Disclaimer: Much as I would love to, I take no credit for any Harry Potter characters or quotes.
Summary: This is a piece I started a while ago but got writer's block about and only just finished. I like a lot of it but please don't expect perfect grammar as I quite often write in the same way I'm thinking. It is about what people see in the Mirror of Erised over four years after we first hear of it i.e. around the 5th book, definitely not with knowledge of what's in the 6th book. Hope you like, I'd love to hear back from people.
Your Deepest Desires
"Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?…Let me explain… It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest desire of our hearts. However the mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.
The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it you will be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Remember that."
Yet nor will it do to forget the dreams in pursuit of living, Dumbledore knows this. It is why he returned the mirror to its home and why he returns to it. He stands before the mirrored surface, his brilliant blue eyes gazing piercingly into its depths. He knows how this mirror works, knows that every mirror's depth is the distance it sees in front and this one is no different. The depth inside it is the depth of the person in front of it, its furthest point the deepest part it can find. It is the deepest thought which lurks in a person's mind or the tiny spark in the heart which refuses to drown in the flood of life, is somehow not extinguished by the river of feelings which pour over it each day. Sometimes selflessness drives us to repress the spark, to allow it to drown for the advantage of others. Other times it is ourselves drowning which prevents us looking for the spark. Sometimes we are so busy trying to rescue what seems reachable, that which will save us temporarily that we can not reach the spark too and it is dragged beneath the surface by the river's currents. Dumbledore knows the power of the mirror to withdraw this spark, to re-ignite it and force its burning on the mortal body that holds it. He has tried for so long to refuse it this power, tried to hold on to the realism which is his reason for snuffing out his spark, for pushing it to the deepest place he can. He joked, all those years ago, to Harry that the mirror showed him a pair of socks and maybe at some level it does. Maybe on its journey through Dumbledore's seemingly endless depths it passes a pair of socks but these are just one level, just a minor distraction, not the spark which will now overshadow them.
It is not often this spark is glimpsed. Professor Dumbledore is a man who guards his greatest desires most carefully though occasionally he allows them to govern his actions, unable to quash them with logic and reason. In the mirror he sits it the background, in a garden chair with a glass of iced tea and a bowl of muggle sweets. The sun glints off his glasses, or maybe it's a twinkle in his eyes as he smiles at the sight in front of him. There are two boys playing only twenty yards away, racing round in frantic patterns, falling on top of each other in brotherly fashion. All of a sudden grey clouds start rolling in and the sun is obscured. Moments later the first drops of rain start falling, making glistening pools on Dumbledore's violet robes. As he notices this the Professor stands up and smoothly pulls his wand from beneath layers of fabric. With a brandish of his arm a large tent appears and Dumbledore bundles the boys inside.
The three of them sit under the shelter, listening to the patter of raindrops as they drink from thermos flasks of hot chocolate and share out the last few sherbet lemons. The sky is gradually darkening further and Dumbledore is on the verge of conjuring a fire to create a protective bubble around them all when the darkness takes a sharper drop. Through the tent fabric Dumbledore can see a shadow approaching though the boys are too preoccupied to notice. Careful not to alarm them Dumbledore grips his wand firmly and prepares to move. As the shadowy figure reaches for the tent flap Dumbledore rises and the moment there is the slightest gap in the fabric he once again waves his wand. There is a flash of light and the thud of a person hitting the ground. Dumbledore ducks outside and grimly pulls back the mask the intruder is wearing. It takes just another wand movement and the body disappears so that others may deal with it. Inside the tent the two boys look up unconcerned but expectant as they wait for Dumbledore to explain, knowing that he will do so if necessary. This time though he simply smiles. He smiles at the two boys by his feet, one dark haired with green eyes and a lightening scar, the other with lighter hair and the most dazzling blue eyes, remarkably similar to those looking down from behind half moon spectacles. Dumbledore sits down again and conjures sleeping bags and squishy pillows along with a fire on which sausages are roasting. "Nothing to worry about boys, nothing is going to hurt you."
