A Reflection of Himself

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Chapter Eighteen

Christmas Day had arrived. The snow was falling gracefully outside in a wintry ballet of wonder, and everything was calm and quiet all around. Upon opening his eyes that blissful morning, Harry's focus came to rest on the window, where he intently watched the snowflakes as they fell. Lying there in his bed, he found it hard to believe that there was so much unrest in the world around him and within himself as well. On the surface, everything seemed perfect, perhaps too perfect.

Sighing, Harry reached for his glasses on the nightstand next to his four-poster bed. He sat up and pushed the crimsom covers away and slid his bare feet into his slippers that were resting near the bed. He glanced over at Ron and noticed that his friend was still asleep and noticed a pile of presents at the foot of Ron's bed as well. Harry smiled and walked to the foot of his own bed and came across a similar pile of presents. He bit back the urge to open them and decided to wait for his friends.

As Harry thought about his friends, his mind came to Luna, and sadness immediately surfaced. The poor girl was only fifteen years old and was now an orphan, but if anyone could understand that feeling, it was Harry, although he had not had the chance to know his parents like she had. At least that was something. He would make it a point to talk to her before the day was through.

Harry descended the stairs and came to an empty, brisk common room. The silence was penetrating, and Harry found himself drawn back to happier days when sounds of laughter and happiness filled the air at Christmas. He thought of all his Christmases at Hogwarts and how they had always been worlds better than any Christmases spent with those insufferable Dursleys, and of course there was last year's Christmas, which was spent with his friends at Sirius's place.

Harry smiled sadly, recalling how happy his godfather had been during that time. It seemed like Sirius hadn't wanted the holidays to ever end, for that would have meant being confined to an empty and foreboding house once again with only his horrid mother's portrait and that vile house-elf Kreacher for company (if you could call them that). Finding himself walking toward the door to leave, Harry quietly sang his own version of "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" and laughed in spite of his sadness. Grieving was a strange thing, but it seemed all right to laugh now. Being happy through the sadness was sometimes for the best, and as Harry made his way down the corridor, he realized that Sirius would have wanted him to be happy, in spite of everything.

Oddly enough, Harry wasn't very hungry, and he knew that there would be a Christmas feast in the Great Hall anyway around noon. Since it was already late morning, he figured he could simply wait. Harry merely went wherever his two feet took him.

He found himself standing now in the entrance hall. Staring at the doors to the outside, Harry knew it would be plain foolish to venture outside in only his pajamas and slippers. He wondered if anyone would say anything if they found him wandering the halls dressed like this, but he didn't care. It was Christmas, after all. Suddenly, the heavy oaken doors swung open, revealing a darkly-clad figure. The man's breath could be seen in the cold air that briefly blew into the castle, but with a swift movement, the doors were just as soon closed.

The man looked up and released a rather irritated sigh. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting an audience, but then again, neither had Harry.

Harry was the first to speak. "Professor, were you out for a morning stroll?" he questioned innocently enough.

"I have no time for your snide remarks, Potter," Snape muttered, intent on walking away from Harry in another direction.

Harry noticed that Snape's voice was worn and ragged, and as he began to move, he was not holding himself in his usual manner. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was facing the ground. He seemed... drained.

Perhaps against his better judgment, Harry nervously took a step in the professor's direction and tentatively asked, "Sir, are- are you all right?"

Snape thought his ears to be deceiving him. Had Harry just asked him if he was all right? Stranger things were known to happen, but this? As exhausted as he was, the tiredness only fueled Snape's agitation.

Wheeling around and fixing Harry with as menacing a glare as he could possibly muster at the moment, Snape snapped, "Do I look all right to you, Potter?"

Harry stepped back and felt his breath caught in his throat. I shouldn't have asked... He glared at Snape harshly and barked, "Of course you don't. I was just-"

"Just what?" Snape practically snarled. "Is this your idea of a good time, hmmm? Is this what you do on holiday for amusement? I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Potter. How very much like your arrogant father you are, and I daresay, if you're not careful, you may wind up even more like him: dead."

