Glimpses of the Future
Written for PrimroseAmelia's, 'Those Voices: The Mirror of Erised' Competition
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
A/N: This story has been written in the world of the movie in that Mr. Ollivander's wand shop has been destroyed by Death Eaters when they captured him.
The old man stepped into his ruined shop with a heavy heart. A tinkling bell from deep within the room caused him to pause a moment, and blink in recognition. Moving forward, he crunched down onto one of the hundreds of broken wands that littered the charred ground, and a few flickering sparks danced about his feet. Mr. Ollivander had to put his hand out to steady himself then, and his chest heaved with emotion.
All the work that his forefathers had done, let alone the effort he had put into the little shop himself, had been done for nothing. The building was an empty shell of what it used to be and was just another casualty of the war that had ended little more than a year before. He had avoided returning to the burnt out ruin for as long as he could, but he knew that eventually he'd have to confront the damage that had been done. It was worse than he could ever have imagined.
The shelves were blackened and were falling apart, splinters of wood slipping down onto the once pretty floor. Little scraps of red material were scattered about the room, like fallen autumn leaves, remnants of the tiny cushions that once were used to rest the more expensive wands on. And then there were the wands themselves. The Death Eaters had made sure that not a single wand had remained intact, and the shop buzzed with the power of the broken pieces.
Mr. Ollivander took a deep breath and had to turn away. His huge, luminous eyes were glittering with tears and he sniffed noisily. He didn't think he could take it anymore, and so he stumbled from the shop and into Diagon Alley beyond. Sighing, he decided then to make his way to Gringotts, the Wizarding Bank, where he would withdraw his life savings and begin to rebuild his life.
As he shuffled down the thriving streets, he was struck by how many people had been able to pick themselves up after the terrible war, and who were now back in business, smiling like nothing had ever happened. But not him. He was old, and had no heir to speak of. What would be the point of rebuilding his shop when there would be no-one to inherit it after his death? It would just fall back into disrepair. The work would be pointless.
He stopped when he reached the vast bronze doors that marked the entrance to the towering white bank. Breathing deeply, he pushed the doors open and stepped inside, where he shoved through a further set of silver doors. Entering the lobby, Mr. Ollivander made his way over to least busy-looking goblin and made his request. He pulled out a tiny, skeletal key from his pocket and slid it across the desk to the small creature behind. The goblin nodded once and called for another.
"Hobnick!"
A smaller, darker skinned goblin scurried to his assistance, and asked Mr. Ollivander to follow him. They skidded across the marble floor and down into the deeper tunnels, where they both climbed into a waiting cart. It hurtled down, deep into the cavernous depths of the earth, where they would find Mr. Ollivander's vault and therefore his money. Sitting back, he waited patiently as the cart flew around the tracks, tipping and lurching as it sped round corners.
Before long, the cart began to slow and Mr. Ollivander blew out a sigh of relief. He was distracted, however, by a strange glinting from an open vault not far from his own. He begged Hobnick to stop the cart, which the goblin did grudgingly. Climbing out of the cart, and unaware of why he was doing it, Mr. Ollivander made his way over to the already open vault, and he slipped inside, ignoring the warning cries from Hobnick.
Despite the obscure light within the vault, Mr. Ollivander could tell that he was faced with a magnificent mirror. It stood taller than him and was framed by a glorious gold gilded metal. Carved around the top were the words: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. He figured that they were words of an ancient, forgotten language and so he paid no attention in attempting to decipher them.
Completely oblivious to the shrieking goblin, Mr. Ollivander gazed into the liquid-looking surface of the mirror, astonished by the sight before him. He had to glance about him several times before he was sure that he was still actually in the tunnels under Gringotts.
He peered closely at his reflection, who seemed to be standing amidst a room full of boxed wands. It was the grandest wand shop he had ever seen (and being a national expert in wands he had seen a lot). Every wall was lined with row upon row of boxes, stretching as far as the eye could see. The scene caused a strange feeling of elatedness to fill up his heart, and Mr. Ollivander found himself grinning foolishly at the mirror.
Then he looked closer still and he gasped with delight. Although he had never set eyes on it before, Mr. Ollivander knew that the wand grasped in his hand was none other than the fabled Elder Wand. He had heard that it was destroyed in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but yet it was there, in his possession. His wrinkled hand moved close to the glass surface of the mirror, and he gently touched it. He longed, more than anything, to fall through the glass and into the world it showed beyond.
He was broken from his trance by a great smashing noise. Hobnick the goblin had hit the mirror and was squealing at Mr. Ollivander to get away from it. Mr. Ollivander ignored the creature and turned back to the mirror, only to see it broken and laced with lines that resembled that of a spider's web. The image in the mirror was distorted now, and all he could see was a pathetic old man gazing listlessly at a fragmented mirror. That was the real truth. It was him.
He glanced at the ground and saw that a large chunk of the mirror had fallen to the ground and was showing the reflection of the mirror itself. Mr. Ollivander realised then the words inscribed on the top of the gilded frame were not of an old forgotten language, but were English words written backwards. They read: I show not your face but your hearts desire. His heart dropped then as he realised it wasn't a vision of the future, nor some alternate reality. It was simply the things he wanted most.
He felt a tug on his sleeve and he looked at the wild-eyes goblin below.
"Sir, do not dwell on what you see in the Mirror o' Erised. It was brought down 'ere to keep it outta harm's way. I see now that the only option was to destroy it. People waste away in front of it, clawin' at the image inside. I won' let it 'appen again. Now you're safe, sir."
Mr. Ollivander glared at Hobnick, bewilderment in his pale eyes. He did see, however, how easy it would be to go mad looking in the mirror. He himself had been mesmerised by his reflection, and had wanted nothing more than to be sucked into it and be trapped in the dream world forever.
His uncertain frown tilted slightly, and soon a small hopeful smile was etched on his lined face. Maybe the world beyond the mirror wasn't real. Maybe it was his deepest, darkest wish that he could not reach. But that wouldn't stop him.
If the man in the mirror can have the shop of his dreams and hold the most powerful wand in the world, then, with a little bit of hard work and effort, he could too…
A/N: So yeah, this is my competition entry, which was supposed to be what Mr. Ollivander would see in the Mirror of Erised. I hope you all enjoy, and please tell me what you think!