~*~Prologue~*~
It was as though the air itself had frozen solid and he could not find a way to suck it into his lungs. Frightened, unbelieving, he stumbled to the edge of the Tower and gazed straight ahead, unable to look down. If his eyes saw what he knew was there, he would cease to live at all.
"Snape! We've done it!" Was it Amycus or Alecto that spoke to him? It was not Bellatrix who was standing stunned beside him, a fearful glimmer of success in her muddled eyes. Did she know whether this event would be a death sentence or a boon in the Dark Lord's eyes? He did not know and as he let the air of the night lift his hair and robes, he did not care.
Hogwarts was alight with activity. He could see and hear spells flying back and forth and around whoever decided to fight what he now knew was inevitable. Fire was somewhere, eating something alive. The stench of burning things clogged his nostrils and seared through his lungs. Smoke rises and he was higher than any of them. Would the whole school be destroyed? A part of him, however big, hoped so. He would never be able to rid his mind of the images this place had produced. Slowly, almost as though his lack of hurry could change anything, he let himself gaze towards the proof of the outcome of the war that had yet to fully begin.
The trees in the distance shifted with the breeze and he could nearly see Thestrals leaping about the canopy of the forest and hear the centaurs galloping about. A glint of light flashed past his peripheral and he granted it no mind. Further down, to the glistening grass of the grounds, he let his eyes wander. Did anyone know what had happened? Could they feel it even in their beds? Was the Dark Lord rejoicing already? He was tilted at the waist, his chin in his chest and he stared, curious, at the blank space where two bodies should have been. Nothing, nothing but a girl stood there, gazing upwards.
Even from this enormous distance, he met her eyes, her brown eyes, and she raised her wand to the sky. In the glow of her wandlight he saw her bloodied face and he wished to laugh else he would cry. Her hair was wild like gnarled branches about her head and her know-it-all gaze was now fierce, hateful and ever so slightly broken. He was so numb that her spell dashed past his cheek and left a crude burning cut he couldn't properly feel. The last he saw of her was the shadow cast by someone else's spell and he thought for a moment he had seen a viciousness in her stance that had never existed before.
Only a second ago it seemed, she had knocked forcefully upon his door, her eyes clear and trusting as she begged for his help. They were under attack and he knew what he was to do, but the unwavering faith in her eyes, the unconditional trust she gave him as she rushed to speak hit him now harder than it was meant to. What had he done to deserve and promptly disuse that type of unhindered, unprovoked, emotion?
A pale hand clutched his shoulder and he broke his stare to see who dared touch him. Grey eyes, lost and confused, looked to him for guidance and reassurance. Now he was to play the nursemaid for self-serving children. No, he would not.
"Do you need me to hold your hands? We are done here." He felt crass and cold, yet it seemed to make the most sense. Calmly, as though this was the turn of events he had predicted, Severus left the Tower without waiting for the others. The stairs spread out before him in a mimicry of the descent to hell. As he plateaued on the flat ground, he paused. For one small second, he had been overcome with the urge to weep that was so strong he could do little but bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming. His heart was beating wildly fast and yet he felt so lulled he could float out of the castle. There was not much to bind him now.
The sound of heavy footsteps drove him to continue. He felt as though he were running from the truth. Running away from that home in Godric's Hollow, running away from the torture of knowing the reality. He couldn't take it, yet he was still moving and the fights about him faded into some watercolor mesh of paints, no faces and no souls, just empty shapes. Somehow, no spells hit him as he weaved through the mess to the grounds. After a moment or ages, when Fenrir barked out a request to slow down, Severus came to a stop.
Screams, for the first time, invaded his ears and he knew that the school had awakened to the bodies and the horror of pure chance. Raggedly, he turned to his companions, what weak and horrid things they were, mere shadows cast by the fires in the school they flew from.
"We must report to the Dark Lord before the Aurors come for us. This world is not yet free for us to roam. Catch your breath on your own time." Roughly, he snatched Draco by the collar and fled into night, past the edge of the wards and beyond, twisting perhaps too harshly as he Apparated away. And not a single soul was there to stop him. There was a harrowing desolation in the thought.
The Dark Lord was holed up in Malfoy Manor, as he had no proper home of his own. He was powerful not pureblood and lacked what ancient blood had afforded his followers. The grounds stretched before him barren to his eyes yet he could hear the squawk of Lucius' albino peacocks roaming the topiary extravagance, the whoosh of feathers on display broken up only by the crunch of their boots on the path. Draco did not protest to being led, in fact, he seemed to drift closer to Severus than the rest of those present. Perhaps he had grown up enough to realize what had occurred a handful of seconds ago.
The door opened for them and the lit rooms in the manor led them to the dining room. Seated at the table, caressing Nagini lovingly, their Lord did not peek up as they entered.
"It is done?" he questioned lightly, distracted by whatever marvels he divined in the scales loped around his neck.
