A Piece of Desire
"I know you are distressed about the past years' happenings," Dumbledore was saying, but Harry was hardly listening. He didn't need someone to tell him how depressed he was. "And I don't blame you. I think it's time for me to show you something I've been keeping for a while."
Harry almost didn't look. He didn't think he could stand another of Dumbledore's secrets. But what Dumbledore placed in front of him reflected a bright light into his eyes, and he caught himself looking anyway.
"What is that?" he asked in amazement, breaking the silence he had held since he had come into the office.
"Do you remember a certain mirror that you encountered during your first year?" Dumbledore asked.
"The Mirror of Erised. Of course," Harry murmured. How could he forget the object that had first shown him his family? The mirror that had stopped Voldemort from becoming immortal again. The mirror that showed anyone the one thing they wanted to see most out of anything in the world. I show not your face but your heart's desire.
He studied the object. It was slightly smaller than a handheld mirror, with an intricately carved gold frame. He could easily make out the foreign words carved onto the frame: Eesuoy tah wsyaw lat on sieri sedu oy tahw. The glass of the mirror itself did not look like a normal mirror. Harry could not see directly in it, but the glass seemed to be alive. It was wispy and smoky like the substance in Dumbledore's Pensieve, which Harry knew was hidden away in the cupboard right in front of him. "I don't understand," Harry said. "The mirror was much bigger than this."
Dumbledore nodded. "It used to be. I enchanted it to shatter when the Stone was destroyed. Although, I must admit, I rather miss it...."
Harry was about to ask why, but remembered that the last time he had asked the Headmaster about the mirror, he had realized how personal a question it was.
"I found this piece, the largest piece left, and I saved it. I had the frame made to fit it."
"May I see it?" Harry asked. He thought of what he might see in it. Sirius still alive, maybe even free, and Harry would live in his house. Voldemort fallen.
"Not yet," Dumbledore said, breaking Harry from his wishes. He looked at Harry very intensely. "Harry, do you know what this writing on the frame says?"
Harry shook his head. It seemed to be in another language.
"Try looking at it backwards."
Harry stared at the words until he suddenly knew what Dumbledore meant. Eesuoy tah wsyaw lat on sieri sedu oy tahw. What you desire is not always what you see. He said this aloud.
"Exactly, but just because you can read this doesn't mean you understand. The mirror, now that it's broken, will not show you what it showed before. The mirror now shows another kind of desire, your deepest desire to change something about the past."
Harry looked at Dumbledore, his face lighting up. What if his parents never died was the first thing that came to his mind.
"I know I needn't remind you that this mirror shows nothing that has ever or will ever come to pass. 'What you desire is not always what you see.' You may not like what you see, even though it may be what you have wished to change. The mirror works its own magic, Harry."
Dumbledore gave him a piercing stare and left the mirror on the table as he got up to leave the room. He was leaving Harry with the decision.
"What's the worst that it could show?" Harry said, grabbing the frame and looking directly into its center.
Ron ran into the dormitory, slamming the door shut behind him. He fell onto his bed and lay face down, shoulders shaking.
"Ron?" someone called from down the stairs. The door clicked open cautiously. "Ron, are you okay?" his best friend asked, as he timidly sat down on Ron's bed.
Ron sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes, which looked red and swollen.
"What happened? What did Professor McGonagall want to see you about?"
Ron opened his clenched fist, which held a very crumpled piece of parchment. Seamus smoothed out the paper and read it.
"Oh, God, Ron, I'm sorry. I can't believe...Bill...."
Ron shook his head. "It's not fair. Bill wasn't even an Auror.... He never did anything. He just...." Ron fell back onto his bed, and Seamus patted his shoulder awkwardly.
"I'm sorry," Seamus repeated because he didn't know what else to say. "If you want to talk, you know where to find me." He gave Ron's back one last encouraging pat and left the room.
Going downstairs, he met Neville. "I wouldn't go in there," he warned. "Ron...."
"What happened?" Neville asked.
"Bill was killed yesterday," Seamus explained.
"Oh, no. Maybe I should try to talk to him."
"I think he just wants to be left alone." Seamus led Neville back to the common room.
"That's the third person that's died in Ron's family," Neville said. "I feel so bad for him. I don't even know what to say. Brings the Weasley family down to five."
"Sad," Seamus said. "But what can we do? You-Know-Who is too powerful...."
"You think Ron will go home?"
"I don't know. I hope not. We're so close to graduating. Ron's strong. I bet he'll stick it out."
