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SIYE Time:18:55 on 28th March 2024
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Meaning of One, Part One: Stone and Fire
By Sovran

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Ron Weasley
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, General, Humor
Warnings: Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 1026
Summary: If two people are deliberately created to be together, how will the challenges in a world of magic and Dark Lords be dealt with? What would it mean for two people to truly become one? A re-imagination of first year.
Hitcount: Story Total: 547568; Chapter Total: 29033
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Thanks, as always, to moshpit, Jonathan Avery, regdc, and Chreechree. It's so great to know that I have a whole superteam of betas to make sure I don't mess anything up.




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Harry and Ginny paused as they approached the entrance to Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross Station, and her father looked at them questioningly. Percy, Ron with his mother, and the twins had already passed through the barrier with their trunks. After a moment’s hesitation, the two first-years each took one hand off of their trolleys and touched their palms together. Nothing happened, and they sighed in relief.

“Everything alright?” Mr. Weasley asked.

Ginny grinned. “Yeah. We just had to make sure.”

“Move along, then,” he said with a gentle smile. “We don’t have long before the train leaves.”

The platform was packed with people. Even though most of the students had already boarded the Hogwarts Express, parents were milling about talking to acquaintances and waiting for the train to depart. Ginny spotted Percy walking purposefully towards the prefects’ carriage near the engine while the twins boarded a carriage at the opposite end of the train. Ron and Mrs. Weasley were waiting on the other side of the barrier.

Mrs. Weasley hugged Ron and shooed him off towards the train. Ron shrugged at Ginny and pushed his trolley across the platform to the nearest carriage. Ginny’s mother turned and hugged her daughter fiercely, keeping her grip a bit longer than was usual.

“Have a good term, Ginny, and . . .” She paused and glanced at Mr. Weasley. “Well, just . . . stay out of trouble,” she finished awkwardly. Molly released Ginny and turned to Harry. Instead of hugging him, she reached out and laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. “Harry, it was nice to see you again,” she said politely.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied. “The turkey at Christmas was really wonderful.”

She smiled somewhat stiffly. “That’s very kind of you to say.”

Especially since we accidentally helped to cook it, Ginny added ruefully as Mr. Weasley approached them.

Mr. Weasley dropped to one knee and pulled both children closer to him by their hands. “Remember, you’re back among people who don’t . . . err, don’t really know you. You’ve had quite enough adventure for one year, so try not to cause people to ask questions, alright?” They nodded, and he pulled them to his shoulders in a firm joint hug.

“You’re a good girl,” he said into Ginny’s ear. “I’m so proud of you.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Harry, you’re a fine lad. Remember, take small steps to get all the little pieces together.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” Ginny replied just as softly and kissed her father’s cheek in thanks.

Arthur cleared his throat as he released them and stood up. “Best get on the train now. Have a good term, and don’t forget to write to us.”

They agreed and then waved as they pushed their trolleys towards the train. The twins intercepted them as they reached the door to the carriage Ron had entered. Without a word, Fred and George smiled and lifted Ginny’s new trunk from the trolley. Harry and Ginny managed to get his smaller trunk onto the train by themselves as they followed the twins to the compartment Ron had claimed. Inside, the twins put both trunks into the overhead racks, saluted Ginny smartly, and marched away down the corridor.

Hermione and Ron were sitting on one side of the compartment, and Harry and Ginny claimed the opposite bench. They sighed together as the compartment door closed, and the noise of the platform was reduced to a background murmur.

I never thought it would be a relief to get away from my parents, Ginny mused.

The last few days of the holiday had been relatively quiet, but somewhat tense. With Bill and Charlie gone and Percy isolating himself with his textbooks, Harry and Ginny had spent most of their time during the day flying or playing games with Ron. They had often spent the evenings, however, in the living room with Ron, the twins, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ginny’s mother watched them constantly, but she had not said anything more than pleasantries to them when they were together since New Year’s Eve. She would talk to Ginny when Harry was elsewhere, but only about trivial things. On the whole, the last three days had been confusing and exhausting.

“Are you two alright?” Hermione asked with a concerned expression.

Ginny nodded. “Yeah. Just tired, really.”

“How was your holiday?” the older girl asked tentatively.

Harry sighed. “Long. It was too long.”

“What happened?”

“Do you mind if we tell you later, Hermione?” Ginny asked. “It’s not that we don’t want you to know. We just don’t want to go through it all again yet.”

Harry thought he could actually see his friend reining in her curiosity, which rather surprised him, but she nodded immediately. “Of course. Maybe Ron could tell me later, so you don’t have to worry about it at all.”

“Is that alright, Ron?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Probably won’t be able to tell her everything she wants to know, though.”

“We can talk about it later if you want to,” Ginny said. “Just . . . not now.”

The four friends lapsed into silence as the train slowly pulled out of Kings Cross, the speed and rocking motion gradually increasing. Harry sat against the wall by the window, and Ginny leaned against him as they both stared out at the countryside. After a few minutes, Ginny shifted her position and lay across the seat with her head in Harry’s lap, facing the other side of the compartment. She sighed in contentment as she closed her eyes. Harry placed one hand in the small hairs at the base of her neck, stroking them absently. Soon, she fell into a deep sleep.

The door to the compartment slid open, and Neville poked his head inside. He spotted Ginny immediately and stopped himself from speaking even as Hermione raised a finger to her lips in warning. The round-faced boy glanced around at the other occupants of the room before looking at Ginny again, and then he whispered, “I’ll come back later.” Without waiting for a response, he left and closed the door carefully behind him.

You should have asked him to stay, Ginny said.

I was thinking about it, but he left so quickly, and I didn’t want to wake you up by shouting.

He felt her smile. Thanks for that.

Before long, Harry drifted off also, his head lolling slightly from side to side against the back of the seat. They dreamed of flying, with moments from the Boxing Day Quidditch match mixed with their efforts to fly together. Harry soared high above the paddock, while Ginny deftly threw the Quaffle past Ron and into the goal hoop.

“They didn’t!”

Harry’s head snapped upright, and he saw Hermione gaping at Ron with a look of horror. “Whoever it was, whatever it was, they probably did,” he muttered. Ginny was still sleeping, and their dream continued to play across his mind even as he tried to focus on his two friends.

“I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Hermione said. “But . . . did you really hex the Headmaster? And Ginny’s mother?”

We should’ve known she’d start asking questions sooner rather than later, Ginny said, even as she watched herself make a goal that was physically impossible.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, we did.”

“But . . .” Hermione cut herself off abruptly. “Never mind. We can talk about it another time if you want to. Go back to sleep, Harry. You look like you need it.”

He nodded and leaned further over to rest his head against the wall of the compartment as he closed his eyes. A minute later, he felt a gentle hand lifting his head, and he looked up to see Hermione sliding a neatly folded jumper between his head and the wall. She smiled at him and spoke in a whisper. “Does Ginny need one, too?”

“She’s fine. Thanks, Hermione,” he murmured. Before he knew it, he was back in the air with Ginny, playing Quidditch against faceless and formless opponents who had no hope of winning.

They slept through most of the trip to Hogwarts, waking occasionally to find their friends reading or talking quietly. When the trolley came around, they roused themselves enough to eat. Neville joined them at lunch, but the brown-haired boy seemed to sense the mood of the compartment as he sat next to Ron, and he kept his voice low during their brief conversations. A few minutes later, Harry and Ginny dozed off again.

