Through the Looking Glass

Chapter 3

The Mirror

As Harry slammed the door, Hedwig, who was asleep in her cage, awoke and gave an unhappy hoot. She eyed the strange new owl with suspicion, watching it warily as it perched on top of Harry's closet.

Harry paced back and forth, trying to control his emotions, by taking deep breaths and clenching his fists. He really felt like pulling out his wand and hexing something, but he didn't need another owl swooping in just now.

What did the letter mean? A will - a reading of Sirius' will. This can't be happening! If they were reading a will, then Sirius really was dead.

His mind raced around in circles. Why couldn't he go to the reading of the will? Is Diagon Alley no longer safe? Why did he even need to go? Surely, Sirius didn't leave behind that much. Even if he had, Harry didn't want anything. The one thing he wanted most, he couldn't have.

Harry dimly registered Hedwig and the tawny owl hooting back and forth. Just as he started to shout at them to be quiet, Hedwig landed on top of his trunk. She cocked her head and looked into his eyes. Harry paused, he wasn't sure what she was doing there, and then he realized the owl wanted Sirius' mirror.

Harry's shoulders slumped forward in defeat. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't do this. He didn't even want to think about it, how could he touch it? He walked to the trunk and gave his snowy owl a scratch on her head, bending down he lifted the lid. His hand reached to the very bottom, touching the package it had been searching to find. He heard it crinkle as he clutched it and stood up. Though cool in his hand, it burned his heart. He could barely stand to look at it. It was his downfall, Sirius' downfall. If he had just remembered to use it instead of deliberately burying it, Sirius would still be alive. He laid the package on his bed. Harry knelt in front of it; with a shaky hand, he pulled the string securing it. The broken glass shifted as the paper eased its grip, sounding like small bells ringing in the wind.

The shattered pieces, Harry realized, were like the pieces of his life - broken, ugly, and useless. He had no family; the Dursleys were so remote he considered them strangers. He had no home, just a house he came to when he was not at school. A home was full of people who were happy to have you around, who loved you.

Love - that was what he no longer had in his life. The last member of his 'real' family, the last person who truly loved him, not Harry-Potter-The-Boy-Who-Lived, but Harry-the person, was gone. Voldemort had taken everything that he had loved away.

Damn Kreacher! What made him believe that nasty piece of pond scum? He knew he couldn't be trusted. Didn't he try to warn Sirius about him? Tried to convince him how house elves could leave, as Dobby had, if they wanted to. He should have used his head. He should have remembered about Snape. Why had he been so stupid? Hermione was right; he did have a 'saving people' problem. If Harry had his way, that foul elf would get his twisted wish filled, and he would be stuffed, and stuck up on the wall with the rest of his family.

Harry knew he should feel lucky, he still had his friends, and they were great. But it wasn't the same. He didn't have someone to turn to whose advice he could trust, who had known his parents, whom he loved. He needed an adult wizard, one that would not laugh at his questions or trivialize their importance. That someone used to be Sirius. No one could take his place. How do you replace someone who is irreplaceable? How do you resign yourself to the fact that you not only killed your parents, but also their best friend?

Well Potter, beating yourself up won't change the facts. With a heavy heart, Harry made his decision. He pulled out another roll of parchment, he wrote a short note.

Mr. Belladonna,

Here is the mirror from Sirius. I apologize for it's poor state. I hope that after repairing it, it will accept the charm you plan to use.

I will see you on July 2.

Harry Potter

He secured the mirror and note to the tawny owl's leg and opened his window. As he watched the owl take flight, Harry remembered the feeling of freedom, when he flew on his broom. He wanted desperately to fly, anywhere, just away. His next chance to experience freedom would be when he returned to Hogwarts. Harry was reasonably certain that Dumbledore would manage to get his Quidditch ban lifted. If not, he could always help the new seeker during team practices. That thought made him, if possible, even sadder.

According to Dumbledore, Harry wasn't safe away from Privet Drive. There would be no escape to The Burrow this summer, and he certainly did not intend to ever return to Grimmauld Place. He closed his eyes, leaned his head against the glass, and he enjoyed his last moment of peace before heading back downstairs to explain what had just occurred. Hedwig flew to him and nipped his finger, as if to give both sympathy and courage.

He moved slowly, as if he were wearing lead shoes. Harry dreaded having to face his aunt and uncle. He knew his uncle would have questions, too many questions. How was he going to make it through, how could he explain what had happened? For so many years, the Dursleys didn't want to have any knowledge of his 'abnormal' way of life. Now, he was certain Uncle Vernon would interrogate him until he was satisfied that he understood the situation. He prayed he would have the strength to maintain his composure. On his way down the steps, he heard his uncle complaining about pigeons and how he hoped none of the neighbours noticed anything. This was going to be just as difficult as Harry had feared.

Harry stepped into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He knew that he needed to control his temper. He could loose it too easily. With some trepidation, he picked up the letter. He wasn't sure why he had been afraid. It wasn't as if Sirius' face would suddenly appear on the page. It must have been the finality of the word 'will' that he feared. It meant he had to give up hope, had to face reality. Harry wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

Aunt Petunia seemed to have a tight control over her emotions. Her hands were shaking and there was a sheen of moisture on her face. It appeared as if she had something she wanted to ask, but was afraid it would upset Uncle Vernon. She slowly turned to face Harry and almost whispering asked, "How did he die?"

