How do you keep a promise you can't remember?

The wizarding world was based on illusion. It was able to conceal the truths the Muggle world shone so honestly. It allowed features to be hidden by glamours, allowed wizards to be disguised by Polyjuice, and allowed memories to be erased. Fifteen years ago, it had allowed an old wizard to forget his regrets.

Albus Dumbledore stood within his office, his blue eyes affixed to the twirling assortment of glass objects on his desk. A few of the trinkets whirled, others flashed, but none of them held his interest. His gaze drifted from one trinket to another as he regarded them blankly from above half moon glasses. Finally, his eyes settled on a small brown jewelry box nestled safely next to a golden gadget.

On this very night, Lily and James Potter's stories had come to an end and a legend had been born. The Boy Who Lived had emerged, simultaneously victorious and orphaned. His parent's bodies had been taken, buried quickly and quietly in Godric's Hollow even as the town celebrated Voldemort's apparent demise. They were empty celebrations as far as Albus was concerned, Voldemort would return.

The wizened wizard shook his head, his long beard scrapping across his ridiculously colored robes. Lily Potter was dead. All that was left of the young woman he had watched blossom into a fiery and brave witch was an orphaned boy, a bitter man and an empty promise. He could still hear Harry's broken cries and Severus' own hoarse expressions of grief, as they had each mourned for Lily Potter.

What tormented Albus Dumbledore most was the empty promise. In the last weeks of her life, Lily Potter had asked Dumbledore for a promise that would carry past her death. It had come as a great surprise to the almost omniscient Albus Dumbledore. The promise had been conditioned on a remote possibility, one that he had never expected the need to abide by. Unforeseeable events had changed everything and Albus Dumbledore found himself unable to predict a new course. Amongst her requests, Lily Potter had explicitly requested that her son not be left to his aunt's distinct form of care. Dumbledore had given her his word.

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

Hours had passed since that moment, yet he could still hear his own voice echo through his memory as he betrayed his promise to Lily Potter. He could almost imagine Lily's face at hearing his words, the look of betrayal softened by the tears in her eyes, the question clear in her eyes - How could you?

For a cheerless moment sorrow flashed across Dumbledore's visage, further dimming the twinkling in his eyes. A few hours ago, he had held Lily Potter's orphaned son within his crinkled hands, the son she had entrusted to him. Dumbledore had gazed upon his small face and been acutely reminded of both the mother and father. He had seen the child's mother in the soft curve of his cheek, had imagined the two large emerald eyes that were hidden by the dark lashes of the sleeping child. Dumbledore had gazed at the dark hair that framed the boy's soft pale face and denied his mother's wishes. Harry Potter had been laid gently on his Aunt's doorstep, a letter as the only indication of the boy's origins. The child had slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be awoken in a few hours' time, not knowing that he could have been dearly loved if things had been different. A pang of regret momentarily shook Dumbledore as he remembered the boy's peaceful face, the boy's long fingers curled around his blanket. Albus had stared at those fingers for a long honest moment as he questioned his decision to leave the boy with his aunt.

A child whom had been loved so dearly for the first year of his life would cease to be cherished. Lily Potter had died for her son, she had meant him to live above all else, he told himself. The child would be safer this way, protected by his mother's blood sacrifice. Dumbledore reminded himself adamantly that there was no guarantee that the boy would have been happy in another home. Unwilling to risk the boy's life on the mere possibility of happiness, Albus told himself that he knew of no one that would have been able to love Harry as he deserved. His eyes darkened at the lie.

The greatest wizard in the world, whom had defeated Grindelwald and seen so many horrors throughout his years, was close to breaking over the loss of love in the life of a single child. Perhaps it had been one child too many.

For a man whom had lived so long and had made such difficult choices, Albus found himself surprised to be so tormented by one that seemed so small and uncertain. But Lily Potter had seemed so convinced of her request. Her emerald green eyes had lit up as she spoke about her son's future even as they filled with sorrow at the realization that she would not be alive to witness it. Distantly he thought he heard the crashing of glass as Severus Snape took out his sorrow on glass vials and potions supplies. The thought effectively broke him from his reverie as a cold wave of regret flooded his chest. As he shifted his head to listen more closely he realized it was a fallacy, he could not hear the dungeons from his office anymore than he could change Harry's fate.

