Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Falling

"Take them down!" A voice, unusual in both youth and authority, rose above the din. Familiar, too, but the vague recollection danced at the edge of his memory, and Snape dismissed it. Death was all around him now; he'd shown his true colors at a most inopportune moment. The werewolf lay Stunned a few feet away, Tonks had already been taken. Kingsley had gone for reinforcements that would come too late. And Dumbledore . . . He glanced in the direction of the elder wizard. The Hogwarts headmaster dueled with a half dozen of Voldemort's best, and Severus could do nothing but pray, held as he was at wandpoint by Lucius Malfoy.

"Malfoy." The young Death Eater, a most surprising lead for this most important of missions, was standing beside him. "I'll take him. Join the others. Voldemort wishes a free duel with Dumbledore, and there will be no interference by the Aurors, or Dumbledore's Order. I suggest that you ensure that."

Snape was staring. The easy, careless fashion in which this one referred to his lord bespoke a long familiarity with the Dark Lord, and a ranking higher than Snape would have believed possible for one so young. But it was Malfoy's submissively uttered, "Yes, my lord," that truly unnerved him. He knew Lucius, understood that Malfoy bowed only to the highest of kings. That he obeyed this boy with a respect he was wont to give even Lord Voldemort was telling, and not a little frightening.

It was insane, how bad things had gotten so fast. Harry Potter, stupid child that he was, had left the protection of the Dursley's home only a week into the summer after his fifth year. Snape supposed it was grief over that mutt Sirius' death that provoked the boy, though that was no excuse. But no matter. Potter had been captured by the Death Eaters, taken by Malfoy into the heart of Voldemort's castle stronghold in Russia. To tell the truth, Snape wasn't surprised they'd never found his body – after they'd finished with him, there probably hadn't been enough of him left to mail back to Dumbledore. The wizarding world had grieved for their baby hero, and in their grief, Voldemort's Death Eaters had found an easy target. Hogwarts was the last true sanctuary for the Light. Diagon Alley held its own, but it was only a matter of time. Now the Ministry itself was under attack, and despite the battle still raging around him, Snape knew that they'd lost this one almost before it had begun. There were simply too many . . . and that boy.

Snape didn't remember him from the latest of his Death Eater meetings. Couldn't remember the teenager who stood before him with such utter poise and control. Snape assumed he was Voldemort's heir; there was no other reason he could imagine that the Dark Lord would let him lead so great an attack. He'd done well at it too, this boy of perhaps seventeen, commanding Voldemort's most elite soldiers with the serenity of a seasoned general.

"Who are you?" he murmured, mostly to himself, and stiffened in surprise when the boy leaned closer, met his eyes through the mask.

"Your worst nightmare," he responded in that strangely familiar tone, and through the mask his emerald eyes glittered with malice and hatred.

"No . . ."

"Yes." His captor laughed, removing his mask with a theatrical flourish. For a moment Snape stared into the face of his archenemy's only child, took in the abomination before him, who mocked him with Lily's eyes. He didn't hear the curse that banished him to welcome blackness.

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"Ennervate." The snarled spell brought him to full awareness in an instant, but he kept his eyes closed as he listened to the voices above him.

"He's awake, just faking it," Malfoy grumbled.

"I put a little power into my spells, Lucius." Snape recognized Potter's voice with a shiver. "Or perhaps it is simply that some of us do not improve with age. Tell Voldemort that the prisoners have been awakened. I will see to Snape." Severus heard footsteps retreating, then the snap of a closing door. And Potter's voice came again: "I know you're awake, so you can stop faking."

Snape hesitated only a moment before he opened his eyes and sat up, taking stock of his injuries. To his surprise, he felt perfectly fine, and he glanced at Potter in mute query.

"We haven't hurt anyone, as of yet. There are some that will be of better use intact, as bargaining chips. On the other hand, there are some – like you – who are good for nothing but a bit of entertainment."

"Why, Potter? I don't . . . I don't understand."

"If you live, Snape, you will indeed have the answers you seek. But that has yet to be decided."

"Potter." Voldemort's sleek, serpentlike tone came from the doorway, and Harry straightened, grabbed the back of his professor's robes and pulled Snape to his feet with shocking strength. "I see you've been quite as successful as I could have wished."

"Of course, my liege." Potter's posture and manner of address was perfect, just deferential enough to remain in good graces, but steady enough to gain Voldemort's favor. But there was something in his eyes, some flicker of disdained amusement, that puzzled Snape.

"Who have we here?" Voldemort turned to the prisoners behind them, and Snape turned with him, instinctively choosing to give his back to Potter to keep Voldemort in view. It was only wishful thinking, he knew, but at least with Potter torture was not certainty, but still open to negotiation.

