AN: This is a bit of a basic chapter to nudge the plotline along, hitting points I wanted to get to and also wiggle in a couple fun bits and pieces.

Enjoy!

-Crow

P.S. I also googled my username a while back and found a couple other people with the username floating around. I kinda felt like I have to say; I don't have a twitter account, facebook account, or any other account with this username. I don't post my stories anywhere other than right here. I don't have a chatroom or Discord for this account, so I only talk through this account via PMs. Just felt like I ought to clear that up.

"You know, they probably have some magic-y solution to this, right?" Harry asked, looking backwards at Toby and Jeff hobbling up the steps behind him. Each had agreed to take one handle to his trunk, carefully pivoting it around turns and over obstacles.

The two had seemed so confident earlier. But had neglected just how much his trunk weighed.

And how many flights of stairs it was all the way to the Gryffindor tower.

"Yeah *huff* but Slender wasn't exactly *huff* happy with us this year," Toby panted, hefting his end higher from the lower set of steps. "This is the punishment *puff* he decided on."

"Well, what'd you expect?" Jeff bit out, also breathing heavily, "You set the freaking tree on fire!"

"After Christmas!" Toby defended. "No presents *huff* were harmed *puff* in my mistake."

"Yeah, tell that to Sally." Harry pointed out. The poor Undead girl was in tears for a week, bemoaning the lost ornaments and general melancholy of seeing a nicely-decorated tree go up in a turpentine-fueled hellscape.

"Well I don't know why I gotta be here," Jeff spat grouchily, pausing to grunt as they hefted their load over some tacky bust. "No property damage whatsoever on my part."

"Piiikaaa."

Harry glanced down at his satchel, where BRVR glared nastily at the disguised, slash-mouthed killer. Jeff scowled back at the sentient code-creature. "It wasn't that bad!"

"You stuffed him in a giant hamster ball… on the roof…" Harry drawled back, unswayed.

"Yeah, for New Years," Jeff defended. "I read online there's this crazy town that puts a live possum in their Ball-Drop, I figured 'hey, we got a live… sort-of-possum-ish-thing. That could totally work! We'd even get a light show out of it'."

"Yes, until BRVR thunder-blasted the shell apart and shorted out the entire fuse box."

"Eh, Slendy had that old clock in the foyer ticking away. We still knew when midnight was." Jeff grumped, "Plus, the next morning, he got me up early, on New Year's Day, to make me go around the entire mansion resetting the digital clocks to the exact date and time to-the-second! Do you know how many clocks there are? I found rooms I didn't even know existed!"

The three finally made it up to the First Year Gryffindor dormitories at last. They were among the later crowd (Slender not wanting them in that castle longer than strictly necessary), so the scattered belongings of Harry's dorm-mates indicated they had already "unpacked" all over their beds. Harry's being the only bedspread that should have been empty of rumpled clothes and battered books.

But instead…

"What's that?" Toby asked, setting the trunk on the ground, eyes glued to several parcels on Harry's bed.

"I'm not sure," The young wizard shrugged, cautiously going closer. "I think they're Christmas presents."

"No shit," Jeff grunted, glaring at the pile of brightly-colored packages suspiciously. "Guess they couldn't figure a way to get them to you at the Mansion, so they just plopped it on your bed instead."

Toby hunched beside them, cautiously poking a finger into the parcels like it would come to life and snap the finger off (a distinct possibility), "You think they check these things? Like for poison, curses, and stuff?"

"I remember one of the Prefects saying there are supposed to be protocols for mail going to and from Hogwarts, but it's not really guaranteed." Harry thought aloud. "Maybe we can wait until Slender-"

*riiip!*

"BRVR! No!" Harry cried, pulling the creature off of the presents, its little claws shearing off the paper in the process. "Bad, BRVR. We don't know what… what… what the-?"

Jeff glanced into the revealed parcel and snorted. "Heh. Hey, Harry, it matches your eyes." He said, reaching in and pulling out a violently-emerald-green knitted-sweater with a lilac-purple 'HP' taking up the entire front.

