For Harry, the Invisibility Cloak was just an excuse to go out and have some fun, but in his opinion, wandering at night didn't need a reason at all.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, watched Harry swagger through the corridors via the portraits and was so worried he pulled out a handful of his beard.
This foolish child, why was he so reckless? Of course, if you were going to wander at night, you should wear the Invisibility Cloak when you go out; what if a patrolling professor caught him?
If he didn't play a game of night-time escape with the professors, how could he be led to the room with the Mirror of Erised?
…Come to think of it, would Harry avoid professors for fear of losing points?
Dumbledore hesitated, his thoughts turning again to the Gryffindor hourglass that already contained the black stone.
Clearly, he wouldn't.
He sighed worriedly and pulled out another handful of beard hair.
He wondered how Harry's personality had turned out like this… but at least it was a good thing that the Muggles hadn't mistreated him.
Dumbledore quickly set aside that concern.
Harry behaved just like a young wizard full of curiosity about the castle, poking his head into every door he passed.
Soon, he was approaching the abandoned classroom where the Mirror of Erised was kept.
Harry pushed open the door and came face to face with the tall, full-length mirror standing silently in the center of the room.
The mirror's surface was foggy, and Harry couldn't make out his own reflection; he glanced at the inscription above the mirror and leaned closer to try to decipher it.
But there was nothing in the mirror.
Harry walked curiously around the Mirror of Erised.
It was a mirror that could see into the deepest desires of people's hearts, operating using methods from the soul domain of ancient magic.
And those methods were clearly insufficient to breach the firewall in Harry's soul.
Harry saw nothing; the mirror was completely empty, with no reflection at all, as if Harry Potter didn't exist.
Was this the protection Dumbledore had prepared for "that thing"?
Harry raised his hand and knocked on the mirror's surface, muttering to himself: Did Dumbledore really have so much confidence that this mirror alone could keep Voldemort out of "that thing's" reach?
Boring.
He turned and left, and never came back.
This left Dumbledore with all the speeches he had prepared stuck in his throat.
For Christmas, Hermione left school to go home, while Ron stayed at Hogwarts.
Harry's Christmas was quite unpleasant; he had planned to use the free time to cause some trouble for Quirrell, but instead, trouble found him first. Conti had sent a gift, along with a large stack of documents concerning German affairs.
And throughout Christmas, a total of seven stacks arrived, reportedly the majority being work Harry had put off.
That despicable Esposito used a humble and polite tone in his letters, pleading with Harry to finish reading the documents before Christmas ended and to give instructions on the Silver Sun's next move.
Harry: "#*%!~#@…"
After finishing the documents, Harry was completely burnt out. He leaned lazily against a corridor wall, zoning out as the falling snow brushed past his nose and melted before him.
While Ron and Draco were bickering, Harry suddenly noticed a conspicuous purple figure on the snow.
Quirrell? What was he doing?
Harry straightened up slightly, then watched as Quirrell clutched his head with both hands, fleeing in panic across the snowy ground, scrambling clumsily.
The laughing Weasley twins were throwing snowballs at the back of his head, looking absolutely delighted.
Harry looked thoughtful, then his eyes lit up.
This looked very interesting.
So, while Ron and Draco argued louder and louder, Harry went into the snow and got to work.
Just a second before the two were about to come to blows, Harry grabbed one in each hand and pulled them over: "Stop fighting, let's go do something fun."
"What—"
Both their questioning voices cut off abruptly when they saw the snowball that was nearly as tall as a person.
'Snowball' wasn't really accurate. Harry had used his strength to pound and pack the snow; now, this ball was as solid as it could possibly be.
Calling it an ice ball was more fitting.
Harry revealed a smile barely containing his excitement, pointed towards Quirrell, who was having a "joyful" snowball fight with the Weasley twins, and made a suggestive face: "Let's go play with the professor too, shall we?"
Ron and Draco's eyes widened as they stared at the sturdy ice ball under Harry's hand, both inhaling sharply.
Ron's face was frozen in terror, unable to make a sound. Draco was silent for two seconds before asking weakly: "That… ball?"
Ron blurted out: "Harry, are you trying to kill him?"
Draco was more tactful: "I think that might be a bit dangerous…"
Harry interrupted enthusiastically: "Never mind, I know what I'm doing. If you're not coming, just watch."
He waved his wand, cheerfully leading his creation on a detour to ambush Quirrell.
Ron and Draco stood where they were, looking at each other.
Later, it was said that Professor Quirrell had somehow fallen into the Black Lake, smashing a large hole in the frozen surface, and the Weasley twins had to find a professor to help fish him out.
