Harry Potter Mirror, Mirror

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**_Mirror, Mirror..._**

_Chapter One  
The Desert of Rain_

=

It was upon a whim that he did it. Wandering aimlessly through Hogwarts' halls, he felt invincible with the invisibility cloak around him. Simply being there, at night, was his idea of defiance. As he walked into the unknown, the golden-guilded mirror caught his eye. It was glimmering... shining... beautiful... and _enchanted_...

Whimsey overtook his movements. He streched out a solitary hand, touched one finger to the glassy surface. It rippled like a lake when hit with a water droplet, his hand came away wet. He noticed then the mirror reflected no picture. How strange!

Fantasy had always told him something... if an act can be done, then do it. He plunged his hand into the mirror's surface...

His arm.. his shoulder...

He closed his eyes and ducked his head in.

Then he was fully in... in... in the mirror...

_Mirror, Mirror, on the wall..._

_Life in the Desert of Rain  
We are the people who live on this plain  
Waking and sleeping we wander alone  
Through the wind, the sand and the stones_

It was night, and quiet. Moon-silver light poured down from the sky, running down upon the trees and pooling upon the forest floor. Leaves crunched beneath his feet when he moved. A sandy trail snaked its way through the trees. Everything was different, unkown.

Harry Potter shivered and wondered what he had done.

But the quick gallop-stamp of cantering horses awoke him from his revelry in self-pity, and flung him into terror. The horses moved closer - closer - breath from firey nostrils like steam in the cold forest. Sparks were made when hoof hit rock.

As he retreated, the four riders broke into the clearing with a crash.

Almost immediately the head rider on the bay was flung from her horse. The tan-coloured horse let out a death-bellow as it fell to the ground. He let his eyes rest a moment on her, as she crouched on the ground...

_And the rain flashes glimmers of gold  
To pleasure our eyes in the cold  
No long-ago songs to poison our souls  
And tomorrow never unfolds..._

She was an older woman, Harry could tell. Her hair, once ravenish, had faded into a dark gray, and a few wrinkles were around her face. Robes, that had once been proud and beautiful, but were now faded, swished about her.

Her hand was on a dagger that was tucked into her sash. Her eyes, amber, were wide open with fear.

He turned his eyes to the three persuers... and gasped.

The head was a lady. A beautiful lady. But what startled him was the lady's appearance. It was if he was looking at some sort of reflection of himself. The lady _was him_ - in another place, another time, another body, and older. Her black hair sashayed on her back as the midnight mare she rode stopped. Green eyes glowing in the moonlight, the jade ankh around her neck shined, and her robes, inky, swirled about her.

"Andraia Riddle," the Lady purred. "So you will stop this flight at last."

_Hard are the flints of our hearts  
They link us together and keep us apart..._

Harry saw the older woman take a step back from the Lady. The beautiful woman sneered at this, mocking the older.

"This running is pointless, Andraia," she said with a snarl. "Though, I was hoping you'd have more _spirit_ before I killed you."

The elder woman paused, Harry could see her fighting back tears. "You _promised_, Anja! You _promised_ us a home, only to kill us!"

The Lady laughed coldly, cruelly amused. "Andraia, Andraia, Andraia. After all this time, you still think my word is worth something?" The Lady leaned forward, ugly smile on her face.

Then she reclined back, face stilling, becoming cold once again, and snapped her fingers in the air. "Herman... Rhonda... finish her."

The two figures that had been sitting on their grey steeds suddenly moved into life. Faces hidden by black cloaks, they approaced. Two swords were drawn. The older woman backed away, looking desperately for any way out.

Harry tensed, adreniline running through him uncalled. The Lady flung her head back and laughed, long, hard, and cold.

_And the spark grew to flame and white heat  
As our spirits awoke to a thundering beat  
And the drum sings the language of time..._

Then their eyes met.

The older woman _saw_ him. Harry just then realized his invisibility cloak was gone. Both of them saw each other's terror.

And then - she was off - running fast like a fox chased by hounds. Fear spurred her footsteps. Harry felt her hand on his arm, dragging him onward. Scared, he ran with her, hesitant at first, but then the murder in the two rider's eyes became clear.

The Lady's laughter chilled him as she dragged him along in the forest. "Come on, come on!" The elder woman urged him along. "You can trust me... we haven't much time!"

The rain began to fall. A hard, driving rain, cutting at them. And then they were at a clearing, footfalls falling on rock.

Sharply stopping, the rider's horses reared. Dissapearing like shadows, the two slipped back into the forest where they belonged.

_A glow is in the Desert of Rain..._

A few more footsteps, they were safe. Somehow, Harry knew this. With a last few running steps, they came to a stop. It was a vast plain of rock, jagged and cold, the mesa streching for miles.

Drenched with rain, cold and soaked to the bone, he paused for a second... Looked at the woman who had dragged him to this supposed safe haven. She was old, weary. A haunted look danced in her eyes that he could not see fully, but could perseve clearly enough.

She held out a coat of some kind to him. It was leather, with a hood to repel the rain. "Here," she said quietly, "You'll need this."

Slipping on the clothing as if she had always worn it, she waited patiently while he struggled to wrestle it on. Rain obscuring vision and thought, they walked on.

As if suddenly finding his wits again, Harry suddenly paused. The woman turned, looked at him. He spoke.

_And cold is the blade that cuts deep  
From the shadows of you to my waking sleep  
And the drum says a tale has been born  
While I live like a flame in a storm...  
_

"_Who_ are you and _where_ are we?!"

The woman blinked, and then nervously looked away from him, pushing back the hair from her eyes. "You're right," she muttered quietly, "I've forgotten proper protocol..."

"I'm Andraia Riddle." She held out a hand for him to shake, Harry noticed that the hoarseness in her voice was more apparent. 

She continued quietly. "Welcome to the desert of rain."

---

AN: This has been a songfic to Adreas Vollenweider's "Desert of Rain", so obviously, the lyrics are not mine. ^_^ If you see the CD Eolian Minstrel, get it, and then play track nine while reading this.

I like this AU. I really do. I shall continue it, too.

**If you don't get it...**Think about this: Mirrors reflect an image that is the same and yet very different. Harry has stepped into a magic mirror that contains a world like his own in the future, but flipped and skewed so that the Lady (his 'reverse image') is the leading necromancer and champion of the people while Andraia (Voldemort's 'reverse image') is the persecuted and hunted trying to give life to her followers.

This 'fic took about four days to write. Pleeeeeeeeeeease be a nice, wonderful reader and review. 


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Harry Potter, Adventure