Lily's Charm

In the span between before and after...

Cold.

It had all gone cold. Waves and waves of chilling tremors throbbed through the darkness as existence was sucked away. As they were drawn from the realm of coherance.

Screams rent the winds. Rage filled the clouds. Warmth attempted to flicker.

And ice overtook the void.

Harry.

Harry recoiled from the word. It wanted him. Craved him. The cold beckoned him; the flames were beginning to freeze. And Harry couldn't right himself.

He was everything.

Nothing.

They were one.

The storm had no substance and the flames were dying.

The ice--the ice was laughing all around them. They were his.

The storm needed to rip itself away. Harry had to find his father. His dad. The word steadied him, allowed him to exist again.

He could feel the outlines of substance. The dark fading into light.

A faint glow. Familiar. Against the rush of frost, Harry pushed toward it.

Tiny flames, almost hidden in the winter.

There was a vague impression of ice, sharp and cold. It was biting them...looming over them, shadowing everything else. The flames weren't warm enough to melt the glacier. The flames were shallow. Too much of them had been left behind in the realm where life continued. The fire was too low, as if it was about to be hissed into ashes. But Harry was the storm again, hovering, floundering amidst a sea of glaring white.

--

Severus could feel nothing but cold. A frigid blanket trying to beat out his flames. Why was he so cold? He couldn't feel his own warmth in his flames. Harry--where are you? the flames called out of the freeze. The flames shivered.

Flames aren't supposed to freeze...

Dad? There was a whispered breath beside him, waiting. A gathering storm, building fast to guard him.

Harry, the flames pressed.

Harry felt relief. This was the voice he had needed to hear. But still, everything was too cold. He longed to chafe the limbs that were only echoes now.

It was quiet--too quiet here in the graying dusk. The dusk was turning to night as the cold penetrated father and son. But the ice only wanted one of them.

I always suspected you were weak, the cold jeered into the vacuum and the storm shivered against the returning cold.

Bring your storm closer, Severus directed immediately as the ice loomed nearby. His father's voice was barely a whisper; too much had been left. Harry, understanding his father's frantic need, drew his storm to surround the tiny flames without hesitation.

He needed to bring his father closer to death. Harry could not do this alone.

The storm intensified, growing dark and restless, drawing itself in close around the flame. It's too cold, the storm shuddered.

You can do this, Harry, what was left of the fire told him and the encouragement was enough. The storm began to blacken in furious determination as the cold bit relentlessly behind them.

The rumbling shook the void, the nothingness that was now their home. Thunder smacked the space, resounding, even as the flash of lighting filled the black. The storm directed its bolts toward the fledgling flames. The fire ignited in a great whoosh of light. It was growing, brightening as its flaming fingers wove themselves around the blackened storm, tugging it--wrenching it from the glacial chill.

And yet the chill remained.

Flame and storm bound themselves together. The smoke twining and twisting in the great blaze, the black now streaked with orange. They were mighty--one, but the ice would not leave.

The frozen shards clung to the fiery storm. He needed the storm. They were one. The tiny piece, a part of the whole. The ice was incomplete. Broken.

There had been too many pieces.

He would seduce the one who had carried his soul, cajole him and the storm would leave the flame. The right words and desolation and worry would overtake the boy...he had always been easy to manipulate.

Malleable.

The one who had bested him once would dwell with the ice forever. He had to have the boy. He would win.

You are not his son, the brutal glacier tore at the storm's security. And already the storm was dithering.

Dad? the stupid boy asked. The wretched fire didn't even stir.

He wants you, Harry, Severus soothed his son, keeping his flames fast and strong around him. Do not listen to him. Harry's storm was calmed again.

How can he be your father, Harry? Voldemort tried again, blowing chilling breaths over the name. Does a father leave his child? The ice glinted in the bright of the flames as the storm quaked at the question.

You cannot have him, the flames sputtered, incensed at the gently vicious words. Severus gathered his son closer, moving his flames, protecting Harry against the ice that would not leave. Harry's storm moved with the pressure, allowing his father to shelter him.

He does not love you, Harry. The ice worked its way closer, worming its way into the confusion. He left you...abandoned your mother. James Potter tried to save you, Harry. The chill slid onward. He was a father when it mattered. Where was Severus then, Harry?

He loves me. There was no confliction in the declaration. Harry had seen too much to doubt it and even as he felt his father's strength gathering more firmly around him, he knew it was unnecessary. It was you who took my father away, Harry spat through the wall his father had erected around them.

You cannot separate us, Severus added fiercely, his flames beginning to flick methodically against the chill as it pushed at them, insistent that he should grant it access to his son.

The ice did not pull away as it recalculated its assault.

The boy had many weaknesses, much to exploit. He was a foolish child. Guilt had haunted him once. The one he needed had caused much destruction...had killed the other. Had almost killed again...

Guilt would decimate him...

It was your fault, Voldemort crooned, his ice vibrating with his eagerness, the jagged shards moving closer together, coming forward so that they were almost caressing the one they wanted. He who was the completion of all that they were.

