Harry Potter and the Three Brothers

Harry was still kneeling at Snape’s side, simply staring down at him, when a high, cold voice spoke so close to them that Harry jumped to his feet, the flask gripped tightly in his hands, thinking that Voldemort had reentered the room.

Voldemort’s voice reverberated from the walls and floor, and Harry realized that he was talking to Hogwarts and to all the surrounding area, and that all those fighting in the castle would hear him as clearly as if he stood beside them, his breath on the back of their necks, a deathblow away.

“You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.

I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”

Both Ron and Hermione were shaking their heads frantically, looking at Harry.

“Don’t listen to him,” Ron said.

“It’ll be alright,” Hermione said wildly, “Let’s—let’s go back to the castle, if he’s gone to the forest we’ll need to think of a new plan…” She glanced at Snape’s body and then hurried back to the tunnel entrance. Ron followed her.

Harry gathered up the Invisibility Cloak and then looked down at Snape. He was numb…he did not know what to feel, except shock at the way Snape had been killed, and the reason for which it had been done…

They made their way back through the tunnel, and Harry could still hear Voldemort’s words ringing in his ears: You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. One hour…

The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance were stained with blood.

Ron led the way to the Great Hall.

Harry stopped in the doorway.

The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of healers. Firenze was amongst the injured: his flank poured blood from where he lay, unable to stand.

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the hall.

Harry could not see Fred’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Molly was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking, Arthur stood stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks.

Hermione approached Ginny and hugged her tightly. Ron joined Bill, Fleur, and Percy, who flung an arm around Ron’s shoulders.

And then Harry saw them.

They were alive, and in pain.

They were kneeling beside two other bodies on the floor beside Fred; Sirius’ shoulders were shaking as Remus held him to his chest, his own eyes slightly glazed and distant.

In front of Sirius lay Tonks and Ted. Father and daughter were both pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

The Great Hall seemed to fly away, become smaller, shrink.

But before Harry could reel backward, Remus looked up and his soft brown eyes met Harry’s. He stood in one breath, and was across the room in another, his strong, warm arms enveloping Harry, pulling him against him.

And then Sirius was there, his face wet with tears, and he was hugging Harry too, and Harry let his sob be muffled by his guardians’ bodies against his own.

“You’re alive,” Harry croaked.

Sirius put a hand on Harry’s cheek, “Don’t listen—” Sirius started to say.

But Harry was stepping back, his eyes swam and his breathing was ragged.

“Harry…” Remus murmured.

Another voice said quietly, “Is he alright?”

It was Madam Pomfrey. She had appeared at Remus’ right side, her eyes on Harry.

“I…” Harry stammered.

He felt sick; he could not bear to look at any of the other bodies, to see who else had died for him. Tonks and Ted had died, and Andromeda was at home with Teddy, not knowing…Harry could not bear to see the Weasley’s, could not have looked in their eyes…Remus and Sirius were alive, and Harry was so relieved it made his guilt rise up like a tidal wave.

And Madam Pomfrey had asked if he, Harry, was alright.

Harry fled the Great Hall.

Sirius had one arm extended after him, had taken a step forward, but Remus put a warm, steadying hand on Sirius’ shoulder, and so, Remus and Sirius let Harry go.

Poppy Pomfrey turned to look up at Remus, “Where is he going?”

Remus’ eyes glazed over once again, “There’s something he needs to do.”

Sirius turned and pressed his forehead against Remus’ chest, letting out a small moan that was a stream of “No, no, no…” and Remus wrapped his arms around Sirius, holding him tightly against him.

Poppy looked alarmed and she was staring up at Remus beseechingly, “Harry can’t go to the Forbidden Forest…”

Remus shook his head only slightly, “He’s going to the Headmaster’s office. I can hear him on the staircase.”

Poppy hung her head, “I do not know what he expects to find there beyond more pain…” she sighed, “Too young,” she said very softly, “Always they are too young, and must face so much from this world.”

Poppy turned away from the two men, “Take care of yourselves,” she said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders, “We need you.”

And then she returned to treat the injured, and Remus and Sirius walked slowly back to the bodies upon the floor, sinking down onto their knees once more.

