Chapter 12: The second Hallow
''I know it can't hold a candle to a hall of magical icicles and Hagrid's towering Christmas trees, but-''
''Oh, it's wonderful!'' Hermione interrupts, excited as Sirius ushers them both into the living room of Grimmauld place number twelve – after the man is finally done dancing around Harry like a puppy in human form and hugging the air out of him for minutes on end. ''Not to mention warm! The corridors of Hogwarts are so icy this time of year. They should really invest in permanent warming charms in my opinion. It's mind-boggling that we are still using the dungeons when it's freezing in there. Even Wool's has heating.''
''The good old days,'' Sirius grins. ''The winter cold at school inspired James to come up with a whole range of firework spells that left actual trails of lingering fire. It kept us cosy and the teachers busy saving the furniture instead of spending their time on teaching. Was quickly forbidden, naturally, so I'll teach you on the last day of the holidays, just in case it's needed.''
Severus glares over the paper he's been reading in the corner and drawls: ''Out of the question. If I catch a single spark on your wands, I'll have you chopping Flobberworms for the entire second term. You can keep warm by stoking the fires under your cauldrons like the dozens of generations before you that didn't have horrid little gremlins who spent precious study time inventing something imbecilic as 'Flaming Flatulence'.
''You remember the name!'' Sirius exclaims, grinning maniacally. Harry's other godfather grumbles something and disappears behind the Daily Prophet again. His friend looks entirely amused by the exchange, a hand pressed against her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
Content to be home again, Harry lets Sirius fuss over them while digging into a lavish dinner down in the kitchen and answering a hundred questions and more about his first few months at Hogwarts. The man doesn't seem too disheartened when hearing that both Harry and his 'newfound' best friend have not gotten up to any mischief to focus on schoolwork, claiming there to be plenty of time left. Harry isn't about to correct his godfather, unable to talk about either the crimes he plans on committing or about how this will likely be his only year at Hogwarts.
''Thank you for letting me stay here, Mr Black,'' Hermione politely utters when the initial topics are running low and the plates are clean.
''None of that, now. Any friend of Harry is a friend of ours. Or well, of mine anyways. Can't speak for the sour Christmas plum in the living room. He should have stayed at Hogwarts if he can't embrace the holiday cheer.''
''Give him a nice enough present and Severus will be singing carols,'' Harry grins, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. Sirius' roaring laughter fills the kitchen, while Hermione blushes and buries her face in her hands when catching onto the joke. He is glad to see some things never change. This Christmas is bound to be entertaining.
It is indeed comfier to watch the snow fall from behind the windows of his home than from the stone fortress where one can see their own breath. Funny, he can't recall having minded that at all, even going for walks around the frozen lake or having snowball fights with Ron way back when. Then again, anything had beaten Privet Drive. Maybe he is getting too spoiled. Hermione was onto something when mentioning warming charms though… he should enchant their school uniforms when returning after the holidays, the most commonly used solution to avoid freezing to death in the years they'd been on the run.
''Ready for presents in the morning?'' Sirius asks on Christmas Eve as the four of them sit in front of the fire. Well, technically three of them do, Severus has shoved his armchair to a corner of the room to read in silence. The stoic man is very much like a cat, pretending to be alone yet still ending up in the same room as everyone else during such gatherings, somehow.
Sirius presses a cup of hot chocolate into Harry's and Hermione's hands while already sipping from a mug that reads 'This dog ate your homework'. His reddened cheeks tell Harry that his godfather's chocolate likely has a few shots of firewhisky added to it.
''As long as they're not all wrapped in endless boxes of tinsel and glitter, sure.''
''No promises,'' the man replies with a wolfish smirk.
Truth be told, Harry is more nervous than usual. Instead of jitters from excitement, the pit of his stomach holds an unpleasant hollowness as he is waiting for a very specific present from Dumbledore… One he isn't guaranteed to receive. The invisibility cloak hasn't been delivered in all the previous years that Harry lived in a magical household. Sirius has only been told that the old man will hold onto it until Harry is 'old enough'. It wasn't specified whether that is indeed at eleven. If Dumbledore only plans to return it when Harry is of age, he'll have to add another task to his to-do-before-leaving-Hogwarts list. Inconvenient, but he won't leave without that cloak.
''There's… there's so many,'' Hermione stammers the next morning, gawking at the pile of packages with her name on it. ''I got presents…?''
