There was a disturbance in the Great Hall during breakfast. It started in the midst of that mornings mail delivery, when an owl dropped a Daily Prophet in front of Pansy Parkinson. Before it had arrived, she and Malfoy had been pointing and laughing at a rather frumpy looking Hufflepuff. But she quickly went as white as a sheet of ice when she untied the Prophet and read.
Malfoy and of few of the other Slytherins, having taken notice of this stark change, crowded around. One by one their faces fell. Malfoy's most of all. He looked sick even. There were some however, who's mouths twitched with glee, Crab and Goyle and a hand full of other Slytherins.
Wondering what could possibly scare Malfoy and yet cause his henchmen incurable delight, Harry turned to Hermione, who too had the prophet gripped tightly in her hands.
"Um, Hermione," inquired Harry worriedly. "what's going on? Has another person gone missing?"
Hermione jutted her jaw and then shook her head in disbelief.
"There are riots at the ministry," she said and then turned the paper around so that the front page was clearly visible. "The world knows about the grimoires."
Pictures of furious witches and wizards, each brandishing their wand at a barrier of Aurors that stood firm, determined not to let them pass, covered the page.
'Breaking News: Revelation Causes Unrest:
Riots at the ministry building ignited yesterday afternoon after famed speculomancer and former Head Decryptor at the Department of Mysteries, Annalie Hargreaves, sent letters to every news outlet in Europe detailing the ministry's alleged mishandlings of two mythical grimoires. Known to many as one of the darkest of the dark arts, grimoires of the Eldritch Arts were allegedly stolen from the Department of Mysteries more than one year ago by Barty Crouch Jr and Peter Pettigrew, two Death Eaters known to have plotted to resurrect You Know Who. If Hargreaves is to be believed, these very books were used in the ritual – recounted by the Boy Who Knows - to revive You Know Who just three months ago.
"Damn them! It's the ministry's fault You Know Who How is back! They've condemned us all," one furious rioter had to say.
It is unclear how long this riot will continue and if it will come to violence. However, tension is only continuing to grow as the Destaunt Cornwallis, the Minister for Magic, refuses to make a statement.'
Harry had only just finished reading it, when he noticed Hermione straighten from the corner of his eye. A teacher must have been near. Hermione only became so formal when one was around or watching.
"Mr. Potter."
At the call of his name, Harry turned around and found himself face to waist with Professor McGonagall. Looking up, Harry saw her usually stern brow, tense further at the sight of the Daily Prophet.
"A Message from the Headmaster," she said, taking her eyes off the Prophet and handing him a note. Without waiting to exchange pleasantries, McGonagall was away again.
It seemed McGonagall had been aware of the riots.
Hermione nodded to the note. "Well go on Harry," she encouraged him.
"Right," Harry said, staring down the note.
'Harry, I need to see you in my office. 7:30 tonight should do. – Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster'
"He wants to meet me tonight. In his office." Harry looked up to Hermione. "Can't imagine why though. Wasn't like he wanted to hear me out last time." He was still a bit bitter about Dumbledore's blatant disregard of his side of the story with Hargreaves.
"Your ministry vill likely not last the fall term," interjected Elena, from behind him.
Her and Ron had come into the hall, unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione. She held hands with Ron, who had a Prophet and a letter tucked under his arm. He did not contradict Elena.
Ron sat hard beside Harry. "Dad's usually puts these sorts of thing into perspective when the Prophet's outdone itself on the sorts of rubbish it writes," he told them, staring past his hands.. "He reckons it's serious this time. No one knows what will happen next."
A grimness had settled over them. Even Hermione didn't try and lighten the mood, seeing as she usual was able to brush off this sort of thing.
"Dad might lose his job. Hell, there might not be a job for him to come back to tomorrow."
Harry felt his heart twist at the thought of Mr. Weasley out of a job. He just hoped that Mr. Weasley was saving the TriWizard Cup winnings he had given him just before the start of the summer. There was a reason Ron's family had been able to afford a trip to Romania to see Charlie, though Harry prayed Ron would never know that.
