Without Wand or Wire

"Have you lost your bloody mind??" Ron roared at Dumbledore. It was a full three seconds before his elders, save Dumbledore and Petunia, voiced vehement protests over his tone, overlooking the fact that they had all really wanted to ask Albus the same thing. Snape tried to grab the Weasley boy by the collar, but again found himself unable to move. Ron ignored them. "Harry almost died just now, Pansy's still a prisoner, and you want to have cake??"

This seemed to please Dumbledore immensely. "Well go on, my boy! Tell us how you really feel!"

Snape noticed Fae biting her knuckle with mirth, and wondered if he'd find less insanity in St. Mungo's.

Ron was struck dumb for a moment. The wireless, for once, didn't choose his words for him, either. But as he tried to think of a reply, he realised it wasn't Dumbledore he wanted to talk to. He gathered up the guitar into his arms, slipping the strap over his shoulders. He turned to Harry, and taking a deep breath, started to play. It wasn't that the notes played through him this time -- he wasn't a puppet pulled by guitar strings. This time it was all him, and the notes and words were his servants, dancing to his whims. Each of those servants dutifully carried Ron's emotions to Harry, every drop of hurt and anger and fear -- and love.

"You said that we were brothers
We've been friends a long time,
but now it's like I don't know you All I know is you're not fine,
that you're walking a thin line ...

The moment Ron's song began, the black haze began to form once again around Harry -- with no lights at all this time -- and his face seemed as tired and haggard-looking as ever. Ron, on the other hand, began to glow with a soft golden light, his face lit by a loving warmth even as his brow was knit with worry. Ron could feel the magic build and flow as he played, with an intensity and control that he had never even remotely achieved with a wand -- and with next to no effort on his part!

"You've kept some secrets before,
but with all that we've been through,
I felt like I could tell you anything
And I thought that you knew
you could confide in me, too

The light, without leaving Ron, began to move forward to envelope Harry too, but was stopped by the black haze.

"If we were to lose you,
then our own lives would be done
The world might me saved
but it wouldn't matter that we had won
Without you, it's just a world without a sun

Ginny and Hermione found that they could move enough to stand by Ron. The light enveloped them, then reached out to Harry, stronger than before. It still couldn't penetrate the barrier, but the red pulsing light grew brighter, steadier.

"So every strike against yourself,
is also strike against a friend,
a blow against all who love you
And if you should face your end,
Its our own hearts that'd never mend!

Draco stepped towards Ron, his eyes on Harry. The light enveloped him as well. The adults finally joined in, adding to the brightness.

"Why can't you share the burden?
How can you keep it all inside?
Why do you insist in walking alone?
Just stop it with your martyr's pride,
and admit that you need us by your side!

As angry as Ron sounded, it was clear that he was only angry because he loved Harry. Finally, the light started to break through the darkness that had shrouded the boy, and--

A terrible laugh broke the flow of power. The light abruptly disappeared, and the dark cloud seemed to swell for a moment before the music stopped and the cloud dispelled. Once again, those gathered were knocked back a few steps. When they regained their footing, they turned to the sound, and found the ugly visage of Voldemort laughing at them from within the Mirror of Raef.

"I-is that? ..." Ron squeaked; his hand slipped on the strings, making a discordant sound that made him jump.

Unnerved by both the sound of the strings and the image in the glass, Draco swallowed hard and nodded.

"No, it's not," Harry told them quietly.

Snape eyed The Boy speculatively, nodding slowly. "What we're seeing is inside Potter's head. If that were the real Dark Lord, Potter would be in agony right now -- and so would we, Draco." He bared his Mark for emphasis. It wasn't glowing at all.

"So Harry's afraid of You-Know-Who, so what? How does knowing that help us defeat the man?" Ron wanted to know, as he slipped the guitar strap off his shoulder and rest the instrument gently aside.

"Perhaps this is a sign that you need to tell them, Harry," Dumbledore prodded gently. "Ron did ask you why you insisted on working alone, after all."

Harry glanced uncertainly at his mentor, his tone brusk and all business. "Are you sure? I mean, after all the trouble the Order went through last year to make sure Riddle didn't find out ... if he should capture anyone here--"

"Yes, well, I dare say that everyone in this room would find out sooner or later anyway. Besides, there comes a point when all secrets must be revealed -- and I think letting your friends in on this now will serve us better than keeping them in the dark."

