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Mirror of Erised AU

What if the Mirror of Erised didn’t arrive at Hogwarts in Harry’s first year? What if it arrived during Harry’s fourth year?

Warnings: unedited

Word count: 2.5k

Cedric Diggory was the first person to come across the mirror after its subtle arrival to the castle in the middle of the night. He was on his rounds. Ever the dutiful prefect, he opened every door, moving around his wand with the tip alight, casting strange shadows everywhere he went.

When he reached the mirror’s room, he glanced around it, confused that there was a whole room dedicated to a mirror alone when the closet next door had been overflowing. It must’ve been a very important artifact.

But then why hadn’t the professors told the prefects of its presence?

Curious, he stepped up to the mirror, reading the words engraved on the top. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

“Odd,” he said aloud, his eyes falling to his reflection.

His appearance looked the same as it had in every other mirror. Nothing was out of the ordinary, nothing at–

Wait.

The reflection shifted. At one moment, it’d shown the school robes he was wearing, the next, it depicted him in dress robes.

And coming up behind him in a lovely, white dress was Cho Chang.

His reflection turned to grin at her, and her answering smile looked just as it did in real life. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and it looked so realistic that Cedric was surprised when he didn’t feel the weight of her hand there.

Then he noticed the ring.

“Oh,” he breathed. He stepped back from the mirror, and the image disappeared. “What in Merlin’s name?”

He looked back at the inscription, deciding that he already knew what it meant. This must’ve been a mirror that showed the future. Stepping forward again, he gazed at Cho Chang’s ring and dress, losing his breath a little at the dazzling smile on her face.

Cedric stood there longer than he should’ve, but he allowed himself just an extra minute before backing away and leaving. He closed the door softly behind him, leaving the mirror behind. He didn’t need it anymore.

The image was gently impressed upon his mind like a kiss.

During the rest of his rounds, a blissful smile was never far from his face, even when he had to track down a fourth-year who’d somehow gotten out of their dormitory.

For if that was Cedric’s future, what a beautiful life he would lead.

The door to the nearly empty room opened, and Professor Severus Snape slipped inside. The headmaster had asked him to check on the mirror during his night on duty, to be sure that it’d survived transport.

From the doorway, he could tell that the mirror was intact, so his job was done. He could turn right around and report that all was well. In fact, Dumbledore would be expecting him soon.

Instead of leaving, he closed the door, edging closer.

He knew what—or more accurately, who—would be lingering in the reflection, so his motivation was hardly curiosity. His hands trembled at the idea of seeing her, but he knew he couldn’t resist. He finally stopped in front of the mirror, gazing at the reflection, willing it to change.

And when the red-haired woman stepped out of the background, his heart leapt high and then shattered on the ground with the sheer power her face held over him.

“Lily,” he breathed, his hand lifting of its own accord, reaching out for her. But his fingers didn’t meet with the soft skin of her face; they met with the cold surface of the enchanted reflection.

Lily’s mouth started moving, and Snape wished more than anything that he could hear her words, to hear her voice again after fourteen years. Alas, all he could do was gaze at her, and the brilliant joy living in her expression as she smiled at him made his fists curl up.

It was torture; having her in front of him like nothing ever happened, and yet knowing what had happened. Almost as torturous as having to daily see the corruption of Lily’s beautiful green eyes corrupted by James Potter’s features in their dastardly son.

But this reflection was all Lily, and it was perfection.

He knew he needed to wrench himself away.

He knew that this wasn’t real.

He knew this mirror had driven people mad.

But he couldn’t move, frozen by the sight of his heart’s greatest desire.

So there he remained, until the early rays of the sun started to poke over the mountains outside the window, and when he tore himself away, it was only after he promised the reflection he would come back.

Harry Potter slid into the room, looking for a place to hide away from the crowds of people sporting “Potter Stinks” badges, hoping for just one moment of reprieve from everyone’s opinions and expectations. He closed the door and slumped against it, puffing out his mouth with his exhale.

