Deleted Stories: About three times a week I was having dipshits harassing me with the misguided assumption that it would encourage me to finish a story. And frankly, I've never had to update my blocklist that often due to borderline death threats.

Just Google JacobApples everything is back up. Please forgive the formatting, the threats did stop after I deleted the stories, enough so that I'm somewhat concerned about continuing to post on this story. I love critiques but I'm not always healthy enough to deal with true harassment gracefully.


Updates: Laughing All the Way to London will be slow, as in when I'm really feeling it. I have an ending that I could post literally next chapter if I had to but I kinda want to refocus the plot on James and Lily, giving Harry, Narcissa, and Teddy their happy beginning and move back to that in school drama we all love which would really give me time to expand on the Blacks, giving both Sirius and Regulus their due while showing you what Voldemort has been up to at Hogwarts in this pre-Voldy/post-Grindel era.


Star Wars: Fun Fact about me, because of my Dyslexia, I saw the Star Wars movies before I could read, and hence I've been a Star Wars fan much longer than I was introduced to the potterverse. And I found the world much more stimulating. I hope to show off in this chapter how my writing has grown :D

Chapter 26 - Through the Looking Glass

Harry and Narcissa have been having weird dreams about mirrors, murder, and the Morrigan. Teddy has four parents, Ted Tonks is confused by the magical genetic charts. Andromeda is pleased as punch to have her sisters back, have her father, Cygnus welcoming her and her family home. Bellatrix and Kingsley Shacklebolt are married (Andromeda was his best man) and Harry performed outrageous feats of elemental magic when Voldemort tried to crash the party. James and Lily had visions of Henry Peverell's parents being murdered by Voldemort.

They woke up from these visions coughing pixie dust. The Goblins, the Centaurs, the Merpeople are up to some shit. In Henry Peverell's burned down house, he found an old artefact shaped like an elegant multi-pointed star in a broken mirror. The symbol shows up in old texts, and Harry and Narcissa are looking into it with its relation to the Lost City of Atlantis.

Harry is determined to uncover whatever it was that Naomi did (his deceased wife, Chapter 13 Borrowed Time) purely to spite Voldemort because he's out for revenge, both because Harry's jaded and secure in the knowledge that if he ever came face to face with Voldemort, he could crush him.

Voldemort has figured this out too, and just as with Dumbledore, Voldemort is at his most dangerous when he's on the run.

And this Tom Riddle has his original body and is at the height of his power.

-Recap


Ignotus Peverell was not an overly tall man, Harry noted as he stood before the man in an empty Gringotts vault.

Harry crossed his arms and waited.

Ignotus smiled at him, his hazel eyes the same hue as James Potter's.

When he spoke, it wasn't so much a voice that he heard, but words that formed in his mind, thought aloud in his own vocal tones, although it was Ignotus and not Harry who spoke.

"When the time comes, there will be a man born in two worlds, parents born of dust, killed by the one who seeks to destroy what had just begun. My dear descendant, forgive me, we needed a Chosen One."

Harry bared his teeth at the man, "I never wanted to be anyone's Chosen One."

But Ignotus was already gone in a swirl of pixie dust.

Harry made to shield himself as the sparkling dust formed a vortex around him. "Teddy!" he called, but Teddy wasn't here.

Just the dust.

Images began to reflect off the sparkles like pixels on the telly, only the dust formed shapes as well, creating a three-D reenact as Firenze's voice filled the space.

"There was nothing, then from the dust, there was something."

Two figures images from the vortex, faceless and nameless, their silhouettes raising the hairs on Harry's arm.

And then distinct figures arose, their features painfully familiar and unwelcome even if they were younger than the last time Harry Peverell had seen them.

Mrs. Dursley, Harry's Aunt that made Aunt Petunia seem like a true saint, glowered at the world with scorn and loathing. Was it any wonder she had spawned two such undesirable children as Marge and Vernon Dursley?

"She was no one special, had her life run its normal course, her life would have remained most ordinary. She had no sister, until she did."

