The weekend could not have arrived any faster for Harry. The teachers seemed determined to split their skulls open with relentless revisions and pop quizzes before exams. Snape in particular was in fine form, armed with more snarky comments than ever. Every Potions student left the dungeon classroom shaken and nearly in tears. But there had been an unexpected, heavenly gift – another trip to Hogsmeade! Peeves had been on a destructive streak and had ended up destroying a good amount of the professors' materials that were essential for final exams. Most of the items could be replaced in town, and it was not much of a stretch to allow the students to accompany their professors to make some pre-exam purchases of their own, in their case mostly candy or gag-toys for the purpose of stress relief.

Harry had found the pressing bodies and stifling atmosphere inside Honeydukes to be quite oppressive, and he fought his way outside, desperate for a breath of fresh air. Ron and Hermione were still torn in their candy selections, and he knew that it would take awhile. He was quite content to wait outside.

Suddenly he felt eyes watching him. He turned his head to see a beautiful woman peeping at him from underneath her lashes. His heart did a lazy flip-flop. She bore a passing resemblance to Fleur Delacoeur. She gave him a teasing smile and turned on her heel, darting down a small side street. Harry turned and gave Honeydukes a fleeting glance. Hermione and Ron would worry if he left…. The soft, enchanting giggle came again, and he turned to follow without another thought on the matter. In fact, thinking was overrated, if the thought involved anything other than this lovely creature that eluded him. He had to catch her at all costs!

He caught a glimpse of shimmering blond hair and began to run. Soft tinkles of laughter floated back to him, and he forced his legs to go faster. Reaching this fascinating maiden had become the most important thing in his life. He simply knew he'd die if he lost her! He scarcely noticed as the streets grew more narrow, the buildings more shabby and spaced closer together, as if for comfort. He darted around a corner into an alleyway and paused, his eyes probing the corners frantically. For one awful moment he thought that he had lost her entirely. Then a giggle sounded from at the end of the alley, and he saw a flash of blonde disappear into a doorway. He followed mechanically, as if his feet had a life of their own.

He stepped inside the small, dreary-looking building, his eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness. For the first time since the chase began, rationality began to return. What was he doing, running after a stranger and entering such a strange place, without a clue of his whereabouts? A Veela… the woman must be at least part Veela, to make him lose all control of himself. But why would a Veela tempt him into chasing after her? Suddenly the shadows seemed to move, and his mind cleared as fear began to grip his heart.

“Who's here?” he said sharply with a bravado he didn't feel. “What do you want with me? Why have you brought me here?!”

A dark chuckle was his only answer as three figures stepped out of the darkness. Three hooded figures cloaked in identical billowing black robes. Three faces covered in white masks…. “Death Eaters!” he yelped, taking a hasty step backward. In no time they were upon him, and he struggled as they fought to hold him still. A sharp blow connected with his skull, and his world went fuzzy and grey. He could just make out the sickeningly familiar pull of a Portkey, and then he sank into the welcoming velvet darkness in his mind.

* * * * *

“The children of England would never be slaves
They're trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of England face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation”
-- “Children's Crusade” -- Sting
He awoke to searing pain. At first he thought that it was from the blow to his head, which still throbbed mightily as if it had a pulse of its own, but that pain was eclipsed by one much greater and horribly, awfully familiar… his scar blazed an unmistakable warning. Voldemort!!

It was not until the crowd of black-robed figures turned to stare at him that he realized he spoken aloud. “He's awake, Master!” a voice spoke. A voice he had heard two years before. A voice that stabbed at his heart. The voice of a traitor.

“I can see that, Wormtail,” a high-pitched yet icy-cold voice hissed. That voice was far, far worse. It was the embodiment of every nightmare he'd ever had, every sorrow he'd ever felt. His guts twisted. He had been captured! He had let himself be drawn right into their trap! Professor Snape was right – he was forever getting into situations over his head because he didn't *think*!

'Stay calm,' a rational part lectured him. He tamped down on the fear, forcing it down until he felt that it would no longer smother him. The next step was to take stock of his situation. He tried to move his hands and discovered that they were restrained above his head. The same seemed to be true for his feet. His position was far too close to what it had been in the graveyard the night of the final task in the Tournament, the night that Cedric had been killed and his own blood had been used against him… he fought against a stronger wave of panic.

