Chapter 16: Mirror, Mirror
"The mirror on my wall casts an image dark and small,
But I'm not sure at all it's my reflection."
-Paul Simon, 'Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall'
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Christmas Eve found Harry sitting on one of the extremely comfortable couches in the Hufflepuff Common Room reading The Once and Future King. There was a huge log, so big that Harry hadn't been able to put his arms around it, slowly burning in the fireplace. Runes had been inscribed in it, and Bryce had explained to all the first years before most of the school had boarded the Hogwarts Express how similar logs were traditionally burned for blessings of prosperity and for protection against evil.
With a tired sigh he set the book aside and stared at the fire. If he had been asked lst year, he would have said that he could never imagine not being lonely. Since meeting Allie—and wasn't that a strange present for Dudley's birthday?—he would have said that he could never imagine feeling lonely again. Two months living with the Patils, another three and a half sharing a dormitory with four other boys, had made him very used to having other people around.
But Hufflepuff Sett had been deserted. Tonks and Justin back to their respective families in London, Cedric who lived not far from the Weasleys, Ernie back to…actually, he wasn't quite certain where Ernie lived but he knew that the pureblood boy had an extensive family. A pair of seventh years had stayed behind to study for the N.E.W.T.s that were given at the end of the year, and there were a few others that Harry recognized by sight if not by name, but Harry doubted that there were a dozen Hufflepuffs left..
Most students, Cedric had told him on the carriage ride as he went to see his friends off, usually stayed for at least one Hogwarts Christmas. But it wasn't unusual for Hufflepuffs to have the least number of students staying in the castle, and this year was even sparser than usual.
Still, even without his friends he hadn't been nearly as lonely as he had expected. By the time the Express huffed out of the Hogsmead station and the carriages (and the few students who had gone along to see friends off) returned to the school, volunteer boards had been placed in the Entrance Hall awaiting them. None of them were actually required to do anything, but some infectious spirit in the air, or perhaps a potion in the pumpkin juice, had everyone pitching in.
The castle had been cleaned until it glowed. Hagrid had taken a handful of students out into the forest to pick out trees, which had then been hitched to white horses and dragged back to the castle. Hagrid, easily the biggest person in the castle, had done most of the work of dragging the trees to where they would be stood as magic was traditionally not allowed for that task. But decorating was wholly magical. Professor Flitwick had conjured snow for on top of branches and taught Harry how freeze water into icicles that didn't melt and to make tiny little glowing wizard lights. McGonagall had gone about conjuring stars for on top of the trees, and taught students to magically join popped corn and string to make garlands. Even Snape had contributed little glass balls filled with bright bubbling liquids or glowing gasses. Boxes of glass balls, tinsel, candy canes, and other decorations appeared, and Harry found all sorts of interesting uses of the levitation charm as he set about decorating. Garlands appeared strung across all of the corridors. Wreaths appeared, literally overnight, on all of the doors in the castle. And the scent of burning pine logs and baking Christmas cookies filled the air.
The High Lords of Chaos had spent several weeks putting Santa suits on all of the suits of armor and jaunty little red hats with big white pompoms on the gargoyles manning the battlements. Three days before Christmas Harry snuck out after curfew and went around the castle using the basic counter-charm to drop the concealment spells Tonks and Cedric had put on them.
Perhaps signing their work—each Santa-armor had a big belt buckle emblazoned HLC—was a bit too much, because the Weasley twins took it as a challenge and holly began to grow throughout the school. It snaked its way up the legs of the tables, benches, and chairs in the Great Hall. It wounds its way up the banisters of the Grand Staircase. It grew up the Quidditch goal posts until they looked like a cross between lollipops and trees from a distance. It lay siege to and overcame the west wall. And one evening it found a toehold on the lintel of Professor Quirrell's bedroom door and grew so thick that it took Hagrid half a day with an axe to free him.
In the evenings they'd sit in the Great Hall and drink hot spiced pumpkin juice and other seasonal drinks, or he'd go to Gryffindor Tower and he and Ron would sit up late and tell each other ghost stories and old wizarding Christmas tales while toasting any food that could be toasted (and several that couldn't) in front of roaring fires. One night, asked along by the Fat Friar, he and Ron had gone caroling around the castle and received baleful glares from Snape, Christmas cookies from a tartan tin from McGonagall, and tea and rock cakes from Hagrid.
At night, great blazing fires could be seen deep in the forest that Hagrid told them were the Yule bonfires that the centaurs used to celebrate the turning of the year. During the day, from the comfort of Hagrid's hut where they had paused to warm frozen fingers and toes, Hogwarts castle took on the appearance of a castle trapped in a snow globe.
"Fancy a go?" Ron asked.
Harry looked over to where his friend was gesturing to the wizard chess board in front of him. Wizard chess was just like normal chess, Harry had discovered, except that the pieces could talk and move on their own and the players directed them around the board like generals directing troops on a miniature battlefield.
Harry had invited his friend to spend the night in the Hufflepuff Sett. In deference to those who had stayed to study, they had kept the celebration to a dull roar. Ron had dragged along his brothers, and Fred and George Weasley who he knew better as the Gryffindor beaters had put on a stunning show of magical tricks and pranks. Wands had transformed into rubber chickens. Real chickens had been pulled out of conjured hats only to really be rabbits pretending to be chickens. There were self-tricking cards that could read your mind and daggers and flaming torches that would juggle themselves.
Percy, Ron's oldest brother in Hogwarts, had been unwillingly dragged in by the twins. For a moment it had seemed like he was going to take points and storm off, but instead he thanked Harry for inviting them and found a corner that suited his purpose where he curled up with an advanced transfiguration text.
Padma and Parvati had both gone home. From their letters he knew that Padma had regained consciousness and was healing well, but had no memory of what they were sure was a deliberate attack. They reported that Dumbledore had told their parents that magic had been traced to outside the Forbidden Corridor, along with evidence that Padma had been severely beaten there. Most of the evidence amounted to the fact that spell-work had been used to clean the area, and they had been unable to identify her attacker.
"Not tonight, Ron," Harry said, recalling how his last game ended. The King and a handful of pieces trapped in a shrinking pocket as Ron's encircling pieces shattered them one by one.
Ron shrugged and tapped one particularly blood-thirsty knight to command the opposition force. The sounds of the fray had leant a particularly unChristmas-like feel to the room.
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Harry woke Christmas morning to see that sometime during the night several large piles of presents had been set under the tree in the center of the common room.
"Happy Christmas," he said to Ron who was crawling out of his sleeping bag.
"Mmm?" Ron asked blurrily, but then seemed to remember what day it was and brightened considerably. "Happy Christmas, Harry. Ohh, presents."
Harry bundled into his bathrobe though the fire in the hearth had warded off most of the chill of night, and sank into one of the comfortable couches. The other Weasleys were awake as well, and he watched as they also pulled on robes and moved their piles so that they could open them together. They traded jokes back and forth, and even though Ron was clearly impatient to rip open his packages they took turns and showed off what each had received.
