Invitation

TITLE: Invitation
PAIRING: AD/SS
SUMMARY: Snape can't forget the events of the night when Albus rescued him from the Killing Curse. He keeps a close eye on Albus and gets a revelation he is not altogether prepared to deal with.
NOTES: Part of the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest, submission for Scenario #94: Snape puts unrelated clues together, and begins to suspect Albus Dumbledore, the man above suspicion.


Severus Snape blamed the large lounge sofa for being so comfortable, and the book he was holding for being so interesting. He was already halfway through it when he noticed that the man who sat beside him--so close to him--was the Headmaster himself. The deep voice, made light on the ears by the jovial tone and trivial subject of his discourse, was currently directed at Filius Flitwick, who was sitting on the opposite chair, Daily Prophet in hand.

Snape refused to look up from his book, and tried not to put too much into the closeness of the Headmaster's presence. It was how the Headmaster expressed concern for his staff, after all--fretting over them and speaking with them discreetly. There was nothing special in how he was being treated, and he should stop thinking otherwise.

His traitorous mind recalled memories of that particular night...and he forcefully read a few paragraphs on the newfound properties of asphodel to make them go away.

The very fact that his old mentor had even managed to seat himself beside him, and speak for a good couple of minutes without his noticing, set his teeth on edge. The fatigue he had been feeling of late was robbing him of his usual alertness, and no amount of sleep seemed to be doing him any good.

This...lethargy had been the cause of his surlier demeanor for the past few weeks -- because he knew Voldemort's death should not mean the death of his usefulness.

He started and struggled to keep his book from falling when a warm hand settled on his knee. The hand jerked back just as abruptly. Snape looked up into the curious gaze of Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus, are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, his eyebrows drawn together in obvious worry. "Filius here has asked you twice now if you have been sleeping well." A sharp glance toward the Charms professor showed that the man exhibited worry equal to Dumbledore's.

Equal to Dumbledore's. Not an ounce more or less.

Just like old times, he thought, and wondered, not for the first time, what games Dumbledore was playing. "I'm fine," he answered abruptly, straightening himself and closing his book. He gave a deep sigh, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. "Just a little tired."

"Are you sure? Minerva says she hasn't had a crying Gryffindor come out of your class for quite some time now. She's worried, too." Filius gave a small, delighted chuckle at his own little joke. "And I do hear young Mr. Potter isn't faring as well. He's taken a leave from Quidditch--half a year, I believe, and with pay, now isn't that amazing."

"You're in contact with Harry?" Dumbledore asked. Snape couldn't help the small sneer that appeared on his face. Thankfully, it went by unnoticed (and, therefore, unpunished).

"I receive a few letters from Ms. Granger now and again. Harry was performing well enough during games but during practice--"

Yes, yes, Quidditch and Potter--such interesting topics of conversation. Worth not insulting at the moment for the distraction they provided. He quickly closed his book and stood, bidding them a good night before swiftly departing.

He was almost--almost--through the door when the Headmaster called after him, "Severus, it being a Saturday, I would like to speak with you tomorrow at tea time."

He ground his teeth in frustration. "Headmaster, Poppy's supply--"

"I've already spoken with her, she'll expect them on Monday."

Damn the man's foresight. "I have research--"

"Tomorrow at tea would be fine, Severus. Thank you, and do close the door on your way out."

Snape threw a scowl over his shoulder at Filius' amused chuckle and left. He slammed the door behind him.

---

"Tea time" may be a harmless and endearing term for most people, but for Severus Snape it held the charm of a rotten bubotuber plant. It had been quite some time since hearing it made him think of sugar lumps or scones.

To him, "tea time" was simply cute. Like dengue.

The only people who'd ever asked him to have tea with them were Albus Dumbledore, Lord Voldemort, and Lucius Malfoy. And their list of hidden agendas just went on and on.

That Sunday's tea time involved very little tea and a lot of walking along the edges of the lake, away from the prying eyes of students and professors alike. Both men remained at a respectable distance from each other, except for that brief moment when Dumbledore steered the Potions master toward the grounds with a hand on his back.

