Summary: It has been almost three years since the death of Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort. Each side suffered grievous losses at the hands of their foes. But a large number of Death Eaters escaped, including the psychopathic Bellatrix Lestrange, and fanatic Dark Arts Master Severus Snape. An Auror, sent to track Snape down, is brutally defeated, and subjected to the Dementor's Kiss... But his soul remains partially intact, and a team of Aurors is sent out to track down the renegade Death Eaters, whatever the cost.

WARNING: Disregards MOST Harry Potter Seven plot points and deaths, although the ones that I've decided to include in the story and the ones that are JK's canon aren't distinguishable, so there are no real spoilers.

Frigid Death

I

A tall, skinny man in a long black cloak strode quickly and confidently down the winding road. He wore a tall pointed hood, and his face was obscured by an imposing black mask. A long wand nestled in his hand, looking more like a gnarled stick than anything else.

The man walked forward, seemingly melting into the shadow cast by the overhanging trees that adorned the side of the country road. The sharp, cold wind bit into anyone stupid enough to stand in its frigid way, stabbing them with knives of cold. Rain pelted down onto the roads, erupting off the pot-holed tarmac like lava spewing from the tip of a volcano. The sky above was suddenly illuminated for a split-second; the dark cloud veil suddenly glowed a brilliant white as a blast of sheet lightning illuminated the scene. The hooded man turned off the road, stepping into the thick, almost impenetrable mass of branches and trees to the Death Eater's left side…

The Auror followed cautiously in the wake of the supporter of the late Dark Lord. The Auror was very tall and broad-shouldered, muscle-bound. He also wore a dark cloak and a hood, but his face, handsome and strong-jawed, was not obscured by a mask. His eyes, cold and sapphire, were narrowed in an expression of loathing.

No, Severus Snape would not escape.

The former Hogwarts teacher had killed Dumbledore, and then returned to fight in the second battle of Hogwarts, which saw the death of both Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter. Severus Snape had been instrumental in killing Potter; there were rumours that he'd cast the final curse before escaping, leaving the corpses of Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort behind.

The Auror rounded the corner, stepping into the muddy track that Severus Snape had been walking down moments ago. The ground was sticky and wet, the mud so slimy it stuck to his shoes, and water trickled off the branches of the trees which seemed to lean forward, smothering the Auror who walked confidently forward, wand up and ready. A doubt flickered across his mind; what if Snape had Dissaparated? But then the Auror crushed the doubt, drove it from his mind, like he would soon crush Snape, and drive him from the world.

The Auror had no intention of taking Snape alive.

The bush on each side was thick and coloured darkly green, so dark that it seemed almost black.

And then the Auror reached a small spot where, to his left, the bush was beaten down. He could see a dark figure struggling to break through more thick brambles. The Auror smiled; easy prey. His overconfidence spurred him forward, and he stepped onto the beaten path, into the trap.

The trap was sprung. The jaws of defeat snapped shut; the sound of the jaws snapping was the sound of Severus Snape dropping down behind the Auror from the branches above, where he'd been hiding, casting the illusion of himself trying to break through a thick layer of brambles.

"Avada Ked—" But the Auror was quick. Seeing his rashness, he cursed and threw himself sideways as a torrent of emerald light erupted from the tip of Snape's wand, blasting through the spot where the Auror had been a second ago.

The Auror had jumped without knowing where he would land though, and his feet came down on a fallen tree branch. He tripped over it, toppling backwards and crashing painfully into a bramble bush. His elbows ached from where they had impacted the ground as Snape loomed overhead, face hidden behind the imposing obsidian mask all Death Eaters wore.

"Reducto!" bellowed the Auror, his deep voice making a flock of birds scatter into the gloomy sky.

Snape's small black eyes, visible through slits in the mask, widened for a split second. He was picked up and hurled away by the Auror's blast, and he slammed into a tree trunk so hard something cracked.

The Auror got to his feet quickly, wincing as pain shot through his back.

He levelled his wand at the stop where Snape had fallen; the spot was invisible, shielded by plants.

