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Chapter 12

The next morning, I fill Harry and Ron in on everything, because there's talk about it from almost all the Gryffindors. Harry also tells Ron and I about the mirror he found.

"I saw Mum and Dad Isobel," he tells me.

I smile, accepting his invitation to come tonight. The day goes by quick enough, and when night came the three of us slip out under the cloak. It takes Harry a while to find the room again, and there's much complaining from Ron. Eventually, though, he manages to locate it, and we slip through the door, taking off the cloak once we are inside. Harry immediately runs to the mirror, beaming at what he sees. Crowding on either side of him, Ron and I look eagerly at the mirror. I don't see anything though.

"Look at them all," Harry says.

"I can only see you," Ron replies.

"Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am," Harry pushes Ron into the view of the mirror.

Ron stares at the image in the mirror. I still can't see anything though.

"Look at me," Ron exclaims.

"Can you see all your family standing around you?" Harry asks.

"No - I'm alone - but I'm different - I look older - and I'm head boy!" Ron says happily.

"What?" I exclaim.

"I am - I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to - and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup - I'm Quidditch captain, too," Ron says.

Ron tears his eyes away from the mirror to look excitedly at us.

"Do you think this mirror shows the future?" he asks.

"How can it? All my family our dead - let me have another look-" Harry says.

"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time," Ron argues.

"You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents," Harry retorts.

"Guys!" I interrupt. "Can I have a look? Or are you two just going to hog it all to yourselves?"

Harry looks at me guiltily.

"Oh, of course," he mutters.

"Sorry Isobel," Ron apologises.

I smile a little as he stands aside. I take his place in front of the mirror, waiting excitedly to find what I will see. Suddenly, someone appears next to me in my reflection, along with two blurred taller figures behind us. I squint, trying to make sense of the people.

"What do you see?" Harry asks.

I frown, not quite sure of the answer myself. In my reflection, the taller of the two figures lays their hand on my shoulder and wraps their other arm around the other figure. I realise that the blurred people are a man and a woman, and the man has laid his hand on my shoulder. The woman does the same to the figure next to me, and I faintly make out smiles on their faces. Beside me, Harry calls for my attention again. I jump, looking at my brother, then back to my reflection again.

"I just see us and our parents," I reply, deciding that must be it.

He smiles, nodding his head. Then suddenly, something sounds outside the corridor and we rush to put the cloak back on. I hold my breath as Mrs Norris comes around the door, praying the cloak works on cats. When she leaves, we quickly exit the classroom. As we pass the door though, I swear I feel the presence of someone else in the room. I survey the classroom, my gaze lingering where it feels like it is, but I see nothing. Then Ron and Harry tug me out of the room, and I shake the thought from my head. I'm just paranoid. The next morning, Harry is weirdly quiet. I can tell he's thinking about the mirror. Sensing my thoughts, Ron speaks up.

"I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight," he warns.

"Why not?" Harry asks sharply.

"I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it," Ron replies.

I nod, agreeing with him. While it was magical to see something in the mirror, it would do no good going back to see it again.

"- and anyway," Ron continues. "You've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?"

"You sound like Hermione," Harry rolls his eyes.

"He's serious, Harry," I put in. "Don't go."

He says nothing, and I have a bad feeling about him.

Dumbledore POV

The past two nights, young Harry had visited the Mirror, bringing his friend Ron and Isobel the second night. I was slightly surprised to see Isobel accompany him, but I did nothing. As they exited, Isobel stopped slightly, scanning the room. Her gaze then landed directly on me. I was impressed. Despite my disillusion charm, she was still able to sense my presence. Of course, she didn't know I was there, as she was quickly pulled away.

Tonight, I once again made my way to the empty classroom, hoping I wouldn't encounter Harry again. Resting on one of the old desks, I cast the charm on myself and sat quietly waiting. Not much later, to my slight disappointment, the boy turned up. He rushed right past me and situated himself in front of the mirror to watch his parents. I waited a little bit before wordlessly dropping the charm on myself. I then spoke up.

"So - back again, Harry?" I say.

He startles, turning back to face me with a worried expression on his face.

"I - I didn't see you, sir," he stammers.

I smile, letting him know he is not in trouble.

"Strange," I muse. "How nearsighted being invisible can make you."

I slip off the desk and ease myself down to sit next to Harry on the floor.

"So," I say. "You, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

I watch him to gauge his reaction.

"I didn't know it was called that, Sir," he replies.

"But I expect you've realized by now what it does?" I inquire.

He pauses in thought. I'm sure he doesn't know exactly what it does, but I am curious to see what he thinks.

"It - well - it shows me my family-" Harry states.

"As well as Isobel," I agree. "And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy," I add.

"How did you know - ?" Harry asks, surprised.

