Harry peered along the bottom of the bookshelf, hoping to find the book he wanted, but in the end, his search came up empty.
The Restricted Section hid plenty of dark magic books, and Harry had found some advanced dark magic texts and powerful potion recipes, like Polyjuice Potion, which could alter one's appearance. But none of the three Unforgivable Curses were there.
Disappointed, Hermione had told him that according to the records, Hogwarts' Restricted Section housed a wealth of cutting-edge dark magic knowledge, including many rare dark magic tomes.
The most dangerous ones—spells even more perilous than the Unforgivable Curses—were supposed to be here. Yet Harry hadn't found that legendary, exceedingly rare, and mysterious book, Secrets of the Darkest Art.
Perhaps after Dumbledore became headmaster, he had removed the most dangerous books.
Some time later, with a modest haul in hand, Harry heard Filch approaching the library on his patrol.
Harry had no intention of running into him. He slipped on his Invisibility Cloak and vanished from sight.
After leaving the library, Harry noticed something in a nearby abandoned classroom—a powerful magical artifact.
Most objects at Hogwarts carried a faint trace of magic. Self-moving suits of armor and animated portraits were the most basic examples, but some items stood out as exceptional: the Sorting Hat, the Sword of Gryffindor, or even Quirrell's turban. Their value was palpable.
Some of the incomprehensible books in the Restricted Section were clearly more precious than others.
This, too, was a valuable artifact.
It didn't seem to belong here, as if someone had left it in the classroom temporarily, with nowhere else to store it.
It was a grand mirror, reaching all the way to the ceiling, framed in ornate gold with two claw-shaped feet supporting it. The frame was etched with incomprehensible magical runes.
How strange, Harry thought. He often wandered the castle at night, scoping out its secrets. He had opened the doors to every ordinary abandoned classroom and could sense where valuable items or important hidden passages were. This mirror hadn't been here before.
Let's see what this thing is!
Bold as ever, Harry cautiously approached the mirror.
In the reflection, he saw not only himself but a crowd of people standing behind him—friends from another world.
Knowing it was likely an illusion, Harry couldn't help but glance back.
As expected, no one was there.
He studied the mirror again, and the illusion shifted.
Now, a woman was smiling and waving at him.
He reached out, groping the air behind him.
If that woman truly existed, Harry should have been able to touch her—they were so close in the mirror. But his hand met only air. The woman existed only within the mirror.
She wasn't Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn.
Nor was she Arya Stark, whom he liked so much.
Not Margaery Tyrell, the "Little Rose" who dreamed of being queen, nor Ygritte, the wildling.
Nor was she Brienne of Tarth, the "Maiden of Tarth" known as the Beauty.
She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman with deep red hair. Her eyes—her eyes were exactly like his, Harry realized.
Then he noticed she was crying, smiling through her tears.
Beside her stood a tall, lean man with black hair, his arm around her. He wore glasses, and his hair was messy, with a stubborn tuft sticking up at the back—just like Harry's.
Harry was now so close to the mirror that his nose nearly touched his reflection's.
"Dad?" he whispered. "Mum?"
They gazed at him, smiling warmly.
He had seen them in his infancy and could recognize them now.
More people began to appear in the mirror.
Harry slowly examined their faces, noticing that they all shared some feature with him—his exact mouth, his exact nose.
His father already looked so much like him. No wonder Hagrid always said they were alike, and no wonder Snape reacted so strongly. But an older man bore an even closer resemblance—his grandfather, perhaps. Harry knew these were illusions, a family conjured by his longing.
Not the cold, uncaring Dursleys—his true family.
But they were all dead.
Harry stared at them hungrily, pressing his hands firmly against the mirror's glass.
"Dad, Mum, come out…" he murmured, his voice breaking uncontrollably.
If he could pull someone from the underworld, reverse death itself, Harry swore he would, no matter the cost—even if it meant slaying Death itself.
Finally, he took a deep breath and restrained himself.
He had a system. One day, he might have the power to change everything.
If he could become a god, could he alter fate?
There they were again—his mother and father smiling at him, and his grandfather nodding cheerfully.
Harry took one last greedy look, then turned and said in a low voice, far too heavy for his age, "Professor Dumbledore? Is this your treasure?"
"I didn't intend to hide from you, but I thought I could keep it secret a bit longer—perhaps a few days," came the reply. "When did you notice me, Harry? I used my full effort. I didn't underestimate you, nor did I plan to reveal myself just yet. Is my disillusionment charm that poor?"
"Professor Dumbledore, your disillusionment charm is flawless, only a tad less effective than my Invisibility Cloak. But I'm a bit more sensitive today," Harry said, having heard Dumbledore's heartbeat.
He also realized his Invisibility Cloak might not be ordinary. No wonder it was so hard to see through—its visual effect was even stronger than Dumbledore's disillusionment charm.
As he spoke, it was as if Harry had shed his Invisibility Cloak. A transparent figure materialized into reality.
Sitting on a table by the wall was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the modern magical world.
His disillusionment charm—a high-level Disillusionment Charm, no less—was not only technically masterful.
His aura, his very presence, was so well-concealed that it bordered on metaphysical. If he had known Harry's capabilities—known that Harry could hear heartbeats with his senses fully attuned—he could have hidden even better.
Because he could mask his breath, erase his presence. In the hands of a legendary wizard like Dumbledore, such a spell produced almost mystical effects, showcasing the irrational, reality-warping nature of magic.
Many unassuming spells in the wizarding world worked similarly, like the Muggle-Repelling Charm.
Or the Fidelius Charm, which Hermione had read about in summaries of advanced spells, rendering something undiscoverable to those outside its conditions.
Harry, with his five points of charisma, possessed a similar ability—stretching the boundaries of magic to make objects accept his spells in ways they shouldn't.
He could sense that Dumbledore also had charisma, likely three or four points, a rare trait Harry had never encountered at such a level, second only to his own.
Such golden attributes were precious; most people had none.
The charisma of armies or national leaders influenced people; Hagrid's charisma likely affected magical creatures. Most wizards, especially legendary ones like Dumbledore, had charisma that seemed to bend the world itself.
"Your disillusionment is truly impressive. I'd wager most wizards couldn't detect you," Harry said.
"That's odd," Dumbledore replied. "If my disillusionment could be seen by everyone, why would I bother with such a shoddy spell?"
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