It Takes a Miracle

Interlude

Chapter 10 – Even in death the love goes on


00000
When he felt his Dark Mark burning, he knew it was the end. The final battle. They were all getting ready for months -- the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix. Meanwhile, the war between the Dark and Light sides had long ceased to be a secret fighting, but had turned into an open all-out conflict, in which there were not many wizards or witches left who weren’t somehow involved on either side. And the Ministry of Magic, acting completely confused and astonishingly indecisive, was not offering much assurance and protection to the population. Well, hopefully, at least in the final battle, it would offer full support to Dumbledore, to the side of Light...

“So, this is the end. At last.” Snape shivered. He was exhausted both mentally and physically. The last year and a half were the longest eighteen months in his life, and by far the worst. Not that the previous thirty five were that much better. Sometimes, looking at his own reflection in the mirror, he wouldn’t even recognize the person staring back at him, so empty his eyes had become, so stone-cold his features turned, so thin and damaged his body appeared.

Juggling the taxing responsibilities of a Professor, a Potions Master, and a Head of the House at Hogwarts was never an easy task. Even more so it became in the time of war. With the House rivalry turning into outright antagonism, with the infirmary potions needs growing exponentially, with students either too scared or too grief stricken to pay any attention to the lessons, Snape could never seem to be able to catch a break. To that he had to add the dangerous and thankless duty of a spy. Playing carefully a role of exemplary Death Eater while serving the interests of the Light side was always a heavy lot to bear, but with the end rapidly approaching running between two Masters felt like a rat race to Snape. The Death Eaters’ raids were getting more frequent, the demands of the Dark Lord more outrageous, and the intervals between the outbursts of his wrath so short that Snape never had enough time to heal properly now. Meanwhile, the Order kept pushing him for more information, most of them distrustful of his every word, suspicious of his every move. Snape was utterly exhausted by this never-ending deadly dance of pretense and deceit under the music of pain was wrecking his body, destroying his mind, eating away his will. For him, a Slytherin to the bone, survival was turning into punishment.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry on for much longer. The events of the last month only reinforced this knowledge – with his body and mind crippled, what was he worth? Not much. He needed this war to come to an end, before his usefulness vanished completely, before he became a liability to the Order, before his self-control slipped away, stripping him of the last sliver of his dignity…

“Dignity?” snorted a little voice in his head. “You are a fool.”

Snape just shrugged. Thank gods, then, that the end was here. Tomorrow morning the wizarding (and Muggle for that matter) world would wake up to a new era.

He allowed himself to sit at his desk for a moment longer, his gaze traveling slowly around the cold room with nasty looking jars filling the shelves. He was ready. His financial affairs were all settled, his will drawn and notarized. He even had prepared a list of Potions Masters who, in his opinion, could replace him as a Professor at Hogwarts. He didn’t bother with “good bye” letters, except for one that was to be delivered to Dumbledore. Yes, he was absolutely ready. He was absolutely ready to die. Bloody hell, he was practically welcoming the possibility.

Snape gave a last once-over to the stacks of parchment on his desk. Everything seemed to be in order. Automatically, he moved one of the stacks a little, gloomily watching his shaking hands.

“Not much of a Potions Master now, are you?” snickered a little voice in his head.

“Fuck off,” Snape answered nonchalantly, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He quickly got up, went through his private library to the lab. There he retrieved a little vial of a dark liquid and hid it in his robes. Then, he swept back to his office, glanced around one more time and walked out. With a soft thump, the door closed behind him.

In the hallway, he passed by the Potion classroom. He halted briefly by the door, but, after a moment of hesitation, went on. Snape knew he had to hurry -- the burning in his left forearm was becoming more and more intense. He had time only to stop by his rooms to grab the Death Eater’s cloak and the faceless mask, before heading to the Headmaster’s office.

It was a quiet day, somewhere between Christmas and New Year. The school was almost empty, and, as a result, rather peaceful. Snape swiftly walked through the all-too-familiar hallways and corridors, ran up the stairs, and entered Dumbledore’s office, when his left forearm was already on fire.

“Albus, I was called,” he said, barely in the door. He quickly approached the Headmaster’s desk and carefully put down a vial. “Here.”

“It is time then,” uttered the old wizard gravely and got up. “I’ll inform the Order.”

Snape nodded and turned to leave.

