Minerva watched Albus carefully, her sharp gaze taking in every detail. In that moment, he looked utterly drained - so unlike the unshakable wizard she had known for decades. His shoulders were hunched, his hands trembled ever so slightly, and his piercing blue eyes, usually alight with wisdom and purpose, refused to meet hers.

She had never seen him like this.

But she still couldn't forgive him. Not yet. Not when an innocent man lay on the brink of death because of yet another one of his calculated gambles.

She cleared her throat, her voice clipped but quieter than usual.

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

She stepped aside, allowing him passage into the dimly lit room. Albus hesitated before murmuring, "Thank you," and stepping through. He wasn't a fool - he knew forgiveness was far from his reach. And he did not blame them.

They had every right to be angry.

The room was softly aglow with floating candles, their golden light casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. A large window overlooked the Forbidden Forest, its dark silhouette stretching endlessly beneath the moonlight. The irony wasn't lost on him - a forbidden room, with a view of a forbidden forest, housing a man who had been forbidden from ever knowing happiness.

A sharp pang twisted in Albus's chest as his gaze fell upon the frail figure lying motionless on the bed.

Severus Snape.

It wasn't the first time Albus had come to sit by his side - no, he had made it a habit over the past month. When he wasn't assisting in the reconstruction of Hogwarts or attending Death Eater trials at the Ministry, he was here. Always here. And when duty called him away, there was always someone else watching over Severus - Minerva, Poppy, Pomona, or even Filius.

Yet no matter how many times he saw him like this, it never became easier.

Severus, who had always carried an air of unshakable control, now lay utterly still - fragile as glass.

His once stern, scowling face was unnervingly peaceful, his usual pallor now ghostly white. The hollows beneath his eyes were deep, his form so thin that his sharp bones pressed against his scar-riddled skin.

But the worst of it - the thing that made Albus's breath catch every time - was the unmistakable network of dark blue veins sprawled from Severus's neck, trailing down to his ribs and creeping up the side of his face. The venom had left its mark, a cruel reminder of how precariously his life hung in the balance.

He was usually wrapped in thick bandages, but tonight, Poppy had left his skin exposed - no doubt having applied healing salves to ease the relentless seizures that wracked his body. Another cruel gift of Nagini's bite.

Albus swallowed hard, his hand tightening on the back of the chair beside the bed.

"Oh, my boy? what have I done to you?"

Albus gingerly lowered himself onto the chair, his movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might shatter the fragile silence around him. Behind him, he could hear Minerva closing the door, her footsteps measured as she busied herself with small tasks, her presence a silent storm of unspoken words.

But Albus's eyes did not stray from the bed.

He watched, unmoving, as Madam Pomfrey's expert hands worked swiftly, methodically, wrapping fresh bandages around Severus's frail body. He noticed, of course, that Poppy had not acknowledged him. Not even a glance. She remained utterly focused on her work, her silence as sharp as any reprimand she could have given.

He knew that if she weren't so preoccupied, she would have gladly turned to him, voice shaking with righteous fury, demanding to know what right he had to sit here now, to grieve, to pretend to care -

When he had left them all.

Left him.

For an entire year.

But angry words would not heal Severus, nor would they ease the pain that weighed so heavily upon their hearts. They had learned that much over the past weeks.

So Albus waited.

He sat patiently, allowing her the time she needed to finish, and only when the last of the medical instruments had been packed away did he summon the courage to ask, "How is he?"

Poppy inhaled deeply, as if steadying herself, her hands deftly tidying the remaining supplies. Her voice was professional, clipped - but beneath it, exhaustion clung like a second skin.

"No change. If anything, he's worse than before," she admitted, her tone betraying just the faintest tremor. "He had another seizure about an hour ago. It lasted a full five minutes."

Albus's fingers tightened slightly against the armrest.

