After emerging from the storage room, the two of them hurried through several winding corridors.
To avoid Filch—who might have doubled back at any moment—they slipped into a classroom that appeared to have been abandoned for years.
Dust hung thick in the air. Broken desks and chairs were stacked carelessly in one corner. Cobwebs draped across cracked windows like faded curtains.
And in the center of the room stood a massive object.
A mirror.
It was magnificent, stretching all the way to the ceiling. Its ornate golden frame shimmered faintly even in the dim light, supported by two claw-shaped feet at its base. Carved across the top were strange words:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Harry seemed drawn to it, as if pulled by an invisible thread. He stepped toward the mirror slowly, almost reverently, his breathing growing shallow.
"What is it?" Tamara asked from the doorway. Her patience had already worn thin. She had no interest in indulging more childish distractions.
"Tamara… come quickly, look!" Harry's voice trembled with awe and excitement. "My parents… they're right here!"
"Parents?"
Tamara raised an eyebrow.
Potter's parents had died long ago.
She knew that better than anyone.
She walked over and stood beside him, glancing into the mirror.
It reflected Harry's wide, shining eyes—but behind him, there was nothing. No figures. No smiling parents.
Only emptiness.
"Are you dreaming, Potter?" Tamara said coolly. "There's only you in the mirror."
"No! Can't you see them?" Harry pointed urgently at the space behind his reflection. "They're right there! That's my mum… and my dad… they're smiling at me!"
Tamara watched his expression carefully.
The obsession in his eyes.
The desperate longing.
And then realization dawned.
The Mirror of Erised.
A mirror that reflected not reality—but the deepest, most desperate desire of one's heart.
"I see."
A faint, amused smile curved at the corner of Tamara's lips.
For an orphan who had never known his parents, yearning for a family was perfectly natural.
"Move aside."
She pushed Harry gently away and stepped directly in front of the mirror.
"Let's see… what it shows me."
She was curious.
As the Dark Lord reborn—what did she truly desire?
Immortality?
Supreme power?
The moment she crushed Dumbledore beneath her heel?
She stared into the mirror.
At first, it showed only her small, pale reflection. Then the surface rippled like disturbed water. Her image blurred—and something new began to form.
Tamara held her breath.
Anticipation flickered in her crimson eyes.
She saw it.
Her future self.
No longer a frail little girl—but the restored, tall, handsome, and powerful Tom Riddle.
He stood atop the highest tower of Hogwarts, the Elder Wand in his hand. His robes billowed in the wind like a dark banner of conquest.
At his feet knelt submissive Death Eaters.
In the distance, the Ministry of Magic burned.
And before him—
A corpse.
Harry Potter.
The so-called Savior lay lifeless, sprawled on the stone floor like a discarded doll. The lightning scar on his forehead was dull and meaningless.
"Perfect…" Tamara murmured.
A shiver of exhilaration ran through her.
This was the future she desired.
No prophecy.
No Savior.
No opposition.
Only her—the eternal Dark Lord.
However—
Just as she began to lose herself in that intoxicating vision—
[Ding! Detected that the host is experiencing high-risk mental induction.]
[Induced content contains excessive violence, destruction, and antisocial elements, severely violating the core principles of the Virtue System.]
[Initiating emergency purification protocol: Positive Energy Filter overlay.]
"What?!"
Before Tamara could react, the image in the mirror changed.
The Dark Lord vanished.
The tower dissolved.
The flames disappeared.
In their place—
Tamara stood there.
Wearing a nun's habit.
Yes.
A nun's habit.
Complete with lace trim and an almost blinding aura of holiness.
In her hands was no longer the Elder Wand—but a thick book titled Morality and the Rule of Law.
Behind her was not ruin and conquest—but a sunlit meadow.
A group of cheerful young witches and wizards surrounded her, holding hands. There were Gryffindors, Slytherins—even a few Muggle children.
They were smiling.
Singing.
Laughing.
And at the very front stood Harry Potter—alive, healthy, and radiant—holding a bouquet of flowers and gazing up at her with pure admiration.
