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coyotegothTitle: Much to do, Ere the End
Author:coyotegoth
Rating: PG
Length: ~4,200 words
Summary: Just after Harry goes home for the summer following his third year, Snape and Dumbledore discuss the past, and the future.
Note: Although today’s piece takes place in the same ficton as the rest of my story, it’s a self-contained vignette, a conversation between Dumbledore and Professor Snape taking place roughly three years earlier, just after the events of Prisoner of Azkaban. Accordingly, Azkaban-era spoilers only, for once. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Much To Do, Ere the End
The silvery white not-substance of Dumbledore’s thoughts swirls within the Pensieve, even as he touches his wand to his temple and brings forth yet another shimmering strand. He releases it into the Pensieve’s bowl; an image appears of two aged wizards- one of them Dumbledore himself- facing an ancient man lying, glassy-eyed, on a bed. In the image, Dumbledore takes the man’s wrist in his hand for a moment, then shakes his head; a healer comes forward and pulls a sheet up over the ancient man’s still face. For a moment, the Dumbledore in the image touches the sheeted form’s chest, then its forehead; then, the two wizards turn away.
Dumbledore sighs, and turns away himself; he has seen this too many times already, and there is nothing new to learn from it. His gaze wanders to the surface of his desk, where messages and condolences have been placed; not so very many, perhaps, but then this is a part of his life of which he rarely speaks. A touching note from Minerva McGonagall, elegant looping handwriting in green ink on vellum parchment. An owl from Fudge, offering all possible condolences- before anxiously asking if he has any new information on the whereabouts of Sirius Black, and then requesting that he give his opinion of possibly reviving the Triwizard Tournament... A note from Hagrid, the childish scrawl blurred in places, as though water had splashed on it. A card from Millicent Bagnold. He sighs, as he looks at the shakiness that has entered the once-firm handwriting; he feels he may be attending another of these passings before long.
A very courteous letter from Hermione Granger. He smiles at this- how unsurprising that she should have heard, although the news would not be posted in the Daily Prophet; the Dumbledores have always been a private family. A note from Harry. Dumbledore sighs over this for the thousandth time; his urges toward Harry have always been a touch contradictory. An urge to protect the boy from dangerous situations, dangerous knowledge- as though the son of James Potter could ever keep himself out of harm’s way! An equal, opposing urge to explain everything to him, young though he is. Perhaps most of all, an urge to sit down with him, to try and help him understand...
A soft knock at the door. He stands, and smiles, knowing full well who is there. “Enter.” Professor Snape comes in- tense, and somewhat hesitant, as he always has been when he enters this room. “Headmaster? I wanted to discuss with you my purchase order for the coming year- I’ve requested a new source of dittany, as the store we had been purchasing from seems incapable of harvesting the plants correctly; the seed pods were not being properly removed. If you have a moment...?” he asks, searching the other man's face for a sign.
"Of course." Dumbledore politely lifts a plate, on which lie several large, misshapen objects. "Rock cake?"
Snape looks down at them with barely concealed distaste. "Ahh... thank you, no."
Dumbledore smiles. "Hagrid was kind enough to bake these for me," he says, putting the plate down, "alas, I fear my teeth are no longer up to the challenge. Happily, the giant squid seems quite fond of them..."
Dumbledore pauses, as he looks at this pale, thin man before him, so little changed since his schooldays. He remembers a grudge that has shown no sign of fading with the years; he then sighs slightly, but the other wizard sees it. “Do you wish to be alone, Headmaster? I could...”
“Not at all, Severus- I was merely thinking of Aberforth.”
An uncertain pause. “Your brother is well...?”
“Aside from the allegations involving the charm cast upon that poor goat, he remains unchanged from year to year- most reassuringly so. In fact, he had the most amusing story to regale us with this afternoon, involving my paralyzing childhood fear of earwigs...” Dumbledore walks over to the other man. “Severus- I find that I would like to take some air. Would you care to accompany me, on a tour of the castle?”
*
The voices of the two wizards echo through the torchlit hallways, as they walk along the corridor.
“...and then I discovered that some of the sixth-year Ravenclaws had cast a spell which left the entire floor of the Great Hall covered in ice, much to Appolyon Pringle’s surprise...”
“Mmm- I don’t suppose you had them expelled?”
“Oh, no- I was too busy practicing my triple axle...” Dumbledore interrupts himself, as Peeves, spotting Snape, swerves over to jeer at him. “Good evening, Peeves.”
Peeves immediately breaks off from whatever jeering remark he had been about to make, to stand mock-straight at attention. “Good evening, Headmaster Sir.”
“Now, Peeves- I believe I have mentioned previously that either the title or the honorific will be quite sufficient, thank you,” says Dumbledore, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
“Right you are, Albie,” Peeves replies, before turning to Snape. “Professor,” he says, bowing deeply to Snape before blowing him a tremendous raspberry, and then swerving off down a side corridor.
