A/N: I know I'm behind my usual time, so I'm sorry if anyone has been waiting for this! I literally just finished this chapter ten minutes ago, and have spent those ten minutes double checking it for typos (some of which I found and some of which I most likely missed. As always, please let me know if you catch anything I overlooked). I must say, I'm rather surprised at how it turned out. Not displeased, just surprised. I finally feel like the story is wrapping up. This part picks up right where chapter 14 left off. I hope you all like it.
Section 15:
Lavender shimmied down his body as soon as they cleared the door of the room, rubbing herself against him as suggestively as she could before pulling away with a light laugh and flopping down on the bed.
"Isn't it wonderful, Harry?" she sighed, smiling brightly at him.
"Isn't what wonderful?" he asked distractedly.
"No one's around," she replied, propping herself up partway and smiling at him with a come-hither glance. "No need for silencing charms. No need for watching the clock. No need to worry that we'll bother anyone or disturb anyone or get caught. Just you… and me… and this lovely, empty bed… and no one around…"
"Yes, you already said that," Harry replied absently. Mentally, he was working hard to adjust. He had planned to have a couple of hours to go through the rest of the album. He had been looking *forward* to having some time to do exactly that. And now his beautiful fiancée was spreading herself across their bed, offering herself to him, and… he *still* wanted to return to the album. He had never thought that the day would ever come when he'd turn down the chance to make love to Lavender, but there was a part of him that was aching for *something* that he knew he couldn't find in her arms.
Lavender rose to her knees and crossed over to the foot of the bed so that she was kneeling in front of him. Leaning forward, she captured his lips in a kiss. Harry waited for the familiar heat to course through him, pushing away everything else the way that it always had before. It didn't happen. He could feel her lips on his, warm and skilled as always, and he could feel his own responding automatically in the way he knew that she liked best, but the passion and lust that she had taught him to experience and enjoy were curiously absent.
"Come to bed, Harry," she whispered, sliding her hands underneath his shirt to caress his chest. "Come to bed and let me love you."
How could he say no to that? Why on earth did he *want* to say no to that? It was everything he'd ever wanted, wasn't it? Of course it was. So when she deepened the kiss, he kissed her back. When she pulled his shirt over his head, he dropped his hands to the fly of his jeans, slipping out of the remains of his clothes, quickly moving to join her. And when the usual feelings of passion didn't come, he took that as a cue to try harder.
When he finished with her, Lavender fell immediately asleep. It was hardly surprising considering the way that Harry had exhausted her. He tried everything he could think of to draw himself emotionally into the process, but while Lavender had clearly enjoyed the attentiveness, the results from Harry's end were far less satisfactory.
It was getting worse, not better. He was barely even aware of the pleasure when he touched her, and the little joy he found in it had been entirely physical, as if he'd slept with a stranger instead of the woman he loved. His body had responded mechanically as he went through the motions, but his heart and his mind had remained completely unengaged leaving him, at the end of it, feeling slightly queasy. That hadn't been making love; at least, not on his part. It had been sex, and nothing more, and it made him feel dirty and jaded and heartily ashamed of himself. It wasn't supposed to be like that. Not with Lavender. But it *was* like that, and Harry didn't know what to do. Exhausted and disheartened, it didn't take him long to fall asleep.
He knew he was dreaming. After years of Occlumency lessons and learning to control his thoughts, Harry was a master of lucid dreaming. No matter what strange situation he came across in his subconscious, he always remained completely aware that it was nothing more than a dream, and that he could control it the moment it seemed to be getting out of hand.
But there was nothing disturbing about his dream at the moment; all he was doing was walking down a deserted corridor in Hogwarts; so he let it play out without interference. Besides, he could tell that he was getting close to his destination, and he was rather curious to see what it was.
Just before he reached a doorway, recognition kicked in and Harry realized where he was headed. This was the room where he had found Hermione during the celebration party: the room with the Mirror of Erised. Only instead of the door being shut and shielded the way it had been on that night, it stood wide open as if it had been waiting for him, and when he stepped inside, he saw that instead of the mirror being angled away from him, it was facing him, forcing his eyes onto it before he was even aware of what he was doing.
And there it was. God in heaven help him, there it was. The image he had seen for only a brief moment but that had remained seared in his brain was in living color in front of him. In the mirror, he saw his reflection, wrapped around Hermione. The heat of their embrace washed over him like a tidal wave, and all the passion he had tried in vain to find in Lavender's body threatened to drown him under its dizzying rush.
