Title: The Other Side of a Mirror

Summary: When Dementors attack Little Whinging, it is not Lily's last screams Harry sees. It's his godfather's insane rambles about a parent he doesn't have… AU from 3rd book's ending

Pairings: (Probable) Harry/Voldemort

Rating: MV/NC-17/M

Author: Iivanainen/Nocturnal Bastard (LJ: NocturnalB) with help by Meikouhaikitsune

Beta: No Beta, but a quick look by DarQuing

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters belong to JKR and Warner Bros and anyone else JKR lets—which does not include me.

A/N: This is a story I've been pretty much yearning to write for at since winter -07/08 and my patience can't take it any longer. This is a work in progress. /Iiv

Chapter One:

The sun rose above the horizon. It was yet a while left until the dark of night disappeared wholly, though. Harry watched as the grounds around the Burrow grew lighter, and more golden. The otherwise brilliant green, such like his eyes, of the growth got their extreme coloration back. Wild roses and other flowers opening up once more, stretching towards the sun. Watching this transformation from dark 'til light used to fascinate him. Now, its only purpose was to give him something to concentrate on. To keep thoughts and memories better left untouched exactly that; untouched. He watched from his place perched in Ron's lone window a few more minutes, until the sounds of Mrs Weasley's sneaking feet were heard. It's about time, Harry thought, they need to leave soon.

Sighing, he slipped out of the room and went to greet the witch by the door. Mrs Weasley jumped in surprise when the door opened before her, thanks to him.

"Oh dear Harry, were you awake?" she asked, worriedly.

"Couldn't sleep," he replied evenly.

"You've had a rough couple of months lately so I suppose it's understandable," the witch nodded absently. "If you would just--"

"I'll do it, Mrs Weasley," Harry said, closed the door in her face. It might be rude, but he'd be dead before he cared anyway.

Harry didn't want to doanything really, but he reckoned Ron wanted to go that stupid Quidditch World Cup. And he didn't want Mrs Weasley invading his space as she would had she gone inside the room. Her youngest son was enough, thank you very much. There was very little Harry cared for these days, but his privacy and lone corner to think were some of those very few things. So therefore he got to work on his task.

"Mr Weasley?" Harry asked. "Can I talk to you? In private?"

The wizard looked up from whatever Ginny was showing him. Absorbing the words, he nodded and made his way over to Harry's private corner in the kitchen. "Yes, Harry?"

"Do I have to come with you to the World Cup? I can stay here and...study? It's important to study, you know," the boy tried.

Mr Weasley looked at him strangely and said, "You don't want to go?"

Harry shook his head.

"But you love Quidditch. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Harry!"

"I just don't want to go, that's all. Quidditch, it's... It just doesn't mean anything anymore."

"Nonsense," the older said, and put his hand on Harry's shoulders. Harry shuddered at the human contact but didn't comment on it. "Let's get you some of Molly's extraordinary breakfast before we leave."

The fourteen year old briefly entertained the thought of saying that he wasn't hungry. However, he didn't think he could stand the nagging from Mrs Weasley and all of their pitying looks so he gave in and sat down. And he did manage to swallow one bite, which was an improvement since last week. But Harry didn't like improving. He didn't feel as if he deserved it as—No, he wouldn't think of that.

Harry hadn't expected they'd walk to the match. Which was a very welcome surprise. He liked walking. Long distances especially. It was a relief to just be out in a huge world, to feel small and alone, to crawl inside himself and just think. He figured he smiled, for the others relaxed when they turned around to see if he was still with them. It didn't bother him now like it usually did. Most things bothered him now, if he gave himself permission to care. Of course, this, he rarely did, but that wasn't the point.

They reached their destination far too early for Harry's liking. Not to mention that they were joined by Cedric Diggory and his father. And it reminded him of Demen... them. And he didn't want that.

"Hi, Harry," Cedric greeted, waving. The boy ignored him in favour of a small branch with a dead leaf connected to it that he'd found on the way and snapped of its tree. It was interesting since it was still summer and leafs were not supposed to be dead until another two months, at the least.

