For a while, every night after curfew, a professor patrolled the castle grounds. Filch, who was driven nearly mad by the endless cock feathers scattered everywhere, had already cleaned them up five times. Still, every now and then, he would spot more. Sometimes they were around a corner in the corridor, sometimes by the archway... There seemed to be no end to them.
This ordeal had made Filch even grumpier than usual, and he glared fiercely at everyone he encountered. If anyone so much as raised their voice, they became his target, scolded relentlessly. The students who bore the brunt of his frustration loathed it, but had no choice but to steer clear of him. Filch’s behavior was implicitly sanctioned by a certain Potions professor, and any show of dissatisfaction risked costing them house points.
Kyle, too, had been keeping a low profile lately. Every day, he diligently went to the library to work on assignments and read, returning to his dorm on schedule. He’d put his late-night swims on hold for the time being. Fred and George had warned him that Filch prowled the second floor most of the night, while patrolling professors often popped into the library to check for stragglers. Under such close watch, sneaking around to copy books was far too risky, so Kyle decided to wait until the situation blew over.
But not everyone was willing to wait. Harry Potter, for instance, had been obsessed with returning to the mirror ever since he realized who the people he saw in it were. He didn’t intend to do anything when he went—just sit there, captivated, for hours. Ron tried to talk him out of it, but Harry wouldn't listen to a word.
On the third night, he finally ran into Dumbledore in the room.
“I... I didn’t see you, sir!” Harry stammered, his hands and feet icy with nerves. Only then did he remember that the professors had been cracking down on nighttime wandering. What if Dumbledore suspected he’d been the one causing trouble lately?
The thought that Gryffindor could lose two hundred points over this left Harry feeling hollow, as if he’d turned to ice inside.
“It’s odd that you became nearsighted the moment you became invisible,” Dumbledore said with a smile.
Seeing the smile on Dumbledore’s face, Harry exhaled a sigh of relief. Thankfully, Dumbledore didn’t seem to be planning on taking any points. There was a patience and kindness about him, like a muggle gentleman who often walked his dog in the mornings back in Little Whinging.
From Dumbledore, Harry also began to understand the purpose of the Mirror of Erised.
“This mirror shows us the deepest and most desperate desires of our hearts,” Dumbledore said softly. “Many have wasted away before it, entranced by what they see, even going mad—because they can’t tell if what they see is real or even attainable.”
Harry lowered his head, silent for a moment, before mumbling, “Sir... Professor Dumbledore, have you looked into the mirror, too?”
“Yes, more than once,” Dumbledore replied with a smile. “I must admit, the mirror’s magic is hard to resist... Although, there is one exception.”
“Who’s that?” Harry asked, intrigued.
“A second-year student.”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, and Dumbledore, noting his expression, gave a playful wink. “Why? Can’t you believe it?”
Harry shook his head. If Dumbledore had named some famous wizard or even a professor, he could have accepted it. But a second-year student, accomplishing something even Dumbledore couldn’t manage... That seemed impossible.
"Just as you think, in this regard, he is indeed better than me,” Dumbledore mused after a moment’s pause. “He had two chances to gaze into the Mirror of Erised, but he walked away without hesitation each time.”
“Professor Dumbledore, could it be that he mistook it for an ordinary mirror?” Harry asked.
“At first, I thought so too, but soon I realized that wasn’t the case.” Dumbledore shook his head. “He knew exactly what the Mirror of Erised was and fully understood its purpose.”
“Who is he?” Harry pressed. “Do I know him?”
But this time, Dumbledore didn’t answer.
“That’s enough for tonight, Harry,” he said, rising to his feet. “Tomorrow, the mirror will be moved to a new location. I ask you not to go searching for it again. Losing yourself in illusions, forgetting the reality of life—it’s no help to you. Now, why don’t you put on that remarkable Invisibility Cloak and return to bed.”
Harry left the room still full of questions. Back in his dormitory bed, his mind kept returning to the mysterious second-year student Dumbledore had mentioned. But the only second-years he knew were a few from Gryffindor and, of course, Kyle.
Could it be him? Harry wondered, unsure.
The next day, during lunch, Kanna nudged Kyle, who was sitting across from her, and whispered, “Have you been up to anything lately, like going to the Quidditch pitch to practice?”
“Of course not,” Kyle replied, puzzled. “I’ve been in the library these past few days. I haven’t gone anywhere else. Besides, the rest of the team is gone—it’d be pointless to train alone. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Kanna whispered, nodding subtly in the direction of the Gryffindor table. “It’s just that Harry Potter keeps glancing over at you. I thought maybe you’d come up with some new Quidditch tactics, and he’d noticed.”
Kyle turned instinctively, just in time to catch Harry looking away hurriedly.
“It wasn’t just this time,” Kanna went on. “I’ve seen him sneaking looks at you a few times now.”
Kyle’s stomach dropped. Could Harry have figured out that he’d also been in the room on the fourth floor that night? No, that was impossible—he’d been using a Disillusionment Charm the entire time. There was no way Harry could have seen him. And as for guessing… Harry wasn’t that clever.
“It’s probably just about Quidditch,” Kyle replied flatly. “Our match against Gryffindor is right after Christmas, after all. He might just be thinking up strategies and seeing me as some sort of imaginary rival.”
“Thinking up strategies?” Kanna frowned. “But he’s the Seeker. Does he even need tactics?”
“It’s probably another one of Wood’s grand plans. Who knows?” Kyle shrugged. “Forget about him. Aren’t you supposed to be going to Snape’s lessons today? How’s your prep going?”
“I’ve got everything ready—books, quills, parchment, ink…”
Kanna’s nerves flared at the mention of the lessons, and she couldn’t help but cast a glance toward Harry again. In a quiet voice, she asked, “Kyle, do you think I should bring my cauldron?”
“There’s no need,” Kyle replied, reassuringly. He’d never had to attend the potions class by himself, but he was certain Snape kept more than enough cauldrons on hand.