Harry stared at Snape. “W- what?” he stammered.

“The Dark Lord...” Snape repeated, still subconsciously holding his forearm with his other hand, “He is summoning all those who bare the Dark Mark to him.”

Harry could not seem to make Snape’s words register in his frozen mind. Yes, Harry already knew Snape bore the Dark Mark – had ever since the end of the Triwizard’s Tournament when he had seen Snape show his branded forearm to Cornelius Fudge to try and make him believe Voldemort had really returned. He had also already suspected Snape’s role as a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort’s inner circle, but that still did not prepare Harry for the shock he received at Snape’s ominous proclamation.

“Come, Potter,” Snape said, already sweeping towards the door, “We must tell Dumbledore of this.”

Harry felt too dazed to make any sort of reply, and dumbly hurried after Snape out the door. As he jogged after his Potions Master through the many dark hallways of the castle, Harry felt a queasy sort of dread begin to work its way up inside him. What did this mean? Why was Voldemort calling his Death Eaters to him? Had he finally heard about his supposed “death” and wanted to celebrate by ordering some sort of massive attack on the wizarding world?

No, Harry told himself to try and quell his rising fear, He doesn’t have enough Death Eaters to do that yet. He must be planning something else...

But somehow thinking this did nothing to stop Harry’s growing dread.

Up ahead of Harry, Snape was walking so fast Harry had to jog to keep up with him. He could tell by his Potion Master’s hurried, uneven gait and ghost white face that Snape was agitated... and scared. And somehow knowing Snape was worried sent Harry’s fears soaring to all new heights.

They had now reached the fourth floor and turned down the corridor leading to Dumbledore’s office. Harry thought he heard rain pounding against the darkened windows of the hall as he and Snape hurried past, but was going too fast to be able to know for sure.

Finally, the stone gargoyle of Dumbledore’s office sprang into view down the hall. Snape seemed to take this as a sign to go faster and sharply quickened his pace.

Just like the day before when he had found Harry sitting alone in a darkened corridor, Snape did not even pause at the stone gargoyle, and hurried past it to the study beyond as if he already knew where Dumbledore was to be found. Sweeping into the room with his invisible charge following close behind, Snape came face to face with the silver haired man he sought.

Sirius once again was to be found sitting close beside Harry’s body as if he’d never even left, though he did look slightly more rested than when Harry and Snape had left earlier that morning.

“Dumbledore,” Snape said, slightly out of breath, as he hurried over to the old headmaster, “We have a problem...”

“What is it, Severus?” Dumbledore asked, a hint of worry instantly springing up in his voice, “Is there something wrong with Harry?”

“No,” Snape said, shaking his head hurriedly, “It’s the Dark Lord... Just now I felt the Dark Mark burning... He is calling his servants to him...”

Dumbledore’s face instantly darkened. “Do you think he might have heard word about what happened to Harry?”

“It’s possible,” Snape replied, looking distinctly uneasy, “He is probably summoning his servants to him to confirm the rumors he’s begun to hear. He will want to know for sure...”

Dumbledore slowly met Snape’s eyes and held them with his own. “You must go to him, Severus. It will be you he will want to question about Harry. He knows you are close to me and that you will have information about what’s happened.”

“But what do I tell him?” Snape asked, looking troubled, “I can’t tell him Potter’s still alive because technically he’s not. Nor would it be advantageous to tell him he’s dead. If I do and we somehow find a way to revive him, he will know I lied, and my position as a spy will be compromised.”

Dumbledore’s twinkling blue eyes darkened as he tugged his beard agitatedly and began pacing the room. “That may be a risk we have to take...” he murmured, “You must go and tell him something, Severus; he will get suspicious if you don’t.” Dumbledore paced for several minutes of empty silence until he finally stopped and turned to face Snape again. “Tell him only the most basic of what we actually know – that Harry was hit by a car and killed. If Voldemort demands more answers, tell him you saw me bring Harry’s body back to Hogwarts, but did not actually get a chance to examine him yourself. That should give you leeway should we find some way of restoring Harry back to us.”

“But what about Potter?” Snape asked, glancing down at his ghostly charge, “Surely I can’t take him with me to the Dark Lord’s meeting place.”

Dumbledore followed Snape’s gaze and stared at the spot where Harry stood. “I am afraid you must, Severus. We can’t risk you and Harry being apart for any amount of time – it would be too dangerous. Besides, we must find McCourn. He has the missing part of Harry’s soul. If we ever want to restore Harry back to his body we must confront him. And you are the only one that can do that. I doubt very much one who could boost to killing the famous Boy Who Lived would keep quiet about it for long. He will want to be rewarded for it. If he's returned to Voldemort’s folds as I expect he already has, then you are the only one that can get to him.”