The walk was doing very little to calm Snape's nerves. Dumbledore had not brought up serious matters during their short meal in the castle and had barely spoken outside of the gates. He glanced at the older man--by all appearances, Dumbledore was enjoying the calm and beauty of the place very much and did not seem inclined to speak.

Frustration bit at the edges of the silence, and Snape felt the need to release it before the urge to strangle his companion could overtake him. "Is there something of import you wish to speak of, Headmaster?"

"Don't be so formal outside of the castle, Severus. We're trying to relieve tension, not add to it," Dumbledore told him with a gentle smile on his lips. Snape forcefully relaxed his stance. A little. "I understand you've been a bit subdued in class lately, although you've been handing out detentions liberally. Have the students suddenly turned into the little devils you so like to call them, or is something else causing you such undue stress?

Ah, it's to be another dreadful "what's wrong with you?" talk. Snape wouldn't feel so apprehensive if Dumbledore wasn't one of the reasons for his "stress." "Little devils won't be as insolent, I think," he muttered.

"Severus," came the patient, yet warning tone.

As if he was a child. He hated that tone, along with all the other "quirks" that he had to put up with when socializing with the Headmaster. "I'm just tired, Albus. Nothing wrong with that, isn't there?"

"Not if it isn't interfering with your performance, no."

He gave an amused snort. "What will you do, Albus? Fire me?"

"Do you want me to?"

The question caught him by surprise. The amused tone was absent, and he couldn't help a quick glance at the other man. Dumbledore was merely looking ahead, but his expression didn't hold the amusement that was lacking in his voice.

It was too close to what he glimpsed of Albus Dumbledore a few months ago. He averted his gaze. Uncertainty gripped him--with no small amount of fear--and he retreated behind a light reply. "What I want or do not want isn't among the prerequisites of firing me."

That brought out the familiar light chuckle. "Learn to humor an old man, Severus. If you're unsatisfied with your current employment, I have a right to know."

Snape supressed the urge to roll his eyes. He'd had his fill of unwanted concern for the day. "I'm fine. The work is fine. Potter's fine. Everything is fine, Headmaster. Is there anything else?"

Suddenly, Albus came to a halt and turned to fully face him. A blue piercing gaze quickly searched, surveying his body and him in one long, casual glance. A slight unnoticeable tremor ran up his spine, spreading upward and making his shoulders tense. A casual gaze, concerned, but the intense light in them so similar to what had kept him conscious through fatal wounds and so many cold nights.

It was to happen at last, what he feared: a time he had been refusing to think of, to remember--partly because he thought it would come up later anyway-- was to be forced into the open and discussed. But Dumbledore never mentioned it. Never even hinted at it. And this was so unlike his perception of the Headmaster that he found himself returning that searching gaze with a slightly curious one.

He saw something flicker in Dumbledore's gaze--surprise? Disconcertment?--and just as suddenly, the light was replaced with the familiar twinkle and benign smile used on everybody else. "It appears you truly are fine, Severus, if a bit tired. Try to get more rest, and remember you can visit Poppy whenever you are feeling unwell." Appeasing words to go with appeasing expression.

Oh, far too late for that, Albus. Curiosity outweighing any discomfort he may have felt for the subject, Snape found himself blurting out, "I never thought you'd be as juvenile as to ignore something in the hopes that it will go away."

He felt a small measure of satisfaction when the smile gained a subtle edge to it. "I can assure you, Severus, that I haven't been ignoring anything."

Snape sneered at that, feeling his anger slowly rising. "You haven't mentioned it."

"Don't be angry. There is a time for everything--"

"Merlin, stop it!" he tried to rein in his anger, truly he did. But seeing the other man raise those placating hands and speak in that tone... "Since we returned, you haven't so much as spoken about it. And you dare, you dare to act superior and fatherly--"

"But I am."

The calm and amused voice was like a bludger to Snape's anger. He turned a confused glance at Dumbledore. "What?!"

"Superior and fatherly." This was followed by a laugh, effectively belittling and scattering the growing anger inside the younger man.

Snape threw him a resigned look. He was tired--too tired for these games. Couldn't Dumbledore see that? As Dumbledore drew nearer, amused smile still on his lips, Snape muttered, "Stop pretending it never happened. We should at least--"

He stopped and almost jumped in surprise as two strong fingers hushed his lips. "It is not open for discussion."

