Fanfiction based in the world of Harry Potter, created by JKR. Her characters are hers. Original characters are mine. No pecuniary rewards. Please see first chapter for full disclaimers and description.

Thank you to my Betas, Elaine and JL—without whom I would never have gotten so far so fast! As of 7/11/2005, the story is complete! I am just waiting to get final edits done from their comments and corrections.

Lost Souls Found has been nominated at the Multifaceted Awards under the category of 'best Snape fic'. I have a link to the website in my live journal if you feel inclined to look it over. Winners are determined by votes of the readers, and there are a great many excellent fanfictions nominated there. I am honored beyond words that Lost Souls Found is among the nominees.

My LiveJournal username is weasleyfan, and anyone may read my journal.

Chapter 49: Sacrifice
Nothing lasts forever—not pleasant Thestral rides with a lover and not weeks of hellish stress of the most unimaginable sort. Eventually, something has to give.

It was an odd reconciliation between himself and Rowena, as though the fear of the situation made lesser issues disappear. He was not dissatisfied with the warmth of her sly glances across the table, or the rare stolen kisses which were the result, but he now worried she was being overly naïve and optimistic again as was her nature.

The last three months had made him feel all but certain he was not going to survive this final, crucial 'test', whatever it might turn out to be. She would be hurt again regardless of his best efforts to prevent it.

Late one evening, near the end of September, Potter came to his dungeons—following directions for a change. He was thoroughly concealed in his infernal cloak and toting along the map to ensure he was not seen by anyone—especially Garvey. Severus harvested the necessary amount of blood while Potter stood silently.

The boy was rewarded for his silent obedience by being permitted to ask questions after the harvesting was complete, and he had consumed the appropriate potions. Severus might find the boy exceedingly noxious, but he was not about to be responsible for his demise over something as mundane as low hemoglobin.

Potter, for his part, did seem to be making a concerted effort to be less idiotic. Perhaps the things he had witnessed lately caused him to have a heightened respect for Snape. Perhaps it was because he knew Snape would indeed make good on his threats. Perhaps it was simply because he was actually learning useful things in their most private of defensive training sessions. Whatever the reason, Potter generally behaved respectfully, if grudgingly so.

"Is it going to work, sir?" he asked this evening, having been told this would be the last necessary 'harvest'.

"Impossible to say with surety," Severus said brusquely as he carefully preserved the sample and placed it in his case. "I would not be wasting my time if I was not as certain as possible. Unless you would care to volunteer as a test subject? In which case you would have to undergo an intensive series of very complex potions, rituals and spells, many of them Dark in nature, for many years. Then, unsuccessfully use the Killing Curse on someone so that it rebounds upon you in the precise but unknown method necessary for you to almost, but not quite, expire. Then take another great series of potions, many of which are utterly substandard and of dubious efficacy due to being brewed by imbeciles. Finally, you would need to consume this one, which would have to be re-brewed to be specific to your weaknesses, at which time I would be glad to attempt to kill you—or more precisely, have you attempt to kill me. If the curse rebounded and you died, I could rest assured this potion, will indeed, 'work'. "

"You could have just said you don't know," Harry said sulkily. "Nobody knows everything all the time. There's no shame in saying 'I don't know'… sir."

Severus cast a dark glare in his direction, but finished cleaning and putting away his supplies to hide the evidence of the 'collection' he had just done.

"I don't know, Potter," he said sarcastically. "However, I am reasonably confident in my skills. If he uses it appropriately, I am fairly certain it will work."

"Work how, exactly?" Harry asked, hopping up to sit on the desk that was 'his' in class. "I mean, what can you tell me?"

"You mother's magic resides in you. Albus has told you this, yes?" Severus asked him, returning to sit in his own chair behind his desk. Harry nodded. "The Dark Lord, when he used your blood to return to his own body, thought he was giving himself some of that magic, that strength and protection. In one sense, he has. He could touch you then, and could still do so now.

"I believe—though I have no way to test the belief—had his curse hit you in the graveyard that summer, the effect would have been precisely the same as when you were an infant. It would have rebounded on him—possibly killing him entirely because he had not had time to complete the rituals he used before to prevent his death. However, it is also likely you would have died as well—because there had been no new energy input into the magic which protected you initially. The protection is still there, but much weaker than at the instance of her sacrifice."

