Chapter 216: Mirror, Mirror
For someone Harry's age, getting a brand-new "toy" meant one thing—he would use it immediately. Anyone would.
And as it turned out, Russell's guess was spot on.
After curfew, Russell arrived outside the Gryffindor common room. Since he couldn't see Harry beneath the Invisibility Cloak, he came up with a workaround.
With a flick of his wand, he spread a thin layer of red paint across the floor outside the entrance.
That way, he could track Harry's footsteps.
Before long, the portrait door swung open.
No one was visible—but the paint began to depress, one footprint after another appearing in sequence.
Russell's eyes lit up.
Got you.
He raised his wand and discreetly marked the edge of the cloak with a faint trace of color.
To guide Harry exactly where he wanted him to go, Russell had gone to considerable effort. He had even borrowed Ice Cream from Rubeus Hagrid—then transfigured the creature into the likeness of Mrs Norris.
On top of that, he'd acquired one of the Weasley twins' latest inventions—a transformation gadget—and paired it with a recorded imitation of Argus Filch's voice.
The result?
A perfectly staged chase.
Panicked and disoriented, Harry fled exactly where Russell wanted him to—straight into that particular room.
"Mission accomplished."
Russell reverted Ice Cream to its original form and watched as it eagerly bolted out of Hogwarts, clearly thrilled to be free again.
He shook his head.
Creatures like that… were better suited to the wild.
Satisfied, Russell didn't bother with what came next. He yawned and headed back to the Ravenclaw Common Room.
—
Meanwhile, Harry leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
He couldn't understand it.
Why had Filch been so relentless tonight, sticking to him like a curse—even though he was invisible?
And Mrs. Norris… it had felt like she could see him.
The thought unsettled him.
Not daring to leave just yet, he decided to explore the room he had stumbled into.
His gaze swept across the dim space—until he noticed something in the corner, hidden beneath a heavy curtain.
Curious, he stepped closer and pulled it aside.
Three long-legged spiders scuttled away in alarm.
Revealed beneath the cloth… was a mirror.
The Mirror of Erised towered up to the cobwebbed ceiling. Its gilded frame twisted with carvings of serpents and creeping vines, intricate and ancient.
The bronze surface shimmered faintly, as though steeped in preserved moonlight. Along the edges, runic inscriptions flickered in and out of shadow.
At the top of the frame, an arched crest bore a line of slanted text, glowing softly in silver-blue:
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
(Spelled backward: I show not your face but your heart's desire.)
Two bronze serpents coiled at the base, their heads raised. As Harry approached, the opal eyes set within them shifted—turning a deep, unsettling crimson.
Hidden among the vine carvings were twelve miniature relief scenes:
A crowned beggar clutching an empty vault…
An old wizard holding a rose, gazing at the portrait of a lover forever young…
A house-elf bowing to masters that no longer existed…
Each scene was bordered with tiny goblin-script inscriptions—records of those who had lost themselves to illusion.
The mirror didn't just reflect.
It remembered.
Suddenly, the mirror—empty just a moment ago—flickered.
An image appeared.
Harry staggered back half a step in shock. At the same time, the vine-like carvings on the frame dimmed slightly, as though something within the mirror had awakened.
In the reflection, a man and woman sat together by a fireplace.
They had the same messy black hair and bright green eyes as Harry.
James Potter and Lily Potter—just as they appeared in the photographs.
But something was… wrong.
The photo frame James was polishing held no picture of a baby. The sweater Lily was knitting showed no sign of being made for a child.
Harry stepped closer, instinctively reaching out—
Then froze.
Where was he?
The mirror showed no trace of his existence.
His eyes darted to a calendar hanging on the wall.
July, 1985.
That couldn't be right.
If his memory was correct, his parents should have died long before then.
So why were they alive?
And more importantly—
Why wasn't he there?
Had he not been born yet?
Or… was it something else?
Panic crept in, tightening his chest as his thoughts spiraled.
Just then—
A voice spoke from behind him.
"Harry… what are you doing here?"
He spun around, startled so badly he nearly fell. In fact, he did—landing awkwardly on the floor.
"P-Professor—Albus Dumbledore… when did you get here?"
He scrambled to his feet, flustered, like a child caught doing something forbidden.
"I came to check on this mirror," Dumbledore said gently, stepping forward to stand beside him. Together, they looked into the Mirror of Erised.
"Professor… I—I saw my parents in it."
Harry hesitated, then explained everything he had just witnessed.
"What does it mean?"
Dumbledore's expression softened, a trace of sadness flickering in his eyes.
"This mirror shows you your deepest desire," he said quietly.
"Then why didn't I see myself?" Harry pressed urgently. "All I want is to be with them."
"Harry…" Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've already learned from Sirius Black how your parents died, haven't you?"
"Yes," Harry nodded.
"And you know about the prophecy—how Lord Voldemort sought you out because of it… and killed them."
Harry frowned. "What does that have to do with what I saw?"
Dumbledore's voice grew even softer.
"Have you ever wondered… what would have happened if you had never been born? Or perhaps… had not been born on that day?"
The words struck like lightning.
Harry went completely still.
His mind went blank.
If I hadn't been born…
Then Voldemort would never have come.
James and Lily… would still be alive.
A thought he had never dared to face suddenly surfaced from the depths of his heart.
And the worst part—
It made sense.
—
Before leaving, Harry hesitated, then asked, "Professor… what did you see in the mirror?"
Dumbledore smiled, lightly wiping at his eyes.
"Myself… holding a pair of thick woolen socks."
But that wasn't the truth.
What he truly saw—
Was his family.
Percival Dumbledore, Kendra Dumbledore, and Ariana Dumbledore—all alive once more.
And Aberforth Dumbledore… standing beside him again.
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