Both of his godfathers seem oblivious to her emotional turmoil, but Harry knows very well what the girl is feeling. When the topic of Christmas first came up and Hermione confessed she didn't know what to get anyone as the only Christmas presents she received at the orphanage were the same standard bags of sweets all other children got too, Harry made it his mission to make her feel welcomed in the same way he'd found acceptance in the Wizarding world.
Parroting one of the first bits of Ron's ancient wisdom that had put Harry at ease in another life, he jokes: ''What'd you expect, turnips?'' In passing, he ruffles her curly hair, which has quickly grown to shoulder-length in the past few months – perhaps helped by a spell or two at her request.
To Harry's surprise, the first one he unwraps is a roughly hewn wooden flute that sounds a bit like the hooting of an owl. He has purposefully avoided Hagrid this year, uncomfortable with the knowledge of supporting Voldemort, whom the half-giant has such bad blood with. Harry doesn't wish for the cheerful man to become too emotionally attached when Harry well knows he'll have to go against all Hagrid stands for. So why has the groundkeeper sent him a personal present? He'll cherish it nonetheless of course, but…
Slightly troubled, he digs further into the pile with the enthusiasm expected from a child, trying not to frantically search for any particular one… Then, he spots it: a light parcel in red and gold wrapping paper, a tiny note attached with Dumbledore's loopy handwriting. Harry doesn't need a name or signature to recognise it. He heaves a quiet sigh of relief, glad that the Headmaster hasn't had any qualms passing the cloak onto him. Hopefully that means Harry hasn't stood out negatively despite all the changes in this life.
When the near-liquid silver fabric flows through his hands, the same feel overcomes him as when he touched the Peverell ring several years ago. An echo of power, a distant recognition…
''You mentioned my dad's cloak before, didn't you?'' he asks Sirius when the comforting weight of the invisibility cloak rests on his shoulders and Harry looks down at his vanished body with delight.
''I did. Prevented a whole lot of trouble,'' Sirius smirks. ''This cloak and the Marauder's map are an unbeatable duo!''
''Thankfully, Harrison wasn't only raised by rebels like you,'' Severus cuts in. ''Otherwise, I would have confiscated it before he could unwrap it.''
''I promise not to use this cloak for petty mischief,'' Harry vows, knowing that he can wholeheartedly keep that promise because he intends to use it for heavy crime instead.
Severus nods in satisfaction. ''You're your mother's son,'' he comments, the highest compliment the man ever gives. Slightly undeserved this time, maybe.
Harry's promise doesn't deter Sirius from enthusiastically raving about all the adventures he and James had at Hogwarts, from exploring every corner of the castle to stealing James' own Quidditch trophy to make it larger and shinier than the rest.
He mainly tells the stories to Hermione, as even Sirius is aware Harry has heard the same tales a hundred times over throughout his childhood. The girl nods politely and asks the right questions as always while unwrapping her own presents, eyes sparkling with each revealed book, sweet or useful trinket. Harry gave her an assortment of self-inking quills in different colours to make organising notes easier, Severus added a homework planner to her pile and Sirius combed through the Black library for copies of books that might not be readily available on the market due to their rarity. And although Harry hasn't become very close with any of the Weasley children, he's been around often enough that Molly considers herself a surrogate mom, and has thus sent both him and his guest packages of home-made cauldron cakes and Weasley sweaters.
''We match now,'' Harry happily points out as Hermione too puts on her sweater, sky blue with a golden 'H'. His own is emerald with the same H embroidered on the font.
Finally, they each have a single package left: Hermione a bag of Muggle chocolates that has been sent from the orphanage after Sirius gave them the address she would be staying at for the holidays, and Harry a mysterious rectangular box with a note that only says:
Per procurationem
Q
''That one arrived yesterday with a rental owl,'' Sirius mentions. ''Little bit formal, isn't it? The box looks posh too, you didn't accidentally befriend a Malfoy or anything, did you?''
Having an inkling whom the sender might be, Harry only hums in response and handles the package carefully, trying not to shake it. Honestly, he didn't expect to receive anything from Quirrell, much less by order of Voldemort. His traitorous stomach does a little flip, which is entirely unwarranted before seeing what the gift is. Lifting the lid and peeking inside, his breath catches. ''That's-'' he whispers, taking the pitch-black egg out to hold it up for all to see. It is leathery, not dissimilar to a Quaffle.
''- a dragon egg,'' Hermione finishes, awed and a tad scared. ''Harry… who did the card say it's from?''
''There's no name,'' he truthfully answers. ''That's the egg of a Norwegian Ridgeback, to be exact,'' he can't help but add.
