Demons

Harry watched Remus and James help the children settle in. The single bed was turned into a bunk bed and Ashley picked the bottom one straight away, as she was not accustomed to heights.

Remus told them the rules: "Make sure you hold down the toilet flush for more than three seconds, otherwise it'll block… The protection around the house stops at the stone walls… Never under any circumstances open the basement door…"

Remus had a spring in his step as he pulled the curtains shut and placed more blankets on the beds. Even his voice seemed less melancholic. Harry wasn't sure if it had been his presence that caused this pervading sadness, or if he'd been like this since his wife died. Nevertheless, the arrival of children seemed to have given him a new lease on life.

"Harry, are you going tell us stories before bed?" Ashley squeaked.

"When I'm well enough." He smiled, admiring that even through the horror Ashley had experienced she was still able to enjoy the simple things a child should.

Tony climbed up onto the top bunk and stared at the ceiling in silence.

Having seen enough, Harry limped away with the aid of his cane. In his bedroom, he discovered James hanging up his cloak.

"I hope you won't mind me sleeping in here." James ran a hand through his hair, sounded rather nervous.

"I don't mind at all."

"I bet you have a million questions to ask… so do I," James sighed.

Harry nodded. "What happened to you—to Sirius?"

James quickly paled and sat on his bed, facing his Mirror son. "Sirius died trying to rescue a Muggle in an alleyway—I tried to revive him, so did one of Grindelwald's men, but when we gave up, they knocked me out and took me." James stared at the floor, blinking furiously.

Harry cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on Sirius's death in this world and his own. "What's Grindelwald like?"

"Weird, creepy block—kept asking about Harry's Mage ability, and if it could be traced back in my family. He also kept talking about the Deathly Hallows. I didn't care about his questions; Sirius was gone, and my son was under his control… I honestly thought we were in danger."

"What did he say about the Hallows?"

"He thinks that ring Dumbledore wears is the Resurrection Stone, and my invisibility cloak—"

"Well, they are."

James stopped laughing. Shock replaced his amusement.

"What happened when you were Grindelwald's prisoner?" he asked, forcing James out of his surprised stupor.

"He, kept me locked in a chamber—some old fortress in Ireland—Dumbledore never knew he had taken me for days. HA! The kids were there, and treated them like their own. They then moved us to a cave where I discovered my son, fast asleep on an altar. Listen, did that connection between you and my son work?"

"Yeah. Perfectly."

Then James tethered on the edge of saying something. However he looked uncertain he wanted to know the truth.

"How did you end up in Azkaban?" Harry asked first.

James scowled. "After weeks, I could move freely from Grindelwald's Headquarters as long as I returned. I went to Godric's Hollow—I wanted to see Sirius's grave—I never made it. Aurors caught me."

"You're lucky Umbridge didn't kill you," Harry said.

James let out a whistle. "I know."

"So what was your purpose being Grindelwald's prisoner?"

"To help my son. You know, I can't believe Dumbledore's working with him. Then Dumbledore came to see me right before he visited you in Azkaban and told me the plan: they were going to put my son to sleep, straight after he'd ask you to wait in prison longer."

Something changed in James's expression. "Harry, I'm so sorry, I really didn't want you to be kept there. I flat out refused to be part of it—"

Harry put up his hand. He didn't want James's apology. "How do you feel about your son now?"

"I'm not sure. They told me there was a chance that you, being his Mirror, could help him see the error of his ways, and I could reassure him that it wasn't too late."

James began pacing the bedroom.

"Harry looked up to me. Yeah, we grew apart a couple of years before he killed Charlie, but before that, he'd never leave me alone, always wanted to be with me, go where I went… we did loads together, but Harry, is—was like Lily, you see. Michael—now that kid is a split image of my personality."

Listening to James talk about his Mirror being like Lily gripped his heart like a vice.

James seemed so sad now. "I don't think we'll ever get Harry back the way he was."

"How did you help, though?"

"I sat with him every day, told him stories about his childhood, told him my stories. I told him how much we had loved him, that Lily—despite his evil, still loves him. That I…" He turned away, crestfallen.