"Stupefy!" called the Auror, and his wand shot a thick blast of crimson light at Snape's last known position. The spell hit nothing except the tree trunk, and it rebounded back, blasting up into the sky.

There was a flash and a bang as Snape, who'd obviously moved to the side before the Auror could strike, fired yet another Killing Curse at the Auror. The curse missed, but it passed so close to the Auror's face that his eyebrows blackened and charred from the heat of the near-miss.

"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" The Auror shot a trio of red Disarming bursts into the area where Snape had shot the curse from; he hoped that by Disarming Snape, he'd see where his wand would come from and therefore find it easier to stun the Death Eater.

All three of the charms missed. Snape had obviously moved again, because he leapt up from his cover over to the Auror's far right.

"Impedimenta!" said Snape softly, his eyes flickering with hate.

The spell grazed the Auror's wand arm, his right arm, and didn't immobilise his whole body. But he made the Auror's arm freeze, and his fingers sprang open. The Auror's wand toppled slowly from his hand, landed, and bounced into the undergrowth.

But the Auror wasn't finished yet. As Snape advanced, ready to kill, the Auror extended his left hand and shot a weak, wand-less Stunning spell at the Death Eater, who parried it by waving his wand.

Snape laughed, a chilling, merciless and mirthless laugh. The Auror associated the sound with vultures and Dementors.

"That is poor," Snape said, his soft voice dripping with victorious, mocking sarcasm. "I wouldn't have expected to trap an Auror so easily… Tut, tut. If the Dark Lord controlled the Ministry, such a low level of skill would be punished."

The Auror laughed bitterly; he had nothing to lose. And he felt no fear. He had already been subjected to the Cruciatus curse, so he felt no need to fear pain. "The closest the Dark Lord's getting to the Ministry is if his entry in the obituary is next to a picture of the Minister," The Auror laughed again and spat at Snape's feet.

"Indeed? Indeed… Fool. You stupid fool!" Snape's eyes flashed with fury. "You know not of the true Dark Lord!" The Auror was taken aback, but kept his face straight. "Fool," Snape repeated for the final time, his voice a whisper. "Levicorpus!"

Without warning, the Auror was jerked off of his feet and swung into the air, where he was half rotated and left to dangle by his ankles in thin air. A tiny, barely audible gasp escaped his lips as his head battered painfully off a branch.

"Pathetic. A dark arts specialist of my calibre is sent a mere boy who's barely out of school to defeat me!" Snape's chest heaved, and the Auror, despite his predicament, wondered what made Snape so infuriated aside from the insult to his pride. "What is your name, boy?" he asked scathingly.

The young Auror stayed silent, not even struggling against his invisible bonds.

"I could use the Imperius curse to find out, you know," Snape said, more to himself than anyone else. He was enjoying the brutality; he wanted to cause pain to someone, anyone after losing his true master, for any possible excuse. His voice could barely be heard above the pitter-patter of the torrential downpour. "But the Cruciatus curse is usually more effective against Aurors and those with strong will. So, what's it to be. Cruciatus, and pain, or Imperius, and bliss?"

With those final words, Snape looked the Auror dead in the eye, using his skilled powers of Legilimens, using his power to sap the will from the Auror's tortured, depressed mind. As Snape muttered an incantation and made a final, unblinking stretch of eye contact with the defeated Auror, all of the Auror's will, his resolve seemed to disappear, sapped from his body, his soul. Tears appeared in the Auror's eyes, and he went limp, sobs racking his body as Severus Snape toyed with his mind.

"Imp… Imp… Imperio… Please, please, my Lord. Please, no pain, please!" he sobbed. His pitiful grovelling made Snape whip his mask off. The Death Eater's long, greasy hair fell down over his wrinkled, craggy face, as the dark arts master stared down at the Auror's head with an expression of contempt, revulsion, and bile.

"You disgust me with your pleas," whispered Snape, his lip curling.

"No please!" The Auror suddenly jerked around, eyes streaming, begging for mercy, hands waving in a futile attempt of submission. "My Lord! Have mercy! Please! No, it will be agony, no, I beg you!"

