Holly stood in front of the mirror, examining herself. Her face was washed blank of emotion, the way it had been lately.

Indifference? Apathy?

Her arms were wrapped around her stomach, her sleeves clenched in her hands.

You look just like your Mother.

People had been telling her that since she was eleven, since she first entered the Wizarding world. Hagrid, in fact, was the first person to tell her that.

But if someone just looked a bit closer, a bit past their perception of the Golden Girl, they might see the differences.

Lily's hair, but bloodier.

Lily's eyes, but deadlier.

Her hair wasn't quite the auburn of her Mother's tresses, but a blood red.

And her eyes- how many people had subconsciously averted their gaze without really knowing why?

Her eyes, not Lily's emerald green, but the color green of one of the most infamous spells.

Your eyes are Unforgivable.

Her eyes, the color of Voldemort's favorite spell.

And she would know his favorite spell, wouldn't she, since she had unlimited access to his head?

And wasn't that great for her psyche.

She swallowed, her lip trembling, and forced herself away from the mirror. Her hands reached out and clenched the edge of the bathroom counter, her knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip. She took a couple deep breaths before getting control of herself. The dorm was empty now- everyone was in the Great Hall, celebrating Halloween Samhain but how much longer before they all returned? Hermione, with her well-meaning but never-ending questions, would ask continuously if she was alright.

No, I'm not bloody alright!

But the Golden Girl couldn't lose face, could she? After all, she's the only hope. And if she snapped, if she broke, Dumbledore would find out.

Leader of the Light, the Puppet Master!

He was exactly bad, per se. Not at all. All his actions had a purpose, working towards the Greater Good. But who's Greater Good, exactly? Certainly not hers. But she was a pawn, wasn't she? Only she could take out Voldemort.

Not a pawn, the black queen painted white.

Oh, what would Dumbledore do if he knew her true leanings? The true color of her Magic? She had put all of her effort into masking the true color of her Magic. Dumbledore, being the epitome of Good, the white beacon of light that drew those to him, wouldn't be able to sense her Magic.

Only those with the same color Magic as hers could possible tell. And there was only one person (that she knew of, at least) that had the exact shade that her Magic had.

We're rather similar, you and I, aren't we? We even look something alike.

She could only imagine Dumbledore's face if- no, when -he found out. She could practically visualize his old and weathered face draining of color to match his beard, sitting forcefully down in his chair. That's not to say that it was easy to shake Albus Dumbledore. Usually, he was quite composed, quite unruffled. But she knew that her Magic would shock him.

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night

After all the effort he put into her, and she turned out the opposite of what he wanted her to be.

Dumbledore under a Disillusionment charm, hidden behind her while she looked into the Mirror of Erised.

And what did you see, Holly?

What would you see now?

"Holly? Are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine, Hermione. I'll be out in a minute," Holly called back, blinking a couple times.

"If you're sure. Just checking."

Holly didn't respond. She was staring at herself again, willing her mask to fall back into place. There, that infernal twinkle in her eyes, reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore himself, and there, that slight smile perpetually hovering at the corners of her lips.

Exit Holly Potter, enter the Golden Girl.

…..

Thoughts?

This is my first fanfic, so go easy on me please! :)

Also, there are a couple lines from Shakespeare's "Sonnet 147" that I cannot claim the rights to.