Indignation blossomed and threatened to spill through his mouth if the two silencing fingers had not pressed more insistently.

"Don't be angry. I do have my reasons. I'm merely asking you to trust me for a little while longer. Will you do that for me?"

I have always trusted you. A small nod in answer.

He wasn't sure if he imagined it--the slight trailing of those fingers across his lips down his chin before losing contact completely. "Masks, Severus," Dumbledore said in a strong whisper, eyes still fixed on his lips. "Words spoken through them are unreliable."

---

Snape thought he knew all about false fronts and images until he began working for Albus Dumbledore.

If he ever had any doubts of the Headmaster's competence before--especially when set against the ruthless brilliance of Voldemort's schemes--it was dashed when he saw how efficiently the older man managed his staff and the entire school.

People responded better to kindness. It made them think that they were choosing instead of being led...that there would always be choices, and if there were none, then things would at least turn out for the best. He should have realized earlier how much more effective than intimidation that technique is: it was how Tom Riddle drew in his first batch of Death Eaters, after all.

And looking at that smiling figure with his Headmaster outfit, shiny spectacles, and long silvery hair and beard, one did tend to think of candies and rainbows. Harmless, the outer shell clearly said. A silly old fool.

No disguise was perfect. When Snape first realized how much planning had gone into Dumbledore's guise, he made it a point to watch out for the small cracks--chinks in the armor that might let him get a glimpse of the man behind the twinkling eyes.

Though he could cite small instances--catching the Headmaster during a pensive moment, or seeing him looking through old photographs of his first family--nothing could surpass what he saw on the day he'd first returned to Hogwarts after receiving the Dark Mark, two years after passing his NEWTS.

Few could boast of having seen the Headmaster visibly angry. And even fewer alive could confess to having that anger directed at them.

It felt like being confronted by a steel wall that stretched endlessly in all directions. Blocking passage. Blocking forgiveness.

He had not approached Albus for salvation, but seeing his own damnation in the eyes of one of the kindest men in his life made his heart constrict in pain. He had bowed his head and wept throughout the narration of his sordid tale.

The tears had fallen uncontrollably. He had let them drop on the back of his hands, which had been tightly clutching the torn cloth on his lap. His whole body had shuddered in pain and exhaustion.

He had only looked up again because the tip of Dumbledore's wand beneath his chin bid him to do so, and as he reluctantly looked at the face of the Headmaster, the cruel expression had disappeared, but the disappointment had lingered.

Snape couldn't help but wonder if it lingered still.

"You are how old, Severus...? Twenty, twenty-one?"

"Ninet...," small hitch in his breath, "Nineteen."

Nineteen. Should still be making trips to Honeyduke's for chocolate frogs and their trading cards, still be infatuated with wizarding bands, still keep track of popular international Quidditch matches. Nineteen. Barely of age.

But he had been of age. And the threat of Azkaban had loomed over his own guilt and suffering.

Blue, forgiving eyes had regarded him solemnly and shone with the slightest hint of pity as the terms of his admission to Hogwarts became clear. Terms which, in the end, saved everyone from the cruel reign of Voldemort.

Nearly a decade and a half later, both men found themselves in the middle of the final war that would be retold in several history books to come.

Neither man had witnessed the massive celebration that the Dark Lord's death ignited in the entire Wizarding World. Not much could be recalled of that day--dodging curses, casting spells, wondering where the hell Harry Potter and the Dark Lord had vanished to--a series of recollections which would take years to sort and even longer to document. No one else would ever need to know, however, of how foolish hope and childhood bonds had stayed Severus Snape's hand against a particular Death Eater--giving Lucius Malfoy the perfect opening for a very quick and a very precise Avada Kedavra.

He didn't know how Dumbledore managed it, but the flash of green that had clouded his vision was soon followed by the crumpling form of Lucius. "I have you," he heard shouted in his ear, and strong arms wrapped around his falling form.

When he awoke, it was to soul-wrenching agony ripping through his entire body. The pain lanced through his spine, spreading across nerves and tearing into his brain. It was so much worse than Crucio, that he couldn't help his loud cries and the tears he was barely aware he had been shedding.