She looked so beautiful. He couldn't see much of her around his reflection's body; mirror-Harry was holding on to her so tightly that it was hard to tell where one of them left off and the other began; but the brief glimpses of Hermione's face when she broke away to gasp in some air or moan his name made him ache with how stunning she looked in the throes of passion. In spite of himself, his body tightened and hardened and he groaned in frustration at being forced to *watch* what he wanted so desperately to *feel*. Mirror-Harry and mirror-Hermione pulled apart and turned to look at him, smiling, maliciously it seemed, at his agony. But then when mirror-Hermione put her hand on mirror-Harry's shoulder to turn him back to her… it happened.
Harry felt the warmth of a hand on his shoulder, and held his breath in anticipation as he turned his head. There she was. His Hermione. His beautiful, wonderful, irresistible Hermione, with a warm, brilliant smile on her face, showing all of her love for him. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to fall down on his knees and weep for being such a fool and waiting so long, to fall down on his knees and beg her forgiveness, or to fall down on his knees, pull her down with him, and *show* her far better than words ever could that he wanted her more than anything in the world. Remaining upright (for the moment) he opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, but she cut him off with a single finger against his lips.
"It's alright, Harry," she whispered, stepping closer. "I'm here now, and everything's going to be alright." Then she replaced her finger with her lips and Harry forgot how to speak. His eyes stole over to the mirror just in time to catch mirror-Harry giving him a wink before wrapping his arms around mirror-Hermione. Taking the hint, Harry snaked his arms around Hermione's back, drawing her in closer and relishing the feel of her body fitting so perfectly against his.
When he did drop to his knees, it was because she pulled him there, bringing them both down to the floor so they could relish the feel of their bodies pressing together, full-length. It was heaven and bliss and *passion* unlike anything he had ever experienced, and Harry never wanted it to end. Deepening the kiss, he ground his hips against hers, showing her as clearly as he could just how badly he wanted, no, *needed* her. She moaned in response, wrapping her legs around his, making him grin like an idiot in spite of himself, overwhelmed by the knowledge that she craved this as much as he did.
"Hermione," he moaned softly, pulling away from her lips to plant a series of whisper-soft kisses along her neck, up to her ear. "I love you," he murmured. "I love you."
He turned his head to lower his lips to hers again, his eyes heavy-lidded and mostly shut in anticipation of the pleasure he would experience, but they flew wide open when instead of soft, yielding flesh, they pressed up against cold, hard glass. The warm curves under his hands vanished, and Harry's body went rigid with shock when he saw himself pressed not against Hermione, but against the mirror, through which he could see Hermione on the other side, tears streaming silently down her face the way they had on the night of the party, while she shook her head slowly back and forth.
"You can't undo what has been done," she stated sadly in a heartbreaking repeat of their argument in the tower. "The only thing that would take the pain away was if you loved me back, and you *don't*. Goodbye, Harry." She turned away from the mirror, walking toward the door.
"Hermione, wait!" Harry shouted, pressing up against the mirror, trying to get to her. She ignored him, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway without a backward glance. He saw her disappearing from view and pounded on the mirror with every ounce of desperation he felt.
"Don't leave me!" he yelled. "I love you! I love you! I lo-"
With a gasp, Harry sat up, wide-awake.
He didn't hesitate for so much as a moment, immediately springing out of bed and throwing some clothes on as quickly as possible. As soon as he was dressed, he was pounding down the stairs, flinging the portrait open so hard that it made the Fat Lady gasp, and all but running down the hall.
He had to get to the mirror. He had to see if it was true. He had to know and he had to know *now* if the reason why nothing felt right, and why he couldn't find any satisfaction with Lavender, and why he just couldn't imagine being happy with his life the way that it was… he had to know if the reason for all his misery in the past few months that were *supposed* to be the happiest of his life was because his heart had walked away from him and hadn't come back. He had to know if he was really in love with Hermione.
Though he'd only been there once, he didn't even have to pause to think of how to get to the deserted hallway that would lead him to the mirror. He found the path by pure instinct, and soon he was nearly there. Instead of slowing down, he moved faster as he approached his destination, his eyes lighting up when he saw the doorway down at the end of the hall. Hermione hadn't put back up the shielding wards when they left last time, so the door was clearly visible. He was so close. In just moments, he'd walk through the door, walk in front of the mirror, and stand face to face with what he wanted most in the world. And once he saw who the mirror placed in his arms, then he'd admit to himself which girl was truly in his heart.
