Harry Potter: The Lion of the Serpent House

"...It's so beautiful, it's like it's pulling me in," Harry murmured.

The mirror in the empty classroom was massive, large enough to reflect three people—or even two adults—fully. Its frame was adorned with intricate, unfamiliar carvings.

"There's writing," Ron noticed, spotting text on the pedestal. Harry squinted at the reversed, barely legible script.

"Mirror writing," Hermione said, decoding it first. "'This shows not your face, but your heart's desire.'"

She looked up, blinked twice, and stared, entranced. Ron, like Harry at a Quidditch match, was equally captivated. Harry, too, was drawn in.

At first, he didn't recognize the figures in the mirror. Ron and Hermione were absent; instead, unfamiliar adults—a man with messy hair and glasses like Harry's, a woman with his green eyes—stood behind him, smiling. Like figures in a magical photo, they tousled his hair or waved wands to fix it. The image grew sharper, deeper.

Dad and Mum? Harry recalled Sirius and others saying he resembled his father and had his mother's eyes.

In the mirror, Harry wasn't raised by the Dursleys. His forehead bore no lightning scar. He learned magic from his parents, played Quidditch with Zabini and others—Ron, the twins, even Draco. He flew freely, unafraid of Bludgers. Returning home exhausted, his parents welcomed him in his Slytherin robes with warm smiles.

Harry forgot he was in an empty classroom with Ron and Hermione.

"Harry! Harry!" Ron's voice snapped him back, his cheek stinging from a nudge. Harry had pressed his hands to the mirror, peering in.

"What… Hermione, is this…?"

"A magical illusion," Hermione said, cheeks flushed. "I saw myself topping every test."

"I was Quidditch captain and Head Boy," Ron admitted, ears red.

"I think… I saw my parents," Harry said quietly.

The two fell silent.

"We shouldn't come back here. Staring at this isn't healthy," Hermione warned.

"My dad says never trust something if you can't see its brain. Could be Dark Magic," Ron agreed.

They wanted nothing more to do with the mirror, but Harry couldn't shake the vivid, lifelike images.

From that night, Harry returned alone, obsessed, chasing his parents' phantoms. A warning bell rang in his mind—no soul exists there—but it paled against the mirror's allure.

"Enough," a voice interrupted.

Albus Dumbledore stood there, his white hair framing eyes heavy with sorrow. "Headmaster, I'm sorry. I broke the rules to see this," Harry apologized, bracing for punishment.

But Dumbledore didn't reprimand him. "This mirror shows your deepest desires. Wizards and witches, even adults, fall under its spell. How could I blame you?"

He didn't scold Harry's explorations. His next words struck harder.

"Some things, even if unneeded or meant to be destroyed, can't be. This mirror shouldn't be here. My mistake. It'll be moved."

"No! My dad was there! My mum too!" Harry shouted, forgetting Dumbledore's authority. He longed to stay in that world.

"Harry, no matter how vivid, how wonderful, it's not real," Dumbledore said gently.

Harry agreed, resentment simmering. "In the mirror, my parents were happy I'm Slytherin."

"Sirius and Hagrid said they're glad I'm Slytherin. Would my parents be too?" Harry confessed his doubts. Dumbledore's gaze was sad—and, unbeknownst to Harry, coldly calculating.

"Your father and Sirius were like twins. If Sirius said so, it's as if your father did," Dumbledore assured.

Harry's heart lifted slightly, teetering on dependence. Dumbledore offered answers.

"People say I'm like a Gryffindor, but I'm Slytherin and proud. Yet they say I'm not Slytherin enough…"

"I don't think you're un-Slytherin, Harry," Dumbledore said with conviction. "Salazar Slytherin valued resolute will, cunning, and a tendency to break rules when needed—traits shared with Godric Gryffindor. You're not Gryffindor-like. You embody Slytherin's ideals more than most."

Harry beamed.

"And I believe you'll choose your path by your own will, not just your talents," Dumbledore added.

"Choose by my will?" Harry asked, puzzled.

Dumbledore nodded, trusting Harry but subtly distancing him. "We all err. I once wronged Sirius. Is he well?"

"Yes, he writes to me often," Harry replied, surprised Dumbledore knew Sirius, who never mentioned him.

"I owe you an apology about Sirius," Dumbledore said, his words crushing Harry. "When your parents were killed, I suspected Sirius of betrayal and didn't defend him. When he tried to protect you as your godfather, I sent you to Muggle relatives, following their customs. Sirius blames himself for not being there, but the fault is mine. I robbed you both of happiness."

Harry stumbled back to his dorm, staring at his desk. An Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog card lay there. He cast Incendio. The card's Dumbledore looked pained but didn't blame Harry, gazing at him sadly.

It's your fault.

Fury surged, and Harry cast Incendio again to burn it completely.

"Stop," a voice hissed.

Asclepius, his grass snake, stared with round eyes. "Not like you."

Harry lowered his wand, ashamed. "You're right," he whispered, thanking his beloved snake.

The card, fireproofed by magic, survived. Harry kept it as a reminder, his heart heavy with anger at Dumbledore and sorrow for his actions.

When Zabini and the others returned post-Christmas, Harry rejoiced in real friends. He had to forget the mirror's world and move forward for himself and those here now.