PART FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE MIRROR OF ERISED
Everyone was standing motionless and in silence around the Pensive, absorbing what they had just witnessed, when Fawkes the Phoenix suddenly burst into flames.
"About time," said Dumbledore, sweeping over the Fawkes' cradle of ashes from which the phoenix would soon reawaken.
"Well," said Sirius, clasping his hands together. "I certainly had my shares of revelations for today," he concluded happily.
"I'm sorry we didn't tell you, Headmaster," murmured Lily as she was drying her tears with the back of her hand.
"My only thought was to protect Harry," James added in.
"Nev became everyone's hero," cut in Sirius, "but all this time, it should have been Harry." There was unmistakable pride in his voice.
Harry was now staring absent-mindedly at the baby phoenix. It looked so tiny and helpless, just as he and Neville had been vulnerable fourteen years ago. He wasn't sure that 'hero' was the appropriate word to choose.
"How about it, Harry? You're The Boy Who Lived," Sirius said, clapping him hard on the shoulder blades so that Harry lost his balance and almost flung his hands into Fawkes' ashes.
He took a few steps aside from Sirius and from Fawkes.
"It's got me nothing but trouble ever since," he said angrily at Sirius. "Remember my trying to turn back time in order to change everything?"
"He's right," James claimed. "The trip in the Pensive didn't solve that particular matter, Dumbledore."
"No, it didn't," said the Headmaster, sweeping over to Harry. "However, the first step to a recovery is sometimes to be confronted with the truth."
He was staring right into Harry's eyes now. "Dumbledore is the only person in the room who hasn't changed in this reality," thought Harry.
"If you don't mind, Harry," said Dumbledore calmly, "I'm going to return something that has been rightfully yours all long."
He placed the tip of his wand unto Harry's forehead. Harry felt a tickling sensation and he knew at once that the scar had appeared at the exact same place where it used to be. He had been so happy to see it gone; now he wasn't sure how he felt about it being back. Then again, perhaps it had probably never truly vanished.
It took him a while to realise that his mother was standing so close to him. She lifted his fringe delicately and pressed a kiss on his forehead, just as she had done so many times before.
"We're so sorry for not telling you the truth," she let out as she bent down to give him a hug. But although the words sounded sincere, Harry couldn't help but push her back a little roughly.
"It's not me," he said, his temper rising. "It's not what really happened."
"Harry, sweetheart, listen…" his mother said, trying to calm him down.
"No!" he retorted. "It's still not right. And you don't need to apologise to me."
The others were all staring at him.
"You died saving me," he said, pointing at his mother. Then he turned to his father. "You died because you tried to stop Voldemort from coming into the house. Wormtail did betray you, but it wasn't like this. You both died that night, and I had the scar, and Dumbledore sent me to live with the Dursleys," he let out in one breath. He was fuming now.
"Then, my sister, Petunia…"
"She raised me," Harry cut in quickly. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon have a son, too. My cousin Dudley bullied me for ten years before I came to Hogwarts and learned that I was a wizard. He still picks on me every summer when I do back to Privet Drive to live with them. Well, he leaves me alone now because he's afraid I might Petrify him or something, but still…"
"The truth," Dumbledore suddenly began to say, raising his voice on top of Harry's, "is more complicated than a series of facts."
"The spell I used, Professor," Harry said almost frantically, "can it be broken? Can I put things back the way they were?"
He wasn't sure why he was asking this. He wanted to be with his parents more than anything, but it didn't seem fair to them to keep pretending that he was the son that they had raised. He had tried so hard to be what they expected him to be, but in the end, he realised, it wasn't who he really was. He was a stranger to them. He couldn't share their memories of the past. What right did he have to impose himself upon their future?
"Do you really want to put things back the way they should be?" Dumbledore asked, though he probably already knew the answer.
Harry wondered a moment, then looked at his parents and said, resolutely: "Yes, I do."
His heart sank as he said this. Now it was final; he would really loose them.
"Wait," said James, alarmingly. "What do you mean by 'putting things back'? What about Harry? What about us?"
His wife was clinging to his arm again and James was stroking her hair.
