Shattering Mirrors
Redone by: Crysania Fay
Chapter 2
Disclaimer: If you want to see the disclaimer, then I suggest that you go check out the first chapter. Thank you.
words in italics without proper capitalization--past memories.
Words in bold--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.
Other phrases in Italics--Harry's thoughts.
"Beneath each came forth two great wings…they had no feathers, but their fashion was of a bat; and he was flapping them so that three winds were proceeding from him, whereby Cocytus was all congealed. With six eyes he was weeping, and over three chins were trickling the tears and the bloody drivel. At each mouth he was crushing a sinner with his teeth…so that thus he was making three of them woeful."
-Dante's The Divine Comedy
Falling.
The mirror shattered.
Shattered.
Consciousness returned in an unwelcome rush of sensation, and it took Harry a moment to realize that he was, indeed, still alive.
Damn.
He kept his eyes closed, savoring the numb, sweetly burning feeling on his back.
Oddly enough, it felt like snow.
Panic suddenly rushed through his head, making his adrenaline level soar. They were all dead, all of them, because of him…
…all his fault…
He cursed his weakness. How could he have lost so much control? Had not everyone taught him to rein in his temper, how to control himself? And he failed them.
Well, no; he destroyed them.
All his fault.
With his eyes still closed, Harry curled into a tight ball, shivering from the cold from the snow and the deadened pieces of his heart.
So much blood.
Screaming.
Pleas.
His breathing quickened, his panic refusing to be shoved back. He had failed, he was worthless, a freak just like his uncle had always said…
I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry he sobbed to the voices pounding through his thoughts. I'm sorry…
Well that's not going to make everything all right now is it? sneered a snide voice. You always were an incompetent, Potter. Potions, Occlumency, even your friendships—what dear Albus ever found in you I shall never know.
I'm sorry he gasped out.
A soft hooting interrupted his mental torture session.
Hedwig?
Open your eyes, hon.
Chatoyant?
With a strength of will Harry had forgotten he possessed, he finally managed to slit open his eyes just enough to see.
White; the color of purity, virginity, holiness. Everything he was not.
Opening his eyes completely, he found himself to be laying near the edge of a small lake, perhaps only a bit more than a quarter of a mile in diameter. Thick trees surrounded the little clearing and lake in which he currently resided.
His muscles seemed infused with a liquid lethargy, and he felt exhausted. The voices had disappeared upon Hedwig and Chatoyant's interruption, leaving an emptiness that was almost as bad as its predecessor. Wearily, his lifted his arms to his face, wincing at the creaking aches shooting through his joints, and examined them. Thin silver lines ran from the base of his palm to about a third of the way up his arm, no sign of the previous violence or blood that caused and resulted from them remaining. Other silvery traces danced delicately along his pale skin, some done in soft turns and curves of torture, others straight and harsh from rushed desperation.
Self-loathing squeezed his heart mercilessly.
He had broken his promise.
But everyone was dead, so they would hardly know or care.
Harry sat up agonizingly slowly, lightheaded and hollow. His faithful, loving owl chirped in her quirky way, stepping into his lap purposefully and settling herself down.
There was soft, sad laughter in the back of his mind.
She's a wonderful creature a quiet tone murmured in his thoughts. A snake, previously curled for warmth beneath the collar of his shirt, slithered out with her tongue flickering.
Chatoyant, his shape-shifting familiar.
Yes, she is Harry agreed, and then spoke aloud. "I'm sorry, Hedwig, but I have to stand up or I'll freeze."
Even to his own ears his voice sounded weary, old; made fragile by a dying soul.
The snowy owl hooted and fluttered out of his lap, instead latching onto his arm as he shakily stood. He attempted a smile, but failed, so instead settled for brushing his fingers over her soft plumage.
He could not remember the last time he had smiled. The only emotions he could remember were hatred and rage. Happiness had been thrown aside and lost long ago.
Where he was he did not know, and a brief inquiry to his familiar produced similar results. Lost.
Lost.
Well, at least now his physical predicament matched his mental one.
The knife Sirius had given him what felt like so long ago lay in the numb cold white snow a few infinite feet away. He waved a hand absently, and the small blade was magically returned to the folds in his coat. Pensively, he gazed deeply into Hedwig's wise golden eyes.
