TITLE: Harry Potter and the Obligatory Sequel, Chapter Twenty-Two
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to J.K. Rowling.
BETA: The Incredible Irisgirl12000, and all further mistakes are mine.
SUMMARY: The traitor is revealed.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Beneath the Surface
"What is it like, Harry? What is it like?" Ron and the others trotted behind the Boy Who Lived, wands drawn, struggling to keep up while still keeping an eye out for danger.
Harry paused, sniffing at the wind. "… It's amazing," he whispered. He had to be quiet. He didn't know why—just that he needed quiet right now, to focus, to concentrate. The Bloodhound Brew had increased Harry's sense of smell by more than he could calculate. They'd gone back to Dumbledore's office, where Harry had been able to tell his scent immediately—an odd, sweetish-sour smell, like citrus and old socks. It didn't smell dirty, but it did smell a bit elderly.
Harry memorized it, and was sure he could track it across a mountain range—so long as he didn't get distracted. The smell of damp, rotting leaves under their feet, rising whenever they moved forward, was nearly overwhelming. The lake, deep and dark and fragrant, steady on his left helped anchor Harry. The sharp, clean promise of snow in the air tumbled around in Harry's head, causing his bloodstream to zing with the thought Hurry, hurry, hurry, before the trail turns really cold.
"But… but what's it like?" Neville queried timidly, searching Harry's face.
Harry shook his head as he led them through the trees. "No words can come close," he said. "Wait! Horse!"
Everyone fell silent at Harry's raised hand. After silence stretched out into several minutes, they heard crackling in the underbrush as some large animal or animals walked past.
"It is…" Harry heard a deep voice rumble. It was the voice of a centaur, and all of the students held their breaths, knowing that centaurs would be unlikely to view their trespassing as justifiable.
"What shall happen, shall happen. It is written in the stars," another voice said. Despite the complacent words, Harry could smell the creature's fear, thick and fragrant in the air. Ginny smelled frightened, too—sour, bitter and acidic.
The other snorted. "Just as you say. However, regardless of what the stars say, my feet are here in the forest, and that forest has been invaded. I am deeply vexed by the intrusion. Someone crept past me earlier this very night… It is disturbing."
"No one can fight the stars," the other said firmly, and the voices began to move away.
"… guard our dominion…" Harry heard one mutter as it floated back to him on the breeze.
"Does that mean other people have been here before us?" Neville whispered.
"Yes! That means we're on the right track!" Ron said excitedly.
"Yeah… great," Harry added, feeling uneasy. Something wasn't right. The smell of fear was almost choking him. "Come on," he said, shaking himself out of his agitation. "The smell goes down toward the lake."
They reached the cold, placid waters before the scent stopped, and Harry knelt down, following the Headmaster's scent to the dark surface.
Then he realized what was wrong.
"RUN!" he screamed. Arms reached up out of the water, grasping him firmly, wrestling him down. Harry struggled, still crying out, and saw dark shapes burst from the direction of the trees, Neville raising his wand and letting loose a chilly blast of blue wind, Ron tumbling to the ground… and Ginny's terrified face, staring at him from the distance.
OoOoOoOoO
Granger and Blaise met Snape and the others before they'd made it to the castle doors. "He went that way!" Granger shouted, pointing.
"How do you know? What's happened?"
"I don't know what he's thinking—but I knew he was up to something, so I sewed a Stalking Spell into his shoes. I got the curse off Blaise and we came to find you, but I really think someone should tell Professor McGonagall and—"
"Then go," Snape said. "I'll go after Harry."
Granger shook her head frantically, bushy curls flying. "I can't! I'm the one connected to the spell!"
"I'll go," Colin offered, and Snape nodded. The boy pressed a kiss to Blaise's cheek before running off, and the others tactfully said nothing.
"I'm coming with you," Blaise told the man.
"What for?" Lucius long hair whipped in the frigid wind.
"Well, I can't let the Death Eaters kill Potter. I still want to get vengeance for that hex he cast on me."
Snape briefly considered the danger the children would be in, but deep inside, in his darkest heart, he knew that they might serve as a distraction, and that he'd sacrifice one or both of them for Harry's sake. It was this calculating, merciless aspect of Snape that had led him to become a Death Eater, and tonight the Death Eater wanted loose again.
He swallowed his baser instincts back and nodded once, sharply. "We've no time to waste arguing," he said, shoving Granger and forcing her to keep ahead of his long strides.
They ran.
OoOoOoOoO
Harry managed to tear himself away from the merman's hands, stumbling and falling to the ground. He got back on his feet, still slipping a bit in the slick mud of the bank.
"Drop your wands, or the girl dies," a masked Death Eater said calmly, his wand to Ginny's neck.
"Ginny!" Ron cried, looking to Harry for guidance.
