At Nott cottage, the night had been long and trying.  The silence, the red eyes, the sinister laugh echoing in the room…

Severus could almost hear the boy's cries.  Actually, at one point during the night, he was even persuaded that he'd felt Harry's presence.  He'd turned around, looking feverishly for some sign of him, and it'd seemed for an instant that he could see those green eyes that'd haunted him for so long.

He'd obviously been dreaming.  From the anxiety and fatigue of having to continually Occlude his mind.  But those eyes, full of despair, were too troubling for him to simply forget them.

If Potter died there, that look would haunt him for the rest of his life…a life that wouldn't last long enough for him to lapse into a depression, he thought.

If something didn't happen quickly….

As if in fulfillment of his wishes, a flash of green flames appeared at that very moment in the fireplace, and Lucius Malfoy made his entrance into the cottage, obviously satisfied.

"My Lord, we've done what you asked," he said with a bow.

The red eyes glinted furiously.  "Come here, Lucius."

The man looked up and went to the Dark Lord, a slight trace of fear in his walk.

Without needing to hear the incantation, Severus knew immediately what the dark wizard was doing: a well-placed Legilimens for the Death Eater.

A few minutes passed before he finally broke the contact. Then, turning toward Severus, he said, "I take back what I said, Severus.  The boy expects nothing from you."

The Potions master bowed deeply. 

"Lucius, you've executed your mission perfectly.  I'm very pleased with your service…your choice of method has proven to be particularly wise.  Leave him locked up without disturbing him today.  I'll take care of finishing off his resistance.  This evening, at nightfall, have everything ready for…what did you call it, Lucius?  Ah, the grand finale.  Yes, it will definitely be grandiose.   Warn everyone that the ceremony will take place this evening.  We'll need a specially chosen place, won't we?  Severus, an idea?"

Severus felt his heart pound harder in his chest. "The Forbidden Forest would be ideal, my Lord.  Right under the eyes of Dumbledore and all those imbeciles who defended his cause."

The Potions master saw a gleam in the Dark Lord's red eyes.  "Interesting idea.  But I'd prefer something more symbolic…Godric's Hollow.  The cemetery at Godric's Hollow would be perfect.  At nightfall.  Lucius, have everyone gather there.  You'll bring me the boy; tonight, we will have come full circle."

Malfoy bowed, oozing satisfaction.  "Would you like me to prepare Potter, my Lord?"

"That will not be necessary, Lucius.  Leave him in his dungeon, I'll personally see to keeping him company, in my own way.  Simply make certain that no one comes near the Manor."

With a last gesture of reverence, Malfoy disappeared in a flight of green flames.

"Don't be frustrated, Severus," Voldemort said smoothly.  "You will have your chance to play with the boy tonight as well."

Severus murmured a few non-incriminating words before going back to work.

He'd taken his chance, without much hope…   Godric's Hollow?  It was truly the last place he'd expected.

What could Dumbledore and the Order really do at this point?  Were they counting on him to bring Harry back alive?  He really, really had to have a word with Dumbledore about the Order's effectiveness and priorities.  Because if Voldemort seemed reassured of his loyalty and the little hope that Potter had seemed to have in him, he still hadn't given Severus the chance he'd hoped for: to go and check on the state the boy was in.

No, the Dark Lord didn't fear for the life of the boy Who Was Going To Die Anyway.  The link that connected him to his mind was enough for him to know that the boy was at the end of his strength, but that he'd survive at least until this evening.  No, it was unnecessary to give an energizing potion to ensure he was conscious during the ceremony.

What Voldemort needed was a Theft of Magic potion.

Severus chilled at the thought.  Yes, he knew this formulation; he'd already prepared it.  The Dark Lord knew this since he always kept a bottle of the potion on his person.  But he'd need it fresh, potent, specially prepared for this evening, for his greatest enemy.

He wasn't going to be happy with just killing the boy; he also wanted to benefit from it: to take the power and strength that the boy'd stolen from him fifteen years earlier, thanks to his mother's sacrifice.

Yes, tonight, all would come full circle.