A few hours later, Ron emerged from the dormitory and went down to the common room. It was right before lunch, and the room was crowded with people trying to drop off or pick up supplies for their classes. Seamus jumped up from a chair when he saw Ron come down.
"Ron, are you okay?"
"I don't know. I decided that I couldn't just lay around anymore. What time is it?"
Seamus looked at his watch. "Time for lunch," he answered.
"Okay, you go ahead, I'm not that hungry. I'll see you in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I don't want to miss Professor Black's class."
"Then I'll see you in class." Seamus and their other friend Dean walked down to lunch.
Ron went to the morning classes he had missed to try to find out what they had done. His first stop was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall.
"Oh, Mr. Weasley, I didn't think you'd come by today," she said as he knocked on her office door. "Again, I'm sorry about your loss. Your brother was an excellent student."
"Thanks," Ron said. "Can you tell me what I missed in class today? I don't want to get behind."
"Of course," Professor McGonagall said, taking out her notes from class that morning. "Are you sure you don't want a few days off?"
He nodded. He didn't want to be set apart from all of the other students. He wanted to fit in, be just like the rest. He wasn't an overachiever, in fact, he hated homework, but just having something to complain about made him feel normal. He was tired of the sad looks he got, or the sympathy teachers gave him when he didn't turn in his homework. When his mother had been killed two years ago, that's how everyone had treated him. He didn't want any more special treatment. He wanted to get detention or fail like the rest.
"Thanks," he said when she had given him a small pile of homework and class work to complete before their next lesson. Next he went to the greenhouses, hoping to find his Herbology teacher. Professor Sprout was there, transplanting some sort of singing flowers into bigger pots.
"Professor Sprout?" he asked awkwardly, not wanting to interrupt.
"Hello, I'll be right with you," she said, standing up and moving to the sink to wash the soil off her hands. When she had finished, she seemed to actually look at who was asking for her. "I'm sorry about you brother," she said quickly. "I'm sorry... I didn't know who had come in."
"It's okay," Ron said, wishing everyone would stop being sorry for him. "I just came to get my work."
"Oh, you don't have to do that. I'm sure you can make it up an a few days." Why did everyone think he was incapable of dealing with this? When his mother had died, that was one thing. She was his mother, after all, and he had been younger then. This was Bill, and Bill would want him to be strong. Bill had been Head Boy; he would want him to do his homework. Why didn't everyone understand that?
"No, I think I can do it today," Ron argued. Professor Sprout gave in and showed him the plants they had learned about that morning. By the time she was done, the bell rang signaling the end of lunch. It was time for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
He was there before everyone else who had to avoid the crowds of the Great Hall. As he walked into the classroom, he heard Professor Black, who always called the students by their first names, call, "Ron, I didn't expect to see you today." Ron sighed as Professor Black came to the door to greet him. He didn't want to hear this anymore. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother. But he died a hero, and you should be proud of him."
Ron nodded. He was proud of Bill, but that didn't help much to soothe the emptiness of losing another family member.
Other classmates started to file in and sit down. Ron took a seat next to Seamus. It seemed most people were avoiding him or giving him strange looks. He was used to it, but that didn't make it any easier. He wanted to shout out, "People are killed every day! Why is everyone acting like I'm so different?" but he kept it in. He took out his notes with everyone else, and Professor Black started class.
In another world, the world where his oldest brother was still alive, he would have thought Professor Black was pretty. He had the day before. She had long, straight red hair and the most extraordinary green eyes. Sometimes, while they were taking notes, the boys just started into them. But Ron didn't feel like that today, in fact, he thought that Professor Black looked especially old today. She was probably in her forties, but before today, he had never thought of her as being an old woman.
"Who heard the news from yesterday?" Professor Black asked when the class had settled down. "About the attacks in Ireland?"
As usual, the class know-it-all, Hermione Granger, raised her hand. Ron tuned out. Maybe everyone was right. He didn't want to be in class. Maybe he should have stayed in the dormitory.
"Ron, are you alright?" Professor Black asked him.
It took a few seconds for Ron to jolt back to reality. "I don't know," he answered truthfully. He was having trouble sorting out his emotions.
"Do you want to leave class?"
Ron shrugged. He didn't know what he wanted. What he did know was that he wished Bill hadn't been killed, and he wished that the other students would stop staring at him. Professor Black instructed the other students to start their homework from the textbook, and she called Ron to her desk.
"Ron, do you want to talk about this? I know it's hard for you."
Ron didn't do anything for a moment. He couldn't decide whether to talk to Professor Black about it or not. He didn't want to be considered a teacher's pet, but he also didn't know where else to go.
