66|| Bishop to H3
Tom Riddle cannot particularly remember a boat house at Hogwarts, and given his almost impeccable memory, it only serves to reassure him that there wasn't one during his time. And he understands why as the building comes into focus, looking unused for some time, likely months since the First Years arrived. For a building so well covered in glass, it is darker than the night itself, the interior beams and walls shadowed and dingy with mold and grub, a sight which almost foretells what is to happen.
The four heroes pick their way closer to the boat house, careful not to make any noise given Voldemort's expected proximity and the fact he likely has the hard-hearing of Nagini by his side. So, they move slower than necessary, tucking themselves beneath boxes and behind trees until they are pressed against the opaque windows of the building, hidden deep within shadow in hopes they will not be seen. It'd be quite anticlimactic if they were.
Pressed slightly onto their toes in a crouched position, the quartet peer through the dingy windows and into the old shack, at first seeing nothing but then something of startling appearance to three. Ron and Hermione have been hearing about the appearance of Voldemort from Harry for three years: his snakelike face, lacking nose, pale skin, and horribly blue eyes. And yet, to see the animation of just an idea is a horrendous moment, the tip of the Elder Wand shining onto his figure and through the foggy window as he steps out from the shadows, previously unseen.
But more than the other two, Tom Riddle is horrified by what he sees: himself in another fate. Hermione had hinted at his appearance, but Tom never quite grasped the sheer terror of his visage and whether it was preferred by his other self. But, now, Tom cannot see why he would want to look this way other than to evoke fear...which very well may be the truth. His once dark and luscious hair is now nothing more than a pale scalp, the alabaster skin now translucent and especially in the light. His full lips and statuesque nose are all but diminished, especially the latter with the nostril slits left behind. Indeed, the only thing still fitting of his appearance is his stature--tall and lean--and his chiseled features. However, Tom Riddle is not struck by the similarities, but the difference in his eyes: in the past he had green and occasionally red eyes. How in the world did his eyes become an innocent blue, unfitting of his calling?
In the end, Tom Riddle is pleased that the window is between his two selves, masking some of the horrors of the monster's creation.
The Dark Lord steps forward with only the slight swaying of his wand, eyes tensely focused on another figure, again basked in shadow: Severus Snape. The Headmaster seems tense, but no more than usual, and Tom easily predicts this is how the man always looks. But nonetheless, Tom has to praise the Slytherin for his unlikely strength in facing Voldemort, such a horrid sight for a man reborn.
"Why doesn't it work for me?" Voldemort hisses and Tom cringes, that voice being so similar to his own, yet different enough to prompt only suspicion, not guarantee. But to the extent that the voice truly affects him--a reminder of his past flaws--Tom focuses on the intent of this other self, knowing only he can truly understand what is going on.
He's testing Snape.
With an unrevealed confidence, stoic in praise, the Headmaster responds, "You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand, my Lord. In the last few hours alone--"
"No! I am extraordinary!" Voldemort surges forward, flanked by his snake who seems more in-tune with the surroundings than the other two. "But the wand resists me!"
Alright, pride is his fatal flaw.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts watches his 'master' with every bit of praiseworthy scrutiny, not demeaning to the Dark Lord but showing avid skill and intelligence. Tom realizes then how similar Hermione is to Snape in dealing with himself, hiding their intentions beneath a facade of smart loyalty. But, as all men get distracted by the worst of threats (maybe that's why everyone was attracted to him in the past), Snape's eyes diverge to the looping Nagini about his and Voldemort's feet, so extreme in measures and an unsaid threat to his life.
"There is no wand more powerful. Ollivander himself said it. Tonight, when the boy comes to you, it will not fail you, I am sure. It answers to you and you only," Snape reassures him with the masking of his fear with certain devotion that does not persuade Voldemort's mind in the slightest.
"Does it?" Voldemort hisses, a test. The lanky fingers of the Dark Lord rise into the light, the wand shifting about like a quill in deliberation. Hermione recognizes it as an action Tom always does, fiddling with his wand in a threatening manner. And though they are different characters, Tom and Lord Voldemort are biologically the same person.
"My Lord?" Snape asks, his dark and demeaning eyebrows furrowed in question at the Lord's test.
"The wand. Does it truly answer to me?"
It is then that Tom Marvolo Riddle finally realizes what Voldemort means and the mistake that will be Voldemort's ultimate downfall. In the eery light passing through the window, Hermione can see Tom's jaw tense and skin blanch in realization, her hand reaching out to grip his arm with her wish to know what Voldemort means. But she is ignored--not wishfully--because Tom is too busy placing the pieces of the puzzle together, the plan into place.
Severus Snape is silent to the question, eying Voldemort with an air of subservience as the waters laps at the building, feet away. He does not reveal anything to the Dark Lord, equally as capable as Tom at hiding his intent, before mistaking the notion for the truth of the matter. Harry sees the tensed and twitching hands of Snape behind his back, a sign he knows of what Voldemort proposes. The coldest man Harry has ever known is still warmer than Tom Riddle.