Toby picked up a small sheet of parchment that fell to the side. "Dear Harry, Ron's told us so much about you, and it's so wonderful that you've made it to Gryffindor. We're sure your parents would be proud of what a fine, young wizard you've grown up to be. Molly had to guess your size a bit, but It was really no trouble, at all. Happy Christmas! -The Weasley Family'. Huh, that's actually kind of sweet."

"A little guilt-trippy, though, with the 'parents' thing. That was out of nowhere," Harry's mouth quirked in a frown.

"Yeesh, did she use a watermelon for the neck?" Jeff raised an eyebrow as he held it up further, revealing an enormous hole rivaling a V-neck vest coat all the way to the bellybutton.

"Ooooh. No, look. BRVR's claws shredded right through the knitwork." Harry winced, pointing out where the threads had already begun unravelling.

Jeff shrugged and tossed the ruined sweater onto the bed where BRVR happily batted, chewed, tore, and unraveled the yarn with a fervor. Harry felt a little bad about the ruined knitwork, but at least someone was enjoying it. He picked through the rest of the small boxes and bags, mostly sweets he was suspicious of eating or Christmas cards from 'admirers' in the school.

At the end, the last one in the pile was bundled into itself and tied up in twine. Cautious, Harry plucked apart the bindings and the bundle unfurled itself to the floor. It was one, long piece of fabric that moved and shimmered without any distinct color like constantly-flowing water woven into a solid.

"Ooh, it's pretty, whatever-it-is," Toby commented appreciatively.

Jeff noted a small flutter from the fabric, spotting a piece of paper landing on the bedside. He picked it up and skimmed the flowery, elegant scrawl penned on the parchment. Toby leaned in beside him to peer over his shoulder.

"'Your father left this to me after he died. Use it well'… no signature. Serious red flag alert," Jeff stated. "Harry, put that down and let's have Slendy take a look at it… Harry…? Harry?!"

The two older boys looked around the room. Harry had vanished.

As had the suspicious 'gift'.

"SHIT!" Jeff swore. Barely five minutes back on Hogwarts' soil and he managed to lose him! Code Red-Alpha-Centauri-whatever, Slender would level this place to f*cking ashes!

He spun in place and immediately collided with solid air.

"Oof!" He stumbled back, catching sight of a brief rip in the space-time continuum in front of him. "What the-"

"It's me!" Harry's voice blurted out from the nothingness. Reality distorted for a second, rippling like a mirage and Harry's face poked out of a dark rip in the Universe, emptiness from the neck-down.

"Holy shit, Harry, are you okay?" Jeff asked, stunned. "You're just a floating head right now, so I'm kinda freakin' out."

"Yeah, it's like a disguise or invisibility shroud," Harry explained, head bobbing like the body underneath was moving, then a larger patch of reality distorted and Harry fully-reappeared with the flowing-water-shroud in hand.

"Woah! Seriously?!" Toby gushed, starry-eyed. Harry put the cloak in his silently eager-grabby-hands and the axe-wielder draped it over his arm ooh-ing and ah-ing as everything from the shoulder down vanished.

"Well… just, be careful, I guess," Jeff frowned. "Again, with all these spells and shit we keep finding on your stuff, we should let Slendy take a look at that. Maybe the wand-guy too?"

"Fair enough, but just imagine using this on a job! Or around the mansion!" Harry enthused.

Jeff's eyes glinted and he tore the cloak off of Toby's arm and held it out in contemplation.

"They'll never see me coming." He whispered in awe. In one motion, he flung the shroud around himself, completely vanishing.

After a second of silence, Toby vaguely waved his arm in the general area Jeff had disappeared, not hitting anything.

Jeff's low, stifled laughter echoed from an unseen source in the room. Malicious. Evil.

The skin of the two-visible boys in the room stood on-end in goosebumps. A psychotic mass-murderer, who wields a knife like an artist, whose expertise in killing is unparalleled, whose moral compass could be used as a ceiling fan…

Was now invisible.

