The Burning Pen

Through the Looking Glass
by Ruth Solomon

The story content is adult in nature and can contain graphic sex and violence.  Those under the age of 18 are asked to leave this site immediately.  You are not welcome here.  The author is not responsible for those under-aged who view these works.

CHAPTER 43

All recognizable characters belong to JKR. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 43 ~ Conversations

Harry asked Minerva, who was the new Headmistress if he, Hermione and Ron could be present at the hanging of Albus’ portrait in her office. Her eyes glistening, Minerva gave her approval.

”It will be hung this evening, Harry . . . after supper. Yes, you certainly may be present . . . you, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. I’ve always known you three had a special connection to the Headmaster . . . and he . . . he . . .”

Minerva caught her breath.

”I’ll see you in my office after supper,” she said, hurrying away.

Students and guests milled around, talking to each other as they left Albus’ tomb. Hermione noticed professor Snape lingering by the tomb, resting his pale hand upon it. She excused herself from her friends, and slowly approached the wizard.

”Professor Snape,” she said to him softly.

The wizard was scowling down at the tomb and looked at Hermione, his eyes rather cool.

”Yes, Miss Granger?” he replied, looking at the witch.

Hermione really didn’t know what to say to him. He just looked so . . . so alone.

”I’m sorry,” she said, “for your loss.”

Snape arched an eyebrow at her.

”My loss, Miss Granger?” he breathed, “you believe this to be my loss?”

”Well, you must feel rather bad you couldn’t save him,” the witch said.

Snape shook his head.

”No, Miss Granger. Unlike Gryffindors, Slytherins rarely feel guilt concerning situations they have no control over. Albus’ death is not my fault, anymore than it is Mr. Potter’s. He knew what he was doing when he . . . “

Snape’s voice faltered. Hermione didn’t know about the Horcruxes. Albus had confessed everything on his deathbed, using Snape as a means for absolution.

”Do you think I will be forgiven, Severus?” the old wizard had asked him weakly as life faded.

Snape had given him a small smile.

”We Slytherins have a saying, Headmaster, and that is withholding the truth is not lying. If no one asks you, then you have nothing to tell. No one asked you about the Horcruxes . . . so there is nothing to be forgiven for.”

Albus had given him a weak smile, and for a moment, the old twinkle returned to his blues eyes.

”Always the Slytherin, Severus Tobias Snape,” he said softly. “Always . . . the . . .”

And then, he was gone.

Snape looked at Hermione.

”Albus was the last of Voldemort’s victims . . . in this world at any rate. I am not grief-stricken, Miss Granger. The Headmaster made a choice to die so that Mr. Potter could live, no doubt feeling he’d had a full life himself. I was simply standing here, wondering if we would be additionally damned for what we’ve done by unleashing Voldemort on another unsuspecting world, giving it yet another despot to deal with. Albus had no qualms about it, and wasn’t the benevolent wizard you all thought he was. In some aspects, he was quite Slytherin-like. I believe we will learn more about that now that he is departed. People have a tendency to dig up dirt on those unable to refute or defend themselves against it.”

”Oh, I hope not,” Hermione said, “I’d hate to see his memory marred.”

”What you like or dislike won’t matter one iota, Miss Granger,” Snape said, starting to walk back to the castle, Hermione falling in step with him. “People will do what they want to do regardless of anyone else’s feelings.

Hermione walked with Snape in silence, and the wizard didn’t shoo her away as they passed through the mourners, some looking after them as they walked together. After a few minutes, they cleared the crowds and headed across the grounds.

’Harry feels so guilty about the Headmaster’s death. He feels responsible,” Hermione told the wizard, who snorted.

”Of course he does,” Snape sneered, “Gryffindors thrive on guilt. They aren’t happy otherwise, unless, of course, they’re in the process of getting themselves killed for some insane cause.”

”That’s not true!” Hermione retorted, scowling up at him. “I don’t feel guilty about anything. And I haven’t risked my life in forever.”

”Have you forgotten Tom Riddle already?” Snape purred at her.

Hermione spluttered.

”That wasn’t my fault! I didn’t know he was going to put a death hex on me, or not take it off when he said he would!” she hissed, defending herself.

Snape turned away from Hermione so he wouldn’t chuckle at her indignation. She was right, however, she didn’t ask for that last slippery escapade into the jaws of death. But she, like Harry, seemed to just attract danger as if she were a kind of magnet for it. Still . . .

“But, Miss Granger, you were aware that the Mirror of Erised was technically ‘off-limits.’ Yet, you had to take a ‘peek’ anyway, didn’t you?” Snape said, arching his eyebrow at her.

”Well, I just wanted to see what it was I desired,” she said uncomfortably. “Harry and Ron had both looked into it, so I wanted a go too.”

