Chapter 33

Downstairs they found Tonks and Lupin asleep on the sofa. A flickering light shone from the kitchen and Hermione stormed on, quiet yet determined, a fuming Harry and an extremely confused Ron in her wake.

In the kitchen a puffy eyed Mr. Weasley was herding the fire which was dancing on merrily as if nothing had happened. He looked up at them as they entered the room, surprise illuminating his exhausted face.

"Why aren't you asleep? Did anything happen?"

Hermione threw one imploring glance towards Harry, trying to ignore his icy expression, then walked up to the adult wizard.

"We know where Professor Snape is" she whispered, managing to sound pressed and delighted at the same time. Ron let out a huge yawn and scratched his head.

"How can you…" Mr. Weasley started, then wiped the question away with a vague movement.

"Never mind about the how, where is he?"

Hermione was just about to open her mouth when Harry stepped forward. If it had to be told, he might as well do it himself.

"He is at Hogwarts with Professor McGonagall."

Mr. Wesley was already halfway towards the kitchen door, a heavy coat dangling from his arm which obviously didn't belong to him, judging from the flower ornaments decorating the seams and cuffs. If he had noticed at all, he didn't seem to mind. Reaching for the handle he stopped and looked back at the trio of teenagers.

"I would appreciate it, if we could keep this a secret for a little while, ok, kids? Molly is finally asleep upstairs, Tonks and Lupin are utterly exhausted as well, and I really don't want to wake them. When they ask for me just tell them … tell them …"

"We will tell them that you went out to look for Bill" Harry offered, grateful that the older man obviously had no intention of invading the castle with a helpful crowd of sympathetic spirits.

Quietly Mr. Weasley nodded.

"What if Professor Dumbledore comes back?" Hermione asked.

For a second the older wizard's face grew hard. Then the usual smile appeared again.

"I think it would be best, if you went back to bed and stayed there. You must be dead tired yourselves."

A swish of cold air exchanged places with Ron's father and joined three very quiet teenagers beside the fire.

He was tired, so tired. What was the use in getting up anyway? What was the use in trying? Everything would fall to ruins again, no matter how hard he tried.

Exhausted he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. The sun was still shining, and a bright ray of sunlight tickled his nose in a most annoying way. He tried to shield his eyes from the bright intrusion by drawing his right arm across his face, however there seemed to be no way for him to escape the soft tickling. Finally, he gave in, sat up – and stared into a mirror. He was sure there had been no mirror anywhere in the room before. After all he had cleaned every corner and positioned every single item. There was no way he could have missed a mirror. He hated mirrors. Staring at his own image now – pale, sweaty, much too thin and covered with dust and grime all over – he vividly remembered why.

"Greasy git" he muttered, then turned away – only to face another mirror.

Minerva McGonagall was far past the point of worrying. By now she was sure that Severus had a fever. His body was trembling slightly but steadily while sweat was rolling down his face – a face that showed feverishly red spots. His skin was damp. There was nothing she could do for him in her cat form anymore. This was a job for Poppy, if he liked it or not.

Quickly she transfigured into human form and rolled off the bed when suddenly his hand shot out, grabbing her painfully around the wrist. She looked at him in surprise and found that she had been mistaken before. It wasn't sweat that dampened his face. Those were tears.

"Oh Severus", she muttered, wiping the salty lines away gently with the sleeve of her soft cardigan. "What can I do to help?"

Mirrors everywhere, reflecting at him the image of a man in dark trousers, dirty black shoes and a shirt that may have been white once before, the top buttons undone. His hair was dishevelled, as if a long-fingered hand had combed through it many times. His face was flushed, his eyes wild. Slowly, Severus straightened up, watching as his mirror images did so as well. It was disturbing, seeing himself from so many different angles. Some reflections he didnt even recognise; they were either taller or smaller than what he knew to be true. His hair looked longer from some perspectives, wave from others. Even the colour changed depending on how the light hit that particular mirror. He was surrounded by versions of himself that very believable to various degrees. They moved when he moved, but they didn't all move in the same way. Slowly, deliberately he raised one eyebrow. The reflection directly in front of him did the same, looking haughty. Another reflection further to the left seemed smug, the one in the corner by the window astonished, the one furthest to the right … dare he say mischievous?

Reflections, all true to the original image to a certain degree, yet vastly different in detail, depending on the viewers perspective.

His lips pulled upwards in a smile that wasn't malicious or arrogant or sneering, but relieved. A smile that was reflected back at him in a dozen different ways from a dozen different angles with a dozen different tiny variations.

Mirrors, showing what was there and maybe even more or even less or significantly different in some tiny detail. Mirrors were the way to be seen without being directly looked at. Mirrors were going to make him safe.

He started laughing out loud.