An old witch hobbled unevenly from the narrow, forbidding gloom of Knockturn Alley, flickering lamplight not penetrating the shadows beneath the drooping brim of her pointed hat. The ordinarily-cheerful width of Diagon Alley seemed nearly deserted this long after the supper hour on a rainy night in late August. She made her way from one lamp post to the next, appearing briefly in each pool of yellow light before becoming little more than a moving shadow in the darkened spaces between posts.

Gringotts had closed hours ago, and one by one, so had the other businesses lining the sides of Diagon Alley. Most still boasted darkened window displays, but several stores had closed out their inventories in the past few weeks and boarded up their glass against minor vandalism, since the protective wards would fail soon after the former owners had taken their leave. Rumor had it that nearly half the stores would be closed by the end of the month, now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had officially returned.

The witch paused momentarily, shifting her gnarled cane from one hand to the other as she gazed in disbelief at the garish displays fronting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Her wrinkled mouth twisted unpleasantly as she read the advertisement for "U-No-Poo". Quite honestly, this was one store she wouldn't be sorry to see close! Unfortunately, the popular joke shop seemed to be doing more business these days than half of Diagon Alley's remaining merchants combined.

Sighing, she shifted the burlap sack slung over her bent shoulders and hobbled onwards toward the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. She failed to notice the telltale clink of an object falling to the wet cobbles from a hole in her long skirt's pocket. The disc-shaped object landed on a narrow edge and bounced from stone to stone, finally stopped by bumping into the doorstep of the joke shop. It wavered on edge before falling flat, the spell-protected mirror unbroken as its upside-down reflection of the Daily Prophet's shingle became dotted with raindrops.

-:- -:- -:-

As Harry Potter and the youngest Weasleys eagerly approached Fred and George's eye-popping business, Harry stepped aside at the last second to allow a frazzled witch with three tween-age children to exit.

"No, no, and NO!" the mother declared adamantly, her lips pursed in disapproval. "You absolutely are NOT going to get U-No-Poo. Not even for your birthdays, not even for Christmas. And if you keep begging, I'll have to ground all of you until school starts."

The blond boy pouted and began dragging his feet across the cobbles, muttering under his breath until one of his sisters whispered just loudly enough for Harry to overhear, "Don't worry, Kenny – we'll Owl Order from Hogwarts!"

Harry had to grin at the way the boy's face lit up, then fell into a more sober expression so his mother wouldn't suspect anything.

"I daresay Madam Pomfrey is not going to be too thrilled with a ward full of non-pooing patients," Hermione murmured as she passed Harry to follow Ron and Ginny into Wheezes.

Harry grinned at the back of Hermione's bushy brown hair, but as he stepped forward, his left toe tapped something lying on the cobbles by the stone steps. Looking down, he spotted a small round mirror, about three inches in diameter. Thinking the frazzled mother might have dropped it, he ran after the family to return it to her, but she shook her head at the mirror, guiding her children toward the courtyard beyond the magical barrier at the end of Diagon Alley.

Harry stood uncertainly in the middle of the Alley, turning the mirror over and over in his hands. Finally, he shrugged and tucked it in his trousers pocket. It might come in handy during Sixth Year. Sometimes, it was hard to get a glimpse of his reflection in the Gryffindor boys' bathroom mirror in the mornings. Seamus and several other of the guys kept blocking the mirror as they all tried to deal with their pimples – some with magical soap, some with potions, and others by employing the tried-and-true squeezing technique. After one badly-aimed Charm had removed a howling Fourth Year's earlobe, however, nobody seemed keen on using magic to zap their blemishes. Madam Pomfrey was not even a last resort; only desperate girls turned to her sympathetic clucking for assistance with their complexions.

Making sure that the mirror was safely cushioned in his pocket, Harry finally entered Wheezes, and he didn't even take a close look at his new find until a couple of weeks later in Gryffindor Tower.

-:- -:- -:-

All through Transfiguration, Harry's mind had kept wandering, and his constant inattention to his class practical work had earned him more than one sharp reprimand from Professor McGonagall.

He couldn't get his mind off that unnerving moment before breakfast when he'd looked into the small mirror and seen … eyes … emerald eyes … which he would have sworn were not his own…

Harry decided to skip lunch in the Great Hall right after Transfiguration. He'd be off to Herbology right after the lunch break, but he just had to have some alone-time with that mirror. It was probably just his imagination – or maybe the early morning light glaring off the Black Lake through the dormitory windows. Some logical explanation for the mirror's seeming to show someone else's reflected eyes. But he had to be certain.

Telling Ron and Hermione to go on to lunch, he rushed up the marble staircase, listening to the dull sound of his pounding trainers echoing off the portraited walls.

The Sixth Year Boys' dorm lay quiet and deserted as clear afternoon sunlight streamed warmly through the leaded panes. Harry pulled out the round mirror before sitting on his bed, and he studied the thick wooden border surrounding the glass. Various faint designs had been burnt into the wood on the surface facing him. They didn't look like anything from Hermione's Ancient runes textbook, but he couldn't tell what the figures were meant to symbolize. The reverse side was plain wood, although the outer rim's edge had various scuffs and scrapes, probably acquired from many years of regular use.

Having refrained from actually peering into the reflective area, Harry finally took a deep breath and turned the mirror over again. His own face appeared as the angle changed, and he stared at his reflection for several minutes. His own dark eyebrows with the pale red lightning-bolt scar above, his own emerald eyes framing the narrow top of his nose behind the round spectacles, his own unsmiling lips between lean cheeks which had long ago lost their childish pudge… Definitely, the mirror reflected Harry James Potter and none other. Harry sighed, staring into his reflected eyes. It must have been a trick of the light earlier in the morning. He'd created a mystery out of nothing.

His vision rippled from having stared unblinkingly into the mirror for so long. Quickly, he blinked to clear his focus, and suddenly – he was staring into the eyes of a stranger…

The mirror slipped from his startled grasp and he frantically tried to catch it before it hit the dorm floor. Once, twice, it bounced off his fingertips, but the third attempt recaptured his trinket and he whipped the mirror into position, only to see his own eyes staring widely back.

Momentarily disappointed, Harry continued to stare and stare, never blinking, until finally his drying corneas blurred and he was forced to blink…

And again – There were the eyes of a stranger! Emerald eyes to be sure, but not Harry Potter's, even though the stranger's eyes were surrounded by the familiar features of Harry's own astonished face.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

One of the strange eyes winked at him –

And then his own eyes reappeared.

Although he tried repeatedly to duplicate the process which had twice produced the stranger's eyes, he could only see his own determined eyes reflected in the small round mirror.

Neville rushed in for his Herbology textbook and gloves at the end of lunch, and Harry trailed after him on their way to the greenhouses, his face scrunched into a frown of serious, concentrated thought.

-:- -:- -:-

As a N.E.W.T. student, Harry had precious little free time beyond his studies, detentions with Snape, and Hermione dragging him and Ron off to the library every moment between. After finishing Slughorn's written assignment, Harry excused himself to the other two at the Gryffindor Common Room study table and made for the prefects' bathroom, which wouldn't be off limits until curfew in forty-five minutes. He figured if Ron decided to look for him, the redhead would automatically head for the seventh floor boys' bathroom instead, since the dorm bathrooms were always crowded at night with First through Fourth Years taking showers.

Given the lateness of the hour, the prefects' bathroom was empty, as Harry had anticipated. Since he didn't plan to turn on any water taps that might attract Moaning Myrtle's attention, Harry hoped to remain in quiet solitude while he tried to figure out how to make the mirror work again.

Settling down on an aged oak bench, he stared into the reflections of his own eyes until the image blurred and rippled. He blinked – slowly, this time – and there! The stranger's eyes looked back at him, crinkling slightly at the outer corners, as if the stranger might be smiling with an unseen mouth.

"Who are you?" Harry asked quietly, not wanting his voice to bounce off the bathroom walls. Then, deciding he might as well make a proper job of introductions, he added, "My name is Harry. Harry Potter."

The emerald eyes crinkled even more, and Harry smiled back. Part of his mind buzzed in warning, remembering his Second Year experience with Tom Riddle's diary, but he kept that memory at a mental arm's length as he gazed into the green depths of the stranger's eyes.

"Can you speak?" he asked.

The hint of a finer eyebrow than his own seemed to rise in a brief quirk somewhere behind his reflection. It made him think that the stranger's entire face lay waiting behind his own, if he could just figure out how to access the full image. Perhaps if he did, he might be able to hear the stranger speak. There was no telling whose mirror this was, but it made Harry wonder: could a wizard actually … lose … his reflection to an enchanted mirror? Would the stranger to whom the emerald eyes belonged ever be able to see his reflection in any other mirrors, if he'd lost his reflection to this one? Could it even be a vampire's reflection, trapped forever in the last mirror he'd peered into just after being bitten long ago?

