001
CINDERED SPIRITS
Chapter I: The Enchanted Mirror
The story begins here:
Shortly after Harry sees his parents and Ron sees a life of great success before the Mirror of Erised
No matter how much he tried, Harry couldn't get to sleep.
That evidently wasn't a problem for his friend, Ron Weasley—whose snores were on par with Dudley's—who was peacefully asleep in his bed, oblivious to the inner turmoil in his friend's mind.
Harry had seen his parents. They were so beautiful, so kind, so loving, so … everything.
The way his mother had looked at him, smiling with the utmost love, had Harry almost out of breath. He sobbed slightly, trying his best not to wake his mate. It suddenly occurred to him that, with Christmas break, there wouldn't be a lot of people in the house, so he quietly made his way downstairs. He tried to contain himself, still fearful that one of the Weasleys could come down for a glass of water or something, but he found that he didn't bother if they found him. He could only think about his family.
His father! James Potter had this proud smile that made his heart flutter. Oh, how he wished they were alive! He had been crying too, like his mother, but Harry just—simply—knew those were happiness tears. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it. His parents were proud of him.
When he discovered the sacrifice they'd made for him, he couldn't help but feel like he would disappoint them. They had given their lives to protect him from You-Know-Who. Ah, why did he even say this nickname mentally?! Voldemort!
He shuddered involuntarily, and felt angry at himself because of this. His parents had given their lives to protect him from that—from that monster, and he couldn't even bring himself to say its name.
But that doesn't matter. The guilt that he felt, fuelled by the fear that he wasn't honouring their sacrifice had diminished greatly. He rationalised that, even if he was … the way he was, his parents would be proud of him. He let go of that apprehensiveness he had since he'd joined the magical world and since he'd learned about their tragic tale.
His parents gazed upon him so lovingly, so tenderly. It made his spirits soar, and he was the happiest boy in the world at that moment.
He'd also seen quite a few different faces. There was an elderly lady with blonde hair and brown eyes who'd used a handkerchief to dab at her wet face, a gentleman with his messy hair and kind grey eyes who tried to look dignified, but was looking proudly at him, too. There were people from his mother's family, too. He'd seen Grandpa Evans, with his big belly and fading red hair. There was Grandma Evans, too, with her thin white hair, that Harry knew was a vibrant honey colour from the rarest moments Aunt Petunia talked about them.
He never met any of them. They had all died long before he had the chance to meet them, or had died, in his parents' case, protecting him.
He realised suddenly, with great shame, that he didn't even know their names. The Potter side of the family, he meant. Although Aunt Petunia occasionally entertained Dudley and Harry with stories from the Evans family, and their growing up in the suburbs of Cokeworth, she never spoke about the Potters. Harry realised that he didn't even know his dad's full name. He didn't even know how his grandparents were called.
He vowed to himself to correct that. He had so much to know, so much to learn. The novelty of discovering that he was a wizard had opened so many possibilities to him that just to know what he was capable of doing would require years of study and of immersing himself into this new and fabulous world.
He decided, right there, that he would be one of the best wizards in the school. He would learn the material, he would practise the spells until he learned, he would study ahead and would learn all there was to learn about this wondrous world. He would go with Hermione to the library and soak up all that was available for him to learn, he would get the cloak and learn all the magic that was in the Restricted Session, he would practise so many spells that even Hermione wouldn't know how he'd done it. He would learn about his family, and see who they were, and what they'd done.
He would make them proud.
With the image of his loving family, and the comforting sounds of the Common Room, he gradually went to sleep.
When Ron woke up, he blearily opened his eyes and looked around the room for his best friend.
He was alarmed when his bed was empty and the sheets were cold. He hastily put on his fluffy slippers and exited the room. He knew that mirror was bad magic. His father had always warned him about those things.
But as it was, he didn't need to worry too much. As soon as he descended the stairs, Percy was there halting him and putting a finger on his lips. Ron wanted to shove Percy out of the way, the prat, but looked to where he was pointing. Ron's heart calmed a little when he saw Harry peacefully asleep on the sofa. He had a thick blanket with childish drawings of lion cubs tumbling around, and had been drooling a little. He looked so peaceful Ron couldn't help but smile.
