"Throughout history, the Mirror of Erised has been widely considered to be one of the most mysterious magical objects to appear. (For others, see pg. 829, Peverell's Deathly Hallows). Its origins, to this day, are unknown, though it has been believed to have been crafted in a forest and abandoned – by what man or creature, we cannot say. It has tempted the hearts of many witches and wizards, only to leave them in despair when the object vanishes. To the everyday wizard who comes across the Mirror of Erised, heed warning, for the Mirror takes what cannot be seen, and does not bring hope, but destruction."
- A History of Enchanted Objects
It was here.
It was in the room.
He was foolish to come here.
No one knew better than he the destructive properties of the Mirror of Erised. It was purely for observational purposes, he decided, to see if his innermost desires had changed since his last encounter with that blasted mirror.
If it had to be anyone's fault, it would be Dumbledore's, for bringing it into the school in the first place. There were other ways to protect the stone, after all.
He held his breath as he approached from the other side of the room. The mirror remained foggy at a distance of some few dozen feet. He dared to inch closer, and thought he could see a hand from within the grey. This was far enough. He did not have to press his nose against the glass to know what…or who was waiting for him.
And he would have turned to leave if it weren't for those damned eyes. The ones which haunted him everyday through an upturned face in his dreary lessons with a look of contempt, the ones which were a perfect duplicate of the emeralds staring at him from the dust-covered mirror.
He crossed the distance in several large strides, and with the urgency of a dying man for salvation, he wiped the mirror clear with his sleeve. At least his worst fears have been confirmed - and his brightest dreams.
She was so close. Her body could have been inches from his, with nothing but the thin glass separating them. He could count every freckle on her nose, every eyelash from under which she gazed beguilingly. Unknowingly, he raised a hand to the glass and she copied him, their fingers meeting, joining.
He could not feel the warmth of her skin. But he imagined. The smooth glass transformed into flesh, and her hand was in his.
She brought her finger to her lips in a secret smile and beckoned. He was moving along a hill, or at least, it seemed that way. The scene in the mirror zoomed to meet him, and he watched hungrily.
A white cottage appeared on the horizon, a quaint building with picture windows. She crossed the pickets, waving to someone in the house. And he emerged into the spring, smiling and waving like the woman beside him.
But he wasn't warmed by the breeze. He was standing, shivering, in a room that was quite separate from the rest of the castle. And he was alone in a musty room which bore the old smell of textbooks and dirt, watching his doppelganger smiling back in a grotesque imitation of himself.
The man in the Mirror was talking to the woman, and he pressed his ear to the glass, hoping to catch their conversation – his conversation. The scene stayed resolutely quiet but it was clear she was laughing, bowed over in a fit of giggles.
She lead him around the house and to a bench sitting forlornly in a bed of tulips. He was talking again, and she kept laughing, at last pulling him down beside her. Then, wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned up to press her lips to his.
He lifted his cold, trembling fingers to his own chapped, tear-stained lips. He had almost felt the soft imprint of their tenderness.
Two girls came sprinting from the house, launching themselves into the couple's laps. One had hair of darkest red, the other, black. They were pouting childishly while she nodded and the red haired girl turned to allow her mother to braid her hair. He leaned in to whisper into her ear and she chuckled again.
Then they were -?
He would have been content to watch them forever. They were sitting down to a meal, the girls stealing food off each other's plates while she attempted to settle the quarrel. He was being rather conceding, giving them piggyback rides when they so demanded. Then, the girls were tucked in bed, and she turned to him, again with those eyes so mischievously devious.
"Severus."
He did not respond to the intruder's voice. Leave me alone, he thought irritably.
"Severus," the calm voice repeated.
"What?" He wrenched his eyes away from the Mirror to turn to the voice he should have recognized anywhere. Dumbledore remained in the shadows, only the glint of his glasses and beard were visible as the headmaster talked.
"You know very well what I am talking about. Personally, I am shocked that you have succumbed to such a device. I must admit, I have expected better of you."
"I know the consequences, Dumbledore," he snapped rather crudely, burning with the desire to dive back into the Mirror's world.
"Then you should know that the Mirror is not exactly truthful – I mean to say, Severus, that it is not what would have been -"
"YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!" He pointed at the wizard, furious. It would have been this way, he knew it. If only he hadn't thrown away his youth like he did…another wave of self-loathing swept over him.
Dumbledore bowed his head wisely. "Alas, I do not."
"So leave me be," he concluded in frustration.
"I do not wish for you to waste your life seeing what is not reality, you will forget to live."
"I will forget to live?" He laughed mirthlessly, "I've not been living for a long time, Dumbledore. Or can you really not differentiate between myself and this useless existence I serve on this Earth? I am only bound here by an agreement of honour, of respect -"
"Why can you not say it?" Dumbledore interrupted, stepping out from the shadows.
"I have no idea what you mean."
"You know perfectly well it's not a matter of nobleness nor bravery, though you are especially so. It's not just an agreement between an old teacher and his student, nor a mission to be carried for the greater good," Dumbledore's mouth twitched, "we are allowed to be selfish, Severus. It is in the humans' nature."
"I still don't -"
"Love," Dumbledore said simply.
There were ten long minutes of silence. "What do you see when you look into the Mirror?" He finally asked, "Unless, you see your own reflection as is?"
"I am far from the happiest man on earth," Dumbledore chuckled. "I have learned my lessons, however. I would not attempt to waste what precious time I have left again."
He raised an inquiring eyebrow.
"Young Mr. Potter had been entranced by the very same dilemma you face," Dumbledore changed the subject subtly. It did not escape his attention, but he gave a denigrating snort in response. "He sees her too, Severus."
He deflated. It was a lost feeling. She had appeared to the brat, the reincarnated form of Potter also. Of course, it was stupid of him to think her special and only reserved for him. But nonetheless…
"Good night, Dumbledore," he said sourly, feeling thoroughly down heartened.
"What you were asking earlier," Dumbledore said quietly, when he'd almost reached the opposite door, "when I look into the Mirror of Erised, I am loved by the people I love, and there is no other reason in the world."
He paused, taking in the words slowly. He had known nothing of Dumbledore's past, but he felt this new imparted information had a bitterness that went hand-in-hand with truth. He turned. "Dumbledore?"
"Yes, Severus?" Looking wizened and old, the blue eyes smiled sadly at him, discernible even from the distance.
"I loved, love, and will always love her."