Title: When Angels Fall
Author: eeyore9990
Team: Wartime, baby!!! Whoooot!!
Genre(s): Angst & Romance
Prompt: War Crimes
Rating: R
Warnings: See Snarry Games post for Warnings!
Word Count: ~19,000
A/N: Oh, man, so many THANK YOUs to give, so little space to give them!
To my wonderful betas: knightmare and VL, and to the
long-suffering SNARFS for being there on a nightly basis while I whined and
wrung my hands and screamed and clawed my way through this fic. To my
teammates, for not booting me off the island. To the mods, for being so patient
with my numerous “I’m such a dumbass” emails. And to my flist, for being
understanding in the face of my nearly fic-free journal.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my sick and twisted mind.
Summary: While the world around them goes to hell in a handbasket, Snape and
Harry plow on. (OMG, not THAT kind of plowing… you perverts!)
When Angels Fall
Voldemort strolled through the gathered throng,
noting which of his followers held the stench of betrayal on their sweating,
visibly shaking bodies, and which of them stood humbly bowed before him, their
minds clear and open, hiding nothing from him, their acknowledged Master.
Stopping before one of them, he pressed a long, scaly finger to his lip-less
mouth and spoke. “Severus.”
The figure did not so much as twitch, telling Voldemort that this one follower,
at least, was paying exquisite attention to his every movement. The question
that needed answering: was he perhaps too careful?
“We have a traitor in our midst, Severus. What say you?”
Without looking up or adjusting position, Severus answered, “Any traitor should
be dealt with swiftly and with the maximum amount of pain. When the traitor is
found, I will gladly show him the error of his ways.”
“Him?”
“Your pardon, my Lord. As I cannot conceive of any one of your followers—any
one of my comrades—betraying you, I spoke out of turn.”
“Be that as it may, Severus, I have become increasingly aware that information
which is given to the very privileged of my Death Eaters has fallen into the
hands of the enemy. How do you suppose that might have happened?”
A pause—long enough to show that careful thought was being given but not enough
to provoke suspicion—filled the chamber with silence. “Is it possible to narrow
down those attending each planning session to just one among us, my Lord?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“My Lord, if you but give me the name, I will dispense with the disloyal
traitor at once.”
“How would you do this, Severus?”
“I have a potion, my Lord—”
Voldemort threw his head back and released a hissing laugh. “Oh, Severus, you
do amuse me. A potion? Is it really that simple?”
“My Lord, this potion would slowly burn a person from the inside out, yet keep
them alive until it reached their heart. The pain would be… unimaginable.”
“Ah, and do you have this potion with you?”
“Yes, my Lord. I have but recently finished developing it. I had hoped to
present it as a gift to you.”
“A gift? But what good would such a gift be without a demonstration?”
“My Lord, I had planned to present it as a demonstration. Several
Muggle-born—”
“Mudbloods?”
Severus inclined his head beneath his hood, shifting the fabric. “Of course.
Several Mudblood witches were captured at the raid in Tottenham; I was prepared
to use one of them.”
“Ahh, I see. However, I do believe I have a better idea. If you do not object
to me changing your plans?” It was not a question, and he knew Severus was
smart enough to realise this.
“Of course. The gift is for you; how it is presented is at your discretion.”
“Stand, Severus.” He watched as the black-robed figure rose smoothly, with an
elegance that gave lie to any tension the man might be feeling. “The potion?”
Without so much as rustling about, a vial appeared in Severus’ hand, extended
toward him. Voldemort raised one hand and waved it away. “No, do not offer it
to me, Severus. Give it to the traitor in our midst.”
Long fingers tightened around the vial, nearly the only trace of pale skin
showing. “If you would but name the traitor, my Lord, I will do so immediately.”
“Why Severus, I do believe you know the traitor.” Turning away,
Voldemort strode to the high-backed, throne-like chair he used for these
gatherings. “You’re slipping, old friend. Lucius, detain him.”
A flurry of black out of the corner of his eye brought Voldemort’s attention
back to Severus, who was now clutching a small, framed object in his hand. A
smirk and a “Portus!” saw him spinning out of their reach. Lucius’
hastily cast disarming spell sizzled through the air where Severus had been
standing to hit Bellatrix.
With a frustrated shout, Voldemort rounded on Lucius. “You dare to fail
me again? Crucio!”
The slits of his nostrils opened wide and narrowed rhythmically for a few long
moments before he released the spell on Lucius. When the man’s shrieks turned
to short, gasping breaths, Voldemort approached him and said, “What would you
do, Lucius, to win back my favour?”
“Any… thing. Anything, my Lord.”
Voldemort looked across the room to where Narcissa stood, heavy with a
late-term pregnancy. He allowed a small, cold smile to stretch his mouth. “I
will hold you to that, Lucius.”
~*~
Harry twisted on his bed, caught in a series of nightmares that seemed so very
real.
You’re slipping, old friend…
Harry’s restlessness at Voldemort’s voice echoing in his dream tangled the
bedsheets around his waist hopelessly.
Crucio!
Blinding pain made him whimper in his sleep, hand pressed to his forehead.
What would you do?
“Anything,” he whispered with Lucius.
Kill her. Cut your baby from her womb.
“No!” he screamed, even as Lucius started forward, a knife suddenly gleaming in
his hand.
I have use for you, Narcissa. Save yourself. Come to me.
“Save yourself,” Harry muttered, then woke with a gasp as a solid weight landed
on him. With a muffled shriek, he sat up, pushing at whatever was lodged
against his legs, holding them down. Whatever it was he was fighting against
rolled over, cursing fluently but quietly. That voice, though, was
unmistakeable.
“Snape!” Harry said, voice filled with loathing. Making a grab for his wand, he
shouted, “Incarcerous!”
No sooner had the words left his mouth, causing ropes to shoot from his wand
and wind tightly around Snape, than Harry heard Dumbledore’s voice calling to
him from the portrait that hung on the wall.
“Harry! Harry, no, wait!”
“Damn you, Albus, you didn’t warn him?! We’re lucky he only bound me, you old
fool!”
“Shut up!” Harry screamed, advancing on Snape. “Shut UP! How dare you
talk to him like that!”
“Harry!” Dumbledore called again, more urgent, more demanding.
Harry, shaking, stopped moving, but didn’t take his eyes from the man lying
quiescent in his bonds as he told Dumbledore, “I’m going to kill h—”
“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore snapped, and Harry’s head whipped around to look at
the painted figure of the old man. His every muscle was twitching with the
desire to maim, torture, and then kill Snape, but some part of him went still
at the command in Dumbledore’s voice.
“Release him, Harry,” Dumbledore said, surprising a bark of laughter out of
Harry.
“Like bloody hell I will! This is Snape, sir. The one who killed you,
remember?”
“Harry, listen to me. Please. Severus is not culpable in my death.”
“What?” Harry said, laughing in disbelief.
“Culpable means ‘guilty,’ Potter. What are the Muggles teaching in
primary school these days?”
Harry spun back to Snape, infuriated beyond words.
“Severus! You aren’t helping. Please be silent while I explain things to
Harry.”
“Explain things to me? I know what happened, sir! I was there! I—I know
you probably don’t remember—” a green jet of light striking the beloved
Headmaster in the chest, propelling him over the wall of the Astronomy tower
“—but I was there. Snape… Snape used the Killing Curse on you, sir.” Harry’s
voice dropped to a softer register as he explained this. Dumbledore had trusted
Snape so much that it did truly seem as if he’d merely somehow managed to block
that final moment of his physical life.
Suddenly remembering something, he turned and kicked at Snape, ineffectual in
his bare feet, but still satisfying nonetheless. “And I know what
culpable means, you fucking bastard.”
Snape opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore’s voice cut through the
tension that had filled the small room. “If you’re both going to act like
children, you’ll be treated as such.”
Harry turned back to the portrait and placed his hands on his hips. “How can
you say that, sir? He’s a traitor. A coward.”
“Don’t you call me—”
“Severus!”
Crooked teeth snapped together with an audible click.
“Harry, I need you to listen to what I have to say. Can you promise not to
interrupt me until I’m done?”
Harry couldn’t help sliding another glance to the bound man on the floor of his
room.
“Harry, I promise to explain all to your satisfaction.”
“Is that wise, Headmaster—”
“Don’t talk to him!” Harry hissed at Snape, feeling a renewed surge of fury.
Snape just rolled his eyes and wriggled around into a more comfortable
position. Harry’s wand hand twitched with the pure need to hex him.
“Harry, I asked Severus to kill me.”
“What?!” Harry asked, his voice cracking with incredulity at Dumbledore’s
statement.
“It was necessary.”
“How could that possibly be—”
“Do you see how useless it is to assume the boy will hold his tongue, Albus?”
“You—”
“Stop it! Now! Both of you will be silent.” Harry had never heard such a tone
from Dumbledore before; it made him shut his mouth faster than a Silencing
Charm would have. He didn’t think portraits could perform magic, but it
certainly wouldn’t do to find out differently now. He slanted a glance at Snape
to see that the man was leaning back against Harry’s camp bed, eyes closed, but
not exactly relaxed.
“Now then, Harry, I did indeed ask Severus to kill me. Only if it became
absolutely necessary, you understand, but I bound him with an Oath. He is not a
coward, Harry, and I won’t allow you to malign him in such a way.”
“’Malign’ means—“
“Severus.”
“My apologies.” Snape’s voice was light, but smug, and Harry ground his teeth,
fighting the urge to jump back into the conversation. He swallowed it down,
though, and after counting backward from twenty, was able to once again listen
to what Dumbledore was saying.
“I couldn’t allow Draco Malfoy to carry out his task, Harry. I’m sure you understand
my desire not to have one of my students become responsible for my murder.”
A small noise from Snape distracted Harry, and he looked over to see a pinched
expression on Snape’s face.
“Severus…” Dumbledore’s painting sighed and there seemed to be some sort of
silent communication between man and portrait. “Regardless,” Dumbledore said
after a long moment, “I asked Severus to take on this task, as he’d already
sworn an Oath to Narcissa Malfoy to save her son.” That last bit sounded
pointed, and Harry heard a short sigh behind him.
“We knew my time was short, Harry. The damage my body sustained with the
destruction of Gaunt's ring was not reversible. And, Harry, it was ultimately
fatal. When I commissioned my final portrait for Hogwarts, I included a special
order. Harry; if you would release Severus, he has something to show you.”
Harry’s back stiffened and he was about to argue when he heard a silky whisper
of, “Frightened of me, boy?”
The fighting instinct took over then, and he turned and used a Severing Charm
on the ropes, watching them fall with satisfaction, even as he held his wand on
Snape.
A cool chuckle from Snape reached him then, and he blinked warily.
“You’ve always been so delightfully easy to manipulate, boy. One would have
thought you’d have worked on that. Especially after it led to the death of
your… godfather.”
Harry closed his eyes against the remembered pain of Sirius’ death, and when he
opened them again, Snape held something in his hands. Smallish, framed. Like a
photo frame, actually. Forehead wrinkling questioningly, Harry stepped forward
and glanced at it.
There was a dark background, but nothing else.
“Okay. What is it?”
“It’s a miniature, Harry,” Dumbledore’s voice said, rising from the small, dark
frame. Harry jerked back with a gasp and turned to look at the full-sized
portrait on the wall.
He stared at Dumbledore for a long moment before he said, “That’s how you knew.
That’s where you were getting all your information.”
“Yes.”
“McGonagall knows, doesn’t she?”
“Headmistress, brat—”
Harry waved Snape off, focussed on Dumbledore again. “That’s…” He blinked and
shook his head. “That’s bloody brilliant, actually.”
He stood there, miniature in hand, turning over everything in his mind for
several minutes. Since Dumbledore’s portrait had woken, shortly after his
memorial, he’d known things. Important events that Voldemort was planning. No
one knew where he was getting his information, and Dumbledore hadn’t exactly
been forthcoming.
Because he’d been protecting his spy.
“Don’t think about it so much, Potter. You’ll strain your last remaining brain
cell and we can’t have that, can we?”
Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape and turned to Dumbledore. “The only thing I
can’t understand, sir, is why, with such a fool-proof plan, you’d place any
amount of faith at all in a man who has shown time and again that the only side
he’s on is his own. I’m just surprised he didn’t give your portrait to
Voldemort—“
Snape hissed and clipped him ‘round his ear. “Idiot! Fool! Don’t invoke his
name, you little twit!”
Harry turned and did something he’d been longing to do since his first Potions
class all those many years ago. He made a fist and punched Snape right in his
mouth. God, the satisfaction was nearly overwhelming. Better than chocolate.
He’d never have a problem repelling Dementors ever again.
Of course, that was supposing he survived the next five minutes.
~*~
Severus’ whole body turned with the force of Potter’s right hook. He had a
moment to think about ducking, but for some reason his body didn’t listen to
the instructions of his brain. As he took the full brunt of Potter’s anger, he
felt his teeth give and his lips—both top and bottom—split open. A pained grunt
left him and he stumbled a bit, but was able to remain upright by sheer force
of will.
Whipping back around, he looked at a triumphant Potter and—ignoring
Dumbledore’s shouts—grabbed the boy’s arm, twisting it behind him until he felt
and heard the give of the shoulder joint.
Over Potter’s pained shriek, Severus whispered in his ear, “Never again,
Potter. Never again.”
Deciding that he’d suffered the fool’s company long enough, Severus turned and
sketched a mock-bow to Dumbledore, who was shaking his head in dismay, and
swept from the bedroom of the flat. He needed to regain control. No one had
ever been able to climb beneath Severus’ skin in quite the way that the male
members of the Potter family did.
Fucking rotten-with-hero-complex Potters.
The throbbing pain in his mouth, added to the too-sweet coppery taste of his
own blood, convinced Severus to perform a wordless healing spell on his mouth.
He knew if he tried to speak the words to the spell that he’d simply end up
slurring them, and slurred words were never good when dealing with
unpredictable self-healing magic.
The walls of the room seemed to be closing in on him, so Severus crossed the
less-than-spacious living/gathering area and pulled open the door, slipping
through into the darkness of the garden that lay beyond it. Severus sighed and
looked up at the crystal clear sky; mind too filled with thoughts of how to go
on now that he was no longer a double agent to appreciate the beauty of the
night. Early morning. Whatever it was now.
Casting a quick Tempus, Severus cursed to see that it was past three o’clock
in the morning. Too late to get proper sleep and too early not to hear the
complaints of his overly-tired body and the white-noise type of buzz in his
numb mind. Oh well, if nothing else, he’d be able to blame his lack of sleep on
the fact that Potter had been able to carry out his attack on Severus’ person.
That would normally be inexcusable, but Severus was honest enough with himself
to admit that Potter had always had amazing reflexes.
Severus reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a slim silver case,
opening it to extract a cigarette. It was a filthy habit, but Severus had spent
too many nights lying awake sleepless not to take whatever aid he could get, in
whatever form that meant. Raising the cigarette to his mouth, he lit the tip with
his wand and took a long drag, shuddering as the smoke filled his lungs.
The reassuring weight of the miniature in his pocket reminded Severus of what
was going on inside the house. He withdrew it and looked into the empty frame,
sighing lightly before tapping it with his wand.
“Severus.”
He winced slightly, but only because he knew Albus couldn’t see him. The
Headmaster was greatly disappointed in him and was just about to give him hell
for—
“What happened to your self-control, Severus? You knew Harry would not react
well to you appearing like that—“
“I wasn’t aware that I would appear like that, Albus, which you well
know! Also, what the hell were you thinking, setting the Portkey to the boy
himself?”
“Minerva and I discussed the situation and decided that linking the Portkey
function of my portrait to Harry served a dual purpose. You would be able to
find him wherever he was, no matter that he was under the Fidelius, and, should
you decide he needed to move quickly, you would be able to simply grab hold of
him and Portkey to the secondary location. Regardless of that, I must tell you
that I am quite displeased with how you conducted yourself in there. You’re
quite lucky Harry has become proficient in healing charms, or I would have to
summon Minerva, who would then have to summon Poppy. What were you thinking,
Severus? You acted and reacted like a callow youth! You must be able to
work with him. If you cannot… If you cannot, we will very likely lose all. And
you are in no position to survive in the event of such an occurrence.”
Severus felt the cold rush of reality hit him. So much had happened since his
audience with the Dark Lord that he hadn’t really had a moment to appreciate
what tonight’s events meant to his future. He was, for the first time in his
life, operating without a safety net.
In the past, he’d always had the empty satisfaction of knowing that no matter
which side claimed victory in this war, he would be able to find a place for
himself in the world at its end. Now, he had no such comfort. If Potter failed
to kill the Dark Lord, Severus’ life would be worth nothing.
“Severus.”
Severus sighed impatiently and took another drag on his nearly-forgotten
cigarette.
“You must find some way to gain his trust and work with him.”
“He still doesn’t trust me?” Severus asked, venom dripping from his
tones. “With everything that I’ve done, he still doesn’t trust me. Of course he
wouldn’t. Your precious Potter can’t see beyond the tip of his smug little
nose.”
“Have you given him anything to trust? Severus, before you yell at me, stop and
think a moment. The boy’s last memory of you is from that night atop the
Astronomy tower at Hogwarts. He watched you kill me. Such an act doesn’t really
instil trust in a boy like Harry.”
Severus clenched his jaw and dropped his cigarette, grinding it beneath his
heel as he expelled streams of smoke through his nostrils. “And does he
understand why I killed you, Albus? Hmm? Have you truly explained that
to him?”
“I’m doing so now.”
“Ah, such amazing multi-tasking skills you’ve gained with your death.”
“Sarcasm has never been an effective shield with me, Severus, as well you know.
Please, take my advice to heart and bury this animosity before it ruins us
all.”
“All? Us? You have the luxury of already being dead, Albus. So don’t lecture me
on what I must do to continue living. You, of all, have no right to do that.”
Dumbledore sighed, which Severus thought a ridiculous affectation considering
the man really couldn’t breathe anymore, and shook his head again, looking
weary. “I will be content with your lack of forgiveness for all that I have
asked of you, Severus, if you would be willing to but set aside this foolish
pride that stands between you and Harry. You must gain his trust, Severus. I
don’t know how else to stress this issue to make it more important to you.”
“I am fully aware of what I must do, Albus. I will work with the boy; I will do
what needs doing. After all, haven’t I always?” Severus knew his bitterness was
leaching through into his words, but he didn’t bother trying to hide it now.
“Yes, my boy. Yes, you have. And if you would allow me to suggest—“
“I am not foolish enough to believe I could stop any suggestion of yours,
Albus.”
A faint smile curved Dumbledore’s lips and a hint of a twinkle brought a spot
of white paint to his pale blue eyes. “Try to make friends with the boy. It
will make everything that much easier.”
Severus threw back his head and laughed uproariously, an act he hadn’t
performed in god knew how long. When he was finally able to bring himself under
control once again, he asked, “Friends? With Potter?” And that set him
off again.
Dumbledore patiently waited until his chuckles had died off slightly before
saying, “It might help if you could think of him as ‘Harry’ instead of
‘Potter.’ I am fully aware that the name Potter brings to mind more than Harry
himself. Take time to get to know the boy he is instead of the boy you believe
him to be. You might find yourself quite surprised, indeed.”
“Oh? Surprised by Potter? That would almost be worth it, Albus. And how do you
propose I,” another chuckle escaped him, “befriend Potter, hmm?”
“You might try talking to him. Break the ice. He’s a very personable young man.
You would do well to court his favour, Severus. With you by his side, we will
win. And when that happens, if you have his trust, you will be well-placed. As
a Slytherin, can you do any less?”
“Sly, Albus. Very sly.”
“Thank you, my boy. I do try.”
“Go away, old man, and leave me in what little peace I have before my day is
completely ruined by interfering and obnoxious Gryffindors.”
~*~
Harry stepped out of his house just as dawn’s first light was creeping through
the trees around it. He loved the freedom being under the Fidelius offered him,
even if he did miss his friends. He had argued vehemently about not being able
to go with Hermione and Ron when they left with a pack of Order members to seek
out and destroy the last known Horcrux, but even he could not disagree with the
logic that Voldemort would be guarding it fiercely now that the other five had
been destroyed. Voldemort’s anger when he found out had been vicious enough to
leave him in the infirmary for three days with a scar that wouldn’t stop
bleeding.
Actually, he would have to remember to ask Dumbledore how Snape had managed to
find him. It shouldn’t have been possible—
A voice cut through the silence, making him jump and whirl toward it.
“And have you finally learned the truth, boy, or will you continue to bury your
head in the sand and ruin us all?”
Something about the sound of Snape’s voice made gooseflesh rise on Harry’s
body. He blinked down at his arms, half-bemused to see the hair standing on end
there as the soft breeze that seemed to always come at daybreak ruffled it. He
let out a shaky breath and raised his eyes, gathering his courage for the task
ahead of him.
He stepped forward slowly, narrowing the space between them a fraction at a
time until he was close enough to breathe the same air as the man before him.
Maintaining eye contact, he lifted his hand and held it forward, squaring his
shoulders as he waited. And waited.
As he stood there, feeling faintly foolish with his hand nearly jabbing Snape
in the stomach, the same breeze that had been flirting with the hair on his
arms came along again; a bit stiffer, a lot colder. It pressed the front of his
robes to his chest, pushed the hem between his planted feet, outlining his
legs. His fringe parted and Harry saw the quick flicker of Snape’s eyes to his
newly revealed scar.
“Put down your hand, Potter. I have already promised to aid you in defeating
the Dark Lord. There is no need for such a gesture.”
“There is,” Harry said, stubbornly keeping his hand out.
Snape’s lips pressed together, thinning them ever further. Shaking his hair back
over his shoulders in an impatient gesture, he raised one hand, briefly clasped
Harry’s with it, and dropped it again before Harry could truly register how
thin and cold Snape’s hand was.
“We need to reach some sort of compromise, Snape, because if we don’t, one of
us will end up killing the other.”
Snape snorted but didn’t deny the truth of Harry’s statement beyond a rather
contentious, “Don’t fool yourself that you could ever be wizard enough to kill me,
boy.”
Harry took a deep breath and let that go, just let it slide right over him. “I
have information for you. I wanted to tell Dumbledore, but he wouldn’t listen,
said I’m to come to you with anything important.”
“And what is it you think is so pertinent, Potter?” Snape asked, not bothering
to hide the fact that he was simply humouring Harry.
“I had a dream tonight. Just before you showed up.”
Snape clicked his tongue in disgust. “You’re still putting faith in those
dreams of yours, Potter? Merlin, you really don’t learn, do you?”
Harry looked at him and just maintained his silence. Finally, Snape cracked
under the strain of his own curiosity. “Well, what do you think is so
important, then?”
Harry inclined his head and walked back inside the house, leading Snape into
the living area. “In my dream, the first part dealt with you. You were in a
room full of Death Eaters, and all of you were kneeling. You were the only one
that wasn’t moving and V—the Dark Lord was talking to you. He was leading you;
he already knew you were the traitor, but he was trying to trip you up.” Harry
waited, looking for some sign that Snape was surprised or interested or…
anything, really. When Snape remained impassive, Harry sighed and continued.
“You offered him a potion, something to use on ‘the traitor.’ He ordered Lucius
Malfoy to detain you, but you escaped before he could stop you. The miniature
was also a Portkey, I guess?”
Snape remained silent for a moment before nodding once. “It is how I was able
to locate you. When you touched me and spoke, the Fidelius charm on you
accepted me.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t known that that was a possibility, but it
didn’t truly surprise him. There was still an awful lot he was learning about
ways to manipulate magic. Shrugging that off, he continued, “After you left, he
got angry, really angry, and cast the Cruciatus on Lucius Malfoy.” Harry lifted
a hand and brushed his fingers over his scar at the memory of the pain, missing
the way Snape’s eyes flicked to it. “After he took it off, he made Malfoy prove
his loyalty. He asked him to…” Harry shook his head. “I—it doesn’t make sense,
and maybe this is the part where I was just sleeping or something, but… he
asked Malfoy to ‘cut the baby from Narcissa’s belly.’” He laughed softly and
held his hands up. “I know, I know, you probably didn’t need to hear that,
but…”
“Why would I not want to hear that, Potter?”
