Hell Is For Children
Even before the beginning there was Destiny. Treading softly through his garden of forking paths, bearing his book of all futures for all the worlds to come, a book already thick with future events.
Then, even before the world we know was naught but a speck in space and everything was young and fresh, the rest of Destiny's family followed.
Death was slightly older than Dream, for things had the potential to die before they had the capacity to dream. You may find solace in the knowledge that Destruction was even younger still. Beings were able to Dream before they had the drive to Destroy.
The world matured just a little before the family's younger twins followed. Desire and Despair's realms were a mirror image of each other. Theirs was the easiest pit for beings to fall to. One Desires something. One then Despairs when that thing is lost, taken, or otherwise unavailable.
What is Desire if not a yearning for the unattainable? For craving the available is nothing but greed.
Desire and Despair cared for one another deeply. Enough for Desire to do something for his sister. At least he meant it to be for her, that is.
"Erised?" she asked, bewildered, when her brother proudly presented the large mirror to her.
"Desire, Sister'," he chidded her lightly. Naturally, Desire marked the inscription on his side of the mirror. "I thought you liked mirrors?" he added, much bewildered himself. He ignored his sister, cutting wounds on her thighs. "It's a special one!" Desire exclaimed with enthusiasm. "It looks directly into the realm of Desire. This way you can always see and reach out for me!"
Desire never lacked enthusiasm or excitement.
"I do like mirrors," Despair mumbled in response to her brother's relish, as she tore another bleeding wound in her flash. Her whole domain was full of mirrors, where she looked at beings, staring at themselves at their worst of moments.
And so, the mirror was left in between Desire's and Despair's realms and was soon forgotten. For Desire never needed a tool to, well, desire anything or everything. Meanwhile, Despair had nothing of interest to see in this one mirror, as her brother was one of the very few beings in all of the universes, who never despaired. This gift might have been thoughtful, yet lacked purpose, since the twin siblings had never had any issue with reaching out to or visiting each other.
It was aeons later that the original Despair died and was replaced by another aspect of her form. And this mirror was lost to the realm of the living in the rebuilding.
No one truly missed it, or even noticed.
Hogwarts (circa 1250)
"Look at this amazing mirror!" enthused the bearded red-headed man in the bright red-velvet waist-coat and pointy wide-brimmed hat. He was strongly built and wide shouldered. He stood tall and proud and looked quite dashing with his riding trousers, high boots, and the shiny sword on his belt.
You would have thought him a soldier, but in reality, the performing arts were Sir Godric Gryffindor's passion.
Right at the moment, he was a tad winded and flushed, having levitated the heavy piece of furniture all the way from the carriage at the gates. It took him three days to bring the mirror to the castle grounds, although the moving stairways did help in this last leg of the way.
Need to speak with Helga about creating an easier way to travel, he remained himself once more.
On top of his head, his hat nodded slightly, he would remind Godric about it when appropriate.
"That's an impressive cheval-glass," his tall, wiry, blonde friend remarked kindly. "Need it for your costumes?"
"That is not a regular mirror, Helga," their other friend replied. He glanced at the mirror and then hurriedly looked away from it.
"Right," Godric enthused. "It shows not your face but…"
"Your heart's desire," Salazar completed his friend's sentence. He then stole another short glance into the mirror and hurried once more to look away. "It's a strong magical device," Salazar then stressed. "Dangerous - Magic can't stop it from reading your mind!" A single small tear dropped from the corner of Slytherine's eye, and he wiped it away angrily.
"Wondrous, is it not?!" Godric agreed with his friend gladly.
By the look of it, this wasn't exactly the word Slytherin would have chosen at this exact point in time, but then, Godric was a true artist and had his way with words.
"Just where did you find such a treasure?" Helga asked drily.
"Tickling Dragons once more," Salazar stated in exasperation.
"Never trust anything that can think for itself, if you can't see where it keeps its brain," their fourth friend joined the conversation. "I just wonder who made this marvel of magic - this isn't the work of our ancient friends," Rowena added thoughtfully.
"In a cave, by the sea," Godric only answered one of the questions. Probably the less important one.
"Please keep this away from our charges?" Salazar added. "This artefact isn't a Dragon one should tickle lightly. I can store it in the cellar, where it will be safe," he offered.
"I'll hold it in the morphing storage on the top floor," Godric disagreed.
"Good!" Ravenclaw said in accord. "I would like to learn how this artefact was made and will need easy access."
This issue concluded, both ladies bid their farewell and turned to leave.
"Hem hem," Godric's hat remarked delicately.
