Chapter 3- Smoke and Mirrors

"The true is rarely pure and never simple." Oscar Wilde

The beginning of September was a specific period whereby inhabitants of the Northern Hemisphere would recognise as being the start of the school year. Connotations of the commencement of term often varied with the person, but the consensus was that it was a vibrant time, full of youthful exuberance and cheer. Therefore, the soft tranquillity of the classroom provided a stark contrast and an exception to this rule.

"Harry."

Harry heard his name being called, but it seemed to be far off in the distance, decidedly unimportant. This was followed by a firm prod to his shoulder which he batted away, keeping his eyes fixed upon the sight in front of him.

Pushing his lips out, Harry made a quiet shushing sound, hoping that it would marginalise the distracting influence.

It did. The two first years stood in complete and utter silence, unable to avert the gaze of their eyes away from the magical object.

"Cedric? Harry?" Harry heard more voices shout, as they were accompanied by a small thunder of footsteps. Biting back a vile curse aimed at these 'distractions', Harry was pleasantly surprised when they were suddenly silenced.

Seconds effortlessly morphed into minutes and after what seemed to be an eternity, a quiet voice broke the serene silence which had settled over the room like snow on Christmas day.

"What is this room?"

The interrogative seemed to contain some form of magical command given its success of snapping Harry out of his self-induced daze.

"Wicked." Another voice bit in before Harry could answer the initial question.

"The Mirror of Erised." Harry read aloud, articulating every phoneme slowly with the precision of a trained surgeon.

"Desire." Another voice which Harry recognised to be Cedric's, whispered quietly, but to every inhabitant of the room, they heard him as loud and clearly as day.

"What do you see Harry?" Vicky asked carefully as she averted her gaze away from the magical object.

"I see..." Harry started, his voice cracked and without its usual strength. It appeared to be little more than a croak, before he caught himself and stopped to regain his composure. "I see myself in the mirror, talking with my parents." He admitted quietly, his voice regaining its usual articulate tone, but with a deep sadness that no bitter smile could hide.

"Your parents?" Vicky asked, her voice coated with the blissful naivety that only a child could possess, "But can't you owl them or even go home to see them?"

Wincing audibly at Vicky's words, Harry let his eyes shut for several seconds, the first time which he willingly removed his sight from the mirror. Taking a deep breath, he turned towards her, a small, forced smile on his features as he yearned to not cry in front of the young Gryffindor.

"If only it could be that simple." He replied softly as he attempted to suppress the hollow pain in his chest that simply refused to be ignored.

"I see something else." Cedric began rather loudly, making eye contact with Harry. The raven-haired boy silently thanked the Hufflepuff for the subject change with a small appreciative nod.

"I see myself in several places. A desert, a jungle and a cave. But I'm not me, I don't think. I'm taller. Maybe I'm looking at my older self. Maybe what I desire most of all is grow up and travel?" He wondered out-loud, keeping his gaze focused on the mirror.

"What about you Vicky?" Cedric asked politely, snapping back to reality and away from his day-dream.

"I don't know really." Vicky answered quietly. "The shapes keep on changing, they are blurry and I can't really see them."

"Maybe it is because you don't know what you truly desire." Rodney interrupted not impolitely. "After all, that's what I see and it's true; I don't actually know what I want. And I'd be damned if I let a mirror decide that for me."

"10 points to Slytherin for an answer so perceptive, those much older and wiser would covet." The four first years turned in shock at the second interruption. At the door stood the elderly headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, dressed in his ever so bright and colourful robes. "I was meaning to move the mirror at some point I must confess." The headmaster admitted with a small smile, abate a rather forced one.

Recognising that this was a cue to leave, Rodney moved towards the door before he stopped and mustered up all his courage to ask. "Professor, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Harry watched on with interest as the Professor's gaze darkened considerably for a half second before returning to his bubbly expression. "I see myself holding socks. Warm wholly socks. One can never have too many socks." Keeping his eye trained on the headmaster, Harry glanced at his classmates who were all wearing expressions in varying degrees of shock. He didn't miss the forced smile on the features of the professor.

The four watched as the headmaster withdraw his wand before swishing it nonchalantly at the mirror which vanished instantly.

"Professor, at some point, may I please borrow the sorting hat?" Harry asked, remembering the conversation that he had earlier with the hat.

"If the hat allows you to do so then you may." Dumbledore replied, a small smile on his face. "May I inquire why you would like to speak to the hat?"

"Well I've read up about pensieves, but they are rare and they require you to have a specific memory. The sorting hat said that it could read my mind and I thought I could use it as some sort of pass to go through my mind and find the answers that I seek." Harry explained, casting his eyes back to the mirror. He turned back to the Headmaster and once again, the dark expression had returned. But this time it seemed to be more troubled than dark.

