Chapter 29: Necessary Evils

"Whatever happens, stay here. Don't come out until morning."

The cat gave Severus an exasperated look, which was easy enough to interpret. She thought he was overreacting, being as she could simply transfer to another animal if necessary. Well, that was irrelevant as far as he was concerned. He wasn't willing to take any chances.

"Stay here," he repeated as the noises above increased in intensity. "If I can't come back for you… "

He was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

"If I can't come back for you," he said with more urgency. "Find me."


Severus had known it would be tonight.

As such, he'd hardly been surprised when Dumbledore had informed him he was going on a secret mission and would be taking Potter along. Nor had it been a shock when Draco disappeared for hours, or when Order members infiltrated the school, swearing up and down that they were just there to provide a little extra security.

Understanding the role he was meant to play, he'd kept to his office, knowing neither of his masters intended him to be in the thick of the battle. Not tonight.

Throughout the afternoon and early evening, he'd waited, doing his best to preserve his strength for the trials to come. Up until tonight, he hadn't thought about killing Dumbledore in anything but the most abstract terms… hoping, always hoping that by some miracle, he'd be saved from having to do it at all.

But he was beyond salvation now. He'd known that as soon as he'd heard the commotion on the floors above – frantic shouting, curses ricocheting off the walls. Shielding himself, he tried to ignore it, struggled to suppress his fear for the children along with the instinct to rush to their defense. No, he couldn't do that… had to wait for a signal. It would be too much of a risk to show himself until the last possible moment.

"Stay out of it, Severus. Remain neutral until you have no other choice."

Had the Dark Lord told him that, or had it been Dumbledore? He hurried to open the door, unnerved that he couldn't quite remember anymore.

"Come quickly, Severus, come quickly!" Flitwick cried, looking up at him with wide, trusting eyes. "Death Eaters in Hogwarts… never thought I'd see the day!"

Stupefy.

The spell was nonverbal and lightning swift. Flitwick would've never known what hit him. Of course, that didn't make Severus feel less guilty for striking down a man who'd been a trusted colleague. His only consolation was that Flitwick would be safe down here… the Death Eaters would've been warned to stay away from the dungeons.

He had no time to wonder why Granger and Lovegood were hanging around outside his office, both jumping in fright as he emerged into the corridor. "Professor Flitwick," he said as he strode past them. "Collapsed. Shock, I think. Stay down here and see to him."

Two more lives that might be saved? He hoped so.

Relieved that the corridors were more or less deserted, he streaked up one flight of steps, followed by a second and a third, wand drawn and ready in case he had to fight his way through. But it was an unnecessary precaution – the Order members were already fully engaged with their Death Eater opponents, neither treating him like a threat on the assumption that he was on their side. Dodging a few poorly aimed hexes, he slipped past them, straight up the stairs, emerging onto the ramparts above.

The scene was much as he'd expected – a handful of Death Eaters, their expressions savage and hungry for blood. And there was Draco, looking more than ever like a frightened child, which of course, was exactly what he was. And Dumbledore… holy fuck, he looked half dead already, slumped against the wall like he didn't have the strength to hold himself upright. They'd tortured him after all then, even though he could've only been up here a matter of minutes before Severus had arrived? No, no time to think about that. No time to care.

And at this moment, he didn't. All he could think about was the pain, the awful futility of the bargain he'd entered into in good faith. Years upon years of manipulation, concealment, outright lies… resentment simmered deep in his chest, threatening to boil over like an overheated cauldron, and in a flash, he knew he could do it, that he was more than capable of the seething hatred required to deliver the curse to full effect.

"Severus… "

But with that broken whisper, he realized this hatred wasn't directed at Dumbledore himself, for all that the headmaster was both a source of his pain and his intended target. No, this enmity ran far deeper than that… hatred for a world where such extreme measures were necessary in the first place. So many souls lost or forever scarred, so much unnecessary suffering, so much potential squandered… and for what?