"Time," said Dumbledore in the same elusive tone "is like a spider's web. It has many paths, twists and turns. We are merely going to set Harry back on the path where he belongs."
His mother opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore quickly put in: "You will notice that Harry no longer is under the influence of the Veritaserum. He hasn't been since we returned from the Pensive. Yet his answer could not have been plainer. I do believe that we can now proceed with the next step."
Without further ado, he flicked his wand in an elaborate fashion and several bookcases in his office began to move. They were rotating, making more space, opening up as though they had been hiding something secret. In fact, Harry realised, there was something hidden behind the bookcases of Dumbledore's office. It was a long and flat surface, rectangular, covered with a heavy dark curtain. Dumbledore stepped closer to it, removing the cloth with a swift gesture of his wand as he walked. Harry recognised the object at once.
"The Mirror of Erised," he said in wonder.
"Ah," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly, "you have seen this mirror before. Perhaps you can also tell me what it does, Harry?" he enquired as a teacher would ask a pupil.
"It shows us what we want," answered Harry, remembering his experience with the same mirror in his first year. Then, he explained to the others: "Dumbledore hid the Philosopher's Stone in it during my first year. Voldemort was trying to steel it."
"It scares me when you say You-Know-Who's name like that," Harry's father suddenly said.
"It shouldn't," Dumbledore declared. "Now, Harry, if you would please step closer to the mirror."
Harry did as he was told. He saw the reflection of his mother and father, standing as they were behind him and holding on to each other. He saw Sirius, in his handsome black coat, stepping closer to have a better look. Then the image changed. Shadows seemed to swirl across it. The mirror was not showing the reflection of Dumbledore's office anymore. He was peering into a room he had never seen before. The walls were grey and dirty. The furniture looked as though it had not been used for years. There were picture frames on the wall, but the occupants seemed to have deserted their portraits. The flame of a candle was peacefully shedding light on a head that was resting on a pile of books. A bushy-brown bunch of hair was falling in waves on the table.
"Hermione?" murmured Harry, unsure if he had guessed right.
The young girl immediately straightened up, robbing her eyes.
"I wasn't asleep!" she burst out. Then she looked around at the mirror. "Harry! It's you!"
She got up and walked towards the mirror, looking very much awakened now. The pink shirt that she was wearing was the only thing of color in the room. She came close enough to the mirror so that she could touch it with the tips of her fingers.
"Is it really you, Harry?" she enquired.
"Yeah," Harry said, smiling back at her.
"Harry, what did you do? Dumbledore said you tried to turn back time. Harry, you ought to know better. I told you. Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time. Why don't you listen to me?"
Harry couldn't help but grin even more. "This," he thought, "is the Hermione that I know."
"It's good to see you too Hermione," he replied gladly, totally ignoring her scolding.
It was strange to be talking to her through a mirror, but he was still glad to see her. It probably meant that there was a way that he could get back to his real life. It was not lost, somehow.
Presently, she was looking over his shoulder.
"Is that," she began to ask, "your parents?"
Harry looked back, and then he stepped aside so that she could see more clearly.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," said James Potter. "I don't think I've ever seen you study that hard," he added jokingly.
"I'm preparing for next year. The fifth year is really important. It's OWLs year," she responded, blushing.
"Indeed," agreed Harry's dad, a little surprised. Then he turned to his son. "Are you sure this is really Hermione Granger?"
"She's the cleverest witch in the school," replied Harry, smiling at Hermione again.
She blushed even more. Harry wondered if he should tell her that she was dating Ron in the world where he was, but he decided against it.
"What were you doing, Hermione, besides studying?" he asked instead, looking around behind her back.
"It's my shift," she answered right away. "Dumbledore has made us watch the mirror in turn. He seemed convinced that you would turn up eventually. I'd better go and get him. I'll be right back."
She wheeled around, walking fast towards the door, but suddenly she stopped short.
"What?" asked Harry.
"Dumbledore told us not to leave the mirror unwatched, especially if you turned up. It might break the link or something."
"A very clever assertion, Miss Granger," Dumbledore suddenly said, standing behind Harry's back. "I was about to say the same thing."
"Can somebody come in here?" she burst out into the hallway, one foot on the threshold of the opened door.
