Broken Mirror

BROKEN MIRROR

or The World That Never Was

Chapter One: The Senseless Passage of Tortuous Days

The soot black canine was prowling the area as he had done the past few weeks. It sniffed at the ground suspiciously as though looking for a bone to chew on for food. He would find many here, for these were the Death Eater Headquarters, the stronghold of His Eminence, Lord Voldemort. The propaganda issued to the world outside secured the people’s belief that the bones belonged to rebel fighters or resistance leaders who had betrayed the trust of their grand Lord, who ruled them with a gentle wand. It did not escape notice that their lord held one of the most powerful wands of all time, but they were sure he used it for good.

Death Eaters, dressed in their customary black and grey dress robes, their faces obscured with black masks that ensured their anonymity, patrolled the stronghold. The Lord Voldemort did not visit often, for he was too honoured to visit such a decrepit place where people unfit to look in his face were taken and terminated. He was the great Heir of the Lord Grindelwald, the Emeritus, who had passed away a long time ago in a battle with the most powerful Rebellion leader, Albus Dumbledore. Months of mourning later, Lord Voldemort ascended the throne and continued to bring the wizarding world to new heights. Even today, people whispered his name in awe as he paraded through the streets to offer his respects to his late mentor, Grindelwald.

And wonder of all wonders was – he was stopping in front of the Headquarters! Surprised by the honour, the Death Eaters on guard at the door fell to their knees, kissing the hem of their Master’s regal robes. He merely gave a dismissive wave as one particularly ambitious but brainless Death Eater clutched desperately at the fabric, and was incinerated with a quick spell. They left the smoking ashes alone, instead moving on into the Headquarters. The dog barked almost derisively, as though it could understand human language, and padded softly away in the wild grass that surrounded the stronghold. There were no barbed fences, no force fields. The Death Eaters seemed secure in their belief that no one would harm them unless they let them. The Resistance was dwindling; Lord Voldemort’s silent executions steadily increasing and the death toll piling higher and higher. Already the Blacks had almost been entirely eradicated for being members of the Resistance, otherwise known as the Rebellion. The dog dug a deep trench in the soil, as though trying to appease his anger at the unfairness. The world was one of fear. He shot plods of soil all around and some hit a figure standing behind him. He turned, barking ferociously at the companion he abruptly had.

“I won’t harm you,” the man said quietly, his face crinkling into a smile. He was young yet, likely a new graduate from the indoctrination centre that went by the name of Hogwarts today. Durmstrang linked strong arms with Hogwarts, and Beauxbatons had been destroyed in a mysterious fire said to be set by an arsonist. Those who could see the truth knew the Death Eaters had done it. The man was clad in black forbidding robes, the colour alone identifying him as a Death Eater. Only those of the privileged order directly serving the Lord himself were allowed black robes. The others made do with grey, green or other colours which were downright gaudy. The man patted the dog’s head with a gentleness that was in lacking in many Death Eaters around. The dog barked, wagging its tail. He looked as though he could be trusted, and the dog decided to believe his instincts.

“You’re a feisty big guy, aren’t you,” the man praised, kneeling down in the wild grass, his hair unkempt in the dry winds that swept the Headquarters from time to time. “It’s a waste to have you as a stray.” The dog nuzzled at the man’s knee, tickling him slightly with his wet nose as he barked in a friendly way. “MacNair would like you very much. He says Helena is worried about thieves.”

The dog glared at him angrily, as though shocked that he would be sending him to an inhuman beast like MacNair. The chief executioner enjoyed murdering animals, and people even more. Only those who were of value were spared his powerful Killing Curses. The Death Eater grinned in a way uncharacteristic of his peers, boyishly rubbing the dog’s ears. “I was joking, old boy. Didn’t mean it. MacNair’s a beast. I won’t want to send you to suffer his company.” The dog stared at him cautiously, as though sizing him up before settling back in his lap. “You’re coming with me. The attacks on the Blacks were bad enough; I don’t want anything to happen to Mom and Dad. You’ll make a nice guard dog.” The dog roared three times as though to prove he was fit to yap loud enough and get rid of any thieves or Resistance fighters. “Come, let’s go.”

The man stood up as the dog reared up on its haunches, barking loudly as he nuzzled his boot affectionately, wagging its tail energetically with newfound energy. He almost had a happy expression on his face.

“You’re a funny little guy,” the man smiled as he began to walk out of the compound. “I think I’ll call you Padfoot.” The dog barked an affirmative, shaking his head as though his ears were about to fall off, his tongue hanging out. “Oh, you like it…”

“By the way, I’m James Potter,” the man smiled. The dog’s eyes widened slightly, giving him a cute pout which only served to endear him to the Death Eater. He trotted along the path of his new master, whose identity would be very convenient indeed.

*

The house was a quaint two-story establishment, much unlike the lavish holdings of other rich pureblood Death Eaters who had as much money to throw around as the fabulously wealthy Potters. It was set in a simple neighbourhood, but they would be forced to move soon. According to what James had told him previously, the Lord himself had assigned him to watch over a few Muggle-borns who were exhibiting powers and apparently, learning how to use magic. There had been a report on their appearance in Diagon Alley, and the Lord was livid. Padfoot paced around the meticulously tended garden, sniffing at the unfamiliar ground and waiting for the rest of the family to leave. They had been invited to a party at Reginald Malfoy’s mansion to celebrate his only son, Lucius’ birthday, and were leaving in minutes.

“James, do you have your insignia?” Geraldine Potter called from the front of the house, where they were preparing to take a Portkey to Malfoy Manor. She had kindly features with almond brown eyes, and the darkest shade of midnight hair Padfoot had ever seen on anyone but his own family. She looked exactly like the kind of woman who would not harm a hair on someone else’s body, but was once a very dangerous Death Eater who had acquired a record of murdering more than a thousand Rebellion fighters. Looks were deceiving, indeed.

“Yes, Mom, I’m coming!” James’ boisterous voice could be heard from inside the house, where he was presumably sprinting down the stairs and trying to catch up. His father, Quentin Potter, only sighed and shook his head. He, too, had a respectable air around him, his hair nearly all white from age. Quentin was much older than Geraldine, as he had heard, and had been a valued member of the Daily Prophet staff for many years. He was still on the board and wielded great authority. Another one who had plenty of power but did not look the part. Even James, blessed with his mother’s dark locks and sweet brown eyes, together with a generally misleading grin, was a vicious Death Eater who had joined the force a few months after graduating from Hogwarts. They were the typical brainwashed suburban family in the Voldemort regime.

“Are you ready to go?” Quentin smiled, the laugh lines showing around his eyes as they all got ready to touch the Portkey.

“Of course, Dad,” James answered, returning the grin. “Why would the Malfoys invite us? I mean, it’s really wonderful, they’re such a respected family…”

“And one loyal to your lord,” Geraldine added. “Perhaps it is because you were schoolmates and stayed in the same dormitory. It’s wonderful that they abolished those pointless houses…For goodness’ sake…Hufflepuff?” Both Quentin and Geraldine burst into laughter. James looked slightly offended.

“Mom, it’s a good way to promote competition. I suppose it would have been fun,” he mumbled, but quickly retracted his opinion at his mother’s venomous glare. “Of course, everything the Lord says is correct. He is the wisest.”

“That’s better,” Geraldine praised. “We’re running late!” They touched the Portkey swiftly and were transported to their destination, leaving Padfoot to patrol the grounds. The dog watched their departure with anticipation, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

He padded into the house through the dog flap James had conjured up for him this morning, and looked around for the spare wand James was sure to leave behind in the kitchen. He had casually mentioned it, not knowing how useful it would be to him. Padfoot dragged the wand out of its hiding place in an obscure cooking pot. Then he began to change.

When the process was over, Sirius Black stretched his bones.

“Now to contact Dumbledore,” he whispered as though reminding himself.

*

“You must be congratulated, young Potter,” Reginald Malfoy said snottily as though he did not mean his words at all, looking down his nose in a scrutinizing way at James, who returned his stare without fear. Lucius was pouting in a corner, although his fiancée Narcissa was busy trying to console him, and of course, taking the opportunity to paw him all over in the meantime. Lucius had been passed over for the post as his Hogwarts N.E.W.T. scores had been abysmal. James could only sigh inwardly. The boy was ambitious, but his lofty dreams were coupled with a lazy attitude, a spoiled life and riches beyond all imagination. He was ambitious, but did not have the strength to carry out his plans. He grasped his glass of red wine carefully, smoothing his features into a diplomatic mask. It was a habit he had acquired a long time ago.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy,” James said, fixing a false smile on his face. Everyone was fake here, what did one more mean anyway? He took a sip of the red wine. The Malfoys were known for indulgence and quality; the wizards and witches here today were all the cream of the crop in the society. His parents were busy mingling with the rest, his father greeting old colleagues and his mother smiling at those she had once cooperated with. “I am very honoured by the Lord’s appointment, and will do my best to accomplish it.”

“I must say, it is a difficult job indeed,” Reginald said cautiously, staring with some satisfaction at James. The smirk on his face was nearly visible, and even his robes reeked of arrogance. “The Muggles there have been known to resist. Poor Maurice was murdered by one of them last week. You will be careful, I am sure?”

“I appreciate the warning, sir,” James replied stiffly. “Thank you.” He was interrupted by a tap on his shoulder, which he answered with a turn of his head. A woman, a reporter in fact, carrying parchment and quill was standing behind him with a smile plastered on her face.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” she beamed, reaching out a manicured hand with red nail polish on, which James reluctantly took. "I report for the Daily Prophet, and we have received information about your prestigious appointment as governor.”

“Yes, that would be correct,” James responded, trying to be patient. As his father had always coached him, it would not do to be rude to a reporter who could make him look bad in the limelight. The Lord valued advertisements for their cause very much, and rudeness to a reporter had once gotten a very senior Death Eater murdered and chopped into thirty pieces. He had been fed to Nagini.

“What are your feelings on the appointment, sir? I understand it is in an area notorious for uprisings…” the reporter smiled, waving her wand to start the quill jotting down notes for her article about what he had said. She was clad in silvery-blue robes which flowed around her, and James returned her smile, trying to speak as calmly as he could. He had a very bad feeling about the place he was about to take charge of, but he would keep his opinions to himself. The Lord would be displeased if he appeared weak or indecisive.

“I am very honoured to have been appointed by the Lord himself, of course, but I am sure the dissidents will quiet down soon. They must admit that the Lord is the wisest leader that they will ever have,” James said confidently, his belief in the Lord strong as ever. The witch looked slightly disbelieving, but he brushed it off. She must have been thinking about something else, he decided. No one doubted the Lord, except for the Rebellion.

“And what do you feel about the Resistance who claim that their government is better?” the witch continued after a few seconds of silence. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for his answer. James hesitated. He had never really thought about them, only kept on doing his job like a Death Eater should, quietly and mindlessly.

“They are foolish,” he finally got out, attempting to create a look of disgust in his eyes. “They should follow our Lord and not attempt something that will never succeed.” At the other side of the room, Reginald Malfoy was signalling for him to come over, and he nodded. “I must leave,” he said to the reporter before turning towards the small handful of wizards at the back of the ballroom. “I hope you are successful in your line.” The reporter stared at his departing figure, her mouth open in a gasp. No Death Eater, especially not one who had been appointed to a high post early, had ever said that to her.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Malfoy?” James asked curiously as he neared and saw a smile on the man’s face, along with some of the older and more senior Death Eaters in the circle. Some were even of the Inner Circle – members of those closest to the Lord. They shook their heads in disappointment at his question.

“Ah, my dear James, you are about to be introduced to the grandest part of being one of our great Lord’s soldiers,” Reginald said smoothly, an indulgent smile twisting slowly on his lips as he hooked an arm around James’ shoulders. “We will take you to your first Dark Revel.”

“Dark Revel?” James was beginning to get a bad feeling. Even the name gave off bad vibes. Most of the Death Eaters practised Dark magic. Those who did not, were either Potions masters, Healers or simply wished to abstain. Those belonging to the last category were usually mur- taken care of by their Lord when they were disobedient. Even so, a Dark Revel sounded like something that only the most advanced Dark Wizards went to.

“When you have experienced a Dark Revel, only will you feel true power,” Reginald growled darkly, his voice low in his throat. He held out a portkey in the shape of a queen from a chess set. James knew he had to attend, or risk his position in the Death Eaters. Reluctantly as he pushed down the saliva in his throat, he took the queen. The familiar jerk around the navel took him to a spooky room that was lit only by candles, the dim light casting shadows on his face. One by one, the rest of the group he had been called to appear.

