Mirror Image

Prologue: Reality

The Boy-Who-Lived sat slumped against the rough surface of the stone wall of the castle facing the Forbidden Forest. He watched the red orb of the sun sink into the foreboding mass of black that made up the horizon, and the last rays of golden sunlight flickering through the dense foliage until they too were suffocated. He watched the color drain from the sky until all that was left was darkness. Darkness without, darkness within. It was strangely comforting.

He didn't care that the grass was damp and slowly soaking its way through his robes, and that if he didn't go in soon he'd likely catch a cold that would make Madam Pomfrey force him to spend yet another night in the hospital wing, and he didn't care that nobody knew where he was. He needed to be alone, to think. The events of the past few weeks left him feeling drained and lost, and he didn't know what to do to find himself again, what to do to make the feeling of hopelessness and despair that had plagued him for so long now go away…

It was suffocating, the way the forest swallowed the sun, the way he felt. There had been a time when he wouldn't have been able to imagine that a sunset could be so depressing, but that seemed like so long ago now that he could hardly remember it. It felt like a dream, a different life, one that was no longer his own. He was damned, and far more effectively than Trewlany could ever have predicted. But had it always been like this? Had his fate been sealed so long ago, his doom, and he just didn't realize it?

Or maybe he had. Maybe not consciously, but there had always been a feeling that he was different, an outsider, not really a person but a tool to be used towards an end, a weapon… He snorted suddenly, breaking the silence that had consumed him, the darkness that had enveloped him and left him to his thoughts, with only the cool night air caressing his face reminding him that he was alive. How much of that feeling was fate and how much of it was the result of what everyone had always told him? About his family, his father, his scar, his supposed miraculous defeat of the Dark Lord when he was only a baby…. But maybe it made no difference. He was what they made him to be, what he was always going to be, what he was meant to become, even though he didn't know it then… Now he knew.  And did it make a difference? Did knowing change what he was? Did it change how he saw himself?

Maybe not. So why was it that he felt this way? Like a thousand worries were weighing down on him, crushing him and he couldn't do anything to save himself…. Like Atlas, he thought suddenly, and smiled a little at the Muggle reference. In a way, he too held the world upon his shoulders. And what if he failed? It would drop and crash and shatter into a million pieces and no one would be able to fix it, not even Dumbledore. There was a very good chance he would fail.

And what if he succeeded? Would it make a difference? For the world it might, but for him? Would he be able to live with himself, to forget the war and move on with his life? It was hopeless. How could they ask him to bear such responsibility? How could they expect him to succeed? How could they have hope?

But they had no choice. Dumbledore didn't have a choice, just like he himself didn't have a choice. Trewleney didn't choose to make that prediction, it was destiny, unavoidable, inevitable, insistent and irrefutable. The only person who had a choice was Voldemort, and he chose wrong.

It was then that he noticed that he was no longer alone. There was a dark figure standing right beside him, towering above him, blocking out the faint shimmer of what few stars managed to penetrate the thin layer of clouds cloaking the night sky. It was too dark to make out any features, but he knew who it was. No one else would have come looking for him, no one else would have disturbed his privacy. But how did…? Ah. The map. He should have known. Voldemort wasn't the only person he could never hide from.

"Hey," said the shadow, and without waiting for a response it plopped down on the ground beside him.

"Why did you come here? I wanted to be alone."

"You've been avoiding everyone ever since… that day." The figure shifted nervously. "I didn't think you should be alone." It was too dark to make out anything, but he could imagine the intense look on his friend's face. He didn't say anything. Far away in the Forbidden Forest strange creatures made even stranger cries, sending shivers down both of their spines, and owls hooted greetings to each other as they scoured the fields for their evening meals. "Look," the shadow continued finally, "I've known you for as long as I can remember - "

"It should have been you." He said it in barely more than a whisper.

His friend hesitated before finally asking, "What?"

"It should have been you. You would have been able to do it. I can't. I'm not good enough."

"I-I don't think…"

"You heard the prophecy. Didn't you?"

He took the silence as confirmation. "You've always helped me. I wouldn't have been able to do anything if it wasn't for you. I would have died. You-Know-Who is not going to have the least bit of trouble killing me. I don't know why Dumbledore even bothers."

"That's not true. You stopped Voldemort from getting the stone when you were only eleven. What about first year? What about Quirrel? You saved – "

"I didn't do anything!" He cut him off, not quite angry, but annoyed. "You did more than I did! I wouldn't even have known anything about the stone if it wasn't for you and Ron and Hermione. I didn't know anything. I didn't do anything. The only reason I didn't die right then and there is my mom's sacrifice… that's it."

"You did do something." His friend contradicted with quiet conviction. "You faced Voldemort."

Anger was starting to simmer inside him, pounding in his ears, coursing through his blood like poison… the kind of poison Voldemort feeds on. Venom. He forced it down.

"Yes," he said finally, quietly, calmly. "I faced him five times. First time I was a baby and my mother died for me. The only reason I survived the second time was my mom's love and sacrifice, again. The third time you were with me. Fourth time I would have died if Snape hadn't given up his position to save me, and the fifth time… the fifth time you were there too, and you saw how that went."

"I wouldn't have been able to do any better."

"I shouldn't have gone in the first place.  It was stupid, it was rash – I was stupid. I should have listened to Hermione. Harry, you would have - "

"No, listen, Neville! I wouldn't have done any better. I would have gone too." Harry stood up suddenly. "It could have been worse. At least – at least no one died."

Neville didn't say anything for a moment. Then he got up too, and the two of them made their way back around the dark grounds towards the entrance to the castle. As if sensing their departure, the wind blew with redoubled energy, and Neville shivered. "It should have been you, Harry. You should have been the Boy-Who-Lived."

Torches perpetually burned on either side of the great wooden front doors of the castle, and as they made their way up the steps Neville could see the faint, sad smile on Harry's face by their flickering light. "I'm not sure I would be willing to accept a trade, Neville."

"Yeah," Neville scoffed, "Like you're so much better off than I am."

Author's Notes: So… does anybody think I should continue this?