The Black Unicorn
The Ritual
Even now, with Albus obstructing the binding hold he had on Snape, the Dark
Mark on his arm had started to throb.
Snape reached for his infusion of crushed henbane. He had re-written
the letters that would hopefully be found after his death. He had had a frank
discussion with Dumbledore about the chances of the new ritual replacing
Voldemort’s hold on his soul. The chances were not good. There was every
reason to believe that Voldemort would feel the link between himself and Snape
dissolving during the new ritual that Dumbledore and Snape were going to
undergo, and his wrath would be swift and deadly. Dumbledore was quite
confident in the ritual he and Snape were performing; that was not the issue.
Where the danger lay was in Voldemort feeling his tie to the Unicorn dissolving.
Snape had decided, as Albus thought he might, that it was better to die trying to
sever the link, than to remain a slave of Voldemort’s forever. That had been
several hours ago.
Now Snape was working quietly down in his dungeon to create several
poisons that might deter Voldemort’s intrusion into Dumbledore’in rin residence
within Hogwarts. He heated the mixture with his wand, and prepared to add the
Ridgeback venom. The older wizard was amazing, really; only this morning
Hagrid had come into Snape’s workroom with a fresh delivery of dragon bones,
teeth, Ridgeback venom, one one of the most precious of all dragon-related
materials, dragon blood. The blood of a dragon was one of the most mystical
and magical items, as its properties allowed for a witch or wizard who took the
substance to see through the veils of time, and to understand that which could
not be understood under normal circumstances. He had immediately placed the
blood in the refrigerated section of his potions collections. The blood was highly
perishable. It must have come by fast courier this morning. He would have to
ask Dumbledore where he had gotten it. He placed a moderate shielding spell
on himself as he got ready to uncap the Ridgeback venom. t tht then…..he was
probably not going to live to see many more days, and strangely, he felt very
calm about that. The despair with which he had been living for so many years,
the weight of it had seemed less over the last couple of days. The knowledge
that he was brave enough to try to free himself of his past errors, and that
Dumbledore had offered to help him with so much steadfastness, gave strength
to his own crumbling defenses. The help offered had shored up a place in his
soul, and knowing that he had made the right choice, finally, had strengthened
his resolve.
The shielding spell in place, he poured the Ridgeback venom very
carefully into the last container of henbane solution, misting agent, and poison
dart frog venom. There were six spherical containers in all; he corked each one
carefully and checked to make sure all were secure. He sighed, and pushed
away from the worktable counter. That was done.
Now the difficult part. He had not wanted to think about this. He left the
small, cramped workspace and walked out into his own office. He went through
the door behind his desk. How many students had come in here for detention,
quaking at him as he glowered at each unfortunate child, sitting behind this very
desk. lipslips twitched up in the shadow of a smile, and he ran his hand gently
over the desk’s surface. No more. He wondered vaguely who might be the next
potions instructor at Hogwarts. He was sure Dumbledore would find an
adequate replacement. He moved back behind the desk and into the smaller
bedroom off to the left, through the exit behind his main office. He walked into
the bedroom, and steadied himself. Then he walked over to the chiffarobe and
pulled open one of the drawers. He took out an item wrapped in an old
handkerchief. He undid the handkerchief gently; in it was an old, red leather
book. He picked up a small wooden box along with the book, and carried the
items over to his bed. His hand ran over the exterior of the book; he
remembered the day Sirius had given the book to him; a thank you present for
helping Black with potions. He remembered the screaming, the hair-pulling,
Black’s devil-may-care attitude, his friendliness even in the face of his own cruel
sneering. The tension between them. Sirius. His hand caressed the binding.
