What I miss.
Close your eyes and think about what you've been missing in your life lately. It could be a person, pet, place, thing, occasion, feeling. Anything at all that you miss dearly.
I no longer see the stars. Not that I miss them as terribly as I miss long corridors or strategic placements along richly-hued walls. I used to be the centerpiece of the rooms of powerful wizards, the delight of guests at distinguished parties, the final solution to those who have lost purpose and needed direction. (Indeed, reacquainting oneself with one's heart's true desire and finding the means with which to obtain it is better than any guidance book one could purchase at Muggle stores.) And though these things are all magnificent -- overflowing with grand flourishes and polite applause -- the real means of a good show -- I do not pine for them in the lonely moments, the placements and the bustle of parties.
Truly, what I... I do miss is the sense that I was -- am important. For I know this is true. I wouldn't be so carefully hidden and locked up and away if I weren't. I know I am to play a role in some evil scheme, or to be the last hope of the glimmer of good. I know I am not to spend the rest of my existence in this ghastly state, biding the time I once thought I contained eons of -- that I still do contain eons of, in fact. This exile, as it were, to this dark corner is not my final end.
Yet, though my assurances are well-founded, and my increasingly dark security speaks as well to this truth, I find it... there is always the possibility that they have forgotten me, here. That they have meant to forget me. That I, a Mirror of the most ancient and respected magic, am to be left. That is -- that is unacceptable! I am so much more than reflective glass! I am history! Truth! Desire!
Why, above everything else, I miss the time when wizards acted as if they knew this to be true! I miss my respect. The awe! I would take it in something less than finery -- even in peasant adornment. This existence, should it be called so without jest, is not fit for such a Mirror as I.
Only one wizard in this age treated me with the respect my power deserves, and he did so with such humility and humor, that i know I shall never forgive forget him. He changed my thoughts to hope for all humanity, wizard and Muggle alike. If I am honest, I, most of all, miss Dumbledore.
I no longer see the stars. Not that I miss them as terribly as I miss long corridors or strategic placements along richly-hued walls. I used to be the centerpiece of the rooms of powerful wizards, the delight of guests at distinguished parties, the final solution to those who have lost purpose and needed direction. (Indeed, reacquainting oneself with one's heart's true desire and finding the means with which to obtain it is better than any guidance book one could purchase at Muggle stores.) And though these things are all magnificent -- overflowing with grand flourishes and polite applause -- the real means of a good show -- I do not pine for them in the lonely moments, the placements and the bustle of parties.
Truly, what I... I do miss is the sense that I was -- am important. For I know this is true. I wouldn't be so carefully hidden and locked up and away if I weren't. I know I am to play a role in some evil scheme, or to be the last hope of the glimmer of good. I know I am not to spend the rest of my existence in this ghastly state, biding the time I once thought I contained eons of -- that I still do contain eons of, in fact. This exile, as it were, to this dark corner is not my final end.
Yet, though my assurances are well-founded, and my increasingly dark security speaks as well to this truth, I find it... there is always the possibility that they have forgotten me, here. That they have meant to forget me. That I, a Mirror of the most ancient and respected magic, am to be left. That is -- that is unacceptable! I am so much more than reflective glass! I am history! Truth! Desire!
Why, above everything else, I miss the time when wizards acted as if they knew this to be true! I miss my respect. The awe! I would take it in something less than finery -- even in peasant adornment. This existence, should it be called so without jest, is not fit for such a Mirror as I.
Only one wizard in this age treated me with the respect my power deserves, and he did so with such humility and humor, that i know I shall never forgive forget him. He changed my thoughts to hope for all humanity, wizard and Muggle alike. If I am honest, I, most of all, miss Dumbledore.