HP: Fragments Of A Legacy

Never in their lives had Helena and Harry enjoyed a Christmas meal like this. The tables in the Great Hall were overflowing with perfectly roasted turkeys, mountains of boiled and roasted potatoes, bowls filled with peas drenched in butter, silver dishes brimming with delicious gravy, and an array of desserts that seemed to come straight out of a dream. Additionally, scattered throughout the room were magical surprise eggs, promising everything but muggle-style disappointments.

Curiously, Helena picked up one of the eggs and dropped it onto the floor. The moment it hit the stone tiles, it didn't just make a loud pop—it exploded like a cannon, filling the air with a cloud of blue smoke. As the smoke cleared, a naval officer's hat and several live white mice appeared, scurrying in all directions, causing both laughter and a few shrieks among the students.

At the High Table, the atmosphere was just as festive. Dumbledore had swapped his usual pointed hat for a flowery bonnet and was laughing heartily at a joke from Professor Flitwick. Meanwhile, Hagrid, as red as a tomato after a few too many glasses of wine, surprised everyone by kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek. To the astonishment of the Potter twins, she blushed and let out a light laugh, adjusting her crooked hat.

The evening continued with the famous flaming Christmas puddings, and more than one person found small surprises in their pieces. A prefect nearly broke a tooth biting into a silver sickle hidden in his pudding, while others pulled out little enchanted figures or chocolate coins that danced across the table.

Loaded with gifts from the magical surprises—glowing balloons, new chess pieces, and a peculiar set of "Grow Your Own Warts"—Helena looked on with a mix of amusement and pity at the now-missing white mice. Her concern grew when she remembered Mrs. Norris's predatory glare earlier.

After dinner, Helena, Cassandra, and Lucian joined Harry and the Weasleys for an epic snowball fight in the park. Laughter echoed through the cold winter night, and even Cassandra, typically reserved, seemed relaxed as she gracefully dodged snow projectiles. Lucian, on the other hand, adopted a more strategic approach, using a snow wall as a fortress while launching precise attacks.

As night deepened, they returned, soaked and breathless, to the Slytherin common room, where the fire cast warm shadows on the stone walls. Cassandra unveiled an elegant miniature airplane that her parents had sent her. The enchanted device flew through the room, performing stunts that drew exclamations of awe. Lucian, ever the observer, seemed more intrigued by the plane's mechanism than the acrobatics it was performing.

Finally, the common room began to empty. Lucian left first, with a brief goodbye and a comment about how tired he was. Helena and Cassandra followed soon after, climbing the stairs together to their dormitory. Both slid into their beds, wrapping themselves in heavy blankets that protected them from the winter chill.

Helena stayed awake, staring at the dark ceiling while listening to Cassandra's breathing slow and become steady. When she was sure her companion was asleep, she slid out of bed. Her steps barely made a sound on the stone floor, and she had reached the door when a soft voice resonated in the room.

"Be careful and don't get caught," Cassandra said, without opening her eyes or moving her head.

Helena turned in surprise, but all she found was the serene profile of her friend, faintly lit by the light streaming through the high windows.

"I will," Helena responded with a small smile, taking the ring from around her neck and sliding it onto her finger as if it were a reminder of her promise.

She crossed the empty common room, where the embers from the fire still glowed faintly, casting orange sparks. The entrance to the common room creaked open, and Helena stepped into the hallways of Hogwarts, her steps light and confident. The shadows of the castle seemed to come alive around her, but she felt no fear—only a contained excitement that made her hurry toward her destination.

She arrived at the classroom where she had spoken to Harry earlier and found him waiting. He was sitting on the edge of an old desk, with the invisibility cloak resting across his lap. When he saw her enter, his face lit up with a smile that mirrored the excitement she felt.

"Ready?" he asked, standing up and brushing dust off his pants.

"Ready," Helena replied, returning his smile as she adjusted the ring on her finger.

