Mirror, mirror
Tom's plan, as it turned out, included testing out the limits of the cloak before trying to come up with a way to sneak away the Stone. The Cloak would be instrumental to their success or failure, and according to Tom, invisibility cloaks had something like an expiration date, and considering that it had apparently belonged to Harry's father, he needed to know if it still worked properly. He did not want to leave anything up to chance - both he and Harry knew just how dangerous it was to even think about stealing the Stone, and if they wanted to have the slighest chance of even getting close to it, they needed to know what they had to work with.
To that end, Harry snuck out at night under the Cloak, to see if and how people, ghosts, portraits and everything else would react - and while the Fat Lady wondered just why her portrait-door swung open as he left, no one seemed to notice a first year was making a game out of sneaking around Hogwarts in the middle of the night. Even more interesting, upon briefly letting Tom take the lead again and casting some detection spells over it, they found out that the Cloak disguised their very existence - something which, according to Tom, normal invisibility cloaks did not usually do.
'Especially not cloaks this old', he stressed. 'The enchantments necessary -- I don't think even I could pull this off. It's a wonder Dumbledore was willing to part ways with it, because this cloak here is... Merlin, maybe there was something to that stupid legend after all.'
'What legend?', Harry asked as he scribbled his homework.
'There's this old folk tale - long story short, according to legend, three brothers wanted to cross a river, conjured a bridge using their combined strength, accidentally cheating Death itself. Now, as you can imagine, the Grim Reaper didn't take too kindly to being outsmarted, and wanted to prove his own intellect and get the three to get themselves killed. To that end, he ensnared them and offered each a gift of their own choosing. One brother asked for the most powerful wand in existence, which would allow him to win any duel. He got it and promptly got himself murdered in his sleep after one successful duel and some drunken boasting. Number two wanted to raise his dead love - depending on the edition, she was either his secret crush, his intended, or his wife - to be with him again. Death gave him a stone, which he then successfully used to raise her, but she was not exactly alive anymore, either, and after a pretty thankless existence, he killed himself. The third brother was the one with a brain, and smelled something fishy, and he asked Death for something that would hide him from his enemies - including the Reaper himself. Death then gave him his cloak while gritting his teeth, and the third brother was able to evade him for supposedly a very long time, until he decided he was tired of running and called it even - 'greeting Death as an old friend', I think the exact words were.'
'Okay... I feel like I'm missing something here', Harry stated, a bit confused.
'Well, legends usually always contain a kernel of truth, wrapped in a big stack of nonsense. Ever since that tale first was brought to the attention of the general public - sometime in the fifteenth century, if memory serves correct - mages all around Britain tried to figure out who the three brothers were, and what happened to Death's gifts. Eventually, a sort of canon was established: the three brothers were believed to be the three Peverell brothers, themselves semi-direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, and it was believed that at least some of the supposed gifts - now called 'The Deathly Hallows' - stayed in the family. Now, according to the tale, the wand was stolen from the oldest idiot, but the stone and the cloak were thought to have gone to the descendants of the respective owners.'
'Hang on', Harry interrupted. 'Do you mean that my dad's cloak was given to an ancestor of his by the Grim Reaper? Come on, that's crazy, even for Wizarding standards.'
'Obviously, I don't buy the whole story about Death giving the three brothers these items', Tom grumbled with an eyeroll. 'But the thing is, the Peverell brothers in question - Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus - were proven to be accomplished wizards, and the general consensus is that they used their respective talents to create these stupidly powerful items. It is very likely that the Potter-side of your family is descended from the Peverells - most likely Ignotus, as he's the one who's usually believed to be the guy with the cloak. And considering that this pretty old cloak works better than most new invisibility cloaks...'
'What, it renewed your belief in the idea that this whole legend may not have been nonsense after all?'
'I know for a fact that I am a fairly direct descendant of Cadmus Peverell - the lovesick idiot who tried to raise the dead and commited suicide - through my mum's side. According to the old Gaunt ramblings, supposedly their family ring contained the Resurection Stone, but I had the ring for a while and never could get it to work, so I figured it was just bollocks. But if there really is a link between the Potters and the Peverells...'
'Yeah, I don't know', Harry said, sceptical of the whole matter. 'Let's just be glad I have this powerful cloak of invisibility in my possession and shelve sifting through my ancestry for later.'
'Probably a good idea', Tom sheepishly agreed.
