He stared at the boy sitting across from him and couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for his current state. He was pale - paler than usual - and his dark hair was matted and unkempt. But his eyes… his eyes were what frightened Albus Dumbledore the most.
They were cold and haunted. Distant. Uncaring. Dumbledore didn't want to look into those eyes, but he knew he had to. Those eyes were once wide and awestruck as their owner took his first steps into Hogwarts castle. They were once trusting and held so much life.
But no longer.
On the same token, Albus used to look upon him with trust as well. He was one of the more brilliant students to come out of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, it seemed intelligence wasn't enough to keep people from making The Wrong Turn.
That's how Albus described it. The Wrong Turn. Turning to the dark side, as it were. To Voldemort.
Taking the Dark Mark.
As Albus looked upon this haunted human being sitting before him, he tried to convince himself that he should have seen it coming. The boy's eyes may have been trusting; the boy himself may at one time or another may have been happy and eager. But he had also been angry, and bitter, and the subject of much torment from his fellows. He had allowed himself to find powerful and dangerous friends. No doubt these friends were responsible for the boy's decision and current state.
Albus began to chastise himself. Why had he not done something? Perhaps he should have taken more of a stand against the ones who had bullied him; docked more points, or given out more detentions. He should have tried to get more involved in the boy's life. He should have done something as soon as he saw the warning signs that this promising young boy was delving too deeply into dangerous territory.
And, unfortunately, the answer was that he hadn't noticed. He never saw the warning signs. He never tried to talk to him, find out why he was so angry. And he had only stepped in twice during the bullying occasions, and that was only because of the seriousness of the situations. Albus had been too busy fighting the battle outside, rather than paying attention to the soldiers of Voldemort that were being created on the inside.
And now this boy… no, this young man… was paying for it. And he had come to Albus for help. Fortunately, Albus knew why.
But he mustn't push the him away. He had to be careful, if he was to bring him back; if he was to save him.
So, this time, Albus cleared his throat, steepled his fingers, and stared into those cold, haunted, dark eyes, and asked:
"What can I do for you, Severus?"