Overhead, Cedric turned to Hermione. Harry saw it. "Is something wrong with Harry?" he asked, Harry knew. Hermione threw a worried eye his way, biting her lip. Wondering if it was okay to say or not. She needn't worry though, as Ginny said something and Cedric nodded. Harry sighed. So, they talked about him behind his back. Since when was that news?

"Hurry! The Portkey leaves in 30 seconds!" Mr Weasley shouted. Like ants, they all crawled in a stressed pace to reach the old boot. Reluctantly, Harry touched it with his hand in the last second. He really didn't want go to this stupid World Cup for that stupid game Quidditch! But as it was, he was swished away from Stoatshead Hill to some place he didn't know where.

In a matter of minutes, after their group had arrived at the campsite and raised their tent, Harry was underneath his bed. There, he planned to stay all day, all night, all week if the match continued that long. With a jar filled with Blue Bell-lights that Charlie had conjured for him and Percy's book about advanced Charms, he felt better than he had all day. The others knew he was under there, but they had learned their lesson by now and helped him instead of hindering him.

The saddened teen had only read a dozen or so pages in the thick book before an unsettling feeling washed over him. He tried desperately to concentrate on the words, but they kept blurring together. In the end, he slammed the book shut with brutal force.

"What was that?" Ron's voice sounded in the distance.

Harry didn't know what he was feeling. Almost like a need to be somewhere. That there was something to see and he couldn't miss it. Because if he did, his life would continue in the same path it always had and it would eventually drive him mental. He might be crazy and odd at the moment, but he didn't want to be mental. In his head, Harry saw himself, aged about twenty or so years, carted of to a locked ward at St. Mungo's. And he didn't want that.

After he'd crawled out from beneath the bed, he dusted of his clothes, grabbed his Blue Bell-jar and went in search of the others. Maybe Hermione was getting dramatically beaten at chess by Ron again. It was worth seeing and he didn't have to say anything, just watch. Sounds good enough, Harry thought.

As expected, the chess-game was well under way. Ron and Hermione – or any others for that matter – didn't comment as he crouched down and the floor and observed their game. The board was at his eye-level, making the pieces obscenely large in the teen's opinion. It was something he could concentrate on so he wouldn't think. Thinking was good, and it was what Harry did most of the time, day or night. But he carefully made sure he didn't come across that in his mind.

What he thought about the most was trying to connect the strings of the various things he read. How they could be interconnected with each other. Facts completely opposites of each other, such as for example Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic. It wasn't terribly easy, or even captivatingly interesting to do so – and to be frank, more of Hermione's department – but it kept him occupied. Busy. And studying was never wrong, was it? Other things he thought about was how he perceived the world around him, and other looked upon in different ways. Analysing maybe. But he mostly went around in circles, having no real platform to base it all around. Just a bunch of dreams and useless wondering.

He'd heard Mr and Mrs Weasley talking the other night. About him. If he was depressed because he sure showed the signs. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. It was probably just a phase and it would pass. Far back in his memories though, he had this vague idea of how he'd felt when happy and carefree. Actually enjoying being around people, interacting with them. But sometimes – usually these days – Harry didn't even remember that. It did not matter how hard he tried, what had happened that day would be at the forefront of his mind for quite some time. Like a broken video, displaying the same scenes over and over. Overshadowing any proper constructive thinking on his part and—

The rustling of paper could be heard from behind Harry, followed by Mr Weasley's voice. "Well, kids, it's time to go then."

Ron started concentrating extra by then and within seconds he called, "Checkmate."

Hermione sighed, "I knew it, of course." The two of them quickly put the game away while the rest got ready to leave as well. Harry, however, remained sitting on the floor.

"Harry?" Ron asked. "Come on, mate, we gotta go now."

"Yeah, see you later," he replied absently.

"But," Hermione argued. "Don't you want to—"

"No."

"But Harry—"

The boy sighed. "I said I don't want to go!" he snapped.

The tent filled with an uncomfortable silence. Mr Weasley broke it after what felt like an eternity to the Weasleys. "We can't leave you here all alone," he said, tired.

Charlie looked at the young teen for a moment. "It's alright dad, I'll stay here with him."

Harry met Charlie's blue eyes. They told him the wizard wanted to go but at the same time, Harry didn't so... Suddenly, guilt washed over him and he looked away.

