An individual or two
"Society exists only as a mental concept; in the real world there are only individuals":- Oscar Wilde.
Harry stared bitterly into emerald eyes, hazy and blurry and smudged with darkness that only he could see. They reminded him of what he had fought for, and what he had lost.
His mother's eyes. He hated to see them so corrupted but at least he'd done his part, but she was gone. His father was gone. His friends were gone… Harry was left.
The mirror showed him his heart's desire… he wasn't all that surprised to see the arm on his shoulder, a gentle source of comfort in the darkness. He couldn't see the owner; it didn't matter anyway. He just wanted someone, anyone, to be there for him. The days were getting old and Harry hated being alone.
He'd thought it was over. The war was dead and Voldemort with it. The blood was still on his conscience. The unseeing eyes of Ron, of Hermione, of Remus Lupin were still vivid in his mind. Ginny was gone … no one knew where. It didn't matter. She wasn't there for Harry. She wasn't there.
Harry hated the mirror; he hated what it did to him. He went to it each time to see if he'd gotten over his stupid, foolish ideas. It seemed it was damned determined to stay with him. He'd had enough, too much of seclusion and tormenting himself with an illusion.
He idly watched the shivers of glass and for a moment he thought it wouldn't break but it fell, cascading like cool silk to the floor. Harry simply stared as the pieces stilled. There was icy glass on the dirty, dark floor. It seemed perfect. He felt better now, and yet much worse. He was alone now, even more alone now. He didn't even have the imaginary guardian, make believe friend to stand by him. He simply had himself. His darkened eyes closed in misery.
The ministry had turned on him, the murderer, evil, violent, dark, a disgrace to his parents and the wizarding community. If the minister had had enough order to get around to it he would have been exiled, shipped off to some unknown country to live in peace and loneliness; he almost wished they had. Hogwarts had so many memories.
Severus had taken to wandering his old haunts, getting lost in corridors he knew so well. He felt like the last man standing, and it didn't feel as good as he'd imagined. Hogwarts had passed to him because he was the only staff member left. He didn't run it as a school but as a warped sanctuary. It was too early, far too early. No one trusted him; no one even trusted Hogwarts anymore. Dumbledore was dead and so Hogwarts was dead and they resented him for living. He hated the world and its lack of compassion. He hated them all.
He'd seen Potter roaming the halls but hadn't commented. He had made it clear those with nowhere to go could stay there. Only the one turned up. Only the one came and thanked him for his work. Only one refused to look at him in scorn – and that made him furious. Out of everyone it had to be Potter!
He'd seen him look into the old Mirror, not that he had pried; he had just happened to follow him for half and hour with silencing and secrecy spells on his person. A pure accident if ever there was one! He didn't want to think about why he had taken to following the boy who lived, the one who had vanquished the Dark Lord. Severus however thought his title was obsolete. Harry had not lived, only survived. He could see as much straight away. The boy's once bright eyes were dull and strangely detached from the world. He hated to see them so, and he didn't know why.
He listened the boy's angry muttering but never breathed a word. Above all else he wished he knew what the boy saw in that cursed mirror, what drew him back time and time again. One day, if he dared, he might ask.
He stared in horror as ice fell upon the boy in a wave. The glass cut his pale skin and he leapt forwards his wand creating a shield before he'd even thought the spell but the damage was done and it lay at their feet in a pool of silver.
Harry didn't react; he just let it all happen around him. He didn't make angry retorts about why Severus had been there; he just accepted it.
Severus turned the boy's head to face him and tried to push as much emotion as he could into his usually blank expression. He needed to draw out the boy this man used to be.
"You could have just asked, you know… what I see in that thing".
Severus hardly dared breathe. He didn't know why it mattered so much but it did and he stared into the green mists.
"I see myself. Just as I am, and it frightens me how pathetic I have become, how alone I am. There is someone beside me but I can't see them."
Severus didn't know what to think. It wasn't what he had imagined. He had thought of emotional scenes with his parents, his deceased friends, even Albus - but this was just unexpected. He cautiously put a hand on the boy's shoulder and closed his eyes in thought, wishing he knew the right words to say. Harry's stayed open, imagining how this might have been reflected in the mirror, and he felt a strange overwhelming calm. This man would always be there, there to save his sorry self from the horrors he found and the adventures that hunted him down.
He let himself be tugged away, not to his own rooms but to his. He fell asleep on the couch with the man watching over him. He did not dream. He sensed the same calming sensation, a hand on his brow, the drawing up of a blanket but he slept though, simply knowing, always knowing and no longer feeling alone.