Chapter 175: The Magic Mirror

In a corner of the corridor.

There stood a gleaming suit of armor, atop which sat a cat as black as ink.

The black cat leapt forward and transformed into a young wizard, silently leaving the corridor.

Sir’s pony trusted the knight’s code more than he did; when he was not entirely sincere—or failed to fully embody knightly spirit—Wizard Sean guessed he could never ride it.

So he came to check, only to find Sir had tricked the prefect.

In the Hope Hut.

Wizard Sean lit a magical candle on his seat.

For two days straight, he read and organized these notes.

Admittedly, though the notes were fragmented and sometimes wildly odd—like whether the water from the ancient magical script’s “Spring Water” spell could be drunk…

Yet they contained sections on advanced Runes that Tera’s notes lacked.

In Tera’s notes, perhaps fearing Wizard Sean would attempt overly dangerous experiments, references to advanced Runes were scarce.

Like Columbus discovering a new continent, Wizard Sean found the most crucial Runes in other notes.

They were, in fact, case studies of failed wizards—but their failures weren’t meaningless; at least Wizard Sean learned some useful ancient Runes. For instance, in Old Futhark’s Runic poetry, g stood for gift, positivity, miracle; o stood for possession, acquiring things beyond consciousness and experience.

These runes would be helpful in wizarding transformations into magical creatures.

Relying on these notes, Wizard Sean also developed ideas about magical script and materials.

When Professor Tera returned, Wizard Sean could begin preparing Catling Cookies.

The third evening of the Christmas holiday.

Harry and Ron suddenly rushed into the Hope Hut.

“Wizard Sean, you have to come with us!”

He spoke with serious intent.

…

Nightfall.

The castle slept. From nearby on the fourth-floor corridor came hushed whispers.

“Will you put it on, Wizard Sean?”

A voice spoke from the air—it was Harry beneath the Invisibility Cloak, with trembling Ron beside him.

Wizard Sean shook his head and cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself.

【You practiced the Disillusionment Charm at a proficient level, Skill +10】

He never passed up an opportunity to practice spells.

“You’re…?”

Harry’s eyes widened.

“I think I read about this—it’s the Disillusionment Charm?!”

Ron gasped, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

The three began their mission.

Wizard Sean had no real desire to come—but suddenly he remembered: what if the Mirror showed him books he’d overlooked but deeply longed for?

Memory sometimes deceives, and a quick trip wouldn’t take long.

December always brought more snow, sometimes biting winds; in the corridor, Ron was shivering.

“I’m frozen solid,”

said Ron,

“Let’s not search anymore. Let’s go back.”

“No!”

Harry rasped,

“I know it’s somewhere nearby.”

The three passed a tall wizard’s ghost drifting from the opposite direction but saw no one else.

Just as Ron began whining that his feet were turning to ice, Harry spotted the armor.

“It’s here—right here—yes!”

They pushed open the door. Harry shrugged off the Invisibility Cloak and sprinted to the mirror.

He saw—still there. His mother and father, upon seeing him, beamed with joy.

Ron froze too; as Harry turned slightly, Ron saw himself wearing the Prefect badge Bill had once worn—holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup—was he really the Quidditch team captain?!

Wizard Sean silently revealed himself, scanning the room. It looked like an abandoned classroom.

Desks and chairs piled against the walls cast thick, dark shadows; there was also an overturned trash bin—but on the wall directly opposite hung something that clearly didn’t belong, as if someone had temporarily placed it there for lack of space.

It was a grand mirror, reaching to the ceiling, its ornate golden frame resting on two clawed feet. At its top, an inscription: Eris, Strala, Ehrul, Aiteubi, Kafelu, Aiteon, Vohes.

Wizard Sean knew that reversed, it read: The Mirror of Erised shows the viewer their deepest, most desperate desire.

So what would he see?

Wizard Sean grew curious.

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron were still bickering:

“You watched it all night yesterday—give me some time now.”

said Ron.

“You’re just holding the Quidditch Cup—what’s so great about that? I want to see my parents.”

Harry retorted.

“Don’t shove me—”

“Oh—Ron, didn’t you remember? Wizard Sean!”

“Merlin—how could I have forgotten!”

Harry and Ron, embarrassed, turned back and quickly made room for Wizard Sean.

Wizard Sean nodded and stepped before the mirror.

At the same moment, a figure slowly emerged.

A pair of pure, deep green eyes—Wizard Sean gazed into them for a moment, then heard Harry stammer.

“Oh no, Wizard Sean, why—why does it just look like a normal mirror now?”

Only Wizard Sean knew how much the mirror had changed in that instant.

Soon, the night grew deeper.

A black cat slipped back through the shadows, swiftly transforming into a black-robed young wizard.

Wizard Sean stared into those green eyes, and the image grew slightly blurred.

The first scene: an old orphanage, the dead children reappearing;

then the towering silhouette of Hogwarts Castle, the Great Hall, every professor’s figure clear—even Dumbledore at the head table blinked.

These images flashed past; finally, only a young wizard with black hair and green eyes gazed steadily back at Wizard Sean.

“So for you, it’s just an ordinary mirror… Oh, you don’t mind me seeing your past?”

A wizard with long, white beard emerged from the shadows, his voice now softer:

“The children I saw… are they still alive?”

Wizard Sean said, “Headmaster Dumbledore,” then shook his head.

“I grieve for them. But child, I once knew a man who stood in a place just as hateful.

He had talent, he was exceptional—he, like you, wanted to escape, to rise above, to shine brilliantly.

But child, why… does happiness satisfy you so easily?”

Wizard Sean knew who the Headmaster meant—it was no one else but the Headmaster himself.

“The past is a ghost, Headmaster Dumbledore. To me, it’s insubstantial, without weight. The future holds meaning.

…Even imagined futures are unreliable. My intuition has always told me one truth: relying on yourself gives the greatest chance.”

Dumbledore admitted he had never seen such a remarkable wizard—a resilient life, stumbling toward its own home.

He saw the fleeting image of Hogwarts Castle, the unyielding will forged in silence, perhaps even unknown to the boy himself.

This land had endured ten centuries of desolation and hardness; when the biting wind from the tower sliced at his throat, his mind held only those dazzling green eyes.