Then he moved to the box. He opened the box and searched through the few
items inside; here it was. His mother’s wedding band. His heart squeezed in his
chest. He could not bear to think of her for long. His eyes grew too blurred, and
he squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. He waited for a
moment. Then he pulled out the last item, a gold necklace with an odd symbol
hanging from it; very delicately wrought, a foreign symbol for dragon, given to
him by an old friend. What could have been, but had not. He ran one of his
long fingers over the character’s shape, as if he could feel, within the metal’s
smooth surface, the soft shape of the woman who had given this to him, and he
stared out the window. It was almost over. His eyes ran over the forms of the
trees, the grass, Hagrid’s hut in the distance. The texture of the bed’s blanket
suddenly stood out under his fingers. The rough, tight weave of the wool, the
fine dark grain of the bed, the color of thick molasses….this was no time to
become maudlin. He gathered the items, trying to clear his eyes, and left for
Dumbledore’s chambers.
Hagrid had dropped her off at the entrance to the Great Hall of Hots, ts,
and Esmeralda ran her hand through her hair, looking around in recognition at
the old school. Memories came back to her like friendly ghosts…..her heart
tightened in her chest as she saw her old friends, dead now….there was Lily and
James….here they were going to the Quidditch pitch….Dumbledore leading them
out in a ceremony…..here she was walking over to the solace of the Enchanted
Forest when studies or young men distracted her too much…..then suddenly the
real Dumbledore, older, but still radiating that mad charisma, was walking
through the entrance and over to her, and they hugged one another
enthusiastically. Esmeralda flushed in happiness to see him. He smelled good.
He was such a solid, elemental presence. She suddenly felt much safer and
more welcome at the school.
“Esmeralda Admantia. It is so good to see you. I am absolutely thrilled
that you have agreed to join the teaching staff at Hots.”ts.” Dumbledore smiled
at her with exuberant warmth. Esmeralda ran her hand through her hair, a little
embarrassed. She smiled back at him.
“It’s good to be back. Your offer, I have to say, was well-timed.” She
suddenly was at a loss for words. Fafnaulda had reared up in her mind, and she
moved around that painful memory. Albus took her arm, and began to walk with
her slowly towards the southeastern direction of the school, out near the edge of
the Enchanted Forest.
“Well, my dear, we have much to discuss. But first let me take you to your
quarters. Was your journey….unremarkable?” Albus’ eyebrows went up as he
queried her, searching her face. She was an attractive, strongly carved woman.
Her gold-red hair was more muted now, her eyes still the clear green; Albus had
forgotten the strength of her nose. And her height! She stood almost as tall as
himself.
“Nothing remarkable. The weather was quite good; the flying was
excellent.” She blushed suddenly. Albus looked at her, curious. She continued.
“Oh…a hobby of mine. I took…a muggle aircraft flight from Norway over…to
muggle London. I have….an interest in muggle flight. And then I apparated. My
luggage is coming tomorrow. But…” she added quickly, “I brought the other
items with me. Hagrid’s got them. He told me he was putting them in storage for
you.”
“Ah. Very gooAnd And were you able to obtain the blood?”
“I was. I had several donors; it wasn’t a bother at all.” Dumbledore patted
her hand mutely. They were walking towards a wing of Hogwarts that Esmeralda
did not remember clearly, but the best thing about it was its proximity to the
Enchanted Forest. “Is this it?” They were walking up to a ground floor
apartment, attached to the back of the main school and off at an angle.
Dumbledore opened the wooden door and they walked in, peering into the
dimness. Albus went over and pulled the curtains. Light poured in.
“I fear, my dear, that I have been preoccupied for the last couple of days,
and in my….preoccupation, I have forgotten to ask the house elves to clean up a
bit for you. But that is easily remedied.” She looked around; they were standing
in a small parlor with a kitchen over to the left. She walked through the door to
the back, and here was a small bedroom and a bathroom with a shower. She
was quite pleased. Dust covers were over everything, and best of all there was a
window facing the Forest in the bedroom, and another window in the parlor also
facing the Forest. Her face shone up at Dumbledore.
“This is absolutely perfect. I can walk through the Forest, it’s isolated….
Dumbledore, this is magnificent!” She was grinning broadly.
“I am so glad. If you need to get rid of the bed, we can have the house
elves move it.” He added helpfully.
“You know, I might try the bed out. It’s going to be strange for a while
sleeping indoors, and not on the floor, but I think I’ll give it a go.” She looked out
the window, not really wanting to elaborate. She could not discuss the choice
she had made with him, not quite yet. She would know when the proper time
was for that. She turned from the window, trying to keep her voice entirely
casual. “And the other professors? Is McGonagall still about? Sprout?
