"Who else had their mail inspected? Yours?" Snape asked.
"Harry's." Orli said. "That white owl of his is conspicuous. She got injured today. Professor McGonagall knows."
Snape frowned slightly.
"Same as before—if something comes up, leave notes or items in that Room of Requirement. I'll check weekly. If it's urgent, use the two-way mirror—don't worry about my situation. I'll handle my end." Snape said.
"Understood, Professor. I'll keep the mirror on me." Orli said. Though she wouldn't use it unless absolutely necessary.
Brief silence.
"You should sleep." Snape said. "Charms tomorrow morning. Pay attention—you've got O.W.L.s this year."
"Professor, you really are a 'professor.'" Orli sounded mildly annoyed.
"At least for now, I'm still your professor." Snape spoke quietly.
"But you won't be forever." Orli brought the mirror close to her cheek. "Good night, Professor. I'll miss you."
She rushed through the words, not daring to wait for Snape's reaction, fumbling to flip the mirror face-down and shove it under her pillow.
On the other side, Snape sat frozen. After a long moment, a silent smile slowly spread across his face.
The mirror in his hands showed only his own reflection now—Orli was gone, but her image lingered in his mind.
He didn't know what being in love was supposed to feel like. He didn't even know if what they had could be called that.
He couldn't take her to Hogsmeade like other students, or sit by the Black Lake in the sun, or spend entire days in the library. All he could manage were stolen moments in places like the Shrieking Shack, or finding excuses to hold her hand.
He'd never known how to win anyone's heart, but she never needed him to do much. She was the one bringing light to his days. For the first time in his life, he knew with absolute certainty that his feelings would be returned. He could show emotion in front of her without facing insult, doubt, contempt, or mockery. He was becoming someone different—yet deep down, he was discovering this might be who he truly was.
Her image floated through his mind again. He could almost picture her after those last words—face flushed, buried in her pillow. He sighed softly, slipping the two-way mirror into his inner pocket.
Perhaps Orli had planted some kind of enchantment in his brain, Snape thought. Without forcing Occlumency, he'd think of her dozens of times each day—but he was perfectly content with that.
Good night, Orli, he whispered in his mind.
Next morning, the Great Hall was even more chaotic than before. Heavy rain hammered outside, and clusters of students crowded noisily throughout. Orli, Harry, Hermione, and Ron barely found empty seats at the end of the Gryffindor table. Several third-years passed behind them—Orli caught fragments about the Pink Lady.
They'd just sat down when Angelina pushed through from the other end.
"I got approval! To reform the Quidditch team!" she said, beaming.
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