“Often, the more senior Dark wizards conduct Dark Revels; gatherings to reinforce friendship,” Reginald whispered. “Today we initiate you into our circle.” James did not like the dark grin that appeared on his face then, but he had no choice. “Even Lucius did not have the privilege. You are our newest member.”

“I appreciate and am honoured by your initiation, Mr. Malfoy,” James picked his words carefully, hoping not to do anything wrong. Dark Revels were obviously something very important to the Death Eaters, and to be invited to one would be very difficult. “I hope I will be up to the task.”

“There is no need to be so formal, young one,” Nott, James recognized. He was one of Reginald Malfoy’s sidekicks and also a major member of the Death Eater Inner Circle. He was not someone to be offended, for he had been known to kill after torturing endlessly someone for days. And that had only been because the man had insulted him to his face. “You are one of us now.”

“In light of young Potter’s initiation, today we shall have a mild activity,” Reginald boomed as he clapped his hands, signalling the house elves who were invisible throughout Malfoy Manor. One by one, women appeared in the chamber, dressed in Muggle clothes. James guessed they were Muggles, from what they were wearing. No wizard would degrade himself to wearing those…those…skimpy garments. “They are yours for the pick tonight, and may be returned at will anytime you wish.”

“You mean…” James almost gasped, but reined it in. It would not do to ruin his reputation. Malfoy wanted him to take the woman home for…for…

“Of course, James,” Reginald said, smiling as though he was a kindly, jovial grandfather giving his grandson a birthday present. “And you, as our honoured guest, get first pick.”

“They’re…all…very beautiful,” James stammered, knowing he was losing his composure. If he did not pick one or outright refused, he would be risking his life, for Lord Voldemort did not tolerate cowards or people whom he felt had sympathy for Muggles. The women were staring at him in fright, each with abstract terror in their different-coloured orbs.

His eyes trailed over all of them. There were more than twenty in all, and he would only be able to save one. He tried to cool the panic in him. Why was he worrying about Muggles, anyway? They were vermin who did not deserve to live; second-class citizens without magic. They were helpless and useless. For once, he could not conjure up the hatred. He watched the last woman in the line, mentally counting. There were twenty-two Death Eaters, and twenty-one women. One short.

A pop! announced the arrival of another house elf, who (which) looked flustered and tired, grabbing a girl by her right wrist. James’ eyes met hers, and he was immediately captivated. Her green eyes were shining bright with defiance even in the dim light of the chamber, showing in a hundred different shades. Her hair was a fiery red that had golden strands mixed in them from the candlelight. She was slender and tall, her lips slightly parted in surprise.

“Gabby is sorry, Master,” the house elf pleaded piteously even as Reginald kicked him to the side of the chamber. James did not take his eyes away from the beautiful girl who had just arrived. There was something different about her, he knew. She was the loveliest person he had ever seen. She could not be a Muggle; they were low-down, not high-flying on the clouds like she was. Muggles were ugly filth, she was a beauty.

“Your tardiness is punishable by death! Do you know that?” Reginald glared lividly at the trembling house elf, who had begun to knock his head against the chamber’s walls.

“Master, the girl was resisting…Gabby had to silence her,” the elf whined as he (it) beat his (its) fists against the wall, his (its) dirty pillowcase that served as his (its) clothes rumpled and torn. “Gabby’s pillowcase was torn by her…”

“Why, you filthy Muggle…how dare you…” Reginald had begun to advance, his anger boiling forward in the greatest flood James had ever seen. The cool head of the Malfoy family hardly ever lost his temper. The girl did not look terrified; instead she was looking triumphant. James swiftly moved himself between the livid Malfoy and the Muggle.

“I’ll take her,” he said calmly. The rest of the Death Eaters, who had been watching the spectacle with interest, turned to him in surprise.

“She is fire, Mister Potter…” the elf whimpered from his corner in the room, as though trying to dissuade James.

“She’s interesting,” James defended himself. There was something special about this girl, and he could not allow her to be left here in wanton abandon to be dealt with as the rest wanted. He could almost feel something around her. She was special, and he knew that. Reginald held his ground for a few moments, before surrendering and raising his hand in a signal of dismissal. James smiled gratefully, bowed and took the girl’s hand, Apparating swiftly to his room in his humble home.

*

She shone a small torchlight before her to illuminate the streets which were devoid of street lamps. They had been removed by the Lord’s famous Death Eaters years ago, when he had felt they took up too much space. His exact words were that they were of no use, since any normal wizard could light his own wand. The Muggles had been left out of the decision, and the street lamps were smashed to pieces. The alleys were prime places for robbers to hide, and heinous crimes happened all the time. Muggles who died or were harmed by these petty robbers were not helped, nor was the culprit apprehended. They were left alone. She had been born into a world of bias and hatred, her parents deceased and murdered by a death march of the Death Eaters through the streets years ago.

The orphanages looked down with disgust at they who were born of Muggles, and no one deigned to even touch, let alone adopt them. She knew her fate was to remain in that ugly whitewashed building for her life, or be taken as a slave by one of the more influential Death Eaters. Education was reluctantly given, if only to stop rebellion from them. Lately, some strange characters had been appearing. A boy with dark limp hair and the strangest black eyes had come out of nowhere in the courtyard of the orphanage where she and her sister lived. He was thin and sallow, giving off an untrustworthy impression. He wore the dirtiest street rags, and looked as though he belonged in the musty alleys polluted with blood and death. Yet she had trusted him from the first moment he had opened his mouth. It had been a horrible shock to find out he was a wizard, and a pureblood at that. He had never given any reasons for his predicament, merely, passing some textbooks to her and her sister. They were dog-eared and looked used over and over again, but they were fascinating. They told of flowers that could be conjured from wands, people who could turn into another, charms that could make things fly…

She did not have the talent, and she still bore the sharp pain of regret that she was second-class and worthless, as her sister had told her. Petunia was magical, and she was not. A knot of anger rose in her throat. Did a lack of magic mean that they were worthless? Muggles had already found ways to conquer their supposed handicap, such as making torchlights, street lamps, movies to replace moving pictures…They were strong. She did not believe this insane craziness that she lived in would continue for much more. One day, someone would topple the Lord – she hoped she would be the one. The boy had smiled cryptically when she had asked him what the books were for, and answered that she would know in due time. He had returned regularly to provide more, and then a rod that she knew was definitely a wand – she had seen the matron using hers at times. Petunia had snatched it, performing charms such as turning her hair green just to spite her. Strange things did not happen around her, but they did around Petunia. She was born with magical blood. Was it a sin to hope that she was too? She still held lingering hopes that she had just been suppressing her powers, and was not a true Muggle. The previous day, a squib had just been burnt at the stake for disobedience. They had learnt silence in no time at all. No one questioned the matron, and lived. They knelt before Death Eaters; kissed pictures of the Lord all of the time, learning never to touch another of higher status than themselves. A life of silent imprisonment. The boy, who had never given them a name, promised that they would have a better future, but by his looks, he was far from it. There was an all-encompassing hope and belief in his cause, and Lily hoped it would come to be. If not for her, then for the boy she had come to view as a friend who brought her out of the monotonous day-by-day life in the orphanage.

Her shoe squished in the soft mud that was scattered on one side of the alley, and she grimaced. She had been out running errands for the matron, and had ended up queuing for hours for pickled toad eyes. She would surely get a beating when she returned, she sighed. The matron was not known for her leniency. In fact, she had been chosen for the position at the orphanage because of her strict teachings. Europe had been taken over by the wizards, and today only America, Asia and Australia remained free. Africa was of no concern to the wizards, but they had taken great satisfaction in rampaging Great Britain. Girls disappeared from dark streets all the time at night, and she had to make good time and get back before anything bad happened. Her hands were suddenly clamped behind her back as though a vice had gripped her in its trap, and her mouth silenced. She tried to scream, but no sound came out as she was abruptly gagged. The trembling figure of a house elf appeared in front of her, bulging green eyes shining with apology.

“Sorry, miss…Master wanted a pretty lady for his newest friend tonight,” the elf mumbled, staring at her. She struggled against the robes, biting the elf as he came closer and kicking ferociously, trying to get free. She would not be taken as a whore to some Death Eater! The elf twisted away and flicked his fingers. She was caught up immediately in some sort of a violent miasma that churned its way through the streets and into an elegant house she recognized as one of the most prestigious Death Eaters’.

Lily Evans realized she was in more trouble than she ever wanted to be. She almost wished she was with Petunia right now, listening to her derisive taunts and angry snaps at her. She kicked the elf again, but there was no doubt to her fate now.

Well, she deliberated quickly, at least she would get to see what happened to those abducted girls who were never returned.

*

He was a swift shadow in a place where all things were dark, adding to the mysterious atmosphere that hung heavily around them. He left no traces behind, his feet travelling faster than the wind. There was a mission to be completed, and he had to make haste if he did not want to be caught. The breeze sang along with his thudding feet on the ground as he ran wildly through vegetation and thorns, which he knew would be healed once he reached his destination. The centaurs were long extinct in Britain, exterminated ever since Grindelwald began his reign. But their healing powers survived in some of the last, who were where he sought. They would make a good addition to his cause.

The leaves rustled, adding to the soft symphony of running feet and the trees as light gave him direction, telling him that he was nearing his target. The moon hung high and thin in the sky, the clouds covering most of the black velvet surface. The dots that were stars and planets glimmered faintly, and he tipped a swift salute with one hand, his hair caught up in the wind and beginning to wet with perspiration. Almost there, he reminded himself as the light grew brighter. It was not wise to have a bonfire up in these days, but they were only smoking beacons by the time anyone got close to finding them. Today they would be extinguished once he found his target. Caution, and constant vigilance, as Alastor would say, he smiled.

He slid smoothly into the hole that was hidden beneath camouflaging leaves, and muttered a spell quietly to remove all traces of the bonfire, the quiet chirps of the birds in the trees restlessly stirring his danger sense. It was the nights that were good for him, not the terrible days where he and his friends were given free rein. Many had already defected away to the other cause, and with good reason too. Other than killing machines, they were vermin in the eyes of the rest of them.

The small underground chamber was lit by bright electric lights that harnessed the abandoned connections that the Death Eaters had ignored in their quest to remove all street lights. The free electricity was a great lure for the operations of the quiet society that he belonged to, the light almost blinding him by their brightness.

“Evening, Remus,” a familiar deep voice greeted from behind him. He turned, offering a tired smile. The intensity of the run was getting to him, he assumed. Albus Dumbledore remained as regal as ever even in mended and patched grey robes, his long pristine beard giving him a sense of great power. Indeed – Grindelwald had perished against him even after he had won Hogwarts with the help of one Tom Marvolo Riddle that day. It was disorienting how the man could still remain cheerful even after losing all freedom and being driven to the underground, but Dumbledore would always remain a mystery to him.

“Was the mission successful, sir?” he said politely, dusting leaves off his skin and robes, and casting quick spells to mend them where they had torn during the wild run. “Something serious must have happened for you to call me here so urgently.”

“Indeed,” Severus Snape said from behind him, his thin voice as unsociable as ever. The man was a menace by all standards, but a brilliant prodigy in the areas of Potions. He had invented the Wolfsbane Potion, which he had been outlawed for, at fifteen. That was three years ago. He fitted the eccentric profile of a intelligent scientist and Potions Master, though his age was far from the standard requirement. It was rare to see him with a smile on his face, but Severus wore the biggest grin he had seen yet on the quiet man. “The two Evans sisters have…been learning magic, though I have reasons to believe Lily is estranged from her powers. We are making headway in educating Muggle-borns.”

“That’s excellent,” Remus replied, his expression one of relief. It had always bothered him that Muggle-borns did not receive education, though he, as a werewolf did. His mother had been Muggle-born, and she was murdered a few days short of her birthday. His father died of a heart attack days later. He had remained valuable because of his affliction. “But that’s not the point, is it?” Albus nodded, patting Remus on the back proudly.

“You always were astute, Remus,” Severus commented dryly, handing him some documents and notes. “Sirius has…gone undercover again. He has successfully become our newest target, James Potter’s house pet.”

“What about Minerva?” Remus asked, slightly concerned for the witch who had taught him both Transfigurations and Charms, having been like a surrogate mother to him until her connections to the underground Resistance were discovered, and she was almost executed, then saved from the curse by a timely attack that had taken out more than thirty Death Eaters. “How is she holding up?”

