Several hours had passed. There were more than a few empty bottles of wine on the battered old table in Griffyndor Tower, and the flickering firelight illuminated the tired forms of Harry Potter and Severus Snape. Hedwig sat on her perch in the corner, snowy head tucked under an equally-snowy wing.
"So that's it, then. The whole story. That's the big deal." Harry leaned his head back and rubbed his face tiredly.
Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry's tone. "That's it. Did you expect more?"
Harry didn't understand. "Well…yeah, actually. What's the big deal? Why didn't anyone tell me this when I was younger? Why all the secrets?"
"I don't know." Severus shook his head slowly, his arms folded wearily across his chest. "I honestly don't know, Harry. I believe…" He paused, staring into the fire, then said, "I think…perhaps…that Albus didn't want to burden you with all of this. Not if it wasn't necessary, anyway."
"Not necessary? Not necessary? What are you playing at?" Harry asked in disbelief. With a shrug, Snape continued.
"What I mean is…well,I believe so. What if, perhaps, Voldemort had never regained power? What if he really was dead, and gone? Was there any point, then, with troubling you with such knowledge? I don't know. What do you think?" Snape's voice was gentle, and just a bit slurred.
Harry rubbed his eyes again, and let out a huge yawn. "I'm too tired to think right now."
Snape, groaning slightly, leaned forward and pushed himself to his feet. "I agree. I'm rather tired, myself, and I believe I will go to bed. We can talk more at a later date, if you wish. Perhaps you may wish to talk to Albus. I'm sure he has more to say than I. But he and I felt that you should know the entire story of your parents' murders. And," he added, "Now that there is no more reason for me to hide anything from Voldemort, now that I am openly exposed as a double-agent, and as a member of the Order -- well, there is no more need for secrecy, is there?" He stood tall, and stretched. "Where is Ginny tonight?"
"Working." Harry didn't say more; he didn't know any details. It was a hard thing to live with, but he was learning to handle the fear and uncertainty. For the most part, anyway. "She's not due to be relieved until tomorrow."
"May she come home safely." Snape placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, and paused briefly, giving it a small squeeze. Then he turned and slowly made his way out of the tower, still limping. The curse that had left Harry with merely a scar had left Snape with a partial, and somewhat painful, paralysis of his left leg. No one knew for sure if it would go away, although Snape said that some days were better than others, and having a bad leg definitely was better than the alternative. "And now, if you will excuse me…I have to go repeat this entire story to Remus Lupin. He also deserves to know everything that I can tell him." Snape sighed. "Goodnight, Potter," he said softly as he exited the tower.
"Goodnight, Com…er, Severus." Feeling groggy and more than a bit drunk, Harry stumbled his way up the stairs to his old dormitory, where he slept at nights. Usually Ginny was with him, when she wasn't on duty. When she was on duty, he often lay awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and counting the minutes until she returned safely. It was amazing, how long a night could be, sometimes, and how huge and empty the tower could be. The castle was still sparsely populated -- although with the Ministry workers, it was beginning to fill up a bit -- and Harry had this particular dormitory all to himself. Hermione and Ron lived in the same tower, but in the next dormitory over. Still…it was lonesome without Ginny.
Tonight, though, he had no problem falling asleep as soon as he dived under the covers. Probably the wine, he thought sleepily, as he began to drift off. He wasn't much of a drinker, usually. He had a feeling that he'd pay for this tomorrow.
Within minutes, Harry was fast asleep, but his mind was still racing. He dreamt of a Halloween night almost nineteen years ago…
…"Come, Wormtail." The high-pitched, hard voice said conversationally, as two hooded figures passed through a small, dark village. The cozy houses all had darkened windows, as it was fairly late at night. Throughout the bare trees, several owls could be seen, blinking wisely at the passers-by, and hooting occasionally. Voldemort and Wormtail rustled through the fallen leaves as they walked, for the road had not been cleared, and the air was fragrant with the late autumn smell of decaying foliage. It was a crisp, sweet smell, one that evoked a nostalgic feeling of childhood innocence in those not too old or jaded to remember such small delights.
"You have done well. If my plan comes to pass, you will be rewarded for your brave and faithful service. Lord Voldemort is pleased with you."
"Yes, my Lord," said a snivelling, cowering little man. "I am grateful, my Lord. Very grateful…"
"Be silent." Wormtail went silent, and they continued on their way through the village. From Harry's vantage point, Wormtail looked much the same as he had when he had known him, during his third year at Hogwart's. Only perhaps a bit younger. Still, this was only his imagination, he knew, for he also knew that he must be dreaming.
After what seemed to be only a moment, they approached a house at the end of one road. The roads had been deserted -- they had encountered no one. There were a few lights on in the upstairs window of the house, however, and Harry could hear a woman singing. She had a lovely, clear voice. It sounded like a lullabye. He felt a lump form in his throat. Below him, Voldemort and Wormtail paused.
"This is it, my Lord," Wormtail whispered in an excited voice.