Mrs. Dursley's image broke apart into the dust around him. And one of the silhouettes that had appeared from the dust morphed into a beautiful child. She sprinted around Harry in the vortex, her every leap met with a shower of her glittering dust.

"A free soul, a strange child," Firenze's voice spoke from the rippling pixie dust, the girl danced to the sound of his lilting voice. "Here and gone, falling in love with the wind."

The child became a woman of scarlet hair and emerald eyes, reaching out her hand to the other silhouette.

"From the wind she loved, was born a man."

Harry noticed his hazel eyes first as the smiling visage of an older James Potter, Mr. Peverell emerged from the dust, catching the woman's hand as they spun away in a dance.

"They were hardly flesh," the presentless Centaur narrated, as Harry's mother laughed in a gale, "they were magic so wild, so pure it was if they were not but rays of the sunlight, present but unsolidified."

Harry's heart ached for them. They were not Lily and James, not truly, they were magic fashioned after them. Yet still, they had lived, had breathed, had become a part of reality.

A part of Harry's reality.

"Until they bore a child," Firenze said, "A son, they named Henry Peverell, Harry. Unlike his parents, he was flesh and bone, though his soul was shared with a boy born to a world that would never be."

Harry saw flashes of his other life, flashes of light with the dust, like lightning in a thundercloud. James and Lily Potter fending off Voldemort, himself small and underfed, drawing a picture by the light of a bare bulb that illuminated his room cupboard under the stairs. He saw his first time flying a broom, he saw Sirius laughing as he fell back into the veil, he saw himself walking to his own death, and then he saw himself holding Teddy in his arms for the first time.

His son.

Those flashing images were blown away as Firenze continued, "The Man of Memory, the Woman of Fairydust, and the Boy With Half a Soul, were happy.

"For a time."

Harry wanted to look away to shut his eyes as the images formed of things he already remembered too vividly.

"Though the family lived a quiet life, they could not go unnoticed forever. There was too much magic within, about them. Their very presence splinters reality.

"The Dark Lord was drawn to them like a moth to flame. He believed them inhuman, immortal, and he tortured them to death looking for what had made them exist."

"He failed to find the Boy With Half a Soul, our Chosen One."

Harry did shut his eyes this time as he heard his mother scream.

"Their bodies were found but never buried, but the boy's kin arrived, he was crying over a pile of sparkling dust. They never spoke of it to him, and they punished him as he grew for his slips of magic. The school never came looking for him when his Aunt declined the offer of attendance on his behalf."

Harry wondered at both his lives being granted such similar miserable fates.

As if hearing his thoughts, Firenze said, "Having only half a soul, the boy grew up empty, never quite finding a place to belong or be at peace. Yet he remained as his Brother Soul became in reality that was losing its tethers to reality, a wizard with a thirst for knowledge and a love for all living things. He fell in love with a woman of secrets and she bore him a son."

His son's soul was split as well, the child's Brother Soul enduring a similar fate, almost indescribable but for the names his father used in his bedtime stories.

"They lived on, loved and grieved until one day their other halves were brought to a room of pixie dust."

"The younger sneezed, their souls were thrown back to their rightful places, and severing the tethers to that reality which would never be again."

Harry stared at the images forming in the dust.

A father and son.

A Godfather and Godson.

Four brother souls.

Bound together in pixie dust, emerging as father and son, complete for the first time in their lives despite the horrors they had both endured.

Firenze appeared before, "Harry Peverell."

Harry met his gaze, "What is it you want from me?"

The silver and bay Centaur reared, "To finish what your wife started."

"What is tha-" he went to ask.

Only to be startled awake.

He blinked against the early morning light, twisting his fingers, his gold-rimmed glasses righting themselves on his face.

He smiled at the sight around him. They were in a guest room in the Evans House. They were in a twin size bed, the other twin, separated by an end table, lay untouched.

Narcissa seemed ethereal in the morning light, her skin glowing, her hair spun silver and gold, Teddy was curled up against her chest, his head resting beneath her chin.

Typically, Teddy's natural was to be a mini Harry, but this morning his hair was the same brilliant blonde as Narcissa.

Both his son and his wife were in the circle of his arms, their warmth filling him even if they had stolen the covers, nothing but the sheet covering his back.

