Chapter 36: The Chessboard
In the Headmaster's office, the fire in the fireplace was burning brightly.
Snape stood before Dumbledore's desk, his expression gloomier than usual. The hem of his Black robes was dusted with grime from the Potions classroom, and his fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white.
"Are you going to continue letting Quirrell have his way?" His voice was low, as if squeezed from his throat.
Dumbledore sat behind the desk, fingers interlaced upon the surface. He did not answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the starry sky outside the window; only after a long pause did he speak.
"Harry needs some trials."
Snape's lip twitched.
"He has been kept in the dark since he was a child, not knowing who he is, what his abilities are, or what he will have to face," Dumbledore's voice was calm. "If we clear all the obstacles for him before everything begins, how will he cope when the real danger arrives?"
"So you're using students' lives as a test?" Snape's voice rose slightly. "If it hadn't been for Rhys today—"
"I know," Dumbledore interrupted him. "I know that what happened today was a deviation."
Snape looked at him without speaking.
"Quirrell's behavior was more impatient than I expected. Voldemort is possessing him, eager to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, and this haste has made him lose his patience." There was a hint of weariness in Dumbledore's voice. "I originally thought that letting Harry encounter some danger within a controllable range would allow him to grow faster. But I did not anticipate Rhys intervening in that manner."
"You did not anticipate it," Snape repeated, each word like a shard of ice.
"Severus." Dumbledore looked up, his blue eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the firelight. "Rhys's appearance is a variable that neither of us anticipated. His ability, his judgment, his courage—these things far exceeded my expectations."
"And so?" Snape's voice grew even colder. "So you're going to include him in your chessboard too?"
Dumbledore was silent for a long time.
The fire in the fireplace jumped, letting out a faint crackle. Fawkes shifted his position on his perch, his golden feathers shimmering slightly in the firelight.
"I don't know," Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice even softer than before. "I don't know if I should include him."
Snape stared at him.
"His abilities are very strong. Far stronger than those of his peers. His judgment, reaction speed, and understanding of magic—these are not things an eleven-year-old child should possess." Dumbledore's gaze fell upon a piece of parchment on the desk; it was Rhys's homework from Charms Class, which Professor Flitwick had specifically brought to show him. "He reminds me of certain people."
"And so?" Snape's voice was as hard as stone. "Because he's so outstanding, you're going to use him?"
"I am not going to 'use' him." Dumbledore looked up, his gaze calm. "I am wondering if, without sufficient guidance, he might take another path."
Snape didn't speak.
"His abilities are too strong. So strong that if no one guides him, he might go astray." There was a hint of worry in Dumbledore's voice. "I'm not worried about him becoming another Dark Lord—he doesn't have that kind of ambition. What I worry about is that he cares too much about those around him. To protect them, he might do something... reckless."
Snape's fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.
"Just as he did today," Dumbledore said softly. "Diving down from that height, tearing open an old wound, nearly ruining his shoulder—all to save a classmate he barely knows. This kind of courage is good, but if no one tells him where the limit is, this courage will be his undoing."
"So you're going to teach him what limits are?" Snape's voice was tinged with sarcasm. "You?"
Dumbledore didn't get angry; he just looked at him quietly.
"I know you don't trust me. You have reason not to," he said. "But Rhys is different. Like his parents, his heart is filled with too many people. People like that, if no one watches over them, can easily destroy themselves."
Snape's lips moved, but no words came out.
"As for Quirrell," Dumbledore pulled the conversation back, "I will handle it. But before that, we need to let Harrywalk this path himself."
Snape was silent for a long time.
"His eyes are like Lily's," he said suddenly.
His voice was very soft, so soft it was almost drowned out by the sound of the fire.
Dumbledore looked at him but didn't respond.
"When I first saw him," Snape's gaze fell somewhere on the desk, unfocused, "I thought I would see James Potter. But those eyes—"
He did not continue.
The room remained quiet for a long time.
Then Snape turned and strode toward the door. The door slammed shut behind him, making the portraits on the wall tremble.
Dumbledore sat in his chair, unmoving.
He stared at the closed door for a very long time.
Then he stood up and walked to the window. The night sky outside was quiet, with stars lighting up one by one. He found the north star, hanging above the Castle's highest tower, shining quietly.
He thought of the child's name. Polaris. The north star.
He thought of the child's parents. Cepheus and Long Meixiu. They had stood in the Order of the Phoenix's meeting room, young and determined, with light in their eyes. They said, "Someone needs to do it." And then they went, and never returned.
He thought of the child's abilities. Those powers of wind and rock were so much like the Eastern Magic Long Meixiuhad used back then. And his judgment on the pitch—that dive, that angle, that speed. Not like a first-year, but more like someone who had been flying in the sky for over a decade.
Then he thought of Neville. That round-faced, forgetful boy who was always losing things. He also had those grey eyes of the Black family—one of Neville's ancestors, Harfang Longbottom, had married Callidora Black. He was the same age as Rhys, the same age as Harry, all children born at the end of July.
Trelawney's prophecy echoed in his mind: "Born at the end of July... the Dark Lord will mark him as a formidable enemy..."
Voldemort chose Harry.
But what if he had chosen someone else? If—just if—he had chosen Rhys?
Dumbledore closed his eyes.
He thought of Rhys's dive on the pitch. It wasn't for the win, not for the points, but simply because someone was falling. That impulse, that reckless courage, was exactly like Cepheus. Cepheus was like that too, rushing in the moment he saw someone needing help, never thinking about whether he would get hurt himself.
People like that are the first to die in a war.
Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked at the starry sky outside. The north star was still there, shining silently.
He didn't know if he should pull this child into this chessboard as well. His abilities were too strong, too strong to ignore; his heart was too soft, so soft it was worrying; his parents were heroes of the Order of the Phoenix, which in itself was an indelible label.
But if he were pulled in, would he also end up like his parents—
Dumbledore didn't follow that thought any further.
He just stood by the window for a long time, until the fire in the fireplace gradually dimmed, until Fawkes let out a small snore on his perch.
"Where exactly did things go wrong?" he whispered, his voice so low only he could hear.
No one answered him.
—
Ravenclaw Tower.
The victory celebration gradually wound down. First-year students yawned as they returned to their dormitories, while upper-year students went upstairs in twos and threes. The fire in the fireplace was still burning, but no longer as brightly, with only a few thick logs slowly smoldering.
Rhys sat by the window, a quill in his right hand, the parchment before him filled with neat lines of writing.
Dear Grandmother and Aunt:
We won the match today. Cho caught the Golden Snitch, and I... did some things. My shoulder got a bit injured, but it's not serious; Madam Pomfrey has already seen it. Professor Snape sent some medicine over; it's very good, so don't worry.