He knew then what needed to be done. He straightened his spine and his resolve, suddenly appearing far younger than his years. His indecision was proof of it, he would be tempted to go back and collect the child. If given the opportunity he would go back to take the child to another home, one that was far more dangerous for Harry, a home that would have held none of his mother's blood protection. There was nothing to be done for it, he had to strip himself of the choice. Recklessly, he snatched the brown box from his desk, upsetting several gadgets and trinkets. Turning, his gaze swept his office before stopping at his bookshelf.

He hoped that the damage could be mitigated someday, but he knew it would never be erased. Slowly he reached for a large tome book and removed it from the shelf. He had to protect the boy, even if the boy would one day scorn him for it. Placing the brown box on the shelf, he replaced the book, effectively hiding it from view. Thus the moment of indecision passed and Harry Potter's fate was sealed. Shaking himself of his own ghosts, Albus Dumbledore decided that Lily's good intentions would only hinder her son's future.

Albus Percival Dumbledore raised his wand and pointed it towards his own temple.

"Obliviate" the whispered spell drifted through the air stripping the wizard of his promise to Lily Potter. It was the only way he could look Severus in the eye, it was the only way he could pretend he had not done Harry Potter a great injustice. The twinkle returned to his blue eyes. Albus Percival Dumbledore had obliviated himself. It only took a moment for his mind to compensate for the sudden memory loss.

Recovered he stared blissfully at the colorful glass trinkets, not knowing that one day Harry Potter's anger would destroy them.

The wizarding world was also based on manipulation. It was the main reason why Muggles distrusted it so. It frightened them that a wizard should be able to twist reality, could possess the power to turn buttons into beetles, or produce life from a flame. To a Muggle, such power was Godlike.

Albus Dumbledore stood before his desk, reminiscent of a time long ago. This time however the trinkets on his desk lay scattered in broken heaps along his desk and the surrounding stone floor. Albus' gaze swept over the broken glass taking in the damage. The colored glass gleamed under the flickering candlelight, shining into Albus' eyes and momentarily blinding him. It was not the first time that Albus was blinded, so he adjusted rather quickly as he continued to walk towards his desk. Heavily, he sat down at his desk, his robed arms falling on the remnants of his trinkets and the remnants of his plans.

For the first time in years, Albus Dumbledore felt a wave of utter hopelessness as he looked into the future. He could not help but think that he had lost Harry Potter's trust. A trust he had labored to acquire, a trust which had come at the expense of many.

For fifteen years, Albus had defended Harry Potter. He did so against the ministry and he did so every time Severus Snape came to him, complaining about the boy's arrogance. Somewhere in his mind he felt a strong pulling of guilt every time Severus' eyes flared with hatred towards a boy born out of the love share by Lily and James Potter. But the inexplicable feeling grew, clenching the old man's heart whenever Severus' tirade ended. Because invariably after the anger fled, Severus' form would collapse upon itself, tired and drawn out, as if sustained purely by spite. A small flicker of emotion would appear in those dark eyes, unrecognizable to anyone but Albus. In those moments Severus Snape regretted and Albus Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

After such encounters, Severus would halfheartedly make a parting comment about Harry's irresponsible behavior and would leave as quickly as his long gait would allow him. Each and every encounter left Albus with a profound sense of loss and guilt, one that was born from a source deeper than Albus was consciously aware of.

Albus Dumbledore shook himself from his thoughts. It was obvious to anyone who gazed at Dumbledore's office that all those years of sacrifices had been for naught.

Albus clasped his hands together in the mimicry of prayer and closed his eyes in exhaustion as one of the objects of his contemplation swept into his office.

The sound of his office door opening violently startled Dumbledore out of his silent reverie. Relieved to have his foreboding thoughts on war, and The Boy Who Lived interrupted, Albus glanced up at the scowling face of one Severus Snape.

"Severus" Albus greeted warmly his voice and mannerisms untainted by his inner turmoil. One inky black eyebrow rose as Snape's dark gaze swept over the trinkets on the Albus' desk. Snape's face remained impassive. The scowl which accompanied Albus greeting was the sole indication that Snape had heard him.