"Right!" Gryffindor thanked his hat and hurried after his parting friends. "Say Helga," he called. "I was thinking about the travelling rings of the Ancients. Can we do something similar, only without the rings?" he asked.
"Too old to travel on a horse's back?" Rowena asked dryly.
"You would like to travel through a precise, stable, temporary wormhole, using, what – your charming personality?" Helga concurred.
Godric shrugged, walking round the corner with the two female mages.
Behind, in the middle of the now-empty corridor, only Slytherin was left and sighed heavily. Forever cleaning up after those three, he thought and took out his wand, to levitate the mirror to storage.
Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry (circa 1500)
"What'cha doin'?" came a dry voice from behind Moros's back.
"I can ask the same question," Moros frowned at the woman now standing beside him. There was no love loss between these two even back when both were still regular, living, well - slightly-more-than-humans, several millennia back. "Weren't you supposed to move on?" he asked, looking back at the beautiful piece of furniture he was tinkering with.
"Right," she answered. "Our friends decided that someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on you pillocks, and guess who had the unbelievably ill-fate to suffer in your delightful company for all eternity?"
Moros just hummed in disinterest and kept tinkering with the mirror.
"Isn't this Gryffindor's mirror-of-desire?" Ganos finally asked. "What are you doing to it?"
"Do you remember the old portal mirror?" Moros asked in return.
Ganos certainly remembered. It was well known as one of their more prominent acts of stupidity. Way back when they were still called the Alterans.
A mirror portal to go into and influence other realities. Just who in the stars thought it might be a good idea?!
"It was set to be destroyed, was it not?" Ganos asked drily.
"Well, I'm installing the technology here," Moros answered, ignoring the remark about that same technology being classified for destruction.
"Brilliant!" Ganos stated. "Take an object of unknown origin, using technology that even we can't start to understand. Then convert it to create the exact micro-universe, which the user desires the most, yet will leave him in utter despair. Then, imprison him there. You truly are the greatest wizard of all times!"
"It's for the greater good," was Moros's only answer.
"You just ruined the school our pupils worked hundreds of years to create and set second-generation-humans a millennia and more back in development. Now you're just leaving them with this monstrous-mirror? This is all for your own personal good - I just can't see how you benefit, yet."
If Moros was impressed by her words, he showed nothing for it and just went on working for a while longer, till -
"There!" he stated. "Now we only have to finish this Arch in the cave in London." He then chuckled lightly. "I wonder what the humans will think, finding Merlin and Morgana's names written together on that arch."
It is strange indeed that despite all proof to the contrary, and although most immortals do their best to leave the world we live in to its own device - there is some order in the chaos. It is seemingly created by the nature of the universe itself.
As such, all these dangerous pocket dimensions created by this mirror, the ones which shouldn't have existed at all, found their way to one of the few natural places for them to exist in. A place where, while certainly doing harm to the beings inside them - they will be of no further danger to the inhabitants of the universe. A place which will also exert some sort of control over them.
Lucifer's Hell.
25th of December 1991 - Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry
It was almost the 26th already, and Harry Potter was breathing heavily. He then took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself.
His foray into the night wasn't going to plan at all. He didn't manage to find anything of interest in the restricted section of the library. He should have expected this. Finding information in the school's huge library was hard enough. Finding something at night, with very limited lighting, where he wasn't familiar with the layout, and didn't truly know what exactly he was looking for? Immeasurably harder.
He did manage to make one of the old tomes scream, or was it just what this certain book expected to do? - and it all went downhill from there.
Harry hardly managed to turn off his lantern before Mr Filch burst into the library, looking for the intruder or the cause for the noise.
He must have been close by to hear the scream and arrive so soon!
Harry narrowly managed to sneak around the old man and under his outstretched hand. He only managed to get a few corridors away and one staircase down, and already Filch's voice was closing in on him from the direction he was heading towards. According to the voices reaching him, Filch was now accompanied by Professor Snape. This wasn't an improvement in any snape or form.
"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library — Restricted Section," Harry heard Filch telling Snape, and tried to slink backwards.
Just how did Filch manage to overtake me and call on Snape in such a short time?
His situation got even worse when he heard Mrs Norris, Mr Filch's cat, in the corridor behind him. Now, Filch and Snape, Harry might manage to avoid them by hiding in some alcove, under his cloak, and not breathing. The cursed cat, on the other hand, could probably smell his fear.
Being expelled is worse than death, Harry could suddenly understand Hermione's point of view.
He kept backing away slowly and as quietly as he could. A door stood ajar to his left. It was his only hope. He squeezed through it, holding his breath, trying not to move it - in case it creaked or made any other noise. He then held his breath some more.
"Meow!," came the cat's voice from right outside the open door Harry was hiding behind.
