Harry crashed heavily to the ground, collapsing into a heap on the floor with his face pressed uncomfortably into the ground. His glasses dug painfully into the side of his head. His scar felt as though it was burning and he was still reeling from the pain of being pulled through space. It had felt like something had gripped a part of his soul and tugged so hard that he had teleported to the source.

It was, in a way, reminiscent of the times Vernon had yanked him around by his hair, or his ear, or his arm. Because it felt like something that was deeply connected, but still separate, was being pulled away from the rest of his soul. Like this piece was so tightly fused to the rest of him that it was painful to try and separate it.

“Potter?” A furious voice said, breaking the silence. Then, immediately after that, the same voice cast, “Incarcerous.”

Harry’s arms were pulled out from beneath him and bound behind his back. At the same time, his legs were encased in rope that wound its way up his body until he was encased in rope from his ankles to his shoulders. He struggled to take in a breath. He couldn’t breathe properly because his chest was too tightly restrained.

Then Harry found himself being lifted into the air. When he was finally able to take in his surroundings, and, as soon as he saw that while he was in a room alone with Voldemort and Nagini, he felt his fear mount even further, when he had not thought that possible. He had been trying to deny the truth of his situation, but could no longer manage it.

“How did you find my horcruxes?” Voldemort demanded, getting to his feet and heavily pacing back and forth in front of where Harry was floating in midair. His fists were clenching and unclenching around the wand that he still held in his hand, which periodically emitted a shower of crimson sparks.

Harry stared mutely at him, eyes wide. He had no idea what Voldemort was talking about.

“The pieces of my soul that you destroyed,” Voldemort hissed. He paused right in front of Harry, then Voldemort lashed out, back-handing Harry across the face. “Tell me: how did you find them,” Voldemort repeated, voice rising in volume. Then he whipped his head around, eyes wildly darting about the room, and said, “No, this will not do. Come along, Potter, Nagini.”

Voldemort stalked off and Harry was pulled along behind him. His face was still stinging from the impact of Voldemort’s hand and Harry blinked back the tears that had reflexively come into his eyes. Just before they left, Harry finally managed to get a decent look at the room that he’d landed in, which was evidently a library. If he hadn’t known that it belonged to Voldemort, Harry would have thought that it was a very cozy looking room.

“So that was the library,” Voldemort said pleasantly, giving Harry mild whiplash as he flipped from furious interrogator to pleasant tour guide.

Harry was pulled along through a series of hallways, each more posh than the last, as Voldemort pointed each one out and gave a quick summary of where it led. Harry’s terror was quickly fading into confusion as he wondered where they were going.

Because he had a hard time believing that they were heading for dungeons, or even somewhere similar, as the hallways were getting nicer as they went along. Although– it was suspicious that the one hallway Voldemort had not said anything about was the one they were currently walking down.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they were headed for dungeons, though. Because that would, at the very least, allow Harry to stay alive for longer. What he refused to consider, because it would hurt too much when he was wrong, was that if he was put in a dungeon, someone might be able to rescue him.

Then he realized, with a sinking heart, that Voldemort was probably taking Harry somewhere where there would be room to call his Death Eaters. After all the times Harry had made a fool of Voldemort, he probably wanted to make sure that Harry’s death was a public spectacle.

And Harry’s death was inevitable this time. Because he was completely and utterly alone, again.

He knew that he’d managed to escape from Voldemort back in his fourth year, but surely Voldemort would have learned from the mistakes he’d made then. This time, there would be no convenient portkey to take Harry home, and no twin wand effect to allow his parents to help him escape.

Harry didn’t even know where he was, despite the tour he was getting from Voldemort himself. All he knew was that he was in some kind of grand manor. So anyone who could possibly rescue him wouldn’t know where to find him, either. Because he’d been ripped out of Dumbledore’s office, without a trace, to wherever this was. By the time anyone managed to find him, it’d be too late.

He was snapped out of his quickly spiralling thoughts by Voldemort halting them both in front of a pair of large, grand doors.

They swept open automatically after a moment’s wait, and Harry was reminded inexplicably of grocery store doors. Then, as he strode confidently towards the throne, Voldemort said, “And this is the throne room.”

Harry thought that ‘throne room’ was an accurate descriptor for the cavernously large room. It was decorated entirely in green, silver, and black, with snake motifs all over the place.