…

Helena tried to stay calm, but she couldn't help feeling frustrated. Frustrated with herself for letting herself be convinced, and even more so with Harry for his stubbornness. In hindsight, she should have suspected that his idea of "exploring" wouldn't be as innocent as it sounded. Still, she never would have imagined that her brother would use the opportunity to sneak into the Restricted Section of the library.

"This is our best shot," Harry had insisted, his voice filled with excitement. "If there's any clue about Flamel, it has to be here."

Helena didn't answer. She had no intention of telling him that she'd known who Flamel was for some time, nor of handing over that information so easily. And yet, here she was, holding a lamp to light their way as her brother led the charge, his determination growing with every step.

The library seemed more sinister than usual in the darkness of the night. The faint glow of the lamp barely cut through the shadows, and the air was thick with silence, making it feel even more unsettling.

At the far end of the massive room stood the Restricted Section, a dark threshold between the permitted and the forbidden. The rope separating it from the rest of the library seemed more like a symbol than an actual barrier, but crossing it still made her feel as if she were committing a crime.

Harry was the first to pass through, and Helena reluctantly followed, holding the lamp high to illuminate the titles of the books. However, it didn't help much. The covers were inscribed with words in unfamiliar languages, some even seemed to have arcane symbols. Others had no titles at all, just strange marks on their spines. One in particular had what looked like a black stain that, in the dim light, resembled dried blood.

Helena couldn't help but shudder. The books seemed to murmur among themselves, as if they were aware of an intruder. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination, but she could hear a faint buzzing in her ears, like the echo of distant voices.

"I don't think we're going to find anything useful here, Harry," she murmured, trying to keep her voice low.

But her brother didn't hear her. His eyes were shining with determination as he ran his hands over the spines of the books, as if one would suddenly reveal the secret he was looking for.

Then, he found it.

A large, heavy book, bound in black with silver details. Harry pulled it out with some effort and set it on his lap. As soon as he opened it, a blood-curdling scream tore through the silence. The sound was unbearable, a sharp, endless wail that seemed to pierce their eardrums.

"Close it!" Helena hissed urgently, but even as Harry obeyed, the scream didn't stop.

Panic gripped both of them. In their desperation, Harry bumped into Helena, knocking the lamp out of her hand. Darkness engulfed them instantly, heavy and suffocating.

"Run!" Harry whispered, and they both started running blindly, more guided by instinct than sight.

When they reached the library door, they barely managed to dodge Filch, who was entering at that very moment. His eyes scanned the darkness with suspicion, but they slipped past, crouching low, unseen, protected by their parents' enchanted artifacts.

Their footsteps echoed through the hallways as they ran without a clear direction. Helena could barely keep up, but she didn't dare stop. Finally, Harry turned a corner, and she followed, only to find herself face-to-face with a group of suits of armor.

Helena stopped, gasping for breath, as her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. She knew the armor was near the kitchens, but this didn't make sense. They were at least five floors above that.

Before she could process her confusion, a voice froze her blood.

"You asked me to report directly, Professor, if anyone was roaming around at night. Someone was in the library. In the Restricted Section."

Helena's face drained of color. Filch must have known some shortcut, because his voice was getting closer.

"The Restricted Section?" replied another voice, cold and authoritative. It was Snape. Helena felt her stomach drop. "Well, they can't be far. We'll catch them soon enough."

They both backed away as quietly as possible. To their left, a door slightly ajar appeared like their only hope in the thick darkness. Without hesitation, they slipped inside, holding their breath and making every movement as silent as possible.

The echo of footsteps paused momentarily, making them tense, but soon they resumed, fading into the distance. Only then did Helena allow herself a relieved sigh, her chest rising and falling with suppressed effort. Harry seemed equally relieved, but his attention was already elsewhere.

Helena took a moment to look around the room where they had hidden. It was a disused classroom, covered in a thin layer of dust that almost seemed to glow faintly in the small light that seeped through the crack in the door. Shadows of chairs and desks piled against the walls formed ghostly shapes, and a tipped-over wastebasket lay in a corner, as if forgotten.