“Well, Mrs Malfoy isn’t pregnant!”
“Yes, Potter. She is.”
“Oh.”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“I… dunno really. Isn’t she too old to have more kids?”
“Narcissa is my age, brat. Be careful who you call ‘old.’”
Harry rolled his eyes, but conceded the point. Then the reality of what Snape
was saying hit him and he began to chew on his lip. “Er, then…”
“What?”
“Well, there was more, but I didn’t pay it much mind. I mean, I thought I was
just having a regular nightmare.”
“Tell me.”
“Vol—er. He. He offered Mrs Malfoy a way out, a way to save herself and
her baby.”
“What was it?”
“I, erm, don’t know. That’s when you landed on me.”
Harry watched as Snape began to pace, putting his rather intimidating intellect
to the task of solving this mystery. After a few moments, Snape turned back to
Harry and said, “Can you have that dream again?”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to see what he offered Narcissa. It may be nothing, but it may be
vastly important. It is obviously too late to ask you to shield your mind from
the Dark Lord, so we’ll make use of your link to him as we can.”
“I… well, er, it should work, but the only other times I’ve ever had the
same dream were when Volde—er, when he was trying to get into the
Department of Mysteries.”
“Clear your mind and sleep, Potter. If it works, it works. If not… we’ll try
something else.”
Harry drew a deep breath and nodded before walking into the small bedroom and
lying down on the bed. The rustle of fabric told him Snape had followed him and
he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. How was he supposed to
sleep with Snape standing over him, watching him?
“Cease your mental wanderings and relax, Potter.”
“That’s rather difficult to do with you staring at me… sir.”
“If your intention is only to offer me false respect, Potter, don’t bother with
the effort. It is not merely annoying but infuriating as well.”
Harry squirmed a bit before offering a token, “Sorry.”
“The same holds true for insincere apologies. Sleep, Potter.”
Harry sighed and closed his eyes, hiding the way they rolled at Snape’s words.
As soon as his eyes were shuttered by their lids, however, his exhausted body
began to relax into the remarkably comfortable bed. To his own amazement, he
felt his mind start to clear out and drift away…
~*~
Narcissa Malfoy was lying back on a stone slab, her distended belly pointing
to the ceiling as she tugged lightly at the magical ropes binding her down. Her
head moved back and forth, eyes wide, helpless and frantic, as she watched the
proceedings around her. The struggling form of Rufus Scrimgeour was led into
the large chamber where she lay, and a high, cold voice rang out, rising above
the assorted noises.
“Ah, Minister. How utterly agreeable that you could make time in your busy
schedule to join us.”
Narcissa stopped listening and went still as Lucius entered the chamber,
walking with slow, measured steps to the Dark Lord’s side, murmuring something
to the… man… before he stepped back, cold grey eyes sweeping the room before
landing on her. Narcissa turned her head and closed her eyes, all too aware
that he’d been perfectly willing to kill both her and their child mere moments
before.
The Dark Lord’s voice rose and fell around her, but she couldn’t pull her mind
back to the present; couldn’t focus properly. She knew something horrible was
coming. The Dark Lord was not one to let wayward followers go unpunished and
she had managed to remain unscathed for nearly two years now. Her time had
come.
Narcissa felt the baby stir in her womb and tried to move her hands down to
soothe it; forgetting for the moment that she was tied up. She whimpered as it
rolled again, seeking comfort from the awkward position she was in. She averted
her gaze; no matter how she might enjoy the feeling of new life growing within
her body, she found the sight of the baby moving beneath her skin to be
disconcerting at best.
A sharp scream brought her focus back to the men in the room, and she watched
as the current Minister for Magic was carried bodily closer to her. Oh god,
what were they planning?
Her frantic gaze flew back to the Dark Lord who was raising his wand. “Avada
Kedavra!”
Green light flooded the chamber, sparking over her. The backlash of power
stirred her hair, obstructing her view so that what happened next could only be
heard.
“Condio corpus!” The words were high and eerie, rising to a crescendo of sound.
Power built until it was a steady pressure all around, thrumming down from the
ceiling and flooding the area until the urge to simply stop breathing nearly
overrode Narcissa. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she flung her head
from side to side, shrieking even as she felt the baby go completely still.
“Noooo! Oh god, what have you done to my baby?!” she shrieked, tossing her head
and looking directly into the face of evil. The lipless smile sent shivers down
her spine.
“Rejoice, Narcissa, for I have bestowed upon you and your child a gift unlike
any other. You are the vessel I have chosen. Because of you… I will live
forever.”
Cold fear washed through Narcissa as the meaning of his words penetrated her.
He had made her child… Oh, god, no.
Her whole body heaved with sickness as his high-pitched, hissing laughter
filled the room. And the baby stirred once more…
~*~
Severus watched as Potter’s eyelids fluttered and his chest began rising and
falling slowly, his breathing deepening out as he fell asleep.
Soon enough, Potter’s body went stiff and his face twisted with a grimace. His
head began to toss on his pillow as he spoke, clearly but disjointed. Each word
was merely a fraction of what Potter heard in his dream, of this Severus was
certain.
“Minister.”
Sweat broke out on his brow, then, “Corpus.”
A scream, loud and agonizing.
No words this time, but the trickle of blood down Potter’s face from his scar
was rather disconcerting.
More twisting snapped his attention back to the words pouring frantically from
Potter’s mouth.
“Noooo! … Baby!”
Absolute stillness then, and when Potter’s voice came, it was high and flat,
sinister-sounding. “Live… forever.”
Severus heard a sound behind him and whirled to see Albus peering out of his
wall-portrait, also watching Potter sleep.
“How often does he dream like this?” Severus asked, pitching his voice low.
“His visions are irregular at best. He can go weeks without a single dream and
then have a series of them that leaves him exhausted for more than a month. Or
go months with nothing and have one truly horrific dream. It is difficult to
judge and seems to be triggered by certain moods Tom experiences.”
Severus stood quietly and watched Potter sleep, one arm crossed over the other,
hand raised to his face. He stroked his chin absently, trying to piece together
the bits of Potter’s dream he’d managed to overhear while he waited for the boy
to wake.
Finally, after nearly an hour of silent contemplation, Potter began to stir,
eyelids fluttering against his cheeks as he slowly rose from the depths of
sleep into wakefulness. Severus moved forward, conjuring a straight-backed
chair and lowering himself into it.
“What did you dream, Potter?” Severus asked quietly, his voice commanding
enough to draw attention but not so much that he would startle the boy into
snapping out of his post-dream state. The more Potter could recall of his
dreams, the better for them all.
Potter pushed himself into a sitting position and began to speak, telling them
of the horrors of his dream. Severus remained silent, waiting until Potter’s
voice trailed off as he attempted to recall the final bits of his dream before
they turned to mist and slipped away.
“And then, when they released her from the table, she said something to Lucius…
something… God! I can’t remember. But anyway, she left.”
“What do you mean, she left?”
“She ran from the room, out of the house, and Apparated away.”
“In her condition? She must be truly desperate.”
Severus looked at the Headmaster and nodded, trying not to let his worry show.
“Indeed. One wonders to whom she was running.”
“Or from whom.”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it? She was running from Volde—erm, the Dark Lord,”
Potter paused to roll his eyes, “and her husband.”
Severus closed his eyes and pictured the scene Potter had set with his tale,
one detail bothering him. “You were telling this as if you were Narcissa. Have
you ever had a shared memory with the Dark Lord which did not look through his
eyes?”
“Yes, all the time. Sometimes I’m Nagini, sometimes Wormtail, sometimes… well,
other people. I remember…” Potter looked down and plucked at the bedsheets
before he swallowed roughly and said, “I still sometimes remember the way it
felt to attack Mr Weasley. When Nagini bit him, I could feel the meat and blood
and…” He drew a ragged breath and shrugged. “Sorry. I guess you just wanted a
straight answer, huh?”
“Nagini – Wormtail – others…” Severus murmured the names aloud to himself and
glanced up and around, meeting Albus’ thoughtful gaze. “Those with whom the
Dark Lord shares a mental connection, perhaps?”
Albus nodded slowly. “It seems to be so, yes. The others… his true followers,
perhaps. Those whose minds he has been able to freely enter. Those he might
have a small bit of possession over?”
“Possession… yes. It is plausible, at any rate. And Narcissa has never been
proficient with her mental shields, so it stands to reason that he may have a
form of mental hold over her.” Severus looked back at Harry and said, “Tell me
again, what words did he use in the spell?”
Potter shook his head. “It wasn’t a spell, really. I… I don’t know what it was,
but I know it wasn’t anything so simple as a spell. I could feel it. It was… it
was huge, and it seemed to just press down on me and suffocate me until
I thought my body would be sucked inside out or my chest collapse or my brain
explode.”
“Ritual magic,” Dumbledore said, and Severus felt his eyes widen.
“Dark magic combined with elements of ritual magic. My god, Albus, I know what
he was doing.” Severus turned to Potter again and looked into his eyes. “I need
to see this, Potter. Let me in?”
He watched as the boy shrank back a bit before steeling himself and nodding
slowly. “Not that you need my permission; you’ve always been able to shatter my
shields.”
Severus nodded his acknowledgement before he pressed forward, smoothly entering
Potter’s mind. He watched the flashes, fragments really now, of Potter’s dream;
saw the movement of the baby inside Narcissa; watched the jet of light that
passed over her and struck Scrimgeour; felt the press of building magic as the
Dark Lord collected his own soul as it tried to escape him.
He pulled back quickly but cleanly, leaving no trace of himself in Potter’s
mind. As he turned toward Albus to discuss the situation, he missed the look of
amazement that came over the boy.
“He created a new Horcrux. He used Scrimgeour’s death to fracture his soul
which he collected and… it shouldn’t be possible,” Severus said.
“Tell me, my boy. What shouldn’t be possible?”
“Narcissa Malfoy is pregnant.”
“Yes, I am aware that the Malfoys are seeking a new heir.”
“What?” Albus and Severus both ignored Potter’s question; too much was resting
on this moment to stop and answer insignificant questions now.
“The Dark Lord was somehow able to create a Horcrux of the foetus.”
“Oh, my.” Dumbledore turned and began to pace the confines of his portrait,
stroking one hand down his beard. “You are correct, Severus. This should not
have been possible.”
“What? Will one of you talk to me and tell me what you’re on about?”
Severus glanced at Albus and saw him tilt his head slightly to the right.
Smoothly, he turned to Potter and sent him out of the room to fetch a healing
balm for the scar that continued to drip blood down his face. Distraction was
key at this time; they could bring Potter up to date later, if it became
necessary.
Though Potter rolled his eyes, he nodded and left the room, a wince of pain
letting Severus know that he hadn’t been oblivious to the cut. Severus turned
to Albus and continued their conversation, albeit at a lower volume as Potter
could return at any time.
“You do realise that it is now imperative that we find Narcissa Malfoy and…
remove the Horcrux.”
Albus wiped one hand down his face, ending at his beard, which he gave a tug as
he thought over the situation. “Would that we could find an alternative, but…
yes, Severus; it is of the utmost importance that you find her. But do you
truly think you can?”
Severus turned over everything he knew of Narcissa Malfoy as he paced the small
room. “I am as certain as I can be that Narcissa will flee for the coast. She
won’t be able to move quickly.”
“She could take Muggle methods.”
“She won’t. I know Narcissa, sir. She would never take Muggle
transportation.”
“Apparation would be harmful to her baby.”
“Assuming she cares about the baby at his point.”
