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7. Crying
Harry was a young adult and ready to face the world. Yawning, he walked through his kitchen door and smiled at the sight. His lovely pale lady was cooking at the stove, a black apron hugged her form.
A painful sting surged in his chest. He pushed it aside.
Sneaking up on her, he hugged her from behind. "Smells great, what are you cooking sweetie?"
"Not now Harry~. I might burn breakfast. Then you're going to explain to your parents why they're eating charcoal." She playfully pushed him away as she shook her head.
Another flash of pain erupted in his chest.
"You're just so beautiful, honey. I just can't help myself. Woo is me, having such a gorgeous wife. When are my parents coming?"
"They should be here any-", the bell rung. Harry got up from his seat and went to the door. Soon the three Potters returned. Both his parents were middle aged with big smiles. Harry tried to ignore another pang.
"Food's smelling great. How about I try some, just to make sure it's safe." Harry's mother slapped her husband on the arms as she directed a glare at him.
"Oh no, you don't! Wait just like everybody else. Everything looks beautiful." The dining table had a spread of food that could rival Hogwarts' meals. Harry's lovely wife filled a plate with bacon she had frying and placed it on the table.
She then sat right beside Harry and rested her head on his shoulder. Laughter and happy conversation filled the room. Shuffling of plates and food was abound. "We love you." Each of them said together.
The pain was worse than ever. He put down his utensils and stared at them so sadly. Getting up, he shook his head and clenched his fist. "This is wonderful. Everything I ever wanted. But how did I get here?"
Dejected he stepped backwards and fell. He was no longer in a cozy average house with family, but on the stone floor of Hogwarts. To the front was a mirror that had ripples evening out. He remembered now.
Feeling a sense of wanderlust, the last Potter took it upon himself to explore. It was a habit he couldn't really indulge back at Privet Drive, lest he be disciplined. In one of the abandoned classrooms there was a single mirror. Seeing no harm, he went to look. Seeing the sight of his lost family, he touched the mirror and fell through.
It was like a dream come true. A sweet dream that evaporated like a mist, escaping his grasp. In that strange unfulfilling place he had lived another life.
He hungered for it.
"I see you've found the Mirror of Erised."
Harry Potter turned to the wise voice to see the headmaster, Dumbledore strolling in. "Sir?"
"You would find that it deludes you with your dearest wishes. It would be wise not to dedicate your life to gazing upon it, Mr. Potter." Aged hands morosely rubbed the mirror's frame. Written on the frame was the phrase 'Erised stra ehru oy tube cafru oyt on wohsi.'
Noticing the look in the man's eyes, he couldn't help but ask, "What did you see? I saw myself with a happy family."
Dumbledore chuckled before replying, "I see myself with a pair of thick, white woolen socks. I would quite like a pair."
In turn, the boy frowned and ducked his head and mumbled, "I am sorry, sir. It wasn't my business."
The older of the two looked at him quizzically.
So the boy explained, "I mean you don't have to lie to me." Before the headmaster could comment, Harry continued, "You had that same expression when my aunt doesn't want me to ask questions."
Both stood in solemnity, looking at the mirror in a twisted mixture of fondness and resentment. A minute passed as the two went their separate ways. Harry looked back at the wizard with a not insignificant amount of pity. Eleven years of repressions couldn't match up to his numerous years.
But that was Dumbledore's story to tell.
In the solitude of the hallway, he could no longer control the sobs that burst from his throat. Life in the mirror was so much better, so much happier. Facing reality was like swallowing the most bitter of roots in the place of honey.
For a loving wife and family, he would gladly give up his magic, riches, and place in Hogwarts.