In his office, Albus was currently debating whether it had been a good idea to send the Peverell Cloak to Harry; he knew that he had already begun using it (as powerful as the cloak was, it could not hide its wearer from the Hogwarts wards used to track the castle's occupants), but the way he went about it was... odd - methodical, thought-out, at first lingering in the vicinity of the Gryffindor Tower, eventually venturing out further, as if to test with how much he could get away.
In truth, he would have liked to chalk his concerns up to the fact that it was due to Voldemort's presence and potential (though annoyingly unconfirmed) influence, but... Voldemort, by the time he had gone after the Potters, had dropped all method, all sound thought, instead focusing on achieving quick and certain victory - if it were the Horcrux pulling Harry's strings, surely he would have already done something rash, like go after the Stone. And yet, instead, there was... this behavior, this analytical testing that was so unlike Voldemort - and so much like Tom Marvolo Riddle.
And that was what truly concerned Albus; for all his madness and depravity, Voldemort had become predictable, had fallen into patterns, to the point at which Albus had known where he would strike next - one of the reasons he had correctly guessed he would target Harry Potter. Tom Marvolo Riddle however had possessed all of Voldemort's cunning and reckless ambition, some or even all of his skill (depending on when one placed the final transformation into Voldemort), but none of his alter ego's instability and general carelessness. Even now, almost fifty years after the fact, Albus still struggled to link his old student to the Riddle murders of 1943 through any sort of evidence; he knew full well Tom had killed his father and grandparents before framing his uncle for the crime, but he had been careful, and covered his tracks too well.
Could it be possible that Tom Marvolo Riddle, and not Voldemort, was the Horcrux? If so, it would explain a great deal about Harry and his behavior - the knowledge, the applied skills, his interactions, his actions... but if that were the case, who was in control? Harry - or Tom?
Albus shook his head. The entire situation was an absolute mess, and he knew full well who was to blame for it - he himself. And yet, he also knew that at the time, it had been the only solution, the only way to keep Harry safe - how could he have known the Horcrux would awaken, become concious, become sentient?
"Did I make a mistake, Fawkes?", he whispered to his faithful companion. The phoenix trilled in response, a note full of melancholy, but also of hope.
"Would not have been your first", a voice snarked, and Albus looked up to where Gryff rested. The hat contorted its mouth-tear to a grin. "The question now is, what will you do to fix it?"
"I cannot fix anything until I know what I'm dealing with", he grumbled. "So, if you know something, I would very much appreciate it if you could share it."
Gryff cackled at that. "And where would the fun be in that, eh?", the hat snarked. "You've grown lazy, Albus. You've grown so used to being the one moving the pieces, controlling the field, that you've forgotten the singular most important thing about life itself - being able to adapt!"
"Gryff, I know I am not infallible", Albus argued. "And contrary to what everyone seems to think, I am not all-knowing. But if I am to try and contain the damage done, I need to know with whom I am dealing."
Gryff cackled again. "You're looking at the wrong tree, Albus", it stated. "And barking up a whole other one. I am far too curious where this will go to tattle to you, young man, so don't bother asking me again."
With that, the Sorting Hat fell silent again, leaving Albus even more confused than he already had been. What did Gryff mean, he was looking at the wrong tree? Was there something he had missed, some event of significance he did not view as such? But what could it have been?
No matter, he thought. His little trap was set, and not even Voldemort or Tom Marvolo Riddle (nevermind Harry) would be able to resist the mirror's pull, and then, Albus would know the truth of the matter. And... mayhaps it was time to find a replacement for the Sorting Hat - the old thing was clearly loosing its mind.
Harry and Tom made their first move for the Stone in the night of Janurary 2nd, going to bed a bit earlier, under the guise of being a bit tired, and then, when Harry was certain Ron was snoring away, he got out of his bed, stuffed his pillow under his blanket to make it seem as though he was asleep, grabbed the cloak and, putting it on immediately (lest Percy be a bit overzealous) tiptoed out of the dorm room down into the Common Room - thankfully, it was empty. He then turned to the entrance, and, careful to make sure no one was nearby, swung open the portrait (thankfully, the Fat Lady was asleep), and finally, after making sure no one was on the other side, snuck out of the tower once again.
He was nervous, more nervous than he had been before his first match, even more nervous than he had been when he had first snuck out under the cloak, not knowing if he wouldn't be caught. 'Use it well', the note had said - but what had Dumbledore meant by it? Could it be that he was expecting Harry to try something?
