Snape brooded for days, taking meals alongside his family and refusing to leave Lily's quarters. He wanted to avoid displaying the weakness in his hands to his nosy, overly-intrusive peers. Or at least, that's what he tried to tell himself.

But as usual, Lily was able to see through his rationalizations with a single discerning look. This afternoon when he requested - yet again - to eat with the family in the tower, Snape noticed that although she didn't look at him, he saw Lily's body tense for the space of a heartbeat. It was not worth the migraine, he explained, that would surely be evoked by having to suffer through the attention of their dunderhead coworkers. Or worse, he thought to himself, have to see the pity in their eyes as I struggle to feed myself like an infant.

Turning to face him, Lily cocked her head and shrewdly narrowed her eyes for a long moment. "You know, giving Dumbledore the silent treatment is just as pointless as asking Hagrid to swap pants with Professor Flitwick."

Snape pressed his lips together in a thin line, evoking a very McGonagall-esque expression while attempting not to smile. He had a very vivid mental picture of Hagrid's big toe dressed in Flitwick's trousers, while the minuscule professor tried to escape a sea of fabric, dragging it behind him like the train of an extremely hairy, ugly wedding gown.

Snape couldn't be sure in that moment if he wanted to throttle Lily for knowing him so well when he treasured his privacy, or kiss her senseless for understanding his complicated moods.

"Sev, I'm behind you no matter what you do," she said quietly. "But it's time for you to decide if Dumbledore's faults where Harry is concerned are too disastrous to forgive."

A few minutes later, Snape had been unceremoniously kicked from the tower and was on his way to see the headmaster. He was constantly reminded of what he'd almost lost every time he looked upon his son, and as such still didn't trust his ability to keep calm around the man.

So in an attempt to calm his simmering rage, Snape made an abrupt turn toward his office. He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, as up to this point he still wasn't even sure what he'd be doing when term started. It's not as if I'll be teaching Potions... He thought, somewhat bitterly.

Snape briefly considered the position that was open yet again this year since the students had driven The Toad to an early retirement. Umbridge's undoing had mainly been thanks to the Weasley twins, he thought sullenly. I'll have to remember to thank them.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the one teaching position that students believed Snape wanted badly enough to kill for. He couldn't help the satisfied smirk that crossed his features when he thought of all the scandalous whispers he'd heard throughout the years. Snape himself had been the one to start that particular rumor all that time ago, when he had first switched allegiances and tuned spy for Dumbledore. He'd needed a believable cover story that the Dark Lord would accept without question - and the idea that Dumbledore would be cautious enough to keep Snape away from the Defense Against the Dark Arts position was surely that.

In all honesty, Snape wanted nothing to do with teaching DADA. Although he excelled in the subject, it no longer held the appeal it once had when he was a bullied teenager longing for revenge. Not only that, but he was well aware that the Dark Lord would be much more interested in his day-to-day activities here at Hogwarts if he began teaching the subject, and would have many ideas about how to gain sway over the young, impressionable minds here. The last thing he needed was the Dark Lord constantly looking over his shoulder in the one place he felt somewhat in control of his own life.

Potions had always been the perfect solution - a safe haven for Snape, and a foolproof way to offer 'inside information' on Dumbledore while at the same time keeping the Dark Lord apathetic enough to allow him freedom of movement at the school.

But now he may not have a choice. If he wanted to stay at Hogwarts he may be forced to teach DADA, as his hands were getting better thanks to his physical therapy sessions. He now could lightly grasp a wand, although the intricate finger and wrist movements needed to cast spells were still extremely difficult, and thus he usually ended up dropping it.

Snape grimaced as he admitted that he did indeed need to meet with Dumbledore, as it would be crucial to discuss how they would explain this new turn of events in such a way so as not to blow his cover.

But Snape wasn't looking forward to sitting across from the man that was responsible for his son's near-miss with the Devil. Stalling in an attempt to give himself more time to prepare for that dreaded moment, he finally arrived outside his office door. Placing his contorted hand upon the rough wood, Snape murmured the same string of Latin incantations that had unlocked the wards at Spinner's End. The planks glowed beneath his swollen palm and the door opened with a soft snick.

He shouldered his way into the room, stopping just inside the doorway to take stock of the small office and all its supplies. Snape's sharp gaze traversed the rows of glass jars and bottles, quickly alighting on something that didn't belong: his wand, laying perfect and pristine on his desk as if he had only ever imagined the dark wood snapping in half.

What…?