"I gave him Vitae Stabilis Draught to regulate his heart rate and blood pressure," she continued, her voice now purely clinical. "I can't risk a Calming Draught - it would weaken his immune system, and the venom would spread even faster, attacking his organs at an unnatural speed. I applied some Muscaflex Salve to his muscles to ease the spasms? but?"

She hesitated, then let out a weary sigh, her composure slipping for just a moment.

"It's like adding a spoonful of sugar to the sea and expecting it to change the taste."

Albus nodded solemnly, his gaze flickering over to the unconscious figure on the bed. Softly, he murmured, "Thank you, Poppy. I know you've done everything in your power. I'm grateful to have you by his side? and I know he would be too."

Poppy turned away sharply, as if she could not bear to let him see the emotion tightening her features.

"What do you know, you old fool?" she muttered under her breath, her voice hoarse. "What do you know??"

She swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, then gave a brief nod to Minerva before briskly leaving the room.

The small, tired smile faded from Albus's lips as he watched the door close behind her.

A heavy silence settled between them.

Albus exhaled and turned his attention back to the young man on the bed.

Gently, he reached for one of Severus's hands - cold, too pale, wrapped in layers of bandages. With his other hand, he lightly brushed his fingers through Severus's jet-black hair, strands spilling across the white pillow like ink on parchment. His long, dark lashes lay unmoving against his sharp cheekbones, as delicate as raven feathers resting against snow.

"I know it was my fault, Minerva," Albus murmured at last, his voice almost too soft to be heard. "I knew it the moment I first saw him - a small, thin boy with hungry eyes, stepping into the Great Hall, his fingers clenched tightly around the hand of a red-haired girl. Whispering to her, pointing, excitement lighting up his face. I wondered what had captivated him so. I wondered what he was telling her."

Albus let out a shaky breath.

"And then, the Sorting Hat called out 'Slytherin,' and every question I had vanished."

His voice, already hoarse, trembled with something fragile, raw.

"It was my fault again when I made him take the Vow," he admitted, his grip on Severus's hand tightening, as if trying to anchor himself to the boy he had betrayed.

Minerva's breath left her in a sharp exhale.

She knew of only one Unbreakable Vow Severus had ever sworn - the one that had bound him to Narcissa Malfoy, forcing him to kill Albus himself. But if that wasn't the vow he spoke of now -

"What - " Her voice cracked. "What vow?"

Albus exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping. For the first time in his life, he looked small.

"He was fourteen," he whispered. "Barely more than a child."

The words stabbed through her.

Fourteen. The age of uncertainty. The age of first steps into adulthood - but still too young to bear the weight of irreversible consequences.

She didn't want to hear this.

But she had to.

"Severus discovered Remus's secret," Albus admitted, his fingers tightening around the younger man's lifeless hand. "He was going to tell. He was scared, angry, bitter about how James and Sirius had tormented him, and I - I needed to stop him."

Minerva couldn't move.

"So, I forced him to swear an Unbreakable Vow," Albus whispered, his voice thick with shame. "That he would never speak a word about what he had seen. That he would never betray Remus. That he would keep our secret at any cost."

Her knees nearly buckled.

"Albus," she choked out, horrified.

She had thought she had known all of Albus Dumbledore's sins.

She had thought she had come to terms with them.

But this - this was beyond anything she could have imagined.

Forcing a child - an abused, angry, lonely child - to swear an Unbreakable Vow?

To be bound in silence, forced into loyalty against his will?

It wasn't protection.

It was manipulation.

And it was unforgivable.

Tears burned at the edges of her vision. No wonder Severus had turned bitter. No wonder he had grown to despise them all.

Had he ever had a choice? Had he ever been free?

Albus's eyes were closed now, as if he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "I told myself it was necessary," he admitted, voice nearly breaking. "That it was the only way to protect Remus. That it was for the greater good."

He let out a shuddering breath.

"But all it did was turn a lost boy into a prisoner."

Silence fell between them, thick and suffocating.

