Mirror in the Void

      The torches on the walls burned with an even flame. Their light pushed the darkness into the corners, but didn't drive it out completely. Reflections danced on the ancient stone walls and floor, glinted off shiny specks, and vanished when the fire shifted slightly, carried by a draft. Two shadows rushed past. Footsteps echoed through the empty corridors – confident, barely audible, and cautious ones, hastily catching up to the first.       Okada walked slightly ahead, habitually keeping to the left side of the corridor, giving herself a full view of the right side, where doors and other corridors branched off. Her hand, which had rested on her holster a few hundred meters ago, now lay in her pocket. The living portraits sighed quietly, no longer disturbing her instincts. She still paid them attention from the corner of her eye, watching their small movements, but continued to pretend not to notice them at all.       Hino walked close behind, almost on her heels. Her hand kept reaching for the edge of Okada's jacket whenever the paint on the canvases moved. The general atmosphere of the castle, her friend's tension that she tried to hide, the recent accident, and the fact that the others had quietly split up – it all weighed on her. She would have greatly preferred to stay in the guest room, wrap herself in a blanket, and wait for the moment she could go home. However, Okada wanted to look around, the others had eagerly agreed and disappeared into the darkness of the corridors, and she didn't want to be left completely alone. – Would you care to explain what two young guests are doing in the corridors at such a late hour? – a cold voice sounded behind them.       Hino immediately turned toward the sound, grabbing her friend's arm. Okada instinctively reached for her weapon and took half a step back and to the side – enough to shield Hino with her body. Before them stood a man in a black robe, his arms crossed over his chest. Long, greasy hair fell over his face, making him resemble one of the shadows hiding in the corners. – Just taking a walk, – Okada replied, putting into her voice the calm, slightly lazy tone honed over years. – And now trying to find our way back. But, you know, your castle isn't exactly easy to navigate.       The man's gaze slid over her – quick, appraising, like someone accustomed to noticing details. It stopped on her face for a few seconds, moved to her posture and the way she held her hands. She appeared relaxed, but small details betrayed her readiness to strike. – I will escort you, – the man said after a short pause. – I would not want our guests to wander into the restricted section or the dungeons, – he stepped closer. – We would be most grateful, Mister… – Okada tilted her head, looking at him questioningly. – Severus Snape.       "Well, at least I understood that much", – Hino thought, hearing his name. She looked at Okada, at her reaction. She expected her friend to smile, as she always did when encountering someone potentially dangerous. The way she did to establish contact, to lull their vigilance. But Okada didn't even attempt anything resembling friendliness. She looked at the man as if she knew for certain – she was his equal, or even above him. – Mister Snape, – Okada finished. – My name is Omori Okada, – she nodded in return. – And this is Hino.       The man shifted his gaze to Hino. She immediately looked up at him, feeling that piercing cold through her entire being. His dark eyes seemed vaguely familiar to her – as tired as Kiken's or Okada's after missions.       They exchanged a few more words, the meaning of which escaped Hino, and moved down the corridor. The tension, hidden beneath false politeness, never dissipated. Snape walked around the girls and now moved slightly ahead. Okada turned to her friend, smiled softly at her, encouraging her. – You have an interesting atmosphere here, – the girl quickened her pace, drawing level with the man. – Interesting? – Let's just say… If I were even a little more drunk, I would swear never to touch alcohol again, – she smirked. – It's hard to believe any of this is real. – And yet, for Muggles, you are taking this all rather… calmly, – Snape observed. – We don't have many options. Either accept the situation and think of how to resolve it, or make it worse with panic. Besides, after speaking with the Headmaster, we've all calmed down a bit. In the morning, we'll return to the accident site, show you everything, and, hopefully, go home. – A sensible decision, – the man nodded, not turning his head. – At night, even experienced wizards have no business in the Forbidden Forest. – Forbidden? Sounds ominous, – her lips twitched into a nervous smile, but her voice remained even, even slightly sarcastic.       They turned into another corridor – wider than the previous one, with high vaulted ceilings. The paintings on the walls had been replaced by tapestries embroidered with scenes of dragon hunts. – It's difficult working with teenagers, – Okada suddenly said, changing the subject. The silence was getting on her nerves. – What do you mean? – Snape shot her a quick glance. – From what I understand, this is a school. You're clearly a teacher. And I also… manage people. Not always adults. And it's… – she paused, searching for the word, – … a trial. I thought you might sympathize with me – sometimes it feels like they do everything on purpose to make us go grey before our time.       Snape gave her a skeptical look. Before he answered, they walked several more meters. – You are observant. Yes… students constantly test boundaries. As if life itself isn't dangerous enough to understand where one can act and where it's better not to take risks. – My subordinates are the same. One in particular – he thinks he's immortal. Jumps into the fire, then wonders why he got burned. – A Gryffindor? – Snape asked, and for the first time, something akin to interest crept into his voice. – I'm not familiar with your house divisions, – Okada shrugged indifferently. – And I don't divide them by factions… more by principle: those who think with their heads, and those who think with something else. – Both, – Snape said in an icy tone, stopping and turning to the girls, – are equally mortal. The difference is only how quickly they realize it. Your "immortal" one, apparently, has not yet understood this. – I wonder what mistake you made to understand it, – Okada suddenly looked at him challengingly.       Silence hung between them. The kind that is born in the second before a strike – when both know: the next move will decide everything. Snape didn't move from his spot, his face remained inscrutable, but something in him changed. Okada looked at him and saw many other faces from the past. A common trait for all those accustomed to striking first, and for those who do not forgive insolence. But she had no intention of backing down from the start, and now she only waited – would the man accept her challenge or surrender without a fight?       He did nothing. His gaze lingered on her for a few seconds. Cold and studying, yet filled with something Okada couldn't read. Then he looked at Hino. At how she stood, shrinking back, but not retreating. Something like wistful warmth for someone from a distant past flickered in his eyes…       He turned away, stepped back toward the corridor. – Your room is at the end of this corridor, – he said without looking at the girls. – Third door on the right. – Thank you, – Okada replied, watching his back.       Snape gave a short nod and dissolved into the darkness of the corridor. So quickly and silently that it seemed he had never been there at all. – Let's go to bed, – Okada turned to Hino. A shadow of self-satisfaction flitted through her voice.       They walked down the corridor. To the third door on the right. Past the living portraits that watched them with empty eyes, past the carved doors behind which people had long been asleep.       The torches on the walls burned with an even flame. Their light pushed the darkness into the corners, but didn't drive it out completely. The footsteps faded, no longer disturbing the corridors' peace. Silence began to breathe again, proving – here, in this strange castle, even it was alive. It breathed in the stones, hid behind the tapestries, curled in the corners, rested in the shadows. And yet at the same moment, it was empty, devoid of any thought, and therefore lifeless.

Living, dead silence.