Chapter 3: Silent Reflections

Draco sat in his usual armchair in the Slytherin common room, thinking about his meeting with Potter and co. that night. Dumbledore wanted me to reach out to them. I thought it would be harder for them to accept me, but maybe that old coot was right—intentions can be conveyed despite one's words and actions. Draco scowled. But why do I have to befriend them? Why can't I be the strong silent type like Professor Snape? I'd rather do my part without having to work with Potty, Weasel, and the Mudblood.

Thinking of Hermione, Draco's brows furrowed deeper. She was the first one to show him some semblance of trust among the trio. Why? After all, he wasn't any less mean to her than Harry, Ron, or any of the other Gryfindors. Actually, he was meaner to her than anyone in this school. Sneering, Draco thought, That infuriating chit annoys me so much. I hear enough about her in the common room, see her enough in classes, and yet, I have had to deal with her at home too! Why father has to even bring her up is beyond me. I mean, yeah, she's smart, but that's no reason to compare her to a Malfoy!

At the thought of his father and family, Draco's shoulders slumped and and his eyes drooped. Father...

Across the common room, Pansy was watching the array of emotions play out on Draco's face. What's wrong with my Drakie-poo?

In the Gryfindor tower, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were in their favorite corner, still discussing Malfoy.

"Why don't we just ask Dumbledore, for goodness sakes?!" Hermione asked tiredly. Harry and Ron had been going on during and between classes, and all throughout dinner whether Draco should be trusted. One could only take so much of weighing pros and cons.

"That's what I said earlier, but Harry said he didn't want to waste Dumbledore's time" Ron said.

Hermione looked at Harry curiously. "Why are you so against seeing Dumbledore?"

Harry shifted his eyes. "I...I just--"

Ron jumped up. "Let's go." And with that, he resolutely marched towards the common room exit. Hermione glanced at Harry. "Come on, Harry. We'll finally get this trust issue settled." She paused. "And we don't have to tell him about your scar."

Harry looked back at Hermione, startled. She smiled knowingly. "But I do want to know what's been going on with that thing. I'm starting to think that it's been hurting more than you're letting on."

Ron, with one foot out of the portrait door, yelled, "Oi! Are you two coming, or what?" Hermione quickly got up with a cheery, "Coming!" while Harry, still slightly stunned at Hermione's perceptiveness, hastily checked his robe pockets for the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauders' Map. Finding everything in order, Harry hurried after his friends.

Across the room, Ginny was apparently watching Neville and Dean play wizards' chess, but at the trio's departure, sighed glumly. They're off to another adventure, I bet. And here I am...left again. Ginny sighed again.

"Something wrong, Ginny?" Neville asked, not taking his eyes off the board.

"No, Neville, I'm just a little tired," she replied quietly. At that, Ginny made her way to the girl's dormitories. Everything's the way it was before 6th year. As if Harry and I never went out. As Ginny went to bed, her last thought was, Maybe tomorrow, I'll be able to do something worthwhile. Heck, maybe I'll go on my own little adventure. Her eyes slowly closed. Yeah, and I'll take Neville and Luna and...

Back in the Slytherin common room, Draco tore his gaze away from the fire. He looked around and saw Pansy. The girl thought this was her cue to come over. Finally, Draco's ready to be comforted.

Pansy sauntered over in what she thought was a seductive prowl, but really was an awkward waddle. She placed herself on the armrest and began stroking Draco's hair. "What's wrong, Drakie? Tell me. I'll make it all better," Pansy cooed.

Pansy was a simpleton and thought herself in love with Draco, but he knew better. This wasn't love. This was infatuation mixed with duty. Draco sighed. Why am I even complaining?

"Nothing's wrong, Pansy. I'm just...tired."

"Is the Dark Lord giving you a hard time? Do you want me to talk to him for you?"

Draco turned his head to look at her incredulously. Fighting the urge to throw her off and start exercising his vocabulary, Draco simply said, "I've been busy."

"Oh. You don't look busy."

Draco rolled his eyes. Really, can she get anymore stupid?

"I'm going for a walk, and no, Pansy, you can't come." With that, Draco got up and left the common room, leaving a pouting Pansy behind.

Oh, Drakie-poo. I know what you're going through. Don't worry, I'll make it all better.

666 miles away, to the west of Hogwarts, Severus Snape woke up with a grunt. He opened one bleary eye, before sighing resignedly. Severus got up and stretched then moved to a corner to relieve himself, taking care not to look anywhere, but the mirror in front of him.