Harry lost track of time as the minutes passed, and he continued to stare into the stranger's eyes. Something lingered at the edge of his subconscious… He felt he should be able to figure this out…

It was odd that the stranger should have eyes the exact shade as his own. Maybe it was just the mirror's enchantment coloring them to match Harry's? Like, if Ron had seen the stranger, would the eyes in the mirror have been blue? Or brown, in Hermione's case?

The only person Harry had ever even heard of who'd had eyes the same color as his was his mother, Lily. Everyone always said he had her eyes. Aunt Petunia's eyes could only be said to turn green when she was consumed with material envy. Or jealousy!

His mother's eyes…

The breath left Harry's lungs as if some invisible fist had just punched him in the stomach.

Could it… Could it be?

Harry swallowed convulsively a few times before he could get his voice to work, and then, just barely.

"Mum?" he croaked faintly. "Mum – is that you?"

The mirror glowed as if sunlight had suddenly struck it, and the stranger's eyes abruptly looked at Harry from a woman's face – a very familiar face.

"Mum! It really IS you!" Harry gasped in amazed delight as Lily Potter smiled at her son.

"Hello, sweetheart," she said brightly, her oval face surrounded by flowing red tresses. "I've longed to speak to you, Harry – and now I can! You've found a way to reach me at last!"

Harry's eyes brimmed with tears, even as he grinned widely enough to split his face in two. "Hello, Mum! I've wanted so much to speak to you, too!" He brought the small mirror right up to his face, almost touching noses with Lily's image. He didn't know how any of this was possible, but he was going to speak with his mother. In his mind's eye, he could see Arthur Weasley raising a warning finger, but he shoved that image aside in favor of the red-haired image in his mirror.

-:- -:- -:-

It was inevitable that Severus Snape caught him on his way back to Gryffindor Tower, two long hours after curfew had gone into effect.

Still, after a long conversation with Lily's reflection, Harry felt so happy that he literally shrugged off his Defense teacher's sharp accusations and prying questions.

Snape stared at the Gryffindor suspiciously. Potter was always recklessly self-serving, but the boy had never before seemed so insouciant when caught out after curfew. Normally, he projected an arrogant defensiveness. But tonight, Potter looked as if he didn't give bowtruckle's spit about being caught.

Potter was obviously Up To Something.

"Turn out your pockets."

"Really, Professor – "

"Turn them out, Potter, or I shall turn them out for you, and if I am forced to take such action, you'll undoubtedly be placing an Owl Order to Madam Malkin for a new uniform." The dark man glared blackly at the boy's casual attitude.

"Okay. Whatever." Harry started with his shirt pocket, removing a dozen or so chocolate frog cards, a length of dental floss, and a large fuchsia button that he'd found on the Common Room floor and had been meaning to return to Lavender Brown. Predictably, Snape sneered at the button.

"Why, Potter – I had no idea you fancied pink buttons. Perhaps I should get you a mixed assortment for Christmas."

Harry shrugged. "Whatever. I'll just pass them on to Lavender. This one came off the front of her … blouse." Actually, Harry knew that she'd caught her coat sleeve button on the portrait door.

Snape's eyebrows drew together. "When?"

Harry allowed himself to smile slightly, as if remembering something very pleasant. "A gentleman never talks about such things." Snape could take that either way!

A split second of indecision in the black eyes … then Snape loomed menacingly over the slight Gryffindor. "Your trousers pockets, Potter."

Harry smirked, pulling out several Wizarding coins, a pencil stub that needed sharpening, a small round mirror, a Sopophorus Bean, a polished flat pebble from the shores of the Black Lake, a wrinkled paper wrapper that surrounded a blob of previously-chewed Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, several broken fragments of a cherry-flavored Sugar Quill, and a crumpled piece of parchment. Harry's smirk disappeared when he saw the scrap of parchment, for Ron had passed him the note in Defense Against the Dark Arts just that day. He focused hard on one of Snape's innumerable coat buttons so as to avoid eye contact with the professor. Maybe Snape wouldn't look at it.

But of course he did.

After an unbearably long silence…

"Detention, Potter! Two weeks. For disrespecting a staff member."

"But I didn't write it, Professor!"

"Weasley will join you in detention, Potter. Rest assured. Twenty-five points apiece."

"Twenty-five apiece? For a NOTE … that I didn't even write?"

"Would you prefer to make it fifty?"

Harry's shoulders slumped. Damn it all! He should've Incendio-ed the note after class…

"Explain to me please, Potter, what you are doing with a Sopophorus Bean? You, who perpetually maintain that you have never stolen potions ingredients from my personal stores." Snape's lip curled most unpleasantly as he snatched the bean from Harry's upturned palm.

Harry faltered momentarily. He really had no idea of why the bean was in his pocket. He certainly hadn't stolen it. He tried to visualize that day's Potions class, and suddenly he knew. "Goyle had a bean go missing during class today. They were flying all over the classroom when people tried to cut them up. Professor Slughorn told him to get a new one – you can ask Professor Slughorn. I guess Goyle's bean landed in my pocket somehow."

Snape's sneer seemed permanently frozen on his face. "Are you quite certain that you didn't lift it from Mr. Goyle's workspace, Potter?"

Harry nodded emphatically. "Goyle was two tables away. You can verify that with Professor Slughorn, too."

The Sopophorus Bean disappeared into a pocket in Snape's trailing robes. "Oh, I shall, Potter. You may depend on that."

Harry shrugged again, as if it were immaterial whether Snape checked up on him.

"Now to the crux of the matter. WHY are you out of your Common Room after curfew?"

"I was just stretching my legs and getting some fresh air before bed."

"Fresh … AIR?" the Defense teacher's utterly disbelieving tone made it clear that he found that to be one of the lamest excuses ever offered by a student breaking curfew.

"Sure. You know how warm and stuffy the Common Room can get, with everyone crammed in there at once, studying in the evening."

Snape snorted. "Gryffindors. Studying. Wonders never cease."

"May I go now, Professor?" Harry was biting the inside of his cheeks to keep a lid on his emotions and his urge to say … SOMETHING.

"You'll have an additional week of detention, Potter, for breaking curfew, as well as losing another twenty-five points."

"May I please go, Professor?"

The Defense teacher quickly and silently cast something unrecognizable upon the Gryffindor, causing Harry to take an uncertain step back. "A tracking and monitoring Charm, Potter. If you don't go straight to your Common Room, I'll know about it. If you so much as poke a single nostril outside the portrait door during curfew again, I'll know about it."

Harry frowned. "How long does it last?"

Snape's grim smile made the student shiver involuntarily. "Wouldn't you love to know." With a whirl of long, black hair and endless ebony robes, the dark man spun on the heel of his boot and billowed away, vanishing around the nearest corner.

Sighing, Harry stuffed his remaining odds-and-ends back into his pockets and headed directly to the Fat Lady's portrait.

-:- -:- -:-

Much to Hermione's delight, Harry quit putting up a fuss about spending so much time in the library. He did not bother to correct her assumption that he was finally buckling down to his first year of N.E.W.T. studies. In fact, when he went off searching through the stacks, he was researching mirrors and their enchantments. He'd kept trying to discover what sort of spell had been cast upon his little mirror which allowed him to speak with his long-deceased mother.

So far, his efforts had come up blank, but he hadn't given up. Also, Harry had attempted many times to contact Sirius in the round mirror, and James Potter as well, but to no avail. When he asked Lily about speaking to his father and godfather, she'd smiled sadly and shaken her head, telling him it simply wasn't possible.

"But why?" Harry asked his red-haired mother's reflection. "WHY can't I speak to them, if I can speak to you? Why is it different with you, Mum? I want to be able to talk with all of you. Why won't the mirror let me do that?"

His mother's emerald eyes filled with pained understanding of her son's frustration. "I can't tell you that, Harry. But when you figure out the mirror's function, you'll have your answer." She paused before adding, "In truth, we should not be able to communicate at all. I'm – an anomaly, Harry. And I should caution you … if you do discover the magic behind this mirror, it might well put an end to our ability to converse." Her fingertips grazed the outer edge of the reflective surface. "Choose wisely, my son."

Harry's shocked gaze stared into his mother's eyes. "You mean – we could never see each other again?"

"Not in this life. Your life, that is," Lily clarified. "We will be reunited at the end, and your father and Sirius and I will all be waiting for you, darling."

