Seamus, Dean, Neville, Johan, and another boy named Robert Neilson had fallen asleep effortlessly, their dorm room filled with the soft hum of contented snores after returning from the Great Hall once dinner was over. The warmth of the castle, coupled with the satisfying meal, had lulled them into a state of deep slumber.

  In the corner of the room, nestled on a plush cushion, Johan's tabby cat, named Whiskers, had also succumbed to sleep. With a low, rumbling purr, Whiskers nestled closer to Johan, her soft fur rising and falling with each breath. As the boys slept, Whiskers shifted position, her paws twitching in the midst of a dream. She let out a small mewl, her whiskers twitching as she chased unseen prey in the depths of her dreams.

  Meanwhile, Harry lay awake in his bed, the weight of exhaustion tugging at his eyelids, but an ever more persistent desire pulsed through his veins. It wasn't simply fatigue that kept him restless; it was the allure of the invisibility cloak hidden underneath his bed. The thought of its power, of the adventures it could bring, danced tantalizingly at the edge of his consciousness, urging him to act.

  His heart raced with anticipation, his mind already conjuring plans for the cloak's use. But even as temptation whispered sweet promises, a small voice of caution tugged at the corners of his thoughts, reminding him of the risks involved.

  Yet, the pull of curiosity and adventure was too strong to resist. With a silent resolve, Harry slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb his sleeping roommates. As he reached for the cloak, his fingers brushed against the smooth fabric, sending a thrill of excitement coursing through him. Tonight, he would embrace the unknown, venturing into the darkness cloaked in secrecy.

  He donned the cloak, feeling its embrace like a second skin. In the moonlit darkness of his room, he vanished from sight. With it over his head, the world was his oyster, and Hogwarts his playground. He could roam the castle's halls undetected, explore its mysteries, and evade the watchful gaze of Filch with ease. It was a freedom unlike any other, a taste of rebellion tinged with the thrill of discovery.

  He crept out of the Gryffindor dormitory, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath his weight as he moved with the precision of a seasoned spy. The ancient stone staircase spiraled downwards, each step a careful negotiation to avoid any telltale echoes that might betray his presence.

  Crossing the common room, he felt a shiver of apprehension as he passed the portraits lining the walls, their eyes following him with silent curiosity as if they could sense the displacement of the air. The Pink Lady, in her ornate frame, squawked inquisitively, but Harry pressed on without a word, his determination driving him forward.

  Pausing for a moment, he weighed his options, his mind racing with possibilities. Then, like a bolt of lightning, inspiration struck. The Restricted Section in the library held the answers he sought, the key to unraveling the mystery of Flamel and his elusive identity. With renewed purpose, he set off down the deserted corridor, the hood of his invisibility cloak pulled tightly around his face. Each step brought him closer to his goal, the anticipation building with every heartbeat.

  The library was cloaked in an oppressive darkness that seemed to press in on Harry from all sides, making each step feel like a journey into the unknown. Beneath the concealment of the cloak, he whispered the incantation "Lumos," his wand casting a feeble glow that illuminated the interior of the cloak, providing him with just enough light to navigate the labyrinthine aisles.

  Despite his precautions, thin streams of light escaped from the folds of the cloak, betraying his presence with subtle glimmers that danced across the floor like ethereal tendrils. With each movement, he held his breath, willing himself to remain perfectly still, lest the cloak's veil of invisibility be pierced by these inadvertent leaks of illumination.

  As he approached the entrance to the Library, Harry felt a sense of foreboding wash over him like an icy tide. Carefully stepping over the rope that delineated these forbidden tomes from the rest of the library, he raised his wand to inspect the titles etched in faded gold lettering. Yet, the titles offered little solace or clarity, their cryptic words written in languages unknown to Harry, their meanings shrouded in obscurity. Some books lacked titles altogether, their covers bearing only the scars of time and neglect.

  A sense of unease settled over Harry as he surveyed the shelves, his eyes lingering on a particularly ominous tome adorned with a dark stain that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, a primal instinct warning him of impending danger.

