Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.

The Great Hall, Hogwarts ...12:53 a.m.

Harry and Draco exited the antechamber off the Great Hall.

"Oh, man."

Save for the enchanted ceiling mirroring the night's sky, the room was unrecognizable. Row upon row of hospital beds filled the space, occupying every nook and cranny, even the dais where the High Table normally sat. None of this was unexpected-the beds and the wounded filling them-but Harry had to admit he was not prepared for the number, at least not this early in the fight. He couldn't bring himself to linger on the faces of the bedridden. The thought of a bloodied Hermione, a burned Ron, a legless Seamus...

"Harry."

Harry looked up. "Galen?"

Clad in blood-red robes like the ones he'd worn a year ago while tending Snape, the young healer approached, his hand out. Harry shook it, only now noticing the swarm of similarly robed healers weaving about the room.

"I didn't know you were here," he said.

"Oh, yes. We've been on heightened alert since the day after the attack on Hogsmeade. We've had a few false starts since then, but I had a feeling this was the real deal, particularly when the administrators shuttered the hospital." He cocked a brow as he perused Harry. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Snape."

"Ah, well, we've been popping since just before eleven or so, but I've not seen any staff among the masses."  

"The masses," Harry said bitterly.

Galen groaned and knocked a fist to his forehead. "Oh, Harry. I - I'm so used to chatting with other healers. You know, I've always wished I'd inherited my uncle's diplomacy. Unfortunately I'm burdened with Aberfoth's, er, my granddad's bluntness."

"Granddad? Aberforth is your granddad?"

"You didn't know... Of course you didn't know. Don't know why I'm surprised. We're a rather secretive clan when it comes to family. Bloody Dumbledores... It's why I use my mother's maiden name."

Harry longed to grill Galen further, but the swish of the Hall's doors drew his attention. Ron. He held a sobbing Tracey Davis in his arms. Her right leg, from knee to foot, was a meaty mess of exposed muscle. Ron whipped his head left and right, hunting for help. Galen was already halfway across the room, moving with a grace that called the headmaster to mind. No bloody wonder, Harry thought just as Ron saw him, blue eyes widening in happy surprise. Galen then directed Ron to a bed where the boy eased Tracey down. He paused a moment to pat her hand and say something to her. She nodded and looked over at Harry and Draco, giving them a tired wave; they waved back.

"Harry, mate, how long you been here?" Ron said after jogging up.

"Not long. We used a secret passage to come up from the dungeons. Where have you been?"

Ron winced. "Outside, helping bring in the wounded. After you left, Pomfrey saw me, thought I was just fannying about and drafted me. S'been bloody awful."

"You seen the professor? Hermione?"

"No. I haven't even seen any of my own family since Ginny, and now I don't know where she's got to..."

"She's there," said Draco, pointing toward the doors which were being held open to more casualties.

Through the gap, they glimpsed a contingent of teachers, Aurors, and Order members standing in the middle of the Entrance Hall; Molly had her arms around Ginny. But as the door was pushed open wider Harry spotted a tall, lean figure in black, arguing with McGonagall. He took off, zigzagging through the maze of beds like a pinball, somehow avoiding knocking into the healers roaming about.

Looking over her mother's shoulder, Ginny saw him first. She laughed, then tapped Snape on the back. He turned to see what she was pointing at. When he saw Harry his eyes widened a fraction before he shut them tight, but when Harry called to him, he opened them. The dark irises shimmered with water.

Though he was still steps away, Harry launched himself at the man. Snape swept him up and gripped him close, knuckles white with the effort. Seconds later he clutched Draco in his other arm as the blond collided with him, too.

*WO

Staff Room, Ground Floor, Hogwarts ...1:15 a.m.

"Where have you been?" Harry spoke into Snape's neck before the man lowered him to the floor.

"I - Hush. Let me -" Snape's voice shook as he dragged his nose through Harry's hair.

"Severus -"

"Draco. Quiet."

The boys kept silent. Draco closed his eyes and buried his face in Snape's chest, but Harry watched Snape, taking in the man's look of disbelief as he held them. Despite their sweaty, mucky state he kept burying his nose in their hair, pressing his lips to their temples.