"Don't scream, will you? You'll wake up my mother."
Harry recognised the voice of his godfather at once. The man who walked into the room was even shabbier than when he had last seen him. It looked as though Sirius had not been sleeping very well. There were dark circles under his eyes. His hair was untidy and his clothes were dirty.
"I'll be damned," whispered the other Sirius who was standing close to Harry. "If this is me, then this house… It's my mother's house." It didn't sound like he could believe it. "I never thought that I would seeing myself in it."
In the meantime, Hermione had disappeared into the corridor and the other, shabbier Sirius was stepping close to the mirror, curiosity on his face.
"Harry!" he exclaimed. "Can you hear me? Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine," said Harry in response.
But he doubted that Sirius had heard his reply. His eyes had fallen on the couple who was standing behind Harry. His face grew paler almost instantly and Harry knew that he understood who he was looking at. There was a tense moment of silence. Harry thought that he had never seen his godfather look so miserable.
"Hello, Sirius," said James, breaking the stillness. "Long time, no see, I guess."
Harry's mother was grinning too besides her husband, but there was something sorrowful about James' greeting.
"It's… It's good to see you two," said Sirius. His voice was only a whisper.
He turned away a moment, stepping into the shadows. It looked as though he was trembling. Harry couldn't bear to watch.
"Well, this place hasn't changed," said the other Sirius who was on Harry's side of the mirror. "It's still as ghastly as I remember it. Did you let yourself go down with the place, or is it an occupational hazard?" he asked ironically to his counterpart.
"No," said the shabby Sirius, facing himself in the mirror. "I've developed a fashionable taste during twelve years spent in Azkaban." He looked livid.
Luckily, he was interrupted by the arrival of another person into the room. It was someone that Harry was most happy to see.
"Ron!" he cried out, pressing his hands on the mirror.
"Hi there, mate!" Ron relied gleefully.
His red hair and green jumper was even more contrasting with the darkness of the room than Hermione's pink shirt. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands and a sandwich in the other.
"This is weird," he said, peering into the mirror at Harry and at the other people with him. "Is that what you were seeing during our first year when you found that mirror?"
"More or less," Harry admitted. Sirius and Dumbledore had not been in the picture; only his parents.
"They've just sent an owl to Dumbledore," Ron continued. "He'll be here any moment."
Hermione walked back into the room as Ron was speaking.
"What do you reckon, Hermione?" Ron asked her, stepping aside so that she could see Harry. Ron seemed keen to hear her explanation.
"Well, I was reading up a bit on time travel," she started to say, nodding towards the table full of books on which she had been snoozing.
Ron winked at Harry, whispering "I knew it" under his breath.
"In 'There and Back Again; Timeline and other Myths about Time Travel', it states that time isn't linear, that there is more than one timeline…"
"Like a spider web," James said, visibly interested.
But Hermione was not listening. She was looking straight at Dumbledore. She seemed to be asking him whether or not she should continue.
"Go ahead, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said calmly.
"Well, Professor, I'm not sure we're really dealing with time travel in this case," she said quickly. "I've read all about it when Professor McGonnagal lent me the Time Turner in my third year, and…"
She looked at her feet as though she couldn't bear the idea of what she was about to say.
"If Harry had really gone back in time," she began quietly, "then he wouldn't be in Privet Drive at his Aunt and Uncle's anymore."
"Err, Hermione? I'm here, not in Privet Drive," Harry pointed out ironically.
"No," said Ron at once, stuffing the last piece of sandwich into his mouth and unfolding the bit of parchment that he was holding. "You're in Privet Drive now, mate. You just sent me this letter."
Hermione walked over to the table and brought back the candle so that Ron could read.
"Dear Ron," he said, "Your letters aren't telling me much. I suppose that you have been asked to be careful about what you put in writing. But I'm really dying for some news out here. Can you please find out when I'll be able to leave Privet Drive and maybe join you at your place? Say hi to everyone. Bye. Harry."
Harry was speechless. He couldn't remember having written this letter. His last letter to Ron had been something like "Dear Ron, I got home alright. I've never seen Dudley so scared. Hope to see you soon."
