Hope Being Shattered Was Actually Perfectly Normal

Harry's breath fogged the surface of the mirror.

He held the mirror closer, intense excitement sweeping through him, but the pair of blinking eyes behind the mist were undoubtedly still his own.

He wiped the mirror clean and read Sirius's name aloud once more, every syllable echoing clearly through the room.

"Sirius Black!"

Nothing happened.

The dejected face staring back at him from the mirror was still his own.

Harry muttered to himself that Sirius had not taken the mirror with him when he went through the archway, so it no longer worked.

Harry stood frozen for a moment, then suddenly hurled the mirror into his trunk. It shattered.

Just one hopeful minute ago, he had been certain that he would see Sirius again, that he would speak to Sirius again.

Disappointment burned in his throat. He got up and began throwing his things haphazardly into his trunk, covering the broken mirror—then a thought suddenly sprang into his mind.

A better idea than the mirror, a better and more practical idea. Why had he not thought of it before—

Why had he never asked?

He raced out of the dormitory, charged down the spiral staircase, and slammed headfirst into a wall.

He did not care. He sped through the empty Common Room, through the Portrait Hole, and ran along the corridor, ignoring the Fat Lady shouting after him, "The feast is about to begin, you know! You'd be such an addition to it."

But Harry had no intention of attending the feast.

How could it be that ghosts were everywhere whenever he did not need them, yet now that he did—

He ran down the stairs and continued racing along the corridors, but he did not encounter a single person, dead or alive.

They all seemed to be in the