'Perhaps', Tom said. 'It could simply be that the old man is starting to lose it, though. Either way, too late to turn back now.'
The path to the third-floor corridor was easy - Harry had inadvertedly passed by its entrance from the Charms corridor more often than he cared, but he had never done so at night. Even though he was well hidden under the cloak, he constantly feared that someone would spot him - every shadow was potentially Filch or Snape or a patrolling prefect, every portrait was a potential alert, and every suit of armor lining the corridors was potentially a restraining device. Yet these did not detract him, and he continued on his path, walking with steps of assurance towards the locked door, and before he knew it, he stood before that very door.
They did not necessarily intend on stealing the Stone right away; rather, this first journey was primarily meant to see what lay beyond Fluffy, and to plan accordingly. Of course, should the chance arise, they would already proceed and grab their price, but neither truly believed that they would truly get the chance tonight - the Stone was undoubtedly heavily guarded, and while Tom and Harry were capable of improvising, Harry's magical capabilities were still limited to the first year curriculum, some more advanced spells he had taught himself and some of the less complicated (though still highly illegal) spells from Tom's répertoire, whilst Tom, though capable of briefly taking the lead in the body, could not maintain that control for too long, and the brief periods were rather painful for both wizards.
'Are you ready?', Tom asked.
Harry took a deep breath. 'As ready as I'll ever be', he answered truthfully. 'Let's see what awaits us.'
He raised his wand and whispered the Unlocking Charm in an attempt to open the locked door. Much to his surprise, the lock clicked and, upon pressing down the handle, it slowly creaked open. 'That', Tom stated, 'is absolutely terrible security. Any first year could open the damned thing.'
'All the easier for us', Harry chuckled as he stepped through the doorway - which turned out to be a mistake, as it triggered an alarm spell of some sort, causing a loud siren-like scream to echo through the corridor.
'Oh bugger', Tom and Harry said at the same time as they looked at the form of the Cerberus Fluffy, asleep until now, but growling as it was woken from its slumber - just as a figure clad in a black hooded cloak shot up a trapdoor before the dog, wand in hand, and rushed towards the doorway. Unfortunately, said figure did not count on an eleven year old boy under an invisibility cloak being there, and the ensuing collision sent both Harry and the figure in the black cloak to the ground, all the while the alarm continued to blare, and Harry saw Fluffy open three pairs of eyes and growl menacingly.
Just then, the figure silenced the alarm and, just as Fluffy shook all three heads to shake of sleep, stepped through the doorway and shut the door again before wildly looking around to spot the invisible obstacle. Fortunately, the collision had not caused the Invisibility Cloak to slip off Harry, and while he rubbed his head in annoyance, he watched as the figure's head (still covered by a black hood) jerked around in search of the obstacle.
"Homenum Revelio", Harry heard the figure whisper, and he felt an odd sensation pass over him - except it passed over the cloak and did not reveal anything. He barely even noticed it, though, because of another thing he had noticed - he knew the voice of the caster!
'It's Quirrell', he told Tom.
'Aye, I heard', Tom grimly answered. 'Looks like we walked in on his own attempted heist... though something about feels... off...'
Just then, Quirrell, apparently not detecting anything, decided to take off, just as Harry spotted Filch panting and running around the corner. 'Welp, let's figure this out once we're far away from here', he decided.
'Agreed', Tom quickly said, and the two of them followed Quirrell's example.
Harry didn't stop running under the cloak until he was one floor above the forbidden corridor, when he decided he needed a break and opened the door to a classroom, carefully closing it behind him before pulling off the cloak and taking a deep breath.
'Well, that could've gone better', he said as he looked around for a something that could be used to sit down.
'I'll say', Tom replied. 'Next time, we need to check for tripwire spells.'
Harry snorted. 'No kidding', he answered. 'Should've figured there'd be something like that in place.'
'Eh, it didn't cross my mind, either', Tom admitted. 'Wonder how Quirrell bypassed it, with how quickly he was out of the trapdoor, we must have missed him by mere minutes...'
'You think it was already in place before he showed up?', Harry wondered.
'It wouldn't make sense if he used something so loud to warn him, and only him - no, I figure this was placed by the staff to alert them, and he simply bypassed it', Tom reasoned. 'Either way, I'm far more concerned about that weird feeling I got about him...'