The others – there were only four in the chamber with them – were chained to the wall several feet apart. Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley, and . . . McGonagall? Severus cursed inwardly, but remained where he was. A show of valiant honor, a frantic attempt at rescue, would do none of them any good. He wasn't certain why he was standing here, free, at Potter's side. But for the moment, he was unrestrained, and he would take any opportunity that chanced to present itself.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," Voldemort nearly purred. "You have been quite a problem of late – you will pay for that with your life, but not, I think, very soon. Nymphodora." He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Your mother was once one of my grandest hopes, very like Bellatrix. A pity she had to choose the losing side, along with her mutt of a cousin, hmm? And Lupin. The werewolf. I offered you a choice twice, and was refused. It is beyond my patience to extend my forgiveness a third time, I'm afraid. And last but not least, Minerva McGonagall. Not one of my professors, of course. How are her teaching skills, Potter? As mediocre as Dumbledore's were?"

"I would not be an accurate judge . . . I was a Gryffindor, after all, and McGonagall was always partial to her own students."

"That, then, as not changed. Minerva, shame on you." Voldemort sounded pleased with himself, and Snape knew from past experience that was never a good thing. "Favoring your Mudblood students over my pureblooded Slytherins. You will pay for that." He turned away, favored Snape with a particularly vengeful glare. "And of course, my faithful Potions master. Who, it seems, is not so loyal as he once was. You have seen the penalty for betrayal, Severus. So, for a taste of what is to come, I think a lesson is in order. Crucio."

Snape tensed, prepared for the curse. It was always a new shock, each time. It didn't matter that it had happened a hundred times before, that every muscle still remembered the unique torture of Voldemort's curse. There was no way to take it gracefully, and he closed his eyes, waiting for a pain that never came.

Harry held out a hand, blocked the curse. Took the burden of it silently as he went down on one knee on the floor. Rose without a word to face his master's condemnation. "I want him, alive and uninjured." It wasn't a request this time, but a demand. "The werewolf as well."

"They are mine, body and soul, as are you."

"You needed an ally, Voldemort, and you have one. But if you wanted a slave, you got the wrong guy."

"You will bow to my authority."

"But not to you." They locked eyes, and to Snape's surprise, Voldemort looked away first. "I want them, for reasons of my own. You cannot deny me that."

"You're going soft, Potter."

Harry's smile was tinged with a hint of dark amusement. "Never that. I simply lack the stomach for true torture. I can perform the curse, but I do not share your love of the Cruciatus Curse. It comes, I suppose, of my own personal experience with it."

"McGonagall, then," Voldemort said after a moment, and Harry shrugged.

"If you like." He waited for Voldemort's nod of approval before he flicked his wand at Minerva and murmured "Crucio" almost lazily. Voldemort listened to the resultant screams for several long minutes before Snape gave up any appearance of impartiality and grabbed Harry's arm.

"Stop it, Potter!"

"Never interfere," Harry growled, releasing Minerva and turning the brunt of his fury on Snape. "Crucio." He snapped the word, and Snape went down, screaming. He held it for almost ten minutes before he released it, letting out a dersive snort as Snape went limp. Voldemort was laughing, and even in his weakened, pain-wracked state, Snape shuddered at the sound of it, sending new flashes of pain through his body. He tried to sit up, and cursed softly as the word spun around him in a blur of color and sound before everything faded to black.

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"You seem to make a habit of passing out in my presence, Snape," Potter said from somewhere to his right. He heard Potter's approach, and opened his eyes warily to find the teen crouched beside him. "How many fingers am I holding up?" he demanded, waving three fingers in Snape's face.

"Several."

"You'll be fine." Harry rose lithely to his feet, giving Snape his first view of the large wolf beyond, and Snape abruptly became aware of the moonlight shining through the window. He'd forgotten that tonight was the full moon; thankfully, Potter had not. Rather unsteadily Snape stood, and the werewolf – Lupin – went for him with a feral snarl, only to be brought up short by the silver chain that tethered it. Very calmly Potter pulled on a pair of gloves that gleamed dull silver, struck the beast across the face hard enough to elicit a puppyish whimper from the enormous wolf.

"So, Snape, still want those answers?" Potter crossed the room to sprawl with deliberate carelessness across a black leather recliner, one foot dangling over the chair arm, his eyes half closed, surveying the man before him with studied nonchalance. But Potter's impassivity was merely a farce; Snape knew that for fact. An effective one, and one he'd used himself, but easy for anyone who knew him to see through. There was an intensity to Potter's expression, a coiled strength and poise almost buried beneath that practiced façade.

"Yes." Snape paced the room for a moment before he threw up his hands in resignation. "Why? Why did you . . join him? Let him make a slave of you?"