Neville sat quiet and miserable next to his grandmother as he idly watched Lee, the twins, and their girlfriends dancing. Neville was not a good dancer. Truth be told, Neville didn't feel himself very good at anything outside of Botany, and Hermione could easily give him a run for his money there too! He wondered where the Muggle-born lass and her bosom companions had wandered off to with the birthday girl, trying hard not to also wonder why they saw fit to leave him behind.

The fireplace flashed green, but Neville paid it no mind: Weasley relations and acquantainces and members of the Order had been pouring in all evening. So when he felt a tap on his shoulder, he literally fell out of his chair, no "nearly" about it.

"Oh, you didn't have to get up on my account, Neville, though that was very sweet of you!" an upside down head with turnip earrings and a butterbeer-cork necklace told him, then held out a hand to help him up.

"Luna!" he cried, more than a little pleased to see her. "I thought you weren't going to be back until just before the new term started.

"Daddy got bitten by a kekkletweet, so we had to come home early."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Is he all right?" He didn't bother to ask what on earth a kekkletweet was.

"Oh yes, we got him to a mediwizard in time, but he's decided he's had quite enough adventuring for one summer." She smiled, and the whole evening suddenly seemed a whole lot brighter. Well, it did until she asked, "Want to dance?"

"Oh! Er, I ... well, I don't really--"

She didn't let him finish his protest, grabbing his hand and pulling him out on the dance floor. She proceeded to twirl and throw her limbs about as if she were having some sort of fit, obviously dancing to the beat of her own drum -- and the drummer seemed to be high on something. Suddenly finding himself with no excuse not to, he began to move as well, and if he wasn't quite moving with the beat either, no one seemed to notice.

A short while later they were joined on the dance floor by a few late arrivals: Dean Thomas and a girl Neville didn't know, as well as Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown, who were arm-in-arm. Then came the Creevy brothers and the Patil twins (but not together). As time went on, more of their classmates -- specifically Ginny, Ron, Harry, and Hermione's friends -- poured into the Great Hall and onto the dance floor. But when Hagrid and Madame Maxime got up to dance, most of the kids took that as their cue to find a safer place to congregate.

Harry sighed and faced Ron. "So you want to know why I need to face--"

"Don't say his name here!" Snape hissed. "Not next to an Eternity Gate, you little twit; you may as well send him an owl at that rate!"

The others began to protest on Harry's behalf, but a gesture from Dumbledore silenced them.

Harry just blinked. "Er, right. Well. The reason I'm insistent on facing 'What's-His-Name' alone is because I'm pretty much destined to, so I don't see a point in putting the rest of you lot in danger for something you can't effect anyway."

Draco was about to scoff, until he remembered a few things. Harry had kept their teacher, Quirrell, from stealing the Philosopher's Stone at the end of their first year; Draco had thought at the time that rumor had blown the encounter out of proportion. Then Harry had supposedly faced -- and defeated -- a basilisk during their second year. Draco hadn't believed that one at all, but what if it had been true? Harry had faced Voldemort at the end of their fourth year -- and lived, no less. Harry's entire involvement in the Tri-Wizard tournament had been an elaborate plan to bring him to Voldemort. Harry's blood had been used to resurrect Voldemort. Draco knew that story was true, because he'd heard his father rage about it to Narcissa, and Crabbe and Goyle reported similar tales from their own fathers. The prophecy that Lucius had been trying to steal had supposedly had something to do with Harry, hadn't it? Wasn't that why Potter had been there that night? And, of course, there was the very fact that Voldemort had tried to kill baby Harry -- and failed.

All these years, Draco had thought that Harry was self-important, that it had probably been sheer luck that had saved him as a child, or something Harry's parents had done. But now that he'd gotten a chance to see Harry -- not just how un-self-centered the boy was, but how utterly defeated he now seemed after years of literally fighting for his life -- he could no longer convince himself that Harry was a spoiled, arrogant prat who didn't deserve his fame. He had to face up to the fact that Harry was a real hero -- and that the boy's fate was, undeniably, linked to Voldemort's! All those years he'd been so jealous of Harry, but at that moment, he wouldn't trade places with him for all the galleons in Gringotts! And he could hardly blame the boy for wanting to commit suicide over it; hadn't Draco considered tossing himself off the Astronomy Tower for similar reasons just that afternoon?

"And what makes you so sure we can't affect it, Harry?" Hermione protested, sounding miffed, as if her abilities had been called into question.

