THE MIRROR OF ERISED

ALBUS / TOM

The material was like liquid glass in Dumbledore's hands, as shiny and soft as the day James Potter had handed it to him over ten years ago. His sense of longing attached to the Cloak of Invisibility had not lessened in that time, either – but the time had come to let go. The Cloak was not his. It never had been, and he would not allow that boyhood wonder to keep it a second longer than necessary. Harry needed it a hundred times more than he did.

Dumbledore poured the Cloak on his desk. He placed the note he had written within its folds; then, with a wave of his wand, he watched both Cloak and note become enveloped in wrapping paper.

Fawkes landed on the parcel, its doleful black eyes looking up a Dumbledore. He stroked the old bird's head.

'Don't be seen,' he whispered.

Fawkes blinked once. Next second, phoenix and parcel had vanished in a flash of fire.

–––

Voldemort winced again and again under Quirrell's turban as Fred and George's snowballs hit him repeatedly in the face.

Make it stop, you fool! he shrieked at Quirrell. Who is it?

The Weasley twins, Master!

They'll pay for that one day, thought Voldemort.

–––

At the High Table on Boxing Day morning, Snape informed Dumbledore of the night's events: that Filch had heard someone wandering the first-floor corridor, near the library. Given that it was the same night following Harry's procurement of the Invisibility Cloak, in addition to the fact they had not been caught, Dumbledore thought he knew who the wanderer was. He could see Harry now at the Gryffindor table, speaking in a hushed, excited voice to Ron.

And so, brushing aside Snape's accusations against Quirrell, Dumbledore set off that night to the very corridor Harry would have escaped through. Incidentally, the disused classroom containing the Mirror containing the Stone was close by.

Dumbledore cast a perfect Disillusionment Charm upon himself and peered inside the classroom. His hunch was proved true: Harry was stood before the Mirror, and he had brought Ron with him.

With silent steps, Dumbledore moved around the edge of the room, watching the boys. Now Ron had jumped in front of the Mirror and exclaimed what he saw reflecting back at him, deeply impressed.

After a short discussion on what the Mirror might represent, the boys left. Judging by Harry's extreme reluctance to tear his eyes from his family behind the glass, it wouldn't be the last time Dumbledore would find him here.

As Dumbledore had expected and feared, Harry returned the following night, alone. Perched on one of the desks in a shadowy corner, Dumbledore had not even needed to render himself invisible, so determined was Harry to get to the Mirror. He sat there, cross-legged before the Mirror and Dumbledore was saddened to realise the poor boy would stay there all night. That could not happen.

'So – Back again, Harry?'

Unsurprisingly, Harry jumped out of his skin and spun around.

'I – I didn't see you, sir.'

'Strange how short-sighted being invisible can make you,' Dumbledore replied, smiling. He slipped off the desk and sat next to Harry.

He then proceeded to tell Harry what he needed to know of the Mirror's power, as any full-grown man would need to know. Once he had finished, Harry asked the question Dumbledore had been half-expecting.

'What do you see when you look in the Mirror?'

'I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks,' he answered, lying easily. He did not condemn Harry's curiosity, but neither should curiosity always be rewarded with the truth.

Once Harry had left, Dumbledore experienced a child-like rush of longing. He had resisted looking into the Mirror ever since placing the Stone inside it, but Harry's craving had rubbed off on him. His eyes found the glass, and his old heart skipped a beat.

Ariana appeared at the fore, as young and sweet as he remembered. She was smiling a half-smile, which Dumbledore sadly returned. His own reflection stood next to her, so close yet so, so far. How he missed his dear sister, taken from him in brutal, tragic circumstances. On his other side, with a hand on his shoulder, was Aberforth. Dumbledore could not remember the last time he saw his brother smile, but he smiled now. He looked younger and more handsome when he did.

Behind the three siblings stood their parents, as tall as their eldest son. They had always been hard-faced and solemn but that was all forgotten in their smiles, smiles that told Dumbledore they were proud.

Ariana reached up a tiny hand and clutched his robes, her smile widening. He could almost hear her laughing. Dumbledore's fingers reached down but they found only thin, empty, cold air, as he knew they would.

Finally, Dumbledore turned his back on his reunited, reconciled family. As he left the empty room, he removed his glasses and brushed the tears from his eyes.