Draco froze at the sound of such familiar words spat in a voice that made them sound foreign. Surely it couldn’t be…not him… The Slytherin turned slowly and narrowed his eyes at the boy before him.
“Weasley,” he sneered.
The redheaded Gryffindor attempted to smirk at him, barely managing a lopsided maniacal grin.
“How the mighty have fallen,” Weasley replied. “What will Daddy say when he hears who you’ve been conspiring with?”
“I wouldn’t talk about paternal respect if I were you, Weasel,” Draco shot back. “After all, I can’t imagine dear Arthur being terribly pleased by his son’s choices of late. Then again, with five others, maybe he won’t even notice.”
The barb hit its mark, as Draco had intended, and Weasley’s grip on his wand tightened.
“Shut up, Malfoy,” the Gryffindor snarled. “You’re hardly in the position to be throwing insults. Now, tell me what you and Hermione have been up to.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. Surely even a mental deficient like Weasley could recognize a scrying flame when he saw it. However, as he turned slightly, the blonde realized that, with one of the casters unconscious, the spell had ended and all the evidence that was left was a brazier and five burnt-out candles.
“Nothing that concerns you, Weasel,” he sneered, turning back to the angry boy. “Why don’t you tell me how long you’ve worked for the Dark Lord?”
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Severus watched Harry run out after the Voldemort with a sinking feeling in his gut. There was no way the boy was ready to face his destiny; he couldn’t even face his own memory yet! With an agonizing amount of pain – but nothing that matched up to the Cruciatus – the professor straightened himself out. The snake that Potter had sent at him turned its head toward him curiously, but he ignored it. Somehow he had to get rid of the magical bonds. However, the Order members around him were all occupied and there wasn’t a wand available, let alone one he was sure he was compatible with. He pushed ineffectually at the one constricting his upper arms and looked desperately at the door where Harry and Voldemort had disappeared.
Suddenly, the snake burst into motion, appearing to draw itself up for a strike. Severus watched helplessly as the serpent shot forward – and disappeared into the bindings. Everywhere he was trussed flared with a sudden heat, and then he was free, his hands springing automatically before his face.
Of course! the professor thought exultantly. A snake made of transfigured magic put to a new purpose would have enough will to change itself into an unbinding charm if it agreed with its orders. Perfect!
He pushed himself up on his good leg and left the room at an unsteady hobble, gritting his teeth against the pain that threatened to send him crashing to the floor again. It wasn’t exactly difficult to track the two wizards – Potter’s magic was out of control and there were significant cracks in the walls where he had passed by – but it did take much longer than Severus would have liked. The professor wished valiantly for a wand, but as fate didn’t seem particularly pleased with him at the moment, none appeared for his use.
Finally, he rounded the corner just in time to hear first Voldemort, and then Potter, cast the Killing Curse.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Weasley snorted, wand still raised. “What do you care?”
“I’m stalling,” Draco said sarcastically, despite the fact that it was the truth. No one knew he and Granger were there, but if Weasley had found them, help might find them as well, if given enough time. Luckily, Weasley was as moronic as Draco had always assumed and heard only the tone, not the words.
“I got the mark over the summer,” Weasley said proudly, “but I’ve been on the Dark Lord’s side since about the middle of last year. I’ve been dead useful, you know; the best friend of Harry Potter and all that.”
Draco felt hatred well up inside such as he had never felt for Potter.
“You!” he accused. “You were the one who told the Dark Lord that Professor Snape was a spy!”
“Possible,” Weasley shrugged, obviously enjoying getting his long-time nemesis riled up. “I’ve told him a lot of things. Oh, but I can’t wait to tell him about this. Imagine how Our Lord will react when I tell him the son of his most faithful follower is a traitor,” he looked disgusted, “and friends with a mudblood, too. I thought you had more sense.”