When the pain became too much he passed out again, but every time he woke up it was to the same torturous sensations. Dumbledore was always there with him, murmuring spells that didn't seem to do anything, holding his clenched fists firmly and stroking his hair. Snape was only too thankful for the respite unconsciousness brought, and he learned to almost welcome the height of pain which delivered it.

One night, however, denied him of such relief, when Dumbledore held him in a firm grip and told him explicitly to remain awake.

He shook his head wordlessly, tears spilling down his face to soak the covers beneath him, silently begging Dumbledore for the reprieve he desperately sought. This was tacitly denied as the Headmaster held his head in both hands, saying in a voice as sharp as the pain, to open his eyes and look at him.

It was a few minutes before Snape managed it, but when he did, the clear blue depths in front of him held his attention.

Whatever wandless magic the Headmaster was doing to him ended hours later, and he was set to sleep with a quiet spell.

When he next awoke, it was no longer to his own incessant screaming. The pain still tore through his body, but it was calmer--like a milder Crucio--and the screams were replaced by small whimpers.

As always, Dumbledore was there in an instant, wand in hand and hovering over his body. No questions were asked about how he felt or if he wanted anything. He was drifting off to sleep when he felt a hand brush his hair away from his face and heard that voice he'd been hearing so clearly for the past few weeks saying, "Severus, child, I'm sorry, but you need to be awake for this."

He nodded, expecting such a request, and he opened his eyes dutifully. Soon after, he felt a wave of raw energy pass through him for a moment, and he thought for a while that it would drain out but it began to settle ever so slightly in his body and war against the remaining curse. He likened the sensation to having his internal organs rearranged.

Extremely painful.

He suffered this in silence for a while, letting out an occasional whimper which would bring a soothing hand down to stroke his back. When it became clear that he was expected to stay awake for much longer, he made room on the bed and said, "Talk to me, please."

To his utter internal horror, Dumbledore began speaking about the Marauders and the stupid little troubles the idiots got themselves into at school. The older man did settle beside him, though, and his closeness eased some of the warring sensations in his body.

The topic was irritating enough to provide Snape some distraction, but he thought it particularly cruel of the older man. Dumbledore did not stay on the Marauders for long, however, and the subject gravitated from McGonagall's habits to his own early teaching experiences more than a century ago. Snape silently appreciated the latter--he had always been curious about anything of the Headmaster's extensive past, and listened raptly.

The topic shifted from that to something else, and something else again, until it came to the aftermath of the battle. It was then he learned that Potter had reappeared a moment before Lucius had cast his spell. The seventeen year-old boy was covered in blood, holding Godric's sword in one hand, and Voldemort's head in the other.

He was still awake, hours later, when the pain settled into a dull throbbing. He fell asleep eventually to Dumbledore's low murmuring.

Upon waking from that, he realized many things about his surroundings that he had been unable to observe a few days--weeks?--ago. He was in a white room, lavishly furnished, occupying an elaborate four-poster bed that seemed to be made solely of silk and oak. Morning sunlight streamed cheerfully through translucent curtains on large east-end windows. He no longer felt like his heart was being pounded and squeezed, and the energy he had been fed the night before, as well as the pain, was nearly gone.

He allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Beside him, he saw the Headmaster, still asleep, sitting on the bed with his back resting on the headboards.

Snape knew he wasn't thinking when he leaned over and gently pressed his lips against the sleeping man's. He did know that he was absolutely horrified with himself when clear blue eyes suddenly opened and looked back at him in surprise.

He scuttled back to his side of the room, feeling heat rise in his face and hoped to God he wasn't blushing. He watched warily as Dumbledore quickly moved from where he sat and took his wand from the nearby table, then walked around the bed to hover near Severus.

"Where do you still hurt?" he was asked, and he needed a few seconds to reorient himself, as his physical condition was not his current priority.

"Here, a little." He laid his hand on his chest. That was where the spell had hit him. "But just a few aches aside from that."

He wondered if Dumbledore was even listening to him, for the other man's brows were furrowed in concentration as he scanned every inch of Snape's body with his wand. When the tip reached his hairline, the Headmaster gave a relieved sigh. "It's done," he said, then urged Snape to make a little room so he could sit on that side.

"Done...?"

