Sam had followed Harry, who had turned to look at him with grief filled eyes, nodding at his company. Harry stopped at the inset statue of a huge creature. Still getting used to this surprising new world, Sam took a quick step backward when the statue said, "Password?"
"Dumbledore," slid out of Harry's mouth and Sam watched awestruck as the stone structure slid to the side revealing a spiral staircase behind it. Slowly the two headed up the steps. At the top, Harry opened a smooth, dark oak door and Sam followed him into one of the most wondrous rooms he had ever seen. Small instruments of silver and gold filled glass cabinets and books lined every other wall of the circular office. There were massive frames that Sam assumed were usually filled with pictures but at the moment they were all empty.
Harry walked mechanically over to a small silver basin in an ornate wooden cabinet. Unstopping the vial, he dumped the silvery white cloud from the body of the murdered man into the dish. It looked like a mixture of smoke and water swirling in shades of black, white and gray. Harry turned to look at Sam with weary hopelessness in his eyes. Wanting to stand by his friend, Sam clasped him on the shoulder with a firm hand. Turning, Harry dipped his face into the mixture, Sam still holding his shoulder, startled.
They tumbled through space and clouds before they landed, staring around them. Standing at the end of a lonely looking playground, there were three shadowy figures in the distance. In fact, as Sam looked around, everything seemed to have a washed out, shadowy appearance to it. He furrowed his brows, looking at Harry as they stepped towards the figures on the playground.
"We are in a Pensive. It holds memories so you can watch them again. We are watching Snape's memories," Harry said in a soft, defeated voice. Sam stayed by his side as they watched the life of this small, seedy looking boy play out. Every so often the world around them would blur like smoke before becoming solid again, showing another scene, another memory.
Not fully understanding the meaning of all the scenes, Sam stood by his friend as he watched shock, anger, understanding, and regret play across his friends face. They were watching the man that had just died talk to the portrait of a man that looked very similar to the barkeep that had saved them. Sam assumed that must be Dumbledore. After their brief conversation, the world smeared gray again but when it refocused, they were standing back in the office and Harry was shaking where he stood.
Harry didn't move as Sam stood next to him, waiting for the turning tilting world to stand still. He had watched this little abused boy fall in love with a beautiful girl with fiery hair and eyes just like Harrys. While they had been friends, he had hurt her and she had fallen into the arms of another, a man with untidy black hair and a thin angular face. They had married and had a son named Harry. But that had been short lived…
And the pale weedy looking little boy that had grown into a slimy, severe man mourned her death, a death he had tried to prevent by betraying his master and groveling at the feet of a younger Dumbledore. Even after his death, Snape stayed true to the promise he had made, to follow Dumbledore in secret, turning spy against Voldemort. Dumbledore asked Snape to kill him to spare Malfoy the damage, so he had. Dumbledore had asked him to secretly deliver the sword to Harry, so he had. And Dumbledore had asked him, only when Harry was ready, to tell him that he was the last horcrux, the one that Voldemort never meant to make. That while Harry lived, a piece of Voldemort would always survive. So Snape had.
Sam understood. Harry was shaking violently, lowering himself to sit on the steps. What he hated, what he had spent all his life fighting against... was part of him. Sam connected in a way no one else could. Seating himself on the step by Harry, Sam spoke softly. Although the brothers had told the trio parts of their story, Sam never shared the deep connection that had pulled him down the road to Lillith and Lucifer; the demon blood. He talked about the darkness he felt and what giving into it had gotten him. Through everything, he just wanted Harry to know he understood what it felt like.
And he understood what Harry had to do.
"Sam... I don't want to die. But I don't want the people I love to hurt anymore. I have to..." Harry started, looking desperately at his friend.
"You have to do what is right to protect them," Sam said firmly, giving Harry the courage that he needed.
"I can't..." Harry was thinking of all the faces he would see on that long walk to the forest.
"Use the cloak, I will cover for you as best I can. Don't stop - it doesn't make it easier," Sam said recalling how devastating the few seconds with Dean had been before free falling in the pit with the devil.
Rubbing his face hard, Harry stared at his shoes for a long moment before getting up and sighing heavily. The long silvery cloak appeared in his hands and he started to pull it over his shoulders. Sam stood next to the young man walking to the firing squad. He knew how heavy those steps would feel and how much doubt would pour into Harry between now and then - doubt not driven because he was unsure, but because he was afraid.
"Harry, is there anything..." he said, knowing it was feeble.
