It was strange that the corridors of Hogwarts appeared completely serene after everything that had happened. Somehow Harry had expected them to reflect the devastation of the events since Hogsmeade. Tonks was dead, Hermione was near death, Remus and Ron hated him, and dozens of students were in the hospital wing because of him. It seemed unfair somehow that the world should continue smoothly along the same course when the events of a single day had robbed him of everything.

He wandered aimlessly, the note for Tonks clutched in his hand, debating feverishly whether he should throw it away or keep it. It seemed somehow disrespectful to simply rid himself of it, but on the other hand, it would make absolutely no difference if he kept it. Tonks wouldn't care one way or another. She was dead. And she hadn't even written it. Sure, it was intended for her, and it was the herald of her death, but really, she'd never even touched it, so it was absurd for him to treat it like some sacred relic. Would it really be wrong if he threw it away?

It wasn't until the morning sky filled with a dull gray light that Harry realized how much of an idiot he'd been, to spend nearly an hour debating whether or not to throw away a stupid fucking piece of paper, and he ripped it viciously into shreds.

As soon as he'd let them drift to the floor, he wished he hadn't done it. The paper debate aside, his mind was filled with a curious blankness. It felt simultaneously like his brain was going to explode with too many thoughts, and like he'd never have a single coherent thought again. He wanted to go somewhere as far away from the owlery as he could get, but there was nowhere he could go. Not to Gryffindor Tower… Ron would be there. Not to the Hospital Wing… People were hurt there. Not to the Great Hall… People would come there. He'd have to face them.

He couldn't think. His brain simply wasn't working.

And Tonks was dead.

How could she be dead, really? How could this happen just when they'd reconciled? How could it be Bellatrix Lestrange who killed her? How could she do that again to someone Harry loved?

Harry closed his eyes, but Bellatrix's grinning face burned under his eyelids. He remembered her hands playing lovingly with her blood-soaked robes. Her laughter… that shrill, gleeful laugh… The same laughter that had pursued Sirius through the veil…

He would have welcomed the liberating surge of anger that had overtaken him after losing Sirius, but all he felt was emptiness. He hadn't realized back then that he was going to lose everyone, one after another, simply by virtue of the scar on his forehead. He hadn't known Sirius was merely the first. And he hadn't realized that by failing to kill Bellatrix the first time, he'd condemned someone else he loved to the same fate.

Harry's eyes slid back open. Well… it wouldn't happen again. She would never do it again.

As though some switch had flipped in his mind, his priorities drew into relentless focus. Ron, Hermione, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Snape, Dumbledore, the Prophecy, Voldemort… they all receded into the background. And suddenly the only thing he could think about was Bellatrix's grinning face.

It took him mere minutes to find the appropriate book. Several more to escape Remus when waylaid by him in the hall. It took him a little more time to cross the apparition boundary, where there would be no threat of school wards stopping him.

As soon as he'd memorized the incantation, Harry allowed himself a moment to indulge any doubts. But they just weren't there.

He didn't feel like he was simply acting on impulse, or like he was being carried on the spur of his emotions. He'd never felt more rational in his life, or more certain that he was doing exactly the right thing.

He'd been a fool to believe the Prophecy. He was no savior; the last two years had proved that time and again. Those people moaning in the hospital wing proved it. Sirius and Tonks proved it. This would prove it once and for all. Dumbledore would realize the truth. He'd have no choice.

Harry had believed for the last nine months that he was condemned to one of two options: kill Voldemort, or be killed by Voldemort. Finally now, he decided upon a third option: Neither.

This was his choice, and he was filled with cold conviction that he was finally doing the right thing. He would make her pay. And at last he would be the master of his own fate.

* * *

Fighting his anxiety as the outer edges of the Forbidden Forest pressed in around him, Snape threaded his way through the underbrush. It seemed to take him an age to come upon his son, and even then he entertained the fleeting notion he was staring at some strange apparition.