The younger Gryffindor couldn't bring himself to return his mother's smile. He'd been ready to die in the Ministry of Magic last spring, when Voldemort had possessed him, but that seemed so long ago now, and he felt himself surrounded by life again, especially when his attention often strayed to a certain red-haired Fifth Year…

His own life stretched into an uncertain future, where he dreaded having to face killing Voldemort in order to live, and he feared failing fulfilling the Prophecy if it meant dying while the Darkest Wizard continued to survive.

"However long it takes, Harry." Lily's silken tones brushed softly across her boy's distracted thoughts.

"Hmm? I'm sorry – "

Lily smiled warmly. "We all want you to live a long and very happy, completely fulfilled life, Harry. But we'll always be here, waiting. Never doubt that."

He gave a jerky nod, fighting a sudden impulse to cry. He wanted to be with his parents and Sirius so badly … but not just yet.

"So, what stories would you like me to tell you today?" Lily appeared to be settling in for an extended chat. "Last time, we got pretty serious. What about changing the pace to something more light-hearted?"

"And silly?"

"Why not?" Lily laughed. "I could tell you about a very embarrassing Christmas shopping trip when I was fifteen."

"Embarrassing?" Grinning, Harry tucked his feet up, sitting cross-legged in the broad window seat at the juncture of two long corridors on the fifth floor. This corner of the castle was seldom used after classes ended, and he could spot anyone coming from either of two directions from this vantage point. To play it safe, however, he'd thrown his father's invisibility cloak over himself before contacting Lily, so he could now listen to his mother's story in unseen privacy. "How embarrassing could a Christmas shopping trip be, Mum?"

Lily laughed aloud, her emerald eyes shining with mirth. "It makes for a good story now, but at the time, I was absolutely mortified!"

"Go on, then! Tell me," begged Harry, eager to hear of his mother's teenage adventures.

"Very well." Lily tossed her long hair back over her shoulders as Harry stared into the small round mirror. "We'd gone to a vast department store in Muggle London, so crowded with holiday shoppers that I couldn't take a step in any direction without bumping into a stranger. I got separated from my family for a while, but it suited me all the same, since Petunia was being a – was being quite unpleasant toward me."

Harry grinned. He could just imagine it…

"I found myself shoved this way and that, finally bumping into the fragrance display counter. The women's end was jammed elbow to elbow with shoppers, all trying out perfumes to see if they liked them, in the women's case, and in the men's, if they thought they could stand to smell it on whatever female they gifted it to."

Harry laughed. "Perfume shopping is a tricky business, isn't it?"

Lily nodded. "Very tricky. I worked my way past the women's perfumes and ended up down by the men's colognes. For some reason, I was the only person at that end of the glass counter, and I took a quick breather from being jostled by other shoppers. Suddenly, I spotted a large glass display bottle of a men's fragrance which I'd seen advertised repeatedly on the telly. The male model in the commercial had been ruggedly good looking, and I wanted to know what he'd smell like when he wore the cologne."

"Oh, Mum!"

"What can I say?" Lily shrugged with a nostalgic smile. "I was fifteen, a bit boy crazy, and you can't blame a girl for fantasizing!"

"Go on!" Harry's wide grin matched his mother's.

"So I unscrewed the cap and lifted this huge, heavy glass bottle to my nose to inhale the scent, closing my eyes, imagining I was smelling that good-looking man on the commercial."

"Did he smell good?"

"Oh, yes!" Lily sighed happily. "Every bit as good as I'd ever imagined. And then it happened…"

"Let me guess – you opened your eyes and the man was standing there right in front of you!"

"HA! Not even close!"

"So what did happen, Mum?"

Lily shook her head. "I suddenly got bumped – HARD – by a passing shopper, and I dropped that humongous, heavy bottle – it must have held a good pint of cologne – and it crashed down onto the glass countertop!"

"It broke?" Harry's eyes widened in horror.

"No, not quite, thank goodness. But that was sheer luck. From the sound of the crash, it's amazing the counter itself didn't break, and for some reason, neither did that huge bottle."

"Wow!"

"But the cologne did spill, and a lot of it splashed onto my arm, soaking into the plushy fake fur sleeve of my winter coat!"

"Oh NO! And it was MEN'S cologne!"

"Exactly. And I was SATURATED with it!"

"Oh, Mum!"

Lily laughed softly. "The saleswoman was glaring daggers at me as I tried to screw the cap back onto the bottle. I left the fragrance counter and pushed my way through the crowd, desperately trying to escape from that moment of humiliation."

"I don't blame you!" Harry shook his head sympathetically. "Actually, that sounds a lot like something that would happen to me!"

"Anyway, it was easy enough to lose myself in the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, but I noticed a lot of people turning to stare at me as I passed, and they all seemed to be sniffing the air… "

Harry doubled over with laughter, clasping the little mirror with both hands. "Oh, Mum! That's awful!"

"Seriously!" agreed Lily, rolling her eyes. "I mean, I absolutely REEKED of a very pungent men's cologne, and people simply couldn't believe their noses!"

"I thought you said it smelled good?"

Lily scoffed. "NOT on a fifteen-year-old GIRL!"

"Oh! Right!"

"You don't even want to think what our car smelled like after I'd ridden in it. Or my closet."

"Whew!" Harry shuddered theatrically. "And I'll bet your parents had something to say about it."

Lily shrugged. "They were actually more amused than anything. In fact, Dad said he wouldn't mind finding a smaller bottle of that cologne under the tree on Christmas morning, just for him!"

"Did you give him one?"

"Not that year!"

"I'll bet Aunt Petunia had an opinion or two about the smell."

Lily grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"Okay." Harry gave his mother a bright, too-innocent smile. "Now – what OTHER embarrassing incidents did you have as a teenager?"

His mother stared at him. "More? You want to hear MORE?"

"Sure!" Her son laughed. "It helps to know I'm not the only one these things happen to."

Lily chuckled in spite of herself. "Fair enough, I suppose. Well, there was the time my family went to a furniture store – looking for a new sofa and matching lounge chairs – and I got stuck in a waterbed… "

-:- -:- -:-

As the weeks passed, Harry made time each day to chat with his mother. He learned more and more about who she was as an individual, so much more than a smiling face in a moving Wizarding photograph. Favorite color – purple as a girl, blue as adult. Favorite foods – homegrown tomatoes, fried oysters, chocolate anything, fresh pears, home-baked breads, pepperoni and mushroom pizza. Favorite hobbies – inventing Charms … well, trying more often than succeeding, but still fun! … crocheting, swimming and diving, reading Muggle action/adventure novels and mysteries. Up until now, Harry had only been told how kind his mother had been, and that he had her eyes. Speaking with Lily's reflection opened up a wealth of knowledge about his mum, and she always had some wonderfully entertaining anecdotes to illustrate her passion for her various likes, or even dislikes!

Lurking in the background, however, remained the spectre of knowledge – the knowledge of how the mirror worked, possibly leading to the end of Harry's ability to communicate with his mother. He'd stopped researching mirrors altogether, fearing now to learn the secret. More than anything, he wanted to keep talking to Lily on a daily basis, and he refused to do anything which might jeopardize that possibility.

He never dreamt that simply overhearing a conversation between two passing professors would prove to be the beginning of the end…

" …always looks so sad, so defeated," Minerva McGonagall was commenting as she strolled through the Hogwarts rose garden. Magic preserved the beauty of the blooming roses year round, even through the coldest winter, and under the October sun, the lovely petals glowed with rich color.

"You can hardly blame him," replied Filius Flitwick, shaking his head. "Imagine how you'd feel if your only living child had been bitten by a vampire, turning her into one of their kind? Such a tragedy … such a terrible tragedy. She was one of my best students, too, just … seven years ago, wasn't it?"

McGonagall nodded silently, but Harry could see the tip of her pointed hat tilting forward in acknowledgment above the top of the thick rose hedge. "Yes, it's very sad indeed. Some vampires manage – somehow – to lead a reasonable existence after they've been turned, but this young woman chose to victimize helpless children, turning them to her own tragic condition." She sighed heavily. "The Ministry had no choice, really. She refused to reform her ways, and they were forced to stake her." McGonagall's pointed hat shuddered. "And her poor father is understandably devastated."

"He's a good man," Flitwick stated. "Always has been. But he's suffered far too much tragedy for one lifetime. His wife and son murdered by Death Eaters just last year, and his only remaining child then bitten, and later condemned and executed for being a dangerous vampire… It's taken the life out of him entirely."

"Yes, it has," murmured McGonagall. "You can see it in his eyes – so empty now, where they used to dance with life."

Flitwick sighed in agreement. "They do say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. And his eyes look as bereft of soul as if Dementors had already Kissed him."