Narcissa stirred awake, blinking into the sunlight, she lifted her hand from her waist to play a hand over his shoulder-length hair.

"Good morning," she said softly, Teddy for once was neither the first one up nor did he stir from the soft sounds they were making.

The small hearing dampeners that wrapped around his ear having done wonders to the boy's all-around health.

Harry stared at her, realizing again, as he did each morning, how supremely lucky he was.

He bent forward to her forehead, as he said, "I love you, Narcissa, with all my heart and all my soul."

Harry had somewhere along his life lost his faith that he would ever have a full and complete life. His luck was just always so practicably horrid, and nothing had ever truly made him feel whole and secure.

But hope was born from the realization that his soul had been living a split reality.

Narcissa leaned forward and caught his lips.

Love bloomed in his chest, and he let go of the doom, of the jadedness he had been holding onto for protection.

He wanted to live and be happy, not just for Teddy but for himself as well.


James decided that morning when his parents arrived to have breakfast at the Evan's that he wanted Harry to tell his parents the whole truth too.

So it was while everyone was sipping their tea after eating the leftover cake from the ruin of a wedding from the day before, that Harry began his story.

By the end of it, everyone's tea was cold.

Mr. Evans rubbed his jaw, "So we are family?"

Harry nodded, "My grandparents, I never had the honour meeting you in the other reality."

James's mother was staring at him, "I'm a grandmother?" She twisted in her seat to look into the living room where Narcissa had brought Teddy to play while the 'grownups talked.' James' mother's eyes were too big, "I'm a great-grandma?"

James was pretty sure his mother was going to go into hysterics, but then Lily's mother squealed, "This is going to be wonderful! I always wanted a big family!"

And sure enough, that's how Mrs. Euphemia Potter felt as well, as she enthused, "We can host Yule. I've been dying to host a family event."

Mrs. Evans reached over to ruffle Harry's hair that he had left out of a low ponytail for once, "Oh, I always wanted a son, and now I have you and Teddy."

"Mom!" Petunia explained, "This is insane! You can't honestly believe this-"

"How is this any stranger than your sister being a witch?" Mr. Evans said with a closed-lip smiled.

Petunia gawked at him and Lily giggled.

Mr. Evans turned to look at James's dad, "Whether or not our Lily marries your son in this reality, we will still consider you family. I have found that desirable in-laws are hard to come by."

"Ugh!" Petunia exclaimed, "It hasn't even been a full twenty-four hours! Can't you let me mourn in peace?"

Mr. Evans gave his eldest daughter a fond yet not entirely sympathetic expression as he said, "After all the family events you made us endure with the Dursleys? No, I'm afraid not."

Petunia glared at her father, "Oh, please, it wasn't as if you were ever nice to them."

Mr. Evans with his Northern accent deadpanned, "I was nice, I didn't pull out my rifle and shot them between the eyes."

Harry shook his head, "I disagree, that would have been nice. You definitely would have gotten a medal from me."

Everyone laughed but Petunia, who sank down in her seat looking mortified.

"So," James started, "No ones confused?"

Because he sure was and he had lived through part of it.

His mother rubbed his back, "I'm afraid, son, this just isn't one of those things that meant to understand, it is meant to be felt. We're family, Harry, Teddy, and Narcissa are family, the rest will sort itself out."

James exchanged a wide-eyed look with Lily.

What the hell kind of school year was this going to be?


Narcissa and Harry had left Teddy with Andromeda and Nym so they could go visit her father.

Narcissa was determined to have a large wedding at her and Harry's new home that was in the midst of remodelling in Hogsmeade.

Because it was to be a more traditional wedding, they needed her father's input. Well, really they should have needed her mother's input but Druella Black was protesting Andromeda and more particularly, Ted Tonks, rejoining the family.

Which led them to a conversation that she in no form was expecting to have with her father, and strangely her Uncle Orion.

"Your mother and I are splitting up," Cygnus said once they were all settled in the foyer of her childhood home. It was a grand estate, but cold.

"A divorce?" she spluttered.