He smiled at Percy, who smiled at him back, and soon enough the two of them were engaged in a chess match in a secluded and well illuminated groove by one of the windows. Hedwig soon joined him, preferring the comfort of Gryffindor Common Room to the heating pads of the Owlery, but rapidly quieted herself when she saw Harry sleeping. Ron had been marvelled at how intelligent she was of an owl. A Hermi-Owl-Nee!
He chuckled to himself, at which Percy looked at him strangely, but he merely signalled with his head that it was nothing and made his move.
Percy had a winning sequence in six moves, but the way his brother had laughed when he'd made his move destabilised him. Ron crushed him with a beautiful pawn's checkmate soon after.
It was good to see how far a little psychological trick could go with his elder brother, even if it wasn't intentional.
"Care for another match, Percy?" Ron whispered to his brother, who was staring contemplatively at the board.
Percy's eyes flashed at Ron's cockiness.
"However many we need, Ronald, until we get even."
Ron scowled briefly at the mention of his full first name, before he moved his wand in a roll, mending all the pieces back.
"Whatever you wish, Percival", he said, grinning to his brother.
Life was good for Ron Weasley.
It was just after lunch, and Harry and Ron were entrenched in the library. Madam Pince had been surprisingly pleasant to him and Ron, offering help with whatever they had asked. Ron said that it must be a Christmas miracle, but Harry supposed that with the library less crowded, she didn't need to be constantly on the lookout for troublemakers trying to get in the Restricted Session or for students bothering their colleagues in their study sessions.
It had been downright strange to see her in such a good mood, though.
Ron had taken a few books on Quidditch in the first half of the century, reasoning with Harry that there could be a chance that the Flamel individual could've been a retired player or coach of some sort. He didn't buy Ron's reasoning, but said nothing, because he, too, was engrossed in other things, not even remotely close to that subject.
From time to time, he could feel Ron looking at him apprehensively, obviously thinking about last night, when they had found that enchanted mirror. At first, Harry pretended it wasn't bothering him, but he was beginning to get irritated with his friend.
But he really shouldn't. He felt lucky that he'd found such a good friend in Ron, and with him, such a caring family. He looked down and saw the 'H' embroidered in his sweater, and couldn't help but smile at what a wonderful present that was. He would buy Mrs Weasley a truck-full of sweets the first time he got the opportunity.
He kept to the promise he'd made himself last night in the Common Room. He was currently reading the curriculum section of 'Hogwarts, a History'. Ron had teased him about the book when he'd seen Harry taking it from the shelf, asking him what his name was again.
"I'm sure the first letter is 'H'. Henry, Herman, Hans, what was it?" He said to an unamused Harry. "Ah, I remember! Hermione Potter! That's it!"
He'd hit Ron in the side of the head with a book, to which the boy responded by lifting the hem of Harry's scarf to cover his head. He laughed at his friend and dodged from being hit with the wise face of Bathilda Bagshot, and settled down at a table, not very far from the shelf, followed by a scowling Harry, though you could see in his eyes he wasn't at all that mad.
Madam Pince turned the corner and looked at the two of them. She smiled and did a little curtsy, leaving the both of them to look at one another, trying to contain their laughter about this whole situation.
But as I was saying, Harry was reading about the changes in Hogwarts Curriculum. There were so many interesting subjects that had been dropped for one reason or another. Alchemy, Astrology, Rituals & Ceremonies, Etiquette, Spellcraft, Jinxes and even one class in the first half of the last century that made Harry laugh thinking about the reasons it had existed named 'The Benefits of Showering'.
On the other hand, was it terminated because they'd learned the lesson or because it had been rejected by the students? Harry learned that he preferred not to know.
Anyways, I'm digressing. One other thing Harry noted was how there was a heated debate about the inclusion of two disciplines: Arithmancy and Divination. The former was created first, with a broader approach, leaving the divination aspects of numerology, which composes a great part of its syllabus, out. Thus, Divination was created as a separate discipline. Harry was surprised to see how controversial its creation had been, with a lot of important people from both sides weighing in. There was even, in the last paragraph, a quick passage from one Minerva McGonagall, former student.
Harry chuckled at the wording. Even in her youth, the wording was clearly Prof. McGonagall's. He laughed trying to think about a young Scottish lass hammering about the 'soundness of teaching such an inexact branch of magic'. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't imagine her without grey hair.
He continued laughing, prompting Ron to read the passage. He smiled at Harry, and laughed a little, too, more at his friend's exuberance than about the passage, properly speaking.