He raised a brow inquiringly.

"Are you following me, Potter?"

Harry nodded, and Severus continued.

"He does not know I am using your blood for this potion. Several of my older Slytherin students who have been assisting me here in the lab, have been willing, indeed enthusiastic donors. They and he believe it is their blood being used. The blood of young purebloods at the peak of physical prime is a very powerful rejuvenator, among other things.

"Your blood is the key. It no longer strengthens him against you. If the potion works properly, you will notice even greater ease in accessing the odd connection between you and you will have greater control. Some of the things you have been passive witness to me doing, you will be able to do and he will not be able to recognize your presence. His mind will not recognize yours as an outsider.

"This is dangerous for you, as well, and again I warn you never to make such attempts without someone grounding you. Your mind will gradually cease to recognize his mind as corrupt.

"The benefit of all this will come when you face one another. His magic will not function properly against you no matter how hard he might focus his intent and bring his power to bear. Your mother's protection, residing within him, through your blood, will not allow him to attack you properly. Moreover, any curse he does use against you will do far more to strengthen your magic against him—his own efforts will become the new energy to restore and revive your mother's protection fully."

Harry stared at him with his jaw hanging open, gobsmacked.

"You… you can do that?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"No, Potter, your mother did that. I don't like you nearly well enough to make the attempt, let alone have it be remotely effective. However, making a potion to enhance what she already did… THAT I can do," he said with haughty satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the leather armrest, waiting for the next inevitable question.

"So then what happens?" Harry asked.

"Then, you must either use that energy to kill him, or get him to attempt to kill you once again. Albus tells me you are feeling squeamish about using the Killing Curse. The combination of my potion and your mother's protection should make it unnecessary for you to wound your delicate sensibilities.

"It is probably just as well. The Curse cannot be accomplished without the proper intent behind it—I trust you have heeded Professor Lupin's lectures regarding the effects of intent on the end result of any given spell?"

Harry looked away uncomfortably and fidgeted slightly.

"Yeah, mostly. I mean, she's really nice and I do learn interesting stuff in her class… but the lectures, well they're pretty boring," he said sheepishly.

Severus scowled at him in disgust.

"Indeed, yes. Very boring to listen to information which may prove vital to saving your corporeal existence! You are fortunate this method will not require you to engage your intellect overmuch, Potter. That would cause me to have far greater doubts as to the eventual success."

He shook his head in irritation and stifled a sigh of annoyance before continuing. It was imperative the boy understand what would be expected of him when the time came. He resumed his professorial lecturing tones and continued.

"You will feel the energy within you. You are not an infant, nor are you untrained. You know how shields work. When you feel that energy, you must focus every ounce of power you have and get him to attack you. Your gift for goading people into desiring to curse you into oblivion should serve you well in this instance.

"Defend yourself or not as you like, but concentrate on rebounding his curse back upon him—not unlike the Protego Charm, but you must focus your intent and aim the rebounded curse, as we have been practicing.

"If you do that and the potion is effective, his own curse will kill him."

"Dead-dead? Won't using my blood give him the same protection? Won't he just be a ghost again or whatever and come back?" Harry asked, anxiously.

"Your command of the spoken word is astounding, Potter," Severus said dryly. "Your mother's protection is specific to YOU in that sense. You will have to trust me the dichotomy works—you do not have nearly the skill in Potions to begin to fathom why it works.

"He will not be a 'ghost again or whatever' because he does not have the ability to do the necessary rituals or consume the potions which allowed him to cling to life last time. By allowing Wormtail to return him to his body in the method they used, the body in which he now resides is not human enough to survive the rigors of such proceedings. He is, as the Muggles say, resting all his 'eggs in one basket.' The potion he believes me to be brewing is his last and only hope of immortality.

"If all of these conditions are met, then yes, he will be 'dead-dead', and you get to continue being the 'boy who lived' to annoy the survivors."

