Chapter Fifteen ― What We Are in the Dark
Summary: Harry Potter was raised in an orphanage, aware but confused about his magical powers. Near his eleventh birthday, he discovers he has a twin sister raised by abusive relatives for reasons he does not understand. Yearning for a family, he delves into a messy and violent Magical Britain that is yet to shrug off the effect of the latest blood war.
Important Note: I have a Discord server! There, you will be able to talk to me, ask questions, and read chapters before they come out. There should always be at least one chapter on Discord that is yet to be published on FFnet in either of my stories. The next chapter of Serpentine Advice, Speaking Up, is already available. I expect you there! Link in my profile.
Similarly, I have a P*R*T*N account, where you can gain access to even earlier access chapters, among other rewards. There, you can also see the long-term plans I have regarding the Harry Potter universe to create a world-building effort for other authors. No chapter I ever write will be found behind a paywall, and you are under no obligation to support me, but I will appreciate those who do. Link in my profile.
Lunar Calendar: If you enjoy this story, please considering reading my newest story, Lunar Calendar, which covers a year of travels between Luna and Harry following the end of the war, as they struggle with their recovery and yearn to find out more about themselves and the world around them.
The following morning, Harry had been confused by the unmarked gift he had received and had resolved to open it last. There was much there on that gift pile to make him quite happy. Daphne had given him a couple of books on Wizarding Traditions, with instructions to read them before the end of the year, which he was more than happy to do. Tracey had given him a charmed mug in the shape of a cauldron that kept the drinks as cold or as warm as he wanted it to, telling him that she hoped it would resist his freezing episodes. Blaise had sent a set of nice quills and a sharpening knife from Italy, saying it was a traditional gift for his home country. Pansy had sent him a bottomless book bag, which was a surprisingly thoughtful gift. He felt a bit bad for sending her a box of premium chocolates, but she had mentioned she rather liked the sweet, so he tried not to delve into it.
His favorite gift, by far, had been Rose's. It was simple, but he liked it. She did not have the time to peruse much through the owl-deliverable options, but she had snuck into the library when he wasn't paying attention and read a book on traditions concerning the Wizengamot, specifically regarding Heirs and Heiresses which were expected to sit on the council one day. As their rings were normally invisible, Heirs frequently chose to use necklaces with signifiers of their family association. It eventually became something of a tradition for the Lord to give his Heir a new one every generation, as something unique to each future Lord, instead of the Ring, which passed down from father to child. So, she bought him a simple necklace with an engraving of a hippogriff, an animal they both knew had a connection to their family via Godric Gryffindor. The fact that he had also bought her a collar made the gift even more special, in his estimation.
By the time he had finished admiring Rose's gift, there was only the unmarked gift left. He gingerly shook the box and then opened it slowly. There was a silvery fabric that shimmered brightly in the dim lighting of his dorm. Harry frowned. Was it a dressing gown or a special robe of some kind?
When he grabbed it, he felt such a rush of magic that he released it, startled. The fabric fell unevenly in the ground, but the tingling sensation Harry had felt after he touched it remained on his hand. It felt very much like his wand when he first waved it on Ollivander's. He pondered if it was a good idea to touch a strange, obviously powerful object from an unknown source, but his curiosity was making it difficult to ignore the gift's presence.
It was oddly reminiscent of the instant acceptance he had given to Rosier's magical balls. There was something about it that told him that the object in question was too magically powerful to be sidelined, and his desire to control his magic and become stronger was overcoming his reticence at trusting a stranger.
There was a note inside the box.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.
A Very Merry Christmas to you.
Harry frowned again. He did not recognize the handwriting, but then, it was not like he traded letters with adults frequently, and the person was obviously older than him if his father had given him something to keep before 1981. The fact that the object in question had belonged to his father had clung to his mind, and together with his natural draw to powerful things, he grabbed the fabric once more.
It was a cloak, but there were no fasteners, which was odd. The sensation of power from the object enhanced enormously when Harry brought it closer to him, and he couldn't help but shiver a bit. It wasn't a feeling he had ever felt before, even during the moments in which he lost control of his magic. He threw the cloak over his shoulder and immediately felt as if he was beneath a waterfall of magic as the cloak settled lightly over his body. Curious as to how he looked with it, he walked to the closest mirror, taking care to not wake up anyone in the process.