However, what caught her attention was something that didn't belong.

In the center of the room, leaning slightly back on a pair of clawed stands, was an imposing mirror. Its golden frame, intricately carved, seemed to absorb the little light in the room and reflect it back in a hypnotic way. At the top, there was an inscription:

 "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"

Helena frowned and, with an automatic gesture, removed her ring to rub it against her hand.

"Harry," she murmured, nudging him with her elbow. "Look at this."

Harry glanced up, noticing the mirror for the first time. His eyes widened in curiosity.

"What's it doing here?" he asked, walking closer.

He barely reached the mirror when a gasp escaped his lips. Immediately, Harry covered his mouth, as if trying to silence the sound.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Helena asked, her concern evident as she approached him.

But Harry didn't respond immediately. His eyes were fixed on the mirror, as if he were seeing something impossible.

"It's… our family," he murmured finally, his voice barely audible. "They're here."

Helena stopped, confused.

"What are you talking about?"

"Mum and Dad…" Harry turned to her, his eyes filled with awe and sadness. "They're here, right behind us."

Helena frowned and stepped up to the mirror, standing beside Harry. It was then that she realized what Harry was seeing. In the mirror, not only were they reflected, but at least ten other people, both men and women, stood out on the surface of the glass.

They were all smiling, waving enthusiastically, as if they had come to welcome them. Helena glanced around the classroom again, but there was no one there except Harry. Yet, when she looked back at the mirror, those strangers were still there, as if they only existed in the reflection.

"Can you see them?" Harry asked, his voice filled with wonder.

Helena was too stunned to answer. Her eyes locked with those of a very beautiful woman with dark red hair like her's, and a look that... "Those eyes?" she thought. They were identical to Harry's. She stepped a little closer to the mirror, her heart pounding in her ears as she studied it more closely.

Bright green, exactly like her brother's. But what made her pause was something she hadn't noticed at first: the woman was crying, yet smiling at the same time, as if caught between sorrow and happiness.

Helena took a small step back, absorbing the image, but her attention was drawn to a tall, thin man standing next to the woman. He wore glasses, and his messy black hair stuck out at the nape of his neck, just like Harry's. His eyes, however, weren't green—they were a deep hazel, identical to hers.

Helena was so close to the mirror now that her nose nearly touched the glass. Her eyes shone with emotion.

"Mum?" she whispered, her voice breaking with awe. "Dad?"

At that moment, the woman and the man looked at her. They smiled, and it felt as though they were looking directly into her eyes. Helena could hardly believe what she was seeing. Her heart raced. The woman, whom she had only known through the few stories others had told her. The same with the man beside her.

Harry, seeing his sister's reaction, began to study the rest of the reflections more carefully. There were more faces, more eyes, many of them with the same hazel color as her sister. He realized they were looking at their family for the first time in their lives.

Then he saw another pair of green eyes, a nose like his, and even a small man with knobby knees, like his own.

The Potters in the mirror smiled and waved their hands, and the twins stayed there, staring at them with their eyes fixed, their hands pressed against the glass as if they could pass through it, as if they could go beyond and reach them. A knot formed in Helena's stomach. It was a deep pain, almost tangible, a mixture of joy and unbearable sorrow.

They both remained there, motionless, not knowing how much time had passed. The image didn't fade. The reflection of their family kept smiling, as if waiting for them to look one more time.

It wasn't until a distant noise, the sound of footsteps, pulled them back to reality. Helena pulled her gaze away with difficulty, as if breaking a spell. They couldn't stay there. They had to find their way back to their dorms before they were caught.

With her heart still racing, Helena whispered, more to herself than to Harry, although they both knew:

"We'll be back soon."

And with one last look at the mirror, she hurried out of the room, Harry following closely behind. But the reflection of their family remained in the glass.