After that, Quirrell was sent to the hospital wing, reportedly with multiple fractures in his limbs and torso, and he stayed there for the entire holiday.
Quirrell didn't die, which Harry found a bit regrettable.
Draco was shocked for a while but then calmed down; after all, Quirrell wasn't dead, was he?
Ron, however, was uneasy for a long time, feeling guilty whenever he saw a professor, and earnestly began trying to counsel Harry, attempting to make him stop playing such aggressive jokes.
He didn't realize that Harry genuinely wanted Quirrell dead.
After Christmas, preparations began for the Quidditch match the young wizards had been eagerly awaiting, and the Quidditch teams from each house intensified their practice.
Harry had heard the Weasley twins complain about Wood's intensity more than ten times already.
George put his hands to his temples, crossed his eyes wildly for a moment, and sighed: "You absolutely can't imagine how crazy Wood is."
Fred immediately chimed in: "Wood is completely Quidditch-obsessed!"
George nodded vigorously in agreement: "Totally, his head is full of nothing but Quidditch!"
Harry propped his chin up, feeling a bit sleepy as he listened to the two jokers chattering around Ron and him, muttering softly: "It's not just Quidditch he's crazy about, is it…"
"Maybe he really wants to beat Slytherin…" Harry suddenly realized mid-sentence, "Oh, right, has Slytherin already won the championship for several years in a row?"
At this, George and Fred both looked a bit dejected: "Yeah, they've won the House Cup for six years straight."
"If they win again this year, that'll be seven years in a row."
George said gloomily: "Quidditch gives a lot of points."
Fred glanced at the Gryffindor hourglass, which now held a thin layer of rubies, earned mostly by Hermione's frantic answering in class.
But unfortunately, with just her, making up for the huge hole Harry had created was too much.
Even the goddess Nüwa patching the sky would have had an easier time.
However, the good news was that many Gryffindors had gained a genuine respect for the "know-it-all" girl because of this.
Hermione was also quite interested in the wizards' unique sport. She sat next to Harry, munching on a pie while engrossed in *Quidditch Through the Ages*.
That hefty book, even though it was about Quidditch, still made Ron grimace involuntarily.
Draco strolled by nonchalantly. He glanced at Hermione, who was reading, lifted his chin high, and spoke contemptuously: "Typical Mudblood, Granger. You've never played Quidditch before, have you?"
His tone was one of certainty.
Hermione's page-turning motion paused slightly, and her delicate eyebrows knitted together as she glared angrily at Draco.
After studying at Hogwarts for so long, combined with the books she had read, Hermione had a pretty good idea of the wizards' social landscape.
Mudblood, though a bit nicer than some other terms, didn't change its essential nature.
Draco's words were undoubtedly a blatant form of blood supremacy.
Draco continued his taunts, his deliberately drawn-out voice dripping with obvious arrogance: "If you're interested in Quidditch too, I suggest you give up now."
"A Mudblood like you would just make a fool of yourself on the pitch."
"I'm different, though." Draco said smugly, unable to resist showing off. "I'm a really good Quidditch player."
"When I'm in second year, I'll join the Slytherin team. Then you can watch from the stands as I beat you Gryffindors into the ground."
Ron rolled his eyes: "Skinny arms and legs, you?"
With that, he took a savage bite out of his chicken leg.
Then George and Fred grabbed hold of him.
The three red-haired Weasleys looked at each other. The twins darted over to Hermione's side, one on each arm, and pulled Ron, whose mouth was full of chicken, over as well.
Ron paused for a moment, and for once, he was on the same wavelength as the prankster twins. He craned his neck, swallowed the meat with difficulty, and then scrunched up his whole face.
The three Weasleys simultaneously pulled their mouths down, squishing their features together, and jeered at Draco: "Oiiii—"
Harry nearly spat out his drink.
The expression on Hermione's face shifted several times before settling on a strange one, looking like she wanted to laugh but was also a bit embarrassed.
Draco's entire head turned tomato-red, and he spluttered angrily: "You red-haired skunks! What do you mean by that?"
George pinched his voice and mimicked: "'I'm a really good Quidditch player, you know~~~'"
Fred grinned threateningly: "Keep up that attitude, little Malfoy, and we'll hit a Bludger right in your face, turning you into Swollen-Face Malfoy."
Ron said gloatingly: "Hey! I like that!"
"You, you… you guys!" Draco was shaking with rage.
Just a second before Draco could speak, Harry cut him off, imitating George's voice: "I'm telling my father~"
Draco: "…"
Everyone: "…"
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