“That will be dangerous...” Snape said, his dark eyes glittering in the firelight, “It will be hard for me to get McCourn by himself, let alone take his wand. We will be risking everything if I am caught...”

“I know that, Severus, but it is the only thing we can do right now. We are running out of time...”

Snape heaved a heavy sigh and looked back down at his ghostly charge. “Well, Potter, it looks like if I am ever to be rid of your incessant presence, you’re going to have to come with me...”

Harry stared back up at him, looking quite ill at the notion of Snape’s proclaimed course of action. Snape wanted to take him unarmed into Voldemort’s lair with some unknown number of Death Eaters? Was he mad!

“But, Sir...” Harry stammered, trying to think of something to say to make Snape see reason to the ludicrousness of what he was saying, “How? I mean, I can’t–”

“Potter, if you ever want to go back to your body, you’re going,” Snape growled, leveling a withering glare at him, “I refuse to have you follow me around like some kind of shadow for the rest of my life. Plus, you have nothing to worry about. No one will be able to see you. You are invisible to everyone else except myself, or have you already forgotten that?” he sneered in his usual condescending tone.

“No, Sir. It’s just that... what if Voldemort can still somehow sense me – like how I could sense him through my scar before?”

Snape studied Harry for a long moment of silence. “I highly doubt that, Potter. You are nothing but a disembodied spirit. There is nothing to connect you to the Dark Lord anymore. Now if you are quite done with your theatrics, we have to go. We have already dallied here long enough.”

“Good luck, Severus,” Dumbledore said, nodding his silver head to Snape.

Snape returned Dumbledore’s nod with a curt one of his own and turned towards the door.

“Snape, wait!” came a sudden shout from behind.

Snape paused on the threshold and slowly turned back to regard the room’s last occupant. “Black...” he replied, eyeing the dark-haired man beside Harry’s body suspiciously.

Sirius stared at Snape for a long moment of tense silence before he finally spoke. “Good luck, Snape,” he bit out tightly, holding Snape’s steely gaze with his own, “You’ve taken care of Harry so far, so I’m trusting you with him now. I’m trusting you to bring him back...” Sirius’ words were short and brusque, as if it took everything in him to speak civilly towards his childhood enemy, but there was no denying the sincerity of his words.

If there was anyone there more surprised by Sirius’ words of good luck and trust, it was Severus Snape himself. The Potions Master stared at Sirius for a long moment of silence as if he thought Sirius was somehow trying to pull something on him. But then, with another curt nod, Snape turned back towards the door. “I will try...” he murmured before he slipped like a silent black shadow out of the room.

Harry paused for a moment, giving his godfather and Dumbledore one last look before he too turned and reluctantly hurried out the door after his departing Potions Master. He managed to catch up with Snape halfway down the hall. They walked in silence until they reached the dungeons again. Sweeping into his office, Snape hurried to the fireplace on the other side of the room.

“Hurry up, Potter,” he barked over his shoulder, picking a small canister of greenish powder up off the mantel. He turned and glared down at Harry. “Can you travel by Floo in your current state?” he demanded.

“Yeah, that’s how I followed Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Lupin back to Hogwarts.”

Snape barely even waited for Harry to finish before he scooped up a handful of powder and threw it down into the fire. A wall of dancing green flames instantly leapt up inside the fireplace. “Follow me, Potter,” Snape ordered, stepping into the flames. Harry hurried to squeeze himself inside the fireplace beside Snape.

“Snape Manor!” Snape loudly yelled, and in an instant the two of them were hurtling down a long tunnel of darkness. Harry could barely even get his bearings at how fast everything was happening before he suddenly felt his feet hit the ground in a painful jolt that vibrated all the way up his legs. Stumbling out of the fireplace, Harry looked around to find himself in a dark, richly furnished parlor.

“Stay here,” Snape growled, sweeping towards the door, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harry stood there for a dazed moment of silence, looking around the room in which he stood. This was where Snape lived? The room consisted of dark, oak paneled walls and ceiling high book shelves that ran the length of the right side of the room. Rich velvet curtains hung around the windows. Several leather arm chairs sat in a wide semi-circle around the huge fireplace behind him. The room practically screamed of wealth and prestige. Looking around him, Harry was taken aback by what he saw. Somehow Harry could not connect the luxurious setting in which he stood with his acerbic Potions Master. Snape seemed better suited to dark and brooding backdrops – like that of his dungeon office – not this vision of wealth and opulence. This was more like something Harry would expect to see in the Malfoy estate, not Professor Snape’s. Nevertheless, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what the rest of the house looked like.

