House: Slytherin
Category: Theme
Prompt: [First Line] When you think about it, humans are strange creatures, especially when they're wizards.
Word Count: 2099
A/N: My love to the lovely Kristina and Carol for beta-ing. And for all readers - this features some very very heavy AU elements, so watch out! ;)
oO0Oo
When you think about it, humans are strange creatures, especially when they're wizards. They create an artifact which instills jealousy in even the purest of hearts, and do not destroy it. Instead, they allow it to ruin countless lives.
The Mirror of Erised. The Mirror of Desire.
Before its shimmering, silky smooth surface, upon which appears the viewer's deepest, darkest desire, none can resist the Mirror's pull. They delve into its depths, gazing at its alluring, empty promises with wonder in their eyes.
But when one stares into the abyss, what stares back?
. . . . . . . . . . . .
He stands before the mirror. It is aptly named — The Mirror of Erised — and although many would laugh at the thought of he, Albus Dumbledore, desiring more, he nevertheless does. He steels himself before he dares look into its depths. He may have told young Harry that all he sees is himself, holding a pair of thick, woolen socks, but he knows that to be a lie. If only he saw thick, woolen socks. He knows he desires more, knows he desires the ultimate defeat of Tom Riddle, but what is it that he truly wants?
He doesn't know what he shall see. Part of him doesn't want to know. He begins to leave, but as he does, he catches a glimpse of sky-blue eyes, the eyes that still haunt his dreams. He turns. There in the mirror stands Gellert Grindelwald.
"Gellert," Albus breathes. He approaches the mirror, staring into its murky depths. As he watches, Gellert is joined by Aberforth, then Ariana, who smiles and beckons to another figure beyond the mirror. At her call, an altered likeness of himself joins the image. All four laugh and wave, and Albus feels the bitter sting of regret. Oh, if he hadn't fought Gellert, but rather joined him… who knows what might have been?
Then the scene shifts. He sees himself standing beside Gellert. Gellert is the Minister of Magic, Dumbledore the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Together, they shape the future.
He could have had that future, had he only done a few thing differently… if he hadn't abandoned him, Gellert wouldn't have fallen.
He shouldn't have pushed Aberforth aside.
He shouldn't have quarreled with Gellert.
He should have agreed with his brilliant friend, fought for the Greater Good, and then, he could have been happy.
He reaches out, placing his trembling fingers against the mirror's cold glass. The mirror of Erised shows his deepest, darkest desire: to still have Gellert, Aberforth, and Ariana.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
At Gellert's insistence, Albus gazes into the Mirror of Desire. He sees himself standing there, alone in a classroom. His alternate self stares at him, tears welling in his eyes, then reaches out, placing one hand against the mirror, longing and jealousy in his eyes, as if he wanted what he sees before him.
Albus shakes his head. The old man on the other side — himself — is a fool. This isn't what he wants. Every day, his regrets what he has done.
He should have fought Gellert. He should have stopped the "Greater Good"; he should have never let Ariana marry his one-time best friend. But he had stepped aside and allowed it all to happen, and by the time he finally began to act upon his unease, it had been already too late.
What he wouldn't give to have had stood up for his beliefs, and not allowed Gellert to dominate his life. These days, Aberforth is agreeable, Ariana happily married, but Albus knew that is all Gellert's doing — he suspects that Aberforth is under the Imperius, and he knows that Ariana's safety is entirely dependent on his good behaviour.
Thus, he is trapped. He is Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Prime Minister Grindlewald's right-hand man, but he is also a puppet who dances to Gellert's tune.
He looks at his mirror-self, who gazes at him with longing in his eyes, and Albus knows he looked the same. What he wants, he can never have.
He is jealous of his mirror-self. That Albus stands alone, strong and independent, bowing to no one and no thing. That Albus did not sacrifice his morals. That Albus acted. What he sees in the mirror is his heart's deepest desire, one that he can never have.
He reaches out with trembling fingers.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Harry's green eyes light up when he returns to the mirror and, just as before, he sees his family. His mother stands there, her eyes soft and loving while she gazes at him, and his father is beside her, his bearing proud, regal, and he, too, looks upon Harry as though he were the most important, most precious, thing in his life.
For a boy raised in a cupboard and told repeatedly he is a freak, this is balm for his troubled soul. His family is before him, and they accept him as he is. Had they not been murdered by Voldemort, Harry knows he would have been loved and cherished. He looks at the figures in the mirror, tears welling in his eyes.
If only they were real.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
James stares into the mirror, his eyes wide with disbelief. He is both surprised and unsurprised by what he sees: he supposes his greatest wish is to see his son, but the boy before him is so grown-up, a far cry from the babe he held in his arms. "Is that… Harry?"
"It is," Lily replies, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "That could have been him, in his first year…"
What she doesn't say is that Harry looks thin, lonely. She doesn't say that Harry would only have survived that terrible Halloween night if they hadn't trusted Peter Pettigrew near their child. The betrayal stings, but ever more painful is the knowledge that if they had only been slightly more careful, Harry might have survived.
Together, Lily and James stare into the Mirror of Desire. They may be the Charms and Transfiguration Professors respectively, with three children of their own, but looking at their lost first child, their life feels empty.