Snape raised a pale hand, cutting the Auror off in mid-grovel. "Silence. I will have mercy upon you!"

The Auror stopped crying. His face brightened in a half smile.

"My lord, thank you—"

"Crucio!" Snape roared like a wild animal, his voice rising for the first time as he poured his rage, his anguish, his fears and his grief into the spell.

The Auror shrieked a shrill outcry as he writhed, twisted and jerked as the pain enveloped him, engulfed him, and became him. His face was contorted in agony, his body shaking horrendously under the onslaught.

Five minutes later, the Auror was being beaten into semi consciousness. Instead of his earlier writhing and screaming in pain, his half-unconscious body was just twitching and swinging by then. His eyes fluttered and half-closed, his mouth gaped open, and his throat began to close as the muscles around it tightened.

The Auror choked, and pink foam started to appear on his lips, bubbling forth. He hacked and coughed, then went limp—

"Liberacorpus!" Snape said, letting the Auror fall to the ground and ending the Cruciatus curse.

The Auror landed in a crumpled heap, robes strewn all around his body. He moaned and gulped in air, his body shaking and letting off wisps of steam.

After a minute of watching his hapless foe, Snape advanced, shoes crunching twigs. He'd done well by sapping the will of the Auror; now, the defender of the light was beaten.

Snape bent down next to the Auror and turned him over, almost gently, but there was no remorse on the Death Eater's face.

"What is your name?" he hissed.

"Barry… Barry Neville," The Auror croaked weakly in reply, his eyes swimming in and out of focus.

"Good, Barry, was that so hard?" Snape said; his rage at losing the Dark Lord was sharply turning into a sadistic desire for revenge, so Snape made a mental note to keep himself in check, to return to his usual cold, calculating, uncaring self.

Well, once I've killed this weak fool.

"When was the last time you contacted the Auror office?" he asked.

"Two hours ago. I told them I would be here. They'll be here in an hour," Barry's face twisted into a half-smile, but fear at Snape's rage made the smile disappear. "They'll be able to track you from what I tell them; they're not even sure if you're still alive."

"Then you'll have to die," Snape replied.

"Oh no; they'll see the body," A weak laugh escaped the Auror's mouth.

Snape laughed and clicked his fingers.

Barry choked on his glee and suddenly stopped laughing, and froze. He felt cold inside… Dead. There was no happiness left in the world, only grief, and fear.

Dementors!

The Auror tried to struggle, knowing what horrendous fate awaited him. Snape hand seized his robes to immobilise the pain-racked Auror.

"It's too late for that," hissed Snape. "Just relax. I won't lie to you; it probably will be more excruciatingly painful than any Cruciatus curse could ever be. And then, you'll be nothing; a vegetable. But you'll feel the pain your soul is in for as long as your body endures; possibly forever, as there will be no exertions to end your life. There'll be no heaven, no afterlife for you, my friend! Petrificis Totalus!" The Auror let out a final fearful moan, but then the body-bind curse froze him in place, locking his arms to his sides and his legs together. Only Barry's terrified blue eyes moved, darting around, terrified.

"Goodbye."

Snape stood up, and extended his free hand. Barry's wand zoomed to Snape, smacking into the open palm. Snape grinned and snapped the delicate wand into two pieces. He then cast the pieces away, sending them disappearing into the thick night. Then, with a crack, Snape Dissaparated.

He'd escaped again.

The stars winked out, one by one, as did the moon, until a veil of darkness had descended on his eyes, blinding him, suffocating him. There was nothing, no light, no happiness, only fear…

Barry stood alone, Stunning spells shooting from his wand. Again and again, Bellatrix Lestrange dodged and weaved, avoiding every bolt of red light that shot from his wand. Lestrange fired off a quick Impedimenta jinx which narrowly missed Barry. Again and again they battled, dancing in and out of each other's line of fire, as Lestrange continued to cast Avada Kedavra Killing Curses at Barry. Eventually, one of the curses came so close to him that the shockwave of the near-miss blasted him off his feet, slamming him into the impassive stone wall behind him. He slid to the floor and struggled to get back to his feet but Bellatrix was too quick. She shot a Disarming charm at Barry, and the spell was so powerful it not only Disarmed him, but rammed him forcefully into the wall, smashing solid blocks of rock and showering himself with dust and stone fragments. Bellatrix advanced, her shoes clicking against the flagstones as she walked. She cast her dishevelled hair off of her pale face, revealing her sunken eyes.

