Prelude: The Prophecy

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies… And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies… Born to the same soul, divided but unconquered, born with the emerald string around soul, eyes, and neck… And he will bestow his greatest power upon the Dark Lord… And Death's hand will finally slip, for He will unhallow once more...

Chapter 1: The Mirror of Erised

"The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."

-Oscar Wilde

It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry inched closer to the mirror. He stepped in front of it.

He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around, his heart pounding furiously. Nothing. He was alone. The image he believed to have seen in the mirror was not present behind him when he turned. The crowd behind him in the mirror had vanished or was never there in the first place. The room was empty. Harry took a deep breath, calming his escalated breathing, and turned back to the mirror.

There he saw his reflection, skinny and small as ever, albeit more frightened than usual. His size was dwarfed even further by the group of ten or so people surrounding him. Their faces were blurry and Harry could not distinguish any of their features enough to identify them. He glanced over his shoulder once more- but still, no one was there. He thought to himself- perhaps these people are invisible, and the mirror simply allowed him to see them?

Harry turned to look in the mirror again. One of the figures suddenly became clearer, the one closest to his right, and it stepped forward beside him. The man- no, it wasn't a man. His youthful features betrayed his age, most likely that of a teenager, yet he carried himself as if he had lived lifetimes. Indeed, when he looked down at him in the mirror, Harry felt as if those eyes had seen things that many would have never imagined experiencing in dreams or nightmares alike. In that sense, sort of like Professor Dumbledore's, Harry thought, but the young man's eyes lacked that benevolent twinkle omnipresent in the Headmaster's.

Harry couldn't help but notice how handsome the boy beside him was- his jet black hair, his dark brown almost black eyes that bore deep into his. He felt almost as if he should have been intimidated by this stranger's sheer presence, but something about him just seemed so familiar. While he and Harry did look alike, he was far too young to be his father. He was puzzled, yet couldn't bring himself to care. His presence was... comforting. Harry found himself inextricably drawn to him.

Still fixated on the mirror, Harry's hand reached beside him to where the other boy would have been, where he would have felt a clothed shoulder if he had really been there. He felt nothing but air- the boy existed only in the mirror. The corners of the boy's mouth curled ever so slightly at Harry's naivety. When Harry attempted to lean forward for a better view, his nose bumped the mirror, and he stumbled back wide-eyed. He braced his hands against the mirror, trailing them as he sat down cross-legged.

He soon lost track of time sitting there, watching and being watched, with a pleasant ache of longing inside his chest, until a distant noise from the hallway broke him from his trance. He realised the amount of time he must have spent in that room and stumbled to his feet.

As he made to leave, he lingered, feeling a pull back to the mirror. If only he could stay all night. But he had classes in the morning and it was already far later than he normally stayed up. The boy in the mirror seemed to realize Harry had to leave and smiled sadly.

His image distorted the further Harry moved away from the mirror, until he was at the precipice of seeing and not seeing him. Softly, he whispered, "I'll come back."

When questioned by Ron in the morning, Harry didn't know what to tell him about what he had discovered. He knew there was nothing overwhelmingly wrong or personal regarding the encounter, but a part of him wanted to keep the entire experience to himself. It felt private. However, Harry felt that it would be unfair to not tell his best friend about what had occurred. If he couldn't tell Ron something, who could he tell?

"You could have woken me up," said Ron grumpily.

"You can come tonight, I'm going back."

"Maybe I'd recognize the bloke if I saw him. He might be a ghost," Ron said eagerly.

Harry was eager himself to find out the true identity of the mysterious boy. "He didn't really look dead, but maybe."

"Maybe he's trapped in the mirror! Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

Harry hadn't even noticed the food in front of him. He couldn't stop thinking about the boy in the mirror, why he was there, who he was. Flamel too had slipped his mind and seemed insignificant now. Who actually cared about what Snape was doing with the three-headed dog? Dumbledore could take care of it.

"Are you alright?" said Ron. "You look odd."

Suddenly, Harry was horrified at the prospect of not finding the mirror again. As he and Ron walked at a crawl's pace through the halls under the invisibility cloak, they tried to retrace Harry's path from the previous night.

"I'm freezing," said Ron. "Let's forget it and go back."

"No," Harry hissed. "I know it's here somewhere."

They continued on. Just as Ron was complaining his feet were going to fall off with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor next to the abandoned room.

"It's here- just here- yes!"

