"Harry, let's leave before someone comes in," Victor whispered, already taking a cautious step back.
"What happens if someone comes in?" a calm voice asked behind them.
"Of course we would just sneak awa—" Victor cut himself off mid-sentence.
That was not Harry's voice.
Slowly—very slowly—Victor turned.
Professor Dumbledore stood a few steps away, hands folded inside his sleeves, half-moon spectacles glinting softly in the candlelight. His expression was mild, almost amused.
Victor nudged Harry sharply.
Harry startled, tore his gaze from the mirror, and spun around. "Professor Dumbledore—!"
"You two," Dumbledore said gently, eyes flicking from Harry to Victor and then, briefly, to the Mirror of Erised. "Should be fast asleep in your dormitories."
The silence stretched.
"Well," Victor said after a beat, forcing a polite smile, "technically we were on our way to bed."
Dumbledore's eyebrow rose—just a fraction.
"And somehow," he said pleasantly, "you took a wrong turn and somehow ended up in this room."
Harry swallowed.
"Care to explain," Dumbledore continued mildly, "why you are wandering the castle at night… rather than dreaming peacefully in your dormitories?"
Victor sighed inwardly.
So much for sneaking away.
"Um," he began, then gestured vaguely at the corridor, "we were… taking in some fresh air."
He nudged Harry lightly with his elbow. Support me here. Don't just stand there.
Harry blinked, clearly torn between honesty and panic. "Y-yes, sir. Fresh air. Very… brisk tonight."
Dumbledore regarded them both for a long moment. His expression suggested he was carefully deciding whether to pretend he believed them.
"Fresh air," Dumbledore repeated mildly. "Inside a sealed castle. At midnight."
Victor winced. "I meant… fresh enough air," he said, then added quickly, "relative to our dormitories. Lots of people in one room. Very… stale."
There was a pause.
Dumbledore regarded him over the rim of his spectacles. "But you have separate dormitories," he said mildly. "How did you come to be wandering together?"
Victor's smile stiffened—only a fraction, but enough.
"We didn't exactly leave together," he said. "Hogwarts has a talent for… rearranging people. Corridors, staircases, wrong turns. Very efficient at that."
Harry nodded a little too fast. "Yes—er—stairs. They move."
Dumbledore's eyes flicked briefly to the boy, then back to Victor, amusement glinting faintly. "Ah," he said. "The castle does enjoy encouraging chance encounters."
Victor relaxed a fraction. That sounded less like an accusation and more like a gentle reminder.
"And," Dumbledore added pleasantly, his gaze flicking between them, "it is always good to see students from different Houses getting along—especially Gryffindor and Slytherin."
Victor inclined his head, accepting the remark with polite neutrality.
"Now," Dumbledore said, turning toward the corridor, "off to bed. The castle reveals many interesting things at night—but not all of them are meant to be lingered over."
Harry didn't move. His eyes were still fixed on the glass.
"Professor," he asked quietly, "what is this mirror? Why can I see my parents in it? They're dead… so why can I see them?"
Dumbledore stopped.
For a moment, he simply looked at Harry, his expression softening. Then he turned back toward the mirror.
"This," he said gently, "is the Mirror of Erised."
Harry frowned. "Erised?"
"'Desire,' spelled backward," Dumbledore explained. "The mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts."
Harry swallowed.
"For you," Dumbledore went on, "who have never known your parents, the deepest desire is to see them standing beside you. Alive. Smiling. Whole."
Harry nodded slowly. That felt… right.
"But the mirror does not give knowledge," Dumbledore said. "Or truth. It does not show the future. It shows only longing."
He glanced meaningfully at both boys. "Many have lost themselves staring into it, forgetting to live the lives they actually have. That is why it is dangerous."
His eyes lingered on Harry.
"So do not dwell on what you see in the mirror," he added gently. "Focus instead on the present."
Harry looked at the reflection one last time.
"I… understand," he said, though his voice was still tight.
Dumbledore's smile returned, calm and reassuring. "Good. Now—off to bed."
Victor nodded quickly. "Yes," he said. He really didn't want to stay a second longer—Dumbledore's gaze had a way of making people feel transparently dishonest.
Harry stepped on his robe, sending him stumbling forward.
"Oof—sorry!" Harry whispered.
Victor stumbled half a step.
Something slipped loose inside his robes.
Clink.
The sound echoed far too loudly in the quiet corridor.
Victor's stomach dropped.
He didn't even need to look down to know what it was.
Slowly—painfully slowly—the silver diadem slid across the stone floor and came to rest right in front of Dumbledore's shoes.
Of all places.
Of all moments.
Of all people.
'Fuck me,' Victor thought flatly.
Dumbledore paused. He looked down, then bent and picked the diadem up, holding it lightly between his fingers. His eyes lingered on it for a brief moment—long enough for Victor to imagine every possible disastrous outcome.
Victor swallowed.
'That's it,' he thought. 'I'm done.'
Even though no one officially knew where Ravenclaw's diadem had been lost, plenty of people knew what it looked like.
Which meant Victor was fairly certain about one thing.
He'd just very publicly dropped a legendary lost artefact at the feet of the most perceptive wizard alive.
But instead of questioning him, or even reacting at all, Dumbledore simply stepped forward and placed the diadem back into Victor's hands.
"This looks like something precious," he said gently. "Do take care not to lose it."
Victor blinked.
"…Yes, sir," he said, accepting it with what he hoped passed for a calm expression.
Dumbledore's gaze rested on him for a second longer—thoughtful, amused, impossible to read—then he inclined his head.
"Good night, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter."
Victor and Harry didn't wait—they bolted.
It was a good thing they weren't being punished for breaking curfew; if one of the stricter professors had caught them, they'd surely have been in serious trouble.
The moment they were out of sight, Victor let out a slow, careful breath.
He still didn't understand why Dumbledore hadn't asked about the diadem. Perhaps it was because of Harry. Perhaps the Headmaster had chosen not to press, not yet.
Either way, Victor was certain of one thing.
Albus Dumbledore's attention had settled on him now—and once it did, it never truly let go.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 49 🔥
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