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“Sir- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?”

“Obviously, you've just done so,” Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?”

“I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.”

Harry stared....

It was only when he was back in bed that it struck Harry that Dumbledore might not have been quite truthful. But then, he though, as he shoved Scabbers off his pillow, it had been a quite personal question.

-Harry Potter and the Sorcerers stone, page 214.


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The first time Albus saw the Mirror of Erised, it was like a twist of a knife. In the soft pool of reflected wand light, a ghostly face smiled at him through the wall of silvery glass. It stopped Albus's breath. He had expected to see his sister. He had braced himself for his family. But not for this.

Golden curls and an elfish smile, full of vim and music and joy. In that smile was an honest promise, full of dreams and expectations and plans and simple unadulterated happiness. Seeing it after so many long years, so unexpectedly, nearly broke Albus's heart.

“Gellert.” He whispered. Albus was not yet an old man but no longer a young man when he first saw the mirror. His hairs were already beginning to gray, but his earliest memories of Gellert Grindelwald were still fresh in his mind . Grindelwald had already been locked up in his prison for years, without a drop of rain or a ray of sun. Their last meeting had been painful. Gellert had been broken by that place, a shell of misery and anger. He had cursed Albus, calling him a coward and a fool and a traitor, before falling into sobs, begging to be let out. He missed the rain. He just wanted to feel the rain on his skin and then they could kill them. That's all he wanted, and Albus couldn't even give him that.

Through the illusion of the mirror, Gellert's bright green eyes saw into Albus's soul that night. “No. It's not you. You're not what I want most.” Albus said softly, closing his eyes. “It shouldn't be you. It shouldn't be you.”

“Albus.” The mirror whispered. Far away the echo of Gellert's honey sweet laugh floated to his ears. “I miss you.” He said happily, and tilted his head to the side. “Glad to see you again, my dearest Albus.” His accent played with the words like music. Mirror Gellert leaned close to the glass and wrinkled his nose happily at him.

Albus left, shaken. It took him several years before he could go back, and even then the visits were never more than a few minutes, and never more than every few months. Albus could not go to the Continent and face the real Gellert. Seeing the horrible shell that the man had become always tortured him. Mirror Gellert was in some ways worse, a painful reminder of what used to be, but his ghostly smile, so free from sin, still drew Albus back.




“Sir- Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?” Harry Potter, dear innocent little Harry Potter asked him. The boy was only 11. He had seen his family in the mirror, the parents he never knew. Albus wished he were so noble. He knew, in his heart of hearts that it should be Ariana in the mirror, but to this day, the ghostly image of Gellert still smiled at him. It was always Gellert, with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels, just like he always used to.

“Obviously, you've just done so.” He said, feeling witty. “You may ask one more thing however.”

“What do you see when you look in the mirror?” The boy asked. Albus looked over at the glass. Gellert smiled wider, nodding his head as a hello. Mirror Gellert was more than a simple reflection. He was a living memory. Every time Albus found the strength to visit the mirror, the Gellert in the mirror would have short conversations with him. He seemed unaware of the passing of time, or anything that had happened since the summer they had met, but he was more than happy to tell Albus the same jokes he had told back then, and tell Albus how much he missed him, and give him cheerful advise for his troubles. Mirror Gellert was always happy, untouched by the ravages of years.

“I?” Albus said. What a question to ask. What to say to that? The truth was more painful than he dared to explain to an 11 year old boy. “I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks.” Gellert in the mirror burst into a fit of laughter.

Harry stared.

After the boy had left, Albus walked over to the mirror and leaned his forehead against the glass. “The mirror is being moved, Gellert.” He said softly. “Good bye....again. I shall try to visit you again when you get settled, but it may not be for some time.”

“I'll wait for you Albus.” Mirror Gellert said softly, sounding sad. Albus leaned back, looking at the reflection of his boyhood love.

Gellert wrinkled his nose at him, still smiling. The Gellert in the mirror always smiled. The Gellert in the mirror never spoke of painful things, or mocked him for his weakness, or cursed him for betraying him. Even when he told Mirror Gellert they would be separated for a while, he wasn't upset. The Gellert in the mirror never cried or begged for forgiveness for unforgivable things. The Gellert in the Mirror was not the grizzled, broken, bitter shell locked deep in a prison far away, like the real Gellert was.

The Gellert in the mirror was nothing but a pale memory. He wasn't real. He was just a snap shot in time of a boy Albus used to love, before time and regret and blood tore them apart and ruined everything they had. The boy in the mirror was a sad thing to want. But he was Albus Dumbledore's deepest desire.


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At last he knew what Dumbledore would have seen when he looked into the Mirror of Erised, and why Dumbledore had been so understanding of the fascination it had exercised over Harry...

"Grindelwald tried to stop Voldemort going after the wand. He lied, you know, pretended he never had it.”

Dumbledore nodded, looking down at his lap, tears still glittering on the crooked nose.
“They say he showed remorse in his later years, alone in his cell in Nurmengard. I hope that it's true. I would like to think that he did feel the horror and the shame of what he had done. Perhaps that lie to Voldemort was his attempt to make amends...to prevent Voldemort from using the Hallow...”

“...or maybe from breaking into your tomb?" suggested Harry, and Dumbledore dabbed his eyes.

Deathly Hallows, pg 719

Wow, you're so good writing these stuffs! Ah, very good job, indeed! blaugh

That's one of the worst feeling a writer could get; feeling like his/her work is done by other writers already...

rofl

Yes, the story was quite sad... As I was reading HPSS, I realized midway the emotions of this fan fiction.