Harry made his way further into the room, his eyes never faltering, the heavy wooden door closing behind him with barely a click, but the noise was still thunderous within the silence of the chamber. The moment pressed in around them, oppressive, as time itself crashed around them. A wand, glittering red in the fading sunlight, extended from his hand, equally red, though not from the sun. He observed the scene before him, his head cocked slightly in annoyed wonder. Of all the people in the world, they had always confounded him most; too stubborn by half, opinionated, and infuriatingly calm in the face of bedlam, they had, in turns, equally enraged and soothed him, used him and protected him, abandoned him and loved him. And he had loved them once, not so long ago; if he blinked, he could still smell old leather and see a man with a long white beard reaching forward with a bag of sweets. He could still see that damnable twinkle. For all that, there were others. The screams, shouts, pleas and burning flesh never left him; the dementors no longer brought forth his mother's screams, but Ron's cries as he lay weeping for his mother, his leg twitching five feet away. But, despite all that, his wand was steady.

"At first, I'll admit I was tempted. In true imperial fashion, crucifixion was on the top of my list. I wondered how many days you would last before you succumbed. The look in your eye as your lungs began to give way, the moment when you realized it was time, when death would finally claim you, was something I've dreamed of, longed for. But, we couldn't risk the implications, the potential for martyrdom, despite the martyr, was too high. You're not worth that much consideration."

Harry stepped forward, watching Minerva's wand drop slightly out of the corner of his eye. A pang flitted across his heart at the stricken expression blanketing her face. It was an expression he had seen far too often over the years. There would only be one more. "I thought, perhaps, a more traditional fate would be appropriate. Drawing and quartering would certainly put the public's fears to rest as your head hangs from the gates of the Ministry, but even that didn't seem quite enough. You would still be there, constantly reminding the people." He took another step forward, grimacing not only at the smell emanating from the man, but at his actions. The Minister, never taking his eyes from Harry, had unconsciously placed himself between Harry's wand and Minerva. Even now he protected her.

"It finally came to me one night. You're going to die Dumbledore, there's no getting around that. But, it will be quick; it will be painless, and your ashes will be tossed to the four winds. You will not be joining her," Harry nodded toward Minerva. "Your government will be disbanded, and the old Ministry will be re-constituted. Elections will be held within 3 months, and the Hogwarts curriculum will be also be re-instated. This time next year, all of this will have been a horrible nightmare, and you the Boogey man. You will be reviled, loathed, but only for awhile. Eventually, you will become as all other tyrants before you. You'll be an oddity; you'll cease to matter. I can think of nothing worse for a man so self-important."

Harry smirked as Albus' lip curled and his hand shook, causing sparks to fly from the tip of his wand, which had pointed at Harry's heart the moment he stepped into the room. It had been too long. This moment had been building since Dumbledore had turned his back on everything he stood for, since he turned his back on her. No one blinked as the room shook and dust floated through the air or as the screams turned to moans. Everything stopped in that moment.

"Albus please; it's enough. No more Albus. No more." Minerva reached out and rested her hand on his wrist, the weight of her hand the only pressure. She could feel his pulse pound even there, matching her own. His skin was hot, painfully so, and she could feel the tremble of his body move into her own, joining them. The thought further stilled her dying heart as the hate flowed between the two men. Too many had died already, and she had failed them all, but if she could save one person, it would be worth whatever the price. She never moved her hand as she skirted around him, letting their bodies brush together, letting him feel her. They were chest to chest, breath to breath, and she paid Harry no mind as his wand pointed directly at her back. The trembling of his hand increased as her thumb began to rub along his wrist and his eyes finally fell to hers. She forced herself to look at the man even as his wounds made her stomach turn. "Do you remember Albus?" she asked, her voice thick and for him alone. "Do you remember when the snow storm hit, and we had to deliver Charlie in the living room of the Burrow? Do you when we left Harry with those people, and you cried every night for a week in your sleep while I held your hand? Remember the little girl living on the street, her family gone, that you carried in your arms to safety." She reached up and stroked the one patch of skin above the armour not burned beyond recognition. "You've always valued life Albus. Don't take anymore."