''Please tell me it's not fertilised,'' Severus groans, finally having put his book aside in favour of coming closer to inspect the egg.
''Must be,'' Harry answers, having spoken often enough about dragons with Charlie in the few peaceful years before all had gone to hell to recognise such a thing. Not that he needs that knowledge per se with this one, as he is all too familiar with the dragon that will hatch from it. Not that that would be an acceptable answer to Severus' question. ''It's slightly warm to the touch, unfertilised eggs are completely cold. Supposedly,'' he hurriedly adds when both of his godfathers raise their eyebrows. ''According to a few books I've read on the topic.''
''You know you cannot keep that,'' Severus asserts, disturbed. ''For all we know, it's been illegally bred or imported. As there is no pedigree delivered with it to prove its lineage, this egg should be turned into the Ministry.''
''Okay, but consider this: Harry will be so well protected for the rest of his life if this dragon can be tamed,'' Sirius butts in with a mad gleam in his eyes. ''Not to mention the awesomeness factor.''
Harry clears his throat. ''I'd rather consider that whoever feels comfortable enough to send possibly illegal dragon eggs by rental owl post, is not someone I wish to anger by throwing such an expensive gift out. Besides, it would hardly be the first artefact in this household that should have been turned in ages ago. Or in your office,'' he hints with a slight smirk, earning another glare from Severus. ''I'd also like to point out that dragon eggs can be dormant for decades and only hatch under very deliberate circumstances by cooking it. So perhaps, until we figure out where it came from in the first place, we shouldn't act rash and just store it in a cupboard.''
''A fair compromise,'' Severus reluctantly agrees after thinking about it for a few moments. ''We won't let the Ministry confiscate it, but you won't hatch it as long as you aren't an adult responsible for your own decisions and, most importantly, have your own place.''
The definition of adult is very flexible in Harry's opinion, but he can't deny that he doesn't have a house or flat to call his own yet. Maybe he will ask Voldemort to give him one of those as a birthday present, he thinks, a tad hysterical. If the Dark Lord is already handing dragon eggs out for Christmas… For although the man didn't need the egg anymore to bribe Hagrid for information now Voldemort is content to leave the Stone alone, having a dragon could have been quite useful in many situations, so Harry is honestly shocked that Voldemort gave it away so readily.
It makes Harry wonder if he should have gotten Voldemort a better gift than the owl-ordered phoenix feather quill he'd dropped off at Quirrell's office before leaving for the holidays – he'd thought it fitting at the time and it had been terribly expensive to acquire, but compared to a hatchable dragon…
After another full day enjoying their presents, eating delicious meals and chatting with Hermione, Harry spends the last hour of Christmas Day alone with Sirius, whom he got to see least in the past months, for some quality time. ''I'd expected you to floo in here at least once during the last term,'' his godfather jokes, humour masking the slight twinge of audible disappointment.
''Had much more to do than expected,'' Harry answers. ''I wanted to make a good first impression at school and Hermione and I spent most free time together. Hardly much opportunity to sneak out to Hogsmeade.''
Sirius hums and hugs him again. ''I get it, I do,'' he sighs. ''My days at school also flew by. You know, I'm truly happy that you so quickly found a friend as fiercely loyal as Hermione. You two remind me of the unbeatable duo James and I made that first year, before we really got to know Moony well and he became a permanent addition to the group.'' Somehow, Wormtail goes unmentioned. ''Friends can be the best family,'' Sirius sagely adds. ''My little brother and I spent most summers at the Potters, did you know?'' Of course Harry knew, but he nodded along nonetheless. ''They took care of us so we wouldn't be stuck in an empty house without our parents…''
''About that,'' Harry hesitantly speaks up, realising this is the best opportunity Sirius could possibly grant him. ''I wanted to ask you something regarding Hermione. The other children at Wool's don't really treat her well because she's different and the staff is no great help either. So, I was wondering if-''
''Of course she can stay here each holiday,'' Sirius instantly smiles. ''Summers, too.''
Harry rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. ''That's very generous, but I actually wanted to ask if there's any possibility she could be… you know. Adopted.''
Stunned, Sirius stares at him. ''Oh,'' he mutters, quieter. ''Kiddo, while I understand her situation is not perfect, that is indeed a huge deal. You've known her only for a couple of months, are you sure you'd want her to officially become your sister…? That would definitely affect your friendship. I mean, James was my brother in spirit, but I'm not certain how we'd have fared with the added weight of actual family drama by legal ties.''
