Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

The mischievous Peeves cackled as he flew away, while Filch cast a suspicious glance around the corridor before muttering a curse under his breath and departing with Mrs. Norris in tow—though the cat kept staring intently in Harry and Hermione's direction.

"Good thing Filch didn't catch onto Mrs. Norris' gaze, or else..." Hermione exhaled deeply in relief, but then she noticed Harry's expression. "Harry, is something wrong?"

"I was just thinking—the Charms classroom is on the fourth floor, right?" Harry murmured, pressing a finger to his chin.

"Yeah, so what—"

"Hermione, do you remember what Dumbledore said at the start-of-term feast?" Harry's eyes shifted toward the door Ron and the others had just shut. "Anyone who does not wish to meet a gruesome and untimely demise should stay away from the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor... Ron and the others just went in there, didn't they?"

Hermione's face turned ghostly pale.

Before she could respond, the door burst open, and Ron, along with three others, stumbled out, faces pale with terror. Behind them, three enormous black dog heads—each the size of a grown man—snarled and snapped, trying to force their way through the doorway.

...

After kindly shutting the door to spare Ron and his friends further trouble, Harry and Hermione began making their way back to their dormitory. But as they reached the staircase leading from the fifth to the sixth floor, they encountered a new problem: a cat.

It was an emaciated creature with dull, gray fur and bulging, lamp-like eyes, eerily similar to Filch's own.

"It's Mrs. Norris!" Harry's heart sank, and Hermione seemed even more distressed, clutching his arm with trembling hands as if it were her last lifeline.

The two carefully tiptoed along the staircase, trying to edge past the feline perched in the middle. But to their dismay, Mrs. Norris' unblinking, bulbous eyes followed their every move. No matter where they stepped, her gaze remained fixed on them.

Then, she yowled, and their despair deepened as Filch's voice, filled with excitement, echoed down from the sixth-floor stairs.

"My dear, have you caught another student sneaking out at night?"

Panic gripped them as the sound of Filch's footsteps drew nearer. Instinctively, they retreated to the fifth floor, scanning the corridor for an escape route.

Fortunately, Harry's sharp eyes spotted a slightly ajar classroom door beside a tall suit of armor.

On tiptoe, they moved toward the door. One held it open, the other slid inside. Then, with a quiet but desperate push, they closed it just in time to avoid Filch's approach.

Huddled in a corner of the abandoned classroom, they listened intently until the sound of Filch's footsteps faded into the distance. Only then did they dare to breathe again.

Finally, they had a chance to examine the room.

The classroom appeared long forgotten, with broken desks and chairs piled haphazardly in a corner, their shadows forming a shapeless heap in the dim moonlight. On the floor lay an overturned wastepaper basket.

Yet, in the center of the room stood a grand and ornate mirror.

The mirror was nearly as tall as the ceiling, framed in gilded gold adorned with intricate carvings. Its base was supported by two claw-shaped metal feet. As Harry approached, he noticed an inscription etched into the top of the frame:

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

The mirror exuded an air of grandeur that felt entirely out of place, as though someone had stashed it here simply because they had nowhere else to put it.

"This room… feels strange," Harry said, scanning his surroundings. His magical senses picked up a faint but distinct energy emanating from the mirror—and, oddly enough, from the overturned wastepaper basket nearby. For some reason, the basket felt oddly familiar to him.

While Harry's attention was fixed on the wastepaper basket, Hermione had wandered over to the mirror. By the time he noticed, her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes alight with wonder.

Curious, Harry slipped off the Invisibility Cloak and stepped up to the mirror.

And then he froze.

What he saw in the mirror wasn't a disembodied floating head. Instead, he saw a warm, roaring campfire surrounded by seven familiar figures chatting animatedly. Beside them, a winged cat, a dog, and a young owl-bear cub chased each other around in circles, their antics drawing laughter.

"This… this is the future?" Harry muttered, his mind reeling. But then he dismissed the thought. The last time he'd seen the owl-bear cub at a feast, it had already grown significantly larger. So—

"This mirror reflects the deepest desires of the person looking into it... Am I right, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Wha—Professor Dumbledore?! Here?!" Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin at Harry's words, her voice turning shrill and panicked. Her wide eyes darted around the room as dread overtook her. If Dumbledore really was here, surely this meant detention—or worse—for tonight's escapade.

"How fascinating, Mr. Potter," came a gentle voice, "that you were able to notice me. I'd always thought my disguise to be quite effective."

The wastepaper basket let out a weary sigh before twisting and transforming into a tall, thin wizard. He wore flowing purple robes, had long silver hair and a matching beard, and sported a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon glasses. His crooked nose, as if broken more than once, added a touch of imperfection to his otherwise imposing presence.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Harry greeted calmly.

"Goo-good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione stammered, gripping her robes tightly as if trying to steady herself.

"Good evening to you both," Dumbledore said warmly, his gaze lingering on Harry. "Now, Mr. Potter, you still haven't answered my question—how did you know I was here?"

"Oh, it was simple, really," Harry shrugged. "I have a natural sensitivity to magic. While observing the room earlier, I noticed a familiar magical signature coming from the wastepaper basket. As for identifying it as you, well, that was just a lucky guess before you revealed yourself."

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Mr. Potter, you needn't be so modest. Luck, after all, is often a form of talent."

------

more advance and fast update chapters on

pat reon.com/yuuwand