Long moments later, when Snape's grip on them began to lessen and his touches became less greedy, Harry tried again: "Where have you been?"

Snape tweaked his earlobe, making Harry draw up a shoulder and bat at the man's hand. "Looking for you..." Snape sounded as if he could manage nothing above a whisper. "You were to stay put -"

"I know, but we wanted -"

"Harry!"

Hermione was racing up the stairs leading from the dungeons. Harry let go of Snape to embrace her.

"Oh, thank goodness!" She muttered into his chin.

"Winky should have the staffroom ready, now." McGonagall raised her voice to be heard over the din.

Ron stood caged within Molly's arms, red-faced and squirming as she tried to clean a smudge off his chin with her wet thumb. Flitwick and Sprout were talking and gesticulating to a trio of men, Aurors, judging from their brown robes, but when McGonagall spoke Snape fell into step behind her. The rest of the group trailed them.

The staffroom was L-shaped with paneled walls. Mismatched dark wooden chairs, a large wardrobe that was sometimes inhabited by a boggart and a long wooden table filled the room. The table had plenty chairs to accommodate everyone, but McGonagall, Ron, and a black-haired Auror chose to stand; Moody plunked himself onto a barstool next to the door.

Vigilant as ever, Harry mused.

"While we wait for Aberforth, Proudfoot, tell us what you know," said McGonagall, speaking to another Auror.

"Where is Aberforth?" Snape asked sharply.

"I had Terry Boot accompany him to the Great Hall so a healer could see to his leg."

Harry sat forward. "What's wrong with his leg? And where's Dumbledore?"

"Dead," said a ragged voice from the doorway. Everyone turned to look. Aberforth.

"No!" Professor Sprout wailed.

She wasn't alone. Shouts of anguished disbelief, and outrage filled the room. Harry looked at Snape. The man looked as if he had just been slogged in the groin. Ron was gripping the back of his mother's chair, fingers white, brow sweaty, as if he was about to be ill. Everyone looked gutted, save McGonagall, but her ashen pallor spoke volumes-she had known, but hearing it again was like hearing it for the first time.

Bearing his weight on a thick, gnarled wooden staff, Aberforth limped into the room, his right knee tightly bandaged. A rogue strip of the material hung loose in the back as though the dressing had been done in haste. Harry rose to go to him, but Snape and the black-haired Auror beat him to it.

Once settled, Aberforth said: "Albus and I were at the Whomping Willow. We'd done in maybe six or seven of Voldemort's lot, but it seemed like when we laid one down, two or three popped up in their place. Then all of a sudden, I felt my kneecap go; the curse had come from behind me. Albus saw me when I fell..."

Aberforth's eyes watered and he ran a jittery hand over his mouth. Ron went to the small sink and cabinet in the corner and filled a short glass with water. He brought it to the elderly wizard. Aberforth took it, sloshing a fair bit onto his robes because his hand shook. He looked Ron over.

"Harry's friend. Weasley, yeah?"

"Ron Weasley, sir."

"You got brothers."

"Five, sir."

"You the youngest?"

"The youngest boy, yes, sir."

Aberforth gulped a bit of water, then said, "It's a hard thing, being a brother, but us younger ones, we suffer what the elders have already done-good, bad, and indifferent, eh?"

Ron nodded, a grim, knowing smile at his lips.

"Comes a time, though, when none of that matters. After I waved at Albus that I was all right, he roared." Aberforth uttered a bark of laughter. "Sounded just like a bloody lion. Then he brought his wand up, like some goddamn orchestra conductor, then he brought it down, made the earth come apart beneath those masked devils, but the curse hit the Willow too, exposed some of her roots. Riled her, it did. A couple of Riddle's people were slain when her limbs started breaking off, flying this way and that.

"It's how I ended up with this." Aberforth thumped the stick on the floor. "Landed right where I could grab it and sit myself up. Al was still fending them off, driving them against the Willow and her branches." He frowned. "Then I saw the Curse. It moved fast, like the blink of an eye-but it went slow too, like molasses on a January morning." His lips quivered as he shook his head. "There was nothing I could do."

