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HRA# Chapter 84: Harry’s Vision and Dumbledore’s Lies
🕑 Added 2025-03-31 19:33:47 +0000 UTCIt was a city built atop a vast expanse of wind-eroded mesas, perched high upon towering cliffs. On ordinary days, its inhabitants relied on elevators to ascend and descend, a precaution that kept the centaurs’ sudden raids at bay.
The settlement was filled with wooden houses, each adorned with totems. Totem poles or windmills crowned every rooftop, and at the center of the elevated plateau stood an immense totem pillar, dominating the skyline.
The first thing Harry saw was the sprawling vista of Thunder Bluff stretching out below him from a high vantage point. Only then did his gaze settle on the small, familiar home he knew so well.
The streets buzzed with life. It wasn’t just tauren moving to and fro—there were orcs, goblins, even blood elves and undead. This was the festival honoring the Sky Father, a day Harry remembered vividly.
In front of his little house, Baine stood with a wooden basket slung over his back, brimming with vibrant flowers. He was busy decorating the walls and the totem pole by the door with them.
Not far off, Harry spotted old Cairne trudging along with an entire buffalo slung across his shoulders—likely a fresh kill from the hunt. Tamara, his wife, trailed beside him, the two of them bickering playfully, their faces alight with contentment.
But more startling than the sight of these three family members was the reflection in the mirror before him—and the person standing at his side.
Jaina.
The ruler of Theramore sat beside him in casual attire, her oft-used staff of illusion propped carelessly against the edge of the wooden house. They seemed deep in conversation, trading words back and forth, smiles playing on their lips.
When the mirrored version of himself noticed Cairne approaching with the buffalo, he leapt up to help hoist the beast onto a rack. What followed was a flurry of activity—carving, cooking, and a feast. Laughter and chatter filled the air.
Everything seemed so perfect, so harmonious, so wondrous, brimming with joy.
Instinctively, Harry pressed his palm against the mirror, staring unblinkingly at the scene within, holding his breath.
Wonderful. Utterly wonderful. It was all so flawless—except for the fact that none of it had ever happened in the real world.
Having learned the effects of the Mirror of Erised, Harry had indeed wondered what he might see in its depths. At first, everything unfolded as he’d expected, no surprises—until Jaina appeared.
But—how could this be?
Back in Azeroth, there had been plenty of busybodies spreading rumors about him and Jaina. Even Baine had teased him about it once, and Cairne and Tamara had nudged him more than a few times. But only Harry and Jaina knew the truth: their relationship wasn’t what outsiders imagined.
If they were still the same people they’d been over a decade ago—a mere princess of a nation and a brash young lad—then perhaps such a thing might have been possible.
But now, Harry had risen to become the Great Prophet of the tauren tribes. His influence extended far beyond his people, carrying weight even within the greater Horde. Even the most stubborn orcs would bow and address him as “Prophet” when facing Harry Bloodhoof, seeking his guidance.
This status was hard-earned, forged through years of blood and glory. It was his responsibility, something he had to protect.
And Jaina? She was no longer just the leader of the neutral city of Theramore. She had inherited her father Daelin Proudmoore’s mantle, becoming the Queen of Kul Tiras, commander of its navy, and an admiral in the Alliance.
What separated them now wasn’t some trivial obstacle from the past. It was something greater, more complex, and far heavier.
Whether it was the constant military buildup for the sake of security or the endless conflicts stoked by schemers and conspirators, the result was the same: the war between the Horde and the Alliance never ceased.
It had been a long time since he’d last seen Jaina. Their final meeting had been on a battlefield against demons, where they’d shared a knowing smile, their coordination as seamless as it had been years before.
Ha.
With a soft, silent chuckle, Harry shook his head and lowered his hand from the mirror.
He closed his eyes, then opened them again. This time, the vivid scenes within the mirror vanished, leaving it empty—as if everything he’d just seen had been nothing more than an illusion.
Now, only Harry remained in the reflection, dressed in his current attire. The mirror seemed ordinary once more.
Reaching out, Harry adjusted the collar of his green sweater, which had slipped out from beneath his black robes, tucking it back in place.
“To be honest, a green sweater with black robes is a bit too eye-catching—like wearing a green halo,” Harry said, tilting his head toward Ron with a grin. “Ron, please pass my thanks—and my request—to Mrs. Weasley. It’s really important.”
