--------- HP ---------

Harry was exhausted. Nothing was going well. The bed was too springy, the noises all over the Burrow were too loud, the food was tasteless. He felt so tired, his mind and his body felt heavy. His thoughts were disjointed and most of the time they didn’t even make any sense. Harry sighed and rolled around in his bed for the thousandth time. The springs squeaked under him and, for an instant, Harry thought he could hear footsteps outside his bedroom door. Harry bit his lip and waited, hoping that whoever it was would just go away. He didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone right now, not Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with their concerned voices, not even Ron and Hermione with their helpful suggestions of how Snape had poisoned him. He just wanted to be left alone.

Thankfully, the footsteps retreated down the stairs, each wooden board creaking with every step. Harry sighed heavily and rolled around to his left. The smell of a barbecue was wafting in through the window. Harry’s stomach grumbled like rocks rolling down a mountain. When did he eat last? He couldn’t remember. Certainly, Mrs. Weasley had tried to coax him into eating plates and plates filled with God knows what but Harry had barely taken more than a few bites. The food felt like gum in his mouth and when he swallowed, it stuck painfully to his throat. It was all Harry could do to gulp down the potions that were shoved into his mouth every morning. The potions were supposed to make him feel better, giving him back the energy that was taken away but he still felt awful. Nothing helped. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t rest.

Why had Snape abandoned him? He’d promised. He said he was going to come back that very day but he didn’t come back. Harry had waited all day and all night, waiting for him to show up. There was an ancient cuckoo clock in the living room. Every hour a wooden bird would jump out of the clock and start chirping shrilly and loudly so that everybody in the house would hear it. Harry had sat in his bed and listened to that stupid bird, hour after hour, waiting for Snape. The others had all gone to bed but Harry had lain awake, refusing to give up hope. The clock stuck ten, eleven and finally, the stroke of midnight had struck, officially ending the day but still, Harry had refused to fall asleep. Snape had promised. He would come. But he didn’t come. Not that day and not even the day after.

Now, three days have passed but the man still didn’t come. Why? Harry thought he cared. Snape had been so nice, teasing him, taking care of him, striking deals with him. Why had he suddenly disappeared? Didn’t he know that Harry needed him? Harry sighed again. He was going mad locked up in this room, waiting, always waiting for Snape to show up. Because no matter how much time passed, Harry still continued to hope. He groaned, grabbed his stupid pillow and threw it at the wall as hard as he could. Crack. Something fell and shattered into a thousand fragments. Harry was an idiot. A complete and utter fool. Snape was not coming back. Dumbledore had shipped him off to the Weasleys and Snape was no longer stuck with him. Why would he come back? He had gotten rid of Harry, his most annoying student. Wasn’t that what he always wanted? Why the hell would he come back? He was probably back in his lab locked up with his creepy jars filled with floating eyeballs and body parts. Snape must be busy stirring his cauldrons and chopping his ingredients. Did he even remember Harry? Did he remember the promise he made? Probably not.

It wasn’t fair! None of this was fair! All Harry had wanted when this summer started was to live in the Burrow but now that he was finally here, he couldn’t stop thinking about Snape. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. The stupid bat abandoned him. He was an idiot and Harry shouldn’t even be thinking about him. He had the Weasleys and he had his friends. Wasn’t that enough? He should be happy. Well, not completely happy since he was still blind, but at least he should be comfortable, not lying awake in his bed, straining to hear every voice, hoping it would be Snape. This was getting ridiculous! Harry didn’t care about Snape! He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He really didn’t care. The stupid git can go stuff himself for all Harry cared! He flexed his fingers, wishing he had something else to throw. Something big and heavy that would leave a big hole in that stupid wall.

There was a knock at the door, a soft hesitant knock, a gentle rapping on the wood. Harry quickly buried himself under the blankets and pretended to be asleep. Go away. Just go away. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now.

“Harry, dear?” It was Mrs. Weasley. Her voice was soft and quiet. She seemed almost afraid to talk to him. Harry gulped, feeling slightly guilty. He hadn’t been the best patient these last three days. He had refused to eat, he had greeted their friendly words and warm hugs with a stony silence, and he had snapped at them angrily when they insisted too much. He was acting like a real idiot. The Weasleys and Hermione were the only friends he had. He had already lost Snape and at the rate he was going, he would lose them too. He was a big fat idiot. Why can’t he just forget about the stupid dungeon bat and be grateful for the Weasleys? They were willing to take care of him and take him in when he was weak and vulnerable, not like Snape who had lied to him and left him all alone. The damn, stupid, heartless, bloody…

“Harry, sweetie, it’s lunch time.” Harry shut his eyes tight, not that it made any difference but old habits die hard. “We’re having a barbecue. There are grilled potatoes, roasted chicken, sausages and we even have a big cake to cut afterwards.” Harry grit his teeth tight and pretended not to hear. The last meal he had with Snape tasted awful. It didn’t matter whether it was the muggle world or the wizard world, hospital food was just disgusting. Still, Harry would give anything to be there right now with Snape feeding him. His deep baritone voice would tease him and call him a silly twit but Harry wouldn’t mind. In fact he liked it. He would exchange a thousand of the Weasleys’ sweeties and dearies to be called a silly stubborn Gryffindor again. Harry groaned and buried his head in his pillow. What is wrong with him? Why did he keep wanting a man who didn’t care one fig about him?

“Will you come down, Harry, or would you like me to bring some food up here?” Harry sighed. She just wasn’t going away. Poor Mrs. Weasley. It wasn’t her fault he missed Snape. She was doing her best and Harry should at least try to be nicer.

“I’m not hungry, Mrs. Weasley.” Don’t come in. Just leave me alone. Don’t come in. The door creaked slowly open. Harry groaned and dug his fingers into his blanket. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? There was a rustling sound of fabric and the tap tap of wooden shoes on the floor. The bed sank as Mrs. Weasley gingerly sat on the edge of it. She smelled of spices and apples and the hand that ran through his hair was heavy and warm. Harry couldn’t help remembering how Snape had done just that when he was sitting in the children’s ward. His touch was different. It was cold and more hesitant, only a brief tap on the head and yet it felt the world to Harry. He gulped as he felt his eyes tear up. He wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of Mrs. Weasley, not because of a man who had abandoned him. He was being a silly pathetic weakling.

“Oh, Harry!” A single tear had slipped from under his wet eyelashes. A warm hand brushed it away gently. “You poor dear! This must be awful for you. Don’t worry, precious, Professor Dumbledore will figure something out. He will fix you in no time.” But that’s not what I want. I want my professor back. He sighed and buried his head deeper into his pillow. He couldn’t breathe but that was okay. It was better than embarrassing himself like some pathetic baby.

“Oh sweetie! Don’t cry! It will all be over in no time, you’ll see. It’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.” Mrs. Weasley pulled him into a hug. She patted his back and rocked him back and forth as if he really was a baby. Harry’s cheeks burned. He hoped that nobody else would walk in and see him like this. It was embarrassing! He hugged her back anyway and held on tight. He was just so tired. He wished he had never met the bloody stupid dungeon bat. This was all Snape’s fault! Why did he have to make Harry care?

“Has…” Harry took a deep breathe. He hated how hopeful he was, even after all this time, he still waited. “Has anyone come by to see me? Maybe with some information about who cursed me.”

“No, Harry.” His heart sank and he sighed heavily. What had he been expecting? That Snape had come by when he was sleeping and left some sort of message? When will he grow up! Adults can never be counted on. They always had soothing words but in the end, they all left. Nobody cared. Harry will always be alone.

“But that doesn’t really mean anything! Professor Dumbledore has been very busy these past few days. He didn’t have time to drop by and fill us in but that doesn’t mean he didn’t find anything! Maybe he already has the countercurse.”

“Maybe.” Harry agreed half-heartedly. Snape had promised him that he would come and tell Harry if he found out anything important but then again, the man had broken one promise. What’s to say, he won’t break another?

“Anyway, we’ll know for sure this afternoon. Everybody will be here, including Dumbledore. So, whatever he knows, in a few hours, he’ll tell us.”

“What’s happening this afternoon?” Harry asked. He finally managed to disentangled himself from Mrs. Weasley’s embrace and hide back under the blankets.

“We have an order meeting. Of course, you children can’t listen in but we’ll tell you anything that comes up about this curse. Even…”

“Is everyone from the order coming this afternoon?” Harry sat up on the bed, a thought suddenly striking him. The blankets rolled off him and flopped unceremoniously onto the floor. “Is Sn… Who is coming?”

“Well, there is Professor Dumbledore, of course. Then there are Alastor, Remus, Kingsley, Tonks. All people you haven’t met, I’m afraid, but they’re wonderful. They’ll all be delighted to meet you.”

“Are any of my professor coming to the meeting? The ones
that are in the order?”

“Let’s see. Which of your professors are in the order?” Mrs. Weasley thought for a few seconds tapping her fingers on a nearby desk. Snape! Snape! He’s in the order! He’s the ex-death eater, the spy, the man nobody can really figure out. How can you possibly forget him? Harry bit his lip and waited.

“Oh yes! Professor McGonagall is coming, along with Professor Flitwick and dear Hagrid will also drop by for a few minutes!” Harry sighed again and flopped back onto the bed. Snape isn’t coming. It was all pointless. He would never see the man again and he should be happy about it. No more wondering if he was evil or not. No more walking on eggshells around the man, afraid he will get angry and snap at him. Everything was back to normal. Just bloody brilliant!

“Oh, and there’s Professor Snape, of course.” Mrs Weasley added casually. Harry drew in a deep breathe. He was coming. Snape was finally coming. Will he come to see how Harry is doing or will he simply attend the meeting and walk away? No! He couldn’t do that to Harry. Harry had waited a long time to see that bloody git and he will talk to the man whether he wanted to or not. He’ll confront Snape and ask him where the hell he has been for so long. Why didn’t he keep his promise? Why didn’t he at least come and check on Harry? Oh, Snape had some explaining to do alright. This evening, he’ll come and Harry will be waiting for him.

