Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 8: Tangled Loyalties

“Severus!” Voldemort greeted with the genuine delight that made it so hard to believe he was in his other life a feared Dark Lord. Severus could know it in his head but he couldn’t feel it. It just made no sense.

“You sound as if you haven’t seen me in a year,” he said dryly, taking a seat on a mossy log (Voldemort’s meeting places tended to be out in the wilderness). “It’s been only a week.”

“I’m allowed to be happy to see my little brother,” Voldemort dismissed. “And look, Severus, an old friend has found her way back to me.” He hissed in parseltongue.

The twelve foot snake that slithered out of the bushes would have made most people look around for an escape route. Severus jumped to his feet, but he smiled. “Nagini!” he said with almost the exact same tone Voldemort had greeted him.

The snake lifted her head, scenting the air, swaying back and forth slightly. Then, assured it was him she came speeding towards him like a dog racing to greet an old friend. Despite knowing very well that the oncoming snake would hit like a battering ram if she chose to attack, Severus stood his ground and laughed, letting her wrap her coils around him in a snake hug, keeping one arm free so he could scratch her head. “I’m glad to see she’s all right,” he said to his brother. “I tried to find her after you – disappeared, but...”

“I appreciate that. But Nagini has a mind of her own, as you well know. And she is quite capable of looking after herself.”

“Of that I had no doubt.” Twelve foot snakes with hugs that could crush a car were seldom argued with.

For Severus it was a good way to spend an afternoon, talking with his brother and Nagini. On coming back to Hogwarts, though, it felt almost like a dream. The Dark Lord was out there in England, doing who knew what... and Severus had just spoken to him. Severus had told no one. He should tell someone. He should tell Minerva at least; he should probably tell Albus. The Dark Lord was back and someone should know so people could start preparing. But... But it was his brother. His brother, who was just waiting, as far as Severus could tell. Not waiting for anything in particular, just waiting. Not doing anything, not trying to hurt anyone.

He didn’t know what to do. He just didn’t know what to do.

That was why he barked “What?” at Granger when she knocked on his door. Then he took a deep breath. “My apologies, Miss Granger. What did you want?”

“I can come back if it’s more convenient—”

“No, please. Ask your question.” It would, of course, be a question. It always was with the girl. She had a thirst for knowledge Severus hadn’t encountered before.

She hesitated, then burst out, “I need to learn about Dark magic. Not how to do it,” she added impatiently at his startled look. “But I need to know how it works. Professor McGonagall said you might know someone who could explain it.”

Had she chosen those words on purpose? Albus... Albus would have asked, gently but implacably, that he tell the girl all she needed to know, and Severus would have refused. To Albus he was a Slytherin who had had the ear of Voldemort, therefore he must have been a Death Eater. And a Death Eater naturally knew much about Dark magic, because otherwise he wouldn’t be a Death Eater.

But Severus had never been a Death Eater and as it happened he didn’t know about Dark magic. But Minerva was right: he knew someone who did. Which was why he spent his Sunday afternoon escorting Miss Granger to visit Anscom Aldridge. He was a scholar, very old, older even than Albus, frail and bent but infinitely sharp of mind. He’d never been a part of the war, but Voldemort had respected his knowledge and introduced Severus to him. And he owed Severus a favour. Many people did; Severus made sure of it. A favour could be a very useful thing.

Aldridge had delved deeply into Dark magic but was one of the few who hadn’t succumbed to its lure, protected because his interest was purely intellectual. The most ardent Light supporter couldn’t condemn this man; his soul wasn’t blackened, at worst it was tarnished. But more probably just very very dusty, like his house.

Granger didn’t seem to mind. She’d come clutching a scroll full of questions and plied Aldridge with them. Severus was soon out of his depth. Though he knew the basics of Magical Theory (because his brother disliked ignorance and because it was useful for potions) he’d never delved very deep. But this girl who’d known of magic for half a year had already gone far deeper, so that she was actually arguing with Aldridge, getting him so worked up he was almost shouting in his thin, cracked voice.

And then they weren’t arguing, they were debating, changing each other’s ideas and whittling away differences of opinion as they tried to find a compromise. Severus sat back and watched them, the girl, young and energetic, gesturing with her hands while the old man drew out book after book to show her specific passages, shaking his head at her foolishness before suddenly listening intently and looking thoughtful. All the while the girl’s eyes were growing wider and wider, drinking it in, fitting the pieces together in her head.

