Chapter 93: Discard the Mask

The stars shone brightly on this calm clear night. A rare night upon the highlands where no wind stirred. It was as if the land itself mourned alongside the teachers and students that lined the courtyard, their wands lit and raised to salute the passing of their headmaster.

Snape watched this unfold from his window, feeling loss claw once again at his heart. He could not mourn while others mourned. Not because he was reluctant to meet the eyes of his sorrowful peers, at least not just. There were questions to be carefully answered to people that walked the line between ally and enemy.

Investigators from the Ministry descended upon the school within minutes of Snape's summons, and the subsequent discovery of Albus' death by the professors and staff. Lily too had been among them, her eyes wide with shock, her crystal vial held tight in her shaking hand. Her eyes still upon him even as he was whisked away to his own office down the hall for questioning.

Snape's wand was surrendered within minutes of meeting those men. Suspicion no doubt fell upon him as the man who was discovered with the headmaster's body.

His wand, his dragon-heartstring core wand of ebony wood. Rigid, inflexible. It was said that the wand's nature matched that of its owner's. That a wizard with a rigid wand would be decisive. Unyielding. This wand that accompanied him through two lifetimes, relinquished with little resistance. A wand that would tell those men little more than the middling spells he had cast upon horrific creatures whose creation made mockery of death.

He found himself unable to answer many of the questions fielded by the inquisitors. His mind was too cluttered to sift through his answers. A simple recount was all he was able to give. That he and the headmaster had become surrounded by Death Eaters. That Dumbledore had fellen by spellfire shot by an unknown rank and file. That the man could not be brought to justice, for he was, in turn, murdered by the Dark Lord.

His memory was requested, to be held in the hall of justice to stand as witness for the moment. A spool of memory that would stand a better advocate than Snape could at that moment, or perhaps ever could. And in exchange for being left in peace, Snape paid that asked price. That moment of Dumbledore's death, immortalised in a vial to be kept in the halls of magical justice.

As reluctant as he was to part with his wand, he knew he could not reveal Albus' wand or let it from his possession. He hid it the moment he returned, behind the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. The Slytherin Headmaster, as caustic a tongue he possessed, knew how to hold it, in life and in legacy.

A wand of legend that he knew chose him to wield it the moment he touched it.

"You must take my wand if I fall," Albus had said before they left, so casually that they might as well have been discussing the weather.

"I won't let it fall into his hands," Snape had grumbled back as he had wrapped his trembling fingers about his own wand.

But those piercing blue eyes appeared knowing. Too knowing. "Do not just bury it. Wield it."

Snape scoffed, a little irritated by the thought, "I will not have a wand loyal to your slayer in my command, Albus. That you think it possible is quite frankly, insulting."

But that knowing glint in those blue eyes did not fade. "I think you'll find that death is not the worst you can do to a man. And the wheels you have set in motion will win you the wand's loyalty at my passing. It is inevitable that should I die that the loyalty of my wand should fall to you. After all, what grander prize is there for Tom to conjure his final Horcrux from than through my death?"

"That soul-trap is not of my creation," Snape had muttered, unable, at that time, to follow the headmaster's grand logic.

But it seemed that logic was as clear as day to Albus Dumbledore. "When a tree is cut, do you credit the maker of the axe, or its wielder?"

Despite Snape's doubts, it happened exactly as Albus said. The wand valued Snape's cunning. The trap he had paved the way for and laid, and the resulting devastation he laid to the Dark Lord's rank. But that Albus Dumbledore could follow the lines of fate crossing as it did. That he knew that it would not be himself, the mastermind of the endeavour, or Lily, the crafter of the weapon, or even either of the Carrow twins, the unknowing bearers that would be given credit for the festering blow struck. A cunningness beyond even what Snape could call to claim.

All who knew the headmaster would know what the wizarding world had lost. The brilliance of the man. The hope he stood for. What his absence meant for the war and the wizarding world. What his death meant to Snape…

This was the second time... The second time he lived to witness the aftermath. The second time he had lost a friend. Though he resisted labelling their relationship as such in life, there was no better word for it. Through two lifetimes, Albus had been the one soul that knew Snape for who he truly was. Who bore Snape's burden alongside him. He had already experienced once the bleakness of a world without Albus Dumbledore. There were no words to express the dread he felt.