But is he? Looking over, Harry notices the particularly chalky look to Tom's face, his entire form frozen in the moment. The Boy Who Lived is startled by the emotional transition, that the stoic Heir of Slytherin is expressing emotion at his other self. But Harry is wrong in this focus, not knowing how Tom only tensed when the notion of Wand Allegiance was brought to the table. And thus, Harry Potter turns back, unknowing.
"You're a clever man, Severus," Voldemort says, that long forgotten charm of Tom Marvolo Riddle rearing its head with malicious purposes. "Surely you must know."
And he must know his fate. Snape's eyes travel over to the skimming snake about the damp floors of the boat house, particularly threatening despite Nagini's focus on something else entirely, but not living.
"Where, Severus? Where does its loyalty lie?" the Dark Lord asks, another test and one that seems more innate to Tom Riddle than any other faction of his personality. Even now, Tom tests Hermione's wits almost constantly.
"With you, of course, my Lord." It's a last ditch effort that none of the knowing-three can trust, understanding the history well. But in the notion that Voldemort believes, there is a misnomer of allegiance, and one that Tom and Snape understand. They also know that Voldemort is blind to the truth and will act without questioning his own validity.
"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. Ollivander was quite explicit about that. You killed Dumbledore, Severus. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine," the Dark Lord's voice comes out almost softly, so deluded in the fakeness of his emotional capacity.
Minimally, so as to not draw the snake, Tom shakes his head in disagreement, understanding that this is not how wand allegiance works. How is it that his other self is so blind to First Year knowledge? It's because he's only studied the powerful magic of his own desires. And Tom is reassured that pride is his fatal flaw.
"My Lord--" Snape attempts in his final plea for life, eyes locked to the coiling snake near Voldemort's dressed legs.
But the Dark Lord is not one for pity, only faked gratitude and compassion, cutting in with, "You have been a good and faithful servant, Severus." He raises the Elder Wand to the Headmaster's throat, the Golden Trio only barely hiding their gasps at the 'dramatic' turn only Tom expected. Yet, it's the last that gets them all, "But only I can live forever..."
Tom cringes away from the window, the snake too preoccupied to notice the motion. Now, the Heir of Slytherin understands why immortality is an undesirable faction of living. Now that he has friends and love, Tom cannot imagine living without their company...their deaths when he's still youthful. Now, the previous Dark Lord understands that Voldemort is not really living when he spends his life obsessed with death and defeating it.
Sweeping his wand towards the 'final horcrux,' Nagini, Voldemort is soft in his command, not of mercy but of nonchalance. "Kill."
The Headmaster's eyes meet the yellow of Nagini's one last time, not one plea for life on his tongue or in his dark eyes, and ultimately sealing the fate that was inevitable, a curse for his livelihood. Like it was with Charity Burbage, the woman who pleaded for her life with Snape, the jaws and fangs of the snake snap out and strike at the pale throat of an old teacher, Severus Snape.
Harry's scream of terror for the traitor and betrayer is covered by that of the man himself, stopped by Ron's hand when Snape's turns into gurgles, blood dripping into his vocal cords, poison now potent. And all the while, unable to move elsewise, Tom Riddle stares at the Dark Lord Voldemort, his other self unaffected by the death of his best follower, like Hermione had once been to Tom. It's that juxtaposition that has his hard stomach reeling, the notion of killing Hermione for a stupid wand now forever branded into his mind. Forget the Elder Wand, he wants her.
The jointed and lanky fingers of the reborn Voldemort play admirably upon the wand, twisting it about as he grins gladly at what he assumes now belongs to him. But then, with the always driven and quick thoughts of the man himself, Voldemort is turning away from the scene, not a mourner by any means, with the command, "Nagini! Come!"
In a stint of luck, the Dark Lord travels in the opposite direction of where they hide, back towards the Black Lake where he surely intends to Apparate away. The snake follows like a well-trained pet, not a bloodthirsty animal, though Tom expects that Nagini gets fed well on the fallen forms of Order members, a notion that keeps her loyal.
But as they pass into shadow, the two are replaced by four, Harry first springing to his feet and rushing into the boat house without one ounce of hesitation at the man he called 'traitor.' And yet, the boy is horrified by the sight he sees, the red blood of the Headmaster now slathered, sticking, and dripping down the foggy windows of the begotten boat house. Ron shoves past his friend without intent, rushing in the direction of Voldemort's flight surely to fight the monster himself. And Hermione would be concerned if she did not know any better. Voldemort's already gone, and he's left more destruction for us to find.
While Harry kneels down by the fallen figure of Severus Snape, the man's eyes locked onto the Boy Who Lived, Hermione and Tom stand some feet away, the latter further from the scene. It disgusts him to see the heartlessness of his actions, that he'd lethally wound without adding an Avada. And moreover, it was all due to a mistake on the Dark Lord's part that Severus Snape now lays dying on the infected floor of an abandoned building. There are better ways to go.
