Through the Looking Glass

Through The Looking Glass

"In a Wonderland they lie,

Dreaming as the days go by,

Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream-

Lingering in the golden gleam-

Life, what is it but a dream?"

Last Stanzas of Epilogue Poem to "Through The Looking Glass" by Lewis Carroll

Chapter 1

The Note

Walking out of King's Cross Station with his 'family', Harry felt a sense of gratitude toward the members of The Order that had met him. Harry didn't know if he could ever find the words to thank them. He wasn't used to having someone stand up for him. It had never happened before he had found out he was a wizard. Since then, it seemed that a Weasley had always been around to save him. The very first time it was Mrs. Weasley, helping him to get onto the platform so he could catch the Hogwarts Express. The thought of Mr. Weasley teaching the Dursleys manners before he left for the Quidditch World Cup still made Harry smile. Fred, George and Ron rescuing him when he was kept a prisoner in his own room the summer before his second year. Ron, he had been there to save his worthless backside more times than he could count. Harry was beginning to think of the Weasley clan as his personal guardian angels.

Since no one had ever stood up to Uncle Vernon on his behalf before, Harry had always had to defend himself, since he was five years old. His cousin Dudley had beaten and humiliated Harry for as long as he could remember. If he tried to complain to his uncle about any of Dudley's abuse, the punishment dished out always landed squarely on Harry. Dudley was always seen as innocent, as having been unduly corrupted by Harry's evil tendencies. Uncle Vernon believed Harry deserved whatever he got from Dudley, and Dudley always made sure he picked on Harry when his uncle was away from home. Aunt Petunia always turned a blind eye to whatever her precious son did.

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Harry's mind turned back to his fifth birthday. The day Harry turned five was one of the worst days he could remember having at number Four Privet Drive. It started out as usual, waking up in the smallest bedroom at seven am. He got dressed and went downstairs. He was hoping to finally get a birthday card and cake this year. He knew he had to be on his best behavior, so Uncle Vernon would not get mad at him. If he were really good - maybe his birthday would be a normal one - finally.

More than anything in the world, Harry wanted to be normal. He wanted what every other child had, a mum and dad who loved him, presents on his birthdays and at Christmas, trips to the ocean and the zoo - maybe even a bicycle. Mostly he wanted someone to love him, someone he could love in return.

What Harry had instead was his Aunt Petunia, who always looked at him as if he had just broken her favorite teapot, his Uncle Vernon who hated the fact that he was living under his roof, and his cousin Dudley, who acted as if he would throttle him at any moment. He also had his scar.

Stepping into the kitchen, Harry noticed his aunt and uncle at the table drinking tea. Since his cousin was not downstairs yet, Harry knew he was not going to get anything to eat for a while. He took his place at the table and folded his hands on his lap. "Good morning Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon", said Harry with a smile on his face.

They both turned and looked at him as if he had just sprouted horns from his head. The silence was horrible. Neither of them said a word to him. Turning back, Uncle Vernon continued to talk about his job at the plant. Harry didn't quite understand what he was saying, but it seemed to have something to do with money and a trip to a place called the "Isle of Wight". When he noticed his cup was empty, Uncle Vernon turned to Harry and ordered, "Fill my cuppa!"

Harry rose from his chair and walked over to the counter for the teapot. He had carefully picked it up, under his aunt's watchful eye, and was bringing it to the table when Dudley ran into the room, pushing Harry out of his way. Harry just managed to hold on to the teapot. He slowly refilled his uncle's cup, succeeding in not spilling a drop. Uncle Vernon eyed him, wondering how he had managed to keep hold of the pot, and harrumphed.

Aunt Petunia jumped up from the table and said, "Good morning, sweetums. What would Mommy's Ickle Diddykins want for breakfast? How about some lovely kippers and eggs?"

