Chapter 3

I Open at the Close

"'You'll stay with me?'
'Until the very end,' said James."
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

He looks just like me.

The second he opened his own hazel eyes that's all he could think.

Just like me.

The same hair, same jaw, same everything. All of it, overwhelmingly Potter. Seconds later though, he forgot all of that when his mirror image got all close and personal and stuck his own wife's wand in his throat.

Cold, electric green eyes stared into his own hazel, and he suddenly realized that this man looked nothing like him at all.

Finally. Listening to that crazy asshole's ramblings was getting annoying.

White smoke filled the room, random flickers of all colors the only thing shining through it. Suddenly, it all dissipated, leaving a surprising sight before James's eyes. Littering the ground were over five bodies, each one completely unconscious. Backed up in the corner was the man that looked like him, but didn't at the same time because he would never wear that look on his face, with his sharp white teeth bared like an animal. His wavy black hair stuck up in all directions, looking as if the magic in the room was electrocuting him. Poisonous green eyes were narrowed with hate and the primal need to survive, making him look all the more like the beast he was.

The few remaining Order members who were conscious pointed their wands threateningly at the man, each of them feeling slight amounts of fear and surprise. This single man had bested over five of their best members alone. What could he do when he could see?

The man's frosty gaze swept over each of them, the hate and anger still there, but another emotion James couldn't identify bleeding through. Suddenly, Dumbledore appeared in the room along with Sirius and Remus, who automatically went to untie him and Lily. Right before they could, the man froze unnaturally still, his frigid gaze stuck on the three new occupants of the room.

His mouth opened without his consent, but closed just as abruptly. Cold green eyes bled with barely hidden emotion and Lily's wand clattered to the floor, the man's hands too busy holding themselves over his mouth in shock to even think about holding it.

"S-sirius?"

For one second, James couldn't help but see how young this man was. Was he even twenty? Could he be a child? The utter hopelessness in his gaze was so powerful and bright James couldn't help but flinch. It was too much. Too much for anyone to live with.

Not even a second later the man let loose a series of dark chuckles, which slowly turned to high-pitched insane laughter. The man's laughter from before had nothing on this. With one hand holding his middle and the other over his mouth, the man made quite the sight. If his laughter hadn't been so damn terrifying, James was sure he'd make the picture of happiness. Besides those eyes of course. Those eyes...well James wasn't sure what he saw in them. All he knew was that he never wanted to know.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped and a deep intake of breath was all they heard. The man thumped uselessly to the ground, face completely devoid of an emotion. His hands were shaking though. While everyone else had been watching with horror and confusion, Dumbledore had slowly inched his way forward, a kind twinkling in his eye.

"My boy-"

"NO! You don't get to call me that god dammit!" The man had been up in Dumbledore's face with his old, thin throat in his hands in under a second. Dumbledore's twinkling didn't lessen.

"Why do you have to play with me?! W-why can't you just leave me alone." he whispered the second part brokenly. The hands suddenly became lax and fell to Dumbledore's chest, the man heaving and sighing, but not a single tear fell from his painfully bright eyes.

"I'm just so tired. I don't wanna play no more. I'm tired of playn' all the time. Can't I just go to sleep like I wanted to?" The man's lost eyes met Dumbledore's own sky blue, seeing, but not seeing at all. Dumbledore said nothing, but smiled kindly down at him and this time, the man couldn't hold back a sob and fell into his arms.

Warmth.

Right now, that's all he could feel. All he could understand at the moment. He could feel sleep pulling him

down...

down...

down, not allowing a single coherent thought to cross his blissfully empty mind.

This is how I want to be forever.

And with that single thought it all came rushing back. Shadowed eyes sprung open, mouth open in a silent sob.

Too much, too much at one time.

He...he hadn't reacted that way since he first saw the Polyjuiced Death Eaters of Ron and Hermione. It had just been a few months after their deaths, too fresh and painful for such things to happen...

He had first thought he was just hallucinating, and boy was he happy he was. It had been too long since he saw Hermione's gorgeous bushy brown hair and Ron's freckled face. As he saw their faces rushing towards him, he couldn't help but think that if this was insanity, he would gratefully fall into the abyss. But when Hermione's warm brown eyes sharpened into cold shards and Ron's shit-eating grin was replaced with a malicious smirk, he knew this was real.

But not in the way he wanted.

He battled them off, their curses pathetically easy to deflect. He dueled for hours, not willing to watch their faces be replaced with cold death again.

Please God never ever again.

But when Ron got close enough to grab onto him, he sent a wandless cutting curse on instinct. His own eyes widened with disbelief, while Ron's cornflower blue switched from lively to that fucking blank again.

Blank because of him.

He wanted to fall to the floor and just hug him, pretend they were still teenagers and still got to play chess in the Gryffindor common room while complaining about Snape and his slimy Slytherins. Pretend that Ron's smiling face was no longer just a distant memory he would never get to see again. But Hermione- no not Hermione never Hermione cause she's dead- continued sending curse after curse. With a painful sob he took care of Hermione next, watching as the life flashed out of her eyes.

