A Reflection of Himself

Harry was dreaming...

The events of his life were mirroring themselves on the calm waters of a static river, for now no water was flowing freely, and this was when he could look at the whole picture and reflect upon how he arrived at this one point. The images were not what they seemed to be, appearing to compose his entire life, for whenever he would try to fit them into his reality, they proved non-superimposable, seeming-only memories of what he once believed to be true.

Then, the water began to churn and twist, distorting all that once appeared clear. Suddenly, things were no longer understandable, and then he could see the truth in all that confusion: All he once envisioned were nothing more than inverted reflections of reality, and he was no more than one ripple in the river.

Harry awoke, sweat covering his brow, making his black hair stick to his skin. Even his pajamas felt uncomfortably clingy and damp. Pushing away the bed covers, Harry slipped his feet into his slippers and put on his round glasses. He went to the window and sat on the sill, gazing out on the starry night.

He wished for some sort of solace in all these unsettling feelings. Was that all he would be in the course of wizardkind? A ripple in the river? Was everything he ever thought to be true just an inversion of reality?

How he longed for someone to understand.

His friends were supportive, and there were people who had faced Voldemort and knew his evils, but none of them - no, not a one - were the Boy Who Lived.

Harry couldn't help but to feel that he had only lived so he could pass quickly before everyone, like a ripple on the water, and serve his purpose of inverting a reality of evil into a reality of good.

The daylight hours began to stretch, lengthening into warmer days as the first buds of spring started to appear on the trees. Although still on the chilly side, most of the snow had melted and given way to cold rain, which the thawing ground seemed to drink up greedily. March was now the month on everyone's calendars.

As Harry glanced at each day on the calendar, he realized it was another day passed that left him wondering what developments were going on with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He felt a near-constant niggling feeling in the back of his mind, which made his stomach do flip-flops and caused his skin to prickle at night. Why was the Dark Lord so silent? Or had he truly decided to no longer call on those who he suspected as traitors?

During the past several weeks, Draco had grown restless as well. He groaned loudly as he drifted through the halls late at night, never needing to sleep. The noises he made unnerved the students who were actually trying to sleep, but he didn't much care about that. He was beginning to regret his decision to ever become a ghost.

At first, he had tried attending classes and going about his daily life (or afterlife) as if nothing had changed, but he and everyone else knew that was a lie. When the school year ended, where would that leave him? It wasn't as if he were able to continue on and pursue a career after school.

The small amount of hope he had began to dwindle and fade as he wondered when the next Death Eater meeting would be. He finally came to the conclusion that Voldemort would not be summoning Snape, so Draco decided to pursue his interests elsewhere. He had a whole family of Death Eaters, did he not?

Maybe it's time to pay Mum a little visit and ask her to invite Auntie Bellatrix over.

Draco smirked smugly at the ingenuity of his great plan. He had had enough of slumping around the corridors of Hogwarts.

Malfoy Manor was an unnecessarily large estate for just one person - or even three people when Lucius and Draco had been alive. Narcissa spent her days making herself look beautiful, only to boss around the house elves, telling them what sort of food to prepare and what to clean next in the enormous house.

After paying visits to his mother over the past few months, Draco had convinced her, though, that Voldemort's cause was not worth fighting for. With the loss of her husband and only son, she had begun to wonder such things herself. Although she came from a Pureblood family and believed that Purebloods were still superior, she was not the type to dirty her hands in blood and guts... not like her sister Bellatrix.

Narcissa had never particularly cared much for her younger sister, thinking her unlady-like and callous and simply downright vile and rude. Draco, however, had a way with words (just like his last father had had) and convinced Narcissa to invite Bellatrix over to tea and a chat to "catch up."

So, when Bellatrix appeared at Malfoy Manor not too later thereafter, she had no idea that Draco was a ghost and had therefore conventiently set the whole meeting in motion. He purposefully kept himself invisible and listened to every word the two sisters exchanged.