Then Voldemort was climbing up the stairs to his throne as he said, “And this is my throne.” It was several feet above the rest of the room on a small pedestal that was opposite the door. As soon as he was properly seated he must have released the spell holding Harry up, because Harry fell heavily to the floor on the platform below Voldemort’s throne.

The ropes around him were so tight that he was unable to control his fall at all, and he landed heavily on his back. The little air he’d been able to catch was driven painfully out of his lungs, and he was only able to see a small portion of the ceiling and the corner of Voldemort’s armrest from this angle. He tried to focus on catching his breath.

“As you saw on our tour, Potter, I possess the finer things in life,” Voldemort began smoothly. “So you can imagine my, shall we say, disappointment, when I found out that you had destroyed my SOUL!”

The last word had been roared with rage, and the pain in Harry’s scar spiked to new heights. Harry was shocked into flinching so violently that, were it not for the rope that restrained him, he would have rolled off the pedestal onto the next step.

The fear that had morphed into confusion during Voldemort’s almost pleasant tour of the manor flooded back into his veins with a vicious roar, making his heart pound in his ears.

Because as his fear escalated, he began to feel breathless and lightheaded from his inability to take a proper deep breath. His terror, coupled with his desperate desire to breathe, prevented him from even trying to form a response.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out, boy?” Voldemort spat, climbing out of his throne to pace around the small area between the throne and the stairs, consequently stepping over parts of Harry’s immobile body. “We are connected, you and I, and I heard you, through our link, tell that despicable old fool about how you had destroyed my belongings.”

It sounded as though Voldemort’s voice was a long ways away, certainly not the mere feet away that it was. Harry hoped that he could continue to get away with not responding.

“I was absolutely infuriated, but still in denial. I dove deep into my own soul and searched for my soul ties. You can imagine my distress, then, when I found only two ties,” Voldemort paused briefly. Then he brought his snake-like face over Harry’s and roared, “TWO!” Harry could feel himself vibrating with fear within the confines of the ropes, and tried helplessly to still himself.

Harry had spent quite some time over the summer regretting his inability to learn Occlumency, but he had never wished that he had learnt the skill more desperately in this moment. Harry had betrayed Dumbledore’s trust mere moments after promising to not let the information leave the room.

Voldemort took a deep breath, then continued, “So I sent my awareness down the soul tie that did not belong to my beloved Nagini, and found myself in that imbecile Dumbledore’s office. I arrived just in time to hear your– your, heinous DISRESPECT.

“I grabbed you, body and soul, and tugged. Yanked. Pulled. I landed back in my body, in my library. And you were there, too, ever so conveniently, for me to interrogate in person. And, of course, for me to exact revenge.”

Harry began to feel physically sick with fear. He closed his eyes and breathed through the nausea as best as he could. He had a feeling that there was something massive he was missing, some pieces he hadn’t connected.

But then Voldemort laughed coldy, derailing Harry’s thoughts again. “Nothing to say, Potter? I wonder if you would be more willing to talk to your old friend, Bellatrix,” Voldemort said musingly.

Harry struggled to breath as some of his fear turned to rage at the mention of the woman who had killed Sirius. Before he could think better of it, he said breathlessly, “I have nothing to say to you.”

Voldemort hissed with rage and cast, “Crucio.”

And Harry was consumed by all-encompassing pain. He mindlessly tried to scream in agony, to move away, but couldn’t find enough give in the ropes to manage any motion at all. After several long moments of excruciating torture, Harry began to see spots encroaching upon his vision.

Then he realized that Voldemort must have stopped the spell, because the sensation of every one of his nerve-endings being on fire had ceased.

In its absence, Harry could feel the burning in his lungs as he gasped for breath, and the numbness in his extremities. The dark spots expanded, swirling around and growing larger, until Harry’s vision felt like a tunnel. As he struggled to regain control of his errant breathing, he knew, distantly, that if he could bring his breathing under control, he could get enough air to survive.

But his body refused to respond to him, and so Harry began to lose his grip on consciousness.

Just before he lost his battle to stay awake, he felt a line of searing pain run from his left shoulder all the way down to his ankles. The ropes binding his chest and legs fell away. Harry feebly rolled over onto his stomach. He still couldn’t breathe very well, so, pressing his shoulders into the pedestal floor, he slid his knees forward to try and free his airway further.

