Once an Enemy

Once an enemy, never a friend.
~ Sophocles, "Antigone"

"What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"
Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."
~ Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

"Sir?"

Broken, sodden, lashed by the rain and wind outside -- bedraggled and pale, even for the boy he remembered. The long-fingered hands, equally pale, shook where they rested on the tabletop. Neither boy now or man, he seemed, with eyes both young and old all at once.

"Think carefully, Severus, before you take this step." Words rehearsed in his own mind time and again, chosen and spoken with equal care. "Once you commit -- neither Voldemort nor I deal kindly with those who betray us. In doing this --"

"I'm betraying you or him." The voice, unlike the hands, was admirably steady, low and controlled. "It's more than him, sir -- but he's betrayed us, and I -- I can't agree with that." A sudden flash of anger, not wholly unexpected. "I'm not doing this for you."

'I know,' he thought, but forbore to say. He knew what the younger meant: Voldemort's use of the Unforgivables on his own followers had not been the wisest of decisions. Hearing such things, he wondered how much was left of Tom Riddle, and how much had been given over to the darkness.

Outside the storm howled, flinging rain against the windows. 'A fitting night for dealings such as this. Unnecessary dramatics, Albus?' Aloud, though, he only said, "There are two things which must be considered. The first concerns that," one bony finger pointed at the crook of the boy's left elbow, where beneath sodden wool the black stain reposed, quiescent. "He can act through it -- touch your mind, influence your actions, see your thoughts. With the risks involved, steps must be taken to prevent that."

The grim smile did nothing to brighten Severus' features. "Try," was all he said, unmistakeable timbre of a challenge. Obligingly, the elder pushed --

-- and met walls, impenetrable and slick, glassy as obsidian, girding the boy's mind. It was his turn to smile, pleased and a little chagrined; he was not used to being taken off-guard. "You surprise me, Severus."

"The other concern?" No hint of pleasure at trumping old Dumbledore, who knew everything -- not even a hint of smugness. If anything, the boy had become colder and more distant since leaving school, a state that was not altogether surprising. Perhaps he and Tom were more alike than any had known: neither had had the luxury of kindness in their upbringing.

This was no time for melancholic maunderings. "Yes. Forgive an old man his bluntness, but ... I have no reason to trust you."

Silence. Those dark eyes were as opaque as his mind, but Dumbledore fancied he saw there anger, frustration -- but no reconsideration, and the other made no move to go. For a long while the boy studied his hands, the table, the window ... but at length dark met light and he said, "Try again."

Once more, the elder strove to penetrate the younger's mind -- and this time met no resistance, no walls at all. A surprising show of faith, from one who was perhaps less a boy than he'd thought, and altogether unexpected. He wanted to take it at face value, but knowing full well the cunning minds he faced, both Tom's and the one he was within right now, he needed something. He reached -- still surprised at the lack of resistance, and found --

A memory: a recent one. A familiar face, twisted with pain, an agony which almost echoed into Severus' body -- because he could not do anything but stand by and watch his friend suffer, or he would feel that pain. It had not been the first time, nor the first of the boy's friends. Guilt at remaining silent, motionless. Anger, at the Dark Lord and at himself. Bitter self-loathing -- he was weak, so weak. And a resolve: to do the unthinkable. Because he had to do something, and if he broke this early, perhaps he could salvage some of them, salvage the friendships.

Pulling back, he separated -- became Dumbledore again, and left Severus behind. As he returned to his own mind and body, he looked across the table and thought he caught a glimmer of moisture in the boy's eyes. Again, though, the voice betrayed nothing. "Will that do?" Faint mockery -- but for whom?

"Yes." Oh, yes, he understood now -- the boy who had gone for friendship and fascination into the depths of hell, and -- perhaps -- begun to make his ascent anew. He had not the heart to tell Severus what he suspected: that, if they knew what he was doing, most (if not all) of those friends would decry him. Perhaps, though, the boy was aware of it after all, with his talk of betrayals. He wanted to weep for all the innocence lost, but the sea of tears would change nothing. There was nothing but to look forward and do what must be done, and keep damage to a minimum. Weighed against blood, was innocence the better of the sacrifices? He still wasn't sure. "Then --"

"Go; go and watch and learn, and if you have need to contact me, you may leave a message with these people." He listed a few of his couriers -- Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, scattered others, all people equally aware of the danger they were in, the targets painted upon them. The boy who was not quite a boy nodded, repeated them back, before pulling his still-sodden cloak more tightly about him.

"If there is nothing else?"

Dumbledore shook his head, watched the younger rise and make his way out into the storm. Only when the dark figure had faded into the equal darkness of outside did he lean back into his chair and moodily turn his attention to the fireplace. An absent gesture brought flames to dance merrily there, flames which did nothing to ward off the chill in the room.

'And so I send another into danger -- another willing, true, but that they know what they face makes it no easier. And nothing but death, for body or soul or other, smaller things. Oh, Tom -- why?'

There would be no answer for him in the night or the flames. With a sigh, looking for once as though the weight of all his years were truly upon him, Albus Dumbledore rose and left the comforts of the room for his study, to strive and plan for the next encounter, and hopes of brighter days to come. On the table behind him, firelight glimmered and turned the puddled rainwater deep red.