"Believe me, Hermione, there is nothing I'd like more than to have some help with this. I was scared to death. I guess maybe I still am, but ... there's nothing for it, so I just learned to get past the fear. There's a prophecy says that only I can defeat him ...." He recited the whole of the prophecy for them, word for word. "Either I kill him, or he kills me -- and then everyone I care about dies with me," he finished.

There was nothing but silence for long moments.

"Ha ... Ha-Harry, is that the... but .. b-but it broke!" Ron pleaded, shaking his head, his eyes glittering. No, he refused to believe that his best friend, who was just a boy, for Merlin's sake, was expected to face the most dangerous wizard since Grindelwald, and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it! His knees started to tremble, and his chest felt like it was in a vice, but his body was as stubborn as his spirit, and refused to succumb to a faint.

Hermione took Ron's arm in a crushing grip, her own tear-laced eyes daring Harry to say it was all a sick joke. Ginny's fists were clenched again, but instead of being angry, she looked terrified. Minerva and Poppy's eyes were full of pity -- and fear -- for The Boy who bore a burden even a seasoned Auror would probably find impossible to bear. Petunia wanted nothing more than to grab her nephew and hide him -- and was nearly overwhelmed by the knowledge that in a world of wizards, there was likely nowhere for him to hide. Fae's eyes, however, held a strange, eager light. She and Dumbledore exchanged knowing glances. Catching sight of them out of the corner of his eye, Snape wondered, with great irritation, what it was they were up to. He then glared at the laughing image of the Dark Lord in the mirror; the double-agent looked like he wanted nothing more than to break it.

Harry did his best to ignore the emotional strain that seemed to fill the room, keeping himself calm and subdued. "Only that recording was destroyed, Ron. I saw the memory of the person who witnessed it -- trust me when I say they're a reliable source. And think about it: almost every time I've gone up against Vo--You-Know-Who, I've been alone. My parents were dead already when he tried to kill me. You were hurt, and there wasn't enough potion for Hermione to come with me to face Quirrell when we went after the Philosopher's Stone. Cedric was dead, and the Portkey took me leagues away from all of you when I faced What's-His-Name in the graveyard. I was alone with him at the Ministry, until Dumbledore showed up. I don't think I'm going to be that lucky next time -- and frankly, I don't want to be. I don't want him to hurt someone else while trying to kill me."

"So that's it, is it?" Ginny snapped, pushing her way to stand before Harry. "Some prophecy tells you to jump, and all you can do is ask 'how high?' Dammit, Harry, it effects our lives, too -- doesn't that give us a right to decide how we're going to fight? Do you really expect us to just sit back and see how it all turns out? You might be the only one that can strike the killing blow, but you tell me where in that prophecy it says you can't have anyone at your side when you do! You tell me where it says that you won't have any sort of help, at your side or otherwise!" She poked him in the chest for emphasis.

Ron and Hermione stepped up as well, their stances brooking no argument. Fae was bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement, the Cheshire grin back, while Dumbledore rather looked like the cat who ate the canary.

Draco sauntered over, folding his arms and trying to seem nonchalant. "If you insist on believing you're the 'weapon,' Harry, then so be it," he drawled. "But know this: I'm in the habit of keeping my weapons well-concealed, well-cared for, and within reach!" His tone was mock-severe, and there was a twinkle in his eye. Despite his jocular tone, there was no mistaking that this was Draco Malfoy swearing allegiance to Harry Potter and, albeit indirectly, the Order of the Phoenix.

Regardless of the monumental nature of the moment, there was no acknowledgement of Draco's words -- nor Ginny's -- in Harry's eyes. There wasn't any sort of warning in those cold green orbs either, but the next thing they knew, the four youths found themselves pushed back a few feet by an unseen force, then once again glued to their places.

"This is getting really old, Harry!" Ron muttered. He didn't like feeling like a chess piece, unable to move save by another's will.

"He's taken the idea of pushing away his loved ones to a whole new level," Fae quipped with a smirk, giving Snape a lop-sided grin. Poppy, Minerva, and Petunia in turn each shot daggers from their eyes in her general direction.

