Severus stood his ground as he faced the wizards he’d been forced to call his friends and allies for years. Despite the many hoods and masks, he recognised everyone by size and bulk and the tailoring details of their black robes.

It felt good no longer having to pretend that he was on the masked Death Eaters’ side. It was liberating to finally be allowed to declare his true allegiance for all to see. He was no longer one of the Dark Lord’s followers, nor the Order’s spy—this was a clean scission from everything that came before.

Avery was the first to attack. If he’d had the time to reflect on the moment, Severus might have wondered at the deeper meaning of the first hit coming from the wizard he had come closest to calling a true friend. His “Impendia” was as weak as the man was kind, and Severus’ shield easily blocked it.

Rabastan Lestrange was next, and his “Bombarda!” was as strong and bulky as he was. It crashed upon Severus’ protective barrier with the intensity of the Knight Bus hitting a wall, and the Potions Master felt the impact all the way to his back molars. Knowing he couldn’t play defence all night, he threw in a few spells of his own. A nonverbal Levi Corpus had Avery pinned to the ceiling in no time, while a carefully aimed Stunning Spell caught Rabastan unaware between two attacks.

Seizing the opportunity, Severus rushed forward, past the stairs and towards where he estimated the living room to be. He was running into the snake’s nest, he knew. But he had to draw his pursuers as far away from the kitchen as he could, lest they’d realise which way the others had gone. If Saturnine managed to get as far as the roddon undetected, she and the boys stood a chance to be rescued. He only needed to make sure no one went after them until help could get here.

The ancient manor came alive around him, screams shouted out from every direction, and Severus could feel all the Death Eaters in the house congregating on him. He readied himself for their arrival, forcing more power into his protective shields. It would reduce the intensity of his attacks, but it was a concession he had to make if he wanted the fight to last.

Someone tall and large rounded the corner ahead of him, and Severus smiled at his fortitude. Despite his impressive strength, Greyback had always been slow on the uptake, and the Potions Master had no trouble casting a Stupefying Charm before the other had time to pounce. He followed it with a Bludgeoning Curse for good measure.

As he pushed forward, Severus was faced with two more of Lord Voldemort’s disciples. Neither wore a mask. So, it took no deduction to recognise Rabastan Lestrange’s brother, Rodolphus, and Antonin Dolohov. Knowing these two wouldn’t be as easily dispatched, Severus stopped walking to adopt a fighting stance.

The corridor became a light show as spells zinged one way and the other in all manner of colours between the three combatants. There were two attacks to each one of Severus’, and the sheer volume of them soon had him panting under the strain. As the fight continued, he was forced to divert more and more energy to sustaining his shield, and his own attacks started to lose their potency.

Dolohov attempted to attack his mind with Legilimency, and Severus would have smiled at his lack of talent if he’d had the time for it. Lestrange was less subtle as he simultaneously hit him with a Cruciatus and Imperius Curse. Severus focused on resisting the urge to obey Lestrange’s command to drop his wand while he kept defending his mind from Dolohov’s intrusion, which was becoming tiresome. Gritting his teeth, he broke away the connection with Dolohov with a hard, mental shove.

Severus kept his attention on both targets and tried to effectively defend and attack without leaving openings in between. When both Lestrange and Dolohov managed to hit him simultaneously, the Potions Master was knocked backwards a few paces. Already buffeted in a windstorm of pain, he felt his mouth fill with blood. He saw, more than felt, his protective shield flicker to dangerously low levels as his body tried to overcome that last bout of trauma.

Risking everything, he shut the protective barrier off completely and redirected all his strength to what would have to be his final attack. The time for discretion had passed, and he bellowed “Crucio!” as his wand-hand moved to encompass both Death Eaters. Willing the spell to do as much damage as it could, he poured all of his resentment into his soul. Years of repressed bitterness came pouring out as he remembered the Purebloods disparaging him for his mixed heritage and limited means. All the jokes, the taunts, and the barely veiled insults he’d been forced to endure for decades fuelled his revenge.

Surprise barely had time to register on the two wizards’ faces before their traits contorted with pain, and the vindictive part of Severus rejoiced at the sight. They both passed out from the sheer intensity of the attack.

The Potions Master’s celebration was cut short as a pulse of power hit him in his left side an instant later; the shockwave was so fierce he worried it would rip him apart as it blasted through his skin and tore through his muscles. Dolohov’s parting gift flung him backwards, his shoulders taking the brunt of the impact as he collided with the drywall. He was pretty sure he left a Severus-shaped dent in it.

Baring his teeth, he forced himself to move further down the corridor. He was a sitting duck in that long, barren rectangular passageway, and he had to find somewhere safer to parry the next attack. Despite the burning ache in his side, he kept going. Staggering, he ducked into the closest room—a small library, he discovered—and found cover behind a tall wooden grandfather clock.