He stared at the floating head depicted in the mirror confusedly for a moment before he gasped loudly and took a step backward, wide-eyed and startled. He looked again.
He couldn't see himself. For a brief moment he thought he was physically without a body, but then the absurdity of that thought imposed itself and he relaxed. Though he still did gently pat his chest just to be safe. It took him another second to understand what happened.
It was the cloak. It made him invisible. Wizards had Insibility Cloaks!
Harry was giddy with the possibilities. He could do so many things while invisible around the school! No more having to obey the curfew when he went out exploring. He grinned. He would have to show this to Rose, she'd love it too, and they could comfortably fit under it together.
Something rustled behind him, and Harry instantly threw the Cloak to the floor on a reflex. He decidedly wanted to keep this a secret from the people around him, as it would give him an enormous advantage.
"Potter?" Nott asked blearily, with only his face still bearing marks from the pillow from the night of sleep bursting through the bed curtains. "What's all that noise?"
"Sorry," Harry said apologetically. Nott didn't talk to him much, but at least he was no longer flinching when Harry frowned in his general direction. "I tripped over a box gift and almost fell."
"Oh yeah, it's Yule today," the other boy said more excitedly. "I almost forgot."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, making a note to call the holiday Yule inside the Dungeons instead of Christmas. He then frowned slightly. "I've been meaning to ask you, why aren't you with your family?"
The other boy's countenance darkened slightly, and he glowered at Harry, who blinked back at the hostile reaction. The two were the only boys in their year staying for the winter holiday, and he was hoping to use the opportunity to know more about his roommate, but apparently, he had touched a nerve.
"It's none of your business!" The boy snapped and retreated behind his curtains again.
"Sorry," Harry muttered more to himself than to the other boy, who was undoubtedly not willing to hear it at the moment.
Harry then folded the Cloak and put it in his bag. He would be in the library later anyway, so he would debut Pansy's gift. It helped that it was so beautiful, made out of dark green dragonskin, smooth to the touch, and very well crafted. He wore it over his shoulder, crossed over his body, and couldn't help but lightly caress the bag with his left hand. It felt warm and inviting to pass his hand over its creases and lightly feel the resistance of the scales, smoothened though they were.
He was excited to show the Cloak to Rose, but she wasn't in the Great Hall when he arrived. McGonagall was, though, as she waved him to come when she caught sight of him, leaving her half-eaten breakfast on the Head Table.
"Hello, Mr. Potter," the Professor greeted with a terse nod. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Professor McGonagall," Harry smiled slightly. McGonagall was probably his favorite teacher so far, and he found Transfiguration to be a natural skill. Something was soothing about her presence, despite the stern exterior, which was likely how she reminded him of Esther, back in the orphanage. "Is Rose not up yet?"
"About that," the woman pinched her nose slightly. "I think it's better if you follow me."
"Is everything alright?" Harry asked concernedly. He wasn't too worried given McGonagall's lack of urgency, but some nightmare scenarios still passed through his head before he could control them with the cool blanket of thinking about Rose's letters.
"She's fine," she explained hurriedly. "It's just she's rather emotional at the moment."
"What happened?" Harry pressed.
"It was a gift she received," she admitted, looking a bit sad. "She's happy about it, but it was too much."
The Professor seemed distant as they walked up many flights of stairs. Harry wondered what had caused Rose to get so emotional and to cause McGonagall so much distraction.
He couldn't think of anything through the fog of worry heightening in his mind as the other boy fell silent, but soon enough, they were in Gryffindor Tower.
"Uhm, Professor?" Harry asked nervously, looking around as some students passed them by, with one or two greeting them on their way to the Great Hall in the mostly deserted school. "Is it a good idea if I'm here near the Gryffindor Common Room? I thought we weren't supposed to enter other House's spaces?"
"Gryffindor is my House, Mr. Potter," she responded sternly. "I decide who gets to enter. Besides," she side-eyed him, "you know perfectly well that you're well received by my lions."
"Well, yes..." he trailed off, unsure.
