Chapter Twelve: Dying Ashes
The pain didn't come.
Voldemort stood still for several long seconds, savoring her ragged breaths, pushing closer to her trembling body.
"Pity," he spat.
Her eyes, despite the objections of her better judgment, opened. His red gaze flared mere inches from hers, emitting all the intense heat of flames. Veins traced in his leathery temples swelling as if to burst, and the slit of his lips curled up like burning paper.
Swallowing the heat rising in her throat, she wondered vaguely if this was the face Junia had seen, just before the end.
"I wish now I hadn't promised your pitiful lives to my Death Eaters. I would enjoy making you scream for mercy."
Barely conscious, she rolled her swollen tongue around her mouth, tracing the salt of blood dried inside her cheeks. It was Snape who squeezed her hand now, as if willing her to be strong.
Voldemort's features contracted fiercely before swiping his wand from her neck and jabbing it into her torn shoulder. There was the distinct sound of ripping flesh.
She cried out, her knees buckling. Snape barely caught her before she collapsed.
Though the feeling in her arm had long begun to fade into numbness, the wood of Voldemort's wand prodded it back, white hot. She sucked the thick air through her teeth, trying to ignore the thought that much worse was to come.
"Are you okay?" Snape asked, fingering the wound delicately.
Her weak reply was drowned by Voldemort's derisive snort.
"Oh, how touching," he drawled, stepping back to examine the two of them with amusement. "I do believe Severus is really in love." He gave a nasal laugh, clapping his spidery hands in mock delight. "Congratulations, my dear. I'll confess I imagined he was merely using you for your—baser functions."
She swallowed another lump rising in her throat, a mixture of blood and bile.
"You know, Miss Lee, you should be glad I've come to save you from him." He shifted his gaze to Snape now, and there was a flash between them, as if Snape already knew the words about to hiss from Voldemort's slit lips. The Potion Master's head lowered, heavy.
"Oh, yes…Have you told her, Severus, about your past trysts?"
Snape didn't raise his eyes.
"Oh, yes, he's always had a –way—with women. At every revel he found himself a few. Usually redheads, like you, my dear."
Lili glanced up at Snape. All the beauty and strength she had observed earlier had withered, a flower now brown and wilted in Voldemort's tall, thin shadow.
"We'd find them used and gutted before the end of the night," Voldemort said, voice teetering on the edge of laughter. "He did so like to hear them scream, didn't you, Severus? To scream as you beat them, sliced them, humiliated and raped them…"
Lili's stomach roiled, and though each word stung, none of it hurt as much as Snape's refusal to deny it.
He's trying to hurt you, Lili. He's trying to hurt both of you, to turn you against each other before the end…But she knew, feeling Snape's arms slide away from her, that it must be true.
For a few seconds she was merely stunned, attempting to drive away the horrible images and calm the resurrected wave of nausea squeezing in her gut. Part of her wanted to pull away, to look over the man she had convinced herself she loved and spit in his face. Had he intended to use her, as Voldemort suggested, for her 'baser functions?' Why, under his cloak of repentance and silent martyrdom, had he hid these things from her, not told her of such horrors wrought at his hands?
But he did tell you.
He told her he had been horrible in those years; a man unrecognizable.
She reached out with her eyes and studied his down-turned gaze, tracing the tiny glittering of self-hatred.
She clenched her teeth. She didn't love Severus Snape the Death Eater. She loved this man; this man who no longer seemed able to love himself.
"Disgusting, isn't it, Miss Lee?" Voldemort growled, scowling at Snape as if the man was some manner of horrible beast.
From the look in Snape's heavy eyes, he seemed to think himself no better.
"Yes, it is disgusting," Lili whispered, taking her eyes from Snape's and sliding them, hard, to Voldemort's. "Disgusting that you could think to turn me against him so easily. I know Severus—and I know you. You're nothing more than a vain bully who uses his drones to make up for an obvious lack of courage and power." She barely heard her own words over the frenzied beating in her ears.
Snape looked up, eyes wide, and she took his hand again, lacing his lean fingers in hers.
Voldemort seemed to consider this, releasing a brittle laught from the hissing hollow of his throat. He muttered a quick spell to petrify the two of them before turning, with a sneer, to Draco.
