Chapter 12: Mirrors in the Dark

"I told you that if you'd only look you would see," she said with a last glance at Hermione.

His first thought was that his former colleague had finally lost the last of a rapidly diminishing set of marbles.

The next was the certainty that she most certainly had not.

He wasn't sure which he preferred...the incoherent Trelawney or the one who spouted truths simultaneously incomprehensible and unavoidable. He supposed that at least Trelawney the truth-teller might be providing a map or, at the very least, a clue. But years of decoding cloaked communication had done nothing for his nerves, and all in all, he'd just as soon she'd sent him an owl. Really, he'd even give it scraps of his breakfast.

Instead, her words hung like smoke choking the air of the dark hallway. Nobody moved, frozen by the image of encroaching darkness slipping through cracks in the walls that could no longer contain it.

"Mirrors," Hermione said. "The other side?" She looked dazed and more than a little defeated. Again.

"What's this about mirrors, Miss Granger?" Hermione jumped. "As I recall, you were here to speak with Professor Longbottom. At the greenhouses." The headmistress's heels clacked on the stone floor as she approached from around a sharp corner.

Hermione looked over to Severus, hesitant, her unease like a cloud of fog around them both. He dimly heard Trelawney mutter something about her inner eye needing quiet as she slipped away in a cloud of silk and patchouli.

"It's quite a long story, Headmistress," Longbottom said before Severus could say a word. He caught Severus's eye...confident and steady and not the least bit anxious. And then Severus realised, Longbottom wasn't seeking permission to include the headmistress but was drawing Snape into his circle as a gesture of respect.

Partnership.

Through the buzz of Hermione's anxiety that still rang under his skin, Severus nodded. Not giving permission, precisely, but rather, assent.

Neville turned back to McGonagall. "Perhaps over tea?"

Minerva McGonagall looked from one to the other, lingering one at a time on their haggard faces, their desperate eyes. She pursed her lips until they formed the thin line Severus knew from student and faculty days alike. "Tea. My quarters." Her quarters. The head's quarters. She glanced at Severus. "I do believe you know the way from here."

He winced. He did indeed.

~~**~~

Hermione had never been inside the head's private rooms. As a student, it wouldn't have been proper, and after Voldemort's defeat, she'd had little reason to return to the school for social visits. She wondered if her absence over the years accounted for the palpable air of injury around her former Head of House. It seemed to her that she had personally failed to uphold a standard the headmistress assumed implicit.

Hermione hated being disappointing.

But the fire was warm and so was the tea, and she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her body sink into the soft cushions of the couch she remembered from her student days, late nights meeting with her Head of House to discuss such life-altering issues as how to keep the first years from falling off the moving staircases. Severus had settled himself next to her, and she was both surprised and grateful for his proximity.

He'd been distracted earlier when they'd entered McGonagall's office to request permission to visit Neville, and she could hardly fault him for it. That office was saturated with decades of memories, not to mention the portrait of one Albus Dumbledore.

Here, in his former colleague's quarters...the rooms that had been his during those horrible months as headmaster...he seemed less tense, though a bit melancholy. Mostly, though, she was relieved that he didn't hesitate to stay physically close to her. She wasn't sure that she could have hidden her need for him from Neville and the headmistress but was pretty sure how it would have felt to have him act as if she were irrelevant to him.

Hiding took so much energy. No wonder Severus had been worn out for so long.

"Which one of you is going to tell me what's going on?" McGonagall asked. "I'm not one to pry, but it's clear that this has not been merely a social call."

Severus snorted and McGonagall narrowed her eyes. Hermione knew that look and reckoned Severus did, too.

"And you. Don't think for a minute, young man, that you are off the hook for allowing me to believe that you've been dead for all these years." McGonagall crossed her arms. "I'm over my regrets for having thought you a loyal Death Eater, so I hope you have a mighty good explanation for disappearing just when the truth came out."

Torn between savouring Severus's chastened expression and defending him, Hermione wavered for a moment before stepping between them.

"It's not so simple, Headmistress," Hermione said. "Things didn't go quite as expected after the war. You might have noticed."

Neville nodded, and he and McGonagall exchanged a glance. They'd obviously discussed this.

"I had noticed," McGonagall agreed, "and am at a loss. Our war heroes have not fared well, have they?"

They had not. Not a single one of them. Cataloguing it for the headmistress was more depressing, oddly, than reviewing it with Neville. Maybe it was the shock on her face, or the small sounds of grief in her throat as she listened to the story of the pain and deterioration of seven of the people central to the defeat of Voldemort. It might have been how baffled she looked; she had no easy answers for them...no answers at all, actually, and Hermione realised that she'd secretly hoped her former mentor might pull the solution from a bag. Or transfigure them one from nothing but hope.

