'I regret to announce that Professor Quirrell's remains were found yesterday evening in an underground chamber. The evidence suggests that he had been possessed by Dark Magic for some time. The witness, you may or may not have noticed, is not with us at this time, but is peacefully recovering in the hospital wing ...'
So this must have been the chamber where Harry had fought for the Philosopher's Stone. With a final glance at the turban, Neville looked up again at the huge mirror at the back of the room. Whether it was because it looked extremely old, or looked as though it should have collected more dust than it had, Neville could sense a matter here of foreboding and even excitement as he walked slowly towards the mirror. The closer he got, the more details he picked up: the words Mirror of Erised were engraved at the top of the frame, surrounded by more writing that ran down the sides in an unknown language, perhaps Latin, or even Gobbledegook; then the rest of the frame was covered in strange runes and little pictures.
At an arm's length away, Neville looked into the glass.
His reflection gazed back at him but the Neville in the mirror looked different to the boy standing in front of it. His face was more scarred and dirtier but he was grinning happily enough; he was carrying his wand in one hand and something long and shiny in the other: the sword of Gryffindor.
As though he thought his own body was playing tricks on him, Neville looked down and his hands but they were definitely empty. He looked back at the mirror and jumped out of his skin.
Two people had appeared from nowhere; he spun around.
There was no one there.
He looked back at the mirror, perplexed. With a pang of joy, he recognised the adults closest to him. They were holding hands behind Neville's back, smiling proudly. His mum and dad.
He turned around, not daring to believe his eyes, but, again, it was just him; the room was otherwise empty. His parents were simply standing there, smiling, finally recognising him. For the first time in his memory, Neville saw their perfect faces, full, coloured and unblemished.
He couldn't make head or tail of the image: everything about it was too good to be true; his parents happy and proud of him and Neville himself, standing in the middle of it all, the sword of Gryffindor marking his fresh bravery, beaming triumphantly ...
The Galleon in his pocket burned and he absent-mindedly fished for it with his numb fingers, not wanting to look away from the mirror in case his parents vanished. But he had to look down at the coin to see who had sent him a message:
Neville sighed. He'd completely forgotten about the snowball fight, and even being chased by the Carrows was a distant memory. The only thing in the world that mattered to him right now was this mirror. But he had to admit, nothing was going to change, no matter how long he looked into it for. His parents were in St Mungo's, as ever; there was no chance of him possessing the sword, as Snape had had it delivered to Gringotts the day after Neville's attempt to steal it; but could it show the future, maybe? What if his parents could recover; after all, all curses like that must wear off at some stage? ... And he'd already been in possession of, if not in complete control of, the sword of Gryffindor ...
Perhaps ten minutes later, or maybe several long hours later, Neville, with difficulty, wrenched his eyes away from the enchanted mirror and glumly decided to go. There was a battered wooden door behind the large mirror; it creaked open at his touch and he stomped up a narrow spiral staircase, without the foggiest idea of where he might end up. A dark, hooded man, much like the one that had grabbed him on the platform a million years ago, was slumped at the end of the stairs; had he not been snoring, Neville would have thought him dead. Neville supposed he was meant to be guarding this secret passage, but he wasn't doing a fantastic job, and Neville passed through the back of the statue of Gregory the Smarmy unnoticed.
Neville tried to enjoy the snowball fight as much as he could; but the image of his healthy parents distracted him, costing him a faceful of snow on more than one occasion. He hadn't really noticed how many students had stayed at Hogwarts during the break; perhaps many of their parents were in danger, like Luna's father, and didn't have the privilege of seeing their children at home for Christmas. How many other students would be ambushed like that?
SPLAT. Ernie's well-aimed snowball found its target and Neville's face went numb with cold.
It was somewhat a relief when they all headed back indoors: Neville could hardly feel his nose and hands, and his toes appeared to have vanished completely. He, Seamus and the girls half-ran up the Gryffindor Tower to get changed, and sat in front of the roaring fire for a good half an hour before helping themselves to chipolatas and turkey sandwiches in the Great Hall for dinner.
Christmas had certainly been enjoyable enough, better, indeed, than Neville had imagined in light of what it had been like before. It was just the mirror that acted like a Dementor, seeping out some of the happiness, replacing it with doubt, dangerous doubt. And the worries of the mirror, the Carrows and Luna engulfed him once more ...