He felt the chilled air of the room slide through the massive slit in his shirt as a few drops of blood slid down his side to pool near his armpit. His arms were still bound behind his back, and his ankles were still tied together. A distant part of his mind registered that he was essentially kneeling before Voldemort’s throne in his desperate attempt to breathe more easily. As he caught his breath his vision began to clear, though his lungs still burned.

“You see how merciful Lord Voldemort is. I could have allowed you to suffocate yourself, but I did not,” he paused melodramatically. Then he cast, “Petrificus Totalus.”

There was a long moment of silence where Harry uselessly tried to flex his muscles to change his position.

Then Voldemort said, “That delightful position you have assumed so willingly must be shared with others, so they can properly admire you finally appreciating your proper place: kneeling at my feet.” He paused again, then called out, “Pettigrew!”

Harry wished he could close his eyes in shame. With his head planted on the floor the way it was, he could see nothing of his environment. For a long moment, all he could hear was the sound of Voldemort climbing the stairs, and then what he could only assume was the sound of Voldemort settling into his throne.

Then he heard Pettigrew scurrying through the throne room. “You called, my lord?” Pettigrew said pathetically.

Harry chose to tune out whatever interaction they were going to have, but as soon as he did, all the aches and pains his body was experiencing made themselves heard. In addition to the residual pain of the Cruciatus Curse, Harry’s body had begun to ache from the position he had been forced to hold. And, on top of that, his skin felt abraded where he’d strained against the ropes, and his lungs still burned when he breathed, and the cut along his side still stung, and his scar had begun to throb in counterpoint with his pulse.

A tear leaked from Harry’s eye, an unconscious release of the misery he was in. Harry focused on the tear’s path as it slid up his forehead and disappeared into his hairline, preferring to think about the water tracking up his face instead of anything else that was happening at the moment.

Harry’s focus was broken by several, sudden, pops of apparition, and he realized that he must have missed Voldemort calling the rest of the Death Eaters.

So he had been right about Voldemort wanting his death to be a public spectacle. Harry just hadn’t imagined it would be quite this humiliating.

Then he heard the sound of Bellatrix’s cackle, and fresh waves of shame and fear and anger washed over him. He felt torn between wishing he could face his fate, and relief that his face was hidden.

“My lord,” Bellatrix gasped. “Is that–”

“It is,” Voldemort interrupted her. “Your eyes do not deceive you, my loyal Death Eaters,” he continued pleasantly. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us this fine Sunday morning.”

Then Harry heard the doors to the throne room blast all the way open, colliding with the walls so loudly that the floor beneath Harry shook with the impact. A hostile silence fell over the Death Eaters, and Voldemort lunged to his feet as a set of footsteps approached. Harry felt a bubble of hope rise within him, and he quickly did his best to squash it down.

“Good morning, Tom,” Dumbledore said pleasantly, causing Harry’s hope to resurge. This hope was only compounded upon when Harry felt his body release from its petrification. He tried to unobtrusively scramble into a sitting position, wary of alerting Voldemort as to his newfound ability to move. He was still too hobbled by the rope around his wrists and his ankles to risk trying to run.

Harry’s new position allowed him to finally see the small crowd of approximately eight Death Eaters gathered in front of Voldemort’s throne. And then there was Dumbledore, who was standing calmly in the midst of them.

“I do hope this wasn’t a private party that I’ve crashed,” Dumbledore said.

There was silence for a moment longer before Voldemort said, “So you've finally decided to come save your little pet hero again?” He paused dramatically, then said, “Don’t you get tired of rescuing such a useless boy?”

Harry flinched as Voldemort laughed derisively, which was quickly echoed by the gathered Death Eaters.

Then Voldemort continued, “I do have to give you credit for your timely arrival, however.”

Dumbledore bowed mockingly and said, “Thank you, I do my best.”

There was a moment of electric silence as Dumbledore and Voldemort stood, both of them evaluating each other. Harry’s eyes flicked from one to the other, waiting for someone to make the first move. Then he tried to work on the ropes that still bound his hands behind his back, but he only succeeded in worsening the rope burn on his wrists. If he could only free his hands; he could still feel his wand in his pocket–

Then there was a flurry of motion as Voldemort cast, “Avada Kedavra,” at the same time that Dumbledore cast, “Accio Harry Potter.” And the next thing Harry knew he was being tugged through the air towards Dumbledore, who had nimbly dodged Voldemort’s curse.

Harry landed heavily beside Dumbledore, splitting the cut along his side back open.

