Chapter Twelve
Harry led Draco back up to the seventh floor; through a strange corridor he'd never seen before and over a bridge that was suspended between two marble corridors. The seventh floor was always the trickiest to navigate, being the floor coinciding with the most powerful magical number. The Gryffindor common room was on the same floor, but the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was so out of the way, it was impossible to find it without going up and down a few flights of stairs.
Finally, Harry took a right and spotted the tapestry hanging on the wall down the corridor. "Come on, it's here," Harry said.
"We must've walked a goddamned mile," Draco said. "Are you sure this is it? Why don't you just use the library like a normal person? Too used to your celebrity status?"
Harry walked by the tapestry, but there was no door across from it where Hermione said it would be. Turning around, Harry walked past Malfoy and started back the way they'd come, wondering if he'd somehow passed it.
"Wait—where are you going? I thought we were looking for the tapestry," Draco said. "It's right there."
"Right, but… Hermione said the door would be right across from it." Harry walked back down the hallway, past the tapestry. "I don't understand. It should be here. Hermione is never wrong."
Draco snickered. "Maybe she—" Whatever he was going to say, though, was cut off by the appearance of a door, shining out of the stonework as if it had always been there. "Harry, look!"
Harry turned, seeing the door. His eyes widened. "That was not there before."
"No, it wasn't," agreed Draco. "You think that's the room she was talking about?"
"It has to be. I don't see any other doors, do you?"
"Harry, wait," Draco said, but Harry had already pulled open the door and stepped inside.
The interior was much more astonishing than Harry had imagined. When Hermione had said the room, "had its own library," she had poorly understated the amount of books. They were wall to wall—the room was circular—and all the way up to the ceiling, which was high and lit with a golden chandelier. A Persian carpet—lush and red—stretched across the hardwood floor in a subtle design, and—just like Hermione had said—a good set of couches gathered around a small fireplace across from the door.
"A little too Gryffindor for my tastes," Malfoy said. In that instant, the lighting dimmed as if a switch had been lowered. The couches, too, turned a vibrant green and the carpet a startling black—offsetting the gold ornamentation quite nicely.
Harry looked around at the new color scheme. "What did you do?"
Draco shook his head. "It wasn't me, it was the room."
"The room?" Harry looked around. "Er, I could do with a table," he said. Not a moment after, he spotted a table by the door that he was positive hadn't been there before—three-legged and just the right size to pull up to the couches. Harry went to it and hauled it over.
"What is this place?" Draco asked. "There's no way this is something people know about, otherwise it would be packed."
Harry nodded. "It seems like… it gives you what you ask for."
Draco fell into one of the serpent-green armchairs, tapping his fingers on the wooden armrest. "We've got to test this," he said. "A room that can give you anything you want? That would be amazing."
Harry brought his potions textbook out from his bag and opened it on the table the room had provided for him.
"Come on, Harry, don't tell me you don't care. At least ask for something again. I want to see what the room can do."
Harry frowned, pulling his quills and parchment out.
"A mirror?"
Craning his neck around, Harry saw what Draco was talking about. A mirror stood gold-framed and taller than a man in the shadows behind him, as if it had always stood there.
Draco began to read the inscription at the top, "Erised—"
"I show you not your face but your heart's desire," Harry said. "That's what it reads—if you read it backwards."
"How do you know?" Draco asked.
"I've seen it before."
"What does it do? Is it valuable? Is that why you asked the room for it?"
Harry frowned, watching as Draco stood in front of the mirror. His grey eyes widened, turning to look behind him—at Harry—and then back to the mirror. Whatever it was that he saw was enough to make him blush.
"What do you see?" Harry asked.
"N—nothing. Just the mirror."
"No really," Harry said, getting up. "What do you see? I know how the mirror works. It shows you what you desire—what you want most."
Draco flashed a glare at Harry before turning back to his reflection, his mouth slightly open as he watched whatever it was he was seeing play out against the silver surface.
Harry crept up closer, so he stood in front of the mirror with him and the illusion shattered. "What do you see, Draco?"
Draco flinched. "I—Why should I tell you?"
"Aren't we supposed to be friends?" Harry asked. "Friends tell friends what they see in the Mirror of Erised."
Draco looked from Harry's eyes, to the mirror, to the floor. "Alright, fine," he said. "I see…" He took a deep breath. "I see my father and… and he's proud of me." He frowned then and a furious blush grew across his face.
Harry nodded. "That's a good thing to see," he said, but his tone was weighty and his eyes were on the mirror.
Draco stepped back and looked into the mirror's depths, but saw nothing. Harry's expression changed, though, to one of unspeakable sadness. "What is it?" Draco asked. "What do you see?"
"My family," Harry said. "All of them. My parents… grandparents… an aunt and an uncle, maybe a cousin…" He smiled, but it was a miserable expression. "They're all there, behind me."
Draco stepped into the reflection of the mirror, and all the others disappeared from Harry's vision. Harry turned to him, frowning. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked the room for anything," Harry said.
"Why did you ask for the mirror, anyway?" Draco asked.
Harry shook his head. "I didn't," he said. "I asked for my parents."
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