“Granger, despite her blood,” Draco drawled, taking two steps to his right as Weasley mimicked the action, “is a better person, and better witch, than you’ll ever be, Weasel. Though I am curious, what brought about this great change of heart. Last year I’d have said you and she were practically on the marriage track.”
Keep him talking, Draco thought to himself, get him distracted, then go for your wand.
When Potter had gone under the Cruciatus that first time, Draco had, foolishly, dropped his wand on the way to the corner. Now his only defense lay on the floor, getting ever closer as Draco slowly maneuvered he and Weasley around.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
“AVADA KEDAVRAAAAAAAAAA”
What started as a curse ended in a scream. Severus recognized Harry’s own voice, even as it was drowned out by the sound of It. The potions master clamped his hands over his ears to drown out the noise, but only succeeded in muffling it, bringing it at least down to a manageable level. In a moment that seemed to stretch on to eternity, It’s magic froze Voldemort’s spell in mid-air, a spinning, raging sphere of aggravated magic.
Potter’s scream grew as Severus heard Boy’s voice overlay on top of It, then a wailing cry that could only be Mummy. With each passing second, the scream grew, with another voice adding it’s pain to the cacophony; Foster, James, Amelia, John, Tom, Alex, Danny, Mike, and finally, Potter. The sound continued, long past filling the courtyard, until Severus imagined it must span the countryside, alerting those at Hogwarts to their distress. It pounded on his ears until he felt his very head would rupture from the pressure.
Then, it stopped.
Potter drew in a shuddering breath, before repeating in a voice that was half choked sob, “Avada Kedavra.”
Green light spilled from the boy’s wand, shaping itself into something that might, were one disturbed enough, be called vaguely human. The shape, whatever It was, burst forth, splitting Voldemort’s spell and diving straight for the chest of the Dark wizard himself.
The world ended.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
“It was all Harry’s fault,” Weasley snapped defensively. Draco raised an eyebrow, continuing his subtle progress to his wand by leaning to the right. “That bloody git. Do you know how much money he has? Do you know how much he’s given me over the years? None! That one insignificant, stupid orphan has enough Galleons to buy Hogwarts, and he hasn’t given me one Knut!
“It finally hit me last year when I learned he gave Fred and George enough money to start a joke shop – he’s nothing but a great selfish prat! He’ll spend a thousand galleons on something for his own amusement, but won’t give me his supposed best friend enough to buy her,” the Gryffindor jabbed his wand at the unconscious girl, “a birthday present that would make her fall for me. And then, because of that, when I asked her out this year, she said no! To me! Said I wasn’t what she wanted in a boyfriend, and she’d really just rather be friends. Stupid bitch!”
Weasley was on a roll now, Draco could tell. He’d obviously been just waiting for a chance to spill all this to a captive audience. The redhead was now, in fact, ignoring Draco completely, yelling instead in apostrophe at Granger.
“Excuse me!” Weasley shouted sarcastically. “I can’t help it if my family is poor. I can’t help it if you’re so hung up over money that you’d throw away your only chance at love.”
Draco personally thought Granger had been referring to intelligence and conversation ability when she’d claimed Weasley ‘wasn’t what she was looking for’. But, far be it for him to correct insane Gryffindors. The Slytherin took two more steps toward his wand – it was just three feet away now – when Weasley turned back to him.
“I really don’t see how I missed what a superficial harlot she is,” the boy growled, “I mean, really, dumping me…for you?”
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
The apocalypse, Armageddon, Ragnarok, whatever one wished to call it, it felt like the end of the world to Severus. Dark, putrid, rotting magic filled the courtyard, the entire castle, until it felt like every inch of his skin was burning. He felt as though someone had skinned him, skewered him, and was roasting him over an open flame. He thought he may have thrown up what little bile he had produced, but couldn’t be sure – it was just one small feeling among a massive sensory overload.
Eventually, the white in front of his eyes dimmed and the screaming pain that wracked his body and soul died down. Severus groaned and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, wondering just when he’d fallen face down in the grass, anyway. Not that there was grass anymore.