Just then, Harry spotted something in the classroom - a large mirror with a golden frame, with an odd inscription above the glass. 'What the hell?', he asked as he inadvertedly moved to it.
'Careful', Tom growled. 'Something about this thing stinks of compelling charms.'
Harry narrowed his eyes as he eyed the mirror. 'Tom, can you make sense of this? It looks like gibberish', he asked and pointed at the inscription.
'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi', Tom read. 'Oh, come on, that's stupid, even for magic standards - mirror writing, it says 'I show not your face but your heart's desire', damnation, I think I know what this is...'
"My heart's desire...", Harry repeated as he gazed into the mirror, watching as his reflection appeared - only that it wasn't his reflection, not truly; he looked a bit taller than he was, he had different glasses, and he was missing the scar on his forehead. And then, he saw them appear behind him: a tall, lean man with unruly black hair, gentle brown eyes and glasses of his own, and a slightly shorter woman with dark red hair and eerily familiar green eyes - his eyes, he realized, and in that moment, he knew whom he was seeing.
"Mom?", he whispered. "Dad?"
Then he saw the others, shadows of people with blurry yet familiar features, with black, red, blonde and brown hair, with brown eyes, green eyes, blue eyes, gray eyes, and even a pair of red eyes, and all of them smiled at him, and Harry couldn't help himself, he briefly turned around, in the hopes they were real - but they weren't, and he could not stop the tears from running down his cheeks as he looked back at the still smiling people before him, and Harry reached out, along with his image, wanting to touch the glass...
'Harry? Harry! HARRY!', Tom's yell broke the spell. He sounded angry, and even afraid - though it was not the angry fear he showcased during flying and Quidditch, but something far more scarier. Tom was truly afraid for some reason. 'Snap out of it!'
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, and when he looked at the mirror again, it was empty - only a misty swirl remained. 'What... what was that?'
'This is the bloody Mirror of Erised', Tom stated, now only angry. 'Blast it all, that thing is a menace - it enchants its victims, shows them what they desire most, makes them crave its image... it's worse than a drug, and people have died after disregarding everything but themselves.'
'I saw my parents', Harry quietly said. 'I... I never thought I'd actually ever see their faces clearly.' He shuddered. 'Why does such a thing exist?'
'Haven't got the foggiest idea', Tom grumbled. 'But I'm sorely tempted to smash it to pieces. Damned deathtrap, why is it even here?'
'I wish I could have met them', Harry whispered.
Tom's voice softened. 'I know', he said. 'And I'm sorry that you didn't. But... this image... it isn't real.'
Harry sniffed and wiped his nose with his hand. 'Yeah', he chortled. 'I know.' A thought came to him. 'Tom, what... what do you see when you look at it?'
Tom was didn't answer at first, but Harry saw the images in their shared mind - a large shadow approaching from far behind, with glowing red eyes, shrinking as it walked towards them, before revealing itself to be what Harry knew to be Tom Marvolo Riddle's old body.
'It doesn't matter', Tom eventually said. 'At least, not right now.'
Harry shook his head, unconvinced, but aware that Tom would not reveal anything. 'Best head back before anyone misses us', he decided and turned to grab his cloak - only to come face to face with an old man in a purple and gold robe.
'Oh bugger', Tom said again.
When the alarm charm had gone off, Albus had suspected that either one of two individuals with backseat drivers or both of them had attempted to enter the corridor. Unfortunately, it appeared that he had missed both, as the third-floor corridor was deserted, safe for a rather annoyed Cerberus. Neither Quirinus nor Harry were anywhere to be found - at least, until he had consulted the wards, which in turn revealed that Harry was in the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor.
Albus couldn't help it, he briefly congratulated himself for accurately guessing the most likely path Harry would take to and from his Common Room towards the corridor, and for placing the mirror accordingly. And it seemed as though his little trap had worked - no first year would be able to shake off the mirror's enchantments so easily, but Harry had done so seemingly on his own, and was turning to leave when he chose to reveal himself. Of course, in the case in which Harry had not managed to shake off the ensnaring, Albus would have intervened - he was mayhaps a tad desperate, but not a monster.
"Good evening, Harry", Albus greeted jovially. "A bit late for a walk around the school, no?"
Harry flushed red with embarrassment. "I didn't see you there, Sir", he sheepishly said.
