The reflection isn't what Harry expected at all. There were hints of the Carrow sisters in the image, but it didn't look like them. He was entranced by the image, perhaps it was their mother when she was a student. But she had piercing green eyes, and the sisters were blue eyed. He recalled Hermione nudging him, telling him not to stare.
She was a beautiful girl, and as Harry absently brushes his hair aside, he spots his reflection has the same scar. The pensive look is familiar too. He wasn't sure what to think when he thought again about finding herself beautiful. But the reflection blushed, so Harry imagined he was too.
She mimicked his moves, like a true reflection. He ran his hands down his side and she did too. With a wicked thought, Harry cupped his imaginary bosom. Lifting and squeezing the girls. He felt nothing in his hands, although his reflection was again blushing. It was an odd pose for this, but he thought that the girl was rather well endowed.
He shook his head, and allowed his hands to fall limply away. Again the mirror mirrored.
Harry scanned the frame for writing. He remembered there was a clue carved in the frame of the mirror or Erised.
The palm of his hand brushed against the surface, Harry recoiled. It wasn't chilly like glass or metal. It was warm, the warmth of human flesh.
He was drawn to touch the glass again. Reaching out his hand, he stopped half an inch from it. Then his nerves on edge, he gently tapped on the glass, and snatched his hand back. It rippled like a pond. The ripples vanished at the frame. This time, it had had a texture, it wasn't just warm, it had felt coarse... like skin.
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