"Do you?" Harry whispered. "Do you still love him?"

"I'll never forgive him."

"Nobody is asking you to, James. I feel sick at the thought that he is me, that I could become like him—"

"But you're not," James interrupted. "Dumbledore's told me all about you, all that he's seen through Legilimency. You're the son I would've been proud to have, who I am proud of. I wish…" His voice trailed off, never finishing his sentence.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. "Harry noticed you there with him. I think you helped."

"I'm… I'm happy to hear that. I hope so."

James on the verge of asking something again, and this time he had the courage to say it. "What did you see in his mind?"

"Secrets," Harry answered solemnly, "and lies. I want to know why he really killed Charlie, because he is determined not to show me. And I don't think it's all black and white."

His Mirror father gulped, and sat down on his bad.

"James, you wouldn't happen to know anything about the Obsidian Stitch, do you?"

He seemed confused by such a random question. "I remember Remus telling me what Peter showed him. Why?"

"Charlie and Harry were investigating it."

"Why would they?"

"Because there's something quite dangerous about it."

Fifty bound and battered Healers huddled together in the main foyer of St Mungo's.

Death Eaters had infiltrated the hospital. It had been surprisingly easy. Some Healers had been killed as they fought back, but most, not being experienced in battle, just surrendered.

The staff that remained had been shredding records, fearing Voldemort would use them somehow and were looking after the few very ill patients too fragile to be moved.

The Hospital Head, Farris Barrach, knelt at Dolohov's feet. "Don't harm us. We're neutral in this war." The large gash to his head was bleeding profusely. "Don't kill the sick—they haven't done anything against you."

Antonin Dolohov didn't look impressed. "You should embrace death willingly old man, but, we won't kill you." He looked around the main foyer. "It looks like most of the patients have been evacuated anyway."

"Those most seriously sick are still here," Farris added.

Dolohov's eyes brightened with amusement. "We've killed them."

"NO!" Farris yelled. Several Healers cried in dismay.

"They weren't any use to us anyway." Dolohov pointed his wand into the Healer's face. "Now, you won't be killed. We need Healers working for the Dark Lord."

Farris looked disgusted; he seemed on the verge of retracting his words about neutrality.

Severus had been pacing behind the group of Healers. He had tried to save a few of the sick, sending them via Portkey to, of all places to a Buddhist temple in Nepal, but it was difficult and some would not survive the journey.

He and the Conditioned couldn't send the rescued to the Order. Dumbledore feared a spy was there now and Severus needed to throw off the scent. If his master knew who had rescued the Ministry workers, then he was bidding his time to suss out the perpetrators.

Dolohov nodded towards Severus.

"I suggest you all take up the offer. Your lives will be spared and your families will be safe." Severus looked into their terrified faces. "Remember the oath you took when you became Healers? You must treat the sick regardless of their affiliations and past. Will you break your oath now?"

The Healers looked at one another and Farris looked torn.

"Yes but, we are being forced to do so against our will."

"For fucks sake," Dolohov growled, "join us or die!"

There was a much happier atmosphere at Remus's. Nevertheless, Harry still felt very bleak.

Ashley and Tony explored the house or played Quidditch when the mist wasn't so thick. Ashley urged Harry to join them in their endeavours, but all he wanted to do was to sleep.

When Harry had the energy, he'd walk slowly throughout the house, sometimes discovering James and Remus whispering in a corner. He knew they were talking about him and he hated it.

James stayed with them at night, though by day he would help out at The Burrow. He told Harry about St Mungo's takeover and the Ministry attack. He explained what was happening within the refugee camp and that any day now, extra law enforcement from Europe and beyond would come to their aid.

Harry also learnt that Lily was much brighter now that they were all safe, and in turn she had sent him a lovely potted cyclamen which changed colour according to his mood.

Another day passed and another, and Harry was slowly feeling stronger and steadier on his feet. He decided to venture into the living room, laying on the couch in silence near the warmth of the fire. Sometimes he retreated to the solitude of his bedroom, wanting nothing but the same quiet and darkness that matched the way he felt.