“Oh, that…” Severus shook his hair free of the dust and grime that was beginning to congregate there due to his surroundings, an optimistic smile on his face. “She’s being pampered at the Notts, and taking in great information in the meantime. No need to worry.”

“There’s something even more important, though,” Albus continued Severus’ speech, a happy twinkle in his blue eyes which had seemed lifeless for a few days when he had learnt one of his students had become the newest Dark Lord to terrorize the wizarding world. “We have reason to believe…James Potter chose a certain Evans sister at a Dark Revel tonight.”

“Marvellous,” Remus breathed, a grin appearing on his face to match that of Severus’. “Around someone as powerful as he is, she will discover her powers in no time. And away from Petunia’s influence…”

“Sirius informs us that he is…benign and kind, very much unlike the profile we sketched out of him,” Severus added. He and Sirius were enemies who had grown up together, competing with each other for everything until the Blacks had been murdered in cold blood and the Snapes exterminated. They had banded together as loyal allies, vowing to avenge their own families. Somehow, the enemies had become friends. In a war, anything could happen.

“So there is a chance he may be drawn to our side,” Remus whispered. James had been a childhood friend, and he had been visibly disappointed when James was drafted into the newest recruits of Death Eaters. He had been a kind wonderful person who thought of others before himself, with abject loyalty to the Lord. If only he could see the light…both literally and metaphorically, of course…

“Joy,” Severus said sarcastically beside him, jerking him from his reverie. There was still much to be done, and he was musing here. “No matter how well things have been, Remus, we must watch out for the Death Eaters. We must be on guard. Potter may not come to our side. They may destroy everything. Complacency may destroy us.”

“I know,” Remus nodded in agreement. Severus was a realist, and he always proved it by injecting some pessimism to motivate the rest of the Rebellion.

“And I suggest you get some sleep and a bath, Remus,” Albus chipped in, smiling. “It will decrease suspicion tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir,” Remus smiled, pulling out his wand to Apparate. Severus and Albus did the same seconds later, leaving the small room deserted once again. No trace of any meeting was left, the notes incinerated long ago.

And all the Death Eaters found was ash hours later, blown into who knows where, and fused electric bulbs they could not bear to touch. Once again, the Rebellion had evaded them.

*

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned in this story belong to JKR, great owner of the Harry Potter universe. No money is being made from this.

BROKEN MIRROR

Or The World That Never Was

Chapter Two: The Renewed Prospects Of A Shattered Beginning

"Useless buffoons!" Reginald Malfoy almost yelled, his composure all but gone as he heard of the unsuccessful raid on a rumoured Rebellion cell. At times, when the Death Eaters under his charge had forgotten to cower and beg for mercy, they would recall the gradually increasing number of white hairs in his formerly bushy hair. His son would not be the next leader, and relief would course into their veins giving life-sustaining courage as they prayed that the next one would be less hard on them. But the Lord was driven, and so they should be too. Their attention was directed from the stone floor back to the almost exploding Malfoy by a heavy thump on the desk with his oak mallet. It did not seem to give him any more wisdom or leadership.

Evan Rosier, who was at the head of the party being admonished by the outraged Malfoy wondered where his bosom pal James was. He was probably wading through the paperwork a governor had to do, and enjoying that lass he picked up at the Dark Revel the previous night. The lucky boy had been chosen as one of the youngest to attend a Dark Revel. It was a great honour to be invited to the special gatherings of the noble and senior Death Eaters. There was a rumour that Reginald was considering adopting James as a godson circulating, especially after the favour he showed the younger Death Eater was first seen widely. His friend’s meteoric rise to great power was partly due to his mother’s loyalty to the Lord, of course. Geraldine Potter’s exploits were often mentioned as teaching examples for the Death Eater Supplementary Training Class in seventh year, and they had all grown up on the tales of legendary seniors before them, and dreamt that they would one day serve their lord as well as they did and exterminate the Rebellion.

"…you will be terminated from existence…" Malfoy’s booming voice echoed the sound of his old principal, whose voice had been almost the same chill when he had announced a terrifying verdict to a friend of his. He almost shivered as he had so many years ago when it had first been announced in the dark Great Hall. The boy whose verdict it was only accepted it calmly and defiantly, arguing why he should be sentenced. The shock of Severus Snape’s expulsion in fifth year had remained deeply etched in his mind. They had been close friends since young, their families like one and the same. He had felt sad but also outraged that his bosom friend had dared to breach the law that their Lord had set – that no werewolf was ever to be aided or healed. Any sabotage that would help the Rebellion was punishable by death. His friend had shown a peculiar affinity with Potions, which undoubtedly would have earned him a place in the Inner Circle of their Lord. Yet, he had gone and drugged Remus Lupin with the potion he called Wolfsbane, and left the boy asleep on the full moon. He had earned four lashes, while Severus was sentenced to death. He had escaped with the help of the Rebellion, and was since then labelled an outlaw. Thankfully the Wolfsbane had not been a very accurate cure, just a potion that rendered werewolves ineffective at full moon for hunting. Or else, his friend would have been hunted down by now, instead of only being left with a small bounty on his head that no one would want to waste their time on.

Albus Dumbledore’s removal from the school together with many of his loyal allies had enabled a new curriculum to be set up. Effective and useful classes such as the Supplementary class for Death Eaters, Dark Arts, and History Of Magic that was taught by a venerable Dark Wizard instead of the pathetic Professor Binns made the school strong and impenetrable. The mere mention of the name Dumbledore would make any loyal to the Lord angry. He had killed the previous Lord in cold blood. He was a murderer who deprived the world of a good leader and kind man. Rosier shut his ears to Malfoy’s ramblings, busy imagining the various ways he would torture the old man if he caught him. It was a good pastime that he resorted to whenever Malfoy gave one of his supposedly inspirational speeches. The tirade finally ended when he was casting the Cruciatus Curse for the seventieth time on the old crackpot who was the centre of his thoughts, and he shuffled out thankfully together with his comrades.

"And you, Rosier!" Malfoy’s strident roar summoned him back, albeit reluctantly as he turned on his heel and bowed to the man. Maybe he would go insane soon, Evan wished, daring a peek at the man’s countenance. His robes were dusty from the ash that had been blowing around in the meeting room they had discovered. Remus Lupin was not always accurate when giving information, but he usually had something to report. This time, it was more rebellion in Surrey. James would have a bad time there controlling the crowds.

"Yes, sir?" he replied meekly as he bowed, still keeping a tone of hidden danger in his voice. The Lord taught that intimidation could be achieved with the voice, the expression and the body language. He had tried his best to hide an underlying menace in his words, but they often backfired on him instead of helping. To his surprise, Malfoy’s expression seemed to soften slightly as he gazed at him.

"You’re a good Death Eater, Rosier. Work hard, and you will find the Lord’s favour is near. Do not fail me or the Lord again," Malfoy conveyed, a serious smile on his face. Rosier returned it and bowed deeply once again, before leaving the room, pride written clearly on his face. Malfoy the perfectionist had praised him. All the overtime he put in over the past few months had worked, indeed, though James had gotten an even better post despite the lesser work he did. He often wondered how he had gotten promoted so fast, but never came to a conclusion. James had always been good at Transfiguration, so perhaps it was the fact that he had aced his Animagi class. Animagi made good spies and gathered information with ease. Minerva McGonagall had hidden her distaste for the regime well, but she was found out in his seventh year. No one had seen her Animagus form before, though, and those who did didn’t seem to want to give it away. Thus, no one had caught her yet.

He smiled. It was time to celebrate. Perhaps he would ask Cleantra out for a drink or two at the Three Broomsticks…

"Stupefy!"

Evan fell to the ground unconscious as unknown hands cast spells to lift him away.

*

Lily crashed unceremoniously in a pile onto the Death Eater’s body as they appeared in his room. The travel had been swift, as magic always promised, but she was already becoming queasy at the thought of what was about to come. He took her back to his home, and his room too – there could only be one reason for that. She was almost afraid to look at him, knowing she would be his victim soon. Her eyes darted around the austere room, decorated simply in black and white. Not out of her own accord, they travelled to the bed. She gulped and averted her eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, seeming concerned. Lily furrowed her eyebrows. A Death Eater, concerned about a Muggle? That was a strange thing and an understatement, at that! She swallowed and tried to gather what was left of her wits and courage. There had to be some way out of this place. She licked her lips, her mouth having gone dry suddenly. A masculine, large hand appeared in front of her, and she gazed up at the Death Eater in surprise, then to his hand. A Death Eater, offering his hand to a Muggle? That was even more inconceivable. Most Death Eaters felt that they were filth which should not be touched. On impulse, she took his hand and was gently lifted from the ground as though she was as light as a feather. She blushed as she realized horrified that she had tainted the hand of a dignified Death Eater, then wondered why she was scared about it. After all, he had chosen to hold her hand. It felt warm and wonderful against his skin, anyway…the boy she had seen in her backyard was warm too, but not like his palm was, slightly callused and…She quickly drew her hand away, bowing her head.

"I’m sorry for my insolence, sir," she managed to force out even though the defiant indignant feeling that swelled up in her whenever something that she hadn’t done was blamed on her was appearing to wreck havoc once again, trying not to catch his eyes. She wondered what colour they were. Surely they were a warm colour, just like his hands were…Brown, perhaps? Or blue…Cut it out, she scolded herself. It was not her place to be thinking about Death Eaters who are far above her. But Death Eaters were oppressors, it was better to think of them as vermin. This one had just saved her though…

"You don’t have to apologize," the Death Eater standing next to her said. She had the distinct feeling that he had just smiled, but could not see for sure because he was not in her line of view. Before she knew it, he had slid a finger under her chin and lifted her head. Her eyes met his abruptly, and her mind went blank as she absorbed his features like a ravenous creature eating his first meal in years. He had the loveliest brown eyes that stared kindly at her, his lips in a sincere smile that seemed to light up his face. He had unkempt midnight hair that looked as though it was untamable. She wondered how it would be like to touch his hair, then recalled it was a Death Eater she was looking and salivating at. Her cheeks felt hot with a blushed. And then he spoke, and she felt as though his friendly voice was that of an angel. A fallen one, probably, but… "I offered you my hand." Suddenly, as though he had begun to remember the discrepancy between their statuses, he let go of her chin and assumed a more serious, severe expression that looked as though it did not belong on his boyish face that was slightly tinted with a day’s stubble.

"Where do you live?" he asked. "I will send you home."

"You’re…you’re not going to do anything to me?" Lily squeaked, gaping at him in surprise even though she knew after what he had just done he would not offend her in any way. For once she had met a Death Eater who was a true gentleman. He had not made any move to do anything to her yet, except lifting her chin and that had felt strangely wonderful, the touch sending little tingles down her neck and body. She found herself wishing he would touch her again, perhaps hold her hand, then vanquished those thoughts swiftly. He was a Death Eater, she reminded herself sternly. One of those who dictate those laws that keep you so downtrodden. She wondered why she was debating with herself, but decided to ignore her inner voice.

"Why should I?" he retorted, his eyes filled with true surprise. "I would never do anything like that."

"Oh," Lily muttered, blushing again. How far could her mind get deep in the gutter? She almost wished she could twist into some hole nearby that would appear magically. Almost immediately a small black hole large enough to fit her in appeared on her right.

"I can understand how you feel," the Death Eater chuckled, grinning boyishly as he plopped down rather unceremoniously on the carpeted ground, waving a hand to make the hole disappear. "Have a seat?"

"A seat?" Lily felt the blush on her cheeks deepen as she heard her woefully silly answer to the question. It was implausible for a Death Eater to be asking a Muggle to sit, but it was happening to her right now, and it was only right for her to feel surprised.

"Only being polite, of course," the Death Eater added hurriedly, as if he had heard her thoughts and realized how out-of-character he was acting for someone of his status. He looked uncomfortable as he realized he was sitting in a rather undignified way in his own room.

"Well, you can’t help but be at ease in your own bedroom," Lily remarked, smiling before she caught herself, eyes widening in horror. She had just been rude to a Death Eater. She was in deep trouble. She licked her lips again, wondering what Petunia would likely do to salvage the situation. To her surprise, he laughed uproariously.

"You’re right, really…that’s the reason why I only bring my friends in here…" he gasped between guffaws. "Don’t want my superiors seeing me this way."