Albus ran a finger down the length of his nose as he fell silent. Then he
straightened his shoulders and stared out at Severus, his gaze solemn, but
challenging. “She cares. I would stake my… well, I suppose it would be
disingenuous to stake my life on it at this point, eh? How do you
suppose she will travel then?”
Severus thought about this long and hard. “Short Apparations with plenty of
rest between. No more than five or so miles at a time? It would be relatively
harmless, but would allow her to move quickly if the need arose.”
“Yes, I agree. How do you propose to follow her, then?”
Severus looked at the ceiling and sighed. “The house was in Cambridge. She will
take the most direct route to the busiest crossing point. So… Dover, then.
We’ll leave tonight. First, though, we need Minerva. She’ll have to remove the
Fidelius on Potter so that he can communicate with Order members if the need
arises.”
“I shall let Minerva know. And should she inform anyone of your return?”
Severus paused for a moment before shaking his head. “We cannot afford the
delay it would cause to answer their questions at this time.”
“If Harry doesn’t—” Albus was interrupted by the reappearance of the boy in
question.
Severus shook his head and murmured, “Pray he does. If he does not, it won’t
matter, anyway.”
~*~
They set out, each carrying a small pack apiece, plus a tent that Snape carried
initially. Harry wasn’t entirely comfortable with the fact that they were
travelling alone, but finally began to relax when Snape huffed at him after the
first day of their journey and pushed Dumbledore’s miniature on him.
He appreciated the gesture, but ended up giving the small frame back to Snape
when they entered Sawston on the morning of the third day because Dumbledore
and Snape continued to hold conversations that Harry had no hope of
understanding. Dumbledore apparently had some way to contact another portrait
who had a portrait in a library that knew another portrait that might know
something specific about Horcruxes… It was convoluted and secretive and
generally just served to make Harry feel completely and utterly useless.
He knew he was acting sulky, but he honestly didn’t care. He was still rather
angry with Dumbledore for hiding the truth of Snape’s role, angry with Snape
for continuing to treat him like a child—to be seen and not heard and only seen
when absolutely necessary—and angry with himself for allowing the situation to
go on like this.
In theory, Harry had the power in this relationship. He was the one who would
ultimately kill Voldemort—he refused to contemplate any other outcome, as to do
so left him with a weak stomach and a feeling like his heart was going to
explode from his chest—so really, they needed him. But for some reason,
every time he thought to bring this up, Snape would look at him in much the
same way he had when Harry had been a recalcitrant student and Harry’s words
would die on his lips.
Fetching firewood and water had never held so much appeal in his life.
Days bled into one another, and suddenly Harry realised that he hadn’t spoken a
word in nearly a week. Not one word. That was the same day he saw the headlines
on a discarded Muggle newspaper showing still photos of a horrific explosion in
downtown Sawston.
At the bottom of one article, a survivor had told of seeing a trick of
firelight making what seemed to be a skull reflected against the clouds of
smoke in the sky.
His stomach rolled and he ended up dry heaving into the grass for a good five
minutes before he went to seek out Snape. It might be coincidence, but Harry
knew without a doubt that Voldemort was following them as surely as they were
following Narcissa Malfoy.
~*~
“You cannot allow this situation to continue forever, Severus.” The former
Headmaster’s daily—no, hourly—litany made Severus snort with disgust as
he leaned over the small worktable, chopping some local herbs finely to add to
a gently bubbling base of willow sap for a light pain potion.
Severus had converted the small bedroom their tent contained into a workroom,
needing the space for brewing. Potter hadn’t argued, just shrugged his
shoulders and enlarged the small loveseat in the living space into a full-sized
sofa that fit his small frame perfectly.
“You can’t do anything to stop me, now can you?” Severus asked, not bothering to
hide his smirk. “Did you foresee that when you decided I should kill
you, Albus?”
“Enough, Severus. You are… upset… with me. I understand that, but you are
taking that anger with me and unleashing it on the boy. Don’t you think he has
enough on his plate to be going on with, without having to deal with your
moods?”
“Moods, Albus? I don’t have moods. I have one mood. Which is surly. Were
I to become anything else, the war would be lost because Potter would expire
from the shock—”
“Professor Snape!” Potter’s voice broke in on their conversation before the boy
himself did. Severus jerked a bit at the address and managed to prick his
finger with his finely honed potions knife.
“You--” Potter stopped to clear his throat and continued again, his breathing
more rapid than it should have been. “You have to see this. I think… I think
he’s following us.”
He threw a folded-over newspaper onto the workbench, earning himself a dark
scowl as it overturned a bowl filled with freshly diced safflower roots.
Severus gingerly plucked the paper from the bench by the corner, the blood that
stained his fingers instantly soaking into the thin paper.
He read the headlines and snapped his head up, looking closely at Potter. The
boy was fidgeting, hopping from one foot to another before he seemingly lost
all patience and pointed to the bottom paragraph of one of the side-column
articles. Severus read it three times before he lowered the page and sank
wearily onto a stool.
“He is either on our trail or hers, Albus.”
“Muggle or wizard? How many dead?”
“Seventeen killed, thirty three injured. We’ll need to find a wizarding
newspaper to determine which were Muggles.”
“How do you do that?” Potter asked, and Severus raised one eyebrow at him. “How
do you say three words to each other and convey an entire newspaper article of
information?” He sounded a bit hollow, the trail of laughter at the end of his
statement rising in pitch and volume in what sounded like hysteria.
“We’ve been working together for a long time, my boy,” Albus said kindly.
“Too long,” Severus rejoined before conjuring a glass of scotch for both
himself and Potter. He smirked at Albus before sniffing it appreciatively and
taking the first burning sip.
“Not impressive,” Albus said in a faux whisper. “Now, share a sherbet lemon
with the boy, and I’ll cast a longing look your way.”
Severus rolled his eyes when he heard Potter choke at Albus’ choice of
phrasing.
“Never fear, Potter. A few more weeks of my illustrious company and you’ll be
casting longing looks my way as well. I’ll have more beaus than any thirty
eight year old wizard has any right to.”
Potter choked again, though this time was on a surprised laugh.
Severus put off on teasing Potter to read the article more closely, reading
between the lines. The Muggle reporter had done her job well, interviewing
anything that would stand still, apparently. After he read that article, he
scoured the rest of the newspaper for any other news that might suggest the
Dark Lord had visited the town.
There was nothing.
It took Severus and Harry six long, gruelling weeks to finally track down
Narcissa Malfoy two Apparation points north of Devon; six weeks during which
they first began to grudgingly trust one another, then found an odd spark of
rather black affection and then... Well. And then.
It was all due to the suggestion of one meddling old fool of a deceased former
Headmaster who didn't know enough to just be dead, already.
Break the ice, indeed.
Severus implemented Albus’ plan in the darkest part of night, not long after
that first newspaper article, waiting until Potter had stopped fidgeting and
all was still around them. He wasn’t certain that Potter hadn’t already
succumbed to sleep, but a small part of him hoped that was the case, as he was
quite willing to procrastinate on this.
“I hate my name,” he said, the words coming out hesitant. He scowled into the
darkness, irritated with himself for such weakness.
He heard Harry shift on the sofa and turn toward him. “What?”
“I hate my name,” he said, this time forcing the words to come out in a sure,
steady tone.
“Erm, okay.”
He could almost see the look of confusion on the young man’s face. He sighed
heavily and tried to find another way to do this. This “ice breaking” thing
Albus had suggested. He still thought it was a stupid phrase—obviously
Muggle—as well as a stupid idea. He and Potter didn’t really need to become
less hostile, did they?
“It’s why I don’t allow many people to use it. Of course, Albus and Minerva are
both oblivious to my wishes, or they simply overlook them, as always.”
“Mmm, Dumbledore isn’t one for being very formal.” Potter’s voice was sleepy
and slow, as if he were on the very verge of sleep.
“No, he isn’t,” Snape agreed, then added, “Sleep, Potter. We’ll talk again
later.”
A rustling then, and Potter’s voice came again. “We were talking?”
“Words were forming by the combination of the force of air through our larynxes
and the manipulation of the sounds emitted by our lips, teeth, and tongue.
Therefore, yes, we were speaking.”
“There’s a difference, you know.”
“Really, Potter? Do enlighten me.”
“Speaking and talking are very different. Speaking means you don’t care if the
other person is really paying attention. Talking suggests a conversation. It
means you want the other person to respond. So were we speaking or talking?”
“Potter, your convoluted thought processes quite literally make my head throb.
You do realise that the definition of those words is the same, yes? They are
synonyms.”
“Maybe the dictionary defines them similarly, but… Hey, you didn’t answer my
question. Were you telling me that to provoke a conversation, or was it just…?”
Severus was rather certain the snapping sound he heard was the truth finally
dawning on the brat.
“You don’t ever just say something. You do want to talk.”
Severus rubbed his hands over his face, silently cursing Albus to seven
different kinds of hell. He was certain he would lose some brain matter in the
next few minutes, but he stubbornly pushed forward anyway.
“I… it would behove us to become less… antagonistic toward one another.”
“Why?”
“Why, indeed. Goodnight, Potter.”
Five minutes later, he was just about to fall over the edge of sleep when
Potter’s voice jolted him awake.
“I meant, why do you hate your name?”
Severus smirked at a star that had the audacity to twinkle down at him through
the transparent ceiling of the tent and said, “It’s long and awkward and far
too pompous. I would rather have been a John or some such.”
“John? I… can’t picture you as a John.”
“Potter, regardless of the name bestowed upon me at my birth, my genetic makeup
would have assured that I would have looked exactly the same as a John as I do
now.”
“Do you think?” Harry asked. “Maybe that’s true, but I bet you would have been
different somehow. I always thought people rather fit their names.”
“Potter…”
“No, really! Think about it. I look a lot like my father. He also had a rather
common, ordinary name. And well, not to put too fine a point on it, but we both
became rather common, ordinary looking men. Your name, though, has character.
It tells something about you. It sounds dark and brooding, and, well, you are.”
“Quite.”
Silence stretched between them again, until Potter asked, “Are you angry with
me?”
“Should I be?”
“I didn’t mean that as an insult.”
“Which is fortuitous, as you do not have the skill necessary to insult me.”
“Shut up. Git.”
“Go to sleep, brat.”
A pause, then, “We’ll talk more tomorrow?”
“Perhaps.”
“That means yes, then. Goodnight.”
Mysterious Fire Breaks Out in Harlow Primary School. Ten Trapped Students Burn to Death.
"Why is Vo--shit, erm, the Dark Lord after Mrs Malfoy? I mean, she's
running like she's scared of him, but... Well, it's not like he's going to hurt
her or the baby, right? Because then he'd be doing our job for us and... Wait.
Not that I mean we're going to hurt her or the baby. "
Severus sighed and rolled his eyes, secure in the knowledge that Potter
couldn't see the action. "Our plan is to detain Narcissa, by any means
necessary, Potter. If detaining her requires us to injure her, then we shall
injure her. It is not the ideal situation and we will attempt to avoid such a
circumstance but do not expect that we can shirk this duty. For any reason. As
to why the Dark Lord is pursuing her… I cannot say. Perhaps to keep this final
bit of his soul close to him."
"Snape... if we will do anything, stop at nothing, then what separates us
from the people we're fighting against?"
"Merely the reason for fighting. This is war—do not to forget that."
Lullingstone Castle Destroyed By Sudden Storm
Severus set down his knife and braced his arms against the worktable, head
drooping wearily.
“What ails you, my boy?”
“Too many questions with no answers.”
“Such as?”
“Such as, why is the Dark Lord following Narcissa? It is such an obvious
question that even Potter thought to ask it.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“That the Dark Lord is ensuring his last Horcrux stays safe.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“Of course I don’t. I’m not as simple-minded as Pott—”
“Call him Harry.”
“What?”
“You are still transferring your anger at his father onto the boy. Take this
one small step, and I won’t bother you any longer about how you treat him.
Well, as long as your treatment of him doesn’t deteriorate.”
“For that alone, I will call him any bloody thing you like.”
“Harry will do for now. Please continue.”
