Four

It took a matter of moments to explain the revelation in the Book of Heads. Snape looked both pleased and gobsmacked in turn. "Well, I must say, this has been a day for surprises all round," he finally pronounced. "I know of the books, of course. I spent most of my time as Headmaster hiding them. Dolores Umbridge was especially interested in the Book of Students."

He looked at Hermione keenly. "But my name was never in the Book of Heads. At least, not while I was there."

"No. Apparently it only appeared after I became Headmistress."

"So," he replied, pacing in front of her, "Hogwarts wants me back legitimately this time. How flattering." He shot her a defiant look. "Presuming a miracle occurs and you are successful in somehow freeing me, Headmistress, why on earth would I want the job again? If memory serves, the first time was no picnic. I've enjoyed rounds of Crucio more."

"No doubt," she replied, "but Hogwarts wants you to be Head after me, and I feel honour-bound to comply with its wishes." She gestured at the mirror. "Besides which, you don't deserve this! If it's in my power to free you, I have to try!"

Slyly, he looked at her through long black lashes. "And what if you do succeed, Headmistress, and the freedom goes to my head so completely I give two fingers to Hogwarts and fuck off to the Fiji Islands?"

She gaped in amazement, then laughed. He sounded filthy when he swore. That tingle of pleasure returned. "Then I'll just have to come find you when I retire and drag you back."

The look he gave her was two parts pity, one part admiring. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," she smiled. "But I promise I'd make it worth your while. I would ply you with all the tropical drinks, sand and witty repartee you could stand until you gave in and came back with me." Gods, was she flirting with him? She thought she might be.

"Indeed?" Something in his rakish look told her he thought so, too. He sobered, and looked around the room that had been his home for twenty years. "Very well, Headmistress. I can't fight both you and Hogwarts. I place my fate in your hands. In any case, I fear I've outstayed Aberforth's famous hospitality long enough. We were starting to bicker like old marrieds anyway."

Hermione smiled at him, willing him to have faith in her. "Well, you know what they say: a change is as good as a rest."

An hour later, she and Aberforth were returning Snape to Hogwarts. They decided he might be comfortable in her private library, away from prying eyes and nosy portraits. Hermione settled the mirror in among some tempting books and a bottle of thirty-year-old elf-made wine. She transfigured an old journal into the first comfortable bed he had had in the past twenty-odd years.

"You're welcome to return to Hogwarts and visit him anytime you like, Mr. Dumbledore," Hermione said, as Aberforth turned to leave. "Just because he's here doesn't mean you can't keep him company."

Aberforth turned back. "And just because he's here doesn't mean he belongs to you now, Headmistress." He turned to Severus, and there was genuine sadness in his voice. "I'll be by and check on you. If you're not happy ..."

"You'll be the first to know, Aberforth." Snape placed one hand against the mirror; long, slender fingers, graceful wrist. "Thank you for everything, old friend. I owe you more than a life debt."

Aberforth nodded stoically. "The only debt you owe me is to have a life, Severus. You deserve that, at least." He gave Hermione a curt bow, then left.

~o0o~

While Hermione had no desire to risk the discovery of Snape in the Wizarding world, she also knew she needed help. What better place to find said help than at Hogwarts itself? She summoned Toidle, whom she trusted with her life and the castle's secrets, and explained the situation. He was transported with joy to discover Headmaster Snape was alive, but could offer no help in releasing him.

"Elves is having powerful magic, but we is not using our magic for bad things," he explained, with a mournful shake of his head. "We is not learning how to make wizards unhappy."

"I understand, Toidle. But I want you to see to Headmaster Snape's every need, and bring him anything he wants."

"Oh yes! Toidle can do that, no worries, Headmistress Gee!" he said, his good humour restored. He rewarded her with a smile of pure bliss. "Toidle is honoured to make Headmaster Snape happy!"

The portraits took it in turn to be skeptical, jealous and generally unhelpful. Dilys thought perhaps it was another type of portraiture like themselves, until Hermione reminded her about the Book of Heads. At Phineas' urging, she brought the mirror and its very reluctant captive to her study. The move was two-fold; she wanted to see Dumbledore's reaction as well as listen to the gallery's collective suggestions.

