Ninety-seven hits, Snape thought. Merlin only knows how he could have survived that lot. I thought the Longbottoms only withstood seventy-eight… A nasty voice hissed a response in the back of Snape’s mind; who says that just because he is still alive that he is still sane? Snape shook his head, desperately trying to rid himself of these thoughts.
“Move!” he snapped at the surrounding Dementors when he finally pushed open the rotting door of the tower. Walking over to the furthest cell, Snape glared down at Harry but his contempt changed instantly to dismay as he took in Harry’s mutilated body.
“Dear Merlin,” Snape whispered as he stood in front of Harry. Whatever state he had expected Harry to be in, it was nowhere near as bad as he really was. His eyes were sunken and blood was oozing slowly down his face from a deep gash above his left eye. His scarlet Quidditch robes were damp with blood and every part of them was ripped to shreds. His arm was clearly broken and despite his brave stance it was obvious that he was terrified. Unsurprisingly, Harry cringed away when Snape touched him, recoiling from the raised wand. Snape consciously decided to ignore Harry’s pitifully weak protests and pointed his wand at Harry’s arm and healed the fracture instantly.
Harry looked back at Snape, the unmistakeable confusion in his eyes unable to mask his desperate plea for help. Snape, unnerved at the strength of Harry’s gaze, stepped back. As he did so, Harry paled visibly and crumpled like a rag doll; the extent of his injuries clearly overcoming him at last. Instinctively, Snape caught him before he hit the ground and gently lowered him onto the floor.
Quietly, Snape raised his wand and pointed it at the cut above his eye and healed that, too. His charm made it appear to bleed even more freely although in truth the wound was healed. A distant noise brought Snape back to reality. Stepping away from the cell, he pointed his wand directly at Harry’s heart with a steady hand. Seconds later, the door banged open and Lucius Malfoy strode in, Alfred Walsham at his side. Shutting down his emotions, Snape twisted round and faced the newcomers with the same look of loathing that Harry had been on the receiving end of for nearly six years.
“Everyone understand what you need to do?” Alastor Moody growled as he stood in Grimmauld Place. There were several nods and murmurs of agreement. “In that case, good luck everyone and remember to protect Potter as much as you can. We will meet back here when everything gets back under control…”
As one, every member of the Order pulled out their wand and Disapparated, arriving a split second later in the damp darkness of a dungeon in Azkaban.
“How many hits now?” Lucius hissed at Snape. “I told you to bring it up to one hundred.”
“Ninety-nine,” Snape spat back, lying through his teeth. “I was taking my time and enjoying it.”
Alfred Walsham grinned, an abhorrent feeling of pleasure gripping him as he thought of the screams.
“Could I, Sir, be the one to bring it up to the hundred?”
Harry, as if hearing this, twisted on the ground and let out a cry of helplessness before returning to his deathly silence.
“No,” retorted Lucius Malfoy instantly. “No. I’m going to do that. Crucio!”
Harry began to twist and jerk as soon as Malfoy’s curse hit him. His heart-rending screams served only to spur Lucius on.
“Stop!” barked Snape. Lucius raised his wand and stared in disgust at his master’s favourite servant; the anger flashing in his eyes was obvious.
“What did you say?”
“I said ‘stop’. The Dark Lord is not going to thank you if Potter’s brain is turned to a distorted wreck before he can take his turn. He’ll want him coherent.”
Nodding in unwilling agreement, Lucius turned back to face Harry. “In that case, how about we change to the Adflictatio cur-”
“Stupefy!” about twenty voices yelled, knocking Lucius Malfoy and Alfred Walsham to the floor. Snape raised his wand instinctively, although he did so not because of the Order’s arrival but because Harry had screamed out with a piercing cry, his body contorting in agony as he clutched his scar. Seconds later, at the end of the corridor furthest from the Order, at least fifty Death Eaters Apparated.
A ringing silence followed and in the centre, between both the Order and the Death Eaters, Snape stood frozen to the ground staring at both groups. Harry was curled up on the floor behind him.
A cloaked figure Apparated silently next to Snape.
“Severus, my incomparable friend,” Lord Voldemort said quietly, his red eyes burning. “I am so pleased that you could bring that rabble…” he indicated the Order, “…to Harry Potter’s funeral.”