It was almost like being a part of a real family.
Dudley had always ripped open his packages straight away and loudly complained if he hadn't gotten something he wanted or hadn't received as many gifts as he was expecting and never got his parents anything. Petunia always had a pinched look as she slit open her packages, and then immediately went around cleaning up the bits of torn paper, while Vernon grunted as he opened his and wagged his mustache.
"Aren't you going to open yours, Harry?" Ron asked.
"I've got presents?" Harry asked.
"What did you expect, turnips?" Ron asked in reply.
"No," Harry said. "It's just…" he shrugged, "since Ernie and Justin and the rest all went home for the holiday, we all agreed to exchange presents when they came back."
"Huh, wonder who these are from then," Ron said.
Carefully, as though a sudden movement could break the strange magic that the Weasley brothers had called into being, Harry moved to sit on the floor next to Ron, pulling over a small pile of wrapped parcels.
"Well?" one of the twins asked. "Go on," encouraged the other.
Harry picked up a long, thin parcel that was on top. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and tied with twine. Scrawled on it was TO HARRY FROM HAGRID. He eased the twine off of it and the paper fell away to reveal a rough, hand-carved flute. Hesitantly he put his fingers over the holes, conscious of the other four people watching him, and blew experimentally. It looked and felt rough, half-finished almost, but it fit his hands perfectly and the sound was like bird calls.
He received a box of chocolate frogs from Hermione and felt a little guilty as he remembered that he had forgotten to tell her about the planned gift exchange, but resolved to send her a letter after breakfast. Ron got a big box of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans from her. Then Percy opened up a new quill and the twins shared a package with some kind of magical device that involved several metal balls and a lot of pieces of twisted silvery wire that Harry couldn't make heads or tails of but apparently greatly pleased them.
Ron gave him a Chuddley Cannons poster complete with pictures of little people on brooms that flew around it. Harry gave him a box of chocolate frogs, and the fifty pence piece his Aunt and Uncle had sent and Ron had been enamored by.
Percy sighed as he flipped it over in his hands before passing it on to Fred and George to examine. "Don't let father see it."
"Why?" Harry asked. "It isn't…bad or anything, because it's muggle-made, I mean."
"Oh no, nothing like that," Percy said.
"Dad's really taken by muggles," Ron said as the pence piece came back to him. "Wonders at all the stuff they can do without magic. He collects stuff. Spark plugs and batteries, mostly. He has a whole shed full of stuff. A lot of it we're pretty sure that even he doesn't know what it is."
"Oh," Harry said.
There was a soft ringing of bells, and he turned as Allie stuck her head into the room.
And just like that the moment was broken.
"You!" Ron spat, jumping to his feet.
Fred and George also got up, but Harry couldn't tell if it was because Ron got up or they sensed an impending fight. Percy sighed and also got up; looking like he really wanted to say something only he didn't know what to say.
Harry didn't know what to say either. He had invited her to spend Christmas in the sett, but she had turned it down once she learned that Ron was going to be there.
"What are you doing here?" Ron demanded.
A brief flicker of annoyance flashed across her face before she schooled it into a polite mask. "I came to say Happy Christmas to my friend, Weasley," she said coolly.
"Harry—"
But now it was Allie's turn to cut him off. "Quiet," she said sharply. She took a deep breath and continued before Ron could overcome his momentary silence. "Harry asked me to spend Christmas Eve here, and I turned him down when I realized you were going to be here because I didn't think you could resist starting a fight. You are not going to ruin this day, Weasley. It's too important for that."
Ron started to reply, but before Harry could say anything, Percy put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. Ron glared at him, but a frown and a tight shake of his head made Ron cross his arms and look at Allie in silent disgust.
Allie reached into the satchel she carried and came out with a book that she handed to Harry.
It was heavy, with a brown leather cover that was decorated with an intricate gold design on the cover. He flipped through it to discover pictures of carefully arranged advanced potion equipment and carefully inscribed magical circles and lists of specific prepared items.
"I'm sorry, I'm not, ah, much good at wrapping presents," she said.
Harry, who had been wrapping most of the presents at the Dursleys since he was five, could remember his earlier attempts at wrapping presents under the careful eye of Aunt Petunia and what had usually followed after. "It's great," he said. "This is alchemy, right?" he asked, pausing near the end of the book to examine one particularly complex arrangement of fires, cauldrons, glass spheres, and mystical sigils.
"It's a good introductory text," she said. "There's a copy of the Emerald Tablet in the back if you get serious about it. Alchemists are supposed to keep a copy of it hanging on the wall of their labs."
"Thank you," Harry said. "Wait a moment, I have something for you." He went back to the pile under the tree, the one that contained everything he'd gotten for his friends, and found her present.
Allie took it, glanced at the Weasleys, and turned very pointedly to Harry as she slit open the neatly wrapped paper. It too was a leather-bound book, though without the fancy detailing. "Silversteri Stillwater's Sigil Compendium," she read from the title page before looking up. "Thank you, Harry," she said.
Harry couldn't help it. Despite the tension in the room he grinned. He had known exactly what Allie had gotten for him just like she knew what he'd gotten for her. Faced with the prospect of his first Christmas with friends he'd also found himself with a situation he hadn't expected to ever have except maybe in the distant far-off future where he had been free of the Dursleys and maybe had a family of his own. Cedric had first mentioned Owl-mail order catalogs back when they were deciding what broom to get him, but it was Allie who had shown him how to use them and get the money taken from his vault at Gringotts, all without ever leaving the castle.
From the way Ron had reacted, his first attempt at Christmas shopping had been a success.
"Want to come in and stay a while?" Harry asked.
Allie looked sideways towards Ron.
"This is Hufflepuff," Harry said. "You're my friend, Allie."
The girl looked back at him and nodded silently.
But even though she sat on one of the couches well away from the Weasley brothers, the magical feeling of being part of a family was lost. Ron huffed and moved back to his stack of presents and no longer seemed as happy as he'd been moments before. Fred and George both looked like they wanted to do something though neither knew quite what. As for Percy, he'd open his mouth, start to say something, then think better of it and close his mouth again. Even the discovery of the hand-knitted sweater and homemade fudge that Mrs. Weasley had sent him didn't begin to bring it back and the twins and Percy left shortly after.
Harry flicked a wadded up piece of gaily colored paper and flicked it towards a waste-parchment bin, but came up short. Ten years of living with the Dursleys had left him with a need to keep things neat and tidy and so, with a sigh, he got to his feet and went after it. "C'mon," he said, "let's get this cleaned up."
Ron looked like he was going to object, but Allie had grabbed another bin to help Harry and after a moment of indecision decided that he couldn't let the Slytherin get the better of him. He grabbed up a big pile of wrapping paper, crushing it together. But it didn't crush. Absent-mindedly discarding wrapping paper back onto the floor he uncovered another parcel wrapped in yellow paper with bright, glittering, purple stars.
