After the Storm.

'What's up laddie?' came a voice from the chess set in the pocket of Harry's robes.

Harry was flying fast through a pocket of rock and trees that forced a loop in the Hogsmeade road. 'Voldemort's got Ron. I've agreed to exchange myself for him,' he told the chessmen as he swung fast around a stand of young birch, keeping low to avoid observation from Hogwarts. He did not want to be stopped before he reached his objective, still minutes away.

'They know about us,' said another voice that Harry identified as the Black Queen. 'You should be aware that the chess set's animus is its owner. If it was taken from you, it could be used for dark purposes.' She sounded worried.

Flying instinctively, Harry's whirling mind seized upon the questions posed by the chess set. Just how "human" are they? he asked himself. They certainly seemed to have the capacity for enjoyment and now they seemed to be afraid. And despite the fact that a large part of the set's power was dark magic acquired from the Grimmauld place, it seemed that what the pieces were afraid of was being used for evil purposes. Harry wondered if that was because they belonged to him or if it had it to do with whoever had made them. Perhaps they just liked the opportunities for acquisition that Harry represented. Or feared destruction. He didn't know, but he would not force them. Could something made by wizards truly be self aware? Harry asked himself. What about the Sorting Hat? He swung round to follow the course of a burn that was heading in the right direction.

'I'm not taking you,' said Harry. 'What I want you to do is take care of Ron and make sure he gets back to Hogwarts ok. Will you do that? Look after my friends until I come back?'

'Aye laddie. We can do that.'

'If yuh don' come back, can we still belong tu yuh?' asked another voice lugubriously.

'If that's what you want.'

Wand in hand, Harry touched down in the middle of the crossroads. Almost immediately Ron appeared, looking dazed, with a Death Eater on either side of him. 'Finite incantatum!' said Harry and Ron was suddenly alert.

'Imper . . .' Finding a pike point beneath his throat the Death Eater broke off suddenly. 'You said you'd come quietly,' he protested.

'I was promised that Ron would be unharmed,' said Harry.

'Harry, no!' yelped Ron suddenly realising what was happening.

'We've discussed this,' said Harry. 'It's me the bastard's after. The reports in the "Prophet" were bad enough. I wasn't prepared to sit at Hogwarts while they sent you back in little pieces. Even to try would be a sort of suicide. That's not who I am.' Harry threw the chess box at Ron who caught it automatically. 'Take care of this for me until I get back.'

'And if you don't come back?' demanded Ron furiously.

'Get the Hogwarts Houses working together. Defeat Riddle.'

The four of them had discussed, argued and analysed the Prophesy for days. Eventually they had concluded that while 'one' might fail to defeat the Dark Lord, and die in the attempt, this didn't mean that 'many' could not subsequently succeed.

'And Malfoy?' growled Ron.

'It wasn't his fault, any more than what happened to me at the Ministry,' said Harry.

'You didn't let Voldemort possess you,' argued Ron, seizing Harry's shoulders as though physically to restrain him.

The Death Eater, who had spoken previously, interrupted; thrusting a wooden rod at Harry. 'Shut up and take this.'

Harry raised his wand threateningly but otherwise ignored the man. 'Neither did Malfoy but Voldemort was stronger. Voldemort couldn't hold me when I thought about you and Hermione; couldn't stand contact with my mind any more than Quirrel could stand touching me. Malfoy isn't lucky enough to have friends like that. He didn't have Dumbledore to rescue him. And I don't think he's very happy with Voldemort right now.' Impulsively Harry grabbed Ron and hugged him. Ron returned the embrace but, when they let go, there was despair in his eyes.

'You can do it,' said Harry. Not breaking eye contact he let his fingers touch the rod. The usual unpleasant effects of Portkey usage followed and Harry found himself kneeling on the chequer-tiled floor of a torch-lit antechamber. In front of the wide, double-doored entrance to the main chamber, obviously waiting for them, were a number of figures in black robes and silver masks.

'Harry,' said Bellatrix sweetly, removing her mask. 'Crucio!'

Terrible as it was, the pain lasted only seconds. As his own wand was pulled from his fingers, Harry looked up to find that the Death Eater from his escort who had not yet spoken had twisted Bellatrix's wand from her hand and was tucking it into his cloak. 'That was foolish, Bella,' said Lucius Malfoy.