McGonagall patted his shoulder. "You needn't carry on, Aberforth. We all know you -"

Aberforth shrugged her off as he collected himself. "It hit him in the head." He crashed a fist down onto the table, making everyone jump. "In the head! My brother!"

Snape hurried to Aberforth, but just as he had done to McGonagall, the old wizard dismissed him. Snape returned to his seat, jaw clenched.

"Where's his body?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Without looking, Harry knew her cheeks were flooded with tears.

"The seventh floor. His office," said McGonagall with a quiet sniff. "Fawkes saw to it."

Harry swallowed. Dumbledore, dead. "What are we going to do?" He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but realized he had when everyone turned to look at him.

"Our winning this war was never contingent on Dumbledore's presence," McGonagall said, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiping her eyes. "However, I won't deny that his death is a terrible blow, that it weakens us."

Moody growled. "Albus'd never stand for that kind of talk!" Harry's head jerked in silent agreement.

"I won't sugarcoat our situation, Alastor!"

"I'm not askin' you to, Minnie, but that defeatist nonsense'll get us killed, or worse-make us slaves in Voldemort's new wizardin' society!" He cast a quick glance at Harry, and in a quiet tone Harry wouldn't have believed the man capable of, said: "I think we all know how this is s'posed to play out."

No one moved or spoke until Snape's drawl cut through the quiet like an arctic blast: "What exactly do you mean by ‘we all know how this is supposed to play out'?"

Years in magical law enforcement had soured Alastor Moody's goodwill for the world and her inhabitants. His outlook had left him friendless and ferreting for evil in discarded corncobs, but he saw it as no great loss; he had always had little use for people. It was what made him efficient at identifying and catching criminals-like Snape.

Years ago Dumbledore had shared stories with him about Snape's childhood, stories that explained the Potions master's poisonous personality, but they did nothing to blunt Moody's intense dislike of the man. He'd had a similar upbringing, but instead of becoming a monster, he chose to fight them, which explained why he never trucked with Dumbledore's wholesale support of Snape. He thought the Potions master's stretch as a Death Eater unforgivable-not only because Moody knew nearly as much about Dark Magic as Voldemort did, which meant he knew that Snape would never be free of Voldemort until the old lizard was well and truly dead-but because he had seen Snape in action in the first war. He didn't trust the man, not even to pass him a tissue if he sneezed.

He didn't care about the information Snape had provided in the first war or the one playing out now. Nor did he care about the man's pissy attitude as they discussed sending Harry into battle. This was hardly the time for sentimental claptrap. It was live-or-die time, and in war, you didn't bring a Squib to a wandfight. It wasn't that he wanted to push the boy into battle, but from what Dumbledore had told him, no one had an inkling of the true depth of Harry's power. In fact, Dumbledore had believed him to be more powerful than himself. That right there was proof enough for Moody that Harry could slay Voldemort with a cough-that's if Snape loosened his grip on the apron strings a bit.

"You know exactly what I mean, Snape. You know it, Minnie knows it-every goddamn-body in this room knows it!"

McGonagall's eyes flashed behind her square spectacles. "Just so we're clear, Alastor, you will address me as Professor McGonagall, Minerva, or Headmistress. Understand?"

Moody's magical eye began spinning furiously. As Head Auror during the first war with Voldemort he was used to speaking bluntly and having the last word, but with Dumbledore dead, McGonagall sat at the top of the pecking order within these walls. Once his eye stilled, he jerked his head in a nod.

McGonagall gave a curt nod back, then turned to Snape. "Now, Severus, you may not like what Alastor said -"

Snape laughed, a dry, humorless bark. "It is not a question of like, Minerva. He is suggesting I send Harry outside, have him expose his throat to the Dark Lord like a chicken on a chopping block."

"Yes, Severus, I know."

"Oh... And naturally you agree."

McGonagall sighed, exasperated. "We've suffered devastating losses, Severus, and while everything we've done to protect the castle has held out thus far, we cannot keep this up forever. We'll fight to the last man, of course, but before this is over... we will need Harry."

"Well, you are completely out of your tree, Headmistress, if you think I will allow that!" Snape hissed. "Their side has suffered massive losses, too!"

"Aye," Cash Proudfoot said, "but it's like Minerva says, we're going to need help finishing them off."