If anything was ever suggested to Dudley, Harry knew that he would immediately want something else, no matter how much Dudley liked the idea. His cousin stood up on his chair, stomped his feet and screamed, "I want sausage! I want sausage! I want sausage!"

"Of course, Mummy's baby angel can have anything he wants."

Turning to Harry, Dudley stuck his tongue out and smiled. He sat down and started to bang his flatware on the table while shouting, "I'm hungry now!"

Harry rolled his eyes and hoped there would be some sausage left for him once Dudley was done eating.

Soon a heaping plate of eggs, sausage, and toast was placed in front of Dudley. Harry's plate had only a small spoonful of eggs, a burnt sausage, and no toast. He quietly started in on his breakfast. When he was done, he was still hungry. Harry was wishing he had more to eat when he looked at his plate and it was overflowing with sausages and eggs.

Aunt Petunia was coming to the table to refill Dudley's plate when she shrieked and dropped the pan of sausages on the floor. Uncle Vernon quickly jumped out of his chair and backed away from the table as if a snake was crawling toward him. Dudley was laughing, spewing eggs all over, because he knew that this would get Harry his worst punishment ever. Dudley got an inordinate amount of pleasure out of watching Harry suffer.

"What do you think you are doing? What is wrong with you boy?" Uncle Vernon was yelling so loud he turned purple. Harry remembered that this was the first time he had seen his uncle turn that color. He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to the storage cupboard under the stairs. Harry was kicking and screaming, trying to tell him that he didn't do anything, that the food just appeared - as if by magic. It wasn't his fault. But, it never worked. No one ever thought he was telling the truth.

His uncle opened the cupboard door and threw him in, headfirst. Harry hit his forehead on a dustpan, drawing blood, and his leg became wrapped around the sweepers cord. His uncle slammed the door shut and spit out "You are an, an...abnormal child! Keep away from my son! You will stay in there boy, until I've change my mind!" Harry knew then he would stay in here forever. His uncle never changed his mind when it involved Harry. This was to be the first night in his new 'bedroom'.

Harry remembered sitting in the dark, wiping the blood off with his shirtsleeve. He also remembered crying; crying so hard his stomach hurt and he thought he would get sick. He wanted his Mum and Dad, he wanted to be held and rocked and told he would be fine, that it was just a bad dream, and that he was safe and loved. Harry had no memory of ever being held and comforted by his aunt. He somehow knew that he never would. When is uncle returned from work, Harry was finally let out to use the bathroom. After dinner, Harry had returned to his 'bedroom' to find a blanket, pillow, and change of clothes waiting for him. He also noticed his uncle had installed a bolt on the door. He was going to be locked up every night, just like an animal. Through the years, Harry had come to think of his new room as his 'prison', for that is what it was. He had no fun, no freedom, only followed orders, just like a prisoner.

It had indeed been the worst punishment he ever received.

No, Harry thought, he would never forget that day. His life changed forever. From that day on, he was no longer allowed to receive anything that was not previously used by Dudley. He wore his old clothes, played with his broken toys, and worst of all - he was now the Dursley's family servant. He fetched and carried, just as if he were a house elf.

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Harry didn't notice when the car pulled into the driveway. He did notice when Uncle Vernon shouted at him to get his trunk and go straight to his room. This was fine with him. Harry didn't feel like talking to anyone, especially the Dursleys. He could never tell them what happened in the Department of Mysteries. They wouldn't care if Sirius were dead.

Sirius. A pain so sharp rose up inside him, he couldn't breathe. Harry missed him so much, he was sure he would never be happy again. It was like having his own personal Dementor in his pocket to torment him any time he might have forgotten about his godfather.

Having gotten his trunk and Hedwig up to his room, Harry sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. How was he going to make it through the summer? He knew his uncle and aunt would have plenty of chores to keep him busy during the day. But, what about at night, the nightmares about Sirius would come and he couldn't stop them. He didn't know if he would be able to keep all of his pain bottled up inside him much longer. Harry lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Maybe he would try to take a nap before dinner. No one would miss him.

