Erised Foror Rimeht Niepans

Disclaimer: This story's universe and characters were created by J.K. Rowling. I make no profit from it, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Secluded in his office, waiting for Miss Granger to arrive, Snape's mind was deep in thought, and his thoughts were troubling him.

All the world's a stage, and the men and women merely players. Snape remembered the epigram given by William Shakespeare.

Snape had quite an expansive collection of Muggle books, having been raised in a household where his father insisted that he and his witch mother follow the Muggle style of living. "No foolish wand waving in this house!" echoed his late father's words in his mind. Despite his father's oppressive contempt of magic, his upbringing had provided plenty of opportunity to delve into both Muggle fiction as well as the Muggle books on science and math that he had been given to study in the years before he went to Hogwarts.

Snape strolled over to one of his bookshelves and perused a section full of classic literature. He pulled down a compilation of Shakespeare's works and flipped the old tome open to a page held with a marker to read a passage he already had memorized word for word.

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllables of recorded time.

All our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out! Out brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more, a tale told by an idiot,

Full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing."

Snape laughed softly at that melodic expression of sheer beauty and terror. Words too true to forget...

And who was Severus Snape when he was not performing a role? When the multiple personas were cast away with the insincerity that created them? Did he even exist underneath those layers added by necessity?

As a young Slytherin, Snape had been ambitious... before the choices he had made had consequences that killed his ambitions and laughed in his face so that he could never forget. None of them had mattered anymore once he had lost Lily's friendship. That loss had cut too deep. The cost was every part of him that had wanted to be good. With those parts cut away, he had convinced himself that there was nothing left for him but to sink in deeper.

Two events in his life, joining the Death Eaters and becoming Albus' spy, had been unanticipated, unplanned, and life-altering. And after each, he had adjusted and made new plans. The spying let him have plans within plans.

And what now? This was the third major turning point in his life. With the war over, he had given thorough consideration to the idea of leaving Hogwarts and pursuing those dreams of yesteryear. He was, after all, no longer bound to the school to serve one master's wishes or the other's.

Yet, all these years, while the staged drama he spun around him had kept him imprisoned, unable to explore other options, it had also taught him just what it was he valued. In those youthful days, he had not truly known himself, let alone what he wanted from life. He still did not have all the answers, but he had some. His work suited him and gave back satisfaction. It was that revelation and nothing else that kept him bound to this school.

For his entire history as a Potions instructor, he had never actually taken any pleasure in teaching. Nearly all his students were indolent, inattentive dunderheads who could not be bothered to learn from him any more than he had wanted to teach them. For the two previous years, his position as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had displaced the dismay and dislike he had of teaching. The subject had always held his fascination, and its allure held sway over the students as well. Not many students respected Potions, but all of them were attracted to and enraptured by Defense Against the Dark Arts. Its students actually had drive and initiative to excel. He found he could educate and enlighten those who were actually open to learning.

Severus Snape was inwardly very proud that all his students the past two years had passed their final exams in the subject, quite a few even getting 'E's and 'O's in the O.W.L.- and N.E.W.T.-levels. Although he had as much passion for Potions as he did defensive skills and knowledge of the dark arts, he was quite content to pass its dreaded teaching to Miss Granger.

Miss Granger. She was the first person in a very long time who he had found worthy enough to share any of his mastered Potions secrets with. The only other honorary in this fashion had been Lily Evans. It linked the two of them together in his mind. Lily had been passionate, charming, and kind. Her twinkling eyes and sweet smile had filled him with such warmth. He had fallen in love with Lily Evans. She had given her love instead to the damned James Potter. Snape had hardened his broken heart. Snape knew he had only to blame himself for the way things had worked out. Still, never again would he make such a mistake and give so much of himself to someone else who could take it from him just to twist it and crush it.

Snape came out of his reverie to realize he had a death grip on his book. He replaced it carefully on the shelf. If he wanted to crush worded paper, that stack of lightly scented parchment on his desk would do much better. With that thought, Snape grabbed up the letters from his desk and crumpled them. Just another daily dose of fan mail delivered that morning by owl post. Just a bunch of accursed witches hoping to land the great "War Hero."

Snape rolled his eyes and threw the worthless parchment pieces into the fire going in his grate. Severus Snape had wanted recognition once. Now he had it, but they all only admired the actions of one of his personas. He had acted in the war against Voldemort out of the need for justice and to eradicate the world of a power-crazed tyrant. Everyone had wanted that. His actions, then, should not be so glorified. It was in the nature of people to work to the best of their capabilities when confronted with the threat of losing everything they found virtue in.

