“He lied to me…”

Harry gritted his teeth together, hating how Lucius was gripping his jaw, moving his head this way and that to assess his features from various angles.

“To think… all this time…” Malfoy studied him carefully. “I see it now. Lily Evans… But Severus, too. He must have cuckolded Potter. How could he not have told me? After all that we’ve been through—you’d think at least once he’d take a moment to confide in his dearest friend… I certainly would never have held something like that back from him …”

Harry tried to wrench his head from Lucius’s grip, but succeeded only in drawing the older wizard’s attention back to the present.

“And you lied to me, didn’t you?” Lucius’s tone was accusing. His eyes narrowed and his grip tightened on Harry’s face. “All that talk of vengeance and the Dark Arts was merely a ruse to draw blinders over my eyes… To hide your identity from me. I must say, it was exceedingly effective. Well done.”

Despite his sporting words, Malfoy looked angry and almost hurt. His fingers dug into the skin of Harry’s jaw.

“Very. Well. Done. A fine deception on both your parts, Mr. Potter—you and your father both. I am certain Dumbledore was proud to hear of it. And your father must have laughed when you told him of your fine bit of acting—that parody of despair I witnessed upon informing you that you were a half-blood. He must have been gleeful when you used one of my own lessons against me.”

Lucius looked away sharply, a vein in his forehead pulsating.

“To think,” he said softly, “it must have been so terribly amusing for you when I took you under my wing. Perhaps my wits were addled in Azkaban after all. What a sentimental and naïve fool I was!”

Recovering himself, he drew closer and wrenched up Harry’s chin, glaring at him with burning gray eyes.

“Tell me— did you concoct that scheme together, or was it a solo venture? Did Severus plan to take advantage of my affection for my son… use it to endear you to me… or was it your idea?”

After a beat, he seemed to remember that he’d cast a silencing spell on Harry. Malfoy angrily shoved his head away, leaving red marks where his fingers had pressed tightly against the skin.

“Of course it must have been him,” Lucius spat. “Severus has been having me on for—for—Merlin knows… Merlin only knows how many years now. Old friend… Dearest friend... Ha!”

Wiping his hands delicately on his robe, he withdrew a step, recovering his dignity.

“It’s no matter. No matter at all. The damage is done. Draco’s—Draco won’t—” He closed his eyes a moment, voice faltering. Then, “The Dark Lord will be pleased to hear this… To hear everything.”

A sweep of his wand cancelled the silencing spell, and words tumbled from Harry’s lips before he realized he was speaking.

“Whatever you’re talking about Malfoy, it’s completely ridiculous. Snape’s not my father, you’ve got it all—”

It was more shocking than painful when Lucius seized him by the throat, yanking Harry’s face to his, leaving the boy perched precariously on the front two legs of the chair that still held him.

“Don’t you dare!” His breath rasped into Harry’s face. “YOU WILL NOT DECEIVE ME AGAIN! Your father drove my son out of his wits looking for YOU, and you will NOT insult me with more LIES!”

A wave of his wand made the ropes dissolve into liquid around Harry’s wrists, and Lucius yanked him roughly from the chair, propelling him forward before his stiff and painful limbs could compensate. Harry tumbled unceremoniously to his elbows and knees.

“Oh, the Dark Lord will be very interested to know his loyal spy has been a traitor all along,” Lucius snarled down at him, circling his fallen form like a predator. “The Boy-Who-Lived-- Severus Snape’s beloved offspring… The Dark Lord has a very cruel fate reserved for traitors!”

Harry somehow found his feet, but a spiteful jerk of Lucius’s wand flung him back down again. It was harder to push himself upright again. Bellatrix’s treatment of him earlier had left him on the verge of collapse. Fear and adrenaline alone impelled him to shake off his weakness and heave himself up to his feet.

Malfoy now stalked towards him, wand drawn. From the look on his face, it seemed he was planning something distinctly evil.

Through his panic, Harry’s thoughts locked upon the worst aspect of entire whole situation—Malfoy knew the truth about Snape. He couldn’t let Malfoy tell anyone. He had to stop him.