"That Hargreaves, one might think she has planned it this way," posed Elena, breaking into his thoughts.
"What do you mean by that?" asked Hermione.
"It is odd, no, that she writes a letter to every one of your papers with this information? Information so poverful it makes riots in the street? Vhy do this? She seems to care little for these politics. And she is not the self-sacrificing type, we can all agree on this. So vhy?"
"Your right about one thing," Harry began. "She's told me herself she doesn't care about any side, Voldemort, the ministry, the order. Though she did say something about going as far as her obligations and no further. Whatever that meant."
Elena grinned at this as if it were some intriguing clue to a mystery. "No loyalty to any side, and yet is bound to someone else's vill. To whom, vould be the next quvestion. And vhy vould this person want to veaken the ministry?"
Harry felt the hairs on his neck prickle.
It wasn't long after that the entire hall was thrown into chaos, everyone fretting about the outside world and the meaning of the riots. It was only defused by McGonagall, who told them all to keep calm and carry on with classes and then proceeded to cast a spell upon the enchanted ceiling that rained on anyone who so much as mentioned riots, the ministry or grimoires.
After Harry scrambled to fill three parchments on the Four Branches of Bloodtraits – courtesy of Professor Hargreaves – Harry climbed the final step to Dumbledore's office. Checking his watch, he remembered that it was still broken. He really needed to fix that.
"It is your duty," said a man's voice. It was coming from inside Dumbledore's office. If the Headmaster's voice was calm and unwavering, this one was terse and rasping. It sounded foreign yet all too familiar at the same time.
Harry crept closer to the gap in the door, hoping to find out just who would demand anything from the Headmaster of Hogwarts in such a way.
"You have made it abundantly clear that my duty is to this school and to its students," said Dumbledore genially. "And let's not forget, its teachers as well."
"If that is what you gathered, then you misunderstood, Albus," said the man, simply, as if denying that any such conversation ever took place. The man then cleared his throat from an excess of phlegm. "Mmm. In which case, I should make myself clear. Your duty is to me and the ministry. And my people need to have faith in both if we are going to win this war. That is why you need to show them. Help me convince them that the ministry is still strong."
"Perhaps, it's you who needs to convince them. I am merely a Headmaster. They elected you, not me," said Dumbledore. "They are afraid. Confide in them and show them that they are led by a man with a great deal of trust to give and the courage to persevere. Stand before your people, Destaunt, and tell them the truth."
Harry's breath caught at the door. Suddenly he felt very uncomfortable, having been eavesdropping on two of the most important wizards in the wizarding world. He made to turn away when, the minister caught his ear and his words pulled him back.
"They don't want the truth. Mmm. Besides, they will eat me alive."
"Then let them do so. If anything, it will show them that the ministry is willing to admit their mistake."
"Yes yes, except for the fact that it was under Cornelius leadership that the grimoires were stolen, not mine. But no one seems to care about that. No, what they want is blood, Albus, blood," the minister punched. He then sighed and through the gap in the door Harry saw the minster take a chair and sink into it, cradling his brow with a thumb and forefinger.
"Forgive me, I have not slept much." Destaunt ran his hand down his face. " It needs to come from you. The ministry must stand strong, or at least have the appearance of it," he finished, hoping Dumbledore might change his mind. When he made no appearance of doing so, Destaunt cleared his throat and added, "Mmm. Fine. If not for duty, then… for my word." He groaned that last part as if his word was the most significant and difficult thing to say in the world.
Harry shifted to catch Dumbledore's reaction and saw the Headmaster raise a silvery eyebrow.
"I, of course, would need more than your word on that, Destaunt."
"I know, I know, The Unbreakable Vow," he waved away, though his tone was anything but cavalier. "But only if you do this for me. Forget the Hargreaves woman."
