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Reflections by firebreathingradishes
Chapter 1 : The Mirror of Erised
Rating: 12+Chapter Reviews: 14

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or the mirror. JK Rowling does and she's really cool.

A/N: This was written for the "Reflections" challenge issued by u_had_me_at_hello. I hope you enjoy it!


"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi"
-inscribed on the top of the Mirror of Erised


A lone boy, pale and dark-haired, watched the hangings of his four-poster bed with wide dark eyes. The loud snores of his roommates filled the dormitory with incessant sound and Tom Marvolo Riddle glared at the hangings as if it were their fault that his roommates snored. He ought to teach those idiots a lesson. He fingered his wand which always stayed by his side ever since he bought it just a few weeks at Ollivander’s.

An idea came to him. Tonight was the perfect time to explore his new school. Of course there was the curfew, but he just wouldn’t get caught. Grinning with delight, Tom slipped out of his bed and silently made his way across the floorboards and out of the Slytherin common room.

He journeyed in the shadows of the halls, following a random route chosen from whim and out of sight from any passerby. The halls were dark, and most of the portraits hanging on the walls were sleeping (with the exception of one or two who gave him reproving looks when they saw him passing).

Moonlight filtered through the dusty windows and lit a path for the boy to follow. Tom followed eagerly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the stone floors. A suit of armor creaked, causing the boy to jump. The Bloody Barron passed him once, his gaunt features covered with silvery blood. Tom hid behind a statue of an odd-looking witch, but fortunately the ghost didn’t notice him.

After making several maze-like turns and following the moon’s glow for what seemed like hours to an unfamiliar area of the school, he cursed. It was a dead end.

His frustration mounted. How dare the moon trick him like this! Leading him on for ages and ages to a bloody dead end! Seething with anger, Tom lifted his leg to kick the wall. His leg went through the wall and he slipped onto the ground with a yelp. Suddenly no longer angry, he closed his eyes and slipped through the wall, feeling the strangest floating sensation for the brief moment he was inside the wall.

Once inside, he opened his eyes and found himself in a vast stone room. Tall columns ran from the ceiling and elaborate stonework kept the arches from collapsing on themselves. But Tom’s eyes had found a mirror, tall and encased in a gold frame. In awe, he slowly approached the mirror, examining and running his hands on the smooth gold.

"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi" at the very top of the frame. Puzzled, Tom frowned as he wondered what the nonsense meant. A mirror… with strange words… a mirro--- But of course! It was mirrored writing! Tom quickly pulled out a spare piece of parchment and copied the phrase. Excitedly, he held up the parchment to the mirror.

However, instead of seeing himself holding up a piece of parchment, he saw himself getting revenge.

He saw himself breaking the wand of Gordon Murray, who had teased Tom a few days ago on the train. He saw the burly seventh-years, who had pushed him into the wall yesterday demanding money, now curled up in the corner cowering in fear. His parents who had left him orphaned were faceless and contorted with pain. He saw Revenge. His mouth curled into a smile and he sat the rest of night away, delighting at his reflection in the mysterious mirror.


The dark-haired handsome Head Boy strode quickly in the darkened halls. It was time yet again. Many things had changed since his first visit to the mirror seven years ago. For instance, he no longer went by Tom Riddle anymore. Instead, he called himself Lord Voldemort. During his third year, he had played around with anagrams and had rearranged ‘Tom Marvolo Riddle’ to ‘I am Lord Voldemort.’ It fit him. And Lord Voldemort he had been ever since.

The day after his first trip as a first-year, he had discovered the name of the enchanting mirror after hours of searching in the library; the Mirror of Erised. He had also deciphered the rabble of mirror writing. “I show you not your face but your heart’s desire,” is what the writing read in a regular cracked mirror. Voldemort also learned that many wizards had wasted away in front of the mirror, and promised himself that he would only journey the mirror once a year.

In his fourth year, his reflection in the mirror changed. He had no longer needed for such trivial desires such as revenge. Instead, he had seen ultimate power in his grasp. Wizards and Muggles alike bowed down to him and feared him.

And he had achieved that power. His enemies fled from him, his professors acknowledged… no, worshiped… his genius and his peers followed him with awe.

In his sixth year, something had changed again in the reflection, a desire for immortality. It appeared like an intoxicating elixir in the mirror and he knew the moment he achieved immortality, he would have everything in his palm. That was his greatest desire.

Throughout his sixth year he had slaved away, searching for his desire, for immortality. And Voldemort believed he had achieved it. He had gone to great lengths, searching ancient texts of dark magic and obtained Death as his servant. And now it was time; time for him to visit the mirror again, to see his desire fulfilled. The triumph would taste so sweet.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed as he thought of the mirror, and he deftly slipped through the familiar wall. The golden mirror stood in the same place after so many years, waiting for his return. His eyes closed as he caressed the gold frame. So sweet and pure… His eyes opened and he looked into the Mirror of Erised.

A horrible scream was emitted from his throat. How could it be? The reflection was the same as the year before. Had he not achieved immortality? He had gone beyond and delved in the darkest arts. He had killed for immortality. Why did his reflection remain unchanged? He gnashed his teeth in fury and pounded his fist on the mirror. A miniscule crack snaked in the upper corner of the perfect gold frame, but Voldemort didn’t notice.

He was the greatest, the most respected, the most powerful and he hadn’t been able to fulfill his deepest desire. Perhaps he needed to go even deeper and deeper into the path of darkness. There was bound to be something… a solution… waiting for him. Yes, that was what he would do.

The seventeen-year-old stood up straight and smoothed his robes, breathing heavily. He would grow even greater and travel to the edges of the Dark Arts and then, he would be immortal and nothing would stop him.


An old man with a long white beard dressed in purple robes watched, invisible, as the young man walked away from the mirror with a burning look smoldering in his eyes. What had he seen in the Mirror of Erised?

The bearded wizard stood as the young man disappeared through the wall. His blue eyes observed the crack in the frame and he shook his head. What hatred had caused this crack to appear? With a quick mutter and a wave of his hand, the crack disappeared and the spot was healed, with only smooth pure gold left behind.

But some things would never be cured.


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