Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.
Note: My sincerest apologies for not posting this sooner, my lovelies. I've worked 16 of the last 17 days, and have had little time to think about posting. However, here is installment 15. As always, please review.
Chapter Fifteen – A Name and a Desire
After several minutes of looking herself over in the mirror, which was a bit silly since she couldn't see herself at all, Whitney carefully folded the Invisibility Cloak and beneath her pillow. She looked around her room for a moment, at first forgetting what she had come up here to do in the first place, but remembered suddenly and smiled.
She retrieved her new stationery set, took a quill from her school bag, and grabbed her Transfiguration book to write on. Sitting on her bed, she composed two letters—one to Mrs. Weasley, and one to Neville's gran, thanking them for their wonderful Christmas presents. After every major, gift-giving holiday, Petunia had always made Whitney write her thank you letters to friends and relatives, and it was one of the chores Whitney had gotten quite good at. It was also one of the few chores she had ever gotten any praise for. Not from Petunia, of course, but when someone would thank the woman for the beautiful thank you note, it always reflected a little on Whitney.
Where the letters she wrote for Petunia, however, were rather generic, the ones she wrote now were far more personalized. Whitney smiled as she wrote her thanks, trying to keep the letters simple, but honest. When she was finished, she placed both letters in envelopes decorated with lilies, sealed them with the gold wax, and stamped the wax with the seal. Whitney had never really enjoyed "pretty" things before, but the letters were quite so. She tucked them into her robes, put away her stationery set, and left the tower for the Owlery.
On her way out of the portrait hole, she thought about the Invisibility Cloak and who could possibly have given it to her. The note said it had belonged to her father, whom Whitney hadn't thought much about over the past few years until recently when Hagrid had told her he'd been murdered. James Potter, to her, had always been the man that her Aunt Petunia's sister had married, but now he was slowly becoming the man she could think of as a father.
James Potter had been a Gryffindor and a Seeker, just like Whitney, and even though she couldn't remember him at all, she felt a glow of pride when she thought about that. He had also owned an Invisibility Cloak, though how he'd gotten it and how he'd used it were still mysteries. She found herself longing to know more about him, but without any idea of how to do so.
Sighing, she left the castle and crossed the snowy estate to the Owlery, trudging through waist-high snow with some difficulty. At the door, she removed her wand from her sleeve and cast a warming charm to clear enough space to get inside. The Owlery was a massive stone tower, and the sound of the closing door echoed throughout the structure, sending feathers rustling and eliciting disturbed noises from the owls.
"Sorry," Whitney said, walking up the stone stairs and looking for… well, she hadn't named the owl, yet.
She recognized her on sight, though, and smiled warmly as she approached the alcove where the white owl was resting. "Hello, lovely," Whitney whispered to the owl, who peered at the girl through one, skeptical eye. The owl made an unimpressed noise, but allowed Whitney to gently rub the space on top of the owl's head. "I know I haven't visited you often," Whitney told the owl, "but I hoped you might deliver these letters for me."
The owl opened its other eye and blinked at Whitney expectantly. Whitney chewed for a moment on her bottom lip, but the owl didn't move even to allow her to attach the letters. The girl cleared her throat, not sure how to continue. She'd never actually seen anyone send a letter by owl before.
She held up the two letters and asked, "Would you mi—"
The owl interrupted Whitney with a moody noise that sounded—to Whitney, at least—dismissive.
"Oh, I'm… I'm sorry," Whitney tried to say, before resorting to flattery. "Please won't you help me, pretty owl? I've never seen an owl with such sharp talons, or more perfect… beak." She struggled to find more ways to compliment an owl, but her eyes fell on the decorative envelopes in her hand. "Your feathers are the color of lilies," she rambled on. "My mother's name was Lily, you know, and she was… quite beautiful, too. In fact, I shall call you Lily. Would you like that?"
The owl's expression, nearly as easily interpreted as any person's, was intrigued at Whitney's offer. After a moment of silence, she nipped at Whitney's fingers and held out one leg for the letters to be attached to. Elated, Whitney exclaimed, "Oh, thank you!"