He could be anywhere.

Doing anything.

"AEEEIIIIIEEEEE!"

Toby shrieked as his underwear was invisibly wrenched up into a wedgie.

Nick kept glancing at the Slytherin table with a barely-suppressed smirk. Harry ignored it in favor of trying (and failing) to enjoy his bacon in peace that morning. So far, he'd gotten two tailfeathers in his oatmeal and, when he hunched over his plate, one barn owl pecking his head between dive-bombs. Adrian pulled out his wand and a textbook, seeming to be absorbed in learning a particular spell, but his eyes kept darting up at the ceiling.

"What's got you so chipper this morning," The Boy-Who-Wished-To-Eat-In-Peace asked.

Nick leaned in close to the other two. "Well, I managed to find a gap in the stonework to the Slytherin dorms and- incoming."

Harry practically turtle-shelled over his food as the barn owl rapped painfully a couple times on his crown in a flurry of feathers and musky-owl-smell before flying off again.

"Anyways, so I found a gap to Slytherin walls and directed a little… 'surprise'."

"What do you mean? Did the Weasley twins offer something up?" Harry asked, glancing over at the two in question. After the break, the twins seemed a little more… reclusive. Oddly quiet, and even the pranks they pulled lately had less luster. Like they were doing it to say 'look at us, we're pranking. This is normal. Everything is normal. Everything is fine'. They noticed he was looking their way and quickly busied themselves with their breakfast.

"Nope. This was all me," Nick announced proudly. "I snuck a little… something into Malfoy's shampoo."

At this, they all looked up at the platinum-blonde boy in green. Harry's mouth quirked when he saw the other boy itch his hair.

"I 'adjusted' them a little, too," The corpse admitted slyly. "They should be reaching their advanced hatching cycles right… about…"

"AUUGHHH! AUUGHH! AAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGHHHHH!"

The entire hall, save a few recoiled at the sight of Draco Malfoy frantically running around as hundreds of tiny, black earwigs crawled out of his scalp. Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for him, imagining all of the little, tiny scuttling things with their creepy-looking little rear-pincers poking around his ears and- *shudder*.

"Remind me not to cross you," Harry commented, watching the Slytherin bolt from the Hall. Crabbe and Goyle following dumbly after.

Nick positively reveled in the feeling, "Yes! Fear me, Harry! You too, Ay! Fear my power over all things creepy and crawly! Fear my- incoming."

Harry's near-instinctive lurch over his breakfast meant he missed it, but he certainly felt the blast of heat and saw a glow of orange wash over everything.

He bolted up, feeling nothing pecking at his neck and spun around to see the barn owl crookedly flutter away to the rafters, its tailfeathers singed and trailing smoke.

"Oh, my gosh!" Adrian cried, with Oscar-worthy 'concern'. "I was just trying to figure out this fire spell! Oh, I feel just awful."

The crowd around him accepted it, agreeing it was just bad luck on the owl's part to choose that particular moment to be around as an errant fire-spell was accidentally cast with such ferocity.

Harry looked back up at the owls, who seemed to be nervously eyeing the trio, especially the amnesiac ghost. Adrian twirled his wand around contemplatively before leaning in Nick's face in particular, with an unsettling grin. The corpse paled as a small little plume of fire licked the wand tip.

"Fear me, bug boy."

The long hallways of Hogwarts were empty and dark. The winter overcast overshadowed the waning moon, preventing any of the silvery light from reaching through. Not that it mattered; this particular hall was filled with rows and rows of portraits littering every square inch of wall, leaving barely any room or even any indication there was ever a stone wall behind it, let alone a window. The only sounds were the gentle snoring of portrait figures, muffled by the deafening weight of the occasional tapestry and the long, plush rug running the length.