“Severus.” Dumbledore had this unfamiliar air of hesitation about him. “Are you absolutely sure that you have to go?”

“Albus,” Snape arched an eyebrow. “We’ve discussed it too bloody many times…”

“I know.” The old wizard’s smile didn’t quite reach his blue eyes.

Snape sighed and added, “Albus, I have to be there. If the Dark Lord has so much as a hint of a doubt...” He shook his head. “It has to be done today…”

“I don’t think I will survive round of let-us-see-how-much-pain-and-humiliation-Snape-can-take-to-prove-he-is-not-a-traitor in Malfoy’s cellar,” flashed in the Potions Master’s mind, but he didn’t say anything. These kinds of subjects were not up for discussion.

The old wizard looked even older than his one hundred and fifty odd years. “Severus…” his blue eyes were locked on the younger wizard.

There was no customary twinkle in those eyes, just pain. There was so much pain that it took Snape by surprise. He did what he would never do under other circumstances. He came up to Dumbledore and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“I’ll be fine, Albus, trust me.”

He quickly turned around and went to the door. He knew he lied. He knew that Dumbledore knew he lied. But they also both knew that he had to go to the Dark Lord’s side.

“Be careful,” uttered the old wizard. Snape glanced at him over his shoulder.

“Same goes to you, sir. Please, do consider staying alive,” Snape sneered without malice. “Bloody fool that I am, I absolutely abhor the idea of spending the rest of my life rotting in Azkaban. If you manage to get yourself killed, I am afraid there will be nobody to get me out of there.” There was no need to rob the old wizard of the idea that Snape wanted to survive the battle.

“I’ll do my best to accommodate you,” Dumbledore tried to chuckle unsuccessfully.

Snape nodded and went out. Riding down the spiral staircase, he thought he heard a soft whisper, “May Merlin be with you…”

On the way to his Apparating spot, Snape kept going over the list of ingredients and the order in which they were added to the potion he had just delivered to Dumbledore. Not that he could change anything. All he could do now was to hope that the boy would be strong enough, and the potion would be effective enough, and… Snape snorted bitterly – he didn’t do hope well, but ironically, that was all he could do at the end of his life...

After he Apparated to join other Death Eaters at the open field, where the events were to take place, everything went in a blur. …Shouting and chanting of masked wizards under the Dark Mark high in the sky. …Dumbledore and Potter, a phoenix high above them, moving towards the circle of Death Eaters. …The Dark Lord fighting with the boy and the old wizard. …Screaming of curses and hexes as the Aurors and members of the Order of the Phoenix began to Apparate. …Laughing, swearing, cursing, howling…

He was standing next to Macnair, when a young Auror came charging at them. Snape thought that he recognized him. One of the bloody Gryffindors, who graduated from Hogwarts no more than five years ago. So, that made him about twenty-two, twenty-three. This was, probably, his first real combat. An idiot. Didn’t they teach him a thing at Aurors’ training? One didn’t come running at two extremely skilled at Killing Curses Death Eaters. As if on cue, Macnair pointed a wand, and before the Auror had a chance to react, shouted, “Avada Kedavra”.

Somewhere, deep down, Snape wanted to see the end of the battle. He wanted to see the Dark Lord dead. He wanted to feel a free man. But the moment the green light of the curse was taking off from the end of Macnair’s wand, Snape made a move as if he tripped over the hem of his cloak, and to steady himself grabbed his partner’s wand hand with both his hand. The curse bored into his upper arm, and by the time his body hit the ground, he was dead.


00000
She felt a strong tug in her navel when, hanging over a local Quidditch pitch, she was looking for the golden Snitch. She knew right away what it meant: he was either dead, or about to die. She did not think, she reacted. She shouted to her brother Laurie, who flew by her, that she had to go and Apparated as she was in her Quidditch attire and on her broom. The pop of her Apparition took by surprise her brothers and their friends, who froze in the air, looking at the spot from where Gerry just disappeared.

She found herself pushed away from the exact place she was supposed to Apparate to. She realized at once that it was the work of anti-Apparating wards. Panic washed over her - how was she going to find him now?

Clenching the broom in her hand, Gerry frantically looked around. She was standing on a little hill overlooking an open space brushed slightly by the late December snow. There were trees here and there, leafless, naked. Under the gloomy winter skies, the place seemed to be completely alien. Still, she thought she recognized it when her gaze fell on a little village close by. Hogsmeade.