They were almost like a painting, old winter and youthful spring, working together to understand the turnings of the year.

-

Around Neville’s bed, on the other side of the drawn curtains, the noisy chatter of his dormmates about the day’s Quidditch match began to peter out. Neville sighed in relief; it was hard to go to sleep with that noise going on but if he cast a spell to block them out they got offended. He hadn’t gone to the match they were talking about so eagerly; he and Harry and Hermione had been practising instead. None of the three were interested in Quidditch for its own sake, and though Harry loved flying (and was amazing at it, despite not actually being magic – Neville wasn’t sure how that worked) he wasn’t interested in watching other people do it.

As for the house and Quidditch cups, Neville and his friends cared even less for them. House rivalries meant nothing to them because they knew they should all three have been in different houses, and as for winning the cup... Well, they had more important things to worry about it. Even Neville knew it, felt it under the light-heartedness of their day’s work.

Something big was building, something more important than school competitions. And though their practice and their research could feel as much a game as anything their housemates got up to, Neville was coming to realise that it was no game. They were really truly trying to find a way to get rid of Voldemort, trying to do something that all the adults couldn’t do in the last “war”. If it hadn’t been for Harry Voldemort (Neville almost didn’t shudder at the name now) could have taken over all of Britain. And they thought three kids could do something about him if he came back? Maybe Harry could, Harry already had. And Hermione was brilliant, so she probably could too. But Neville sometimes wondered what he was doing here. This really wasn’t a game. This was real life, the real life he’d never really had a chance to be a part of... And it terrified him. Maybe he wasn’t five anymore like his relatives thought, but he was still just a kid. He wasn’t Harry, he couldn’t move in the adults’ world.

But he would, because it was for Harry, who was going to be used as a chess piece. Neville wasn’t going to let anyone treat Harry like that so he was going to help him as much as possible. He and Hermione had promised it silently in looks and glances: if Harry had to be part of the adult world, part of all this tangled fear, then they would be there too.

Neville would, he knew as sleep slowly reached out for him, do anything for his friends.

-

Severus, as well as classes, detentions, weekly visits to his brother, and sundry other duties, had regular meetings with Potter. Ostensibly (to Albus’s self-congratulatory delight) these were to share stories about the boy’s parents but in truth they spoke of many things (though to satisfy any truth spells that might happen along, James and Lily Potter were always mentioned). Potter wanted to understand the world that expected him to save it and the main personalities who would order his destiny as it pleased them. A lot of the time it was small things they spoke of, but Severus was intrigued by this boy-man. He was young, of course, with much much to learn... but he was no fool and he would learn. Was learning, in fact, already. And there was an interesting quickness there; Potter saw patterns where other people saw random movement. Sometimes he added them up to a wrong conclusion, but he saw them. Most people, in Severus’s biased and almost misanthropic opinion, went through life completely blind. The boy awakened his interest, made him think that here was not only an intellect worth fostering but also a spirit worth guiding.

And for the first time he understood, even if only dimly, just why Voldemort had spent so much time teaching a halfblood child with no wealth or political clout to offer his cause.

Potter intrigued him. And although half a year ago he could never have believed it possible if James Potter’s son was involved, Severus grudged no time spent with the boy. Potter was not in fact the clone of his father Severus had made himself see initially. He had Lily’s determined chin and Lily’s eyes. But more importantly, he had a manner of his own; self-possessed by in a quiet fashion, confident without being cocky. There was none of James’s bravado or posturing, instead there was a maturity, even at eleven, that James had never had. These days Severus found it hard to look at Harry and see any resemblance to his father.

Not that he showed any of this, of course. To Potter he was biting in the way that could make the right child think if he wasn’t fool enough to cower, and Potter was no fool.

Most surprisingly, though – and this had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with his upbringing and his age – it no longer seemed strange or unbelievable that Potter was the one ‘destined’ to save the world. Despite having no more magical ability than a teapot Potter could somehow make him forget to disbelieve in prophecies. If Albus wanted a hero then this boy was capable of being that hero. But not in the way Albus meant, not with a big sword and a foolish charge on a million to one chance. Potter would be a hero in the way that seldom made it into books, through hard work, determination... and a strong sense of responsibility.

