Chapter 20
The Astronomy Tower looked very different during the day. Large stacked gray stones had been carefully positioned together to create the crenellations behind which countless students had hidden in a desperate attempt to evade the notice of their astronomy instructors. Growing out of the cracks between the stones were the odd bits of ivy, or other weeds that tenaciously clung to the stones, struggling to keep their roots grounded on their precarious structure. During the Final Battle, a sizeable chunk had been taken out of the tower's foundation, but during the initial rebuild, it was one of the first things to be shored up, to once again stand the test of ages.
In the middle of the tower floor, a table had once again been set up for the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, with two chairs sitting across from each other. Tea was set out, plates of biscuits and other sweets were arrayed across it. Steam merrily streamed forth from the spout of the pot, though the two who sat, ostensibly to have afternoon tea hadn't touched it nor the dainties.
Albus and Minerva eyed each other warily from across the table. Neither had spoken since arriving to the tower, and for that matter, they had barely spoken since their harsh words were last excahnged atop the astronomy tower. Now they had returned again, and Minerva wasn't certain why she had requested to meet here. Even the bright light of day brought up her own darker memories that she didn't want to think about again – or perhaps it was the light that brought them back into focus. She felt a cold spot in the pit of her stomach. Stupid, Minerva, she thought. This may not have been one of your better plans. Brave, but stupid.
Albus cleared his throat, and Minerva realized that she had been woolgathering again. It was becoming a habit, and now that she had the luxury of being able to do so, she worried that it would start taking over her life.
"I complied with your request not to return to Severus' mindscape," Albus said into the silence.
Minerva winced at the words, wondering if he had intended them to sound so harsh.
"Thank you," she replied softly. She hadn't even spoken with him regarding it, simply sent a house-elf with a hastily penned note. She felt guilty about it. Perhaps that was the reason for the choice of venue - to assuage her own guilt? So much for Gryffindor bravery.
"Severus is doing better," Albus offered soberly. "I looked in on him before coming." An explanation, an olive branch proffered.
Recognizing the gambit for what it was, Minerva took it. "Poppy told me he walked to the library and back yesterday."
"Likewise. It seems that a week without our…" Albus trailed off, searching for the right word. In the decades that Minerva had known him, she could count the number of times he had been at a loss of words on one hand. She patiently waited for him to go on rather than offer other suggestions. Interference was the one that sprang to mind first. Meddling
and officious prying also presented themselves as options.
"Efforts," he continued, "has done well for him. He and Poppy have made a lot of progress."
Minerva was forced to agree on that part. The day after her own 'efforts', Poppy had taken Severus for a walk in the gardens. Over the interceding week, he had pushed himself and Poppy to the edge of their respective limits to once again become mobile. It was as if all he had needed was a little push to discover that his body was a useful tool rather than a prison, and he would use it to the best of its ability. Last week he could barely sit up by himself. This week, he would have wandered all over the castle and its grounds, leaning on his cane the entire way, had Poppy allowed it.
"I think Severus is eager to put this chapter of his life behind him," Minerva said carefully.
He looked at her oddly, cocking his head to one side, looking for all the world like a curious little bird. "Have any insights that you would care to share?"
She had the feeling that Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on, though how much more she wasn't certain. She thought of ways to dance around the subject, how to skirt past it without ever really touching on it, and suddenly, she was very tired of this thing that was so close to deception as to be largely indistinguishable. How had she gotten to this point with a man whom she had trusted for a good portion of her life?
Sighing, she picked up the teapot, poured for both of them. "I think we've both been doing ourselves and Severus something of a disservice with the best of all possible intentions."
Albus waited for her to go on, saying nothing, only sipping at his tea.
"I entered his mindscape again after… well, afterwards. I talked to Old Snape, then went to Young Severus. We- I," she amended, "triggered a floodgate that I don't think we intended to. Young Severus took matters into his own hands, started piecing together his own memories."
"That is something that we intended all along, wasn't it?"
Minerva was surprised that he didn't mention her own deception, that there was no lecture regarding her actions, but she wasn't about to let go of her tack. "At the detriment of Young Severus? He's aged with the emotions and the memories, Albus! To see him like that was terrible."
Albus smoothed his beard, brushed the crumbs of his biscuit from it. "Perhaps. But Severus Snape was not a nice man, Minerva. He was capable of a great deal of evil, and even I know that if he'd had the chance, if it was clear to him the Voldemort would win the battle, exactly where his loyalties would have laid." His tone was gentle, but even Minerva could hear a thin line of bitterness through the words.
"But for all that, when it came down to it, he was still one of my children and he came back to me, despite that I was the one who sent him to the worst of the tortures he experienced. Honestly, is it any wonder that Young Severus bears the mark of his sins, now that he's been given the opportunity to see them?"
Minerva frowned. She was irritated with Albus for being so cavalier with Severus' mind, and more irritated with herself for not seeing what should have been obvious. And it was – blindingly, painfully obvious. This was what they had wanted - or rather, it was one of a number of possibilities. And it made her wonder – what had she wanted? Had she really been so naïve as to think she could fix Severus?
It was an excellent question, and certainly one that bore more thinking about. What had she wanted? There were a number of possibilities. What was it that made her agree to this mad scheme in the first place? She had first argued against entering his mind, thinking of the ethics of it, then, when showed the possibilities, hadn't she encouraged the sessions? She had enjoyed her visits into his head, found a bit of sick, voyeuristic satisfaction in seeing his memories, piecing them back together again. And all for what?
She thought of her stated altruistic motives, and realized that those were shams covering – what, exactly? A desire to be needed? Perhaps. Why had she insisted on helping in the first place? There was little she could do that Albus couldn't have done, and generally with more finesse than her typical method of taking the straight forward route through any problem.
"Minerva?" Albus said, his eyebrows high and worried.
She realized that she had been woolgathering again, and this time the topic was anything but benign. "I'm sorry, Albus. I'm just thinking about what you've said."
He nodded, and she knew that he was aware of the truth, but would be content to let her sit and contemplate her navel for as long as it took.
So again. She reviewed their conversations in her mind, their last argument, this current talk. She had been angry, outraged, and realized that it wasn't for Severus that she had been upset. It was for herself. She had been living in a fantasy if she honestly thought that Severus was completely inculpable for his actions, and moreover that she would have been able to take the moral high ground.
"Do you regret the things you did in the War?" Minerva asked abruptly.
Albus' lips thinned under the beard, and there was a long pause before he answered. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't."
Guilt suffused through Minerva again. That was it. Until now, she had felt justified in everything she had done. It was a war, people died. It wasn't until now, when she saw the direct results of her actions or inaction, that she understood. Faced with the consequences of her own actions, she was taken by how terribly easy it was to understand the enemy, and how close they had come to losing everything.