“I will never understand your continued tolerance of that poltergeist’s presence at Hogwarts,” mutters Snape. “He’s not even a proper ghost.”
“Now, Severus,” says Dumbledore, giving him a sidelong glance. “Hogwarts will always strive to provide a home for those who find no home elsewhere.” There is a yowling screech from down the corridor, followed by a tremendous crashing noise. “Oh, dear- that sounds as though Peeves has encountered Mrs. Norris, and one of the suits of armor; one hopes that Mister Filch will appreciate his industry. Or Mrs. Norris's, as the case may be.”
They continue to walk, shadows from the light of the torches dancing behind them on the walls. “Incidentally, Severus,” Dumbledore says, “my congratulations on your article on boomslang venom, in this month’s Alchemist.”
“Thank you, Headmaster- although the circulation is, of course, negligible.”
“Ahh, but in our field, quality must needs trump quantity,” Dumbledore replies, smiling. “Otherwise, one might wind up like poor Albatius Dribble, who misguidedly set out to turn gold into lead, and promptly lost all his Galleons in the process. At any rate, I’m told it’s already considered the standard work on the subject.”
Snape allows himself a smirk. “Thank you, Headmaster- although with the likes of Borage, Belby, and Jigger in the field, that’s scarcely saying much.”
“Acknowledgement from our peers is always welcome, however. I recall Nicolas telling me once that he considered your method of refining sphinx spleen bile- such a difficult phrase!- to be so effective, he had rejected his own prior technique, and adopted it.”
For a moment, a look of genuine surprise and pleasure flickers across Snape’s features. “I... thank you, Headmaster. Monsieur Flamel is, of course, the standard against which we are weighed.”
“He would be delighted to hear it,” Dumbledore smiles. He hesitates, noticing that they are in front of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. His eyes make a minute flick to it, then to Snape.
“Madame Pomfrey’s healing skills were adequate,” says Snape, stiffening. “There should be no lasting physical effects.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Dumbledore replies quietly; he pauses for a moment. “If I were to mention your alchemical work to Cornelius, he might well reappoint you for the Order of Merlin...”
Snape’s lip curls. “Should I really trouble myself over gaining or losing some foolish ornament?” he sneers. “I do not require such baubles to reassure myself as to my worth as a teacher.”
“No, of course not,” says Dumbledore quickly. “Your value to Hogwarts speaks for itself."
"I would hope that it would," Snape snaps. "I have given much to this school- and no doubt, I shall give more."
"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore replies softly. There is a pause. "Pray forgive me if I spoke out of turn, Severus," Dumbledore finally says. "I had merely hoped that if Cornelius were to properly acknowledge your work, it might...”
“...might serve to make me feel better disposed toward Harry Potter,” Snape replies, barely suppressed anger in every syllable, “and his friends?”
Another pause. “They are but children, Severus.”
“Children?” Snape snaps back. “Children who set my robes on fire, and steal my potion supplies? Children who blast me unconscious with their wands- without so much as the loss of a House point? Children who torment me, while you are busy with your Muggle sweets and your poltergeists- patting your precious Gryffindors on the head, then standing aside and doing nothing as they mock me, hex me, hang me upside-“ He breaks off abruptly.
“It was not Harry who did that, Severus, as you well know,” says Dumbledore quietly. For a moment, the only sound comes from the torch's guttering flame; Dumbledore glances at it. Some flames can never be extinguished, he thinks. “It was wrong of me to allow Sirius and James such leeway, and I admit it. They were charming, and clever students; I saw their potential, and I allowed that to blind me to their flaws. Not the first time I've made such an error."
A pause, while he studies Snape's face; Snape says nothing to this. “They were children,” Dumbledore finally says, “as were you. To be sure, you had your difficulties with each other, but that was almost twenty years ago; now, James is dead, Remus has been dismissed as a teacher, and Sirius faces the Dementor’s Kiss, should he be recaptured. You, on the other hand, have a life which, if not what you might have originally dreamed of, nonetheless provides its compensations. Is that not sufficient redress for past wrongs at the hands of children...?” he asks.
Snape’s face works angrily. “Children,” he finally spits out.
“Children,” Dumbledore replies. "Whereas you, Severus, are an adult, and, if I may say, rather a successful one in your field. I do know that this was not precisely the life you would have chosen; we have all had to make difficult choices- to make sacrifices- and to experience loss along the way..."
Snape pauses at this; his face works again, then seems to settle. "Not so great a loss, on my part," Snape says quietly. "As you say, Headmaster... this life has its rewards; its compensations."
Dumbledore nods, then pauses. "Forgive me, Severus; is it possible that I am keeping you...?" he asks delicately.
“My own studies are sufficiently well along for the moment,” says Snape after a moment. “As to my duties for Hogwarts, lesson plans are tedious, but scarcely a Herculean labor.”