He’d developed a strangely unchildlike ethos founded on two points. One was “Even if it’s not your fault it’s your responsibility” and the other was “Someone has to, why not you?” Severus was making dark plans to rid him of these beliefs, however, because he could easily see the boy being imposed upon by the pathetic mass of humanity that refused to take responsibility for their own stupidity.

He wondered if any of the teachers had realised the vast potential sitting inside that child. Granger’s potential everyone had noticed, because she couldn’t help but show her brilliance, but Potter was quieter. And yet he was the leader of his little trio. It was Potter who drove them, who kept them at their work, who guided their steps, lifted their spirits, kept them buoyed. At a casual glance Granger was the leader, she ordered the other two around unresented and took charge of every day-to-day affair... but when there was a difficult question or a crisis it was Potter the others turned to and he shouldered their need as if he’d been born to it. Granger might take charge, but Potter was in charge.

Severus realised his year was getting even crazier than he’d thought possible when he discovered he himself might be willing to let an eleven-year-old lead him if it came to it.

-

Neville wasn’t surprised when Hermione announced, excited but solemn, that she thought she knew how to defeat Voldemort if or when he came back. When she outlined her plan, though, he was surprised to find he had a part in it.

“You want my help?” he asked doubtfully. Of course Harry and Hermione could fight Voldemort, they were like that. Neville wasn’t. They were smarter than he was, and braver, and they could move in the adults’ world without any trouble. He was just glad they let him hang round with them. But even if they’d let him help out and everything, he wasn’t on their level. Neville knew that. His dad – his dad would have fit in; but Neville wasn’t his dad.

“We need your help,” Harry corrected.

“M-me? But I’m not—”

“You’re more capable than you think,” Hermione told him briskly. She pressed her lips together as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t think how to say it, then she let it go. “And we do need your help,” she said more gently. “You can link with Harry too, and he trusts you.”

Neville stared at her. Surely they shouldn’t let him be a part of it. He’d just mess everything up! “But—you’re so much stronger. Can’t you do it without me?”

“No,” Harry said simply.

“Harry can provide the power,” Hermione explained, “and I’ll guide it, but we need you to ground up both. It’s like... like a tripod. Steadier and stronger with three legs, not two. We aren’t a pair, Neville, we’re a trio. You’re one of us and we need you.”

Neville stared at her.

Harry tilted his head to the side and Neville couldn’t meet that clear, assessing gaze. “We aren’t your friends because we feel sorry for you, you know. We’re your friends because we like you.”

Neville forced himself to meet Harry’s eyes. There was no deception there, only honesty. Harry and Hermione weren’t like Gran, they weren’t always comparing him to someone else. They accepted him as he was. He stood up straighter, unaware that his Gran’s disappointed looks would have little power to wound him ever again. Hermione and Harry liked him. At that moment Neville would cheerfully have gone to face Voldemort all by himself if they’d asked it of him. “I’ll help you,” he vowed.

Harry smiled. “We know.” And he patted Neville on the back even though Harry never instigated physical contact except for magic. Hermione threw her arms around them in a burst of delight, tears sparkling in her eyes. Neville and Harry exchanged looks through her hair, but hugged her back anyway. It was just Hermione.

“Come on,” Harry said, disengaging himself. “Let’s go practise. You never know when we might need to be able to do this.” He thought of something. “Hermione?”

“Yes?”

“You do know you’re brilliant, right? This plan is amazing.”

“Yeah,” Neville agreed fervently.

She assumed a mock pompous look. “Of course I know,” she said airily, parading around the room.

Harry and Neville automatically reached out to grab hands so that Harry could give Neville the power to easily conjure a couple of pillows and they chased after her, pummelling her until she produced a pillow of her own and it became a three-way pillow fight.

-

“Hello, Severus,” Voldemort greeted, looking up from his newspaper as Severus approached. He’d conjured up an armchair that looked completely out of place in a forest, made even stranger by the long snake draped over the back of the armchair and reading the newspaper with him. Voldemort waved the paper at him, making Nagini hiss irritatedly. “I see the All Blacks are beating us again,” he said as he repositioned the paper for the snake. Severus wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, so didn’t. “Not interested? Rugby never interested me either, I have to admit, but people seem to enjoy it. And when you’ve read the rest of the paper there’s only the sports news left. Nagini brings me papers,” he added.