"And yet, he must live on, poor dear." McGonagall sighed heavily again, sadness imbuing her voice. "I only hope he can heal eventually. It will take time, though – a very long time. I do worry about him… "

The two professors slowly strolled away, leaving Harry to puzzle over who the man was, who his vampire daughter had been. Surely, the official staking of a vampire must have been reported in the Daily Prophet? His heart went out to the unknown father. Harry could well understand the emotional repercussions of uninvited tragedy.

Sighing himself, now, he returned his attention to his Defense essay and quickly scribbled a conclusion, which Snape would undoubtedly shoot down. He left the roll of parchment laid out along the sun-warmed stone bench for the ink to dry. Capping the ink bottle, he yawned and stretched, relishing the late October sunshine warming his upturned face. The angled sun shone red through his closed eyelids and he indulged in a brief fantasy of how wonderful it would be if summers at the Dursleys involved nothing more than lounging about under the warm sun.

Oh, well… At least he wouldn't have to think of Little Whinging until next spring. He gathered his school materials, stuffed them into his bag, and decided to find a quiet corner in the castle for a quick chat with Lily before supper. Twice in one day – wouldn't she be surprised!

-:- -:- -:-

"But darling," Lily smiled, "Time doesn't really matter where I am."

Harry frowned. "Well, it matters to me," he said, looking into his mother's emerald eyes. "I thought you'd be pleased to see me again today."

"Of course I'm pleased!" she chuckled. "I just didn't realize that this was the same day for you. That's all!"

"Oh. Okay!" Now Harry smiled at her. "It's just that I love you so much, I didn't want to wait till tomorrow to talk to you again."

"I understand, Harry. And I love you, too, so very much. I cherish every moment I can spend with my son."

Mother and son smiled at each other, love shining in both pairs of emerald eyes.

"So, what's new with you?" Lily asked.

"Nothing, really." Harry frowned again. "I just – well, I overheard a couple of professors talking, and it reminded me of how much you mean to me."

"Eavesdropping on your teachers, Harry?" Lily's voice sounded stern, although Harry thought he detected a faint glint of amusement in her eyes.

"No, Mum!" he protested. "I wasn't eavesdropping, honest!" Harry shook his head. "I was writing my Defense essay in the rose garden when McGonagall and Flitwick walked – "

"PROFESSOR McGonagall and PROFESSOR Flitwick, Harry," his mother admonished.

"Right – they walked past, talking about some poor man whose wife and son had been murdered by Death Eaters a while back, and now his daughter had been staked by the Ministry because she was a dangerous vampire, who'd taken to biting children – "

"How awful!" exclaimed Lily.

"Yeah," agreed Harry. "And they were going on about how devastated the vampire's poor father was, how you could see it in his eyes… "

Harry paused, remembering something else, something Flitwick had said… Was that? Could it be the reason…?

"Mum?" he said slowly, still trying to sort out the bits and pieces of information whirling through his gray matter.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Everyone has always said we have the same eyes… "

"Yes," Lily said, smiling. "Other than that, you look exactly like your father."

"So, when I look into this mirror, I see my eyes, but they're also your eyes… "

"Yes?"

"Professor Flitwick said that the eyes are the windows to the soul – is that why I can talk to you? Is that the anomaly you spoke of? My eyes should be the windows to my soul, but because we share the same eyes, I'm able to connect with your soul? Is that how the mirror works?"

"Harry – "

And before the boy's inquiring emerald eyes, Lily's stricken face suddenly vanished.

"Mum!"

Harry frantically clutched the little round mirror. "Mum! Come back! Please come back!"

But the small mirror reflected only Harry's face.

"Oh, Mum… " he gasped quietly, trying not to break down entirely. "I ruined it, didn't I? I ruined it all… "

His pale reflection stared disconsolately back at him.

-:- -:- -:-

Over the next few days leading up to Halloween, Harry slumped into a depression. He shrugged off Hermione's concerned queries and gentle hand on his arm, and he avoided Ron's invitations to spill his guts all over the dormitory floor. "Just let it all out, mate?" Ron would urge. "You'll feel better if you unload your problems. I always do." But since Harry had not told either of his friends about the mirror when he was using it to speak to his mother, he felt compelled to keep it quiet now, especially after the mirror had stopped working.

Except … it hadn't.

He didn't realize it at first – just thought it to be a weird shadow, or a stain upon the silver backing. But he couldn't deny it when the shadow grew … and grew…

Harry had frantically tried to force his mother's image to return to the little round mirror, but to no avail. The day after she'd vanished, he was trying yet again, only to sweep his fringe off his forehead in frustration after umpteen more failures to contact Lily. And that's when he saw it – his pale red scar had turned black.

Well, the broom cupboard was a bit dark – probably just a lack of proper illumination made his lightning-bolt scar appear darker than usual.

But the next day – in good daylight – the scar still looked black, and a dark smudge had begun to seep across the skin around the outline of his scar. Frowning, he rotated the mirror, but no matter which way his face got reflected, the smudged black scar didn't change.

The day after that, the smudge had darkened so much that he couldn't even see his scar. The smudge itself had grown noticeably larger, darkening a larger portion of the skin on his forehead.

When he'd looked into the mirror over the sink in the Gryffindor boys' bathroom, however, his scar appeared the same as it always had – pale red against normal skin tone. He held the little mirror flat against the larger one and quickly shifted his eyes back and forth, back and forth, and his scar went from black smudge to red line, black smudge to red line, depending on which mirror reflected it.

Frowning uneasily, Harry held the little mirror in the palm of his left hand, using his right forefinger to hide the black smudge from his view. He stared into his reflected emerald eyes, murmuring, "Oh, Mum… Where are you when I need you?"

His own eyes continued to stare worriedly back at him.

-:- -:- -:-

Darkness fell early on a heavily-overcast Halloween afternoon, although the Wizarding Weathercaster indicated that the skies would clear before moonrise.

Ron was already gabbling on about the upcoming Halloween Feast, while Hermione steadfastly ignored him from behind her propped-up Ancient Runes textbook. Harry kept his nose buried in his Charms text, listening half-heartedly to his best friend's happy anticipation for the looming Feast, but after an hour or so, he was becoming rather desperate to make a break from the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry rubbed at his scar, wondering whether he should ask… Neither of his two friends had mentioned seeing his scar changing, but he wasn't sure whether they simply hadn't noticed or whether he was losing his own mind.

"Is your scar bothering you, Harry?"

Trust Hermione to get straight to the crux of the matter. He might as well ask.

"A bit. Does it look any different to you?" He held up his fringe to bare his forehead to her scrutiny.

Hermione inspected his scar from across the table, then shook her head. "Looks about as usual, I'd say. Does it hurt a lot?"

"No," Harry denied quickly. "It's more like an itch, I guess. A bit annoying, that's all."

"Oh. I suppose that's all right, then," she said before diving back into her translation.

"I hope they have those molten chocolate Bludgers again this year," Ron said dreamily. "I love to cut into them and watch the chocolate ooze all over… "

Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm going to stretch my legs. Meet you guys in the Great Hall, okay?" He forced a bright smile on his face.

"Right, mate! See you there!"

"Bye, Harry!" Hermione peeped briefly at him over the rim of her book.

Exiting the Common Room, Harry hesitated before heading for the marble staircase. After being cooped up in there with Ron's obsessions concerning food – sweets in particular – he decided it might help him if he could work off some excess energy, and he fancied a quick run down the stairs and back. He paused momentarily at the top, staring over the stone railing, looking down countless flights in the stairwell from the dizzying heights of the seventh floor. Then, he stepped off the edge and ran down, down, down-down-down to the main entrance level. Barely slowing, he turned to the right and continued his downward journey to the first dungeon level, then the second.

Technically, he wasn't really in Slytherin territory, since their Common Room lay quite a distance from the main stairs. But Slytherins liked to claim any space in the dungeons as their own, so Harry did a quick about-face and trotted up the stone steps once more.

He made it past the upper dungeon level, all the way to the entrance hall without seeing anyone.

Where to now? The Halloween Feast wouldn't begin for nearly another hour, so there was no point in going into the Great Hall yet.

The library! Of course! He needed to know what was happening to his scar's reflection. He'd only stopped doing research on mirrors for fear of losing contact with his mum, and now that that had happened anyway, he might as well continue trying to discover what made the mirror work. Maybe – just maybe – he could discover a means to bring Lily back.

Quickly, Harry ran up the staircase to the third floor and headed for the library. He'd barely rounded the final corner and could see the tall doors framing the library entrance at the far end of the corridor when he heard fast footsteps behind him. Turning, he spotted a familiar blond head and realized that Draco Malfoy was rapidly closing in on him.

"Potter!"

The Slytherin's voice had not lost one ounce of contempt for the Boy-Who-Lived during all the years they'd spent at school. If anything, Malfoy had perfected lacing his contempt with a good dose of Snape-ish sneering sarcasm.