And Severus felt the weight of fate struggle within him.  It'd be useless to claim to not have the potion; there were available reserves of it anyway.  Impossible to weaken it as well; he could only make it correctly or fail to do so, because its inky blue characteristic color made it impossible to falsify.

Hiding his confusion as best he could, he threw himself into the brewing of the potion.  And of another as well…one he had to do correctly, at all costs.

The one he had to slip into the boy's mouth when the moment came, before activating the Portkey.  Just a few drops would be enough to make Harry take his Animagus form, and then, all that would remain would be to find a way to flee and escape Voldemort, the Death Eaters, and the wards.  A walk in the park.

Thinking quickly, Severus tried to imagine a plausible scenario…and after all, yes, this Theft potion could very likely turn out to be useful.  For it to be activated, and the powers transferred, the victim's blood had to flow, from the thief's hand or from one of his faithful.

He had to be the one.  Ha had to claim this honor, in the name of his loyalty, to be the one to approach Harry and make him discreetly drink the other potion.

Then make use of the confusion in order to flee….

He sighed.  Flee where, at what distance were the wards weak enough, how much time would they have?  How much of a chance did they have?

He'd succeed.  He had to succeed, even if it were the last thing he ever did…

Frowning, he bent over his cauldrons once again, the viscous fumes running down his face.  He sighed. It was inescapable: whether he died or returned to Hogwarts a hero that night, it would be with greasy hair!

                                                          ooooOOOOoooo

The doors to the dungeon hadn't opened again in what seemed an eternity, and that was a good thing.

If it were possible, Harry would've greatly preferred not to see anyone before the end came.  People…weren't good for him, and he wasn't good for them either.  People made him hurt.

And yet, he didn't feel alone in this cell…it was too small for another person to fit in there, he knew.  But he heard that voice…those noises…that laugh….

He preferred to focus on sensations: mostly the thirst he felt, the pain in his arm, his ankle…oh well, everywhere, really.

But the voice became more and more insistent, whispering words he understood without really grasping them.  A voice hissing in Parseltongue, like him….

"Harry…do you have regrets?  Have you understood now?"

Harry stiffened.  He didn't have the strength to speak, but it wasn't necessary: after all, the voice was in his head.

"Understand what?" he answered.

"That you can't defeat me.  That you've never had the power to do it."

"Probably," Harry answered a moment later.  "But I would've tried."

"And what good would it've done for you to play the hero?  You've lost everything: your family, your friends…  You're alone, and no one believes in you anymore."

"I never asked them to believe in me. I only wanted everything to be…normal."

"And is it normal that you're here now, alone and wounded, in the bottom of a dungeon, without anyone to rescue you?  Is it normal that you're getting ready to die for them, who've done nothing for you?" murmured the voice.

That wasn't exactly right, Harry thought.  But he was too tired to think clearly.

"Yeah, that's probably fair," he finally said.

"You're wrong, Harry.  Things could've been different…if you'd listened to me, if you'd come to me."

"Come to you?  For what? To kill and torture Muggles, and lord it over wizards? "  In his mind, he almost found the strength to laugh at this.  Join Voldemort…the idea was somehow quite grotesque and funny.

"We're one and the same, Harry.  And we both want the same thing: for the world to finally be just and normal"

"I don't think we have the same ideas about justice and normality," Harry said through his dazedness.

"Perhaps you listened too much to that old fool Dumbledore's stories," retorted the Dark Lord.

But Harry no longer wanted to play this game. He was tired, so tired….

"Doesn't matter.  Leave me alone.  Or kill me, whatever you want," he sighed.

"Yes, I'm going to kill you…unless you want it to be otherwise.  It's your choice, Harry."

"What choice exactly?  Follow you, become like you?  Not much in it for me," the boy ground out.  He only wanted to be left in peace…a bit of peace before dying, was that really too much to ask?

"Things aren't always as black and white as Dumbedore makes them out to be.  You still have a choice, Harry.   Submit yourself to me, become my ally, and you'll no longer be alone.  How could you be, with the link that connects us?  Everything can still be different.  Only you can decide," Voldemort finished calmly and soothingly.

