Severus paced his study, going over his options in his mind. He was of two minds: to pack his belongings and leave immediately—for surely that was what Dumbledore would insist upon at the very least—or to try and defend himself—though even he himself could not find a way to justify what he had done. He picked up his glass of brandy for the hundredth time, only to set it back down again. It had been over two hours since Madam Pomfrey had taken Harry Potter to St. Mungo’s. Surely Dumbledore would be arriving soon to confront Snape. Snape couldn’t afford to be inebriated when his employer—as well as his judge and jury—paid a visit.  He wondered vaguely if Dumbledore’s delay was some sort of well thought out torture to make Severus repent his sins.

When Dumbledore finally arrived over an hour later, Snape knew that the headmaster’s delay had not been contrived. Dumbledore radiated fury. Unleashed magic swirled around the powerful wizard, flaying Snape’s faults bare for all to see. Snape had only seen the headmaster this angry once before, and that was when he’d gone to Dumbledore seeking protection for the only woman he had ever loved—Lily Evans. Just as he had that doomed night, Snape found himself once again fighting the urge to cower before the man.

Instead, he raised his eyes to his employer and submitted to what he knew must be done. Dumbledore met Snape’s gaze and tunneled into the younger man’s mind without so much as a by-your-leave. Snape hadn’t expected as much, nor did he fight the intrusion. He let the headmaster see how he had found the younger Potter snooping in the penseive, viewing the memories he had not wished anyone to see. He stood by as the headmaster observed Snape pull the boy out of his memories and throw him across his office, intending to bade him never to return. As the younger Potter looked up at him from the floor, however, he was the spitting image of James Potter, and in that instant, anger and hatred overcome all else, setting into a motion of chain of events so volatile and violent that even Snape was shocked to witness it. He fought to stay present as Dumbledore rode the waves of Snape’s rage before finally crashing against the jagged edges of the younger wizard’s shocked realization and horror at what he had done. When the headmaster finally pulled out of Snape’s mind, Snape was panting.

“Headmaster…” he breathed.

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore roared.

Dumbledore’s eyes glittered with a cold fury the likes of which Snape had never seen before. Snape bowed his head, awaiting his sentence.

“Do you have any idea how close you came this evening to killing a student? A student you have sworn to protect?”

Snape held his tongue at the rhetorical question.

“There is only one reason why I am not firing you outright and turning you over to the Ministry.”

Snape looked up in surprise.

 “I feel I bear some responsibility in all of this. I should have removed you from your abusive Muggle father when I had the chance. In addition, I should have reigned in James Potter and Sirius Black when you were in school. I believed at the time the old Muggle saying that boys will be boys. I was wrong. It went too far and I did not act in your best interest to stop it. I believed that the scars would heal with time. I can see now that I was wrong about that too.”

Snape had the grace to look ashamed.

“Therefore, I am giving you a choice. You can either pack your belongings and never set foot in this castle again, or you can accept an indefinite suspension from your teaching and head-of-house duties and assume the 24-hour care that Harry Potter will require for the foreseeable future.”

Snape felt stunned. “After what I did, you’d trust me with him?” Severus choked out.

“If he dies, you’ll go to Azkaban either way.”

Snape swallowed. “How likely…”

Dumbledore scoffed. “You have no right to even ask that question, but let me tell you this. The damage you caused to the boy is likely permanent. There’s no telling what he’ll be like when, or even if, he wakes up. Your care of the boy could well be a life sentence,” Dumbledore added cruelly.

Snape knew without a doubt that Dumbledore believed he deserved it.

“Assuming he does wake,” Dumbledore continued, “he may be less than happy to see you. Let me remind you, as I have all along, that none of the other teachers have ever had a problem with Harry. Therefore, any disrespect that he directs towards you is entirely earned and deserved on your part. One reaps what one sows. You decided that the boy was the image of his father from the moment you laid eyes upon him. I can only hope that your abominable display this evening has taught you the error of your ways.”

Snape swallowed uneasily.

“To ensure that I do not make the same mistake again, you will agree to see a mind healer on a weekly basis, if not more, to work through  the trials of your past.”

Snape opened his mouth to protest that that wasn’t necessary, but Dumbledore raised a hand to quiet him.

“This is not an option, Severus, it is a requirement. Furthermore, you will grant unrestricted and unannounced access to your quarters to myself, Minerva, and Poppy, as we will be checking in on Harry, and your treatment of him, if you agree to remain in this castle under my protection and take on his care.”

Severus grimaced at the thought. He valued his privacy. He wondered what sort of hoops Dumbledore would have to jump through to get McGonagall to agree to all of this.

“Lastly, in an effort to ensure that you remember that Harry Potter is not his father, you will call him ‘Harry’ at all times. Not ‘Potter’ or any other name, derogative or otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”

Severus nodded.

“You have 48 hours to make your decision,” Dumbledore said. He turned his ancient gaze on Severus, studying the younger man that he had taken under his wing like a son. “I am immensely disappointed in you.”

Snape bowed his head once more. Hearing those words from his mentor hurt more than he’d ever admit. He waited until the headmaster had taken his leave before sinking down into his chair, his head in his hands, and lamenting his failings.

Through the black curtain of his hair, he could see the shadowy imprint of Lily. She was always there, just out of reach. More often than not, when it came to his dealings with Harry, she stood with her arms crossed, one foot tapping, lips pursed. She never spoke, but her body language conveyed her annoyance with him well enough. Now, as his eyes glistened with unshed tears, he could see her standing there, arms wrapped around herself, sobbing. The sight of her grief was like a knife in his heart, sharp and unforgiving. Was there anyone at all that he had not failed? Bowing his head, he let the tears of remorse fall.