answers. Shaking off the question, he turned his thoughts to what he could do with the cloak.
The room in the fourth-floor corridor…
The idea popped into his head but was quickly dismissed.
The cloak was amazing, but it wouldn't protect him from the sharp teeth of a three-headed dog. Fluffy was massive, with a keen sense of smell. Even invisible, Harry's scent would give him away, and a single swipe or bite would be more than he could handle.
After careful thought, Harry decided to visit the Restricted Section of the library.
For weeks, they'd been scouring books about notable wizards from the last century—Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry…
No luck. Hermione suspected Nicolas Flamel's information might be in the Restricted Section.
Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak tighter and headed toward the library.
Madam Pince was away for the holidays, and the library was closed, but the door wasn't locked. With a gentle push, it creaked open, revealing rows of dark shelves.
His heart raced. He found an oil lamp at the front desk, lit it, and carried it inside. Stepping over the rope barring the Restricted Section, he approached the shelves, scanning the faded, gold-embossed titles by the dim light.
The titles were cryptic, impossible to decipher. Some books lacked titles entirely. As if sensing his hidden gaze beneath the cloak, faint whispers emanated from certain books, and others seemed to ooze blood from their covers.
Harry wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but his nerves were on edge.
Most students would've bolted by now, but Harry wasn't most students. He was a Gryffindor, the boy who defeated You-Know-Who, a student brimming with courage!
After careful consideration, he selected a thick book with a silver-and-black cover and set it on his lap. Before he could open it, the book flipped open on its own.
"Ah!"
A piercing, ear-splitting scream erupted.
The sound was shrill, deafening, echoing endlessly through the silent library. Even slamming the book shut didn't stop it.
Startled, Harry dropped the book, threw the cloak over himself, and bolted, stumbling in his panic. The oil lamp toppled over.
"…"
From behind a shelf, Dumbledore watched Harry, cloaked in invisibility, flee the library. He narrowly avoided Filch, who'd come to investigate, but Mrs. Norris sniffed the air, guiding the caretaker in pursuit. A thrilling chase ensued.
Dumbledore watched them go, stepping out of the shadows. He righted the fallen lamp and picked up the book, which fell silent in his hands. He placed it gently back on the shelf.
In the corridor, Filch and his cat pursued the fleeing student, who, in his panic, ducked into an abandoned classroom.
Harry hid behind the door, holding his breath, ear pressed to the wood as Filch and Mrs. Norris's footsteps faded. Turning, he noticed an ornate, intricate mirror in the center of the room. Approaching it, he soon discovered its magic.
The mirror was crowded with over a dozen figures, but two in the center stole his attention. A beautiful witch with deep red hair and green eyes gazed at Harry from the mirror, her smile tinged with tears. Beside her stood a tall, thin wizard with black hair and glasses, just like Harry's.
"Mum… Dad?"
Harry's voice was a whisper as he stared, thunderstruck.
His hands pressed against the glass, lost in the mirror's vision. Time slipped away until distant voices—Filch and Snape—snapped him back. Reluctantly, he bid the mirror farewell and slipped away under the cloak.
Dumbledore watched him leave the classroom, emerging from the shadows. He paused before the mirror, his gaze lingering on its reflection.
The castle fell silent again as the moon vanished behind clouds. Dumbledore returned to his chambers, sinking into a restless, fragmented dream.
…
Knock, knock, knock!
A sharp rap at the door startled the portraits on the Headmaster's office walls. They grumbled, annoyed at being woken. From the Sorting Hat on a shelf, Fawkes poked out his head, squawking hoarsely like an irritable crow.
Dumbledore, in his nightclothes, emerged from his bedroom. Glancing at the morning light outside, he opened the door to find Melvin, neatly dressed, and blinked in surprise. "What's the matter?"
The young professor flashed a smile. "Headmaster, I'm off to do some side work."