He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
(Sting, The shape of my heart)
"Dilys," Severus repeated tiredly, as he sat on his bed."I do not think it really matters what Hermione Granger understands or misunderstands about my relationship with Minerva. I trust her not to spread it around, and in a week's time, maybe ten days, all this will be behind me if I am still alive. Either way, I will probably never see her again."
"It matters very much. She loves you, silly! She is just devastated because she thinks you are bound to take up with Minerva again."
"Then, let her believe it."
"Oh!" The former Headmistress stomped her foot. "I can't believe how stubborn you are. Think a little about her."
"I do!" he said defensively. "If what you say is true, not that I believe it, it is much kinder to nip any misguided feelings in the bud."
Especially mine.
"Severus Snape! I refuse to believe that even you can be so thick that you did not notice she's more than just a little attracted to you."
"It is nothing more than a crush," he protested, even if something in him hoped he was wrong. "I am obliged to live in close quarters with former students who used to hate me as much as I despised them. It is a totally artificial situation, worthy of a study on lab rats. For the sake of our sanity, we just have to deal with it," he said, trying to convince himself as much as Dilys. "This incredible set of circumstances makes all of us a little vulnerable and naturally inclined to rely on each other."
"So, you admit you are feeling something, too?" Dilys asked, with the kind of devilish little smile he thought most unsettling in a Hufflepuff.
"Potter and Weasley are not as thick as I used to think they were, and determined to please – at least for the time being."
"I was not speaking of the boys."
"They are hardly boys anymore."
"Severus!" she chided, in a tone that warned him not to trifle with her temper.
Conceding defeat, he said gruffly, "I am not dead yet and she is the only woman around."
"Thank you so much," she said, pretending to be offended and smoothing her shining ringlets with a little pout. "But you know, I immediately knew you were made for each other."
He rolled his eyes. Hufflepuff, definitely. Even the Sorting Hat must have noticed the lack of subtlety and the fierce need to help those she loved at any cost.
Time to appeal to her sense of loyalty and her good heart, then, and to change the subject. "If you don't mind, I would prefer we return to the real matter at hand-"
"Happiness always matters!"she protested.
"-And help me check if I have everything ready," he finished as if he had not heard her comment. "Dumbledore's written endorsement or not, I have not changed my mind. His murder is but a minor part of the charges."
She turned instantly gloomy. "All right," she sighed, "But I still say this is incredibly foolish and that it would be much safer to ask Hermione. She would not betray you. It is still possible to ask her-"
"But she would risk Azkaban or, at the very least, her career. It is out of the question!"
"You're risking your life!" she cried. "Severus, please!" she implored, joining her hands in supplication. "If I could do more than simply give advice, you know I would. You can't be sure you will be able to carry it out. So many things could go wrong. Your hand may slip..."
"Thanks to Healer Babbock, my hands are steady."
"An haemorrhage..."
"That's what dittany and murtlap are used for."
"Ooohhh!" she wailed quite hysterically. "Stubborn! Stubborn! You'll be the death of me."
He tried to be flippant. "You're already dead."
"DON'T YOU DARE!" she shouted, this time with considerable anguish. "I already lost you once!" She hid her face in her hands and began to cry.
Severus instantly deflated. "I'm sorry, Dilys. I…" He nervously massaged the back of his head. "It is very difficult for me, too."
The old lady looked up and bravely tried to smile, although it merely ended in her biting her lip and blinking furiously to try to stop her tears.
"I just can't afford to slack off now," he went on, almost pleading. "You know I can't. Moppy's help will have to be enough."
Dilys took a deep, resolute breath, extracted a handkerchief from her ample cleavage like a muggle magician and blew furiously. "I am sorry, too," she said when she could. "I meant to be supportive and I only managed to distress the both of us." She Banished the handkerchief, crossed her arms and leaned forward. "There, it is over. Show me now… Before Hermione arrives, if you don't want her to guess."
§§§
Hermione could not find another reason to linger at Grimmauld Place before Flooing to Spinner's End.
She had put her new robe away, feeling very much like Cinderella returning to her shabby self after the ball. She was once again the same plain, uninteresting Hermione Granger she had always been and wondered how she could ever have believed that Severus would feel more than the affectionate friendship of a mentor for her.
He was going to kiss you.
She banished the memory. It only proved how stupid and delusional she could be. That, or he was desperate for a little comfort and he thought it would mean no more for her than for himself.
But why did he suddenly return to call her "Healer Granger", as coldly as in the early days? Did he decide that she was not even worth kissing?
Or that she was a tease, stepping back after flirting with him?
Or had he actually been tempted but changed his mind, because even a comfort kiss would be disloyal towards Minerva?
She did not know what to think or what to believe anymore.
Before she drove herself to distraction, she decided that, whatever her feelings for him, whatever the reason for his mercurial attitude, there was no reason to make Sev… – No! – he's Professor Snape – wait to see for himself the proofs of Dumbledore's actual regard for him.
She took Dumbeldore's shoe box, with his testimony and all that concerned the contract for the wakeful portrait.
When she stepped out of the fireplace in Spinner's End, there was no one in sight. She put the Disillusioned box in the middle of the coffee table, within easy reach of Snape's armchair. Voices in the kitchen led her to Harry and Ron happily gorging themselves – with unhealthy snacks and just before dinner, she noted with disapprobation.
"Minnie!" Ron called cheerfully.
"How did it go at Hogwarts?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Very well, if I say so myself. Everything was perfectly orchestrated, it was a huge success and I think the press will be very good."
"Thank Merlin for that." Harry smiled in relief.
"Rita Skeeter wasn't there," she added with a satisfied grin. "They sent someone else."
"Alleluia!" Ron raised his palms to the heavens.
"And you, how did it go with the Occlumency?"
"Great," Harry said, feeling like he was lying through his teeth but Hermione did not seem to notice. "Just great. Snape gave us useful tricks to fight off Yaxley if he dares to enter our mind."
"Tricks?" she asked, feeling that he was leaving something off.
"And he said that I have the makings of a good Occlumens," Ron cut in, rather proudly. "That is, with the proper training… But I would have to transfer to the Unspeakables for that."
Hermione bit her lip. She did not like when Ron's enthusiasm flared up so suddenly, because he was bound to lose heart and feel defeated just as easily when he would realise the amount of work entailed.
She did not want to say it, but she was sure that becoming an Unspeakable was not the right path for him. Even if he were qualified, the need for constant secrecy and the isolation it brought to their members outside their very little community would destroy him.
She resigned herself to wait until he deflated, which might take days and would come harder the longer it would take, but Ron added, "It is a heady feeling but, frankly, I am not interested. From what I have learned today, the cost of that kind of power is much higher than what I am prepared to pay. At least, not at this point in my life."
With almost maternal pride, Hermione beamed at him. For as long as she had known him, Ron had constantly displayed some kind of insecurity or another and an inferiority complex that led him to act rashly and callously much too often, and made her act like a shrew in reaction. Call it the weight of habit, familiarity breeding contempt or whatever, the fact remained that Ron would not have been able to grow so much if they were still together, she recognised with sudden guilt.