One shaking hand reached inside his coat for the last phial he had with him: a personal favourite, his most potent Strengthening Potion. He gulped it down in one swallow and waited for the incoming invigorating kick. The old timepiece caught two hexes while he struggled to get his breathing back under control—in through the nose, out through the mouth—until the world stopped spinning.

Severus was drenched in sweat and strained to the core—so much so that even his wand-hand was trembling. But still, he had to continue fighting. They needed him to continue. Every minute, every second that he kept the Death Eaters occupied was one more second that Saturnine had to carry the boys to safety.

Drawing in a deep breath, Severus rounded the clock again to cast “Sectumsempra!” at the two wizards who’d followed him inside. Now, without the strength to cast Nonverbals, he prayed whoever was on his tail wasn’t familiar with that particular spell of his.

One of the dark-robed wizards, a youngling he didn’t recognise, was a mess of cuts and spraying blood an instant later, but the second brought up a shield in time to deflect his attack. No wonder, he thought, when he saw who it was.

Bellatrix Lestrange walked in with murder in her gaze. With her curly hair puffing around her face, she looked like an unhinged, gothic harpy out for blood—his blood. Just his luck.

So that was what the Fates had in store for him: Severus Snape was set to die at the hand of Bellatrix Lestrange—the very woman who had lured him to the Dark Side all those years ago. The one who’d seen through his lone wolf’s act and straight down to his needy core. She had discovered the troubled child that lay beneath the stone-cold facade, the lonely kid who desperately sought his peers’ acceptance—one so eager to belong anywhere he’d doom himself willingly for the chance to have someone he could call a friend. Ever the true Slytherin, Bellatrix had seen his weakness and exploited it to its fullest, guiling him into a false sense of security, of belonging, only to better serve the talented potioneer that he was to the Dark Lord on a silver platter.

Severus had never forgiven her for her willowy womanly tricks and incessant mind games. Pushing away from the clock’s moderate shielding, he faced Bellatrix full-on, easily slipping into a familiar duelling stance.

The brunette smiled at his action, her blood-red lips curling up in childish delight. “Cute, Sevy,” she said, and the annoying nickname caused his blood pressure to rise to unparalleled levels. “I ought to have known, though—someone like you could never be one of us.”

Though he’d never been someone particularly petty, it felt good to be able to say, “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Bella. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

She cackled at that, taking another step forward before she reached for the hem of her black, floor-length skirt to stretch it slightly to the side as she mockingly bowed before him—formally accepting the duel they were about to embark on: a duel to the death.

Mad as she was, Bellatrix Lestrange was no weakling. She was a force to be reckoned with on a good day, and she was downright terrifying in her maddest moments. Having poured through all the tomes of both the House of Black and the House of Lestrange’s extensive libraries, she was also crazy enough to be willing to use all the dark secrets she’d learned over the years.

Severus was holding on by a thread, remaining on his feet out of sheer will alone. Any hex that would penetrate his defence could prove to be fatal. He didn’t stand a chance to win, and he knew it. Just as surely as Severus knew he wouldn’t run from this fight. He’d draw it out for as long as he could so that they would be safe—Lily’s child, his godson and the one person Severus cared about more than he valued his own life.

Despite the burning pain in his side, he returned Bellatrix’s theatrical bow. The instant he was standing tall again, the fight began in earnest—with no warming up.

Once she engaged, Bellatrix’s hits came at him, sharp and fast. There was nothing of her usual mad whimsy to her attacks tonight. She was so enraged that her blows were almost clinical. Her focus had narrowed through the prism of her anger. Unable to fight back, Severus deflected attack after attack, denying himself the ability to respond in kind. And even that was draining what little strength he had left.

Fuelled by desperation, he burned the last of his energy, the last of his magic to draw out the issue. Intent to make the fight last just a little bit longer, he screamed as pain poured out of him—along with his desperation. Years of regret fuelled him, a passion that he’d never been allowed to voice tore out of him in one long, mournful cry, and he pushed more and more of his energy out to form a crackling dome-like shield of white-blue light.

Bellatrix was snarling her impatience as she hurled spell after spell at him, only to watch them splinter into bursts of light as they splayed on the Potions Master’s shield.

Sinking to one knee under the strain, Severus held on. The protective dome had shrunk by half, but still, it was there. He could feel blood seeping out of the wound at his side, and in his hand, his black wand shook under the strain. Reaching deeper still, he drew upon his memories to fuel his dwindling magic—burning up images of Draco’s birthday parties and days spent in the playground pushing his little sister on the swings. With one last cry of defiance, he gave up everything he had, everything he was, to earn them one more moment, one more instant…

And then his magic ran out, and his shield flickered away to nothingness.

He felt himself sink to the floor in a boneless heap. Exhaling what had to be his last breath, Severus realised there was nothing left inside of him. He’d given up everything, and it hadn’t been enough.

He hadn’t been enough.                        

And the flames engulfed him.