"And what do you think, young Malfoy?" he asked, waving a long hand flippantly. "Am I just a 'vain bully'?"
Draco's silver eyes met Voldemort reverently. "No, my Lord."
The Dark Lord looked at Lili and Snape askance for a moment, and she immediately realized what was coming.
He knew. He knew that Draco had been ready to let them go. He was twisting the knife in her—showing her how foolish her words had been.
He was nodding now, as if considering Draco's reply. The young wizard, though obviously trying to appear stalwart, betrayed the slightest twinge of guilt.
"Ahh, well enlighten me, then, young Malfoy, as to why, if you do not agree with these traitors, you were willing to let them go—to flatly disobey my direct instructions?" His voice was low, and Lili recognized it as the soft rasp that immediately preceded all things fierce and horrific.
Draco blanched. "My Lord—I—"
"Oh yes, Mister Malfoy," he snarled, advancing on the young wizard. "I heard every word spoken to Mister Potter here. It appears you, too, have chosen the wrong side."
Lili started to refute this, to insist that she had made it up and that Draco was ready to take them both prisoner, but she found her lips sealed tight by the petrification spell.
Draco was sweating now, swollen and bruised lips opening and closing in a frantic attempt to find some words to explain away the betrayal. "My Lord, you know that I—my family—"
Voldemort struck him, sending the young wizard flying to the ground, pale white cheek blooming with the dark of his own blood. As Draco spluttered, the Dark Lord laid a heavy, black boot onto his throat, pressing hard.
"It appears my victorious followers will have three rag dolls to tear open when this is finished," he hissed, grinding his heel, merciless. "I imagine your father will rather enjoy having a go at you. You've always been a disappointment to him, never able to meet even his lowest expectations. You've been a useless expense to us both for a very long time." He raised his foot and brought it down with great force on the boy's throat. Draco's breath wheezed, black bubbling from the corners of his mouth, and Lili was almost certain his windpipe had caved in.
"You couldn't even show up this one," Voldemort finished, turning to meet the wizard who still groped his head as if blinded by pain. "Harry Potter."
Harry lowered his hand from his forehead, green eyes glowing with hate.
"Luckily, your life does fall to me, Potter," he whispered, flicking his wand and petrifying Harry in the same way as Lili and Snape. "And this time, there is nothing standing between us."
Lili watched Harry's rigid body and wondered how the young wizard could remain so calm, his eyes fixed steadily on Voldemort's.
"Your savior Dumbledore is dead, Potter," he continued, circling around the unmoving Harry, serpent eyes sliding up and down him in amusement. "And, in case you're still clinging to the hope that his sacrifice today will save you the way your mother's did, let me relieve you of such notions."
Lili's ears burned. She hadn't even considered this, though, now she understood Dumbledore's reasoning in going forward, unarmed. He had hoped to sacrifice himself to protect all those within the walls of Hogwarts.
"I am no fool. I will not fall for the same trick twice." His mouth spread into a taut sneer, slit lips flattening into invisibility until the face that stared, inches from Harry's, appeared more beast than human. "I took very careful precautions to protect myself and my followers against the inherent magic of such a sacrifice. Oh yes, Mister Potter, there are plenty of ways to shield yourself even from such ancient magic…" His voice plummeted, and Lili felt it echoing through her thin skin, down her bones, in the deep chambers of her heart. "There is no hope for Hogwarts."
Despite her petrified state, she could feel several tears slide free, running hot, damp tracks down her cheek.
So many had sacrificed so much. Junia, Dumbledore, Draco. She herself had lost years of her life, her freedom.
All for nothing.
She wanted desperately to close her eyes, but spell forced them open, burning with tears as she watched the Dark Lord raise his wand to meet the Harry's wide gaze.
"Oh, Mister Potter. I'm afraid I don't have any eloquent speeches to give you or threats to make this time." He paused and tapped the searing scar on the boy's forehead. "Only the same two little words your Mudblood mother heard from me..."
There was a loud spluttering, and Lili only now realized that Draco was dragging himself up from the ground, clutching at his throat.
Voldemort turned to watch him, arching a thin, veined eyebrow, amused.