"And I don't have to be the one to kill him? I don't have to kill anyone?" Harry said again, as though afraid to hope the gnawing fear which had been eating at him for a year and a half now, could be alleviated so easily.

"No, Potter," Snape said with the slightest quirk of amusement in his voice, "you merely have to survive—properly."

"That's bloody brilliant!" Harry breathed, risking a small smile. Snape merely inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Harry sat swinging his legs from the edge of the desk, very silently ruminating over what he had been told.

"It's you, isn't it?" he asked at last. "You're the one Voldemort's resting all his hopes on—it' why he's being so hard on you. He doesn't trust you very much right now; I know that from looking in his head. He's not sure he's going to take it, even after all your hard work. How are you going to get him to trust you enough to take it when it's all done?"

"Yes it is I," Severus said arrogantly, "He tried many other Potions Masters because he does not trust me. In the end, I am the only one with sufficient skill to do it. As to the rest, that is my business, not yours, Potter, and this is the end of the discussion."

In tribute to how much the boy had grown and matured in the last year and a half, Harry did not argue or try to ask further questions. Instead, he merely nodded, checked the map before hiding beneath his cloak again, and left.

"Thank you, Professor," he said softly just before opening the door and slipping out into the corridor. Surprisingly enough, it sounded as though he meant it.

Of course the final question—the crux of all—was the last one Harry had asked, and the one to which Severus himself had no answer.

Even Rowena could not have fully explained her feelings in regards to her relationship with Severus just now. The summer of fear for his life and the secret messages he left her in the form of 'sappy' music had served to wear away her resistance. She was still afraid of being hurt and her feelings for him still seemed mute and blunted compared to what they once had been. But she was no longer able or willing to deny they still existed, stronger for him than for any other person.

Like everyone else, nearly all her attention was focused on the war effort. As he had told her before the wedding—survive the war and worry about after, after. She just wanted to know he would BE here 'after'.

Most of her research time was spent in counter-spells for the Aurors. The Ministry had even gone so far as to 'officially' invite her to return to her old position with higher pay and heightened security. She had refused, not wanting to leave Hogwarts, but she agreed to assist in their counter-charm research from Hogwarts on a contractual basis.

Because of the added workload for everyone, she often went entire days sequestered away in her lab except for class and meals. Harry seldom visited her for Occlumency, though other Order members still found ways to meet with him to continue his intensive training without Caitlin Garvey's notice.

Albus, Filius, and Minerva were frequently seen around the perimeter of the school grounds, apparently increasing the wards further. Rowena was a bit hurt they didn't ask for her assistance, but she could hardly do everything and did have quite enough of her own work without adding additional wards to the heap.

In spite of this, Albus remained universally cheerful. He seemed to often find time to stop by and have tea with her during her free periods. From conversations with the other Professors, that was true for them as well. He occasionally asked for access to the Pensieve he had given her, adding wisps of thought to it, presumably to keep it as 'current' as possible. They would toss around theories related to the notes she had given him or simply just about mundane, day-to-day goings on at the school.

He insisted on playing chess with Severus at least once a week, found time to visit Remus and Tonks regularly outside of Order business, and even took Minerva McGonagall out to dinner for her birthday. Harry saw him every day, sometimes several times a day, and often it was for no other reason than to ask about how he was doing or share memories of his parents and Sirius.

In hindsight, Rowena thought she should have seen it coming.

Hogsmeade was nestled in a natural valley between several mountains. Hogwarts sat on a sort of enormous plateau of another and a long, narrow, gradually descending path between connected them. Part of the mountain protected the southern-most boundaries, while the enormous Forbidden Forest started at the western edge of this natural cliff wall before stretching out endlessly like a giant, cupped hand, holding Hogwarts' grounds in its palm. Its vast expanse began at the base of the southern mountains and curved westward before swooping back to the north. Between forest and mountain, more than three-quarters of the perimeter of the grounds were protected by natural geography before any spells were added.

The path to Hogsmeade and the main gates of Hogwarts were due north of the castle itself. The Founders themselves heavily magically warded the path and gates; magic which had been added to and expanded upon for centuries so that the gates, when closed, were more impregnable than the mountains.

