In his bed, Snape sat up with a strangled gasp.

He had to tell Dumbledore. He had to warn him, because the Headmaster alone could stop the Dark Lord. He was the only one powerful enough...

With that illusion of hope crowding his thoughts, he ran through the deserted corridors of the castle, his footsteps echoing behind him. He ran past the guardian gargoyle, stopping only to gasp the password ('Fizzing Whizzbees') and burst through the door into Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, Professor Snape. I am so glad you could join us."

It took Snape a while to realize what he was seeing. The tall, skeletal figure who stood watching him from behind Dumbledore's desk.

The corpse sprawled in front of that same desk, white hair and beard spilling across the floor.

"No."

"And so it comes to pass," the Dark Lord intoned. "Darkness has slipped past your weak defenses of Truth, Virtue, Innocence and Kindness. All your morals and the good things that inspired you have come to nothing. In the end, it is the brute strength of Black Magic whose canons shall be obeyed."

Snape was close enough to see the blank, staring eyes of what had once been the greatest wizard since Merlin. A gesture from Voldemort and his head was snapped back, forcing him to look directly into the eyes of Dumbledore's killer.

Voldemort leaned forwards.

"You see," he whispered harshly. "She did give me what I asked for. There is only power, and those too weak to take it."

"And what did she take in return?"

He yelled as pain lashed through his brain. It stopped when Voldemort grabbed him by the throat.

"Nothing," he panted, voice quivering with fury. "There was no price." He let go roughly, sending Snape sprawling. Another streak of pain lanced through him, and he bit through his lip trying to keep from screaming.

"There was no price," Voldemort repeated as Snape lay shivering on the ground. He turned away and walked back to the podium.

Snape staggered to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth, body once more under his control. "You... you're scared."

A look from Voldemort sent a bolt of pain searing through him.

"You're scared," Snape repeated once it had passed. "You don't know what she will ask for."

"Shut up."

"She'll come to collect," Snape shouted, desperate to stay conscious. "And you won't know the price until she takes it from you."

He staggered and fell again as pure agony wracked his body, again and again and again...

He was dimly aware that his assailant was speaking.

"You will not speak to your Lord that way. No." The pain stopped, leaving Snape gasping for breath. "No. I am too lenient. No, you will die for your disrespect."

From sickness, from injury, from old age even, but he will not die from disrespect.

Voldemort froze as the voice echoed out of the empty air. A thick fog was seeping through the cracks in the stone floor, creeping towards the center of the room and curling upwards, solidifying into the figure of a woman.

She smiled.

"You," Voldemort croaked before he regained some of his composure. "You cannot take from me what you have already given," he warned, leveling his wand at her. "I will have my victory. You promised."

Did I?

He was shaking now, backing away from the gaze of her immobile, inhuman eyes. "You gave me your word!"

And you expect I would make an effort to keep it? Words have no power. They slip from one's lips, and are lost.

"You can't betray me now!" he shrieked.

Betrayal? It is hardly betrayal. I want something from you in exchange for the power I gave you. That is all.

"What do you want from me?"

Everything...

Voldemort dropped his wand and held up his hands in a desperate and futile attempt to shield himself as she reached forwards.

"But the prophecy," he protested weakly.

Only words...

Snape pushed himself up as Voldemort's rapidly cooling body hit the ornate Persian carpet.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

Not to assuage my guilty conscience, whatever you may think, she assured him, reaching down and pulling him to his feet. He didn't flinched at the touch of her icy hand, feeling slightly stunned by this, her first human act.

"Voldemort is dead, then."

Along with Dumbledore. There is a void to be filled, one that will not stand empty for long.

Snape sneered half-heartedly, shoving the memory of fire searing under his skin aside. "Fudge will use the opportunity. He will try to take charge of Hogwarts, of all the weak-willed idiots..."

She sighed. I had hoped for more, from an Occulomentor.

"What do you expect, then?" he snapped. "There has been rather a lot on my mind, of late. Forgive me if I seem obtuse."

There is a time of fire ahead. It will destroy and leave survivors with scars that are not easily forgotten. And it will burn the dead wood to ashes, to leave room for regrowth.

"Voldemort is dead. The battle is over," Snape protested, sinking into a chair. "There will be no fire."

Voldemort's death is only the beginning. It is not a snake that has been killed but a Hydra –three more will grow from the bloody stump, now that the first head has been cut off. Lucius Malfoy will not accept defeat as gracefully a second time. The giants will not want to acknowledge that the man who promised so much is dead. You think the Dementors will go back to Azkaban peacefully?

"Point taken," he grumbled, leaning back and closing his eyes. "The battle has only begun."

And there is power there, for those with the courage to take it.

Snape's eyes snapped open, and he struggled to sit up straight.

"Do you expect me to ask you for authority?" he demanded.

No. I expect you to take it.

He opened his mouth to speak, and was struck dumb by the unexpected force of her amber eyes.

I will take Voldemort, she said at last, breaking the spell. And you will go back to your office unseen. Dumbledore will have died of complications of the heart, resulting from stress and old age.

"No one would believe me if I did. Answer them, that is."

She ignored him and walked over to the window.

Look out over any city, and what you see is a rolling sea of evil, shallow in some places, but so much deeper in others. And yet, there are people who built themselves rafts of good intentions and vague rules and say, this is the opposite, this will triumph in the end. Amazing.

"Eh?" said Snape, still preoccupied by their earlier conversation. "No. There is still some good in everyone."

There you go. Hiding behind a smokescreen of bourgeois clichés.

"If we really are inherently evil then what is there worth living for?" he asked bitterly. "Suicide is painless," he remembered. "And I can take it or leave it if I please..."

Oh, I don't know. There are some things in this world beautiful enough to live for. Cats and curry, for example.

"What?"

She smiled slightly. Go back to your room, wizard. The sun has set on this particular scene.

The rest of the play has yet to be written.