Through the Looking Glass ~ COMPLETED

Chapter 39 ~ Crunch Time

The next day found Albus Dumbledore sitting at his desk in his office, his blue eyes worried as he considered what was supposed to transpire this evening at precisely six o’clock. His Potions master and a student under his protection were risking everything on a hope. And if they were successful, there was yet another who would be in danger.

Albus had never shared his belief with anyone, although he had suspected it years ago. The Horcruxes Voldemort had created should have been tracked down and destroyed years ago, but Albus didn’t divulge their existence, not even after Harry had faced the “memory” of Tom Riddle in the Chamber of Secrets. He didn’t want to enhance the sense of hopelessness in those fighting against the wizard. How demoralizing would it be to find out that the monster one hoped to topple . . . couldn’t die? And how much more terrible would it be for people to find out that the young wizard they had tried so hard to protect from this monster, would have to die before he did?

Albus took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, his heart heavy with guilt. Yes, he had been deceptive . . . but he had to be. There had to be some illusion of hope to keep everyone mobilized, to keep everyone fighting.

And poor Severus. He had no idea the boy he was suffering so much for was little more than a lamb for the slaughter, that he was only keeping him alive until it was the “proper time” for him to die. The Potions master had no idea that every stripe he received from the lash, and every Crucio that struck him from the tip of Voldemort’s wand, was only a delay of the inevitable at his expense.

Albus put his glasses back on, and Fawkes trilled sadly behind him.

”Oh, I know, Fawkes . . . I know. So much deception on my part,” the old wizard sighed. “I’ve withheld so much from those around me. But what was I to do?”

Fawkes trilled again, a darker note filling the office.

”Yes, I suppose I could have been honest, Fawkes, but honesty can be the enemy of hope,” he said sadly.

Fawkes let out a sharp, unsympathetic cry.

”I’m not rationalizing,” Albus said half-heartedly, “and besides, that’s neither here nor there, Fawkes. What I must focus on now, is young Harry. I have no idea how this will affect him, but . . . I must segregate him from the others . . . and not tell him why. He may well go to his death not knowing his destiny. I haven’t the heart to tell him.”

A mournful twitter rose from the phoenix, and Albus felt sadness curl over him like a dark cloud obscuring all light.

But sacrifices had to be made for the Greater Good.

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Snape let his Potions class out an hour early, surprising them, but giving them a long homework assignment to dampen their joy. He held Hermione back as the rest of the students departed, waiting for the classroom to clear.

”Be here at exactly five o’clock. Tell no one you’re meeting with me,” the wizard told her shortly, dismissing her.

Hermione nodded.

This was it.

After the witch departed, Snape made his way to the third floor and entered the room which held the mirror of Erised. He had a large piece of soft leather with him. He drew his wand and reduced the mirror to pocket-sized, wrapped it carefully in the cloth and put it in his pocket. He left the room and returned to his office.

Hermione told Ron and Harry to go on to supper without her. She said she had some studying to catch up on, and the two wizards reluctantly left her. She then Disillusioned herself and made her way down to the dungeons, students asking, “who are you?” when she inadvertently made contact with them and they saw her shimmer.

She had to dodge a number of “Finite Incantatum” spells shot at her in hopes of revealing who she was. But no one pursued her as she slipped into the dungeon corridor, keeping close to the damp walls and shadows. Luckily only a couple of Slytherins passed her without noticing, and she made her way to Snape’s office, knocking lightly.

The door opened immediately, and the pale wizard looked down at her shimmer before stepping aside and letting her in. She removed the spell.

”Follow me, Miss Granger,” Snape ordered, billowing down the short corridor that opened on his classroom, past it and his potions stores and into his private lab. On a counter stood a glass full of smoking liquid. Snape walked over to it, followed by Hermione.

”This is the Confundus Potion,” Snape told her, his dark eyes resting on her face as Hermione stared at the dirty gray smoke rising from the glass.

”It looks terrible. I wouldn’t willingly drink it,” she said in a small voice.

”Willing or unwilling, you must drink it if you want to live, Miss Granger,” Snape said softly, understanding her hesitance but brooking no opposition. “You have to trust me.”

Hermione looked up into his pale face for a moment, then picked up the glass. Without a word, she drank down the contents, Snape watching her with glinting eyes. She set the glass back down and looked up at him.

”Are you sure you brewed the potion correctly, Professor? I feel just fi . . .”

Suddenly Hermione stopped speaking and looked at the professor drunkenly, swaying in place and looking completely lost.

”It’s been brewed properly, Miss Granger,” he purred back at her.

Hermione stared at Snape rather strangely, then suddenly smiled.

”Kiss me!” she said with a giggle, wrapping her arms around his neck and trying to pull his lips against hers. “I want more points!”

Oh dear gods. She thought she was in the other universe and that he was that other Snape. The Potions master turned his head so she couldn’t reach his lips and pried her arms from around his neck.