"Do come in, my dear boy." Albus gestured towards a nearby chair. The broken glass crunched noisily under Snape's feet as the man moved forward. Snape's gaze flickered at the glass before stopping and narrowing his eyes slightly. Stooping he leaned down, removing an unbroken sphere of glass from the floor. With a strange mixture of distain and care, Severus handed the only unbroken trinket to the aging wizard. The sphere dropped from Severus' tapered fingers into Albus' palm. Immediately it began to glow and Albus recognized the object for what it was, a remembral. Albus had not recognized it. The sphere had not even flickered whilst in Severus' hand. It shouldn't have surprised Albus.

"After all this time?"

"Always"

Severus Snape never forgot.

Catching on to Albus' subtle mood shift, Snape stared at the old wizard before speaking.

"You seem to have forgotten something." Snape stated, a cynical edge tainted his voice. Perplexed, Albus scrunched his eyebrows as he stared at the glowing glass forgotten within his hand. Absentmindedly Albus waved at the chair before him.

Stiffly Severus sat down opposite Albus. A vein pulsated angrily in Severus's temple and the scowl deepened as he gazed angrily at the innocent shards of glass on Albus' desk. As customary, Albus offered him lemon drops, which Severus refused. Distractedly he gazed at the remembral before placing it on his desk and focused his piercing gaze upon Severus.

The older of the two wizards remained silent as he waited for Severus to speak. For a moment, Severus merely sat there, his dark eyes gazing blankly from the desk to the bookshelf behind Albus. Uncharacteristically he said nothing as Albus smiled benignly at him, catching his wandering gaze. There were no scathing glares or comments. Snape was angry there was no doubt, but he also seemed oddly broken. Sighing inaudibly Snape agitatedly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Headmaster" the deep voice resonated through the stillness of the room.

"There's no need for such formality." Albus responded jovially. Snape waved off the statement as he focused on the issue at hand.

"When she..." there was a moment of uncharacteristic hesitation in his silky voice as he sought an appropriate word, perhaps a less painful one. Finding none, he continued.

"Was there any indication that she wished to bestow something to me? A letter? An object?" he asked as he looked out of the headmaster's tower window, avoiding Dumbledore's penetrating gaze. Dumbledore didn't need to ask of whom Severus spoke. There was only one woman that Severus had ever asked after and even that had been rare. Severus' pride had always taken precedence where it shouldn't have.

There was a faint rustled of memory then, Albus' eyes clouded over with half remembered memories. Severus shifted in his chair and the sound of his rustling robes brought Albus back from his thoughts.

Softly shaking his head, Albus asked "You wish to know whether Lily Potter bequeathed anything to you?" he reiterated.

Dark eyes closed off upon the pronouncement of Lily's surname, his entire face empty as if chiseled from unfeeling stone. Severus nodded curtly as he dared to glance at the headmaster. Their eyes met as Dumbledore regarded Severus over half moon glasses.

"Why do you ask, Severus?" Dumbledore paused but continued. "Why now, after fifteen years have passed?"

"Then there was nothing." Severus concluded as he stood up so quickly that he almost upset the chair. He inclined his head, hiding his face behind a curtain of greasy hair. The move was calculated and Dumbledore recognized it for what it was.

"Severus." The headmaster admonished, his voice kind. A few heartbeats passed before reluctantly Snape sat down and openly glared at the headmaster. It was on his tongue, the question posed, why did Severus believe that Lily Potter would leave him any sort of keepsake. But something stopped Albus. There in the back of his thoughts was that familiar prickle of having forgotten something. He watched Severus in hopes of triggering the memory that he was obviously forgetting.

Severus seemed to change under Dumbledore's scrutiny. Instead of the hard man that Albus had known for years, Albus suddenly saw the boy that he had failed. In his mind's eye, he beheld a young Severus looking at him with sad petulance, an undercurrent of betrayal flashing in his eyes. In that moment Albus' obliviate began to unravel.

