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A warm feeling stole all through him. "I really don't know how to thank you, Hermione. All this work."

She grinned. "Oh, there's loads left for you. You have to figure out Parseltongue versions of everything, after all."

"Oh, yeah." Somehow, Harry had forgotten about that. Suddenly, the task ahead seemed even more daunting. Sighing, he closed the book and set it atop the notebooks he'd already laid to the side. "Well, I'll figure it out, I guess."

"This probably isn't the right time to mention that mirror-repair isn't explained very well. The book goes into a lot of detail about how Bogdan took his secrets to the grave."

"Don't suppose his ghost has been spotted, either," said Harry glumly.

"Well, if it were simple, the Mirror of All Souls would have been repaired long since," said Hermione in a reasonable tone. "But you do have access to the kind of power he's reputed to have wielded. It's not a hopeless case."

Harry nodded. "Well, I'll never know unless I try. So, step one, master my own mirror. Thanks for giving me one to work with, Hermione. I'd like to get started straight away."

"Oh, not quite straight away. It's a party, after all." Hermione stood up, turning a little bit to the side. "They've got the wireless on now, I think. Dance?"

When Harry stood up to glance out the window, he saw that a few people their age were doing just that. "Er . . ."

"Come on," said Hermione, grabbing his hand and tugging it. "You know Ron's not much for it, but if he sees me dancing with someone else, he'll cut in."

Harry tried to protest, but before he knew it, he was outside and Hermione was practically dragging him into the thick of the crowd. Memories of the Yule Ball rose to the surface of his mind, the terrible sensation of being stared at. Sure, he'd danced with Celeste at that club, but that was different. There hadn't been anybody there that he knew, except Draco, and he'd been so obsessed with Rhiannon that Harry hadn't felt like he was being watched.

He felt it now, though.

Maybe it was the fact that the adults weren't dancing, but were just looking on, his father included.

Or maybe, Harry would feel better about dancing in front of everyone if he'd just had more of that punch, earlier.

Damn it, where was Ron?

"Harry, dance," said Hermione, doing a neat little move that made her mauve dress sort of twirl around.

He couldn't. He felt glued to the spot, certain that if he moved at all, he'd find out he had two left feet.

When Draco ambled past, Harry darted out a hand and yanked him over. "Dance with Hermione," he said, desperate to escape.

"Oh, that'll go over well," drawled Draco.

Hermione was rolling her eyes by then, but to Harry's surprise, she did that little skirt-twirl thing again and put a hand out toward Draco.

He only lifted an eyebrow. "You're trying to ruin the party? Your boyfriend'll take one look and start throwing hexes--"

"In front of his parents?" Hermione laughed, a sultry sound that said she'd thought of that, already. "No, he won't hex you. What he'll do is figure out that he should have found me when the music started."

"So it's like that, is it?" Draco smiled, the expression devious and tinged with something that looked suspiciously like admiration. "A plot, eh? Are you sure the hat didn't want to put you in Slytherin?"

He took her hand, then, and started moving to the music. Damn . . . they looked pretty good together. Harry got out of there before he had to see firsthand how Ron was going to react to the sight.

------------------------------------------------------

Just as well that everybody was busy outside, Harry decided. He'd felt a bit discouraged earlier, when he'd realised that the mirror project was such a massive undertaking, but now he was eager to get started on it.

No time to waste, right? There was just one month of summer left. If he worked hard, perhaps he could master his own mirror before term started. That would leave him the task of figuring out the actual repair process, but by then he'd have read the mirror book through. Several times, probably. He didn't exactly think he was going to find something Hermione had missed, but he did think that she wasn't the one living with dark powers. Harry was. He might see something that meant a lot more to him than it had to her.

When he unwrapped the square package that she's said was a mirror, his heart caught a little. Damn. Hermione couldn't have known, but this mirror looked quite a bit like the broken one Snape was keeping for him.

Memory stole over Harry, sharp and potent.

Sirius, falling through the Veil.

Harry, thinking for one moment that he could use the mirror to contact him and tell him how sorry he was.

And then the awful truth: that he'd never hear Sirius' kind voice again.

Harry swallowed, blinking quickly against the hot feeling pooling in his eyes, and scooped up all Hermione's work, piling it on top of the mirror as he quickly made his way to the ground floor toilet. Once inside, with the door firmly closed, he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get himself under control. He was an adult now, damn it. Tears shouldn't be pricking his eyes, and certainly not at his own party, which so many people had worked hard to arrange.

Another deep breath, and then one more, and then Harry nodded.

The past was past, and he couldn't do anything to change it. All he could do now was try to make the right decisions, day to day. The kinds of decision that Sirius and his parents, could be proud of.

And if he could get the Mirror of All Souls working . . .

Harry swallowed again, remembering that night in the cemetery, when he'd spoken briefly with the shades of his parents. It had all passed by so quickly, and he'd been in pain, and deep in shock from the horror of everything that had happened to him there . . . what would he have said to them if he'd had more time? Damn it, he wanted to talk with them when he wasn't in danger! He wanted that so badly that he could taste it.

He'd long thought it impossible, but now, it was hovering just out of reach.

All he had to do was master one mirror and repair another, and then he'd have what he'd longed for since the day he'd first understood what an orphan was.

And what would he say, exactly?

Did you know how much your sister hated magic, Mum?

Or maybe even harder . . . Say, Dad, I don't suppose you remember a classmate of yours, name of Severus Snape? Um . . .

Harry winced.

Well, there would be time enough later to decide what to say to them and how to say it. The important part, for now, was to take the first step of what might be a very long journey. Master a mirror of his own.

Time to try the first incantation and see how it worked.

Harry studied the diagram in the book again, then drew his wand and looked at it a little doubtfully. Best to start with wandless magic, as this was an untried spell and all, so he laid his wand on the bathroom counter, and flexed his fingers, sweeping his arm in the motion shown in the book.

A few repetitions of that, and he felt like he knew the motion well enough. Now, all he had to do was add the right words and direct the spell at the mirror, which he'd propped up on a folded towel on the counter.

The words were in Bulgarian. Middle Bulgarian, probably, but Hermione had translated the incantation: Stretch forth your ear and hear, oh wondrous silver mirror.

Harry chuckled a little, wondering if it all rhymed like that in the original. Not to mention, the idea that mirrors had one ear instead of two. Well, it was all figurative, anyway.