Chapter 5 – Mirror Mirror On the Wall

Submitted 2 April 2013

Hermione didn't understand it. Madeline had been so outgoing and talkative.

"It's like she just decided to shift to silent mode," Hermione confessed as she looked up from her food. "She was helping me with my work and she was even more excited about it than I was. Then one day it just stopped."

Ron swallowed, "Do you think it's finally hit her that her parents won't be coming back?"

His wife had to do a double-take, "It's almost been two years. Why would she wait two years after her parents' death to begin grieving for them?"

Ginny had just arrived the night before, "Well, it must be something that triggered it. Is there anything different? It could be puberty. Has she...?"

Hermione cut in with a resounding, "Yes."

The two wizards shared a look. Once it was certain neither of the witches were going to explain further they shrugged and returned to their meals. Ginny and Hermione shared a look of their own as if they were silently debating which of their husbands was more clueless when it came to the fairer sex.

Harry spoke up, "Maybe I should speak to her. It may be that she'd rather speak to a bloke about all of these changes. She could be too embarrassed to speak to either of you about it. She might prefer the perspective of a bloke."

The two witches shared a second look. It seemed they had their winner.

"No," Ginny finally spoke up. She placed a conciliatory hand on her husband's knee, "We have this."

Ron swallowed another bite as he tried to ignore his sister, "Where is she, anyhow?"

Hermione sighed, "She said she wasn't up to eating with everyone. She asked if she could take dinner in her room."

ZZZZZZZ

Fact was that Madeline was nowhere near her room. She was, instead, sitting in the very chair that Hermione had placed in the attic at Grimmauld Place to view the mirror that had placed up there months before. Madeline had found the mirror there early in July when she'd caught Hermione sneaking out of the attic. Once her mentor had slipped downstairs, Madeline repeated the spell she'd heard uttered moments before, "Alohamora."

Once the entry to attic opened, Madeline climbed the steps. She'd thought she'd explored every square inch of the home but she'd obviously been wrong. At first the attic seemed like nothing special. When she'd uttered the "Alohamora" charm to close the entry, she'd fully expected to need to use her wand for light.

There was no need. Throughout the attic were small dim magic candles much like the ones that lit the Main Hall at Hogwarts for evening meals. Aside from furniture that seemed ages old and a shelf of odds and ends, the space was empty. Strangely, though, it seemed even cleaner and well kept than the house itself.

Madeline was about to head back down the steps when she noticed a shimmer across the attic. That's when she realised that there was a whole other room. Not a peep came from the other side but every few moments she'd swear that something moved. Slowly, she eased herself closer so she could get a better look.

The voice made her jump, "Are we letting all manner of vermin walk through my glorious halls now?" Mrs. Black observed in her usual acid tone, "First it was the Blood Traitors...then the Mud Bloods. Now we have Ankle Biters to boot?"

Madeline's first inclination was to offer a snarky retort to the witch on the wall. However, as her eye caught the hanging mirror, she couldn't help be mesmerised by the image that stood before her, "Is it real?"

The mirror on the wall was just as dear to the heart of Mrs. Black...so much so that she could even stomach Hermione's presence when the Muggle Borne witch would visit. The portrait's expression softened as the contempt for the young Half-Blood melted away, "Is it real? Do you mean the mirror? Yes. The contents? No."

Frankly, Mrs. Black was much more interested in admiring the vision of her young boy than she was trading barbs with whomever was in the attic with her. Mrs. Black usually sat silent with Hermione when they shared the attic because she'd be damned if she were to become friendly with a Mud Blood. Even so, there was something about this young witch that struck her fancy, "What do you see, Dear?"

"My mum and dad," the young witch answered sadly. "They died a few years back."

The lady in the portrait nodded knowingly, "For me, it is my boy Regulus Black. He was my youngest...my reason for being. One day he just up and disappeared." The old lady shrugged, "No-one could ever tell me where he went to or why. I spent the last six years of my life and thousands of Galleons searching for the boy."

Madeline had already taken the liberty of sitting in the chair just under the portrait. Her eyes were locked on the mirror and she was facing away from Mrs. Black but she was listening, "That is terrible. So you never heard from him again?"