“How nice of you to join us, Potter,” Voldemort drawled. The barely-human being was seated on an ornate, plush chair that suspiciously resembled a throne. A semi-circle of Death Eaters were clustered around him, the balding, pudgy figure of Peter Pettigrew at the center, his silver fist a mark of his betrayal, of his true allegiance. “We've been waiting ever-so-patiently for this phase of my plan. You see, as powerful as I have grown since last we met, it is not quite enough. When the curse that tried to take your life all those years ago rebounded, it drained me while protecting you, infusing you with a bit of my own power. Time and time again you have thwarted me, denied me my rebirth, until last year. Last year I turned the tables on you and showed the world that not even the great Harry Potter can keep me from claiming power that is rightfully mine. And yet you stubbornly continue to draw breath! That all ends tonight.” His lips twisted in a sick parody of a smile. “Tonight I put an end to the boy-hero of the wizard world who has dared to stand in my way. Tonight I throw the gauntlet at Dumbledore's feet. Tonight I will regain the power that you robbed from me!” His hand reached for his wand, caressing it thoughtfully, and Harry flinched. His eyes darted to Wormtail's belt, seeing his own wand secured there. His fingers itched. Could he possibly summon it and free himself? As if sensing his intentions, Pettigrew covered the wand with his hand, securing it against his person.

Voldemort threw his head back and laughed, the terrible sound echoing in the room, sending chills down Harry's back. “Revenge is sweet, is it not, my dear Death Eaters?” They nodded as one, and despite their masks, Harry could feel their eyes crawling over him, burning with malice. “Ah, but I have learned my lesson from our past encounters. I could not kill you through proxy, nor with my own wand. Your death will be agonizing, but it will not be by my own hand. I have reserved that most venerable task for another. Your death will serve a double purpose – to restore to me the power that you stole, and to restore one of our own to a place of favor.” A dry, rasping chuckle rattled in his throat. “I trust that I am not the only one who has burned for the chance of revenge.” His head turned as another dark-robed figure stepped into the room. “Come, approach me, my loyal servant.” The man approached slowly, eyes cast downward. As he neared, Harry could see locks of midnight-black hair falling to either side of the mask. His breath caught in his throat. The Death Eater's manner was respectful, but every move was smooth and filled with a steely pride and self-possession. The other drew back slightly, either out of revulsion, fear, respect, or perhaps an odd mix of the three. He knelt, gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor, and kissed the robes of his master. “You honor me with your summons, My Lord,” he murmured. Harry's stomach lurched. There was no mistaking the silken tones, delivered by a tongue sharp enough to cut glass.

The Dark Lord's lips twisted into a malicious smile. “Rise,” he said casually, gesturing with a hand. “Now that the last player is here, we may begin in earnest. Remove your masks, all of you. It is better for the boy to see exactly what he is up against. In this case, the enemy you know is much worse than the enemy you don't.”

One by one, the Death Eaters reached up to remove their masks. There were a few unfamiliar faces – drawing on his past experience, he figured that two of them must be Avery and Nott; and a man and woman who were most likely the Lestranges, freed from Azkaban when the Death Eaters had raided it – there was Macnair the executioner, Crabbe and Goyle (whose sons bore more than a passing resemblance), and Lucius Malfoy, who had given away his identity ahead of time by his flowing blond hair. Then the figure in the center of the circle removed his mask, and Harry stopped breathing. He had known, *known* who it was, but the proof in front of his eyes was just too much. Before him stood Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, dressed in full Death Eater regalia and wearing a smile insane enough to ensure him a padded cell at Saint Mungo's.

Voldemort watched him closely, drinking in his horrified reaction. “It's so good to have you back where you belong, Severus,” he purred. “You understand why we've been a bit cautious with you, I'm sure. One can never be too careful. It was somewhat… suspicious… that you went to work for Dumbledore so soon after my downfall, and that he vouched for your loyalties. But you have proved yourself to me, and I am greatly pleased to have one so guileful in my employ, monitoring that old fool's every move and grooming future Death Eaters for our noble cause. Complete this final task and my faith in you will be fully restored. Kill the Potter boy, and avenge us all.”