Minerva couldn't speak. Why was he telling her all of these things now?

Albus was quiet for a long time. Minerva thought - hoped - that was it. No more confessions. No more secrets.

But there's a reason why old wizards warn - "If you dive too deep into the water, you will drown."

Albus took a shaky breath.

"I knew it was my fault when Severus came to me, begging to save Lily, James, and their son's life - offering me whatever I wanted in return."

Minerva staggered, as if the weight of his words had physically struck her. Her breath hitched in her throat, her sharp Gryffindor spirit crumbling under the sheer magnitude of what she hadn't known.

She had always assumed - no, believed - that Severus had been driven by self-preservation, that his allegiance to the Order had been a complicated chess move, nothing more.

But this? This truth unraveled everything.

Severus had begged.

For them.

For her.

For a child who was never even his to love.

And Albus? Albus had taken advantage of that desperation.

Her nails dug into her palms as she fought the overwhelming urge to shut her ears, to make it stop.

But Albus wasn't done.

Minerva drew in a sharp breath, her lips pressing into a thin line. She could feel the sting of hot, silent tears welling in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

She hadn't known this.

None of them had known this.

Maybe **Severus was right - **she had been a fool, an optimistic, blind Gryffindor who had refused to see the truth because it was far easier to believe in the best of people than to acknowledge the darkness that lurked beneath.

And yet, it seemed Albus wasn't finished.

Minerva clenched her eyes shut, biting her lip so hard she could taste blood.

She wanted to stop him, to tell him to spare her the details, to spare himself from the weight of his own confessions.

But she knew - *Merlin, she knew - *that she deserved this pain.

That they all did.

Because where had she been when Severus had suffered?

Where had she been when he had **needed someone - anyone - **to see past his mask of indifference?

She had been comfortable in her own assumptions.

She had believed what was easy rather than looking closer.

And what kind of bravery was that?

What kind of true Gryffindor did that make her?

Albus exhaled shakily, but there was no stopping now.

"It was my fault," he continued, "for turning away when Severus first joined the teaching staff. I should have stepped in, should have protected him - "

From the way the other professors dismissed him.

From the way his own house treated him.

From the way he was left to fend for himself.

"But I did nothing," Albus whispered. "I stood back and watched, telling myself it wasn't my place to interfere."

Minerva flinched.

Because it was true.

They had all seen how he had been treated - how the staff had barely acknowledged him, how the room fell silent whenever he entered, how the Slytherins feared him but never respected him, how the other houses mocked and vilified him.

And they had allowed it.

Because it was easier.

"He was just a boy," Albus whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "A boy drowning in shadows, and I let him believe that was all he was meant to be. I let him believe his worth was measured by how much he could endure - "

How much pain he could take.

How many sacrifices he could make.

How much longer he could survive before fate finally swallowed him whole.

A heavy silence followed.

Minerva couldn't breathe.

This was too much.

Too much regret. Too much truth.

It felt like a knife, cutting deep into everything she had believed.

And yet, it was not enough.

Because it would never be enough to undo the past.

Ever since Harry told me about the seven Horcruxes - that he had learned of them from Slughorn - I set out to destroy them. And when I found the ring?"

Dumbledore exhaled sharply, his ruined hand twitching, as if the pain of that cursed object still burned beneath his skin.

"I couldn't stop myself."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of years of regret.

"The longing? the desperate wish to see my sister, just once more. It clouded my judgment. I was drunk on the fantasy of a second chance - so consumed by what I wanted that I ignored every warning."

His breath grew unsteady.

"And I put it on."

Minerva stiffened.

She had always known the ring had been cursed. Had known that it had ravaged Dumbledore's body like poison. But to hear him say it, to hear the raw admission that it had been his own weakness that had doomed him?

It made him human.

And that was perhaps the hardest thing to accept.

"The curse took hold instantly."

His blue eyes dimmed, gaze flickering down to his damaged hand.

"I went to Severus."

