"Severus," Dumbledore's voice, even in death, is sonorous and filled with sympathy, and impossible for Severus to ignore.

"Albus?" Severus is done with using honorifics. If death isn't an equalizer, then nothing is. He rolls his eyes when Dumbledore shifts his white robes and turns toward where Severus is sitting, where he's been sitting since he passed from one life to the next.

"I fear that -"

Severus holds a hand up, stilling Dumbledore's tongue before he can finish whatever it is that he's about to say. Any sentence that starts out like that is bound to make Severus grumpy. He doesn't want to be grumpy in the afterlife, not when he can enjoy a semblance of peace, surrounded as he is by daisies and white, fluffy clouds.

"No, Albus," Severus says. "Whatever it is that you fear, count me out of it."

"But," Dumbledore frowns, and pulls at his chin where his beard used to be, obviously trying to figure out a new tactic for how to approach him with whatever task he'd like Severus to fulfill. "You haven't even heard what I was going to say."

"I don't need to," Severus says, resisting the urge to add the words, old man.

Here, in the afterlife, Dumbledore no longer resembles an old man. He looks younger than Severus ever remembers him looking. Dumbledore looks like a teenager. It's disconcerting.

Dumbledore sits beside Severus and sighs. It's one of those bone weary types of sighs, and, in spite of himself, Severus turns to look at his former mentor, raises an eyebrow in question.

"It's just," Dumbledore sighs again, bites his lip, belying the man's true age, no matter what he looks like now.

"What is it?" Severus asks, losing what little patient he'd managed to procure. He still resembled himself, the him he'd been just prior to his death - greasy hair, oily skin and all.

"Well, I'm worried about Harry," Dumbledore confesses. He's not looking at Severus, but rather at his hands. They're hands that belong to someone too young to have such a heavy heart.

Severus is glad that he hasn't been de-aged in death. It would, in his opinion, be an insult. The scars that he's carried into death - he's earned them, he doesn't want them wiped away, as though his struggles in life were all for naught.

"He's alive, your plan worked," Severus says, rather sourly. "Let the living take care of their own. The dead have enough on their plate with learning how to achieve peace in the afterlife."

He's right. Dumbledore knows this. And yet the old man, turned young, sighs, and this pulls at Severus. Even in death, Dumbledore knows how to get to him. Knows which buttons to push. They are, after all, the same buttons he had when he'd been counted among the living.

"For Lily's sake," Dumbledore says. His voice is heavy, weighted down with decades of remorse. "For your own sake, Severus. Please go to the boy, check up on him. I fear that his life has gotten out of control."

Severus knows better than to ask why Dumbledore can't go to Potter himself. The wizard's tied to the afterlife in a way that Severus is not. The only way that Dumbledore can peek in on those who are living, is through his portraits at Hogwarts.

Now it's Severus' turn to sigh. He can do as Dumbledore's asked. There is nothing keeping him tied to this plane of existence. No portrait that he can use to spy on those who are still living, but rather the use of a non-corporeal body. He can visit Potter, anyone, in their dreams, or in that brief moment after waking, when they are still stuck between the world of sleep and that of wakefulness.

It's something that Severus has not chosen to do, though he'd toyed, briefly, with the idea of appearing in Lucius Malfoy's dreams. Of delivering the pompous ass - who'd been nothing but a coward - a truly haunting visitation.

"What makes you think that Potter's life is out of control?" Severus asks. "Surely the boy is basking in his glory. After all, he defeated the Dark Lord. I am sure that he's reaping the benefits of that. He..."

"Severus," Dumbledore cuts him off with another long-suffering sigh, laying a hand on Severus' arm. "Harry has never enjoyed being in the limelight. He's...I'm afraid that he's not coping well with all of the deaths his victory has wrought."

And that's why Severus chooses to stare straight ahead rather than mill around in the afterlife. He doesn't want to see those who'd died in the war, some of whom he feels responsible for killing - Lily, Potter, Dumbledore...

"And you know this, how?" Severus asks.

The back of Dumbledore's hand is smooth, no longer black and gnarled, no longer diseased. Severus looks at that, doesn't trust himself to look at the man's face, knowing that, if he does, he won't be able to refuse him what he's requesting.

