Those who know of the Mirror of Erised don't speak of it. Either because they are greedy and couldn't bare to share the wonders they see before them; because they are mad with grief or hunger for a wild fantasy; because they are truly happy and see nothing but a reflection; or because they are sensible, and see the danger of the mirror and it's powers. This meant that the boy who stood before it now had no way to prepare for what it was he saw.
The boy was young. Even so, you could see already that tall, dark and handsome look beginning to take hold. However, there was a cruelty about him. His pale skin, the dark features, the piercing scowl, or occasionally the cold smirk that tainted his otherwise beautiful face. It was this that the boy saw as he first stepped towards the mirror.
He thought, as he approached, of the whispers of a 'magic mirror' on the third floor. He had scoffed when he first heard the rumours; imagining fairy tale beings, or carnival mirrors blessed with Peeves type mischief. But then came the rumours of madness and desire and it sparked his interest almost instantly. He summoned that cold smirk as he read the inscription on the mirror. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" – "I show you not your face but your hearts desire" He read easily. He stepped up closer to the mirror and stopped. He folded his arms and waited. The reflection stared back, pale face illuminated eerily by the candlelight. The features dropped into a deeper scowl in the moments that followed as the boy impatiently waited for the mirror to change. After a few thumping heartbeats, he raised a hand angrily to strike the glass, in hope or perhaps striking a new image into the mirror, but the man in the glass simply imitated. Man…the boy stopped dead. No longer did a boy stare back, but a man...if indeed, you could call it that.
The boy looked from his own hand, still raised by his head, to the man in the mirror's. It was paler. Much paler. And instead of a mere fist, the spindly white fingers encased a wand. He moved his eyes up the man's arm to his body. The reflection was tall. Tall and thin, still pale, like a corpse. He wore a black cloak, not unlike the one draped across his body now. He raised his eyes to his face, and in his heart he felt a stab of dread. Red, burning eyes bore into his own. A snake's face carved with a cruel, terrible smile. The boy staggered back.
"I don't want this!" He yelled. Clapping a hand over his mouth and wincing at his own stupidity. He snapped his head over his shoulder and allowed his eyes to dart around the room. His breathing slowed back to something like normal, and he finally returned his gaze to the thing in the mirror. He felt a stone cold dread creep back into his chest. He didn't want to look anymore but somehow he couldn't tear his eyes from that face. That couldn't be him. The thing in the mirror was terrible. A monster. Unforgiving, cruel but yet…such power, he thought. Such power.
"Power…" the words escaped his lips in a whisper. He got it. His eyes glinted dangerously, all memory of fear gone.
"I did that" he thought, "I created that fear, I have that power…"
Power, he whispered it again, almost a chant as he walked toward the mirror once more. He looked the man square in the face and smiled. As he did so, the reflection began to laugh. Tom Riddle couldn't hear the sound, but it didn't matter he was laughing too, a high, cold, cruel laugh. The man and boy laughed for a long time. Long enough for an old man behind a statue to shake his head sadly at the young boy on the third corridor.
"Oh Tom…" Albus murmured, and he turned from the boy, the last echoes of laughter dying into silence.