The Mirror of Erised, a legendary alchemical artifact, had the power to reveal a person's deepest desires—whatever their heart most longed for would appear before them when they stood in front of it. It was a mesmerizing and magical object.
"Is this some kind of... mirror of the mind?" Kyle mused, resisting the temptation to take a peek. He deliberately looked away, knowing the allure could be overwhelming.
"It seems you recognize the Mirror of Erised," Dumbledore's gentle voice came from behind Kyle. The Headmaster had appeared without Kyle noticing. "I'm glad you were able to resist its temptations. This is something many adult wizards find difficult to do. People often waste away in front of it, entranced by their own visions, sometimes even driven to madness."
"I just don't want to add to my worries, Headmaster," Kyle replied with a chuckle as he turned around. "I'm quite content with my life as it is."
"A very wise choice," Dumbledore nodded approvingly. He stepped closer to the mirror, his fingers brushing the ornate golden frame. "I must admit, you've already surpassed me in this regard. Even I find it hard to resist looking at the mirror from time to time."
Curious, Kyle asked, "So, what do you see when you look in the mirror, Headmaster? The true meaning of magic? Or perhaps a deeper, more profound theory?"
Dumbledore smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. "You've made me blush, Kyle. I'm afraid I'm not as great as you imagine. What I see is myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Kyle raised an eyebrow in surprise, but Dumbledore winked. "There are never enough socks, you see. Christmas comes and goes, and I haven't received a single pair in ages. People always insist on giving me books."
Kyle couldn't help but suspect that Dumbledore might be dropping a subtle hint, especially since Christmas was only two months away. As Kyle briefly considered whether he should take the hint and give socks as a gift, Dumbledore had already returned to his desk. He summoned a cup of black tea for himself and a plate of sweets appeared alongside.
"Would you like something to drink, Kyle?" Dumbledore offered.
"Lemonade, please," Kyle replied.
With a nod, a large glass of lemonade materialized on the table. Kyle took a sip and found that it tasted exactly like normal lemonade—nothing extraordinary, despite being in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, was leisurely sipping his tea, showing no urgency to speak. The room was quiet, the portraits of previous headmasters hanging on the walls softly snoring in their frames. Occasionally, one would half-open an eye and sneak a glance at Kyle, but they remained silent.
The atmosphere was becoming a bit uncomfortable for Kyle, who wasn't used to the quiet stillness. Just then, the whistle of the Quidditch match echoed faintly from outside the window, signaling the start of the game.
Finally gathering his thoughts, Kyle asked, "Headmaster, what can I do for you?"
"Ah, look at me," Dumbledore laughed softly, patting his forehead. "I've been so distracted by my tea that I almost forgot the reason I asked you here."
Dumbledore stood up and motioned for Kyle to follow him. They moved to a tall, gilded perch behind the door, where a magnificent fiery-red bird was perched. It was Fawkes, the Headmaster's phoenix.
"The Phoenix has been sulking with me for a while now," Dumbledore said, looking rather distressed. "But I can't figure out what the problem is. Could you ask him for me?"
"Is that so?" Kyle turned to Fawkes, who had already heard what Dumbledore said. The majestic bird glanced briefly at Kyle, then shot a displeased look at Dumbledore, chirping in clear frustration.
Kyle nodded knowingly. "No wonder you're so upset."
"What did it say?" Dumbledore asked, intrigued. Despite his remarkable linguistic abilities, including mastering the languages of snakes and goblins, Phoenix-speak remained elusive, especially since Fawkes, when irritated, seemed to speak with an accent that made it even more difficult to understand.
With some discretion, Kyle responded, "Headmaster, Fawkes says he doesn't want you putting Cockroach Clusters in its food anymore."
Dumbledore blinked, clearly surprised. "I always thought it'd enjoy those."
Fawkes immediately turned its back to Dumbledore in anger, making it very clear that it did not appreciate the misunderstanding. It was a Phoenix, after all—not a chicken! Worms were the furthest thing from its preferred diet.
Realizing his error, Dumbledore quickly began apologizing, but Fawkes continued to snub him, turning away every time Dumbledore tried to speak, even covering its head with its wings as if to block out its owner's words.
In the end, it was Kyle who managed to calm the fiery bird down. He offered Fawkes a leaf of Dittany and a bluebell, which Fawkes swallowed in two quick bites, finally appeased.
For the record, Kyle hadn't snatched the bluebell from the common room. It had been his reward for helping Professor Sprout clean the greenhouse. Watching it disappear into Fawkes' beak so quickly left Kyle feeling a bit dejected. He hadn't even gotten the chance to warm himself with it.
"I knew I could count on you," Dumbledore said, patting Kyle's shoulder happily. "If it weren't for you, I might not have been able to calm it down for quite some time."
"It's nothing, Headmaster," Kyle replied, though his smile was a bit weak. "Is there anything else? If not, I'd really like to go watch the Quidditch match."
Kyle touched his Mokeskin pouch, feeling a bit uneasy about staying much longer. If Fawkes got upset again, he didn't have any more herbs to offer, and as a first-year, he wasn't exactly stocked up on such things. Besides, Fawkes wasn't his Phoenix—better to let Dumbledore handle it from here on out.
"There is one small matter," Dumbledore said, turning to retrieve a potion bottle from a drawer. "This is a Magic Suppressing Potion for Mikel. I was going to have Madam Pomfrey deliver it, but I suspect he's avoiding the infirmary. So I thought, since you're here, you could take it to him."
Kyle accepted the bottle, but couldn't help asking, "Hasn't Mikel learned to control his magic yet?"
"It's not easy," Dumbledore replied after a thoughtful pause. "But Pomona says he's making good progress. By the time he reaches his second year, he likely won't need the potion anymore."
Kyle nodded in understanding.
"Remember," Dumbledore added, "this potion is important for Mikel, even if it's not the most pleasant-tasting. Make sure he drinks it—don't let him just toss it away."
"Don't worry, Headmaster," Kyle smiled, "Mikel's my roommate. I'll make sure he drinks it."
"That's reassuring to hear." Dumbledore raised his cup of black tea. "Now, go enjoy the match. It should still be going on."