He didn't know how long he sat in place after the Investigators left. Snape did not give any reason as to why and less still about the place or context. But enough. Enough to be left in peace for the night. Left alone, crippled and wandless. Alone with his thoughts and the fading lights outside his windows until there were only stars alone to hail the passing of the great man.

A soft click of the door latch brought Snape forth from his mired thoughts. Lily stood at the door, returned from her own mourning. Her lit wand still held in one hand, in her other, the crystal vial.

Those green eyes fell upon him and held for the longest time. He felt himself mentally brace, flinching from the eye contact as a man too weary of mind-arts would. But those tears that welled within those eyes disarmed him completely, as too the arms that fell about his shoulders.

For the longest minute, he held her as she sobbed. Felt her hands ball into fists upon his back as her tears stung his cheeks. He had no doubt those tears had been for him. The betrayal she must feel for his betrayal. He had promised…

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his one good hand braced upon her quivering back. "I should have told you face to face. I'm sorry." He clenched his crooked teeth, feeling every tear as a stab through his heart.

He felt her sobs cut with a sharp intake of breath as she pulled back so that she could meet his eyes. "You should have," she huffed, her voice unsteady. "I'm so relieved. I was so afraid," she sobbed, unable to stem the flow of tears.

Snape searched for her eyes. It was all he could do to hold himself back from delving beneath. She reached forward, brushing aside his hair, an inscrutable longing look within her tear-streaked eyes.

"Sev," she uttered, suddenly a whisper. "I didn't want you to die before you knew…" She took his one hand from about her and brought it between them, laying his palm upon her flat belly. A gesture that was not lost on Snape.

His breath caught. He felt his own heart beat pick up. He hung upon her words, as a smile touched his wife's beautiful tear-stained face. "You're going to be a father."

He could not put words to the emotions he felt in that moment. A thousand fears passed through his head yet none of them seemed to matter. Doubts too filtered through but only one passed his lips.

"Are you sure?"

A smile unexpectedly touched Lily's tired expression. "Are you doubting my brewing skills?"

Snape drew his arms about his wife, pulling her into his chest, holding her close so that she couldn't see the emotions that threatened to spill forth. Apprehensive joy mingled with the still raw sorrow.

This was a journey he had never taken in his first lifetime. One he had never had the chance to - or desired, if he were perfectly honest. When the chance arose, it was a daunting prospect. He had no true father figure in his life, none with any sort of reliability or permanence. Lily's father was the closest he had to such a man, but his presence had been brief and fleeting. That Snape should have to practise in this field where he had no prior knowledge or experience was a daunting thought in and of itself. The thought of failure sat upon his heart as a lump of cold dread. The thought of dooming a child to take after himself.

But those doubts could not find clear purchase upon Snape's heart today. He was so bled with loss that he could find naught but joy from the thought of new life. A child, born of his blood. That new life would begin when another would end…

"It's a boy, too," Lily whispered in his ear, breathy from her spent emotions. "We're going to have a son."

Snape closed his eyes, holding tight his wife. He did not believe in destiny, or any fate that would conspire to place the world in any form of order.

"Albus," Snape muttered, his breath tickling that lilac scented hair. "His name should be Albus."

Lily pulled back from his hold, her tear-filmed eyes shimmering in the candlelight as she searched his own, a smile flittering across her lips. "I can think of no name more fitting."

There were no classes to be had that following day, a trend that would likely continue with the weeks that followed. The official reason the days off had been authorised was to give the students time to grieve. The truth was, it was for the teachers. Dumbledore had been a pillar of Hogwarts for as long as any who walked this castle could remember. It was only the dead who could say otherwise.

Minerva took up the mantle of acting-headmaster. A formality, for this was her destined place, though far sooner than anyone would have liked, her most of all. A role Snape had usurped another lifetime ago, and he would be the first to confess he could not manage that role half as well as the two Gryffindors had.

Indeed, Snape would go as far as to say he would go down in history as the most hated headmaster that Hogwarts ever had. Not in least part due to the role he had in the headmaster's demise - or murder, as it were - conspired or otherwise.

This time, though complicit in the man's death, he was not made a pariah. Whispers sounded at the breakfast table, but no outright loathing or hostility came directed at him from the students or the teachers.