Whatever scene he'd imagined, it hadn't featured Harry tucked serenely against a tree, a book propped open in his lap.

"Potter."

It was slightly disconcerting when Harry glanced up at him dully out of those features he'd come to associate with 'Septimus'.

"Oh, hullo, Professor."

Snape glanced around sharply, waiting for a nasty surprise to spring upon him. Nothing. He shook off the feeling; he'd never cared for the Forbidden Forest, anyway.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, approaching the boy warily.

Harry shrugged. "Fine."

The anxiety Snape had felt upon reading that article was swiftly draining away into irritation. Damn the boy for being so impulsive, so foolhardy… If Harry were simply a bit more levelheaded like that Granger girl, Severus wouldn't be forced to worry like some overbearing schoolmarm every time something remotely distressing happened to him.

As things were, he felt faintly embarrassed, and extremely annoyed. Harry was simply sitting there, looking for all the world like he was just taking in the scenery, and Severus had practically run the whole way like some panicked Hufflepuff.

And Lupin had seen him do it. Lupin!

"Why do you ask, Professor?" Harry said blandly.

It took an effort for Snape not to snarl an insult. He was trying to express his concern; the least the brat could do was not play dumb, however talented he was at it.

"Nymphadora Tonks has been killed," Snape said bluntly, feeling vindictive enough to force it into the open. "I'm certain you've heard. You must be distraught."

It only occurred to him as the words escaped his lips that perhaps the boy was so calm because he hadn't heard. Snape knew a moment of sickening horror at what he'd done, but his fears proved unfounded when Harry still failed to react.

"I suppose I should be." Harry glanced down at the book in his lap, and creased the corner of a page before carefully closing it. "I guess it hasn't hit me yet."

"Well, then..."

Snape folded his arms, feeling distinctly out of his depth at Harry's calm. He'd expected rage, or perhaps tears… And although he'd cringed at the thought of the latter, he'd felt rather more prepared to handle it than this.

"I suppose I should be upset," Harry repeated, rising to his feet. "And I keep waiting for it to hurt. But it's still something I just know… I guess I'm not a very good person. I'm not even sad."

"You're likely in shock," Snape noted dryly, still feeling disconcerted. It was almost as though they were discussing the composition of a potion…

Well, no. A potions lesson would entail a good deal more anger and grief on both sides. They were merely speaking now about a woman Severus had taken it upon himself to drive away from Harry, a woman who had just been murdered.

Nothing to inspire bitter recriminations there.

"You are out of bounds, Potter. It's time you returned to the school," Snape said, resolving to bring the boy to someone who knew how to deal with this... Minerva, maybe. Or Albus. Or… he gritted his teeth, refusing to consider Lupin.

Harry blinked at him, and hugged his book closer to his chest. "No, I'd prefer to stay out here, Professor."

"I wasn't asking for your preference," Snape growled.

Perhaps this was the time to show some sensitivity. Lupin would probably offer to sit out here with him. But he couldn't do that. What in Merlin's name would he say to the boy? Lupin would know what to say. He'd say the right words, sort out whatever was going on in Harry's head. Bloody werewolf.

"Come along now, Potter."

Harry stared at him for an extended moment, then gave a faint smile. "Okay."

Snape swept to the side, waiting for Harry to scurry past him.

Harry raised his wand. "Stupefy."

It was just Snape's ever-present paranoia that made him duck as soon as the wand lifted, and the spell slammed into the tree behind him. A loud crack, and chunks of bark rained down on his shoulders. Snape immediately thrust forward his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego." Harry sounded almost bored.

Snape had to duck back behind the tree to avoid his own deflected curse. "What the hell are you doing, Potter?" he bellowed. "Stop this nonsense AT ONCE!"

"I told you," Harry said with deadly calm, "I'm not going back there."

