Severus Snape scowled as he turned another corner. Argus Filch's wheezing and their soft footfalls were the only noises to be heard in the dark corridor. Whoever had been in the Restricted Section of the library - and he had a theory about who it was - must've gone very quickly. They hadn't seen or heard anything unusual.
"You're certain that someone was in the library tonight, Mr. Filch?" Snape asked quietly.
"The lamp was still hot, Professor," said Filch.
Snape swore quite loudly as Filch trod on his foot. This was futile. Snape reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to reign in his headache and regain control of his anger.
"I do not believe we are going to locate the culprit - or culprits - tonight," Snape grumbled. "However, I do think it would be prudent for more careful watch to be placed over the library in the future."
He turned, his black robes snapping elegantly around him, and marched off in the direction from which they had come. He wanted to get a look at the library, and see if anything was missing or disturbed. Snape suspected that it had been the Weasley twins breaking into the restricted section. They were irritatingly like James Potter and Sirius Black. Sneaking into the library in the dead of night was exactly something they would have done.
It was something Snape himself had done once or twice, too, if he were honest with himself.
As Snape turned the corner quickly, he felt something soft beneath his foot, and stepped back in horror at the yowl of pain that burst from Mrs. Norris' mouth. The mangy cat hissed so violently that Snape wondered if she'd exploded. He looked back anxiously over his shoulder to see if Filch had heard. The man was so protective of his damn cat. Not wanting to face Filch's ire over having trod on Mrs. Norris' scraggly tail, Snape quickened his pace toward the library.
A door in the narrow corridor stood ajar. Snape frowned. Was it his imagination, or was it opened wider than before? He grasped the handle with his long, pale fingers and tugged it fully open, half expecting to see flaming red hair hiding behind it.
Instead, it was an empty classroom. Well, very nearly empty. The enormous mirror leaning against the far wall looked decidedly out of place. The mirror was familiar to Snape. Something of Dumbledore's, the thought. How careless that Albus would be leaving priceless artifacts lying all over about the school. At least the stone had a network of protective enchantments and . . . Fluffy. A muscle in his calf twitched at the memory of enormous teeth sinking into his flesh.
Snape approached the mirror. He wasn't sure why. He hated seeing his own reflection. He hated his pallid face, greasy locks and obnoxiously long, hooked nose. A perfect blend of his mother and his father. A perfect mix of the first two people in his life that he'd ever hated.
As he stood before the mirror, though, a flash of red caught his eye. For a wild moment, he thought perhaps the Weasley twins had somehow Confounded him, and were slipping out the door behind him this very moment. But then he looked closer. That wasn't a Weasley.
Snape stepped closer. His reflection was there, just in the center of the mirror, and next to him stood the woman who'd haunted his thoughts and dreams for over a decade. Her long, dark auburn hair tumbled down her back in waves. Her brilliant green eyes shone up at him, and she reached out and took the hand of his reflection, lacing their fingers together.
Lily.
Choking back a sob, Snape stared hungrily at her beautiful face. She was perfect. Just like he remembered. Only she'd never quite looked at him like that before. That look of adoration and desire and love. The same look she'd so often worn around James Potter once she'd started dating him. The look Severus Snape had always desperately wished to see directed toward him.
Snape was so engrossed in staring at Lily that he almost didn't notice they weren't alone in the mirror's reflection. In front of them was a boy of about 11. He had black hair and a long nose that hadn't yet developed a hook. Very much like he had looked at that age, but with shorter, less unkempt hair. The boy looked up and Snape's breath caught in his throat. It was Lily's eyes that were looking out of the boy's pale face. His nose and Lily's eyes. This was . . . Their son . . .
Snape had stepped so close to the mirror that it was fogging with every breath. He reached out to touch Lily's face and met with cold, smooth glass instead. He'd once read a book in which a little girl fell through a looking glass into another world. How he wished he could step through right now, and feel Lily's arms around him.
A mark on his son's forehead drew his attention. Peaking through the black fringe was a familiar scar. A scar shaped rather like a lightning bolt . . .
Snape leapt backward with a yell of surprise. The boy. Harry Potter. Or Harry Snape.
"Are you all right, Severus?" a voice said from behind him.
Snape whirled around. His wand, which he kept stashed in the front pocket of his robes, was out in an instant, aimed at the source of the voice.
Albus Dumbledore stepped out of the shadows. Behind his golden half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes twinkled sadly. "I must say I never expected you to discover the Mirror of Erised."
Snape swallowed and cast another longing look at the reflection. "I - I didn't realize this was that mirror."
Dumbledore came closer and laid a gentle hand on the Potions Master's shoulder. "You have no doubt heard the legends of it?"
"It shows what we want. What we want most." Severus was surprised at how steady his voice was. He supposed it came from years of carefully controlling his emotions.
"Yes," said Dumbledore.
There was a lengthy pause, during which Snape felt like he was falling. He reached out to touch his son's - Harry's - shoulder, and knocked his knuckles against the glass.
"Men have wasted away in front of it, Severus. Stronger men than you have fallen victim to its lies."
"Do you - do you know what it is I see?" Snape said, his voice catching in his throat this time.
Dumbledore nodded. "It is ironic, that both you and Mr. Potter see the same thing in the mirror."
Snape's mouth fell open. "You don't mean to say that Potter . . ."
"Oh, not exactly the image you see, Severus," Dumbledore continued softly. "Merely the concept. Family. So tragically sad that what the both of you want most is love."
Snape gathered his expression in a scowl. "Love means nothing, old man," he spat.
"Doesn't it? Love brought you to me from Voldemort, Severus. Love is what kept Harry alive that night in Godric's Hollow. Love, too, I think, protected Harry on his broomstick during the last Quidditch match."
"If you think I have any feelings for that idiot boy -" Snape began.
"Based on what you see in the Mirror," Dumbledore said, cutting off Snape's rant, "I think you very much would like to have feelings for him. Your heart wishes he were your own child."
Snape spluttered. Angry red blotches appeared on his cheeks. He wanted to shout at Dumbledore, to scream and curse and carry on like he had with his father. He just couldn't find the words. Instead, after one more quick glance at the mirror, he turned on his heel and stormed out.
Dumbledore's words floated after him. "I hope you won't come looking for the mirror again, Severus. It does not do to dwell on dreams."
Snape snorted as he breezed out of the room. What did Dumbledore know? Severus Snape never had dreams. Only nightmares.