Chapter 10: Deepest desire
Albus Dumbledore was sitting in his office finishing wrapping up a Christmas present when he heard that familiar voice, "Albus, my young friend."
His lips twitching, Albus looked over the rims of his half-moon spectacles to see Nicholas Flamel's head in his fireplace once again. "Nicholas. How good to see you. And how are you doing this fine evening?"
"I'm doing well, Albus, quite well. Well, except for a tiny argument with Perenelle, but I'm guessing she'll start talking to me again soon. It's been 3 weeks already, after all, and even she has to let go of a grudge sometime, even if she does live forever. But putting that aside, how is everything with you? The governors are still being interfering idiots, I trust?"
"When they aren't being nosy, then I start worrying," Albus responded amiably before getting up and kneeling down by the fireplace to speak with him better.
"And how's my Stone? I assume that it's still safe isn't it?"
"Yes, and I am also planning to move it to down to its chamber before the start of the New Year."
"That's good. I'm glad that you keep moving it around; it'll keep whoever whose trying to steal it on their toes."
"Precisely my plan. Though once moved, I think it will reside most comfortably in its new location for the rest of the year. My staff has extended an exceptional effort to provide additional protection for the Stone. It's the best protection that I can offer."
Nicholas beamed. "Excellent. Yes, quite excellent. No less than what I expected from you. I'm glad to hear that everything is going well."
"Was that your only reason for calling, Nicholas?"
"Well, that and some extra time on my hands, what with Perenelle refusing to speak to me, and the extra floo powder that I just have lying around the place, you know…"
Albus smiled knowingly at him. "This argument is starting to get to you, isn't it?"
Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Well, no more than usual. It's dull having no one to talk to around the house. Our house-elf has taken her side, and she told all the portraits not to speak to me either."
"What on earth were you fighting about anyway?"
Nicholas grimaced. "Oh, something about how I never pay any attention to her and that I should see what it's like to not have anyone in the house talk to."
"I see," Albus provided though he was fighting to hold back a laugh.
Nicholas raised his eyebrows. "But how the heck am I supposed to pay any attention to her if she doesn't even look me in the eye? We've been married for centuries and I still don't understand her at all." Nicholas shook his head, "I swear, even if I somehow live for another 1000 years I don't think that I'll ever understand that woman, Albus."
Albus chuckled, but something about Nicholas's tone made him raise his eyebrows and ask, "What do you mean by IF? You are more than capable of living another 1000 years."
Nicholas looked down slightly and said. "It's nothing… it's just… I've been feeling so tired lately Albus. And then there's this whole trouble with the stone… sometimes I think that it would be so much easier to stop taking the elixir and let death carry me away."
Albus stared at him in surprise. "That's the first time that I've heard you talk about wanting to die."
Nicholas shrugged, "Ah well, ignore me my friend. I've got too much time and not enough to do. Anyway I just wanted to talk to someone—it's been so quiet around here lately."
"Well, once Perenelle feels that you suffered enough, she'll start talking to you again. I suggest buying her something nice for Christmas."
With a last grin, Nicholas's head disappeared from the fire.
Albus returned to his task, gift-wrapping a certain silvery cloak, and addressing it to one Harry Potter. He flicked his wand at the half-wrapped object, and the colorful paper straightened itself, folding neatly to cover the shiny material underneath. A second flick of his wand sent a red ribbon curling around the package, tying itself neatly in a decorative bow.
"I thought you said you didn't do favoritism, Dumbledore," came the sly voice of Phineas Nigellus from the wall.
"I don't," Albus said simply.
"And yet you've started giving Christmas presents to the students?" Phineas asked skeptically.
"It's not exactly a Christmas present," Albus explained. "That cloak was Harry's father's, and I'm simply passing it on."
"Tool for trouble-making, that's all it is to someone of his age," Phineas said grumpily. "No good will come of it, I promise you."
"Oh, I beg to disagree," Albus said mildly. "There may come a time when it will be a very good thing for Harry to have."
"He's a first-year, Dumbledore. A child. What time could that be, except years from now?"