"Never again," Mrs. Black answered sadly, "But I heard about him. One day my dear Kreacher came in wearing his locket. I begged him to tell me where he found it. He told me that the Potter boy had given it to him. He told me how my dear Regulus died in a cavern due to a curse from that awful Riddle boy."

"Tom Riddle?"

The lady in the portrait nodded, "I'd attended Hogwarts with that boy. He was such a despicable little thing. He may have had my mates fooled but he was as shifty and oily as they came. No class, that one. Oh, but he could pretend with the best of them. And because of him my boy lost his life."

Madeline explained how her mother had died saving Hermione from a band of hooligans and how her father had died from his illness. At no time did either witch take their eyes off the mirror or the objects of their affections. Regulus Black never stopped looking back adoringly at his mum. Mr. and Mrs. Mason never stopped holding their daughter. Mr. Mason was no longer frail but was once again the vibrant young father she remembered as a child.

They sat there for hours. And hours. And hours.

That first day came and went. The next morning was announced with a 'Click.'

"Quick!" Mrs. Black whispered to young witch, "Get into the wardrobe! It's empty. Kreacher only wears the one outfit!"

Madeline did as told and rushed into the wardrobe. For just more than an hour, she waited as the only noise that she could hear was the breath of the person outside. She was fearful that her own breathing would give her away but fortunately her mentor's hearing wasn't as acute as hers.

At one point, while waiting, she'd instinctively felt for the back wall of the wardrobe wondering if an old story she'd read as a child might in fact be real. No luck. Not today, at least.

After what seemed like forever she heard rustling outside. It was followed by a question from Mrs. Black, "When do you plan to return, Mrs. Weasley?"

The response was muffled, "I'm off to the Ministry. Probably not until morning."

"Excellent. Till tomorrow then." the portrait answered, syrupy sweet.

Madeline's legs had fallen asleep. They ached terribly. She had to shift her weight. As she moved she collapsed to her side with a "Thump." It took every bit of strength she had not to squeal.

"What was that?" she could hear Hermione ask.

"Oh," Mrs. Black answered, "That's Kreacher. He never grew used to the bed. I suggested he use the wardrobe since it's so much smaller. He was catching a few minutes shut-eye before the others wake. The poor elf still rustles around when he has his nightmares."

Madeline had to put a hand over her own mouth to keep from making noise. She could hear Hermione fiddle with the handle, "Maybe I should wake him up."

The portrait answered shrilly, "You wake that poor soul up and so help me I'll let the Potter boy know all about our arrangement! Kreacher has been through enough without having to be harassed by some dirty old Mud Blood! Go make your own tea if you must have it!"

Silence. Instinctively, Madeline turned an ear to hear. It was no use.

And then Mrs. Black could be heard blurting out, "I heard that! I'd rather be bitch than a mongrel!"

After a another few more moments of silence Mrs. Black said much more quietly, "It's safe to come out, dear. She's gone."

Madeline exhaled as she opened the double doors to the wardrobe, "That was close."

And that's how the relationship between Mrs. Black and Madeline Mason began. For a month, Madeline had spent most of her waking hours in the attic. Mrs. Black had to remind the young girl to leave so she could sleep. Usually Madeline would protest but the portrait would admonish her like a mother would her own child.

Kreacher was sworn to secrecy by his Mistress. He would bring meals up to the young witch. To keep the Potter Boy and the Mudblood from being suspicious, Mrs. Black advised her adopted daughter to sleep during the day and visit at night. Kreacher would warn Madeline immediately after Hermione had taken breakfast and she'd slip out of the attic before Hermione reached the Second Landing. She'd then sleep until Hermione returned from the Ministry for the day and then she'd quietly help her mentor with the work on the black boxes they were building.

What Madeline didn't realise was that she'd become so obsessed with the mirror up in the attic that she often spend her days working with Hermione in a haze. The young girl didn't speak hardly at all. She'd lost all interest in Hermione's other projects. When her mentor would try to shake her out of her stupor she'd snap back angrily, "What?! What do you want?"