“Indeed not, for a teacher of your undisputed brilliance,” says Dumbledore, with a warm smile.
Snape seems to relax fractionally at this. “Shall we continue our walk, Headmaster...?” he asks, sounding both deferential and awkward.
“Indeed we shall,” Dumbledore replies.
*
The tower is the tallest of the castle’s; it commands an excellent view of the grounds, and the mountains beyond. Dumbledore leans on the battlement, and gazes out at the night; Snape stands silently behind him, framed in the doorway. For a moment, the night breeze caresses Dumbledore’s face; he closes his eyes, and thinks upon the past. His father, the last time he saw him alive and- relatively- cognizant, asking how the war against Grindelwald was faring, although it had been over for nigh on fifty years. Millicent, eyes exultant as she announces her new position to him. Nicholas. Lily. James... He sighs, and feels for the millionth time the costs of living so long.
“It is a curious thing, Severus,” he finally muses aloud. “When I was young, there was so much to do... to see... to read; my most passionate wish was for a long life, that I might fully explore the mysteries the world had to offer.” He looks down for a moment, and sees a bobbing light; Hagrid, holding a lantern aloft as he returns to his cottage. Such a gentle soul, he thinks, and smiles. The smile flickers as he continues, “And then, almost before I knew it, I realized I had done much. My work with Nicholas... the researches with dragon’s blood... the invention of the Time-Turners... the War. Grindelwald.”
He falls silent again, remembering the shattering of ancient gates, a desperate battle, and a final, terrible flash of green; for a moment, he muses on the grim irony that this horrible act had done more to seal his reputation in the wizarding world than all his other accomplishments. “I had truly thought that that would be the end of it- that I would never again have to do violence, or see it done, to anyone. I could simply retire from active wizardry, for the most part, and spend the balance of my life peacefully guiding young minds toward the future. And then...” Dumbledore closes his eyes again, and sees the Prewitt brothers laughing on the Quidditch pitch as they hoist James Potter aloft, white teeth flashing in the afternoon sun...
“I... Headmaster...?”
“It’s all right, Severus- merely an old man, discovering afresh how the centuries have made him prone to ramble.” He looks out again at the glistening night sky, and falls silent for a moment, picking out the constellations as old friends. “They give us many gifts, the years, but oh, the price they claim is high...”
Behind him, Snape shifts his weight. “Headmaster? It’s almost midnight; perhaps you had best...”
Dumbledore nods. “Perhaps you should retire, Severus; for myself, I think I shall commune with the stars a bit longer. I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“As you will.” The other wizard turns to go, then pauses at the door.
“Yes, Severus...?”
Snape looks uncomfortable. "I was merely going to ask... are you and your brother the last of the Dumbledores?"
Dumbledore nods. "Our family has tended to marry late, and breed late, but a hundred and fifty..." He gives a rueful chuckle. "Aberforth has shown no desire to father offspring, and I... well, I have pursued other means of leaving a legacy."
"Did you never wish to be married?" Snape asks softly.
Dumbledore is about to answer, when he glances at the back of his hand. "Look, Severus," he says quietly. "A mayfly." Snape moves closer, and watches as the insect clings to the back of Dumbledore's hand for a moment, then flies off into the night. "So beautiful, so delicately perfect- and yet, gone in the twinkling of an eye," says Dumbledore softly. “Like so many things in life.” He looks at the other man for a moment. "And you...?"
Snape stiffens, but does not turn away. "I once thought I might," he finally says. Silence, as the breeze toys with his hair for a moment. "She made a sensible choice- an intelligent choice."
Dumbledore nods. "Have you spoken recently?"
"We have." As Snape speaks, his right hand makes an odd motion toward his left forearm. "I understand that Minister Fudge is thinking of reinstating the Triwizard Tournament," he finally says, looking out at the forest as he speaks.
"As always, I remain both surprised and gratified by the ability of your friends to remain so marvellously well informed on these matters. Did they happen to mention that the Quidditch World Cup is to be held in the United Kingdom next year, as well?"
Snape forces the hand to his side. "They did." There is another pause; it lengthens; Snape has just opened his mouth to speak, when Dumbledore quietly says, “Look at the moon, Severus.”
A cloud sweeps away from the moon’s face as he says this; it stands sentinel over the earth, just past full. “Did I ever tell you of the day I concluded my studies at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asks.
“No, I don’t believe so,” Snape says, clearly surprised by the change of subject.
“It was 1862,” Dumbledore says. “Much to my surprise, Arturius had owled me, to tell me that he would be attending my departure; he tended to spend most of his time elsewhere, with his magical researches, and to leave Aberforth and I to our own devices." He smiles. "I remember Aberforth and I were discussing the American Civil War as I got ready, and Arturius told us to stop sounding like a herd of Muggles. Then, after Headmaster Everard had concluded his end-of-year remarks, Arturius took us for a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, then brought us straight home.