It took every last bit of Harry's willpower for him to resist biting back. He knew that Snape was simply baiting him, and for once, he wasn't going to fall prey to the man's games. Swallowing his pride, Harry faced Snape squarely and remembered Lupin's words: Snape was just a man.

Taking a deep breath, Harry said evenly, "Sir, please hear me out. Contrary to what you think, I'm not trying to 'have a good time' or 'seek amusement' or whatever it is that you're so inclined to think. You looked - look - tired, and I just wondered if you were okay because I was... well, I was worried."

Harry rushed through the last words, feeling a bit embarrassed, and looked down at his slipper-clad feet. Snape, on the other hand, was eyeing Harry suspiciously, not entirely sure what to make of the boy's words. Was it truly possible that Harry was concerned enough to be worried about the likes of him? Snape wanted to deny it all, for deep inside, he felt undeserving of any kind of concern for his own wellbeing. It was much easier to build the walls high and thick around himself and hide away from the rest of the world than to be at the mercy of openness and feelings.

Finally, after a rather long silence, Snape replied quietly, "In that case, then, Mr. Potter, no... I am not all right. There was a meeting last night-"

"A Death Eater meeting?" Harry asked, looking up at Snape, unable to help himself from interrupting.

"Yes," Snape replied, irritated at being cut off. "Miss Lovegood's father was their latest victim, I'm afraid."

"I know," Harry murmured softly. "I found out a couple of days ago from Luna."

"I see," Snape said carefully. "It goes without saying that he won't be the last victim..."

Harry shuddered and found himself asking the inevitable question. "How many more- ?"

Snape looked away, fixing his eyes on really nothing at all. He then closed his eyes as if in pain and released a heavy sigh. "I don't know," he nearly whispered. "Who can say?"

Watching Snape standing there so vulnerable, Harry felt a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. He was probably seeing this man for who he really was for the first time, and it was almost unbearable. Every nasty remark Snape had ever thrown at Harry, every unfair detention he had received, every house point he had lost as a result of the Potion Master's bidding didn't matter one bit.

"How can you stand it?" Harry questioned, feeling very afraid, earlier happiness completely obliterated.

Another sigh. "I just have to," the older wizard answered simply. "What other choice do I have? What other choice do any of us have for that matter?"

"Then I am sorry," Harry said sincerely.

Shocked, Snape fixed his eyes directly on Harry's face. "What for?"

"That you have to, you know, put up with so much."

"My choices have been my own, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, a bit more guarded.

Before Harry could answer, Snape walked away.

* * * * *

Snape grimaced as he muttered the password to Dumbledore's office ("peppermint sticks"). Why must the Headmaster always choose some sort of sweet? he thought sourly, shaking his head in annoyance. As he thought this, the stairway rose from the ground level and stopped once it was in front of the Headmaster's door. Knocking on the door, Snape awaited Dumbledore's unmistakably cheery greeting.

It came.

"Ah, Severus," the aged wizard said upon opening the door. "Happy Christmas to you, my boy."

"Can we please skip the holiday cheer and get to business?" the Potions Master muttered, slumping into a chair.

"Of course," the Headmaster replied in a somewhat concerned tone.

"Another meeting was called last night," Snape began, his eyes focusing on the floor. "I just now returned..."

"And?"

"And it's no surprise," Snape mumbled, clearly annoyed. "More killings are to be expected. A student and a student's father, as you already know, Headmaster, have been taken." He sighed and continued, "Sometimes I wonder how much of a help I am in this whole bloody mess."

Bringing his pale, long-fingered hands to each side of his head, Snape held his head as if its weight were too much to bear. In this position, his dark eyes were fixed directly on the floor, gazing at the buckles on his dirtied boots. As was trademark, his long hair hung limply in his face, so Dumbledore couldn't even see the strain that was etched across much of the younger man's features. If judging by his outer appearance and composure was anything to go by, Snape's insides were an absolute, utter wreck. He felt torn and ragged on the edges to the point of feeling like his very existence was hanging from a solitary brittle thread, ready to fall and shatter into millions of pieces upon the merciless ground. Oh, how over the years he had tried, oftentimes feeling it all to be in vain, to patch up his shredded soul and hope for some sort of finished product that might even remotely resemble a whole person, but as he sat here at a loss for words and beyond conscious thought and recognition, Snape knew with nary a doubt that his grasp on reality was slipping through his fingers.