Only a few days before, he had stared into a different set of eyes. Malevolent, crimson eyes, slitted like a snake in a face paler than a forgotten bone left to the sun for it to bleach itself of all color.
And the downward spiral had finally been broken upon sharp reality.
Everyone was dead.
Hogwarts had been destroyed.
Four mere moonrises ago.
Because he had lost control.
Because he had let the all-too-human emotions of rage and hatred flood his thoughts and poison his heart, and guide his actions in the manner of a ship towards the hidden glaciers under a tranquil backdrop.
The magical power in his soul had stirred and risen to the surface as a dragon does from a deep sleep to a baiting prey; it had surged forth, splintering his well-loved wand in its eagerness, ripping deep into the earth, roaring into the sky and tearing with a dreadful shriek of uncontrolled carnal rage into the near-immortal body of a creature that had dared try to destroy him, had dared to rend apart the precious lives he had held so dear.
What most wizards did not know was that magic often had a mind of its own; the greater the concentration and age, the more sentient it became. And it had reacted to its teenage channel's wishes, a boy no more than a channel because no one could be a complete master of this omniscient and omnipresent force; but it had followed its ally's wishes and gushed forth, examining every mind within a twenty mile radius and judging it in an eternity that lasted less than a millisecond.
There was no such thing as Light or Dark. Good or evil. Only blank gray.
evil.
malice.
All the tainted minds were splintered. Deatheaters, faces frozen in a mocking mask of surprise and agony, dropped lifeless to the ground, their deep blood dripping in scarlet ribbons to the ground. The Dark creatures; werewolves, vampires, Dementors, chimaeras, abracax, basilisk, golem, troll—all that had allied with the Dark Lord—were reduced to mere mounds of still flesh and clay that lent to the air the reek of charred corpses and fur.
The full moon had cried pearls of tinted essence.
And for that one, terrible moment when his, Harry's, mind shared Voldemort's, the two briefly becoming a single entity; their thoughts had been the same. Their emotions were the same. And Harry had felt that mind finally snap beneath the strain, the delicate framework collapsing with a dull roar as it shattered.
Silence.
Always there was silence where Death visited.
The ones that had been spared by the magic's judgment were either dead or dying, their souls already escaping into the astral world.
But he had been left alone.
Alone. In silence.
At least the thrice-damned prophecy was fulfilled.
But not even the cold sharpness of his blade had called upon Death.
No, instead, he was here. Lost.
The fresh pale snow was a sharp contrast to the dark, damp earth muddy with lifeblood. Even the air was clear, sharp; untainted.
For how long he stood there nearly obliterated by the falling masses of pale snow in intrusive cold he didn't know. To Harry, time no longer mattered.
We are not alone Chatoyant's tired voice finally broke softly into his thoughts, and he started, shaking his head as a wolf pup would do to water.
Something probed his mental barriers.
His hackles rose angrily, instinctively.
No one was allowed into his mind.
No one.
Harry sent a short wave of spiked coldness along a psychic thread and reinforced his walls.
No one.
After a few tense moments of waiting, his senses strained to their maximum, he caught the sound of snow crunching beneath feet.
Approximately two, probably three; medium height, young, he guessed. Their scents were heavy on the chilled wind, overlaying the smells of the lake and the surrounding trees.
Automatically he continued the stroking of Hedwig's feathers, still staying alert for any more movement. Two stopped some ways away, but the third continued towards him, halting a bit closer than he would have liked.
"Hello."
Female, about late teens, early twenties at the most. A confident, motherly, possibly overbearing type, judging from the voice.
Sometimes even Harry himself got sick of his paranoid analytical habits.
"I know you may a bit confused and afraid. I was too, when my powers began to manifest."
Harry tensed slightly, the hand petting the snowy owl hesitating ever so minutely. Could she know? Could she know what kind of person—no, monster—he was? Was she a witch? But he felt no magical presence.
"We can help you. You don't have to run away."
Oh, but how he wanted to. He wanted to run until his legs gave out, until his mind could give into to merciful darkness.
"Everyone needs help sometimes, but you can't be afraid of asking. Or trusting."