"Come Mrs Norris," Filch's voice followed. "We'll go search the floor below," he added.
"Meow?" the cat voiced, but Snape and Filch's voices were already heading away down the corridor.
Harry leaned against the wall, breathing deeply in relief. Relief, however, is often premature. Heavy steps came back along the corridor. Soon enough, Filch's voice came in from right behind the slightly open door.
"Just one moment, if you please, Professor," he said and the door slammed shut.
Harry breathed again. It was a long moment before he relaxed enough to look at the room around him. It was an unused classroom. Might have been unused for a long while. Only the blackboard was still there to indicate the place was once a classroom.
What caught his attention was the magnificent full length mirror standing in the middle of the room. It was held within a frame which was beautifully decorated and clearly old.
Aunt Petunia would kill for a piece of furniture like this, to boast about to her neighbours, A thought came to his mind.
Curious, Harry approached the mirror and walked slowly around it. There was some golden inscription carved around the top of it, but it meant nothing Harry could understand. Stealing a glance into the mirror itself, Harry had to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. In the mirror, was an image of himself - although he was still covered with his invisibility cloak. Not only that, but his image was surrounded by people. Harry forced himself to turn and see with his own eyes that they were not there, in the empty classroom, behind his back. On his Image's sides stood his parents, holding their hands on his image shoulders. His heart ached seeing this.
What is this horrible mirror?
A little back stood two younger children. A girl and a boy.
Sister and brother?
All around stood many others. All looking somewhat familiar. All smiling softly at him. And the worse - his own image had a small well-satisfied smirk tagging at his lips. His image had all that Harry had ever desired and he knew it.
Harry stumbled to his knees, not able to turn away from the image in the mirror. Something warm ticked on his face. He touched his face and was surprised to feel moisture.
I never cry?!
He had to get away from this accursed mirror. Back to his dorm. Back to his friends. Back to reality. He struggled back to his feet and had to steady himself by holding onto the mirror's frame. Inside, his image waved at him cheekily, then turned to walk away, after his family.
Harry let out a pained sob and touched his fingers to his image's parting back…
The next morning, Ron woke up, late as usual, to find Harry's bed-curtains closed. He shrugged and went for breakfast.
"Still asleep," he answered with a full mouth, when his brothers asked him about Harry's whereabouts.
It was only when Harry didn't show up for lunch that Percy was sent to check his bed. The whole castle was searched by students, professors, and elves - Harry wasn't found.
It was early morning and Harry slowly woke up to the light coming into the room through the curtains and this bed's covers. The fuss the birds were making, what sounded like right outside his window, wasn't helpful at all. The bed he was laying on was larger than his school's bed. Much larger than his bed at the Dursleys, no doubt. It was just as comfortable as his bed in the Gryffindor dorms, though. He turned and hid under the covers, trying to steal a little more time of luxuriating, before the day began. An insisting knock on his door sadly put an end to that.
"Wake up, Harry!" A young unknown voice called out. "It's Christmas! We are all waiting for you for breakfast."
Running sounds indicated that whoever 'we' who were waiting for him, did not do so outside his door.
A look around showed Harry he wasn't in Hogwarts any more. For a start, his bedding and curtains were not Gryffindor-scarlet. They were actually very minimalistic-like shades of white.
The room outside wasn't his dorm too, what with it having no other beds and all. It too was very minimalistic like. The light-pine hardwood floor was covered with a round light-grey shaggy rug. A small white desk stood under the window, with sheer white curtains hanging over it. Along the other wall stood a small wardrobe. It was white too and Harry found it to be familiar. He helped Ms Figg assemble one like it just this last summer. Her wardrobe came in long flat packages from a place called IKEA.
Walls were white, a chair was white, the ceiling lamp had a simple white lampshade on.
This room doesn't feel lived in.
He dressed with some random jeans and shirt from the wardrobe.
His? It fitted him well.
And went looking for the bathroom. It was right beside his room. He washed his face, but couldn't find a toothbrush.
"Harry!" called a voice from downstairs and he rushed there. The living space on the ground floor felt, well - much more lived in. It was tastefully furnished and decorated, then cheerfully decorated for the holiday. A Christmas tree was standing in the corner of the lounge. It was decorated with both normal and enchanted decoration, and glittered both for itself and under the morning sun coming through the window. A fireplace burned merrily with Gryffindor-red socks hanging off the mantle. Four of those.
"Well, go on? Christmas breakfast won't make itself?" The woman at the head of the table said, in a rather cold tone of voice.
"It's all right," the man at the other head told him, with an easy smile. Harry felt that this smile was a little forced, though. "We'll hand out our presents while you're at it."
