Disclaimer: Do I really have to go over this again?
Note: I'm very, very sorry for the long delay in updating. But with the occassion of the new book I knew I had to finish. I particularly am... rather disappointed and upset at what J.K did with Snape in the end... But, well, that's what fanfiction is for, isn't it? This story is completely spoiler free. Thanks for all the encouraging reviews. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed this story. Thank you very much, once again. And please don't forget to review.
'May I use your bathroom?'
"Yes, of course, just down the corridor.'
Albus was quick to point out the way- the boy seemed close to collapse. He did not speak, however, as he contemplated Snape rise shakily from the chair. No words seemed fitting for the situation. Trembling hands striving for support, Severus lifted himself from the seat with some difficulty, the signs of a monumental headache obvious to any moderately observant spectator. Dumbledore was not surprised; prolonged exposure to Legilimancy, however gentle, was a strain upon the subject submitted to it and the tension caused by the memories also contributed to building what was surely an uncomfortable headache. The caster of the spell was also a victim of fatigue, the old wizard thought to himself wryly. Although perhaps it was his old age that made the effort affect him especially, albeit he remembered not a time when he had been forced to make such a long and deep exploration of anyone's mind. This was, after all, a altogether unique situation.
Despite the inevitability of such results after the spell, it was not without concern that Dumbledore pensively brought the tip of his fingers together in an accustomed gesture, and considered carefully all that had taken place since this early morning.
He had hoped, yes, for such a situation to arise- not this terrible tragedy- but for some reneging Death Eater whom would turn loyal to the cause of the Light and bravely volunteer to spy for them. It was a twisted wish, which had made him feel sullied and guilty. For none (not even a murderer?) deserved to be cast into that black abyss that was Voldemort's inner fold, once deserted, at great personal risk and suffering morale. And yet, was this not also a chance for great redemption?
Still, it hurt him, even though he knew now of the terrible things Snape had been responsible for... He believed in second chances, true ones, and not opportunists' ones, subject to the supposed benevolent's gain. But this was not in his own good; it was for the true cause. For the Light, and the triumph of Good over Evil. The comfort and well-being of one individual could not be compared to the whole of the wizarding and non-magical community. Ah, if with one unique altruism could the world be saved- how simple things would be then. But it was not so. They all fought, with their hearts and minds and souls in stake, their very lives, in hope of better times, of defeat of the Dark Side. Though there seemed to be no true end for this historic centuries old competition. He knew in his heart, that some form of equilibrium was necessary. There would be no light without darkness. At the present times, however, there was no such equality. The darkness was threatening to invade everything, consuming the light at alarming speed, disturbing that precarious balance. No, it was clear, Voldemort had to be defeated.
Through his own vague headache and swirling thoughts, he heard dry retching which tore through his heart, in spite of all his mind-speeches of justification of this young one's sacrifice. Was it fair and right to rob the lost-returned nestling from his needed rest, should he condemn him to a life-time of darkness (he could not lie to himself with foolish certainties that Snape would survive this war- which promised to be long and bloody, and sad) for the sake of others? He loved all his children, even the ones gone astray still held a pinprick of his heart, that old man's hope of repentance which he knew to be futile. How could he let go to waste such an amazing possibility of tipping the balance- for the sake of one. One wizard. One Death Eater- former DE. One poisoner. One murderer... One child, even if he had lost his innocence so long ago.
That was another issue. These memories. These truths that had been hidden from him and were now laid painfully bare. This inspection of Snape's mind had been an arduous ordeal for both of them. Severus had been forced to relive his darkest times (his whole life seemed shrouded in gloom) while he, Dumbledore, had been forced to face reality. The veil removed and his eyes surveying the truth of this young man whom had brought so much trouble at Hogwarts- and whom Albus had failed to. He knew objectively that it was useless to lament about past grievances and mistakes. That nothing would be made well with wistful thinking. But the feeling of piercing guilt that had nestled deep in his chest was not to be so easily appeased. Was it truly fair to fling this suffered man to darker times which seemed to show no light beyond a dim and uncertain horizon? But--- wasn't it preferable, this ultimate sacrifice of one already accustomed to the dark, and whom could not miss the light he had never known- even if he yearned for it, and his wish was never to be fulfilled.