"I like you this way," Lily blurted out, before clapping a hand over her mouth in mortification, wondering what kind of food she had taken last night to make her say so many stupid things in the space of a few minutes. Perhaps she really was going insane and seeing things, as Petunia told her whenever a book zoomed at her out of nowhere or cutlery flew up in the air without her knowing. She stared at the Death Eater, hoping he would not be offended. He was blushing too.

"I guess I better send you home now," he mumbled quickly, trying to bridge the silence that had sprung up like a wall between them. He got up from the floor, his black dress robes billowing around him like a black cloud. Lily followed his actions, although her shabby dress appeared to be falling to pieces instead of floating around.

"Won’t it be…suspicious if you send me home like this? Will you…will you get into trouble?" Lily asked, concerned. She recalled a friend who had also been taken, and had never returned but was allowed to post letters. A bird trapped in a gilded cage. She had told them about the torture she suffered and how the son tried to save her, but had been beaten for trying. For some reason, she was worried that the same might happen to the man that stood before her now.

*

James reeled back in shock at her question. He knew he was gaping, his mouth wide open in a manner unbefitting the supposedly dignified and respected Death Eater, but he had not expected something like this. Muggles were supposed to be proud and arrogant, thinking they were better than any wizard or half-blood who had magic. They thought highly of themselves and often rebelled against them unless controlled with a few deaths or so. But she was concerned about his well-being, and looked genuinely so. How could it be possible that a Muggle actually thought of a wizard not as someone lesser than she was, as a freak? Perhaps that was what made her special. He had taken a closer look at her when he had gotten back in his safe home, and realized how pretty she was. No, not pretty, beautiful was more fitted to the context. She was endowed with silky red hair the shade of burning fire that looked enchanting even though it was dusted lightly with dirt, her eyes sparkling emerald green that was like glass in the glazed windows of the churches the Muggles had, with a hundred shades of different green. Her face was oval and she had a smile that lit up her eyes and made her even more beautiful. He had always believed that Muggles were plain and ugly, making them inappropriate for the more elegant company of the loveliest ladies of the wizarding world or even their own mundane angels. She looked like one of the angels to him, and would probably not stand out at one of the balls the Death Eaters held once every few months. She was tall and svelte, her slender form enabling her to look directly into his eyes if she raised her head a little. She was just…perfect even though that shabby dress only served to make her look destitute. He bit his lip, pondering how a Muggle could look so lovely, then realized she was still waiting for an answer.

"Come to think of it, it will look suspicious," he replied quickly, giving her a lopsided grin. "I’ll hide you here for a few hours before I send you back, pretend you’re my newest mistress or something." He did not expect her to choke slightly and turn red. After all, his seniors in the Death Eater circles had told him that most Muggle women were sluts with low morals, but she did not feel like that. From young he had been able to feel how people were like, almost as though he could feel out their character. He had known Lucius Malfoy’s character the first moment he had shook his hand on the Hogwarts Express, and politely ended any chances of friendship. His talent proved valuable over the years, making him friends and good connections that did wonders for his education. His mother called him the Character Detector. She had felt…warm to him. Warm but unknown – a mystery. She was the first person he had felt was special, but did not know what she truly was.

"You don’t mean that...that you’re going to…" she stammered, staring terrified at him. Obviously the horror stories of some Death Eaters taking second wives had spread, even though James knew that most were treated very well. They deserved their beatings, when they were disobedient, of course, he thought.

"Of course not," he smiled. "Just a façade, that’s all. To keep you safe. You’ll be snapped up soon if no one takes you." The horror in her eyes only increased.

"Why…why are you helping me? Is there a price I have to pay?" she whispered quietly, bowing her head.

"No! Why should I ask for payment?" James questioned, before understanding her meaning. "Oh," he muttered. "Well, you should make yourself comfortable, and…"

"I don’t even know your name," she said meekly, raising her eyes to look at him with a docile expression in them that only served to make her look even more charming. For a moment, James thought his heart had stopped beating. Then she snapped to attention, a smile fixed quickly on her face that looked very forced and compelled.

"I’m Lily Evans," she introduced, offering a pale hand with a couple of burns that looked like they came from the kitchen. One looked suspiciously like a slash from a failed potion, though, but James decided to ignore it. Taking her hand was already a very ludicrous idea, and any other Death Eater would have taken offence. For a moment, he hesitated to return the gesture. When he was about to offer his hand, she had withdrawn hers awkwardly, bowing her head.

"James Potter," he replied, brushing back some of his messy hair that had decided to plague him again by blocking his vision. He should get it cut soon, he thought. It was getting too long. She stared at him in slight surprise, and then smiled.

"You’re James Potter? The new governor?" she said almost in disbelief.

"At your service," he responded, grinning widely as he performed a sweeping bow.

"You’re…you’re…" she was at a loss for words, gaping like a goldfish out of water.

"So young?" he offered and she nodded mutely. "I’m surprised too, but never mind. You must be hungry." He changed the topic quickly. His resemblance to the Lord before his transformation was always an issue to the other Death Eaters, who gossiped viciously that he was probably the illegitimate son of the Lord. Still, he bore no offence against them. The Lord had no relation to him, and he would not dare risk his life by claiming so. He clapped his hands and the house elf appeared.

"Feed Padfoot, and give Miss Lily whatever she wants except departure from my room unless into the library," he ordered harshly, and the house elf bowed quickly as proof that he had heard the master’s orders. House elves in the Potter house were shushed with a Silencing Charm to prevent any excess noise from them. Geraldine had personally ‘treated’ herself. It disappeared into thin air and James turned to see Lily with a curious look on her face.

"House elves," he explained, and she answered his comment with a soft ‘oh’. "Clap your hands and tell them what you want. You have limited access to the library – that means only fiction books and at some times when my mother won’t see you until we move to my new residence. When will you like to return to your home?"

"I don’t have one," she mumbled, and he looked apologetic, but only for a fleeting second. "I live at an orphanage with my sister and other people like me."

"I’m sorry," he said almost sincerely, laying a hand on her shoulder before pulling it away like she was a white-hot iron. "I’ll see you then. I have to go finish up the paperwork, and you can tell me when you want to return." She nodded meekly, and he left the room using floo powder. He did not realize how lonely she felt despite the company of many material things in his room, and she did not expect him to. She could not help but feel as though she was trapped

*

Severus Snape stirred the slowly simmering liquid in the battered pewter cauldron in front of him, making sure the fire was just right for the potion. It was immensely difficult to brew this particular concoction and if he succeeded in making it, it would aid the Rebellion greatly when they needed information. He was almost thankful for becoming an outlaw, for that had freed him from the constricting laws of the Lord’s dictatorship. His parents had been executed on the day he was due for termination. The cold term used to deal with the murder the Death Eaters committed regularly still bothered him. He had watched his parents die, their heads chopped off by an invisible blade conjured from some mysterious Dark source. Then the Rebellion had blasted in, wands raging with righteous spells that stunned most of the Death Eaters, and untied him from his post where he was barely conscious after about a few hundred-odd lashes of the whip from Walden MacNair, the executioner, who escaped with metaphorical tail between legs. In those last moments of consciousness the last person he had seen was Albus Dumbledore, asking him if he was fine. Others were gathering up his parents’ remains with care, cordoning off the area as quickly as possible to prevent alarms from being sent. They had Apparated him away, and he had awakened in the care of Poppy Pomfrey, a kindly woman who was a few years older than he was.

And so began his career for the Rebellion, which involved sneaking around underground in basements, arranging meetings and swapping information, making secret hits and some small attacks on Death Eaters. Still, they did not have enough personnel to start an all-out war against the Lord himself. Their objectives was to give the Muggles freedom and equality, and so he had proposed helping them and teaching them magic. In another two hours he would be delivering things again. Petunia Evans had had enough help, and knew most of the basics of magic. A Rebel operative would bring her underground soon to begin the rest of her education. She was one of many who had begun learning magic, but according to Sirius’ information, the Death Eaters had begun picking up on the increased magic in the area. They would have to split headquarters again to prevent capture.

He would forever owe a debt to Albus Dumbledore, and he would spend the rest of his life willingly in the Rebellion if he had to. No one would have cared enough to gravely bow to his parents after burying them with what ceremony they could in the Rebellion. Everything was tattered and poor, but he felt free and wonderful here within this handful of beggars. Not many knew all the rebel operatives, but Albus had once shared with him a hope – that one day they might call themselves something other than the Rebellion and walk free in the sunlight instead of running like sewer rats every day and night. He had grown increasingly paler from the lack of sun, but he knew Dumbledore had risked his life coming personally to save him from the execution. His bounty had been upped by one million Galleons because of that, and he had almost been caught the day he was in transit.

The liquid bubbled lightly, and he stopped stirring it. It popped and became a bright royal blue, then exploded into fiery red, and finally began to fade. The last few times, he had ended up with an impure concoction. If it was a success, according to theory, it should be crystal clear and without any solids within. It would be a great spearhead for the Rebellion if it worked. The red faded into magenta, then dusty rose pink, and at last, pale pink, and then…crystal clear liquid. He smiled triumphantly, scooping the liquid into vials quickly and getting rid of all traces of his brewing a potion here. It was time to inform Dumbledore of the favourable results. If the potion worked…A guinea pig entered the room laden with new information through floo, her wayward blonde hair pinned firmly in a bun. Severus’ eyes lit up.

"Arabella!" he grinned, reaching for the vial of clear liquid near him. Perfect. Arabella was a trained liar and an excellent operative. If it worked…

"Something’s wrong. You’re not usually that nice to me," Arabella looked at him through her square glasses, her eyes almost piercing through his elation. "Or that happy, for that matter."

"Oh, not at all…just feeling happy about Sirius’s new project," he said nonchalantly, trying to keep his excitement to himself. If she would drink the potion, and unknowingly at that… "Say, would you like some water?" He passed the vial to her, and Arabella scrutinized it heavily.

"This isn’t laced with something I might regret drinking, is it?" she asked suspiciously, squinting at the vial, her notes long abandoned on the battered table in the corner. The Rebellion thrived on minimalist furnishing. They needed the very least to survive, and it was easy to find food from the lavish homes of Death Eaters, since the house elves were greatly partial to them. She finally put the vial to her lips, still looking apprehensive. "I hope I’m not going to regret this."

"Not at all, Arabella. Who was your first boyfriend, by the way?" Severus asked quickly, trying out the effect of the potion. It should work perfectly, according to theory. He knew the answer to that question, but it was increasingly embarrassing and if Arabella had not been a good friend of his and also obsessed with Potions, he would probably not know.

"Lucius Malfoy," Arabella answered blankly and then clapped a hand over her mouth. "What did you lace that vial with, Severus!"

"Oh…some of my newest potion," he grinned widely, almost jumping out of his seat. "And I’ve just confirmed it works."

"You mean that Truth potion you were working on?" Arabella gasped, realizing the consequences. It would mean great things for the Rebellion and information-wise, it was a great advancement.

"Veritaserum, Arabella," Severus snapped irritably. "Don’t quote things when you can’t remember them."

"Yes, sir," she said automatically, rolling her eyes as he prepared to Apparate. "I’ll make myself scarce too. There’s a tip-off that Death Eaters are coming at two."

"Got that," he called to her as they both Apparated, leaving only dust to mark the historical moment of a great invention.

*

The Werewolf Squad Headquarters was a tall building made of iron, nestled in the middle of a luxuriant forest where the pack formed by the members of the Squad ran rampant each full moon. They were allowed to feed on traitors who were delivered to their headquarters each full moon, as others were taken to the vampires. It was a sturdy building to prevent any damage from either the werewolves or the prisoners. The Squad was not accustomed to paperwork; they did their jobs by verbal communication most of the time. They arrested people as any Death Eater would, only that they presented a greater threat. They could eat them or transform any time they wanted to, as long as they were under a full moon. This threat made the people’s fear of the Werewolf Squad grow, and usually they were enough to frighten them into submission. Each wolf had its own territory, and reported back to the Headquarters to run some full moons. Others, they would spend with their mate.

The heavens had spread a veil of black velvet over its face almost in mourning, studding it with precious diamonds when he arrived back at the Headquarters, his mission completed and the prisoner captured in a sturdy steel cage. Nothing in the Headquarters was made of silver, for it was very harmful to werewolves. It had burned him when he had snatched the prisoner’s silver necklace from his neck away and thrown it hurriedly into a box for keeping. Embezzling the Lord’s funds were his crime. The money had come from the Lord. Those who dared to steal that asked for one of the capital punishments – death by werewolves who devoured their meat at full moon. There were a few weeks before then.