To no longer be alone.  But he didn't feel like he was.  There was someone, somewhere…and it wasn't Voldemort.

Did he really think Harry would consider his proposition?  It was utterly ridiculous…after all he'd done to him, starting with killing his parents.

The Weasley twins probably would've already come up with a half-million sarcastic come-backs, but he didn't have the strength for it.  He took the simplest route.  "Go to hell."

"So, Harry. You've made your choice."

The presence seemed to disappear for an instant, and Harry felt relieved.  Then a huge sensation of cold swept through him, and as he tried to curl up a bit to warm himself, his scar suddenly seemed to split open in two on his forehead, sending an explosion of pain throughout his head.

Without knowing how, Harry found the strength to scream and bring his hands up to his scar, in a useless gesture to lessen the pain.

"Give up.  Call me your Lord and I'll stop making you suffer."

"No."

"You're not a hero.  No one sees you.  Give up now!"

"Never," the boy groaned in his mind.

"Never is a stretch of a word for the few hours you have left.  That could almost become an eternity," the voice sneered softly.

Harry waited for the world to go blank, to lose consciousness again.

But that moment never came.  The light had left, yes…but now, even the darkness wanted nothing more to do with him.

                                                            ooooOOOOOoooo

Studying the two bottles in his hand, Severus Snape thought that his profession had seldom so aptly reflected his life.

He held there the means to both save and lose the hero of the wizarding world, the only one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, if one believed an obscure prophecy.

One bottle to lose him, one bottle to save him.  And he was going to have to use them both.  Alternately Death Eater, professor, and spy—the duality of his existence was perhaps finally going to come to an end with these two potions.

To kill or to protect Harry Potter, his choice had already been made years ago, and he'd sworn once again sworn his faithfulness…with conviction.

Because he had to right his wrongs.  Because he owed it to Lily.  Because it was the only solution…and because he was able to do it.

The sun dropped lower in the sky, and the Potions master knew that the hour approached.  Before it was completely dark, their fate would probably be decided.

But the anxiety didn't intimidate him; he was eager to move on, anxious to have it over with.  He didn't feel able to bear one more day in the company of his master, as he leant back in an armchair, his red eyes gleaming, murmuring in Parseltongue and laughing to himself.

Torturing Harry.

The more time passed, the more Severus wondered if there was actually going to be something left to save that night.  After Lucius' handling, which Voldemort had qualified as having been particularly effective, the Dark Lord had spent the entire day undertaking the destruction of the boy's mind.

Would he even be capable of understanding what was happening, if he managed to flee with him tonight?  Nothing was less certain…and in any case, Severus couldn't count on him to help.

Setting the inky-colored potion on the table, he carefully stowed the second phial next to Dumbledore's Portkey in the lining of his sleeve.  The Dark Lord had scarcely paid attention to his work, and he hadn't had to explain the preparation of this second potion.  Not that this would've been a problem…he would've by far preferred to draw the wizard's attention away from the boy for a moment.

Severus just about jumped when he heard his master abruptly get up and walk toward him.

"Is it ready, Severus?" he asked lightly, as he examined the potion on the table.

"Yes, my Lord.  It will be perfect for tonight."

"I don't doubt it.  Of course, Lucius will bring several extra bottles in case there would be a problem with the formulation of this one," said the Dark Lord, with a furtive glance at his Potions master.

"There won't be, my Lord.  But of course, best to be prudent."

Voldemort looked at him piercingly, and finally hid the bottle in his wizarding robes.

"It's almost time.  Take what you need."

Snape quickly took up his leather bag.  The so familiar gesture suddenly seemed almost bizarre to him; it was perhaps the last time he was doing it…this bag would probably fall with him when….

No, he daren't think of it.  Even if he Occluded with all his might, he shouldn't think of being able to fail tonight.

An instant later, he felt the familiar sensation of Apparition seize him, as Voldemort pulled him to his side, then on to the cemetery at Godric's Hollow.

