A/N: Cicen is an Anglo-Saxon word for chicken.


Agenda

Many months earlier…

In a dark cave, Dumbledore sat at the back of a small boat, looking ahead as he drifted over the black water. At the front, a wheezing, hunchbacked hag grasped the boat's sides. She didn't seem too keen on water and boats.

The boat rocked with each invisible stroke, and the smell of moss and stagnant water filled Dumbledore's nostrils. He pulled out a tiny silver vinaigrette box and held it to his nose, smelling some lavender to take the edge off the odours. Then to pass the time he hummed to himself. It didn't, however, drown out the distant screams, or the sharp snap of a whip that echoed down the rocky tunnel.

"We're 'ere, Mr Cicen," the hag wheezed in a hoarse, foreign accent. She crawled to the shore, glad to finally touch land.

Dumbledore got out of the boat. "Do Dementors exist here?"

"Dose foul beazts? No zir. Most migrated to your country, zir. Maybe you can write dat into your history book, Mr Cicen."

"If it relates to the prisoner in question, then maybe I will." Dumbledore grimaced as he twirled his dark brown beard.

A candle that had hovered in front of the boat now bobbed along in midair, leading their way around a bend. After the hag secured the boat, Dumbledore followed her, limping, his phoenix-headed cane click-clacking on the ground.

"Zir, tis way, zir."

He looked up and saw arched windows carved into the yellow stone. He distinctly thought of Swiss cheese. Light shone out of the windows in many colours, like Christmas lights.

A few squeaking and flapping bats filled the pathway of a spiral staircase, worn from hundreds of years of use. Before this godforsaken place had been turned into a prison by Grindelwald, it had been an old dwarf mine and village. Then the mine had dried up forcing them to move on.

Goblins could smell treachery and thievery a mile away. They had a propensity for it as they were highly skilled in those deeds themselves. So Grindelwald forced the Bulgarian goblins, with the offer of great rewards, to take over the abandoned dwarf mine and built an ominous castle filled with dangerous towers on top of it. With their ingenuity, they turned it into the prison it was today. As gold helped their power, goblins forced the prisoners' family to pay for their keep, and Dumbledore has paid on time for the last sixty years.

Dumbledore remembered tidbits of goblin history and wars as he followed the hag through the rocky underground maze. He recalled that goblins were once mutinous dwarf guards from a Scandinavian dwarf clan, Edderdøp.

The guards were different from the rest of their kin. As the clan was isolated from other dwarf colonies, it had made some taller with thicker bones, and their eyes black and beady. But their strength and magic was superior, different, exhibiting power similar to that of a Mage's. These different looking dwarves made them best suited to protecting the mine.

The Edderdøp mine was a place of great wealth, large and dense. But the commander of the guards, Grømand, grew so greedy that he demanded better payment for their service. The new chief, Behårmand, not only refused the request, but he distrusted the different looking kin and exiled them above the surface. It was the ultimate disgrace for any dwarf.

Using their unique magic, the guards fought back, killed the chief and all male dwarves, before taking control of the mine. It was dark moment in dwarf history and one rarely talked about.

Then as their new hybrid clan grew, they called themselves goblins. They attacked other mines, killed their kin and kidnapped female dwarves. They were so arrogant in the beginning that they incited terror with the growing population of the human race, by stealing treasure, murdering people in their sleep, and as myth had it, eating magical infants.

Thousands of years later, their evil aided their transformation into ugly, clever and powerful beings who schemed, cheated and killed to advance their own agenda.

Unlike the European goblins who continued to sabotage and blackmail wizard and dwarf governments, the goblins in England changed a thousand years ago, during the time Hogwarts was being built. They did not have good mines, so they created Gringotts. They were also the only goblin clan in the world to have a semi-good relationship with the dwarves abroad.

"ARRRGHHHH!"

Dumbledore's attention turned to the hag, who almost fell down some stairs slick with blood. He stopped short of the first step.

"Prisoner tried to escape laz' night." The hag shrugged, as though bloodied stairs were a normal occurrence.

"Tis way, zir." At the end of the second flight of stairs, the hag led him down a roughly carved out corridor.

Wrought iron bars stood everywhere, chains snaked on the slimy ground or walls, and the flicking dim light was cold and uninviting. It felt similar to Azkaban, right down to the despair. There was also a tang of blood in the air.

Then dirty, long-nailed hands sometimes reached through bars.