"I don't remember sending that letter, Ron," said Harry, thinking out loud. "Has someone checked to make sure it's really me in Privet Drive? Maybe… Maybe I've swapped place with the other me, the one that should be here!"
It didn't sound like a bad assumption at all. Perhaps he had changed place with his counterpart. The other Harry, the one who didn't like Quidditch, could be sitting in his room in Privet Drive right now. The more he thought of it, the more it made sense.
"I don't know if that's possible, Harry," said Hermione. She was almost apologetic.
"I think I might be able to help you with that matter," a deep voice suddenly said, and Harry distinctively saw the outline of Albus Dumbledore on the threshold of the dark room.
He swept over to the mirror. Ron, Hermione and Sirius stepped aside to allow him a closer look.
"Two Dumbledores," said Sirius cheerfully at Harry's side. "There's a nightmare for You-Know-Who's followers."
"What your friends Ron and Hermione have been telling you is true, Harry," said the newly arrived Dumbledore, ignoring Sirius' comment.
"Then, it's really me in Privet Drive right at this moment?" Harry enquired. He wanted to hear this from Dumbledore's voice.
"Yes, it is," replied the Headmaster. "I have just checked myself."
"But the book," Harry retorted, getting a little nervous. "The spell… It said 'Turn back time. Live one year exactly as you wish it.'"
Dumbledore unfolded his long, floating cloak, and revealed the book. Harry didn't recognise it right away. The cover was entirely black without any words on it, but Harry seemed to remember that there used to be writings, a title at least. As Dumbledore started to flip its pages, they were empty as well. There was nothing written in the book. But it couldn't be. He had read this book. There were instructions in the first pages at least. He was sure of it.
"What does this remind you off, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Harry intently.
Harry wondered for a moment. The only book he had ever seen that had no writings in it was…
"Tom Riddle's diary," he said with sudden realisation.
"Indeed," Dumbledore answered, closing the book softly and turning it over.
He showed Harry the back of the book. There was a tiny inscription. Harry read it out loud.
"Harry James Potter. Stop Voldemort's return. See parents again. June 30."
He was beginning to understand, but he didn't want to believe it. There was the wish he had made, and the date he had read the spell. Could it be true? Could he be trapped in a book?
"A Dream Book," said the Sirius on Harry's side in wonder. "They're illegal."
The others were staring at him, waiting for an explanation.
"It captures in its pages an image of the conscious self, like a memory, a copy of you," he said thoughtfully. "Then a person can visit his or her perfect world at will by entering the pages of the book. They became illegal when there were cases of people who refused to come out. I thought that they destroyed them all."
"Well I bet you can find a few copies in Knockturn Alley," said Ron darkly.
"I thought that it had been a harmless trick, at first sight, because Harry, the one who is in Privet Drive now, never did find out what it could do," Dumbledore said, looking at the book with a mixed expression of admiration and aversion.
Hermione was clasping her hands over her mouth. Ron was clutching the letter in his hand so hard that he had thorn through the paper.
"I thought that you were out of harm's reach at your Aunt and Uncle's, but someone obviously still found a way to get through to you," Dumbledore continued. "I took the book from your bedroom almost a week ago and erased all traces of it from your memory, but the spell had already sealed your new existence, it seems. Like you did with Tom Riddle's diary, I wrote a question inside the book, and my assumption was confirmed."
"Then…" Harry began to say, but what he was about to utter sounded too dreadful to be spoken out loud.
"None of this is real," said the other Dumbledore from behind him, pressing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.
"You knew it?" James asked the Headmaster in astonishment.
"I have guessed it," said the Dumbledore on Harry's side of the mirror. "Yet I did not have much proof until now."
"You're telling me that our lives are just an illusion, some kind of fantasy world inside a book?" Sirius said heatedly.
"How long have you known?" Lily asked. For some reason, she seemed more poised than the others.
"Since the First Task," Dumbledore admitted. "Dragons are mystical creatures, you see. They understand and feel more than we, wizards, tend to believe."
"Leo," said Harry at once. "I mean, the Chinese Fireball."
"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "I watched Neville Longbottom – actually, I should say I watched you in disguise, Harry – struggle with the dragon during the First Task while all the time feeling as though this creature didn't belong in the Tournament. It turns out that I was right. It wasn't a Chinese Fireball at all."
