Harry and Snape rush into Dumbledore’s office, jostling each other in their shared desperation to confront the headmaster. The office is silent and appears to be empty. Snape and Harry look uneasily at each other, wondering if this is another trick, when a soft rustling noise comes from the corner. Dumbledore materializes out of the shadows. He looks fine. He looks pleasant. He looks the same.

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore says grandly, nodding to each of them in turn. “Welcome back.”

Harry whips out his wand. He forgets his promise to Snape, forgets that he could be expelled for this, and remembers only the names of painful curses. Unforgivable Curses.

“Stupid boy!” Snape says sharply. “Expelliarmus!”

Harry’s wand flies through the air and Snape snatches and pockets it. Snape rounds on Dumbledore, his own wand aimed at the headmaster’s heart. Dumbledore looks back at him innocently.

“What are you going to do, Severus?” Dumbledore asks lightly. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Not yet,” Snape breathes. “First I’m going to hurt you.”

“I must warn you,” Dumbledore continues pleasantly, “that I plan on defending myself. I’m more useful alive than dead, you see.”

“I won’t duel you,” Snape sneers. “You’re not worth it.”

“You mean I will best you,” Dumbledore corrects. “As I always have before.”

“Not if it’s two on one,” Harry growls. “Give me back my wand, Snape.”

Snape eyes the headmaster, ignoring Harry. “I have other weapons, Albus.” To Harry’s great uneasiness, Snape swivels around to focus on him. “I could hurt Potter,” he says sweetly. He aims his wand right at Harry’s scar. “That might wound you, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore cocks his head as though his curiosity has been aroused. He makes no move, however, to stop his Potions Master from killing his student.

Fawkes flies from his perch and settles onto Harry’s shoulder. The warm, thick weight makes Harry feel better. Fawkes nuzzles at his cheek. He is missing some feathers and looks close to burning. Something about his temporary ugliness touches Harry. He has, at least, one ally here.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks Snape. “Don’t be stupid, Professor.”

“Be quiet, Potter!” Snape yells, an ugly sneer on his face. Harry blanches, searching his cold eyes for some sign of the man from the Room. The man whose life he saved not an hour ago. But that person seems to have disappeared. Was he ever there at all?

“You are bluffing,” Dumbledore announces. “You would not hurt Harry.”

“How do you know that?” Snape demands. “You do not know what I have been driven to. Why shouldn’t I curse him? It’s the only thing I can think of that might actually affect you.” He tosses a glare back at Dumbledore, still keeping his wand trained on Harry’s scar. “Not because the boy means anything to you. But his death would still be a blow, would it not?”

“You would not harm Harry,” Dumbledore repeats. “I have watched you, Severus, more closely than you can imagine. I know exactly what went on in the Room of Requirement. I know how far the two of you have come. You are not capable of harming Harry. Not now.”

This seems to enrage Snape further. “DO NOT TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO!” he yells. “Despite your best efforts, Headmaster, I still have free will! Do you need me to demonstrate?”

Snape turns back to Harry, an odd look in his eyes. Harry stands rooted to the spot, acutely aware that he is without his wand. Snape mouths the words, and still Harry cannot believe it, still he does not jump out of the way. He just lets Snape cast an Unforgivable on him.

Harry waits for the surge of pain, waits for Snape’s betrayal to become physical, but nothing happens. Just a sharp prick in his shoulder. And then something feathery bangs into him, and Harry realizes that Snape must have cast the Cruciatus on Fawkes. The bird screeches in pain, and Harry does too, because Fawkes in his distress has worked his claws into Harry’s shoulder. Snape does not lift the curse and stares right at Dumbledore, drinking in the man’s horrified expression.

Harry grimaces and gently wraps his hands around the agonized phoenix. He girds himself and yanks the embedded claws out of his shoulder. There is a sickening ripping sound, and then the bird is free. Harry clenches his teeth as a wave of white pain pumps through his arm. He dizzily places the shaking bird on Dumbledore’s desk. Fawkes twitches a couple of times, clearly suffering, and then stills. Harry stares, horrified, as the bird shrivels away into a pile of ashes. But before he can make sense of this latest death, a tiny head emerges from the dust.

