Casting Shadows at Noon Chapter 2: The Light at the Keyhole

Dumbledore returned to his office and lowered himself wearily into a chair. Voldemort had returned. The future unfolded itself before him; the endless cycle of fear and mistrust, hopelessness replacing the weeds of spirit and faith that sprang from his first ruin. And one pale, miserable face saying 'I am'.

The old man had always had an affinity for Severus. He had felt the brilliance of the young Slytherin as his transfiguration teacher, felt his cold contempt for weakness and needless feelings. He was an aristocrat in every sense of the word, proud for the bloodline he never flaunted, putting Lucius Malfoy to shame with his cool disdain for the older boy's boastfulness drawing attention in a house inclined to follow its leaders. He could have been the guiding voice of the school then, but he had passed that power over, then and always. It was not power over men that Severus Snape had desired, but over books, cauldrons, and the emotions that moved armies. Not to conquer, but to devastate was his goal.

And he could have. In some ways Severus Snape was just as deadly as Voldemort, and it was for this that Albus trusted him, would always trust him, over the cries of McGonagall, over the rebellion of Sirius Black, the mutterings of Madame Pomfrey and the insolence of Harry Potter. For the knowledge he had given up, that had changed his alliance and ruined his life, Dumbledore would always love him.