"GER' OFF!" the hag screamed. She bashed the hands away with a knobbly baton she had retrieved from her cloak. "You kept tat up and there'll be nooooooo food for teh lot of ye bazzzztardzzz!"

Dumbledore kept his focus ahead. He did not want to view the prisoners, and didn't want to see their dead looking eyes. He did not want to remember those sunken green eyes of the boy he had left behind in Azkaban...

His dark thoughts disappeared when they met a couple of Finnish Aurors along the way, bent over in deep conversation, each holding a goblet of mead. The Aurors bowed their heads at the sight of him. Dumbledore greeted them, before continuing on.

The prison faculty was filled with Aurors and workers from all over Europe. Many were English Aurors who were disenfranchised with the British Ministry.

The hag then led Dumbledore up a spiral staircase. They were out of the mine and in the castle now. "Ere'," said the hag as she stopped at a dungeon door.

The sturdy door was filled with heavy enchantments. On the hag's command, it opened with a howling shriek. She stood aside, conjured a small rickety stool and sat down.

Dumbledore entered the cell. His eyes needed adjusting to the darkness, while his nose needed adjusting to the horrible smell of human waste and decay. The full moon's light washed over the room with a cold eerie light that made the deadly silence even more permeable. There was no warmth, no sense of happiness or hope. There was only the expectation of death and suffering.

The door closed behind him with an ear-piercing shriek.

The sound of his footsteps and cane echoed within the dark room. The ceiling was high, filled with chains, spikes and restraints, and a cage hung in the middle like a ghastly looking chandelier. Though there was only one man in here, living. Scattered bones and rotting corpses of rodents were kicked towards a corner into a pile. He covered his mouth and pressed on.

The prisoner was sitting cross-legged and proud. "Who are you?" he grunted.

Dumbledore removed his disguise.

This prisoner chuckled lightly. "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes."

"It's been awhile, hasn't it, Gellert?" Dumbledore moved closer.

He ignited his wand and observed the man's features. He was old and the years had been extremely unkind to Gellert. The man's beard and hair trailed the floor in knots and dirty wet clumps. His eyes were desperately sunken and sad. His wrinkles were deep, his skin was grey and flaking and most of his teeth were gone.

"I haven't heard my name in awhile." A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He obviously hadn't smiled for years. He then frowned. "No one calls me by my name anymore."

"Gellert, have you heard of a wizard who calls himself Voldemort?"

"Ahh, that English bastard, what's his name… It's a strange name, Riddle. Timothy, Titus..."

"Tom Riddle."

"Is he winning the war? Is that why you've come?"

"I wouldn't say winning," Dumbledore said slowly. He conjured a chair of his own, and a bottle of brandy with two glasses. Unlike Azkaban, visitors could use a limited amount of spells in here.

The prisoner stiffened up, eyeing the bottle suspiciously. "What are you doing here, Albus?"

Dumbledore poured out the brandy and handed the glass to the prisoner, then sat down and placed his cane across his legs.

"Have you hurt yourself?"

"A mere accident." Dumbledore frowned. "A year ago, I tripped over a kneazle that was rummaging through the grounds of Hogwarts. I am better, fear not."

The old prisoner laughed. "I could always see through your lies."

"And yours too." He raised his glass and drank the brandy. "I have come—I have a favour to ask of you."

The prisoner narrowed his grey eyes. "Oho, and what do I get in return? I've been in here for over sixty years, no thanks to you." The wizard smirked, sipping his brandy after sniffing it. He closed his eyes and savoured the drink.

"Believe me, Lord Grindelwald, you will not pass this opportunity up."

Hearing his full name, the old man swelled with renewed pride. "Tell me then. But be careful what you say in here. The goblins might hear.""

Dumbledore observed the once powerful wizard intently as he placed charms around the room to protect their secrets. He then held another full glass of brandy to his lips. "First, what have you heard about a boy named Harry Potter?"

"A little…"

But Dumbledore knew his old foe knew more than that. "And?"

"The Potters… They come from a long line of purebloods, right? Perhaps tainted blood, but, prominent, powerful… at least from Peverell's side." Grindelwald toothlessly grinned. "Are those charms you put up able to keep the goblin spies out?"

"Our conversation is secure," Dumbledore replied confidently.

In a hushed voice Gellert said, "The eldest boy is Voldemort's right hand, isn't he?"

"Yes, but he's in prison now. One of the things you'll be doing for me is to keep an eye on him."

The prisoner tapped his chin with a gnarly finger. "Funny, I've heard the goblins are keeping tabs on the boy too."