But as Harry calmed down and continued reading about the school, he suddenly remembered what Ron had said on the night before, when he was looking in the mirror.
"Do you think this mirror shows the future?"
Harry suddenly had a realisation. What if—what if it did show the future. Although Ron could be a bit brash sometimes, he was very handy with his spellwork and had a great academic performance when he focused on the material. Harry had no doubts Ron could be a Prefect or even a Head Boy like his brothers Bill, and Percy, who was—if the rumours were true—one of the best students in the school and the best candidate for Head Boy in his year.
Harry thought he should get a few tips with Percy, later.
But now he was worried about another thing. What if what Ron had said was true?
Ron talked a lot about Quidditch. Was he any good at playing it? Harry flushed when he realised he'd never asked him. Ron was always supportive of Harry playing as seeker, but Harry had never asked if Ron played it, too. He would've to be a better friend to Ron, he realised.
He shook his head and focused on what Ron had said again. The consequences of it, should his words be right …
Was Harry going to—die?
He supposed he was a bit too young to die, still, given that the Harry in the mirror had been his own reflection. Was it even a bit taller, though? Was there a hint as to when he would die? Was it because—was it …
Harry's chest tightened as he thought about the possibility.
Was it because he was dying that his parents were crying? He had reached the conclusion the night before that it was because they'd been happy about him, but now …
Harry's eyes roamed the page, but he couldn't focus anymore. He set the book on the table and leafed through it until he found the Divination section again. It talked about someone called Gloria Gartbreck as the current teacher, but he supposed if Prof. McGonnagal had just graduated when the book was published, there had to be at least half a century since it was published.
Sorry about that, Prof. McGonnagal, should you ever read this.
Was the Harry in the mirror dead? Harry supposed it made sense, because even if the mirror looked into his mind or something, it hadn't a way to know how Grandma Evans looked. The few photos of her in her younger years were all black and white. It also hadn't a way to know how Ron would look like when he was older. That had to be it!
But even as he felt the rush of making a new discovery, the implications began to settle.
Was he going to die?
It was only a few months ago that Harry finally had begun truly living. He'd made friends, he'd discovered his parents died to protect him, he'd been sorted into the best Hogwarts house, he'd been the youngest Seeker in a century, he'd wiped the grin off Malfoy's face when he caught the Golden Snitch … Was it all going to end?
He trembled as he closed the book.
Should he tell Ron? Ron would have a good life, it seemed. Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, he would be the one Prof. McGonnagal would choose to lift the House cup in front of the whole school. But—what if it didn't predict the future?
Harry was suddenly full of hope. He felt a little bad, for a second, wishing that what Ron had seen in the mirror wouldn't necessarily happen, but he supposed his friend would agree with him that not dying was certainly more important than winning all those titles. He needed to investigate further, but now he didn't want to look in the mirror. He was scared. What if the mirror was sentient? What if it discovered Harry had learned his secrets and showed more about a future he was hoping to be wrong?
But there was an expert in Divination in the castle, he supposed. Prof. Gartbreck may have retired already, though, so who was the current teacher? Was he or she staying at Hogwarts over the break? He wondered where he could find the professor.
"Ron, what electives did Percy choose? Do you know which ones?"
Ron looked at him with a funny expression, and scrunched up his face trying to sort out all the times they'd talked about that.
"I don't reckon, Harry. He always told me about the positive and negative aspects of each one, though. You'd think he was taking all of them. I know for a fact that he didn't take the one with magical creatures, and that he took the one about Muggles, but I don't know if he took another … Why do you ask? Are you reading this far ahead? Mate, not trying to offend you or anything, but that pencil you transfigured still chirped—"
"It wasn't mine. It was yours!" Harry replied, his face reddening. "Anyways, I wanted to talk to one of the teachers. Do you know where Percy is?"
Ron looked at Harry for a long time, but shrugged and answered him.
"I suppose he's at the library, too. Upstairs is where the more advanced stuff is."
Harry shelved the books he was reading and put his notes on his bag. Ron was lazily getting up too, but Harry told him he didn't need to bother.
"I'll just go talk to him. See you later at the Common Room."
"Harry!"
Ron had grabbed him by the sleeves of his robes. Harry looked surprised at his friend's abruptness and looked at his concerned face.
