"Ah!"

Another wave of searing pain tore through him, and seeing Lord Voldemort's face contorted in agony, Lucius Malfoy, standing just behind, quickly lowered their head to hide the smile spreading across their face.

For an undercover agent like Lucius Malfoy, seeing Lord Voldemort in this much pain was nothing short of reassuring.

"Well then, Harry Potter... you really are something." Lord Voldemort forced the words out through gritted teeth, crimson eyes blazing with cold fury.

"Since you treat my words as nothing, none of you have any reason left to live."

The corner of his mouth curled into a strange smile. With a casual flick, he cast a Sonorus on himself, and that chilling, sinister voice rang out across Hogwarts once more.

"It seems you don't wish to accept the courtesy I offered."

"Very well, my poor children. I've changed my mind."

"In that case, I'll be kind enough to send you to meet your beloved headmaster — ah, no. Your former headmaster."

"Harry. Do you like this ending?"

The nauseating voice dissolved into a string of triumphant laughter.

Lord Voldemort turned to face the dense mass of Death Eaters. He gave Lucius Malfoy a familiar pat on the shoulder, his hissing voice carrying clearly to every ear present.

"My faithful followers — show them just how laughable their dying struggles really are."

With a single command, the Death Eaters surged toward Hogwarts with savage roars.

...

"I have to go meet him."

Harry's voice was calm. Low.

"You're out of your mind, mate! That's Lord Voldemort, you—" Ron Weasley grabbed Harry's arm, worry written plain across their face. Hermione Granger stood close by, watching with a look of clear disapproval.

"There has to be an end between us."

Harry cut Ron Weasley off without hesitation.

There had been an expectation, that at a moment like this, nerves would set in, fear, maybe panic. But what Harry hadn't expected was that after hearing Lord Voldemort's speech, only one thought remained.

No more watching people die for this cause.

If Harry was the so-called Chosen One, then let it be Harry who finished this.

"Lord Voldemort, meet me in the Forbidden Forest in half an hour. Do you dare?"

The Sonorus-amplified voice reached not only Lord Voldemort but every person still fighting across the grounds. Heads snapped up in stunned disbelief.

"Has Harry lost it?" George blasted an enemy off Fred's back, staring in disbelief.

"Finish up fast, maybe we can still go stop them!" Fred hurled a Dungbomb at the nearest opponent, face tight with urgency.

Hagrid stood in the middle of a swarm of Acromantulas. At the sound of the voice, that pink umbrella started swinging harder than ever.

"Children, if you see Harry, you stop them — understand?!"

The Acromantulas replied with a chorus of high-pitched shrieks.

...

Back with Harry, a surge of wrath came flooding up from somewhere deep, sharp and sudden. It wasn't Harry's own emotion; Harry recognized that. It meant the deliberate provocation at the end had done its job.

Lord Voldemort would come.

"What's there to be scared of? You heard what Luoluo said, I'm not going to die here." Harry patted Ron Weasley on the shoulder. The words came out sounding like comfort, though for whose benefit exactly was hard to say.

"Even if you don't believe in me, you have to believe in them, right?"

Ron Weasley's response to the forced joke was a smile that didn't quite land.

"Look, I'm not happy about any of this, but... I don't think Ginny Weasley would want to see her boyfriend die here."

"So. Come back alive, mate."

"...Alright."

Honestly, even with Yang Luoluo's guarantee, even knowing that dying here just meant a quick resurrection, there was still a knot of unease sitting low in Harry's chest. Because who could really stay calm walking toward something like this, knowing the odds?

But Harry obviously couldn't say, "Hey, mate, I actually don't like my chances here", Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley would knock Harry flat with a physical interpretation of Stupefy.

"I truly never imagined Midgardians could possess this kind of courage." Loki glanced at the three of them tangled together, and something that might have been genuine admiration stirred in him.

In the past, he would have sneered at this without a second thought. But his view had shifted. Choosing to face death so your companions didn't have to, that wasn't something just anyone could do.

Yang Luoluo made a sound of clear displeasure. His attitude, dripping with disdain for Earthlings, was not lost on her.