Snape murmured his thanks, inclining his head to Voldemort in a bow which looked convincingly like docile servitude. No one saw behind Snape’s mask, the look of utter revulsion and resentment on his face. Stepping into the shadows, Voldemort drew Snape with him.
Looking around himself, Voldemort glanced at the Order and then at his Death Eaters.
“Well, it’s good to see all of you joined here to witness the death of a good many mudbloods and Muggle-loving fools who decided to fight against me rather than with me. I hope you die painfully. Deal with them,” Voldemort sneered to the Death Eaters. Immediately, curses were yelled and the Order and the Death Eaters began to duel. It wasn’t long before people began to fall on both sides; some falling silently, others screaming in pain.
Voldemort disregarded the commotion. Flicking his wand almost carelessly, a dome of green light covered Snape, Harry and himself. Any curses which struck it bounced away into another victim.
“Hold him down,” he commanded coldly to Snape, who immediately bent down and held Harry’s arms, pinning him to the floor. Voldemort smiled cruelly. “Legilimens!”
Guessing as to what was coming, Snape had instantly thrown up a shield on Harry’s behalf. It was their physical contact which was allowing him to do so but, as Snape knew, the ward he had made would not be able to hold out forever. The protective shield caused Voldemort to be momentarily surprised by Harry’s defence although the Dark Lord just began to intensify his assault on the child who had been his downfall.
Slowly, Snape felt his magical reserves beginning to feel drained with the effort of holding up the invisible barrier. After around five minutes, Snape felt his shield crumbling and he had to let it fall, unable to reinforce it any longer. At that moment, just as his Occlumency shield finally broke down completely, an electric like surge forced its way through Harry forcing Snape to let go. Stumbling backwards, the Potions Master tried vainly to stay upright while at the same time drawing his wand. His efforts were useless as he succeeded only in being caught in the crossfire between the Order and the Death Eaters. Almost immediately, he found he was forced directly into the path of a Death Eater’s curse.
He never raised his wand in time.
It was agony like nothing else Snape had ever felt. It was almost as if a white hot poker had been forced deep into his back and was being mercilessly twisted by the cruellest of hands. With a cry of pain, he crashed to the ground and heard a horrible scraping, splintering crack as his wand arm hit the uneven floor. Snape rolled over as he struck the rocky surface, the curse he had been hit by slowly spreading out along his back. Snape felt the burning power of the curse, both potent and formidable, heartlessly trace a crooked score from his left shoulder right down his spine to his lower back.
Shuddering from the impact, Snape felt the first traces of murkiness begin to collect at the edges of his brain. For a few seconds he just lay exactly as he had fallen, barely even able to breathe let alone actually move. Just as his body convulsed in anguish, he caught a brief glimpse of Minerva McGonagall outnumbered at least twenty to one by Death Eaters.
Forcing his mauled frame into action, Snape heaved himself upright and, ignoring both the pain which slashed through his torso and the curses which were missing him by inches, he made his way deftly over to Professor McGonagall.
A few moments later, Dumbledore Apparated near the wall furthest from Harry and Voldemort; his face white and his blue eyes burning with cold fire.
“Avada Kedavra!” the voice of a Death Eater yelled, sending a jet of green soaring from the tip of his wand. Minerva McGonagall never stood a chance. The curse struck the Deputy Headmistress squarely in the back and Snape forced himself to watch in dismay as Professor McGonagall’s body fell in an awkward heap at the feet of her killer. As the Death Eater screamed in pleasure, Snape was almost too dumbfounded to hear Voldemort howl in pain.
Seconds later, Voldemort Disapparated at the same instant Dumbledore whipped around and Stunned the nearest Death Eater.
Crushed with guilt, Snape recoiled as his numbed brain registered that he would never speak to the Deputy Headmistress again. Faintly, a distant memory floated into his mind “ “Look after Potter”. Grasping desperately at these instructions, Snape made his way back over to Harry, who was lying unmoving on the floor. For the first time since April, he felt again the first glimmers of a fear far beyond what any other human had ever endured with the possible exception of Harry himself. The trepidation burnt through his veins like poison and, accompanying it, Snape felt another bought of pain course through him.
It was only when he was almost next to Harry that he realised Voldemort had gone. The rest of the Order still seemed to be unaware of the Dark Lord’s departure although the Death Eaters began to group together and fight more strongly.
Looking down, the last thing Snape remembered was seeing the Death Eaters Disapparating and Harry, deathly pale, sprawled motionlessly on the mossy, cracked floor.
