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When the workers who had delivered and unpacked the Mirror of Erised were gone, Dumbledore slowly approached it, wondering if it would show him what he expected and half-longed, half-dreaded to see. As Dumbledore drew nearer, the faint outline of a person appeared on the other side of the glass, growing clearer and clearer with each step the Headmaster took. Finally, he stopped, his nose inches from the glass. Yes, he had been correct in his expectations. Those bottomles blue eyes...that straight, sharp nose...those thin eyebrows...those sharply outlined lips...that sleek dark hair...a vision of perfect, almost cruel beauty.

Dumbledore slowly raised his hand and reached with his fingertips toward the other person's smooth cheek. The vision looked so real that he was almost surprised when his fingers met cold glass instead of warm flesh. With a deep, jerky sigh that left a small patch of mist on the surface of the mirror, Dumbledore withdrew his hand.

"I wish it had turned out differently," he said to the person in front of him, a tear trickling from his eye. "I wish you had not been so cold, and I so inhibited. I wish we could have been together. But some things are just not meant to be...Tom."

Wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, Albus Dumbledore turned and left the room.

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