Disclaimer: None of those associated with Hogwarts and its environs are my property (beyond paying for the books, of course). I am merely playing with JKR's toys and promise to return them unharmed. Well, maybe a little singed, but that can't be helped.
Warning: This story contains gigantic, humungous spoilers of HBP. If you haven't read it, what are you waiting for? Go and read something by a real author.
This chapter gets a little dark, and not just because it's night. If you don't like it I don't recommend the next chapter.
ooOOoo
Spots danced in Harry's eyes long after the stink of ozone and scorched flesh had been taken by the wind. The world still shook with the aftermath of thunder – oh, no: it was Harry who shook, gradually realising he'd been trying to dig through the stone with his shoulder-blades. The fear that pulsed through him was purest animal panic – he'd only felt it this intensely when he'd been crucio'd by Voldemort after the Goblet of Fire tournament. His body screamed at him to run and he probably would have bolted over the cliff if he hadn't been pinned to the rock.
After the smell came realisation of a noise, a faint moan of something in pain.
Harry hoped it wasn't him.
But then grey returned out of the popping black-and-white afterimages the lightning had burned into the backs of his eyes and he realised that the fuzzy grey thing he was staring at was the dolmen.
A piece of rock had broken off it and had fallen, cutting into the earth with a sharp knife edge. Harry swallowed, gladthat both it and the lightning hadn't hit him.
Another muffled moan drew his attention to the figure clawing its way back to its feet. Snape rested his weight on the capstone for a minute.
"Can't take a hint, can you?" Harry grinned. Snape was scorched down one side; the sleeve of his left arm in tatters. What the flesh was like underneath was probably pure justice.
Snape ignored him and raised his left arm again. It was only then that Harry recognised that not only was the other wizard pointing his wand at the silver cup, he'd been pointing his wand at the bronze brooch before the lightning hit.
The brooch was gone.
Harry might have thought it blown away by the blast, hidden in some crevice somewhere, but for the metallic streak on the stone where it had been. He went cold as he reaslised...
"Snape…"
Then the lightning hit again. Harry was ready for it this time and closed his eyes just in time, prewarned by Snape's shoulders hunching against the blow.
No-one could protect theirself against a force like that.
And then there was the thunder…
When he opened his eyes again the air tasted of tin and his hair was standing on end. Now that he knew what was going to happen it was only half as frightening – which meant he didn't want to throw up with the aftershock quite so badly. Unfortunately, the rank stink of burning hair and flesh didn't help ease his stomach.
This time the spots faded faster, and he saw that the silver cup was another smear on the capstone.
Snape was a ragged pile of smoking black robes under the dolmen.
Harry bit his lip. It was like not looking at a road accident as you went past in the bus after primary school. It was something you just had to do, even though you knew you'd give yourself nightmares. And it was some time before Snape could move again. Several flashes of lightning made Harry flinch, but none reached into the little hollow. There was an odd tightness inside his chest as he watched Snape sit up and move his head from side-to-side as if something terrible pained him. It felt a little like sympathy.
Harry preferred the hate.
Hate hurt less than watching this man groping over the ground with one hand. The other hand was curled to his chest.
"To your right," Harry said.
Snape stilled for half a second, then reached to the right.
"A little more."
Fingers closed around the wand. And when Snape tilted back his head Harry saw that his suspicions were correct: the lightning had scored across Snape's face. Half his hair was burned down to a stubble – that explained the terrible smell. A great line of charcoal running from his left temple down and across to the right corner of his jaw had slit in places, showing thinner lines gleaming raw and red in the light of the globe. The lightning had ripped right across the eyes, which wept jelly and blood. Snape was blind.
The certainty of Harry's world trembled. It was as if…
"He'll just make more, you know," Harry said. His head felt light. He was babbling, he knew, but he felt that if he could just keep talking he would somehow tumble into the truth of Dumbledore's death and the continuing life of the Half-Blood Prince. He'd been weighing up Ron's life – saved when Harry had remembered words in Snape's book about using a bezoar for poisoning – against Dumbledore's death for too many months now. He needed to align the two in his own head just to get the world on an even keel again. When Dumbledore had fallen away off the top of the tower Harry had lost protection, a mentor, a link to his parents and a friend… Two friends. Because he'd lost his illusions about the Half-Blood Prince.
