Vi. Dumbledore

Resisting the urge to pour himself a glass of Black's old Firewhiskey, he settled himself in a still armchair to think… and think… and think some more, before he noticed a movement in the fireplace. Scarlet tongues of flame lapped around the image of the Headmaster's face, and instantly Snape shot up and stalked over. "Severus, what is this all about?" "Your precious Golden Boy has been abused," he hissed. "I suggest you get over here quickly."

Not another thing was said before the Floo Network went dead, and blackness returned to the room. Fuming, Snape replaced himself in the chair; only a few moments later, though, he had to get up again at the sound of the front door closing. "FILTH, HALF BREED SCUM IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-" Dumbledore was not long in closing the velvet curtain around Mrs. Black's frame sharply, and was giving a final tug as Severus reached him. "Explain, my boy. I am listening."

"Harry Potter was shoved under the stairs for a decade and I am the one who needs to explain?" Dumbledore flinched, reaffirming a lesson Severus had learned long ago- that words could wound. Except this time he was glad. "I had no idea, no idea that they would-" "Don't give me that! It was Petunia and her filthy, ugly husband! What were you thinking?" But he did not give the old man a chance to respond before continuing his tirade. "How could it have turned out any other way? How could you not have known? You are out of excuses!"

"You're quite right," Dumbledore agreed softly, cheeks reddening with what Snape recognized all too well as guilt. Sorrow. "You are quite right, as always. I have nothing to say for myself. And you have every right to be angry, Severus…" "Damn right I do! You were supposed to take care of him! That was your aim from the very beginning, was it not? And here we are." He was shaking now, keeping the Headmaster's every move, every expression, and gauging it under a microscope as if searching for sincerity, genuineness. Anything. There was no denying Dumbledore was anxious; he looked like he'd been slapped. "You should have heard him. It's hot. I still have no idea what that means. It's hot." The words were on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

"Did Harry have a nightmare?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and Snape grew frustrated that with everything so messed up he could not even cause a good, satisfying smack. "DAMN RIGHT HE HAD A NIGHTMARE! About that place, that place you insisted on sending him to! With those Muggle trash-" "Severus, please don't-" But it was too late. She was already screaming. "BLOOD TRAITERS! SCUM OF MY FLESH!" Snape yanked the curtain shut harshly. "Those Muggle trash," he said again, as if ridding himself of the vile words. "Those Muggle trash you left him with. You should have heard him. You should have heard him, Dumbledore!" This time Dumbledore looked stricken, which was pleasing to the Slytherin. There were even tears in his eyes now.

"Don't dare cry! He didn't cry! 'I'll be good,' he was screaming. I THOUGHT YOU CARED ABOUT HIM!" Now! Now the Headmaster looked ready to collapse, and tears streamed down his face. "I do." His voice was small and fragile. "I do care about him, completely. It was his safety I was thinking of, you know that. So we wouldn't have an incident like the one earlier this summer." Now Severus was visibly shaking, worse than his employer, and it took a few deep breaths to steady himself. There was raspy silence for a moment. "I must confess, I did not expect to find you riled up like this, Severus, defending him." It was true. Without realizing it he had found himself facing Harry, not that Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Lived, not even Potter's spawn. Just Harry, who knew-

"You never did anything for me either. Not ever. You just-" The words seemed to almost split Dumbledore in two, stopping Snape in his tracks. "I know. You should too. I blame myself completely for you taking the Dark Mark, child, as it was completely my fault. You were my responsibility, and-" "You failed me," Snape finished for him. "On more than one occasion. You swore to me you would protect her. You could not have known that rat Wormtail was a traitor. I cannot hold that against you. But then you told me you would take care of her son."

His fists were balled at his sides; he was losing all control. "Let us take tea, my boy," the other said, flattening them out with his aged hands and leading Snape to an armchair. Neither spoke as Dumbledore brewed the drink. It hit Severus forcefully- you vowed to protect him too. How insane, the way he started to tingle from the inside out. Soon Albus was pushing a steaming mug in his hands and taking a seat opposite. "I want to thank you," Dumbledore said then, lowering his half-moon glasses so he could meet the Potions Master's eye, "For keeping the promise you made me that night. You have not failed me. I thank you."

Surely the Headmaster had not used Legilimency on him. The absurdity of it all struck him, then. "Of course. I am a man of my word." Dumbledore stared as if lost in space, off in the distance somewhere, and sighed. "Words. We set such store by them, only to toss them to the wind." This seemed only to agitate Snape more. "And some cannot be forgiven." Dumbledore turned to look at him sharply now. "I am to blame," he said, knowing exactly what the other was thinking of. "I should have noticed."