"About that mirror—hmm—I don't think you should go there again, Harry."
Harry swallowed hard and gently freed himself from his friend.
"I—I think you're right."
Ron wasn't convinced.
"Harry. I'm being serious here. Look, Dad always had this saying. I don't remember quite right what it was now, but it was something like 'don't trust anything that doesn't have a face', or something like this. Or was it 'don't eat any meat that doesn't have a face'? Anyway, you really shouldn't go there alone, Harry."
Harry nodded. He appreciated his friend's concern, but he certainly wasn't going there alone. In fact, even the appeal of seeing his late parents was a little bleak, now that he had a theory about the nature of the mirror.
"I won't go there alone. I promise."
Ron gave him a long and hard stare. Harry was beginning to get uncomfortable, and was going to look away from him when he suddenly smiled and went back to his book.
"Well, suit yourself, then. Don't let Percy talk your ear off."
Harry laughed and waved goodbye to Ron. He appreciated having a friend like him.
And Percy did talk Harry's ear off. It was almost an hour later and he was still explaining to Harry how the choice of different disciplines closed and opened different opportunities for an ambitious student. Certain Ministry departments didn't even bother reading their CV's if they didn't have at least an O.W.L. in certain subjects.
Harry thanked Percy profusely and accepted with grace the business card the boy passed to him. Even if he was a bit overwhelmed with Percy's grit and thorough knowledge of the intricacies of each government bureaucracy, he couldn't help but admire his determination. And he didn't know that he offered to give paid lessons in Charms and Arithmancy. Harry supposed it could come in handy someday and pocketed it.
He now had a clear view of his objective, too. Prof. Sybill Trelawney, Divination's Master, at the North Tower. Harry had rarely ventured up there, mostly because there was a rumour that it was haunted by the ghost of a wolf that ran after you if you got too close. He'd heard, too, that the taller tower right next to it, connected by an open bridge to the North Tower, was where the Ravenclaw Common Room was located. He wondered if they had made that rumour up to spook the other houses from getting near their secret place. Harry knew for a fact that the tapestry labyrinth leading to the Gryffindor Common Room was also made up.
He finally got to the place, after climbing stairs leading to almost the top of the tower. A golden plate atop of a beautifully ornate archway told him he'd found the place. It was a beautiful chamber, with paintings of smoke solidifying into different figures and of crystal balls changing every so often. He was enthralled by them and wondered if they had divining properties themselves, but he supposed he could look into that later.
He looked around some more, trying to find a door or something that could lead him further. It was only when he looked up he'd finally his answer. He squinted his eyes to read another golden plate.
Professor Sybill C. Trelawney
Classroom N28-1
Harry scratched his head and looked around, trying to see if there was a button or a bell of some sort that he could call to open the trapdoor. But it wasn't needed, because it suddenly opened up and something like molten silver began to spiral down from it. It formed the perfect structure of a spiral staircase and it solidified itself when it touched the tiles. Harry looked appreciatively at the wonderful display of magic, and wondered what sort of witch Prof. Trelawney was to command such an impressive display.
He ascended the stairs and closed the trapdoor. The silvery tendrils reached the top of the trapdoor by the slots on its sides and formed a little and ornate greek column, with a delicate figure of a crystal ball at the top. It glowed brilliantly white for a second and then it solidified again.
"Beautiful, isn't it. And every time it shows a different object. Though I'm not surprised it chose to show a crystal ball to you, Harry Potter."
Harry turned around and saw himself staring at quite an interesting figure.
Prof. Trelawney had kind of a wavy hair, a bit thinner than Hermione's, but it was so frizzy it seemed she had been constantly messing around with electricity. She had big round glasses, which looked like Harry's if someone had used an Engorgement Charm on them. Both the rims and the lenses were at least thrice the size of his.
"Hmm. He—Hello, Prof. Trelawney."
She extended her hands and shook his vigorously. She then beckoned him to enter.
"Come here, come here. Have a seat. Which flavour of tea do you prefer the most? I just received this exotic blend from one of my students, it's like I could taste all the edible flowers at the same time."
Harry blushed and accepted the offer. She was indeed telling the truth. It was absolutely delicious. He cleared his throat to speak.