Severus eyed the front page. “Muggle papers?” he guessed, judging by the unfamiliar masthead and the static photo.

“They’re more common so it’s easier to get hold of an abandoned copy. She does find the occasional Prophet as well. But honestly, Severus, that paper has never been reliable and it doesn’t seem to have improved since I remember it.”

“No,” Severus agreed sourly. “It hasn’t.”

Folding up the paper, heedless this time of Nagini’s annoyance, Voldemort stood. “Severus... I have considered the matter. It seems probably Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”

Severus froze. Voldemort had never made the slightest sign he even knew the boy existed and now this. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Then I have a request of you, little brother. I need you to bring him to me.”

Well, bollocks.

-

Even after two days of serious thought in which he only absently responded to conversation (causing several teachers to suggest he could be sickening for something) and taught classes completely on automatic, Severus didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t take Potter to Voldemort, he knew that. But how could he refuse his brother anything? Voldemort had given him everything. But Potter trusted him and the Dark Lord had already tried to kill the boy once. He couldn’t do it. But he had to do something.

Catching sight of Longbottom in the hall ahead, he snapped the boy’s name. Longbottom obediently trotted over to him. “Yes, sir?”

“Tell Potter I need to talk to him,” he ordered.

“Okay, sir.” Longbottom turned away then turned back, looking up at Severus. “Um, sir? I – I know this hasn’t exactly been easy for you, all this stuff. So, well, thanks for helping Harry.”

He scampered off without waiting for an answer, which was lucky because the only thing Severus could think to say was “Longbottom, I’ve just spent two days trying to decide whether to hand him over to the Dark Lord!”

Yet of all the things to say and all the people to say it to! Severus frankly had never paid a lot of attention to Longbottom. Potter was the hero, Granger was the brain, and Longbottom was the tagalong. But as Potter’s first memory was green light and pain, Longbottom’s could very well be the screams of his tortured parents. Severus, called in sometimes to consult on difficult cases at Saint Mungo’s, knew the boy regularly visited the shattered husks that had once held his parents’ souls.

He frowned, briefly diverted from his agony of tangled loyalties. Perhaps Longbottom would be worth keeping an eye on as well.

Then Potter appeared at his office as ordered and Severus was plunged into the heart of indecision again. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. Shut the door.” The boy did as ordered and took a seat.

Severus frowned at him across the desk. “I have never, to the best of my knowledge, lied to you, Potter.”

“No, sir.”

“But I haven’t been entirely honest with you.” He took a deep breath. “I am in contact with Voldemort. I have been since before the start of the school year.”

If he’d been waiting for stunned horror he was destined to be disappointed. Potter just shrugged. “I wondered if you might be.”

Had Potter been upset Severus would have felt no need to explain himself, but that calm acceptance made him uncomfortable. “I know I should have told someone,” he began defensively.

“You don’t owe me any explanations, Professor.”

“I think perhaps I do,” Severus said slowly. “But they will have to wait. Until this point he has shown no interest in his previous attempts to take over the country. But in my last meeting with him he specifically asked for me to bring you to him.”

“And are you going to?”

Severus put his face in his hands. “Merlin, Potter, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s my brother but I can’t take you to—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t say ‘die’.

“If... If you asked me to, I might let you take me to him.” Severus’s head jerked up and he stared at him. “I don’t know for sure, but I think I would.”

“Potter—”

“He’s your brother! I never had a family that acted like a family, I never had people who loved me! I just don’t—If you have it you shouldn’t give it up!”

Staring into those urgent, honest eyes Severus felt something inside him ease. A pain he’d felt for over ten years, so that he’d even forgotten it was there, was gone. “Not even when your brother is wrong and you know it?” The decision he’d never been able to make was made, simply because a boy was willing to die. “I loved him. I mourn for what he was. But my brother has become a murderer and that is wrong. He is wrong. I will not take you to him and I will not help him. And if you’re forced to face him, if you get the chance to destroy him – don’t hesitate, Harry. Promise me you won’t.”

Potter’s smile was without humour. “In that case I really do need you to take me to him.”

-

Chapter Nine: Forgive

“I arranged it,” Harry announced, walking into their private classroom and carefully closing the door behind him. “Professor Snape will take us to Voldemort.”