"If you say so, son, I won't hin—"

"No, I'll go," Harry whispered. "Yeah, I'll go. How much worse could it get? I'll go." Concerned eyes followed his every move as he rose from the chair. But he didn't care. Didn't they see that? He didn't care! He hadn't even said he wanted to leave the Dursleys in the first place. Harry wanted to stay more with them that summer more than with anyone else after what had happened to Sirius. At least they didn't question his every move, worried about him, cared about him or Merlin knows what else!

Despite his wishes however, he was now coming with them to the match.

It was as the group sat secure in their seats when it happened. In the top box - prime seats as the Ministry witch had said – along with high Ministry Officials and what not. It started when the Malfoys entered the room. In lack of something better to do, Harry had observed the others and he had had a clear view of the aristocratic family a few metres away. The youngest of them, Draco, with pale, pointed face and platinum hair. And his father, Lucius, similar but with masculinity his son obviously didn't have and longer hair tied in a silver ribbon. Then there was the mother and wife to them, Narcissa was apparently her name. Harry had never seen her before. She was tall, slim, had a darker shade of blonde the other two and her eyes were sapphire blue. He almost thought she looked Angel-like, had her face not looked there was something foul under her nose.

Their eyes met: dead emeralds and worried sapphires. Why is she worried, he wondered. The woman hastily turned to her husband, whispered something in his ear. The wizard nodded and turned his attention back to the minister who thanked Lucius for the very generous donation to something or another. Harry couldn't be bothered with it. His eyes and sole attention were locked on the door which Mrs Malfoy had left through. What happened around him, simply didn't seem worthy of his attention until the witch was back. That took almost two minutes.

When she returned, she quickly looked at him, then at her husband. Smiling to the Minister and apologising. No worries was what the wizard said, what ladies did was no business of his. Narcissa laughed lightly. Suddenly, a man they'd met on the way, Ludo Bagman, crashed into the enclosed space. They spoke for a minute, not even that, then Ludo set his wand to his throat and whispered a spell Harry didn't recognise.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" his now louder voice called to the crowd, who stood up and roared. "Welcome! Welcome to the final..." Harry tuned him out in favour of watching the blonde witch once more. The Malfoys were trying to get to their seats and had to walk behind Harry. Narcissa was last in their line of three. As she neared him, she raised her hand and discretely dropped a small piece of parchment in his lap over his shoulder. He turned his head to the other side and saw the back of her retreat.

Puzzled and confused, he ignored whatever was happening on the pitch in favour of the note. Harry, however, stopped reading almost immediately. Having only gotten past the "Harry, I'm sorry about Sirius..." when he decided to hate the witch for even daring to mention his Go... He couldn't even think it. It was too soon. It hurt too much to even be reminded of it, of that night. The boy glared at her once and quickly before burying himself further in the over-sized cloak that he had not stolen – only borrowed – from the attic of the Burrow. He didn't, however, throw away the note despite.

The cheer of the wizards and witches in the camps around them made Harry want to puke. It nauseated him to the point where he had to get away. He couldn't handle happiness, his body couldn't stomach it and his mind couldn't comprehend what they had to be happy about. It was too much. So he hid under the bed once more. Blue Bell-jar with him again. But neither did he have the will nor least of all the concentration to read Percy's book so he spent his time just lying there, lethargic, with the book as pillow. How much time passed, he did not know. When he again woke from his comatose state – not sleep – the laughter and joy had died in their tent. Ron's heavy snores could be heard from outside the blankets on the bed. This wasn't the case in the rest of the camp though.

First now, did Harry notice the small object digging into his bony hip. For a few minutes, it did nothing to bother him but eventually his irritation got the better of him. In an annoyed attempt he rolled over on the floor and dug roughly into his jeans pocket. He found the evil witch's note but no wand. In panic, he searched through his other pocket but it wasn't there. He rolled out from underneath the bed and stood up quickly. Dizziness showered over him and his world blackened for a few seconds but he was used to that now. Just an affect from not eating anything for weeks. Nothing to worry about.

