[36] The Mirror's Promise

"I'll find you at the Gryffindor entrance tonight. Lead the way."

Dumbledore had requisitioned the Marauder's Map, so Hall couldn't navigate as easily.

Ron nodded.

They went to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry sat by the fireplace, lost in thought, his sadness palpable. Hall wondered if telling him about the gift beforehand would have been better.

Late that night, Hall found Ron and cast the Disillusionment Charm on them both.

Ron led the way. At the door, he hesitated. The mirror was too tempting — he was afraid he'd get sucked in again.

The mirror was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling, gold frame, two claw-shaped feet. It stood in the centre of the room, and Harry sat before it, a blissful smile on his face.

Hall dropped his Disillusionment Charm and approached.

In the mirror, an older Hall held his wand, surrounded by every Weasley — not one missing. All of them in new clothes, expensive jewellery, happy smiles. The floor was piled with gold and silver. Behind them, the Burrow had become a castle.

Hall touched his forehead. Were his thoughts really that extravagant?

"Henry?" Harry snapped out of his reverie.

Hall stared at the inscription around the mirror's frame. "Erised. Stra. Ehru. Oyt. Ube. Cafru. Oyt. On. Wohl."

"What?"

Hall sat beside Harry. "Look."

Harry read the words.

"It doesn't show your face. It shows your heart's desire." Hall traced the letters backward. "What do you see, Harry?"

Harry turned back to the mirror. "My family. My father, my mother. They're beside me, smiling. We're all so happy."

Hall sighed. "Do you know what I see? I see my family too. All of us smiling. The details are a bit much, but I know it's my dream — what I'm working toward."

Harry didn't respond.

"Harry, I know advice is easy to give and hard to take. But people have to learn to look forward."

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"I know. I just want to see them."

Hall looked at the inscription. "Most people who see this mirror can't escape it. They waste their lives in front of it. Do you know why?"

Harry knew. He knew exactly what Hall was going to say. He just couldn't bear to leave his happiness behind.

"They don't know if what they see is real. They indulge in the illusion because it's beautiful, and they forget real life." Hall paused. "We have to work for what we see in that mirror. Not sit here night after night with dark circles like a zombie."

Harry's eyes glistened. "They're not coming back."

"But you can have another family member."

Harry stared at him.

Hall's tone was matter-of-fact. "Sirius Black — your godfather — was imprisoned on false charges. He's been exonerated. He'll be coming back soon."

Harry couldn't speak. Questions piled up — how did Henry know, when would it happen, would Sirius come see him, would Sirius even like him?

Hall didn't wait for answers. He just let Harry sit with the news.

Hall found Draco in the corridors, stuffing himself with an alarming quantity of food.

Hall cut off Harry's questions. "I don't know the details either. Wait and ask him yourself."

"But—"

"Right now you need sleep. Recharge. Don't leave a bad first impression." Hall pulled Harry up and pushed him toward the door.

Ron was waiting outside. Harry looked back at Hall. "What about you?"

"Can't I take a few more looks? I don't know where this mirror will be tomorrow."

What Hall didn't say was that he sensed someone else in the room. An old acquaintance.

Dumbledore.

Hall hadn't expected him back. Dumbledore had been busy with the Ministry over Sirius's release — leaving early, returning late.

Hall frowned. He'd promised Harry his family would arrive soon. With Dumbledore's negotiating style, that could take forever. Better to act directly.

Harry gave the mirror one last look, then vanished under the Invisibility Cloak with Ron.

Hall closed the door.

A tall figure stood before the mirror — silver-white robes, pointed hat, long white hair. His gaze was distant.

"What do you see, Professor?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I see a pair of thick, warm wool socks."

The old man turned. The eleven-year-old boy before him — dark hair, frail frame — was behind every major event at Hogwarts this year.

Dumbledore had arrived early. He'd hidden when Hall entered, watching the two children. Hall hadn't disappointed — he'd persuaded Harry where lectures would have failed.

Dumbledore hadn't planned to tell Harry about Sirius so soon. But releasing Sirius meant forcing the Ministry to admit they'd arrested the wrong man and glorified a criminal. Fudge would rather keep Sirius locked up forever.

These past few days, Dumbledore had argued with the Ministry until he nearly drew his wand.

"Professor, I can help."

Hall laid out his plan. Hogwarts' healing potions were ten times more effective than standard remedies — they could save anyone who wasn't already dead. If the Aurors had access to these potions, their mortality rate would plummet. Fudge couldn't block Sirius's release if every Auror's relative was demanding the potion.

And Dumbledore would owe him another favour.

Dumbledore sighed. "How much, my child?"

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