"Hey, Harry?" he called. "I found another present. It has your name on it."
"It does?" Harry asked, accepting the package.
Sure enough, it did.
"I don't know who it could be from," Harry muttered, flipping it over.
"Well?" Ron asked.
Harry looked at him.
"Go on," Ron said. "Open it."
Harry slit open the paper and something fluid and silvery-grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds. Ron gasped and Allie froze, staring at it.
"I've heard of those," Ron said as Harry reached down and picked it up. "If it's what I think it is, it's really rare, and really valuable."
"What do you think it is?" Harry asked as he rubbed the fabric in his hands. It felt like water, like someone had spun cobwebs, wood smoke, and evening twilight into cloth, and when the light struck it just right he could see runes and sigils weaved into the cloth by alternating the texture.
"It's a cloak of invisibility," Allie whispered.
"Try it on," Ron all but shouted at him.
Harry threw the cloak around his shoulders and immediately Ron cried out.
"It is one! See?"
Harry looked down to see that his body had vanished. He dashed to the mirror and pulled the hood over his head. His head vanished as well.
"There's a note," Allie said.
Harry pulled back the hood as she opened it.
"'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very Happy Christmas to you.'"
Allie passed him the note and he quickly read it to see that, yes, it was unsigned, but also that it was written in a curious loopy hand.
"I'd give anything for one of these cloaks," Ron said. "Anything. What's the matter, Harry?"
Harry shook his head, unable to reply. Who had sent the note? Why was it unsigned? Had the cloak really once belonged to his father?
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The few Hufflepuffs all sat together at one end of the long table for the Christmas Feast. The other tables were likewise empty-looking compared to the meals that had been severed there, but all of the other houses had had a great many more students stay than Hufflepuff did.
There were gooses and turkeys and large hams at every table, and the Weasley twins paraded in with a great roasted pig's head with an apple in its mouth as they sang at the tops of their voices in mangled Latin. There were mountains of mashed potatoes and tureens of buttered green peas. Silver boats laden with thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce rowed and sailed their respective ways up and down the tables.
Wizard crackers were stacked in high piles between every plate. These were nothing like the mundane varieties with flimsy prizes and paper hats. In short order one of the Weasley twins was wearing a rear admiral's hat, Dumbledore had traded his pointed wizard cap for a flower bonnet, and Harry had found himself with a shako that Samuel Goodfry whose father was a muggle historian identified as being from the 95th Rifle Regiment from the cap badge. More crackers exploded like cannons and white mice were sent scurrying for shelter and a brand new Wizarding chess set and a package of Buster Broobles' Blow-Your-Own Bubbles quickly piled up next to Harry's plate.
Once the plates were clear of the goose and turkey and mashed potatoes and all the rest of the main course, great flaming plum puddings appeared on the table. The older Hufflepuffs traded grins and desert forks were raised in salute.
That evening, after a tiring snowball fight with the Weasleys and turkey sandwiches and Christmas cakes for supper, Harry collapsed onto his bed and picked up the cloak. It had, without question, been the best Christmas that he could remember having. But through it all he had never had a chance to really think about the cloak.
He sat on his bed rubbing the material, now shimmering like moonlight and light as air. His father's cloak. Who had had it? Why had they had it? Why now? Abruptly he threw it around his shoulders and almost immediately he was wide awake, full belly and exhaustion completely forgotten as he realized that all of Hogwarts was now open to him. No more furtive sneaking, knowing at any moment a Prefect or Filch could come around the corner. No more need for Allie to have the ghosts scout for them. No more need to plan out every detail and to set out decoys and deceptions.
The cloak would allow him to do everything and anything, whenever he wanted to as soon as he wanted to, and nobody would be the wiser.
He left the sett through the burrows instead of his usual preference of the Campfire painting, and walked through the halls until he reached the massive carved wooden doors of the library. He pushed one open.
Without the usual lamps and candles that normally lit the library it was very dark inside. Harry took up a lantern from a stand and a whispered rush of power caused the wick to burst into flame. Four months of magic lessons, and he still thought that the little fire-starting trick Allie had shown him was the neatest piece of magic he had learned.
Even with the lantern to light his way it was an eerie experience. Shelves of books loomed high above Harry as they emerged from shadows, and disappeared back into shadows behind him as he passed. The rows between each set of shelves were the dark mouths of caves, waiting to swallow him. The desk where Ms. Pince reigned supreme disappeared into the shadows above it until it became a faceless insurmountable crag.
He stepped over the velvet rope that closed off the Restricted Section. As Allie had said it wasn't magically alarmed. For a moment he stared up at the shelves of books of dark magic. Then, slowly realizing where he was and the opportunity it presented, he turned to the books.
Unlike the books in the main library these were obviously aged and some were in quite poor condition. Bindings had cracked with age and lack of preventive care. Gold lettering had faded into incomprehensibility. Many had no titles at all or had strange glyphs on them. Several had dark brownish stains of what looked suspiciously like blood.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and magic prickled his fingers as he brushed them against the spine of one book. The air had an odd tang to it, like the deionizer that Aunt Petunia had once brought home to improve air quality but had gotten rid of just as quickly. And, though Harry was almost certain it was his mind playing tricks on him, he thought he could hear the books whispering as though they were aware of some person's illicit presence in their midst.
Unable to find a good place to start, Harry set down the lantern and selected one of the few books that looked well cared for, a black leather tome with silver tooling on the spine and cover. He pulled it off the shelf carefully and tried to balance it on his knee, but it was heavier than he expected and it fell open.
A single piercing, bloodcurdling shriek rent the air—the book was screaming! It went on and on, a high, unbroken, solitary note. Harry slammed the book closed but it went on screaming and he shoved it back onto the shelf and headed for the entrance, nearly tripping over the rope that guarded the Restricted Section.
The rope sprung alive and tried to lasso him, but Harry had already stumbled past it and slammed into a heavy bookshelf. He paused long enough to take two quick breaths as he steadied himself and hurried up the library towards the door. A sound at the entrance made him pause, and he quickly ducked into a row and blew out his lantern.
A moment latter the door creaked and a light approached from the entrance of the library. Harry shrunk back further in the darkness of the row. Filch hurried past carrying a great guard-lantern and Harry silently counted out ten long seconds before slipping out of the shadow he had hide in and hurried back towards the entrance, pausing only long enough to return his lantern which clinked loudly as he set it down.
Filch cried out again and Harry ran.
He was in such a hurry to get away that he didn't pay much attention to where he was going until he found himself next to a suit of armor. This didn't help him much as there was at least a company's worth of suits of armor, perhaps more, that garrisoned the halls of Hogwarts and were fond of moving around when nobody was watching. He started to look around to get his bearings when he heard voices.