"You wish to rediscover a memory that you have forgotten." Dumbledore stated, his voice devoid of all cheer and of a sobering solemnness.

"Yes sir." Harry answered not missing the change in tone from the elderly headmaster. "You see, I don't remember anything about my parents. I lost them when I was three years old and I should be able to remember them but I can't."

"The mind is a fickle creature my boy." The headmaster replied after several tentative seconds.

Harry did not miss the flinch that the headmaster made and attempted to hide in response to his previous answer. "It is dangerous, manipulative and has led many a man to the darkness which lies inside. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do?"

"I have to do this." Harry replied, making direct eye contact with the elderly wizard, emerald green eyes melting into cerulean, as he processed the implications of what the headmaster said.

Several seconds passed whereby nobody spoke before Dumbledore sighed and for once the headmaster looked all of his hundred plus years. "If I tell you no then if you're anything like your parents you will find a way to do it yourself." The headmaster pondered out loud.

"I must warn you that the mind is not a toy, or something which can simply be played with. If only it was." He added wistfully before snapping back to the topic on hand "I'd rather let you find the answers in a controlled environment than let you try it on your own and potentially endanger your own health."

"Come to my office tomorrow evening at 8 o'clock, after dinner," Dumbledore spoke as he turned to leave. "If you change your mind, then I will think of you as no better or worse a person Harry." And with those parting words, the elderly headmaster strode out of the room, leaving the four first years behind, all in varying stages of shock and awe at his decision.

Harry bit back a shiver as a slight draft flew through the room. He reminded himself that it was the dungeons of the castle, and it was expected to be cold. Moreover, he assumed that the classroom would be at a certain temperature to help preserve the ingredients which the students would use.

A little bit cold he could take, after all it was hardly any worse than a night spent bleeding in the cupboard under the stairs. Relaxing his shoulders, Harry waited with baited anticipation as the professor entered the classroom.

Naturally with it being the first class of the year, the professor took a rollcall to record attendance.

"Mr Potter." A deep voice drawled, "How peculiar is it that which you are a member of the House of the wise."

"Perhaps you should take it up with the Sorting hat professor." A light naïve voice responded eliciting a visible wince from every other member of the room as the Potions master turned his attention to the source of the interruption.

"Miss Frobisher," The Head of Slytherin began with a small sneer, "5 points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn." He finished curtly, leading to a murmur of moans from the Gryffindor contingent.

"Silence." The potions master demanded, the suddenness of the command eliciting the desired effect. "Every year, every damned year I have to teach the same group of dunderheads who fail to understand that Potions is an art." The man snapped, venom dripping with every word.

"You are all here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I do not expect many of you to appreciate the beauty of the potion making. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.1" He finished, silence following his monologue.

"Potter." The head of Slytherin snapped, shattering the silence like a hammer on a glass ceiling. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"A sleeping potion commonly known as the Draught of Living Death." Harry replied, mindful to keep the tone of his voice even.

"Lucky guess." Snape snapped aggressively, "Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar."

"A stomach of a goat." Harry replied with a slight narrow of his eyes.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" The professor bit back, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. This was not missed by the Potter scion.

"The two are the same plant and go by the name of aconite." Harry replied curtly, focusing his eyes into the dark pits which were his professors'.

Several seconds of silence passed where Harry absentmindedly wondered if the Professor was going to erupt in a fit of rage, before he watched the faintest of smirks emerge on the face of the Head of Slytherin as the potions matter suddenly calmed. This was also not missed by Harry and unnerved him deeply. He preferred people who didn't like him to either be angry or indifferent, anger made them predictable and well indifference meant that they didn't interact with him. Both of those states suited him fine, but the dramatic change in persona from Snape did not bode well with Harry. He willed to not let this show on his face, as he stared deeply into the professor's eyes.

"Adequate response." The Professor remarked with a cool calculating gaze, "Now why aren't the rest of you writing this down." He snapped harshly in the face of a poor, unsuspecting Gryffindor.

'He changes direction quickly.' Harry remarked to himself, as he attempted to hide a smirk at watching the Gryffindor's meek squeak of fright.

The rest of the class went by without incident, although Harry did witness a small explosion perpetrated by a pair of Gryffindor twins. Harry watched with mild amusement as the potions professor handed the pair of them detention as they hauled each other to the hospital wing to get rid of the large boils which had appeared on their skin.

'Perhaps they should keep them', Harry thought to himself, the brilliant colour of pus really brought out the flaming orange that was their hair.

