Albus watched Harry swing his father's cloak over his head and disappear. The door opened and shut quietly, and then he was alone, in the dark room.
What do you see when you look in the mirror?
He sighed, reaching out to touch the mirror's glassy surface. Ariana smiled back at him, her face alight with happiness, her blue eyes calm and sane.
Woolen socks. Woolen socks, of all things. Would it have been so bad to tell Harry the truth? They were more alike than he knew, and Harry was wiser in many ways than a boy his age had any right to be.
Not yet. Someday, when Harry was older and they could speak as equals, when he could gather his own courage and confess to a boy who admired him how he had, in his arrogance, shattered the remains of his own family. Someday, perhaps, but not yet.
Albus dropped his hand and turned away.