Irrelevant, a harry potter fanfic

AN: I own nothing. Also, I make no promises about how much sense this will make, it was kinda a spur of the moment thing.

Has it ever occurred to you that you ask too much, that you take too much for granted. Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this any more?

Whether it has or has not is irrelevant.

Albus Dumbledore has one greatest regret. It's not the one you might think.

Albus doesn't remember him being sorted. In his defense, nearly half a century of watching hundreds upon hundreds of wide-eyed first years cautiously edge up to a more decrepit and ripped by each head it adorned's hat, more than half again of which where he had the somewhat dubious honour of holding said hat rather rubbed away some of the excitement of the event.

So it's perhaps understandable that in later years, years when he tries with every bit of not-inconsiderable mental strength, finesse, and magic available to him, all Albus Dumbledore can recall of the sorting of '71 was the colour of fruit punch the Elves dreamed up while they were on the latest rendition of Horace's secret LSD supply.

It was cherry-brown if anyone was interested. Apparently House Elves are immune to most Muggle hallucinogenics.

Which would all have been fine and dandy, except that, somehow, somewhere in between admiring the colour of punch and trying not to light too many candles on fire in a dope induced magical haze, Albus Dumbledore completely missed the sorting of Severus Snape.

Albus doesn't remember the first time he noticed the colour of Severus' eyes. He suspects it might have been some inconsequential moment that he never recalls, a momentary encounter in the hall, a passing eye contact at the evening feast.

He just knows that one day in the mid-70s he looked into the bitter, angry eyes of a lanky-haired, withdrawn fifteen-year-old Slytherin, and wasn't at all surprised to note that they were black as coal.

And my soul Dumbledore? Mine?

Albus has known Severus for twenty-five years the day he orders the man to murder him. He will tell himself that it was a request, that it was a mercy plea. He will cloak it in all manner of sweet words, still the silver-tongued boy who once wooed the greatest dark wizard of his generation.

He will justify it till his dying breath, but he will never quite forget what he knew from the moment he first opened his mouth and set in motion the end of the Second Wizarding War.

Nothing is ever a request when it is uttered to the one person in the world who will deny you nothing, who can deny you nothing.

It took Albus a decade to even give Severus the time of day, ten years of knowing the boy to even acknowledge that there was anything special about him at all. Ten years to notice him.

It took him twenty to acknowledge, even to himself, that Severus was worth that acknowledgement at all.

It took him twenty-five to acknowledge, if only just to himself, that he was always worth some much more.

Don't ignore me Severus.

Albus Dumbledore lived for over a century and a half, moved in the same circles as saints and kings, the best of men and the worst of men, nearly two centuries of the world's best and brightest, wizarding and muggle alike. He taught many of them. Mentored even more.

He never asked more of any of them that what he asked of that little Slytherin boy who was beneath his notice for so many years.

He stands in his office that day, the day he plays his last gamble, and he gazes into the anguished black eyes of a man he squandered the chance to watch grow from a boy into the most remarkable person he has ever known.

He gazes into a pair of coal black eyes, and he sees the echoes of a betrayed fifteen-year-old, the shadows of a broken twenty-one-year-old, the ghost of a bleeding thirty-year old, the afterimage of a tired thirty-five-year-old.

He watches a silver doe swirl through the air, the words of a rather wise Muggle President swirling incongruously through his head.

The last full measure of devotion indeed.

Severus…Please.

Albus offers Severus a lemon drop every time the man visits his office, without fail. He calculates once that if Severus had accepted every one he ever offered him, the man would have eaten Honey Duke's yearly supply three times over by now.

He never does accept one. Well, except that one time.

Albus isn't entirely sure what one is supposed to do after signing a suicide pact with the only man he's ever taken the time to offer a second chance to.

He tries not to look at his reasons for that chance too closely most days.

So, being Albus Dumbledore, he carefully withdraws his wasted and blackening hand from Severus' gentle fingers and offers him a lemon drop.

And feels his jaw drop open as a long-fingered, potion stained hand deftly takes one yellow candy from the proffered tray, popping it into a sallowed mouth and chewing with all the satisfaction of a Kneezle who just got the cream.

Albus Dumbledore meets many people in his long life, but Severus Snape always remains perhaps the only one who ever had the honour of surprising him. In more ways than one.

Has it ever occurred to you that you ask too much, that you take too much for granted. Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this any more?

Whether it has or has not is irrelevant.

Albus doesn't remember much about his mother that isn't tinted with long held bitterness and hard edged regret.

He does remember this though.

Always remember to look past peoples' faces Albus. People are so much more than meets the eye. And one day you're going to meet someone who could change your life, someone who may just be the most important person you'll ever meet. And if you're not careful, if you don't pay attention, you may just miss the most remarkable people, even when they're right in front of your eyes.

He doesn't remember when she said it, or why, or even why he listened.

He doesn't remember she said it at all for years and years.

Until he teaches a former Death Eater legilimency, and it's suddenly the only thing he can see.

What will you give me in exchange Severus?

Anything.

Albus Dumbledore doesn't remember the first time he met Severus Snape.

That will always remain his one greatest regret.