Shifting his focus back to his potion, Harry peered closer as he observed the colour of the broth blend into the desired shade of indigo. As he did so, he could see the Potions professor look intently at him, a forcefully neutral expression on his face. Harry chose to ignore this as he began to carefully decanter a sample of his work into a vial.

"An adequate attempt Potter." The head of Slytherin responded as Harry handed him what he knew to be a perfectly brewed potion.

"Thank you, sir." Harry replied curtly, making sure that his tone was as neutral as possible, before he quickly left the dungeon, having no intention of spending any more time in the cold dungeon.

The head of Slytherin watched with baited breath as the students of his last class left the room before he strode over to his office. To anyone who was watching, it seemed rather odd as whilst the Potions master always seemed to have long strides, he always walked with purpose, composure and confidence. Today it seemed that the man was hurried, and not far off from breaking out into a full-blooded sprint.

Once within the safeties of his office, Severus Snape released a tired breath as he wandlessly summoned a bottle, one of Ogden's finest Firewhiskey. Absentmindedly, with his left hand he conjured a small crystal glass before pouring a healthy amount of whisky in, downing it before refilling, oblivious or rather uncaring to the excess alcohol that spilled out onto the carpet.

Severus closed his eyes as he felt the familiar burn in his throat from the alcoholic drink. Setting the bottle down onto his desk, he sat down and waved his right hand over the centre of the desk. Almost immediately, the dark wood began to shift and slowly, but surely, a wooden box, in a shade darker than the desk emerged.

"Open Sesame." He muttered under his breath as he placed his index finger onto the centre of the box, feeling a small sense of amusement of the phrase. 'Lily would have liked it. Lily would have...'

Severus immediately stopped, and ran through a quick occlumency exercise to reign in the raging beast that were his emotions. But that didn't help.

"Lily." Severus said softly as he stared at the dark stone that had appeared on his desk in front of him. Hands trembling, Severus Snape reached for the stone and picked it up, ignoring the cold sensation of it.

"Forgive me Lily." Severus whispered to himself as he turned over the stone, once in his palm. He prepared himself to turn it over once more before he stopped.

'What if she doesn't want to see me.' Severus wondered, thinking back onto the lesson that he had just taught, the feelings of guilt prickling his heart as he stared at the stone in the helm of his palm.

With a deranged, feral look on his face, eyes darting between the two objects on the desk, the head of Slytherin made his choice.

"I see that there is nothing that I can say which can change your mind." Dumbledore remarked, a slight frown marring his weathered features.

"You don't seem to approve of my decision headmaster," Harry observed not impolitely, as he stood patiently in the doorway of the sorcerer's office.

"It does not matter what I think." The aged wizard replied stoically, "Hogwarts is and always will be a free institution where students are given the freedom of choice. I am first and foremost a teacher and us teachers, we have jobs or rather duties which are to advise and more importantly to protect the students, in the interests of their safety. But you have made your choice." The headmaster stated in mild resignation before motioning towards his desk where Harry could see the dilapidated, creased magical object most commonly known as the Sorting Hat.

"I do believe it is a time for me to take a break from paperwork and retire to my personal quarters. Perhaps a break of 15 minutes should do." The headmaster mused out loud as he strode confidently out of the room.

"Ah Mr Potter." The Sorting hat remarked as Harry warily approached the object on Dumbledore's desk. "Back again so soon?"

"It seems to be the case." Harry replied with caution etched in his voice. "I would like to ask you for a personal favour."

"If it is in my power, I will endeavour to grant it." The hat answered calmly, the wrinkles where its eyes should be squeezing tighter as if it were squinting. "I don't do re-sortings by the way. You're not the first or last person to have asked me that, although I did always feel you were best suited to Slytherin."

"It's not about my sorting." Harry responded, an edge of irritation seeping into his voice. "It's about, it's about my mind." He answered, a fraction of desperation emerging, betraying his young age.

"I assume that you would like me to look inside?" The hat asked, with what Harry detected was a hint of amusement.

"If I may?" Harry asked not impolitely, as he extended his left hand towards the desk.

"Oh, do go on Mr Potter." The hat replied calmly, in what seemed to be a sarcastic drawl. Harry noticed this and paused as he observed the hat, its creases morphed into what appeared to be a smirk, one reminiscent of a starved cat which had cornered a family of nice. Harry decided very quickly that he did not like this expression and wisely chose to ignore it as he carefully placed the hat on top of his head.

Several seconds passed by in silence as Harry felt the hat sift through his thoughts, leaving a dull pain in his head "Hmm. This is curious, very curious indeed." The hat remarked nonchalantly. "You remember nothing of your parents, and you want to see if the memories are embedded in your subconscious."