Albus gasped as a series of disjointed memories flashed before his eyes. His bony hand rose to his chest as he clutched his robe, the image of Severus had long faded, replaced by another young boy. His vision tunneled and he grasped the edge of the desk before him as he saw the tear stained emerald eyes of the one person Severus Snape had loved. When the memories ended, Albus finally understood exactly what Severus was asking.

"Headmaster..."

"Headmaster..." the deep voice urged as he clutched the older man's shoulder. Albus looked down into the concerned eyes of the crouched form of Severus. Blue clouded eyes focused on Onyx, and could barely hold the gaze.

"Severus." He croaked, the broken memories haunting him as they flashed briefly thru his mind, the full consequences of his actions crashing upon him like the waves of a tempestuous sea.

There was a moment where a brief flicker of confusion passed through Severus' eyes before Dumbledore continued in a hollow voice.

"My boy, I am so sorry."

Severus Snape averted his face, gazing away for a long stretch of time. Albus gazed at his profile the candlelight shining on Severus' eyes and across his face. The black eyes glimmered as they caught the dim light.

Slowly Severus turned towards the headmaster, his face blank, the glimmer and reflection gone from his eyes. The cold dark eyes focused on Albus. Albus Dumbledore looked away.

"Are you well?" the silky voice intoned clinically. Albus nodded, not trusting his voice to betray him. After assuring himself that Albus was alright, Severus left the room. The sound of Potion Master's steps grew softer as he walked away. The hollow sound of the heavy door closing resounded through Dumbledore's office. Standing up, Albus glanced at the bookshelf behind his desk, the same bookshelf which had hidden his deception for many long years.

The memories flashed intermitted through his thoughts as Dumbledore reached behind a stack of dusty books. He held the small brown box reverently as a soft voice of the past echoed thru his memories.

"Please give this to Harry. It's his by right." A soft feminine voice called out. Soft red hair fell into emerald green eyes as the woman looked up at Dumbledore. She removed the chain from her neck looking at the small ring that dangled from it for one last time before relinquishing it forever to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore opened the box slowly as he looked at the ring within it pensively. Blue all seeing eyes closed in a grimace, as he remembered.

~*~*~*

The next morning Harry was surprised to receive a nondescript brown owl bearing a small jewelry box.

~*~*~*

It seemed Albus Dumbledore had one last gambit to play.

Despite all appearances, the wizarding world had its limitations. Notwithstanding all its wonders, the magical world could only create frivolities, dancing teacups and rainbow colored hair. It could not create bravery in the soul of a wizard, could not create nobility in the heart of a witch, nor could it provide love to the life of any child, muggle, wizard or half-blood.

On Privet Drive, there lived such a child. A boy afforded so little that he clung to whatever he was offered. This boy kept a snowy owl to remember the kindness of his first gift, hid a photo album to remember that he was once loved, and clung to a broken mirror in memory of what he had lost.

Sitting on his disheveled bed in a room shut with padlocks, Harry Potter waited. Empty hands clenched and unclenched on his lap, his thoughts disjointed. The frayed bedsheets were drawn back, hiding an animated photograph of Lily Potter from view. She twirled happily in the background, smiling ingeniously as her son watched her, his own expression vacant. He blinked rapidly, turning away from the bitter reminder of what he lacked.

The green eyed boy shook his head attempting to convince himself that the bitter feeling of helplessness and betrayal would pass. He forced himself to believe that one day he would feel untarnished happiness again. Harry sighed, his thin shoulders heaving under the sudden weight of adult troubles.

Nowadays, even Dumbledore's loyalty came with omissions and coated truths. Harry had no idea how much Dumbledore hid, but he had a bitter suspicion that the answer would be unpleasant. He knew the man kept things from him, particularly regarding the prophecy, but he had the feeling that Dumbledore hid more behind those seemingly innocuous eyes than Tom Riddle had so long ago. It had been Dumbledore's vision of what he thought best that had contributed to Harry's current situation.

Sirius was gone, killed by a combination his own stupidity and Dumbledore's impassivity. Aided of course by Snape who had played a dubious role at best, a murderous one at worst. Harry restrained the unbidden anger that Snape invariably brought to his mind. It was the only emotion Harry had felt since his explosive tantrum at Dumbledore's office.