Other times, he just watched the children playing Exploding Snap. He heard James telling Ashley stories about Hogwarts and his adventures with the Marauders. But the children were especially keen hearing about their father.

When Harry heard about Mirror Peter being brave, his heart constricted. In this world, it had been Peter changing heart and realising his mistakes. With the effort of his friends, he had turned away from Voldemort.

Tony was still wary of James, but he and Remus got on very well. He followed the werewolf like a puppy. Remus was happy to oblige, perhaps happy of the attention he missed from his own children. He taught the young wizard some useful spells around the house, and the boy even learnt a bit about gardening.

Harry walked into the yard, his cane tapping on the cobbled pathway as he made his way to the vegetable patch where Remus and Tony were tending to the plants. He sat on the bench and watched, meanwhile, smelling the frying onions wafting from the open back door.

James was cooking pies for dinner, while Ashley was busying herself with drawing. Harry had seen some of the pictures she made and they were disturbing: dark monsters, collared and naked Muggle-born slaves, fires, and windowless rooms. Red stains on the floor and chains, pictures full of green light and black robed figures holding knifes, and wands. The girl needed help.

Harry shifted on the bench, feeling the growing pain that prolonged sitting caused.

Remus breathed in the crisp misty air. "You know, Anne and I used to baby sit you."

"I remember," Tony replied. He pulled out carrots, putting them into the basket. "I also remember playing hide and seek with Tristan and Bethany." The boy drifted off in thought.

The werewolf cleared his throat. "I can tell you're angry with James and Dumbledore."

Tony violently pulled out some turnips. "I just don't understand why everyone abandoned my family."

The boy straightened up, brushing the dirt off his hands onto his jeans, his watery blue eyes now full of bitterness.

"We never did. Your family was always on our minds," Remus said softly. "We searched for you. Dumbledore sent out spies... The problem is the mentors always place anti-tracking charms on the Conditioned and so many protective spells on their houses."

"Even before that, Remus. What about when my dad was alive? Nobody helped him then."

"We all tried to help your dad, especially in the last months he was alive. But your father kept us out. He refused to let me in unless he was excited with some fake werewolf cure. He refused to see everyone."

"Except Charlie." The boy was confused as he sat next to Harry. "But why?"

"He was scared. Brave, but scared. Being a werewolf was torture and shame for him. Your mother never let you kids see it, but it was tearing her apart. James felt useless and guilty because Peter was the one who had saved him from Greyback in that Bristow school attack."

Tony fell quiet for awhile, with his head bowed. Harry nudged his shoulder lightly. "Nothing is ever black and white," he whispered.

Tony nodded.

Remus finished watering the plants and stretched his back. "All right, I think we've got enough vegetables. Let's go back in. The days are getting shorter and colder and the Dementors find it very romantic."

"Eurgh!" Tony spat, rushing indoors.

Harry took Remus's hand and he was pulled off the bench.

He had grown comfortable with the werewolf. He was very similar to the Remus he missed dearly in his world, but their past made them different and there was a profound sadness in Mirror Remus that Harry now felt kinship with.

They walked past the bolted basement door near the laundry, and Remus made a comment that he would be locked in there when he's to transform in a night's time.

Harry stood face to face with it. Tony scowled, as he would've experienced something similar with his father. He trudged off into the kitchen to see his sister and hand the vegetables over to James.

It was a thick iron door painted white. Somebody had painted flowers on it to hide the horror behind it. There were several heavy locks in place, glinting ominously back at Harry.

A thick, impenetrable, iron door…

Thoughts about Cell Number 13 flooded his mind. Harry had to look away as a threatening bundle of emotions was raring to explode. The brutality… the humiliation….

And then…

"You're mine Potter."

Harry whipped around, shivering. He's dead! But why could he feel the Atoner's hands on his body and his weight on him? Why could he feel the Atoner's breath on the back of his neck?

Then laughter resounded in his ears. "You can't hide the fact that you're enjoying it, Potter."

"No!" he breathed. "Stop this!"

"Harry?"

The clink of chains.

"Dementors—"

"There aren't any here."

A crack of a fiery whip.

"I'll fuck you, I will."

"Harry, what's wrong?"

The screams…

The cell doors slamming shut.

