Tom Riddle and the Mirror of Erised

SKILLS SHOWN: Ability to…

• Perfectly emulate an established writing style (diction, imagery, description)
• Work within and expand upon an existing IP (plot, themes)
• Intuitively adopt character voices (sound, cadence, sentence structure)
• Construct scenes through dynamic back-and-forth character dialogue

TEXT:

Harry broke the cool silver surface of the memory and fell once again through darkness. They were standing in an unused classroom, desks and chairs piled high against the walls, and on the other side of the room, rising towards the ceiling, Harry saw something he recognized at once—

An ornate, golden mirror, standing on two clawed feet. It all was exactly as he remembered it. Had they fallen into Dumbledore’s memory of that night?

‘I don’t understand, sir. What does this have to do with Voldemort?’

‘Ah, so you recognize where we are, then?’

Harry turned towards the doors, expecting to see himself barrelling through in his invisibility cloak.

‘My first year,’ Harry said. ‘I was running away from Filch and Sna— Professor Snape, and I found it. The mirror.’

Dumbledore stood for a moment, marshaling his thoughts, and then said, 'Hogwarts is a very old and exceptionally vast place, Harry. Hidden chambers, hallways and dungeons, all folding in on one another … parts of it go unchanged for centuries. This room, for example, has not been in proper use for a hundred years.’

Harry thought back to that evening, to the two of them sitting on the floor together. ‘You said… hundreds before me had discovered the Mirror of Erised.’ Then it dawned on him. ‘You don’t mean…?’

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Your memory does you credit, Harry. I would advise you to look at this one a little more closely.’

Facing the mirror — in a spot that had been very empty a moment ago — was a head of hair much neater than Harry’s, but still the same blazing dark black.

Harry walked towards him, slowly, and Dumbledore followed. With each step, Tom Riddle seemed to back further and further away from his reflection. His expression hardened, finely carved features contorting into the same terrible face Harry had seen in the orphanage. But then his lip quivered slightly, and then his hands, and for the first time Harry saw color in Voldemort's pale, hollow cheeks.

Tom Riddle was crying.

He didn’t make a sound, nor lose his composure entirely, but it was unmistakable. As far as he knew, he was alone, and unseen, and — however faintly — he was crying. It then occurred to Harry that possibly no one had ever watched Voldemort while he believed himself to be alone.

Harry turned toward Dumbledore for an explanation, but before he could open his mouth — Dumbledore spoke.

‘Fine evening for a stroll, is it not?’

The younger, auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore revealed himself, sitting calmly on the desk nearest the mirror.

All trace of sadness on the young Voldemort’s face vanished, replaced by shock. He clenched his jaw and turned white — a face that reminded Harry of the one he would see years later in Little Hangleton.

‘You were watching me,’ he said, his voice ringing with incredible force. Dumbledore had caught him again, unprepared and entirely exposed. ‘You shouldn’t do that.’

Dumbledore appraised him, smiling. 'Nor should you be outside the dorms after dark. Yet here we are, both of us. I believe I told you, Tom, that this type of behavior would not be tolerated at Hogwarts.’

As if recognizing the situation for the first time, Riddle’s face went blank, suppressing whatever personality he’d mistakenly allowed Dumbledore to see. ‘Of course, sir. I’m sorry, professor.’

‘Are you?’

Riddle seemed to purposefully avoid Dumbledore’s eyes, staring far beyond the mirror. The stains of tears still glistened on his cheeks, but he did not dare wipe them away in Dumbledore’s presence.

‘How’d you do it?’ he said.

‘How did I … become invisible?’ Dumbledore laughed. He did not seem to mind the evasion. ‘I have ways of concealing myself. Though I suspect that answer will not satisfy you. It is called a Disillusionment Charm. Not something you would learn in your classes for many years.’

Riddle nodded.

'I find it strange, Tom, that your curiosity would extend to a common charm, yet skip entirely over the unique and far more powerful magical object before you,' Dumbledore said, nodding towards the mirror. 'I apologize for the invasion of privacy, but are you not surprised, as I am, at what is reflected within?'

Riddle flashed a clear, calculating look into Dumbledore’s brilliant blue eyes. He grinned widely. ‘You can’t see what I see.’

‘Ah. What makes you say that?’

‘You looked at the mirror,’ he said, quickly returning his gaze to the floor. ‘Pretending. The place you looked — there’s nothing there.’

