A Reflection of Himself

The days of spring stretched themselves longer and longer as the amount of daylight grew, and even though there was plenty of rain, there was also plenty of sunshine, making for an especially beautiful season. As April neared its end, the fifth and seventh year students began preparing for their respective O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, spending much of their time studying around the lake under the shadow of trees.

Harry tried to concentrate on the Charms text that was open across his lap, the sun shining down between the branches onto the words. He kept glancing off in the distance towards Hogsmeade, though, wondering what Sirius was doing right at the moment. He had been informed of Sirius's findings a few days prior, but had come to find them out secondhand through Dumbledore. When he had first heard of Sirius's visit to Hogwarts, he had been enraged.

"But why didn't you tell me right away?" he had insisted, balling his fists, his face turning red with anger. "He was right here, and you didn't think to come get me?"

Dumbledore had sighed at Harry's tone. "I am sorry, my boy, but you must realize the risk of Sirius's even being in the castle in the first place, let alone drawing out his time here further by inviting you into the room. I fear you two would have wound up spending more time together than would have been safe."

Harry had frowned deeply. "Rubbish. What d'you think he's doing all day and night in that deserted dump? He's probably bored out of his mind, not to mention lonely."

At that moment, Harry had slumped into one of the chairs in Dumbledore's office and had begun rubbing his temples. Dumbledore had taken the seat next to him and had murmured, "With your triumph in the near future, Harry, this will all be over. Sirius will be free when Peter Pettigrew is brought in to the Ministry. You will finally be able to live your live without the burden you have had to bear for so long."

Harry had not fully believed those words. "Maybe. And what of you, sir?" His green eyes had probed Dumbledore's blue ones, searching for some hidden meaning there.

"Only time will tell."

Now, sitting by the lake, not too far removed from his friends, and not at all removed from his thoughts on the looming doom of the war, Harry found himself once again frowning over Dumbledore's cryptic messages.

Only time will tell.

Harry considered this.

I've been waiting for what feels like an eternity. Isn't it time that time answered?

The next evening, time answered. Harry awoke with severe pain shooting straight through his scar and into his head. Grabbing his head, he tried to force the feeling away, but it was too physical to be countered. His scar had been prickling most of the day, but now, this was too much.

Avoiding the stares of other students, Harry returned to the castle and went straight to Dumbledore.

"When did this start?" the Headmaster inquired.

"Just a few minutes ago," Harry said between clenched teeth.

"I think the time has come," Dumbledore stated gravely, awfully sure that Snape was finally being summoned. "Two drunken men were right."

Harry didn't have a chance to ask before passing out from the sheer intensity of the excruciating pain.

While in the middle of grading essays, Snape felt his Dark Mark burn in a way it hadn't since Voldemort's return nearly three years ago. Taking a deep breath, trying to instill calm in himself, he closed up his office and went to his quarters to fetch his robe and mask. Leaving through the door Sirius had entered a few nights previously, Snape left Hogwarts and made his way across the grounds, trying to remember everything Dumbledore and he had discussed regarding bringing Voldemort to them on their own terms.

As he left the grounds and disapparated, he wondered if his words would be convincing. When he reappeared at the destination to which he was being summoned, Snape gauged his surroundings. Instead of being in the middle of a dark forest or a cavern, they were gathered inside none other than the infamous Riddle house, where Voldemort, then just a teenager by the name of Tom Riddle, had murdered his father and grandparents.

Around the room, Death Eaters were lining the walls, almost hidden in the shadows of the dimly illuminated room. Instead of the usual murmurings and occasional harsh laughs, they were all deadly silent. Standing like statues, they did not move, did not speak, and barely seemed to breathe. As Snape walked toward his place in the circle, he could feel the air crawling over his skin, making him shiver with anticipation and forboding.

Wondering if his slight flinch had been noticed, Snape took his place among the ranks. Now was not a time for messing up everything Dumbledore and he had worked so hard for. Before Snape had a moment to think another thought, Lord Voldemort stepped into the center of the circle, seemingly forming out of nothingness as his black robe emerged from the blackness encircling the room.

"Greetings, my minions," he murmured, his hood drawn over his pallid face, making only his crimson eyes visible.