"Harry, speak to me!"

His tears… his blood… his fury.

A hand gently touched his arm, but Harry vehemently knocked it back. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" he yelled.

The light bulb overhead burned fiercely and exploded. The shards of glass began to curiously float above them.

"Harry, you're okay…" Remus pulled back, concerned. "Nobody's going to hurt you."

He jolted when he smacked against the wall, letting out an involuntarily cry of shock. He slid down, breathing deeply, slowly gaining control of his senses. But the air was hot and suffocating, and he needed to go outside.

Harry burst out of the back door and sat down on the porch stairs, sucking in the fresh air, covering his face with his hands. What the hell just happened?

Remus sat down next to him and James had come out too.

"Don't—"

"I'm just keeping you company." A minute later he said, "are you okay?"

He liked the fact that Remus had never asked about his treatment in Azkaban. He never once asked about his experiences, even though James had tried over the last couple of days, and Lily had urged him to talk about it. Now Harry felt as though Remus was on the verge of breaking that invisible bond.

"I'm fine."

The werewolf sighed, staring at the bleak grey sky, the colour darkening to slate the longer they stayed out. He seemed torn… anguished. Harry had to turn away from his Mirror father, who seemed distraught.

"I'll… I'll go back inside," James whispered.

"Yeah." Remus nodded.

But Harry knew James was listening in behind the door.

"Before I met Anne the most mundane thing would trigger flashbacks. When a dog bared his teeth at me, or I heard a growl, I was transported back to the very moment Greyback attacked me as a child." Harry saw him trembling. "I can hear my parents screaming… I can feel his fangs…"

He wondered if this is what happened to his Remus. He never had the courage to ask, or even the time to. Then Harry understood at that very moment that he wasn't the only one struggling with demons.

"I thought I was okay too, but it never really is, you know."

Remus unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it away to reveal the hideous scar in the crook of his neck and chest. "I'm lucky to be alive."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling a strange constricting feeling in his chest. "That door, it reminds me of…"

"I know, you don't need to tell me, but, would you like someone to talk to?"

"No. I, I don't know…"

"There are potions that can help, but it's always a companion to other help... and eventually your problem will only be horrible memories buried deep, with none of the effects that surface. It helps a great deal—"

"There is nothing wrong with me! I just need some time."

"I just want to say that it helped me a lot," Remus whispered. "Try it out, and if you don't like it, you can stop."

Severus knocked on the old wooden door and hoped Dumbledore would let him in before the autumn chill killed him. He gazed at the darkening, misty hills, and the little Muggle homes scattering the valley.

He knocked more vigorously, cursing himself for even answering Dumbledore's message to come. Merlin only knows what the recuperating Death Eaters were doing to his dreary house in Spinner's End. A few of them would stay awake until the early hours of the morning, drinking themselves to sleep, littering the kitchen with whiskey bottles and such. Severus also noticed potion bottles of a substance that had no name. Some of the imprisoned simply called it, The Water. He had tried it once, and it tasted bittersweet, instantly feeling bliss and happiness, and a vague sense that he was free. Taken in large amounts however, the drinker would remain in a trance forever.

There was a scrape of a dozen locks, and Dumbledore greeted him like an old friend. The warmth from the hut instantly wrapped around his frozen body.

"Severus, come in, come in, you must be famished. I've made beef stroganoff and a trifle," he said happily, striding into his tiny kitchen where a pot of stew simmered, and a potion in a cauldron bubbled away. He knew the smell of it: Polyjuice.

Severus flicked up an eyebrow. He thought Dumbledore only wanted a debriefing about St Mungo's takeover.

"You invited me over for… dinner?"

Last time Dumbledore had served him dinner was when he was trying to butter him up for something. That had been after the Longbottoms died, and he wanted to quit being a Death Eater.

He crossed his arms, and narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

Dumbledore turned around, wooden spoon in midair, dripping a creamy mixture back into the pot. "Nothing, I simply wanted to enjoy dinner with a friend."

Severus sat down at the table and lighted the candle. "I sometimes wonder if you would've done well in Slytherin."

