A Reflection of Himself

Harry Potter had finally come of age in the wizarding world. He was seventeen years old, and for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by friends on his birthday. For the time being, Harry put the threat of Voldemort in the back of his mind and focused on just being a young man. Looking at himself in the mirror on the evening on his birthday, Harry noticed just how much he had changed over the years, not just physically, but inwardly as well.

Despite the fact that Ron's growth spurts seemed never-ending, Harry had grown considerably taller over the past six years as well. He was probably a good four inches shorter than his best friend, but Ron was just expectionally tall. Between the nourishment at Hogwarts and from Mrs. Weasley's cooking, Harry's body had grown up and filled out. He was no longer the small, skinny runt of a kid he had been when he had lived entirely with the Dursleys. Playing Quidditch had certainly developed his muscles, but Harry was still on the thin side.

One thing that hadn't changed a bit was his hair. As unruly as ever, Harry's hair still had a mind of its own. His eyes were still the same vibrant, amazing green they had always been, but there was something about them that spoke depths of what Harry had witnessed and experienced over the past few years. Lost was the childhood innocence that had once dwelled within those eyes.

Harry turned away from the mirror when Ron walked into the room, though, humming some sort of ridiculous song that his twin brothers had fabricated as a "present for our esteemed honorary brother," they had told Harry.

"Would you quit humming that song?" Harry laughed, grinning at Ron. "It's already stuck in my head. It'll be a small wonder if I can even get to sleep because of it."

Ron laughed as well, saying, "It was pretty bad, wasn't it?"

There was a popping sound, and Fred and George appeared in their room, scaring the wits out of the two younger boys.

"Bad?" Fred inquired with mock hurt. "George, they're saying our little song is bad! Can you believe the injustice of it all?"

"Unbelievable!" George exclaimed, feigning astonishment. He dramatically brought his hand up to his forehead. "We work all last night with our rare and incredible genius to come up with a fun and original song for Harry, and the bloke doesn't even appreciate all our hard work!"

Shaking his head, Harry just chuckled, while Ron rolled his eyes.

"I still say it was a work of art!" Fred persisted. "My favorite part was 'Though he's not so cute, glad he's not a mute. Knows it's rude to stare at a bloke wearin' ladies underwear!'"

"Cut it out, guys!" Ron exclaimed. "That's downright horrid, and you bloody well know it!"

"Ah, say what you will, little bro," said George knowingly, "but we've got this one down. It'll be sellin' what Muggles call 'records' in no time."

"Actually," came Hermione's voice from the doorway, "records are pretty rare nowadays. CDs are what people listen to now."

Harry was too amused to think one small bit about Voldemort. So, while Harry and his friends laughed, sang, and conversed, far away, Voldemort was calling his Death Eaters.

This was Draco's first Death Eater meeting as a spy for the side of the Order, and to put it mildly, he was scared to death. The white mask he donned could only do so much to hide his anxiety, and despite Snape's constant reminders of keeping his composure calm, Draco was finding that none too easy.

Snape and Draco had joined the other Death Eaters in a small open space in the middle of a dark and forbidding forest, much like the one near Hogwarts. Uneasy murmurs were heard dispersed throughout the gathering crowd. Everyone was wondering the same thing: What did the Dark Lord have to say after the most recent defeat? They truthfully didn't want to know.

So when Voldemort appeared in the midst of them with a smile on his face, Draco found himself caught off guard and utterly confused. Why was he smiling after such defeat? Had Draco been among the ranks of the Death Eaters longer, he would have known the when the Dark Lord smiled in such a way, it was because he was very furious. His lipless smile was haunting and malicious and biting enough without any words or the sharp teeth encased within his mouth.

The only light came from the tip of Voldemort's wand, an eerie, dim sickening-green glow that illuminated the branches of the skeletal trees nearby. There was not a sound to be heard. Not even the wind was blowing, and the air felt strangely chilled for midsummer. Snape conceded that this was due to whose presence they were in more than anything.

