Dumbledore felt inordinately smug.
You'd think, what with the mirror room now under a hostile fidelius, that he'd be down one defence professor and facing the prospect of immediate war with a resurrected dark lord, but no — Tom had yet to leave his teaching post and, far from being the endless fount of dry, dark humour that would indicate a good mood, seemed more annoyed than ever. Clearly, Nicholas's devilish mirror and his own additions were doing their job.
There was one thing that puzzled Dumbledore though and it was with this puzzle in mind that he gently knocked on the door to the defence professor's office.
"Enter."
Dumbledore opened the door and stepped through.
"Ah, Headmaster." Quirrell's body looked up and Tom directed him to an empty chair. His manner was impassive, if a bit surly. "How can I help you?"
"Quirinus,"—Dumbledore took the seat offered—"I was wondering if you could help me with a little mystery."
Tom tilted Quirrell's head. "You know I will give you any help I can, Headmaster. I understand you are extremely busy at the moment."
Dumbledore's beard twitched. He'd spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening dealing with the fallout from calling eight aurors out and locking down the castle for reasons that neither he, nor the aurors, could fully remember — and those bits he could remember, he had no desire to tell. "It is about my being busy that I wish to ask. You remember yesterday that I put the castle into lockdown?" Quirrell's left eye twitched. "I would find it incredibly difficult to forget something like that."
"Well, during that time, the wards recorded you as leaving the castle, despite the fact that such a thing should be impossible during a lockdown."
"How interesting."
"And what's more, I can understand the fact that you were not in the castle. That is to say, my brain allows me to process that information."
Tom's surely expression momentarily shifted. His eyes flickered with dark amusement. "Ah, the fidelius charm. Such a useful piece of magic."
Dumbledore tensed. Tom laughed. "I really wish I could help you, Headmaster, but unfortunately, I cannot… remember."
Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock.
Tom's face became annoying, isn't it?"
surely
again.
"Yes,
"But…" Albus tried to comprehend what he was hearing. "Who?"
Tom's lip curled upwards, eyes instantly shifting back to dark amusement. "I'd say, 'you-know-who,' but clearly that isn't true."
Dumbledore fixed Tom with the same severe look he used to give him in transfiguration.
"Oh, come now, my dear Dumbledore. I'm sure that I, a mere former muggle studies professor, doesn't need to spell out what to you should be obvious — that the binary game is no longer."
And then Dumbledore suddenly realised what Tom was suggesting. He, Albus, was the Light Lord and Tom was the Dark Lord, that much was obvious — but that there might be a third — his eyes widened — and that Tom seemed to believe that third was worthy of being classed as their equal.
Tom smirked. "The Gray Lord."
After an evening assuring Tracey that they were fine and just training down by the lake, Daphne Greengrass stood, once again, in the fideliused mirror room, in front of a mirror that was certainly not the mirror of Erised, although exactly what it was, was up for debate. In the mirror, Daphne's reflection kissed a giggling Hermione on the cheek, before enthusiastically waving a red stone at her, ducking out of the mirror's frame, and into the mirror next to her. Behind mirror Hermione, a million reflections from a hundred other mirrors in the mirror maze did what ever it was they did in their mirrors, sometimes to or with each other. Red stones featured prominently.
The mirror next to her contained an older Daphne sitting on a throne made of ice, eyes glowing blue, face stern, regal, and cruel. The red stone holding Daphne from the other mirror proceeded to have an argument with ice throne Daphne — an argument which ended when a smaller Daphne reflection from another mirror jumped in between them and summoned an older Harry reflection, who made a grab for red stone Daphne, but missed. Reflection Harry then proceeded to jump ice throne Daphne and started doing things that made real Daphne blush.
Red stone Daphne, meanwhile, had flittered away to yet another mirror, although which one, she couldn't tell. There were just so many of them.
Daphne tried to ignore the mirror next to her and instead ran her fingers along the mirror in front of her, attempting to feel the magics that wove it together, like Harry suggested she do. It was tough going, especially with reflection Hermione constantly giggling at her.
"This one," said Harry's voice from across the room, "this one is not the Mirror of Erised."
Daphne abandoned her experiments with magic sensing and joined Harry at one of the many hundreds of other mirrors, followed moments later by Hermione.
"I should hope not," said Hermione in a disgusted voice.
Daphne felt sick. In the mirror, Lord Walter Slughorn—fat, ugly, and without a hint of compassion—did unspeakable things with her terrified seven-year-old self. She didn't know what Harry or Hermione were seeing but if it was anything like her's then she didn't want to know.
Harry pointed his wand at it. "There doesn't seem to be any trip lines or traps." He conjured a large rock in midair. "Stand back please."
Daphne and Hermione scurried backwards. SMASH!
The mirror fell over backwards and what remained of its cracked surface exploded upwards, a million little shards falling out of their frame.
Hermione snickered. "Seven years bad luck."
Daphne winced. "Oh, Merlin, don't say that."
"Yes, well." Harry stepped over the wreckage, crunching a stray bit of glass under foot. "There will be a lot of broken mirrors before we're done here."
It took hours.
Harry carefully analysed each mirror, occasionally showing Hermione and her an interesting point or two about what he was doing. After he'd confirmed that the mirror wasn't the one they were after, he smashed it with the now traditional floating rock, and then she and Hermione swept up the remains into an ever growing pile in a corner of the room.
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