To a World Gone Astray

To a World Gone Astray

Chapter 2
Tonight He Grins Again

* * * * *

Nighttime again
Seems I'm my only friend
Wander the streets alone
The lost in search of his own
 
“Ron? Hermione?” Harry called out tentatively. Where had his friends gone? They had been right behind him. Now they were off somewhere in Knockturn Alley, with an angry Malfoy after them. All while Harry skulked around in an alleyway.
 
He poked his head out and looked around. The street was deserted. Should he walk around and search for them? Or stay put and hope they’d find him?
 
The darkness of the alleyway wrapped itself around him, concealing him from the street. That was why he’d picked this hiding place – it offered safety from whatever was pursuing him and his friends. But now it meant that his friends wouldn’t find him, not while he stood in this little crack and they wandered the streets. He’d have to take his chances out there.
 
He peeked out once more to make sure it was safe, and wandered out onto the street. Where would they go? Neither of them had ever been to Knockturn Alley; they wouldn’t be familiar with the landmarks. All they’d seen was the road from Diagon Alley to Borgin and Burkes.
 
Could they have made it back to Diagon Alley? That was a hopeful thought – maybe they were safe in the Leaky Cauldron and he just had to find his way out of here. But in his heart, Harry doubted that. The first time he’d ended up in Knockturn Alley, Hagrid had had to practically drag him out. Even now, on his third visit, he still got lost in the maze of twisting pathways.
 
Hermione was right; it had been irresponsible of him to drag them out to explore. If only he’d listened, they’d all be asleep by now, dreaming of tomorrow’s trip back to Hogwarts.
 
But it was pointless to worry about what might have been. He was here, lost in Knockturn Alley, and so were his friends. His task now was to find them.
 
He rounded a corner, finding himself on a broader, brighter road. This area looked familiar – had he passed here before? All I need is to start walking in circles, he thought.
 
Lumos, he uttered. If anything nasty was still on the loose, it would have attacked him long before. His wand lit up, illuminating the nearby store sign.
 
“Sylvia’s Spirit Shop,” it read. He’d ended up back where he came in! Yes, there was the spider shop down the street. A sudden thought occurred to Harry – the only place where Ron and Hermione had spent any length of time was the alley besides Borgin and Burkes. Maybe they’d found their way back there, and were just waiting for Harry. He broke into a run, heading down the street towards the alleyway.
 

* * * * *

Once again I've played the clown
Used my friends and let them down
Walk the streets just staring out
Late at night the strange come out
 
Hermione and Ron weren’t there; the alley was just as deserted as the streets outside. Harry stood in the gray darkness for a while, thinking of where to look next. If they weren’t here, they could be anywhere. It seemed as if Harry had been wandering for hours, and still hadn’t found them. He might walk around in circles for the rest of the night and still not find them.
 
Maybe it was best just to stay put and wait for them to run across him. He could cast a light spell and wait just outside the alleyway for them to walk by. Assuming, of course, that the light didn’t attract some of the more unpleasant denizens of Knockturn Alley. The thought sent a thrill of fear through Harry.
 
He leaned against the wall of Borgin and Burkes’, gathering his thoughts. Strangely, the wall seemed to give a little. Harry stood up straight again – the wall seemed to bounce back. He ran his fingers over it. A crack – unobtrusive, but noticeable upon inspection – ran all the way around a door-sized area. Someone had wanted a side entrance, but didn’t want it to be too conspicuous.
 
He pushed gingerly on one end of the door. Nothing. He moved to the other side, and pushed again. This time, the door moved a couple of centimeters, but then seemed to catch on something. Tapping it with his wand, he whispered Alohomara, and pushed harder.
 
The door opened into a dark, dingy room. Harry peered in, his eyes straining against the dark. Cobwebs laced the ceiling, their makers fleeing from Harry’s lit wand. Shelves lined the walls, holding all sorts of arcane magical items. An ancient suit of armor stood by the entrance, a sentinel guarding the collection. Apparently, he had stumbled across the back room of Borgin and Burkes.
 
He entered the shop, closing the door behind him. The floor creaked, making Harry stop in his tracks for fear of being discovered. When he had convinced himself that nobody was coming, he walked over to the near wall, examining the merchandise.
 