Wherever he was, Filch must have known a secret passage or some other shortcut and had gotten there first.
"You asked me to come to you directly, Professor," Filch was saying, "if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library—the Restricted Section."
To Harry's horror the soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and it was Snape who replied.
"The Restricted Section? Well, they can't have gotten far, we'll catch them."
Harry could see Filch's lantern coming down the hall and looked desperately around. Snape and Filch couldn't see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much closer they could very well walk right into him. The cloak made him invisible to sight, it didn't make him intangible to touch.
There was a soft bluish light coming from a door a little down the hall and Harry crept towards it, careful not to let his trainers squeak on the stone floor. He had only one chance, to slip inside the barely open door and hope that Filch and Snape didn't see or hear anything that would bring them to investigate further.
He cautiously crossed the hall, conscious of the cloak around him. It was big, intended for a full-grown wizard, but if a hand or a foot was even momentarily uncovered he'd be caught and the cloak likely seized. Knowing Snape the Potions Master would likely keep it for himself and he'd never see it again.
Harry grabbed onto the door to hold it in place as he squeezed through and held his breath as they approached. If he was going to be caught it would be now…but Filch and Snape saw nothing and continued past the door where Harry hid. He released a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding and looked around the room.
It was clearly one of Hogwarts' many unused classrooms. Tables and chairs and desks were neatly gathered together along one wall. The windows stood wide on the wall to his right through which moonlight was gently gleaming. Harry peeked through the windows to find himself in a room in some west-facing hall because the lake and the forest were spread out before him across the grounds. Not two months before he would have been dizzy at the idea of going from an east/west running corridor to a west-facing room, but by now he'd had enough experience with Hogwarts' rearranging itself that even though he wasn't particularly comfortable with it, at least he didn't feel sick.
One thing set this room apart from the other unused classrooms that Harry had seen so far. Resting across the far wall from the door was a mirror. Not just any mirror. A big mirror. Something that would not have been out of place in a palace or an old mansion. It was as tall as Hagrid and perhaps taller still, and maybe half as wide as it was tall. Its frame was ornate, intricately carved gold with glittering gems that sparkled in the moonlight. The glass was brightly polished and caught the moonlight like a deep, still pool of water. On fancy scrollwork above the glass was written: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
His panic fading now that there was no sound of Snape and Filch, Harry moved nearer to the mirror that was clearly out of place in the deserted classroom, but again saw no reflection.
The mirror flashed with pearlescent moon-fire, and Harry clapped his hands to his mouth lest he release an attention-getting scream. He whirled around. His heart was going at about a thousand beats a minute, far harder than when the book had suddenly started screaming in the library or when confronted by the monstrous three-headed dog in the Forbidden Corridor—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.
But the room was empty. Breathing very fast as he tried to get his wildly beating heart back under control, Harry turned back to the mirror.
This time there was no watery-silver non-reflection or flash of reflected moonlight. Instead he stood in the mirror, scared-looking and very white, his skin taking on an odd glowing quality from the moonlight streaming through the windows. Standing behind him in the mirror were at least ten other people.
He looked over his shoulder—but no, there was still no one there. Were they invisible? Harry couldn't think of why a dozen people would want to stand behind him invisibly, but he flipped his cloak back on and looked again. He and all the other people were still there, so it certainly looked possible.
The cloak came off again and he stared at the people for a long while. A tall, thin man with wild black hair was standing behind his left shoulder. The man wore wire-framed glasses, and his right arm was around the shoulders of a very pretty woman with very dark red hair and glowing green eyes.
Harry groped around behind him, not taking his eyes off the two figures who stood nearest him in the mirror's reflection, but found nothing. "What are you?" he whispered. "Ghosts?"
Unlikely. He'd always assumed the ghosts could be invisible but he didn't know if it was true or not, but he didn't feel the familiar plunge-into-cold-water sensation that had always accompanied his few previous contacts with a ghost.
He stared at them again and started. The woman's eyes were exactly like his, and the man's hair…
"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"
They just looked back at him, smiling. Slowly, Harry turned from them and looked at the other people in the mirror. There were other pairs of glowing green eyes like his, other noses, other pairs of spectacle-framed eyes (though none of these were glowing green), other mops of wild black hair… His parents smiled at Harry and waved as Harry realized that for the first time in his life he was looking at his family.
He stared at them hungrily, his hands pressing against the mirror-glass as though trying to press open a secret passage or perhaps hoping that like a character in a storybook he could fall right through the mirror and somehow make it to where his family stood. Something seized up his heart, a kind of ache that was half terrible joy and half equally terrible sorrow.
How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections never once started to fade and he looked and looked and looked until the sound of the Clock Tower bonging in the distance brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.
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Albus Dumbledore sat on his heels, not at all an easy thing to do in formal robes and especially not in thigh-deep snow, and stared unseeingly at the dead unicorn before him. Even with magic to help it was all too easy to get caught up in the damn things and fall, at best that would be embarrassing, but the Forbidden Forest at night with something killing unicorns was not at best. If he got tripped up in his robes here it could be a potentially a fatal mistake. Formal parties were the last thing he wanted to participate in at the moment, not with the…object in the castle. Whoever it was that was trying to get the Sto—object—had come a step nearer not a month before and he didn't know if it was the magical null-zone he had created, or the interruption of the Patil girl, or both, that had given the intruder pause.
Minerva was right, he decided grimly. It would have been better if that thing had never been brought to Hogwarts. Unfortunately it was too late to find another place for it. The time required to properly protect it simply wasn't available until the summer recess unless he either took a recess himself in which case everyone who knew about that damn thing would know exactly what he was doing. Which might not be a bad thing, but whoever it was had shown that he or she or they had access to the halls of Hogwarts. If they decided that they couldn't get the object by stealing it, it would be all too easy for them to take hostage and demand he turn it over.
Could he entrust it to anyone else? No, he thought after a moment. Nicholas had given it to him precisely because he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't be tempted by it. He didn't need the wealth, and eternal life had no appeal, not since—he shied away from these thoughts as well—and Nicholas and he had spent long days exploring the puzzles the object presented.
No, he decided regretfully, the…thing would have to stay until the summer. At least the mirror had finally arrived. It would take a few days to move it in with each Professor guiding him and the mirror past their challenge. Some of the traps might not have been a problem for him, but Minerva played a mean game of chess and fine broommanship was something he could appreciate but had little talent himself in.
He took a deep breath of the cold air that robbed the fallen unicorn of the smell of death, and tried once again to determine who it was. Not Severus, not any of the Professors. Most of them didn't even know what it was he had hidden. Albus made himself stop and go through them one at a time. Severus, no, he knew that Tom still existed. As long as that was the case Severus would follow his lead. Afterwards, perhaps, but not until He was dead. Minerva, Filius, and Pomona wouldn't. Too honorable, had no need of it, respected the cycle of life too much in the case of the Head of Hufflepuff, and if they did they certainly wouldn't go sneaking for it. Pomona couldn't bluff to save her life, Filius was too quick with his wand to need subterfuge, and Minerva was too stubbornly-honorable.
