Mirrors

 

Mirrors

by Lyda Clunas

 

The room was dim, cold, and very empty. Severus Snape sat in a low armchair, watching the dying embers of an unattended fire burn to ash.

 

It must be at least eight o’clock by now, he thought, and wondered if his co-workers at the laboratory would be likely to notice his absence. Not that it matters, he told himself. Nothing mattered now.

He still tasted the bitter Veritaserum on his tongue as he sank into his thoughts. The Headmaster, after hearing his morbid tale, had left the room without a word. A part of him was listening for the sound of swirling robes and booted feet treading outside the chamber; Severus fully expected a troop of Aurors to blast through the door at any moment. He would go willingly, of course. Even the Dementor’s Kiss would be more welcome than reliving this night.

He did not inspect the office in which he sat; he took no interest in the portraits of Hogwarts’ past Headmasters and Headmistresses, all dozing in their picture frames. Nor did he care about the various objects shelved behind the desk, or the sleeping phoenix—wrinkled and downy, as though it had just been reborn—perched upon its stand. Rather, his dark eyes reflected listlessly the faint glow of the hearth, a sickening echo of the destruction he had witnessed mere hours ago; and he stared down at his cold hands, half-expecting blood to appear there. He sat transfixed as the last bit of heat and light dissolved into powdery ash the color of a faded tattoo…

Convulsively, he gripped his forearm, feeling the tingle beneath his disheveled black robes, and pressed hard against the hidden Mark, as though he could make it disappear through sheer will. He bent his head, slumped in resignation as the terrible recourse of the night’s events played over again in his mind. Horror and guilt blossomed painfully in his chest, winding sickly tendrils about his heart, and he doubled over, waiting for the tears and sobs that would not come. It would be too great a mercy for him.

“Severus.”

It took a moment for him to realize that the voice behind him was not a screaming echo within his memories. Severus lifted his head slowly, turning to face the figure of Albus Dumbledore in the doorway. Severus glanced quickly for signs of the Aurors he was certain Dumbledore must have called; but there was only the ancient Headmaster, looking grave and tired, and carrying a simple object.

Severus lowered his gaze as the Headmaster drew near. “Where are the Aurors?” he asked hollowly.

Dumbledore sat at his desk. “I did not send for them, or inform them of this matter. In fact, I merely left to retrieve this.”

He gently placed the object he had been carrying on the desktop, and pushed it silently to the young man across from him. Severus stared at it, uncomprehending.

“A mirror?”

Dumbledore sat back, folding his hands neatly beneath his bearded chin. “Yes. A mirror.” The Headmaster’s eyes were ringed by pale shadows, but they still twinkled with a knowing gleam despite the seriousness of the situation at hand.

Severus did not touch the mirror lying on the desk. “What does it do?” he asked suspiciously.

“I believe it reflects images,” Dumbledore replied quietly. “It has no magical enhancement or purposes, if that is indeed what you suspect. Sometimes, things are exactly as they seem.

“If you would, Severus, look into this mirror and tell me what you see.”

Out of deference to the Headmaster’s authority, Severus lifted the mirror in his long, trembling hands. It was heavy silver, decorated with winding serpents. Appropriate for the likeness it holds, he thought grimly. The eyes that stared back at him were dark and flat, hooded by intense shadows above his hooked nose. His face was lined prematurely, framed by lank, black hair.

“What do you see?” prompted Dumbledore quietly.

“A Death Eater,” replied Severus in the same hollow voice. Of course, the effects of the self-administered Veritaserum were still controlling the honesty of his replies. “A man who deserves no less than to rot in Azkaban.”

Dumbledore made an indistinct noise in his throat. “Indeed. That is truly what you see, Severus?”

“That is what I am.”

Dumbledore leaned forward, meeting the younger man’s eyes over the mirror. “Very strange,” he said, looking intently into Severus’s face. “That is not what I see at all.”

Severus sneered. “Then you must be blind,” he spat, but the loathing in his tone was reserved more for himself than the Headmaster.