--------- AD ---------

In the dim glow of a single candle, an old man sat on a wooden chair. It was croaking ominously, as if it would fall apart at any second. Black mold covered the chair, leaving black splotches on its rotting wooden beams. Cobwebs clung to it jealously and little spiders scuttled back and forth on the silver threads. Some even scuttled over the wizard’s shoulders and creeped into his long white beard but he didn’t notice. He was sitting still and quiet except for the occasional sigh that escaped from his parted lips. The candle cast an eerie yellow glow on the right side of his face, leaving the left side in complete shadow.

“My boys.” He whispered hoarsely. He looked so tired, his skin crumpled like a piece of parchment ready to be thrown aside. His shoulders were hunched and his whole body sagged with the weight of the hundred and fifty years he had lived in this world. If anyone saw this man tonight, they would never recognize him. They would never believe that this wizened old man was none other than the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore. He didn’t look powerful tonight. He didn’t look tall and imposing. He was only another old man who looked inches away from his grave.

Today, July 1st, was not a good day. In fact, it was the worst day of the year. It was the anniversary of his sons’ deaths and he had spent the day as he always did, locked up in this room, the events of that day playing themselves over and over in his mind. It was like a nightmare but worse, much worse. It had happened. Merlin, even now, after ninety years, everything still seemed so unreal.

There was a quick scurrying of tiny feet in the dark. The rats were coming out to watch the great man’s grief, their eyes glowing red in the dark. Albus sighed heavily. His claw like fingers clutched a single photograph gone brittle and yellow with age. The faces in the photo were blurred, their strong sharp features had faded, leaving nothing but a vague outline behind. There were three people in the photograph, one middle aged man and two teenage boys. The man smiled happily at the camera, one hand resting fondly over each of their shoulders. It was hard to believe that this man with broad muscular shoulders and a thick mane of brown hair was the Albus Dumbledore of a hundred and ten years ago but it was true. This was a younger and much more happier Albus with both his sons standing tall and proud beside him.

Denis, the one on his right, was smiling happily at the camera. One hand was closed around a golden snitch and he waved it proudly into the air, his chest puffed up with pride. In the other hand he clutched a broomstick. It was large and clumsy compared to the modern day models but back then, it was the height of fashion. Ah, his poor boy had been so fond of Quidditch. He had been captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team for three years running and each time they had won the Quidditch cup. He was a great captain and a great friend and best of all, he had been the perfect son.

On Albus’s right, stood his younger son, Tyrus. He was the exact opposite of his beaming brother. A fierce scowl distorted his features and his arms were crossed defiantly across his chest. A green snake was curled around his shoulders and it flicked its red tongue at the camera. He was a Slytherin loner, the boy that nobody liked, not his teachers, not his classmates, not even the family owl. Only Albus had loved him. Only his father had overlooked all his sharp words, gloomy silences and fierce moods. Oh, Tyrus, you were everything to me! You were the one I constantly worried over, you were the one I kept by my side. Even now, ninety years after your death, you are the one who haunts my nightmares. It is your face I keep seeing in the back of my mind, a constant reminder of my failure.

And yet, despite all the time Albus spent with his little boy, despite how fiercely Albus loved him, he had not known Tyrus at all. He had not known what a dark heart was concealed under that familiar body. Everybody had warned Albus. They had told him again and again. Tyrus is evil. He hurts the other children, he practices dark magic, he cuts up animals and uses them for blood rituals. Do something! They yelled. Send him to see a mind healer or send him to reformation camp. Just do something before it’s too late! But Albus had done nothing. He had chosen to be blind to the truth and do nothing. He’s just a boy, he will grow out of it, Albus had responded. He’s just having a bit of harmless fun. I’m sure you didn’t see blood, only some red paint. The other children are liars, his son would never hurt anyone. Excuses. They were all nothing but excuses. The truth had been too painful for Albus to face. Tyrus was evil.

But in the end, on that grim day, on July the 1st, Albus had been forced to accept the truth. The rose tinted glasses had been shattered, forcing him to accept reality. As Albus stared at the photograph, his mind wondered back to that day of ninety years ago, the day he will never forget…

There was a storm raging outside. It was ten o’clock in the morning but outside was pitch black. He could hear the violent clashing of thunder and the steady rhythm of the rain beating against the windowpanes. Albus was not supposed to be home. He was supposed to be away in Madrid, celebrating his latest triumph at work with all his auror friends. He had no business being inside the house on this day, at this hour. If he had stayed away, he might not have seen… But he hadn’t stayed away. He had come home early, anxious to patch things up with Denis. They had had a terrible fight. It was about Tyrus. Denis had accused his younger brother of such awful things, things that couldn’t possibly be true. Why would he say such things? Albus had gotten mad, he had yelled at the boy, telling him that he was being ridiculous. Tyrus would never do such things. Why did Denis always have to complain about his little brother? Can’t he understand that Tyrus was just misunderstood? There was nothing wrong with him, he was a perfectly good boy. A little odd, of course, but there was nothing wrong with that. Tyrus was special, unique. Why couldn’t Denis understand that? Why does he always have to complain. It was childish and petty. It was maddening.

Albus took a deep breath as he climbed up the stairs towards Denis’s bedroom. This will not do. He had to remain calm. He wasn’t here to have another argument, he was here to patch things up. He didn’t want his Denis to be angry with him. Maybe he could get the two brothers into a room together, he could make them sit down and talk things over. They were brothers. They shouldn’t argue. They shouldn’t hate each other. Yes, that was a good idea. Albus allowed himself to feel hopeful as he climbed up to the second floor where his sons’ bedrooms stood, side by side. He had been going to knock on Denis’s door. That was his plan. To talk to his elder son, calm him down and explain the situation thoroughly. So why was it that he turned to Tyrus’s door instead? He didn’t really know. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was a sixth sense that warned him that something was not quite right.

A huge boom come from outside. The entire house seemed to shake to its foundations. The roof above his head groaned like an angry beast woken from its slumber. It sounded as if something had fallen onto the roof. The big pine tree towering over the house, perhaps. Or maybe lightening had struck the north tower. Albus should’ve been interested. He should have looked up, worried that the roof was going to crumble but he didn’t do any such thing. He barely noticed the thuds and the booms coming from outside. He didn’t notice anything but the door he was about to open. Nothing was wrong. Everything is just as it should be. Then, why did he feel the hair at the back of his neck rising? Why did he feel goosebumps rising up and down his arms?

With a single shove, Albus pushed the door open. And there they were, his sons. At first, Albus didn’t understand what he was seeing. He didn’t believe this was real, he didn’t want to believe this was real. He just stood there, frozen on the threshold.

Denis was lying on the ground, his arms and legs spread apart. Albus could almost believe he was sleeping if not for the eyes, piercingly bright blue eyes were staring at Albus, wide-open, unseeing. Then, he saw the blood, so much blood. It had gathered around the ground in a glistening pool. It had soaked into his white shirt, turning it an eerie pink. And above his mangled body stood the tall imposing figure of Tyrus Dumbledore. A long thin knife was clutched firmly in his left fist. Blood flowed over the polished silver blade. It gathered at the tip for a fraction of a second. And then, it dropped onto the red pool, causing ripples to form on its smooth glistening surface. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Tyrus started to laugh. It was a low dark chuckle, a feral sound coming deep from his throat. It was so familiar. Albus had heard it a thousand times before. The wind rushed in from an open window. Tyrus’s black robes bellowed dramatically behind him. It was a nightmare. It was nothing but a nightmare. This cannot be real. Albus still stood frozen, not doing anything, not saying anything, just standing. And the blood continued to drip from the knife, from the black robes, from the long black hair. Drip. Drip. Drip….

Albus blinked, letting the memory go. That was enough. He didn’t want to remember any more. All day long he had sat in this chair, in the very room where the murder had taken place, and replayed that awful day over and over again inside his mind. It had become a tradition with him. For ninety years he has done this and he will always continue to do this.

Albus looked down at the photograph in his hands. The one where they were both alive and well. Albus stared at Tyrus’s face. His youngest son sneered back at him disdainfully. What was he thinking at this moment? Had he already turned dark when this picture was taken? Was there already murder in his heart? When did it begin? When did the evil start to consume him? Had it grown gradually inside him or had it been there all along, from the moment he was born. Had it been buried inside his heart, waiting to come out at the right moment? Albus knew the answer. He had known all along, even though he had tried his best to ignore the truth. Tyrus had always been evil. He had always loved the dark. He had always enjoyed the pain and the misery of others. He was fascinated with dark magic and obscure potions. Evil was in his very nature. It was an undeniable part of him.

And yet… what if Albus had done things differently? What if he hadn’t closed his eyes to his evil nature? What if instead of ignoring the truth, Albus had tried to battle the evil inside Tyrus? He could’ve been tougher on Tyrus, he could have used any means necessary to stop the evil from growing out of control. He could’ve used fear and intimidation. He could have terrified Tyrus into modifying his behavior. It sounds awful when he thought about it but it could’ve helped, it could’ve changed what happened on that July the 1st. Now, both his sons were dead. The aurors had come. There was a fierce battle and Tyrus had died that same day, bringing two other aurors down with him. His soul was lost. It was over for him. And Albus couldn’t help thinking that it was all his fault. He should have seen the truth, he should’ve been tougher. He should have done anything to save Tyrus’s soul.

The candle on the table flickered. The snake on Tryus’s shoulder seemed to come alive, its glowing green scales slithering on white skin. Merlin, it looked awful. That creepy animal clutching his son, almost strangling him. Why had Tyrus loved snakes so much? It was an outward sign of the evil growing inside his soul. Albus knew that now, but back then, he had been oblivious. Tyrus had been a parcelmouth. He had kept a collection of snakes inside his room. At all hours of the day, snakes of different shapes and sizes used to crawl around the house, their red tongues flicking, their voices hissing. And Tyrus used to hiss along with them. As he grew older, he used English less and less. Instead, he kept hissing all day long in that awful language. Merlin, how had Albus not noticed that his son was evil? It had been so obvious. Love had made him blind.