"I remember his laboratory- all manner of scrolls, and potion bottles; astrological charts and esoteric devices; ancient relics and items he had charmed himself. I used to have the most delightful conversations with one of the footstools... at any rate, we were forbidden from ever entering there in his absence, and father’s Security spells were not to be trifled with. On that day, however, he brought us in, and told us that we would be going somewhere special. He had an old sea-anchor he had enchanted as a Portkey; he brought it out into the courtyard with us, and then spent a great deal of time casting unfamiliar charms upon my brother and myself. Aberforth had dozed off by the time Arturius was through, but I had done some small amount of reading by then, and I remember puzzling it out... he seemed to be casting a spell concerning air; were we to be flying? At any rate, when it was finished, he had us place our hands upon the Portkey, and we were away.”
“And...?”
Dumbledore smiles, and raises one hand, pointing to the silvery globe in the sky. “He had taken us to the moon- the northeast border of Mare Nubium, to be precise. Other than perhaps Nicholas, I don’t believe there is another wizard of our age who could have done it; even I would hesitate- but he did it, providing this miracle for me as effortlessly as producing a conjurer’s rabbit. To the very end of my life, I shall remember seeing the Earth hanging over me in the heavens, so impossibly large and blue and alive, floating in a sea of stars as though placed by the gods themselves. I remember dropping to my knees in the lower gravity, and weeping at the sight of it.”
Dumbledore looks away from the moon, meeting the other man’s gaze. “I do not believe that I have ever before or since had such a sense of certitude as I had at that moment, the moment my father had made possible- a sense that no matter what might take place along the way, we were under the influence of some vast, benevolent force- and that it would all come out well, in the end. I simply knew it, the way I know the color of my eyes. It was the most beautiful gift that my father could have ever given me- and a much needed one, for a young boy trembling on the verge of manhood.
Dumbledore pauses then, and looks at the moon, then back at Snape. “It was at that moment, I think, that I first saw the path my life would take,” Dumbledore says softly. “I knew that mine would be a path of scholarship, of seeking and sharing knowledge- and also a path that would help me protect and explore that globe of life. To do my minuscule part on behalf of ensuring that things came out well in the end, although the path has been long, and steep, and far more demanding than I could have imagined, when I first set out upon it.” Silence for a moment; Dumbledore gazes at Snape, who looks back at him. Dumbledore sighs, and seems to wince briefly; he then smiles, and shakes his head. “I remember, I spent the entire time that we were there simply staring up at the Earth, communing with its silent majesty while Aberforth spent the time looking for moon men, and writing rude messages in the regolith with his finger. I still expect some wandering astronaut to be in for quite a surprise, come to that.” He pauses again, for just a moment. “I still remember weeping again when Arturius said it was time to go, and taking a small lunar rock home with me, to bring to Melora.”
“Your mother was still alive then?” Snape asks.
“No- she had passed away the previous year,” Dumbledore says gently. “Still, I thought it could do no harm.” He sighs. “I’ve often held on to that vision of the Earth, in the days since then- to the memory of that surety of faith. Since that time, a hundred years ago and more, I’ve come to learn that the world is often a more ambiguous place than I would wish it.”
He glimpses the other man's face in the moonlight. “It’s all right, Severus,” Dumbledore says quietly. “The world is wide, and can embrace its ambiguities.”
“I should go,” Snape finally replies. “It’s getting late.”
Dumbledore nods. “I shall be retiring presently myself,” he says. “The service was moving, but such occasions do tend to drain one. Good night, Severus.” Snape nods, and turns, and starts for the staircase, as Dumbledore's gaze lingers on the moon. "A curious thing," Dumbledore then says quietly; Snape halts, and turns back to face him. Dumbledore speaks, but does not turn from the moon.
“A curious thing- by the time... when Arturius finally passed, I do not believe he knew us, or where he was, or who he was. There was simply nothing left of the wizard who used to enjoy spirited conversations with Nicolas, or who took a young boy to explore the mysteries of the Crystal Palace, or who once enabled me to see the very face of the Earth itself...
The old wizard sighs, and feels a heaviness settling upon him. “He was merely an empty shell, hollowed out by the ravages of time; not at all an end I would wish for...”
He breaks off, and stares out at the stars again. A silence stretching out, until, from behind him: “Albus...?”
The old wizard turns, and smiles at Snape, as the breeze caresses his hair. “It comforts me that you are here, Severus,” he says simply. Snape’s head shakes slightly, as though he were saying no. “What... is there anything I can do, Headmaster...?”
The old wizard’s smile flickers again; he sighs, and turns to face the door leading to the spiral staircase, and feels himself bracing for the days to come. Although he does not know what form they will take, he can feel dark times beginning to rise, like a shadow occluding the noonday sun. “I suspect, Severus, that you will have much to do, ere the end.”
