Hey guys! Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed over the past few chapters! I'm so grateful for all the responses and comments!! Also, I have to apologize for how long it took me to write this chapter; it was difficult to get through. Heavy stuff, you know? I hope you enjoy it though!

Disclaimer: Really really unnecessary at this point.

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Chapter 17:

The first thing I saw when I woke was fire. Flames licked at the edges of a large black marble fireplace, crackling ferociously. I moved my head, feeling soft leather, and looked down at the black couch that I lay on. It was quite comfortable, but it groaned as I attempted to sit up.

"You shouldn't move just yet," a low voice said from behind me.

I jolted up and a stab of pain went through my head. I moaned as Snape rolled his eyes. "As usual, you do the opposite of what I say." He set a cup of tea down on the table between the couch and the fireplace. "Drink."

But along with the pain in my head came memories that flooded through me. I swallowed one sob, but tears burned my eyes immediately.

"Mom."

Snape had sat down on a matching black chair. He looked down at his lap and carefully folded his hands in front of him before raising his eyes to meet mine.

"When?"

"Last night."

I frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I had other business to attend to. Drink the tea. It will help."

I glared at him for a moment before taking the cup and sipping it. The pain in my head faded, and my fatigue seemed to melt away. Even the tense pain in my chest loosened a bit. "Thanks," I said grudgingly.

"You're welcome," he said, his tone equally perturbed.

"This is my fault," I whispered.

Snape froze then. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It is."

"There's nothing you could have done."

"I could have given myself up. I could have tried to do something. Anything."

"You did try. And it was foolish. One life is not worth—"

"I know," I said miserably, leaning back. "War requires sacrifice and all that crap. But it doesn't make loss any easier."

Snape said nothing though his eyes shined more than usual.

Dumbledore came in later, premised by a mere silvery cloud. "How are you feeling Katarina?"

"Like shit," I said without looking at him. Snape and I had sat for hours in silence, and dimly I was aware that the sun had set a while ago.

"Language," he said, tone friendly save for a raised eyebrow.

"When is the funeral going to be?" I asked, impressed that my voice didn't crack.

Dumbledore and Snape exchanged a look.

"We were, unable, to recover her body."

I frowned. "Of course not," I whispered.

"Considering the ministry believes your parents long past, it would be unwise to hold a memorial service."

My eyebrows knitted together as Dumbledore spoke.

"However, if you or Severus wanted to perform one in private, it could be arranged."

"That won't be necessary," Snape said, voice more hollow than normal.

"Let Katarina speak," Dumbledore said.

I shook my head. "I just want to forget about it," I said, standing. My bottom lip shook and I pressed my lips together. "I'm tired. I just need to sleep."

"There is, an extra bedroom, here, if you'd like to stay the night," Snape said hesitantly.

I turned around, frowning slightly. "I don't want to bother you."

"It wouldn't be a bother at all."

I glanced at Dumbledore, whose lips were curved up in the barest hint of a smile, and back at Snape.

Then I nodded. "Ok."

What Snape called an extra bedroom turned out to be my very own quarters, suggested by Dumbledore months ago. Where the rest of the area was dark green and black, mine was light green. A slight difference to anyone else, but to me it was like the inside of a brilliant forest, as opposed to a dark cave. I had my own bathroom, a closet, and extra sets of robes, as well as a pair of jeans.

"If you'd like, I can send a house elf for some of your things," Snape said over dinner.

I shook my head. "There's already more than I need down here, but thank you."

It was strange, to say the least, that my uncle and I were having a cordial conversation, even if it had been a mere sentence on either side. I'd taken a shower earlier, only to find that Snape had ordered a light dinner for us. I had a bowl of chili and thick cheesy bread as he picked sullenly at Sheppard's pie. The house elves had long since realized that I was rather attached to my American cuisine, and had delightedly risen to the challenge.

As I finished my pumpkin juice later, Snape lifted a book to the table. It was old and thick, and bound with leather, as were most of his books.

