Chapter 159: Snape's Anger
Time: Midnight.
Location: An unused classroom on the sixth floor.
Inside the quiet, dust-covered room, Harry Potter pressed his back against the closed door and listened. The footsteps of Snape and Filch gradually faded down the corridor.
He exhaled softly.
For the first time since slipping on the Invisibility Cloak, Harry could let himself relax.
He turned around to examine the place he had ducked into—a long-abandoned classroom. Stacks of old desks and chairs were piled against one wall, casting strange shadows. A broken wastebasket lay overturned on the floor. But what caught Harry's attention was the large object standing against the far wall.
It was a tall mirror, so large it nearly reached the ceiling. Its ornate gold frame gleamed faintly even in the dark, resting on two claw-like feet. Across the top, engraved in swirling script, were strange backward letters:
> Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Harry blinked at it. The words made no sense to him.
Now that Snape and Filch were out of earshot, the panic that had gripped him began to subside. He was safe for the moment—but he wasn't going anywhere tonight.
They would definitely be watching the corridor between the sixth floor and the Ravenclaw Tower.
Which meant… he was stuck here.
Harry shivered slightly. He was still wearing his pajamas beneath the cloak. It was cold, and he'd likely catch a chill. He sighed.
But then something else drew his attention—something impossible.
The mirror was empty.
He stepped closer, expecting to see his reflection, but found only darkness.
From Alexander Smith's concealed position—watching silently from the shadows—the shift in Harry's body language was obvious. Surprise. Confusion. And then, suddenly, fear.
Harry turned sharply and looked behind him. Nothing.
He groped backward with one hand, eyes wide. It was clear he thought something might have crept up on him.
Alexander, having read the original books in his past life, already knew what Harry was looking at.
But nearby, Dumbledore, who had quietly entered and was observing from the shadows, briefly looked puzzled.
He squinted at the mirror, wondering if it was broken… or perhaps contained a Boggart.
But Dumbledore's confusion vanished when Harry stepped forward and finally recognized the figures within.
There, inside the mirror, stood a woman with dark red hair. Her eyes—bright green—were exactly like Harry's. She was crying and smiling all at once.
Standing beside her was a tall, thin man with messy black hair, wearing glasses. One lock of hair at the back stuck up stubbornly—just like Harry's own.
Harry's nose pressed flat against the glass.
"Mum?" he whispered. "Dad?"
From Alexander's angle, he could see Harry's eyes move across the mirror, searching. Harry was examining the rest of his imagined family.
Dumbledore wiped his eyes. He looked deeply affected—but also confused. With the power of the Mirror of Erised, he could see the exact image Harry saw.
And something was off.
James and Lily Potter looked accurate, of course. Harry still held subconscious memories of them. But the others—James's supposed parents and grandparents—looked wrong.
They all had green eyes and crooked knees just like Harry's. Even a small old wizard in the back bore the same exact nose.
Only Lily's side had green eyes. Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, Harry's paternal grandparents, didn't.
But Harry had never met them. They'd both died of dragon pox before he was born.
So his mind had filled in the gaps.
Harry had simply imagined that the entire Potter family must resemble him.
Alexander glanced toward Dumbledore.
He could tell the headmaster had come to the same realization.
Still, Dumbledore didn't linger on the error. His gaze returned to Harry.
Harry stood there for a long time—just staring, unmoving.
Eventually, he fell asleep wrapped in the invisibility cloak, still seated before the mirror.
Dumbledore stepped forward, his expression soft. With a wave of his wand, he conjured a thick quilt, gently wrapping it around the sleeping boy. The enchantment was set to vanish when Harry awoke.
Alexander watched with quiet admiration. That was elegant magic, subtle and kind.
Once satisfied that Harry was safe, Alexander faded from the room and returned to the dormitory. There, he passed the time playing with Jerry, the black kitten who now practically lived on his shoulder.
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Meanwhile, high in the Headmaster's Office, a storm was brewing.
All the portrait headmasters were fast asleep, snoring lightly.
But Severus Snape was furious.
"**Dumbledore, Ravenclaw, invisibility, first-year footprints, remaining students—**you know what I'm talking about!" he snapped.
"Quiet." Dumbledore calmly waved his wand. A magical bubble enclosed them, muffling their voices to the outside world.
In one of the portraits, Phineas Nigellus Black stirred slightly, grumbled in his sleep, and smacked his lips before settling again.
"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "you have to understand—this is for Harry's own good."
"Aha! I knew it was him!" Snape's pale face flushed with fury. "I was being too generous. I thought he was different—like his mother. But no! He's just like his father!"
"Wandering around the castle at night under an invisibility cloak! While a dark wizard like Quirrell is walking these halls!"
Snape began pacing furiously.
"That cloak—Potter's old cloak, isn't it? You repaired it and gave it to him? This Christmas? Seriously?"
"I knew this was your doing!"
He rounded on Dumbledore again. "Why? Why not expel Quirrell? Why encourage this boy? He was placed in Ravenclaw, studies quietly, never causes trouble—until now!"
"I'd wager you told him, 'This was your father's cloak, use it well,' didn't you?" Snape said mockingly, imitating Dumbledore's calm tone.
There was a moment of silence.
"…Severus," Dumbledore said with a faint smile, "you guessed it quite well. What's the matter? You're not reading my mail, are you?"
Snape stopped pacing.
His expression darkened.
"I'm going to the sixth floor to relieve Filch," he muttered through clenched teeth.
"Oh?" Dumbledore said teasingly. "Severus, are you worried Harry might catch a cold out there?"
Snape didn't answer. His footsteps, heavier than usual, echoed as he stormed from the office.
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(End of Chapter 159)
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