Neville flinched into his chair. It was really going to happen. They were really going to try this. It was crazy to think three kids could do anything against the baddest bad guy ever, but it was up to them. They’d worked out what the adults couldn’t and they knew how to do what the adults wouldn’t. They knew what to do.

“Harry?” Hermione’s worried voice interrupted his thoughts and Neville looked up again. Harry was standing there in front of the door, his fists clenched. His friends stood worriedly. “Harry?” Hermione repeated gently.

“I don’t know if I can do it.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady but it wobbled like he was trying not to cry.

“You have to,” Hermione said gently, and Neville was desperately glad she said something because he didn’t know what to say. He stared helplessly at Harry. “You know you do.”

“He killed my parents!” Harry wailed abruptly and if Hermione hadn’t jumped forward he would have collapsed onto the floor. Hermione wrapped him in a hug and crooned nonsense while Neville bit his lip. It was the first time he’d seen Harry really act like a kid. “I don’t want to face him, I don’t want to—I can’t!”

Neville stepped forward as if being nearer would help. He felt so stupid and helpless. Harry’s despair was almost thickening the air, making it hard to breathe.

“You can, Harry,” Hermione murmured, rubbing his back reassuringly.

“I’m not strong enough.”

“You are.” Neville jumped at the sound of his own voice, but continued on. “You are, Harry, you’re so strong. You’re amazing, you... I think you’re the bravest person I ever met, even braver than my mum and dad.”

“I’m not,” Harry choked. “I’m not, I’m not, I’m not. I’m scared. And I can’t do it, I don’t want to do it. Why should I?”

“If not us,” Hermione asked quietly, “then who?” Harry shuddered in her arms.

“We have to do it, Harry,” Neville said, his own voice wobbling. His parents were stuck in that hospital, stuck in their own heads. “Otherwise he’ll just do it all over again. We can stop him now. We can. He t-took my parents too but we have to do it.”

Harry lifted his head from Hermione’s shoulder to look at him. “Okay,” he said in a small voice. “Okay.”

Hermione held out an arm to Neville, her face as white and scared as Neville’s felt. He took the necessary steps to let her pull him into the hug, three children joined in a moment of terror as they faced the truth of what they were about to accomplish.

-

Severus couldn’t believe he’d agree to do this. He was seriously considering taking three children to the man who’d held all of Britain in thrall and might have taken over had Potter not stopped him.

But the really annoying thing was the part of him that kept insisting his brother would like Potter.

He scowled at the path ahead that led to the nearest apparation point on Hogwarts grounds.

“I’d say to be careful your face doesn’t freeze like that,” Minerva commented, “but I think it already has.” The children all giggled. Severus glared at her, but didn’t mean it.

They’d had to bring Minerva with them on this insane expedition, not just because she refused to be left behind but because Potter insisted all three children needed to go and Severus couldn’t side-along three at once. Given a choice in the matter Severus would have preferred to take no one with him, but Potter had suddenly admitted he was in charge.

“And you can’t interfere,” Potter had told Severus and Minerva seriously. “If you have to stay then stay, but you can’t interfere. We know what to do.” His eyes blazed with conviction and confidence.

“Couldn’t you—” Minerva began.

“Teach you? No. It has to be us because we know what to do and because it can be us.”

“At least tell us what you’re intending,” Severus demanded.

“No,” Potter said simply but firmly.

“Why not?” Minerva asked.

He smiled suddenly, mischievously. “Because you wouldn’t let us do it.”

“All right, that’s enough of this nonsense,” she said sharply. “I’m putting a stop to this.”

“No!” The smile dropped off Potter’s face. “We know what we’re doing, honest! It’s better if we do it now. Or would you rather wait for Dumbledore to decide an ‘appropriate’ time for me to be a hero? We can do this right now, before anyone gets hurt. Before anything happens to Professor Snape.”

Severus opened his mouth then shut it again. His brother would never hurt him, he knew that. He just wasn’t quite sure what the Dark Lord would do. Exchanging a helpless look with Minerva, Severus accepted that he was actually thinking about agreeing with this.

Which was why he was now walking beside Minerva, following three children to the apparation point.

They stopped there and Granger looked seriously at the boys. “Remember, we have to mean it. The magic’ll know if we don’t. So if you don’t think you can mean it we need to know now.”

There was a pause as the children exchanged solemn looks and Minerva and Severus exchanged resignedly puzzled looks.