There was a weakness though, in this natural and magical defense—a stretch of ground on the far side of the lake which was only lightly wooded, the mountain too unforgiving for the Forbidden Forrest to continue its encroachment on its eastern side. This stretch, the Hogwarts custodians often referred to as the "East Door". It was the most difficult stretch to maintain magically or physically. The harsh weather constantly battered at the high stone wall there, the physical attempt to complete the protective barrier which nature had denied. The wall routinely had to be repaired, re-Warded and even occasionally replaced altogether. Anyone with an inkling for tactics, who had been on the Hogwarts grounds, could tell this two hundred yard stretch of wall was the weak-spot in Hogwarts defenses. Or at least, her external defenses.

Voldemort, of course, had more than just an inkling for tactics. Or, perhaps, he simply had minions to whom he delegated that task.

Death Eaters attacked the school in the dead of night very early in October. More specifically, they attacked the wards surrounding the school at the East Door. It was apparently merely an attack to test the strength of the wards, a reconnaissance of sorts.

Harry woke before the attack began; his head hurting so badly he could hardly see. The pain was enough to prevent him from being able to clear his mind or access Voldemort's thoughts to try to figure out why he was having that much pain at that moment. He retched from the pain, but was not sick, and managed to find his invisibility cloak, though it was all he could do to activate the Marauder's Map. Thankfully his dorm-mates continued to be remarkably heavy sleepers and none of them awoke as he slipped out.

He did precisely what he had been instructed to do and made his way down to the dungeons as quickly as he could manage in the blinding pain. The door Severus had given him permission to use was guarded by a portrait of a very thin woman with her dark hair in a tight bun. She might have resembled McGonagall, except the woman in this portrait was far too haughty in appearance. Harry whispered to her from beneath his cloak.

"It's Harry Potter. Professor Snape said I could come here if it was an emergency. Would you please tell him I'm here?"

The woman sighed as though being extremely put-upon, but vanished from the frame. An instant later the door opened just enough to admit Harry and he slipped inside, pushing it shut behind him, since Snape couldn't see him yet.

"Is it safe to take off my cloak?" he whispered again.

"He can be taught," Severus said sardonically. "Yes, Potter. I would not have opened the door were it not."

Harry wasted no time being offended by the sarcasm and whipped off his cloak, only to retch heavily again.

"Something bad's happening," he gasped. "V..Voldemort's close by."

"Are you certain? What do you see?" Severus asked harshly.

"I can't see anything. Hurts too bad. Can't clear my mind," Harry said desperately. "It only gets this bad when he's close."

Severus turned to a tall cabinet behind him and opened it with a flick of his wand. Finding the potion he sought unerringly, he handed it to the suffering boy.

"I will forgive incaution this time in favor of expediency. Drink."

Harry drank. Almost immediately his pain eased. He sat in a nearby leather chair without waiting to be instructed, not bothering to notice that he was apparently inside the Professor's own quarters. His face became slack and his eyes unfocused as he sought to 'see' what was going on. Severus connected with him to 'ground' him at once and they both were able to witness the scene at hand.

At least a dozen hooded and white-masked figures lurk in the shadows of the scant trees in the area as they cast their spells from the limited concealment. Harry doesn't know the spells being used to 'test' the wards. Voldemort's mind is hungry, a sadistic bloodlust tainting the perception of the surrounding area. Death Eaters occasionally sweep by his position to give reports, but he barely heeds them.

He is HUNTING.

Images of Harry, in distorted pictures of imagination, occasionally flash across the scene, to be pushed aside with savage irritation. Potter is not the goal today. He will be prey on a different day. Prey of a different nature needs to be removed before he can focus properly on Potter.

Distorted, grotesque images of Albus Dumbledore flicker in and out, superimposing themselves over the visual reality of the scene. These images are sharper, clearer and have more intensity than the ones of Harry. They are the sick imaginings of a twisted mind as Voldemort sinks into fantasy of what he would like to do to the man if he could but get the old fool at his mercy.

The only way to get at Potter is to get rid of Dumbledore, first.

Potter's weakness is the 'love' of his 'friends'.