Draco was on his feet, swaying, breaths coming in shuddering rasps. He took several stumbling steps forward, barely able to keep his balance. His eyes, however, focused loose on the Dark Lord's face, steady and threatening as steel.
"I'm tired—of—I—hate—I—won't let you—"
Lili could barely understand the words that grated their way out of his injured throat.
"What wasss that?" Voldemort hissed, sneering impatiently at the pitiful looking wizard hunched before him.
"You'll—win—over—my—dead—"
The Dark Lord sighed and flicked his wand lazily. "As the gentleman desires."
Lili couldn't hear over the sobs boiling in her frozen throat, but the flash of green light and Draco's limp body were enough for her to know what had been muttered.
She willed her gaze down to him, his motionless form drenched in the black of Voldemort's shadow. He was utterly still, gray eyes frozen, looking up into a sky obscured with fog.
He's gone, her mind trembled, trying at once to both accept and deny it. All those days spent together, all the pranks, the words shared, the memories—this was their end.
Better here than where you're going, she reminded herself. Perhaps he was smart to provoke a quick death…
He had been dismissed from Voldemort's side. He was dead. Gone.
The words ran across the back of her eyes again and again, refusing to sink in. Her brain, like her arm, had grown numb.
Black blood ran down his face like tears.
Voldemort surveyed the
body with less care. "Hnh," he snorted turning away and back to the petrified
Potter. "Well, too bad for my Death Eaters. But I deserve a little fun, do I
not?"
Though his face was frozen, Lili spied in Harry's eyes a bewilderment, a shock
that only comes after seeing a life dismissed with the unfeeling flick of a wand.
Even seeing Draco fall limp was obviously causing him pain.
"And, speaking of fun…" The Dark Lord's wand was raised again, but this time he pressed it against Harry's neck, forcing the flaming red of his gaze down into the very depths of Harry's eyes. He stood close, surveying the emotion that, having no other outlet, boiled in the young wizard's green gaze. His satisfaction was that of a man appreciating a moment long enough to recount it for many years to come.
He smiled. "Goodbye, Potter."
It was over. Dead in the dew.
His thin wand lifted, flicked—
Potter would die.
She could hear, dull, as if in another world, the castle crumbling into dust.
Avada—
She tried again to close her eyes. She tried to feel Snape's hand rigid in hers, the cold ring pressed between them.
Kedavra—
All for nothing.
The green light flashed and swirled, shaking around Harry like a tempest. It seemed to press down on him, attempting to crush his thin body between strong emerald fingers.
But he remained standing, and, suddenly, the green began to rewind itself, away from Harry, back up through Voldemort's wand and, slowly, rushing, up his hands, his arms, wrapping about his neck.
The Dark Lord's red eyes widened frantically, darting back and forth, watching the green as if it, like a snake, was surrounding and squeezing the breath from him. The earth began to quiver beneath her feet, and slowly, she realized what was happening.
A gold light traced thin lines first around the red eyes, then across the slit mouth. Threadlike cracks of shining light erupted across the seams of his thin, veined skin, and he screamed, dropping his wand and clutching at himself, trying to hold back the steadily increasing and apparently painful fractures of gold.
The air around them puckered, bubbling in Lili's lungs and stuffing as thick as the fog in her mouth. An explosion roared through the air, and the Dark Lord exploded in a powerful beam of light that shot upwards, slicing through the fog and towards the red of the morning sky like a sword fresh from battle. Several trees around them came crashing to the earth, branches cracking and leaves flying up then sifting down like a green rain.
A quiet wrapped around all the world as the battle froze, inhaling in a rush of white mist and a shiver of black earth.
The spells holding them evaporated as suddenly as the one who cast them, and both she and Snape crumpled to the ground, muscles weak from the frozen tension. Harry was writhing several feet away, crunched in the fetal position and cradling his head with a whimper.
The silence seemed alive, watching and breathing against her skin. She lifted her head, trying to comprehend what was happening, trying to maintain her grip on consciousness.
Her eyes met Draco's, still open and glassy. A trembling touch of his bloodied face confirmed her worst fears: he was long dead, cool skin slick with dew and blood, wide eyes dull like the morbid gray of dying ashes. "Draco…" The tears that had remained frozen in her eyes began to flow, sliding down her face and mixing in her mouth with the bitter fog.