“We can do it,” Potter said. He held out his hand, palm down. Granger and Longbottom laughed and put their hands on his.

“We three solemnly swear,” Granger said, “that we can do this.”

“Amen,” Potter and Longbottom chorused, and all three of them laughed. It was genuine laughter, but there was a little bit of an edge to it. We who don’t know if we are about to die salute you.

Potter and Longbottom gripped Severus’s robes and he held them close to his sides, an arm around each small set of shoulders. Double side-alongs weren’t common, but they were doable. He nodded to Minerva, holding onto Granger, and disapparated.

Then the five of them stood before Voldemort. Severus, still gripping Potter, felt the remarkable surge of magic building up and sent it out with an “Expellliarmus!” as planned. Potter, who carried no wand of his own, caught Voldemort’s wand and gripped it tightly; the other four already had their wands at the ready should Voldemort have any tricks that didn’t require a wand. As planned.

That was about the point things stopped going as anyone had expected.

“A deputation,” Voldemort observed with mild surprise, not seemed to notice his missing wand and looking them over. “Minerva, what an unexpected pleasure.”

“Tom,” she acknowledged.

This was strange enough that Severus and the children stared between the pair. “We went to school together,” Minerva explained coolly. “Tom was a year ahead of me.”

“We even dated for nearly my entire fifth year,” Voldemort agreed, as if they were at a tea party.

Really?” Longbottom squeaked in disbelief, then flinched as this drew attention from Voldemort.

Even Severus was diverted from the more important issues at hand. “A Slytherin and a Gryffindor dating?” he asked in amazement. A couple of hundred years ago, maybe, but not fifty.

Minerva smiled thinly. “Actually, at school I was in Ravenclaw.”

Really?” Granger echoed Longbottom’s earlier squeak.

“Albus wanted a Head of House for Gryffindor who was... Frankly, he wanted one who was under his control.”

Voldemort laughed without humour. “That sounds very like him. This is a curious deputation you have brought me, Severus,” he added. “Dumbledore’s trusted friend who apparently doesn’t trust him. And three children, not one. Presumably the dark one is the Potter boy? Which would make you...” Longbottom’s chin rose under the scrutiny. “You have the look of a Longbottom.” He studied Granger. “You I cannot place,” he said with interest.

Despite Voldemort’s calm Severus’s nerves were on edge, waiting for the explosion. After all, it was obvious this wasn’t a simply handover – and he knew very well that Voldemort couldn’t handle betrayal. Couldn’t forgive. He kept one hand gripping Potter’s, knew Granger had the boy’s other hand, both of them ready to produce shields at the first sign of trouble.

His brother saw his fear and smiled. “No, little brother, this isn’t betrayal. I set it up, I knew this was the only choice you could make. I arranged it. Why would I be angry with you?”

“You – You wanted me to turn on you?”

“I wanted you to be safe. Why do you think I made you my spy? Once I finally realised just what I was becoming I knew I had to protect you, even from myself. You were always more suited to them than what I became. It was the only way I could protect you from both sides, the only way I could protect you from what your fellows had become. A spy couldn’t be expected to carry out atrocities and keep his cover. For my sake I knew you would have tried to fit in, if only for a little while, but I couldn’t let you.”

Severus stared at him. This was... crazy. And what kept running through his mind was that Albus had never tried to shield him from the need to commit atrocities. The so-called Dark Lord had treated him with better consideration than the leader of the Light.

“Are you Frank and Alice’s son?” Voldemort enquired of Neville, still as if they were at a tea party.

Neville swallowed hard. “Y-yes,” he said with shaky defiance.

“Interesting. Do you know, Severus, you have brought to me both the boys named in the prophecy? ‘And he shall have a power the Dark Lord knows not’, and it could have been either of these boys. Yes, Minerva,” he added at her startled gasp, “I do know the prophecy. Or rather, the beginning of the prophecy. Dumbledore made sure of it – he would have used Severus to bring it to me but Severus didn’t play along so he had to manipulate another into doing so.”

Potter scowled. “Dumbledore is really starting to irritate me.”

“A much more sensible opinion than mindless worship,” Voldemort complimented him. “And now, Potter, my vanquisher, you have me here at wandpoint. What is your next move?”

Potter let go of Severus’s hand and reached out for Longbottom’s. Longbottom and Granger, working together, cast a glamour-revealing spell. Severus thought they’d gone mad... but though Voldemort didn’t look any different he did shimmer for an instant as his glamour fought the spell.