”I am the Potions master, Miss Granger . . . not your substitute,” he snapped at her, but Hermione was once again swaying in place, looking confused and not saying anything.

Snape straightened his robes a bit fitfully. In another situation, Miss Granger’s little lapse could have been quite interesting, but not now. He hoped that had been just a little glitch in the potion as it took effect. Hermione seemed fine now. Very confused and docile. Just as she should be.

He caught her hand.

”Come along, Miss Granger,” he said, heading for his private rooms, pulling the witch behind him. Once there, he would change into his Death Eater robes and contact the Dark Lord so he could issue his summons.

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Voldemort sat alone in his throne room. He had disposed of Nagini’s scorched remains, and spent much of his time brooding over the Horcruxes he’d created. He knew he had released two of them, one with the death of Nagini and one to resurrect him. His dairy had been destroyed as well, so that was another Horcrux down. He wasn’t sure which item that contained his current spark had been used, but he still had three left.

Would they carry over with him? He doubted it, and really wasn’t concerned about it. He could always create more Horcruxes in his new environs. Either the Horcruxes would dissipate, remained entombed where they were or be triggered when his life force left this world. But there would be no half-life to attach to and revive. He would no longer exist here.

If there were any magical repercussions, he’d deal with them as they arose. What was important right now was that he see his counterpart.

Suddenly, he felt the Potions master calling him. Excitedly, the Dark Lord pulled up his sleeve and touched his mark with the tip of his wand, opening the way for his servant.

Suddenly, Snape appeared, holding Hermione tightly by her arm. The dazed witch looked at Voldemort with no comprehension.

”What is this, Severus?” Voldemort demanded.

”Hermione Granger, my Lord. I finally managed to take her,” the wizard replied.

Voldemort scowled.

”I don’t care about her! What about the mirror?” he snapped furiously, training his wand on Severus.

Snape drew the mirror out of his pocket, wrapped in the soft leather cloth.

”It is here, my Lord,” he said, waving the rectangular package at him. Voldemort pocketed his wand as he stared at the wrapped mirror greedily, his red eyes flashing.

”Don’t waste time, Severus. Resize it and stand it against the wall,” Voldemort hissed at him, “and then, clear my chambers. Go into one of the other rooms and stay there. Take the witch with you. You can have her as a reward for your service. Now, hurry.”

Snape sighed inwardly with relief. He had judged Voldemort correctly, knowing he would have no interest in Hermione whatsoever when the Mirror of Erised was before him. Snape resized the mirror and stood it up. Voldemort quickly descended the throne, waving his arm at Snape impatiently.

”Get out! Get out!” he hissed as he approached the mirror.

”Come along, Miss Granger,” Snape said, pulling Hermione toward one of the many doors that encircled the throne room. He opened one and walked through, pulling Hermione behind him.

Voldemort stood in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection.

”Mirror of Erised,” he hissed, “show me what I most desire.”

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Harry and Ron were almost at the Great Hall when Albus Dumbledore swept in front of them, dressed in royal purple robes with yellow stars on them. Both Gryffindors blinked at the wizard, who gave them a disarming smile.

”Ah, Mr. Potter . . . Mr. Weasley, a good evening to you both,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

”Hi, Headmaster,” both wizards replied.

”Harry, I wonder if you might accompany me to the infirmary,” Albus said to the Boy Who Lived.

”The infirmary? Why?” he asked, frowning slightly.

”You’ll find out once we get there,” Albus replied.

Ron nudged Harry with his shoulder, raising his eyebrows at him.

”Can Ron come?” he asked.

”I’m sorry. This matter only concerns you, Harry,” the Headmaster replied.

Ron frowned. He was always being left out.

”It’s all right, Ron. I’ll be back in a little while,” he told his friend.

Ron watched as Dumbledore and Harry headed up the marble stairs.

”I’m always the last to know what’s going on,” Ron grumbled, entering the Great Hall in a temper.

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Tom Riddle waved away the smoke and ash that swirled around his office. It stunk of fire and brimstone, Fawkes’ last offering before he abandoned his master in a burst of flame, rather than have him abandon him first. Tom explained the situation to the phoenix and asked him to leave the office so he would be alone. Fawkes left all right. For good. There was no reason to stay.

The wizard pulled out his wand and Scourgified his surroundings. His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. Two minutes to six.

He had placed a “Do Not Disturb” sign on his door, complete with skull and crossbones, then locked and warded it so he wouldn’t be disturbed. He walked toward the Mirror of Noisreva, staring at his reflection.

”Mirror of Noisreva, show me what I least desire,” he breathed.

He stared at the reflection as the clock struck six, and the surface of the glass began to shimmer and undulate, his reflection beginning to change, his robes reddening and his features becoming distorted. Tom stared at the forming image with growing horror as his counterpart shimmered into view for a moment . . . then suddenly disappeared.

”No!’ Tom cried in frustration.