"I thought you might want to have this," he said, pushing it towards me.

"What is it?"

"You'd know if you bothered to open it," he said, words reminiscent of the sarcasm he usually dealt out.

I let my eyes narrow slightly before my lips curved into a tentative smile, and I did as he instructed. My smile gave way to pure shock as I stared down at a face that was both scarily familiar and completely alien to me. A smiling girl dressed in Hogwarts robes stood in front of the castle, leaning on a young Snape. After a moment I realized it was my mother, young and beautiful, carefree with the world at her fingertips. Snape looked less haunted, and I could almost make out a smile on his lips.

"Oh my god," I said, caressing the picture as my mother waved at the camera and Snape rolled his eyes, one arm draped over her shoulder protectively.

"Do you like it?" he said.

"It's… amazing." I sniffled slightly and wiped my eyes.

"Her favorite subject was transfiguration," he said, staring down at the picture. "And she never could get enough strawberry ice cream."

"How did her and dad meet?"

A sneer settled on his face. "Your father was close friends with Lupin," he said, not without disdain. "And your mother was acquainted with him as well."

I sighed. "You sure can hold grudges."

"A trait that I hear you've inherited," he said, waving my comment away.

"Point taken."

"I was quite relieved to find you didn't get the Snape nose though," he said, scrunching his own slightly.

I gasped in mock surprise. "You just made a joke."

"I do not make jokes."

A smile crept up my face. "No, you definitely made a joke. Admit it."

"I'm sure you're mistaken," he said, eyes sparkling as he smirked at me.

"Fine. Don't admit it," I said, crossing my arms. "But let the record show that you made a funny."

"Alright, enough," he said, standing. "You should get some rest."

"I'm not even tired," I said, covering my mouth as a yawn cut off my argument.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Quite convincing," he said. "Off you go."

**

I woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as I looked around the room for anything familiar. There was nothing. For a moment my breathing became strained and panicked, until I realized that I was in Snape's quarters. It was still dark outside, but the fear ran through me until my whole body was wired, and I knew I'd had some sort of nightmare.

My mother entered my mind and I let myself cry for a few minutes, holding the pillow tightly to keep from making any noise. I didn't want to wake up Snape. After a while though, I grew restless, and when sleep refused to come, I gave up and entered the main room of his quarters.

The couch looked tempting, but a small light in the corner caught my eye. Heavy wooden doors blocked it off, and as I heaved one open, it let out a low groan that made me pause. I glanced behind me, half expecting Snape to be there, but after a few minutes of silence, I turned back and took in the scene before me.

Snape had a pensieve.

Or he'd borrowed it from Dumbledore. Either way, it was in his office for a reason, and as I leaned forwards, I saw a face that shook me into action. It wasn't her youthful face, nor was it the one I remembered most recently. It was the face of a tortured woman on the edge of her sanity. I leaned into the pensieve face first, even as I thought how bad of an idea it was, and soon I was falling into a silvery haze of faces and places.

When I finally settled into a backdrop, I knew that I shouldn't have come. Snape stood opposite me, next to Lucius Malfoy. I couldn't identify anyone else, though some wore masks and some didn't. They all stood in a stony dungeon setting that sparkled with the ambiance of the rich and famous. It looked like Malfoy manor, though I knew most of Voldemort's followers could afford luxurious mansions. Finally I spotted Wormtail, and beside him, the man I'd only met once before.

Voldemort stared at my mother with snake-like eyes, and he glanced at Snape as though he were expecting something. But my uncle's face was, as usual, completely unreadable, though his gaze was locked firmly on the center of the room, around which the crowd of death eaters gathered.

My mother knelt on the cold stone, eyes staring at nothing as silent tears ran down her face. Her cheeks were marked with soot, and blood marred her hair, which was loose in knots and snarls. I knelt down next to her, letting out a small cry before reigning it in, and backed away for the sake of my sanity.

"I must say, Severus, that I'm quite impressed with your self control."