"The Curse. Your body's clear of it."

Snape knew he looked as dumbfounded as he felt, but he didn't care at that point. An Avada Kedavra. One of the few Curses that left no room for reprieve. "You...cured...an Avada Kedavra."

Dumbledore smiled and lightly pressed on the slight crease between Snape's brows, teasingly trying to smooth it out. "More like cheated you out of it."

"An Avada Kedavra."

"Yes."

Snape cursed under his breath and closed his eyes for a moment. The power needed to counter an Avada Kedavra curse, delivered by a wizard as well-versed in the Dark Arts as Lucius...he couldn't even fathom it.

"Would you rather I hadn't?"

The sincere uncertain tone with which this was spoken was so unlike the Headmaster. Snape looked up into his face and saw a curious sadness in the blue eyes that he had never seen before. He found it surreal that it should be directed at him.

"No, I...I'm sorry."

The sad gaze lingered. So did the kind hand, stroking his hair. "Your body wasn't counteracting the Curse. You seemed so ready to leave."

Snape shivered as he remembered the nights he awoke screaming. "It was just so painful..."

"I know."

Snape tilted his head to the side, brushing his lips against the palm hovering near his face in silent thanks. The palm shifted to cradle his head gently and soon he felt the searing kiss that he would think about for weeks to come.

---

Snape didn't think it would be possible, but the situation became even stranger.

Days after that infernal "walk" during "tea time," Dumbledore began writing a hoarde of letters whose contents he didn't care to disclose to anyone who inquired. Snape figured he was handling things in the Ministry from Hogwarts--although the new Minister was not the idiot Fudge continually proved himself to be; he was inexperienced with the position but he wisely relied on Dumbledore for guidance. He wouldn't have thought anything more on it, if only the Headmaster received letters as much as he was sending them.

Then came the nightly visits to his personal quarters after classes were done. Snape was already tired by that time, though he would usually be working on something whenever the older man knocked on his door. Poppy's supplies would take a few more weeks to fully restock, the Ministry was begging all competent potion masters in the area for precious supplies of Veritaserum, and advanced supplies of Wolfsbane needed to be shipped to Lupin and his werewolf contacts on an upcoming deadline.

Dumbledore, looking tired himself though no less chipper, would knock, enter with his permission, then set up the board for a round of Wizard's Chess. Snape often cursed and threw a furious glare at the older man for doing this--he wouldn't be so opposed to the idea if he wasn't in the middle of a project. That didn't matter in the slightest with the Headmaster and no amount of argumentation would sway him. Somehow, some way, Snape would find himself putting off that night's work for the day after, and spend the next few hours playing and conversing amiably with the Headmaster.

Those nights had irregular intervals, and he secretly looked forward to them. What trivialities they were not able to discuss while pressure from the War kept them on their toes seemed to surface during those sessions, and both men were delighted to discover they had a lot of similar interests. Both patrons of the arts, masters of their fields, and veterans of teaching for decades, the intellectual banter was sustained until a little past midnight, at which point Dumbledore would politely bid him a good night and retire to his own rooms.

Of course, Snape would be groggy and irritable during his first few classes--unlike the Headmaster, who would be as happy and refreshed as ever. Evil man.

Aside from these, the most suspicious to Snape were the secluded and extremely hushed conversations Dumbledore had with McGonagall. If anyone got curious or too near, they would immediately stop speaking, change topics, and postponed, on a silent mutual agreement, the conversation for a later time.

Well, there was a place to start. If anyone had an inkling as to what the Headmaster was up to--and he was definitely up to something--it would be McGonagall.

---

"You're going to have to ask Albus himself, Severus, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Has anyone told you that you're an extremely poor liar, Minerva?"

McGonagall frowned at him. "I'm telling the truth, you stupid boy. Besides, if Albus hasn't told you yet, then you probably have no business knowing."

"Is he firing someone?"

Snape could have smiled when he saw uncertainty flicker behind her glasses. She tried to hide it by sipping more of her tea and focusing on the Daily Prophet in her hands. "Don't be ridiculous."

"He is, isn't he?" He took a chair and sat opposite her. She glared at him above the paper. "Is it Sybill?"