It came as a bit of surprise when she turned the mirror toward the portraits, and Albus burst into tears. "My dear, dear boy. This wasn't supposed to happen," he wept, pressing his thready hands against his canvas. "Severus, forgive me. Forgive me!"

Uneasily, Hermione glanced at the mirror. Snape was sitting in her reflected chair, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. "Albus, please. Enough. You cannot change who you are any more than I."

"Indeed, Albus, cease!" Phineas commanded imperiously. "Save your tears. He deserves your wits, not your guilt, man."

Each day, Hermione spent her spare time scouring every resource available to her, returning in the afternoon with dozens of documents, books, scrolls and parchments. Together she and Professor Snape began the painstaking research to find the spell that had placed him in his silver prison.

Mirror magic was a somewhat fickle art, they discovered. The Mirror of Erised, for example, was essentially an experiment gone wrong. The wizard who had invented it had intended for it to reflect the future, but when facing the mirror to pronounce the final enchantment, he was concentrating so hard on the success of the spell, the mirror absorbed his desire as well as the intention. The moment he looked into the mirror, he saw his reflection receiving an Order of Merlin for his brilliant innovation in mirror magic. Since he assumed the spell worked, he never stopped to think he might only be seeing the deepest, most desperate desire of his heart, instead of the actual future. Only later did he add the famous writing across the bridge of the mirror, as a warning to others. He died a broken man.

Mirrors were commonly spelled to talk to the person reflected in them, but this was a simple charm, and usually had a finite life. Charmed mirrors were rarely reliable, and few Wizarding folk (with the possible exception of Gilderoy Lockhart) trusted them to actually tell the truth. Since they could only reflect what they saw, most were spelled to tell the person what they wanted to hear.

Night after night, once all her Hogwarts business was attended, Hermione and her former professor poured through old documents, archives and journals. Usually they would eat together, or share a bottle of wine. He ate sparingly, and a little self-consciously, as if others were watching. A lifetime of hypersensitivity about his looks, his blood status and his past had left him repressed and dour, and twenty years of time alone with only an older wizard for company had made him a little nervous, almost shy around Hermione. It was the most ironic of ironies that the one wizard she had turned herself inside out to impress now felt insecure in her presence.

It was almost endearing, in a completely mad way.

As it turned out, Snape was good company in a way that surprised Hermione, but should not have. His fierce intellect, his wry, dry-as-a-bone humour and his powers of rapier-sharp observation appealed to her. She could talk to him without that ingrained expectation of having to dumb down, or mentally deducting IQ points. He knew so much, and Hermione loved matching wits with him. He certainly gave her a good run for her money. Many was the night that Toidle intruded with a gentle admonishment that "Headmistress Gee needs her sleep!" only to discover they had merrily argued some salient point until four in the morning.

Gradually he opened up about himself and the amazing events of his life. His history with Harry's mum was legend now, but he spoke of Lily Potter with a gentle affection that made Hermione feel jealous and wistful in turns. When he talked of his allegiances, first with Tom Riddle, then with Dumbledore, there was little animosity, only the quiet acceptance of the choices he had made, and the fate they had set in motion.

It was obvious that, no matter what he said about the passage of time, he had spent a lot of it thinking about the past. As they spent more time together, Hermione understood that he regarded his life in the mirror as a means of atonement. It had been every bit as instrumental in keeping him sane as Aberforth and his rough-hewn, salt-grass company.

Unfortunately, he had grown too comfortable with it. Hermione was sure that Snape's resignation and acceptance kept him in the mirror almost as much as the spell that had put him there in the first place. It was her job to convince him that his term had been served.

She supposed it was why their conversations often turned to other subjects besides his situation. If she could convince him to envision a life outside the mirror, perhaps he would be less afraid to leave it. They talked about Hogwarts life, and the staff which was both family and bane of existence at times. Snape provided amusing, sometimes wicked commentary that often left her in stitches.

