Dumbledore conjures a pair of armchairs, seats himself, and waits for Snape to wake up.  Every now and then he glances over at Harry, who is helplessly propped like a statue against the wall.  When Snape opens his eyes, he is greeted by Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes and Harry’s panicked green ones.

“Please, Severus,” Dumbledore says, gesturing to the other armchair.  “Sit down.”

Snape groggily does so, his motions jerky.

Dumbledore begins without preamble.  “You are angry with me for a number of reasons.  I’m going to list them, and I want you to stay silent unless you disagree with me.  Understand?”

“Yes.”

Dumbledore begins to tick things off with his fingers. “I failed to remove you from your abusive father.  I failed to stop James Potter and Sirius Black from tormenting you during your schooldays.  You think I always put others needs and welfare above your own.”

Silence.

“I charged you with a near-impossible task that has made your adult life extremely difficult: protecting the son of the woman you loved and the man you despised.  At times you are angry with me for showing mercy instead of killing you that night.”

Silence.

“In short, I have interfered in your life when I had no right to—and failed to interfere when I should have interceded.  You think I see you as nothing more than a useful pawn.”

Silence.

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” Snape says, slightly slurring his words.  “Your treatment of Potter is abhorrent to me.”

“How do you think I treat Harry?”

“The same way you treated me.  You abandoned him when you should have saved him.  Charged him a near-impossible task—killing the Dark Lord— that will make his life hell.  You put the war effort above his well-being and you manipulate that well-being to an alarming degree.  But unlike me—”

Snape frowns and falls silent.

“Unlike you?  You think my treatment of the two of you has differed?”

“You love Harry,” Snape mutters.  “You do not love me.  I do not know which is worse: hurting someone you care about, or not caring about the one that you hurt.  You have done both.”

Dumbledore steeples his fingers together, apparently deep in thought.  He does not bother to defend himself from these charges, which is just as well, as Snape will remember none of this.

The headmaster does not seen inclined to restart the conversation, at least not yet, so Harry turns his attention inwards.  He can do little else, after all, cursed with a Petrificus Totalus. None of Snape’s answers, frankly, have surprised him so far. That doesn’t stop him from resenting Dumbledore for forcing these answers out of such an intensely private man, however.

“I have risked quite a bit in this gambit with you and Harry,” Dumbledore says abruptly, interrupting Harry’s line of thought.  “And part of me is still unsure if it was the right path to take. Tell me, Severus, how are you getting on with Harry?”

“We fight a fair amount,” Snape replies.  “I have an extremely short temper and he is a minefield of unexpected pain.  I do not know if I am helping him.”

“But you want to help him?”

“Badly.”

“And you no longer desire to hurt him in any way?”

“I do not wish to hurt him, but I seem to do so nonetheless.”

“That is still an improvement,” Dumbledore says, under his breath.  He pauses and looks at Snape from over his half-moon spectacles.  “Severus, forgive me.  I already knew, or could guess, the answers to most of these questions.  There is another question—one that I cannot seem to bring myself to ask.  Perhaps it is because I am terrified of your response.”  He sighs. “Nonetheless, here it is.  Can you ever forgive me for what I have done to you?”

Snape’s answer is quick and sharp.  “No.”

“Would it help if I explained my actions to you?  My motivations for all the crimes you have laid at my charge?”
“It is too late for that.”

“And if I apologized?”

“No.”

Dumbledore cocks his head.  “And if I pointed out that I am placing your welfare above Harry’s at this moment?”

Harry rather disagrees, but he is in no position to voice this.  In any case, Snape has the same answer as before.  “It is too late, Headmaster.  I cannot forgive you.  I have no desire to forgive you.”

Dumbledore leans forward.  “Let’s try this another way.  Did you ever think Harry would forgive you for your ill-treatment of him or for sending his parents to an early grave?”

“I never expected him to forgive me.”

“But has he?”

“I suspect he has, yes.”

“And what about me?  Do you think Harry has forgiven me for what I have done to him?”

“Potter has decided he cannot hate you,” Snape replies.  “I imagine he will forgive you soon enough, for his own sake if not your own.”

“So why can you not forgive me?”  Dumbledore demands.

“I am not like Harry,” Snape says simply.  “Alchemy only works on rocks, Albus.  You cannot turn base metal into gold.”

Dumbledore considers this for only a moment before switching tactics.  “Do you hate me, Severus?”

“Hatred is the coward's revenge for being intimidated.”

“Even under Truth Serum, you speak in riddles,” Dumbledore says dryly.  “Do you mean that you both fear and hate me?”

“The first, yes; the second, no.  More the pity, as hating you would make my life easier.”

“And yet you told Harry that he was not allowed to hate me?  Why?”

“He was not made to hate.”

“You understand him well.”

Snape says nothing.

Dumbledore is starting to look frustrated.  He looks over at Harry.   “Do you understand why I’m doing this, Harry?  I decided it was neither fair nor right for me to urge you to try again if I could not do so myself.  But it appears I am doomed to failure once more.”  He flicks his wand at Harry.  “Perhaps you can help me, my boy.”

