Their latest visit to the Prince Manor had revealed a lot about Harry's life with the Dursleys that Severus had only guessed at - the anguish, and pain that the boy had felt - how it had mirrored Severus' own childhood pain. Though he didn't want to admit it, and would rather forego this entirely, Severus felt that this latest outpouring of Harry's abuse at the hands of the Dursleys necessitated another talk with the Headmaster.

Severus wasn't sure that confronting Dumbledore with the thought that had been niggling at him ever since he'd heard Harry reluctantly pouring out his tale of abuse to Weasley, was the right thing to do, but, here he was, sitting across from his mentor, and Dumbledore was watching him, a small smile playing about his lips. He'd asked the Headmaster if he knew that Harry was being abused, and, Dumbledore had told him that he hadn't, but the thought that Dumbledore wasn't being perfectly honest with him wouldn't leave him, and Severus had never been good at letting things go.

Now that he was Harry's guardian, it was something that Severus couldn't afford to let go. So, when the Headmaster repeated what he'd said, before Severus had taken the boy to see his grandfather, before the adoption, Severus couldn't help but feel a little angry.

"You expect me to believe that, all this time, you didn't know that Harry was being mistreated by his relatives." Severus leaned forward in his seat, steepling his fingers and holding Dumbledore's eyes with a steely-eyed look, much as the elder wizard had done to him on too many occasions for him to count.

Dumbledore looked away first and Severus leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. Though it was a victory, it was a hollow one at best. If anything, it left Severus feeling older, and more tired than he had been just a few minutes ago, when he'd decided to confront his mentor.

"In truth," Dumbledore said, after a pause. He cleared his throat and then nodded.

"In truth, Severus, I knew that Harry was not happy with the Dursleys. I chose to believe that he was a child given to exaggeration, much like James and Lily were. I guess you could say that I ... turned a blind eye, and a deaf ear to Harry's situation. I didn't want to admit that Minerva had been right, that they were the worst sort of Muggles, and that Lily and James' little boy shouldn't have been left with them in the first place."

Severus bit his tongue, though it was hard for him to do, especially when Dumbledore shook his head and chuckled in a self-deprecating manner. When the wizard looked at Severus, the typical twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes was greatly diminished, not quite, but almost, snuffed out.

"Instead of investigating when I heard rumors of Harry's less than ideal upbringing, I chose to save face," Dumbledore said, in a flat voice. "I didn't want to be proven wrong." The last part of Dumbledore's confession was whispered.

"So, all of this time, you've been claiming not to have known what was happening to Harry, to, in essence," Severus can't keep the acrimony from dripping, like acid, from his voice, "cover your ass."

Dumbledore blinked, and frowned. Severus saw that his words had gotten beneath Dumbledore's normally unflappable exterior, unsettling him and he can't help but count that as a minor victory. He knew that he was being childish, and Severus didn't care.

Severus picked at an invisible piece of lint on his robes and waited out the less than comfortable silence, listening to the chair creak as Dumbledore shifted around in it, trying to get comfortable in the, 'hot seat,' a Muggle term that Severus had heard somewhere, a long time ago.

That he's rendered the Headmaster speechless is not exactly the crowning achievement to his day, but it does go far toward easing some of Severus' own discomfort and guilt at having been blinded by his hatred for Harry's father. He, more than most, should have seen the signs, but he hadn't.

"Severus," Lily called to him, but he kept walking, not wanting to see his best friend right now. He couldn't bear to have her look at him, not now, not with the guilt of what he hadn't done, and what he hadn't said, written across his face.

"Severus, wait up," Lily sounded angry, and that was something that Severus could handle. It's what he deserved after what he'd done.

He let her catch up to him, just stopped walking, didn't bother to turn around to face her, knowing that, soon enough, he'd be facing her, seeing his guilt through the clarity of her eyes, the color of clear, green jade. He stood still, not even flinching when her hand landed on his shoulder. He kept his eyes locked on the ground, not yet wanting to have his guilt broadcast back to him, mirrored in Lily's eyes.

"Severus, look at me," Lily said. Her voice was soft, no longer angry, not accusatory. Just soft, and kind, and worried.

He raised his eyes, fearful of losing her whether he met her gaze or not. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, when she pulled him into a hug, and simply held him.

"It wasn't your fault," she said, running her fingers through his hair, unmindful of the unkempt, greasy state of it. "What happened wasn't your fault. You didn't know."

He swallowed, blinked back tears of anger and hate and pain. "I should have," he whispered, feeling guilty for enjoying the way her fingers felt as they combed at his hair, soothing, when he should, instead, feel nothing but pain and sorrow and guilt.

"There's no way you could have known," Lily insisted.

"But..."

Hot tears pricked at the back of his eyes. He didn't want to cry. It wasn't his place, not when he was partly at fault for his friend's death, not when he hadn't lifted a hand to stop Barren from doing what he'd done, not when he hadn't taken his friend seriously when he'd said that he couldn't take it anymore, that, he was going to end it all.

Severus hadn't known. He hadn't, but he should have.