"Professor, sorry to come around without a beforehand notice—"
"Ah, you didn't need to worry about that, Mr. Potter. I was, in fact, expecting you. The tea leaves are never wrong, you know, though sometimes they can be a bit confusing. I couldn't help but wonder if the warning they gave me couldn't possibly mean that I was suddenly to be struck by a lightning bolt. Naturally, I asked Albus to reinforce the weather spells, but deep down I knew that it was you that would come for guidance," she said, sipping the tea, but never taking her eyes off him.
Harry's mouth fell open. She smiled at his flabbergasted face. He didn't knew what he was expecting, but that certainly was something he never would've imagined.
"So, tell me Mr Potter, how can I help you?"
And then, they began their conversation. Harry didn't want to talk specifically about the mirror, at first, trying to learn more about artefacts that could predict the future. Her answers surprised him more and more as the afternoon wasted away.
There was no Divination without the Inner Eye. Though useful in their own ways, the instruments and artefacts devised by magic were but a funnel to focus the attention of the Diviner into the diffuse and ethereal possible futures. She had ominous predictions about him dying in fire, and of him running in an endless forest. It certainly didn't assure him when she'd told him that. She'd explained all the possibilities those two images could form, and how they would be shaped, clearer and clearer, the closer he got to his destiny, if it didn't change. It didn't necessarily mean that it would happen literally. Harry was fascinated, particularly, when she went on about the magical properties of divining glass, and how the round form with a heptagonal opaque base was the most arithmantically adequate form, given all the cost, the logistics of manufacturing them and the craftsmanship margins of error, to see into the near future. It was getting closer and closer to what he really wanted to know.
"… but that's not the reason you're here, is it, Mr Potter?"
She carefully sipped her tea and looked at him with an inquisitive expression.
Harry blushed and felt guilty over wasting so much of the professor's time. It was even getting dark, already. He shouldn't waste a minute any more. She was a Hogwarts Professor, after all. If the mirror was dangerous, she surely would be able to deal with it.
"Prof. Trelawney, I recently came upon this mirror. It was a magical mirror, but I wasn't sure of its properties. I was worried it might have been a Divining instrument. Well, if it was indeed this, I reckon—I reckon my future is not so good," Harry finished lamely, while brushing his face unconsciously. He looked down, and stayed that way for quite a few moments.
He risked a glance up to Prof. Trelawney and saw that she was shuffling some black cards. She flicked her wand and the cards scattered all around them, like a heavy cloud, and then they fell. Three cards in particular fell upon the small desk between them. Prof. Trelawney looked at them apprehensively, and did that strange ritual two more times. They were the same cards, no matter what.
"I understand," she murmured more to herself, than to Harry. She stood abruptly and waved her wand around, putting everything on its shelf and its cupboard.
"Take me to this mirror, Mr Potter."
Harry wasn't so sure about this whole situation and hesitated. The professor noted his behaviour.
"Don't be fretted, Mr. Potter. I rarely get the opportunity to get so involved in the tendrils of fate. What this situation demands is action. Will you choose to live your life without the knowledge of this mirror's magic? Will you trust me to guide you into your search? Will you trust yourself to obtain the answers? Or will you give yourself to its magic?"
Harry paused and a concept came to him.
This was a crossroad. The professor smiled at him as he had that realisation, even if he didn't vocalise it. Prof. Trelawney had explained the concept but a few hours ago, and already he could see the faint possibilities. What would happen should he choose each one? It was impossible to predict, but as she'd said, the divining instruments were funnels. Maybe the mirror was a funnel into one, dreadful possibility. Maybe this crossroad would change it.
For the worst? For the better? He didn't know.
And it was thrilling to see the way magic enveloped him. He wasn't going to lie. It was a little scary, but it also was so alluring.
He wondered which crossroads he'd already barged through. One came to him immediately.
"Not Slytherin, eh?"
He trembled with the realisation and wondered about the possibilities. This was magic. It was raw, it was imprecise, it was mysterious and it was absolutely magnificent.
What was Divination if not the 'what if's' given magic. What if the Dursleys had never hidden magic from him? What if he had been sorted into Hufflepuff? What if he was a redhead? So many circumstances and so many possibilities. And one didn't necessarily need to look only to the future to do so, too.
And though he supposed those weren't his only options, few others were plausible. In a world of magic, even spontaneous combustion could be one of his possible destinies, but as they hadn't occurred since 1247, he supposed his fate was his own to decide.
It was Divination magic that kept the spirits and passions of wizards alive. It gave them meaning and regret.
