You look in the mirror, and what do you see?

The backwards reflection you'll never be.

Some day you'll realize who you are,

And you'll wonder how you got this far.

But you're the one in this story

Who cannot see yourself clearly.

So what are you going to do, my dear,

When yours is the shadow that you fear?

"Okay, you know what Luka?" Zena tells the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain, who scowls at her resignedly. She can tell that he knows she's going to walk away and pretend that their conversation never happened. Again. "I'm just going to go… over there," she gestures vaguely to where Magnus is sitting at the Ravenclaw table, "and I'm going to work on my homework for Potions, and you're going to leave me alone, okay?"

She doesn't wait around for his reply, instead backing away from him before turning on her heel and walking briskly to Magnus' side. She slips into the empty space on the bench beside him.

"What did he want this time?" Magnus asks curiously.

"The same thing he's wanted for the past four years," she groans. "He wants me to play Chaser on the team. He told me he'd been watching me fly recently, and that he really thinks 'I could bring some oomph to the team.'"

Magnus makes a face. "Did he really say that?"

"Yup."

"Do you think he realises that saying that makes him seem kind of creepy, and also like he's trying way too hard to be cool?"

"I know, right? I don't think I've ever heard anyone say oomph. Even Mum doesn't say that, and she's almost as old school as the Pure-bloods."

He snorts. "She's not quite that bad, and you know it. And you should give them some credit. Headmaster Longbottom likes to talk about how they were stuck in the seventeenth century for four centuries. I know you've heard him, even if you pretend like you're not paying attention in Herbology."

"There's a question," she says. "Why does Headmaster Longbottom teach Herbology on top of his duties as Headmaster? If you ask anyone, you'll figure out that previous Headmasters and Headmistresses did one or the other. Dumbledore was the Transfiguration professor, but he dropped that when he became Headmaster. McGonagall stopped teaching Transfiguration for the years she was Headmistress, too."

"Transfiguration is a more theory-intensive subject than Herbology," he reminds her. "And you're not entirely right, either. For the most part, Headmasters don't teach any of the core subjects, but Dumbledore was teaching Alchemy while he was Headmaster, and McGonagall taught Conjuration."

"Really?" Zena frowns. "I didn't know that. I guess it makes sense, though. Less students, and a specialized class. Yeah, that would fit in better with all the other duties, because you're not teaching the same class to multiple different years multiple times a week."

"Exactly. Oh, and speaking of fitting things in, you've got your appointment with that Shaman this afternoon. Don't forget."

"I would have. Thanks. I hope they'll be able to figure out a way to stop the memories. They're distracting, and sometimes they give me nightmares."

"That must be disconcerting."

"It is. They're super vague, most of the time, or they just don't make sense, because I don't really know anything about whoever's memories I've got. I don't even know their name, Magnus, and I own fragments of their life."

"Do you ever wonder who it could be?"

"Of course I do. But is knowing going to help me in any way? It's not like figuring out who it is is going to make the memories go away."

"Well, I've been reading up on reincarnation ever since you told me about it, and apparently reincarnated souls tend to be looking for justice. So maybe if you figure out who it is, and what they experienced, maybe the memories will go away." He sticks a spoonful of cold cereal into his mouth, and jots something down in the margins of his Charms textbook.

"I guess it's worth a shot," she concedes. "But I'll wait to see what the Shaman thinks."

The first few years at Hogwarts had been like any other school year; Zena had never really gotten around to making more friends than Magnus, even after she'd been Sorted into Hufflepuff. Instead, she'd been caught up in classes, and sneaking a broom out of the shed to fly on late at night. She'd had her first meeting with a Shaman within the first week, and he had confirmed that Zena was a reincarnated soul. Then he had said that it would be a few years before anything could be done about it.

So Zena had focused on schoolwork and Magnus, and she'd made sure to write letters home each week. Four oddly quiet years had passed, during which Magnus found out about her situation, did some preliminary research, and informed her that her next visit with a Shaman would likely include a Telepath, and that it might be wise to learn Occlumency so that her memories were easier to navigate.

