A/N: Oh, dear. Has it been two months between updates?
Sorry about that.
Real life cut in as it unfortunately does, but I'm back, and so are our Slytherins (and others!), right where we left them. Thank you very much for your reviews and messages; it's impossible to say just how much I value you all.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Inside the Study
Harry walked downstairs, blood pounding in his ears. A hand reached out from behind, pulling him back, and Terence Higgs stepped in front of him, one arm protectively outstretched across both Harry and Draco. The three came to a stop only once they'd reached the bottom of the stairs, where Hermione and Neville stood nearly as still as Marcus Flint's frozen body. Marcus's eyes darted back and forth between them, the rest of him completely rigid.
"Full Body-Bind?" Terence asked, still very much on guard yet clearly impressed. "Which one of you did that?"
Hermione hesitantly lowered her wand, then gestured at herself, adding, "Neville helped."
"No, I didn't," Neville said. "You cast the spell."
"My arm was shaking," Hermione explained, then turned to Terence again and said, "He grabbed it and aimed."
"I did?" Neville asked. He paused, his face changing expression as he thought over the past few moments, which Harry suspected had passed as quickly for them as they had for him. He nodded slowly. "I suppose I did, yeah."
"Thank you," Harry managed to say. "Both of you."
No one seemed to quite know what to say or do next. Then Terence nodded at Marcus's rigid body and asked, "So, what the hell is going on? This idiot said Dumbledore killed You-Know-Who."
Neville and Hermione both looked sharply at Terence, then at Marcus. "He what?" Hermione asked, turning back to the non-body-bound Slytherins.
Harry and Draco shook their heads together. Judging from the way Marcus's eyes flitted from person to person as they spoke, Harry assumed he could hear them, but given the fact he'd been trying to lure them to Voldemort it seemed obvious that he already knew everything. "No. He's not dead. But he is here, in the castle."
The air seemed to go very still as everyone but Draco took this in. Neville made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat as Hermione clasped a hand to her mouth, her eyes going very wide. Terence went very still, staring at Harry, before very quietly repeating, "You-Know-Who is in the castle?" Harry nodded, to which Terence added, "Potter, you're sure?"
"Yes," Draco said, before Harry could say anything. "He's in the forbidden corridor now. He- We have to bring Harry to him in an hour. Except we've already spent fifteen minutes trying to find Snape."
"He told you that?" Terence asked sharply, gripping his wand even more tightly. "You-Know-Who told you that? You saw him?"
"Well- no-" Draco stumbled over his words. "Not exactly."
"Then how do you know he's really here?"
"I- Well- You see-"
"It's a long story," Harry cut in. "But he is here."
It was at that moment heard footsteps, echoing from further up the staircase they'd just descended. Terence, wand aloft, spread his arms once more, pushing the four first years away. "Get back," he hissed under his breath. "Don't be stupid and play the hero, d'you hear me? If it's him, let me hold him off and run. You're just a bunch of first years; he'll kill you in a heartbeat."
"You're just a sixth year," Draco shot back, his voice high with fear, yet refusing to be ushered back. "He'll kill you too."
"Yeah, well..." Terence didn't break his gaze with the stairs beyond the narrow archway in the wall as the footsteps grew closer, but the corners of his lips turned upward the slightest bit. "Tough luck for me, then, isn't it?"
A figure appeared before them, and Harry exhaled, a shuddering, cleansing breath. Draco made a similar noise beside him, and for a long moment no one said anything.
Severus Snape stared at them, eyes panning from face to face, then he focused his attention on Marcus Flint's frozen body. His eyes traveled upward, to the outstretched wand an open-mouthed Terence was still pointing directly at him. "Mr. Higgs," he said, his voice dangerously low as he nodded at the wand, and at Marcus Flint. "Would you care to explain what's happened here?"
Terence, lowering his wand, said the last thing he would have ever imagined uttering upon being found pointing a wand at his housemaster while standing over a fellow Slytherin's body. "Professor Snape." He stepped forward. "Thank God you're here."
Snape's eyes flitted from person to person once again, and his expression changed to one of concern. "Tell me what's happened."