Author:
coyotegothRating: PG
Length: ~4,200 words
Summary: Just after Harry goes home for the summer following his third year, Snape and Dumbledore discuss the past, and the future.
Note: Although today’s piece takes place in the same ficton as the rest of my story, it’s a self-contained vignette, a conversation between Dumbledore and Professor Snape taking place roughly three years earlier, just after the events of Prisoner of Azkaban. Accordingly, Azkaban-era spoilers only, for once. (Please note also that this series is not Deathly Hallows compliant in the least.)
Much To Do, Ere the End
The silvery white not-substance of Dumbledore’s thoughts swirls within the Pensieve, even as he touches his wand to his temple and brings forth yet another shimmering strand. He releases it into the Pensieve’s bowl; an image appears of two aged wizards- one of them Dumbledore himself- facing an ancient man lying, glassy-eyed, on a bed. In the image, Dumbledore takes the man’s wrist in his hand for a moment, then shakes his head; a healer comes forward and pulls a sheet up over the ancient man’s still face. For a moment, the Dumbledore in the image touches the sheeted form’s chest, then its forehead; then, the two wizards turn away.
Dumbledore sighs, and turns away himself; he has seen this too many times already, and there is nothing new to learn from it. His gaze wanders to the surface of his desk, where messages and condolences have been placed; not so very many, perhaps, but then this is a part of his life of which he rarely speaks. A touching note from Minerva McGonagall, elegant looping handwriting in green ink on vellum parchment. An owl from Fudge, offering all possible condolences- before anxiously asking if he has any new information on the whereabouts of Sirius Black, and then requesting that he give his opinion of possibly reviving the Triwizard Tournament... A note from Hagrid, the childish scrawl blurred in places, as though water had splashed on it. A card from Millicent Bagnold. He sighs, as he looks at the shakiness that has entered the once-firm handwriting; he feels he may be attending another of these passings before long.
A very courteous letter from Hermione Granger. He smiles at this- how unsurprising that she should have heard, although the news would not be posted in the Daily Prophet; the Dumbledores have always been a private family. A note from Harry. Dumbledore sighs over this for the thousandth time; his urges toward Harry have always been a touch contradictory. An urge to protect the boy from dangerous situations, dangerous knowledge- as though the son of James Potter could ever keep himself out of harm’s way! An equal, opposing urge to explain everything to him, young though he is. Perhaps most of all, an urge to sit down with him, to try and help him understand...
A soft knock at the door. He stands, and smiles, knowing full well who is there. “Enter.” Professor Snape comes in- tense, and somewhat hesitant, as he always has been when he enters this room. “Headmaster? I wanted to discuss with you my purchase order for the coming year- I’ve requested a new source of dittany, as the store we had been purchasing from seems incapable of harvesting the plants correctly; the seed pods were not being properly removed. If you have a moment...?” he asks, searching the other man's face for a sign.
"Of course." Dumbledore politely lifts a plate, on which lie several large, misshapen objects. "Rock cake?"
Snape looks down at them with barely concealed distaste. "Ahh... thank you, no."
Dumbledore smiles. "Hagrid was kind enough to bake these for me," he says, putting the plate down, "alas, I fear my teeth are no longer up to the challenge. Happily, the giant squid seems quite fond of them..."
Dumbledore pauses, as he looks at this pale, thin man before him, so little changed since his schooldays. He remembers a grudge that has shown no sign of fading with the years; he then sighs slightly, but the other wizard sees it. “Do you wish to be alone, Headmaster? I could...”
“Not at all, Severus- I was merely thinking of Aberforth.”
An uncertain pause. “Your brother is well...?”
“Aside from the allegations involving the charm cast upon that poor goat, he remains unchanged from year to year- most reassuringly so. In fact, he had the most amusing story to regale us with this afternoon, involving my paralyzing childhood fear of earwigs...” Dumbledore walks over to the other man. “Severus- I find that I would like to take some air. Would you care to accompany me, on a tour of the castle?”
The voices of the two wizards echo through the torchlit hallways, as they walk along the corridor.
“...and then I discovered that some of the sixth-year Ravenclaws had cast a spell which left the entire floor of the Great Hall covered in ice, much to Appolyon Pringle’s surprise...”
“Mmm- I don’t suppose you had them expelled?”
“Oh, no- I was too busy practicing my triple axle...” Dumbledore interrupts himself, as Peeves, spotting Snape, swerves over to jeer at him. “Good evening, Peeves.”
Peeves immediately breaks off from whatever jeering remark he had been about to make, to stand mock-straight at attention. “Good evening, Headmaster Sir.”
“Now, Peeves- I believe I have mentioned previously that either the title or the honorific will be quite sufficient, thank you,” says Dumbledore, eyes twinkling behind his glasses.
“Right you are, Albie,” Peeves replies, before turning to Snape. “Professor,” he says, bowing deeply to Snape before blowing him a tremendous raspberry, and then swerving off down a side corridor.