And so, she and Magnus had learned Occlumency together, as well as rudimentary Legilimency, and had learned far more about each other in the process than either of them had ever wanted to know.

Near the end of fourth year, Zena had received a letter from one of the co-CEOs of Eros & Psyche who had offered his services, and those of his employee Adrian Pucey. Eros & Psyche was a company that developed potions, combined magic and Muggle methods for handling the mind and soul, and presented the Wizengamot with more up-to-date laws regarding various potions, potion-ingredients and their sources, memory magic, other mind-related things, and soul magic; it was founded by school-mates Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode, with additional funding made readily available to them by Headmaster Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, and Daphne Greengrass.

Zena had accepted, feeling rather proud of what her friends had done with themselves, and she and Mr Nott had agreed to meet in the second week of September.

Somehow, back in June, even knowing that it would be OWL year coming up, Zena had managed to convince herself that her work load would be light enough that such a meeting would fit in perfectly well with her schedule.

She grimaces down at her Potions homework, tapping her pen against the sleek cover of her textbook. What had she been thinking?

"Miss Sinclair," a figure she assumes is Mr Nott greets her reservedly as she walks through the open doors of the Hospital Wing, looking around herself curiously; Zena has been learning the winding corridors and trick steps and hidden rooms of Hogwarts since she first arrived five years ago, and she has somehow managed to avoid entering the Hospital Wing after meeting with the Shaman that first week of first year. Under Madam Pomfrey's regime, the space looks the same as it did the last time, with its white walls and the equally white linens folded crisply over the brass-framed cots lining the walls. The afternoon sun pours through the windows, staining the spotless floor with warm rectangles of light.

It is rather cozy, all things considered.

"Good afternoon, Mr Nott. And it's just Zena," Zena replies stiltedly. She isn't used to this kind of formality.

Mr Nott steps into her line of sight, and she remembers the first time she'd met him. He is older than she remembers, and quite handsome, with his dark hair and brilliantly coloured eyes. They no longer have shadows beneath them, as they so often did when she knew him, and she wonders if it is because his father is dead. "Call me Theo. I have a feeling we'll be getting to know each other quite well." He holds out a pale, elegant hand for her to shake, and Zena does so a little awkwardly, unused to shaking with her left. She is a little shocked to see the slender gold ring adorning his fourth finger. Theo had always been the most vocal of their group about marriage, claiming that he would never get married.

"I thought you swore you'd never get married, Theo," Zena says, falling into the easy camaraderie they'd built over the years. "And here you are, a ring to chain you to someone else." She smiles up at him; Theo has been taller than her since his growth spurt during fourth year, when he'd refused to write home for robes that fit, choosing instead to wander the halls with his robes hanging several inches above his ankles.

Theo gives her an odd look. Zena has been on the receiving end of a great deal of those for years now, and has grown rather used to them.

"How do you know that?" he asks curiously.

Zena shrugs. "I just do. I know a lot about you, like how you thought that your father being a Death Eater meant that we couldn't be friends, or that you're always first to land on the Get Married square when you play Life, and you always swear it's something you'll never do. Affinities have always fascinated you, too, and so have the associations between dark cores and evil."

Theo frowns thoughtfully. "If that's not confirmation that you've been reincarnated, I don't know what is. I suppose that now it's only a matter of figuring out who you were, and what to do next. Adrian's waiting for us over there." He motions to where a tall, slender brunet is sitting in front of a window. "Do you know Adrian?"

"Of course," she scoffs. "He was the only decent Seeker Slytherin had, and it was a pity when he had to step down because Malfoy bought his way onto the team."

Theo laughs. "Yes that was a tragedy, wasn't it. I remember Marcus was torn between glee and fury when Malfoy first joined. On the one hand, the Slytherin team got top of the line brooms. On the other, it got Malfoy as Seeker, and while he was decent, he was never good enough to beat Haven. But then, she was in a different league altogether, wasn't she?"