“You better not be poking your nose into places it doesn’t belong,” came a cold voice from the doorway. Harry turned to see Snape striding back into the room. His long black robes billowed and flared dramatically behind him in the air as he came to an abrupt halt in front of the boy. “Ready, Potter?” he sneered, looking down his long, hooked nose at Harry.

“Yes, Sir...” Harry replied. Looking around the richly decorated room again, he then tentatively asked, “Professor... why did we have to come here?”

Snape’s lips curled into a condescending sneer. “If you would ever actually listen to that know-it-all Granger girl you would know by now that no one can Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. If you have to Disapparate somewhere, you have to Floo yourself out of Hogwarts’ limits. That’s why we’re here. Besides, do you think I would keep something as damaging and suspicious as this in Hogwarts where some over inquisitive student could find it?” Snape sneered, holding a piece of white cloth up to Harry. It took Harry a moment to realize what he was looking at was a Death Eater’s mask. Harry stood there silent as he watched Snape brusquely pull the mask down over his head and pull his black cloak hood up over it.

“What are you staring at, Potter?” Snape snarled, glaring at Harry through his mask slit.

“Nothing, Sir,” Harry said, quickly adverting his eyes from Snape’s face. Though he was not about to admit it, he was slightly disturbed at the sight of his Potion Master actually wearing a Death Eater’s mask. It made him remember what his professor was – or had been in a previous life. Though he knew Snape now fought for the Light side and worked as a spy for Dumbledore in Voldemort’s inner circle, that still did not change what Harry knew Snape had once been to gain such a position.

As if knowing what Harry was thinking, Snape shamefully looked away, almost glad he had his mask to hide his face from the boy’s condemning gaze with. Self-righteous, judging little brat... Snape wanted to hiss. What right did Potter have to judge him? What gave him the right to look at him like that like he knew who he was? But at the same time, somewhere deep inside, Snape couldn’t help but wish he could somehow prove to the boy he wasn’t the same man that first put on that mask all those years ago...

Quickly pushing that unsettling thought from his mind though, Snape turned his attention back to the situation at hand. Like how he was going to Apparate with a fifteen year old ghost to the Dark Lord’s meeting place...

“Come here, Potter,” he ordered.

Harry eyed him warily. “Why?”

Snape forced himself not to growl in frustration. “Because we’re going to do a little experiment.” When the boy made no immediate move of coming closer, Snape angrily barked, “Now!”

Harry finally complied and slowly came to stand in front of his professor. “Now what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Stick out your hand. I want to see if I can’t Apparate with you with me,” Snape said.

Harry looked at Snape hesitantly. “Why can’t we just use the Floo?” he asked. Somehow Harry did not relish the idea of traveling so close to his acerbic Potions Master that they had to touch. He was still rather uncomfortable about the thought of things passing right through him like he wasn’t even there.

Snape however did not seem to care and gave Harry another condescending sneer. “Because, Potter,” he growled, “I highly doubt the Dark Lord would have his secret meeting place connected to the Ministry Floo network. Unless he’s planning to invite a few Aurors over for afternoon tea, I highly doubt he’d leave any way for unwanted visitors to find out where he makes his stronghold.”

Harry was sure if he had any blood in his incorporeal body at that moment, all of it would have been rushing to his cheeks. Leave it to Snape to make him feel like he’d just asked the World’s Stupidest Question...

“Now put out your hand,” Snape once more ordered, “We’ve wasted enough time here.”

Harry was still hesitant and suspicious, but obediently held his hand out towards Snape. His masked professor stepped forward and thrust his own hand out towards Harry until his hand passed through Harry’s. Before Harry could say anything, he suddenly felt as though he was being compressed into a very tight ball. And then, with a loud pop he suddenly found himself and Snape standing in the middle of a dark, overgrown graveyard. Cold rain lashed the air and showered the leaning, moss-covered gravestones that littered the area. A long roll of thunder sounded overhead as if announcing their arrival to that foreboding place of death.

Harry looked around in bewilderment. He felt his heart clench with dread. He knew this place. He knew exactly where Snape had Apparated to. He knew because he’d been there before – after the Third Task of the Triwizards Tournament when he and Cedric Diggory had been Portkeyed from Hogwarts to the cemetery of Tom Riddle’s parents and the place of the Dark Lord Voldemort’s return...

“Professor...” Harry choked, feeling a rush of unpleasant memories.

“Be quiet, Potter, and stay close,” Snape ordered, turning towards the dark outline of a rundown mansion on a nearby hill to their left, “We are now within limits of the Dark Lord’s meeting place. I cannot be seen talking to thin air. Keep close to me and do not wander away from my side for any reason, do you understand?” he growled, looking back over his shoulder at his ghostly charge.