"Harry would be an asset to anyone who can control him."

"And how will I be conducting these favours of yours within prison?"

"I find the Bulgarian goblins are easier to sway..." Dumbledore looked at the prisoner. "They're less adherent to rules and laws than their English counterparts. In a few days, you may find the door to your cell open for no apparent reason."


July 26th, the present.

A tall, long-haired boy limped around the dark living-room of Severus Snape's dwelling. His fingers prodded the coffee table where a pile of old tomes sat and then the trinkets and boxes near his fireplace.

This very much annoyed Severus. He didn't like anyone touching his things or defiling his house with filth. More so, it was the fact that a Potter had entered his house that irked him most.

He watched the boy stride to the couch, fingers lazily touching everything.

"Where's Emily?" Potter asked casually. "I hope you haven't killed her because of her subpar potion making skills."

Severus gazed around the room, making sure that nothing he wished to keep private was out in the open. "Her potion skills are much better than yours ever was. Besides, she has other valuable skills, that to discard her like a scrap of garbage would have been a disgrace."

"Then where is she?"

"Miles is a fully initiated Death Eater. She is free to do what she likes without my mentorship."

"Free," the boy snorted, "now, that's irony."

"Potter, you've come here for safety, not to check on my Conditioned's welfare."

The burgundy couch was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it was still comfortable and inviting. The boy sat down slowly, pain stretching over his face. He spread his arms over the back of it and closed his eyes.

"Do try and keep your filth off my furniture," Severus hissed.

It was a rare sight indeed for a visitor to grace the rooms of his house, even one as prickly as this boy. And if a visitor did come, it was just as rare if he left the house in one piece.

"It's not like they're not filthy already," the boy retorted. "In fact, do you ever clean? I s'pose not, otherwise your hair wouldn't be so greasy."

Silence…

The tangible feeling of hate spread from Severus like licks of flame. Such immature snides, he thought. It was bad enough the boy looked almost like his father, right down to that damnable untamed hair. Severus did not want to suffer insolence under his own roof. Why did he let him in? Damn you, Lily.

Severus whipped out his wand, jabbing the point in the soft skin underneath Potter's chin. The boy looked alarmed, though not as much as he would've liked.

"Insult me again in my own house, Potter. I dare you! And from now on, I will do the questioning." Even though the boy was above him in command, Severus was still a senior Death Eater and that demanded respect and fear, something which he knew Potter failed to grasp.

Potter's jaw clenched, breathing heavily. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

"It's a shame those Atoners didn't rip out you tongue." Severus sheathed his wand within his black robes again. "Where have you been hiding?"

"Here and there, anywhere dark…"

"Why has it taken you so long to seek refuge? Everyone else reported to our master within minutes of their escape."

"None of your business."

"None of my—?" Severus glowered. "You do realise I will need to report to the Dark Lord about you coming here?"

Potter tensed. "What are you going to tell him?"

"I don't know yet... perhaps I will tell him you've procrastinated. He hates that." A ripple of fear crossed Potter's face, but only for a second. This gave Severus a lot of satisfaction. "So again, I ask you, what were you doing for days after your escape?"

"Literally, nuh-thing," he said slowly, his tongue flicking over the last syllables. "Go on, Snape, tell him. I don't care," he goaded.

"And you do realise, if I tell him, he will punish you, perhaps kill you?"

The boy raised his chin in confidence. "He won't. I'm his favourite, remember?"

"You're insane." Severus narrowed his eyes.

"Do you know why I came here?"

"Enlighten me, yes. Why are you here gracing me with your presence?" he asked with a sigh.

"Because you like to keep your snivelling mouth shut." Potter frowned. "I've never seen you grovel like the others, divulging secrets for rewards. You keep to yourself."

Severus was slightly put off by this. The boy trusts me... interesting. Yet he didn't know whether he could trust the boy. There were so many questions he wanted to ask Potter, but Death Eaters kept the questioning to a minimum about each other's past. It was seen to be very dubious. Instead, Severus used Miles to spy for him, gathering information about other Death Eaters' Conditioned, captives and their locations for the Order. Though lately, he noticed the girl was keeping a lot of secrets to herself.

"No one knows how you lot escaped Azkaban. Do you?" Severus just stared into those lifeless light green eyes Potter had inherited from his mother.

"I don't know. I woke up and my side of The Black Square was destroyed and we were freed."

He watched the boy's expressions for lies. He would normally have used Legilimency, but since Potter was just as accomplished as he in Occlumency, he had to resort to observing facial expressions.