An angry thumping of boots came from above his head. Albus looked up suddenly, woken from his reverie. Someone was pacing up and down in a room on the third floor. It must be Severus. He was the only living creature inside this house, apart from Lemon and the house elves. Severus was talking. His voice was low and venomous. It sounded almost like the hiss of an angry snake. He must be harassing the house elves again, asking them to let him out. He’s been locked up here for three days and he was getting impatient. Albus shook his head. He won’t let Severus out. Not until he gives Albus the information he needs. Albus has been weak once before in his life and it cost him the soul of his youngest son. He will not make the same mistake twice. No, he will not be lenient with Severus. He will not close his eyes to the boy’s evil nature and ignore the truth because of love. He will be hard and exacting and he will crush the evil inside Severus one way or another. This boy was his second chance and Albus will not fail him. He will save Severus’s soul no matter what.

Albus straightened himself up. A startled insect fell from his beard and rolled under the table. The wizened old man was fading and Albus Dumblebore, the most powerful wizard of all time was returning. He reached into his robes and pulled out his golden pocket watch. He clicked on the top button and with a sharp snap the lid opened, revealing a clock face covered with tiny moons and stars. They glowed in the semi darkness, dancing back and forth between the stylish numbers. The hour hand and the minute hand had blended together and they pointed at the number 12. Midnight has passed. July the 1st was over. It is time to say goodbye to this room and all the gloom and misery it represents. Albus had much to do. So many people depended on him, especially Severus. His boy, his second chance. Albus needs to take care of him, he needs to watch him constantly, making sure that the evil inside him was under control. He couldn’t afford to let the bad memories cloud his judgement, not when Severus’s very soul depended on him. No, it is time to go back to his normal life, to leave behind this dark day. Early tomorrow morning, he will go and speak to Severus. He will not ignore what the boy has done.

Albus stood up and walked towards the door. The walls seemed to close in around him. There were hundreds of creepy pictures covering the walls, pictures of people being tortured and killed. They were Tyrus’s idea of decorations. Albus forced himself not to look at them as he passed. The day was over. The past must return back to the shadows, leaving the present unburdened. Still, Albus could feel hundreds of painted eyes watching him as he opened the door. He could picture their faces stretched into an expression of shock and fear. Albus crossed the threshold and was about to close the door, to bolt it shut for another year but he couldn’t resist it. He looked back into the room once. His eyes found the large stain in the center of the room, the place where the blood had soaked into the wooden boards. Then, with a firm flick of his wand, Albus closed the door and sealed it shut.

--------- AD ---------

Severus was in the library, of course. When he wasn’t brewing potions he was busy leafing through books. Albus smiled fondly as he watched Severus, his nose completely buried in a large leather-bound volume.

The library was enormous. The walls couldn’t be seen and the ceiling disappeared above their heads. There were only books, thousands and thousands of books arranged into shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. Usually the library was the quietest room in the house. A silence reigned, a silence so intense that every shuffle, every deep breath could be heard all around the room. The cackle of the fireplace was the only sound such a room was permitted to have but the library at Healer’s Touch was different, it was alive. There was movement everywhere. Books rearranged themselves, jumping from one section to the next with heavy thumps. The long rows and rows of shelves were filled with movement. No book every stayed still for too long. They switched places, whizzed into the air to levitate all around the room, they piled themselves up onto a nearby table.

But the oddest part of the library were the animals. Thousands of origami animals made from book pages whizzed around the room making a chaos of noise. Dragons, hippogriffs, owls and other magical creatures flew above their heads, their paper wings bearing them higher and higher until they disappeared from sight. Lions ran through the hallways, their paper manes flying in the wind and their mouth open in a mighty roar. Some were so small, it was easy to crush them while others were so big that they could knock you over with a single bound.

A fist sized paper owl was watching Albus, its head cocked to the side, its big eyes curious. Albus chuckled and walked over to give the owl a pat on the head. The paper crunched as Albus patted it. The animals were entirely Albus’s idea of course. They were a fantastic addition to the old room, something to give it a new spark of life. Of course, Severus didn’t share this open minded view. He said that a library without silence was no library at all. And look at him now, sneering at a monkey that was trying to hop onto his shoulders. Severus was hissing something at the poor creature, possibly a venomous insult or an invitation to go to the devil. But the monkey was persistent. He was jumping up and down on the table in front of Severus, demanding attention. In desperation, Severus flung a book at its head but the creature only dodged it and playfully stuck its tongue out at the esteemed potions master.

“Urgh! You infernal monkey! Stop jumping on my books and get out of my sight!” Severus hissed, his voice rising above the chaos of animalssounds around him. Albus chuckled. Good old Severus, always so easily provoked. Severus was always like that. Even when he was a student, he was an avid reader and if someone disrupted his quiet reading time, he would send a dead glare and a few insults in their direction.

Severus was so fond of books, novels especially. If there was a book to keep him company, he was satisfied. When Severus was fourteen, he contracted Dragon pox and Albus had taken care of him. At first he was utterly miserable and complaining about everything but when Albus started reading novels to him, he became as quiet as a lamb. He would sit there on the bed, his eyes half closed with exhaustion but they were still fixed on Albus’s face as he listened, completely riveted. Albus sighed internally. He shouldn’t be thinking like this, it wouldn’t make his task any easier but what can he do? He was a sentimental old man. He can’t help caring for Severus even if the sentiment was not returned. Severus’s heart might be of stone but his wasn’t. No, his heart was filled with love like a proper man walking in the light.

“If you wouldn’t mind too much, headmaster, quit staring at my face with that infernal twinkle in your eyes and get this idiotic creature off me!” At that moment, a lion as small as a fist trotted up to Severus and tried to chew at the hem of his robes. He let out a hiss of frustration and let the book in his arms drop. There was a loud thud and the paper lion was squashed. “Honestly, pages were meant to be read in blessed silence not folded and transformed into useless beasts!” Albus only chuckled at the familiar words.

“I see that you’re enjoying yourself, my boy.”

“Enjoying myself? You call this enjoying myself?” A pigeon flew onto his head and started preened its feathers. Severus’s nostrils flared dangerously. He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself down. “I came here in find a book about the properties of the moonstone and how it can be safely integrated with class A venomous substances but how can one find a book in this ridiculous mockery of a library? They are in constant motion. Where are the neatly arranged shelves? Where are the catalogues?.” Severus closed his mouth and took another slow deep breath but it didn’t appear to work. Severus body radiated waves of annoyance and irritation.

“Perhaps you’ll get used to it, my boy.”

“Has it occurred to you, oh esteemed wise man, that I might not want to get used to it? Where is Professor McGonagall? At least when she is here, she has the decency to cast a freezing spell on this rubbish so I can browse the library in peace and quiet, the way a proper library is supposed to be.” Albus adjusted his glasses uncomfortably. He had used a false pretense to send Minerva away to another property in Wales. Minerva was a good wife, someone with sound judgment but sometimes, she can be stubborn and unreasonable. It is not her fault. After all, she doesn’t have the experience Albus has in dealing with troubled minds. She doesn’t understand that with people like Severus, people who have a darkness growing inside them, one must use harsher methods. It is the only way. If Minerva was here, she wouldn’t let Albus do what must be done. Minerva doesn’t love Severus as much as he does. She is not prepared to do whatever it takes to save his soul.

“Severus, we need to talk.”

“Indeed.” Severus muttered as he picked a book up from the table, opened it with a snap and started reading the first page. His eyes traveled across the sentence, not paying the least bit of attention to Albus.

“You have stayed here for four days, my boy, but you still haven’t given me the counter curse.” Severus flipped the page with a decisive snap. The mild curl of his upper lip was the only indication that he was even listening.

“I have waited patiently for this long, Severus, hoping that you will come to your senses but you have disappointed me.”

“When have I not disappointed you, professor?” Severus snorted bitterly, letting the book drop with a loud thud onto the table. Motes of dust fluttered around the room, dancing in the rays of light streaming in from the windows. The windows were tall, almost twice as tall as Albus and they were always open. Bright morning sunlight lit the room giving it a cheerful atmosphere. Another thing that Severus hated. The boy was addicted to gloom and seclusion. It was an outward sign of the moral depravity within his soul. Albus always insisted on exposing Severus to more cheerful and brightly lit atmospheres hoping that it will help his soul heal.

Severus continued to ignore Albus. He picked up a second book. A large butterfly made from an ancient piece of parchment perched on the green cover. The letters on its wings were faded to a light grey and in certain parts they had vanished entirely, erased by age. Severus sneered at the small creature, before squashing it with his fist. The butterfly lost its charm, it turned back to a lifeless page ripped apart from the middle of a long forgotten book.

Albus shook his head. He had hoped that things wouldn’t come to this. He had hoped that Severus would recognize defeat and give up the counter curse but he had always been too optimistic for his own good. Severus rarely admitted his mistakes. He tried to blame things on others, not bothering to take responsibility for his actions. Another one of his bad characteristics, of course.

“I went to see him, you know. Last night, at the order meeting. I found Harry hiding under the table with the invisibility cloak draped around his shoulders.” Albus stated evenly. That caught Severus’s interest. He looked up sharply, his fingers frozen in the act of turning the page. Mmmm. Interesting. It looks like Severus is still interested in the boy. Why? Did he plan to hurt him still more? What is going on inside that depraved brain of yours, my child? For a second, Albus was tempted to cast a mild legilimency spell on him but then, he thought better of it. Powerful spells rarely worked on Severus, mild ones would be completely useless. He had attempted to throw Severus off guard last time and find out the truth but it wouldn’t work this time.