McGonagall seemed to enjoy the mental picture she invoked for a while before she answered, "Really, Severus, if he's firing anyone, then I haven't the faintest." He sighed in frustration as Minerva continued drinking her tea. She frowned at him. "And don't look at me like that. I've asked that question myself, and he wouldn't tell me."

"Of course he wouldn't. He never told any of us the past three times, did he?"

She turned her gaze away and tried to innocently sip from the edge of her cup.

Severus gaped at her. "Why you two liars...!"

She looked indignant. "You asked Albus. Not me."

"You very well knew that I was about to ask him, and you didn't say anything."

They both turned their heads as Filius' high-pitched chuckle drifted from where he was seated near the door. "That still doesn't constitute lying, dear boy." Severus' scowl deepened. "Why the need to know, though? There's no need for you to feel insecure."

Oh, they so loved to tease him. He redirected his scowl at Minerva, whose snickering failed to be muffled by her tea. He hoped she would choke on it. When her laughter subsided, he gave a hopeful smirk and inclined his head toward the table containing the tea tray behind him. "You sure it's not her?" he asked, none too quietly.

The regular clinking of spoon against cup behind him stopped abruptly. Sybill headed for the door, but left only after giving him a quiet glare. Minerva's laughter grew louder when the door closed, as did Filius'.

"My, my. No lingering predictions of impending doom. I do believe you've offended her, Severus."

He gave a contented smirk. "Hm. Yes, quite the dilemma."

The door opened again and admitted Sprout into the room. Filius smiled at her and was about to inquire after her health when she asked, "Who's getting sacked?"

"Sybill," Minerva said without hesitation.

Sprout's eyes lit up. "Really?"

Vector smirked. "No." She watched as Sprout's face fell and laughed. "Really, you lot should stop ganging up on Sybill like that. It's not like she takes away House points that often or terrorizes children." The last sentence was given with a pointed look at McGonagall and Snape. The two mentioned teachers opened their mouths at the same time in defense when Vector waved a tired hand at them. "Oh hush with your reasons. I'm not up to hearing your excuses so early in the morning."

Before Snape could level her again with another glare, McGonagall said, "He hasn't told me anything about anyone getting fired. And frankly, all this talk of unemployment's making me uneasy."

Severus snorted and Sprout rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. He'd fire Severus before he'd fire you."

The tea cup was raised again, this time with a hearty giggle and a "Cheerful thought, that." Severus growled.

"There's really no use speculating. We'll all have to wait it out," Vector said. "If he really is up to something, that is. Severus can be quite paranoid for no apparent reason."

"We'll ask him when he returns, then," Filius said in a conciliatory tone. "He's at the Ministry right now, and will be for three more days."

At the Ministry. For three more days. The moment of realization probably showed a little on his face, for McGonagall, who had been watching him closely, quickly put down her teacup and said quite seriously, "Severus Snape, if you so much as take one step into the Headmaster's study--"

"Minerva, in all my years in Hogwarts, I've never so much as thought of breaking into the Headmaster's office. What makes you think I'll do so now?" He leaned back, feigning offense and nonchalance. "Besides, the damn place's warded. I couldn't get in even if I wanted to."

McGonagall, of course, didn't know that the Headmaster had modified the wards to let Snape in at all times while the latter was spying for him. He only hoped the wards had not changed since the last time he had dropped in uninvited.

Fawkes, whose slumber was interrupted when he walked in, gave a sleepy chirp of inquiry. He walked over to the magnificent bird and stroked the feathers soothingly, urging him to go back to sleep. It never failed to amaze him how much trust the phoenix placed in him as he watched those large, bright eyes slowly close. Dumbledore had been delighted when Fawked has taken a liking to him. Snape had been delighted as well, though he would never admit it openly.

Since McGonagall was suspicious enough as she was, Snape went through the desk quickly, carefully replacing any item he sorted through with the efficiency of someone who had had to secretly go through other people's desks one too many times. The largest drawer contained letters of complaint from concerned parents. The first side drawer held entire packets of sweets. Snape took a sugar quill and popped one end of it in his mouth before shutting that drawer. Dumbledore would know he'd been there anyway, and if not, then his own damn conscience would make him confess.

