[erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.]
Read backwards, it says,
[I show not your face but your heart's desire.]
The mirror, with its ridiculous anagram, clearly revealed its purpose.
A mirror that shows one's inner hopes, desires, and wishes.
And, for the most part, a wish is something that stands back-to-back with despair.
For the reversal of despair is hope, and hope is a wish.
The reflection of myself in the Mirror of Erised was a very familiar sight.
It was the very same image I had seen three years ago.
I stared at the mirror for a moment, then closed my eyes.
Harry, seeing me, asked.
"Master, what's wrong?"
"Harry, can't you see that mirror?"
"Yes, I see it! It's a pretty old mirror."
"...Really? Can you see yourself clearly?"
"Yes. It's old, but our reflections are clear. Is there something strange about it?"
Seeing the bewildered Harry, I let out a hollow laugh.
At least, it seems I have succeeded in one thing. I felt something welling up in my chest.
Just then, I felt a presence behind me. Hah, that sly old fox.
I kept my eyes on the mirror and said.
"Harry, head back to the dormitory for today."
"Yes!... What? Just me?"
"Yes, you alone. I have someone to see for a moment."
Harry seemed to wonder who I could be meeting in the middle of the night, but he soon agreed to my words and put on the Invisibility Cloak again.
Creek, thud.
As the sound of the old door faded, I spoke to the person behind me.
"The kid's gone, so you can come out now."
....
And with the soft sound of an invisibility spell being lifted, an old man with white hair appeared behind me.
It was Albus Dumbledore.
I asked Albus.
"This mirror, you put it here, didn't you?"
"...You could say that."
"If you did it on purpose, that's truly malicious."
Thump, thump. Albus, who had been standing behind me, walked to my side.
Only then did I shift my gaze from the Mirror of Erised to Albus.
Albus's eyes, for some reason, were trembling.
"Why are your eyes trembling like that? According to Muggle knowledge, that happens when you're low on magnesium."
Hearing my words, Albus let out a small laugh and retorted.
"Is that so? They say you get sentimental in your old age. I suppose it's because I'm old."
Albus also came up next to me and stared at the Mirror of Erised for a long time.
And so, the boy and the old man, both born in the 19th century, quietly looked upon their own desires.
How long had they been staring?
Albus broke the silence.
"...Sir. To be honest, I thought Harry would see a temptation in this mirror."
"A temptation? What kind?"
"Well, the same kind of temptation as us. A temptation for things already lost, or things that have disappeared."
But, Albus continued.
"...It seems Harry, unlike us, did not see a temptation in this mirror."
"Sometimes, children are better than us, aren't they?"
"Indeed, they are. Even at this age, there is always so much to learn from a child."
"So, what's your impression?"
"A common old man's obsession. It is called an obsession because one cannot let go of oneself."
After a brief pause, Albus sighed.
"As I thought, it was a good thing I didn't stop you from taking Harry that day."
"Heh heh, could you have stopped me if you had tried?"
"You mustn't tease an old man."
After staring at the mirror in silence for a long time, I was the first to stand up from my spot.
As I was about to leave the room with the mirror, I suddenly asked Albus.
"Albus."
"Yes, Sir?"
"What do you think I saw in that mirror?"
Albus adjusted his glasses as if the answer was obvious and said.
"Why, you must have seen the same thing I did, would you not?"
"It seems you didn't get the title of archmage for nothing."
"Even so, the days I have lived are longer than yours, Sir."
With a small laugh, I left the room of the mirror.
Whooosh—
A slight pressure on the body, and soon a feeling of floating set in.
A foreign sensation, different from riding an airplane, as if my entire body was being pulled from the navel.
It was a Portkey, the wizards' mode of transport for long-distance travel.
There are many ways to get from Britain to France, but the most convenient method was this Portkey.
Of course, there were methods like broomsticks or Apparition, but if I was going to go by broom, I might as well take an airplane, and Apparition was a great strain on the body.
I probably wouldn't be able to use long-distance Apparition smoothly for at least another two years.
Besides, I wasn't going on this trip alone; I had to take Harry, so a Portkey was the most appropriate method of travel.
Of course, it wasn't a legal means of transport.
What government in the world would allow the free creation of Portkeys, a means of crossing borders without any supervision? Of course, for a wizard of my caliber, it's common to have Portkeys that go here and there.
Anyway, Harry and I, who were holding the key-shaped Portkey together, were sucked towards France.
The unpleasant sensation of my whole body being crushed lasted only for a moment.
We were soon able to feel a sense of liberation as our surroundings returned to normal.
With a crash, Harry rolled onto the ground.
"Ugh, that's the worst ride ever."
Harry grumbled, disgusted.
Portkeys certainly are an unpleasant ride. In that sense, perhaps the only stable mode of wizarding transport is Floo Powder.
His grumbling was brief; Harry soon looked around and exclaimed in admiration.
"Wow, it's really Paris."
He was looking at the landmark in the distance, the Eiffel Tower.
"Wow, they talked about building that thing for ages, and they actually did it."
