Chapter 57
The Servant and Serpent
She felt fire rise up her legs, her knees trembled, and her throat burned with every breath she took. Laurel reached a clearing, realising she seemed to be alone. She sank to the ground, clutching leaves and damp earth, and rubbed her wounds hard, hoping to mask the smell of bleeding. She could barely catch her breath when the growls returned. Greyback's pack had surrounded her.
One by one, they emerged from the darkness, menacing, predatory. They had spent so long living in the wild that their human forms seemed to hinder them. Sharp teeth, eyes that glowed in the darkness, deep scars, and the subtle wrongness in the way they stood. They didn't advance, they didn't lunge at her, and Laurel understood with a twisted sense of relief that this meant Greyback had forbidden them to harm her and that he must be close.
Laurel's hands moved to her sides, one brushing the edge of the axe, the other the smoothness of the wooden box with the vials. Lupinaria.
"God, Remus."
She remembered his slumped body, remembered Tonks's crying, and her eyes watered. She gritted her teeth and stood, choosing to take the box.
"I have the cure," —she said, her voice raw with pain. —"Greyback forced you to be werewolves. I offer you a choice."
Some sneered. Some shifted uncomfortably. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a long scar running down his face squinted at her.
"Wolfsbane Potion? It's barely a tranquilizer. There's no cure."
Laurel pulled a vial from the box, holding it up. The potion glowed, casting silver light over their faces.
"Its name is Lupinaria. It's real. One dose, and the wolf no longer controls your lives. You could go back home to your families. You will no longer have to live under the yoke of following Greyback's orders"
"And abandon the pack?" —A black woman with tangled dreadlocks stepped forward. — "Abandon our own kind, the only ones who show no contempt for what we are?"
"No," —Laurel said, raising her voice — "You will only abandon the pain. You will no longer have to feel Greyback's teeth at your throats every full moon."
Laurel searched their faces, searching for cracks in their hostility.
"Do you think he cares? He's only used you to serve Voldemort." —Laurel shook her head, snorting in indignation. — "And I can't understand it. I've seen how the Death Eaters despise him, torture him. And Greyback allows that mistreatment because all he wants in the world is to have the Dark Mark. To be considered a complete wizard by them. I assure you, your lives won't be any better when the Purebloods are in charge. I'm giving you a chance to be free.
The pack fixed their eyes on the gleaming vial, and murmurs soon rose.
"So, the rumours are true. Lupin has been cured..."
"It's impossible! The Ministry would have already seized on such a discovery..."
"I heard that an insider has been offering a potion to reclusive werewolves, but Greyback has claimed it's just a hoax..."
"Who cares what Greyback has to say! He left us alone for months just to play guard dog for the Malfoy family!"
The growls in the clearing died away as a small figure pushed through the herd. A boy, no more than eight years old, with long, dirty hair and wearing a torn tunic that was too big for him, raised a trembling hand toward Laurel.
"I want to try it," —he said in a small voice. His eyes, though bright like the others', held a fragility that made Laurel's chest tighten.
"Atti, no!" —the dreadlocked woman snapped, walking to him, but the boy turned to face her, showing teeth too big for his small mouth.
"Greyback killed my brother!" —he cried, his words stumbling. —"He was all I had left. I want to leave." —His gaze softened as he turned to Laurel. —"You can try it on me. Maybe if they see it works, they'll believe you."
Laurel held her breath. The boy's proximity made the pack flinch; she could see his nostrils flare, smelling her blood. Every instinct screamed at her to retreat, but she knelt, digging her shoes into the damp earth.
"What's your name?" —she whispered, her fingers trembling as she unscrewed the vial.
"Atticus," —the boy said, his eyes fixed on the shining needle Laurel was preparing.
"It'll just be a pinprick," —she soothed, bending down to roll up his tunic, revealing a gaunt arm, riddled with bite wounds.
She took a deep breath and tried to keep her hands steady. Atticus didn't flinch as the needle pierced his skin, his gaze fixed on hers. The vial emptied, its silvery liquid coursing through his veins. For a moment, nothing happened, but then the boy staggered, letting out a muffled groan as he fell to his knees.
"Atti!" —The were-woman rushed toward him, holding him. The pack closed in, growling louder, but froze as the boy's eyes blinked: the unnatural gleam dimmed to a warm brown. His long nails retracted with a crunch, and his fangs shrank to childlike teeth.
A collective gasp rippled through the pack as Atticus's small body slumped, his scent changing, the savage musk replaced by something unmistakably human.
"It's true. The wolf... It's gone." —the were-woman cried, clutching Atti to her chest. —"The Akardos doesn't lie. She doesn't lie! We don't have to be Greyback's slaves anymore!"
