"It's a simple deduction."
When Harry asked, Sherlock—as always—quickly explained:
"There's no accumulated dust, no other footprints. Those fresh scratch marks were clearly caused by something heavy being moved.
The dust pattern around the mirror has been disrupted, leaving a clear outline matching the mirror's base, while the rest of the room remains evenly covered in dust.
Choosing a disused classroom like this, with such a casual placement, indicates this is only a temporary storage spot—it will be moved soon."
Though he was mentally prepared, Harry couldn't help but gasp in admiration once Sherlock laid it all out.
"Sherlock, it's always like this—once you explain, everything seems so obvious.
But before that, I just can't figure it out."
Sherlock chuckled. "Thank you for the compliment, my friend. Though I'm afraid I must remind you of the time—it's getting late if you plan to stay here."
To Sherlock's mild surprise, Harry shook his head. "Sherlock, let's go."
"You don't want to look?"
Sherlock looked at him, intrigued.
Harry shook his head again. "It's late… and something feels off."
He had an uneasy sense that this mirror wasn't placed here by chance.
It was almost as if someone had deliberately arranged it—waiting for them.
"Deductive reasoning is contagious, my dear friend."
Sherlock couldn't help laughing at Harry's comment, loud enough to make Harry worry that Filch might hear them.
"See? You're starting to apply it too."
Harry only had a vague feeling, but Sherlock was certain—someone had deliberately put the mirror here for them to find.
Only a handful of people in Hogwarts had both the motive and the means to do so.
Sherlock figured out who it was almost instantly—and their likely intention.
"Unfortunately, neither of us can leave this room."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll bet you a Galleon that if we try to leave now, we'll run into Filch or someone else who'll drive us right back in here."
Sherlock's words startled both Harry—and a certain person hiding in the shadows.
"If you don't believe me, you're welcome to try."
Harry hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Sherlock—he just wanted to see for himself.
Sherlock, smiling faintly, watched as Harry, still cloaked by the Invisibility Cloak, walked to the door.
He too was curious what method the person behind this would use to stop them.
As Harry pushed the door open a crack—
Mrs. Norris's gleaming eyes appeared right in front of him.
Harry: (☉Д☉)!≡≡≡≡
"Meow—!"
Harry froze. He wasn't sure if the Invisibility Cloak worked on cats, so he stood motionless.
┬┴┤_`)…(Д)!!
Thankfully, Mrs. Norris didn't linger.
Once she turned away, Harry quickly shut the door and exhaled deeply.
"Well, I was wrong. I didn't expect it to be a cat."
Sherlock said this with a touch of self-mockery, then walked straight toward the mirror.
That encounter had confirmed his deduction. Harry, too, didn't feel like risking the door again.
So seeing Sherlock move forward, he followed.
Sherlock stood before the mirror, his eyes scanning the inscription at the top:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
It looked like nonsense.
But in less than three seconds, Sherlock had figured it out.
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a wry smile.
In that moment, he understood why the mirror had been placed here tonight.
That old man.
Very well.
If we're going for drama, let's go all the way.
He took two more steps forward, placing himself directly in front of the mirror.
His long, slender fingers rested on his chin as his grey pupils narrowed in the mirror's faint glow.
To Sherlock's surprise, what appeared in the mirror was not a labyrinth made of Galleons, nor the streets of Elizabethan London.
It was an intricately terrifying scene.
Countless silver threads weaved through the void, each bearing a floating pocket watch, a bloodstained dagger, or a yellowed case file.
A sheet of parchment unfurled slowly, covered in unknown symbols, ink forming magical equations Sherlock had never seen before.
Hogwarts Castle collapsed into a floating twelve-sided polyhedron, each face twisted into a single word:
The Final Problem
Sherlock stared at the image for several seconds, then sneered:
"Pointless emotional projections. You should've shown me the one possibility that can never come true—like the moment I stop thinking."
Harry had just arrived beside him and looked at him in confusion.
"Sherlock, what are you talking about?"
Sherlock pointed to the inscription at the top of the mirror.
Harry looked once… then twice… then a third time.
His only thought was:
What the heck does that say?
Before he could ask, Sherlock had already answered:
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi—just read it backward with proper breaks:
I show not your face but your heart's desire."
Harry, still not following, asked, "What does that mean?"
"It shows not your reflection, but what your heart most desires."
Sherlock explained calmly. "This mirror reflects your deepest, strongest longing."
"That's incredible! Sherlock, what did you see?"
Harry asked eagerly.
Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he stepped aside.
"Sherlock?"
Harry looked at him in confusion.
"Didn't you always want to see your parents?" Sherlock gestured to where he had just stood.
Harry trembled slightly.
My mum and dad…
He turned to the mirror and slowly stepped forward.
With every step, his heart beat faster—until…
When he saw the group of people in the mirror, he almost cried out.
But thanks to a semester of training under Sherlock, he managed to keep calm.
He looked back—again and again.
Seeing no one behind him, he turned back to the mirror, a look of pure wonder spreading across his face.
Sherlock noticed his change in demeanor and frowned.
