The halls of Hogwarts were quiet, the flickering torches casting long shadows as the trio tiptoed along the corridor, cloaks pulled tight against the chill of stone.
Dora led the way with practiced stealth, a map (hand-drawn and full of notes) clutched in one hand and her hair darkened for night travel. Iris followed close behind, barely containing her giggles at the hushed retelling of Professor Flitwick's accidental sneeze that had sent a pile of quills flying across the classroom. Hadrian brought up the rear, keeping an ear out for trouble.
"We are getting better at this," Dora whispered proudly. "Not a single trick stair tonight."
"Only took us three tries," Hadrian muttered.
"Progress," Iris chirped. "By year seven, we'll be ghosts."
That was when the creak came. Low and heavy. Boot heels.
Hadrian froze.
"Someone's coming," he hissed, eyes narrowing. "Filch."
The trio scrambled back the way they came, muffling footsteps as they ducked down the corridor. There wasn't time to double back toward the common room.
"There," Dora pointed to an old oak door slightly ajar.
They rushed inside and shut the door with a soft click, hearts pounding in the dimness.
Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and old magic. It looked like an unused classroom — desks pushed to the side, cobwebs along the walls. But against the far wall stood a tall, ornate mirror draped in a faded cover that had been half-pulled aside.
Its golden frame curled in elegant patterns, and a strange inscription wound across the top:
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Hadrian's breath caught.
He knew this mirror. The Mirror of Erised.
He'd seen it in the movies, and the books — a relic that showed not reality, but the deepest desire of the heart.
But he feigned ignorance, tilting his head as if reading the inscription for the first time.
"What is it?" Iris asked, stepping forward.
"A mirror, obviously," Dora said, though her tone wavered.
"Maybe it's enchanted?" Iris offered.
Hadrian nodded slowly. "Could be. Want to see?"
They agreed, curiosity winning out. Dora went first, walking up to the glass and peering in.
"What do you see?" Hadrian asked.
Dora's expression softened, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
"I... see myself," she said slowly. "But older. Wearing Auror robes. And… someone's holding my hand. I can't tell who."
Hadrian already had a good idea.
Iris stepped forward next, eyes wide. Her breath hitched.
"I see us," she whispered. "The three of us. Grown up. Together in a little cottage with a garden. No war. No fame. Just… peace."
Then it was Hadrian's turn. He approached the mirror with practiced calm and looked.
He saw the same cottage Iris had described. Dora by his side, smiling, hair shifting colors in contentment. Iris under a tree, humming to herself with a book in hand. And he — older, confident, free. No shadows over his shoulder. No destiny pressing down or world to alter.
He smiled faintly and stepped back.
"So?" Iris asked.
"I saw… the same," Hadrian said, truthfully enough. "Just us. Happy."
They sat for a while, huddled in the quiet room. The mirror's presence loomed, yet strangely comforting.
"Why would this be here?" Dora asked after a moment.
Hadrian frowned thoughtfully. "Someone wanted it hidden. Or maybe someone wanted it found."
He didn't voice the rest of his thoughts: This had been a piece of Dumbledore's plan. A way to test Harry, to lure Voldemort. But Voldemort is gone. So why is it still here? Does Dumbledore still believe him out there?
Eventually, they crept back to the Hufflepuff dorms, undetected and full of questions.
But the mirror stayed with them — not in fear, but in hope.
Hope that one day, what they saw might not just be desire.
But destiny actualized.