"How shortsighted one can grow to be, when one can be invisible", Albus replied with a twinkle of his eyes and a smile as he discreetly checked Harry's mind - only to find nothing out of the ordinary.
How could this be?
Harry, seemingly oblivious to his brief mental probe, smiled, though Albus could tell that it was a tense smile. Clearly, the boy was afraid of something, but of what? Of punishment - or of having something else discovered?
"Well", he carried on. "It appears you, like so many others, have discovered the joys the Mirror of Erised can bring."
Harry blinked. "I, ah, I don't know if I would call what it does joys", he blurted out.
Albus chuckled to himself. "No, I didn't think you would - you are smart, and undoubtedly, you have already discovered its true effects on a hapless wizard."
Harry nodded in confirmation. "Yeah", he grumbled, and oh, for the briefest of moments, it sounded so much like how his father would grumble when called out on a prank - and for an even briefer moment, Albus thought he heard the annoyed grumbling of Tom Riddle. "I can't exactly say that I... that I enjoyed its image."
"Yes", Albus agreed. "There is still much debate on who created the mirror, and for what purpose - my personal theory is that it was created as an aid of sorts, to help people discover what their true desires were, to set them on a path... though I do suspect its maker went a bit overboard with the enchantments, unfortunately. A true shame... I wonder, what did it show you?"
The question caught Harry off guard, just like he had hoped it would - not even Tom could react quick enough under such circumstances, not without giving himself away. And for the briefest of moments, it looked like Harry wanted to answer something that was not true, but eventually, he visibly deflated and looked to the ground. "My parents", he quietly said. "I saw my parents, and... my extended family, I think."
Now, it was Albus' turn to be caught off guard, though he did not show it. On the one hand, he was relieved that this was Harry's honest answer - for there was no indication that he was lying, and decades of teaching had taught him how to spot the signs, and he knew that Tom Riddle had never cared for his parents in the slightest - but on the other hand, this only confused him even further. Harry had tried to enter the corridor, and possibly even the hidden passageway, but if he wasn't controlled by Tom or Voldemort... what did he want there? This question riddled his mind, especially considering the fact that there were absolutely no indications of possession, that there were no signs the soulshard had left its seat... How could all this be?
Harry, meanwhile, was oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Am... Am I in trouble, Sir?", he timidly asked - far more timidly than Tom Riddle had ever been. No, this could not be an elaborate act - whatever was the truth of the matter, Albus did not believe that Voldemort had any direct hold over the boy.
But what was the truth of the matter, then? Was it merely memories being accessed in hopes of gaining something?
He gave a beaming smile. "No, I think I can forgive a late night stroll to explore the castle a bit further - it's a bit of an unofficial tradition, in all honesty, though no one will admit it", he answered the boy's question. "Though I would be grateful if you could keep out of a certain corridor - I do not give warnings of that sort lightly, after all."
Harry flushed again, and Albus chuckled a bit. "I am glad you saw through the mirror's lies, Harry", he said. "I know it is tempting to focus on what we desire, but we must always remember that if we let our desires consume us, we risk losing everything that makes us the way we are."
A bit cryptic, to be sure, but he hoped the lad would understand the message - and it seemed he did. "I understand, Sir", Harry replied with a nod.
"Now, then, I would ask that you return to your dorm room - I did not merely come here on a midnight stroll of my own, after all", Albus hinted with a wink and a smile. Harry returned the smile and grabbed the Peverell Cloak, his face briefly darkening a bit as he seemingly thought about something.
"Sir... may I ask you a question?", he began.
Albus chuckled. "I think you just did", he answered with the classical teacher answer. "But yes, you may ask another one."
Harry seemingly debated with himself about what to ask, before settling for something Albus had expected the minute he had seen the boy's face at the sight of the cloak. "How did you know I was here?"
He smiled. "That, I'm afraid, is something only the members of the faculty may know about", he answered. "But suffice to say that as headmaster, it is my task to always be aware of what my wards are up to - all of them." He gave a gentle nod. "Good night, Harry."
Harry nodded in turn. "Good night, Sir", he replied and slipped under the cloak, out of sight, and Albus turned back towards the mirror. The misty image had begun to clear, and Albus looked at himself, hand in hand with Gellert, Aberforth and Ariana standing besides them.
And for the briefest of moments, Albus Dumbledore allowed for a tear of his own to run down his cheek.