It springs forth worlds upon worlds, realities upon realities. It builds upon the fictions and stories, but it finally imposes itself.
What would Harry Potter do?
What if the mirror was more than it seemed?
That fuelled his conviction, and from there, the paths were clear. He stood up and followed Prof. Trelawney, both of the lunatics with smiles on their faces as they faced the mysterious, but predictable possibilities ahead of them.
He had taken far too much time finding the room again. It was like a labyrinth all over. Though he remembered a few features here and there that told him he was getting closer, he was getting more and more embarrassed as he dragged Prof. Trelawney all over the castle.
She was extremely polite about it, though, and refrained from saying anything.
He was almost mustering up the courage to say that perhaps he had forgotten where it was located when he saw it. An inconspicuous door, that he was almost certain he'd glazed over a bunch of times. He took tentative steps towards it, and opened.
That was it.
He heard Prof. Trelawney let out a soft 'ah' as she saw the magnificent mirror at the opposite side of the room.
He stood on the doorframe, paralysed for a moment.
This was the moment of truth. Would he hide from it or would he face it?
He took a deep breath and marched to it, with his eyes closed. When he was almost in front of it he looked down and opened his eyes. He could see his shoes touch its tastefully carved support. He took a deep breath and looked up.
First it was opaque, but quickly an image began to form.
Harry looked at the thing, fascinated.
Prof. Trelawney gauged his reactions, looking a bit anxious with the emotional boy.
Tears were freely running down Harry's face. He was sure, now—he was completely sure those were happiness tears. As his reflection touched the glass, he realised it wasn't cold. In fact, it was warm and inviting. He saw Lily Potter laugh at him, not in a mocking way, but in a relieved and empathetic manner. He laughed with her. He saw his father give him a thumbs-up. He saw one of the Evanses digging ear wax and smelling his finger. Harry laughed heartily at his sudden recoil. The figure looked at him with kind green eyes very similar to his own and waved. He saw one of the Potters, this one with blonde hair, try and look all snobbish and superior, not so much different than how Malfoy occasionally tried to present himself, only to fail miserably when a button of his immensely big coat went flying around. The man blushed but gave a nod to Harry all the same. He saw one of the women fanning herself and smiling at him. She touched her nose and Harry noticed it was a bit crooked like his. His nose wasn't Severus Snape crooked, but it did have a certain curve around the middle. He saw one of his redhead relatives on his mother side make a clawing motion to his face. Harry had his freckles. He also smiled at him.
Would it even be a bad fate? If he died, he would be with all of them. If only he could—
Firm hands took him away from the mirror.
He looked angrily at the person who grabbed him, and tried to squirm off it. He calmed himself down, and Prof. Trelawney gave him a few pats on the head, whispering something he was far too distracted to understand. He nodded, nonetheless. The image was forever burned in his memory, that he was certain. He would remember each one of the innumerable faces, and he would put a name on every one of them.
He suddenly noticed he was seated. Prof. Trelawney must have conjured a chair for him to sit down while he was gazing at the mirror.
She left her position from near him and went to the front of the mirror. Harry hesitated and almost called her back, but it was almost too late, and she was already gazing into it.
Before she looked at the image, she'd been firmly gripping her wand, with a serious expression on her face.
That soon changed. It took just a few seconds, but her expression suddenly morphed into one of surprise, then one of revulsion and finally one dreamy expression that Harry was sure he himself had when doing the same.
Her wand clattered to the ground, and she, much like himself, touched the mirror.
But her expression was now different. She was hungrily staring at it. It spooked Harry. He got up from his chair and wondered what he should do. Should he call help? Was the mirror dominating her? He should've listened to Ron.
She fell on her knees. She was also crying, but differently from Harry, she had her eyes wide open and glued at her reflection.
Harry grabbed her hand and pulled. She was impassive and unmoving, but Harry was relentless. It took a lot of effort, but he finally managed to drag her away.
She blinked owlishly at him and looked around the room as if she could see far beyond its walls.
"Prof. Trelawney. I think coming here was a bad idea. We should head back."
She looked at him as if it was the first time she'd ever seen him. She closed her eyes, and finally answered him.
"You—you are right. This magic. I could see—I could finally see—" she said, hoarsely. She cleared her throat and seemed to finally come to her senses, somewhat. "Yes. I must not. Sadly, I mustn't."
