Pains and Contradictions

Warnings: This story is slash, meaning a romantic and sexual relationship between two males. Please consider every chapter to be rated M as I will not warn you when slash scenes are coming.

A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter! I had an excellent birthday in lovely Austin and returned to so many wonderful reviews.

Also, everyone should know by now that I put my heart and soul into this story. Every review is wonderful to me as well as my beta. Thank you all for letting me know your thoughts on the last chapter. As I mentioned before, this is actually the first chapter ever written. Please let me know your thoughts, as it is very special to me.

Thanks to Torina, as always, for a beta during a very busy semester. Laurenke1 is my lovely plot beta. Thanks also to WhiteCotton and thesewarmstars for looking over my grammar. As always, if you have any comments or would like to discuss the story, you can find me at the yahoo group Severus Sighs.


Revelations 8:1 When he opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour.


High above the dungeons, Albus Dumbledore was reading correspondence from an Order operative within the Ministry when a disturbance in the wards startled him from his thoughts.

He was surprised, but made quick work to close his eyes and allow the castle's wards to tell him what had provoked the alarm.

There.

Dark magic was being performed... in the dungeons.

Dear Merlin.

Something must have happened to Severus. There could be no other explanation since he was confident that there was no chance of his friend practicing dark magic within Hogwarts' hallowed halls.

Quickly he ran tests and charms that allowed him to see if the Floo Network had been compromised, if the gates were intact, if there was dark magic being performed elsewhere in the school.

No. Everything was perfectly still, which only served to confuse Dumbledore more. The wards were still in place and the Floo had not been tampered with.

There was only the disturbance in the dungeons.

His inquiries took only moments before he was on his feet and at the hearth more quickly than any man his age had any right to be. Swiftly, he grabbed a handful of Floo Powder that was sitting in its ornate jar on the mantel, called out, 'Severus Snape's quarters,' and made to leap in-

Only to find the way blocked.

Severus had blocked the Floo? He muttered the headmaster's override password, which he knew Severus had no knowledge of, and repeated his destination only to find it blocked still.

An awful feeling began to grow in the back of his mind, but he ignored it. As headmaster, he had the authority to enter any area of the castle. There should be no way of barring him from entering any room.

He threw off his confusion; there was nothing for it. Calling out the address for the Floo in the Entrance Hall, he threw the powder into the fire and successfully traveled several floors down.

He stepped out of the fireplace gracefully and turned to go down to the dungeons, only to find Draco Malfoy ascending the staircase with parchment in hand. The boy looked upset and was acting quite out of character, with his face pointed downward and his eyes on the floor.

This could be no coincidence, Dumbledore realized. Whatever was happening to Severus must be the result of whatever the student in front of him had attempted. Draco had finally played his hand and something must have gone horribly wrong for the boy to look so sullen. The headmaster moved to stand in front of a visibly downtrodden Draco. When the boy finally noticed him he looked up, startled.

For all his arrogance, still just a boy, Dumbledore thought. His eyes dark and steel in his tone, he addressed the younger man. "It is a bit late in the afternoon to be keeping up with correspondence, isn't it, Mr. Malfoy? Tell me, my boy, what is so important that it could not wait until morning?"

Draco drew in on himself for a moment before that aristocratic chin popped up and he looked on Dumbledore with cold, gray eyes. "Well, Headmaster, I thought my father would want to be informed that his old friend is down in the dungeons fucking the Boy Who Lived."

Dumbledore felt the dread that had been growing for the past few minutes spread over his entire body. He schooled his face to impassivity that would have rivaled his Potions Master's and muttered Expecto Patronum. A wispy, silver phoenix leapt from his wand and began looking for Dementors. Finding none, it awaited his instructions.

"Go to Professor McGonagall. Tell her to meet me in the Entrance Hall as soon as possible," Dumbledore said quietly but firmly, then watched as the patronus flew off towards Gryffindor Tower.

Dumbledore was left face to face with his student; a student who had finally acted on his desires, and likely resorted to extreme measures in whatever he had just done to Severus. His current demeanor suggested he had failed, and now he appeared to be intent only on revenge- and cementing Severus' murder at the hands of Voldemort.

Another student beyond saving, Dumbledore thought as he readied himself to address the youngest Malfoy. He briefly recalled Lucius and his own fall to darkness and sighed. While the Malfoys may have been a family that had always treaded the dark path, he had hoped that Draco might have been the exception. He truly had wished he could have stopped Draco before he had been able to fulfill whatever awful thing he had planned; for the boy's sake as well as Severus'.

He forced himself to change his perspective; to replace in his mind the cocky first year he had known with one of the enemy's soldiers.

"I assume, Draco, that you know exactly what would happen to Professor Snape when your father received that letter? You knew whom your father would rush to inform?"

Draco looked Dumbledore steadily in the eye and responded, "Yes, sir." He appeared resigned to his fate and did not seem to hold anything back in his confession. "He deserves to die for picking that scrawny little half-blood over me. I would have given anything to have him, but he didn't even look at me. All he could do was rush to that attention-seeking little bastard."

Dumbledore's eyes grew darker and he drew himself up to his full height. In his most demanding voice he asked, "Draco, tell me, what did you do? What spell did you use?" If there was some way he could get to Severus quickly enough, perhaps he would be able to reverse the damage.

"Anima Munio, Professor," Draco sneered with what could have been pain or malice. "The potion led him to Potter. He didn't even glance my way."