“I will never understand your continued tolerance of that poltergeist’s presence at Hogwarts,” mutters Snape. “He’s not even a proper ghost.”
“Now, Severus,” says Dumbledore, giving him a sidelong glance. “Hogwarts will always strive to provide a home for those who find no home elsewhere.” There is a yowling screech from down the corridor, followed by a tremendous crashing noise. “Oh, dear- that sounds as though Peeves has encountered Mrs. Norris, and one of the suits of armor; one hopes that Mister Filch will appreciate his industry. Or Mrs. Norris's, as the case may be.”
They continue to walk, shadows from the light of the torches dancing behind them on the walls. “Incidentally, Severus,” Dumbledore says, “my congratulations on your article on boomslang venom, in this month’s Alchemist.”
“Thank you, Headmaster- although the circulation is, of course, negligible.”
“Ahh, but in our field, quality must needs trump quantity,” Dumbledore replies, smiling. “Otherwise, one might wind up like poor Albatius Dribble, who misguidedly set out to turn gold into lead, and promptly lost all his Galleons in the process. At any rate, I’m told it’s already considered the standard work on the subject.”
Snape allows himself a smirk. “Thank you, Headmaster- although with the likes of Borage, Belby, and Jigger in the field, that’s scarcely saying much.”
“Acknowledgement from our peers is always welcome, however. I recall Nicolas telling me once that he considered your method of refining sphinx spleen bile- such a difficult phrase!- to be so effective, he had rejected his own prior technique, and adopted it.”
For a moment, a look of genuine surprise and pleasure flickers across Snape’s features. “I... thank you, Headmaster. Monsieur Flamel is, of course, the standard against which we are weighed.”
“He would be delighted to hear it,” Dumbledore smiles. He hesitates, noticing that they are in front of the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. His eyes make a minute flick to it, then to Snape.
“Madame Pomfrey’s healing skills were adequate,” says Snape, stiffening. “There should be no lasting physical effects.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Dumbledore replies quietly; he pauses for a moment. “If I were to mention your alchemical work to Cornelius, he might well reappoint you for the Order of Merlin...”
Snape’s lip curls. “Should I really trouble myself over gaining or losing some foolish ornament?” he sneers. “I do not require such baubles to reassure myself as to my worth as a teacher.”
“No, of course not,” says Dumbledore quickly. “Your value to Hogwarts speaks for itself."
"I would hope that it would," Snape snaps. "I have given much to this school- and no doubt, I shall give more."
"I do not doubt it," Dumbledore replies softly. There is a pause. "Pray forgive me if I spoke out of turn, Severus," Dumbledore finally says. "I had merely hoped that if Cornelius were to properly acknowledge your work, it might...”
“...might serve to make me feel better disposed toward Harry Potter,” Snape replies, barely suppressed anger in every syllable, “and his friends?”
Another pause. “They are but children, Severus.”
“Children?” Snape snaps back. “Children who set my robes on fire, and steal my potion supplies? Children who blast me unconscious with their wands- without so much as the loss of a House point? Children who torment me, while you are busy with your Muggle sweets and your poltergeists- patting your precious Gryffindors on the head, then standing aside and doing nothing as they mock me, hex me, hang me upside-“ He breaks off abruptly.
“It was not Harry who did that, Severus, as you well know,” says Dumbledore quietly. For a moment, the only sound comes from the torch's guttering flame; Dumbledore glances at it. Some flames can never be extinguished, he thinks. “It was wrong of me to allow Sirius and James such leeway, and I admit it. They were charming, and clever students; I saw their potential, and I allowed that to blind me to their flaws. Not the first time I've made such an error."
A pause, while he studies Snape's face; Snape says nothing to this. “They were children,” Dumbledore finally says, “as were you. To be sure, you had your difficulties with each other, but that was almost twenty years ago; now, James is dead, Remus has been dismissed as a teacher, and Sirius faces the Dementor’s Kiss, should he be recaptured. You, on the other hand, have a life which, if not what you might have originally dreamed of, nonetheless provides its compensations. Is that not sufficient redress for past wrongs at the hands of children...?” he asks.
Snape’s face works angrily. “Children,” he finally spits out.
“Children,” Dumbledore replies. "Whereas you, Severus, are an adult, and, if I may say, rather a successful one in your field. I do know that this was not precisely the life you would have chosen; we have all had to make difficult choices- to make sacrifices- and to experience loss along the way..."
Snape pauses at this; his face works again, then seems to settle. "Not so great a loss, on my part," Snape says quietly. "As you say, Headmaster... this life has its rewards; its compensations."
Dumbledore nods, then pauses. "Forgive me, Severus; is it possible that I am keeping you...?" he asks delicately.
“My own studies are sufficiently well along for the moment,” says Snape after a moment. “As to my duties for Hogwarts, lesson plans are tedious, but scarcely a Herculean labor.”