Dumbledore has only one true 'love'. One 'baby'. One thing more precious to him above all else. If Voldemort can threaten Dumbledore's passion, then he can lure the fool into his trap.

An image of Hogwarts, burning, falling, crumbling into a ruined, ugly mass of smoking rubble with hundreds of Dark Marks burning in the sky above it superimposes itself over all other images, real or imagined, and the sick, sadistic blood-lust spirals higher.

And so the Death Eaters work, nervously coming back with reports on findings, and elapsed time since the attack began.

"My Lord, we have been here nearly half an hour. Alarms are surely going off all over the school. I don't know why they haven't responded yet, but I don't like it, Lord. It smells of a trap. We should leave--or at least you, my Lord. You are too valuable to risk."

"Avery, the trap is not theirs but ours. We have simply been more successful than we anticipated in negating the alarms. Get back to work or suffer my displeasure!" Voldemort's voice is heard through the connection, high and cold, just as a gory image of eviscerating the man before him superimposes itself over the reality of his white-masked face.

Harry broke contact and jumped out of the chair, frantically racing for the door—which would not open. He tugged on it desperately, throwing all his weight backward in his panic.

"Professor! You've got to let me out of here! We've got to go help, sound the alarm—why aren't the alarms working?" He turned frantically to look at Severus, all his efforts to open the door ineffectual.

"Potter, calm down," Severus said, tapping a long, thin finger thoughtfully against the arm of the chair. "We will go to Albus at once. He will alert the others. I do not know why this attack is occurring just now, or why the alarms have not alerted the staff. But I do know if you set foot outside this castle now, all will be lost. You MUST stay inside. Is that clear?"

Only when Harry agreed and was once again hidden under his cloak, did Severus approach the door.

"Potter, if I find out you have disobeyed me on this and we both live to get back to this school, you will wish you HADN'T—do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir. Please hurry!" came Harry's disembodied voice. Snape seemed to be satisfied with this and opened the door wider than actually necessary so that Potter could slip out after him.

His long strides took him quickly to the Headmaster's office. He was surprised to find Minerva, Filius and Hagrid already inside—but no Albus. Minerva was sitting near the fire, a cup held tightly in her hands; Filius was pacing near a window; and Hagrid was trying to tempt Fawkes with a bit of biscuit. As soon as the door closed behind him, Harry took off his invisibility cloak.

"Apparently you are aware of the guests at our East Door, then," Severus said dryly. "I assume since we are all sitting here sedately having tea, this is some part of the Master Plan?"

Minerva's stricken glance as she looked at him spoke volumes and his gut clenched painfully. He glanced back at Fawkes sitting sedately on his perch and forced himself to relax. Fawkes would not be there if Albus was in danger.

"Where is the Headmaster?" he asked in commanding tones.

"Gone," sobbed Hagrid, dropping the uneaten biscuit and burying his face in his huge hands. "Gone to face them ruddy Death Eaters alone! He wouldn' let us come with him."

Severus paled and cast his piercing gaze at each in turn, trying to determine the truth of it. Minerva stared, pale and silent, into her teacup, and Severus was reminded strongly of how Becky Lupin had appeared when everyone believed the werewolf to be dying.

"Wouldn't LET you?" Severus asked incredulously. "How many times have you each, in your turn, ignored Albus' directives? NOW you choose to follow his orders? Foolish orders at that? Has this entire castle become nothing but a bloody bunch of Gryffindor fools, each bent upon dying as heroically as possible? Can none of you manage to think for yourself? If you won't go after him, I will. Subterfuge be damned!"

He then strode angrily back to the office door and discovered it would not open. Hagrid sobbed loudly while Minerva made a small noise in her throat and Filius blew his nose.

Several minutes of ineffectual wand work later, Severus was forced to give up his attempt to break out of the office. The portraits of the prior Headmasters were empty and presumably warded.

"How long have you been in here?" he asked dangerously. It was Filius who found his voice enough to answer.

