The Mirror of Erised
The Mirror of Erised
Albus laid awake at night as he often did these days. His thoughts were racing, every breath shaped another path for the future in his mind, every heartbeat sparked a move on the giant chess board that he played on.
He sighed and rose from his bed, his hands tightly held onto the blankets until he looked down, letting the blankets fall, leaving them rumpled on the ground.
He walked to the window and looked at the starry night sky. Not a single cloud was covering the ceiling of the world. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the grounds.
A solemn song made him look up. Fawkes glided from his perch to settle on top of his head, his claws carefully scraping his long hair together to build a makeshift nest.
“Come now, Fawkes.”, admonished Albus and tried to move his familiar.
His fiery companion cawed softly and flapped his wings as if to prevent him from grabbing him and setting him down.
Stupid human, could he not feel, that Fawkes only tried to make him better? Close contact with a phoenix was after all very soothing.
He continued to gather the long and wavy hairs – very good to stick them together, did not fall apart easily – and made sure his humans head would be comfortable enough for the night.
“I think I will patrol the corridors for a while.”, said his human now. “The walk will surely do me some good.”
Stupid human. He didn't need to walk, he needed comfort, warmth and softness, not the cold and empty hallways – empty just like his heart after he stole it, after he killed his -
His humans pain elicited a soft cry from his throat – soft, soothing. Fawkes started to sing for his companion, his chosen, to fill the emptiness and light the darkness in his heart.
“Please, Fawkes.”, Albus said softly. “I would like to go now.”
A rough caw was the answer – don't go, don't go alone, you will drown in your pain, the darkness will reach for you, take me with you -
“I will be fine, Fawkes.”, his human tried to smile at him, but his blue eyes were cold – no fire, no love, only death, despair -
Finally he had managed to dislodge the Phoenix from his head. After setting his hair to rights, Albus moved to the door.
“Don't worry. Sleep well.”
With a last look at his familiar, Albus closed the door to his rooms behind his back and strolled down the deserted hallways of his beautiful castle, thinking.
Sleep didn't come easily to him. His mind was a haunted place. All the loss weighed heavily on his conscience.
Absent mindedly casting a warming charm, he walked down a set of stairs. No one crossed his path, neither living nor dead. And when his feet lead him to a locked door which he hadn't used in decades, his breath caught in his chest.
Despair and darkness battled in his heart against loneliness and longing. He did not cross that threshold in years, but now he caved.
Raising his hand against the door, he closed his eyes, stepped forth and came face to face with an old and elaborate mirror.
A mirror in whose face people had wasted away. He had spent countless nights standing right in front of it, mourning his dreams, his loved ones, all the shambles that resembled his past.
Slowly he stepped before the mirror again.
He looked into his own eyes.
And then he looked back. His peroxide blonde hair was falling into his eyes. His beautifully blue eyes, one of them pale from the visions he endured.
Albus wanted to lower his gaze, turn around and run, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the spot, his legs made of stone and his head frozen.
Still as a statue, he stood there and his eyes roamed over Gellert Grindelwald.
He smirked at him. Is this what you fought for?
This corrupt world that was now his. This cruelty that was his legacy.
He thought of all the Death Eaters that had gone free. Of all the innocents that had died. Of all the blood that had been shed.
Two wars. And Voldemort was not even truly dead.
Gellert turned his head, now facing him fully and lowering his head. You could have changed things.
Albus almost crumbled away under the scrutiny of his gaze. You are powerful, you should have intervened sooner.
He closed his eyes. Trying to deny the righteousness of Gellert's look.
All those people could have been spared. Your soul could be so much lighter.
He inhaled sharply.
If only you hadn't turned your back on your old goals, on me.
No. Gellert's ways had been brutal. He had murdered. Violence was not the way. He would not lower himself to these cruelties.
You prefer to do nothing instead. Turn your back on innocents suffering and close your eyes before the injustice you silently support through your inaction.
He would not, could not -
It could just as well have been your wand that cast these spells, your hand that killed and tortured them.
He did not -
Yet you continue to do nothing, even as the world is rotting away. Tormentors running free, murderers gaining influence.
There was nothing he could do. The trials were a huge farce, the ministry was in shambles after Voldemort's fall.
You refuse to even acknowledge you power. One spell and the world would burn.
Albus would never stoop that low. Every life had meaning.
Even if that meaning is to hurt and kill? Does the world deserve that?
He could not play god.
Why ever not? Who would stop you?
Albus looked into Gellert's eyes and they were filled with fire.
Simply laying his eyes upon him filled him with a heat that he had been missing. Inflaming him with passion, lust and longing to test the boundaries. To go that one step further. To explore the undiscovered. To dive into the primal stream of magic and then surface, looking into these eyes, so blue, so warm, almost burning him.
You could have that.
He could and he wanted, but the rest of the world -
- is smouldering already, what does it matter if it goes up in flames?
He could. It would take but a moment.
Burn with me!
The Elder Wand was singing in his hand, anticipating the magic he had yet to wield. Vibrating, in tune with the song his magic was humming. Yearning for blood, for war, for death.
When had he taken his wand out?
Panicked, he stepped back.
A crushing feeling spread in his chest. Why could he only ever see him? He wished for other things as well, but only Gellert greeted him from the depths of this cursed mirror.
Slowly sheathing his wand, he looked back.
Turning your back on me again?
The thought, voice, whatever it was, had faded to a whisper.
Going back to your rotting world?
Tears seemed to glitter, but not fall over his pale cheeks, his handsome face unmarked, almost as if made from stone.
Help them.
He tried to look away, to take another step back, to leave – leave him, run from this corruptive drug that was his voice, his sharp mind, his smirk, his power.
They need you.
Something snapped and he stormed out of the room, the wards on the door resetting themselves.
Albus almost ran through the corridors and was glad that it was the middle of the night. No one would see him like this. His shaking hands moved to cover his mouth only to encounter wetness on their way. He had cried. When did that happen?
He should not have given into temptation. Even the mirror image of his old friend – his foe, his counterweight, his balance, his love – was enough to tempt him.
The words he had said were ringing inside his head.
Why would he think that. Did he really think that? For the mirror could only show things. It didn't talk or communicate like that.
Did Gellert finally find a way to torment him? Did he want to drive him mad as retribution or to make him finally give in to him?
Whatever it was, he would not go back.
He could not trust himself with it.
With Gellert.