The Dreams Within
1. Chapter Eight The Reflecting Room
By: Lord of the Flame
Beta-ed by: Marcela W.
***
Ever since the real Harry Potter got out of the Dursleys' silver sedan, (his life went down hill. Not only did he still feel guilty about Ced-- the Third Task, but also he felt an even more inexplicable hatred coming from the Dursleys.
Harry Potter's family left him out on the road to bring in his belongings himself. What a nice welcome home greeting. He brought in his trunk, filled with strange things like a broomstick, five sets of black robes, one pair green, a magic wand, something called a Sneakoscope, some very odd-looking socks, and a picture book with moving photos.. The trunk itself was very heavy; it had to weigh at least forty to fifty pounds. It took Harry twenty minutes to get it to the door, because in his morose mood, he had to keep setting it down and taking breaks. Getting through the door was even more of a undertaking. It wouldn't fit if he carried it straight through the door, and if he tried going through the door sideways, the trunk would fit, but there was no room for Harry, even though he was thin. He eventually pushed it through the open door (ignoring his aunt's screeches of "Shut the door, you're letting bugs in the house!"), climbed over it, and dragged it through the rest of the way. This was, apparently, not a good idea, because his aunt came running into the room, squawking that he was going to scratch the new tile. Apologizing, Harry shut the door and carried the trunk to the cupboard under the stairs (as his uncle instructed), with the same amount of difficulty. One time when he stopped to rest his aching arms, his uncle barked at him to get on with it, because Harry was distracting him from his television show.
Finally, after another twenty minutes of pure torture for his upper limbs, he got the trunk safely packed away in the cupboard and then went back out to the car to get his owl, Hedwig. He brought her upstairs to the smallest bedroom in the house, inevitably his room, which was a much easier task. He flopped down on his bed and rested for about two seconds, because then his aunt called him downstairs, for God-knows-what this time.
His Aunt Petunia was in the kitchen, wearing a white dress and an apron. When he entered, she fixed him with a glare so intense, Harry could've sworn the walls shivered. He didn't wear any _expression on his face, because if he did, she would surely take it the wrong way, and he would get in trouble with his uncle, which he did not want for the sheer fact that his uncle was five times his size literally.
"You stay here and keep an eye on this water, you hear?" His aunt gestured to a pot on the front burner. "When it boils, come and get me. I'll be watching the telly with your uncle," his aunt said menacingly. She stalked out of the room without waiting for an answer.
Harry Potter, since none of his relatives were in the room, pulled up a seat on the counter top something that would usually earn him a slap from his uncle and watched the water heat up. He must've been there for an hour already, and still not a single bubble arose from the bottom of the stainless steel cooking pot.
There was a quiet rapping on the kitchen window. Harry turned his head to look.
Peering out from the window was none other than Harry's godfather and escaped convict, Sirius Black. Now, normally, if someone's escaped convict godfather came to see them, the resulting emotion would be fear. But for Harry, it was delight, because Sirius wasn't really was a convict at all. He was actually innocent.
He hopped down off the counter, and as quietly as he could, eased the window open
He whispered to Sirius, "What are you doing here?"
"You aren't happy to see me?"
"No, no, it's not that. I'm just surprised, that's all. Aren't you supposed to be wanted by, like, the whole Wizarding Community?"
"Well, yes, but... I had to see you before I left. I wanted to apologize for the way I deserted you after the Third Task. I should've stayed."
"No, it's okay. You don't have to apologize. I understand. You're leaving? Where are you going?"
"Yes. I'm going to Scotland, to see a friend of Dumbledore. I probably won't see you again until after term starts so I wanted to give you your birthday present a little bit early." He pulled out a cube-shaped package and handed it to Harry through the window. Harry was speechless.
"You didn't have to get me anything."
"Don't be ridiculous, you're my godson; of course I had to get you a birthday present."
"Sirius--"
"I have to go. I'll try to be in touch." He reached through the window and ruffled Harry's hair affectionately. A normal fourteen-year-old boy probably would've resented the gesture, but Harry didn't mind.
"See you soon?"
"As soon as possible, Harry. Bye," Sirius said softly."And you might want to watch that pot."
Harry swung back to the project at hand, albeit a boring project. He gasped at the sight. The water had boiled right over the top of the pot and was spilling onto the floor. Harry almost panicked, if Aunt Petunia came in right now, he would be in huge trouble. He grabbed the pot's handle with his free hand, and tried to lift it off the stove to stop the over flowing. Water spilled out onto his hand.
Hot! He yanked his hand away and the pot fell to the floor with a loud clatter. The water, suddenly jostled from the falling pot, splashed upwards and soaked the front of his jeans and tee shirt. Se shook his hand, but the excruciating pain wouldn't go away.
"What in God's name are you doing in here?" his aunt yelled, bursting into the kitchen. "Look at this mess! Out!" She shoved him out of the way. He clutched his hand tightly.
He exited the kitchen into the hall (not the living room because his uncle was surely in there), and went upstairs. He passed one door, then entered the bathroom on the left. He set the package from Sirius on the counter. He ran cold water over his hand, trying to cool the burn down. It stung at first but it gradually cooled off and didn't hurt quite so much.
***
If that was any indication that Harry Potter's summer would go down hill from there, he wouldn't have been surprised. For the rest of the summer, he turned into the Dursleys' servant and had to do whatever they asked, or there would be consequences. Harry wasn't eager to find out what these consequences were, so he just did what they told him to. And besides, all the muscles from doing the extra chores would give him more muscles for Quidditch, right?