"Can you blame me for wanting you all at arm's length?" Harry asked hollowly, ignoring Fae's levity. "I'm used to people dying all around me! Do you think I want you lot added to the damn list? Do you think that will help me do whatever it is I'm supposed to do, having you there to distract me? Yeah, I get it, you don't want me to die! What you lot don't seem to get is that I have to face this, no matter what -- that's out of all our hands -- but none of the rest of you have to! If I can keep the rest of you safe, then I'm going to do my best to make sure of it, dammit! If I do die, you will die too! I know that! But if, by some miracle I live and Voldemort doesn't, then I want to make sure you're all waiting for me when I get home!" He still sounded more tired and exasperated than impassioned, like a teacher that's gotten sick of explaining the same concept over and over to students for whom the problem seems beyond their grasp. "Can you understand now why I can't let myself feel anything anymore? Why I can't think about how much I care about all of you? About all I have to lose? The fear, the grief ... it would eat me alive!" he whispered. "Can you blame me for just wanting this all to be over?" He closed his eyes, weary, and the wireless accompanied him as he began to sing once more.

"Everywhere I turn, I hurt someone,
but there's nothing I can say to change
the things I've done
Of all the things I hid from you,
I cannot hide the shame
And I pray someone, something will come
to take away the pain ..."

He fell to his knees, and the black cloud manifested itself, stronger than ever. It was a cold sort of mist; Harry began to shiver as it seemed to seep into his very bones.

"There's no way out
of this dark place
No hope, no future
I know I can't be free,
but I can't see another way
And I can't face another day..."

Tears leaked from his closed eyes, proving that his ability to feel wasn't completely lost -- yet. His next words reinforced their hope. "I wish it didn't have to be this way, I do ...

"I want a moment to be real
Wanna touch things I don't feel
Wanna hold on, and feel I belong!
And how can the world want me to change?
They're the ones that stayed the same!
I'm The One now,
but I'm not 'here' ..."

Giving up on trying to free his feet, Ron decided to have another go at using his newfound talent. This time, though, he was back to letting the music guide him, as the wireless changed tunes. As soon as he gave control over to the music, the wireless let him approach Harry, kneeling beside him as he sang.

"There will be times
as the night falls
all you'll see is darkness
But out there somewhere
daylight's waiting
if you keep believing

Ron reached his hands out, through the icy cloud, to grab hold of each side of Harry's head, and force his friend to look into his eyes. Harry's eyes seemed dead at first, but as Ron's own golden aura warmed Harry's skin, the youngest Weasley boy thought he finally saw a flicker of life and recognition in the green orbs. Harry's hand grabbed hold of Ron's wrists, not to push him away, but, rather like a drowning man, to hold on to his friend for dear life. The black tendrils of mist swirling about his arms were so cold they burned, but they evaporated every time they came in contact with Ron's glow of power. Ron touched his forehead to Harry's, pouring his strength into Harry. Red and green lights pulsed weakly through the mist.

"So don't run,
don't hide
It will be all right
You'll see,
trust me
We'll be there
watching over you!"

It was more than just words: it was a magically-binding Promise, one that nothing, not even a prophecy, could negate. Harry felt his emotions swell, fighting to break free from the place he'd locked them within himself. He still fought them, as if he had no other choice, having trained himself far too well over the summer.

No one had noticed Dumbledore walk to stand beside the Mirror of Erised. The wireless changed tunes again, and it was Dumbledore's turn to sing, his words like a powerful and ancient spell that sent tingles through everyone, even the Muggle Petunia.

"Everything will become clear to you
when you see things through
another's eyes
Everything will become clear to you
Whatever's meant for you,
you will find"

The music changed again. The Mirror of Erised began to glow with the same golden light that Ron had shone with. And, like many of the mirrors in the wizarding world, Erised proved itself capable of speech, as it began to sing:

"There's a meaning in everything
And you will find all you need,
if you look through my eyes ..."

Not to be outdone by its counterpart, the Mirror of Raef began to glow an eerie green. It too began to sing:

"Look in me,
I'll take you there
to a place where you'll see
everything you need
to be the one
you need to be
and all of those things
that you feared
will disappear
from you
in time

"Face your fears,
and then leave them behind ..."

Ron had loosened his hold on Harry when Dumbledore had drawn their attention. He saw the blackness envelope Harry once more, the red and green lights fading. To his dismay, Ron found he could not reach through the mist again.

Sensing that something big was about to happen, Hermione drew Ron to his feet and pulled him back, out of the path of the Mirrors' reflections. "Trust Dumbledore," she whispered. "I think we'll know when -- and if -- we're supposed to act." She squeezed his hand for reassurance. He squeezed back, assuring Hermione silently that he would listen to her. As if he had a choice.

With a mix of reluctance and a desire to just get it over with, Harry stood and looked into the Mirror of Raef. He wasn't surprised by what he found there: a vision of all his friends and what was left of his family lying dead at Voldemort's feet.