"There are plenty of things you've never imagined."

Even as she said it, her gaze moved to Harry and a flicker of worry surfaced in her eyes. In the original story, Harry didn't die here. But what if her presence had already changed things? The butterfly effect wasn't something to take lightly.

Loki, thoroughly called out, touched his nose and looked away with a trace of guilt.

Fine. The kid happened to share his color scheme. He'd help, just this once, as a concession to that.

So reasoned a certain dark-haired, green-eyed god of mischief.

Having furnished himself with an excuse, Loki fell into his usual posture and walked up to Harry. One casual pat on the shoulder. Then, flatly:

"Go."

Harry stumbled from the force of it, turned around, and found Loki's face utterly, completely unmoved. Combined with the sheer pressure of his presence, Harry came within a breath of mistaking him for the Grim Reaper personally seeing them off.

"Ah... uh, right..."

Loki's expression didn't budge. Harry swallowed, said a few more words to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, and then turned toward the Forbidden Forest with the look of someone walking to their own execution.

The retreating figure looked unbearably alone.

"Let's go. Time for us to help out."

Yang Luoluo rolled her shoulders and headed out of the Great Hall first.

Not getting to settle things with Bellatrix Lestrange personally was a regret she'd carry. But there were plenty of Death Eaters left, and they were all the same flock anyway. Hitting any one of them would do just fine.

Yang Luoluo arrived at this conclusion with considerable cheer.

...

The light was fading. The trees rose on all sides, impossibly tall, their canopy swallowing what remained of the sky, a quiet, relentless reminder that the Forbidden Forest had arrived.

Harry's heart hammered hard against its ribs.

The walk in had felt endless. Wrapped in the Invisibility Cloak, Harry drifted through it all like a ghost haunting Hogwarts, apart from everything, seen by no one, as if Harry had simply ceased to exist.

Ron Weasley was over there, telling Neville Longbottom that if a chance came, that giant serpent at Lord Voldemort's side had to be killed.

A group of Acromantulas moved through the underbrush nearby, combing through the shadows with careful, methodical purpose.

Ginny Weasley was crouched beside a younger student, the girl shaking with tears, Ginny Weasley's voice low and steady with reassurance.

And then the memories came without asking, Hagrid's hut, Ron Weasley retching slugs all over the grass, everyone crowded around to gawk at the baby dragon Norbert, the quiet desperate scramble to free Buckbeak. Moments of laughter and grief both, surfacing one after another.

And then, finally, Lord Voldemort.

Harry stopped.

In the clearing ahead, a bonfire burned at the center. The wavering firelight fell across the Death Eaters' faces and made them harder to read, not easier. Fenrir Greyback had retreated to a corner, gnawing at their fingernails with furtive, twitchy focus. Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy stood rigid with fear, stealing glances at Lord Voldemort every few seconds.

Lord Voldemort simply sat. Motionless. Two skeletal hands locked tight around the Elder Wand.

He had actually gotten his hands on the Elder Wand.

Harry's heart seized.

Albus Dumbledore had already been brought back by Yang Luoluo. With his mind, there was no way he would have forgotten to reclaim the Elder Wand from the burial site before Lord Voldemort could reach it.

And yet there it was, unmistakably, in Lord Voldemort's grip.

Harry pressed their lips together. The burst of agitation that had flared up settled, slowly, back down.

Albus Dumbledore was trusted. Whatever this was, Albus Dumbledore had plans for it. All Harry could do was follow through, and do everything possible to take Lord Voldemort down.

"Master. There is still no sign of Harry Potter."

A figure stepped up beside Lord Voldemort and bent at the waist in a respectful bow.

Harry recognized that face. Antonin Dolohov, the Death Eater who had brutally murdered Molly Weasley's two brothers during the First Wizarding War.

"I thought the boy would come." The firelight danced in Lord Voldemort's crimson eyes. The mockery on his face was easy to read. "It was his own suggestion, after all, was it not?"

"It appears... I was wrong."

"No."

Harry tucked the Invisibility Cloak and the wand into the robes and stepped out from behind the tree.