Ron didn’t reply. His eyes were glued to the mirror, wide as saucers—wider even than when he’d been under the effects of a love potion earlier. He breathed rapidly, as if he wanted to dive headfirst into the glass.
“Well, looks like I’ll need to remind him again later,” Harry muttered with a shrug. Turning around, he found Dumbledore watching him with a look of quiet astonishment.
“You saw yourself in the mirror?” Dumbledore asked, tapping his own shoulder as if piecing something together from Harry’s earlier gesture.
“No,” Harry replied, shaking his head slightly. “Not at first, at least. I saw a lot of things—some I’d never even thought of or imagined. Quite remarkable.”
“Mind if I pry a little, Harry? Just to indulge an old man’s idle curiosity,” Dumbledore said, ignoring Ron, who was still entranced by the mirror. With a wave of his hand, the dusty chairs behind them became spotless, and he gestured for Harry to sit.
Ever since the night Harry had settled into his new home and they’d shared a private dinner, Dumbledore had treated him with the easy familiarity of a friend in private settings—away from the public eye of Hogwarts.
So—
“No,” Harry said without hesitation as he sat down. “Would you share your youthful love stories with me?”
“No,” Dumbledore replied, falling silent for a moment. “So, you saw your love story?”
The old man could be surprisingly sharp when he dropped the kindly façade.
“Not quite,” Harry said with a smile. “I saw my family. What about you? What did you see in the mirror?”
“I saw a finely dressed woman asking who the fairest in the land was,” Dumbledore quipped, chuckling at his own joke. After a while, he wiped a tear of laughter from his eye and said, “Alright, alright. I—I saw myself holding a thick pair of woolen socks, enough to last me a good long while.”
“You’re lying,” Harry said with certainty. “But out of respect for an elder, I won’t press you.”
“Thank you for your consideration, Harry,” Dumbledore said with a playful wink. “Honestly, you didn’t even give me a chance to lecture you. I was going to warn you not to get lost in that mirror—however strong the version of you inside it might seem, it’s all an illusion. But here you are, shaking it off after just a few minutes.”
“A few minutes?” Harry asked, surprised. It had felt like a mere glance.
“Ah, yes, it does make you lose track of time,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “I’m quite sure you stared into the Mirror of Erised for a solid three or four minutes.”
“Fair enough,” Harry sighed. “It was nostalgic, I’ll give it that. But I don’t think you’ve lost your chance to lecture.”
He nodded toward Ron, who was still frozen in front of the mirror.
Dumbledore let out a hearty laugh.
When he finally caught his breath, he said, “You’re right, Harry. But if I’m going to lecture, we’ll have to wait until Ron’s done savoring his moment. Otherwise, it’d be a bit too cruel.”
“By the way, I wasn’t lying earlier,” Dumbledore added, feigning seriousness. “That’s a serious accusation. I really was holding a pair of woolen socks. You can never have too many socks. Christmas comes and goes, and yet I never get a single pair—don’t know why, but people keep giving me books, as if I spend all day reading.”
“Well said, but I still don’t believe you,” Harry replied, mimicking his mock-serious tone. “Though I agree with the latter part. This year’s Christmas gifts for me have been mostly two things: candy or books.”
“Oh, I thought you liked books, Harry,” Dumbledore said, genuinely surprised. “From what I hear, you spend most of your free time in the library.”
“I do,” Harry admitted. “But for gifts, I’d rather get something edible or fun. I’d love something uniquely magical—like how amazed I was the first time I saw a Chocolate Frog.”
“Aha, classic Gryffindor thinking—drawn to the new, the unseen, fueled by curiosity and a thirst for adventure,” Dumbledore said with a nod. “I was much the same when I was young. Age has made me more patient, though.”
“Oh, and speaking as someone with experience, I might have some advice for you, Harry,” Dumbledore added, as if struck by a sudden thought. “You might not feel it here at school, but you’re quite famous in the wizarding world. And given how things are going, you’ll likely become even more so.”
“So?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Be cautious with your gifts,” Dumbledore said, his tone rare and serious. “You’ll find that sometimes, a Howler at Christmas is the safest present you could receive. Open them carefully.”
“Curses? Traps?” Harry caught on instantly.
“Yes, but that’s for the future,” Dumbledore said, his seriousness fading as quickly as it had come. “You needn’t worry about it while you’re at school.”