Cygnus shook his head, "Never, I would never stoop to something so barbaric, but I don't have the energy or motivation to set up an accident. So we are simply going to be living in separate homes."

By accident, he meant murder, and sadly Narcissa half wished he did have the motivation.

"She wants the estate, of course, and unless this is to become a public affair, her ability to pull from the Black vault will be stipended. She will be unable to drain us dry and your inheritance will remain untouched."

Narcissa sipped her tea before saying, "Do you plan to move back to Grimmauld Place?"

"No," Uncle Orion said, "I too am splitting with my wife, and I am taking my sons with me. My father, wife, and sister-in-law can eat each other alive for all care."

Narcissa exchanged a brief look with Harry.

Harry had spoken to her about Sirius's plans to run away from home this summer. This was a good thing. While Uncle Orion was a rather passive man, unlikely to be cruel unless truly provoked, it was his neglect, his lack of control over his wife that separated him from having a decent relationship with his sons.

Would their moving out together allow something healthy to grow between them?

She kept her face expressionless as she asked, "Then, do you need my help finding a new estate to purchase?"

This time it was the two older wizards who exchanged looks.

Her suspicions were immediately raised.

"Well," Cygnus began, "In a way, yes."

Never a man of many words, Orion let his brother-in-law speak.

Cygnus sighed, "We wished to ask you if we might move in with you. I understand that your new house is being remodelled, and we would be willing to pay for the construction of an extension on the house."

One hand, her father was being audacious, but on the other hand… she loved her father.

And after seeing him make up with Andromeda…

Narcissa would not willingly turn away having him be closer to her in her adult life. She looked at Harry who was already looking at her.

She had already voiced some of the struggles she had moving out of this home to live first at Hogwarts then into Hogsmeade. Though she was fully ready to start a family of her own and loathed the very idea of having to spend any more time with her dear mother, she still missed her father.

Harry sighed, clearly having read her wish in her eyes. He looked back at Orion and Cygnus, "Alright, but on one condition."

Cygnus raised his brows.

Harry met his gaze without flinching, "We will be very clear on boundaries. This is my home. We are the Peverell Family, which means you will abide by my rules. No Dark Arts performed or objects within the property or practised in front of the children. Including your own."

Cygnus nodded, "Fair enough."

Orion sighed, "I suppose we will be packing light then."

Harry laughed.

Narcissa nor her father nor her uncle joined him.

Orion had not been jesting.


Harry was not at all certain what he had gotten himself into, but he was relieved that Sirius and Regulus would be under his care now.

As good as the Potters no doubt were to him, Harry always got the sense that Sirius was ashamed of having to go to the Potters. He also knew for a fact that the bitterness Sirius had for his family had poisoned him, from his time at Hogwarts, to the war, to prison, to the time he escaped, and then was forced back to live in Grimmauld Place by Dumbledore.

Regulus, who had done the exact opposite, had realized too late what was moral and paid with his life.

This time around, they would not suffer like that. Sirius's Uncle Alphard and Andromeda would be welcomed guests, further grounding Sirius with a community that loved him and would not assume the worst of him because of his name.

Narcissa was helping her father pack clothes and Harry was exploring the house. It reminded him of Malfoy Manor if it had been decorated with the aesthetic touch of Grimmauld Place.

Harry was glad to note that their house would be new, and Narcissa held no nostalgia for this… grim aesthetic.

He found a room that looked like a museum room, the floors were polished and lacquered wood with paintings lining the walls. It was a rather beautiful room considering the light filtering in from the large room and the lack of bulky hideous furniture.

But the centrepiece of the room was to the left, a mirror that was taller than Harry and hung not an inch off the ground.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He was tall and not unhandsome. He looked more like a wizard now than he had ever done before, what with his long hair, yes, entirely inspired by Sirius, and his more scholarly glasses had replaced his round spectacles. It felt good to be taking his life back in leaps and bounds. What he wanted, who he loved, who his family was, those were his choices now.

Something compelled him to bend to run his finger off the bottom of the frame. He hadn't noticed the dust on the frame that was itself angled mirrors. Beneath the dust was revealed a little bronze plaque that read, The Only Way Out is Through.