The music changed, and Harry felt the accompanying lyrics pulled from his throat.

"I'm frightened by what I see
And somehow I know
that there's much more to come ..."

Harry grabbed the back of his head with both hands, pressing his arms against the side of his skull, as if to protect himself from some outside force. To the horror of all watching, his curse scar began to glow green. Draco and Snape were oddly relieved to find that their Marks remained unactivated. Harry continued with the wireless' song.

"This truth
drives me
into
madness!"

He looked up at the Mirror of Erised with a hopeful look. He then closed his eyes, lowering his arms. He seemed to welcome the black tendrils as they wrapped around him.

"I know I can stop the pain
if I will it all away ..."

"What's happening to him?" Snape demanded. "He thinks he's being attacked by Voldemort! How is driving him insane going to help him?"

Harry snapped to attention, glaring at Snape, his eyes holding the same look they had all the times Snape had tried to teach him Occlumency: a sort of indignation at being spoken of as less than competent.

"Don't say I'm out of touch
with this rampant chaos -- your reality!
I know well what lies beyond my silent refuge:
the nightmare I built my own world to escape!"

As if to illustrate his point, the Mirrors showed them an image of an eleven-year-old Harry, dressed in a red and green plaid jumper with yellow-gold accents, standing beside another Harry, one his current age and completely washed of colour, even in his skin. They stood before his old cupboard, from inside which poured a golden light. In the Mirror of Raef, they were surrounded by devastation and the bodies of his loved ones. In the Mirror of Erised, they was surrounded by his loved ones as well, but alive and happy and trying to pull him among them, though some unseen force held them back. In both Mirrors, the older Harry shoved the younger one, kicking and screaming, into the cupboard, and locked it shut. He stood guard before it, his face empty of expression, in an empty black room. In the Mirror of Erised, there was still a bright light coming from under the door. In the Mirror of Raef, that light was gone, the scene lit by a green luminescence that could have been the Avada Kedavra.

"How can the Mirrors both show the same image? And what exactly were they showing us?" Hermione asked Dumbledore.

"The Mirrors of Raef and Erised were created by a wizard who was interested in the workings of the mind," Dumbledore explained patiently, seeming happy that she'd asked. "The wizard Waite expressed theories similiar to those you might read about in current Muggle psychology. He believed that the Tarot, rather than being a tool to 'divine the future,' was actually a tool to help the questioner sort out their own thoughts, a sort of do-it-yourself psychology. His favourite spread was the Celtic Cross, and in it, he'd always felt the most important position was 'Hopes and Fears.'"

Draco bit back a growl of impatience; why couldn't the old man get to the point already?

"He created the Mirrors to help the questioner take a better look at their hopes and fears than images on a card ever could," Dumbledore continued. "Unfortunately, he became so entranced by his own hopes and desires that he wasted away in front of the Mirror of Erised. But just as that seemingly 'good' Mirror can be harmful, so the Mirror of Raef, though it may seem frightening, can actually be beneficial, by helping the viewer face what they ordinarily could not."

"So the reason the Mirrors are reflecting essentially the same thing," Hermione puzzled out, "is because sometimes an image can be both something we desire and what we fear."

"Too true, my dear," Dumbledore told her, obviously proud of her. "Were Voldemort--" everyone in the room but Harry flinched "--here, I imagine he would see himself being loved, an emotion he fears because he doesn't understand it, and yet it's something I know he has desired. I dare say what the Mirrors showed us just now is the technique Harry has been relying upon all summer: he's locked away his happy memories and emotions, and created a sort of mental guardian to keep anyone, especially Voldemort but also including himself, from reaching them. He's dulled himself to pain and grief. He's shrouded his mind in darkness to hide it from Voldemort's notice."

"So are we seeing what Potter fears, or what we fear?" Snape asked the Headmaster. "As I recall, each Mirror is supposed to reveal to you what's in your own mind -- and only when you're standing directly in front of it!"

"Generally, that's true, but arranging the Mirrors together in an Eternity Gate allows for special circumstances; they were created in part to help mediwizards help patients with mental disorders, after all. But to answer your question, I rather think the Mirrors are showing us both -- his fear and ours! Don't you think so, Severus? I mean, Voldemort was in that Mirror a few moments ago -- ah, there he is again! And I know Riddle scares the hinkypunks out of me." But his eyes belied that fact; Snape didn't really believe Albus was ever afraid for himself. If he was afraid of Riddle, it was because of what the man might do to others.