"I've told you many times before Phineas; you should never underestimate children. As a former headmaster of Hogwarts, you should know better. Besides…" Albus's voice trailed off for a moment as he thought back to the night when he asked to borrow the cloak from James and Lily. How Harry had started crying when the cloak was pulled away from him and the look in the infant's eyes when he was in the crib… as if the baby understood everything that was happening…
Albus promised that he would bring it back to him… Harry already waited 10 years… he shouldn't have to wait any longer even if he didn't remember.
"I made a promise to return it," Albus finished to Phineas.
Calling a house-elf to his office, the professor handed her the parcel. "Be sure that this is placed on Harry Potter's bed on Christmas morning."
"Yes sir, Professor Dumbledore!" the elf chimed and then went running off. Albus watched her go until he decided to call it a night.
*The next day*
The next day dawned bright, cold, and snowy; in short, everything a Christmas should be (at least in Albus's opinion). When he entered his office, Albus greeted the portraits with an exuberant "Merry Christmas" and was surprised to find Dexter Fortescue waiting impatiently for him.
"Good morning, Dexter, and a merry Christmas to you. How is Harry this morning? Aren't you keeping an eye on him this week?"
"Quite excited. I gather he's received more presents than he's ever seen this morning," Dexter said, a small smile gracing his lips.
"Well, that's good," he said aloud. "From what I gather he didn't receive many presents at the Dursleys? I hope that this will start to make up for it."
"Among the presents was an invisibility cloak. There was no signature—only a note with some very familiar handwriting." Dexter paused for effect until Albus let out a cough and Dexter finished, "I've always said your writing was far too fancy, Dumbledore. It's very recognizable."
Albus sighed. "You see it as a sign of favoritism as well, do you?" he asked, resigned.
"Oh, no, Dumbledore. You stated in the note that the cloak was his father's. It is, by all rights, his, and was technically his before you gave it to him. I would have to be as low as a Slytherin to complain that you were favoring a Gryffindor, now wouldn't I?"
Phineas made an impatient and offended noise at this, and began shouting insults from two pictures away.
"How rude," Dexter commented before he lay back in his chair.
"Is there a problem with giving the cloak to Harry, Dexter?" Dumbledore asked to get the man's thoughts back on the subject.
"Well, I expect that the Weasley boy might be a little jealous, but he'll get over it."
"Anything else?"
"How exactly do you expect me to follow the boy if he's invisible?" Dexter finally burst out, looking distinctly miffed.
"He's an eleven-year-old boy," Albus pointed out. "I expect he'll make some sort of sounds as he's moving that you'll be able to follow."
"You're forgetting the boy's upbringing, Dumbledore! He's been trained in that damn Muggle home to pretend that he didn't exist!" Dexter countered.
"You can go through all the other painting in the castle," Albus suggested. "Get the other portraits to tell you where he is once he becomes visible again."
"D'you have any idea just how long that could take? I'll never get to see anything that way! And a lot of good that will do you if I don't!"
"I expect you to be able to handle it," Albus clarified.
As Dexter began cursing, Albus chuckled softly to himself, causing a few of the portraits to look at him oddly. As soon as Harry had come to this school, he had been assigning the former Headmasters or Headmistresses to follow Harry around and to keep tabs on the boy. He sometimes wondered if the portraits were 100% trustworthy, or if they told Albus everything Harry was doing, the way they promised.
Dexter, especially, was known for hiding things, not for any particular reason, but for the satisfaction of knowing things that others didn't. On the other hand, he along with a few of the other paintings were starting to like the task of looking after Harry with the cheerfulness Albus had hoped for. He walked over to the window and glanced out while pretending to listen to Dexter's complaints. His eyes fell on the Quidditch pitch and his thoughts went to the game…
Dumbledore remembered watching the boy at the Quidditch game not long ago. He couldn't go himself, but he watched the entire thing from this window. He had always loved watching the game and was glad that he had a window that had a perfect view of the field.
He almost didn't recognize the boy when he came out onto the field—he was easily spotted because he was the smallest on the team—but the way that he flew… he was definitely his father's son.
He watched with a slight smile as Harry flew high above the rest of the game looking for the snitch… Albus couldn't see it, but he knew that the boy was enjoying himself. For the first half of the game, Harry was just like any other child at this school. He was having fun… maybe for the first time in his life; he could act like a child. Watching the game, it was so easy to forget that there was no prophecy, and that everything was going to be ok.