"How odd, that you managed to escape with seven others."

"Indeed," the boy agreed.

"Do you know the people you had escaped with?" Severus knew only one of the seven was a true, loyal Death Eater: Henry Cox: a Death Eater who was a spy in the Ministry.

Four of the prisoners had been conditioned, becoming assassins, killing off prominent Muggle officials. While another two were innocent wizards imprisoned for no crime, except for opposing the Ministry.

"I knew of them."

Severus decided to change subjects, keeping Potter from getting too comfortable in their conversation. "What did the Atoners do to you?"

"You know. You just want to hear it for your own perverse pleasure."

"I have no qualms in seeing you suffer, Potter," he said. "But you're here for help. I can help you."

Potter laughed.

"When was the last time you ate?" he continued, firing off more questions than he had answers.

"A rat one day ago. Do you want to know the last time I had a shit too?" Potter opened his sunken eyes.

Severus would never be intimidated or scared of a stupid, ignorant, power-hungry, toerag teen. The mere thought was laughable.

The way he smiled reminded Severus of Lily; it was the way her almond-shaped eyes narrowed, and the glow of the smile was exactly like his. Though Lily's had sparkled with love and fun, her son's did not.

He stood in front of the boy, arms crossed with the intent of staring him to death. "Be careful, Potter. I am a Senior; one word, and the Dark Lord will make you pay."

Scoffing, he said, "It's not like he's never planned to kill me, anyway."

So brash, bold, and reckless. Not that you had changed much, but what happened to you, Potter? A few times, Severus had tried to get a straight answer from Dumbledore about the boy's sudden change of sides, but the old wizard never revealed a thing.

Could the boy be working for Dumbledore like he was? Or perhaps the boy, unlike him, had been working for Dumbledore.

Strangely, the Dark Lord wanted the boy close and even closer after Dumbledore had succumbed to his master's powers at the end of fifth year. Many could not understand this, especially since Potter and his family were his enemies.

Eventually, stupidly, the boy was caught loitering around Ms Granger's house after he had killed his brother. The charms the Muggleborn had placed on her house had alerted the Hit Wizards straight away.

While Potter was under Severus's thumb, he was going to risk it and question him about it. It would stop Lily pestering him for information about her Death Eater son.

He curled his lip. "At least you know what's coming. Now, why did you go to your family? Who did you kill for that wand and Portkey?"

"Speaking with my mum, lately?"

"News travels fast."

"That's bullshit—!"

"Why did you go there? You still haven't reported to our master!"

"I wanted to see my sister. Then my mother caught me... I needed time to escape, so I made them think I was loopy."

"I think you succeeded."

"Good. I'm not ready to kill my parents yet—too weak," he rambled on. "My Portkey Charm was slightly off in direction and landed me in the house, stupid thing. I burgled an old wizard—didn't kill him."

"Where's your Yew and Phoenix wand?"

"Hidden in a cave."

Potter wasn't thinking rationally, Severus thought. "The same cave with this elusive diadem?"

The boy tapped his fingers on the armrest, taking a moment to respond, as he perhaps remembered the finer details of his conversation with Lupin. "Oh, yeah... Ravenclaw's diadem... Good story wasn't it?"

"Idiotic, really. What did the Atoners do to you?"

Silence permeated the air, chilly and unforgiving.

"Did the Atoners break you?"

Severus could hear the grandfather clock he had inherited from his Muggle grandfather chime. It seemed so far, even though it was only a few feet away.

"What secrets were you forced to reveal to the Atoners?"

"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…" Potter sang to himself, rocking back and forth.

"Did they break you?" he repeated.

Severus moved closer to him, and the tiniest flutter of his black robes brushed against the boy's arm. The reaction confirmed his queries. Potter jumped away, wide-eyed and alarmed.

Severus backed away, satisfied with the boy's torment. "Calm down, I won't hurt you."

"I never revealed anything!"

He could've taunted Potter a little more, make him squirm, make him realise Severus was the one not to be toyed with, but in the end he chose not to. Instead, Severus gave the boy space and a chance to regain control, secretly relishing the power he now held over him.

When Potter had first walked in, he'd probably thought he could command Severus around. Wrong. In truth, the boy was nothing; only a pawn for the Dark Lord's game.

Potter stood up, his hands in fists now. "I'm staying here! It'll only be for a little while—"

"Yes. Use the spare bedroom—first door to your right, upstairs. I will call in Healer Sigmus Pritchard. You'd know him."