Minerva sat upon her usual seat, at the right hand of the throne where Dumbledore would have sat. Though appointed acting-headmaster, she was not yet ready to sit upon the throne at the centre of the table. No doubt a habitual decision, but committed to with sentiment. Nobody was yet ready to accept that the headmaster was gone. Her brows were creased by the pressures of the sudden change and the responsibility to follow, but her back remained straight, unbowed by what was expected of her. And experience gave Snape no reason to think otherwise. After all, this was the same woman who once drove Snape from this very role and assumed it in Hogwarts' greatest hour of need.

Already, the students began thinning at their tables. With the news of Albus' death, parents flocked to the school to retrieve their children. It was always said that the Dark Lord feared only Albus Dumbledore. A rumour that held more truth than any would truly ever know. With his death, there were no more guarantees for the denizens of the castle, and in that, there was wisdom in parents choosing to withdraw their children from Hogwarts' care.

Letters rained down upon the hall, carried by their feathered messengers. More letters from parents, no doubt, those who could not afford to make the journey themselves. Snape spotted Rawkas read his, brows creased in abject dismay, or perhaps from resting anxiety since learning the news. The younger Black, too, held a letter, his nonchalance of expression betrayed by the tremble in his hands as he clenched it in his fist. Crouch Junior also had a letter, though he had discarded it by the wayside to make way for his eggs. No doubt it had been composed by his mother, for Snape could not see the senior Crouch making time to write his son at such a calamitous time.

Snape felt a hand upon his, bringing him back to his untouched meal. Lily sat by his side, her smile as soft as her touch. "Your porridge is getting cold," she reminded him.

Snape glanced to her, unable to help a smile. Pregnancy did not change his wife in appearance, yet he could not help but feel aware of the new life that was developing inside her.

She withdrew her hand so that he might make use of his again. He had not yet had the opportunity to beg a silver conjuration from Madam Pomfrey. Down the table, Kettleburn was suffering the same ailment, having had to replace one of his limbs with his old prosthesis. The one leg that had been conjured by Albus Dumbledore, no doubt, with an equally amusing story to accompany its passing. But even the upbeat menagerie manager could not muster cheeriness so soon after tragedy.

Only Trelawney appeared not too out of sorts, chattering away to Filius Flitwick, not in the least. "I foresaw this. Did I not say two weeks ago that a great calamity would befall this school?" For a woman purportedly with second sight, she was certainly short-sighted as to when her prattling was unwelcome.

Among the staff, too, were notable absences. Pomona Sprout, for one. She had retreated to her quarters soon after the mourners retired the previous evening. She had not emerged since.

Potter, was also missing. Having taken leave as of immediate effect. No doubt in pursuit of the other members of the Order, scrambling to figure out what to do next.

What do they do next?

Snape took a sip of his rapidly cooling porridge, grimacing at the gluggy texture. He glanced at his wife, seeing her prod unenthusiastically at her toast and un-sauced eggs. She took a sip from her orange juice, taking to her forced hiatus from tea with a stoic acceptance.

When he and Lily had decided on this course, they engaged Poppy for advice. Though Snape had training in the healing and medicinal arts relative to potioneering, he had only ever known enough about the female birth cycle to know it lasted about nine months and the best methods to prevent it.

Embarrassment had followed Snape into that meeting with the matron, not least because he had little desire to discuss what went on in his bedroom with a respected colleague. At the very least he knew that Poppy was a discreet woman, never one to gossip or breach her patient's confidentiality.

They left that meeting with a loaned book on pre-natal care and a deep impression that any food remotely enjoyable was a hazard to an unborn baby's health. Though Snape had never cracked open that tome, he knew Lily had rifled through it whenever time allowed.

It was a terrifying thought, that he was soon to be a father. Nothing he ever did in his life had ever prepared him for this responsibility that now loomed upon a timer. His family, the only true family he'd ever had, was about to become significantly bigger, and far, far heavier.

Snape felt the pressure of the war more keenly than ever. Now that his child was on the way. Now that Albus was dead…

He needed it to end.

He got so close…

Snape pushed away his partially finished meal, feeling his stomach suddenly turn at the thought of what loomed before him. Lily's hand touched upon his yet again as he met her questioning green eyes.

"I don't feel hungry anymore," Snape muttered, honestly feeling quite queasy.

An understanding smile touched Lily's lips. "Go take a walk and clear your head, Sev. You've been through an ordeal."

Snape stepped from the high table, passing his fellow teachers as he walked, feeling their eyes rise to him and follow. Not just the teachers, but the student, too.

