The tall, yellowing grass whipped around his ankles as he stared out over the hilltop. How long he had been there was anyone's guess. He stood still as a statue, just looking. Everything was going to change. If he died, the world would be different. He could not say now if it would be better or worse, it would just be different. It would no longer be his world. But then, the longer he stared the more he realized that if he won, it would no longer be his world either.
Nothing could go back to being how it once was. He would be a foreigner in the new world. Harry Potter would be purposeless.
He needed a hug from Mrs. Weasley. And without further thought, he withdrew his wand from his pocket and Apparated off the empty hilltop in Ireland.
"Mollywobbles?" Arthur slid behind his pensive wife and wrapped his arms around her waist. "What is it, love?"
Molly sighed, her gaze flickering to the Weasley family clock. "He's traveling."
Arthur glanced up and almost startled when he watched the spoon land on 'home'. What on earth…? He turned his head towards the living room as he heard a loud crash indicating someone had arrived who was keyed into the wards. Molly was already out of his arms and bustling out to the sitting room before he could even wrap his mind around the concept that Harry was in there.
He followed his wife and stood in the archway as he watched her almost tackle Harry to the floor. The boy looked bloody awful, though not physically. There was not a scratch or a bruise on him. He just appeared lost. So horribly lost.
"Where have you been?" Molly wailed, squeezing Harry to her bosom possessively.
Arthur winced but noticed that Harry hadn't even flinched, just collapsed against his wife gratefully. This was not a Harry he was used to seeing. This was like a mechanical Potter – wind up and watch him go.
"Hello," Harry finally murmured as if just then realizing where he was.
Arthur watched worriedly as Molly fussed and cooed over Harry. "Harry, are you all right, son?" Arthur asked.
"Of course he's not all right! Look at him," Molly said, standing back to look at Harry. "Come and sit down and I'll make us a spot of tea, how does that sound?" Molly asked, leading Harry to the sofa.
Harry nodded with a weak smile. "Tea would be nice."
Arthur waited until Molly pushed Harry gently onto the sofa before he stepped forward.
"Harry?"
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked. Arthur worriedly snapped his fingers in front of Harry's eyes and frowned at the boy's reaction time. Harry's eyes flickered before finally looking up at his face.
"Harry?" he had to make sure the boy really was listening and not just responding.
"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, his blank stare crumbling in the fraction of a second.
"For what, son?"
Harry shrugged. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, all he knew was that he felt guilty. "For making you all worry."
Arthur sat down on the sofa next to Harry. "Your letter to the Prophet had us all very concerned," Arthur replied, searching Harry's face.
"I knew it would." Harry met Arthur's gaze with a sad smile. "I had to, though."
"I don't understand, Harry. You don't have to do this alone. Just because Dumbledore is gone, it doesn't mean you have to fight alone. The Order has been frantic trying to find you before something happened," Arthur said, frowning.
Molly bustled in with a tea tray, setting it on the coffee table. "Leave the poor boy alone, Arthur. Give him a chance to breathe," Molly ordered, handing a cup to Harry.
Harry smiled and whispered, "Thank you," before taking a long sip of the warm liquid. "Mrs. Weasley?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Could I have some toast?" he asked, embarrassed to admit his hunger.
"Of course you can, dear," Molly replied, hurrying to the kitchen. "How about a nice bowl of soup?" she called over her shoulder.
"That would be nice," Harry said, seemingly unaware that his voice was barely carrying across the room.
"I'll be right back, Harry," Arthur said, rising to follow Molly into the kitchen.
As soon as he entered the room, Molly grabbed him by the arm. "Oh Arthur, something is very, very wrong," she said, her eyes welling with tears. "He looks so lost."
Arthur pulled Molly against him and wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head. He gently kissed her wild red hair.
"I know," he murmured to the top of her hair. "Just make the soup, love. If we come on too strong he'll stay silent."