"So," Voldemort finally said smoothly, his voice so low that it was barely audible, "you have at least obeyed one order I have given. You have come when you have been summoned."

He paused, then continued, "Then again, it's not like you lot have much of a choice, now is it? Commands, orders, demands... are such things really too much to ask?"

There was a note of danger in his tone. No one said a word.

"I ordered Harry Potter to be brought to me, and so he was," Voldemort hissed suddenly, striking the proverbial nail on the head with the proverbial hammer. "But then something went wrong... very wrong."

As Draco listened, the bratty child in him was almost tempted at this point to sneer, "No kidding," but he knew better. Such wrecklessness could and would cost him his life.

"And just what do you think that could be, my minions?" Voldemort asked in a mock-conversational tone.

The dramatic pause, then...

"He escaped!" he bellowed, his words lashing out like a whip, punishing his Death Eaters one by one and then all together. "That old fool and his faithful band showed up yet again to conveniently save the day! This is the second time this has happened since my return to power, and I swear it on each and every one of your pitiful, plotless graves: It will NOT happen again!"

The heat emanating off Voldemort could literally be felt by those all around. Snape knew what would be next.

"Which leads me to believe that someone had tipped off Dumbledore," Voldemort concluded, confirming Snape's worst fear.

At this point, Voldemort walked around the circle and carefully surveyed each and every one of his followers. He stopped in front of each one, looked him up and down, and then looked directly into his eyes. When he came at last to Snape, Snape knew that this could very well be the moment of truth. This could be the moment where everything he had worked for so hard for so many years could come crashing down, and his life was be ended... and all on account of foolish Harry Potter and foolish Severus Snape. His so-called mistakes had been his own to make, and in a way, he couldn't blame Harry too much for his mistakes, for they were innocent in comparison.

Years upon years of blocking out the world came back to Snape, and he kept his outward appearance indifferent and calm. Although his mind would be racing later that night, his mind was a blank slate right now. It had to be, or else Voldemort would know everything: every plot Snape had revealed to Dumbledore, every bit of information he had relayed to the Headmaster, every regret he harbored for having joined the Death Eaters in the first place, every small and large amount of hatred he felt toward himself... everything.

Thank Merlin, though, that Snape was the master at Occlumency that he was, or else he would not have been able to block out Voldemort even in such extreme circumstances. A part of him swore that he would personally see to it that Harry received detention every day for his whole seventh year for having put him through all this, but he knew that he was not justified in such thinking. Snape knew what his choices had been in his life, and damn it, he would take responsibility for them, even if it meant this.

Finally, Voldemort released Snape from the seemingly-endless scrutiny. When Voldemort came to Draco, Snape held his breath for a moment, wondering how Draco would measure up. Draco had been learning the art of Occlumency as part of his spying duties, but only a couple of weeks into the training had hardly prepared him. Snape wondered if Draco even had the determination and skill it took to be a spy, and had he not been in the company of Death Eaters, Snape would have sworn at Dumbledore's appointment of him as a new spy. The very idea was still absurd to Snape.

Voldemort, however, was not as inclined to put Draco through the same vigorous stare-down and mind reading that he had with many of the other Death Eaters. For this, Snape was thankful, and Draco was even more so. He had managed to withstand Voldemort's Legilimency just long enough to pass the test, so to speak.

After he had finished scrutinizing every Death Eater, Voldemort simply said, "Make no mistake, my Death Eaters. If there is a traitor or traitors among us, he or they will be found out. I have plans for Harry Potter and Dumbledore, but I think I will withhold such valuable information for the time-being."

He smirked mirthlessly and downright cruelly at them, and Snape knew that Voldemort had enough suspicion to keep his mouth shut. He was playing a very dirty game and merely prolonging the process of weeding out the unwanted. With a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach, the meeting was ended, and Snape returned to Hogwarts. Draco wasn't far behind, but the boy had his own problems to worry about.