He would still be alternately pushing himself too hard to reach what he thought was her intellectual level and giving up dejectedly when he realised he was not up to it, rather than accepting that his strengths were entirely different… And she would perpetually be on the defensive, waiting for the other shoe to drop and harping on the wrong way to get through to him.
Oh! Yes! They were definitely better off as best friends!
For the first time, she really understood what Snape had tried to explain about his relationship with Lily. She had been relieved to learn that he was over his first, tortured love but she had not really internalized why.
Now, she was experiencing first hand that childhood love may sound very romantic, but seldom allows either party room to really grow unless they finally grow apart, because everyone needs their own, independent experiences.
She drew a long breath and straightened up. She still had to announce her discoveries and see how to deal with the results.
Resolutely putting her regrets at the back of her mind, she could not help feeling rather satisfied with herself when she announced, "Something tremendous happened when I visited Dumbeldore's portrait."
"Dumbledore?" Harry and Ron spouted in unison.
She produced the vials with the memories and aligned them on the kitchen table. Then, she triumphally presented Harry with a roll of parchment on both hands, like a herald.
The Auror opened it at once, Ron eagerly leaning to read over his shoulder. They both gasped as they read the first words of Dumbledore's testimony, before hastily pushing the plates on the side to put the scroll on the table to read more comfortably.
Hermione shook her head and cast Scourgify before they managed to get grease stains on the precious document that was bound to be presented to the Court. They barely noticed, too busy to read it to the end.
"Phew!" Ron whistled in relief when he got through, before looking up at Hermione with admiration. "How did you convince the old fox to give you this?"
"Yes, how?" Harry asked, shaking his head in wonder. "I was so sure Dumbledore had not left anything to help. He told us nothing when we took his testimony."
Hermione grinned rather unpleasantly. "Power of persuasion."
Harry reached and squeezed her hand meaningfully in thanks, before standing up and making for the stairs with the roll. "I must tell Severus at once."
"Harry! Wait!" Hermione hurried out of the kitchen to stop him, Ron in tow.
He was already half up and turned reluctantly. "He already knows," she said anxiously. "Dilys and Phineas left before me, but I have other things for him… That he may not appreciate so much. At least, I am not sure how he will take them."
Harry hesitated just a second. "He needs to come down, anyway."
"Yes, I would very much see for myself to what extent exactly Dumbledore condescended to exert himself for me." They looked up and Snape was there, standing on the landing and looking more suspicious and angry than anything else.
"I don't know what other surprise Dumbledore had up his sleeve," Harry said, handing Snape the parchment, "But this is great. We finally have a written proof that you acted in accordance with Dumbledore's orders."
Snape walked down and sat in his armchair before allowing himself to scan the scroll. It took him no more than a minute to read it twice, his impassive face giving nothing away. "I see," he merely said, handing the document back to Harry.
Ron presented him the vials, one by one so that he could read the dates, which he did with pursed lips and in silence.
They all knew Snape would not like to have people watching any of his memories again, even if it was unavoidable, and in this case, Dumbledore's memories happened to be his, too.
"I know you don't like this," Harry said in a placating tone, "But, now, there can't be any dispute about the truthfulness of your own memories."
"I guess Alexia will be satisfied," Snape admitted, not entirely managing to fake indifference, before turning to Hermione. "I was made to understand there was something else… Something more personal?" His hands on the armrests imperceptibly tensed as if he was bracing himself for impact.
"Yes." Hermione took her wand and cancelled the Disillusion spell that hid the shoebox. "Dumbledore said it's yours now."
They watched in silence as Snape meticulously removed the lid. He gingerly extracted the wooden box containing the information from the painters. "I hope this is not one of his elaborate games of Russian dolls," he commented with the long-suffering look of someone used to the old Headmaster's antics.
"Thankfully not, although the boxes were hidden with a ridiculous little ritual."
He did not answer with more than a commiserating little smile, as he was busy sorting between the contract and all the letters.
"It's in Italian," Hermione said apologetically.
"I can read it," he informed her curtly and proceeded to do just that, ignoring the whispering as Hermione explained to Ron and Harry what is was all about.
When he finished reading, Snape filed the documents carefully again in the folder and pulled out the rest of the content of the box. The galleons, he ignored. He startled at the photographs that had been used for models, pinching his lips in obvious anger at several – the most private, the most unguarded.
He briefly wondered if Minerva had been going behind his back with Dumbledore but promptly dismissed the thought. He could not imagine that she would have parted with memories of their life together more willingly than he would, and certainly not for Albus Dumbledore.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts had the means, if he was unscrupulous enough, to spy on his staff, steal, or duplicate anything from their quarters.
Severus should know, he had done the same in his time with the Carrows.
He leafed through the different sketches, his scowl becoming more and more pronounced. He could not fault Albus's taste but he would have liked to have a say in the matter, and not just be brought back to painted consciousness when and how it suited the old man.
Harry and Ron were contorting themselves, trying to have a better look while attempting to remain discreet, while Hermione was watching Severus with growing worry. The fact that he did not take exception to their pseudo-stealth proved how upset he must be.
Finally, Snape took the blood vial in his hand as if he was weighing it up. His knuckles whitened, his hand tightening so hard that Hermione irrationally worried that he would manage to break the unbreakable vial. He certainly tried, shaking with fury, until she called softly, "Severus."
She had meant to only call him "Professor" but it was proving impossible.
He gave a mirthless laugh and waved the vial at her. "He knew me so well." His voice was barely a whisper. "He played me so well."
Ron opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. The Professor seemed to be looking at something or someone far, far away and it did not seem right to interrupt.
At last, Snape blinked, remembering he was not alone. He licked his lips as if he wanted to speak but could not find the words.
"Are you alright?" Hermione asked softly.
Snape's eyes seemed to focus at last. "Not so long ago, I would have sold my soul for just this." He raised the vial for emphasis. There was even a small smile tugging at his lips as he enunciated almost longingly, "Oblivion."
There was a painful silence.
Harry coughed. "And now?" he asked almost timidly.
Snape put the vial down in the box before looking in the young man's eyes, "I'll be damned if I give anyone ever again the opportunity to call me a coward."
"You're not a coward!"
Snape rolled his eyes and put the lid back on the shoebox with an irate flick of his wand. Harry flushed, unable to find a proper reply on the spot
"That's two wakeful portraits you're due now," Ron said, stepping in before either wizard could say something he would regret. "Most people never even get the chance for one." He crossed his arms in clear challenge, daring Snape to turn down his chance again.
Snape's eyes narrowed with almost a malicious gleam. "I'll tell you what, Ronald Weasley," he answered just as challengingly. "If, by the High Court's magnanimity, I walk free at the end of my trial, I will sit both my portraits." He leaned and pointed at the redhead. "If I don't, I relinquish my rights on this one, so you can get your own. My only regret will be not to see how you deal with yourself."
"Done!" Ron said in the same tone before offering his hand.
Snape took it.
"I warn you, you'd better fight like the snake you are during the trial, or you will end up on my mantelpiece, only remembering how much you loathed having me in your class."