“Harry was very surprised when I went to talk to him right after the order meeting. He was still wearing the cloak and stumbling his way up the stairs. I think he hoped that he could go back to his room undetected. The look on his face was certainly amusing when I started to talk to him. The poor boy was so surprised he nearly fell down the stairs.” Albus chuckled at the memory. Ah, little children were so easy to impress! Why, Severus was just like that when he was small! A little spell was all it took to make him gape like a fish. It was different now that he had grown up. The dark part of him had grown too, leaving the innocence behind. That is ever the way of life. A person with bad blood pulsing through their veins starts out sweet and innocent, fully capable of capturing the hearts of the good people around him.

“Once he got over the shock, Harry had a lot of questions to ask me. Oddly, he was more interested in you than in the curse. He kept asking me where you were and when you would be coming back.” Albus shook his head mildly. “I am afraid the boy has gotten rather attached to you. He is an affectionate soul and he cares for people so easily. He cannot see that you will never return his love and care. Poor boy!”

“I did promise him that I would return. The fact that I was unable to do so is entirely your fault. Mr. Potter is probably under the false impression that he was abandoned. Really headmaster, I wish you would let me go to him and explain everything. That would make it easier for the child.” Albus smiled. Oh, my boy, you try so hard to make me believe that you care but you will never deceive me. After all, I practically raised you. I was blind to Tyrus’s faults but I will not make the same mistake twice.

“Ah, but Harry already knows the full truth.”

“Does he? And what exactly did you tell him? That you falsely accused me of blinding him and locked me up at the very inappropriately named Healer’s Touch.” Severus was watching Albus intently. His cold eyes assessing. A paper raven perched on his shoulder and started to preen his hair but he didn’t even notice. His entire attention was fixed on Albus.

“Not exactly. But I’m afraid that he found that little information for himself.” Severus eyebrows rose into his hairline. His eyes were wide open and what exactly was the emotion behind them? Albus thought he saw a hint of sadness inside those cold black eyes. Or was it fear? No, that did not make any sense.

“And how would he find out such information?” Severus stated. His eyebrow was raised in a perfect arch and his black eyes watched Albus keenly.

“I told him that I already caught the criminal and that he was locked up in my house. I didn’t tell him your name, of course. I didn’t want the entire order involved in this horrible mess.” Albus adjusted his glasses uncomfortably. This was a complication he hadn’t expected. “I told Harry that I would take care of everything but he never was very patient. He takes after his father, of course. James was a man of action, he…”

“Never mind that blasted fool! Tell me how the boy found out.” Severus hissed angrily, his nostrils flaring. The raven was now hopping on Severus shoulder, croaking loudly.

“I left the order and came home. A short while later I went out for a quiet refreshing stroll under the moonlight when I felt the stirring of magic somewhere beside me. I cast a quick detection spell and I was able to detect that there was someone outside the gate, watching the house intently. It was Hermione, hiding under the invisibility cloak. She was watching you with a determined frown on her face and she was very interested in the shouting match you were having with my house elves. You were angry and demanding to be let out.”

“So from what I can tell, Harry didn’t wait for me to fix things. He asked his friend to spy on my house and find out who cursed him. Well, it looks like he got his answer.”

“No, he did not! He got the wrong answer! If only I had talked to him, I could have persuaded him that I am not the culprit. I could have told him my version of the story but now…” Severus took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell in one fluid motion. “So, Mr. Potter now believes that I was the one to curse him?”

“I’m afraid so, my boy.” Severus gulped and looked away. He was making a great effort to hide his feeling but it was obvious that he was upset, very upset. Poor boy. Of course he must be worried. When Harry tells the order that Severus is the one who cursed him, they will be furious. They will insist that Severus be handed to the authorities to account for his crimes and they would be right. Albus should hand Severus over. After all, he knew perfectly well what Severus was capable of. He knew that Severus was a dark wizard that cannot be trusted but… He just couldn’t. He couldn’t let Severus waste away inside Azkaban. Severus was his boy, his second chance. Albus cannot fail him no matter who he is or what he is capable of. No, Albus must deal with this himself. He must crush the evil inside Severus.

For a moment there was silence. Severus shifted his attention back to the book in his hand and started reading but Albus could tell that his mind was elsewhere. His eyes were not following the lines. He was simply staring at the page, deep in thought. A swarm of birds were now flying above their heads, making odd shaped patterns in the air. From a nearby chair, a cat was watching them avidly. Its tail swayed gently, following the movements of the birds. The black letters on its body shone as it jumped down from the chair and inched forward slowly, hoping to catch its prey.

“Don’t you want to know how the poor child is doing?” Albus asked after a little while. Of course, Severus did not feel compassion like a normal person but maybe if Albus tried hard enough, he could force some compassion into him.

“I suspect that you will tell me anyway.” Severus stated coolly but he looked up at Albus, waiting expectantly for his answer.

“He is miserable, Severus. He is thin and there are bags under his eyes. Mrs. Weasley tells me he doesn’t eat much and his nights are plagued with nightmares. He wakes up yelling at Dudley to stop hurting him. Sometimes he’s crying, sometimes he’s cursing. Harry is definitely not alright.” It was impossible to tell what Severus was thinking. He simply nodded once and stared at him with expressionless black eyes. His face was under control again, it was a mask that betrayed nothing. Ah, my boy, that is one of your many faults. A selfish mind has no place for sympathy. Maybe Albus could collect some deeply unhappy memories from Harry and make Severus watch. Maybe, just maybe, that might spark a bit of sympathy. Well, it was worth a try.

“You see, my boy, that is the result of what you have done.” Albus stated sternly.

“I fail to see how Mr. Potter’s nightmares are my fault.” Severus shut the book in his hand with a loud snap. “I should think that you bare more responsibility than I do. After all, you were the one who placed him with those abominable relatives in the first place.”

“They were his only family, Severus, and as I explained to them in that letter…”

“What letter?” Severus interrupted, looking at him pointedly.

“The letter I placed on baby Harry’s blanket when I left him outside their doorstop.” Severus eyes widened in shock.

“You mean to tell me that you did not even bother to speak to them. You did not attempt to ascertain what kind of people they were before dumping a baby on their doorstep.”

“There was no need for all that, my boy. Minerva had watched them closely all day.”

“But Professor McGonagall was against it! I certainly remember how angry she was when you persisted in giving the boy to those people.” Albus blue eyes twinkled at Severus. My, my, was he trying to act the part of caring guardian? The role did not suit him at all.

“Why, Severus, are you accusing me of failing Harry, you who belittled the boy throughout his school year?” Severus looked away almost as if he was ashamed. Well, that was certainly odd. Severus would normally sneer at him and tell him that the boy deserved to be belittled. He really was acting the part of guardian very well today. Did Severus hope that it will make Albus believe that he wasn’t the culprit? No, my boy, I am not that easy to deceive.

“I am merely stating, headmaster, that your actions seem irresponsible. Are you not always the one preaching about love? Love is the greatest power or the greatest gift or something else of the kind. Personally, it is all rubbish I wouldn’t give a second thought to but it seems rather hypocritical that you, who say that love is everything, would send a child to be raised by relatives who hate him.”

“Ah, Severus, but sometimes one must think of the bigger picture. What is one boy’s happiness compared to that of thousands of other children? I regret that he had to suffer but it was necessary.”

“Are you telling me, headmaster, that you already knew that his relatives hated him? Is that why you left him at their doorsteps without even meeting them? Because that would not allow them the chance to refuse the boy?” Severus eyes were narrowed and he did a convincing job of looking angry on Harry’s behalf.

“I do not expect you to understand. I had my reasons to keep the boy at the Dursleys. As I said before it was necessary.” Severus glared at him. “Besides, Severus, why are you suddenly giving me moral lessons? I know perfectly well how to distinguish right from wrong. I know how to make the right choice even when the situation seems difficult. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for you, my boy.”

“Well, if placing Mr. Potter with the Dursleys was such a perfect decision, then why did you suddenly decide to transfer him to my doorstep? Did you think he needed a change of scenery?” Albus frowned, thinking how much of his plans to reveal. Well, it certainly didn’t matter now, this particular plan had been a complete fail.

“You are not a person naturally capable of love, Severus. You prefer to dwell on the bitter memories of your past and hold onto old grudges. Even after all these years, your hatred for James has not diminished. Whenever the name is spoken you get angry. Look at you, Severus. Even now, you’re looking at me furiously as if I have committed a mortal crime simply by speaking his name. This is not alright, Severus. This is not healthy.”

“Fortunately, I have never been the model of good health and I have no intension of starting now.” Albus choose to ignore the comment.

“I sent Harry to live with you hoping that when you spend time with the boy, you will see that he is not that bad. I hoped that Harry, the miniature James Potter, will help you let go of your unreasonable hatred. Of course, I did not expect miracles. I never expected you to care for him or even learn to be civil with him. It is not in your nature to love unconditionally but I thought that, at the very least, you will get used to the child so that you won’t go into a fit of rage every time he is mentioned.”

“If all your plans are this brilliant, headmaster, I daresay the order of the phoenix is doomed before it has fought a single battle.” Severus snorted bitterly. “All I did when I was with the boy was fall into fits of rage. We had quite the yelling match from time to time.”

“Alas, that plan was one doomed to fail.”

“If I may ask, professor, why in Merlin’s name do you care if I hate James Potter? Why is my hatred so unhealthy? He is gone. He is dead and buried. He has been rotting in the grave for the last ten years. Thank goodness for small mercies.” Ah, if only things were that simple! Someday, when the time is right, you will understand.

“I am wise but sometimes, I can be a foolish old man. I hope too much. I should’ve predicted what would happen. After all, you do enjoy hurting people. It will take much more than a few weeks in the company of an eleven year old child to change that.”