Harry stopped, his wand automatically at the ready. "Malfoy," he acknowledged, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. With his luck, Snape would pop out of the woodwork and order Harry into detention right before the Feast, just for breathing the same air as his favored Slytherin.

The Death Eater's son approached, more slowly now, his eyes more calculating. "What were you doing in the dungeons, Potter? A bit far from your end of the castle, wasn't it? Wanted to see how your betters live, hmm?"

"It was a bit far afield, I suppose," Harry agreed lightly, keeping an eye on Draco's own wand. "I do live in the UPPER END of the castle, after all. When it comes to the dungeons, I guess you could say that I decided to … go slumming." So what if Snape appeared like a bolt from the blue and put him into detention? Nothing required him to take Malfoy's insults without giving as good as he got.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Protego!"

Harry's Shield Charm easily deflected Draco's spell, and the duel was on!

Draco cast Incarcerous, a knee-reversing hex, a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and Tarantallegra in rapid succession, only to find each one instantly rebuffed by the Gryffindor's lightning-fast reflexes. Harry couldn't help but note that all of Draco's offensive spells were intended to render him helpless, one way or another, and he began to suspect that Draco had intentions more sinister than simply casting random curses at his rival in the hallway. If he went down, Draco could easily hit him with another Petrificus, and he'd be at the Slytherin's mercy…

Given that they were barely a stone's throw from the library, Harry was surprised nobody had appeared from the other end of the corridor to stop the duel, not even Madam Pince. Surely, at the very least, Mrs. Norris should have alerted Filch to magic being used in the corridors! And shouldn't Peeves show up to get in on the action? As for the library, did no one study in there just prior to the Halloween Feast? Harry couldn't remember actually doing so himself, and even Hermione was camped out with her books in their Common Room at that very moment…

The Gryffindor slowly backed in the direction of the library as Draco advanced, the blond seeming to plot his next bit of strategy with every careful step he took.

Draco lunged, casting silently – or so Harry thought, as he shouted, "Protego!" once again. In reality, the Slytherin had feinted, not casting at all. His true move came a second too fast for Harry to counter after just casting his Shield Charm…

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Draco, and he heard with satisfaction the hollow, wooden clatter of his opponent's wand bouncing across the stone floor.

"Foolish, foolish Potter," sneered the blond Slytherin, utter contempt distorting his pale features. "All out of magic, aren't you?" He lazily pointed his own wand at Harry's wary face as he strode confidently up to the Gryffindor. "The celebrated son of the late James Potter, the Not-So-Golden-Gryffindor, helpless as a newborn flobberworm!"

Harry stood quite still, poised carefully for balance on the balls of his feet. Just a little bit closer, he thought, just a little bit closer… Harry maintained unwavering eye contact with the other boy. If Draco had been a Legilimens, he would have seen what was coming. As it was, his ignorant arrogance proved to be his undoing.

Knowing he had just one chance to get it right, Harry stared into the Slytherin's gloating, silver-gray eyes until Draco was just in position…

KICK!

The toe of Harry's worn trainer slammed upwards, and Draco dropped like a rock onto the cold stone floor.

"You think you're so smart, Malfoy? It doesn't take much to cut you down to size, does it?" Harry stepped past his groaning opponent to retrieve his wand.

"You'll pay, Potter!" gasped Draco, doubled up beneath his robes.

"Famous last words," Harry sneered, but some sixth sense caused him to turn his head just before he reached his wand.

Draco's back was to the corner where they'd first entered the corridor, so he did not see Severus Snape rounding that corner. The sight of the approaching Defense professor distracted Harry for a split second – just long enough for Draco to lurch forward, jabbing something into Harry's ankle.

"Hey!"

The echo of Harry's startled shout continued to echo off the tall walls long after the two boys were Portkeyed away.

Snape sprinted toward the spot where they'd been, just half a moment before, but the corridor lay empty. Except…

Slowly, the dark man bent his knee, his long hair swinging forward … and, extending a pale hand, he picked up a familiar holly wand.

For countless moments, Severus Snape continued to kneel upon the unforgiving stones, rolling Potter's wand delicately between his fingers. He'd had no inkling that Draco had planned to abduct Potter on Halloween. Snape had believed that his Slytherin's appointed task lay in an entirely different direction.

Now, without warning, Potter was gone … and wandless.

Dumbledore. He had to tell Dumbledore –

Snape's left arm abruptly burst into a burning agony. The Dark Lord was calling … summoning him to a Death Eater meeting … where, obviously, Harry Potter was slated to provide the evening's entertainment.

His soul shrinking at the realization, Snape knew that this dark night of Halloween had barely begun.

-:- -:- -:-

Harry landed hard upon cold, dark ground. Part of his mind automatically registered the fact that the thin evening dew on the coarse grass beneath his fingertips would probably transform into frost before dawn. Quickly, he tried to shove himself to his feet, only to be slammed down face first once again.

The cold leather sole of a man's shoe or boot brutally pressed down on the back of his neck, accompanied by a subdued, cultured – yet ugly – laugh.

"Try that again, Potter, and I shall ensure that you are paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of your miserable life, however short that may be."

Lucius Malfoy! The last time Harry had seen him, Lucius was being arrested in the Department of Mysteries last spring. He'd been convicted and sent to Azkaban – but obviously, he'd been released … or escaped … either possibility probably due to Voldemort's intervention. And given that Lucius had lost the Prophecy which his master had expected for him to retrieve, he had much to atone for. Not good… The haughty blond aristocrat could never be trusted under the best of circumstances, and tonight, Harry knew his abduction from the castle did not begin to fall into the "best" category of circumstances.

Lucius' smooth drawl belied the threatening pressure against the top of Harry's spine, but he knew this man never made idle promises. Harry lay still – rather, he refrained from trying to scramble up – but he couldn't help reaching for his wand pocket, only to remember he'd not quite picked up his fallen wand from the dungeon floor before Draco jabbed him with the Portkey.

"I said, LIE STILL!"

Harry couldn't help crying out as the hard toe of Lucius's shoe kicked him in the back of his head before the man stepped on his neck again. "Screw you!" he gasped, his vision blurring with pain-induced tears. He tried to blink them away to gain a glimpse of his surroundings, to get his bearings, to seek an escape route … anything…

"Shut up, Potter! Don't you dare speak to my father like that!"

"Screw you, too, Junior," Harry growled, yanking his fingers away from the underside of Draco's own shoe before they got crushed.

"Now, now, Draco," Lucius said softly, "Leave something of Potter for the rest of the Dark Lord's followers to play with. We mustn't start the party before the other guests arrive."

Harry saw Draco back away slowly, a venomous look on his pale, pointed face. "But I owe him Father! After what he did to me… " The blond boy's voice trailed off, and Harry thought Lucius must be glaring at his son in warning … until a high, cold voice reached Harry's ears.

"Ah… At last… How nice that you could join us for our Halloween celebration, Harry."

Another pair of feet moved into Harry's range of vision – bloodless, bare, tipped by the fungus-ridden toenails from hell. Didn't Voldemort even feel the cold? It was practically November…

Swallowing hard against the raw fear welling up in his throat, Harry contemplated saying something suicidal, such as, "Sorry I couldn't R.S.V.P. to decline your invitation, Tom – your owl must have lost its way," but in the end, he kept his mouth shut, trying to look anywhere but at those sickening, corpse-like, scaly feet.

Voldemort paused, as if expecting a retort from the grounded Gryffindor, but then turned his attention to the younger Slytherin. "Well done, Draco. You've actually managed to get Potter here ahead of schedule."

Now, Harry could see Draco kneeling to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes, and he noticed the look of revulsion upon the other boy's features as his face approached the Darkest Wizard's disgusting feet. "Yes, my lord," said Draco, keeping his head bowed. "For some reason, Potter went to the dungeons before the Halloween Feast. I followed him back up the stairs and was able to Portkey him out of the castle without anyone knowing."

Suddenly, Harry realized that Draco had never seen Snape at the far end of the library corridor. If Dumbledore trusted Snape with good reason, Dumbledore would quickly learn what had happened to Harry. If Snape was a loyal follower of Voldemort, however, there would be no hope of rescue before the Death Eaters had had their way with the Boy-Who-Lived. This was Halloween, a date of significance in Harry's life … and Voldemort's. Without a doubt, the leader of the Dark side had some hideous ritual planned to take place this Halloween night. Please, he begged mentally… Please let Dumbledore be right about Snape. Please have Snape alert the Order. Please send help. Please…

"Excellent," said Voldemort. "Let them wonder why their prize Gryffindor is skipping the Feast. They might not even search for him, thinking to give him privacy in which to grieve for his long-deceased, foolish parents. How many years ago today did they die, Harry? Fifteen, wasn't it? My, how time flies."