Hermione woke them in time to drape their robes over their clothes as the train entered Hogsmeade station, and Ginny smiled at her friend as she returned the rumpled jumper Harry had used as a pillow. The five students picked one of the horseless carriages to share on the way up to the castle. Along the way, Neville finally asked the question they had all expected.

“Ginny, Harry, are you two alright?”

“We’re fine, Neville,” Ginny said. “Just really tired. We spent the last week playing Quidditch almost non-stop.”

Neville glanced at Ron with a confused expression, but he nodded and seemed to accept her explanation.

The start-of-term feast was uneventful, allowing Harry and Ginny to regain some of their energy as they basked in the riotous atmosphere of a Hogwarts feast. It was almost a relief to them when they noticed Malfoy sneering at everyone in sight, and Dumbledore’s behaviour throughout the meal was perfectly normal. They worried about the conversation they knew was coming once the other students returned to their dormitories, but the Headmaster’s casual demeanour was reassuring.

All too soon, from their point of view, the feast was over. As the Great Hall emptied, Ginny and Harry hung back near the doors. Hermione and Neville looked questioningly at them while Ron looked uncomfortable. Ginny turned her eyes towards the high table, where Dumbledore and McGonagall were still talking quietly in their chairs. Hermione nodded as she got the message, and then she loudly asked Neville about his holiday as she steered the two boys back towards Gryffindor Tower, pulling each of them along by the arm.

The two professors walked down the length of the hall as the last of the other students left. Dumbledore smiled at them and led them all up to his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk, however, he crossed to the fireplace and claimed one of the squashy armchairs there. McGonagall perched on the edge of another, and Harry and Ginny chose to share one of the remaining two. They had become accustomed to sitting in the same chair, and Ginny settled herself on Harry’s lap with her back against his shoulder so that he could see.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley,” Dumbledore said with a gentle smile, breaking the somewhat stilted silence since the end of the feast. “I hope that you were able to find more enjoyment in the latter portion of your holiday.”

Uncertain of where the Headmaster was going with the conversation, Ginny replied only to his pleasantries. “We were, Headmaster. Thank you for asking.”

“Rather ridiculous, isn’t it?” Dumbledore asked, stroking his beard as his eyes twinkled. “Here we sit, all knowing we have something important to say, and yet social convention dictates that we begin with words that are essentially meaningless.”

The two students had no idea how to respond to that, so they sat quietly. McGonagall’s mouth tightened, and she leaned her head forward slightly. “Albus.”

“Ah, yes, sorry” the old man said, blinking and shaking his head. “It is also not useful to speculate on matters of social custom as a delaying tactic.” He sighed and folded his hands in his lap. “First of all, I must apologize to you, Miss Weasley. I reacted . . . very poorly to the situation on Christmas Day. I should not have stunned you. Nor, I think, should I have given you any reason to attempt to defend yourself from me. I most sincerely apologize for that.”

Ginny blinked. She appreciated the Headmaster’s apology, but she had not expected to hear it in light of the other events of that day. “Err . . . thank you, Headmaster. Maybe we could just, umm, call it even?”

“Yes, that would be most agreeable,” Dumbledore said with a slight smile. “If that is quite alright with you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry lowered his eyes. “Yes, please. I’m . . . I’m really . . . sorry for . . . for what I did. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Ah, but you did,” the Headmaster interrupted him. “You had every intention of preventing someone from harming Miss Weasley. And you did that quite effectively. What you did not intend was for the results to be so dramatic, correct?”

Harry nodded, refusing to meet the Headmaster’s eyes.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “The pair of you must understand that you are both very, very powerful. As it is with all young people, that power is closely linked to your emotions. When you are agitated, even everyday spells can have unpredictable and possibly dangerous results.” He turned to Ginny. “Miss Weasley, your father told me that you created that marvelous hex you used. The Bat Bogey Hex, I believe you call it?”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Ginny muttered. She was slightly embarrassed by the name she had chosen years ago.

Dumbledore rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “Very apt. I have always appreciated names that were descriptive without taking themselves too seriously. You’ve used that spell many times before, haven’t you?” She nodded. “And what were the effects before you met Harry?”

“Err . . . well, my brothers said it hurt a little, but it was mostly annoying because the bats wouldn’t go away, and their claws were like pinpricks. They couldn’t get rid of it with a counterspell, which always bothered Bill a bit.”

“Really?” the Headmaster asked, leaning forward in fascination. “The bats can’t be dispelled?”

Ginny shook her head, her loose hair drifting across Harry’s cheek. “No. You just have to wait for them to vanish. They don’t last long, though.”

“Remarkable!” The old man’s enthusiasm suddenly reminded Harry and Ginny of Mr. Weasley. “It is most unfortunate that testing the spell is impractical.” He settled back into his chair. “In any case, you can see that the sudden shift in your power has had a drastic effect on a spell you’ve cast many times. Similarly, it has apparently become commonplace for the air around you to heat when you are angry, sometimes with extravagant results.”

Dumbledore sighed. “I am afraid that you must both learn to remain calm if you wish to prevent such things from happening. It is very unfair for you to have to suppress your feelings in any way, but I hope you agree that the potential results are rather frightening if you don’t.” He peered at them both over the rim of his glasses.

Ginny shook her head sadly. “We really don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I never thought that you did, Miss Weasley,” he agreed quietly.

“How do we stop doing these things, then?” Harry asked.

“There are many methods people use to remain calm in stressful situations,” Dumbledore said. “Some are very simple, and some are quite outlandish. What the best of them have in common, however, is the opportunity to understand your feelings and release them in a harmless way.”

Pausing to glance at McGonagall, Dumbledore regarded the two young students fondly. “So, with your permission, that is where we shall begin. I would like both of you to meet with Professor McGonagall for an hour or so each week. You will not be tested or forced to say anything you don’t wish to, but I hope you will take advantage of the opportunity to talk about whatever may concern you. Even if you talk about homework or gobstones or your Quidditch team’s prospects, I think it will serve a purpose. Would that be acceptable to you?”

How could that help? Harry wondered.

I don’t know, exactly, but he seems to think it’s important. They thought for a moment. It can’t hurt, can it?

“It’s alright with us,” Ginny said, “if Professor McGonagall doesn’t mind.”

“Not at all, Miss Weasley,” her Head of House replied. “I have been known to enjoy a casual conversation on rare occasions myself.”

Did McGonagall just make a joke? Harry asked incredulously.

There’s a first time for everything, right? Ginny replied as they grinned slightly at their professor.

“Well, then,” Dumbledore said, rising from his chair and rubbing his hands together, “if you will all kindly excuse me, I believe I will go and visit the kitchens. The treacle tart this evening was rather good, and the house elves get so few visitors.” He swept his gaze across the two students, his eyes twinkling madly, and left his office with a slight bounce of anticipation in his step.

After he had left the room and the door was swinging shut, he leaned back through the doorway. “Oh, and Mr. Potter, Miss Weasley . . . do try to get some sleep tonight. Classes resume tomorrow morning.” His eyes continued dancing as he turned back to the stairwell and the door fell closed.

McGonagall sighed, tutted disapprovingly, and turned back to the students. “I am sure that you can surmise that the Headmaster would like us to spend some time together this evening. If you do not object, I thought that perhaps I would tell you a few things to get us started.”

Harry and Ginny nodded, and McGonagall leaned against the back of her chair. After a moment, she spoke in a gentle voice. “Miss Weasley, do you know why the Headmaster really stunned you?”

