Thank you very much for reading and reviewing, for praise and criticism. I've decided to plot on, although I probably won't be able to update frequently, because my creativity is required at my job. I hope, you'll enjoy it, though.

Leliha

Chapter Ten

The following twelve months were described as the worst time in British history since the Second World War.

Catastrophes and accidents happened one after the other without anyone being able to explain why. Trains and planes crashed, buildings exploded everywhere in the country, but most frequently in London. Experts examined the debris, but despite many learned theories about terrorist attacks and undetected earthquakes, nobody was any the wiser. There was a severe influenza epidemic early in the year which killed thousands of people and left behind a feeling of helplessness and despair. The latest incident was an explosion right in the City of London, which reduced a complete block of buildings and part of the Underground to rubble. The number of casualties was enormous. Messages from various notorious terror organizations, including the IRA and AL-Qaeda, turned up, stating they were responsible for it, but there was no proof of their reliability. Parliament passed a string of new anti-terrorist laws and finally politicians were forced to admit their helplessness by declaring an emergency. The TV stations outdid each other with the latest news and comments, skilfully camouflaging the fact that nobody knew anything.

Only one newspaper with a very limited edition could give reasons for the events: The Daily Prophet, read exclusively by the Wizarding community, informed its readers about the growing influence of "You-know-who", who was destroying all his enemies on his way to power. His latest coup had been the invasion of the Ministry of Magic and of St. Mungo's hospital. Many wizards had already left Britain for the Continent. The last stronghold of resistance was Hogwarts School, where an attack was expected any time now.

The black figure crouching in the shadow of a large and ancient oak held his breath when he heard the crackling noises of thousands of people apparating on the edge of the forest around Hogwarts. He crept deeper into the shadow and kept perfectly still. The last year had taught him to blend in with nature, to vanish when he didn't want to be seen. It had also taught him to ignore the needs of his body, to become immune to pain, cold, hunger and thirst. So he didn't acknowledge the cramps in his legs and waited patiently for Voldemort's army to pass. He could sense the Dementors gliding past his hiding place, but they left him alone: There were almost no happy memories for them to find, the only ones he kept he had shoved to the remotest corner of his mind. When the last group had passed him, he left the darkness of the trees and followed them cautiously. This was going to be the last and decisive battle between good and evil and he was going to play a role in it.

Voldemort's army approached the school grounds and stopped. The Dark Lord raised his wand, and in a veil of golden mist the wards around Hogwarts became visible. One flick of his wand and it dissolved, leaving nothing but a few golden sparks in the dark sky. The army shouted with glee and entered the grounds. Nobody noticed the black figure that followed in its wake, gliding noiselessly from shadow to shadow.

When they were halfway up the lawn, the large front door opened and the defenders came out.

Aurors, teachers, students and their families – they were so few compared to Voldemort's masses. The two armies approached each other until they were only a few yards apart. Then they waited, everybody was still, the silence lasting forever.

An over-excited Death Eater finally broke it by casting a spell which missed its aim but started the battle. Suddenly everybody was shouting, spells and hexes were flying through the air, the night was illuminated by their various colours. The grounds were a boiling mass of fighters, there was no organized strategy of fighting on either side and suddenly unsuspecting, bewildered Death Eaters found themselves attacked by someone in their midst and fell without realizing what had happened.

The battle had been going on for some time, when all of a sudden Voldemort and Harry Potter met. The fighting around them stopped, members of both parties moved to form a circle.

"So the time has come at last." Voldemort's voice was high and cruel and full of glee.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and gripped his wand harder. Yes, the time had come, the moment he had worked for during the last year by discovering and destroying all the Horcruxes Voldemort had created to escape death was there. But Harry was exhausted.

He was shivering with cold despite the warm summer air. His hands were clammy. Voldemort came closer.

"You are not very talkative tonight," the high voice mocked. "Afraid to meet your destiny at last?"

Harry could see the red eyes glitter madly. The attack came a split second later.

"Crucio!"

But Harry was able to block the curse. The circled each other slowly, keeping eye contact all the time. Voldemort tried another Cruciatus-curse, but again Harry blocked it. "Septumsempra!" he shouted and his opponent staggered when bleeding cuts appeared all over his upper body.

"Expelliarmus" was Voldemort's retort and before he could react, Harry's wand flew out of his hand and the young man stood rooted to the spot, unable to react or to defend himself. The Dark Lord pointed his wand at his chest and started healing the wounds. Then he turned to Harry again.

"You are weak, you are no match for me," he sneered, "I'm going to finish what I started 18 years ago, I'm going to kill you now once and for all."

"Harry, do something!" A voice yelled from behind him, but Harry wasn't able to move. He felt completely drained, there was no strength left in him, let alone the energy he needed to retrieve his wand and cast the killing curse. He stared into Voldemort's eyes as if hypnotized. The Dark Lord raised his wand a bit higher, aiming at Harry's heart. The world stood still.