Tonks’ hair was its most vivid of pink, even in Death. Her father’s fingers lay inches from her’s, as if they were reaching out to one another…

Sirius bowed over and began to sob, and Remus let his tears fall in earnest. He leaned over and swept some of the pink hair out of Tonks’ heart-shaped face.

She was so vibrant…she had so much left to give this world. But no more. And Ted was too kind, much too kind—he’d married the first Black Sheep of the Black family. He’d been Remus’ idol back when Remus hoped that he could love Sirius in the way Ted loved Andy. Their marriage had been a beacon for Sirius and Remus—it still was.

Sirius pressed his lips to Tonks’ bright pink hair, “I’m so sorry, my cousin,” he whispered.

And then Sirius turned and wrapped himself into Remus, and they held one another as the Weasley’s did the same beside them. And Remus closed his eyes, felt Sirius’ shaking sobs and strong heartbeat against his chest, and he strained to feel that well deep within him…strained to bring it forth…and in the hushed, hallowed space, the Great Hall was filled with that most clear and calling of magic, intangible yet powerful, as the moon pulls the tides and as the stars turn overhead...

Injured students raised their heads, sensing it.

And Molly pressed herself tightly against her son’s body and filled Fred's unmoving, still chest with the force of her love. She prayed he could feel it, in that other realm, beyond.

The castle was completely empty; even the ghosts seemed to have joined the mass mourning in the Great Hall. Harry ran without stopping, clutching the crystal flask of Snape’s last thoughts, and he did not slow down until he reached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office.

“Password?”

“Dumbledore!” Harry blurted without thinking, and to his surprise, the gargoyle slid aside, revealing the spiral staircase behind.

When Harry burst into the circular office, he found a change. The portraits that hung on the walls were all empty. Nor a single Headmaster or Headmistress remained to see him; all, it seemed, had flitted away, charging through the paintings that lined the castle, so that they could have a clear view of what was going on.

Harry glanced hopelessly at Dumbledore’s deserted frame, which hung directly over the Headmaster’s chair, and then turned his back on it.

The stone Pensieve lay in the cabinet where it had always been. Harry heaved it onto the desk and poured Snape’s memories into the wide basin. To escape into someone else’s head would be a blessed relief…nothing that even Snape had left him could be worse than his own thoughts.

The memories swirled, silver white and strange, and without hesitating, with a feeling of reckless abandonment, as though this would assuage his torturing grief, Harry dived.

He fell headlong into sunlight, and his feet found warm ground. When he straightened up, he saw that he was in a nearly deserted playground.

A single, huge chimney dominated the distant skyline. Harry realized that he was in the Midlands of England.

Two girls were swinging back and forth on the swing set, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was overlong and his clothes were mismatched: too short jeans, a shabby, overlarge coat, and an odd smocklike shirt.

Harry moved closer to the boy. Snape looked no more than nine or ten years old, sallow, small, and stringy. There was a yellow faded bruise on his cheek.

“Lily, don’t do it!” The elder of the two girls shrieked suddenly.

But the younger girl had already let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly.

“Mummy told you not to!”
Petunia stopped her swing by dragging the heels of her sneakers on the ground, then leapt up, hands on her hips, “Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!”

“But I’m fine,” Lily said, still giggling, “Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.”

Lily picked up a fallen flower from the bush behind which Snape lurked. Petunia advanced, evidently torn between curiosity and disapproval. Lily waited until Petunia was near enough and then held out her palm. The flower sat there, opening and closing its petals.

“Stop it!” Petunia shrieked.

“It’s not hurting you,” lily said, but she closed her hand on the blossom before setting it back on the ground.

“It’s not right,” Petunia said, and then she added, “How do you do it?” There was longing in her voice.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Snape could no longer contain himself, and had jumped out from behind the bushes. Petunia screamed and ran backward toward the swings, but Lily, though clearly startled, remained where she was.

A dull flush of color mounted Snape’s shallow cheeks—slightly obscuring the bruise—as he looked at Lily.

“What’s obvious?” She asked.

Snape had an air of nervous excitement as he lowered his voice, “I know what you are.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…you’re a Witch,” Snape whispered.

Lily looked affronted, “That’s not a nice thing to say to someone!”

She turned, nose in the air, and marched off toward her sister.

“No!” Snape said. He was highly colored now, and flapped after the girls in his large black coat, “You are,” Snape said to Lily, “You are a Witch. I’ve been watching you for a while. But there’s nothing wrong with that. My mum’s one, and I’m a Wizard.”