Harry, unprepared for this sudden release, tumbles to the ground.  He scrabbles to his feet and thrusts out his wand.

Dumbledore looks at him mildly.  “Am I going to regret removing the curse?”

Harry scowls but lowers his wand.  “I can’t believe you did that to Snape.”

Dumbledore offers no apology.  “I wanted to remove some of his pain, Harry.  It’s the least I owe him.  Can you think of anything I can try?”

Harry feels a small pang of jealousy ripple through him.  “So after I tore up your photo of Ariana, you decided Snape was the one most in need of help?”

“Forgive me for my presumption,” Dumbledore replies, “but I think I can salvage my relationship with you without resorting to these extreme measures. And I rather believe that helping Severus will go a long way towards improving your opinion of me.”

Harry considers the headmaster, unable to deny the truth in either of those statements.  “I think I know how you can help Snape.  But I want you to answer some questions first.”

“Certainly.”

“Did you know what would happen if we came back here?  About the Veritaserum attacking him, I mean?”

“I suspected it might be so.”

“And so this whole setup was for Snape?  He thought it was a trap for me.”

“That’s keeping in character for him, don’t you think?”

Harry shrugs, conceding the point.  “So you thought if you forced Snape to tell the truth, he would do what? Spill the secret for making him forgive you?”

“Something like that.”

“And this was for your benefit, or his?”

This gives Dumbledore pause.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Harry mutters.  He looks over at Snape, who is sitting quietly, his eyes staring blankly at nothing.  “Let me ask you this.  Have you forgiven me for tearing up your photo of Ariana?  I know you said there was nothing to forgive, but I don’t believe you.”

“Yes, I have.”

“Why?”

Dumbledore looks thrown.  “How curious.  It appears to have happened without my notice.  I was angry and hurt before.  Now I am not.”  He pauses.  “Ah. I think I understand.”

“You can’t force forgiveness,” Harry says quietly.  “Not from other people and not from yourself.  No matter how badly you want to give or receive it.  It’s something that either happens or doesn’t.”

Dumbledore sounds ready to interrupt, but Harry holds up a hand to stop him.  “I know you think that Snape and I forgave each other because you threw us in the Room and forced the issue.  But I disagree.”

“Why?”
“Because it was only after the Room, back in my everyday life, that I really began to understand Snape.  I don’t think you can really know a person if all that binds you together is a crisis.  But I can’t--I can’t be angry at him now.  Not when he’s doing the boring stuff, like getting me a ham sandwich or helping me with my homework.  It’s just...different now.”

Dumbledore sighs. “So you think there is nothing I can do for Severus?”

“I think you need to leave him alone.”

“I cannot do that, not while Voldemort lives.”

“I don’t mean ignore him.”  Harry pauses, arranging his thoughts.  “I think you need to let good things fill up his life so that he doesn’t have the time or energy to despise you.”

“And would you be one of those good things?”

Harry avoids Dumbledore’s eyes.  “Well, I think time spent with me is time he would otherwise spend stewing in his anger at you.”

Dumbledore slowly nods.  “And what do you think I should do when he wakes up?  He will figure out, just like you did, that I arranged circumstances so he would be forced to be interrogated by me under Veritaserum.”

At this juncture, Snape groans.  Both heads swivel towards him.

“He’s coming out of it,” Harry breathes.

It doesn’t take long for Snape to return to his senses.  He blinks a few times and looks first at Dumbledore, then at Harry.  “Learn anything of interest?”

“Not from you,” Dumbledore responds, a trifle sharply.

Snape raises an eyebrow.  “I see.”  He unsteadily gets to his feet.  “I must admit, my desire to find out what I told you is outweighed by my desire to leave this place. Do you think the Room is satisfied with my payment?”

As if in response, a fat gold key materializes directly in front of Snape’s hooked nose.  

“Looks like it,” Harry says, his relief obvious.

Snape snatches the key and marches over to the door glimmering into existence.  “Then I am putting an end to this foolish endeavor.”  He turns the key to the lock with a satisfying click.  Then he turns around and looks at Harry.  “Coming, Potter?”

Harry nods.  Snape pushes open the door and leaves…or escapes…without another word.

And now it is just Harry and Dumbledore, alone in a Room that echoes with memories and regret.

“Go to him,” Dumbledore says softly.  He smiles, the look not reaching his eyes.  “Fill his time with something other than rage.”

Harry glances at the open door, and then back at Dumbledore.  He had not realized how important forgiveness was to this man.  He has a weapon, now, should he choose to use it.

But perhaps Dumbledore’s work has all gone to waste, because Harry throws down his weapon and instead puts out his hand for the headmaster to shake.

Dumbledore grabs his hand like it is a lifeline.  Perhaps it is.

And then Harry pulls his hand away, and leaves this place for warriors, once and for all.  He does not look back.