"Reminiscing again?" Adrian asks Theo. He turns to Zena. "Haven was one of his best friends during Hogwarts. She was friends with almost everyone, actually. But she disappeared the summer after Voldemort's death, and no one really knows what happened to her."

"There's a Daily Prophet article that says she's dead," Zena says.

"But there was no body ever found," Theo disagrees. "The last time we assumed someone was dead when there wasn't a body left behind was back in eighty-one, and Voldemort came back, didn't he?"

"So you think Haven Potter is still alive?"

"Yes," Theo says.

Adrian says, "No," at the same moment, the word solid and heavy as it scrapes unforgivingly against Theo's opinion.

Theo throws Adrian a sharp glance. Adrian shrugs. "You were better friends with Haven than I was, Theo, but even I know that she'd never have disappeared for this long if she could help it. And if she can't help it, then she'd be better off dead."

Theo looks away for a moment, shaking his head briefly. He turns back to Zena, offering her a smile. "Alright, Zena. Sit down here. I'm just going to take a quick look at your soul while Adrian works his magic, alright?"

"Okay." Something in her tone must betray her nerves. Adrian and Theo exchange a glance before Theo moves a few feet away, busying himself with collecting chairs for Adrian and himself.

"Hey, Zena," Adrian says softly, crouching down in front of her so that they're eye level with each other. "All you've gotta do is relax enough for me to get in, okay? I'll take care of the rest, until I can find you inside your head. Then we'll go through your memories together, alright. We'll try to figure out who you were together, and if you're with me the entire time, you can make sure I don't look at anything you don't want me to see. Sound good?"

Zena takes a shaky breath and nods. "Why is Theo going to look at my soul if we already know I've been reincarnated?"

Theo reappears and sets up the chairs. "Souls are distinct. The things you know about me and Adrian tell us that you were at school while we were. If you were still there when my affinity presented itself, there's a chance that I took a look at your soul at some point. If I did, I'll be able to tell who you were, even if you and Adrian can't figure it out from your memories. But there's a chance I won't have looked at your soul, which is why Adrian is here in the first place. Looking through memories is generally a fool proof way to figure out somebody's identity."

"What is a person? They are flesh and blood and bone. They are heart and mind and soul. They are a breath of air, and laughter in the depths of sadness, and tears on the wings of joy. They are life and love and magic. They are memories, for what are any of us without the memories of our lives to make us whole?" Adrian says.

Theo rolls his eyes fondly. "It's not classy to quote yourself."

"At least I didn't preface it with the words a wise man once said, " Adrian retorts. "And don't you have more important things to be doing than criticizing me? I'm trying to do my job here."

Theo gives him a flat look. "Then get to it."

"Alright, Zena. I need you to look me in the eyes and trust that I'm not going to hurt you, alright? I just need you to open the door a little bit, just enough to let me in, okay? After that, the hard part's over."

Zena gives Adrian a determined nod, looks him in the eyes, and pretends that it is Magnus who she is letting into her mind.

"C'mon in," she tells Adrian, holding open the front door to her house. He walks in front of her, and she closes the door behind herself. Together, they walk down the hallway into the living room, which looks uncannily like the Gryffindor common room she's (seen every day for years on end) never seen.

"Where do you think you keep your memories?" Adrian asks curiously, looking around himself. Zena knows he is seeing all the potential hiding spots in her mind, wondering which ones she has used.

She pulls him over to the sprawling bookshelves. "They're all right here," she says, running her finger-tips over their colourful spines.

She pulls one of the books out. It is labelled with curling black ink that reads Seventh Birthday. She opens it the barest amount, and a faded image pours out in front of them. It is of a young girl in a bright red coat holding her mother's hand, the quality of it like that of an old photograph; it fades into the girl facing a handsome man in a green and silver scarf, her mother looking on curiously; then, the girl and her mother are walking away from the man, whose back is to them. Finally, the girl is curled up in a warm room with a mug cradled in her hands, her mother and father and grandparents looking on fondly. A warm scent, like woodsmoke and cinnamon and eggnog, curls around them, warming Zena to her toes.