Petunia’s laugh was like cold water, “Wizard! I know who you are! You’re that Snape boy! They live down Spinner’s End by the river,” she told Lily, “Why have you been spying on us?”

“Haven’t been spying,” Snape said, looking hot and uncomfortable in the bright sunlight, “Wouldn’t spy on you anyway, you’re a Muggle.”

“Lily, come on, we’re leaving!” Petunia said shrilly. Lily obeyed her sister at once, glancing back at Snape as she left. He stood watching them as they marched through the playground gate, and Harry, the only one left to observe him, saw Snape’s bitter disappointment…

The scene dissolved, and then re-formed around Harry.

He was now in a thicket of trees. He could see a sunlit river glittering beyond the trunks nearby. The shadows cast by the trees made a basin of cool green shade. Two children were sitting facing each other, cross-legged on the ground. Snape had removed his coat now, the odd smock less peculiar in the half-light.

“…and the Ministry can punish you if you do magic outside school, you get letters.”

“But I have done magic outside school!”

“We’re alright. We haven’t got wands yet. They let you off when you’re a kid and can’t help it. But once you’re eleven, and they start training you, then you’ve got to be careful.”

Lily picked up a fallen twig and twirled it in the air, and then she dropped the twig, leaned in toward the boy, and said, “It is real, isn’t it? It’s not a joke? Petunia says you’re lying to me. She says there isn’t a Hogwarts. But it is real, isn’t it?”

“It’s real for us,” Snape said, “Not for her. But we’ll get a letter, you and me.”

“Really?” Lily whispered.

“Definitely,” Snape said.

“And will it arrive by owl?”

“Normally,” Snape said, “But you’re Muggle-born, so someone from the school will have to come and explain to your parents.”

“Does it make a difference being Muggle-born?”

Snape hesitated. His black eyes, eager in the greenish gloom, moved over the pale face, the dark red hair, “No,” he said, “It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Good,” Lily said, relaxing.

“You’ve got loads of magic,” Snape said, “I saw that. All the time I was watching you…”

Lily stretched out on the leafy ground, looking up at the canopy of leaves overhead, “How are things at your house?” she asked.

A crease appeared between Snape’s eyes, “Fine.”

“They’re not arguing?”
“Oh yes, they’re arguing,” Snape said, frowning and lifting a hand absentmindedly toward his cheek—the bruise had faded—and then continued, “But it won’t be long until I’m gone.”

“Doesn’t your dad like magic?”

“He doesn’t like anything much.”

“Severus?”

A little smile twisted Snape’s mouth, “Yeah?”

“Tell me about the Dementors again.”

“What d’you want to know about them for?”

“If I use magic outside of school—”

“They wouldn’t give you to the Dementors for that! Dementors are for people who do really bad stuff. They guard the Wizard prison Azkaban. You’re not going to end up in Azkaban, you’re too—” Snape turned red. Then a small rustling noise behind Harry made him turn: Petunia, hiding behind a tree, had lost her footing.

“Tuney!” Lily said, surprise and welcome in her voice, but Snape had jumped to his feet.

“Who’s spying now?” He shouted, “What do you want?”

Petunia was breathless, alarmed at being caught, “What’s that you’re wearing anyway?” She said, pointing at Snape’s chest, “Your mum’s blouse?”

There was a crack: a branch over Petunia’s head had fallen. Lily screamed as the branch caught Petunia on the shoulder and she staggered backwards and burst into tears.

“Tuney!”

But Petunia was running away. Lily rounded on Snape, “Did you make that happen?”

“No,” he said. He looked scared and defiant.

“You did!” She was backing away from him, “You did! You hurt her!”

“No—no I didn’t!”

But Lily ran from the thicket, off after her sister, and Snape looked miserable and confused…

And the scene changed and re-formed.

Harry looked around and found himself on Platform 9 ¾ and Snape stood beside him, slightly hunched, next to a thin, sallow-faced woman who greatly resembled him. Snape was staring at a family of four a short distance away along the platform. Two girls stood a little apart from their parents. Lily seemed to be pleading with her sister; Harry moved closer to listen.

