A Different Kind of Pain

"Damn, it has to be here!"

Snape's eyes searched the hallway, looking for the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Deep down, he knew he was a fool to even come here. He should be lying in his bed, resting...

healing.

However, those sensible objections were dismissed instantly as Snape spotted the portrait in question at the end of the corridor. He limped forward, his right leg still numb due to the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. He swore under his breath. The Dark Lord had been in an exceptionally bad mood after Snape had informed him of Arthur Weasley's rescue.

His Lord's reaction to this news had followed an old tradition: blame the messenger.

Afterward, Snape had barely made it to Grimmauld Place without splinching himself into a thousand pieces.

Finally reaching the portrait, he stopped and turned to the opposite wall, running a shaky hand through his hair. His heart was pounding far too heavily in his chest for his liking. Every fiber of his being needed to do this after last night. Snape closed his eyes.

Lily.

He knew she had been a fever-induced hallucination, but everything had felt so real.

Her touch. Her lips on his skin – soft and gentle. To remember it was nearly unbearable, knowing that there was no chance he would ever feel it again.

Lily. Dead. Gone.

Snape exhaled slowly, before walking three times swiftly past the hidden entrance of the Room of Requirement. He entered it immediately as the door appeared in front of him, only casting a short glance along the deserted corridor on his way. It wouldn't do to be seen by Dumbledore right now.

Once inside, the sight of the object he had longed to see immediately greeted Snape. Relief flooded his chest. The Room of Requirement did its reputation justice. He approached the item that stood solitarily in the middle of the empty chamber, well hidden beneath a dark blue blanket. Long, trembling fingers ran lightly over the velvet fabric, sensing easily the inscription beneath. He knew the words all too well.

erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi ..... I show not your face but your heart's desire.

It had been years since he had felt so desperate to look into the Mirror of Erised; in fact, not since Potter's first year. As the boy – a perfect resemblance of his father - had arrived at Hogwarts, it had been a shock to him to see that Potter had truly inherited those emerald green eyes - her beautiful eyes.

Lily's eyes.

They mocked him, day by day. With each look the boy gave him, everything came back to him, every memory he had so carefully buried in a corner of his soul.

In that first year, he had spent whole nights in front of the Mirror, savoring the intoxicating reflection and reminding himself of his vow. He would protect the insolent, undeserving boy at all costs – for her, for Lily.

Snape sighed, his right hand kneading his stiff neck.

Dumbledore had removed the enchanted item the instant he had found his Potions master mesmerized in front of it one night.

'You know, Severus,' he had said, 'men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen. I would not want to see you lose yourself in such a dreadful way.'

The old man had been right.

However, tonight the need that had driven him to come here was stronger than reason. Last night's hallucination had shaken him to the core. He had always assumed – no, hoped – that his feelings would fade slightly over time. But his hope had been proven wrong: Lily was still so deeply carved into his heart that she could summon such a bittersweet vision in a moment of weakness. And as if fate wanted to mock him, it felt as if the skin on his forehead still tingled from the touch of her lips.

It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

A ridiculous fool ensnared by an illusion his fever-clouded mind had created, so different from the real Lily; his Lily had never shown such compassion towards him – as much as he had wished her to do so. They had been friends, best friends until...

Snape swallowed, his fingertips once again trailing absently over the fabric-covered surface of the Mirror of Erised.

Nevertheless, it had been the unknown compassion he had felt in her touch and, most of all, the caring tenderness he had seen in her eyes yesterday that had undone him, even in his foggy state of mind.

Ignoring the wave of pain that shot through him, a final protest from his exhausted body, he dug his fingers deeper into the dark blue velvet, finally giving into the overwhelming need to see those feelings reflected in her eyes again. With a swift movement, he threw the blanket away, baring the surface of the Mirror to his eyes.

The moment he looked into it, he saw her.

Lily.

Beautiful as always, smiling, her eyes glittered with the same tenderness as last night. The sight made his heart clench in the most painful way.

Had pain ever been closer to pleasure?

And as she stepped up beside him, entwining her fingers in his, he was lost.