Cuthbert was a ghost and had no need for it. Argus didn't have enough magic to use it, and in any case he didn't know what it was and neither did Aurora, Bathsheba, Charity, Sybill, Septima, Irma, Rolanda, Silvanus or Poppy. Which left Hagrid and Quirenus. He'd known Hagrid for even long than he'd known Minerva. The man had even less interest in the kind of thing it offered than Albus himself did. And Quirenus? Three years ago, before the man had gone on sabbatical, back when he had been an extremely talented young academic he could have believed it. But the poor man had come back a quivering wreck that even a year as the Muggle Studies professor hadn't helped.
No, it had to be either a student, or someone on the outside.
Nymphadora, perhaps? She was talented enough to be asked to join the Aurors rather than petitioning for a chance at the academy, she had the broom-skills, the talent to get past the troll, and had a good enough mind to reason her way through Severus' poison. But she wasn't listed all that highly in the standings of chess players, and, besides, she wore her heart on her sleeve. That heart had remarkably open-minded and non-judgmental, living forever and wealth for the sake of wealth had little appeal to it.
Albrict Dansworth, perhaps?
As he had with his Professors Albus went through the various seventh years, and then the sixth years as well.
He really wanted to pin the intrusion on the Thorne girl. It would tie up everything quite neatly. She had certainly caused the wards to flare, disrupting the magic on the window as Hogwarts tried to contain her malignant powers, which had resulted in the Slytherin Common Room, much of the dungeons, and no small portion of Hogwarts' halls and corridors becoming flooded. Either it had been exquisitely timed, or the person had taken advantage of the situation.
No, he decided reluctantly. It had almost certainly been the perpetrator seizing a moment. To say otherwise would mean that one Draco Malfoy had to have been in on it, and his insult had cut too deep and his ignorance was too profound to be anything other than an accident on his part. Besides, Rolanda had confirmed that she'd dismissed the girl from her classes and Poppy had confirmed one of the more spectacular cases of broom-sickness she had heard of.
And if she was involved then what better time to sneak in and take the object than when the school was mostly empty with students having gone home for the holidays, and many of the staff gone as well? But Minerva, who, like Severus, had stayed, had reported that not only had the girl not recognized her—not unusual considering that animagus' weren't normally covered until third year, although perhaps unusual lapse considering how…cautious the girl was of those around her. Minerva's markings were on record complete with pictures, but apparently she had never checked them because she had been totally taken in. Minerva said that Thorne had spent most of the time feeding her blood-pops and brooding in the Chapel. It had been something of a surprise for both. He knew that the Fat Friar had always said that the Chapel was there for those who needed it, but in his quest to visit every room in the castle Albus himself had never encountered it.
Which meant that someone was either sneaking into the school—and how had they managed to find out about the flood if that was the case?—or he had dismissed someone he shouldn't have, or it was one of the students and/or staff who had left for the holiday.
"Professor Dumbledore?"
Albus closed his eyes briefly lest he betray that he was thinking about something other than the slain unicorn. "How many does this make, Hagrid?" he asked softly.
"Four, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said grimly. "Whatever's doin' it, is doin' one killin' a month."
"No regular pattern," Albus said. "Two weeks after the start of term, but October's was late in the month, almost six weeks between them. They aren't tied to cycles of the moon. They aren't tied to dates of power—they missed the equinox by more than a week and the solstice by a matter of days, the same for Halloween. No sign of any tracks?"
"No, Professor," Hagrid said. "And they didn' take the horn or the tail hairs or any of the meat either."
"Just blood," Albus said as he stood and brushed snow from his robes. As much as he didn't like formal parties, he liked being called back to Hogwarts because of slain unicorns even less. "Hagrid, have you heard anything?"
"What do yeah mean, Professor Dumbledore?"
Albus looked at him. "A fair number of the students confide in you. I'm not looking for secrets, Hagrid. But if any of them know anything about what's going on…"
"Like I told yeah, Professor," Hagrid said. "Harry an' some of his friends know that yer hidin' somethin' here. I don' think any of them knows what it is, but they're tryin; ter find out. I think they probably know someone's after it." He hesitated, "he was askin' me about Professor Snape."
"He doesn't think Severus—" Albus paused at the look Hagrid gave him and grimaced. "I suppose from Harry's perspective Severus would look like the logical suspect."
"He thinks Professor Snape hates 'im," Hagrid said.
Albus grimaced again. "What did you tell him?"
"That it was rubbish," Hagrid said, his accent fading slightly.
Albus watched him carefully. Hagrid only ever lost his accent when he was being extra-serious. The Groundskeeper had his own ways of finding out things, and after Albus, probably knew more about what was going on at Hogwarts than anyone else. Also, they were ways that had very little in common with Albus' own sources of information, which meant that they often provided a useful perspective.
"I don't like lying, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said.
"I can appreciate—"
"Not to a friend, and not to Lily and James' son."
Albus paused. Hagrid was invariably polite and respectful. It was maybe the third time in sixty years that he could recall Hagrid ever interrupting him.
"Hagrid, what's in the past is in the past. Best for him, best for all of them, that it stays there."
"Well then maybe you should remind Severus of that," Hagrid said.
"Severus has a right to his feelings," Albus said.
"Not sayin' he don'," Hagrid said, his accent coming back. "But he don' have a right ter be treatin' Harry like that either. Not if he's not wanting Harry ter know why."
Albus closed his eyes and sighed. Hagrid, unfortunately, had a point. He started to reply, but the familiar tingle of Hogwarts' wards at the back of his mind made him pause. After all these years he didn't even have to think about how to tap into the wards. He knew instantly that someone had tripped a minor ward he had placed to keep track of anyone coming close to the mirror. A slight extension of his will and he saw a dark glass, like the mirrored surface of pond in the midst of a dark forest, and floating in it was the face of Harry Potter.
"I shall discuss it with him, Hagrid," he said, "thank you. And I think I shall soon also talk with young Mister Potter as well."
\|/\|/\|/
When Harry stumbled into the Great Hall later that morning Ron waved him over to the Gryffindor table.
"So?" Ron asked eagerly as he sat down. "Did you use it? What did you do? You could have woken me up and taken me with you."
Harry shrugged. "I went down to the library, in the Restricted Section."
"You were in the Restricted Section?" Ron asked with wide eyes. "Well? Did you find him?"
Harry shook his head and explained about the screaming book, Filch and Snape.
"You were lucky to get away," Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry said distantly as he moved his eggs around on his plate. "That unused classroom I hid in. There was a mirror in there. A huge one with a really fancy frame and…and I could see my family in it."
"But your family is—" Ron broke off and shrugged an apology.
"Dead," Harry finished. "Yeah, I know."