Playing for time, hoping to hear the members of the Order of the Phoenix arrive – or Dumbledore at the very least – Harry sneered his contempt at Voldemort's repulsive appendages, unable to raise his eyes above ground level. "Yeah – fifteen years to the day since I blew your evil soul out of your body, Tom. Four and a half years since I burned your soul out of Quirrell's body. And less than six months since I LOVED your soul out of MY body. Don't you know to quit when you're behind?"

"SILENCIO!"

Voldemort's rasping command launched the spell, cast with such force that Harry's body rocked beneath the anchoring weight of Lucius' foot.

In the ensuing absence of voices, Harry could hear harsh breathing coming from Voldemort and Lucius, with anxious, lighter intakes of air from Draco. The night lay quiet around the four of them, no sounds of mechanical civilization anywhere nearby in the surrounding countryside, although the faint rumble of a high-flying jetliner passed slowly overhead. A single cricket chirped a soliloquy in the chilly air, bidding farewell to the warmer seasons of the past. Off in the distance, below the stars hanging dimly over the horizon, a repetitive sound – a barely-audible rushing which rose and fell in an endless rhythm – caught Harry's attention. He tried to wrap his mind around it … and then he knew – the sea! They were within earshot of the surf … somewhere.

"Enough of this," Voldemort declared coldly. "It's time the others arrived. Draco – show me your arm."

Draco's feet moved nervously as he shifted his weight in order to raise his left arm while he remained in his kneeling position. His groan of pain indicated to Harry that Voldemort had pressed the tip of his wand into Draco's Dark Mark to summon the remaining Death Eaters. The young Slytherin breathed sharply between clenched teeth as his own Dark Mark created a burning beacon to guide his Dark comrades into their leader's presence.

Within a few seconds, the sounds of Apparition reached Harry's ears: loud cracks from the less skilled – or those who simply didn't care about the noise level – and softer pops of varying degrees from those who were accustomed to arriving at their destination without auditory fanfare.

When the masked menaces had assembled in a circle, Lucius suddenly removed his foot from Harry's neck and Levitated him into a vertical position, the toes of Harry's trainers barely brushing the grass.

"Where's Alecto?" asked Voldemort. "Amycus?"

"St. Mungo's, my lord. Spell damage. She should be released by the weekend, the Healers say. Stupid accident it was. They had to – "

"Yes, yes," interrupted Voldemort, sounding impatient. "And Severus?"

Right before Harry's eyes, the final masked figure arrived, his Apparition absolutely soundless.

Voldemort removed his wand tip from Draco's arm, and the boy crumpled over it, clutching the tortured flesh to his stomach protectively. Harry could almost feel sorry for him.

"You may rise, Draco," Voldemort said dismissively, turning his back on his youngest recruit, as though finding the boy's presence now irrelevant.

Draco climbed unsteadily to his feet and passed Harry without meeting his eyes as the blond moved to stand slightly behind his father.

The Darkest Wizard walked slowly around the inside perimeter of his followers' circle, not really studying them as individuals, but as if assuring himself that his Inner Circle was in in truth, complete. His robes, black as the vacuum beyond the farthest edge of space, rippled delicately across the damp grass with each measured step. Voldemort finally returned to the very center of the circle and cast his fiery red eyes upwards toward the east, where a waxing gibbous moon had risen and hung expectantly against its own glow in the heavens.

"Better had the moon been full this night," he murmured. "Or at its darkest." However – " He spun and his robes whirled about him like a soundless tornado, before floating to the ground once more as he stilled. "However … Halloween is the main thing, is it not, my dear comrades? Fifteen years ago this date, James and Lily Potter met their fruitless end in Godric's Hollow, defending the life of their only child … their dear little moppet named Harry."

The mocking tone of Voldemort's voice elicited a few ugly chuckles from the masks around the robed circle.

"But tonight," he continued, as if a professor lecturing to a class of eager students, "we shall prove they made their sacrifice in vain all those years ago. For tonight, their DEAR little moppet shall depart from the living, and the Boy-Who-Lived shall have his famous moniker stricken from every history book in the Wizarding world."

The circle of Death Eaters murmured and nodded approvingly, their wand hands twitching impatiently in the bright moonlight.

"From this night forth, Harry Potter himself shall become 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named', for to mention the name of Harry Potter shall henceforth carry an automatic sentence of death to the utterer."

Harry could not speak, due to Voldemort's Silencing spell, nor could he move as he Levitated in place – Lucius must have put some sort of Binding spell on him. But he could see straight ahead, and Severus Snape stood unmoving directly across the circle from Harry. WHERE was Dumbledore and the Order? Surely they could have tracked Snape here by now? Frantically, he tried to wriggle, but Lucius' spells kept him absolutely immobile.

Voldemort fell silent and his followers waited patiently for him to resume.

The lone cricket gave one final chirrup before relinquishing the night to the silvery moon, the diamond stars, and the endless sighing of the sea. The air temperature suddenly seemed to drop in the silence of the night, and Harry felt himself mentally shiver inside, even though his body could not move. His teeth desperately wanted to chatter with the cold, but his jaws refused to respond to the urge. An unexpected torture, this – to be subjected to a cold which he possessed no means to fend off.

Voldemort turned gracefully, extending his hand toward someone behind Harry. "His wand, Draco."

"My lord?" The young Slytherin's voice sounded confused to Harry's ears.

"Potter's wand. Give it to me."

"His – his wand?" Draco gave an audible gulp. "B-but I don't have it… "

The snake-slit eyes blazed red as Voldemort stepped deliberately toward the boy. "Draco – Where. Is. Potter's. Wand?" The man's high voice carved each word from blue glacier ice.

"I – I – He had it in the castle – I disarmed him … before I Portkeyed him… "

Harry could no longer see Voldemort, but the wizard's voice had dropped to a hissing whisper just behind Harry.

"WHERE isss hisss wand, you carelessss imbecile?"

"I – I – " Draco sounded on the verge of fainting from terror. "I – he – must have – dropped it – in the castle – "

"CRUCIO!"

Unable to either wince or flinch, Harry had to endure the sound of Draco's screams without moving until Voldemort finally stopped the Curse.

"I need that wand," growled the furious leader as his Death Eaters stared at the blond boy still writhing and twitching on the ground. "Are you CERTAIN he dropped it – " Voldemort turned away from Draco with disgust. "Search Potter!" he ordered Lucius. "In case he still has the wand on his person … in case your incompetent SON is mistaken. I MUST have his wand for the ritual... "

Lucius Malfoy's hands traveled quickly over Harry's immobile body, feeling for the telltale length of one holly-and-phoenix-feather wand. The man turned out all of the Gryffindor's pockets, casting the usual bits and pieces of a teenage boy's daily life upon the dewy grass. His pale eyes stared into Harry's emerald ones and, for a moment, Harry relished the fear he could see there – fear of becoming the bearer of bad news… Lucius clenched his jaw briefly before speaking. "I'm sorry, my lord, but Potter's wand is not upon him. It must be as Draco said – "

Lucius was shoved aside so abruptly he nearly fell over.

Voldemort himself now bent over the varied belongings scattered before the Levitating Gryffindor. "It MUST be here… All my plans depend on it… " His Lumosed wand suddenly reflected back at him from the ground. "What's this?"

The Darkest Wizard straightened, holding a small round mirror between his fingertips. "Are you so vain, Harry, that you need to carry a mirror upon your person?" Voldemort smiled mockingly, holding the mirror up for all to see, and several of the Death Eaters laughed as if on cue. But then –

"I … detect magic," said Voldemort. "What sort of mirror is this, Harry? The magic feels … quite … Dark." Curiously, he peered at the mirror, trying to make out the faint markings burned lightly into the sturdy wooden frame. "What does this mirror do? And why would the 'hero' of the Wizarding world need to carry a Dark artifact? Speak, boy!"

Voldemort waved his wand, and suddenly Harry coughed and gasped for breath before he was able respond to the snake-like man's command.

"I didn't know it was Dark," he blurted defensively. "I just found it. On the ground in Diagon Alley. Like someone else had dropped it."

"Did you, indeed?" Voldemort's pale brow rose, crinkling his scaly skin. "And what does it do?"

"I don't know." Harry's own eyebrows indicated a shrug, and he shook his head, trying to avoid eye contact with the Legilimens. He hoped his words would ring with truth when he said, "I didn't know it was Dark, and I don't know how it's supposed to work. I just picked it up because I thought it might be handy to have a mirror to use when the Gryffindor bathroom gets too crowded – "

The circle of Death Eaters burst out laughing, and Harry felt his face go hot. At least, by moonlight, his blush would appear gray, rather than bright red.