Molly dabbed her eyes and nodded, and Arthur returned to the sitting room to find Harry staring blankly into his tea. "Harry," Arthur said gently, getting the boy's attention. "Did something happen? Something with you-know-who?" he asked.
Harry shook his head, because it was true. Apart from getting the resulting backlash of Voldemort's well...glee, he supposed. Yes, that was it. When he and Snape had collapsed it had been because Voldemort had been happy, not wrathful. Nothing had happened directly. Not yet… an eerie feeling slowly blossomed from his stomach and he briefly wondered if he was about to be sick on the Weasley's floor.
Arthur placed his hand on Harry's back. "It's all right," he said, nodding toward Harry's cup. "Sip your tea," he said hurriedly, wondering how Harry could have become even paler than when he had first arrived.
Harry did as he was told on reflex, taking a shaky sip of the warm brown fluid. He could not believe how fast his mind was unraveling. It scared him. He looked at Mr. Weasley helplessly. He couldn't tell him what he was to do in a few hours' time. Could not begin to explain the rigorous training he had undergone to prepare for it. He had wanted to come and visit and now he found himself horribly tongue-tied.
"It's all right, Harry," Arthur said reassuringly. "You don't have to talk about anything right now. Ah, here's Molly with your soup."
Molly set another small tray next to the tea service before settling herself on the other side of Harry. "Here you go, a nice bowl of chicken soup," he said, handing a large bowl half-full of soup to Harry. "Get that in you and you'll be as right as rain," she said, looking over Harry's head at Arthur, who shook his head quickly.
Harry fingered the soup bowl, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling deeply. Stars, he missed Mrs. Weasley's cooking in ways he'd never thought he would. He took a spoonful of it, popped in it his mouth and groaned.
"Thank you," he said with a truly happy smile.
Molly smiled at Arthur, relieved that Harry was still able to smile. It gave her hope that maybe things weren't as horrible as she feared they were. Arthur had no such illusions, but he returned her smile.
"I'm sorry to just drop in like this," Harry murmured, before taking another spoonful of the warm, salty soup.
"Don't be silly, you're always welcome here, Harry," Molly replied, smiling nervously. "We've been so worried."
He smiled guiltily at her, gripping the bowl of chicken soup in both hands. "I don't mean to, at least, I try not to."
"Harry, can you tell us where you've been? What you've been doing?" Arthur asked gently. The Order had been frantic to find him, and after his letter to the Prophet, they had been in a full-blown panic.
Harry bit his lip, unable to meet Mr. Weasley's worried gaze. He wanted to tell them. They were the closest thing he had to parents, but he just couldn't. At least not all of it; maybe if he gave them just a little they wouldn't push.
"I was training. I'm sorry I haven't owled you recently. I was just busy."
Arthur frowned. "Training with whom?" he asked, watching Harry intently. He knew that it was nobody in the Order, and he couldn't begin to imagine whom Harry would turn to for training.
"I can't tell you. He wouldn't want me to."
"He who?" Arthur asked suspiciously.
Molly was wringing her hands in her lap and looking between Arthur and Harry.
"I ca-" he stopped looking between Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. It was Mrs. Weasley's intensely worried expression that made him crack. He had to tell someone. It wasn't like it would matter come tomorrow, because if they won and Snape lived he'd be a hero and if they both died than it still wouldn't matter.
"You're sure you want to know?" he asked, not even half hoping they would let it go.
Arthur was becoming more concerned by the minute. "Harry, I think you'd better tell us," he said worriedly.
"You won't like it," Harry warned, shifting on the sofa. He stared down at his hands for a few moments before looking back up. "I was with Snape."
Molly gasped and grabbed Arthur's hand.
"Harry, do you know what they're saying?" Arthur said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Everyone believes it was Snape that killed Dumbledore. He's wanted by the Ministry for questioning. If you know where he is, you've got to turn him over. Snape is dangerous, Harry."