The shelves held a wide variety of objects, some ordinary, some disturbing. A silver chalice sat on a shelf at about eye-level, filled with a dark red liquid. The bottom shelf had a complete set of bones – this must have been where the femur Lucius had bought came from. There was something else on the bottom shelf, a small pinkish object in a jar. Harry knelt down to examine it…
 
…and then jumped back in recognition. It was a tongue, still glistening with saliva. Apparently, it’s owner had gotten a little too sassy, and now his vocal instruments were for sale on the black market. Harry moved to the center of the room, hoping that the larger objects there would be slightly less disgusting.
 
A spinning wheel sat, forlorn, on the floorboard, its pedals tied to the floor with a thin web of spider’s silk. A couple blades of straw littered the floor around it. The spindle was wound with fine golden thread, but something inside Harry told him that this thread had bankrupted far more lives than it had enriched. Despite this, Harry suddenly felt himself being drawn to the wheel. He glided forwards, and was about to sit and spin when he caught himself. Why would a spinning wheel have this affect on him? He’d never done anything domestic in his life, unless being blamed for ruining Dudley’s breakfast counted. Gathering his willpower, he pulled himself away from the wheel, moving over to the opposite side of the room.
 
An ornate, full-length mirror stood in the corner. It reminded him vaguely of that oh-so-annoying kibitzer back in the Leaky Cauldron, but something about this one told Harry that it held more than innocent suggestions. Perhaps it was the obvious age of the mirror, or maybe it was the sparkling clarity of the glass, a sharp contrast to the tarnished metal frame.
 
Harry gazed deep into his reflection, his wand casting an eerie glow upon himself. He was just an ordinary boy of thirteen, perhaps a little taller than he was used to, but still Harry. He had the same green eyes, same unkempt black hair, same lightning bolt scar that he’d always had. Nothing unusual – it was just an ordinary mirror.
 
And then he … changed. It was almost imperceptible, perhaps just a slight flickering of the light. Harry blinked, trying to pinpoint what was wrong. It couldn’t be anything obvious – he still had the same green eyes and same black hair, though it seemed a little tidier. But something was different. Very different.
 
The boy in the mirror looked older, more worldly. He had a shadowed cast to his eyes, as if he’d suffered through much and only managed through sheer willpower to pull through. But his face betrayed a haughty arrogance, an expression of pride and superiority. The eyes flickered with amusement, an expression Harry doubted his own face was showing.
 
Recognition dawned on Harry. He’d seen this face before, and not in some mirror. The diary. He was looking at Tom Riddle! But how? … this was a mirror, not a picture. It should reflect Harry and Harry only. He had to get away, had to leave this place of cursed magical items!
 
The mirror rooted him to the spot.
 
Something moved in the mirror, a slight twitch. Could Harry have flinched? No, he’d been absolutely still. The reflection had moved by itself. Harry’s mouth opened, a gasp of surprise. His reflection merely smiled.
 
And then, it began to speak.
 

* * * * *

Time, time, time again
I'm just looking for a friend
But no one seems to be around
Just this monkey that I've found
Still he is my only friend
And tonight he grins again
Tonight he grins again
 
“Well, it’s Harry Potter,” the Riddle-reflection sneered. “The Boy Who Lived. That error will be rectified soon enough.”
 
“I killed you in the diary last year!” Harry spat, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. “You’ve got no power to do anything.”
 
Riddle chuckled softly. “You’d be surprised. There’s a bit of me in everyone, and I’ve never been unable to find someone to do my bidding.”
 
“Then why have you been less than alive for all of these years?” Harry retorted.
 
“Biding my time. I’ve been waiting for just the right circumstances to return to a body. But now, the pieces are almost in place. It is time to set my plan in motion.”
 
Harry shuddered under the weight of unpleasant memories. Voldemort had tried to come back to life once before, in Harry’s first year at Hogwarts, and Harry had only escaped because of his mother’s sacrifice. If Voldemort set a henchman on Harry, he’d be dead for sure.
 
Defiance rose in Harry, a strong desire to keep Riddle from having the last laugh. “You’re bluffing,” Harry said. His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, but just hearing it gave Harry confidence.
 
“Am I? It’s no coincidence that Sirius Black is on the loose. He was my most faithful Death Eater, the one that brought about the deaths of my most despised enemies. He has a special place in his heart for you, you know. I’m sure that he’d love to meet you.”
 
Sirius Black? In league with Voldemort? Harry had known that Black was an evil person – nice men don’t kill thirteen Muggles with one curse – but had never guessed that he might currently be communicating with Voldemort. He thought that the Death Eaters had all dispersed after Voldemort’s defeat, their organization falling to pieces.
 
