A/N: Special thanks to my awesome beta, Emz [bazoolium]. Set in the summer of HBP - before Dumbledore picks Harry up from Privet Drive.

31/05/10: Edited. No massive changes, so you don't have to read again if you've already done so.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am merely toying with the characters, and I hope Ms Rowling doesn't mind.

A tall, white-haired man appeared with a crack in the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. Looking left and right, he hurried past empty shop fronts, and houses whose windows had been closed to keep out the cold November air.

If anyone was peeking through their shutters, spying on the lone man, they made no noise, for the silence hung over the whole village, like a great canopy, shielding the inhabitants. If anyone had been observing the stranger, they would have seen him walk to the gate, dressed in what one unaccustomed to his ways would have found as a very peculiar choice of clothes. His deep purple robes swept along the ground after him, and his hair fell down his back. He had a beard, which seemed somewhat too long for a normal civilian; it came down to his waist, and both hair and beard were white.

In his world, this man was one of the most revered people of all time.

Making his way under the arch that led to the graves, he walked amongst them, a living soul striding about the resting spirits of the dead. Leaves rustled beneath his feet, twigs snapped. Those were the only signs that someone was in the deserted graveyard.

He seemed to know where he was going, for he strode confidently past the newer graves, and slowed his pace only when he had almost reached the furthest corner of the lonely place. He drew to a halt at the end of a row of crumbling headstones and abruptly turned into it. Stopping at a grave somewhere in the middle, the man knelt down. He placed a basket of flowers that he'd picked earlier that day by the headstone and he felt his eyes prickle with tears.

He did not try to fight it; he had been fighting it for too long. Instead, he let his tears flow. Tilting his body towards the neighbouring grave, he gasped as more tears threatened to fall.

Kendra Dumbledore (a smear of dirt covered the birthdate)-1899

And her daughter Ariana 1885-1899

Where your treasure is, there will be your heart also.

Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes and took great, heaving breaths. His sister.. His only sister.. And he might have been the one to bring about her death. He was the cause of her death. He cursed his teenage self. So ignorant, so self-obsessed. He had not been clever at all, despite what he may have thought at the time. Why had he not seen through Gellert's guise? But he, Dumbledore himself, had been plotting to overthrow the Muggles, so was he to blame also?

Absent-mindedly, he rose from where he knelt and crossed the graveyard to where he knew lay two people close to his heart. He stood in front of the gravestones, both with death dates of the same day in the early '80s.

"Lily and James," he murmured to himself. Tears were shed, and Albus read the script carved onto the stone.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."

He allowed himself a small smile. Remus had worked alongside him to put the Potters at rest. He had been the one to select the quotation. It was part of a collection of similar extracts that Lily had liked to keep on the mantel.

Every morning she would ask James or baby Harry to pick one scrap of parchment from the ornamental box she had received as a wedding gift from her mother. And whatever was picked, she would keep it in her thoughts all day. Coincidentally, the quote to urge Lily to join the Order and to keep up the fight against Voldemort was the one imprinted on her grave.

Albus remembered the lunch he'd had with Remus in order to arrange the final preparations for the funeral of his former students. It had been planned as a small gathering of a few of the Potter's closest friends, but it seemed everyone wanted to show up to pay their respects to the parents of the Boy-Who-Lived. And with the capture of Sirius Black, Dumbledore had hoped this would busy Remus' sharp mind for some time. Dumbledore was under the impression that it did, if only temporarily. After that, Dumbledore had lost contact with Remus Lupin. Twelve years later, Remus had been reunited with his best friend and Harry, the boy who was practically his nephew.

And then began the Triwizard Tournament and with it came the Second War. And a fresh wave of memories.

Of course Albus had thought about and grieved for his mother and his sister each day, but the start of the war brought with it new guilt, new feelings, and new determination.

More tears fell, and Albus seemed glad. Like a traveller who has been relieved of his burden, Albus felt strangely carefree. His family lay dead, and though he still grieved for them, he felt he had done them a favour. Being a man of many years, Albus Dumbledore tried as hard as he could to assist people in as many ways as possible. He prayed each night that Ariana and his mother would forgive him; he prayed the Muggle way, even know he didn't know if there really was a God. He just hoped that whatever higher power there was, would understand him and accept his apologies. He knew words meant nothing; that they could be carelessly flung about without a thought. But he had read the famous Muggle playwright, Shakespeare's plays, and knew how much power and emotion was to stand behind those mere pronunciations. Words of power.