The interior of the headquarters were just like its exterior – sterile, clean and efficient. The perfect abode of a cruel, cold monster, or rather, several. More than three hundred werewolves reported to the Werewolf Squad, which was divided into age groups and efficiency levels. Only some lived full-time at the Squad headquarters, and those were the patrolling werewolves. Others with mates had homes of their own. He had not found someone to call his own yet, but he hoped fervently that he would one day. The prisoner whimpered piteously, begging him to release him from his torture but he did not relent. The rule of the Squad was to be ruthless and heartless, and he tried his best to ignore the cries. This particular man had a wife and three children.

"Evening, Commander Lupin," Jenna, the receptionist on the ground floor greeted him pleasantly, smiling and then casting a look of disgust at the prisoner trapped in the steel cage that was being levitated in the air. "What did he do, anyway?"

"Embezzling funds, stealing money," he responded almost mechanically, his face dusted over with exhaustion and slight grit. His connections to the Rebellion were virtually unknown, and he planned to keep it this way until he was forced to escape his role of a spy. And until then, he would have to continue the job he hated most. "He was given the death sentence."

"Name?" Jenna’s face had become the cool mask of competence, her fingers flipping swiftly through the various magical communications that had come through this morning. "Oh, I found it. There’s only one person for that crime this morning."

"Cell number?" Remus asked, almost feeling the vibes of fright the prisoner was giving off. Anyone would be afraid in this place. He smoothed his features into the usual indifference and prepared to send yet another man to the jaws of hell. This was what his job warranted, and he had to continue doing it no matter what. There was a dark black smear on the top of the cage that denoted the man as Muggle-born. He had worked with another to get more money. Jenna handed him the keys and he Apparated into the cell immediately. He could not stand another moment with him, knowing that the next full moon he would be in his stomach, travelling down his alimentary canal or what was a wolf’s digestive system.

"Please…please…let me go…my wife, my daughters…" the prisoner cried from behind him. He checked to see that there were no probes around, then bent down to look at him, pity in his eyes. There was no way he could help him, no matter how much he pleaded. The prisoner’s eyes were full of desperation, fearful brown that was quickly condensing into water-logged amber. He jerked back at the reminder of his brutality and identity as a monster. It sickened him; the knowledge that his life came from blood and death and gore, that he was sustained by not just animal but human meat too. He was a monster, no matter what he did. Some glorified in that fact, but he did not.

He was probably one of the few who would admit they hated themselves for being what they were. He stared into the prisoner’s eyes one last time before standing and leaving the room as quickly as possible, trying to forget that desperation and pain.

He was not just a monster in physical being, he was one emotionally too. And everyone knew that the monster you feared most was the one that lived in your mind. He never wanted to meet another Boggart.

*

Disclaimer: JKR owns all characters concerning Harry Potter and all things that are mentioned inside them. Nothing belongs to me.

BROKEN MIRROR

Or The World That Never Was

Chapter Three: The Elevated Prominence Of The Formerly Ignored

The sunlight had stubbornly decided to shoot its rays through the thick layers of curtains cushioning the windows in the elegant bedroom scattered with paperwork. The drapes on the four-poster bed were drawn, but they fell under the siege of the sun and lost the battle with it. James opened his sore eyes to a bright morning even as he rubbed sleep out of them. He had been up almost the entire night working on the documents needed for the transfer of power, and finally managed to get through all of the required procedures. He recalled stumbling along into his room, and collapsing on the bed after leaving his glasses on the side table. There was a soft weight on his chest, and he wondered if he had reverted to his old habit of clutching at pillows to hug.

He looked down to find a mass of auburn curls scattered across his chest, and the owner lying with her hand over his waist. They were tangled together in the bed sheets, and his desperate attempts to extricate himself turned out useless. His arm was still around her waist and he found he quite liked the position he was currently in. Last night had been the most wonderful sleep he had ever had, with the warm comfort of another against his body. She looked as lovely as ever even when asleep, her features peaceful and relaxed. The only bad thing was that her brilliant green eyes were obscured from view by her eyelids, but that gave him a chance to observe her long eyelashes which tickled his neck from time to time when she moved. He could not help but retract his remark of her looking like an angel the previous day – she was probably their queen. He stroked her hair gently, not wanting to wake her from slumber. It was probably one of his only chances to gawk at her openly.

His cheeks reddened as he realized what she was wearing. The elf had probably thought she was truly his mistress, and left her a particularly provocative white nightdress that was nearly entirely sheer, leaving only some parts of her to the imagination. He quickly covered her with the blanket, and ordered his eyes to focus on the canopy above instead. He could not resist thinking that she was very well formed indeed, her body curvy and slender. His comment the other day had been correct; she would have been snatched away if he had not gotten to her first. He was already beginning to regret agreeing to send her home; it would be nice to have someone to talk to who was not a Death Eater or a superior. But he would have to keep his promise. His heart leapt in his ribcage as he realized she was stirring. He gulped and prepared for an explosion or an ear-splitting scream. At least, that was what happened to Evan when he had accidentally bedded a woman after too many drinks once at the Leaky Cauldron. He could not help but liken the feeling in his throat to that of impending doom.

*

Lily had been understandably scandalized at the apparel that the house elf had brought for the night, and had told the house elf so, but grudgingly accepted it after he brought out one identical dress in red. The few fiction books that she had been allowed were better than any other she had ever read. Despite the wizards’ dislike of Muggles, they seemed to have no qualms about reading the books they wrote. She had buried herself in Jane Eyre, dreaming as always of a love as great as the one Rochester and Jane shared. Before long, she had drifted to sleep and forgotten about all sleeping arrangements. Now, as the sunlight threatened to burn her eyelids open, she sleepily blinked the last vestiges of slumber away and opened her eyes. There was a soft caress against her hand, and a warm weight at her waist. An arm was reaching over her face to touch her hair; one draped in striped blue and white pajamas, she realized. The pillow pulsed beneath her, as warm as ever and she bolted upright, bowing her head as the horrified look filled her eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir!” she mumbled, realizing where she was at last. The last thing she ever believed she could have done was to fall asleep on her protector late in the night. And in what she was wearing, too! Her face burned a bright red, and she tried to hide from Ja – Potter’s penetrating gaze as best as she could. The shock was bad enough, but interrogation would make it even worse. She wondered what punishment she would get for this transgression.

“Oh, it’s…okay,” she could almost feel his smile in the warmth of the morning. He crawled from the bed and stretched himself as she watched silently, wondering what she was going to do for the rest of the day. He was clad in blue and white pajamas which made him look like a little boy. She could not help but chuckle softly. He directed a mock glare at her. “They’re strangely comfortable…I’ve been wearing them since I was seventeen.” He was about to make a move to remove his shirt when he remembered she was in the room. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, an embarrassed look on his face as he grabbed his clothes and rushed out of the room, presumably to change into more appropriate clothes.

Lily sighed. Her shabby dress of the night before had been removed and likely burnt, and she was not about to leave in this terrible mockery of a dress. As though the house elf had heard her thoughts, he appeared abruptly in front of her, bowing and then handing a pretty summer dress which was in a forget-me-not blue shade to her. She gaped at the clothing with wonder – she had never had anything this extravagant before. It had no holes, was clean and smelled lightly of flowers and was the prettiest frock she had ever seen. She held it up to her carefully as though the dress was made of delicate glass. It looked as though it would fit her perfectly. Cautiously, she slipped out of the nightgown and into the dress. It was sleeveless and fell to just above her knees. She twirled once or twice to get used to the unfamiliar feeling of the cloth against her skin. The elf had left shoes; blue sandals with moderately high heels that she put on carefully, not wanting to ruin the first pretty clothes she had ever gotten. She edged closer to the mirror at the side of the room to examine her visage more closely.

“Looking pretty, miss! Though a little makeup would brighten up those wan cheeks of yours…” the mirror began to chatter vibrantly as Lily’s mouth fell open. Was there anything about wizards that she still did not know? Mirrors talked, house elves disappeared into thin air, brooms flew…

“I’ll agree with that mirror,” Ja- Potter’s voice came from behind her. She was almost embarrassed to look at him, and mumbled a soft Thank You. He grabbed her hand quickly, and pulled out his wand. “Well, we had better be getting to the place you live. Just think of it.” She nodded, and thought of the rickety entrance to the forbidding building she lived in, recalling the matron and her sister. There was a strange jerk at her consciousness like the day she had been taken back to the Potter home, and then she was standing in front of the orphanage like she had never left it at all.

“You live here?” Potter said incredulously behind her. He had one warm hand on her right shoulder, and she turned to look at him with slight shame.

“It’s been my home since I was six,” she muttered, bowing her head. Why was it that just a few days ago she had wanted to be proud of what she was, and now she was feeling embarrassed just because a certain high-and-mighty Death Eater, who was probably born from the generation who had imprisoned her kind, had seen what kind of cell-like squalor she lived in?

“It doesn’t look like a home to me,” his attempt to joke was refuted with a sigh from her which effectively shut him up. “Let’s go in.”

“In?” Lily gaped. “You’re not serious, are you…”

“Don’t you want to go home?” James replied patiently. She stared at him, deliberating whether to face the matron with her new elevated status or to chicken out. She had never been a coward, and she would not start today. She nodded, and he understood her meaning as he held her hand and led her into the familiar corridor, its white-washed corridor decorated with wizard paint and vandalism that comprised of some basic spells they had seen the wizards use. It only made others see more clearly that they wanted to be ‘normal’, like all the others who were not imprisoned and forbidden to vote or speak freely. The air felt somewhat fresher now that she knew she was on some degree, more free. Or from another point of view, trapped in the false identity Potter had conjured for her.

“It’s never really been home to me,” she mumbled quietly as she felt his reassuring squeeze that sent warmth through her. They paced slowly towards to the sallow receptionist sitting at a old wooden desk, her grey uniform helping her blend into the atmosphere of the place. The orphanage was a drab place devoid of colours and brightness. Even the lights were restricted to white. She still remembered her mother’s laughing face, singing and humming as she cooked and cleaned, her father rushing home with paperwork but still making time for her and her sister. She recalled the legends and stories that her father had made up to entertain her and her sister, like the story that they were both princesses, trapped in the red and yellow and orange of the room that was made into a palace of fire, guarded by a dragon. One day they had all been dragged out of the house when the Death Eaters went on their regular ‘raids’, or as the Muggles called it, death marches, her parents convicted of insubordination and executed. They had been sent to the orphanage. There were no half-bloods there, only Muggle-borns who were homeless. The matron made sure to drill them full of rules and their inferiority, reminding them that it was the Lord’s kindness that kept them fed and clothed. She gulped and continued, feeling his patience but not wishing to offend. “They were killed when I was six and my sister and I were brought here. We’ve lived here ever since.”

“In the future this orphanage will be under my governing control,” James said, not knowing what else he could do to comfort her. War was war, and her parents had been killed, probably because they were either lower class or were allying with the Rebellion. Perhaps they should have thought of the consequences their actions would have on their children. “No one will ever dare to harm you.” He would protect her, even though he knew no reason why he was doing this.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly and smiled shyly at him. He could not help but return it with a bright grin of his own as they reached the worn desk where the sallow receptionist sat. James cleared his throat and tapped the table lightly, sending clouds of dust into the air. The receptionist looked up from her work swiftly, her head jerking to attention as she jumped up from her moth-eaten seat to salute James.

“How rare to see you here, Mr. Potter!” she said pleasantly, frantically adjusting her uniform and the badge on her blouse that indicated her name. Monica Pettigrew was a worker at the orphanage who had come only months ago after her husband had been murdered in a Rebellion raid, though Lily doubted it. It was more likely that he had been tortured to death in a prison cell by the Death Eaters. She was mean, sharp and stood in for the matron whenever she needed to report to the Lord. No one liked her, nor her son whom she had brought together with her. They spelled her name as “Petty-grew” as she was known to scrimp on rations and give them as little food as possible. Considering the food was very scarce in the first place, that left them with hunger pangs throughout the day. Lily was surprised to see her saccharine attitude towards Potter. “It’s really an honour for you to visit our humble orphanage…”

“Not really,” James replied, waving his hand in a dismissive way. The action only diverted Pettigrew’s attention to Lily, who stared at the ground, attempting to perhaps stay hidden. “I am sending her home, and will visit from time to time.” Pettigrew gaped at Lily, her mouth as wide as it probably could go. She took in her new clothes, clean hair (which the house elf had cleaned with a charm the day) and most importantly, her position at the side of the governor of the towns the orphanage was in.