There were some wizards and witches gathering in small groups, talking quietly, watching with terrifying intent the actions unfolding below. Gerry directed her attention there, but couldn’t quite understand what was happening.

There were still more wizards and witches, circling around each other, screaming, laughing, howling, wands out sending sparks into the frosty air. From up here, it all looked like a big dueling tournament, and Gerry wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Not that she cared too much about it. There was more urgent matter at hand – she had to find him.

She closed her eyes tightly and concentrated. The thin greenish line appeared behind her eyelids pointing to the field down below. Without a second thought, Gerry rushed forward.

Before she crossed the anti-Apparating wards, though, she was stopped by a young wizard, who, claiming to be a Ministry official, ordered her to remain behind the wards. No, no, she couldn’t stay. She had to go. There was somebody down there who might die, if she didn’t go. The young wizard’s face twisted strangely, and he told her to stay where she was if she didn’t want to die. He just wouldn’t listen to her.

Gerry looked wildly around, searching for support in her argument with the young wizard. However, the wizards and witches nearby were staring at her with utter incredulity and horror plainly written on their faces. Then, they all began to talk. Agitated as she was, Gerry didn’t understand much, except bits and pieces. There was something about Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and his Death Eaters, and Harry Potter, and…

“OhfuckingMerlin,” whirled suddenly in Gerry’s head. “OHFUCKINGMERLIN, OH FUCKING MERLIN.”

Very slowly, millimeter by tiny millimeter, Gerry turned her gaze to the field below. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t talk, she wasn’t even sure that her heart was still beating. As if freed from captivity, the sounds, the movements, the smells of the battle down below hit Gerry’s senses. Now she understood what it all meant. The sparks of curses… The screams of incantations… The cries of the injured… The bodies falling to the ground… Bodies… His body… His body somewhere on the ground… She had to find him. Oh, Merlin, she had to go.

Gerry made another move to run down the hill, but was stopped again and threatened with a full body bind if she didn’t cease her attempts to defy the Ministry official. Clenching the handle of her broom so that her knuckles turned white, Gerry had to remain where she was, with other wizards and witches, anxiously watching the actions of the people below on the field. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on down there, but the anti-Apparition wards were still in place, and no one could get closer to the battle field.

At some point the young Ministry official was replaced by a couple of grim-looking wizards. The general mood of fear and apprehension was almost palpable now. But all Gerry could think about was finding him… She had to go… She had to save him…

Minutes dragged after slow minutes, pooling into hours. The light snow started to fall, white snowflakes twirling in the air, covering anew the trees, the ground. The short winter day was slipping into a long winter night. Gerry was becoming desperate – there would be no chance of reviving him if she didn’t get to him in the next hour or so. She kept looking for an opportunity to sneak down to the field, but none materialized. Gerry’s pulse was racing faster and faster – she had to find him… she had to find him… And her hopes were sinking lower and lower – not enough time…not enough time…

It was almost dark when a huge explosion at the side of the field drew everybody’s attention there. Gerry didn’t pause to think, but dashed downhill. Only when she put a good hundred meters between her and the people on the top of the hill did she stop to see where the connection would lead her. Much to her shock the thin greenish line behind her eyelids was barely visible now.

“Oh, Merlin, please let me find him… Please…” she begged, mounting the broom and swooshing forward.

She flew low, scraping the ground with her feet from time to time. She tried to stay away from fighting wizards and witches, dodging behind the scarce trees, or falling all the way down, flattening her body in the snow, when one of the fighters would get too close to her. Thankfully, the hub of the battle moved further away, and the light of the amplified “lumos” spell that hung high above it, was barely reaching the part of the field where Gerry’s search took her.

It was hard, so very hard, to pass the wounded without stopping, the wounded whose unnaturally twisted forms begged Gerry for relief. Her heart was wrenching, her lower lip bitten so that it tasted of blood, the tears were sliding down her cheeks unfelt. So much pain, so much suffering, but she couldn’t help, she had to save…him…

Finally, she got to the part of the field where it probably all started - just bodies, no survivors. The thin greenish line that showed her the way had disappeared, and Gerry was left to check every face looking for the one that haunted and tortured her for the last six months.

She almost missed him - his still form was dusted by fresh snow, and became one with the ground. Gerry had to roll him over and take off a mask to see his dear features. Absolute relief washed over her – she had found him, he would survive.