The flames lashed against the broken pieces, understanding Voldemort's ploy immediately. Leave him alone, Severus commanded harshly as his flame burned.

The glittering shards tapped against one another in admonishment toward the flames. He does not wish you to know the truth, Harry. He lied to you, the ice brushed against the nearly buried cloud. A smile formed where there was no substance. Yes, Harry...you told me everything when your thoughts were unguarded while you slept. It was your fault he was tortured. You did that to him.

The icy shards punctured the storm.

Harry was nothing but the grief that ran through him. He knew nothing but the trembling of the storm as the words froze him. Icicles tracked through his storm. He could feel his father's warming tendrils heating against the spears in desperation. So desperate that Harry knew Voldemort's words were true. It was because of him that his father had been tortured. It was his fault that his father had almost died.

No, Harry fluttered in confusion. Dad? he questioned, as the winds picks up, whirling in disorder. He didn't want it to be true.

He did it to me, Severus' flames roughened as they gnarled themselves around the shards as they dug deeper into Harry. You cannot blame yourself, Harry, he shouted over the howling winds of the cloud as it mourned.

Of course you should, Harry, the ice smoothed over the denial. It was you. It was your fault. Just as you killed the others. You are weak. You will always be weak.

Stop, the flames raged, twisting themselves around Harry in fiery anguish but the ice was too thick.

There was too much. Harry was numb. He could barely feel the heat of his father's flames around him. It was his fault. His father was tortured...nearly killed because of him. Just like Sirius. Just like Remus. He destroyed everything he touched. Ginny... He would destroy her as well.

It's my fault, the storm misted. I am weak, Harry whispered in agreement, so cold beside his father. The cloud was lightening, losing itself again. The darkness was calling to him. It wanted him. It needed him.

No Harry. Severus called him back with his gentle heat, only for the storm, even as he dug through it to seize the shards of Voldemort's soul. He would remove them. You are strong, the flames assured him. You brought me home again.

You killed your godfather...your werewolf would still be alive... The glacier was relentless, stabbing the storm where it was already fragile. Everything you touch, it whispered and Harry wavered with his indecision. Darkness held its own kind of peace...

Severus' flames became a blaze beside him.

You are coming with me, he ordered, the demand a crack against the dissipating storm. And Harry was himself again with the sharp command, familiar even in the void. This wanting was stronger than Voldemort's. The warmth was comforting, as it always was. I am not going to lose you, his father told him. He gathered the stretching cloud to him, tugging his son with gentle insistence back where he belonged, extracting the ice as he pulled.

No, the ice screeched as the sharp pieces crashed together. You are mine, the invading freeze screamed. And the shards grew together, melting and re-forming; a monstrous clawed hand reached out to Harry. Give back what is mine, the claw hissed at them, curling its frozen fingers as it reached toward the storm.

The fire reared sharply back, bringing Harry with him.

But the claw was raw power, moving with vigor, a sense of purpose which had always eluded him in the living world. The boy was his. The flames must be stopped.

Harry felt the seeping chill as it grabbed him; the newly formed claw was tangled now in his Dementor Storm. Mine, the detached appendage screamed as it scraped its talons in the rushing winds, looking for something, churning the storm to coal as it searched. And his father's flames were digging with all its heat beside the hand, trying to dislodge the ice that didn't belong here. But the ice was searching for the bit of him that he had lost so many years ago. He was relentless.

And he found it.

The iced digits closed around their lost shard, but it wasn't enough. He wanted all of him. All of this boy, who had cost him everything. And so he would take it.

Voldemort wrenched the boy away from his father.

No! Severus roared beside them both. The flames reared up against the ice, scorching it black with their anger. Fight, Harry! the fire commanded over the screeching of the ice. The storm clapped, finally having reached its limit. The storm broke, pounding the void with its drumming thunder.

Heat beat wildly against the ice. Lightening crashed against the glassy hand. Flame turned to inferno. Storm to hurricane. Together, they pelted Voldemort as he pulled against Harry--against them.

A crack, thin and jagged formed atop the icy claw; its fingers convulsed inside the cloud, gripping tighter. Severus dove for the fracture. Harry, he shouted. Lightening crashed between the split.

The ice shattered.

A great tearing, ripping sound rent the void as the claw ripped the cloud with the force of its grip; the storm cried out in agony. Severus moved without thought toward the division. He yanked the cloud back together as its halves swept toward the dark where the ice was flung. Its ripped claws were still huddled around their recovered shard. Severus wrapped himself completely around his son.

They watched as a great sucking kiss pulled the cold from them.

No! Voldemort's infuriated cry echoed through the void even as it grew softer and softer until it was only a memory from deep within the depths of the blackness beyond.

And then there was a lighter sound, a gentle hoosh, and Harry and Severus were being taken away from Voldemort, and away from the darkness. The muted light ahead was familiar to Severus. The mist was the same. The peace just as it had been.

Harry could see a mist surrounding them. A peace so perfect, filling him. The mist began to dissipate and Harry felt himself moving forward, toward the enticing shapes beyond.