Ginny flushed and looked down at her lap. “Because I was going to hex him.”

“That is partially true, but it is such a small part as to be inconsequential,” the older woman said. “You were attempting to hex him, and more importantly, he thought that you were going to succeed. That is indeed why he took action. But do you know why he stunned you, rather than attempting to disarm you again?”

Ginny shook her head.

“What do you know about Albus Dumbledore, Miss Weasley?”

“Well,” she scowled slightly at the unexpected question, but they rapidly thought of everything they knew about the Headmaster. “He’s been the Headmaster for a very long time. At least since Mum and Dad were here. Everyone says he’s the most powerful wizard in the world.”

McGonagall nodded. “Do you know anything about his past?”

“Err . . . just what it says on his Chocolate Frog card, really. He defeated someone named Grind-e-something a long time ago, didn’t he?”

“Grindelwald. Yes, he did. It took him seven years to do it,” the professor said. “Decades later, You-Know-Who began terrorizing magical folk and Muggles alike, and the Headmaster became involved in the fight against him as well. That war lasted eleven years, and, of course, you both know exactly what ended it so abruptly.”

Unconsciously, Harry raised his hand to his forehead and pressed his fingers against his scar.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. But there is no need for us to speak of that. What I would like you both to realize is something that no one ever thinks of. Albus Dumbledore spent no less than eighteen years fighting against self-styled dark lords. He participated in countless duels and defended himself from countless attacks. Over all of that time, his already impressive abilities became reflexive skills which helped him to survive in very dangerous situations fighting against deadly opponents.”

“That is what happened last week, Miss Weasley,” McGonagall said gravely. “He saw that a very powerful witch was casting a spell against him, and he reacted instinctively, the way he was trained to react. I doubt that he even realised he had stunned you until he had done it, just as you would pull your hand away from a hot surface before consciously deciding to do so. I am absolutely certain that, if there had been any time for him to think about it, he would never have reacted in that way. Can you understand that?”

“I . . . suppose so,” Ginny said, frowning in concentration. “It was really like a reflex, then?”

“Yes, Miss Weasley. That’s precisely what it was.” McGonagall leaned forward. “I hope you will believe me when I say that Albus Dumbledore is not a man who attacks anyone, least of all his students, casually. He was very disturbed by his actions that day, and I suspect that he will be far more careful in the future, just as we are asking the two of you to be.”

Harry and Ginny nodded, and their professor stood up. “Well, I think that is enough for tonight. I would like to meet you in my office one week from today, at two o’clock. In the meantime, if you ever have questions or problems, you know how to contact me directly.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Ginny said. They rose and followed McGonagall to the door. The professor escorted them back to Gryffindor Tower in silence, but for the first time in over a week, the silence was without strain or awkwardness.

I suppose there’s a lot more to it than what’s written on a Chocolate Frog card, Ginny said eventually.

Yeah, Harry agreed. The card makes it sound like it was easy. He defeated a dark wizard, studied dragon’s blood, and worked on alchemy. As if they were all the same sort of thing.

Ginny’s footsteps faltered for a moment as she made a connection. Harry, that’s it! Dumbledore worked on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel! That’s where we’ve seen that name before!

How could we have missed that? We got two Dumbledores from that batch of Frogs that Hermione gave me before the holidays!

Wait until Ron and Hermione hear about this
, Ginny said, grinning.

A minute later, McGonagall stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. She looked puzzled by the cheerful expressions on the students’ faces, but she smiled and bid them good night.

Harry and Ginny leapt through the portrait hole, looking around the common room for their friends. Hermione had claimed a table for herself and her books, and Ron was lounging in a nearby armchair flipping through a Quidditch catalogue. Neville was not in the room, but his absence suited them at the moment.

They walked to Hermione’s table, and as they passed Ron, Ginny leaned over the back of his chair. “C’mon, Ron.” Her brother looked up, ready to protest, but when he saw his sister and friend taking chairs next to Hermione, he shrugged and joined them.

As soon as they were all seated, Hermione leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “What did Dumbledore want?”

“Nothing much,” Ginny said. “We’ll tell you later. But guess what? We know who Nicolas Flamel is!”

“You do?” Hermione asked. “How did you find him?”

“Well, you helped, in a way. Two of those Chocolate Frogs you gave Harry had Dumbledore’s card in them, and the card says that the Headmaster is known for his work on alchemy with his partner . . .”

“Nicolas Flamel!” Ron finished. “I must’ve seen that a hundred times.”

“Alchemy?” Hermione echoed. She stared intently at the table in front of her, then leapt up from her chair and dashed towards the portrait hole.

“Hermione!” Ginny called after her. “The library’s shut.” The bushy-haired girl slid to an abrupt halt, then turned and walked calmly back to the table.

Reclaiming her seat with just a hint of pink in her cheeks, Hermione picked up her quill and bent back over the parchment she had been using to take notes from the textbook in front of her.

Harry and Ginny shared a grin with Ron, and then the three students left Hermione to her devices. They claimed a sofa nearby and spent the rest of the evening looking through Quidditch catalogues and picking out all the gear they knew they would need to play on the Gryffindor team together.

When Hermione packed up her work and said goodnight, Harry, Ginny, and Ron all headed for their dormitories also. Harry and Ginny got ready for bed, and then Harry climbed into his four-poster, pulled the curtains closed, and sealed them with the sticking charm. As he moved to sit near the pillows, leaving Ginny room at the foot of the bed where the blankets had not been disturbed, his hand fell on something that crackled slightly beneath the thick duvet.

Ginny appeared at the same instant, and they quickly pulled back the covers to find a package wrapped in plain brown paper. Taped to the outside was a tiny card.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

A Very Happy Belated Christmas to you.

Harry stared at the note wonderingly. My dad? He tore into the package, and as he ripped the paper apart, something smooth and shimmering slid out and pooled on the surface of the bed.

An Invisibility Cloak! Ginny said. She reached out and stroked the silvery fabric. It has to be. I’ve never actually seen one before.

It’ll make me invisible?
Harry asked.

Try it.

Harry picked up the material and unfolded it carefully. As the outline became more apparent, he could see that it was indeed an oversized cloak. He straightened it and then threw it around his shoulders. They gasped as they watched his body disappear, leaving his head floating above the bed. Ginny reached over and found the material whose weight was resting against Harry’s back. Lifting it, she pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, and he vanished completely.

Wicked, she said.

Looking out at her through the drooping hood, Harry found that he could see quite clearly, though the colours of Ginny’s hair and pajamas seemed muted.

This is awesome! he said. Here, have a go.

Ginny could see and feel what the cloak felt like from the inside, but she was still excited to wear it herself. Harry opened it and held it out for her, and she moved forward to pull it around herself. She ignored the hood and let the voluminous fabric fall around her like a small tent.

It’s warm, but the air isn’t stuffy at all, she observed. It must have some sort of charms on it to make it comfortable.

Harry grinned. Tired, Gin? He already knew the answer.

Not in the least. But we’d better wait until everyone’s asleep.

They sat on Harry’s bed, careful to make no noise, for a full half hour. When Harry’s watch ticked over to ten forty-two, he turned to Ginny with a grin. Let’s go!

Keeping the cloak wrapped around herself, Ginny hopped off the bed. Harry slid his curtains open slowly, and then they walked quietly towards the door. Harry eased it open, letting Ginny go ahead of him into the stairwell.