“What are you going to do, Malfoy?” Harry asked, backing away from Lucius’s advancing form. “You can’t just owl Voldemort and tell him your stupid theory—he’d never buy it. Besides, Snape and Dumbledore might get the message first, and then they’ll know where I am!”

Now that he thought about it, he wished he hadn’t said that last part. Maybe Snape and Dumbledore would have intercepted it and come to rescue him.

“Severus already knows, you fool,” Lucius sneered. “He assaulted my son—and you were surely the reason. Whether your father is capable of breaking through my wards—” a derisive smile crossed Lucius’s lips. “Well, that area has never been his strength.”

“Well—” Harry was thrown a bit by that, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted by Lucius’s words. He tried again, “Well… What are your choices, really? You don’t have the prophecy. You can’t just bring me in person and tell Voldemort some dumb story about Snape. Voldemort told you not to take me there, and—and you don’t even have proof!” His voice rose as the anxiety dancing inside him mounted. “Yeah, I look a bit different, but that doesn’t mean anything! Voldemort will probably be so angry that you’re bringing me to him without the prophecy that he won’t even listen to a word you say!”

Lucius’s steps faltered. Harry took this as a good sign and drew a quick breath, fixing him with a bold look that belied the furious terror raging in his heart.

“Voldemort’s right about one thing-- I do know the prophecy!” His heart was pounding in his chest, but he bared his teeth in a brash smile. “Give me two minutes in a room with Voldemort—and wham, he’ll be dead. Did you really think that I just—I just walked out of the school and let your son grab me? Did you really think for one second that I gave a crap about helping Draco? I hate Draco! I was just following the prophecy!”

“I don’t believe you.”

But Malfoy’s confident words were undermined by the flash of uncertainty on his face as he contemplated the possibility he could be responsible for Voldemort’s demise… that he himself would bear the brunt of his followers’ retaliation… that he would be on the losing side of the war, and shipped straight back to Azkaban, if not kissed…

Harry watched the unease pass over his face, and attacked relentlessly.

“Hey, if you don’t believe me, go ahead and take me to Voldemort!” He smiled. “He might, I dunno, kill you on the spot for not listening to him, but I won’t particularly mind. So…” He flung out his arms in surrender, waiting for Lucius to make a move. “What’s the plan, Lucy?”

Malfoy eyed him for a long, uncertain moment, his expression unreadable. Then a thin smile crept across his pale lips.

“Why, you’re perfectly correct, Mr. Potter.”

He lowered his wand.

The unexpected words and mild tone took Harry by surprise. He eyed Malfoy warily, trying to ignore the creeping weakness of his legs, the way they just wanted to turn into mush beneath him.

“You’re absolutely right,” Lucius drawled, although something about his manner seemed strangely flat as though this was not the sweet triumph of usual. “I have no proof. I may never be able to convince them that Severus is a traitor and you are his son… The only thing they know for certain—” his eyes wandered to Harry’s forehead, “—is that you are Harry Potter. That mark will always proclaim your identity. Perhaps we should just write your little transformation off to a spell gone awry, or perhaps—”

He didn’t hear what enchantment Lucius cast, but a cold, tingling sensation swept over him. Harry shuddered, feeling something change about his body.

“-- perhaps I will ignore it entirely and simply give my master the bonafide Boy-Who-lived.” Lucius watched him with a studied calm that made Harry want to squirm out of his skin. “Bellatrix left, and I cannot extract the prophecy myself. I can hardly sell this story to him without more proof. I have no other choice.”

Harry glanced fleetingly down at his arm, noticing that his skin had adopted it’s familiar, darker tone. Lucius had restored Snape’s makeshift glamour.

“You may very well know that prophecy,” Malfoy said evenly, watching him with an odd, appraising look, “but that knowledge won’t save you for much longer. He may fear you, but I’m willing to gamble that an unarmed boy will not be able to execute the Dark Lord in the presence of thirty Death Eaters. Sooner or later, the Dark Lord will tire of this frivolous respect for the words of a fraudulent soothsayer, and he will order one of us to cast a killing curse upon you.”

Harry was silent.