Voldemort smiled. “I don’t think so, children,” he said kindly. “You will have to be more clever than that.”

Potter smiled back, though his smile was feral. “Maybe we are.”

Longbottom and Granger hissed, casting another spell. In parseltongue. There was no time for anyone to wonder how the hell that had happened, though, because as Voldemort’s mouth opened in shock his glamours fell.

Severus stared. “What—?”

“Oh, Tom,” Minerva said softly.

“You were right, Professor,” Granger told her, a quake in her voice.

“Yes, she was,” Voldemort agreed. “MInerva usually is.” He met Severus’s eyes a second, then looked away. “Yes, Severus,” he said grimly, grimacing down at himself, “this is the truth of what I am.” Instead of the human man Severus had looked up to, loved as a brother, this was a misshapen monster, human still in form but twisted. Hairless, with skin more like scales than skin, a snake’s flattened nose, snake eyes. Nothing human should look like that. “In my foolishness I underwent Dark rituals, for power, for immortality, for the ability to make those changes I so desperately saw needed to be made and then keep them made. But this... this is what they do to you.” Reluctant but resolute, he met Severus’s horrified eyes. And Severus saw shame in that inhuman face. “This is why they are Dark. This is why, even when the others clamoured to follow in my footsteps, I never let you do the same.”

Severus closed his eyes. Then his brother was dead. Lost to the Dark.

“When I’m with you the ‘evil’, for lack of a better word, is silenced. It’s a disease and you, little brother, are the closest thing there is to a cure. But even you can only slow the progress of this. You cannot stop it. You kept me myself for longer than should have been possible but I am lost and the part of me that is your brother will soon be gone. I cannot change what I am, what I have become. Not even if I want to. Not even for you.

“Please understand, this is never what I intended. The Dark Lord moniker, the Death Eaters... it was never meant to turn out this way. I just wanted to protect people like me, people who’d grown up with Muggles. I hated them so much. For how I’d been treated, for my father. My father was Muggle and he killed my mother for being a witch, he drove her out and it killed her. And so many Muggleborn are hurt. I just wanted to protect them.”

“From what?” Granger asked, confused.

“From the Muggles.” Voldemort looked surprised she had to ask, then more surprised that this didn’t explain everything. “Muggles hurt our kind. Just ask Minerva.”

In surprise everyone turned to Minerva; what could she possibly have to do with Voldemort’s anti-Muggle tirades? But there was dawning understanding in her face as she looked at Voldemort. Pulling her eyes away from him, she saw their questioning looks.

“I’m Muggleborn,” she said simply. “My parents were devout churchgoers and as far as they were concerned I wasn’t magical, I was possessed. My mother nearly killed me trying to beat it out of me. My father nearly killed me when he tried to have me exorcised.” She bit her lip. “And I have to admit, mine wasn’t that uncommon a story amongst the Muggleborn of my generation. Some were killed before they ever received their Hogwarts letters because the Bible proscribes magic; magic can come only from consorting with or being possessed by demons. The decline of Christianity in recent years has frankly saved lives among Muggleborn children. Even your grandparents, Mr Potter, had trouble accepting your mother’s talents at first, but Miss Granger’s had no problem. But it’s not like that anymore, Tom,” she added to Voldemort. “And killing them all is not a valid solution.”

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far,” he defended himself. “I just wanted to protect people like me. People like you. I underwent the Dark rituals because I was young and arrogant and I thought that old men had labelled them as Dark because they were cowards, too afraid to risk their lives to earn the power to make everything better. But there are reasons for calling them Dark, reasons that in my hubris I ignored, and the rituals changed me. I became more and more of a beast, I was dragged down into what humans simply call Evil. Severus helped me pull myself back from those changes, gave me the chance to be human again for brief periods. But even Severus cannot stop it, I’ve fallen too far. I am what I am with no hope of return.”

He turned to Potter. “It was not my intention to kill your parents that night. I meant only to attack you so that whatever power the prophecy gave you could activate and destroy me. But your father – I loathed him for what he had done to Severus, to my brother, and the Dark Magic within me would have no rest. That is how he died. Your mother I tried to spare, I tried to send away. But she defied me and the Dark magic will not be denied.” He sighed, looking down at his hands with their inhumanly long fingers. “And in the end I am still here, still alive, kept sane only by the presence of my brother. But I teeter on the edge and soon the Dark Lord will be all I am. Harry Potter, if you know any way of summoning the power you are said to have, I beg of you to kill me.”