“E- Miss Lily!” she said sweetly, the syrupy tone of her voice almost making Lily gag. James only smiled proudly, before pushing her slightly forward to the table. A somewhat motherly, loving expression appeared on Pettigrew’s face as she edged closer to Lily, and she tried to shy away to no avail. Lily tried to resist a giggle as she contrasted Pettigrew’s attitude towards her before today and her boot-licking one today. It was as different as night and day.

“You will take care of her, and any damage will be reflected tenfold on you,” James said evenly, fingering his wand subtly to indicate his seriousness. Pettigrew gulped visibly, shrinking back and trying not to touch Lily. Lily resisted the urge to glare at Potter. He had effectively drawn a plague circle around her now. But it stemmed from a sense of justice to protect her, didn’t it? She jerked herself from her thoughts, sending reminders to her mind that no Death Eaters ever did good things for anything other than profit.

“I’ll see you,” he murmured softly beside her ear, and Lily could not help but feel it was very intimate. Of course, it felt entirely platonic to her. Potter, as horrible as the other Muggles in the orphanage made him out to be, was actually quite a kind person, even going to extremes to convince the others that they truly were lov- involved. It certainly had convinced Pettigrew, who was standing stupefied in front of them as he smiled at her then left, black cloak billowing behind him.

“Lily dear!” Lily’s eyes widened as she heard the syrupy voice that Pettigrew had adopted as she unwillingly turned around from where she had been watching Potter leave. She gulped as Pettigrew advanced towards her. For a moment she almost wished she had never met James Potter that fateful night, but quickly retracted the thought as she broke into a jog back towards the cramped hovel she shared with her sister.

*

“Greenwich, the editor wants you,” Houston yelled from across the room over the noise of typewriters clinking away as their owners punched busily at them, the ink staining the paper in neat rows and lines of letters that would soon take the form of a newspaper article. This was the headquarters of the Daily Prophet, information and newspaper giant of the wizarding world, and propaganda machine for Lord Voldemort. There were hardly any female reporters here, for the editor was naturally biased towards the fairer sex. However, the few who were here were some of the best.

“Tell him I’m coming!” Molly Greenwich bellowed in reply, waving in her hand a sheaf of paper that was her newest article on the ball at Reginald Malfoy’s home, which also featured the up-and-coming new authority figure, James Potter. It was difficult to keep this particular job because of the sexist ideals the editor had, but she was an excellent reporter, and she knew it. “I have to finish this article first for tomorrow’s press!”

“He says immediately, witch!” Molly scowled as the workplace began to almost rumble with laughter at the stupid joke. It had been a running source of teasing for her as she was female.

“Sod off, wanker, and go get laid if you have nothing better to do!” she retaliated viciously, elbowing her way roughly through the tables and chairs that were cramped together in the headquarters. The editor’s office was at the very end of the office, and was obscured from all the noise of the typewriters by a special glass door that blocked out noise with a Silencing Charm. She pushed open the door quickly with some bruises on her arms in her hurry to get to the door. As usual, Jennings sat in his comfortable leather chair, his hair slickly gelled down with the wizard version of the Muggle invention. He thought it made him look like a dangerous wizard, but it gave him a pretty boy look that she always wanted to laugh at.

“What’s the matter?” she asked rudely, irritated from her disruption from her article. It was due in by today and she had racked her brains for days before coming up with a suitable article that would not offend and yet hid meanings in the words. It was very difficult, but she had done it many times before. She would do it again. “If there’s nothing I’m going to go finish up my article.”

“Greenwich,” the editor said in a warning tone that only made him seem even more like a poor imitation of the Death Eaters. He had been delegated here only because he did not fit the calibre – threatening, evil, violent, sadistic (perhaps she could rethink that point) and so on. “You have a new assignment.”

“Well, get on with it. I’ve got articles to type,” she stood stiffly in front of the editor, her ruffled attitude plain for all to see. She was rebellious, bad-tempered and said what she liked to – the only reason she was still here was because she was the cream of the crop in the heavily over-worked Daily Prophet. She knew it, and she would exploit it in whatever way she could.

“The Lord has appointed us to find a way to plunge the Ministry into scandal so that it can be closed down,” Jennings was always very much to the point. Unfortunately, he probably had only this one good point. “It is all that remains of the old government, and the few old fogeys working there may prove to be useful for the Rebellion. We must get rid of them.”

“So I go undercover, report about the corruption, and then close them down,” Molly said frankly, an irritated expression on her face. She perched her hands on the wooden desk, then pulled the editor towards her by the cuff of his robes. “What do you think I am? This bloody mission is too simple!” She almost spat out the word ‘simple’.

“The Lord wanted the best. You are the best reporter here…” he trailed off as Molly pointed a finger straight at him, glaring into his eyes. It was very terrifying, and he abruptly understood why it was never good to antagonize Molly Greenwich.

“You mean, best expendable female reporter!” Molly hissed, pushing him roughly back. “You obviously want me to get mired in some scandal or something and announce that the Ministry is corrupt, then get executed with all of them!”

“Greenwich…” Jennings tried to explain himself, but Molly was a much better strategist than he was, and saw through all his tricks most of the time. If the four houses still existed at the houses, she would have been a crafty Slytherin. She conveniently picked up a glass on his table and threw liquor over his face, glowering at him.

“I am not going to fail, you idiot. You’ll see,” she threatened dangerously before pushing open the door and leaving. The rest of her colleagues were supposedly gathered around their own work, but she knew they had been listening to the newest scuffle between THE female reporter and the editor. There had even been a scandal once that they were having an affair, but one punch and a good beating to the appropriate person had managed to cease all rumours from going around.

“Get out of my sight,” she spat poisonously, and that dispersed the crowd that had mobbed to ask what was the newest issue. “I’m going to send an owl.”

“To where, Greenwich? Boyfriend?” Williams teased, sitting down with a frightened look after she directed a glower at her, and focusing his attention back to his typewriter.

“To the Ministry,” she gritted. The peals of laughter behind her could not be ignored. The Ministry was the last vestiges of how the continent had been before the Lord had taken over – it could not be dispersed or dismissed. That would mean loss of hope for the Rebellion, she mused, furrowing her eyebrows. She sighed – she would have to risk sending Dumbledore an owl.

*

“Good evening, Mr. Rosier,” the clipped, professional voice that Evan heard as his world began to come back into focus was not the one that he had expected to hear. It was the calm voice of the Lord. He immediately knelt in front of him, prostrating himself in front of the absolute ruler.

“My respects to you, m’lord,” he whispered fervently, not daring to meet the man’s eyes. The Lord was sacred among the Death Eaters, and only the senior members were granted allowance to look at him directly. The rest had to bow their heads, and some knelt until their knees were sore. It was due reverence to the great Lord who had saved them from the foolish ideals of the Rebellion, anyway. It was a great honour to be summoned for an audience, and he had heard of the mysterious ways of summoning the Lord used when he did not want anyone else to know about it.

“I have a mission for you,” he was very frank, Evan thought. The next moment, he was being dragged up by burly guards armed with two wands on each arm. He saw the Lord motion for him to come closer, and then the guards were ordered out of the room.

“I would do my best to complete your orders, m’lord,” he said resolutely, bowing again.

“I take that as a vow, Rosier, and you shall be punished if the mission does not succeed,” the Lord warned, his tone almost inciting him to see the various terrible endings for Death Eaters who had failed him once. Some had been cut into a thousand pieces and exploded to the ends of the earth, others driven into the portal which led to where the Lord’s Basilisk slept, and so on. He shivered as he recalled the states of death the families of the punished had found them in, then belatedly remembered he was not to show fear in the presence of the Lord, only blind obedience. Then he spoke again, his chilling voice sending more trembles down his spine. “This is a dangerous mission.”

“I will accomplish it, m’lord. I have no fear in your service,” Evan said calmly, even though foreshadowing was ramming itself against his skull. The Lord laughed, the sounds echoing around the dark dungeon that Evan only now realized he was in. He could almost hear the hissing sounds that the Basilisk made. This was the Lord’s secret meeting room – the Chamber of Secrets, hidden deep inside Hogwarts. For a moment he thought he heard a scream, but decided it was just imagination.

“You will join the Rebellion, and seek out the Phoenix,” the Lord commanded, the cold emitting from his body only serving to make Evan drip cold sweat. No one could face the Lord and be truly unafraid. “Even now, James Potter is unconsciously looking for the Phoenix. He can feel the characters and thoughts of people…It is a very useful gift.” Evan gulped. So that was why James had been promoted so swiftly – his ability to tell people’s feelings and characters had always astonished him and Cleantra. James was very strongly empathic, but there was no name for the gift that allowed him to feel people’s auras. Still, he did not know who, or what was meant by the Phoenix.

“M’lord,” he began hesitantly, trying to hide his apprehension. What if he was displeased? He tried not to think of the consequences. “What is the Phoenix?”

“The Phoenix was predicted to have been born in this century, and he or she hides a rare gift that will aid me in my ruling,” the Lord replied coldly. “You will know her when you find her. Now be gone.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Evan bowed and Disapparated to his home, preparing to find a Rebellion stronghold as soon as possible. Remus would know – he was one of the best intelligence agents in the Werewolf Squad, and some said, the possible successor to aging Reylon. He had been part of their gang at Hogwarts – together with James, Cleantra, and Sev- He tried not to think of that name. Snape was a traitor. He did not deserve to be saved.

Yet he would soon meet him, if he was truly a member of the Rebellion. Evan sat down heavily, gripping his head in his hands. The disappointment they had all felt when Severus had been sentenced was still strong in his heart. It had felt terrible, the betrayal of one of his best friends – and now to know that he would be around…

It was a mission. Purely professional, Evan decided. He called his owl in with a whistle and began to draft a letter to Remus, who was probably working his pelt off as usual. Commanders, even though they were part of the higher level officers in the squad, were still given normal missions only that some were much more dangerous. There was no class system in the Werewolf Squad – they thrived on equality; the only authority figure was the Squad Leader – Reylon. He was rarely obeyed, and would likely be ousted soon. Old and sickly, he was no longer even fit to hunt. Remus was wildly popular, Evan recalled. The last time he had visited the headquarters and asked for Commander Lupin, more than fifty werewolf women were swarming around him, asking him how Lupin was like, was he good in the – he stopped his thoughts, trying to keep them away from things as disturbing as that. The letter was being repeatedly smudged and he creased it into a ball, his irritation taking his mind over.

Seeing Severus. Seeing the traitor. He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Remus would probably do that with a few well-chosen words and a cup of hot chocolate, he thought. He would look him up personally. But first, he would write a letter to James and inquire about that Muggle girl he picked up.

*

Nothing. Padfoot growled in a frustrated tone. There was no use being the Potters’ family dog and being subjected to patting from the atrocious elder Potters and not being able to collect any valuable information. He had dug out three bones; carried seven copies of the Daily Prophet back to the house, chased after three dog toys, and still had not gotten anything useful. He had had to resist transforming for the past few hours just to do something else other than act like a dog. Perhaps he could visit the kitchens for some food – the Potters had given him authority to go to the kitchen for as much food as he liked. He padded quietly towards the colossal room that had been stretched by magic at the back of the house. He eased back slightly as he realized there were a few house elves there.

And they were talking. Padfoot sniffed around slightly and listened intently to the conversation, hoping to glean some information from it. It was already suspicious enough that they could speak, knowing that Geraldine Potter ‘treated’ every elf in the house. But they said that elves had powerful magic – perhaps they undid it themselves?

“Remmy, you is a silly elf!” there were two male elves and one female, and the female was screeching angrily at one of them – the one clad in dragging bedclothes with dirt all over and bright apologetic blue eyes. Their faces were notably stained with kitchen grease and some grime here and there, the only thing standing out being their sparkling, over-large eyes. “Mistress says we cannot take off the Silencing Charm!”

“This is important, Fanny! Very important it is!” Remmy, the one with blue eyes, whined, throwing his hands up in the air helplessly.

“How important?” Fanny squeaked, leaning in closer to hear his answer. “Reverse the spell later!”

“The girl Young Master brings home! She is magical!” Remmy whispered cautiously, looking around to check for any eavesdroppers. “She is a witch!”