Lucius eyed him coolly. “Does your prophecy declare you immune to the killing curse, Mr. Potter? Do you think you could survive it twice? How about thirty times? Three-hundred? I suppose we all could have a turn.”

Harry swallowed, unwilling to answer.

“In all honesty, Mr. Potter,” Lucius said, eyes glittering with malice, “there are not two people on this earth I loathe more than you and your father—not that bumbling old headmaster, or even my accursed shrew of a sister-in-law. Knowing what I know now—that you are Severus’s son—well, that will make it all the more delightful when I watch him when it happens… And either way, it will happen soon.”

“What will happen soon?” Harry asked reluctantly.

“Severus Snape will have the rare privilege of watching his own son die,” Lucius whispered. “That pathetic, lonely wretch doesn’t have anything else in this world but you, and he’ll be forced to pretend for all the company that your painful and excruciating death is the most pleasurable sight to grace his vision in years. Imagine that.”

Lucius gave a harsh, jagged laugh.

“He may have all but destroyed my Draco, but by Merlin, not like you will destroy him.”

Harry froze at those words.

They startled him more than anything, hurling his thoughts back to that fateful decision to sacrifice the life debt. To Snape’s ominous warning.

…You do not merely throw away your only leverage, you throw away mine. You will destroy me…

Blood suddenly seemed to roar into his ears. He felt suddenly dizzy and nauseous.

Lucius’s voice reached him as if from a great distance.

“You must have seemed like a gift straight from Merlin to poor Severus… Not at first, I imagine, but over time… All those years so wretchedly alone, no friend in the world but me, no family, and then a son… Something that was finally genuinely his. And not just any son.” Lucius smiled to himself. “A noble little creature without so much as a quill to stab into his back. A creature who represents every virtue in which our Severus dares not even believe...” Every hollow stood out in his smug, gaunt face. “I truly don’t think he could have valued anyone of lesser… goodness than you. Anyone else would have done something to prove all poor Serverus’s ill notions about human nature perfectly correct. How fortunate he found you. It really is like the stars aligned, is it not?”

Harry didn’t realize his legs were giving way beneath him until he found himself sinking to the ground. The room spun precariously around him, yet Lucius barely seemed to notice his state.

“I know Severus. And I was never fooled by him. I always knew his hatred for fear… And I should really have guessed sooner that something monumental had changed, because from the moment I stepped foot in his house after my escape, he needed me less and less. I gave it to him before you, you know—that tiny morsel of respect, the appreciation he would neither trust nor accept from any other. I’m sure that old fool helped, too, but for years and years it was me. I think it was still me even until my imprisonment.”

Every muscle in Harry’s arms and legs felt knotted. He tried to rub them, but his fingers felt numb and leaden.

“I knew when I returned, though, that it was changing,” Lucius said thoughtfully. “Right before my eyes, even. I suppose he started receiving it from you. And you were never cunning enough to control him with it.”

Harry closed his eyes against the whirling in his head, wishing he could shut out the words. He knew Malfoy was just trying to make him feel bad-- show him how totally he was going to hurt Snape. He really shouldn’t listen.

“Severus won’t survive you, Harry. You walked right into my hands, and you consigned him to death as well. You’ll break your father more totally than a thousand traitor’s deaths.”

A silence fell between them, and Harry painstakingly forced open his eyes and raised his head, squinting his near-sighted eyes to see Lucius clearly.

It was with real alarm that he saw a gleeful, unsettling smile suddenly on Lucius’s lips. It made Harry go cold. That couldn’t be good.

“Or perhaps I have a better idea.”

Lucius cast a spell Harry couldn’t hear. He felt a change in the air—one he couldn’t discern—and gazed up at Malfoy questioningly.

“Your father’s here,” Lucius informed him, with a sly glance that could portend only ill. “I thought I’d be polite and let him in.”

The warding was extensive. He’d known the greatest danger lay in delay, and he’d tried and failed to dismantle them. He felt a pang of regret that he hadn’t simply killed Draco—at least then he could have owled the location to Dumbledore in the absence of a secret-keeper.

It shocked the hell out of Snape, then, when the wards suddenly gave way on their own.

It could only be a bad sign, but he charged forward nonetheless.