For Professor McGonagall, her only guidance in tonight's lonely patrol was the steady, white light from the tip of her wand. She was mindful to keep the beam aimed mostly at the floor, only a few of the more sensitive curmudgeons in the portraits stirring in their 'sleep', occasionally muttering crossly at her.

She gave a wordless nod to the one, particular portrait of a bitter, old miser in a sleeping-cap growling at her to 'put that light out!'. Somehow, despite his constant complaints of being awoken day-and-night, he was always miraculously alert should someone come by his frame.

The occasional portrait or two aside, the time alone was one that tended to entrench her mind in her own thoughts. Thoughts of her winter holidays, for instance, this year spent in a lovely Transfiguration convention at the magical districts of Madrid. Warm, sunny, pleasant Madrid. A welcome respite from the Highlands winter.

She wondered if Dumbledore really got out very much this year, his own break from the excitement and peculiarities of Mr. Potter's return. Mr. Lindermann's contested confrontation before the man's return seemed to leave an impression on the aging Headmaster. The day after, she swore Professor Dumbledore seemed positively plague-stricken, occasionally wincing as he scooped his porridge mechanically into his mouth that morning.

While she was loyal to Dumbledore, and the school too, of course, she couldn't fault Mr. Lindermann's insistence on having the final say-so of Mr. Potter's holiday plans. They were educators, not monarchs. They couldn't forcefully keep a child from their family, no matter their fame.

Truth be told, she had a slight apprehension that Mr. Lindermann would follow through with his threat. That he would actually not return Mr. Potter come January, instead retreating back into the mysterious anonymity that eluded them for the better part of a half-decade.

It came as a great relief to her watching the quill write out his letter, escorting the boy through Diagon Alley, seeing Mr. Potter beneath the sorting hat. She felt James and Lily were smiling down on them, glad to see their son returned to a place that brought so many fond memories.

Though… perhaps this year was not one to start off quite right.

There was the obvious fact that Dumbledore cordoned off an entire wing for his elaborate 'safe' for Flamel's fabled Philosopher's Stone. She would often go out of her way to nervously flit by the door, just to ensure no students attempted to get through and be attacked by Hagrid's Cerberus.

Then, the troll incident! Merlin, she was sure the guardian would spirit his wards away that very night! In all her years at Hogwarts, there was never an intrusion that could have gone so devastatingly wrong. Not to mention the sudden disappearance of Quirinus, afterwards, prompting all sorts of unsavory rumors. Particularly one graphically comparing his demise to a crushed seedy, red berry.

The Quidditch game, she had hoped to ease Mr. Lindermann's fears. Perhaps intrigue him in their culture, but he seemed less impressed by his ward's efforts and practice on the broomstick and more concerned with the dangers posed by the game… alongside the brief instance where Mr. Potter seemed to have lost control of his broom at a rather dangerous position.

And most concerning, there was-

*fwish*

Her wand-beam raised abruptly, shakily swaying left to right, distorting the shadows cast along the corridor.

Nothing.

Her hand slowly lowered the wand, mindful she'd just disrupted several portraits currently muttering lowly in agitation. She'd apologize, but her eyes were still fixed on the corridor in front of her. Expecting another flicker of shadow; somewhere, somehow.

But it didn't.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. The shadows were dancing in her mind, nothing more. Just some harmless tricks a tired brain conjures to keep itself preoccupied.

Most concerning, this year, was that something at Hogwarts felt… off. A subtler deviation in what could be considered "normal" for a magical castle.

She'd noticed it with Peeves, first. The menacing poltergeist had made himself scarce after that first incident this year with the walking sticks. The Professors and more sociable ghosts were very pleased with this respite from the annoyances of the little specter.

But the quieter phantoms huddled uneasily amongst themselves. Including those she'd hardly ever heard speak, such as the Whispering Widow and the Absentminded Alchemist. Even Professor Binns had seemed more alert and agitated in all his after-life teaching History.