Her eyes searched his, seeking out the flicker that had tormented her all week. He returned her gaze, slate grey eyes piercing and his breaths heavy. His mouth worked, but no sounds spilled forth, and it was over almost as soon as it began. His eyes softened and dropped closed, a look of anguish crossing his mangled features, while his shoulders slumped and his wand dropped to hang loosely at his side. A single tear slid down her cheek as his head hung and he staggered back to lean against the desk, giving himself a clear view of the angry man before him. He looked every inch the old, defeated, man that she could never image him to be. "Well," he said, looking up wearily, spreading his arms as wide his injuries would allow him. "Get on with it then. What's wrong?" he asked when Harry made no move. "Is the target too small? Here," he reached up and undid the straps holding his armour in place. It fell away from his body, showing a white shirt, long soaked red, clinging to a well muscled chest. The way he favoured his left side clearly showed broken ribs, and the gash over his clavicle had finally burned closed. "Just aim for the heart Harry; I promise it's still there."

Harry looked between the two as he stepped forward. "All you had to do was walk away; you could have just gone back to whatever rabbit hole you sprang from, and we would have left you alone." His eyes were flat, the spark of anger gone, leaving his emerald eyes a dull green. "This entire mess started because of her, she comes back, and even that wasn't enough! She's been trying to save your sorry arse all week. We caught her." Harry watched the disbelief creep into his misshapen features, contorting an already impossible visage. "I was tempted to kill her, but she was adamant that you be given the opportunity for redemption. That's what love is, isn't Minister? Isn't that what you taught me? That no matter what a person may do, who they may become, we care for them anyway; we try to forgive them? We gave her that chance. You failed." The chanting outside the door grew louder as the masse closed in on them. "We extracted silence as payment for both your safety and hers." Minerva's vision clouded and Albus began to wheeze. "She still loved you enough to care."

No one had a chance to react to his final jab as all hell broke loose around them. The solid door behind them gave way with a thunderous crash, splintering as it fell. A boy, no more than fifteen, stumbled through, his brown eyes wild. It was only in the space of a heartbeat; no one saw the wand. The boy didn't aim, just threw the curse at the first person he saw. A green light of a different type shot across the room, and Minerva didn't have time to react before a weight collided with her, shoving her to the ground beneath it, encircling her. A whine filled the air as Harry struck down the boy, removing his wand until the young man could regain his senses. Minerva choked as the air was, again, knocked from her lungs and every mouthful brought the stench of blood to her nostrils. She attempted to push off the weight holding her down, and she was finally successful at rolling them both.

She made her way, unsteadily, to her feet, her eyes wide at the body spread out before her. His gaze was empty, his wand laying only inches from his limp hand. She looked up at Harry, who stared at her in shock. Her eyes followed his, and her hands raised up to the level of her eyes. They, and the rest of her, were covered in blood, his blood. Minerva was startled by a loud keening noise, and it took a beat before she realized the sound was coming from her own throat. She wailed a pain incomprehensible bringing her to her knees before him, her fingers resting on his stilled chest. She raised her head, wounded eyes locking on Harry, his wand falling limp at his side. It wasn't supposed to end like this, never like this. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out, but he never made it. He felt the tingle of magic creep up his spine before he heard it. A flash of blinding light filled the room, quickly followed by a deafening boom as glass shattered and Harry was forced to his knees against the onslaught. He reached up to cover his eyes, and in that instant, there was a ghost before everything quieted, and Harry Potter found himself alone with the body of a man he was only just now beginning to know.

They landed together, crumpled on the floor of his office, but they were together. He could feel her shaking in his arms as he struggled to right them both. He looked up into concerned eyes as Severus helped them to their feet, and pulled Minerva closer. The office was in shambles; instrument pieces littered the floor, lemon drops stuck to every possible surface, and one or two of the portraits looked scandalized beyond repair. He wrapped his arms around her waist as Minerva burrowed into his chest, taking in lung fulls of the familiar scent, trying to extract every ounce of comfort from his warmth. She lifted her head, her lips trailing along his neck, before they made contact with his, and he pulled her tightly to him. The kiss was desperate, passionate, almost painful as a week of pent of pain, fear, and rage flowed from her. A haze of green and worn faces flashed through her mind, even as his tongue stroked against hers. Screams, moans, and angry words played out in her ears while a moan of a different sort rumbled through his chest, and she answered with her own. The kiss tapered away, breaths washing over faces and Minerva leaned into him for moment, gripping his robes between her fingers. In the next second, Albus was standing alone, watching her walk away and through the door behind her, her heels and his ragged breathing the only sounds to be heard. Her confusion, relief, and sorrow flowed through him along with her joy, and he let her go.

Severus looked between the door and the, now slightly bloody and disheveled, headmaster. It had only been five seconds, and now everything should be back to what passes for normal in his life. So why was he getting a splitting headache? He turned to the headmaster. "What the bloody hell was that?!"