No one said anything, as to even simply reply to Voldemort in greeting was grounds for punishment with the Cruciatus or other such dreadful, painful curses.

"Things are going well," Voldemort continued, "and we are well on our way to victory, many thanks to the loyalty of many of you. However, some have disappointed. Bellatrix has gone mysteriously missing after I gave her a most important task, and if it has led to her death, which I am quite sure it has, since I have heard nothing of her whereabouts and can feel nothing of her presence, then she deserved what she got in the end. Anyone who fails to do my bidding deserves nothing short of death." He hissed the last word venomously, as if savoring its juicy flavor.

Voldemort began to lazily walk the inner perimeter of the circle of Death Eaters, continuing on still with his no doubt practiced speech. "Dumbledore is weakened. If we are to strike, the time of fruition is drawing near. If the old man truly thinks that fool of a little boy, Harry Potter, can defeat the likes of me, he will be gravely mistaken." He laughed a terrible, high-pitched shriek.

Snape felt his insides jolt at the very sound of it, and he wondered what had happened to him. Was he going soft, or had he already done so? By opening up to people like Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, and even Sirius Black over the past couple of years, had he lost his ability to keep his mind a blank canvas in front of the Dark Lord? Quickly wiping the slate clean, Snape stared impassively on.

Now, the inevitable happened. Voldemort addressed Snape, and Snape stepped forward. "Welcome, Severus. Now, surely you remember what I asked of you last time I saw you, correct?" Voldemort gave Snape a shrewd, calculating look, which prompted him to nod slightly.

"Answer me with speech," Voldemort demanded.

"Yes, Master," Snape replied automatically.

"Good," Voldemort hissed. "Well, then, what have you to tell me?"

"The wards around Hogwarts grow weaker as Dumbledore grows weaker, my lord. You are right, of course, in saying that the old fool of a man is growing ever weaker. He is old and worn out and surely incapable of fighting someone as brilliant and powerful as you. If you attack the school forthrightly, you would strike at the heart of the place where Dumbledore always thought his students and he would be protected. Harry Potter would not stand a chance if you killed the old man first."

"Attack Hogwarts?" Voldemort inquired smoothly. "The idea has much merit, mostly because I had already been thinking along those exact same lines. Are you telling me, then, that if I do away with Dumbledore, Potter's death will be child's play?"

"Yes, Master," Snape replied.

Regarding Snape skeptically, Voldemort legilimized his mind. Already arranged scenes feigned by Dumbledore and Snape played out for the Dark Lord, ones where Dumbledore admitted his weakness and wondered if he could survive much longer. In the memories, Dumbledore was telling Snape that it he died, he feared greatly for Harry Potter's life, thinking the boy to be unprepared to face Voldemort. Also, Dumbledore expressed his greatest fear of Hogwarts being attacked.

"Excellent," Voldemort hissed, sounding rather pleased. "You have... done well, Severus. When shall we arrange for this little battle to take place?"

Snape replied evenly, "How about on the eve of the very day Potter lost his pathetic godfather two years ago? He has been deeply wounded and affected ever since that day. The loss of Dumbledore would be appropriate, wouldn't you say, my lord?"

"Indeed, I do," Voldemort agreed. "I like your idea very much. Well done. You have proven your loyalties to me, and I can assure you, after this battle, you will be greatly rewarded."

Snape bowed, kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe, and stepped back into the ranks. The rest of the meeting went over well, now that Voldemort seemed truly pleased that he had the information he needed to ensure the endings of both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter.

After the Death Eater meeting ended, Snape returned to Hogwarts to report to Dumbledore. By this time, the hour had grown very late, so practically everyone was asleep in the castle. Going to the Headmaster's office, Snape gave the gorgoyle the password and entered, feeling drained and wondering if he had truly managed to trick the Dark Lord.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him, "I'm relieved to see that you are all right. I trust everything went according to plan, then?"

Snape took a seat and nodded. "So it would seem, although I have a hard time believing the Dark Lord is not lying to me."

Dumbledore was no fool. "Yes, yes, there is that to consider. Well, perhaps you ought to tell me exactly everything that was exchanged between the two of you."