The door chimed open, and Harry recognized Borgin and Burkes, though the shop was less like the place he had actually stepped foot in and more like the one he had seen in a pensive that Dumbledore collected to better 'understand' Tommy.

Harry almost didn't recognize the woman who walked through the door, until her inquisitive honey-gold eyes met his gaze.

He let a small gasp and reached for her, his fingers meeting cool glass.

"Naomi," he called as she turned her gaze away sweeping into the dreary store like a spring breeze. She was younger, her sandy-blonde hair streaked with golden highlights and twisted into a complicated bun on the back of her head.

She hadn't seen him and couldn't hear him. He realized then that he was on the inside of a frame.

Naomi was glancing over the objects in the store, not an ounce of fear in her posture. So unlike the woman he had come to know who was afraid of the approaching night. Her face was unmarred and she wore a dated witches dress. He knew this only because he knew her figure and the dress she wore now had a corset that squeezed her waist that looked, at least to his eyes, uncomfortable.

But she flitted through the room in her pale blue garb like a lithe cat.

"Can I help you, Miss?" a familiar voice asked.

Harry felt his stomach sink. "No," he whispered, "no, no-"

Naomi turned with a wry smile on her lips to the brown-haired young man with pale skin and evil intent etched into his very being.

"That would depend," his first wife said flirtatiously, "on what you have to offer."

Harry almost gagged.

Tom Marvolo Riddle smiled at her, coming around the counter to give her a regal bow. "For a patron such as yourself?" his eyes looked her up and down, "I have much to offer."

Harry punched the glass, and roared, "You sick bastard! She's half your age!"

But Naomi only laughed invitingly, the bell-tone making his heart twist. She batted her lashes at him, her eyes seeming large on the smooth canvas of her face.

They were so close to Harry, but he could do nothing to warn her, as she reached out a hand to lay on his arm, and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "I'm looking for something."

Voldemort leaned down to whisper in her ear, "There are many things I could show you, little one."

This time when Harry punched the glass it shattered beneath his fist and he fell through.

Naomi turned, startled toward the mirror. Looking straight through Harry as Voldemort asked, "What is it, little Dove?"

She turned back to him, her fingers settling more firmly on Tom's arm, "Hmmm… just my imagination."

Tom's smirk was conceited, and Harry learned that, just like in a pensive, his hands went through smoke as he tried to strangle the vermin.

Harry glanced back at the frame he had fallen through, and sure enough, it was the same he had found hung too high to walk through in Cygnus's home. Despite his shattering the glass on his side, on this side of the mirror, the glass remained unbroken.

The Only Way Out is Through.

Harry turned back to his deceased wife as she asked her murderer, "I'm looking for something, anything, related to Morgana."

Tom pulled back from her, his brown eyes alight with interest, "Morgana? As in Morgan Le Fay, the Morrigan? Merlin's lover?"

Naomi smiled up at him, "The Morrigan was an Irish goddess, isn't it funny how we come to associate her with one of our most glorious witches?"

Tom touched her cheek, "And what is a girl like you looking for a witch who usurped a goddess?"

Much to Harry's relief, Naomi took a step back from him, running her hand over one of the glass cases. "Don't you find it interesting that such a powerful person was whisked away from our legends? We hardly ever speak of Morgana, the embodiment of the Morrigan. Yet we praise Merlin for his power."

"Merlin was younger than the Founders, but the Founders were younger than the Morrigan. Some say she's a myth."

"How could she be so much older than Merlin if she was his lover?" Naomi asked.

Tom leaned back against the case and drawled languidly, "Hence why most believe her myth, her stories mere rumours of fiction."

She gave him a knowing look, "And what do you believe?"

Tom's eyes sparked with interest and mirth, "That she was immortal."

Naomi's face broke into a smile, "So you do know something."

Tom laughed, coming closer to her, and putting a hand on her shoulder, "You aren't going to find anything on Morgan Le Fay in this ship."

Naomi put a hand on the man's chest. Again Harry felt like he might be sick, Voldemort had to have been well into his forties at this point. Naomi leaned in closer to him, twisting to look up into his face, "I found you."