"You've made some remarkable progress from the sound of it," McGonagall said. "Knowing what you do gives you somewhere to start. Even if it is knowing that something about prolonged or intense exposure to a Horcrux..." She shuddered as she uttered the word. "...created some sort of breach in the natural defences we all carry against the Darkness."

"The erosion of the barrier creates increasingly difficult symptoms and is itself an impediment to finding a cure," Severus added.

"What do mirrors have to do with any of this?" asked McGonagall.

"That," Hermione said, "is an excellent question." She sighed and put her teacup on the table. "Professor Trelawney was just... there when we were leaving. She was muttering about broken mirrors and shadows. She's rather terrifying, actually."

McGonagall choked on the last bite of biscuit.

"Albus insisted," she said. "And she apparently does have her moments of lucidity...if one considers 'seeing' a lucid moment."

"Let's assume for a wildly improbable moment that she's spoken about something true," Severus said. "How might mirrors...broken or not...be relevant to our situation?"

"What do we know about mirrors?" Hermione muttered to herself.

"Not just any mirrors, Hermione. Magical mirrors," Neville said.

Hermione flushed. Muggle-born, right. Magical mirrors. Did she know anything about magical mirrors? Was the Mirror of Erised in the same class as the enchanted mirrors that taunted her about her mop of hair? What about the two-way mirror that Sirius gave Harry? "Are they all the same?" she asked. "Being Muggle-born puts me at a significant disadvantage here. I never thought much about mirrors. Actually, I try not to look, these days."

"Why not?" Severus asked. She heard the catch in his throat and wondered what was upsetting about a woman not looking at her own reflection.

"Don't like what I see," she muttered. "It's easier to turn away. What's the difference?"

"Because you're describing avoidance, not indifference, Hermione. And avoidance, particularly when it refers to something magical, is important." He paused. "You must be able to see it," he murmured, almost to himself.

"See what? I told you already, I don't like what I see in the mirror, so I don't look."

"The Darkness. It sort of pours out and wraps around you." She shuddered, and he rushed to continue. "Not all the time. Only when something triggers it." He reached his hand to stroke her cheek, and she nearly whimpered at the relief the contact brought. "Like now."

They sat like that a long moment, she leaning her cheek into his hand, warmth returning to her limbs with each pass of his thumb along her cheekbone. Distantly, she heard Neville fidgeting in his chair and then a soft cough from her former Head. She nodded and Severus moved his hand to circle her shoulders, and she threaded her arms around his waist. Safe now.

"Well then..." McGonagall seemed determined to continue without reference to the exchange she'd just witnessed. "What does the mirror reveal that isn't evident otherwise?" Her eyes flickered to Severus and Hermione and to Severus's hand gently stroking her arm. "I see the exhaustion...and pain...in all three of you, and regrettably, I've seen the rage erupt in you, Longbottom," she said. "But the rest of what I know is rumour."

"Have none of the others been in touch with you?" Hermione asked.

"No. None of them." She paused. "Regardless, I do have my ways of keeping track, you know."

She nodded. "I would imagine that not much gets by you even from here, Headmistress." She swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry that I never came back." McGonagall inclined her head and Hermione recognised grief at opportunities lost in her pensive expression. "Things got tense pretty soon after the war. It was confusing. Overwhelming." She thought for a moment. "Disorganising, too. Of all of us, I suppose I had been the one considered most likely to return to Hogwarts. Either to visit or to stay."

"You were." The headmistress's voice was tight, but Hermione heard the sadness beneath its edge. There was nothing for it. No words to describe the depth of the ache she'd carried these last ten years and how coming to Hogwarts had seemed worse than irrelevant, odd though that sounded to her now, here, sitting in the castle after so many years.

Why hadn't she come back? It wouldn't have been for the library...she'd already had all the school's books regarding Horcruxes, or at least that's what she told herself when she travelled to every other library she could think of but never to Hogwarts. She could have come back for more than books; she could have come back for support, for the wisdom of her teachers, for the deep magic that resided in this place. Strange that she hadn't. Wondering if the reasons were part and parcel of the whole mystery, she turned to her former classmate.

"Neville, what is different about magical mirrors? Apart from the fact that they do odd things like talk to you or reflect your deepest desire."

"Mirrors in the wizarding world aren't made only of glass, Hermione," he said.

"What else are they made from?"

Neville looked to the headmistress, and it occurred to Hermione that it would never have occurred to Neville that this sort of phenomenon required an explanation.

"Severus?"

He looked at the others and gestured to the headmistress. "Minerva, if you would."

She nodded. "Mirrors, Hermoine, take any number of forms in our world. Enchanted glass is the simplest and the closest to what Muggles understand." Hermione sat up straighter, listening while her mentor went on. "It is also the type that is most commonly discussed with students."