They pushed the door open and Harry dropped the cloak from their shoulders. He ran to the mirror where the boy from before stood as if he never left. His eyes glinted in amusement at the sight of him.

Harry turned to Ron, "See?"

"I can't see anything."

"Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…"

"I can only see you."

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am." Harry stepped to the side, and Ron took his place in front of the mirror. From his position, Harry could only see Ron and his reflection inside the mirror.

Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image. "Look at me!" he said.

Harry leaned over to try to see into the mirror. He grinned and said, "Do you see him?"

"No - I'm alone - but I'm different - I look older - and I'm Head Boy!"

His heart dropped. "What?" He looked between the mirror and back at Ron, wide-eyed. What exactly was this mirror?

"I am - I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to - and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup - I'm Quidditch captain, too." Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at a very confused Harry. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

Harry was left mouth gaping, speechless at the thought. The future? His heartbeat sped up. "I-I don't know. Maybe- Let me have another look-"

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see him again."

"Don't push me -"

A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been talking.

"Quick!"

After a close call with one Mrs. Norris, Harry and Ron returned to the Gryffindor Common Room.

The mood the next morning was a bit somber, but Harry couldn't quite place why.

"Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

"No."

"Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

"No... you go..."

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight."

"Why not?"

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it."

"That's not really a reason, you know."

"Well duh, but still. It was nice while I was looking into it, but once we left, I realized that it wasn't actually real. I know that sounds stupid, but do you really think I'll ever be Quidditch Captain, let alone Head Boy? I'm not Charlie or Percy." Ron sounded resentful.

The thought of never meeting the boy he saw made Harry's chest hurt. It also inspired a desperateness he didn't know he could ever feel, surprising him. He swallowed a hard lump down his throat.

If he never was able to meet him… at least he had the mirror. No matter what Ron said, he was going to go back. Harry had hope- he needed it.

That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was wise, but he didn't meet anyone.

The boy stood in the mirror once again, looking almost bored until Harry approached. His eyes smiled at the sight of him, and Harry's lips followed suit. Tonight, there would be no interruptions. He could stay here all night if he wanted to. And he wanted to.

"So - back again, Harry?"

Harry's heart almost leaped out of his throat at the sound of the Headmaster's voice. His head whipped to look behind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

" - I didn't see you, sir."

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, and Harry, while relieved to see that he was smiling, still felt dread curl tight like a snake within his stomach.

"So," said Dumbledore, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor with Harry, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

"It- well- I'm not sure, Professor."

"You saw your father, did you not? And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

But it hadn't been his father- it couldn't have been. Despite this, Harry couldn't bring himself to correct Dumbledore. "How did you know -?"

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore gently.

Harry felt himself terrified at such a thought, then caught himself. He had an invisibility cloak, and what did he do with it? Run around and cause mischief in the night?

Dumbledore continued, "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

Harry shook his head.

"Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry thought. Then he said slowly, "It shows us what we want… whatever we want?"

"Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing

alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Harry stood up, more confused now than ever but determined not to show it. A thought occurred to him.

"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Harry stared. Did Dumbledore know he didn't tell the whole truth? He didn't lie, but then again, he didn't correct Dumbledore. He couldn't have possibly known… Could he?

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

Harry realized very quickly that for the same reasons he failed to speak up, Dumbledore may have lied about what he saw in the Mirror of Erised. Knowing someone's true heart desire could be a very dangerous thing, after all.

This knowledge, he thought, could be especially dangerous when one could not even understand or recognize their own heart's desire.

The encounter with Dumbledore left Harry conflicted. He supposed he technically got the answer he was looking for in learning the purpose of the mirror, but with one door closed, seven opened. What bothered him the most was knowing that Dumbledore lied. Harry felt petty, as it was such a small lie too. He couldn't argue that lying on principle was wrong, as he had also lied. He could think of multiple reasons Dumbledore might have done such a thing: it was too personal, it was inappropriate for him to hear, or maybe Dumbledore didn't understand it himself. Still, he couldn't get over it as much as he couldn't get over the mirror itself.

He knew there wasn't much point in seeking out the mirror once more, as the castle was far too large to search. Besides this fact, Dumbledore had asked Harry not to go looking for it. Despite the resentment Harry felt, he still trusted Dumbledore. Maybe he should forget the mirror. But the boy inside it... He wouldn't forget him. Harry didn't feel like he could. That face began to appear in his dreams. Night after night, just existing- nothing else. He never did much but smile that knowing smile. Nevertheless, his presence was enough to bring him comfort. When the dreams began to diminish in their frequency, the comfort Harry normally felt through his days was replaced with longing. However, he accepted there was nothing he could do about it.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," said Ron, when Harry told him about these dreams.