Relief and confusion warred within his brain. He'd felt naked these past few days without his wand, on edge as if he was going to be attacked at any moment, and grief-stricken as if he'd lost a close friend.

He ran his fingertips almost lovingly over the familiarly worn bumps and grooves of the thin wooden stick, and only noticed the other item laying beneath it when his caress made the paper crunch beneath his swollen hand. It was a folded newspaper – grayish and dingy like old worn socks – doubled back to a particular page and obviously placed there for him to find. Curiously, none of the pictures plastered across the page moved.

His eyes scanned the page in his hand for a long moment. Suddenly Snape's heart stopped in his chest, and his gaze narrowed dangerously upon a picture of the filthy abuser muggles that he'd hoped he'd never have to see again. 'LOCAL TEEN KILLS FATHER IN DRUG-FUELED RAGE', the title screamed up at him from above the picture.

Snape was riveted by some twisted sense of morbid curiosity. His mind revolted at the sight of them, but he wouldn't have been able to look away had the Dark Lord himself barged in and started firing Unforgivables his way:

Dudley Dursley, 16, a local teenager from Little Whinging, Surrey, murdered his father Vernon Dursley Tuesday afternoon in what officials are saying was a drug-induced fit of rage.

"It looks as if the two of them entered into a physical altercation, and Mr. Dursley suffered a severe head trauma, which ultimately killed him," an anonymous source from the Surrey police department says. "We've come to the conclusion that drugs were involved, after young Mr. Dursley tested positive for an unknown substance and an anonymous community tip led us to the young man's drug flat. The flat was raided, and the rest of his gang have been arrested for Class A drug trafficking, as well as possession with intent to distribute."

Members of the gang were also implicated in a string of rapes that have recently taken place in the area on both men and women young and old. "These people were animals," continued our source. "It wasn't about sexual gratification – it was a bid to instill terror throughout the community so there would be no resistance over their impending drug business."

When asked what kind of drugs were found, all our anonymous source would say is, "Whatever that stuff was, I'm glad we were able to get it off the streets. [The deceased] had over eleven stone on his son, and the extent of his injuries looked as if he'd jumped in front of a moving bus. I wouldn't want to answer a call with people high on drugs that allowed them to do that to our local law enforcement."

The body was found by Mrs. Petunia Dursley, wife of the deceased and mother of the perpetrator, when she arrived home later that afternoon. Neighbors reported they could hear her screams as far as three streets over.

Mrs. Dursley was taken to the local hospital, but was later transferred to West Park Mental Hospital in Epsom, Surrey when police arrived and she was unable to give an accurate account of what had happened. "The woman must have snapped," our source tells us. "Husband dead, son in the process of overdosing on his drugs upstairs... She was babbling about all kind of things - black magic, teachers from some pretend school who were out to get the family. She even went as far as blaming her husband's death on a fictitious family member that we could find no trace of. None of the neighbors we spoke to ever saw anyone other than the three Dursleys living there."

Mrs. Arabella Figg, a neighbor living across the street from the Dursleys, tells us that she had suspected that teenager Dudley was up to no good for some time. "The boy was a menace within the neighborhood," she says. "He was coming and going at all hours of the night, and could be downright scary if you crossed him. I'm not surprised something like this happened... Not surprised at all."

When our source was asked if the community had anything to fear, we were told, "The Surrey PD doesn't think so. This looks like an isolated incident, as both the drugs and the gang were taken off the streets before they could do any more harm. Nevertheless, we are still searching for any victims they may have attacked before the police knew of their existence within our quiet community. We ask anyone who has any information to please come forward and help us put these young men in prison where they belong."

Dudley Dursley and the other members of the gang are scheduled to be arraigned on Thursday on drug charges and multiple counts of rape.

Snape stared down at the page, the last word of the article screaming up at him in its horrifying simplicity. Rape. Harry was almost raped. That word didn't even begin to explain the exquisite, lifelong anguish that it brought upon its victims. Harry's petrified pleas echoed through his brain, mingling with horrifying memories from Snape's own childhood, of whimpers and screams and nights filled with terror.

Suddenly it was no longer the memory of a young Snape and his evil father that flashed through his mind. Instead those disturbing images had morphed into Harry and his demented, horrific cousin.

Snape's vision filled and twisted into an ugly shade of red. The blood pounded through his ears as a grotesque rage overtook his every nerve ending and sent him into a spiraling fury. His rage focused on one single point, and it echoed painfully, repeatedly throughout his mind.

Dumbledore. This was his fault.

How DARE he send my boy directly into the jaws of Hell?!

