The Prince's Tale

A/N: A Big thanks to Lariope, my wonderful beta, and to all of you who reviewed the last chapter. If I'd known that blackmail worked so well on you guys, I would have used it sooner. :-D Anyway, here's chapter 12. Enjoy!

Chapter 12 – The Prince's Tale

The second Voldemort's footsteps could no longer be heard, Hermione burst from their hiding place and fell to her knees at Snape's side, pressing her fingers to the wound on his neck. Ron watched in shock as she started to tear their former professor's robes apart with her free hand, rummaging through the pockets on the inside.

"Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God..."

Her hand was everywhere, moving over Snape's body in quick, jerky movements. A small phial was found but crashed to the floor a second later as it slipped from between her trembling fingers. She swore loudly, and the sound of that one word scared him more than the rest of the scene, pool of blood included. He'd never heard Hermione swear before.

"Wand. Wand. Where the fuck is my wand!"

Tears were running down her face while the blood, thick and red, kept pulsating from beneath her fingers. He stood by and watched, paralysed, as she found another phial, managed to get the cork out and poured the liquid on Snape's neck and chest.

The man screamed. He had never heard a man scream like that before. Smoke rose from where the potion had touched, filling the air with a sickly sweet smell of burning flesh. Hermione worked faster, less frantic now, the reaction helping her to find some sort of mental coherence. Her wand was out of her robes, moving in intricate patterns over the mangled skin, trying to get the wounds to knit together. Suddenly, he felt movement beside him and realised that Harry had drawn his wand and was pulling out from under the invisibility cloak. Shaking off the numbing shock, he followed, joining his wand to his friends' as they worked the wounds on Snape's body. Slowly, gradually, the bleeding lessened and then trickled to a stop. He was just about to draw a sigh of relief when a gurgling sound penetrated his mind, raspy and weak, as though spoken by someone who was already dead.

"Potter."

Harry looked over in disbelief, even as Hermione broke down in wracking sobs against Snape's shoulder. He saw a small stirring in the hand that angled out behind her, as though his former professor wanted to lift it up to comfort her but was lacking the strength to do so. He watched Harry's eyes move from Snape to Hermione and widen in disbelief. He followed the gaze, and understanding came crashing down.

"It was you," Harry stated, voice laced with a curious mix of disbelief and wonder. "All this time when I felt that there was someone helping us...it was you?"

"Yes."

"But...how?" Harry spluttered. "You're...I saw you! You..."

"No time," Snape interrupted, a horrible, wheezing sound tearing through the air as he tried to breathe. "The Pensieve will tell you everything. You have to go." He turned his head slightly, breaking eye contact with Harry and finding Hermione's tear-stained face. "I'm out of time."

"No!" she protested, hands wandering over his robes again, looking for something else, something that would help her. His hand moved with obvious difficulty, capturing hers on top of his chest and stilling her movements.

"Yes, Hermione," he said, forcing the words out. "This is where my part in the performance ends." She shook her head vehemently, new tears pooling in her eyes. The hand on his chest moved, lifting the heavy, immobile weight of his arm to press the palm against the wet skin of her cheek. Something indefinable changed in his eyes, and he visibly swallowed.

"You're wasting your tears," he rasped thickly, "though I appreciate the gesture." The last word came out in a cough that sent tiny speckles of blood spraying across his robes and the lower part of Hermione's face. Her eyes widened in horror, and she immediately brought the cuff of her robe up to wipe it away from his mouth and chin, as though trying to convince herself it hadn't happened. "You did admirably," he whispered, each word sending a new trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. "Now, leave me. I will see you again as the curtain falls."

The hand dropped, and Hermione moved with it, lowering her head to place a trembling kiss on Snape's lips, urging him to respond even as sobs began to wrack her body. So this had been her secret. Even as he saw it with his own eyes, he couldn't quite believe it. His body had gone back to being frozen in time, and he watched the scene unravel as though watching it through somebody else's eyes. Snape's head fell back against the floor, eyes closed and face pale with blood loss. Hermione cried harder, curling herself into an impossible position around the broken, bloody body, refusing to let go. He saw Harry try to lift her, trying to pry away her hands, but she only screamed and held on tighter. He felt himself move forward, touching her shoulder gently.

"Hermione, let go," he said, trying to pull her towards him. "He's dead. There's nothing more you can do." She shook her head fervently, pressing her face deeper into the black fabric. "Come," he tried again. "He's not breathing, and there's no spell to make someone breathe again once they've stopped." He took Harry's hand, pulling him with him to a standing position. "We need to see the Pensieve," he said, suddenly remembering their instructions from the dead man on the floor. "Hermione..."

