Edward quickly realized he needed to read the inscription on the mirror backward.
"I show not your face but your heart's desire."
So that's how the mirror worked.
But why was there a faint rustling sound coming from it?
Edward was puzzled.
The closer he got, the louder the rustling became.
It sounded a bit like a swarm of insects crawling across the floor—or maybe like ghosts whispering to each other.
What will I see in the mirror? Edward wondered.
Himself decked out in knight's armor, wielding a wand and sword, charging at a dragon?
Nah, that'd be a bit too dramatic.
Edward chuckled to himself but couldn't help feeling a spark of anticipation as he stepped in front of the mirror.
At first, the mirror showed only his reflection: smooth brown hair, emerald-green eyes, and a tall, lanky frame that didn't look like it belonged to an 11-year-old. The mirror-Edward gave a friendly smile.
But soon, the mirror's surface rippled like water.
A strange mist appeared from nowhere, enveloping the reflection of Edward until it was completely swallowed.
Now, the mirror showed nothing but swirling clouds of mist.
Edward's face twisted in confusion.
This isn't what I expected. Where's my heart's desire? Is my desire just to be swallowed by fog?
What kind of desire is that?
Edward knew he had plenty of desires: to become a true knight who embodied chivalry, to make Slytherin House and its students better. Those were the kinds of things he'd expected to see.
But now? Just a bunch of fog.
Just as he was about to check behind the mirror for some hidden mechanism—or maybe cast a Revealing Charm—a familiar voice came from behind him.
Edward spun around to find Dumbledore standing there, smiling broadly.
"Mr. Bedivere, I take it you've figured out what this mirror does?"
How does the headmaster move so quietly? Edward thought. Even his protective charm hadn't picked up on him.
"Professor, I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here. I do know what the mirror does," he said, pointing to the inscription, "but for some reason, it doesn't seem to work on me."
"Doesn't work?" Dumbledore stepped forward to stand beside Edward, gazing at the mirror.
His expression remained calm and wise, but there was a hint of curiosity in his tone.
"If you don't mind, Mr. Edward, could you tell me what you saw in the mirror?"
"I saw my reflection get swallowed by a thick gray mist," Edward said honestly. "Now it's just fog in there. I can't see myself at all. Oh, and I heard some rustling sounds coming from inside the mirror."
"Mist swallowing your reflection?" Dumbledore's gaze flickered between Edward's clear eyes and the mirror.
In the mirror, he saw his own reflection joined by his smiling father, Percival, and mother, Kendra, with his brother Aberforth's arm around his shoulder and his sister Ariana holding his hand, leaning close.
Dumbledore's eyes grew misty, but he knew the mirror wasn't faulty—at least not for him.
The issue must lie with Edward.
Knowing that didn't solve the problem, though, because even Dumbledore didn't understand what it meant.
The Mirror of Erised had been kept in the Room of Requirement for ages until he recently moved it to this empty classroom for study and modification.
No one knew when the mirror had arrived at Hogwarts or who had created it.
It seemed like a magical artifact made for amusement, but Dumbledore hadn't fully unraveled the magic it held.
He'd only discovered one potential use: it might be capable of hiding something.
Like, say, a certain stone that countless people coveted.
But he hadn't tested that theory yet. More experiments were needed.
"Professor, do you know what's going on? Is the mirror broken?" Edward asked earnestly, his protective charm unable to tell if the mirror was simply defective.
"I'm afraid, Edward, that even with my experience, I'm at a bit of a loss when it comes to ancient artifacts like this," Dumbledore said, shaking his white beard.
"But that might not be a bad thing," he added, his tone shifting. "This mirror shows us our deepest, most desperate desires. But it can't teach us knowledge or reveal truth. People have wasted their lives in front of it, obsessed with what they long for, driven to madness."
"I believe, with your character, you wouldn't fall into that trap even if the mirror worked for you. But this situation might be for the best, don't you think?"
Edward nodded, a bit stunned that even the greatest wizard in the world, Headmaster Dumbledore, didn't have all the answers.
Before leaving, though, he had one last question.
"Headmaster, if I may—what did you see in the mirror?"
"Me? I saw myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks," Dumbledore said without hesitation, his eyes still on the family reflected beside him.
"Then you must be a very happy man," Edward said sincerely.
He couldn't tell if Dumbledore was lying, but if he was telling the truth, the headmaster must be content. To want nothing more than a pair of socks meant he already had everything else he needed.
His family must be happy and complete, right? Though, come to think of it, the books about the great wizard's life barely mentioned his family—almost a blank slate.
Dumbledore fell silent. He knew Edward meant no harm, but the words stung deeply.
Perhaps this is the price for all the lies I told in my youth.
Since the mirror didn't work for him and Dumbledore clearly had other plans for it, Edward figured there was no point sticking around.
Then he remembered—he needed to tell Daphne and Malfoy the coast was clear so they wouldn't actually go snitching to Dumbledore.
He'd almost forgotten the most important thing!
But just as he turned to leave, a faint, almost imperceptible voice called out from the mirror.
"Professor, did you hear that?" Edward whipped around, staring at the mirror, still filled with swirling mist.
"Hear what?"
"A voice. It's coming from the mirror, and it's getting clearer."
"The mirror's telling me—"
"—to touch it."