There was a slight accident during the match. The Gryffindor Seeker—that Harry Potter—his broom was jinxed. I caught him, which is how my shoulder got hurt. It's no big deal, just an old wound being pulled.
The medicine Professor Snape sent today was sweet, tasting like Citrus Candy. Madam Pomfrey said the medicines in the Hospital Wing are all bitter, but mine wasn't. I don't know if this has any special meaning, but I guess... he might not be as cold as he appears on the surface.
I will write again.
Love, Rhys
He folded the letter and put it in an envelope. Yarnball flew over from the shelf and landed on the desk, tilting its head to look at him.
"Take this home." Rhys tied the envelope to Yarnball's leg and stroked its small head. "Be careful on the way."
Yarnball gave a hoot and flew out the window, disappearing into the night.
Cho came over from the common room area, carrying two cups of hot cocoa. She placed a cup in front of Rhys and sat down opposite him.
"Does your shoulder still hurt?"
"Much better."
Cho nodded, not pressing further. She just sat there, looking at the starry sky outside the window with him.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, and the occasional sound of pages turning came from the common room—there was always someone reading late into the night.
Rhys took a sip of hot cocoa; it was sweet, and the warmth slid from his throat all the way to his stomach.
He looked at the brightest star outside the window, suddenly remembering the bottle of medicine Snape had sent. The taste of Citrus Candy. Sweet.
Perhaps some people just don't know how to put their concern into words.
He put the cup down and leaned back in his chair.
Outside the window, the north star shone quietly.
Chapter 37: The Christmas Choice
In the third week of December, Hogwarts was covered in a thick layer of white snow. The Black Lake had frozen over, and occasionally a few bold owls would skid across the ice before flapping their wings to take flight. The corridors in the Castle were colder than usual, the torches on the stone walls flickering in the wind, but the magic ceiling of the Great Hall had already begun to drift with snowflakes, the air filled with the scent of pine needles and cinnamon.
Christmas was coming.
Rhys sat by the Ravenclaw window, watching the snow outside, his fingers unconsciously twirling his quill. His shoulder was almost fully healed—Madam Pomfrey had said during last week's check-up that he "could move normally, but don't use it for diving again." He interpreted this as "can move normally" and continued his daily training.
He was thinking about something.
Whether or not to go home.
His aunt's letter had arrived the day before yesterday, saying that Bangbang had already decorated the Christmas tree, Kreacher had baked his favorite cinnamon cookies, and his grandmother was asking what he wanted to eat. The letter was long, every line filled with the expectation of his return. Bangbang had even added a crooked line at the end: "Little Master, Bangbang misses you."
Rhys read the letter twice, then put it in a drawer without replying immediately.
He wanted to stay.
It wasn't that he didn't miss home, but there was one thing—he remembered that at Christmas, Harry would see his parents in the mirror of erised. That mirror would show the deepest, most intense desire of one's heart.
Rhys wanted to know what he would see if he stood before that mirror.
He couldn't remember what his parents looked like.
After unlocking the Snake Talisman at the age of five, he had dreamed of his mother once. But that was a dream; after waking up, her face had dispersed like a reflection in water. His grandmother and aunt had put away all the photos of his parents—not thrown them away, but kept them in a place he couldn't find. He had asked once when he was little, and his grandmother had been silent for a long time before saying, "You can see them when you're older."
He knew they were afraid he would be sad. What could a child who had never seen his parents feel when looking at strangers in a photo, other than heartache?
But he really wanted to see them. Not a portrait, not a written description, not the "your father was very smart" or "your mother was very gentle" from other people's mouths. He wanted to see with his own eyes what Cepheus Black's grey eyes looked like when he smiled, and what Long Meixiu's Black hair looked like draped over her shoulders.
So he hesitated.
Go home, and he could see his grandmother, aunt, Bangbang, and Kreacher. Stay, and perhaps he could see his parents in the mirror of erised.
He didn't know how to choose.
In the Great Hall, half of the Christmas decorations were already up. Professor Flitwick used magic to make the ribbons wind themselves around the pillars, while Professor McGonagall directed the holly and mistletoe to fly to their designated spots. Small Christmas trees were placed on the long tables of the four houses, with the Ravenclaw one adorned with small blue and bronze stars.
Rhys sat at the Ravenclaw table, with Cho Chang sitting opposite him and Anthony beside him. Hermione walked over from the Gryffindor side and naturally sat down next to Anthony.
"What are everyone's plans for Christmas?" Hermione put down her tray. "Going home? Or staying at school?"
"I'm going home." Anthony stuffed a piece of roasted potato into his mouth and said indistinctly, "My mom has already sent three letters urging me to come back. The first was 'when does the holiday start,' the second was 'what time does the train arrive,' and the third was just a menu."
Cho Chang smiled. "I'm going home too. My parents are hosting guests for Christmas, so I have to go back and help."
"Help with what?" Anthony asked curiously.
"Making dumplings," Cho Chang said, then seeing the blank looks on Anthony and Hermione's faces, she added, "Chinese food. It's delicious."
Hermione nodded. "I'm going home too. My parents want me to go back and tell them all about Hogwarts. Even though they're Muggles, they're especially curious about the wizarding world." She paused and looked at Rhys. "What about you?"
Rhys speared a piece of steak and paused.
"I'm staying," he said.
All three of them looked at him.
"Isn't your shoulder better?" Cho Chang put down her fork.
"It's fine. But I want to look up some things in the library. Alchemy materials—the collection at home isn't complete enough, and some books in the Restricted Section usually can't be borrowed. There are fewer people during Christmas, so it's more convenient to read." Rhys spoke naturally, as if stating a long-planned fact.
Anthony thought for a moment and nodded. "Books in the Restricted Section are indeed hard to borrow. Did you get Professor Flitwick to sign for you?"
"I did."
"That's fine then." Anthony was relieved and went to grab a second piece of roasted potato.
Hermione also nodded and didn't ask further.
The four of them continued eating, chatting about final assignments and Quidditch training. Rhys finished his steak and drank a glass of pumpkin juice. He had lied—not completely, he did want to look up Alchemy materials in the library, but that wasn't the main reason he was staying.
Cho Chang's fork paused in her plate for a moment before she continued cutting her roasted potato.
After Potion Class ended on Wednesday afternoon, Rhys and Anthony came out of the dungeon classroom, their shoulders hunching in the cold, damp air. Hermione was a few steps ahead, flipping through her notes and muttering to herself.
A heavy dragging sound came from the corridor.
Rhys looked up and saw Hagrid walking over from the direction of the Castle gates, carrying a huge fir tree on his shoulder. The tree was at least twelve feet tall, its branches so thick they almost covered Hagrid entirely. With every step he took, the branches scraped against the stone walls, making a harsh sound.
"Hagrid!" Anthony shouted in surprise. "Is that tree being moved to the Great Hall?"