The place was strangely calm, without being peaceful.  How could that be?  He somehow had the impression that the village, which stood only a few steps from the cemetery, had been deserted.  Only for tonight?

He saw that Voldemort was slowly, almost reverently, drawing near to a tombstone. He had no difficulty guessing which one it was: the Potters' grave, where Lily lay…   A violent wave of hatred swept through him as the Dark Lord smiled, reading the names engraved on the tombstone.

Yes, someone had to die tonight…but if it was up to him, it wouldn't be Harry!

Already, Voldemort had done an about-face, feet planted in the middle of a pathway, releasing the summons for his Death Eaters to come to him.  It took but a few seconds to see twenty-some wizards appear, which constituted the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.

Quickly, they all positioned themselves in a circle, according to the pattern they all knew by heart.

Without a word, Severus went to stand to Voldemort's right, leaving a space between them for another Death Eater…the most faithful right-arm of the Dark Lord, one of the most dreaded as well, Bellatrix, Lestrange, who was waiting with Lucius for the moment to Apparate.

On the other side of the circle, Severus easily made out the Animagus, who could've provided him with an excuse, were he to need it: Wormtail, in all his splendor, bent over and jigging with pleasure, his silver hand shining in the last rays of the sun.

What could he be thinking, here, just a few steps from the tombstone of those he'd betrayed? Severus wondered.

But Pettigrew didn't seem consumed by remorse.  His tiny rat eyes flicked impatiently from his master to the tombstone, which had become the circle's center.

When all of them had found their place, and once again, not a thing moved in the cemetery, the Dark Lord finally lifted his voice.

"Here you are gathered once again, Death Eaters…among those most faithful to our cause, who will finally witness its consecration tonight.  Here, in this cemetery that shelters the bodies of James and Lily Potter, I will finally bring this digression to an end, fifteen years of it, during which my domination was contested.  Tonight, I will bring an end to the life of the one who is the cause of it…Harry Potter!"

An incredulous and enthusiastic murmur arose from the circle, and Voldemort smiled.

"In this very place where Lily Potter's sacrifice allowed her to almost annihilate me, I am going to take back what's mine by right, and thus finish off this mistake that bears the name of the Boy Who Lived.  And you, my faithful Death Eaters, you are going to be rewarded," said Voldemort in a low, confident voice.

Once again, a murmur ran through the gathering.

"Today," concluded the Dark Lord, "I take back my power.  And you, you will have his strength."

Raising his hand, he quieted all whispering in the circle, pointing at the Potters' tombstone with a finger.  "Lucius, Bellatrix.  How is our guest?"

At these words, Bellatrix burst into laughter of pure joy.  She came closer, her gleaming eyes fixed on her master, a big smile on her face. "My Lord, we couldn't get a word out of him. But he's alive, and ready for to receive you!"

Voldemort bowed his head slightly and smiled at her. 

Beaming with pride and maliciousness, Bellatrix went to take her place to the right of her master, without a look at Severus.

In the middle of the circle, Malfoy was firmly holding on to the boy, not to keep him from running away, Severus noted, but to keep him from falling.

"Have you followed my orders?" asked the Dark Lord.

"Completely, my Lord.  No one's opened his cell door since last night.  However…"

Seizing the boy by the hair, he forcefully jerked his head up, revealing his face to the onlookers.

"He seems to have been in good company," Malfoy finished.

Once again, a murmur swept through the gathering, but one of shock this time.  Severus restrained himself from taking a step toward the boy.  He didn't know what horrified him the most….

It would appear that the boy had been more than severely mistreated.  His limbs stood out at bizarre angles in several places; he didn't seem to have the strength to stay up on his knees any longer, and his breathing was weak and irregular.

But his face was the most striking.

Without his glasses, his eyes appeared larger…or was it just his face that made them look that way?  Because his eyes were empty, despairingly dull, without a glimmer of hope, or challenge, or contempt, or hatred, or whatever one would've expected to find there.

How many times had Severus ground his teeth when he'd seen that infernal gleam of insolence or mockery?  He would've given anything to see them there now.