Suddenly, he snapped out of whatever trance had overtaken him, and Dumbledore was not in the least fazed when Snape brought his clenched fist slamming down on the surface of the coffee table. The vibrations from said motion caused one of the china cups to fall off the edge and break, but Dumbledore merely uttered a simple "Reparo" spell and replaced it to its original spot. In the midst of this, Snape leaned back into his armchair and released a sigh of frustration, glowering at the Headmaster for his seemingly calm air.

"What?" Snape finally barked.

"You never surprise me anymore, Severus," Dumbledore began, shaking his head. "How else do you expect me to react? If it's pity you want, then I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place, my boy."

"Pity?" Snape echoed, eyeing the old man suspiciously.

"Ah, yes... pity. What a sad, trifle thing indeed. I will not sit here and waste a moment of my time on pity, Severus," he explained sternly, using a tone that instilled a feeling of finality. "You see, the pattern is more often than not the same. You think yourself useless, but oh, you are mistaken, and damn it, Severus, you bloody well know the truth. You are not useless."

"Then what," Snape spat, "pray, am I? I know my title: spy. What good am I at it, though? Merlin, Albus, how many times have I actually supplied you with useful information over the years? Kindly answer me that."

"But you are wrong, my boy," Dumbledore replied quietly, remorse coating his tone. "It was you who alerted me all those many years ago of the Dark Lord's plans to attack the Potters, and if I'm not mistaken, that was the same night you redeemed yourself by joining forces with the Order."

"But only too late," Snape mumbled bitterly. "Hell lot of good it did. By the time Hagrid arrived, they were already dead."

"And Harry?"

"What about him?"

"He lived," Dumbledore said simply.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, Headmaster. He all know that story by now. The boy-made-hero before he could even talk properly. The one who must save us all from You-Know-Who."

"That is his role, yes, but you have yours as well. Don't forget that, Severus," Dumbledore said, gazing at Snape with his sparkling blue eyes. "I have a feeling that before this whole war is over that you will find hope in the unlikeliest of places."

"Perhaps," Snape muttered, not really believing the Headmaster. He paused and gauged Dumbledore for a reaction, but when the old wizard continued to sit there silently, Snape sighed and asked, "Is that all, sir?"

"Well, was there anything else new to report besides what you have already told me, Severus?"

"No."

"Very well, then."

Dumbledore's gaze turned to a clock on the wall, and he noticed that it was nearing the time for the Christmas feast. He turned back to face Snape and smiled, inquiring, "Will you be there?"

Snape didn't even have to ask where "there" was. He knew the tiresome tradition. He was basically expected to be there, or else he knew he would never hear the end of it from the Headmaster.

"But of course, Albus," he replied sourly. "I wouldn't miss it," he added with a fresh dose of sarcasm.

"Wonderful," Dumbledore quipped.

"But afterwards I am going straight to my chambers and retiring for the day, Headmaster, and I do not want to be disturbed. Is that perfectly clear?" Snape snapped.

"Crystal."

* * * * *

Harry was back in Gryffindor Tower, sitting with his friends in the common room. They had already opened their presents, and like every prior year at Hogwarts, Harry had received a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley. He had a collection of sweets and cakes from various people, and from Hermione he had received a book on professional Quidditch teams. They were all enjoying their presents and the company of each other around the blazing fire, but while Harry's joy was apparent, it was only on the surface. His morning encounter with Snape was still fresh on his mind.

"D'you think we oughta head down to the Great Hall now?" Ron eventually asked.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, it's nearly time for the feast."

Harry followed his friends quietly out of the common room and toward the portal. Behind Ron and Hermione, he walked silently with Ginny by his side. She eyed him questioningly but didn't say anything. As they walked to the Great Hall, Harry noticed that his two best friends were holding hands. When had this happened? Harry smiled slightly, but then he realized that he probably had been missing out on a lot of things this year. His focus had obviously been elsewhere this past semester.