…

The following night, Helena sat in front of the Mirror of Erised, her fingers intertwined as she gazed at the figures reflected in the glass. Her mother, with hair as red as fire and green eyes brimming with warmth, smiled back at her. Beside her stood her father, tall and strong, with messy dark hair and hazel eyes—the same hazel eyes Helena saw whenever she looked at herself. The vision was cruel and captivating all at once, a happiness so near she could almost feel it, yet so far she could never truly reach it.

A noise behind her broke the silence of the night. She turned her head slightly and saw Harry slipping into the room, removing his Invisibility Cloak. But he wasn't alone. Ron Weasley followed him, looking around with barely concealed curiosity.

Helena stood immediately, her eyes flashing with a mixture of surprise and anger.

"You told him?" Her voice was low but full of reproach. She took a step toward her brother, arms crossed. "Harry, how could you?"

Harry, caught under the intensity of her gaze, shrugged slightly, avoiding her eyes.

"I... I didn't think it'd be such a big deal," he said hesitantly, his voice faltering as he glanced between Helena and Ron. "I just thought he should see our family... and... I wanted to see his too," he added, his voice trailing off as though he doubted his own reasoning.

Ron, who had been silent, raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Come on, Helena, don't be like that. Besides, I told Harry you could both come to my house this summer. My mum and dad would love to meet you."

Helena pressed her lips together, her arms falling to her sides as a spark of frustration flickered in her hazel eyes. Her gaze shifted to Ron, who, oblivious to the tension, had noticed the mirror and was now staring at it in fascination.

"Blimey! That's a massive mirror," Ron exclaimed, taking a few steps closer.

Harry, eager to change the subject, spoke quickly. "Can you see them?" he asked hopefully, his eyes following Ron's movements. "My family?"

Ron frowned, studying the mirror. "I don't see anything," he said after a moment, turning back to Harry with a puzzled expression.

"Try standing where Helena was," Harry suggested, pointing to the spot in front of the mirror.

Ron moved to the indicated place, flashing Helena a nervous smile before looking again. This time, his eyes lit up.

"Look at me!" he said, excitement rising in his voice.

Helena remained silent, but her arms crossed again, her brow furrowed as she watched.

"Can you see your whole family with you?" she asked finally, her tone colder than curious.

"No... I'm alone... but I'm different... older... and I'm a prefect!" Ron exclaimed, his excitement growing. "I've got a badge, like Bill! And I'm holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup... and I'm Quidditch captain too!"

Ron tore his eyes away from the mirror, turning to Harry with a wide grin. "Do you think this mirror shows the future?"

Helena let out a dry, humorless laugh. "That doesn't make sense. If it showed the future, how do you explain my whole family being here?" she asked, her voice sharp as she gestured toward the mirror with a quick movement. "They're dead, Ron."

Harry, uncomfortable, tried to intervene, but Helena didn't give him a chance.

"Let me look again," she said, stepping toward the mirror as if doing so might dissolve the tension in the room.

Ron stepped back, raising his hands.

"You've had it all night! Give me a bit longer."

"And what's so fascinating about seeing a Quidditch cup?" Helena shot back, her tone laced with disdain. "I want to see my parents."

The air in the room grew heavy as the three of them fell silent. Harry tried to calm things down. "Please, don't fight," he pleaded, though his own frustration was evident.

Suddenly, a noise in the corridor startled them. They all turned toward the door, eyes wide.

"Quick!" Ron hissed, throwing the Invisibility Cloak over all three of them just as Mrs. Norris's glowing eyes appeared in the doorway.

Helena held her breath, her heart pounding as the cat crept forward, her golden eyes scanning the darkness. Ron whispered almost inaudibly, "Do you think it works on cats?"

The cat paused, sniffed the air, and after what felt like an eternity, turned and padded away.

Ron let out a sigh of relief.

"We can't be sure... She might've gone to get Filch. We should leave now."