Several of his contemporaries had moved on; Horace Slughorn had retired ("Thank Merlin. The man was a complete pain in the arse and brewed like a moron"). Filius Flitwick had taken a five-year sabbatical to Japan. He sent Hermione and the rest of the staff magical postcards and charming, useful little gifts ("Good man. Good wizard. Demon duelist. We used to practice together and I have the scars to prove it"). Sybil Trelawney had experienced a 'bit of a turn,' and was currently spending some time 'recuperating' in Cardiff ("Poor cow").

"That's it? That's all you have to say about Sybil? 'Poor cow'?"

Snape sniffed and smoothed the front of his robes. "I don't think I have to tell you why my feelings for Sybil are decidedly mixed."

Hermione swallowed. "I suppose not."

To change the subject, she hastily launched into a discussion about her current Potions professor, who was a pleasant-enough witch, but not a certified Master. Her N.E.W.T. students' scores had been a bit lackluster for the previous two years. When Hermione asked Snape if he had any advice she might pass on, he snorted.

"I think you may recall I wasn't the best of professors myself, Headmistress. When I..."

"Hermione. Please call me Hermione."

He shot her a wary look. "Hermione. As I was saying, when I..."

"And may I call you Severus?"

"May I finish giving the advice for which you asked?" he replied, eyebrow raised haughtily.

"Of course. Do proceed, Severus." He looked at her askance and she shrugged. "Well, you didn't say no."

Gradually, as they grew more comfortable with one another, they shared stories of that last, awful year, when Hermione was on the run with the boys, and he was Hogwarts' unasked for, most hated Headmaster. "Dumbledore's sodding Army! Merlin's beard. They kept the Carrows so wound up I had to fight both sides, usually at once."

Severus sat back, and took a sip of wine. "And that bloody Sword of Gryffindor! I nearly froze to death, traipsing around the Forest of Dean, trying to find a place to plant the damn thing where Boy Potter could 'take it under conditions of need and valor.' When it turned up with you three at Malfoy Manor, the Carrows went spare. They had been told it was locked away at Gringotts, you see."

"Bloody Sword, indeed," Hermione commiserated. "It almost got me killed at Malfoy Manor." She pulled up her sleeve to reveal the faded scar on her arm that still clearly read "MUDBLOOD".

Severus' eyes widened in shock. With a mixture of anger and sadness, he asked, "Gods, Hermione. Who did this?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Hermione replied breezily, almost proudly. "She was convinced we'd raided her vault and stolen it. We actually did raid Gringott's to steal Helga Hufflepuff's cup, but that wasn't until later." She indicated the scar. "This is how I got one of her hairs to Polyjuice myself into her. So I guess you could say this helped us to kill one of the Horcruxes. Well, that and all the Crucios she performed on me."

He shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm sorry. She was completely mad, you understand. Even before Azkaban scrambled her brains, she was nobody's idea of sane." His eyes met hers, and Hermione was struck by their depth, their softness. Without guile or mistrust or agenda to shutter them to the world, they were expressive and hypnotic, framed with ludicrously long lashes. Next to his voice, they were easily the most beautiful thing about him. A witch could get lost in those eyes, she thought.

Suddenly he pulled back his own sleeve, and revealed a puckered, crescent-shaped scar on his right forearm. "Bellatrix gave this one to me as well, when I was about that same age, as I recall."

She leaned forward and afforded him a look of respect. "Why? I thought you were, you know, allies at the time?"

"Who knows why Bella did anything? She never needed an excuse to inflict bodily harm. It was almost a gesture of affection for her." He shrugged, neatly side-stepping her remark about allies. "But I remember it was something fairly innocuous. We were probably dueling, or practicing hexes."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I can do you one better on that account." She pulled up the hem of her robe to reveal a long scar on her left calf. "Ginny Weasley zapped me during a dueling bout the summer before Fifth year. Friendly fire."