Trust was what had killed Remus and Ron. Trust had put him in this position; trust was a fucking lie veiled in gossamer threads.
He started slightly when he felt Chatoyant slither down his legs, her ire making itself known in his mind.
Girl doesn't know of what she speaks. Little bitch…
And usually Chatoyant was the one chiding him for losing his temper.
"Th-that's a beautiful snake."
An unseen smirk curved his lips. If only she knew what the 'snake' really was.
"We wish only to help you."
A new voice. A voice that sounded like—
I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects us fools who love to act :1:
Only fools love.
That muggle song Hermoine used to like, "Only Fools Rush In"…
And fools are the ones that die.
So why was he still alive? Why could he not just fucking die!
"We are mutants. Every one of us has gone through exactly what you are now; we can help you learn control and how to manage your powers, whatever they may be."
He suppressed the inane laughter bubbling up within him. He could never control his power, not true magic; and no one was allowed inside his head, into his scattered thoughts and horrid nightmares and ravaged screams that only he could hear.
As though sensing his distress, Hedwig took flight in a flurry of biting talons and harsh shrieks.
He could feel others behind him, more emerging from the cover of the snow-laden foliage.
Yet he felt as alone as he had ever felt.
He was the only one left upon this God-forsaken mud ball of a world. And God truly had abandoned them. Him.
Alone, screaming into an endless silence.
"No one can help me." As though from a distance he could hear his own voice responding, tired and weary of this half-life he was being forced to live.
"Learn to overcome whatever fear you may have; please, allow us to help you."
c'mon, harry, let us help you. we're following you through to the end, whether you agree or not, and we're comin' out the other side together
together.
Lies.
"Please, let us help you."
help us, harry! please, don't let him win
The screams had returned, along with that probing feeling on his walls. Rage swelled.
No one.
No one was allowed to touch him.
"Stay out of my mind."
Harry turned slowly, for the first time seeing the people so insistent on futilely trying to help him.
A tall redheaded woman with green eyes, her image sending a pain into his heart.
your mother was a wonderful woman, harry. your da' was a lucky man
The eyes of the man in the wheelchair, so much like the eccentric wizard that had tried so hard, so hard to save both him and the rest of the wizarding world, all for naught…
To avoid their eyes, he stooped to allow Chatoyant to wrap herself around his arm.
The others, a fierce determination in their eyes, but…they were still innocent. No, not completely, for their mannerisms spoke of a harsh past; but they were still ignorant of the darkest ways of humanity.
what's the matter, child? Not having fun? i am .i think red suits your body quite well. hmm, who would have thought that blood could taste like wine?
A brunette spoke harshly, protective anger in her eyes. He had seen that look before, many times, both in himself and in his dreams. Most often in a parent's eyes in the face of Deatheaters.
Mutant. Not wizard. Not magic, but genetic alterations to the human DNA.
A creature, skinny and lanky yet graceful in his feline movements, stepped up fearlessly in front of him, staring at him from a blue fur-covered but human face. Golden eyes that relayed sympathy and understanding, their color dark.
"Kurt Vaugner. Nightcrawler."
He was sincere. This Kurt, he understood. He understood the need for silence, the need for masks. But his eyes were so like Moony's, gilded of precious metal and given the soft glow of true kindness and a heart open to others, and thus he took the biggest leap of faith he had done since fourth year.
"Harry Potter."
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX
Tense silence filled the atmosphere in the jet on the way back to the Institute. Harry was silent and motionless, his eyes closed and head tilted forward just enough to allow his bangs to fall forward and obscure his face. Chatoyant's flat, serpentine head rested comfortably beneath his chin, but his shoulders felt oddly light without the weight of his precious Hedwig perched there like a winged feathery sentinel. He could feel the burden of the others' gazes on him, sharp and calculating as the business edge of a sword, yet too blunt to wound and thus deserve his attention.
Everything felt distant and surreal. He felt almost detached from the situation, like a muggle watching the breaking news story on television, or as if it were happening to another. In some part of his mind, he was faintly concerned that he was so calm given the current circumstances.