“Sorry, James, I failed you,” Snape whispered falteringly as a wave of dizziness overwhelmed and disorientated him. His knees gave way and he crumpled to the ground next to Harry. There was a difference between his collapse and Harry’s though: there was no one there to catch him.
Dumbledore pushed his way over to Harry as soon as the Death Eaters Disapparated; Molly and Arthur Weasley at his side. Mrs Weasley screamed as she saw Professor McGonagall’s body.
“No! Minerva! What happened?”
Dumbledore, his voice quiet, replied “There’s nothing we can do for her now; she was outnumbered but she fought bravely. If she was here now, though, she would have wanted us to help those who survive, not those who have passed on.”
Trying desperately to swallow her tears, Molly agreed.
“Dumbledore!” came Kingsley’s anguished shout from next to Harry. “Dumbledore!”
Swiftly, Professor Dumbledore was at his side and looked down, appalled at Harry’s still figure.
“And it’s not just him…” whispered Kingsley, as he moved slightly away from Harry.
There was an audible gasp from every member of the Order as Kingsley moved enough to reveal Snape. The Potions Master’s greasy black hair was matted with blood and his breathing was shallow, uneven and clearly painful.
“Severus?” Dumbledore asked, taking hold of his Potion’s Master’s wrist. “Severus?!”
Without opening his eyes, Snape gave a barely audible answer which seemed to cost him every last bit of strength he had remaining.
“Potter… look… after… important… power… Dark Lord… hurt… weak… Clamcelo... Cruciatus… ninety-eight… Potter… help… forget… me… I don’t… matter…”
“Severus,” Dumbledore answered clearly, “if it were not for you, we would have been unable to get here in time. It is unquestionable that you matt“”
“Tell… friends… Sorry…” Snape stuttered before a racking cough shook his body. For a few seconds, Snape seemed to fight valiantly against the oncoming darkness until he finally fell silent and lay as motionless as Harry.
For what seemed like an age, the responding silence was deafening as every member of the Order stood there in shock. Molly Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody were crouched next to Harry but looked up as Dumbledore’s voice, suddenly icy, cut through the silence.
“Take Harry away from here. Take him back to Hogwarts. Do what you can…”
Instantly, Molly drew out her wand and picked up a stray stone. “Portus!” Putting it onto Harry’s chest, she, Moody and Tonks reached out to touch it. “One…two… three…” They vanished, taking Harry with them.
Well aware that time was running out, Dumbledore twisted round to Kingsley who was still looking disbelievingly at Snape. “Take Severus to Hogwarts. Do your best for him. I’ll be along when I can.”
Nodding his head, Kingsley reached down and picked the spy up from the floor. Snape didn’t move; his still, corpse like form was hanging limply in Kingsley’s arms and his body was clearly shattered from the curse. Dumbledore pointed his wand at the pair of them, ready to transport them to Hogwarts.
“Good luck.”
It was only after Kingsley had vanished that Dumbledore made his way over to his Transfiguration teacher. As Dumbledore reached out to touch her, the remaining Order members once again returned to a horrified silence although this time out of despairing respect. Several other members had already started the gruesome task of searching the remaining bodies for those who were injured and those who had died.
It only took seconds before tears began to fall as the Order of the Phoenix realised fully what had happened. They had lost over a tenth of those that had come; along with Professor McGonagall were Hestia Jones, Deadulus Diggle and several recently joined members, including one newly qualified Auror.
It was only when Dumbledore’s hand finally touched Minerva McGonagall, however, that he allowed a single tear to escape down his face and drop quietly onto his blood smattered robes.
Madam Pomfrey screamed when the three Order members arrived with Harry held between them. If it was possible, Harry appeared even paler than when he had been at Azkaban and a ribbon of blood was trickling slowly down his face on to the floor. Quickly, Tonks and Moody put Harry on his usual bed while Molly Weasley quickly explained to Madam Pomfrey what she knew.
“We’re not sure what happened exactly. We know Harry’s been tortured and he had some kind of a fight directly with You-Know-Who. He’s also been with Dementors…”
Madam Pomfrey turned pale and drew her wand.
“No! And how many times was he hit with the Cruciatus curse?”
“Ninety-eight,” Moody growled, “and the scum were counting.”