"Minerva was here when I arrived. She said she just dropped in to see if anything needed doing before she went to bed—it was the end of her shift of night duty. I couldn't sleep so I went to the kitchens for a cup of cocoa. I always check the wards as a matter of course when I'm up and I noticed some minor tampering going on at the East Door. I didn't know then why the alarms weren't sounding." He shook his head sadly. "I'm fairly certain Albus used a local canceling charm himself. We talked about them just last week. It never occurred to me to wonder why he was curious about them."

He sighed and returned to his original explanation.

"I thought to alert Albus and came here to find Minerva already here. She tried to stop the door from closing behind me, but it seems to have a mind of its own. I got here about twenty minutes ago.

"Hagrid came in to alert Albus when Fang started barking and carrying on. Hagrid saw the glow of spell-work across the lake and we even managed to shout for him not to let the door shut behind him—but it was no use. The barrier Albus used forced him inside and the door shut. There was no use to warn you—once you opened the door there was no way to prevent you being drawn in, too. The Order communication keys don't work in here, either. I think Albus has been planning this for some time."

"This what, precisely?" Severus asked angrily, now testing the seal of the window.

Minerva leaned forward and tapped the edge of Albus' Pensieve, which Severus had not noticed until now, sitting sedately on the Headmaster's desk.

Albus' smiling face appeared up out of the milky surface, and floated slightly above it, not unlike a Muggle hologram.

"My dear, beloved friends, I am so very sorry to have to do this. I know each of you would follow me to the ends of the earth, to death and beyond, and I appreciate it more than you know. Perhaps more than I ever adequately told you.

"This time, you may not follow me, and because I fear you would try to do so in spite of my injunctions to the contrary, I have made certain that you cannot. There is no other way to do what must be done and only I can do it.

"You are my family in my heart as truly as if you were by blood. Be strong and do not give up hope, no matter how dark things might appear. I love you.

"It is time for my next Grand Adventure. Remember I am with you always."

"NOOOO!" Harry roared suddenly, and he ran to the door, attacking it as ineffectually as he had attacked Snape's door earlier. Severus stared at the ghostly image of the man who was the closest thing to a father he had ever known, shocked and speechless. Hagrid desisted his caterwauling in order to attempt to comfort Harry in his distress, while Filius continued to pace, shaking his head sadly. Minerva blinked rapidly and daubed at her eyes.

"POTTER, focus!" Severus voice broke through the boy's ranting like a whip-crack. Harry stopped, his hand still gripping the doorknob tightly. His shoulders heaved with the rapid breathing of his exertion, but he stopped.

"What can we do?" he said in a small, frightened voice. Severus was forced to acknowledge that if Dumbledore was really bent on doing what he seemed to be doing, Potter was about to lose the closest thing to a father he had ever known as well.

"Quite possibly nothing," Severus said bitterly, running a hand through his hair. "But I am unwilling to forego the attempt, however slight the chance for success. Sit down and focus. I doubt we have much time."

The other three fell silent; though that might have been more from astonishment at how readily Harry followed Severus' directions. In an instant, he was sitting in one of Albus' favorite squashy chairs. Already his breathing was calmer and his eyes were becoming unfocused.

"Calm your emotions first, Potter," Severus said sharply, though it appeared the boy was already 'gone'; so it was impossible to know if he had followed the directive. Severus quickly perched on the end of the coffee table in front of him and withdrew his wand. He rarely used his wand in these sorts of sessions, where he merely observed. But this time, he hoped to be able to act.

An inhuman tongue scents the air, tasting the acrid scent of failed spells. They have been here nearly an hour. Many spells have failed, but others are gradually breaking through. A small hole is visible in the stone wall, and now efforts are focused on making it larger, perhaps to send Nagini through if the Hated One does not arrive soon to defend his beloved school.

Severus noted with mild alarm that the 'feel' of the Dark Lord's hatred and lust for vengeance was stronger than he had yet experienced through this awkward conduit of image and emotion. It was as though it was getting additional strength from another source—Potter.

Normally, when they did this, Severus was aware of Potter's separate cognitive identity; his unique presence was subdued and hidden, but there. This time, that which was Harry Potter—a raging adolescent desire for vengeance on someone who had caused him so much pain—blended almost seamlessly with that which was the Dark Lord.

Potter had not removed himself from his own emotion before making the connection.