Snape looked away now, unable to meet his gaze. "I did do it," he spat rather nastily, but he was cut off before he could go on. "Yes, but you made a choice. A choice, Severus. And that means everything." Snape had nothing to say to that, but deep down inside he knew he was grateful. The famous Harry Potter, abused. So it had come to this. "Lily would be proud." "Don't EVEN-" That had earned the Headmaster a glare, but he continued on anyway, apparently unfazed by it. "It's okay. I meant it; you need to know that." Dumbledore stood, straightening out a kink in his old back now as he did. Snape followed suit.

"You were always a poor judge of people," he said, frowning. "You hired Quirrell, and it nearly cost you the Elixir of Life and the stone. The next year you hired a narcissistic buffoon who had a head swollen to the size of a balloon and was so egotistical a second year disarming spell knocked him to the wind. Then you hire a werewolf, and after that you engage an Auror who just so happens to be a Death Eater. And let's not leave out that Ministry pawn who drove you out. So who, may I ask, are you going to get to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year? What poor, unfortunate soul would-"

Dumbledore was grinning wildly now. "Why, Severus, I was hoping you would take me up on it." Snape's eyes went wide. "Don't be daft. Why now? And who would-" "Oh, don't fret, you're irreplaceable to me, Severus. As good as my own son. But I did toy with the idea of asking Horace Slughorn." "That old coot, teach Potions?" "If you'd rather stay at the post, just say so. I just thought you would enjoy it. You always did have a passion for the Dark Arts."

Snape raised an eyebrow in skepticism, but quickly swallowed the explanation. "I'd be glad to." "I thought you might. Now, Harry will be stirring soon, I expect, so-" At the boy's name he froze, as if he could sense something in the air. It was quickly dispelled by a pained quiet. The Boy-Who-Lived- to-eavesdrop-on-stairs realized quickly that he knew what it meant. It ripped through the room like nothing else could. Snape seethed in pain and looked at Dumbledore, whose hand fell from the door handle. "You were serious." "You will be fine, my child," came the reassuring whisper, and before Harry knew what was happening Snape had touched the mark and vanished.

Off the Invisibility Cloak came, and as he expected, the Headmaster looked in no way startled to see him emerge. "You must be careful, Harry. That is not an article which should be abused; it could get you in a lot of trouble." "I know," said Harry, his face bubbling with rekindled rage as he stepped into the room. He met Dumbledore's eyes. He was on the verge of crying. "Do you care? Do you care, really?" The reply was quick in coming. "Don't be silly, Harry." Harry's hands were shaking now.

"You cared about my safety. Not about me. As long as I was around to do what you needed me to. My duty. Happiness didn't matter then, right?" He continued on without leaving room for a response, missing the pale color of Dumbledore's veins, which showed thin and frail in his pale complexion. "What did it matter what they did to me? What did it matter if the Dursleys beat me as long as I was protected?" He was shaking all over now. "Protected so I could do your bidding, my job. You don't care about him either." Harry waited to see the impact of that, let it sink in. "How could you when you send him off to be tortured just now so you could have what you wanted? You put him in danger every day, but that's not important as long as you have your spy. I was never any different."

"Harry, I-" But Harry would not let him finish. "How do you know? How do you know he's not about to be killed right now?" Neither said anything, Harry watching to see how Dumbledore would react. "That's not fair. Why do you make him go through that?" he demanded, lost as to two you could let anyone suffer if it could be prevented. "You know why. His services are invaluable. " "A son to you indeed," Harry scoffed, the hurt rising up in him. You just didn't do that to someone you truly thought your own flesh and blood. "You have trapped him, Dumbledore. Look at this terrible mess we have to get out of." The Headmaster did nothing still, escalating his fury. You do not put people you love in dangerous situations.

"Or don't you see it? What you've gotten us into? You never told me anything. Anything. What promise did he make you that night?" This was a test, and one he was sure Dumbledore would not pass. Still, the man seemed to collect himself to muster a reply, after a long, shaky minute which was agonizing. Harry had been right- it was not what he wanted to hear. "Oh, Harry, you know you and Severus are the most important thing in the world to me." "Are we?" Harry puffed incredulously. "Not more important than the war." He went on before Dumbledore could formulate a retort. "What did he do? What choice, and what did my mother have to do with it?" "That is something I must let him tell you."