Snape bared his teeth in a savage parody of a smile. “I am honored beyond words, my Lord, to be the instrument of your revenge. I have been anticipating this moment for many years. Do I have your permission to explain things to the boy?” The Dark Lord nodded, his inhumanly red eyes glowing with delight. Snape looked absolutely unholy, his moment of vengeance at hand. “Do you know how long I have been waiting for this, boy?” he spat. Harry shook his head, trying to shut out the soft yet menacing words. Snape's hands clenched reflexively, as if they wanted to wrap themselves around his throat. “Twenty years. Two decades since that accursed Black tried to have me killed, since your sweet Lupin tried to devour me whole, since your father humiliated me by a lifedebt owed, since Dumbledore turned a blind eye to everything!” His voice had risen from a whisper to an enraged shout. “I have sat in the same room with that codger for years and listen to him slight my house again and again! No more!” Suddenly the screaming stopped, and the mad smile returned, an eerie parody of calmness stealing over him. “They will regret casting me aside. I found friends in Slytherin house, friends that have helped me rise to power and glory with the Death Eaters, as is my right. This time our Lord will be victorious, and I will have my place in his new world order. One day soon, very soon, I will not have to bow and scrape before Dumbledore, teaching his dunderheaded children with sieves for brains!” A long-fingered hand ghosted over Harry's cheek in an obscene gesture of gentleness. “You look just like him, you know. Except for the eyes, I could believe that James himself stood before me, tied up for my pleasure. You will suffer the same fate that he did, but it will not be as quick or as merciful as an Avada Kedavra. No,” he purred, “I want your pain to last. Your screams will be the currency that pays me back for all those years of humiliation, all those years that they laughed behind their hands and tried to hold me back from the power was rightfully mine!”

Harry's thoughts were racing a mile a minute. 'Oh God, he's mad, drunk on whatever power that Voldemort has promised him! Dumbledore was completely wrong about him – he's going to betray us all! And to think I trusted him!' If only there were some way to get free, to warn Dumbledore… but this time there would be no miraculous rescue, no last-minute advantage to present itself. This was it. These were his last minutes to live.

Snape reached into his robes, withdrawing a vial. He uncapped it, holding it out for his maleficent cohorts to see. “Do you know what this is, Potter?” Harry shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. A disgusted sneer twisted the man's features. “Of course not. That would require you to actually use your brains for something other than Quidditch or sneaking around the castle after hours. This, Mister Potter, is a clever poison consisting of mostly aconite, but with subtle additions of belladonna, hemlock, and holly. It is an experimental poison, and I am much obligated to my master for granting me such an excellent test subject. It is almost a shame that your death will be relatively quick – I had hoped to see you suffer a bit longer, but it is not my place to question the decisions of my master.”

Harry saw Voldemort nod in approval, no doubt pleased with the obedience of his pet Death Eaters. The reptilian-like mockery of a man spoke, drawing all eyes in the room to him. “That is quite enough, Severus! Get on with the main event – I believe I have earned this moment more than anyone.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Snape murmured, bowing his head respectfully. Then, quick as a striking snake, his hand shot out and grasped Harry's jaw, trying to pry open his mouth. The boy clenched his teeth forcefully, the pressure causing stars to fire in his field of vision. Snape leaned over him, an awful leer marring his face, until his lips brushed the boy's ear. A soft breath caressed him there, and a hushed whisper stole forth, so soft it was barely audible…. “Harry… trust me….” Harry's jaw dropped slightly. He was scarcely sure he had heard the words at all. He was going mad himself, imagining things that couldn't possibly be true. In that moment, Snape slipped the vial in between his lips almost reverently, tipping it so that its contents slid down his throat, burning a path of fire into his belly. He swallowed heavily, feeling the burning ease slightly. Nothing. He felt fine. And then all hell broke loose.

His back arched as his hands scrambled against his bindings. Despite his best efforts, screams tore through his throat, echoing through the room. He barely noticed as the Death Eaters clustered around like wolves eyeing a prospective kill. Oh god he was on fire the agony was unbearable it was tearing him apart please please someone make it stop! It was so very much like liquid Cruciatus coursing through his veins, searing him and consuming him whole! He sobbed, tears blurring his vision as they flowed freely down his cheeks. He writhed and struggled against his restraints until his arms and legs were bruised and bloody. His vision began to dim and his limbs ceased their struggle. It was with a measure of relief that he felt himself tumbling down a dark tunnel, the torment mercifully coming to an end. He spared a thought of regret for Dumbledore, who had shown so much faith in him, for Sirius, who had given him a sense of family, for Lupin, who had taught him to defend himself and have pride in his abilities, and for Hermione and Ron, his truest friends. “I'm sorry,” he whispered as he felt Death reaching for him with icy fingers. So much for the Boy Who Lived. “I've failed you all. I'm so sorry.” With that, the last of his consciousness ebbed away, and he was gone.