WHAM! Brilliant, let's start with an easy question! Harry looked into his aunt's eyes and could tell she was truly interested. He wondered if she had known Sirius, or had only known 'of' Sirius. Did she meet him when his parents were in school or was it at their wedding? Why did she want the details? It was almost as if she cared.

Harry was not the only one who was surprised by Aunt Petunia's question. Uncle Vernon was gaping at her as he tried to say something, but the only sound to come out of his mouth was "H...h...h..." He closed it, swallowed, and tried again. "How did you know him? Isn't he one of 'them'?"

"Yes Vernon. He is one of 'them'." She said as she nodded toward Harry. "He was a very close friend of my sister and ...her husband."

"Lily and James! Their names are Lily and James!" Harry said this so calmly, yet forcefully that his uncle jumped in his seat and his eyes were as round as saucers.

"Yes...um...Lily and um...James. They were all classmates while at that school."

"But how did you know him?" Uncle Vernon's eyes were about to pop out of his head. He obviously couldn't believe his wife had contact with that sort of person.

"I...um...met him...a few times...when...a....Lily...brought him and...James...home to show them how Muggles lived" His aunt had some problems getting this out. She stood and got the decanter of brandy, two glasses and returned to the table. She filled each glass, giving one to Vernon, and quickly downed hers. She refilled her glass, this time taking a small feminine sip. Calmly, folding her hands on the table, she turned toward Harry. "How and when did Sirius die?"

Harry, still not believing what he had just heard, tried to bring his mind back to the question. He was going to have to relive the fight. He wasn't sure that he could. Somehow, he thought his aunt deserved the truth, no matter how painful.

It took over an hour to tell the story. He left out very little. He spoke of Sirius' escape from Azkaban Prison, of Wormtail's betrayal and capture, of Sirius's flight and Voldemort's rise. Harry described his visions, his attempt to reach Sirius in Umbridge's office, and the fight in the Department of Mysteries.

He paused only a few times, when describing Cedric's death, his duel with Voldemort, his parent's echoes, and Sirius' fall through the veil. When he completed the tale, Harry was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. His voice was cracking because of so much talking. He got a glass of water and drank it down quickly.

He was still unwilling to share the contents of the prophecy. Somehow, he didn't think they would be able to handle hearing about it. They wouldn't understand the ramifications. Harry didn't want to think about it either. It was too painful. It might be his fate, but he wasn't ready to accept it yet.

It was strange; his worlds were merging. The line separating his two realities was blurring. His aunt knew more about the magical world then he would ever have guessed. How much of this story did she already know? How much would she share? Would Harry finally be able to find out about his parents? He had so many questions, who was going to answer them? His whole life he had grown up knowing the first rule of this house was, 'Don't ask questions!' Now, it seemed that rule no longer applied. It had been shattered, just like the mirror.

Uncle Vernon had been concentrating hard on Harry's tale. He tried several times to interrupt and ask questions, but his wife stopped him each time. When finally allowed to speak, he had only one question. "How much money did your godfather leave you?"

Harry pulled out his wand so fast that his uncle choked on his brandy. He slowly rose from the table, pointing the tip of his wand at Vernon's forehead. The atmosphere was electric and Harry was visibly shaking. Staring into his eyes, his voice icy cold, Harry said, "I should have known that the only thing you would be interested in, is what was in it for you. You have no sympathy for the dead, or for me, huh, not that I was expecting any. The only thing you have ever been interested in is your own pathetic little world. I have lost the only person who has ever..." Harry paused, choking back tears, "who has ever cared about me. The last person who tru..." Harry swallowed, his eyes turning red, "truly loved me. Now I have no family, no one is left, no one."

The tears were threatening to spill down his face. His aunt reached out to take his hand. Harry pulled back, out of both surprise and revolt. He couldn't believe that after 15 years of living under the same roof, ignoring, bullying, and emotionally starving him, she had the gall to offer any form of comfort. Harry was quickly losing his temper. He wasn't sure how much longer he could control himself. Of course, Dudley would be the one stupid enough to break the tenuous hold Harry had on his emotions.

"So, how much money do we get?" Dudley was licking his lips. While Harry had relayed his story, Dudley had returned to the kitchen and had managed to eat three more slices of cake.

Harry snapped. With his wand pointed at Dudley's heart, he erupted. "YOU WILL NOT PROFIT FROM HIS DEATH! YOU DESERVE NOTHING! YOU WILL GET NOTHING! How dare you even ask?"

He looked around the room at his 'family'. "You have done nothing for me 'out of the goodness of your heart'" he spat. "I have cost you next to nothing to feed or clothe. The years I have spent living under your roof have been the worst of my life. I know that for the rest of my days, every one that I spend away from this trap will be happier than any day I was forced to live with you!"

Harry turned back to Dudley and continued, "Only an idiot would think that Wizarding Money could be used in the Muggle World. Of course, that describes you perfectly."

Suddenly, Harry energy vanished. His legs seemed unable to support him. His head was pounding and he needed to be alone. He lowered his wand and noticed his other hand. He had it balled into a fist and had crushed the letter, like so much garbage.

He slowly moved out of the kitchen heading for his room. He wanted nothing more to do with the Dursleys, and he was sure that they wanted nothing to do with him. As he walked up the stairs, he could have sworn he heard Dudley whine, "Does that mean we don't get a quid?"