Author's Note: Sorry for the delay! Enjoy through the end, and I hope you like it.

The same man who had showed Harry through the halls of the Department of Mysteries his last time there was at the front doors when they arrived at the Ministry. Harry, Ron and Hermione moved through the telephone booth and into the main lobby of the building, and the Unspeakable immediately broke away from the front desk to meet them.

"Mr. Potter, I'm glad you're here. There's been a minor problem."

Of course, Harry thought to himself. Not sarcastic, though. Just incredibly tired. Today had already been too hard. "What?"

"He's started breaking the door down."

"What?"

The Unspeakable shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "We're not entire sure how, because the guards never hear anything, But splinters have appeared on the floor, and the door itself seems to be...disintegrating somehow, bit by bit."

"Brilliant. Who had the bright idea to put him in a room with a wooden door anyway?" Ron's voice was flatter than normal.

Hermione didn't bother to silence him.

"We'd better hurry, then, I suppose."

The Unspeakable led the way through the halls, down the last corridor that led to Voldemort's home. Quiet, as he'd been last time. And last time it had been welcome. This time it just gave Harry more chances to hear Hermione's quiet sniffles. It gave him more time to feel the heaviness in his legs as he moved.

He sighed as they went through the illusory wall and to the door. Harry could see what their guide had been talking about. There were fractures in the door, thin lines that snaked up. The two inevitable guards nodded at them, and one nearly grinned when he saw Harry.

"About bloody time, then. Can't lie and say this duty doesn't scare me bollucks off."

"Levitson!" The Unspeakable's voice was sharp. "That will be all. The two of you are to go through the wall and wait."

The man nodded, sheepish, and they moved instantly. Their guide followed, giving one last look back at Harry and his friends.

Hermione turned to Harry and straightened up noticeably. "Alright. It's up to you now. What would you like us to do?"

Harry sighed. "Just stay out here. And think positive thoughts."

She smiled faintly.

Ron came up and grasped Harry's shoulder. "Good luck, mate," he said lowly. His face was pale under his freckles.

Hermione nodded silently. "Remember what you've learned."

Harry reached for her hand, and Ron's arm, and squeezed lightly. There was a strange element of calm to him, perhaps because of the scene they had all walked away from back at Hogwarts. There was no dwelling on the consequences this time. He would succeed, and he would get back to the school to suffer through the pain of burying an old friend. That was his sort of fate.

He smiled at Hermione until she managed a small smile back, and nudged Ron with his elbow. "You have the ball?"

Ron nodded and tugged his spiked ball out of his pocket carefully. "I was half hoping it'd turn my slacks invisible and cause a scene," he said with a nervous grin.

Harry laughed, and Hermione released his hand to smack Ron's shoulder lightly. "We can experiment with that later. For now, be serious."

Ron nodded, then did a double take.

She blushed but grinned. "Go on, Harry. Fulfill this idiotic prophecy so we can get on with our lives."

"Amen," he said, soft but firm, and he turned to the door. With a well-practiced lob he set the spikes of the ball into the wall, and they all watched in silent fascination as the white went to transparent.

Voldemort was staring right at him.

Hermione gasped in surprise, but Harry looked back.

He was sitting up now and glaring at the wall, somehow right at him, with malevolence in his eyes.

There was nothing of a human in those eyes. They were snake-red, thin, slitted. Evil. Set against leathery white skin, hairless, more reptile than man.

What would the slight differences be if it was Harry rather than Tom Riddle who had grown to look that way? Would the eyes be green? Would stubborn, uncooperative hair have remained clinging to that skull?

Tom Riddle believed in the evil of Muggles. Harry could see that. Past words, past stories, they led to that surprisingly easy conclusion. As Snape said, very few people in the world became evil because they believed it was evil. Tom Riddle had simply taken an extreme opinion too far. An opinion so easily believed by others that he built a crowd of supporters. Were some of those, the earlier Death Eaters, like Snape? Pushed into it because they felt they didn't belong anywhere else? Or had some gone through tragedies because of Muggles? Had some been found out? Had some been put to death, or had ancestors put to death?

The days of Muggles burning witches were over, but they were not free to live their lives. Were some wizards fed up with hiding and skulking when the world just as rightfully belonged to them as their Muggle counterparts?