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," I say gently, indicating the nights I spent disillusioned while he was in this room. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?" I press.

Harry shakes his head, looking a little upset. Taking pity on him, I fall back into my old teaching methods.

"Let me explain," I begin. "The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Harry looks deep in thought. Then, slowly, he works it out.

"It shows us what we want. . . whatever we want. . ."

I ponder his description.

"Yes and no," I explain quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, and Isobel, who have never known your family, see them standing around you."

I pause slightly in regret that it is my fault they never knew their family. I quickly clear that thought from my mind though, focusing on my present conversation.

"Ronald Weasley," I continue. "Who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or 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."

I think back to when I first discovered the mirror, seeing myself with Minerva. I spent hours at a time in front of it, unable, at the time, to bring that to reality, as she was a student at the time.

"The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry," I inform the boy. "And I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."

I pause slightly.

"Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?" I suggest.

Harry stands up. Then he looks curiously at me.

"Sir - Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?" he asks.

I smile.

"Obviously, you've just done so," I joke slightly. "You may ask me one more thing, however," I continue.

"What do you see when you look in the mirror?" Harry asks.

I sigh a little, expecting the question. Glancing at the mirror, Minerva forms next to my reflection, like normal. However, recently the image has changed slightly. In front of us, stood two smaller, blurred figures. Upon first seeing it, I spent hours trying to figure out who they were. Eventually, though, I had come no further, so I tore myself away from it.

"I?" I repeat. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks," I lie, unable to tell him the truth.

Harry stares at me. I chuckle.

"One can never have enough socks," I say. "Another Christmas has come and gone, and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

My words have a slight truth to them, and Harry smiles lightly. I then urge him back to bed, returning to my own chambers for the night.

Isobel's POV

The next morning, Harry explains to Ron and I about what happened last night with Professor Dumbledore. Realisation dawns on me as I remember feeling someone's presence in the room that night. It wasn't my imagination, it was Dumbledore. I frown a little when Harry says Dumbledore saw himself with a pair of socks, but I don't say anything.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," Ron says once Harry finishes telling us about his latest dreams as well.

Unfortunately, the holidays come to an end all too soon, but luckily Hermione returns. She was horrified when we told her about our 'adventures', and quite upset to learn we hadn't figured anything out about Nicolas Flamel. The term starts back up again and we are thrown back into classes and Quidditch training for Harry and I. My private lessons with Dumbledore also continue, and I make some good progress with my control. Quidditch had gotten quite intense again because Wood is pushing us to win our next match to put us ahead of Slytherin in the House Cup. During one particularly muddy and wet lesson, he gave us some bad news. George and Fred had been mucking around when Oliver got mad at them.

"Will you stop messing around!" Wood yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any excuse to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George really did fall off his broom at these words.

"Snape's refereeing?" he splutters through a mouthful of mud. "When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match? He's not going to be fair if we might overtake Slytherin. "

The rest of us land next to George to complain as well.

"It's not my fault," says Wood. "We've just got to make sure we play a clean game, so Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us. "

Harry and I exchange a look, thinking of a conversation we had at our last match. If Snape is referring, that can't mean anything good for him. After practice, instead of hanging around to talk with the rest of the team, Harry and I return to Gryffindor Tower straight away. When we enter, we find Ron and Hermione talking. Glumly, we sat next to them, interrupting their game of chess.

"What's the matter with you? You look terrible," Ron asks, catching sight of our expressions.

We explain quietly so no one hears. We tell them about Snape's sudden decision to be the Quidditch referee.

"Don't play," Hermione says at once.

"Say you're ill," Ron pipes in.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggests.

"Really break your leg," Ron continues.

"I can't," Harry cuts in. "There isn't a reserve Seeker. If I back out, Gryffindor can't play at all."

I nod in affirmance, staring at the chess game in front of me. Just then, Neville falls through the Portrait Hole with his legs locked together. Hermione and I immediately jump out to perform the counter curse. He graciously thanks us, sitting down next to us on the maroon couches.

"What happened?" Hermione asks him.

"Malfoy," Neville replies shakily. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" I urge Neville. "Report him!"

Neville shakes his head, looking slightly afraid.

"I don't want more trouble," he mumbles.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Ron cries. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier."

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that," Neville chokes out, looking miserable.

Harry feels in the pocket of his robes to pull out a Chocolate Frog. He gives it to Neville, who looks like he's about to cry.

"You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry comforts. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

We laugh, and Neville's lips twitch in a weak smile as he unwraps the frog.

"Thanks, Harry. . . I think I'll go to bed. . . D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?" Neville offers.

Harry takes it, thanking Neville as he walks away. Harry then looks at the Famous Wizard card.