The second side drawer held several unfinished letters containing the Headmaster's seal. He took one, addressed to Arthur Weasley, and began reading.

Halfway through the scroll, the sugar quill fell onto his lap, and his mouth parted in utter shock. Fawkes chirped, sleepily curious.

---

To say that Severus Snape was angry one Sunday afternoon was a gross understatement. He stormed through the halls, each step sending a student ten feet away running to garner more distance. McGonagall had promised most sincerely that she would inform him once Dumbledore returned. He had waited for him Friday night and had kept checking with McGonagall the entire Saturday. "He's extended his stay at the Ministry," she'd said. "He'll be back a few days later."

Now, Sunday afternoon, he had just been informed that the Headmaster had been in Hogwarts for two days now, and he learned this from the Bloody Baron, of all people!

He felt tired, angry, and betrayed. Goddammit! People around him were still playing games when all he wanted was to lie down and sleep the rest of his life away. The Headmaster, of all people, should know this.

The door to the study banged open. Fawkes fluttered his wings in panic at the violence of his entrance and commenced glaring at him, but Snape ignored the bird to concentrate on the Headmaster...

...who was sitting on his usual place at his desk, blue eyes twinkling merrily without the aid of glasses, cleanly shaven, robes replaced by some manner of Muggle clothing, and hands calmly steepled on the desk. All around the room were packed boxes of varying sizes, all sealed and filled to busting near the top and sides.

McGonagall was there and Snape quickly directed his glare at her. She glared right back. "Orders from Albus, Severus. You two talk and leave me out of it." She left, in more of a hurry than was appropriate for the calm look she was sporting.

Snape almost regretted her departure. McGonagall was safe to handle--she was familiar, a never-changing figure in his life, and a person whose head he would very much like to bite off at the moment.

He did not recognize this man in front of him.

Anger still simmered inside, and it was the only thing that made him speak when he would have otherwise just openly gaped, "You can't retire! You're the Headmaster! You either get killed or go senile, walking through the halls with children pointing and laughing at you, and then you die of old age."

Dumbledore chuckled then, lips easily breaking into an open smile. A familiar expression on an unfamiliar face. Snape found the absence of the long beard to be very unsettling. "Well, I'm glad I managed to defy the laws of possibility, then, for I have no desire to be pointed and laughed at by children at all." The laughter tapered quickly, and the Headmaster's voice grew serious. "Minerva will announce my departure before the Sorting in a week's time. She will take my place as Headmaster--Headmistress, if you will--the ceremonies for that will be this November, as is customary."

Snape tried to hide the emotions battling in him as he heard those coldly-spoken words. He did not want Dumbledore to leave. He didn't think it was possible that Dumbledore would just leave him like this. "Why? And why now? Couldn't you wait until--"

A raised hand interrupted him. "I'm too tired to give Hogwarts the full attention it deserves from its Headmaster, Severus. And I have other concerns in mind. The end of the War signals new beginnings, and a new Headmaster for Hogwarts seems only right."

"When were you planning to tell me?"

"Now, actually. But since you already know..."

He supressed a scowl at the nonchalant tone. "All those nights you visited, that was your way of saying farewell?"

"No," Dumbledore said, that easy smile returning to his lips. He stood, walked around the desk and boxes in easy strides until he stood in front of Snape, whose expression became wary. He never really noticed it that much before, but the Headmaster was very tall. "No, that was...an invitation."

"Invitation?" He didn't bother hiding his puzzlement. Nor his surprise as Dumbledore's strong arms wrapped around his waist in a half embrace, lips settling near his ear so he could hear every thrum of his resonant voice.

"Invitation. I want you to live with me, Severus." One of the older man's hands stroked his lower back in a soothing manner. "Aside from enjoying your company, I believe it would do you some good to have a home outside of Hogwarts, and a person to come back to should the holidays arrive."

He closed his eyes, hope and desire intermingling and making his heart beat faster. Dumbledore was offering...so much. It was clear what Dumbledore wanted of him. So very clear. And Snape was more than willing to give it. "But the school year--"

"A year's break. More, if you wish. I'll handle Minerva."

The simple joys of life. He broke into a smile, finally relaxing into the embrace. "I want to be there when you tell her."

An answering laugh close to his ear. "Consider it granted."

