Mirror Image

Mirror Image

Her loose shirt was black, not grey, and thankfully, she wore a pair of shorts as well. Not that he was looking. “What is it, Snape?” He blinked at her curtness.

“I—“ He hunted for proper words. “You look bloody awful.” Not something he’d meant to say. True, however. The black emphasized her pallor, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she replied sourly. “If that’s all? Or would you like to insult my intelligence, as well?”

“I—“

“You keep saying that.”

“I apologise.”

She stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “You’d better come in.”

The interior of the flat was in marginally better condition; it was overstuffed with research materials, but they were at least organised by some idiosyncratic, Byzantine method— which didn’t hide the inch of dust on various surfaces, nor the piles of dishes and take-away cartons in the kitchen.

But at least the cartons showed that she’d been eating.

She started to make tea and seemed confused when she couldn’t find clean cups. Observing her narrowly, Severus couldn’t discern any sign of post-curse relapse. Perhaps the idiots had simply been starting at shadows. And wasting a good deal of his time.

Hermione winced slightly when she bent to give Severus his tea, and she could tell that he noticed. Well, bully for him. “So what brings you to my doorstep?” she asked. She hadn’t the energy to reciprocate his nastiness. “I thought I’d given the Ministry their weekly pound of flesh— and so had you.”

“I have,” he answered evenly, sipping the English Breakfast.

“Then you’re here merely to insult me? You can do that more easily at work, you know.”

He shrugged. “My comment earlier was an honest, if inadvertent, reaction rather than an intentional insult. You do look awful.”

“Is ‘awful’ your general opinion of my appearance, sir, or specific to this evening?” Hermione asked waspishly.

Snape made an exasperated sound. “Come, girl, haven’t you even glanced at a mirror recently?”

“I don’t see what that—“ Hermione broke off with a squawk as he grabbed her wrist and towed her into the bathroom. She blinked at the image in the mirror before her. “Oh.” Her customary hair and makeup charms were now so ingrained that she rarely bothered to consult a mirror; she hadn’t realised how run down she’d become. It wasn’t too bad, but it certainly wasn’t good.

“Am I now quite clear?” Snape grated.

Hermione nodded. “I hadn’t realised…” She sighed.

“Would you care to explain yourself, Miss Granger?” “Professor” Snape was certainly in attendence.

“I don’t see why I need to explain myself to you.” She was ten years from being his student, damn it. “I’m sorry if I alarmed you, but it’s really none of your business.”

She grit her teeth as his fingers bit into her shoulder. “Then perhaps you might explain yourself to your two hysterical friends,” he hissed, “or does ‘after-the-war bad’ not mean anything to you?”

“Oh. Oh, dear. Oh, damn.”

_{AN: See, I can keep my word! The 'real' chapter is up before close of business. I hope you've enjoyed; Hermione will be explaining herself in the next batch! Thank you and if possible, please leave a small token in the review box.}