Then, the portraits. Normally, they were keen on gossip to socialize outside of their own picture frames, but now there was an almost furtive whisper amongst themselves. She noted how the ones closer to the mysterious 'Emily' portrait Mr. Lindermann acquired were some of the more anxious. Several had approached her (through another's frame), requesting to be moved elsewhere in the castle.

She had overheard them once, just once, mentioning 'the shadows at night' before dropping the subject into an uneasy silence as a student walked by.

It made her patrol routes a bit more tense. Jumping at shadows, being convinced someone just slunk away behind a corner, only for the entire corridor to be completely vacant when she arrived. Silent figures she seemed to see roaming the halls at night, and no one else seemed to be notice. Perhaps it was her rather mercurial 'patrol route', her cat-like footfalls, her swift, long strides. But if there was someone to notice, surely, she should have seen them by now.

… Well… aside from that rather disturbing vision of Ms. Williams…

"Play with me."

She shuddered as a cold wind seemed to float by.

She had really hoped warm, sunny Madrid would cure this.

Steeling her resolve, she marched forward firmly, scolding her fear for jumping at shadows and dismissing the long, shifting strands of darkness as nothing more to fear than figments of her imagination.

…

As her light turned the corner, one of the shadows detached itself from where it lay against the wall.

Eyeless Jack stared motionlessly as the tall shadow of the older witch shifted and faded further down the corridor before he slunk through another way. This area was part of his regular 'patrol' to skulk around since he didn't need light to 'see', per se. Benefit of having no eyes, he guessed.

But the ability to walk around without needing a lighter or flashlight saved his bacon too many times to count, especially with McGonagall. The Transfiguration Mistress was by far one of the more dangerous patrols to encounter. In fact, almost all of them had admitted to nearly getting caught by that particular witch at some point.

The other teachers were fairly manageable. Sprout was predictable to a T, same route every night and leaves and returns to her quarters on-the-clock, unless something in her precious greenhouses needed late-night tending. Flitwick was short, so outpacing him was easy.

The rest were just plain noisy. Hagrid lumbered about the grounds outside like the Hulk. It was a miracle if he ever did catch anyone. Filch had a distinct limp, which threw uneven, shuffling footsteps ahead of him, practically telegraphing his presence and direction. It also gave plenty of warning before the ever-nearby Mrs. Norris came prowling around.

And Snape, for all of his outward appearance screaming 'I should be stealthy'… well, his billowing cloak flapped so loudly behind him, it was like he enjoyed feeling like a little sailboat.

The hallway of portraits eventually turned into a much different area of the castle. This place had far fewer portraits and many wide, open windows letting the faint, silvery-blue glow of the night in.

A door creaked ahead and EJ quickly sank into the long shadow of an extinguished torch holder. Even without night vision, he could bet the identity of the individual solely by the outrageously long beard glinting white.

The headmaster was not alone, though, as the diminutive shape of the Charms professor followed shortly after, wand tip illuminated like a lantern.

"Really, Headmaster," The shorter wizard continued from an unheard conversation. "I highly suggest we move the mirror as soon as possible. Leaving it out in plain view is putting an awful risk to the students and-"

"It's just for a few more days, Filius," The taller reassured. "It's not as if the mirror is a dangerous object. It's perfectly harmless."

Flitwick hummed in disapproval, "It's still a potent magical artifact."

"Yes, but I still have some things I have to do to set the protections in place before we can safely move the mirror." The Headmaster admitted. "I regrettably overestimated my available time over the winter holidays. It is my error in judgement and, as such, I will personally see to it that no students are caught up in the mirror's enchantment."

"Very well," Flitwick sighed, flicking his wand towards the door. It slid shut and the lock briefly glowed orange with a soft chime. "There. That should at least prevent any wayward students from going in."

"Of course, Filius," Dumbledore said, pulling out a glinting, gold pocket watch the size of a small dinner plate. "Oh, dear me, is that the time? I apologize for keeping you this late. Well, with that all settled, I suggest we get to bed."

The pair walked off towards their respective rooms, leaving EJ in the pseudo-darkness his eye-sockets perceived. His attention shifted towards the door, curiosity piqued.

