The 25th of December

21 December

Wet snow pelts Harry's face.

He squints to shield his eyes from the assault.

"I stopped killing them, Harry."

Harry can't see Voldemort through the whipping snow.

"Entire families died waiting for the great Albus Dumbledore to give you up. Little children...even babies, Harry. Some of them were not yet as old as you when you first cheated me."

Harry doesn't understand.

He searches for Snape's face in the flakes of snow.

"I promised I would stop, once you were delivered to me," Voldemort's caressing voice continues as Harry's blinks to avoid the driving flakes. "But Dumbledore refused. And you were too safe--too protected at Hogwarts, or by those Muggle relatives. I could not take you."

Voldemort's voice seems to be moving in circles.

"And even now, when you are mine, you elude me, Harry."

Harry listens to the crunching of the snow. Voldemort is settling beside him.

Harry can't move his eyes enough to see him though.

"Why won't you die, Harry?"

Voldemort has already asked this question. Harry remembers.

"If I cannot kill you, how will you die?" Voldemort asks softly; his breath tickles Harry's ear. "I think, Harry," he whispers, "that you need to wish for it. You need to wish for your own death so fervently, that there is no other choice but for you to give in."

Voldemort's words are a lullaby; Harry wants to give in.

Harry sees Snape's face in his thoughts as he closes his eyes, telling him not to give up yet.

But Harry has no idea how long it will be until the prophecies can be fulfilled. He has lost track of time.

He hopes it won't be long now.

"You have nothing to add, Harry?" Voldemort asks. "You do not wish to know how I intend to make you beg for your own death?"

Voldemort's face is above his own now.

The ruby gaze makes the snow around them look crimson.

Harry wonders if Voldemort can see ambivalence in his eyes.

"More families will die until you give in, Harry. Other babies."

Harry sucks in clumps of wadded snow as he gasps.

Pain pricks his limbs as he struggles to breathe. Voldemort doesn't move as Harry wheezes.

And then Voldemort waits.

Harry pants; his heart is marching a dirge against his ribcage.

"You..." Harry coughs; pain spirals down his throat. "...can't."

Voldemort shakes his head. He looks sad. "I already have, Harry. And I will not stop until you are ready to give me what I want. I promise you, we both will want it."

"No." Harry's voice trembles but it doesn't lack in conviction. Voldemort is unmoved. He beckons to someone Harry can't see.

Maybe it's Snape.

"I have something to show you, Harry," Voldemort says calmly. He nods to the invisible person.

Large hands hook Harry under his armpits.

He is hauled to his feet.

"Bring him, Severus."

Harry has to force himself not to sag in relief.

"Move, Potter," Snape hisses from behind. He gives Harry a shove between his shoulder blades.

Harry stumbles, but Snape grips both of his arms again before he can fall.

Harry's legs feel like jelly.

He takes three wobbling steps before he realizes he feels no pain. And then he stops.

His lips part.

Harry begins to flail.

Bellatrix and another Death Eater are lazily carving designs into a man's bare chest with their wands; his eyes are open as he lays spread-eagled out on his blanket of snow.

His eyes are empty. A dead man stares at nothing.

A screaming woman writhes on the ground as a tall Death Eater points his wand at her chest.

But Harry can't take his eyes off the little boy. Lucius Malfoy holds the raven-headed toddler in his arms, almost cradling him.

The little boy is crying.

Voldemort moves toward him.

"Do not be afraid, little one," he soothes. "It will be over soon."

"No!" Harry struggles against the manacles around his biceps. "No!" he shouts hoarsely. He is pulled roughly against Snape's chest.

Snape's arms wind around him, ensnaring him.

"Be silent," Snape hisses.

A hiss is not supposed to be so desperate.

The little boy is sill crying.

And Harry wants to turn from it.

To hide his face.

But Snape's hold is unbreakable.

Harry closes his eyes, turning his head as much as Snape's arms will allow.

"Avada Kedavra."

Even through his eyelids, Harry can see the flash of green light.

"Cannot bear to witness that which you have sewn, Harry?"

Harry opens his eyes.

His breaths come fast and heavy.

"This is only a sample, Harry," Voldemort tells him. The dark humor is gone from his face. "We will find your friends. The Weasleys you love so much...and the Mudblood girl." Voldemort shifts his gaze to Snape. "So like you in that, Severus. And just like your little fascination, his will die at my hand as well."

Harry's breathing is cut off abruptly as Snape's arms tighten around him. But only for an instant, and then he feels Snape's wet hair brushing against his cheeks as Snape nods. "You are very wise, my Lord."

Voldemort smiles his lipless smile.

And then Voldemort's fingers are digging into Harry's chin as he forces Harry's face upward.

"I will kill as many of them as it takes."

Harry stares into the blood-red eyes.

He has never craved death so much.

"Take him back to his cell, Severus."

Harry doesn't struggle as Severus complies.

The woman is still screaming when Snape finally releases his bruising grip in the dark cell. Harry's muscles slump.

Snape catches him again, but this time, only to brace him with his upper body.

Snape slowly lowers both of them to the floor.

Harry is shaking; his tremors have nothing to do with the cold.

He moves his head until he can see Snape's face.

Snape is already staring down at him.

Harry can feel Snape's chest heaving almost uncontrollably against his own.

"You have to let him kill me."

Harry is startled by the anger in his own voice.

Snape purses his lips. "No." His lips do not move.

Harry's teeth knock against each other. "...killed...them," he chatters.

He tries to banish the little boy's face from his mind.

It is impossible.

"He will kill many more if you die," Snape snaps. His fingers tighten around Harry's arms as he says it.

Harry has no rebuttal.

He is the savior of the wizarding world.

"Ron and Hermione," he whispers. He turns away so Snape will not see the moisture in his eyes. Heroes do not cry.

"He will not find them."

Harry turns back to Snape. Snape has not looked away.

"Your friends are safe. Since they are part of the second prophecy, Dumbledore is seeing to their protection until it is over." Snape's faces cast in shadows again.

Harry studies the dark planes. The shadows, he decides pointless, make Snape look sad.

Harry gathers as much spittle as he can before swallowing it down to soothe his throat. "Tell them..." he has to look away again, "...tell them I wasn't hurt." Harry didn't want anyone to know he'd suffered; it would only hurt his friends.

Snape raises his wand and poises the tip just above Harry's mouth. "Tell them yourself." He waves his wand in a tiny arc. "Aguamenti."

The fire in Harry's throat is extinguished in the next instant. "I told you...the prophecy," Harry begins wearily, wishing he didn't have to use up his soothed throat to explain this to Snape.

"There is no antidote for the potion," Snape tells him curtly. Harry's mouth opens. Snape leans in close to Harry's face.

Harry snaps his lips closed as Snape's breaths make puffs of white air between them; the shadows are gone from his face.

"The potion may well be stronger than the Prophecy."

Harry wonders how Snape could have forgotten how the potion worked; even through everything, Harry remembers. "But you have to want-" he begins to remind Snape.

"I understand very well the requirements of the potion, Potter," Snape interrupts brusquely.

Harry falls silent once more.

Snape looks away from Harry's gaze, toward the barred door, without giving Harry a chance to respond.

Harry cannot see his face, but he knows Snape is watching for their enemies.

His hands are still secure around Harry's arms.