Harry Potter has a Whole Buch of Issues

Three Little Dreams

It started with socks. Young, attractive men coming in wearing nothing but socks. It was a lovely view, he thought, sipping his Gewurztraminer with an air of superiority that only someone of his status could possess. His wand was loosely held in his free hand. Waving it lightly, he had the men pair off and start dancing together. His cloak swished as he stood up, moving to the dance floor to wait for his own partner. The black gem-stone on his finger glistened. When his partner came, it would be kissed.

He arrived. But he did not look how he should. He was old and weak, and in place of a face that even in old age should have been handsome was a mirror. He peered into it curiously. He shouldn't have.

In it he saw himself as the master of death, and his lover holding his hand. They were both young and powerful with great ambitions. They were in love. In the background his brother was talking to his sister. She was happy. He had never seen her so happy. She turned to look at him—the him outside the mirror—with glittering eyes that spoke of being alive.

"You let me down." Dumbledore stepped back. His lover stepped forward.

"You let me suffer." She said. Everything around her began to fade. Her tone went from conversational to angry. "You let me suffer."

She continued chanting that, even as she slowly pulled herself out of the mirror, and Gellert's body crumpled. Albus desperately tried to explain, but she wouldn't listen.

Back then, no one ever listened to him.

With shaky hands he tried to yank the ring off his finger, only to find it was no longer there. It was on her finger.

He hadn't been scared in many years, but now he was. Now he was terrified.

The world went black. She was gone, for the moment, although he could still hear her chanting. He reached out, desperate to know where she was at least. He had always hated the dark. But instead his hand made contact with something cold and round. It was a door knob. He pulled the door open, and light filled his view again.

There was a room, completely white and seemingly growing, and leaning against the furthest wall was Harry Potter. He didn't sound like Harry Potter though. He sounded exactly the same has she had when she was speaking the exact same words.

"You let me suffer."

Harry Potter started getting younger and Dumbledore watched with horror as bruises came and went, bones broke and then snapped into place, until a sobbing toddler with broken ribs finally managed to get out another 'You let me suffer.'

Then Tom Riddle entered, looking not like Voldemort, but like the young man he had seen leaving Hogwarts. Riddle reached for the child.

"Don't touch him!" Bellowed Dumbledore at the top of his lungs. He couldn't let the boy suffer more at Voldemort's hands.

"Why?" Tom asked pleasantly "It's for the greater good."

•

He had always known when he was dreaming. Tonight was no different.

Although he knew that it would be over in a matter of hours, he still relished in the feeling of having a body of his own again. It had been too long.

He was in what he assumed to be the Gryffindor common room. Why he was there, he had no idea, and so he went to leave. He couldn't.

He frowned.

He went up the stairs to the boys dormitory. There was no window for him to jump from. All the beds were empty besides one. In that one was a mirror.

He looked into it and saw himself. He looked away. He looked back. He saw himself. He looked away. He walked back downstairs. Leaning against the couch was a mirror.

He looked into it. He saw his reflection. Behind him was a mirror. He saw the words that had seemed like nonsense reflected.

'I show not your face but your heart's desire.'

All he saw in the mirror was himself. He wished Dumbledore could see this. The man would probably kneel over and die from the shock. What a delightful image.

Then he stopped and thought about it for a second. The mirror was clearly lying. He had to want something more. He had to have a purpose, he had to achieve something great. He looked harder. No corpses or titles appeared around his reflection. Well, dreams were weird sometimes, and he wasn't about to throw a fit because some magical mirror his subconscious had made up didn't do as it said it would.

The door to exit the common room had appeared. He left the room. The room he entered had Quirelle hanging upside-down, half dead.

He laughed and Quirelle flinched. He took out his wand and, with his glee unrestrained, began to torture the man.

•

Harry Potter was not dreaming. He was, in the real, waking world, sitting in front of the mirror of Erised.

He did not see himself. He did not see anyone he knew, or anyone he didn't know, or an object or a place besides the hall where the mirror was kept. That was all he saw in the mirror of Erised. The hall where the mirror was kept.

Harry did not feel the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket. It hadn't been put in the mirror yet. Even Dumbly was not so foolish as to do that. Harry smiled, recalling when he had first seen his mother and father. They had been standing in the mirror, hugging him, filled with joy and love.

Harry Potter no longer needed his wand to do magic. He could just will things to happen. Magically, the walls of the large room were covered in mirrors, and they glistened and reflected off of each other infinitely. Harry laughed. It echoed more than it would without magic, making it seem like the room was full of people having a merry time.

And as the sun came up and Harry left for his first day of school, the mirrors faded away.