"Aw, little baby Barry," she mocked, an insane grin tugging at her thin lips, making her look even more deranged than usual. Her eyes glinted with a fanatical light. "Did the little baby think he could play at Aurors and Death Eaters? Well, the Aurors never win!" Bellatrix stopped her slow prowl. "As you already know, your family are dead. Dead, at the hands of the Dark Lord himself and his lap-dog, Severus Snape. Now, beg, like your family begged. Crucio!"

Barry screamed and writhed on the floor, slamming his head against the wall as he rolled from side to side, consumed by the agony.

The pain stopped, and Barry managed to pant. "The Dark L—Lord… Is a weak, cowardly… Murderer! I even heard he is a half-blood!"

Bellatrix screamed her rage and extended her wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of emerald light that was the Killing Curse was intercepted in mid flight by a large torch, ripped from the wall above Barry. The torch exploded with the impact, toppling to the ground in front of Barry, but it'd stopped the curse. Bellatrix shrieked in anguish as she saw who'd used the torch to block the curse; Kingsley Shacklebolt. She Dissaparated with a pop, leaving the Department of Mysteries for the final time.

Barry tried to open his stuck mouth, to scream, to plead…

"No, please, no!" begged the wife of Barry Neville. Barry, watching through the chipped stone bowl of an old Pensive, bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut. His jaw was set from rage and grief.

This can't be happening, he thought, as he heard his child, his two year old child, scream. A cry of defeat escaped Barry's snarling lips, as he heard his child's bloodcurdling screams stop suddenly, blocked by the stopper of death. He could hear his wife, fired up by rage, scream an incantation, but neither Snape nor He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was wounded; Barry already knew that. All he could hear was a cold, high laugh, the laugh of You-Know-Who, the laugh of a predatorial Hyena, the most chilling sound he'd ever heard. It bit into him, gnawing his heart. He'd propped himself up against the stone basin, but he couldn't hold any more. He sobbed and dropped to the ground, his reason to live… gone! He heard the incantation, he even saw the emerald flash through his closed eyelids, and then he simply sat, listening to the silence, hoping that he'd never have to open his eyes… The only thing he wanted to do after hearing the memory of his wife's murder, was to find and kill Severus Snape. You-Know-Who was already dead; that was how Barry had retrieved the memory, stealing it from You-Know-Who's defeated corpse. But Severus Snape was still on the run.

Why wasn't I there? Barry's thought was a rhetorical question. He already knew the answer. He wasn't there, because he'd been in a cozy Diagon Alley Café, spying on Death Eaters, perfectly safe after drinking Polyjuice Potion, happy, excited, and comfortable as his family was brutally tortured and murdered.

The pair of Dementors swooped in like shadows as Barry relieved that horrible, final memory, the Dementor's gloomy aura forcing him to relieve the worst moments of his life. They raced downwards, diving from above, their tattered black cloaks flapping behind them in a gust of fierce wind. They reached the frozen form below them, circled, until one glided to a halt, and bent down slowly over the Auror, who rocked from side to side, petrified.

This isn't real… He thought, but he saw through his own, silent lie. It's a dream. LET IT BE A DREAM! His thought seemed to escape his paralysed lips, but the sound was whipped away like discarded litter in the wind. His vision was engulfed by the black, imposing figure of the Dementor…

The hooded Dementor put one stinking, rotting hand on the throat of the Auror, and squeezed so hard that the grip was like a vice, a hydraulic press mercilessly crushing the man's windpipe. And then the Dementor bent over, revealing its corpse-like, grey, decomposing head, its eyeless and nose-less upper face, and its round, stinking mouth, open, drawing in breath with a horrendous rattling sound…

The last thing the Auror felt before darkness started to drag him into the abyss was the Dementor's frigid lips clamping over his mouth, and he heard a rushing sound, his own soul drawn out of his useless, defeated body as pain exploded in segments running from his heart to his mouth, as his soul was dragged forcefully into the Dementor by the darkest of all magic…

There was a sudden blur of white light, and the pain eased suddenly as something that shone a brilliant dove onto the Dementor, blasting it away in a flutter of wings. The Dementors fled, leaping into the air, and the Auror heard shouts and the sound of heavy footfalls in the distance, miles away… But it didn't matter! His soul was gone, destroyed, corrupted, stolen.