"I would not have phrased it that way, but yes that is the gist of it." Harry replied carefully, keeping the tone of voice neutral.

"Put me onto the desk please." The hat asked suddenly, and Harry obliged the request of the magical object, abate rather suspiciously.

The hat waited till it was placed on the headmaster's desk before it chose to speak, its features morphed into a more sombre expression. "This was not the first time whereby someone has asked me to undertake a task like this."

A gripping silence enveloped the room as Harry waited anxiously for the hat's decision, his fingernails beginning to grip the edges of his seat.

"You will not receive the answers that you seek today Mr Potter." The hat answered, the smirk from before returning. "However, that does not mean you will not receive these answers, nor does it mean that I do not have those answers."

It was at that point in time where Harry felt a sudden urge to whip out his wand and set the damned hat on fire. He knew the incantation, 'incendio' was always a spell he wanted to try out, plus he would definitively have the intent required to set something alight. His pyromaniac tendencies were put on hold by the hat's next sentence.

"What are your ambitions Mr Potter?" The hat asked carefully.

"You know what my ambitions are, you have seen my memories." Harry bit back, rather irate by the sudden change in conversation.

"Humour me."

"Fine, I want to be able to comprehensively understand magic and to be able to map out its boundaries and limitations." Harry replied, doing his best to hide the hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Good good." The hat responded. "Now do you think all humans have magic or not?"

Opening his mouth to respond "No", Harry suddenly stopped as a thought wandered into his mind. The obvious answer to that question was no, but why would the hat have asked that? The reasoning behind that would be that the damned hat expected him to say yes. Harry furiously wracked his brain for an answer to justify why all humans would have magic but found that he has no idea.

"Honestly? I don't honestly know." Harry replied tentatively, the urge to act on his pyromaniac tendencies returning upon viewing the smirk on the hat's face widen.

"I'd be surprised if you really did." The hat retorted, a brief chuckle emerging from its features. "I'm sure every student and professor and being in this castle could give an example of humans not having magic."

"Muggles." Harry replied, the term rolling off his tongue with measured disgust.

"But could you prove it?" The hat challenged.

"N-" Harry stopped himself and thought for a second. "So, you think all humans including muggles have magic?"

"I doesn't matter what I think, I'm simply just a hat." The Sorting Hat replied confidently. "I'll cut you a deal, I want two things. If by the end of this year, you can provide me with a definitive answer to this question, I'll grant your request. I'll give you the answers that you seek."

Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously at this but chose to not comment upon this.

"That's just one thing." Harry responded curtly, choosing not to voice his second question.

"Oh yes, this is relatively simple compared to the other thing. I want you to prepare a cauldron of a fire-proofing draught."

Caught off balance by this request, Harry frowned. "I'm sorry what?"

"I recognised the look in your eyes when I told you that I wasn't going to give you the answers today. Do you know how many people have tried to set me on fire?" The hat asked, a small laugh escaping its lips.

Harry chose to leave the question as being rhetorical, simply deciding to narrow his eyes at the hat, unamused.

"I watched your parts of your potions lesson, you're clearly competent enough to brew one. The most effective recipe that I know should be in your third-year book."

"I'm not in third-year." Harry bit back, deciding that he may as well act a brat to the infuriating hat.

"I know." The hat retorted. "You're supposed to investigate whether all humans have magic or not and can't find a single book."

"What's stopping me from tampering with the draught so that it's faulty, better yet why don't I set you on fire now?" He asked irritably.

"I do hold the answers which you seek and prefer to part with them unscorched." The hat responded.

He was fully aware that he had been completely and utterly played by a hat. A bloody hat. But the hat promised something which he could not get elsewhere; answers. To Harry, that meant everything

"Bastard." Harry responded, "consider it done." He added before standing up and leaving the headmaster's office, a renewed purpose in his heart.

[1] Rowling, J. K., and Mary GrandPré. 1998. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone.

Happy new year to everybody! This update hopefully should be the first of many. Previously I had finished about 3/4 of the story and was planning to post the updates every 3/4 weeks, but my computer broke and I lost everything, including my motivation to start again.

Thus, to finish this story will be my new years resolution.

In response to a PM i received a while back, the Harry/Fleur interaction will occur later on in the story. I imagine that the interactions between the characters would hold more nuance at a slighter older age. As a writer, if you focus the story on the pairing, it is important to make the reader want to fall in love themselves with the characters. As a result, I wish for Harry to meet Fleur when he is slightly older and a more developed character.

Reviews are welcomed as always

jobh