That his godfather's concerns are more about Harry's relationship to his friend and not Sirius' qualms of taking responsibility – emotional and financial – for another child is extremely positive and more than Harry had hoped for. ''I'm certain,'' he confirms, trying to contain his desperation. ''There's something about Hermione that made her feel like family the very first day we met, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about the idea. That place in the Muggle world… she doesn't belong there. She belongs here, with us.''
Sirius' wavering smile grows in strength, reaching his eyes by the time he's picked an indignant Harry up and raises him up in the air with muscled arms. ''I'm proud of how large your heart is, little lion. Is this Hermione's wish too?''
Why it wouldn't be? His first childhood, Harry had wished for nothing more than for someone to take him away, for anyone to ring the doorbell of Privet Drive Number 4 to ask if they could adopt him. He knew his parents were dead, the Dursleys had made sure he knew that early on, so he'd keep the faces of strangers seen in passing on the street in mind and imagined make-belief scenarios in which they'd give him a new family.
''I'm sure,'' he thus confidently states, all the while debating whether or not to ask his friend about it. He hesitates, mulling it over. What if Severus will say no? What if it will take years or worse, only happens after Harry will be made to reveal his full identity? So much can go wrong that he doesn't wish to get the girl's hopes up just yet.
''Then, I'll talk to Severus about it at the end of the holidays. She's a very bright and agreeable kid, but I think it best to see how these weeks go first, okay? You know how Severus is about opening up to new people and it might not help that she's one of his students. Also, if he agrees, it won't be a done deal from one day to the next, legally speaking.''
''Thanks,'' Harry mumbles into his godfather's chest, clinging on tightly. ''For everything.''
The rest of the holidays passes quieter than Harry imagined they would. Not wanting to leave Hermione behind in an empty castle and seeing Sirius again after months of being apart make him spend much more time socialising than initially planned. He thankfully does manage to get out of the house on a few nights when everyone else is asleep, using the invisibility cloak to sneak around places like Knockturn alley unseen to pick up on news that wouldn't otherwise reach their household. Pleased, Harry finds that rumours are already spreading of dark marks flaring up and people being pulled from their everyday jobs to go on covert missions. Most of those conversations are kept behind privacy wards of course, but Harry is small and sneaky enough to get close before those are cast and he is thus included in the little bubbles with no-one the wiser.
During the day, the most he gets up to is helping Sirius play pranks on Severus, or asking Hermione about her progress on the Lockhart situation. She's been slightly discouraged when he shot down her first idea of staging Acromantula attacks, not wanting to get Hagrid into trouble. The poor man had been sent to Azkaban last time for even the slightest suspicion that his pet spider was the cause for the petrification of multiple students, despite that not making any amount of sense.
''Then why don't you just wake the Basilisk?'' she asks, exasperated after he also dismisses her newest scheme to smuggle the dragon egg into Hogwarts and hatch it there, then pin it on the Defence professor.
''I believe my goal was to save lives of mages, not end them,'' he shoots back. ''The Basilisk was bred to specifically hunt Muggle-borns, I believe you had something against that too?''
She grumbles a bit over his argument, then goes right back to planning as she is never discouraged easily. ''Or,'' she suggests only a few minutes later, looking as if she has had an epiphany. ''We won't need an actual monster at all. ''Aren't there spells that petrify people?''
''You want to pretend the Basilisk got loose to bait him?'' Harry props his hand under his chin as he thinks about it. ''I'm not aware of any spells that petrify people the way that creature does, and while that might not be an issue with fooling most students and teachers as basilisks are so rare, Dumbledore was here when the Chamber was opened last time. He knows exactly how that petrification looks… Feel free to look into it, of course. The idea does have some merit if we can pull it off. That way, no-one would truly have to get hurt either. We can't go overboard however, I don't want to risk either Hagrid's position or, Merlin forbid, Hogwarts closing down. Successfully stealing the Philosopher's Stone will already drive Dumbledore up the wall for sure, adding too many attacks on students might be a bit much.''
''Or,'' Hermione hesitantly suggests, ''We can blame the theft on Lockhart. Only a few teachers helped put the protective spells in place, right? I somehow cannot imagine a new teacher being made aware of this plan or asked to participate. He might not even be in the know about the Stone being hidden in the castle. Have him go down there with you, then pretend you attempted to stop him instead and obliviate Lockhart with his own wand.''