Yes, this is Dumbledore's dream, most of which is no longer possible, a small part of which he holds onto and it is this which ultimately controls his actions, almost all his actions. He wishes everyday that he could protect two boys from any harm; from people trying to hurt them or from the clouds that darken many parts of life. One is gone, the other is not and yet still Harry suffers. The Dumbledore in front of the mirror hangs his head as he acknowledges his failure, acknowledges that even with Harry so close by he can't shelter him in a tent or comfort him with sweets or protect him from shadows. Even knowing all of this, even knowing that we must all face some things unprotected Dumbledore wishes with all his heart that he could have protected his son and vows to do all he can to keep Harry safe in his place.
It is now years ago that Harry Potter looked in the Mirror of Erised, since he saw himself surrounded by family he never knew. Now there are more figures in the mirror; a dark haired man with hollowed eyes stands with his arms around the Harry in the mirror. The real Harry turns but there is no evidence of the loving weight he is sure he felt on his shoulders. He turns back to the Mirror and sees his friends too, Hermione looking straight into Harry's eyes, the green ones that are two-fold in the mirror.
Harry smiles into the mirror (his reflection does the same); this is what he wishes for, to see Sirius again, to be surrounded by those he loves. He believes this image to represent complete happiness, to be with his parents and godfather must fill the hole desire has left in his heart yet there is more. More has happened in the world than Sirius' death, the world has changed and with it Harry's heart though he might not know it. As he watches the scene before him though Harry learns that what he wants is not enough, he must acknowledge that he longs for more and it is the mirror which is to teach him.
It shows him a group of friends, of family forming a front, united by love to fight against one whose life is based on hatred. They are all equal in this fight, he is not marked as different from the rest. The only inequality is that of love's superiority to hatred and it is this which causes the smoky skull in the sky to burst into sparks which turn to ashes as they fall to the ground where a circle of gravestones stands. They are in a corner of a graveyard, inconspicuous to any who may wander past but strikingly obvious to one who knows what they symbolise. They are simple, grey stones which bear no signs of emotion, nor any indication of how the people they commemorate changed our world. On each is a message, simple yet forceful.
'Here lies one of hate.
May they now seek forgiveness in the eyes of the immortal.'
They bear no names yet all know who lie beneath the cold ground, bare of flowers or even grass. They are indiscriminate; no token of remembrance separates any but one, one stone just outside the circle. It is no different in size or stature, it is no bigger nor grander but on it is a different message and a name for it is important that all know who he is.
'Tom Marvollo Riddle.'
'He knew not love until it slew him.'
Some people want the world, they want whatever they can dream of and more. Others want something small, insignificant in the infinite workings of the universe yet consuming of other wishes, so longed for in their mind. Sometimes it is the smallest that are the most complex, and the most impossible.
Severus Snape sees himself in the mirror. He looks exactly the same, an irritable scowl across his sallow features, dark hair slicked back with natural oil. He rolls up the right sleeve of his sombre black robes and his reflection does the same. The skin is the mirror is pale, smooth and unblemished. In reality the pale skin is marked by the brand of the dark lord. A brown skull with the serpent of Slytherin protruding from its mouth is exposed and Snape glares at it with hatred.
There is no other difference between himself and his reflection, he desires no retribution and no pardoning for his sins. The loathing and suffering he carries weigh down his reflection too for such is his one simple wish, so strong and powerful that he would live a life of torment to fulfil it and to undo the pain his actions caused so many.
There are those who know what they want, whatever their wish is it is ingrained into their soul and into their being so deeply that it is a part of them. Neville is among these people, no one and no thing could make him alter the wish which fills his heart though there is much temptation to displace it.
Neville may well wish for cleverness, to honour his family with brains or sporting prowess. He may ask for a best friend, someone who understands him and does not mock his simplicities. He could dream of courage, the sort Harry might show in the face of Voldemort or Hermione may demonstrate by standing up to Malfoy but he does not. He sees none of these things in the mirror's glassy surface though each has its place inside him. Why is this? Is it because of his moral courage? Is it because he knows he can bring honour in ways of his own? No. It is because Neville has a far deeper wish which will always be with him, permeating his being to the core. It is a longing, an answerable prayer for his parents.