"Then you'll be fine," she said with finality before they stopped before the portrait of the Fat Lady. "Noblesse oblige."
The portrait curtseyed and opened, revealing the warm, cozy Gryffindor Common Room. Unlike the vast and imposing Slytherin one, the Gryffindor Common Room was small and cramped, but it was also a lot more homely. It truly did give away the impression of a second family that McGonagall had conveyed to them before the Sorting, particularly now that there a few scattered students excitedly showing off their gifts to one another. The Weasley family seemed to be present in Hogwarts in its entirety, with the older, prefect one sitting in one of the room's plumb armchairs and leisurely reading a book, and the twins whispering to another one after sending a cheeky wave in Harry's direction. The youngest, with whom Rose had initially clashed and had now more or less faded into the background.
Rose was sitting on a corner, silently weeping and hugging something very close to her chest, though he could not tell what it was. Harry approached her gently, and the instant Rose saw him, she began bawling and immediately glomped him in a strong hug. Harry was initially shocked but hugged her gently back, whispering things to calm her down. It took a few minutes, and some people were looking in their direction, but McGonagall cast some privacy spell around them and glowered fiercely in the direction of the bystanders, who quickly occupied themselves with other things.
"Rose, what is it?" Harry finally asked, when her wails turned into silent sniffling after a while. She pointed shakily to a hardcover photo album in the chair that Harry grabbed. He sat next to her and opened the album, and his breath immediately left his body in a startled gasp.
McGonagall was fully prepared to deal with another frost incident, but none came. Harry was well-rested, and his mind was so blank with shock that his magic did not react to his condition. The center held, so to speak, though he remained wordless and seemed to be having a hard time breathing through his emotions.
In his lap, there was a photo album of his family, all moving pictures of him and Rose playing, James and Lily dancing, the four of them sitting around a living room full of toys, just his mother holding him while casually casting repairing charms on things he had just broken with his toy broom, and another one of his father reading a book to a sleepy-looking Rose.
Harry often envisioned his parents in his mind's eye, but ever since he had made his way to the Wizarding World, Rose had fulfilled some of the desire for a family that he so desperately felt before, so the need to know more about them had faded slightly, though it could still fire in some aspects of his life. But now he had pictures of them, of how they looked, of how they walked, smiled, laughed, and loved, and it hurt so much more.
However, he also wouldn't trade away these memories for anything else in the world. While the pang in his chest at looking at his parents and knowing they were dead did not subside, at least he had visions with which to mourn them properly. Before, he felt as if he was mourning ghosts and ideas more than people, but ideas didn't look as exasperated as Lily did when she looked at a cackling James, nor did ghosts look as human as James when he looked adoringly at a napping Lily and Rose.
He had begun tearing up slightly looking at the pictures, and Rose hugged him from the side, leaning into him.
"I'm happy to have seen them finally," she mumbled.
"Me too."
"Why do I feel so sad, then?" She asked, distraught. "I already knew they were dead, but now it feels so much real."
"We didn't know them before, I guess," he mused, drying his eyes with his robes. "It feels more real to me too."
"We still don't know them," she argued moodily.
"At least we know how they look like," he sighed. "Who gave you this?"
"Hagrid did," she said. Harry froze slightly and blinked in the direction of his sister.
"Hagrid as in the groundskeeper?" He asked, surprised. "Gringotts Hagrid?"
"Yeah, him," she nodded slightly. "He had some pictures of them and asked for people who knew them to give their pictures too."
"That was considerate of him," Harry mumbled. Rose looked at him critically.
"You know, Hagrid is not a bad person," she admonished him lightly. "I like him, and he's been nothing but kind to me."
"He's been a few things other than just kind," Harry grumbled. Rose slapped him in the arm, and he rubbed at it with a frown on his face. "Did you like my gift?"
"Yes!" She said animatedly, taking the collar from inside her robes and showing it lightly. "Thank you so much! I loved it!"
"I'm glad you liked it so much," he smiled, genuinely enthusiastic about her excitement. "I liked yours too," he prompted before questioned, showing off the necklace from inside his robes. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome," she said with a wide smile. "What else have you gotten?"