“…I’m sorry, Tuney, I’m sorry! Listen—” she caught her sister’s hand and held tight to it, even as Petunia tried to pull away, “Maybe once I’m there—no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I’m there I’ll be able to go to Professor Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!”

“I don’t want to go!” Petunia said, and she dragged her hand back from her sister’s grasp, “You think I want to go to some stupid school to learn to be a—a—” Her pale eyes roved over the platform, “you think I want to be a—a freak?”

Lily’s eyes filled with tears, “I’m not a freak. That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“That’s where you’re going,” Petunia said with relish, “A special school for freaks. You and that Snape boy…weirdos, that’s what you two are. It’s good you’re being separated from normal people. It’s for our safety.”

Lily glanced toward her parents, who were looking around the platform with pure enjoyment evident on their faces.

“Freak!” Petunia said once more, and she spat at her sister, and flounced off to where her parents stood…

The scene dissolved again.

Snape was hurrying along the corridor of the Hogwarts Express as it clattered through the countryside. He had already changed into his school robes and at last he stopped outside a compartment in which a group of rowdy boys were talking. Hunched in a corner seat beside the window was Lily, her face pressed up against the windowpane.

Snape slid open the compartment door and sat down opposite Lily. She glanced at him and then looked back out of the window—she had clearly been crying.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Tuney hates me.”

“So what?”

She threw him a look of deep dislike, “So she’s my sister!”

“She’s only a—” Snape caught himself quickly, “But we’re going!” he said, “This is it! We’re off to Hogwarts!”

She nodded, mopping her eyes, but in spite of herself, she half-smiled.

“You’d better be in Slytherin,” Snape said.

“Slytherin?” One of the boys in the compartment said. He’d shown no interest in Lily or Snape up until that point, but now looked around at them.

And Harry saw his father—slight, black-haired like Snape but with the indefinable air of having been well-cared for, even adored, that Snape so conspicuously lacked.

“Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?” James asked the boy lounging on the seats opposite him. With a jolt, Harry realized it was Sirius.

“My whole family have been in Slytherin,” Sirius said, unsmiling. His hair was shining and to his shoulder’s—evidently, he’d always worn it that way—and his dress robes were immaculately tailored, although he had left the top button unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, having removed the assumedly-expensive cufflinks.

“Blimey, and I thought you were alright,” James said.

Sirius grinned, “Maybe I’ll break the tradition. Where are you heading, if you’ve got the choice?”

James lifted an invisible sword, “Gryffindor, where dwell the brave of heart! Like my dad.”

Snape made a small disparaging noise and James turned on him, “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” Snape said, though he sneered slightly, “If you’d rather be brawny than brainy—”

“Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?” Sirius interjected.

James roared with laughter. Lily sat up, rather flushed, and looked from James to Sirius in dislike, “Come on, Severus. Let’s find our own compartment.”

“Oooooo….” James and Sirius imitated her lofty voice; James tried to trip Snape as he passed.

The scene dissolved once more…

Harry was standing right beside Snape as they faced the candlelit House tables, lined with rapt faces. Then Professor McGonagall called out, “Evans, Lily!”

Harry watched his mother walk on trembling legs and sit down upon the rickety stool. Professor McGonagall dropped the Sorting Hat onto her head and barely a second after it had touched the dark red hair, the hat cried, “Gryffindor!”

Harry heard Snape let out a tiny groan. Lily took off the hat, handed it to Professor McGonagall, and then hurried toward the cheering Gryffindors. But as she went she glanced back at Snape, and there was a small, sad smile on her face. Harry saw Sirius move up the bench to make room for her, but Lily took a seat on the opposite bench, crossing her arms and turning her back on him. Harry couldn’t help realizing that then the seat on the bench beside Sirius would be open and available for the next Gryffindor student…

The roll call continued, and Harry watched as Professor McGonagall called, “Lupin, Remus!” up to the stool.

Remus was pale, skinny, and slight at eleven, a scar already visible on his neck just above the collar of his robes. He walked slowly and nervously up to the stool and as Professor McGonagall set the hat upon Remus’ head, Harry saw her eyes shine with interest and curiosity.

The hat called out “Gryffindor!” after a moment’s pause—Harry assumed it had been dithering between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor for Remus. As Remus went to sit beside Sirius at the Gryffindor table, Remus smiled warmly at the boy beside him, and Harry watched his guardians exchange their first words with one another. Harry also noted Lily staring at Remus out of the corner of her eye.