"That's right!" Hagrid poked his head out from behind the branches, sweat beads on his face. "I'm responsible for moving them every year. This year's is especially big. Flitwick said to put it right in the middle of the Hall—make way, make way—"
He turned sideways trying to get around the corner of the corridor, but the branches got stuck.
Harry and Ron came up from behind. Seeing Hagrid, Harryimmediately jogged over. "Hagrid, do you need help?"
"No, no—ah, it's stuck—" Hagrid gave a hard tug, but the branches didn't budge.
Ron also ran over, grabbing a branch to help pull. Malfoycame from the other end of the corridor, followed by Crabbe and Goyle. He saw Hagrid and the stuck tree and stopped, his lips curling into his usual smirk.
"Hagrid," he said slowly, "shouldn't you be using magic to move that thing? Oh, I forgot, you—" He didn't finish, but everyone understood what he meant.
Crabbe and Goyle let out low chuckles.
Hagrid's expression changed, and he gripped the tree branches tighter.
Rhys walked over and stood in front of Malfoy.
"Cousin," his voice wasn't loud, "come over here with me for a moment."
Malfoy glanced at him and didn't move.
Rhys grabbed his sleeve and led him to the other side of the corridor corner. Crabbe and Goyle wanted to follow, but after a look from Rhys, they stayed where they were, not daring to move.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy shook off his hand, his expression impatient.
"You can't talk to Hagrid like that." Rhys's voice was flat but serious.
"What did I say?" Malfoy's tone was provocative. "I'm telling the truth. He's a half-Giant who can't use magic, what's wrong with saying that?"
"You know that's not what I'm talking about." Rhys looked at him. "You're mocking him. Not because he said something wrong, or because of anything he did, but just because he's Hagrid."
Malfoy's lips moved, but no words came out.
"I know you've been taught many things since you were little," Rhys continued. "The glory of pure-bloods, family dignity, not getting too close to 'that sort of person.' But cousin, the glory of pure-bloods isn't maintained by mocking others."
Malfoy's face flushed slightly.
"When you first started school, you thought about making friends," Rhys's voice softened slightly. "You looked for Harry, and you looked for me. You didn't want to be a person who makes others dislike them from the start."
Malfoy was stunned.
The corridor was very quiet, with only the occasional sound of footsteps in the distance. Crabbe and Goyle stood further away, not knowing if they should come over. On Hagrid's side, he was still struggling with the stuck tree, and Anthony went over to help.
Malfoy stood there, the expression on his face changing several times. Anger, embarrassment, resentment, and something else hard to define—like someone who had been told something they didn't want to admit.
"My business is none of your concern," he finally said, his voice much lower than before, the thorns in his tone blunted.
Then he turned and left. Crabbe and Goyle hurried to follow, and the three of them disappeared down the end of the corridor.
Rhys stood where he was, watching his back, and didn't chase after him.
He knew Malfoy wouldn't change anything because of these few words. Eleven years of upbringing, family expectations, the gaze of those around him—these things were not to be dissolved by a few sentences. But at least, he had said it.
Ron walked over from Hagrid's side, his face still showing anger. "Where's Malfoy? I'm going to settle the score with him—"
"He's gone," Rhys said.
Ron wanted to say more, but Harry pulled him back. Harrylooked at Rhys and nodded.
Rhys walked over to Hagrid and pulled out his wand.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The fir tree floated up light as a feather, its branches sliding out from the corner, turning in mid-air, and hovering steadily.
Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief and wiped away his sweat. "Thank you, Black. This tree is too heavy; I really was struggling a bit on my own."
"I'll help you take it there," Rhys said.
He controlled his wand, making the fir tree float toward the Great Hall. Cho Chang came up from behind and also pulled out her wand to help. Anthony and Hermionefollowed, and the four of them used the Levitation Charmtogether to transport the tree through the gate, down the steps, and into the Great Hall.
Professor Flitwick stood in the center of the Great Hall, holding a string of ribbons. Seeing the tree float in, he clapped his hands happily. "Good! Good! Put it in that middle spot—yes, right there—"
Rhys lowered the tree gently; the branches trembled slightly before it stood there steadily.
Professor McGonagall walked over from the other side, holding a box of holly wreaths. She looked at the tree's position, nodded, and then turned to Rhys.
"Mr. Black, your Levitation Charm is getting better and better."
Rhys nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Professor."
Professor McGonagall said nothing more, but the corners of her mouth twitched slightly—that was her most pleased expression.
Professor Flitwick jumped off the podium and trotted over to Rhys. "Mr. Black, since you're here, why don't you help us hang the ribbons?"
He pointed to several pillars at the top of the Great Hall. Rhys looked up, then at Professor Flitwick's height, and didn't say anything he shouldn't.
"Certainly, Professor."
He raised his wand high, and the ribbons obediently flew from Professor Flitwick's hands, winding around the pillars several times, the ends hanging down and swaying gently in the wind. Cho Chang hung holly branches nearby, while Anthony and Hermione hung mistletoe at the other end.
The four of them were busy in the Great Hall for nearly an hour, hanging up the rest of the decorations. Professor Flitwick stood on the podium directing, while Professor McGonagall occasionally passed by, took a look, and said "a bit higher" or "tilted to the left" before moving on.
By the time the last ribbon was hung, the Great Hall had completely changed. The fir tree was not yet decorated, but the fresh scent of pine needles could already be smelled. mistletoe hung above the archway, its white berries glowing faintly in the candlelight. Ribbons hung from the ceiling in gold, red, green, and blue, like flowing rainbows.
Professor Flitwick stood in the center of the Great Hall, hands on his hips, and nodded with satisfaction. "Very good, very good. Thank you for your hard work."
Professor McGonagall passed by the door, stopped her footsteps, and took a look inside.
"Well done," she said, her tone as brief as ever.
Chapter 38: Nicolas Flamel
The four of them left the Great Hall, still holding leftover ribbons and holly branches. Anthony rolled up the ribbons and stuffed them into his bag.
Anthony decided to use these remaining materials to do a bit of decorating in the dormitory that night.
"Going to the library?" he asked. "I'm still a bit short on my Charms Class homework."
Hermione nodded. "I'm going too. I haven't finished my Transfiguration essay."
"I'll join you," Cho said.
Polaris didn't answer. He stood in the corridor, looking toward the Gryffindor Tower in the distance.
Harry and Ron were also walking over from the other side, likely having just returned from Hagrid's. They paused when they saw Polaris and his group.
"You're going to the library too?" Anthony asked, his tone carrying a hint of surprise. It was indeed uncommon for Gryffindor students to go to the library of their own accord outside of exam week.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt his tone was a bit impolite and added, "I mean—you're going to the library? Shall we walk together?"
