Chapter 7: Snape Loves Revenge
Dumbledore wasn´t the only one acting funny. Harry started to complain of headaches, which would go in and out of intensity throughout the evening. When they were strongest, he pulled himself away emotionally, occasionally taking a walk by himself, until they settled.
When Harry's headaches turned to migraines, Dumbledore sunk further into himself, slumping down on the pavement. Hermione tried to comfort him, but all he wanted to do was talk about Grindelwald and growing up. It was frustrating, really, and she wondered what they were doing there in the first place.
His rant turned into a mumble, and she could no longer hear him. But she had bigger problems then.
Harry´s headache was so intense that he was throwing himself wildly around in the empty, dark street, and screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Make it stop!" he yelled.
Hermione gripped onto Dumbledore for support. She had never been scared of Harry before, and wasn't sure how to deal with the feeling now. Harry bent down and picked up a few rocks, which he threw in frustration.
The headmaster didn't seem to notice much. He looked up once, but just bowed his head back down between his knees and continued to mumble on about childhood.
"Sir," she asked uncertain, "what's happening to him?"
He shook his head.
"The end is near."
"I don't understand, what does that mean?" she asked, ducking from another rock thrown her way.
"Harry's scar is taking over," he said. "Which means that Voldemort must be dead."
He lowered his head again at the mention of it. She wanted to shake him and tell him that there would be more chances for love, that he did not have to be alone, but she couldn't guarantee him anything, so it seemed wrong to say somehow.
Harry, after finishing his latest fit, bent down and hit the ground in frustration.
"Why can't I control myself?" he yelled to no one in particular.
He placed his hands over his head and ears and tried to shake it out of him.
"What's happening to me? I see images. So many images."
Hermione cautiously stood up and walked over to Harry, who was huddled up in the street. She touched his back and patted him lightly.
"What kind of images?" she asked.
"Like I'm in my rightful place," he said, "when I replace him."
He pointed straight at Dumbledore with a steady hand. It sent a chill up Hermione's spine. It was then that she saw Harry's eyes in the dimness of the streetlight. They were shot, blood-red, and evil.
She jumped back.
"Dumbledore!" she screamed as she saw what was in Harry's other hand. "Tell me what to do. I don't know what to do!"
"Harry is the last horcrux, Hermione," Dumbledore said softly, not bothering to look up at the wand aimed at his head. "He contains the last piece of Voldemort's soul."
Harry screamed, feeling the onset of another migraine. It was taking over him, coming quicker and stronger each round. He dropped his wand then while he convulsed from the pain. But that didn't stop him.
He charged after Dumbledore, who seemed too far away in his own mourning to care. Harry wrapped his hands around the man's neck and forced out his aggression on him.
Hermione could not stop it. She wrapped herself around Harry's back and pulled, but he did not budge. She choked Harry in return, but he did not flinch. She kicked Harry, but he did not move. In all the excitement, she forgot the most useful tool of all: her wand.
She just watched as Dumbledore died under his hands. It was as though a knife had been driven into her chest.
But Harry's anger was not filled by Dumbledore's death alone. He quickly turned his attention to her, with hands outstretched, ready to find their grip on her neck.
She screamed and tried to run, but he tackled her and held her firmly to the ground. His hands were warm and determined, compressing her throat with their force. She kicked and flailed her arms, but it was no use. He was stronger than her physically, and had her pinned.
"Why me?" she mouthed.
He smiled crookedly.
"You don't think I know whose side you're on?" he asked. "You don't spend hours with Snape just for the fun of it!"
She tried to tell him that he had it all wrong, that it was completely innocent. She tried to say that he was crazy to even bring it up at a time like this. But she couldn't. She could feel herself lose consciousness, feel her breath leave her for good.
But before she passed out, a shadow spread over Harry, and he shot up in surprise before falling limp upon her.
The shadow moved the body off of her and picked her up from off the ground.
---
Sirius was still alive, though barely. There were only a few others left. Voldemort had fought well and had killed many. He held his head, partly to control the pounding ache there, and partly to try to figure out what had just happened. And although he held his palms over his ears, he could still hear the remaining Death Eaters talk.
They recognised that with Voldemort gone, a new leader amongst them could arise. He could hear them fight it out, trying to decide who was eligible to step up.
He wasn't certain if any other member of the Order had survived, but he did know one thing: that the world would be better off without the Death Eaters. Taking advantage of their vulnerability, having distracted themselves for him, he pointed his wand at their backs, and he shot each one.
Feeling no remorse, he wandered off into the forest to find help, or to die; whichever came first.
---
Hermione tried to rub out the pain from her neck, knowing there would be bruises in the morning. She looked down at the two bodies that lay there and felt herself shake.
Snape took her hand: a small gesture, really, but one that showed her that life did still exist, that through her own skin, she could feel his skin and know that it too lived. A gesture not unlike that of a father to his daughter: all is well, dear, and I will take care of you.
So they walked together, hand in hand, away from the death and the heartache and the remains of what used to be, in order to start over again. Together.
The parent and the child.