Translated Chapter
222. The Potion and the Mirror
Chapter 222: The Potion and the Mirror
Professor Flitwick, the diminutive headmaster with his ever-wrinkled face, stood in the center of the classroom, surveying the students with sharp eyes. His gaze swept over the group of first-years, who were all gathered around the cauldron in the middle of the room, whispering excitedly. He had just entered the classroom, and the moment he did, the air seemed to grow thick with anticipation.
His expression was solemn, and his voice carried a quiet authority. “You are not here to learn how to brew a potion,” he began, “but to understand what it truly means to be a wizard. To know the weight of power, the cost of choice, and the responsibility that comes with knowledge.”
The students fell silent. Even the most restless among them—those who usually chattered nonstop—held their breath.
Flitwick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “This is not a test of skill, but of character. The potion you will brew today is not meant to be consumed. It is meant to reveal what lies beneath the surface—what each of you truly is.”
A ripple of unease passed through the room.
Hermione Granger leaned forward, her hand instinctively reaching for her notebook. “Professor,” she whispered, “what kind of potion is it?”
Flitwick smiled faintly. “One that shows the soul. But beware—what it reveals may not be what you wish to see.”
Harry Potter glanced sideways at Ron, who was still trying to hide a yawn. “So we’re just… staring into a cauldron?” he murmured.
“No,” Flitwick corrected, “you are staring into a mirror.”
He gestured toward the wall behind him. There, hanging between two shelves, was a large, ornate mirror—its frame carved with ancient runes. The glass itself was dark, almost black, like a pool of oil. No reflection showed in it.
“Each of you will take a turn,” Flitwick said. “One at a time. You will stand before it, and the potion will show you what you fear most. Or what you desire most. Or what you have hidden from yourself.”
A few students exchanged nervous glances.
“Why would we need to do this?” asked Neville Longbottom, his voice trembling slightly.
Flitwick’s expression softened. “Because magic is not just about spells and ingredients. It is about knowing yourself. And sometimes, the most dangerous thing in the world is not a dark curse—but ignorance.”
The students shifted uncomfortably.
“Alright,” said Flitwick, “who will go first?”
Silence.
Then, slowly, Hermione raised her hand.
“Miss Granger,” Flitwick nodded. “Come forward.”
She walked to the mirror, her steps measured, her face pale. She stood directly before it, her breath shallow.
Flitwick poured a small vial of shimmering liquid into a small bowl. He handed it to her.
“Drink,” he said. “Then look.”
Hermione hesitated. Then she lifted the bowl and drank.
The moment the liquid touched her tongue, her eyes widened.
She gasped.
And in the mirror, a new image appeared.
Not her face—but a shadowy figure, cloaked in black, holding a wand. The figure’s eyes glowed red. Behind it, a crowd of students watched in horror.
Hermione staggered back, dropping the bowl. It shattered on the floor.
“Miss Granger?” Flitwick asked, concerned.
She looked up, trembling. “I… I saw myself… as a Death Eater.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Flitwick’s brow furrowed. “That is not possible,” he said softly. “Not yet.”
“But I saw it,” she whispered. “It was so real…”
Flitwick looked at her with a mix of pity and something deeper—something like recognition.
“Then perhaps,” he said, “you are more aware than you think.”
He turned to the class. “Let the next student come forward.”
The tension in the air was thick.
Ron Weasley looked at Harry. “Do you think it’ll show me something… bad?”
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to find out.”
“Me neither,” Ron muttered.
But one by one, the students stepped forward.
Dean Thomas stared into the mirror, and his face went white. He saw himself, standing in front of a crowd, being accused of something he didn’t do.
Lavender Brown burst into tears. She saw her own reflection, older and lonely, sitting alone in a dark room.
Even Draco Malfoy, who had been smirking the whole time, hesitated before stepping up. When he looked into the mirror, his smirk vanished. He saw himself—alone, rejected, forgotten.
When he stepped back, his face was pale.
The class watched in silence.
Finally, it was Harry’s turn.
He walked forward, his heart pounding.
Flitwick handed him the vial.
“Drink,” he said.
Harry looked at the liquid. It shimmered like liquid starlight.
He took a deep breath—and drank.
The world spun.
He saw himself—standing in front of a stone door, the words “The Dark Lord” etched into it. Behind him, Voldemort stood, smiling.
Then, the image shifted.
He saw himself, older, standing beside a woman with red hair, holding a child. They were laughing. He saw his own face, happy, whole.
And then, the mirror showed something else.
A figure in a black cloak, holding a wand. The same face—but older, darker. The eyes glowing red.
Harry stumbled back, dropping the bowl.
“Harry?” Flitwick asked, alarmed.
Harry stared at the mirror. “I… I saw myself… as Voldemort.”
A long silence followed.
Flitwick looked at him, his expression unreadable.
“Then,” he said slowly, “you are not afraid of him.”
Harry swallowed. “I’m afraid of becoming him.”
Flitwick nodded. “That is the first step.”
The class remained silent.
Then, slowly, the bell rang.
“Dismissed,” Flitwick said.
The students filed out, many still shaken.
As they left, Harry turned back one last time.
The mirror was dark again.
But in the glass, just for a moment, he thought he saw something else.
A reflection of a boy—standing tall, wand in hand, eyes blazing with courage.
And then it was gone.
“Come on,” Ron said, gently pulling Harry’s arm. “Let’s go.”
They walked out together.
And the mirror remained—watching.
(End of Chapter)
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