The boy seemed to make out the shadows around him, but had no sense of what he was seeing, his large green eyes staring at the emptiness.  Between them flowed a rivulet of blood, falling straight from the reopened scar adorning his forehead.

Severus shuddered.  How long had his scar been bleeding?

Probably since the Dark Lord had been weakening his mind with the persistence and subtlety that characterized him so well, he thought.

Again, the question: what actually remained to be salvaged?  Wasn't it already too late?

He felt his hope waver.  He'd never before felt such pity as he did now, in face of this lost and resigned expression…what was left of the wizarding savior?

It didn't matter. He would go on to the end of it, whatever happened.

Voldemort's low, ragged laugh at his side almost made him jump.  One glance at the circle of Death Eaters confirmed that he wasn't the only one lost in the spectacle of Harry Potter, kneeling on the tombstone of his parents.

"Harry, do you recognize this place?  Have you ever even been here?" asked the Dark Lord ironically.

But the boy didn't even seem to have heard him.

"No?  You're home, my boy.  Isn't it very generous of me to have brought a little lost boy home?  I would've taken you to visit your house, but I'm afraid that it's now just a pile of stones. Be that as it may, you're more at home now, where you are.  With your family.  Your dear parents are only a few centimeters away, Harry, there, under your feet."

Once again, he got no reaction; not even a glint flashed through the boy's empty eyes.

"Tonight," Voldemort continued, "I'm giving you back to them.  There where you should've been long ago, and now things will be put back in order.  You'll no longer need your magic…or should I say my own.  So, I'll be taking it back again….  Wormtail?"

Pettigrew stepped forward, bent over and quivering, and held out a silver knife to his master.

"The same knife that allowed me, several years ago in a different cemetery, to end Lily Potter's desperate sacrifice.  Today, there will be neither combat, nor help from another world, nor evasion.   That era is definitely over."

The sun was now almost below the horizon.  Lifting the knife in the light, Voldemort let the rays play across the blade.

A bit of ceremony, Severus thought, but less than he would've expected.  Evidently, the state Harry was in made all commentary superfluous…and any attempt to humiliate or subjugate the boy as well.

Pulling the phial of inky-blue liquid from his robes, the Dark Lord slowly approached the boy, whom Malfoy was still firmly holding onto.  He had no trouble forcing the potion down the boy's throat, and with a brisk gesture, he traced a bloody line on the boy's forehead, cutting the scar he'd left there fifteen years earlier.  Soon, a light gray mist began to escape from the wound, which then circled around Voldemort.  Smiling, he took a deep breath, breathing in the surge of magic and strength that was leaving the boy.

Then, holding the phial in between the teenager's still apathetic eyes, he gathered a few drops of blood oozing out, joining the remainder of the potion.

The liquid instantly turned to mauve, bubbling furiously in the bottle.

Satisfied, Voldemort restoppered it and returned to his place between Bellatrix and Wormtail, both of them frozen in place.

Smiling, he addressed the Death Eaters again. "As you've been able to witness, each wound inflicted on Harry Potter will make me recover his magic.  As for he who spills his blood, he will possess the boy's life, or what's left of it.  You who have served me up until now, you will have the privilege of partaking of it, and by that action, of strengthening your bond with your master.  Each in turn, you will use this knife to this end.  When there's nothing more to take…."

With a solemn gesture, he lifted the remainder of the potion into the rays of the dying sun.

"Then, the world will belong to us," he concluded.

A bit ceremonial, thought Snape.  A bit grandiloquent.  But in a certain sense…oh well, he wasn't that eager to nitpick on the correctness of it.

The Dark Lord used his hands to play with the knife, grabbing it by the blade, and Severus' heart leapt.  Bellatrix!  He had to start with Bellatrix!  That way, he'd be the second to have a turn, and he'd still have a chance to get Potter away alive!

It seemed that the wait lasted an eternity, but when Voldemort finally held out the silver dagger, it was to Wormtail at his left that he handed it off.

As the little rat-like man headed, chuckling, for the boy, Severus felt the hope within him slip farther away.

Twenty-three additional wounds: that was what Potter would have to survive, before Severus had a chance to get near him.