Snape grasped harder with a thin smile. "I see that a little deviousness is finally rubbing off on a Weasley. Maybe, the next generation will see Weasleys in Slytherin."
Ron let go hastily of Snape's hand and rubbed his conscientiously on his robes as if he feared contamination.
Harry crowed in delight but Hermione was shaking her head. "Men!" she said, fuming because she could never tell what was a pissing contest and what was fraternisation between those two.
It did not help that they heard and looked at her with the same odious little smirk – and Harry, too! - which proclaimed that this was a male thing that she had no hope to understand and that they found it all the more funny.
Snape managed to hide his amusement so swiftly that it seemed only the boys had been affected, but she knew better. She glared at him, even as he came to sit beside her.
"Healer Granger," he began, rather solemnly, waiting until she relented and he had her full attention to go on. "There is one last issue I would like to settle. I know it may go against some of your convictions but, if anything goes wrong in the next few days-"
"Things cannot go wrong!" she asserted. "We won't let it happen."
"Anyway," he said patiently, "Just in case, and for my peace of mind… I would be honoured if you consented to let me draw you into my bond with Puck."
As she looked at him, dumbfounded, he cleared his throat. "It is not fair that he should suffer because of my mistakes. He is still so tiny, he needs to have someone's magic at hand in the next few days, and if the worst comes to pass, for some years as well. If I can't, will you do it?"
After maybe half a minute, she realised that she was probably making a very unattractive impersonation of a fish and snapped her mouth shut. She swallowed. "Of course!" she finally managed to say. "But… I… Why me? Why not Draco? He already knows Moppy, and Fuzzy was a Malfoy elf."
Because your intelligence and your magic shine like a beacon in the dark, he wanted to tell her but it sounded so mushy, he could not bring himself to say such words, and certainly not in front of others.
Instead, he explained carefully, "The Malfoys already have too many elves to deal with, being the last free or living members of several Pureblood lines. I cannot foist Puck on them when they were already grateful Fuzzy wanted to join Moppy. I also believe contact with female magic would be helpful for Puck right now. You have been in this house every day since his birth and have examined him several times. He is bound to find your magic more familiar and soothing than any other when I am not around."
As they gazed into each other's eyes, he realised in a flash that she reminded him of one of the unicorns he once caught in a strong Lumos.
(He had been flying, scanning the Forbidden Forest on Dumbledore's orders back when Voldemort was a parasite upon that poor idiot, Quirrel and hunted those pure creatures for their blood. He had been drawn by the noise, afraid to run into another attack, only to find a group of foals gambolling around, carefully protected by the adults. He had retreated as soon as he had asserted they were alright and before he frightened them too much, but not before noticing and marvelling that, contrary to his preconceptions and previous sighting, all unicorns were not uniformly snow white but that the coats in that particular herd were as varied as human skin tones and hair colour.)
Tears shimmered in Hermione's soft brown eyes, not to the point of falling, though, and she was smiling at the same time. He did not need for her to voice her acceptance.
"Moppy!" he called out.
His elf Apparated instantly, the baby in her arms and her mate at her side. She was beaming happily and so did Fuzzy.
"The mistress is willing, yes?" she asked eagerly.
Hermione smiled warmly to the elves. "It is a great honour and a pleasure, Moppy, but it is also a great responsibility. I have been so wrong about elves before, I will depend on you to tell me what I must do and what I must not do."
"No knitted hats!" Moppy stated, with her customary cheek.
Everyone laughed, even Hermione. Well, Snape snickered once.
He then turned to face the young witch more fully and extended his hands, palms up. She tried not to blush as she met his eyes again and put her hands in his without hesitation, palms up, too.
Heat spread in his chest. He fought not to curl his much longer fingers around hers. He wanted to memorise their softness but knew he must not. He drew a breath.
Silently, Hermione did the same as she felt the warmth of Severus's hands diffuse in her own body.
Moppy put Puck in the cradle of their joined hands. The baby stared wide-eyed, feeling something different, a strange but thankfully not totally foreign magic, vibrating around his bond with his master. Still, he had craved for familiar comfort and the novelty disturbed him. He hesitated on the verge of crying but Snape called his name softly and made small shushing noises. Puck looked up to him, still very much short-sighted but it did not matter, he cooed as soon as he spotted the familiar dark eyes that radiated power, comfort and security.
"This is Hermione," the voice of his beloved caretaker said and the baby elf sensed that he meant the soft, hallowed little figure near him. "She will take care of you when I cannot." There was a hidden fear and sorrow in his wizard, stronger than usual. It made Puck squirm unhappily but then he felt that the vibrations of the foreign magic soothed the burden on his master's side of the bond.
With the blind faith of innocence and unconditional love, and the full power of instinct, Puck closed his eyes. He tasted the new magic and found it good, very good, for him and for his master. He purred, absorbing the new link before sending back waves of his own elf magic. It was like a tide that rolled to and fro between him, the one called Hermione and the master. He purred, and purred, until Hermione's hair was standing on end and crackling with static. Snape's did the same, if less dramatically and without sparks.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Fuzzy exulted. "A new mistress! And one so kind and powerful! Oh! Puck is being so lucky!"
As if his father's words had turned loose something, Puck felt suddenly very tired. He whimpered, turned in the joined hands that still cradled him, his cheek on Hermione's left palm and went to sleep.
Weeping with joy, Hermione raised her hands reverently, taking all the baby's weigh (it was really not very much) and handed him to his waiting mother, to whisk him to bed.
Snape closed his eyes, trying very hard not to whimper like Puck just a moment ago at the sudden, unexpected loss. It had never been so hard to part from his little elf, particularly when he could actually feel Hermione's magic, not only under his palms and fingertips but through all his nerve endings.
Hermione leaned back in the sofa, staring at the ceiling as she was coming down from that strange high that she could only describe, if anyone asked her, as a sort of mystical union – with very curious and rather enjoyable physical side effects. "Wow!" was all she could managed.
Harry looked with a frown between the dishevelled Snape and Hermione, who looked disturbingly glowing and exhausted. He searched Ron's eyes, but the redhead was obviously finding it very funny and trying hard to hide it. He turned back to the pair of … Of what exactly? Co-owners? Co-carers? Co-coaches? Connub… He sat bolt upright. "Eh! You're not something like married, are you?"
Hermione choke. Before she could say anything, Snape stood in a huff, never sparing her a glance. "What moronic idea did you get in what passes for a brain, now?" he spat angrily.
Ron brayed a laugh and Harry felt a rush of heat to his face.
Snape was ranting, "Do you really imagine that every kind of vow or bond equates to marriage? That I would suggest something inappropriate to Healer Granger? I suggest you revise your Bonds and Contracts handbook before you accuse me of taking advantage of your friend."
He turned and angrily ascended the stairs several steps at a time – so fast, they hardly had time to react.
"Severus!" Hermione stood up and called desperately, "Nobody accuses you of anything!"
But only the slamming of his bedroom's door answered her.
The git doth protest too much, Ron thought cheekily before remembering that Snape was being accused precisely of taking advantage of his students. Feeling suddenly sick, he turned to Hermione, whose hair was twitching again, angrily this time, as she narrowed her eyes at Harry.
