There were very few times when Severus questioned Albus Dumbledore’s sanity. He was the old man who had conquered Grindelwald. He was powerful and kind – every witch and wizard revered this old man.

But maybe… he was getting old – exceptionally old. How many years had this man lived already? Wasn’t Dumbledore pushing a hundred and fifty now? Retirement should’ve happen fifty years ago, at least. Even Muggles knew to retire in their sixties or seventies. Though, yes, they didn’t live as long…

That certainly didn’t mean dementia hadn’t settled inside this old man’s mind fifty years ago.

“Albus…” Severus took a deep breath; the sides of his lips lifted into a tense, awkward, not quite a smile expression. “Why don’t you come visit Mr. Potter in the hospital wing? I’m sure he would… appreciate the gesture when he wakes – and we can have a… nice chat with Poppy.”

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, looking over his spectacles with slightly stern expression. “I am not ill. Will you please listen?”

“You are suggesting that you are a…”

“A time traveler, yes.”

Of course. Because even in the magical world, time traveling is accepted as a normal instance – also, it’s not illegal at all.

“If this is a joke—”

“It’s not, Severus,” said Dumbledore, overriding him. “I died before the war ended. I watched the fulfillment of that war. I saw Voldemort die, but I died before my time. There was so much left to be done and, yet, I failed those who were the most important to me.”

Those bright blue eyes were filled with such deep pain.

“I left a huge burden on your shoulders when I died. In the end, you had no reward for it.”

A slight tremor echoed through Severus’ chest. “So, I died as well.”

It didn’t surprise him. He was playing a dangerous game with Voldemort, one that he knew could end poorly for him. His only fear was that he wouldn’t fulfill his part before the end. At least… That had been his only fear. Now there was something else tugging at his heart. A boy lying in the hospital wing made Severus fear for his own life: what would happen to that boy should Severus die now?

“I will be honest, not to shame you, but for guilt on my part,” said Dumbledore, closing his eyes. “It was a cheap death, one I had not foreseen possible. Your death is the one that pains me the most. I don’t want that to happen again. But… I don’t know how to use this gift well enough yet, it would seem. My greatest mistake was always holding back information.”

“Wait,” whispered Severus, holding up a hand. New realization dawned on his mind. His voice slowly rose. “If you got a second chance, then explain to me why we’re here right now?”

“I don’t follow—”

“Where were you fourteen years ago?!” bellowed Severus at the top of his lungs. “Why are we having this problem in the first place?! Lily should be alive. She should be happily married to that arrogant prat, Potter, and storming the halls with a multitude of wild offspring that would put the Weasley matriarch at shame!”

Dear Merlin, that image is almost frightening. Imagine a Potter raised Potter…

“Ah…” Dumbledore let out a low breath. “I wish that had been possible. However, I only awakened at the start of this school year. If I’d had the chance to go back, I assure you, Severus, that things would’ve been different.”

“What’s the point of time traveling if you don’t go back to the beginning!” shouted Severus – however, this wasn’t directly towards Dumbledore.

At the start of the school year… And he’s only telling me now?

The old man sighed. “I understand your frustration—”

“Oh, no, you have no idea,” hissed Severus. “You have no idea, no understanding whatsoever of how I feel right now and I would appreciate it if you stopped trying!”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, putting his hands onto his face and rubbing his eyes. “I… don’t know what to say, I’m afraid. This has been a new experience for me as well and I wasn’t sure what I should do.”

“One would think that the answer to that is obvious!”

“Is it?” asked Dumbledore, looking up. “Is it really? Severus, I ask you, then, if you knew the future, what would you do? Would you change things that the future you know doesn’t happen? But what would then happen? The new future is unknown. This is a perfect example of this. In my first future, there wasn’t a problem with the quill. I should’ve suspected something off, with everything accelerated as it was. Dolores didn’t become inquisitor until a few months into the school years.”

“Explain!” snapped Severus, his patience long gone now.

“I could ruin everything,” said Dumbledore, his face scrunching up in pain. “This new future could be worse than the first. Do I really want that responsibility?”

“Well, someone gave it to you,” snapped Severus. “Someone decided that you needed to fix things. Why that stupid someone didn’t throw you back fourteen years is beyond me!”

“I have been trying my best. I put Harry with you,” said Dumbledore, a pleading entering his tone. “That alone has changed so much.”

