"Albus, no," Severus whispered from his spot on the ground, his voice nearly gone, his face bathed in a cold, pained sweat. Every other moment he would shudder so violently his teeth chattered as the pain coursed through him. The skin on his arm was cracked and bleeding, burns beyond which he'd ever experienced coursing the length of it. He'd bitten his tongue several times, frothing blood around his mouth, and a long, deep gash had been opened on the side of his face.
But Dumbledore, either ignoring or not hearing Severus, kept his eyes trained on Harry as the memories flowed one after the other out of his wand and into Harry's head. Before Voldemort could realize what was being flung at him, before he could leave the boy's body, he was bombarded with memories of love, the love of people who had died standing against him, the love of some people still standing.
Harry stood still, feeling as though one divided. Control warred with mayhem as he shared his body with another, knowing one or both of them would not leave alive. And as he had in the Ministry, he wished Dumbledore would just finish him off, and then it would be over—over and he could be with Sirius and away from the troubles—
But a memory of Sirius washed over him and Harry clenched his fists in the little movement he could muster.
Inside him, Voldemort shrieked deafeningly and tried to leave, tried to exit the boy and all his hateful memories—
And Harry held onto him.
It was a simple enough trick, Harry thought, rather like trying to remember what you needed at market. You just had to concentrate, and so he concentrated with all his might, feeling his cells cling to the foreign substance that had invaded them like a mob seizing a criminal.
Stay here and take it, you filthy thing, Harry thought triumphantly, and clearly saw an old woman knitting socks when a pile of them already stood by her chair, tumbling over one another.
And then the monster was expelled from his body, flinging Harry to the ground and leaving him wrung out. He inched his fingers toward his wand, intent on using the memories he'd been given, and found he hadn't the strength to grasp it. Incomprehensibly tired, he stared at a patch of grass directly beneath his nose and felt his eyes slip shut.
No, wake up, I have to help—
Voldemort struggled, once again inside his own body, but weakened by the memories he'd been forced to absorb, to view. He stood against Dumbledore, grinning with his slit of a mouth, red eyes glowing like twin furnaces. "Two of your fools are now down, Dumbledore. What say you now?" He stood against the powerful wizard and the two began to duel.
"Mine," Severus insisted, and no one could hear him. Mine, mine, mine, he's been mine from the beginning. And as he thought so, his lips peeled back from his teeth in a grimace of pain and determination. Blood seeped from his nose, caking around his mouth, and a thin trickle had started at the corner of his lips. I'm already damned, so let it be, he thought, and raised his wand for what he was sure was the last time.
~~~
She tried to concentrate on little things, on small tasks and busy work, on keeping Ron and Hermione blissfully ignorant of what was going on. She smiled her way through most of breakfast, and it wasn't until she was washing up that things started to crumble.
A particularly stubborn bit of potato clung to Ron's plate, and Dea scrubbed at it for several minutes before trying her hand with her wand. "Clean, damn you," she muttered, prodding it with the tip of her wand. "Scourgify!"
"Let me help you with that," Hermione said uneasily, throwing a glance at Ron and Remus. Men were so bloody foolish, she thought, that they couldn't ever see when what a female needed was a little help.
"It's fine," Dea said, the brightness in her voice turning brittle and edgy. "It's fine, it'll all be fine." Then her voice broke and the dish slipped from her hands, only to be caught neatly in Hermione's. "Oh, God," she said, putting her hands to her face and ignoring the fact that they were covered in soap. "Oh, God, Remus, what if they're hurt?" What if he's hurt, she couldn't help thinking. Love was love, no matter if it was only friendly.
Too many loved ones had died.
Remus stood quickly, knocking the bottom of the table with his knees awkwardly, and stepped to the sink to place a hand on each of her shoulders, for once unmindful of the watchful eyes around him. But it was not a time for lies, and not a time for coddling. "That's a risk they knew, Amadea."
"Bloody hell!" Ron spat out suddenly, shoving away from the table so hard he tipped his chair over and had to clamber out from under it.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione hissed, cutting her eyes to the embracing couple before them. It was as though the idiot couldn't display any sense at all.
"N-no, you don't understand," he said, pointing a shaky hand out the window. "It's Malfoy!"
That captured Dea's attention as the dishes had been unable to, and her head snapped quickly to side, her eyes focusing out the window.
Lucius Malfoy stood behind Number 12 Grimmauld Place, muttering to himself and staring at the house. Or rather, right through the house. It was clear to Dea that he couldn't see a thing, but that he was searching intently.
"He knows," Remus said grimly, thrusting Dea behind him unthinkingly. "He knows there's supposed to be something here."