"Harry James Potter!" she hissed.
"I'm sorry!" the interested cried, raising beseeching hands before she reached for her wand. "I didn't mean it like that."
"And how did you mean it?" she asked, her hands on her hips.
"I… Err… I really don't know. It was just a silly idea because you looked… You looked… Err..."
"I looked like someone who just had the most intense spiritual experience of my entire life!"
Is it how the mystics call it? Ron thought, enviously re-evaluating all his previous beliefs about ascetics.
"And you just had to ruin it with your big mouth!" Hermione stomped her foot.
"I already said I am sorry! It just came out of my mouth but I did not mean anything by it. And don't tell me Severus did not over-react!"
"Over-react?!" she protested. "With all the accusations of abuse that will be heaped on his head in the Courtroom, don't you think he is actually entitled to take it badly? All he ever did was ask me to become some sort of godmother to Puck!"
Harry hung his head. "I guess I should go to him and apologize."
"You'd better," Ron confirmed with a glance towards the stairs.
Harry looked almost imploringly at his friend, but the redhead shook his head. "Oh! No! You're on your own on that one."
Hermione did not say a word but watched Harry walk up the stairs like he was mounting to the scaffold and knock tentatively.
The door half-opened brutally. "What is it you want, now?" Snape's voice asked, none too gently. Harry's voice was muffled and she soon did not hear anything at all after Harry managed to gain entrance. Hermione was oddly comforted that Snape still did not "welcome" her friend like he did her, lift the Leprechaun spell and let Harry see what his room really looked like.
(Snape had justified it, right from the beginning, by explaining he could not, in good conscience, put another burden of secret on her Auror friends. It was logical, but it still made her feel special.)
Ron coughed to get her attention back. Genuinely curious, he asked, "That bonding… It really looked like it was pretty intense. So, tell me... How does it feel to suddenly become a fairy godmother?"
Only a brief draught alerted them that Fuzzy had just left, too, before his elation could betray him. Moppy would be angry with him if he embarrassed the Master or the Mistress in front of their friends.
After all, elves need keep a few secrets of their own, but he could see as clearly as Moppy the three strands of magic bound together in a strong rope, since their own family bond acted like a relay. Master was right: it was not a mating bond, but it was a healthy bond, born of real magical affinity and a step in the right direction for the Master and the Mistress.
He embraced his mate, who was contemplating Puck sleeping. She turned to put her arms around his neck and they laughed happily, both filled with the same visions of Elfin Heaven on earth – a strong bond with a true wizard family.
§§§
Phineas Nigellus Black rapped once again on what portraits called the 'door' - the inside part of a frame which magically connects with other frames like a Floo and is similar to a theatre's wings.
When painted, each portrait choose how to fit that space out according to their taste and personality. The 'door' in front of Phineas was an exuberant rococo décor copying the main entrance of the Chinese House in Sanssouci, complete with the gilded palms and fairy tale figures but magically animated and actually drinking fragrant tea. It was on the closest palm tree that he was rapping, and it sounded exactly like the unpretentious and highly practical door he himself used.
Show off, he thought.
He noticed a small movement above and a phoenix's head peered cautiously through the palms before withdrawing.
There was the faintest rush of air inside, but no move to come or open the door.
"I know you're here," Black called.
The phoenix appeared once more. "I know that you know," it said with Dumbledore's voice, "But it does not mean that I will let you in. I think I have had enough for one day, without you coming to gloat."
"Heaven forbid that anyone would prevent you from brooding and wallowing in self-pity!"
There was the sound of footsteps, the décor slid a few inches and the point of Dumbledore's beard appeared. "I tried my best with Severus, whatever you think. I have nothing to add."
Black sneaked his foot in to stop the other wizard from closing the passage. "At one time, you claimed that Severus Snape had all the makings of a Dark wizard."
Reluctantly, the décor slid and the door opened wide enough for Dumbledore's entire figure to appear. As expected, he wore his stately Chief Warlock robes, since this was his Ministry portrait. They made him look even taller. "You want me to tell you that I was wrong? Had circumstances been different, I stand by what I said. Severus has power, talent, the ambition to match and even you cannot deny that he is, at the very least, very shady."
"So very much like you, eh?" Black asked, prodding his way into the place.
Reluctantly, Dumbledore let him in but, if the place was richly adorned, it was rather cramped, what with the frame obviously turned against a wall that limited the vision and with the two of them standing face to face near a huge, throne-like seat of justice occupying most of the available space. A glance sufficed to Black to know that one would need several strong cushioning charms to turn it into something a least a little comfortable. He sneered, "Is that all the Ministry has to offer for good and loyal service?"
"My dear Phineas, I never imagined I would entertain you here. You find me thoroughly unprepared, but the Ministry's resources are not as paltry as you seem to believe."
A door appeared in the wood panels behind the seat and Dumbledore led him in a comfortable sitting room where a lavish German Christmas tea awaited them.
"We are only in January, and I so love Christmas treats," he said, as if some explanation was necessary from the sugar-addicted wizard whose teeth would be hopelessly rotten if he was a muggle, and probably diabetic and obese as well, without magic heightening his metabolism.
As they sat, Black refrained from commenting on the very dubious taste of the decoration, since he had no doubt his host was the sole culprit, not the Ministry.
If the door had not already given him away, it would be obvious by now Dumbledore enjoyed the most exuberant Rococo. The room looked like the best parts of several Bavarian and Austrian churches of the period, all lumped together in much too small a space. Or like a giant, golden, oppressive meringue.
Dilys would have remarked again that the Germanic theme probably reminded Dumbledore, however unconsciously, of happier times with Gellert Grindelwald.
Not for the first time, Phineas shuddered at the mere thought of two of the most powerful and warped magical minds of all times together, drunk on their own brand of Sturm und Drang: unpractised and impractical political visions fuelled by juvenile emotions, and the need to reject and rebel against social constraints that made misfits of them both...
For a flamboyant wizard like Dumbledore, once he had decided to reject everything that made him think of Gellert and his tendency for the Goth, it was not really surprising he would lean towards the opposite, with theatrical styles full of scrolling curves, counter curves, trompe-l'oeil, intertwined vines and leaves, and gilding all over. Not to speak of his fashion sense – or lack of.
"Not that I do not appreciate visitors," Dumbledore said obliviously, as he handed him a cup of hot chocolate and a Meissner porcelain plate with an assortment of lebkuchen, marzipan and Christstollen, "But it seems everybody needs to tell me something disagreeable the closer we come to Severus's trial."
"You were an abysmal choice for a Headmaster."
Dumbledore's eyebrows shot up quite comically. "Really, Phineas, you have always been rather vocal about my real or supposed shortcomings. I do not see why you bother telling me now."
Black gave him a devilish smile. "Why, for Severus, of course."
Dumbledore sighed resignedly. "Say what you have to say, then."
"No."
"I do not understand."
Dumbeldore, for all the composure he had cultivated in his long life could not help growing uneasy, and even a little afraid if he was honest with himself.