As if he could read Harry’s thoughts, Voldemort continued: “Yes, Harry, I still maintain contact with my loyal servants. They haven’t outlived their usefulness to me yet. One of them may end up bringing me back to life.”
 
“Black’s a wanted convict. The moment he shows his face, he’ll be carted back to Azkaban. No way you’ll be able to use him.”
 
“It doesn’t have to be him, Harry. Black may have been my right-hand man twelve years ago, but this time around, it could be someone else. It could be your teachers. It could be your friends. Hell, Harry, it could even be you.”
 
Harry sputtered with indignation. “I’d never work for you! I’d kill myself and everything I hold dear first!”
 
Riddle just laughed. “That may very well be the case. Just like a Gryffindor, to throw away his life for his principles. You’ll find that you can’t get rid of me that easily. We’re linked – two great wizards bound by a curse that failed. As long as you live, you’ll carry part of me inside of you. Remember that, Harry. Remember that when you think up your next scheme against me, your next path to revenge.”
 
Harry had a nasty retort ready. He didn’t get far into his tirade, though, when he realized the reflection was just echoing his words. The mirror had gone silent.
 

* * * * *

It's cold this pain
It's burning inside my veins
I walk away
A shadow of Dorian Gray
 
Harry looked at the mirror. It seemed perfectly ordinary; his familiar reflection stared out at him. Nothing at all out of place.
 
He stood there, open-mouthed. His reflection gaped right back at him. He waved his hand. His reflection waved back. He reached out with his right hand and touched the mirror. His reflection’s left hand met his right, fingers pressed together.
 
Could he have imagined the whole thing? Harry didn’t think so – it was much too vivid to have all been in his mind. He was still shaking, besides – couldn’t his imagination have dreamed up something a little less frightening?
 
Black and Voldemort – he should have known they were connected. Only a high-level Death Eater would kill thirteen innocent Muggles. And now he was after Harry. What would this mean for the coming school year?
 
Nothing, he told himself. Better just to forget the whole business. Hogwarts was the safest place he could be, and brooding over old enemies would just make him miserable. Besides, there really was nothing to worry about. Voldemort wouldn’t dare strike at Harry while he was on the Hogwarts grounds. Since he couldn’t go to Hogsmeade, he’d be completely safe all of the time.
 
He tried to convince himself of this as he walked out the storeroom door. Something about the mirrors words made this very difficult – beneath the lies (and Harry certainly hoped they were lies!) were statements that rang true. But Voldemort couldn’t be coming back – he was just a shadow of his former self, a being more dead than alive. The whole mirror business was so complicated.
 
Harry wished he was back in the safety of his Leaky Cauldron room.
 
He couldn’t explore Saikik Alley now. There was way too much on his mind. He just wanted to find Ron and Hermione and head back. He started down the street, looking for them.
 

* * * * *

Once again I've played the clown
Used my friends and let them down
Walk the streets staring out
Late at night the strange come out
 
And there they were, just a few stores down. Hermione saw him first, glimpsing the light of his wand. She called out his name and ran towards him, embracing him in a bear hug so tight that Harry thought he would die of asphyxiation. Ron was not far behind, and only slightly more reserved.
 
“Harry! Where were you? We’ve been searching all over for you!” Hermione exclaimed.
 
“…which would have been much easier if we’d had a guide,” Ron added. “These streets seem to twist around in knots – if it hadn’t been for my expert navigation, we would have been lost long ago.”
 
Something about Hermione’s glance told Harry that Ron’s navigation had been all but expert.
 
“Never mind that,” Ron said hastily. “Now that we’re back together, let’s go exploring.”
 
“Er, Ron,” Harry ventured, “I can’t find the entrance.” It was a lie – but a lie with a grain of truth, for Harry wasn’t sure that he’d be able to make it back to the cul-de-sac where he’d first found Saikik Alley. But he certainly didn’t want to continue stumbling through Knockturn Alley. All he wanted was to return to the safety of the Leaky Cauldron, where he could contemplate his encounter with Tom Riddle in peace.
 
“Aww, Harry,” complained Ron. “All that trouble, and you just want to head back?”
 
“Maybe next year. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to be out here after dark.”
 