He missed Hogwarts. He always did in the summertime, but this time seemed even worse because his friends seemed to think that he'd dropped off of the face of the planet. He hadn't heard peep from them all summer, and it stung. Usually they at least sent him a birthday card at the end of July, but nothing. After awhile, he began to become angry at them. They were his friends, right?
The only birthday present he'd gotten was the one from Sirius, a brand new wristwatch which had a button that switched it from a regular clock to one like the Weasley's. Using it, he discovered Ron was at home and Hermione was traveling, which probably meant she was with him. There was also a dial for Harry, which he though was clever, which would tell him if he was in "Mortal Danger". Also on the watch, were Sirius ("Traveling"), Remus ("Traveling"), and the twins (currently "Making Mischief")
Sirius sent him two letters, one shortly after he reached Scotland, and one in mid-August. Harry kept them both in the loose floor board under his bed, but he wasn't sure why, so his aunt didn't find him when she came in to clean up, because even though Harry was unwanted, she still didn't like a messy room. In Sirius' letters, there was always a line that read something like "Moony says 'hi'", so Harry presumed that wherever Sirius was, Professor Lupin was with him, which comforted him. Sirius had a tendency to be rash, and hopefully Professor Lupin could keep him in line.
To add to his list of worries, his burn wasn't healing because of the extra chores. It was a nasty reddish color, and probably infected.
On the 24th of August, Harry had a horrible nightmare. He was forced to watch everyone he cared about die morbid deaths (including himself, which was the odd part of the dream). When he woke up, his scar stung viciously. It was one of those odd dreams like the one about the Riddle House last summer; one that made him feel like it wasn't a dream at all.
On the 31st of August, there was still no sign of life(take out the 'of life') from his friends. He began to worry about how he was going to get back to Hogwarts. Usually he spent the last week or two at Ron's house and went with the Weasley family, but that wasn't possible this year. He'd received his Hogwarts letter at the end of July, as per usual, with train ticket and everything. He approached his uncle about the situation that morning. His Uncle Vernon was gruff, but eventually agreed, just to get him "out of the house".
So, on September 1st, it was time again for Harry to return to the prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The Dursleys were no help at all, as usual. They dropped Harry, his trunk, and his "bloody owl" off at Kings Cross, and then drove off. Harry got himself a trolley, and entered Platform 9 and 3/4. He caught a glimpse of the of Ron and Hermione talking to a black-haired kid with their backs turned to him. Angry, he loaded his things onto the train, and went to find a compartment, taking Hedwig along with him for company.
The compartment he found was at the back of the train, and empty. He intended to keep it that way. Even if Ron and Hermione did want to sit with him, he would refuse them. He didn't want anything to do with them at the moment.
Ron and Hermione, or anyone for that matter, didn't come to visit.
***
By the time Harry had arrived at the castle, he was in a foul mood. The last thing he wanted was to join his classmates in the Great Hall. So, instead of following them in and sitting down, he snuck off to a hallway on his right and kept walking, looking back for the first couple of minutes to make sure he'd went unnoticed.
He followed the unfamiliar hallway until he saw a door that perked his interest. There was a plaque on the door that read "The Reflecting Room - Staff Only". Ignoring the last part of the sign, he tried the doorknob. Unlocked.
Well, they must not want to keep him out of the room incredibly bad.
He entered. And was amazed. There was thousands of him. Actually, it was more that there was a thousand mirrors, all different shapes and size, that seemed to go on endlessly, but that could've just been an effect. It was quite obvious why they called it the Reflecting Room. Cautiously, he touched the mirror closest to him.
Welcome, Harry Potter--
He yanked his hand away from the mirror, and darted his head around, looking for the voice. He checked his watch. Home. So he wasn't in danger. Perhaps... ? He touched the mirror again.
Welcome, Harry Potter. I am the Mirror of Immortality. Unfortunately, you are not immortal, so I cannot help you.
Harry was shocked. These mirrors talked?! Steadily, he touched another.
Welcome, Harry Potter. I am the Mirror of Bad Fortune. Your fortune is bad.
Harry laughed. The mirror had a female voice with a sardonic tone.
He enjoyed himself for a while, touching mirrors to find out interesting (though he already knew most of them) things about himself. He particularly enjoyed the Mirror of Calling, which told you why you were born (to die), the Mirror of Fate, which told you were destined to be with (the answer shocked him so much it made him blush just to think about it), and the Mirror of Moods, which told you all the moods you'd ever felt in your entire life in a very squeaky, loud voice.
Walking forward, he laid eyes on one mirror he'd seen before. In all its magical glory, the mirror, with Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi scrawled on the top, was the Mirror of Erised. Overridden with temptation, Harry couldn't resist a peek in that mirror, dying to see his parents again. He stepped in front of the mirror, but his parents he did not see.
Instead, he saw Voldemort, dead. It wouldn't have bothered him so much if he himself hadn't been dead, also. His heart's desire was to be dead? If that wasn't a note of suicidal tendencies, Harry didn't know what was.
But wait, there was more to it than that. If his heart's desire was to kill himself, Voldemort wouldn't have been in the picture at all. No, his heart's desire was to defeat Voldemort, even if it meant killing himself in the process. A sacrifice. Life for life.
Woah. Scary.
But that still didn't explain what Harry noticed about the picture next. A redhead was standing in the background, a baby in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks.
A/n: This is the edited version, now that I got my original Word Processor back.
Next Chapter=very frustrating
Ahem... you have been warned.
Disclaimer: Great cage! …No bird…