Harry sagged and headed to the kitchen, quite surprised at the fact that he knew where it was.
"Mum," he heard the little girl at the table complaining. "Why do we let him sleep so late on Christmas morning?"
"Be kind," Harry's father replied softly. "He's your brother, after all," he added. "And remember - It's how a person treats his inferiors which tells you what he's like."
And Harry's heart fell. He toiled for a long while in the kitchen; Coming to the table again and again with more dishes; Listening to his family enjoying their time; Happy with their presents.
A family, just like the one he always hoped to have.
"We left a plate for you," his father said, just as Harry finished his cooking.
"And a present," his sister told him coldly.
"Just clear and clean the table and dishes when finished," his mother said as they all raised to move to the lounge. "Then you can go to your room. It's your free day, after all," she added.
Harry looked at the plate with the food he just finished preparing. Beside it was a small decorated box - his present!
"Just why won't we send him to live with aunt Poppy?" his brother's hard voice came to him.
"He's our son," his father answered matter-of-factly.
"Aunt Petunia," his mother corrected his brother softly. "And she did us nothing wrong to deserve him."
With shaking hands Harry opened his present. There, inside the small decorated box, wrapped in red silk paper, was a single fifty-pence coin.
Harry woke up with a start. This heavy feeling was weighing on him. He got out of his bed to find all his mates in the dorm still asleep.
That was a strange dream…
With an empty bathroom, getting ready for the day was done in a short order. Harry came down the stairs to find the common room almost deserted.
Strange.
Being relatively early on a weekend, Harry decided against waiting for his friends and headed down to the Great Hall for some breakfast. Getting there, the only people at the Gryffindor table were a group of older pupils, who were the Gryffindor Quidditch team - all in their squad uniform.
"What are you wearing?" Wood asked him tersely. This was very much not like the fifth-year boy. He was usually genial and quite excited - especially when Quidditch was involved.
"Do we have training this morning?" Harry asked in surprise.
"What day is today?" a Weasley boy asked him, with a healthy dose of sarcasm. Was it Fred? George? Harry could never tell and both were doing their very best to keep it this way.
"Saturday?" Harry was bewildered. He was quite certain there was no training session schedule for this morning.
"Sunday," came a court correction from the other Weasley twin.
"It's our first game in two hours time," Angelina updated him, rolling her eyes. "We're out for a warm-up in twenty."
"Go on? Quick Sticks!" Wood not quite ordered him.
Harry ran.
"And this, mates, is the reason we don't let first-years to the team," he could hear someone, Alicia probably, say behind his back.
Harry reached his dorm-room huffing and puffing. The way from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor dorms included quite a bit of stairs-climbing.
"Where are y…" he could hear Hermione's voice, from somewhere in the common room, but disregarded it.
His dorm-mates were already up by now and getting ready for the day.
"You're gonna trash them!" he heard Ron's voice as he dove into his trunk, but disregarded him too.
There!
He hurried to undress and put his team-uniform on. He then rushed back downstairs, only to stop himself at the bottom of the dormitory's staircase.
What did I forget?!
His gloves were on; Goggles in his pocket; Harry held his Protective cup in his hand…
His broom!
Harry ran back up the stairs. He almost stopped to hit his head on the wall, but there was no time for theatrics. His broom, though, was very much not there. In his trunk? - no. Under his bed? - no. Leaning on the wall by the window? - no. Under Ron's bed? - no. Maybe he didn't look well enough in his trunk? - no…
"Ron, did you see my broom?" he all but shouted down the stairs. Some unclear answer came back, but Harry could also hear the sound of someone running up the stairs.
"It's not here?" Ron asked.
Harry just looked at him pointedly, although it probably wasn't very effective. Harry himself was quite stressed at the moment.
"Took it for a spin, a couple of days back," Ron answered. "You said I can, mate?" he then added defensively.
Harry didn't have the time for it. "And where did you put it when back?" he got to the point.
Ron's ears turned a little red. "I gave it to this second-year boy," he answered. "Fancied a spin too. Said he's in for the team next year and wanted to see if the 2000 was good enough for him, before he got one."
Harry really didn't have the time for this. "Which second-year?" he asked rather impatiently.
Ron's ears got even redder. "The tall one?" he answered hesitantly.
No second-years were in the common room by now. They were all at the field now, waiting for Harry to win the game, no doubt. A glance in the second-year dorm room located no one and no broom. Harry had no choice but to rush back downstairs and out to the grounds with the bad news.
"Mates," Harry called, quite breathlessly, when he entered the locker-room. "Some Second-year boy took my broom!"
The whole team was staring at him now, with narrow eyes.