Harry nodded, his face expressionless. Ron followed behind, clutching a crumpled book.
The six of them walked toward the library together. Polaris walked in front with Cho beside him, Anthony and Hermione were behind them discussing points for their Transfiguration essays, while Harry and Ron walked at the very back, occasionally whispering a word or two in low voices.
The library was very quiet. Madam Pince sat behind the counter, her hawk-like eyes scanning everyone who entered. Polaris found a long table by the window and sat down, Cho sat beside him, Anthony and Hermione sat opposite, and Harry and Ron sat at the other end of the table.
Polaris opened Principles of Advanced Alchemy. After reading a few pages, his gaze unconsciously drifted toward the other end of the table. Harry and Ron had several books spread out in front of them, but they clearly weren't doing homework. They looked intensely focused, their fingers flipping through pages rapidly, moving from one book to the next, the disappointment on their faces becoming increasingly obvious.
Hermione noticed too. She put down her quill and looked at the stack of books in front of Harry—Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, Notable Magical Names of Our Time, Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry.
"What are you looking for?" she asked.
Harry hesitated. He glanced at Polaris, seemingly wondering if he should say anything. Then he took a deep breath and lowered his voice:
"Do you know about that Cerberus in the fourth-floor corridor?"
Anthony looked up. Hermione put down her pen. Cho looked up from her book. Polaris didn't look up, but his fingers stopped at the edge of the page.
"That night—when Malfoy challenged me to a duel—Ron, Hermione, and I went to the fourth floor. We saw that dog with three heads; there's a trapdoor under its body. Hagridsaid it has something to do with Nicolas Flamel."
He paused.
"Nicolas Flamel. We've been searching for days, looking through all these books, but we can't find the name."
Ron added from the side, "Not a single one. Not even a footnote."
Hermione frowned, her fingers tapping lightly on the table. Nicolas Flamel—the name seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
Polaris closed his book.
"It's normal that you can't find it in those books you're checking," he said.
Everyone looked at him.
"Nicolas Flamel," Polaris said, "is not a contemporary wizard, nor a recent one. He was born in the fourteenth century. The time span of the books you're looking through isn't broad enough."
Harry was stunned.
"He is an alchemist," Polaris continued. "The only known maker of the Philosopher's Stone. That stone can turn any metal into gold and can be used to brew the Elixir of Life. He himself is over six hundred years old and has been a friend of Dumbledore's for many years—the Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood were discovered by him and Dumbledore together."
The long table fell silent. Madam Pince glared at them from behind the counter, and Hermione quickly lowered her voice even further.
"How do you know that?" Harry asked.
"The family has a collection," Polaris said. "The House of Black library has An Illustrated Guide to Famous Alchemists and An Inquiry into the Origins of the Philosopher's Stone; both books have records of him. If you want more detailed information, you can look for A Directory of Alchemy Past and Present—it's in the Restricted Section, the backmost row on the third floor, third column on the left."
Hermione had already picked up her pen and started taking notes.
Harry looked at Polaris with something unidentifiable in his gaze. He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you, Black. Not just for this."
"It's nothing," Polaris said, reopening his book. "These things are all in the library; you just hadn't found the right place."
Harry didn't say anything else. He lowered his head, stacked his books, and prepared to head to the Restricted Section for that copy of A Directory of Alchemy Past and Present. Ron followed, glancing back at Polaris before leaving; his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just nodded.
Hermione stood up and caught up with Harry. "I'll help you look. Books from the Restricted Section need to be signed for, and I have a permission slip signed by Professor Flitwick."
Harry blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Thanks."
The three of them headed toward the Restricted Section. Anthony watched their retreating figures and whispered, "They're quite serious."
Cho didn't respond, she just looked at Polaris.
"Are you really just here to research Alchemy?" she asked softly, loud enough only for Polaris to hear.
Polaris was silent for a second.
"Not entirely," he said.
Cho looked at him and simply nodded, then lowered her head again to continue reading her book.
Polaris also lowered his head to look at Principles of Advanced Alchemy, but he couldn't take in a single word.
He was thinking about that mirror. The mirror of erised.
If it really could show the deepest, most desperate desire of a person's heart, what would he see when he stood before it?
Would he see Cepheus and Long Meixiu? Would he see their faces? He couldn't remember clearly. Those tucked-away photos, those faces he had never seen, remained only as blurred outlines in his memory—grey eyes, long Blackhair, and a gentle voice.
He wasn't even sure if that voice was real or just something he had imagined.
It began to snow outside. Flakes fell one by one onto the windowsill, quickly accumulating into a thin layer. Polaris watched the snow, thinking of the gardens at Star-Swirl Manor, of building snowmen with Bangbang when he was little, and of his grandmother standing at the door calling him inside for hot cocoa.
He wanted to go home.
But he also wanted to stay.
The snow outside fell heavier and heavier, and the library was so quiet that only the sound of turning pages could be heard. Polaris pulled his gaze back from the window and focused on the page again.
Principles of Advanced Alchemy, Chapter Three: The Essence of Transmutation.
He couldn't process a single word. But he still turned to the next page.
Chapter 39: Christmas Gifts
Hogwarts after the holidays was as quiet as an empty Castle.
The corridors were devoid of the noisy chatter of class breaks, the shrill laughter of Peeves chasing students with water balloons was gone, and even the stairs seemed to turn more slowly than usual, as if they too wanted to slack off during the holidays. Polaris was on his way to the library, his footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridors. Occasionally, a figure in a portrait would yawn at him, mumble "Merry Christmas," and then drift back into a deep sleep.
Cho, Anthony, and Hermione had gone home. All three had left him their addresses, reminding him to write. Polaris had tucked those addresses into his textbooks but hadn't picked up a pen yet. He hadn't decided what to write.
The letter from home arrived on the second day of the holidays. When Yarnball flew in through the window, his wings were still dusted with snow. He landed on Polaris's shoulder, affectionately nuzzling his ear before extending a leg for him to untie the letter. The letter was from his aunt, her handwriting as crisp and neat as ever:
"Polaris, Grandma and I have both received your letter. Since you want to stay at school to look up information, then stay. Grandma says boys have their own ideas when they grow up and won't force you. Bangbang had a good cry and was lectured by Kreacher, who said something about 'not interfering with the young master's career,' which made Grandma laugh for a long time. Bangbangcried even harder, saying, 'The young master's career is one thing, but Bangbang missing the young master is another; these two things don't conflict.' Kreacher actually didn't argue with him."
"Write if you need anything. Do you have enough money? Remember to use the Tooth-protecting Potion Grandma gave you every day, and don't forget to eat on time just because it's the holidays. Watch your shoulder during Quidditch practice; don't let the old injury flare up."
"I've sent out all the Christmas gifts according to the list you gave me. Each recipient's gift is wrapped separately with a card, so don't worry. The things the family sent you should arrive on Christmas morning."