Crouched out of the line of fire, Snape watched as if observing a stranger how Harry set aside the book, no care in the world, and rose slowly, his green eye scanning the underbrush. Snape prepared to rise, a paralyzing curse on the tip of his tongue… It was one of his few debilitating curses that wouldn't leave the boy permanently impaired…

Harry's voice rang out suddenly.

"You know, I thought you were… I thought what you did to Malfoy was horrible that night."

Snape froze. His instincts screamed at him to take advantage of the boy's distraction to curse him… But he supposed he had enough of an advantage to hear Harry out. Perhaps he would seem like a less incompetent parent, dragging his unconscious son back to Hogwarts, if he had some insight into his state of mind.

"I think I understand how you could do that now," Harry continued airily. "It's about much more than anger, isn't it? I think that's why I couldn't cast that Cruciatus Curse on her… I hated her, but I hated hurting someone more. I think it's… it's when they don't matter to you anymore that you can really hurt people, isn't it? That's when it's easiest? I didn't think I could kill anyone… But I can now. I'm sure I can. I'm not even angry with Bellatrix… I should be. She killed them; she killed them both… But I just want her gone. That's all I want. And I can do that much. I don't really care what I have to do for it. Tell Dumbledore that, when he asks. Stupefy."

Snape ducked lower behind his impromptu shelter, and felt a surge of irritation when the red streak smacked into the ground and flung mud onto his face. "Come now, Potter," he snarled, wiping his hand furiously across his face, "surely that's not the only curse in your repertoire?"

"I don't want to hurt you."

Hurt him? It was hard for Snape not to snort. Didn't Harry realize he was merely indulging him, letting him carry on like this?

"I just need you to leave me alone." Harry's voice took on a note of urgency. "I have something I have to do. Dumbledore needs to see. She needs to pay. I need to do this."

"And what is this urgent matter, boy? Sitting back down to read your bloody book?" Snape sneered. "Accio book!"

It smacked straight into his palm. He glanced down at the title, and found himself staring at Familial Bonds and Magical Weaponry, one of the darker volumes from the Restricted Section. He felt himself go cold, suddenly making sense of Harry's words. Harry was planning on killing Bellatrix with a kinship curse.

"You can't do this," Snape warned him harshly, glancing at the boy between the gap in the foliage. "The assassination spells-- no one uses them."

"Yeah, Lucius told me that if you murder someone with a kinship curse it usually destroys your own magic. He called it a 'safeguard protecting the proud institution of the pureblooded family', I think." Harry's easy smile was infuriating. "I'm not too worried."

"It won't merely destroy your magic," Snape said scathingly. "This will KILL YOU, YOU STUPID BOY!"

"I haven't forgotten that I'm a half-blood," Harry retorted. "I just know this is for the best." He sounded strangely cheerful, and for the first time, Snape realized, slightly deranged. "Dumbledore will realize the truth once I've done it… and my friends will be safer… and she'll be-- she'll be-- STUPEFY!"

Snape dodged, then lurched to his feet and threw at Harry a paralyzing curse, knowing it was no longer the time to humor him. The boy dove to the side with lightning reflexes, and again shot a hex at him.

Severus had thrown up his shield, anticipating him, but it shocked him when his shield nearly buckled under the force of Harry's spell. The impact slammed like a boulder into his chest, and he flew back through the air, his head smacking into a fallen tree trunk. His wand slipped from his hand.

Stars were swirling before his eyes, and Snape was torn between the humiliating realization that he was getting too old for rough wandplay, and the other humiliating realization that Harry's spells were powerful, far more powerful than his. Merlin, if the boy had used something slightly more lethal…

He was too long in reacting to grab his wand again; he had no chance of firing off a hex before Harry would be upon him. Against his every instinct, Snape forced his body to go limp, listening to Harry's footsteps crunch across the smattering of dead twigs, and then pause. He could feel Harry's assessing gaze, as though the boy were trying to gauge whether or not he'd truly knocked him out.

Snape barely dared to breathe, wondering if he'd made a mistake; would Harry be Gryffindor enough to turn around, presuming him to be unconscious? Or would he play the Slytherin and curse him anyway?