Had some been abused, as Harry - and Tom - were? Had some been humiliated and estranged and harmed because they were freaks to the Muggles around them?

It was easier now to understand Tom Riddle, and that was the frightening thing. Easy to understand, and easy to believe that it might have been him.

When had Tom realized that other wizards considered him an enemy? When had he made the choice to run away, to study immortality, and to become a lord in his time rather than a fighter just looking out for himself and wizards like him?

Would Harry have been equally obsessive? He might without the support he received now. Would he have become a Tom Riddle for the good side, dedicated to the slaughter of evil wizards? Maybe he would have started believing the hype about his own power, and maybe for the good of the world he would have followed Tom's footsteps and tried to make himself immortal, so he could always fight the good fight.

And yes, maybe that was ridiculous. But Harry had friends and family now who kept him level and down to earth. If instead his friends encouraged him in more grand ideas would he be different?

The possibility was there, and wasn't so small that he could just dismiss it.

Was a degree of humility and a reluctance to fight the only thing that seperated him from Tom?

He sighed, so focused on the man staring back at him through a wall he couldn't see through that Ron and Hermione faded from his thoughts.He went to the wall and raised a hand to it, feeling the cool stone though he couldn't see it.

Tom Riddle was still there somewhere. The scared and angry boy who was abused and thrown out and who wanted revenge was still there. Piled on top of him were warped ideas and scars made by bigger magic than he could handle.

Lord Voldemort held Tom Riddle prisoner.

He breathed in, remembering what it was like to be helpless, to be a puppet moving with Voldemort in his head, controlling his actions and invading his mind.

Was Tom in there somewhere, feeling the same?

Like being locked in a cupboard under the stairs. Like living an entire life watching people come and go and wondering when someone would look at him and realize that something wasn't right, that no one should be prisoner like that.

Waiting to be released.

He smiled then, softly, to himself. Because it was something he could do for that troubled boy who had no one show him the right way. He could show him that his way wasn't the only way. That who he had become wasn't right, and someone did see.

He wasn't killing Tom out of pity, though that was strong inside him. He was there to kill him because he was understood the boy he used to be. He was that boy himself. And he knew Tom Riddle wanted to be set free.

He moved towards the door, pulling his wand out. Voldemort's malevolent eyes didn't follow. They stayed staring at the same spot in the wall.

He wasn't as all powerful as all that, then. Walls still could hold him, at least in this state.

He wasn't strong enough for Harry and Tom both, and Harry knew that Tom would be in there somewhere, helping him when he struck.

He opened the door slowly, and red eyes darted to him again.

He had felt Voldemort's invasion for a few quick minutes, and had wanted nothing more than to die to end the pain. Poor Tom had dealt with it for too many years. It was time to let him go, to end the torment.

Voldemort started to rise, and someone cried out something behind Harry's back.

Harry met those eyes and spoke to the boy inside. "It's time, Tom."

Red eyes narrowed in fury, then the slit of a mouth creased in a smirk.

Harry didn't give Voldemort time to speak. He had had too much time as it was. He raised his wand and spoke the curse quietly, firmly, and kindly. "Avada kedavra."

The world around him went green. And then, black.

Malfoy Manor. How long had it been since he had set foot there?

This was a small room, mostly bare save for a heavy wooden table and straight-backed chairs. The door was closed, and locked no doubt.

One of the hidden meeting rooms. Lucius Malfoy and his family before him had been clever with their wards. Apparation inside the house itself was impossible, save for small pockets like these rooms. That way meetings could be held and people could come and go without being seen by anyone, and without leaving any trace by floo.

It was also a prison for anyone who apparated in outside an appointed time. The locks couldn't be broken, and the room itself could be sealed up airtight when it was wished to be so. Wards were in place outside the scheduled times that made apparation in easy but apparation back out impossible.

No doubt more than one vanished Order member had tried to be clever and met their end in this room.

Draco Malfoy knew he would come, becauswe he knew Snape's pride and honour forced it. Just the same way, Snape knew he would not be slowly suffocated. Malfoy was too arrogant, and he obviously had other things on his mind than Snape's death.

He sat at the table and waited.

His arm gave a low, deep throb. He wondered where Potter was at that moment. At the Ministry yet? Still pacing Gryffindor's common rooms and saying prayers to whatever god the boy might believe in?

