“You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody’s been in the library Restricted Section.”
Harry felt the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he was, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice was getting nearer, and to his horror, it was Snape who replied, “The Restricted Section? Well, they can’t be far, we’ll catch them.”
Harry stood rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape came around the corner ahead. They couldn’t see him, of course, but it was a narrow corridor and if they came much nearer they’d knock right into him—the cloak didn’t stop him from being solid.
He backed away as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it, and to his relief he managed to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walked straight past, and Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. That had been close, very close. It was a few seconds before he noticed anything about the room he had hidden in.
It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn’t look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.
It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. His panic fading now that there was no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again. He stepped in front of it.
He had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirled around. His heart was pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed—for he had seen not only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him. But the room was empty. Breathing very fast, he turned slowly back to the mirror.
There he was, reflected in it, white and scared looking, and there, reflected behind him, were at least ten others. Harry looked over his shoulder—but still, no one was there. Or were they all invisible, too? Was he in fact in a room full of invisible people and this mirror’s trick was that it reflected them, invisible or not?
He looked in the mirror again. A woman standing right behind his reflection was smiling at him and waving. He reached out a hand and felt the air behind him. If she was really there, he’d touch her, their reflections were so close together, but he felt only air—she and the others existed only in the mirror.
She was a very pretty woman. She had dark red hair and her eyes—her eyes are just like mine, Harry thought, edging a little closer to the glass. Bright green—exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was very untidy. It stuck up at the back, just as Harry’s did.
Harry was so close to the mirror now that his nose was nearly touching that of his reflection.
“Mom?” he whispered. “Dad?”
They just looked at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looked into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and saw other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man who looked as though he had Harry’s knobbly knees—Harry was looking at his family, for the first time in his life.
The Potters smiled and waved at Harry and he stared hungrily back at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through it and reach them. He had a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.
How long he stood there, he didn’t know. The reflections did not fade and he looked and looked until a distant noise brought him back to his senses. He couldn’t stay here, he had to find his way back to bed. He tore his eyes away from his mother’s face, whispered, “I’ll come back,” and hurried from the room.
“You could have woken me up,” said Ron, crossly.
“You can come tonight, I’m going back, I want to show you the mirror.”
“I’d like to see your mom and dad,” Ron said eagerly.
“And I want to see all your family, all the Weasleys, you’ll be able to show me your other brothers and everyone.”
“You can see them any old time,” said Ron. “Just come round my house this summer. Anyway, maybe it only shows dead people. Shame about not finding Flamel, though. Have some bacon or something, why aren’t you eating anything?”
Harry couldn’t eat. He had seen his parents and would be seeing them again tonight. He had almost forgotten about Flamel. It didn’t seem very important anymore. Who cared what the three headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it, really?
“Are you all right?” said Ron. “You look odd.”
What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing Harry’s route from the library, wandering around the dark passageways for nearly an hour.
“I’m freezing,” said Ron. “Let’s forget it and go back.”
“No!” Harry hissed. I know it’s here somewhere.”
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite direction, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.
“It’s here—just here—yes!”
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of him.
“See?” Harry whispered.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Look! Look at them all… there are loads of them…”
“I can only see you.”
“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.”
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he couldn’t see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
“Look at me!” he said.
“Can you see all your family standing around you?”
“No—I’m alone—but I’m different—I look older—and I’m head boy!”
“What?”
“I am—I’m wearing the badge like Bill used to—and I’m holding the house cup and the Quidditch cup—I’m Quidditch captain, too.”
Ron tore his eyes away from this splendid sight to look excitedly at Harry.
“Do you think this mirror shows the future?”
“How can it? All my family are dead—let me have another look—”
“You had it to yourself all last night, give me a bit more time.”
“You’re only holding the Quidditch cup, what’s interesting about that? I want to see my parents.”
“Don’t push me—”
A sudden noise outside in the corridor put an end to their discussion. They hadn’t realized how loudly they had been talking.
“Quick!”
Ron threw the cloak back over them as the luminous eyes of Mrs. Norris came round the door. Ron and Harry stood quite still, both thinking the same thing—did the cloak work on cats? After what seemed an age, she turned and left.
“This isn’t safe—she might have gone for Filch, I bet she heard us. Come on.”
And Ron pulled Harry out of the room.
The snow still hadn’t melted the next morning.
“Want to play chess, Harry?” said Ron.
“No.”
“Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?”
“No… you go…”
“I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t go back tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it—and anyway, you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs. Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?”