Dumbledore reached out and took the mirror from Severus’s grasp. “A looking-glass such as this,” he began thoughtfully, peering into the reflective surface, “is designed for viewing what we offer on the outside. It reveals nothing but the superficial details of our appearance, and is only a tool for our physical images.

“What you see in this mirror is only what is present on the exterior, not even a shadow of your inner self.”

Severus opened his mouth to speak, but Dumbledore held up a finger for silence.

“It is not one’s thoughts, or attributes, that reveal true nature. It is one’s actions.” He paused, laying the mirror face-down upon the shiny wood of the desktop, considering the man across from him for a brief moment. “You have committed heinous acts, of that there is no doubt,” he said gravely, and Severus felt his head fall forward in guilty defeat, “but I have reason to believe that this—“ he indicated with a bony hand the mirror and Severus’s own countenance, “—this is not your true self.”

 

You are a fool, Severus thought bleakly; the Headmaster simply continued.

“You see, when you came to me tonight of your own accord, you also showed yourself to be far more than you appear. Even as you sit here now, I can see that there is someone else behind the Mark and the mask.

“The fact that you are here, I believe, is proof enough of your conscience.” He closed his eyes thoughtfully. “I very much doubt that you would have made the journey without a desire to change.”

“I came here to turn myself in,” Severus said flatly. He bit into his knuckles, refusing to meet the bespectacled blue eyes of the Headmaster.

“So you did,” Dumbledore said softly. “Why not go to the Ministry then? Why come to Hogwarts to confess to your crimes?”

Severus opened his mouth to give a sarcastic reply; he then realized that he had no answer to the question posed.

 

Why here? the voice inside his head prompted. Why Dumbledore?

He closed his mouth, offering nothing more than a faint shrug.

“Perhaps,” said Dumbledore gently, “it is because you still desire mercy.”

Severus shook his head nearly imperceptibly; almost a reflex action of refusal, a movement which he was certain did not escape Dumbledore’s shrewd gaze. The older man sighed, softly, before speaking again.

“I do not believe that your guilt and your remorse are fabricated. Nor do I believe that this is some intricate plan of deception. And,” he added gravely, “I am prepared to offer you a merciful opportunity.”

“I don’t deserve mercy,” Severus protested feebly.

“Perhaps not,” the Headmaster agreed. “But I am prepared to offer it to you nonetheless.”

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The fight against Voldemort has been a long and difficult one for us. As you surely by now have realized, from your side. But we are not without hope.”

Severus gave a faint laugh of disbelief. “The Ministry is nothing more than a multitude of bungling fools,” he snapped scornfully. “The Dark Lord will come into full power, I have no doubt.”

“Yet you come to me, and admit your guilt. Why not remain on the winning side, so to speak?”

“Because I can’t live with myself. Do you have any idea,” he choked out, “what I’ve seen? I’m not capable of continuing these acts. I… I’ve realized that all too late.”

“Indeed,” said Dumbledore. “Your personal loss is a great one, and you have my sympathy—“

Severus closed his eyes against the vision of charred bodies, the familiar sound of a woman’s scream.

“—but the consequences of your actions must be faced.

“As it happens, I agree, to an extent, with your opinion of the Ministry. Which is why I have been taking some matters into my own hands in this ongoing war. Most unfortunately, I do not have all the resources to do what I feel must be done, nor all of the information necessary. But, if you are willing, I might employ your help.”

Severus cast a sharp look toward the older man before him. “I am of no use to you. I shall be exterminated the instant I do not respond to the Dark Lord’s call.”

“Quite the contrary. You could be of invaluable use to me. The circumstances would call for you not to abandon Voldemort, but rather, to return to his service.”

For a long moment Severus was nonplussed; then, with a dawning horror, he realized what the Headmaster was requesting of him.

“You wish me to spy for you,” he said, stunned. “You want me, a Death Eater, to crawl back to Voldemort, and continue this… this charade, on an even greater magnitude—“

“For the benefit of myself, and for others, yes,” Dumbledore remarked. “I am giving you this task, but it is not yet your obligation.”

Snape was silent, lost for words and battling with the choice placed before him. He waited, utterly still, for Dumbledore to continue.