“Since when did you become all Hermionic?” taunted Ron, prompting a sharp “Hey!” from Hermione. “Besides, if you can’t find it now, what’s the chance that you’ll remember next year?”
 
“Ron,” Hermione said softly. “Harry’s right; we should be getting back. We’ve been gone a couple hours now, and if anyone notices, we’ll be in a whole lot of trouble.”
 
“Come on Hermione, can’t you think of anything besides rules? Where’s your sense of adventure?”
 
“Ron, please,” said Hermione, her voice tense and strained. She wants to get back even more than I do, Harry thought.
 
“Oh all right,” Ron said. He didn’t seem too happy about it, though.
 
The three of them walked back to Leaky Cauldron, Ron grumbling all the way. It hadn’t, however, been a completely wasted trip, thought Harry. They’d witnessed Lucius engaged in Dark Arts dealings, and had found out about several new magic items. If only they knew what he would be using them for – Harry hoped he didn’t have yet another person after his life. At least parents weren’t allowed to visit their kids at Hogwarts – if Lucius showed up on the grounds, he would be on official school business, and likely escorted. No, Mr. Malfoy was not the worst of Harry’s worries.
 
Harry’s thoughts returned to the mirror. He wished he could forget the whole incident, but that seemed impossible. Had he really seen Riddle as his reflection? Harry shivered to think of it. At least they were out of Knockturn Alley. He’d be able to think more clearly when he was in a nice, warm bed.
 

* * * * *

Time, time, time again
I'm just looking for a friend
No one seems to be around
Just this monkey that I've found
Still he is my only friend
And tonight he grins again
Tonight he grins again
 
Back in his room, Harry sat up in bed, his thoughts a maelstrom of activity. It was past midnight, but he couldn’t sleep. Riddle’s face had swum before his vision until he felt like he was losing his mind. He needed someone to talk to, but everyone else had long retired for the night.
 
Well, there were a couple of other sentient beings in the room, even if they weren’t exactly alive. But the mirror and fireplace had been silent since his return. Harry wondered if magical objects had to sleep. How could he get their attention?
 
He crawled over to the edge of his bed and faced the wall. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” he tried.
 
The mirror seemed to stir ever so slightly. “Sorry Harry, you’re definitely not the fairest of them all,” it replied, it’s voice slurred and disinterested. “Did you actually have something to ask me, or did you just wake up and decide to bug me for kicks?”
 
It worked! Harry had thought that people only said that in fairy tales. Now how was he going to phrase his question?
 
“Do mirrors ever get possessed? You know, show something other than the person looking at them?” Harry asked.
 
The mirror lay silent for a while. Harry was about to try and clarify his question when it answered. “We can, but it takes powerful dark magic. Aside from talking mirrors like me, we usually just sit there and reflect. Even talking mirrors try to avoid distorting the picture they present – we’re supposed to show the truth and nothing but the truth. Most cases of mirror possession are really just people who see something they don’t want to. Why do you ask?”
 
“Oh, just curious,” Harry replied. This didn’t clear things up much, but he didn’t want to press the issue.
 
The mirror didn’t seem satisfied. “Does this have anything to do with Sirius Black being after you?” it asked.
 
“How did you know about that?” As far as Harry could remember, he hadn’t shared any of what he’d overheard with the mirror.
 
“Word travels fast around here. Mr. Fireplace heard it over the Floo network from his friends downstairs, and he told me. Fireplaces are well-known gossips. Anyway, does it?”
 
Harry groaned inwardly. How many of his conversations here had been repeated throughout the wizarding world by now? He didn’t feel much like talking now – but the mirror wouldn’t be blown off. Easily, at least.
 
“No, this doesn’t have anything to do with Sirius Black. It’s really none of your business.”
 
“You can’t let it get to you Harry. Just because you’ve got a convicted mass murderer after you doesn’t mean you’re going to die. Although you do have a knack for making enemies. There’s You-Know-Who, the Malfoys, plus a whole bunch of other people that the fireplace wouldn’t let me tell you about.” The mirror paused, suddenly realizing just what it was saying. “Oops, did I say too much?”
 
Harry was getting very annoyed with this mirror. “I’m not going to be murdered,” he said.
 
“That’s the spirit, dear,” replied the mirror’s sleepy voice. Harry climbed back into bed, his anger towards one mirror displaced by anger to another. His thoughts whirled from one mirror to another to Lucius to Black to Riddle to Voldemort, until he fell into a sleep filled with uneasy dreams.