“Tell me, headmaster, since you are quick to accuse me of a crime I did not commit, why did you trust me with Mr. Potter? Were you not afraid that I would reduce your precious golden boy to a pile of ashes?”

“Of course not. You didn’t really think I would leave him there without protection, did you? I cast a web of the most powerful protection spells I knew. I thought that was enough to protect him but clearly I was wrong. You found some way to evade my spells and harm the boy. It seems that I have underestimated your power.” Severus blinked and for a second he didn’t say a word. He just stared at Albus, his face twitching and his expression unreadable. His mask was about to falter, whatever emotion he concealed was about to break through. Albus frowned. Something about that information has unsettled Severus. What is it? Did he not want Albus to know that he is powerful? Did Severus hope to conceal the true extent of his power until he could use it against Albus? Again Albus had to bite back the urge to probe into his mind. It would be no use. Ah, this is rather frustrating. He wished he could find some way to get into Severus’s mind, maybe find a new spell or potion that would break through his occlumency shields and find out the truth.

“Excuse me, headmaster, I have much to do.” Severus’s voice was a quiet hiss. He didn’t wait for Albus to respond. He grabbed a few books, spun around on the spot and strode away at his usual brisk pace. His long black cloak bellowed dramatically after him. He walked through a narrow aisle flanked on both sides by tall book shelves. A pack of miniature cats were resting comfortably on the ground but when they heard the swish of his robes, they swiftly moved aside with an angry hiss.

After a moment, Albus walked calmly after him. It didn’t take him long to catch up. After all, he was taller than Severus and his strides were much longer. He was used to running after his boy. Severus was very temperamental. That is often the way with selfish people. They are caught up in their own woes and even the smallest slight, real or imagined, would be enough to upset them. People who have dedicated their lives to helping others are happier because they do not allow petty things to upset them. It is a pity that Severus can never learn that lesson.

Severus had come to a stop in front of a bookshelf. A large sign with looping gold letters was hovering near it. Magical Plants, it read. In keeping with the theme, green vines covered the bookshelf, their tendrils extending over some of the books, trapping them there. In different places, white flowers had started to bloom. Their petal opened and closed languidly, as if caressing the air around them. If you watched them long enough, you could see their color shifting. The white will become steadily darker, one shade at a time, until it become a vibrant Gryffindor red. Then, they would lighten to a cream yellow, soothing to the eye.

Severus just gave the flowers a mild sneer. There was a wide empty space on the shelves where Severus had taken the large books out and within this emptiness a flower had grown. That is how life should be. Emptiness ought to always be replaced with vibrant life. Albus gazed at the flower, fully appreciating the depth of its meaning. He didn’t have long to appreciate it though. Severus reached forwards and yanked the flower out of its place, ripping it away from the vines. It fluttered, cold and lifeless, to rest on the wooden boards.

“What is the matter, my boy?” Albus asked gently. Severus didn’t respond . He placed the books back into the emptied slots rather more roughly than was necessary. But the books had other plans. They flew back out, nearly slamming into Severus’s face in the process. Then, they started to float languidly in the air, going higher and higher, attempting to find a different place to rest. ‘Utterly ridiculous!’ Severus mumbled under his breath, glaring furiously.

“Come, Severus, tell me what has upset you. It is not good to keep feelings bottled up inside, especially not for you. Who knows what your anger might lead you to do?”

“There is nothing at all the matter, headmaster.” Severus hissed. His eyes passed over the titles on the shelf: A Herb for Every Malady, Herbs for Common Uses and Plants for Every Occasion. There was a smaller book squeezed in between the last two books. It had no title but it must’ve been promising. Severus reached out for it but his fingers closed around thin air. The book had vanished. Severus looked like he was ready to blow the entire library apart.

“Clearly something has upset you. Come on, tell me.” Albus insisted. Severus grabbed another book before it had time to fly off or disappear. He flipped through the pages so fast it was a miracle they didn’t rip apart.

“It is of no import. I am sure you have greater issues to deal with than my feelings.” He didn’t even look up.

“Oh, Severus, you’re always so dramatic! I sometimes wonder how you can hold so much anger inside you. Anger is a dangerous emotion, it has the capacity to cause great wrongs in this world. You must be careful, my boy, or it will end up consuming you completely.”

“Yes and if anger fails to destroy me, I am quite sure your useless ideas will succeed in boring me to death.” Severus eyed the book in his hands suspiciously. “This is a book on Quidditch supplies! What in seven hells is it doing in the Magical Herbs section?”

“Severus, that is enough. Tell me the truth. What is wrong?” Albus used the no nonsense tone he reserved just for Severus. Nobody else could be as stubborn as him.

“Nothing, headmaster. You placed Mr. Potter under heavy protection spells before you handed him to me. That is entirely reasonable. I have no objection to it, whatsoever.” There was a ripping sound as the page Severus was holding onto tore apart from the middle.

“Then, why are you trying to destroy my books, Severus?” Albus asked mildly. He reached out and gently extracted the book from Severus’s iron grip. Maybe he should invite his boy to take a calming cup of chamomile tea.

“I just…” Severus took another deep steadying breath. He straightened his back and lifted his chin haughtily. He folded his hands together and looked at Albus, his expression neutral. “When you sent Mr. Potter to live with me, I was furious. I had no desire to spend any more time with Potter’s spawn than strictly necessary. Still, I believed that it was a sign that you were finally beginning to trust me. After all, you did entrust your most valuable asset for the war into my care.”

“Trust?” Albus smiled. His blue eyes twinkled. “You believed that I trusted you, Severus?”

“Is that so very preposterous? After all, I bring you information every time I come home from a death eater meeting. You have stopped dozens of death eater raids on the basis of the information I risk my life to gain.”

“You help me because I am the only one who can protect you but deep down, you still want to join the dark side. You want to cause pain and suffering. It is in your nature. It is who you are. How, then, can I trust you?” Severus looked away abruptly. He turned back to the bookshelf so that Albus was left staring at the back of his head. “I am only telling the truth, my boy. You act normal now but who knows when you will return back to your old ways?”

“Alright, perhaps I am utterly untrustworthy now.” Severus stated very quietly. Albus had to strain his ear to catch his words. “And yet, I wasn’t always like this. When I was a child, I did not have these… dark moments. I was normal. Ugly and unpopular, of course, but morally, I was normal. But even then, you did not trust me.” Albus waited, sensing that there was more to come.

“God only knows how much effort I put into gaining your trust but it never seemed to work. If something, anything went wrong in the castle it was always my fault. Professor McGonagall fell down the stairs and of course I must be the one who pushed her even though I was nowhere near when the incident took place. A first year Hufflepuff was petrified and again, I was the one in detention. It did not matter that I never even knew the girl. Every single damn time, Dumbledore! Something happened, it had to be my fault.”

“Child, you have to understand…”

“You always look at me with those idiotic blue eyes of yours narrowed in suspicion. You never look at anyone else that way. That is a privilege you reserve solely for me. It is as if all my life you have been expecting me to turn into some kind of monster.” His deep voice trailed away into nothing.

“I am a hundred and fifty years old, Severus. I have lived many years in this world. I know more of its ways than you do. Experience is the basis of foresight. I could tell, even when you were thirteen, what you would one day end up becoming. The capacity for evil was always in you. And I was right, Severus. You became a death eater. You committed atrocious crimes. By a massive effort, I have managed to divert you back to the light side but it will take nothing short of a miracle to turn you into a good person. All I can hope for is to contain the evil in you, to stop it from completely taking over and destroying your soul.” Severus didn’t respond. He reached up for a book and Albus saw that his hand was trembling slightly.

Albus frowned. Severus is upset. He always gets upset when Albus tells him the truth about his dark nature. Why? Surely, he already knows what lies in his own heart? Then why is he so shaken when Albus points out the truth? Tyrus never did that. When people called him evil, he glowed with pride. Albus reached forward and placed a hand on Severus’s shoulder. He was entirely too thin, Albus could feel the bone under his fingers. He gave Severus’s shoulder a comforting squeeze anyway. When he was young, Albus would give him a comforting hug when he was upset but as Severus grew older, he came to hate hugs. He would growl or shrug him off when Albus attempted to hug him. That is what happens when evil begins to resurface. Contact with human beings becomes distasteful.

“Seeing that you have already branded me a criminal from the start, I assume that there is nothing I can do to prove my innocence in this latest crime?” Severus spoke a little more loudly this time. His voice was under control but his back was still to Albus.

“No, Severus, I’m afraid there isn’t. The time for games is over, my boy. I already know the truth.”

“Every criminal has a right to defend themselves. Are you denying me that right? Are you going to punish me without any evidence? Your intuition or, as you call it, your experience is all very well but I, as a man of science, believe in hard evidence.”

“Ah… but I did find evidence, my boy. I have indisputable evidence to suggest that you were the one to curse Harry.” Severus spun around to face Albus. His cold black eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Would you care to elaborate that claim, Professor Dumbledore?”

“Two days ago I went to speak with the healer that tended to Harry. I asked for a copy of the results of the diagnostic spells and I found some things that did not add up. The healer has written in his official report that Harry was affected by a dangerous dark curse. You do know how dark curses in the body are detected, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, headmaster, I am a potions master! A dark curse causes the magical core of the victim to vibrate erratically. A first degree diagnostic spell can detect these vibrations.”

“Exactly, Severus! The healer saw these vibrations and immediately concluded that the cause of the illness was a dark curse. He did not examine properly the results of the second degree diagnostic spell, the one meant to check the body tissues for magical substances.” Severus eyes widened. Yes, he understood where this was going. “I checked these results thoroughly and I have found that Harry’s body tissues contain traces of a highly illegal potion, a potion that contains extracts of untreated belladonna.”

“But belladonna is lethal!”

“Yes, it is. The potion alone would have killed Harry but the potion was combined with a dark curse to cause blindness.”

“Was the poison absorbed orally or was it airborne?”
“Traces of poison were detected in the digestive tract and not on the skin so Harry ate or drank something with poison in it.”