Gerry took a moment to lose herself in his sight. He hadn’t changed at all -- he was just as she remembered him, just as she imagined him to be all those times during sleepless nights and empty days. Better than that. His thin face had this calm, almost serene expression imprinted on it. Without an ugly scowl, or nasty sneer, it looked so vulnerable, so gentle, so beautiful. Beautiful… The black pools of his eyes, left open by sudden death, stared calmly up into the sky, and the long dark eyelashes stood still with a couple of snowflakes caught in them. She brushed the strand of black hair off of his face and carefully ran the tip of her finger along his jaw.

“It’s OK, my love, I am here,” she sobbed softly. “I will help you.”

She was happy. Strangely, unnaturally happy, kneeling at the side of a dead wizard. Happy for the first time in six months. Happy because she had another chance to help him, another moment to be near him. Even if he would run away afterwards… Even if he would forget about her again… Even if she would never see him after this…

She forcefully shook herself out of her reverie. She had no time for the sentimentality; she needed to move to perform the Vita Redux. It was too dangerous to do it here – she would never be able go through with it uninterrupted (forget the secrecy of it). She had to find the right place. And so, with a determined breath, Gerry pushed her broom under the lifeless body and muttered a binding spell. However, the moment she was ready to get up, her eye caught on something lying next to his head. The mask. She had taken it off his face and had dropped it to free her hands to touch and feel him. The mask. She knew what it meant. The faceless, white, ugly mask. The mask of a Death Eater… The mask of a killer… Oh, no, no, no… NO-O-O-O…

She froze. It seemed as if all her senses suddenly shut down, and she could feel neither the icy-cold ground beneath her knees, nor hear the sounds of the battle, nor see a thing around her. She didn’t cry, she didn’t moan, she didn’t swear. For what seemed to be an eternity, Gerry sat on her knees, her hands wrapped tightly around her, her body swaying mindlessly, her eyes wide open. Like she suddenly became numb inside, dead, and her shallow form continued breathing for no apparent reason at all. No-o-o-o…

At last, another explosion near by brought Gerry to her senses. She looked around, slightly shaking, then at the wizard before her. The shaking became more prominent, but she bit her lip mercilessly and frowned - she came here to do something, and she would do it.

She mounted the broom behind the lifeless body and pointed it away from the hub of the battle, away from the village, away from the people. Yet again she glided, almost touching the ground, looking forward sternly. There was not enough time to get far away, so the first more or less secluded spot behind a couple of trees had to do.

Gerry didn’t bother to remove the binding spell from his body, but dropping on her knees next to it, she placed silencing and non-detect charms around them, and began.

When it was all over, and the green fog around them melted away, she could see his chest rising and falling as the first wave of air hit his lungs. Gerry got up slowly, her left hand clenched to her navel, where the pain of the killing curse now resided. She felt dizzy and retched right there, rushing to get rid of the contents of her stomach. The dizziness receded a bit, but didn’t go away, making her every move unsure, imprecise. But she had to move, she had to take him where he could be found, and… No, she wasn’t going to think about what would happen to him next. Whatever it was going to be, he deserved it.

She renewed the binding spell, adding a stunning spell to keep him unconscious, and mounted the broom. The flight back was much slower, because she could barely stay focused. The pain in her navel needed release. It tried to creep out into her veins, to spread, to conquer, and it was harder and harder to hold it in one place. Gerry’s strength was vanishing fast, her vision was turning blurry, and her breathing was coming in gasps. Still she flew closer and closer to the heat of the battle, to people, so he could be found.

When the pain became unbearable, Gerry glanced around and decided that the spot was good enough to leave him. Releasing his stiff body from her broom, she wasn’t looking at him. She was ignoring him. Not looking at his long graceful fingers resting on his cloak. Not admiring his beautiful face, still untouched by the sour expression, peaceful and relaxed. Not touching the soft strands of his raven hair that had fallen over his eyes. Because she didn’t love him. Not anymore. Not ever again. She couldn’t love him.

As an afterthought, she muttered a special memory charm over his head. Then she took her broom and flew through the anti-Apparating wards to Apparate. In a moment she reappeared at the door of the Vita Healers’ hospital. Having managed to take only one step, Gerry collapsed.

…
…
…
A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll