On the second night, Harry Potter returned to the abandoned classroom.
Wrapped in his invisibility cloak, he sat before the towering mirror, his figure barely visible in the dim light. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with longing and quiet obsession. He stared at the glass as if it were the only real thing left in the world.
Outside in the corridor, Tamara Riddle stood in the shadows, watching the half-open door. Her expression was dark enough to rival the night itself.
"Why did I even come here?" she asked the system in her mind irritably. "If Potter wants to rot in front of a mirror, that's his choice. Why should I care?"
[Ding! Task Triggered: The Lost Lamb.]
[Task Description: Indulging in illusory happiness will lead one to lose themselves. If the savior falls into madness, who will stand as your shield? For the future of the wizarding world, guide this lost lamb back to reality.]
[Task Reward: Courage +2.]
[Failure Penalty: Your reflection within the Mirror of Erised will manifest in reality for one day.]
"…."
Tamara felt her blood pressure rise.
She inhaled slowly, steadying herself, then tightened her cloak and stepped silently into the classroom.
The air inside was cold and stale. Harry was whispering to the mirror, his voice soft and trembling, as though speaking to someone on the other side.
"Potter."
Tamara's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Harry jumped violently and spun around. When he recognized her, his tense shoulders relaxed, and a bright, almost desperate smile spread across his face.
"Tamara! You came too? I knew you would!"
He shifted aside eagerly. "You want to look again, right? Even if you said you didn't like it before… maybe you'll see something different this time."
"I'm not looking," Tamara replied flatly.
She walked up to him and stood over him, her gaze cold and steady.
"I'm here to take you away."
"Leave?" Harry's eyes flickered back toward the mirror. "But… I just want to stay a little longer. Just a little."
"How much longer?" Tamara interrupted sharply. "Until your body freezes? Until you can't distinguish reality from fantasy?"
She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him to his feet.
"Get up. This thing will ruin you."
"No! Let go!"
Harry suddenly struggled with unexpected strength, shaking her off. His face flushed red, his eyes bloodshot with desperation. The scar on his forehead throbbed painfully.
"You don't understand!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You have people who care about you. I have nothing!"
He turned back toward the mirror, fists clenched.
"This is the only place I can see them! The only place that feels like home!"
His voice echoed against the bare stone walls.
Tamara stared at him, momentarily stunned.
This boy—the future savior of the wizarding world—was trembling over fragile emotions.
"Home?" she repeated with a cold laugh. "You think that reflection is a home? It's nothing but a lie woven by your own mind to escape reality."
"I don't care if it's a lie!" Harry shot back stubbornly. "At least here I'm happy!"
"Happy?"
Tamara stepped closer. The oppressive aura belonging to a Dark Lord surfaced unconsciously around her.
"That kind of false happiness will only make you weaker."
"In this world, only the power in your own hands is real. Only the living are real."
She pointed sharply at the mirror.
"Clinging to illusions does nothing but make you pathetic."
Harry faltered, intimidated by her intensity. His anger flickered into confusion.
Then—
"Well said, Miss Riddle."
A calm yet authoritative voice drifted from the shadows.
Both children turned.
Albus Dumbledore sat atop a stack of old desks in the corner, bathed in moonlight. His silver hair and beard shimmered softly, giving him the appearance of a sage from a painting.
Harry went pale.
"Professor Dumbledore? You were here the whole time?"
Tamara's pupils shrank for a fraction of a second, but her composure returned instantly.
"Good evening, Professor."
She gave a small, flawless bow. The hostility that had radiated from her moments ago vanished, replaced with impeccable courtesy.
Dumbledore stepped down and approached them slowly.
"Good evening," he said with a gentle smile. "It seems you have both discovered the magic of this mirror."
"Yes, Professor," Tamara replied evenly. "And I believe it is dangerous. It encourages people to become addicted to illusion."
"Quite so."
Dumbledore nodded.
"The Mirror of Erised shows us nothing more nor less than the deepest and most desperate desires of our hearts."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"It gives us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they saw, or driven mad."
He paused thoughtfully before turning his gaze toward Tamara.
"But I am curious, Miss Riddle."
His blue eyes sharpened slightly.
"You said that only power held in one's hands is real. That sounds rather absolute."
He tilted his head.
"Are love and memory not equally real?"
It was a trap.
If she dismissed love entirely, her disguise would crack. Dumbledore would grow even more suspicious.
If she praised love too eagerly, he would sense the insincerity.
Tamara's mind raced.
She did not understand love. In nearly a century of existence, no one had ever explained it to her.
She could only rely on careful reasoning.
"Love is real, Professor," she answered slowly.
She lifted her head and met his gaze directly, activating her Harmless skill. Her eyes appeared clear and thoughtful, tinged with an almost vulnerable sincerity.
"But I believe love is also a form of power—perhaps the most dangerous one."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Because love creates weakness," she continued. "It gives people vulnerabilities. It clouds their judgment and binds them to things they fear losing."
She gestured subtly toward Harry.
"His love for his parents has led him here. He forgets the dangers of reality because he cannot let go of what he sees."
Her voice softened slightly.
"In this moment, is that love not poison?"
Silence filled the room.
"That is why I say only power that can be controlled is truly real," she continued. "Whether magic or love."
"If one cannot master it and instead becomes ruled by it, then no matter how beautiful it appears, it will eventually bring destruction."
Harry looked between them, confused yet thoughtful.
Dumbledore, however, studied her carefully.
Those words were too deliberate for an eleven-year-old.
The logic was extreme, even utilitarian, yet not entirely unreasonable.
Most importantly, she acknowledged love's existence—she did not deny it outright.
That distinction mattered.
"An interesting perspective," Dumbledore said at last.
"To recognize both the strength and danger of love shows considerable thought."
He addressed her by name for the first time.
"You are correct, Tamara. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."
He turned toward Harry.
"This mirror will be moved tomorrow. I trust you will not seek it again."
"Yes, Professor," Harry muttered.
"Now," Dumbledore added lightly, "put on that marvelous invisibility cloak and return to bed."
He winked.
"While I am aware of your recent nightly adventures, I am willing to pretend otherwise."
Harry pulled on the cloak, then hesitated.
"Tamara… you can—"
"I don't need it," she interrupted coolly.
She looked directly at Dumbledore.
"I assume Slytherin will not lose points tonight?"
A smile touched his lips.
"Of course not. In fact, I commend the clarity and responsibility you displayed."
Tamara saluted lightly, then turned and left.
When both children were gone, Dumbledore remained alone before the mirror.
His expression grew complex.
"Tom, in his youth, never spoke of love like that," he murmured softly.
"She resembles him… yet she does not."
He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the desk.
"That inconsistency… where does it come from?"
After a long moment, he shook his head.
"Perhaps time will reveal which path she chooses."
In the corridor, Tamara walked silently.
[Ding! Task Completed: The Lost Lamb.]
[Reward: Courage +2.]
[Current Courage: 14.]
[Detected: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's evaluation has shifted from 'A tragedy destined to repeat' to 'An unknown variable requiring guidance.']
Tamara's lips curved faintly.
"Guidance?"
Her eyes gleamed coldly in the darkness.
"In the end, we will see who guides whom."
She disappeared into the shadows ofcorridor, leaving the abandoned classroom—and the mirror—behind.
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