Mirror Images

Chapter One

Professor Severus Snape slid his finger in a soothing, repetitive motion around his goblet. The first years were being ushered in by Professor McGonagall, gawking at the ceiling and the House tables, eyes full of nervousness and yet, wonder. It was the same each year.

However this year there were two faces amongst the throngs of new students that Snape knew would claim his attention soon enough – one face was familiar; one infamous. But he brushed aside his faint curiosity to study the latest DADA teacher at his side.

"Are you well this evening, Professor Quirrell?" Snape's tone was openly mocking, he could admit. He saw Burbage shoot him a disapproving glare- she had taught Quirinus, she was biased.

"S-sorry? I... I'm quite f-fine, Severus!" Quirrell stuttered, clearly startled. Then again, he always was these days.

"You seem unnerved. And to think classes haven't even begun," Snape purred.

"N-no! It's s-simply the s-start of n-new t-term is s-so exciting, don't you think?" the man's right eye spasmed, especially eager to stop looking at the dour Potions Master.

"Mm." Snape was not of the same opinion, and he gave a cursory evil eye to the plotting teenagers that filled the Hall.

As a matter of fact, Severus Snape had always detested Quirrell. He was a stammering and simultaneously overconfident bookworm that was nearly as incompetent as that nasty cow, Trelawney. Who, he could see, had once again managed to avoid the Welcoming feast. Apparently large crowds clouded her Inner Eye.

Snape often took perverse pleasure in intimidating the bashful man, even when he once was the Muggle Studies Professor. But now, he, above Snape, had secured Defence Against the Dark Arts.

But something about Quirrell had changed over the summer... something Snape couldn't quite pin down. He only knew the man felt different. There was an unfamiliar air about the teacher- as if he were concealing secrets behind that mild expression. Once or twice, Snape had thought he glimpsed cunning in the man's darting eyes, but that must have been a trick of the candlelight. That godawful new stammer was far too distracting for him to look closer.

He couldn't imagine that the ineffectual idiot was any sort of danger, except as a shoddy Professor, but Quirrell's altered bearing made the Potion Master's senses tingle with vague menace. Snape knew better than to ignore his instincts entirely. He had not survived his part-time service to the Dark Lord by sheer luck...

Quirrell would bear watching, he decided.

The Sorting Ceremony was just commencing as another odious Hat song wrapped up, and Snape followed the DADA teacher's gaze as the first Gryffindor– a girl with frizzy hair – was sorted. Minerva McGonagall finally came to the first name of consideration in Snape's book.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Snape watched the Malfoy boy's angular face as the Sorting Hat loudly proclaimed,

"SLYTHERIN!" after barely touching Draco's shiny, blond head.

That's no surprise, Snape thought, giving him a slight nod as the lad jumped off the stool and went to the Slytherin table. Too pretentious for his own good, if Lucius has set any example, and far too confident. That swaggering walk, so reminiscent of his father.

Snape had been a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor during Draco's childhood, and he had made a point of establishing some example to the boy that wasn't the cold, distant airs of his father. He knew there was a sharp mind behind that arrogant face and Snape was determined to draw it out. As Head of Slytherin House, he would have the opportunity to influence him, and he hoped to undo at least some of the damage Lucius had done to Draco's character.