The situation felt a little too much like a scene from one of the muggle thrillers Argus Filch enjoyed confiscating and that he insisted on lending him when he was alive. A supposed ally, visiting the victim when they were alone. There were always ambiguous situations and sentences, just before some very violent confrontation that always ended badly. He liked the thrill of it, until Voldemort's return. After that, of course, it hit a little too close to home.
Phineas Nigellus Black was not a serial killer but he was clearly a wizard with a grudge and, even if none of them could die again, very unpleasant things could still happen.
Albus so hated when he was not the one dealing the cards.
Black's next words did nothing to appease his mind. "It's you who will speak this time, to tell the entire and unvarnished truth."
"I still do not understand," he answered. To his considerable annoyance, his voice sounded rather defensive.
"It may be your last chance, Dumbledore."
"Of what?" he asked, trying hard not to show his irritation.
Black rolled his eyes before explaining slowly, as if speaking to a moron, "Of making your peace with Severus."
"Between Hermione Granger, Minerva and you, I have been compelled to say virtually everything today."
Black tutted but said nothing more for a while as he bit in one of his kuchen and munched it appreciatively. "Very good," he admitted. "Dilys is very fond of a French pastry they call a mille-feuille. It is made of crisp, melting puff pastry sheets with a sort of custard cream filling and topped with fondant or some icing sugar lightly caramelised. Have you ever tasted it?"
"Of course! It is such a perfectly satisfying blend of contrasting textures and flavours. Mmmm! The buttery, flaky pastry sheets… The rich vanilla cream… The sweet fondant with a funny cocoa spider web design..." Dumbledore waxed lyrical, as usual when sweets were concerned. "I remember a luncheon on the grass with Olympe Maxime..."
Black interrupted him. "You are used to present yourself to the world as a mille-feuille," he said with contempt. "You show only one layer of the truth at a time, hiding the rest under a lot of bluff. Nobody knows who you are anymore, probably not even yourself… This time, you must prepare to explain the whole picture. No more half-truths."
"I think I am adequately prepared for the trial, but I do not think it will be the proper venue for the whole picture, as you call it."
"We certainly do not want to frighten the population or shatter their illusions," Phineas agreed sarcastically. "But I do not speak of the trial. You are going to meet Severus."
"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his mouth suddenly dry. "He wants to see me?"
"I don't think so, no, but Dilys has decided that it is necessary that you speak together and that you ask for his forgiveness." He bent over and smiled like a shark. "For once, I agree with her."
"What good will it do?" Dumbledore tried to hide his trouble. He still did not know himself if he wanted to face Snape or not. "I have made too many mistakes with Severus. He probably hates me."
"He does. However, much as it pains me to say it," Black said drily, "The personal and political stakes involved with his trial means that we all agree that Severus actually needs closure where you are concerned."
"Hermione Granger spoke of a Death Eater conspiracy and threats of murder," Dumbledore said, more like a question than an affirmation.
"Absolutely. That's why hearing from your own mouth why you let him down so constantly when he was a student..." Black did not miss Dumbledore's gesture of protest. "… But also that you regret it and that you have finally grown to care for him is vital for Severus's peace of mind and his will to fight for himself." In a clipped, reproachful voice, he added, "I regret to say it is not such as we would wish."
"I have it on Minerva's authority that all my motives are selfish," Dumbledore said with a hint of rancour but he looked more worried than resentful, which comforted his fellow portrait.
"No excuse."
"It is not an excuse, but Severus will sooner listen to her than to me."
"Minerva has her own regrets to live with, where Severus is concerned and we both know she tends to be harsher because of it, but she has not communicated with him since he left St Mungo's. She cannot influence him right now. This is where you must be grateful he is a Slytherin," Black said with all the relish expected of someone who finally has an occasion of pay back for all the affront on his House he had to swallow over the years. "He will be much more inclined to understand human foibles than our esteemed Headmistress, who is the epitome of Gryffindor righteousness. He will listen to you… At least, if you manage to be completely straightforward with him for once in your life."
"Truth is a beautiful but terrible thing," Dumbledore said carefully. "I have often found it necessary to treat it with great caution."
Phineas tutted again, conveying disgusted disappointment with his colleague's thickness in a way that reminded Albus so much of Severus, that he had to close his eyes. "Some things are best left unsaid, but not this time. Not when it is just another excuse to avoid your responsibilities."
Dumbledore straightened up at once, as formidable as ever. "I never avoided my responsibilities."
Black was not impressed. "No, you just foisted them on others."
They looked defiantly at each other.
Finally, Dumbledore asked, "How do you propose to engineer that meeting?"
Black set his plate aside and stood, leaving no choice to Dumbledore but to do the same. "Element of surprise, as always with Dilys. Let's go!"
Dumbledore hesitated. "In these robes? Do you think that Severus will appreciate seeing me in full Wizengamot garb just before his trial?"
Black gave him a once-over and scowled. "You have a point. We will pass through Hogwarts."
§§§
Fuzzy found him in his lab, where he was busy cleaning after Vanishing everything that would be incriminating if a professional brewer was sent to comb the place – and he had to admit there were some pretty good ones amongst the Unspeakables. Even if – in all modesty - none were to his level.
Come Monday, he would leave for the Ministry and stay in the Aurory Infirmary for the duration of his trial. There was very little likelihood he would ever return to Spinner's End and he did not want to leave anything back that could cast even more suspicion on Harry and Ronald, or lead to a disciplinary action against them for not fulfilling their duty properly.
"Master is to come to his room now, Headmistress Dilys says," Fuzzy trumpeted a little too loud, making his master jump and turn around, wand at the ready. "For something very, very important!" he added contritely.
Snape made a face and pocketed his wand with a grumbling noise. He already had more than his fair share of burdens and surprises for one day and he desperately needed to rest in preparation of what he had to do tomorrow.
He went up the stairs, worried. He barely spared a glance and a nod at Hermione, who was busy studying as she always did after dinner but smiled when she saw him, or at Ronald, hooked in front of the telly for a change. Harry was nowhere to be seen. He was probably in Grimmauld Place since they had been running a little late and he had had not time to go before dinner. Snape doubted that he could already be abed.
Dilys was fanning herself quite nervously when he entered and it made him fear the worst. He decided to take the news sitting and Accioed his armchair right in front of the frame. He looked expectantly at the silver-haired witch.
"I have discussed this with Phineas and we both agree," she said solemnly.
Snape did not say a word but reflected that what she had to say must indeed be pretty awful, if she felt the need to invoke Phineas Black's approval after their earlier row.
And what could be even more painful than her revelations about Dumbledore releasing to another (even if it was Hermione) the proofs of his loyalty that he had always pretended he did not have? Or her confirming to the woman he longed for his affair with Minerva?
"What Dumbledore told Hermione is only one thing," the Headmistress's portrait went on. "While I was here with you, Phineas happened on Minerva rowing with the old idiot. Other revelations came out and we think you need to know."
"I am listening," he said, growing impatient.
"It is not for me to tell."
"So, were is Phineas?" he asked, trying very hard not to shout in impatience.
"I am here," the old wizard said, stepping in from the side of his own frame. "I agree with Dilys that you are entitled to the whole, unadorned truth."