Shakily, Harry got up and Malfoy pushed him towards the doors that opened as they approached. Within lay a large room constructed of stone. Darkness lay behind pillars enclosing circular steps that led up from a wide open floor at the far end of which reposed an enormous black throne. On it sat the man who had been Tom Riddle: the wizard who called himself "Lord Voldemort". On the floor in front of him, in a dark robed circle knelt his followers. At the far end, the circle was broken by a pair of magical fires on the floor in front of the throne; at the near end by a gap through which the reception party approached the throne. Poser thought Harry, twisting away as Malfoy attempted to push him to his knees.

'Bellatrix,' said Voldemort pleasantly, 'come here and bring the Portkey.' As she obeyed, the others bowed and slipped silently to their places in the circle. Removing her mask, Bellatrix knelt on the steps before the throne and, eyes bent downwards, offered up the wooden rod. Voldemort took it and brought it sharply across her face.

Shocked, Harry stared at Voldemort but Bellatrix, blood dripping from her white face, did not react at all.

Voldemort smiled at Harry. This is what I do to my followers, his expression said, how much more will I do to you?

'You disobeyed me Bella,' said Voldemort. She stiffened. 'As the first part of your punishment you will have to miss our little entertainment. Go home and wait with your sister.' She stood, but not upright. Still bowing, Bellatrix crept backwards towards the doors which opened to allow her out.

'Arbor mortis!' shrilled Voldemort and, with a scream of tortured metal, an iron spike thrust itself out of the stone floor beside Harry. Like the shoot of some weird plant, it began to sprout branches and tendrils that wrapped themselves around Harry, lifting him off the ground and turning him towards the throne, the tendrils twisting and tightening, forcing Harry's head backwards. 'Enough,' said Voldemort getting up from his throne and coming closer to examine his captive. 'Harry Potter,' he said idly, 'the "Boy Who Lived", the one they all trust to save them. And he will. He will. Harry Potter will destroy the Dark Lord Voldemort and such a hero will deserve anything he wants. He won't need Death Eaters; he'll have Aurors, the whole Ministry of Magic and eventually the world. And he will be generous to his former enemies; he will forgive their mistakes and purge the ones who are truly responsible. What do you think about that Harry Potter?'

There could be no doubt that Voldemort was enjoying himself hugely. During his adversary's speech Harry had been clearing his mind as he had been taught and separating his thoughts. While the higher levels of his consciousness were filled with a deep roiling fury, in some abyss far beneath, the quiet voice of his internal auditor maintained a stillness.

'YOU TRIED THAT BEFORE YOU STUPID SOD,' yelled Harry. 'YOU TRIED TO POSSESS ME AND YOU COULDN'T DO IT.'

'Ah, yes,' replied Voldemort, 'but this time you won't be there to stop me, will you?' Laughing he flicked his wand towards the doors which Harry heard open. Harry did not need to see what was coming into the room. He could feel it. As the Death Eaters shrunk toward the floor and Harry froze in terror, Voldemort laughed again. 'Kiss him,' he said.

'Be still,' said the quiet deep within him as the Dementor slipped into view, and Harry fought to get free of the constraining metal. 'Wait,' he told himself, as the insane laughter was drowned by his mother's screaming and the hood was lifted from the Dementor's awful rotted visage. 'Wait!' as it leant in towards him, but Harry could stand it no longer. His eyes closed reflexively and then he was standing behind himself, watching the nauseating expression of cruelty and greed on the Dark Lord's reptilian face. He could not look at the Dementor.

'Go now,' said Voldemort and the creature slid obediently away, although Harry could not help but think that it seemed confused. He moved forward to look at his own face that was now slack jawed and drooling. Vacant, he thought. Voldemort returned to his throne, staring with avid pleasure at the body of his victim. 'My loyal supporters you may go and begin the celebrations. You will be called for the ritual.' He waved one hand vaguely and, starting with those furthest from the throne, the Death Eaters crept out in the same manner as Bellatrix had.

'Wormtail,' said Voldemort.

Silently, from behind the great throne, came something that Harry did not immediately recognise. Emaciated and bald, he did not walk but crept on his knees to prostrate himself before his master and offer him a glass part filled with some cloudy liquid. Voldemort gestured and Pettigrew rose to his knees to hand the potion to him. 'You may begin work on that,' said Voldemort, sipping from the glass.