On mere impulse, Snape brought their supposed joined hands up to his mouth, his eyes fiercely fixed on the reflection, savoring the sight. As his lips met nothing but cool air, another wave of pain struck him - an ancient, different kind of pain, causing his already unsteady legs to give in ultimately.

He drew a sharp breath as his knees hit the stone floor. His hands rested on his thighs, supporting his trembling body. He kept his eyes firmly shut; his whole existence was reduced to breathing and struggling against the overwhelming nausea that rose in his stomach.

Madness.

This was nothing but sweet, self-destructive madness. He shouldn't have come here at all.

Snape didn't know how long he knelt in front of the Mirror of Erised in the end, unable to regain his composure and unaware of his surroundings.

His first link back to reality was the touch of a large, careful hand on his shoulder. Yet, he did not move or open his eyes. He didn't need to look to know it was the hand of Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus? Do you hear me?"

His sole answer was a curt nod from beneath the streaks of his greasy black hair.

Dumbledore sighed in relief as he withdrew his hand.

"I don't need to tell you that you are still far too weak for such an excursion, do I, Severus?"

Snape managed a rueful, cheerless laugh, before he met the piercing blue eyes of the Headmaster. He rose from the floor with shaky legs in a miserable attempt to preserve at least a small amount of his dignity.

Dumbledore observed him carefully over the top of his half moon glasses, his eyes devoid of their perpetual twinkling.

"What ever you wish to say, Albus, say it," Snape snapped, while his right hand rested against a pillar of the room for support.

"Severus, I do not claim to know why you have wished to look into the Mirror of Erised tonight, but I would like to remind you that the reflection does not show you the truth but your heart's deepest desire. Such things tend to change over time."

Snape remained silent, keeping his schooled face bare of any emotion.

Foolish hopes of a foolish old man with the only purpose to weaken his defenses, if he chose to indulge in their deceit.

A long time ago – in a moment of pitiless clarity - Snape had realized that he had never been and would never be on the receiving end of the tenderness he longed for. This was as sure as the fact that he would not survive this war.

The Headmaster sighed once again, as he realized he wouldn't receive a response from his Potions master.

"I am going to retire for the night, Albus," Snape said coolly, already limping for the door. He cursed his shaking hands silently as they betrayed his still-weakened state.

"Severus, would you mind if I accompany you on your way?"

A frown crossed the Potions master's sweaty face. He turned around to meet the twinkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

"I am not an invalid, Albus."

"No, you are definitely not, Severus," the Headmaster said amusedly, while he approached him, "but I fear Miss Granger would be quite angry with me if I allow you to wander alone around the castle in such a state."

"Miss Granger?" Snape arched a questioning eyebrow.

It always comes down to one of your precious little Gryffindors, doesn't it, Albus?

"Yes, Miss Granger. She found you last night at Grimmauld Place, Severus. Didn't I mention that before? Never mind, the girl was rather worried for your wellbeing, I dare say."

Snape said nothing, pondering silently over this new piece of information while he limped beside Dumbledore. His stomach clenched into a single knot. The nausea and the pain started to return.

Granger.

He couldn't remember her. He had been alone in the kitchen, besides...

No.

"Well, she Flooed me and..."

Snape didn't hear the rest of Dumbledore's explanation. He had stopped in his tracks, leaning against the wall for strength as realization dawned.

"I need to inform Professor Dumbledore and you need help, Severus," Lily had said.

...Miss Granger... she found you last night at Grimmauld Place... she Flooed me ... she was rather worried for your wellbeing...

It had been her.

Running a hand over his face, he shook his head slightly in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

Granger. His humiliation was perfect.

And why was the damn ground swaying?

"Are you alright, Severus?"

From somewhere far away, Dumbledore's voice cut through the fog in his head, but he ignored the question and his blurring vision, willing his mind to continue the former line of thought.

The compassion. The caring. The tenderness.

It had all been her.

Suddenly and like through a clammy haze, he felt himself pant for air. His burning throat tightened with each breath he drew.

"Whenever you need me."

Her promise. Not Lily's.

Not Lily's...

And then he knew no more as darkness swallowed him whole.

Once again many thanks go to my lovely beta Losille2000. Thank you, my dear :-)

Oh, and reviews really feed my muse ;-))