"What other objects are considered mirrors in the wizarding world? I've never heard of such a thing. How is it that I never came across..."

Severus drew her closer. "Relax, Hermione. It's not something that generally comes up in conversation. It's more implicit, and certainly it would not have been addressed at your level of study, though it's possible that either Professors Vector or Babbling alluded to it obliquely."

Wait, Runes? Arithmancy? But the headmistress had continued on. Unsatisfying, but it would have to do. For now.

"Any object which, in its true form, reflects something of the user is considered a mirror," the headmistress was saying. "It may reflect wishes, or dreams. Or it could reflect an aspect of even the most hidden parts of, well..." She looked vaguely uncomfortable.

"Their soul," Hermione said.

"Indeed."

"Severus, you said that the cards we used were like a mirror."

"I did," he said. "They reflect a truth inside each of us, and in the rather unusual way we used the cards, they reflect something about the relationship between us."

"What else?" Her heart was pounding now. Excitement, intellectual interest, fear. She didn't know which of these set her pulse racing, but she had to know more about the mirrors. Their answer was here, it had to be.

"Portraits are a sort of mirror, though a partial one," said Neville. "As is the Room of Requirement." He paused to think. "And the Sorting Hat."

"They're all mirrors?" Hermione asked. "I'd never though of it that way." But now that she had, it seemed so obvious. Each of those objects reflected an aspect of the person engaged with it.

"These are all examples of external objects that mirror the self," said the headmistress. "But there is something more essential that is also a type of mirror."

All three looked at her, blank faced.

"Oh, honestly. You should be able to figure this out. I demonstrated it on the first day of classes third year. Even your third year, Severus."

Severus crossed his arms and was silent. Hermione wondered what he didn't want to...

"Oh! The Animagus transformation?" Hermione asked. "The Animagus transformation! Of course."

"What does the Animagus transformation have to do with mirrors?" asked Neville.

"Headmistress, may I?" McGonagall smiled, and Hermione felt a flicker of the old energy at solving an intellectual problem and the joy at her mentor's pride.

"The Animagus form reflects a person's essence, Neville. Don't you remember how when we were training for the D.A. all of our Patronus forms were so fun to discover because they were a surprise, but not really? They all made sense, remember?"

"Patronus forms are not Animagus forms, though, are they? Headmistress?" Neville looked confused.

"Evidence gathered over thousands of years has never disproved the notion that one's Patronus is identical to one's Animagus form."

Hermione glanced at Severus, but his face was immobile. Everybody in the room knew the form Severus's Patronus took. Nobody said a word. Hermione took a breath. She had to ask.

"Then why does the Patronus sometimes change? I'd heard it could change in response to an overwhelming emotional event or a strong feeling," Hermione said.

"It can be altered in the face of deep love, yes," said the headmistress. "This makes good sense, actually, if you consider what it means to truly love someone."

"Not everybody's Patronus form changes when they fall in love, though," said Neville. "Are you implying that in the case of true love, that one's Patronus should change?"

"I am not," she said. "I am merely suggesting that there are times, there are loves, which change us profoundly. Other loves are deep and beautiful, but may not create the sort of transformation that catalyses change to a person's soul...and then to the mirror of that soul."

Severus's expression shifted. His face was no longer stony. Instead, she thought, he looked contemplative.

"Animagus and Patronus forms, then. Those are two more mirrors," Hermione said. "If I had to wager, I'd bet that the broken mirrors Professor Trelawney... saw are more likely to be inside of us than outside."

"Agreed," said Severus. Hermione was relieved to hear his voice. "And I cannot think of another magical phenomenon that compares to either of those as a pure reflection of soul. Can any of you?"

The witches and wizards paused. One by one, they shook their heads.

"So we need to investigate mirrors, specifically Patronus and Animagus forms?" Neville asked.

"Seems as good a place as any to start," Hermione said. She looked at Severus. "How does that sound?"

"Acceptable," he said.

"It's settled, then," said the headmistress. "I'll find rooms for the two of you here at once."

~~**~~

Severus froze. "That won't be necessary, Minerva. We thank you, but..."

"Nonsense, Severus," said Minerva. "Hogwarts has the best library in this part of the world..."

"I've been to all the great libraries, headmistress," Hermione said. "It didn't help. And the...Well, we've been advised that book knowledge won't get us very far in this case."

"No matter," said Minerva. "Hogwarts' library is the least of her resources, Miss Granger."

"She has a point, Hermione," said Severus. He didn't know why he was agreeing with anything Minerva suggested. He hardly wanted to leave his home and take up residence here of all places. He'd waited decades to get out of the castle; he wasn't coming back in without a fight.

And yet.