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed Harry and Helena toward the exit. Helena cast one last glance at the mirror before stepping through the door. Her parents' images still lingered, looking at her with the same warmth as always, as though waiting for her to return.

…

It had been five consecutive nights since Helena began her small nocturnal escapades. At first, Lucian didn't pay much attention. After all, Helena didn't seem like the type to be reckless enough not to ask for help if she truly needed it. However, as the days went by, something began to unsettle him.

Helena had grown more withdrawn, almost absent. Her words were scarce, her answers evasive. Her eyes, usually filled with curiosity, now seemed focused on seeking out invisible threats. There was a constant nervousness about her, a kind of paranoia that made her jump at the slightest sound.

Lucian tried to talk to her, employing the subtlety he often used in conversations. But as soon as he mentioned her nightly absences, Helena became defensive. Her tone was sharp, a clear barrier signaling that the subject was not open for discussion.

"It's none of your business, Lucian," she said without meeting his eyes. "I can handle it on my own."

Knowing that pushing further would be futile, Lucian couldn't ignore his growing concern. He decided to follow her on one of her escapades, using a Disillusionment Charm to avoid being seen.

On the third night, he watched her move through the dark, empty corridors with an unsettling confidence, turning corners as if she knew the path by heart. Eventually, he saw her enter an abandoned classroom. The old, worn door creaked softly as it closed behind her. Lucian waited silently until Helena left, then entered the classroom himself.

What he found inside intrigued him: a towering mirror with a golden frame that seemed to absorb the light and reflect it back in a mesmerizing way. Standing before the mirror, he had seen something that left him speechless. That vision brought him back to the classroom night after night, trying to understand what the mirror was showing him.

He had memorized the times Helena and her brother visited the classroom, ensuring he went when there was no risk of being discovered. That night was no different. He slipped into the room cautiously, closing the door behind him.

The mirror stood there, just as majestic as ever. Lucian approached slowly, his eyes fixed on the gleaming surface. What he saw captivated him, filling him with a mix of longing and confusion. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice he was no longer alone.

"Back again, aren't you, Lucian?" said a calm voice from the darkest corner of the room.

Lucian turned quickly, startled. Sitting at a desk against the wall was Albus Dumbledore. As always, his presence seemed to fill the space with an unusual sense of calm, though Lucian had no idea how the man had arrived without being noticed.

"You'll have to teach me how you do that," Lucian said, trying to mask his surprise with a playful comment.

Dumbledore gave a faint smile, his wise gaze ever perceptive.

"I'm afraid that sort of skill comes only with age," he replied gently, leaning forward slightly. "Though I dare say you have a knack for tricks of your own."

Lucian let out a brief, almost imperceptible laugh before turning back to the mirror. The reflection seemed to envelop him, as if it were trying to tell him something he couldn't yet understand. Dumbledore, on the other hand, watched in silence, giving the young man time to process what he was seeing.

The older wizard understood that the boy before him wasn't easily impressed, but in that moment, the stillness of the mirror seemed to ask a question Lucian didn't yet know how to answer. The silence stretched until Dumbledore broke it with a soft yet firm voice.

"Do you know what stands before you?"

Lucian didn't take his eyes off the mirror as he answered, his tone calm but filled with interest.

"The Mirror of Erised. After my first visit, I researched everything I could about it. No one knows for certain where it came from or who created it. It's said to have passed from wizard to wizard, many trying to unravel its secrets… until it vanished from the records." He paused briefly, tilting his head slightly. "I doubt any of them imagined it would end up at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore nodded, his hands folded neatly in his lap.

"It was brought here by one of the school's previous headmasters, long before my time. Some say he sought to understand the magic behind it. But if you ask me…"—he raised an eyebrow, his tone taking on a faint warmth—"I think he brought it here because, at some point, he lost himself."

Lucian frowned slightly, intrigued. He wasn't sure if Dumbledore spoke figuratively or literally, but the idea of a wizard powerful enough to be headmaster losing himself in his quest for answers struck him as… curious.