Harry swallowed hard, closing his eyes. How could he do this to Ron? What choice did he have? What difference would it even make?
Harry's nose began to bleed, and he pressed his hand to his face. "I… Ron, don't. She's one of them. I still don't want her to die, but… she's one of them, I reckon."
Every freckle stood out on Ron's white face, and he looked like he was going to be ill. "How can you say that?" he asked in a strangled voice. "Harry, she wouldn't do that. You don't understand. You don't have any real family. Real family doesn't do that."
It hurt, but that was how Ron was raised, and Harry knew that even in the closest families, within the closest group of friends, betrayal could creep up like a vine, twisting round one's throat to strangle them. Pettigrew was proof enough of that.
"Ron, she reeked of terror back in the forest. Even more than Neville. The centaurs said there were people creeping about the forest—but Dumbledore disappeared weeks ago, so why would they still be here? Ron—it was a trap."
Ron shook his head. "No…"
"She gave me the potion."
"No!"
Harry dabbed at his nose with his sleeve. "Ron… I'm bleeding."
Ron looked to Ginny, who didn't meet his eyes.
"You… couldn't…" he said.
"Oh. Oh, my head… Ron," Harry said, reaching out blindly. He could feel a buzzing in his nasal cavity, the stinging growing worse. He could smell nothing but blood, profuse and coppery. And pain...
Ron grabbed him around the waist as Harry staggered.
"Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry! Harry, I'm so sorry!" Ginny shrieked, horrified. "They said they wouldn't hurt you! You said—you said—you promised!" she twisted in the man's grip, but he merely held her tighter, chuckling.
"You can have him when the Dark Lord's finished with him."
"What's left of him, anyway," another laughed.
"No! You promised! He's mine! MINE!" Ginny wailed, kicking and thrashing.
"You were supposed to be my friend," Harry said dully. He still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that one of the Weasleys had betrayed him. They were his family, or the closest thing he had.
"Ron, take Harry and run, I'll hold them off," Neville suggested, his face screwed up in determination.
Ron had whipped off his cloak and was pressing it to Harry's face, trying to staunch the blood flow. "I don't reckon Harry's up for running," he said tensely.
"Then—then—get behind me," Neville begged.
"Neville, you can't possibly—"
"Get behind me!" Neville was sweating, his round face earnest. "It may not be much, but I'll do whatever I can," he vowed, raising his wand. "PETRIFICUS TOTALUSI" he roared, and one of the smaller Death Eaters toppled to the ground. "I did it," Neville marvelled. "I really did it!"
"Great," Harry moaned through the blood. His vision was beginning to get blurry. "Now just get rid of the others…" Ron pinched Harry's nose, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.
"I—I—what should I do?" Neville asked, looking round.
Ron tried casting a spell to get Harry's bleeding to stop, but was felled by a jet of water before he could complete the charm. "Ron!" Harry cried, trying to crawl to his friend. "I don't know, Neville!" he yelled. "Try something! Try anything!"
"Protego!" Neville shouted, and a curse bounced off of him. "I can't keep this up!" he yelled.
Harry looked up at Neville through a fog. It was getting colder. "Y'r doin' great," he mumbled. God, how he missed Snape. His mother began screaming somewhere in the distance. "Great, Neville," he sighed. "Keep… it… up…" Everything began to go black.
OoOoOoOoO
It was cold, and getting colder. It was more than just the early winter air—Snape could feel a chill creeping up his spine and trying to burrow into his heart. Something in Snape's soul was cringing, and he could feel the Dark Mark burning on his arm, and he ran, he ran, he ran, cloak whipping behind him, his fingers biting into his wand, his breath harsh and fast. He no longer needed the girl to guide him, and he quickly outdistanced both her and Zabini, Malfoy hot on his heels.
The man suddenly grabbed Severus round the waist, nearly sending them both to the ground. "I see them—see? There—the side of the lake," Lucius hissed, nodding.
Snape started forward. Lucius did not.
Severus glanced over his shoulder, eyes burning.
"I daren't, Severus," his long-time friend and adversary told him, and Severus knew he would not. Albus always wanted to believe the best in people, but the best that could be said for Malfoy was that he would be at your side if there were something in it for him. Severus had known that from the beginning—Lucius Malfoy was a walking example of too-high expectations.
Severus gave him a long, cool look and turned his back. He strode toward the commotion on lean legs, raising his wand, and picked an adult at random. "Incendio!" he bellowed.
In the flare of light that followed as his target burst into flames, Severus decided that he had likely struck Bellatrix. A high-pitched shriek followed, and screams, and the figure fell, writhing, to be consumed.
There was a long moment of stillness, as everyone watched the woman's death in horror. This allowed Severus to cast another curse, though he didn't think his quarry was killed this time. Pushing back his own disgust, fear, and qualms, he tried again, but already the Death Eaters were regrouping.