The world blurred into darkness, and when the world began to brighten, they were no longer in the shop, nor anywhere Harry recognized. The room was full to bursting with books, the furniture was all black and leatherbound.

"You have been looking over those same scrolls for days, there's nothing there, Omi," Tom said pacing behind her as Naomi leaned over a desk, wisps of hair falling from the simpler braid, her dress, while still extravagant in the way of formal witch's robes, was missing the organ-despising corset.

Naomi ignored the Dark Lord, "It's here, it's authentic. I know it."

"You know nothing," Tom almost hissed, placing a hand on her back, "Come, I can show you something worthy-"

She slapped his hand away, and Tom backed up, his pride hurt.

If Harry wasn't so worried about his wife's safety, he might have cheered.

"I already told you no."

"Tease," he snarled.

She smiled at him, and the wicked humour that Harry had fallen in love with shone through as she mocked, "Oh, you poor baby, did the little dove mislead you?"

He frowned at her, "You just wanted to see my library."

"Of course," she said, "I'm a Ravenclaw."

Harry was both freaking out and confused, if Voldemort wanted something from someone, he usually didn't let anything stop him. Much less when he was alone with them.

But then Naomi's honeyed eyes caught something and she pointed, Voldemort leaned over her eagerly.

The psycho didn't care about sex, he wanted immortality.

He wanted it more than he wanted sanity or his own soul being intact.

Harry was going to kill his Horcruxes, after seeing Tom's hand on his wife's back, knowing that he would one day hunt and kill her…

Harry would still have his revenge, but with the anger roiling in his gut, newly awakened after the sorrow that had buried everything else, he really just wanted to kill this bastard.

Again.

"It's a portal," Naomi breathed.

Tom leaned in closer to her, "A portal to what?"

She looked up at him, "The heart of magic."

Again, the world blackened.

Harry was relieved when he saw that Naomi wasn't with Mr. I Am Lord Voldemort. Instead, they were in the welcome kitchen space of the Lupin home.

"So, you think he's a werewolf?" Naomi stated.

"Yes," Lyall stated, the man looking not simply a decade younger but decades younger, "I'm sure of it."

"Then tell someone," she said.

"I have."

"Then what's the problem."

He showed her a note.

Harry tried to get closer to them to see but Naomi crumpled it in her hand.

"There is nothing he can do to us in prison."

"He has friends, a pack."

She hesitated, running a hand down her skirts, a more muggle-like dress that Harry was more familiar to seeing her in.

Strangely, it wasn't the lack of scars that really caught Harry, but the lack of bruise-like circles under her eyes, the lack of that pinched expression she had worn when she thought he hadn't been watching.

Harry had seen fear eat her from the inside out, killing her long before the Killing Curse did.

"We have friends too."

"You know Fenrir is friends with Mr. Riddle," Lyall probed.

She looked at him sharply, "I haven't seen Tom for more than a year."

"Of course not, you've been travelling," her brother said with a measure of disapproval.

"How do you even know about Tom?" she asked a bit sharply.

"He came around looking for you."

She stilled, "Did he?"

Lyall glared at her, "That boy is twice your age."

She smacked his arm, "Big brother, I am not, nor have I ever, dated Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Ew, no," she said, "he's creepy, Lye. Why do you think I stopped hanging out with him?"

"I would like to know why you started hanging out with him, to begin with."

"Research."

He gave a supremely unamused look, "Researching what?"

"Merlin."

Lyall gave his sister a hard look.

Naomi sighed, "Morgana, the Morrigan."

His brows shot up, "Why? I mean, I hunt poltergeists and boggarts? But Morgana Le Fay? She has no impact on our lives, she's hardly even a real myth. Some witch Merlin dated at Hogwarts-"

"She's older than Merlin, Lye. We say Merlin like muggles say God but do you know who calls out the name Morgana?"

"No one?" Lyall asked reasonably.

"The Magical Creatures. Centaurs and-"

Lyall shook his head, "Naomi, what did you get yourself into? What did you find?"

Naomi was quiet for a long time.

