"Please," Dumbledore begged. "Please." He couldn't believe he was reduced to this, expected to suffer this way. His life was not supposed to end this way, not here, not with how weak his body was from that poison… that poisonous water that led to nothing. It was all a plot, a plot of the fates against him.

Snape stood before him, horrible and powerful.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He had trusted Snape. He had always trusted Snape. They had all told him he was a fool to, that Snape was incapable of being trusted. That's what they had said!

But what had Snape ever done?

Minerva standing in his office, showing the parchment signed in blood in Snape's own handwriting. "I, Snape, really want to kill Dumbledore. I hate Dumbledore."

"What a good way to express emotions," Dumbledore said happily. "We should institute required journaling!"

Well, it had been very expressive.

There had been one other time, though.

"Professor!" the students shouted. "He's in there right now, laughing evilly!"

He had looked into the classroom at their request, only to see Snape rubbing his hands and, indeed laughing evilly. "Dumbledore shall die! The old fool shall die!"

Dumbledore laughed inwardly in spite of the imminent death. That had been quite funny.

Though not quite as funny as the time he had walked out of a doorway only to have Snape fall behind him, a knife clutched in his hands, heaving and swearing about having missed.

Or the time he had found Snape trying to pour that stuff that Madame Pomphrey had sworn was poison in his drink. No, Snape said it had been non-dairy creamer. Yes, that had been a riot.

That time where Snape had accidentally blown up the room Dumbledore had just left had also been hilarious.

And the time he had awoken to see Snape standing over his bed with three knives and a bottle of acid.

Yes, all wonderfully funny moments. So how could this be happening?

Why hadn't he seen before that Snape was going to kill him?

The End!