The Tribrid and Her Reflection {Book Two - - Complete}

Shattered Edges Still Glitter

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

- Anton Chekhov

The mirrors—her reflection—were causing all of this. He was living in her reflection and, by association...living in her.

Hope could fix this.

Get rid of the mirrors, and he will die along with them, at least, in theory.

Still, she had to be willing to take the risk. If not, she would lose the two people who meant more than breath to her. Newt and Albus hadn't stopped working to find a fix for her mind and body while she lay on a bed staring into voids and sleeping around the clock.

Hope refused to let this be her life. She could fix this- she had to.

Standing stone-still, Hope gazed at her body in hundreds of copies. Her plan had worked flawlessly. Tricking Madam Florence into letting her leave without raising an alarm or using compulsion, which she had a feeling wouldn't be as potent in her state anyway. She had searched every inch of Hogwarts she could access and took the resided mirrors. Some had taken more elbow grease than others, but she'd managed.

Initially, she'd thought about simply going around and smashing every mirror in the castle; however, a moment later, she'd thought better of it. The noise would draw every available body in Hogwarts to her, which would no doubt stop her mission. No, the best way to destroy all the mirrors would be to do so at once, and what better gathering place for these shiny reflections than the Room of Requirement?

Mirrors upon mirrors littered the place, turning the room where the three of them had spent a steamy Valentine's night into a surreal funhouse. Her reflection seemed like an army in this respect. With all the mirrors gathered, the voices were louder than ever.

Hope gritted her teeth, glowering at each reflection in turn, and though they looked like her, they were not carbon copies. They were all her with differing expressions and positions. Some sneering, others bored with a roll of their eyes, and the occasional menacingly pissed off look. Despite their differences, they all had one thing in common.

All of their eyes were on her.

Freak.

Disposable.

Powerless.

Coward.

Monster.

The voices hurled words at her like throwing knives. Hope pressed her fingers to her temples as the migraine pounded in synchrony with the cacophony of voices in her head. Every word thrown at her were words she had thought about herself at one point or another.

"I am not." Hope said these words aloud, her lip curling into a snarl.

No one would miss you if you were gone.

They don't care about you; they just want what you can give them.

The world would be a better place without something like you.

"STOP!" Hope snarled at herself. She teetered to the side, catching herself before she made contact with the ground. Hope's fingers curled through her hair, drawing blood from her scalp.

"Hope?" A familiar, tentative voice came from behind her.

With a quick burst, Hope spun around. She bared her fangs at Albus and Newt who stood at the far end of the room, seeming to guard the door. A cold rush prickled up her body, something that felt like a relief, but was it? Could she trust this feeling?