Hey everyone! Summer here :) This was an idea I had for an assignment for Hogwarts, and I know it's probably been done before, but I just wanted to have my little take on it, so voila!
Written for Hogwarts - Magical Objects & Their Uses, Assignment 8 (Write about desire.)
Sincerely hope you enjoy!
It was the night after Christmas, and the third-year Weasley twins were sprawled on George's bed.
Neither of them could sleep; they had devoured both of their mother's boxes of homemade fudge right after dinner, and both were alert with sugar and sweet-filled stomachs. It was very fortunate it was the holidays and nobody else from their year had stayed back at Hogwarts, for the twins did not have plans to sleep until dawn.
George was making patterns in the air with dramatic swooshing of his wand. As his patterns grew more and more elaborate, so did the danger of setting things on fire - already, he'd accidentally put Lee Jordan's curtain in flames.
Fred, on the other hand, was gleefully scouring the Marauder's Map, watching little dots move here and there. Most were still because it was past midnight and many people were not awake. But that was not a problem, because he focused on the people who were awake. That included Dumbledore, who was walking on the seventh floor corridor. Ol' Snape, who was apparently pacing in his office. Preston Locke in the Ravenclaw Tower. Heather Francings. Jenna Trent. Harry Pot-
Fred's eyebrows shot up into his red hair and peered at the map, wondering if his eyes were deceiving him. They were not; Harry Potter, the dot read. Ron Weasley, the dot next to Harry's read.
"George," he said in a triumphant voice, "look at this!"
George dropped his wand next to his pillow and leaned over. "What?"
Fred's finger traced the two dots that were scurrying to and fro on the second floor corridor. The twins' eyes followed them back and forth. "Well, well," George said in surprise. "Didn't think Ronnie had it in him to break the rules. Or Harry, for that matter."
"Wonder where they're going," commented George, but no sooner did the words leave his mouth than did Ron and Harry appear to rush through a door in the passageway that led to the library.
"Have we ever gone there before?" asked Fred, his mind racing through the endless rooms he and George had explored at Hogwarts.
"Four doors down from the library," George muttered under his breath. "I thought - wasn't it that old classroom that looks like it hasn't been used in centuries?"
"The old class - Aha! Yes," said Fred, looking down at the map again. "I thought so, at least."
George flopped onto his back, as dot Harry and dot Ron didn't seem to be doing anything other than standing around. "But why would Ron and Harry want to go to an old classroom? I doubt they want to study."
Fred grinned and leapt off the bed, putting on his (or George's - it didn't really matter) shoes. "Well, only one way to find out," he said cheerfully. He plucked the map off the bed and sauntered to the door. "Come on."
George didn't hesitate as he hopped after him, snatching the map out of his brother's hands.
The two quietly crept out of the Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady did not stir as they gently lifted her portrait up and scrambled towards the moving staircases.
Nobody intercepted them on the way to the second-floor corridor, but that was because Fred and George planned their routes accordingly - if a professor or Mrs. Norris happened to be making their down one hallway, the twins would dart into another and continue on their way from there.
They made their way to the second floor corridor just as they heard footsteps coming out of it. The twins flattened themselves against the wall and peered through the darkness.
"...incredible!" George heard their little brother say. "Harry, did you see that trophy I was holding? It was huge -"
"And my family!" Fred heard the Boy Who Lived say passionately. "So many of them - I felt for sure that they were all behind me…"
The footsteps were getting louder, and George cast a wild look at his twin.
"Percy would be so jealous," Ron was saying dreamily, his whisper becoming louder. "And Mum would have a fit - a good sort - if she saw me in all that -"
Fred raised his eyebrows as George smirked. Obviously, whatever their brother was harping on about was something to do with being a goody two-shoes.
The loud footsteps could not be a foot away for how prominent they were - really, their brother and friend were amateurs - but still Fred and George could not see them. George squinted. Moonlight was pouring through the window - surely they'd be able to see them?
And yet, the footsteps and whispers slowly faded, and soon the hall was left in silence.
"Weird," whispered Fred, stepping away from the wall.
"Probably the lighting," said George uncertainly, but the two quickly forgot their doubts as they bounded over to the room Harry and Ron had stepped out of.
"We'll just take a peek, then be on our way," Fred nodded and stepped into the room.
It was the unused classroom that the twins remembered. The desks and chairs still lined the walls, the board coated with dust and curtains stiff with disuse.
The only change was the mirror that stood in the center of the room.
The twins walked over and examined the ornate gold frame. "Stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," Fred read, stumbling on the odd phonetics.
George raised his arm and traced the gold lettering with his finger. "Wow, Fred, I didn't know you could speak a different language. Other than Idiot, of course."
"Ha-ha. But I wonder what it means…" Fred stood in front of the mirror and placed his hand on the glass. His reflection did the same. He smiled. The reflection smiled. George's reflection did what George did as well.
"I don't get it," said George, watching as his reflection's mouth followed his movements. "What's so special about this? Why would Harry and Ron come down here to look at themselves?"
"Maybe they like to look at themselves? I know that I'm sure handsome enough to spend time looking at myself."
"Please, we both know I'm the better twin." George pushed Fred and stood in front of him, cocking his head. "What were they talking about, then?"
"I don't know." Fred shrugged as he leaned against the frame and whipped out the Marauder's Map. "But I think that we -" His eyes suddenly widened, and he jumped away from the mirror, his eyes darting around the room.