He was in for another shock when he immediately found Malfoy, waiting calmly in an armchair by the hearth. The other wizard had not even drawn his wand.

Lucius’s gray eyes rose in cool greeting, a smile crossing his lips at Snape’s bemusement.

“Severus. What a pleasant surprise. Shall I call for some tea?”

Snape’s lip curled, and he closed the distance between them, torn between the warring impulses of a killing curse or a Cruciatus Curse. He wished he knew what Malfoy was planning.

“Where is he?”

“Where is who?” Lucius said delicately. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you referring to your son? Harry Potter?”

The words disconcerted Snape only for a moment. He’d half-expected Lucius to know by now-- Harry had been at their disposal the entire day, after all—but it still filled him with nausea to know it must have been tortured out of his son.

“Yes,” Snape hissed, barely moving his lips. “Tell me.”

“When Bellatrix finished extracting the prophecy, she took him with her,” Lucius said calmly. “I imagine he’s already dead.”

Snape glared at him intently across the suddenly stifling room, searching his gray eyes for a lie. Either Lucius had been practicing Occlumency since Snape had last pillaged his mind, or he was entirely unmoved.

“I know you’re lying,” Snape said dangerously. He only hoped it was true.

“No lie,” Lucius said lightly, offering him an infuriating smile. He was still Occluding. “He’s dead—the Dark Lord was finally assured that the boy was only mortal.”

The opacity that met him Snape’s legilimency sent him into a desperate fury. He needed to see inside of Lucius’s mind; he wouldn’t believe Harry was dead unless he saw it for himself.

“If you don’t cease Occluding,” Snape snarled, raising his wand, “Then I will be forced to accept you are telling me the truth and kill you.”

It did not garner the reaction he’d hoped for. Instead of alarm, Lucius just glanced him over lazily as though the entire proceeding bored him.

“You’ve utterly devastated my son, forced me to kill my wife, and tarnished my standing,” he said, sounding simultaneously self-pitying and infuriatingly superior. “I have nothing to lose even if you take my life.”

Snape wanted to kill him. He desperately wanted to. But he dared not eliminate the possibility Malfoy knew Harry’s status.

Frighten him, then, Snape thought. Malfoy must still be a novice at Occlusion. One scare, and Severus would break through.

“Very well,” Snape sneered. “You’ve obviously telling the truth. Av--”

Instead of completing the Avada Kedavra, Snape cast a silent molten ligament hex. Bright green, harsh, it resembled a Killing Curse, and Malfoy would be in no shape to flee or Occlude his mind once it struck.

A band of light shot from his wand, and in the lurid green glare just before the curse hit Malfoy, Lucius locked eyes with Snape. But it was not fear that suddenly allowed him access—it was entirely deliberate.

Severus plunged abruptly into the other man’s suddenly-accessible mind, and realized immediately with sickening clarity what Malfoy’s plan entailed.

And he knew exactly where Harry was.

He watched helplessly as an invisible form positioned before Malfoy like a shield absorbed the majority of the hex, the tail end glancing off Malfoy’s shoulder.

For a long moment, Severus’s heart seemed to stop. He barely heard Malfoy’s scream, and he made no move to stop the other wizard when he lurched out of the chair, waving his wand wildly at himself in a frantic attempt at countering an unknown hex.

It took Severus an age to reach Harry. He fumbled with the invisible fabric, yanking off the invisibility cloak, tearing it from the petrified form. He waved his wand quickly to cancel the hex and the petrificus, but the pinched, agonized look on Harry’s face told him those few seconds of delay had taken their toll.

Merlin, if he'd fired a killing curse...

“That won’t wreak permanent damage,” Snape informed Harry quickly, more for himself than the boy.

He tried not to be overwhelmed by the relief that he’d gotten to him, that the boy was alive. He couldn’t be distracted.

Harry did not make a sound, and Snape realized then that he had likely been silenced. He cancelled that, too.

It was then his eyes fell to the boy’s twitching limbs, and Snape felt a knot of dread curl in his stomach.

“Harry—” Snape said carefully. “I will lift you, but you must make an effort to hold on to me. The portkey will be difficult for two people in your current state.”