Again.

He fell to his knees, cradling their broken forms in his hands. Her brown hair and his red tickled his arms. They felt just like they used to. And if that thought didn't break him he didn't know what would.

A broken scream forced itself from his lips, and he held onto them for dear life, pain-filled tears raining on their useless, dead bodies.

Bodies he had killed, stolen the life from.

He buried his face into them, refusing to believe they had left him again. Left him all alone to deal with it all. Like a child, he remembered the promise they had made to him on the Astronomy tower so long ago.

"We're never leaving you Harry. Did you really think after everything you could send us away?"

And he was so angry, so mad because isn't that exactly what they did? Left him all alone to deal with Voldemort's sadistic games? He buried his face in Hermione's hair, sobbing harshly when she smelled just like she used to.

He sniffed desperately, just dying for the chance to see their wonderfully alive faces again, and he gripped them both tightly, as if that would bring them back, his body shaking and shivering. Right then, he wanted to be dead on the ground with them more than anything else. Suddenly, their forms changed back to their original ones and he pushed them away harshly, refusing to see them for what they were.

A game.

But in the darkest part of his heart, a part he didn't even think existed, he was happy Voldemort had done this.

For Harry got to see his best friend's faces one last time.

Harry gasped again at the memory, but didn't allow himself to sob. If he started, he would never be able to quit. He trapped the memory behind his strongest Occlumency shields and gripped his hair fiercely in his thin hands. He'd give anything for it to stop. He'd already given so much.

He breathed in and out deeply, slowly calming his racing heart. With one final sigh, he released his black locks and fell limply on the soft bed. He traced a blue vein with his finger slowly, curious as to why he was still alive. He remembered his breakdown. Of course, part of him didn't believe it was real, for there was no way Voldemort's specialized Polyjuice Potion would work on Sirius. For his newest invention to work, you needed DNA from the alive, or dead, person you wanted to change into. However, Sirius's body had been lost to the Veil.

So how had he done it?

Harry couldn't help the shivers that wracked his small body. Sirius had been the first family he had actually known that he lost. The first domino to fall and start this horrifying caricature of reality. In his worst nightmares he had never thought Voldemort would be able to go this far. Apparently, he was wrong. With one last sigh, Harry hardened his mind and body and slowly drug himself away from the bed. He absentmindedly noticed he still had the same clothes on from earlier and wiped the grit from his eyes.

He heard the footsteps long before they reached the door, but unlike with the Lily imposter, he just didn't have the heart to pretend. The last people he wanted to see walked in, each having a distant fearful look in their eye. All except good ol' Dumbledore of course.

Must you disgrace him in such a way Voldemort? Have you no shame?

Harry couldn't help but internally applaud the Death Eater for his acting though. He made his eyes twinkle exactly like the long dead Headmaster had. Harry limply sat on the bed; mind, body, and soul too tired to take a fighting stance. He was in Voldemort's clutches for the time being. He would play nice for now, pretend to be broken. Then, he would strike when he least expected it.

Always playing the game.

The fake-Dumbledore's weathered hand reached toward Harry, but Harry gripped it tightly enough to make the bones crack before it reached him.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me. Death Eater." The words were said with such hate and disdain that all the other occupants of the room couldn't help but flinch. Each of them were now extremely confused though. Why would a Death Eater call Dumbledore a Death Eater? Bright blue eyes glittered even more, his wildest suspicions proving to be even more true than he could ever imagine.

"But I'm not a Death Eater. I'm Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Who might you be?" The man's eyes softened, but not with kindness.

"S-stop it. I'm done okay? Quit pretending, there's no point. No more games." The man's green eyes glittered with sadness and utter pain, making the Headmaster's own eyes lessen their twinkling a bit.

"I assure you my boy, I'm not intending on playing any games with someone so obviously hurt. Now, would you mind telling us who you are?" Green eyes stared blankly at Dumbledore, then towards the ceiling.

"There's no use in pretending anymore. Didn't you hear me you silly thing? I know you're just a Death Eater polyjuiced as Dumbledore. Just go get your Master. As much as he likes to play, I'm done. I'm not doing it any more." Dumbledore continued to smile kindly down at the broken man, his thin old hand making its way onto his shoulder. The man flinched but did nothing else.

"What can I do to alleviate your suspicions?" Wide eyes narrowed and gripped the thin hand on his shoulder harshly. The man slowly stood, the look of a cornered beast and something else shining in his frigid green eyes. The man slowly smirked, the look not quite fitting his pale face, but also perfectly appropriate at the same time.

"Riddle me this Death Eater. What opens at the close." For a moment, all was silent. Not a single breath was released, all eyes on the Headmaster. Then, Dumbledore slowly began to chuckle- a chuckle that began deep within his throat.

"Death of course, my boy."

And green eyes widened to unimaginable proportions and he dropped to the bed with a pathetic thump.