The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shallot.
Alfred Lord Tennyson - The Lady of Shallot
'The Mirror Crack'd'
He was waiting for me in the alleyway that he'd specified. A dull, dingy place, with weak sunshine filtering in from above. I stepped carefully over discarded newspapers, beer bottles and cigarette ends towards him. He stood taller than me, his bloodstained eyes impassively watching me, his chalk mask of a face expressionless. I fought to conceal a shudder. I didn't like him. I didn't like what he represented. But I had chosen his side so many years ago, and now there was no escape. I stopped in front of him and those eyes focussed on me, as if he hadn't seen me coming. He glanced around and curled his mouth.
"I trust no one saw you coming?"
"No one. I was careful," I replied. He smiled then, a smile which curved his lips upwards but didn't reflect in his eyes.
"So tell me… how is your charge?" I'd known that was what he wanted, of course. That was the only reason he bothered with me.
"Potter? Moody, morose and unpleasant." The creature who called himself Lord Voldemort cocked his head to the side, his expression hungry… as if he was feeding off the boy's misery.
"He grieves for Dumbledore?" I nodded.
"Yes. Very much so." I barked a laugh. "Foolishly so." Voldemort's eyes flashed for a second and I started back, nervous.
"It is not foolish to grieve when one is alone. He can see the end coming… he knows he has lost his last defence."
"I want to be rid of him," I said quietly. "He's disruptive, surly and ungrateful. I have always wanted to be rid of him. You..."
"I?" Voldemort smiled coldly. "My dear, you yourself may have the privilege." He reached into his robes and withdrew a small vial, made of tinted green glass. He shook it, swirling the dark liquid inside slowly. "Two drops of this in anything he eats or drinks and his heart will stop within the hour. It is tasteless. No mess, no clues. He will simply breathe out and never breathe in again. It will be concluded that he died tragically from the shock of the death of his beloved mentor." There was no choice; I reached out for the vial and he dropped it into my hand. For a second our fingers touched; my manicured ones with the wedding ring on the third finger and his long etiolated ones, and I felt a spark of something dark and unknown at his fingertips. I took a step back as soon as I had the vial.
"And that's it? Two drops of this and it's over? I'll never be troubled again?"
"That was our deal," Voldemort replied. "I promised you that you and your family would be safe… and the word of Lord Voldemort is binding for eternity." I clenched the cool vial in my hand, the answer to all of my problems. I tried to imagine life without Potter. It had been so very long ago, but we'd been happy. Living in a blissful world until he came along, reeking of danger and fear and death. How I hated him for it! But did I want him dead? Doubts surfaced and I struggled to conceal them. Voldemort frowned.
"You are conflicted. Can I not trust you on this?" I fought to swallow the feelings and Voldemort snorted. "Women! You mothers are the worst."
"I will not fail," I said shortly. Voldemort laughed.
"You had better not. The vengeance of a Dark Lord is a terrible thing. It would be better for you to drink that yourself than to fail and face me." I swallowed nervously. It had seemed so simple all those years ago, but now I felt trapped by this wretched deal. I wanted Potter… out of the way. Not necessarily dead but gone from my life forever. But here was the answer. Sitting snugly in my hand, warmed by the heat of my palm.
"You do have doubts," Voldemort said quietly. "Don't you remember why you wrote to me in the first place? Don't you remember that you offered me information first, that you begged me to help you?" Anger surfaced inside me, as I remembered. It still made me furious, still made me blush in embarrassment.
"It was her eighteenth birthday," I said softly. "She was back from that freak school and everyone was fawning on her. Wonderful Lily. Precious Lily. Talented Lily. How I loathed her!" The memory was as bright as if it had happened yesterday, and I still felt the anger, the envy and the misery at being passed over by my glorious sister. She was younger than me, and my eighteenth birthday had been a niggardly small affair when compared to this extravaganza. "And she brought him. And when I saw him…" My heart broke. "Lily always had the best of everything. I was with Vernon but when I saw him…" He was so beautiful. He charmed them all. "She said his name was James and that he was another freak like her and instead of being angry that she brought him without saying, instead of pushing him away, he was welcomed into the family. My parents practically fell at his feet." My humiliation had burned on my face, and then Lily had come over to introduce him to 'her big sister', and I was wearing a frumpy skirt and blouse that I had been forced into by my parents, whilst she was slim, with gorgeous hair, wearing beautiful clothes and looking radiant and I hated her so much.