But that feeling didn't last long; he nearly had a heart-attack with he saw that Harry's broom was trying to buck him off. He watched frozen as the broom continued to jump and roll over until Harry was almost thrown off, hanging on only by one hand. He didn't understand why he felt fear like this… he was so close to going out onto the field himself to stop it when all of a sudden, Harry was able to pull himself back onto his broom and streaked towards the ground. He watched as Harry hit the ground on all four, and looked as if he was about to be sick. It wasn't until he heard on the commentary that Harry was safe and was even able to catch the snitch in his mouth did relief—warm and wonderful relief—swept over him like a wave.
He couldn't believe something like this had happened under his nose. Severus came to him later that day and told him how he believed that it was Quirrel who had jinxed the broom. He felt a deep anger that threatened to overcome his calmer and more reasonable side. For a moment he wanted to go down and confront Quirenius about this… but he was somehow able to hold himself back from doing something stupid. The best he could do was ask Severus to keep a closer eye on him and to go on with life.
Albu looked down at the tiny fluttering Snitch in his hand. The tiny gold-colored sphere flapped it's wings frantically, trying to get out of Dumbledore's grasp. This was the Snitch that Harry caught… he knew that Snitches have flesh memories and that they remember the touch of the first person who handled them in case of a disputed capture. Everyone, including the maker, has to wear gloves when handling the snitch until releasing one for each game. Because of this, they had to use a new snitch for each game.
But he decided to hold on the snitch… just in case.
He tossed the walnut-sized ball into one of his many cabinets for later on before he turned his gaze back to the Quidditch field… losing himself in his own thoughts again. It felt so strange watching Harry flying in his first game… flying just as good—if not even better than James had been.
How it had brought back memories, James would have been proud at this moment. However, Albus felt a frown pull at the corners of his mouth at the thought that crossed his mind—he knew that James would be glad that Albus had finally passed on the cloak to Harry, but he wished that James were here to give it to his son himself. Albus sat back down at his desk and thought how sad it was that James never got a chance to see what a fine boy his son was, and appreciate all of Harry's good qualities. Lily and James would have been rejoicing at Harry getting into Gryffindor, and doing so well in his classes. He even gave a grim smile when he thought about how James wouldn't have been able to contain himself if he heard that Harry got onto the Quidditch team in his first year. His son became the Quidditch star that he had been hoping for.
No one else knew that the Headmaster kept Harry under almost constant surveillance, in and outside of Hogwarts. Albus sighed. It pained him to think of Harry's past ten years. When he had first seen Harry's thin condition, he had felt like Apparating straight to those Muggles, and blasting their house apart for their treatment of Harry. How he had to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs, often starving him, and allowing their pig of a son to beat him up. How could they do all that to the boy that will one day be the only person that could stand between them and pure evil?
And yet, the most painful thought that the Headmaster was experiencing was the knowledge that he would have to send Harry back there to that treatment again. Harry didn't deserve to be handed over to those people! If Lily and James could've seen Harry's living conditions of the past ten years, they would probably have been sent to Azkaban just for their thoughts. Still, in life difficult choices had to be made, and Dumbledore remained convinced that he had done the best he could. He couldn't continually regret the past. All he could do was give Harry the tools he needed to get through the next few years, and keep him alive.
*Later*
Dumbledore had gone down to the Christmas feast, and he examined Harry from afar. While the boy appeared to be having the time of his life, bless him, every once in a while a perplexed look passed his face. Albus was willing to bet everything he owned that he was thinking of the cloak, and who sent it. Professor Dumbledore knew that Harry would probably be using the cloak in the night to come.
*That night*
Albus intended to move the mirror that very night, he really did. He'd placed the elegant mirror in one of the many unused classrooms and was preparing to move the stone down into the chamber any second. He was under a spell of invisibility as a precaution, and was about to start work on the mirror, when he heard a noise outside in the hallway. He opened the door slightly, but stood back to be able to hear.
Argus's voice floated towards him, clearly audible through the open door. "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—Restricted Section."