Harry waited with Lyall, feeling like a kid again hiding in the corner with the invisibility cloak.

Finally, Naomi said, "Something that could change the world."

"Change the world, how?"

She looked at him, face solemn, "I don't know, I haven't done it yet."

"Sister-"

"I found a journal written by Ignotus Peverell."

"And what did it say?"

"That he was afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Acting on what he knew as well as not acting on what he knew."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that one day, what I've learned will come to light but I don't know if the planet is ready for it or not."

Lyall sighed, "Can't you just give me a straight answer?"

She shook her head and gave him a sad smile, "No, I can't, we passed the point of straight answers a long time ago."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"What did Ignotus do?"

"I don't know that either."

Lyall stood to stand over her, "So what do you know?"

She looked up at him, a bit of fear colouring her expression, and she whispered, "I'm not entirely certain."

The memory faded and Harry wondered how he was witnessing all of this.

The next vision he saw, he found himself standing in a black void staring at the mirror he had seen just today, inside he saw his wife screaming as Tom Riddle wrenched her head back his wand at her throat.

She kicked the ground, the stone floors and walls unmistakable as anything other than a dungeon. "I will not tell you anything," she growled between clenched teeth.

Voldemort trailed his wand tip down her throat, down her chest, "Then you will die… slowly."

This time when Harry pounded on the glass it was like punching a block of ice.

It hurt.

But he didn't stop. "Don't touch my wife!" he screamed as she began to scream anew as the torture curse ravaged her body. "Naomi!"

It went on too long, and when Voldemort stood, she was a twitching heap on the ground.

"Now will you talk, my little Dove?"

She spat at his feet.

He kicked her face.

Harry nearly broke his hand as he tried getting through to her, even knowing this was a memory, he couldn't not try to stop this.

"I brought a friend to see you, my dear."

"You are not my friend," she said into the ground, hardly able to roll her head up to look at him. Her long hair spilling around her like silk.

Voldemort tsked, "Do not be rude. Your young nephew was quite intimate with our guest, Mr. Greyback."

Naomi jerked her head around, her words were furious when she breathed, "It's only the new moon."

Fenrir Greyback stepped into view, and Harry felt as if he were being tortured. Seeing this was as bad as listening to Hermonie scream in the tender care of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Or perhaps worse, Harry was older now, he had a more vivid understanding of what evil was capable of.

Naomi had been his wife, and he knew, he knew, the scars that would incur. He had absolutely no desire to see them fresh.

Fenrir threw a piece of raw meat at her, "That's why I brought my pets."

The sound of a metal creaking, a door lifting open on metal chains, and then Harry saw that Fenrir was holding leashes, as furry blurs lunged forward, following the smell of raw meat like starving dogs.

Only these weren't dogs.

Naomi's gaze locked on the wolves snapping at her, held a hand's way away from her person by leashes.

Harry laid both hands on the cloth, and instead of using physical force, he let his magic go into the mirror, filling it, willing himself through.

"Tell me what you know," Voldemort demanded, "and we will spare you this humiliation."

Harry slipped through the mirror like sliding through a stream of water.

"You already have the key," she said.

"What I took from the Peverells is useless, tell me how to use it?" Tom said.

Naomi looked up at him with fire in her eyes, "Like this!" and from her robe pocket, she pulled a metal star that Harry had found in the charred remains of her house.

And she stabbed Voldemort's leg.

The fresh blood and the man's show of weakness as he bent to clutch his injury drew the attention of the wolves.

Naomi threw the bit of raw meat at the Dark Lord for good measure.

Fenrir dug his heels in as he fought the wolves from going for Tom. Naomi staggering to her feet and slipped through the open door Fenrir had come through.

She ran the moment her feet hit the stairs, Voldemort's cursing echoing through the building.

Harry was right there with her, every step of the way, whispering encouragements, urging her along every time she stumbled.

They were in the ruins of some abandoned castle that had likely been used as a museum or some historical sight, but under the Dark Lord's wards, it belonged solely to him.

Naomi made it to the grass when the wolves caught up to her.