The infant Fawkes peeps insistently and Harry obeys some deep instinct to hold out his arm. The blood from his shoulder has dripped into the crook of his elbow, and it dribbles unnoticed to the ground. Fawkes scrabbles up his arm, slipping on the blood, and bends his bulging eyes over the deep gouges in Harry’s shoulder. The baby bird begins to sob, and Harry’s shoulder is soon mended. As if in a dream, Harry puts the tiny phoenix on his perch, and Fawkes instantly burrows out of sight and hopefully out of harm’s way.

Harry stares in utter bewilderment at his professors. “How could you curse Fawkes?” he asks, voice cracking as he addresses each of them in turn. “How could you let him curse Fawkes?”

“I do not need to duel you, Albus,” Snape says calmly. “There are other ways of inflicting pain. Psychological torture, you might call it. I picked up several of your techniques during my imprisonment.”

“How could you curse Fawkes?” Harry repeats loudly.

“I had a point to make,” Snape says, ice in his voice and eyes. “Have I made it?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore says roughly, not bothering to hide his distress. “You’ve made yourself quite clear, at the expense of a defenseless animal.”

“I thought so,” Snape sneers. “It’s so nice to know, Headmaster, that you are still capable of feeling pain. I had my doubts.”

“Why didn’t you stop Snape?” Harry demands of Dumbledore. “Didn’t you see how he was hurting Fawkes?”

“I wanted to see how far Professor Snape would go.”

“And has your curiosity been satisfied?” Harry snarls.

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore breathes. “Rest assured, Harry, I will not make such a mistake again.” The threat in his voice is clear, and Harry wonders at Snape’s total non-reaction. Instead his professor shrugs, as if the torture of Dumbledore’s pet is of small importance, and taps a finger against his jaw.

“Now that pleasantries are out of the way,” Snape says silkily, “perhaps we could settle down to business?”

“Of course,” Dumbledore answers, still darting glances at Fawkes. Snape hungrily follows these looks, a sadistic gleam in his eyes.

“Please, sit down, both of you.” Dumbledore tears his attention away from the phoenix and gestures to the two chairs opposite his desk.

“I’ll stand,” Snape snarls.

“And you, Harry?”

“He’ll stand too,” Snape snaps before Harry can reply.

“Very well,” Dumbledore says. “But you’ll pardon an old man for resting his bones.” He slides into his chair, effectively placing the large desk between himself and his visitors. “I assume by business you mean the Room of Requirement?”

“I have certain questions,” Snape begins. “You will answer them. Unless you would like another example of my free will?”

“There is no need to resort to threats,” Dumbledore says firmly. Nonetheless, he reaches up and cradles the tiny Fawkes protectively in his hands. “I will answer your questions freely.”

“How do I know you will answer honestly?”

“You have my word.”

“Your word no longer suffices,” Snape announces. “I know you have Veritaserum on hand, Professor. I suggest we make use of it.”

“That will not be necessary,” Dumbledore answers. “You will not lower yourself to the same tactics employed by Dolores Umbridge. You have my word, Severus, and that will have to do.”

Snape smiles wolfishly. “Take the Unbreakable Vow. That will do.”

Dumbledore considers him. “I would prefer the Veritaserum.”

“Too late,” Snape snarls. “That offer is off the table. Take the Unbreakable Vow or you will never see me again.” He smiles. “Do you see why I do not need to duel you? It’s so much simpler just to play on your emotions. But of course you are familiar with the tactic.”

Dumbledore looks at Harry. “And you, Harry? Is my word good enough for you?”

Harry shakes his head. “I don’t trust you anymore. Do what Snape says.”

“And if I die as a result of this vow?” Dumbledore asks steadily.

“Be it on your head,” Snape growls. “Your death no longer concerns me.”

If this hurts Dumbledore, he hides it well. “Very well. Harry, will you consent to being our Bonder?”

Harry looks nervously at the pair of them. He doesn’t know what an Unbreakable Vow is, but it doesn’t sound pretty. On the other hand—he really needs the truth from Dumbledore, and this may be the only way to ensure it. “Okay.”

Snape gives Harry back his wand with a warning look. “You merely need to touch the tip to our hands, Potter. Can you manage that?”