Harry was relieved that she snapped out of it and breathed a little easier. He should've listened to his friend. When they finally got away from that thing, he would buy Ron a Nimbus 2000!
She patted around herself, trying to feel her wand and looked around the room absently-minded. "Did you perhaps—"
She found it. In front of the mirror. Harry didn't see her go for it, but he saw when she glanced at it again and went still.
It was at that moment he felt it, again. Another crossroad. He would realise years later, that it was not his choice that would make or break his fate at that moment, though. It was Prof. Trelawney's.
He got up from his seat again, staring uneasily at her. The air had changed and he could almost taste the magic as it flooded his mind and his senses. Prof. Trelawney suddenly spoke.
"What this situation demands, Mr Potter, is action."
Harry froze in his spot. He wondered if he should run. He saw, as if time slowed down, her wand passing from her right hand to her left hand, and her left arm raising.
She never looked away from the mirror.
"Incarcerous."
Harry tried to jump away from the incoming spell, but it caught him, nonetheless. He tripped and fell hard on the floor. His head banged on it and he felt a bit dizzy. He looked fearfully at Prof. Trelawney, who was staring fixedly at her own reflection when her eyes began to roll up. She levitated his form and put him standing beside her. Harry had tried to jump and knock her off from the mirror, but it was useless. His minimal movements were corrected by her binding spell, and he could only stare at her. He refused to look at the mirror.
He then noticed the wind. He supposed it must've been going for quite some time, but it was only now that he was noticing it. He looked around the room and saw the tables rattling against each other. Oh, how he wished one of those flied around and knocked them over or smashed the cursed mirror! He then heard faint whispering.
He snapped back to Prof. Trelawney. She was murmuring something, but he couldn't quite get what it was. Her face was terrifying. Her frazzled hair was blasting all around her face, touching her eyes and entering her mouth, but she never stopped murmuring. Her eyes rolled out again, this time coming back to normal—or as normal as it can be in that situation. She moved her wand in a downward motion and suddenly Harry found himself free. He tried to run, but she made a downward movement again and thick vines curled around his forearm, and around hers, linking them with shackles. They were enveloping his wrist more and more, coiling as a snake, dragging him towards the mirror. He kicked and jerked his arm to free himself from the vines; he even put his weight on it, but nothing served to sever it. He called for help, but nobody came. When he finally got close to Trelawney again, he tried to tackle her.
He ended up hurting his shoulders. It was as if she was made of stone. She stayed rooted in her place, absolutely unmovable.
Harry looked at his arms and saw why she was using her other hand to cast spells. Those weren't vines, those were branches of a single trunk that began halfway from Prof. Trelawney's forearm in a gruesome transition from skin to bark. He looked at her feet and saw that thick roots had replaced her feet, embedding themselves onto the stone floor.
He looked at her face and was in horror with what he saw.
He couldn't bear to look at it any longer and finally succumbed to the mirror. He gazed upon it. What he saw shocked him.
There, Trelawney was still rigid, looking fixedly ahead, the only difference was that the wand wasn't pointed back to them. The mirror Harry, on the other hand, had a terrible expression on his face. He was murmuring words, much like the Trelawney of his side of the mirror was.
"Stop! Stop this!" Harry screamed at his reflection.
It continued to murmur the incantation—that was it—impassively. Harry pleaded again and again for Prof. Trelawney and for his reflection to stop, but they didn't.
Suddenly, though, it all quieted down. His mirror image lowered his arm and looked at Prof. Trelawney at Harry's side. She glanced at Harry's mirror image, making a terrible cracking sound as she did it. Harry lowered his head, and dared not see what would happen. He stayed like that for a few moments, and then a hand—no, not a hand. Branches enveloped his neck and jaw, forcing him to, slowly, look up. Little twigs circled his head and pried his eyes open, hurting him and making him grunt in pain in the process. He was forced to look at the Trelawney in the mirror, as she slowly lifted her head much like he was forced to lift.
He resisted until he couldn't, and finally gazed upon directly at the mirror Trelawney. He looked into her void eyes and felt his heart tighten.
The Prof. Trelawney on the mirror walked towards him and he was suddenly flung towards the mirror, with the branches quickly and painfully disentangling themselves from him. He closed his eyes, just before he hit the mirror.
Just before all went black.