This is the last part of the Snape series. I'm not superstitious, so I'm not worried about ending it on thirteen. This is written much in the style of 'And Destiny Calls,' and is written from Snape's POV six months after Harry surrendered to Voldemort. After this story, in order they'd be:
'And Destiny Calls,'
'Destiny's Choice,'
'Truth of Destiny,'
and 'A Change of Destiny'
This was it. The end. With Dumbledore gone and Harry turned to the Darkness he'd fought for so long, there was no hope for us. I could see why he'd done it, though. Ron was in Voldemort's so-called 'inner circle,' and Hermione was gone. There was no reason, really, for him to risk his life for a world that no longer mattered to him.
I could see it his eyes, the pain that not even Voldemort could completely train out of him. He didn't like what he was doing, but he no longer had a reason to stop. It was all about the power now, all about the glory. All about freeing himself from the guilt for things he could never change. Me, for instance.
I was on Voldemort's side. I had very little choice. Harry was one of Voldemort's, and I had sworn to protect him, come what may. I had my hopes, I admit, that he was merely biding his time. Just waiting for the right moment to strike. But those hopes had gone, leaving me with only the feeble wish that he couldn't remember what it had been like before Voldemort's take-over. Those memories could destroy him, I knew. Even if he couldn't change things, he would blame himself, just like he always had. And by now, it was too late, even for me. Especially for me.
Maybe it was the simple realization that even Harry had eventually bowed before the Dark Side's supremacy. I don't know for certain. But something had changed me, changed me so completely that even if Voldemort was defeated, I could not go back to life I'd known. I'd succumbed to the simple realization that, for all practical purposes, the Light Side was gone, and there was no going back.
The Harry I'd known had died the same night Albus Dumbledore had, and I'd gone with him. It was jinxed, I thought sometimes. The Light Side was destined to lose, Voldemort was destined to win. Think about it. We'd thought he was gone, and yet by the end of Harry's fourth year, he was back, as strong as he ever was.
At least, I mused, my double-agent role had never been discovered. Soon after Voldemort had ordered me to secure Harry's downfall, he had given up on that and gone for all out war. We'd held out for almost six years, but in the end, we'd lost. Voldemort had been too strong. It seemed ridiculous that we could've ever hoped to win; Voldemort was far more ruthless than I'd ever hoped to be.
I briefly wondered if there were still some wizards resisting Voldemort's rule. It wasn't impossible, even in these troubled times, and I half-hoped there were. There were enough wizards that weren't accounted for to have a fairly large resistance force. Sirius, Lupin, Neville, and Ginny were among them. I said a silent prayer that nothing would happen to them. Assuming, of course, that they were alive at all.
They probably thought I was a traitor. Not that I blamed them; if I were them, I'd be thinking that very thing. Soon after Harry'd been captured, I'd gone back to Voldemort, with the intention of freeing Harry and getting out. But I'd been too late, just like I'd been too late for his parents. And, knowing that resistance would be futile, I had stayed.
I was a fool. Better to have fought and . . . and died, if it had come to that. I'd always felt that dying was the worst thing that could happen to a person, but I'd proved myself wrong. What was worse, what was far worse, was seeing gentle Harry being turned into Voldemort's chosen heir. I'd never imagined Harry like this, never imagined that he was even capable of . . .
I was afraid for him. Even though I feared what he'd become, I knew he would still resist if he felt he had something to fight for. Should Voldemort realize that, he'd do anything necessary to protect his still fragile hold on this world. And if I came to that, I knew for a fact that I couldn't protect Harry from Voldemort's wrath.
If only there was some real hope for the Light Side. By now, I would gladly welcome the sight of even Sirius, because I'd know that I wasn't alone in my fight. But for all I knew, I could be the last of us. The last voice of the Light Side. The last hope for Harry's future.
And as I stood under the night sky, staring up at the star for which Sirius Black had been named, I said a silent prayer for all that had been, and a quiet plea for all that would be . . . .
'And Destiny Calls,'
'Destiny's Choice,'
'Truth of Destiny,'
and 'A Change of Destiny'
This was it. The end. With Dumbledore gone and Harry turned to the Darkness he'd fought for so long, there was no hope for us. I could see why he'd done it, though. Ron was in Voldemort's so-called 'inner circle,' and Hermione was gone. There was no reason, really, for him to risk his life for a world that no longer mattered to him.
I could see it his eyes, the pain that not even Voldemort could completely train out of him. He didn't like what he was doing, but he no longer had a reason to stop. It was all about the power now, all about the glory. All about freeing himself from the guilt for things he could never change. Me, for instance.
I was on Voldemort's side. I had very little choice. Harry was one of Voldemort's, and I had sworn to protect him, come what may. I had my hopes, I admit, that he was merely biding his time. Just waiting for the right moment to strike. But those hopes had gone, leaving me with only the feeble wish that he couldn't remember what it had been like before Voldemort's take-over. Those memories could destroy him, I knew. Even if he couldn't change things, he would blame himself, just like he always had. And by now, it was too late, even for me. Especially for me.
Maybe it was the simple realization that even Harry had eventually bowed before the Dark Side's supremacy. I don't know for certain. But something had changed me, changed me so completely that even if Voldemort was defeated, I could not go back to life I'd known. I'd succumbed to the simple realization that, for all practical purposes, the Light Side was gone, and there was no going back.
The Harry I'd known had died the same night Albus Dumbledore had, and I'd gone with him. It was jinxed, I thought sometimes. The Light Side was destined to lose, Voldemort was destined to win. Think about it. We'd thought he was gone, and yet by the end of Harry's fourth year, he was back, as strong as he ever was.
At least, I mused, my double-agent role had never been discovered. Soon after Voldemort had ordered me to secure Harry's downfall, he had given up on that and gone for all out war. We'd held out for almost six years, but in the end, we'd lost. Voldemort had been too strong. It seemed ridiculous that we could've ever hoped to win; Voldemort was far more ruthless than I'd ever hoped to be.
I briefly wondered if there were still some wizards resisting Voldemort's rule. It wasn't impossible, even in these troubled times, and I half-hoped there were. There were enough wizards that weren't accounted for to have a fairly large resistance force. Sirius, Lupin, Neville, and Ginny were among them. I said a silent prayer that nothing would happen to them. Assuming, of course, that they were alive at all.
They probably thought I was a traitor. Not that I blamed them; if I were them, I'd be thinking that very thing. Soon after Harry'd been captured, I'd gone back to Voldemort, with the intention of freeing Harry and getting out. But I'd been too late, just like I'd been too late for his parents. And, knowing that resistance would be futile, I had stayed.
I was a fool. Better to have fought and . . . and died, if it had come to that. I'd always felt that dying was the worst thing that could happen to a person, but I'd proved myself wrong. What was worse, what was far worse, was seeing gentle Harry being turned into Voldemort's chosen heir. I'd never imagined Harry like this, never imagined that he was even capable of . . .
I was afraid for him. Even though I feared what he'd become, I knew he would still resist if he felt he had something to fight for. Should Voldemort realize that, he'd do anything necessary to protect his still fragile hold on this world. And if I came to that, I knew for a fact that I couldn't protect Harry from Voldemort's wrath.
If only there was some real hope for the Light Side. By now, I would gladly welcome the sight of even Sirius, because I'd know that I wasn't alone in my fight. But for all I knew, I could be the last of us. The last voice of the Light Side. The last hope for Harry's future.
And as I stood under the night sky, staring up at the star for which Sirius Black had been named, I said a silent prayer for all that had been, and a quiet plea for all that would be . . . .