---

McGonagall:

No Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. No teaching substitute for Transfigurations. A hoarde of upset parents, half a school to refurnish and redecorate, two dormitories to repair, fifteen missing official documents, and hundreds of first years to settle in. These were the parting gifts that Albus Dumbledore left her before up and leaving Hogwarts.

It was bad enough that the old man had not informed her of nearly half of the school's true casualties, but he had to whisk away Hogwarts' only decent Potions master, who was also the current Slytherin Head of House, with him for the entire school year.

The two had planned everything from the beginning, she was sure of it, and McGonagall was going to have her say, one way or another. Which was the reasoning she used on herself when she found herself knocking impatiently on the double doors of the former Headmaster's insanely huge estate in the middle of nowhere.

A house elf opened the doors a few seconds later, informed her to wait in the study, and left. She knew her way around the place, having visited Dumbledore there a number of times. The study was adjacent to the bedroom, and, considering the time, he was probably just waking up.

Bully for him, she thought furiously as she stepped into the study.

He was already there, in his robes, hair disheveled, though not at all put off by the time. He had just finished pouring coffee into a small cup, and he offered it to her when she entered. "Coffee, Minerva?"

She threw him a glare that Snape would have been proud of. "I want my Potions master back."

"He's resting at the moment." He gave a light chuckle then sipped some of his coffee.

"You didn't even ask me about Severus' leaving--"

"I believe I was still Headmaster when I made that decision."

McGonagall sighed and plopped down on a nearby chair. It was rather comfortable. "It would all be so much more bearable if I had a Slytherin Head of House and Potions master, Albus. Can't you please..."

He lay his hand on her shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Minerva. It's just for this year. He needs the break badly."

"One year," she glared at him again, daring him to contradict. "The year after, if he's not in the dungeons by Sorting--"

"I'll personally drop him off at your doorstep."

McGonagall sighed again at the benign smile. She could not prove it, but she had a feeling the former Headmaster was having a hearty laugh over her problems. "I need the deeds of ownership. And all the other documents you so thoughtfully brought with you."

"It took a while to have them signed by the appropriate people, Minerva. Let me get the deeds." He stood and entered one of the adjacent rooms, opposite the door leading to his bedroom.

"And you couldn't have waited in Hogwarts until they were all signed, instead of making me come here and fetch them from you? Where are the terms concerning caretakership of the Forbidden Forest?"

A hearty laugh. "I believe that would have inconvenienced me. I do not like being inconvenienced." A pause, interrupted by the sound of paper shuffling. "Those are in my bedroom, I'll--"

"Cabinet, top shelf?" she had often fetched his documents from this house straight from Hogwarts at Dumbledore's request and knew exactly where some of the papers lay. Without waiting for confirmation, she opened the door to the bedroom, only belatedly hearing the rushed, "Minerva, I don't think--" phrase from the other room.

She had not even entered. The door lay partly open before her, the hinges complaining, and through the gap she could clearly see Severus Snape's peacefully sleeping body, lying on his stomach. His face was tilted to the side away from her, and he was naked except for the white sheet that was carelessly thrown across his lower half. His dark hair contrasted beautifully with the pristine beddings. His regular breathing was the only thing disturbing his form.

McGonagall hadn't realized the door was slowly closing until she heard the soft 'click' of the latch settling in place.

She turned and saw Dumbledore at the library's doorway. At least he had the modesty to look embarrassed. "I guess I should have informed you to start learning how to knock in this house again."

"You said," she began, advancing slowly, "that you were 'going to take him away for some much needed rest.'"

"Always had an excellent memory, Minerva."

"You said 'rest.'"

"Yes, I did." He took an involuntary step back as McGonagall neared the library's entrance.

"Albus, he's not even half your age! Are you insane?!"

She did not know exactly how it happened, but soon after an entire rant on ethics on her part, she suddenly found herself bombarded with an armload of scrolls and papers and being herded to the front porch. The soft sound of the double doors closing behind her was the only sound she could hear in the dense silence that followed.

She huffed in annoyance, and gathered the scrolls carefully. The man didn't even have the decency to wait until Snape turned fifty. Now she owed Vector two hundred galleons.

-- End of Invitation --