“Witch? But she is Muggle-born! You is lying!” Fanny shrieked, then lowered her volume quickly. The third elf only looked helpless between the two arguing elves, wondering what he could do.

“She feels like fire! Very hot! She is a witch!” Remmy persisted, glaring at Fanny. Padfoot rested on his haunches. Every wizard and witch emitted a certain magical aura, and those particularly sensitive to it were magical creatures such as unicorns, centaurs and most importantly, house elves. Lily Evans had a aura they described as hot. Only the most powerful had fire-like auras – he would have to find a way to check if she had emitted the aura – or had it been James?

“Show me!” Fanny demanded angrily, perching her hands on her hips.

“Master brings the girl back to her home! The girl is gone!” Padfoot barked happily, dispersing the house elves immediately. Lily was back at the orphanage, where Severus had ways to pass her anything. He looked like and was an orphan anyway, so he could easily fit in.

Somehow, he knew that Lily played a powerful part in the future – whether it was Voldemort’s regime or Dumbledore’s government. He could feel it. Animal instincts were hardly ever wrong. At least in his case. He began digging in the ground for the device McGonagall had invented to transport spoken messages in what the Muggles called a tape recorder.

*

Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in Harry Potter and all others belong to the great J.K. Rowling, creator of the universe we like to mess around in.

Author’s Note: Peter appears soon. I don’t like him, and that’s why I don’t plan to give him a large role…Pivotal, yes, large, no. *grin*

BROKEN MIRROR

Or The World That Never Was

Chapter Four: The Clouded Perceptions of New Circumstances

The dull grey walls of the orphanage flashed past Lily in her panicked run, but she took no heed. The fabric of her dress flowed around her, reminding her endless of her new status. A strange feeling was choking her throat, but she did not know what it was. It lodged a lump in her mouth and a heavy weight in her stomach. She smiled as she remembered the charade Ja - Potter had put up for Pettigrew. She could almost imagine that shock on her face once again. It was a nice memory.

She could not help thinking that Potter himself was a nice memory too. She wondered if he would return to visit her. He had said that he would see her, but he had not specified when. She found herself wanting to see his smile if only to find somewhere where she did not feel out of place again. Right now, she was caught between two worlds, the one of the Death Eaters and Voldemort’s unchallenged rule, and the other of anger and pain and fear and Muggle inferiority as they declared so.

What was she now? Where would she belong?

Somehow she knew that being with Potter gave her a strange sort of bliss. Other times, she was happy only when the unkempt boy visited and encouraged her never to feel inferior, that she was just as special as anyone out there. He was perhaps one of the only friends she had in the orphanage. Petunia hated her. They were sisters, but Petunia seemed to look down on her immensely. Perhaps it was because she could not do magic. Petunia would have made an excellent Death Eater if only she was a pureblood, she thought. She hated and raged with the furies of hell. And yet the irony was that the purebloods; the Death Eaters had brought her to this state. She hated because of them.

An unwelcome leg in her path tripped her and sent her crashing to the ground, the nasty laughter trailing in her wake as she tried to pick herself up from the ground, the scrape on her knee reminding her of the elf’s rough treatment the previous night before. She turned her head, expecting round, repulsive Pettigrew.

She was faced with the disgusting sight of overweight, round Pettigrew who possessed the gift of a dirty gab. His hair was a colourless blonde, lying around his head in stringy clumps. His pale face was covered with pimples and his plump figure only served to enhance the lecherous impression he had on others. None of the girls liked him, for he had the bad habit of pinching a girl’s behind and no one wanted that.

She also happened to be one of his favourite victims.

"Lil," he grinned lecherously. The look on his face made Lily feel nauseous, but she kept the feeling suppressed with much difficulty. If there was one reason she did not want to stay at the orphanage, it would be the existence of Peter Pettigrew.

"Get away from me," she gritted her teeth, backing up against the wall as she hoped to get to her little cramped hovel of a room in time. The soothing feeling of her new dress was dissipated slowly with the cold sweat that fear induced. She knew a girl who had committed suicide after being locked into a room with Peter. The death had been grotesque, and those who had read the note she left behind had found ways and means to escape.

They died in the end, for no one escaped the Lord.

"You should always listen to the lady," an anonymous voice said sternly from an unseen perch. Lily spun around. The voice seemed to have come from her back. She had forgotten that the orphanage had a tendency to echo messages and voices, and quickly returned to her former position. What was that spell that Petunia had been mouthing to disarm someone? It was somehow linked to the word expel…She bit her lip nervously. Pettigrew seemed unafraid of the voice and continued advancing.

He was coming, and she had no way to escape.

"Expelliarmus!" she yelled suddenly, raising a hand, her palm facing Pettigrew. She had merely meant it as a threat to scare him off, and perhaps escape in the meantime, but she had not expected it to take effect.

Pettigrew was smashed against the end of the hallway, looking dazed as he was flung through the air at great speed. She gasped, staring at her right hand. It was still tingling slightly with some sort of electric feeling. It felt…amazing. Had she done magic? Pettigrew now stared at her with a shocked expression, disbelieving what she had just done. Lily gulped. If he reported it to the Death Eaters, then she would be burned just like her mother had been.

The fire devouring her even as she screamed, the hot fiery flames scalding and destroying her clouds of hair

She knew she hadn’t been there when it happened. But she had felt it. She had felt each and every jolt of pain her mother had felt, together with her father’s execution by a simple Killing Curse. It had felt like a void of life, cold and unfeeling. It had felt unnatural. The fire had been worse, for she knew each and every sensation that had to do with anything hot. It had devoured her home like a greedy child feasting on sweets, and then it had taken her beloved mother.

That was why she hated fire with a passion that rivalled its dancing flames.

The startled boy still sat on the other side of the hallway, staring at her in shock as the bump on his head began forming. He shook his head in disbelief, and she felt the cold creep of fear up her spine, even as she tried to resist it. Even James can’t help me now, she thought.

She would face it as her mother would have counselled her to do. It was her own doings, and she would take responsibility. If she had to die, then she would gladly accept death if it had been her fault. Everyone had to die anyway, even the Lord himself. She whispered the words of the Memory Charm under her breath, hoping that he would perhaps forget. The thin strand of hope that the charm would work still remained.

She looked up, jaw locked together with fear. Pettigrew stared blankly at her from the other side of the corridor. Then his eyes cleared of any confusion and he leered at her once again. The fear returned to her senses and she was aware of a drop of sweat travelling down her cheek.

"Now, now, dear girl, you won’t want to offend me, would you…And I can see the reason you lured me here," he taunted, walking closer to Lily and the stink of him getting more pungent as he neared. Lily gulped. Did he remember? There was no hint in his words. And she had in some way lured him here.

"You chased me here," she managed to say, backing up against the wall.

"Ah, pretty dear…" he stopped in the middle of his sentence as he fingered the fabric of her dress, shock and some fear in his eyes.

"You…you’re…" he stammered, gaping widely at her. Lily only looked bewildered. Did he or did he not remember?

"You’re a mistress," he added. The next moment, he was edging away from her, almost silently begging her not to tell her Death Eater master that he had dared take liberties with a woman belonging to one of the more powerful. He had forgotten, Lily knew. He had. That was good.

A mistress was one of the untouchables. A pariah, outcast, for all the finery she got and all the ‘love’ showered upon her by her Death Eater master for the duration that she entertained him for. Then, when he got sick of her, he would get rid of her, preferably in some brothel or another for someone else to enjoy. It was the custom. She had a feeling that Potter would not do that. He seemed too honourable.

Looks were deceiving, though. No matter how nice or wonderful a Death Eater seemed, he was ultimately what he was - a cruel man who would kill for his master any amount of Muggles or half-bloods or anyone else. He was never a man to be trusted. She pushed down the sense of loss even as she vowed never to trust James Potter for anything.

Never.

*

The headquarters of the famous (or, rather, infamous) Rebellion, or the Order of the Phoenix, as they called themselves, was nondescript and austere, just as she had expected them to be. The people were anything but simple, though. The Order of the Phoenix was filled with people of intelligence and great wizardry who had been forced into hiding by their blood, birth or supposed crimes.

"You’ll get used to here soon, ‘tunia," Severus said reassuringly beside her. She still thought his name strange, but he had explained his father’s obsession with Latin. Severus Snape. It was perfectly mystical and…fitting. It sounded surreal and a part of the magical world she was only beginning to learn about. It had shocked her when Severus had suddenly appeared in her room, an urgent look on his face. He had grabbed her hand and immediately taken her out of the room, then taking her towards a small patch of dirt with a trapdoor beneath. The boy who had helped teach them magic was an outlaw. She had known that from the start, for no Muggle-borns were allowed to learn magic. He nodded solemnly to some people he obviously knew, and picked up a vial of clear liquid as he walked along towards a tent in the centre of the room.

It had to be Albus Dumbledore’s makeshift office, she thought. The famous white-bearded wizard who had stood against the Dark Lord for them would forever be a hero in her eyes, just as he was to so many other Muggles even though he had failed. He gave them hope, and that was enough to help many survive the hard days under the cruel harsh regime of the Death Eaters. She was faced with a man with long white hair that seemed to belie the fact that he was residing in hell, his grey robes contrasting greatly.

"Hello," he greeted cheerfully, showing her to a seat on a carpet in the corner of the tent. Severus grinned at Petunia’s surprise, shaking his head in slight gloating as she plopped down, the shock still in her eyes. "Lovely to see you here at last, Miss Evans."

"Albus Dumbledore," she whispered. He was just as the rest of the refugees had described (at least, those who had known him) - the same warm happy eccentric person who had once headed a school.

"Yes, that’s his name, be shocked, be surprised, end of story," Severus muttered hastily, drawing circles in the somewhat threadbare carpet beneath them. Albus chuckled in his own somewhat undignified position in front of them even as Petunia glanced at him in shock.

"Oh, Severus is grumpy most of the time. You’ll have to excuse his manners," Albus said regally even though he was dressed in grey robes and sitting cross-legged on a dirty carpet. The air of the great wizard hung around him, and Petunia could not help but feel awe. He leaned in suddenly. "And of course, an Image-Boosting Charm to frighten others into confessing things about the Death Eaters never hurts anyone," he whispered in a conspiratorial way, making her giggle. So that was his secret.

Sitting in the strangely austere environment, among others bustling around waving their wands and uttering incantations, she felt as though she was home among her own people.

That’s something you can’t beat me in, Lily, she thought somewhat spitefully. You can be prettier and nicer and more well-liked and popular, but you’ll never have magic like I do.

Albus caught her thoughts and his expression turned into one of forlorn. Petunia did not notice his expression, however - she was focused instead on the vial of clear liquid that Severus held in his left hand and was handing to her.

"Veritaserum," he explained. "Drink it, and we will test your loyalty."

*

"Remus!" Evan knocked on the door of his friend’s steel cage of a hostel room, hoping the ringing noises made by his stinging palm would be loud enough to wake him. Remus had always been a deep sleeper - after all, he needed his strength when he ran wild on the nights of the full moon. "Remus, wake up!"

The door swung open, and a tired Remus greeted him, dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in simple, ragged pajamas that looked as though they had been worn many times before, the same toned-down look which little of the werewolves had. Having been deprived of all basic necessities and jobs before the Revolution (the time their Lord had taken over the world), they cherished what they had now - power, prestige and wealth. Remus was one of the rare ones who still lived simply.

"What brings you here so late in the night?" he yawned, leaning on the door as he rubbed his eyes, staring at his friend.

"I’ve got a new mission and…I need your help," Evan requested, looking at his friend, who almost instantly became awake, his eyes wide and alert as though he was preparing for the hunt on full moon night.

"It’s got to be something important if you’re asking me," Remus’ eyes were abruptly piercing and penetrating, and Evan felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He retreated and ducked slightly. Remus, nice as he could be, was ultimately a ferocious werewolf. He could erupt at any time. He had experienced it a few rare times in the past when they had been at school.

"I know you’ve got connections…ways to get to the Rebellion," Evan whispered quietly, careful not to let anyone hear him. It would be terrible if anyone heard him before his mission had even begun and reported him. "I…I’ve…"

"You’ve what?" Remus asked curiously, and Evan was surprised to note the new energy in his eyes - as though he knew a lot more than just the little bit that a normal Death Eater or member of the Werewolf Squad did about the Rebellion or how to get to them. Not just how to get to them, but how they worked, how everything functioned…

"I’ve been thinking, and…I…It’s been getting harder for me to do anything," Evan said quietly, bowing his head. He had to make it seem real. If Remus was really a part of the Rebellion, he had to be careful to fool him too. And then he would report his friend, because no one betrayed the Lord. "I just feel…it’s…it’s…"

"Cruel?" Remus finished for him, and he nodded silently, trying not to sneak a peek at him.