"I would have thought that our little dispute over you would have proven well enough that I am no pawn. Not to Voldemort, and not to Dumbledore. I wouldn't have bothered if I thought I would just be trading one master for another. But here I am a prince of the realm, a force to be reckoned with, and not because of my close connection to Lord Voldemort. I was very good at DADA, Professor, if you'll recall. That same aptitude lent itself rather well to the Dark Arts themselves. After almost six months of practice, I can duel even your lord to a standstill. Another month, and Dumbledore will fall at my hand, and this world with him."

"After you disappeared, he grieved for you the way he would for a son he'd lost," Snape returned, the fire returning to his eyes as he defended his mentor. "He refused to believe the rumors, went out searching for you alone months after the rest of us gave up."

"He wasn't grieving, Snape – he felt guilty, and he kept looking because he had reason to believe that I was alive. He tried to put me under the Imperius when I wouldn't fall in with his plans to have me join the Order of the Phoenix. I broke it, and he almost killed me . . . trying to cut his losses, I suppose. I wasn't working the way he wanted, so it was time for me to die like a good little martyr. Obviously, I disagreed."

"I don't believe you."

"Then don't. But know this – I did only what I had to do. I didn't end my fifth year with the intention of going to Voldemort. I didn't want to join forces with the monster who destroyed my family. But that choice was no longer mine to make."

"You're no victim." Snape's tone was certain. "They – the Death Eaters – they defer to you . . . call you master, and kneel at your feet, and kill for your orders. You are not helpless."

"I made a choice, Snape, that night a year ago when Voldemort came to me, and I will not regret it. No, I don't want to kill people; I lack the violence of spirit necessary to desire another's pain. But I made a conscious decision to become Voldemort's heir, aware that there would be certain . . . obligations that came with the title. The first time I killed a man I stood there while Voldemort finished off the rest of his family . . . . and I went to my rooms, very calmly, and spent the next six hours throwing up. But that is, for a man in my position, impractical. I couldn't escape destiny, Snape. So I learned to enjoy it."

"You genuinely enjoy what you do, now."

"Yes." Harry smiled at Snape's obvious confusion. "I learned, over time, to ignore the morality of what I do. You have to admit that there is a kind of rush that comes with Dark Magic; it's what makes it so attractive. Voldemort has simply taken the extra step of removing the moral considerations and concentrating solely on the power . . . and the pleasure. I have chosen to do the same."

"Then why take the risk, why stand up to him, for Lupin and me?"

"Don't fool yourself into believing that I can be reformed. I wanted you alive because you could stand torture, I think, and make a martyr of yourself with it. And so I will have your pride, your very humanity, and have you crawling at my feet begging for death long before I grant you that plea. Lupin . . ." Harry glanced at the werewolf almost sorrowfully. "He is truly the last Marauder, now – one condition of our alliance was Wormtail's death by torture. He is . . . a last link to my parents; the only person I remember, save for Sirius, who cared for me, and not just what I represented." Harry was silent a moment. Then: "Why did you betray the Dark Lord, Snape? Why desert one master in exchange for another just as bad?"

"Because what the Dark Lord does is wrong. And a part of you still remembers that. You choose not to see, but deep down you know it is. Our world hasn't changed just because you aren't in it anymore. The Weasleys are still fighting at Dumbledore's side, the Granger girl with them. Can you kill them, Harry, in the heat of battle?" Potter turned away from the accusation in the other's tone, and Snape followed him, his words pricking the gentler emotions buried beneath the hate for Dumbledore that ruled Harry's every decision.

"What are you going to do when he catches Hermione and Ron, and demands another show like the one with McGonagall tonight? Are you going to kneel at his feet and say, 'Yes, master,' and slowly kill the best friends you ever had? How can you submit to that monster day after day?"

Harry turned on him, hatred and desperation flaring to life in the depths of his emerald eyes. "I submit because I know it is nothing more than my own will that keeps me at his feet. I submit because someday very soon my influence in the Death Eater ranks will exceed his own. And when it does, I will kill him and bow to no other God – and make of his followers a Dark empire the like of which this world has never seen. Only when Dumbledore takes his last breath, when every last member of his Order of the bloody Phoenix is dead and the bird for which it was named rises no more, will I be sated."

"I am . ."

"Of the Order. I know."

"Then if you truly hate them so much . . . why did you really save me? Because that is what it felt like – salvation."

"Because," Harry said at last, in scarcely more than a whisper, "this afternoon, when I took off my mask, you looked at my eyes and knew who I was . . . and your eyes never strayed to that damned scar. You saw me, not the boy savior of the wizarding world – even when I was at Hogwarts and you hated me, you saw me for who I was, not what I'd done. And for that, I am grateful."


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