“Yes, Sir...” Harry stammered, hurrying to weave his way through the leaning gravestones and catch up to the older man. As he and Snape made their way through the dark graveyard, Harry forced himself not to look in the direction of a particularly familiar headstone. One that bore the name of Tom Riddle – the one he’d been tied to when he’d been forced to sit there and watch Voldemort return to power through the magic of his very own blood. He also averted his gaze from a flattened area of grass just off to his side where Cedric Diggory had met his end barely even two months ago...

Forcing himself to try and forget that hellish night, Harry hurried and fell into step close beside his teacher, trying to keep his eyes focused ahead on the dark house looming in the distance. Snape glanced over at Harry out the corner of his eye and noted his tense, agitated demeanor, but said nothing about it. He had a good idea what was causing the boy’s unease...

“Keep close,” Snape reminded him as they crested the hill and came into the house’s shadow. Harry said nothing, but found himself instinctively walking a little closer to his professor.

Looking up, Harry was dismayed to note how much more foreboding the old house looked up close. It looked like the very example of a Muggle haunted house... It’s windows were dark and covered with years of grime and filth. Several of the lower windows were broken, their shutters swinging dolefully in the rainy wind. Paint was peeling from the house in several different places as if the building was some sort of giant snake shedding its skin. Harry was sure in its prime, the house had been a handsome piece of architecture any lord or rich family would have been proud to call home. But looking at it now... it made him shiver...

Snape walked purposely up the overgrown, leaf-strewn walkway to the house’s front door and entered as if it were his own estate. It was obvious from Snape’s actions that Voldemort’s followers had no fear of being seen coming and going from their secret meeting place. Harry followed Snape inside and immediately noted the drafty chill and inky shadows that seemed to seep from the very walls of the dark entry hall. Snape, however, did not pause in the front hallway and continued on into the main part of the house, his invisible charge following close behind.

As they transversed the twisting, black hallways of the house, Harry suddenly heard up ahead the soft murmur of garbled voices. He thought he felt his Potions teacher tense a little at the sound as if he were suppressing a small shudder, but couldn’t tell for sure; Snape’s steps did not falter. Heading towards the sounds, Harry saw the first sign of light spilling into the darkened hallway through an open door.

Snape strode towards it, and turning into the lighted room, Harry suddenly found himself standing in a large room surrounded by more than fifty Death Eaters. And there, sitting in a tall, straight-backed chair on the other side of the room facing the door sat the very epitome of everything Harry loathed and hated about the wizarding world...

Lord Voldemort...

At Snape’s entrance, the room became disturbingly quiet, all eyes instantly turningto the newly arrived Potions Master. Voldemort slowly looked up at him, his red, snake-slit eyes narrowing with displeasure.

“Snape...” he hissed in a low, dangerous voice, “You are late. I’ve been waiting...”

“I am sorry, my Lord,” Snape said, bowing low to the resurrected Dark Lord, “But I was with Dumbledore and could not immediately leave without rising suspicions. I came as soon as I could...”

As Snape stood there bowed in what looked like humble servitude, Harry thought he saw Snape’s brow crease with disgust under his mask, as if he was fighting off his own revulsion for having to prostrate himself like that to the evil man before him. But as quickly as Snape’s emotions touched his face, they were gone, and betrayed nothing as he straightened once more to face his “Lord.”

“I assume you all know why I have summoned you here tonight,” Voldemort said, scanning the room in general, though his gaze seemed to linger slightly longer on Snape before moving on. A small murmur ran through the ranks of Death Eaters, but no one moved to actually answer their Lord. “I’ve heard rumors–” Voldemort went on after a dramatic pause “–that Harry Potter, the famous “Boy-Who-Lived,” as they call him, is dead.” Another, more audible, murmur rippled through the assembled Death Eaters. “And I want to know if they are true...”

“Right now all we really have are rumors, my Lord...” came a tentative voice from the right side of the room. Everyone there turned to see one Death Eater slowly stepped forward to address Voldemort in the middle of the room. “Our spies say there is great unrest in the Ministry right now. No one knows where the boy is. Several witnesses in the Leaky Cauldron say they saw Dumbledore come in carrying the boy, but then disappear using the pub’s Floo system. No one knows if the boy is actually dead or alive...”

“Which is precisely why I didn’t ask you, Avery, about the boy when you have nothing new to report to me but rumors I’ve already heard,” Voldemort hissed, leveling blood-red eyes at his cowering servant. “Crucio!” The masked Death Eater instantly dropped to the floor, howling and writhing in pain. No one moved to help him. After several moments, Voldemort finally lifted the curse and again scanned his ranks of now nervously shifting Death Eaters. The masked man, Avery, painfully picked himself back up off the floor and slunk back into rank beside his fellow Death Eaters.