Marcus Flint felt himself being lifted into the air, by magic most likely; it was difficult to tell from his current vantage point, but the smoothness with which he was gliding made it the most likely case. Higgs was saying something to Professor Snape, and so were the first years, but their voices were so hushed he couldn't make anything out. After a moment, he saw a flick of someone's wand out of the corner of his eye, and all conversation around him receded into a dull buzz.
Before long, they were passing through a doorway. Marcus knew this doorway; he'd been hauled through it more times than he could count by an irate Professor Snape, particularly during his first few years at Hogwarts. Gazing upward, he could make out the brightly-hued potions bottles lining the upper shelves of Professor Snape's study. The buzzing continued around him, growing louder, then softer, then louder again.
Marcus stared at the ceiling, furious with himself for letting Terence Higgs and a group of first years get the best of him. If the Dark Lord really was returning, and he found out about this-
His body was moving again, and he felt himself tilting upright as he drifted involuntarily to the far end of Snape's study. He came to a stop where the two walls met, unable to see anything behind him. The buzzing voices went on a moment longer, then he heard a quickly receding set of footsteps and the click of Snape's study door, followed by the sound of multiple locks falling into place.
Figures, Marcus thought to himself. Even if it was for practical reasons, Snape had still found a way to stick him in the bloody corner.
Severus tore through the dungeons at top speed, nearly slamming into a pack of first year Slytherins, accompanied by two Gryffindors and a furious-looking Mrs. Norris.
"Common room!" he roared, and they flinched. They were accustomed to the Slytherin housemaster being abrupt, but seldom like this. He preferred to make his point in a voice that grew dangerously softer the angrier he grew.
"Sir," Tracey started, her eyes wide as she clutched a wriggling Mrs. Norris, the latter of whom meowed insistently to be released. "A portrait of an old man said we needed to look for a cat, and we weren't certain if he meant Mrs. Norris, or-"
"Common room! Now!" Severus bellowed, barely hearing her, and he took off once more.
From inside his billowing pockets, his copy of David Copperfield banged incessantly against his leg with each step. Not pausing for a moment, he plunged his hand into his robes, yanked the book free, and hurled the blasted thing against a wall.
He'd spotted it on his bookshelf that morning and thought to himself that it had been so long since he'd enjoyed a quiet day reading. Particularly that specific book, which he hadn't touched since the night he'd stood watch over his first years on their great 'dueling' adventure. After that, he'd shoved the leatherbound book back on his shelf and let it sit until he could stomach looking at it without reliving the terror of that night.
It figured, Severus thought, that something like this would happen the one blasted time he let his guard down and retreated to the castle ramparts on which he'd shared butterbeers with McGonagall the day of the Board of Governors' meeting. All he'd wanted was a place he'd be able to read in peace without constant interruptions from, just for an hour or two, and look at what had happened. Minerva frequently called him paranoid for keeping such a firm eye on his students, loathe to invite even the faintest possibility of chaos. Perhaps he was paranoid, but the events of the past year (and today in particular) proved he was also correct, something Severus wished very much wasn't the case as he reached the staircase to the Entrance Hall.
"Professor!"
Severus skidded to a halt at the base of the stairs, turning back to see the portrait of Gwydion rush into the nearest frame. "Gwydion," he said before the portrait could speak. "Alert the other portraits. Tell them any students they see are to be ordered to their common rooms immediately, and that they're to stay there. Then I need you to find Professor Dumbledore as quickly as you can. Tell him..." Severus swallowed, reaching out to balance himself against the stone archway. His thoughts were racing so quickly he couldn't keep up with them, leaving both his mind and body unsteady. "Tell him there's been a breach to the third floor corridor. That it's... the one we fear. Tell him I'll meet him there."
Gwydion stared at him for the briefest of moments, then nodded and disappeared from his frame.
Terence breathed in and out deeply, standing perfectly still beside the same bookcase from which Professor Snape had lent him various books throughout the year. He hadn't budged an inch since Snape had ushered him into his study and extracted the entire story from Potter and Malfoy. None of it seemed real, just as it hadn't seemed real on the staircase with Marcus, and yet Terence knew it was.
For all his parents talked about the return of the Dark Lord, as though such a return would be an inevitability, Terence hadn't truly thought this day would come. He had only the vaguest memories of being six years old, watching his mother crying the day the war ended, as his father rushed about to enact various alibis. They hadn't been Death Eaters, but it was no secret they supported the cause.