They wanted to know what happened. He did not need to be a Legilimens to know that.

Snape strode into the hallway, shrinking from the stares he felt drilling into him. He had no wish to speak of what happened that night. Failure still weighed upon him. The stress of the future, of what might be. Of the danger that might doom his family.

He could think of no solution to end it.

The only man that could had died pointlessly. They did not destroy the Horcrux; their mission remained unfulfilled.

Snape found himself paused at his office, his mind ticking away as his hopeless thoughts gave way to a biting determination. They still had a war to win. And though Albus Dumbledore was dead, the Order he created lived on. The Order of the Phoenix.

Men and women who possessed the determination and, for some, the skills needed to wage this war. A resource once wielded by Albus Dumbledore to wage the war to this point.

There was only one Horcrux left. One damnable thing anchoring that great evil to this world. A Horcrux worn around the neck of the Dark Lord…

There was little more that stealth and subterfuge could accomplish. They would need to face the Dark Lord himself to claim it.

It would take sacrifice, and strength, and so much luck. Most of all, it would need the Order.

It was not impossible to win.

Snape turned on his heel, marching for the Entrance Hall exit, with the destination of the Hog's Head Inn in his mind's eye.

When Lily had suggested her Severus take a walk, she honestly thought he was going to refuse that idea and sulk in their room. Fancy her surprise when she headed upstairs and found no hide nor hair of him in their quarters.

It took a moment for Lily to realise she could not sense him through her ring. She really ought to pay more attention to that lovely little trinket. It would have saved her the trip up to find him to drag him out for a therapeutic walk.

It was all a bit much last night. Between Albus dying and almost losing her husband, Lily felt her world set off kilter. But no matter how world-shattering it all had been for her, she could not imagine what it was like for Severus to have witnessed it all.

She wanted to spend some time with him. Perhaps it would be therapeutic for the both of them. She certainly had been yearning for some time by the lake. She missed those days. Surrounded by friends and blessed with time. She had so little time as a teaching aide. So few friends to visit the lake with.

As she descended the castle, Lily's brows furrowed with concentration. Trying to pick out her husband by that magically enchanted sixth sense. Either he was on the pinnacle of a tower or he had actually ventured out, into the daylight and sunshine.

Lily stepped out of the entry-hall doorway, taking in a grounding gulp of the crisp spring air. The frozen Scottish country scape was finally beginning to thaw. The snow was light upon the ground, built in little heaps where the sun did not reach. Where the snow had melted away, the freshest green had finally poked through. The first growth of new spring.

Though spring had finally begun, the chill of winter still clung to the air. The sun, unrestrained by cloud cover, took the edge off the chill. Thankfully, the Scottish winds had taken a merciful rest so that there was only the settled chill to contend with.

Lily set out into the grounds, feeling moisture soak into the cloth sides of her shoes from the soft melt-clogged grass. Birdsong filled the air, drifting from the wooded edge of the Forbidden Forest. Children's laughter drifted up from somewhere beyond Hagrid's hut, perhaps nearer to Kettleburn's paddocks, where the Winged Horses were expecting their spring foals.

A shock of colour captured Lily's sight. She turned to gaze at the greenhouses she spent seven years of her life in learning the craft of Herbology, knowing full well that there were no magical plants on the curriculum that gave off the array of colours she thought she saw. She squinted, trying to make out in the distance if the rainbow that danced about her eyes was a trick by the light. But there it was. A shock of pink, blues and yellows in contrast to the two-tones of the baby spring.

Lily picked her path towards the greenhouse, her curiosity piqued by the colours. As she drew closer, she began making out the gorgeous flowers on display within those glass prisms. Rows upon rows, boxes upon flower boxes of dazzling, not-yet-in-season flowers.

Lily stepped through into the greenhouse, feeling a muggy warmth wash over her and immediately chase out even the barest hint of a chill. The sweet scent assaulted her olfactory senses, as too did the vibrant colours, so welcome after so long a white winter.

From between the flowerboxes, Pomona Sprout popped out from her stoop. "Oh, Lily. Do come in and close the door. You're letting in a chill that does no good for any flower."

Lily stepped from the door and sealed it behind her. "They're beautiful, Pomona," she exclaimed, stepping close to smell the gorgeous white lilies.

"Why, thank you dear. They have come out well, haven't they?" the portly professor chuffed as she brandished her spade like a wand. "But it was honestly mostly the will of the wildflowers themselves. I just gave them a touch of encouragement with the Herbivicus charm."