Voldemort’s gaze continued to travel round his ring of Death Eaters until his eyes finally came to rest on Severus Snape again. “Well, Severus... I’m sure you can see my conundrum now,” he said, his eyes glittering dangerously in the firelight like those of a predator stalking its prey at night, “Now you must see why I was impatient for you to come. You are the only one of us who is in contact with that senile old man, Dumbledore, and who is considered to be in his confidence.” Voldemort’s snake-like eyes bored into Snape with evil anticipation. “So tell me, Snape...” he asked softly, “Is it true?”

There were several heartbeats of immeasurable silence before Snape finally answered in a schooled, toneless voice, “Yes.”

This time a round of loud exclamations rang out from Voldemort’s hoard of assembled Death Eaters. Harry was not surprised to note that all of them were of some varying degree of excitement and glee.

“The boy’s dead, my Lord! Now you have nothing to stand in your way of taking everything you desire!” one Death Eater exclaimed.

“Good riddance...” said another.

“Oh dear... My son will be absolutely heartbroken!” came a familiar voice over the sea of murmuring black robes which Harry instantly recognized as Lucius Malfoy.

Voldemort’s white, sunken face broke into a wide, evil grin, making him look like a grinning skull with glowing eyes. “And how did this happen, Snape?” he asked, his glee at such an announcement evident for all to see.

Snape met the Dark Lord’s eyes unwaveringly, straightening his back as he spoke. “A car accident, my Lord. He was struck by a car and killed while out in London with his relatives earlier yesterday afternoon. I saw Dumbledore return with his body to Hogwarts sometime afterward.”

“And you are sure that he is dead?” Voldemort pressured.

Harry detected only the slightest of pauses from Snape before his Potion Master smoothly replied. “I did not get a chance to personally examine Potter’s body, my Lord, but the school nurse did, and there is no denying the boy is dead. Dumbledore was practically shattered by grief.”

If it was possible, Voldemort’s evil grin broadened even more. His red eyes seemed to practically shine with unrestrained glee. “Yes, yes,” he chuckled to himself, “The meddling old man always was rather protective of his little fosterling, wasn’t he?” An evil cackle issue from his bloodless lips. “Oh how I wish I could have been there to see Dumbledore’s face when he saw his precious little half-breed savior laying dead on some Muggle hospital table! It would have been worth all those years of waiting just to have seen that!”

Voldemort glanced to his left where a small knot of Death Eaters stood, a dark smile still playing at his lips. “Unfortunately though, the boy’s death did not happen exactly the way Dumbledore might think...” he said, turning towards them, “Why would Dumbledore ever suspect that one of my very own servants could have been the one really behind his precious student’s death? McCourn!” Voldemort called, “Step forward.”

Close beside Snape, Harry tensed as he watched one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters separate himself from the others and glide forward to meet his master in the middle of the room.

“My Lord...” the masked figure said, dropping to one knee in front of Voldemort and bowing his head.

Harry shivered as he recognized the cold cadence and inflection of the voice. It was the same voice of the one who had attacked him in the street... The one who had torn his soul in three...

Close beside Harry, Snape glanced down at his invisible charge, reading the tension and distress in the boy’s clenched jaw and rigid frame. Giving a small flick of his wrist that would have been taken by anyone else watching as only an unconscious twitch or nervous fidget, Snape caught Harry’s attention. Their eyes met for a brief half second of time in which Snape gave him a small but pointed look. It was only as Snape quickly turned his attention back to the middle of the room that Harry suddenly realized Snape’s glance had been one of reassurance – one telling him to wait and that everything was going to be alright.

Slightly taken aback by his Potion Master’s small gesture of reassurance, Harry paused for a moment before returning his attention back to the middle of the room.

“Rise,” the Dark Lord was saying, motioning McCourn up with a wave of his hand, “I believe you have something to show me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” McCourn replied, reaching into his long black robes, “I hope this pleases you...” Retracting his hand, McCourn withdrew a wand from some hidden, inner pocket.

Harry gasped at the realization that the wand McCourn held was none other than his very own.

Snape glanced back down at Harry, his gaze this time more pointed and sharp, warning him not to do anything (though in all honesty, he didn’t know what a fifteen year old ghost could really do in such a situation). Harry fought to keep calm, but found it difficult to stay where he was as he watched McCourn pass his wand over to Voldemort. He wanted to rush forward and grab his wand back from Voldemort’s cold, white, spidery hand, never to let him touch something so innately his ever again. But he somehow forced himself to stay where he was.

“I took that from him, my Lord, after that Muggle monstrosity hit him,” McCourn explained, a malicious note of pride tinging his voice.

