PROLOGE: I SHOW NOT YOUR FACE, BUT YOUR HEARTS DESIRE

Out of salt and tears and fire,

Came forth the Mirror of Desire

In whose depths the seeker sees

What he wishes all to be

For the mirror does not reflect

What features on the outside rest

But what is inside is clearly shown

It exposes what is not plainly known

Whatever the seeker most desires

Will consume him like flames of fire

For in the mirror the seeker sees

All that he wishes he can be

And so he will waste away

A slave for all his earthly days

Never shall he turn his gaze

From the Mirror's seductive haze

Only those seekers whose hearts are pure

Can find what they are looking for

But should they be wicked, they're hearts be dead

They shall never conquer the Mirror of Erised.

A man sat in an empty room, writing, his quill scratching against the parchment the only sound in the silence. He was a young man, but had an air of wisdom about him. He wasn't handsome, but not ugly. He was very tall. He looked as if his mother had ingested a growth hormone whilst pregnant with him.

All and all he was a very odd looking fellow, made all the more odd looking by the peculiar clothes he wore. Well, they were odd to you and me and any muggle that happened to catch a glance at him though his gloomy flat's single window (unlikely to say the least, but point made), but not by his world's standards. You see, Archibald Florence was a wizard and in his world, banana yellow robes and a purple pointed hat were considered understated.

Now Archibald was a rather important man in his field of expertise (oh yes wizards do have jobs). He was an expert in ancient wizardry, an anthropologist of sorts and was currently cracking a code in ancient mermish (a very arduous task).

Just as Archie (as he shall henceforth be known) was setting down his quill and wondering aloud to himself what he should fix for lunch-his fireplace began to shoot green fire before expelling a very short, very fat man from it's interior.

Now, I know most of us would panic if such a thing were to occur in our living room, but as I said before, Archie was a wizard, and this was a perfectly acceptable means of dropping in in their world.

"Boris? My god man, how are you? It's been ages." Archie cried, standing up to greet his old school mate.

Boris Flanagan righted himself before returning his friends greeting with a firm, but quick handshake.

"How do you do Archie."

"I'm just swell, Boris my lad!" Archie grinned, "Hey, I was just about to have a cuppa, why don't you join me and we can talk about why you decided to drop out of the sky."

"I'm afraid we haven't got much time Arch." Boris said seriously, "Arch, I'm here on official Ministry business."

The grin slid off of Archie's face, "No, absolutely not Boris-I'm not going back, you know I won't not after-"

"I know how you feel Arch," Boris begged, "I really do-I'd feel the same way if it were me-but we've really got ourselves a puzzle here and, well, you're the best."

"Don't try to sweet talk me Boris, it won't work." Archie said, crossing the room and throwing himself into his chair.

"Come on Archie," Boris said, following his friend across the room, "Just come have a look see."

Archie sighed, interested despite himself, "What is it?"

Boris inhaled, "We don't know."