Spoilers: Not really. One infinitesimal hint at book four.
Disclaimers: So I noticed I forgot the disclaimers when I originally posted, which is the reason I'm reposting. ^^; They all belong to JKR, every one of them. As you very well know. =Þ I'm just borrowing them for my own sinister purposes.
========= Heart's Desire =========
The portraits of headmasters and headmistresses long past blinked sleepily at Harry from the walls of Dumbledore's office. Several of them smiled at him; he had, after all, become quite a familiar face here in the past six years. He smile back a little nervously.
There was the shuffling of footsteps outside the door, and then Albus Dumbledore entered. The headmaster hadn't changed in the least during Harry's term at Hogwarts; his silver hair and beard were still long enough to be tucked into his belt, and his blue eyes still twinkled with some secret joke behind his half-moon glasses. Taking his seat at the desk unhurriedly, he turned his calm regard on Harry. Once again, Harry was struck by the unnerving feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what he was here for, without his speaking a word.
"Good afternoon, Harry. What can I do for you?"
Harry took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Professor... I have a favor to ask."
~*~
"Harry?" Ron Weasley stuck his head into the sixth-year boys' dormitory inqisitively. It was deserted. Ron made a face, slumping against the doorframe. It was petty, he reckoned, but of all the days to up and disappear, why'd Harry have to pick today?
Hermione had run off with Ginny, no doubt to cook something up for later. Ron may not have been the sharpest quill in the jar, but he knew what all that giggling and those furtive looks meant. Something was up, and he was supposed to keep his freckled nose out of it until they said otherwise. Well, that was fine with him... or at least, it would be if he had something else to do. Where was Harry?
Just as he was turning to leave the dormitory, something caught his eye. The house-elves had pulled back the curtains on their beds, and it looked like there was something on Ron's pillow. Intrigued, Ron bounded over and scooped up the little package, almost missing the card sitting underneath it. Flipping over the card, he read the familiar scrawl on the back with a spreading grin.
Happy Birthday, Ron!
This may seem like a funny sort of present, but I think you'll like it. See you soon!
Harry
Tearing into the package, Ron stared at the contents, perplexed. "What's he playing at?" Cushioned by a lining of velvet in rich Gryffindor scarlet, the box held a small round mirror, like the kind Lavender and Pavarti used to put on makeup in class when they were supposed to be working on Charms. Why would Harry give him a girl's mirror for a birthday present?
Oh, but maybe the real present was underneath! Ron grinned, appreciating Harry's cleverness. The mirror must be a joke, to throw him off. Underneath there'd be tickets to a Cannons game or something. Feeling quite smug at having figured his friend's scheme out, Ron dumped the mirror into his other hand and-
--he knew the sensation; it was as though a hook in the pit of his stomach had suddenly been jerked violently forward, pulling him off his feet; the world was nothing but wind and spinning colors, and he was tearing through the vortex at a speed that made his eyes water, and then--
-his feet hit the ground. Off-balance, he stumbled, only to feel his shoulder hit a wall of what felt like stone. The mirror fell from suddenly limp fingers and hit the floor with a shockingly loud clatter.
It was pitch dark here, and it smelled like mold. For several moments that was all Ron could tell about the place he'd been transported to. Remembering with a chill of fear Harry's experience with an unexpected Portkey fourth year, he slipped his hand into his robe for his wand. Then the sound of a voice very nearby startled a yelp out of him.
"Ron, ease up, it's just me. Lumos." A light flared into existence a few feet away, illuminating the familiar face of one Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, Scourge of He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named, Captain and Seeker of the top-notch Gryffindor Quidditch team. Formerly Ron's best friend, but he was going to have to do some quick explaining if he wanted to keep THAT title.
"What d'you think you're doing, you stupid prat?! You about took ten years off my life!"
It was hard to tell in the wandlight, but it looked suspiciously like Harry was smiling. Smugly. He definitely didn't look apologetic. "Sorry about that. Come on, I want to show you something." Deftly he scooped up the little mirror, wrapping it in a handkerchief.
Ron didn't budge. "So YOU made that thing into a Portkey? Where'd you learn to do that, you get Hermione to help you?"
"Actually, I asked Flitwick to do it." Harry was openly grinning now. "He was happy to once I told him what I wanted it for."
"What, to trap me in a smelly little room with you and... a mirror?" Ron's irritable gesticulating had taken him past his friend into the center of the room, where he found himself staring at an enormous standing mirror. The ornate gold frame seemed to glow even in the dim wandlight, the carved inscription standing out in sharp relief: ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI. Ron stared at it in disbelief. "Harry, um... is this what I think it is?"
"The Mirror of Erised." The dark-haired boy had come up beside him without Ron's noticing.