He didn't want to think about the Potions Master, he never did. Snape hated him and the feeling was mutual. Most of the time he thought the world would be better off without Snape in it. He squelched down the strange Hermione-esque voice of guilt that followed that thought. He had no reason to feel guilty. It was not as if Severus Snape had ever done anything for Harry Potter.

Impassively, Harry watched the moonlight as it entered through the window, painting bars of light across his face and the cold floor beneath him. The boy stood up, drawing himself into the imperfect light, taking care to pace softly so as to not wake his aunt and uncle.

The boy flicked a glance over his shoulder and gazed a moment at the discarded image of the red haired woman who had given him life twice within her lifetime.

Mom...

Would his happiness be forever marred by what he had lost? A part of him knew that no matter how many people he surrounded himself with, he would always long for the emerald eyes and the dark messy hair that ghosted over his barely tangible memories, would always miss the contradictory combination of mischievous grey eyes and a sad smile.

He missed his parents and he missed Sirius. Harry would always be grateful to one person that wanted to be a father figure to him even if the years of Azkaban had robbed him of the ability, even if he knew that sometimes when Sirius gazed at him, he favored Harry with a look of nostalgia as if Sirius saw James instead of Harry. Three years ago, Sirius had loved him in his own flawed way, and that was enough for Harry.

It didn't matter if it came with conditions, he was used to it. A roof over his head had long ago been equated with chores, existence at the Dursley's with enduring insults. It was just the way things were, the way things had always been. There was no use crying over it.

Long black eyelashes closed over almond shaped eyes as he lay back in his unmade bed. Thoughts of loss circled around his head, slowly killing what little hope the boy had managed to retain. Before he knew it, his eyes began to droop. His heartbeat slowed as Harry fell asleep,

From her frame, his mother's image glanced at him thoughtfully before smiling and twirling in a silent dance.

If Hogwarts' students had been aware of the temper Professor Snape was currently in, they would have fled the school grounds. Mercifully it was still summer, and they were safely within the confines of their own homes. As it was, Snape was doing an impressive job of sending several of the returning Hogwarts professors scattering in different directions. Animated conversations seized, eyes widened and even Trelawney seemed unwilling to approach the black cloud of fury that swept by. Professor Snape had always been an unpleasant man but it had been awhile since Hogwarts had seen him quite this angry.

His whitened fists clenched at his sides as the Potions Master swept through the halls, his steady steps taking him to towards the castle dungeons. Black eyes narrowed as he gazed steadily ahead, his anger focused at some point beyond tangible means.

Minerva McGonagall came to an abrupt stop, her sensible shoes clacking on the stone floor. Gazing openly, she stared at Severus' retreating angry form, acutely reminded of a time when a young Severus had left the headmaster's office after a particular full moon. Betrayal radiated from the man despite the squared shoulders and cold expression. Minerva gazed at her startled colleagues as they complained about the irritable Potions Masters, not one seemed to have detected Severus' true mood.

She swept her eyes in the direction from whence Severus had come and regarded the distant form of the headmaster's chamber gargoyles thoughtfully.

A soft tapping woke him. Alarmed, Harry sat up in the darkness his glasses still perched uncomfortably on his nose. A glance at the alarm clock indicated that he had only managed to doze off for a few uneasy minutes. He glanced around wildly at the darkened room, before realizing he was at Privet Drive. The tapping continued from his left. Slowly he turned bleary eyes towards his window, only to find a small brown owl fluttering impatiently outside.

He sighed and stood up, opening the window with a quick flick of his wrist. With the speed of a much more agile creature, the owl dropped the package on his bed, circling once before flying out the window, not even bothering to wait for a treat. Harry blinked wearily in confusion. He stared out the open window the owl was no longer in sight. Mechanically he closed the window taking a moment to glance back at Hedwig whom seemed as confused by the owl's behavior as he was.

A small wrapped package had been dropped next to his mother's picture, sitting innocuously on the rumpled bed. Harry stared at the package. From what little he had seen of the owl, it had not belonged to any of his friends or any known correspondent. Harry could only stare his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide behind glasses.

The boy should have waited to open the mysterious box. He should have owled it to someone who could check the anonymously delivered box for hexes, should have alerted the Order, he knew the risks he suffered as the Boy Who Lived. But he didn't.