Dumbledore takes a deep breath, lets it out, and the man's hand reminds Severus of when he was younger, before he'd met the Dark Lord. Before he'd lost his soul.

"Your soul, my dear boy," Dumbledore's voice is deep, heavy, causes Snape to look up, "is not lost. Far from it, Severus. Just like Harry's is not lost. Minerva shared some of her misgivings about Harry with me. With my portrait."

Dumbledore's eyes are bluer than Severus remembers them being in life. They are sharper, too. Can see - if Severus is not mistaken - into the very heart of him. Maybe they've always been that way.

Even in death Dumbledore's eyes seem to twinkle, not with humor or mystery, but rather with wisdom and understanding. They look jeweled in the bright light of the afterlife.

Severus looks away, finding solace in the no longer gnarled hand of the man he'd served as penance for being the cause of Lily and Potter's deaths. The hand is an anchor, a reminder that not all has been lost, even in death.

"What is it that you'd like me to do?" Severus asks, his throat feeling tight.

"Visit him," Dumbledore says; his voice almost wistful. "Let him know that the sacrifices that were made were not in vain. That, he should start living his life. That he should stop clinging to the past, and start living in the present."

"Life being a gift, and all that," Severus says, rolling his eyes, and waving his hand in the air.

"Will you do it?" Dumbledore asks; voice serious and subdued.

Severus knows that if he were to look at Dumbledore now, the man's twinkling eyes would sear him. Make him realize that he still owes Dumbledore his very life, even in death.

Instead, Severus focuses on the back of Dumbledore's hand, and he wonders if Dumbledore chose to be this age - fourteen, maybe fifteen - in the afterlife, or if it was simply granted him by the wizards and witches who control this realm. The founding fathers of Hogwarts are also those who reign in death. In a way, it makes sense.

Severus nods. He can't trust his voice right now. There'll be too much venom in it. Venom that Dumbledore doesn't deserve. He owes Lily, Potter, and Dumbledore. He owes the founding fathers. He owes everyone who died in the war.

"You do not owe us, Severus," Dumbledore says. "It is we who owe you."

Severus shakes his head. His mouth twists in denial, and his hands clench into fists. No one owes him anything, least of all a chance to redeem himself. He'd half expected that he'd be thrown into the realm that the Dark Lord was now occupying. An afterlife of darkness so deep that it blinded you. An afterlife filled with endless despair and pain. An afterlife that better fit the life Severus had lived than this one - filled with fields of daisies and endless blue skies, with happiness should he just reach out and accept it.

Severus' heart grows still, and a momentary peace steals over him. He knows that it's Dumbledore's doing, that the wizard is now one of the caretakers of this realm.

"Was it really my choice to make?" Severus asks. "Going to Potter?"

Dumbledore nods, squeezes Severus' arm. "Everything is a choice."

Severus snorts, stares directly at the sun. It's always shining. There is no night, and Severus misses it. Misses the moon. Misses the rain. Misses the life that he'd never really gotten to live. The life that he should've been able to live after the war. The life that, even if he had gotten to live it, would never have satisfied him, because it would have been a life lived without Lily.

"You will do this for me?" Dumbledore asks, though Severus is certain that the wizard had already known what answer Severus would give him before he'd even sought him out. Dumbledore had always been like that - death would not make it any different.

"Yes, old man," Severus says, sarcasm dripping from his lips. "I'll go check up on Potter for you. Tell him that there's more to life than death. Get him back on the straight and narrow path of life so that he doesn't waste it as I did." There's bitterness in his words, and Severus does nothing to temper it.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore says. He pats him on the arm. "I knew that I could count on you."

"Why not send the boy's mother or father?" Severus asks after a moment's hesitation, the thought suddenly occurring to him.

Dumbledore frowns, makes him look much older than he should in his current incarnation. By the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes, Severus knows he's not going to like what the wizard is going to say. He steels himself, takes a deep breath and waits for Dumbledore's answer.

"They, my boy, are at peace. They've done what they could for their son," Dumbledore says. "They, unfortunately, are not at liberty to revisit him."