"Well, the effort is appreciated, especially after such a long winter," Lily agreed, lavishing her attention on the gorgeous dappled yellow-lavender on another bed of irises.

Pomona beamed, "I'm glad you like it. It took me all morning to pot and cultivate."

"That's why you weren't at breakfast," Lily realised, her smile taking on a touch of relief. "We were worried you were still in mourning."

"Oh, I am, dear," Pomona admitted readily, her smile steady though now tinged with sadness. "And how better to honour Albus' memories than by growing the most beautiful Spring flowers for his funeral?" Tears welled up in her eyes though her smile was unwavering. "He loved the spring, did you know? Albus always said he loved the spring. A period of new life, he called it. The season when his graduating students found their wings and readied themselves for the world."

She wiped her tears with one muddy sleeve, streaking dirt across her face. "He never got to see the first days of this new Spring. Just a few more days."

Lily felt tears sting her eyes. "They're beautiful. I'm sure he'd appreciate it." It was a wonderful sentiment, really. A beautiful tribute to a friend lost.

"It was all Minerva's idea," Pomona humbly deflected. "She came down to see me early this morning and asked me if I could grow some flowers for Albus' funeral. It's being held on school grounds in two days' time, you know. Ministry's signed off on it. Albus is going to be laid to rest on that island in the centre of the lake."

"Buried on school ground?" Lily gasped. The very thought surprised her. She knew the headmaster's strong ties with the school but it honestly shocked her that they would bury the dead in a place for the raising and teaching of children.

"Laid to rest in the place he dedicated his life to," Pomona elaborated, not seeming to express the same concerns that Lily felt. "And if his spirit were to ever find itself still bound to our world, we would welcome him, too. Headmasters of the future would leap at the opportunity to be guided by the best."

The wizarding world always had a rather comfortable approach to death. Spirits already haunted the castle and were given free rein to interact with the living residents as they pleased.

Perhaps it was simply the muggle in Lily that shirked so from the shadows of the existentially terrifying. Wizards and witches seemed to relish delving headfirst into activities some in the muggle world would consider risky and downright dangerous. There was rumoured to be a whole section in the Ministry dealing with matters that could cause half of Lily's childhood neighbourhood to go into an existential crisis.

This was simply the way the wizarding world was. Traditional and old fashioned in some respects, but so outlandish in others. As someone adopted into the culture, it was not Lily's place to judge the idiosyncrasies of the magical world, but rather to adapt and accept them.

Instead, Lily conjured a spade of her own, determined to pave her own way through this tragedy. "Mind if I join you?"

The shadows stretched long in the waning hours as dusk settled upon Hogsmeade. Snape stood by the window of the upstairs room at the Hogshead Inn. Waiting.

He clicked open his pocket watch every few minutes. A sign of his impatience, or perhaps, more likely, his nervousness.

"I still don't understand why you didn't invite everyone in the Order," Potter's voice arose, grating on Snape's already rattled nerves. "If you call a meeting like this, it only makes sense you call everyone."

He had been the first to respond, along with Marlene McKinnon at that, appearing at the Inn within minutes of Aberforth's sent missive. Even though Snape had specified the meeting be at seven in the evening, and to not bring anyone other than themselves.

It took a moment of firm discussion, but Snape was able to separate Potter from his wife. They were both faithful to the Order, but Snape did not know McKinnon well enough to wager the war on her ability to keep a secret.

Potter, on the other hand, was a surprise candidate, even to himself. Their history itself was a testament to how that choice was entirely unexpected. But of the Order as it stood now, apart from Minerva and himself, only James had reason and leave to exist within the walls of Hogwarts. And he needed hands there, for the war he wished to wage could not be won on any ground other than that of Hogwarts.

He had gone to Aberforth first, seemingly the best candidate to lead the Order. He had spoken to Aberforth of his plan, spoke to him, at first, with reservations, keeping much of what laid behind it firm and close to his heart. In his mind was that voice of reason, reminding him that it was not with Albus he was speaking with. That he could not be candid. That his secrets must be guarded.

But Aberforth was not one easily persuaded, or one easy to deceive. The questions came, pointed. Snape answered what little that he could, without revealing too much. But then, he paused.

Why was he still keeping that secret?

Was it to protect himself and Lily? For that train had long left the station. He and his wife were hunted by the villain without any other recourse of the future except to win this war.