Harry shoots him a dark look but nods. His wand is humming strangely, almost as if it senses that Fawkes is close by.

Dumbledore gently replaces Fawkes on his perch, stands and offers his hand to Snape. Snape clasps it with a sneer and gestures at Harry. Harry gulps and places his wand on their linked hands.

“Will you, Albus Dumbledore, swear to tell Harry Potter and myself the truth?”

Dumbledore breaks away. “I require a time limit. I will not be struck down for a slip of the tongue three years from now.”

“Should you be so lucky,” Snape breathes. He grabs Dumbledore’s hand again and Harry replaces his wand. “Will you, Albus Dumbledore, swear to tell Harry Potter and myself the truth and nothing but the truth—for the next hour?”

“I will.”

A thin rope of hot flame spits out the end of Harry’s wand and twines itself around their clasped hands.

“Very well,” Snape sneers, dropping the headmaster’s hand as though it is something dirty. “Let us hope, for your sake, that you can manage not to lie for sixty minutes.” And now he does take a seat, and jerks his head at Harry to do the same.

Harry hesitates but slides into the other chair. He cannot help tensing when Snape begins to fire off questions. “You have already raised my first point, Headmaster, but let us review. You did, in fact, witness our suffering?”

“I monitored both of you while inside the Room, yes.”

“So you are aware, then, of what went on?” Snape continues. “You are aware that we went without food, without water, without as much as a chamber pot at times?”

“I am.”

“You are aware of the violence that occurred? You are aware of the blood? The burns? The number of times your student threw a punch at me?”

“Twice, if I’m not mistaken.” Dumbledore leans back in his chair, clearly settling in for the long haul. “And you threw a book at him, Severus.”

“You are aware that we broke the law while time-traveling?”

“With a dinosaur and a memory charm,” Dumbledore answers, eyes cast upward.

“So you admit that you put me through considerable discomfort and danger? You admit that you contributed to the delinquency of a student? That you essentially tortured an underage wizard?”

“Not just any student,” Dumbledore says, and strangely, something clears in his expression. “It was Harry. Will you not say his name?”

Snape smirks, but there is no amusement in his eyes. “You admit that you put your precious Potter in peril, Professor?”

“Potentially,” Dumbledore says, his eyes in contrast growing more affectionate. “But I would have stepped in immediately had the danger become life-threatening.”

“What about the fumes?” Snape demands, his faked humor vanishing on a dime. “You left me to die!”

“Harry came back for you.”

“And if he hadn’t?” Snape says hotly. “Would you have intervened then?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore says clearly. “And, in the interest of full discretion, I must add that I left you an escape route, Severus. I don’t know why you didn’t use it.”

“You mean an escape route besides the tunnel?” Harry prods.

“Of course,” Dumbledore says pleasantly. “I left Severus the window.”

Harry and Snape both stare at the headmaster. “The window?”

Dumbledore nods. He flicks his wand, and a series of words appear in the air:

A Place for Warriors

Tap your Weapons

Desire is a Battle

United are the Victors

Stay in the Present

Keep your Eyes on the Prize

“At dusk,” Dumbledore explains. “Do you not see?” He looks at Harry. “I thought at least one of you would figure it out. It is the password to open the window.”

Harry and Snape look at each other. “I never saw the last phrase,” Harry says finally. “Where was it?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore nods. “That explains why you did not tell Professor Snape. It was underneath the tunnel entrance.”

“You left my survival up to that?” Snape whispers. “A series of riddles? I must mean even less to you than I thought.”

“You mean a great deal to me,” Dumbledore sighs. “And for once, you must believe me when I say so.” He pauses. “I would have intervened, Severus. Truly I would have.”

Snape clears his throat, obviously unsettled. “How long were we inside the Room?”

“A week.”

“Who has been covering my classes?”

“Minerva,” Dumbledore says lightly. “I believe you and Harry are both laid up in the hospital wing with highly contagious cases of spattergroit.”

“Hermione and Ron knew I was in the Room,” Harry says immediately.

“They did,” Dumbledore allows. “And they certainly ask a lot of questions, don’t they? Your friends have been very concerned about you.”