"I still would have liked to have come with you."
"You still can," Harry said as he came to a decision. "I'm going back. Tonight."
"I'd like to see your mum and dad."
"And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."
"You can see them any old time," Ron replied. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating?"
Harry moved his eggs around some more. How could he possibly feel like eating? What he had felt like when he'd gotten his broom and had to wait all day before he could fly it had nothing on what he felt now, and it was made worse by noting having any classes to offer pretence of a distraction. Until Ron had mentioned Flamel he had almost forgotten the reason he had been in the Restricted Section. It just didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared about what a giant three-headed dog?
"Ah 'oo ahl' 'igh'?" Ron asked, his mouth full of food. He swallowed noisily. "You look odd."
\|/\|/\|/
What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the room again. He had been more concerned with evading Filch and Snape the night before and hadn't really been paying attention to where he was going, and there was always the very real possibility that a corridor he had taken the night before could lead to the opposite side of the castle and a completely different floor. Nor had he really thought about what having Ron with him would mean, and Harry grew increasingly irritated at the slow pace that was necessary for keeping Ron covered by the cloak.
"I'm freezing," Ron said after they had been wandering around dark corridors for nearly an hour. "Let's forget it and go back."
"No!" Harry hissed. With more than a half-dozen night-time trips through the halls of Hogwarts behind him he knew full-well how cold the castle could get at night, and had dressed accordingly. Ron had nearly been ready for bed when Harry had shown up at the portrait of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower. Too excited to get full dressed, Ron had only pulled on a pair of socks, and had spent the last half-hour complaining about his feet being cold. "I know it's here somewhere."
"That's what you said ten minutes ago!" Ron protested, but quietly, for the ghost of a tall witch came gliding past in the opposite direction.
Metal glinted in the pearly glow from the ghost, and Harry spotted the suit of armor that had been standing guard at the corridor the night before. He hurried down the hall with Ron struggling to keep up and keep under the cloak.
"Are you nuts?" Ron hissed as Harry closed the door. "Did you really have to run that last—"
"Shh," Harry said, hurriedly hushing Ron before Snape or Filch could hear them. He dropped the cloak and crossed the room to the mirror. His mother and father beamed and waved back at him.
"See?" he asked Ron.
"I can't see anything."
"Look! Look at them all…there are loads of them."
"I can only see you, Harry," Ron said. "It's just a normal mirror, see?" he reached past Harry and thumped the glass, only to pull back with a yelp.
"Ron!"
"I'm fine," Ron said, wringing his hand. "It's just…static or something."
"Look, you probably weren't looking at it properly," Harry said. "Stand where I was and have a look."
He stood aside for Ron, but with Ron in front of the mirror he couldn't see his family any more, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.
Ron, however, was staring transfixed at his image.
"Look at me!"
"Can you see your family?" Harry asked.
"No, just me, I look older and I'm wearing my school robes," Ron said. "I'm Head Boy!"
"You are?" Harry asked.
"Yeah! I'm wearing the badge that Bill used to wear, and I'm holding the House Cup! Hey, I'm holding the Quidditch Cup! I'm Quidditch Captain too. None of my brothers were both," Ron said. "Hey, Harry, do you think this mirror shows us the future?"
"How can it?" Harry asked. "All my family are dead. Let me have another look."
"You had all of last night!" Ron objected, not tearing his eyes away from the splendid image before him.
"You're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's so great about that? C'mon, Ron, I want to see my family."
"Don't push me—"
There was a noise out in the hall and both froze, quickly realizing just how loudly they had been shouting.
"Quick," Ron said, throwing the cloak over both of them.
Mrs. Norris pawed the door open and stuck her head into the room. Her bulbous eyes glowed in the moonlight as she slowly examined the room.
Did the cloak work on cats? Harry wondered. Apparently it did for after what seemed like an age she turned and left the room.
"This isn't safe—she might have gone for Filch. I bet she heard us. Come on."
And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.
\|/\|/\|/
The next day was very cold. The snow froze and grew a thick crusty layer of ice that made building snowforts and rolling snowballs impossible. Even if it hadn't, Harry had no desire to go outside. Nor did he want to go up to the Gryffindor Tower and play chess with Ron, or sit in the Great Hall and play exploding Snap with the other students who had stayed behind, or search the library for Nicholas Flamel or any one of the countless other things that the other students who had stayed behind were doing.
"What about tea with Hagrid?" Ron asked, having already listed most of the other things that Harry had no desire to do.
"No…you go…" Harry muttered. It was funny how the hours could seem to go so fast when he was learning magic, but now seemed to stretch on for forever.
"I know what you're thinking," Ron said. "You're thinking about that mirror. Don't go back tonight."
"Why not?" Harry asked.
"I don't know," Ron said. "I've just got a bad feeling about it. Anyway, you've had too many close calls already. Snape, Filch, and Mrs. Norris are all patrolling the hallways. So what if they can't see you? That cloak doesn't stop them from hearing you, or Filch's cat from smelling you. What happens if you walk right into them, or knock something over?"
"You sound like Hermione," Harry said, remembering there was a reason why Ron and Hermione hadn't been invited into the Lords of Chaos.
"I'm serious, Harry, don't go."
But Harry had only one thought in his head, and that thought was to get in front of that mirror once more and nobody, not even Ron, was going to stop him.
\|/\|/\|/
But it wasn't Ron who showed up in the Hufflepuff common room just before curfew, but Allie. She poked her head in and looked around just as Harry pulled the cloak about his shoulders, and froze and the sight of his disembodied head.
"Let me guess," Harry said, breaking the silence, "Ron sent you down to step me from going."
She gave Harry a look that made him feel rather foolish. "Why on earth would Weasley send me? I may be one step up from the other Slytherins, but as far as he's concerned I'm still several steps below that stuff you scrape off the bottom of your shoe after walking through a dog park."
Despite the urgent need to get back to the mirror, Harry smiled. No, Ron did not like Allie at all. He still wasn't sure where the animosity came from, or what her House had to do with it, but that didn't make it any less real. It was an aspect of friendship that he had never realized even existed before coming to Hogwarts. And the idea that you could be friends with two people who didn't like each other was taking some getting used to.
Fortunately for Ron, Harry thought, Allie regarded the other boy with indifference rather than the hatred and distrust that he professed. On the other hand, he wasn't certain if that same indifference, or the implication that Ron wasn't worth her time or notice, hadn't just made the Gryffindor hate her more. Ever since he and Allie had made up Ron had taken to avoiding her even more than before, and Christmas had been the first time since Allie accepted Draco's challenge that he had seen them both in the same room at once, including the Great Hall during meals.
Part of him wondered what was going to happen once classes started again, but it was a small and feeble part compared to his desire to get away from his friend and go to the Mirror again.
"Have you heard about what's happening for your duel yet?" he asked, searching for something to talk about long enough that he could slip away without being impolite.