Harry hesitated slightly, looking around the room, which caught Rose's attention, and she leaned forwards.
"I'll show you later," he whispered. "I got this weird gift without a name."
"What kind of weird?" She asked warily.
"The good one," he grinned. "You'll love it. But I don't want to show it here. Let's take a look at the album together for a bit, and I'll show you what it is later when we're alone."
The two siblings ended up spending a good few hours talking about the pictures in the photo album, by which point breakfast was already over. But it wasn't a problem, anyway. They had both been distracted drinking in every detail about their family that they could, cherishing the novelty of their parents, and the beauty in a life that had been lost for seemingly no reason. Rose, in particular, looked pained every time she saw Lily cooing over her, knowing that the woman had sacrificed herself to ensure she'd live on.
She wondered if she was worth that sacrifice a lot. She was thankful, but it was still a scary thought, having someone literally die for you. Lily looked so pretty and vivid in the photographs, and everyone who ever knew her always said how intelligent she was. It didn't seem like a fair tradeoff, some times.
When they left Gryffindor Tower, it was already near lunch. Harry had taken a detour to show off the Cloak to Rose, who was as stunned as he was. They excitedly whispered about taking secret trips to the library to check books in the Restricted Section under it and Rose wanted to take a look at the broom closets while invisible to see if she could find a broom she could use for practice, though Harry's stern look managed to dissuade her of that idea for the time being.
They speculated for a bit who had sent the Cloak but they were far too excited about the object itself to wonder much about it.
Unlike Harry, Rose could not feel a large surge of magic in the fabric, though she could recognize that it was charmed when she put it on and felt it wash over her. He wondered if it had to do with his abstract magic but ended up not being sure.
When they arrived at the Great Hall, there was only one table instead of the four House tables, and all the students who elected to stay were sitting around it. Although groups mostly kept to their own houses, some more adventurous or boisterous people talked freely with everyone. The hall was still as densely decorated as it had been the day before the students all left, so it looked a bit silly with this few people on it, but it was still cozy.
Rose clearly enjoyed Christmas food — maybe a little too much, as she had spent an entire night feeling sick after the proper Yule feast with everyone in Hogwarts — and felt happy to be eating around people that she liked. The youngest Weasley kept sending the Potter twins some strange looks, but he stayed mostly to himself. The Weasley twins enjoyed making Rose laugh and regaled her with stories about their exploits in Hogwarts, which seemed to entertain her greatly. When they went to play with the snow outside the building with some other students, Harry stayed behind and approached Hagrid, who was walking away from the Main Table with a satisfied smile on his face after a large meal.
"Mr. Hagrid," Harry called out to the man, who turned in his direction and immediately frowned upon seeing Harry.
"Oh, it's yer. Just call me Hagrid," he grumbled before asking, seeming suspicious. "What d'yer want?"
"I'd just want to thank you for the photo album you gave Rose," Harry said politely, despite feeling some irritation with the rude response.
"Ah, it's nothing," the large man waved his hand dismissively, though he looked a bit surprised at the polite response from the boy in front of him. "No one deserves to know nothin' about their parents, so I sent some owls askin' for pictures," he said solemnly, and then his eyes softened slightly. "Great people, your parents."
"I hear that a lot about them, yes," Harry smiled slightly. "I liked the pictures too."
"Glad ter hear it," the large man clapped excitedly and then looked at Harry oddly. "Y'know, if yer parents raised yer, maybe you'd have the right ideas about Dumbledore."
Harry was pretty sure he had the right ideas about Dumbledore right now, but he was unwilling to have that argument right now, and Hagrid had done a great favor for him and Rose by getting that photo album, so he let the comment slide and bade the man farewell.
Many hours later, Harry and Rose returned to the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron gave Harry some confused looks as to why he had been going to the Gryffindor Tower with the rest of them, but seeing as even Percy, poncy prefect as only he could be, did not take offense to the fact, he decided to let it go, though the wary looks did not cease.
They spent some time around one another, talking to the people in the room. Harry didn't like the Weasley twins as his sister did, but the more time he spent Rose, the more he realized that they valued different things in the people with which they surrounded themselves, but that was only to be expected. They weren't the same person and had been raised in wildly different environments. She needed levity and laughter more than he did, and he didn't begrudge her the choice to spend time around funny people, even though he did think that Fred and George occasionally skipped right over funny and straight into problematic.