"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them," Severus replied, and Albus had to smile. Severus had been planning on putting up extra protections all around the school when he first started suspecting Quirenius of treachery, and it could only be to the good if he had Argus looking out for mischief as well. Then again, Argus was far more likely to find mischievous students than anyone of real threat…
Albus felt a breath of air stir beside him, almost as though someone had walked past him. He listened more closely, and once the sounds of Severus and Argus faded away, he thought that he heard a deep breath that sounded like a sigh of relief. Albus needed only to see Dexter looking dutifully out of a picture frame in the corner of the room to know who it was.
Curious about how Harry would react, Dumbledore waited in the shadows, knowing that at any moment, Harry would see the Mirror. What would it show for him? Would it show him as a powerful wizard, in control of an army? Perhaps in the mirror he would be surrounded with riches, to make up for the poverty in which he'd lived most of his life. Would it show him with a family, safe and away from the Wizarding world? This moment would tell the professor many things about the boy's future, and what kind of heart he had.
He tapped his glasses with his wand so that he was able to see through the cloak to the boy who was looking around the room with curiosity. He watched as Harry turned, and finally noticed the mirror. He watched as he walked forward eagerly, and examined it. When he stepped forward to look into it, he jumped back with a gasp. He watched as Harry turned with a hand over his mouth to keep him from yelling out loud.
A few seconds later, Harry became visible as his invisibility cloak slipped and fell to the floor, pooling around his feet. He was staring, pale and transfixed, at the Mirror of Erised.
There Albus saw the terrible sadness in his eyes, as he stared hungrily into the mirror, his hands pressed against the glass. As Albus watched Harry struggle with his emotions, the boy moved forward as though in a trance, until he was nearly nose-to-nose with the mirror. He stood staring at his reflection for several minutes, giving Albus plenty of time to wonder what it was he was seeing, before whispering, "Mum? Dad?"
A sad smile found its way onto Albus's face. What Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, wanted more than anything else in the world was what millions of children took for granted everyday: his parents. Not fame, not riches, but a family.
They stood that way for a long time, Harry watching his reflection (and presumably his parents), and Albus watching Harry. Finally, Albus felt compelled to intervene. If he let the boy stand there any longer, Harry might well go insane. Just as he moved forward, however, Harry seemed to stir from his reverie and come back to the present.
Harry tore his gaze away from the mirror and glanced around as if he was expecting someone to jump out. He whispered to the mirror, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room. Albus hesitated for a moment, before he too left the room.
Albus sat in his office for several minutes, thinking about what happened. This was an interesting mess to say the least. On the one hand, Harry had been able to pull himself away from the mirror on his own, so he didn't seem likely to go insane. However, if his intent to come back was anything to go by, he was definitely been deeply affected by it. Not that Albus could blame him… he had a sneaking suspicion that until he looked in the mirror, Harry didn't know what his parents even looked like.
Albus wondered if he should move the mirror like he intended that night. On the other hand, this was another test of character for Harry. He'd found out about Fluffy, and from what the portraits said, he was beginning to figure out what was being kept at Hogwarts. Would it be such a bad thing for him to know how the mirror worked as well? It wasn't as though Harry would try to go after the Stone himself, or anything.
As Harry didn't know how the mirror worked, not yet anyway, Albus doubted he would know any better than to come back to look at it again. Therefore, he could reasonably be expected to try to come back, most likely tomorrow night with the invisibility cloak, as he wouldn't want anyone to ask why he was sneaking around in classrooms over the holidays.
Albus decided to leave the mirror as it was for the night. He placed a locking charm on the door to the classroom, but he intended to arrive before Harry tomorrow night anyway.
*The next night*
He had been right that Harry would indeed return to see his parents. The next night, he waited, invisible, in the abandoned classroom. As he sat on a chair near the back of the room, the mirror standing there innocently, as if it was calling to him to into looking into it. At that second, was the sound of voices coming from the corridor outside of the room.
"It's here—just here—yes!" Harry and another boy, who he recognized immediately as Ronald Weasley, entered the room. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror. He regained the wistful expression that his face had held the night before.
Albus almost wished that Hermione Granger were there with them. She was, by all accounts, more likely to understand the mirror when she saw it. It couldn't helped, however, and there were just the two boys. Ron looked around curiously, careful to be quiet in case Filch or Mrs. Norris came.