There they are in the mirror, round cheeked and smiling. Gone are the hospital gowns and vacant stares. The fragments of his family have been restored to a unity which appears in such a powerless, customary object as a mirror. Yet the power of the Mirror of Erised is merely shielded. It is perhaps the apparent innocence of the mirror, its innocuous appearance that is its greatest power, the power of dreams.
We all dream a lot. Some are lucky, some are not. Perhaps Neville's dream can not be realised but it will remain forever within the mirror's enchanted depths, ready and waiting to pretend to him, to soothe him with false hope. It will be forever in his heart too. Nothing will deter his wishing, the longing reflected in the mirror of false hope, the trickery which creates the vision meant only for him, a vision of his soul's desire.
Rubeus Hagrid stoops in the low ceilinged room. He sits in front of the mirror, head almost level with the top, but his reflection remains standing, head at the same height. Hagrid's skin is weatherworn and lined, his reflection's smooth and pale. The tangled mass of curly hair that frames the giant's face hangs, still bushy but partially tamed, around the youngster's face in the mirror. Hagrid wears his moleskin overcoat, sturdy boots and rough courderoys. His counterpart wears black Hogwarts robes over a white shirt and black trousers. Hagrid looks solemn, a contrast to the broad smile of his younger self. The grin is wide but is nothing compared to the sparkling in his beetle black eyes. They are identical to those of the man standing next to him, a proud look on his face. He is a small balding man, unmistakably related to young Hagrid but with the inevitable twists of genetic probabilities. The third man present is as different from father and son as day is from night. He is old and fragile yet Armando Dippet too is smiling as he faces young Hagrid. Both hold their wands, Hagrid's oak gleaming from a recent polishing and in the ancient tradition of Hogwarts students headmaster and pupil touch their wands together and tears come to the older Hagrid's eyes as he remembers the incantation he never uttered.
A red-haired boy stands in front of the looking glass, nearly a man. He is as tall and gangly as the last time he stood on that spot but is no longer as gawky and insecure. Last time Ron saw himself alone, no longer is it so. In the mirror is a crowd of people, blurred into the background yet each face distinctive. He has seen too much over the last years to wish to be alone, he knows the value of family and friends now and he smiles as he sees them form a semi-circle around the two people in the foreground.
One is himself, standing tall but not proudly, knowing that he is no more than anyone else yet content with what he is and what he has. His hand is clasped tightly around a smaller one, a girl's hand with fingers curling between his. She smiles shyly in the mirror as her real counter-part enters the room to stand beside Ron.
"What do you see?" Ron whispers as Hermione stands in front of the image.
"What do you think I see Ron?" She snaps back. "It's a mirror, I see our reflections, you and me."
"You can't see the others?"
"No. Just us." Hermione paused and leaned forwards to look closer at the scene before her. "Except…except well we're not doing that." Ron smiled softly.
"We can change that." He said and turned to look at her shocked face. For a moment they gazed at each other then Ron leaned forwards and kissed her softly on the lips.
You see as time goes on our wants and needs develop. When you look in your mirror of Erised the image you see may last a year, a month, a week, a day or a moment. We change with every instant, every choice and every action, every trial, every success and every failure. What we see in the mirror will grow with us but our old wishes do not fade as new ones form. We grow greedy for the things we lose, the things we might have and yet this is a greed that is no sin. Why should Harry not dream of his godfather and Dumbledore not crave the boy's happiness? Should Ron and Hermione not dream of each other's love nor Snape for the undoing of his actions? Should we not admit our secret wishes, our longings, our dreams to ourselves sometimes so we can bask in the satisfaction of what may or may not be? For some there is hope, of love, of redemption, of happiness soon. For others fulfilment must wait until they are no longer part of this world but of the next where their wishes wait ever watching, hovering overhead. However it happens, whether you realise yours to yourself, whether you write them in a diary, see them in a mirror or in someone's face, I hope you achieve…
Your deepest desires.