“I’m okay,” Harry managed.

His voice was strained—why was it so strained?

Screaming.

“I didn’t scream,” Harry said, almost as though he’d done some legilimency of his own. But from his closed eyes and slack expression, he’d guess instead the boy was just making some attempt at reassuring Snape… or himself. “Bellatrix… she—she kept trying to make me scream… But I didn’t.”

Something foul boiled up in Snape’s throat. He maneuvered Harry’s limp form into a seating position, and Harry’s head slumped back against his chest.

It was the hex. He realized it now—it had some deleterious effect upon the throat. He need to give him potions for that…

“I didn’t tell them the prophecy,” Harry rambled on in that hoarse voice. “I—didn’t tell them the other thing, but Tonks… she saw Tonks…”

Snape plunged his hand into his robes for the portkey. He pressed it firmly into Harry’s hand and locked one of his own around both.

"What are you doing?"

“This will take us to a safe house with a direct floo to Hogwarts—“

“Wait,” Harry said weakly, his eyes sliding open again. “Wait…” His voice grew stronger. “Malfoy knows.”

“I’m aware of it,” Snape said gruffly. He glanced briefly in the direction that Malfoy had fled and raised his wand to activate the portkey.

“He’ll tell Voldemort,” Harry said, with effort. “He’ll kill you.”

“I am not sending you to that safe house alone,” Snape snapped. “You’re in no condition to floo yourself to Hogwarts.”

Snape moved to activate the portkey again, but Harry’s hand clenched his wrist then with frantic urgency.

“Snape, please!”

The entreaty made him pause. Severus glanced down and was staggered by what he saw in the boy’s eyes—the urgent, terrified thoughts dancing on the surface, the fears stirring from the boy’s very heart.

For a moment it overwhelmed him. And then he looked away, and understood.

He released his grip on the portkey and rose slowly, as if in a trance.

“You’ll go, then,” Snape said, his voice soft. “I’ll be there soon. Hold on to that tightly.”

Harry nodded weakly, and offered him his best attempt at a smile of gratitude.

Snape activated the portkey and sent Harry to the safe house on his own.

The hex had a deleterious effect upon the ligaments, and it was progressive, but even Snape was surprised by Lucius’s state when he found him.

Clearly the small hit to his shoulder had grown steadily worse when he’d failed to unearth the means to cancel it.

What a fortunate choice of hex. He would have to use this one again.

Malfoy was now dragging himself down the hallway, too weak to apparate, struggling to reach the floo not ten feet away. Upon Snape’s appearance, Lucius painstakingly raised his wand and tried to cast a spell—but clearly it had already degraded his throat lining to the point that he couldn’t pronounce words intelligibly.

Snape approached his fallen foe, unworried. Lucius would not be able to cast a wordless hex in the state of mind he was likely experiencing—it required far too much mental discipline for a man in terrible pain.

Severus stopped several feet from his former friend and wordlessly raised his wand. He would not linger or savor it this time. This time it had to be done. And this time it truly was for the sake of his son.

“Av—”

The explosion from the floo interrupted him. Snape whipped his wand around quickly, finding himself not ten feet from the dusty Bellatrix Lestrange, her wand already drawn and pointed his way.

Whatever Bellatrix’s intention upon her arrival, she halted immediately, looking in shock between Malfoy on the ground, and Snape looming above him with his wand.

Snape felt something inside him plunge with dread. The boy had escaped and now he’d been caught on the verge of murdering Lucius. There was no way to cover this

“What the hell are you doing here?” Lestrange snarled, rounding on him. “Explain yourself!”

Snape was silent for a full second wondering just what explanation he could possibly give. The boy had escaped, Lestrange had never trusted him, and all she had to do was ask Lucius and it was over for him.

“The Dark Lord sent me,” he tried.

Assessing his chances of defeating her, he immediately judged them to be poor. The woman was the superior duelist by far, especially now that she’d had time to gain her form back. Legilimency would be no advantage here.

“I don’t believe you. He would never send you to finish my work.”

The uncertainty in her voice gave Severus some hope. He lowered his wand and fumbled for a proper response to her words.