The image lingers a moment before fading, taking the smell with it, before beginning to cycle through again. Zena snaps the book shut, well aware of how difficult it is to tear herself away from her memories; it is these ones, too, with their simple warmth, that make her want to open the books all the way, so that the entire memory plays out in detail so vivid that she is almost reliving the moment all over again.

"You met Cassius?" Adrian asks curiously.

"Yeah. He didn't recognize me. I couldn't understand why, back then."

Adrian smiles softly. "You don't really look like anyone we knew or know. It's not surprising that he didn't recognize you, really. In fact, I'm surprised you recognized him."

"That's how the memories are," Zena tells him. "They come in association to something. Names and faces, mostly, but sometimes I remember things, too."

"But you don't remember who you were?"

"No."

"Huh. Okay. I don't think this is the place we need to be looking, then, if the memories don't just unlock themselves as you age. Can you think of anywhere else the memories might be?"

Zena thinks for a moment. "Whoever I was… they liked heights. They liked being up high, so that everything on the ground was miniscule. I think…" she pauses and looks up at the criss-crossing beams that stretch from wall to wall, high above their heads. "I think they might be up there."

Adrian follows her gaze. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Let's get up there, then."

Zena climbs one of the ladders leading up to the rafters, and Adrian follows behind her. She pulls herself up hand over hand, and it is far easier to do within the confines of her mind than it would be in real life; by the time she manages to get a hand on one of the beams and swing herself up onto it, she isn't even out of breath.

"Is this what the Gryffindor common room looks like?" Adrian asks curiously.

"Yeah."

"Huh. You kinda struck me as a Hufflepuff."

"I am a Hufflepuff. But I was a Gryffindor before."

He gives her a thoughtful look. "I wonder…" He doesn't complete his thought, something sad seeping into his expression in response to whatever he's thinking.

"You wonder?" she prompts.

Adrian shakes his head. "Just a suspicion. I'm not necessarily right, of course, and I don't want to say anything without more evidence." He releases a quiet breath through his nose, and mutters, "It would make sense, though."

Zena waits a moment to see if he'll explain his mumblings. He doesn't, and so she moves forward on the beam, one foot in front of the other until she reaches the piles of books and blankets partway down. "I think the memories are here," she tells Adrian. "Hidden under the blankets and peering out so that they can show up when they see something they recognize, you know?"

Adrian's eyebrows furrow and he chews the inside of his cheek. "I suppose that makes sense. I'll let you do the honours, since this is your mind."

Zena waits for him to step back before she lifts up the topmost blanket. It is soft to the touch, and it unfolds as she raises it into the air. Out of its hidden creases, dozens of tiny little Snitches fly out, glittering gold in the firelight far below, their delicate white wings fluttering frantically in the air as they hover in a cloud of metal and feathers before her. She reaches out to grab one, holding it delicately between her fingers so that its wings come to a standstill. Like with her books, a faded image stitches itself painstakingly into the empty space before them.

The still image shows a snowy owl flying through the sky, its white feathers bold against the deep blue it cuts through. It holds something in its claws that she cannot quite make out. The next image is of the owl perched regally in the window of the Owlrey, and the thing that was in its talons is spread out against the cool gray stone beside it. She can just barely make out some of the words written on the parchment in that cramped handwriting. She can read Remus and Dora and Edward and, at the very end, she can make out the words Love, Sirius.

"I'd forgotten about Edward," she muses. "I don't think I've ever met him. How is he, do you know?"

"I'm afraid I don't know anyone named Edward," Adrian says apologetically.

"Oh," she replies, setting the Snitch free. The image fades into nothingness, and she feels rather empty without it. She reaches for another Snitch.

