Chapter 20
The Christmas feast that evening was uproariously lively.
The tables groaned under mountains of food. Turkeys were enormous—each one as thick around as Gabin's waist. Roasts and potatoes were piled high; no matter how much anyone ate, the heaps never seemed to shrink.
Sausages and peas were served in endless supply, drowned in rich gravy and cranberry sauce—utterly delicious.
Wizard crackers exploded one after another with cannon-like bangs, sending clouds of blue smoke billowing across the tables. Gifts burst out of them: balloons, wizard chess sets, hats, and all sorts of odd trinkets.
Professors and students mingled freely. On this magical night, the usual distance vanished. Dumbledore had traded his normal pointed hat for a flowery ladies' bonnet and wore a beaming, almost boyish smile that made him look surprisingly approachable.
Even stern Professor McGonagall had relaxed. She laughed openly, her tall black hat tilted rakishly to one side, her eyes crinkling into cheerful crescents like the moon outside.
Everyone was caught up in the joyful holiday spirit—and Gabin was no exception.
He flicked his wand, sending countless glowing points spiraling into the air to form huge, flashing letters:
**MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!**
With deliberate control, he made the words shine brighter than the candles—pulsing and twinkling like lights in a nightclub.
Cheers erupted. Everyone sang. Food kept coming—after the main course came Christmas pudding, yule log cake, brandy-soaked fruit puddings, and more. People ate until their stomachs could hold no more.
The high spirits eventually gave way to happy exhaustion. Students drifted back to their dormitories, ready to collapse into bed.
For Gabin, this was the most enjoyable holiday he had ever experienced. The atmosphere was thick and warm in a way he'd never known in the East—but he didn't mind it at all. Quite the opposite.
It was also Harry's happiest Christmas ever. His body and mind were utterly spent, yet he couldn't bring himself to sleep just yet. One thing kept circling in his thoughts.
The Invisibility Cloak—and the person who had sent it.
He lifted the cloak again. It felt impossibly smooth and light, like touching a gentle breeze made solid.
Freedom?
The word struck him. He remembered the note.
*Use it well.*
Harry stood, draped the cloak over himself, and looked into the mirror.
There was no reflection. Moonlight passed straight through the space where he stood without pausing.
Yes—wearing this cloak, he was free. No one could see him. Not Filch, not anyone. He could go anywhere in Hogwarts.
The breath of freedom rushed through his veins. The adventurous blood of his father—long dormant—stirred awake inside him. The cool touch of the cloak didn't calm him; it only made him feel closer to his dad.
This was something his father had left him—a tool for adventure without being caught.
Excitement surged through Harry. He strode out of the dormitory with purpose.
He didn't wake Ron. Ron had already had a long day—let him rest.
He didn't wake Gray either. Honestly, being around Gray always carried a faint pressure—like having an adult standing nearby.
Gabin opened his eyes in bed. He watched the empty dormitory, a thin silver glow flickering in his pupils—enough to let him see Harry's invisible figure slip away.
But he made no sound. He had no intention of joining Harry for a night of sneaking around the castle under the cloak.
He was simply too tired. Pushing his body and mind further at this hour would only hurt his growth.
Besides, night wandering wasn't that interesting. Compared to drifting alone through empty corridors, sleep sounded far better.
With a yawn so huge it could have swallowed the world, Gabin closed his eyes. Within moments he was deeply asleep.
Meanwhile, Harry descended the stairs, crossed the common room, slipped through the portrait hole, and stepped into the corridor.
"Who's there?" came a hoarse voice from a nearby painting.
The Fat Lady couldn't see him and only called out in confusion. Harry didn't answer.
He headed toward the library. With no real plan, he decided to search the Restricted Section for anything on Nicolas Flamel—anything to finally figure out who the man was.
But he had underestimated the Restricted Section.
The shelves were filled with books on dark magic. Just reading the titles or seeing the covers sent chills down his spine. Faint whispers seemed to drift from the pages.
He picked the least threatening-looking volume.
The moment he opened it, the book let out a piercing scream.
Even after he slammed it shut, the shrieking continued.
Footsteps appeared out of nowhere. Filch moved with uncanny speed—within seconds he was already in the corridor outside the library.
Harry fled under the cloak, heart pounding.
But luck was with him. He found an unused classroom to hide in.
Old desks and chairs were stacked against one wall. An overturned wastepaper basket sat on the other side.
In the center of the room stood an impressive mirror—tall enough to reach the ceiling, framed in ornate gold, resting on two clawed feet.
At the top was an inscription, but Harry couldn't make sense of the words.
Strange—who would leave a mirror like this here?
Curious, he stepped closer.
Suddenly his heart lurched. His breathing quickened. Not even Filch's pursuit had made him this excited.
He stared, transfixed, at what the mirror showed him.
"So you saw your parents?" Ron asked at breakfast the next morning. "In a mirror?"
Gabin was spreading chili sauce on a sausage, listening quietly to Harry and Ron's conversation.
He remembered this part of the story—the Mirror of Erised. The mirror that showed a person's deepest desire.
In hindsight, maybe he should have followed Harry last night. He could have seen what the mirror showed *him*—and perhaps examined its magical circuits.
Even if he couldn't fully understand them, just looking would have been interesting.
"Yeah," Harry said. "It was a really strange mirror. There was writing at the top I couldn't understand."
He turned to Gabin. "Do you know what it means?"
Gabin thought for a moment. He hadn't memorized the exact inscription word-for-word, but he remembered the general idea.
"I think it means the mirror shows you what you most want to see," he wrote with floating words.
"Oh," Harry said, nodding slowly.
"What would *I* see if I went?" Ron asked curiously.
"Come with me tonight," Harry suggested. "It's an amazing mirror. Once you see it, you'll understand."
Ron's eyes lit up. He turned to Gabin. "You coming too?"
"No thanks," Gabin replied. "I'd rather sleep."
It wasn't that he didn't want to go. He just didn't fancy seeing what the mirror might show him—perhaps flashes of his previous life, endless overtime, exhaustion.
He really didn't miss that.
Besides, he was certain Dumbledore was watching the mirror closely—and could probably see exactly what appeared in it for each person.
"All right then—just us," Ron agreed.
He and Harry made plans to sneak back to the room that night.
***
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