"And THIS is my birthday present?"
Much to Ron's annoyance, Harry started to laugh. "No, no! Well, not exactly. I want you to look into it."
"Why should I?" Ron asked sullenly. Being laughed at never made him feel particularly cooperative. "I looked into it first year, remember? I know what I'm going to see."
"It's been five years, Ron. Things change." Harry still looked intolerably smug about something. "I'm guessing if you look in there now, you'll see something different from what you saw first year."
"Do YOU see something different?" Ron challenged him, and was taken aback when Harry nodded. "Well, what?"
Harry smirked. He actually SMIRKED. "Ask me again sometime."
Ron scowled. His friend was enjoying this far too much. "Fine, I'll look in the bloody mirror. Don't know what you think I'm going to see, though." He stepped closer to the enormous thing, the frown fading as he squinted at the dusty glass, trying to make out the images inside.
Just as in first year, the first thing he saw was himself--older, taller, broad-shouldered and quite dashing, if he did say so himself. His robes were brand-new, his flaming hair longer, like Bill's, and pulled back into a little tail at the back of his neck. Beside him...
There was no mistaking the figure beside him. Hermione, too, was older; tall and slender, with her thick hair gathered in a braid that hung over her shoulder and shone like honey in the wandlight. There was also no mistaking the fact that he had his arm around her shoulders, and hers was wrapped around his waist, and they were looking at each other like... like Ron's PARENTS looked at each other--'that is, when Mum isn't biting Dad's head off for something.'
But that thought was far removed; most of Ron's mind seemed simply to have shut down. He had no idea how long he stood there gaping at the Mirror before Harry discreetly cleared his throat, snapping Ron's attention back to the here-and-now. From the look on Harry's face, what Ron had just seen was exactly what Harry had expected him to see, and now he hadn't the foggiest idea what to say. His ears felt hot.
Harry let him sweat for what seemed an unbearably long time. Finally, though, he held out his hand with a grin. The Portkey lay in his palm, still protected from contact with his skin by the cloth handkerchief. "Come on, birthday boy. I think you've got a party to get to."
~*~
The Gryffindor common room was packed. Someone must have taken that passage down to Honeyduke's, because there was enough butterbeer and sweets to keep the Gryffindors happy for hours. Over on one of the tables was a small stack of presents; not everyone had brought Ron something, but a respectable number had. Dean, Seamus, Neville, Hermione, and Ginny, certainly, along with the other members of the Quidditch team and several other members of the House. But Ron was not gloating over his gifts, nor was he standing with any of the small chattering groups scattered around the room.
Harry lounged in a chair near the fireplace with a mug of butterbeer, smiling to himself. This late into the party, it seemed no one else had noticed that the guest of honor was nowhere to be seen. It had not escaped Harry's notice, though, that not only was Ron missing, but a certain Miss Hermione Granger had also pulled a neat disappearing act. He hoped this meant that his present had been effective. There was no doubt that he'd been right on about what Ron had seen, not with the look that had come over Ron's face as he stared into the Mirror. Hopefully that had been the shove Ron had needed to move things along. Harry made a mental note to thank Dumbledore and Flitwick again, and to let them know how things had gone; much to his own amusement, he had discovered that he was not the only one in the school waiting with baited breath for those two to get together.
As if on cue, yet another of the interested parties appeared beside him, perching on the arm of his chair like a little bird. "Looks promising, don't you think?" Ginny asked him, with a sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "They've been gone half an hour already. If one of them was going to kill the other, it'd be over by now."
"I think you're right," Harry replied with a conspiratorial grin. Ginny had been the one to find the hand mirror that had made such an appropriate Portkey, and she had also been the one to suggest asking Flitwick, notorious romantic that he was, for help. After six Valentine's Days spent learning increasingly complex and silly love charms, Harry could see her point. She made a valuable co-conspirator, not to mention a really terrific friend...
"Harry?" Her head was cocked to one side questioningly, and he realized with a guilty start that he'd been staring. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, his smile softening. No doubt he had had his last look into the Mirror of Erised; no one but Dumbledore had known the actual location to which that Portkey had taken them, and the Portkey itself would never work again. But that was all right with him; he didn't need to look into it again. He could see the deepest desire of his heart any time he wanted to. On an impulse, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across the back and eliciting a gasp from Ginny.
"H-harry...?"
Raising his eyes to hers again, he noted with pleasure the flush that colored her pale cheeks. There was almost certainly a matching blush on his own face, but he couldn't stop smiling. "I thought I should follow Ron's excellent example--before he gets back to catch me at it, that is. Would you... would you like to go for a walk with me?"
Slowly, timidly, an answering smile crept across her face, and she nodded. Heart's desire didn't have to be so far out of reach, after all.