“Oh, yes, put the boy with his most hated teacher,” snarled Severus. “Brilliant, Albus!” he shouted, almost hysterical now. “You have a way with brilliance that we mortals can’t compare with—” Severus let out a deep huff. “And another thing, why are you only just now explaining this to me? Why didn’t you tell me about this the second you knew you were different?”

“Would you have believed me?” asked Dumbledore, a soft element of incredulity in his voice. “You can barely take it right now—”

“You are a hypocrite!” shouted Severus, his hand snapping out as he pointed a finger at the old man. “You just said that your greatest mistake was holding back information. You’re doing it again! You haven’t changed at all!”

Dumbledore dropped his head.

There was silence for a long moment

“We’ve been friends for a long time,” whispered Severus, his tone instantly dropping. “But after this… I don’t know if I trust you any more.”

“I’m so sorry, Severus,” whispered Dumbledore. “I will do my utmost to make this up to you and Harry. I won’t make the same mistakes any more. I’ll be forthcoming with Harry and—”

“No,” said Severus, a sudden surge of protectiveness overriding his senses. He glared at Dumbledore, shaking his head with newfound determination. “No. No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to try again.”

“But—”

“All those plans you spoke about with me,” continued Severus, his voice rising higher. “All the preparations for war, all the possible outcomes, and how it was to end with Harry – I want no part of it.”

“You can’t abandon the boy now,” cried Dumbledore, the shock bursting through his features. “It would devastate—”

Severus lifted a hand, his eyes whirling with fury. “You misunderstand,” he hissed. “I am not abandoning the boy. It’s you – you are the one I want nothing to do with right now. I want no part in the end you’ve chosen.”

“You do realize what is inside of him, yes?” whispered Dumbledore. “In my first future, my plan worked – and the boy lived. I sent him back.”

“I don’t care about your first future!” shouted Severus. “I care about the here and now. You no longer have any say over him. I am the one who will decide what is best for Harry. You’ve proven otherwise.”

“Severus, we all make mistakes,” said Dumbledore, sorrow in those ageless eyes. “You, of all people—”

“Don’t you dare!” shouted Severus, stunning himself by the pure rage that poured through his veins. It didn’t stop. “Don’t you even dare! I know my sins! I know them better than anyone else! I know exactly the horrible things I’ve done. So, don’t you dare!”

“I wasn’t—”

“I didn’t know!” shouted Severus, desperation in his voice. The words wouldn’t stop; they flowed through his heart, the agony threatening to tear about his very soul. He grabbed his head, his fingers dragging through his hair. His tone dropped like a stone. He whispered, “I didn’t know.”

Oh, how he wished he’d known. He told himself if he had known, then he would’ve made different choices. But he still couldn’t help but wonder: would knowing have made a difference?

“And I would not make the same mistakes twice,” whispered Severus. “I have learned in the most final and terrible way. Whoever sent you back made a mistake. It should’ve been me.”

He would change everything. He would take back the words he had said to her. He would treat her better. He would not let the abuse from his father rule over his heart. And… even if she still chose Potter over him, he would not hate her for it. He wouldn’t hate her son, her children – and he would do everything to be a friend her in life forever and perhaps be an influence over her children.

Even if it meant getting along with her annoying husband.

But he didn’t have that chance. It had been wasted on an old man set in his ways, one who hadn’t truly learned how to change. How many more mistakes would he make before he learned? Even a child knew not to touch fire twice.

The only time Severus had was the present – and he was going to stop keeping with the status quo. Because it obviously wasn’t going to work all that well, now was it?

“You no longer have any say,” said Severus. A peace entered his heart. “You made him my ward. He is now my responsibility. I, and I alone, will decide what to tell him. I have already committed to taking him on as an Apprentice. I already have guardianship over him.”

But that wasn’t enough to protect him. A guardianship and ward capacity could change at any moment. The Ministry could dismiss the document on trumped up grounds if they wanted. Apprenticeship could also be annulled should the Ministry deem him an unworthy master. Anything could take that boy away and throw him back to those terrible Muggles or even worse.

He needed permanent responsibility over the boy.

A single tear slipped down a wrinkled cheek.

“And you,” whispered Severus, pointing at Dumbledore, the pain now tearing his heart. “And you can do the war without us. You take your newfound perspective and win the war without us. Harry deserves something more. He deserves some peace after so many years of that terror. Of course, only if he lives! You pushed the guardianship through, then… then…” Severus trailed off, his mind racing. His mouth opened and, before he could stop himself, the words rushed forth on their own accord, “Then, the best thing you can do is push through my application to adopt Harry.”