“This means that a random stranger in Diagon Alley could not have cursed him. The criminal must have gained access to his food.” For a moment Severus didn’t speak. He stared at a spot on the floor, deep in thought. My, my. He really is making a very convincing show of innocence. Looking at him, you’d think that this information was new to him. Good thing Albus was not so easily deceived, not anymore. He might not be able to access Severus’s innermost thoughts but he knew an act when he saw one.

“Your evidence merely indicates that Mr. Potter has been poisoned. It does not, in any way, implicate that I did the poisoning.” Severus stated, looking up at Albus defiantly.

“Ah, but that is where you are wrong, my boy. I had Professor Slughorn analyze the results and he was able to tell me which ingredients were used to make this potion.”

“Fascinating but what exactly does this have to do with me?”

“There were over a hundred highly volatile substances combined to make this potion so there is absolutely no way that an ordinary person can brew it. Only a handful of the best potion masters in existence can successfully make this potion and you are the only one among them who lives in England.” Severus blinked. He opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. Finally, he was speechless. There was nothing left to do but to admit his guilt. There was no way that Severus can protest his innocence now. You see, my boy, I’m not unfair. I only punish those who deserve it. That was always the case, even when you were young. Your twisted mind has distorted the memories making you remember unfairness where there was none.

“Now even you can see that you are defeated, Severus. Come, give me the countercurse and the antidote. I can’t let you just walk away from this, of course. Actions must have consequences. You must learn that, but do not worry, it will not be too bad.”

“No, headmaster.” Severus stated evenly.

“What do you mean, my boy?”

“I stand by what I said before. I did not curse Mr. Potter.”

“But the evidence, Severus? How can you explain the evidence?”

“Perhaps the potion was brought from oversees.”

“That is not possible! A dark artifact cannot pass through the heavy protection spells cast on a country’s borders. You know this very well, Severus! Now, you are just desperately grasping at straws.”

“Professor Dumbledore, I do not yet have a theory on how someone cursed Harry but I am innocent. There is another explanation. I just have to find it.” Albus shook his head sadly. Sometimes, Severus can be really stubborn.

“I was afraid it would come to this. In matters concerning James you were always so stubborn, insisting you were innocent when clearly you were not. Evidently Harry and James fall under the same category with you.” Albus drew himself to his full height and fixed his penetrating gaze on Severus. His eyes were stern and commanding. “I will make you a deal, Severus. You give me the information I want to know and, in exchange, I will refrain from punishing you harshly. Perhaps just a few months volunteering at the permanent disability ward at Saint Mungo’s to make amends for your actions will be enough.”

“I generally prefer not to repeat myself but, in this case, it seems that I have no choice but to repeat the same thing over and over again. I did not curse Mr. Potter. I cannot give you an antidote or a countercurse since I do not have either.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Severus, enough is enough! I have given you every chance to make up for your mistakes but you are stubbornly refusing to cooperate. You are leaving me no choice but to hurt you. I will get this information out of you one way or another. I have attempted to reason with you but it did not work. Now, you know perfectly well what comes next. You know the methods I use.” Albus let his anger and his magic pulse out of him in waves. The bookshelves began to tremble. The paper animals were getting nervous. They scuttled away as fast as their legs could carry them. A sudden unnatural hush fell on the library.

“Perhaps a certain potion will be enough to change your mind.” Albus stated coldly. What little color Severus had in his face drained away. He took a step back so that he hit the bookshelf with a thump. A little grey book fell onto the floor and opened along the middle. A tiny bush started to grow out of the book, its grey leaves emitting an odd smell but no one even noticed.

“You… you cannot mean the Visionara potion.” Severus stuttered. He was breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling in an attempt to keep calm but the fear in his voice was evident. Poor Severus! Albus definitely did not want to use that potion but it was the one thing Severus was actually afraid of. Anything else he would bare stoically without even a single complaint. Only the Visionara was capable of utterly terrifying him.

“Yes, Severus, that is exactly what I mean and…”

“No! No! I will not drink that abominable substance again. Never again, do you hear me, old man!”

“You will have no choice, Severus.”

“And who, pray tell, will brew this potion for you? Last time, you forced me to brew it myself and then drink it but not this time. I will not brew it! You can send me to Azkaban if you want. I would rather rot in a minuscule cell under the affectionate gaze of the dementors than drink that damned potion.”

“The Visionara is not classified as a dark potion. I can perfectly well import it from France and I do not need your cooperation to make you swallow it!”

“No.” Severus hissed, his eyes glowing with fury.

“Headmaster, do not do this.”

“Well then, for a week, I will try other methods. But if, by next Monday, you still haven’t given me the means to cure Harry then I will not hesitate to use the Visionara potion. Make sure you keep that in mind, Severus.” Severus nodded. He took a deep breathe and visibly calmed himself. In a heartbeat, he was back to his normal, impassive self, his terror vanished.

“Do not think that this week will be easy for you, Severus. It will be difficult, incredibly difficult.”

“Then, I should be thankful that I am so used to torture by now.” Severus sneered pointedly.

“I will use legilimency, Severus, to get the truth out of you whether you like it or not.”

“What part of Master Occlumence do you not get headmaster? Even if I were guilty, which I decidedly am not, you would still never force the truth from my mind.”

“Are you quite sure of that, Severus?”

“Certainly. After all, every time I go to a death eater meeting, my life depends on the strength of my occlumency shields.”

“Ah, but the Dark Lord is not as powerful as I am.”
“And yet I have resisted even your powerful intrusions time and time again.”

“Remember three days ago, Severus, when I entered into your mind? Remember the headache you got? That was only after a few minutes of legilimency and I wasn’t even using half my magic. Imagine what it will feel like to endure that intrusion, not for a few minutes but for hours and hours. Imagine the extent of the pain, hour after hour, day after day. Then, when that is finally over, a week from now, what will you have waiting for you? The Visionara. The one thing in the world you fear above everything else.” Albus paused for effect, letting the information sink in. If his words affected Severus, he did not let it show. His face was a marble mask, his back was rigid, proud. Pride was the destruction of many a powerful man. Oh, my child. Why do you never learn? Why will you let all my efforts go to waste? I know this is hard but try. Try to become a better man. Fight your inner evil, Severus.

“You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do this to you but if you stay silent, you force my hand. Please, child, tell me the truth.” Come on, Severus. Make the right choice. Show me that I do not have to force you onto the right path. Tell me the truth! But he didn’t. He stayed silent. His lips pressed firmly together, his chin lifted in a show of defiance. Dear Merlin, it was like seeing a ghost. Tyrus used to look at him just like that. Who are you to tell me what to do, the look seemed to say.

“Very well, Severus. You leave me no choice.” Albus took out his wand and gave it a single decisive flick. The scene around them dissolved into blackness. One moment they were standing in the middle of the library and the next they were standing in the middle of a small circular room. Its walls were a uniform cream color and light filtered in from round windows high above their heads. The room was completely empty. No beds, no chairs, no desk, only empty space. And the most disquieting part of this room was the absence of a door. Walls rose tall all around them. There was no way in or out. The anti-apparition wards made it impossible for anyone without the owner’s express permission to apparate within the grounds. In short, Severus was well and truly trapped.

For a split second, Albus hesitated. Did he really want to do this, did he want to hurt his boy. Because yes, no matter how hard Severus will try to keep from screaming out. No matter how much he tried not to beg or plead, the pain will be intense. Maybe he could just let it go. After all, if he tried hard enough, he could find the countercurse. It will take longer but it is not impossible. Did he really want to do this? After all, Severus could’ve killed Harry with just the potion if he had wanted to but he didn’t. It was only a temporary curse. Is this really necessary? Maybe he shouldn’t do this. No, he must be strong! Remember what happened with Tyrus? Remember how you ignored your son’s dark nature and look what happened because of your blindness. Albus scolded himself firmly. No. That will not be allowed to happen to Severus. He must not falter. He must do what must be done, no matter what.

“Legilimens!” Albus yelled, throwing the full force of his magic behind the spell. Waves and waves of blinding white magic shot out of his body and forced its way into Severus’s mind. His cold back eyes widened in shock and pain. His face lost all color and he stumbled backwards onto the wall but he kept control. Albus could feel Severus’s magic resisting him. His hands were balled into fists at his side, his fingers digging into his palm.

Albus rushed along the endless pathways of the mind, quickly dragging out random memories one by one. He could hear ripping sounds as the memories were torn away from the fabric of Severus’s mind. Swiftly, the images flashed by, one after the other, a confusion of memories.

Severus, six years old, sitting on his mother’s lap and gazing sadly up at her beautiful face. She was sobbing, tears were streaming down her face. Severus, slightly older, covering in a corner while his mother yelled at him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. Severus, with little Draco on his lap, patiently teaching him how to write. His black eyes shone with affection and his lips twitched as he watched his little godson, his pink tongue sticking out of his lips as he concentrated on his letters. His fat fist was clenched tightly around an elegant peacock quill. Severus, trapped in a box, terrified and screaming, a half decomposed body lying next to him.

Time passed. The memories succeeded one another, faster and faster. Time lost all meaning. There were only the memories and the silent battle within Severus’s mind. Silent, except for the occasional groans and moaning escaping from Severus’ mouth. The room lost all consistency. The figure of Severus leaning onto the wall, his forehead scrunched up in pain was only a vague outline in Albus’s mind. Only the memories existed.

A dull thump brought Albus back to himself. His spell stopped abruptly. He blinked for a few minutes, regaining his bearing. How much time has passed? He couldn’t be sure. A few hours or maybe more. That is a risk with legilimency. One can get lost in the labyrinths of the mind and lose all sense of time and space. It’s a very dangerous spell, one not to be used lightly. He blinked a few times and looked around the room, at the bare circular walls and the windows set high.