"First-years," someone mumbled, but Harry didn't know who.
George or Fred went to a corner locker, looked in for a moment, then wordlessly handed Harry a rather heavily-used broom.
"Belt it!" said Wood angrily, before anyone else could say anything more. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it," he told his team-mates. He then turned his eyes to Harry. "I was gonna tell you to relax and just get that Snitch, but with this broom," he motioned at the school-broom in Harry's hands, "you might die trying…"
"You are truly pathetic," a strange sibilant voice said, at the back of Harry's mind.
Harry couldn't pay much attention, though, since the doors were opened that moment and the roar of the crowd came in. Also, the broom he was sitting on wobbled for no reason.
Harry hid in the shade, in the back garden, while the neighbourhood's gardening club committee inspected the front garden flower beds. They gave the roses shrubberies extra careful inspection too.
Harry was tired and sweaty. He was also thirsty, not having a drop of water since morning. Ever since his small breakfast he toiled, tending to those roses. Felt like he truly painted the roses red this morning.
It was only about an hour later, when aunt Petunia opened the shade's door and stared wordlessly at him for a long moment. "Second place only," she then said, and turned to walk away. "Thought it can magically happen?" she asked with her back turned to him. "There is no such thing. You have to work for it."
Harry slowly followed her to the back door. He really needed a shower. There wasn't much hope in him about dinner.
"Where are you going?" Petunia asked, as he started up the stairs. "To your room, and get out of my sight!"
Harry sighed and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. He was getting much too big to be there. He carefully stepped over his small cot, trying his best not to drop dirt on it. Cleaning it will add to his chores on the morrow. He stuffed his mud-covered clothing in the corner, and wore his yesterday's ones before laying down to rest.
"And I failed to kill you," said that sibilant voice at the back of his mind. "Now I'm ashamed…"
I'm getting mad was Harry's last thought, before sleep came.
He woke up in his Gryffindor-dorm bed - Soft mattress, silk bedding, scarlet curtains and all. Harry sighed with relief. Those were some very strange dreams he just had. Never-mind unsettling ones.
Harry was about to get up and look for some normalcy and breakfast when he noticed the young man sitting at the side of his bed.
"Who are you?" he asked, unsettled once more. Strangers were not supposed to be in Hogwarts. Certainly not get access to dorm-rooms.
This man was in his late twenties or early thirties for as far as Harry could tell. He was tall and slim. Had blue eyes and dark hair. His hair cut was somewhat old-fashioned. It still made him look sophisticated, in a roguish way. He dressed in a style that complimented his hair-style. A tad old-fashioned, yet sophisticated and roguish nevertheless. Some green touches to his clothes paid tribute to the house of Slytherin.
"And just what are you doing in the Gryffindor dorms?" Harry added, a little more forcefully.
"Just how a pathetic little thing like you managed to stop me and trap me for more than a decade?" The man answered. "I'm Lord Voldemort!" he then stated, like this name was supposed to mean something.
It didn't though. Harry had the niggling feeling that the name was supposed to be familiar to him, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember.
"Who?" Harry found himself asking. What he desired was for this person to be off his bed, out of his dorms, out of the Gryffindor common room, and preferably away from Hogwarts castle.
"You know who!" The man was furious now. Harry just shrugged.
"I'll show you just who!" he said and stormed out of the room and down the stairs.
Harry ran after him. Not knowing what havoc he might cause in the common room.
"Listen mister," he found Percy telling the man, Voldimorph - or whatever he chose to call himself, when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "I don't know who you think you are, but I reckon you shouldn't be here."
All around, Gryffindor students looked on with clear bewilderment.
"I am the greatest wizard to ever walk the Earth!" the man thundered. "People ran away and hid just for hearing my name being said by someone."
"Section 34(b) dash 14 of the Hogwarts rulebook clearly states that…"
This was clearly too much for the stranger. He pulled out his wand and only said one word - "Crucio!"
Students kept looking at the man with bewilderment since nothing happened.
"Please go and call Professor McGonagall here?" a sixth-year Prefect asked a third-year girl.
The strange stranger was looking at his wand with the same astonishment. 'Nothing' was most certainly not what he expected to happen.
"Crucio?" Harry heard Hermaione mumble to herself and write furiously in her notebook. ''U'? Double-'O'?" she asked herself.
He also noticed a door appearing near the fireplace. One which wasn't there ever before. With the stranger apparently handled and too curious for his own good, Harry opened the door.
