In Front of the Mirror

[Stud Muffin]

This week, your prompt is: In Front of the Mirror[/size]

You must be knowing the rules by now -- use proper grammar, spell check before you post, write exactly 100 words, and make sure your drabble takes places in the Harry Potter universe, though it may be as AU as you like.

I hope that this week will see a larger number of people participating, making my job slightly tougher than it is. I'm looking forward to your entries!

[coiledheart]

Tentatively, he touched the reflective glass of the mirror. His fingertips, coldly numb from prior hours spent outside handling snow, ghosted across the surface, emerald eyes soft and dreamy.

He wasn't supposed to be here, but he hadn't been able to resist one last look. And now he was hooked.

He sat there, unaware of the passage of time; unaware that he was dying slowly. His mind was ensnared; the illusion of acceptance and love all he knew.

***

Albus Dumbledore shook his head sadly and closed the door. There was nothing he could do for Harry. Nothing at all.

[HunnyBee]

So like your father, they always say.

You look into the mirror and see his face looking back at you, and all you want in the world is for him to be there, looking back at you.

So like your father, they say, except for the eyes.

You have your mother’s eyes, a vibrant, unmistakable shade. Her eyes stare out at you from the mirror, forlorn and worried.

Father’s elegant face, father’s blond hair, mother’s blue eyes. You cannot look without seeing them looking back, disappointed. The only thing of yours in the mirror is your complete and utter failure.

[Zoriath Mentriad]

Ron became bored waiting for Harry, so he began to explore the Dursley’s home. As he strolled through the house, he caught his reflection in the mirror in Vernon and Petunia’s room. He made a funny face in the mirror and chuckled a bit to himself. Slowly, he explored the drawers of a dresser and found some elastic hair bands.

“Hmm…” he said stretching one between his thumb and pointer finger.

A few minutes later, Harry came looking for him and found Ron with his hair in many pigtails singing into a hairbrush to a muggle song for the mirror.

[Hitman Unknown]

He stood in front of the mirror, silently. Staring, always staring.

He hated this! Yet he couldn’t stop, he had to see Him, only once more. At least that’s what he told himself, but he knew he would be back.

He didn’t dare touch the glass, because then that would prove that it wasn’t real. That the image presented to him, forlorn and depressing, would be nothing but his reflection. He couldn’t stop. He was missing his other half, the least he could have was a few minutes of pretending that the face he was staring at was his brother’s.

[Euca]

He stands in front of the mirror, shaking-tears staining his pale countenance. The conscience he’d partly buried is screaming a single word-murderer.

His hands rise to his ears to block out the noise. They aren’t pale but appear shrouded in red-they’re hands of a murderer. In the mirror he sees a stranger with sunken cheeks, disheveled hair and empty grey orbs for eyes. They can’t be his...

Suddenly, he can’t look in the mirror anymore. It reflects what he’s done-the monster he’s become. Using bare fists, he shatters the mirror to pieces, so he won’t have to face himself anymore...

[Hedwig]

She fixed her hair, daydreaming while looking in the mirror.

The Yule Ball was going on downstairs. As she danced, she would spin. Her hair would flip, lightly and cheerfully. Perfectly, just as she would spin.

She would dance with just one of the boys. She wouldn’t need to dance with another to make that one special boy see how much he liked her.

The present time slowly returned to her focus. She continued fixing her hair.

You’re beautiful, she thought to herself, looking in the mirror one last time. She left the room, ready to appear at the Ball.

[Deleted]

Harry looked in the mirror, and was struck - almost forcefully - with a memory from long ago, when he had stood before a mirror so very different from this one.

Then, he had been captivated, first by its beauty - gilded edges, smooth, shining surface - and then, the wonders it held within.

Then, in the form of his parents, he had seen his dearest, deepest desires - his very soul.

Now, as he stood before this mirror, considering all he had lost, and all he had gained, he knew what he would see in that mirror now.

Nothing.