"Pah, child's play. Look at this." To her surprise he raised his own robe and Hermione flinched at the ugly scar that zig-zagged down his long, muscular leg, from mid-thigh to ankle. "Hagrid's piggin' three-headed dog gave me this one."

"Fluffy?"

"Fluffy my arse. Gods damned menace is what he was. Albus let it just ponce around the school like it was a Chihuahua."

Laughing, Hermione answered, "Ha! I can beat that!" Without a second thought, she opened the front of her robe, revealing part of the gruesome scar that bisected her abdomen from her solar plexus almost down to her pubic bone. "Department of Mysteries, Fifth year. Dolohov."

Severus looked at the scar on her chest, and the smirk faded from his lips. He grew pale, and all the playful scar-upmanship fizzled and blew away like a Pygmy Puff on the wind. Softly, like a balm, he said, "I remember that. I was there when they brought you into the Infirmary." He shook his head. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone as afraid as Poppy Pomfrey was that night."

Hermione cursed herself silently for spoiling the mood. She tried to claw back some levity by replying, "You must not have seen me, then."

"I did see you." He raised soulful, haunted eyes to hers. "I remember thinking that for such a little thing, you had so much blood coming out of you. I was furious with Potter for placing you in such peril over that mutt, Black. One part of me wanted to expel you, and the other part wanted to bargain to the gods on my knees to let you live."

He tilted his head, and the bitterness left his tone. "And right at the most critical moment, when it was literally touch and go, you opened your eyes and you looked straight up at me." He laughed silently. "You said, 'I'm not going to die, Professor. I simply can't. I have to find out if I passed my O.W.L.s.'"

She gaped at him in shock. "I never did!" His thin lips quirked into a smile, and she felt like swatting him. "I knew you're were telling porkies!"

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm not, I assure you. Everyone just stared at you, in the middle of this carnage of blood and destruction, and laughed." He glanced at her almost shyly. "I remember thinking, 'If this is the kind of friend Potter has on his side, we might just stand a chance of winning, if we can keep her alive. I'm literally holding this girl's body together while Poppy sews her up like a garment, and all she can think about is exams.'"

A dark, sudden thrill ran over Hermione. "You...you held me that night?"

He nodded. "I was covered in so much of your blood, Albus thought I had been the one attacked." He looked into his wine glass. "Tough, brave, clever, mad little Gyffindor witch."

Hermione stared at her former professor. It was as if thousands of butterflies in her stomach suddenly took off, and it was her turn to duck her head. "You know, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He placed his palm against the mirror, and on impulse, Hermione placed hers against it. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the mirror, as if all that separated them was that tiny expanse of melted sand. "It's been too long," he said, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. "Time ... doesn't have the same meaning here. It seemed like only a handful of days from the time Aberforth rescued me from the fire, until the moment you showed up in his pub." His eyes dropped, and took in her entire body in one sweeping glance. "I confess ... it's rather overwhelming to realise the witch standing before me is that same little girl I held in the Infirmary."

Hermione swallowed. "And I'm finding it difficult to compare the professor I knew with the man in the mirror." She readied herself, and spoke the truth. "Before you 'fuck off to the Fijis,' maybe we can get to know one another better. I'd like to, anyway."

His eyes shot up to meet hers, and he pulled his hand away, as if the glass had burned him. Hermione felt a chill where his warm palm had been. He would not meet her eyes, but his voice was as expressive as ever. "So would I, Hermione. But I'm not the kind of man who ever profited from getting his hopes up." Severus sat down with a sigh. "For the first time since I woke up and found myself trapped here, I'm conflicted about what will happen if we find a way to end the enchantment." He finally turned the full battery of those liquid expressive eyes on her. "I don't want to die, Hermione."

Something deep within her soul broke, like a glass ball crushed in a strong fist. A tiny, hidden chink she did not even realise existed cracked open, and Severus Snape strode in as if he owned it. At that moment, Hermione understood with sudden, terrible, wonderful clarity that she was in love with him.

She placed both hands on the mirror, and promised the gods everything she had if they would free him. "I won't let you die, Severus. I promise you that."