Demise

"Severus, I do not know how you and Miss Flamel came across this artifact." Minerva McGonagall looked from Snape to Attica and back with appraising eyes before setting the sword gingerly upon the desk. "Nor," she continued, "do I believe I want to.

"I have obtained the entire account from the Ministry about the destruction of these... objects. The Sword of Gryffindor is powerful enough to complete the job," she said. She turned from the sword and sat heavily into an armchair. "I am going to sit here a moment before we proceed. We all are going to need every bit of strength we can muster," she added darkly.

"I trust you did not mention anything about the emerald to the Ministry, Minerva," Snape said coldly.

McGonagall blinked. "Of course I didn't! Everyone is under the apparently incorrect impression that Potter has ended that monster once and for all. They do not need this sudden doubt. Not after so many years of living in fear, Severus."

The man's lips curled into the patronizing smirk of the Potions master. "Of course not," he replied evenly, although Attica suspected that he was suppressing a snarl.

McGonagall nodded curtly and leaned back into the armchair slightly, closing her eyes. Attica felt pity for the older woman. She had always been so sturdy, so steadfast. Now, she looked exhausted and wary. The final battle had taken more of a toll on the woman than she had anticipated. And it still was not over yet. She still wore her hair in her trademark bun and her robes were impeccably crisp, of course, but her face was wan. Attica reminded herself that she was not a young woman, but that did not dispel the pang of guilt that nudged her heart at seeing the witch this way. If it weren't for Attica, the woman would be sitting down for her afternoon tea in the Headmistress's office and perhaps settling in to read during this lazy afternoon. Instead, she was here, readying herself to walk into yet another battle. But this time, no one knew neither quite how to prepare for it, nor how much strength it would ultimately take. Attica couldn't help noticing her sunken eyes and hollow cheeks. She fervently hoped that the only thing afflicting this steely woman was exhaustion.

"Might I have a word with you, Miss Flamel?" Snape asked her as he shifted on his feet, looking discomfited.

She nodded, curious and slightly annoyed. He had had plenty of time to speak to her before McGonagall arrived. But she allowed him to lead her into the foyer, nonetheless. He turned his back on her and stood silently for a long moment.

With his back still to her, he spoke in a level voice. "The emerald needs to be destroyed."

"Obviously." She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she tried to remind herself that he was only trying to help her break free of this prison she had unknowingly created for herself.

He ignored her irritation and continued. "However, I do not know what the consequences will be." He turned to her as he said this. His shoulders were set, and his posture was as rigid as she had ever seen it, but weariness seemed to radiate from him.

"It does not matter. A part of Voldemort's soul is in that emerald. It has to be destroyed." Attica toyed with the hem of her sleeve. She knew where this conversation was headed and wanted to look anywhere but at him.

"When I tried to separate a small sample from the gem with a lab knife, you fell to the ground in pain."

Attica winced at the memory. That kind of agony was not something she would be able to easily forget. It had felt as if her heart was being torn from her chest. She closed her eyes. "I remember," she said calmly.

"This will not be pleasant," he said. "I am unaware of how closely your souls are connected, nor how intricately they are intertwined. I do not know if...," he trailed off.

"If I will die?" Attica opened her eyes and met the professor's directly. The remembrance of the pain was pushed from her mind. She had felt a sense of calm wash over her when McGonagall had arrived with the weapon that ended this pain once and for all. Whether that end included her death or not, there would at least definitely be an end. To her, in this moment, her death was inconsequential. But she watched as the terror slowly crept into the professor's eyes. She vaguely wondered why it was this emotion-ridden man standing in front of her and not her apathetic Potions Master. "It does not make a difference, so long as he is really gone."

"You are willing to die? Just like that? You're not even going to fight?"

She cocked her head slightly before nodding. "It's fitting, don't you think?"

He closed the distance between them and lifted her chin with a pale hand so that his eyes locked with hers, black against blue. "If you think that you deserve this in any way, you are absolutely insane."

"Professor," she whispered, drawing on the calm that continued to fill her. "I sided with him and his evil purposes. Think of the things I tried to do, the evils I could have committed. I could spend my entire life fruitlessly trying to rectify this betrayal, or I could nobly accept my punishment and die knowing that my debt has been paid."

"You cannot throw away your entire life in some asinine attempt at redemption!" he roared, dropping his hand in exasperation. "I won't allow it," he whispered.