This had happened before, many times, and vaguely he remembered Madame Pomfrey now really, child, you really must learn to be more careful! i might as well just give you your own permanent quarters here telling him about the symptoms and side effects of shock. Considering he had been running on an adrenaline rush and severe depression for the last four hours or so and the rather dark situations that he had been forced to participate in, it was actually quite a testament to his will that he could still breathe fairly normally, let alone interact with other members of his hated species without losing it.
Here comes a candle, to light your way to bed…
Hold that thought, hon Chatoyant interrupted smoothly. It seems that big, bad, and ugly decided to finally take an interest in you.
For one panic filled moment, Harry thought she meant the Dark Lord, until a heavy animal-like musk reached his heightened senses.
Oh; the mutant they called Logan.
"Why do you smell like blood?" he growled.
Shit.
Harry felt his mind snap into automatic hyper-drive, analyzing the quickest way to incapacitate the huge bulk of a mutant in front of him, the most plausible excuse to make him remain ignorant, and the most efficient route to the jet's exit.
it's pouring…rushing, flowing—drowning…too much…
No, they could not ever know.
No one.
Harry slitted open his eyes, letting the full force of his emotions fuel the intensity of his glare and the twist of his sneering lips.
Been around Snape too much, he mused.
"Haven't had a chance to change my clothes for the last four days."
Yeah, for the last four days I've been wallowing in despair and insanity. Nothing too important.
Mental snort.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rogue looked shocked and Kitty about to gag. Logan's dark eyes, a deep brown ringed within by yellow ) wizards hate people like me, they hate werewolves) narrowed slightly, the pupil contracting sharply.
"Logan," the crippled man's voice said sternly.
Logan backed off, but Harry could read hostility and distrust in every line of his face.
Countless times he had faced that same expression. He could feel the hilt of the dagger Sirius had given him long ago pressing lightly into his ribcage.
Deliver us, Lord, from evil and temptation…
Chatoyant stirred, her head moving so that she was staring at him in the eye and her coils tightening in warning.
I almost lost you to yourself not long ago she hissed. I won't let that happen again
Guilt surged through his heart, and her tail flicked him in the air in a scolding manner.
"So, uh, where are you from?"
Kitty's voice abruptly caught his attention, but he gave no outward sign. Where was he from? England. Near London. Godric's Hollow. Well, his mother's womb, actually, just like her from her own mother's. Did that make them of the same nationality? Hmm, what an interesting idea. Though he doubted the others would appreciate it.
"England," he said, shortly, before his throat closed off. There. More trust. Whoa, he was on a roll these last couple hours.
"Really?" How strange, she sounded relieved. Why? "What's it like?"
Hell, actually, though the summers aren't too bad.
Hell.
let me in, boy. grant me access to your power, that delectable power
it burned, scorching his skin, leaving trails of wildfire in the blade's wake
you've never been touched, have you? how sweetly innocent. let me hear you scream asi take you, make you mine forever
Half-blocked images and memories suddenly began pounding on the inside of his skull, shrieking and clamoring for attention like thousands of tiny birds waiting for food from their sole benefactor. He could faintly hear Chatoyant calling to him, trying to bring him back from the edge of the abyss.
it's called insanity, harry; when you fall, reality is no longer the only sovereign of your universe
Harry!
The inside of the X-Jet returned, exactly the same as he had left it only a few lifetimes ago. Distantly, he found that his eyes had been screwed shut and his entire body tense as a bowstring, teeth gritted painfully together. He also had not answered Kitty's question.
Nor was he going to, either. Let the fucking bitch wonder, she had no right digging into his private affairs! Why couldn't everyone just LEAVE HIM ALONE!
Calm down, Harry his familiar murmured, sending waves of warmth and reassurance through their psychic link. Wait till no one is around. Besides, I think that she was just trying to make polite conversation. She's obviously a drama queen; it's like their instinct to pick up on something so personal. The voice changed to sound like a professor's lecture. Apparently, we get to observe these far too common creatures in their native habitat, seeking out their prey with the subtlety of a hippogriff that had a hive of hornets shoved up its ass.
Harry mentally smiled.