"Love, Aunt Lyra"
"P.S. Bangbang stuffed a bag of Salted Plum Candy into your socks. He said you mentioned in your last letter that you shared them with friends and was afraid you wouldn't have enough."
Polaris folded the letter and put it in the drawer of his nightstand. Yarnball had already curled into a ball of fur on his pillow and fallen asleep.
Life during the holidays was simple. Breakfast in the Great Hall, then to the library to read; lunch in the Great Hall, then back to the dormitory for a nap, and back to the library in the afternoon; dinner in the Great Hall, then back to the dormitory to read the books borrowed from the library. A three-point routine, as regular as a pendulum.
He was the only one in the library. Madam Pince opened and closed the doors on time every day. She wasn't surprised by Polaris's presence nor did she ask questions; she would simply place a cup of hot water on his table when he sat down—likely just a casual gesture since she saw him every day.
The only change was Harry and Ron.
They appeared at the library entrance on the third day of the holiday. Ron was clutching a set of Wizard's Chess, and Harry stood beside him with a slightly embarrassed expression.
"Black," Harry said, "are you in the library alone?"
Polaris looked up from the pages of his book. "Yeah."
"Um—" Harry hesitated, "Ron brought Wizard's Chess. Do you want to play together? It's not like there's much to do during the holidays anyway."
Polaris glanced at them. Ron stood behind Harry, his expression a bit awkward, but he nodded when he met Polaris's gaze.
"Let's go." Polaris closed his book.
The three of them went to a corner of the Great Hall and found an empty table. Ron set up the board, the pieces chirping and stretching their arms and legs under his hands, looking eager for a match.
"Do you know how to play?" Ron asked.
"A little," Polaris said. This was the truth—there was an antique Wizard's Chess set in the House of Black's study, and his grandmother had taught him the rules, but he hadn't played much.
In the first game, Ron checkmated his king in less than fifteen minutes. Polaris admitted it flatly: "I lost."
Ron blinked, seemingly not expecting him to be so straightforward. Harry laughed nearby. "Ron's been playing chess since he was six; it's normal for him to win."
"Again?" Ron asked.
"Sure."
In the second game, Polaris lasted ten minutes longer. By the third game, he began to exchange a few pieces with Ron. Ron's expression changed from the initial "I'll see what your level is" to "Huh," then "Hmm," and finally "You actually saw that coming."
"Didn't you say you only knew a little?" After the fourth game, Ron looked at him, the initial awkwardness in his tone replaced by curiosity.
"Quick learner," Polaris said.
Ron snorted but didn't argue. He reset the board and muttered, "Again."
Over the next three days, Polaris lost more than he won, but he could feel himself improving with every game. Rondidn't say it, but every time Polaris made a good move, his eyebrows would twitch, and he would play his next move even more seriously.
Polaris knew Ron still had some reservations about him. His status as Malfoy's cousin, the fact that Ravenclaw had beaten Gryffindor in the Quidditch match, and Hermionebecoming closer to them—these weren't things that could be easily let go. But on the chessboard, there was no need for words, only for moves. After a few games, the way Ronlooked at him was no longer as complicated as before.
On Christmas morning, Polaris was jolted awake by a package from Bangbang.
It wasn't an exaggeration—it literally hit him. A huge package fell from the sky, landing precisely on his stomach and knocking him out of his dream. Polaris opened his eyes to see the foot of his bed piled high with packages of all sizes and colors, stacked like a small mountain.
He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes.
The first one he opened was from home. Bangbang's package was the largest; inside was a big bag of Salted Plum Candy and a hand-knitted scarf. The scarf was deep blue, the stitches somewhat uneven, with several obvious spots where it had been knitted wrong, unraveled, and re-knitted. Polaris touched the scarf and read Bangbang's letter twice. Kreacher's package was small; inside was a pair of wool socks, dark gray and neatly knitted, far better than Bangbang's handiwork. Tucked inside the socks was a note with Kreacher's crooked handwriting: "The young master's feet must not get cold."
His aunt's gift was—Polaris opened the box and froze for a second—a Dragon Skin Belt. It was dark brown with a silver star buckle, finely crafted. The note said, "Your father had one just like it back then; you need one to keep up appearances when you grow up." Grandma's gift was a jar of Hand Cream, with a note attached: "It's dry in winter, and your hands always crack when it gets cold. Remember to apply it."
Polaris turned his hands over to look. There were indeed several small cracks on his fingertips that he hadn't even noticed.
He unscrewed the Hand Cream and applied a little to the back of his hand.
The gifts Aunt Lyra had sent on his behalf should have all arrived by now. He had listed a long inventory in his letter—for Cho, it was a set of Chinese Ink Wash Paints, which he had asked his aunt to find across several shops; for Anthony, it was a parchment edition of A History of Hogwarts Architecture with exquisite illustrations; for Hermione, it was A Study of the Origins of Magic, a book she had tried to borrow from the library several times without success; for Captain Roger, it was maintenance oil for a Star-Swirl Brooms; for Andrew, it was a pair of Beater's Bracers. Everyone had a gift, individually wrapped with a card.
Next were the gifts from his teammates. Captain Roger sent a Quidditch tactics manual, with the title page inscribed: "To the best first-year Beater." Andrew sent a pair of leather bracers with a note: "Don't injure your shoulder again." Cho's gift was a small box; inside was a silver bookmark engraved with a soaring eagle—the Ravenclaw crest. On the back of the bookmark, "Merry Christmas, Cho" was engraved in tiny letters. Polaris turned the bookmark over a few times and placed it beside his pillow.
Anthony's gift was a notebook with a dark blue cover. The title page read: "For your Alchemy notes—stop writing formulas in the margins of your textbooks, Anthony." Polaris flipped to the first page and found that Anthonyhad already neatly written out a table of contents. Hermione's gift was Alchemy Illustrated, with the title page inscribed: "There might be something you need in here—Merry Christmas, Hermione." Tucked between the pages were several slips of paper she had used as an index.
A few other Ravenclaw classmates had also sent gifts—Lisa Turpin sent a box of quills, and another classmate sent a bottle of ink.
Hagrid's gift was large. Inside was a big box of Rock Cakes, hard as stones. Polaris picked one up, looked at it, and decided to set it aside for now. It wasn't that he didn't want to eat it, but his teeth needed to be prepared.
Malfoy's gift was a small box; inside was a silver cufflink engraved with the Malfoy family crest. There was no card, no note. Polaris put the cufflink back in the box and placed it in his drawer.