His concern for her was touching, and if she had allowed herself to tap into her emotions at the moment, it might have brought tears to her eyes. "Professor, it has been more than sixteen years since Voldemort's initial fall, and you spent the majority of that time protecting Lily Evans's son and living a double life, never being able to truly just be yourself because you were always a tool for someone else, be it Dumbledore or Voldemort. You were not living for yourself. And you lived this way because of your guilt. You knew that you could die during the final battle, and you almost did. Are we really so different? Can you not allow me to do for myself what you did for yourself in preparing for your own demise?"

He looked at her, too shocked to say anything in response. She offered him her most dazzling smiled, imbued with what she intended to be reassurance. "Do not try to save me from this. This is not your fault, and it is not something you need to attempt to correct. You have saved me more times than I could ever repay you for. Whatever will be, will be."

His bark of laughter was bitter. "So you choose to repay me by throwing away the life I've supposedly liberated."

"No, Professor. You are saving me from myself."

~~~

Attica reentered the study with Snape close behind. "I believe thanks are in order, Headmistress," Attica said with a half smile. "I appreciate you being here today more than you know."

"Now, now, my dear. No thanks are necessary. You and Severus have brought this to my attention. It is I who should be thanking you. We all know what the cost of destroying the stone may be," McGonagall said gruffly. "What you are willing to sacrifice for the security of the wizarding world is of no small consequence." She smiled sadly and patted Attica's shoulder before she turned her attention to the sword. She tried to lift the large object, but grimaced under its weight as she attempted to heft if from the desk. "Severus, I may need your assistance."

He quickly crossed the room and lifted the hilt just below the cross-guard, allowing the majority of the grip and the jewel-encrusted pommel to remain in her grasp. The arrangement was awkward, but in order to draw upon the entirety of the vast amount of its power, it was necessary for the sword to be wielded by a Gryffindor.

Attica silently slipped into the lab, and Snape released the charms guarding the cabinet. With the small, heavy box in her hands, Attica walked slowly back into the study, placing the box gingerly on the desk. The voice that was whispering only a moment before had now raised its voice to barely below a shout. She was startled by the sudden increase in the voice's intensity, but was able to retain her composure. Snape flicked his wand with his free hand and the lock disappeared, leaving the box unlocked. With bated breath, Attica approached the box. She delicately lifted the lid to expose the emerald, her emerald. No. It wasn't hers. It belonged to the monster. She lifted it from its velvet resting place, feeling it awaken to her touch. The voice that was only barely shouting before now was screaming at her, telling her to take the emerald and run, run far away from the people who were trying to kill her. The voice promised her happiness, a resolution to all her problems. In a rising crescendo, Voldemort screamed that if she saved the emerald from destruction, he would bring her loved ones back to her. With his power, although now weakened, they could rule the world together. She hesitated only a moment before slamming the emerald onto the smooth mahogany surface of her grandfather's desk and turning her back to it. She knew that even if what the voice was saying were true, the creatures he brought back to her would not truly be her parents or her grandparents. But if the impending events transpired the way she hoped them to, she would see them again soon enough.

She could feel Snape's eyes on her as she crossed the room and knelt on the floor, covering her ears in a futile attempt to drown out the voice that was still screaming false promises to her. The only thing offering her any gratification in this moment was that now the voice was screaming not in anger or hatred, but in panic.

Attica finally met his gaze and saw the offer in his eyes. They did not have to do this. They could find another way.

But there truly was no other way. She knew that. He knew that. Attica was making a decision that, when she really thought about it, was not much of a choice at all. It was imperative that they destroy the emerald as a means to finally put an end to the reign of the darkest wizard the world had ever harbored. She was saving Snape from having to make a decision that could bring harm to her. When she nodded to him, it was with finality. She was adamant about this, and maybe his knowing that could save him from some of the guilt.

The sword hovered above the stone. Tears were already streaming down McGonagall's face. She could not bear to see the sorrow there, so she glanced back at Snape. She was both surprised and saddened to see the single tear that was tracing its way down his cheek as well. His eyes pleaded with her, and he hesitated only so that he might be sure that a change of heart was not coming from the determined, young girl. She smiled placidly and nodded once more.

McGonagall lowered the sword and the world was black.

Attica screamed.

The black faded to red behind her eyelids. There was a moment when she thought the agony would never end. It felt as if her entire body were being torn apart, her skin from the muscle and the muscle from the bone. The pain was searing and burning, and she could not be sure if the howling she heard was coming from the emerald or from her own mouth. But she maintained the calmness that had come upon her in the foyer as she collapsed upon the cold, unyielding floor.

Even as she burned, all she could think about was the peace that was coming. She imagined the imminent embrace with her family and powered through the pain, knowing that it would soon end. For the first time in a very long time, she was not afraid.