"Very well," sighed Snape. He then went through the details of the conversation he had had with Voldemort and everything that was said, how the attack was to be at Hogwarts, how Dumbledore would need to be sacrificed first, and then Harry.

Dumbledore seemed oddly pleased.

"If you may excuse me for saying so, sir," Snape said with a trace of concern in his voice, "what makes you think this is the best plan? Everything about it seems far too risky."

Not wanting to voice his thoughts that Dumbledore could indeed be killed, Snape kept them silent and hidden in the deepest recesses of his multi-layered mind, afraid that voicing them would make them real.

"There is always a risk involved," Dumbledore said wisely. "All the proper arrangements will be made. The moment the attack strikes and the wards are broken, an alarm will sound throughout the school, which will alert everyone to find the nearest painting and touch it. Every painting within this castle and every tree outside the castle will have been actived into a portkey and will transfer the students safely to an undisclosed location and will only transport students and staff from Hogwarts. They will be chaperoned by many of the staff as well. The members of the Order will also be alerted and will be granted privileges of being able to apparate directly into the castle. Harry and any willing student, such as those in his army, will be able to stay and fight should they wish."

"But they're just students," Snape protested.

"Well-trained students, the best ones we have against the Dark Arts, and we will need all the help we can get."

Not convinced, Snape wished the Headmaster a good night and returned to the dungeons.

The necessary preparations were made, and the following day, Dumbledore informed everyone during breakfast as to the plan. Several of the students, especially the young ones, looked terrified. Some of them owled their parents, deeply distraught and unnerved by Dumbledore's plan, and soon thereafter, Howlers began arriving. Dumbledore tried to assure the parents that no place was truly safe anymore, but when some of them insisted on removing their children from Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the rest of the staff were left with little choice but to grant their wishes. He only hoped they would be as safe and secure within their own homes as they would have been at school.

May arrived, and before Harry knew it, the last Quidditch match was being held, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor won, of course, and once again, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup for the year. Harry had a difficult time, though, keeping his mind on his studies and Quidditch. When not even flying could distract his wary mind, he knew that something was terribly wrong with him. That something was more like someone - Voldemort.

Like Snape, Harry was not convinced that Voldemort would attack on a designated day. His scar always was hurting him nowadays, and most of the time, he was able to numb himself to it almost entirely.

"Does Dumbledore have a death wish?" Ron asked one afternoon while they were outside near the lake.

Hermione glanced up from her book. "Do you really think he has much of a choice, Ron?"

"I dunno," he mumbled, chewing on his quill. "You'd just think he'd use more tact. He's risking putting a lot of students in danger. Mum was steaming with anger when she found out."

Hermione harrumphed. "Well, I think Dumbledore knows what he's going. He's always meant well and led us in the right direction."

"Oh, yeah?" Ron challenged. "What about hiring Crouch, Jr. as a Polyjuiced Moody? What about his decision to keep Harry and Sirius 'protected?'"

Harry tried hard to ignore his friends. He really wasn't in the mood to listen to their bickering, not when an attack could happen at any minute. Ginny, noticing Harry's apparent discomfort, came over to him and placed an arm around him.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled.

Ginny just smiled and squeezed tighter.

Day passed into evening and into nightfall. Students were headed to bed, leaving Harry and his friends among the last in the common room. There was a big lull in the conversation, for all that was on everyone's minds was the imminent attack. After sitting there for a while and staring into the emptiness, they wished each other good night and headed to their respective beds.

Harry felt like he would fall over from sheer exhaustion the moment his head hit the pillow. Oddly enough, he fell asleep fairly quickly and began dreaming. At first, his dreams were good dreams, doing things like flying and spending time with Ginny, but then, he felt a shiver move down and up his spine. The air turned deathly cold, and he could see his breath in front of him.

Glancing around in the darkness, he saw two red eyes glaring back at him. In a rushing instant of insanity, his eyes jolted open to his scar searing with white-hot pain, and all around him, an alarm was sounding.

Harry wasted not a moment in grabbing his glasses and wand. Clad in his pajamas, he made for the door.

Voldemort had arrived.