Flitwick?”
“Minerva is, thank Merlin, still with us. Hagrid, as you’ve seen; Flitwick is
in excellent health for one so aged. And Madame Sprout is also still here, still
cheerful.” Dumbledore smiled, but waited. She nodded.
“And Professor Snape. Is he still at Hogwarts, or has he moved on?” She
was looking out the window again.
“No, no. Severus is still here. Though…he is currently unavailable.” He
did not elaborate. He watched Esmeralda carefully. She turned to him, pulling
off one of the dust covers over a chair under the parlor window.
“Oh. I suspect he’s on summer vacation with his family.” She folded the
sheet carefully, her eyes not meeting Dumbledore’s.
“Well, no. I can’t really go into it right now. And he has no family outside
of the school; he is a solitary man. But he is in good health.” Esmeralda
finished folding the sheet, and looked directly at Dumbledore.
“Has he not been in good health.” Her hands stopped folding the sheets
as she watched Dumbledore’s face.
“Well. Let us just say, my dear, that the last 6 months have
been….tumultuous for Severus.” Theas sas something about Dumbledore’s
expression that alarmed Esmeralda. Finally she could not be indirect any longer.
“Albus. Is he all right.”
“Esmeralda. I am going to have to ask specifically for your patience.
Believe me when I tell you that your worry is auspicious, but you must trust me
where this subject is concerned. I must hold my counsel regarding Snape for the
next two days. Please.” He walked over to Esmeralda and took both of her
hands in his. “You may not be fully aware of how propitious it is that you have
arrived here when you did. I can only tell you that I am very, very glad that you
are here. Esmeralda.” He gripped her hands and his clear blue eyes looked
steadily into her own. “We have some difficult days ahead of us. I am going to
need your help. May I have your assistance?” His eyes bored into her face.
She nodded, shaken by his serious demeanor.
“Yes. Yes, of course, Albus.” Her worry escalated, but she kept her
anxiety to herself. She would give him 2 days. And after that, she would press
him further. Her intuition had been correct. She was anxious, but very glad she
had made the choice to come back to human ground.
Dumbledore had picked out his own protective talismans. Now they sat
before him on one of the tables where their own ritual would be performed. His
hand ran over each object in remembrance. Vishal’s wand, dark from age now;
he did not tell Severus, he could not quite tell Severus out loud that one of the
reasons he had not faced Vishal’s unraveling before his eyes was because of his
own smouldering jealousy. He missed him, still. Here, his father’s
spectacles….would he ever have the insight of his own father, dead for so long.
And Minerva’s champagne flute. One of the loves of his life. He would never
forget that night. He shook himself from his revery. Severus should be back
any minute now. It was almost time. He had prepared the candles, the oil, the
wine, the chalice. He had obtained his own ritual knife. But he knew their ritual
would be twice as powerful as Voldemort’s. Voldemort had pledged nothing back
to Severus, nothing that bound Severus doubly. Albus would create a
cooperative, double-binding ritual, not a submissive, one way link. He was
positive that their ritual would prevail. What he was anxious over was the anger,
the rage of Voldemort. He knew the other wizard had been experimenting with
ways to get through Hogwarts’ protective boundaries. His rage would fuel his
magic and his craft, and it was more than possible that he would be able to
sunder the castle’s spells momentarily. Albus went over, in his own mind, the
host of spells and incantations, transfigurations and hexes he might need at a
moment’s notice. And Snape’s expertise in potions would prove invaluable.
They would need every device at their disposal this evening.
It was 6:00 pm. By Albus’ estimation they had 4 to 6 hours before
impediments to Voldemort’s control on Snape would be rendered impotent. The
chimes of the charms on his outer chambers rang, and he walked through the
library, into his office, and then to the foyer door to let Snape inside.