While most of the talk was meaningless and boring, Draco smirked when Narcissa sweetly inquired about the latest developments among the ranks.

"As you can imagine, dear sister, after having lost my husband, I am at a loss. I understand completely that my son was a vile traitor and a waste, but Lucius's loyalty never wavered. He used to inform me of the latest, as I eagerly awaited the day when our side would finally win." She smiled at Bellatrix.

"Yes, your son was a rather pathetic excuse for a Death Eater, wasn't he?" Bella spat, grinning. "I find it hard to believe that he was even related to us."

Narcissa bit back the urge to slap her sister. She only nodded, feigning complete and utter agreement.

"Well," Bellatrix simpered in a sickingly-sweet voice, "my master has asked me to do something very important for him. I feel honored, in fact, that he chose me out of everyone in his ranks."

"Of course," Narcissa said politely. "You have never failed him. You were one of the few who chose to stay loyal no matter what."

"That's right," Bellatrix continued, steeling her voice. "And he has chosen me for that exact reason."

Draco listened to every minute detail of the plans that Voldemort had for Bellatrix. Apparently, she would be playing a very important part in the operation of moving along with the Dark Lord's plans.

What a fool you are, Auntie. You have certainly been played.

Hours later, after Bellatrix had left, Draco earnestly thanked his mother and returned to Hogwarts with some very important news. When he went to Dumbledore, the Headmaster asked Draco if he wanted to be the man for the job of taking down Bellatrix, as this would be a very difficult operation to pull off.

Draco gladly accepted, finally feeling he would be doing something useful.

April was nearly upon them. Harry continued the DA meetings, relieved and glad to see that he had not scared away all the new recruits after his outburst at that first year Slytherin back in February. Assuming full-responsibility for what he would have to do when the time came (and everyone knew what that meant; they just didn't know when to expect it), Harry steeled himself and focused on keeping himself trained to fight.

He even resumed working with Lupin whenever he had a free moment, just like he had during his third year. If there was someone who could teach him about defending himself, it would be someone like Lupin, someone who had faced the first war. During this time, Harry begrudgingly allowed Dumbledore to show him more memories of the first war, as the old headmaster insisted that it was necessary.

All the while, Harry could feel the pressure building. His scar always tingled and sometimes hurt with white hot bursts of pain, but those times were rarer and rarer, and Harry wondered if he had improved his ability enough to keep Voldemort out of his mind or if Voldemort was purposefully hiding his feelings from Harry, yet another plan of deceit to keep the good guys in the dark. Harry did not even know about what Draco had told Dumbledore. Why Dumbledore had chosen to keep that information a secret was a mystery.

After having tried (in vain) to push his friends away, Harry now realized that he needed them more than ever. There were times when he felt like they were the only reason he was still sane, could still laugh or smile or tell a joke like a normal seventeen-year-old boy. In times like these, there needed to be some semblance of normalcy, lest those who needed to remain level-headed lost their ability to be just that.

Finally, April first dawned. That evening, after having trained with Lupin for several hours, Harry was sitting in Lupin's office, enjoying tea and biscuits and talking about nothing in particular. Lupin, Sirius, and he were engaged in what was mounting into an animated conversation about girls, what with Lupin's dating Tonks and Harry's dating Ginny. They were laughing, enjoying the company of good friends and good food, temporarily oblivious to the evils of the world.

"And d'you remember the one time when we were in our fourth year, Moony," Sirius was saying, "when-"

He stopped. Very unexpectedly and abrupty. Just like that.

They waited for Sirius to continue, but he didn't. Lupin placed his tea cup down and stood up from the desk, concern on his face as he approached the portrait. Harry, too, stood up from his chair and was gazing at Sirius.

"When what, mate?" Lupin ventured, hoping Sirius was just playing around. He knew what day it was, after all.