He no longer saw Dumbledore's face, taut and ashen as the old man prayed for death. No… there were too many others crowding his consciousness now, phantom visages of those who hadn't been half so ready to meet their untimely ends. So much destruction, so much waste… all to satisfy a monster's relentless appetite for cruelty, his insane determination to live forever no matter the cost.

No, Dumbledore shouldn't have to sacrifice his life on Voldemort's behalf, any more than Severus should have to deliver the killing blow. Neither of them were truly responsible for what was about to happen. He couldn't fault Dumbledore, who put a handful of lives on the line in the effort to save countless others. No… Severus couldn't even blame himself, with all his foolish mistakes and past regrets. Somehow, he'd never understood the underlying truth in his struggle for redemption, his ceaseless determination to pay penance for another man's sins.

Voldemort was at fault here. No one else.

The Dark Lord was the only one who could've prevented this. Maybe Severus wouldn't have been prevailed upon to carry out this awful deed if he'd acted differently, perhaps Dumbledore could have chosen an alternate solution. But the cruelty, the misery, hundreds of innocent lives snuffed out and countless more to follow… all of that had been inevitable from the day the future tyrant had drawn his first breath. Voldemort's world was one of unspeakable injustice, and would remain so unless Severus, Dumbledore, and Potter, did everything in their power to stop it. None of them had asked to be at the forefront, but now that they were, they had no choice but to step forward and accept their fate.

"Severus… please… "

Stay focused, the old man's eyes seemed to say. Remember what it is you're really trying to kill.

"Avada Kedavra!"


"Out of here, quickly."

Severus slammed his shields into place, struggling to block out the sickening visual of Dumbledore tumbling over the ramparts, illuminated by a flash of green light. Dumbledore, dead at his hands, features frozen in an expression of gratitude that was somehow more excruciating than abject terror would've been.

No… mustn't think about it. Not that that could be avoided entirely, but at least if he Occluded for all he was worth, it dulled the pain somewhat. Don't think about it, keep moving… get the boy to safety… remember that you yourself are essential… only you can protect them now…

As he herded Draco back into the stairwell, he caught a glimpse of Potter. The boy's expression was full of shock, utter revulsion, but for the first time, it stirred no similar sentiments in Severus. All he could do was lift the spell that was holding Potter captive, vaguely hoping that he wouldn't get himself killed with all the Death Eaters crawling the halls.

"It's over, time to go!" he bellowed, hoping to put an end to the bloodshed before any further damage was done. "Out now, out! All of you!"

His own path was unobstructed, since it was too soon for the Order to know what he'd done. He escorted Draco out of the castle, eyes straight ahead, ignoring the destruction he encountered along the way. Save Draco… save yourself…

"Get back to your tower," he snarled at a group of terrified Ravenclaws, moments before he blew the front doors wide open with a resounding bang.

"Come, Draco. Faster now… "

Severus had anticipated Potter's pursuit, hardly surprised when a shout of "Stupefy" rang out behind him followed by a jet of red light that missed him by a mile. Well, as much as he'd hoped to avoid this particular confrontation, perhaps it was a good thing. It gave him an excuse to provide at least some manner of protection until the other Death Eaters had departed.

"Run, Draco!" he shouted, even as he stopped in his tracks.

Turning to face Potter, he was taken aback by the boy's expression, wild eyed and twisted in fury. This, too, should have been expected, but in the hellish glow of Hagrid's burning cabin, he looked almost demonic, every bit as savage as the Death Eaters who were closing in behind him. Such was the power of hatred… or perhaps, the power of love. Sometimes it wasn't so easy to tell them apart.

"Cruc… " Potter tried, once, twice, easily thwarted with each attempt.

"No Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter!" Severus snarled. "You haven't got the nerve or the ability… "

"Incarc… "

Potter's greatest weakness… if he'd ever learned to control his emotions, his assaults would've been much more effective. Why had Dumbledore not made more of an effort in that direction? Come to that, why hadn't Severus insisted on continuing with their Occlumency lessons? Pointless questions at this late date, he supposed.

Lazily, almost amused, he blocked the spell.