He had brought the potions in a small, cloth-lined crate and he was
wearing fresh robes, cleaned recently. He had bathed. Albus could see that his
hair was still wet. The man looked nervous, but more purposeful than
Dumbledore had seen him in many months. Without speaking, they both moved
into the inner library. Dumbledore closed the door quietly. He had briefed
McGonagall on Esmeralda’s presence as well as the possibility that Minerva
might be needed later this evening. He had also asked her to prepare Pomfrey.
He
He had also let her know that Admantia was setting up in Remus’ old quarters if
she should need to find the dragon-keeper quickly. All had been readied.
“Severus.” He turned to the younger wizard. They had rehearsed the
ritual thoroughly this morning. “You understand…I have strengthened the hexes
and charms around this room in particular. I have left the final severing aspect
of the ritual to the last minutes. He won’t know something is wrong until it is
almost over and binding between us. But….there will be that brief few minutes,
10 – 15 minutes, when he could do irreparable damage. Do you accept this?”
Snape acknowledged his words with conviction.
“Yes. I accept this. Dumbledore….Albus….” his voice choked
unexpectedly, watching the wizard. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Dumbledore watched him, somber.
“You would have done the same for me, my child.” And Snape knew it
was true. “Now, where is your wand.” Snape handed it to him. Dumbledore
placed it on the table by which Snape would stand. He placed his own wand
on his own table. The couch had been moved to face the two tables. They
stood, lining a runway in front of the couch. Dumbledore placed the crate of
potion-containing spheres under his table. He went over to the windows and
pulled the curtains closed, so that only a little of summer’s lasting evening light
would enter the room.
“Are you ready.” Dumbledore had bathed himself, and had put on his own
clean robes earlier.
“Yes.” Snape’s voice was clear in the hushed, darkened room. Albus
drew himself up, and walked over to the front of the two tables, and placed
himself where the tables created a natural aisle in front of the couch. Severus
stood by the couch, ready. Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, and
picked up his wand. With great deliberation, he lit the candles on Severus’ table
with his wand; there were three on each table, beeswax, dull gold in the dim light
of the room. The candles Dumbledore had lit burned brightly, flickering and
steady. The smell of them came to Severus, the rich smell of beeswax, and
something else….something warming to the mind, rich, herbal, but subtle. It
reminded him of a shy touch, a breath of a wind at dusk. Something given
delicately, hidden to the physical world. Was this what the essence of magic
smelled like, he wondered. Dumbledore’s voice was clear in the room.
“We two declare that we are bonding ourselves here, tonight; brother to
brother, man to man, lover to lover. Our souls, our hearts, our bodies pledged to
one another. We ask solemnly and strongly for the protection of the people who
have loved us, and who we have loved in return.” Dumbledore walked slowly
down the aisle in between the tables, running his fingers lightly over the edges of
the tables as he walked. Dumbledore stood and waited by the couch. Severus
walked over and waited where Dumbledore had just been. He picked up his own
wand, and lit the candles on Albus’ side of the table. He placed his wand back
on the table. He spoke into the quiet of the room, watching Dumbledore. He
repeated the words of the ritual.
“We two declare that we are bonding ourselves here, tonight; brother to
brother, man to man, lover to lover. Our souls, our hearts, our bodies pledged to
one another. We ask solemnly and strongly for the protection of the people who
have loved us, and who we have loved in return.” Severus walked down the
aisle between the two tables, his fingertipnninnning over the edges of the tables,
and he stopped in front of Dumbledore.
Albus embraced Severus gently, and slowly Severus stepped into the
embrace, and brought his arms up and around the older man. Severus closed
his eyes and relaxed into Dumbledore. He was nervous, moderately tense, but
for very different reasons this time. After the months of Voldemort’s abuse, being
this close to Dumbledore worked like some kind of balm on his soul. The older
wizard must have put something in his hair during his bath; it smelled like the
candles, only it was much stronger. Severus could feel the nervous tension
washing off of him as he breathed in the scent. Albus pulled his head away from
Severus, and he paused, then he bent his head to the man and kissed him.