"Alas, I chose Gryffindor." Dumbledore chuckled to himself. "I think we sort students too early, mind you."

Severus grimaced. He was never given a choice with the Hat.

"Are we going to discuss Hat lores this evening, Albus?" he asked, drumming his fingers impatiently on the wooden table, his grumbling stomach betraying his stoic mood.

Dumbledore ladled the stew into chipped delft plates and placed one in front of him. The steam gave off a rich creamy and hearty smell which made his mouth water. Severus's lip curled. While his heart wanted the food, his mind dwelled on the fact it was a trap.

"We'll discuss whatever comes into fruition." Dumbledore poured burgundy mead into two goblets. "St Mungo's take over was an easy one?"

He scoffed. "Barely was a fight… Most of the Healers are at Hogwarts now, guarded." Severus savoured the taste of the stew. "What will happen with Gringotts now? The Dark Lord is very reluctant to do anything at this stage. He knows the strength the goblins possess."

Dumbledore's spoon was halfway to his mouth when he carefully regarded him. "Wait and see."

Severus didn't like the sound of that.

"Is Voldemort treating you well?"

"Better than most."

"He keeps enquiring about Jessica Potter?"

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Severus wasn't hungry anymore. "I'm not exactly sure how I'm going to get out of this one. Every time he summons me, he asks about the child. I can't keep doing it much longer. He's going to kill—"

"You will not die. I won't allow it."

Severus laughed, amused. Dumbledore was a great, powerful wizard, but not a match. He had failed the first time, and he would not survive a second encounter. "How are you going to stop him?"

"I'm hoping he'll be distracted by other more pressing needs."

"The war? Potter? Unicorn blood? Double agents?"

"What have you found out about the unicorn blood?" Dumbledore looked up, stirring his stew.

Severus stared deeply into the wizard's blue eyes, encountering nothing but a strong resistance. "Unicorns started dying two months after your defeat. I thought he had been selling the blood on the black market, but he's killing them for himself."

"Interesting..."

"Do you remember your defeat?" Severus asked. "You had trouble with your memory. Potter doesn't talk about it. There's a rumour he was involved."

He knew there was a hole in the story of Dumbledore's defeat. He remembered Bellatrix's unconscious ramblings after Potter's absorption of her power.

"Bellatrix, wake up."

"…. My Lord… it was Potter…Potter… Dumbledore knew…he told him…I'll flay him …"

Dumbledore whitened and alarm bells starting ringing in Severus's head.

"And what was Potter doing for two months in Albania? Either you or the Dark Lord sent him there."

"He sent himself."

"You're not telling me the truth."

Dumbledore cocked up an eyebrow. "My memory will never be recovered, I'm afraid. While I see you are trying to uncover a non-existent secret, Severus, is there something you'd like to tell me?"

He frowned. "Like what exactly?"

"I want the truth about Jessica Potter."

The spoon Severus held fell onto the plate, creating another chip. So Dumbledore knew about this lie as well. He decided to play along. "How long have you known?"

"Lily told me recently. She fears for her child," Dumbledore replied. "I won't reveal your secret, but I think James will need to know one day."

If Voldemort didn't kill him, he knew James would. "I'm not in the habit of revealing secrets, just like you."

Dumbledore lifted up his goblet of wine in a toast. "And that is something which we both excel at."

Severus raised his and they both drunk deeply in silence. He swilled the drink in his goblet, savouring the aroma. "So you never knew about Jessica's true father before Lily told you?"

"No."

He looked up, thinking about when this lie had been cooked up.

"What is it, Severus?"

"I think Lily's been hoodwinked with a powerful curse, and I'm not sure why."

A deep line appeared on the old wizard's forehead. "But you did have an affair—?"

"Yes, I did, but I'm not the girl's father, James is. I'm sure of it."

"I think you're in denial."

Severus explained how she would test her daughter every day, and how she didn't see that James was the father and not him.

"I'm not sure what to believe now, but I know you would lie about this."

Severus snorted. "Thank you for your confidence in me. But I suggest you test the girl's parentage yourself."

Dumbledore rubbed his chin. "Continue pretending that you're her father. It seems like someone is playing a trick on you, Severus. Might be for nefarious reasons—"

"You think?"

