By morning, snow was thick on the ground. Lorelei had recovered enough to be taken to the infirmary. They put her by a window so she could watch the snow fall and brought her a mug of hot chocolate. She sat there watching the snow drift silently down and the cocoa steam drift silently up, pretending not to pay any attention to Snape and Pomfrey argue across the room.
They were trying to keep their voices down, but Lorelei’s head was still so sensitive that every sound seemed to echo through her skull. Her head felt as empty as the rest of her. She hadn’t been sure what she expected the cure to feel like, but surely it should feel better than this. She felt hollow.
It was too bright outside for her reflection to appear in the window, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want to see her red eyes anymore. She had hoped they’d go back to being blue. She knew her hair had gone white from the horror, but had wanted the red eyes to disappear with the rest of the vampiric influence.
Madame Pomfrey had tried to make her feel better about it. She had said that the red might mark her forever, like a scar even though the wound had healed. Lorelei had refused to be comforted by that.
“You needn’t worry,” Pomfrey had said. “The red is very striking. Don’t you think so, Severus?”
“Yes,” Snape had said. “Very.” Neither of them had understood. Vampires always took on the eye color of their sires. You could trace bloodlines by it. All of Brohm’s progeny had taken his red eyes when they changed, and even now that they were all gone, her eyes still marked her as his child.
While she was brooding, Snape came to stand by her again. Madame Pomfrey had finally talked him into taking one of her tonics. She was worried about the affect reading the Mayhem Manual would have on him. Lorelei put her dark glasses on again before turning to look at him.
“It may be that when Brohm is completely destroyed your eyes will turn back,” he said, taking a reluctant sip. “And if not, even Muggles have ways of changing their eye color. We can do something about it.”
“Maybe,” she sighed. The memory of the dream or hallucination she’d endured was still vivid. She had found herself imagining her sister somewhere dark, with water pouring in. it brought to mind their battle in the lake and she shivered. She sipped some cocoa to keep Snape from offering her another blanket. As grateful as she was for his help, she was getting sick of being fussed over.
“I had hoped being cured would be the end of this,” she said.
“Endings are seldom what we hope for,” Snape said, and then they both fell silent and watched the snow.