But Dumbledore was already in motion, whirling in a circle, causing the floor around him and Harry to grow upwards into some kind of shield. Harry was still lying on the ground beside Dumbledore, wishing he could do something about his side, which was now bleeding sluggishly, but he knew Dumbledore had far better things to do at the moment than dealing with Harry’s problems.

The walls Dumbledore had built came crumbling down just as Harry managed to thread his body through his arms. This meant that his hands were now tied in front of his body. Harry’d just started to awkwardly pick at the rope around his ankles when Dumbledore vanished the ropes entirely and said, “My apologies, Harry. I would greatly appreciate it if you could join me just now. Try incapacitating as many of the Death Eaters as you can, but do not move out from behind me, as I cannot protect you if you do so.”

Harry climbed unsteadily to his feet, doing his best to not think about how much he was hurting, and said, “Yes sir.” Then he pulled out his wand and readied himself to face the Death Eaters.

It was then he noticed that Dumbledore must have created some other barrier while Harry was getting to his feet, because as Harry turned to face the back of the room, the barrier came flying towards them.

Harry flinched back, but Dumbledore deflected all the debris easily. Harry could now see the small group of Death Eaters and started casting spells, alternating between Expelliarmus and Stupefy, as rapidly as he could.

He had managed to catch a single wand from someone when Dumbledore took a step back, constructing another barrier as he went. Harry stepped back as well and asked breathlessly, “What’s going on, sir?

“We are stalling until help arrives,” Dumbledore said calmly, then began waving his wand in an intricate pattern.

A moment later there was a resounding boom, and the barrier in front of them transfigured into a flock of geese that charged at the Death Eaters. Harry immediately resumed casting Expelliarmus and Stupefy, managing to hit another one with a Stupefy before Dumbledore took another step back and constructed another barrier.

This time, Harry could hear the sound of flying objects colliding violently with the barrier. He eyed it uncertainly, wary of it failing prematurely.

“Not to worry, Harry, the properties of this barrier are such that it is resistant to the bludgeoning damage that the other barriers were vulnerable to, at the cost of letting sound through. I shall have to teach it to you someday,” Dumbledore said.

Harry distantly wondered how Dumbledore had known what he was thinking, but shook it off quickly. He focused, instead, on recovering during the few moments he had before the barrier inevitably broke.

He took a moment to check on the cut along his side, and only had time to verify that it had scabbed over before the barrier exploded outwards. In the resulting backlash, Harry managed to relieve Avery of his wand. He pocketed it with the other wand he’d acquired earlier. His wrist brushed against the inside of his pocket and he winced as his rope burns were agitated.

Harry was startled by the sudden appearance of ten people, all circled around something. He realized, a beat later, that they must have taken a portkey in. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Professor Lupin. And then he noticed Tonks’ bright, bubblegum pink hair, too, which was followed by his gaze landing upon Mrs. Weasley.

But then another cloaked figure stepped forward, from behind Kingsley, and Harry was momentarily frozen in surprise as he saw Snape join the fray, the man’s usual sneering demeanour marred with uncharacteristic panic.

Then he disappeared completely, leaving no trace behind but for the last echo of his agony, which continued to resound throughout the horrified silence in the headmaster’s office.

Severus’s hands clenched into fists the moment Harry’s body ceased to provide resistance. He remained frozen in horror, transfixed by the emptiness of the seat Harry had occupied until mere moments ago. He whirled on Dumbledore and demanded, “How the hell did you let that happen?”

Dumbledore was standing behind his desk, also staring at Harry's empty chair.

“I think our time would be better spent making plans for how to get Harry back, rather than yelling about how it happened,” Dumbledore said reasonably. Severus forcefully unclenched his fists, trying to restrain the impulse to strangle the man with his own beard. Harry could be Merlin knew where, and Dumbledore was being despicably calm about the entire thing.

“What’s your plan to fix this, then?” Severus said, when he was sure that he could modulate his tone. It would do no good to antagonize the man at this point, and calmness was the key to galvanizing him into action.

“First,” Dumbledore said, reaching into a drawer of his desk, “you ought to take this potion.”

Severus eyed Dumbledore suspiciously before plucking the opaque bottle out of the air from where Dumbledore had floated it to.

“What’s that potion?” Granger asked worriedly.

Severus rolled his eyes as Weasley 1 added, “Yeah, Snape might have brewed that!”

Dumbledore chuckled and said, “Your concern is admirable, Ronald, but even if Severus had brewed this potion, it would be perfectly safe to consume. In any case, Christina– Professor Chen, to you– was the one who brewed this particular potion.”