The cause. The same cause he'd turned his back on in this very study, the day after both he and Marcus had been caned in front of the entire house. Not that that terrible event was the reason he'd made that decision. No, Terence had been well on his way to renouncing his parents' beliefs before that horrid afternoon, but he'd truly made the decision once and for all as he'd sat sniffling opposite Snape the following morning, having sought out his housemaster for forgiveness and instead been given the upbraiding to end all upbraidings. It was during those hours afterwards, as Terence sat hiccupping into Snape's handkerchief, too ashamed and exhausted to be mortified, speaking quietly about the difference between wanting to do the right thing and actually doing it.
Well, he'd done the right thing today, he knew that. But what would that mean if the Dark Lord really did come back before the day was done? Terence didn't regret his actions, not one bit. But if those old days were to be upon them again, it meant Terence would have to do what he'd just done again- and again- and again- and again.
And he would, he knew that, because the alternative of simply keeping his mouth shut would be a betrayal of everything Professor Snape had taught him. Even so, it didn't mean he wasn't frightened by all of it.
Draco Malfoy sat in the armchair near the door, head in his hands. Terence walked to him, trying to formulate the words that best matched what he wanted to say. Slytherins weren't known for being touchy-feely about their emotions, and he didn't know how to start now. Thinking it over, Terence reached out and awkwardly clapped the first year on the shoulder. "Listen, Malfoy-" he said, his voice low, then paused. "Draco. You did the right thing, telling Professor Snape what you did. I know it wasn't easy, but it was the right thing to do."
"I know." Draco nodded slowly, not looking up. In a voice so low Terence barely heard him, he murmured, "Then why do I feel so terrible?"
Terence knelt beside him, gazing at Snape's empty chair on the other side of the room, deliberately averting his eyes from the rigid body of Marcus Flint in the corner. "Because it's hard to stand up to your family. I know."
"I don't want to be like you," Draco said quietly, and there wasn't a hint of malice in voice. In fact, it was the most sympathetic Terence had ever heard it. Draco turned to look at him, and Terence could see he was desperately fighting back the moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I don't want to do what you did. I don't want to live with someone else's family and not speak to my parents. I want to go home during the holidays and for everything to be normal. I want things to be the way they always were."
"I understand that," Terence said quietly, and he was surprised to hear his voice crack the slightest bit. "Merlin, you've no idea."
Getting past the three-headed dog was a mystery only Dumbledore and Hagrid knew the solution to; Severus knew the solution to only his own obstacle guarding the Philosopher's Stone. He didn't know what he'd find when he reached the door to the forbidden corridor, though his stomach tightened when he saw it was ajar.
Edging the door open as carefully and quietly as he could, Severus found six narrowed eyes staring back at him. Swearing under his breath, he slammed the door shut as the beast began to growl, then bark as it lunged forward. He hadn't missed the small harp at its feet, though, nor the open trapdoor, and after letting several excruciating moments pass as the dog calmed down, he cracked the door open and hissed, "Accio harp!"
The small instrument shot toward him, as did the dog. Severus managed to yank the former through the opening, but not before one of the dog's jaws snapped down on the billowing sleeve of his robes. Severus swore loudly as the fabric tore nearly to his shoulder, a massive swatch of his robes ripping free and disappearing into the dog's mouth. Severus slammed the door again, panting heavily and vaguely imagining what would have happened had it been his arm.
It didn't take a fool to understand how Lucius and whoever else was involved had made their way past the dog. Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Severus began strumming the harp in an attempt at something musical. The dog didn't seem to consider it music either, continuing to slam against the closed door with such force that Severus feared it would splinter apart.
But then, slowly, the force of the blows rattling of the door seemed to lessen, until they finally ceased. A moment later a thud shook the floor and walls around Severus, and, still playing with one hand, he tentatively nudged the door open. He could barely fit himself through the open crack; the door would open only the slightest bit before brushing against the sleeping beast. Clutching the frame of the harp with one hand and strumming with the other, Severus squeezed his way in, toward the open trapdoor. Keeping the harp on the floor beside him and continuing to strum, he stared at the sleeping dog. Then, after only a moment's hesitation, he released the harp and jumped through the trapdoor, into the inky darkness below.