"Dumbledore again," he says, "He was the first one I ever-"

Suddenly he gasps. He stared at the back of the card. Then he looks up at us.

"I've found him!" he whispers.

I frown. Found who?

"I've found Flamel!"

I gasp as I register his words.

"I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here - listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

My mind flicks back to when I first read that, and everything falls into place as I finally remember where I'd heard Flamel's name before. Hermione jumps to her feet. She hasn't looked so excited since we'd gotten back the marks for our very first piece of homework.

"Stay there!" she says, and she sprints up the stairs to our dormitory. We barely have time to exchange mystified looks before she dashes back with an enormous old book in her arms.

"I never thought to look in here!" she whispers excitedly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" Ron says incredibly.

Hermione and I shush him. I move to stand next to her, watching as she finds the page she's looking for. At last, she finds what she's looking for.

"I knew it! I knew it!" she exclaims.

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" Ron asks grumpily.

We ignore him.

"Nicolas Flamel," Hermione whispers, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

I gasp, realisation hitting me. Unfortunately, the boys are a bit slow.

"The what?" Harry and Ron ask.

"Oh, honestly, don't you two read?" I roll my eyes. "Look - read that, there."

I push the book towards them, and Harry and Ron read:

The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).

"See?" Hermione says when Harry and Ron finish. "The dog must be guarding Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone! I bet he asked Dumbledore to keep it safe for him, because they're friends and he knew someone was after it, that's why he wanted the Stone moved out of Gringotts!"

My mind races through hundreds of thoughts.

"A stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying!" says Harry. "No wonder Snape's after it! Anyone would want it. "

"And no wonder we couldn't find Flamel in that Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry," Ron joins in. "He's not exactly recent if he's six hundred and sixty-five, is he?"

We spend the rest of the night trying to find anything else, and lightly discussing the Stone. I go to bed with thoughts swirling through my head, which seems to be normal recently. Ron and Harry talk about the Stone all day the next day, while Hermione and I listened. When Ron said he'd buy his own Quidditch team if he had the stone, it reminded Harry and I of the upcoming Quidditch match with Snape refereeing.

"I'm going to play," Harry told us. "If I don't, all the Slytherins will think I'm just too scared to face Snape. I'll show them. . . it'll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win."

"Just as long as we're not wiping you off the field," says Hermione.

"Don't worry, I'll look after him," I say grinning.

This causes us to laugh, and the seriousness of the conversation is forgotten. As the match draws nearer though, Harry becomes more and more nervous. He keeps telling us he's fine, but I don't believe him. The rest of the team isn't too calm, either. The idea of overtaking Slytherin in the house championship is wonderful, we hadn't done it for seven years, but would we be allowed to, with such a biased referee? It almost seemed as though Snape was following us, trying to catch us out for something. Potions becomes torture because the Professor is so mean to us. We couldn't help but wonder if Snape knew we'd found out about the Sorcerer's Stone, but how could he? Although he did seem to act like he knew everything. Just before the Quidditch match, I pull Harry aside to make sure he's alright.

"Everything's going to be alright, okay?" I reassure him.

He still looks slightly worried, so I give him a quick hug, ruffling his hair when I pull back. He grins slightly, and his mood improves a bit. When Hermione and Ron wish us good luck, I can tell they're worried. It's not exactly comforting. I try to focus on Wood's pep talk, but my eyes keep turning back to Harry where I can tell he isn't hearing anything Oliver's saying. We pull on our Quidditch robes and pick up our brooms, just about to head on to the pitch. Wood pulls us aside though before we can.

"Don't want to pressure you two," he says. "But if we ever need an early capture of the Snitch it's now. And try even harder to keep the Quaffle off the other team if you can," he adds, looking at me. "Finish the game before Snape can favour Hufflepuff too much."

We swallow, nodding.

"The whole school's out there!" Fred says, peering out of the door. "Even - blimey - Dumbledore's come to watch!"

My heart leaps.

"Dumbledore?" Harry says, dashing to the door to make sure.