The pack erupted. Some howled in shock, others shook their heads, smiling at the heavens. An old man lunged at Laurel, only to be brought down by two others.
Laurel stood, her heart pounding, and pulled another vial from the box.
"Who's next?"
The clearing fell silent. Then, slowly, the woman stood, the child still in her arms.
"Me…"
And then, a bestial sound rippled through the trees, a familiar, guttural rumble. The pack froze.
"Traitors!" —Greyback's voice boomed from the shadows. —"You'll die before you get a hold of that cure."
The pack charged forward, forming a wall of bodies in front of Laurel.
"YOU KNEW!" —The heaviest werewolf in the group surged forward and roared in rage. —"You knew there was a cure, and you left us to rot!"
Greyback's lips curled, his mangled face twisting.
"You were weak," —he hissed. —"You should be grateful. Lycanthropy is a privilege…"
"A privilege?" —A wiry man missing an ear pushed his way through the crowd, his voice cracking. —"You made my daughter prey for your games! We no longer have to howl at your feet!"
And in a second, the entire pack was upon Greyback, teeth and claws tearing at his flesh. Greyback thrashed about, a monstrous blur among the savage bodies, but he was brought down like a deer attacked by wolves.
Laurel didn't think twice; she grabbed the box of vials and shoved them into the hands of the she-wolf who had stood back, holding little Atti.
"Just one dose!" —she yelled, before picking up the axe and running at full speed, away from the pack.
She plunged deeper into the woods, Greyback's roars echoing behind her. Branches whipped across her face, her wounds burning, but she pressed on with more determination, guided in the darkness by the light from the fires in the castle.
Finally, she was able to leave the forest, relieved to see the outline of Hagrid's hut in the distance. She ran again, but then a shadow flicked through the air.
CRACK.
A branch from the Whomping Willow struck her on the temple. She collapsed, and the world spun into darkness.
• •
She woke to the feel of a hand tangled in her hair, yanking her upright. The stench of blood and decay filled her nose. Greyback's face hovered inches from hers:
Part of his scalp had been ripped away, there were deep bite marks on his body, and a huge gash ran across his face, leaving one of his eyes milky and swollen.
His lips brushed her cheek, and she gagged as he pressed them against hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth.
His eyes shone with savage triumph as he whispered, almost tenderly:
"And so, Sleeping Beauty wakes with the prince's kiss. You really fucked up my life, lamb. You took my pack away. Now I'll have to make a new one, and I'm sure you'll bear me a pair of beautiful cubs, right?"
Greyback threw her to the ground, holding her down and ripping her robes.
"You will give me a loyal pack. There will be no more potions... You will not win, bitch."
"I've won, Fenrir. It's over," —Laurel whispered defiantly. —"The pack is freed, and I'd rather stabbed myself to a stake than bearing your bastards."
Laurel spat in his remaining eye, and Greyback roared with rage, lifting her up and slamming her into the Whomping Willow. The tree shuddered, branches freezing in mid-whiplash as it was struck in its secret knot.
The Akardos let out a moan of pain, but her eyes traveled quickly to the gleaming blade of the axe she'd forgotten. Gripping it tightly, she faced Greyback.
"Leave," —Laurel shouted, raising the weapon above her head.
"You won't be able to do it, little lamb," —the werewolf mocked, walking toward her. —"You're weak, innocent. You're just a soulless bitch…"
And then Laurel swung the axe with all her might.
The sharp blade sank deep into his skull with a sickening crunch.
Greyback collapsed, convulsing, his one eye wide open. Laurel staggered backward, taking the axe with her, exposing the huge gash in her forehead.. She stared down at the massive body, the bright blood spurting from its head against the dark color of the ground. A high, wailing sound escaped the woman's lips: her own sobs, raw and unhinged.
She staggered toward the Willow Tunnel, crawling deeper until all was darkness and silence. She curled up on the damp ground, digging her nails into her arms, pulling at her hair, hoping the pain would erase the memory of the weight of the axe, the crunch of the shattered skull, the gleam of shock in his blue eye, and the thick, metallic smell of Greyback's blood feeding the earth.
Time passed, and Laurel didn't move. The Willow's branches resumed their stirring, sealing her in the darkness of the tunnel. But then footsteps and voices sounded from above.
"It's Greyback. He's been… what happened to him?" —Harry walked cautiously to him.
"Blimey… his face, his body… I've never seen anything so bloody." —Ron stood behind, his eyes wide.
"This wasn't magic. This was… brutal." —Hermione swallowed, glancing at the tunnel. — "Whoever did this might still be down there."