Severus grimaced and made eye contact with Dumbledore, doing his best to ask, ‘Is this really necessary?’ without words. Dumbledore nodded austerely, so Severus grimaced again and knocked the potion back. He realized, then, that there was only one reason he could think of for Dumbledore to make him drink a potion that someone else had brewed like this.

They all stood around for an awkward moment. Dumbledore said, “Not to worry, the potion takes a moment to work properly.”

Severus nodded, and glanced around at the office, just passing the time.

Then there was a bright flash, just as there had been when he’d taken the original potion. Severus realized that his clothing was now uncomfortably tight, and generally much too small, so he pulled out his wand and transfigured the entire outfit into his typical casualwear.

A moment later, the remaining students in the room made their shock known.

Both Weasleys yelled, “Snape?”

Granger faintly said, “Professor Snape?”

Longbottom and Lovegood both simply stared at him with wide eyes.

“It’s alright everyone,” Dumbledore said placatingly. “I was the one who asked Professor Snape to do–”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very good, but what are we going to do for Harry,” Severus interrupted him. Every moment they wasted bickering about his deception was a moment longer that Harry was in potentially grave danger. He knew that his chance to make up for his past treatment of Harry had just been shot to hell, but shoved his reaction to that down. It was far more important for them to rescue Harry.

All the children eyed him oddly, but seemed to agree with the sentiment, because then they, too, focused fully on Dumbledore.

“Very well. Here is the plan: Severus is going to stay here and coordinate the arrival of the members of the Order that I will call to my office in a moment. Once I have called them, I will work on a portkey to allow the Order to travel to where I am certain Harry is at. Then I will duplicate it and depart immediately.”

“Wait a second, Albus,” Severus said.

Albus gestured for him to continue, so Severus said, “You’re not going to just let the students stay here, are you? Wherever Harry is, it is likely no place for them to go charging off to. Remember last May?”

“What? No–”

“Harry’s our friend, we have–”

“We can help–”

Dumbledore let off a mild bang with his wand, which captured everyone’s attention. In the silence of the spell’s aftermath, he said, “I am afraid Severus is right, it is simply too dangerous for you to accompany us to where Harry is. Severus, I need you to call Minerva while I make the portkeys. Ask her to take the students somewhere where she can keep her eye on them until we return.”

Harry’s friends exploded into protests yet again, and Albus silenced them with another bang. Then he said, “If you cannot control yourselves, I am afraid I will have to silence you until Minerva is here. I will require quiet so I can focus on creating these portkeys.”

Severus took the cue to go over to Albus’s floo. He tossed in some powder and called, “Minerva’s office!” He stuck his head in and looked around, thankfully spotting her at her desk almost immediately.

She got to her feet and came over to the fireplace. Then she said, sounding shocked, “Severus? What are you–”

“Can you floo over to Albus’s office, Minerva? There is a lot to explain,” Severus said, interrupting her.

She gave him a slightly dubious look, but nodded her acquiescence. Severus pulled his head out of the fireplace, quickly got to his feet, and then stepped to the side. Only moments later, Minerva appeared where Severus had been.

“What’s going on, Severus? And what are all these students doing here?”

Severus glanced at the students, just to buy himself a moment to think and to plan his response. Then he said, “The first thing you need to know is that, only a couple minutes ago, Harry disappeared from this office. Albus is currently working on portkeys to get us to him. We need you to take the students somewhere and make sure they don’t do anything like try and follow us.”

He paused for a moment, then realized what he’d forgotten to mention. “And Albus had me take the antidote, everyone here knows I was Eli.”

Minerva looked as though she needed to process that, so Severus decided to turn away to ask Dumbledore something. “Albus? I don’t mean to interrupt, but would you like me to call the Order?”

“What? Oh, that would be great, thank you, Severus,” Albus said absently.

Severus nodded and turned back to Minerva.

“Please stay safe,” Minerva said. “I am apparently going to be too busy keeping an eye on our little knights in shining armor to be yours.” Then she turned to the students and said, “Alright everyone, come with me. We are going to my quarters, where my wife can help me keep an eye on all of you.”

She allowed the students to precede her out of the office. At the last moment, before she closed the door, she turned back and said to Albus, “And you owe me massive overtime for this.”