It was then that he noticed Severus. He had fallen to the floor, completely unconscious. He lay on his stomach, his arms outstretched above his head. Albus gulped and rushed over to him worriedly. Had he gone too far? No, that is not possible. He would never seriously harm his boy. Albus was only trying to help him, to force him onto the right path.
Albus knelt on the floor beside Severus and quickly cast a basic diagnostic spell. He was fine. No permanent damage. He was going to recover in a few hours. He was only knocked out by the pain. It was going to be fine. Albus gently rolled Severus onto his back. His body felt so cold, like touching a corpse. Even his face was more skeletal than usual. He must not have eaten much while he was here. Albus sighed. He wished he didn’t have to do this but it was necessary. It was for the boy’s own good. Gently, Albus reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his pale face. It is going to be alright. This cannot go on for much longer. Severus will confess and this pain will stop. Until then, he had to remain firm and strong, the perfect disciplinarian.

Albus stood up and with a flick of his wand, conjured a bed. A simple one with white sheets and thin pillows. Slowly, he levitated Severus off the ground. For a second he lay there, his head lolling to the side, his arms and legs hanging down gracelessly. Severus would’ve hated this. He would’ve hated being so utterly without defenses in front of Albus. The boy still persisted in considering him an enemy no matter how much Albus did for him every day. It is no matter. One cannot expect gratitude from a Slytherin.

Severus’s body sank down onto the bed. His lank shoulder length hair spread out over the pillow. Albus covered him with a blanket. He was tempted to conjure a pain potion too and leave it beside the bed but then, he thought better of it. This was a lesson. Severus had to remember the pain. He should remember it when he thinks about committing another evil act. No, he will not get away from the pain so easily. Maybe he could have a book or a potion journal, something to pass the time? No. It is better if he stays here and reflects on what he has done. Oh, my boy, I did not want to do all this. Why did you have to have evil growing inside you? Why couldn’t you be more like James, naturally good and caring? It is not fair. There was a faint pop and Albus vanished from the spot.

--------- SS ---------

He felt no pain. He felt no sadness, no angry. He was a vessel without emotion, a weapon honed to perfection. Severus told himself firmly as he took a slow deep breath. One. Two. Three. His body was trembling, his mind felt strange as if the intruder was still there, ripping apart memories, stabbing into his brain. He felt the residue of the headmaster’s magic pulsing inside him, digging deeper and deeper.

Merlin, it hurt. It hurt so much. This was worse than the Dark Lord’s intrusions. At least he was less powerful than the headmaster so his invasions were less painful. This, this was hell. Severus moaned and tried to turn around but every little movement sent jolts of pain to his brain. He wanted to cry, he wanted to punch the walls around him, he wanted to yell at the injustice of it all. Instead he bit his lip and buried his nails into the soft fabric of the bed. He was not weak. He had endured worse pain than this. He would not cry out. Another deep breath. Long and slow. The pain was nothing to him. He was strong. He could endure much worse than this. His grip on the bedsheets tightened.

For a moment, he looked down, confused. What the hell? This bed hadn’t been here before. Where did it come from? Had he been moved while he was unconscious. Carefully, making sure to move his head as little as possible, Severus glanced around the room. The same cream walls enclosed him. The same high windows poured sunlight into the room, burning his eyes. No, he was not moved. The room was the same. The headmaster must have conjured the bed and the blanket for him. Typical Dumbledore, hurting him one moment and taking care of him the next.

Severus ground his teeth together and glared. He was a death eater and a Slytherin, not a sentimental fool. Love was something he could not feel. He had a cold heart, a heart of stone. Even the headmaster knew that. Then why did it hurt so much? Why did this meagre bed and this thin blanket, not even long enough to cover his entire body hurt more than the stabbing pain in his head? Why is it that he kept remembering the way the headmaster looked at him in the library, his blue eyes twinkling with disappointment? He knew that expression well, too well to ever forget it. The soft sigh, the mild shake of the head, his eyes staring pointedly at Severus telling him that he was the worst person in the world. And the worst part was, the headmaster was right. He was a horrible person.

Severus glare deepened. No. He would not think like that, not this time. This was not his fault, none of this was his fault. He was not the one who cursed Harry. Dumbledore was wrong, he was a bigoted fool who is punishing him unjustly. Severus did not deserve this. He knew that. And yet… How many other crimes of his had gone unpunished? He might not have cursed Harry but how many other people had he cursed? How can he say he does not deserve this punishment? The truth is, he deserved much more than this. He deserved a cell in Azkaban or worse, a dementor’s kiss. My God, even now, the things he wanted to do, the things he pictured himself doing. They were so…evil. He was evil. All things considered, the headmaster was being more than generous. But that didn’t stop him from hating this entire situation.

Severus tried to sit up but the pain nearly knocked him unconscious again. Merlin, he wished he had some firewhiskey right about now. Or maybe some elf vine. It was much stronger and worked much faster into your system, obliterating your thoughts, those gloomy unwanted thoughts that you don’t want to have but that never leave you alone anyway. But there was no firewhiskey. There was no wine. There was no convenient sleeping potion to gulp down. He was alone with his thoughts and he had no choice but to listen to them. And by now they were getting tedious, they always said the same damn thing again and again.

They kept telling him that he was evil. A dark creature that must be contained lest he harm anyone else. He, unlike the headmaster, did not know how to choose right from wrong. It was not in his nature to care or to love. He was dark, he was evil. And yet… And yet… Can there not be some good in him hidden somewhere deep? After all, he was no dark lord. He might not be capable of love but maybe he can care for other people, just a little bit. He thought he did care for the headmaster no matter how much his suspicion and his constant disappointment hurt. He did care for his favorite professor, Professor Sprout. A small smile curved his lips as he thought of her. She was such a ruddy Hufflepuff, always willing to believe him no matter what evidence there was against him. Typical badger, no logic to their reasoning whatsoever. And there were others too, other professors that he didn’t mind spending time with: Flitwick, McGonagall, Hagrid.

And what about the little lion? What about Harry? He cared for the boy, at least he thought he did. Severus was a dark man, he wasn’t really sure what caring for someone meant. But he did feel the desire to protect the boy, he felt the yearning to comfort the boy when he was ill. And he had been hurt to realize that Harry was miserable. He wanted to make things better. Was that what it felt like to care for someone? Maybe he wasn’t capable of love but it was a start. Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t that mean that somewhere deep down there could be a small part of him that was good?

Severus scrunched his forehead and, for a moment, he was lost in thought. He wished he could go to the headmaster and speak his mind but considering the situation that wasn’t a good idea. Besides, whenever Severus talked of things like this with the headmaster, he always laughed at him. What do you know of love or sympathy, my boy? You are not capable of these feeling but do not worry, I love you all the same. I have enough love for the both of us. Yes, that is exactly what Dumbledore would say. And the truth was, he was right. Of course, he was right.

Severus chuckled bitterly at the empty room. The deep voice echoed around the walls, breaking the silence. What the hell was he thinking? Him, the bat of the dungeons, having a good side? The very idea is laughable. He was an evil twisted bastard. The headmaster knew that. In fact, he had always known that even before Severus himself did. No, Severus had no good in him. He was just deluding himself. He was a dark man filled with bitterness and obsessed with revenge. There was no good in him, not even a little bit. All he could do was aid the light side win the war hoping that it will somehow make up for his bad nature.

And the boy, he had to protect the boy. Harry was his responsibility. Severus had to take care of him. At least, he could do this one thing right. Because now, Severus knew the truth. Dumbledore’s information had been useful after all. In fact, it has been vital. There is only one person other than himself who could’ve been in possession of such a potion and Severus knew exactly who it was. He didn’t say anything to the headmaster because he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. This was his friend, he had been Severus’s friend for a long time. Cursing Harry was a horrible mistake but Severus couldn’t just hand his friend to the headmaster. No, he must get out of here and talk to him. Severus must make the stubborn man see reason. But how? How can he get out of here? He was too weak to roll onto his side, let alone walk? The headmaster has confiscated his wand after he was confined here. The anti-apparition wards prevented him from going anywhere without the express permission of the owners of the house. What could he do? He was trapped and there was no way out.

Severus groaned. What a delightful vacation this was turning out to be! He hated being so helpless. And the poor child? He was hurt and utterly miserable from what the headmaster has told him. If only Severus had been allowed to talk to him, to make him understand. Now, the boy hated him, of course. Harry thought he was the one who blinded him. He must be sitting at the burrow complaining to his friends about what a horrible person his guardian was. Severus sighed quietly. It had been nice while it lasted. It had been so nice to look at the boy and see the trust in his eyes, his big green eyes that were always wide open, forever curious. Yes, the boy had mistrusted him for quite a while but after their conversation in his lab, Harry had trusted him completely. When he was blind, he had leaned into Severus, innocent, trusting. There was no suspicion, no dislike, only an odd sort of affection. Was it affection? No, that was not right. Severus had no likable qualities. He was a useful tool for the war, nothing more. Still, the boy had wanted him by his side. It was… quite nice.

But now, it was over. The fragile trust they had established had been shattered. The little boy hated and mistrusted him again. That is just what Severus needed, another person who thinks he is a complete monster. Isn’t it enough that the headmaster and Severus himself already thought that? It was not fair. It was so not fair. Why did Severus have to be evil? Why was there a darkness growing inside him?

Pop. Someone apparated into the room. Oh God, has the headmaster returned? Is the mind probing about to recommence? He hasn’t even been conscious for that long yet. What, did the headmaster wait outside the nonexistent door for Severus to regain consciousness only to pounce onto his mind again? Severus closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Maybe then, the headmaster will leave him alone to his gloomy and depressing thoughts for a few more minutes, at least.

“Severus?” A woman’s high pitched voice called.

