Harry noticed the smile on his face, devoid of any hostility, and let out a sigh of relief—it seemed this wasn't some kind of trap. He hadn't brought his sword today, and truth be told, he wasn't in the mood to fight.
"Did you deliberately let me try that mirror?" Harry wasn't sure what he was feeling—sorrow, nostalgia, anger, a bit of everything. But his willpower was far beyond ordinary, and he managed to set aside the illusions in the mirror.
Fake. It's all fake.
"So," Dumbledore said, sliding down from the desk to sit on the floor beside Harry, "like hundreds before you, you've discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised. Have you heard of it?"
"Is that what it's called? I didn't know." Harry's tone was confident. A rare artifact like this? Even Hermione might only have a slim chance of knowing about it.
His time was precious, spent on training, so it was only natural he wouldn't know.
"Well, I suppose you've figured out what it does by now, haven't you?"
"It showed me my friends… and my family who've passed away—"
"Actually, many others see different things," Dumbledore said. "For instance, becoming a great leader, sitting on a throne, worshipped by all."
"Is that so?" Harry replied. "I don't think I need something like that." For Harry, those things were already within his grasp. In dreams, people always long for what they can't have.
Dumbledore spoke gently. "So, can you think about what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"
Harry shook his head.
"Let me explain," Dumbledore continued. "The happiest person in the world could use the Mirror of Erised as an ordinary mirror—that is, they would see only themselves as they are. Does that tell you anything?"
Harry was starting to understand. "The mirror shows us what we want… whatever we want…"
"Yes and no," Dumbledore said softly. "It doesn't show just anything we want. It reveals the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts. You've never known your family, so you saw them standing around you.
An ordinary person, on the other hand, might wish to be extraordinary. They'd see all sorts of versions of themselves in the mirror.
But this mirror can neither teach us knowledge nor tell us the truth. People waste away before it, obsessed with what they see, even driven to madness, because they don't know if what's in the mirror is real or even possible."
"The mirror will soon be moved to a new place, Harry. If you happen to come across it again, you need to be prepared. Dwelling on dreams and forgetting to live in reality is of no benefit. Now, Harry, why don't you put on that marvelous Invisibility Cloak and head back to bed? Of course, even without the cloak, for us…"
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Dumbledore's words carried hidden meaning. Was he saying Harry would see the mirror again?
This mirror was one of Dumbledore's treasures. Could it be possible that Dumbledore wasn't setting a trap but genuinely wanted Harry to steal his treasure?
Why?
Like in all those legendary tales, was Dumbledore, the wise mentor, giving the hero a trial?
And yet, Harry felt something else. Although Dumbledore spoke about Harry seeing his lost family in the mirror and warned him not to get lost in it, Harry's gut told him Dumbledore was talking about himself. It was just a hunch.
…Ah, and that Invisibility Cloak. Dumbledore had specifically mentioned taking good care of it at the end, and it had nothing to do with Snape.
The cloak might hold secrets of its own… no wonder it was impenetrable.
Harry stood up.
"Professor Dumbledore? May I ask you something?"
"Of course, you just did," Dumbledore said with a smile. "But you may ask another question."
"When you look in the mirror, what do you see?"
"Me? I see myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks."
"Socks are never enough," Dumbledore added. "Christmas comes and goes, and I never get a single pair. People keep insisting on giving me books."
Harry saw through it instantly. That was, without a doubt, a lie.
What would Dumbledore see?
Immortality? World domination? Everyone has fantasies like that, but those probably weren't what Dumbledore desired most urgently.
The Christmas holidays passed smoothly. Harry made a few more trips to the Restricted Section but still couldn't find the magic book he was looking for. No matter. Once the long break was over and he returned to his loyal Diagon Alley, Harry could take his time consulting dark wizards who knew the Unforgivable Curses. He didn't have to learn it at Hogwarts.
Truth be told, he'd met a real dark wizard last summer, but he'd executed the man before thinking to interrogate him first.
His current allies were all rather ordinary. The magic they knew, Harry could learn in class.
Hermione returned the day before term started, and once classes resumed, she dove back into helping Harry search for books about the Philosopher's Stone.
Once she found the right direction, she quickly became an expert on Nicolas Flamel.
Hermione explained that over the centuries, there had been many reports about the Philosopher's Stone, but the only one known to exist today belonged to Nicolas Flamel.
He'd celebrated his six hundred sixty-fifth birthday last year and now lived in seclusion in Devon with his wife, Perenelle, who was six hundred fifty-eight.
"There's one thing I don't understand," Hermione said, puzzled. "Why would Flamel, who's had the Philosopher's Stone for centuries, entrust something so important to Dumbledore?"
"Maybe Professor Dumbledore borrowed it temporarily for research," Ron speculated. "A stone that can turn things to gold and make you live forever? Who wouldn't want that?"
"Or maybe he's tired of living and handed the stone to his good friend Dumbledore to do whatever he wants with it, as long as it doesn't fall into the wrong hands," Harry said casually.
"Hahaha, no way," Ron laughed.
Harry thought it was unlikely too. He'd just been joking. Who would ever get tired of living?
Of course, that assumed the Philosopher's Stone granted immortality without any unacceptable side effects.
"Harry, are you really going to steal Professor Dumbledore's treasure?" Ron asked, a bit worried.
"Actually, I'm starting to feel like Professor Dumbledore wants me to steal it… It's probably not just my imagination." After their recent interactions and long conversations, Harry had noticed something subtle in Dumbledore's demeanor.
Harry even had a strange intuition that Dumbledore might not want to keep living either—not that he wanted to die, but that he was simply letting life run its course. Beneath his cheerful, sunny exterior, his heart was far less bright.
"It's not Harry who's trying to steal it," Hermione interjected. "He's just trying to protect the treasure." After the Quidditch incident, even though Harry had said Snape was probably not doing anything wrong, Hermione had developed a deep distrust of Snape.
Snape's injury was too suspicious. It was practically a neon sign screaming, "I'm up to something."
"Snape's going to be the referee at the next Quidditch match," Ron said, sharing some Gryffindor team gossip.
"Is he trying to help Slytherin cheat? Like blowing a crooked whistle?" Hermione had heard about corrupt referees in football.
"With Harry's skills, no amount of cheating could stop him from winning," Ron said. "I'm just worried Snape has other motives. Whether or not he's actually targeting Harry, his attitude is awful." Like any true Gryffindor, Ron had never liked Snape from the start.
"Hm… there's something I need to tell you both," Harry said, deciding to share exclusive intel with his external brain trust.
"What? About Snape?"
"Yes. There's something… Snape's got questionable tastes. He might have been my father's lover once."
"What?!" they both exclaimed in unison.
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