Damn Snape. Why did he have to ruin everything? The spiteful git probably did it on purpose judging by the sneer on his face. Only that sneer was incredibly short lived and was replaced by a look of pain.
But why would he be in pain? There had been nothing in Madame Campbell's account of the Ritual of Atonement that mentioned any pain beyond that of the two cuts to the forearms. She had cast the circle, called for the judge, met her son, and been forgiven.
Had something gone wrong? He had drawn the circle perfectly, he was certain of that. He had triple-checked the runes and everything. And Snape's pronunciation of the incantation, what he had heard of it anyway, had sounded right. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Snape had not been the one to draw the circle or summon the power to sustain it. After all, was it not Harry's wand that lay in front of Snape pointing east at the triangle of conjuration?
Snape grimaced. The expression was fleeting, but Harry saw it. He needed to get help. Dumbledore would know what had gone wrong, surely. He had only taken two steps when a sound behind him seemed to glue his feet to the floor.
Professor Snape had begun to scream.
No, this was all wrong. The one you had wronged were supposed to come, and you asked for forgiveness and then they forgave you…right? Only—and he wondered that he had not thought to ask this question before—only what if they didn't. And Snape was a Death Eater. He had seen the man's Dark Mark at the end of last year. Maybe he had turned spy as Dumbledore insisted, but Harry wasn't certain he believed it. He was certain that Snape must have done a lot of things that he needed to atone for. Even if there was the odd person willing to forgive their murderer, he couldn't imagine they all would. And Madame Campbell hadn't elaborated on what might happen in that case. Judging by the professor's screams, it was nothing good.
All he had wanted was to make things right with Cedric so that maybe the nightmares would stop. Now it was all going wrong. He had to fix it.
He had no idea how to fix it.
Tentatively he put a hand out toward the circle, only to be thrown back against the wall with such force that his head was left spinning from the impact. When the stone walls stopped dancing in his vision, Harry stood, eyes darting around the room looking for something, anything that might be of help.
Gah, how could he have forgotten? The best source of help was in the castle. He had been about to leave to find the headmaster when Snape had begun to scream. Still somewhat unsteady on his feet, Harry made his way toward the door.
And paused. Walking away from the circle felt wrong. He had never experienced the sensation before, but the only way he could think of to describe it was a sort of stretching. It was as though part of him was tethered somewhere behind him and every step caused the connection between that part and the rest of him to thin. He took another step. Then another. A third and he was almost at the door, but the stretching was growing more and more uncomfortable. By the time he reached the door the feeling was becoming painful. But Snape's screams indicated the man was in a great deal more pain than Harry had likely experienced outside of Voldemort's Cruciatis Curse. Under other circumstances Harry might stop, but Snape was being tortured in a ritual circle Harry had prepared. Despite not quite knowing what was happening, he did know he had to do everything in his power to fix it. He would continue on despite the pain.
The click of the door latch was followed immediately by the dull clunk of the door's bolt against the frame. Snape must have locked it when he entered. Harry reached into his pocket for his wand to cast alohamora only to find his pocket empty. Damn, he had forgotten that his wand was in the circle. How was he supposed to get help now?
The noises behind him were making his stomach twist with guilt and helplessness. Upset and tired from weeks, no, months of sleepless nights, Harry gave into his frustration and kicked at the ancient oak. It remained locked. All that he had achieved was to make his toe hurt.
Harry's ears rang with silence as Snape's screams cut off without warning. Was it over? He turned to see the circle was still intact. Walking back towards the circle he saw that Snape's expression was no longer one of pain but of fear.
Snape whimpered in response to nothing Harry could see or hear.
"Professor, what can I do? How can I end it?"
The fathomless black eyes of his Potions professor met his own and Harry thought that the anguish he saw in them would haunt him for the rest of his life. So would the words that followed.
"You can't…end it," Snape panted, his normally smooth voice hoarse from his screaming. "The ritual…must…run its course."
"There must be something I can do to help," Harry pled. Sitting and doing nothing while someone, even his most hated professor, was being tortured was unthinkable.
Snape gasped and stiffened, but managed to say, "Yes. Don't watch," before yet another scream tore from his lips.
Snape struggled to think through the blinding pain. There was something he should do. Something to do with the ritual. It hovered just on the edge of his thoughts, out of reach yet tantalizingly close.
His eyes focused through several spirits on the triangle of conjuration. The triangle where the judge would be summoned to preside over his fate. There was supposed to be a rune, yes, there it was. The boy had at least done that much correctly. He reached out his left hand toward the chalked symbol, only to have it seized upon by two spirits, each eager to administer a measure of retribution. His arm jerked and spasmed in response, but in doing so several drops of blood landed on the rune he had been reaching for. The white powder flashed a blindingly incandescent red and then vanished as a softer answering glow began in the triangle.
