He watched as the-boy-who-lived and Dumbledore stood in front of the Mirror of Erised. He didn't listen, just stood there, hidden by the dark, and watched. Watched as Dumbledore retreated and the boy made his way back to the dorms.
It took him some time to be able to come out from the shadows. Slowly he approached the shining surface leaning against the wall. He had never dared to come near it. But tonight, tonight he would.
He would face it.
Not that he didn't know what he would see. The knowledge made it even more unbearable, but somehow he managed. One step at a time he came nearer and nearer.
When he finally stood in front of it he took a deep breath. Then he raised his eyes from the dusty floor, only to meet two green ones.
Her eyes on the other side of the mirror.
He stood transfixed. Didn't dare to move or even breathe. There she was, right there. If he extended his hand he could touch her. Stroke here cheek, hold her hand, touch her hair.
Slowly he reached out - and his hands met the cold glass.
Luckily no one was around at this time of night. If they were, they could maybe have been unlucky enough to stumble across a deserted room, with nothing but an empty mirror - and a man in black robes sitting on the floor in front of it as if all energy, all will to live had left him.
Crying. Crying desperately. Remorse cutting through every ounce of his soul.
„Why couldn't it have been me?"