Chapter 25:

Betrayal's mirror image:

The time until the next new moon stretched like elastic.

Harry had been looking forward to this moment so much, that by the end of the wait he had become a nervous wreck. Ron didn't fare any better and only Hermione still doubted their right to willingly endanger the life of someone, even if that someone was a murderer. Harry had no such doubts. They would take another deatheater from Voldemort and disable a weapon that had become dangerous.

Still, the month was not easy. Aurors were everywhere and they seemed to enjoy guarding a school and some kids just as much as the teachers and students wanted to have them here. Harry felt like he was in a prison and that they had to be extra careful to talk about their 'private' matters without being overheard.

Of course, they were not under constant supervision and could move around the castle quite unrestricted, but the sheer presents of the Aurors was very unnerving and one could never tell if one of those would not show up around the next corner any time.

Luckily, Ron and Harry still managed pretty easily to penetrate the owlery, the day of the supposed deatheater meeting.

They didn't think that Voldemort would direct his wrath at the owl and have a direct go at the potions master, once he read the letter, yet they still didn't want to send one of their familiars. Besides, there was the possibility that Snape may know one of the two animals to be theirs.

They chose a small, quick screech owl and Harry tied the parchment with jittery fingers to its leg.

"Take the letter to professor Severus Snape." Harry eyed the small bird worriedly. "And get lost as soon as someone has taken the letter from you, you hear me?"

The owl cooed softly and flapped out of the great tower window.

"I only wish we could be there when Snape gets that letter," Ron grinned.

The letter was sent and life continued.

There was no indication if Harry's Plan had succeeded or failed. The morning after having sent the letter, the two friends checked in the owlery. The screech owl was sleeping peacefully on a perch, the letter gone. It was impossible to tell what may have happened. Did their plan work out, or had Snape gotten the letter in a solitary moment?

For several days to come, Ron and Harry talked about nothing else but the letter up until late at night, falling back to their games of invented tortures. It was not nearly as satisfying as to know what really had happened, but it was better than nothing.

The fifth night after having sent the letter, Harry got his answer.

This time his scar had not hurt and Harry had fallen asleep quite normally. The only thing telling him that he wasn't dreaming was the distinctive air about the pictures that forced their way into his consciousness, pulling him from the darkness of sleep and the fact that he was in the same room as last time. Like during the last meeting, more than ten deatheaters were present and again there was a person shivering and gasping on the floor in the middle of their circle. This time, however it was a man. A man wearing a similar robe like the deatheaters surrounding him.

Voldemort stood besides the still twitching and heavily breathing Snape, his wand in one hand and a crumbled piece of parchment in his other. The dark wizard practically shook with fury and held his wand so tightly that the fine wood threatened to split under his grip.

"You have betrayed me one too many times and now you're denying yourself a fast death by refusing to tell me what I want to hear."

Snape gave no indications to answer; instead he fought himself up on his elbows. Yet, that seemed to take a good deal out of his strength and he remained on the ground, panting heavily.

"Master," Malfoy, who stood in the circle among the other death eaters, said. "Give me the honour and let me try. I will be getting it out of him eventually."

Voldemort hissed angrily, letting the parchment fall to the floor. "You may have the filthy traitor, once I'm through with him. Not before." He stored his wand back into a hidden part of his sleeve then grabbed Snape by the back-collar of his cloak and pulled him effortlessly to his feet. The dark wizard held the softly moaning potions master in an upright position, pinning him with one arm against his own chest. Snape was barely able to keep on his feet and leaned heavily against Voldemort behind him.

Out of nowhere, Voldemort suddenly held a curved knife with an ivory handle in his hand. He brought the blade up and held it menacingly against the younger wizard's throat, without relenting the grip of his other hand with which he still held the potions master.

Not even now did Snape really react and his arms hung limply at his sides.

Only after he had caught his breath a bit, did Snape sigh softly and locked his knees to stand on his own. He lifted his head, apparently barely aware of the blade at his neck. There was no fear in his eyes and he seemed completely calm as if he wasn't even really aware of the situation in which he found himself.

Voldemort didn't look like he'd liked to see that, however. "My Severus," he hissed, his mouth mere millimetres behind Snape's ear. "Still so proud, despite everything."

Voldemort moved the blade a bit and a thin, red rivulet flowed sluggishly down the pale skin of Snape's neck.

"This is your last chance for a dignified death, Severus. Tell me what I want to hear from you."

Harry saw Snape's lips move but he couldn't make the words out, which he spoke. Voldemort, however seemed to have heard perfectly, for he made an angry sound and pressed the knife harder against Snapes skin, before he pulled the blade in agonizing slowness across the exposed throat.

