ambition

By the Book

I had so many issues focussing on getting this chapter done and then it ended up being a longer one than I've been doing recently so I guess that's a bonus.

Things are starting to deviate from canon a little bit here because of the ideas I have for later installments. I hope you still enjoy however, because I'm hoping it will all be worth it in the end.

Hopefully my mini writer's block is over and I can get back to rapid fire producing these chapters.

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Draco said nothing when he saw Harry arrive back at the dormitories the following morning as he was getting dressed. And he said nothing when he watched Harry leave again that night. He didn't say anything for the following mornings and nights either. Pansy was not quite so on board, and commented on how tired he looked. He could tell that she knew why he was so tired, but she was at least nice enough not to say anything about the mirror explicitly, though he had a sneaking suspicion she wanted to.

His visits soon came to an end however, before Pansy's concern grew further. He'd been sitting in front of the mirror again, almost dozing off, but not wanting to leave, when he heard the soft clearing of a throat from behind him. He was up in a flash, invisibility cloak tucked tightly under his arm, hoping it might avoid notice.

Albus Dumbledore stood a little ways away from him, hands folded neatly in front of him as he stared down at Harry through his half moon spectacles.

"Good evening, Harry. Back again I see?"

Harry felt a little at odds to admit it, but he had always found Dumbledore a little... off putting. He knew why everybody revered him, and he deserved a lot of the praise he got - of course he did. For one, being the only wizard Voldemort ever feared had to be a great accomplishment, and Harry did now know much more about his alchemical works due to their research into Nicholas Flamel. And having grown up learning about the war, and the Order of the Phoenix, from members of it no less, he didn't doubt that Dumbledore deserved the adoration he held with most people. But for Harry, there was just something he couldn't quite put his finger on that made him almost dislike the man. It was nothing he'd admit out loud of course, but even in the way Dumbledore regarded him now, Harry thought that maybe the Headmaster already knew as much.

"It would seem so." Harry ventured.

"I would assume, by now, you have figured out what it is the mirror does?"

"It didn't take me too long to figure out the inscription. I show not your face but your heart's desire."

"And you see acceptance among those you love."

"...Yes, but I might not have come so often if I'd known I wasn't alone." Harry paused, suddenly feeling like that was not the sort of thing you were supposed to say to a Professor. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for making a habit of being out of bed past curfew. I'll be going now."

He made to put on the cloak, stopped only when Dumbledore smiled, his eyes gleaming as he tilted his head slightly.

"It's a perfectly reasonable thing to want, Harry. But I'm afraid I must ask you not to come looking for the mirror again. Tomorrow it is being moved to a new home, and to search for it will only bring sorrow. It does not do to dwell on dreams, and forget to live."

"Right." Said Harry flatly, "Goodnight, Professor Dumbledore."

Harry put the cloak on and headed to the door, only too aware that Dumbledore's eyes still seemed to follow him. As he reached the door, a wave of bravery hit him, and just before he disappeared into the corridor, he looked over his shoulder, still under the cloak, and called back out softly, his voice carrying with an echo in the large room.