Hogwarts did have more resources than any magical location he had access to, not the least of which were his former colleagues. This might not be an advantage, he realised, as the last time he'd seen them, they had been shooting hexes his way, chasing him out of the castle via one of its windows.

They had heard his full story since then, though. If Minerva's attitude was any indication, they might not attempt to hex him on sight. Perhaps. And the students in residence wouldn't know him either. By reputation, yes, but even that had undergone a sea change, it seemed.

Though they all did think he was dead.

A live Severus Snape was, in point of fact, entirely different than a dead, martyred Severus Snape.

"Severus?" Hermione's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"I will go wherever you do," she whispered.

He looked at her then, and his heart lurched at the fear in her eyes.

"And I with you," he said. She sighed and sank back into the circle of his arm and the softness of the couch. "What would you like to do?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I wish I knew. I just want to be with people who can help; I want to be somewhere where we have a shot at figuring this out." She snorted. "I suppose I know more than I thought. Being here wouldn't be so bad. Would it?"

He paused. "The worst part was walking up to the castle, I think," he said, and she reached up to brush an errant strand of hair from his eyes. The gesture brought a flush to his cheeks, and he remembered that they were not alone. Without turning away from Hermione, he spoke. "Minerva, we would require only one set of rooms. Is this acceptable?"

"Well," she said, "it's highly unusual. An unmarried couple sharing quarters..."

"I won't..."

"We won't be separated," Severus interrupted. "If you cannot see your way clear to lodge us together, we shall have to make our way back and forth from my home in Spinner's End." He hesitated. And in a softer voice. "Our home."

"Our home," Hermione whispered. Her lower lip quivered, but this time, she held back her tears.

Severus didn't care that Longbottom was in the room. He didn't care that Minerva was watching them both through narrowed eyes. She'd just spoken of love, of a bond that transformed.

This time, he hoped, she'd recognise what was staring her in the face without the benefit of narration.

It shone so bright, how could she mistake it?

~~**~~

After Hogwarts, Spinner's End felt tiny, even a bit confining. How hard it must have been to return here each holiday, Hermione thought. From the magical majesty of the castle to the provincial Muggle home that held its own brand of sadness and loss.

The headmistress had been a bit flustered but agreed to find chambers for Hermione and Severus to share, and they didn't speak of it again, only to say that they'd return to Spinner's End for the night and to gather their belongings.

Tomorrow, they would make their way back. Tomorrow, they would join Neville and any faculty who would help them.

Tomorrow, Hermione thought...the day she might begin to trust in the sunrise again.

But tonight was theirs, and despite knowing that they would have their own rooms in the castle, there was something precious about these last hours in this house, this room, this bed.

Tomorrow would bring others into their circle. Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow would ultimately mean inviting the others back again, and Hermione shuddered at the thought.

"What is it?" he whispered in the dark, his breath warm against her skin.

"Just thinking."

"Rarely advisable," he murmured.

"Especially not when I have you here, like this." She ran her hands up and down his bare skin, enjoying the angular lines and his sharp intake of breath at her touch.

"You have me like this for as long as you want it so."

Her skin burned with the heat of his words.

"Promise me."

"Promise?"

The words came from nowhere, urgent. She shifted so they lay side by side, face to face, reached her hands to caress his jaw and brought her lips to his. Lingering.

A whisper.

"Promise me, Severus." That you'll always want me. That you'll love me. That you'll never leave me, no matter what you see in your mirror, and in mine.

She never knew if he heard the words she hadn't spoken, but when he brought his hands to frame her face and met her eyes, she knew to the depths of her soul he would tell her the truth.

Without words, he showed her. His truth, wrapped in flushed skin and warm breath, and shared with the most sensuous touch she'd ever known. Her body sang when he was near, and the sweep of his tongue and caress of his hand transported her. He wanted her; he desired her; she could make this taciturn man moan, could send him over pleasure's edge. The threads of passion would bind them for a time, she thought.

But it was the unexpected warmth of the tears raining on her skin when she cried out his name that gave her pause. And hope. And let her drift, at last, into sleep, their bodies warm, and sated, and still entwined.

~~**~~

The moon was rising, but he hardly noticed because his feet were so cold.

It must be because of the ice.

Downdowndown... he peered through the thick layer of ice into the depths of the lake beneath.

Usually darker down there.

Tonight, it was as if the bottom of the lake was filled with pinpricks of light.

I almost can see to the very bottom.

So cold. He shivered.

He shouldn't be here. It's not his job to walk up above.

Besides, the headmaster always said never to journey on the surface of the lake alone.

Have to go, have to go.

And the thunderous noise of ice cracking tore him from sleep into the bright light of day and Hermione's body anchoring him to the earth.

***

Beta kudos to Annie Talbot.