Once again, a little blanket of mist escaped from the cut that Wormtail had just made on the boy's shoulder, and wafted toward the Dark Lord.  Then Pettigrew turned around, obviously relieved, and held the knife out to Nott.  Who himself, a few seconds later, gave it to his neighbor.

Strangely, Snape noted, everyone seemed determined to wound the boy just slightly, only making a few drops of blood flow from the mild gashes.  Had Harry's expression shaken them as well?

Still, when the turn came to a place left vacant, Severus believed that the cause had been lost.

Noting the absence of the Death Eater who should've been there, Voldemort turned nonchalantly to Bellatrix.

"Well, not a loss for everyone.  Bella, you've greatly earned having a double ration."

And with a sinister smile, he offered her the dagger.

Seeing Bellatrix's look of pure adoration, Snape knew that the witch was going to show she deserved this honor.  Advancing toward Potter with a sure step, she placed a hand on his forehead, and without hesitating, left a large slash on his throat that started to bleed profusely.

Eyes shining, she turned toward the Dark Lord, seeking approval.  A reptilian smile and a nod rewarded her, and seemed to give her even more energy than that which she'd just stolen from her victim.

The dagger was on its way again, inevitably, but despite their master's approval, no other Death Eater seemed to try to imitate Bellatrix.

Finally, the dagger reached the place left vacant by Malfoy, directly to Severus' right.

Without a word, the next Death Eater carried the knife to him, and Malfoy broke into a cruel and sardonic smile.

Letting go of Potter's wrists, he turned around to face him, and without releasing his grasp from his hair, pressed the knife at the corner of his lips, and drew a grotesque half-smile on the boy's cheek.

Satisfied with his masterpiece, he finally let go, and Harry limply let his head fall, only a hand on the ground keeping him from collapsing completely.

Obviously delighted, Malfoy turned his back to him and went to take his place in the circle, handing Severus the dagger with a complicit smile.

Severus returned the smile, his eyes shining, and took hold of the dagger.

Malfoy was a sadist, but he'd just offered him an un-hoped for opportunity.  He was waiting for him to complete his masterpiece; Severus was going to do exactly that… and in so doing, slip the potion into the boy's mouth.

For the first time in two days, luck, albeit slim, seemed to turn in their favor.

It seemed as if miles separated him from the boy.  Unhurriedly, he crouched in front of him and, grabbing his chin, lifted his head.  When their eyes met, it seemed to Severus that something deep in Harry's consciousness awakened…like a glimmer of recognition, an infinitesimal dash of hope that lasted only a second….

Lifting the knife, he took his turned to press it to the boy's cheek.  Then, with a long-practiced skill, he quickly unstoppered the little bottle on the inside of his left sleeve, hidden from their eyes, and drained the contents of it through the boy's half-opened lips.

The dice were cast.

In a second, the boy lying in the center of the circle disappeared, leaving in his place a black cat that slumped into the grass.

Around him, Severus heard the gasps of surprise and a few shouts, but he didn't waste time by turning to see the Dark Lord's reaction: closing his eyes, he said a quick prayer to whomever could hear him, and holding the cat firmly against himself, he unstoppered the second bottle, activating the Portkey.

Then waited.

And waited.

A cry of rage forced him to open his eyes again and verify the inevitable: the Portkey hadn't worked.  The wards erected by Voldemort were too strong, and the Portkey too old…

They were lost.

Severus Snape was perhaps a man without illusions, and without a doubt expected nothing more out of life.  But he wasn't a wizard who'd give up in the face of a desperate situation.

Protecting the cat the best he could, he brandished his wand, and bent down to avoid the attacks that would surely be erupting shortly; he dashed forward, determined at least to break the circle.

He'd scarcely taken several strides when a hissing sound made him look up, and he noticed, unsurprised, Voldemort's red eyes burning with fury as he lifted his wand in his direction.

