That boy…
Dumbledore recalled Professor McGonagall once remarking that Harry had Lily's eyes — and perhaps something of her temperament.
"For Merlin's beard…" he murmured softly.
The boy's first reaction upon seeing Severus's figure had not been panic, but calculation.
There was something of James in that instinct to draw a wand — yet something far more restrained.
Interesting.
Dumbledore stroked his beard as he watched. Harry had already aimed his wand at the false Snape.
Then his lips moved almost imperceptibly.
Dumbledore felt the magic ripple through the air.
Nonverbal spellcasting.
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
Few students mastered that before sixth year.
All the more reason to proceed.
With a subtle flick of his wand, Dumbledore made the statue-Snape sweep its sleeves and turn its head toward where Harry and Ron were hidden.
Harry frowned.
The spell hadn't worked?
Beside him, Ron looked on the verge of collapse. Years of poisonous remarks in Potions had left their mark.
"Harry…" Ron whispered desperately.
Harry assessed the situation quickly.
Attacking a professor would be reckless — and unjustifiable.
And Snape had once entrusted him with a vial of Felix Felicis. Open hostility made little sense.
Something was wrong.
Their path back was blocked. Only the abandoned classroom remained.
Before Harry could decide, Ron pulled him inside.
The footsteps ceased outside.
Silence.
"Let's go," Harry murmured.
"Wait… Harry… look."
The mirror rose to the ceiling, framed in ornate gold, supported by clawed feet.
Across the top was carved:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Harry's chest tightened.
"What do you see?" he asked.
Ron stared, transfixed.
"I'm wearing Bill's old Head Boy badge… I've got the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup… everyone's cheering! I'm captain!"
"It isn't prophetic," Harry said calmly.
"Read it backwards."
Ron blinked.
Harry translated:
"'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'"
Ron scratched his head.
"So… that's it?"
Harry nodded.
The Mirror of Erised did not show the future — only the deepest desire of one's heart.
He looked into it.
The classroom vanished.
In its place stood a long table, like those in the Room of Requirement during meetings. His parents sat there — Lily smiling gently, James relaxed beside her.
Behind them, members of the Potter family moved about in warm conversation.
Christmas lights glowed softly.
"I see my parents… and my family," Harry said quietly.
He looked closer.
Beside his mother sat Veratia, knitting swiftly, violet eyes warm as they met his.
Behind Lily stood Cassandra, her expression unusually gentle.
Did he truly wish for that?
Perhaps not to live with them exactly — but not to be alone.
"How did you know what it did?" Ron asked.
Before Harry could answer, footsteps echoed.
Albus Dumbledore appeared in the doorway.
"Good evening, Harry. Good evening, Ron."
"Professor."
Dumbledore approached the mirror.
"Few wizards your age possess such perceptiveness," he said mildly. "As you correctly stated, this mirror reveals the deepest desires of the heart."
His blue eyes twinkled.
"Tell me, Harry… what do you see?"
Harry looked once more.
In the reflection, Veratia lifted a pair of thick woollen socks and waved them gently.
Memory clicked into place.
He understood.
"I see my parents… my family…"
Dumbledore inclined his head.
"And?"
Harry held his reflection's gaze.
"And a pair of thick woollen socks."
Silence.
Dumbledore blinked.
For the briefest moment, something very close to laughter flickered in his eyes.
/------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------/
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