Three weeks ago, Severus woke up with a splitting headache and a sore back. He had gasped in shock at seeing his twin in front of him. After shaking his head at his own stupidity, Severus took in his surroundings. He was inside a square room with multiple rectangular floor-length mirrors for walls. He looked up. The roof was a dome made of triangular mirrors. The floor, thankfully, was a bare cement floor, dirty, but not reflective.

Severus groaned. The Dark Lord really was a master of torture. He wasn't satisfied with merely inflicting pain—no, he had exploit every basic fear and worry of his followers when punishing them. He knew from the countless legilimency trips he took in Severus's mind that Severus hated mirrors. He avoided looking at them at any cost.

Severus wondered what else Voldemort had in store for him. Looking around again, he saw a dark green ball in a corner. It was Quaffle-sized and when Severus picked it up, he realized that it was only half way pumped. Of course. That snake-head knew I always had to be doing something, no matter how mundane. Of course he'd leave me a deflated ball.

With disgust, Severus threw the offending clump of rubber at one of the mirrors. It merely bounced off before landing, forlorn, on the floor. Severus returned to his inspection. The room was dimly lit by one light bulb at the center of the dome roof. Every mirror was only separated by a thin line, too thin for Severus's fingernails. There was no door. There was no sound...no wait, Severus stood still. That old coot! He just had to annoy me with the sound of a dripping faucet. Great! Instead of just easing me of my misery and killing me, Voldemort plans to make me go crazy.

For the first few days, Severus kept himself distracted by mentally reciting lists of potions ingredients and procedures. When those proved futile against the constant drip drip drip, he practiced every spell, charm, hex, and curse he knew, but those were easily exhausted, especially without a wand. After a few days, Severus amused himself by kicking the deflated ball around. Two days later, he was attempting to rip it to shreds. Severus also worked out a bit, doing sit-ups, push-ups, and before sleeping, yoga. Every now and then, Severus would pace around, then randomly hurl himself against a mirror, trying to break it. He had, on more than one occasion, punched one of the walls only to result in bruised knuckles. The mirrors, of course, remained unscathed.

The only bright side to the mirrors was that they weren't the kind charmed to talk. If that were the case, Severus wouldn't have lasted a week. Time didn't seem to matter. He slept and woke up when he felt like it. Food would magically appear three times a day in front of a different mirror, and the wooden plate and cup would simply disappear once he was finished eating. There were never any utensils.

That night (although Severus didn't know it was night time), Severus's thoughts went back to their favorite topic: how he got caught. He analyzed, re-evaluated, and replayed every Order and Death Eater meeting in his mind, but he still couldn't come up with how he was caught. Someone out there was a better spy, a better actor than he, because Severus couldn't pinpoint one name with a surety. Or maybe it was group effort, He thought wryly. In the end, he only became frustrated. He hated not knowing something. At this, we smiled ironically. He sounded just like Granger, one of his most hated students, third only to Potter and Weasley. He wasn't usually an optimist, but he had to admit that because of his situation, he didn't have to see those dunderheads he was forced to teach, especially the Golden Trio.

But Hermione isn't a dunderhead, said a voice in his head. HERMIONE?! Since when was the bushy-haired know-it-all Hermione? Severus shook his head. Alright, Severus, now's not the time to become an old lech. Well, what else am I supposed to think about? I don't know, anything else but Hermione—no, Granger. Severus, there's nothing wrong with calling your students by their first names. You call the young Malfoy Draco, don't you. Yes, but this is different...Oh, Merlin, I'm talking to myself.

Behind the wall of mirrors, Bellatrix Lestrange laughed at Severus. "Look, Cissy. Old Snape's muttering to himself again. And look at that face he's making!"

Narcissa cringed. Severus was, after all, her friend. "How long is the Dark Lord keeping him here?"

"Why, would you rather he kill the traitor? Come, we'll convince the Dark Lord now--" Bella's eyes gleamed malevolently.

"No, no, I was just...concerned when Draco comes home for the holidays."

"The holidays are months away. I'm sure our Lord will dispose of the scum by then."

"Ah. Well, I think I'll retire now, Bella," Narcissa delicately said, "For, as entertaining it is to watch Severus go mad, I am getting a slight headache." Narcissa, in fact, was rather nauseous, but Bella didn't need to know that.

"Very well. I'll see you in the morning."

Narcissa hurried to her room. When is Dumbledore going to send help? Oh, my poor Draco. I hope he's alright. Once inside, Narcissa locked her door, then crossed to the antique desk and began writing a letter to her son.