Severus sat perched on the edge of the bed, banishing empty bottles back to the workrooms down in the dungeons, where they would be cleaned and sterilized before being used again. He shook his head at the last of the creams he'd tried to use to cure the wounded flesh -- to no avail.

"Severus, you mustn't blame yourself," Albus said softly, pulling his sleeve down over the cursed left hand, hiding it from view. Behind him, the large picture window was open to the summer day, with the strange mist that had been growing steadily all week.

Fawkes chirped from his 'nest' at the opposite side of the large canopy bed. The phoenix had gathered an amazing collection of throw-cushions, hats, small blankets, and various trinkets as a nest on his master's bed. The colours almost rivaled the Headmaster's own dressing gown that he had on, a collage of blue moons, yellow stars, gray clouds and glowing moons. At the moment, Fawkes was staring at the younger man, and making himself more comfortable in the midst of the jumble.

"Who else am I to blame, Headmaster? I am suppose to be --"

"Severus," Albus quietly interrupted, good hand raised to forestall any complaints, "I did not ask you to cure this. Nothing will, my good man. I asked merely for you to treat it and, if possible, arrest its progress. Even Fawkes' tears had little effect." He smiled gently. "Do not put blame where it is not due."

Severus grimaced, but did not comment. He made his way toward the large ironbound door. "You should let the potions work before leaving, Headmaster," he said, not meeting the other's eyes. "The Restorative Draught especially needs --"

"Severus."

Dumbledore waited until the other man met his gaze. When he was sure that he had the potion master's full attention, he motioned him to step closer. After a long moment, Snape came up to the head of the large bed and knelt down, so the injured headmaster, while being propped up, was at eye level and not craning his neck.

"Severus, I have been in this world for almost one hundred and fifty years. A respectable age for any wizard and one that I did not expect to reach unscathed, or even at all during some points of my travels. I have led a rich life, filled with every emotion under the stars."

Albus smiled wistfully. "My travels are coming into the last few leagues, and I do not doubt that I will not see peaceful times again. The time is coming where a new age of wizards and witches will have to take up the reins of our world."

He looked into Snape's dread-filled black eyes. "But not quite yet. I'm not out of lemon drops, after all."