Disclaimers: So I noticed I forgot the disclaimers when I originally posted, which is the reason I'm reposting. ^^; They all belong to JKR, every one of them. As you very well know. =Þ I'm just borrowing them for my own sinister purposes.
========= Heart's Desire =========
The portraits of headmasters and headmistresses long past blinked sleepily at Harry from the walls of Dumbledore's office. Several of them smiled at him; he had, after all, become quite a familiar face here in the past six years. He smile back a little nervously.
There was the shuffling of footsteps outside the door, and then Albus Dumbledore entered. The headmaster hadn't changed in the least during Harry's term at Hogwarts; his silver hair and beard were still long enough to be tucked into his belt, and his blue eyes still twinkled with some secret joke behind his half-moon glasses. Taking his seat at the desk unhurriedly, he turned his calm regard on Harry. Once again, Harry was struck by the unnerving feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what he was here for, without his speaking a word.
"Good afternoon, Harry. What can I do for you?"
Harry took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Professor... I have a favor to ask."
~*~
"Harry?" Ron Weasley stuck his head into the sixth-year boys' dormitory inqisitively. It was deserted. Ron made a face, slumping against the doorframe. It was petty, he reckoned, but of all the days to up and disappear, why'd Harry have to pick today?
Hermione had run off with Ginny, no doubt to cook something up for later. Ron may not have been the sharpest quill in the jar, but he knew what all that giggling and those furtive looks meant. Something was up, and he was supposed to keep his freckled nose out of it until they said otherwise. Well, that was fine with him... or at least, it would be if he had something else to do. Where was Harry?
Just as he was turning to leave the dormitory, something caught his eye. The house-elves had pulled back the curtains on their beds, and it looked like there was something on Ron's pillow. Intrigued, Ron bounded over and scooped up the little package, almost missing the card sitting underneath it. Flipping over the card, he read the familiar scrawl on the back with a spreading grin.
Happy Birthday, Ron!
This may seem like a funny sort of present, but I think you'll like it. See you soon!
Harry
Tearing into the package, Ron stared at the contents, perplexed. "What's he playing at?" Cushioned by a lining of velvet in rich Gryffindor scarlet, the box held a small round mirror, like the kind Lavender and Pavarti used to put on makeup in class when they were supposed to be working on Charms. Why would Harry give him a girl's mirror for a birthday present?
Oh, but maybe the real present was underneath! Ron grinned, appreciating Harry's cleverness. The mirror must be a joke, to throw him off. Underneath there'd be tickets to a Cannons game or something. Feeling quite smug at having figured his friend's scheme out, Ron dumped the mirror into his other hand and-
--he knew the sensation; it was as though a hook in the pit of his stomach had suddenly been jerked violently forward, pulling him off his feet; the world was nothing but wind and spinning colors, and he was tearing through the vortex at a speed that made his eyes water, and then--
-his feet hit the ground. Off-balance, he stumbled, only to feel his shoulder hit a wall of what felt like stone. The mirror fell from suddenly limp fingers and hit the floor with a shockingly loud clatter.
It was pitch dark here, and it smelled like mold. For several moments that was all Ron could tell about the place he'd been transported to. Remembering with a chill of fear Harry's experience with an unexpected Portkey fourth year, he slipped his hand into his robe for his wand. Then the sound of a voice very nearby startled a yelp out of him.
"Ron, ease up, it's just me. Lumos." A light flared into existence a few feet away, illuminating the familiar face of one Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived, Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, Scourge of He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named, Captain and Seeker of the top-notch Gryffindor Quidditch team. Formerly Ron's best friend, but he was going to have to do some quick explaining if he wanted to keep THAT title.
"What d'you think you're doing, you stupid prat?! You about took ten years off my life!"
It was hard to tell in the wandlight, but it looked suspiciously like Harry was smiling. Smugly. He definitely didn't look apologetic. "Sorry about that. Come on, I want to show you something." Deftly he scooped up the little mirror, wrapping it in a handkerchief.
Ron didn't budge. "So YOU made that thing into a Portkey? Where'd you learn to do that, you get Hermione to help you?"
"Actually, I asked Flitwick to do it." Harry was openly grinning now. "He was happy to once I told him what I wanted it for."
"What, to trap me in a smelly little room with you and... a mirror?" Ron's irritable gesticulating had taken him past his friend into the center of the room, where he found himself staring at an enormous standing mirror. The ornate gold frame seemed to glow even in the dim wandlight, the carved inscription standing out in sharp relief: ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI. Ron stared at it in disbelief. "Harry, um... is this what I think it is?"
"The Mirror of Erised." The dark-haired boy had come up beside him without Ron's noticing.
"And THIS is my birthday present?"