Halfway down the stairs, Ginny began giggling. You know, for all the time I’ve spent in your room, this is only the second time I’ve actually walked down these stairs.

Just before they entered the common room, Ginny composed herself and held the cloak open, and Harry slipped underneath it beside her. Fortunately, the common room was empty, and they ignored the confused queries of the Fat Lady as they exited Gryffindor Tower.

Where to? Harry wondered.

Somewhere we haven’t been before, Ginny said. What about the fifth floor? We’ve only been there that one time with Fred and George.

Lacking any better ideas, and really only interested in exploring, they set off down the stairs to the fifth floor. Unfortunately, that entire floor of the castle was a disappointment. There were several interesting statues and paintings, but most of the doors along the corridor were locked. The few that opened revealed nothing more interesting than dusty, unused classrooms and, once, a large closet full of bottled soap and other toiletries.

Well, now we know where to come if we want to smell like, Ginny looked at the nearest bottle of bath soap, persimmon.

What’s persimmon?

Dunno. Want to try it?

Err . . . no, thanks
, he said. Eating Every-Flavour Beans is random enough for me. Both of them shuddered. Ron had dared them to eat some Every-Flavour Beans at the same time over the holidays, and liver flavoured curdled milk was the foulest thing they had ever tasted.

Undaunted by the rather uninteresting fifth floor, they continued down to the fourth floor. The library was at one end, so they crept down the hallway in the opposite direction. To their dismay, the fourth floor was just as dull as the fifth floor, without even a storage closet to provide variety.

This cloak is great, Ginny said as they crept down the hallway. This whole time, it’s been nice and warm, even when I can tell there’s a draft in the corridor. Our regular cloaks always leave my hands and toes cold. Too bad I can’t wear this one all the time.

As they turned to walk back towards the stairwell, Harry spotted a narrow hallway that had been concealed by shadows when they approached from the other direction. They followed it eagerly, sure that such an out-of-the-way corridor must lead somewhere interesting. Instead, at the end of the short hallway, they emerged into yet another unused classroom. This one was smaller than the others, and rather than rows of dusty desks, it contained a collection of dusty trunks, cabinets, and crates pushed up against the walls.

Maybe there’s something interesting in one of the cabinets or something, Ginny offered.

Harry shrugged. It’s worth a look. You check this side, and I’ll check the other. He ducked out from under the cloak and crossed the room, peering past the half-open lid of a packing crate. Who keeps an entire box full of used spell-o-tape?

Maybe someone thinks it’s art,
Ginny said with a quiet laugh.

He moved further down the wall and glanced up to see Ginny smiling at him from between the crate of spell-o-tape and a battered wardrobe. He blinked at her, trying to determine why her appearance there seemed out-of-place.

Ginny, what’d you do with the cloak? he asked.

I’ve got it right here, she said, gesturing with the arm over which she had draped the silky material.

But you . . . he trailed off, realising suddenly what was wrong. Not only was Ginny not wearing the Invisibility Cloak, she was also dressed in her school uniform rather than her blue pajamas, and she had never moved her arm at all. He stared at her, noticing the immaculate arrangement of her clothes and the silver sparkle of her favorite hair clip. He was absolutely certain she had come to his room with her hair down around her face.

It’s still loose, Ginny said, confused. Why?

She relaxed her concentration to see why Harry was so concerned with her hair. As she did, Harry saw that she was studying a locked trunk that rattled slightly, while she looked out of his eyes to find herself in her school uniform, smiling broadly at him. They each pressed their eyes closed for a moment, shutting out the confusing images.

What’s going on, Ginny?

I don’t know, but I’m definitely not wearing my uniform.


Harry cracked an eye open and turned to see Ginny, in her pajamas and unbound hair, facing away from him. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her facing him in her school uniform with her hair held back by the silver clip. As he watched, she blinked and brushed an invisible spot of lint from her grey skirt.

Fascinated, Ginny opened her eyes and swiveled to look at herself. She walked up behind Harry, but the grey-clad Ginny continued to smile broadly at him from the other side.

Harry . . . she began, confused. I don’t see anything but our reflections. There’s a frame, see? It’s a mirror.

Looking where she indicated, Harry saw that it was indeed a mirror. It was as high as the ceiling of the classroom, and the frame was heavily inlaid with gold. Strange words were engraved across the top of the frame. The letters were all familiar, but they fit together in bizarre combinations, and the resulting words meant nothing.

I don’t see myself at all, Harry said, pulling his gaze back to the image in front of him. Just you in your school clothes.

Ginny stepped around him for a closer look, but as soon as she stood in front of him, they both stopped and stared at the mirror. Ginny now saw Harry, dressed in his green Weasley jumper, grey uniform trousers, and pristine white trainers. The image looked straight at her and smiled affectionately.

Harry, however, looked in the mirror over her shoulder and saw only the reflection of them both in their pajamas. They blinked as their minds tried to sort out the oddity of seeing two different things in the same place at the same time.

Startled by the multiple reflections, Ginny took a half-step backwards and reached behind herself for Harry’s hand. The moment their fingers entwined, the image in front of them shifted again.

Now they both saw themselves as they were - wearing their pajamas, with Harry standing beside and slightly behind Ginny and their hands clasped tightly. Behind them, however, was a crowd of people. Ginny’s parents stood behind her, and her brothers were arrayed beside them. Further back, other red-haired people peered around the Weasley family. Behind Harry, a bespectacled man with rumpled black hair had his arm around the shoulders of a woman with dark red hair and striking green eyes. Behind them, in turn, were other people who all looked similar, in one way or another, to the couple closest to Harry.

Look at Mum. Ginny’s voice was less than a whisper in Harry’s mind, and he turned his attention to the image of Molly Weasley. She was smiling broadly from where she stood next to the auburn-haired woman, and as they watched, Mrs. Weasley reached out and rumpled Harry’s hair fondly.

She looks so happy, Harry said wistfully.

That’s the way she always looks in portraits with the rest of us. That’s the way Mum is supposed to look.

Ginny, do you suppose that if those are your parents, then these . . .
he looked longingly at the happy couple standing behind his reflection.

I think so, Harry, Ginny said, squeezing his hand tightly. That’s your Mum and Dad.

Harry stepped towards the image slowly, utterly enraptured by the sight of two people he had given up on ever seeing. But there could be no mistaking Harry’s green eyes in the woman’s face or his unruly mop of black hair atop the man’s head. He reached out to his mother, and his fingers encountered smooth glass as they touched those of his reflection. Ginny, what . . . ?

I’ve never heard of a mirror like this.


In the reflection, Lily Potter reached out and put both of her slender hands on Harry’s shoulders, and he thought he could almost feel their gentle, loving pressure. He raised his hand so that, in the mirror, his fingers rested atop his mother’s, and she smiled even more broadly at him.

Your mum is so pretty, Harry.

Lily shifted her gaze to Ginny’s reflection and reached over to stroke the back of her fingers down the small girl’s cheek.

She thinks you’re pretty, too, Harry said with a smile.

His mother pulled her hand back from Ginny’s face and leaned over to whisper something in Mrs. Weasley’s ear. Molly laughed and nodded in response. From his wife’s other side, James Potter leaned over and kissed Lily’s cheek, causing her to turn her head and give him a different, warmer smile. James grinned and turned his head to wink at Harry.

