Time
Time was a mysterious thing. Powerful, yet dangerous – even corrupting. And yet it could not only turn porcelain into dust, but also transform mere dust into a diamond, brilliant and beautiful. And it did that quite often, when no-one deemed it worth to watch.
Albus had watched. He had watched for fifteen long years, and during that time he had learnt to know a man named Severus Snape better than he had ever known any of his Gryffindors. He had learnt how Severus took his coffee in the morning (black with a hint of milk) and how he curled his lips when dissatisfied; he had learnt his little mannerisms and gestures – the way he tilted his head when agitated, the difference when he called someone a dunderhead and a imbecile. He had learned his Potions Master preferred green over purple and anything over red, when it came to gift socks; and he had learned how very stubborn, headstrong and unyielding Severus could be, yet loyal, even when he didn’t seem like it.
Somewhere along the way, Albus had learnt to love the boy. Not in a sexual way, no; he imagined his fondness for Severus was similar to what a grandfather felt for his grandson. It was warm and caring, and from the bottom of his heart, he had wanted to offer care and friendship for the grim boy. He knew very well the pain and desperation Severus had went through all those years ago, and he didn’t want to inflict any more of it to the boy.
But time… the timeline required it. A sacrifice of a personal level. Because great gains never came without a great loss, and tampering with the timeline would be… dangerous. To put it mildly.
Albus closed his eyes. He really didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to utter the words. Not when he knew the path they would force Severus on.
He crossed his hands and looked at the three teenagers in the room. Severus was still shaking with rage and shock, and he had a mad glint in his eyes. He was shouting to Mr. Black, and Black, unusually pale, was shouting back, screaming it was all Snivellus’s fault. Behind him was James Potter, sitting in a shaky chair and looking miserable, with no words left.
In his previous life, Albus had done so many choices. Not all of them had been the correct ones.
He had had to choose who to save. He had picked Gryffindors, mostly, for he had thought he could be sure of their nature.
Oh, he had been so sure.
And Severus… He had been a casualty of that choice. Albus couldn’t protect both him and the Gryffindors, and the choice had seemed so obvious back then. A halfblood Slytherin had been too unpredictable a chess piece to place his bets on.
And yet… he had been the one to deliver. Potter had died, Black had gone mad and Pettigrew had turned dark. It was Severus that had proved his worth time and time again, never backing down, never compromising.
The Slytherin’s character had been molded by suffering, Albus knew. The abuse and the bullying had made him bitter and depressed, even when he was the most talented of the lot.
And now the timeline required Albus to throw the boy away again.
He raised a hand. Mr. Black and Severus quieted almost instantly.
”Be quiet for a minute, gentlemen,” Albus said. ”I am trying to think.”
He watched Severus cross his arms. The Potions Master always did that when he expected an attack. He knew Albus would take the Gryffindor’s side.
Time was the problem. Or the timeline, to be exact. Changing it might induce chaos.
Still, reproducing it might also turn out to be problematic. Albus had died before the war had ended. He had died, and things had seemed grim. There was no telling who had won the war.
That meant that there was no guarantee things would turn out well, even if he sticked to the timeline.
Also… He knew himself. He knew how destructive the war would be and what Tom had done to himself. There was no way he could let things fold out on their own, now that he knew about the horcruxes.
So he would deviate from the timeline. It would be for the best.
It would give them a chance. To Black, and Potter. And Severus.
Maybe they could all be happy this time.
For a better future, he thought and inhaled.
”Mr. Black," he said, tongue heavy. "I am afraid I have no choice but to expel you from Hogwarts."
OR:
Dumbledore dies and ends up in 1976, just after the Shrieking Shack incident. Yet he cannot force himself to follow the timeline he knows so well.
For he has learned to love one Severus Snape, and he cannot watch the boy suffer again.