After the wizarding world’s great celebrity imparted some wisdom to its rising star, Ron suddenly jolted as if waking from a dream.
“Hey! Harry! Professor Dumbledore!” Ron spun around, eyes wide with excitement. “I saw myself as Head Boy! Holding the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup! Wearing a wolfskin cloak! Merlin’s beard, is this a prophecy of the future? Harry!”
The boy was so thrilled he was practically steaming.
“If you’d turn your head back just a bit, you might recall what I said at the start—this doesn’t show your face, but your heart’s desire,” Harry teased.
“You mean…?” Ron’s grin faltered.
“Yes, I’m sorry to break it to you so bluntly, but what you saw in the mirror isn’t real, my boy,” Dumbledore said gently, adopting the air of a wise elder once more. “It shows you what you desire most, but the happiest person in the world could use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror—seeing only themselves. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” Ron mumbled, crestfallen. “It’s all fake. Illusions… Head Boy, fake. House Cup and Quidditch Cup, fake. Quidditch Captain, fake…”
“Only for now, Ron,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “If you put in some effort going forward, at least some of it could come true—like the House Cup or Quidditch Cup.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore added with a hint of exasperation. “The future’s not set in stone.”
“The wonder of the Mirror of Erised lies here,” he continued. “It reveals the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts—even things we aren’t fully aware of ourselves. The mirror shows them to us.”
“But it can’t teach us hidden knowledge or reveal the truth of a matter. It’s like a cocoon, trapping us inside, unable to escape or see beyond it.”
“Over time, people waste away before it, obsessed with what they see, driven mad wondering if it’s real or possible—yearning for it to come true, even abandoning the reality they live in.”
“That’s terrifying,” Ron said, eyes wide, clearly shaken by Dumbledore’s description.
“Pretty useful, though, isn’t it?” Harry leaned toward Dumbledore, whispering, “At least your lecture wasn’t wasted.”
As if he hadn’t heard, Dumbledore gave Harry a quick wink.
“Living lost in hollow dreams while forgetting reality is pointless, Ron,” Dumbledore said kindly. “This mirror will soon be moved elsewhere. I hope you won’t go looking for it—er, I suspect Harry won’t let you, either. Just put it out of your mind.”
“Yes, Professor Dumbledore,” Ron drawled, though he couldn’t resist a final glance at the mirror, where an older version of himself raised the trophies even higher.
A strange night, a strange experience—at least for Ron.
As they parted ways with Dumbledore, Harry glanced at Ron walking ahead, then turned to whisper to the headmaster:
“Those words apply to you too, Dumbledore.”
“Don’t get lost in it.”
With that, Harry turned and caught up with Ron.
He didn’t believe for a second that Dumbledore had seen woolen socks in the mirror. Perhaps the socks were a metaphor for something else.
More than such a simple lie, Harry trusted Dumbledore’s earlier slip—that he and Ron had been the unexpected arrivals.
An old man who lectured Ron with wisdom, yet was himself ensnared by the mirror’s illusions.
Harry saw it clearly.
Not sparing a moment’s pity for Dumbledore, Harry returned to the dormitory and slipped into his trunk to summon James Potter’s spirit.
He was too curious about the Invisibility Cloak. Every test so far confirmed it was a treasure—perhaps the most valuable item he possessed. He wanted to know how it worked, what magic crafted it, and whether he could learn to replicate it.
But from James’s answers, it seemed his father had spent his school years focused on pranks, Quidditch, and girls. His only impression of the cloak was that it was “very useful”—nothing more.
James knew only that it had been in the Potter family for generations, at least since his grandfather’s time. Its origins and the secrets of its magic? A complete mystery.
Seeing James scratch the back of his head with a sheepish grin, Harry couldn’t bring himself to scold him. He’d have to wait until the summer after his first year, when he planned to visit the old Potter estate and search the family vault for clues.
Given the wonders of magical portraits, perhaps his ancestors could provide answers. If not, he’d hold a grand ritual, summoning the spirits of even older Potters for questioning.
Such was the marvel of shamanism—often, it skipped the process and went straight to the answers.
Don’t ask how. It’s the wisdom of the ancestors.
Comments
Samuel S.
"until Jaina appeared." Well shes waifu number 2 after sylvannas...