"I don't know him. But I've heard about what he does to Mudbloods."

Severus sneered. "Then you must do as you're told, unless you want to become his new guinea pig. Now, get out of my sight."

Potter scowled at being told what to do, though Severus could see his tense shoulders relaxing somewhat.

"While you're under my roof, you're to obey my every command." He took in the look of outrage on Potter's face with pleasure. "I daresay it will be a change for you."


In a cave near Wiltshire, Harry woke up. His mind was reeling and confusion was settling into a hard ball in the middle of his chest. He had just had a rather vivid dream.

He had seen everything his Mirror was doing through his eyes, just like it had happened with Voldemort in his own world. He cupped his hands over his eyes, drinking in whatever was left of his dream before it slipped away.

For one day Harry had stayed in the cave, only venturing out to find food and little snippets of information from the nearby Muggle town. He wanted to investigate the world and formulate ways to get Mirror Dumbledore's attention without ending up a prisoner or worse. He already had an idea, but it would be risky.

Everything in this Mirror Universe looked the same, but Harry had noticed a heavy cold mist that hung about constantly. What had shocked him most, however, was the discovery of a mass murder scene outside a pub he'd seen when walking through town that evening. There was a group of dead Muggles, and a few who were barely alive.

People were trying to get a better look at the death and destruction, but the police, masked in special protective gear and wearing sterile gloves and masks were shooing them away. Harry got closer, sticking behind yellow fences that were erected around the area of the dead. Muggles in biohazard suits were carefully piling the plastic covered bodies onto gurneys to be whisked away. Those who were still alive were put into plastic bubble sort of devices, in the hopes they'd contain the mysterious disease.

"Dear God, when did this happen?" a woman in front of Harry asked. "I know this has been happening all over the country for years now, but I never expected it to happen here, in my own town!"

A man next to her whispered, "It happened at sunset, Maryanne. Some heard screaming, but something got to them as they escaped the pub and they dropped like flies."

"But what was it? You can't just die like that." The woman clicked his fingers, emphasising her point.

"Well, they all thought it was some sort of fast spreading disease, but I've heard rumours that a coppa' was shooting at something no one could see before he died too."

The Dementor's Kiss, Harry thought. That policeman must have been a squib or more.

"Come on, Maryanne, we'd best be going. Curfew is about to begin."

Harry too retreated from the area. He quickly stole some food from the local store, with the hoodie of his jacket drawn over his face. The owner of the shop was more interested in the murder scene than seeing a boy stealing. He quickly returned to the cave, with the Muggle town far in the distance and thought hard whether he wanted to be hiding for a day longer, especially with Dementors everywhere.

More than once, Harry had thought about turning himself in to the Order and pleading for them to believe him. But fear held him back until today, after witnessing those Muggles.

It was now or never. Harry swore, picked up his jacket, ready to Apparate to someone who could help him... perhaps, after a little Confundus Charm, and then message Dumbledore to him.

Suddenly he heard voices whispering outside and a child crying, and remained completely still.

"This way," one said. A boy. "I think this is another good cave to sleep in tonight."

"Wait, Tony, are you sure there aren't any g-ghosts—"

"Don't be stupid, Ashley. There could be Dementors."

"TONY!" the little girl screamed. "That's not funny."

"Then stop being stupid! Ghosts are nothing, anyway."

Harry saw wand light at the very edge of the cave, and could see the shadows of two figures getting closer. What he saw next made his insides squirm.

The boy, perhaps twelve years old, had a disfigured face; his right side was scarred. His right eye was white and foggy, and part of his hair was missing. What shocked Harry most was the Dark Mark, as black as ink on his left forearm where his cloak had drifted back.

The little girl, who had been scared moments before, gripped the boy's cloak.

She was two feet shorter than the boy; her hair had been shaved off and she was very dirty.

"I want to go home! Tony, we need to stop hiding in caves," she said, scared and sad. "We aren't that far away from Malfoy Manor yet."

Harry swore under his breath. He had forgotten that the Malfoys lived in Wiltshire.

"We can't, stupid. We need to hide or Bellatrix will catch us. And that note gave us a list of coordinates—of caves to go to every day."

"But what if it was a trick?"

"That's why we're not going to those exact places!" the boy slyly replied. "Bit by bit, we'll get out of Wiltshire."

"I wish we were taught Apparition!"

What kind of a world was this? Harry thought with horror. He moved his hand an inch and some gravel fell to the ground. Both children looked at the very spot he stood and screamed.