The Killing Curse

Chapter 16 -- The Mirror's Image

By June of the next year, Hermione and Harry were well settled into their home in Godric's Hollow, thanks to much backbreaking (and wand-breaking) moving help from Fred, George and Ron - coordinated and supervised, of course, by Molly and Ginny.

The house was a gift to Harry, left for him by will by his parents, James and Lily Potter. It was a modest house, with four bedrooms, a sitting room, an office, a spacious, sunken living room, and a kitchen - now retrofitted with all the modern appliances to contrast with the traditional overlarge kitchen hearth.

Since moving in, Hermione had decorated the house tastefully with all of the latest colors, clever trinkets, and paintings she saw while shopping with her parents in Muggle home improvement and home fashion stores. In the twenty four years since the home was inhabited, -- since James and Lily Potter were brutally murdered and the house utterly destroyed - a number of house elves rebuilt, repaired, lived in, and took care of it. As much as Hermione hated house elf labor, what she called "disgusting slave labor," she had to admit that the house was immaculately kept and run for such a long time.

Now, the house was cared for under the supervision of an old friend of Harry's, a precocious house elf named Dobby, who, unlike most house elves, was paid, given vacations and sick leave, and was given benefits by Harry and Hermione. "Harry Potter is most kind, sir. Harry Potter freeeeeed Dobby, and now gives Dobby real, paid, honest work, sir! Er, Mr. Harry Potter, sir? Will kind, brave, noble, Harry Potter bestow Dobby with an extra day off this week, sir, so that he can attend the Chudley Cannons match with Mr. Ron Weasley, sir?"

Dobby, having once served the Malfoys ("Scummy, filthy, foul, nasty . . . Oh! Bad Dobby, Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby, to speak ill of the Malfoys!") had training so strict that he kept the Potter house even more clean than Harry would have liked. Oftentimes, Harry would have to chastize Dobby for dusting the television centre more than once a day - especially at inopportune times like during a Muggle football game - "Out the way, Dobby!" -- or invading Harry's office to polish sneakoscopes or rememberalls, or to dust the computer whilst Harry was working. "Dobby, watch out! Don't polish that too hard, or you'll - oh no - break -- it."

Hermione often wondered if Harry had any bad memories of the place. As Harry was only one year old when the murders happened, he had no memory of it at all, other than it being a warm, happy, and comfortable home, full of love, life, and magic. That was the only memory Harry needed.

As with many wizarding homes, this house also had its share of enchantments. One of them, very much to Harry's liking, was a massive Quidditch pitch his father and Sirius Black had built in the backyard - unseen and unseeable by the Muggles living around them.

To their Muggle neighbors, Harry and Hermione's back yard looked like a typical English flower and pond garden - a charade Hermione loved keeping up by tending to the flowers, feeding the fish, and hosting the occasional neighborhood barbeque and social. "More iced tea, Mrs. Tolliver? Oh, yes, Gladys, I will happily give you the recipe for my curry noodle salad!"

On one rather balmy June evening, Harry sat in his old bedroom - the corner bedroom on the second floor -- and rocked rhythmically in the overstuffed glider rocking chair - a gift handmade with love by Ron. His feet perched on the footrest, Harry leaned far back in the chair, craned his neck upwards, and studied the stars glowing on the ceiling he had enchanted to project a likeness of the starry sky outside.

"And that one's Orion. He's the great hunter. See his belt and knife there? And that's Persephone, the chained lady, tied up to a big rock!" Harry whispered, pointing up at the sky ceiling. "And there, that one's called Canis Major, and that one, Canis Minor." He traced the constellations' outlines with his finger, landing on a single bright star.

"And you see that star there, the eye of the big dog? That's Sirius. It's the largest, brightest, and most brilliant star in the heavens, you know?" he said wistfully. "Every time I look at it I feel like my godfather's watching over me. His name was Sirius, you know." Harry's voice lowered to a staccato, playful whisper. "Sirius was an animagus! Oh, Yes! You know what that means? He could turn himself into a big, black doggie! Woof!" Harry couldn't help but smile.

"You know, my little niffler, if he were here today, I know he'd want you to call him Papa Black or Gramps or Big Dog or something like that." He sighed, with a slight chuckle. "I truly do miss him." Harry beamed down at the sleeping, blanket-bound pink bundle in his arms, and his heart melted like so many chocolate frogs on a hot summer's day.

Harry yawned heartily, removed the bottle from the sleeping bundle's mouth, and placed the bottle gingerly on the table beside the rocking chair. "There now, little little Lily, all done, right?" Harry cooed. "Time for bed, little tweets." He laid the baby down in the ornate, white-painted crib, covered her in a soft pink coverlet, and gazed over the railing at her. "You already have your grandmother's eyes, Lily. I'll bet they'll be all twinkly and green, just like mine." He stroked the curve of her soft cheek, leaned over the railing awkwardly and gave her a kiss. "Daddy loves you."