"Hush, now," Lily said, pressing her lips to his forehead. "Hush, Severus. I've got you. It's not your fault."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, jarring Severus from the memory of a moment he'd truly forgotten until just then. It had been well over a decade since he'd thought of Barren, and his friend's suicide, and the guilt of it, Lily's comfort and words aside, still burned in his gut.

"I suppose so," Dumbledore said in a small, thin voice, and it took Severus a moment to remember what it was they had been talking about, that he'd accused the Headmaster of doing something, or rather, in this case, doing nothing, to 'cover his ass,' - another lovely Muggle term that fit many a situation, Muggle or Wizard created.

"That is," Dumbledore took a deep breath and let it out as though he was releasing something more than just air, "one way of putting it. I was wrong. I should have listened to Arabella Figg when she first came to me with her concerns that young Harry was being mistreated by his relatives, and I should never have dismissed Harry's misgivings about returning to his relatives during the summer months."

Hearing Dumbledore admit that he was wrong doesn't make Severus happy. It has quite the opposite effect, actually. It leaves him feeling a little cold and out-of-place, like a small child who's gotten his fingers smashed in a windowsill.

It hurt, because Severus realized that, if Dumbledore suspected that Harry was being abused, and did nothing to intervene, how many more wizarding children had Dumbledore similarly turned a blind eye to? - himself included.

Had Dumbledore known that Severus, and Black and so many other children were being abused and simply pretended not to notice so that he wouldn't stir up trouble, or because he wanted to procure a position of authority, unsullied by unearthing dark deeds that people kept behind closed doors? It was incomprehensible, and Severus didn't like where his thoughts were taking him.

"I didn't know," Dumbledore said, almost as though he was speaking to himself. "I didn't want to know. I didn't want to admit that I'd made a mistake, and that I'd caused Harry so much pain as a result of it. It was nothing more than stubborn pride, and..."

"And you'd have let it go on if I hadn't happened upon Potter reluctantly confiding in Weasley," Severus finished tiredly, suddenly weary of it all.

Dumbledore nodded. "I thought it was for the best that he grow up outside of wizarding circles, that he not be spoiled or brought up a celebrity. I was worried that it would go to his head."

Uncannily, these were all of the things that Severus had thought true of Potter before their most recent visit to Prince's where the boy had come to his defense.

"I suppose, in that one regard, your placement of Potter superseded expectations." Severus didn't regret the barb until it was well out of his mouth and the shock of it registered on the Headmaster's face.

"Had I known the extent of their abuse toward Harry, I would have had him removed from their care," Dumbledore's voice was a soft rumble.

Severus knew it to be true, but it didn't excuse the Headmaster from ignoring the signs, and not listening to the boy, or Arabella when they'd both expressed their concerns.

Severus fisted his hands in his lap, hoping that the gesture would help him keep his anger in check as he suddenly realized the full extent of Dumbledore's duplicity. "So, when my grandfather started this latest correspondence..."

Dumbledore noded, and cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I pushed you to reconcile, hoping to right, at least two, of my many wrongs."

"At least two?" Severus could feel his eyebrow twitching.

He had no idea why Dumbledore felt responsible for his own unhappy childhood, because the wizard hadn't taken a special interest in Severus when he was a student at Hogwarts, not like he'd taken an interest in Harry's life from when the boy was an infant.

"I knew that your home life was not ideal, Severus." Dumbledore's eyes clouded over, and he placed a gnarled hand on the desk, resting it between them.

"I knew it, but I didn't do anything to help you. It wasn't what we did back then. Understand," Dumbledore pierced Severus with a stern look, and lifted a finger to forestall an argument that Severus didn't have in him."I'm not making excuses. And, if I had it to do over again, Severus, I would not follow the protocols of our times. I would have listened. I would have helped. I would have intervened."

Severus shook his head. "And yet, here we are, three decades later." Severus raised his hands. "Nothing's changed. You're still turning a blind eye, and a deaf ear to child abuse, and the times and protocols have changed. It's not just Potter. It wasn't just me. There are others. This can't continue."

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and nodded. "You're right, Severus."

"I know I'm right," Severus said, leaning forward, peering into his mentor's eyes. "I know I'm right, but will that change anything?"

"Have I ever been anything other than a man of my word?" Dumbledore's voice was sad, hurt, but Severus refused to give into the desire he had to placate the man as he would have in the past.

It wasn't what was needed right now, because there were other students who needed to be rescued, like Harry, like Barren, like Black, like him. There were other children being abused, and Dumbledore didn't need, nor deserve Severus' sympathy. What Dumbledore needed was to open his eyes, and meddle where meddling needed doing, as opposed where it didn't.

"No, Headmaster, you haven't," Severus said after a long pause, knowing that using his mentor's title would shake the wizard sitting before him, more than anything else, in tone or word, would.

"I suppose that, after what I've done, I deserve that," Dumbledore said.

Severus wanted to say, that, no, it wasn't what Dumbledore had done that had caused him to lose some of the respect, not all of it, that he'd had for the elder wizard, but rather what Dumbledore hadn't done. Instead, he stood, and, saying nothing, he left, letting what was unsaid hang heavy in the air between them, knowing that Dumbledore would think about what was and was not said for a long time to come, and that they would talk again, and again, until this was resolved to the Headmaster's satisfaction, and until Severus felt that he could once more trust his mentor.