Nightfall (Harry Potter one-shot, Dumbledore's POV)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I am not making any kind of profit off this. I am merely inhabiting these characters for a precious few moments.
Nightfall
The amber flood warmed his face as it always did. It was a fierce light, a light that gave the hills a golden glow on the warm summer's eve. It was reflected in the lake, and even the darkness of the trees was lifted momentarily by the orange shimmer. The sun shone a strong red now, not yet disappearing behind the horizon. Not quite. It burned brightly before its departure. It burned all the way into his heart as he gazed across the rolling hills of the place that had been his home for so long, the home of his many children. There were signs of life everywhere, swarms of midges in the air, birds descending into the trees. A different kind of magic.
It was one of the follies of old age to grow sentimental about such matters. How often had he watched this sunset? He had a minute, perhaps five, for he knew Harry would not manage to tell his friends everything -as he most certainly would- and return to the hall within the five minutes he had given him. There were things to concentrate on, but he had no control over how the events would unfurl. He knew the school would be protected from too grievous a harm, although that poor, unfortunate boy appeared to have succeeded in his endeavor. It did not make him uneasy. The plan was going as well as could be expected. Severus would make sure of that. They would protect the students. That was what mattered. He could see so far on this clear evening, all the way across the country facing away from Hogsmeade. There was a great satisfaction about being able to take it all in.
The simple fact was that whatever was waiting for them at that cave might kill him. He would certainly be able to combat the crudest jinxes and creatures he was sure Tom would have left for him, without a doubt thinking that curses and bloodthirsty beings, that torture was the worst thing in the world, but he was certain that at the end, there would be something which would require the sacrifice of a life or a soul to obtain the horcrux. Lives which were so dispensable to Voldemort, but of course indispensable to the lone opponent. This in itself was of little concern. Death had been waiting for him for a long time now, and it was immaterial to him whether it happened today, tomorrow or next week. Journeys tired him these days as they had not before, and the potions he received could only do so much. The end was drawing near. If it didn't happen at the cave, Severus would take care of it later. The question was whether Harry was ready. His instincts told him that it would happen tonight, but he did not fancy dying in more pain than necessary in a cave in the company of a terrified 16-year-old, who would, without a doubt, act impulsively. For whatever promise Harry had given him, he knew that the boy would never abandon him to save himself. It was his greatest strength and weakness, a weakness which Voldemort had unfortunately noticed, but which he would never be able to fully comprehend. He would have to protect Harry from himself.
It was immaterial, he told himself, whether Harry would resent him or not. Absolutely irrelevant. Desiring him to forgive, to understand, to continue to look to him would be beyond selfish. Experience had taught him that the times when he had done something out of 'caring for' Harry had been the times when he had made mistakes. He had to think of the greater good. The 'Greater Good'? A jolt went through him at the expression. Harry had to do this. After all, he could turn away from it if he really wanted to - which he never would. This was bigger than Harry Potter. It was about the future of the wizarding world. The plan had to come first and foremost.
'And you let him teach here! And he told Voldemort to go after my mum and dad!'
The revelation couldn't have come at a more inopportune time. It was most inconvenient…for the plan. But what concerned him most was not the impact on the plan, the complete mistrust of Professor Snape these events would without a doubt result in and the consequences for Snape's ability to protect Harry. He had stopped himself just in time from revealing Severus' secret and leading the plan awry. What concerned him was the betrayal he had seen in Harry's face. He did not wish to cause him more pain as he knew he must.
The true question was whether he had prepared Harry well enough to do what he needed to do. Whether it was right, not to tell him. Always not to tell him. There were so many things he wanted to say to him… A wave rose inside him, but he closed his eyes to it for a moment, willing it back down. There was no time. Behind him, Fawkes emitted a melodic call. He had long made up his mind. How could he expect a young wizard, barely a man, to go through this with a burden of knowledge he himself had often wished he didn't have? How could he, after James and Lily, after Sirius, hand Harry a resurrection stone that would be his own undoing even now?
'What do you see when you look in the mirror?'
He must betray him. How could he expect the boy to fight, knowing that the ultimate end was his own self-sacrifice, knowing that Dumbledore had sent him to his death, feeling hopeless and unloved? No, 'death' wasn't where he was sending him. Harry would live, he was certain of that. He had argued this point to himself countless times, pacing his office. Love would save him. Tom's ignorance of it, the double bond, would save him. Tom would remain the only student he had abandoned. Obviously one could never be sure with unexplored territories of magic, but it had to be this way. Harry had to live.
'..like a pig for slaughter?'
It didn't matter whether he loathed sending him unwittingly to his death, whether he had exploited Harry's desire to form attachments and prove himself, or how Harry would feel when he found out. It was only natural that he should desire to comfort him, but he must suppress this desire and not fail on this journey tonight. Harry had been marked from the age of one; there was no other way. (Ah, his mind was now jumping to a deflection of responsibility.) He was brave and capable, had never ceased to amaze him -which was unusual considering all that he had seen- and would rise to the occasion. The Boy Who Lived. He was so proud of him.
And the realisation hit him again that they were about to embark on a journey he would not be able to complete with Harry. Regret deeper than anything he might have felt about the end of his own existence flared up. He recalled watching Harry through the eyes of a portrait in the Gryffindor dormitory just a year previously, remembered seeing the boy speak Sirius's name to a communication mirror. Sir Nicholas had sought him out shortly thereafter, telling him that Harry had refused to believe that Sirius would not return in some form. Harry would search for him likewise. He would not admit it out of shame, but he would be afraid to go forward from this point accompanied only by his own peers. But he would understand, eventually. Wouldn't he?
The sun's amber glow blurred in front of his eyes. He was losing his grip on the plan, distracted by memories of a small boy who had gazed at the wizarding world with wide eyes at his first encounter, overwhelmed by the possibilities, ignorant of what lay in store for him... With a soft swoosh, Fawkes landed on the railing in front of him. The phoenix lowered his head once more, and Dumbledore saw pearly tears dripping from his eyes onto his withered hand. He smiled and stroked the beautiful feathers with his healthy hand. 'Do not fear for me, my friend.' The black eyes looked at him enquiringly, meeting his own. 'I will not be long.'
Dumbledore turned his back on the spectacle outside. It was time to go. Night would fall all too soon. He must not expect forgiveness.