For the shortest of moments, Harry thought that Voldemort must have bluffed, but his doubt only lasted so long until the potions master's eyes widened in horror and a fountain of blood shot out of the gap that the knife left in its wake. More blood came out from the gory mess that once had been Snape's neck and a sickening, gurgling noise echoed through the room as the man desperately tried to breathe and only blood filled his lungs instead. The hands that before had limply hung at his side stiffened into abstruse claws, so tense that they trembled slightly in the death fight.

Snape opened his mouth but all that came out, was another gush of blood, which now came through his nose, mouth, and in pulsating intervals from the wound at his neck.

Harry wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Without being able to do something against it, his eyes stayed hefted on the terrible scene in front of him. He saw as the panic took a complete hold over Snape's body. As he tried in vain to gulp for air, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets in pain and inhuman fright.

The horror in the bloodied to a grimace twisted face didn't die down, instead it seemed to burn itself into the features as, after an impossibly long time, all the stiffness left the body and the eyes of the man lost their focus. His legs gave in and Snape fell with his whole weight against Voldemort, who still held him.

The intervals in which the blood was pushed out grew slower until it became a steadily flowing stream of red. Only then did Voldemort let go of Snape's body, which fell in a formless heap into an impossibly big-looking puddle of blood.

Which let Harry leave his shock-induced immobility and with a terrified yelp he jolted back, only to wake in his bed, gasping for air.

Right after, the mattress tilted at his side and he heard Ron's alarmed voice beside himself. "Harry? Harry, what's the matter?"

"Who screamed?" another, sleep-drunken voice murmured.

"Everything is alright, Neville. Go back to sleep!" Ron's voice called back into the room.

Harry needed several minutes to calm down sufficiently. He tried to make out Ron, who sat at the edge of his bed, but the picture of Snape's terror-ridden face as he rang in vain for breath and the vast amount of blood seemed to have imprinted itself on his retina and overlapped everything else. At that point, it didn't even matter that he had imagined, or even wished for Snape's death since the murder of his godfather. It didn't matter either that it had finally happened as a result of his plan. He had known that Snape may get killed but he hadn't counted on such a brutality. Even though they had talked about it only hours earlier, it seemed like an eternity ago as Ron and himself had wished to be present when Voldemort would intercept the letter and punish Snape. Now he wished that he'd never seen that.

"Harry? Answer me. You're scaring me. What's wrong?" Ron pressed with a hint of fear in his voice.

"Ron," Harry whispered, fixating the boy at his side. The picture of Snape with a cut throat slowly faded away and he looked at a very worried looking Ron. The redhead's expression loosened only when Harry answered.

"Did you have another vision?"

Ron sounded as worried as he had just looked and Harry pulled his legs up and hugged his knees in a try to suppress the cold shivers that still ran through him at the memory of the cruel execution.

"Snape is dead," he only whispered and didn't miss the flicker of a smile that shot in Ron's face, before he chased it and narrowed his eyes worriedly again. "And where is the problem? Why did you scream? Wasn't that what we wanted? Sirius is avenged at last."

"I know," Harry whispered dully. "That isn't it either. It's only that I've seen how he died and I don't want to witness something like that ever again. All that blood…and those eyes. You could see the raw horror in it and then that sound as he tried to breath..." A new shiver ran through him again, as instantly the picture came forward again and Harry had to use all his force of mind to push it back once more.

"What exactly happened, Harry?"

"From what I saw at the beginning of the vision, Voldemort had put Snape under crucio, but then he simply lifted him up and cut his throat."

Ron's eyes grew wide and he absentmindedly reached up to his own neck. "Ouch."

Harry still sounded much too weak in his own ears, but slowly the shock faded away and the whole thing didn't seem quite so overwhelming. "Yeah, right, ouch."

"And now? The headmaster has told you to see him immediately if you should have another vision."

„Forget it, Ron," Harry interrupted sharply. „You know what Dumbledore thinks of Snape. If I tell him what happened, then I'll also have to tell him why it happened. Dumbledore will never know that Snape is dead. He just disappeared and that's the end of it. Sirius is avenged, future victims of Snape are safe and Dumbledore can think that he has fled and is in security. This way, everybody is happy."

Ron nodded reluctantly. "I guess that'll be best. It's only a shame that we can't throw an official party on Snape's demise."

Harry smiled against his will. "You definitely hang out too much with Fred and George, you know? But if you want to, we can go to the 'Three Broomsticks' on the weekend and drink to Sirius' memory and Snape's death."

Ron grinned happily and went back into his own bed, after wishing Harry good night.

Harry's smile died and he lay back down. He only hoped that the shock about the things he saw would have decreased until the next morning, so he could at least function normally.

Because at the moment he didn't feel capable for that at all.

T.B.C.

Thanks to my Betareader: Slytherin's silver snake!