  As he strained to discern any sign of movement or sound, a chill wind seemed to whisper through the pages of the books, carrying with it a sense of otherworldly awareness. Harry couldn't shake the feeling that these ancient tomes were aware of his presence, their whispered secrets echoing through the silent aisles like a haunting refrain.

  Harry's heart pounded in his chest like a drum as he hastily scanned the shelves for a book that might offer a clue about Flamel. His fingers brushed over the spines of dusty tomes, each one a potential repository of ancient knowledge and forbidden secrets.

  Finally, his gaze settled upon a tome that seemed to emanate an aura of dark allure. Its cover, a stark contrast of black and silver, bore the ominous title "Magick Most Evile" in twisted, ornate lettering. Harry reached out to grasp the heavy volume, feeling its weight sag heavily in his hands.

  As he cracked open the book, a sudden, ear-splitting shriek tore through the air, shattering the silence like a thunderclap. Harry recoiled in horror, the sound echoing off the walls of the library in a cacophony of terror. Frantically, he slammed the book shut, but the unearthly scream continued unabated, piercing his eardrums with its relentless intensity.

  In his panic, Harry dropped his wand. The light dimmed for a second before extinguishing completely, plunging the room into darkness. He bent to grab it quick as adrenaline coursed through his veins, he heard the telltale sound of footsteps drawing closer, the echo of impending doom reverberating in his ears.

  Acting on pure instinct, he thrust the shrieking book back onto the shelf and bolted from the scene, his heart hammering in his chest as he raced down the dimly lit corridor. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with Filch. Without hesitation, Harry ducked under Filch's outstretched arm and sprinted into the unknown.

  Finally, he skidded to a stop in front of a towering suit of armor, his chest heaving with exertion. Disoriented and disheveled, Harry realized he had unwittingly wandered far from the library, the darkness obscuring his sense of direction. He heard Filch’s voice in the distance, and then Harry stopped completely.

  "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library Restricted Section," said Filch.

  The darkness seemed to press in on Harry as he stood frozen in place, his heart pounding. The weight of the invisibility cloak draped over him like a shroud, offering concealment but little comfort as Filch's voice drew closer, a sinister echo in the silent corridors. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

  Panic surged within him like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm his senses as he realized the gravity of the situation. They were closing in, their footsteps echoing ominously against the stone walls.

  Despite the cloak rendering him invisible, Harry knew that he remained tangible, a solid presence in the physical world. If Filch and Snape continued on their current path, they would inevitably collide with him.

  With every fiber of his being, Harry willed himself to remain still, to blend seamlessly into the shadows and evade detection. Yet, as the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, he couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that gripped him like a vice.

  His mind raced with possibilities, each more desperate than the last. Should he attempt to flee? Would Filch and Snape detect his movements, despite the cloak's concealment? The seconds stretched into eternity as Harry braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, his breath caught in his throat as fate hung in the balance.

  Harry retreated silently, his heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat of fear. With bated breath, he eyed the partially open door to his left, a beacon of hope in the darkness that threatened to consume him. It was a risky gambit, but it was his only chance at evading Filch and Snape's relentless pursuit. As he slipped through the doorway, Harry felt a surge of relief wash over him like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. For a moment, he allowed himself to exhale, the tension draining from his body as he leaned against the wall, grateful for the respite from danger.

  Yet, as his senses adjusted to the dim light, Harry's gaze was drawn to a peculiar sight amidst the clutter of desks and chairs. Propped against the far wall stood a magnificent mirror, its ornate gold frame gleaming in the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Intrigued, Harry approached the mirror, his footsteps echoing softly against the bare floorboards. Its towering presence seemed to command the room, a silent sentinel guarding its enigmatic secrets.

  It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top:

  Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

  His pulse raced, echoing the frantic rhythm of his thoughts. Harry's mind raced with possibilities, his eyes darting around the room in search of any sign of the mysterious crowd he saw in the mirror. People of all sorts stood in gathering behind him. Every nerve in his body was on edge, his senses heightened.

  With trembling hands, he reached out to touch the glass surface of the mirror, half-expecting his hand to pass through it as though it were an illusion. But the cool, solid feel reassured him, grounding him in the reality of the moment.