There was something fragile in his voice now, something weighed with the ghosts of choices made long ago.

"He checked every book he could find, scoured every source of knowledge, brewed potion after potion - but nothing worked. The dark magic had rooted itself inside me, a parasite devouring me from within."

His fingers curled, as though bracing against the memory.

"I knew I was dying."

He swallowed hard.

"And I was afraid."

Minerva inhaled sharply.

Dumbledore. Afraid.

It was an impossibility. And yet, here he was, confessing it as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"I was afraid of dying. Afraid of what would happen if Voldemort won."

His fingers tightened over Severus's limp hand.

"So, I did what I had always done - I placed another burden upon Severus's shoulders."

His voice cracked.

"One night, he came to bring me another potion. He was hopeful - convinced he would find something to slow the curse."

A hollow, humorless laugh escaped him.

"But he warned me? the potions were losing their effect. If we didn't find a stronger solution soon, I would not last much longer."

His next words came slow, deliberate.

"I told him not to bother."

Minerva's breath hitched.

"I told him to stop wasting his time. That he must accept my death."

A silence thick enough to suffocate settled between them.

"He looked at me," Albus murmured, "as if I had lost my mind. As if I had spoken some unspeakable madness."

He let out a weary breath.

"He told me he would find a way. That he would never stop looking for one."

His eyes glistened in the candlelight.

"He turned to leave, determined as ever, but that was when I stopped him."

Dumbledore inhaled deeply, as though the next words physically pained him to say.

"I told him? I wanted him to kill me."

Minerva felt her stomach drop.

Even though she had suspected - of course, she had - to hear it spoken aloud?

"It was the first and only time I saw him afraid."

Albus's voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper. And yet, it echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

"I told him it was the only way to keep Draco's soul intact. That it would solidify his place at Voldemort's side. That it was necessary."

His fingers trembled against Severus's cold skin.

"And do you know what he asked me, Minerva?"

She shook her head, unable to speak.

"He asked me about his own soul."

Minerva pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.

"That was the only time he ever spoke of himself."

A cold silence stretched between them.

"That was when I realized - he had never used an Unforgivable Curse before."

Her breath left her in a sharp exhale.

"He had never killed before."

Minerva's vision blurred.

"And yet I was demanding it of him."

Her chest ached as Albus exhaled shakily.

"He begged me for time."

A pause.

"I did not grant it."

Albus shut his eyes, as if trying to escape the weight of his own actions.

"It was then that I told him everything - the truth about Harry, about the prophecy, about Voldemort's downfall."

His fingers tightened against Severus's hand.

"And for the first time, I saw something in his eyes that had nothing to do with anger or bitterness."

He swallowed.

"I saw? sorrow."

Minerva felt something sharp twist in her chest.

"That was when I understood."

Albus laughed - low, bitter, empty.

"Severus had never hated enough to cast a true Killing Curse."

Minerva's breath hitched.

"That is why, when the time came, he did not kill me."

A terrible silence filled the room.

Albus exhaled.

"He found another way. I told him the truth."

Albus's voice was quieter now, as if the weight of his own confessions threatened to crush him.

"About Harry. About the prophecy. About what I had always known had to happen."

His grip on Severus's limp hand tightened.

"And in return, I learned something I had never truly understood."

His breath hitched.

"His grief."

Minerva swallowed hard, but she said nothing.

"His respect? his sorrow? for Lily Potter."

Dumbledore let out a slow, trembling breath, staring at nothing in particular.

"But even knowing that, even knowing what it would cost him - I gave him no other choice."

The words sat like lead in the air.

"He begged me for more time."

Dumbledore let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"Always so desperate for more time."

His fingers twitched.

"A few days passed. Then, the night came when Harry and I left to retrieve another of Tom's Horcruxes - the locket."

Minerva's throat tightened. She knew what night he spoke of.

"And that was when I knew? it was time."

A flicker of pain passed through his features.