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”Er . . . excuse me, my Lord,” Peter Pettigrew ventured, walking out of one of the doors behind Voldemort. He was the only one on the premises besides Hermione and Snape, because he was the Dark Lord’s personal servant. He was carrying several dead rats by the tails.

”Nagini isn’t in her quarters and it’s her feeding ti . . .”

”Get out of here, you bloody idiot!” Voldemort roared at him, firing a blast from his wand toward the startled wizard. He didn’t aim to hit him, however, just to make him flee the throne room.

Peter let out a terrified howl and shot back through the door as fast as his fat little legs could carry him. Voldemort turned back toward the mirror.

”Reveal yourself,” he hissed, then stared at the image that formed there. A tall, handsome wizard, with dark eyes, wavy hair and a regal bearing. Him, as he would have been if he hadn’t deformed himself with magic. Voldemort stared at the image staring back at him, its face contorted with revulsion.

”Dear gods,” Tom Riddle thought, looking on the creature he had become in the alternate world. “The Purebloods actually follow that? They’re more pitiful than I ever imagined.”

Voldemort’s red eyes shifted to the backdrop behind his counterpart. The Headmaster’s office of Hogwarts. It was true, all true. He stepped closer to the mirror and watched as his counterpart wavered as if he wanted to step back, but also cautiously moved closer.

Tom could see the sparse throne room behind Voldemort, the burning bonfires, and the throne of bones resting on the dais. Shit, he was going to have to do some major renovations. Was his counterpart into Feng Shui? But, then again, the throne room was very much like the image he received from Minerva’s mind concerning Bedaub Mules’ domain. Besides, he wasn’t interested in the surroundings, but the power that came with them. He’d deal with it.

Both sets of eyes turned covetous, red locking to black, both faces taking on a sinister mien. Slowly, the wizards raised their hands at the same time and slowly . . . oh so slowly . . . pressed them against the glass so the palms touched . . .

Connecting.

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Harry lay angrily in the restraints Albus had locked him into after hitting him with a Petrificus Totalus spell and placing him on a cot, as a very distressed-looking Madam Pomfrey flitted around them.

”Albus, I must protest!” the medi-witch cried as she watched him add manacles to the cot and lock them to Harry’s ankles and wrists. He then removed Harry’s wand from his pocket and deposited it into his own. “Why are you doing this?”

”It is to protect him, Poppy, believe me. Something of great portent is occurring that could affect him greatly. I would never to anything to purposely harm the boy, you must believe that. Now, I must ask you to leave, my dear. I need to put a containment spell around us, just in case things go awry. I can protect the castle and others from damage this way,” Albus said to her softly.

”A containment spell, Albus? I don’t understand . . . what is going on here?” Poppy demanded.

”Poppy, I don’t have time to explain to you. Now, I’m ordering you to leave us at once!” Albus thundered at her.

Poppy was forced to comply and backed out of the area, pulling the black privacy curtain together behind them and standing outside nervously wringing her hands.

Albus focused all of his skill and intent, then waved his wand in a circular motion over his head, Harry’s green eyes fixed on him with a mixture of anger, wonder and curiosity. He had heard everything the Headmaster had said to Poppy.

A disc of light appeared above them, then flowed downward, forming a shimmering dome around the area, sinking into the stone floor. They were encased in a kind of magical bubble, one that could withstand and contain great bursts of power.

Albus pulled up a chair, sat down in it and removed the binding spell from Harry.

”What is this? Why do you have me shackled down? What’s going on?” Harry cried furiously.

”I’m not sure, Harry,” Dumbledore said softly, “but believe me when I say this is for your own good, my boy and to protect those around you. I am here with you, however, and will stay with you until the situation is resolved one way or another. If you survive, I will explain everything to you. If you don’t, I will most likely go with you into the next adventure.”

Harry’s eyes went wide.

”If I survive? What do you mean if I survive? What next adventure? What’s going on?” he demanded again, struggling fitfully. “Tell me what’s going on, Headmaster! Why are you doing this to me?”

Dumbledore’s eyes glistened.

”Harry, there’s something I should have told you long ago . . .” the wizard began, “something about the link you have with Voldemort . . . you see . . .”

Suddenly Harry let out a horrible scream, his eyes rolling up into his head and his body arching upward in the restraints, his muscles contracting as unbearable pain tore through him. He felt as if he’d been set ablaze.

”Harry!” Dumbledore cried, jumping up from his seat and hovering over the boy, unable to do anything but watch his suffering. Damn, he’d been right. There would be repercussions.

Outside the dome, Poppy heard Harry’s anguished cry and ran forward, beating on the containment dome with her fists.

”What’s going on in there? Albus! You let me in! You let me in right now, damn it!”

Another scream sounded, and another. It sounded as if the boy were being tortured.

”Let me in, Albus!” Poppy cried, her pounding weakening and tears streaming down her face as Harry continued to howl.

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A/N: Thanks for reading.