He had bedded a couple of these adoring witches in the beginning of his famed existence when he realized they would never see past his glorified hero status. They would never love the man underneath. Severus Snape was so much more than the "War Hero" they labeled him with. He was so much more than the snide, cruel teacher his past students had seen him as. He was so much more than the cynical, sardonic, unkind, and unsocial man he had portrayed by necessity to keep his loyalties covert and to provide fodder to convince Voldemort of his loyalty. Those were all just damned roles. He had been a player on a stage. The parchment letters now lay in ashes amongst the fire's dying embers. He didn't want witches who only loved him for a label...

Knock. Knock. Knock. Snape released all the tension that had built up with an explosive burst of air. "Enter," he said breathily.

Hermione came in the room, offering her greetings as she set down a few bottles on the desk. They contained curriculum potion samples she had made during the interim between meetings. Snape examined each. "Perfect, Miss Granger. I would expect nothing less."

Hermione and Snape continued to go over the next school year's Potions curriculum. Snape instructed Hermione to keep diligent track of when she needed to collect ingredients that would be used in later lessons. "For example, you must remember that the leaves used in the Amortentia potion must be collected on the Full Moon prior to teaching the potion in class."

"I remember, sir. I have that already written on my chart."

Snape looked at her quizzically. Hermione showed him a neat, color-coded calendar filled with entries describing in detail when and how to collect and store ingredients so she would always have the necessities prepared.

Snape rolled his eyes and said, "Only you could devise such a requisite and precise system of track-keeping." Hermione looked uncertain as to whether he was insulting her or not. "Miss Granger, it seems you are rather well prepared for teaching this year. That is only to be commended."

Hermione beamed and then looked down, staring at her chart as color crept up her cheeks. Snape had enjoyed putting that smile back on her face. Why? Snape snorted. It would just be so irksome otherwise: to have her fretting about and worrying so...

After the lesson was complete, Snape rose and said, "Come. We need to take a short walk while I convey to you the details of the project with which, as I mentioned previously, I will need your assistance, and for which, the Ministry is willing to compensate us well."

"A walk, Professor?"

Snape felt irritated. It was not so much that she asked the question, so what was it? Perhaps it was the way she had said it.

"Yes, a walk. I must collect something needed in order to commence with the potion-making."

Hermione followed Snape out of his office and down the corridors towards the third floor. Along the way, Snape explained the project to Hermione. The Ministry had devised a new plan to tighten security at Azkaban...which still held many of Voldemort's loyal Death Eaters.

Dementors were now a part of the past, and current security measures involved far too much time spent by Aurors stationed as guards. The prisoners were bound against performing magic, but they had been growing over-confident and retained all their sharp mental capabilities.

They were starting to wear out the Aurors, and the guards were starting to fear the prisoners could come up with a plan to unite and break free. The Ministry was in need of a form of containment security that did not require wizards to be on watch. And for that, Severus Snape could provide.

Snape had once helped protect a priceless object that was sought after by the worst of Dark wizards. He had cast purple and black fires to help protect the Stone while it was kept safe at Hogwarts. Only by drinking a potion could a person walk through the flames unharmed. The magic of these flames was powerful. They could not be extinguished by water or by any magical means. Yet, the flames were not everlasting. They could only survive for a year at a time and would need to be recast again each year, but that was the simple part. The Ministry would need to have enough of the fire-immunity potions for the Aurors to enter and leave the island and for any new prisoners sentenced to time in Azkaban.

The prisoners' cells themselves would be surrounded by the black fire. This was the most deadly of the magical flames. Instant death awaited one who even touched Black Flame without having drunk the potion. The potion filled the drinker with an icy immunity that quickly melted away as the person walked through the flames, the protection only lasting a few seconds. Aurors would force new prisoners to drink the potion and walk through the flames and into their cells. Azkaban would become black as night, and the sound of the deadly flames would create an atmosphere of hell for its inhabitants. With Death on the doorstep, none would dare attempt escape. A prisoner's initial walk through Black Flame and into his cell would be akin to being sucked down a black hole. Yes, Azkaban's new prison system would be perfectly secure and strong.

Now, Black Flame was a little known magic, the information on it nearly as hard to come by as information about Horcruxes. Its use had almost become the fabric of legends. Still, there would be a chance that some wizard with dark leanings might discover how to breach the Black Flame and try to enter Azkaban to release the prisoners. Therefore, a purple ring of fire was to circle the edge of the island. Purple Flame was Snape's personal invention. Assuredly, only he knew how to cast the flame and how to brew the potion that allowed a drinker to pass through the fire, so he would brew the potions for both the black and purple fires.