**********
Minerva arrived shortly after Draco's revelation.

"Minerva," he said, pulling her aside while keeping a firm grip on Draco's arm. "I need you to keep Draco in a private room. Block the Floo, confiscate his wand, and call Kingsley to guard him." His gaze brooked no argument as he looked into his deputy's eyes gravely. "He cannot be allowed to communicate with anyone in or outside of the castle. I will come when I can."

She began to question him, her expression outwardly stern though her eyes betrayed her anxiousness.

"Albus, what..."

He shook his head firmly and she seemed to understand the silent order. She nodded and pulled out her wand, pointing it at Draco. The young man reluctantly gave her his own and they walked away from the dungeon staircase.

As he watched the two make their way to one of the higher towers, Dumbledore paused.

Anima Munio, he thought, would not be considered dark magic. It was old and obscure, but it would not be considered dark by the castle's wards.

However, if Draco had somehow managed to administer it to Severus...

Dumbledore carefully weighed what he deduced from Draco with the wards still issuing their silent screams in his mind.

The Anima Munio potion wasn't dark. It was a potion that provoked choice, a potion that brought out the needs, desires and inner knowledge of a wizard's being to the forefront of his mind. If the potion brought Severus to perform dark magic, perhaps he shouldn't interfere. Perhaps he should allow whatever was happening to happen.

He knew that Severus cared for Harry, if not for the boy personally then because of his love for Harry's mother and his need to atone for his sins against her. No, Dumbledore knew without doubt that his friend would never harm Harry.

Perhaps he should allow-

No, he thought. You've meddled too much in the boy's life already.

He knew the truth, though he was loath to admit it even to himself. He knew that his past interference had profoundly affected Harry's life, and rarely for the better. And he had promised himself and Harry that he would no longer keep the boy in the dark, as he had been wont to do in the past.

No, he thought, bringing a hand up to massage his temples. No, he could not do that to Harry. His honor won out, as he realized that Harry was an adult now.

Puppetmaster, the Headmaster thought sadly. Severus had called him that once. He hoped that all his meddling would someday be justified.

He descended the staircase that led to the dungeons quickly before finally arriving at the classroom, the wards still issuing the silent alarm that dark magic was being performed. He unwarded the door and made to open it.

It would not budge.

He performed the unlocking charm that would open any door in Hogwarts; spells only the headmaster had the knowledge and power to wield.

Still the door would not open.

Confused and worried, he finally raised his wand to blast the door open, but before he could open his mouth he felt a tremor run through his wand and his body. He blinked his eyes and when he opened them, the door had changed.

The door, which before had been made of English oak, had become something like marble, but black as night. He was extremely alarmed now, his breath coming in pants and his heart racing. He looked around and found himself no longer in the familiar dungeon hallway, but in a white room with a ceiling so high he could not see the end of it and walls so white and one-dimensional he could not determine if he was standing in a room the size of a closet or the Quidditch Pitch.

He was certainly not new to Hogwarts' mischief; an incident involving chamber pots at four o'clock in the morning suddenly coming to mind. As he sought to wrap his mind around where Hogwarts had taken him, a chill suddenly ran down his back.

He closed his eyes and reached out to feel the wards.

Nothing.

He lifted his wand and tried to cast yet another unlocking spell on the door.

Nothing.

His inability to perform magic was the thing that pushed his worry into panic. He recognized quite suddenly that he was no longer in the dungeons, no longer in Hogwarts. Dear Merlin, where am I and what is happening?

At long last, whispered a voice in his ear. Dumbledore turned, but could see no one else in the fathomless room.

Quiet, said a second, harsher sounding voice. Perhaps we should allow him to reason all of this on his own. He thinks himself clever enough.

Dumbledore turned and attempted to investigate his surroundings once more, but found himself looking at the same sterile white walls that he had been looking at moments before.

He turned back so only the black door was apparent before him. He slowly made to open it again.

This time it gave.

Ah! It finally discovered how to open a door, the crass voice spoke again.

There is no reason to attack him. We've only to stop him from interrupting the bonding. There is no need for such dramatics, a softer-sounding voice whispered.

After all we have done, he dares attempt to halt our plans! He seeks to circumvent our will, and everything we have worked for, the harsh voice whispered, almost violently. Why would he attempt to stop what he himself has worked so hard to attain?

Dumbledore heard all this and shuddered. When he had first heard the wards issue their alarm, he had known that something dire was about to happen. Now a new reality began to settle on his consciousness, and he began to understand that something of earth-shattering importance was about to take place. He had been prepared for an attack from Voldemort, an epic battle; but not this. He was no coward, but his hand remained still on the handle of the door, refusing to pull it open.

If he stayed here, he would learn nothing of what was happening. But if he opened the door...

He steeled himself and pushed back a fear that was threatening to overtake him; fear that he had not felt for years.

He opened the door.

**********************

He felt more than heard it being shut behind him. What lay ahead of him was nothing.

Only darkness.

There was no sound. He heard no noise as his feet hit the ground, or any echo of his steps as he entered a tepid and stagnant room.

His eyes were straining, trying to adjust to the absence of light so he could make out something, anything in all the darkness.

A pleasant sounding voice broke the silence suddenly. "Albus Dumbledore," it whispered in greeting. "We've been waiting a very long time to meet with you."

His vision blurred. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the faint light penetrating the darkness. He could make out shadowed figures but no solid forms, almost as if his eyes were unwilling to focus. He moved his gaze elsewhere and realized his sight remained unaffected. There about fifteen feet in front of him was solid rock, and as he moved his gaze upward he could see shadowed figures high up on a stone pedestal. He likened the structure to one similar to a high court, and his eyes widened as he realized the figures themselves were without form.

