Arthur Belmont-Prince and The Cursed Mirror: Harry Potter Fanfiction

The Grey Lady floated in front of me, her pale, shimmering form just as cold as the air around her. Her gaze pinned me to the spot like a dissected frog in Potions class—motionless, exposed, and deeply regretting my life choices. My first thought? Did I remember to zip up my pants? My second? Why does every ghost in this castle act like they're auditioning for the lead role in my nightmares?

"You are not the first to seek my help under the guise of caring," she said, her voice low and deliberate, like it carried the weight of every secret ever whispered in Hogwarts' halls. "There was another before you—a boy with charm and ambition… but beneath it, a darker purpose."

My stomach flipped as her words hit. Charm and ambition? Sure, I'd been called ambitious before—mostly by teachers who gave me detention—but darker purpose? Yeah, no. The darkest thing I'd done so far was steal an extra chocolate frog from the trolley.

"Look, Lady—uh, Grey Lady," I started, trying to sound casual and failing spectacularly. "I'm not here to… deceive anyone. I just want to help whoever needs saving."

She didn't buy it. Her ghostly eyes narrowed, and the weight of her gaze sank into my chest like a stone. "And yet, you are a Slytherin."

Ouch. That stung worse than a curse. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I'm—" I stopped short, unsure what to say. What didn't it mean? That I was evil? That I wasn't capable of doing something good? I didn't even know what being a Slytherin meant yet, but I was pretty sure it wasn't all doom and dark spells. At least, I hoped not.

Her head tilted, as if she could see straight into my thoughts. (Spoiler: she probably could. Ghosts are like that.) Her voice softened, but it wasn't any less eerie. "The last Slytherin who sought me out was Tom Riddle. Do you know who that is?"

"Uh… should I?" I asked, hating how clueless I sounded. Her expression didn't change, but I got the distinct feeling that my ignorance disappointed her. Not the first time I'd had that effect on someone.

"No," she murmured, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "You wouldn't know… not yet."

Great. Now I'm being compared to some guy with a creepy name and no context. Fantastic. Knowing my luck, he was either a legendary hero or a legendary psychopath. Probably the second one.

"But if you truly seek my aid," she continued, her voice sharpening again, "you must prove you are nothing like him. Show me that your heart is pure. A test, Arthur. One that will reveal the truth of your loyalties."

"Test?" My voice cracked, and I quickly coughed to cover it up. "Like… an oral exam, or more of a practical thing?"

The corners of her lips twitched, just enough to send a shiver down my spine. "Retrieve the ring from the depths of the Black Lake," she said. "Bring it to me, and I shall know if you are worthy." Her voice dropped, colder now, sharper. "But be warned—this is no school assignment. Fail, and there are no retakes."

It felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees. The Black Lake? The place where they kept actual sea monsters? Fantastic. "So just to clarify," I said, forcing a grin I didn't feel, "you want me to dive into the lake, not drown, not get eaten by anything with tentacles, and grab a magical ring. Cool. Anything else? Should I bake you some ghost cookies while I'm at it?"

The faintest flicker of amusement crossed her face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "Use your wits, Arthur. And perhaps… practice holding your breath."

Holding my breath. Great advice. My laugh was shaky, even to me. "Got it. No pressure or anything."

She said nothing else. Her form shimmered once, then began to fade, her parting words echoing faintly: "Prepare yourself. The true test is yet to come."

I stood there for a long moment, the silence pressing down on me. A voice broke through my thoughts—soft, hesitant.

"You'll have time," Myrtle said, drifting closer. Her translucent form hovered awkwardly, like she wasn't sure if she should say more. "You don't have to do it today."

"Well, that's comforting," I said, though my voice sounded far from comforted. "Gives me plenty of time to figure out how not to end up as lake monster food."

She giggled softly, though it sounded more nervous than amused. "You'll be fine. Just… don't be reckless."

"Reckless? Me?" I asked, holding up my hands like I was the picture of caution. "I'm the king of careful. I even have backup plans for losing my homework."

Myrtle didn't seem convinced, but she gave me a small smile anyway. "You'll do fine, Arthur. I think."

"You think," I muttered as she floated away.

As I turned back down the corridor, the weight of the task ahead hit me. Dive into the Black Lake. Retrieve a ring. Avoid drowning, or worse. Easy, right? Just another day at Hogwarts, where "normal" was a word that apparently got left out of the school motto.

I added "learn to hold breath indefinitely" to my mental to-do list and kept walking, the chill of the encounter still clinging to me. Whatever lay ahead, it felt like I'd just stepped into a story that was way bigger—and way darker—than I'd bargained for.

I made it three steps down the corridor before the weight of her words finally settled in. Retrieve the ring. From the depths of the Black Lake. No big deal, right? Just a casual dive into a freezing, monster-infested abyss to recover some cursed artifact that, judging by my luck, probably had a long history of ruining lives.

I stopped, leaning against the cold stone wall, and rubbed my hands over my face. I wasn't ready for this. Not even close.

"Arthur?" Myrtle's voice floated through the gloom. I hadn't even realized she'd followed me. She hovered just behind me, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Me? Nah," I lied, pushing off the wall and forcing a grin. "I love life-threatening quests. It's, like, my thing."

Her frown deepened. "You don't have to pretend. The Black Lake… it's dangerous. And that ring…" She shuddered, her transparent form rippling. "There's something wrong about it."

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered, starting to walk again. "Why does everything important have to be cursed? Why can't it ever be, like, a nice, harmless pair of socks?"

She giggled, but it was hollow. "Be careful, Arthur. The Grey Lady—she doesn't give out quests lightly. If she's testing you, it means something." She hesitated. "Something big."

I stopped again, her words hanging in the air. Something big. Great. Just what I needed.

"Arthur?"

I flinched as Myrtle drifted out of a nearby wall, her expression wide-eyed and almost—dare I say it—sympathetic. She tilted her head, her ghostly form shimmering faintly. "You're not really going to do it, are you?"

"Do I have a choice?" I asked, my voice hollow.

"You always have a choice," she said, drifting closer. "Even Tom Riddle had a choice."

That name again. A chill crept into my chest as I remembered the way the Grey Lady had said it, like it carried the weight of something too terrible to name.

"Who is he, Myrtle?" I asked. "Why do ghosts keep acting like I should know him?"

Her face twisted, part sadness, part fear. "Tom… he was clever. He was charming. He made you believe he was one thing while hiding something much darker. He wanted… power." Her voice wavered, and she looked away. "He used people like me to get it."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wanted to tell her I wasn't like him, but I didn't even know what he was like. Instead, I asked the only question that made sense: "What does he have to do with me?"

Myrtle floated closer, her translucent face inches from mine. "That's what you need to figure out."