Snape finished his explanation of the plan when they reached a door in a third floor corridor, which Hermione instantly recognized. It was the door that had led to the series of protections that had guarded the Stone. Along with Harry and Ron, she had gone through it back in their first year, trying to save the Stone from Snape. She laughed, just thinking about how wrong they had been. Snape had not planned to steal the Stone; he had vigorously tried to protect it.

Through the rest of her years at Hogwarts, despite all the various misdeeds and suspicions that Ron and Harry would place upon Snape, she had always felt she could trust him since learning the truth about how hard he had worked to protect the Stone. That is, up until he had killed Dumbledore. Thank goodness there was a good explanation for it because Hermione had felt so ashamed at the time for trusting him through the years while all the others had still retained their doubts. And now she felt guilty for having doubted him at all.

"Laughing, Miss Granger? Yes, well, this pass through will certainly be less troublesome than it was for you in your first year."

Hermione smiled. "Sir? I remember you had cast Black Flame and Purple Flame to protect the Stone, but why the need to go down there?"

"Because," Snape began curtly, "I shall need to collect the bottles that once contained the fire-immunity potions. I will need the residue from inside the bottles to compare with my present attempts at brewing these potions. The recipes are intrinsically arduous to prepare, and I shall not take risks considering lives would be at stake if the potions were made incorrectly."

"Yes, sir. Er...are all the enchantments still in place?"

Snape smirked and opened the door to the empty room that had once contained a vicious, three-headed dog, ironically named Fluffy. "Only some of them," he said.

Snape lifted the trap door. "Now, the Devil's Snare will still be there. It likes the dark and damp, and so it has undoubtedly grown to dangerous proportions. This will be the only remaining enchantment that will be difficult to pass. However, we do have the advantage of anticipation."

Hermione nodded, remembering how frightening it had been when she was only twelve years old, and she had feared the plant would strangle Harry and Ron to death. She said, "Since we know that the plant is there, we should plan to jump up as quickly as possible and get off to the side before it has time to wrap its tendrils around us."

"Indeed," Snape said. "Also, I believe I should jump first in case you have any difficulties getting off of the plant. I can reach from the side and pull you out of it."

Hermione nodded, and Snape jumped through the hole, his robes making flapping sounds as the winds of his descent caught them. He landed with cat-like grace on top of the quickening tendrils of the Devil's Snare. He bent his knees and prepared to jump when he was slammed face first into the plant. Hermione had landed on top of him.

Before either could react, the plant ensnared them. Snape was about to reprimand her when shots of blue flame accosted the various snake-like tendrils encircling their limbs. Hermione had quickly assessed the situation and was using her wand to free them.

As they stood to the side of the Devil's Snare, panting slightly, Snape said to Hermione, "It seems as though you can cast your own brand of useful fire."

Hermione smiled, "I had to do the same thing when we were here before. Ron and Harry were near strangulation when I landed and surmised what the plant was."

Snape nodded. "Well done."

They went into the next room, which Hermione knew once held hundreds of charmed, flying keys. The charm had long worn off by now, and all the winged keys now lay on the ground, quite lifeless. It took very little time to look for the large old-fashioned key with the bent wings from its previous captures.

Soon they were in the room that had contained the life-sized chessboard and transfigured chessmen. Everything was in the proper place for a new game to begin.

"Oh, no! I am no good at Wizard's Chess!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Do not be concerned about that," Snape said.

"Er...you play?" asked Hermione surprised.

"Certainly not," said Snape. His smirk showed he clearly enjoyed the effect this statement had on Hermione. After letting her stutter for a moment about getting across the room when they were both useless chess players, he decided to stop her. Snape placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and locked with his, and Snape forgot to release his breath.

After a moment, his mouth moved into a wry smile, and he said, "We do not need to play to get across. "I asked Minerva for the spell to reverse the Transfiguration."

With the silent wave of his wand, the board shrank in size until it was no longer any larger than an average gameboard and the pieces were harmless rather than terrifying.

When they entered the next room, there was no troll there. Snape explained that Dumbledore had returned the unconscious troll to its mountain home the day after Quirrell and Voldemort had tried to steal the Stone. Hermione nodded as if that had been a given and hid her relief. She had been worried they might encounter a ghastly rotted troll corpse, whose smell, she imagined, would send one recoiling to her grave.

