Potter47 Part One
Old Friends "Remember that the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass.
Some never come to be, unless those that behold the visions turn aside from their path
to prevent them."
J.R.R. Tolkien Chapter Ten
Believe in Yesterday
"Let me see!" said Luna, wishing her mother would hurry up and give in. They wasted so much time, sometimes.
"All right, all right," agreed her mother. "But be careful!"
"Of course."
Cynthia hoisted her daughter off the floor, and sat her on her lap. Just as she looked at the mirror, Luna saw an image fade away. It had been a blond, teenage witch, and she looked extraordinarily familiar...
"Mum, was that you?" asked Luna, bending her head around to look at her mother.
"Yes," Cynthia said. "That was me, when I was at Hogwarts. The year I fell in love with your father, actually." Luna giggled once again. "So, are you going to look at yourself, or just sit there giggling?"
Luna looked down at the mirror in awe, realising that her mother had lied to her. It hadn't been Cynthia Lovegood in the mirror, the year she had fallen in love with London Lovegood. It had been her. Luna. Right now.
The mirror Luna stared into clouded over once again, as her younger self looked into it. Luna remembered that day as if it were...yesterday.
She had seen her mother's funeral. She had heard that voice; the voice that she heard in her dreams; the voice that she heard when she neared a Dementor.
"We are gathered here today, in remembrance of Cynthia Lovegood..."
She had seen her mother's funeral before it happened, and that had haunted Luna Lovegood for six years. But there was something that haunted her more.
She could have stopped it.
She could have saved her mother's life; she just knew it.
After a few moments, Luna saw the smoke fade once again. Cynthia Lovegood's face reappeared in Luna's view.
"What is going on?" asked her mother calmly. Perhaps too calmly, as if she was nearly frantic.
"I have no idea," said Luna in amazement. "Something…Logica…it's all so confuzzling."
"But you're all grown up!" said Cynthia in disbelief. "And this mirror...you're not supposed to be able to converse through it..."
"Well, I'm looking at the mirror too," said Luna. "Maybe if both people are physically looking in the mirror, they can talk to each other?"
"I don't know."
"Whashedeahow?" said Ron, which meant "What's going on? She's dead. How is this happening?"
"Who's that with you?" asked Cynthia.
"Oh, this is Ronald—"
"Ronald Weasley?" asked Cynthia happily. "Oh, are you two dating? I've always thought…"
"Erm, no—"
"No!" said Ron blushingly, remembering his early-morning conversation with his mother. "We're not—we're just—"
"Friends?" suggested Cynthia with a grin. "Yes, that's what London and I always said…"
Ron continued to redden, thankful that neither Lovegood witch was looking at him.
"Mum," said Luna, not exactly used to saying 'mum' while addressing someone anymore. "What's going on?"
"I thought we already established that we have no clue whatsoever," said Cynthia.
"Oh, right."
Thoughts buzzed round Luna's head faster and more steadily than a very fast motorboat that, by some stroke of luck, managed to move steadily. Millions of questions raced, trying to be the first to reach her mouth. But, as you know, it is quite often impossible to decide which question to ask first, when you have wanted to ask someone lots of questions for a very long time. So, as if a big road block had been put up inside Luna's mind, none of the questions ever made it to her mouth. Only a simple statement.
"But," said Luna, not really even comprehending her surroundings, "you're dead."
"What?" asked Cynthia as if she heard wrong, which she didn't. "I could have sworn you said I was—"
"Dead, yes," said Luna, nodding.
"I'm dead?" asked Cynthia disbelievingly. "How can I be dead?"
"You died," said Luna simply, quietly.
"But—but—I'm dizzy," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. "You're saying I'm dead. I died. When did I die? I'm going to die..."
"Six years..." muttered Luna quietly, realising something.
"Six years?" said Cynthia. "I have six years left, knowing I'm going to die...Hang on. Isn't six years...you'll be...fifteen. You mean I just died? I just died?"
"No, you didn't just—you died a long time ago."
"When?" said the face in the mirror, who was leaning so close that Luna could see her mother's breath fogging up the surface.
"Like I said. Six years."
Comprehension dawned in Cynthia Lovegood's eyes. "I'm going to die...now?"
"Well, not now," said Luna. "You're not just about to drop dead from—"
"Talking to my daughter's future self? No, I'm pretty sure no-one's ever died from that. Though I doubt anyone's lived to tell about it, either."