Potter nodded solemnly. “We will stop you from hurting anyone else,” he said firmly and Granger and Longbottom raised their wands.

A Petrificus totalus from two eleven-year-olds shouldn’t have stopped a man like Voldemort for more than a few seconds even without a shield, but he went down, immobile. Potter glowered at Severus and Minerva. “You will not interfere,” he ordered.

The children stepped forward to stand at Voldemort’s feet. Severus sank down onto his knees, knowing he was about to watch his brother die, knowing he was about to let those three children become murderers, not knowing how to stop it. Only able to watch. Minerva took a helpless step forward. “Harry—” A sharp look silenced her.

Letting go of his friends’ hands, Potter stepped forward, looking at the supine man. “Tom Riddle, you—” He faltered and the other two stepped forward to join him, one on either side, and gripped his hands again, this time for reassurance. “Tom Riddle, you k-killed my parents.” He took a deep breath. “I forgive you.” As Severus stared at him in shock, the tension drained out of the boy’s body and he went to stand at Voldemort’s head.

Longbottom spoke up. “Tom Riddle, your followers hurt my parents.” His voice wobbled and Hermione gripped his hand. “I – I forgive you.” He went to stand by Voldemort’s left elbow, stepping around the prone figure rather than over him, and Severus saw unexpected peace in the boy’s face.

That left Granger. “Tom Riddle, your ideals threatened my parents.” She looked down into the snakish, inhuman face. “I forgive you.” She went to Voldemort’s right elbow and all three children reached out, holding hands over the man lying at their feet to form a triangle.

What happened then Severus couldn’t follow. There were elements he thought he recognised, some from that afternoon Granger had spent with Aldridge, others Minerva seemed to recognise, but he didn’t understand how they’d been put together or what was happening.

Magic exploded in a silent burst of yellow light that blinded him and filled his nose with an overpowering smell of wet leaf mould. Gagging, he covered his streaming eyes. When he finally could look up again, the magic was gone and there was only the four participants. The children, collapsed against each other in an utter exhaustion not even a Pepper-Up Potion could help, and a man. Not the twisted man Voldemort had become, but the man Severus remembered, except a little younger, about his own age.

Minerva scrambled to her feet and hurried to the children, at which point Severus remembered how to move. Since she was looking after the children, he uncertainly knelt beside Voldemort. His brother looked up at him, looking scared and lost. “Severus... Little brother? I – don’t remember.”

“There’s no more Voldemort,” Harry said weakly. “Only Tom Riddle’s left. Only your brother. We took out the hate.” He scrubbed tiredly at his eyes. “But if you don’t want him to do this all over again, you better teach him how to forgive people. If you ask me, that’s the power he knows not. How to forgive.”

“How did you do that?” Minerva demanded incredulously.

“Hermione’s idea,” Longbottom said, lying back on the ground and sighing deeply.

“We could have killed him,” Granger said, relaxing into the soil as if she never wanted to move again. “We had righteous anger and vengeance. But those are the wrong emotions to use, they would have hurt us too. So we had to forgive him. If we forgave him, really forgave him, the magic would cleanse him. It wouldn’t kill him, we never meant to kill him, but it would set him free. If he’d wanted to stay twisted that would have killed him, but that was his choice. Only he had real remorse in him too, so that saved him. I didn’t expect that.”

Potter let his head flop over so he could look at Severus. “Dumbledore’s sort of right, but not really. You forgive people, yeah, but you have to mean it. I mean really mean it, understanding exactly what they’ve done to you. Not just because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Wand, will, intent,” Granger said, “and—”

“Intention!” the boys said with her and all three started laughing as if it was the greatest joke in the world.

“I think,” Minerva said, “we had better get them to bed.”

Severus nodded, but looked at his brother. “Severus?” Voldemort asked. “Where are we? What’s wrong?”

Happiness, amazement, joy, disbelief... Severus thought he might explode from the emotions filling him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “Not anymore.” And those three children had just earned his undying gratitude for as long as he lived. Not only had they gotten rid of the Dark Lord, but they’d returned him his brother. “Everything’s perfect.”


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