Harry had virtually ran through the corridors back to Gryffindor Tower; not pausing to look back, nor to apologise as he inadvertently brushed past Ginny so hard that she fell to the floor. This was not the time for hesitated apologies. He needed to escape; to rid himself of the thought of Snape smiling as he pushed Harry dangerously close to tears. He bit down on his tongue hard before snapping at the Fat Lady, “Giggly Squits.”

The Fat Lady seemed to look as if she was debating commenting on Harry’s temper but, as if thinking better of it, she said nothing as she allowed him to climb inside. To Harry’s relief there was no sign of Ron or Hermione in the common room…in fact, the room was completely deserted except for Crookshanks, who threw Harry a disapproving look as he entered before stretching back out in front of the fire. No doubt Ron and Hermione had argued; she had made one too many “helpful” comments; Ron properly was not giving their Transfiguration essays his undivided attention, and they had gone to bed after many angry words, each storming there separate ways.

Dumping his bag down in the corner of the room Harry threw himself down into his favourite armchair in front of the fire, his face dark as thoughts of Snape filled his head. Was it usually this bad, he thought, his body rigid with hatred. Had Snape always been this way, or had something happened to make him appear worse than he usually was? Harry thought back to his first year at Hogwarts, when he, Ron and Hermione had been convinced that Snape was the one jinxing Harry…that he was the one who wanted the Philosophers Stone. Yet they had been wrong, hadn’t they? They had all been wrong and yet there was something about Snape; the way he ruthlessly provoked Harry at every opportunity…and how could Dumbledore just ignore the fact that Snape had been, and probably was still, a Death Eater. No, Harry thought digging his nails into the arms of the chair; he would never trust Snape…never.

A hot coal cracked in the flames and shot out into the carpet at Harry’s feet, sending Crookshanks hissing and spitting into the corner of the room. Harry jumped, startled out of his thoughts of Snape, and turned his attention to the dying ashes of the fire. Suddenly, it was as if something cold was slipping through Harry’s veins, tightening his heart in his chest as it froze beneath his skin. Harry’s eyes were fixed on the coals of the fire as painfully he remembered when Sirius’ face had appeared in these very flames. His eyes began to sting as he focused harder on the fire before him, the golds and reds merging before his eyes.

Be there he heard a voice inside his head willing as he glared into the flames; be there…be there…be there.

As if he was not expecting the impossible, Harry shot to his feet in anger, kicking the now cold coal hard into the fireplace, and shouting “Fine!” And with that, he picked up his bag and stormed up the stairs.

The room was filled with the soft sounds of sleep, occasionally broken by one of Ron’s rattling snores, as Harry sat down on his bed, the silvery moonlight filtering through the window and casting swimming shadows across the room. Harry sat almost motionless, his heart still a block of ice, tight and unmoving, as he stared at the sleeping shapes beneath the sheets.

Harry had hesitated before slowly dropping to his knees and reaching under his bed to find the badly wrapped package he had concealed there and attempted to forget about. Scurrying backwards with his back against the cold stone wall, Harry tucked his knees up under his chest before turning the package over in his hands.

His heart was pounding once more, sending hot surges of blood rushing round his body as he slipped off the brown paper and string to reveal the small, square, dirty mirror that was hidden within. Harry saw his own face stare back at him through the fragmented glass before he closed his eyes tightly; hearing the words of his notes ringing through his mind; so many times he had read them over and over:

This is a two-way mirror. I’ve got the other of the pair. If you need to speak to me, just say my name into it; you’ll appear in my mirror and I’ll be able to talk in yours. James and I used them when we were in separate detentions.
Harry opened his eyes and stared determined into the mirror, focusing on his multiple reflections before whispering softly, “Sirius”. A hot mist on glass, a moment of silence, and Harry found himself blinking down at no-one but him self.

“Sirius…” Harry’s voice wavered slightly this time, as he saw him self blinking blankly back up at him. He felt the hot, frustrated tears forming behind his eyes as he whispered, a little firmer than before, “Sirius.”

Nothing. Harry let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes screwed up as tight as he could in order to stop the water from leaking down his cheeks. It was no good though, as he closed his hand over the mirror, raising it to his face and pressing it against his cheek.