"Severus knew it too."

His blue eyes darkened, lost in memory.

"I saw it in his face when I returned. The exhaustion. The sorrow."

He exhaled sharply.

"It was as if he knew - deep down - that it would be the last time we would see each other."

Minerva gripped the fabric of her robes.

"I could barely breathe when I looked at him," Albus admitted, "because I realized something else."

His voice wavered.

"He had made up his mind."

A pause.

"But not in the way I had expected."

Albus shook his head, an almost bitter smile tugging at his lips.

"I had been a fool. Even then, I still thought I was in control. I thought I could simply - order it done, and it would be over."

His laughter was hollow.

"But Severus? Severus was never a pawn on anyone's chessboard. He played his own game."

Minerva's breath hitched.

"I begged him," Albus whispered. "I begged him to just - do it. To get it over with."

His hands trembled.

"I was a coward, Minerva. I wanted it to be over. But apparently?"

His voice broke.

"Severus had other plans."

The room fell into suffocating silence.

Minerva felt her heart hammering in her chest.

Dumbledore swallowed thickly.

"When he cast the curse? I knew instantly."

His breath came unsteady.

"It didn't work."

Minerva felt the blood drain from her face.

"He didn't hate me enough to cast a proper Killing Curse."

Dumbledore let out a small, fragile laugh, shaking his head.

"It merely pushed me back."

His expression grew distant.

"And for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought that was it. That it was over."

A pause.

"And then - I fell."

Minerva's fingers dug into her palms.

"I was relieved, you know," Albus admitted softly. "Relieved that at least this way, I could die without suspicion."

He let out a slow, shuddering breath.

"But then?"

He closed his eyes.

"Then I felt something beneath me."

Minerva's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face.

"Something soft."

She stiffened.

"Something that caught me? cradled me? before the darkness took me completely."

Silence.

Minerva inhaled sharply.

"He saved you."

Dumbledore's head bowed slightly.

"Yes."

A whisper.

"He saved me."

The next time I opened my eyes, I was not in Hogwarts.

The ceiling above me was high, adorned with intricate wooden beams, dark with age. The air smelled of old parchment and polished oak, tinged with something faintly medicinal. I blinked sluggishly, my limbs feeling like lead. My head was pounding, my hand - my cursed hand - ached dully, but the searing pain that had plagued me for so long had lessened.

I was alive.

For a long moment, I simply lay there, disoriented. My fingers twitched against the sheets, testing, searching. The room was grand yet unfamiliar, lined with heavy, velvet curtains and a towering bookshelf overflowing with tomes. An ancient, classic design - Prince Manor.

Realization struck me like a physical blow.

I had not died.

I turned my head slowly, my body stiff with a year's worth of stillness, and my gaze landed on the bedside table. A letter lay there, carefully placed, its parchment bearing the unmistakable crest of the Noble House of Prince.

And the handwriting - small, precise, almost spidery - was unmistakable.

Severus.

With trembling fingers, I reached for it, the weight of foreboding pressing down on my chest. A small collection of potion vials sat beside it, their contents gleaming under the dim candlelight.

Swallowing hard, I unfolded the letter and began to read.

Flashback Begins

Headmaster,

If you are reading this, then you are awake.

And if you are awake, then the war is over.

Voldemort is gone.

I do not know how many lives were lost in his defeat. I do not know what remains of the school, of the world, of the people who fought for it.

But I do know this - you lived.

I was not strong enough to do as you asked.

I tried. I truly did. But when the time came, when the moment arrived - I could not hate you enough to cast the curse as it should have been done.

Instead, I gave you this.

The Dormant Bloom Elixir - a potion of my own making.

It is a selfish name, I suppose. A flower that sleeps in the winter, waiting for the right moment to bloom. A creature trapped in stillness, waiting for the world to change before it can live again.

It seemed fitting.

You have been asleep for a year.