This time, the image that unfolds is of the Quidditch pitch. The stands around it are filled to the brim, blobs of blue and green and yellow and red mixed together. In the air above the stands, a Quidditch game is being played. Gryffindor against Slytherin, she notices. The Chasers are locked in a battle against each other, and the Beaters hover over their shoulders, their bats frozen in mid-swing. On opposite ends of the pitch, the Keepers guard their goals relentlessly, leaning forward on their brooms, prepared to move. High above them all, the Seekers have their brooms angled towards the ground, where she can just barely see the glint of the Snitch hiding in the grass below.

The image changes, and this time, the Seekers are the main focus. Their faces are set with determination as they race each other. The dark-haired Slytherin boy has his gaze directly ahead, while the red-haired Gryffindor girl seems to be climbing on top of her broom.

She knows what happens next, and is unsurprised when the image changes again. The Gryffindor girl has her hand close to her mouth, the Snitch half in and half out as she kneels on the ground. The Slytherin boy stares at her in shock. Behind her, the Gryffindor team is touching down, some of them racing towards her, their faces exultant.

Zena lets go of the Snitch. The image crumples into itself.

"That was the first game Haven played," Adrian tells her. "She beat me to the Snitch by swallowing it, and no one could believe it."

"I remember," she replies, already reaching for another Snitch. She lifts it to her mouth before the memory can pour out, curious as to what will happen.

Instead of still images, a full blown memory forces its way out of the Snitch.

The castle doors swing open, and light pours through them. They close so that only a sliver of light can stain the ground. A shadowy figure appears suddenly, a silvery cloak rippling into view. They hurry down to Hagrid's hut. A soft bark shatters the silence of the night. A massive dog rushes to greet the figure, who shoves the hood of their winter cloak away from their face. Together, the dog and the girl make their way across the castle grounds, tiptoeing across the frost-covered grass until they reach the Black Lake.

The girl mutters a spell under her breath, and a thick layer of ice creeps across the surface of the lake. She steps onto it cautiously, and then with less care when it doesn't crack beneath her weight. She glides forward. The dog follows her, slipping across the slick ice.

The girl and the dog skate from side to side for several minutes, gaining speed with each push. The girl's cloak billows behind her, and she pirouettes on the lake, heedless of the bitter cold of winter.

Eventually, they stop moving, and the girl flicks her wand again, this time in a circular motion. Her face glows in the moonlight. "Expecto Patronum," she whispers. Silvery light curls out of the tip of her wand, spreading first into something resembling a shield, and then coalescing into something with a more distinct form. A massive lion leaps forward, glowing with its own light, and it pads through the air around the girl. It roars silently up at the sky, and the dog barks in reply.

The memory fades. "Ah," Adrian says. "Haven."

"Yes?" she asks without thinking.

He gives her a weak smile, and reaches for another Snitch. This one looks different than the others, its wings fluttering half-heartedly, and the metal around them rusted and dull. He hands it to her, and she takes it reflexively.

The image that paints itself into the air before them is nothing more than a flash of green. She can feel it swallowing her.

"Like I thought. You were Haven. I don't know if you've remembered yet, but Voldemort tried to kill her with a Killing Curse when she was a baby." He gestures to the image lingering in the air. "I guessed with the memory of that Quidditch match, and I was almost sure when the Patronus came up. Now I know." He sighs a little sadly. "Well, it's time to go reconvene with Theo, now that we know who you were."

Instead of climbing back down, Zena and Adrian jump to the floor and walk back to the hallway. Zena pauses with her hand on the door, ready to open it. "You didn't suspect before that I might've been Haven?"

"It was a possibility," he allows. "But Haven's not the only friend we've lost who would've known so much about Theo and I. She's not the only one who would've had those memories, you know? And she let other people use Hedwig all the time. Aries Black, for one; it wouldn't have been unusual for him to have gotten a letter from Sirius. And Hermione Granger, as well. She was there for all of those memories except for the last two we saw. You could've been any of them, really, and they're not the only options, either.

"You have to remember, too," he adds, "that we've never had proof of death for Haven. It wouldn't occur to most people that you were her."

