On the fourth floor of Hogwarts Castle, Snape stormed toward an empty classroom, his black robes billowing behind him.
He flung the door open, not at all surprised to find the figure he was looking for.
"Dumbledore, you're still here staring at a mirror?!"
"Do you even know what happened at the Quidditch pitch this morning?!"
He demanded, his voice thick with anger.
"Severus, perfect timing. Come stand in front of this mirror and tell me what you see," Dumbledore replied, as if oblivious to Snape's fury, gesturing him over with a wave.
"If your ears are going as bad as your age suggests, I recommend a visit to Madam Pomfrey for some potion! Are you even listening to me?"
"Quirrell has started targeting Potter!" Snape growled, lowering his voice. "And you're just standing here daydreaming in front of a mirror! What could possibly be in there?"
He strode to the Mirror of Erised and glared into it, his face cold.
But the next second, his expression froze.
Beside him, a red-haired, green-eyed woman smiled warmly, her arm linked with his, resting lightly on his shoulder.
Snape's hand instinctively reached for his right arm, but there was nothing there.
A flicker of tenderness passed through his eyes before they hardened back to their usual icy indifference.
"A fake mirror—is that worth wasting your entire afternoon on? Don't tell me you saw some grand solution in there!" Snape snapped, refusing to answer Dumbledore's question.
"Quirrell's made his move—twice! Doesn't Potter's life mean anything to you? And that nosy Bedivere—"
"He had the nerve to barge into my office this afternoon, asking why I was saving Potter's life and who I was up against! How many students are you planning to drag into this?!"
Despite Snape's spitting rage, Dumbledore kept gazing at the mirror, calm to an almost unnerving degree.
"Oh, I'm glad you mentioned Mr. Bedivere. As it happens, I'm looking for him too."
Snape froze.
"Damn it, I told him to go back to his dormitory and stay out of this! Did he come running to you?"
"No, I think you've misunderstood Mr. Bedivere. Our meeting here is purely coincidental. I'm looking for him because he's currently in this mirror," Dumbledore said, waving his wand like a scanner, meticulously examining the Mirror of Erised.
"In the mirror? How's that possible?" Snape's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You're saying he walked into the mirror right in front of you?"
"Exactly, Severus, you've got it right," Dumbledore said, still inspecting the mirror. "You know I've been searching for a way to hide the Philosopher's Stone since September. I believe this mirror could hold some surprises."
"To be honest, I wanted to hide the Stone inside it, but I haven't figured out how to open it."
"Yet Mr. Bedivere, a first-year Hogwarts student, has managed what I couldn't in two months. Don't you find that remarkable, Severus?" Dumbledore's tone was both serious and faintly amused.
"I don't know what you're playing at, but you've completely botched this! A student vanished at Hogwarts—right under your nose!" Snape's anger flared even hotter at Dumbledore's attitude.
"Fine, then. Why not just cancel classes and send Potter back to his aunt and uncle's? Save me the daily heart attack!"
"What can I do?" Snape asked, still fuming but begrudgingly offering help.
Bedivere, you're really making life difficult for your dear Head of House!
"I think we need to experiment a bit. I just tried turning the mirror into a door, but it didn't work. Maybe a powerful Unlocking Charm next—"
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin common room.
Though Slytherin had lost the morning's Quidditch match, it didn't mean much to a house still leading in the House Cup.
Slytherin wasn't the type to wallow in a single loss—at least, not the students who weren't on the team.
Most of the little snakes had already shaken off the defeat and were enjoying the rest of their weekend.
Except for two, who were still steeped in anxiety.
"Hey, Daphne, you look a bit off. Still hung up on the match?" Pansy Parkinson asked, trying to cast a Cleaning Charm on her robes.
"Nah, Pansy, my face always looks like this. Probably haven't gotten enough sun," Daphne said from the sofa, flipping rapidly through her Transfiguration notes.
It was clear she wasn't absorbing a single word.
"And you, Malfoy, stomachache? Potter, Weasley, and that—Granger—get under your skin again?" Pansy turned to Malfoy, who was sitting on the other side of the sofa, his face twisted in distress.
Pansy glanced back, relieved to see Edward wasn't around, and quickly corrected herself.
"No, Pansy, it's not about this morning," Malfoy said, his expression still troubled.
"By the way, why aren't you two with Edward? Where is he?"
At the mention of Edward, both heads shot up from the sofa.
"No idea!" they shouted in unison.
Their outburst drew the attention of everyone in the Slytherin common room. Pansy jumped, gave them a look like they'd lost their minds, and hurried off.
Malfoy kept glancing at the wall clock, where three silver snakes slithered slowly.
"How long's it been, Daphne?" His voice trembled slightly.
"One hour, fifty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds," Daphne replied without hesitation.
"He's still not back?"
"Nope."
"Merlin's beard! Why am I always dragged into this kind of mess?! Does saving someone's life mean I owe them this much?!"
Malfoy buried his face in his hands, feeling more wronged in his eleven years than ever before.
Why did Edward have to tell him about this?
His father, Lucius, had drilled it into him countless times: don't go looking for trouble, and don't meddle in other people's business.
But since meeting Edward, Malfoy hadn't followed either rule.
He was either causing trouble or getting caught up in someone else's.
Edward had said that if he wasn't back in two hours, it meant Snape was behind all the strange incidents at school.
And they'd need to go straight to Headmaster Dumbledore.
At first, Malfoy had brushed it off, but as the minutes ticked by, his already pale face grew whiter than a ghost.
Daphne wasn't faring much better. She was pretending to stay calm, but her laurel brooch had long turned red, signaling her anxiety.
Neither wanted to deal with this.
The troll had nothing to do with them. As for Snape, he might want Potter dead, but not the whole school.
What did Harry Potter's life or death have to do with Slytherin?
"Maybe we just… let it go? I mean, this doesn't really involve us, right? We could just pretend nothing happened—" Malfoy ventured cautiously.
"This has nothing to do with us, sure, but what about Edward?" Daphne's brows furrowed slightly. "If what he said is true, he's at least been locked up by Snape by now, right?"
At the mention of Edward's name, Malfoy closed his eyes in despair.
Edward, you wait. Once this is over, I'm done with you! Otherwise, I'll spend my whole life stuck in your messes!
Even if you've helped me in class, let me copy your homework, or saved my life—it's not worth this!
"So, where do we even find Dumbledore? We've never been to the Headmaster's office. Maybe we could ask Snape—he's our Head of House, he'd know—" Malfoy slumped, defeated.
"Are you out of your mind, Malfoy?" Daphne shot him a look like he was a troll.
"Forget it. Let's find Gemma first. Maybe the prefect will have some ideas."
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