Just a little something I wrote before going shopping. This is actually the first I've written for the Harry Potter fandom, so be nice please.

English is not my native language, so there might be some mistakes.


He knows that it is not real, but he can't help himself.

Oh, the sweet irony of the situation. An illusion, a mere wish reflected on a mirror, is the one thing that gives him the strength to carry on. Dumbledore is gone, no longer burdened, buried in his white tomb, resting peacefully, uncaring and unaware of what is going on in the world that he has left behind. But he, Severus Snape, remains here, following the orders of a dead man and fooling one of the greatest wizards of all times. The man who took the most important thing from him.

Now all he has is the Mirror.

He remembers finding it for the first time when the pain of loss was still fresh.

He remembers the Mirror mocking him when he was trying to teach the Potter boy Occlumency. That time the Mirror showed him reality, Lily and James Potter waving at him cheerfully, instead of his heart's desire.

But that's what he sees now. The Mirror is not broken, and it works for him as it would work for everyone.

Sometimes, when he wants to throw curses at the twisted Carrow siblings, the Mirror works as a pacifying force, her sweet, serene smile calming him down, reassuring him that it will all be over soon. The Dark Lord shall fall once and for all. Albus trusted the famous Boy Who Lived, and so now everyone must rely on him for their lives. Albus told him that the boy has his mother's bravery and wit, although Snape himself only saw his father's arrogance passed on to the next generation. He has the Granger girl with him, though; at least she uses her brain.

A brilliant Muggle-born. Like Lily. Lily, whom, in his anger and humiliation, he called Mudblood. He spat that terrible name at her in their fifth year, changing their relationship forever, losing her, hurting her.

And so, sometimes, looking at the Mirror can be torture sometimes. Her dark red hair is like flames that lap at him and burn him mercilessly. Her emerald green eyes are two hard stones, staring at him coldly.

He deserves that. He deserves the pain, the torment, the turmoil. He deserves it for running to the Dark Lord like a good little dog all those years ago and informing him of the prophecy, the prophecy that cost Lily Evans her life. He deserves it for calling her Mudblood and causing an expression of hurt to cross her lovely face.

He probably uses the Mirror a little bit too much for his own sanity. He could stay there forever, just looking at her. Sometimes he speaks to her, sharing his deepest, darkest fears with her, apologising to her for everything. Sometimes he reaches out a hand to touch her but his fingertips meet nothing but icy, indifferent glass. Sometimes he cries, hot tears running down his cold cheeks.

Sometimes she is alone in the mirror. Sometimes they are there together, her hand finding his and holding it tightly as if afraid to let go, or his arm snaking around her waist. One time there was a child with them, a boy with black hair and green eyes. He never saw the boy again in the Mirror and he will never admit it, not even to himself, but the boy looked just like Harry Potter - except that his hair was not messy but rather long and no scar marred his forehead.

Yes, he could stay here forever. But duty calls.


If you're wondering why I wrote about Snape being mocked by the Mirror during an Occlumency lesson with Harry, read this: www . fictionalley authors / night_wanderer / SLITMOE01 . html

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