"What's the news from the Ministry?" Hermione asked. "Surely the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -"

"The Ministry came under attack at the same time we did," said McGonagall. She looked down toward the end of the table. "Molly's clock..."

As Ron rested a hand on his mother's shoulder, the image of the grandfather clock with nine golden hands came to Harry.

"Percy and Arthur were in mortal peril even before the floo flashed red, I - The clock is back at the Burrow, so I don't -"

"Hush, Mum," Ginny said.

"So there's no help coming, from anywhere?" Hermione asked, eyes searching McGonagall's.

"As Alastor said, we all knew it would come to this and there's naught for it now."

"I'm going out there," Harry said. Everyone turned to look at him, surprised, as if they had forgotten he was in the room.

"No, you are not," Snape replied flatly.

"Sir -"

"NO!" Snape shot up out of his chair and kicked it, hard enough to snap off one of its legs. He turned his back on Harry and moved away. Harry followed.

"Sir, if I don't, he'll destroy us all."

Snape wheeled around to face him. "And what can you do alone? What do you think you can do that hundreds of wizards haven't been doing all night?"

"I can -"

"Harry, shut up! I will not listen to nonsense!"

"Snape," said Proudfoot, a virtual stranger to everyone in the room, "hear the boy out."

Snape turned. "Proudfoot, is it?" The Auror dipped his chin, wary as Snape stalked towards him. "Well listen good, Proudfoot-I am having a conversation with my son, a boy you never laid eyes on until minutes ago. I beg you, interrupt me again and I will slay you where you sit!"

The room exploded in a panic when Snape drew on the man. Desperate to put space between himself and Snape's wand-which was pointed at his heart-Proudfoot toppled out of his chair and knocked into Sprout.

"What are you doing?" Harry grabbed Snape's arm. When Snape held his aim, Harry moved to try and block Snape's view of Proudfoot.

Moody growled. "Use your head, Snape."

"Shut up, you rotted, demented, old -" Snape targeted Moody, who uttered a raspy chuckle, but didn't draw his wand.

"Go on then, Snape," he said, a strange smile at his lips. "Show'em who you really are. Do what I know you've done dozens of times without even blinking. C'mon now... You know the words - Avada -"

Moody's head snapped back when Snape's fist bashed the underside of his chin. Moody staggered backward, arms flailing, his wooden leg clunking against the flagstone. Ron moved to stop the man's momentum, getting behind him and catching the old Auror under the arms, but Moody pulled free from Ron's hold and put a hand to his mouth; he laughed. Snape made to rush at him, again.

"Severus!" McGonagall dashed around the table to stand between the two men. "Stop this! We are all on the same side!"

"No, Minerva! You're as mad as this doxy-bitten pile of thestral droppings -" he sneered at Moody "- if you think for one second that I am going to let Harry go -"

"Severus, sit down," said a deep voice tinged with a Welsh lilt. Snape looked up into the face of the black-haired Auror. He had wavy black hair, intelligent gray eyes, four-day old growth sprouting from chiseled cheeks, and he had a hold of Snape's elbow.

"Who are you?" Snape tried to jerk his arm from the man's grip.

"Name's Savage."

Before Snape could say something cutting, Harry removed the Auror's hand from Snape's elbow and said, "Thanks. I've got him." Savage raised his hands and nodded. He stepped back, but kept his eyes on Snape who was eyeing him as if he wanted to skin him.

Harry touched Snape's cheek to get his attention. "I know you don't want me to do this, but you know I can. At least I can try. If I don't, all those people that fought and died tonight-Dumbledore, Parvati, Megan... Who am I not to do my part?"

"Listen to the boy, Snape," Moody muttered. "He's got more bollocks than some of the so-called men in -"

"SHUT UP!" Snape drew his wand on Moody, again. 

Harry held up his hands to ward Snape off. "Leave him out of this! You and me, remember? You were talking to me!"

"Severus..." said Draco. At the concerned sound of the boy's voice, tension slowly bled out of Snape's arm and his wand wavered. After a moment he lowered it.

"Thank, Merlin!" Someone muttered.

Harry looked at Snape. He hated it, but he had to make the man understand: "Don't fight me on this. You won't win."