"It was Harry?" James asked in surprise. "Flying?"
"Not a Chinese Fireball," repeated Harry, feeling a little confused.
"No, Harry," continued Dumbledore. "Your friend Leo, as you call him, belongs to an old race of dragons long extinguished. I do remember your writing a paper about them in your third year in Hagrid's class."
"I remember," Hermione suddenly burst out. "They were slaughtered not long after Hogwarts was created. Many believed that Salazar Slytherin was behind it, but there was never any proof. Slytherin wanted to rally the snakes to him, but the dragons got in his way."
"I remember too," Harry cut in. "Actually, I remember mostly that I felt sorry for them," he added as an afterthought. "That explains why Leo protected me and Neville from the snake, and why I could hear Leo speak. His race can understand Parseltongue. Slytherin killed them because they wouldn't serve him. They're not like snakes, dragons."
"But… You couldn't have met one, Harry. They're extinguished!" Hermione protested, shaking her head and looking at the Dumbledore on her side for support.
"You forget, Miss Granger, that Harry created this world. Unknowingly, of course, but nevertheless his thoughts at the moment when he spoke the incantation shaped his reality. Can you not think of anything else that you might have inadvertently invented, Harry?"
Harry wondered for a moment. This world was far from perfect, he had thought so more than once. But he had never thought that he had invented any part of it.
"I will help you," said Dumbledore. "I do not believe that any of the Canadian Quidditch teams have a Seeker named Elisa Lord, however sweet she might be."
Harry thought hard about the implications. Ron was going to the Yule Ball with Hermione. Could he have invented a date for Viktor Krum to compensate? If this was true, then there were a lot of people in his life now who could be nothing more than a fragment of his imagination: the images of Neville's sister Eleanor and Sirius' girlfriend Audrey burst into his mind.
"But I don't understand," Harry enquired. "What about all the bad stuff? I mean, what about my dad and Lupin not speaking to each other? What about Wormtail and Crouch and Voldemort? I wouldn't invent horrible things happening."
"It is my observation that our minds tend to balance out the good with the bad," said Dumbledore, taking the dying candle from Hermione's hand and producing a brand new one with his wand. The room started to shine with a new, brighter light.
"What happens now?" asked Lily Potter, taking a step closer to her son.
All of the heads turned to the Dumbledore in the dark room. There was a moment of tense apprehension.
"I'm afraid," he finally began to say, "that there isn't much to do but let the year end."
Silence.
"That's it?" said Sirius, incredulous. "After one year, we're just going to fade away and disappear? You won't get rid of us that easily, I'm telling you." He was growing furious.
"My intentions are not to get rid of any of you," said Dumbledore with a hint of sadness in his voice. He was absent-mindedly stroking the cover of the book.
"Isn't there anything we can do, Professor?" Hermione asked shakily. Harry noticed that her eyes were red and watery. "Tom Riddle found a way. He was coming back."
But Harry already knew the answer to this question. It was something that Dumbledore had said to him what seemed like a long time ago.
"No spell can reawaken the dead," he said quietly, staring into his Headmaster's eyes.
"Exactly, Harry," said Dumbledore, offering no more explanation to anyone else.
Harry pressed his right hand against the glass of the Mirror of Erised. He didn't want to let go. He didn't want the images of Ron, Hermione and Sirius to vanish and be lost forever. Was he really going to loose them all?
"What will happen now?" Ron asked seeming a little lost. "We don't have to say goodbye or anything like that, do we?"
"It's not really goodbye," said Harry, trying to sound cheerful, but he knew that he was being terrible at it. "After all, I'm not really going anywhere."
"Indeed," a voice suddenly said that didn't belong to anyone in Dumbledore' office nor in the other room. "Indeed, you are not going anywhere."
"Harry, move! It's Crouch!" Hermione yelled.
Harry only had time to duck to avoid the jet of green light that was directed at him from behind. The spell missed him by a few inches and crashed over his head. There was a loud cracking noise on top of him, and the sound of something heavy falling to the ground at the other end of the office.
Hermione was still screaming his name when the mirror burst into tiny pieces.