"And what exactly is it that you want me to do?"
"I've just told you," the minister snapped impatiently.
"Very well," said Dumbledore, outstretching his arm to the minister, who rose from his armchair and embraced the Headmaster all the way up to the elbow. Whatever the Unbreakable Vow was, the minister wanted to get it over with.
Dumbledore then passed his wand over the joining. Where their arms met, a sinew of gold appeared and bound them together in a knot.
Destaunt spoke first.
"Will you put an end to these riots, no matter what it takes?"
"I will," replied Dumbledore.
"And will you assure the people that I was not to blame for the theft?"
Dumbledore smiled warmly, and a twinkle shone in his brilliant blue eyes. "That should be easy enough. And do you, Destaunt, grant me one favor, whatever it be?"
"Yes, of course" rushed the minister.
The golden stand brightened, before it sunk into both of their robes. And then it was over.
"Albus," the minister nodded curtly, sounding pleased with himself. "Now I must be going."
In his haste to leave, Destaunt freed himself from Dumbledore and hurried to the door. Harry sprung back from the gap as the minister came towards him and retreated back to one of the benches that hugged the side wall. Once there, he pretended to be studying a portrait of a gazelle that hung on the wall.
"When can we expect your speech?" Destaunt must have turned back around just before he made it to the door, because his voice was only slightly muffled.
He didn't hear Dumbledore's reply, but Harry knew that the Headmaster gave one because he could hear just the faint mumble from further in. Then the doors were swinging wide open and the minster was hastening to the stairs. But not before he caught sight of Harry.
"Oh my, Harry Potter?" he said, looking a bit alarmed. He looked quickly back into the office, probably wondering if Harry could have overheard anything. "You were his 7:30 then?"
Harry nodded before asking with a hint of sarcasm, "Still keeping up the good fight, minister?" He didn't mean to say it, but it just kind of slipped out. Or maybe he did mean to say it. The minister of magic would not speak to his own people during a riot because he feared they would blame him? There was no courage in that.
The minister narrowed his drooping eyes onto Harry. "We are doing all that we can."
Once the minister had gone, Harry entered the office to find Dumbledore, greeting him with a twinkle still in his eye.
"I take it you overheard our little meeting?" asked Dumbledore.
Harry gave a sort of awkward nod.
"Good. Well then that saves us a bit of time. I want you to attend this speech of mine," said Dumbledore. "Of course, only if you are willing-"
"Why? I'm just a student," Harry asked, taken aback. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but he didn't understand why Dumbledore would want a student with him while he tried to talk down angry rioters.
"You do yourself a discredit, Harry. You are more than just a student. You are Harry Potter, a student, yes, but also an accomplished wizard," – he looked at Harry from over his half-moon spectacles – "and, although you can get ahead of yourself from time to time, you are a wizard I can trust."
Color rushed to Harry's cheeks.
"I'll go," he said firmly.
"Marvelous," smiled Dumbledore. "Now unless you have any questions of me, that concludes our meeting."
"Wait, that's it?" frowned Harry. He had expected more.
"Yes, that is it. I will call on you when it is time."
/~~\
It was Tuesday evening already and Harry stood outside Hargreaves office. It had been three days since his meeting with Dumbledore and he had half wished the Headmaster would have pulled him out of school just before his private lesson. Since Dumbledore had yet to address the wizarding world, the riots rage on. Morning after morning the front page of the Daily Prophet grew more dim and worrisome.
And yet, Harry found himself hung up on this lesson. It was causing him to miss Quidditch after all, and in his opinion, if he was going to miss tryouts for anything it would be to help Dumbledore not be stuffed into an office with Hargreaves.
Thankfully Angelina Johnson had taken the news well when he met with her earlier that week. Though, her eye had developed a stubborn twitch as he explained his dismal situation. There had been little sympathy in that facial spasm, but she wasn't about to lose her Seeker so an exception was made; he would just have to attend the Quidditch practice after his lessons; apparently the new practice regimen was going to be extra strict that year. Angelina had already begun spouting claims that she'd make Wood proud and win the Quidditch cup by doubling their practice time.