"Breathe," she said suddenly, jerking into a sitting position and looking up at him with frantic eyes. "I can make him breathe!"

"No, you can't..." he started, but firmly closed his mouth again as she lunged back into action, pressing her lips firmly to Snape's where he lay on the splintered floor. To his amazement, he watched how the man's chest began to rise and fall, filling with air as Hermione pushed it into his lungs.

"CPR," Harry murmured in his ear. "It's a Muggle thing. I don't think it will help, though. He's lost too much blood." He repeated the last sentence to Hermione, who stubbornly refused to listen.

"I'm not giving up, Harry," she said, her voice hitching on the last word. "He's helped you more than you'll ever know, and I'm not abandoning him while there's still hope." She moved two fingers to Snape's neck, pressing against the skin in search of a pulse. "Go with Ron," she said, her tone telling both of them that her decision was final. "Find out what's in the Pensieve. I will see you later." Her voice suddenly died in her throat and her movements faltered. She looked up at Harry...at both of them...with a curious look in her eyes, as though she had suddenly realised something and was trying very hard to keep more tears from falling. "I will see you both again," she stated firmly. "Stay safe."

"You too," Harry said, his voice suspiciously thick with emotion. He felt Harry's fingers thread between his, his body pulling him away from the scene. Moving under the cover of the invisibility cloak, he rounded the corner into the secret passage, leaving Hermione slumped on the blood-soaked, wooden floor. The image of her came with him, however, and he felt it burn more solidly into his mind's eye with every step. He was an utter berk, no...more than that; he didn't think there was a word disgusting enough for someone who left their friend alone in a pool of blood, refusing to help, as they just had. The feeling intensified as they made their way across the grounds towards the castle. Voldemort had launched a second attack, and from the looks of it, it was more damaging than the first. He could see McGonagall fighting a pack of Dementors by the front doors, while Flitwick was wrapping long, fiery ropes around the base of the North wall, fending off Inferis. Bodies were lying on the ground, strewn across the grass like fallen stars. He collided with Harry's back as his friend suddenly stopped and heard a strangled cry break from his lips that he did his best to block, hand pressed tightly over his mouth.

Remus Lupin was lying dead in the grass by the front doors, wand broken beside him, sliced nearly to ribbons by long, sharp claws. Greyback had finished the job.

He didn't notice much after that, following Harry through a daze of emotion as they walked through hallways and up the stairs. Dumbledore's office was empty, the portraits of former Headmasters and Headmistresses black and vacant in their frames. To one side, over by a small alcove, stood an ancient, stone basin, emanating a strange, silver-blue light. He looked at Harry, who nodded, taking off the invisibility cloak and draping it gently over a nearby chair. Together, they approached the Pensieve and raised their intertwined hands to touch the shimmering swirl.

Scenes flew by as he fell through the memories, Ron's hand firmly clasped in his. He saw his mother as a child, sitting in a tree house with a young Snape, talking about magic. He followed them to Hogwarts, seeing their first ride on the school train and the first meeting with his father and his friends. He observed as Snape grew up, watched him struggle with animosity and disappointment as his only friend began to slip away, at the same time that he realised with a sinking sensation that he was falling in love with her. He watched the humiliation visited upon him by the Marauders, including the episode which almost led to his death. He watched as Lucius Malfoy stepped in, turning his head with tales of greatness and power, and met Voldemort, experiencing the raw magic that seemed to emanate from the Dark Wizard's very skin. Magic that could be his, Voldemort promised, drawing him forever out from under the crushing weight of all things ordinary, of all things despised and ridiculed. When he realised the true price for his allegiance...as the Dark Lord connected the dots between the stolen prophecy and the girl he loved...it was already too late. She died, despite Dumbledore's promise to protect her, and he felt something wither away inside. He would never again fully trust the old wizard, but gave his oath to protect Harry Potter, nonetheless.

Snape's memories of the following years mixed with Dumbledore's, and he watched himself grow from a boy to a young man through their eyes. He watched Order meetings and private discussions, following the plans progress on how the war could be won. He watched victories and defeats, a wave of shame hitting him as he learned the story behind Dumbledore's black hand and the promise he had forced from Snape because of it. He had been wrong, once again. When it came to Severus Snape, it seemed he was doomed to always be completely and utterly wrong.

A string of planning followed, teaching him more about the Horcruxes and outlining the final plan. When it was all revealed, however, his mind faltered, understanding escaping him. Dumbledore had set him up to die? Nausea warred with blinding anger as he watched the scene unravel, as he watched Snape's face mirror the shock he felt inside.