“Indeed not, for a teacher of your undisputed brilliance,” says Dumbledore, with a warm smile.
Snape seems to relax fractionally at this. “Shall we continue our walk, Headmaster...?” he asks, sounding both deferential and awkward.
“Indeed we shall,” Dumbledore replies.
The tower is the tallest of the castle’s; it commands an excellent view of the grounds, and the mountains beyond. Dumbledore leans on the battlement, and gazes out at the night; Snape stands silently behind him, framed in the doorway. For a moment, the night breeze caresses Dumbledore’s face; he closes his eyes, and thinks upon the past. His father, the last time he saw him alive and- relatively- cognizant, asking how the war against Grindelwald was faring, although it had been over for nigh on fifty years. Millicent, eyes exultant as she announces her new position to him. Nicholas. Lily. James... He sighs, and feels for the millionth time the costs of living so long.
“It is a curious thing, Severus,” he finally muses aloud. “When I was young, there was so much to do... to see... to read; my most passionate wish was for a long life, that I might fully explore the mysteries the world had to offer.” He looks down for a moment, and sees a bobbing light; Hagrid, holding a lantern aloft as he returns to his cottage. Such a gentle soul, he thinks, and smiles. The smile flickers as he continues, “And then, almost before I knew it, I realized I had done much. My work with Nicholas... the researches with dragon’s blood... the invention of the Time-Turners... the War. Grindelwald.”
He falls silent again, remembering the shattering of ancient gates, a desperate battle, and a final, terrible flash of green; for a moment, he muses on the grim irony that this horrible act had done more to seal his reputation in the wizarding world than all his other accomplishments. “I had truly thought that that would be the end of it- that I would never again have to do violence, or see it done, to anyone. I could simply retire from active wizardry, for the most part, and spend the balance of my life peacefully guiding young minds toward the future. And then...” Dumbledore closes his eyes again, and sees the Prewitt brothers laughing on the Quidditch pitch as they hoist James Potter aloft, white teeth flashing in the afternoon sun...
“I... Headmaster...?”
“It’s all right, Severus- merely an old man, discovering afresh how the centuries have made him prone to ramble.” He looks out again at the glistening night sky, and falls silent for a moment, picking out the constellations as old friends. “They give us many gifts, the years, but oh, the price they claim is high...”
Behind him, Snape shifts his weight. “Headmaster? It’s almost midnight; perhaps you had best...”
Dumbledore nods. “Perhaps you should retire, Severus; for myself, I think I shall commune with the stars a bit longer. I don’t think they’ll mind.”
“As you will.” The other wizard turns to go, then pauses at the door.
“Yes, Severus...?”
Snape looks uncomfortable. "I was merely going to ask... are you and your brother the last of the Dumbledores?"
Dumbledore nods. "Our family has tended to marry late, and breed late, but a hundred and fifty..." He gives a rueful chuckle. "Aberforth has shown no desire to father offspring, and I... well, I have pursued other means of leaving a legacy."
"Did you never wish to be married?" Snape asks softly.
Dumbledore is about to answer, when he glances at the back of his hand. "Look, Severus," he says quietly. "A mayfly." Snape moves closer, and watches as the insect clings to the back of Dumbledore's hand for a moment, then flies off into the night. "So beautiful, so delicately perfect- and yet, gone in the twinkling of an eye," says Dumbledore softly. “Like so many things in life.” He looks at the other man for a moment. "And you...?"
Snape stiffens, but does not turn away. "I once thought I might," he finally says. Silence, as the breeze toys with his hair for a moment. "She made a sensible choice- an intelligent choice."
Dumbledore nods. "Have you spoken recently?"
"We have." As Snape speaks, his right hand makes an odd motion toward his left forearm. "I understand that Minister Fudge is thinking of reinstating the Triwizard Tournament," he finally says, looking out at the forest as he speaks.
"As always, I remain both surprised and gratified by the ability of your friends to remain so marvellously well informed on these matters. Did they happen to mention that the Quidditch World Cup is to be held in the United Kingdom next year, as well?"
Snape forces the hand to his side. "They did." There is another pause; it lengthens; Snape has just opened his mouth to speak, when Dumbledore quietly says, “Look at the moon, Severus.”
A cloud sweeps away from the moon’s face as he says this; it stands sentinel over the earth, just past full. “Did I ever tell you of the day I concluded my studies at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asks.
“No, I don’t believe so,” Snape says, clearly surprised by the change of subject.
“It was 1862,” Dumbledore says. “Much to my surprise, Arturius had owled me, to tell me that he would be attending my departure; he tended to spend most of his time elsewhere, with his magical researches, and to leave Aberforth and I to our own devices." He smiles. "I remember Aberforth and I were discussing the American Civil War as I got ready, and Arturius told us to stop sounding like a herd of Muggles. Then, after Headmaster Everard had concluded his end-of-year remarks, Arturius took us for a celebratory butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, then brought us straight home.