That face, the one Lord Voldemort found so utterly hateful, showed none of the fear or fury that had been expected. Harry simply stood there. Alone. Calm. And yet somehow carrying the weight of an army at their back.

A voice, slightly hoarse, broke the stillness of the Forbidden Forest.

"I'm here."

➤ Next: Meeting in the Forbidden Forest

Chapter 78 - Meeting in the Forbidden Forest

"Harry Potter..."

Seeing Harry appear, Lord Voldemort revealed a strange, gloomy smile. He tilted his head to one side and looked the boy up and down.

A chill ran down Harry's back, like being fixed in the gaze of a venomous serpent.

Lord Voldemort clicked his tongue twice.

"The Boy Who Lived. Frankly, I admire your courage."

If Harry were not the Boy Who Lived, Lord Voldemort would have been quite willing to take them under his wing.

Consider it: the two of them were so alike, both raised as orphans, both Parselmouths, their wands made of the same core materials...

"What a pity. If you and I were not mortal enemies, I imagine we could have achieved great things together —"

"Cut the nonsense, Lord Voldemort."

Perhaps because he had let himself dwell on Harry's imminent death, Lord Voldemort had grown unconsciously talkative, only to be cut short by Harry, whose face stayed perfectly flat.

Harry glanced back at Nagini, coiled in the cage behind Lord Voldemort. All around, the Death Eaters watched with hungry, predatory eyes.

The idea of ambushing Nagini died instantly. Harry's wand wasn't even half-drawn before dozens of curses would hit them. There was no play there.

Hearing Harry's words, Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

Harry knew. He was angry.

Lord Voldemort said nothing more. He simply raised his wand and leveled it at Harry. The scarlet of his eyes deepened toward something feverish, and the corners of his mouth curved into a slow, mocking smile.

He was smiling. Yet what settled over Harry was nothing but cold.

Was this it?

Harry thought, heart hammering like a drum.

A hint of green gathered at the wand's tip.

Just let it end before any fear shows,

Green light flashed. The Forbidden Forest went silent.

...

Wait.

Why were they still conscious?!

Harry lay face-down against the earth, cheek pressed flat to the ground, quiet shock spreading across their features. Their heart kicked back to life, thump, thump, thump.

They ran a careful check. Nothing. None of the searing, obliterating agony that the Killing Curse should have brought. There was only a dull soreness from being thrown through the air and hitting the ground, scraped by dirt, probably.

But how was that possible?

Terrified that a sudden surge of emotion might tip Lord Voldemort off, Harry forced themselves still. Forced themselves calm.

As their heartbeat leveled out, they noticed it: a faint warmth, moving slowly through their mind like a current.

They thought back to Loki's clap on the shoulder just before they'd left. At the time, Harry had assumed they'd somehow managed to annoy the God of Mischief again. But thinking about it now...

To walk away from the Killing Curse without a scratch. Only a god could pull that off.

"Master! Master —"

Hurried footsteps came from every direction at once, converging on a single point. Voices called out in frantic disarray.

Lying with eyes shut, Harry's hearing felt razor-sharp. They could tell: the Death Eaters were clustering around the spot where Lord Voldemort had been standing.

What was going on? Had something happened to Lord Voldemort?

Harry's only regret right now was not picking a better place to fall. A few feet over and they might have been able to steal a glance.

"I do not need help."

Lord Voldemort's voice carried across the clearing, cold, but noticeably strained. Then came the rustle of robes and an unsteady set of footsteps. Harry guessed he had waved away whatever Death Eaters had moved to steady him.

"Go check. Is he dead?"

A few faint sounds followed from Lord Voldemort's direction. Harry couldn't make out what he was doing.

They stayed prone and kept still. Didn't dare to breathe.

They had no idea who Lord Voldemort had sent. No idea whether the act would hold. All they could do was lie there and wait.

Merlin help them, or whatever god happened to be paying attention, please let whoever was coming not find out. There was no guarantee that whatever Loki had put on them could hold a second time.

A pair of soft hands touched Harry's face.