And without them, where was he? A lone man, incapable of taking care of his own sister. A man with no wisdom, forgotten, his work tarnished. And if that man was to die tomorrow, he would lay at rest, knowing he had been forgiven. A tear trickled down Albus' cheek, and fell off the end of his nose. He wiped more tears from his eyes, and was about to pick his way out of the graveyard when he heard a rustling of leaves behind him. Years of Defence training left him confident that his opponent would relinquish once Albus' power shone. Footsteps drew nearer and Albus wondered who would be out there in the cold. Muggle or Magic? Friend or Foe? The questions were soon answered as a tall, slim figure was seen slithering towards Albus, and spoke quietly.

"How pleasant it is to bump into you here, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore inclined his head, curtly.

"What brings you here today, Severus?"

Severus Snape moved to stand next to his mentor and bowed his head.

"There is news," he spoke to the overgrown weeds at his feet. "The Dark Lord is indeed using the Malfoy boy. Draco seems more than happy to do as the Dark Lord bids, but he does not realise the extent of the... " Snape paused to find the appropriate word. " ...assignment, nor that he is being led on. I will obviously try to gain the boy's trust again. But I fear this time there may be more to it."

Dumbledore frowned and looked across into the far distance.

"That is all very well. But I do believe I asked you how you came to be here? At the grave of your old school rival?" He spoke lightly but with the air of one who knows the answer.

Snape detected this and replied back testily, "You know just as well as I do, Albus. Why must you ask?" His words were bitter, yet not angry.

"Oh, you know. I would much rather hear it from your lips than my own mind. One does get tired of one's own thoughts." Dumbledore sighed. "Lily, Lily, Lily," he murmured. "Your love saved the world. Your son was not killed, and we gained a most powerful ally. When will you stop doing us favours?"

Snape had stood beside Dumbledore, silently. He looked up as he heard his name.

"Severus, Harry may resent you more than ever this year. He believes you were a cause of Sirius' death."

Snape sneered. "Me? He thinks I was a factor of the extermination of that insolent piece of filth? Potter understands nothing. Him and his petty friends, always wanting to save the day," he spat out. "Roaming the halls of Hogwarts as if they own the castle. Nothing but trouble. You favour the boy too much, Dumbledore. He is but the spitting image of his father. Both had the same attitude, the same arrogance," Snape angrily continued his rant.

Dumbledore frowned at him. "It is unwise and disrespectful to speak of James and his son whilst standing at the former's grave. Proceed with your tirade if you must, but wait until you leave the village."

In normal circumstances, Snape would have seen fit to question Dumbledore, to argue with him. But his mood had changed instantly, and he was gazing down at Lily's grave, mournfully.

He was taken aback when Dumbledore addressed him again.

"Severus.. do you ever wonder what life would be like without our loved ones lost?"

The Potions Master snorted. "Dumbledore, is this a time to get poetic?"

His mentor chuckled slightly. "Maybe not. But this is an interesting matter. Tell me truthfully, have you ever thought about it? Those we love returning to us?"

Snape considered the question, biting his tongue thoughtfully, and replied with measured words. "Yes.. I suppose so. Hasn't everyone? It means hope and happiness to them all."

His voice was steady and his face blank, but Dumbledore knew his Legilimency skills too well. Severus Snape had spoken in the third person for the simple reason that he had no loved ones. He had been tormented by images of his wretched childhood, and the only one he had ever loved lay at his feet, six feet below the ground. A single rare tear escaped from Snape's eyelids. He hurriedly composed himself, but not before Dumbledore had seen it slide off the end of his nose. Dumbledore chose to ignore it as he knew it was a sensitive matter to discuss with one so devoid.

Silence descended upon the graveyard once more as they were both lost in their own thoughts. One standing tall and proud, his white hair shining in the steady setting of the sun. The other dark, slightly shorter than his companion, and with a sense of trying to remain inconspicuous.

Snape broke the calm.

"I must take my leave. The Dark Lord has sent for me tonight."

Dumbledore nodded, still apparently diverged in his own thoughts, He looked up, seemingly startled, then regained his posture. "Yes, yes. You do that."

Snape inwardly rolled his eyes and turned back to leave the graveyard.

Dumbledore called out to him. "And Severus, do be careful."

Snape had no time to retort on how he was always careful, as he had neared the gate and was scouring for a safe place to Disapparate from. Dumbledore sighed and gave the graveyard one last sweeping look, then followed suit.

His head swam with his own memories and what lay ahead for him. His path had been chosen for him a long time ago. Unlike Harry, he could not turn back. This was his way of repaying the world, and as he passed the many graves in Godric's Hollow, he knew he would soon be joining them.

And it didn't matter. This was for the Greater Good.

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