Dear Merlin, did I really just suggest that?

I did. I really did.

I should really invest in a good potions mask. The fumes must be warping my mind.

Dumbledore bowed his head. He nodded.

“I couldn’t agree more, Severus. I promise you: I will take care of it.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“I swear it. I’ll take care of it all. I won’t repeat the same mistakes this time. I’m so sorry.”

***

Hermione sat on the edge of Harry’s bedside, staring at his pale countenance. He looked so different than he normally did. His face was scrunched up in his sleep; his breathing was ragged. This wasn’t right. Why couldn’t magic heal him faster than this? Why did he have to struggle like this?

They were witches and wizards. Magic had to have more practical uses, shouldn’t it?

There was so much to learn. There had to be faster ways of healing. There had to be better answers out there. If there was one thing Hermione knew, it was that Wizards and Witches were horribly behind on the times. The use of quills instead of pens or pencils took a large learning curve for Muggleborns. Why did they use old yellow parchment for writing, instead of clean white paper – hadn’t they heard of notebooks before?

Wizards still used candles and lanterns for light. For being magical, it seemed rather lackluster to Hermione. In so many ways, magic wasn’t all that practical. She never questioned schooling before in her life, but when they couldn’t even heal a teenager easily or quickly, something was missing here. Would they really need to turn a goblet into a mouse in their everyday life? How would that make a difference in the larger picture of in the community?

There had to be something more that they didn’t know.

With a sigh, Hermione looked around the quiet hospital wing. Some of the other prefects were talking together in low tones. Draco and Pansy were apart from the others. Draco had a grim expression on his face, his arms folded against his chest. Occasionally, he glanced towards Hermione, before he quickly looked away.

He’s not looking at me… Wait, is he worried about Harry? Draco Malfoy… worried about this rival?

With a rise of courage, Hermione pulled away from Harry’s side. Ron glanced at her, before coming with her. He gave her a questioning gaze, but she ignored him. She stepped towards the group and smiled lightly.

“What’re you all discussing?” asked Hermione, feeling uncomfortable approaching the rest of them.

“How to get rid of the hag,” said Draco with a drawl.

What? Really?

“Hang on, you’ve been on her side the entire time,” snapped Ron. “Why would you want her gone?”

Draco’s face tightened. For a moment, Hermione could see a glimpse into the future; it had always happened before anyway. Draco would retort with some nasty comment; Ron would snap back – and the pair of them would exchange insults back and forth, before someone would draw a wand.

But they couldn’t do that right now. They didn’t have time for that childish stuff.

And for the first time, that blessedly didn’t happen.

Draco sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. He glanced up, his pompous composure easing somewhat. “Look, Weasley, I’m going to explain this to you only one time, all right? Do you have any idea what it means to be a Slytherin? It’s about survival. Cunning is about outsmarting your opponent, so nothing goes wrong for you. Just because we don’t piss off the hag on the first day of class, that doesn’t mean we don’t think she’s a kiss up to Fudge and a complete waste of space.” He paused, before he added, “And don’t get us started on that pink cardigan.”

He folded his arms and looked away.

“She offered me fashion advice after class one day,” said Pansy, her lip curling in disgust. “That woman has some nerve.”

Hermione glanced over at Ron, hoping beyond all hope that he wouldn’t push to fight. However, Ron didn’t say anything at first. He stared at Draco, his eyes narrowing slightly – yet it wasn’t in a threatening way.

“You play chess, Malfoy?” asked Ron.

And that’s not random at all.

Draco lifted an eyebrow. “Of course.”

Ron nodded, looking pensive. It was such a foreign look on his face – yet it did him well, in Hermione’s opinion.

“We should play a game. You know, to pass the time. I could go pop back to the Gryffindor common room and be right back.”

Hermione sighed in relief, thankful that a war hadn’t started in the hospital wing. Sometimes, she could really appreciate these odd quirks of Ron.

“Were you even listening?” asked Draco, looking confused.

“Of course I was listening,” snapped Ron. “That’s why I thought you’d be a good chess player.”

“What does chess have to do with anything—”

“It’s a game of strategy, Malfoy,” said Ron loudly. “I guess you could say there’s cunning in it. You’ve got to know when to offensively or when to go on the defense – when to sacrifice a pawn, when not to. What I’m trying to say is that I get what you’re saying, all right? Slytherins play chess more defensively than Gryffindors, I bet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, let’s play a game and we’ll find out.”