Saturnine had forced his hand, and Severus had many sharp words on the tip of his tongue in response to her actions when they were done Apparating. They died on the edge of his lips when the room came into focus, and he caught sight of the two boys huddled in a corner of the cold, damp cell they had popped into.

Saturnine noticed, too, and she pushed him forward even as she moved to cover the door, wand in hand. Knowing that someone had his back, Severus gave his full attention to the wounded teenagers at his feet. With their torn-up clothes and dishevelled looks, it was undoubtable they’d already been made to suffer the Dark Lord’s displeasure. Thank Merlin that we’re not too late, he thought as he crouched down in front of his godson.

He found that Draco was feverish and nearly unconscious, signs of a long session of Cruciatus evident in his trembling extremities. By his side, Potter seemed to be only marginally better. When he focused on him, Severus saw the Gryffindor boy recoil slightly and—to his utter surprise—shield his godson with his own body. That gave him pause, and he wondered if perhaps Potter had not recognised him.

Moving as cautiously and unthreateningly as he could, the Potions Master leaned closer and asked him, “Can you stand?”

There was no answer, and he bent lower to try and catch the boy’s unfocused gaze. “I asked you a question, Potter,” he tried again, louder this time. “Can you stand?”

No words came, and he wondered at his diagnosis. Maybe he was worse off than he’d thought. He started running through the list of possible spells and potions the Dark Lord could have given him.

“Answer him, Harry.” His sister’s voice cut in from behind his back. “Are you okay?”

A nod came at the sound of Saturnine’s voice, then a tentative, “Not at my best, but I can stand.” Potter’s voice shook over every two words, and there was a certain haziness to his gaze, Severus noticed. He’d been Crucioed, too; there was no doubt about it. “I’m not sure about Draco,” Potter added. “He’s not been well for a while. He—he was harder on him.”

“How long ago were you two cursed?” Severus asked as he searched his inner pockets for the correct phials.

“I’m not sure, Professor. It’s hard to tell the time down here—one, maybe two hours.”

Severus quickly did the math. If the boy’s estimate was correct, that would put the torture session at around the time when they’d been kidnapped, which made sense. Leaning close to his godchild, he tipped the content of one of his crystal phials into his mouth before lifting his chin up so he’d swallow. Draco’s pallid skin was clammy to the touch, and he ran a hand over his brow to check his temperature. Not liking what his palm found, he reached for another potion.

The third one, a mild Pepper Up, he handed to Potter. The dark stare that accompanied it had the boy removing the stopper and gulping down the clear blue liquid in under a minute.

“We’re straining our welcome,” Saturnine warned him from where she stood guard by the door. “Are they fit enough to Apparate?”

“No,” he replied. “Potter might be, but Malfoy’s too unstable.”

At his words, the Gryffindor did something that caused Severus’ eyebrow to rise again. The boy grabbed hold of Draco’s arm, clearly intent on not letting go. The action had been so quick that it had looked reflexive. Since when does Potter care what happens to Draco? he wondered. It looked as though the brave Gryffindor didn’t want to be forced away from the wounded Slytherin at his side. If he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes, Severus would never have believed it.

“We’ll have to use every charm in the book to get out of here alive,” Saturnine said. Her voice had come from closer than before, and an instant later, she entered Severus’ peripheral vision. She crouched down next to him, and her lips stretched into a warm smile, despite the dire situation, as she met Potter’s gaze. “Hey there, lad,” she said. “Ready to go home?”

Despite his exhausted state, Potter beamed at her in reply. “I knew you’d come, Saturnine. I knew you’d find me.”

“Told you I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?” she said, reaching a hand forward to help the young wizard up. Potter went along willingly, leaning against her side a little once he was vertical.

Severus stared in bewilderment as more pieces of the jigsaw that was their current situation slotted into place. But still, they refused to come together to form a coherent picture. Potter had called his sister by her first name—her real first name. While even Minerva McGonagall hadn’t known the true identity of their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, it seemed that the headmaster’s golden boy did. Not only that, but the young lion clearly trusted her.

Albus Dumbledore was scheming in the dark again, and Severus sensed that there were many things he hadn’t been told about. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the right time to start demanding answers.

“Harry, do you know where we are in the house?” Saturnine asked him as she sneaked an arm around his shoulders to make sure he stayed upright.

“Cellar,” he replied in an exhausted voice. “We took the stairs down from a large room upstairs—living room, I think. That’s where he—” Harry faltered for a moment, then seemed to find his courage again. “That’s where he was. Voldemort.”

“What of the stairs?” Saturnine asked. “Were they close to the living room?”

Potter shook his head. “At the other end of the corridor, by the kitchen.”