Harry shook his head with a bemused smile. "I am very aware of what they are saying and if he was that dangerous I would be dead. But I'm here, talking to you."
"Was that letter to the Prophet his idea?" Molly asked hurriedly. "Is he trying to get you killed?"
"Molly, I'm sure -" Arthur began.
"Don't you 'Molly' me, Arthur Weasley! We've been worried sick and it seems we've had reason to be! Who knows what ideas that man has put into his head! You know I always wanted to believe the best of Snape, but this...oh Harry, please don't go back there," Molly said, pleading.
Harry bristled as Mrs. Weasley ripped Snape to verbal shreds. A small part of him ached as he listened to the bruising words pour from her mouth with the kind of righteous fury only a mother had.
"I won't," he assured her. Because he wouldn't, couldn't go back there, not without Snape. It wouldn't be right.
He hated the way Mrs. Weasley brightened at his consent, but he couldn't blame her. She had no idea what would be happening in a few hours time. He swallowed around the lump that was forming in his throat.
Snape would probably already be there and he didn't know what to think about that or if he even wanted to think about it. The thought of Snape lying dead in the dreary graveyard made him nauseous. He could not shake the image of Snape's twisted limbs and bloody form from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Harry only hoped he didn't look as horrible as he felt.
He crept through the trees surrounding the cemetery, his eyes and ears taking in the slightest sound and movement. He was concealed under Potter's cloak, but once he found what he was looking for, he would stash the cloak away. It would probably be lost for good, unless someone miraculously stumbled upon it, but the fate of the cloak was the least of his concerns.
The faint murmur of voices reached him, and Snape stopped, holding completely still, listening intently. Unable to make out the words, Snape moved on silent feet until the words became clearer.
"You have your orders, Wormtail," Nott was saying angrily. "I don't think the traitor would dare show his face, but the Dark Lord is certain."
Snape recognized Pettigrew's whining voice right away. "I should be by my master's side," he said pathetically.
"Just do what you do best, you little rat," Nott growled. "Keep an eye out for Snape."
Snape backed away quietly, grinning in grim satisfaction. In many ways, the Dark Lord was entirely too predictable. Though it meant his inevitable death, he knew without a doubt that this was the best chance Harry had at survival.
Steeling himself, Snape removed the cloak, clenching his wand tightly. This time as he crept forward, he allowed the twigs and leaves to crunch under foot. It was only a matter of time until he was 'caught'.
And that matter of time came faster than he had anticipated. It quickly became apparent that the Dark Lord had sent out a few people to scout the surrounding woods. He felt the air shift before he heard the words of the spell form. The Body Binding Curse hit him in the back, just as he hoped would happen. It would not do to have them kill him before Potter showed.
"Well, well, well."
If Snape had the capacity to groan, he would.
Of course it would have to be Bellatrix who found him! It would be too much to ask that it was Goyle, or even Lucius. No, it would have to be Bellatrix.
"I didn't believe you were foolish enough to show your face here, Snape, but the Dark Lord knew. He always knows," she said, a maniacal grin spread across her face. "And I will be rewarded for bringing you to him," she added, eyes shining hotly.
Snape could not even glare at the witch and had to content himself with thinking about every kind of method he could employ to leave her permanently mute. He wanted to shiver when he was suddenly levitated off the ground. The spell engulfed him and coupled with the body-bind he was stuck listening to Bellatrix gloat about her fine capture.
Fine capture indeed, he sneered, giving her the mental one-fingered salute. If only she knew that she was doing exactly what he wanted her to do. He was certain it would knock the smug, deranged smile right off her face.
Instead, he was dragged along until they reached a clearing. She took the time to lean over him; her smile more deranged than ever. "I'm taking you to my Master now, so he can give you the welcome you deserve."
Snape felt something pressing into his hand, but before he could work out what it was, he felt a pull behind his navel, and he knew.
A Portkey.