He heard Harry shuffle closer, and felt a bit smug. Gryffindor, it seemed… approaching his fallen enemy too closely. He peered between his lashes to confirm his suspicion, and felt a jolt of panic. The boy had raised his wand.

"Stu--"

Snape lashed out and grabbed Harry's legs, bowling him over to the ground. He scrambled on top of Harry, throwing the bulk of his superior weight over the boy, and twisted his arms with Harry's flailing ones, wrenching the wand from his grip. Severus tossed it unceremoniously away, and batted aside one of Harry's hands as it scrabbled viciously at the skin of his neck.

Harry fought his grip like a wild animal; Snape found himself hard-pressed to hold him in place. He could feel the boy's magic like electricity in the air, threatening to leap from his skin, to force Snape from him.

Snape gritted his teeth, willing his own magic to overpower Harry's. Harry was powerful, but undisciplined. He tightened his arms around the boy and hauled them both upright, hoping his son's frantic energy would wear out before Snape's own strength did.

And at last, it did.

Harry suddenly sagged in his arms, as though the will to struggle had simply dissolved. His green eyes grew dull and unfocused, and his gaze drifted up to the sky listlessly.

"Fine. Back to Hogwarts, then," Harry said.

Snape's fingers dug into Harry's arms, refusing to release their hold. He stared down at his son warily, uncertain if this was a trick, if he would suddenly spring back to life and throw him off… if he'd even have the strength to stop Harry if he tried to fight again.

"I will bring you back to the school, and you will not attempt this again," Snape told him harshly. "Understand, Potter?"

"Perfectly, sir," Harry said distantly.

Snape sneered, wanting to hex him. The blasted boy didn't even try to sound convincing!

He maneuvered Harry around so he could wrap his arms more securely around him, pinning his arms to his sides and pulling Harry's back against his torso. His son felt like a granite statue in his arms, and staring down at his blank features, Severus was flooded with the sick realization of just what would have happened had he arrived only minutes later. Harry would have used one of those curses… a lethal kinship curse upon a pureblooded relative… and it would have killed him; he might have been dead by now. If he hadn't come out here so quickly, he would have found his son's body.

Snape raged silently at the stupid boy for planning to do something so final, so selfish. He'd left Severus in this horrible position where he had absolutely no idea what he should say or do. He tightened his grip on his son, and felt consumed by his own helpless fury. Inspiration simply would not strike… He simply didn't know what to do with him!

He glared furiously at the forest, wishing he could obliviate Nymphadora Tonks from Harry's mind. That would solve this. And Sirius Black while he was at it. And the Dark Lord. And Lucius Malfoy. And those blasted Muggles. And--

He was startled when movement swayed the branches across the clearing from him, and he spotted the werewolf peering at them between a break in the trees, that familiar map clenched in his fist, an odd expression on his face. For once, Snape was almost relieved to see Lupin. Lupin could handle Harry. He would know what to do.

Yet instead of approaching, Lupin lingered at a distance. The werewolf's expression had softened. With a faint nod, and a hint of a smile that projected understanding, he withdrew back into the trees, and vanished the way he'd come.

Severus stared after him incredulously, and then glanced down to see if Harry had even seen him. His son was still staring dully in front of him, seemingly unaware of the world around him. Snape pondered that odd expression on Lupin's face… that same one he'd worn when Severus had asked for the seat next to him at the Quidditch game…

And he realized suddenly, humiliatingly, why Lupin had looked at him like that. He was sitting here with his arms wrapped around his son. Of course Lupin would think he was… that Severus was here to comfort him…

Bloody werewolf. What an absurd notion. Even if he were the type to… to do something like that, Harry was hardly the type to throw himself, weeping, into someone else's arms. He was nearly as emotionally crippled as Severus himself was, and about as keen on physical displays of affection.