It was only logical that the four people who sat downstairs were worried. Now mid-August, she was due to leave for Hogwarts in two weeks. How was she going to react to the change?

She was no more sure than them. Madeline couldn't fathom the idea of being apart from the mirror for an entire four months. It would completely occupy her thoughts when she was awake. When she was asleep she'd dream about it. Every morning's dream was the same...she'd sit in front of the mirror and stare at it.

Madeline was sure that she'd go insane if she returned to Hogwarts. She was certain of it.

ZZZZZZZ

Ginny couldn't sleep. It had been two whole nights since she'd returned for the mid-season break that was now customary for all professional Quidditch players in England. Strangely, she and Harry had adjusted well to her months away during the season. She was more worried that they might grow tired of each other when she retired from Quidditch and were forced to spend entire years at a time together.

Now? It was absolutely fantastic! They'd spend the second half of August together and then she'd return for November, December and January. The rest of the time she spent at her flat in Holyhead where she and her teammates lived when they practised and played. She'd have thought that she and Harry would have spent most of their spare time writing lovey-dovey letters and pining over each others absence. Not the case.

In one way they were quite similar. When they were together they were inseparable. When they were apart, their entire attention was on whatever they were doing. She obsessed with learning spin manoeuvres and he was obsessed with...well, recently it was learning how to fight with a sword.

When they were together? They spent most of the time in the green room adjacent to the third landing at 12 Grimmauld Place. One evening they'd fashioned the pillows and sheets into a tent and her hero happily took his reward for saving her from the great red dragon. Another night they spent wrapped in sheets as she granted his first wish as a 'djinn' – she'd even started the night out dressed in the traditional Arabian garb with a few select modifications that she was sure would catch his eye.

So, tonight was the second night of what they now called their fourth honeymoon. His appetite had waned not one bit from the second night of their first honeymoon. That had been their first trip to Greece. She'd met Antiones and his wife Lydia that day. Harry had spent the day showing her around Delphi and showing her their beautiful second home that overlooked the Muggle town below.

She knew he spent much of his time in Greece when they were apart. After that trip she could understand why. There he was just another foreigner. He could forget about all of the death that had surrounded him in England and there were no papers constantly following his every move. Everything about Delphi was different. It was more colourful, more serene and Harry seemed more alive than she'd ever seen him before. Ginny wondered if, once she retired, she'd want to move there with him for good. Could she spend the rest of her days so far away from her family?

That was what kept her up tonight. Family. Not her mum and dad and brothers. She saw plenty of them when she was home with Harry. They didn't understand how she could leave them for months on end but she'd explained that they could visit Holyhead any time they liked. It was only George and Harry who weren't welcome during the season.

She was thinking about her new family with Harry. She wondered when was a good time to start it. It was August of 2003 and she'd just turned twenty-two years old days before. Inexplicably, on the eve of her birthday, sitting with Gwenog and her other mates, she'd been overcome by the desire to have a baby. It came as the girls sat in her flat discussing what it would take for them to win their fourth consecutive Quidditch Cup.

Gwenog had come back strong from her injury two years before and now, armed with an artificial hand, she was as formidable a Beater as she'd ever been. Gwenog still had terrifying nightmares where she relived the night that her hand had unceremoniously been ripped from her body. Some nights she'd stay at Ginny's because she couldn't bear the dreams alone.

Ginny and her fellow Harpies had decided the first season they'd banded together that they'd stick together until they'd either won six consecutive Quidditch Cups...or until they lost. The oath had sounded good at the time. With Isa and Wilda at Chaser and Gwenog as the primary Beater they'd seemed unstoppable. No other team had more than two true stars and each of Holyhead's core were no worse than top three at their position.

But Wilda left Holyhead for Puddlemore after their first Cup. Gwenog had been injured during their second season. Isa and Ginny were as strong as ever but the dominance of the Harpies had gradually eroded until this year they found themselves fighting tooth and nail to stay at the top of the standings. Ginny found herself looking forward to the break in the season for the first time ever. Not because of Harry, mind you. Her body was exhausted and she found herself nursing minor injuries and ailments she'd never dealt with before.