Slowly, relishing every syllable, the high, cruel voice uttered the incantation. "Avada…" when suddenly another voice, hoarse and harsh, came out of the night, shouting, "Potter, take your wand," as Harry's wand came flying towards him and he grasped it with his Quiddich-player instincts and saw a black figure appear and throw himself in front of Harry before the green beam of the curse could reach the boy. As the figure was hit and fell to the ground Harry felt an incredible rage surge through his mind and an almost gleeful need to cast the killing curse at Voldemort. There was an explosion of red and green light and the place where the Dark Lord had been standing was empty, Voldemort was no more.

The utter silence that followed stretched interminably. Then pandemonium broke lose. Voldemort's army, bereft of its leader, panicked and turned to flee, attacked by the defenders of Hogwarts who tried to kill or capture as many as possible. In the turmoil of the battle, Harry slowly came to his senses. In front of him a deep crater in the ground was all that was left to tell of Voldemort's presence. The grass was burned.

Harry's eyes fell on the bundle of black that was his saviour. Carefully he approached the figure and lowered himself next to him. The man was lying face down. Harry gently turned him over. There were deep bleeding wounds on the left hand side of his face, which was covered with blood and dirt, the features nearly un-recognizable, but Harry would have known the large nose and black hair anywhere.

"Snape!" he whispered.

The man he despised with all his heart had saved him from certain death. The man he had called a coward had thrown himself in the way of the killing curse. Harry was numb with confusion and oblivious of the fighting going on around him. All he could do was sit there on the grass with his hand on Snape's chest and stare at the mutilated face of his former teacher. Snape had died for him. Snape of all people! But wait – Harry suddenly became aware of a faint rhythmic movement under his palm. A heartbeat. Snape was alive! Harry woke with a start from his lethargy and looked around. The sky had become lighter – the first dawn after Voldemort. The fighting was still going on, but in a greater distance. He could see some people coming towards him, they were no Death Eaters by the look of their robes. He jumped up and waved his arms in the air. They came closer and he saw that it was Hermione, Ron and Remus Lupin. They all looked dishevelled, dirty and exhausted, but unharmed and happy.

"You've done it, mate. You destroyed You-know-who!" Ron did a little jig and clapped him on the shoulder. Hermione wanted to hug him, but stopped short when she saw his face.

"What's wrong, Harry? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

Harry pointed at the man on the ground.

"I have, in a way. That's Snape. He protected me from the killing curse."

"Snape?" the three of them exclaimed in disbelief.

"Is he dead?" Ron asked hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "No, I could feel his heartbeat."

Lupin got to his knees and bent over the unconscious man.

"Severus", he called, "can you hear me?"

There was no reaction. He pushed the hair aside and felt for the pulse.

"Harry's right. He's still alive, but only just. We must take him to the hospital wing."

He conjured a stretcher and levitated the bleeding body onto it. Together they went to the castle. Harry had to lean on Ron's shoulder for support, because after a few steps he had found his legs too weak to fully support him.

The castle was still comparatively quiet. People stopped and made way for Harry and his friends, some were cheering him, some looking curiously at the man on the stretcher.

When they reached the hospital wing, Madam Pomphrey did a quick examination of Harry and realizing that he wasn't hurt, made him sit on a bed and handed him a strengthening

potion. Then she looked at the man on the stretcher. She cried out in disbelief when she saw who it was and her face became very serious when she noticed the severity of his injuries.

"What happened?" she asked.

"He was hit by an Avada kedavra that was meant for me. He saved me", Harry answered wearily.

Madame Pomphrey frowned. "Nobody can survive this curse, nobody ever did, except…" "Except me", Harry finished.

"Yes, you had a special protection of your mother's love, but he", her eyes travelled over Snape's bloody form and she shook her head, "I wonder what protected him."

"Hate?" Ron suggested and shrugged, when the others looked at him disapprovingly.

"Now, get out of here, all of you, except Harry. I have to look after Professor Snape's wounds!" Madame Pomphrey commanded angrily.

Reluctantly they left. Harry watched her take off his former potions master's clothes, clean away the blood and try to heal the wounds. She muttered under her breath when she found out that the wounds wouldn't heal in the usual magical way. She had to apply an evil smelling green salve and wrap bandages around most of Snape's face and upper body. Then she levitated him into a bed and gently covered him with a sheet and a blanket.

More injured fighters were brought into the hospital wing during the following hours, ten more healers arrived to help Madame Pomphrey. Harry was sitting and contemplating the bandaged man in the next bed until he finally sank into a fitful sleep.

Thanks to J.K.Rowling for the inspiring characters.