The atmosphere in the Great Hall had shifted again. Laughter was rare, mealtimes quieter. A kind of invisible pressure weighed down on every student, making every footstep feel heavier. Even the enchanted ceiling, usually a sky full of wonder, seemed more clouded than usual.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry was poking at his breakfast with little interest. Ron was halfway through a plate of sausages, and Hermione had her usual stack of books beside her, already highlighting passages.
"Someone left a package for you," Hermione said, nudging a small, unwrapped box toward Harry.
Harry blinked. "For me?"
"No name. Just… this."
He reached for it cautiously. The package was plain—brown paper, tied with an oddly rough twine. It gave off no magical energy, no spells layered over it. Just… ordinary.
"Open it," Ron mumbled through toast.
Harry untied the string. Inside was a small, palm-sized mirror. Old, dusty, and slightly cracked in one corner. There was nothing else—no note, no hint.
He held it up. "It's just a mirror."
Hermione took it and examined it. "Strange craftsmanship. This kind of metalwork… it looks almost medieval. Why would someone give you this?"
"I don't know," Harry said, frowning.
Ron shrugged. "Maybe it's cursed. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing this year."
"Ron," Hermione hissed. But even she looked wary.
Harry tucked the mirror into his robe. "I'll ask Professor Snape."
---
Snape's Office – Later That Day
Snape didn't even glance up from his desk when Harry knocked.
"Enter."
Harry stepped in, holding the mirror.
"This was left for me," he said. "I thought it might be—well, not dangerous. But… weird."
Snape finally looked up. His eyes scanned the mirror slowly, lips pressed tight.
"Where did you find this?"
"It was just on the table this morning."
Snape stood. He reached into his cabinet and pulled out a thick, leather-bound tome—one Harry had seen before, labeled Magical Objects of the Old World.
He flipped pages quickly, then paused.
"A communication mirror," he said. "But not an ordinary one. This predates most wizarding magic. These were once used to… track proximity."
"Track?" Harry repeated.
"Not movement. Not location. Emotional resonance."
Harry blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It connects to someone who is—" Snape hesitated "—emotionally significant. When activated, it reflects them. Not their image. Their emotional state."
"So someone gave me this to… monitor me?"
"Or to reach you," Snape murmured. "Or perhaps, someone wanted you to see them."
Harry's mind jumped immediately to Draco. That awkward encounter in the library. The strange way their conversations ended too soon, like something left unsaid. He'd been wondering if Draco would say something—anything.
Snape watched Harry carefully.
"You suspect someone."
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I don't want to make assumptions."
Snape gave a short nod. "Keep it. But tell me if anything changes."
---
Slytherin Common Room
Draco sat curled in the far corner, far from the firelight. He watched Pansy flip through a magazine, Blaise whisper something smug to Daphne. They were all pretending things were fine.
But he knew better.
The school was fraying. People were on edge. And then there was him—Draco couldn't seem to go an hour without thinking about Potter.
Or about the little box he'd left that morning.
He hadn't meant to actually send it.
It had sat in his drawer for a week.
An old family heirloom, tucked away in his mother's jewelry chest. She'd once told him it was meant to connect soulmates.
He scoffed aloud.
"Something funny, Malfoy?" Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.
Draco shook his head. "Nothing."
But his hands were trembling slightly.
---
That Night – Gryffindor Dormitory
Harry turned the mirror over in his hands, staring at the fractured glass. At first, it showed nothing. But then—softly—colors began to bloom behind the surface. A swirl of muted greys and pale green.
And then… flickers of gold.
It wasn't an image. It was a feeling. Hesitation. Regret. Guilt.
Harry's heart stuttered.
"Draco," he whispered.
The mirror pulsed once. Dim light radiated from its edges.
Then it went still.
---
Snape's Private Chambers
Snape poured himself a glass of firewhisky and sat by the window, the night pressing dark against the panes. He had seen Harry's reaction to the mirror. Had recognized the pulse of old magic. He knew where that kind of item came from.
"Lucius," he muttered.
Only a Malfoy would think to gift something so loaded—so reckless.
But it wasn't Lucius who had given it. Snape was almost certain of that.
He closed his eyes.
It was getting more complicated by the day. Emotions mingling with ancient threats. Feelings intertwining with fate.
He'd protect them. Both of them. But that meant watching carefully—because the wrong move could doom them all.