"Fight back!" the boy screamed, quite out of control now. "Fight back, you cowardly… "

But then Severus had a weakness, too. He flinched from the word, seethed at the hypocrisy of it coming from that mouth in particular.

"Coward, did you call me, Potter? Your father would never attack me unless it was four on one. What would you call him, I wonder?"

"Stupe… "

More deflection. Another taunt. Severus could've kept it up all night if he hadn't reminded himself of the precariousness of the situation, the need to escape before the Ministry showed up. The last thing he needed was another bloody battle on his hands, or worse, a short trip to Azkaban where he would be of no use to anyone. He shouted commands to the other Death Eaters, simultaneously deflecting another curse.

And then Potter went down, screaming in agony, his body contorting on the thick summer grass. Severus was bewildered, certain he'd done nothing to inflict the least bit of pain. But of course, it wasn't him at all. He'd been so intent on their exchange that he hadn't noticed the Carrows had closed in, wands extended, faces lit up with malicious glee as Potter screamed and screamed, the sounds of his anguish chipping away at shields that were supposed to be impenetrable.

"No!" The word felt as if it were ripped from his throat. "Have you forgotten our orders? Potter belongs to the Dark Lord. We are to leave him! Go! Go!"

It was the worst possible time to recognize the truth… that he did care about the boy… that somewhere deep down, Dumbledore had been right all along. Why? Why?! Why now… indeed, why the bloody hell had it happened at all, but WHY NOW?!

No time to think about it. Potter was up again, staggering toward him, raising his wand…

"Sectum… "

Deflected. He was close enough now to anticipate the next spell, verbalized or not. And of course, it would have to be Levicorpus. Deceptively harmless…

"You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus."

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"

Capable of destroying everything.

"No, Potter!" he screamed, sending the boy flying with the sheer force of his deflection. Infuriated, he stalked forward, staring down at him with what must've been all of the pain, all of the helpless fury he'd suffered for more than twenty years, finding its climax in that single word and all it represented. "You dare use my own spells against me, Potter? It was I who invented them – I, the Half-Blood Prince! And you'd turn my inventions on me like your filthy father, would you? I don't think so… no!"

Potter dove for his wand, but Severus aimed a quick hex, sending it skittering away into the darkness. His shields were slipping, almost depleted now… tired, so tired, sick of it all. Fucking Gryffindors. Couldn't the idiot boy see that the fight had been lost before he'd thrown the first hex? It was as if he wanted Severus to strike him down, just to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd been right all along.

As if confirming this, Potter stared up at him defiantly. "Kill me then. Kill me like you killed him, you coward… "

"DON'T CALL ME A COWARD!"

Had he intended to say something else? He'd never know… those final moments would always be a blur, a mishmash of intense, overwhelming emotion, so painful that the hippogriff's claws could do nothing to touch it.

And then he was running, running, desperate to escape it all…


Five minutes later, Severus came back to himself, almost surprised to find himself in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. He wiped the blood from his face, hardly noticing the deeper, more painful scratches on his arms and shoulders. His robes were in tatters, but all of this seemed to be of no account.

It was over.

And yet it wasn't, was it? No… Dumbledore's death was only the beginning.

"Come forward, Severus. Take a seat."

He looked up to find Voldemort sitting at the head of the long table, surrounded by loyal followers. His expression was triumphant, cruel mouth practically salivating in anticipation as Severus took a step toward the closest empty chair.

"No, not there! Next to me. Scoot down, Bellatrix… there's a good girl. Wormtail! Bring Severus a glass of wine."

The rodent bobbed his head and scurried out of the room.

"Now," the Dark Lord hissed after Severus had settled himself in his newfound place of honor. "Tell me everything. Better yet, show me."

Shields! Shields! Severus had no idea where he found the strength after everything he'd been through that night, but He managed it somehow, giving the Dark Lord access to a somewhat modified version of events. All of the hatred, all of the fury, twisted to make it seem like it was directed at Dumbledore himself when he'd cast the Killing Curse. Gratitude… not because his terrible task had been completed, but portrayed as if he was glad the headmaster was dead.