"I remember his laboratory- all manner of scrolls, and potion bottles; astrological charts and esoteric devices; ancient relics and items he had charmed himself. I used to have the most delightful conversations with one of the footstools... at any rate, we were forbidden from ever entering there in his absence, and father’s Security spells were not to be trifled with. On that day, however, he brought us in, and told us that we would be going somewhere special. He had an old sea-anchor he had enchanted as a Portkey; he brought it out into the courtyard with us, and then spent a great deal of time casting unfamiliar charms upon my brother and myself. Aberforth had dozed off by the time Arturius was through, but I had done some small amount of reading by then, and I remember puzzling it out... he seemed to be casting a spell concerning air; were we to be flying? At any rate, when it was finished, he had us place our hands upon the Portkey, and we were away.”
“And...?”
Dumbledore smiles, and raises one hand, pointing to the silvery globe in the sky. “He had taken us to the moon- the northeast border of Mare Nubium, to be precise. Other than perhaps Nicholas, I don’t believe there is another wizard of our age who could have done it; even I would hesitate- but he did it, providing this miracle for me as effortlessly as producing a conjurer’s rabbit. To the very end of my life, I shall remember seeing the Earth hanging over me in the heavens, so impossibly large and blue and alive, floating in a sea of stars as though placed by the gods themselves. I remember dropping to my knees in the lower gravity, and weeping at the sight of it.”
Dumbledore looks away from the moon, meeting the other man’s gaze. “I do not believe that I have ever before or since had such a sense of certitude as I had at that moment, the moment my father had made possible- a sense that no matter what might take place along the way, we were under the influence of some vast, benevolent force- and that it would all come out well, in the end. I simply knew it, the way I know the color of my eyes. It was the most beautiful gift that my father could have ever given me- and a much needed one, for a young boy trembling on the verge of manhood.
Dumbledore pauses then, and looks at the moon, then back at Snape. “It was at that moment, I think, that I first saw the path my life would take,” Dumbledore says softly. “I knew that mine would be a path of scholarship, of seeking and sharing knowledge- and also a path that would help me protect and explore that globe of life. To do my minuscule part on behalf of ensuring that things came out well in the end, although the path has been long, and steep, and far more demanding than I could have imagined, when I first set out upon it.” Silence for a moment; Dumbledore gazes at Snape, who looks back at him. Dumbledore sighs, and seems to wince briefly; he then smiles, and shakes his head. “I remember, I spent the entire time that we were there simply staring up at the Earth, communing with its silent majesty while Aberforth spent the time looking for moon men, and writing rude messages in the regolith with his finger. I still expect some wandering astronaut to be in for quite a surprise, come to that.” He pauses again, for just a moment. “I still remember weeping again when Arturius said it was time to go, and taking a small lunar rock home with me, to bring to Melora.”
“Your mother was still alive then?” Snape asks.
“No- she had passed away the previous year,” Dumbledore says gently. “Still, I thought it could do no harm.” He sighs. “I’ve often held on to that vision of the Earth, in the days since then- to the memory of that surety of faith. Since that time, a hundred years ago and more, I’ve come to learn that the world is often a more ambiguous place than I would wish it.”
He glimpses the other man's face in the moonlight. “It’s all right, Severus,” Dumbledore says quietly. “The world is wide, and can embrace its ambiguities.”
“I should go,” Snape finally replies. “It’s getting late.”
Dumbledore nods. “I shall be retiring presently myself,” he says. “The service was moving, but such occasions do tend to drain one. Good night, Severus.” Snape nods, and turns, and starts for the staircase, as Dumbledore's gaze lingers on the moon. "A curious thing," Dumbledore then says quietly; Snape halts, and turns back to face him. Dumbledore speaks, but does not turn from the moon.
“A curious thing- by the time... when Arturius finally passed, I do not believe he knew us, or where he was, or who he was. There was simply nothing left of the wizard who used to enjoy spirited conversations with Nicolas, or who took a young boy to explore the mysteries of the Crystal Palace, or who once enabled me to see the very face of the Earth itself...
The old wizard sighs, and feels a heaviness settling upon him. “He was merely an empty shell, hollowed out by the ravages of time; not at all an end I would wish for...”
He breaks off, and stares out at the stars again. A silence stretching out, until, from behind him: “Albus...?”
The old wizard turns, and smiles at Snape, as the breeze caresses his hair. “It comforts me that you are here, Severus,” he says simply. Snape’s head shakes slightly, as though he were saying no. “What... is there anything I can do, Headmaster...?”
The old wizard’s smile flickers again; he sighs, and turns to face the door leading to the spiral staircase, and feels himself bracing for the days to come. Although he does not know what form they will take, he can feel dark times beginning to rise, like a shadow occluding the noonday sun. “I suspect, Severus, that you will have much to do, ere the end.”