Snape raked a tired hand through his hair. "I have a feeling that I will not like that whole, unadorned truth any more than your previous information," he said sarcastically. "In fact, I very much feel that I'd better dispense with it."
"Not if you end up fleeing the country never to return," Black said severely. "If you insist on carrying out that exceedingly radical plan, you may not be able to find closure if you cannot understand why everything happened the way it did."
Snape really felt guilty for leaving his friends behind. Without these two portraits, he would probably have gone mad when he returned to Hogwarts as Headmaster. It could not be helped, though. "Well, then. Do your worst."
"It is not a story for me to tell, either."
Snape tapped his fingers on the armrest with growing frustration. "Who, then?"
"Me," Albus Dumbledore said, stepping in cautiously.
"No!" Snape leaped out of his seat, furious. He refused to look at Dumbledore, but pointed in his direction while shouting angrily at Dilys and Phineas. "I don't want him in my house! You have no right! Take him away!" He was shaking with fury.
"Severus... Please..." Dumbledore implored, trying to make himself heard.
Snape froze and turned to him, his face a mask of icy loathing. "Oh! No! Not this time, old man."
Dilys caught Phineas's eyes and pointed her chin meaningfully at Severus, before stepping right in front of Dumbeldore. She was easily two heads smaller, but she managed to grab his beard and tug hard and mercilessly enough to make him lean to her eye level.
"Listen, you fool!" she said, in a fit of almighty rage. "If you waste this opportunity to beg for his forgiveness, I will make sure you will beg about moving into hell with the rest of your soul!".
"But I am willing!" Dumbledore practically whined. Everything seemed to slip out of his control lately, but very few people could make Albus feel like a naughty boy like Dilys Derwent.
"Oh! Because reminding him of your last words on the Astronomy Tower is supposed to help?" she said, giving a new tug with each syllable.
"I would have supposed that you… Of all people..." Dumbledore vainly tried to extricate his beard from her surprisingly strong grip. "… Would know that I do not remember how I died."
"You have heard the tale often enough!"
"Be fair! It is not the same as actually remembering and the words just came out of my mouth."
"He remembers, and that is enough!"
Meanwhile, Phineas Black was chastising Severus. "Will you spend the rest of your life hiding from that manipulator?"
Severus's nostrils flared angrily. "I am not hiding!"
Black's eyebrows raised satirically. "You could have fooled me."
"Fine! I will listen to what he has to say, but do not expect me to do more than that."
"No one could ask for more."
Snape barked sharply, "Dumbledore!"
Both Dilys and Dumbledore turned like one, the witch finally relinquishing her hold on the wizard's beard.
As Albus straightened up, Black passed between them, grabbed Dilys's hand and whisked her away before she could say more than, "But do you think it's safe to-"
They were gone before she had time to finish her sentence.
Snape sat back, a contemptuous smile on his lips. "I am told you have things to explain. Try to get to the point, for once. I have important things to do and no time to waste," he said icily.
Dumbledore ignored the tone, busy as he was to contemplate Severus with moist eyes. The shorter hair and muggle attire was what first drew his eyes but he now had a full view of the criss-crossed web of thin scars, almost like a tone on tone tattoo on the younger man's left side of the face, or like he was deeply wrinkled but only on one side. It went from just below his eye down to the neck and obviously lower, under his collar.
Snape, noticing the direction of his gaze, bared his teeth in a totally faked and aggressive smile but obligingly turned his face to offer a better view. "You should have seen me before Healer Pye took me as a guinea pig. It was pretty repulsive from the photographs I have been shown."
"Severus-"
"Don't worry," Snape went on in conversational tones, as if he had not heard. "You will have a chance to see them. Rita Skeeter is writing right now for Witch Weekly about St Mungo's advances with muggle-inspired plastic reconstruction for cursed wounds."
Dumbledore shook his head, in a familiar, half-fond and half-exasperated fashion, that made Severus's heart flutter in a very unwelcome manner for someone who meant to stay cool, and aloof, and decided to rebuke all the man's overtures.
"Oh! Severus… Always hiding the best of yourself under sarcasm... Because I have no doubt you gave her the task, probably as an inspiration for other victims, even after all those slanderous articles Minerva rants about."
Snape pursed his lips. He did not want Dumbledore's understanding or endorsement. He did not want, or need, anything from the wizard.
It was too late.
"I am certainly no fit inspiration for anyone," he said in clipped tones. "But Alexia Yaxley thinks it will be good for me if the public sympathies at least a little with my plight. I have never been very popular, but the part of your plan to make me an object of loathing worked well beyond our wildest expectations," he sneered.
"Indeed, I have much to atone for, when you are concerned, my boy."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda..." Snape muttered irritably before ordering louder, "To the point!"
"It is the point." Dumbledore sounded reproachful but he was more ill-at-ease than Severus could ever remember, a sight that did bring him no pleasure. "Hermione Granger told me that you have been convinced all along that I would betray you in the Courtroom." He paused, obviously hoping for some kind of protestation or re-assurance that did not came.
Well, he never expected it would be easy. He had just hoped it would not be this hard.
"I know I asked monstrous things of you but where did you get the idea-"
"Ah! They're monstrous, now?" Snape interrupted with fake surprise. "You always made it sound as if it was all in a day's work for me. After all, there had to be perks to your keeping a Death Eater at your beck and call. He could at least make himself useful!"
"I would thank you to stop provoking me by referring to yourself as a Death Eater."
"You wouldn't have dared ask someone who was not a Death Eater with a tarnished soul to kill you like that!"
This was the Severus he knew – the bitter, vulnerable man who could not help brooding on and on and reproaching him in the hope of reassurance. "I asked the only person who was courageous enough and who cared enough to do it,"Dumbledore said, feeling his usual composure returning.
"Yes, I suppose it will ring well in the courtroom, but how long have you been rehearsing this? After all, only Draco's soul seemed of import at the time."
"I only brought Draco into the equation because I knew you would do it for him if not for me. And if you are so keen to getting to the point, you should not interrupt me at every turn with your caustic remarks." It was said with the touch of humour that used to oil the wheels when they were at Hogwarts.
Snape instantly bristled but made a grand, sweeping gesture. "Be my guest, then." The tone was not really inviting.
Dumbledore smiled with the indulgent affection of a fond grandfather for a pouting child but toned it down when he saw Severus purse his lips until they turned white.
He was not even close to being forgiven, he must remember that.
And there was little likelihood that he would be, not with all he had to tell in order to pierce all the festering abscesses that had poisoned their relationship from the first. Or maybe not for a very, very long time.
One had to cultivate optimism, after all.
Dumbledore released a long breath.
"There are a number of things I once thought best not to tell you about Lily Evans."
§§§
Minerva McGonagall returned to her quarters after making sure all the visitors had left and that the elves, under Flitwick's supervision, were dealing as efficiently as ever with all the mess a crowd can leave behind, in spite of a good organisation.
Even after going through her evening routine and changing her robes for her favourite lounge dress, she found herself angrily fidgeting and stalking in turns around her office, fully aware that she was still too high-strung to go to bed. She finally sat at her writing desk and selected one of the creamy parchment she reserved for her personal correspondence.