That’s your grin, Ginny said, and then she watched as the same expression blossomed on Harry’s face.

Yeah, he said. I got it from my dad.

Somewhere in the dark room, a clock chimed, reminding them that they were out of their dormitories long after their curfew. Reluctantly, Harry and Ginny backed away from the mirror.

“We’ll be back,” Harry whispered.

All four of their parents nodded and waved, and the gesture was copied by everyone in the reflection. Ginny released Harry’s hand, and a moment later they arrived, one after the other, back inside the curtains of his bed.

Ginny carefully folded the Invisibility Cloak as Harry produced Bun-bun for her. She stroked the soft material once more before reaching to tuck the cloak underneath Harry’s pillow where it would not be found. He could tell that she already missed its warmth.

You could sleep in it if you want, Gin.

Harry, that’d be silly . . . wouldn’t it?
He could hear the vague note of longing in her mental voice.

Not really. If you were wrapped up in that, then anyone who found us in the middle of the night, like the twins did, might not see you.

They’d just see a huge lump in our blankets with nothing to hold it up,
she said wryly. That’s much less suspicious.

Well, that’s true,
he said. But being invisible might give you a second or two to get back to your room before anyone recognizes you. It would be hard for me to explain the invisible lump, but it would be a lot better than explaining you. He grinned at her across the bed. And besides, if you have that keeping you so warm, maybe I’ll get more of the blankets.

She scowled playfully at him, but they both knew that she loved being wrapped up in the bedclothes, which often left Harry out in the cold even though she was tucked up against his side. He was not as fond of warmth as she was, but he did not care to freeze, either.

You wouldn’t mind? she asked, though she knew the answer already. It was your father’s, after all.

He and Mum clearly liked you. He’d probably want you to use it, too. You know you’ve always wished you had a blanket that could cover your ears somehow.


Ginny smiled in gratitude and unfolded the cloak. As Harry watched, she pulled it over her shoulders and tugged the hood up, rendering her completely invisible. A disembodied hand emerged from nowhere, picked up Bun-bun, and pulled the bunny back into nothingness where it disappeared also. Harry grinned at the sight and lay back. He watched through Ginny’s eyes as she crawled into bed next to him, curling up against his torso as usual, though he could not see her at all.

It’s weird not to be able to see myself when I can tell that you’re looking right at me, she said.

No weirder than feeling you right there and not seeing you at all.

She reached up and pushed the hood of the cloak back just enough to reveal her face. Smiling, she said, That’s better. Cover us, Potter.

Obediently, Harry pulled the blankets across both of them, and they settled down to sleep.

After the temporary distraction of the cloak, their minds returned to the strange mirror they had encountered.

What do you suppose it does? Harry asked.

I’m not sure. It showed you me, and me you, but then when we were together it showed us with both of our families. I don’t see how all of those match.

Maybe it shows opposites in some way,
he offered. The opposite of one of us is the other, and the opposite of us alone would be us with our families around.

But you’re not my opposite,
Ginny argued. My opposite would be someone like Malfoy, I think.

That’s true. I’m glad we didn’t see him in that mirror.

Me, too,
Ginny said. They thought for another moment. Maybe it just shows us people who are important to us.

Makes sense. I don’t really care, though. I never thought I’d get to see my parents.

They looked like really nice people.

I thought so,
Harry agreed. Not at all like my aunt and uncle. It’s hard to imagine that Aunt Petunia is my mum’s sister.

They look alike in some ways,
Ginny said. They’re both rather thin, and they have the same sort of face. Your mum looks a lot nicer than your aunt, but it’s her hair that really makes her stand out.

Harry smiled. You would know, wouldn’t you?

He felt the rush of air along his chest as she snorted. Yeah, I’ve never had any problem finding my family in a crowd.

We should take Ron and Hermione along tomorrow night, Ginny. She can show us the rest of her family, and Ron can help us figure out who the rest of those Weasleys are.

Hermione doesn’t have any brothers or sisters, remember?
Ginny said. But I’m sure she’d like to see a magical mirror like that.

Their classes on Monday passed in a blur as Harry tried to remember every detail he could about his parents. By the end of the day, Harry was unbearably excited at the idea of seeing his parents again, while Ginny was curious to see their families all together again.

When they arrived in the Great Hall for dinner, Ron was engaged in yet another debate about football with Dean and Seamus. Rather than listen to that particular argument again, they chose to sit a few seats down the table. A few minutes later, as they ate in apparent silence, Neville joined them and began serving himself.

“Hi Ginny. ‘Lo, Harry. Where’s Hermione?” he asked.

“Dunno,” Harry said. “Haven’t seen her since classes ended.”

“She’s probably in the library,” Ginny said. Finding out who Nicolas Flamel is.

We almost forgot about that, didn’t we?


“I like the library well enough, I suppose,” Neville said, “but I can’t imagine spending so much time there.”

“Err, Neville . . .” Ginny said with a grin, “you spend even more time in the greenhouses than Hermione does in the library.”

Their round-faced friend shrugged. “Yeah, that’s true, I suppose.”

“What do you do out there, anyway?” Harry asked.

“Help take care of the plants, mostly. Winter is pretty rough on them, even with the warming charms on the greenhouses. I give them extra blankets, but the potted plants always seem to push them off, so I have to keep fixing them again.”

“It, err, sounds a bit repetitive,” Ginny said.

“Well, yeah, but it’s not bad,” Neville argued. “I only work in one greenhouse. Professor Sprout’s got some second-year taking care of another, and we’re not allowed in the rest. So I get to know my plants, and sometimes Professor Sprout comes by and tells me more about them.”

Hermione dropped into the seat next to Neville, and her book bag fell to the floor with a heavy thump. “Hello everyone,” she said, reaching for a carafe of pumpkin juice.

“Hi, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Find anything good in the library?”

Hermione gave her a significant look. “Yes, I did. It will be very useful for my project.”

“What are you working on?” Neville asked.

“Oh, just a little extra research for potions. Professor Snape will never give me credit for it, but it’s good to know anyway.”

Neville shrugged. “If you say so.” He turned back to his meal, but after a moment he looked up again. “Say, Hermione, Harry. You were raised by Muggles, right? Did you know that what Muggles call ivy is actually a magical plant?”

“Ivy?” Harry echoed. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t either,” Hermione said. “How did you find that out, Neville?”

“Professor Sprout mentioned it. How could the Muggles think a plant that grows that aggressively is normal? Sure, it’s pretty, but all it really wants to do is break rocks. Why on earth would you plant it next to a building you wanted to keep?”

“I’d think that if it was that dangerous, even Muggles would have figured it out by now,” Ginny said.

“That’s the interesting part,” Neville said, brightening. “If they fed it properly, it would tear down all their buildings. But Muggles don’t have anything like Hippogriff dung, and what they use instead actually limits the ivy’s growth and dulls its appetite.”

Let’s never tell the twins that, Ginny said. They’d go around to Muggle buildings dumping Hippogriff dung on the ivy.

After dinner, Neville returned to his greenhouses, and Harry, Ginny, and Hermione went back to the common room. Ron came in a moment later, and the four students found a table in a secluded corner.

“What’d you find, Hermione?” Harry asked.

She pulled a large book out of her bag and opened it to a marked page. Leaning across the table, she spoke in an excited whisper. “Nicolas Flamel is the only known creator of the Philosopher’s Stone. Listen.”

She bent to the book and read aloud. “The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal.

There have been many reports of the Philosopher's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight).”