The Deans' gifts—Professor Flitwick sent a copy of Advanced Charms, the title page inscribed: "To Ravenclaw's most outstanding new student." Professor McGonagall sent a Gryffindor badge. Polaris stared at it for a moment before realizing why—it was likely for catching Harry during the Quidditch match. Professor Snape's gift was a small vial filled with a pale blue Potion, the label reading: "To relieve muscle fatigue." Polaris unscrewed it and sniffed; there was no bitterness, just a faint scent of mint.
Professor Sprout sent a small pot of Christmas Roses with a note: "Keep it on the windowsill. It blooms in winter. Don't water it too much."
Dumbledore's gift was the most surprising to Polaris; he really hadn't expected the Headmaster to send him anything.
A small box; inside was a small mirror. It wasn't magical, just an ordinary silver-edged mirror. The card read: "I hope you can find what you want to see in the mirror. Albus Dumbledore, Merry Christmas."
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
Reese looked at the mirror, silent for a long time.
He only saw his own face—gray eyes, Black hair, and a silhouette similar to his father's.
He flipped the mirror over and placed it on the nightstand.
The afternoon Christmas feast was held in the Great Hall.
The four house tables were pushed together, and all the students and teachers staying at the school sat in a circle.
There weren't many people, but it was lively.
Professor Flitwick sat among the Ravenclaw students, using his wand to direct ribbons to weave themselves into garlands.
Professor McGonagall sat next to the Gryffindor students, holding a glass of eggnog, her expression much more relaxed than usual.
Professor Snape sat in a corner with an untouched glass of mulled wine in front of him, looking like a Black statue, though he would nod slightly when students occasionally went over to toast him.
Hagrid sat in the seat closest to the door, with three plates piled in front of him, stuffing a roasted chicken leg into his mouth.
The Weasley Twins sat next to Reese.
"Black!" Fred or George threw an arm around Reese's shoulder. "Heard you stayed at school? Aren't you bored by yourself?"
"You have us!" the other leaned in from the other side. "How could Christmas be boring? Come on, let me show you something good."
The two of them flanked Reese, sandwiching him in the middle. Fred pulled a small cracker from his pocket, red with golden stars painted on it.
"Guess what color this is?" He held the cracker up in front of Reese.
"Red?" Reese said.
"Wrong!" George shook his head. "What's the point of guessing the color? If you're going to guess, guess—the color of the smoke after it explodes!"
Fred pulled the cracker. With a bang, a puff of purple smoke sprayed out, scattering above their heads like a flower.
"Purple!" Reese said.
"Right!" Fred clapped. "How about this one?" He pulled out a green one.
"Green?"
Bang—gold.
Reese: "..."
George laughed until he was doubled over: "This is our new product—making sure you never guess the next color! How about that, pretty cool, right?"
Fred pulled a handful from his pocket, in all sorts of colors: "Here, a Christmas gift for you. We prepared one for everyone staying at school."
Reese took the crackers, looked at them, and suddenly asked: "I heard you have some prank products? The response has been pretty good?"
The twins exchanged a look.
"Oh ho—" Fred raised an eyebrow.
"Looks like our reputation—" George continued.
"Is big enough that even a top student from Ravenclaw—" Fred.
"Has heard of it!" George.
The two of them leaned in from left and right, wearing that identical expression of cunning and excitement.
"What is it, boss?" Fred lowered his voice.
"Looking to buy some of our products?" George also lowered his voice.
"Fair prices—" Fred.
"Honest dealings—" George.
"Ten times better than Zonko's stuff!" the two said in unison.
Reese looked at them and couldn't help but smile. He wasn't laughing at their sales pitch—he was thinking about how the way these two spoke was truly like one person talking.
"I'm not looking to buy products," Reese said.
The twins' smiles faltered for a moment.
"I need your Alchemy manuscripts," Reese said.
Fred and George exchanged a look and didn't speak.
"Making prank props has a lot to do with Alchemy, right?" Reese said. "You've been researching for so many years, you must have your own notes and formulas. I need those things as reference."
"Are you opening a prank shop?" Fred asked.
"No," Reese said. "I'm researching Alchemy. Your notes could help me avoid taking many detours."
The twins exchanged a look again. This time the look was different from before; they weren't acting, they were truly communicating.
"In exchange," Reese said, "I can provide R&D funding. You need money to develop new products, right?"
Fred's eyebrows shot up.
"The first batch," Reese said, "two hundred Galleons. Is that enough?"
George's mouth fell open.
"If it's not enough, we can add more," Reese said. "Also, how are your sales channels? Zonko's?"
Fred's expression changed.
"Zonko's takes too high a cut," George frowned.
"And they only take finished products, they don't invest in R&D," Fred added.
"The House of Black has its own shops," Reese said. "The channels are already in place. Your products can be sold in my aunt's shop, with a lower cut than Zonko's. If you want to open your own shop after graduation—"
He looked at them.
"The House of Black can provide startup capital. Equity or a loan, it's up to you."
The Great Hall was noisy; Hagrid was telling some joke at the other end, and Professor Flitwick was directing ribbons to weave into the shape of stars. But in this small space around Reese, it was quiet.
Fred and George looked at him, the playfulness on their faces fading.
"Two hundred Galleons," Fred said, "for the first batch."
"You don't want us to pay it back?" George said. "Just the manuscripts?"
"Deal?"
The two of them reached out their hands at the same time.
Reese shook Fred's hand, then George's.
"Deal."
Fred smiled first. It wasn't the goofy grin from before, but genuine happiness. "Generous Boss Black!" He patted Reese's shoulder, not hard, but very sincerely.
George pulled a small notebook from his pocket, flipped through it, tore out a few pages, and shoved them at Reese: "These are our early formulas; take a look at these first. I'll organize the formal manuscripts when we get back to the dormitory."
Reese took them and flipped through. The paper was full of drawings, with ratios of various ingredients and reaction conditions written down. The handwriting was messy, but the logic was very clear.
"Thanks." Reese folded the papers and put them in his pocket.
Fred pulled out another cracker and shoved it into Reese's hand: "This one's for you, no charge."
"What color is it?" Reese asked.
"Guess." Fred winked.
Reese pulled the cracker. Bang—a puff of silver smoke sprayed out, scattering above their heads like a silver flower, glittering in the candlelight.
"Silver!" George shouted. "You're lucky, we only made five of this color!"
"Merry Christmas, Black!" Fred raised his pumpkin juice.
"Merry Christmas." Reese also raised his cup.
After the feast, Reese returned to the dormitory. The corridor was quiet, with only the firelight from the fireplace dancing on the walls. He placed those formula manuscripts on his desk, planning to look at them tomorrow.
Then he sat down and began to write letters.