  The reflection stared back at him, capturing his fear and confusion in stark detail. His eyes darted between his own image and the spectral figures behind him, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Were they ghosts, trapped within the mirror's depths? Or were they figments of his imagination, conjured by some dark magic lurking within the glass?

  His breath came in shallow gasps as he took a hesitant step backward, half-expecting the phantom crowd to materialize before him. But the room remained eerily silent, save for the sound of his own ragged breathing.

  As Harry leaned in closer to the mirror, his heart pounded in his chest, the proximity to the mysterious figures intensifying the surreal nature of the moment. The woman on his immediate left side's tears glistened in the reflection, her smile tinged with sorrow. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, the resemblance between them striking in its clarity.

  The man beside her, with his messy black hair and glasses, exuded a sense of familiarity that tugged at Harry's memories. With each passing moment, Harry felt himself drawn deeper into the enigma of the mirror, the boundaries between reality and illusion blurring before his eyes. He reached out tentatively, his fingers hovering just inches from the glass, as if unsure whether to bridge the divide between their worlds.

  The woman's eyes met his in the reflection, a silent plea hidden within their depths. It was as though she were reaching out to him across the chasm of time and space, her silent cry for understanding echoing in the depths of Harry's soul.

  Harry's breath caught in his throat "Mom?" he whispered. "Dad?" His voice was barely audible against the silent backdrop of the room.

  Their smiles were like a balm to his soul, filling him with a sense of warmth and belonging he had never known. He felt a lump form in his throat as he took in the sight of other faces in the mirror, each bearing a striking resemblance to his own.

  His heart swelled with a longing to reach out and touch them, to bridge the gap that separated him from his family. All his life he had wished to see his mother and father—to know they were alive after all. And here...they stood behind him and so did the rest of the figures around. Was this his family? His grandparents? They looked so happy together, but sad right here.

  The ache within him grew stronger with each passing moment. Time seemed to stand still as Harry stood transfixed before the mirror, his senses consumed by the overwhelming flood of emotions coursing through him. They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry's knobbly knees—Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

  How long he stood there, he didn't know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn't stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother's face, whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

  The next morning as Harry and Ron sat at the Gryffindor table in the bustling Great Hall, the events of the previous night weighed heavily on Harry's mind.

  Ron's annoyance at being left out of Harry's midnight excursion was palpable, his brow furrowed in a mixture of frustration and curiosity. Harry could sense the eagerness in Ron's voice as he expressed his desire to see the mirror for himself, to catch a glimpse of Harry's family.

  "And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you'll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone."

  "You can see them any old time," said Ron. "Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren't you eating anything?"

  A flicker of hesitation crossed Harry's features at Ron's suggestion, but Ron's practicality soon broke through Harry's reverie. Harry's gaze drifted to the plate of untouched food before him, his appetite dulled by the weight of his thoughts. He forced a small smile at Ron's concern, before grabbing a piece with a sigh. His mind already racing with plans for the evening and the secrets that awaited them in the depths of the enchanted mirror.

  He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn't seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?

  "Are you all right?" said Ron. "You look odd."

  “Yeah, just thinking on things,” said Harry.

  As night fell once more, Harry and Ron ventured into the depths of Hogwarts, the cloak of invisibility shrouding them in secrecy. But this time, their progress was slow and cautious, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls as they retraced Harry's steps from the night before.

  The oppressive chill of the castle corridors seeped into their bones, each passing moment stretching into an eternity as they searched for the elusive mirror room. Ron's complaints of cold and fatigue threatened to derail their mission, but Harry's determination remained unyielding, fueled by the memory of his fleeting glimpse of his parents.

  Just as despair began to gnaw at the edges of Harry's resolve, a glimmer of hope pierced the darkness. The sight of the suit of armor, standing sentinel in the dimly lit hallway, ignited a spark of recognition within Harry's mind. With renewed determination, he pressed forward, his heart pounding in anticipation of the secrets that lay just beyond reach.

  "It's here—just here—yes!" Harry exclaimed, his voice a hushed yet triumphant whisper.