"I nearly lost it," he muttered to Snape as they walked across the grounds back to the castle.

"The important thing is that you did not lose your concentration, Draco," replied Snape, trying to sound encouraging. "Keeping out the Dark Lord is no easy feat."

"I suppose so," Draco scowled, not convinced. "I just don't know how much longer-"

"How much longer you can keep this up?" Snape finished for him.

"Yes," Draco conceded, looking quizzically at Snape.

"I know that feeling all too well," said Snape grimly. "Trust me, Draco. It is far from easy, but if you believe that what you are doing is worth it, then you will do everything you can to keep going at it. I realized a long time ago that this whole thing is much bigger than I am."

"What thing?" asked Draco, confused.

Opening the main door, Snape said, "Life, I suppose. Good and evil. The battle for power. All of it."

Draco simply nodded tiredly and muttered his good night. That left Snape to reporting to Dumbledore alone and being the bearer of more bad news.

An hour or so later, after he had finished speaking with Dumbledore, the Headmaster's last words to Snape echoed through his weary mind as he headed toward his chambers for bed:

"At least he did not harm you."

August came and was nearly gone. Summer had rushed by before Harry had even realized it, and one morning, not long before the start of term, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room he was sharing with Ron and started babbling nonstop about shopping for their books and supplies in Diagon Alley.

"I know I've taken care of it in years past," she said, while picking up piles of dirty clothes and placing them into a basket for washing, "but sometimes it would be nice to have a little help around here, don't you boys think?"

When neither Harry nor Ron gave any indication of having heard her, Mrs. Weasley dropped the basket of clothes on Ron while he was sleeping. Feeling a sudden weight hitting him in the stomach was not what Ron had expected. He had been half-awake during his mother's ranting, but had feigned sleep, hoping she was simply go away. Obviously, the determined woman would not be giving up that easily.

"What the- ?" Ron asked in a muffled voice, sitting up. "What's goin' on?"

"I'll tell you what's going on, Ronald Bilius Weasley," his mother lectured. "If you think for one minute that you're just gonna lie around here all day-"

"What's this heavy load of- of-" he interrupted, but then Mrs. Weasley interjected before he could finish.

"This heavy load of dirty, disgusting, absolutely filthy clothes is your mess, Ronald!" she shrieked. "And yours, too, Harry!" She turned to face Harry's bed as Harry groaned and sat up, staring at the scene before him.

As Harry reached for his glasses, Mrs. Weasley continued, "Now, as I was saying, it would be nice if you lot would help out around here, but since that seems too much to ask, I am sending you all to Diagon Alley with your father to purchase what you need for school."

"But... but isn't that a bit risky?" Ron asked, looking for an excuse to sleep more.

Harry conceded that Ron had a good point. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised that Mrs. Weasley was even suggesting that they leave Grimmauld Place.

"I've already spoken with Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Weasley explained, "and he assured me that it would be safe. Wards have now been put in place around Diagon Alley to keep Dark characters out. Besides, you will be going with your father, and there will be other Order members posted throughout the streets nearby."

Harry grinned. He wanted to finally be able to get out of this stuffy house and actually go somewhere, but the fact that wards had now been placed around Diagon Alley was disconcerting, telling just how serious the threat of Voldemort had become. Luckily, in the past couple of months, the Ministry of Magic had actually started taking the necessary precautions. With the new Minister of Magic in office, there was actually someone competent enough in power, but Harry didn't know much about the man. His name even eluded him at the moment, but his mind was on leaving Grimmauld Place, if only for a little while.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley left. Harry smiled at Ron across the room, and even Ron couldn't help but to smile. Now that he was awake, the idea of leaving the house was much more appealing. Quickly, they dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, only to walk into the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley was talking to her husband.