The encounter made Severus feel exceedingly awkward still sitting there holding Harry in place. He expected any moment another passing soul to witness what he was doing and jeer at him, to misinterpret his motives. Lupin had no idea he was merely afraid Harry would run away in another attempt at murder and suicide… That bloody werewolf didn't know that if Severus dared to let the stupid boy go, that image of Harry's dead body lying in the woods could escape the confines of his mind and manifest itself in reality.

That image... Snape tightened his grip on the boy. It lingered like a poison, and Severus felt a twist of impotent rage knowing he'd take the boy back to Hogwarts, probably only for Harry to slip back out here at first opportunity and attempt it again.

He realized suddenly that he couldn't do anything. No one could. If Harry wished to destroy Lestrange, no one could stop him, not for long. They could merely delay it. Nymphadora Tonks and Sirius Black would not come back to life, and it would continue to eat at Harry until he'd gained some measure of closure. He would destroy Bellatrix Lestrange, and destroy himself in the process… And Snape knew him to be a resourceful enough person to make it happen whether Dumbledore and the entire castle stood in his way or not.

There was really only one thing for him to do.

"Very well," Snape said gruffly.

Harry's head lifted slightly, but the boy made no effort to acknowledge him.

Snape dared to ease up his grip slightly, and he noticed the red marks his fingers had left on Harry's pale arms.

"Very well," Snape said again, feeling more certain about his words. "You wish to destroy Bellatrix Lestrange? You want your vengeance, boy? Then I will assist you."

Harry stiffened in his arms, and he knew he had the boy's attention.

"If you wish to kill this woman," Snape said matter-of-factly, "I will help you kill her. But you'll do it properly. A killing curse, face-to-face. No more spellbooks. Kinship curses are for those who lack conviction. I trust you do not."

Harry glanced back at him tentatively. He looked more confused than anything else. Snape took anything other than that glazed apathy as a good sign, and twisted Harry around to look him straight in the eye.

"It's not true vengeance, after all, if you're not around to enjoy it. It's not worth it if you can't see the look on her face when she realizes she's about to die. I'll give her to you, Harry. I'll help you kill her. You'll have your revenge. And believe me," Snape added with a cold smile, "They don't lie when they say vengeance is sweet."

Harry was staring at him, his expression somewhere between disbelief and horrified fascination.

"You're lying," he said breathlessly. "You'd never help me."

"Oh, I will," Snape promised, for once in earnest, trying not to think of the practical difficulties in actually hunting down the Dark Lord's most powerful servant. "If you do not attempt this nonsense again, I'll deliver her to you myself. I'll give you a Wizard's Oath, even, if you'll give me your word you won't attempt this again."

"Dumbledore…" Harry said. "He'd never let you do this."

"Who says he needs to know?" whispered Snape. "No one will know about it but us, Potter."

Harry stared at him like he was seeing some demon… a demon with an offer too enticing to send away.

"And her," Harry said slowly.

Snape smiled maliciously. "And her. She'll know before the end, I daresay. She'll know all too well."

Harry withdrew several distrustful inches. "Why would you do this?"

"Come now, Harry," Snape drawled. "I've murdered many people for the Dark Lord. I can certainly kill one more for my son."

Harry still looked a bit horrified with the whole thing, but Snape noticed he made no more attempt to pull away. Severus's thoughts straying to the Dark Mark on his arm… his own corruption… and he was all too aware that he was horribly evil to nurture the darker impulses in a shattered child.

But this was the one thing he could offer Harry that Dumbledore, Lupin, and the others could not. They would all help assuage his grief, help dampen his anger. The horrible truth was that Severus was the only one who could channel it into something dangerous.

Perhaps this was why Dumbledore had never trusted him to be Harry's father… Maybe the old codger had been right all along.

But he's not here... Snape added silently.

It was Snape who had found Harry, Snape who hoisted Harry back up to his feet. And when he grasped Harry gently by the shoulder and steered him out of the forest, it was Snape who led Harry back to his life.