They finally entered the Great Hall and took some seats around the table. There were a few more students present this year than in some of the previous years, but there couldn't have been more than twenty-five people seated at the one long table between the students and the professors. Harry noticed that all the Heads of House were there, Dumbledore, and Filch in his moldy frock coat, which Harry thought was probably the caretaker's attempt at dressing nicely for the occasion. Hagrid was there as well, but Lupin was absent, since the unfortunate man was currently in the middle of one of his transformations.

The meal was splendid as usual, but while they ate, Harry couldn't help but to glance over at Luna. She was staring absently at her plate, barely touching the food. Harry wondered if he should have broken the rules (yet again) and invited Luna to join them in Gryffindor Tower for the opening of their presents, but it was too late for that now.

There wasn't much talk during the meal, and Harry noticed that Snape was the first person to leave the table. It was a wonder that the dour man even attended the holiday feast each year, but Harry had the inclination that it was the doing of Dumbledore. After they had finished and politely excused themselves from the table, Harry and his friends found themselves standing in the hallway immediately outside of the Great Hall.

"I think I'm gonna talk to Luna," he told them. "Don't wait up for me."

"All right, mate," Ron replied. "See you later, then."

"Are you sure you want to be alone, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Maybe we could all try to cheer her up."

"I don't know if she would want too much company at once," Harry admitted. "I'll try to see if she will hang out with us later, but-"

"It's okay, Harry," Ginny gently interrupted. "Just let us know if there's anything you need, all right?"

That said, Ginny eyed Harry much like her mother would. Harry nodded, and they left him alone. Harry waited a few minutes until Luna was done, even though she had barely touched her plate. As she walked out the doors, she was caught by surprise to be greeted by Harry.

"Harry!" she gasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

"It's okay," Harry replied, trying to smile. "I, er... just wanted to see how you were doing."

Luna sighed and studied the carvings on the moulding by the doorway. "About as well as can be expected, I guess," she finally mumbled.

"Well, if there's anything, I mean, you know..." Harry nervously rubbed the back of his calf with his other foot. He felt awkward at trying to comfort his friend.

"Thank you, Harry," Luna said sincerely, a small smile on her face. She briefly hugged him and walked away.

Harry watched Luna's back as she walked away in the direction of the Ravenclaw wing. He knew that she probably just wanted to be left alone, but if anything were true for Harry right now, he didn't want to be alone. Not on Christmas Day. He returned to Gryffindor Tower, and when his friends all gave him curious looks, Harry simply said, "I think she just wants to be alone for now."

They nodded slowly. Hermione turned back to reading a new book she had received, and Ginny studied a sewing kit her mother had sent her. Ron shrugged and finally asked, "D'you want to play Wizard's Chess, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry agreed amiably.

Harry sat down across from his friend and found himself lost in a game of Chess for the remainder of the afternoon. The winter sun set early, and dinner came and went. Evening dawned dark and dreary, and the castle halls were drafty and cold. Harry had had enough of playing games and found himself walking prepensely through the corridors, shivering as pockets of winter air came from places unknown.

Some would call it foolish to wander the halls when no one else was around, but for Harry, it was a time when he could escape and just allow his thoughts to move freely through his mind. There was much weighing on his young heart that holiday, but even in the darkest tunnels, there was light. As Harry treaded along, his bright green eyes came to rest upon a man who seemed a paradox within himself.

"Professor," Harry said quietly.

The man didn't say a word, but he just stopped in his tracks and gazed at Harry intently, perhaps studying him, trying to better understand just what great power lay behind those glasses and unruly hair. Harry stared back in the same manner, trying to comprehend this dark yet good man's motives that lay behind his pale face and seemingly-endless black eyes.

Harry's voice caught in his throat as he tried to say just four mere words, but then he heard some of his own words uttered in the other man's deep voice.

"Happy Christmas, Harry Potter."

His facial expression betrayed nothing, nor did his tone of voice have any sort of emotion, but Harry knew that it must have taken all this man's willpower to say such simple words, words that anyone else could have proclaimed so easily and carelessly, throwing them wildly and recklessly into the air for the mere sake of the season and what it was supposed to mean, but for this man, this man, to say them, that was a small victory for his soul.

"Happy Christmas, Professor Snape."