Eyes still shut, Harry could only register: a woman. Those hands drew back one eyelid, then the other. Then pressed gently against their chest.

Harry's heart lurched out of rhythm.

That's it. It's over.

But the cry never came. No panicked "They're alive!" No alarm.

Instead, a breath, barely there, pressed low and urgent:

"Draco Malfoy... is Draco Malfoy all right..."

Harry's chest clenched. Narcissa Malfoy.

The heavens hadn't forsaken them after all.

They gave a small, careful nod.

The next second, Harry felt Narcissa Malfoy's body shudder. A breath, barely audible, leaked out. Then Narcissa Malfoy rose and spoke, voice pulled toward composure by sheer effort.

"Dead, Master."

At the same moment, the sound of cloth brushing against bark rose from somewhere nearby. Someone was moving fast.

"Master." The newcomer's tone was respectful. Harry recognized the voice immediately, cool, unhurried, utterly familiar.

Severus Snape.

Severus Snape's eyes found Harry the moment they arrived, motionless on the ground, just a short distance away. And Narcissa Malfoy's words landed at the same instant.

Dead.

Beneath the sweep of those dark robes, Severus Snape's fists clenched shut. Lord Voldemort couldn't see. Severus Snape couldn't let him. The emotions surging upward were crushed back down, but not before nails had already bitten into the palm, deep enough to draw blood.

Lily Potter. More than ten years ago, Severus Snape hadn't been able to protect her. And now, now even her son.

Then the next second, a voice rang out. Cold. Familiar. Hated.

"Go, Nagini."

Nagini exploded out of the cage behind Lord Voldemort and lunged. Jaws wide, striking directly for Severus Snape's throat.

Searing pain. Severus Snape's hand flew to the wound, blood spilling through the fingers in dark pulses. Staring at Lord Voldemort with something close to disbelief, Severus Snape stumbled back, one step, two, and crumpled against the ground.

"Wh — why..."

Lord Voldemort watched with glacial disinterest. He raised one hand and stroked the serpent head that pressed toward him.

"Good child."

When he had cast at Harry moments ago, he had felt it, a faint drag in the wand's response, a subtle resistance. He had turned it over and over, and only one explanation fit: the Elder Wand had another master.

But who?

Only one answer made sense. Severus Snape, who had personally killed Albus Dumbledore.

Once he had reasoned it through, the decision was easy. He summoned Severus Snape without hesitation.

If the Elder Wand could not be used to kill its own master, then Nagini was another matter entirely. He did not believe Severus Snape could survive her venom.

If he was being honest, he felt some small measure of regret. Severus Snape had served him faithfully for years, a master of potions, a sharp and capable commander. A genuine loss.

But Lord Voldemort could not afford loose threads. Remove the variable. Secure the plan.

"Let us go. Time to look in on our defeated enemies." He swept one last glance across the two figures on the ground, then turned and led the Death Eaters out of the clearing.

Silence reclaimed the Forbidden Forest.

Severus Snape sat slumped against a tree, feeling the strength drain out steadily, like water through cupped hands. Cold sweat soaked the brow. The sallow skin had shifted into something worse, a grey the color of ash, the color of endings. Even pressing a hand against the wound was beyond reach now.

Severus Snape waited.

While a thread of awareness still held, Severus Snape turned their gaze toward where Harry lay. Even that small motion sent darkness crowding in at the edges.

A shame. The brat hadn't even picked a decent spot to fall, facing the wrong way entirely. No chance of one last look at those eyes.

Perhaps this was simply what was owed. Years of wrongdoing, and in the end, brought down by a snake's bite.

There was a bitter poetry in that.

Lily Potter. I'm coming to make amends,

Wait.

The brat was getting up.

Weren't they supposed to be dead?!

Severus Snape watched, transfixed, as Harry, who by every right should have been a corpse, lifted their head and scanned the clearing in both directions. Confirmed it was clear. Then rolled upright and broke into a run, heading straight this way, moving with a speed and sureness that showed not a single sign of injury.

!

On the threshold of death, Severus Snape's eyes flew open wide.

➤ Next: Treating Severus Snape