"Harry, Harry, Harry… You amuse me, truly you do! It's quite a pity to have to kill you tonight. I wish I could keep you on – as my court jester."

Laughter rang out around the circle once again.

"In your DREAMS," Harry sneered.

"SILENCIO!"

Voldemort's harsh shout faded away across the silent, silvery landscape, and Harry found himself muted again. The odd thought crossed his mind that this was the second time Voldemort had merely Silenced him, instead of casting the more-expected Cruciatus Curse. In one way, it was a relief, but Harry knew the delay was only temporary. Voldemort obviously wanted to keep him unharmed and fresh for the worse tortures of the upcoming ritual. And if Harry's wand comprised a crucial component for that ritual, Voldemort would undoubtedly send Snape to Hogwarts to find and fetch him the wand. Would that be Snape's opportunity to alert the Order? Although, one would think he should have already done it. If Snape was truly loyal to Dumbledore, that is…

The Darkest Wizard's pale, spider-like fingers held the mirror at arm's length in his left hand, and Voldemort peered intently at the reflection of his moonlit features, his red eyes glowing as he waited for the mirror to reveal its secrets…

As the minutes passed, the watching Death Eaters began to move restlessly – nothing obvious individually, but tiny movements multiplied by the number of onlookers caused a sensation of faint, constant motion beneath the circle of black robes as the masked men observed their master.

For his part, Voldemort continued to stare into the tiny mirror, waiting for something to happen.

Still dangling in mid-air, Harry's thoughts were his own for the moment, and the image of Mrs. Norris crouching patiently to the side of a mouse hole flitted across his mind. Like Voldemort – waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Ahhh… "

Voldemort's sudden exhalation stilled the Death Eaters as effectively as a mass Petrificus Totalus would have done. They watched as Voldemort brought the small mirror closer to his face, the better to view his reflection.

Harry had been watching the Darkest Wizard from the side, but his view abruptly altered, and he realized he was now seeing Voldemort's reflection through Voldemort's own eyes.

The scaly face blurred several times within the confines of the wooden frame, and the slitted red eyes of the reflection glowed with an evil knowledge that Harry felt Voldemort trying to comprehend.

"Show … me … everything… " whispered the Dark leader.

In response, the pale reflection backed off until Harry could make out the reflection's full figure. Strangely, the reflection was not that of a full-sized man – not that of Voldemort's reconstituted physical being – but the size of a scrawny, naked toddler with an adult-sized head. Below the pale face which grinned back at Voldemort like a Death's Head, the scaly body seemed twisted into impossible, permanent contortions. Misshapen limbs went off at odd angles from the emaciated torso, and the long bones themselves appeared to have suffered multiple, debilitating fractures.

As the reflection shuffled along despite the sickening torsions, the disgusting image's visible flesh began peeling off in long, bloody strips, leaving the reflection to ooze a tangible darkness from the rawness revealed. All the while, the mocking figure continued to grin and shuffle, grin and shuffle and ooze, grin and –

"WHAT IS THIS?" shouted Voldemort, his eyes fixed upon the horror reflected in the mirror. "What is the MEANING of this! Who ARE you?" he demanded of the hideously-grinning image.

The reflection pushed in close again, the slitted red eyes glowing evilly at Voldemort as they stared out of the mirror at him.

Caught inside Voldemort's mind, Harry felt himself retching at the sight of such unadulterated, deliberate evil looking him straight in the eye…

"I'm YOU!"

The words screamed in Voldemort's mind – or was it Voldemort himself screaming? – as the Death's Head laughed and laughed and laughed in the mirror…

Harry sensed Voldemort trying to drop the mirror, trying to fling it far aside, but his pale fingers felt glued to the wooden frame and he could not look away from the horrors playing out on the other side of the glass –

The slitted eyes burst into ruby flames as the Death's Head laughed shrilly –

The flayed, oozing, distorted body enveloped itself in thick sheets of crimson fire –

The endless, hideous laugh shredded itself into a leaping scarlet pyre upon which the burning body leapt with maniacal joy –

From amidst the flames, the burning red eyes scorched Harry's soul as the words repeated themselves with evil glee – "I'm YOU!"

A sudden fierce pain in Harry's hand flung him back into his own body, and he watched in shock as scarlet flames erupted from the mirror still clutched in Voldemort's pale, spidery fingers. Voldemort screamed as the flames caught the sleeve of his robes. Frantically, the Darkest Wizard shook his left arm, trying to rid himself of the burning mirror, trying to extinguish the flames leaping along the sleeve covering his own Dark Mark…

As his black robes caught alight, Voldemort spun in panic, faster and faster, a flaming tornado scorching crimson in the night, still clutching the mocking mirror in his outstretched, blackening hand…

Death Eaters shouted in alarm – a few even attempted to drench their master with Aguamenti – but nothing could quench the burning whirlwind careening beneath the impassive, silver moon.

As their master went up in flames, nearly half of the Death Eaters fled in terror, their cracks of Disapparition echoing off the empty hillsides. The flaming tornado left a trail of fire burning through the grass, and the few Death Eaters who remained were forced to dodge this way and that as the whirling column of fire veered toward them, first one, then another, as if seeking their aid.

Suddenly, the whirlwind made a beeline for Harry, who still hung helplessly suspended under Lucius Malfoy's spell. Horrified, voiceless, the boy saw the fire spinning toward him, felt the heat of the flames singeing his skin before Snape Summoned him out of harm's way.

Seconds later, the burning dervish collapsed into a smoldering heap, and a glowing wraith arose from Voldemort's cremated remains. The wraith circled the few wizards who had not taken a frantic leave. They stared upwards into the faint vestiges of Voldemort's furious features.

"Do something!" screeched Bellatrix Lestrange, flinging her mask to the ground as she pointed toward the ghastly spectre of her lord and master. "Snape! Lucius! You have to help him!"

"Go to the Riddle Mansion!" Snape's voice rang out, before Lucius could even gather his thoughts. "Await our master there! We can do nothing here and now," he added, looking from Bellatrix's wild-eyed desperation to the blond Death Eater's hardening resolve. "The Dark Lord was able to return from the dead before – he shall do so again, but we must first discover his plans for his next resurrection."

With those words still ringing in their ears, several more Death Eaters popped away, and the Thing-Which-Had-Been-Voldemort circled the remnant of his followers one final time before swooping inland, leaving the stench of his burning flesh behind.

"What of Potter?" asked Lucius, stripping off his mask, staring into the distance where Voldemort's wraith had disappeared.

Snape slowly turned to look at the Levitated boy through the eyeholes of his mask. "He will be returned to Hogwarts."

"But the Dark Lord – "

"Not now, Bella!" admonished Lucius, glaring at the obsessive dark-haired witch.

"I agree," said Snape. "Our master must regain his strength before he decides how to deal next with Potter. Potter belongs to the Dark Lord. It is not for us to usurp his authority over the boy's fate. In the meantime… "

"Yes," smirked Lucius, "Let Dumbledore continue to keep the Boy-Who-Lived alive and healthy until the Dark Lord can perform the final sacrifice."

"Indeed."

"Draco… "

The younger blond had to clear his throat three times before he could rasp, "Yes, Father?"

Lucius beckoned his son impatiently. "I shall reactivate your Portkey to return you to Hogwarts. Keep it in a safe place until it is needed."

"But what about Potter, Father?" Draco objected. "He knows I have it now. He'll tell Dumbledore and McGonagall, not to mention his nosy – "

"I shall Obliviate him," Snape interrupted. "He will remember nothing of what has transpired here this night."

Bellatrix had finally dragged herself away from the pile of glowing embers, refocusing her attention on the defenseless prisoner. "Poor widdle Potty," she gloated, brushing cold fingertips across Harry's cheek. "Missed out on his own Halloween celebration, and he won't even remember one itty bitty bit about it."

Snape's eyes glared darkly at the woman through the holes of his mask. "Bella, do run along. I hardly think our master will be impressed if he arrives at the Riddle Mansion and his most DEVOTED servant is not there to greet him."

Bella shrugged, her shoulders lifting the wild tangle of her dark hair. "Whatever." She grabbed Harry's upper arm, her fingernails digging painfully through his thin shirt into his flesh, and gave it a rapid yank to send the boy spinning madly in mid-air. "Bye-bye, widdle Hawwy. Sssee you SSSOON," she added, her voice hissing in imitation of her master. With a wild cackle, she turned on the spot and disappeared.

Snape caught Harry by a random elbow and brought the boy to an abrupt halt, although Harry felt he'd left his churning stomach several rotations behind him. "Lucius, would you mind releasing Potter before you depart?"