And Potter… that was easy. Severus concealed all traces of conflicted emotions, replacing them with open hostility. But would it be enough?

The Dark Lord withdrew, far more gentle than usual, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. "I'd like to take another look at that in the near future. Brilliant, truly. You have done well, Severus, exceeded all expectations. You will be rewarded for your faithful service."

Severus inclined his head. "My lord."

"As for you, Draco… " The Dark Lord's voice was suddenly colder, taking on a menacing edge. "Failed in your very first task. What future can you have in my service?"

"My lord, may I speak?"

"Of course, Severus. I think we'd all agree that you've earned that honor."

"Young Mr. Malfoy here was instrumental in our success this evening. He showed a great deal of ingenuity in repairing the cabinet that allowed our reinforcements to infiltrate the castle. Without him… "

The Dark Lord's expression was inscrutable. "And yet he did not complete the one task that had been assigned to him. Fenrir tells me he had the perfect opportunity, and still, he loses his nerve."

Severus took a deep breath, knowing he was pushing his luck. "Yes, my lord. But the boy is only 17, and has been in Dumbledore's custody for the better part of six years. He… "

"Are you saying this is an issue of divided loyalties?" The Dark Lord looked furious at the thought.

"No, no, not at all. But we all know what Dumbledore is – was. He could manipulate any situation to his advantage, lead even the most cynical mind to defy logic and believe whatever he chooses."

"But not you, Severus."

"No," Severus said softly. "Not me." And then noticing that the Dark Lord was smiling again, clearly pleased to be reminded of his triumph, Severus pressed on. "It is hardly the boy's fault that he has been under such… flawed tutelage for all these years. Does he not deserve the chance to prove what he's capable of now that he's free from that influence?"

There was a long silence, and then finally, "Very well, Severus. Very well. I will not penalize the boy this time. But be aware that my clemency is a favor to you. Certainly not to his father, who is still in disgrace."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"And thank you, Severus. Your actions tonight might very well have won this war."

The Dark Lord's most trusted servant shared that hope… though certainly not in the way his master intended.


Severus didn't make it back to Spinner's End for several days.

First he'd had to endure the celebrations, an appalling combination of alcohol, orgies, and Muggle torture. Fortunately, he'd been spared from participating thanks to a feigned illness related to his hippogriff injuries. Unfortunately, this convenient excuse had left everyone with the impression that he was too sick to travel.

Following his supposed recovery, he'd taken the enormous risk of returning to Hogwarts, wanting to be there for Dumbledore's funeral, or at least to observe from a distance. It was a very Gryffindor thing to do, equal parts stupid and sentimental, but he couldn't help himself. Dumbledore had been his mentor, his guide… occasionally, even his friend.

Now that his resentments were gone, or at least buried by grief, all Severus could remember was the chance he'd been given. Not quite the one he'd requested, of course, but a chance to do something… a sense of purpose that had kept him from getting killed or winding up in Azkaban.

Indeed, he had to be grateful for that, for her sake if not his own. Lily. How could he have known at the time that survival would mean so much more than protecting her son? A chance, however unlikely it seemed, to bring her back to the life that had been stolen from her?

That was the other reason he'd come back here. Not to retrieve Lily herself – she'd be gone by now, on her way back to Spinner's End if she hadn't arrived already. No, he'd returned for crucial supplies, hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest, a second shot where the first had failed.

When the sun began to set, he took the risk of moving closer, hovering over the trees as he watched the last of the stragglers depart. And then at last, he knew it was as safe as it was ever going to be.

Soon enough, he was on his way with the sack of mandrakes carefully concealed beneath his robes.

As much as he hated the place, Spinner's End came very close to being a welcoming sight this time around. Only here would he have the chance to rest and recover, regain his strength before taking part in the Dark Lord's newest ambition. But more than that…

"Lily?" he called softly as soon as he'd closed the door behind him.

No noise, no movement. The shabby little house was as silent as a tomb.