“Fine. I was saying that P—Harry was easily convinced. But I am not.
There is another reason, one that I fear we might be too late in discovering.”
“Should we abort this mission?”
“No. No, we cannot do that. Regardless of what lies at the end of this journey,
we are committed to our path. I simply wish I knew what Lucius and the Dark
Lord have planned.”
“Severus…”
Some odd tone in Dumbledore’s voice made Severus’s attention sharpen. “Yes?”
“Tom… if he uses his link with you, the one to your mark, would he be able to
track you that way?”
“No. I’ve been very careful to take a blocking potion. As long as I take it on
time every day, his link to me is severed. But he can track Narcissa’s.
I’m… surprised, really, that he hasn’t done so.”
“You’re not surprised. You’re worried.”
“Quite. I fear he might have more planned, and that we may have unwittingly
sprung his trap.”
Flood Sweeps Through Village, Destroying Crops and Livestock
"So we spent all day searching Brentwood, and only spoke to each other.
Does that mean it's time to talk?"
Severus turned his head and looked at Potter across the room before settling
himself more comfortably onto his own little sofa. Well, not so little. He had
also made use of his transfiguration skills and made his sofa large enough for
his frame and firm enough so that he wouldn't wake up with a sore back. He
snorted as he thought to himself that Potter had probably turned his into a
fluffy soft air bed. "Yes, Potter. We can talk."
"Oh." Potter sounded surprised, which made Severus roll his eyes.
"Speak, boy."
"Ah, I was just trying to find something to talk about. I didn't really
expect the ice-breaking thing to last longer than a day, honestly."
“Your amazement is second only to my own.”
“Erm, so… what have you been doing the past year and a half?”
Severus rolled his eyes and settled in for a long discussion. He had given
himself to his course and there was no turning back now…
“I have been surviving, Potter.”
He spoke at length about his role as a spy, feeding Potter information in small
pieces. It wasn’t until a lusty yawn from across the room stopped him that
Severus realised the time.
Oddly enough, speaking to the boy had been rather… therapeutic. Perhaps
Dumbledore’s suggestion hadn’t been such a brainless one, after all.
This time, when he said, “Have a good night, Potter. We’ll talk again
tomorrow,” he found that he was actually looking forward to it. How very
peculiar.
Illness Strikes in Faversham; Residents Quarantined
“Why are the Malfoys trying for a new heir?” Harry asked, holding his breath as
he awaited the answer. It was night again, the time to talk, to tell secrets
they couldn’t bring themselves to speak during the day.
Snape took a long time to reply, long enough that Harry was certain he’d either
fallen asleep or simply wasn’t going to answer. Finally, though, Snape
spoke.
“The Dark Lord does not look favourably on those he counts as failures. The
Malfoys have been collectively failing him since your second year at Hogwarts.
He was less than pleased with Draco’s inability to cast the killing curse on
the Headmaster.” Snape paused then, and Harry drew a ragged breath.
“He killed Draco, didn’t he?” Harry asked, and then wanted to call the words
back. He really didn’t want to know the answer.
Snape shifted on his sofa, drawing Harry’s gaze from the fire to him. His long,
lean body was stretched from one side of the sofa he’d chosen to the other.
Harry blinked suddenly when he realised that Snape was rather… well, rather fit.
He shook his head at the inappropriate observation and focused on the matter at
hand.
That was when he noticed that Snape was struggling, just the slightest, with
what he was about to say. It was so very unlike Snape, that Harry went
perfectly still and paid strict attention. Whatever had happened to Draco, it
had affected Snape deeply enough that the man couldn’t help but show it.
“After we fled the castle that night, we returned to the Dark Lord’s
headquarters in Cambridge. Everyone was there, including Lucius Malfoy. Lucius
was given a choice: either he could kill Draco, or he could die in Draco’s
stead. Lucius chose to save himself.”
Harry felt his breath seize in his lungs. He’d always hated Draco Malfoy, but
no one, no one should have to spend their last minute on earth knowing
that their own father loved himself more than his own child.
“My god,” Harry whispered. “That man needs to die.”
“And so it shall be done, Potter. I assure you. I will take more pleasure than
you know in being the one to put an end to Lucius Malfoy once and for all.”
Harry nodded and fell silent, thinking over what he now knew. Draco Malfoy was
dead. And… had been for the past eighteen months. Good lord, he’d only been
seventeen. Scared, alone, hopeless. Harry could close his eyes and remember the
look of panic that had been on Draco’s face that night so long ago. It seemed
impossible that the boy could really be dead.
But then, Harry remembered also the horrendously cold and callous man that
Lucius Malfoy was and decided that perhaps, it wasn’t so difficult to believe
at all.
The only other words spoken that night came nearly an hour later when Harry
whispered softly, “Good night, sir.”
Mines Collapse in Sittingbourne; No Body Count Yet, Though Expectations Grim
“I’m a virgin.”
Harry couldn’t hold back a smile as Snape choked on something across from him.
He didn’t dare raise his eyes, but that was more so Snape wouldn’t think he was
laughing at him than anything else. He expected to be teased mercilessly, but
he was comfortable enough with Snape now that he didn’t hold back during their
nightly chats.
For two weeks they’d been talking deep into the night, discussing mostly dark
matters pertaining to the war, and Harry was quite in the mood for a change.
Just for tonight, if nothing else, he wanted to have a normal conversation that
didn’t revolve around the war. Talk to someone like he was eighteen.
Thankfully, Snape seemed somewhat willing to accommodate his desires. “I’m, ah,
surprised that the Weasley brat didn’t relieve you of that.”
Harry shook his head. “No, Ginny and I broke it off after… umm, just before the
end of sixth year.”
“After I killed Albus, then.”
“Erm, yeah, that.”
“For your elucidation, I was actually referring to the other Weasley
brat. Ronald.”
This time it was Harry’s turn to choke. “What?! Ron’s not… I’m
not…”
Snape snorted. “Whether you’ve admitted it to yourself or not, you are;
I’ve seen inside your head, remember? With the way he dogged your footsteps,
I’m sure I’m not the only one who was under the impression that the two of you
shared a special relationship. Or perhaps a ménage with Miss Granger.”
Harry went dead silent then, trying in vain to get the images that Snape was
hurling at him out of his head.
“Good night, Snape,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out
squeaky.
He could feel Snape’s smirk. “Sweet dreams, Potter.”
“Oh, god.”
~*~
Severus was highly amused over the next few days as Potter began sliding long,
considering looks at him. It therefore, came as no surprise when the subject of
sex came up once more.
“What about you?” Harry asked, voice full of false bravado.
“Hmm?”
“When did you…? Was it after you became a Death Eater?”
“You wouldn’t be referring to my sexual initiation, would you, Potter?”
“Actually, I was asking who popped your cherry and when, but yeah.”
“Cheeky.”
“Heh, I’m growing on you, aren’t I?”
“Rather like a wart.”
“Wait, you’re avoiding the question. Who, when, where?”
“I’m not avoiding anything, Potter. Unlike someone, I find it in rather
poor taste to discuss my sexual exploits.”
“Well, I’d probably find it in poor taste, too, if I had any to discuss.”
“You could always rhapsodize over your right hand. I’m sure that would be
scintillating enough to ensure a solid ten hours of sleep for myself.”
“Huh.”
“Eloquent, as always.”
“You use your right hand?”
Severus maintained his silence, not willing to dignify that question with an
answer.
“Come on, Snape. You started it. Answer the question.”
Severus sighed heavily, realising that Harry would continue pestering him all
night if he didn’t give in just a bit now. “Potter, when I have urges,
I… oh, bloody hell. I’m not having this conversation with a child.”
Now it was Harry’s turn to let the silence stretch taut between them.
Severus sighed heavily and said, “What, Potter?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m not a child. For another, I’ve always used my left hand.
Now, if you’re finished avoiding the question, when did you, you know, do
it?”
“On the night of my initiation ceremony into the Death Eaters, an orgy was
held. Thirty Muggle virgins of both sexes were assembled simply to pleasure
me.”
Harry sat up and gaped at Severus. “Bloody hell. Really?”
“No, you dolt. Merlin, you’d believe anything, wouldn’t you?”
Harry recognised the humour and chuckled softly. “Well, we always talked about
it, you know. What sort of depraved things Death Eaters did at their
gatherings. We figured it was something like that. With the Muggle virgins and
all, I mean.”
“Potter, the Dark Lord’s idea of an orgasmic experience is casting the
Cruciatus until blood runs out his victim’s ears. Pleasure is a rare
occurrence, indeed.”
“Then… why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why join him? Or did you think it would be different?”
“I was young, full of my own sense of immortality, and stupid. I was also quite
an easy mark, as I felt that my… talents… were unappreciated.” Severus’ voice
was cool enough to put Potter off of pursuing this line of questioning. Or not.
“Oh.” A short silence, then the small sound of Harry’s voice broke the
stillness. “What talents?”
Severus blinked and snorted. “Strangely enough, there are actually some who
presume me to be fairly passable at Potions and the Dark Arts.”
“Oh! Oh, yeah, I just… I thought you meant…”
Severus let out an exasperated breath. “Potter, I will tell you this one final
time. Meetings between the Dark Lord and his followers never involved orgies or
sex or anything else you can think up in that adolescent,
addicted-to-the-idea-of-sex brain of yours. Merlin, deliver me from sexually
deprived virgins.”
Harry muttered something that sounded rather a lot like, “Shut up.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Fine. Night.”
“It is, indeed.”
~*~
"Potter."
Harry rolled over and propped his head on his hand.
"I thought perhaps now would be an ideal time to remind you that the
Headmaster is privy to every sound we make. Which includes our
conversations."
Harry felt his stomach drop before lurching up into his throat. For a moment,
he thought he would be sick.
"He's... he's... he's... !!!"
Severus smirked up at the night sky, barely seeing the clouds that blocked the
stars as he pictured the expression on Potter's face.
"Now, will you let your curiosity go, or should we continue our...
conversation... from last evening?"
“Oh, god.”
The rain that started to lightly fall on the roof of their tent obscured the
sound of Severus’ quiet chuckles.
~*~
Severus wasn’t quite so struck with humour two hours later when Harry’s
strangled groan woke him. “What is it, Potter?”
“I just… I wanked this afternoon! I… I had my fingers up my… oh, god, he
heard me! He saw me! I know he did!”
Severus blinked up at the night sky, quite at a loss for words. He’d been
successful in managing to think of the boy as a … well, as a boy. But the image
Harry’s words forced on him sent desire thrumming slowly through him.
Harry’s young, strong, lithe body twisting with pleasure as he used one hand—his
right, naturally—to finger himself, and the other to slowly stroke the length
of his cock.
Severus’ willpower was such that even this was nothing that he couldn’t push
back down, but that one image was a leak in the dam of his tightly held
self-control.
Drawing a steadying breath, Severus rolled to his side, putting his back to the
brat while he fought his body’s natural reaction. “Go to sleep, Potter. No
doubt the Headmaster didn’t even notice.”
Another groan was his only answer, which really didn’t help his problem.
Neither man slept for the rest of the evening, the same thought keeping them
both awake, though for vastly different reasons.
~*~
The wickedly teasing Snape from their night-time banter was lost in the cold
light of day when they finally spotted Narcissa Malfoy in Whitfield. Snape left
Harry immediately, cautioning him to stay hidden as they still did not know if
Voldemort was following them or her.
“Wait!” Harry called, running after Snape. “I want to go with you.”
“Potter, are you daft? You can’t come with me.”
“Why not? You said I’m in danger here; well, so are you!”
“We’re all in danger, idiot, but you’re far more important in the grand scheme
of things than I am.”
“Don’t call me an idiot! You’re rushing off after her! Well, guess what? They
might have seen her, too! Did you ever think of that?”
“Stop screaming at me, Potter. Of course I thought of that. Of course I
did. Do you think I’ve survived this long without thinking everything through
to the very last detail?”
“Then… why not take me with you? I could be your backup? Guard you. Something.”