It was their coach and manager Glynnis who explained, "A witches body will break down much more quickly than a bloke's." She pointed to Gwenog, "That, my girls, is a specimen of a woman. Thirty-some-odd years old and she's still swinging the bat as if she were nineteen. I'd be shocked to see many of you playing past your twenty-fifth birthday. Honestly, I wouldn't expect you to want to. Children don't come easy when you wait to thirty to have them and a broken body makes chasing the little buggers a terrible chore. There is more to life than Quidditch."

As Ginny lie in bed next to her husband, she thought long and hard on her manager's words of wisdom. Two more years now seemed like an eternity. As much as she loved her sport... a quiet life spent with her husband and future children sounded more and more lovely with each passing day. She wished that she could have a sign that everything was going to turn out right.

Harry rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist. She could feel his breath warm her cold neck from behind. Just like when they were awake, he was always just close enough when they slept that she felt cosy without feeling overwhelmed. She smiled as she closed her eyes. If she could count on one thing, she knew that Harry would be there when she was ready. Until then, he kept himself just far enough away that she didn't feel smothered.

ZZZZZZZ

Hermione woke just as Ginny fell asleep. It was nothing new. She found she couldn't sleep more than four hours or so at a time.

Ron lie beside her but as usual he was turned the other way. She regretted that they'd grown so far apart. It didn't take much contemplating why. They'd never truly talked about the loss of their daughter. They tried to avoid even thinking about it...but the sight of each other was a constant reminder.

That said, he'd been her saviour. How many nights had he come charging in when she'd been on the brink of madness and held her until she felt like she could move again. Ron seemed to have an instinct that told him when she was about to move into a state of melancholy and he'd forget everything for her. Not a word would be spoken but he'd hold her, bathe her, dress her, feed her...whatever was necessary. Ron was in many ways as faithful as any knight who defended his queen.

It made her wonder who watched after him. So far as she knew, he never had suffered the same bouts of melancholy that she had. She was aware that he'd slip down into the Sitting Room or someplace else private and just stare off into nothingness when he was needed by neither wife nor work. It wasn't the same, though. He didn't just shut down altogether like she did.

She wanted so badly to start over. She soon learned that there was no reset button to relationships, though. She'd look him in the eyes fully prepared to snog him silly and the next thing she knew she was in the tub with her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as he sponged her down and promised her that everything would be all right soon enough.

Hermione inched closer to Ron. She didn't want to wake him but she felt an ache to be close. She nestled herself around him so that she spooned him. Too short to reach his neck, she rested her cheek against his back. Her arm rested on his side. It wasn't as perfect as when he used to drape his arm over her but for tonight it would do. Before she knew it, she'd fallen back asleep. It would be morning before she woke again.

ZZZZZZZ

Ron woke with a twitch as his wife slipped off to sleep. Her arm resting on his side and her cheek pressed against his back, her fingers were pressed into his ribs as well. He'd never admit it but he'd always been ticklish. When he was a child, Fred and George would terrorise him. They'd hold him down and tickle him until he pissed his pants. Mum would chase the twins around the yard firing stinging curses at their arses when she caught them...but it didn't keep them from treating their younger brother to his Tuesday Tickler, as they called it.

Needless to say, when he was jarred awake by his wife and her accidental tickling, he found himself doing everything he could not to wet himself. Once he'd unclenched his teeth he relaxed. As she drifted deeper and deeper in to sleep, he could feel the sighs of her breath on his back and he couldn't remember anything ever feeling better.

For months, he'd met in secret with a healer from St. Mungo's. She'd met him quietly at his office on Wednesdays for lunch and he'd discuss the progress of his relationship with his wife. She'd have him look in the mirror each week and ask, "What do you see?"

This healer wasn't for any physical malady. When Hermione first tried to slip under the bubbles in the bath and he'd had to drag her out of the tub, he knew he couldn't solve their problems on his own. It had taken every bit of his courage to speak to this witch but he knew his wife needed him to be a man. Ron;s father had always told his boys that a real man would choose humility over pride when it came to doing the right thing.