He was polite of course, but he gave me a wicked smile behind her back, and that emboldened me. I had a glass of the punch. Another. I snuck into the kitchen and added vodka to my cocktail. I was miserable and I was confused and I needed that alcohol to make the world a warmer, nicer place. As the evening drew on some of the guests filtered away. It was only family who came for the birthday, and some of them had a long way to go home. By midnight only a few of the younger cousins remained. My parents went up to bed (nothing untoward would happen with Lily there!) and I was thoroughly drunk. I went for a walk in the garden to clear my head, and sat there on the cool grass, contemplating the deep, gleaming greens of the leaves and listening to the murmuring of the fountain in our pond.
"And he came out. In the dark, with his shirt half unbuttoned and his hair messed up. He sat on the grass next to me." He threw back his head and contemplated the stars valiantly twinkling above us through the mire of London fog.
"It's a beautiful night… Petunia, was it?" I blushed, pleased that he was paying me attention.
"Yes. I looove the stars." From my slurring he would have known that I was drunk, but I felt like I was riding a firework. Here I was, outside, with Lily's boyfriend and she not anywhere to be seen. I smiled at him. "I always find stars really romantic." He nodded.
"Very much so. Like diamonds in the sky." I pressed on, pleased with myself.
"Girls love diamonds."
"So I have been told." I turned towards him, and reached out, touching his shoulder.
"Your eyes are like sapphires, you know. Not quite diamonds, but still, beautiful." I giggled. "And I'm older than you."
"You are," he agreed.
"So you're a young person. Still in school." I giggled again. "Young, young, so young." He smiled that wicked smile again and my heart leapt.
"That I am." I moved forward clumsily into an embrace with him. He raised his hands to ward me off, but I pushed forwards, the alcohol urging me on, his sinful lips in my sight, until I practically fell on his mouth. It only lasted a second but… it was the most terrible feeling ever. I couldn't have this. I could never have this. And then he was pushing me back and shaking his head and explaining and explaining.
"I was so angry I ran up to her room and wrote a letter. I'd heard them talk of you. I addressed the letter to you and tied it to the owl's leg. The damn bird pecked my hand, so I threw it out the window…"
"And it flew to me," Voldemort said softly. I jumped, as if snapping out a trance. How long had I stood there, reminiscing? "And I was able to use what you gave me… seven times I nearly had them. Seven times they got away. But not the last time."
"I thought it was over," I whispered. "And then, him. On the doorstep. With her eyes. Glaring up at me. Accusing me." I shuddered. "I should have smothered him the day I found him."
"You would have saved me a lot of trouble," Voldemort agreed. I brought up my head proudly, but wilted a little under his terrible glare.
"It's time this ended."
"It is." His voice was dry, like boots scuffing through dry leaves. I looked down at the vial with the liquid inside, slippery from my sweaty palm. Death had never looked more… small, more improbable. It was insane to contemplate the devastating damage contained in such a tiny bottle.
"It's painless?" I asked again, for confirmation. The wizard lord nodded impatiently.
"Perfectly," he snarled. "Now leave me." The ice in his voice ran chill fingers down my spine, and I had stepped away before I realised. I glanced again at that tiny vial, and when I looked up he was gone.
Vernon was out that evening. Dudley came in mid-evening from tea at a friend's house and went straight upstairs to play on his computer. I watched him climb the stairs with tears in my eyes. Such an angel, so good and thoughtful. So little trouble. My mouth twisted slightly. Dudley would never have a wicked smile, would never have girls falling over him under the stars. Life was so cruel, really, that I was only allowed one child and he was so unlike, so unlike…James. I dismissed the guilty thought instantly, as I had a thousand times before. Dudley was my child, and he deserved unconditional love. Every time I failed this test of motherhood I felt like I was betraying Vernon, every time I bought something to see my baby's eyes light up or lavished love on him. And yet the feeling never went away. Second best. You always had second best.
