Dumbledore's Doubts

"A deal?"

Snape frowned slightly.

"Yes, a deal." Dumbledore gazed into the Pensieve, its shallow, clear water reflecting his bright eyes. "He will help me train Harry, offer whatever assistance he can, and fight against Voldemort..."

"Vol..." Snape's cheek twitched, and he stopped himself.

As though aware of the turmoil in his heart, Dumbledore murmured, "Yes, just as I told you before, Severus, Tom isn't dead!"

As he spoke, he beckoned to Snape. "Come, look with me. Vaughn provided his memories of the battle in the fourth-floor corridor... Oh, and I've restored the corridor, but there may still be things I overlooked. Go inspect it again tomorrow."

Snape said nothing. He silently walked up to the Pensieve and dropped his Occlumency.

With a wave of Dumbledore's wand, his thoughts suddenly plunged into the basin. Countless ink-like trails descended with them, turning into mist.

In an instant, a corridor formed before his eyes.

Harry, clutching his head and screaming in agony; Hermione, crying in fear yet still standing in front of Harry; Vaughn loudly casting "Sectumsempra!"

And there, in the middle of the corridor, at the center of the entire memory—the dark, twisted, evil figure in black robes, and the green light blooming from his wand!

Clap!

Dumbledore clapped beside him, and the people within the memory suddenly froze like insects encased in amber. The scene stopped!

In the frozen image, the appearance of the black-robed man who had cast the Killing Curse could vaguely be made out.

Quirinus Quirrell!

Yet neither Dumbledore nor Snape focused on that face. Their gazes seemed to pierce through it, looking within his body, behind him!

The memory reconstructed by the Pensieve carried a hazy glow, and the light seemed to make Snape uncomfortable.

His gaze drifted, his pupils trembling.

"You saw it, Severus. Tom has returned... Though he is only a fragment of a soul now, parasitizing a cowardly soul like a parasite," Dumbledore said in a low voice. "But he truly isn't dead, and he is preparing for his resurrection."

Memories of fear toward his former master, as though from a distant past, battered Snape's mind.

Even though he had sensed the other's magical fluctuations before and had mentally prepared himself, when he truly stood before it—even if it was only a memory—Snape still found his throat too dry to speak.

Countless emotions boiled within him: admiration, fear, and above all, hatred!

Only when Dumbledore clapped again did the frozen scene resume. They watched Vaughn's Sectumsempra pierce through the Shield Charm and wound Voldemort.

Dumbledore's tone became cheerful again. "I must say, Severus, you developed a very powerful spell, and taught an exceptional student as well—there are not many people who can injure Tom."

Snape's face remained blank. "...Quirrell was the one injured, not him. But he must hate Vaughn to the bone now."

Dumbledore knew exactly who Snape meant by "him." Smiling, he said, "At least until he truly returns to life, Vaughn is very safe. And we both know that the person he hates most will always be Harry."

The brief memory soon ended, and their thoughts returned.

But Snape's expression did not improve. With a stiff face and the same mocking tone, he said, "Yes, a savior who killed him, and a young wizard who inexplicably stopped him from stealing the Philosopher's Stone, wounded him, and humiliated him... What a marvelous combination. Give it a few years—after he returns to life, he might forgive everyone else, but he will never forgive those two."

"The perfect candidates to oppose him!"

Dumbledore listened in silence. Only after Snape had finished did he sigh helplessly. "You suspect I arranged it?"

Snape gave a soft, meaningless laugh. "I never said that."

But his expression was more than enough to reveal his suspicion.

Dumbledore knew that Snape had always held prejudices against him, because the means he had used to coerce him had indeed been rather despicable.

He had used the last remnants of Snape's love and kindness to force him to linger on the brink between life and death.

Though in Dumbledore's view, there was no right or wrong in this matter—Snape had once been a Death Eater and had committed countless evil deeds for the Dark Lord. Coercing him now was merely making him atone.

But today was not the time for an argument. Dumbledore sighed. "Everything that happened today, apart from Quirrell bringing the troll into Hogwarts, was an accident... Do you remember what I told you? Fate—the fate of Tom and Harry."

"This invisible force affects all things in the world. The fates of all things intertwine into a vast web, but sometimes, certain unique individuals of fate are born."

"Tom's and Harry's fates are like that. They are entangled with each other. Once they begin to draw close, they become like iron balls caught in a net. Wherever they roll, the net there sinks and collapses beneath them. The fates of many people are helplessly swept along, until one side dies and this great iron ball finally breaks apart."

"What happened today was the disturbance caused by Tom's and Harry's fates."

Fate...

Listening to Dumbledore's metaphor, Snape could not comment. He had never seen fate, but he knew it truly existed.

Otherwise, there would be no prophecies or divination in the wizarding world.

He even knew that Dumbledore himself had once been an "iron ball."

But he had no desire to discuss such an incomprehensible, mystical topic. After a moment of silence, he asked:

"Since it is a deal, Vaughn helps you train Harry. What must you give in return?"

Dumbledore, who had been lost in thought over "fate," came back to himself. His tone brightened again. "Ah, speaking of that, I must say, Vaughn's hunger for fame and prestige astonished me. He demanded that I find a way to raise his profile!"

Snape: "?"

Dumbledore rubbed his beard in distress. "He listed a whole pile of conditions. For instance, I am not allowed to favor Gryffindor by handing out points recklessly; if he accomplishes anything noteworthy, I am to help publicize it; if he achieves something in Potions, I am to personally nominate him for an Order of Merlin honor..."

Listening to Dumbledore's rambling complaints, Snape suddenly felt like laughing.

Vaughn's first proposal had ruined Dumbledore's plans—before this, the old man had intended to award Harry extra points at the end of term, thereby establishing Harry's leadership within Gryffindor.

But what puzzled Snape was that Dumbledore seemed to have agreed to Vaughn's terms.

Why?

What had Vaughn said to make the old man abandon his favoritism toward the Savior? Even as he left, Snape could not think of an answer.

Watching Snape's retreating back vanish into the distance, Dumbledore's smile faded. He looked at the Pensieve and switched to another memory—

The conversation he and Vaughn had had while watching the memory of the battle in the fourth-floor corridor.

"Albus, have you ever thought about why Voldemort didn't die?"

"Oh, I've been searching for an answer. Do you have any ideas, Vaughn?"

At the time, he had asked that question with a smile, never expecting to receive any answer.

Then Vaughn's words froze his smile in place:

"Horcrux!"

The scene froze.

Dumbledore paced back and forth through the illusory corridor formed by the memory.

He looked at the stunned expression on his own face back then, at the look in Vaughn's eyes as he said that word and gazed at Harry.

Countless unspoken thoughts rose in his heart.

Hesitation, uncertainty, fear... and sorrow...