"I want to…join the fight against the Death Eaters," he said quietly. "I want to be a spy for them. I know you have ways of getting to them - you’re the best espionage agent in the Werewolf Squad." He finally raised his head, wishing fervently that he would see that Remus was convinced. Remus’s eyes seemed to have taken on a sad quality, and the amber in his eyes had slowly morphed to a more common brown.

"Come with me," Remus whispered and he acceded. "I’ll take you there."

*

"I have news from both Molly and Sirius," Dumbledore said gravely as he sat down on the worn carpet after Petunia had left. She had aced the test which they posted to all new volunteers, and had already been assigned to a group of witches who were experimenting with new charms - it would be good for her, especially since she still needed to polish up her charms and other skills in witchcraft. However, Dumbledore’s statement immediately caught Severus’s attention.

"Molly’s news must be very urgent," Severus commented. "She only sends owls when she has to. What is it, Albus?"

"Her editor has ordered her to find a way into the Ministry and plunge it into scandal, enabling Tom to close it down and execute as many members as possible," Dumbledore sighed. "And you know most of our loyalists work in the Ministry."

"What can we do?" Severus asked, plopping down in front of the older man.

"Molly suggests closing the Ministry down and bringing what members of the Ministry there is underground to join up with us," Dumbledore replied. "I am afraid it seems to be the only way."

"A large-scale assault would kill many of us, Albus. We number only in the hundreds. If we attempt to save them from the execution, they will pounce on us, hitting two birds with one stone," Severus replied, his black eyes blazing. "We cannot do so."

"For now, we must let the Death Eaters believe we are doing so until a new plan comes up. I will send this matter to Intelligence and request battle plans," Albus said. "Now, to Sirius."

"What has he found?" Severus asked impatiently. "A potion of mine is simmering, and I must return. It is crucial to our survival."

"The house elves in the Potter home, apparently, have detected an abnormality in Lily Evans’ magical aura. They have found it warm and like that of a witch’s," Albus commented. "It is very strange."

"I agree. If she is a witch, why has she exhibited no signs of being one? She cannot perform charms when holding a wand - I have watched her trying," Severus pondered. "There’s something strange about all this."

"Albus! We have visitors," Arabella called from outside.

"Bring him in," Dumbledore replied. Severus looked as though he was about to get up and leave, but was stopped by Dumbledore, who signalled for him to sit down on the carpet. "This visitor may be of great importance to us." Seconds later, they were faced with a tired-looking Remus Lupin, with a familiar someone behind.

Evan Rosier, Severus thought with some shock. Remus had led the wolf into their hiding place. He knew how gullible the werewolf could be at times, as he was too inclined to believe in the innocence of someone. Evan Rosier was utterly loyal to the Dark Lord, he knew. He could not have agreed to come to the Rebellion. His old friend from years ago looked as shocked as he was as he stared at him.

"Evan came in the middle of the night and requested that I bring him here," Remus replied. "I know this may come as a surprise, but…"

"Remus, you know his loyalties," Severus said harshly, glaring at his former friend with contempt burning in his dark eyes. He had never truly forgiven his friends for having joined that...abomination of a being. "He will betray us, I assure you. Now, let's Obliviate him and be rid of this matter."

"Severus, I believe Voldemort has many ways to break through a Memory Charm, especially one on a person linked by the bond of master and servant to him," Dumbledore explained patiently. "And people change. Were you not almost a Death Eater?"

"The difference lies in that word, Albus. 'Almost' is different from 'Already is'," Severus seethed, his fingers clenching into fists. "Mark my words. He will betray us."

"We should welcome a new spy of ours, Severus," Albus said quietly as he proffered a hand to Rosier, who seemed to look less terrified now, his features settling back into the cool calm Severus remembered from his school days when he would get into fights with James, and Rosier would negotiate his way out of it.

Reluctantly, he offered his hand too. But I'll catch you red-handed somehow, Evan, he thought. You won't destroy us under the command of your master.

*

The nearly-dilapidated building in front of her, made of chipped-off marble stained yellow with dust and age, held a silent appeal for her. As bad as it looked, it was still the headquarters of the last remaining part of the former government, and she had to pay some respect to it.

Even if she was here to destroy it. She sighed, closing her eyes and wondering how she was going to get out of the mess she had put herself into. Her hot-headedness had made her scream at the editor many times before, and she was known to have never gone back on a promise. She would destroy the Ministry, but there was practically no way to save them. It seemed so hopeless, she bit her lip, watching the sky above.

"I'm really sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to..." she was suddenly and violently bumped into by an unknown someone carrying an enormous stack of books and files. They fell to the ground in a tangle of files and books, parchment flying everywhere as she tried to pick herself up. She pushed aside a bright red folio from her side and stood up, brushing off the yellow skirt she had bought to make her seem like the silly clerk she was supposed to be.

"It's okay," she said brusquely, resisting the urge to give the insufferable man a glare. He was picking up the files one by one, and by the look of them, there were at least fifty-seven...All scattered on the ground.

Don't help him. They'll find out you're a spy.

She knelt down and started picking up dusty parchment, which she found were the accounts of the Ministry for the past few decades or so. The man beside her was crowned with a lustrous head of carrot-red hair, his face dotted with freckles that covered his nose and cheeks. He was lanky and tall, his eyes a light blue that reminded her of the sky that she had just been observing a few minutes ago.

"Thanks," he grinned sheepishly at her as they finally picked up all of the files that had been scattered and returned all the parchment to their rightful places. "It's just me. I'm always terribly clumsy."

"With that pile of stuff, I'm not surprised you knocked into someone," Molly said with a sardonic uplift of the eyebrow. They both burst into laughter, and she suddenly found his smile very boosting to the spirit.

"We've got no choice, really...No one comes here, and we're short of workers," he admitted, cocking his head to one side in imitation of a shrug. He shook his head with some sadness. "I've been stuck here for a long time because the Lord found a little impurity in my blood."

"Impurity? But the Lord..." she said in an indignant tone, surprised by what she had heard.

"Well...I'm basically broke. My cousin is a Squib, and he's an accountant...was, actually," he said, the cheerful look on his face becoming one of dole and unhappiness. "He joined the Rebellion, and I was expelled from Hogwarts."

"They thought you were part of the Rebellion?" Molly asked, her attention fixated on the man talking to her. She had perked up immediately ever since she had heard the word 'Rebellion'. The man nodded quietly. She realised her odd interest in his Rebellion connections was terribly suspicious, especially from a graduate of Hogwarts – the indoctrination centre. She put on a poise of disdainful disgust, and left, throwing the files on the ground as gently as she could. She would talk to him later, try to find out more.

It could be useful. Besides, he was cute.

*

"Padfoot’s been unusually bad today," Geraldine commented as James Apparated into the kitchen of the Potter house. James pulled off his travelling cloak, wondering what she meant by that sentence. Padfoot, though enormous, had always been quite well-behaved. He never dug up holes in their flowerbeds, only near them, and barked loudly only at five in the morning, when he needed to wake up to arrange his paperwork.

"What do you mean, Mom?" James asked, eager to know what kind of mischief Padfoot had been up to in the day he had been gone – which was quite long indeed considering he hardly ever returned home at nearly midnight. But then again, he had visited Lily at the orphanage after work, and talked (tried to, at least) for quite a long while. She seemed suddenly reluctant to speak to him, and he had spent plenty of time trying to coax words out of her.

"That Grim replica was stomping on the flowers, and getting his feet pricked by the thorns in them!" Quentin explained, not without a trace of anger in his tone. His beloved cross-bred flowers were designed to prick and poison anyone who tried to trespass. It was no wonder his father was angry, James grinned inwardly.

"It’s all right, Dad, you’ll get them back up in a few days! How’s Padfoot?" he replied cheerfully.

"I won’t get them back. The dog poisoned them by doing his business over what was left! I’ll have to spend another year breeding them! He deserves to be half-dead, really…" Quentin said mournfully. He plopped down heavily in a nearby chair, rubbing his temples as though he was being plagued by a headache.

"Padfoot’s half-dead?" James gaped. Geraldine shrugged, making James feel as though he was in the role of the parent and Geraldine the child instead of the other way around.

"Bloody dog deserved it," grunted Quentin. For some reason, James felt panic rise up in his heart. Padfoot was probably the only living thing around him who did not go on and on about serving the Dark Lord and how best to all the time, and he treasured having a normal topic to talk about, even if it was one-sided. His legs began to move, and he started striding towards where he knew Padfoot would be lying – somewhere in the garden, most likely near the warm, comfortable room where the house elves cooked and slept. The kitchen in the house was for special occasions, when his mother deigned to actually burn something to a crisp.

Once out of side, he broke into a run, listening for the panting sounds that he knew that the poison in the flowers caused. Any touch guaranteed slow, painful death – there had to be enough time for the Potters to send for the squad that was on duty at the time, and report to others that their houses were not safe from Rebellion penetrators. He had brought Padfoot in, and he was immune to the poison, but if he had gone to the flowerbeds without him…He had probably ten minutes left before the poison acted.

He began to sprint faster.

*

Sirius clenched his teeth. He had already transformed back into his human form, but the pain was too much to bear. Apparently those flowers had contained some sort of poison that the rest of the family were immune to, and he had made a mistake by trying to destroy them. He gripped the grass around him, trying to find a hold. Dumbledore had planted a Portkey somewhere here, and he still had time to get to it…

He saw an innocuous boot in the corner, unnoticed by anything else. It was battered but bore a tiny mark of a phoenix on the heel. He crawled towards it, feeling his muscles clench in pain and his bones scream. It hurt like hell, but he had to get to his last means of communication. With the last of his strength, he touched it.

But there was no jerk behind his navel, no escape for him from this hell of a place. Instead, a surprised and irritated Snape appeared before him on the grass, kneeling down quickly as he saw the state he was in.

"What did you do again, Black?" he snarled as he rolled Sirius over onto his back, pulling out vials of potions that Sirius could barely recognise. He panted, feeling his body grow colder and the pain rush through him.

"Flowers…surrounding house…" he stammered between shallow breaths, feeling Death coming closer to him as the pain intensified. "Stomped on them and destroyed them…to weaken defences…" Snape gaped at him in surprise, obviously shocked by the audacity of the deed.

"The last thing you should do in a Death Eater’s home is to touch anything that looks remotely like protective devices!" Snape hissed angrily. "Believe me, there was plenty of Devil’s Snare hidden around my home when I still lived there!"

"That’s precisely why I wanted to destroy some," Sirius said as Snape forced a potion of some kind down his throat. It made him feel much better, for the pain eased and the cold suddenly retreated. Still, he could not fight the feeling that his end was about to come.

"Padfoot!"

"James!" Sirius warned, motioning for Snape to return to Headquarters as soon as possible despite the state of his hands and legs, which were still bleeding from the assault of the thorns on the flowers. Snape swooped over like a bat, but not before stuffing a vial of potion in one of the holes Sirius had dug a day ago.

"Use it when you need it – it’s truth potion – strongest kind," he whispered quickly before touching his own Portkey (a piece of cork) and disappearing in the blink of the eye. Sirius clutched his stomach and swiftly transformed just in the nick of time, as James sprinted toward him, still dressed in his official Death Eater robes.

"Padfoot!" James managed to get out. Sirius whined and rolled on the ground, trying to clutch his belly but failing miserably. James pulled out something from one of his pockets, and prised open Sirius’s mouth. He tried to resist, but the icy liquid dripped into his mouth before he could even move. Suddenly the poison retreated and he felt himself return to normal. He pushed himself up, still feeling weak, and licked James’s face (which was pretty disgusting, considering he still had the grime of the day on him). "Glad you’re alive," James grinned, patting him on the head as he nuzzled Padfoot.

He left the vial carelessly on the floor, not noticing that there was one last drop of the liquid in it – nor the fact that Padfoot had purposefully pushed it towards the boot, which was his line of communication to the Rebellion.

*

Disclaimer: All characters mentioned in this story belong to JKR, great owner of the Harry Potter universe. No money is being made from this.