Finish her work…He had no idea what her work was—

He felt a flash of anger when he realized ‘work’ must have had something to do with the state he’d found Harry in.

Something cold settled in his stomach, and he took advantage of the information she’d revealed.

“In fact, the Dark Lord did send me to finish the job,” Snape said. “He was impatient to settle this unpleasant business, and he knew well of your tendency to… lose focus.”

She eyed him with distrust, and seemed intent on ignoring, for now, Malfoy’s frantic gurgling from the floor.

Sooner or later she would pay heed. Snape pressed on, knowing this was his only chance to deceive her before she thought to find out from Lucius.

“I arrived just in time,” he said quickly, “to see Malfoy aiding Potter’s escape. I tried to stop him—but it was too late. When I questioned Malfoy, I learned that Potter’s capture was merely a distasteful ploy to win back our Master’s trust.” He sent a derisive look down towards Lucius. “The Muggle-lovers planned Potter’s capture and subsequent rescue in full collusion with Malfoy all along.”

Bellatrix’s expression was stony. Snape watched it closely, knowing exactly how pathetic and feeble his lie. If she had the slightest modicum of intelligence—which she did—she would see right through it. Bellatrix alone had never trusted him.

He was ashamed that he couldn’t come up with something more compelling. He was humiliating himself, he knew. But he couldn’t give up.

“Why else do you think he escaped from Azkaban when all of our other comrades were executed?” Snape pointed out. “He’s clearly turned traitor for them! He’s been spying for Dumbledore all along!”

They both ignored Lucius’s inarticulate cry from where the man was slumped on the ground, still in the helpless throes of suffering.

Bellatrix stared at him, her expression entirely unreadable. She was not attempting legilimency. Either she didn’t think it was worth the effort, or she knew she’d never best him in that.

Even without Malfoy able to name him for a liar, though, Snape knew what to expect. She would start to laugh, perhaps. She would grow angry. She would cast the first of several Cruciatus Curses on him.

He watched as her gaze slid from him down to the fallen Lucius, an odd, cloudy expression on her face. Her Occlumency shields vanished, and in an unguarded moment Bellatrix’s every emotion was exposed on the surface of her mind as she beheld her sister’s murderer.

Snape was shocked at what he saw there. The most fleeting glimpse into her mind revealed unexpectedly that his words had been enough—he had her.

It was incredible. The lie was pitiful. Amazing that he’d forgotten the resonance of even the most fanciful story with a person who desperately wished to believe it.

She seemed to make her decision then and there, because her lips twisted into a malicious snarl, her wand shot from Snape to Lucius, and she screamed, “Crucio!”

Malfoy’s devastated body somehow managed to convulse.

Severus stood there and remained silent as she cast it again. And again.

He dared not feel anything—not relief at pulling his son back from near death, not relief at having saved himself from it, not victory at knowing his difficulties with Malfoy would soon come to an end at last

Snape knew exactly why Bellatrix did not legilimize Malfoy to ensure Snape’s version was the truth. Why she’d so easily believed the lie. And when she realized herself and declared to Severus that it was their duty to bring the traitor’s worthless hide to the Dark Lord, she did not object when he pointed out,

“Malfoy has proven in the past his ability to… win favor he does not rightly deserve from our Master. I agree that his actions merit severe punishment, but neither of us would want him to escape censure altogether. What if he convinces our Lord in his great benevolence to spare him?”

On some level, Bellatrix had to have known what he was really saying: Voldemort would not so readily buy Snape’s story as she had. If they brought Malfoy to Voldemort, he would be released.

Now, she had an excuse she could justify even to herself to do what she wanted anyway. So Snape let her rationalize it out.

“You’re right,” Bellatrix said, nodded. “You’re right.”

Lucius gurgled in protest, but she was beyond him.

“He’ll manipulate our Lord into believing his lies. He’ll take advantage of our master’s greatness of spirit.”

“Then do it, Bellatrix. Have done with it.”

Bellatrix needed no further encouragement. She cast the Killing Curse, and in a flash of lurid green ended Lucius Malfoy’s life.

He’d done what Harry wanted, obeyed that blinding flash of terror and need he’d witnessed in his son’s eyes.