”If Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter leapt into the gaping jaws of a salivating manticore, would you follow?” Snape asked her as if she were a child.

”No,” Hermione answered petulantly, just as if she were one. She fell into a sullen silence.

After a moment or two, Snape spoke to her, a bit softer now.

”I think, however, that a lesson could be learned from your adventure, at least concerning desire. The Miss Granger of the other universe was quite lovely, wasn’t she? She looked like everything you wanted to look like. You’ve even adopted a bit of her style . . . but thankfully, made it your own. I would have hated to see you covered in war paint.”

Hermione stopped walking.

”You would have?” she asked him, surprised. Snape quickly amended his statement.

”I hate seeing any witch slathered in the . . . stuff. First off, it makes her so-called imperfections even more glaring when she runs out, and the real beauty is lost beneath the façade. Not to mention the false advertising so many wizards fall for. They wake up beside a witch the next morning . . . all her make-up has either sweated off or worse, blended together and . . .”

Snape stopped talking, realizing Hermione was looking at him fascinated. Had that ever happened to him?

“Make-up should be banned,” he snapped. “But, we are drifting too far from the matter at hand, and that is how what you think you desire is not necessarily so. I believe you thought you might like to be that witch you saw in the mirror. But in reality, Miss Granger, as you are, you are far better than your counterpart. You have morals, values, a conscience, something she sorely lacked. And you respect yourself and those around you. What you believed you desired was not what you desired at all.”

Hermione looked down at the ground. She had slept with Snape’s counterpart. How much did she really respect herself?

Snape sensed her contriteness and decided to press for some answers.

”Although I must admit, Miss Granger, I was rather surprised to find out that you were so attracted to an alternate version of myself,” he said softly.

Hermione looked up at Snape.

”Well, I wasn’t attracted to him . . . not initially. I just saw him as a teacher, just like I saw you . . . but . . . but I didn’t want to lose points when I went to him for extra credit . . . and when he . . . he . . .”

Hermione’s voice faltered. Snape was aware what happened that first time, he’d seen it after all, but he wanted to hear her version of what happened to make her eventually give the wizard her virginity . . . her body. Maybe he’d learn something to help his own cause.

”He what, Miss Granger?” Snape pressed.

”When he kissed me,” she said in a near-whisper, “when he kissed me it was as if the entire world fell away and only he was left. It was . . . overwhelming. All I wanted to do was . . . “

Hermione stopped speaking, highly embarrassed.

Snape didn’t say anything more as they entered the school. They walked through the few milling students and stopped at the dungeon entrance near the marble stairs that led up to the first floor landing. Hermione looked up at the pale wizard, who was giving her a rather considering look.

She realized if not for him, she would be dead right now, and her classmates could be attending two funerals, rather than one. She also realized that if not for Severus Snape, there would have been many more funerals to attend in the future because Voldemort would still be here, in this world. She was looking into the eyes of a true hero. Not a man who sought glory, fame and recognition for his acts, but a man who did what he had to do to reach his objective with no need for recognition at all. This Severus Snape was just as much or more a crusader than the one in the alternate universe. But he didn’t impose his beliefs on others and publicly try to change the world, instead . . . he acted alone to do what he could do. And in the end . . . it was more than enough.

Hermione couldn’t help feeling she was standing before another wizard who could claim greatness, a greatness equivalent to that of Albus Dumbledore, but since he had always dwelt in the shadows, under the radar, out of sight and behind the scenes, no one seemed able to see him for who he was. And she doubted Severus Snape was the kind of man who would ever turn light on himself.

She just couldn’t see him standing in the limelight, accepting awards, greeting cheering masses and cashing in on a tide of adoration that could roll over him once his true role was revealed. But she could see him happy at finally being able to live the kind of life denied him all this time because of his service.

No matter how you sliced it, Severus Snape was a great man. Hermione felt a bit humbled and gratitude washed over her that he had taken the time to look after her welfare and protect her from harm.

”Professor, I don’t think I thanked you properly for saving my life,” Hermione said to him softly, intending on giving him a lovely, heartfelt ‘thank you’ worthy of a standing ovation.

But Snape ruined it with his next remark.

”No, you haven’t,” Snape replied, “but don’t worry about it. You’ll have plenty of time to apologize while you’re serving detention.”

Hermione started. What did he say? Detention?

All those lovely thoughts about the wizard dissipated like morning mist beneath the sun.

”WHAT? Why do I have detention?” she asked him, incensed.

”You are being assigned detention for passing through the Mirror of Erised in the first place, then placing me in the precarious and very dangerous position of having to save you when you returned. Surely, you didn’t think you’d get away with that, did you?” he asked her pointedly.

”But . . . but I was the victim . . . and anyway, you ‘benefited’ from my absence,” Hermione hissed at him.