Peter Pettigrew was sorted before James. The hat took quite a long time to Sort him, and the Great Hall seemed to grow tense before the hat finally shouted, “Gryffindor!”

James was last of the group, and the hat Sorted him as quickly as it had Sorted Lily.

At last, Professor McGonagall called Snape’s name. Harry walked with Snape up to the stool, watched the hat be placed upon his head, and heard it cry out, “Slytherin!”

And Severus Snape moved off to the other side of the Hall, away from Lily.

And the scene changed…

Lily and Snape were walking through the castle courtyard, clearly arguing. Harry hurried to catch up with them and listen in. As he reached them, he realized how much taller they both were. A few years had passed since the Sorting.

“…thought we were supposed to be friends?” Snape was saying, “Best friends?”

“We are, Sev, but I don’t like some of the people you’re hanging around with! I’m sorry but I detest Avery and Mulciber! Mulciber! What do you see in him, Sev, he’s creepy! D’you know what he tried to do to Mary Macdonald the other day?”

Lily had reached a pillar and leaned against it, looking up into the thin, sallow face.

“That was nothing,” Snape said, “It was a laugh, that’s all…”

“It was Dark Magic, and if you think that’s funny—”

“What about the stuff Potter and his mates get up to?” Snape demanded.

“What’s Potter got to do with anything?” Lily asked.

“They sneak out at night. There’s something weird about that Lupin. Where does he keep going?”

“It’s none of your business!” Lily said, straightening, “Remus is my friend too, and he’s ill. He says he’s ill—”

“Every month at the Full Moon?” Snape said.

“I know your theory,” Lily said, sounding cold, “But leave poor Remus alone. Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?”

“I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone thinks they are,” Snape said, and then intensity in his gaze made Lily blush.

“They don’t use Dark Magic though,” Lily said, and she dropped her voice, “And you’re being really ungrateful. I heard what happened the other night. You went sneaking down that tunnel by the Whomping Willow, and James Potter saved you from whatever’s down there—”

Snape’s whole face contorted and he sputtered, “Saved? Saved? You think he was playing the hero? He was saving his neck and his friends’ too! It’s not a theory, Lily! You’re not going to—I won’t let you—”

“Let me? Let me?”

Lily’s bright green eyes were slits. Snape backtracked at once, “I didn’t mean—I just don’t want to see you made a fool of—he fancies you, James Potter fancies you! And he’s not…everyone thinks…big Quidditch hero…” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent.

“I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,” Lily said, cutting across Snape, “I don’t need you to tell me that. But Mulciber’s and Avery’s idea of humor is just evil. Evil, Sev. I don’t understand how you can be friends with them.”

Harry doubted that Snape had heard this last bit—the moment Lily had insulted James Potter, Snape’s whole body had relaxed, and as they walked away, there was a spring in Snape’s step…

And the scene dissolved…

Harry watched again as Snape left the Great Hall after sitting his O.W.L. in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry watched as Snape strayed inadvertently close to the place beneath the beech tree where James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius sat together. Harry took no pleasure in seeing what happened again…he watched as Lily went to Snape’s defense. Distantly, Harry heard Snape shout at her in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgiveable word: “Mudblood.”

The scene changed…

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Save your breath.”

It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance of Gryffindor Tower.

“I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.”

“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just—”

“Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice, “It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends—you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?”

Snape opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking.

“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.”

“No—listen, I didn’t mean—”

“To call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?”

Snape struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look Lily turned and climbed back through the portrait hole…

The corridor dissolved and the scene took longer to re-form…

Harry was in a dark dank room, surrounded by cauldrons emitting varying colors of vapors into the air. Snape was now a young man—he looked around twenty—and he was murmuring incantations over a large batch of Draught of Living Death, and then he set aside his wand and looked up.

“What do you want, Regulus?”

Standing in the doorway was the emaciated, dead-eyed figure of Regulus Black. He took a silent step toward Snape, his black robes silent as they graced the cold, stone floor.

“I have something to ask you,” Regulus said, his voice vacant and hollow.

Snape cocked his head, “Well?” He sneered.

And in that empty voice, Regulus told Snape of how he must go to 12 Grimmauld Place the following day, how he would find a locket, and must destroy it. Snape listened and said nothing.