‘Very astute, Tom. Can you make any other guesses, about the mirror?’

Riddle thought for a moment and smiled, his features becoming somehow less human. ‘You made it for me. Nobody would leave an object so unique and powerful, like you said, just lying around to find. You made it for me, to find out what I would see. But the magic wasn’t good enough, so you don’t know.’

Dumbledore straightened up on his desk. ‘I am afraid,’ he said, ‘that you are completely wrong. The Mirror of Erised was not forged for you. It is far more ancient than you or I — older, perhaps, than Hogwarts itself. It shows us what we desire. What would, in our deepest hearts, make us happy.’

While Dumbledore was right, Harry thought, Riddle did have a point: it was odd that he had simply happened upon the Mirror, that Dumbledore just happened to be watching. Harry had not thought much of it at ten years old, but now, watching the scene play out again…

‘Come, Tom, let us speak plainly to one another,’ Dumbledore said. ‘If you tell me what you see, I shall tell you what I see, hmm? Does that seem fair? I imagine us more similar than you think.’

If he was startled by Dumbledore’s comments, Riddle did not show it, though his voice was suddenly softer than Harry had ever heard it. With careful, measured hesitation, he said, ‘I’m head boy. And I’ve gotten Outstanding on all my N.E.W.T’s.’

Dumbledore brought a hand to his long, auburn beard. ‘Hmm. Somehow I suspect you are not being entirely truthful, Tom. That you will achieve those things, I have no doubt, but your performance in school matters to you far less than you would have the other teachers believe. Am I wrong?’

‘You are,’ he said. ‘I worry, about my future.’

‘You have already lied to me once tonight, Tom. And such poor lies, too, that I wonder whether your heart is really in it. Whatever his faults as caretaker, I do not imagine Mr. Pringle would fail to notice a first-year wandering around the library past midnight. It would take a powerful Disillusionment charm to make it here undiscovered.’

‘I’m afraid, sir, that —’.

‘Please, Tom,’ Dumbledore interrupted. ‘Would it surprise you to hear me impressed? Sixth Year magic in your first year … and it is not yet Christmas. Of course, it is not a particularly difficult spell in its simplest forms — we merely delay its instruction. You can imagine the chaos, I am sure, of young students as invisible as they are irresponsible, walking the halls as they wish. Young Gryffindors, even! The mere thought of it…’

‘Professor?’

‘Yes, Mr. Riddle?’

Voldemort rose from the floor to meet him. ‘I believe Professor Slughorn will want a word with me.’

'Quite right,' Dumbledore said, giving the boy one last, long look. He gestured towards the door. 'If you would allow me the honor of escorting you back to Slytherin house…'

Riddle stepped past him, eyes hiding in his feet, as the scene faded into darkness.

‘I thank you for indulging me this evening, Harry.’ The white-haired Dumbledore spoke quietly, pulling them back through the veil. ‘I believe that’s enough.’

- - -

As Harry opened his eyes in the Headmaster’s office, he saw that Dumbledore had already slumped heavily into his seat.

‘I don’t understand, Professor. What did Voldemort see in the mirror?’

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Of that, I cannot be certain. As you saw, I took every reasonable effort to coax it out of him, but I knew that if Voldemort did not see something to gain from telling me he would not do so. You were a great deal more forthcoming in your experience of the mirror. Though I say so only as a credit to you, Harry. You, unlike Voldemort, had nothing to fear within yourself.’

‘Could you not read his mind? Or use Veritaserum?’

‘On a child, Harry? No. He was a student, then — not a monster. I was curious, nothing more. As for Legilimency, you’ll notice that Voldemort was deliberately avoiding my eyes: an act that many others would have interpreted as embarrassment, but to me seemed very clearly in recognition of my skill. I do not imagine he knew proper Occlumency then, or even for some time. As we know, Voldemort is fiercely independent. He does not rely on others, and certainly not for his education. At the same age you were transfiguring goblets into mice, Voldemort was each night sequestering himself in the Restricted Section, teaching himself the magic his professors would never dare show him. I believe he would have loathed the idea of seeking out an Occlumency teacher. It would mean allowing another to probe his mind, his secrets, his ambitions. However inexhaustible the power of books, there are a great many lessons which can only be taught by another.’

Harry remembered his own difficulties with Occlumency. For weeks Snape had poked around his head, his scar burning ever more deeply after every lesson. As strange as it was to say, he understood why Voldemort might have had misgivings about taking on a teacher.