"See?" Harry whispered.
Ron frowned at Harry's reflection. "I can't see anything."
Harry couldn't understand this. "Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them!"
"I only see you."
Albus wondered how Harry would deal with this, but Harry told Ron to stand in the spot he'd been standing in. Harry moved aside as Ron stood, looking doubtful, in front of the mirror. Ron, predictably, was awed by his reflection.
"I'm alone—but I'm different—I look older—and I'm head boy!"
"What?" said Harry, who had apparently thought that the mirror showed people's families. Albus could see that Harry was confused because he couldn't see what Ron could.
"I am," Ron insisted. "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! D'you think this mirror shows the future?"
"How can it?" Harry asked. "All my family are dead—let me have another look—"
"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time," Ron argued.
This was what Albus had been afraid of. Would they forget about everything but the mirror, or come to their senses, as Harry had appeared to last night?
"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents," Harry said, and though Albus couldn't argue with him, he didn't like the way Harry pushed Ron very slightly backward.
Albus gave a silent sigh. Once again, the power of the mirror had turned friend against friend. "Don't push me!" Ron snapped, but they stopped when Albus used a spell to knock something over in the corridor.
That brought them to their senses, all right, a fact Albus was relieved to see.
"Quick!" It was Ron who grabbed the invisibility cloak and threw it over himself and Harry before Mrs. Norris rounded the corner, eyes glowing suspiciously.
Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's cat, peered around the doorframe suspiciously. Though he was sure that the boys were wondering it, she could not see them through the cloak. After a minute, she turned and left. He smiled as Ron whispered, "This isn't safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."
Harry looked plaintively back at the mirror as Ron pulled him out of the room. As soon as Dumbledore was sure that they were gone, he removed the Invisibility spell and approached the mirror. As he reached it, Argus Filch swung around the doorway.
"Aha!" he shouted. Dumbledore turned and looked at him with his eyebrows raised, pretending to look like he had been distracted from doing something. He was glad to see that Argus must have just missed Ron and Harry. When he noticed that it was the Headmaster instead of a couple students, he looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry Headmaster, I didn't realize…" Dumbledore held up his hand.
"No need, Argus." The caretaker coughed uncomfortably. Mrs. Norris rubbed against his ankles while looking scrutinizing back up at him, as if she knew that he was covering up for the two boys. Argus cleared his throat.
"Well then, headmaster, I'll be on my way now," Albus nodded mutely as he turned back into the corridor. There was a faint cackle and the sound of smashing china.
"PEEVES!" he roared, and raced off in search of the trouble-making poltergeist. Rolling his eyes, Albus turned back to the mirror and gazed ruefully at the sight that met his eyes. After standing pensively for a moment, he too departed. He decided that he would return the next night, sure that Harry would come again.
*The next night*
Dexter informed Albus the next evening that Harry would be visiting the mirror alone that night. Albus was therefore prepared when Harry walked into the classroom.
That is why he was sitting on a desk the following night, waiting once again for Harry to arrive. He had decided not to become invisible, but instead to face Harry and explain to him why he saw what he saw in the mirror. Sure enough, the boy rushed in, his cloak falling from his shoulders, and dashing past where he was seated. Harry sank down to sit on the floor in front of the mirror. He smiled.
He cleared his throat. "So—back again, Harry?" Harry jumped and turned slowly. Albus smiled gently when he saw the scared look on the boy's face, as though his insides had turned to ice.
"I—I didn't see you, sir," he said, abashed.
"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Albus commented lightly smiled at him, and was pleased to see Harry looked relieved. Harry showed signs of getting up, but Albus motioned for him to stay seated and instead slipped off the desk to sit on the floor with him. "So, you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't know it was called that, sir," Harry said hesitantly, and Albus could tell he was wondering whether or not he was in trouble.
"But I expect you realize by now what it does?" Albus asked, hoping for a brilliant answer.
"It—well—it shows me my family—"
"And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy." Harry looked surprised again.
"How did you know—?"
"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," Albus said gently. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" Harry, still confused, shook his head. I tried to think of a way to clarify it.