"Lost himself?" Lucian echoed, trying to grasp the meaning behind the words.

Dumbledore held his gaze with the patience of a teacher waiting for his student to connect the dots.

"Yes. Sometimes, in our search for answers or something we feel we lack, we forget who we are. The mirror…"—he gestured toward it with a slight motion of his hand—"has a peculiar way of showing us that void. Tell me, Lucian, do you truly know what it reflects?"

Lucian turned back to the mirror, observing his own image for a moment before replying. His voice, though reflective, carried a note of uncertainty.

"It shows us the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. Something we often don't even realize we long for. A hidden yearning… perhaps unattainable."

Dumbledore listened intently, his eyes sparkling with approval yet tinged with a hint of sadness. He rose from his seat and walked slowly toward the young man, standing beside him in front of the mirror.

"You're correct, Lucian. It's nothing more and nothing less than a dangerous illusion." His voice was soft, but his words carried weight. "There's no harm in desire. Dreams, aspirations… they're part of what makes us human. But to linger too long on what the mirror shows can lead us to forget reality, to neglect the present in favor of a future that may never come."

Lucian processed the words in silence, his gaze unwavering as he stared into the mirror. Finally, he spoke, his tone measured, almost indifferent, though his eyes remained fixed on the reflection as if daring it to reveal something he didn't want to admit.

"I understand," he said, after a calculated pause. "I'm not here out of mere curiosity or nostalgia, Professor. I thought that if I could understand what I saw, perhaps I could… organize my thoughts more clearly."

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, evaluating Lucian's words with a penetrating gaze that seemed to pierce through any facade. After a moment, he smiled softly.

"And what is it that you see?"

Lucian kept his gaze on the mirror, his expression carefully neutral. But as he answered, there was a slight pause, a crack in the facade he tried to maintain.

"I see myself holding a new pair of woolen gloves," he said in a tone bordering on nonchalance, as if the answer were of little importance.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, surprised by the response, though his expression soon softened into a warm smile.

"A pair of woolen gloves?"

"Yes," Lucian replied, shrugging with a rehearsed gesture, as if dismissing the weight of his own words. "Another Christmas has passed, and most people around me seem to think I should receive grand or practical things. Rare books, objects to help me…"—he paused briefly, barely perceptibly, before continuing—"meet certain expectations. But few ever stop to think of something as simple as that."

Dumbledore regarded him with renewed attention, as though he had just uncovered another layer of the young man before him.

"A simple wish, but a profound one," he commented softly. "It's not the object itself that you desire, but what it represents. A gift that speaks of genuine affection, from someone who sees you for who you are, not for who they expect you to be."

Lucian didn't respond immediately. His eyes shifted away from the mirror, not toward Dumbledore, but to some undefined point on the floor. The tension in his shoulders betrayed that the older man's words had struck a chord, even though he maintained an outwardly relaxed posture.

Dumbledore broke the silence as he rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm. He approached the mirror with his hands clasped behind his back, his blue eyes gleaming with a faint spark of nostalgia as they rested on the gilded frame of the Mirror of Erised.

"Soon, this mirror will be moved to a safer place," he said thoughtfully. "Its time here has come to an end."

Lucian blinked, turning toward him with curiosity.

"And where will that place be?"

Dumbledore smiled, the kind of smile that always seemed to conceal more than it revealed.

"A place where it cannot tempt those who look to it for answers they must find within themselves," he replied, pausing briefly. His tone softened, carrying a note of gentle warning. "But I trust you will not seek it out, Lucian. Some things are better left hidden, far from our sight. Otherwise, we risk becoming ensnared by what we desire instead of moving toward what we truly need."

Lucian nodded slowly, digesting the headmaster's words. His gaze returned to the mirror one last time—not to search for answers, but to bid farewell to something that, while it reflected his deepest longings, could never offer anything more than an illusion.

…

"Do you want to play chess?" Cassandra asked casually, moving a piece across the board in front of her.

"No."