When the room had cleared out of everyone but the two of them, they covered themselves with the Cloak and left the room. The Fat Lady called out to the darkness when she opened, but they stayed quiet, and she did not say anything more. As they had agreed, they made their way to the Library in absolute silence, both unused to the experience of being invisible. They still peered over every corner just to be safe but didn't meet anyone in their way, and by the time they had reached the library their nerves had settled.
They had no real reason to be there other than curiosity. As such, their bodies almost automatically went to the place where they weren't allowed to be. Rose picked up a lit torch and lighted their path, stopping Harry when he moved to cast a Lumos charm and pointing to a sign saying 'No spells allowed in the library,' which did confuse him slightly as the same rule existed for the corridors but was not enforced. However, she was adamant, and he conceded.
Row after row of permissible knowledge went ignored as the twins made their way across the library to its very back. The forbidden nature of the Restricted Section attracted them both for different reasons; him for the thirst for information, her for the thrill of learning what she shouldn't.
Finally, they reached the Restricted Section. They stuck together under the light of Rose's torch as they passed through the line of demarcation through which no unallowed student should go.
As soon as Harry stepped into it, something seemed off. It was as though something had washed gently over him. Rose started to try and understand the titles of the books nearby, most of which were in foreign languages or weren't even marked clearly. The few titles in English were long-winded and referenced phenomena that she couldn't even spell correctly, let alone understand. Frustrated by the pointlessness of her short exploring, she turned back to speak with Harry, only to see him standing ramrod still, looking at a point in the distance.
"Harry?" She whispered loudly, but he told her to stay quiet with a sharp shush. She complied moodily but looked at him like he was crazy. Then the sound of rushed steps entering the library echoed in the silence, and Harry moved quickly to use his magic to freeze the point of the torch, killing the fire instantly.
"I saw that light!" Filch yelled in his rough voice. "It's too late to hide! Who's there?"
The siblings huddled under the Invisibility Cloak, pressing themselves against the shelves and trying not to breathe loudly. Filch emerged from the corridor, looking wildly around. His pale, wide eyes locked with Harry's, and for a second, the boy thought that he could somehow see through the invisibility. But then the old man glowered and started looking at the other shelves. As slowly and silently as they could, the Potters left the Restricted Section. In their desire to remain undetected, Filch ended up crossing through them remarkably quickly as they were making their way through the dark and eery library without the use of any torches or natural lights beyond the flickering candle used by the caretaker.
The two crossed through the school trying to go to the Gryffindor Tower without being discovered, but the near-miss made them more cautious, and they hadn't crossed a long way before they heard Filch again, this time accompanied by Snape.
"Someone's been in the Restricted Section, Professor, I'm sure of it. The ward alarm that the Headmaster gave me pinged a few minutes ago," Filch said in his greasy voice, hunched over and squeezing his hands with a mixture of glee and anticipation.
"The Restricted Section, hm?" Snape asked subvocally, before turning to the man beside him and saying tonelessly. "We'll catch whoever it is, then."
"It was two people in the ward, Professor," Filch informed him, and that made Snape pause for a second. Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and Rose would have whined in fear if she wasn't covering her mouth with her hands. Both of them were sure that Snape would have immediately suspected them if only because of the man's enormous hatred for Harry and his catching Rose around the troll on Halloween.
"Two people," Snape repeated lowly. "Argus, go to the Gryffindor Tower," he instructed silkily, and this time Rose closed her eyes in resignation. "I have an idea of who our culprits could be, and either of them would have to return to the Gryffindor Common Room eventually. I'll go to the Library alone and investigate."
The caretaker nodded and went on his way, leaving Snape behind. The Professor looked around, and for a second time, Harry was sure that someone could see through the magic of the Cloak. Snape reached out with his hand exactly to the point in which they both stood, and even though Harry panicked, Rose moved, pushing them towards a semi-open door nearby and out of the Slytherin's Head of House reach.