"—Or maybe not. We shall see."

They ate in peace for a few minutes, although Severus had lost his appetite minutes before. His eyes roved around the little kitchen. It was bare, except for the most ordinary necessities. The fire in the small living room crackled and burned, and even though he had a home, Hogwarts and Dumbledore's little house were the only places he truly felt welcomed in.

"Severus, the boy must wake soon."

"When?"

"His Mirror is desperate to go home. I will need to speak with him, before he does, and only then can our Harry wake. I cannot keep the Mirror here longer, that would be unfair of me."

He laughed cruelly. "I think you've been quite unfair to the boy from the beginning."

Severus had seen some nightmarish things in his lifetime: emaciated and mutilated, naked corpses of muggle-borns, the mounds of dead muggles being feasted on by werewolves, the little lifeless body of Neville Longbottom in his arms, prisoners ripping open the bodies of traitorous Death Eaters in the Great Hall, but witnessing the Black Square would be in his top ten worst, along with the Ministry takeover.

Dumbledore played with his food. "Once he wakes, things will move quickly."

"Well, should I just abandon my post and help you now, before my master finds out I was involved in rescuing the Ministry workers?"

"Not yet. I want you there as long as possible. My gut is telling me that there is a spy at The Burrow."

"Well, with so many people there now, I'd be surprised if there isn't one. There have been a few in the past."

"You're not frightened?"

Severus wasn't sure how he felt. Secretly, he was starting to get tired of all the acting. Eighteen years for a double agent was a long, weary time. Was he due for retirement yet? "I'm surprised I haven't been discovered yet."

"There have been a few close incidents, I recall, throughout the years," Dumbledore replied darkly. "Is there anyone in particular that Voldemort's looking for at the moment?"

"Do you know where Sybil is?" Severus asked. "The Dark Lord is currently interested in finding her."

Dumbledore seemed alarmed. "I haven't been able to track her down."

"What is it?"

"There is a spy in the Order! They would've heard Broderick Bodes talking about the prophecies about Harry. The second prophecy in particular—"

"Do you know what that one's about?"

"Yes, but I won't tell you." Dumbledore smiled. "The orbs were destroyed last year at my request—but it looks like Bodes had seen them before his imprisonment. I don't know how Gellert found out though."

"Does this second prophecy involve my master?"

"No. Voldemort would've been interested… anything involving the boy would've intrigued and frightened him into knowing. He searched for the first prophecy when he invaded the Ministry, but it doesn't matter now. Now everyone knows two existed."

"You'll need to find her urgently."

"Yes. Also, there is something Voldemort wants. I never had the proper time to investigate, but for months now, I've known that it is very important. I fear I had been too distracted with Harry to ever realise..." Dumbledore's said. "This may be why Jessica is needed, and when you take her—"

"What? NO! You can't use the girl!" Severus said, scraping his chair back. "I won't let you use her!"

"Touching. So you do feel something for the girl, after all?"

"Don't mock me!" he snarled in fury. "Don't you ever—"

"I apologise, Severus. That was harsh of me," Dumbledore chagrined. "I know you are hurting and you are doing the very best to protect her."

"I'm doing the very best I can, just like I did with Potter. I lost track of him—"

For the first time since holding Neville Longbottom's corpse, he felt as though he could not string a proper train of thought together. He knew he sounded like a blabbering idiot.

He took a deep breath and regathered his senses. "I did it all for Lily and I don't want to fail her again."

"You never failed Harry," Dumbledore started, "I failed him… I alone."

Dumbledore entwined his hands. "You've suffered a lot, I know, and you've given up a happier life for the cause. Despite choosing the wrong path as a boy, and slightly skewed, you are an honourable man. You do not see it, but I do, just as much as Lily does."

Severus scoffed again. He was a snake. He was a monster, a demon that did not deserve anything good and pure.

Sighing, Dumbledore poured more mead into their glasses. "Jessica will be spared of all this mess. She is a damaged child, and she needs to be protected. Even though you say you are not her father, I can tell you care deeply for the safety of Lily's children."