Helena's answer was barely a whisper. She was lying on her bed, hugging Crookshanks, who purred softly by her side. Her eyes were fixed on the canopy above, as if searching for answers in the shadows dancing on the fabric.

Cassandra stopped moving the pieces and looked at her for a moment, pressing her lips together before trying again.

"How about visiting Hagrid, then?"

"No... you go," Helena replied in a muted voice, barely turning her face to stroke the cat's soft fur.

Cassandra's brow furrowed slightly, though her irritation never turned into reproach.

"You need to be careful with what you do, Helena. You're not in the best condition to wander around alone," she finally said, her tone firm yet laced with concern.

Helena didn't respond, closing her eyes as if to block out both Cassandra's words and her scrutinizing gaze.

With a faint sigh, Cassandra stood from her bed and dusted off her robes with deliberate movements.

"I'll see if Lucian's free to go to the Great Hall. If you'd like to join us, you're more than welcome," she said, her voice neutral but carrying a note of hope, as though she genuinely wished Helena would say yes.

Helena shook her head without opening her eyes.

"No need," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Cassandra watched her for another moment, debating whether to insist, but ultimately grabbed her scarf and left the room.

Helena opened her eyes once she was alone, feeling the weight of the silence Cassandra had left behind. She knew Cassandra was worried, and while she appreciated the concern deep down, she couldn't help but feel irritated. Being seen as a problem that needed solving was a feeling she despised.

Crookshanks stretched out lazily beside her, rolling onto his back to expose his belly. Helena gave him a small smile, her hand running through his soft fur.

"I'm fine. Really," she whispered, more to convince herself than the cat.

Helena hadn't spoken to her friends about the mirror, and she probably wouldn't. Part of her suspected that Cassandra and Lucian had already figured out something was wrong. Both were far too observant for their own good—Cassandra with her blunt remarks and Lucian with that calm gaze that seemed to see more than he let on. Their attempts to keep her occupied, to pull her out of the room, were anything but casual.

Still, Helena wasn't going to let that stop her from returning to the mirror. Each time she looked into it, she felt a strange mix of comfort and torment—a longing for something that should have been hers, but wasn't.

Crookshanks purred again, his warm body curling closer to her. Helena closed her eyes for a moment, sinking into the cat's soothing presence, but her mind remained restless.

They wouldn't understand. Neither Cassandra, with her headstrong approach to the world, nor Lucian, with his cold, logical outlook. People who had everything could never comprehend those who had nothing.

On the sixth night, Helena found her way back to the mirror more quickly than before. Her steps were hurried, too loud for someone trying not to be caught, but she didn't care. Her heart raced with anticipation as she entered the empty classroom, and there it was.

The mirror.

And within it, her mother and father, smiling at her with such tenderness. Her grandfather stood beside them, waving at her with a bright, proud expression. Helena felt something inside her chest loosen. She sank to the floor in front of the mirror, crossing her legs and hugging her knees as she gazed at the scene. An hour slipped by unnoticed until soft footsteps approached behind her.

"Helena," Harry whispered as he sat down beside her. "Here again?"

"I could ask you the same," she replied without taking her eyes off the mirror.

Together, the twins stared at their family reflected in the glass, lost in the illusion, clinging to a connection that felt so close yet so out of reach. No one would stop them from spending this night with their family. No one.

Except...

"So, back again, are we, children?"

Helena felt the air leave her lungs. Her body tensed as she slowly turned her head.

Sitting at a desk against the wall was Albus Dumbledore.

"We… we didn't see you, sir," Harry said, springing to his feet.

"It's curious how blind one can become while invisible," Dumbledore remarked with a calm smile, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

Helena and Harry exchanged glances, relieved by his affable tone.

"So," Dumbledore continued, climbing down from the desk with surprising agility for his age, "like hundreds before you, you've discovered the wonders of the Mirror of Erised."

"Is that what it's called?" Helena asked, her voice a little shaky.