Harry shouted out an "Alohomora," as soon as he was in range of the door, and smiled with satisfaction when it flew open, eliminating the last barrier between him and what he had come to seek. His emerald eyes were glowing behind his glasses as he stepped up to the doorway, entered the room, and…
… nearly sank to the ground with disappointment.
The Mirror of Erised was gone. In its place was a table heavily loaded with high tea, complete with scones and little sandwiches, a pair of wing-back chairs, and Albus Dumbledore, calmly preparing a cup of tea with lots of sugar and cream.
"Ah good, there you are, Harry," Dumbledore stated with a genial smile. "I've been expecting you, and you're right on time. Have a seat, have a seat. Now remind me, dear boy, how do you take your tea?"
"Two teaspoons of sugar and some lemon," Harry answered dazedly as he seated himself across from Dumbledore at the table.
"Quite right, quite right," Dumbledore responded agreeably, preparing a cup of tea to Harry's specifications, and loading up a small plate with scones and biscuits. "You really must try some of the chocolate chip scones," he insisted, placing three on the plate. "I feel the house-elves have quite outdone themselves."
"Professor, what is this?" Harry questioned, even as he numbly accepted the cup and plate the headmaster gave him.
Dumbledore's smile was warm but his eyes were sad and looked oddly… repentant as they focused on Harry. "This is my apology, Harry. I do hope you'll accept it."
"Apology?" Harry repeated. "For what?"
"For only teaching you half the lesson."
"I don't understand…" Harry stammered uncertainly.
Dumbledore put down his cup of tea and smiled gently at Harry. "Really, I don't think you know how proud I am of you, Harry. You've done so wonderfully well; better than anyone could have anticipated. In spite of Dursleys, Voldemort, Dolores Umbridge and all the rest, you've become a fine young man, and a credit to wizarding society."
"T-thank you, sir."
"But as proud as I am of all of your achievements," Dumbledore continued, "there is one lesson that remains only half-learned, and the fault is mine." Dumbledore sighed and looked very tired for a moment. "Your parents were very dear to me, you realize, and I blamed myself quite strongly for their deaths. If I had taken better care to see to their safety; to ensure that they had, as they assured me, found the best and most reliable secret keeper that could be found; to cast wards that would have given us some warning that they were under attack…" Dumbledore's voice trailed off.
"Ah, well," he sighed moments later, taking a large drink of tea and nibbling on one of the chocolate chip scones while gesturing for Harry to do the same. Harry obeyed mechanically. "Examining all the 'if only' possibilities won't do either of us any good. Suffice it to say, I felt the obligation to provide you with the protection I failed to give your parents. I wanted you to be shielded, as best I could ensure it, from all harm. That was why I took you out of the wizarding world where adherents of Voldemort's might have made you a target. That was why I placed you with the Dursleys, where the sacrifice of your mother would guarantee your protection. And that's why I made you return to the muggle world year after year, to renew the bonds that tied you to your family."
"I wanted you to feel safe. I wanted to arrange your life so that you would never know the fear that haunted your parents in those last few years, when they saw Voldemort's shadow behind every corner. It seemed like what your parents would have wanted. But in ensuring that feeling of safety, I made some very grave errors. One of these errors, we've already discussed."
Harry nodded in understanding. "Not telling me about the prophecy. You kept that from me so I would feel safe?"
"That is correct," Dumbledore confirmed. "I didn't want to scare you or burden you by making you aware of the weight that rested on your shoulders. I thought you would feel safer if you did not know the full extent of what you were up against. I was wrong, and my mistake cost you dearly, leading to a result that I will never cease to regret."
The name 'Sirius' did not have to be spoken. The two of them sat silent for a moment of silent mourning for the man who had been lost to both of them.
"But as much as I regret that decision," Dumbledore continued when the moment had passed, "there is another choice I made that burdens me far more: by making your safety top priority, Harry, I forgot to concern myself with your happiness."
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore cut him off.
"I know that you have found some happiness in your years here: in the fondness you've experienced from various and assorted Weasleys, in the friendship of your peers, in the loyalty and support of Mr. Ronald Weasley and Miss Granger, and in the affection of Miss Brown."