“Most impressive, McCourn,” Voldemort said, holding Harry’s wand up to the light, “Most impressive indeed... The wand of the legendary Boy-Who-Lived... or should I say the Boy-Who-Finally-Died?” The Dark Lord languidly rolled Harry’s wand over in his hand, examining it at every angle. “There are not many who can attest to stealing such a treasure...” he said, glancing back down at McCourn with a speculative expression. “If what you say is true, then everything I need to verify your story should be right in here,” Voldemort said, holding Harry’s wand up to McCourn. Then pointing it to the side, Voldemort called out, “Priori Incantatem!”

A silvery light began to glow at the end of Harry’s wand. And then, like the faint whisper of voices on the wind, those there heard the ghostly echo of a young boy speaking from what sounded like someplace far away. “... Stupefy... Protego... Expelliarmus...”

Lord Voldemort’s face twisted into an evil smile. “How interesting... All defensive spells like from one trying to protect himself...” he said, once more holding Harry’s wand up to his face. He stared at it for a moment before looking back down at his posturing servant. “You have done well, McCourn,” he said, his demonic red eyes gleaming with satisfaction in the dim lighting of the room, “I assume you hit the boy with a Killing Curse before he was hit by that car.” McCourn nodded wordlessly, his masked head bobbing up and down. “You have been a loyal servant to me,” Voldemort went on, “And you shall be richly rewarded. I would have liked the boy to have suffered a little more before he finally met his end, and have been the one to kill him myself, but I suppose in the end the result was the same...”

“Thank you, my Lord, thank you,” McCourn said, bowing and scraping to Voldemort as he slowly backed away and rejoined his ranks of fellow Death Eaters around the perimeter of the room. Though he could not see his would-be killer’s face, Harry knew an evil smirk pulled at the masked man’s lips, McCourn reveling in his Lord’s dark words of praise.

“This new development now throws into effect an unforeseen opening for us to accomplish things we never could until now,” Voldemort said, turning back to address the rest of his silent congregation. “With Potter dead, it is time to devise a new plan. The wizarding world will be reeling from news of their “savior’s” death. It is time to make our first strike. Fudge has refused to admit my return. He will be the first to suffer. The Ministry of Magic must know that I have, in fact, returned – and more powerful than before. There is no need for us to worry about Dumbledore or his Order anymore... The old man is grief-stricken and bereft, unable to lead. Now is the time to attack. We are without opposition. His “secret weapon” is no more.”

An evil grin twisted Voldemort’s face as he began pacing along his line of Death Eaters. “Yes... If Fudge does not want to acknowledge my return, then I will make him acknowledge it! So many of my faithful followers still reside in Azkaban... I think it is time we finally freed them and brought them back where they belong...” Voldemort gave a mirthless chuckle and turned to scan his masked congregation. “And once your fellow servants have returned to us, we will prepare to strike the very heart of the wizarding world – the Ministry of Magic. With Potter dead and the Ministry toppled, there will be nothing left to stop me from taking everything I desire. The Muggle and wizarding world will fall to their knees and tremble to know the name of Lord Voldemort again!”

Around him, Harry saw several Death Eaters uneasily shift in place at the sound of Voldemort’s name.

“Lucius!” Voldemort called, turning towards one of the masked figures on the other side of the room, “I am putting you in charge of freeing those trapped in Azkaban. It is also time the Dementors officially joined my ranks. Their loss will be just one more thing to weaken the Ministry and those that oppose me...”

“Yes, my Lord. It shall be done,” Lucius Malfoy said, bowing his masked head.

“The rest of you are to go prepare for the attack,” Voldemort went on, “We make our strike against Azkaban tomorrow evening. By the morning after, I want everyone in the wizarding world to know that Lord Voldemort has indeed returned. And then after that... we prepare to meet our destiny...”

There was a collective murmur of assent from Voldemort’s hoard of Death Eaters and a series of scrapping and bows before they slowly began to filter from the room.

“Snape,” Voldemort called as the rest of his minions left to do his bidding, “If you would stay behind... You too, McCourn. I wish to speak with you both...”

Snape looked up at Voldemort in wary apprehension. He wanted him to stay behind? What could this mean? Usually whenever Voldemort singled him out separately like this, it was to give him some sort of secret mission... But then glancing over at the other masked figure on the other side of the room, Snape suddenly realized it really didn’t matter what it meant. He had to stay close to McCourn to try and steal his wand. The other part of Potter’s soul was trapped in it, so of course, Snape, being Dumbledore’s unofficial errand boy, had to be the one to get it back...

How typical... Snape scowled, Whenever Potter gets himself into trouble, it’s always me that has to bail him out... Snape had to fight with himself not to actually glance down at the boy and give him a pointed glare. Voldemort would surely begin to wonder if he saw him glaring at thin air.

