Endings and Beginnings

The morning sun shone through the large windows of Albus's bedchamber. The old man loved morning. Winky would come to throw back the curtains just as the sun was rising. Snape really preferred sleeping in, but he had changed his schedule long ago to accommodate his friend.

The war was over; Voldemort had been defeated. The Death Eaters were either dead or in Azkaban with no chance of release. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, MacNair, Dolohov---the list went on--- were merely memories that faded daily.

The children---well, not children now---lived on. Ron and Hermione had twins. Two red-headed, bushy-haired girls would giggle and run in the courtyard whenever the couple came to visit. Draco had married Pansy, but their families had been disgraced with the fall of the Dark Lord. Harry was indeed alive, but he would never be the same. St. Mungo's experts were trying to bring him back to reality. His mind had snapped during the final confrontation. They had found Voldemort reduced to a pile of ashes with Harry, catatonic, amongst them. Luna had made it her business, no her life, to sit at his side, reading to him, talking to him, trying to bring him back. Imagine loony Luna working tirelessly to make somebody sane.

Snape preferred not to think about it.

Dumbledore's leg had been pulverized during the battle. Poppy and the St. Mungo's healers had done all they could to restore it, but Dumbledore was very old, and his natural regenerative abilities were weak. His leg had indeed grown back, but it would never be strong enough to support his weight, even as thin and frail as he was. Dumbledore now got around via a charmed cane and a automobilicorpus chair.

His mind was as sharp as ever. He still seemed to know everything that went on around him. Through vast knowledge and experience he had become formidably wise, and he retained that wisdom even now. Snape enjoyed long conversations with him about potions and magic.

But his memory was beginning to fade. This was a man who had never forgotten a face or a name, but now Severus could sense his embarrassment at not remembering the names of former Hogwarts students who came to visit. Severus knew the inevitable would eventually happen. Dumbledore would someday lose most if not all of his memory. He probably wouldn't remember Snape himself.

But Severus would stay.

Albus was the nearest the other man had ever had to a real father, and like a dutiful son he would stay.

Snape wordlessly helped Albus into his chair and guided him out on the balcony. Snape watched Dumbledore's face as he watched the spectacle of thousands of butterflies flittering from tree to tree. Even as infirm as he was, his eyes still twinkled in wonderment.

Severus thought back on the events of that final battle. It was a curse meant for another that careened off and shattered Albus's leg. There had been three intense, excruciating days at the beginning of August when every Order member, save Harry and his closest friends, sat waiting tensely for word on the Headmaster. They scanned anxiously the faces of every healer who passed through. Severus had remained stock still, forcing his eyes to stay open, moving only when hunger or nature demanded it. Finally, the news arrived.

"I have good news and bad news," sighed the healer.

"Why do healers always use that trite line?" Severus had thought disgustedly.

Mercifully, the healer went straight into the news. "Albus Dumbledore...will live."

A collective sigh of relief was exhaled.

"And we are going to be able to release him."

Relieved smiles.

"But---"

Snape, silent, unmoving, had been expecting this all along.

"He will most likely never be able to use his leg again." Faces fell. Poor Albus, he would certainly miss his mobility.

"We will release him into the care of an adult witch or wizard who will oversee his assisted living in the care of at least one human, not merely house elves." The healer had been very emphatic about these last words.

As soon as the words were out Snape stood up and volunteered.

The other Order members were stunned into silence. The healer looked at Severus, evaluating him, and then said, "All right, Mr. Snape, I'll get you the necessary papers."

Then he walked away to do just that.

The room was still in the grip of stunned silence when Minerva rose as quickly as her old injury would let her, hobbled over to him, and hugged him.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

Snape stood stone-like and silent. He felt that if he moved or breathed or said a word he'd break down completely.

Severus had fully expected not to survive that final battle. The most he felt he could expect was redemption and a quick death. He had hoped it would be quick anyway. It made him fearless and reckless, and on retrospect he realized that must have been the reason he survived. No one, least of all his old associates expected him to act in such a way, and it scared them.

He felt he was living on borrowed time, and he was determined to use it well. He could never fully repay his friend and benefactor for all he'd done, but he'd try. But there was a more selfish reason as well. This man knew Severus's heart better than anyone alive or dead and accepted him exactly the way he was. He loved Snape as if he was his own son. With Dumbledore he never had to lie. He never could lie.

Most of their time was spent in companionable silence.

It was the best feeling in the world.

That didn't mean things didn't get hard. Taking care of Albus's delicate leg was no easy task, especially at night when the old man's energy level was down. At such times even the gentle magic of Mobilicorpus could damage it. To a healthy person, even while sleeping, huge amounts of intrusive magic would cause no danger. But on the very old and fragile the mildest of charms could be dangerous.

Albus tried his best to accept his new condition, but giving up one's freedom of movement so suddenly could be difficult even for the most agreeable of persons. At times Albus forgot himself out of sheer frustration. That's when Snape would go into authoritative mode, which usually worked. But there were the bad times. There was a time in particular when Albus had wandered out of the house one morning into the woods. Snape was beside himself when he woke up to find the man gone. He immediately ran out searching for him, finally discovering him on the path to town.

Snape was used to confrontations. If commanding authority didn't work he would bully the offending party into submission, much to the chagrin of his former students. But even now Albus was not one to be bullied. Snape valiantly held his own, trembling inside, trying to make Dumbledore see reason. At last, the old man, sensing Severus's concern and suppressed panic forgot his pride and allowed himself to be assisted---partially carried---back to the house.

During that August the other Order members came regularly to relieve him. In the following months they came less and less frequently. Now only one member came regularly to give Severus a weekend off every couple of weeks. Severus accepted his responsibility without outward complaint, but after a long day or night of manipulating Albus, his back killing him despite pain potions, he found it difficult to hold down the bile of resentment he felt towards the able-bodied Order members who didn't come. Technically he understood that the Aurors still had to work hard despite their biggest threat being gone. He knew that the Weasleys and the other young people had their own families, jobs, and other responsibilities as well. Minerva and Mad-Eye Moody simply weren't physically capable of the task. But still they could at least come see Albus once in a while for afternoon tea. The former headmaster did so miss them.

The move from Hogwarts to the south of France hadn't been easy. Even though the climate was more conducive to good health it lacked the familiar hustle and bustle of Hogwarts that Albus so adored. Dumbledore tried to avoid reminiscing with Severus, knowing that their experiences were quite different.

Dumbledore's friends from the continent came to see him, their children staring in wide wonder at the living legend who offered them Muggle candies. Still, it wasn't the same.

The one Order member who did come was a young lady he had taught years ago and had promptly forgotten. She had been an adequate student without any major faults. She must have been in his Advanced Class since she was now a healer at St. Mungos, but he didn't really remember. He vaguely remembered she was good, but obviously she was not the annoyingly perfect sort of student who lodged herself in his brain for permanent residence.

The girl was unfailingly polite and respectful towards him, no matter what he said to her. He thought it must have had something to do with her healer training, although most healers he'd met still had the ability to get angry. He took out his pent-up snarkiness on the girl, but had never gotten any response except yes or no sir, except once. He had suggested that she could come more often. At that her face fell. She did not cry, but her spirit was washed with a wave of profound sadness that threatened to pull him under too.

All she said was, "I wish I could, sir."

Severus had never brought himself to ask again.