Chapter 175: The Mirror of Erised
Corridor Corner.
A black cat perched atop a gleaming suit of armour. In a blink, it transformed into a young wizard who quietly walked away.
The knight's pony, it seemed, was a harsher critic than the knight himself. It refused to let Sir Cadogan mount unless his chivalry was absolutely sincere—or perhaps unless he displayed it with sufficient flair. Sean guessed the knight was off trying to trick a prefect into helping him again.
Room of Hope.
Sean lit the magical candles around his desk. For the past two days, he had been engrossed in organizing his new notes.
Though fragmented and occasionally bizarre—one entry debated whether the water from Aguamenti was drinkable—they contained advanced runic knowledge that surpassed Professor Terra's initial materials. Professor Terra had likely withheld these more dangerous concepts to protect him.
But Sean had struck gold. Hidden within accounts of failed experiments were crucial Ancient Runes. For instance, in the Elder Futhark poem, G symbolized 'gift', 'generosity', or 'miracle'; O represented 'possession' or 'inheritance', gaining something beyond conscious experience.
These runes would be invaluable for magical creature transformations.
Relying on these notes, Sean began formulating ideas for runes and materials. He would be ready to experiment with Kneazle Biscuits as soon as Professor Terra returned.
On the third evening of the Christmas holidays, Harry and Ron burst into the Room of Hope.
"Sean! You have to come see this!" Harry insisted, his face serious.
Night.
The castle slept. Whispers echoed in a fourth-floor corridor.
"Do you want to get under, Sean?" A disembodied voice asked—Harry under his Invisibility Cloak, huddled with a shivering Ron.
Sean shook his head and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself.
[You have practiced the Disillusionment Charm once to the Adept standard. Proficiency +10]
He never missed a chance to grind proficiency.
"Is that..." Harry's eyes widened.
"I read about that somewhere... the Disillusionment Charm?!" Ron gasped, then slapped a hand over his mouth.
They moved on. Sean hadn't initially planned to come, but the thought occurred to him: what if the Mirror showed him books he'd missed but subconsciously desired? Memory could be tricky, and the trip wouldn't take long.
December brought more snow and biting winds. Ron was shaking. "I'm freezing," he whispered. "Let's go back."
"No!" Harry hissed. "I know it's around here somewhere."
They passed the ghost of a tall wizard gliding in the opposite direction but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning about his feet turning into blocks of ice, Harry spotted the suit of armour.
"It's here—just here—yes!"
They pushed the door open. Harry threw off the cloak and ran to the mirror.
He saw them—his mother and father, beaming at him.
Ron was equally stunned. When he looked, he saw himself wearing the Head Boy badge like Bill used to, holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup. He was Quidditch Captain, too!
Sean shimmered into visibility. He scanned the room. It looked like an unused classroom. Desks and chairs were piled against the walls, casting long shadows. An overturned wastepaper basket lay nearby. But against the far wall stood something that clearly didn't belong.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame and clawed feet. An inscription carved around the top read: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Sean knew it read backwards: I show not your face but your heart's desire.
So, what will I see? Sean wondered.
Harry and Ron were bickering.
"You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time."
"You're just holding the Quidditch Cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents."
"Don't push me—"
"Oh—Ron, did you forget? Sean!"
"Merlin's beard—how could I forget!"
Harry and Ron turned apologetically, quickly making space for Sean.
Sean nodded and stepped up to the mirror. A figure slowly materialized.
A pair of pure, deep green eyes stared back. Sean locked gazes with his reflection.
"Oh no, Sean," Harry stammered. "Why... why is it just a normal mirror for you?"
Only Sean knew how much the mirror had shifted in that instant.
The reflection blurred. Images flashed by: the dilapidated orphanage, the faces of children who hadn't survived; the majestic silhouette of Hogwarts castle; the Great Hall, filled with professors, Dumbledore twinkling at the head table.
These images flickered and vanished. Finally, only a small wizard with black hair and green eyes remained, gazing back at Sean from a distance.
"It seems, for you, it is merely a mirror... Oh, do you mind if I glimpse your past?"
A tall, old wizard with a long white beard stepped out of the shadows. His voice was soft. "Those children I saw... are they still...?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore," Sean greeted him, then shook his head slowly.
"I grieve for them. But child, I knew someone once... who also came from a place deserving of resentment. He was talented, brilliant, just like you. He wanted to escape, to become extraordinary, to shine. But child... why does happiness satisfy you so easily?"
Sean knew who Dumbledore meant. Not Riddle, but Dumbledore himself.
"The past is a ghost, Headmaster. To me, it is ethereal, weightless. Only the future has weight. ...And imaginary futures are unreliable. My intuition has always told me: rely on yourself, and the odds are best."
Dumbledore admitted he had never seen such a remarkable wizard—a tenacious life stumbling to find its own home.
He had seen the fleeting image of Hogwarts castle in the mirror, and the forged, steely will the boy possessed, perhaps without even knowing it.
The land here had weathered ten centuries of desolation and hardship. As the biting wind whipped around the high tower, chilling him to the bone, Dumbledore's mind held only the image of those brilliant green eyes.
(End of Chapter)
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