“You must atone for your sins, of that there is no question. Hopefully, this may be a means for you to discover how. But first, you must make a different choice.

“You cannot hope to gain redemption without first choosing yourself,” the Headmaster said, standing slowly from his seat. He picked up the mirror again, and placed it into Severus’s hands. “You have a decision to make.

“You see, in choosing yourself, you have two options. You can remain the man you see in the mirror.”

Severus gazed into the cool glass again, observing the harsh features therein.

“Or,” continued Dumbledore, “you can become the man behind the mirror.”

Severus was still and silent, staring into the silvery surface.

“The option is entirely yours, and I will not impose any more of my personal judgments upon this matter. I shall leave that to you.”

With that, the Headmaster walked around the desk, his green robes rustling softly. He paused, and reached out as though to administer a reassuring touch upon Severus’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it and headed toward the door.

Severus weighed Dumbledore’s words silently, a slow reaction of wonder at the man’s concern overtaking his distressed heart and mind. In his life, he could not remember experiencing the sort of compassion that Dumbledore was offering, and he felt his characteristic sense of obligation begin to gnaw along the edges of his mind; only, he realized, the loyalty was now felt toward Albus Dumbledore, not Lord Voldemort.

Yet, could he take this opportunity—such that it was—and proceed, continuing with his life, seemingly unchanged on the outside, but with wholly different interests at heart?

He met his own gaze in the mirror once again, regarding the angular features and hard stare with a newfound determination.

 

My choice, he thought, is that there is no choice…

He heard the door squeak open behind him.

“Headmaster,” he said abruptly.

“Yes?” came the low answer, a note of anticipation present in Dumbledore’s voice.

Slowly, but without hesitation, Severus set the mirror face-down upon the solid desk, leaning forward to move the object away from him. He swiveled in his seat, locking Dumbledore’s steady gaze with his own guilty one.

“What do you want me to do?”

A ghost of a smile crossed the Headmaster’s features, along with something like relief, and he faced Severus again, shutting the open door.

“I feel that you have made a wise decision, one that will benefit you as much as myself,” he said gently. “It is a difficult and dangerous task no doubt, but surely not much worse than a straight allegiance with Voldemort.”

“No,” Severus agreed slowly, “not much different at all. Voldemort is as formidable a friend as a foe.”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” Dumbledore remarked. “For the meantime, I wish you to return to your home and your job. Get some rest, and await Voldemort’s call as you would normally.

“I want you to discover and retain as much information as possible, and report to me when I contact you.” He paused delicately. “Of course, while I do not wish you to jeopardize your position, I likewise should hope that you will attempt to circumvent directly engaging in the usual Dark activities.”

Severus quickly grasped the undertones of his words: avoid the use of the Unforgivable Curses. It posed a complicated challenge, but he would accept it; he had greater doubts about his ability to speak the curses without belying the new feeling of revulsion. He nodded assent.

“Good,” replied Dumbledore. He crossed the room yet again, this time placing his hand paternally upon Severus’s shoulder without faltering.

“I know this was, and will be, a difficult undertaking,” he said reassuringly, “but you have my faith, and my trust.”

The question Why? framed itself upon Severus’s lips, but he decided it was irrelevant. He now had an obligation to Dumbledore; somehow the Headmaster had known that Severus’s sense of responsibility would ensure his loyalty. And, Severus realized, he now had no intentions of abandoning that responsibility, or betraying that trust.

“I know,” he answered solemnly.

Dumbledore nodded, and moved back to the door. “I think it is time for you to depart, Severus. I’m afraid your superiors and co-workers might miss you by now, and I hardly think it a wise idea for you to delay your return much longer.”

Severus stood, and with a last furtive glance at the silver mirror on the desk, slouched toward the exit. As he approached the Headmaster, he raised his head and murmured, “Thank you.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore replied, “you have no one to thank but yourself. Now, come along; I shall call on you as soon as all is prepared.”

He nodded again, feeling considerably older than his true age, and followed the Headmaster through the doorway into his new life, leaving the chamber, and the mirror, behind.

* * *