CHAPTER TWELVE
headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if Snape stole it,
really?
“Are you all right?” said Ron. “You look odd.”
What Harry feared most was that he might not be able to find the
mirror room again. With Ron covered in the cloak, too, they had
to walk much more slowly the next night. They tried retracing
Harry’s route from the library, wandering around the dark passage-
ways for nearly an hour.
“I’m freezing,” said Ron. “Let’s forget it and go back.”
“No!” Harry hissed. “I know it’s here somewhere.”
They passed the ghost of a tall witch gliding in the opposite di-
rection, but saw no one else. Just as Ron started moaning that his
feet were dead with cold, Harry spotted the suit of armor.
“It’s here — just here — yes!”
They pushed the door open. Harry dropped the cloak from
around his shoulders and ran to the mirror.
There they were. His mother and father beamed at the sight of
him.
“See?” Harry whispered.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Look! Look at them all . . . there are loads of them. . . .”
“I can only see you.”
“Look in it properly, go on, stand where I am.”
Harry stepped aside, but with Ron in front of the mirror, he
couldn’t see his family anymore, just Ron in his paisley pajamas.
Ron, though, was staring transfixed at his image.
“Look at me!” he said.
“Can you see all your family standing around you?”
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