CHAPTER TWELVE
“Why don’t we go down and visit Hagrid?”
“No . . . you go . . .”
“I know what you’re thinking about, Harry, that mirror. Don’t
go back tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I dunno, I’ve just got a bad feeling about it — and anyway,
you’ve had too many close shaves already. Filch, Snape, and Mrs.
Norris are wandering around. So what if they can’t see you? What
if they walk into you? What if you knock something over?”
“You sound like Hermione.”
“I’m serious, Harry, don’t go.”
But Harry only had one thought in his head, which was to get
back in front of the mirror, and Ron wasn’t going to stop him.
That third night he found his way more quickly than before. He
was walking so fast he knew he was making more noise than was
wise, but he didn’t meet anyone.
And there were his mother and father smiling at him again, and
one of his grandfathers nodding happily. Harry sank down to sit on
the floor in front of the mirror. There was nothing to stop him from
staying here all night with his family. Nothing at all.
Except —
“So — back again, Harry?”
Harry felt as though his insides had turned to ice. He looked be-
hind him. Sitting on one of the desks by the wall was none other
than Albus Dumbledore. Harry must have walked straight past
him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn’t noticed him.
“I — I didn’t see you, sir.”
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