Cronos's Office, Christmas Eve
Snow tapped gently against the tall windows of the tower. The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, casting long, flickering shadows along the stone walls of Professor Cronos Greywood's office.
Books lay in neat, disciplined stacks—scrolls tied and organized by arcane subject. The enchanted hourglass on his desk remained, as ever, empty. But tonight, it seemed almost… patient.
Cronos sat in his high-backed chair, wrapped in a soft, silver-gray cloak, his monocle set aside on the desk beside a steaming mug of spiced tea. He was not reading. He was staring—out into the snowfall beyond the glass. Hogwarts was quieter than usual. Even time itself felt like it had settled in for a rest.
He reached into the drawer beneath his desk and withdrew a small velvet pouch, worn at the corners from years of use. Carefully, he unwrapped it.
Inside lay a ring.
Not just any ring. A simple band of silver and starlight, humming faintly with dormant energy. The same ring he now wore on his right hand—but this was its first form. Untouched. Before enchantment. Before time had reshaped it.
He turned it slowly between his fingers, and for a moment, the firelight dimmed.
The past was never far behind him.
Especially at Christmas.
Hogwarts, years ago.
Eleven-year-old Cronos Greywood padded through the candlelit corridors, his blue and bronze scarf bundled tight around his neck. The castle was quiet. Not empty—never empty—but hushed in the way only Christmas could make it.
Most students had gone home. He hadn't.
There were no presents waiting elsewhere. No warm family hearth. But Hogwarts had mysteries—and Cronos had questions.
His wand was tucked inside his sleeve, though he rarely used it. He had no real destination in mind—just the urge to walk. To listen. To feel what the castle wanted to show him.
And then… it did.
He turned a corner on the seventh floor, and the corridor in front of him shimmered. A blank stretch of wall began to ripple, like light on water.
Cronos stepped back.
He had read of this—heard whispers.
The Room of Requirement.
Tentative, he paced three times before it, mind focused only on one thought:
"Somewhere to understand."
The door appeared.
Inside, the room was softly lit and warm, filled with high bookshelves, strange diagrams suspended in air, and ticking artifacts that resembled clocks but lacked faces. A single pedestal stood at the center.
Upon it: a small silver box.
Cronos approached it with reverence, his heart pounding. The box was unlabeled. He opened it slowly.
Inside lay a ring. Silver, plain, warm to the touch despite the winter air. Beneath it—a folded scrap of parchment, edges singed.
He unfolded it carefully. The writing was cramped, sharp, familiar in a way that made the hairs on his neck stand up.
"The question is more dangerous than the answer."
No signature.
But the handwriting… it looked like his own.
His fingers closed around the ring.
Behind him, the room shifted.
A soft glow beckoned from a far alcove. Drawn forward, Cronos stepped around a bookcase and froze.
A tall mirror, framed in gold and clawed feet. At the top, an inscription:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
He had to sound it out backwards to understand.
"I show not your face but your heart's desire."
The Mirror of Erised.
He stepped forward, slowly.
In the reflection, he saw not just himself.
He saw many versions of himself—older, cloaked, some wounded, some regal. One wore a full mask of glass. Another had no eyes. One stood in shadows with flickering timelines at his back.
They all stared at him… and behind them, time fractured—ribbons of gold and blue pulling apart like broken strings.
He stepped back, shaken.
Was this… desire?
Or was it warning?
"Curious thing, that mirror," came a voice behind him—light, amused, and far too calm.
Cronos turned sharply.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood in the doorway, wrapped in purple robes, his silver beard tucked neatly into his belt.
"I often find students in front of it this time of year," Dumbledore said, stepping beside him.
"I didn't mean to trespass," Cronos said quickly.
Dumbledore waved the apology away. "No one ever does. The Room lets you in only when it chooses to. And it never shows anything we're truly prepared for."
Cronos glanced back at the mirror. "I… I saw myself. But many versions. All… different."
Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled behind his glasses. "A complex desire, then. Or perhaps a tangled one."
He offered a small silver tin. "Lemon drop?"
Cronos took one silently.
They stood in peaceful quiet for a few moments.
"You are quite a thinker, Mr. Greywood," Dumbledore said at last. "But even thought must rest from time to time."
"Do you… believe time can be changed?" Cronos asked suddenly.
Dumbledore considered the question. "I believe time is less like a line and more like… a garden. Most of us walk the same path. But there are always branches. Always weeds. And once in a while, something very rare and very strange takes root where it should not."
He smiled faintly. "And then a professor is called in to prune."
Cronos didn't understand all of it—but he nodded anyway.
As they turned to leave, Dumbledore added softly, "Just remember—there is no desire worth chasing that costs you who you are."
Present Day
The velvet cloth closed over the ring again.
Cronos slid it gently back into the drawer.
He turned to the stack of neatly wrapped gifts on the desk—each labeled with no sender.
He raised his wand and murmured a soft incantation.
The packages vanished one by one, carried by unseen hands to dormitories across the castle.
He paused before the last one—Harry's.
He looked at the small enchanted timepiece he'd crafted. A simple thing. But sometimes, simple things carried the most meaning.
"May you never miss the important seconds," he whispered.
The gift shimmered and vanished.