The sound of the key scraping in the lock heralded his return. The door swung open and he walked in moodily.
"Wipe your feet!" I snapped automatically, but then forced my face into a smile as he glared. "I mean, Harry, I'm sorry. I know this must be a hard time for you. But I would prefer a clean carpet to one that looks like a tramp's camped on it." He held up his hands to ward me off. Like those hands under the stars.
"All right, all right." He walked back and kicked the mat aimlessly, then wandered towards the stairs.
"Going to your room?"
"Yup." He didn't even look at me. I held up a hand to stop him.
"Harry, would you… I mean… we haven't talked much. About your future."
"I've got it sorted out," he replied in a languid tone. "Don't worry; just two weeks more and I'll be seventeen and out of your lives forever."
"But that's exactly what I mean!" I cried. "You're about to leave and we've never even had a talk, Aunt to Nephew. I feel we should, at least once." He stared at me for a second and then shrugged.
"If you really want."
I led him through to the kitchen and made tea for both of us. He's always liked tea; when he was younger he used to steal sips from Vernon's mug when he thought Vernon wasn't looking. I'd reprimanded him a few times, but then given up, knowing he'd have a hiding if Vernon caught him at it. But Vernon never did. He hunched broodingly over the mug, curling his hands around it, blowing into it, as I balanced my own china cup delicately with my thumb and first two fingers.
"What shall we talk about?" I asked, encouragingly. He shrugged again.
"Whatever you want, I guess." The steam twisted up from the mug, making him blink. My stomach tightened. Her eyes. I could never escape her eyes. Accusing me every day. He ran a hand disconsolately through his messy hair (such a wretched reminder of, of him. I'd tried to cut it one time but it grew back) and took a sip of the tea. I hesitated a little, and then took a sip of mine. Lord Voldemort had assured me the poison was tasteless as well as painless; both of us drank the tea as though it was perfectly normal. My skin crawled to think of the darkness lurking in the one cup, under the guise of hot water, milk and dried leaves. My hands were practically trembling as I placed my cup back on the tray. He nursed his tea still, and I realised we were supposed to be talking.
"There are some things I never told you," I said nervously. "About me and your parents." He tilted his head to the side, her eyes regarding me with curiosity and thinly veiled hostility. I gulped and struggled on as he took another sip, the liquid travelling visibly down his pale throat as he swallowed. "You probably never knew that I met your father…James." He sighed.
"And I bet you loathed him on sight. I'm not surprised, I guess. You don't like our kind, and one thing I don't think you are is a hypocrite. So, I'm sorry, but I really don't want to listen to more of my parents being slagged off." He placed his emptied mug back onto the counter with a clink that made me wince. I started to speak but then her eyes glared up at me, and his face twisted into an expression approaching contempt and something inside me just broke. I lowered my gaze to my nails and said quietly, "You may go if you wish."
"Thanks for the tea," he said grudgingly, and strode out of the kitchen. Carefully, with an effort to keep my hands from trembling, I washed up the tea things. No evidence. There must be no clues, not for Vernon, when he finally came home to the woman he had married, the woman who had done her best to destroy her sister. Not for Dudley, the son who never knew how disappointed his mother was every time she saw him.
And not for the boy either, the boy who even now would find laid on his bed a handwritten letter. The first line would leap out to those miserably familiar green eyes 'Harry, I'm sorry' and that mouth which I remembered so well must even now be opening in horror as he read on and on. Slowly, like an old woman, I walked into the living room and sat on the sofa. Already a deep, terrible fire was burning in my throat, already ice was spreading through my belly. Voldemort had promised a painless death. As I convulsed in that familiar lounge, as I heard thundering feet on the stairs a bitter and hopeless anger rose inside me.
He had lied.