"Draco's father is coming around in a few days to talk," she said, not sounding at all pleased by the idea. "Are you still interested in being my second?"
"I suppose," Harry said. "Why?"
"You'll need to be there," she said grimly. "Professor Flitwick will be there as well. He was a world-class duelist when he was younger. Admittedly, competition is different than a Field of Honor, but he's agreed to make sure all the proper forms are observed.
"So where are you going?"
"Excuse me?" Harry asked. She gestured at him and he looked down, only then remembering that his body was cloaked. "Oh," he said evasively, "out."
"Oh," she said in reply.
Harry hesitated. After the experience with Ron last night the last thing he wanted to do was show another person the mirror, but he got the sense that getting Allie to leave would take longer than simply going to the thing.
"Come on," he said, "I have something to show you."
\|/\|/\|/
This time he found the room with the Mirror of Erised without any trouble at all. Harry pulled the cloak off of them and quickly shut the door as Allie looked around the room.
"It's just an unused classroom," Harry said. Hogwarts seemed to have a great store of these and he wondered if at some point the castle had had more students than it currently did. The dormitories seemed to argue against it, as it seemed that there was just enough space for all of the students.
Perhaps the practice rooms and small library had been additional dorms once upon a time, but it seemed unlikely. Even if the other Houses had similar rooms he couldn't see how they'd add so many students that the additional class-space would have been necessary.
"A bit out of the way," Allie said, examining a section of wall intently. "Probably that was the intention of whoever stored this mirror in here. I take it the mirror is what you wanted to show me?"
Harry nodded, not looking away from the mirror. "It shows you…stuff. Ron saw himself in the future and I can see my family."
"All I can see is you in it…hmm, I can't even see myself standing next to you…the room isn't reflected either. I wonder why."
"Magic?" Harry suggested, waving back at his mother. "I'll be right back," he whispered before stepping aside. "Go on, I want to know what you see."
Allie gave him a guarded look before stepping in front of the mirror. "I'm not sure—"
"Go on," Harry said. "It'll be fine."
"If you say so," Allie said dubiously.
For a moment her reflection stared back uncomprehendingly at Harry, then she slowly raised an arm and reached out to touch the glass. She made a soft sound, somewhere between a whimper and a cry of distress, and her face, reflected back to Harry was a mix of longing hope and crushing despair.
"Allie?" Harry asked.
She didn't reply, even when he tugged at her robe. Instead she stood staring sightlessly at the mirror.
Fear and worry washed away Harry's need to stare into the mirror like a bucket of water tossed into a fire. He got between Allie and mirror and pushed, forcing her back one step, then a second.
Whatever magic that had ensnared her broke on the third step and something dark and hungry and very unhappy looked at Harry through his friend's eyes before, with another soft cry, she turned away from him and collapsed.
"Allie?" Harry asked, kneeling down next to his friend. "Allie, what is it? What happened?"
But Allie shrugged him off, and when she spoke her voice was tired and wan. "So, Old Man, did you see what you wanted to see?"
\|/\|/\|/
Albus Dumbledore considered the surprised look Harry was giving him for a moment before turning to Harry's companion. "The Mirror of Erised only ever bestows its visions upon one person. All others looking into its glass see only the reflections of that person."
"Sure, the Mirror, and I don't doubt you have a way around that restriction," the Thorne girl said.
He did, of course, have exactly that, but to stare into the deepest desires of another person… No, he would discuss them if they were spoken aloud, but he wouldn't perform that sort of violation. That she thought he would do such a thing showed just how little she thought of him. Of course, he thought bitterly to himself, in her case she may well have been right, if he had known Harry would bring her here. He had suspected the Mirror had a firm grip on Harry, too firm to bring another person after the way the previous night had been cut short.
It appeared, like with so many things in the past few months where Harry was concerned, that he was only half-right.
"I, er, we didn't see you, sir," Harry said as the silence stretched.
"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," Albus allowed with a soft smile. He slipped from the desk he was sitting on top of and slid down to the floor so he could sit next to his students, but Ms. Thorne slowly stood and walked unsteadily towards the windows that looked down on the grounds. Albus sighed and glanced at the Mirror long enough to see moonfire glow in its polished surface but glanced away before it could bring back images of times he'd left long ago.
"So, Harry, you like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."
"I didn't know that it was called that, sir."
"But I expect that you've realized by now what it is that it does?"
"It—well—it shows me with my family—"
"And it showed your friend Ron himself as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain."
"How'd you know that?" Harry blurted.
"I do not need invisibility cloaks to make myself pass unseen," Albus said gently.
"And it showed Allie…" Harry hesitated and looked over to where she was staring out at the moon-lit grounds.
"Don't," she said her voice still unsteady. "Please, Harry, just don't ask."
Albus waited a moment, and when Harry didn't say anything he explained. "Let me put it like this. The happiest man on earth would be able to look into the Mirror of Erised and use it as an ordinary mirror. He would see nothing in the mirror except himself exactly the way he is. Does that help?"
"All right," Harry said slowly as he thought it over. "It shows us what we want…whatever it is that we want."
"Yes and no, Harry," Albus said. "The Mirror of Erised shows us nothing less and nothing more than the deepest, the most desperate desires of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always found himself overshadowed by his brothers, finds himself standing alone, the best of them all."
"There are a great many magical mirrors and rings in the world, Harry," the Thorne girl spoke up again, "and none of them should be used lightly."
"Indeed," Albus agreed, but was that a voice of experience, or some bit of trivia that she had picked up? It sounded as though it was a quote but he couldn't place the source. There were indeed a great many mirrors that, like the Mirror of Erised, were Old Magic and many of them were, in one way or another, dangerous. Not at all like today's mass-enchanted mirrors that gave comments on the robes being worn and what hairstyles were currently in.
"Your friend is wise to urge caution, Harry," Albus allowed. "This mirror will grant us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."
"The Mirror shall be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask that you not go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it you will now be prepared. It does not do well to dwell on the dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put on that admirable cloak and go back to bed?"
Harry stood up and looked at Ms. Thorne.
"You go on, Harry, I'm sure the Headmaster won't mind walking me back to the Slytherin dorms after I've had a few more minutes to compose myself."
Harry nodded. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore, may I ask you a question?"
"Obviously you have just done so, but you may certainly ask me another," Albus allowed.
"What do you see when you look in the Mirror?"
"I?" Albus asked to give himself the briefest of moments to order his thoughts. "I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
He savored Harry's stare at him. By now the Professors were well used to him and he just never had enough time to spend with his students. That would change, he told himself firmly. After Tom. It was a bright cheery thought that he was carefully cultivating against the dark years that he knew were ahead of them.
"One can never have enough socks," he continued. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I did not receive a single pair. People will insist on getting me books."
"I…see, sir, thank you," Harry said, slipping the cloak back on. A moment later the door opened.