Harry shook his head viciously. "You don't tell me ANYTHING! How come he was the only one who knew Quirrell was up to something? The only one who saw him cursing me, figured out the troll was a diversion? The only one who knew where I had gone last year and went to look for me? You were never even there." He had begun, without realizing it, to look at Snape in a new light. He had taken him away from Lord Voldemort. "You should have warned me. About the prophecy and the trap…" "We have had this discussion before, Harry."

Dumbledore stepped forward, as if trying to open himself up. "I have made many mistakes in my life, and I know I didn't give you and Professor Snape what I should have. I am sorry. If I could go back and change it…"

Harry felt a splitting headache of a sudden; this whole thing was sickeningly familiar. The grayness of the drab room was swimming around him. He barely noticed when those clear, clean tear began running down the frail cheeks of the silver beard. Had he not told Snape that it was his fault, that he felt it his responsibility? He knew what the man would do, then, if Time-Turners could go back far enough. He would have stopped Snape from ever becoming a Death Eater. Saved Harry's parents. "I know," he whispered, but it wasn't enough still. He was still angry but had said what he needed to; it was time to let the reply come. Dumbledore was always going to be the man he admired above all others.

"I am not good at giving people what they need." The old man was shaking now. "Long ago I had a sister. She was beautiful, but so sickly and frail." Harry waited, his interests peaked. "My mother took care of her. When she died that job fell to me." This seemed to pain him very much; he was more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him. "I failed. I did not give her- Ariana- what she needed. And as a result, she…" His voice was quivering, and his eyes were shut as if in painful reminiscence. Fists balled, ready to strike. He was angry at himself, Harry mused. "We lost her. I would have taken you, but-"

He sounded every bit his age, suddenly. Something clicked. "That's what you would have seen in the Mirror of Erised. That bit with the socks was a lie," he breathed slowly. Dumbledore's tears were flowing freely now. It made Harry's heart wrench. "I'm sorry," he backed away now, guiltily. "Oh, I'm sorry, Dumbledore." "The past can haunt us, Harry. You understand that, I know. You have been through so much, so much I should never have put you through-" A tear slid down Harry's face now, and he grew instantly defensive. "A wise wizard once told me that it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

He was glad to see Dumbledore smile now. "Ah. I always knew you were a good listener. But I am certainly not as wise as I am made out to be, Harry." "Just like I am not half as brave as everyone believes I am," said Harry mildly, still raw but feeling the wounds heal now, though they throbbed. Dumbledore considered him seriously. "You are still learning, still a child, dare I say. Enjoy your childhood, Harry, for it will be gone soon. You have faced true danger, and you don't have to fit the mold made for you. When the trials come again you will prove even more brave than you thought you could be, though I always knew it." Did the Headmaster really have such confidence in him? Yes. And it would all turn out right in the end, he was sure then.

But the moment was utterly ruined by a sizzling in his forehead, and he was sucked into the vision- he was Voldemort, a tall, powerful figure who loomed over these cowards. Wormtail looked delighted with the proceedings. "My Lord, how can you be sure?" he asked, his special hand almost glowing. Harry cackled, and his gaze met Snape's. Even in this time of distress he looked collected and stood firm, as if nothing in the world was unnerving. This was agitating. "We will find out," said Harry, pointing his wand at the Potions Master. "Crucio!" How hideously glorious it was to watch this traitor fall to his knees, how wonderful the blood-curdling scream sounded! "Crucio!" It hit him again, and Voldemort must have found this quite enough because Harry found himself back on the shabby red carpet in the living room of Twelve Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore by his side.

"Ow!" "Harry? What-" The boy tried to stand but would have fallen again without Dumbledore's support. "Why would he let me see that?" He rubbed his scar. "Want me to see him getting tortured?" Dumbledore, as always, knew exactly what he meant; he looked crestfallen. "It is a test." His voice rang with the injustice , the unfairness of it all. "Of his loyalties. He wants to see how attached he really is to you by judging your actions." "We must do nothing?" Harry's palm was still plastered to his forehead. He knew the answer before it came, long before the old man sighed. "Why- why does he keep doing it?" He was not going to let his opportunity slip away this time, and he knew the Headmaster realized it.

"To protect you, Harry. To protect you." For him. No one should have to suffer like that because of him. But people had died because of him. Cedric… an innocent soul who never got to live. And Sirius. Oh, Sirius. He felt sick, suddenly. He never wanted it to happen again. Harry's body couldn't take it anymore, it rebelled despite all of his resistance, and the contents of his stomach appeared on the floor.

Everything went black.