"Mr. Snape! How are you? Come in," welcomed Minerva.
"I'm okay, ma'am… uhm...professor… er, Headmistress," Harry stumbled.
"Professor is fine, dear. How are you faring?" she directed the boy towards a chair in front of her fireplace.
"I miss my dad," he said simply.
"I was sorry to hear about Severus' cancer. I am pleased that in our world we are able to do something about it." The Headmistress smiled and sat across from Harry who was clutching at his robe nervously. "What may I do for you, Mr. Snape?"
"I have to quit Quidditch…" he blurted, and then immediately wished he had not. "I mean… I don't want to but the practises and the games are all on the weekends, and that's when I want to visit my dad." He took a breath, and a moment to watch the flames in the fireplace. "He needs me," he whispered.
"I do understand, Mr. Snape, and I know the entire team will be sad to see you go," Minerva then smiled lightly. "Perhaps next year?"
Harry looked up at the Headmistress, and smiled. "Yeah. Next year would be great. So, it's okay?"
"Of course it is, Harry." She leaned forward and patted his hand. "Don't let it worry you. Now, why don't you get some dinner before you miss it."
"Yes, professor!" Harry leapt to his feet, and hurried to the door. He stopped when a thought struck him, and he turned, "Draco's staying on the Slytherin team, Professor McGonagall." When she turned back to give him her attention, Harry smiled smugly. "And, he's wicked good!"
He zipped out of the office, and Minerva chuckled. As 'wicked good' as Mr. Malfoy was she doubted he would defeat her lions.
Harry felt… good. He jumped to the floor from the final few steps of the spiral staircase and he was surprised at how light his heart felt. He knew he would miss Quidditch but to know that he would not beholden to practises, games, and to his own House for winning by catching the Snitch, made him feel like he had shucked off a heavy robe.
Harry really did want his weekends free for visiting his father but it was nice knowing that his fellow Gryffindors would not be looking to him for the House Cup. He could do his homework, study, and fly just like any boy would fly; for fun!
Just as he was about to break into a whistle he nearly bumped into Albus Dumbledore. Harry skidded to a halt, and watched a moment as the old man wandered the corridor alternately knocking on stones, or calling to Remus in various paintings.
"Sir? Can I help you?" Harry asked as concern for the old man overwhelmed his sense of caution in regards to the old Headmaster.
"Oh! Harry!" smiled the Headmaster. "I seem to have lost Remus. Have you seen him today? Brown robes, sandy hair, and testy of late."
Harry shook his head. Albus sighed, and leaned against the nearest wall. Harry then made a decision and ran up beside the old man, tucked himself under the wizard's arm, and pressed himself against the older man's side. He was rather startled by how light the old man felt.
"Sir, there's a bench just over here, and we can sit down." Harry led him the short way to where a stone bench sat against the wall in the corridor.
"Do you know the Cushioning Charm, Harry?" asked the older wizard. "I don't seem much of use with the easier charms."
"We've been taught them in Charms class, sir, but I haven't mastered it, yet. Shall I try?" asked Harry.
Albus smiled wearily, nodded, and his blue eyes twinkled. "If you'd try, I would be most grateful, Harry."
"Okay. Here's the wall where you can lean if you want." Once he was sure the older man was situated leaning against the wall he snapped out his wand, pointed it at the bench, and was delighted when the charm worked perfectly the first time. "I did it!"
Albus sat down, and sighed at the comfort now offered. "Remus tells me that I am leaking magic, Harry. I suspect you just received a touch."
Harry sat down by the old Headmaster, and noted that his feet still did not touch the floor. He resisted letting his feet swing in the air. For a long moment man and boy were quiet. Harry did not feel at all awkward but there were questions arising in his mind that he had never been able to ask the old wizard.
"Sir? Could I ask you a few questions?" Harry's voice was small, and he did not realise his feet had begun to swing beneath the bench.
"Of course, Harry," he chuckled softly. "I think my mind is clearer now than it has been for… well, for a very long time. What may I tell you?"
"Did you know my relatives were mean to me?" he asked almost bluntly but then he shrank back as if he might be hit for his impertinence.
Albus sighed regretfully. He then spoke gently, "I did. Minerva had told me that they were awful people but I do recall that although I was invited to your parents wedding, the Dursleys were not."
Harry glowered accusingly at Albus. "They hurt me," he declared. "They hated me. And, you gave me to them. Did you hate me, too?"
Harry was a child. Twelve years of age, and he had matured but in a skewed manner that allowed him to survive alone. He did not understand the illness Albus Dumbledore had, and he certainly did not understand that it was highly likely that Albus had begun to suffer under the delusions of his dementia as far back as when Harry's fathers: James Potter and Severus Snape, had been students.