Harry blushed violently, causing Dumbledore to smile softly. "But as pleased as I am that you have found your place among your companions, I cannot help but hold myself at fault for what you have *not* found or, rather, what you did not know how to seek." He chuckled slightly. "When I ascend to the adventures of the world beyond this life, I daresay your parents will be quite angry with me. I tried to give you the home I thought they would have wanted for you; a home where you would be safe and where Voldemort's minions would not be able to harm you; but I was arrogant, and forgot to include the one, vital thing that you had always had in your parents home, even when it was at its most insecure. Harry, I forgot to include love."
"I was acquainted with your aunt in a vague sort of way and I knew of your uncle." Dumbledore chuckled again. "Your mother was a woman of fine, strong convictions, who had a fine, strong determination to *share* those convictions with the rest of the world. She was… not shy or quiet when it came to expressing her opinions, especially as concerned her sister and brother-in-law. But for all their narrow-mindedness, I knew the Dursleys could be counted on to keep you sheltered and secure, and that seemed to be to be the most important consideration. I did not think of the damage that could be caused from growing up in a house like that, for someone like you."
"I did not realize that growing up so isolated from love and affection would have such lasting consequences. Foolishly, I believed that once you settled in at Hogwarts, you'd be able to leave the past behind, and learn how to love and be loved in return. But I was wrong, wasn't I, Harry? Leaving you to figure out this most essential lesson on your own has caused you far more harm than good, and that has brought us here, to this place, at this particular moment."
"You know why I'm here?" Harry asked, tentatively.
"You came to see the mirror, did you not?"
"I… yes," Harry answered.
"I'm afraid that's not possible," Dumbledore replied. "At Miss Granger's request, I had the mirror removed several weeks back. It seems," Dumbledore gave Harry a significant look, "she had promised someone not to give in to its temptations, and felt that the best way to keep her promise was to remove the temptation."
"But I…"
"The mirror is a charmed piece of glass," Dumbledore stated gently but firmly. "It can read your desires, but it cannot create them for you. Whatever you would have seen in the mirror, you already know in your heart. You just have to look to your heart and trust yourself to recognize what it is that you truly want. Do you understand, Harry?"
Slowly, Harry nodded.
"Well," Dumbledore stated briskly, rising to his feet and loading several scones into a fresh napkin, "I must take some of these scones to Minerva. She was grading third-year Hufflepuff exams when last I saw her, and could use something to… sweeten her temperament. Feel free to stay and finish your tea." With a kindly smile, Dumbledore headed for the door.
"Professor Dumbledore!"
"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore answered, turning at the door.
"I forgive you."
For a moment, Harry thought he saw tears in the headmaster's blue eyes. But he couldn't be sure. Perhaps it was just their twinkle that made it seem that way. "Thank you, Harry," he said softly before stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him.
Absently, Harry sipped at his tea and nibbled on a scone while he thought of what Dumbledore had said. Dumbledore was right about one thing: growing up with the Dursleys had made it very difficult to Harry to recognize love. He thought he'd found it with Lavender, but he was slowly coming to accept that that wasn't true. He cared about Lavender, certainly, and probably always would, she wasn't the one in his heart. If she was, then it wouldn't have felt so empty ever since… ever since Hermione walked out of his life.
The torchlight glittered against the gold locket around his neck, and Harry popped it open, turning the pictures so that his parents were facing the front. He couldn't help but smile at the look of love on their faces as they stared at each other. Flipping the portraits over, he looked at himself and Lavender and came to terms with the fact that as much as he cared for her, he would never feel the love for her that his parents had felt for each other. The thought didn't upset him as much as he had imagined it would.
He closed his eyes and remembered his dream, and the way it had felt to hold Hermione in his arms. It was more than passion that he had felt from kissing and touching her. It was more than desire, or respect, or trust, or admiration, or friendship, or affection, though all of those things were there. They came together to form something that was much larger than the sum of their parts, something Harry had never felt before and had been too scared to recognize.
He realized why he hadn't been able to feel happy since she left him behind. He realized why he had obsessed over the album filled with pictures of her. He realized why looking at a celluloid copy of her had given him more contentment than he had found in even the most passionate of Lavender's touches. And he realized why he had dreamt of finding her with him, completing him in the reflection of the Mirror of Erised. The answer to them all was the same. He knew what his heart wanted. Dumbledore was right; he didn't need the mirror after all.
All he needed was Hermione, the love of his life.