At that moment, Harry pressed both hands against the mirror's frame, nearly pressing his face to the glass.
"Mum?"
He whispered. "Dad?"
Then—someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.
Sherlock had forcibly turned him away from the mirror.
Harry panicked.
"What are you doing—ow!"
Sherlock's strong hands held him still as Harry struggled in vain, only feeling pain.
"My dear Harry, you need to calm down. I assume… you saw your parents?"
"Not just them. Grandparents too… so many of them!
You know, Sherlock, they all had the same green eyes as me, the same nose… Grandpa even had knobby knees just like mine…"
Harry was rambling.
"Your longing for family is stronger than I imagined."
Sherlock said thoughtfully.
"Sherlock…"
Harry kept glancing at the mirror, then turned to Sherlock with pleading eyes.
Sherlock frowned, but eventually released him.
Let him have his moment.
Harry rushed back to the mirror.
This time, he sat cross-legged on the floor.
Dad, Mum, Grandparents… and so many unfamiliar but kind faces.
At least a dozen people stood behind his reflection, smiling and waving.
At that moment, Harry wanted nothing more than to stay there all night.
No one could stop him.
Not even Sherlock.
Sherlock had no idea he had just become Harry's biggest obstacle.
He watched with interest as Harry stared hungrily at the mirror, clearly wishing to jump inside and be with them.
He was waiting.
Waiting for him to appear.
And he didn't have to wait long.
"Well then…"
Just as Harry was losing himself, a calm voice spoke from behind.
Harry froze, his insides turning to ice.
He turned slowly to see Dumbledore standing at the door.
Sherlock, unsurprised, simply greeted him: "Professor."
"I must say, Sherlock, at your age I didn't have nearly your level of observational skill."
Dumbledore smiled. "As you said, this mirror does indeed show a person's deepest desire.
It is called the Mirror of Erised."
Harry relaxed slightly at Dumbledore's kind expression.
Sherlock, however, raised an eyebrow.
Dumbledore continued, turning to Sherlock:
"So, will you tell me what you saw in the mirror?"
Sherlock had already deduced that Dumbledore had placed it there, and he replied without hesitation:
"A needlessly poetic watchmaker advertisement. I suggest Mr. Filch improve pest control in the castle."
Dumbledore: (°ー°〃)
Even Harry turned to Sherlock in disbelief.
What was he talking about?
Sherlock pressed on:
"Distinguishing fantasy from reality is already difficult—especially in a world with magic.
That's why I don't think putting this mirror here was a good idea."
Dumbledore blinked.
Those were the very words he had planned to say to Harry…
But Sherlock had said them first.
Not giving them time to respond, Dumbledore quickly coughed and turned to Harry.
"Harry."
"Headmaster."
Harry tensed up.
"I prefer 'sir' or 'professor,' if you don't mind."
"Yes, sir."
"Your friend is right. This mirror teaches us nothing, reveals no truth.
People have wasted away before it, lost in dreams… driven mad, even.
Because they cannot tell whether what they see is real—or even possible."
Harry lowered his head.
He remembered how Sherlock had forcibly pulled him away earlier.
"Losing yourself in fantasy and forgetting reality is of no benefit."
Harry glanced at Sherlock again.
Sherlock asked calmly: "Sir, I assume the mirror will be moved soon?"
"Incredibly perceptive—as you deduced, Sherlock, I'll have it relocated tonight.
I hope you won't go looking for it again."
Although he said "you," Dumbledore was clearly looking at Harry.
He believed only Harry had been captivated by the mirror.
"I'll persuade him," Sherlock said. Then he posed a question: "Sir, what did you see in the mirror?"
Harry was curious too.
Dumbledore squinted. "Me? I saw myself holding a thick pair of woolen socks."
Sherlock: (_)
Harry: (☉☉)!?
Dumbledore ignored their expressions.
"Well then, why not put on that marvelous Invisibility Cloak and return to bed?"
Harry nodded, but Sherlock said softly, "One doesn't need an Invisibility Cloak to disappear, right?"
Dumbledore just smiled kindly.
---
On the way back, Sherlock still didn't wear the cloak.
Thanks to him, Harry moved much faster than before.
When they returned to Gryffindor Tower, Harry exhaled deeply.
"Thank goodness. I thought the professor might take house points."
"He won't," Sherlock replied confidently.
"How do you know?"
"Because he's not Professor Snape."
Sherlock's voice suddenly grew serious. "My friend, you didn't do well tonight."
Harry looked ashamed.
Ever since seeing the mirror, he had thrown everything else aside.
Now, thinking back, it felt like he had been bewitched.
He even had a dangerous thought: As long as I can be with my family, nothing else matters.
Quirrell, the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort…
Even if Quirrell got the Stone—so what?
He had forgotten something critical.
Voldemort… murdered his parents.
---
30 Advance Chapters on Patreon!
p(a)treon(.)com/HudaLin
-Remove the parenthesis to access patreon normally
Thanks for the Support!
---
Advance Chapters on Patreon!
p(a)treon(.)com/HudaLin
-Remove the parenthesis to access patreon normally
Thanks for the Support!