Snape was moving before he'd even thought about doing so. It began as a brisk walk, but by the time he reached the dungeon steps, he was practically running in his haste to confront the old fool. His rage propelled him faster through the stone hallways and up the staircases until he was standing before the ugly gargoyle sentinel. Heavy breaths tore through his lungs, and Snape wasn't sure if it was because of his frantic pace throughout the castle or his burning rage to confront the headmaster.

Realizing that he didn't know the password, Snape forced his body to calm as he closed his eyes and took deep breaths through his nose. He would need his wits about him if he didn't want to be talked into one of Dumbledore's traps.

Guilt suddenly rose within him, cutting quietly through his anger like an ancient water serpent through a Scottish loch. It tried to convince him that his rage was unwarranted. The headmaster has done so much for Harry. And for me. The decisions he makes, no matter how faulty, are always well-intentioned. It's all for the greater g–

"NO!" Snape hissed out loud as his eyes flew open. He fiercely crushed the urge to see things from the old fool's point of view. "The man almost got Harry killed! I will not feel guilty, dam–!"

But he was stopped dead in his tracks, as the gargoyle had suddenly leapt to life when he uttered the word, 'guilty'.

The water serpent in Snape's mind attempted once again to get his attention and whisper how odd that fact was. In all sixteen years that I have taught here, Dumbledore has never had anything other than sweets as his passwords. Why would 'guilty' be…? But Snape cruelly wrenched his thoughts away and paid the niggling worry no heed.

Rushing up the spiraling staircase, he burst through the door at the top without bothering to knock. The headmaster sat hunched in his throne-like chair behind his desk, looking worn and deeply exhausted, and seeming older than Snape could ever remember seeing him. His lined face was grave, his brows drawn into a troubled expression, and he never took his gaze from the window and the sweeping views below. He was quiet for long moments, and as Snape stood still and silent on the threshold, he began to wonder if Dumbledore even realized he was there.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Dumbledore suddenly muttered into the silence.

He didn't even have the decency to look Snape in the eye, and instead continued to gaze morosely out the window. The sight of his self-pity when Harry was the one that had been most affected was almost too much for Snape to handle.

"Sorry for what exactly, Headmaster?" He replied in an icy, dangerous tone. He wanted nothing more than to slam the door, and only just managed to close it softly behind him. "Sorry about the fact that my house burned down, and all my worldly possessions along with it?" He stalked slowly, menacingly forward. "Sorry that Bellarix crippled my hands badly enough that I will not be able to teach for a full school year?" Reaching the desk, he leaned painfully forward onto his ruined fingers, not caring about the ominious cracks he heard as he loomed threateningly over the old man. "Or are you sorry for sending my son back into the Devil's lair with those sick, twisted muggles?!"

Dumbledore finally deigned to look up at him, although the movement was sluggish and drawn out. As their gazes connected, the headmaster suddenly seemed extremely feeble and frail, and for some reason Snape wanted nothing more than to attack him.

"You're absolutely right, Severus," Dumbledore replied meekly, staring up at Snape like a pathetically useless pet, long past its prime and needing nothing more than to be put down. "Harry was not safe there - I should have seen it. Instead, I sent him to a prison where he was beaten, bloodied, and abused. There is no excuse for what I did to him. I may as well have inflicted his injuries myself."

Snape's entire body began to tremble as his vision tinged with red. "Don't you dare sit there and pretend that his suffering means anything to you!" He snarled, and Dumbledore flinched as if Snape had struck him. "You, who always encourage Harry to dash headlong into danger, even if it means heinous injury or death. As long as he dies in the name of 'the greater good', then Harry is nothing more than a sacrificial lamb to you! SO DON'T SIT THERE AND INSULT ME BY PRETENDING OTHERWISE!"

Snape couldn't stand to be in the man's presence a moment longer. Storming to the mantle place, he almost knocked the container of floo powder off its stand as he tried multiple times unsuccessfully to scoop the green, glittery powder into his stiff palm.

Finally able to cup a small bit between his fingers, he yelled out, "Lily Prewett's quarters!" And with a glare at the headmaster that burned worse than the scorching flames of Hell, he was gone.

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Dumbledore was unable to sit there a second longer, and he upended his chair with a clatter in his haste to flee the confines of the room that seemed to be shrinking by the moment. Hurrying up the stairs to the castle ramparts above his quarters, the headmaster stood as still as the stone beneath his feet while a sudden, punishing summer storm began to tear at his robes and hair.

