A choice
"Albus, you have seen the state he is in already. He will die there - he has no will to fight.”
The former headmaster sighed, his arms crossed behind his back.
"Minerva. Of course he is not going to Azkaban. Not on my watch."
"Then it is settled. We will take care of Severus until the potion wears off."
A short pause. She peered at him above her square glasses.
"Are you quite sure? This effectively means becoming his legal guardian for five years."
Minerva took a seat, her gaze obstinately focused on the older man's back. She still felt uncomfortable in that office; it had been, for a year, the symbol of Severus' betrayal. Its ‘rightful’ owner had come back, however, and now the room felt even more sinister.
"Why, Albus, do you not wish to resume your position as headmaster? Surely you must have missed it."
Dumbledore slowly detached his gaze from the window, his blue gaze falling on Minerva's neutral face. He seemed hesitant.
"I have to be there for Severus. He cannot come second ever again."
Minerva did not know what to reply. Albus had been one of her closest friends for years; she had trusted him almost blindly, had hardly ever challenged any of his decisions, had understood the nature of his burden, that of having to make choices. She had not meddled, biting her lip when he looked at her sternly, both because she needed to trust him and could not bear to be placed in any kind of moral dilemma. But the war was over. She had shouted at him until she had no voice left when she had discovered the extent of his and Severus' lie. And she was angry, still. She felt no compassion towards him, no empathy whatsoever even though she knew he had done what needed to be done, even though she knew Severus had willingly taken part in this awful performance. She felt lost, and for that reason she had chosen to focus on the one person she could help, or so she thought: not herself, not Albus. Severus.
It was both a U-turn and the prolongation of a machichean worldview which constituted the basis of her conduct, with roles now merely reversed. It was not her, and Albus, and Gryffindors or those of the Light who needed to be protected from Severus any longer; it was he who needed to be protected from them. That illusory change alone carried the weight of her sanity and self-respect, and she fed it passionately, with a kind of despair only found in those in the midst of internal trial. That she was both judge and defendant brought equal levels of comfort and anguish; that Albus, she was convinced, deserved a more severe condemnation than she did equally pierced her heart and consoled her, although she would have never confessed it even to herself.
"I will take care of him. I am to have more free time as Deputy Headmistress alone", she said firmly. "You will find time for him as well, Albus. It will certainly be no problem for the ministry if he has two legal guardians."
She pronounced that word, ‘ministry’, with unconcealed disgust.
Severus was a war hero. He should have been granted recognition and respect at the very least. Instead, he had been judged and condemned as a war criminal, mostly to do with the torture of students under his authority the previous year. This had been done to appease both parents and public opinion. The trial had been rushed, put together as an antidote to social unrest. There was only one Death Eater who had attempted to hide nothing, only one who had presented himself willingly to the authorities: Severus had practically designated himself as a scapegoat. The sealing of his court sentence had been the only courtesy shown towards him by more sympathetic members of the tribunal, although rumours had emerged immediately afterwards. The lack of public sentencing had caused such unrest it could only be remedied with more rushed trials.
To an extent, however, this condemnation protected him from worse. That is, the people's tribunal.
The choice Severus had been given was simple. Five years in Azkaban or five years as a small child, returned to infancy by a de-ageing potion. It was a very rare sentence, one considered to be lenient, even forgiving – the law considered it to be, according to the texts,'a chance to receive appropriate, human care to nurture an improved moral compass in the individual’.
Evidently, to Severus, it had been terrible news.
"He looked terrified", Albus said sadly. "His childhood was traumatic. I learnt that too late."
And he had done nothing.
Minerva shook her head.
"But he won't choose prison, will he? He won't."
Just as Albus was about to reply, the office's door opened and the Potions Master entered without announcing himself, pausing briefly at the threshold. He glanced at Albus first, then, slowly, nodded in Minerva's direction.
"I will never get used to the fact the castle now lets you in without asking my permission", Albus said warmly, smiling at the younger man. “Come in, dear boy. This still is your office.”
Even he was not convinced by his sudden burst of energy.
Severus crossed his arms, looking tired. He was too thin, hollowed-eyed, and altogether a poor sight to behold.
