All things considered, Shadow was feeling quite pleased with himself.

Well, at least, he was trying to feel quite pleased with himself.

Trying.

That was all that his life seemed to be centred around nowadays. Trying not to feel lonely, trying not to miss Harry; trying not to be angry at Dumbledore for accidently exiling him. But most of all, he was trying not to lose his mind in this endless, white monotony.

However, by chance, he had recently been able to keep the tediousness at bay by absorbing himself in a new game.

Shadow had found a pebble.

It was amazing how such a little thing could mean so much after weeks of absolute nothingness; it alone was enough to give Shadow the smallest bit of hope that he wasn’t the only real thing left in this strange, endless void.

It gave him something new to think about. After all, there were only so many times that you could hum through every song you’d ever heard – which was quite a few for someone who remembered everything – before you got a sore throat. Likewise, there was only so much time you could spend immersed in your own thoughts without starting to feel the giddy sense of unreality and the madness that followed.

Pulling himself back to the present, he took a deep breath, crouched down low and, for what must have been the twelfth time already, skipped the pebble as hard as he could across the uneven floor. Granted, due to his rather dubious skill, the pebble ended up rolling more than skipping, but the motion still had the desired effect.

Shadow waited until it was almost out of his sight through the flowing mists before surging forward and sprinting after it.

For the briefest second, he thought he’d lost it, but he caught a flicker of movement through the haze covering the ground and managed to pounce on the still-rolling stone like a hound on a rabbit. Grinning victoriously, he waved it above his head in triumph... before slowly realising what an absolute moron he must look like.

Well it’s not like there’s anyone around to see me. He scowled at the pebble and held it right in front of his nose. Harry would probably laugh himself silly if he could see me now... What a fool I have become!

In that moment, Shadow almost tossed the small stone away, so it could tumble forever through the voracious mists, which sometimes seemed almost hungry enough to devour his soul...

Biting back a strangled choke, Shadow shoved the stone in his trouser pocket and pinched the top closed with trembling fingers. There was no way he’d wish a fate like that on anyone else. Moreover, the stone was proof that not everything from the real world had disappeared with the windows. Maybe there was something else out there; someone else out there. Shadow could only hope and wish.

The uneasiness made his legs tremble, and he sat down abruptly in an effort to stop the shaking. Then, finding no reason to get up again, he slowly lay down and curled onto his side, wondering if it would matter if he never got up again.

 Would blackness have been better than this incessant whiteness? It burns my eyes and makes me feel like I want to suffocate. In the dark I would feel safe – like Harry did when he was in his cupboard, or rather... like I did when I was Harry. Huh. Shadow by name, shadow by nature.

He sighed, closed his eyes and gave a silent blessing for the stillness on the inside of his lids. Some of the terrible white still managed to shine through, stopping the darkness in his head from becoming completely black, but it was still a welcome change from the faint dizziness that was his constant companion these days.

Blackness wouldn’t make me feel so lost, nor so terribly, terribly alone. Alone, alone, alone; it’s all I can think about now. Was I wrong to say no to the blackness of death? The swirling of the air here makes me feel so disorientated... as though with every passing minute I am getting myself even more lost than I was before.

He shivered and rubbed his arms in an attempt to stop the chills that had nothing to do with being cold.

Blowing out a breath, Shadow opened his eyes and tried for the millionth time to think of what Harry would say to cheer him up.

Buck up, Shadow. You’re alive, I’m alive; we’ll be OK. Don’t worry, I’m coming for you.

Each variation of reassurance sounded weak and forced in Shadow’s own head, but it still managed to lift his spirits a little. I’m going to be OK... Harry’d probably yell at me for almost giving up. He always was very protective of me.

With a reluctant smile tugging at his lips, Shadow clambered to his feet and started walking again, determined to give pretending to be cheerful and optimistic another chance. Who knows? Today a pebble, tomorrow... we’ll see.

Stumbling over another change in terrain – the ground was so confusing here: sometimes completely smooth, sometimes so uneven he almost twisted his ankle – he tried to count up all the good things there were present in this particular existence.

I’m alive; check. I’m safe; check. I don’t need food or water here because time seems to have frozen me; check.

Shadow had noticed this strange fact before. If he’d run between the mirrors, through the white mist, he’d discovered that time had frozen for him specifically, but not for the rest of the world. For example, if he had not been hungry when he entered the ‘Mirrorverse,’ as he liked to call it, then hours could pass in the real world and he wouldn’t feel a thing.

What kind of world does that? Freezes ‘me’ but keeps the time of the world outside ticking? Honestly, by the time I get out of here, I really will be Harry’s ‘little’ brother.

So far, the best way to take his mind off the loneliness here was to try and destroy the excess memories cluttering up his mind; or, at least, bury them so deeply that they would be impossible to find again.

Magic had created him, and though it had done a fair job of representing a human being, it had missed out some rather important characteristics.

Shadow, unlike any other human being, could remember every single detail of his life both before and after becoming a separate consciousness from Harry. At least, he used to be able to before he’d become trapped in the Mirrorverse; his soul separated from Harry’s for good. After that had happened, new memories didn’t seem to stick as strongly as the old ones had. Shadow extremely thankful for this.

It was extremely wearing; every memory always crowded to the forefront of his mind, making it difficult to think, or even experience anything new.

Harry’s magic had helped with this while they had still been connected at some subconscious level. That had made it bearable: helping him with remembering the right or important things and to shove everything else aside. But now, he was on his own and, most shockingly of all, with his own magic.

That had been the last thing he’d expected when his soul had separated from Harry’s; he’d been sure he would end up as a Squib, but that hadn’t happened.

Harry’s magic had torn itself straight down the middle, giving half of itself to Shadow, and activating his empty magical core. Shadow could only hope that Harry’s hadn’t been irreparably damaged in the process.

When Harry had described his magic, he always likened it to molten gold; some incredibly strong metal which wouldn’t tarnish, but that was malleable enough to bend to Harry’s every whim. So it had come as the shock of his life when Shadow had finally gathered up enough courage to explore his own magic.

Instead of encountering the ‘metal’ he’d expected, Shadow’s mental fingers had met with fire; a fierce, wild fire that felt like it would be very difficult to control if he ever used it upon something other than his own body, so Shadow hadn’t dared. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered to him was that it was there and it was his. Not Harry’s, not Lily’s, not even Snape’s, but his.

Shadow shook his head violently. It’s so hard to concentrate on any one thing. It’s worse than having a concussion! I was thinking about my own memories, not about Harry or my magic!

Shadow snorted at his short attention span. He really, really hated not being able to concentrate; so much so that some days he was very tempted to simply destroy every old memory he’d ever had and start afresh. Unfortunately, there were some memories that he really couldn’t bear to live without.

Like racing Harry on our brooms, or being held by Mum... not even Harry can remember that. I’ll have to remember it for him.

Shadow stopped walking and concentrated, carefully selecting a memory of cooking for the Dursleys – something mundane and nearly impossible to miss once it was gone – and drew it down into the inner flames of his magic.

“Burn,” he whispered softly and sighed with relief as the memory shrivelled and fell apart into nothing within the mental flames; a minimal amount of pressure disappeared from his mind. Shadow winced. As always, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty and upset at himself after he’d burned a memory. Destroying your own memories seemed somehow... sacrilegious... no matter how much it needed to be done.

It was then, standing and mourning for something he hadn’t needed, that he realised that the smell of burning was no longer entirely in his head. The second thing he realised was that something with small and very sharp teeth was trying to bite his foot.