The last rays of the sun died in the cemetery, as he heard the wizard pronounce the killing curse. No, Severus Snape thought, however this story was spun, it'd definitely not been a good day to die…

But Avada was never connected to a Kedavra, and all of a sudden, time seemed to slow, almost to the point of stopping.  There, where the last streak of sunlight lay in the little village, something had glittered, catching his eye.  Someone was sending him s signal….   How was it even possible for him to see it from this distance?

But he saw it. Or rather he saw her.  Lily.  Over there, in the ruins of a house, Lily was beckoning for him to come, and to hurry.

The revelation abruptly struck Severus: if anywhere near this place would be susceptible to skirting the wards erected by Voldemort, it was the Potters' house, there where they'd given their lives to save their son.

All he had to do was get to her.  All he had….

And suddenly time seemed to speed up, accelerating.

One look at Voldemort told him why the curse had never reached him: in the middle of the now-dispersed circle stood an enormous black dog with no more substance than a ghost, harassing the Dark Lord with all of its fangs bared, while a stag that seemed made of the same substance was wreaking havoc amongst the Death Eaters.

Without wasting time, Snape cast a temporary Protego before continuing on, desperately making for where the ruins of the house had appeared.

Streaks of magic flew all around them, and it didn't take more than a few seconds for the Death Eaters and their master to gather their wits about them again.

"The traitor!  Kill the traitor!  Bring me the boy!"

Needing no further encouragement, the Death Eaters who'd overcome their fear took off after him, hot on his heels, and despite his protective charms, Severus felt a throbbing pain spread through his shoulder.

Clenching his teeth, he hunched down and picked up the pace a bit, throwing several spells randomly.  A shrill laugh behind him informed him of the author of the attack: Bellatrix Lestrange was finding another way to prove her loyalty.

But the Marauders seemed just as determined to repay their debt to their former victim, and save the life of their protégé.  Doubling their efforts, they managed to buy several precious moments for the fugitives, sowing confusion amongst the Death Eaters.

The village seemed to be miles away; he felt the cat's heart beating feebly as he held it in his arms.

The house!  He saw it now.  Out of breath, refusing to look behind him, Severus ran as hard as he could for the ruins in front of him, within range now, a refuge where he could perhaps hope to get them out of this nightmare.

His eyes were clouded by the blood from a wound he'd not felt; he started to feel hope again.  He couldn't fail, not now, it was only a few more steps….

"Animagus revelio."

The spell had been cast at his back, but it didn't fail to find the right victim.

Before he had time to react, Harry had retaken his human form and collapsed to the ground when Severus was unable to hold him up, just a few meters from the threshold of what had once been his home.

Carried by his momentum, Severus stumbled over the boy's inert body, avoiding a spell that grazed his arm.  Regaining his balance, Severus pushed at the stone door.   The wall.  The house.  He'd just crossed the threshold without realizing it.

"Rennervate.  Imperio."

Glancing back at the spot where he'd just come from, he saw the boy stand up in spite of himself, and head in the Dark Lord's direction.  Swearing under his breath, Severus lifted his wand and, seeing his former master, shouted, "Expelliarmus!"

But a laugh answered him when the spell bounced off the wards, missing him by just a little.

Severus blinked, and the revelation hit him full force.  He'd left the outside perimeter of Voldemort's wards when he'd entered the Potters' house.  And he could no longer go back, now that his betrayal was known.

And as he watched powerlessly, Potter tottered along with the most unlikely of gaits, wobbling on his broken ankle toward the Dark Lord.

He had lost.  All was lost: Lily's sacrifice, Shadow, Harry.  He couldn't let him go, not now!

"Harry!" he shouted, and it felt as if all the accumulated despair of the past fifteen years was contained in that name.  "Harry!"

Against all expectations, fighting the Imperius and the linking of their minds, Potter managed to turn his lost eyes toward him, tinted now with a huge question.

Riveting his eyes to the boy's, Severus tried communicate through them all he'd hidden from Voldemort.  His worry, his hope, his regrets, all that he wanted the boy to know, no matter what happened.

Something in his expression must've reached Harry, because his eyes became more focused, as if he'd suddenly just recognized him.  Two steps away from the Dark Lord, it seemed as if the sight of Severus had given the boy hope again.