Snape closed his eyes, lips set in a grim line. “Potter, I need you to stay
here. If you’re out there, with me, I won’t be able to look to my own
well-being and defence because I will be far too concerned for yours. So do as
I tell you, for once in your life, and just… stay.”
Harry clenched his fists and opened his mouth to say something, but Snape cut
him off.
“Dammit, boy, I’ve known dogs easier to train! Just stay here. If it will ease
your mind, I will take the miniature with me.”
Harry let out a breath and considered this compromise. Slowly, he relaxed his
hands and nodded. “Okay, just…”
“Yes, boy,” Snape muttered, obviously impatient to go. “What is it?”
“Come…” Harry swallowed roughly. “Come back. I—well, I still want to know who
your first was, right?”
Snape stilled and looked at him oddly before his lips twitched slightly and he
said, “Indeed.”
~*~
Severus stood in the doorway of the room Narcissa had let under the name Andrea
Bell. A tribute to her sisters, and one that had been immediately obvious to
Severus. His eyes swept her thinly-clothed body, taking in the emaciation that
running had caused, which only highlighted how heavy with milk her breasts
were. Her stomach was flat and as he looked around, he saw no sign of the babe.
A disillusionment spell, perhaps, though they were risky to use on the very
young.
He stepped closer, allowing his feet to make sound, disturbing her rest. She
rolled over with a sharp cry; her body curving around an object that his eyes
told him was not there.
“Narcissa,” he called, his voice firm, almost sharp. It was deliberate, this
seeming coldness. He watched with satisfaction as she stiffened, then
straightened, smoothing down the worn, rent garment she wore. Her face lifted
to him and he nearly flinched at the abject hopelessness that was stamped so
clearly there.
“Severus,” she said, rising shakily to her feet. She approached him then, not
looking at anything else in the room, especially not the baby, though they both
knew he was aware of its presence now. “You look… much better than the last
time I saw you.”
“It would be rather difficult to look worse, but then you always were a master
of understatement.”
She raised a hand to him and he didn’t so much as glance at the dirty, broken
nails before he kissed it lightly on the back. He allowed his fingers to caress
the underside of her wrist as he released her before saying, “Gracious, as
always.”
“And you?” she asked.
He raised a black brow and shook his head. “Gracious? Have I ever been?”
“You helped me once, Severus. Perhaps not with gentility, but you did come to
my aid when I needed you. Would you do so again?”
He hesitated, trying to find words to assure her while not promising something
he might not be able to deliver. His silence had gone too long, though,
apparently, for she suddenly dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to
his thigh, the classic pose of the supplicant.
“Please, Severus,” she whispered harshly. “I need your help.”
He leaned down and gripped her arms—shaken at how terribly thin and frail she
felt—and pulled her to her feet. He wiped the silver tears from her cheeks,
smudging the dirt. “Narcissa, I am not the safest person for you to seek help
from. The Dark Lord wishes me dead, and the armies of the Light aren’t exactly
assured of my innocence.”
“Severus… I can’t do this alone. I’m tired of running, but I can’t stop. I
can’t allow them to find h-me.” She caught herself just before she slipped, but
he heard it still.
“If you want my help, Narcissa, I demand that you trust me.”
The look in her eyes was haunted, hunted. She was close to her breaking point,
and knowing what a strong woman she was, he wondered at all that had happened
to her. He relented then, allowing her a bit of space.
Releasing her, he stepped back and said, “I am not travelling alone, Narcissa.
There is another person with me—”
“No!” she screamed, running to the corner of the room and rummaging through a
pile of rags before she held up a wand. “I won’t let you take me to him!”
“Narcissa, put the wand down. I won’t let anyone hurt you. He won’t let
anyone hurt you.” He kept his voice low and soothing.
Her laughter was almost manic, her eyes wild as they rolled around frantically,
trying to see into every corner. She was edging toward the sleeping mat, until
she stood between Severus and the baby. “He wants me dead, Severus. He has his
hounds sniffing all up and down England looking for me. There is no way out; no
escape.”
Severus blinked and relaxed his shoulders. “I’m not travelling with Lucius,
Narcissa. Nor the Dark Lord.”
Her eyes snapped to his again and her wand hand trembled as she tried to decide
if he was lying to her or not. He held up his hands, showing them to be empty
and said, “Trust me a moment more, Narcissa. I’ll show you proof.”
He reached slowly into the inner pocket of his robes, withdrawing the miniature
of Albus. Tapping the frame three times, he waited until he saw a flash of
white before he held it out to her.
Her eyes flicked to it once, then twice, before she stepped hesitantly forward.
Seeing Albus, she cried out and dropped her wand, raising her hands to her face
as she sank to the ground in tears.
~*~
Severus returned to the campsite that afternoon to see Harry pacing, agitated.
When Harry heard the ‘pop’ of Apparation, he looked up, relief etched on his
face as he ran forward, stopping just prior to throwing himself at Severus. He
whacked Severus on the shoulder instead, garnering himself a narrow-eyed look.
“Well?”
“I located Narcissa Malfoy and her daughter.”
“A girl?” Harry asked, voice lilting in surprise.
“Yes. Why do you sound shocked? There are, actually, more women on earth than
men.”
“Shut up. I know that, it’s just… odd, somehow. I thought it would be a boy.”
“Another Draco?”
Harry shrugged and looked away, lost for a moment in memories of childhood
fights and rivalries. Shaking himself, he turned back to Severus and, shielding
his gaze from the late afternoon sun, said, “Where is Mrs. Malfoy, then?”
“She is with Albus.”
“And the baby?”
Severus smirked and said lightly, “Did you think I would bring a squalling,
puking, pissing little ball of humanity with me?”
Harry thought about it for a moment and said, “Yeah. You would. So where is
she?”
Severus raised an eyebrow and said, “Well done, brat. She is strapped to my
back, under a disillusionment spell.”
“Isn’t that… dangerous?”
“It would be more dangerous for her to be found.”
Harry swallowed and nodded before patting gently along Severus’ back until he
felt the downy softness of the baby’s head. With a deep breath, he tapped it
very, very lightly and watched as the pink skin of a newborn baby appeared. The
fuzz on top of the head was nearly transparent it was so pale, making the baby
appear bald.
“What’s her name?” he whispered, lips curving in a small smile as he saw the
tiny eyelids closed over her eyes, her impossibly small hands clutching
Severus’ robes so trustingly. He had to blink a few times to get rid of the
hot, dry, scratchy feeling in his eyes. He raised a hand and drew the tip of
his finger down her skin, marvelling at how incredibly soft it was.
Severus pursed his lips and said, “Emily.”
“Oh.”
He watched as Severus quirked an eyebrow at him, and blushed. “Sorry, erm, it’s
just that… well, Emily is such a normal-sounding name. I like it! I
mean, it’s a good name! It’s just that I didn’t expect something like that.”
“’Draco’ was a family name, Potter. Really, you shouldn’t presume to know what
a family like the Malfoy’s will do. You are far and away too different from
them.”
Harry rolled his lips under and nodded, watching Severus closely. Deciding to
change the subject, he asked, “What should we do?”
“First, we wait for sunset. Then we perform the ritual. After that, we’ll make
whatever plans need to be made.”
“Are you…”
Harry’s stare was steady as Severus turned back to him. “Am I what?”
“Are you hiding something?”
“I am hiding everything, Potter. Everything.”
Harry sighed gustily and said, “No, I mean, something from me?”
“I am hiding more from you than you can possibly imagine,” Severus said,
allowing his eyes to lock with Harry’s.
“Why?”
“Because, as much as it pains me to admit, I am not willing to sacrifice your
innocence on the brutal truths this world has to offer. Not yet. Now, if you’ll
excuse me, I must go prepare the potions we’ll be using in the ritual.”
He was allowed five steps before Harry’s voice reached him. “What if I don’t
mind sacrificing my innocence?”
Severus shook his head and continued toward their tent. He didn’t have the time
necessary to frighten the young man out of his natural curiosity. He ducked
under the flap and made his way to the bedroom/laboratory.
Gently easing the sleeping baby from his back, he settled it as comfortably as
possible into a cradle he transfigured from a small stool. Setting a privacy
spell around the cradle so that nothing would disturb the baby’s rest, he
turned to the workbench along one wall. He had barely started a fire under the
cauldron when a draft let him know that he was no longer alone.
“You’re disturbing my laboratory, Potter.”
“I’d rather be disturbing you,” Harry muttered, so low Severus just
barely managed to hear him.
You’re doing so, brat. Severus rolled his head on his neck, trying to
relax for the upcoming ritual as he knew that it would require every bit of his
concentration. The tiny shifting sounds coming from behind him continued to
distract him, however, and he finally turned to Harry, perturbed. He allowed
his exasperation to colour his tone as he said, “Really, Potter, what do
you want?”
“I want you to talk to me,” Harry replied, petulant.
“I haven’t the time for that now; we haven’t the time.”
“Can’t you just—” Harry cut himself off, one hand dragging through his fly-away
hair as he obviously fought some internal battle. Severus waited, lining up
ingredients, for Harry to finish with himself. A fleeting image of a debauched
young man ‘finishing himself’ flitted through Severus’ mind before he expelled
it—forcefully.
“I’m scared, Snape. Frightened out of my mind. I don’t know—I don’t know if I
can do this.”
“The ritual?”
“Yes, the ritual, the hunting, the… everything! When we do this, Snape, there’s
nothing else standing in the way. When this is done, I have to find him.”
Severus’ hands stilled and he glared down at the bits of green foliage that
floated in his potion base. He put down the mortar and pestle he had been about
to crush the beetle wings with and turned to Harry, schooling his features into
blandness.
“Would you like for me to stop? It isn’t necessary that we perform this ritual.
Nor is it necessary that we rid Narcissa’s child of the Horcrux the Dark Lord
placed in it. Certainly it isn’t necessary for you to find him, to confront
him, to kill him.” He hated himself in that moment for the hope that
flared so quickly in Harry’s eyes before he brutally squelched it. “We can go
on as we’ve been doing: fighting one losing battle after another against the
Dark Lord and his supporters, neither of you killing the other. We can allow
more Muggles to end up like those in Sawston, watch more villages burn to the
ground in the name of blood purity, watch more and more witches and wizards
turn to the Dark because they can find no hope for salvation in the Light. And
eventually, we will be destroyed.” He spoke the bleak truth with a voice so
matter-of-fact that even he wondered where he found the strength. “But I can
stop, Potter, if that is what you wish.”
He watched as Harry dropped down into a crouch, hands locked at the base of his
skull, elbows on his knees. Relenting slightly, Severus stepped forward and
placed one hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing lightly, before he continued
across the room to retrieve a journal he really didn’t need.
When Harry’s voice came, it was muffled by his position, but that didn’t lessen
the impact the ragged query had on Severus. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
“No! No you bloody well will not, Potter! I haven’t sacrificed this much to
simply let you die.”
Harry lifted his head, his hands sliding down to clasp around the back of his
neck. His glasses were smudged and slightly fogged, which dimmed the brilliant
green of his eyes.
“Now, then,” Severus said, voice slightly rough, “if you are quite finished
feeling sorry for yourself, I believe this would be a most excellent time for
you to learn your part of the ritual we are about to perform.”
He felt an emotion akin to relief when Potter pushed himself to his feet and
came forward, a far more willing pupil now than he’d ever been in Severus’
memory.
~*~
At dusk, Harry watched, his chest feeling as if it would cave in at any moment,
as Snape ladled some of the potion Snape had been working on into two ritual
cups. They were rough, and earthenware, but Harry knew they would be as pure as
magic could make them.
Harry’s voice cracked a bit as he asked, “What’s the potion for, again?”
Snape handed him one of the cups and stared into the vibrantly purple depths of
his own potion before he replied. “This is a binding potion to combine our magic.
In effect, it will double the power we each hold, for that is the only way to
protect ourselves against the power that resides in the Horcrux. A soul, even a
fraction of a tarnished soul, holds more power than the most powerful wizard.