Snape bowed to Voldemort. "Whatever pleases you, my lord."

"After all," Voldemort continued, almost as if Snape hadn't spoken at all. "It is your sister, who I recall you seemed to have such high hopes for."

"She was indeed a great disappointment," Snape muttered.

"A path I hope your niece will not follow."

"Of course not, my lord."

Voldemort nodded, turning to the group as a whole. It was Malfoy who noticed Snape's eyes, narrowed ever so slightly, as they flashed with anger.

"Let this be a lesson to you all," Voldemort said. "so that you remember that only the loyal shall prevail. The Dark Lord does not show mercy to those who do not support the cause, no matter who they are related to." He raised his wand then, and my mother finally looked up, straight into his eyes.

"My lord?" Lucius said, right before Voldemort uttered the fatal words.

Voldemort's tongue clicked in aggravation. "Yes, Lucius?"

"Might I suggest that Severus do this task?"

A spark of surprise on Snape's face, then nothing.

Voldemort smiled. "What an excellent idea!"

Snape swallowed, glancing at his sister. Lucius sneered.

"Surely, my lord, you wish to end her life?" Snape's voice was a low base by the time he finished, and his hand hovered next to his wand.

The gesture wasn't lost on Lucius.

"You deserve this great opportunity to prove yourself, Severus," Voldemort said. "Now do as your master commands of you!"

With a tentative step forward, Snape nodded and pulled out his wand. He pointed it at Mom and she met his eyes, recognition and fear coursing through them.

"Severus," was all she said before a green light enveloped the room, and her body fell to the floor with a dull thump.

I realized that I had fallen too, crying and screaming as the death eaters calmly began to leave. Lucius remained, watching Snape as he stood stonily in front of his sister's body. I shouted obscenities, apologies, promises of revenge and murder as fury, anger and grief muddled my senses until I felt drunk.

There was a rough hand on my shoulder and I looked up to see Snape, standing wordlessly above me. I went silent then, still unable to stem the flow of tears down my face. After a while though, the memory faded to black, and I knew it was past the time to leave. He grabbed my hand and suddenly we were back in his quarters.

Snape and I stood for a moment, and I realized that I was shaking. With a bit of concentration and steady breathing, it went away.

"It wasn't your fault either," I said then.

He swallowed, and repositioned his stance as though he were steadying himself. His eyes pierced through mine as though he was seeing something else, and I knew he was thinking about everything I had just seen. Then he sighed, and his face was neutral, bitter, with just a shadow of the misery I'd seen moments before.

"Go to bed," he said. "You have class tomorrow." Then he walked away, not bothering to make sure that I was following his orders.

I couldn't go back to bed though, afraid of nightmares that would be exponentially worse now that I knew what really happened. Instead I sat down in front of the dying flames, staring until my eyes burned and I had to look away.

What I wanted more than ever was to go up to Voldemort face to face, and torture him until he begged for mercy. I wanted to cause him more pain than he could ever imagine. I wanted to make him feel exactly how I felt, and then kill him. Somewhere in my mind I knew that I was being ridiculous. Some voice inside warned me that it was wrong to want to hurt someone else that badly, no matter what they had done to me, but I couldn't stifle the furious monster within me.

It made it worse to know that I couldn't do any of that. Harry would kill Voldemort, and it would be quick, and it would be painless. I knew better than to mess with destiny, and in a few months Harry would find out that it literally was his destiny to kill Voldemort.

But there would be carnage. There would be loss and sacrifice, and hundreds, if not thousands, of other people would feel exactly how I felt at this exact moment. I could prevent that, even if I couldn't kill Voldemort myself. There were no rules that said I couldn't help.

A wave of fatigue hit me then, almost as if I'd gained a small shrapnel of peace by knowing that I would help to kill the man responsible for my mother's death. As I drifted off to what I hoped would be a dreamless sleep, one thought blazed like a thousand suns in my mind: Voldemort is going down.

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