Devon? Ginny asked. Maybe the old stories about hermits in the forest are true.

“I think that’s what Fluffy is guarding,” Hermione concluded.

“And of course Snape would want it,” Harry said. “Who wouldn’t?”

Ron began speculating on what he would do if he could make his own gold, but Ginny cut him off with a wave of her hand. “We couldn’t sleep last night, so we did a bit of exploring,” she said.

“You did?” Ron asked, looking offended. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry thought quickly and then shrugged at his friend. “You were asleep, weren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I’d’ve woken up for that.”

Harry felt vaguely guilty for not wanting Ron to come along, but Ginny reassured him. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do it by ourselves the first time, Harry. It’s your father’s cloak, so it was all sort of . . . special.

“The point is, we found something really interesting in a spare classroom,” Ginny said aloud. “Do you want to come along tonight and see for yourselves?”

Ron did not need any encouragement. “Yeah, I’m in.”

“What did you find?” Hermione asked cautiously.

“A mirror, Hermione,” Ginny whispered excitedly. “A magical mirror.”

The older girl’s eyes rolled slightly. “Please tell me it doesn’t talk to you and tell you whatever you want to hear.”

“What?” Ginny asked, confused. “No, nothing like that. I’ve seen a few talking mirrors, but mostly they just make smart remarks about your hair or something.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Hermione muttered.

“Anyway, this mirror we found shows you people. We think it’s people who are important to you. Harry and I saw our families . . . even his parents.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You saw the Potters? But how is that . . .” she trailed off, and then she shook her head slightly. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.”

“Do they talk or anything?” Ron asked.

Ginny shook her head. “No, they don’t talk. But they smile and wave, and they seem to respond to what you say. We saw my mum whisper something to Harry’s mum, but we couldn’t hear anything.”

“Did you see all of us?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. Mum, Dad, you, all five of our brothers, and both sets of grandparents, I think, even though I don’t remember Granddad Prewett.”

He nodded. “When do we go?”

“Wait!” Hermione interrupted. “Won’t someone see us?”

Harry grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that part.”

At midnight, after the common room had emptied, Ginny slipped under the invisibility cloak and crept down the stairs. Once she had left the dormitory, Harry crossed to Ron’s bed. “C’mon, Ron,” he whispered.

The curtains slid back immediately, and Ron stepped out in his pajamas. “Where’s Ginny?”

“Downstairs already.”

The two boys tiptoed across the room and down the stairs to the apparently-empty common room. Harry and Ginny watched in amusement as Ron peered around the room. “Thought you said she was down here?”

“Here I am!” Ginny called softly, pulling the hood of the cloak down and leaving her head floating in midair.

Ron yelped and leapt backwards, falling over an ottoman and tumbling to the ground with his arms and legs flying above him. Harry chuckled, and Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as she pulled the cloak off of her shoulders. Her brother scrambled up to his feet and glared at her angrily.

“Bloody buggering hell, Ginny. Why’d you go and do that?”

“Sorry, Ron,” she said. “I just couldn’t resist. It’s payback for the time you jumped out of my wardrobe with that wooden sword you’d made.”

The red-haired boy collapsed into a chair. “Yeah, well, that was different,” he mumbled. Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. “And anyway, you hexed me for it.”

“You can try to hex me, if you like.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “No, thanks.” His eyes turned to the cloak draped across Ginny’s arm, and his expression brightened immediately. “Is that an Invisibility Cloak?”

“Yup,” Ginny said. “Someone left it for Harry as a Christmas present. The note said it belonged to his father. That’s how we’re getting through the halls tonight.”

“Wicked,” her brother breathed.

A noise on the stairs caused Harry and Ginny to spin around, already concocting a story in case Percy had found them. Instead, they saw Hermione standing uncertainly on the last step, wearing a thick blue dressing gown over her nightclothes. “I’m still not sure we should do this, Invisibility Cloak or no,” she said.

“C’mon, Hermione,” Ginny wheedled. “Don’t you want to see the mirror? There’s no way we could get into that classroom during the day without someone noticing.”

“Well, yes, I do,” Hermione admitted, “but . . . well, we’re not all going to fit under that cloak, are we?”

“No, I suppose not,” Ginny said. “But you and Ron and I can fit, and then Harry can meet us there the other way.” Harry nodded his agreement.

“Oh, alright,” her friend relented. “But we shouldn’t be out for very long.”

Ron and the two girls huddled together as Harry helped to arrange the Invisibility Cloak to cover them all. When he was satisfied that they were invisible, they slowly crept out of the common room and down to the stairs. Harry sat on a sofa and waited as Ginny led them, carefully and quietly, to the abandoned classroom they had found the night before. Once Ginny entered the room and Harry could see it, they transported him to the open space in the middle of the floor.

Ginny pulled the cloak off of the three of them and folded it over an empty chair. Then she and Harry crossed to the mirror and stood facing it. Unconsciously, they clasped their hands as they gazed into the silvery surface. At first, they saw only their reflection, but soon the images of their families faded into view around them. The Potters and Weasleys stood just as they had the night before, smiling at the young pair and each other.

“I don’t think you can see what we see,” Ginny said softly, “but they’re all there. Our family’s all wearing the Christmas jumpers from this year.”

“My parents are there, too,” Harry said, gesturing at the couple standing behind his reflection. “I never knew what they looked like.”

“I did,” Hermione whispered. Harry turned quickly to look over his shoulder at her, and she blushed as her gaze dropped to the floor. “They’re in books, you know. With pictures from when they were Head Girl and Boy. I never . . . I never realised you hadn’t seen some of their pictures too, Harry. I’m sorry.”

He sighed. “It’s alright, Hermione. You couldn’t have known, could you?” He turned back to the mirror and looked at all the faces smiling back at him. As James Potter shifted his weight, Harry spotted a much shorter person standing behind him. Harry’s father seemed to sense his request, and he moved aside to stand behind Lily and wrap his arms around her waist. When he moved, Harry was able to see Hermione in the reflection, standing behind Harry as she was in the dusty room, but dressed in her pristine Hogwarts uniform. His brown-haired friend stood out in the group of red- and black-haired people, but she smiled in spite of the slight blush on her cheeks. James pulled one arm from his wife’s waist and laid it across Hermione’s shoulders with an affectionate grin.

“You’re here too, Hermione,” Ginny said, pointing at the new image in the mirror, though she knew her friend could not see it.

“Why would . . . Oh,” Hermione said. “Oh. Well . . . I hope my hair doesn’t look awful or anything.”

Harry grinned. “It’s still just hair.”

“Want to try the mirror?” Ginny offered.

“I do,” Ron said quickly. Ginny, Harry, and Hermione stepped to the side and let Ron walk closer to the mirror. He stared into it for a long moment, and then he smiled.

“Who do you see, Ron?” Harry asked.

“Just me,” he replied. “But I’m older. I’m Head Boy, and I’m holding the Quidditch Cup. I think I’m Quidditch Captain, too.”

Ginny was confused. “You don’t see our family at all?”

“Nope, just me,” Ron said, still staring at himself.

Harry, Ginny, and Hermione crept around behind Ron to see the image in the mirror, but as they expected, they only saw the reflection of an eleven year old in faded orange pajamas.

“D’you s’pose this mirror can show the future?” Ron asked wistfully.

Ginny shook her head. “Not if it’s got Harry’s parents in it,” she whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” her brother replied. “Still . . . I look alright, don’t I?”