Taking in his surroundings, he saw that he appeared to be on a mountaintop where the landscape plateaued. It was nighttime. He looked up and noticed the stars above him were not familiar at all. He drew in a gasped breath as he looked closer.

The sky looked so much larger here. He could see stars, yes, but further inspection revealed more stars than he had seen even on the clearest of nights. He felt dwarfed, the sky seeming to reach on forever. It was as if this little piece of mountain were the only land to be seen and the rest was all sky. There was no way it could be real; human eyes could not behold something so grand and magnificent. It occurred to him that the beings in front of him must have been allowing him to see this.

"Yes, your predecessors were amazed at this as well," the pleasant voice spoke again.

He looked up at the unknown beings that were addressing him, trying to discern who or what they were. The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in the presence of something powerful.

"Good evening, and please forgive..."

The harsh, crass voice he had previously heard interrupted him with a dark chuckle. He turned his gaze to the shadowy figure that he thought the malice had come from and found only undefined smoke.

He had experienced enough in his long life that he had not known real terror in a very long time. But as an icy chill crept across his neck, he recognized the feeling of true fear that comes with encountering the unknown. For the first time in decades he found himself completely lost, with no idea of what was expected of him or how to prepare himself.

Realizing he was at these beings' mercy, he inclined his head and addressed them again.

"Greetings," he said in a firm, but polite voice. "May I be so bold as to ask whom I am addressing and where I have been brought?" he asked, attempting to be both friendly and respectful at the same time.

"Finally," the angry voice spat. "For a moment, we thought your good manners and desire to grovel would rule over your own humanity. There is a difference between rudeness and self-preservation, Dumbledore."

"Now, now. This is not our purpose. Let's not dawdle," the kinder voice interjected.

"Yes, he did make an inquiry. Several, in fact," uttered a very gentle sounding voice. "And we have no reason to avoid answering such simple questions."

Dumbledore felt himself relax slightly at the sound of the pleasant voice. He cleared his mind and forced himself to listen.

"You ask where you are." There was a pause before the voice continued. "You are nowhere. This place is not real. If it can be called anything, call it the Void. Time and space do not exist here. Your magic, the laws of physics, anything that possesses any realm of reality for you does not exist here. Even your eyes betray you."

Suddenly a hand of black smoke extended and waved through the air. "You see us as shadows and smoke because your mind cannot process our reality."

Dumbledore attempted to push aside the fact that he was in some mythical place in order to concentrate on what was being said to him. He knew it would be all too easy to allow himself to marvel at the mere fact that he was here, in the presence of these beings at all. He could not allow himself the luxury of distraction.

The being continued speaking. "Now, as to whom you are speaking. We are beings who, from the beginning of humanity, have watched humankind and helped them to prosper and grow. We have prevented you from destroying yourselves time and time again. It would appear that every few hundred years or so, humanity grows a desire to cut off its own head. Simply put, we are the guardians of men and seek to prevent their destruction," the gentle voice spoke.

Dumbledore's mind reeled. The voice paused as if it sensed his need for his thoughts to catch up with what he was hearing. What exactly was he in the presence of?

"Am I to understand that I am in the presence of the gods?" Dumbledore asked, his voice quiet and reverent.

The dark laughter returned. It sounded harsh and snide, and sent a chill up Dumbledore's spine.

"Gods? Yes, you could call us gods. Humankind has given us many names over the millennia: gods, the Furies, the Elders. The names have changed, but we remain. We do not put much importance on names. However, since you seem to be so terribly concerned about calling things by their proper names," the voice paused for a moment, before continuing, "then consider yourself to be in the presence of Fate."

Dumbledore was speechless, his mind recalling all the stories of old; all the tales of wizardom and Muggle religions. He had believed in Fate of some sort, but he had never truly understood the concept of what he was seeing right before his eyes. Fate was speaking to him, had called on him. But why was this happening now? He forced his mind back to where it had been, with Severus and Harry who were-

"Now your last question, 'what is this?'" the harsh voice broke through his thoughts. "You are one of only a handful of men whom we have ever deigned to allow in our presence. The course of human events has been difficult and broken. As we said before, humanity seems set on its own destruction. We have intervened several times in the past, always when we saw a diversion in the road with two possible paths leading to two very different futures."

Dumbledore felt a thrill of excitement as he took in what the voice had just said. "You know what will happen in the war against Voldemort?" he asked, his mind beginning to focus on what he hoped was the true reason he had been brought here.

"Understand this, Dumbledore: we do not interfere in the normal course of human existence. Not every man has a Fate or a Destiny," a mild voice spoke.

Dumbledore's brow furrowed at this. Not every man had a destiny?

"Is it so hard to wrap your mind around, old man?" that hard voice spoke again. "Do you really think the course of humanity would be affected if a man wants nothing more than to own his own shop, have a wife and children, live a completely normal life and die a completely normal death? Do you really think we would interfere? Do you think we care?"

"Of course, we care," said the gentle voice. It continued, "We care, but we do not interfere where we are not needed. Largely, men make their own destiny. Free will is essentially what separates men from animals." The voice said this last kindly, and for the first time Dumbledore thought it possible that he was speaking to a benevolent deity. "They make their own course, good or bad, and live their lives by it. We do not interfere; we only observe."

"Yes, until a few of you get delusions of grandeur and try to destroy the rest," the snide voice sneered. "It is human fear and arrogance that brings us here to this place time and time again."