With private lessons every month and more time spent training on the pitch, it was a wonder if Harry would ever see Hermione and Ron again outside of classes. A surge of guilt clenched at his stomach. To think that he was missing Ron's Keeper tryout for this.
Harry nudged the door with his foot in frustration. He hadn't meant to kick it open, but that was exactly what happened. The door swung at a snail's pace, revealing the office he had been in so many times before.
His new teacher, dressed in her navy robes and pointy hat, was perched on a bench by the window, brow knitted as she gazed out as if lost in some incalculable problem.. She had not noticed Harry, and so, taking that opportunity to get a handle on his surrounding, he poked around. You never knew if you were going to accidentally bump into some cursed object or come face to face with a poisonous snake in a teacher's office, especially the Defense Against the Dark Arts
The office had loads of new magical trinkets and decorations covering its walls. With every new year, the furnishing changed yet the room's skeleton stayed all too familiar. It was unnerving; he had been attacked in this very space by a Death Eater, only months ago.
The images rushed into Harry's mind: Mad Eye's war-torn face, twisting and warping into that of Barty Crouch Jr. But as quickly as they came, Harry managed to swallow them back down where they lingered as a queasiness in his gut and made only worse by the heaps of multi-colored rugs that that covered the floors. The pattern of each one shifted and spun into themselves kaleidoscopically. As he watched them, his upset stomach gurgled up into his throat.
Set atop the rugs were exotic chairs and tables, carved and painted with colorful designs and lit by crystal chandeliers that covered the room in floating orbs of rainbow-like light. It was all so…colorful and was totally at odds with Hargreaves' usual terse nature.
Just about the only thing that felt in line with her demeanor, were the mirrors hung upon every space of wall that wasn't already occupied by a table, armoire or window. Big ones, small ones, ones as tall as the ceiling.
The corner of the room suddenly erupted into a squeaky bickering. It drew both Harry and Hargreaves attention to a trestle by the side wall. There sat a chess set. It was obviously wizard's chess, because the King and Queen of the scarlet pieces were arguing loudly with each other about the King's attire and how he thought it perfectly appropriate to wear his nightcap to battle. On the ivory side, the White Queen rubbed her temples as she lay, slumped against a rook.
Hargreaves flicked a spell at the set. They froze and slide across the board, where they fell in like in their proper square.
"Sit, Mr. Potter," she said, indicating a seat opposite her desk with a glance.
The carpets - patterns shifting as they were - gave him the unpleasant sensation of falling as he passed over them. He was relieved to sink into the sturdy chair, but relief quickly faded when he saw Hargreaves, watching him intently.
"So, Mr. Potter, it appears I finally have you all alone. What should I do? Curse you? Kidnap you away to the Dark Lord? So many tempting options," she said, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue.
Harry glared at her, feeling his cheeks warm. Then he shrugged. It was painful how silly it all sounded now.
"I think a good curse should do it," he said, letting a bit of cheek slip.
Hargreaves raised an eyebrow at that as if re-assessing him, after something she did not expect. And then she smiled. "Adequate," she inclined her head.
Harry thought he must have been hallucinating. Hargreaves? Smiling? Impossible.
But there it was right in front of him. Maybe, just maybe, they could even learn to get along.
The Dreamless Sleep potion had given Harry a weeks' worth of regular 15 year old boy sleep, minus the wet dreams. In that week, his brain seemed to finally return to good working order and he had been able to retrace his encounters with Hargreaves with a clear mind. If that night in the mirror of Ateli Kosmos and Dumbledore's insistence didn't persuade him, it had been Hermione's badgering on Hargreaves innocence. And Hermione had a way of convincing Harry of pretty much anything. It may take a while, but she had the patience to do it.