If Harry had been paying attention, he would have felt another layer of magic wash over him, but he was still rooted to his spot, looking at the sliver of the open door through which he saw Snape frown to himself and leave in the Library's direction.
He did, however, feel a gigantic magical pressure from behind him, something that immediately made him turn. The rest of the room was ignored by both siblings, as he had searched for what had alarmed him so, and she was gaping at the magnificent creation in front of her.
The mirror was enormous, almost bumping against the ceiling. It wouldn't have fit through the door even if it was on its side. The mirror didn't look as though it belonged there, with the enormous contrast between its magnificence and the dullness of the bits and bobs around the room which looked mostly abandoned.
Something behind Harry made the hairs in his neck rise. Was Snape returning? He looked back over his shoulder and saw nothing. He was about to tell Rose they should be going away when he heard her gasp loudly.
When he turned to see her, she was pale and shaking like a leaf, looking wide-eyed and startled by whatever she saw in the mirror. For some reason, she kept looking over her shoulder, and every time she did so, she took a step closer to the mirror.
Slightly panicked from her odd reaction, he started to move in her direction. "Rose, don't go near the... mirror," he trailed off. He had just seen what had freaked his sister so much, and he suddenly felt very faint. For in front of him stood a scene that was so blatantly impossible that he didn't know what he was witnessing.
Rose was seeing their family, just the four of them, standing around a room much like the Gryffindor Common Room, one that closely resembled the one she had seen on the photographs earlier that day. Lily and James were sitting on a large light grey sofa, her mother leaning on a dark blue throw pillow, looking fondly as her two children bickered over a game of wizarding chess when Rose's knight slammed into Harry's bishop, and her father grinning roguishly with his right arm around his wife. He would then brandish his wand and banish the chess set across the room, to the instant indignation of his children, who would chase him around the sofa, to the laughing delight of Lily. Then, her mother would notice real-life Rose staring and would wave lovingly, beckoning her closer. With each step she took, another member of the family would see her and smile in her direction. Even mirror-Rose had already acknowledged her, and only mirror-Harry remained not cognizant of her staring. Just as she was a step away, and the mirror counterpart of her brother started turning, real Harry grabbed her arm and kindly but firmly pulled her away from it.
She turned on a dime, ready to blow up in his face, but she halted at his pale face and trembling body. When he spoke, his voice was full of pain, and it looked like something had ripped his vocal cords apart, as his tone was raspy and uneven. "Rose, there's something wrong with this... thing."
"It's a mirror!" Rose said exasperatedly.
"It's not real!" Harry half-yelped, his composure starting to break and his eyes beginning to tear up. A slight frost came over him, but he controlled it with a shaky breath. "Please, step away."
Harry had seen something similar to her sister, but quite distinct in its own right. It wasn't just the four of them in his reflection, but generations of Potters huddled behind a heavy mahogany desk in a dimly-lit room. Despite the poor lighting, Harry could clearly see the expressions of the people in the room, all of whom he instinctively knew were his family members. Several generations of Lord Potters were behind an older Harry, and he sat down in a large leather chair and smiled at the real Harry. An older Rose was by his side, as were Lily and James, who all looked exceedingly proud. Older couples orbited around that nuclear family, all of whom bared enough resemblance to each other that you could trace the timeline of one generation to the next. All the way in the back, a shadowy figure looked at Harry with half-lidded eyes, a familiar shimmering silver cloak on his hands.
The image was so painful.
He did not know what the mirror was about, but it caused him so much terrible longing and emitted such a strong magical energy that he guessed it had to do with reading what he wanted most in life and showing it to him.
The problem is that he knew it was impossible, and seeing such a vivid and real depiction of the impossible almost broke him. It was just like the photo album, but many, many times worse. Even gazing at it momentarily made enormous pain ring through his chest and the loving, smiling faces of his parents on the glass made him want to cry.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the thing he wanted most had to be impossible. Why couldn't he desire something at least achievable? It could even be hard but it shouldn't have to be insurmountable. That was just cruel.
"No one should ever see this," Harry whispered sadly. Rose looked concernedly at her brother. The urge to see the mirror was overwhelming her, but the torment in his face was so large that she couldn't help but be wary of what it could do. What had he seen to make him so vulnerable, after dangerous things had failed to break him this much, she did not know. She turned her back to the mirror and calmly hugged Harry.