It's as if the wind is trying to shove me over the edge, he thought. Perhaps I should let it...

Dumbledore was usually not prone to fits of self-loathing, always knowing exactly why and how he was needed within the universe's master plan. But after these past few days, and especially after this, he couldn't help thinking that Severus might be right in his harsh opinion of his motives; perhaps he had allowed his constant battle for 'the greater good' to cloud his judgment.

The thing Dumbledore yearned for most was to rid the world of the greatest evil it had ever seen, and in turn make it a safer place for wizards and muggles alike. But was he really willing to sacrifice Harry to do so, as Severus claimed?

The short answer was yes, he was. Or, he had been. Before...

Before I fell in love with Harry, as if the boy were my own kin.

Harry and Severus were now his family, unintentionally becoming the son and grandson Dumbledore had never been blessed to have.

The sudden storm caused a gathering darkness to overtake and invade the sky above him, blocking out the sun and making it seem far later than it actually was. The hair on Dumbledore's arms and the back of his neck stood on end as the air tingled with electricity. Lightning suddenly splintered across the sky, dangerously close to the tower. But Dumbledore refused to move, almost hoping it would strike the stones beneath his feet and take the decision he was contemplating out of his hands. The coward's way out.

He stepped slowly up onto the parapets. His toes curled over the edge of the stone blocks as he looked calmly down into the shadow of the castle walls. There was nothing below him now but the punishing wind and the abyss of hundreds of feet of empty air. As Dumbledore stood contemplating plummeting to his death far below, his thoughts drifted once again to Severus and Harry, the family he had never intended to create.

Family...

He'd had a family once. A loving father and dedicated mother. A brother that looked up to him. And a sister...

No. It was too painful to think about his poor, sweet sister.

I sacrificed them all for the greater good. Where had it gotten him? His brother couldn't even stomach the sight of him. Had it been worth it? Had the terrible price he'd been forced to pay helped to make the world a better place? Had the sacrifice of those he loved even changed a thing?

A step. Just one step, he thought, his toes sticking out into space as he gazed down from the dizzying height. Then they can tell me if I'm a good man... If my actions have made a difference and the greater good has been achieved. A single tear trickled beneath his half-moon spectacles as he looked at the ground far below. It traveled down his long, crooked nose before it was whipped by the fierce wind into empty space.

Father… Mother… Aberforth… He choked out a sob at the last. Ariana… Please forgive me. I was selfish and aloof, but all I ever wanted was to help the world.

Just one step.

Then he could talk to them and it would all start to make sense again.

The rocks beneath his feet began to crumble and fall away as his chest heaved with despair. A heavy gust of wind caught him from behind, billowing his robes like a sail and pushing him ever further over the edge. He could almost feel hands at his back, forcing him toward the precipice. His pockets suddenly felt heavy, as if they were filled with stones.

Pockets feel heavy with stones...

Stone... That's it!

Why hadn't he thought of it before?! The stone in his pocket! The ring that he had taken to carrying since finding it in that decrepit old cottage all those days ago. Severus had still been unconscious and Harry had been safe behind the blood wards, or so he thought... In that time of quiet desperation as he worried for his family, Dumbledore had nothing but his mind and his obsession to keep him company, dwelling every minute of every day on how to defeat Tom Riddle. Kill him. Have to kill him. Have to find the Horcruxes.

And then, miraculously, he'd found one. It had been buried under the crumbling floorboards of that old house, and after pulling it from its resting place inside the small box, Dumbledore had placed the ring in the palm of his long-fingered hand. He'd stared at it until realizing that the sun had disappeared below the horizon and there was no more light to see it by. After apparating home to Hogwarts, he'd sworn to destroy the ring the very next morning. But before the sun had risen he'd once again found himself turning the stone over and over in the palm of his hand, watching it twinkle darkly as he'd obsessed upon how to bring down the most evil wizard that had ever lived. Looking up, he realized that darkness had descended yet again, and once more swore that tomorrow, he would destroy the cursed ring.

Tomorrow…

Every day was the same. Dumbledore would wake before dawn and stare at the ring laying docile and unassuming, nestled within his palm. And he could never bring himself to destroy it.

But suddenly Dumbledore knew. This was why he couldn't bring himself to destroy the ring. This moment - now - so that he could talk to his family and beg for clarity and forgiveness.

As lightning streaked across the sky above and the wind continued to whip around him, Dumbledore pulled the ring from his pocket. It shone with an unearthly, eerie glow that promised redemption from those on the other side. All he had to do was put it on...

He slipped the ring onto his finger.