"What-" George began to ask, but Fred just muttered very quickly, "Clear it," and shoved the map into George's hand. He was still whipping his head back and forth like a maniac.
George held the map but did not clear it. "What in Merlin's name are you doing?" The words were barely out of his mouth before he suddenly jumped, his face very white as he stared into the shadows.
The headmaster - oh, they were so, so in trouble - stepped out of the darkness. "Hello, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley," said Albus Dumbledore pleasantly, as if they had just happened to meet while in Diagon Alley or something. "Bit late to be out, yes, gentlemen?"
Their shock quickly wore off at the prospect of getting in trouble, and both put on winning smiles.
"It's never too late to be out," declared Fred jovially, stepping swiftly in front of George. The latter quickly stuffed the map into his pocket.
The headmaster watched the boys over his spectacles and smiled. He walked towards the mirror and stood in front of it, gazing at his reflection sadly.
"My dear boys," said Dumbledore, his eyes fixed on the mirror, "you are very fortunate."
Yes, George thought to himself, if you were Snape, we'd be expelled by now. He could tell by Fred's expression that his brother was thinking the very same thing.
"Er, we're sorry, Professor, but we just wanted to - er -"
"- see what your brother and Mr. Potter were doing at this hour. Yes," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling, "I know. Very interesting mirror, is this not?"
As the professor turned back to the mirror, Fred and George exchanged glances. It appeared that the headmaster was not nearly as interested in putting them in detention as any other teacher or prefect would be.
"We don't see the big deal with it, to be honest," offered George. "It's just a mirror."
Dumbledore's hand, which had been tracing the swirls on the gold frame of the mirror, froze. "Ah," he said, "yes. Yes. You see yourselves."
Not quite knowing what to say to that - what else would they see? - Fred and George kept quiet. Dumbledore did not speak for a few moments before he shook his head and clapped his hands.
"It is quite late," he said to them. "Off to bed now - I have faith you will arrive at the Tower without being seen. But no more of these midnight trips, my dear boys."
"Yes, Professor," they said at the same time, sharing another glance. It was really their lucky night, wasn't it? "Good night."
The twins scampered out of the room, unable to keep their triumphant smiles off of their faces. Albus Dumbledore watched them leave through the mirror, looking past the - the image - the picture of his desire in the mirror -
"You are very lucky you have each other," he murmured.
And he closed his eyes and held onto the mirror, silence settling in the room with the darkness.
It was supposed to be a visit just like the others that Angelina had insisted he come along on.
"Well, you wouldn't like it if I went off on my own and bought a house that you didn't like, or something?" she'd asked - demanded, actually - of him.
"The only thing I care about is that there's space. Lots of it, for our bunches of prankster kids," he'd winked.
She had not been amused. "Oh, come on, George," she'd said rather irritably, "we've only seen flats and apartments so far, so why can't we look at a house?"
Well, he'd had nothing to say to that, so he had allowed her to Apparate him to a slightly isolated neighborhood that had beautiful houses, three of which were on sale.
And of course the one Angelina had her eye on happened to be the one that housed the mirror.
"I've lived here for seven years," said the old little witch, Mrs. Betsy Parks, as they admired the large rooms and large windows, "and this has been a most wonderful house to me. It's quite roomy but never gets too drafty. It has a beautiful view on this side of the house…"
"You hear that?" Angelina elbowed his ribs, not very gently, either. "Lots of space. I like this place a lot. It seems really ni - George? George, where are you going?"
For George had suddenly stopped in his tracks and pedaled backwards until he was standing next to a slightly ajar door and looking into the room, his face very white.
Angelina stopped walking as well, though Mrs. Parks continued blabbering on, oblivious. "George," Angelina hissed. "Come on."
But George could not hear her. His hand flew up, as if to go to his mouth, but stopped midway and, instead, shot to the door knob. He began to push the door open, his eyes still transfixed on something inside the room.
"George!" Angelina's appalled whisper caught Mrs. Parks's attention, and the lady stopped talking and turned.
"Is something wrong?" Mrs. Parks asked, making her way back to Angelina.
"Not at all - I'm so sorry, I have no idea what he's doing -" Angelina strode up to George and took his arm, saying through clenched teeth, "He's being unnaturally rude, I'm sorry -"
But the little witch did not seem to mind at all. Instead, she clapped her hands and strode over to where George stood.
"I see you've found the mirror," said Mrs. Parks, pushing the door open all the way. "It's a strange thing, you know, and many have been enraptured by it - I warn you, don't stare into it too deeply. It's quite interesting, though, to see what's in it -"
The mirror stood in the center of the otherwise empty room. He'd remembered it to be taller, more mysterious, more grand. But there was no doubt that it was the very same mirror that he and Fred had seen ages ago in that unused classroom at Hogwarts… George stepped into the room and stood in front of the mirror, tracing the letters just like he had so many years ago.
"It's still just a mirror," he said, his voice cracking a little as he stared at his reflection.
"What?" asked Angelina, but he hadn't been talking to her or Mrs. Parks.
George placed a hand on the glossy surface of the mirror, and that was what he saw it.
The hair, eyes, body, everything was the same, and the reflection moved in sync with his movements, but on George's left side of his head, where there should have been nothing but blank space, was an ear.
And then George knew that it was not - had never been - just a mirror after all.