Although Harry likes the sound of that on paper, it throws too many complications into his existing plans. ''There are already too many uncontrollable factors,'' he murmurs, tapping his bottom lip in thought. ''I don't know whether the traps are all the same as last time. Having an unwilling fraud with me who's looking to overpower me as soon as I turn my back will only hinder my investigation. Additionally, to ruin his name I'd have to tell the teachers about how I 'stopped' him, which would connect me to the missing Stone. If it cannot be found on Lockhart, the Headmaster might try getting into my head. I prefer the idea of faking Basilisk attacks. A combination of potions might work, I have easy access to Severus' storages.''
''I could look into the Draught of the Living Dead that Professor Snape mentioned the first day of class,'' Hermione suggests. ''Mixing potions is risky but… we do still have two full terms until summer, plenty of time for thorough research.''
Time that Harry himself will use to prepare for going down the trapdoor. To have the best chances for a successful theft, he will have to control the situation around the Philosopher's stone itself to mimic what he knows as much as possible. Thus, the first night after the holidays, when the both of them have waved their goodbyes to Sirius and returned to Hogwarts, Harry wraps himself in the invisibility cloak, grabs a lantern and follows the steps of his old self to the Restricted Section of the library.
Memories blur together as he walks down one dark corridor after another, briefly going into the library itself to head in the right direction. It isn't exactly necessary – he found the mirror of Erised in an abandoned classroom one floor above the library itself when running away from Filch and the blasted screaming book - but it feels as if Harry would jinx it if he doesn't take the exact same route, this first second time.
When a suit of armour at last comes into the dim view of his lantern, he hurries past it to a door that stands just as ajar as during his initial discovery of the disused classroom. And isn't that odd? he briefly ponders. For such a supposedly dangerous mirror to be placed in a random classroom with the door left open? He firmly closes it shut behind him to be notified if anyone is to follow inside, and stares at the ornate mirror on the opposite wall. It gleams in the light of the moon and the belt of a million stars behind tall windows.
It is still here.
Again.
A faint tingle in the air makes Harry's steps falter when half the distance between him and the mirror has been crossed. So that's how it is… Had Dumbledore watched him from the start last time as well? Had he expected Harry to end up in here, somehow?
Or - and this is only a wild guess - is Dumbledore the one doing exactly what he warns his students about? Withering away in front of a reflection of his heart's desires? With the man's turbulent history, surely there's more to be seen than a pair of woollen socks.
Maybe Harry had been the intruder, showing the Headmaster a reflection of his own obsession by returning night after night, simply to stare at his parents…
Exhaling slowly, Harry looks around nervously, part an act to explain his hesitance, part truly because he wants to see if he can pinpoint Dumbledore's location. Regardless of being watched, he is not immune to the Mirror's charm and will certainly not leave without knowing.
He steps in front of the Mirror of Desire… and stares.
''No-'' Harry moans, forgetting the world around him as he stumbles forwards and shuffles the last few feet on his knees. Forgets about Dumbledore, about Voldemort, almost forgets to breathe. ''NO!'' he cries out, screaming at the three figures that stare down at him from behind the glass.
Their trio, their unbreakable, unshakable trio.
Hermione and Ron stand shoulder to shoulder with him, aged and weathered yet smiling like they haven't done since the last day they felt true happiness. Before the awful war, before Voldemort's reign, before the dozens of deaths that had started with a grinning Sirius tumbling through the Veil. His most desperate desire: to bring happiness to friends lost to time. Versions of them Harry will never share another second with. Friends he'll never be able to keep his promise to.
Beneath a rain of grief and too-small fists pummelling with the hidden strength of a battle-hardened adult, the mirror of Erised splinters into a thousand pieces.
As soon as the first shards land on the stone tiles, accompanied by an eerie singing that sounds like cracking ice in spring, regret floods in. Tears and trembling both abruptly stop as Harry looks with horror at the wrought destruction. He set out to preserve what little magic he could, the whole point of staying at Hogwarts was to save the stone and now-
''Harry?''
Fragile-looking fingers grip his shoulder with remarkable strength. Pretending to be surprised when Dumbledore kneels at his side is impossible. ''I- I'm sorry,'' Harry breathes. ''I didn't mean to-''
''Sometimes our wishes are painful to behold. May I ask…. What did you see in the mirror, Harry?''
''My past,'' he hauntedly whispers back. ''A past I can't change.''