Pushing Tonks out of the way, Madam Pomfrey waved her wand and started to pour the newly conjured. clear purple potion down Harry’s throat. After several minutes, Harry’s breathing became deeper and, although he was still unconscious, his life was no longer hanging in the balance.
No one noticed when Kingsley arrived holding Snape “ everyone was too occupied with Harry. Staggering slightly under Severus’ deadweight, Kingsley looked over to Moody, Tonks and Madam Pomfrey.
“Give me a hand here, one of you!”
Madam Pomfrey was still leaning over Harry so instead Moody turned around and walked over to his fellow Auror.
“Old Snape’s in a bit of a mess, isn’t he?” Moody said, mildly concerned but his disdain over the ex Death Eater’s past still clearly apparent.
“Yeah…”
Neither of them noticed the blood seeping down Kingsley’s robes and then on to the floor leaving a crimson pool.
“Can you help, Alastor? Thanks,” he added as Moody took Snape’s lifeless form off him. “Merlin, he’s heavy. I didn-”
Kingsley broke off suddenly. He’d just looked down at his gleaming red hands and his now sodden, blood soaked robes. Everything was made a hundred times worse as Alastor Moody, who still held Snape awkwardly in his arms, looked over to Kingsley.
“You all right there, Shacklebolt? Only that’s a hell of a lot of blood you’re standing in…”
Looking over at Snape, Kingsley suddenly felt a dawning realisation wash over him. “Bloody hell, that’s Snape’s blood! Poppy! Oh Merlin; Poppy! Alastor, do something!”
Madam Pomfrey turned around and took in Snape’s torso with one sweeping glance. Her eyes widened in shock.
“Good Lord, how come he’s still alive?” squealed Tonks in horror, following the matron’s stare. “There can’t be much blood left in him to lose!”
“There isn’t,” Alastor Moody said grimly, looking into Snape’s deathly pale face. The only sign of life that Moody could detect was the minutely faint fluttering of Snape’s heart; any trace of the Potions Master’s breathing was undetectable.
Kingsley voiced what the others in the room were thinking in a flat, toneless statement.
“If someone doesn’t do something soon, he’s not going to wake up again.”
It was six days before Harry regained consciousness. Every part of his body ached, despite the odd numbness which enveloped him. Carefully, Harry pulled himself upright and reached over to his bedside table to put his glasses on. His wand lay with them.
“Good morning, Harry,” a soft voice said. Harry looked round as fast as his battered body would let him.
“How are you feeling?” Albus Dumbledore walked slowly over to Harry, who couldn’t help but notice how much older and frailer his Headmaster looked. The trials at Azkaban weighed heavily on the Headmaster.
“I’ve been better,” Harry said, gritting his teeth as a wave of pain shot through him. Dumbledore chuckled.
“Well, at least it is good to see you have lost none of your sense of humour during your, er, stay with the Death Eaters.”
Smiling in a strained way, Harry looked over to the left of his bed but the grin slid off his face with what he saw.
“Snape?”
“Professor Snape, Harry.” Dumbledore corrected quietly.
“Whatever,” said Harry vaguely, gaping at Snape’s motionless body. Even in the quietness of the Hospital Wing, Snape’s breathing was nearly inaudible and his face was chalky white. His hands were sickeningly pale and his whole body looked marred and bruised.
“He was hit by the Caedesio Hex, which usually kills the person it strikes within five minutes.” Dumbledore continued softly, his voice laced with guilt as he answered Harry’s unasked question. “The Ministry has just declared it as the fourth Unforgivable; as far as they know, the spell has not been used for nearly twenty years. I would never have told Severus to follow you if I had known that the Death Eaters were aware of it, let alone that they were prepared to use it.
“Professor Snape went to Azkaban to try and save you, Harry. He informed the Order of where you were and then returned to the prison to try and help you escape. I also have reason to believe that he somehow helped you in fighting Voldemort although I am not certain as to what he did exactly yet.
“Professor Snape was forced into the path of the curse around five minutes after Voldemort’s attack on you. He then made his way back over to you as soon as he could although, and I have to say unsurprisingly with regard to the extent of his injuries, Severus collapsed next to you. It is remarkable that he stayed conscious as long as he did.
“Kingsley Shacklebolt reached you first after the Death Eaters Disapparated and instantly called me over. You were unconscious and Severus was as well, barely two feet away from you. Professor Snape, however, somehow regained consciousness for a few seconds and told me to look after you and leave him since he seemed to think he was ‘not important’ before he again passed out. Again, he came around a few seconds later and he said to ‘tell your friends he was sorry’. That was the last thing he said; he’s been in a coma ever since. This is now the sixth day since you were taken to Azkaban.”