Hermione, who came back the day before winter break ended, took a different view of things. She was torn between horror at the idea of Harry being out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row ("If Filch had caught you!"), intrigue at the idea of the mysterious figure, and disappointment that they hadn't at least found out who Nicolas Flamel was.

Harry was sure he had heard the name Flamel somewhere, but with the beginning of term, he began to have less time free to do research. With both Quidditch practice and homework to attend to, he found his time much too occupied to think of either the boy or Flamel.

With the discovery of Flamel's identity, the philosopher's stone, and the plot to resurrect Voldemort with it, as well as Hagrid's mistake, the trio found themselves in a rush to alert Dumbledore.

They came upon McGonagall in the hall, only to find out Dumbledore had left for the Ministry of Magic For reasons unknown, on the night when they knew Snape was going to strike, of all nights.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron had decided to take matters into their own hands and prevent Snape from stealing the stone themselves.

Ironic, Harry thought, that the true thief was the one person they thought could help prove Snape's guilt.

Professor Quirrell stood behind him now, before the Mirror of Erised once again.

He saw his reflection, pale and scared-looking at first, the tall boy from before nowhere to be found. A moment later, the reflection smiled at him. It put its hand into its pocket and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the Stone back in its pocket - and as it did so, Harry felt something heavy drop into his real pocket. Somehow - incredibly - he'd gotten the Stone.

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Harry screwed up his courage. He had to lie, again.

"I-I see my family- they're alive," He said with a wide-eyed wonder, as if he had never encountered the mirror before.

Quirrell cursed again.

"I should have known. Get out of the way," he said. As Harry moved aside, he felt the Philosopher's Stone against his leg. Dare he make a break for it?

But he hadn't walked five paces before a high voice spoke, though Quirrell wasn't moving his lips. "He lies... He lies..."

"Potter, come back here!" Quirrell shouted. "Tell me the truth! What did you just see?"

The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him... face-to-face..."

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough... for this..."

Petrified, Harry watched as Quirrell reached up and began to unwrap his turban. Then he turned slowly on the spot.

The face on the back of his head was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. "Harry Potter..." it whispered. "See what I have become?" the face said.

Harry found himself rooted to the floor, as if something had grabbed him by the ankles, whilst a primal urge to run engulfed him. He knew this was bad, but… something kept him almost wanting to stay right where he was. It went against all logic running through his head, against all instinct running through his veins, but he felt another part of him, an extension of his very self housed within his body that had always known its place reach out as if trying to touch the person… the thing in front of him. It was terrifying in the worst way.

"Mere shadow and vapor... I have form only when I can share another's body... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... Now... why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

He knew. He knew that Harry had lied. Harry had a flashback to that winter night in the abandoned classroom with Dumbledore. Did he? No matter. There was no time for thinking now. The feeling suddenly surged back into Harry's legs. He stumbled backwards.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me... or you'll meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy..."

"LIAR!" Harry shouted suddenly. The word had a particular sting to it that his earlier voice had lacked. He would not die.

"How touching..." the face hissed. "I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first; and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you... Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

"NEVER!"

It was at that moment Voldemort commanded Quirrell to seize Harry, only he could not. Every time their skin made contact, Harry's scar stung with pain while Quirrell screamed. When Quirrell drew back his wand, Harry launched himself at his professor, hands on both sides of Quirrell's face. They were both screaming now and Harry was blinded by the pain. He could have sworn he heard other voices before he finally passed out.

When he woke, Harry was laying in a crinkly patient's bed in the hospital wing. His head felt perpetually fuzzy and he thought he saw a snitch dancing across his vision.

Dumbledore arrived to explain what had happened and answered all of Harry's questions- at least, all the questions he could bring himself to ask.

Just as Dumbledore made to leave the room, Harry spoke up for the last time.

"Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me... things I want to know the truth about..."

"The truth." Dumbledore sighed. "It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should, therefore, be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie."

Harry almost couldn't respond to that.

"Well... Voldemort said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?"

Dumbledore sighed very deeply this time.

"Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day... put it from your mind for now, Harry.

"When you are older... I know you hate to hear this... when you are ready, you will know."

Thanks to both of my lovely betas, Anne simnovels and dumblepoop. Check them both out on Tumblr :)

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