Dumbledore was shocked. "How many times have you brought someone before you in this manner?"

"That does not concern you; however, think on your history. Do you think genocide is something new? Do men excel in accepting those who are different from themselves? Are they generous and giving in their lands and fortunes?" the voice spat. "There is always some reason. Naming the names of a few would diminish the sins of the hundreds of others who worked so hard to earn their place in infamy!"

Dumbledore nodded. He was well versed in both Muggle and wizard history. Sadism and genocide were nothing new. The fact that he was here at all, however, proved that there was hope.

It had been a very long time since he'd had to address anyone with such humility. He thought how best to start his plea, then began. "Please," he said, "why have you brought me here? What is happening in the dungeons? Can anything be done to stop Tom Riddle? In all my plans-"

He was interrupted by the snide tones yet again. "Yes, Dumbledore, we have watched your machinations and planning, the way you've been manipulating men and women for years, always for the good of the cause."

"This is not what we are here for," the kind, gentle voice spoke up in defense. "What had to happen has happened. Dumbledore did what he had to do to see that all of this came to pass. There is no reason to discuss that which is obvious."

Dumbledore frowned, confused at what the voice was saying, but brushed it aside. It would not do to become distracted when he knew deep in the dungeons something was happening between Severus and Harry.

"Please," he pleaded again. "Please tell me what exactly is happening now, particularly what is happening in the dungeons of Hogwarts between Severus and Harry. And what could I have done to bring this about?" Dumbledore inquired.

The silence in the Void had never seemed greater than during the pause that came after his question and before harsh-sounding laughter echoed in response. A feeling of absolute dread filled his stomach as the voice began to speak. "Please do not attempt to pretend ignorance. You knew exactly what needed to be done to ensure Harry Potter grew up in the way that was needed. Perhaps you did not foresee this exact event, but you realized something had to happen in order for Harry Potter to defeat Tom Riddle. You set these events in motion, but apparently lack the will to see to their completion. You saw to their beginning and now we are here to see that it reaches their fullest potential."

"Please," Dumbledore said a third time, taking a step toward the raised stone. "Please, what is happening? What has to happen?" He had not pleaded this way in years. Not since-

"At the moment, chopping and dicing," the snide voice said with a laugh.

"There is no reason to torture him," chided the gentle voice. After a moment it continued. "At this very moment Severus Snape is brewing a potion, which he will use to bind himself to Harry Potter." The voice said this plainly, and as though they were having a conversation about far more pleasant things.

"A bonding potion?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low.

"Yes."

Dumbledore's frown deepened. There were so many different forms of bonding potions... "May I ask what manner of bonding potion he is brewing?"

"He wants to know if the Malfoy boy was telling the truth," the snide voice seemed to snicker.

"Silence," said a firm, but kind voice that had been silent until now. The voice almost seemed to sigh before it began speaking again.

"Albus," it said, and Dumbledore rose an eyebrow at finally being addressed by his given name. It brought with it a feeling of familiarity he was surprised to find he desperately needed at the moment. "Albus, you truly are blind."

His eyebrows lifted. "I beg your-"

"Your Potions Master has been in love with your boy-hero for months. In all your cleverness and feigned omniscience, you never once saw it."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest, to say there was no possible way that was true. His jaw snapped shut as scenes from the past few months began running through his mind.

He thought of the way Severus had allowed Harry to stay with him in the infirmary; the way he had never complained that the boy was always underfoot; the way he had allowed Harry to help him; the way he had allowed Harry to live with him for the entire summer.

But surely that was only friendship, he thought. Friendship and Severus' continual desire for atonement, he corrected himself.

"But surely Harry-"

"Harry Potter, aside from being the most clueless boy in Britain, is in love with him as well. Whether he realizes this now or not is another story," the voice said, stern but not unkind. "The bond between them will be strong, born out of love and the desire to protect and care for each other; specifically, for Severus Snape to protect Harry Potter, in all things and in all ways."

Dumbledore's mind was reeling. "The bond- that is to say- will it be-"

"Is it reversible? No. The strongest bonds are not, and you no doubt understand that this must be a strong bond."

Dumbledore shook his head. "But why? Why do this to a seventeen-year-old boy? And why did it have to be done so underhandedly? Why use Draco Malfoy at all?"

The voices seemed to laugh a bit amongst themselves. There was a pause before the snide voice spoke again.

"We use whatever players and pieces we can, when we can, much like yourself. Draco Malfoy's obsession with Severus Snape was a very convenient tool. It did not fall into place smoothly, no. There was a moment when it seemed all would fall apart simply because Harry Potter is a sentimental fool and was about to refuse Draco Malfoy's hand in friendship."

"Yes, we had to intervene there. And we so hate blatant intervention," said the pleasant voice.

Dumbledore sputtered. He began to put the pieces together in his head. The events of the summer suddenly became clear. "But why? Please, why must this happen? The potion that Draco used on Severus-"

"Because they have no choice in the matter, you foolish man," the smoky figure spat. "Free will does exist; however, some things are meant to be."

"Albus," the kind voice spoke again, "your friend Severus has been in love with Harry for months. Did you ever once guess?"

Albus shook his head and could only answer, "No."

"We thought not. Do you think that Severus would ever have acted on it? Do you think he would ever have laid a hand on the boy had we not intervened?"

Dumbledore could only shake his head. No, his friend's guilt was vast and he knew Severus viewed his life as an eternal attempt at absolution. He had never forgiven himself his past sins. He had never taken a lover because he could not bring himself to burden another with such grief.