And that was what I said.
At least, by my standards, it was a new building that had just been completed two years before I first entered Hogwarts.
Hearing my words, Harry seemed to look at me as if I were an old man, and I was slightly hurt.
"Let's put off the Paris tour for later and find Mr. Nicolas's house first. Since we were invited, that would be the polite thing to do."
"Okay. You have to take me to the Eiffel Tower later."
A remote house somewhere in Paris.
It was the house we found after following the address written in the letter.
Though it looked like just an old house on the outside, I could tell that it was designed with numerous magical protective devices.
No, it feels a bit different from magical.
As I was about to examine its structure with interest, I remembered that I was currently a guest.
Ahem, after clearing my throat, I knocked on the door.
Knock, knock.
After waiting for a moment, a response came from inside.
With a clatter, the door opened, and what appeared was an old man with white hair and pale skin.
He looked at me for a moment, then smiled brightly and let us in.
"Oh, come in, come in!"
For a moment, I was surprised by his tone, which was quite different from the dignified tone in the letter, but we were soon urged by him and entered the house.
Once inside, I looked around.
All sorts of magical tools, crystal balls, cauldrons, and so on were scattered about. For better or for worse, the place was a wizard's workshop.
I held out my hand to him and asked.
"Hello. I'm Aisen Knightly. Are you Mr. Nicolas?"
The old man joyfully shook my hand, then quickly pulled his back, shook it out, and said.
"Oh, yes! I'm Nicolas. Aisen, it's so good to finally meet you!"
Then he held up his own hand and said sheepishly.
"I'm at an age where even a handshake makes my hand hurt. I hope you'll understand."
With a gentle smile, he looked behind me.
"But this is...?"
"Ah, this is my disciple, Harry Potter."
At that, Nicolas Flamel turned to Harry and said.
"Aha, so this is the disciple you mentioned! The Boy Who Lived!"
Harry also politely greeted Nicolas.
"Hello, Mr. Nicolas... uh..."
"Just Mr. Nicolas is fine."
"Yes, hello, Mr. Nicolas. It's an honor to meet you."
"Yes, I'm happy to see you, too."
His eyes briefly flickered to the lightning-bolt scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ah, and I hope you don't mind my way of speaking. Aisen, as you might expect, when you live past six hundred, everyone around you is younger than you. So I've just gotten used to talking like this! Ah, you can speak comfortably to me too, if you like. The Albus you know is one of the people who speaks comfortably to me."
"Ah, in that case, I won't refuse. I'll speak comfortably."
I couldn't bring myself to use informal speech with a venerable wizard over six hundred years old, so an archaic tone naturally came out.
After looking at us for a moment, he clapped his hands and said.
"Well then, let's enjoy the party first! Perenelle has shown off her skills for the first time in a long while, hearing that you were coming."
The ensuing banquet was indeed something Nicolas himself could be proud of.
His wife, Perenelle, who had amicably passed six hundred with Nicolas, created all sorts of dishes with a strength that was impossible to tell where it came from in her frail body.
As befitting France, the country of gastronomy, all sorts of delicacies popped out.
When I asked for the secret of the cooking, Perenelle laughed and her answer was a masterpiece.
"This Chateaubriand is a dish I learned directly from the Vicomte de Chateaubriand's head chef!"
[T/N: Vicomte de Chateaubriand (샤토브리앙 자작): François-René, Vicomte de Chateaubriand was a real French writer, politician, and diplomat who lived from 1768 to 1848. The classic steak dish is named after him.]
The weight of the ages was present in every word she spoke.
"Ah, dear me! Look at me! Aisen, you can drink alcohol even in that body, right?"
"I never refuse a good drink."
And the alcohol Nicolas brought did not betray my expectations.
"This is a drink I made and aged a hundred and thirty years ago. Though I may be famous as an alchemist, I also make a mean drink."
Harry, a minor wizard, seemed to eye the alcohol for a moment, but as a strict master, I sent him upstairs to bed.
I was definitely not trying to reduce the number of mouths to drink that coveted alcohol.
With just one sip, the aroma of aged grapes spread throughout my mouth.
I listened to Nicolas's story with admiration.
"When I was making this cognac, I stole some grapes from the King's personal vineyard to make the wine first. Hmm? Ah, this was before the revolution! It was an era with many kings."
How long had we been drinking like that?
Nicolas, who was now tipsy, asked.
"Right, come to think of it, you were a master of combat magic, weren't you? The last time I fought was over fifty years ago!"
"What did you fight for?"
"Ah, that was because of the famous Gellert Grindelwald. Nowadays, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is famous, but back then, it was truly Grindelwald's world!"
Grindelwald, I had heard the name several times. I think I had heard it occasionally even when I was in the 19th century.
"That man was truly amazing at magic. That, what was it, Protego Diabolica? I blocked that with a Finite spell, you see!"
Laughing heartily, Nicolas continued to brag.
His six hundred years' worth of achievements were truly vast. So vast that, by the time Nicolas's story was over, the sun was rising outside....