That's what he was: the dying ashes of battle. The last remnants of a war that, it seemed, had met its end.
Even if she had yet to understand how.
Snape's hand wrapped loose about her shoulder, and she wiped, trembling, at her cheeks, looking up at his solemn gaze. He was watching Draco too, brow furled, lips pressed tight shut.
"What—happened." She wasn't sure it was question: she merely found no other words able to tumble off her tongue.
Snape reached out and pushed Draco's eyelids shut, long fingers lingering over the young wizard's rigid features for a short, sad moment. "Voldemort-- is dead."
Dead.
Gone.
The idea grabbed her, shook her, strained the muscles around her heart. "He's dead."
As soon as the words left her mouth, Lili felt a distinct tingling in her torn left arm, and, rolling up her sleeve, saw the Dark Mark, glowing black. It had begun to bubble, then to fade. Her bones began to quiver within her and then, with a sharp stab and a sizzle, it dissolved completely, along with the skin beneath it. Her arm began to bleed anew, throbbing intensely.
But, despite the similar wound on his arm, Lili knew the tears in Snape's eyes weren't from pain. They fell, gentle down his sallow cheeks, trembling ever more freely to the earth, until she felt her own sobs shaking her bones.
It was gone. It lifted away, and, while it took her skin, it didn't take anything more.
It didn't take me. It didn't take him.
The thought sunk in dully at first then gripped at her heart, squeezing out even more violent tears.
She was free. They were free. Her life seemed to have been breathed back through her lips, her heart shocked back into beating.
Snape merely watched the blood dripping into the crook of his elbow as a man watching his shackles fall away.
Harry's whimpering and heavy fumbling snapped her back into reality. The tousle-haired wizard, almost completely unscathed, looked over Draco, holding his head and wincing.
"What—happened?" He asked dully, looking at Lili and Snape huddled together, holding their bleeding arms and leaning forward on their knees as if in benediction. "I—He said he'd taken precautions—"
"Against Dumbledore," Snape said, swallowing his emotion but refusing to meet Harry's face. "Not Draco."
Harry continued to cradle his head, rocking forward and looking over Draco through fresh tears.
Yes, Draco was dead, Lili thought bitterly. He didn't have a magical phoenix to cry tears on his wounds or a hat to offer him a magical sword. In the end, unlike the Boy Who Lived, he'd fallen, nothing and no one able or willing to save him.
But, if Severus was right….
Harry fell forward, limp beside Draco, shaggy black hair mingling with long gold.
Shooting Lili a quick, confused glance, Snape crawled over to examine him, rolling him onto his back and feeling at his thin neck delicately. It was a gesture filled with more gentleness than Snape normally reserved for the Boy Who Lived.
Again. Lived again.
"He's not dead," Snape sighed, leaning forward and moving the young wizard's hair aside to reveal the absence of a lightning-bolt scar. "He's just fainted. He had a lot of the Dark Lord in him, in that scar. We should get him to the castle." His face darkened. "If there's anything left of it."
Lili nodded, wondering if she could find the strength to stand.
"Your arm needs attention too. Can you make it?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but the words choked in her throat.
A sudden, overwhelming sadness gripped her heart and began swallowing her body in a cold wave. Her innards shivered as if tickled with ice, an encroaching sorrow smothering her.
The sound of her own screams echoed through her mind. She could again see the face of the Dark Lord twisting over her, two Malfoys holding her firm while her skin bubbled to form the Dark Mark. Blinking, she could barely separate the horror of memory from reality…
Through the confusion of images, she saw the dark trees begin to move behind the fog.
No. Not trees. Dementors. At least twenty. Black shadows marching towards them, skeletal hands outstretched, forms fixed on her with a sharpness not diminished by a lack of visible eyes.
She was already wilting under their black, faceless gazes, but Snape was attempting, desperate and obviously fighting, to grab at Voldemort's abandoned wand.
"A Patronus—Sev—"
The heat of the fire and the sneers of the two Malfoys burned harder in her mind. The sound of her screaming seemed to echo from her brain into the hollow.
The last sight she saw was Snape collapsing, fingers inches from the wand.
The skin of her arm felt ready to peel away, her scream rending the white fog of the world in two.
The darkness claimed her.