How about a clue then? "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 was silent a moment as he thought it over. "It shows us what we want… whatever we want…"
Well, he was on the right track, at least. "Yes and no," Albus said quietly, wondering how he would take it. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you." Albus felt a slight pang of sadness at the thought of Lily and James staring out of the mirror at Harry.
"Ron Weasley," he continued, "who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them." Albus couldn't read Harry's expression.
"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." Harry looked down at the floor, twisting a corner of the cloak between his fingers. "The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," Albus told him decisively, "and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared."
He thought for a moment, wondering what else he needed to say. He could hardly tell him what the mirror was being used for, no matter how inclined he was to do so. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that," he said finally. "Now why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"
Harry nodded as he stood up, but paused. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
Albus always found this particular question pointless. "Obviously you've just done so," he smiled. "You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
Albus raised his eyebrows, surprised. Harry, it seemed, had a keener mind than he'd showed tonight; he just needed a bit of training. Albus considered him for a moment.
It was a simple question that deserved a simple answer. And yet it was in no way simple. The briefest glance shows him should have been.
'I see myself,' he thought. 'Myself. But I am not alone. All those people who should be here, are. I see my mother, happy and free like she was supposed to be. I see her love for my father, who stands next to her, happy to be here, happy to be in this family. Free from prison. I see that me and my brother close again like we once were.'
Dumbledore's thoughts paused here, as he looked at Harry's curious face, waiting for an answer.
'But if the Mirror was going to show me one thing, and one thing only, it would be my sister. Ariana: laughing, playing, the opposite of that fragile, delicate creature I once knew. She would be happy, healthy, and her eyes glowing as they once did whenever she smiled. She is surrounded by people who love her, and she would love them all in return. The one thing that I desire more than anything else, however fleeting my glance, would be for her to forgive me. For her to forgive me for failing her when she needed me the most. For failing to be the one thing she needed… a big brother.'
Albus sighs, and surveys the pupil over the top of his half-moon spectacles. The student is eleven, and could an eleven-year-old really understand what the Mirror of Erised shows him?
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks," Albus finally said, thinking of the holes in the pair he was currently wearing. It must not have made much sense to Harry, who was staring at him as if he had spoken in a different language. "One can never have enough socks," he explained. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."
Albus smiled. He guessed that Harry had quite a lot to think about as he headed off to bed.
Harry nodded, though he didn't look completely convinced, and after a moment he turned and left the room. Albus smiled and turned back to face the mirror. He hadn't been telling the truth, but it had been quite a personal question. In the mirror, Dumbledore walked closer to it, his reflection growing with every step he took nearer. When he was only a few inches from the looking glass, his feet stopped moving and his eyes stared into image before him.
Albus' face turned to a smile as he looked at the scene of his family, happy and reunited once again, as the same time tears welled up in his eyes.
"I am so sorry," he whispered, "If I thought that I could, I would go back and change everything. But I know better."
Dumbledore closed his eyes, turned his back on the looking glass and then with firm steps walked out of the room slamming the door behind him. He had to be strong, if Harry could do it so must he.
He remembered his own advice to Harry. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. He had to put all that behind him and stop thinking about what could have been.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt onwoshi
I show not your face but your heart's desire
The sight gripped his heart with hope and sadness beyond belief. There weren't any riches, domination, or cowardice in what Harry saw. A tear fell down the teacher's crooked nose when he realized that he could now indeed truly believe that Harry did have what it took to save them all from Voldemort. For the boy could look into the Mirror of Erised, of desire, and see only the family that he had lost… he saw love.
As the professor went to sleep that night at last, his heart ached for the boy, and for himself. He could understand the hold that it held over Harry. He had seen that love before and he too had it taken away from him. It appeared that he and Harry had more in common than he had first thought. It seemed appropriate that in the future, they would stand and fight together for the people that they cared about as well as for the ones that had already fought and lost.
Maybe they'd fall short, maybe they'd never come close, but they would fight. He knew that they would win; for all that they had never been allowed to have and wanted for everyone else.
(Sorry for taking so long. My computer was infected again and I had to get a new one. So I hope that a long chapter would make up for it. Please review and tell me what you think and what part I should write next.)