Finally, they reached the room that had once been barred from leaving or going forward by the purple and black fires. The parchment with the logic puzzle written upon it was still on the table along with the assortment of oddly shaped and sized potion bottles.

Snape saw Hermione pick up the logic puzzle and read it silently, her mouth moving as she read the words in her mind. "Brilliant," he heard her whisper.

"What was that, Miss Granger?"

She looked up, embarrassed. "Oh, I was just looking over the riddle you created again. It really was clever to use a test of logic to protect the Stone. Not too many wizards and witches would be prepared to handle that!"

"You were," Snape said, his voice low and deep.

Hermione quickly looked down at the bottles on the table. "So, er...should... uh...Well, these two bottles here are the ones you need, right?"

"You need not ask. You know they are." Snape walked over to the table and took the bottles from Hermione's hands. He pulled out something to scrape the congealed potion resin with and two tiny glass containers to put them in. "This will take a few minutes. I need to be careful to retrieve as much resin as possible."

Hermione nodded. "Excuse me, sir," she said. "I'll just be in the next room. I want to take a quick look at it."

Deep in concentration, he did not respond, and Hermione turned to go into the final room. She had never been there before, but it was where Harry had saved the Stone from Voldemort. She gasped as she walked in the room, and a giant mirror with clawed feet drew her attention. The Mirror of Erised. She had never seen the mirror before. She had not yet become friends with Harry and Ron when they had snuck out at night to look at it back in their first year. Even if she had been friends with them then, Hermione would not have gone along, even to see this extravagant mirror. Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed a bit at her strict and stubborn younger self. She did know how the mirror worked, of course. Harry had told them about how he used it to retrieve the hidden Stone.

Hermione was very curious. What inner desire of hers would the mirror reveal? She almost decided it might be better not to know. However, perhaps Harry and Ron had influenced her more than she knew because at moments like these, curiosity won over reason.

Hermione stepped in front of the mirror and gazed at her reflection. What she saw made her squeal in surprise.

There she was in the mirror. Severus Snape stood right behind her. She was encircled in his arms, held tight against him. Her mirror-self's arms had come up and crossed themselves over Snape's arms. Hermione gasped and tore her glance from the mirror to make sure that Snape was not really behind her. Assured that he was not, her eyes snapped back to the mirror.

Severus Snape was holding her, his eyes intensely boring into her own. The Snape and Hermione in the mirror seemed to be staring into a mirror of their own and reveling in the reflection that showed both of them holding each other, their eyes locked upon the other's. Severus Snape turned his head down and cradled Mirror Hermione's head under his cheek. His eyes closed, and so did Mirror Hermione's. Their chests swelled as they each sighed deeply in contentment. He then took one of his hands and brought it up to caress her cheek. She leaned into his hand, and he gently turned her face upward as he lowered his own, pressing his lips against hers gently, softly, slowly. Their lips locked in an embrace: two lovers cherishing each other, the softness of their kisses wielding a powerful amount of passion...

Meanwhile, the embodied form of Severus Snape had finished collecting his samples and went to tell Hermione it was time to return. He stood against the wall watching with great amusement as Hermione stared into the Mirror of Erised, her mouth hanging open, and her eyes wide with excitement. Whatever it was that she saw in the mirror, she seemed to crave it desperately. Her body was leaning in towards the mirror, as if she hoped she could fall into it.

"What do you see, Miss Granger?" he said with a sardonic quality to his voice.

Hermione jumped and turned around. She looked flushed, and her cheeks were turning red fast. That good, hmm? Snape thought to himself. Hermione opened her mouth and closed it several times before mumbling, the words barely conceivable, "Sir! Are we ready to go?" She did not wait for his reply, but strode out of the room to begin heading back.

"I'll be right along," Snape called after her. He stood and strode over to the mirror. Dumbledore had left it down here. He seemed to feel that anywhere else it would come in contact with too many people. He had known it was best if people did not have easy access to an object that would allow them to fantasize about their desires.

Snape did not know what he would see when he looked in the mirror. The last time he looked into it, he had seen himself as a free man in a world that was forever free from Voldemort. Snape paused for a moment, not ever having fully realized or appreciated the fact that he had attained his strongest desire of that time. Of course he had; that was why he was at another turning point. What was left to be gained in life now? What did he want?

Snape stood in front of the mirror. What he saw made him nearly topple over in surprise. He watched and let the truth of it sink in. How could I not have known?