The first one to Cho:
"Cho, Merry Christmas. I received the bookmark; it's beautiful. I've tucked it into the book I'm currently reading so I can see it every time I open it. Have you used the paints? I'm not sure if I bought the right ones; my aunt had to check several shops before finding them. The shopkeeper said they were imported from the East, so they should be good. My Ravenclaw teammates all stayed at school; Captain Roger gave me a set of tactical manuals, and Andrew gave me a pair of wrist guards. The Weasley Twins taught me how to use their crackers today; silver, apparently a limited edition. The school is very quiet; I'm the only one in the library, and Madam Pince pours me hot water. How did you spend your Christmas? Reese"
The second one to Anthony:
"Anthony, I received the notebook; the table of contents is very neatly written. I've already copied my Alchemy notes into it; it's much neater than writing them in the margins of the textbook. Merry Christmas. Reese"
The third one to Hermione:
"Hermione, I received the book. The index you made is very useful; I followed it and found several points I hadn't noticed before. Merry Christmas. Reese"
The fourth one to family:
"Grandmother, Aunt, Bangbang, Kreacher, Merry Christmas. I received all the gifts. I'm wearing the scarf from Bangbang; it's very warm. Kreacher's socks are also very warm, though they warm each foot differently. The belt from Aunt fits perfectly; I'll wear it for the opening ceremony. I've applied Grandmother's Hand Cream, and the cracks on my hands have healed a lot. The school Christmas feast was very lively; the Weasley Twins gave me a few crackers that spray smoke in colors you can't guess. I'm doing well, so don't worry. Tell Bangbang for me that there are enough plum candies, and tell him to stop crying. Reese"
He folded the letters and placed them on the table, waiting for Yarnball to wake up tomorrow before sending them.
It started snowing outside the window again. Snowflakes fell one by one onto the windowsill, shimmering with tiny light in the moonlight.
Reese lay in bed, looking at the ceiling.
He knew that tonight, Harry would be wearing that Invisibility Cloak, finding the mirror of erised in the Castle.
He also knew that in the next few days, Harry would go to see that mirror again and again. And he himself would eventually be drawn there.
He wasn't sure what he wanted to see in the mirror. His parents' faces? He couldn't remember clearly. Those put-away photos, those faces he had never seen, were left with only blurry outlines in his memory.
He touched the silver bookmark under his pillow. The eagle's wings brushed against his fingertips, cool to the touch.
Perhaps he just wanted to confirm they were still alive—not in photos, not in other people's stories, but alive and well somewhere.
He pulled the quilt up and closed his eyes.
Outside the window, the North Star shone quietly.
Chapter 40: Winter Solstice in the Mirror
Two days later, while Rhys was eating breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry came over to find him.
Between the Gryffindor table and the Ravenclaw table sat Hufflepuff, so Harry had to take a long detour to get there. He stood behind Rhys, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke: "Rhys, are you free tonight?"
Rhys turned his head and saw that Harry's expression was a bit unnatural—not nervous, but that kind of awkwardness of "I don't know how to start."
"What's wrong?" Rhys put down his fork.
Harry looked left and right, then lowered his voice: "There's something I want you to see too. Are you free tonight after lights out?"
Rhys looked at him. The mirror of erised. It was coming sooner than expected. He nodded: "Are you asking me to go for a night stroll?"
Harry froze for a moment, probably not expecting Rhys to be so direct.
"Sure," Rhys said. "What time? Where should we meet?"
"Midnight. At the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room." After Harry finished, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "The Fat Lady should be asleep by then."
"Okay."
Harry nodded and turned to leave. After a few steps, he looked back and whispered, "Don't tell anyone," then quickly disappeared toward the Gryffindor table.
Rhys picked up his fork again and finished the remaining fried egg on his plate.
Tonight, he would be able to see that mirror.
Ten minutes before midnight, Rhys set out from the Ravenclaw Tower. The corridors were quiet, with only torches flickering on the walls, stretching shadows long and short. He didn't use the Snake Talisman—that ability was too thorough, making him invisible even to himself, which wasn't suitable for today's situation. The Disillusionment Charm was enough. With a light tap of his wand, a ripple of shimmering light appeared at the edges of his body, and then he merged into the shadows of the wall.
At the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, The Fat Lady was already asleep. She was snoring lightly in her portrait, still clutching a goblet, probably having had too much to drink at the Christmas feast. Rhys waited at the corner, and before long, the sound of very light footsteps came from the stairs. He saw the source of the sound—there was nothing in the air, but shallow footprints were being pressed into the dust on the floor.
Harry had arrived, wearing his Invisibility Cloak.
He stopped at the entrance of the common room and looked around, seemingly searching for something. Not seeing Rhys, his movements became a bit hesitant. Then he lifted a corner of the Invisibility Cloak's hood, revealing a head suspended in mid-air, looking left and right.
"I'm here," Rhys's voice came from around the corner.
Harry turned his head and saw Rhys step out from the shadows of the wall—first an outline, then his body, and finally his entire face. The moment the Disillusionment Charm was lifted, his edges rippled like water, and then he appeared fully under the light.
"Wow," Harry whispered. "You're really good. What spell is that?"
"The Disillusionment Charm," Rhys said. "You'll learn it later."
He glanced at the Invisibility Cloak in Harry's hand. The cloak shimmered with a faint silver light under the torchlight, its texture as soft as flowing water. The original story said it was one of the Deathly Hallows, capable of hiding a person perfectly—but the word "perfect" wasn't quite accurate. At least Dumbledore could find him, and Moody's magical eye could see through it. Rhys's Snake Talisman provided complete optical invisibility, leaving no trace. But this cloak—it had substance, it moved, it could be bumped into, and it could be marked by spells.
"Come in with me," Harry said, lifting the Invisibility Cloaka bit higher. "Otherwise, you won't be able to see me."
Rhys shook his head. He pulled out his wand and lightly tapped Harry's shoulder.
"Homenum Revelio."
A soft white light emitted from the tip of the wand, falling on Harry and then seeping into his skin like water. Harry's outline brightened for a moment before returning to normal. But in Rhys's eyes, Harry now looked like a figure outlined in gold; even under the Invisibility Cloak, the silhouette was crystal clear.
"No need," Rhys said, putting away his wand. "I've already marked you. Just walk inside the Invisibility Cloak; I can see you."
Harry looked down at himself, then at Rhys, his eyes full of surprise. But he didn't ask any more questions, pulling the Invisibility Cloak back into place, leaving only his green eyes exposed.
"Then let's go."
The two of them walked through the corridor one after the other. Harry's golden outline moved through the air like a shrouded lamp. Rhys followed behind, the Disillusionment Charm making his figure blurry, only flashing occasionally when passing under a torch.
They passed through several corridors, went up two flights of stairs, and turned many corners. Rhys didn't ask for directions, simply following the golden outline. He knew where Harry was going—that abandoned classroom in a remote corner of the Castle where no one usually passed.
When Harry pushed the door open, the hinges gave a slight creak. Rhys followed him in and closed the door behind them.