"We have to find a way to get me back to Gryffindor Tower," she said, trying to distract him.
"We could go to the Slytherin Dungeons instead," he shrugged weakly. "There's no one but Nott and me there, and he spends almost the entire day on his bed. Then, in an hour or so, we sneak you back to the Tower."
"Filch should have been gone by then, I think," she nodded. She then grabbed his hand and guided him away from the room, taking a last discreet glance at the mirror. She memorized where they were in the castle, just in case.
Behind them, Albus Dumbledore lifted the invisibility charm keeping him hidden from the twins. He stood still at the spot in which he apparated into the room, blandly looking at the door through which the twins had left.
He was glad that the Potter boy had immediately realized the dangers of the Mirror of Erised. Albus was tempted to use Legilimency on the boy to see what he was thinking, but Severus had warned him that he had rudimentary Occlumency shields he had accidentally developed to control his temper. It wouldn't be any problem whatsoever to gently go around the barriers, and the light pressure of his probe would almost assuredly be mistaken for the influence of the mirror. But it wasn't worth the effort, and it wasn't hard to imagine what both siblings had seen in the mirror.
They were orphans, after all. War orphans at that. It was quite obvious that they both wished for family, though likely in different configurations. The more important thing was that they — or at least Harry — had realized the dangers of the desires that lurk in people's hearts, and the unique pain that can only come from the realization that our foremost needs and wants can never be achieved.
Albus didn't resist the temptation to peer at the Mirror himself. As he expected, and as had already happened a dozen times, he was standing there, with a living and smiling Ariana, their father never arrested, their mother never killed accidentally, an impossibly romanticized version of Gellert by his side, hunched over ancient scrolls as they figured some ancient mystery or other. His counterpart, young and dashing, was too busy to offer him anything more than a warm nod, but the happiness of this little family compensated for it. Even Aberforth seemed content, even though some of that familiar surliness remained in his posture.
It was hard for him, to see not one but several impossibilities at the same time. Everyone on the Mirror's reflection was dead, had changed, or were lost to him forever. Most of all, that youthful, energetic, and endlessly idealistic version of himself. For the arrogance of youth, what would that past Albus think of the current Dumbledore? Would he proud of his achievements? Would he feel ashamed of his poor machinations? Would he bemoan the consequences, as the current Albus did, or try to justify the costs, as the old Albus liked to do?
Everything about the heart is so uncertain. Dumbledore would have the Mirror moved elsewhere in the castle until the enchantments were ready. He always detested torture of all kinds and had spent much of his career on the ICW eliminating its use as an interrogation technique in other countries whenever truth serum was not viable. But very few things could hurt more than the torture imposed by one's heart. No one deserved quite this level of cruelty imposed on them.
But then, why couldn't he look away?
Anne Rosier sighed in relief as she stretched herself in her living room. She was half-draped over a long sofa, her bag thrown on the floor unceremoniously near her. Her body cracked in just the right places, and she purred in delight. Though she spent her summers in her family home, it was too painful to stay there alone in such a vast place full of portraits and reminders—both good and bad—of her family's past decisions when one should be spending their time with their family. So, she got a quiet, small place near Charing Cross and stayed there. It was closer to an office space than everything else, being on the Muggle side of the divide, but she used it as a comfortable place in which she could have no pretensions of power or propriety.
The one exception was the piano in the living room. The instrument could be shrunk to the size of a hand-held briefcase, but she liked looking at it whenever she could, so she avoided shrinking it unless necessary, despite how out of place it looked in the relatively cramped apartment.
But she didn't feel like playing today. She wanted to relax a bit, and playing music instigated that part of her mind which demanded that she had to figure out a way to input her magic into it to impart it with some additional effect. It was depressing that she had grown to take such a practical approach to music of all things, and she was briefly saddened by the thought of her mother being disappointed by her attitude on the matter, but the feeling was short-lived. Both her parents were dead, gone far too soon, leaving her to take the practical approach to difficult prepositions to the family's benefit. Now more than ever, with her being the last living Rosier. Unlike other families afflicted by choosing the wrong master in the latest conflict, she did not even have relatives wasting away in Azkaban. She was actually the last Rosier.