"Make sure you kill the snake. And just...just tell them... when it's over... why. And that I love them; and I'm sorry," his jaw clenched on the last few words and his emerald eyes brimmed with held back tears. So much the same, all Sam could do was roughly hug Harry. Letting him go, Sam nodded, leading the way out of the office, listening to the soft rustle of Harry behind him. The swish of the cloak followed him almost to the hall and as Sam stepped back into the Great Hall. The door to the castle barely nudged open and froze. The battered figure of Neville froze for a moment outlined in the dim light. He nodded softly before continuing into the hall.
No one looked up at Neville and Sam. Except Dean, who hustled toward his brother, confused that he was alone.
"Where is Harry?" Sam looked at him, willing him to understand without words. His face tightened and his jaw clenched and Sam knew he understood.
"Dammit and you just let him go. Sam what were you..." Dean began angrily.
"Dean - there was no other way," Sam quietly explained why Harry had to do it, that there was a piece of Voldemort that would always survive otherwise. From the shadows near the wall where the brothers were huddled, a slim red-headed girl walked slowly toward them and Sam's heart fell to the floor.
"He's gone to the forest, hasn't he?" Ginny said in such a frail voice and the brothers would have given the world to have been able to lie to her. But their silence was enough and slow small tears streamed down her face. Hermione had noticed Sam was back and made her way over. She put her arms carefully around the silently sobbing Ginny, looking confused at the boys. No one said anything and Hermione rested her head on Ginny, trying to comfort her, only guessing at what sadness was still to come.
Time moved slowly over the next half hour. Sam and Dean, anxious and needing to move, set about the fields in front of the school. Together they carried the rest of the dead into the hall. Some bodies were small and frail; like dolls. Some were grown men and women left staring blindly at the world. Some were so damaged the brothers didn't try to discern much, keeping their eyes up as they carefully put the remains with the others.
When the fallen were gathered and the wounded treated, everyone sat in the Great Hall, a dark heavy weight hanging above them.
Dawn was not far off when that sick, penetrating voice shattered their reveries, invading them.
"Harry Potter is dead. He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone. The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you shall join me in the new world we will build together."
Fresh tears and looks of panic followed the voice and for a long moment, no one moved. Anger boiled in the brothers and they looked at one another, determined to finish that wizard if they died trying. Resolutely, they headed for the door and slowly made their way to the front of the castle. Bodies shifted and all those that could follow them from the hall poured numbly into the twilight.
Lining in front of the school, dark robed figures stood like a sentinel of doom. At the forefront, a tall pale man strode, the glittering ball containing the snake hovering near him. There was a huge figure with chains coming off of him carrying a small, still body.
As she cleared the first step, a heart wrenching, deeply broken scream came from McGonagall.
"NOOO!"
The spell broken, other grief stricken yells of "NO!" and "Harry!" pierced the air.
"SILENCE!" and that sickening, silky voice poked the Winchesters like hot wires. "You see? Harry Potter is dead!" and he paused as the ranks behind him howled and cheered. "Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"
"He beat you!" and Ron's voice ended the spell once more. The crowds on the steps of the castle started to yell and shout more in support before a huge crack restored silence.
"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds, trying to save himself..."
From the ranks in front of the castle a bloody figure in a sweater lunged forward with his wand. Voldemort knocked him to his knees, an island alone between those in front of the castle and the monster.
"And who is this?" he asked amused.
"Neville Longbottom," a disgusting, sharp female voice cracked from a mad looking witch. "The son of those Aurors, remember?" she purred.
"Ah, yes, I remember. But; you are pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?" Voldemort queried.
"So?" Neville spat.
And Voldemort tried more persuasive words on the boy, to which Neville gave more hostile replies. With each reply, the crowds behind him became braver and more resistant.
Voldemort snapped and a huge crash was heard from high above. Heads jerking up, they watched an old battered hat fly toward them. Voldemort spat more hateful words and the hat caught flame as it crashed onto Neville's head - he seemed unable to move.
Blood boiling and panic rising, Sam and Dean whipped their arms up unloading the bullets remaining in their guns at the white faced, slit eyed villain.
Hastily Voldemort deflected the bullets, two of them sinking straight into his followers. They crumpled and Voldemort never even glanced back.
The wand of the evil wizard was arched, pointing at the youngest Winchester.
"CRUCIO!" and the pain that ripped through him was indescribable. Sam stumbled back a step, gasping.
But like his brother, the fury burned in front of him, anchoring him beyond the pain. With wrath in his eyes he stared straight at the face of the murderer.
"Get bent!"
Voldemort stared at him dumbly for a fraction of a second; possibly the most important moment in the whole fight. For in that span, Neville broke free of the Body Bind. In a motion as fluid as light he whipped the burning hat off his head, his other hand catching a gleaming, ruby encrusted sword that had fallen from it. Swinging hard, Neville cut into the glittering ball containing the massive snake just near his master. The body of the serpent was sliced clean in two and its corpse fell hard to the ground, crumbling like ash.