For now, Severus did nothing but continue to observe, though he was aware of the danger. The hatred was so savage, so corrupt, and so utterly inhuman, he did not believe there was anything he could do to alter the outcome. So far, his subtle manipulations of the Dark Lord's thoughts had simply been to draw notice to ideas already present in the hidden recesses of the sick mind. He was insane enough to nearly always bore quickly of any 'games' set before him. Severus had merely gently 'pushed' that boredom closer to the surface, testing his ability to do so without notice. Here, with the Dark Lord facing someone whom he hated so obsessively, there were no other milder emotions to bring to the fore. Any manipulation he did would be noticed at once.

He now had to concern himself with Potter's sanity instead.

The thing which made the Dark Lord's hatred so wrong, compared to the normal human version of that very violent emotion, was the pleasure he derived from feeling it. It was almost the exact, polar opposite to the wild angst-ridden passion of an adolescent experiencing his first 'love'. The Dark Lord's hatred had an edge of euphoria and ecstasy—the taint of addiction to the Dark Magic.

THERE! Through the tiny hole in the wall a silvery wisp is suddenly visible. Sensation so ecstatic as to surpass pleasures of the flesh floods through him as he now can TASTE the scent of his prey on his tongue.

Dumbledore.

Alone.

Delicious.

"Leave me," the high, cold voice hisses, blinded by arrogance and ecstasy so fierce it is almost a form of delirium.

"But Master!" a voice reaches through the haze. A paper-white, spidery hand with a long, black wand rises into the field of vision.

"Crucio!"

Screams fill the air as the addictive wash of Dark Magic heightens the intensity of the pleasure, as does the taste of sweat and pain and fear in the air. The high, cold voice utters a soft moan of ecstasy which is lost in the midst of the shrieks.

"Leave me, NOW," the voice says again, and no other voices utter protest.

Severus' alarm increased when he could not find Potter's own innate disgust at what was occurring. He could not serve as a grounding anchor to that which did not seem to exist. Potter was currently sharing the Dark Lord's impressions and sensations far too intimately, as though they were his own rather than just being an impartial observer.

Even for Severus the seduction of the addictive force was renewing old promises of what he could have, what he could do and become if only he would embrace it. He knew the falseness of those promises from experience—experience Potter did not have. If Potter felt the power behind the Avada Kedavra—what use would it be to destroy one Dark Lord only to create a new one?

He could not help Albus. The sure knowledge caused him as much pain as the decision to sever the Bond with Rowena did months before. But he was used to being practical and ignoring his own pain. If Potter succumbed to this Madness, everything would be lost.

He could already feel the sickeningly sweet lure, the spiraling vortex which was like the most wretched, sick, twisted parody of the sexual tension that leads to release. The Dark Lord was drawing in his power, focusing his will, feeding his hatred.

In a moment it would be too late.

"Potter!" Severus stood up and shouted the boy's name, shaking him by the shoulders. When the connection did not seem to 'break' at once, he slapped him soundly across the face. Harry fell sideways out of his chair and his glasses flew off his face to skid across the floor from the blow. He managed to pull himself up to his knees, pale, sweating and trembling, his eyes unfocused now because of the loss of his glasses rather than any connection to Voldemort.

Minerva had more experience with the boy in this condition than Severus had and managed to provide a rubbish bin just before he vomited spectacularly into it. He then began to sob, brokenly, between fresh heaves.

Severus' worst fear was actually allayed by the boy's obvious acute distress. He had not been too late. He had gotten him 'out' in time.

Relief was short-lived when Potter screamed in agony, clutching his scar and falling to the ground to writhe as though someone were holding him under the Cruciatus Curse. The high, clear note of Phoenix song was added to the screams, though this was a song of grief and sorrow. All this was overshadowed further by an almost blinding, sunshine-bright flash of vivid red-gold light which entirely encompassed the castle to instantly bathe every surface and every occupant in the brilliance.

The darkness seemed darker and the silence quieter in the aftermath. Potter's pained, shuddering sobs were echoed by sorrowful sounds from Fawkes. None of them had any doubt of what had just happened.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was gone.