Snape's expression shuttered. He eyed Harry as if offended by the sight of him. "Typical. The spitting image of James Potter in looks and spirit. Never thinking farther than the nose on your face. Arrogant, stupid, boy. Reckless, pig-headed, impossible -"

"Yeah, but you knew all that when you adopted me."

Snape leaned forward and jabbed a finger in Harry's face. "Don't get cheeky, don't you fucking dare!"

Harry bit back a flare of frustration. They could go round and round like this for days, Snape flogging him with insults, miring him down in a pointless, circular argument where no one won. So, he turned to McGonagall.

"We need a plan," he said. He sighed and tried not to overbalance when Snape blustered past him.

"Too right," said Moody as Snape exited the room, slamming the door. "No offense, Potter, but he's just a little too wrapped up in playing daddy to think rationally about this..."

Harry ignored him. Instead, he watched Draco move toward the door. When their eyes met the Slytherin nodded before following Snape out. Harry knew he would try to get the man to rejoin them. He hoped Snape would, because as much as he despised Moody for the things the man had said, Harry despised himself even more for what he'd said. Snape's words had been hurtful, but Harry knew the man had been speaking out of fear.

"...launch a strong air assault from the Astronomy Tower using whatever we can get our hands on, be it brooms, hippogriffs, or thestrals," Moody said, in full battle-planning mode, magical eye spinning.

"They're using the thestrals," Flitwick said.

"Aye, but thestrals have no allegiance, save to the one with a helping of meat," said the other nameless Auror.

"Well then we need some meat, Williamson," Moody growled. "Voldemort's riffraff can't have used every one of'em. We've got to give Potter all the help we can."

"Well said, Alastor," said McGonagall, clearly more at ease with planning to aid Harry than sending him out like a lamb to slaughter.

Proudfoot spoke next. He was still a bit peaky around the edges, but Harry admired him for speaking up, especially after the way Snape had lit into him. He understood the Auror had only said what most everyone else had been thinking.

"They've got strengths-the winged catapults, werewolves, but they've a number of weaknesses, too." Proudfoot held up a thumb. "Those catapults aren't incredibly mobile. Since setting them up two hours ago they've done loads of damage to Ravenclaw and the West Tower, but it seems that's the limit of their capabilities." His index finger went up. "Minerva, you mentioned the Adar Llwch Gwin. Well, I don't think the Death Eaters have control of them anymore. I figure the elder must be dead and one of You-Know-Who's crew did it. I saw those things wipe out a score of white masks as I was fighting my way up here. Somehow those beasts know who's who out there."

"Hermione, you've read up on them," Ron said. "Couldn't you get control of ‘em now that they've turned on You-Know-Who's people?"

"I don't know. If the elder is dead, I'd have to gauge who the new one is. That would that be really tricky, and it might take ages, especially in the middle of everything."

"If anyone can, you can," said Harry.

Hermione blushed. "I'm willing to try, of course, but I shouldn't like to do it alone."

"You won't," said Savage.

McGonagall nodded at the man approvingly. "What else? What other weaknesses?"

"A number of their key lieutenants are dead," said Flitwick. "Yaxley, the Lestranges, Malfoy -"

"Malfoy's not dead," said Harry.

"What?" Snape. He and Draco had reentered the room.

"Draco and I ran into him in the dungeons," Harry said.

"He was torturing Longbottom," said Draco quietly.

"Torturing Longbottom?" McGonagall's black eyes narrowed to slits.

After six years, Harry was fairly familiar with what sorts of things infuriated McGonagall: rule-breaking, shoddy Transfigurations, catnip jokes, Sibyll Trelawney. And having often been the cause of it from time to time, he had seen his Head of House livid before; however, just now, she looked as if she wanted to castrate Lucius with her teeth---one Pure-blood bollock at a time.

"The Headmaster -" Harry swallowed. "He said something before he - I think the Lucius we saw killed on the grounds was really Mundungus Fletcher, polyjuiced." He looked at Draco, who stood rigid, his face flushed with shame. While in the passage, he had told Harry, "I should have known it wasn't him. He would never lead a charge into battle!"

"Mundungus?" McGonagall frowned and put a hand to her mouth. "What of Malfoy, then?"