With a smile, she reached for her favourite quill and began to write.
My dear Pius,
Once again, you will be able to tell me 'I told you so', but I do not think you will derive much gratification from teasing me this time.
In a nutshell, Dumbledore and Dilys Derwent have both outdone themselves in brutally outing a whole new range of secrets. Even if some will prove very useful for the trial, like a letter explaining how and why Dumbledore asked Severus to end his sufferings so publicly, others reveal new manipulations and betrayals.
Severus certainly does not deserve the additional heartache and drama just two days before his trial!
I know I am rambling and not really telling you anything, and that it will be safer to discuss it face to face tomorrow but I need to confide in someone right now.
I find myself so impatient to see you again, not only because your razor-sharp mind will immediately see what can be done, but because I long to be with you.
I tell myself it is only a matter of hours and that we will have almost the entire day for ourselves before the circus at the Ministry begins, but I find that counting the hours does not help at all.
She paused, relieved to feel her anger and anxiety slowly ebb away as she thought of the clever, thoughtful and surprisingly sensitive wizard who had wormed himself into her life through a steady correspondence that she initiated just to relieve her guilt for misjudging him, too.
Writing to Pius had become her greatest comfort in the last weeks. Being the Headmistress, she could not confide so freely to any of her colleagues. Most, she would call friends but she had never been so close to any of them as to suddenly trade confidences about Severus, except maybe Poppy, even if the matron still did not know the full extent of her relationship with Severus. Besides, Poppy still felt so guilty about the young Headmaster that it always turned into a painful or awkward experience to bring him up in a discussion.
The only other person who had ever known her well was Molly Weasley, but Molly was busy making plans for the opening of her daycare centre in the spring and Minerva did not have the heart to speak of her fears and regrets when they met, since every reminder of the war was still bound to re-awaken the heartache of Fred's loss. That Molly had volunteered to speak in Severus's favour at the trial filled her with gratitude but not to the point of feeling obliged to always bring it up for discussion, particularly when she knew it would certainly not help her friend being better.
Which left only Pius then.
She laughed at herself, there. Only Pius. As if the former Minister could ever be only something.
He was not a flamboyant wizard like most of his predecessors, because it had never been his ambition to be in the limelights but he was brilliant and had been highly respected before that fiend, Corban Yaxley, Imperioed him and brought him into the Death Eaters clique.
He was so very much like Severus, in fact, that it was small wonder both wizards had become friends in St Mungo's, once they found themselves in the mental ward of the hospital and had only each other to speak on equal ground, about the war and all they both lost.
Since Severus left St Mungo's for Spinner's End, she had found a kindred spirit in Pius herself, as he slowly became her greatest support in her crusade to help the prickly Slytherin they both cared for.
Being a jurist, it was he who first suggested that making the Professor's and Head's oaths public knowledge could help restore Snape's reputation.
Add more and more frequent Floo calls in the evenings, as she wanted his direct input about her plans and they had grown so comfortable together that she did not mind being simply herself with him.
He had long forgotten his own starchiness in her presence as well.
She had been boasting a little to Dumbledore, but she knew that there was much more than friendship to her relationship with Pius. They were thankfully the same generation if not exactly the same age and none of the restrictions that used to poison her relationship with Severus applied. Or she was more free and mature herself. Anyway, she could not care less for what her family would say.
They had both been anticipating his trip back to Britain, with the untold understanding that they would take the next step in their relationship then.
You cannot begin to imagine how much I wish you were already here.
Yours,
Minerva
§§§
"So," Snape said with surprising calm. "You're finally admitting that you have deliberately sabotaged my relationship with Lily and written me down as a potential Dark Lord at age fourteen. All this because-" He began counting on his fingers, "We were sleeping together; you did not like the look of me, as I did not like the look of you; I reminded you of the kind of lout who attacked your sister and destroyed your family; I also reminded you, at the same time, of Tom Riddle because I did not let conventions stop me; I always fought back and did not respect your judgement." His gaze searched Dumbledore's again and he asked sarcastically, "Did I forget anything that would make your actively looking the other way when I was in danger worth your while? Like my poor table manners or worn-out underwear?"
Dumbledore drew in a long breath. "I found myself regretting it more and more when I finally had the opportunity to know you."
Snape did not say anything for some time but held the nail of his thumb against his lower lip, slowly massaging it as he was looking speculatively at Dumbledore.
"I have always suspected," he said at last. "And now, I can tell you: you did it all for nothing."
Dumbledore blinked. "I am afraid I do not understand."
"Even without your meddling, my parents' example and the constant peer pressure from both our Houses was enough to convince me that Lily and I could not have a future together." Severus shrugged. "There was no comparison between what the Malfoys offered me, and what little I could achieve by myself with only Lily by my side. My choice was made before Lily's." He paused, enjoying Dumbledore's confusion. "She clung to the idea that we should try for some time, but more out of stubbornness than real conviction."
"It was not love?" Dumbledore asked, truly disappointed. "But… Your Patronus!"
"We loved each other," Snape affirmed, "But certainly not to the point of sacrificing our prospects and our future." He eyed his former mentor speculatively, before adding cynically, "I knew before her that Potter would be her ticket to the Wizarding world… But I won't deny it was a very bitter pill. Knowing and accepting are entirely different things, so, do not think that I can forget easily that you helped."
"But did you actually love Lily when you came begging for help?" The old Headmaster asked in an urgent voice.
"Of course, I did," Snape answered with some irritation, as if he could not understand why Dumbledore was so obtuse. "And I will always love her, but it's been such a long time since she ceased being the centre of the universe for me."
As Dumbledore seemed ready to pout like a thwarted child, Snape bared his teeth in a mocking grin. "Ah! The easy sentimentality of people who are unable to care profoundly for anything or anyone… You would appreciate muggle TV. There is always plenty of mushy sentimentality for people like you, who need to shed a few easy tears to think they are paragons of sensitivity."
"Do not lie to me," Dumbledore said chidingly. "I saw your Patronus!"
"Lie about what?" Snape almost laughed in his face. "You assumed all by yourself that my Patronus must have changed because of Lily." He paused for effect before drawling, "The doe was always mine, from age thirteen."
He derived considerable satisfaction from watching Dumbledore almost reel back in stupefaction and added smugly. "Yes, like your precious Harry. And like his mother… But since Lily's doe actually appeared after mine, why not suppose it was hers that mimicked mine, and that she was obsessed with me?!"
Dumbledore muttered, "No! No! It's not possible."
"That Lily was obsessed with me?" Severus asked sadistically. "I already told you we loved each other. Going separate ways could not change it."
"She would never have been unfaithful!"
Snape shot up out of his seat and drew himself up to his full height, so that his eyes were almost level with the portrait's. "She certainly never had the opportunity… Thanks to your so weak attempts to protect her."
Dumbledore answered coldly, "But who reported the prophecy that made it necessary to protect her to begin with?"
"And who let me leave the Hog's Head without the least attempt to have me arrested or Obliviated?" countered Snape angrily. "Do not think I have not spotted that hole in the plot. Why, even Harry Potter has!" He smirked. "Yes, the boy has quite grown up since the end of the war. In fact, we have all changed, now that there is no Albus Dumbledore to constantly pressure and guilt us to do his bidding and that we have the time to think for ourselves."