Nothing broke the silence which enshrouded the room. Harry, numb with shock and guilt, felt again the pain of the Cruciatus curse wash over him. Snape had come to Azkaban because of him and, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that Snape was an evil git, there was no way anyone deserved to be in the state the Head of Slytherin was now. Harry shuddered, barely able to suppress the cry of pain, both physical and emotional, which wanted to rip from him.
“Are you in pain, Harry?” Dumbledore said, his voice gently yet his gaze intense.
Harry didn’t want to think about what had happened any more. He didn’t want to think about the fact Snape had saved him. He also certainly didn’t want to be questioned by his Headmaster on what had happened with Voldemort. Completely drained and defeated, he allowed himself to escape into the familiar blackness without answering.
It was thirteen days after Harry’s kidnapping that Snape finally regained consciousness. When he finally woke, a soft moan escaped him as he felt excruciating pain rip through his body. Carefully, he moved his head over to the right and saw Harry lying next to him. Harry’s face was pale and drawn although, essentially, he looked as well as could be expected. Breathing a sigh of relief, Snape visibly jumped as a voice called out from the end of the corridor.
“You all right there, Professor?” Madam Pomfrey hurried over to him looking concerned.
“Dum…ble…dore…” Snape said in a rasping whisper.
“I’ll get him,” Madam Pomfrey answered instantly, disappearing from his view. Snape turned back to face Harry and watched him in silence for several minutes.
“Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice said from next to him. Snape turned to face him and cast him a pleading look to signal he wanted Madam Pomfrey to leave.
Dumbledore nodded briefly. “Poppy, could you leave us, please,” he said quietly without taking his blue eyes from Snape’s black ones. Grudgingly, Madam Pomfrey left the ward with only a quiet muttering along the lines of “Don’t you dare stay here long. I agreed to get you as soon as he awoke but I didn’t think that it included this…”
“Severus?” Dumbledore said quietly again.
“Po… tter?” Snape asked in a painfully weak voice.
“He is fine, Severus. I dare say there will be no serious physical after effects.”
“Is… ok...? Long…bott…oms… curse… hit… Mungo’s…” Snape fell back onto his pillows, his desperate attempt to sit up failing abysmally.
Dumbledore looked away from him, staring instead at the floor. Snape looked at Dumbledore, a fire burning in his coal like eyes.
“What?” he snapped, regaining a little of his former strength and bullyish manner. “What are you…” his voice faded as he lay gasping for breath. “Tell…me…” he choked out.
“I don’t know, Severus. He just will not talk to me. He will not talk to anyone. He’s just so consumed by guilt and anger, he’s disappeared inside himself. No one can get him to talk to them, to open up, at all.”
Snape let out a soft moan, clearly trying to disguise the pain he felt ruthlessly slicing through his body.
Dumbledore leaned closer to Snape, his eyes flickering with compassion.
“Severus, look at me,” Dumbledore commanded in a gentle yet firm voice. As he turned to face the Headmaster, Snape found that he was unable to suppress the scream of pain which knifed through him.
Alarm flashed for a moment in Dumbledore’s light blue eyes. “You are in agony aren’t you, Severus,” he said steadily, looking at the Potions Master. Snape just looked away, not answering Dumbledore’s direct and reasonable assumption.
The sparks which usual burnt in Dumbledore’s eyes faded into nothing as Snape lapsed into unconsciousness again without uttering another word.
Madam Pomfrey walked up behind Dumbledore.
“They’re as cantankerous as each other, aren’t they,” she stated bluntly, glancing between Harry and Snape.
“Yes,” Dumbledore sighed regretfully. “The question now though is what are we going to do about it?”
Madam Pomfrey looked at Dumbledore lost for words.
There could be a long wait, Dumbledore thought to himself before answering. “Knowing those two they’re not going to give in easily. Not to me, and not to each other. And yet they are so alike, even now,”
Madam Pomfrey looked in wonder at Dumbledore.
The fact remained that both Snape and Harry were as stubborn as the other, and to get them to open up was like trying to turn water into fire.
Over the following two weeks, neither Harry nor Snape said anything to anyone.