For one year, your body has remained untouched, preserved, hidden away where no one could find you. Your magic has been in stasis, waiting for the moment your body was free of the curse that tried to kill you.

I slowed your heart. Stilled your breath. Cooled your skin. I let the world believe you were dead.

And the world grieved.

Minerva. Poppy. Hagrid. The students. Potter.

I saw it, Albus. I saw them mourn you.

I stood among them, silent as the Dark Mark twisted above us, knowing I had placed it there.

I walked through the halls of Hogwarts, through the shattered remains of what had once been a sanctuary for children, with every set of eyes turned on me in hatred, in fury, in disgust.

And I let them.

Because it had to be real.

I let them spit at my feet, let them turn away, let them whisper about the traitor, the murderer.

And all the while, I carried you - the last fragment of hope this castle had left - hidden beneath the illusion of death.

I retrieved your body the night they sealed your tomb.

I replaced you with another. A nameless man. A Death Eater. Polyjuiced. Altered beyond recognition. A body for a body.

It was cruel, perhaps. Dishonorable. But I did what I had to do.

I took you to Prince Manor, a place that has stood empty for years, where no one would dare go searching. It is mine alone, bound to my blood. No one could reach you there.

Not even him.

Not even me.

I left you in the quiet. Because you deserved that much.

Fawkes is in the next room. He tried, of course. To break through, to find you. But I could not allow it. I locked him away, just as I did you. He is safe. But he will never forgive me.

Much like everyone else.

Your wand is gone. Buried with the body that was meant to be you. The Dark Lord would have come for it - he did come for it - but by then, he was grasping at nothing but dirt.

I have left mine beneath your pillow. Take it. Use it.

I do not know what awaits you outside this manor. I do not know what remains of the castle we both called home.

But I do know this:

Hogwarts will need you.

They will need you.

And I will not be there.

You have spent years asking too much of me.

This time, I ask one thing of you.

Live.

Not for yourself. We both know you were never very good at that.

But for them.

For the ones who are still waiting for you.

For the ones who still need you.

I have done everything I can.

I have given you your second chance.

Do not waste it.

S. Snape

Flashback Ends

Albus swallowed thickly, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room, so dimly lit, blurred at the edges as the last words of the letter etched themselves into his head.

He lifted a trembling hand to his face, pressing his fingers to his mouth as though to stop the sound from escaping -

But it did.

A single, breathless, shattered laugh.

Then another.

But there was no mirth in it.

"Dormant Bloom Elixir," he whispered, his voice raw. "A flower that sleeps through winter and only blooms when the time is right."

He exhaled shakily.

"My genius boy..."

His voice cracked.

"...he thought of everything."

His hands curled into fists against the letter.

"Everything and everyone..."

His vision blurred.

"...except himself."

The weight of it was unbearable.

And then - the silence broke.

A sound escaped him - low, raw, unrestrained.

It started as a choked inhale, a tremor in his chest -

And then it tore from his throat, a sound like a wounded animal.

A sobbing breath, wracked with years of quiet regret, of unspoken grief, of a lifetime of choices that could never be undone.

Albus Dumbledore - the unshakable, ever-smiling, ever-knowing wizard - wept.

His head bowed over Severus's hand, his shoulders shaking violently as decades of unspoken sorrow spilled free.

It was too much.

Minerva couldn't bear it.

She turned sharply on her heel, the sharp click of her heels against the floor barely concealing the way her breath hitched, the way her own composure splintered.

Her hand found the door handle.

She hesitated.

Then - quietly, almost reverently - she slipped out.

The door closed behind her with a soft snick.

And as she pressed her back against the cool stone of the corridor, as she felt the first hot tear slip down her cheek -

She finally understood.

Severus Snape had saved them all.

But no one had saved him.

Minerva bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, her breath coming in sharp, silent gasps.

She had to leave before she shattered completely.

Before her grief joined the broken man in the room behind her.

Before she, too, became another ghost mourning a man who was not yet gone.