“My Lord...” Snape said, sweeping forward and giving Voldemort an exaggerated bow as the last of the other Death Eaters finally left the room.

“Master...” McCourn seconded, copying Snape as he too gave a bow and came to stand in front of Voldemort beside Snape.

Snape had to fight off the urge to shuffle away from the other man’s presence. Though he was not a man to be easily intimidated or cowed, the physical aura of madness and death Snape could feel coming off the other man in almost palpable waves made him wary and distinctly ill at ease.

“This has been a most advantageous day,” Voldemort began, still languidly rolling Harry’s wand between his fingers, “First the return of one of my most trusted servants, and then news of that meddlesome boy Potter’s death... This certainly has been a most advantageous day...” he murmured with a dark look of satisfaction.

“But there is still much we need to do before we can truly bask in the good fortune of what’s happened,” he then sharply added, looking up at Snape and McCourn with a piercing glance from his blood-red eyes. “While Dumbledore and his Order will be temporarily incapacitated by news of their savior’s death, I am not about to give them any time to recover or compensate for the boy’s loss. Now is the time to strike. With the old man grieving for his fallen hero he will be unable to counteract in time.”

Voldemort walked back towards his high backed chair and laid Harry’s wand down on its armrest, then turned back to face McCourn and Snape again. “We must make sure his attention is kept away from us while we prepare to attack Azkaban and then the Ministry. Snape, I want you to make sure of this. You are close to Dumbledore. Keep him occupied. Keep his attention turned towards Potter. I do not want him finding out about our plans until we actually strike.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape bowed, keeping his eyes carefully adverted to the ground.

Bloody fool if he thinks I’m actually going to keep quiet about this, Snape thought, inwardly snorting at his “all knowing Master’s” ignorance to his status as a double agent for Dumbledore. What he wouldn’t give to be there right before Voldemort finally met his end and was told it was him that had been Dumbledore’s spy within his midst...

“Good,” Voldemort nodded, unaware of Snape’s treacherous thoughts. “McCourn, as I said before, you have done me a great service in disposing of Potter and will be greatly rewarded.”

McCourn bowed low. “It was my honor, my Lord,” he said, a note of hungry anticipation entering his voice.

“You are to be there when we attack the Ministry. You will be there beside me when we walk through the toppled Ministry of Magic’s doors and declare it our own. You will be given power and wealth beyond your wildest dreams, and be one of my most trusted servants. After I have conquered the magical world, I will give you dominion over whatever area you chose. Let no one say Lord Voldemort does not reward those who serve him well...”

“Thank you, my Lord, thank you,” McCourn said, bowing and scraping in such an obsequious, groveling way it made Snape embarrassed to watch it.

Voldemort nodded and waved McCourn up, not really paying any more attention to his continued stream of gratitude and thanks. “You have your orders, Snape. McCourn, you are to go prepare for tomorrow’s attack. Now leave me, both of you. I have much to think about and plan.”

McCourn bowed and obediently began to head for the door as Voldemort turned his back on them and glided towards another door on the other side of the room. Snape paused as he watched them both leave, leaving him alone in the room. Glancing between his invisible charge and the wand laying forgotten on the armrest of Voldemort’s chair, Snape made a quick decision and snatched the wand up and stuffed it into his robes. The bloody boy was going to need that if they ever got him back to normal again...

“Come on, Potter,” Snape muttered under his breath, and quickly turned back towards the door McCourn just disappeared out of. Snape swept out into the hallway, intent on catching up to McCourn before he disappeared so he could try and heist his wand too, but it seemed he didn’t have to. For said dark wizard was already waiting for him just outside the door.

Despite himself, Snape stopped short and jumped back, startled. Harry had to leap to the side to avoid Snape backing up into him. McCourn, meanwhile, leered at Snape through his mask slits like a hungry predator stalking its prey.

“Evening, Snape,” he drawled with an audible grin in his voice.

“McCourn...” Snape hissed, recovering from his initial surprise of the other man’s unexpected presence there outside the door. For one brief, frightening moment Snape wondered if McCourn hadn’t just heard him speaking to Harry and was about to confront him about it. But it seemed Fate was on his side that night, and McCourn hadn’t heard.

“I hope you aren’t too disappointed about my recent promotion tonight, Snape,” McCourn said, a taunting note of smugness in his voice. “I know how much you hated that boy, Potter, and would have liked to have been the one to kill him, but between you and me, I think you’re starting to outlive your usefulness.”

“What are you talking about?” Snape hissed, leveling an icy glare on the other man.