Snape arched an eyebrow at her.

”You benefited as well, Miss Granger, as proven by the potion you retrieved from me on the night of your return,” he said, his eyes glittering at her as the remembrance of her counterpart came to mind. And what memories they were.

Hermione turned crimson at his reference to her having sex with his counterpart, and she began to splutter, unable to even find the words she wanted to say.

”As engaging as your eloquence is, Miss Granger, I’m afraid I must go. You will begin serving your detentions when class is back in session. Until then.”

Snape swooped down the stairs and into the dungeon area, Hermione stamping her foot in frustration as he departed. What a git. Detention? Merlin.

”I can’t believe him!” she growled, turning and starting up the marble stairwell, heading for Gryffindor tower.

Life saver or not, Severus Snape ranked high on the bastard-o-meter.

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Hermione, Ron, Harry and Minerva watched as Filch carefully hung the still-covered portrait on the wall directly behind the Headmistress’ desk. It was slow going. The portrait was heavy and Filch made several tries to get it up properly.

Harry and Ron offered to help, but the squib snarled, “Get away! The both of you. I’ve been hanging portraits since before you two were soiling your nappies!”

Under the sheet, little noises could be heard, and once even a “my word” as the painting was bounced around. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked at each other, smiling for what seemed to be the first time in days as they heard the former Headmaster’s muffled voice.

Finally Filch got it up, backing away and wiping his gnarled hands on his trousers.

”It’s up. You can do the honors, Headmistress,” Filch said to Minerva, giving her a little bow.

The witch’s eyes turned on Harry.

”I believe I will give that honor to Mr. Potter,” she said softly.

Harry stared at her for a minute before Hermione gave him a little push from behind.

”Go ahead, Harry. Unveil him,” Hermione said softly as Ron nodded.

Harry slowly walked around the desk and stood before the large painting. He swallowed, then grasped the dark sheet covering it by the corner and quickly pulled it away. He stood face to face with the blinking visage of Albus Dumbledore.

”Ah, light at last,” the portrait said, focusing then smiling at Harry. “Ah, Harry. It’s good to see you, my boy.”

Harry felt his heart swell at the portrait’s address. His eyes began to water, as did those of everyone in the room, except for Filch, who still looked moved in his snarky way.

“Headmaster,” Harry said, his voice cracking.

”No, that’s former Headmaster, Harry. You have a new Headmistress now, and I daresay a fine one,” the wizard replied, his blue eyes shifting toward Minerva. “Did you give me a good send-off?”

Minerva nodded.

”The very best. Your tomb is on the Hogwarts grounds,” she said, her voice quavering as well.

”Excellent. No better place for my eternal repose,” he replied with a bright smile.

Both Hermione and Ron stared at the portrait, smiles on their faces. This was almost as good as having Dumbledore here with them in the flesh.

”We should hang your portrait in the entrance hall, Headmaster,” Ron blurted out. “That way, everyone could see you and not be so sad. It would be like you were still here.”

Albus shook his head.

”No, my place is here and my duty to advise the current Headmistress as well as all those who will follow. Minerva is in charge now. My time is finished, Mr. Weasley. And besides, I can think here. All that hustle and bustle would soon become annoying,” he replied.

Harry continued to stare at the portrait, remorse filling him now.

”I’m sorry you died, professor,” he said in a tremulous voice.

”It was my time, Harry. I’m just glad you didn’t come with me. Life is a beautiful thing, and now, you’re free to enjoy it. Don’t waste it feeling guilty about something you shouldn’t. I chose to save you, and was happy to do it,” Albus said to him softly.

”But . . . but why did you die? What happened to me?” Harry asked him.

Albus sighed.

”That’s a long story, Harry, but . . . if we were to be given a bit of privacy, I’d be happy to tell it to you,” the wizard replied, then he looked at Minerva.

”Minerva, my dear, would you mind terribly? I promise it will be the last time I usurp your office,” he said to the witch.

Seeing and hearing Albus had done wonders for Minerva as well. She had been mourning him deeply.

”Of course, Albus. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley . . . come along,” she said to them briskly, herding them out of the office, followed closely by Filch.

As they descended the spiral staircase, Hermione said to Ron, “You know, Ron, I think it’s all going to be all right for Harry.”

Ron looked back up toward the office, then smiled.

”Yeah, Hermione. I think you’re right,” he replied.

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A/N: You know, I always thought a living portrait of a loved one would be quite a comfort. Albus’ death is sad, but having him available in this manner has to take a bit of the sting away. Harry will finally find out the truth without Snape having to give up any of his memories. It’s a win-win situation. And how about Hermione and Snape? Detention? Lololol. Let the games begin. And let’s not forget about the upcoming meeting between Voldie and Bedaub Mules. That ought to be interesting. Thanks for reading.

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