‘But were you able to read his mind at all, sir?’

‘Yes and no,’ Dumbledore said. ‘You will recall I had only one brief moment of sustained eye contact with Tom Riddle.’

‘… When he was trying to figure out where you were looking in the mirror.’

‘Correct. I confess that was a feint on my part, to draw him in. And it worked. Nevertheless, I still found him a most difficult mind to read. The layers of deceptions he employed — which, curiously, he found difficult to maintain in my presence — were not merely outward masks, but personas, false beliefs. Much of what you would learn in true Occlumency training I suspect Voldemort was predisposed to by his very nature. Though I was able to enter his mind with relative ease, I cannot be certain of anything gleaned from it.’

‘Do you mean … Voldemort might have shown you something fake?’

‘In a manner of speaking, yes. I may have seen only what he wished for me to see. Though I will tell you, for whatever it is worth.’ Dumbledore paused for a moment. ‘I sensed shame.’

Shame? Harry didn’t know what to think.

‘That was all?’

‘Often times an emotion, strong and pure, can reveal far more about a person than any veiled secret. You were hoping, I suppose, for something more incriminating? Legilimency may interface with the mind, Harry, but that does not always make it a mind game.’

‘But sir, it just doesn’t make sense. What you felt, what we saw on his face … isn’t the mirror supposed to show us what would make us happy?’

‘For some, perhaps — at least those less burdened — the mirror may present so simple a vision. But Harry, did you not feel a great deal more than happiness, staring into the glass?’

Harry remembered the ache he felt seeing his family for the first time. How he wanted to be with them so terribly he brought his head to the mirror, hoping to pass through to the other side. He would have returned every night, had Dumbledore not stopped him.

‘This is the power and menace of the Mirror of Erised, Harry. It shows us what would make us happy and in doing so hurts us, that we are without it.

‘So again: what did Tom Riddle see in the mirror?’ Dumbledore continued, ‘Himself, the next Dark Lord, master of muggles, unopposed and undying? Perhaps. He wants those things, certainly. They drive him. But remember, Harry, that our deepest desires are not always known to us. Discovering them in the mirror and knowing them to be true, even when they conflict with such waking dreams — it can be a painful experience. Tom Riddle, who has never known true warmth or love, who has never cared for another nor received care in kind … it does not surprise me, that he was frightened by what he saw.’

Harry stared. ‘Professor,’ he said, ‘It sounds like you’re saying we should feel sorry for Voldemort. That whatever he saw in the mirror suggests he’s not so evil after all.’

‘You should pity him, at least. If only for your own sake.’

Dumbledore looked to the window and stared sadly out at the stars.

‘I have shown you this memory not that you might better understand Voldemort — though it may well serve that purpose — but for far more selfish reasons. In hope that you could forgive me for what I did. Or, rather, what I failed to do.’

Dumbledore rose from his desk and paced slowly to the center of the room, his back turned toward Harry. 'You have been wondering why I was not more cautious with Tom Riddle.'

It was not a question.

‘Last we spoke,’ he continued, ‘I told you I had resolved to excuse his theft, his torture, to let him start at Hogwarts anew, and saw on your face — no shame in admitting it, Harry — a look of incredulity.’

Harry did not want to speak against Dumbledore, but the thought had occurred to him more than once. ‘It’s just … he was here, sir! At Hogwarts. And it was obvious what he was.’

‘Was it so obvious?’

‘We saw it, at the orphanage! And like you said, he was studying dark magic in his first year, and you knew about it, but…’

‘But I didn’t do anything?’

‘I know you were watching him. And I know everyone else liked him, didn’t suspect, but …’

‘You will recall that I did see him punished for his late-night wanderings. On more than one occasion.’

Harry shifted in his chair.

‘But I see your position, of course. Dumbledore, once again too trusting of those already proven untrustworthy. Dumbledore, who spoke of love, regardless of the cost. Perhaps you are right, in the case of Tom Riddle. In fact, you are. However, you regard his life in hindsight, Harry, knowing what he would become, what he would take from you. I had no such luxury. I saw instead a troubled boy still with the power to choose — to choose who he would become, Harry! I would not deny him that chance.’

‘But he kept choosing the wrong things!” Harry said. ‘You gave him a chance, and he used it to sneak around and lie — you saw that in the memory!’

‘Sneaking and lying are not so terrible sins, Harry. As you yourself know.’

