For once in her life, Hermione wasn't following the rules. She was in the corridor after dark, after curfew, and it wasn't even her patrol night. But that wasn't the only reason her heart was hammering in her chest. She had stolen Harry's invisibility cloak.
She'd been feeling quite reckless lately, ever since a certain Ronald Weasley had begun going with a certain Lavendar Brown. Even at the thought of the despicable name, Hermione wrinkled her nose. It's not that I'm jealous or anything. She told herself. It's just... he could do better. For awhile, she honestly believed what she was thinking.
"And then that mudblood-" it was Malfoy, patrolling with the other Slytherin prefect. Hermione backed herself against a door and stayed there, willing her muscles not to move. To be discovered by Draco Malfoy would be a horrible fate. Her heart was so loud, they should be able to hear it... they passed.
She breathed a sigh and stepped away from the door. Then frowned. She hadn't ever seen that certain door before, not in any of her long patrols with Ron.
She reached for the handle, and to her surprise, it opened with ease. She slipped in and slid the heavy wood shut behind her. The room was stone-cold. Her breath came out in puffs of heat. Hermione pulled the invisibility cloak more tightly around her, wishing she had worn warmer clothing. The room was empty. Empty-but for a long mirror, standing in the middle of the room. Moonlight spilled through the windows, reflecting off the glass and casting an eerie glow about the room.
She slipped off the cloak and dropped it on the stone floor, then moved forward to inspect the intricate framework. There were words etched into the carved gold- Hermione moved even closer to see. Erised stra ehru oytube cafru oyt on wohsi. It wasn't Latin, or French, she knew that. She moved to look into the mirror, and stepped back, her breath catching. There were people in the mirror.
Gradually she realized that the people were frozen, as if she was looking into a portrait. This is the Mirror of Erised. She remembered Harry speaking of it in their first year, and how he saw his dead parents. But she couldn't on the life of her remember why he had seen them.
She looked closer at the entwined figures. The boy was holding the girl up, her butt resting on his arms. Her face was lifted above his, and she had one arm around his neck, the other hand touching his face. Their noses were just barely touching; they were clearly about to kiss.
Gradually, Hermione recognized the girl as herself. Her eyes moved quickly to the other figure, and with a shock, she recognized a certain red-haired, freckle-faced, male, 6th-year Weasley.
Her eyes searched hungrily over the image, and she touched the mirror with definite longing. What was this? Did it tell the future? But how could it, when both of Harry's parents were dead?
Her eyes wandered back to the words. And now, she understood them.
Erised stra ehru oytube cafru oyt on wohsi.
I show not your face but your heart's desire.
"My heart's desire." Hermione whispered.