Now he felt strangely numb, gazing at the body of a friend and foe he’d known for over half his life. He watched, almost from a distance, as Bellatrix lowering her wand. He watched her smile, tilt her head back and allow herself the realization she’d avenged her sister.

Snape stepped forward himself to give Malfoy’s fallen body a perfunctory inspection, and Bellatrix began to twirl in childish circles, robes billowing about her slim form, her quiet laughter barely drifting through the air.

She’d never looked so happy.

Snape gingerly worked Malfoy’s wand from beneath the body, calculating just where Lucius had been crouching when Bellatrix had cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. He pointed the wand at her.

“Expelliarmus.”

The woman stopped her victory dance mid-whirl, staring at him as though she couldn’t understand what he was doing. Her wand clattered on the floor somewhere in the distance.

“It was a trick,” Bellatrix realized after a moment, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it. The glow of revenge still stained her flushed cheeks. “You were lying.”

“You lied to yourself,” Snape answered coolly. “I merely gave you the means to do exactly what you wished to do. You killed him, you had your satisfaction.” He paused a moment for effect, then delivered the blow, “And you betrayed the Dark Lord.”

“No.”

Bellatrix looked suddenly pale. Snape watched her with cold malice, knowing she hadn’t expected that.

“Oh, yes, you certainly did,” he assured her. “You chose to go along with my fabrication, when a true servant would have taken me straight to our master for punishment.”

She shook her head frantically, but he knew his words were devastating to her.

“My, my,” Snape lamented, wand still fixed on her, his voice dripping with poison. “Who would have that thought you of all people—after suffering a decade in Azkaban rather than betray the Dark Lord— would turn around and place your selfish desires before his interests?”

Bellatrix looked horrified as she realized the extent of her betrayal. He could see something inside her shattering right in front of him, and Snape relished the fact that he could make it just a little bit worse.

“And to think—” Snape said mockingly, “you actually seemed to believe our bond of treachery would spare you! We may both be traitors, Bella, but you’re the only fool. Avada Kedavra.”

When Snape apparated into the safe house, it was with a profound relief that he beheld his son still awake and alert—not comatose or in the throes of suffering as he’d imagined.

Maybe it was sheer force of will. Harry seemed to have a lot of that.

“You’re here,” Harry said, his voice hoarse.

Snape nodded stiffly, and stepped forward to gather his son up into his arms for their trip back to Hogwarts.

Harry shied away from him almost imperceptibly, his green eyes flickering with anxiety.

“You took a long time. A really long time.”

Even despite the goodwill engendered by the boy’s miraculous survival against all odds, the words managed to rankle him. Snape welcomed the familiarity of irritation in lieu of the uncertainty of the last day.

He sneered, “Perhaps if it weren’t for foolish little boys who let themselves be captured, I would--”

“I was so sure he killed you.”

Harry’s quiet words were earnest. The simple relief on his face disconcerted Snape for a long moment. He stared down at his son, at a loss, knowing there was a proper, reassuring phrase that he was failing to say.

Snape gave up upon finding it and sneered instead.

“Did you truly believe, you foolish boy, that I would be so irresponsible as to let myself be killed?” He gathered Harry into his arms. “I place a high premium upon my life, and I’m hardly planning to throw it away like some ill-fated Potter or your flea-bitten mutt of a godfather.”

“No.” Harry’s tone was thoughtful. “You wouldn’t. You’re not like them. Nothing like them.”

Snape ignored the old insult and hiked Harry further up in his arms, preparing to step into the floo. His attention was caught abruptly by the realization the boy was smiling.

It took Snape a long moment to understand what he was seeing—what he’d glimpsed in Harry’s eyes only a short while before. He realized suddenly that the boy had compelled him to stop Lucius for no other reason than that he was profoundly terrified of losing someone else important to him... He feared Snape would go the way of the rest.

It gave him that odd, hollow sensation in his chest. Snape tried to ignore it as he reaffirmed his grip upon his son. Harry relaxed into his arms, the first acknowledgement that the boy finally felt safe.

You’re not like them.

Snape realized as he carried his son into the floo that it was the first time those words had not been intended as an insult.