"He just doesn't know what," Hermione said wonderingly, stepping closer to the window. "And so he can't see it."
"We have to go." Remus turned, stone-faced, and gave Dea a push. "Go, Amadea. Get your things. We're leaving. You, as well, Ron, Hermione."
But Dea didn't budge. "I'm not going," she said firmly. "I'm not going until they're back."
"That could be weeks, if ever," Hermione said realistically, though the admission made her heart sink.
"Take them to Hogwarts," the American witch responded, turning her eyes back to the window, unable to look at the fear and worry in everyone else's faces. "I'm staying here. They'll need me when they get back."
"He's looking for you," Remus insisted, his voice growing both deeper and louder. "He's looking for you because you baited him, that was your idea. Do you insist on putting yourself further in harm's way?"
"Yes," she said. When she faced them, all three of them staring at her dubiously, her eyes blazed with a fire she'd banked long ago. "I came here for a reason. I enlisted, as it were, in this cause for a reason, and it wasn't to be with you, Remus. It wasn't to be safe, it wasn't to be cared for. It was to help. It was to put myself in harm's way. This is the time for that, for me." When she saw his eyes darken, the corners of his mouth drawn and his shoulders stooped, she stepped to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "There can be pleasant outcomes of unpleasant situations."
"I won't stay away," he said wearily, knowing he couldn't argue with her.
"I didn't think you would." And for that, she was glad, for when the warriors returned from their battle, she didn't want to go it alone. She turned to the two students. "You'll go back to Hogwarts," she said. "I know you want to stay here, but—"
"We'll be in the way," Ron said, surprising Hermione with his uncharacteristic insightfulness. When he saw her wide-eyed look, he shrugged uncomfortably. "What? No use pussyfootin' around it, right?"
"Good luck," Hermione said to Dea, feeling that her words were ineffectual and weak.
Dea's mouth quirked at the well-wishing. "I'll certainly need it, as I lack your talents. Thanks again for all the help. Stupid American girl and all that—we don't read over there, we listen to audio books."
And so, when Lucius had wandered away in temporary defeat, she sent them away with Remus, the smile playing about her lips turning grim and combative. "All right, Luscious Lucius," she whispered nastily, standing watch at the back window and rubbing her hands together. "Let's see how long it takes you to win 'find the birdie.'"
~~~
As though he sensed Snape's actions, and it was likely he did, Voldemort turned and started to shriek in that horrible, hissing cicada voice. "Cruc—" But he never got the rest of the painful Unforgivable out. Dumbledore slammed him with a memory, large and pulsing, the silver of it multi-hued and glistening like the outside of a soap bubble, and he stumbled back.
"Avada kedavra," Severus said, his voice low and impossibly steady as he thrust his wand at Voldemort. He could feel it climbing out his body and up his arm like lightning charge and he clamped his teeth down. "Avada kedavra, you… fucking… snake." And with a gasp, the curse let loose in a blare of green light, sending Severus's hair in all directions, his eyes rolling back in his head as a small ball of green light ripped from him, tinged with silver memories that had remained in his wand, and slammed into Voldemort.
The red of the Dark Lord's eyes flashed to a bright, acidic green, but his unbelievable strength battled with the curse. The end result was only a weakening, and Severus felt devoid of the fear he knew he should feel.
In his mind, he deserved whatever came to him. He'd spent years under the control of this man, doing ill upon others, helping to make decisions that brought about death, mayhem, and destruction.
He had been evil, and he had been willingly so. But once again, the headmaster drew Voldemort away.
"Come, Tom, let us duel together," Dumbledore said pleasantly, feeling sick at heart. Such a bright boy, reduced to no more than a thing. "Don't you find that more of a challenge?" Then a thought, bell-clear and wonderously bright, slipped into his head. Not a thought of his own, but a thought of a fellow crusader.
It has to be me, Harry's voice spoke in his head, and Dumbledore dared not to turn and see if the boy had risen. That's fate, right? It has to be me.
And as Voldemort pointed his wand to demolish the old wizard, Harry's voice sounded calmly behind him.
"Constant vigilance," he said, and when Voldemort wheeled to face him, he shouted with the might of a boy whose parents were killed, who felt the pain every year without realizing he was stockpiling it for a moment just like this, who had waited for revenge so quietly that not even he knew he'd been waiting for it.
Now he wanted to see what it tasted like.
"Avada kedavra!" he shouted, unintentionally mimicking Severus's inflection and pronunciation down to the letter.
In a matter of moments, he'd taught Harry the only Defense Against the Dark Arts that would really matter.