There were certain advantages to having Chatoyant as a familiar. Such as now, though Harry had his eyes closed, he could see through his familiar's eyes within his mind. Arabella Figg had once mentioned that it was strikingly similar to a muggle movie she had seen once several years ago, called "The Crow", in which the main character could see through the eyes of the crow rather like a vision seen through warped glass. At least Harry had a clear view, not warped or distorted or colorless. Come to find out, one of the directors had, in fact, been a wizard.
Harry shook his head slightly, just enough to clear his head of his mundane thoughts.
Through Chatoyant's eyes, Harry could see outside the window. With a jolt he realized that the snow-covered forest had been left far behind, judging from the lack of it in his view, and had given way to towns and cities and other structures of human civilization. They must be nearing their destination.
Oh, whoops, the old man is talking.
"The Xavier Institute is designed to give mutants a home where they can be themselves, a place where they'll be able to live amongst others like them without fear of prosecution or the need for secrecy," the professor was saying. "They are also able to learn the full extent and control of their powers, no matter what they may be, so that they'll be able to live normal lives when they leave."
"Normal is far too relative," Harry said softly, visibly startling the other occupants of the jet as his eyes opened. Xavier gazed at him pensively, but Harry returned the look stoically. In the back of his mind he could hear Chatoyant muttering darkly. Harry had never been normal. He did not even have the luxury of pretending to be, like the Dursley's had often done.
Because he happened to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, and was now the Walking-Weapon-That-Lost-Control-and-Killed-His-Loved-Ones.
His stomach slipped slightly as the jet descended a bit, probably in preparation to land wherever they were headed. Kitty sat up straighter in her seat, and Rogue unfolded her long legs from beneath her, removing Kurt's tail from where it had been quietly resting in her lap.
Harry glanced out the window, and for a moment was stunned. A huge waterfall, cascading over harsh, sharp tawny rocks, plunged several hundred feet down to the shoreline, the end of the water's fall hidden from view by thick white mist reflecting the moonlight eerily. Emerald moss and tiny sapphire flowers sprouted from joints in the rock, continuously fed by spray flowing gently over them.
It took Harry's breath away.
As they drew nearer to the bluff, Harry could make out a grand estate, with mowed lawns and a large ornamental fountain in front of a great white mansion supported by tall marble columns. He was faintly relieved to see the forest that lined one side of the property, stretching for a good ways.
Humans had a bad habit of destroying the ecosystems that provided them with life.
In mute amazement, he watched the waterfall, as it seemed to split down the center near the upper half, revealing a gaping cavern quite obviously made by human hands and not Mother Nature's.
Interesting woman, that one Chatoyant observed blithely.
The jet lowered, and the white-haired woman Harry faintly recalled as Storm guided the huge machine in skillfully, helped by Scott in the co-pilot seat.
"Home sweet home!" Spike said with a grin, stretching lazily. Kurt agreed enthusiastically, twisting around in his seat.
There was heavy bump as the jet landed in a darkened hangar, and the faint, constant humming that had been dismissed as background noise faded away as Storm cut the engine.
"Finally!" The German elf disappeared in a burst of smoke and a light flash.
Harry had whirled around with his knife in hand before he had fully registered what had happened, body ready in a defensive position and his eyes narrowed.
"Whoa, like, calm down," Kitty stuttered, taking a step back. Harry ignored her, instead giving a look to Xavier.
"Kurt's gift is teleportation," the man explained calmly. "I believe he also calls it bamfing."
After a moment, Harry slid the blade back within his cloak and willed his heart to slow down, furious at himself. Control. He let his reflexes get the best of him, and while it had saved his life on much more than one occasion, he could have seriously harmed another person had they been standing somewhere nearer to him.
Stupid boy! He chastised himself.
That would have been unforgivable. Especially since the only cure to the poison laced on the blade was in one of the many small vials he had used a Shrinking Charm on and placed in his pocket.
The poison took only seven and a half seconds to kill.
Dear Goddess, why had he agreed to come here?
This was going to be difficult.
:1: Dumbledore said this to Harry within the last few chapters or so of the fifth book.
Once again, nothing too new, but I hope that you noticed the spelling changes… Not that Hades' is a bad speller, but she was probably not that particular about it. Just shows that I am too picky…
R&R! Or I will kill you!