It was late, so late it was probably early someplace closer than Harry'd like to admit. Everyone had cheerfully headed home for the holidays, well, everyone except him. Oh, sure, there were a few fifth years, and that gangly, awkward senior, but mostly everyone had gone home.
Harry was doing his nightly perambulations, trying not to run into Snape, again. That always landed him in detention, and he didn't want to know what Snape would do in between semesters. He might dream up something twice as ghastly as cauldrons! Maybe it would be with Filch.
Harry found a room he didn't recognize, up here on the eighth floor, where everything got all weird and fuzzy if you didn't look at it for a while.
He stepped inside, seeing at first what he thought was just a black portrait. Suddenly, Harry saw a dark eye appear, as if someone had rough-cut a piece out of someone's face. The eye widened, for a moment, and then disappeared.
Harry was left staring into the darkness. "I show not your face but your heart's desire," Harry read, and felt a shiver up his spine.
All Harry was looking at was blackness. Harry shook himself. He did not want to go back to the closet. Whatever the ... artifact was showing, it wasn't that.
Death, maybe? Oblivion? Sleep? Was sleep really his heart's desire.
"Oh, there you are, Mister Potter," Headmaster Dumbledore said. "I see you've found my mirror."
"Strange mirror, sir. Doesn't seem to show my reflection." Harry Potter said, his eyes still locked on the darkness... did it just... move? swirl, almost... blueblack moving across ashblack.
"Oh, it wouldn't. Have you figured out what it does show?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry briefly considered lying, but figured being able to read was actually something most Gryffindors could do, "It shows one's heart's desire."
"Aye, that it does. What does it show you, if I can ask?" Dumbledore said genially.
Harry wanted to snarl, to say that it did matter, and he didn't want to share, "Only if you'll tell me what you see first, sir?"
"Step away and I'll tell you," Dumbledore said, and Harry wondered if that was a command or a question.
"Of course sir," Harry said.
"Ooo! Of course, of course," Dumbledore said, his bearded face breaking into a broad smile, "I see a new pair of woolen socks. Taupe, if you can believe it."
It was a lie, a blatant, naked lie. Harry wanted to lie back, but he wasn't quite sure what he should say. "I thought you liked the ones with stars on them, or violent purple, or impeligo blue!"
Dumbledore laughed, "So I thought too. It appears I was wrong."
Dumbledore waited expectantly, listening carefully. Harry fought back the urge to sigh, "I saw blackness, sir. Nothing more."
Dumbledore's face didn't change much, but Harry could tell it was troubled, "My boy, I must ask you not to come back here. Many have lost their lives staring into this, dreaming of things that cannot be."
"I just don't understand, sir. Is it death that's my heart's desire?"
For once, Dumbledore was honest, when he responded, "I wish I knew, my boy, I wish I knew."
Neither boy nor old man saw the silver shadow leaving the corridor. That was for the best.
[a/n: Because this had to go in. Speculation, as always, is very welcome. What do you think Harry was seeing? Leave reviews, dear readers!]