Chapter 21
Harry and Ron visited the Mirror of Erised.
While Harry saw his parents, Ron saw himself surrounded by his brothers—finally the Quidditch captain, prefect, and Head Boy all at once.
He had five older brothers, each one brilliant in their own way. Even the twins—George and Fred, always labeled troublemakers—consistently earned Outstanding marks every year, and everyone loved their lively personalities.
As the youngest brother, Ron had always carried immense pressure. Combined with the family's poverty, he desperately wanted to prove himself, yet deep down he feared he could never measure up.
When he first befriended Harry, part of it was that having such an outstanding friend made him feel a little outstanding himself.
Having an exceptional friend counted as exceptional, in a way.
Later, of course, they became genuine friends.
Ron had always felt inadequate. His grades couldn't match Gray's or Hermione's. In other areas he couldn't match Harry either—Quidditch, for example. Harry had made the Gryffindor team as Seeker in his first year.
But when facing the Mirror of Erised, Ron showed greater resilience than Harry.
He was the first to pull himself free from the mirror's illusion. He clearly recognized it was nothing more than an empty fantasy—beautiful but useless.
Harry, on the other hand, remained captivated. Every night he slipped out to gaze into the mirror again.
It wasn't entirely his fault. While Ron saw his own future success, Harry saw parents he had never known in life. How could anyone not become addicted to that?
Gabin simply watched as Harry sneaked out night after night, returning in the small hours.
In the end, Dumbledore must have intervened. In the final days before the Christmas holidays ended, Harry stopped going.
Of course, even if he had gone, he wouldn't have found the mirror. Dumbledore had moved it to a new location.
And that location—right now—was known only to Gabin.
Naturally, he had no intention of telling Harry or Ron.
In fact, during this whole period he hadn't paid much attention to what Harry and Ron were doing.
He had poured himself completely into books and spell practice. The stack of finished reading material was nearly as tall as he was. And in Charms, he had finally mastered the Softening Charm.
Molliare softened objects, turning rigid bodies flexible—scientifically speaking, like shifting from a solid to a more elastic state.
With enough power, it could turn a wooden rod into something whip-like.
Most people, however, only used it superficially—softening the ground to cushion falls or protect dropped items.
In Gabin's magical vision, the circuit for Molliare was a constantly undulating line—like ocean waves rising and falling without end.
That was why it had taken him so long to master.
Casting it required shaping the magic into a wavy circuit *while* keeping that wave in constant motion. If the undulation stopped, the spell failed.
The length and height of the waves determined the spell's strength.
In the Room of Requirement, Gabin levitated a wooden rod above his head and released it.
Gravity pulled it straight toward his skull.
He flicked his wand. A rippling wave-circuit bloomed and wrapped around the falling stick.
It struck his head—but now it was soft as noodles. The momentum made the ends whip around his face harmlessly, like limp spaghetti.
He set the rod aside, took out his notebook, and unlocked it with Alohomora.
First he placed a neat tick next to Molliare.
Then he sketched the wavy circuit pattern and jotted down potential uses below:
- Objects with force and speed
- Wand? (needs testing—unlikely)
- Food? (needs testing)
- Hair (viable)
- Protective casting
His gaze shifted to the last unmarked first-year spell: Incendio.
He shook his head, mentally calculated the remaining time, and penciled in *Reparo* (Mending Charm) before Incendio.
Then he closed the notebook and locked it again with Colloportus.
The holidays were over. The castle had returned to its normal rhythm. Hermione had come back from home.
When she heard what Harry and Ron had been up to over Christmas, her first reaction was disbelief.
"Are you two insane?" she hissed. "Especially you, Harry—do you have any idea how many points Gryffindor would lose if Filch caught you?"
"I know—I was wrong, Hermione," Harry said quietly.
After some time away from the mirror, his head had cleared. He no longer felt the same blind obsession.
Hermione huffed but didn't press further. She understood Harry's background. Seeing his parents in the mirror would be impossible to resist for anyone.
Her eyes flicked sideways. She glanced around, then lowered her voice.
"Did *he* go with you? What did he see?"
"He?" Ron frowned.
"You mean Gray?" Harry said. "No—he didn't come. He didn't seem interested in the mirror at all."
"Why do you call him 'that person'?" Ron muttered. "I almost thought you meant You-Know-Who. Nearly gave me a heart attack."
Hermione shot him a quick look but didn't explain.
"If it was Gray," Ron guessed, "he'd probably see an entire library full of history books."
"I think he'd see himself going back in time—like in one of those novels," Harry added thoughtfully.
"Enough about him," Hermione cut in sharply. She turned to the topic she cared about most.
"So—Nicolas Flamel. Did you find anything? Don't tell me you spent the whole holiday without opening a single book."
Harry stared at his shoes. Ron looked everywhere except at Hermione.
Her expression fell into disappointment.
"Fine. I knew I couldn't count on you. Asking you to read over the holidays is like expecting a troll to solve equations."
She rubbed her forehead.
Then she suddenly thought of Gray. If it had been him, one mention of the name would probably have given her everything she needed.
"Actually… we could just ask Gray," Ron mumbled under his breath.
Hermione's glare silenced him instantly.
The familiar pressure settled back onto Harry and Ron. They knew the carefree holiday was truly over. Once again they were doomed to pore through thick, heavy books, hunting for the name Nicolas Flamel.
Harry felt a pounding headache. He was certain he had heard the name somewhere before—but he couldn't remember where. The frustration made it impossible to focus in class.
He was distracted, restless, and quietly miserable.
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