Harry retrieved his wand from the chair-side table, and waved it at the ceiling. "Finite Incantatum." The starry night faded, replaced again by the high, white plaster ceiling. As Harry turned and walked toward the door, he caught his reflection in the dresser mirror opposite the crib. As was somewhat common these days, the reflection looking back from the mirror was not his own.

"Hiya, Tom. Been a while," Harry whispered.

"She's beautiful, Harry. Simply beautiful." Tom beamed with pride.

"Thanks, Tom," Harry paused. "Tom?"

"Yes?"

Harry hesitated. He had been waiting to ask Tom this one burning question for months now, but hadn't gotten up enough nerve - not to ask the question, but to hear the answer. As Harry did not know when Tom would show up again, he screwed up his courage at that moment and asked.

"Do you remember doing it, killing my parents, I mean? Was it - was it in this room where it happened?" Harry stared into the mirror, leaning on the dresser.

"I remember only bits of it happening, Harry, and yes, it was in this room." Tom seemed to be looking around from within the mirror, as if trying to orient himself to the place and the memory. "Your mother nearly dropped you, but she was able to place you right under that window there," Tom pointed, "before Voldemort killed her, and before Voldemort tried to kill you." Tom eyed Harry cautiously, searching his face for reaction. Seeing none, he continued. "Your mother lay there, in front of your crib and your father was in the hallway downstairs." Tom watched Harry look around the room, and now saw the tell-tale crystalline signs of welling up emotions begin to blossom in Harry's eyes.

"I can't believe it's been so long and I haven't asked you this yet," Harry continued, scrubbing at the tears. "Tell me about what happened."

"I can understand why you put off asking me for so long. It's a horrible memory, Harry. Not one I personally like to dredge up. I can imagine how hard it would be for you." Tom sighed. "Truthfully, though, I don't remember much. Just the end result. By that time it was Voldemort, not me -- not this Tom Riddle you know now -- who lived in that body, who killed your parents. This Tom Riddle, my Tom Riddle was squelched nearly out of existence - any last vestiges of conscience or goodness or happiness had been squeezed out, shoved aside, packed away." Tom looked down. "I wish I could remember so I could tell you all about it, answer all of your questions, but I just can't."

Harry nodded. He understood well what it was like not to remember. He was disappointed but grateful at the same time. While he had to ask the question, he was not sure he wanted to know every gruesome detail about his parents' death - especially since it happened in the very room where his brand new daughter, Lily, lay sleeping peacefully and without a care in the world.

"But I can tell you one thing, Harry," Tom continued. "Even though that day, the day the Killing Curse backfired, was the worst day of Voldemort's life, it was the best day of mine! I got to start fresh, live in a brand new body free from hate, free from evil and anger and insecurity and rage. And look where I am now. I couldn't be happier. Thank you, Harry, for taking me back."

"My absolute pleasure, Tom."

Tom grinned suddenly. "And Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"No more Muggle aircraft trips -- for at least a while, right?"

Harry laughed. "Just broomsticks, apperation, and floo powder from now on, I promise." Harry glared at the odd reflection again and smiled. "Just don't get too comfortable in that mirror, there, buddy." He pointed his finger at the mirror. "We had a deal."

Silence. "Harry," Tom said, suddenly serious and with a twinge of fear in his voice. "You may have escaped, and I know I do not need to remind you of this, but you and Draco and that American woman - you did not defeat Voldemort last year. He's still out there."

Tom's voice reflected the dread now bubbling up within Harry. "Voldemort may come back after you just like he did your parents. I may be far removed from him, even moreso now, but I still know him, I know how he thinks. Protect yourself, okay? Protect Hermione and Lily - and Dobby. I love them too, you know."

Harry nodded his head furtively and smiled. "Don't worry, Tom. You know we have a secret-keeper! Even if Voldemort were to press his nose against our window glass he'd never know where we live, and he'd never look here, among Muggles anyways." Harry shrugged.

"Yes, Harry, but remember, your parents lived here, too! And they had a secret keeper as well! Your father's friend, Peter Pettigrew, betrayed them to Voldemort!" Tom warned.

"Dammit, Tom! You know perfectly well I thought of that!" Harry snapped, and then softened when he saw Tom scowl. "I know... I know. It's okay, Tom. I've learned from my parents' -- mistake -- and our secret keeper is the most unexpected, yet most trustworthy person I could have asked for." Harry gave a crooked smile. "Anyways, if anything happens I have you, right?"

Tom smiled. "So right, mate. So right." The image on the mirror morphed from Tom's face back to Harry's. Harry, still staring into the mirror, touched at his forehead where the scar had been. It was still gone. Harry reached the same hand out, touching the mirror glass with all five fingers, and let his fingers slowly slide down.

Just then, Hermione opened the door and poked her head into the room, whispering. "Harry, love, is Lily in bed?"

"Yes," Harry briefly looked back at the mirror, and then opened the door the rest of the way for Hermione. "She zonkered off right after the bottle about five minutes ago."

"Good." Hermione looked around the room suspiciously. "So, er, Harry, who were you talking to just now then?"

Harry smiled broadly, and wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoudler, leading her out of the room. "Just talking to myself, darling. Just talking to myself."