"Excellent." Voldemort's voice sent chills down Harry's spine. "Now go knock on the door."
"Me," squeaked Wormtail. "You wish for me to…?" He trailed off, quaking.
"Of course. You are their friend, after all. And you are their trusted secret keeper. I cannot get in without your help." A soft, quiet laugh. "Let us pay a visit to your dear friends. Your best friends. I should very much like to meet your best friends, Wormtail."
Perhaps it was the light, but it looked to Harry as though Pettigrew would faint, he was so pale. After a few seconds, however, he approached the front door, and knocked smartly with the lion's head door knocker. Three times, a pause, then once more. Voldemort waited, in the shadows beside him. Harry could just make out a large spider clinging, unnoticed by anyone else, to the hem of Voldemort's robe.
Harry caught his breath. The door had opened, and his father stood there.
"Peter! Hello! What are you doing here? You aren't on duty tonight, are you? Is there a problem?" James Potter paused, a strange look on his face. His smile faded, and his eyes narrowed. "…Peter…why are you here?" Harry saw his father reach for his wand.
But not quickly enough. From beside Peter, from a figure barely visible in the dark, a green bolt of light shot straight for the open doorway -- but James was not there. His Quidditch reflexes had served him well. The door swung shut, and Harry could hear his father yelling, "Lily! It's him! Take Harry and go! I'll try to hold him off!"
Voldemort laughed, and Pettigrew blasted the door open with a wave of his wand. They stormed inside, but Harry saw Pettigrew fall to the ground, stunned. Way to go, Dad, Harry thought proudly. But only for a second…for in the next second, he heard his father scream, an inarticulate shout, from the upstairs window. A flash of green light illuminated one of the windows.
Downstairs, a younger version of Severus Snape stood there, his wand pointed at Pettigrew, and his expression fierce and determined. At the sound of the scream, however, he cursed and swung about, running up the stairs two at a time. "Potter! Lily!", Harry heard him say. Then Harry heard the high, cold voice that sent chills down his spine. The same voice that he had recalled during his third year of school, courtesy of the gruesome Dementors that had been standing guard at the school at the time.
"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside."
"No!" Harry could hear his mother pleading desperately with Voldemort. The fear and desperation in her voice broke Harry's heart. "No! Not Harry! Leave us alone!"
As though he were watching some strange Muggle movie unfold, Harry saw Snape rush into the bedroom where his mother, her long red hair streaming, attempted to shield her baby son. Voldemort had his back to the door, and therefore did not see Snape. What happened next was too fast for Harry to make clear sense of.
What he saw was Severus Snape shoot some kind of a protective shield, a pale pink in colour, strengthening to purple, in front of Lily and Harry, but at the same time, Lily raised her wand and fired a blast at Voldemort, who at that precise moment fired a blast of killing green light at Lily. The shield dissipated, and Snape slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. It looked as though he would pass out. Whatever that shield was, clearly it took a lot out of the wizard creating it. Snape raised a trembling arm, his wand pointing at Voldemort's back. But he was too late.
Harry watched his mother fall. Her lifeless arms dropped baby Harry to the floor.
It appeared that, incredibly, Voldemort had still not yet become aware of Snape's presence, so caught up in his mission as he was. Cackling madly, he aimed his wand for another shot. "Farewell, little Potter. It's nothing personal, child. You just simply have to…go…" he said. There was that eerie rushing sound of accumulating power that Harry had come to associate with the Avada Kedavera curse, and dream Harry felt his muscles tense.
Severus Snape now lay on his side in the hallway, but, his expression once again fierce and intent, was just able to produce that same, weird shield again, albeit at a stronger intensity than before; it was almost a dark purple in colour this time. In his other hand, he held another wand -- Pettigrew's wand, perhaps? -- and tried to aim it at Voldemort, but he just could not manage it. He was too weakened.
What happened next was unbelievable. The Avada Kedavera curse rebounded, for some reason, disintegrating Voldemort's thin, pale body. The Dark Wizard barely had time to scream -- all Harry heard was a thin, high-pitched screech, abruptly cut off, before his empty robes simply fell to the floor, slightly smoking. Dream Harry stared -- he had never heard of the Avada Kedavera curse disintegrating a body before. Weren't bodies usually unmarked? This bizarre shield -- a Curse Shield, Snape had called it -- was his own invention, and, according to Snape, had not been fully developed at the time. Snape had been working on it for years. Even now, judging by the huge lightning bolt scar on Snape's chest, it was still not completed. Still, though, Snape and Harry had both survived, and that was something. Dream Harry turned his attention back to the terrible scene in front of him.
Baby Harry appeared to be intact, except for a few bruises, and a deep, oddly-shaped bloody gash on his forehead. He opened his mouth and let out a huge wail.
The noise seemed to rouse Snape, who was lying on his side, sweating and vomiting. He looked as though he would pass out. Through tears pouring down his face, Snape stared blearily at the crying baby, and whispered, "Potter. Oh, thank Merlin. Potter."