"I bound him, left him in the corridor."

"No," Hermione said. "I just came from the Slytherin common room."

"What were you doing down there?" Ron asked.

"I - Well, Theo - he told me how to get to it, ages ago." Color rose in her cheeks as Harry raised his eyebrows. "I was worried. Neville sent a Patronus. When I got there, he, Blaise and Th-Theo had gone. Goyle and Pansy were left to watch the littlest ones."

"Filius," said McGonagall, "cast a Locator spell. See if Malfoy is still in the castle. I loathe the thought of him roaming about at will!"

"It will take some time," said Flitwick.

"Yes, but I can't have that man in here. If he hasn't already, he's liable to let in a flood of You-Know-Who's people."

"As you wish, Headmistress." Flitwick jumped down from his chair and left the room.

"We have something else on our side," Ron said.

"Go on, Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall.

"Dawn. He won't have the werewolves once the sun rises."

"Which means he's likely to strike hard, and soon," said Harry.

"Yeah, but, if we can hold out ‘til then..."

"Dawn's at least four hours away, Ron," Ginny said. "And who's to say he won't have something worse than the werewolves when the sun rises?"

"Excellent point, Miss Weasley. As such, we must plan for both scenarios." McGonagall clapped her hands together. "Let us do so, and quickly. This stalemate we're experiencing will likely come to an end soon."

*WO

Staff Room, Ground Floor, Hogwarts ...2:00 a.m.

Snape watched Hermione and Ron encircle Harry. Now and then, Hermione leaned her head back to talk to him before resting her forehead against his chest; Ron brought his hand up to rub and squeeze Harry's neck and shoulder as Harry nodded and buried his face in Hermione's hair, his lips moving in response to whatever they were saying to him.

Squinting his eyes just so, Snape saw them as they had been at the end of their first year. They looked painfully young and vulnerable. Especially Harry.

But they weren't wide-eyed, know-nothing first-years anymore. Ron and Harry's voices had deepened, no longer the boyish squeaks of eleven year-olds, and they had shot up-Ron more than Harry, of course. Hermione, though still bookish and bossy, had blossomed into an exquisite young woman, and in the six years that she and the boys had been at Hogwarts, they had seen and done things witches and wizards half their age could never imagine.

Snape wondered if this would be the last time they held one another. In the chaos after the attack on the pitch, he had seen sixth-year Ravenclaw, Morag MacDougal, incinerated by a Death Eater. Recognizing Thorfinn Rowle's sloppy, undisciplined wandwork, Snape had coldly returned the favor. Morag, a rather plain-faced girl, had been in his quarters last week, giggling and gossiping with Hermione about her first date with some Hufflepuff. She'd had an extraordinary knack for Potions, as well. Ever the realist, Snape knew that Harry, Hermione, and Ron all surviving this battle unrealistic.

He waited. When Harry finally looked over at him, Snape gestured for him to follow. He moved close to the boggarty wardrobe, away from the others who were all leaning over the center of the table looking at a map of Hogwarts and the grounds.

Before Snape could launch into his refusal to allow him to go outside Harry said, "Do you remember at Soth-ince, what you said when I asked why you were pushing me so hard? It was the day I splinched Fang's ear... Remember?"

"Yes," Snape muttered, irked that Harry was about to throw his own words back in his face.

"You said, in fair weather prepare for foul."

"Harry -"

"I can do this; I have to do this."

"No, you don't!" Snape's bellow echoed. Those gathered around the table raised their heads to look at him; Snape glared until they turned back to the map.

"Let him go," said Draco.

Snape's eyebrows shifted in angry surprise as he looked at the boy. They rose even higher when Draco stepped over to stand next to Harry.

Snape wanted to scream. Long and loud, like an infant, all flailing limbs and red-faced fury. The sound actually jettisoned its way up into his throat and pushed at his lips, seeking an out, but he choked it back. He then closed his eyes against the ache that had been lurking behind his left eye since returning to the Entrance Hall to find Harry and Draco gone. As it began to uncoil, it travelled, sizzling like a firebrand through his brain. But he could handle it, this pain; it was nothing, simply a minor, physical inconvenience.