They bit at her heels, Fenrir was still holding their leashes, so they scratched more than bit, the sound of their snarling and yipping heightening the horror of watching the woman he married and had a baby with, be turned into bloody ruin as she screamed and fought to get away in the night.

Harry broke, his every effort to help her useless. He threw up his hands and called on the elemental magic he had accessed only once before.

For a moment, he thought Naomi saw him as the wolves paused in their attack, ears flatting.

And then Naomi was apparating away, and Harry had just enough time to catch her hand.

They landed in Hope's kitchen.

Remus screamed, a boy of four years old, his own scars looking only freshly healed screamed as he stared down at the bloody figure that had once been his Aunt.

Hope caught the boy up in her arms as he continued to scream.

Lyall was at his sister's side, doing all the things Harry was unable to do.

When Lyall realized the damage was beyond his care, he gently pulled his little sister into his arms, tears sliding down his face as he disapparated to St. Mungos.

Harry's world went black again, and it remained black.

Naomi appeared in the blackness with him. She wore a muggle dress, a bag slung over her shoulders, her scars that of the woman he had married.

"She hardly speaks," Lyall's voice spoke in the darkness.

"She isn't a werewolf, at least," Hope said.

"My dear, Miss Lupin," Dumbledore's all too familiar tones filled the darkness, "who did this to you?"

But Naomi didn't answer, she just kept walking.

"She's missing! She's missing! Why am I the only one who cares?" Lyall cried, his panic seeming to colour the darkness, making it bluer perhaps. Harry had to jog to keep up with Naomi, whose dress changed, shifting to a restaurant uniform to that of a manager's uniform.

"Because," Dumbledore said reassuringly, "She doesn't wish to be found."

"But she has to know we love her!" Lyall exclaimed.

Horace's voice chided, "The girl will never believe she can be loved, not with a face like that."

Harry thought he might give the snot a right hook next time he saw him.

Naomi came to an abrupt stop.

Harry froze, wishing she could know he was there with her.

She reached out a hand to cup his cheek, "Harry."

He nearly sobbed, pressing her hand to his cheek as he pulled her to him and she pulled her down to him. Their kiss was sweet in the way of love, but desperate in the way of people too long separated.

He pulled back first, "I love you so much, Naomi."

She clung to him, and if he had a choice in the matter, he would never have let her go.

"You were the one thing that was ever truly mine."

"Naomi, what were you trying to do?"

She gazed him with golden eyes and said, "When the time comes, my love, don't hesitate."

"What-?"

"I love you, Harry Peverell, to the moon and back again."

He could hardly get the words out, knowing this was their final goodbye "To the moon and back."

She smiled up at him, tears spilling down her cheeks as she stole one last brief kiss before throwing him bodily from her through the mirror.

Harry landed on the floor with a thud, rolling to work off some of the momentum. He found his feet before he caught his breath, glaring at the mirror that had both shown him much yet lacked giving him the crucial details.

Harry noticed Cygnus leaning against the door frame with a pipe in his lips gazing at Harry with a bored expression.

"How long have you been there?" he asked more sharply then he had intended.

Cygnus gave no indication that he cared, "Long enough to see you touch the mirror."

"What is it?"

"A cursed mirror," he said as if Harry had asked a stupid question.

"What does it do?"

"Aside from making you zone out for ten minutes, drooling at your own reflection, I have no idea. I never touch any of my sister's gifts. That one was my wedding present."

"Then why do you keep it?" Harry asked.

Cygnus merely stared at him, puffing smoke from his pipe thoughtfully. A minute later, the man turned his back on him without answering, leaving Harry alone with the cursed mirror.

Harry never touched the mirror again. Why should he? When he knew death would unite him with all his loved ones one day.

As a student, Harry had never been patient, but he was no more the same person then as the man who had fallen in love with Narcissa Black.


AppoApples: If you like my writing and you like Star Wars, The Queen Does Not Need to Know is my best work ever and The Kenobi Scandal will be completed within the next two months. I know everyone reading this is a HP fan, however, my personal style was better suited to a galaxy, far, far awayThank you to everyone who has reviewed, you have helped me become a better writer. Your support means the galaxy to me ;)