Without a word, the elder Malfoy waved his wand and Harry toppled onto the cold, wet grass. Seconds later, Draco had disappeared, Portkey in hand, and then Lucius himself Disapparated, after directing a cryptic, "We shall expect you without delay," to Snape.

"Alone at last," Severus Snape mocked quietly as he unceremoniously pulled Harry to his feet. "What the hell kind of mirror was that, Potter?" He yanked off his Death Eater's mask and took a deep breath of the crisp night air.

The Silencing spell had ended when Voldemort's bodily remains had collapsed, and Harry responded, "I honestly don't know, Professor. I did find it on the cobbles in Diagon Alley, just like I told Vol—him. It had strange markings burnt into the wooden frame – " He broke off as he watched Snape poking through the smoking pile of embers.

After several minutes of searching, Snape gave a muffled exclamation and used a long stick to prod a small, flat object from beneath the smoldering pile into the light of the moon.

"Are you really going to Obliviate me?" asked Harry, wondering if he had the strength to make a run for it and how far he might actually get if he tried.

"Quiet, Potter… " Snape's attention seemed totally focused upon the object, which he Levitated to examine more closely without touching it.

Harry slowly approached when he realized what Snape must have found. "Is that the mirror?" And after a closer look from behind Snape's shoulder – "It doesn't even appear damaged! After the fire and everything!"

And, indeed, in the concentrated intensity of Snape's Lumosed wand, the little round mirror appeared exactly as it had when Harry first picked it up. "It should have been charred – cracked – " The Gryffindor's voice reflected his confusion.

"Obviously, the mirror has magical protections," Snape retorted. "Where – EXACTLY – did you find this?"

"Right outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, lying face up on the cobbles. It had been rained on from the night before."

"And how – precisely – did you use this mirror? Aside from noticeably inadequate personal grooming, that is," the dark man added snidely.

Harry hesitated … but then, he really did want to know what had happened to Voldemort, after all. Not to mention, why his mother had appeared in the mirror, and after her defection, why his scar had turned black, then his forehead… "When I looked into it, I saw strange eyes."

"Explain."

Harry shrugged. "I saw my own face, but the green eyes of a stranger. They turned out to be… " He hesitated again.

"Yes?" prompted Snape impatiently.

"I – I know this will sound cracked, but they were my … my mother's eyes," Harry said quietly. "Everyone always said we had the same eyes."

Snape frowned. "How do you know they were … Lily Potter's eyes?"

"She spoke to me," Harry said simply. "We had a lot of conversations… She'd tell me stories… And then, the mirror stopped working. I could only see myself. Mum was gone."

The dark man was staring at him. "Why?"

"I think… " Harry bit his lip. "I think it was because I had sort of figured out the magic of the mirror. Maybe? She said it was an anomaly that we could communicate through the mirror."

"How did you figure out the magic?" Snape demanded, and in the moonlight, his face looked even paler than it should.

"Just something I overheard – between Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. They were talking about someone they knew, and they said something about the eyes being the windows to the soul, and I thought maybe if I looked into this mirror into my eyes – which are identical to my mum's eyes, - it might be like looking through my eyes into her soul… " His voice trailed off. "Anyway, I tried to ask her if that's how the mirror worked, and she vanished and never came back, no matter how hard I tried. And that's all I know, Professor."

Snape stared at him for a moment longer before blowing out his breath and giving a tiny shake of his head. "Do you know what kind of mirror this is, Potter? What the markings on the frame indicate?"

Harry shook his head, glancing sidewise at the mirror.

"This is a Mirror of Self-Awareness. The intended function is to allow an individual who lives in a state of denial a glimpse into his or her own soul, in order to face certain truths which the person doesn't want to admit. This type of mirror was originally developed about a decade ago, and was widely used by Mind-Healers as a shortcut in therapy, but due to unforeseen … side effects … a number of patients lost their sanity as a result. All Mirrors of Self-Awareness were subsequently designated as Dangerous Dark Objects by the Ministry of Magic and ordered destroyed. Apparently, this one somehow escaped the Ministry's notice."

Wide-eyed, Harry stared at the mirror still suspended by Snape's Levitation charm. "So … you're saying … Vol—What's-His-Face couldn't accept seeing who – or what – he really was in this mirror? And he caught fire as a result?" The Gryffindor's voice filled with skepticism. "HOW is that even possible? Sir."

"An excellent question, Harry, my boy."

Even Snape jumped at Dumbledore's unexpected observation.

"Must you arrive so … unobtrusively, Headmaster?" growled the glowering dark man.

"I took an understandable precaution, Severus, given that a number of my silver instruments had suddenly gone quite berserk a short while ago." Dumbledore's lips smiled within his beard, but his blue eyes failed to twinkle. "I've actually been here for a short while. I arrived in time to see Bellatrix take her leave. Since Harry appeared unharmed, which corroborated the readings of other of my silver friends, I decided to hang back and observe the proceedings from a short distance. Would you care to give me a quick rundown about what happened before my arrival?"

Snape's mouth tightened. "Essentially what Potter himself deduced. Draco Malfoy's abduction brought Potter to the Dark Lord. A body search failed to turn up Potter's wand, but it did produce a Mirror of Self-Awareness, which the Dark Lord peered into, screamed, and went up in flames. The fire itself seemed to originate from within the mirror. The other Death Eaters are now awaiting my arrival at the Riddle Mansion, where we will undoubtedly be pressed into service by the Dark Lord's … spirit … to resurrect him into bodily form once again."

"Then you had better run along, Severus," Dumbledore instructed quietly. "And do be careful."

"As always, Headmaster." Snape conjured a small bag and wrapped it around the Mirror of Self-Awareness. Handing it to Dumbledore, he said, "You'll want to destroy this." After a moment's hesitation, he pointed his wand at the smoldering pile of embers. "Obliviate!" Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "In case they check."

"Understood, my boy."

"Was that – " Harry pointed at the oblivious embers, "supposed to be for me?"

In the process of turning on the spot, Snape halted suddenly. "Would you RATHER I Obliviated you, Potter?"

Harry shook his head rapidly, trying to squelch the urge to dodge behind Dumbledore's chuckling figure.

"Watch your back, Potter."

Silently, Snape blinked out of existence.

Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore stood side by side beneath the cold moon. The elderly wizard turned the bagged mirror over in his hand several times before tucking it into a pocket of his embroidered robes.

"Tell me, Harry," he murmured, barely louder than the distant sea. "Do you have questions?"

The younger Gryffindor nodded. "Why was Voldemort's reflection that of a small – like child-sized – person, instead of a full-grown man? I can understand the distortions – he's so sick and twisted inside, that's what he'd see, isn't it? But the reflection in the mirror was no bigger than a toddler… "

Dumbledore looked carefully at Harry's moonlit face. "You saw Voldemort's reflection through his own eyes, didn't you?"

Harry nodded again. "I was inside his mind, seeing what he saw. He didn't understand it at first, but the reflection told him that the reflection WAS Voldemort. And then the reflection begin to burn, and then fire came out of the mirror and caught Voldemort's sleeve on fire, and then the rest of his robes went up … and now he's gone. We saw him go – like I saw him at the end of my First Year … after Quirrell crumbled into dust… But," Harry swallowed, remembering what Snape had said, "he can come back again, can't he?"

"Yes," affirmed Dumbledore, his tone hardening. "He can come back, and he will come back. Much more quickly this time, now that his followers know that it's possible."

"Will he need my blood again?"

Dumbledore put a warm hand on Harry's shoulder. "He would prefer it, obviously, but I believe his main concern will be to resurrect himself first and deal with the niceties later."

"Right." Harry looked at the ground and saw moonlight diamonds crystalizing in the frost forming on the frigid blades of grass. "But the size of his reflection … if the mirror allows you to see into your own soul – "

"You'll be needing this," said Dumbledore, extending Harry's holly wand. "Severus found your wand in the corridor near the library."

"Thank you!" Harry said, clasping his hand around the wand's handle, feeling it warm to his touch. "But the mirror – "

"Let's leave further discussion of the mirror till later, shall we?" Dumbledore said with a decidedly benign smile. "Perhaps during one of our private lessons? Very likely after Christmas," he added firmly. "I should like to do some additional research beforehand."

Harry hesitated, knowing full well he was being put off, then nodded. "Fine, sir. Whatever you say. But I'm really curious about the fire – "

Dumbledore gave an admonishing shake of his silver head. His blue eyes twinkled gray in the moonlight. "Take my arm, Harry. We may be able to catch the end of the Halloween Feast. It would be a shame to miss out on ALL of the sweets, after all."

Harry grinned, tightening his grip around Dumbledore's forearm.

"So, tell me, my boy, how are you getting along in Horace Slughorn's class – "

The two wizards vanished, leaving the gibbous moon to watch over the frosting grass and the softly-sighing sea.

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