Sirius didn't speak. He didn't move, not even to blink. His painted grey eyes were staring lifelessly at Lupin and Harry, and both of them felt a nauseating feeling of forboding washing over them in that instant.

"C'mon, Sirius... this isn't funny," Lupin insisted, clearly growing worried and also a little angry. He sincerely hoped he had reason to be angry and not worried sick.

"It's April Fool's Day," Harry said softly, "but that doesn't mean you have to scare us to death, Sirius." Harry frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. Lupin and he were now standing directly in front of the portrait, looking for any sign of movement.

They waited. And waited. And waited.

There was no movement.

Elsewhere...

The right connections had been made, and everything had already been previously arranged. In the middle of a night on a particularly mild spring day, Bellatrix apparated to the Ministry of Magic, an invisibility cloak over her to ensure her blending in. The place was deserted, and the one guard left standing outside the Department of Mysteries was a fellow Death Eater.

Bellatrix approached him effortlessly and whispered her salutations in his ear. He grinned maliciously and conveniently entered a place that few had ever laid eyes on, granting her full access to whatever her evil, little heart desired.

Once inside, Bellatrix found herself retracing her steps from nearly two years ago, intrigued by the many strange mysteries that lay within the chamber. She itched to explore every room, but she knew she had been given explicit orders from her master to retrieve a sacred, secret weapon - a very ancient oddity that few understood the mechanisms of its working.

Bella did not know that Ghost Draco was in her midst. She foolishly entered the incorrect room and was immediately distracted by its contents. Gazing fixedly at the innumerable Time Turners it contained, her mouth slightly agape, she murmured to herself, "Surely my master wouldn't mind a little side trip. I am, after all, taking a big risk for him by doing this favor for him."

Smirking to herself, she reached tentatively toward once of the Time Turners, but within an inch of touching it, her hand was repelled by a strong magical barrier. The stinging sensation it left on her hand raked through her nerves, right up her arm, and straight to her brain, and she felt like her hair was standing on end.

"Damn it," she hissed, clearly annoyed, shaking her stinging hand.

She was no longer enjoying herself and so turned and left that room. Realizing that the Ministry had placed extra spells on the contents of the Department of Mysteries, she scowled deeply, wondering if her plight would be as easy as she had originally thought.

In the shadows, Draco kept himself nearly transparent and followed her to a very familiar room. In the middle on a dais stood an old archway with the infamous tattered veil hanging from it. Bellatrix had never looked at it so closely before. Last time she had been here, there had been a lot more people around, and hexes had been flying through the air.

She thought she heard voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. All she needed to do was remove the veil from the archway and take it to her master... simple enough, right?

She grinned evilly, recalling how her curse had sent her cousin, Sirius Black, through that very veil two years ago.

"He always was annoying," she murmured. "He got what he deserved in the end of his pathetic life."

Now, standing next to the veil, Bellatrix felt a chill run over her and straight through her. Momentarily alarmed, faint voices stirring somewhere beyond in the depths of black, torn fabric, she jumped away from the shroud. Was this just another ward meant to repel her?

She shook her head. This is utterly ridiculous! I'm not afraid of a little wind or a couple of whispery voices. I survived Azkaban, after all! What is a silly, little piece of cloth?

Suddenly, a great force was pushing against her, and she heard an aggressive voice bellow, "No, you'll get what you deserve in your end, dearest Auntie!"

She fought hard against the impending force, unable to see what was the source of it. Brandishing her wand, she tried to send a hex in the direction of the strange force, but it was quickly overpowering her.

The last thing Bellatrix Black Lestrange saw before she fell through the veil was Draco's infuriated, pale face, back from beyond the grave to haunt her for the rest of her miserable existence in a world somewhere else.

Draco had materialized himself enough to push her through and stop himself just in time before going through the veil as well. Flying over the top of the archway, he felt a surge of triumph pulsing through his ghostly veins.

"Good bye, Auntie," he said in a mockingly-sweet voice.