"Yes, dear," she said exasperatedly. "Even I realize we cannot keep them locked up forever. It's not healthy, after all."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I thought I'd never live to hear you say that, Molly, what with how over-protective you are of them."

"Over-protective?" she asked, truly shocked. "No, just protective, thank you."

"So you say."

Ron and Harry sat down, joining Ginny and Hermione at the table. The twins were already at their shop in Hogsmeade working.

After a quick breakfast, for the excitement had built such that they couldn't wait to leave the house now, Harry and his friends Flooed to Diagon Alley. The streets were packed with people, hustling and bustling throughout the shops. One of the busiest times of the year for shopping in Diagon Alley was right before school started. Mr. Weasley stepped into a shop nextdoor to Flourish and Botts that sold Muggle items, saying he would meet them outside in fifteen minutes.

In Flourish and Botts, Harry reviewed his list of books. The only books he needed were the Book of Standard Spells, Grade Seven and a new book for Defense Against the Dark Arts, entitled Advanced Defensive Magical Spells. Having not heard any differently, Harry assumed that Lupin would still be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, thus breaking the long-time curse on the supposedly jinxed position.

Hermione had gone off on her own, browsing through some books in the section designed for those who were looking for books that were highly specialized and advanced beyond Hogwarts' levels. She seemed especially interested in the Transfiguration textbooks. She had explained to them that it was simply for some extra reading to keep her mind stimulated and for entertainment value. Harry and Ron had exchanged a look that asked, "Entertainment value?" To them, after all, they would find just as much entertainment value in Advanced Transfiguration textbooks as they would in watching flobberworms eat whatever it was they ate.

In the midst of the crowded book shop, Harry thought he saw a familiar white-blonde head. Sure enough, when the head turned, the pointy face and pale eyes of Draco Malfoy were revealed.

"Look," Harry whispered to Ron, gesturing toward the direction where Draco was standing and browsing through some books.

Ron glared at Draco with narrowed eyes.

"What's he doin' in here?" he asked suspiciously. "Lookin' for trouble? I thought Dark wizards were supposed to be kept out of Diagon Alley."

"According to Dumbledore," Harry murmured disbelievingly, "Malfoy's working for the Order now... as a spy."

"What?!" Ron exclaimed, unable to help himself.

"Shhh, keep your voice down, Ron," Ginny hissed, casting an uneasy look in Draco's direction.

"He might hear you," Harry agreed.

"Hear what?" sneered a cold voice from behind them.

Harry had only turned his back to Draco for a moment, but it was long enough for him to approach Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny let out a little yelp of surprise, but Ron glowered loathingly at Draco and stepped in front of his sister and Harry.

"None of your business, Malfoy," he said aggressively, his teeth clenched, his fists balled.

"Oh, but I think it is my business if you're talking about me," Draco insisted.

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" Ron asked, taking a step toward Draco. "If you think for one minute that you've got us fooled-"

"Ron, shut it," suddenly camed Hermione's voice.

"Hermione," Ron muttered angrily, "don't get involved."

"What, are you standing up for him now?" Ron asked incredulously, glaring between Hermione and Draco.

"I heard what Harry said," Hermione said simply, "and if it's true, then maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Dumbledore is almost always correct, and you all know that Dark wizards are not allowed in Diagon Alley."

"I don't need you trying to act all noble and defending me, Mudbl-" Draco began, but Ron was faster with his fists than Draco was with his mouth.

In an instant, Ron had tackled Draco onto the ground and had punched Draco squarely in the jaw. The crowd nearby stopped and stared, several gasps coming from the women.

"Say it again, Malfoy!" he yelled. "I dare you! Come on!"

"Ron!" Hermione and Ginny yelled, trying to pull him off.

Ron wouldn't listen to them, though. He kept his eyes fixed on Draco's face and the bruise that was now evident on his skin.

"Ron," came Harry's voice, sounding rather calm, "just leave it, okay?"