Hearing the silence of the corridors around him, he ventured forward and came up to the door in question. Trying the doorknob, he grunted at the contradictory feeling of an unlocked door refusing to open simply by an unseen force.

A small grin crept on his face, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small dangling gemstone. His success with BEN and Smile's magic-neutralization crystals had him interested in other applications besides as a passive shield.

He held it firmly between his fingers as he got it closer to the lock. There was a small push-back, like two magnets of opposing poles and the gem vibrated slightly in his fingers. He touched the gemstone directly onto the metal and winced as he felt the crystal slowly heating up and the entire lock glowing the same orange as the spell.

Then, suddenly, the vibrations stopped completely and the lock went dark. He lowered the crystal and gave the door a gentle nudge, pleased to watch it swing creakily forward. He paused for a few moments, carefully soaking in the stillness and silence around him for anything that might indicate Flitwick may have felt the spell break, but there was nothing. Seems the impromptu experiment was success!

Entering the room, he was a little unimpressed. It looked just like a normal classroom. A slightly raised dais at the front for a professor to teach, and wide-open space for the desks and chairs that were magically stacked up compactly against the wall. Wide windows let moonlight spill through the ancient, glass panes.

The only thing that caught his eye was a shape in the corner. Completely covered over with a white dust sheet, save for one corner where the drape had sloughed off just a bit, revealing glinting gold and reflective silver.

Seeing as it was the only thing in this room that didn't look like every other classroom in the castle, he was willing to bet it was the 'artifact' the two wizards had been discussing.

As a scientist, his curiosity was a natural personality trait in his field. But it could just as easily lead him astray. Curiosity and cats, for instance, didn't exactly mix and the same could be said when dealing with magical artifacts of an unknown origin/design. The Headmaster claimed it was 'safe', but it wasn't exactly an unbiased opinion.

Still, the 'artifact' in question sat innocently at the back of the room and from the Professors' conversation, it could very likely not be there very soon, since they were planning to move it ASAP. Plus, whatever this was probably had something to do with the mysterious undertones of events Slender had been putting feelers out for. This could be an important clue, after all.

Still, out of caution, he raised his hand clutching the little red crystal firmly in his fingers. Slowly, he approached the 'artifact' and grasped the white sheet. With a gentle tug, he watched as the cloth simply slid off of the artifact onto the floor, revealing an ornate mirror.

Immediately, he held the crystal up, ready to try and disarm whatever magical wavelength this thing might produce… but nothing happened. The crystal didn't warm up like the lock, the mirror didn't glow, there was no horrifying visions or hellish portals opening up.

Just him, posing like a dork in front of a mirror with a rock.

Slowly, he lowered his arm, but not his guard, as he inspected the mirror itself. It seemed fairly normal; all things considered. A polished mirror with some tarnished-silver spots along the edges where the reflective glass was inlaid in an ornate, gold frame. A phrase of English lettering ran along the top; 'Erised stra ehru oy tube cafru oyt on wohsi'. Not Latin or any language he recognized, but it didn't exactly scream 'Satan-summoning-levels-of-evil'.

Raising a curved knuckle, he rapped against the glass, but just felt solid matter and a dull 'thunk'. The glass was normal, no 'portals-to-an-alternate-dimension' or mirror-liquid ready to unplug his consciousness out of the Matrix.

Then, he focused more on the reflection, itself. But there wasn't anything to note. No shadow-creatures, or dead relatives, or dark entities, or whatever else his mind jumped to when it thought 'evil mirror'.

Huffing at the let-down, he turned to dismiss the mirror and skulk back to his rounds-

-when he saw the reflection didn't follow.

He immediately jabbed the crystal in the mirror's direction as he saw himself, or rather the mirrored version of himself simply standing in place, and not mimicking his pose. The being raised its hands to the sunglasses his disguise required-

-and when he pulled them off, a pair of clear, blue, intelligent, normal eyes looked back.

