Hearing the earnest, slightly cliché wishes—the shouts for passing grades, brilliant inventions, and sudden wealth—Sebastian smiled, a knowing glint in his eye.
"You silly, shouting children," he thought, amused. "Don't they know that if desires were granted merely by volume, the Hogwarts corridors would be paved in gold and floating to the moon?"
He squinted up at the fading sparks of the magical fireworks, the magnificent spectacle now giving way to the cold, star-dusted night sky. The wishes they expressed were superficial, surface-level goals.
But Sebastian knew that deep within the heart of any witch or wizard—especially one as young and magically sensitive as these—lay a singular, powerful yearning. He thought of the Mirror of Erised. It was the perfect counterpoint to their festive bravado, a sobering, yet illuminating, magical instrument.
He was driven by a sharp curiosity. How would these boys, so open and defined by their public personas, react when confronted with the raw, untainted truth of their own deepest desires?
Sebastian, a professor who preferred demonstration over theory, brought the boys back to Hogwarts before dawn had fully broken the next morning. The cold air of the castle was sharper, the silence more profound than the festive, bustling halls of Swann Manor.
Fred was the first to voice his mounting impatience, practically vibrating with restless energy as they ascended a rarely used staircase.
"Professor, you have to level with us," Fred pleaded, throwing an arm around George's shoulders for support.
"A magic mirror that reveals your inner desires? Why, that sounds like the most spectacularly useful piece of magical equipment in the whole castle! George and I have been systematically mapping this place since our second week here. We have the Marauder's Map, sir! We've poked and prodded every last cupboard and broom closet, and we've never seen an empty classroom holding anything more interesting than forgotten textbooks or a disgruntled poltergeist."
George nodded sagely, his expression a mixture of professional skepticism and intense curiosity. "Exactly, Professor Swann. If such a powerful, interesting artifact existed, located in an accessible classroom, we should have found it long ago. We suspect some serious, possibly Ministry-level Concealment Charms are at play, or perhaps… you are indulging in a bit of holiday hyperbole, sir?"
Percy, marching behind them, held his usual, starched demeanor, but his internal debate was fierce. He glared at his younger brothers, appalled by their casual insolence toward a professor. Yet, his own mind was racing. He tried to dismiss the whole excursion as Sebastian's eccentric whim—a bizarre way to trick the twins into leaving the manor—but the growing doubt was too compelling.
Is it possible? Percy wondered, adjusting his prefect badge and quickening his stride to keep pace with Sebastian. If there really is a mirror that bypasses all pretense... what would I see? Would it confirm my destiny? The full confidence of the Minister of Magic? The O.W.L. results that scream 'perfection'? Or perhaps something far simpler, like the unreserved, open respect of my brothers?
The idea was terrifyingly intriguing. He had to know.
Sebastian, ignoring the twins' skeptical chatter and Percy's internal turmoil, finally halted before a heavy oak door that looked identical to a hundred others lining the corridor. It belonged to an inconspicuous classroom, far enough from the main flow of traffic to be easily forgotten.
He smiled mysteriously at the boys. "Let's just see if your formidable map has missed a trick, shall we?" He pushed the door open, revealing a long-abandoned room.
A thick layer of dust coated the floor, disturbed only by a single set of adult footprints leading inward. Old desks and chairs were haphazardly stacked against the cold stone walls. But against the inner wall, bathed in the faint, silvery moonlight streaming through a narrow, arched window, stood a magnificent object: the Mirror of Erised.
It was taller than any of the students, ancient and imposing. Intricate, gilded patterns—runes and mystical symbols—were etched into its massive frame, seemingly recording centuries of silent history and observation.
Sebastian's eyes scanned the room briefly. As his gaze fell upon a sturdy wooden chair tucked away in the shadows, he noticed something interesting: the chair itself was free of dust. It looked as though someone had recently sat there, frequently, in prolonged contemplation. Sebastian knew exactly who it was.
Dumbledore. The Chief Warlock was clearly still spending his nights here, staring at the reflection of his own complex, broken past, wrestling with the implications of the Philosopher's Stone's protection.
Sebastian's brief, private moment of reflection was instantly shattered by the cacophony of the twins.
"I knew it! A Disillusionment Charm must have been placed on the room itself, George!" Fred yelled, immediately pulling out a notepad to scrawl notes on the mirror's probable location relative to the library.
"And it's so close! Professor, you've just proven that we need to add Charm-detection to the Map's capabilities!" George declared, his frustration at being outwitted replaced by a scientist's fierce excitement.
Sebastian turned to them, amused by their focus on the charm rather than the magic itself, but his attention was caught by Percy, who was already standing close to the mirror, trying desperately to decipher the ancient inscription carved across the top.
"Professor, what does this actually mean?" Percy asked, his voice strained with concentration, "I've tried the reversal spell, but the syntax is unfamiliar—is it medieval Latin, sir?"
"It's simpler than you think, Percy," Sebastian replied, walking over and resting a hand lightly on the prefect's shoulder. "It's actually a word puzzle. If you read the entire inscription backwards, it reveals its true meaning: 'I show you not your face, but your heart's deepest desire.'"
The sentence hung in the air, heavy with implication. The boys quieted instantly, gazing at the mirror with a new, reverent respect.
"As I told you at dinner, the mirror doesn't show a simple reflection," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping to a low, mesmerizing tone. "It presents a scene so vivid, so real, that it feels entirely within your grasp. It reveals what your soul truly, fundamentally craves."
Ron swallowed hard, moving closer, his earlier excitement now mingled with genuine apprehension. "And… why did you say it can be dangerous, Professor?"