Harry was staying in the Hospital Wing purely to avoid the rest of the school. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all tried to get him to talk to them but he just turned away, refusing to look at them. Ginny particularly was devastated; not only had she lost Professor McGonagall, her favourite teacher, but she was losing Harry too. She struggled through her O.W.Ls, skipping questions out completely as her thoughts drifted back to Harry; alone in the hospital wing blaming himself for something he’d had no control over.
Harry was fuming with the lethal combination of overwhelming anger and crushing guilt. Snape was still drifting in and out of consciousness on an almost hourly basis, shuddering frequently from the pain. Whenever this happened, Harry found himself resenting Snape more than ever for making him suffer like this by watching his Potions Master succumb to his devastating injuries. The guilt Harry felt over Sirius was on a level with the helplessness and remorse he felt now.
Snape was slowly returning to health although he was blatantly devastated by what had happened. As far as anyone knew, he was the only person to have seen Minerva McGonagall die and the loss had hit him far harder than anyone expected. Finally, after almost a month in the Hospital Wing, Snape had managed to get out of his bed and began to move around for a few minutes each day.
The first time he did this, Harry broke down as he caught sight of Snape’s back. Ragged scars lacerated his torso, every one of them stemming from a jagged gash running from the base of his spine all the way to his left shoulder. Snape had cast his most hated student a look of pure disdain when this had happened; the glare in his black eyes barely able to hide the wretchedness which burnt incessantly there.
Even so, an unspoken agreement had sprung up between both Snape and Harry that neither would mention what happened at night. It was only possible for a few hours sleep at a time since either one of them would wake up from plaguing nightmares, their pleading screams always inevitably waking the other.
Harry sat quietly at the window of the hospital wing, five weeks after his kidnapping, staring out in to the moonlight. A single cloud drifted pass the moon’s face casting a deep shadow across the walls of the castle. Seconds later Harry heard quiet, uneven footsteps behind him. He shuddered and jarred his body round, drawing his wand to face the intruder. Harry didn’t relax the grip on his wand as he came face to face with Snape.
“Steady, Potter, it’s me,” Snape said quietly, choosing to ignore Harry’s wand which was pointed in his face.
It was the first time in two weeks that the weighty, guarded silence between them had been broken.
Harry, looking angry, twisted around and returned to staring determinedly out of the window clearly implying he wanted to be left alone. Snape reached over and pulled a chair from one of the unused bedsides and sat barely three feet behind Harry, watching him intently.
An hour later, neither Harry nor Snape had moved. Harry, finally unable to withstand Snape’s eyes cutting into his back, turned to face him with hatred in his eyes.
“Why don’t you just leave me alone?”
“Because you don’t want to be left on your own,” Snape answered simply, his lank hair falling across his face.
Harry, blushing crimson, turned around and stared out the window again. After a few seconds, he hissed at Snape. “You don’t know what it was like…”
“This is doing no one, least of all you, any good Potter,” Snape said softly. “I do know what happened at Azkaban; more than most. I was there when Lucius Malfoy put the Cruciatus curse on you for the ninety-eighth time. I was there when you collapsed in Sirius Black’s cell and it was I who caught you before you hit the floor. You probably don’t remember,” Snape added before he continued in barely more than a whisper. “One thing is certain; I will never forget seeing you standing in that cell with enough injuries to kill almost any other person I know. And yet you still found the strength and courage to stand up and face what you knew would come.
“When the Dark Lord arrived, he told me to hold you the floor. He attacked you with Legilimency and I put up an Occlumency shield on your behalf. After a time I found I could no longer reinforce the shield and the Dark Lord gained access to your mind. As he did so, some kind of powerful surge went through your body, forcing me to let go. I assume it was the Clamcelo’s protection but its power rebounded onto me. After that, I have no real memory of what happened. I remember being forced into the path of a curse, I am not sure which, and then the Dark Lord screamed out in pain and Disapparated. I made my way back over to you.”
Snape fell silent, staring at the floor with his eyes glazed over from the memory. He had pointedly not mentioned what had happened to Professor McGonagall; Harry wasn’t ready to hear the whole truth yet.
“After that, I cannot tell you what took place.”
Harry’s shoulders shook. “I can,” he muttered.
Snape’s back went rigid. “What?”