  With a burst of adrenaline-fueled energy, they pushed open the door to the mirror room, Harry shedding the cloak from his shoulders as he rushed towards the enchanted glass. His heart pounded in anticipation as he gazed upon the reflection, his parents' smiling faces filling him with a sense of bittersweet longing.

  "See?" Harry whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “They’re all here.”

  "I can't see anything," Ron replied, his frustration evident in his tone.

  "Look! Look at them all...there are loads of them..."

  "I can only see you."

  "Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am."

  Harry stepped aside, allowing Ron to take his place before the mirror. Yet, to Harry's dismay, the reflection shifted, revealing only Ron in his mismatched pajamas, his bewildered expression mirrored back at him.

  As Ron's eyes met his own reflection in the mirror, his expression shifted from one of confusion to one of utter fascination. His gaze was fixed on the image before him. "Look at me!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with wonder. His eyebrows were raised in utter delight.

  Harry watched as Ron's excitement bubbled over, his eyes scanning the reflection with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Harry's curiosity piqued, he leaned in closer, eager to see what had captured Ron's attention so completely.

  "Can you see all your family standing around you?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "No—I'm alone—but I'm different—I look older—and I'm head boy!" Ron's voice trembled with excitement as he spoke, his words tumbling out in a rush of exhilaration.

  Harry's eyes widened in astonishment. "What?" His voice was barely audible as he struggled to find words to express his shock.

  "I am—I'm wearing the badge like Bill used to—and I'm holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup—I'm Quidditch captain, too," Ron continued, his voice tinged with disbelief. “This is amazing.” Ron tore his eyes away from the magnificent sight before him, turning to Harry with a look of eager anticipation. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?" Ron's voice was filled with hope, his eyes shining with excitement.

  "How can it? All my family are dead—let me have another look—" Harry's voice trailed off as he turned back to the mirror, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty.

  "You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time," Ron insisted, his excitement mounting with each passing moment.

  "You're only holding the Quidditch cup, what's interesting about that? I want to see my parents," Harry replied, his tone tinged with frustration.

  "Don't push me—" Ron's retort was cut short by a sudden noise echoing from the corridor outside, their conversation abruptly interrupted by the intrusion.

  They exchanged a panicked glance, the realization dawning on them that they had been speaking far louder than they had realized.

  "Quick!" Harry's heart pounded in his chest as they hastily draped the cloak over themselves, the heavy fabric cocooning them in a shroud of invisibility.

  The luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris pierced through the darkness, her feline gaze scanning the room with unnerving precision. Ron and Harry stood frozen in place, their breaths held in anticipation, their minds racing with the same question—would the cloak render them invisible to cats?

  "This isn't safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on."

  Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as they waited, the tension thick in the air as Mrs. Norris lingered in the doorway. Every nerve in Harry's body was on edge, his muscles tensed and ready to spring into action at the slightest movement. Finally, with a sense of relief washing over them, Mrs. Norris turned and left, her silent departure signaling their narrow escape. Ron wasted no time in pulling Harry from the room, his urgency mirrored by the pounding of Harry's heart as they fled down the corridor.

  As they emerged into the crisp morning air, the world outside remained shrouded in a blanket of untouched snow.

  The next morning dawned with a sense of unease hanging heavy in the air, the events of the previous night weighing heavily on Harry's mind.

  "Want to play chess, Harry?" said Ron.

  "No," Harry replied tersely, his mind elsewhere.

  "Why don't we go down and visit Hagrid?"

  "No...you go..."Harry's voice trailed off, his reluctance evident in his tone.

  "I know what you're thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don't go back tonight," Ron urged, his words tinged with a sense of foreboding.

  "Why not?" Harry's voice was tinged with defiance, his curiosity still burning bright despite Ron's warnings.

  "I dunno, I've just got a bad feeling about it—and anyway, you've had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can't see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?" Ron's voice was filled with genuine concern, his words a sobering reminder of the risks they faced.

  "You’re starting to sound like Hermione," Harry said, his words tinged with a hint of frustration, but immediately he regretted the sharpness of his tone. He knew Ron was speaking out of genuine concern, and he didn't want to dismiss his friend's worries so callously.