When Harry Potter received a gift, he cherished it, often without weighing the consequences of accepting it. So instead Harry opened the box with shaking fingers. Carefully he tore the brown paper away to reveal a small white box. Somehow he knew this was important and private. He traced the box with a thumb, holding it tightly within his pale fingers.

With sudden resolve, he opened the box, the golden hinge on the box creaked with age. A small ring slipped out of the box the thin chain slithering after it, clanking softly as they fell on the floor. He gazed at the small ring before stooping to pick it up. It was tiny, too small to fit on any but his smallest fingers. Weighing the ring within his palm, he turned it trying to determine where it had come from. It was a woman's ring, gold and jeweled. It was a peculiar ring with a strange arrangement of stones. Harry squinted at a small scratch on the inside of the ring as he traced it with his blunt fingernail. There was a small inscription barely legible with age engraved on the inside. Twisting the ring so that the moonlight would illuminate it, Harry read the message.

"Imbued With Love"

His eyebrows furrowed at the strangely phrased message engraved in the equally strange ring. He sat down heavily on the bed. Green eyes flicked towards the discarded white box trying to examine it for any sign of the sender's identity.

Inside the box there was a note in a sprawling calligraphy that looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

"You have living family left, Wizarding family - Follow the ring."

The mysterious message was followed by an even stranger postscript. In a smaller print as if the writer had not wanted to write it, the words:

"Forgive me"

If Harry Potter hadn't known better he would have thought the Weasley twins were at work. He glanced around the room, half expecting the package's sender to leap out of the darkened corner.

Tracing the designs on the small ring, Harry felt for the first time in months, the blossoming of something deep within his chest. The feeling prompted him to slip the chain over his head, pulling it close to his heart. He had family.

The smile came unbidden to his lips as he threw himself back onto the bed gazing pensively at the ceiling. He had family, finally. Turning his head, Harry gazed at his mother's picture.

"Who?" his voice rasped into the darkness. Unsurprisingly no one answered, yet he laughed.

Much later, Harry drowsily closed his eyes, an imaginary imprint of warmth on his back like the steady hand of a concerned parent soothing away nightmares. He smiled as he fell asleep, the world between wake and sleep allowing him to imagine things that he had never known. The ring's stone glowed softly as he slumbered.

How do you keep a promise you can't remember?

----

The Wizarding World often put its faith in the wrong places, it had trusted Tom Riddle, it believed that a one year old child could save them and it condemned a curmudgeon spy whom was not really what he seemed.

The dark clad man walked out from under the shadows cast by the towering heights of Hogwarts. His long dark robes brushed against the freshly dewed grass and wildflowers as it struggled to keep up with the man's long strides. Unconcerned with the fact that his robes were getting ruined by the thick moisture, the man walked stiffly forward. The soft cold wind whistled past the man, silencing any sound he was making in his careless trod toward the lake.

He moved steadily forward, his thin dark form slicing though the air with a grace acquired from years of withstanding battles and indignities. His hands clenched at his sides, the long fingers digging treacherously into his palms. Despite the graceful movement, the man held himself taut, his gait stiff and his dark eyes fierce. Long strands of oily dark hair slung on to his face, shielding his expression from possible onlookers. His fists clenched one last time, before his fingers uncurled as he finally reached his destination.

Severus Snape came to an abrupt stop, his heavy boots trampling on the small white flowers at his feet. The dark figure of Severus Snape stood a dark blight on the uniform field of white flowers. The only movement in the otherwise tranquil environment was the deep life sustaining breaths that fluttered across the man's frame.

In the dusk, Hogwarts' lake glimmered dark blue but was otherwise still, the surface disturbed only the soft wind. Tiny ripples danced across the surface reflecting the dark sky above. But the man was not gazing at the picturesque image before him. Instead the man was gazing steadily at the unremarkable white flowers at his feet.

For several hundred heartbeats, he simply stood there, his arms folded and his silky voice muted as if charmed by the mundane field of wildflowers. The fields were flush with unassuming white flowers, blooming uniformly as if tended to by an invisible gardener. There were no patches of weeds, no patches from whence a certain girl used to picked them to braid them into her dark red hair.