The house began to shake, the walls collapsing and dust and plaster falling from the ceiling. "Damn it," muttered Snape. With the last of his strength, the young man pulled himself over to the little boy and pulled his cloak over the two of them. "Protego ", he whispered, weakly swinging his wand overhead. Behind him, Pettigrew's wand and Voldemort's cloak and wand lay, unattended. Around them, the house collapsed into rubble, but the debris merely bounced off the rounded shield above them. With another muttered incantation, Snape caused them to float safely down to the ground when the floor collapsed.
They lay there, baby Harry crying, Snape shaking and coughing and gasping. As Harry watched, he saw Snape point a trembling arm and whisper, "Entrapio!" at something scurrying through the rubble. A hot swell of anger formed in Harry's stomach as he saw a squeaking rat dodge and swerve as it ran from the destroyed house. Snape had missed. Wormtail had escaped. Again. "You slimy son-of-a-bitch," Snape hissed angrily. "You can run, but you can't always hide. I'll get you sooner or later." He coughed again. "And that's a promise," he wheezed, still coughing.
A few moments passed. Baby Harry's crying gradually began to subside, and Snape seemed to regain some of his strength, although the dust from the rubble was making him choke, and his eyes water. The tears pouring down his face left dark trails in the dust coating his pale skin. "Shhhh," he whispered, holding the baby close. Snape tried to brush some of the dirt and debris off the baby, with little success. "Shhhh. It's all right. Someone will come for you. It's all right, little Potter." A few moments later -- although it seemed much quicker than that to the dreaming Harry -- there were sounds of alarm from outside. A wail and a howl, and Harry could hear a deep voice shouting.
"James! Lily! Oh God!" A sobbing, distraught Hagrid could be seen, running up the lane. Before Harry's eyes, Snape -- after taking his robe off and wrapping Harry securely in it -- seemed to shrink in upon himself, and where he had been, there was only a large, black spider, with long, thin legs, sitting on a pile of bricks and watching Harry intently. The next second, Hagrid stormed amongst the rubble, crying with relief when he found Harry swaddled in the robe.
"But Hagrid, someone's been here!" A voice from behind Hagrid. Dream Harry noticed the small, dishevelled man for the first time. Hagrid's gaze swivelled to the much-smaller man.
"What d'yeh mean, Mundungus?"
"Well, who's gone and wrapped him in that robe, then?"
"What?" Hagrid frowned, and unwrapped Harry. Mundungus Fletcher held up the long black robe.
"Whose is this, then?"
Harry watched as Hagrid snatched the robe from Fletcher, and scanned the rubble intently for a moment. Then he spotted the spider, and stared at it for a second. While Mundungus searched the rubble, Harry saw Hagrid nod solemnly at the spider, and carefully set the robe on the ground. Then he straightened and yelled, "Eh, Fletcher… let's find Lily and James, an' we'll get them outta here…hope they're alright, but I'm bettin' they'll be hurt, or…"
"I've found them, Hagrid." Fletcher's voice was low, and flat. "They're over here." Harry could hear the grief in his voice.
Harry watched as Hagrid picked his way carefully across the debris, and after a shocked gasp, Harry heard him let out a heartbreaking wail. It seemed like the wailing went on, and on…
…he sat up in his bed. There was a faint pink dawn just breaking over the mountains, and his face was wet. Hedwig sat on the side of his bed, watching him with concern. After a second, she hopped over to where he sat, and leaned against his arm.
Harry sniffled, and wiped his face dry. The words of Severus Snape came back to him, now. "Your father and I despised one another, yes, but we made a sort of peace, Harry. For your mother -- Lily Evans -- her family lived down the street from me when we were children. Lily was my dearest friend, Harry. Lily and Petunia. They were like the sisters that I never had. I mourned your father's death, but Lily's death…that gutted me. All I could do for her was to try to look out for her son. That's all I've ever tried to do. And if I've been an overly-harsh teacher? Well, Harry…you were not a very good student. It was frustrating." Snape's voice, full of old regret and sadness, reciting the horrifying events of that night, nearly nineteen years before, had been like a soothing bandage over an old wound. "I, and every other teacher here -- we've only been trying to teach you how to survive. You, and every other student who couldn't be bothered to pay attention, to learn. Poor Longbottom, I've agonised over that child. After what happened to his parents…well, it's only understandable that we would want to make him strong, to help him as much as we could…"
Harry, listening to Snape's words as an adult, rather than the student that he used to be, found that he agreed. Snape was right. He'd always been right, and Harry just hadn't been mature enough to understand that. Well, he understood now, and felt a huge rush of gratitude towards the older man, who had done his best to help Harry learn.
But just now, Harry couldn't get the memory of the dream out of his mind. All this pain, all this suffering, all these lives torn apart -- thanks to Voldemort.
If it was the last thing that Harry ever did, he would defeat Voldemort. Even if he died trying.
He would put an end to Voldemort.