“Aaarrgh!” yelled Harry, pummelling the desk with his fists, trying to let out some of his pent up anger. Harry Potter had once again been sent to Professor Dumbledore’s office for bad behaviour. It was the fourth time that week. But, he, Harry got so angry in such a short space of time, that he was finally considering taking up Hermione’s suggestion of anger management classes. What had happened this time to make him so flare up so quickly? Harry thought about it…
He had been playing wizard’s chess with Ron. He had tried really hard to win, put all the effort he had into the game, yet he had lost to Ron. There, that was it! So… what had happened next? Now, looking back on it, Harry supposed that he was, well, ashamed of his behaviour. He had stood up, shouted at Ron and tipped the board over, all the chess pieces crashing to the floor. He had stormed out of the Gryffindor common room, tears flooding down his cheeks.
So, why was he here, in trouble? What had he done next? Ah…yes. Blinded by his tears he had walked headlong into Professor Snape, who, needless to say was not too happy to have had his least favourite student crash into him, without even stopping to apologize. Unhappy enough, say, to deduct points from the Gryffindor House point total. Ten points, in fact. Harry was having none of that. In his current state of mind, he pushed Professor Snape away from him, and Snape had fallen straight on top of the irreplaceable statue of Wendelin the Weird. Both Snape and Wendelin toppled to the floor, where there was a loud crack, and one of Wendelin’s arms shattered into a million pieces.
“POTTER!” Snape had bellowed, his usually pale face turning purple.
And now he was here. Harry was waiting for Professor Dumbledore to come, but he was taking forever. A bowl of silvery liquid on Dumbledore’s table caught his eye. The pensieve! Harry looked behind him and listened to check if anyone was coming. Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his wand, and stuck the tip of it in the pensieve. Dumbledore’s office gave an almighty lurch and Harry went headfirst into the swirling, silver liquid. Harry found himself in a large room “ one which he vaguely recognised. Then he saw another object which he definitely recognised “ the Mirror of Erised!
Professor Dumbledore was sitting cross legged, the end of his long crooked nose, resting on the mirror.
“Professor Dumbledore, sir?” Harry inquired, softly.
Dumbledore did not reply. He seemed absorbed in the mirror. Harry remembered what he had told Harry about the mirror in Harry’s first year
-“The mirror shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desires of our hearts”
-“Men have wasted away in front of it, entranced by what they have see, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.”
Harry walked over to Professor Dumbledore, knelt behind him, and peered over his shoulder. He saw what Professor Dumbledore could see.
Harry saw Professor Dumbledore running and skipping along, but Time was funny, it was in sort of…slow motion. He was wearing a very odd set of robes, and his beard and hair was flowing in the wind, and clutched in his left hand was…a pair of thick, woollen socks. Looking closely at Dumbledore’s robes, Harry could see that each strange pattern on them was in fact a tiny, embroidered sock. And on his feet were “ Harry guessed it - pink, fluffy bed socks.
Looking from the Mirror of Erised to the content look on Professor Dumbledore’s face, Harry shook his head. Dumbledore had been telling the truth “ his hearts desire really had been to receive a pair of hick woollen socks! (Not to mention bed socks of the pink, fluffy variety)
And then the memory changed…
Harry found himself in a darkened room. He glanced around the room “ there were two figures inside it. One was sitting on a high-backed armchair, and the other was kneeling in front of it. In a sudden flicker of light, to Harry’s horror, he saw exactly who they were. It was Harry’s arch-enemy Lord Voldemort. Harry emitted a high-pitched scream, but luckily no one could hear him. Harry calmed himself, if the man sitting on the armchair was Voldemort, then the man in front of him must be…
“Wormtail, I really don’t what’s wrong with me, I really don’t.”
“What do you mean, Master?”
“Well, for a start, I don’t feel like killing things anymore “ oh, and I traded my snake, Nagini, for
Mr. Tiddles here”
Voldemort held out a small, fluffy, pure-white Persian kitten.
“Well, my Lord, that doesn’t really matter, does it? You still want to kill the Potter boy, don’t you?”
“Well, no. But I want to give him what he deserves.”
Wormtail’s troubled expression cleared.
“Ah, I see. And what exactly is that, sir?”
“A nice, big group hug!”
“Oh,, um , OK. Well, beloved Leader, I’ll just go and kill some food for us to eat for our dinner, then.”
“No, no, NO! Just order a pizza. Oh, and Wormtail?”
“Yes, master?”
“My pedicure. Call the Nail Salon and get them to pencil me in for 3 o’clock on Thursday
OK, thought Harry, that was weird. And it looks like absolutely everyone has put their thoughts and memories into Dumbledore’s pensieve!
And then the memory changed again…