"But Harry-" It suddenly occurred to Dumbledore that Severus would never have taken Harry against his will. A light went on in his head as something suddenly occurred to him. "Harry would never do this to Severus! Not while under the influence of a potion. It's dubious to say the least."

All of the voices fell silent, save one derisive string of laughter.

"You would judge Harry Potter, Dumbledore? You would begrudge him the fact that he is human?"

Dumbledore frowned. Being human meant being able to control your actions, your desires. He had told Harry several times in the past that it was one's choices that revealed what one truly was. He knew Harry to be a brave and honorable young man; a young man who would never take advantage of a friend.

"Was he influenced by the Animo Munio potion as well?" he asked, thinking this to be the only explanation.

"No," the malicious voice said. "He was not."

Dumbledore's mind reeled again. "Then why would he agree to this?"

"Several reasons, Dumbledore, each more human than the last." The word human was spat out almost as a curse word. "Knowing Harry Potter's history, knowing all of his trials and his grief, would you really begrudge him this? Would you truly judge a moment of weakness?"

Dumbledore couldn't bring himself to fathom what the voice was saying. "Why did it have to be this way? Why trick them if they both love each other?"

"Because Severus Snape would never have agreed to it, you stupid man!" the crass voice roared. "And as for Potter... would you really expect him to push away something he has always wanted? Especially offered to him by the one he loves?"

"Yes!" Dumbledore shouted. "Yes, I would expect him to do the right thing! He has always done the right thing. There must have been something... Something Severus did or said to convince him, but..."

"But you know Severus Snape would do nothing to force him," said the pleasant voice.

"Yes," he said, deflated.

"Dumbledore," that snide voice spoke again. "What if we were to tell you that Draco Malfoy is lost? That there is no saving him, that he is already too set in his ways. His father has shaped him from the time he was born and there will be no redemption for him. Knowing this, if we offered you something you wanted, would you give him over to Riddle?"

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore said, blinking. He had no idea how the conversation had gone so off-course.

"Would you give up the youngest Malfoy, give up one of your students to his father who will surely destroy him, if we offered you something you desired?"

Dumbledore didn't even have to think twice. "No," he said. "Never. Not even if he is lost."

The voices were silent for a moment before the harsh one spoke again. "What if we offered to bring... him back to you."

Dumbledore frowned again. Of whom was he speaking? "I don't understand," he said.

"You know the one of whom we speak. The one you try not to think about as your head hits your pillow each night. The one for whom your heart has longed for nearly fifty years. What if we said we could bring him back to you, as he was, in exchange for the Malfoy boy?"

Dumbledore's heart nearly stopped. His body stood shock-still and his mind nearly shut down. That old pain that always lingered near the surface, the pain he forced away at odd hours of the day, suddenly sprang to life in a way it hadn't in years.

"Is that possible?" he whispered.

The voice laughed maliciously. "No, that's not possible. If we could do that, why would we need to interfere in human events?"

The voices murmured amongst themselves for a few moments, and Dumbledore felt his heart breaking.

"We say this to make you understand," the voice continued. "Even good men have their limits. Harry Potter took what was offered to him. Even you, with your incredible integrity, would be hard pressed to push away the man you loved as he confessed his undying devotion to you."

Dumbledore pushed aside his heartache in a practiced move. There was no reason to be so cruel, no reason to mock him so; tease him with possibilities only to yank them away.

"Do you understand now, Albus?" asked the patient voice.

"No," he said in a deadly whisper. "No, I do not understand. Why does this have to happen?"

"It had to happen, Albus. And it had to be not only a bond, but this bond."

Dumbledore no more understood that statement now than when it had first been uttered. "But why? Why this type of bond?"

There was a pause. Not only among the shadowy figures but also in the heavens above. He had known he was in a void before, but now Dumbledore actually felt it.

The pleasant sounding voice spoke again, "We are not completely omniscient. We do not know the distant future, but we can see the near. If the bonding of Harry Potter and Severus Snape does not occur, they will both die by Tom Riddle's hand, and soon. You will die shortly after. When you fall, the wizarding world will fall and the Muggle world with it. We cannot allow that to occur."

Another benign male voice said, "Your future is literally on the edge of a precipice. If we had not interfered today, then darkness would have taken over quickly.

"Tom Riddle must die. He threatens humanity's continued existence simply by living. He has already broken the most universal of laws- he has disfigured the human soul."

Dumbledore was very glad to hear it was fated that Voldemort would die, but he failed to understand why it had to be done in this manner. Of all the different forms of magic, why this bond; and why formed in such an underhanded way?

"But why now and why this way? You talk about choice and free will and yet you would take it away from the both of them."

"Choice?" the snide voice seethed, "You would dare speak of choice in the matter of these two? You, who worked your will with both of them so that their lives are irrevocably tainted by your manipulations."

"Now, now," the pleasant voice interrupted. "Albus has only done what he was taught to do. None of this would be possible if not for him. It is not his fault if he cannot see his own involvement."

Dumbledore's brow furrowed again. Perhaps he had affected Harry's life before, but not this time. He had no hand in this thing.

"Perhaps it is not his fault, but he must be made to understand the need for this. We will need him to help see this through," said the snide voice.

Dumbledore wanted to interrupt, but found himself enthralled by the conversation taking place in front of him. It had been ages since someone had spoken of him as though he were not present.

"I think you fail to understand the situation that these two men are in, Dumbledore." The snide voice was speaking to him again. "Perhaps we should show you what your old, knowledgeable eyes have thus far failed to see."

