"...there is power in self-sacrifice."

― Veronica Roth

The room in which they currently stood was dimly lit. The snake, Nagini, was swirling and coiling like a serpent underwater, safe in her enchanted, starry sphere, which floated unsupported in midair. At the other edge of the table, a long-fingered white hand was toying with a wand. The other end, a dark-haired man who had an air of nervousness about him.

"I have a problem, Severus," the first figure said.

"My Lord?" the second said.

Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton.

"Why doesn't it work for me, Severus?" inquired Voldemort.

"My—my lord?" said Severus blankly. "I do not understand. You—you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."

"No," said Voldemort. "I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago."

Voldemort's tone was musing, calm, but Severus had been a spy in the Dark Lord's ranks long enough to sense the fury building inside his former master; he would do whatever he needed to do to master the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny.

"No difference," said Voldemort again.

Severus did not speak.

Voldemort started to move around the room.

"I have thought long and hard, Severus," said Voldemort. "Do you know why I have called you back from battle?"

"No, my Lord, but I beg you will let me return," Severus replied. "Let me find Potter."

"You sound like Lucius," said Voldemort. "Neither of you understands Potter as I do. He does not need finding. Potter will come to me. I knew his weakness you see, his one great flaw. He will hate watching the others struck down around him, knowing that it is for him that it happens. He will want to stop it at any cost. He will come."

"But my Lord, he might be killed accidentally by someone other than yourself—" he stated.

"My instructions to the Death Eaters have been perfectly clear. Capture Potter. Kill his friends—the more, the better—but do not kill him. But it is of you that I wished to speak, Severus, not Harry Potter. You have been very valuable to me. Very valuable," stated Voldemort.

"My Lord knows I seek only to serve him. But—let me go and find the boy, my Lord. Let me bring him to you. I know I can—" started Severus.

"I have told you, no!" said Voldemort, and Severus caught the glint of red in his eyes as he turned again, and the swishing of his cloak was like the slithering of a snake. "My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"

"My Lord, there can be no question, surely—?" he said.

"—but there is a question, Severus. There is," stated Voldemort.

Voldemort halted, and Severus could see the Voldemort slide the Elder Wand through his white fingers, staring at him.

"Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?" inquired Voldemort.

"I—I cannot answer that, my Lord," he replied, face paling.

"Can't you?" accused Voldemort. "My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

"I—I have no explanation, my Lord," he said, trying to reassure his former master.

Severus was not looking at Voldemort now. His dark eyes were still fixed upon the coiling serpent in its protective sphere.

"I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore," said Voldemort.

And now Severus looked at Voldemort, and Severus's face was like a death mask. It was marbled white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

"My Lord—let me go to the boy—" pleaded Severus.

"All this long night when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here," said Voldemort, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner…. and I think I have the answer."

Severus did not speak.

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen," said Voldemort.

"My Lord—" said Severus, trying to keep his composure. The Dark Lord knew he had cast the curse that killed Albus Dumbledore, and believed him to be the master of the Elder Wand. However, both Harry Potter and he knew that Draco Malfoy had been the one to disarm Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower.

Severus had taken an Unbreakable Vow to protect the young Malfoy heir, but he also did not want the evil wizard standing before him to master the wand. He needed the Potter brat to stand a chance when they finally came face to face. If he said nothing, then the Dark Lord would assume he mastered the wand, and at the right moment, it would fail him, giving the Light its best chance.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner," said Voldemort. "You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."

"My Lord!" protested Severus, raising his wand.

"It cannot be any other way," said Voldemort. "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Severus, who for a split second hoped he might have been reprieved: but then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Severus could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

"Kill," ordered Voldemort.

Severus screamed as he was attacked; his face losing the little colour it had left. It whitened as his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and he fell to the floor.

"I regret it," said Voldemort coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding.

He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Severus, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. Voldemort swept from the room without a backwards glance, and the great serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.

The poison spread through Severus's body, and he found it hard to move. Blood was seeping out of his throat; he was sure he would die soon.

Back in the tunnel and his own mind, Harry Potter opened his eyes; He had drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in an effort not to shout out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.

"Harry!" his friend Hermione breathed behind him, but he had already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the air and drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could, he pulled himself up into the room.

Severus was shocked. He hadn't even known the boy was there, and he certainly didn't expect him to approach the dying man. Seemingly unsure, upon seeing Severus' white face, the boy moved his fingers to his neck, to staunch the bloody wood at his neck.

He had taken off his blasted invisibility cloak and was now looking down upon the man he hated. Severus' widening black eyes found the boy as he tried to speak. Harry bent over him, and Severus seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

He had to get this last message to the boy. He had to know.

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Severus' throat as he tried to speak.

"Take… it… Take… it…" he said pleadingly to the boy.

Something more than blood was leaking from him. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed from his mouth and his ears and his eyes. Harry seemingly knew what it was, but did not know what to do—

Suddenly, a flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hand by Hermione.

The boy lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim and Severus felt as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry's robes slackened.

"Look… at… me…" Severus whispered.

The green eyes found the black.

"Lily's eyes," he thought to himself. And they were not filled with hatred but were filled with compassion. He had never thought it possible.

Harry seemed shocked by the request, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Severus moved no more.

Everything went black momentarily until Severus was dazzled with a brilliant white light.