She fastened the letters to Lily's leg while talking. "You probably just wanted a name, didn't you?" she asked Lily. "I'm so sorry I hadn't thought of one before now. I'm rubbish, sometimes, but I'll be better. You'll forgive me, won't you, Lily? And you'll take these letters? One to Mrs. Weasley, Ron's mum, and one to Ms. Longbottom, Neville's gran?"
Whitney immediately looked forlorn at this. She looked up from the letters to Lily. "Oh, but how will you find them? I haven't got the addresses. I never thought to ask." She slapped a hand across her forehead just as Lily took flight and flew through a glassless window in the tower. Whitney just watched her go, speechless at the sudden departure, then she frowned.
"Wait…" she said to herself thoughtfully. "Owls can't read anyway, can they?"
Hoping her letters would arrive safely, Whitney left the Owlery for dinner, which turned out to be a rather splendid affair. Hagrid had expended a great deal of effort in making the hall look magical… apart from the usual enchanted ceiling and floating candelabras, that is. The food was better than any Whitney could ever remember having eaten, and everyone was in high spirits for the holidays. None more so than Fred and George, it seemed, who were attempting to feed a very unhappy Percy whose arms were forcefully pinned to his sides by a blue Weasley sweater.
The festivities were over far too soon, however, and Whitney stumbled back up to Gryffindor tower with Ron and Neville, all three too full of food to be talkative. Whitney, feeling sleepy after the feast, waved to the two boys as they parted ways for their respective dormitories. Fully-clothed, she flopped down on her bed, unable to help the dreamy smile on her face. If every year at Hogwarts was like this, she thought, she could stomach anything the Dursleys could dish out during the summer.
Sighing, she wrapping her arms around her pillow, freezing when her hands met silvery grey, feather-light fabric. Her tired brain clicked back on with excitement as she remembered the Invisibility Cloak. She had nearly forgotten!
Despite moments ago having been ready to turn in, adrenaline pumped its way into her veins and she could think of nothing else but testing out her father's cloak. She pulled the cloak out from under her pillow in handfuls and threw it over her shoulders. It was so light it felt like wearing a fine layer of clouds. She tugged the hood up over her head and swept out of the common room once more. Whitney had the run of the entire castle, she realized, and no classes in the morning for which to wake up early; it was time to explore.
Since she had arrived at Hogwarts, Whitney had been fascinated by its intricate and ever-changing layout. Each quirk of its curious blueprints must have had a story behind it, telling of one of the thousands of students who had walked the halls of this castle since it had become a school centuries ago. Tonight, Whitney let her feet carry her wherever they wished.
She spent a few moments with her leg trapped in a sinking stair between the third and fourth floors, dodged around a hall that Peeves was occupying for what seemed like the purpose of covering the floor in a thick syrup, and discovered rooms upon rooms of abandoned books and classroom equipment.
Whitney adored the sensation of being invisible. It wasn't necessarily a tangible feeling, but more of a knowledge that she could go anywhere and do anything she wanted. It wasn't until quite early in the morning, around three or so, that she finally began to lose steam. Exhaustion set in, but Whitney realized that she had no idea how to get back to her room. She tried retracing her steps, but it seemed that the stairs didn't always lead back to the way she had come. Trying not to panic, she ran down corridors, nothing but the sounds of shoes slapping against stone to belie the fact she was even there.
She stopped near a suit of armor in a hall that ended in a window, and moved to get a look outside, convinced that she could find her bearings if only she knew on which side of the castle she was. A clatter behind her and a high-pitched cackle startled her, and she froze in place, looking around. Filch's angry voice could be heard shouting at Peeves, and it was close enough that it made Whitney slip into a nearby classroom. She was invisible, of course, but if Filch were to walk into her, it would be very difficult to explain. She closed the door gently behind her and pressed her ear to the door to listen for any signs of the caretaker, but as she turned her head to listen, her eyes fell upon the solitary occupant of the room.
The mirror was rather magnificent. It was nearly as tall as the ceiling, framed ornately in brass, and seemed to give off an ethereal glow. Almost hypnotically, she moved closer to the mirror until she was standing in front of it, and what she saw there was nothing that she expected.