The friends looked at each other. Harry raised his wand and pointing it at a small stick on the ground, said:
"Wingardium Leviosa."
The twig rose, twirled in the air, as if caught in a gust of wind, and shot down toward the trunk, through the willow's branches, which were waving menacingly. The tree immediately froze.
"I'll go alone," —Harry said decisively. —"You two go back to the castle; it's very dangerous."
"No way," —Ron replied. "—If you go, we'll go with you, Harry. Now, get in the tunnel!"
The trio crept deeper into the tunnel, breathing shallowly and in unison. The tips of their wands glowed with trembling Lumos, casting jagged shadows on the earthen walls.
A rustling sound echoed up ahead. Harry froze, flicking his wand toward the sound. The light fell on a figure hunched against the wall: a woman, her robes tattered and stained, her hands digging into the earth as if anchoring herself to it. The woman's head jerked up, her eyes wide and unblinking, like a cornered animal.
Ron stumbled back, wand raised.
"Stu—"
"Wait!" —Hermione hissed, grabbing his arm. —"It's her. Miss Noel."
Harry lowered his wand slightly, his gaze shifting from her to the axe lying nearby.
"You were the one who killed him," —he said, more as a grim statement than a question.
"I had no choice," —Laurel nodded, her voice threadbare with horror.
"It's best if you stay down here," —Ron whispered. —"It's safer. We should go…we have to get to the Shrieking Shack."
"The Shrieking Shack?" —Laurel asked. —"Why would you go there?"
Ron hesitated, looking at Harry and Hermione before answering.
"We're looking for Nagini," —Harry finally replied. —"We have to kill it."
A tense silence followed before Laurel straightened. Her expression had changed. Her spirit was determined to overcome that cruel confrontation with Greyback. There was no other desire in her mind than to finish off Voldemort, and she knew the only way to do that was to help the Chosen One.
"I'm coming with you then," —she declared simply. —"I'm going to help you."
"But Nagini will be with Voldemort..." —Ron whispered, his gaze moving from Laurel to his friends. —"Voldemort... how could she help?" — Ron looked back at the woman, blushing. —"I mean... you can't do magic..."
Laurel's eyes turned toward the tunnel entrance.
"It's not something I'm proud of," —Laurel took the axe, her fingers firm despite the revulsion she felt at the memory of that wet crunch. —"But I was the one who left Greyback's body out there. Magic didn't save him from me, did it? I'm not afraid, Ron. And maybe you need someone who won't hesitate to throw themselves at Nagini, right?"
Harry kept his gaze fixed on Laurel, studying the way her knuckles whitened around the axe. The woman's reddish-brown eyes were sparkling in the dim light of the wands. There was no longer fear, but ferocity. The same ferocity he had seen in Sirius, in Lupin, that day in the battle in the Department of Mysteries
"You're coming with us," —he said determinedly, and turned to follow the long stretch to the Shrieking Shack.
• •
The tunnel began to ascend, and a little further on, they finally saw a glimmer of light. They slowly approached the exit. The opening had been covered with some kind of chest through which the voices in the room could be heard. Harry and Ron covered themselves with the Invisibility Cloak Hermione had passed them and poked their heads through the gap.
"Let me go find the boy. Let me bring Potter to you. I know I can find him, my Lord. I beg you."
The voice was unmistakable. Silky, calm, even now, in Voldemort's presence, he maintained his composure, but Laurel felt as if the floor had vanished beneath her feet. Her heart sank.
Severus.
He pushed Ron aside so he could see the room through the limited space between the floor and the chest of drawers, earning a silent protest from the boy, but Ron allowed it when he saw her face: drawn, sad, his gaze fixed on Snape's pair of shiny black shoes standing only a few inches from the chest of drawers.
Harry, instead of looking at Snape, rested his eyes a little further away. He could see Nagini, curled up inside a floating sphere. He could see the edge of a table and a long-fingered white hand fiddling with a wand.
Snape took a few steps away from the dresser, and Laurel could finally see him, framed by the flickering light of the oil lamps. His black robes billowed like ink around him, his head slightly bowed in supplication. Laurel could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were clasped behind his back to hide the trembling in his fingers.
Voldemort stood up and slowly approached him like a predator, Nagini gliding close in her enchanted orb. The Dark Lord watched Snape with disturbing calm.
Harry continued to stare at Nagini, wondering if there was a spell that could penetrate the ward surrounding her, but nothing came to mind. One failed attempt, and he would reveal his position...
"I have a problem, Severus," —Voldemort said quietly.
"My lord?" —Snape asked.
Voldemort raised the Elder Wand, holding it as delicately and precisely as a conductor's baton.
