Unwanted

Chapter 5: Mirror-

I look in the mirror

And I try to understand

And piece it together

Wash the blood from both my hands

I can't see the ending

There are people who know my every secret

I'm tired of pretending

You're in my heart

In my heart

Mirror- Ellie Goulding

Previously-

Just as I was about to beg to be dismissed as I was really tired still the fireplace flared green as the wards chimed. Which reminded me that I would have to figure out what wards were in place and what they did before I did anything. Shit just kept piling up. And to put the fucking cherry on top, out stepped Albus fucking Dumbledore.

Just looking at him was enough to make me boiling angry. While I may have found some sympathy for his position as the war wore on, there was no excuse for many of his actions, and if he had survived long enough I would have seen him pay for each and every one of his plans for the greater good.

            I froze in place, locking down mentally and praying for control. Well, I say praying but there are very few who I am willing to pray to anymore so…

            “Ah, perfect, Hadrea dear, you’re awake. I hope you’re feeling better?”

            I didn’t respond, and avoided his eyes, giving a jerk of my head that could pass for a nod… barely. It was too early to blow my cover I told myself. I needed to play nice.

            “Good, good. I hope you won’t mind if I ask Hadrea here a few questions, James, Lily? We need to ascertain what happened that night, the sooner the better.”

            Lily looked mutinous at first but James again touched her arm and she settled.

            “Of course headmaster, we’ll leave you to it. Come on Eric,” he said, leading the other two out.

            Damn it. Why couldn’t at least one of them insist on staying? It would help me remember to control myself. I took a deep breath, focusing:

I am a Slytherin.

I am a hunter.

            I turned my chair slightly to face where Dumbledore was seated, crossing my ankles in a move designed to both make me seem more comfortable and to prevent me from assuming a position that screamed fight or flight.

            My alternate had been a Gryffindor, and from what I’d gleaned from my parents, trusted Dumbledore. I would have some leeway for being jumpy after what I’d supposedly been through, but I couldn’t be confrontational the way I wanted to be. It was bad enough Voldemort knew something was off about me; there was no need to alert Dumbledore too... not before I had a plan. I was of course, hampered severely by my lack of knowledge of my alternate’s mannerisms and habits—as demonstrated by my clothing gaffe.

            So I decided to keep it short, brief, and concise, with an edge of horrified terror at what had happened. I waited in silence for Dumbledore to make the first move, fidgeting with my skirt and looking at my hands as if nervous, which I was. I mourned the loss of my ring as I did—I supposed I’d have a lot of things to re-discover or create. And I wasn’t even going to think about The Hallows yet.

            Finally Dumbledore broke the silence, “Hadrea—” and yeah, I was going to need to do something about that, being called by my full name all the time was going to drive me up a wall. I’d gone by Harry for most of my life for a reason. “—could you tell me what happened after Eric handed you the cup?”

            Huh. So Eric had handed her the cup, meaning that Eric was likely the one in the tournament and was showing off his win. Which, assuming he still tied, would explain the lack of Cedric Diggory in the graveyard. I wondered if that meant Eric was the boy-who-lived in this universe. I still had the scar, and apparently I had still been the target—otherwise the portkey would hardly have waited to activate until it was handed to me, but I suppose it was entirely possible that the wizarding world had misconstrued the events of that night… as usual. Now I just needed to know who all knew the truth, assuming my theory was correct… and find out more about those events for myself.

            I shook my head as that went through my mind. Playing up the part of the reluctant victim— I’d certainly talked to enough of them to know how.

            “Dear girl,” I’d forgotten how much that moniker grated, “I understand that you have been through a very horrible experience, but we need to know what happened that way we can better act to keep others from experiencing something similar. Voldemort,” I shuddered. A) I had no idea if my alternate was one of the few who would actually say the name, and B) regardless I had just been presumably tortured by the man, so it would be a reasonable reaction to his name, “is back you’ve said. And we need to know everything we can to counter him,”

            I kept my head down and my silence for a minute more, before drawing in a shuddering breath.

            “I—the cup. It was a portkey.”

            I paused, glancing up and just now realizing I didn’t have bangs, which was another problem I’d need to correct asap. Dumbledore nodded at me.

            I quickly dropped my gaze—hopefully he wouldn’t get suspicious at the lack of eye-contact, but I couldn’t risk him running into my shields, not yet. “It took me to a graveyard,” shit, I had no idea if my alternate knew anything about Wormtail. Had no idea how he’d ended up there and if it was at all similar to how he had in my timeline. “There was a man, Wormtail, and he took my wand and tied me to a gravestone,” I left out the scar burning, no need to tell him anything he might not already know if I could avoid it. I had at least seen enough to know that the ritual had been the same, which was a relief.

            “There was a really big cauldron, and Wormtail—I couldn’t really see what he was doing but he said— b-b-bone of the father and umm flesh of the servant? I’m not sure, but he ss-screamed really loud. And then— then he— he,” I started to purposefully breath in quick gasps, hugging my arms around my waist, “He said blood of the enemy, forcibly taken you will revive your foe, and he-he,” I stopped pretending to be overwhelmed as I tried to figure out what to do, I knew there hadn’t been any cuts left after my arrival, and I hadn’t gotten hit after. I also knew that the clothes I had been wearing were pretty torn up…

            “Hadrea,” he said, putting a hand on my shoulder, I flinched. Time was up. Time to improvise—luckily I’d learned from the best.