The clouds in the sky formed soft words:
Love and Peace.
"…."
The smile on Tamara's face froze.
Then it twisted violently.
"What… what is this?"
Her voice trembled with fury.
A nun?
Preaching morality?
Spreading harmony?
She felt as if her vision were being assaulted.
"System! Get out here!"
She roared inwardly, nearly grinding her teeth to dust.
"This is your so-called purification?! You turned my grand ambition into a children's fairy tale?!"
[Host, please regulate your emotions.]
The system's voice sounded maddeningly calm.
[This reflects the true desire buried in your heart—to be surrounded by love, to become a guiding light, and to lead the wizarding world toward peace and unity. The mirror does not fabricate. It reveals.]
"Absolute nonsense!"
Tamara's entire body trembled with rage.
She raised her wand instantly, aiming it at the mirror.
She would shatter this ridiculous object.
She would destroy it.
"Tamara! Don't!"
Harry lunged forward instinctively, grabbing her arm.
"Please! Don't destroy it!" His voice cracked. "It's the only place where I can see my parents!"
"Let go of me!"
Tamara shook him off, her eyes blazing.
"What's the point of keeping something that feeds people false illusions and traps them in fantasy?!"
"It's not false…" Harry insisted stubbornly, stepping in front of the mirror as if shielding it with his own body. "At least… not to me."
Tamara stared at him.
At the way he stood there, determined, almost ready to fight her.
Then she glanced back at the mirror.
At the absurdly serene nun version of herself, smiling gently at imaginary children.
A strange, suffocating powerlessness rose in her chest.
She couldn't destroy the mirror—not in front of Harry.
She had carefully cultivated the image of a reliable, caring older sister over the past months. Smashing it in a fit of rage would ruin everything.
And even if she shattered this mirror—
As long as that cursed system remained—
She would only see that revolting image again and again.
"…Fine."
Tamara took a slow breath, forcibly suppressing the killing intent coiling inside her.
She lowered her wand.
Casting one last vicious glare at her sanctified reflection, she turned toward the door.
"You've seen enough, Potter."
Her voice was cold and sharp.
"Indulging in fantasies and forgetting to live in reality will only make you weak."
"If you don't want to become an idiot drooling in front of a mirror, you'd better come with me."
Harry hesitated.
He looked back at the mirror one last time—at the smiling figures only he could see.
Then he followed her.
"Wait for me, Tamara…"
As the door creaked shut behind them, silence returned to the abandoned classroom.
Neither of them noticed—
In the darkest corner of the room—
A pair of bright blue eyes watched quietly from behind half-moon spectacles.
Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the shadows, his expression thoughtful.
"How interesting…"
He had seen everything.
Tamara's anger.
Her rejection.
Her violent resistance.
Most witches and wizards, upon seeing their deepest desires reflected in the Mirror of Erised, would be entranced. Even dangerous souls would become lost in the temptation of power.
Yet this girl—
She had reacted with fury.
Disgust.
Rejection.
Dumbledore stroked his beard slowly.
"Could it be…"
A faint flicker of satisfaction shone in his eyes.
Very few people could recognize the illusion so quickly.
Even fewer could turn away from it.
"She saw something," he murmured softly. "And whatever it was… she chose not to embrace it."
To him, that choice mattered.
The Mirror of Erised did not show truth.
It showed longing.
And longing could chain a person more tightly than any spell.
But Tamara had resisted.
"She rejected the comfort of fantasy," Dumbledore said quietly to the empty room. "And even grew angry at the temptation."
A subtle smile curved at the edge of his lips.
"Severus… perhaps your assessment was slightly misguided."
He gave the silent mirror one last contemplative look before extinguishing the lights with a flick of his wand.
The classroom fell into darkness once more.
The mirror stood alone.
Waiting.
Reflecting.
Revealing.
And somewhere deep within Tamara's heart—
Whether she acknowledged it or not—
A fragment of light still flickered beneath the shadows.