“Good,” Harry huffs, a secret warmth spreading through him. Hermione and Ron haven’t forgotten him.

Snape narrows his eyes. “How long have you been planning this little escapade?”

“Since you stopped teaching Harry Occlumency.”

Snape leans back in his chair. “You planned the Veritaserum? The Mirror of Erised? The Sorting Hat?”

“And everything else,” Dumbledore says soberly. “Yes, Severus. I do not deny any of it.”

Harry drums his hand on the chair. He’s reluctant to get into this with Dumbledore, especially next to this torture-happy version of Snape, but he really needs the answer. “You meant for us to talk about my mum? You meant for Snape to tell me about his past?”

“I meant for all your secrets to be brought to light, my boy.”

“And did everything go according to your plan?” Harry grates out, latching onto his anger. “Were we your perfect little puppet from start to finish?”

“My main objective was realized,” Dumbledore says carefully. “But the two of you did surprise me along the way.” He cocks his head. “I believe it is known as free will, Severus?”

“How did we surprise you?” Harry cuts in before Snape can respond.

Dumbledore peers at Harry. “I must admit that I did not expect you to learn Occlumency. Forgive me for underestimating you.”

“No,” Harry says shortly. “Keep going.”

“I expected your professor to drink the Veritaserum,” Dumbledore says thoughtfully. “I suppose I underestimated him as well.”

“Anything else?” Snape growls.

Dumbledore hesitates. “I did not expect Harry to react as he did to the memory he found in the Pensieve.”

“Ah,” Snape says softly. “I was wondering when we would come back to that.” He looks at Harry. “Willing to tell me yet, Potter?”

Harry shakes his head and Snape smirks but does not pursue it. Instead he leans back into his chair, a wolfish gleam in his eyes. “What was this main objective of yours, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore takes his time in answering. “My goal,” he finally says, “was simple. I wanted to help you resolve your differences. I wanted something better for each of you—”

“And I wanted something better for Fawkes,” Snape interrupts. “He was looking so decrepit; really it was a mercy to kill him. I’m sure you understand, Professor.”

Dumbledore and Harry both glare at Snape. He returns the look with interest as he asks his next question. “Why did you not come to me first, Headmaster? I deserved at least that slight courtesy before being imprisoned against my will.”

“You wouldn’t have listened to me,” Dumbledore replies with a shrug. “Harry is your blind spot, Severus, and he always has been. And I did give the two of you one more chance before I resorted to the Room. But frankly you both made a mess of it.”

“What chance?” Harry asks indignantly.

“Remedial Potions,” Snape sneers in reply. “Honestly, Professor, if I had known that was my last chance before incarceration, perhaps I would have made better use of it!”

Dumbledore merely looks at Snape over his glasses. “To avoid an unpleasant consequence, yes, you might have acted differently. But you did not wish to truly make amends with Harry. Let us not kid ourselves.”

Snape purses his lips but does not deny it. “Potter didn’t try either.”

“Of course he didn’t,” Dumbledore says calmly. “Why would he? Thus, you see, I had to take extreme measures. You weren’t going to change on your own.”

“And your extreme measures are somehow more justified than my extreme measures?”

“I have yet to cast an Unforgivable on you,” Dumbledore says quietly.

“Yes,” Snape says silkily. “Things are always so black and white with you, aren’t they?”

The two men stare at each other. Harry folds his arms across his chest, feeling they are getting slightly off topic. “Who says we needed to change, Headmaster? I was okay with the way things were. I could have handled Snape for another two years.”

“And I would have had little contact with Potter after his O.W.L.S,” Snape interjects. “The situation was not as dire as you make it out to be.”

“I might make an O in Potions,” Harry points out.

“And I might be a Gryffindor.”

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore interrupts, “Avoiding each other would not have solved anything. Your growing discord was unacceptable. I decided to take action before the two of you killed each other.”

“It’s a pleasure to know you think so highly of me,” Snape says sarcastically. “Is that why you took away my magic inside the Room, Headmaster? You assumed I would harm the boy?”

“It was a precautionary measure.” Dumbledore looks at his phoenix’s perch meaningfully. “I do not think it was unwarranted.”

“Were you worried that Potter would harm me?” Snape asks in a low, low voice.

