A/N: I'm sorry this has taken alot of time, but once again I've been very busy. The next chapter will be either next week or in three weeks as of my holidays. I also need to thank my reviewers! Wooh! And mostly Nymph-Patronus (an EXCELLENT writer) who kindly offered to beta this fic! (Starting this chapter, hence the improvement) Ok questions need to be answered- firstly by Bethany herself then by me, the author. But that will have to wait, I'm afraid because I can't actually see my reviews. One again I have nattered for too long and so my final words. Please enjoy, read and review!

Chapter 8- reperio (Discover)

Soot crumbled from the rafters like sinful snow as several large men barged their way into the lab. Each blink drew them closer to my dishevelled body; each foot shattered my aching ribs.

"She's alive," muttered the chief fire-fighter.

"Thank god. At least we have one survivor," sighed another.

They stepped through the sombre wreck cautiously, drawing to a halt abruptly. Disgust and pity was sketched over their posture.

"Another dead 'un, take 'er for a pos'mor'em with the other's, Bill."

"But-"

"But nothing, go!"

He shuffled past, dragging his feet moodily along the debris, with Dr. Phelps cleaning the way as a distasteful floor polisher. As he trod, a soft metal twang echoed through the room's silence. A key... an escape... murder... Barty... Dr. Phelps' cruel words.

The silence snapped.

"Shall we wait for the paramedics?" asked the chief..

"They're not coming," said the remaining man.

"Sam, what're you?"

Before he could form the next ugly syllable, a green light was fired directly into his stomach. He fell rapidly, eyes dilated in confusion. Sam lowered his arm and pocketed something in his large fireproof suit.

"On the hour," he croaked, "every hour."

I responded robotically, "Disguises will become unveiled and identity no longer concealed."

He threw his helmet dramatically to the ground. A whirlwind of ashes sprayed my cheeks as I stood looking at the stranger indifferently. "What have we become?" he rasped.

My teeth clenched nervously, no good could come out of this encounter, I was sure of it. He extended an arm, pointing a finger at an incinerated wall.

"It's burnt. Yes, that's what happens in a fire," I said sourly.

He frowned at me; it looked like concern in his watery eyes. He paced towards the wall, kicking aside the crumbled remains of Dr. Phelps' ring bound folder. He raised a muscular hand to the surface and started to brush it quickly. As he lowered his hand once more it became clear of what he pointed at before.

"A mirror?"

"Look, for you dearly, need to realise."

I pushed with my arms frantically, but my muscles had collapsed in silent protest. Sam grimaced and politely offered a supporting hand. I grasped his wrist remorselessly. He placed another hand on my back and slowly brought me up. His gentle caress seemed familiar, but the past did not concern me right now. I allowed myself to be led towards the reflection, faltering feebly on the way. "

These steps are for you to make," he said sorrowfully.

I mourned the loss of his grip. Taking a deep breath I faced towards the distant reflection.

"I'm not burned!"

"No, I prevented that, look closer."

His hand silenced me.I stepped forward tensely, like I was stepping towards a cliff's edge. The face—my face had significantly changed. Once the very essence of youth, now resembled a bitter sorrow. At a glance all would be the same, each freckle was in place, every strand of hair the same length. But it was the eyes that cried out in pain. They had been shattered, smashed apart by some dastardly act. All carelessly pieced together by an insane drunkard. Sorrow and misery entwined with confusion and more than a spark of insanity. My pasty lips were uncharacteristically pursed, and my eyebrows low and beaten. With one glance I was disgusted at what I'd become.

I rotated slowly and gasped at the fire-fighter's new appearance. While my eyes were drunken mosaics, his seemed to be clotting with rotting blood. His pallid skin had melted with the radiating heat of them. I then realised the signs, the light, the words and the grip.

I was lost in a desert of recollections and photos of the past. I embraced a boy with straw hair. I talked wistfully to a student on the sofa. I wept over a black and white newspaper article.

Before me was that face, although distorted it was definitely him.

"Barty!" I screamed ecstatically.

I fled from the reflection of reality into his comforting arms.

"You rose again?"

"From Akaban, not from death."

He answered in a riddle before I could question him. "Mother. Once an hour, every hour. She was finally regretting her neglect to me."

I hugged him again, struggling to find words for my elation.

"You don't know how long you've been here, do you?" he said seriously.

I shook my head, becoming the 11 year old looking up at her older brother again.

"13 long years, we were imprisoned by our scum of a father."

He spat on the crisp floor, a pool of disgust lurked among the destruction.

"I don't understand."

"I was not entombed in Azkaban because of my father, but my own stupidity."

My eyes lit up, he was renouncing his old ways.

"I should never have allowed myself to get caught that night."

My heart heaved and became not just broken, but empty. All love for him had drained away in an instant.

"Our mother, sick and dying of guilt convinced father to undertake a deception. We drank the Poly-Juice potion and took each others form. The Dementors did not know, only I, Winky, father and mother knew. And she died with the secret, and so will our father."

"Winky?"

"Winky... I should thank every ounce of my freedom I possess to her. Father kept me incarcerated by the Imperious Curse. I was just a slave to his will. Funny really, the whole law-abiding country must have felt like that. I escaped at the Quidditch world cup and since then I've been searching for you. I hoped that you wouldn't still be here. I was worried, and obviously my concern was founded."

I looked at his ashen, battered face; his eyes were evidence enough of what else he seeked, but I would rather pursue something less dark. I wished with my heart's stone-shell that he would desert his Lord.

"I still don't know what you mean! What has father got to do with me being here?"

His eyes widened dramatically. He choked in shock and stared at me in obvious pity. I almost screamed at his face, weakening in anguish. Before my throat ached with sound, a fire so deep arose in him—Loathing crackled beneath every layer of his skin. His knees sunk to the floor, I looked up at him puzzlingly, his rancid eyes blazed with an answer I did not need words for.

"He will pay!" he shrieked. "He shall meet his end for the sake of our shattered existence!"

Such loathing made me dread what was coming next. I didn't know, if I could bear it... my father had loved me, surely?