Fifty Shades of Erised
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His skin bubbles, familiar features moulding themselves to reveal his true form as the potion wears off. He shudders at the after-effects, the strange feeling of having to accustom himself to his own body wearing on his nerves as he leans heavily upon a twisted cane. A second wax-sealed vial of the chalky, mud-like potion lies secreted within his many pockets . . . for his return journey to the fen he calls his home. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth but he has little choice in the matter – Hogwarts has long since closed its doors to him.
He's old, so very, very old, barely able to stand upright beneath the crushing weight of time. Screwing up his eyes in an attempt to dispel the blurs that always threatens to overwhelm his vision, he looks into the ornate mirror standing before him and lets out a sigh, the truth of his frailty finally being driven home.
Scraggly white hair clings in tattered wisps to his balding head, stark in contrast to his luxurious beard, which hangs down to his ankles. His face is wrinkled and coated with a dozen age-spots, the blemishes marring his parchment thin skin which had once been so smooth and regal. Two eyes, both a deep, stormy-grey, are sunk into their sockets, and he realises that old age is the one enemy no man can defeat.
The old man stretches out an arm, his gnarled hand reaching out to press against the smooth glass and he feels his heartbeat quicken in his chest.
Death approaches upon the wings of a thestral, like an unyielding glacier, unwavering and unavoidable. It makes his final task all the more real, as he knows that this is his last chance to discover his heart's deepest desire: to purge his school and his world of the despicable mudblood filth his brethren so readily welcome.
Already he has put in place a countermeasure to cleanse the school of those not pure, but he feels the basilisk within the Chamber will not be enough to complete his great work. Thus he has come to Hogwarts, braving the wrath of his fellows – the Lion-Lord and the Badger-Woman, should they discover him, that is – to let the Mirror of Erised show him what it is that he must do to heal their world.
The mirror will show him the way.
It has to.
He stares into the mirror, his brittle knees shaking as his deepest desire takes form. She appears before him, replacing his own reflection with her austere beauty, standing ethereal and more beautiful than she had ever been in life. She's stern and frigid, a grand old dame with a spine of steel and yet as her reflection meets his eyes, a soft smile graces her lips.
Her smile causes a shift in her, letting her authority and poise fall aside in favour of nought but her, free-willed and temperamental, beautiful beyond all comparison.
She's crowned with the diadem he made for her, years ago when she in turn had created his locket and he cannot help but want to scream and tear out what's left of his hair as he stares at her, lost in her deep blue eyes.
She cannot be his heart's deepest desire . . . there must be an error, a misrepresentation.
Perhaps the Mirror of Erised is broken.
Or perhaps, the flaw lies within him.
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-Also Written for the Greek Mythology Mega-Prompt Challenge: Hades (Write about Salazar Slytherin)
-Also Written for the Competition that Must Not Be Named (Write a Story without using any names, save for in the last line)