“Professor Sprout?” Severus exclaimed, completely taken aback. He tried to sit up but his body didn’t want to listen to him right now. His muscles felt like they belonged to someone else, only the pain was definitely his. “What ever are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, sweetie.” She walked closer so that Severus could see her face. She was smiling sadly. Her red cheeks were smeared with dirt. Fluffs of grey hairs stuck out of her tattered witch’s hat. It was her, it was definitely his professor. Relief flooded over him like a rush of fresh water. It was going to be alright now. He just knew it. Professor Sprout always fixed everything.

“How exactly did you come by the information that I was here? And how did you get in?” Severus’s voice was hoarse. It felt strange to his own ears, strained and tired.

“I got Minerva’s permission to apparate in and out of Healer’s touch.” Professor Sprout sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. She patted Severus’s hand affectionately. Severus couldn’t help it, despite the pain, he was smiling. It was so good to see her again. “Harry came to me this afternoon and told me all about your being trapped inside Professor Dumbledore’s home. The dear child was very worried about you.”

“What?” Severus couldn’t believe his ears. Is it possible that after everything Harry still trusted him? Did Harry believe that Severus was not the one to curse him? How is that possible? How can Harry believe him, the evil ex-death eater instead of the perfect leader of the light. It made absolutely no sense.

“Come, Severus.” Professor Sprout beamed down at Severus as she took his hand in hers. “Harry is waiting for you.”

--------- AD ---------

The place was deserted. Even the few researchers who worked on the project had gone home long ago. Still, the touches burned on either side of the corridor. Their tall red flames reflected off the polished black floor. Albus walked steadily on, his wooden boots clanking loudly on the tiles. The corridor was so narrow that the stone walls nearly grazed Albus’s broad shoulders. The ceiling rose high above his head, too high to be seen. It felt as if he was squeezing his way through a tiny crack in a huge mountain. Albus frowned. He never liked this place. It was too dark, too narrow and there was no air left to breathe. Still, this place had its uses. It was the most secure and well-guarded location in England. Yes, despite all its faults, this was the best place to hide his secret, a secret he is not yet ready to share with the world.

A few minutes later, Albus stood before the door. It was a monstrous door of iron that towered meters above Albus’s head. It had no handle. Only the sculpture of a large lion’s head protruded out of the center. It watched Albus with glowing red eyes that burned with anger. Its mouth was wide open revealing fangs as sharp as daggers. The large golden mane, made of real hairs, swayed back and forth in the breeze. Around the head, written in gold cursive letters were the words: Ad Maius Bonum.

Albus frowned wondering, not for the first time, why Master Lywell choose to use such a gruesome animal as a symbol for this project. Yes, the lion was the symbol of Gryffindor house, it was the symbol of honor and justice but while the lions that adorned the Gryffindor common room held their head high, their attitude proud and tall, this one was different. It looked fierce and dangerous. It looked ready to pounce at the first intruder and rip its flesh apart with its cruel fangs. Albus shook his head. He’ll have to have a word with the master. He must get it modified to a more pleasant image, maybe a field of daisies or a flying Hippogriff.

Albus lifted his fist and pounded on the door using the code they had previously agreed to. Tap. Tap. Two short sharp knocks followed by a brief pause. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Four louder knocks followed by a longer pause. Albus took a deep breath and counted to three, his fist suspended mid-air. Then, he pounded on the door one last time and waited impatiently. He longed to be inside that room, to see with his own eyes that everything was going alright. He wanted to hear the master say that things were improving, that soon the wait will be over and the spell will finally be complete. Albus was hundred and fifty years old, time had lost all meaning to him but after ten years, even he was tired of waiting. The lion’s cruel red eyes watched him suspiciously. They seemed to blink in the shimmering light of the torches.

Finally, when Albus was on the point of knocking a second time, the door opened slowly outwards, one inch at a time. The massive iron door, two meters thick, shuddered and groaned as it moved. Thin white vapors poured out of the room. They escaped in slow waves, bringing with them a bone chilling cold. On instinct Albus started to mutter a warming charm but then, realizing what he was doing, he stopped abruptly. He mustn’t use any magic. It might interfere with Master Lywell’s web of complex spells.

The door opened halfway leaving a small opening, just wide enough for Albus to slip through. Inside, nothing could be seen but a blindingly bright white mist. Albus tightened his fur cloak around himself and drew the hood up over his head, squashing his pointed hat. He buried his hands securely inside his pockets, took a deep breath and quickly rushed through the door, into the swirling white mist.

At first, he saw nothing. The white mist was in front of his eyes, clouding his vision. It was so cold. Albus has never felt this cold. Even with three layers of winter clothing and a thick cloak of brown fur, he was still shivering. It must be more than thirty degrees below freezing. His skin was beginning to burn already. He ignored the painful sting of the cold and moved further into the room. The mist opened like folds of water to let him through but it pressed on every side of him, preventing him from seeing anything.

“Master Lywell?” Albus called out loudly. There was no answer, only the whoosh of the moving vapor. Far away, he could hear the cracking sound make by large blocks of ice as they expanded and condensed. Albus had no choice but to move further into the room, hoping that he wouldn’t bump into some sharp instrument. Seeing nothing but white he walked further and further into the room. Fortunately, he has been here so many times before that his legs automatically carried him to where he needed to go. As he moved along, the mist thinned, giving him his vision back bit by bit. He saw the vague outlines of iron tables along the walls. They were filled with silver instruments that were constantly in motion. Spinning in circles, floating in midair, swinging back and forth, measuring bits and pieces of things he couldn’t see and couldn’t understand anyway.

“Master Lywell?” Albus called but again there was no answer. He was getting worried. The master had owled him a few minutes ago, requesting an urgent meeting. He said that he had good news. Well then, where was he? What was this good news? Albus kept walking, hoping that he will find the master eventually.

Albus came into a different section of the room. It was covered with rows and rows of simple iron tables. They were evenly spaced but they were standing so close to each other, that Albus had to squeeze between them with great difficulty. And on each and every one of these tables lay a single object. Unlike the silver instruments, these were still and quiet. They were bodies. Hundreds of naked bodies sat on hundreds of tables all around the massive room. Their muscles were frozen solid and their skin was an unhealthy grey. Their lips were blue and coated with a layer of thin ice. On each bare chest there was a simple card with a name written on it in bold black letters.

Albus cast a fleeting glance at each of the names, searching for the only one he was here to find. His eyes flicked over strange names, ones he had only heard in passing. Andrew Kalasar, Sarah Myrour, Anita Chizelwit. And then, there were the more familiar ones: Marlene McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, all members of the previous order of the phoenix, all victims of the death eaters. Albus shook his sadly as he swept past them. How much had this senseless war cost us? How many lives have been ruined because of a single twisted mad wizard?

Suddenly, he came to a halt in front of a table, slightly bigger and more ornamental than the rest. There he was, laying so peaceful. If it wasn’t for the grey skin and the thin tendrils of vapor rising out of his frozen body, Albus might’ve thought he was sleeping. His expression was so peaceful, so serene. It always was, even in life. He had always been happy, his lips quick to smile, his words quick to reassure. Oh yes, James Potter was such a good boy, such a great fighter.

Albus smiled fondly down at him. His eyes were closed but still, the thin round glasses perched on his nose. The hair, even now, was a complete mess, sticking out in all directions. Ice crystals had formed everywhere. On the rim of the wiry glasses, on the strands of hair that fell over his forehead, on the long lashes that were resting on his cheek. It was astonishing how much Harry looked like his father. He was an exact mini replica of James in everything but those bright green eyes. If…

“You have received my owl.” Albus turned around to see a short man walk up to him. He didn’t even reach as far as Albus’s hips. The man had a bald shining head and a grim face that never smiled. His neck was always twitching to the side in a nervous tick.

“Ah, yes! I was delighted to hear from you after so long, Master Lywell.” Albus smiled warmly but the man’s expression didn’t change. His neck twitched to the side as he watched Albus blankly, not saying a word. He was never very chatty.

“You said you had some good news for me.”

“Yes, I do.” Twitch.

“Fantastic! It has been a heavy day. I could use some good news.” No response. The man watched him blankly as if he couldn’t understand what Albus was saying. Really, sometimes Albus wondered how this man could be the most brilliant spell crafter alive. He certainly didn’t look the part.

“Well, then, let’s hear it!”

“The crafting of the spell is complete.” Albus blinked. The information took a while to properly sink in. What? That’s it? It was done? Ten years of waiting were finally over? Albus should be happy, he should be thrilled but he was still in complete shock. He hadn’t expected this, not so soon.

“So you did it? You created the spell?”

“Yes.” Master Lywell stated drily. There was no emotion behind the word, no sense of satisfaction for a job well done, only a blank statement of fact.

“When can the spell be cast?”

“In a month’s time, it will be ready. The second stage which involves the potion is more complicated. It requires an expert potion master to brew.” His neck twitched again as Master Lywell reached into his pocket and took out a small piece of parchment. “I have a list of the potion masters with enough skill to brew such a complex potion. I assume you will be contacting one of them.” Albus nodded as he bent down to take the parchment from the Master’s fingers. Then without another word, Master Lywell turned around and disappeared through a side door. He didn’t even bother to greet Albus. Yes, that certainly was one odd little man.
Albus turned back to look at James. Slowly, a sense of elation was spreading through him. He couldn’t help it. He opened his mouth and laughed aloud into the empty room, empty except for the hundreds of bodies, their eyes closed, unseeing. This is it. He did it. The spell was finally created. The only thing that has to be done now is to brew a potion and then, the wait will be over. A few months, that is all it will take. A few months and the project will finally be over. All the sleepless nights, all the worry and the failed experiments, everything will end.

Oh, Severus, today you told me that there was no point in trying to reconcile you to James Potter’s memory. You thought that it didn’t matter if you hated a dead man but you were wrong, my boy. Oh, how wrong you were! James is not dead, only frozen, only sleeping peacefully until the time is right. One day, very soon, he will rise up, alive and happy as ever, ready to fight all the evil in the world. The time is approaching. The warrior is about to return.