Severus did not bow, did not prostrate, but stepped as near to their Lord as he could and leaned forward. Red eyes lazily met his in a sort of challenge, but Severus only maintained the gaze. Nagini hissed angrily, angling her head at his throat. For the briefest of moments, he offered it happily. The Dark Lord chuckled and muttered to his pet in his hissing language, calming the beast.
"Potter is dead." Severus whispered, holding the suddenly furious crimson gaze that settled upon him.
"Dead? And who may I congratulate?" Ice was too warm a substance to describe the hiss in the air.
"None other than dear Bella, my Lord. The one and only."
Beckoning fingers gave him warning to step back as the woman took his place. The moment their Lord stood and rammed her face into the table with the grip he had on her neck, Severus ceased to notice the world.
Blood was dripping into her eyes from a curse she didn't remember receiving and her arms shook with the effort of carrying, but even Ron had forgotten to use magic to ease their struggle. It was too much to think of such cold-hearted things now.
The fights had ceased, mostly due to the masterminds fleeing, but it was nice to have quiet as they moved. All the others, aside from Neville and what Aurors had come, were too stunned to lend a hand. Hermione would have liked to blame them, but the only way she could stave off complete hysteria was by focusing on the mundane and the manual. An empty classroom was already prepared, by McGonagall she surmised, and Ron angled himself into the open door first.
They laid their burden on the table and as she let the desk take its weight, her eyes found wide open green ones, stuck in a startled disbelief. Not until that moment had she allowed herself to comprehend the fact that it was Harry she was carrying. That it was Harry's head that was pressed into her stomach, lolling freely with every shift. His skin was already cold, like the false necklace in her pocket, and it bit into her chest to think he had left the school for nothing.
Without warning, she was suffocating.
Ginny, a mass of red and tears, knocked her aside in her sorrow, clutching at the motionless Harry, feverish in her agony.
"No!" she screamed, so loudly Hermione thought perhaps even Dumbledore would have rose to quiet her. Struck with a morbid desperation, she dodged past all the ocean of confused faces that pressed into the small room and burst into the hall. A thick, choking sob issued from further down the corridor and with whisper light steps she made her way nearer.
"I am dreaming..." she found herself murmuring against her will. "In a moment, I will wake."
Yet the hall was short and she was wrapping her arms about her Transfiguration Professor before she realized what she was doing. McGonagall shuddered, then collapsed to the ground. Her hair had come undone and the strength that exuded from her was buried beneath whatever it was this emotion embodied. Sorrow, agony and pain did not seem to explain it and she stood, letting Neville aid their Professor in her grief. The room she stepped into, closing the door behind her to drown out the wails, held their former Headmaster.
Hermione's legs became water as she came beside the lifeless body and in anger, she gripped his robes.
"This wasn't supposed to happen!" her voice was loud and quiet, alive and dead. "You were dying, not him! Not him!" her fist hit his chest, yet he did not gain life enough to answer her and the ground captured her as she sank to her knees. "Make this make sense!"
The door opened and Ron entered, stumbling. When he lifted her up and carted her back to Harry's side, she started to unravel. All at once she couldn't breathe, couldn't see and her heartbeat swallowed everything but the sound of Ron's voice.
"It's a nightmare, 'Mione. You just gotta remember to wake up. Right?" he was shaking and eventually he cracked, hitting a wall with his back and sliding down. She settled in his lap, wanting to believe him, but when he pinched himself and nothing happened, she began to breathe again. Fast and hungry, her lungs pulled in and shoved out oxygen until she was light-headed. They were in Harry's space now, Ginny had taken to rocking back and forth, and Hermione found her hand filled with the cold, fake horcrux two people had died for.
With fingers that did not want to bend, she opened the thing and pulled the paper from its innards. It was simple, useless and cheap. Hermione slowly unfolded it, read scribbles that her mind did not process until she saw three letters.
R.A.B
For the life of her she could not think of anything but Rest Among Bodies and the hysterical laughter that flew from her mouth sucked up what was left of her air. Dizzy, she slipped off of the sobbing Ron and onto the stone floor. Harry's hand had fallen off the desk because of Ginny's wildness and he appeared to reach for her. Delicately, as though he would crumble, she reached back and into a wave of darkness.
A/N: I've had this story in my head and in my life for two, nearly three, years and I've decided that it is about time I published it. I have twenty-two mostly long chapters completed already, but seeing as the story has been in and out of my focus for so long things might not line up as they are supposed to. I find, with Firstborn Sons as example, that winging it sometimes helps me get it finished. The pressure of having people waiting for updates actually makes my mind work and I produce faster and am able to think out of the box. So I'm apologizing up front if stuff gets off-track. I swear to you, if you want to stick with me, that I will give it my all and attempt to weed out any mistakes as I go. Also, please know that your opinion matters to me. Review or PM me anything, but flames. Humbly yours, Tickle2Kill.