Harry looked out the window into the setting sun. It was getting closer now. He would have to leave soon. Mrs. Weasley was sitting beside him nattering away about some person or another and he didn't have the heart to tell her he didn't care. He wasn't even sure he had the courage to get up off the sofa and hug her and Mr. Weasley goodbye.
But he would have to, and soon. It would not be good to arrive late. Imagine the long-winded speech that would earn him. As if the 'farewell to the stupid Boy Who Lived' speech was not going to be long enough, he would have to sit through a three minute lecture while praying he didn't get spit on.
Suddenly, he couldn't sit there a moment longer. Harry shot to his feet, interrupting Molly mid-sentence. "I have to go," he said, looking between the two of them. "I promise, you'll see me again soon," he said, not having the heart to tell them he might be dead when they did see him.
Molly shot a helpless glance across the room to her husband pleading soundlessly for him to stop Harry from doing something rash.
"Harry?"
Harry shook his head backing around the couch. He wanted to give them both huge hugs and tell them he loved them. And what was stopping him? Nothing was. He walked behind Mrs. Weasley and wrapped his arms loosely around the matronly woman's shoulders hugging her and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"I love you," he murmured, before locking eyes with Mr. Weasley, "both." He pulled back and with a loud crack, disappeared.
His skin crawled the moment he appeared. The air smelled of death and felt thick to breathe. He truly hated this place, beyond any other place he had been before. Nothing was alive, even the trees seemed hollow and lifeless as he dashed in between the branches.
Tombstones loomed before him in untidy rows that peppered the hillside. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, wondering if it were possible to have your heart beating so loudly someone else would hear it. That his presence had gone unnoticed, he highly doubted. His scar twinged and on reflex he brought his hand up to his forehead.
He knew this could not last much longer.
Steeling himself, and hoping that Snape was nearby, Harry walked into the clearing. The Death Eaters grew silent, watching him from behind their masks. Harry ignored them, focusing all of his attention on Voldemort.
"Harry Potter, so nice of you to join us," Voldemort said with mock sincerity. "I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."
Harry's hand clenched his wand tightly. "No, Tom, I haven't," he said, pleased to hear that his voice didn't shake.
The Death Eaters hissed. "You dare show the Dark Lord such disrespect!" Bellatrix cried from her position at Voldemort's left side.
Voldemort laid his pale, white hand on her arm. "It is all right, Bellatrix, Harry will soon pay for his ignorance," Voldemort said calmly.
Harry didn't so much as acknowledge her existence. "It's time to end this, Tom, once and for all," Harry said, his voice becoming stronger.
Voldemort smiled. "We shall, Harry, we shall. But first, we have another matter that needs to be addressed. Bellatrix, please show Mister Potter our guest of honor."
Harry's eyes flicked to Bellatrix and he licked his lips nervously. This wasn't in the plan.
Bellatrix pointed her wand at the ground in front of her and held out her hand. A moment later, she held Harry's invisibility cloak, revealing Snape, bloodied and battered at her feet.
Harry's stomach dropped and his heart lodged in his throat. "No," he whispered softly, unable to take his eyes from Snape's limp form. "What did you do to him?" he asked quietly. He glared at Voldemort. "What did you do to him?" he shouted, raising his wand, fear and worry quickly being replaced by fury.
Bellatrix was giggling like a child, and the other Death Eaters were laughing.
"I did warn you, Harry, that dear Severus would not be welcome here," Voldemort said, as if chiding an errant child. "And as I promised, he has been dealt with in the way we deal with all traitors," he said, smiling.
No, this couldn't be happening. Snape promised he wouldn't be alone.
"You killed him," Harry said, choking back a sob, and fighting the tears that threatened to fall.
Voldemort chuckled. "Not yet, Harry. My loyal friends haven't finished with him yet. He will die, but it will be slow and painful, I can assure you. Unless…"
"Unless what? I give up, let you kill me instead," Harry said, trembling with fury now. He's not dead, he's not dead, he repeated over and over in his head.