As the professor looked around, he realized that everything had been scorched. What was once a lovely little grassy courtyard was now bare, blackened sand. Bare, except for two bodies lying very still.
Unable to gather the strength to stand on his one good leg yet again, Severus crawled to the nearest body. The…person…was burnt so badly that he couldn’t tell at first if it was on it’s back or front, but eventually he found the wand clutched in one charred hand.
Thirteen and a half inches. Yew.
Voldemort was dead.
Far from leaping for joy, Severus felt his breath quicken as he turned to the other body.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Draco, despite his many hours of practice at social events, regardless of his years of mimicking his father’s stoic posture, found himself gaping like a fish.
“Dumped you for…” he stammered. “You think Granger and I are dating!”
“Don’t sound so horrified,” Weasley grinned malevolently. “I think it’s quite…romantic,” he spat the word, indicating he thought ‘it’ was anything but. “The icy prince of Slytherin, poster-boy of all that is Dark, falls for plain, bookish, muggleborn Hermione Granger and leaves his family and his beliefs behind for this new love.”
“WHAT!” Draco shouted. Wand forgotten at this new outrage, he took a step forward, fully intending to pound that sniveling weasel with his bare fists. The Gryffindor brought his own wand to bear again, though, and Draco stopped short.
“Methinks you protest a bit much,” the redhead grinned again.
“First of all,” Draco pointed out, shuddering, “if you’re trying to quote Shakespeare, it’s ‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much’. Second of all, no I do not protest too much, there is no protesting too much when it comes to your ridiculous, Gryffindor idea of me in love with her!”
“Oh, poor Slytherin, did I strike a nerve?” Weasley glared. “Good. I hope you die for taking her away from me. In fact, I think I’d like to kill you myself.”
The Gryffindor-turned-traitor lifted his wand slightly and brought his other hand up to steady it, words of a curse already forming on his lips. Draco didn’t know if Weasley could actually, successfully cast the Killing Curse yet, but decided he didn’t really want to find out.
As a weak green light flashed in the dim shack, Draco dove for his wand.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
With every part of his body aching and groaning in protest, it took Severus longer than he would have liked to crawl over to what was presumably Potter’s body. He had to stop three times over the length of the courtyard to let his arms rest and his aching knees recover. He wasn’t as young as he used to be, and his bones could no longer take such prolonged abuse without respite.
In the end, though, he did make it to the second body. And it was Potter’s.
The boy was face down, as Severus had been, and the professor was able to roll him over onto his back. He was immediately relieved when the boy’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath.
“Potter,” Severus croaked, shaking the boy’s shoulder. “Potter, wake up.”
The Gryffindor coughed and groaned, but didn’t open his eyes.
“Come on,” Severus coaxed, “you need to wake up, Potter.” Still there was no reaction. “Potter! Get up you lazy Gryffindor!” Severus snapped finally.
Potter’s eyes snapped open and he looked around with glazed eyes. Severus remembered that the boy couldn’t see a thing without his glasses, but apparently he had recognized him well enough by his voice.
“Professor Snape?” he asked dazedly, his voice small and confused. Then Potter shook his head slightly and gasped, locking eyes with Severus. “I remember.”
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Harry’s head spun, unfamiliar memories flooding his senses. He was three and Aunt Petunia was spraying his naked body with the hose for messing himself. He was seven and memorizing the times tables during after-school detention. He was six and his Uncle was kicking him down the hall for putting too much salt in the soup.
“Potter. Potter, wake up.”
He was eight, locked in the cupboard with a book on horticulture – the only book he’d managed to snitch – and reading it slowly, savoring the release from reality.
He was four and Aunt Petunia was threatening to cut off his fingers if he didn’t chop the lettuce right.
He was ten and Uncle Vernon was using him as a stool to reach the top shelf of the closet, stepping on his fingers on his way down.
“Come on, you need to wake up Potter.”