We would be safer if we had a third, as three is a number of power. However, I
do assure you that you are as safe as you can be. The Headmaster and I were
fully capable of maintaining control during the process on two other
occasions.”
“How—how did Hermione and the others destroy the ones they had?”
“Do not forget they have the aid of the Headmaster, himself. As he has been a
participant in this very ritual the exact number of times as myself, he is
quite capable of advising them.”
“But what about the potion?”
Snape looked up at him, his lips quirking at the corners, and said, “Potter,
Albus Dumbledore was one of the foremost wizards of our, or any, age. He was
and is fully capable of instructing someone with Miss Granger’s intellect of
the proper way to prepare the potion.”
“Oh.”
Snape just rolled his eyes and handed him a vial. “Yes, well… bottoms up,
Potter.”
“Cheers, Snape,” Harry muttered before he held his breath and drank the potion
down in two quick gulps. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the way his body
felt, wondering when the potion would take effect. After several minutes had
gone by, he blinked and looked up, catching the flash of humour in Snape’s
eyes. Deciding he’d already shown his ignorance and nothing could really damage
him further in Snape’s view, he shrugged and said, “I don’t feel any
different.”
“What did you expect, Potter? That you would be able to hear my every thought;
feel my deepest emotion?”
“Erm, well… yeah. Something like that.”
Snape shook his head and returned his ritual cup to the table top. “Such
romantic nonsense is the stuff of pure fiction, Potter. If a potion existed to
allow anyone into my thoughts, I would never willingly quaff it.”
Harry snorted. “If that isn’t the gods’ own truth. You’re the most
suspicious person I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you.”
“You think that’s a compliment? Remember, I know Mad-Eye Moody, too.”
“Ahh, definitely not a compliment, then. But do take into consideration that
were it not for my oh-so-suspicious nature, you would likely have perished in
your first year at Hogwarts.”
“Huh. Yeah, well, still. You could stand to be a little more…”
“What?”
“Soft.”
“But Potter,” the wicked gleam in Snape’s eyes alerted Harry to the fact that
he was about to make another of those outrageous statements of his, “I thought
we had both come to the conclusion that you prefer it… hard.”
Harry blushed and groaned, dropping his head onto the surface of the worktable
in front of him and pounding it several times for good measure. “You. Are.
Evil.”
“So I’ve been led to believe.”
“No, really. You do this on purpose. And only when Dumbledore isn’t
around to hear you!”
“It’s called excellent timing, Potter. God willing, one day you might acquire a
bit of your own.” Snape swept from the tent, but somehow Harry heard his dark
chuckles long after he’d gone.
~*~
Harry stepped out of their tent into the clearing, momentarily taken aback at
how different it was. Snape had obviously been busy. Where once there had been
a brush-pile, a craggy-sided, smooth-topped granite altar stood, surrounded on
all sides by pure, rich brown earth.
The baby was laid out on the stone, but didn’t appear to be in any discomfort.
Harry wondered if it was possible that Snape had placed a cushioning charm on
the altar. Rituals sometimes went weird in the presence of magic and Harry
worried for a moment that whatever was causing the baby to lie so still might
be harming it.
As he stepped up beside the altar, he noticed that the baby was simply
sleeping. He smiled softly and reached a hand out to touch her, wanting to feel
that soft skin against his finger again, but Snape stopped him.
“Don’t, Potter. Concentrate on gathering your magic now.”
Harry nodded and drew a shaky breath, closing his eyes as he felt inside
himself for the place where his magic always seemed to emanate. After a moment,
he opened his eyes and looked up. Snape was standing across the altar from him,
arms raised above the baby, palms out, facing Harry.
Harry raised his own hands, pressing them lightly to Snape’s. He gasped when he
felt their magic meet, and looked into Snape’s eyes as the other man began to
chant, beginning the ritual.
~*~
Narcissa set her empty teacup on a low table and turned back to the miniature
portrait, a slight smile on her face. “Thank you, Headmaster. I… I suppose I
was due for a breakdown.” She looked at her hands, which rested properly in her
lap, wishing in that moment that she was the sort who could show her unease by
gripping them tightly. But she’d already embarrassed herself and her family
enough for one day. Crying, and in front of an audience, at that. It was
unthinkable.
Raising her gaze again to the dots of blue paint in the tiny frame, she said,
“With everything that has happened in the past few months, I find it nearly
difficult to believe that I am here with you, sharing tea and conversation.”
Albus Dumbledore smiled politely and stroked one painted hand down his beard as
he regarded her with a kind, but intelligent gaze. “With everything that has
happened, indeed. Narcissa, one thing we have yet to understand fully… why did
you run? Surely there was nothing for you to fear at that point?”
Narcissa lowered her gaze demurely again, hiding the sudden flare of anger that
was tinged with fear. “Nothing to fear? How wrong you are. The… the Dark Lord.
He owns my husband in ways you do not understand. I have already lost one child
to this war. I am not prepared to lose another one.”
“Lose your child? But, my dear, if I may be so bold… surely Tom would never
dare to harm the child that is the vessel for one of the last remaining pieces
of his soul.”
Narcissa frowned and looked up. “The vessel for… what? I’m sorry, Headmaster,
but that makes very little sense.”
Albus smiled quizzically. “My dear, surely you are aware that the ritual Riddle
performed was to place a portion of his soul into your womb.”
Narcissa’s expression matched Albus’, she was sure. Had he been speaking Greek,
he couldn’t have confused her more. “I’m sorry, Albus. I don’t follow.”
“Your child, my dear. The baby.”
“Yes, I understand that this has something to do with Emily. What I don’t
understand is… what are you talking about? What ritual?”
She watched as Albus went perfectly still before gripping the inside edges of
his frame and pressing forward until only his face showed in its confines.
“There was a ritual. Just before you left. You were bound to an altar and
Riddle killed the Minister. He used that death to capture a portion of his soul
and implant it in your daughter.”
Narcissa shook her head, still confused. “No. No, he didn’t. I escaped when he
told Lucius to cut her from my womb. I simply was not willing to allow another
of my children to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord’s madness.”
Dumbledore looked at her for a long moment, his expression one that Narcissa had
never seen on the old wizard. The silence was broken by the cries of her child,
and Narcissa stood automatically, her mother’s instinct directing her toward
her child. Her motion must have snapped Dumbledore out of his state, because
the next moment he was urging her to run. “Stop them, Narcissa! Stop them!
Before it is too late!”
Narcissa’s blood ran cold at the panic in his voice and, without stopping to
pick up the portrait, ran out of her tent. As she cleared the flap, she heard a
high, pain-filled scream.
The terror-filled scream of an infant, followed by complete silence.
~*~
Harry stared down at the petite body, wondering what the hell had happened;
what had gone so horribly wrong? He stumbled forward and stretched his hand
out, not thinking, just somehow sure that if he could touch it, he might be
able to stop the life from leaving it.
The skin, which had been a healthy pink colour moments before, was now chalk
white and waxy looking on one side of the tiny face and darkening with every
breath on the other. Like someone had taken face paints to it for a football
match, only this was far and away more grotesque.
Before his hand touched the pale skin, he heard a shriek behind him. It sounded
eerily like the egg he’d had to decipher during the Tournament in fourth year,
and wasn’t it odd that he was thinking of the Tournament now? But perhaps it
wasn’t so odd, really, when he remembered Cedric’s death then, and here he was
responsible for another…
“Narcissa.” Snape’s firm voice cut through Harry’s nearly hysterical thoughts.
He took one deep breath, followed it with another, and turned to see a look of
such devastation on Mrs Malfoy’s face that he could hardly stomach it. The
potion that he’d swallowed earlier churned in his gut and threatened to come
spewing forth, but he forced it back down, not wanting to draw any attention.
“Narcissa… please.” Harry’s head snapped around; he could hardly believe that
he’d heard correctly. Snape had never used the word ‘please’ in his life, as
far as Harry knew. Snape held tightly to Mrs Malfoy, trying to keep her from
the baby, to shield her from the brutal reality of its death, but she wrenched
away.
Mrs Malfoy continued screaming, great sobs shaking her frail form as she ran
forward and knelt beside the small altar they’d erected for the ritual. He had
no idea what to do, what to say, how to make this not so horriblewrongevil.
Swallowing again, he opened his mouth and said, his voice barely more than a
broken whisper, “Mrs Malfoy…”
As soon as the first sound left his mouth, she stopped screaming to turn and
spear him with a look so filled with pain and loathing that his breath dried in
his lungs. Harry felt a chill of foreboding race down his spine. If a mother’s
love had destroyed Voldemort all those years ago, what would a mother’s wrath
do?
“I trusted you,” she said, and her voice was… different. Not the light, dainty
sound he remembered. Turning to Snape, she said it again, “I trusted
you.”
~*~
Severus watched Narcissa warily as she gathered the still, limp form of the
baby to her chest. It didn’t occur to him until it was too late that she still
carried her wand.
She turned to Harry and said, her voice dead, "You killed my child."
Harry attempted to say something then, a choked word that was cut off at the
sound of Narcissa’s hard, shaking voice. "You killed my only surviving
child. Draco... died for choices he made. I thought I would die with him, but
then I was blessed with this precious life. And you killed her. She was a
chance to start anew, a hope for a better world." She stood and pointed
her wand at him, and her words rose eerily on the air. "You will live. You
will live so that I might have vengeance for my daughter, who cannot seek
vengeance for herself. You will see her in your dreams at night; hear her cry
in the wind. And when you finally know the miracle of birth, every single time
you hold that baby in your arms, you will remember what you took from me. The
life you stole from her will be yours."
“Live, Harry Potter, so that you might know my suffering.”
Severus shook his head and started forward. “Narcissa, stop this! You cannot
blame the boy; he didn’t know. He didn’t know!”
Narcissa turned to him and laughed, and it raised the hairs on his arms at the
sound of it. It had taken twelve years in Azkaban for her sister Bellatrix to
sound like that.
“Oh, Severus. Ignorance does not excuse responsibility. You, above all, should
understand that. You, who taught me that. You pleaded with me, did you
not? To join you. Just today!” She gave that neck-ruffling laugh again and
hugged the body of her baby closer to her chest. “’Join us, Narcissa, if not
for yourself, then for your baby.’ Is that not what you said, Severus? Just
before you took Emily and brought her here?”
Severus was saved from making a rejoinder by the sudden, startling appearance
of the Dark Lord in their midst.
“Severus. Did you truly think you could call upon such powerful magic and I
would not feel it? Every magical creature for miles will have felt the surge.”
Severus simply raised one eyebrow at the creature and replied, “I was less than
concerned. The most powerful ally you have is Lucius Malfoy, and… well. He’s
not much of a threat.” Severus coughed politely, smirking at the anger that
flashed through Voldemort’s slitted gaze.
“Yes, well, Lucius is no threat to anyone anymore,” Voldemort hissed. “Did you
truly believe that I would allow him to continue to live after he failed me so
spectacularly twice in the course of mere minutes?”
A sharp, high gasp and a stifled scream reminded Severus of Narcissa’s
presence. From the corner of his eye—he wasn’t likely to allow himself to be
distracted by anything with the Dark Lord standing mere feet from him,
wand held lightly in his grasp—he watched as Narcissa approached Voldemort, her
baby still clutched closely to her bosom.
“My husband. You… you killed my husband.”
“Really, my dear, you should thank me. After all, he killed your
precious son, did he not?”
“On your orders!”
Voldemort’s lips twitched in satisfaction. “Of course.”
Narcissa was visibly shaking, tears streaming down her white face. “My family,
all of them, destroyed.” She stepped closer and whispered harshly, “On the
whims of a filthy half-blood.”
Severus sucked in a sharp breath and made to move forward, but he was not fast
enough. The twisted look of rage on the Dark Lord’s face as he held her under
the Cruciatus was frightening to behold, even for a man as inured to terror as
Severus had become.
Raising his wand, Severus did the most foolish thing of his life. He cast a
disarming jinx at the Dark Lord. Thankfully, it worked, and also served to turn
the man’s wrath on him instead of Narcissa.