“I’m sure you look great, Ron,” Ginny said with a smile.

He stared at his reflection for a few more minutes as the other three students watched in silence. Finally, Hermione spoke in a whisper. “May I look, Ron?”

The tall boy started and tore his gaze away from the mirror. “What? Oh. Yeah. Of course.” Ron, Harry, and Ginny all stepped back to the side of the mirror to allow Hermione to move forward.

Ginny and Harry saw their friend’s expression soften, her eyes wide and wondering. Slowly, as though she did not realise she was moving, Hermione raised her right hand towards the image and brushed her fingers gently down the glass. She blinked abruptly and smiled at whatever it was she saw.

“Hermione?” Ginny asked hesitantly. “Do you see your family?”

“No,” her friend said in a hushed tone.

Ginny could see that the older girl was as enraptured by the image as Harry had been the first time he saw his parents. “Do you want to tell us about it?” she asked.

Hermione nodded. “I don’t mind. I see myself, like Ron did. But I’m older, too . . . perhaps twenty-five or so. I’m standing in front of a new exhibit at the International Museum of Magic in Rome.”

“What kind of exhibit?” Harry asked.

The brunette shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s under construction, and none of the pieces are recognizable yet. But . . . it’s my exhibit, you see. I’m making it for the museum, and it’s . . . good. It’s interesting, and it’s important. People will come to see it.”

Harry and Ginny were thrilled to see Hermione so excited about something. “Make sure to get us tickets ahead of time, then, yeah?” he asked.

Hermione spun to face them with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I will,” she promised. Then she turned back towards the mirror, and Harry watched as his friend’s gaze focused on a particular point in the image. Hermione blushed slightly and shifted her gaze to the floor, but she was still smiling.

“What’s the mirror do, then?” Ron asked. “What Harry and Ginny saw isn’t anything like what Hermione and I saw.”

The other three students all looked to Hermione, whose brow furrowed as she considered the question. “I think . . . I think it just shows us what we want,” she said at last. “I want to be there,” she waved at the image in the mirror, “you want to be Head Boy and Quidditch Captain, and Harry and Ginny just want . . .”

Ginny and Harry suddenly averted their eyes in understanding, and Ron shifted his feet nervously. “Oh, right,” Ron said. “Yeah, that could be it.”

The four friends stood in awkward silence for another minute as Hermione studied her reflection. Finally, she sighed and turned resolutely away from the mirror so that she could not see it at all. “We should get back to the common room,” she said. “We’ve been out for a while, and we have classes tomorrow.”

“Could I look again, just for a few minutes?” Ron asked.

“It’s not real, Ron,” Ginny replied. “Not unless you make it real.”

“Yeah,” her brother said distantly. “Yeah, you’re right.”

I know it’s not real, Harry began, but . . .

We’ll come back tomorrow night by ourselves.


Ginny held up the Invisibility Cloak, and Ron and Hermione wedged themselves beneath it again. They crept down the hidden hallway, and as soon as they were out of sight, Harry went back to his four-poster to wait for Ginny and Ron to return. He followed along as his friends navigated the hallways, until finally Ginny whispered the password to a confused Fat Lady, and they climbed back into the common room.

Hermione said goodnight distractedly and padded up the girls’ staircase. Ron looked down at his sister and said, “You walking or what?”

Ginny shook her head and hugged him quickly. “Goodnight, Ron. Sleep well.” A moment later she landed on the end of Harry’s bed, and a minute later they heard Ron slip into the room and climb into his own bed.

I’ll be right back, Ginny said, though Harry already knew she wanted to satisfy their curiosity.

She transported back to her own dormitory, removed the sticking charm on her curtains, and peeked out into the darkened room. None of the other first-year girls were making any noise, but Ginny was certain that Hermione was not yet asleep. She padded over to her friend’s bed.

“Hermione,” she whispered, scratching softly at the heavy curtains. The fabric parted slightly, and Hermione looked out at her.

“Ginny? What are you doing?” The older girl’s voice was equally quiet as she glanced quickly around the room.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Ginny said. “Can I come in?”

“Yes, of course.” Hermione pulled the curtains apart and slid back up to the head of her bed. Ginny slipped inside and perched at the side of the bed near the footboard.

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked.

“Oh yeah, everything’s great,” Ginny paused for a moment. “Look, can I ask you a question about what you saw in the mirror?”

“I suppose so.”

“You don’t have to answer, but . . . what did you see that made you blush?” Ginny asked.

Hermione stared down at her hands where they rested in her lap. After a long moment, she looked up. “Who wants to know?”

Ginny shrugged, understanding the question. “We both do, but we won’t be offended if you’d rather not say.”

“I guess I don’t mind, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. Both of you.”

What could she want to keep so secret from a vision of what she wants? Harry wondered.

I don’t know, but it’s really important to her.

“We promise, Hermione. We won’t tell anyone at all.”

Her friend nodded. “Alright.” She took a deep breath. “The woman in the picture, the older me, was wearing a diamond engagement ring and a matching wedding band. She noticed that I saw them, and then she turned to look at someone off to the side. I . . . she smiled, and I could tell she was looking at her husband. She looked so incredibly happy to see him.”

“Who was he?” Ginny giggled quietly.

Hermione shrugged, smiling shyly. “I don’t know. He wasn’t actually in the image. All I could see was her reaction to him.”

Ginny and Harry digested this information for a few moments. “Well,” Ginny said at last, “that’s good, right?”

“The mirror doesn’t show the future, Ginny,” Hermione sighed, looking pensive. “It just shows us what we want. That doesn’t mean we can or will get it.”

“Of course it doesn’t.” Ginny nudged Hermione’s knee playfully. “But wasn’t it exciting to see how happy you could be if you did get it?”

Hermione’s smile was slow and almost distracted. “Yes. It was very . . .” She paused. “Inspiring.”

“So now you can be ready. When you get that life, with the man and the perfect career, and when you find yourself blissfully happy, you’ll know you’ve got what you always wanted.”

“I suppose so,” Hermione murmured. “I don’t see how it could be that simple, but . . . maybe you’re right. I hope you’re right.”

Harry grinned in the darkness of his dormitory, and Ginny smirked slightly. “Harry says that I’m usually right, so you shouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“I won’t,” Hermione agreed. “It’s much too early to fret about that, anyway.”

Too early for her, maybe, Harry said.

Were you planning to fret about it? Ginny teased.

Well, no, I suppose not.

There you are, then.


Ginny turned back to her friend. “I’m glad you saw something so wonderful, Hermione. I’m sure you’ll get all of it someday.”

“Thanks, Ginny. I hope . . . I hope you and Harry get what you want, too.”

“Me, too,” Ginny said, her voice even softer than it had been during the rest of their whispered conversation. “Night, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Ginny. Goodnight, Harry.”

Ginny smiled, waved, and transported herself back to the foot of Harry’s bed. She retrieved the Invisibility Cloak and wrapped it around herself before settling in next to Harry.

Why does she worry that she might not get that? Harry wondered.

They thought for a moment. I suppose it’s because she sees how happy she could be, Ginny said. That makes her realize how unhappy she might be if she didn’t achieve that part of her dream.

It doesn’t seem very hard to get that, though.

Not for us, maybe. But do you think it will be easy for us to get what we see in the mirror?


Harry could not help snorting silently. No. Definitely not easy.