Eyeless Jack's glamoured eyes, cloudy and gray, widened behind the glasses still firmly on his nose as the reflection grinned broad and friendly. His attention drifted down to the reflection's hands where a couple papers were loosely in his hand.

A college degree, a resume, a couple printed-off job offers to some really sweet research labs.

He refocused on the reflection, only to see him in clean, black graduation robes with a matching mortarboard hat and tassel.

Over one shoulder, was a girl with a beaming smile that he could just tell was the kind of girl he'd really hit off with. He just knew, she was witty, encouraging, kind, funny, and brilliantly smart.

Over the other, the proud, warm smiles of his mom and pop leaning against each other. Faces he hadn't seen in years. People he'd had to leave behind… after…

This… this was…

Another girl. A deceitful, wicked smile whispering about meeting somewhere private that night.

His own reflection vanished. Instead, in the center was the girl, tearful and smiling beautifully, staring at a glittering ring on her finger, then looking at him like he'd hung the moon and mouthing 'yes'.

It was…

A clearing. Robed figures, and dark sigils with flaring torchlights.

A cathedral floor, his parents and family in the pews, mom sniffling like she always did when she got emotional. Pops giving a small smile that said 'you got this'. But most of all, the girl practically floating down the aisle in white.

All this

An altar and chains.

The girl, his wife, sitting on the couch comfily. A mug of tea steaming on one hand, the other idly laying a hand on her stomach. Then turning to him with a secretive smile.

It might have been mine…

A bowl of boiling, black tar-like fluid upturning above him

His mom and dad. The woman. Himself (older). All together looking down at something.

It could have been mine.

His screams, when he first saw the mottled gray skin, the hollow sockets, and felt the inhuman cravings.

They stared down at a swaddle of powder-blue blankets-

It SHOULD have!

And a tiny fist.

IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MINE!

"RRAAAAAAUGH!"

His fist sailed through the air and impacted the glass. It slammed into the mirror with a resounding, crystalline ring. But it did not break.

…

…

Panting, he felt his legs tremble as he lowered to his knees in front of the mirror, loose fist sliding down the enchanted glass.

He looked back into the mirror, but the visions were gone. Instead, it just showed himself, glamoured to hide what he'd become and alone with black tears trickling from his eyes, pitifully staring at the empty reflection.

The black substance evaporated as it always did as he shakily climbed to his feet. Casting one last look at the mirror, he caught the mysterious phrase above it and in one flash of insight, the letters made sense.

"'I show not your face'…" He croaked softly, "'but your heart's desire'."

…

His feet slowly shuffled back to the door. The hypnotic promises the mirror showed seemed as cold and empty as the glass they came from.

'So that's what I want, huh?' He thought distantly.

The glass flickered to show the faint silhouettes of two people with third, smaller figure playfully swinging between their hands. Like an echo in the distance, he could swear he heard high, excited laughter.

The door closed behind him.

AN: … In my notes, the mirror scene with EJ was projected to be just a quick little blurb about EJ's greatest desire was to graduate, get a good job, live a great life, and add some sadness in it. As I was writing, it felt more tragic how EJ's entire future was torn away. He's incredibly smart and dedicated, but then he gets betrayed and has to live like he is now. He can never live like a normal person. So, the mirror seemed a little more cruel.

What do you think other characters might've seen in the mirror?

AN: Writing McGonagall's POV is always fun. It's a little more formal and stiff, especially with how her vocab/sentence structure is laid out, but mostly because I like adding alliteration to her thoughts or dialogue. "Flamel's fabled Philosopher's Stone", "mechanically into his mouth that morning", and (a favorite in another fic of mine) "quivering collections of catatonia". It just makes it sound like something she would say.

…

…

In the corner of the room, the universe rippled slightly before the camouflaged invisibility faded. The elderly wizard stared thoughtfully at the door.

His fingers trailed through his long beard in thought.

Of the mysterious black tears.

And a blind man who could see his reflection.