''Ah… Lily and James-'' Dumbledore sighs, chin lowering to his chest. The words do nothing but carve a new wound. Lily and James, people who gave their lives for Harry twice, whom he also failed to save anew. Despite taking care of him for a blissful year in which he finally knew what it was like to have parents, they didn't even deserve a spot in the mirror. Why does his old world pull so much stronger than the new? He even started losing those memories and yet…
''I didn't mean to break it. I shouldn't have-'' he chokes, picking up one of the fragments as a lump in his throat forms. The urge to run the edge of it across his fingers as punishment strengthens until Dumbledore plucks the shard out of his hands.
''Emotions are a wonderful thing to have, Harry,'' the Headmaster kindly speaks. ''Be it joy or hurt, they make us human. At times, the heart may realise what the mind has not, and supressing those feelings can lead to dark places. There's no need to blame yourself for getting upset. Besides-'' he smiles conspiratorially and winks as if about the let Harry in on a big secret. ''We have magic.''
In a magnificent display, every speck of glass spread across the floor like a dangerous mosaic rises at once as Dumbledore moves his wand like a conductor of a silent orchestra. Distantly, Harry recalls using the Wand of Destiny to mend his own broken holly one, a feat impossible even for its creator, Ollivander. Unable to tear his eyes away, he watches as the mirror he damaged is seamlessly mended, good as new. A flickering, and his laughing friends appear once more.
The image feels less taunting than it did before. More alike a warm postcard to pin on a ribbon with another line of memories.
''As long as we mend what is broken by accident and feel enough regret not to repeat our mistakes, there's no use for blame,'' The old wizard utters, patting Harry's shoulder once more before getting to his feet with creaking knees. It has been a mighty long time ago that Harry received such words of wisdom from the Headmaster, and it is easy to understand why his young self had been so taken with his former mentor. Hadn't Harry said to Scrimgeour's face that he was Dumbledore's man? Or had that been to Fudge?
This does complicate matters, Harry vaguely debates as the old man gives some words of warning about not returning here and the mirror being rehomed. He wished to keep a distance without getting attached. Had thought it would be easy to hate the Headmaster after Dumbledore had been so adamant about Harry being placed with the Dursleys even under guise of a lie. Unfortunately, Dumbledore is… complicated. Even now, while knowing Harry is the Dark Lord's destined soulmate, he gives genuine advice and appears to harbour neither suspicion nor resentment. The way the Prophecy is written, the Headmaster will have even less clues pointing to Horcruxes than the original one had had. Thus, it is incredibly doubtful that any of this kind behaviour is a front to get Harry to trust him, only to then turn it around and hold a knife to his throat.
Maybe he is being unfair to the other Dumbledore, whose image had only been sullied by the fact that his theories had spiralled into their downfall. Despite doubts due to Skeeter's book or the at times seemingly senseless quest, despite even the sacrifice that had been expected of Harry, he'd not truly laid blame on Dumbledore until years later, when it became evident that murdering Voldemort had been the worst decision they could have made. A twist neither Harry nor his found family had seen coming either.
He eyes the elder wand as it disappears in a deep purple sleeve. Not yet, Harry reminds himself. To get both the Philosopher's Stone and ownership of the Elder wand, the timing has to be right. ''This mirror shows us our wishes, then?'' he inquires, to keep the conversation running a few moments longer. It is comforting to speak to the Headmaster again. Truly speak, not simply listen to the man's worries while pretending to be a baby. When Dumbledore tells his riddle of the happiest man on earth seeing only himself, Harry is overtaken with nostalgia and smiles.
''Our deepest desires, then,'' he corrects, peering at the gleaming letters that decorate the edge of the mirror. ''I show not your face, but your heart's desire.''
''Five points to Gryffindor for such sharp perception,'' Professor Dumbledore delightfully praises. ''I can see Severus had a good influence on your upbringing.''
There must be some truth to that. No-one would ever have used the word perceptive as a descriptor for Harry in his first life.
''What do you see in the mirror, Professor?''
The chances are of course high to get the same evasive reply as last time, but Dumbledore is usually quite polite. Since the Headmaster asked the same direct question previously, Harry wonders if the answer will differ, if only out of courtesy.
''The same as you, my boy,'' Dumbledore sighs, the creases around his eyes deepening. ''The same as you…''
AN: Woops that went angsty very fast ^^''
I started out this story figuring there might be some Dumbledore bashing, but he is making it very hard to completely dislike him.
On another note, I'm pretty sure that Voldemort would give Harry an apartment in a heartbeat if he only asked
Please Read and review!
xx GeMerope