Severus had no idea that this man’s lips could be this soft. The older man’s
mouth tasted clean, like fresh mint. Dumbledore’s own calm demeanor helped
quiet his anxiety. Albus was so composed, his energy so deep and gentle, that
Severus could feel the knots of apprehension fading. As they kissed, he was not
thinking of Sirius, or Esmeralda, or anyone else. His arousal came on slowly, like
the changing of a tide. He thought only of Dumbledore.
They kissed carefully for several minutes. Severus moved his hands
tentatively inside Albus’ robes. He was naked; Severan han his hands over his
ribcage, the wiry, white hair covering his belly. Albus’ skin was soft, not wrinkled.
He ran his hands over the older man’s back and shoulders, the delicate skin at
the small of his back. They were very tentative witl one another. Albus’ mouth
moved on him with delicacy and Severus responded. The smell from the candles
and from Albus himself was working on him. There was some kind of herb,
some kind of potent enchantment wound in the candles and in Albus, and his
mind began to loosen. Dimly he was aware of the older wizard’s hands on his
own longer ribcage, his smaller belly, his thigh bones. As the kiss deepened,
Severus went into a place in his mind’s eye which he had been invited into
gently; soft hands were on his, beckoning him in. He was aware of Albus’ hand
on his erection, caressing him, and he watched inside of himself as this new
place, a safe place, came into view.
He was standing by the water’s edge, and he had gone off the path. He
was in mud, his trousers were wet, but he was no longer in the water. His feet
were covered in muck, they seemed mired. But there were people on the path,
people he recognized with a shock at the opening of his heart….his mother, his
father, embracing; Hildy, his old house elf that had taught him a great many
things out of love, not out of subservience; Sirius, even, laughing and
dapper….an old instructor, Professor Montague, with whom he had
corresponded, and who had encouraged him and had dialogues with him over
rare ingredients….he pulled his feet out of the muck…it was sticky, but not
binding. Part of his mind was fulwareware of Albus’ hand on him, slow, steady,
but not tantalizing, not teasing, just easy and regular. It felt very good, and he
was glad it was taking so long. But the other part of his mind knew that the
people on the path were a gift, a gift from the man against him, and though the
water was deep and empty, the sweet smell of the earth and the people on the
path were calling him more strongly. He was weak, but he moved out of the
mud and up to the path. It was rocky under his bare feet, but the friends
beckoned him. He could feel their warmth, like the heat of a hearth fire he had
long forgotten.
Albus’ hand tightened around him, quickening; Severus’ eyes were closed,
his head buried in the neck of the older wizard. The aroma of the man was all
around him, the people were coming into view on the path; he was wet and cold,
but the smell from the gentle, older wizard led him on, and the people reached
out their hands towards him. He felt Dumbledore’s arm around his back, the
love from the people on the path was palpable; he was walking faster, he couldn’t
feel the pain from the rocks under his feet, there was nothing but incredible
pleasure and the strong, elemental scent of the man against him, and he had
touched them, touched his friends, his loved ones on the path, and that was the
greatest gift of all.
He opened his eyes slowly; his heart was thudding, slowing down. Albus
was putting the chalice back on the table. The robes of the wizard’s were warm
against his cheek. The room solidified around him again, very slowly, and
Severus opened his eyes and breathed deeply. The haze from the candles had
permeated the room; he looked at Albus in the soft light. His eyes were dilated,
but lightly. Severus kissed the side of his throat, and ran his hand over the
wizard’s chest, pressing gently, feeling the softness of the man’s skin. He ran
his fingers over Albus’ erection, cataloguing shape and feel before he took the
older man in his hand.
Albus’ own eyes closed, and he pulled the younger man to him tightly. He
could smell Vishal; see him, see his youthful face, his deep brown, almond eyes.
They were in their old dormitory. The smell of the incense that Vishal burned
daily to the Hindu deities was everywhere, his little altar in the corner of the room
was over his left shoulder, behind both of them. His beautiful, full lips…the soft
brown skin…his dark, pomaded hair…tears sprang to Vishal’s eyes, and he was
gazing at Albus with such soft sadness that Albus burst into tears. He buried his
head in Snape’s neck. Severus’ other hand came up and cradled the man’s
head against him.