“I believe I can trust you to do this,” Regulus said, “because of her.”

“Because of who?” Snape spat.

Regulus did not answer; he only turned and left.

Snape stared after him for a long while and then returned to his potion with a crease between his brows. Harry realized that although Snape did not follow Regulus’ instructions, that he hid what Regulus had done…told no one of what Regulus had told to him…

The scene changed and re-formed once more…

Snape stood on a hilltop, forlorn and cold in the darkness, the wind whistling through the branches of the leafless trees. Snape looked very similar to how he had looked in the dark potion storeroom, but he was panting now, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand…then a blinding, jagged jet of white light flew through the air and Snape dropped to his knees, his wand had flown out of his hand as he cried, “Don’t kill me!”

“That was not my intention.”

Any sound of Dumbledore Apparating had been drowned out by the sound of the wind in the branches. He stood before Snape with his robes ripping around dd him, his face was illuminated from below in the light cast by his wand.

“Well, Severus? What message does Lord Voldemort have for me?”

“No—no message—I’m here on my own account!” Snape looked a little mad, his straggling black hair was flying around him, “I come with a warning! No—a request! Please!”

Dumbledore flicked his wand and silence fell on the spot where he and Snape faced one another, “What request could a Death Eater make of me?”

“The prophecy…the prediction…Trelawney…”

“Ah yes,” Dumbledore said, “How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”

“Everything—everything I heard!” Snape said, “That is why—it is for this reason—he thinks it means Lily Evans!”

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman,” Dumbledore said, “It spoke of a boy born at the end of July—”

“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down—kill them all—”

“If she means so much to you surely Lord Voldemort will spare her?” Dumbledore said, “Could you not ask for mercy of the mother, in exchange for the son?”

“I have—I have asked him—”

“You disgust me,” Dumbledore said, and Harry had never heard such contempt in his voice. Snape shrank back a little as Dumbledore continued, “You do not care, then, about the deaths of her husband and child? They can die, as long as you have what you want?”

Snape looked up at Dumbledore, “Hide them all then,” he croaked, “Keep her—them—safe. Please.”

“And what will you give me in return, Severus?”

“In—in return?” Snape gaped up at Dumbledore, and Harry expected him to protest, but after a moment he said, “Anything.”

Anything.

The hilltop faded and Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office and something was making a terrible sound, like a wounded animal. Snape was slumped forward in a chair and Dumbledore was standing over him, looking grim. After a moment or two, Snape raised his face, and he looked like a man who had lived a hundred years of misery since leaving the wild hilltop, “I thought…you were going…to keep her…safe…”

“She and James put their faith in the wrong person,” Dumbledore said, “Rather like you, Severus. Weren’t you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?”

Snape’s breathing was shallow.

“Her boy survives,” Dumbledore said, “Her son lives. He has her eyes, preciously her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans’ eyes, I am sure?”

“DON’T!” Snape cried, “Gone…dead…”

“Is this remorse, Severus?”

“I wish…I wish I were dead…”

“And what use would that be to anyone?” Dumbledore said coldly, “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear.”

Snape seemed to peer through a haze of pain, “What—what do you mean?”

“You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

“He does not need protection; the Dark Lord is gone—”

“The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does.”

There was a long pause in which Snape mastered his own breathing before saying, “Very well. Very well. But never—never tell, Dumbledore! Swear it! This must be between us! I cannot bear…especially Potter’s son…I want your word!”

“My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?” Dumbledore sighed, looking down at Snape’s ferocious, anguished face, “If you insist…”

The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore, “…mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent—”

“You see what you expect to see, Severus,” Dumbledore said without raising his eyes from a copy of Transfiguration Today, “Other teachers say the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child,” Dumbledore turned a page and without looking up said, “Keep an eye on Quirrell, won’t you?”

A whirl of color and Snape and Dumbledore now stood a little apart in the entrance hall, while the last stragglers of the Yule Ball passed them on their way to bed.

“Well?” Dumbledore murmured.

“Karkaroff’s Mark is becoming darker too. He is panicking, he fears retribution: you know how much help he gave the Ministry after the Dark Lord fell,” Snape looked side-ways at Dumbledore, “Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns.”

“Does he?” Dumbledore said softly as Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies came giggling in from the grounds, “And are you tempted to join him?”