Or maybe he'd only been given new ones…
Snape tilted his head to the side, as if trying to make sense of Harry's words. Or maybe just to get his balance back. It wasn't easy knowing the absolute difference between up and down when you were in pitch dark.
Or right and wrong. As Harry knew from experience.
"More Horcruxes," Harry elaborated. "He can divide his soul up again and again."
Snape shook his head silently. The faintest smile touched the corners of that grim mouth. A new line of red opened up in the burn, and Snape winced.
So did Harry. "Did you stop him from…?"
Again, a head-shake, and Snape made a soft, breathy sound of pain.
Harry went rigid at the sound. He knew he'd hear it in nightmares to come. "Is he too thinly-spread?" Harry guessed, thinking aloud as he remembered how Voldemort looked somehow… two-dimensional. Like someone in a wizard photo: he could move and get information across, but you kept feeling that if you tilted the picture fast enough he'd thin out of sight.
Only a pity life wasn't like that.
(In the confusion of Nagini's attack on her master, he'd seen the silvery stuff Voldemort had taken from his scar trickle through his fingers… and Voldemort had glowed with fury that only made the confusion worse… and it meant, Harry hoped one less Horcrux to deal with.)
Snape, who was dragging himself up paused, breathing with a rasp that made Harry swallow in empathy, nodded. He propped himself on one elbow, Harry noticed; he couldn't take his eyes off the other arm which showed the occasional glimmer of white bone through blackened flesh.
Then he realised the harsh sounds weren't just Snape breathing: there were words in there.
"Dark… Mark… Vo… morr… hah… Follow nine days… initiationn… Unnersta'?"
The voice was slurred. But Harry understood. "Yes."
Voldemort would be initiating new Death Eaters in nine days. He'd be spreading himself so thin at that time that he should be a good target for the Order. Harry understood that perhaps this was information that could be used to trap the remaining members of the Order – Voldemort might be using Snape like this to give information that seemed good and would turn out to be poison.
Harry couldn't say for sure. He really couldn't. He didn't know how far Snape would go to help Voldemort – this might be some incredibly elaborate set-up to draw out the rest of the Order.
Or it might be their one chance.
Either way, there was little he could do to help or hinder Snape at this moment. He knew the other wizard must be weakening by the way the bonds holding him flattened against the rock had loosened slightly. Just enough to wriggle, but not enough for him to reach his wand or slip out of the invisible magical ropes.
Snape was standing now. If his face hadn't been ruined, Harry was sure he would have been scowling down at the bone hairpin.
"It's just in front of you," Harry said softly as the tall wizard swayed slightly. Snape moved his hand. "Move your wand a little to the right – yes – stop. That's it." He was oddly touched by the silent obedience. "But first you have to…"
Then the hairs up the back of his neck began to prickle. No! he thought. Not yet – I need to - !
There was no time to warn Snape, but it didn't matter because Snape had sensed it too and his left hand, charred to the bone, was raised in the air like he wanted to ask a question and
and the lightning
came down
and this time Harry heard in the back of his mind a faint howl of rage as it grounded itself in the Horcrux
and the world went so white it was black
and turned over
and the bonds holding Harry dissolved, dumping him on the sandy soil.
ooOOoo
A/N: Thanks to reviewers and thanks for your kind comments:
Oya, Unlikely2, Sliverthreads, Persephone Lupin (oops – I always used 'Mississippi one, Mississippi two, Mississippi three' etc to count seconds when I was a kid. It's just a handy long word that rolls off the tongue), Nikole Riddle, Miranda (yeah, ambiguity seems to be central to his character), duj, LM, Zesty! (don't worry – it should be clear by the end… if not, let me know and I'll re-write), juliedecarson, SirJimmy7, Elizabeth Marshall Pennyworth, and Liz the Factotum
Cheers, people! I was going to hold off doing some writing for a bit, but you were so encouraging I thought I'd better post something. Cheesy but true.