Draco ran a finger against the polished leather arm of the chair he hadn't moved from since Professor Snape had left the study. He glanced around the room, carefully taking in his surroundings. Marcus Flint was still in the corner. He hadn't budged an inch since Granger hit him with her Full Body-Bind. Draco couldn't help but be impressed; he knew how to do a decent Leg-Locker Curse, but Granger's attack put his arsenal to shame.
Granger and Longbottom sat on the stone floor next to Harry, whose hand was pressed against his scar. Harry didn't say much as the two Gryffindors conversed quietly. Terence Higgs sat in one of the armless chairs in front of Snape's desk; the larger behind the desk looked more comfortable and Draco had noticed the Head Prefect eyeing it, but something Draco supposed he understood had prevented him from getting up and taking Snape's seat.
"You left your bag in Snape's classroom," Draco finally said, nodding his head in Granger's direction but not actually looking at her. "I saw it, before everything happened."
"I know. I found it." Granger lifted her bag so he could see it. Draco hadn't noticed it before now, distracted by everything else. "That's why Neville and came back to the dungeons."
They sat in silence for a moment, then Granger opened her mouth. Somehow, just by the look on her face, Draco understood she was about to say something kind about what he'd done for the rest of them, and he felt his stomach twist inside of him with horror at the very idea. Terence had already said something and that had been bad enough, but he could take that, because that was different. Terence's parents were like his. When Granger hesitated and instead closed her mouth, relief swept over him, and he nodded at her in silent thanks. She nodded in reply, an expression of understanding on her face.
Still, he knew, the Gryffindors were different. They liked talking about things. Draco sat in the armchair, desperately trying to push aside what his mind was telling him to do, but the voice in the back of his mind grew so loud that he found himself standing up and crossing the study to where Longbottom and Granger sat. If they were decent enough to thank him the way Slytherins did, he supposed it was only right to thank them the way bloody Gryffindors did.
"Well done for helping Granger aim, I suppose," he muttered to Longbottom, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet. To Granger, he said, "And well done with that curse." He paused, then forced himself to add, "And I'm sorry I called you a Mudblood when you beat me at Scrabble."
The two Gryffindors stared at him, and Draco feared they were about to get soppy with him. Instead they glanced at one another, then, just as Granger had a moment before, they simply nodded just as a Slytherin would. "Forgiven," Granger said simply, and gratitude welled up within Draco, gratitude he did his best to hide as he shuffled back to the armchair and lowered himself into it again.
Severus's hand closed around the key with the crumpled wing at last. Swearing with both triumph and fury, he pointed the nose of his broom downward. What a horrid task. A nuisance, really, just like the Devil's Snare. Anyone with half a brain could figure out which key was the correct one; retrieving it was simply an exercise in frustration. He shoved the key into the lock, twisted it open, then stepped across the threshold into the next chamber. He'd nearly shut the door behind him when the door on the opposite end of the room he was about to exit flew open.
"Headmaster?" he said, before he could stop himself, because the figure storming toward him was very much not Albus Dumbledore. "Minerva-"
Minerva's wand was in her hand, and before Severus could say another word, she was beside him, grabbing the torn arm of his robes, yanking the startled taller man down so their eyes were level, raising her clenched fist, and bringing the wand's hilt down against the top of his head with such force he briefly saw stars fluttering along with the keys overhead.
"Severus- Snape- you- complete- idiot-"
Each word was accompanied by a crack of her wand against his skull; Severus stumbled backwards and grabbed her arm mid-air before she could do any more damage. "Stop it, you mad old witch!"
"Mad?" Minerva let out a snort of laughter that sounded very much unlike her own. "I'm the mad one?"
"You attacked me!"
"And what do you think you were doing, running in here on your own?" Minerva shouted at him in a way she hadn't since the morning after he'd expelled those three Slytherins in 1982. "Have you lost your mind? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"There was no time," Severus shot back at her. "And I told Gwydion to notify Dumbledore."
"Haven't you heard? He's away." Minerva struggled to release her arm from Severus's grip. "Summoned to the Ministry this morning for urgent business." They both gazed at one another, understanding what this meant, and after a moment Minerva said, "Let me go, Severus."
"Only if you promise not to hit me again."
"Against my better judgment, I promise not to hit you again."
Severus released her arm and reached up to massage the top of his head. Glowering as he did, he said, "That was excessive, Minerva."
"You deserved it," Minerva said, completely unapologetic. "And you know it."
"And what about you?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "I don't see you here with backup."
"There was no time," Minerva echoed Severus's words from moments before. "Not with Albus gone, and you already down the trapdoor."
"Hypocrite," Severus said. "You're a massive hypocrite, you know that, don't you? I'd tell you to leave, and save yourself, but-" One look from Minerva only reinforced his perceived response to such an instruction. "I'll tell you what's happened instead."
It seemed strange to think that just a little while ago the greatest fear on Harry's mind had been a potential walloping. If it meant Professor Snape came back safely from the third floor corridor, he'd gladly take the cane ten times over- well, maybe not gladly, but still. He just wanted to know Professor Snape would be all right. That everything would be all right.
His scar hurt. It had done that a few times over the school year, such as when he'd encountered that cloaked figure on the stairs, and earlier today, right before everything had gone to hell. The thing was, it still hurt. It wasn't the same sharp pain as before, but a steadily increasing dull ache.
"Has it done that before?" Hermione asked, peering at Harry as he clutched a hand to his forehead and quietly explained his predicament.
"Not like this. It's usually quick, then it goes away."
Terence waved his wand, and the self-refilling jug of water Professor Snape kept atop a bookshelf flew down. Harry watched the jug slowly fill itself with fresh water as Terence looked around for some fabric. Failing, he tugged off his outer cloak, dipped a sleeve into the cool water, and handed it to Harry.
"See if that helps," he said.
Harry pressed the damp sleeve against his forehead and found it did help relieve some of the pain. "Thanks." He closed his eyes, trying to push aside the images his brain was forcing upon him. Unable to stop himself, he asked, "Who do you think will win? Professor Snape or Voldemort?"
No one answered. Harry didn't open his eyes, his stomach continuing to sink lower and lower.
"Listen, Harry," Terence said at last. "If a puny little turd like you could keep You-Know-Who away for more than ten years, Professor Snape will completely destroy him."
Harry kept his eyes shut, but he couldn't help but let out a tiny snort. He didn't quite agree with Terence's logic, but he was willing to go along with it, if only to calm the rapid-fire beating of his heart.
It only occurred to him several minutes later that it was the first time Terence had ever called him 'Harry'.
The opposing enchanted chess pieces never had a chance, not really. Between Severus, who prided himself on being able to calculate strategies multiple moves in advance and Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' undefeated champion of the annual staff tourney since 1979, the outcome wasn't a surprise.
"Well done," Severus said as Minerva lifted the crown the king had thrown at her feet. Unable to help himself, he said, "I'm impressed, Minerva. It took some brilliant spell-work to put this challenge together."
"Hush." Minerva eyed him suspiciously. "I get nervous when you compliment me."
"All right. In that case, you nearly got us both killed when you nearly sent that bishop over to take that rook. If I hadn't noticed-"
"That's more like it," Minerva cut in. She glanced sideways at him. "You're frightened, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm frightened. Aren't you?"
Minerva nodded. "Frightened out of my wits." She reached out, squeezed his shoulder, and turned toward the open door. Together, they hurried through it.
The Slytherin common room was practically full, its inhabitants murmuring quiet theories as to what had happened. Ellen Greybourne paced back and forth, staring at the closed stretch of stone wall, desperately wishing it would slide open and that Terence would walk through. She had no idea where he'd gone.
Millicent watched as Mrs. Norris crawled under a sofa in a huff; she'd darted through the open common room door as various students trickled in and was now furious no one would let her leave for fear of what Professor Snape would do if they opened the door for any reason. That, and for fear of whatever was out there that had caused him to order them back to the common room with such urgency. Most students had been summoned back by the portraits, but some had been roared at by Snape as he tore through the first few floors of the castle as though a rabid werewolf was in pursuit.
For once in her life, Millicent had no words. She had never seen Professor Snape look frightened before, not the way he had in the corridor. The mere idea of Snape being frightened made her feel frightened as well. That, and the fact that Harry and Draco were still missing, and that Terence Higgs hadn't come back...
She looked up at the faces of her fellow first years, faces that looked the way she felt. As she turned to the two Gryffindors, she hesitated, eyes landing on Parvati Patil. Something wasn't right about her. It was her body language, something about it was off. After a moment, Millicent said, "You're not Parvati."
The girl's mouth fell open, then, after a pause, she shook her head slowly. "You told Parvati... You said..."
"That it would be okay if the two of you swapped places, to see if we could tell the difference." Millicent couldn't help but let out a shaky laugh. "You're Padma, aren't you?"
Padma nodded, and her sheepishness was visible even through her own fear. "I'm sorry. You said it would be all right."
"It is," Millicent said. "Of course it is. I just can't believe it took me this long to notice."
"Welcome to the Slytherin common room," Daphne said. She, too, was nervous, but she, too, offered the Ravenclaw a small smile. "Unless you've been here before?"
"Once," the Ravenclaw admitted. "When I told you about Ron Weasley's hand turning green and swelling up. You didn't figure it out that time."
Unable to help herself, Millicent laughed again. "Well, I won't let that happen again," as Tracey said, 'Welcome back, Padma."
"Disgusting," Severus murmured, pinching his nose shut. The knocked-out troll was enormous, and its stench was enough to make ones eyes water furiously.
"Good Lord," Minerva said, right before clamping a hand over her mouth. They made their way through the chamber as quickly as possible, slamming the door behind them and exhaling in relief upon finding the smell didn't trail after them. They both gasped as purple flames sprang up behind them, blocking the way they'd come, even Severus, who'd set the trap himself. Ahead, black flames prevented them from going forward.
"That troll must have been Quirinus's challenge," Minerva said quietly. "He's always been excellent with them. Is this one yours?"
Severus nodded. "I imagine the Devil's Snare was Pomona's, and the charmed keys must be Filius's. The chessboard was yours, obviously, and that damn dog belongs to Hagrid." Severus turned away from Minerva and stepped further into the small chamber, toward the table lined with potions.
Minerva joined him at the table, unrolling the scroll of parchment lying on top. Over her shoulder, Severus could see his own handwriting form the riddle he'd composed back in August:
Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,
Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,
One among us seven will let you move ahead,
Another will transport the drinker back instead,
Two among our number hold only nettle wine,
Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.
Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,
To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:
First, however slyly the poison tries to hide
You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;
Second, different are those who stand at either end,
But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;
Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,
Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;
Fourth, the second left and the second on the right
Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.
Minerva's lips moved silently as she read. She turned to Severus, expression neutral as gazed at him, then down at his handwriting, then back to him again. After a moment, her lips began to twitch. Then she clamped a hand to her mouth once more as she burst into laughter.
"What?" Severus asked, drawing himself up to his full height and staring down at the Head of Gryffindor, who was desperately trying to stop laughing.
"I'm sorry- I'm truly sorry, Severus," she managed to say as her body shook against her will. "But you wrote a poem. Not just a poem, but a rhyming poem. Filius and Pomona will be so thrilled you're finally engaging your creative side."
Severus glowered at her as she managed to compose herself, trying to block out the memories of arduously matching appropriate words to their rhyming counterparts. "Perhaps I'll be lucky and die down here instead of having to listen to them gloat."
"Don't joke like that." Minerva had already stopped laughing, but now she grew sober as she glanced ahead at the flames blocking them off from what they knew must be the final chamber. "Severus, if we-"
"It's the smallest bottle," Severus cut her off, knowing she was about to talk about what would happen if they died down here, and unable to form the necessary words in response. "That's the one to get through the black flames."
They stared at the bottle, which had already been drunk from. There was only a tiny bit of liquid left, barely enough for one person to sip.
"Go back," Minerva said quietly. "I've already sent an owl to Dumbledore, but you can meet him when he gets back and bring him here. In the meantime, make sure the students are safe; prepare them for evacuation if need be-"
"Minerva," Severus said as quietly and gently as he could. "Don't be stupid." Minerva looked at him sharply, and he went on. "You're not going ahead."
"Of course I am. I'm Deputy Headmistress. It's my duty." Minerva's lip twitched again, but not with laughter this time. "Severus, I..." She struggled to say these next words, but she said them all the same. "I neglected you as a student. I'm not letting you walk to your death as an adult."
"And I'm not letting you walk to yours," Severus replied smoothly. "If one of us has a chance against the Dark Lord, it's me." He gazed at her and said firmly but not unkindly, "Minerva, you're too old."
"So I've heard," Minerva shot back dryly. "I'm also stronger than you suspect."
"I believe that. All the same, I still have the best chance of facing the Dark Lord one-on-one," Severus argued. "I can attempt to convince him I'm still on his side, especially if Lucius is there. It's our best hope of holding him off until Dumbledore arrives. Besides..." Before Minerva could react, his hand shot out and he grabbed the tiny bottle, downing its contents before she could stop him. "I'm faster than you."
Minerva gaped at him, then her shoulders slumped in disgusted defeat. "You bastard."
Severus did something next that came to him very unnaturally, but his brain told him to do it all the same; he wrapped his arms around Minerva and embraced her tightly before letting her go. In turn, she pulled him downward, but not to rap her wand against his skull this time. Instead, she brushed several strands of loose hair away from his eyes, and and pressed a hand to his cheek. "Be careful, Severus."
"I always am." Severus patted her on the back, then handed her a rounded bottle from the table and nodded at the purple flames that led to the chamber with the knocked out troll. "Drink this and go back. I'll see you soon. But..." He paused, then said, "Just in case something goes wrong, look after my Slytherins, won't you?"
He didn't wait to hear her reply, instead turning away and walking straight through the black flames before he lost his nerve.
"It should have been me," Harry said, half to himself, so quietly that only Terence could hear him. "Not Professor Snape."
"You, doing what? Going after You-Know-Who?" Terence shot him an incredulous look. "Don't be stupid. You're eleven."
"So?" Harry stared at his lap, wishing he weren't trapped in Snape's study and instead fighting his own battles. In his regular voice, he continued, "It's like you said. I helped keep him away for more than ten years, even if I don't know how I did it. He's here for me. If Professor Snape dies, it'll be my fault."
"Shut it, scar boy," Draco said, sneering at him with what Harry suspected was something akin to kindness, more or less. "Snape's said it himself, your scar doesn't make you special. And I can tell you as well as anyone else that you're definitely not special. Going after the Dark Lord would be suicide."
"Yeah, but-"
"So you defeated him once. That doesn't mean you'll do it again." Draco leaned forward. "Do you understand what it took for me to tell Snape what I did? If you threw that all away to run after You-Know-Who anyway then- then-" Draco thought it over, then concluded, "Well, you'd be as stupid as you look."
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said, his lips turning upward against his will, and Draco's doing the same. To Neville and Hermione, he asked, "Are you both all right?"
"Nervous," Neville admitted with a shaky voice. "But I trust Professor Snape. He said he'll be back, so he'll be back. Besides, Dumbledore will be with him, and he's the only person You-Know-Who ever feared, right?"
"Yeah," Harry said. With more confidence than he (and he suspected Neville too) felt, he nodded. "He will be."
The black flames surrounded Severus; they were all he could see, yet he didn't feel a thing as they licked against his body. He walked forward, then the fire was gone, and he was in the final chamber. There was a mirror, Severus vaguely registered, and in its reflection he could see the face of Quirinus Quirrell. Beside him stood Lucius Malfoy. Neither's presence surprised him, but a third did, or at least the form in which it presented itself.
Quirinus's turban lay unwound on the ground at his feet, next to a silvery fabric Severus knew must be the Invisibility Cloak that Potter had spoken of. His gaze moved back to Quirinus, whose once-brown hair was gone, replaced by something he never could have imagined had been under the turban this entire time.
He stared at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord stared back at him.
"Severus," came that high voice from the mottled face's lips, the same voice Severus hadn't heard in more than a decade but knew as well as he knew his own.
"My Lord," Severus breathed, then fell to his knees, letting his mind go blank and doing the only thing he knew he could. "My Lord. At last, you're here."
The Dark Lord continued to stare at him, then the voice spoke again, just one word. "Quirrell."
"Of course, Master." Quirinus turned, and it was a cold, unflinching face that looked down upon him, one completely unlike the face Severus had grown accustomed to. He pointed his wand at Severus, and spoke the word he would repeat quite a few times over the next few minutes.
"Crucio."