When he pulls back, he looks extremely relieved, as do I. We know that with him watching, there's no way Snape would try to do anything. As we walk onto the pitch, I realise that's probably why Snape looks so angry. Oliver and the Hufflepuff captain do the customary handshake before Madame Hooch starts her countdown. I wait for the whistle to come, and when it does, I push off the ground, hard. Oliver immediately flies for the hoops, while Harry soars up above the game. Meanwhile, Angelina, Katie and I race for the Quaffle. We fly around for about a minute when suddenly Snape awards Hufflepuff a penalty because George hit a bludger at him. Angelina let out a cry of protest, but there is nothing we can do. As the game continues, Snape keeps awarding Hufflepuff penalties for no reason at all. At one point, I have to make a last-minute swerve to avoid one of the other team's chasers, which almost makes me fall off my broom. Luckily though, with an urge from me, the Nimbus Two Thousand rights itself, and I manage to stay on. We try our best to get some points, but it proves particularly hard with the game constantly stopping and starting. The whole time, everyone keeps an eye on Harry, silently willing him to end the game quickly. Then, suddenly, luck comes our way when he dives spectacularly, which draws gasps and cheers from the crowd. Harry streaks to the ground, just a scarlet blur. Then he speeds straight towards Snape, where the professor turns just in time to see Harry shoot past, his arm held in the air. The stands erupt in cheers, and our team lets out a triumphant shout. Almost as soon as the game had started, it had ended, that had to be some sort of record. Overall, the game barely lasted five minutes. We all steer towards the ground, and Harry jumps off his broom still a foot off the ground. He looks confused and thrilled at the same time. We rush over to him, unbelievably happy. Snape lands nearby, looking furious. I smile at the look on his face, when suddenly Dumbledore comes up behind Harry, smiling. I'm standing right next to him, so I hear his quiet words.

"Well done," the Headmaster says, nodding a little at me as well. "Nice to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror. . . been keeping busy. . . excellent. . ."

Harry's face lights up even more if possible while Snape spits bitterly on the ground. Sometime later, we finally leave the locker room to take our brooms back to the broom shed. We talked happily, still not believing how quickly we had won. I can tell Harry is particularly happy, because now he had something to be proud of. He isn't just a famous name anymore, he's the youngest seeker of the century, and able to live up to that title. Once we reach the shed and put our brooms away, we lean up against the wooden door to look at Hogwarts. We're both practically glowing with happiness, now that Gryffindor is in the lead.

"I'm so happy," Harry says. "Did you see the look on Snape's face? I did it. I showed him up!"

I laugh at his happiness. Then suddenly a hooded figure comes down the front steps of the castle. We look at each other. It clearly didn't want to be seen, because it walks as fast as possible to the forbidden forest. Our victory fades from my mind as I recognise the figure. Snape. He's sneaking into the forest while everyone's at dinner. Why? Harry races back into the shed to get our broomsticks. I'm about to protest when he jumps on his and takes off over the castle. I let out a cry of protest. But I can't let him go alone. So I grip my broom and jump on, taking off after Harry. I quickly catch up with him as he glides silently over the castle. We spot Snape breaking into a run to enter the forest. Harry glances at me before following. The trees of the forest are too thick, so we can't find where he went. We fly in circles, gradually getting lower, brushing the top of the trees until we hear voices. We glide toward them and land noiselessly in a towering beech tree. Harry dismounts his broom, climbing along the branches.

"Harry!" I hiss. "What are you doing?"

He ignores me, trying to see through the leaves. I inch closer, also getting off my broom. I grip it tightly, so I don't drop it. Beneath us in a clearing, Snape stands, but not alone. I make out the other figure, Quirrell. I listen carefully to try and hear what they're saying.

"I d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus. . ." I make out.

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," Snape says, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry leans forward and I can tell he can't hear. I have better hearing than him though, so I understand Quirrell's mumbling.

"Y-yes, I know, but –"

"Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?" Snape interrupts him.

"B-b-but Severus, I-" Quirrell protests.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," says Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you-" Quirrell stumbles back.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," spits Snape.

Nearby, an owl hoots loudly. I grip Harry to keep him steady as he almost falls out of the tree. I don't catch the first bit of Snape's next words though.

" - your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting," Snape says.

"B-but I d-d-don't-" Quirrell cries weakly.

"Very well," Snape cuts in. "We'll have another little chat soon when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

With that, he throws his cloak over his head and strides out of the clearing. In the dark, Quirrell's white face gleams with panic. I grip Harry's arm.

"Come on, let's go," I whisper.

He nods, and we mount our brooms and fly off again. We quickly stow them in the shed before racing back to the castle.

"Harry, Isobel, where have you two been?" Hermione squeaks when she sees us.

"We won! You won! We won!" shouts Ron, thumping Harry on the back. "And I gave Malfoy a black eye, and Neville tried to take on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed! He's still out cold but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be all right - talk about showing Slytherin! I've waiting for you in the common room, we're having a party, Fred and George stole some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," Harry interrupts. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this. . ."

We find a suitable place, and Harry makes sure Peeves isn't inside before shutting the door. We tell Hermione and Ron what we saw.

"So we were right," Ron says. "It is the Sorcerer's Stone, and Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus' - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through-"

"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" says Hermione in alarm.

"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," Ron says.

We let that sink in. After a little bit, I speak up.

"Come on, let's get back."

They agree, and we head back to the common room, joining the party for a bit before heading to bed. Luckily, after today, I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep.