Chapter Two

This is such rubbish, Neville thought as he added Valerian Sprigs to his Forgetfulness Potion. I don't even take his class anymore! Here he was, two weeks later from his little incident with Luna and Michael in the library, in detention in Snape's classroom on a Friday night. All he'd done was drawn his wand on Malfoy for calling Ron a bloodtraitor and Hermione a Mudblood. He hadn't actually intended to use it! But then in Snape had walked, and Neville was busted and immediately given detention. The worst part of it was that it was with Snape. One reason he had quit Potions was because he was bad at the subject, but the main cause for him to quit was because he hated Snape so much. And, boy, did Snape hate him. Neville hadn't even done anything bad! He was just horrible at Potions. Was that really a just reason to torture someone?

Neville sighed as added a few Mistletoe Berries to his cauldron. Snape had a gift for giving the worst detention possible for that specific person. Snape knew Neville's lack of talent for Potions all too well, and so he had gotten the task of making the Forgetfulness Potion in this classroom over and over every Friday night until he made if perfectly according to Snape's standards. Neville knew that Snape was making him specifically make the Forgetfulness Potion just to mock him. Why couldn't McGonagall have caught him threatening Malfoy? At least she wouldn't have been this cruel to him. She would've given him a moderate punishment, just like she did with all students. No favoritism with McGonagall. You could never count on getting off easy with her. But at least you could count on a punishment that fit the crime.

It was strange, he felt like he'd made this potion before, but he couldn't figure out when. He knew they'd never made it in class. It was for N.E.W.T. level classes. Then he realized when he'd made it before, why these motions were so familiar to his unpracticed hands. He actually had made this potion before, in this very dungeon and, as he thought about it, at this very table. Snape had given him detention for failing to make a Cure for Boils in class. Snape had wanted to torture him even more, so he'd been forced to make this potion. However, he had to say, that detention had the best result he could've ever imagined...

After the detention was finished, Neville had left the dungeon, dragging his feet. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and soon enough, he misplaced his foot and fell through a tapestry, which actually had a slide made of stone behind it. He'd tumbled down the slide, and when he'd reached the bottom, it had taken him a few seconds to figure out where he was. When he'd finally got his bearings, he'd realized he was on the first-floor corridor. Just as he'd slowly risen into a standing position, half hunched over, he'd heard Filch's shuffling footsteps. Fear immediately had overtaken Neville, and he had fled into a deserted classroom. He'd waited at the door for awhile, listening to Filch pass by the room. When he was finally sure that Filch had left, he'd breathed a sigh of relief. He was safe and protected by this wonderful inner sanctum.

He'd turned around at that moment, and had laid his eyes on the most beautiful, elegant mirror he'd ever seen. It had dragon claws for feet and the inscription "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," across the top. But that wasn't what had caught Neville's eye about this mirror. He did see himself as he gazed into the glass, but there were two other figures on either side of him. A man and a woman. Neville knew at once who they were, but still he walked closer and closer, just to get a better look. Neville himself looked fit and tall, and was grinning gallantly. The only times Neville had ever looked like that was when he'd gotten his acceptance letter and gone to Diagon Alley. He certainly didn't look like that now. But he wasn't focusing on his own reflection. Instead, he gazed at the people on either side of him. The woman was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes as she looked down at Neville. The man looked at him with such pride Neville had never known.

It was his parents.

His parents, and they were proud of him. He didn't know why, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they were there, and they were proud of him. Him, Neville. They were sane and proud. His mother had put her hand to the glass and, without realizing it, Neville had drawn his hand slowly to where his mother's was. But when he'd finally reached the spot, it wasn't his mother's warm touch that he felt, that he had always yearned to feel, but the cold glass of the mirror. Neville had then stumbled back away from the mirror, suddenly frightened. It had seemed so good before, but now he was frightened of this terrible, horrible, evil, lying object. It was cruel and mean. Neville had fled the room, not caring if he was caught by Filch or Snape or McGonagall or anybody else. He'd just wanted to get away from the mirror at that moment, to never face those awful lies again. Those wonderful, blissful lies...

And, even though he'd never wanted to see the mirror again that night, he couldn't resist coming back again and again, gazing at the mirror and dreaming of things that could never be. He sat in front of the mirror for hours every night after the first time he'd discovered the mirror. This went on for two weeks until he got a surprise visitor in the classroom.

"Hello, Neville," he'd heard from behind him. He'd jumped ten feet in the air and turned around. It was Dumbledore.

"P-Professor!"Neville had stammered."Uh...uh...hi. Er..."

"Enjoying yourself?"Dumbledore had asked with a knowing twinkle in his eye. Neville had nodded."It is amazing, isn't it?"Dumbledore had sighed.

Neville had nodded again and said, "Yeah," He had then gulped and repeated with tears in his eyes, turning back to the mirror, "Amazing."

"Neville," Dumbledore had said from behind Neville, "you see your parents when you look into this mirror, don't you?" Neville had nodded again, still not taking his eyes away from the reflection of him, his mother, and his father."And they're proud of you, "It was a statement, not a question. There was a pause. Neville had felt like he was talking to the Sorting Hat again. "Neville, I understand your longing."Neville had looked down then, then turned around and looked up at Dumbledore.

"No," Neville had said."No, you don't. You can't."

"Oh, Neville," Dumbledore had replied, looking down at Neville with a twinkle in his eye again. Except this time, the twinkle was sad."I understand more than you could possibly know."

Dumbledore had then looked at the mirror with the same look of wanting and hope Neville imagined he had whenever he looked at the mirror. And that's when he knew that he did understand, even if he had no clue what Dumbledore was seeing. Then he'd said abruptly, "They are proud, Neville." Neville had looked at Dumbledore, puzzled, then back at the mirror. There they were again, just like always.

"Professor, I-I don't understand what you mean."

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Neville, this mirror shows what your heart truly desires. Normally, it shows what does not exist. But since it only shows what the person wants according to their knowledge, it could show what is real. The person desires this because they do not know it actually exists."Neville frowned, confused.

"But, Professor," he said. "what I see in the mirror, it...it isn't real."

"Oh but Neville, it is. More than you know. It is true that your parents will never be healed, but they are proud of you."

"How do you know?"Neville had challenged back.

Dumbledore had given him a long look then, and, after a short pause, had said,"I knew your parents before..."he faltered, just like people always did when they reached this point in Neville's story. He was used to it. Apparently not even Dumbledore was immune to it. "Before the...incident,"That's what people usually said. The incident. If not that, then the situation. "They were such...such wonderful people."People always faltered there too. Sometimes it was fake. Sometimes they were looking for the words. Sometimes they needed a moment before they went on. Neville could tell it was the latter with Dumbledore."When they found out your mother was pregnant with you, their happiness was unmatched by anyone I've ever seen. And when you were born, I came to your home to visit. You were only an infant. When I looked in the parlor window, I saw them over your crib. Your mother was looking down at you, tears in her eyes. And your father had the widest grin across his face. And in their looks, there was so much love...and yes, pride. Pride in their first son, for things he hadn't even accomplished yet. And so I left, without going inside, knowing that this was a golden moment for them to be with their son. That was the night before..."Dumbledore did not finish the sentence. When people did that, Neville usually gave them a defiant look, daring them to complete the statement. But he couldn't give that look to Dumbledore. Not now, not after what he'd just told him."Neville, they loved you. They were so proud of you, when they didn't even know what you would accomplish yet. They just knew it would be something great."

"They didn't know what would happen though!"Neville shouted back."They didn't know what I would become! Or," he said in a quieter tone, "not become."

"And what," Dumbledore said in a soft, gentle voice, "do you mean by that, Neville? Surely you are proud of your accomplishments."

"What accomplishments?"Neville argued back, now breaking down."Ever since I came here, I've done nothing good. I haven't done anything worthy of their pride. I have no talent, I'm no good at anything, and I have no friends! I'm wondering how I even got an acceptance letter here!"Neville had turned away then, biting his bottom lip, unwilling to let Dumbledore see him cry. But Dumbledore had known why he had looked away, and he had come over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Neville, whenever I came over to your parents' to visit, they always spoke of you. Always. And most highly. I'm sure they would never wonder why you got your acceptance letter, and they would be so proud of all your many accomplishments that you do not even realize you have made."

"I haven't made any. And, besides, how would you know if they would be proud?"

"Because I am."

There was dead silence in the room. Neville did not dare look at Dumbledore, but instead looked at the mirror."Why?"he asked, so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

"Because I've seen your progress, Neville, and I know what you will become. You will become someone great. A true hero. I know it, and so did they. They still do. I know they do."Neville did not respond, just kept gazing at the mirror. Dumbledore went on, "Although they are proud, Neville, I do not think they will ever be able to be sane in our either of our lifetimes. Not in the way we think of sane."Neville knew that Dumbledore was trying very hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, for Neville's sake, but he was not succeeding. Neville did not mind. He knew Dumbledore's anger was not aimed at him. "Neville, when you look into this mirror, the Mirror of Erised, it shows your heart's true desire. More often than not, it shows things that can never be. Therefore, it is an unhealthy pleasure. Many great men have rotted away in front of this mirror, staring at it and hoping and dreaming of things that will never happen. I do not wish this to happen to you, nor would your parents. Which is why the mirror is going to be moved tomorrow night, and I ask you not to search for it."

Neville had spun around at that moment, causing Dumbledore's steadying hand to fall off Neville's shoulder, and had begun to stutter, "What? But-But-sir-Professor-I-NO!"

Dumbledore had looked down at Neville pityingly, which Neville hated. He could never stand when people did that. Dumbledore had then seemed to realize what he was doing, and stopped at one. He had then said, "It does no good, Neville, to dwell on dreams and forget to live."And with that, Dumbledore had walked out of the classroom, leaving Neville with a hurting head, heavy heart, and, most importatnly, one last night with the mirror and, therefore, one last night with his parents.

When he'd turned around, he'd been ready to see his parents there, proud of him, just like the mirror always showed. But there was something different about the reflection. Yes, his parents were there. But they weren't proud. They were just...there. That's curious, Neville had thought. Then he'd realized why they weren't proud in the reflection.

Though his mind had not yet chosen to believe Dumbledore's words, his heart knew they were true. His parents were proud of him, and Neville knew it in his heart. And so he'd walked away from the mirror to the door of the classroom. When he'd reached it, he'd turned around, casting one last longing gaze at the mirror. They were still there, smiling just like always. Neville had wanted to go back to them, he'd even taken a slight step back towards the mirror. But then he'd gotten scared, and the reflection hurt too much to look at, and he'd fled the room just like the first night he'd found the mirror.

"Longbottom!"Neville looked up sharply from his cauldron. He'd been so intuned to his daydream that he had zoned out and hadn't realized that Snape was standing across the table in the dungeon from him."Do you ever listen? Your time is up. And you've failed. I will see you back here next Friday evening, seven o'clock."

Neville was still in a sort of haze, still half coming out of his daydream, but he knew when Snape was insulting him just by his tone of voice. He'd heard it enough throughout the years. He knew it was best to just nod, do the safe thing, rather than risk another detention. He could even add in a glower if he wanted, he'd probably just get yelled at, nothing more. But the words escaped his lips before he could stop them, "Well I know that's fine for you. I know you never have anything better to do on a Friday night."

Snape, who had already turned his back on Neville and had been packing up his things into his bag at his desk, slowly turned around to glare at Neville. However, there was more than a glare in this look. There was...shock. Neville wasn't surprised by this, he'd shocked himself. He knew it was better to flee now-Snape had already dismissed him, after all-but he stood his ground, wanting, for some reason, to hear Snape's response. His wanted to know what Snape had to say to that; what he thought of it. He realized that this was partly because he didn't know what to think of it. "Longbottom," Snape said slowly in a cold, very dangerous voice that Neville, for some reason, recognized, "I suggest you leave. Right. Now."

Neville, whose sudden streak of bravado was gone, nodded and hurriedly grabbed his bag and stumbled from the room, scared out of his wits of what would happen if he didn't leave quickly enough. He was deathly frightened Snape might even change his mind about wanting Neville to go and would follow him. He full out ran to the Gryffindor common room, but then realized he didn't remember the password. He then went to the only place he knew he could go where he wouldn't get caught by Snape. He went straight to the tapestry with the unicorn on it and began to pace back and forth, thinking, I need a place where Snape can't find me...I need a place where Snape can't find me...After the third time of pacing in front of the tapestry, a door opened up, a door Neville recognized. That's weird, he thought. But there was no time to think about it, because at that moment he heard swift footsteps coming closer. He threw himself through the door.