"Do you think Theo knows?"

Adrian looks down at her, his eyes soft and sad. "Yeah. I think he does. He'd have seen your soul before."

Zena swallows. "He's going to be devastated, isn't he?"

Adrian dips his chin towards his chest, and whispers, "Yeah. He will be."

She pushes open the door.

She opens her eyes to see Theo and Adrian are seated in front of her, watching her wordlessly.

It is Adrian who is brave enough to break the silence. "We know who she was." His voice is rough, and his expression pinched with unhappiness.

Theo gives Adrian a pleading look, as though he'd wanted to ignore the truth a while longer. "Yeah, I figured it out, too."

"You know what this means, don't you?" Adrian asks, sounding heartbroken.

Theo looks at Zena with wet eyes, then looks away, folding his lips together in a tight line and swallowing hard. "Yes," he whispers. "She's dead. I think - I think I've always known that. It was just easier to think that she was still alive, somewhere. Without us." He ducks his chin, hiding his face.

"She never would have left without saying goodbye if she'd had a choice," Adrian says softly. He moves to kneel before the chair Theo is sitting in and slips his arms around Theo's waist.

Theo slumps forward, his shoulders stooping and his back curving as his body sags. He melts into Adrian's embrace, his head resting in the crook of Adrian's neck. His shoulders shake. He takes tiny, gasping breaths, and makes no other sound.

Adrian smooths a hand up and down Theo's spine, his fingers smoothing through the loose curls at his nape on every upstroke, and Zena has to look away from the scene in front of her before it breaks her heart.

It must hurt terribly to lose a friend, even if they've been lost for years already.

Magnus meets her on the seventh floor after classes end. This is a ritual they have spent the past five years developing, and even in her bewilderment, Zena cannot bring herself to disrupt the pattern.

She leans back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her as she stares blankly at the painting of Barnabus the Barmy. Magnus doesn't question her. Instead, he paces three times in front of the empty wall, and waits patiently for the door to appear.

When Zena finally gathers enough energy to stand up and go in, she is surprised to see a replica of her mindscape.

"I asked the room for what you needed," Magnus offers in explanation. "Apparently, this is it."

She moves over to where he is sprawled across the couch, his bag on the floor. He scoots over to make room for her, and she lies down beside him, her back to his chest and his knees stacked beneath hers. Magnus allows her to wallow in silence for a few moments, and then - when she feels warm and heavy and on the verge of falling asleep - he murmurs, "Tell me what happened?"

"They figured out who I was," she whispers back.

"Who?"

"Haven Potter."

"And what's so bad about that?"

"She was their friend. I was their friend. And now she's dead, and I've got her memories, so it's almost like she isn't dead, after all, and it's hard to watch how that knowledge affects other people."

"So this isn't about you?" Magnus doesn't even have the decency to sound surprised.

"Have you ever seen a full-grown man break down because he's finally got a reason to grieve after years? It's terrible to watch, Magnus. I don't feel an emotional connection to her, and I wanted to cry because my being here means they lost someone."

"They lost her years ago. No, Zena, listen to me. Listen. It's not your fault that they didn't mourn her years ago. It's not your fault that they were holding out hope, okay? And it isn't like you chose to be reincarnated so that you could torment them with your soul and your life and your memories that aren't even yours anymore."

She turns in his embrace so that she can press her face into Magnus' neck. "This is why you're a Ravenclaw and I'm a Hufflepuff. You're logical. You can reason your way through this. But what's happening here, it's emotional. It isn't logical, and trying to parse it with logic won't help. They feel devastated, and I feel guilty, and those feelings aren't leaving anytime soon."

Magnus is silent for a moment. He sighs. "What can I do to help you?"

Zena inhales against the warmth of his skin. "Just… wait, I guess. And listen."

"I can do that." He kisses her hair and falls silent.

"I know," she says a few moments later, imprinting her words onto the space where she can feel the faint, echoing beat of his heart.