What he did have to worry about was his wand. He shook the fabric of the cloak but neither was it there. Really alarmed by now, Harry rushed out of his and Ron's room and followed the track he'd taken into it. He searched the ground around him but he couldn't find it. It was gone. Five or ten minutes of looking later he realised he was quite a bit far away from the tent. Burning tears began to leak out of the corners of his eyes. Soon enough, he was sobbing and his knees gave out from underneath him. It hurt when he collapsed but the pain was a welcome feeling then and probably what caused him to relax slightly.

In silence, he lay there looking at a string of fluid running on top of the gravel. Maybe someone had spilled their butterbeer, firewhiskey, water or maybe even taken a leek somewhere close and it rolled in the slight downhill of where he was. No one noticed the broken boy lying there, shaken by so much more than a lost wand. They were too busy celebrating, partying to care. And this suited Harry just fine.

Some time later, he sighed and sat up. Only now remembering the hated note. Perhaps, now would be a good time as any to read the rest, he reckoned. Harry didn't want to read it really, but it had mentioned him and maybe – just maybe – he could handle reading it now. Now that he felt emptier and emotionally cleaner than in a long time.

Swallowing to steady himself, he unravelled the rumpled piece of parchment.

Harry,

I'm sorry about Sirius. I knew him well once upon a time.

This is a warning, Harry. Get out of here, lest the same

will happen to some of your other friends. The Granger girl,

especially, is in great danger. My husband and his "friends"

are celebrating today's game in their own way. Get out of here!

It took the boy a second and third reading to understand the words, but when he did, he was up and running faster than it took him to read the last sentence. For the first time since early July, Harry felt something. And what he felt was a need to protect. Quickly. For some reason, he didn't doubt the note – and Narcissa – one second. The teen hadn't any space left for doubt. He ran for all he was worth and when he finally reached the tent, he crash-landed on the floor. His throat constricted itself like an asthma-attack, his stomach complained, his heart beat faster than ever before, his legs and entire body hurt. However, none of these were things Harry noticed.

"By Merlin! Harry!" Mr Weasley exclaimed, hurrying towards the small teen. "What's gotten in to you? Where have—"

"We have to go! We have to get out of here! They're coming, Mr Weasley, I know they are. Wake the others, we need to go!" Harry screamed at the top of lungs.

The wizard looked taken aback. "What are you talking about, Harry? Who are 'they'?"

"They! I don't know if they're called anything. They... Malfoy!" Harry started coughing uncontrollably.

"Malfoy? Lucius Malfoy? Harry, relax. Let me go get some water for you, eh?"

The young wizard spit out the saliva and blood-mix gather in his mouth on the blood. "We don't have time! Trust me, please, Mr Weasley"

The two looked directly at each other. Harry's eyes burning with frozen fear of what might happen if they came. What would happen to the Weasleys and Hermione if they came, how Mrs Weasley'd feel, even the thin-bottomed cauldrons that would be sold. Everything and nothing rushed through his mind. Mr Weasley saw that and nodded.

"When?" he asked.

"I don't know," Harry whispered pathetically. "But today."

They heard footsteps inside the tent and both turned to look, seeing Bill standing there. "What's the matter?" he questioned, yawning.

Mr Weasley rose from his kneeling position in front of Harry. "Wake the others. We're leaving."

"Why—"

"No whys, no buts, no pausing. Now!" Bill's father ordered. Bill nodded and hurried back to wherever he came from. "Do you have your wand close?" the Weasley-father asked Harry.

He shook his head. "I lost it, somewhere. I don't know."

"You sure?"

Harry nodded.

Mr Weasley left him alone on the floor to collect and pack everything they needed as quickly as they could. Harry himself curled up in a small pile and quietly tried to relax. It was easier said than done. His thoughts raced so fast he couldn't grab a hold on any of them. He knew he'd done his part though, and what little emotion he'd felt, retracted and he was yet again left an empty shell filled with a void of nothingness. An empty shell, he thought miserably before he lost consciousness.

When Harry next woke, it was to hear the piercing, frightful scream of a witch in the far away distance and see large, red flames rising to the sky near the tents. His last thought before the sensation of being squashed in a tight tube was that he had done the right thing.

A/N: No more chapter written, but I'm working on it. I'll switch between this and Family Trait depending on my mood. Please let me know if you find it readable or not. Read&Review /Iiv