"Are all your lies so pleasant-sounding?" Ms. Thorne asked as a very familiar cat walked in. She flicked her tail at Albus, then padded across the room to the girl who picked her up and scratched her behind her ears.
"What makes you think it wasn't the truth?" Albus asked mildly. She didn't fall for it, but he hadn't expected her to. "What is your interest in Harry?" he asked after a moment more of silence.
"What's yours?" she retorted.
Albus slowly stood, not taking his eyes off of her. He could have pushed out his aura, flooded the room with his personal power, but he strongly suspected it wouldn't have intimidated her at all. At worst it could lead to a contest between them. Dangerous for his students though he had no doubt of its final decision.
"What is your interest in Harry, Ms. Thorne?"
"Blackthorn," she spat, setting the cat aside. There was no pretense in the motion. She didn't go for her wand, but the intent was still there.
It was an interesting move on several levels. While it did clear her personal space leaving her free to move if needed, its primary purpose had been to move the cat somewhat out of the path of danger should it come to a fight.
"What is your interest in Harry, Ms. Thorne?" Albus said.
"Thrice a question asked?" she asked, her tone suddenly wry. "I'm no creature of Fae, Headmaster." She gave him a cool look before shrugging. "Fine, since you wanted to know. I like Harry. I think he's a good kid. Seeing an old archmage taking a mighty personal interest in him is just setting off all sorts of warning sirens in my head. And, honestly, I can't figure you out."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you have something guarded in this castle. Something that probably got one of my few friends, and the daughter of a man I regard very highly, nearly beaten to death. You bring that…thing," she spat, gesturing at the Mirror of Erised, "into a school and leave it in an unused classroom, utterly unguarded."
"There were guards, I assure you," Albus said.
"Fine, something that clued you in that someone was here," she told him. "It should be locked away somewhere if you aren't going to destroy it."
"Is there anything else?" Albus asked, quirking one bushy eyebrow. It was often better in situations like this to say as little as possible and let the other person rant. It was amazing how much people would let slip when they were upset.
She didn't reply.
"You seem very aggrieved with me," he noted.
"You seem to have latched onto me as the heavy in this little drama of yours," she said after a moment. "I'm not, but there's nothing I can say that will convince you of that, is there, Headmaster? Even though you're having me followed—"
Albus had been around for far too long to respond to the accusation, no matter how truthful it was.
"—you still don't have anything to prove it or I wouldn't be here. And even if I told you there was nothing there to find you'd just tell me that absence of proof isn't proof of an absence. So here's the truth.
"I thought I'd give the whole 'friendship' thing a try. So far it seems really nice. Harry's certainly more companionable than the things I'm used to hanging around with and the others aren't so bad either. Even Weasley must have a good point, I'm not sure what it is but he must have at least one 'cause Harry sees something in him. But Harry and the others are in danger because you've tempted something into this school, and you've so firmly latched onto me that you can't begin to allow yourself to really believe that it could be anyone else."
"You seem to know my thoughts fairly well."
She laughed, a hollow, bitter-sounding thing that nobody so young, not even her, should have made. "Do you want to know what I saw in that little looking-glass of yours, Headmaster?" she asked. "I saw my worst nightmare."
"I see," Albus whispered, fighting the urge to wipe suddenly sweaty palms on his robes.
"I doubt it," she said flatly. She sighed heavily, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and the antagonistic budding dark-witch melted away into a tired-looking young teenager. "There, my interest. Happy?" she asked. "I'll just go show myself off to bed."
She turned and left the room.
"That could certainly have gone better," Albus muttered to himself.
"Oh, and Headmaster?"
"Yes, Ms. Thorne?"
"I suggest that next time you're spelling enspelled words to use a self-checking spelling spell."
"Excuse me?" Albus asked.
She gestured past him towards the Mirror of Erised. "It's missing an apostrophe. It should be 's'tra', es-apostrophe-tē-är-ā. That mirror should read Erised s'tra, not Erised stra. Singular possessive tense, not plural."
"Ah yes, so it should," Albus allowed. He watched as she left and gently closed the door behind her.
"The girl has a point, Albus," Minerva said. "Leaving the Mirror here, unguarded, was most careless."
"Was it?" Albus asked. "I admit it was not my intention to leave it here for so long, but I believe this was a good learning opportunity."
"For whom, Albus?" Minerva asked. "For Mr. Potter, or for yourself?"
"Both, of course," Albus replied.
"And Ms. Blackthorn?"
"She fears what she desires most, it is an interesting dichotomy don't you think?" he asked.
"Perhaps," Minerva said, "if you knew what it was she feared. For all you know she could desire to eat extra-hot curry but fears the heartburn that would follow."
"Minerva, be serious."
"Oh I am, Albus. I agree that precautions are still warranted, but following her through the portraits? Tracking spells? Me? Unless I forgo the unit on animagi she will certainly recognize me two years from now."
"If she's still here."
"Do you honestly believe that she won't be?" Minerva asked him archly. "I thought not. Let the poor girl alone, Albus. She didn't do this on her own and putting her under stress is only more likely to trigger just the sort of accident that you fear most."
"But—"
"I recall having this conversation once before, Albus," she said, favoring him with a look that always reminded him of Madame Haupper-Mannock and her ability, of all his professors, to make him feel rather dim. "Only, if I recall correctly, our sides were reversed."
"And altogether different situation."
"Not really, Albus."
"Greyback is a monster, Minerva, but there have been werewolves before who managed to live with their condition without becoming like him. You know that those like her fall. Sooner or later, they all fall."
"Yes, but some of them pick themselves up afterward," Minerva told him.
Albus narrowed his eyes. Usually Minerva was quite to the point, but this time she had been edging towards something, some point. "I expected Severus to be making this argument," he noted.
"Severus has already promised her a service that he is…singularly capable of providing," Minerva told him. "It is not something that she could have gone to one of us for, but it does prevent him from being more…helpful on her behalf."
"A service?" Albus repeated. "Such as what?"
"Such as something you would object to if told in advance, Albus." She frowned at him, "or perhaps you wouldn't, which worries me a great deal."
"But you have another thought," Albus noted.
"Don't play me for a fool, Albus. I too can read the signs, I assure you. A decade of peace was all we were ever promised, and on that very anniversary a troll was set loose in our halls. Gringotts has been broken into, unicorns are being slain. If You-Know-Who isn't coming back yet we won't have to wait for very much longer."
"And you think to have her as an ally?"
"You were the one that said last time that the wizarding world must be open to all, Albus. Not to just Witch and Wizard, no matter their origin, but to goblin and centaur and mer-person… If having her at Hogwarts makes Him hesitate, even just a little, it will be an advantage I will grasp with both hands. You know even better than I what happened the last time someone attacked the Thornes."
"That was a long time ago and on their lands."
"Best that we find a way to encourage Him to do something as foolish, then," Minerva told him coolly before stalking out of the room and leaving him with his thoughts.