"Okay," he finally said.
"Let's go into my office," Professor Black said. When the bell rang, they were still in there.
Hermione collected her book and parchment and stuffed them into her bag. She filed out of class along with the other Gryffindors, but she didn't talk to anyone. When they dispersed into the hallway, she walked quickly in front of them.
They headed towards the dungeons. The Slytherins can up from the other side of the corridor. "Looky, looky, it's Mudblood Granger," someone called.
"Mum and Dad still alive, are they? Well, I'm sure they'll fix that mistake soon enough," Malfoy said.
"Back off," Hermione said timidly. "They've never done anything to you."
The Slytherins laughed at her unwillingness to fight back, but they tormented her every day and she was numb to it. Professor Lestrange opened the door to the Potions classroom, and the students came in. Hermione was glad that the Slytherins hadn't had a chance to curse her yet.
Professor Lestrange started right away, launching into a truth potion. "Who knows one of the key ingredients in Veritaserum?" he asked. Hermione raised her hand.
"No one knows?" Professor Lestrange said. "Anyone?"
"It's-"
"I'm sure I didn't ask you to call out, Granger, you filthy little Mudblood! Now stop interrupting me!"
Draco Malfoy raised his hand and Professor Lestrange called on him right away.
"Professor, you said we could have our tests back today," he reminded his teacher.
"Oh, you're right, I did." He passed back a test they had taken a few days ago.
Hermione looked at her paper. There was a fat zero at the top of the page.
"Let's go over the answers," Lestrange said. "Number one, aconite."
Hermione looked at her paper. She had written aconite. There wasn't even a slight possibility that Professor Lestrange had misread her answer. Professor Lestrange gave her a zero on every test. The only reason she hadn't failed school was because Headmaster Dumbledore saw how well she did in other classes. She had tried to drop Potions, but it was one of the required courses. She had long considered dropping out of Hogwarts and going back to the Muggle word, going to college and becoming a dentist like her parents. But she knew she would never be satisfied leaving the wizarding world now that she had experienced it. However, she had no friends, some of her teachers verbally abused her, and the world was no longer safe for Muggle-born wizards. She felt like crying when she thought about it.
"Number six-" Professor Lestrange stopped in mid-sentence as someone knocked on the door. Dean, who was sitting closest to it, stood and opened the door for Ron.
"Why are you late?" Professor Lestrange barked.
"I was talking to Professor Black," Ron said quietly. He still felt shaky from their conversation.
"So you think Professor Black's class is more important that mine?"
"No," Ron said.
"Then why did you feel that it was necessary to skip my class to talk to her?"
"I needed to-"
"Shut up! You've already wasted enough of the class's time, so sit down and don't say another word." Ron quickly slid into the only open seat, the one next to Hermione.
If Ron hadn't felt he wanted to be in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his favorite class and teacher, he definitely did not feel up to a grueling class of Potions. Professor Lestrange was a hard-core believer in the Dark Arts and was said to be a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"I'm sorry to hear about your brother," Hermione wrote on a piece of paper and slid to him across the desk.
"It's okay," Ron wrote back.
"Were you close?"
"Pretty close."
"How old was he?"
"Are you two passing notes in my class?" Professor Lestrange boomed. He strode over to their desk and grabbed the scrap of parchment.
"So your brother just died? Yes, I remember that. He was killed in a tragic accidental crossfire, wasn't he?"
"It wasn't an accident! He was murdered!" Ron shouted.
"Murdered? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And coming from you, that's amazing. Besides, who would bother wasting their time to kill a traitor like your brother?"
"He wasn't a traitor! You're the traitors!"
"Nonsense, boy. I don't even know what you're talking about. But one more outburst out of you, and I'll send you to see the Headmaster!"
"WHY WAIT?" Ron bellowed, grabbing his bag and storming out of the room. He didn't really plan on going to see Dumbledore, although the thought of going back to see Professor Black did cross his mind. Professor Black, McGonagall, and Dumbledore were practically the only teachers in the school who weren't Death Eaters. Although Professor Lestrange denied it, everyone knew he sympathized with the enemy. He decided that it was the best thing to do. If Professor Black didn't have a class, maybe they could pick up their conversation where they left off. Ron had almost forgotten what having a serious conversation with his mother was like, and Professor Black reminded him of her.
He made his way back up stairs to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room and looking in, saw that Professor Black was sitting at her desk.
"Back so soon?" she asked, as he quietly knocked and entered.
"I'm sorry to bother you," Ron said.
"Don't worry about it. If you need to talk, it's good to let it out. I just would have thought you'd have another class."