Bringing himself out of his grim reverie with the knowledge that he should set out some refreshments for both of them; with a final sigh, he called a house elf, and asked for some tea biscuits- it would not do to force heavy food on Severus, who had not eaten in days and whose stomach would only be further upset by such sudden extravagant attention. With their usual rapid efficiency, a silver tray that glinted in the timid sunlight sprinkled with assorted biscuits and two mugs of warm tea were soon set on a clear space of his desk.
Reaching for his own cup, he took a sip of the soothing liquid and remained for a few moments unmoving, unthinking, with just the comforting warmth of the tea to compete with the troubled coldness of his heart.
The whisper of robes dragging against the wall was audible in the silent office; he looked up in time to see how Severus quickly disembarrassed himself of the wall which had supported his way back from the bathroom, and stepping into the office shakily, scanned the silverware with very obvious mixed emotions blooming on his pale face. The Headmaster managed a small encouraging smile of greeting and, at his invitation, the young man sat back down.
"Are you feeling better, Severus?"
He asked finally, prodding Snape's pride gently with the question. At the untruthful, yet not unexpected answer, Albus could not hold back a smile, even if it was slightly grim. He could not help but be sadly amused by the irony that despite being servant to possibly the most demanding of masters, and despite every humiliation he had been subject to, the boy still maintained a sense of pride. It filled him with relief to know that at his tender age he was not a completely defeated man.
Feeling ridiculously encouraged by Snape's scowl at his own wry answer, he set down to record the day's events. Mere guiding notes, present thoughts and observations, to be perused more leisurely and profoundly at another time. There was no need for a detailed description of the young man's memories, for it was a fact that his memory was prodigious, an incomparable and unquestionable testimony and archive of events.
Upon Severus' failure at helping himself to the snack, Dumbledore abandoned his writings.
"Your tea is getting cold."
He communicated to the wizard seated before him, obviously startling him out of some form of reverie he had fallen into.
"I'm not hungry."
With patience, Albus surveyed the boy in silence, reaching his internal debate an end as he realized with finality that it was impossible for them to ascertain the finer points of their arrangement that day. Not before Snape had rested and fed himself, the boy was on the verge of collapse- both physical and, very probably, emotional. He himself, the old man admitted to himself, needed his rest.
"You cannot go on indefinitely without eating."
He stated finally, his gaze still unwavering on his new recruit. He contemplated with approval as Severus took the proffered cup and brought it to his lips.
"We must speak about the next step of action."
Snape nodded before finally taking a small sip of the tea. Dumbledore noted with some concern as he doubled up, his stomach obviously rebelling. The fact only solvened his resolve to postpone their crucial conversation. Expressing so, he was not surprised at Snape's insistence that there was no need to wait. But Dumbledore only waved his statement aside and motioned for the boy to take some biscuits- he needed to eat.
"As soon as you are finished eating I shall lead you to a room, where you'll be able to take a bath and afterwards sleep. I shall proportion you with a Dreamless Sleep potion."
The finality in his tone indisputable.
Dumbledore's pace was slow and steady as he returned from the guest quarters, in contrast with his racing thoughts. Despite years of being the so-called leader of Light, of taking decisions that had and would affect the lives of uncounted people, it did not remove the inevitable doubt that arose whenever he issued a suggestion, an order... He knew it was pointless; he did not make decisions lightly, but with great thought and analysis. However, he made mistakes, and his mistakes had a tendency to be great, in consonance with the magnitude of the decisions he took.He doubted now whether the kindness he had shown to Snape might not have been excessive, out of place, perhaps a sign of his growing weakness with age. One would think that with time and experience, a shield would build and things would be less painful. But it was not so; only in outward appearance might Dumbledore hide the pain the war was causing him. To be fighting against the children he himself had taught... But he could not, though he sometimes, in moments of exquisite weakness, wished for it, to make his heart unfeeling.
When he had turned around to see the young man leaning against the doorway, his mind had been invaded by the memories he had just witnessed, the pain still sharp for both of them. He had been unable to be cold and distant, his words kind and gentle, wishing to soothe that tortured spirit in spite of everything he had seen, or perhaps because of.