“No,” Snape said, “I am not such a coward.”

“No,” Dumbledore agree, “You are a braver man by far than Igor Karkaroff. You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon…”

He walked away, leaving Snape looking stricken.

And now Harry stood in the Headmaster’s office yet again. It was nighttime, and Dumbledore sagged sideways in the chair behind the desk, apparently semi-conscious. His right hand dangled over the side, blackened and burned. Snape was muttering incantations, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped a goblet full of thick potion down Dumbledore’s throat. After a moment, Dumbledore’s eyelids fluttered and opened.

“Why,” Snape said at once, “why did you put on that ring? It carries a curse, surely you realized that. Why even touch it?”

Marvolo Gaunt’s ring lay on the desk before Dumbledore. It was cracked; the sword of Gryffindor lay beside it.

Dumbledore grimaced, “I…was a fool. Sorely tempted…”

“Tempted by what?”

Dumbledore did not answer.

“It is a miracle you managed to return here!” Snape sounded furious, “That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power, to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being—”

Dumbledore raised his blackened, useless hand and examined it with the expression of one being shown an interesting specimen, “You have done veery well, Severus. How long do you think I have?”

Snape hesitated, “I cannot tell. Maybe a year. There is no halting such a spell forever. It will spread eventually; it is a sort of curse that strengthens over time.”

Dumbledore smiled, “I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.”

“If you had only Summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!” Snape said angrily, “Did you think breaking the ring would break the curse?”

“Something like that…I was delirious, no doubt…” Dumbledore said, “Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.”

Snape looked utterly perplexed and Dumbledore smiled again, “I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me. His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.”

Snape sat down in the chair Harry had so often occupied, across the desk from Dumbledore. Scowling, Snape said, “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius’ recent failures. Slow torture for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.”

“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” Dumbledore said, “Now, I should have thought that the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?”

There was a short pause, “That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.”

“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?”

“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes.”

“And if it does fall into his grasp,” Dumbledore said, “I have your word that you will do all in your power to protect the students of Hogwarts?”

Snape gave a stiff nod.

“Good. Now then. Your first priority will be to discover what Draco is up to. Offer him help, guidance, he ought to accept, he likes you—”

“—much less since his father has lost favor. Draco blames me, he thinks I have usurped Lucius’ position.”

“All the same, try. But ultimately, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save him from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.”

Snape raised his eyebrows and said sardonically, “Are you intending to let him kill you?”

“Certainly not. You must kill me.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the stirrings of Fawkes on his perch.

“Would you like me to do it now?” Snape said, his voice dripping heavily with irony, “Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?”

“Oh, not quite yet,” Dumbledore said, smiling, “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.”

“If you don’t mind dying,” Snape said roughly, “Why not let Draco do it?”

“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged, I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”

“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” Dumbledore said, “I ask this great favor of you, Severus, because Death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league. I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved—Remus informs me that Voldemort has once more recruited him. Or dear Bellatrix, who liked to play with her food before she eats it…” Dumbledore’s tone was light, but his blue eyes pierced Snape as they had frequently pierced Harry, as though the soul they discussed was visible to him. At last, Snape gave another curt nod.

Dumbledore seemed satisfied, “Thank you, Severus…”

The office disappeared and now Snape and Dumbledore were strolling together in the deserted castle grounds by twilight.

“What are you doing with Potter, all those evenings you are closeted together?” Snape asked abruptly.

Dumbledore looked weary, “Why? You aren’t trying to give the boy more detentions, are you Severus? The boy will soon spend more time in detention than out.”

“He is his father all over again, and those guardians of his—”

“In looks, perhaps, but his deepest nature is much more like his mother’s. And having Sirius and Remus to watch over him has given the boy a grounding he so sorely needed. I spend time with Harry because I have things I must discuss with him, information that I must give him before it is too late.”

“Information,” Snape repeated, “You trust him…you do not trust me.”

“It is not question of trust. I have, as we both know, limited time. It is essential that I give the boy enough information for him to do what he needs to do.”

“And why may I not have the same information?”

“I prefer not to put all of my secrets in one basket. Particularly not a basket that spends so much time dangling on the arm of Lord Voldemort.”

“Which I do on your orders!”