Much to Ron's annoyance, Harry started to laugh. "No, no! Well, not exactly. I want you to look into it."
"Why should I?" Ron asked sullenly. Being laughed at never made him feel particularly cooperative. "I looked into it first year, remember? I know what I'm going to see."
"It's been five years, Ron. Things change." Harry still looked intolerably smug about something. "I'm guessing if you look in there now, you'll see something different from what you saw first year."
"Do YOU see something different?" Ron challenged him, and was taken aback when Harry nodded. "Well, what?"
Harry smirked. He actually SMIRKED. "Ask me again sometime."
Ron scowled. His friend was enjoying this far too much. "Fine, I'll look in the bloody mirror. Don't know what you think I'm going to see, though." He stepped closer to the enormous thing, the frown fading as he squinted at the dusty glass, trying to make out the images inside.
Just as in first year, the first thing he saw was himself--older, taller, broad-shouldered and quite dashing, if he did say so himself. His robes were brand-new, his flaming hair longer, like Bill's, and pulled back into a little tail at the back of his neck. Beside him...
There was no mistaking the figure beside him. Hermione, too, was older; tall and slender, with her thick hair gathered in a braid that hung over her shoulder and shone like honey in the wandlight. There was also no mistaking the fact that he had his arm around her shoulders, and hers was wrapped around his waist, and they were looking at each other like... like Ron's PARENTS looked at each other--'that is, when Mum isn't biting Dad's head off for something.'
But that thought was far removed; most of Ron's mind seemed simply to have shut down. He had no idea how long he stood there gaping at the Mirror before Harry discreetly cleared his throat, snapping Ron's attention back to the here-and-now. From the look on Harry's face, what Ron had just seen was exactly what Harry had expected him to see, and now he hadn't the foggiest idea what to say. His ears felt hot.
Harry let him sweat for what seemed an unbearably long time. Finally, though, he held out his hand with a grin. The Portkey lay in his palm, still protected from contact with his skin by the cloth handkerchief. "Come on, birthday boy. I think you've got a party to get to."
~*~
The Gryffindor common room was packed. Someone must have taken that passage down to Honeyduke's, because there was enough butterbeer and sweets to keep the Gryffindors happy for hours. Over on one of the tables was a small stack of presents; not everyone had brought Ron something, but a respectable number had. Dean, Seamus, Neville, Hermione, and Ginny, certainly, along with the other members of the Quidditch team and several other members of the House. But Ron was not gloating over his gifts, nor was he standing with any of the small chattering groups scattered around the room.
Harry lounged in a chair near the fireplace with a mug of butterbeer, smiling to himself. This late into the party, it seemed no one else had noticed that the guest of honor was nowhere to be seen. It had not escaped Harry's notice, though, that not only was Ron missing, but a certain Miss Hermione Granger had also pulled a neat disappearing act. He hoped this meant that his present had been effective. There was no doubt that he'd been right on about what Ron had seen, not with the look that had come over Ron's face as he stared into the Mirror. Hopefully that had been the shove Ron had needed to move things along. Harry made a mental note to thank Dumbledore and Flitwick again, and to let them know how things had gone; much to his own amusement, he had discovered that he was not the only one in the school waiting with baited breath for those two to get together.
As if on cue, yet another of the interested parties appeared beside him, perching on the arm of his chair like a little bird. "Looks promising, don't you think?" Ginny asked him, with a sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "They've been gone half an hour already. If one of them was going to kill the other, it'd be over by now."
"I think you're right," Harry replied with a conspiratorial grin. Ginny had been the one to find the hand mirror that had made such an appropriate Portkey, and she had also been the one to suggest asking Flitwick, notorious romantic that he was, for help. After six Valentine's Days spent learning increasingly complex and silly love charms, Harry could see her point. She made a valuable co-conspirator, not to mention a really terrific friend...
"Harry?" Her head was cocked to one side questioningly, and he realized with a guilty start that he'd been staring. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, his smile softening. No doubt he had had his last look into the Mirror of Erised; no one but Dumbledore had known the actual location to which that Portkey had taken them, and the Portkey itself would never work again. But that was all right with him; he didn't need to look into it again. He could see the deepest desire of his heart any time he wanted to. On an impulse, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across the back and eliciting a gasp from Ginny.
"H-harry...?"
Raising his eyes to hers again, he noted with pleasure the flush that colored her pale cheeks. There was almost certainly a matching blush on his own face, but he couldn't stop smiling. "I thought I should follow Ron's excellent example--before he gets back to catch me at it, that is. Would you... would you like to go for a walk with me?"
Slowly, timidly, an answering smile crept across her face, and she nodded. Heart's desire didn't have to be so far out of reach, after all.