If only they had been more careful.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draco is cold and hopeless as he wanders aimlessly through the Room of Forgotten Things. His latest attempt to repair the vanishing cabinet has failed, like so many attempts before. He is at his lowest, about to reach his breaking point — and then he spots a curious object shrouded in a dirty white sheet. He grabs the sheet, pulling it away to reveal a large, antique mirror. It seems entirely unremarkable, but then he looks into its depths, and he stumbles backwards in shock. That isn't his reflection staring back at him. Instead, he sees himself standing beside his parents, his father looking at him proudly with one arm wrapped around his shoulders in an open display of affection. His mother is cradling a baby, a sibling he has long wished for but never had. Even more startling, though, is the witch, who gazes at him with love and kindness in her eyes. Astoria.
He is seeing the deepest, and most desperate wish in his heart, something that can never be. He knows he will never be so loved, not by his family, not like that.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Why are you showing me this?" Draco snaps, trying shuffle away from his wife. But his parents stand behind him, and try as he might, Draco knows he can't disappoint them. They are so proud of him, their eldest son, already so happily married, and to the respectable Greengrass family's youngest daughter no less. Never mind that Draco knows Astoria drugged him with Amortentia. There is no other way that he entered the Leaky Cauldron in search of Hermione Granger, and then woke months later to find himself married to Astoria Greengrass. "Why is this old mirror so important?"
"Because it's an old family piece," she replies. "Supposedly, it shows your deepest desire. Come on, Draco. Look into it for me?" She digs her perfectly manicured nails into his forearm.
Sighing, Draco does so. He gazes deep into the mirror and sees himself standing there, tall and strong, not needing anyone's approval. Merlin how he wishes that were the case. He wishes he were that strong, able to break free of the lies that surround him. How he wishes he could be rid of the witch that had trapped him, and follow his heart. Jealousy grips his soul, he turns on his heel and storms past his stunned wife and parents. He will never be free. Not like his other self. The boy in the mirror is young, with his entire future spread before him; he seems haunted, but he can still save himself.
For Draco, it is already too late. Astoria told him yesterday that they were going to have a baby, that she was already seven weeks pregnant. At the thought, bile rises in his throat. He really is trapped. Forever.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Harry, why do you want to show me a mi— oh."
"Don't you see it, Ron? See my family?"
"No…" Ron replies. He doesn't see Harry's family; far from it. Instead, he sees himself. But not as he is now, small, freckled, scrawny. Instead he sees a man, one who stands proudly, the Head Boy's badge glittering on his chest, the latest broom slung over his shoulder, his name emblazoned over the front page of the Daily Prophet for setting the new OWLs record, and a beautiful witch on his arm. "I see… me."
"You?"
Ron sighs, longing in his gaze. What he wouldn't give to be the heroic figure in the mirror. "Yeah," he says. "I only see me."
But he doesn't tell Harry everything. He doesn't tell Harry how he is alone because he is the first of his brothers. He doesn't tell Harry how he has done everything he has ever wanted to in his life: he is Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, Brightest Wizard of the Age, and a steady, loving boyfriend. The man before him is everything Ron has ever wanted… he stares up at the image, his eyes wide with wonder. What he sees… that is what he wants.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Ronald glances into the mirror, expecting to see himself, to see his perfectly staged flyaway hair, his even, blinding white teeth, his ocean-blue eyes. But instead, he sees a child, a first year. The boy looks up at him with wide eyes, and Ronald notes the similarities between him and this child. In fact, this child seems like… him?
He takes a step closer, peering at the boy. There are similarities, that is for certain. They share the same nose, the same blue eyes, the same gangly frame. But that is where the similarities end. The boy's face is covered in freckles, so many that his skin appears to be deep brown in place of his natural pasty hue; furthermore, his ears stick out, his hair is ragged, and his robes — the boy's robes are threadbare and bear multiple patches.
But then Ronald notices the boy's jumper, and his blood runs cold. The jumper is hand-knit in scarlet and gold, typical Gryffindork colors, and there is a monstrous 'R' on the front.
'R', for Ronald.
Ronald takes a step back, his breathing suddenly shallow, unbelieving. What he sees… is himself. Himself, years younger, still raised by the Weasleys. That boy wears the Weasley jumpers he used to see Bill and Charlie sporting around Christmas-time, and that Fred and George used to wear, when Mrs. Greengrass let them. Not that Narcissa Malfoy had ever allowed him to wear anything as common as a hand-knit jumper, and from his birth mother, no less. She had always insisted that Ronald, as her adopted son, live up to the family name — and thus he had doven into studying, sports, and Slytherin.
But what could he have been, if he hadn't given himself up for the Malfoys? He could have been the boy in the mirror… jealousy gnaws at his heart, and suddenly, although he was once content with his place, he now wishes to know just what would have happened, had he been raised with Molly Weasley, and not Narcissa Malfoy.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The Mirror of Desire; the Mirror of Erised.
So many do not understand it — they are completely convinced that the mirror only shows their deepest wishes, their deepest wants, but really, it is more. It shows alternate dimensions, what could have been to what was, in all the myriad branching ways.
One person looks in; another looks out. For when one stares into the abyss, what stares back?