“Dumbledore told me. He said you collapsed too, right next to me. Kingsley reached us first and called Dumbledore over. He said that you had been hit with the Caedesio Hex which usually kills on impact. Madam Pomfrey said your injuries were worse than mine and you were only hit once…”
Snape coughed uncomfortably.
“Anyway, apparently Dumbledore tried to help you but you just told him to look after me because you seemed to believe that you didn’t matter. Dumbledore interrupted you but you passed out again. Just before you went into a coma, you said to…”
“Tell your friends that I was sorry,” Snape finished almost inaudibly, looking at the floor.
“Yes,” Harry breathed. “Why?”
Snape continued heavily, his voice filled with remorse.
“I had failed you, and Dumbledore, and your Father.” Snape hesitated as Harry froze on the windowsill. “I owe your father a life debt. In losing you, I had left his debt unpaid. I had failed everyone, the Order had counted on me being a spy and Dumbledore’s orders were for me to protect you. Once you had been taken, there was little more I could do. I had failed on both counts.”
The hurt in his voice made Harry recoil. At last, he finally understood where Snape was coming from. Underneath Snape’s voice, there was a note of resentment and hurt which, despite it always having been there, Harry had only just detected. Snape had always been seen as an outsider, someone to avoid rather than speak to, and his life had been a hard one. He had been trusted with a task by the only person ever to truly trust him without asking for anything in return. Snape honestly believed he had failed in completing it. The bitterness was unmistakeable.
“What I wish,” Snape said, staring at the floor again, “is that I could finish the Dark Lord once and for all. At least by killing him I could prevent what he would do in the future. Next time I get a chance, I will.” Snape’s eyes burnt with a cold fire as he looked in Harry’s face. Harry however, looked away without meeting Snape’s eyes. He cringed slightly as he put his hand into the pocket of his robes.
“Don’t even try,” he whispered at last.
“Why not? I have as good a chance as anyone else. Why should some Ministry employee get the final word?”
“They won’t be able to,” Harry said more to himself than to Snape. The Potions Master looked at him incredulously.
“And what makes you think that, Potter? Does you arrogance know no bounds?”
“Fifteen years ago, a Prophecy was made about Voldemort and me.” Harry said carefully, revealing what he had not mentioned to anyone.
Why, in Merlin’s name, am I telling this to the person I swore to keep it hidden from…?
“I know.” Snape answered in frustration, his hand shaking as another flash of pain seared through him. “So? What’s so impor-?”
“Do you know what it said?”
“No,” Snape answered instantly. “No one does. The only record of it was destroyed last year. Unless…” Snape looked at Harry, understanding flashing across his face. “You know what was in it, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question.
Harry looked at Snape, a tortured look on his face. “No one knows, with the exception of Dumbledore and me. Not even the Order. Not even Ron and Hermione, and Ginny,” Harry added, answering Snape’s unasked question. Shutting his eyes, Harry continued in a flat, toneless voice.
“Here. Merlin knows, you of all people have the right to know.” Harry reached inside his robes and pulled out the Clamcelo and handed it to Snape. “If you need a reason not to try and kill Voldemort yourself, this will give it to you.”
Snape took it, a questioning look in his eyes. Harry flicked his wand in Snape’s direction, who sat completely transfixed as he heard Sybill Trelawney’s voice clearly inside his head.
“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies …”
A tense silence followed.
“So it’s down to you then,” Snape said at last after an age long silence. “It will be either be you or him, in the end?”
Harry nodded, unable to look Snape in the eyes.
“Just never tell anyone else,” Harry voiced in a cracked whisper.
“Never, I promise you. I would rather die than tell anyone.”
As Harry looked at Snape, the full weight of the Prophesy, at last, was born on more than just his own shoulders and he was immeasurably grateful for it. For the first time, he realised that Snape had put his own life on the line to help him and he hadn’t just done so because he was on orders. As Harry’s eyes finally locked with Snape’s, he realised he was seeing on a level with his Potion’s Master for the very first time. They were in the same boat now.
“So then, Harry… What are you going to do?”
“Merlin only knows,” he answered without thinking. His brain was overwhelmed by another thought.
Snape just used my first name.
A/N : *Deep breath* So then, what did you think? I hope you felt that the chapter was worth the wait. There is one more chapter after this and then there’s the sequel…
Oh, and for all you Latin fans:
‘Adflictatio’ “ pain / torture
‘Caedesio’ “ ‘caedes’ meaning ‘to cut down / slaughter’.