That was good news; they could use it as their mean of egress. Reaching forward, Severus sneaked his arms around Draco’s waist to hoist him up. The sharp motion was enough to jolt him into full awareness, and he was faced with a pair of uncomprehending, silvery eyes an instant later.

Holding onto his godson to make sure he didn’t face-plant, he debated giving him a Strengthening Solution but decided against it. In his current state, it would set his nerves aflame. Having experienced this firsthand himself more than once, he knew it to be the kind of torture he didn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone he cared about.

“Try to get walking, Draco,” he said sternly instead. “I’ll get you to safety.”

The boy nodded feebly and attempted to reply, but his speech was so slurred, it didn’t make sense. Severus fancied it had been his first name, but he couldn’t be sure.

Stepping to Draco’s right side, he draped one of his lithe arms over his shoulders, and he took most of his weight on himself. That would make it difficult for him to use his wand. But they’d have to risk it; they weren’t getting out of here any other way.

Saturnine, who had more range of motion than him, cast spell after spell on all of them to shield them from sight and muffle their steps. And then, heaving in a deep breath, she spelled the door open.

***

It took them longer than Severus had hoped to reach the ground floor. They had to make several turns in the cellar corridors to reach the stairs, and going up the old, worn-out, concrete steps turned out to be a hassle on their charges. They were halfway down to the kitchen, their destination in sight, when all hell broke loose, and someone screamed that the prisoners had escaped. The sound of feet running about the old Manor soon reverberated around them.

Throwing caution to the wind, Severus accelerated their cadence as he half-dragged, half-carried his godson along the dusty carpeted floor. Saturnine and Harry were slightly ahead of him, and though he couldn’t see them for the Disillusionment Charms, he saw the kitchen door swing open as they entered. Severus was inside with the moaning, panting Slytherin a short instant later.

He knew that he caused Draco pain, but with no other choice, he urged him to hold on a little while longer. “We’re almost there, Draco. Just a couple more steps, if you can.”

The large kitchen window opened noiselessly, and a quick “Finite Incantatem” had them all returning to their normal state so that Saturnine could help the young Gryffindor over the windowsill. Potter landed on the other side an instant later, and Saturnine peered after him to make sure he was okay. He must have been, for she quickly turned to Severus, ready for Draco’s turn.

The windowsill was about twenty inches from the tiled floor on this side and maybe thirty/thirty-five inches from the ground on the other side. The state his godson was in would require the two of them working together to get him safely through.

“Get on the other side,” Severus instructed. “I’ll hand him over to you.”

Saturnine obeyed with a nod and jumped through like a lithe panther. She was reaching for Draco with both arms an instant later.

The ruckus grew louder behind them, and Severus could feel the house coming alive with feet thundering in every direction. They would be on them in no time, and in the state the boys were in, they wouldn’t be able to get away in time.

“Cast a Disillusionment Charm on them again, then head for the other side of the roddon. Hunker down against its length and signal the Order for backup,” he said as he pushed his godson towards the opening.

Bending down, he sneaked a hand under Draco’s knees to lift him up. Twisting his hips, he passed the boy’s feet through the window first and straight into Saturnine’s waiting arms. In no time at all, she had Draco safely cradled against her chest.

Severus couldn’t help but lean forward a little, following the departing warmth of his godson like a man lost in the desert and thirsting for water. Looking down at his pale face, he tried to disregard the lines of pain that distorted his visage. Severus pushed through them to reach for the core of that boy whom he loved more than he’d ever admitted—even to himself. Carving his features into his memory, he let the fingers of his hand ghost down along one cheek in a silent goodbye.

Meeting his sister’s gaze, he said, “Keep him safe. Please, keep him safe.”

And then he turned on his heel to skulk away, wand in hand. “Get the hell back here, Severus!” he heard Saturnine hiss. But he ignored her. At a flick of his wrist, the window closed in her face, effectively drowning out her protests.

A part of him had always known he would not live to see the end of the war, and his clever mind had envisioned many a scenario in which he died along the way. Perhaps it would be one of the Order of the Phoenix’s members who would betray him, or the Dark Lord discerning his duplicitous nature during an intense Legilimency session. Or perhaps he would give himself away when his reluctance to execute a particularly vile order would make it obvious which side he truly worked for. The list of his hypothetical causes of death was a long one, and it had haunted many of his dreams. But never had he thought it would end this way, though. And what a fine ending this was. If he were to die tonight, Severus Snape would die a free man—a small mercy, indeed.

Steeling his resolve, the Potions Master blasted the kitchen’s front door into oblivion, leaving behind little more than gaping, broken hinges and splinters of wood.

If he went out tonight, he’d go out with a bang.