Severus doesn't look at the Mirror.

He's not an idiot; he knows what--who--will look back at him, and he keeps his eyes averted as he maneuvers it into place. It hits the floor with a soft thud, sending up a cloud of dust and he glances up involuntarily at the sound, and is trapped.

Green eyes soft with an affection that he hasn't seen since he was fifteen and warm with something he hasn't ever seen outside of fevered daydreams, Lily Evans gazes at him through the glossy surface, across time.

Lily Potter, he tells himself, savagely. Lily Potter, you sentimental fool, and she's been dead for ten years. He doesn't add, Thanks to you, but it is there nonetheless.

He turns away, and doesn't look at Albus Dumbledore's too-sympathetic face.

Fool.