The sobs were choked, stifled within Harry’s throat as the tears came flowing…flowing as if they would never stop. The mirror was cold and hard against his cheek yet Harry hardly noticed, as his body trembled with half-silenced cries. There was nothing… there was nothing in the mirror but himself, shrouded in the darkness of the night. But Harry’s voice was strangled with a rage he couldn’t explain; anger at his godfather for leaving him alone, anger at his promise to always be there when he needed him, anger at his inability to stay alive; his voice, desperate and ragged with despair, seemed almost childlike as he cried the name softly to the mirror; “Sirius…Sirius…Sirius…”

“Wellifuadntbeenuchaossyboots” Ron spluttered at Hermione, his mouth full of mashed potato, as he waved his spoon threateningly in her direction. Harry glanced at Hermione; her face had flushed pink at Ron’s accusation, her bottom lip trembling.

“It’s got nothing to do with me and you know it!” Hermione let her knife and fork clatter to her plate, as she flicked her hair back, irritated, from her eyes. “If you hadn’t been so interested in trying to get Lavender Brown’s attention, then we wouldn’t have been banned from the library all week.”

“She says that as if it’s a big deal,” Ron directed at Harry, trying his best to ignore the way Hermione spluttered in absolute astonishment. Harry winced; preparing himself for the onslaught he knew was following.

“It is a big deal Ron! This year is so important and you don’t seem! I know that you may not feel that this is a big deal to you, but to me it is.” Hermione was on her feet, gathering her bag before she continued, “And if you knew me at all Ron, you would know that!”

Both Harry and Ron watched Hermione go, head held high, hair bouncing as she walked swiftly out of the hall. Harry said nothing, seeing the way Ron glared after her furiously, his brow furrowed with confusion.

“Mental…absolutely mental…” Harry grinned for the first time all day as Ron leant back on the bench, his stomach bulging over the top of what had previously been oversized trousers. Yet as Harry’s eyes left Ron and scanned the table at the front of the hall, all the humour in Ron’s comment seemed to be forgotten as he watched Snape slowly reach for the bottle in front of him, and begin to re-fill his glass.

“That bad was it?” Ron asked. Harry continued to glare at Snape, and without turning to face Ron he replied, “The things he said about my father…I think he actually enjoys it.”

“Course he does,” Ron said matter-of-factly, “Wouldn’t expect any less from that cold hearted git.”

“I try to ignore him…all the things that he says…but he just has this way of knowing how to get to me. I do try.”

“I’m not Hermione…I don’t expect you to ignore him. How can you when all he does is insult you? It’s not on Harry.”

As Ron said this, Snape lifted his eyes from the plate in front of him, his eyes locking firmly with Harry’s.

“I won’t let him do it again though,” Harry muttered, his eyes fixed on Snape, refusing to be the one who turned away first, “He won’t get that satisfaction tonight.” As if he had heard him Snape’s lips curled into a vindictive smile as he very slowly raised his glass in Harry’s direction, drained its contents, before leaving the Great Hall, his black robes whipping behind him.

This time there were no waiting games to be played; as Harry heard a voice call “Enter” from within the room shortly after his first knock. Harry pushed open the door, the dimly lit dungeon smouldering with the licking flames of the lamps which lined the room. Snape was not sitting behind his desk as he had expected, he was standing in front of it, arms folded across his chest, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he articulated, “Close the door behind you Potter.”

Harry did as he was told, the door closed with a dull thud that echoed about the dungeon. As he approached, he saw that Snape’s eyes were black with excitement, an amused smile playing about his lips as he watched Harry walk towards him. Something wasn’t right. Quickly, Harry’s eyes surveyed the scene; there was no laborious task laid out; no quill and parchment for lines. Where was Harry’s punishment?

“I see you are wondering what it is that you shall have to do,” Snape began, his face devoid of the humour that laced every word he spoke. Harry said nothing, but waited for him to continue.

“All you have to do Potter…is to tell me the truth…”

Snape’s eyes glinted mercilessly as the realisation swept through Harry, as he once again saw Snape raise his glass to him before drinking it down in one. He could see his pumpkin juice before him before he lifted it to his lips, toasting Snape in return, before he too had left the Great Hall. He hadn’t even realised what Snape had done.

“How…how could you have…?” Harry found it impossible to finish as he watched Snape slowly unfold his arms, his face dark with amusement as he began to slowly approach.

“This is not the time for your questions!” Snape paused, his voice quickly returning to cold, hard tones, before he continued, “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know Mister Potter. You’re going to answer every question I ask.”