"Have you decided on my sentence yet?" he finally asked, his tone almost casual.
But he was pale - he was fidgeting.
He was terrified of this new freedom, incapable of deciding if he was glad or furious that it had been taken away from him so quickly, angry that he had never considered he would survive the war and did not know what to do with himself. It was a strange, awful feeling, to be purposeless.
Minerva pushed her chair to the left, freeing some space for him to sit next to her. He sat uncomfortably. She looked at him apologetically. It was odd to be so close to him after a year of trying to avoid him at all costs, a year spent hating him for having ‘killed’ Albus, sullied the school and hurt students to degrees she still could not fathom.
"You are the only one who can make that choice, Severus", she replied softly. "That being said... You will not go to Azkaban."
She saw no contradiction in that statement.
In his despair, Severus almost smiled. He was glad to have Minerva's friendship back. He had craved it; but now he had to let it go again.
"I have no desire to become a child."
Minerva bit her tongue.
"You would choose prison instead?"
"I do not know. Possibly."
Albus looked at him gravely. He knew that Minerva could not understand why it was that the boy would even consider Azkaban instead of a few years of childhood - to most, the question would not have occurred at all. He, on the other hand, had an idea. He had seen some things, things that had escaped Severus' mental barriers during their first legilimency lessons. He had felt his whole being filled to the brim with childish terror, had experienced with Severus the utter lack of warmth, safety or consistency in his treatment that had characterised the man’s boyhood. It was, he believed, his responsibility to alleviate it.
"Severus. Minerva and I will take care of you. It will have nothing to do with your original childhood, I promise you."
The younger man was silent. Let us make it up to you, Albus thought - but he did not speak.
Severus would regarded it as pity. That alone would settle his choice.
"I was not exactly… a very pleasing child", Severus murmured eventually.
Minerva rolled her eyes affectionately. "I have been able to put up with you for 17 years, Severus. That, and thousands of 11-year-olds. I am sure I can manage a four-year-old child."
She smiled, and yet inside her right pocket her fingers were wrapped around her wand, although she was not aware of it yet. She was scared he would refuse. She was scared he would get up and leave, walking straight to his death.
It had to be done.
"Trust me, Minerva knows what she is talking about", Albus said teasingly. "We will take care of you to the best of our ability, Severus. I know I - we - are the last ones you'd wish to receive promises from right now. But I assure you, I do; we will try."
Severus looked away. He felt tired, exhausted even, desensitised to the whole matter, indifferent to a future that he had not thoroughly planned and therefore, that he could not envision existing. All he knew was that to be thrown in a state of complete weakness and vulnerability again was the last thing he wanted, and that the very thought made his breathing more difficult.
But he had been to prison already - for a short amount of time, just after the first war. He would not survive it, that he knew for a fact. It did not bother him much, although he did not wish to suffer. Again, because he did not have the energy to imagine what it would be like, he could feel neither apprehension nor fear; he was aware of how painful the past had been, but could not fathom how painful the future would be, so one choice seemed easier than the other.
But the sadness in Minerva's eyes, the dread, the terror: that he could not ignore. It was finding a way beyond his trance directly into his heart.
"It will be like a break, a moment of peace, dear boy. Nothing to worry about, I promise."
Shyly, Minerva put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Let us be the ones worrying for once, Severus."
He swallowed with difficulty.
"I suppose I am glad that I am not left with much of a choice", he said hesitantly, his voice blank. "But you should not be the ones looking after me. The ministry usually finds a foster home -"
"We will be your guardians", Albus cut him firmly. "That matter is resolved already."
He paused, observing the younger man carefully.
Severus was not in control, or the illusion of control, and he was not used to it - when he spoke, it was with a hesitation that was perfectly unlike him, contradicting the very words that left his mouth.
“Very well.”
"You will give consent, that is a promise?"
Severus took a deep breath. "The ministry wants an answer tomorrow. It would be most inconvenient to change my mind."
Minerva smiled sadly. He made to leave, but paused on his way to the door:
"It is quite ironic... I am certain they will use one of my potions."
His fingers started twitching again.