This blasted tournament was more trouble than it was worth. He couldn’t even make it to the Great Hall for breakfast without being confronted with it all.

He dropped his bag, running a hand over his face.

Ron still wasn’t speaking to him, and Hermione split her time with the two of them, trying to nudge them closer to reconciliation. She was wasting her time. Ron wanted nothing to do with him.

He shook his head, the familiar swirls of helplessness and frustration weighing down his insides far heavier than all the toast he likely would’ve eaten for breakfast.

He got up to leave when he caught sight of the mirror.

However off-putting the inscription in the frame was, the mirror seemed to be a normal mirror. But this was Hogwarts. If the room’s sole purpose was to contain the mirror, this mirror was special somehow.

Curious, he walked up to it, standing directly in front of it. He’d have expected something to jump out of the mirror or for the mirror to start talking, but nothing of the sort happened.

How anticlimactic.

Then, Harry squinted before pushing up the hair that covered his forehead.

He wasn’t imagining it.

His scar was gone.

He quickly lifted his hand, his fingers traced the slightly raised skin. His reflection also lifted its hand and touched his seemingly smooth forehead. He rotated his face this way and that, trying to see if it was some sort of optical illusion. But his reflection didn’t ripple or change, it simply moved with him.

Every time Harry ever looked in a mirror throughout the course of his life, that scar always looked back at him. It was eerie to not see it now. He didn’t look quite like himself without it.

And yet…

Perhaps this was a magical mirror that didn’t show the effects of curses. Or perhaps this mirror showed how life should’ve passed, as if Voldemort had never irrevocably altered Harry’s life.

Harry’s chest started aching, and he backed away from the mirror, shaking his head.

There was no point in wishing life was different, because life was what it was.

Picking up his bag, Harry left the room without once looking back.

“Trevor?” Neville called softly, pushing the door open and stepping into the room. If he would’ve stood at his full height, Neville might’ve been almost six foot, but it wasn’t only when he was looking for his pet toad that he rounded his shoulders and hunched his neck. “Trevor?”

Neville didn’t see the mirror at first, his gaze set on the floor where a toad might hide. When his sweep of the floor didn’t reveal any brown spots, Neville realized the room was quite empty.

His curious eyes settled on the mirror, running across the grand rectangular frame. Neville didn’t harbor any fondness for mirrors as they could only ever reveal disappointment, but there was something about this one. It didn’t shine or move like some pieces of enchanted furniture tended to do at Hogwarts, and yet there was a quality of otherness that drew him closer.

Neville inched forward, catching sight of himself.

His reflection didn’t hold anything more rewarding than it normally did, and he nearly winced at his big front teeth, his floppy hair, and his middle section that only ever seemed to grow bigger.

But then, suddenly, behind him stood his parents.

Not his parents as he knew them, with wide eyes and deathly gaunt faces, but a lot more the way they appeared in the pictures his grandmother had framed all over the house. Except…they had a few more wrinkles. And his mother had grown out her hair. And his father had a beard.

“Mom?” Neville croaked. “Dad?”

For nearly a year before Neville came to Hogwarts, he refused to go with his grandmother to go see his parents in St. Mungo’s. What was the point, he nearly yelled at his grandmother, when they don’t even know us?

But when he uttered those titles, their reflections smiled with enough life glimmering in their faces that he could never remember seeing: they recognized him.

Such a desire rose up in Neville’s chest to tell them everything. He wanted to admit to his parents that he hated potions and was likely to fail. He wanted to confide in them about how no one seemed to like him at this school, not the professors, not the students, not the ghosts, and not even the portraits. He wanted to tell them he was proud of them for being Aurors and standing up to You-Know-Who.

But what came out was: “How did you guys do it?” Neville tentatively sat in front of the mirror. “How were you both so brave? I’m scared of girls, I’m scared of professors, I’m even scared of Grandmother. How will I amount to anything if I’m scared of everything?” He watched their wise faces, waiting for his parents to speak to him, aching to hear their voices.