“I didn’t do anything that bad to you,” Harry mutters.

Snape whirls around in his chair, daggers in his eyes. “Let’s see what Snape deserves,” he mocks. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Well I didn’t curse you to smithereens,” Harry says fiercely. “And that’s what you would have done to me.”

“I have never cursed you,” Snape says through gritted teeth. “Despite immense provocation.” He looks with heavy-lidded eyes at Harry and Dumbledore. “But it appears the two of you have forgotten that piece of trivia.”

“You cursed Fawkes,” Harry says hotly.

“Which has nothing to do with you,” Snape sneers. “Just because you have his feather in your wand—I didn’t curse you, Potter. And your precious bird is still alive, isn’t he?”

Harry scowls. “You’re missing the point.”

Snape clearly doesn’t care, and continues with his line of questioning. “I am curious how our so-called reconciliation figures into your strategy for the upcoming war.”

Dumbledore clasps his hands. “What is your question, precisely?”

“Choices are made when times are dire,” Harry chimes in, quoting the Sorting Hat. “And war is dire, so the sun closed a door.” He swallows and asks the question that has been haunting him. “Why did you want us to resolve our differences, Professor? Did you want us to become friendly, or did you want us to become allies for your war?”

“It is not my war. Voldemort’s defeat is a task for all of us.”

“Save us the rousing pep talk,” Snape says angrily. “And answer honestly lest your vow be broken!”

“I wanted both to occur,” Dumbledore replies. “I wanted you strong, united, and ready to face this war together. I also hoped you would become friendly. More than friendly.”

“More than friendly,” Snape repeats dangerously. “Explain.”

Dumbledore spreads his hands out in front of him. “It was not entirely clear to me, to be honest, until I overheard something Harry said in the Room. He said he wanted someone to depend on.”

Harry winces. “You heard that?”

“Yes.”

Snape hesitates, a rarity for him, before pursuing his line of thought. When he speaks, his words are so low that Harry can barely make them out. “You would entrust Potter to me? To me, Headmaster?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore says softly.

“Why?” Snape asks, staring at the headmaster with a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Snape repeats. “There are a dozen reasons why not! One of which I demonstrated not ten minutes ago! There are a dozen reasons, Headmaster!”

“Are there?”

Snape and Dumbledore look at each other. Harry tenses, waiting for Dumbledore to keel over, because these certainly don’t seem like good answers to him. Nothing happens, though, except Snape actually relaxes. Harry looks between them, feeling as though he’s missed something. But nobody says anything.

Well, Harry’s not done with the subject, even if Snape is. “I think you wanted us as warriors first and friends second. I think you wanted to toughen me up, and that the rest was just a bonus.”

“What is your question, Harry?” Dumbledore asks maddeningly.

“What was all that stuff about?” Harry demands. “All your stupid riddles about weapons and battles and victors? You were trying to make me into your big bad soldier for Voldemort!” He pauses. “Weren’t you?”

“I was trying to prepare you, yes,” Dumbledore replies. “You are going to be very important in this war, Harry. Professor Snape has told you part of the prophecy, and I can tell you the rest. Your survival is crucial. I am going to need you. The wizarding world is going to need you. And you are much stronger with Snape as an ally than as an enemy.” He sighs. “I was killing two birds with one stone, Harry, when I locked you inside the Room.”

“But which bird do you think is more important?” Harry insists. He’s not sure why he wants to know so badly. “Do you want me alive or do you want me happy?”

“I want you alive.”

“Oh.” Harry can’t think of anything else to say. He’s got his answer. Dumbledore doesn’t care if Harry’s messed up. He doesn’t care if he’s the one who’s messed Harry up. He just cares about Harry’s heartbeat. Not his heart—his heartbeat. There’s a difference, and now Harry knows what it is. “I shouldn’t be surprised,” Harry says slowly. “But I am.”

“I need you alive, Harry, so that you can be happy,” Dumbledore explains. “The dead, I believe, are a rather dour lot.”

“Don’t joke about this,” Harry yells, jumping to his feet. “That’s crap. That’s crap. You don’t care if I’m happy. You don’t. If you did, then you wouldn’t have shown me that memory!”