He felt sure he wasn't with the Dark Lord yet. He would know. Either way the curse went, he would know. He had taken a large dose of his potion just before apparating, the bitterness of it still in his mouth. But he would feel it.

The door opened after a while. Snape had predicted the waiting time - Malfoy no doubt thought it would build up some sort of fear or something. Idiot child.

"Well, well." That voice made hairs on his neck stand up, but only because it was so like Lucius. "Professor."

He raised his eyebrows and looked over as Malfoy came in.

He looked much like a cross between the Draco from his classes and Lucius. His hair was growing out, and he had it worn down to his shoulders, loose. He was dressed in rich robes, and a wand was in his hand.

He looked smug, his silver eyes alight with triumph. "I expect it's really you this time."

Snape stayed seated, simply looking the boy over.

"In fact, I'm willing to bet that last time it wasn't entirely your decision to send another in your place. Who was it, by the way? Not Dumbledore, but one of his footsoldiers?"

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Do you prefer being a slave to that old man? What does he have you doing? Babysitting Potter? Drawing his baths and bringing his meals?"

"Do you know nothing of me, boy?" Snape's voice was calm. He always could manage that, no matter what sort of torments went on around him.

Malfoy smirked at that. "Less than I had once thought." He looked pleased to have gotten a response, and moved towards the table. "And how is Finnigan? Quite healed, I hope? Is he wearing the collar I returned to him? He did enjoy it."

Snape drew in a breath. Clenched fingers into fists, then released them slowly. He blinked his eyes shut, and the moment his eyelids drew down, green eyes foggy with approaching death looked back at him in the darkness.

He opened his eyes again. He stayed calm, using the heat that fired in his belly to simply strengthen his will. Malfoy was trying to get a reaction, any reaction, so of course that was the last thing Snape was willing to give him.

No matter what.

"I'm disappointed in you, Malfoy. Requiring a chain and collar to hold on to one wandless mudblood. I thought I had taught you better."

"You're trying to make me angry."

"No." Any other time he would have smirked. He would have been trying to cause anger.

But not now.

"No. I'm simply putting you into perspective."

Draco straightened. "I am not weak. It would be a mistake to think of me as weak, Severus. Particularly being where you are right now."

Snape's eyebrows shot up as the boy said he first name. "You've got your father's ego. Have you earned it?"

Malfoy moved in. "Stand up."

He quirked his eyebrow a bit higher.

"Severus, you would do well to listen to me." Draco's voice was clipped, but there was fire in his eyes. Power. Some sort of lust, Snape saw suddenly.

His eyes widened in realization. Seamus hadn't been crazy after all. This boy wanted to dominate him. Not to kill him, or get revenge. Simple domination. "Did Lucius tell you that I followed orders well?" He pitched his voice low. He could use this.

Draco's eyes went a little rounder, but his expression stayed smooth. "My father told me many interesting things about you once you had run away and turned your backs on us."

Yes. He could imagine Lucius's reaction to his betrayal. Had they ever realised he had been a traitor all along? Did the Dark Lord ever really know how many of his plans had been ruined by Severus Snape?

Doubtful. The one downfall of these people was that they were so sure that they were right, and powerful, and magnetizing, that no one would ever turn their backs. Even after he had left Malfoy had probably convinced himself that Snape had just been a coward, not a traitor.

He almost asked exactly what sort of things Lucius had bothered to say. But he could guess. Lucius had been a rather large part of Snape's Death Eater life, and had been from his first day at Hogwarts. He had been less of an influence than Snape had let him think, but an influence nonetheless.

"Tell me, Draco." His voice stayed low and cool. A purr from a cat with poisoned claws. "Did you bring me here to kill me?"

The question seemed to surprise Draco. His hand lowered. "Are you going to beg for your life?" he asked a moment later, sneering.

Snape just looked back at him. A lesson learned young - no matter what the situation, always behave as if it was under your control. It unnerved enemies and inspired confidence in allies.

"Your father was in love with his own voice as well. Answer the question."

Draco's sneer warped in genuine anger. "I am the one with the wand here, Snape. I would shut up if I were you."

"You would do a lot of stupid things if you were me," Snape answered. The pauses were enough indication - Draco didn't want to kill him. What he did want was a mystery. But he had a hint, and he decided to use it. "Seamus Finnigan reports that you are in love with me." He didn't even trip over the name.