Still, they had lost.  There were lost.

Without breaking their connection, Severus shouted once again the only name that came to mind at that moment.  "Shadow!"

Somewhere in Harry's mind, it was if a switch had been thrown.  The black eyes…he knew this expression. He'd seen it in that vision, that man who was worrying about him, who told him with a simple look not to give up…it was him.  It was thanks to him that he hadn't been alone.

It was his Snape.  He was going to save him, and they were going to go back to the house…to the house.

An instant afterward, a black cat fell into the grass, incapable of keeping to its feet; it tried to crawl toward the Man in Black, over there, so far away…

Behind him, the other wizard let out a cry of rage, and the cat felt his threatening presence as he came closer to him.  He curled in on himself a bit, but even so, he didn't stop creeping forward. He had to concentrate on Snape.  There he'd be safe. He knew it.  It was the Man in Black who was telling him so.

But even without him being aware of it, the last of his strength left him, and he collapsed in the grass, without hearing the laugh that accompanied his fall.

Out of the dark wizard's reach, he finally discovered that the darkness truly wanted to welcome him….

                                                             ooooOOOOoooo

He'd believed it.  For a moment, he'd believed it a miracle: Harry had transformed, right in front of his eyes, when he'd called him Shadow.  Breaking the link that connected him to Voldemort, he'd tried to come to him under the stunned expression of the Dark Lord.

Severus was so very proud of him.

But the cat, no more than the boy, didn't have the strength to go the distance that separated them, and at that moment when he'd collapsed again, Severus Snape stopped believing in miracles.

He simply closed his eyes so he wouldn't see what was going to happen next.

But curiously, nothing happened in the seconds that followed the collapse of Shadow, along with his hopes, and Severus opened his eyes again, only to realize that once more, he'd been wrong on the matter.

There truly were miracles, and this one, for once, was directed at him.

The wind that'd been blowing a few minutes before had stopped, and the leaves in the trees swayed slowly…much too slowly…

In front of him, Voldemort and Shadow were still there, two figures frozen, just like in a Muggle photo

The only movement in this setting was the pale silhouette of Lily.

Slowly, she passed by Voldemort without even a glance.

Then she knelt beside Shadow, and with all the tenderness and care of a mother, she gently gathered the inert body of the black cat into her arms.  She stopped for an instant to look at him, an infinitely sweet look on her face, then got up and headed towards what had once been her house.

He eyes fastened onto Severus'; she walked tranquilly toward him, without paying the least attention to the world around her that had abruptly stopped.  Gently cradling the cat, she smiled, a bit sadly, no doubt, but determinedly.

When she halted a step away from him, Severus realized he'd held his breath since the moment she'd first appeared.

"Lily…."

But with a shake of her head, the young woman, who'd eternally be twenty-one, made a sign for him to be silent.

Then, like she would've done with a newborn, she stepped forward and held the cat out to him.  Without thinking, he took it carefully and settled it comfortably in his arms, as he'd so often done at the Manor.  The cat was still breathing, he noted, and his heart was beating weakly.

Looking up again, he searched Lily's eyes.

She was smiling outright now, and tilted her head to the side, just like she always did when she was happy.

She didn't tell him to take care of Harry, she didn't wish them good luck. She didn't need to.  But her lips moved slightly, and Severus thought he could read there, "He's yours now."

Taking a step backward, she left the house, her feet barely brushing the ground.

Behind her, a dog and a stag were calmly waiting in the midst of the Death Eaters frozen in time.

Before Severus had the time to realize, Lily made a small gesture of goodbye, and her hazy silhouette evaporated at the same time as her companions disappeared.

Suddenly, the leaves were rustling once again.

Leaping up, Severus didn't take time to gather his wits.  With one last look at the enraged red eyes seeking out the cat where it'd disappeared, he seized the Portkey in his sleeve and unstoppered it again.

This time, he felt the familiar hook snag him behind the navel and pull him backwards; he tightened his grip on the cat as they disappeared.

At that moment, Severus knew he'd just kept his promise.

They were going to get out of this.  They were going home.