"So the boy... the boy must die?" He heard Snape say, disbelief mixing with fear in his voice.

"And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential."

Anger, such as he had rarely felt, welled up inside him. Anger for himself, who had been led to believe that things were about choice and that he could make a difference. Anger for the lack of trust, for the missed opportunities he might have taken, had he known sooner. This anger was dwarfed by what he felt for the people around him, however...the people who had laid down their lives for him...so that he could live and succeed against Voldemort. Laid down their lives because they believed in Dumbledore and trusted his plans. And all for nothing. All to bring Tom Riddle just one step closer to mortality so that some other person could be set up to finish the job. He pressed Ron's hand so tightly, he feared he might crack a bone or two. How long? How long before it would all end and the Wizarding World could breathe freely again. Dumbledore had groomed him for close to eighteen years. How long before someone else was ready to take his place?

His eyes met Ron's, and suddenly, he knew. Ron would do it, Ron or Hermione. If he died, one of them would see the plan through. This was why Dumbledore had encouraged him to keep his friends, to confide in them and keep them close. So that there would be a back-up. He felt bile rise in his throat, despite the fact that he was now only part of a memory and technically didn't have a throat. He had felt bad when leading them into danger. Now, he was leading them to their deaths. Ron's arms came around him as the memory version of himself doubled over, fighting for air he didn't need. He kept still in Ron's arms for a long time, waiting for his anger to ebb and new strength to come. There had to be more, some twist in the plan that would make it all come together and redeem the man he'd looked up to for all of his magical life.

There has to be more.

He flew through the remaining memories, looking, searching for clues. He saw Snape, working tirelessly to help them, watched the conversations he had with Hermione through Phineas Nigellus' portrait as he looked for solutions. He watched him aim his wand at a golden cup in a glittering Gringotts vault, removing the curses that surrounded it and leaving it free for Bellatrix to take. Bellatrix, who suddenly looked quite sane and smiled exactly like Hermione. He watched him stand in the very office he and Ron had just left, issuing orders to the portraits on the walls. They would raise the alarm when the call came and Hogwarts needed assistance, he told them. The Ministry might have fallen, but there were still people in it that were ready to fight; their task was to make sure to find them in time.

Finally, he saw Snape sitting in a chair in what must be his own quarters. Dumbledore was in a chair opposite, watching him with a worried expression on his face as the dark man stared into space. Harry had never seen Snape look like that...so utterly... defeated.

"What was the point, Albus," Snape said, looking up at Dumbledore with suspiciously shiny eyes. "What was the point of protecting him all these years just to send him to his death?"

Dumbledore rose from his chair and moved over to the fire, fiddling with something in his pocket and not meeting his servant's eyes.

"Love is a peculiar thing, Severus," he said at last. "And sacrifice based on love even more so. You've seen for yourself the magnitude of Lily's sacrifice for her son, protecting him from death and injury, even now, many years later. Imagine then the force of Harry, giving his life in sacrifice, in accordance with a true prophecy...not for a specific person, but for our world. Through one choice, he will change the world and save it from Tom's aggressions. It will be new, and it will be protected, and as much as it pains me to send him down that path, I can't see any other way."

Snape nodded in resignation, and Harry felt himself rise, leaving the Pensieve with Ron's hand still firmly clasped in his. Anger seemed to fall from him as he rose, peeling away like an old skin. Words from Trelawney's prophecy came back to him, bouncing against the words he'd just heard from Dumbledore's mouth. Love. It always came back to love. Knowing now what he had to do, what his destiny was truly about, he took a great gulp of air and broke the surface.

"No," Ron said as soon as they touched back on the office floor. "No! I'm not letting you go out there and kill yourself."

"Ron," he tried, still fighting to process what he'd just seen. He was the last Horcrux. He was the only one who could kill Voldemort...the Chosen One...because he was Voldemort. It still didn't seem possible.

"No!" Ron shouted, grabbing him by both arms and shaking him roughly. "We'll find another way, we'll..."

"There is no other way!" he interrupted, feeling panic rise within him, even as he struggled to keep his calm. He had prepared for this, dammit! For two fucking years he had mentally prepared for the fact that he might have to die in the end. He'd been calm, together, resigned. Now, with Ron in front of him, at the moment of truth, all he could feel was icy panic clogging his veins and freezing him from the inside. I can't die now. I can't. I'm not ready. I can't...