Was it to safeguard the source, and thereby, the extent of Snape's knowledge? It was true that intelligence was the greatest weapon an army could wield, but for that it must be available to be wielded. It must be available to those who led, for intelligence was useless to those without the full picture.

And ultimately, that they had knowledge of the Horcrux was no longer a mystery to the Dark Lord. That the information about what they were and how to destroy them become commonplace among their numbers could only now help them rather than hinder them.

In that, there were many in the Order that Snape would consider trustworthy. Many that could have faith placed in them to keep a secret and lead others. Many, rather than just the one, to know the truth about him.

Snape snapped closed again his pocket watch, feeling the weight of the minutes that were ticking close.

Potter sat at the table, a mug of sour ale in hand, waiting as patiently as his Gryffindor nature allowed. That Snape placed his name upon the list for those he would have summoned for this meeting baffled himself as much as, he was certain, any who knew them.

But that much of their past was behind them.

Potter possessed the qualities of a leader, someone who could inspire others to do as Snape never could. He had a brain, and bravery and the ability to keep a secret. And if he were even a fraction similar to his son, then Snape knew he had the determination to do what must be done.

He was on the list, joining the leadership of the Order to hear what Snape had to say. To learn the secret of the machinations between himself and Dumbledore and the truth from where such knowledge came.

Just two years ago, such a line of thought would have been impossible for Snape. Perhaps even one year ago, he could never agree to such an assessment. A change in his heart he had never thought possible.

Snape clicked closed his pocket watch for the final time, tucking it away into his pocket to free his hand. He was still without a conjured prosthesis, but even that felt like a secondary concern.

The sounds of arrival began first with a dull pop from the floor below. Slowly, more pops followed, as too did the creaking of boots on those old wooden steps. The first to push through that door was Minerva McGonagall, a woman so inundated with the chaos and responsibility of a newly inaugurated leader of a school reeling fresh from a tragedy. The dark circles under her eyes told a story of a woman determined to place herself below the needs of everyone she was now responsible for. And yet, despite that, she had still made time to throw her hat in with the Order.

Behind her stepped Edgar Bones, always prompt and by the letter. Snape inwardly confessed he knew little about the man except by what he had seen this lifetime around, but in another lifetime the Dark Lord had personally seen the end to this Auror, as well as his family. For such personal attention, he could not be anything other than a man firm and strong of the light, and one that Snape wanted on side.

Moody followed suit, a step slow and wary as he stepped quickly into the room, glancing to all four corners before he chose a space on the floor to stand. There was no question that Moody was a man to call upon. Though he lacked certain qualities of charisma that leaders needed, there was little doubt that men would follow his lead if needed. His skills were legendary, a spectre of terror among the Death Eaters that Snape had once served with. Though legends of Albus' skill in his prime still painted the headmaster as the winner in any hypothetical gamble, there were definite questions as to who would be the winner in a contest between the two as they had both existed.

Lily was the last to appear, following a gruff and frowning Aberforth. She stepped to his side, her clear eyes questioning. Her skin seemed a shade tanner than when he left her that morning; no doubt she had spent her morning outdoors. He immediately took her hand, feeling a fraction of relief to find them warm.

"I've gathered you all here today to speak of where we stand in this war, what has been done, and what is left to do," Snape began, suddenly feeling unwilling to slip his hand from that of his wife. "Some of you know, or at least suspect that Albus and I have collaborated in secret. This much is true. And in secret too, we have acted. Several times. The final of which ended in a way we now all mourn."

He paused a moment. Centring himself and preparing his thoughts for what he wished to say.

"I will speak today, of everything that Albus and I conspired to do. I implore you to not take what you hear today beyond the threshold of this door." Snape paused, gathering himself. "But for you to understand what I need to say, I need to speak the truth of myself. I am not who you think I am."

Snape felt Lily's fingers tighten about his. She likely sensed what he was trying to say, what he was setting out to do.

"This is the second time I've waged this war, and I known the fate of every man and woman who now stands before me."

A/N: Sorry for the late updates. I've been finding time hard to come by these past few years since getting my current job.

A thank you to my Beta readers Sattwa100 and thrawnca for your work on this chapter.

Next Update: Saturday 25th April 2021.

Chapter 94: Upon the Horizon

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe and do not seek to profit in any way, shape or form from this fan work.