Under Harry's guidance, Ian Alvin Bones once again entered the dusty classroom.
The room was unnaturally quiet. Silver-gray light filtered through the shattered windowpanes, illuminating the ancient mirror standing in the center—the Mirror of Erised.
Its golden frame was covered in runes, while the backward inscription at the top glimmered in the moonlight: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
Ian silently recited its true meaning: I do not show your face, but your heart's deepest desire.
"Professor," Harry whispered, "it always shows me my parents."
He raised his head, unease flickering in his eyes.
Ian took a few steps closer and studied the mirror's surface.
The reflection revealed two figures—one boy with a bewildered expression, and another man whose gaze was as calm as the deep sea.
He said softly, "This mirror is very old, several centuries older than Hogwarts itself.
Its creators were no ordinary wizards, but alchemists. They tried to turn the mirror into a 'Soul Gate,' allowing people to look directly into their own hearts through it."
Harry looked up in confusion. "A Soul Gate?"
Ian nodded. "Human desire is a reflection of the soul. The stronger the desire, the deeper it is hidden in the subconscious.
This mirror does not display the future or reveal the truth. It only reflects the shape of desire.
If you look for too long, it will devour you."
He extended a hand and ran his fingertips across the frame.
Purple magic flickered in his eyes—that was his unique Alchemical Eye, capable of analyzing the structure of any magical item.
The mirror trembled slightly. The runes flowed, and he saw layer upon layer of energy circuits circulating within it—emotions, memories, magic, and soul fluctuations intertwined into a complex array.
Ancient runes were sealed within the mirror: Desiderium et Mortem (Desire and Death).
"Professor, what did you see?" Harry asked despite himself.
Ian replied calmly, "I saw... countless worlds."
Images flashed across the mirror for an instant—towers, seas of stars, machinery, runes, flames, civilizations, and collapse.
Those were the desires truly buried in his heart: knowledge, order, and eternity.
He turned to Harry, his gaze gentle. "Do you know why this mirror is dangerous?"
"Because it makes people addicted to it?"
"Correct. But the deeper danger is that it makes you believe that 'desire' is 'truth.'
Once a person mistakes their longing for reality, they lose the ability to judge."
He slowly raised his wand. The mirror vibrated in response, and golden light spread outward.
"It uses the soul as a medium, absorbing the observer's Emotional Energy to sustain its operation.
In other words, it is not merely a magical object, but a kind of 'resonant life-form.'"
Harry drew in a sharp breath. "It... is alive?"
"In a sense, yes." Ian spoke softly. "And it is connected to 'death.'"
The boy's eyes widened. "Death?"
Ian stared at the mirror for a long while before finally saying, "Harry, have you heard the legend of the Peverell Brothers?"
Harry shook his head.
"It is an ancient story. Three wizards tried to deceive Death, and they created three powerful magical artifacts.
One could summon back the dead, one could grant invincibility, and one could hide its user from Death's gaze.
In the end, however, they all died."
His tone was calm, as though he were recounting a fate that had long since been decided.
"So it was only a fable?"
"No." Ian turned his head, his gaze profound. "Death truly exists."
The air abruptly froze.
The boy stared blankly at him, unsure how to respond.
Ian continued, "Twelve years ago, I once looked Death in the eye during an experiment.
It was neither an illusion nor a spell gone out of control.
It was a consciousness, a law that did not depend on any physical form.
We call it death, but it is more like the world's mechanism of self-repair.
When life violates the order, death appears and readjusts the balance."
He raised a hand, and the reflection in the mirror changed with it—a boundless black river, with souls drifting through it like fireflies.
Harry held his breath, seemingly sensing a chill spreading up from the soles of his feet.
"Professor, you saw it with your own eyes?"
"Yes." Ian lowered his voice. "At the time, I had just completed my first soul experiment.
I tried to reforge the consciousness of the dead, but at the final step, I saw a hand—a hand made of shadows, reaching out from the Void.
It did not attack me. Instead, it gently touched my chest.
At that moment, I heard it say: 'Whoever seeks to control death must first coexist with death.'"
He paused, his expression calm to the point of detachment.
"From that day onward, I began to understand one fact: death is not an enemy, but a law.
If you wish to transcend it, you must first understand it."
Harry murmured, "Then... were you afraid?"
Ian smiled faintly. "Fear is part of human nature, but I fear ignorance more.
Death is not an end, but a transformation.
Isn't the essence of magic to let the will overcome the physical form?"
As soon as he finished speaking, a strange light suddenly rippled across the mirror.
Their reflections overlapped within the light, and Ian's shadow suddenly split off into a third silhouette—
Blurred and distorted, yet wearing a smile.
It was a face he knew well.
Ian narrowed his eyes slightly, raised his wand, and whispered, "...I see."
The light vanished. The mirror returned to calm.
He gently patted Harry's shoulder. "Remember, Potter. Do not come here again.
This mirror does more than reflect desire—it responds to the gaze that falls upon it."
Harry nodded hesitantly.
Ian turned and left, his footsteps echoing through the corridor.
Behind him, the blurred shadow in the mirror continued to sway faintly,
as though silently watching his retreating figure.
—Death was never absent.
Before you continue