He wasn't aware that the words were tumbling from his lips until Ron cut him off, muffling his voice with a kiss so fierce it was nearly bruising. He fought back, pressing his arguments unspoken into Ron's mouth, wrestling his protests in a furious battle of lips and tongues. Ron's hands were in his hair, fingernails dragging against his scalp, clawing to get in, clawing to get through to him. He felt his resolve falter, even as the sense of fatality set in, peeling away layer after layer of personal choice. He was spiralling downwards, toward the utter certainty that there was no other way. It was him or the world, and he had to choose the world. He was the Chosen One. His decision had been made before he was even born.

He fought with all he had, but Ron refused to give up, filling him with passion and life, of love so strong it made him dizzy. This is the last time, he realised suddenly, and the thought burned through him like molten lava. The last time. It didn't seem possible. They had only just begun. Five weeks of loving Ron...five weeks when he'd actively known it...wasn't enough to fill his heart, only just enough to make sure he knew that he wanted more...that he wanted bloody forever. Ron bit into his shoulder, and he cried out, relishing the pain as it spread from the mark. The pain kept him grounded; he was here, in this office, with Ron, loving Ron. Moving against him, he fisted the material of his robes in his hands and pulled hard, nearly ripping the fabric. Ron was only seconds behind, and when they tumbled to the floor in a tangle of naked limbs, it struck him how familiar it all was. The circle closed slowly in on him as he poured everything he was into his boyfriend, fighting to get closer, to tell him, to make sure he knew exactly what it had all meant to him. Words had been unnecessary then, and they stayed unnecessary now, as their bodies ruled the laws of communication. The stone was cold against his back and unmerciful on his knees, but none of it mattered as Ron caught him around the back with his legs and held him down as he penetrated the last armour. The battle grew more violent, transforming into a cyclone of movement, bodies sliding and grinding together as fingernails raked long, red lashes across Harry's back. They fell into sync, moving together with the same breath and the same heartbeat, melting into one struggling, writhing unit of limbs. When the end came, he screamed, and his voice was Ron's voice, and Ron was crying out with him, trembling against his skin as wave after wave of release wracked his body. Panting, he opened his eyes, locking his gaze with the clear blue eyes beneath him, and suddenly, they both knew.

They were one...and he had to leave.

He collapsed in Ron's arms, letting grief take over, kissing him as much as he could while his body convulsed in wracking sobs. Ron held him tightly, mirroring his reactions, tasting their tears as they flowed freely down their faces. Outside the castle, the battle was raging...they could hear the sounds of crashing objects and screaming people filter in through the window panes. Time was running out.

Breaking off a last, lingering kiss, they removed themselves from the floor and dressed quickly. Harry picked up his wand from where it had rolled into a corner and moved towards the door.

"I'm coming with you." Ron's voice was quite steady as he grabbed his arm, holding him back.

"No," he said, a memory of green light and Cedric Diggory's body slumping to the ground flashing before his eyes. "No," he repeated, "I have to do this alone." The punch that hit him across the face took him completely by surprise and made him stagger to regain his balance.

"Fuck you, Harry!" Ron yelled, shaking out his hand as Harry looked up at him with watering eyes. His bottom lip seemed to have split; he could taste the coppery tang of blood in his mouth. "You can't go alone. You're not alone in this!"

He brought his fingers up to dab against his lip, measuring how badly he was bleeding. "I'm sorry, Ron," he said softly, meeting angry blue eyes. "But for this, I have to be."

Ron seemed to deflate at his words, all anger leaving him in a rush of air and fall of his shoulders. "What about me, then?" he asked, defeat warring with bitterness in his voice. "What about me, eh? What the bleeding hell am I supposed to do? Move on? Marry Hermione? What?"

"Ron..."

"No," Ron said firmly, making him bite back the words on the tip of his tongue. The redhead stepped close, moving both hands to his face and caressing him softly. "If you die, all bets are off. I will fight to the end, and I will bring down as many Death Eaters as I can, You-Know-Who if I can manage it, but then..." He trailed off, moving a thumb gently over the split lip, whispering words to make the skin knit back together. "Wizards live a long time, Harry," he whispered. "Far too long to keep sane when missing you...needing you...every single day. Perhaps there is something else, something mystical that will save you, but if there's not, and Dumbledore is right, then ..." He leaned in and kissed him tenderly, making Harry's heart beat rapidly in his chest. So this is it, he thought. This is where it ends.

"I'll see you soon," Ron promised, pressing a last kiss on his swollen lips. "Either way, I'll be seeing you soon." He opened the door and walked out, not looking back. Numbly, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from the chair and disappeared from view. It was time to face Voldemort.

A/N: Please review!