Years of practise at playacting. Years of control. It took every one of those years to pull it off.

It was worth it. Draco paled, then flushed dark red, an unflattering color against his cream-blond hair. "You must want to die."

"If you didn't bring me here to kill me, then what am I doing here? Are you rescuing me, perhaps? Saving me from myself, or from Dumbledore's wicked influences?"

"Don't be so sure you're not going to die tonight." Draco raised his wand.

Snape shook his head, a flash of genuine remorse going through him. He had wanted to save Malfoy. He had wanted to save all his children from his fate, and no one would ever understand how he felt losing them one by one to the prejudices of the other houses in school, watching them fall together and split apart from everyone else, and watching as that was so easily turned to the Dark Lord's favour.

Draco was genuinely sharp, or had been once. Whatever power and mania had made him turn on Snape and think he could somehow best him, it had dulled the sharpness of his mind.

And for what? For the Dark Lord, who would never treat him any better than a slave. Because Draco Malfoy wanted to be a king among men. Because the boy believed that that was what his father had been, rather than simply a bitter and conceited man with money enough to buy himself influence.

"It's too late for you," he said out loud, the realisation painful. He couldn't save Draco. He had left Hogwarts and fallen completely under his father's spell. And the worst thing was, Snape had been there himself once.

He didn't like to admit defeat. He never had. But he had lost this time. He lost Malfoy.

His arm pulsed suddenly, and he raised an arm to it instinctively.

Draco paled and looked down at his arm at the same time.

Snape saw. And knew. Something was happening with the Dark Lord. Albus had said every Death Eater was affected.

He spoke almost sadly. For him this would be freedom. For Malfoy, nothing but defeat. "He'll be dead in a moment."

"You lie."

"You felt the last two times, when he was weakened."

His white skin went grey and sickly, and Draco grabbed his arm with his free hand. Snape wondered then how much it hurt for those Death Eaters not taking potions to dull the affects.

"Who? Potter?"

Snape nodded.

Draco sneered, but it was thin and wavering. "He isn't capable."

"Draco."

Silver eyes, wide and almost boyish like they had been when he was eleven, met his.

"I'm sorry," Snape said, quiet. And he was. He better than anyone knew that people were very much products of their surroundings, and Draco Malfoy had never really had much chance to become anything but his father. Snape had blamed himself for not being able to get through to the boy in school, but he knew in his heart it wouldn't have made any difference. Draco was what he was.

Everything that happened because of that...Snape had to shoulder some of the blame for that. For...everything.

The quiet apology seemed to do more to scare Malfoy than the pain in his arm. He shook his head, taking a step back. "It's impossible."

"It's nothing you can run away from," Snape answered quietly.

A last burst of confidence steeled the boy. "We'll see about that."

But they wouldn't. Snape felt a searing flash through his arm, the Dark Lord's anger filtering through the overdose of potion he had taken.

Draco hit his knees under the effects.

But this was different. There was genuine fear in the feeling, and Snape shut his eyes, casting Malfoy's wasted life out of his thoughts and focusing on Potter. He prayed then, to any gods who would listen despite his disbelief in them all, and willed that Harry get this right. He wanted freedom.

Even if death was the only way.

His own life was already over. It ended in a hospital bed perhaps one or two hours ago. Everything he had was gone. Everything he wanted, gone.

He smiled to himself. If there was some sort of afterworld, he knew the next thing he would see would be Ireland green eyes.

No.

"You'll be alright. Promise me. You have to be alright."

A shock of warmth seemed to melt over his arm and spread up his body. An odd feeling, compassion, sympathy...forgiveness...overtook him where there had only been pain before.

Harry was fulfilling his Prophecy.

He fell to his knees, and it seemed outside his head someone was screaming.

"Promise me."

Snape didn't want to live. It was too tiring. No one would be able to call him a coward now. Perhaps some might even remember him as some sort of hero. He could die.

His body wanted to shut down. His mind agreed.

"Severus, please."

But his heart beat Seamus's words, and Seamus's eyes. And the change in this spell, the compassion in it, the strength, the love. It nearly brought Seamus to life in him again.

Snape shut his eyes, but not with surrender.

"I'll be alright."

Then there was nothing.