Well, that’s how she sees her own vision, right?
Ginny asked. It seems just as hard for her as ours does for us.

Let’s hope neither of them is too hard, then.

I think it will all work out, Harry. And you said yourself that I’m usually right, so you don’t get to worry about it either.


He smiled in the dark. Alright, I won’t. Goodnight, Gin.

Goodnight, Harry.


The next evening, Hermione was late to dinner again. When she sat down across from Harry, she pulled a neatly folded bit of parchment from her pocket and pushed it across the table to him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Everything I could find about your parents,” Hermione said. “I’d no way to copy the pictures, though.”

Quite suddenly, the innocuous piece of parchment in his hand was precious to Harry. He unfolded it carefully and smoothed out the creases. In Hermione’s neat hand were two paragraphs, one for each of his parents, and he read them hungrily.

James Potter had been a Chaser in school, just as Ron had said, and Head Boy. He was an excellent student and got particularly good grades in Transfiguration. He had been an only child, but there was mention of a few unnamed close friends in one book.

Harry’s mother’s maiden name was Evans. Lily Evans. She had been a Gryffindor, too, and Head Girl. At school, she received distinctions in both Potions and Charms. There was a brief mention that she had a sister and that she was Muggleborn, but that was not interesting to Harry.

James and Lily had married shortly after graduating, and together they had fought fiercely against Voldemort until he killed them both.

“It’s not much,” Hermione apologized when Harry looked up. “Almost everything else written about them was just wild speculation.”

“This is wonderful, Hermione,” Harry said, touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thank you so much.”

She smiled gently. “You’re welcome, Harry.”

Late that night, Ginny and Harry sat on the floor in front of the mysterious mirror, holding hands and gazing up at their families. Their parents were all gazing at them fondly, but the twins were darting around the image, tormenting Hermione, Ron, and Percy. Percy seemed to scold them, but the smile on his face was clear. Bill and Charlie stood together off to one side and appeared to be talking to each other, but every now and then one of them would look over at Harry and Ginny with a smile or a wink.

That’s the important part, Ginny said with a smile. They’re happy. They all get along with each other, and they all love us just the way we are.

The two children sat in silence for a while, enraptured by the sheer affection of the scene in front of them. Finally, they heard a small noise behind them, and they spun around to find the Headmaster sitting calmly on one of the old crates.

“Good evening to you both,” he said calmly. “The Mirror of Erised is really quite enchanting, is it not?”

“We’re sorry, Headmaster,” Ginny said. “We know we’re not supposed to . . .”

Dumbledore waved his hand airily, dismissing her apology. “I find myself quite unconcerned about the hour, Miss Weasley. I hope you will not make a habit of these explorations, but we will consider tonight to be an exception.” He grinned, his eyes shining even in the darkness of the abandoned classroom. “Perhaps the last two nights, as well.”

“How did . . .”

“I am an old man, Mr. Potter, and I have learned many things in my lifetime.” He stood up and crossed the room to crouch next to them on the floor. “Have you determined what this exceptional mirror does?”

“It shows us what we want,” Ginny said.

“Ah, yes. Miss Granger really is quite clever, isn’t she?” Before they could respond to the startling implications of his statement, the Headmaster continued. “But that is not quite the whole truth.

“The happiest man in the world would stand in front of the Mirror of Erised and see only himself. You see, the mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest desires of our hearts. Mr. Weasley saw himself as Head Boy, among other things. Miss Granger saw herself achieving something remarkable and important, a real contribution to both academia and society. She does not yet understand, however, that her vision is well beneath her true potential.”

Dumbledore smiled fondly and then continued his explanation. “However, these are more than just scenes. They are expressions of ultimate desire and ambition. I believe that Ronald wants to stand out from his brothers and, perhaps, from the pair of you also. Miss Granger . . . well, her desires are much harder to explain, but they are far beyond just a room in a museum, no matter how impressive that may be.”

“We just see our families,” Harry said. “Nothing about the future.”

“Indeed, Mr. Potter, and that is the most telling example of them all.” Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “The actual image you see is, regrettably, impossible to recreate in life. Let me hazard a guess, though. The people you see are all happy, are they not, and quite warm towards you both?”

Harry nodded, still absently watching his mother try vainly to straighten his father’s hair.

“That is what you truly desire,” the Headmaster said quietly. “That feeling of acceptance. I sincerely hope that you someday find it in your families and friends, without the use of an enchanted mirror.”

“And what do you see, Headmaster?” Ginny asked.

“Socks,” he replied brightly. “Highly entertaining, socks, don’t you think?”

Why am I not surprised? Harry asked.

Experience?

“Look at me, please, children,” Dumbledore said more seriously. Harry and Ginny tore their gazes from the mirror and focused on the Headmaster’s kindly face. “The Mirror of Erised is far more dangerous than it may seem to you. You have already spent quite some time here tonight, and I daresay that you have no idea how long you have been looking into the mirror. Men and women have attempted to spend their entire lives in front of this mirror. They have been so enraptured that they have forgotten to eat and drink, and they’ve died watching something that is not real.”

“We know it’s not real, Headmaster,” Ginny said. “But . . . it’s an awfully nice picture to see.”

“You are, as always, most wise, Miss Weasley. It is very good that you know it is not real, and I think that what you told your brother is quite accurate. The images in the Mirror of Erised can only become real if you make them come true through your own actions.”

Dumbledore paused with a look of deep thought, and then he smiled brightly. “That’s the key, isn’t it? In order for the scene in the mirror to become reality, you must realise the proper way to make it real.”

What’s he on about now? Harry wondered.

I don’t know. He’s lost me, too.

The Headmaster returned his attention to the two students. “The mirror will have a new home after tonight. It is far too unique to be left in a dusty room for another century or so. I ask you to please not seek it out again, because even knowing its nature may not keep you from falling under its spell.”

“Alright,” Ginny said. “We just liked being able to see everyone happy. Especially Harry’s mum and dad.”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, I understand that. They were always quite a joy to watch when they were together.” He rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his robes. “Be off to your dormitory now, please. It is, once again, quite late.”

Ginny and Harry rose to their feet. On a sudden hunch, Harry smiled up at the Headmaster. “Thank you for the cloak.”

Dumbledore’s beard shifted as he grinned, and the light in his eyes was brighter than ever. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Potter,” he said with a wink. “Goodnight to you both.”

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” they replied. They transported themselves back to Harry’s dorm in rapid succession, leaving a still-grinning Dumbledore in a dusty room with a blank mirror.

You got a really good look at my parents, right Ginny?

Yes, Harry,
she said gently. I won’t forget what they look like.

Good. Your memory is still much better than mine.

It’ll be there whenever you want to see it,
Ginny promised.

Just because they could, they remembered the image from the mirror. Harry thought that he could almost feel the sense of warmth he had felt when he looked into the mirror and saw his parents for the first time. Together, Harry and Ginny fell asleep under the loving gazes of their family.




A/N: The book’s entry about Nicholas Flamel and the Philosopher’s Stone is taken verbatim from canon.

Also, a few plugs. Moshpit’s story, Echoes of Power, is back on track after a well-justified hiatus. If you’ve been hoping for the next chapter, check it out. Second, Chreechree has posted an absolutely amazing one-shot entitled Willpower; I highly recommend it. Finally, and shamelessly, I took part in the October challenge and submitted a one-shot entitled A Dream Deferred. I’d love to hear from any MoO readers about what they think of that story.

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