What Did He See in the Mirror?

When Harry pushed open the door to the Headmaster's Office, she was greeted by the cloyingly sweet scent of honey syrup and Sherbet Lemons.

Dumbledore sat behind his large desk, his blue eyes twinkling gently behind his Half-moon Spectacles. A silver platter before him was piled high with Fizzing Whizzbees, Chocolate Frogs, and jelly beans that hopped around on their own.

"Ah, Harry." Dumbledore smiled and pushed up his spectacles. "Would you like something sweet?"

Harry was just about to politely decline when a Chocolate Frog hopped into her palm of its own accord. She looked down to see Dumbledore's portrait on the card wink at her and sighed helplessly.

"How were your holidays?" Dumbledore tossed a Sherbet Lemon into his mouth, his voice muffled but gentle.

"They were all right," Harry answered briefly, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the snake-shaped bracelet around her wrist. Voldemort seemed to sense her unease; his scales shifted slightly, as though mocking her in silence.

Dumbledore's gaze fell on her bracelet, then quickly moved away. Cheerfully, he asked a question that both intrigued and interested him: "So, have you adjusted to being a girl?"

Harry shook her head.

The bracelet suddenly tightened, and Voldemort's cold laugh slipped straight into her mind.

Expressionless, Harry grabbed the snake by the tail, yanked him off her wrist, and threw him at Fawkes without hesitation.

The phoenix gave a cheerful cry, caught the little snake by the tail, and swung him back and forth. Voldemort's curses immediately broke apart: "Harry Potter! You! You damned..."

Harry ignored him.

Dumbledore chuckled softly and did not press her, asking only a few more inconsequential questions.

For example, whether her classes were going well, whether she had made any new friends, and whether she was interested in her second-year courses.

Harry answered each question, but her attention was drawn, despite herself, to something in the corner of the office.

The Mirror of Erised.

It stood there quietly, the inscription on its frame flickering in and out of sight in the candlelight.

Harry stared at it, her throat tightening slightly. "Professor, this...?"

Dumbledore followed her gaze, the smile on his lips deepening. "Although I don't recommend losing yourself in fantasy... if there's truly something you want to see, there's no harm in taking a look."

Voldemort suddenly stopped struggling. His golden slit pupils narrowed slightly, and he gave a meaningful snort.

Harry immediately noticed the change in him. "What do you know?"

The little snake raised his head arrogantly. "Even if you threaten me with the contract, I won't tell you, Harry Potter."

Harry narrowed her eyes and tightened her fingers slightly, but in the end, she merely snorted, turned, and walked toward the door.

Just as she was about to step out of the office, Dumbledore's voice came from behind her. "Remember, Harry. Though it may not be quite appropriate for me to say this now, what the mirror shows you is ultimately only a fantasy that cannot come true. Drinking poison to quench your thirst can't save anyone..."

Harry paused for a moment, but did not look back.

Harry had just stepped onto the spiral staircase when she heard a rush of footsteps.

She looked up to see Ron running toward her, tugging Ginny by the wrist, their red hair streaming behind them like two little flags.

"Harry!" Ron skidded to a halt, gasping for breath. "Ginny insisted I bring her to find you-"

Ginny stomped hard on his foot, her cheeks turning even redder than her hair. She was clutching several Transfiguration textbooks to her chest, with a black-covered diary resting on top of them. Harry's gaze froze the moment it landed on the diary.

Tom Riddle's Diary.

"This..." Harry suppressed a tremor and pointed at the diary. "Where did it come from?"

Ginny blinked in confusion. "I don't know... It just suddenly appeared in my schoolbag." She looked down and stroked the name embossed in gold, her fingertip brushing over the indentations of "T.M. Riddle." "It wasn't there when I packed yesterday-"

"Can you give it to me?" Harry interrupted.

Voldemort shrieked with laughter in her mind. "Why would she possibly give you something she keeps with her? Do you think everyone is like you..."

"Of course!" Ginny suddenly shoved the diary into her hands, as quickly as if tossing away a hot potato. The tips of her ears were red enough to bleed, but her eyes shone. "Actually, actually, I was just looking for a chance to give you someth-"

The little princess who was spoiled most at home was acting so shy that Ron, who had watched the whole thing from the side, looked as though he had swallowed a slug whole.

Harry snatched the diary before Ginny could finish stammering.

"Thank you." She nodded hurriedly, then turned and ran back. Behind her came Ginny's quiet gasp and Ron's mutter: "Merlin, will things she's touched go up in value..."

Before the stone gargoyle outside the Headmaster's Office had finished jumping aside, Harry squeezed through.

The moment she pushed open the door, she saw Dumbledore standing before the Mirror of Erised, his aged fingers hovering over its surface as though reaching for something impossibly distant. Candlelight cast deep shadows across his face, and a tear was sliding down his long, silvery-white beard.

"Professor, I-"

Dumbledore turned sharply. His blue eyes were still gentle behind his Half-moon Spectacles, but Harry clearly saw him quickly wipe the corner of his eye. "What is it, my dear child?"

Harry held up the diary. "This is Voldemort's Horcrux."

The air froze.

Dumbledore's gaze moved back and forth between the diary and Harry. At last, he said softly, "I see." His hand trembled almost imperceptibly as he took the diary. "You should go back now."

Harry backed toward the door. Her last glimpse was of the headmaster standing with his head bowed before the mirror, which still reflected everything he wanted. Harry did not understand what, exactly, Dumbledore saw.

What could have made this beloved old man wear such an expression?

It seemed nostalgic, almost longing, yet mixed with a trace of hatred.

But she did not know whether that hatred was directed at the presence in the mirror, or at himself.