Snape looks alertly between the two of them. “Will someone please tell me about the blasted Pensieve?”

“He showed me the night my parents died!” Harry shouts, crouching down so he’s right in Snape’s face. “Did you know Mum had tears in her eyes when she died, Snape? I didn’t know a person could cry so fast. She only had a second between Voldemort cursing her, and then she turned around and looked at me, and she had tears in her eyes!”

The color drains from Snape’s face. “Look at me!” Harry demands, grabbing the man’s collar. “You said my eyes looked different after I came out of the tunnel. You said Mum never looked like that. Well, this is the reason why!” Harry can barely talk, he’s so angry. “And guess what else,” he hisses. “You’re wrong. The look in Mum’s eyes? It was worse.” He releases Snape, breathing heavily, trying to master himself.

Snape stands up slowly. “Whose memory was this?”

Dumbledore opens his mouth, but Harry beats him to the punch. “It was mine,” he says fiercely. “It was my memory, and Dumbledore took it away from me. He had no right!”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Snape asks, creepily calm, his eyes blank as he studies the headmaster.

“Because he’s a bastard!” Harry shouts, cutting in before Dumbledore can respond. “Because he doesn’t care about me! He had no right to take my memory away! He shouldn’t have done that!” A sob builds inside of him, but Harry does not allow it voice. He slams his fist into the back of his chair. “And you shouldn’t have given it back, Dumbledore!”

“Why did you do this?” Snape asks Dumbledore again. He holds up his hand to stop Harry from speaking. “I would like to hear from Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter.”

“I was trying to spare Harry pain by removing his memory of that night,” Dumbledore says heavily. “And I wished to see what it could tell me about Harry and about Voldemort. Two birds with one stone.” He raises his head and looks at Harry. “I never meant to keep your memory forever. I thought it was high time it was returned.”

“You returned it,” Harry yells, “so I’d want to kill Voldemort! You returned it to make me hate him even more, but guess what, Dumbledore? It backfired!” His fingers itch for his wand, but he does not reach for it. He will not resort to cursing anyone, or anything, no matter how much they deserve it. “I hate you! Okay? I hate you!”

“I can only say, Harry, that I did what I thought was best. When would you have preferred the memory back? When you were six? Twelve? Eighteen?” Dumbledore sighs. “I had to return it. It would have been wrong not to.”

“It wasn’t right to take it in the first place,” Harry snarls. “It wasn’t right to leave me with the Dursleys, and it wasn’t right to lock me up in that Room.” Snape opens his mouth to speak, but Harry waves his hand, stopping him. “It wasn’t right to let my dad bully Snape, Professor. It wasn’t right to let him go to Spinners End each summer. It wasn’t right for you to use our love for Mum against us.” Harry clenches his wand, but still he does not take it out. “You don’t even know what love is, do you? If you did, you wouldn’t have hurt us!”

Dumbledore says nothing for a long time, and Harry all at once loses his patience. “Answer me!”

“I know what love is,” Dumbledore says sharply. “You’d be surprised, gentlemen, at what we have common. You two act as though you are the only people in the world to have ever loved and lost somebody. You are mistaken. I have been where you have been. I have—”

Dumbledore abruptly stops and turns his back on his visitors. He lifts Fawkes from his perch. The infant phoenix sings softly, but for once, the song means nothing to Harry. It seems made only for the headmaster.

In any case, when Fawkes stops singing, the heat seems to have died out of Dumbledore. He faces his visitors once more, cradling the phoenix in his hand, looking older than Harry has ever seen him. “Do you have any more questions?” Dumbledore asks. “I will tell you about the prophecy, Harry. You have my word. But, if I may be so bold, not right now.”

“I’m done,” Harry snarls. He turns on heel and marches out of the office.

Snape looks at Dumbledore. The silence stretches between them.

“You have been where I have been, Headmaster?”

“I have.”

“You are not lying?”

“I couldn’t lie right now if I wanted to, Severus.”

“It must be so unpleasant,” Snape drawls, “to be forced to reveal your secrets.”

And then he too is gone.

Dumbledore looks around his empty office. The portraits hurriedly begin to talk, and Fawkes begins to warble again, but somehow, their noise doesn’t fill the silence.