Dumbledore's jaw dropped. He was really not used to that kind of discussion, when he had no actual threat to the world to lean on, no authority and he was on the same level as the person he was speaking to – and even lower, considering he was only a portrait.
"If you had not been so keen to frighten Voldemort, you could have stopped me," Snape insisted.
Dumbledore's shoulders slumped infinitesimally. "Indeed, I did not think it would go that far."
"Why have I the feeling this is the sort of excuse I will keep hearing from you?" Snape made a face and went to leave. "This entire discussion is pointless," he said, his hand already on the handle. "I do not care what you will tell at my trial. Do your worst, if you want. I do not need anything from you, because I have long given up on you. If anything, you disgust me."
"Severus! No!" Dumbledore cried.
Snape opened the door without another glance at his former master.
"Give me a chance!" Dumbledore called, almost frantic. "Severus! I am sorry! I am sorry!"
The younger wizard turned back, shocked surprise all over his face.
Dumbledore winced as it almost instantly turned to renewed suspicion. I deserve it, he thought even as he acknowledged to himself how much it hurt.
At least, Severus had closed the door again but he had crossed his arms on his chest in a not very inviting manner.
"Let's not beat about the bush," he said. "What I really cannot forgive is that you knew that you would never hold up your end of our bargain."
"Even you did not know that Voldemort held sway over Peter Pettigrew."
Snape's lips curled up unpleasantly. "Please. What I want to speak about," he insisted, "Is your deliberately hiding that it was Lily who vanquished Voldemort the first time with her research on blood protection, and then not telling me that Harry was to die."
"Harry, it is now?"
"Yes." It was cold and definite enough to discourage any comment. Severus was almost disappointed, because neither his glares nor his curtness would have stopped the Headmaster when he was alive.
What was it with him? He should be glad. After all, this is why he did not leave – for the chance to see Dumbledore finally humbled – but he knew he was lying to himself. He would have found an excuse not to leave. He could not let go, where Albus was concerned. "You never trusted me," he accused, after returning to his armchair but sitting stiff and as forbidding looking as he could.
"I could not tell you, but Harry is not dead!"
"Oh! I see. It was out of the goodness of your heart, no doubt for a good surprise? And you had to top your kindness towards me by making me the one to tell him he had to sacrifice himself, without the least inkling to either of us that there was hope."
Dumbledore's shoulders slumped. "I could not bring myself to tell Harry. I am not proud of it."
"Bah! It was so easy to foist the dirty work to an underling, preferably me."
"You are entitled to be bitter."
Snape's lips curled up in a snarl. "You sound like Constanz – with the significant difference that he cares."
"I care, Severus," Dumbledore said.
"You don't say!"
"I may not have always done so, but from the moment you had the courage to come to me and plead for Lily's life… I learned to consider you with new eyes. I could not but admire you, even when I resented you. I can safely say that very few people ever had the power to change my vision of the world, which I admit is a sad reflection on my life, and you certainly were one of them."
Snape's stance slightly relaxed, which was as good as most people's warmest endorsement. "I imagine killing you had the power to change your life," he said.
Dumbledore could not help chuckling. "It certainly did!"
Snape had forgotten Dumbledore's ready sense of humour would always turn up in any discussion and how funny it often was to argue with him – at least, until Voldemort's return.
That thought instantly sobered him and reminded him that he would be damned if he let that pain in the neck get off easily for all the times he put him through hoops.
"Then," he said with a glint in his eyes, "There is the little matter of my so-called life debt to James Potter."
Dumbledore straightened up. "Severus, I heartily admit I wronged you and I have a lot to atone for, but here, you are just harping on about the same old grievances."
"Maybe, I would not harp on those, as you say, if you had actually apologized… But then, who ever heard Albus Dumbledore apologize for anything? He always had ready excuses for everything that went wrong, but actually apologize? You said you are sorry two minutes ago but I am still waiting for more."
"I never knew you for what you really are, Severus, and it was my loss."
"And it sums you up as a leader," Snape said, without as much rancour as he would have expressed just one hour earlier to this old, deflated balloon. (Constanz, and Hermione, would be proud of him, he thought.) "You managed for years to make me believe that you knew best, not because you did, but because I was so used to looking up to you that I always ended up second-guessing myself."
"And you often made me reconsider and change my mind. Not many could, you know," Dumbledore admitted.
Snape snorted. "I never noticed."
"There were decisions I could not change, about Harry Potter and yourself, but we were a great team, Severus."
"A team?" Snape shook his head several times in disbelief. "You do not know what that is. Or if you do, it is only from the point of view of the coach driver. You're delusional, old man." He sneered. "You always put yourself on a pedestal to precisely avoid getting involved on any personal level. It was much easier to be able to wash your hands of anything that went wrong, and it certainly spared you from heartache and from dirtying your hands."
Dumbledore looked at Snape as if he was seeing him for the first time. "You sound so… You sound like Alfred Constanz."
"I'll take this as a compliment."
"It is."
Snape waved his hand dismissively to show how little he cared for Dumbledore's approbation.
"I envy you," the portrait said wistfully. "You have learned to put words on your feelings and transcend them. I fear I am too old and too set in my ways to do it. I can speak rather brilliantly, even if I say so myself, but never about what is stuck here," he said, pressing a fist to his chest.
"Everybody can do it – although it was not my choice." The ex-spy grimaced. "The Ministry, in their infinite wisdom, ordered it to ensure I would not go berserk before they could judge me. Had it been anyone else but Constanz, I am convinced it would have been useless, but in retrospect, I must admit they had a point."
"I am truly sorry, Severus. I used you and always refused to acknowledge the pressure I put on you. When you protested, I could only joke about it or get cross. It was easier to see you as the guilty party."
Dumbledore looked away before adding in a very subdued voice, "My damn pride! It was only when you were not around anymore that I realised how much I miss you. I tried to ignore it by telling myself that, one day, I would have you return as a portrait, and that we would have a fresh start." He closed his eyes even as the younger wizard snorted soundly. "It is only today, when Minerva spit on me-" Snape's eyebrows climbed to his hairline, when hearing this. "- that I finally understood that it could not work!"
Albus Dumbledore's voice broke and he could not manage to say another word, now that he was choking on a lifetime's worth of bottled up feelings and guilt.
As he had always feared, now that he had acknowledged his failings, everything rushed in all at once. He was overpowered with feelings, something he had spent his entire life avoiding.
It was not a nice sight, an old man crying silently on all the lives he had wasted, his own to begin with, and Severus's, and Harry's, and countless others, and trying to muffle the sounds – until he buried his face in his hands and sobbed hopelessly for a long, long time.
Snape had left silently. The irony was not lost on him, that the one moral value he had learned as a child, and purely in reaction to his father, was that you do not kick somebody when they are down. Except on Dumbledore's orders.
TBC
I promise this is the last chapter of Dumbledore bashing, but it was for his own good - and to give him a taste of his own medicine.
Beta work by? JOdel, of course.