And with that, he leaned back in his chair, staring once more into the falling snow.
Harry's POV
Harry woke to the soft rustle of wrapping paper and the soft glow of morning light filtering through frost-covered windows. The Gryffindor dormitory smelled faintly of cinnamon and fireplace smoke. Across the room, Ron snored into his pillow, half-buried in a pile of unwrapped presents.
Harry sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. At the foot, a small stack of gifts waited.
He smiled faintly. He hadn't expected much—Christmas at the Dursleys had never been more than cold toast and a locked cupboard—but Hogwarts was different.
There were sweets from Hermione, a pair of warm socks from Mrs. Weasley, and a weird musical box from Neville's gran that played off-key carols when tapped.
And then two packages stood out.
One was large and soft, wrapped in plain brown paper. A tag was pinned to it in loopy handwriting:
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.– A Friend
Harry tore the paper away to reveal a silvery cloak, light as air, shimmering in the morning light.
He held it up—and gasped. It vanished.
"An invisibility cloak," he whispered, awestruck.
He carefully folded it, heart racing. Who had sent it? Dumbledore? Someone else?
Then he noticed the second, smaller box.
It was wrapped in deep blue paper, tied with silver string. No note, no tag.
Harry hesitated, then unwrapped it gently.
Inside was a strange timepiece—a circular medallion-like watch without numbers or hands. The face shimmered with tiny constellations that aligned and shifted gently in real time, like a map of the stars slowly ticking across a dark sky.
As Harry turned it over, faint words appeared on the back:
"For the moments that matter."
No name. But he had a feeling who it came from.
"Professor Cronos," he murmured.
Ron stirred. "Wha's that?"
"Just… something from Professor Cronos" Harry said, tucking both the cloak and the timepiece safely into the drawer of his bedside table. "Pretty cool."
Ron yawned. "If it's not food or chocolate, I'm going back to sleep."
Harry grinned and looked once more at the silvery cloak. He couldn't help but feel… this Christmas might be the most magical one yet.
Christmas Feast
The Great Hall had never looked more magical.
Icicles hung from the enchanted ceiling, shimmering in the candlelight. Snow drifted lazily down from above but melted before touching anyone's head. Twelve massive Christmas trees sparkled with golden stars, and floating holly wreaths rotated gently midair.
The remaining students—mostly first-years and a few upper-years who hadn't gone home—filled one long table near the front. Laughter and clinking plates filled the air.
Harry sat between Ron and Hermione, who had just finished bragging about how many books she'd already read from the library's "Advanced Spellwork" shelf.
"I swear one of them had a section on enchanted embroidery," Ron groaned. "I don't even know what that means."
"It's quite interesting, actually," Hermione said primly, biting into a sugar-dusted treacle tart.
Harry wasn't listening. He kept glancing toward the staff table.
Professor Cronos was seated between Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra. He wasn't eating much, just sipping from a goblet, his silver cloak folded neatly over the back of his chair. The monocle gleamed even here, catching the light like a moon in motion.
Harry wasn't sure why, but something about the way Cronos sat—half-attentive, half-distant—made it seem like he was listening to more than just the conversation around him.
Cronos's eyes met Harry's briefly. A nod. Barely a twitch of a smile.
Harry looked away quickly.
Later that Night
It was well past midnight when Harry crept through the shadows of the library, the Invisibility Cloak wrapped tightly around him, the silver timepiece tucked safely into his pocket.
He hadn't planned to go anywhere tonight—but something had tugged at him. A feeling.
He passed rows of books, darker and dustier than those in the open shelves. Here, the titles were barely legible—worn leather, cracked spines, chained bindings.
Then he stopped.
Someone else was already there.
A tall figure stood in front of a locked cabinet at the far end. Cloak flowing, one hand tracing gently along a line of titles.
Cronos.
Harry stepped back instinctively, but his foot caught the edge of a loose board. It groaned.
Cronos turned.
Harry froze—but then the professor simply said, without looking directly at him, "Come out, Mr. Potter."
The invisibility cloak rippled as Harry pulled it off.
"I—I wasn't—" Harry stammered.
Cronos held up a hand. "You're not in trouble. Though the Restricted Section isn't exactly where most first-years come to admire the view."
Harry flushed. "I just… I was curious."
"Curiosity," Cronos said softly, "is rarely the crime. But it has its consequences."
He stepped aside slightly.
"Looking for something in particular?"
Harry hesitated. "No. Just… thinking. I got this today." He held up the timepiece. "It felt… connected."
Cronos studied it for a moment. "It's attuned to the present. Most magical timepieces reflect the past or future. That one stays grounded in now."
Harry nodded slowly. "You… made it, didn't you?"
Cronos didn't answer directly. He turned back to the cabinet. "There's a book in here that nearly burned itself when someone tried to alter its content through a spell loop. History doesn't like to be rewritten. But memory? Memory is far more... pliable."
Harry frowned. "Why are you down here?"
Cronos looked at him, eyes sharp beneath the monocle.
"To remember something I once forgot."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. The library suddenly felt colder.
Then Cronos stepped forward and placed a hand lightly on Harry's shoulder.
"You're not the only one with a gift tonight."
Before Harry could respond, Cronos stepped past him, the hem of his cloak brushing the floor like a shadow.