The landscape changed and he was no longer on the mountainside.

He was in a dark house. It was small and smelt of rotted food and decay, as though someone had died in one of its rooms and they had yet to air it out. There were torn, dark drapes over two small windows and the paint on the door was peeling. A bookshelf had tumbled over onto its side and the sofa's cushions were faded and lopsided.

Suddenly, he heard a whimper; a small, heart-wrenching sound coming from behind the sofa. He knew that sound all too well from his years with working with children. It was the sound of a child crying in lonely agony.

He moved around the tattered couch and saw a crumpled figure huddled in the corner.

The boy seemed small. His hair was dirty and disheveled, like he hadn't bathed or brushed it in weeks. His clothes were torn and several sizes too large. He could see a bony shoulder where his shirtsleeve had slipped down his arm. He was in his stocking feet and his socks had holes in them. He had his head on his knees and his arms around his shins, rocking himself back and forth.

It was Harry Potter.

Dumbledore was only able to recognize him by the scar peaking through the messy hair. The rest was a gross exaggeration, some parody of what Harry truly was. Though he doubted the situation, he could not ignore a child who was in pain in front of him.

He acted quickly, still unsure if this was real or some cruel joke. He crouched before the frightened boy, "Harry," he quietly addressed the shaking boy. "It's the headmaster, Harry."

The boy didn't seem to hear him, and curled in on himself even further. Dumbledore tried another approach, laying his hands on the boy's shoulders and shaking him gently. "It's Dumbledore, Harry. You're alright. No one is going to hurt you."

The boy screamed. He put his hands on his head and fell over onto the dirty floor, wrapping himself into a ball.

"He's not used to being touched in kindness, you see." Dumbledore could hear the kinder voice's whisper but could not see it. "After his care at the Dursleys', it's no surprise that he's afraid of touch. The last person who held him with love has been dead for over a year. You can't blame him for his hopelessness. He had no one else, you see. Or he had no one until your Potions Master arrived."

Dumbledore shook his head. Harry had never been this way, not even after Sirius had died. "This can't be true. This isn't possible. This," he gestured to the shaking boy on the floor, "is not Harry Potter. Harry Potter is one of the fiercest boys I've ever known."

"Yes, he is fierce and he is strong. He had to be. But that does not mean that he did not suffer. It was something that you were only too glad to ignore, even when Snape brought it to your attention. The abuse-"

For the first time, Dumbledore cut off the voice. "There was no abuse in that house!" He put his hand over his face, turning away from the image of the screaming boy. "Nothing happened in that place that Harry could not stand."

"Yes," the harsh voice said quietly. "You are correct, Dumbledore. There was nothing in that house that the boy could not stand. Yes, that is true. You did your job well, making sure not to allow Potter to suffer more than he could bear."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he took in the thinly veiled accusation from the voice. "I do not understand. I know that Harry was a bit depressed after Sirius died, but not to this extent. And Severus helped. I saw it with my own eyes."

"Ah, yes. Severus," the voice said cooly. "For a moment, we thought you had forgotten about him completely." And with that, Severus Snape walked into the room.

But this was not Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin, heroic spy and misanthropic school teacher; this man looked beaten down and trodden upon by life. His robes, which were usually immaculate, were burned and stained. His hair, greasier than usual, fell in strips down his face, which was so pale and thin he could see the man's cheekbones sticking out. He walked slowly as if pulled down by a heavy weight.

"Severus?"

Severus turned toward him and Dumbledore could see he was bleeding. Severus held his hand over his chest but Dumbledore could see the blood that poured from an open wound and onto his friend's pale fingers.

"Headmaster, there's a fire in the other room. I have to find something with which to put it out. Have you seen the salt shaker?"

Dumbledore was startled at how confused the other man looked. And why was he asking for a salt shaker? A bucket of water, sand, or even a heavy blanket would be a better choice for putting out a fire.

"A salt shaker, Severus?"

"No? Perhaps I can try spitting on it."

Dumbledore approached his wounded friend. "Severus, you're injured. If there's a fire, I will put it out. Please, sit down."

Severus didn't appear to hear him. His mind was already on another task.

"Yes, you do that, headmaster. Meanwhile, there's a dragon in the parlor. I'm going to go fight it with a butter knife. Seems the only thing to do, really."

Dumbledore grabbed Severus and forced him to sit down. The man fell upon the couch, his shoulders slumped. His face was pale and Dumbledore attempted to move the blood-stained hand in order to assess the damage.

Severus was moving to face Dumbledore when he suddenly seemed to register the whimpering coming from behind the sofa. Severus' eyes went wide and he rose from his position on the couch, ignoring the headmaster's protests.

Dumbledore watched as Severus took in the shaking boy, still screaming his rage.

"He's been like this for so long now. I think it started when the Diggory boy died." Severus' tone was uncharacteristically quiet as he spoke of Harry. "It only grew when Black fell through the veil. He was so lost with no one at all to care for him. And then when Weasley died..." Severus trailed off, staring at the pitiful figure.

Dumbledore was startled by this. Surely that couldn't be true. The Dursleys may not have loved him but the Weasleys did as well as his friends and Remus Lupin. He himself truly cared for the boy as well.

"Yes," the snide voice seemed to come from behind him, "but what is love without kindness? What is love if one never shows it? What is love if the voice says 'I love you' but the hand comes to slap you in the face?"

"Nonsense," Dumbledore protested. "Harry has had love in his life. His character attests to it."

