Note: As this is my first attempt at posting any sort of fan fiction writing, I cannot guarantee perfection. I would appreciate any input you lovely readers may have and look forward to adding more to this story and watching how it unfolds.

"Headmaster, surely you cannot be serious."

The incredulity shining through Severus Snape's eyes was likely to spark a fire on Dumbledore's wooden desk. Never one to allow himself to be caught off guard, Snape found himself in the peculiar position of being grandly flummoxed.

"This is not what we previously discussed," he fumed.

"Severus, I know you are no longer in the habit of indulging me, but I ask that you at least explore the possibility that I am making a great deal of sense."

Dumbledore's knack for remaining sagely calm grated against Snape's nerves like a wailing banshee. Though it occasionally took time, he often grudgingly agreed with the older wizard's plans. But this…

"Headmas- …Albus. Do you know what you are condemning me to? Countless times have I gone to the Dark Lord and played his grueling game. I have lost track of the innumerable atrocities I have committed to convince him of my loyalty, all in the name of winning this war. I have watched the wizarding empire burn from the inside out, sidelining myself in an effort to remain hidden. Your death was the final turning point!" Snape raked his fingers over his left arm, the disgusting black smear on his soul itching at his sanity. "I have forged a trust out of death and decay, and now you'd have me turn my back on it all to save one life versus thousands?"

Dumbledore's portrait seemed to darken with the gravity of his next words. "Severus, I have, almost literally in some instances, thrown you to the wolves on many occasions. I have asked things of you that I would never dream of expecting from any other individual. But you must see how vitally important the whole picture is. We are not merely speaking of one life versus thousands. The power to win this war lies with one boy—well, I suppose I should call him a man, really—and his power cannot be fully tapped if he doesn't have the right counsel. He holds the key, but he needs those who would ever so slightly guide his hand."

The office entered a silence so harsh that it pounded against Snape's eardrums. He gazed wretchedly at the wall of deceased witches and wizards who had led Hogwarts across the ages. He wondered if his tenure as Headmaster would allow his inclusion into the ranks of the immortal elite. Considering his entire record, he thought not.

The stillness was interrupted by a springing toll. One of the many instruments left over from Dumbledore's stay in the Headmaster's office indicated that the hour was now two. The full moon shown through the windows, casting a stony pale over Snape's immaculate robes. He spared a passing thought for Lupin, wondering where he would be holed up this time. Ever since the child had arrived, he'd been taking great care to isolate himself from both it and his wife at such dangerous times. The man had been almost disgracefully gleeful as of late. Whenever they dared communicate, he couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to—

Snape's mind crashed back to his surroundings, taking note of the many eyes on his face. Anything to avoid the current predicament. God, I've become soft.

He turned slowly and began pacing the length of the room, his hands clasped rigidly at his back. "If I am to do this," he began heavily, "there must be a contingency plan in place before I depart."

"Naturally," Dumbledore agreed. "I believe I may already have that sorted out."

"Do you, now?" Snape sneered half-heartedly. He was starting to realize, as was often the case, that Dumbledore was unfortunately and unerringly correct. He hated putting his faith in Potter, abhorred the thought of his victor's pomp, but if the prophecy was to be believed, the arrogant boy was the only one who could truly best the Dark Lord. And God only knows that he needed whatever help those more intelligent could give him.

"Yes, I do." Up until now, Dumbledore had spoken gently, easing Snape into his new role. But his voice had hardened, growing thick as the school's foundations. "Severus, it must be done."

Snape's shoulders dropped, any pretense of control slipping away with the disappearing minutes. "Soon," Dumbledore pushed. "If we wait too long, the window will vanish and hope with it."

Whirling in rage, Snape roared his frustration. "There is no 'we' anymore, Albus! It has been only me for a long while now! Forgive me if I am not immediately ready to throw my life into the void!" The portraits on the walls exploded in a fury of startled movement, each former headmaster reeling from his shouts. Snape didn't care. None of them would ever fully grasp the life Dumbledore had locked him into. The fortress of his mind was wearing thin, each carefully placed brick crumbling, the mortar dissolving under the tsunami of pressure that had been laid against it throughout the last decade.

Snape's tirade was short-lived, and he collapsed against a cabinet, disrupting several objects that tinkled in protest at being dislodged. As much as he hated the gaily whirring machines, he couldn't bear the thought of removing them. To do so would mean closing himself off even further from that which had saved him. He had been an idiot man-child when the Dark Lord first took power. Following him had seemed so logical after a lifetime of never-ending rejections and torpor. Finally, here had been a man willing to fight a broken system that was nearly ready to topple itself. Only Snape hadn't truly embraced evil. He witnessed what became of it, what it meant to give oneself over and shred all vestiges of humanity. Lily's lifeless eyes still haunted his hours, waking or sleeping. His covered his face with his slender hands, peering out between fingers stained with innocent blood.

"I swore to do anything for you, Dumbledore. I am not so foolish as to neglect that vow after all this time."

Dumbledore watched Snape's defeated face over his spectacles. "There is more."

Snape's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "What else could you possibly have to say that would warrant such an ominous proclamation?"

"I doubt you'll agree with the method I've considered for Miss Granger's retrieval."

"I honestly can't imagine anything worse than revealing myself to the Dark Lord, but go on."

Dumbledore grimaced. "If I've gauged Voldemort correctly—and I have spent much of my life and death presuming to do so—then I may have discovered a way to avoid suspicion in this venture."

The old wizard was mad. He had to be. Snape stared mutely into the flat but bottomless eyes etched onto the canvas. "There can be no charade this time. I see no way to come out alive or with my reputation intact. If Miss Granger is to be rescued and I am the one to do it, then I will be thereafter hunted until the ground has consumed my bones."

After a slight pause, Dumbledore began to speak quietly, detailing his plan in annoyingly calm tones that failed to betray the absolute horror they conveyed.

When he ceased, Snape stood motionless for a moment.

Then he overturned the cabinet, shattering glass and machine into oblivion.