What Harry found outside the door, he would never have managed to dream of. Everything was grey, black, and hexagonal. What little colour existed was a small hole in the stormy sky, where a little blue could be seen above a lone hexagonal monolith, which almost, but not really, touched the sky. Pavements were hexagons. Walls were made of tall, black, hexagonal columns. Black doors were set in them here and there - Harry didn't dare to try any. All this made for a seemingly unending labyrinth of forking paths. It was cold. It made Harry notice the flakes of snow which fell down around him. Or was it ash? Harry couldn't tell. He tried to cup some in his hand, to have a better gander at them, but the flakes faded just before touching his hand.
What is this place? Am I still dreaming?
Harry kept wondering the paths for what seemed like an eternity. He was getting cold. Strange things, dreams - you can't plan just what to wear when having them. For a brief moment, his thoughts wandered to the memory of his night foray into Hogwarts before all these strange dreams started. Unsurprisingly, his mind focused specifically on his father's cloak which he was wearing back then. Harry then gasped as said cloak appeared around his shoulders. He hurried and wrapped it tightly around himself. The invisibility cloak wasn't the warmest of cloaks, but any cloak was better than none at the moment.
I'm hungry…
Suddenly, he could hear a commotion some distance ahead.
They might have food, he thought to himself. Water at the least, his mind added, as he covered himself with the cloak and slowly and carefully headed that way.
"What do you mean, 'he's alive'?" a man's voice came from right behind the next corner.
Harry made sure the cloak covered him well and took a careful look.
"Gellert love," a pleading voice came from a slightly opened door, where that man was standing. "Surely you see this is going too far? Every life is precious. Even lowly muggle ones?"
"It's my turn now," said one of the forms, standing in front of the man outside the door. 'Form' was a good word for it, since it didn't have one. It was a human-sized blob, for the most part. Just like the one beside it. The man, on the other hand, was tall, slim, and sharply dressed. He also looked annoyed.
The form, meanwhile, morphed into a young and quite pretty woman. It opened the door and walked in.
"Stop fighting, you two!" A woman's voice came from within. Then came the sound of a rather steamy kiss. "Oh Gellert," her voice now gained a dreamy tone.
"Gellert?!" The original voice was rather angry now, and quite astounded too.
For a moment, this voice sounded familiar to Harry. He covered himself better, and crawled even closer.
"My turn," said the second blob and morphed into the form of a young man. He wore simple old-fashioned work-clothing, had a sharp face, and a neglected beard.
"How can he be 'alive'?!" the man at the door said with clear frustration. The shape in front of him said something, which Harry could not understand.
"Get away from her, you miscreant!" a shout now came from within the open door.
"Aberforth, don't!" the familiar voice called in desperation. What followed was a mix of incomprehensible shouts and calls accompanied by flashes of colourful lights.
Harry slinked even closer. He now had a good sight of the shape in front of the tall man and truly wished he didn't. It was a shapeless form of darkness, a little taller than a human, with many mouths within, all revealing sharp teeth. These mouths were all speaking at the same time, yet just out of sync, making it all but impossible to understand what it was saying. Apparently, it didn't bother the man in the slightest.
"Didn't we fix that Arch-of-Death rubbish aeons ago?" the man asked, probably in response to whatever the dark shape said. "It now leads to the sorting office, innit?"
Suddenly, Harry felt something pointy touching his back. He looked behind and didn't like at all what he was seeing. There, stood a tall woman. She was slim and very well built. Arguably one of the prettiest women Harry has ever seen, if not for the fact that half her face and skull were missing, exposing whatever was underneath and should really have been covered for him not to see it. There was also something hard and very unforgiving in her eyes - both the one in her half-face and the exposed eyeball one.
Harry shrieked in fright, disregarded the shape of darkness with the many mouths and much too many teeth - just for the moment, and rushed to hide behind the sharply dressed man. At that single moment, he seemed to be the less menacing being around.
"Oh, hello little human," the man said. He was clearly reluctant to have Harry hiding behind him, never-mind touching him in any way, and tried pushing him away. "Bloody, hell!" he then exclaimed. "You're alive too!?"
Harry didn't know just how to reply to this quite obvious statement. He just nodded hesitantly.
The dark toothy shade said something Harry could not understand, once more.
Just then, the door they were all standing next to burst open and out ran a young blond man, who was followed by a bright green ray of magic. As soon as he was out, though, he stopped and morphed back into a blob. "Hi boss," he told the man with a slight bow.
Some incomprehensible shouts came from within the open door, till a man there clearly shouted. "Murderer!" he said. "You can keep all the goats and don't come see me ever again - we're no family any more!" The bearded man then came out as well.
"Aberforth…" the familiar voice called from within, but the door slammed shut and this conversation was cut short.