The smile lingered on Hargreaves' lips as she took the seat opposite Harry. "In these lessons I will teach you the fundamentals of speculomancy. It will be difficult, I assure you, and will require your undivided attention as inadequate as it may be." She sniffed and licked her lips. So much for 'getting along.' "Before we go forward, you must understand that speculomancy is an extremely volatile gift, which if blundered can lead to catastrophe."
Harry frowned at that. "Um, professor, what kind of catastrophes?" he asked.
Actually the question he really wanted to ask was about the catastrophe Hargreaves had created by sending those letters to every paper in Europe. It had been on his mind for the better part of the week, sharing space with his guilt for breaking his promise to Ron. But he didn't ask the question for several reason. The main one being that he severely doubted she would answer it. And also he didn't really want to spoil this 'new beginnings' lesson with Hargreaves.
"Mirrors are powerful objects as you may have discovered," Hargreaves said, "So much so that there is even still a very real superstition surrounding them in the muggle world. You may have heard of the most famous one, that is, if you shatter a mirror you will have seven years bad luck."
"Er," Harry tried to recall. The Dursleys had never been superstitious, in fact they seemed to detest the idea.
"The superstition comes from a very real danger when using magic mirrors. If your reflection stands in one as it shatters, you lose something of yourself. And it is more than just your reflection that is stolen away by the mirror. Some believe it also steals away the soul." Hargreaves informed him.
"Your soul?" he whispered, remembering the Dementors, remembering how they performed the Kiss of Death on Sirius (only to fail). And a violent shiver rummaged down his spine. "That doesn't happen with all mirrors? It can't."
"True. Only magic mirrors have the power to capture a soul. But even the most normal mirror will make a muggle or magic folk incurably clumsy for a time. I have a theory about that. I believe it damages the soul in some form, but nothing a few years can't heal. However, should you stand in a magic mirror as it shatters, there is no coming back from that. There is nothing left to heal. Speculomancers - seeing as the very nature of mirror magic is volatile - often suffer such a thing."
With that horrifying notion out on the table, she pulled out a stack of three colossal leather-bound books from her bag and thumped them onto the table. "Which is why you need to be prepared. For if you prepare, you might survive."
She slid the stack towards Harry. "First you are to study these," she finished.
"What?!" he argued before he could stop himself. They were massive. She was asking him to read dictionary sized books atop of his regular studies? Even Snape wouldn't be so cruel. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Harry didn't know what cruelties Snape was capable of, but he now knew what Hargreaves was.
Professor Hargreaves ignored him.
"You will read over the first chapter of Beyond the Mirror now. You will need to know the Oscailte charm before we continue. Though I expect you to finish it by our next meeting," she said, tapping, of course, the fattest tome with a ringed finger.
Harry grimaced. It was hard to believe that Hargreaves wasn't finding some sadistic pleasure in this.
Stifling the urge to argue further, Harry pulled the top book from the stack, which banged onto the desk. Dust puffed up and Harry read the title emblazoned in silvery blue font, Beyond the Mirror by Derikk Glasswater. Derikk Glasswater.
Harry looked up from the cover. "He was who you sent the letter too."
"It was."
"Then he's a speculomancer too…"
"He is," said Hargreaves then she patted the book in a condescending manner. "Read."
"How many of us are out there?" asked Harry, ignoring this. It felt odd to put himself into the same category as Hargreaves. "Are there really only five?"
Hargreaves seemed to have no intention of carrying on this conversation, for she opened up the book for him. "Read, Mr. Potter. I only have so much time in these lessons to prepare you.
Rolling his eyes, Harry leaned over the page and read the short preface-
It is my dearest wish that this instruction manual to the arcane art of speculomancy falls into the ownership of the next generation. That you may find our Kingdom and restore our kind to its former glory. Not to take up where our ancestors left off but to begin a new era of exploration for Aperion-
"Start at chapter 1," interjected Hargreaves, looking irritated that Harry had started at the preface. "Glasswater has some very foolish notions. There is little need to read of them."