  "I'm serious, Harry, don't go," Ron insisted, his voice laced with urgency.

  But Harry's resolve remained unshaken. Despite Ron's pleas, despite the risks, there was only one thing on his mind: returning to the mirror. The allure of seeing his parents again, of feeling their presence so vividly, was too powerful to resist. Ron's warnings fell on deaf ears as Harry's determination propelled him forward.

  That third night, Harry's steps were swift and purposeful as he navigated the winding corridors of Hogwarts. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation of what awaited him in the mirror room driving him onward. He knew he was moving too quickly, making more noise than was wise, but he couldn't bring himself to slow down.

  As he entered the room once more, the sight of his parents smiling back at him filled him with a sense of overwhelming comfort. His grandfather's nod of approval only strengthened his resolve. Without hesitation, Harry sank down to sit on the cold stone floor in front of the mirror, his eyes fixed on the familiar faces reflected back at him.

  In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but his family. The outside world faded away as Harry lost himself in the warmth of their presence, the gnawing emptiness in his heart temporarily forgotten. Here, in front of the mirror, he was surrounded by love, surrounded by the ones who mattered most to him. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt truly at peace. Harry stood in the dimly lit room, the only source of light emanating from the flickering flames in the fireplace. The air was heavy with the scent of old parchment and enchantments long forgotten.

  Except—

  "So—back again, Harry?"

  Harry's heart skipped a beat as he turned to the voice. There, seated on a weathered wooden desk against the far wall, was none other than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past him, his mind consumed by the allure of the mirror.

  "—I didn't see you, sir."

  "Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. Harry breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the Headmaster's gentle smile.

  "So," said Dumbledore, gracefully sliding off the desk to join Harry on the cold stone floor, "you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

  "I didn't know it was called that, Sir."

  "But I expect you've realized by now what it does?"

  "It—well—it shows me my family—"

  "And it showed your friend Ron himself as head boy."

  "How did you know—?"

  "I don't need a cloak to become invisible," said Dumbledore softly. "Now, can you think what the Mirror of Erised shows us all?"

  Harry shook his head, the weight of Dumbledore's words settling heavily upon him.

  "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

  Harry furrowed his brow, his mind racing with possibilities. Then, as understanding dawned, he spoke slowly, the realization sinking in like a stone dropped into a still pond.

  "It shows us what we want...whatever we want..."

  "Yes and no," said Dumbledore quietly. A faint scent of old parchment hung in the air, mingling with the musty fragrance of forgotten magic.

  "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

  Harry's gaze flickered to the Mirror of Erised, its ornate frame gleaming in the dim light, holding untold secrets within its depths.

  "However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

  Dumbledore's voice was soft but firm, cutting through the solemn stillness of the room like a knife.

  "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Harry, and I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

  Harry stood up, the weight of Dumbledore's words settling like a heavy cloak upon his shoulders. The temptation of the mirror lingered, but he knew he had to heed the Headmaster's warning.

  "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?" Harry's voice broke the silence that had settled like a heavy shroud over the dimly lit chamber. The air seemed to thrum with latent magic. The air seemed to thrum with latent magic, the faint scent of ancient parchment mingling with the soft crackle of the dwindling flames in the fireplace.

  "Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

  Harry hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the Mirror of Erised, its surface shimmering with untold secrets. "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

  "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks." Dumbledore's response was unexpected, and Harry couldn't help but stare in bewilderment.

  "One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore with a gentle chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books. I really don’t quite understand why...it’s probably time you get back to bed now, Harry. I wouldn’t want you to come underside for your curiosity.” Professor Dumbledore winked at him and too turned and began to leave the room.

  Harry nodded and donned the invisibility cloak—retreading his steps back up to the Gryffindor Common room.

  As Harry climbed back into bed, his mind whirred with thoughts. It was only then, in the quiet solitude of his dormitory, that it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Dumbledore's answer had been peculiar, and for a fleeting moment, Harry wondered if the venerable Headmaster had been entirely truthful.

  But then, as he nudged Whiskers off of his pillow, he dismissed the notion. After all, he reasoned, it was a rather personal question.

  https://www.youtube.com/@ProfDotGeever