There's sorrow reflected in Dumbledore's eyes, and Severus bites back the retort that he'd had ready on his lips before Dumbledore had even begun speaking. It seems petty now. Not that Severus is opposed to being petty. He hasn't got much else going for him in the afterlife; only what he's held onto - from his former life - with great tenacity: a sour disposition; his dark, foreboding looks; sarcasm; pettiness...

"So, I'm the last resort?" Severus asks, thinks of inquiring after Black and Lupin, but would rather not hear about how they're faring in the afterlife. He knows that they're doing well, thriving even. After all, they don't have a lifetime of regrets weighing them down. At least not the kinds of regrets that Severus has. Regrets and mistakes that should've kept him in perpetual darkness rather than light.

Dumbledore's smile is sad and he pats Severus' knee, shakes his head. "No, you are my first choice. I doubt that Harry would listen to Black or Lupin, not with something like this. He needs you, like it or not."

"And what of Weasley?" Severus wishes that he could've saved the twin, knows that the wizarding world is not the same without him.

Dumbledore laughs, wipes away tears from his eyes. Severus glares at him, nostrils flaring. Dumbledore sobers up and apologizes. "He is otherwise occupied, and, again, he's not right for this. No, what Harry needs right now is a good, swift kick in the pants."

Severus' lips twist into a scowl. Pettiness rears its ugly head again, and this time he gives into it. "I see. So, if someone needs a swift kick in the arse, Severus is the go-to man." He shakes his head, should've known that he'd be the afterlife's version of a heavy hitter. Haunting poor, lost souls until they see fit to change their ways.

He almost stands then, almost walks away from Dumbledore, from the bench that's in the middle of the field that he's occupied since Nagini killed him with her poison. He remains sitting when Dumbledore grips his arm, feels compelled to look at the disorienting, younger version of his mentor.

"It's not like that, Severus," Dumbledore says sharply. "And I think there is some part of you that knows that."

Severus takes a deep breath, motions for Dumbledore to get on with it, because he's got better things to do with his eternity than to listen to Dumbledore prattle on about what he does and does not know. He just wants to get this visitation with Potter over with so that he can enjoy the better things in the afterlife.

Better things, like looking at the sun and watching the daisies bow their heads in the gentle breeze? His inner voice drips of sarcasm. Severus wonders if Dumbledore can hear his inner voice when the wizard smiles at him, blue eyes definitely twinkling with humor as opposed to wisdom.

"Fine, I'll do it," Severus says, pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering if he's supposed to be able to develop a headache even though he's dead. Certainly a headache-free existence isn't too much to ask for. He's asked for very little, nothing in actuality. Knows he doesn't deserve even that much.

The smile that Dumbledore gives him is enough to outdo the brightness of the sun, and Severus holds a hand in front of his eyes to shield them. He's only being partially sarcastic in the gesture. Dumbledore's teeth reflect the rays of the sun and really do glint rather marvelously. Almost blindingly so.

"You'll need this," Dumbledore says, and Severus squints at him.

There's a mirror in the wizard's hand, and it's unlike any that Severus has ever seen before. He frowns, but takes the mirror. It's heavier than it looks.

"It is a portal from this realm to the one that Harry occupies," Dumbledore explains. "It will allow you to get a glimpse of his life, and then, when you're ready, it'll allow you a brief window of time to communicate with him. I trust that you'll get through to the boy, keep him from continuing along the path of self-destruction that he's currently on."

Severus swallows, and nods. It's rather daunting when it comes right down to it. He holds, quite literally, the life of another person in his hands. Granted, he is not responsible for whatever decision Potter chooses to make in the end, but he is responsible for giving the young wizard a choice, making him aware of the path that he's on and how it could lead to his destruction. How he's aware of all of that, he doesn't quite know.

"It's rather illuminating, isn't it?" Dumbledore says, nodding toward the mirror.

Frowning, Severus nods, and he looks into the mirror. When he looks up again, to ask Dumbledore how much time he has, the wizard is gone, the bench where he'd been sitting is cool to the touch, like he'd never been there to begin with.