"Yes, that is true. He had just enough love in his life for him to thirst for it; enough loneliness to make way for desire, but not enough to cause despair. Yes, you did your job well, Dumbledore."

That was the second time the voices had spoken of him in this way. Dumbledore turned his head to address the voice, but was distracted by Severus.

Severus had moved to the floor to comfort the boy. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, still not recognizing him. But when he saw Severus, he nearly jumped to embrace him. Severus moved his body around Harry's and seemed to be trying to cover every inch of him. Harry began to cry, returning the embrace fully.

"Shh," Snape whispered. "Yes, I know. I understand. I know. Please, don't cry. Shh," the man said as he continued to comfort the boy.

"He is so much older than him. I know that it wouldn't matter in a few years, but now..." Dumbledore addressed Fate.

The sneering voice reappeared with full force. "Neither of the men before you have ever really been boys." The word 'boys' was hissed, as if the teeth that the voices did not have were clenched. "Neither of them truly ever had a childhood, their youths fraught with loneliness and agony. But the worst of these things is their hopelessness. If we had allowed them to descend into hopelessness, the war would have been lost and Tom Riddle the victor."

"I still fail to see why their binding together is beneficial. You have not explained it to me."

"Why do you require an explanation of the bonding when it would not have been possible without you?" the snide voice began, but the kinder one interrupted.

"Harry Potter needs someone who will protect him, yes. That was most important. But almost equally important is for him to have someone who understands him, someone who can love him the way he needs to be loved. Severus Snape is a good man, and his life's experiences are similar to Harry's own. He has ties to Tom Riddle. He's brave and courageous and self-sacrificing. And though he's only begun to see it, he already loves Harry Potter very much. He needs to love him, and be loved by him, just as much as Harry does. These two men will be the ones to bring down Tom Riddle. You will have your part, but these men will strike the killing blow. Together, sharing their power, they are so much stronger than they are individually. Together, Tom Riddle cannot stand against them."

The sudden knowledge came to Dumbledore and he nodded slowly. Yes, he could see Fate's point. He might not be happy with how they had gone about it, but it made sense to him. He was overjoyed to know that these two could bring about the fall of Voldemort.

"Thank you," he said simply, still taking in the scene of his Potions Master trying to wrap himself around the Boy Who Lived.

He leaned back and watched as Severus suddenly made a stiff movement, then laid Harry down on the floor before picking himself up.

"Severus?" Harry asked, his body still shaking from his sobbing.

"I'm being called, Harry." Dumbledore watched silently as Severus walked from behind the sofa towards the door, still battered and bloodied.

Harry rose from his place on the floor. "Called? You mean you're going back there? Now?"

Severus nodded and grabbed Harry's shoulders, steering him to sit on the sofa. Dumbledore merely watched as the scene played out.

"I have to go, Harry."

Harry tried to get up, but Severus was holding him still. "What? Why? You can't go back there. He'll kill you! You need to stay here with me, please!"

Severus shook his head and turned away from Harry. "I have to go back there for you, Harry. Always for you." And with that he turned and walked out the door.

Dumbledore turned towards Harry, who looked so lost and small sitting on the dirty sofa.

"I don't understand," Dumbledore said to no one. "Why did he leave Harry if he loves him as much as you claim he does?"

"The only thing that could possibly rival Severus' love for Harry is his desire for atonement. His determination to punish himself for his past sins is the thing that will keep them apart. What he doesn't realize is that his service as a spy for your Order is finished. His place is no longer behind enemy lines; it's standing by Harry Potter's side.

"Be forewarned, Albus- Severus will not settle into this bond quickly. There is a reason he needed to be drugged for the bonding to take place. He must bond with Harry, yes, but he must also be with Harry if any of this is to work."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot force them. Especially not Severus."

"Still up on your high horse, Dumbledore? You have never shied away from manipulations, why start now?" the harsh voice answered back. Dumbledore had a vague understanding of what the voices were hinting at, but he ignored it. What he had done was no worse than what Fate was doing now.

"Tell me, Dumbledore, are you ever lonely in your tower? Do you ever tire of moving chess pieces around? Do you think they ever stop to wonder exactly how much of their upbringing you had a hand in?" the voice taunted Dumbledore.

Dumbledore turned to face it. He had never had to explain himself, ever. His decisions had been his own and though there might have been a few protests, they had been quickly silenced. He knew that what he had done had been right; had been necessary.

"Everything I did, I did for a reason. My knowledge was limited but my actions were was necessary. Decisions had to be made."

"Ah, finally. Still dancing around it, but at least we've arrived at the pertinent subject. Tell us, Dumbledore, why did you leave Harry Potter at the Dursleys'?"

This question, at least, Dumbledore could answer. He'd been asked this so many times over the past sixteen years, he had his answer down to perfection. "The blood wards surrounding the house gave Harry and his family protection from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Removing him from that house would have put him in mortal danger."

"Ah," the voice said, "but what about Hogwarts? The school is a castle and a stronghold in its own right. Remus Lupin or any wizard or witch willing could have raised him in comfort and loved him like a child needs to be loved and he would have still been safe."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. The sobbing figure on the sofa faded away, as did the filthy house in which they had been standing. Just as the door to the potions lab had transformed in an instant, so was Dumbledore taken back to the mountain to face Fate high in their seats.

"Give the true reason for once in this topic, Dumbledore. You've been giving half-truths and variations on this theme for years. Every time you were asked about the boy you gave the same stock answer."

Humbled, Dumbledore spoke in a small voice. If he was finally being called forth to answer for his actions, then so be it. "Yes. I did what needed to be done." He paused, realizing now that they were judging actions that had brought him nothing but guilt and sleepless nights.

