Dumbledore stepped forward and gently pulled away the dusty cloth.
Dust drifted through the empty room like silver glitter, and beneath the cloth stood a grand, towering mirror—so tall it nearly reached the ceiling, shaped like a massive archway.
Its base rested on two claw-shaped supports, and a line of thin, glowing words shimmered across the top under the moonlight:
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
"I don't show your reflection. I show your heart's desire."
Rock didn't step forward yet—he stood to the side, quietly reading the words.
Dumbledore smiled kindly as he walked to the mirror, though his bright blue eyes deliberately avoided the glass.
"This is the Mirror of Erised."
His voice echoed through the empty room. Rock stared at him, and a sudden thought crept into his mind:
What would happen if I tricked Dumbledore into looking at it right now?
"Rock?"
Dumbledore's voice snapped him out of it.
"I'm here, Headmaster."
Rock blinked and gave him his attention.
With a steady, unreadable gaze behind his glasses, Dumbledore motioned him forward.
Rock hesitated for two seconds before stepping closer.
To be honest, he really didn't want to look into this thing.
"Some of my old friends call it the Mirror of Desire. It shows neither truth nor the future," Dumbledore said softly, looking down at him. "It only reveals the deepest longing of our hearts. The happiest man alive would see nothing but his true self."
"So, Rock… what do you see?"
Rock glanced at Dumbledore, trying to read him, but learned nothing.
Then he turned to the mirror.
His reflection stood there—and in the reflection's other hand… was a potion bottle?
Rock frowned. He lifted his hand.
His reflection copied the motion perfectly.
But that bottle in the other hand didn't disappear.
What the hell?
Rock stepped closer. The reflection did too.
This time he noticed something new—the reflection's irises were swirling slowly, like a silver-gray nebula rotating in his pupils.
"Headmaster, do my eyes look different than usual?"
Dumbledore, who had been waiting patiently, avoided the mirror and leaned down to check Rock's eyes.
After a moment he shook his head. "No, Rock. They're exactly the same."
Rock turned back to the mirror.
Same scene.
Except now his reflection lifted a hand and motioned for him to look at the potion again.
It looked ordinary enough—the liquid just happened to match the strange nebula color in the reflection's eyes.
Then the reflection's mouth moved silently.
"Thread?!"
Rock repeated the word aloud—then froze, staring at the mirror in disbelief.
His reflection simply smiled, shook the potion bottle… and stopped moving.
Rock's mind, however, exploded like a storm surge.
"Thread"…
He had only discovered that tonight in the Room of Requirement. But—
No.
Dumbledore said the mirror only showed one's deepest desires.
Rock forced himself to breathe, trying to calm the knot of unease in his chest.
It was an illusion.
A trick.
He stepped back quickly—almost fearfully.
This mirror was seriously messed up.
Just a few minutes and it nearly hooked him with one simple hint.
"What's wrong?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Headmaster… was there something you needed from me tonight?" Rock asked cautiously. A moment later he realized he sounded defensive and gave Dumbledore a polite bow. "This mirror… honestly scares me."
Dumbledore smiled, waved his hand, and the cloth floated back over the mirror.
"Remarkable, Rock. Most people can't pull away that quickly. Many fall in love with what the mirror shows—some go mad."
He guided Rock to the other side of the old classroom.
"The night of the troll, you did exceptionally well. Calm, efficient, and wise. You prevented a disaster and saved your classmates."
"But you saved Harry Potter and his friends without wanting recognition. Can you tell me why, my clever child?"
Seriously? That's what this is about?
Rock stared at him in confusion. Their eyes met.
"Headmaster, knowledge doesn't seek applause."
"And… Hermione helped me with my studies. Stepping in was just the right thing to do."
Dumbledore listened quietly, fingertips pressed together. When Rock finished, his eyes sparkled with delight.
"Brilliant. A very Ravenclaw—and very profound—answer."
Rock didn't reply. He just blinked.
He still didn't get why Dumbledore waited on the fourth floor just to talk about this.
Dumbledore winked, mischief flashing behind his glasses.
"But I'm afraid I still have to deduct five points for 'wandering the school after midnight'… And then award Ravenclaw fifty points for your extraordinary demonstration of true wisdom."
Rock stared at him.
Right now, he wished he had Queenie's ability to read minds.
What was Dumbledore thinking?
"Well then, good night, Rock. Time to return to your common room."
He ruffled Rock's hair gently and gestured toward the exit.
Rock nodded and headed for the door. Just before stepping out, he turned back.
"Headmaster… when did you receive that item?"
"Ah. A question of timing."
"When greed stops hiding in the castle and begins its open chase…
When guardians wake from slumber…
When courage starts gathering on its own—
These are the signs."
"That's when the thing must leave its quiet harbor
and sail straight into the storm."
Dumbledore winked. "I imagine identifying those signs won't be difficult for you."
Rock: …
Of course. Knew it. Damn Riddler.
Would it kill him to just say things clearly?
Why talk like a prophecy machine?!
Rock kept a stiff but polite smile, though the corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably.
"I understand, Headmaster. I'll… keep an eye out."