Once, the pressure would have been overwhelming her constantly. But after starting to learn Occlumency and getting some control of her abstract magic, she was more or less always aloof, though the pressure still got to her sometimes. This was one such occasion.
Yet another courting proposition came tied to another owl's leg just a few minutes ago. Rosier, thus far, rejected all letters with little ceremony, repeatedly claiming she would not take any such offer under consideration until after she graduated. But this had the negative consequences of putting mounting pressure on her as her graduation drew closer.
And she was still a Sixth-Year! Merlin, next year was going to be hell.
This first term had already been quite a bit more exciting than she was expecting. Harry Potter was a force to be reckoned with in the chaos-creating department. She was in a rare position of vulnerability when it came to Hogwarts at the moment, as all of her connection points around the school had left to spend Yule with her families, something that the Potter siblings obviously wouldn't have done. Therefore, there were no reports, no news, no updates on Harry Potter's progress. Just some good old-fashioned hoping for the best, and that was it.
She could tell already that he wasn't built to follow rules, and she was glad for it. People were supposed to question authority more, particularly in the supposed house of the ambitious, but Wizarding Britain had such enormous social conditioning for obeying the established order that rarely ever did anyone truly defy convention. Potter's surname and association with the Girl-Who-Lived might afford him the leeway needed in wider society to question things and not be cast out as a wannabe revolutionary or a rising dark wizard. She certainly hoped that was the case.
She would count herself amongst the rebellious, but she was also a member of the Wizengamot. There was only so much rebellion one may do as the Head of a traditional family in the old political body, and she led a powerful but also more restrictive than progressive Hierarchy. She simply did not have the numbers to enact lasting change. That job would fall to Gemma and Lucian, and then to Harry.
Her mind conspired against her wandering, loudly telling her to not think about such things when she was supposed to be resting, and she agreed with it, for once. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cold winter air. Despite her abstract magic and own control over frost, she did not think of it as her thing, as Harry himself did. Though born in England, her family proudly hailed from France, and one of the things that were drilled into her was an appreciation for the milder climate of the French Mediterranean. Now, London was a far cry from Nice or Marseille, but compared to the Scottish Highlands, it was positively tropical.
Another owl, white and beautiful, with big amber eyes, appeared on her window. She seemed tired, so Rosier offered it a bit of sugar water and some bits of bread that it accepted gratefully, though the bird was eyeing her leftover bacon from lunch with suspicious levels of passion. There was a small package, clearly shrunken magically, tied around its leg. She untied it, and the bird stayed still for a second, recovering from its flight.
"You're welcome to rest if you want," Rosier said kindly, cooing over the bird slightly, which closed its eyes in bliss. The owl hooted thankfully after a while and flew to the owl perch that Anne had installed for that exact purpose to take a small nap.
Rosier scanned the package and saw that it was harmless. She opened it calmly and examined its contents.
Inside, there was a green and blue light scarf, clearly intended to be used for warmer seasons and not winter, which felt light to the touch and was colored beautifully. She did not have to look in a mirror to know that the hue of the scarf was relatively close to the color of her eyes, and though the fabric did not shimmer and change as her irises did, it was a nice touch. The other gift made her blink, however. It was one of her balls. Specifically, a recording ball.
She figured out who had sent the gift before she even read the card accompanying the box and smiled slightly. The Potter twins had sent something her way. She was glad for it. If they were a few years older, she was convinced that they'd be close friends.
Well, there was always after graduation for that.
She wrapped her new scarf around her neck, soaking in its warmth, and gently tapped the recording ball with her wand. The sound of a simple piano composition filled the room. There was no magic imbued into the notes, she could tell, but it still helped her relax, from the harmony of the sound alone. Rose was good at music, better at it than Anne had been on her age, and the older girl had had years of experience even back then. When the younger girl figured out that music could carry magic, she'd do some interesting things.
The piano lulled her into a gentle nap. It'd be a crime not to indulge herself, at least for an afternoon. The Wizengamot Lords and their demands could wait for a day.
She was feeling slightly rebellious. Though again, it might have just been the scarf.