Albus reached out for Vishal’s hand and the wordless question hung in the
air between the ghost of the young man, and the memory of the other young
wizard. Albus’ eyes pleaded with Vishal, begging for forgiveness, forgiveness of
his jealousy, his oversight, his guilt. Vishal took Albus’ hands in his, and pressed
them together with his own in furious, speechless strength….the fingers of his
right hand came up and caressed Albus’ jaw with incredible tenderness, and he
tilted his head, and in Vishal’s expression was all of the forgiveness and love that
Albus could ever hope for. He wept.
Severus’ fingers pressed into Albus’ neck gently as the older wizard shook
against him; the release of his orgasm was calming him, and Dumbledore’s
breathing began to return to normal. Severus replaced the chalice quietly.
Neither of them said anything. Severus reached up and hesitantly wiped the
tears from the older man’s face. Albus smiled. He gathered himself.
The older wizard stood, and pulled his robes together loosely. He reached
for the knife and the chalice. He beckoned for Severus to stand by him. He
handed the knife to Snape. Snape took the proffered handle, and moved the tip
very carefully against Albus’ left breastbone.
“This blood is the blood of my friend, my brother, my lover. With it, he
binds himself to me, protecting me, loving me, but not controlling me. It is freely
given.” Snape quickly sliced a shallow gash in the skin of his breastbone. Blood
welled, and with the tip of his knife he gathered the blood and placed it in the
chalice. Dumbledore took the knife, and wiped it with a cloth from the table. His
own voice rumbled in the dimness of the room
“This blood is the blood of my friend, my brother, my lover. With it, he
binds himself to me, protecting me, loving me, but not controlling me. It is freely
given.” Dumbledore drew a quick, sharp arc over Snape’s breastbone, and took
the blood and placed it in the chalice with the other fluids. He placed the knife
down on the table and turned to Severus. The younger wizard had started to
tremble slightly in the room; everything in the dimness had begun to take on
sharper dimensions….he could see the light from the candles shimmering too
clearly, still taste the flavor of Dumbledore’s mouth in his own too strongly. He
was harshly aware of his own breathing, the beat of his heart, the flex of tendons
under the fragile skin of his hand. Saying goodbye to all of this….was harder
than he had thought. His eyes began to glimmer in the light. He grabbed
Dumbledore’s wrist without thinking. Dumbledore looked at him, his gaze
eely ely serious, and he paused, thinking better of something, but then Albus
reached over and kissed him softly on the mouth, so lightly and carefully, like the
softness of a moth’s flight, that Severus stood stunned for several seconds.
“Goodbye.” He whispered to Albus. Albus raised his eyebrows.
“My boy. There is always still, hope.” He raised the chalice to Snape’s
lips. “Remember the potion spheres; remember your wand, remember your own
power. Remember what we planned. One never knows how things will turn
out.” He smiled warmly at Severus. Speaking more formally, he reached for his
wand and placed it in his robe pocket. Snape did the same with his own.
“The love here tonight, the protection offered and given, the exchange of
physical fluids and our undying pledge here to one another, replaces all other
bonds as of this moment. I, Albus Dumbledore, a free man, make this bond with
this man, Severus Snape. ” Snape drank the proferred chalice. He took the
chalice, and repeated the words of Dumbledore.
“The love here tonight, the protection offered and given, the exchange of
physical fluids and our undying pledge here to one another, replaces all other
bonds as of this moment. I, Severus Snape, a free man, make this bond with this
man, Albus Dumbledore.” As Dumbledore drank, they could both hear the
oncoming thundering noise, like a giant rip appearing in the ceiling above them.
Snape’s blood went completely cold. Albus finished drinking calmly, and
squeezed Severus’ hand.