The corridor outside the now-closed door was quite crowded by now. The three blobs, which were the two young men and the woman, stood and listened. The toothy dark shape said something more, that Harry could still not comprehend. The Half-faces woman was listening patiently. She was playing with some mean-looking knives all that while and was looking quite menacing to Harry's eyes. Harry himself was trying to get away from them all, but one of the blobs was holding him there.
"This cycle has ended, boss," the other blob said, probably as a response to something dark-toothy said.
The woman now said something and Harry found it hard to understand. She spoke with a rather pronounced lisp, what with her missing half of her face, which included things like her cheek and lips. Harry noticed he could make it up if he truly paid attention.
"For the next fifty years, everyone will call him 'my-something' and 'young-Albus' only, and will speak with him using his own quotes," she explained.
Albus?! Harry found himself thinking.
"Creative young man," the man answers with a too-wide smile. "Remind me to come and visit in person, some day," He told the woman. " Now, can you explain this thing?" he now pointed at Harry. "They usually don't come here this young. Don't have enough guilt to sentence themselves here. Also, alive?!"
Dark-shape answered something and the man now looked even more surprised and frustrated.
"Lord," the woman added softly. "There are some more irregularities about. A certain Mr Tom Riddle is here twice. In one suit he's a seventy-something man and in another almost thirty. Both are almost-alive as well, and neither has a full soul."
The man was now properly pissed off. "We don't have the manpower here to sort this out for all the other immortals!" he stated. Harry had the notion the Dark-shape nodded in agreement. "How did they get here?" he asked.
"The mirror," the woman stated softly.
"Dream again?" the man fumed. Harry might have imagined flakes of red light in his otherwise dark eyes.
"Desire," the woman answered calmly. It did nothing to set the man at ease. The contrary even.
"Get Death here and tell her to sort it all out!" he ordered. "You were just made a prince," he then told Dark-shape, following something his many mouths remarked. "Handle it!"
Apparently, 'getting Death' wasn't hard at all. Dark-shape took one of Half-face's knives and opened the door. In there stood Albus Dumbledore. He was wearing one of his usual immaculate, decorated, flowing robe-sets, however - instead of calm and reassuring, he now looked shaken and broken.
"Let me out of here," he pleaded with a shuttered voice and with tears in his eyes. "It was not my fault. None of it!"
"Clearly not," the man deadpanned.
Dark-shape didn't pay much attention to Dumbledore's words. He approached the venerable Headmaster and stabbed him in the chest. He then handed the knife back to Half-face. The stare he received in response made Harry shiver. It probably made some impression on Dark-shape too, since he went back to Dumbledore and cleaned the knife thoroughly on his robes. He then pushed the Headmaster back and slammed the door back shut.
"Harry!" was the last desperate call Harry heard from Dumbledore. Apparently, the door was of the soundproof sort.
"Thanks," Half-face told Dark-shape coldly, as he handed her now-clean knife back.
"Be kind to Beelzebub, Mazikeen?" the man remarked with a too-wide smile. "He's new to this 'Prince-of-Hell' position and is doing a much better job of it than young Azazel."
Harry shivered again. He wasn't religious at all. He was actually forbidden from setting foot in a church by his relatives, yet names like Beelzebub, Mazikeen, and Azazel did not inspire warm and fuzzy feelings.
"You rang?" came a kind new voice from behind all their backs.
They all turned to look at the newcomer. Behind them stood a woman. She was petite and slight. She was pale as the moon and had a mane of wavy charcoal-black hair. She was dressed in black jeans and a tank top. More importantly - she was smiling kindly at them all. Harry had the feeling that she's the warmest, kindest woman he has ever encountered. Like she's an old time dear friend, he just forgot where he knew her from.
Her arrival brought a variety of reactions: Beelzebub and the three blobs made themselves scarce. The man and Half-face, Mazikeen apparently, bowed respectfully.
Harry had to fight the urge to rush and hide behind this new woman now. Instead, he took his cloak off his shoulders and handed it to the woman.
"Here," he said shyly, "You'll be cold."
They were now all smiling down on him.
"Hello there," the man said, with his too-wide smile.
"Harry!" the woman said, clearly surprised to see him, yet clearly-as-well familiar with him. "It isn't your time?" she remarked softly. She then turned towards the man. "And this isn't his place, Lucy," she added. "What's this argy-bargy all about?"
"Exactly!" the man stated. "We are swamped with the living," he loudly complained, motioning at Harry with both hands. There is also young Albus there, he then pointed at the closed door behind his back. "Well, 'was' is more appropriate," he then relented.
Mazikeen coughed a little at this.
"Ah yes!" he remembered. "We also have two part-Tom-Riddles here. Both are yet to expire yet tried to go to meet their maker," he rolled his eyes at the thought.