Upon reaching his office he found he could not bring himself to lay down and rest, he spent the time pacing; no pensieve was necessary for, the memories were fresh in his mind. His mind already racing ahead with plans about the times to come, and, he could not deny it, with hope, that this would help the war in their favor.
He was startled hours later by a house-elf appearing right before him, very nearly being run over by his pacing.
"Sir, you is still being awake!"
Dumbledore stopped finally, not surprised by the heaviness that settled in his bones as soon as he stood still- he was, after all, no youngster any more.
"Yes, Wooty, I am having some trouble sleeping. Why don't you bring some hot chocolate, I'm sure it will help."
"Yes, of course, sir, Wooty is bringing it right away, sir."
A mug of hot chocolate was indeed brought to him with record rapidity, Dumbledore thanked the elf gravely and, taking the steaming cup, took a seat in one of his more comfortable armchairs.
"Have you checked on our guest, Wooty?"
Dumbledore could not help asking; he had some knowledge on healing magic, but he wondered whether he should perhaps alert the school nurse.
"Young master is being sleeping, sleeping..."
"Very well, thank you, Wooty. You may retire."
Wooty bowed low and disapparated with a loud crack.
It was well into the night before sleep overtook the old man.
...
Wooty announced the minute he was summoned, after Dumbledore had gotten back from the Great Hall where he had had lunch with the staff that had remained behind in the Christmas holidays and the few students that had also stayed. With a slight frown of worry, he thanked Wooty and dismissed him, before he himself quickly made his way to the guest quarters.
Albus opened the heavy door, silent as to not molest the sleeping man inside. Quietly, he approached the bedside and conjuring a chair he sat down beside the bed.
Severus appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully, still much too pale and thin, but some of the premature lines around his mouth were gone, his lips were slightly parted, his breathing slow and regular. Dumbledore gently caressed the young man's hair, combing it back. Snape's eyelids fluttered slightly, but he did not wake.
He's so young still...Barely out of his school years and already he has become... Already he has fallen into darkness and strives to crawl back out of the abyss. But I... I hold him round a rope, controlling his ascent and descent back into the dark. I do not allow him to rise from the depths in which he has lived all his wretched life; I am but allowing him to catch a glimpse of the light, only to send him back to the darkness. Dumbledore sighed sadly, guilt-wrecked and yet resolute, stroking the black locks with exquisite tenderness.
"I'm sorry child."
He pronounced in a soft whisper, with a last caress, he left
...He was frankly relieved when the door of his office opened to receive his new young charge and his elven companion. Snape had been sleeping a remarkable amount of time, and Dumbledore had been ready to alert Madam Pomfrey if he did not wake within the next couple of hours. He could not suppress a small smile, both of relief and sincere welcome.
"Did Mr.Snape eat properly, Wooty?"
He asked, although he guessed the answer. The young wizard appeared clearly rested and his gaze was steady.
"Yes, sir." Wooty answered gleefully. "Without complaint."
"Very well, I'm glad. Thank you for your services, Wooty."
The house elf bowed low, her nose grazing the carpeted floor, and disapparated with a loud pop. Dumbledore motioned for Snape to take a seat.
"You have rested well I trust, Severus?"
Severus nodded politely. Though the young wizard had an extraordinary capability to hide his emotions behind an imperturbable facade, the recent emotional upheaval had managed to break through the usual mask of sour impassivity, and Albus could discern without difficulty that his young charge was troubled. Not one, despite all the advantages that could be acquired, to force him against his will to do something he did not wish. He did not wish to be like his other master, even though in the depths of his heart he knew that apart from physical punishments, at least in Snape's mind there would be little difference between the two of them. Still, he did not wish to build ground for future rancors and regrets. No, this was a final step, irrevocable. Snape had to be fully agreeable to it, or there would be no point. One could not hide what one did not wish to hide.
"You are completely sure you wish to do this?"
Dumbledore asked him suddenly. Severus stared at him blankly. The old wizard contemplated him in silence for a few moments.
"I understand the alternatives are not pleasant, but neither is the job I have commended. You are sure?"
He added finally after the pause.
"I am sure."