They didn’t speak, they simply watched Neville, smiling with pride and love.

His grandmother often said she greatly missed her son and daughter-in-law. Neville wished he could say he missed them too, but how can you miss someone you’ve never known?

The sight of his healthy parents started to hurt, and Neville looked away. “I have to find Trevor,” he said to the floor, wiping at his eyes before getting to his feet. He stopped by the door, glancing over his shoulder at the mirror, but the image of his parents was gone. Even so, Neville uttered a quiet farewell and left.

Draco barged into the room, slamming the door shut. His pained gasps echoed through the room as he sank to the floor. A professor had just Transfigured him into a ferret. In front of all his peers.

His cheeks burned as the pangs of pain died down.

He could still picture the glib satisfaction on Potter’s face as Draco’d been thrown up into the air like some sort of sick entertainment. How dare he. And how dare Mad-Eye Moody. Draco’s father would be furious when he heard, and the idea of Mr. Malfoy’s rage fortified him.

Draco got to his feet, strolling over to the mirror to check his hair. He smoothed his hands over the mussed parts. The sooner he could collect himself, the sooner he could go to Professor Snape and complain about what Mad-Eye Moody had done. Then the professor would be sorry.

The mirror was so filthy, Draco had to stoop to find a good angle to check his appearance. He humphed. Of course this rundown, pathetic excuse for a castle would devote a whole room to a mirror that looked like this.

Draco was about to turn away when the spotty reflection next to him shifted.

Was that…Granger?

Draco backed away immediately, sure that the know-it-all had found some way to spy on him in his humiliation. The form he loathed disappeared as soon as he stepped away.

Odd. If she were somehow watching him through the mirror, her image shouldn’t have left just because he moved. Unless she’d noticed his attention and was now hiding.

Draco stepped forward, an insult ready in his mouth for when her reflection would return after she’d thought he left.

But the buck-teeth and bushy hair reappeared immediately as he came closer. He was about to let the insult fly when he noticed the brown eyes weren’t narrowed in derision. Instead, they were open and almost…glowing. Yes, it was Granger, and she looked…happy. Her head was turned towards his reflection, but he could still see the soft smile toying with her lips.

Draco inhaled sharply and stumbled backwards, the image once again disappearing. “Must be a Zonko’s prank mirror,” he muttered. “Cheap trick to play on someone.” He lifted his nose into the air and turned his back on the mirror.

But even as he closed the door behind him, the image followed him farther than the confines of the room.

Twin redheads bounded into the room, shutting the door as silently and swiftly as they could. “Filch won’t know what hit him!” George whispered gleefully as they listened to the grumblings of the caretaker grow softer and softer.

“Or more importantly who,” Fred reminded. “That is not a mess I want to clean up.” Both boys turned around to look at the room. “What do you suppose that is?” Fred asked, staring at the mirror. “It’s never been here before.”

“Dunno.”

They looked over at each other, smiles growing on their faces. They darted forward, planting themselves in front of the mirror, eagerly waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

Fred whipped out his wand. “Revelio.” The twins waited for a message to appear or a trick switch to light up. “Maybe we have to read the inscription?” Fred asked.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” George rattled off. Still nothing happened. George stepped forward, running his fingers along the frame in the hopes that his fingers would catch on a lever or imperfection leading to a clue.

“Wait, it’s a mirror. What happens if we reverse the inscription?” Fred pointed at the message. “I show not your face but your heart’s desire.” Both twins looked in the mirror again, their eyes meeting in the reflection, waiting with bated breath for something to happen.

“It should’ve done something by now,” George whispered, as if the mirror might eavesdrop and react to his words.

“Aww, it’s just a regular mirror,” Fred said, looking severely disappointed.

“Too bad,” George answered. “Oh well, Filch’ll be gone by now.”

The twins left the room without so much as a second glance, their mind already occupied with dreams of mayhem and mischief.

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