However, just the notion of losing Harry felt otherworldly and raw, like being stranded naked in the wilds of Siberia. He was already fraying to bits under the boy's rebelliousness, which hurt worse than any Cruciatus Voldemort had ever meted out. For that reason, Snape didn't give a shit that he was being completely selfish. He wanted what he wanted because this time, it was Harry-headstrong, independent, hopelessly self-sacrificing Harry-his son on offer for sacrifice. And fuck it all, no one in the room was on his side, not even Molly Weasley who was as yet unable to account for the rest of her sons. Were they wounded? Being held hostage? Were they even alive?

Snape knew most people thought his existence dark and empty, but over thirty-seven years a modest cadre of people had provided him fleeting moments of happiness: his mother, Lily, his lover, but those moments had ended, and always in an unexpectedly cruel manner. While he never put much stock in Karma, he did have a sense of the world leveling the field at times, and if the leveling depended on right and wrong, he admittedly had some squaring up to do.

Perhaps now the Universe sought to exact a perfect balance.

If so, Snape burned at the injustice of it because, in his mind-though he had hurt people, even killed-losing Harry would be the great equalizer. And if after losing Harry, Snape lived a thousand years and slew a world of people, his column of Rights would still far outweigh his Wrongs. He had done everything in his power to protect Harry and for once, he deserved. Not that he deserved Harry-he knew he didn't-but he deserved Harry's survival. Karma could blame him for those other failures, for not being able to safeguard his mum, Lily, his lover. But not Harry.

Snape looked down at him, dark eyes tracing the deeply lined flesh around the boy's eyes, lines that looked completely out of place on that sixteen year-old face, framed by that hopeless shock of black hair. Harry looked back, solemn as he awaited the man's blessing.

Snape shook his head. No. No. No.

Harry opened his mouth to protest but it was lost when the door was flung open; Moody had a curse in the air before it stopped moving.

"Protego!" Dennis Creevey shouted, sending the curse skyward and bits of the ceiling exploding down onto the map.

"Creevey!" McGonagall shrieked. Coughing, she swept her wand around, clearing the mess.

"You bumblin' little pissant!" Moody stumped across the floor to snag Dennis's collar. "I could'a taken your fool head clean off!"

"Sorry, old man," Dennis said, breathless as he wriggled free of Moody's grip. "Professor McGonagall, ma'am, Sir Iacchus sent a message. He says the Death Eaters are breaking through. He doesn't know how much longer he and the others can keep them out, says he's lost half his force."

McGonagall straightened and looked around. "Plan B it is," she said. "Granger, Savage, see to the Adar Llwch Gwin; Molly, Ginny, up to Gryffindor; Pomona, collect Sibyll from her tower and bring her to the library-Madam Pince will have her instructions; Proudfoot and Williamson, to Hogsmeade; contact Flume and Rosmerta. Perhaps they've word from someone at the Ministry... or even something from Olympe. If so, send a Patronus, then await -" She sought out Moody. "Alastor, Dawlish is still at the Shrieking Shack?"

"Aye."

"Then, Proudfoot, await Dawlish's signal. Severus..."

Snape shot her a cold glare.

"We need you, Severus."

"I'm prepared to do anything, Minerva. But leave Harry out of it."

"Dad! You can't -"

"Yes, all right," McGonagall said. When Snape, looking slightly stunned, dipped his chin, she nodded back, eyes soft with understanding. She inhaled deeply. "Alastor, you're with me." She turned to the painting behind her of a wizard with a walrus mustache: "Caradog, sound the alarm!"

"Right away, Headmistress!" he said and disappeared from his portrait.

*WO

Entrance Hall, Hogwarts ...2:07 a.m.

Chaos.

People who had just arrived from outside lay sprawled on the floor of the Entrance Hall, or leaned against the wall, gasping and groaning. Others dashed about, banging into one another in a rush to get to their positions elsewhere in the castle; the staircases sped things along, shifting bodies from floor to floor. Figures flitted in and out of portraits, shuttling instructions, and the constant crack of house-elf Apparition popped like fireworks as they handed out goblets of water.