But whatever his feelings entail, he pushes them aside at Hermione's obvious need for comfort, her eyes locked to her long-time Potions teacher who often was cruel and mean. Hermione grabs up Tom's hand when he offers it, sinking into his side and resting her head on his shoulder as she watches Harry attempt to ease the flow of blood from Snape's neck. It is no use, and that notion has Snape looking to Harry, feeling the touch of his one-time enemy and letting himself cry at the sight of green grasses behind spectacles.
"Take them..." Snape urges, unable to move from his splayed and pained position, Harry looking confused at what the man means. "Take them!"
Shuddering under the weight of agony and duty, tears begin to shed from the man's eyes, silvery blue in quality andunlike those of traditional crying. It is a call to the past for Harry, his face masking into thought at where he's seen it, but before he can settle, Snape's hands are on his collar and pulling him close, a plea he'll never forget, "Please."
"He means the tear, Harry," Tom certifies stoically from behind the two, Snape never once removing his eyes from the green, even at the sound of a familiar voice, one that kills. But with the notion of his wishes discovered, he cannot hold on any longer, his hands withering away and dropping himself back into a strewn position.
Looking back at Hermione, Harry quickly requests, "Give me something! Quickly! A flask! Anything."
Like the brilliant witch she is, Hermione's handing a flask to Harry almost instantly and without a word, the bloody hand of Harry gripping it tightly and with every reserve of emotion. Pressing it into the ashy cheek of the Headmaster, both are relieved to see the liquid fall into the flask, the deed of Snape complete, once and for all. And. like a storm come to pass, Snape then relaxes back, his shoulders done and face slack, able to die in peace and return to the few he loves, long gone.
Hermione, so pained by the death of a long time mentor, presses herself deeper into Tom, the boy's hand rising to brush through her hair as tears stream down her face. Tom holds a firm composure, unyielding to the eye if only for the promise of retribution in later hours.
"They are the same..." Snape manages to whisper, his eyes so entranced in the green irises of Harry Potter, the singular look of Lily Evans. Harry watches the man with every wish to know his story, a silent plea for it to be told, though it might be unanswered in the end. But with a last breath and a great relief to his lungs, Severus Snape lets himself be lost in the dreams that never came true, "You have your mother's eyes..."
It is then that the Headmaster stills in death, the final breath of his lungs being that of his speech. Under the sudden events, Harry shudders harshly, so confused and tired and vengeful. But with mourning in war, there is never a time to sit, Ron rushing back into the room with the ignorance of these moments and words on his tongue.
"He's gone. The snake too," Ron says, something Tom could have told him if not for the more important reunion they just witnessed. But, like a trap to the words of Voldemort, the boat house begins to shudder and shake under the sound of thunder, not rain. All four of the living rush towards the translucent windows, a storm blooming unnaturally in the sky above Hogwarts like it had with the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. But this time, it is the face of the monster himself that appears, so horribly proud in his conquest.
"You have fought valiantly..." the Dark Lord hisses within the minds of the masses, likely thousands but without fault in his magic "...but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."
An almost palpable beat of the heart sounds in their minds, a pause before a directed storm. "Harry Potter, I speak now directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest and confront your fate. Should you do so I give my word that no other life will be lost on this night. You have one hour. If, at the end of that time, you have not given yourself up, then I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who tries to conceal you from me."
And again, the magic is released from the sky and their minds, the clouds in both fading away to their natural state of beautiful disorder. The boat house only rocks slightly in the relieved tension of the sudden storm, but it seems darker in the corruption of Hogwarts's innocent magic.
"Never! Do you hear me? Never!" Ron cries, not needing to have seen Snape die to be overwhelmed by the possibilities of death...of his family. And though Harry needs more comfort, he is strong under his past trials, Hermione's hand reaching out to comfort Ron, a hand on his shoulder and unyielding of effect.
"Do not listen to him, Harry," Tom almost pleads, stoic in his tone but deeply suspicious of what Harry intends to do in consequence of Voldemort's words. But then again, he will need to do just that in order to win this war. "There will be no mercy for the students of Hogwarts that fought against him."
A nod is the only payment for Tom's words, Harry's eyes lingering on Snape and the flask, before he charges from the boat house and back towards the castle, a long hike but spent quickly. The other three follow behind, cringing as smoke billows from the flaming Castle, the destruction more evident now that the grounds are cleared from fighters at the command of the Dark Lord. Tom tries to avoid looking at his destroyed home, the blood everywhere, and the destruction he played a part in. But at least the giant is still unconscious.
"Where is everyone?" Hermione asks and God tells, immediately hearing the voices of fighters in the Great Hall nearest them, the place where they'll learn of tragedy. Ron charges ahead of the other three, the boy with the most to lose, and only in a moment of hesitation does he push open the door, prepared for death and nothing less.
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