Sebastian took a deliberate pause, letting his eyes sweep over the four eager faces.
"Because the image it reveals is often something that is lost, unfulfilled, or unattainable," he explained.
"You might see a lost loved one, a perfect victory you never achieved, or a dream that the real world will simply never grant. The mirror can become a psychological trap. It shows you the most beautiful thing you can imagine, then holds it just out of reach, enthralling you, fascinating you, and ultimately, infuriating you."
He stepped back, gesturing toward the ancient frame. "But its inherent magic also forces a confrontation with the self. Forget the surface shouts of last night—money, fame, grades. This mirror will reflect the deepest truth of your heart. Wealth? Power? Family? Acceptance? Whatever it is, you must learn to face that truth and understand what truly drives you."
"I only want you to use it for self-knowledge," Sebastian concluded. "What you see is not what is, but a tool to understand the goal that matters most to you right now. Take a look, one by one. But remember: It is a tool of truth, not a source of power."
The boys needed no further urging. Ron, driven by a sudden surge of nervous curiosity, stumbled forward first, standing directly before the towering glass.
Ron was expecting to see himself standing next to a massive pile of gold, maybe riding a top-of-the-line racing broom. Instead, the image that appeared was far more complex.
Ron saw himself standing tall, wearing pristine, non-hand-me-down robes, clutching a heavy, shining trophy—not just a trophy, but one awarded for The Most Outstanding Brother. He was surrounded by his siblings—Charlie, Bill, and Percy—all looking at him with pride and admiration.
He wasn't simply famous; he was acknowledged and set apart from the long line of Weasley achievements, free from the burden of being "the sixth son."
Ron blinked, his face turning a deep, shocked red. "Merlin's beard," he whispered, backing away quickly. "I see… I see myself as Quidditch Captain, and I'm Head Boy. And I'm taller than Percy." He chose to share the less vulnerable parts of his vision, masking the deep-seated desire for recognition that the mirror had exposed.
Next came the twins, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, daring the mirror to outwit them.
When the glass cleared, Fred and George saw not only themselves, but a glorious, sprawling Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Empire—not just a shop, but a complex that rivaled Gringotts.
They were surrounded by blueprints for impossible magical jokes, their faces etched into the very walls of the castle as Legendary Innovators who changed the very fabric of school life, their inventions being studied as mandatory curriculum. The look on their reflected faces was not mere amusement, but profound, world-altering creative accomplishment.
"That's brilliant! We were right! The goal is to revolutionize the industry, not just start a shop," Fred said, nudging George excitedly, ignoring the deeper psychological craving for their mischief to be recognized as genius.
Percy stepped up next, his movements stiff and formal. He had braced himself for the reflection of a perfect Minister of Magic. What the mirror showed him was indeed that: he was seated at the highest desk in the Ministry, flanked by powerful subordinates.
But the true detail was the image beyond his window: his father, Arthur, watching him with an expression of unqualified, tearful pride, the final, total validation of Percy's chosen path.
Percy stared, a complex mixture of determination and sadness washing over him. "I see… myself receiving the Order of Merlin, First Class," he stated stiffly, again, only sharing the surface victory.
Finally, it was Harry's turn. The playful mood immediately evaporated. The weight of his identity—the Boy Who Lived—meant everyone present understood his reflection would be the most profound.
Harry approached the mirror slowly, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He expected to see a climactic scene: himself standing victoriously over Voldemort, perhaps celebrated as the greatest hero of the age. He braced himself for a vision of battle and destiny.
When the ancient mirror's surface shimmered, what Harry saw was not a battlefield, but a simple, ordinary scene.
He saw his mother, Lily, tall and smiling, her eyes bright green and full of fierce love, standing beside his father, James, who was grinning mischievously and resting a hand affectionately on Harry's shoulder.
There were other people, too—his grandparents, perhaps, and other figures who looked like family. They were laughing, warm, and real. In the center of the group, Harry—the reflected Harry—was holding a shimmering, captured Golden Snitch with an expression of easy, deep-seated joy.
The simple fact was devastating. He wasn't a world-saving hero; he was just Harry, a normal, beloved boy in the middle of a complete family.
Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He saw his parents, smiling, alive, present.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of grief washed over him, completely silencing the academic and heroic thoughts he had held all his life.
The great quest, the defeat of the Dark Lord, the notoriety—all of it faded into insignificance. The true, fundamental ache in his heart was the need for the simplest of human connections.
Harry stood there, unable to move, unable to speak, tears welling up in his eyes.
Voldemort… the prophecy… they aren't what matters most, he realized, the truth hitting him like a physical blow. What I want more than anything is the life I lost. A complete family.
The silence in the classroom was profound, broken only by Ron's sharp, concerned intake of breath. The other boys, seeing the deep distress and the silent intensity radiating from Harry, immediately understood the power of the mirror's revelation.
Sebastian, observing from the shadows, saw the raw, exposed pain on Harry's face and knew the lesson was complete, perhaps too complete. He quickly stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm.
"That's enough, Harry. The mirror reveals the past and the missing pieces of your heart, but it is not a window to the future," Sebastian said, guiding Harry away from the glass. "It can consume you if you let it. Now, let's go back to the manor. Mia has decided we must have a second, smaller Christmas dessert feast."
He successfully steered the stunned, silent boys out of the room, leaving the grand, beautiful, and dangerous Mirror of Erised alone in the dust and the quiet, echoing cold.
Do you think Harry will confide in Sebastian or Mia about what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, or will he keep the profound realization of his desire for family a secret?