"What?" asked Ron unbelievingly. "You can't be serious! After everything he's put us through... said to us..."

"I know," Harry said, "but that's... in the past."

Those words were difficult for him to say, but Harry had come to believe the people really could change if they tried and were willing. In spite of everything, he was letting down his guard and trusting that Dumbledore was right in seeing more in Draco than just the bad.

After several long minutes, Ron finally released Draco and stood back up. Draco stood up as well, although uneasily and stared at Harry and the others in a mix of disbelief, unease, and still some resonating hatred. For a brief moment, his greyish blue eyes caught Harry's green ones. Harry wasn't completely sure, but he thought there was a hint of understanding there.

Without another word, Draco turned and stalked out of the shop.

Lupin entered the Leaky Cauldron and looked around. No one looked overly suspicious, but nonetheless, he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for strange activity or unusual behavior. Taking a seat at the bar, Tom, the barkeeper brought his his usual drink: plain Muggle vodka on the rocks. Lupin sipped slowly at his drink, casually casting glances around the room every so often.

He smiled slightly to himself, remembering how Sirius had insisted on coming along, and so, Portrait Sirius was shrunk down into Wallet-Sized Sirius and placed into one of the pockets of Lupin's shabby traveling cloak. With a slight start, Lupin moved over when someone sat down next to him.

"Severus?" Lupin asked, surprised to see Snape had taken the seat next to him.

"Lupin," Snape said simply, raising his eyebrows. He honestly had not noticed Lupin when he had chosen his seat.

"The usual?" Lupin inquired cryptically.

"The usual" meant the usual drink and the usual reason for being more or less stationed in this particular pub.

Snape only slightly nodded and took the glass of firewhiskey obligingly as soon as Tom had placed it there.

There was an awkward silence. Snape and Lupin had seen each other fairly frequently during the past few weeks, both being Order members and all, but they had not really spoken, save for the simple greetings and farewells. Snape shifted uncomfortably now, wishing he had not sat down right next to Lupin. It wasn't that he hated Lupin; it was just too strange to be sitting next to the man who had almost, albeit unknowingly, killed him as a teenager so many years before, yet also the same man whose life he had saved not so very long ago.

"You know," Lupin sighed, "I must admit that it feels strange."

"Strange?" Snape inquired, truly at a loss.

"To not, you know, transform anymore," he said in a low voice.

"I would not know," Snape muttered, turning his eyes away from Lupin's.

"Thank you again, Severus."

There were those accursed words again. Those words of thanks and appreciation. Snape bit his tongue to avoid saying anything scathing and mumbled, "Think nothing of it."

"Nothing?" Lupin persisted, to which Snape was now very much regretting having taken a seat right there. "It's hardly nothing, Severus. It was and is my life, you realize."

"Fine, fine, have it your way, Lupin. Please, for the love of Merlin, please stop thanking me already. The potion had already been developed, after all... It was not that difficult."

"But you are the one responsible for developing that potion."

"Yes, so?"

"Never mind," Lupin muttered, realizing that he was getting no where. From within Lupin's pocket, Sirius was listening to every word, but he was too interested in the conversation to intervene.

Snape drained his glass, paid the tab, and made to leave, but as he stood up, he suddenly felt a hand gripping his arm.

"Wait," Lupin insisted, looking at Snape in the eye.

Snape pulled his arm away and stared back at Lupin. "Well?" he asked impatiently.

"Please just call me Remus. Don't you think it's time you overcame formalities?"

Snape wasn't sure if he was ready to overcome anything at the moment. A part of him wanted to make a run for it and avoid all contact with the former Marauder. He had never been one to have close connections with anyone, and thus refrained from being on a first name basis. It was simply too common and personal, but everything right now had become personal. Saving another man's life was at the top of the personal list.

"Fine, Remus," Snape sneered. "Good day."

Watching Snape's retreating back, Lupin smiled to himself and took another swig of his vodka.

There's a first for everything.