            “He cut my arm,” I said, letting my voice become hollow sounding, tired. “Took my blood, before healing it.” I let no inflections enter my tone. I was now playing the repressor.

            “He dropped something else in, and it got really bright. Then he,” I let my voice crack, “was there. He didn’t look at me, just talked to Wormtail. I don’t know what he said but then there were more people, Death Eaters and he was talking and a couple of them screamed.” here I stopped again, burying my face in my hands and sobbing. Shaking my head violently when Dumbledore tried to ask me a question.

            Wormtail was dead. I had killed him. But Dumbledore couldn’t know. I didn’t know much about alternate me but I knew enough to know she wouldn’t just throw cutting curses at people—but… maybe…

            I took a deep shuddering breath, “He, thanked me. For bringing him back. He had Wormtail untie me… and-and… He used the Imperius Curse, and-and-and I-I-I-- there was so much blood! It was everywhere and on me and it was on my hands and they just laughed and Wormtail wasn‘t-wasn’t moving and I-I-I KILLED HIM!” I screamed the last bit before sliding out of my chair and grabbing my knees as I sobbed rocking gently back and forth.

            “My dear, dear girl. I am so sorry this had to happen to you. But you need to know, you. did. not. kill him. Voldemort may have used your body to accomplish it, but you are not responsible. I understand that this has been a very trying experience for you but I still need to know, what happened next Hadrea? How did you get back?”

            I slowly allowed my sobs to trail off. “I-I don’t remember much of the rest, I-I think I passed out, but I… the- the body was right next to me. And- I don’t- I don’t think they realized I was awake, but I-I-I grabbed Wormtail’s wand and summoned the cup,”

            I allowed the silence to stand, slowing my breathing down, as he digested what I had told him. Hopefully he would fill in the rest of the details on his own.

            “You did well, Hadrea,” he finally said, hand once again on my shoulder and allowing something like pride to seep into his tone. I wanted to vomit. “Thank-you. I will let you get back to your bed, you look like you could still use some rest. You have been very brave, and very helpful.”

            I nodded, allowing him to help me up and lead me towards the next room where the rest were gathered. Right before we got to the door I stopped, “Pro-professor,” I started shakily, “What—what happened with Profess—the man that was pretending to be Professor Moody? Who was he? Why, why did…” I trailed off. I would prefer to end the conversation here as the longer I talked to Dumbledore the more dangerous it would get—the more likely he would sense something was off, but I needed all the information I could get, and this was a prime opportunity, so I steeled my nerves and waited.

            Dumbledore hesitated. “The man you knew as Alastor Moody was in fact Bartemius Crouch Jr. who had been using Polyjuice to impersonate him all year in order to force Eric to compete in the tournament. He was a servant of Voldemort before his defeat and was involved in the plan to bring him back by making the cup a portkey to transport Eric to the graveyard. Due to unlucky chance, you were sent in his place. After he took you we realized something was wrong and went after you immediately. He was detained and questioned while you were taken to the hospital wing. The minister was then called to deal with him. Unfortunately, he brought Dementors with him for protection, and upon entering the room, they descended upon Crouch and proceeded to give him the Dementor’s kiss—you are aware of what that entails?”

            I gave a hesitant nod, staring at my feet, brain rushing to process. Just hearing that name was enough to bring to mind an image of Hermione’s staring, dead eyes as she swayed gently from the roof of the ministry, and cause a flash of rage. But... he was soulless. No longer a threat. The Hermione of this world would not have to face weeks of torture at his hands. What else was different? My lack of information on this world was quickly turning into an unacceptable disability.

            Dumbledore looked at me for a moment more before opening the door and leading me through.

            As soon as the Potter’s had assured themselves I was alright, I was ushered up to bed, with a promise from Lily to be there to help me in the morning.

            Finally left alone, I changed back into the nightgown I had woken in, finally able to begin processing everything that had happened that day. I wished I had someone there to discuss everything with, but I was alone here.

            It hit me just how alone I was when I started to compose a prayer to Loki, just to let him know what was going on-- as was my habit when we were separated, and realized that even if he took the time to pay attention to my prayer he wouldn’t understand… wouldn’t respond. That he wouldn’t be my Gabriel. My friend, maybe even my best-friend after recent events. That he wouldn’t share the memories I had, wouldn’t know me.

            I felt the burning behind my nose that signaled tears as I realized that no-one would know me here. No one would have the memories I did. Draco, Fred and George, Dean and Sam, Bobby-- none of them. No one I was accustomed to confiding in would be in a position where I could feel comfortable confiding in them here. I had no idea if any of them would even be anything like their counterparts-- what I knew of my own alternate did not paint a promising picture.

            I fell heavily into the vanity chair, staring listlessly into the mirror. The girl looking back at me was utterly foreign. I wanted Gabriel, wanted his corny jokes and off-colour humor to make me laugh, wanted him to tease me until I didn’t find the situation so overwhelming. I needed to hear his pessimistic forecast of the future followed by his version of the silver lining. Needed to see his eyes letting me know that I wasn’t alone. Wanted to be held-- oh.

            I finally allowed a few tears to escape with my bitter laughter as I admitted far too late what I had long ago realized but been too scared to face-- that I had been in love with him all along, and now he was out of my reach.