Severus stifled his laugh as she closed the door. Then he shook it off and focused on the matter at hand: calling the Order to Albus’s office. He got his wand out and focused on his memory of sitting with Harry and his friends in the Great Hall. Specifically, he thought of the moment where he’d felt included.

He forcefully fended off all the intrusive thoughts about how that was the last time that would ever happen, how that was the last time Harry would ever look at him kindly. Then, once he was sure the thoughts were properly balanced and he was focused on his happy memory, he cast the spell: “Expecto Patronum.”

Instead of the familiar doe that Severus had expected, what he saw was an unfamiliar bird. He stared at in consternation, taking in its thin, spindly legs, long beak, and small crest. He should have known his patronus would have changed, should have known that confronting his past mistakes would have left its mark on his soul. He had decided to let Lily go, and to do his best to make up for being so wrong about Harry, so of course his patronus would no longer be a doe.

He continued to stare at it for a long moment. He must have stared too long, because then Dumbledore said, “Oh! I see your Patronus changed! Let me see, is that a jacana bird?”

“I don’t know, and don’t you have better things to do?” Severus snapped.

“I am nearly done ensuring that the portkey will be able to break through Tom’s wards, but very well,” Dumbledore said, turning back to the portkey.

Severus glared at him for a moment longer. Then he realized that Dumbledore had confirmed what he had known, on some level, but hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. Harry was in Voldemort’s clutches.

He forced himself to shake the thought off and turned back to his patronus. He quickly decided to look into the bird– the jacana, possibly– further when he got the chance. For now, he sent it off to tell Kingsley, “There’s an emergency. Harry has been kidnapped by Voldemort. Come to Albus’s office, immediately.”

Then he conjured another patronus and sent it off, with the same message, to several more Order members.

He was about to conjure another one when Dumbledore interrupted him. “I have finished the portkeys. I have made three, so that if we need to call for help, we will have a way to do so. I wrote a note on how to activate it, and, once I have left, you should call Fillius and give him the letter. The other portkey will activate 15 minutes after I depart, which is probably the maximum amount of time I can safely stall Tom for. So be sure that everyone is touching it then.”

As Albus had spoken, he had pointed to the appropriate portkey. The time-delayed portkey was a stationary kit, and the portkey to give to Filius was a worn-down quill. When Severus looked up, he saw that Albus was holding a lemon drop. “And this,” Albus said, “is my ticket to Harry that ought to activate any–”

And then he disappeared. Severus took a deep breath to enjoy the sudden silence, then chastised himself for wasting time when Harry was still in danger. He hurried over to the floo and threw some powder in. As he got to his knees in front of the fire, he called out, “Filius Flitwick’s office!”

Then he stuck his head into the fire and looked around.

“Who’s there?” Filius asked from somewhere in his office.

“It’s Severus, can you come through to Albus’s office? There’s been an emergency,” Severus said.

“Very well,” Filius said, finally coming into view from behind a stack of books.

Severus quickly got out of the way again. It took a moment, but then Filius came through. And mere moments after Filius had finished brushing himself off, Kingsley came through the floo as well.

“Kingsley, would you mind waiting while I explain the situation to Filius? He has a different duty than the rest of us, and I would like to explain the situation to everyone else once,” Severus said.

“Of course,” Kingsley said, stepping to the side of the office.

Severus strode over to Albus’s desk, beckoning for Filius to follow him. Severus briefly explained the situation regarding Harry, then took his time explaining the portkey situation.

“Did you get all that?” Severus asked, getting antsy now, because almost everyone he’d called had arrived.

“Yes, I’ll just take this one,” Filius said, lifting the quill, “to my office, so I can get out of your way.”

“Thank you,” Severus said.

Filius ended up having to wait for Tonks to step out of the fire to depart. Once Filius was gone, Severus performed a quick head count and realized that everyone had arrived.

“Right,” Severus began. Then he explained the situation, yet again, for the group. A small part of him had worried that he’d been over reacting, perhaps because of his guilt regarding his treatment of Harry in the past. Severus had been worried that someone would call him out for only being concerned now, when he had treated Harry so poorly in the past. But everyone was entirely focused on the horror of Harry being torn, painfully, through space to Voldemort.

Severus checked his watch and saw that it was almost time for the portkey to activate, so he said, “Everyone grab on.”

It was a bit difficult to fit all of them around the stationary set, but they managed. There was a long, awkward moment where they were all standing around in silence, waiting for the portkey to activate. Thankfully, Severus had timed it reasonably well, because then the portkey activated.