The corners of McCourn’s eyes crinkled as if he were smiling evilly to himself under his mask. “I mean that I couldn’t help but notice how our Lord didn’t mention any kind of reward for you tonight for your many long years of service to him like he did for me. In fact, I couldn’t help but notice that your only importance to him seems to be your ability to babysit the old man Dumbledore. One would think you have nothing to offer our Lord in the way of service like I have. After all, you have been in contact with Potter for the past four years. I should think that given that amount of time you would have at some point found a way of killing him even with Dumbledore watching over him. Are you just that pathetic of a Death Eater that you can’t even dispose of one little boy?”

Snape grit his teeth together in silent fury. He knew McCourn was trying to goad him into action, but Severus Snape was not one to be so easily manipulated. Especially by someone like Rowan McCourn...

“Actually spying for our Lord in Dumbledore’s school can be quite enlightening at times,” Snape replied silkily, meeting McCourn’s gaze with unruffled aplomb. “You’d be surprised what one can learn if one just listens... Like the fact that Potter didn’t really die at your hands at all.”

“What are you talking about?” McCourn snapped.

“I’m talking about that you are living under the illusion that you actually killed the famous Boy Who Lived.”

“You’re the one living under an illusion,” McCourn hissed, “I hit that boy with an Avada Kedavra curse right before he was hit by that car. I killed him!”

“That’s what you think,” Snape replied with a sly smirk, “Apparently you were so sure of your own abilities you didn’t even stay to make sure the boy was actually dead before you fled like some kind of common criminal from the scene. Because if you'd have stayed there even a few more minutes you would have found out Potter was still alive. He didn’t die until after they’d already gotten him to a hospital. Your “promotion,” as you call it, is nothing but a sham.”

McCourn stared at Snape with narrowed, hateful eyes. “You lie,” was all he managed to say in response.

Snape however was not done yet and leaned in for the kill. “No, I don’t... And if you don’t ever want the Dark Lord to find out about your little screw up, I suggest you stay out of my way from now on.” Then giving McCourn one last glare, Snape pushed his way past him, knocking him in the shoulder as he did so.

McCourn hatefully glared after him as Snape strode down the hall, leaving Harry and McCourn behind. Harry stared after him before he finally shook himself out of his daze and hurried after his departing Potions Master. As Harry hurried after Snape, he gave one last look over his shoulder at McCourn who still stood there in the middle of the hall, staring after Snape with murderous eyes.

Snape did not slow as he swept out of the house into the stormy night. Harry called out and hurried to catch up with him, but Snape still did not slow or show even the smallest sign of stopping. It was only when he finally reached the relative cover of the overgrown graveyard below the house that he finally stopped and waited for Harry to catch up.

“Professor,” Harry panted as he came up beside Snape and looked up at his masked potions teacher, “That was brilliant.”

Snape looked at him in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

“That... just now. The way you were talking with McCourn – always keeping ahead of him like that. I’m gonna have to remember how to do that the next time I see Malfoy,” Harry replied.

Snape stared at Harry for a long moment of silence as if he thought the boy might be starting to lose his mind, but finally replied in a voice of dripping sarcasm, “Well, thank you, Potter. I’m glad I can amuse you. But unfortunately we do not have time for this right now. We don’t have much time.” Reaching inside his robes, Snape withdrew two wands – one of them a familiar dark brown, and the other an ebony shade of black.

Harry gasped and stared at McCourn’s jet-black wand. “How...? When...?” he stammered.

“When I bumped into him in the hall. McCourn was too distracted to feel me slip it from his pocket. You don’t think I’m naturally that ungraceful do you?” Snape hissed, putting Harry’s wand back inside his robe’s inner pocket for safe keeping. Reaching up, Snape quickly tore his white Death Eater mask from his face and threw it to the ground with clear disdain. “Now stand back,” he commanded, “I need room to perform the Priori Incantatem.”

Harry obediently stepped back behind Snape. This was it. They were finally going to free the missing part of his soul. He was finally going to be able to back to his body. Everything was going to be alright now...

But just as Snape raised McCourn’s black wand to incant the Reverse Spell, a sudden movement caught Harry’s attention out of the corner of his eye. Looking towards it, Harry felt his spiritual body grow cold at the sight he beheld. Snape also paused and looked in the direction Harry stared.

A man stood there some twenty feet away. He wore long black robes that instantly marked him as one of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. But like Snape, this man no longer wore his mask either.

He had a strong, tapering face with long, slicked back black hair. A thin mustache and goatee framed his mouth, accentuating the strong curvature of his chin. He would have been considered handsome by many had it not been for the crazy, murderous fire burning in his dark brown eyes.

“What are you doing, Snape?” the man demanded, his eyes glaring at the unmasked Potions Master.

Harry felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice. He’d recognize it anywhere.

It was Rowan McCourn...