The moment the door closed, the room lit up.
It wasn't lamp light. It was light emitted by a mirror.
It was placed at the very back of the room, standing against the wall. The golden frame was carved with intricate patterns, and a line of text was engraved at the top. The mirror itself didn't glow, but what it reflected—in the darkness, it seemed as if it were glowing on its own.
The mirror of erised.
Rhys stood before the mirror, not stepping forward immediately.
Harry had already thrown off the Invisibility Cloak. He stood before the mirror, the expression on his face changing from calm to longing, and from longing to infatuation. Rhys could see that change clearly—it wasn't Harry controlling his expression; it was the mirror controlling him.
"What do you see?" Rhys asked.
"My parents," Harry's voice was as soft as a breath. "They're standing behind me, smiling at me. My mom... she's so beautiful. My dad's hair is as messy as mine."
Rhys stood beside him, looking at everything in the mirror.
He saw himself.
Not his current self. It was another version of himself—standing on a vast, empty snowy plain under a starry sky. Twelve Talismans floated around him: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Sheep, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, and Pig. Each glowed with a different color, slowly rotating around him. On his face, the markings of the eight demons spread from his temples to his jawline, a dark red glow flowing beneath his skin like lava. On his head, a mask was worn at a tilt—deep blue with purple patterns, the Mask of Tarakudo. His expression was cold, devoid of emotion, like an empty shell filled with power.
Then, two hands were placed on his shoulders.
The Rhys in the mirror turned his head. Cepheus stood to his left, his grey eyes crinkling with a smile. Long Meixiustood to his right, her black hair falling over her shoulders, looking at him tenderly.
It wasn't the frozen, motionless look from a photograph. It was alive. Cepheus's hand rested on his shoulder, having weight. Long Meixiu's hand gently patted his arm, as if saying, "I'm here."
The expression of the Rhys in the mirror changed. The mask disappeared, the demon markings faded, and the Talismans fell one by one like stars dropping into the snow. He became an ordinary eleven-year-old boy, standing between his parents, his eyes rimmed with red.
Behind Cepheus, his grandmother and aunt walked over. His grandmother's expression was still the same, reserved and gentle, but the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deeper than they were now. His aunt was smiling, her eyes also red. Behind them stood a man he didn't recognize—grey eyes, sharp features, bearing some resemblance to Cepheus.
Grandfather. Castor Black. Someone he had never met.
Behind Long Meixiu, an elderly couple came forward, supporting each other. The old lady's hair was completely white, but her smile was warm. The old gentleman stood with a straight back; though there were wrinkles on his face, his eyes were bright.
Maternal grandfather. Maternal grandmother. Long Meixiu's parents. Edmund and Aurora Selwyn.
Then there was Bangbang. Kreacher.
Then there was Cho. She stood beside Long Meixiu, holding that box of paints, and waved to him with a smile.
Hermione and Anthony stood behind Cho; Hermione was still clutching that notebook, and Anthony adjusted his glasses.
Everyone was there. Everyone was looking at him and smiling.
The Rhys in the mirror stood there, tears sliding down from his grey eyes, but he was smiling. That smile wasn't a polite or restrained one; it was a genuine smile that welled up from his heart.
Rhys stood before the mirror, his eyes growing hot.
He reached out, wanting to touch the faces of his parents in the mirror. The moment his fingertips touched the surface, it was icy. It wasn't the temperature of glass, but a deeper, heavier cold, like the water of a lake in winter.
"What did you see?" Harry's voice came from the side, pulling him back to reality.
Rhys withdrew his hand and rubbed the corner of his eye with his thumb.
"Family and friends," he said. "My parents."
Harry was silent for a while. He didn't ask what happened to Rhys's parents—from the moment Rhys said "too," he understood.
"I miss them too," Rhys said. His voice was a bit hoarse, but calm. "Thank you for bringing me here, Harry. For letting me see them."
He looked at those faces in the mirror still smiling at him and took a step back.
"Ron is right," Rhys said. "Don't get too lost in illusions. Seeing them this once is enough for me."
He put his wand into his pocket and turned to walk toward the door. After two steps, he stopped, without looking back.
"You should head back early too," he said. "Don't stay too late."
Then he pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor. The Disillusionment Charm covered his body again, and the sound of his footsteps gradually faded.
Only Harry and the mirror were left in the room.
After a while longer, a sigh came from the doorway.
Dumbledore stepped out from the shadows, his half-moon spectacles glinting in the light from the mirror. He wasn't wearing his purple robes, but was instead draped in a deep blue dressing gown, his silver-white beard reaching down to his waist.
"Harry," his voice was soft but clear. "Go back. Do not dwell."
Harry turned around and, seeing Dumbledore, was startled.
"Professor—I—I was just—"
"I know." Dumbledore walked to the front of the mirror, standing beside Harry and looking at his own reflection. "This mirror is called the mirror of erised. Erised—Desire, spelled backward. It shows not a person's face, but the deepest, most intense desire of one's heart."
He turned around and looked at Harry.
"Your parents hold the most important place in your heart. This is normal. But the mirror can give us neither knowledge nor truth. It will only let us dwell on illusory satisfaction and forget real life."
Harry lowered his head.
"This mirror will be moved tomorrow," Dumbledore said. "I will not let you find it again. If you ever come to look at it again, be prepared—dwelling on illusory happiness can drive a person mad."
Harry was silent for a long time, then nodded.
"Goodnight, Professor."
"Goodnight, Harry."
Harry put on the Invisibility Cloak and left. The sound of his footsteps disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Dumbledore stood before the mirror, not leaving.
He looked at himself in the mirror—not his current self, but a younger version. Auburn hair, no beard, standing beside Grindelwald; the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder in a golden field, with a white Castle in the distance.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, the image in the mirror had changed.
Rhys stood before the mirror, his parents behind him, followed by his grandmother, aunt, grandfather, maternal grandparents, and friends. Everyone was smiling.
Dumbledore watched the expression on the child's face—from cold to warm, from an empty shell to a living person. Just by standing between his parents, all that power faded away, revealing the real eleven-year-old child underneath.
"Rhys," he said softly.
The Rhys in the mirror looked up at him. Those grey eyes were still red, but there was light in them.
"You have stunning talent, excellent qualities, and love," Dumbledore said, his voice so soft only he could hear. "Family, friends. You care about them, and they care about you."
He paused.
"Will you go astray? And what is your original intention?"
The mirror did not answer. The mirror of erised only shows desire, not answers.
Dumbledore stood there, looking at the child's face in the mirror for a long, long time.
Then he waved his wand, and a layer of silver-white light covered the mirror's surface; all the images disappeared. He turned and walked out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.
The corridor was quiet. On the distant tower, the north starshone quietly.
Dumbledore stood by the window, watching that star, not moving for a long time.