Harry sunk a little deeper into his chair. Dumbledore began pacing.

‘In the memory you saw a young boy who, as I said, had never known love. A young boy alone, staring at the object of his deepest desire. A young boy without the masks Lord Voldemort has long worn in the company of others. And in this privacy, this vulnerability — he was crying. What conclusion would you come to?’

Harry hated to admit it. ‘That maybe there was more to him … something he didn’t want anyone else to see. That he lied to you because he was … ashamed.’

‘Precisely, Harry. Much about Tom Riddle concerned me, of course, but after this I imagined that within him there must be another Tom Riddle, a softer Tom Riddle, however damaged, however hidden. That he might change with time. How could I indict him for crimes unproven, an intent to do harm? I couldn’t, Harry.’

Dumbledore held his charred, grizzled hand up to his face.

‘And what a grave mistake. Hopelessly, foolishly naïve.’

Harry fell silent, staring at Dumbledore as the headmaster fell back into his chair. He seemed so much smaller.

‘You are right, of course,’ Dumbledore said. ‘The other professors all saw in Voldemort what he meant for them to see — a kind, eager, exceptionally gifted young man — and I alone saw through it. I watched as he gained power, tried his strength, inched towards what he would always become, and all along — I knew. How many souls maimed, how many families torn apart, all because I failed to act — to take the proper course of action, whatever the cost to myself!’

Harry did not expect Dumbledore to take his side, nor did he expect to suddenly find their roles reversed, saying, ‘You cared, sir! There’s nothing wrong with that. You knew where he’d come from, and what he’d gone through, and you hoped he would be better!’

‘But again, Harry, however decent my intentions — the results, the consequences! It was not too long ago that my care for you, my concern for your safety, your future, kept me from doing what was right!’

The room went quiet. Harry remembered the argument they’d had here last summer, all the broken glass and trinkets, how furious he’d been at Dumbledore. And now here he was, defending the headmaster’s mistakes.

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

‘An old man’s failings, yet again,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I let a duty of care take precedence over my duty.’

‘... It’s no use beating yourself up about it now, sir.’

‘As usual, you are quite right, Harry. Dumbledore straightened his back, collecting himself. ‘Quite right.’

Harry was at a loss. He decided to change the subject, not wanting to make Dumbledore any more upset. ‘Sir? Can I ask you a question?’

Dumbledore smiled faintly. ‘Obviously, you’ve just done so,’ he said, tired eyes sparkling through his half-moon glasses. ‘Though you may ask another.’

‘It was no mistake that I found the Mirror of Erised, was it?’

‘Ah,’ Dumbledore sighed. ‘No, Harry, it was not. You were, shall I say, pulled there by a magic far greater and subtler than any you might learn at Hogwarts.’

‘…Why?’

‘I was curious, nothing more. Riddle, in his case, truly did stumble upon the mirror. I suspected he might be sneaking around, and followed him, but with you … when I passed on your invisibility cloak all those years ago, I saw it as an opportunity for an innocent experiment.’

‘You were testing me,’ Harry said.

‘I would not put it so bluntly,’ Dumbledore said, ‘but yes. Professor McGonagall had told me good things, of course, but I had to meet you to know for certain. And a means of comparison never hurts. You have proved yourself the better man to Voldemort by far. However — and please do not take this the wrong way — I believe your experiences were more similar than you might like to believe.’

‘… I’m not sure I understand, sir.’

Dumbledore rose from his seat, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

‘When the time comes, Harry — when you are forced to do what I failed to accomplish — remember that he was once not so different from you or I. Remember that while he cannot love, and cannot show empathy, that does not make him unworthy of it.

‘And now I must bid you good night,’ he said, pointing Harry towards the exit.

However, as Harry stepped through into the staircase, closing the study door behind him, he stopped.

‘Professor,’ he said.

Dumbledore looked up from his far desk, gaze still heavy. ‘Yes, Harry?’

‘When we met for the first time, I asked you a question. And I’m not sure I ever received an honest answer.’

‘You wish to ask me — again — what I see in the mirror?’

Harry nodded, sheepishly.

‘Well, Harry, I could not say. You see, this Christmas I received an immaculate pair of flannel socks from Professor Sprout. It seems my wish has been answered.’

Dumbledore smiled, and gave a little wave.

‘Goodnight, Harry.’

Harry sighed. ‘Goodnight, professor.’