"Aperion? What does he mean?" Harry frowned over at Hargreaves.
She sighed as one might after a child has just asked how babies are made and that there was little use postponing the topic.
"It's a fantasy. Derikk has yet to see that though. He believes there is a lost speculomancer kingdom complete with a castle that is every speculomancers birthright," said Hargreaves with an air of overdone skepticism. "Now read."
"But professor," halted Harry.
"Read." Hargreaves shoved the book closer to him.
Harry huffed but otherwise continued.
Here we are. You have opened up my book and taken the plunge into an art that's spells and enchantments have caused the rise and fall of many great civilization since the dawn of magic, changing the world time and time again.
There are three spells that constitute the foundation of speculomancy. Two of which will be discussed later in this text. But for now, we will begin with the Oscailte charm.
It is as much a spell as a dialogue between the speculomancer and the mirror-
"Are you finished, Mr. Potter," said Hargreaves impatiently.
"I'm only on the third paragraph," admitted Harry, embarrassed that he read so slowly.
The Dursley's had never given him a book to read in his life, which had severely stunted his reading level. It was one of the reasons he was so dreadful at potions with its lengthy text but succeeded in Defense Against the Dark Arts which was primarily hands on. He had always admired Hermione for her ability to finish great hulking books in less than a day, but it was just something he struggled to do.
Hargreaves frowned at him in a disapproving manner.
Harry continued to read, though he could feel Hargreaves eyes on him, which made it even more difficult. After five minutes, and only making it to the end of the first page, Hargreaves stopped him.
"Dumbledore told me you are a more… practical wizard. Is this true?" she asked.
Harry flushed, but he nodded.
"I dared not believe it," she said insufferably. "I suppose, a more practical lesson it will have to be then. Up, Mr. Potter."
Brushing aside the vivid image of strangling her, Harry stood up. At least he didn't have to keep reading.
She led him into a partitioned alcove, where an oval mirror hovered up against the wall.
"Malik," she beckoned.
The man in the golden mask promptly drifted into his frame.
"You called, Mistress."
"Come, join us in the main office."
Malik nodded and his frame glided along with them as they returned to the office and stopped at a mirror by the window. It seemed to be a regular mirror. No ornate frame or not-so-solid glass.
"It is one of Glasswater's make," she told Harry as she extended her vine wand so that the tip touched the glass. "Oscail."
The harsh whispered spell caused the mirror to hum with magic. Faster and faster it vibrated, humming. Harry's reflection blurred as the glass shook. And then the humming became faint, and the vibration slowed so that, the once solid glass, oscillated like waves on a disturbed pool of water.
The tip of Hargreaves wand dipped into it, and the waves calmed and parted.
"Dunta," she cast again, and the mirror crinkled as it stiffened and regained its rigidness.
"Any witch or wizard with a wand can enter an active magic mirror made in this century," Hargreaves informed him. "It is mirrors from the age of Aperion, such as the mirror of Ateli Kosmos, that are subject to different laws. For reasons unknown, only a speculomancer can pass through one after it is activated with Oscail."
"You just said Aperion wasn't real..."
"It's not," she said flatly, "but speculomancers have largely been responsible for the scientific classifications for mirrors. It is similar to how the muggles keep naming newly discovered planets and their moons after ancient gods. They do not actually believe these gods exist, but it is a tribute to the myths. The Age of Aperion is really just a way of saying, before recorded history, and largely refers to mirrors that can access the mirror realms."
Harry's eyebrows raised at the name, the mirror realms.
Hargreaves took notice and added, "I have given you enough to think on for the moment. I do not want you distracted for the task ahead."
"Which is…?"
Hargreaves moved on from Glasswater's magic mirror and came to an armoire shackled shut by several draping metal chains. Hargreaves inserted a key into the padlock that held them together and with a click they fell to the floor with a clatter.