"I do – Potions."
"Oh, dear, did Professor Lestrange say something about Bill?"
Ron felt the heat coming to his face again, and he clenched his fists. "He said he was a traitor. He said his death was an accident. I'd like to make his death not an accident...."
"Now, Ron, remember that if you say things like that, you're only stooping to his level. Voldemort's level." Ron cringed at the name. Professor Black wasn't afraid to say it like everyone else was.
"I know," Ron admitted.
"It's okay to be angry, but let's try not to take it out on others, especially people who have the potential to retaliate."
Ron sighed. "It just seems like the world is overcome with Death Eaters."
"I know. Let me show you something." She opened a drawer and rummaged through it, finally pulling out a picture. "This is an old picture of the Order I found a few weeks ago. It's about twenty years old, back when we first started, so no one in your family was in it yet." She started pointing to people in the photo.
"There's me. And here's my husband, Sirius, he's an Auror. There're his two best friends, James Potter, also an Auror, and Remus Lupin, he died a few years back. This is Professor Dumbledore, a few years younger, but you can hardly tell. Peter Pettigrew, also one of my husband's friends." She pointed at people who Ron had never heard any of his family members talk about. Most of them were dead, or insane, or had gone over to the other side.
"These two are the Longbottoms. You know, Neville's parents." Ron stared at the two faces. Everyone had heard the story about the Longbottoms. Neville Longbottom was a famous name in the wizarding world. It was the boy destined to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and although it hadn't happened yet, the prophecies were almost never wrong. Of course, this caused much trouble for Neville, having to watch his back all the time, as every Death Eater in England was out to kill him. In one such attempt, his parents had been killed, but Dumbledore had helped him escape unharmed. Ron felt somewhat of a connection between himself and Neville; they had both lost too many family members to the Dark side.
The bell rang in the middle of Professor Black's nostalgia. "Oh, I guess I got carried away. You'd better go find the rest of your classmates."
Ron smiled. "Thanks, Professor Black."
"You're always welcome to come talk to me, Ron. I always wanted a son, but I guess I've missed my chance."
Harry finally tore his tearing eyes from the mirror. Looking up, he noticed that Dumbledore had come back. "I don't want to see any more," he whispered.
"I think you may have seen the same thing I have once seen in that mirror. You're parents never got married, did they?"
"No, my mum married Sirius. He was still alive. They were all still alive."
"Not everyone. What about the Longbottoms?"
"The Longbottoms are better off dead than the state they're in now."
"And the Weasleys? Your friend Hermione? Are they better off?"
Harry shook his head. It was horrible to think about the way Ron's mother had died; Bill was gone, too. Ron and Hermione, it seemed, were not very close friends, if they were even friends at all. Hermione was tortured even more than she was in real life, and she always had to worry about the safety of her family. And Harry knew that it was ten times worse to suffer through all that without a friend. He was thankful for his friends....
"Professor, in your vision did it mention the Weasleys only having five family members. They only talked about Bill and Mrs. Weasley dying. Who are the other two?"
"Other one, Harry. That was George. He would have died in a Diagon Alley explosion."
"That only makes eight," Harry said, puzzled.
"Well, Harry, think about this. Would you have had another child with Voldemort still as powerful as he was?"
"Ginny was never born," Harry breathed.
Suddenly it occurred to him that he didn't exist. In the mirror, his parents had never married. He had never been born. Sirius and his parents, they were all still alive, but he had never been around to enjoy their company. He hadn't been around to defeat Lord Voldemort. He hadn't been around to unite Ron and Hermione. He hadn't been around to cancel Neville from the prophecy.
"Do you understand better now why it is so complicated to change the past?" Harry thought of the experience with the Time Turner in third year.
"They don't deserve that life," Harry said.
"Just think; you are the one saving these people from the lives you saw in the mirror. I daresay that if you looked in the mirror again, this would no longer be the one thing you would change. When you look in this mirror, you will never see the same thing twice."
Dumbledore took the mirror and slipped it inside a cloth cover. He then put it in his cabinet next to the Pensieve. "I am afraid that I am falling victim to the perils of the mirror. I like to look back on mistakes I have made in my life, wishing I could change them. Harry, I don't want you to look in this mirror again. Do not dwell on your past; it is the future that truly matters."
For the first time in a while, Harry was satisfied with the life he had lived. If his parents were dead, he was saving Ron and Hermione from a life of torture and pain. If he had been orphaned as a baby, he was saving the wizarding world from Lord Voldemort.
And the next thing that happened was all for the good of the world.