"No, I mean—" A pause. "Listen, Mum," said Luna quickly. "You don't have to die—"
"Oh, so now I can choose? Hey, how am I supposed to know you're really my daughter, anyway? What if you're a Dark wizard, trying to trick me?"
"Mum. It's me. Don't doubt this. I don't know how this is happening, and I don't know why. But it's me."
"Prove it."
Luna let out a breath. She closed her eyes. Ron could see a tear forming, but Luna made no move to swipe it away. "Okay then. I was born at four-nineteen in the morning, on the ninteenth of April. You always said that I was special, because wizarding births usually can be predicted down to the hour. I was supposed to be born the day before, but I was late. You always said that..." She wiped away the tear now, but more came to her eyes. "You always said that you and Daddy had been so worried, that something had happened to me. When I came out, you said, you said Daddy and you wouldn't let the mediwitches take me away. You said that...that I was your queen."
By now both witches had been reduced to tears, and Ron didn't know what he was supposed to do with himself. This seemed a bit more like a mother-daughter moment than a mother-daughter-and-long-lost-friend kind of moment, to him at least.
"It is you, isn't it, Queen Luna?" said Cynthia through tears.
"It's me."
"How can you help me?" asked Cynthia. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to make you sad..."
"The envelope," said Luna hurriedly, getting to the point. "You were...charming an envelope. A special one. For—"
"For carrying spells," finished Cynthia, nodding. "Yes, I was just going to try a—"
"Don't," said Luna. "Don't do whatever you did. Don't do what you're going to do. That's what did it. Something backfired."
"That's absurd," said Cynthia dismissively. "I've been using these spells for years. It must have been something else—"
"It was the envelope," said Luna. She shivered. "Believe me. I don't know everything, but I saw it."
"But—"
"Just don't—"
"Wait," said Cynthia, backing away from the mirror for a moment. She leaned back in. "Luna's—you're back."
"Yes, I remember," said Luna, nodding. "Just don't—" she said again, only to be cut off again.
"I won't," swore Cynthia Lovegood, before the familiar grey smoke returned to the mirror's surface.
"What," said Ron cautiously, "just happened?"
"I have no idea," said Luna. "I just hope it's good."
They stared, neither moving, at the now empty mirror.
"Excuse me, sir," said Percy Weasley, peeking his head into the Minister's office. "You summoned me?"
"Yes, Weasley," said Cornelius Fudge.
"What for, sir?"
"I need a scribe for a very important meeting," said the Minister. "And I feel you're the perfect person for the job."
"Really?" said Percy humbly. "Well, I suppose I can lend my skills to suit a bigger purpose." He smiled. "When is it?"
"Why, right now, of course!" said Fudge, walking over and thumping Percy on the back, ushering him into an antechamber off of the office.
"N-now?" asked Percy, swallowing.
"Yes, of course."
"But I haven't got my—"
"Quill? Oh, we'll give you one. Just be sure to take everything down exactly." He looked at the younger man conspiringly. "You-Know-Who has decided to 'meet with me', as he puts it. He turned himself in to the guard in the lobby," he whispered.
"What!" cried Percy, jumping back from the Minister, frowning. "But you said You-Know-Who was—"
"What? Oh not You-Know-Who," said Fudge dismissively. "I mean you know who'll be there."
"I do?"
"Yes, you do."
Percy had a very small idea as to what was going on about him.
After going through a door in the antechamber to an anteroom off of it, they found themselves in a small, round room with no windows. A round table sat in the middle, and one man was already seated at it. He gazed at the two as they entered, looking the slightest bit surprised to see Percy.
It was, however, nothing compared to how surprised Percy was to see him.
"Dumbledore!" cried the younger man disbelievingly. "He's You-Know-Who?" Percy said to Fudge.
"Yes, who did you think?"
"I assure you, Mr Weasley, I am not Voldemort," said Dumbledore amiably. The two other wizards flinched. "I may have been slandered a bit by...the press. But I don't believe they've ever made that particular insinuation."
"I mean—what are you, of all people, doing in the Ministry?"
"As I said," said Fudge. "Professor—I mean, Dumbledore has turned himself in at last. I daresay the constant tailing of the Aurors has finally got to him," he said self-importantly.