"No… no I never hated you, child." Albus drew in a breath that was heavy with his age. For a moment he re-draped his robes over his knees, then patted a little rhythm on his knees; a kind of tick he had found clarified his mind when it threatened to cloud with the dementia. "I believed in the Prophecy, Harry, which… I know it was foolish to do so but," he placed his hand over his heart, "I was sure that I was doing all that was necessary for the greater good."
"You hurt a lot of people, sir," Harry said gently, but with sympathy.
"I am afraid that many were... killed... because of my delusions of grandeur." A tear fell down his wrinkled cheek.
Harry stood, and dug into his pocket. From his father he had learned the value of always keeping a clean handkerchief in one's pocket. He handed it to the Headmaster. Albus smiled gratefully at Harry, then he dabbed at his eyes.
Harry took the handkerchief from the Headmaster, and he suppressed a lilt of amusement as the boy put the linen over his nose, and ordered as a parent might, "Blow." Albus took the handkerchief and he did blow his nose, and thus cleared the sadness from himself. Harry nodded, then re-seated himself. "I asked dad once why grown-ups always seem to do that when kids cry, and he said it's a good way to…" he frowned as he recalled his father's exact wording, "to… 'dismiss the sorrow from one's soul.' Do you feel better, sir?"
Albus nodded, "A little, Harry. Thank you."
Harry nodded, then cast his gaze to the floor. "Can I ask… is it because of you that my parents were killed?"
Albus leaned his head back against the wall. His words came slowly, as if he needed to think them over. Finally his old voice had a raspiness of unshed tears to it, "I did not kill your parents but I do hold myself at fault." Harry blinked at him, and in those green eyes Albus saw the ache of a young child trying to understand things past, and events that were only known to people who lived them. He swallowed. He did not care if Harry would hate him but he wanted him to… know. "It was my responsibility to keep those in the Order of the Phoenix safe. The Order was a small band of wizards and witches who made the pro-active decision to fight an enemy our Ministry and Wizengamot would not recognise. In my… compulsion... to do what was needed… to fight Voldemort… and to keep them safe… my decisions became increasingly…" his words failed him, and he drew in a shuddery breath as he felt he was once again failing the child.
Harry touched the old man's shoulder lightly but then he added just enough pressure so Albus could feel him. "You were sick, sir," Harry said knowledgeably. "And… and you weren't ever a very good general." Harry's brow furrowed as he now thought carefully over his words. "Did… did you do anything to help James and Lily?"
Albus nodded, and ran his fingers through his beard. "I gave them my home in Godric's Hollow. It was under a Fidelius Charm which meant it was hidden to all who did not have the location. At the time your parents were living in Potter Manor and it was not under Fidelius."
Harry threaded his fingers through the old man's digits, and leaned back against the stone. A part of him did not want to know anything about the past, but another part of him sensed that Albus had to speak of it.
Albus glanced down at the small hand in his. No, this child was not the hero he had once envisioned, yet he was more brave than all the children in Hogwarts. He smiled sadly, and allowed his thoughts to travel to that of a dark night where the wind was singing a dirge through the stones and monuments of a very old cemetery guarded by a horrible statue that was the very image of an angered Angel of Death.
The doe Patronus had led him to this place of ultimate desolation, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the most feared wizard of all, shivered with dread. In his bones he felt that it was here, amongst these old stones, and trees that would never know life, that the war was coming. Death was in pursuit, and would touch the old wizard a 1,000 times before he succumbed to his age.
"Show yourself!" he demanded through the cry of the mournful wind. Before him the shadows began to move, and even though he wanted to run from the shades of this place, he stood his ground.
"Please, do not kill me, Headmaster!" Cried a voice from the darkness that was familiar to his ear. To his bewilderment the shadows became the young wizard he had very recently hired to teach Potions at Hogwarts; Severus Snape. Grief streaked the cheeks of the young man's face, and red rimmed his eyes. And, noted Albus with some distaste, the unwashed black robe that was NOT a Hogwarts teacher's robe, was stained by blood.
"Headmaster, I give you my surrender!" Severus stepped closer, and Albus watched as he held out his wand with the deadly tip pointed towards his chest, and the handle towards Albus. As Albus accepted the wand, and tucked it securely away, the doe Patronus stepped delicately over to the Potions Master.
"I know that you are a Dark Knight, Severus. How do you have the ability to create a Patronus?" demanded Albus.
"Death Eater," the young wizard corrected as he looked down at his vile robe. "The Dark Lord calls us his Death Eaters now." Severus touched the silvery head of the doe of light. "She is the last of my humanity, Headmaster." Severus then looked away from the patronus, and it faded as the wind took away its last hold on earth.