"Do you think it gave me joy to do what I did?" he said angrily. "You claim to have some omniscience, so you must know how I hated the decision, how much it pained me? Even as I carried out the plan, there was no love in my heart for it."

"Lies and distraction," said the cruel voice. It cut through Dumbledore and he found himself blasted open in a way he had not been in decades. "You are not finished yet, Dumbledore. There is still work that needs to be done. If you are to help Severus Snape and Harry Potter, you must see the influence of your own hand in this. If only to us, say it just this once."

"Damn you," he whispered. He nearly expected to be struck down for that utterance but the beings in front of him were silent, awaiting his answer.

His shoulders slumped and he felt every one of his years weigh down on him. He wanted nothing more than to lower his head in shame, but he did not. He was in no way proud of what he had done, but that did not mean it had not been necessary. These beings, above any, should understand.

"He needed to be made strong," he said simply. "Harry has been our one hope from the time he was born. There was no other way." He said this softly, his voice uncharacteristically weak. "I could not afford to send him to some wizarding family that would only coddle him and treat him like a prince. I needed to make him resilient. I needed to make sure he could endure all that he would have to endure. He was a child! He is still a child. Any other child would have broken if he were made to suffer even half of what Harry has had to suffer."

Dumbledore paused, shaken to the core. The guilt of what he had done had weighed down on him nearly all of Harry's life. To finally speak of it gave him such a sense of relief it felt like a sin. It shouldn't feel so good to confess such a horrible truth.

"I knew his life would be hard. I knew what he would have to endure. I couldn't do it myself; I could never treat him that way, I cared for the boy too much." After a sigh he continued. "So I sent him to people who I knew held no love for him because of who he was. I needed him to know what it is to resist and fight from the very beginning. I couldn't have taught him that. Strength of character can't be taught from the front of a classroom. It's life's experiences and choices that made him strong."

"Ah," said the cruel voice. "Now, at last we get to the truth of the matter. You thought yourself so very wise then? You knew what was good for the child and so you carried out a plan of your own devising. You risked his mind and his body in the hope that it would help him grow, make him strong?"

"Yes, Merlin save me," Dumbledore confessed. "I did what I thought was best, not only for Harry, but for us all, so we could all have a chance at surviving this war."

There was a pregnant pause in which the voices were silent to the old man, but seemed somehow to be conferring amongst themselves. He wondered if they did argue amongst themselves or if they were somehow one entity, one single being. They seemed to have different characteristics and personalities, but that could be solely for his own benefit.

He stood silently as they conferred amongst themselves, as though he was waiting to be judged.

Suddenly, the snide voice spoke again. "Did you ever wonder why it was you, Dumbledore, who was sent to defeat the dark wizard Grindelwald?"

Dumbledore was struck dumb both at the swift change of topic and at the mention of his only lover's name. Images of the battle that were ingrained in his memory flashed through his mind and he fought to keep them away. He stood still as he braced himself, transfixed, to listen to what the voices were telling him.

"Are you so arrogant or can your primitive mind not wrap itself around the idea that perhaps as you have groomed others you were groomed as well?" the voice snapped.

"We are not omniscient, but we can see ahead. We needed Harry Potter to be strong, yes. So we chose you, Albus," the kind voice said. "You were already a strong wizard, but only a certain kind of man can make the difficult decisions we required you to make. Any other wizard would have sent Harry Potter to some loving wizarding home, and then where would we be?"

The old wizard was breathless and struck dumb. He felt his eyes tear as he fought to blink and to breathe, so disturbed that he found these basic bodily functions a challenge. Never before had he been so incensed...

"Great leader of wizards. The leader of the resistance against the greatest dark wizard the world has ever seen," the voice snarled. "With all that power, did you really think we would leave your life to chance? Did you never see a parallel with your own life to that of your young charge? Are you truly that slow, or like so many old, wise men did you forget that you were ever that young?"

The tone in which the voice had spoken the last made it evident what he thought of men who fancied themselves wise.

Questions that had plagued his mind for decades were answered. His head reeled and he felt as if he were swaying in the wind, but knew for a fact that there was no breeze in the void.

"But," he rebelled, "I..."

"Yes, we know exactly what he was to you. We know exactly what it cost you to do what was required. We know how you've chosen to live your life alone and celibate because you could not spend it with him. It was the ultimate endurance test and gravest of challenges. And you've surpassed all our expectations, young man."

Albus felt a long shudder go through his body. He hadn't been called a young man in years.

"We needed you to be strong, Albus," said the kind voice. "It's not every man who can do what you did to Harry Potter. Most would have done as you feared- they would have loved him and hidden him away, treated him like any ordinary boy.

"But you did as we required of you. You placed him in a home where he would be neglected and unloved. You made sure he would be tested; made sure he would become strong.

"You yourself became strong, Albus. Strong enough to do what needed to be done. Strong enough to lead a school of young, impressionable children; strong enough to be a leader of men and strong enough to lead an order of wizards and witches to their deaths, if need be. Strong enough to work to destroy the greatest threat the world has ever known.

"After everything we have done to arrive here, after everything you have done- we will not have you fail now."

He stood rigidly in front of them, failing to keep the overwhelming grief from showing itself on his face. He had been a fool to think he could change his ways after all this time. If nothing else, he would spare Harry and Severus this heartache. He would help them, as Fate had asked. He could see now that some things were meant to be.

"Yes, boy," Fate said as one. "Yes."