Yes, he did indeed seem resolute. And Dumbledore could not deny it to himself- he was relieved. This was not an occurrence that he had ever deemed possible to develop, although he had hoped- fighting against the feelings of guilt and dirtiness that assaulted him- that an opportunity like this one would arrive. So many lives could be spared by a spy right in Voldemort's inner fold. So many already risked their lives, their souls, for the Light... what difference did one more make? And one that was but redeeming himself. It just seemed cruel to send him back when he had managed to crawl out, torn and bloody... patch him up and toss him back in, pulling at the string around his neck to bring him back into the light when needed. It was a matter of numbers, of contra resting one with the other, of duty and redemption. Of hope.
They had talked long into the night, for dawn was only a few hours away when he finally left the castle. The waning moon was out of sight and the sky tinged red with forthcoming snow as he made his way down to the gates. Dumbledore had insisted in him staying the rest of the night, but Severus had refused emphatically.
He had included and valued Severus' opinion and suggestions to organize the ploy. He had noticed the boy was surprised, and was himself not so. After all, he doubted Voldemort took much counsel from his subordinates. He had told his new charge about the Order of the Phoenix, and though he felt strangely trusting towards the wizard, he had of course, for the safety of all, revealed only minor details about the organization.
What had truly startled Severus it seemed, had been Dumbledore's last petition.
"Severus, I'd like you to promise me something."
There had been hesitancy in the boy, which was not unexpected after what his last promises had taken him to.
"Yes?"
"I want you to promise... I want you to promise you will always be loyal to yourself."
It was obvious Severus had been startled by his request, and Dumbledore himself had his doubts... was he exceeding in this new found trust between the two of them? Was it safe to trust his heart? Now that it had been made painfully clear that he had been blind for so long to the suffering of the ones enshrouded in darkness? But even after 150 years, 150 years in a world of things extraordinary beyond imagination, there was one unexplainable and irrefutable force. That of love. Yes, he could not but trust his heart. He had been sadly blind to Snape's misery and probably to others, but it had been his own folly that had drowned out the inerrant guidance of his heart. He could never forgive himself. But he would be sure not to make the same mistakes again.
He did not wish the boy to be enslaved to him as he had been/was to Voldemort. He wished the wizard to freely serve the side he deemed appropriate. He trusted that his heart was pure despite it being torn so badly by pain. He knew in his heart that he could trust Severus.
And Albus was glad he had made that unprecedented entreaty, as he glimpsed the fear in the young man's eyes, caught his hesitation in the slightest quiver of his lip before he nodded brusquely and turning on his heel, left quickly. The boy was not his servant, he was following his own heart. And Dumbledore was glad for this, and proud, and only hoped that Severus would realize this too.
Snape left without a glance back, while Dumbledore watched the door through which he had just exited. Wishing to call him back and cradle him in his arms, put him to sleep and make the pain in his body and heart face away. He sighed.
Dumbledore had pondered at times, why he insisted on being the Headmaster of Hogwarts, why he wished to teach children when he could have, perhaps, been a great investigator at the Department of Mysteries or an excellent Auror. Or countless other possibilities, he was not immodest, but he knew himself to be a very great wizard. Sometimes he wondered if he enjoyed suffering; it caused him pain, to see the young unstained pureness of the children wither away. (Although there were, of course, those who already came to Hogwarts marked by pain and suffering). ). Then he would see a child zoom past in his new broom, his face exultant, his friends cheering from the ground... or have an enthusiastic first year turn his beard green...or a pair of students rush to help a classmate who tottered under the weight of her books... and he knew why he could never abandon teaching.
He was lucky to see that innocence shine, even though it was condemned to fade away, and to shield that fragile flame as long he could, to make it, maybe, strong enough to endure the darkness and illumine them in the shadowed paths most were doomed to tread.
Walking to the window he leaned against the glass and looked out into the winter night. The frost on the ground glittering when the chance ray of moonlight managed to reach it, in stark contrast to the inky shadows. The sky a clear sign of oncoming snow. He contemplated in silence the black figure that was Severus Snape pause at the gates- his new spy, the long-lost returned child, a young man on the hard path to redemption- and disappear.