It had been twenty years since Lily Evans had run through these fields, twenty years since her pixie like form had practically floated over the flowers, leaving them as flourishing as if she had never touched them.

Nearly two decades ago, he had followed her, running after her into this particular field of flowers, his own boots had trampled the field, killing every single flower in his wake. But he had scarcely noticed then, his mind had been elsewhere.

For Severus Snape it seemed like no time had run at all. During the summer months when Severus' thoughts circled around the years he had spent here with Lily, he found it disturbingly easy to forget who he had become and what had occurred to his companion. Years had passed since those days yet he suspected that the summer would always bring with it the image of a flower or a playground and the beautiful girl that loved them both. In those moments he felt fifteen again, never unblemished but relatively unsoiled by dark deeds. It was as if all the subsequent dark years had never passed, as if he were still standing amongst the ridiculous flowers Lily so loved. Such thoughts made his reality all the more galling.

He closed his eyes. Even now he could almost sense her, her presence emanating with that childlike warmth from when they were children and friends. Dark eyes opened, almost expecting to see the image of the girl he had attempted to protect. But there was nothing. Sweeping his black eyes over the field, he gazed for the first time at the lake, not truly seeing it.

Severus' thoughts jumped towards the Headmaster, the complex caricature that Severus did not presume to know nor understand. It was not in his role as a spy to question every singular incoherency in his master's deranged plots. But he had seen enough of lying wizards and witches, their syrupy words promising paradise while their actions spoke of cruelty, to know when Dumbledore himself lied.

Not to so long ago, he had argued against Dumbledore, he had fought on behalf of one boy, the sole remnant of the woman he had loved. If his hand were forced, Severus knew he would choose the ungrateful boy above all else. His mutinous thoughts still circling in his head, Severus turned and gazed at Hogwarts. Glancing up, Severus was swift enough to catch the retreating form of a bearded figure watching him from the high tower of the headmaster's abode. Dark eyes narrowed.

His face tightened, the eyes that had previously held warmth were vacant and circled by the deep purple of prolonged sleeplessness. Deciding he had idled enough, he turned towards Hogwarts a new determination fueling him.

Raising his booted feet revealed two large patches of flowers dead and broken under his feet. Behind him a trail of flowers lay fallen from whence he had trod upon them. He kneeled irrationally attempting to save them, but the petals only yellowed under his ministrations. Nothing had changed.

Albus Dumbledore ducked, moving his frame out of the window's view and hid from the dark piercing eyes that had gazed up at him. The light streaked into the tower for a moment before the curtains closed shut bathing the room in darkness. Dumbledore stood perfectly still, his eyes dark in the sparse light.

"Why are you doing this, Ms. Evans?" Albus had asked her, his hands folded before him as he gazed at her seated form.

"Potter" she had corrected automatically, shifting in her chair before answering him. "Because I believe in him."

Something in her voice was off. She had gazed at him then, so convinced, fire in her green eyes as if challenging him to argue. He did not disappoint.

"You have no reason to." He had said in rebuttal to her argument. The incredulous expression that lit up her face betrayed the fact that she knew Severus to be the spy. She knew Severus to be the one to warn them of Voldemort's intentions and knew that Dumbledore had hidden this from the Order. She had looked at Dumbledore then, her emerald eyes fixed upon his own, as if daring him to use Legimency to verify her words.

Dumbledore had looked away, ashamed by her distrust and ashamed by his own. Then she had uttered three words that would forever sound like an accusation to Dumbledore.

"You know why."

Feeling incredibly old, Dumbledore paced about his office glancing for a moment at the empty space where he had once kept Miss Evans' last item. Determined he pulled out his chess set and began to carefully arrange the pieces. The well-worn figures were beautifully carved but Dumbledore scarcely looked at them.

His fingers flitted across the board, expertly putting each piece where he deemed it to belong. The chess pieces mumbled under their breath at being manhandled. Dumbledore ignored them, his thoughts elsewhere. Severus would understand him when the time came, as would Harry. After all, it was for the greater good.

Humming under his breath, Dumbledore tapped the black rook over the head as he once again, prepared to play himself.