"The world is changing quickly, Mr. Potter. And I do not have the time for you to take the leisurely route in your learnings," she admitted. "If practical is what you need, then your practical lesson starts here."
Hargreaves pulled open the armoire double doors and let them bang against the sides.
Inside was a stunning mirror of the same tarnished bronze that the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos was made of, but the interwoven knot-work was of a harsher nature, diamond-like.
"The Mirror of Oikos," she said before turning to him. "Cast oscail directly at it. Go on, we do not have all evening."
"You want me to do what? Professor," Harry blurted, "you just said they could shatter if I get it wrong! And I haven't even finished the first chapter yet."
Hargreaves weighed that. "This is true, but you cannot let fear stop you. Knowledge can only bring you so far in speculomancy. It is a magic based in intuition. Trust that the mirror will open for you, and it will."
Harry swallowed hard. Then, with a unsteady hand, he leveled his wand at the Mirror of Oikos.
With the daunting task of opening a mirror that could steal his soul should he break it, Harry only vaguely noticed Hargreaves gesture to Malik.
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Harry stepped forward so that his wand made contact with a click. Then he closed his eyes, more out of prayer than focus.
"Oscail," he muttered weakly.
When Harry opened his eyes, he was disappointed to find the mirror was still solid. Yet relieved that it was still intact.
"Confidence, Mr. Potter."
"Oscail," he recited again, with more 'confidence.'
The mirror did not respond with even the slightest wobble.
"Perhaps you need another demonstration, Mr. Potter," reprimanded Hargreaves as she swept past him. Standing in the mirror, she spoke, "Oscail."
It hummed and liquified.
She turned to Malik. "Close the mirror after," she said and then gave Harry a hard look. "Should he fail, come get me."
"As you wish, Mistress," Malik bowed.
Then she faced the mirror and stepped through.
It swallowed her whole, rippled from the disturbance, and then settled to a calm, before Malik outstretched his hands and the mirror solidified.
Frustrated that Hargreaves should leave him so suddenly with giving him only the slightest bit of advice - and deciding that Malik would likely be of no help - Harry gripped the hilt of his wand tighter and shut his eyes. He would do this on his own then. If the mirror opened to Hargreaves so easily, then it would open to Harry.
It will not shatter, he told himself. Please, don't shatter.
"Oscail," he said with a firmness he scarcely felt.
In the darkness of his sight, he heard a humming. Opening his eyes, Harry witnessed the mirror losing its shape and become like silvery water.
Harry nearly jumped with excitement. It didn't break!
He waited there for a moment, expecting Hargreaves to come back through and to hopefully congrate him, but she never came. That was when Malik turned to Harry.
"You are to follow." He gestured to the mirror.
"Oh, uh," said Harry clumsily, taken off guard that Malik had spoken to him. "Right then."
Screwing up his face, Harry stepped up to the glass. He let out a breat before he took the plunge. The tip of Harry's nose was the first thing to sink into its surface, next his arm, and then everything else.
The familiar icy chill cut him to the marrow, though he noted vaguely that it was not as cold as when he went into the Mirror of Ateli Kosmos.
But unlike the mist and darkness that had been inside that mirror, the Mirror of Oikos brought him to a land of twilight that seemed to have no beginning or end. It was gorgeous. Spectacular blends of violet and cobalt and baby blues all bleeding into one another to forge all the colors in between.
Harry gave a start when he finally looked down. With no mist hiding his feet, Harry saw what he was standing on...thought it would be more accurate to say Harry saw what he was not standing on, because the was no floor. It seemed to go on forever downward, a never-ending twilight sky. It was as if he were trapped in between two domes of sky, one above and one below, with no horizon to speak of, boundless in every direction he looked.
Hogwarts had taught him some of the weird and awe-striking magics of the wizarding world, but nothing could have quite prepared him for this.
"Adequate, Mr. Potter," said Hargreaves from up ahead. She too was standing on thin air. "Welcome back to the mirror realm."