Darkness took a final, firm grip on the Auror, and yanked him into the frigid arms of Death. He didn't struggle, he didn't resist, he only felt glad to finally leave the horrendous, wretched existence that was his life.

"He's alive… He's alive!" The triumphant bellow carried through the forest. A tall, lean man with red hair, freckles, and a large nose was leaning over the fallen form of Barry Neville. The fallen Auror lay on the ground, eyes half-open, his face contorted in an expression of utmost fear. A black-grey ring of dead flesh had formed around his mouth; no doubt a remnant of the Dementor. The fallen Auror moaned and grumbled, as was to be expected of a victim of the Dementor's Kiss. But Barry was acting differently; he was moaning, but occasionally, a sensible word came through, like 'Snape', or 'Cruciatus'.

The red-haired man, fellow Auror George Weasley, continued to shout for aid. A few seconds later, another Auror, this one wearing a dark travel cloak with a large hood, came bursting out of the trees. He bounded over to George Weasley, staring at Barry as if the defeated Auror would bite.

The Auror, grandson of the late Rufus Scrimgeour, was short and so slim he looked ill. A hood obscured all of his face in a thick black shadow wit the exception of his strong, stubbly chin, which sported numerous burn scars and a black curse wound. His bottom lip was curled in a nasty grimace.

"Looks like Snape's beaten him," he said unhelpfully. "Interesting how every Death Eater he runs into seems to beat him."

George Weasley shot Scrimgeour an extremely sour look. "Shut up."

"Just saying," Scrimgeour's bottom lip turned upwards in a smirk.

"You can't say much! Your granddad really lasted long against the Death Eaters, didn't he?" barked George scathingly.

Scrimgeour's hand moved as if to dart into his robes and grab a wand, but instead he slowed the movement and curled his hand into a fist. He said nothing, but his face was momentarily revealed by a flash of lightning. It was horrifically scarred. His hair had been entirely burned off, the hair missing, raw-looking brown scars clustered around his eyes. One eye was blind, the pupils milky white.

"I heard you were some comedian in your youth. Did you choose to abandon that career path when your mother and twin died?"

George stiffened visibly. "Yes."

Scrimgeour's face was revealed again by a prolonged burst of lightning, and it was set in a leer. "Interesting."

"He's alive. And I think his soul's intact," said George, who looked as if he wanted to curse Scrimgeour. But he had to make sure that Barry was alright. "Because he can say intelligible words, so I think the Dementor might've got away with just half his soul."

Scrimgeour seemed taken aback, his good eye widened slightly in surprise. "Has that ever happened before?" he said slowly, his words almost drowned by rolling thunder.

George shook his head grimly. "Not that I know of, and I did a lot of Dementor research to qualify as an Auror; when I did it, most of the Dementors still followed Voldemort."

If Scrimgeour was afraid of the name, he didn't show it. And George didn't move either; he'd seen Voldemort himself, and hated him with a passion, so not saying the name was like bowing down to Voldemort's wishes.

The two Aurors glared at each other for a brief second, hate boiling just below the surface of each one's cold expressions.

"Let's Apparate him back," said George.

"To Saint Mungo's Hospital?"

"No, you idiot. The Auror office. Then we can take him to Saint Mungo's."

Scrimgeour bit his tongue; George was the one in charge of finding Barry. So that made him in charge of Scrimgeour.

For the time being, anyway.

George marvelled for a split second on how they'd reached Barry in time to salvage what little was left of his soul. And then he reached out, grabbed Barry's wrist, and Disapparated.