When Severus landed, he immediately searched frantically for Harry. He spotted him almost immediately, over by where he could see Dumbledore fending off several Death Eaters– and Voldemort himself.

Thankfully, the rest of the Order members rushed in to occupy the Death Eaters, allowing Dumbledore to focus on Voldemort, and allowing Severus to run over to Harry.

As Severus approached, he could see what he’d initially missed. Harry was injured. There was an angry cut along his side, visible through the slice in his shirt. The skin on his arms seemed red and angry, and he trembled visibly even as Severus drew closer.

Severus realized, then, that he was no longer Eli, and that Harry had no reason to trust Severus. He plowed forward anyways, willing to risk it for the chance to heal Harry.

“Snape?” Harry asked faintly, when Severus got to him.

It was jarring to be addressed thusly, after growing used to being addressed familiarly by Harry. He nodded and said, “I’m going to heal you now.”

Harry frowned lightly, glanced over at where Dumbledore was busily duelling Voldemort, then looked back at Severus. He seemed to consider Severus for a moment, then said, “If you’re sure you don’t need to help fight.”

“The Order can handle it,” Severus said, and it was even true. A quick glance around the room showed that the few present Death Eaters were quickly being subdued. Severus got to his knees and gestured for Harry to sit down.

“This may unsettle you, so it’s better not to risk you falling over,” he explained. Then he began waving his wand in the complex motion to seal up the cut properly.

“It’ll probably be alright, I certainly spend enough in the infirmary to be used to it,” Harry said with a one shouldered shrug.

They fell into an awkward silence as Severus began to heal Harry’s arms as best as he could without potions. Unfortunately, Severus still did not have access to his robes, the ones with their stashes of potions, so he had to make do with spells. Which was upsetting, because he couldn’t think of any spells to help relieve the trembling that Severus could feel as he healed Harry’s arm.

To fill the silence, Severus impulsively said, “I made sure that your friends stayed behind. They are safe at Hogwarts.”

Harry leaned back slightly and stared at Severus in shock. “Why would you do that?”

He sounded grateful, but deeply confused, and Severus released a quick sigh of relief.

Severus rushed to order his thoughts. He had no idea how to respond without dropping the Eli bomb. Because Harry didn’t know about that yet, and Severus wanted to delay him finding out as long as possible.

“Severus Snape,” Voldemort called, slicing through Severus’s thoughts.

Severus’s head whipped up from where he’d been turning Harry’s arm over. Dumbledore was now occupied fighting Nagini, and Voldemort must have taken advantage of the opportunity to come for Harry, but been distracted by Severus.

“Voldemort,” Severus said flatly, climbing to his feet and readying himself for a fight.

“You dare?” Voldemort asked dangerously. “After all I’ve done for you, bringing you out of obscurity as a worthless half-blood? You would betray me like this, for another worthless half-blood?”

He continued, but Severus was distracted by Harry getting to his feet behind him. Severus wanted to do something like tell him to run, or push him away, but he thought that calling further attention to Harry was a bad idea, so he held his peace, hoping he’d be able to protect Harry when Voldemort inevitably started a duel.

Then Severus’s attention was caught by Bellatrix shrieking his name from somewhere behind him, his body automatically whipped around to find her.

The next sequence seemed to happen in slow motion.

Voldemort whispered, “Avada Kedavra.”

Severus began to turn back to face Voldemort.

Harry planted his hands on Severus’s chest and shoved him down, knocking him out of the way of the curse. Severus began to fall backwards, just in time to see–

The sinister green curse punched into Harry’s chest, knocking him back.

And Severus watched the light drain, slowly, horribly from Harry’s eyes. Severus finally landed heavily from the force of Harry pushing him out of the way. From Harry sacrificing himself for Severus. And the sight of dull green where there ought to be vivid emerald succeeded in emptying his lungs of what little air he had left.

He lurched to his knees and grabbed Harry’s wrist. Severus could distantly hear Bellatrix shrieking. It was like Severus was on another planet, though, where the only thing that mattered was finding Harry’s pulse.

It had to be there.

Severus pushed and prodded at first one wrist, then the other. He reassured himself that the pulse was sometimes hard to find in the wrists, and laid his fingers against Harry’s neck. When this, too, remained lifeless under his fingers, Severus felt a sob building in his chest as the realization finally sank in.

The realization that Harry was well and truly dead.