Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Naruto

Chapter 8: The Mirror

The first thing Shisui sees as he enters the room is Professor Quirrel being burned alive, Harry's prone body slumped over him. To his utter confusion, a wraith leaves Quirrel's body as his face crumbles to dust. It screams, and then it is gone.

Scrambling down the stairs while keeping an eye on his surroundings, he gets to Harry as quickly as possible. The boy is deathly pale, and Shisui is startled to see blood pouring from his lightning scar as he hoists the boy off Quirrel's corpse. Laying Harry on the ground, he rips a strip of cloth off his uniform and tries to stem the blood.

In the corner of his eye, something glints. It calls to him, like a siren to a sailor, and he cannot help but lay the cloth strip in his hand down and walk towards the object. It's a mirror. He stands before it, a lone man, and yet sees many more within his reflection. It's him, him as he was in his past life, Itachi and Sasuke next to him, young and smiling brightly. The clan is behind them, at their backs, Konoha in the backdrop. Nobody's looking strangely at them, and there are no walls around the Uchiha compound. It's a dream. It's beautiful. Shisui's heart aches in his chest, squeezing so tightly at the image.

This is what he wants, more than anything: his family and his home, safe and sound. Happy.

Longingly, he reaches for Itachi's head to ruffle his hair, but his hand bumps against the cold glass and all of a sudden the alarms in his head go off. There… There is something wrong about this visage of Itachi. Something… Something about his hair perhaps? Why… Why does Itachi not look like he should?

Shisui shakes his head to clear it, but it feels like moving through water. Slow and sluggish. A notion is creeping up on him, so very, very slowly, but it's at the back of his head, where all the worst feelings come from. Something about Itachi. Something about… Something about Harry needing him. Suddenly aware of just how much the mirror is drawing on him, Shisui panics.

There is something very wrong about looking at Itachi's visage instead of Harry's right now, and he knows it.

The enchantment is strong, of this mirror that shows his heart's desire, and surely it has driven men mad. Shisui's already a tad too insane for his own comfort, clearly easy prey. Scrambling back from the mirror before its influence can grab him again, he snatches Harry off the ground and runs with his charge, who he failed utterly and completely.

He doesn't dare look back.

Hermione, Ron and Neville hear Shisui's footsteps coming down the stairs before they see the older boy himself. Harry's legs hang limply over his arms, held in bridal style. His throat is bare, neck supported by the arm, but his head falling backwards. It makes him look terribly small, his sickly pallor startling, and even the veins on his eyelids are clearly visible, a sharp contrast to the blood trickling down from his scar. Sometimes, a drop falls onto the stone floor, leaving a trail of crimson stains behind.

Shisui's foreign features, however, blaze. His presence, normally the kind of comfortable warmth that soaks into you, is now icy, chilling to the bone.

The three children backpedal, scattering to let him through. He stalks to the infirmary with a terrible purpose.

They're scared, but nobody comes to comfort them.

Dumbledore strides into the hospital wing an hour after, unaware of the children huddled together outside the door. When he comes out, he does notice them.

''You can go inside. Mr Potter is still unconscious, but if you're quiet, Madam Pomfrey will allow it.''

They hurry inside.

The curtain around Harry's bed is partially open. The lamp is on and the yellow light colours the white sheets. Shisui's on the chair, leaning forward, elbows on his knees and his head supported by his hands. He's staring at Harry, but there is no focus.

Neville fidgets with the hem of his shirt. ''Is he alright?''

Shisui doesn't raise his head. ''He's unconscious. There are some bruises and the cut on his forehead, but other than that, it's a mental battle. Who knows when he'll wake up. Or if he will at all.''

Shisui is off. He's too still and his eyes never unfocus. It's eerie and dangerous, hanging heavy in the air.

''Are you okay?''

Shisui doesn't react.

They shift uncomfortably. Should they get a chair? At least then they would have something to d-

''If you would have gotten me earlier, I would have been able to prevent this.''

The remark hits Neville hard. Is… Is Shisui blaming him?

His hands tremble.

Shisui turns toward them, his fists balled. His eyes are sunken and he looks at Neville so tiredly, bags underneath his eyes.

''You should have recognized the signs. You knew Harry didn't have detention with Quirrell. And still, you only came to me five hours after the fact. You must have known something was wrong before!''

Neville's lips quiver. So this is it. The end of the line. Almost a year he'd been able to convince others he was worth interacting with, worth something. He had even, tentatively, begun to believe it himself. Not anymore, though. Because Shisui Osaka had watched him with blank eyes in the beginning, void of any judgment at all. He had watched who Neville was without any preconceptions.

And now he had found Neville lacking.

He should have known.

Shisui opens his mouth again and Neville hunches, trying to protect himself from the mental blow he knows is going to come.

''What where you-''

''Stop it!''

Hermione steps in front of Neville. Her legs are shaking, but she holds her ground and glares up at him. ''It's not Neville's fault! You're being unfair!''

Her bushy hair bunches up like an angry storm cloud. Are those small lightning flashes?!

But Shisui's big and Hermione's not, so Neville squeezes her hand. ''It's okay.''

Her eyes flare. ''No, it's not. You went to Shisui the minute you thought it was a serious threat, and even if you were uneasy before, it doesn't matter. Because you did go. You did warn him. And he,'' She jabbed her index finger the fourth year, ''Has no right to attack you for doing all you could.''

Ron is pale, but he comes shoulder to shoulder with Hermione's like he knows no fear. ''Yeah.''

Shisui's acting completely out of character and a minute ago Neville's self-esteem was down in the gutter. But he's got friends now and they're willing to defend him, even when they're scared. It makes his stomach do funny things, but it's all warm and fuzzy and Neville has never felt so loved before.

So he lifts his head and straightens his shoulders, just in time to see Shisui blink at them, with large (too large) eyes. The fourth-year stares at them, before caving in, flopping onto the chair with an exhaustion Neville has never seen before. The older boy rubs his forehead.

''You're right. I'm sorry.'' He looks at Harry, so very small in the hospital bed. Neville's heart clenches.

''I get it. You love him, don't you?''

Shisui nods, hand closing over Harry's. ''Yes.''

They sit down next to him. And there's a whole hell lot of love right there, in those exhausted, burning eyes. He looks at Harry like he's the only thing left in the world, something to be protected. Like he would give anything for him to be alright.

This… This is the look Neville has always imagined he would have given to his own little brother, if he had one in another life.

So they will sit with him. This boy-almost-man, who cares for his brother in soul. Because they're friends, and they're there for each other. Even when it's hard. Even when all they can do is sit and share their pain.

Because they're friends and family, and blood has nothing to do with that.