An influx of wounded had created a bottleneck at the Great Hall's entrance. Snape stood near the front with an arm around a teetering Aberforth; Harry watched until they disappeared inside. Looking back toward the stairs, he spotted Hermione hand in hand with Savage. She threw him a wave just before the staircase they were on shifted them out of sight. Ron and Draco had been cornered by Charity Burbage near the staffroom; grimy and battle-worn, Fred and George stood alongside them, fidgeting as they listened to the soft-spoken witch. Fred caught Harry's eye and grinned. He waved for Harry to join them.

As he started over, the Entrance Hall doors slammed shut with an explosive boom. The snake-like series of locks rattling home followed, securing the enormous doors further.

"Harry!" Snape was bulldozing his way back through the wall of folks still stoppering the Great Hall's entrance. Harry turned. The second their eyes met, he collapsed to his knees.

His scar. Gods! It hadn't hurt like this since that night in the graveyard when Voldemort touched it. It felt as if someone had taken a chisel and mallet to his forehead. He leaned forward and vomited at a sharp spike of pain. With his head hanging nearly to the floor, he missed seeing the entrance door burst open with a BANG. The force of it blew out torches and splintered the doors, sending bits of wood flying.

"Harry!" Snape yelled. "Move!" He growled, thrashing his way through the crowd, but then he gave a surprised grunt when he ran into something. After taking a second to recover, he moved forward, again, only to be stymied, again. Frowning, he brought his hands up and pushed.

A barrier. Invisible. And it didn't yield. He aimed his wand at it.

"Deprimo!"

Instead of blasting the barrier to bits, or even rebounding on the people crouched and screaming around him, the barrier absorbed the spell. He tried another with the same result. Infuriated, he bellowed out another, and another, each more powerful than last, but like a desert-dry sponge, the barrier absorbed everything he threw at it.

And still Harry crouched, gasping and sick.

"Harry!" Ron.

Harry angled his head to look at him. Ron had his hands up, pushing at the air, just as Snape had. The barrier had sealed off the right and left sides of the Entrance Hall, parting it down the middle, putting Harry smack within a narrow corridor that ranged the width of the Entrance Hall doors. Sixty feet separated the two sides, with Harry in between.

"What's doing this?" Ron demanded. "Are you doing this? Is You-Know-Who doing this? Just what the hell is going on, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, more as a way to quell the pain than to answer Ron-but was he doing this? He swallowed against another wave of nausea. As he inhaled, trying to staunch the urge to vomit again, a voice filtered in from outside, sounding as though an echo had travelled up from the guts of Hell.

"Harry Potter."

That voice had been part of the soundtrack of Harry's nightmares for years: "Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" 

Harry rubbed at his scar, anticipating the burning throb that usually accompanied those words-but the pain had gone. He rubbed at it, again. Still gone.

He slowly got to his feet, but kept his eyes closed. If he opened them, he feared the pain might return, plus Snape was still calling to him, in an absolute panic. Doing his best to ignore him, Harry started toward the entrance.

"Harry? Harry! Damn it, look at me!"

Harry slit his left eye open. In his peripheral vision he saw Snape shoving people out of the way as he followed Harry's path, pressing his body against the barrier, as if to make it give way beneath his weight. But it didn't, so Harry kept moving.

Snape fumed. Magic wasn't working, and reason wasn't working, so he tried something else. Harry's eyes flew open and he stumbled at the blow of Snape forcing himself into his mind-but he had become a fairly accomplished Occlumens, thanks to Snape. Snape's groan at the pain of being thrown out so abruptly made Harry's heart clench, but he kept stepping toward the entrance.

Snape went mad.

"No! No! NO! Harry! Don't you - Don't you dare! Har -" He began to ram the barrier with his body, a rabid, relentless battering that had everyone around him goggling at him in shock.

Snape's frantic cries hurt worse than his scar ever had, but Harry tuned him out. He had to go outside, even as other voices appealed to him, too:

"Bloody hell, Harry!" Ron.

"Potter!" Draco.

"Harry, don't do this!" Fred. Or George. Or both.

"HARRYYYY!"

"Professor, stop it! Your hands..."

"Don't touch me! Get off me! Harry! HARRY!"

Mercifully, Snape's voice faded to nothing the moment Harry stepped outside.

*WO