Harry tried not to think about what happened only a few weeks ago. He tried to concentrate on a happy memory, but he couldn't think of one. No matter how hard he tried, the only thought that came to the surface was Sirius is dead. Gone forever. Harry felt like he was going to be sick. He rolled on to his side and put the pillow over his head to block his thoughts, but they wouldn't go away.

SIRIUS IS DEAD!

It echoed in his mind like a chant. Sirius is dead! Sirius is dead! It was like listening to that blasted Slytherin song. There had to be a way to turn it off. He felt the burning in his eyes and his throat was so dry he could hardly swallow. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could and took deep breaths. He was not going to cry. He wasn't going to let them see him like this.

The feeling finally passed and he rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe he should start his summer homework. That might help clear the memories. Harry sat up and looked at his trunk. Suddenly he was too tired to do homework, too tired to do anything. He had to do something though. But what?

He got out his quill, ink, and some parchment and sat at his desk. He would send a letter to...to whom? Ron? No, he would worry and ask if Harry was mental, sending a note only hours after leaving the station. Hermione? Definitely not, she would just tell me to contact Dumbledore and then go check her books for "How Wizards Handle Losing Their Godfathers To Death Eaters". Remus? Mrs. Weasley? Who?

Suddenly he heard a voice say, "YOU killed him. YOU don't deserve any peace." Harry pulled out his wand and stood up in one fluid movement, knocking his chair to the floor. He looked around the room wildly, expecting to see a black hooded figure. But no one was there. Where did that voice come from? Who said it? Was he going crazy? Maybe I am, he thought.

Harry picked up his chair and sat back down. Did he kill Sirius? Yes, it was his fault, but he didn't kill him. No, Harry could thank Sirius' Death Eater cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, for that. Did he deserve peace? No. He didn't. He had taken his friends on a fools errand, and look what happened to them. Ron, tentacles wrapped around him, probably scarred for life. Hermione, knocked unconscious. She could have died! Ginny, Luna, and Neville. Neville - breaking his father's wand, coming to help when everyone else was beaten down, trying to save the prophecy.

Harry knew right then that he would write to Neville. Neville deserved to be thanked. He had been a good friend. Ever since Harry's first year, he was there. When Rita Skeeter came out with her stories Neville was there defending him. Harry knew he could have been a better friend. Neville understood what Voldemort could do your loved ones - better than most.

Picking up his quill and dipping it in the ink, he began....

Dear Neville,

I know you are probably surprised to receive an owl from me, but there is something I wanted you to know.

I've really appreciated all your support, especially during this last year. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know that you believed my story about Voldemort's return.

I'm sorry you had to come to the Ministry of Magic and lose of your Dad's wand. I'm sure it was very special to you. I have something of my father's and I know how I'd feel if it were lost. Even though things did not turn out as I had planned, I'm glad you have proved to yourself what we have known all along, you are not 'almost a squib'. You are a true Gryffindor!

I would also like to apologize for running into to you and your Gran during your visit to St. Mungo's. I am sure that was neither the time, nor the place, you would have chosen to reveal what had happened to your parents. This may sound strange, but at least you still have them near you. We can still hope that a cure will be found. Who knows, maybe you will be the one to discover it.

Thanks again for your friendship. I hope you have a quiet summer. When you tell your Gran how your wand was broken, feel free to blame me. But please, ask her not to send me a Howler. Write back. I'd love to hear how you're spending your holiday. I'm pretty sure it will be more exciting that how I'll be spending mine. Take Care!

Your Friend,

Harry

Surprisingly, Harry felt better. He considered what to do next when he heard, "Boy! Get down here, now, if you expect to eat!" With Uncle Vernon's order wafting up to him, Harry closed his ink well, rolled up his note to Neville and answered "Yes Uncle Vernon. I'm coming."