Snape had not believed the judge could spare him, but he had hoped that whoever it was might grant him the mercy of a swift death. Now, as the swirling mists coalesced into the form of one of his childhood nemeses, Snape was forced to abandon all hope. Of course Potter would have chosen his father to stand as judge.
"Snape." The tone was not menacing exactly, but neither was it in any way friendly.
He gasped as two spirits traded places and the pain of several deep gouges vanished to be replaced by the feeling of being kicked repeatedly. He recognized the hex as one he had created for Black. It was originally designed to give a swift kick in the arse: painful but not overly damaging except maybe to one's pride. It was Bellatrix who had found a way to amplify it to administer a dozen kicks at a time. It had been her favorite hex for a week which, given her mercurial moods, was an impressive time for a spell that wasn't an Unforgivable Curse to hold her attention.
At last he managed to catch his breath and muttered, "Potter."
"I have more reason than most to dislike you, Snape. I cannot fathom why you would call me as your advocate, and at the moment I cannot think of any reason why I should remain here and act as such. Tell me why I should not just let them have at you."
"Professor? Professor, what is it?" Drat. The boy had heard.
"I wasn't…" his words cut off as he felt the sensation of a bone breaking, then another, and another. It was odd to feel his bones break while knowing they remained whole, but that only added confusion to the pain, and Snape was rapidly losing the ability to concentrate.
"Enough! Let him answer," called the elder Potter, and all at once the pains ceased, leaving Snape gasping in shock at the release. The crowd of spirits moved back, though they still exuded anger and menace.
"Professor Snape, what's wrong?" Harry called, sounding increasingly upset. "What do you need?"
At least he could form a coherent answer now. "I am in need of nothing, Mr. Potter. I was not speaking to you."
Harry looked confused. "Not talking to me? Then who?"
At the same time the elder Potter sneered and said, "Oh, that's rich. Not talking to me, were you? I ought to…" It seemed that just as the younger Potter could not hear the spirits that had been summoned, they could not hear him.
"Please, Mr. Potter, this is not something you need to witness."
"Yes, sir" replied the boy, skepticism coloring his tones.
His father was less charitable, biting out, "If you want me to leave, I will. You were the one who called me here."
"James, shut up and use your brain for once!" came a new voice.
Snape closed his eyes and bit back the groan. Of course she would be here. Had he not wronged her most egregiously? He bowed his head, fighting for composure, but she did not speak to him. "Look," she commanded.
There was silence for a long moment before James Potter's voice sounded at just above a whisper. "Harry?" The dead might not be able to hear the living, but apparently they could see them. Then the softness was gone from his tone, "You bastard, you're making him watch this?"
Meanwhile, the younger Potter seemed to have reached a conclusion of his own, for he asked, "Professor, are my parents there? Were you talking to my dad?"
Snape's head was spinning. After the torture he had just endured, it was too much for him to be able to accurately parse the conversation of the three Potters, one of whom was unaware of the other two. He shook his head to clear it before repeating his order for the boy not to watch. He added, "And no matter what I say, don't turn around," hoping that the boy would obey.
He did, and Snape watched him turn around with some relief. A sharp crack finally made him return his attention to the more urgent matter at hand, and the sight that greeted him was enough to bring a smirk to his lips. Lily was standing in front of her husband looking vengeful. James Potter, for his part, was holding a hand to his left cheek his expression one of perfect surprise.
It took a few moments before the penny dropped, as the ghostly Potter looked between his wife, his son, and Snape. "Why would Harry…? He's just a boy, what does he have to atone for?"
"Very little. But there are undoubtedly those among the Death Eaters who died would hold him accountable for their loss. I did not think it wise to find out," Snape finally replied, when it seemed that the man actually expected an answer.
"And you…you took his place? On purpose?"
"Yes."
James looked at his son again, then raised suspiciously most eyes to meet Snape's gaze. "You are a good man, Severus Snape. I wish I could have known that in life." Not breaking the connection, Potter bowed and intoned, "I will serve as your judge; I will stand as your advocate."
"So it was said, so it will be done," said Lily, in equally formal tones, and the ghostly multitude surrounding them echoed her words.
"I—" Snape began, but faltered. The entire evening had taken on an air of the surreal, but it was still difficult to put aside his pride to make a request of James Potter, even an oddly repentant-looking James Potter. The man was looking at him, waiting, though, and Snape decided to press on. "For the boy's sake, if nothing else, make it quick. He has been witness to enough torture already this night."
He nodded, his face grim. "I will do what I can, for both your sakes." Then James Potter looked up to address the gathered crowds. "Let all those who have a grievance come forward and present themselves before the judge."