"It's the traitor!" Rodolphus' voice roared, and he tried to cast Avada Kedavra, but Severus was already moving, throwing himself to the ground.
"Harry!" he called out, but Harry didn't answer.
"Help!" he heard the Weasley boy shout. "Neville can't hold them off much longer!" Severus wondered why Longbottom was allowed to be doing anything at all, and why Weasley wasn't doing it himself, but then a white-hot pain lanced his side, driving all thoughts from his mind.
It was time to fight. There was nothing for it. Severus stopped being Albus Dumbledore's spy, stopped being Hogwarts' Potions Master, stopped being the anti-hero that all good people thought he was, and reverted to the thing he'd been made into. Severus Snape dropped the mask and became the Death Eater.
He spat curses, running, stumbling, clawing his way through the mud on the bank. He grunted countercurses, rolled and weaved, and he demonstrated no pity. He could have killed them all. He would have killed them all. He certainly wanted to.
Harry's voice did not come.
The air shimmered to his left, and the Dark Lord appeared, his red eyes glowing with pleasure at the carnage. "Ah, Severus. Such a very good assassin you are. You were made for this. Are you sure you don't want to find your way back to the fold? I'm the only one that can sate your unquenchable blood lust," he pointed out, nearly purring with smugness.
Severus considered this. "Yes," he acknowledged quietly. "You are." He swallowed and cried, "Avada Kedavra!" but the man—the monster—had vanished, only to reappear several paces to the right, looking noticeably less smug.
"Very well. If you aren't on my side, then you're a bit of a hindrance, and you'll be dealt with accordingly." Before he could lift his wand, Snape was on him, scrabbling and swearing, giving up on magic altogether, trying to rend the Dark Lord limb from limb.
"If he dies—if he dies—" Severus choked out, furious. He got his hands round the man's throat, and they tingled unpleasantly—some kind of poison, he assumed—but he wouldn't stop—he wasn't going to stop—
"You mustn't! You mustn't!" the Granger chit was crying, but he didn't know if it was directed at him
"Yes, I bloody well must!" an angry voice retorted. "He's choking on his own blood! Anapneo!"
There was a cough, and a garbled "Thank you" that sounded a bit like Harry.
"Professor, Harry's alive and—we've won," a tearful Hermione informed the man, and he glanced over her in astonishment. As soon as he turned his head, Voldemort exploded— there was no other word for it, really—and he was rocked back on his heels as the man vanished.
"Oh!" Granger gasped, horrified, and whipped out her wand immediately, drenching him with cool water. "Oh, Professor! Are you hurt terribly? We need to get you and Harry back to the hospital wing right away!"
"Just a bit singed," Snape replied wearily, looking down at his red, blistered hands. The scent of burnt flesh was everywhere, but Severus didn't think most of it was because of him. Bellatrix was a charred bit of nothing, now, her too-still body a lump of ash. He smiled nastily. "Bella barbeque," he remarked, ignoring the utterly appalled look Granger gave him.
"—the water! In the water! Hurry!" someone was shouting, and Severus looked over blearily to see Blaise waving frantically. He tried to stand and go to the boy's assistance, but God, how it hurt, and he couldn't seem to push himself up.
"Stay," Granger instructed. "Lucius Malfoy, you come out here right now. If you're really on our side, then we need help, and the other Death Eaters have gone."
Malfoy ghosted into view, his eyes darting from the small redheaded girl crying on the ground—did Severus know her? He couldn't remember her name—to the blank-looking Longbottom—well, even more blank-looking than usual—over to Blaise, still carrying on.
"It's getting cold again," Longbottom noted, and Lucius looked up sharply.
"Yes," the man said. "The Dementors are returning. They may well have been frightened off by the sheer freakish force of Severus' fury, but now we're very vulnerable."
The boy Weasley, whose head was being cradled in Granger's lap, winced a little, shifting. "And Harry's the only one who can make a proper Patronus," he said, but Lucius was no longer listening.
"Good heavens," Malfoy murmured, peering into the water.
Severus wanted more than anything for the fight to be over, but if there was still a threat, he had to face it. "Whazzit?" he managed, getting to his knees and craning his neck.
"Stop moving about!" Hermione commanded angrily. "Those are third degree burns, you imbecile! Do you want to die?"
Snape managed a cracked and bloody smile. "I've taught them so well," he muttered. "Hush, girl. I'm not important. Keep your wand ready for other things. What is it?" he demanded of Malfoy, who was now waist deep in the lake with Blaise, struggling to bring something swathed in seaweed to the surface.
The man paused for a moment, his face sweating as he directed his wand here, then there, cutting away the weeds. "Good heavens," he repeated dully. "It's Albus Dumbledore."