“And you do it extremely well. Do not think that I underestimate the constant danger in which you place yourself, Severus. To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job that I would entrust to no one but you.”

“Yet you confide much more in a boy who is incapable of Occlumency, whose magic is mediocre, and who has a direct connection into the Dark Lord’s mind!”

“Voldemort fears that connection,” Dumbledore said, “Not so long ago he had one small taste of what truly sharing Harry’s mind means to him. It was pain such as he had never experienced. He will not try to possess Harry again; I am sure of it. Not in that way.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Lord Voldemort’s soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry’s…”

“Souls? We were talking of minds!”

“In the case of Harry and Lord Voldemort, to speak of one is to speak of the other.”

Dumbledore glanced around to make sure that they were alone. They were close by the Forbidden Forest now, “After you have killed me, Severus…”

“You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that small service of me!” Snape snarled and real anger flared in his thin face, “You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore! Perhaps I have changed my mind!”

“You gave me your word, Severus. And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on your young Slytherin friend?”

Snape looked mutinous and Dumbledore sighed, “Come to my office tonight, Severus, at eleven, and you shall not complain that I have no confidence in you…”

They were back in Dumbledore’s office, the windows dark, and Fawkes sat silent as Snape sat quite still, as Dumbledore walked around him, talking.

“Harry must not know, not until the last moment, not until it is necessary, otherwise how could he have the strength to do what must be done?”

“But what must he do?”

“That is between Harry and me. Now listen carefully, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake.”

“For Nagini?” Snape looked astonished.

“Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending the snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry.”

“Tell him what?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Tell him that on the night Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, when Lily cast her own life between them as a shield, the Killing Curse rebounded upon Lord Voldemort, and a fragment of Voldemort’s soul was blasted apart from the whole, and latched itself onto the only living soul left in that collapsing building. Part of Lord Voldemort’s soul lives inside Harry, and it is what gives him the power of speech with snakes, and the connection to Lord Voldemort’s mind that he has never understood. And while that fragment of soul, unmissed by Voldemort, remains attached to and protected by Harry, Lord Voldemort cannot die.”

Harry seemed to be watching the two men from one end of a long tunnel….

“So…the boy…the boy must die?” Snape said quite calmly.

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. This is essential.”

Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought…all these years…that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.”

“We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, to raise him, to let him try his strength,” Dumbledore said, his eyes tight shut, “Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger. Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself. If I know him, he will have arranged matters so that when he does set out to meet his death, it will truly mean the end of Voldemort.”

Dumbledore opened his eyes and Snape looked horrified.

“You have kept him alive so that he can die at the right moment?”

“Don’t be so shocked, Severus. How many men and women have you watched die?”

“Lately, only those I could not save,” Snape said and he stood up, “You have used me.”

“Meaning?”

“I have spied for you and lied for you, put myself in mortal danger for you. Everything was supposed to keep Lily Potter’s son safe. Now you tell me that you have been raising him like a pig for slaughter—”

“But this is touching, Severus,” Dumbledore said soberly. “Have you grown to care for the boy after all?”

“For him?” Snape cried, “Expecto Patronum!”

From the tip of Snape’s wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded across the room, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery flow faded, he turned back to Snape and his eyes were full of tears.

“After all this time?”

“Always,” said Snape.

Always.

And the scene shifted.

Now Snape was talking to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus in the Headmaster’s study, “Headmaster!” Phineas said, “They are camping in the Forest of Dean! The Mudblood—”

“Do not use that word!”

“The Granger girl, mentioned the place as she opened her bag and I heard her!”

“Good. Very good!” The portrait of Dumbledore cried from behind the chair, “Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor—and he must not know that you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry’s mind and see you acting for him—”

“I know,” Snape said curtly. He approached the portrait of Dumbledore and pulled it aside. It swung forward, revealing a hidden cavity behind it from which he took the sword of Gryffindor.

“And you still aren’t going to tell me why it’s so important to give Potter this sword?” Snape said he swung a traveling cloak over his robes.

“No, I don’t think so,” Dumbledore’s portrait said, “He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful…”

Snape turned at the door, “Don’t worry, Dumbledore,” he said coolly, “I have a plan…”

And Snape left the room.

Harry rose up out of the Pensieve, and moments later he lay on the carpeted floor in the exact same room—Snape might have just closed the door.