p style="text-align: center;"The Mirror of Erised. The Mirror of Desire. That was the one thing that Harry considered faithful to him, after all the girls that had used him to get their faces on the cover of "Witch Weekly." People can only take, take until there's nothing left to give. A mirror can't break a heart. A mirror can only break a soul. If that soul is already broken, you can't lose anything by staring into a mirror. Harry had lost his soul years before, by going back for Malfoy and Goyle in the Room of Requirement. His soul had been consumed in the light of the Fiendfyre. Since then, he's spent his hours, days, weeks, years staring into that mirror. His friends noticed a change in him, a change that grew so gradually that no one noticed it for years. It started with just a glance. One harmless little glance. Then he stared into it for minutes. Miutes grew into hours, days, weeks. He stopped eating. He stopped living. He was twenty-four by the time his friends checked him in to St. Mungo's. His only insanity-driven request was that they bring him that mirror./p
p style="text-align: center;"The Mirror of Desire. The Mirror of Erised/p