Ron had seen enough. He'd heard enough. He didn't see how just talking about it was getting them anywhere: Harry was caught in that miasma, and they needed to get him out! And Ron had almost done it once. ... He started to move towards his friend, his hand outstretched ...

Harry made a gesture like slapping Ron's hand away, even though there was still several feet between them. Ron staggered back into Hermione.

"Are we going to have this same argument over and over all night?" Harry asked, clearly agitated now. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of this?

"Don't want your hand this time
I'll save myself!"

He gave a weak, self-derisive laugh, then closed his eyes in pain.

"Maybe I'll wake up for once!"

He looked to the image of Voldemort, which as Dumbledore had noted, once more graced the Mirror of Raef. Every line in his body seemed to ache with longing, as he sang on ...

"Not tormented daily, defeated by you ..."

He held a hand to his brow, grimacing in pain, then looked up at Dumbledore, as if explaining -- or confessing -- as he whispered,

"He keeps blurring
and stirring the truth and the lies
so I don't know what's real and what's not ..."

Harry pressed the heels of both palms to his forehead, as if to fight off Voldemort -- or madness. His voice grew louder, more desperate, as he continued to sing,

"Always confusing
the thoughts in my head--"

He looked at his scarred arms, as if seeing them for the first time, and was horrified by what he found.

"--so I can't trust myself anymore!"

Trembling now, he looked back at the image of Voldemort, his features anguished, tears threatening. The dark cloud completely obscured his lower half, and was working hard to cover the rest of him as well.

"I'm goin' under,
drowning in you!
I'm falling forever!
I've got to break through!"

And as he closed his eyes tight in concentration, the black cloud filled with red and green light again, and seemed to recede a little -- for the moment. He turned back to those gathered there. As if he knew about the conversation Snape had had with James, he focused on the ex-Potions Master as he begged,

"So go on and scream!
Scream at me!
I'm so far away!"

And the cloud crept up again, reaching his chest this time.

No one could move to help Harry, no matter how hard they tried. Snape's face was full of accusation even as he looked to Dumbledore for guidance, his eyes demanding again to know how this situation could possibly be helping The Boy. Dumbledore's glance held that cryptic, infuriating look that suggested he knew what he was doing. Snape was starting to wonder if his mentor really did.

Harry looked back to Voldemort, his face steeled as he told the reflection,

"I won't be broken again!"

He got that determined look again, eyes closed, face pointing skyward as the cloud moved in on his head, and he fought for air. He sank to his knees.

"I've got to breathe
I can't keep goin' under!"

But he did exactly that. The miasma closed in around him. At that moment, the strange spell that had rooted the rest of the party to the floor released them all, sending most of them stumbling forward. But no one could penetrate the cloud. Petunia finally fainted, the possibility of Harry having been devoured by some cloud-like monster too much for her already-taxed mind to take.

The mirrors begn to glow again. They showed the image of the older, gray-toned Harry, shirtless this time and in all his scarred glory, once again standing guard before the cupboard. The Mirrors sang in tandem,

"Just look into our eyes,
like open doors,
leading you down into his core,
where he's become so numb ...
Without a soul ...
his spirit's sleeping somewhere cold,
until you find it there
and lead
it
back
home!"

Ron looked to Hermione, hoping she might have an idea of what the Mirrors meant, and how to proceed. And apparently she did: without hesistation, she went to the Mirror of Erised and stepped into it, as easily as if the surface were just water.

It was the silence that finally awoke the dozing Kreacher.

It had been a goodly while since the House of Black had enjoyed any sense of peace, not since the traitorous young Master (oh the poor Mistress, to have been cursed with such a son!) had resettled there and opened it's doors to other blood traitors and Muggleborns. Kreacher had hoped, when he'd helped contrive the last Black's demise, that quiet would be restored to what had become a shrine to a noble lineage. But alas, the werewolf had claimed the demesnes as his own, and the clan of red-headed blood traitors had all but done the same.

Kreacher poked his head out of his cupboard. The new young Master was gone. He considered the youth's words.

"Kreacher, you are never to set foot out of this house again, nor are you to speak to anyone via the Floo. Now get back in your room and stay there until I call for you."

If he was to help free the young Master from whatever spell he was under, Kreacher had to find a way around the directive not to leave the house or even his cupboard. It was a good thing that the young Master's mother, the Mistress Narcissa, had given Kreacher a Communication Glass. ...