But Dumbledore did not look as if anything had 'got to him'. He looked as calm as he ever looked, and he most certainly didn't look as though he was tired of being on the run. He did not appear to have been on the run. He looked just like normal, the only difference being the absent twinkle in his eyes.
"I'd dare no such thing," said Dumbledore. "And as I've said repeatedly, I have not turned myself in. I have come to discuss something with you. And then I will take my leave."
"Well?" he said to Percy, ignoring Dumbledore. "Why aren't you writing this down?"
"I don't have my—"
"Here is a quill," volunteered Dumbledore, holding one up. "I found it just lying around on the table, and—shame on an old man's habits—I picked it up for myself."
"Th-thank you," said Percy awkwardly, taking the feathered writing utensil from his former Headmaster.
"Now that that's out of the way," said Fudge, pulling a chair out. "We can begin discussing whatever it is you insist on discussing."
"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. He looked questioningly at Percy. "Care to sit down?"
"Oh, right," said Percy, pulling up a chair of his own. He conjured a piece of parchment to use, and wrote on it in a neat script, Wonderful. Care to sit down?
The meeting began.
"Cornelius," began Dumbledore, "you are aware of the fact that the Dementors have revolted?"
"Yes," said Fudge. "It is quite a shame. We have no sure cause at the moment, but we are working on the—"
"I told you this would happen," said Dumbledore. "You didn't listen."
"What?" said Fudge confusedly. "Are you saying that—"
"Voldemort is behind the revolt, yes," said Dumbledore seriously.
Fudge shook his head. "No. I refuse to even entertain the thought. There is no proof of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's return, as I've told you numerous times, other than the testimony of a fourteen—"
"Fifteen," corrected Dumbledore. "Harry is fifteen now, and is going to be sixteen in two weeks."
"Whatever. Nothing but the testimony of a fifteen-year-old. Oh, right. That and a barmy old headmaster who's been on the run for half a year." Fudge smirked. "Of course, he is no longer on the run, as he has turned himself in. I can't get enough of that…."
"Good for you, Cornelius. You finally have the nerve to tell me what you think to my face," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Very Hufflepuff of you—honesty, you know."
"I—" began Fudge, outraged.
Dumbledore raised his hand. "I mean it in no way as an insult. I would never do such a thing."
Fudge closed his mouth.
"Yes. Right," he said. He swallowed. "Is that all, Dumbledore? I have a—"
"No, actually," said Dumbledore pleasantly. "As you seem to feel the need to put the wizarding world at risk every day, I would like to make sure you take proper care of those close to you. How is dear Dolores doing?"
Fudge's mouth became a very fine line. "Ms Umbridge is still recovering from her... incident last year. You don't happen to know how she found herself in the middle of a pack of Centaurs, do you Dumbledore? Or at least, how she got out?"
"Not a clue," said Dumbledore smiling. "So she will most definitely not be returning to her posts at school? Quite the person to have to replace. I certainly hope Minerva—and yourself, of course—have someone suitable in mind." He looked questioningly at the Minister.
"Er… yes. We have… been scouting. Myself, mostly. Your precious Deputy Headmistress doesn't seem to take her job very seriously, you know. She has scarcely turned up at our meetings."
Dumbledore's mouth quirked up a bit. "I'm sure she has good reason. But what about the other post?"
"Hmm?"
"The High Inquisitor? Surely whoever you find will not be… up to the task of both the Defence position and the Inquisitor?"
"I… er… hadn't thought of that," admitted Fudge grudgingly.
"I had assumed so," said Dumbledore, not disrespectfully. He cast a glance at Percy, who was trying to remember if there was supposed to be a space after an elipses, before saying, "I have someone in mind that…may be up to the job."
Luna and Ron still sat staring at the empty mirror.
"What just happened?" asked Ron once again, though he didn't really expect an answer this time. He just couldn't believe it, and it seemed he had to be saying something. Asking a question seemed the only thing he could do, for some reason. "What just happened?"
"I said I don't know, Ronald," said Luna.
"Oh right; what just happened?"
Luna realised that Ron wasn't about to stop anytime soon. But why should he? It was probably just as confuzzling to him as it was to her, if not more so. He didn't know what the mirror was. She tried to replay the events from his perspective: first she charges down the attic stairs with a mirror in her hands, slamming it (carefully) onto a desk. That is a bit peculiar, she mentally admitted.
Then, her dead mother appears in said mirror. Yes, that must have been confuzzling. It was confuzzling to me and I understand it much more.