"That would hardly be fair," Voldemort replied, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "However, since the two of you have become so…close," he said, a sick smile stretching his thin lips, "if you wish to spare him of what is to come, I will allow you to kill him. Yourself."
Harry blanched. "You're insane," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "I won't kill him!"
"Tsk, tsk, Harry," Voldemort replied, shaking his head sadly. "And I thought you actually cared for the man. Bellatrix, if you would."
An evil smile curling about her lips, Bella raised her wand and pointed at Snape. "Crucio!" she cried, and Snape began to writhe on the ground, a scream ripped from his throat.
"No!" Harry shouted, turning his wand on Bellatrix, but it was too late. When his attention was averted, Voldemort cast a spell, attempting to disarm him. Harry managed to hold on to his wand, but his own curse went wild.
"Enough, Bella," Voldemort said, and grinning maniacally, Bellatrix released Snape from the spell. He lay on the ground, moaning pitifully.
Harry's mind was racing, desperately trying to find a way out, a way to save Snape. If he could get to him, he could Apparate them both away. He wasn't above running if it meant Snape would live.
"You can spare him, Harry. Spare him hours of pain and suffering," Voldemort crooned. "Only you," he said, taking a few steps toward Harry.
Harry's eyes moved between Snape and Voldemort, panic clutching at his heart. Could he do it? Could he do what Snape had been willing to do for Dumbledore? Could he kill him to spare him the torment?
Snape's eyes fluttered opened, and met Harry's, his gaze direct and piercing. With what looked like enormous effort, Snape shifted, extending his arm toward Harry as if pleading with him. Then he opened his clenched fist, and Harry saw it. A long gash across Snape's palm. His eyes flew back to Snape's face, and Harry saw his lips move, ever so slightly.
Heal it.
Snape's eyes closed, and his body went limp once again. Harry felt something surge within him, and he looked at Voldemort, his eyes blazing with renewed fury. "I won't let you hurt him any more," he snarled."There is only one way to stop it, Harry Potter," Voldemort said, his red eyes shining with excitement.
Harry raised his wand, his hand shaking as he pointed it at Snape. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Taking a deep and steadying breath, Harry shouted, "Protego!" Almost immediately, both Harry and Snape were surrounded by a bright white light.
Harry was aware of the chaos around him as Voldemort and his Death Eaters began hurling spell after spell at him, but nothing reached him. Inside his shield, it was completely silent. With agonizing slowness, he began to walk towards Voldemort. Harry stumbled slightly when the green lights hit his shield, but nothing happened.
Voldemort was shouting, and his eyes were wide and panicked as Harry closed the distance between them. Harry didn't know if he could cast a spell without dropping the shield, but he was about to find out.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He fell to his knees beside Snape.
The green light Harry expected to shoot forth from his wand didn't happen. Instead, the shield surrounding him and Snape began to glow with a pale green light. His whole body began to tremble as his fist clenched around his wand. He could see Voldemort's lips moving, but no sound reached him.
Then the shield surrounding them exploded, shards of green light spilling forth, impaling Voldemort and Bellatrix. The two forms went flying backwards as Harry's wand shattered in his hand.
Loud cracks filled the air behind him and Harry didn't need to look around to see the entire order standing behind him, his gaze and thoughts all centered around the battered form lying prone on the ground. Fear gripped him and he stumbled over his own feet to get to Snape's side.
"Don't be dead," he mumbled frantically. "Don't be dead. You can't die. Don't be dead."
Spells were flying all around him as the Order attempted to subdue the remaining Death Eaters, but Harry was oblivious. His head was swimming, and his body felt like jelly, but he couldn't take his eyes from Snape's still form.
Someone was pulling on his arm, and Harry shrugged him or her off, vaguely registering Lupin speaking to him. Harry continued shaking his head, mumbling incoherently before his eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed atop Snape's bloodied body, unconscious.