"We don't have the full set so far," Mazikeen added in a levelled tone.
This seemed to amuse the newly arrived woman quite a bit. "The daft sod did this to himself, trying to avoid me. I was looking forward to him finding out that this will stop him from being killed, but will bring old age sooner."
Both the Man and Mazikin didn't look amused at all.
"Right," the woman sighed. "Just how did they all get here?"
"The mirror," Mazikeen answered softly. She seemed to have quite a bit of respect for the young lady. "The younger Riddle arrived inside a scare on his forehead," she added, pointing at Harry.
The woman frowned. "I'll go sort it out. Will be back in two shakes," she promised and faded away.
"Alright!" the man now stated, much more upbeat than before. "I'm Lucifer," he told Harry, clearly chuffed. "Morningstar," he added.
"Like the Devil?!" Harry whispered.
"Exactly!" Lucifer answered with a smile.
"You can call me Maze," Half-face told him coldly.
"I'm the greatest wizard to ever walk the land!" shouted a teenage chap who appeared beside them, together with the kind woman. "You'll be sorry for this!"
"Oh, belt it," Lucifer told him, and a closed zipper appeared where his mouth was a moment before.
"You might like to put him in a suit with the other two of him," the woman smiled again, and for once, there was no warmth in it. "So they might torture themselves for you."
Maze got a hold of Tom and scowled. "He isn't any fun," she complained. "Couldn't even get it hard, so I could torture him with sex."
"He only has 2/7th of his mojo, the poor dear. Harry here might help you with the rest of it," the lady answered, quite amused. Tom tried to struggle, but Harry didn't think Maze even noticed.
Me? Help?
The woman then turned to Lucifer. "I have sorted the mirror. You will not have any further issues with it," she explained politely.
"Thank you Death," Lucifer answered just as politely. "Sorry to bother you with it."
Death? This kind young lady?!
Death turned back towards Harry, back with her kind smile on. "You can keep your cloak, dear," she told him kindly. "I gave it to your ancestor centuries ago and your family always used it well." She then handed him a small river-stone.
"What is…" Harry started to ask, but Death stopped him with a raised finger.
"May I?" she asked Lucifer, pointing at the door they were all still standing in front of.
"Certainly," he answered and gallantly opened it to wave her inside.
"Young Albus," Harry could hear her warm voice through the now-open-again door. "I'll be having my stick back," she then added, a little coldly.
"I've won it fairly," he complained. "I'm only keeping it safe," he added resolutely.
"Not to worry," Death replied lightly, "It will be quite safe with me." and she plucked the wand off his fingers.
"Please…" he started to say, but she stopped him too with a raised finger.
"To the well-organised mind, death is but the next great adventure," she told him, her voice betraying her amusement.
"Noooo!" was the last word Harry heard from the old Headmaster, before the sound-proof door slammed back shut.
"Here you go," Death told Harry, handing him the wand too. "These make for a kinda set." she added. "Your ancestor Ignotus made sure the story was told - next time you dream, ask about him and the Peverells."
She then looked at Harry for a long moment, deep in thought.
"Better not tell anyone about these," she then said softly. "Could you be kind and help Lucifer with the rest of him?" she asked, pointing at Tom.
Tom tried to struggle once more, but it did him no good against Maze' hold.
"For this, I will offer you the same deal I once offered your ancestors," she went on. "You can still be killed, but I will not come to you, for sickness or old age, unless you call," she explained lightly." She then turned back to Lucifer.
"Can you please help him back?" she asked, and Lucifer nodded. She then took out a red precious stone from her pocket. "This was inside the mirror. Flamel's. It's too late to give it back, do you need it?" Lucifer shrugged.
"You can have this as well," she told Harry and handed him the red gem too.
She then faded without another word.
"Is she serious?" Harry asked Lucifer and Maze with some confusion. Looking down at all the objects, now in his hands.
"Dead serious!" Lucifer answered with a leary smile. "Mazikeen dear," he then turned back to the woman beside him. "Since young Harry is about to do us a favour, can you find the time to help him a little before I fly him back home?"
Maze smiled, which wasn't a pretty sight. In her hold, Tom tried to struggle once more, to set himself free. Once more - with no success.
Maze looked down at Harry, looking thoughtful. "Do you have your set of knives here with you? She asked.
AN:
Here it is, mates,
The first instalment of this new story. Originally, this was meant to be a one-shot, but then it got a life of its own.
As usual, please feel free to tell me what you think.
Also as usual, many thanks to flyboy38 my beta, who invested time and effort to make this readable for you all.
Cheers!