"What just happened?" said Luna now.
"I don't know," said Ron. "I wonder if—"
"Hello?" said London Lovegood, walking up the stairs. "I was wondering where—" He turned round once at the top, and saw the two friends behind the mirror. "Wha—what are you doing?" he said, an edge to his voice.
"Nothing," said Luna, standing up from the royal blue chair.
"Yeah, we were just—?" Ron said, looking questioningly at Luna.
London stood, staring at the back of the mirror. After a few moments, his face relaxed and he let out a breath.
"I'm sorry, I just…I haven't seen that particular mirror in…a long time. Caught me off guard." He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath and let it out again. "I'll just be—well. It's getting rather late," he said. "Ronnie, I'm sure you're hungry again by now."
"I just had a—" He began, but he realised that the sandwich Mr Lovegood had made him had been…how long ago?
"What time did you say it was?" asked Ron, looking at his watch.
"I didn't," said London, smiling. "But, as you can see, it's eight o'clock."
"It couldn't be," said Luna, shaking her head.
"Eight?" repeated Ron disbelievingly, tapping his watch. It had to be lying. They hadn't spent that much time talking about OWL results and...well, Luna talking to her dead mum.
"That's what I said," said London, nodding. "You've hardly eaten all day, and I thought you might like a snack before you—" He stopped short.
"Ronnie," he continued, "do you have to walk all the way to the...Burrow, it was called, yes?"
Ron nodded. "Yeah. It shouldn't take that long—"
"Nonsense!" said London. "We have a remarkably comfy couch, if I do say so myself, and you can make a nice, rested trip home in the morning."
"No," said Ron. "I can go home now. Besides, Mum's probably worried. I've been gone all day—"
"That's what owls are for, silly!" said London.
"It couldn't hurt," said Luna, nodding slightly at the mirror.
"Wha—?" said Ron, looking at Luna, confuzzled. Then it clicked. "Oh. I guess I could—"
"Of course you could," said London. "So let's have that snack!"
Ginny sat on her bed, sadly having nothing better to do than listen to the wireless, which was now playing The Night Before by guess who? Right! By The Beatles.
Which, for no particular reason, reminded her of a question that Harry had asked her earlier.
Where's Ron?
She had not heard anything of him all day. Harry obviously did not seem to know either, and Mum seemed to artfully avoid the subject. She decided to ask.
Ginny turned round and walked back out on the landing, and then down the stairs.
Coming into the kitchen, she saw Mrs Weasley was seated at the table, sipping a cup of tea.
"Ah, Ginny," she said. "I thought you'd gone up to your room."
"I did," said Ginny. "But I wanted to know—where's Ron? I haven't seen him all day."
"Oh, Ron…" said Mrs Weasley, clearly trying to think of something to say. "Well, he left early this morning, and went for a walk…"
"Ron went for a walk?" said Ginny disbelievingly. "But he's been gone all day! What if something happened to him?"
"I'm sure nothing happened to him," said Mrs Weasley.
"Then why hasn't he come back?"
"Good question…"
At that moment an owl swooped down into the kitchen of the Burrow from one of the windows above the sink.
"I'll get it," said Mrs Weasley needlessly, taking the letter from the owl's leg and giving it a pat on the head.
"Ah, would you look at that...it's from Ron. What a coincidence."
The letter read:
Mum,
Hello. After walking for a bit, I decided I'd go see...well, you know who.
Well, her dad said that I shouldn't walk home at this hour, so I'm going to kip on the couch here and walk back in the morning. Don't worry.
See you tomorrow.
Ron
"You see?" said Mrs Weasley. "Ron's perfectly fine, and he'll be back in the morning." She took a sip of her tea. "No reason to worry."
"Whose dad?" asked Ginny curiously. "Ron's at a girl's house?"
"Erm...yes," said Mrs Weasley reluctantly. "But that's all I'm saying."
"But—" began Ginny. "But what girl lives close enough for Ron to walk to? For Ron to walk to?"
"I said I'm not saying anything," said Mrs Weasley, sipping her tea. She looked up at the clock. "Oh, look at that. It's time for me to go to bed."
Indeed, Molly's hand on the Weasley clock was indeed on "Bedtime!" Mrs Weasley put her mug in the sink and hurried away from her daughter, up the stairs.
"The only girl who lives near us is—" Ginny's eyes widened. "It couldn't be…"