Ron's pride told him that if his mates found out he was seeing a healer for his problems then they'd never let him hear the end of it. Ron's humility told him that he couldn't handle his family's problems himself and that if he didn't get help soon then he'd lose more than just his daughter.

Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley swore that he'd be a rock for his wife. Unfortunately, his healer, Miss Edna Farsight, would often see him sob like a little girl. Each and every Wednesday she'd talk him off the emotional ledge as he recounted the setbacks of the week before. It always seemed like he and his wife had turned a corner only to find later in the week that they'd made a u-turn.

Miss Edna Farsight became his rock so that he could be his wife's rock. Sure there were whispers around the Auror's offices that Ron might be seeing a witch on the side but those blokes didn't know the true Ron. He'd rather be seen as a philanderer, anyhow, than a bloke who wasn't strong enough to handle his business on his own. It wouldn't do for his team or his fellow Aurors to know he wasn't all right in the head so he let the rumours go.

The healer taught him how to release triggers that might set his wife's moods off. He learned how to deflect her anger and how to use rituals such as combing her hair in the tub to sooth her when she became inconsolable. Sometimes, though, none of the healer's advice worked and he was left to his own wits to improvise when his wife would begin her fits of madness.

Tonight was a first...a breakthrough of sorts. Tonight was the first time that she'd touched him romantically in any way since their daughter's death. Usually, she'd begin a screaming fit just as they got close enough to be intimate. He did what he could to hide it but his wife was truly mental. The healer had said time and again that if he exercised enough patience then she might eventually pull herself out of her madness.

"What if she doesn't?" he asked her one day.

"Then she doesn't," Miss Farsight answered.

This didn't make Ron one bit happy, "What do I do then?"

The healer tilted her head as if the answer was obvious, "If that's the case then there isn't anything to be done. It seems rather counterproductive to focus on what you can't do, though, doesn't it?"

So Ron hoped. And, tonight, as he drifted off to sleep he felt just a bit more confident. Hopefully, tomorrow there would be no u-turn.

ZZZZZZZ

Harry was began to drift back off to sleep just as Ron did. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in the first place but the last thing he remembered was Ginny giggling as she asked, "Did I wear you out?"

He woke up to a sigh. It had been Ginny. He could tell by her silence that she'd been deep in thought. Instead of asking her what she was thinking about (did anyone ever answer that question truthfully anyhow?) he pretended to be asleep and left her to her thoughts.

Harry still considered himself rubbish when it came to understanding witches but he had learned one trick. Still pretending to be asleep, he gently rolled over onto his side and he placed his arm over his wife's side. He didn't want to give away he was awake so he avoided scootching in too close. The moment he did this he felt his wife relax.

Phew. He'd learned that if Ginny relaxed when he put his arm around her that she wasn't upset with him. Usually it meant that it was better for her to work the problem out on her own. He'd been told by Mr. Weasley more than once, "Be a gentleman at all times but never try to solve a problem for your wife unless she asks you too."

When Ron and Harry had asked why, Arthur merely shrugged and answered, "I can't rightly tell you why. You'll do it once and you'll understand."

What bothered Harry was Madeline. He'd barely seen the little witch since he'd been back. When he did see her she'd been short tempered and easily distracted. He wondered if she was apprehensive about her upcoming year at Hogwarts. She'd be sitting for her OWLS this year and he remembered how much that had affected Hermione years before.

He decided he'd have a talk with the young witch. Regardless of what his wife and best mate had thought at dinner, he felt a bloke might be able to get her to open up.

That settled, he noticed his wife had long since fallen asleep. Harry wanted more than ever to pull himself closer but he didn't want to risk waking her. Skin so soft. In the darkness, he tried to imagine the freckles that covered her arms, her back and the whole of her body. He began to relax as the scent of her hair calmed him...he swore she wore some sort of calming potion in her hair just to put him to sleep.

As he drifted off, he remembered that djinn costume she'd worn her last visit at Christmas. Soon, he was dreaming of her in the skimpy outfit granting wishes. It was little wonder that he woke the next morning in a good mood.