He was thirteen and stealing food from the pantry so he didn’t starve – if they noticed anything was missing, they’d just think it was Dudley.
He was eleven and Aunt Petunia was hosting a party; he had to stand there and smile, holding the tea tray, as all the neighbor ladies told his aunt how horrible a child he was, and how gracious she was for taking him in.
“Potter! Get up you lazy Gryffindor!”
The familiar voice snapped him out of the memories and Harry woke up. His surroundings and his memory of what had happened recently resolved slowly, but eventually he locked eyes with the injured man next to him.
“I remember,” he informed him, as his mind submerged again.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
He was sitting by the lake, skipping rocks for lack of anything better to take his mind off things. Why did Snape have to find out about that
“Hey Harry,” someone called from behind him. He whipped his head around and sighed in relief.
“Hello, Ron. What are you doing out here?”
“I’m looking for my cloak, I think I left it out here somewhere. Would you help me?”
“Yeah, sure.” He needed something else to do, anyway. Ron directed him to where he’d last seen the article of clothing and they split up, searching in different directions.
“Oh! There it is!” Ron shouted suddenly, pointing.
“Where?”
“Over there! You probably can’t see it behind that bush, but it’s closer to you. Would you grab it for me?”
He still didn’t see it, but he saw the bush, so he hurried over to where his friend was pointing, feeling the brush of magic as he crossed the wards. He reached the bush and looked all around it but there was no cloak.
“I still don’t see it,” he called back to Ron. The redhead was grinning in a way he didn’t recognize.
“Oops,” said Ron, shrugging. There were three loud pops and suddenly he was surrounded by men in black cloaks and white masks. “See you later Harry! Don’t worry, I’m sure Hermione will be joining you real soon!”
“RON!”
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
“I remember.”
With those puzzling words, Potter suddenly went limp in Severus’ arms. There was a soft clatter as the wand slipped out of Potter’s nerveless fingers and fell onto the hard ground. Severus reached over to pick it up, startling as his fingers wrapped around the handle.
This was the professor’s wand!
It was the same size, shape, and core as Potter’s wand – he remembered that from one of his discussions with Dumbledore during Potter’s first year – but the phoenix feather of Severus’ own wand didn’t come from Fawkes, and was not a brother to Voldemort’s. How odd that Potter would think it his own.
However, despite the strangeness of the situation – after all, what of the previous few weeks hadn’t been strange? – this turn of fate was definitely in their favor. With what little strength he had left, Severus conjured a splint for his leg, then raised his wand and apparated himself and Potter to the center of Hogsmead.
As if jolted awake by the use of magic, Potter suddenly sat bold upright in his arms.
“RON!” he shouted.
8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Harry struggled to his feet, grabbing the wand out of Snape’s hand.
“Point Me Ron Weasley!” he incanted frantically. The wand spun, then pointed straight for the Shrieking Shack.
“Potter, stop!” Snape ordered, gripping Harry’s arm and using it to haul himself upright. Harry pulled against him, inadvertently giving the man more leverage.
“I have to get to Ron!” he pleaded. “He’s the traitor, and he’s going to kill Hermione! He’s in the Shack, I’ve got to go!”
“Potter!” Snape tightened his grip on Harry’s arm, but Harry just pulled harder, fraught with panic over what Ron might do. “HARRY!”
That cut through his panic. He could count the number of times Snape had called him by his first name on one hand. One finger in fact.
“S-sir?” he stammered, shocked.
Snape took a deep breathe. “That’s better. Never take action before you can think it through, Potter. Now, what’s wrong?”
“Ron is the traitor,” Harry explained, getting his own breathing under control. “He’s the one who sent me to Voldemort. I couldn’t remember because one of my alters was in control then, but when we cast the-the Killing Curse at Voldemort, we merged, and I remembered. I think he might be planning on attacking Hermione, and he’s in the Shrieking Shack right now.”
Snape nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. Lead on, Mr. Potter.”