When the curse lifted from her, Narcissa raised her head, and Severus spared a
moment to look into her eyes. The blankness there sent a chill through him—the
last time he’d seen a look like that was after Bellatrix Lestrange had finished
with Alice Longbottom. The magnitude of the spell was reflected in the physical
evidence that his practiced eye catalogued, the shaking of her arms as she
raised up, the tremors that wracked her thin form, the two stains on her
gown--milk released by the physical reaction to the immense pain--her gasping
breaths, all told him that Narcissa was beyond all hope of healing.
Severus forced himself to look away when Narcissa placed the blue lips of her
dead child to her breast, cooing at it and stroking the downy hair of its head.
Harry moved closer to him then, drawing the Dark Lord’s attention.
~*~
Harry barely heard Narcissa’s keening, demented sounds, still trying to process
everything that had happened that evening, and could only stare in dumb shock
at Voldemort. He felt Snape at his side, like a dark shadow, but could not find
the comfort he’d thought he would draw from such a feeling.
“Well, well Potter… all grown up,” Voldemort said, red eyes sliding over
Harry’s body in a way that made his stomach twist with nausea. Accio-ing his
wand, he said, “It is past time we ended this farce.”
“Finally something we can agree on.”
“Ah, good. You’ve prepared yourself for death, then?”
“Death seems to be the prevailing theme for the evening.” Snape’s cool voice
cut through their banter, shaking Harry a bit. He was used to pre-battle
grandiose speeches. Without them, there was nothing left to do but fight. And
Harry suddenly didn’t want to fight.
He felt his hand start to tremble where it gripped his wand and he took several
gasping breaths, trying to keep them quiet so Voldemort wouldn’t know how close
he was to losing control. Voldemort’s evil, lipless smile was enough to tell
him he’d failed spectacularly.
“Tell me, Potter. It’s been so long since my first kill that I simply must
know. How did it feel?”
“I didn’t kill—”
“Nonsense, Harry. Of course you did. It was alive when you started your little
ritual and dead when you finished it. Of course you killed it. So again,
I ask: how did it feel?”
Harry’s throat worked frantically, trying to breathe or swallow or speak or something,
anything. He felt his eyes burn as tears began to cloud his vision and
somehow his hearing remained unaffected by the buzzing that seemed so loud in
his ears.
“Horcrux. You did it, you evil bastard,” he choked. He knew it didn’t make
sense, but he also knew Voldemort would understand him.
“A Horcrux?” Voldemort’s ringing laugh echoed through the clearing, tearing at
Harry.
A soft, “Steady, Potter,” reminded him of Snape at his side, and he felt a
small wave of strength roll through him.
“Really, Severus,” Voldemort continued, nearly convulsed with hissing laughter,
“what did you teach those impressionable students?”
“More than you did, my Lord,” Snape said, sketching a small, mocking bow. “Oh,
but then, you never were accepted for a teaching post there, were you?
Something about being unstable, I believe it was?”
Voldemort’s expression went from humour-filled to furious in the space of a
heartbeat. “I may not have been accepted by that fool, Severus, but at
least I understand the Dark Arts. How can someone who isn’t even
schooled in something as simple as a Horcrux possibly teach Defense? Hmm?”
“Really, Tom, you do blather on,” Snape said, flicking at the sleeve of his
robe, seemingly disinterested. Harry noticed, though, that he was tense as
ever, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, ready.
“Tell me, Severus. How many souls does a being possess?”
Snape didn’t even bother to answer the question, simply looked at Voldemort
with his most disdainful expression.
“Harry? Feel free to answer the question, if you’re able.”
Taking his cue from Snape, Harry remained silent.
“Ahh, I see the class doesn’t know. Allow me to provide instruction.” Voldemort
swept around the clearing, raising his wand in the manner of a Professor about
to give instruction on a chalkboard. “Humans, all creatures, really, have only
one soul. While it is true that a soul can be split, many times, the total
number of whole souls that can inhabit a being is still just one. Tell me,
Severus old friend, if this statement is… oh, I don’t know… interesting
to you, in light of recent… events.” In the blink of an eye, Voldemort
was standing in front of Snape, right up in his face.
Harry watched Snape, who just blinked in a very bored fashion, but something
was niggling Harry. Something was making his gut begin to churn in dread.
Voldemort was about to tell them something simply awful, he just… knew…
“What do you mean, just one? What did you do to that baby before you turned her
into a Horcrux? Did you…?” The idea was so awful, so incredibly repulsive and
evil, that Harry felt his stomach heave. “Did you suck her soul out?”
“No, Harry, I left that for you.”
“Wh—what? That doesn’t make any sense.” Harry felt Snape move fractionally
beside him and he turned to look, to gather the strength from Snape that he
couldn’t find in himself to continue this confrontation to its conclusion. What
he saw was a look that was so blank, he knew Snape was using every bit of his
concentration to keep any betraying expressions off his face.
The only question now was: Who was he hiding from? Harry or Voldemort?
Harry moved a step closer, drawing Snape’s blank, bleak gaze to him. The thin
lips were set so stiffly that Harry wanted to reach out and touch him, just to
see if he was as wooden in reality as he looked. To see if his skin would give
or remain unmoved.
“What is it?” Harry asked, his fear spearing through him and colouring his
words.
But Snape only continued to stare, unblinking. As if, were he to breathe, he
would shatter into a million pieces.
Harry turned back to Voldemort and shouted once, long and loud, letting the
building tension inside him out before he snapped from the force of it. “What?
What, you bastard? Tell me whatever it is you think is so damn funny, then!”
“Why, Harry, I do apologise for my lack of forthrightness. I am simply…
stunned, you might say, that Severus did not inform you of the nature of the
spell you performed this evening.”
Harry didn’t say anything, simply let his body language speak for him.
“You see, Harry, the spell used to destroy a Horcrux actually seeks out the
soul in an object and… tears it apart, for lack of a better term. And since, as
I already informed you, a body is only able to contain one soul…”
“You took hers and replaced it with yours?” Harry asked… no, pleaded. Because
the alternate was too horrifying to contemplate.
“Oh, no, Harry. When I want to destroy a child, I simply kill it. I would never
be so cruel as to savage its soul.” A hissing laugh, then, “Well, perhaps I
would, but not this time. You see, Harry, I left that to you.”
Harry felt himself beginning to shake uncontrollably. It wasn’t true. It
couldn’t be true. He couldn’t have…
He couldn’t…
His stomach heaved and he couldn’t hold it back this time. It felt like
everything he’d eaten for the past week came back up at that moment, and the
only satisfaction he felt, miniscule though it was, was that he hit the hem of
Voldemort’s robes with his vomit. But even the fact that his stomach seemed to
be searching for a way out of his body didn’t stop the overwhelming horror from
filling him up, seeping through every vein of his body until he couldn’t
contain it a moment more.
He looked up, eyes bloodshot and overflowing with tears in reaction to
sicking-up, and lifted his wand. Time seemed to slow and every small thing
sprang into focus. There were dust motes that sparkled and shimmered in the air
between him and Voldemort; the thin veins that stood out on the back of Snape’s
too-pale hands; the lines in Voldemort’s face that made him look more snake
than man; the blade of grass he could see in his peripheral vision that was so
bright a green it made him want to shield his eyes… All of these things seemed
to take an hour of his time to study, but he knew they hadn’t. They couldn’t
have.
Because Voldemort’s wand was still slowly coming up to point at him.
Harry heard his own breathing.
In out.
In out.
Time stood still.
Then, the bubble that had seemed to envelop him burst with the sound of his own
voice. “Avada Kedavra.”
It had been a mere whisper. Just the softest of noises, really, but when every
cell of his body was focussed on pushing death into the man in front of him,
apparently speaking up was superfluous.
As slowly as everything had been moving mere moments before, Voldemort crumpled
to the ground shockingly fast. It was graceless and quiet. Not a sound, not a
scream, not even a deep breath. Just… nothing.
Harry looked at him, unable to tear his eyes away. A hand on his shoulder
brought him back to himself and he looked up, allowing Snape to see the
absolute horror on his face.
“It’s over.”
Harry shook his head, and this time the tears couldn’t be explained away by
illness. “It can’t be. It can’t be over. It’s all wrong.”
“It is, Potter. Come along, now. We have to go inform the Order.”
But Harry wouldn’t budge. He yanked himself away from Snape and crawled over to
Voldemort, looking at him, seeing him. And his tears continued to fall.
They hit Voldemort’s scaly, papery skin and rolled off.
“I killed him,” he said.
“You were meant to.”
Harry shook his head again. “Why do I feel so awful? Why does it hurt so much?”
“Death is never easy, Potter. But it is certain. Everyone dies, Potter.
Especially in war.”
“I thought… I thought if I won that… that it would be over and I would be able
to go on and… It’s not going to be like that, is it?”
“If you won?” Snape closed his eyes for a brief moment before sinking slowly to
his knees beside Harry.
Harry sniffled and swiped a hand under his nose; it came away wet, the dirt and
grime combining with his tears and snot to make a muddy mix. He blinked and let
out a shuddering breath before looking at Snape, waiting for the words he was
sure were coming.
“One of the truths that war forces so unbearably onto us is that there are no
victories. Innocence dies and in the end, there is only an echo of justice. Too
many dead, too many lost souls left to wander homeless and hopeless. Losing
your innocence is painful, Potter. As it should be.”
“So… what happens next, then? How do I—how does anyone—go on? We killed
tonight, Snape. Intentional or no, we killed her. I killed him. And I
don’t know how to go on from here. I just don’t know…” Harry stopped as his
breath caught on a sob. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t cry.
He ignored the fact that he couldn’t stop.
“Life goes on, Potter. Another inescapable truth. You take a breath and just…
go on.”
Harry took a shaky breath and asked the question that had been hovering on the
tip of his tongue. "You knew, didn't you?"
The unnatural stillness that came over Severus told Harry all he needed to
know, but still the man tried to prevaricate. "Knew what?"
Harry lifted his face to Severus, his expression hard. "That we were going
to kill her. That the ritual, the Horcrux removal itself, would kill
Emily."
Severus met his gaze and held it, his black eyes blank, waiting. "Of
course I did."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "And you didn't tell me."
"If I had, you wouldn't have performed the ritual."
"And she would still be ALIVE!"
"So would Voldemort!"
"No, he wouldn't! Because she wasn't ever a Horcrux to begin with, was
she? That's what he was telling us!"
"And you believed him?" Severus’ tone of voice was
incredulous, but something niggled at Harry’s memory.
"That's what you meant, when I told you my dream. That's what you meant
when you told Dumbledore it wasn't possible. You knew it wasn't possible
for her to be a Horcrux, but you killed her anyway. You allowed me to assist
you in murdering her!"
"And if I was wrong, Potter? What then? Grow up, boy! You wanted an
end to this war as much as anyone, as much as I did! If you truly thought you
could wage war against darkness without sacrificing some of your own light,
you're as pathetic as I always assumed you to be."
"It wasn't my light! It wasn't my life! I don't care
what happens to me! I was prepared to die!" Harry opened and closed
his mouth, wanting to go on, but realised it was a futile gesture. Severus
would never understand how incredibly wrong he’d been.
"I wasn't!” Severus stepped back and drew a deep breath, eyes steady and
voice firm as he said, “I told you before, Potter. I didn't sacrifice this
much, didn't come this far, to allow you to die. I was prepared to do anything—anything—to
ensure your survival. Even if it meant fracturing my own soul in the
process."
Severus stepped forward and grabbed Harry by the upper arms, pulling him
roughly to his feet. “I would have sacrificed anything and anyone to keep you
safe, Potter,” he whispered. “No sacrifice would have been too great.”
Harry swallowed roughly and dropped his gaze, unable to bear the emotion in
Severus’ eyes. “So now... what? I just take a breath? It's not that simple,
Snape."
Severus eased his grip with a sigh, letting Harry go. "Nothing ever is,
Potter. Nothing ever is."
The End.
Notes: condio corpus--preserve the soul
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