“So it begins.” He said quietly. “Snape!” his voice changed, and his
presence expanded to fill the room. “Your wand! Protect yourself! Remember
the plan!” The ripping turned into a weird, unearthly, disharmonic roar. It
sounded like the very air was gashing open, and in a way, as they both watched
in horror, that is what was happening. Voldemort’s hazy, green light proceeded
him, the gash stretched in the side of the library, up above their heads to their
left, but it wasn’t the physical wall of the library separating. It was more like time
or some other viscous substance was warping, and the madman was stepping
through it as if it was a portal of some kind; the portal’s holes were made up of
rippling green and white light…..Snape’s skin prickled as the pulsing magical
energy that it took to maintain the portal filled the room. Snape lunged for two of
the potion balls. Albus had apparated to the other side of the room. Snape
lobbed one of the balls towards Voldemort, and seeing a moving target, the
man’s snakelike head and gleaming reptilian eyes had turned too fast towards
the younger wizard, and before Snape could get behind the couch or get his
wand up, Voldemort’s wand was on him and the insane wizard’s high-pitched,
enraged voice had screamed, “Crucio!” The spell caught him squarely in the
back and his world turned into red, spiking agony…the pain was modulating,
changing…there was so much that he was screaming, writhing on the floor.
Albus bellowed, “obstructo crucio!” and he crumpled, but he couldn’t
move. There was something wrong with the connection between his body and
his brain. He tried to move his head up, but all he could manage was a horrible
trembling that barely kept him from collapsing on the floor.
He heard the two wizards fighting in earnest now, though. He knew his
time was up. Everything around him slowed to a halt; his eyes vaguely made
out the colorful pattern of blues and reds in the Indian carpet he was kneeling
upon; he could smell the snuffed candles and his own fear in the sweat that
drenched him. But most of all he could hear the two wizards screaming and
bellowing spells and curses above him. He finally could lift his head.
Dumbledore had transfigured a book into a rolling, warping silver worm
that had wrapped itself around Voldemort furiously. The worm transformed and
roiled around the wizard, never allowing itself to be fully physically solid.
Voldemort screamed in frustration, and finally transformed it into a dull, heavy
chain that clanked loudly around his feet as the transfiguration lost power. The
potions Snape had lobbed had started hissing loudly underneath Voldemort’s
feet, their spray finally finding the delicate tissues of the wizard’s nose and eyes,
and momentarily distracted by the spell he had to throw to disable the potions,
Dumbledore apparated and reapparted with a loud crack to his right side; Albus
transfigured a table into a gigantic phoenix, and the enraged, garnet and gold
bird flung itself on Voldemort’s eyes and faits its talons dng fng for purchase.
Voldemort screamed a spell, and a dementor, gigantic, at least 12 feet high, bore
down on Snape. Snape could still not move and watched, his muscles spasming
as he tried to operate his knees, as the creature moved over him, whispering like
death itself. Dumbledore screamed “Oblivio Incantatum!” and the dementor
faded like smoke, but Voldemort had apparated over to the other side of the
room, blood streaming down his face.
“My….property….my….fucking….property…you meddling bastard….”
Voldemort was breathing hard, and Dumbledore was ghastly gray. “You will
truly live…..to regret this, you stupid, foolish old man……” The gash had opened
up behind Voldemort, and somehow the wizard was being compelled into
it….Snape thought it must be a temporary spell, maybe it was sucking energy
from the madman….Voldemort sent a lightening bolt of pure fury into the room,
but it went wild, and struck the couch. Snape covered his eyes under the table,
and then Riddle was gone. The rip in the ether had repaired itself as if it had
never occurred. Was Dumbledore all right?
“Albus?” Could he even speak? “Albus?” he started to yell. “Albus!” A
hand was on his back, and he felt a weight sit down heavily next to his side.
Albus turned him over on his back.
“I’m so sorry…I can’t move my legs…” Dumbledore looked at him
closely. Snape could see that the older man was enormously fatiguhis his lips
were pale. Albus’ eyes were filled with worry, but then his expression changed
remarkably as he looked at the immobile man.
“Severus, you’re alive. You’re alive.” Dumbledore’s hand moved Snape’s
hair out of his eyes very tenderly, where he lay immobile on the floor, and he
started to laugh softly, and then Severus started to laugh, as well, amazement
flooding him despite the fact that his body was on dull fire, not responding to his
brain’s commands. Albus was alive. He was alive. They both sat on the floor,
exhausted, crumpled, but alive. The best joke ever.