"Why isn't it working for me, Severus?"
In the silence, Harry imagined he heard the snake hissing softly as it coiled and uncoiled. Or was it Voldemort's hissing breath floating in the air?
"My... my lord?" —Snape said, his gaze lost. —"I don't understand. You... you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand."
"No," —said Voldemort. —"I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand... no. It has not revealed the wonders it promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I obtained from Ollivander's all those years ago."
Voldemort's tone was thoughtful and calm, but Harry's scar had begun to throb. Pain was growing on his forehead, and he could feel that controlled rage building inside him.
"I have thought long and hard about this, Severus," —Voldemort repeated. — "I wonder why you refused to come when I called you?"
Snape's expression didn't change. Not visibly. But Laurel saw it: how his breathing hitched imperceptibly, how he blinked a moment too long.
"I've worked hard to find Potter, My Lord. I thought I was close to capturing him... I wanted to offer him to you on a silver platter, My Lord."
"You remind me of Lucius. Neither of us understands Potter the way I do. He doesn't need to be sought; Potter will come to me. I know his weakness, his one and most serious flaw: he will not bear to see others fall around him, knowing that he, of all people, is the cause. He will want to prevent it at all costs, and he will come to me."
"Yes, My Lord, but he could die accidentally, he could be killed by someone other than you..."
"I have given very clear instructions to my Death Eaters: they are to capture Potter and kill his friends, but not him... But it is you I wanted to talk about, not Harry Potter. You have been valuable to me. Very valuable. You are an intelligent man, Severus, surely you know why the Elder Wand refuses to obey me?"
"I... I can't explain it, my Lord." —Snape wasn't looking at him, his gaze fixed on the snake.
"Can't you?"
The surge of rage felt like a spike driven into Harry's head: he jammed his fist into his mouth to keep from crying out in pain. He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was Voldemort, staring into Snape's pale face.
"Or perhaps you already know? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I am sorry for what must happen."
"My lord..."
"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly because I am not its true master. The wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. As long as you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."
Laurel felt a surge of adrenaline rise in her throat, burning like fire. She gasped. Her heart pounded in her ears. She didn't understand the intricacies of wand-lore, or who the Elder Wand's true owner was. What she did understand was the danger in Voldemort's voice, the calm condemnation in his words. She could sense that the moment was approaching, the moment when everything would fall apart irrevocably.
"But, my Lord!" —Snape protested, raising his wand.
"It cannot be any other way," —Voldemort said. —"I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.
He was going to kill him.
Her vision narrowed, the world narrowed to the pale, drawn face of the man she loved, standing like a shadow before the abyss. Her hands clenched against the dirty floor. She wouldn't let that happen.
A chill ran down her spine, and her face drained completely, leaving only cold, caustic determination in her gaze. A feeling she'd never felt before washed over her. She felt no hatred, no rage, no fear, only the overwhelming need to act right then and there.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione felt it too. Ron grabbed her arm. Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, and she whispered, "Laurel, don't…"
But it was too late.
She ripped off the Invisibility Cloak and flung it at the trio in one swift motion. The chest of drawers scraped violently against the wooden floor as she pushed it aside with all her might; the screech of wood on wood echoed through the cabin like a scream.
"NO!" —.
She didn't hesitate; she moved, placing herself between Snape and the Dark Lord, arms outstretched.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The sickening green light of death erupted from Voldemort's wand. It struck Laurel square in the chest. The force of the curse blew her hair back, and it dissipated harmlessly, leaving Laurel wrapped in a shimmering, iridescent mist.
Voldemort stared at her, his face twisted in disbelief. Snape, staggering back from the beam of light that never arrived, stared at her as if she were a ghost.
"Laurel..."
Laurel turned her head slightly, meeting his eyes for a moment.
"I won't let you die," —she said in a low, fierce voice.
Voldemort lost his composure.
"Akardos," —he hissed, venom laced every syllable.
He flicked his wand imperceptibly, but he already knew the truth: his magic was useless against her. And then, without needing to use Legilimency, Laurel understood what he was about to do.
The orb surrounding the snake dissolved with a flick of his pale hand, and the enormous snake fell heavily to the ground, uncoiling with terrifying grace, its yellow eyes boring into Laurel.
"Kill them," —Voldemort ordered.
Nagini charged, its jaws opening wide, and Laurel reared back, swinging the axe in her hand, but she didn't have the dexterity to strike the snake. Nagini recoiled, preparing for another attack, and time slowed as Snape lunged, slamming his body into Laurel's, knocking her aside just as Nagini launched itself at her. The force of his thrust sent her staggering sideways, but then the snake's fangs sank deep into the base of Severus's neck. A strangled gasp escaped him, half pain, half fury, as he felt the venom burning through his veins like liquid fire.
"Severus!" —Laurel shrieked, swinging the axe, her vision blurred by tears.
The blade slammed into Nagini's scaly body, tearing at the flesh. The snake recoiled with a hiss, spraying black blood onto the floorboards. Laurel wrenched the axe free, her muscles burning with exertion, and swung down again, slamming into one of Nagini's eerie eyes. The snake let out an ear-piercing screech, thrashing wildly, while Voldemort's roar of rage shook the house.
"Enough!" —The Dark Lord's wand sliced through the air, summoning Nagini back in a hastily conjured orb.
He cradled his wounded Horcrux; his crimson eyes blazed with hatred as they flicked from Snape's collapsed body to Laurel, who still held the axe aloft.
"You... despicable beast," —he spat, retreating slowly into the shadows. —"You'll have to watch how that wretched traitor drowns in poison. The wand is now mine."
Voldemort left the room without looking back.
"Laurel..." —Snape's voice was weak, barely a whisper.
She turned to him, and the sight shattered her.
Severus was slumped against the floor, his hand clasped over the gaping wound; blood flowed between his fingers. He was breathing heavily. His normally sharp and intelligent eyes were clouded with pain.
Laurel knelt beside him.
"No, no, no... stay with me," —she begged, pressing her hands to the terrible wound.
The blood pooled beneath him, dark and viscous, mixing with the venom oozing from the bite. His breathing was shallow, gasping with each inhalation.
"You'll be fine. I can fix this, I will fix it, I will fix it," —the woman repeated like a litany.
But Snape just stared at her, his fingers brushing hers, his dark eyes filled with remorse. He cried, but those were no normal tears. Laurel widened her eyes as a silvery blue substance, neither gas nor liquid poured down his cheeks.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione emerged from under the chest of drawer, their faces shadowed.
Harry moved forward slowly, cautiously, as if in a dream. The man who had tormented him for years lay in a pool of blood and poison, broken and dying. And yet, somehow, Harry couldn't summon the hatred he had harbored for so long. Perhaps it was the look on Laurel's face: raw, devastated, as if her heart had shattered. Perhaps it was the way Snape had stepped between Laurel and Nagini without hesitation.
He crouched down beside Snape, feeling unsure of what he should do. And it was at that moment that Snape's hand rose and grabbed Harry's robes, pulling him down with unusual strength.
A terrible gurgle came from Snape's throat, wet and harsh.
"Take them... Take... them..."
Harry froze, staring at his friends.
"Harry," —Laurel whispered urgently. —"The substance... take it."
Hermione pulled a small glass vial from her beaded bag and handed it to Harry with trembling fingers. He nodded. He raised his wand and pressed it gently against Snape's tear-streaked face.
The silvery substance was still dripping from Snape's eyes. It caught the light, swirling and glittering as Harry guided it with his wand toward the vial. More tears followed, full of pain, full of memories.
When the vial was filled to the brim, and Snape looked as if he had no blood left in his body, he loosened his grip. His fingers slipped from Harry's robes.
Then, a plea escaped his lips.
"Look at me..."
Harry held his gaze. Confused, but unwilling to deny the wish of a dying man.
But Laurel knew. She knew exactly why Severus wanted this: what he saw in Harry's face. He saw Lily. The same green eyes. The same light.
Laurel turned her face away and covered her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.
Snape's chest barely moved, his shallow, stony breathing fading, and his eyes closed weakly.
Harry stood there, stunned, holding the flask as if it might explain everything. Ron stood behind him, tense and serious. Hermione lowered her head, tears in her eyes.
"Laurel," —Harry said quietly, —"we have to go. He... Voldemort might come back."
Laurel didn't move.
"I won't leave him," —she whispered. "—I can't leave him alone now."
Harry hesitated. He looked from Snape's pale face to Laurel. He remained silent for a moment longer, searching for the right words. But what could he say? There was no consolation to offer…
"I'll make sure someone knows you're here," —Harry said finally. — "I promise."
Laurel nodded without looking at him, her eyes still locked on Severus's face. Harry gently placed the vial in his pocket, stood up, and turned away.
"Let's go." —he said quietly to Ron and Hermione, and the three of them moved toward the entrance of the tunnel
Laurel leaned forward and cradled Severus's head, placing it in her lap with trembling hands. She brushed back his dark hair, dirty with blood and sweat, and leaned down to kiss his temple. She placed another kiss on his forehead, then his cheek; her tears fell freely, like fragile offerings against his skin.