Instead of seeing nothing, Whitney saw herself standing with a man she recognized. He was the man sitting with her mother in the picture Neville's gran had sent. His messy, black hair, round glasses, and charming smile were unmistakable. He stood with his hands on Whitney's shoulders, though she could feel nothing behind her. She reached a shaking hand up as though to place it on one of his, and while her hand touched nothing but her own robes, the hand in the mirror grasped her father's. A dizzy feeling like missing a step going downstairs settled in Whitney's stomach. Unable to form any other conscious thought, she could only force herself to stammer one word.
"F-father?" she asked softly, disbelievingly.
It couldn't be, could it? Her father was dead. But then, perhaps that was the mirror's secret—to show the departed.
Whitney shook her head, and so did her reflection. "Then, where is my mother?" she wondered aloud. If the mirror showed deceased loved ones, it should show her mother, as well, shouldn't it?
The very moment she thought it, Whitney's mother materialized in the mirror. Both were smiling happily at her, and the Whitney in the mirror turned to hug both of her parents. She looked happier and healthier than Whitney knew herself to look, and the girl fell to her knees in front of the mirror, bruising her shins. She watched for what seemed like hours as the family in the mirror sat to dinner, went to the park, watched evening television together, and got ready for bed.
She didn't budge an inch, couldn't tear her eyes from the visions before her. This was all she had ever wanted, and though it wasn't real, watching it unfold was the sincerest form of magic she'd ever experienced.
"That is beautiful yet terrible magic of the Mirror of Erised."
Whitney whirled around, the hood of her Invisibility Cloak dropping down around her shoulders. When her eyes fell upon Professor Dumbledore, she took a step back and tripped, falling hard on the stone floor. Looking aghast, Whitney struggled for words to explain to the Headmaster why she was out of bed after curfew and why most of her body was invisible. It hadn't even occurred to her to ask how he had known she was there.
With a slightly amused twinkle behind his spectacles, Professor Dumbledore waved a hand at the girl for her to relax, and she stopped trying to get up from the floor. Whitney looked up at the Headmaster silently, invisible legs bent up into her invisible chest, invisible arms wrapped around them. When it became obvious that she wasn't going to break the fragile silence, he did.
"The Mirror of Erised, Whitney, is a dangerous and marvelous magical artifact. Have you discovered what its secret is?" Professor Dumbledore asked the terrified girl.
Whitney, hoping that giving the man an answer would help prevent her inevitable expulsion, stammered over her answer. "I… I wanted to see… I mean, it showed me my… dad. And, when I saw him, it made me want to see…" She looked back at the mirror where her parents were waving at her. "My mum," she finished slowly. "It shows you… what you want to see."
Whitney was startled into looking at Professor Dumbledore by the sound of his small chuckle. "Very nearly," he agreed with her, his amusement dimming somewhat to seriousness. "The Mirror shows us the greatest desires in our hearts. In your case, you long for a connection to the parents you never knew, and the Mirror shows you one."
Whitney sighed and rested her chin on her knees. "It's only a picture," she said slowly, but then she smiled. "Neville gave me a picture of them today. Did you know them?" she asked the Headmaster. "They went to school here, didn't they? And you've been Headmaster for a long time?"
Professor Dumbledore's light chuckle returned at the inadvertent reference to his apparent age. "I knew them," he answered softly, "but tonight is not the night for stories, I'm afraid."
Whitney looked very disappointed, and then very afraid as she remembered that it was probably a night for punishing rule-breakers instead. She scrambled to her feet in front of Professor Dumbledore, a floating head rising to waist-level.
"Go back to your dormitory, Whitney," the Headmaster said kindly, "and do not go looking for the Mirror again, for it is being moved elsewhere tonight."
Whitney looked uncertainly at the door. "I don't… remember how to get back," she admitted.
"Oh, I think you'll find that, in Hogwarts, help comes to those who ask for it," he said with the barest hint of a wink. "Now pull up that hood of yours. Off you go."
Confused, Whitney did as she was told, her head disappearing under the cloak. A moment later, the door opened and closed seemingly by itself, and Whitney was gone.