"He means to kill her," Severus said in a choked voice as he looked away from the vanished Patronus.
Albus shook his head, "The prophecy did not refer to a women. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July."
Severus choked back a cry of frustration as he shouted, "Yes but... he thinks its her son!"
"And you would allow him to die if I saved Lily?" demanded Albus angrily.
Severus' fists clenched tightly as he fell to his knees. "Headmaster, no…. He intends to hunt them down now, to kill them. Hide her, hide them all. I beg you!"
"Should Tom discover your betrayal, he'll want you dead as well, Severus," Albus stated what the younger man knew very well.
"I am a dead man all ready," Severus declared with resignation to the wind that flitted with a carefree caprice through the stones, the monuments, and the vicious Angel of Death. "Headmaster, please, make her safe… make Lily, and her family safe." Severus hung his head just as a storm cloud broke and began drenching all around including the two wizards with harsh rain.
"I will save them, Severus. Lily will live but…" Even in the dark, abusive touch of the rain his blue eyes glinted like steel, "What will you give me in return, Severus?"
Severus, who had not expected to make it through this night alive, lifted his head to look at the wizard who stared down at him with the fiery denouncement of the Old Gods. "I…"
"What will you give me in return for their lives, Severus?" demanded Albus knowing that he wanted no mere trinket but a promise of the young man's soul; something that not even Voldemort had demanded.
"Anything!" Lightning burst from the sky, and thunder shook the earth as the figure of the Angel of Death was struck in a way that the draping of stone cloth revealed completely its horrid, skeletal visage. In that moment, Severus wondered, had he just sold his soul to a man… or worse? Even so, he repeated, "Anything, Headmaster. I give to you anything."
Albus extricated his fingers from Harry's as he felt he no longer deserved the small comfort offered him. "I was too confident of my actions in hiding your parents, Harry. I should have been more diligent of two of my best who had done the most in undermining Voldemort. It never occurred to me that Sirius would place his trust in Peter Pettigrew… an action that nearly destroyed us all."
Harry looked up into the old face that now unashamedly allowed tears to trickle from his pale blue eyes to his cheeks, and finally into his beard. He could feel the grief, and the shame the old man carried in his soul. He was sure it was right that the Headmaster took the blame for his parents deaths, but what had the man done for his other father, Severus?
Harry had seen the way the students reacted around his father, and he had also heard many of the awful tales that raced around the castle about the two Death Eaters (that were now teachers at the school) and what gory shenanigans they would get up to with their fellows.
What Severus Snape had been in the past was not what Harry's father was now. It had been his teacher that found him close to death in a Muggle hospital. It had been his teacher who cared that kept him from being returned to the house of the Dursleys. It had been a father who held him when he had been scared, and then full of sorrow. It had been a father who had taken a death meant for him, then joined the ghosts of his parents in destroying the evil that haunted all of wizardom.
Harry watched as his feet stilled. He then broke the uncomfortable silence between himself, and the older man, "My stuff disappeared, sir."
Albus turned his head to look at the small boy, and frowned in puzzlement. "Recently?"
Harry shook his head, "No, sir. I mean last year. My trunk and all my stuff went missing. It was my father… uhm… Professor Snape that replaced it all."
Albus closed his eyes as he tried to recall the last year he was Headmaster of Hogwarts. He saw his thoughts begin to fragment, to fade. Once more he tapped his knee, and hummed a silly tune that sent his thoughts back into order. He saw the old memory, and inwardly cringed at it; it was such a monumentally stupid thing he had done.
"I believed you left me...us… the wizarding world. I… retaliated by sending your things back to the Dursleys," Albus hesitated as the past wandered before his inner eye.
"You threw a tantrum? You were mad because you thought I abandoned everyone?" Harry asked slowly, and with skepticism. "You actually believed that an eleven year old boy with no control of his magic was going to make it back to Privet Drive?!" Harry was standing, and glaring at the older man. "I was kidnapped! She was trying to kill me! And, you thought I… went… ho-ho-home?" Harry was so angry he was trembling. He knew deep down that the Headmaster was sick, and he probably did not know what he had done. It did not matter, though. Harry was hurt, he still hurt. So, Harry turned, and ran away.
"I'm sorry, Harry," whispered Albus sadly. "I believed…" he dropped his head in his hands, and began to weep.
a/n: Just a note about Dementia. I write what I personally know of the disease but I learned that it can affect individuals differently. Albus truly believed in the prophecy, that Harry was the Saviour, and that all he was doing to destroy Voldemort was for the 'greater good'. He hurt a lot… a great lot… of people. When he recalls what he did it hurts him. It is difficult to hold a person suffering from Dementia responsible for what they did because, according to US Law, the person suffering 'was not in his/her right mind'; therefore, not guilty.