"Indeed. But I hope you've already deduced what it does, haven't you?"

"Well… it showed me my family," Harry began, but Dumbledore cut him off with a kind gesture.

"And your friend Ronald Weasley saw himself as Quidditch captain, holding the cup aloft."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked, bewildered.

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible," Dumbledore replied with a wink.

Helena looked at the headmaster cautiously. She didn't move from her spot in front of the mirror, though her cheeks burned at the thought of him having been there, watching them the whole time.

"Can you guess what this mirror shows us?" Dumbledore asked, letting his gaze rest on Harry first and then Helena.

Harry slowly shook his head, while Helena remained silent, debating whether or not to speak. Finally, she took a breath and answered hesitantly:

"It shows us what we want… whatever we desire most."

"Yes and no," Dumbledore corrected gently, leaning forward slightly. "This mirror shows us nothing more and nothing less than the deepest and most desperate desire of our hearts. For you, who have never known your family, it reflects you surrounded by them. For Ronald, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, he sees himself as the best of them all."

His tone grew graver, as if trying to impress the importance of his words upon them.

"However, this mirror gives neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away in front of it, entranced by what they see, unable to tear themselves away. Others have gone mad, not knowing if what it shows is even real or possible."

Helena felt a shiver run down her spine.

"The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow," Dumbledore continued, his tone softening, "and I ask that you do not seek it out again. If you ever encounter it in the future, you must be ready. It is not good to dwell on dreams and forget to live—remember that."

Harry nodded slowly and began moving toward the exit, though he seemed reluctant to leave.

"Sir… Professor Dumbledore… can I ask you something?" he said, pausing mid-step.

"It's evident that you just did," Dumbledore replied with a smile. "However, you may ask me another question."

"What do you see when you look into the mirror?"

Dumbledore seemed to consider the question for a moment before answering.

"Me? I see myself holding a pair of thick woolen socks."

Harry stared at him, astonished, while Helena frowned slightly, confused.

"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore explained with a wistful smile. "Another Christmas has come and gone, and I didn't receive a single pair. People continue to insist on giving me books."

As Dumbledore and Harry walked away from the mirror, Helena remained seated in her original position, her eyes fixed on the reflection.

"If I…" she began, her voice trembling. "If I leave, I won't see them again, will I?"

Dumbledore stopped abruptly and slowly walked back toward her, his steps soft and measured, as though each was carefully considered. When he reached her side, his blue eyes, which usually held a playful sparkle, now showed a quiet understanding.

With a look that blended tenderness and wisdom, he extended his hand to Helena. She hesitated for a moment but finally accepted his offer.

Dumbledore's hand was warm and steady, yet it felt oddly light. Helena immediately noticed how small and fragile hers seemed in comparison. With a gentle motion, Dumbledore helped her to her feet.

"Not here, not in this mirror," he replied, his voice a serene whisper filled with a wisdom that only years could grant. "But that doesn't mean you'll lose them."

Helena looked at the mirror, then back at Dumbledore, not entirely sure she understood what he meant.

Dumbledore gave her a compassionate look, almost as if he could read her mind. As he spoke, his gaze shifted to Harry, who stood silently, watching her with an unmistakable presence at her side.

"The people we love leave a mark on us, Helena. A mark that doesn't rely on concrete memories or their physical presence. The love you share is so profound that it endures even when they're no longer near." His voice didn't sound like a mere explanation; it was more like a reminder.

"And don't forget, you have someone here with you," he added with a small smile, glancing at Harry, who hadn't stopped watching his sister. Harry's expression was a mix of concern and affection—the same look he'd had for her all his life.

A look that always filled her chest with a warm, comforting feeling. She knew with certainty that he would always be there.

Helena wasn't sure how she got back to her dormitory, but when she was in her bed, she couldn't help but think that perhaps Dumbledore hadn't been entirely truthful. Yet, at the same time, she understood that a man as powerful as Dumbledore had to have his own secrets.