Written Sept. 7 & 8, 2011

Disclaimer: This is fan -fiction. That means I possibly own the plot and nothing else. I do not own Harry and Co.

Chapter One: Harry's Dream

The distant sounds of battle were muffled in the room with peeling wall paper. The flickering oil lamp cast writhing shadows across the wall and spell light from the battle was occasionally visible though the only window not boarded over.

The Dark Lord Voldemort stood in the gloomy squalor ignoring the ragged form in the darkest corner. His thoughts were on much more important things than a single wretched man. His very soul was in danger. His pale, spidery fingers rolled his wand as he brooded over the room in the castle, surely still a secret. After all it had taken years for him to find it, and Dumbledore's puppet was only lucky. The boy had come far; He would give the boy that, farther than his wildest imaginings had allowed. But his wildest imaginings had not predicted his spell rebounding nearly sixteen years ago, or his ten year stint as a bodiless wraith. Surely the boy would not have searched as diligently, was not cunning enough, not clever enough… And yet the boy had come too far…

"My Lord," Malfoy's voice, desperate and cracked interrupted him. He turned: The beaten form of the once arrogant pureblood pleasantly greeted his snake like eyes. Or the sight would have been pleasant but for thoughts of Potter. "My Lord… please… my son…"

"If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he decided to befriend Harry Potter?"

"No - never," whispered Malfoy, fear for his son evident in the desperate swiftness of the words.

"You must hope not."

"Aren't - aren't you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?" asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. "Wouldn't it be… forgive me… more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?"

"Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will come to find me."

Voldemort dropped his gaze once more to the wand in his fingers. It troubled him… and those things that troubled Lord Voldemort needed to be rearranged…

"Go and fetch Snape."

"Snape, m-my Lord?"

"Snape. Now. I need him. There is a- service - I require from him. Go."

Frightened, stumbling a little through the gloom, Lucius left the room. Voldemort continued to stand there, twirling the wand between his fingers, staring at it. A shift to look at Nagini brought the faint clink of glass to his ears. He would use the contents of those potion vials tonight, for this…

"It is the only way, Nagini," he whispered to the great, thick snake. She twisted gracefully within the enchanted, protected space he had made for her, a starry, transparent sphere somewhere between glittering cage and tank. She had no words of reproach for him, but she seldom did.

He had no desire to kill Snape, save that the Elder wand must be his. The man was more intelligent than many of his other servants, more talented, and had proven himself more loyal and trustworthy than any other; it would be a pity to kill him. Such a waste…

His thoughts turned from Snape briefly to the battle. He would join the fray himself soon, he must be patient. He would offer them time first, present them perhaps an hour as mercy, perhaps say that they might collect the dead and heal the injured… Yes, that appealed to him. Let them gather their forces, gather the entire resistance together. Then he would attack himself, and strike the entire resistance down. Individually they meant little to him now and soon he would have true mastery of the elder wand as well. What meant little now, would mean nothing later, and they would be swept away like chaff in the wind. Every man, woman and child that dared to defy him would soon, so soon face his wrath; he need only wait a little longer. Need only to wait for Snape, then he would give the resistance an hour to send Potter.

"Wait for Snape…" Harry mumbled… "For Snape." He blinked blearily around at the red curtains and bedspreads and it took him a moment to remember that he was in his bed Gryffindor tower. Remember that there would be no more waiting on Snape. Snape was dead, killed by Nagini at Voldemort's direction. Something from his dream nagged at him, but it was slipping away like morning mist. "What was it?" He frowned, it was important, Snape… His body was still out there, that was important. But there was something else, something about glass. Glass clinking? Vials clinking- potions! Voldemort had somehow dosed Snape with potions. Why would Voldemort have given Snape potions before killing him? Harry supposed, rubbing sleep dust from his eyes and reaching for his glasses, that for all he knew there could be a million and one dark things that could be done to a body after it was dead. But as far as Harry knew for sure, potions were for the living. Could Voldemort have meant for Snape to live? Make Snape think he was going to die, but really only make him seem like he died?

Harry was horrified. What if Snape was alive, but dosed with Draught of Living Death or some such? Left lying in a pool of his own blood? He thrashed off his covers and fell on the floor. His temporary loss of breath knocked some sense into him. He couldn't just go raring off, if he came back with Snape, they might assume Snape was just a Death Eater and let him die, or maybe heal Snape, give him some farce of a trial and haul him off to Azkaban. Harry just lay still for a moment; he needed some sort of plan. Harry still didn't want to be sucked into some triumphant, grieving crowd; so he couldn't be seen. Harry pushed himself of the floor, pulled back on his invisibility cloak. Alright he wouldn't be seen. What next… Tell someone where he was going, no reason to scare his friends by leaving an empty bed.

He raised his wand, only to stare at the elder wand still in his hand along with his holly and Malfoy's hawthorn. Perhaps it would be best to use the more powerful wand to make sure the message Patronus worked? He had never learned exactly how the spell was meant to be cast for speaking, but intent and power should go a long way to making it work. He hesitated no longer, Snape could be dying if he was indeed still alive at all, but there was no more time to plan. Harry cast his Patronus with the elder wand as he walked down the spiral staircase.

The moment the silver stag stood before him, brighter than ever before but somehow blurred, he spoke, "Hermione, Snape may still live, I am going to see. Find a place where he may be kept safe, should he be alive. Ask Madame Pomfrey to stand by for farther word. Do not allow her to tell the Aurors. He must not be taken." He noticed vaguely, as he stepped out the Portrait hole and the stag bounded away, that the Fat Lady had still not returned. Perhaps it was not too much later, perhaps not too much time had passed between Nagini's bite, Voldemort's attack on the castle inhabitants. Maybe Harry's nap would not be the reason Snape was dead, if not too much time had passed.

He could only hope that Snape's death would not be on his hands.