As Pettigrew approached the metal tree, it began to sink back into the ground releasing Harry's body. With difficulty, Pettigrew lifted the body over his shoulder and carried it behind the throne and down a narrow flight of stairs that had been hidden by the mass of the throne itself. Harry followed to find a small, dim chamber set up as a potions laboratory. Between two long wooden work benches lay something like a large glass coffin half full of what looked like the same cloudy liquid that Voldemort was ingesting. Pettigrew laid Harry's body onto one of the benches and began to undress it. Sickened, Harry decided find out what else was going on.

Voldemort was still sipping from his glass and giggling. Ignoring the disquieting noise, Harry crossed the throne room and emerged through the doors into the antechamber. Drawn by the sound of voices he followed them down the corridor to a room comfortably furnished with card-tables, book cases, comfortable chairs and even a billiard table. There were also small tables with glasses and bottles of brandy. Harry watched and listened to some of the conversations. He was surprised at how mundane the Death Eaters were without their masks. Harry thought the room resembled a London Club he had once seen in a film on the television. Apart from the fear.

Malfoy was sitting in a chair by the fireplace, seemingly distracted. Certainly the others were giving him a wide berth. A house-elf appeared kneeling beside his chair, whispering to him and, with a sharp glance, Malfoy stood up. 'If you will excuse me for a few moments?' he drawled. Determinedly casual acknowledgments met the host's slight bow. Harry followed him out and along the corridor, up a staircase and through several formal rooms until he reached a pleasant, sun-lit space, where he found Snape waiting with the same odd glitter in his eyes that Harry had seen the day of the Triwizard Tournament.

'Severus, can you truly believe that it was wise to come here?' asked Malfoy.

'I found that I did not have a choice,' replied Snape. He pulled a sheet of parchment from his robes and offered it to Malfoy, who took it and glanced at it.

'Potions ingredients?' he queried.

'Potions ingredients, some of which are rather unusual and have been acquired recently by an unknown purchaser.

'Indeed?'

'Perhaps I could speak with whichever of your house-elves is responsible for household supplies.'

Malfoy's face hardened. 'Why?'

Snape took a deep breath. 'As far as I am aware, this particular combination is used in only one potion: a concoction so dark as not to possess a name. It is used to facilitate the transfer of souls.'

'Yes,' returned Malfoy warily. 'The Dark Lord has had Potter kissed. He proposes to occupy the body.'

Snape's black eyes closed for a moment, then he asked softly: 'Has he begun the procedure?'

'Yes. We are to be called back for the ritual.'

'If the Dark Lord does not use too much magic, Potter may last as long as ten or fifteen years,' said Snape. 'While he is unlikely unduly to restrain himself, he will still have sufficient time to consolidate his hold on power. By the time he needs a replacement he will be entirely unopposed. Subsequent transfers, however, will not be as sustainable as the first. Once a year might suffice, if he is moderate.' Snape faced Malfoy. 'There are not enough of us.'

'He'll use mudbloods.'

'Do you really think so?' asked Snape. 'Well, perhaps he will try to use them first. And perhaps not. Lucius, we joined him to protect our own kind, our heritage, our families, but the majority of his victims have been pure-blooded.' Snape gazed at a large mirror overhanging the fireplace. 'And do you really believe that he won't take the very best that is available to him?'

Malfoy followed Snape's gaze. 'Draco,' he breathed, horrified.

'Draco,' confirmed Snape.

'What can we do?' asked Malfoy. 'It is our magic he's using to cheat death, the only way to stop that would be to . . . '

'To make that energy unavailable,' Snape concluded. He might have been talking about the weather. 'We have to force him to deal with his own death by himself.'

'Well, we're here,' muttered Lucius. 'What would you recommend?'

Snape threw back his travelling robe to reveal what looked like a thickly padded jacket. 'Muggle explosive, packed with poisonous shrapnel. The merest scratch is generally fatal in seconds. If I can get close enough it should be sufficient to render his present body untenable. The potion will weaken him,' Snape's jaw tightened 'and without the support of the Death Eaters he is mortal.'

Malfoy nodded slowly and then strolled stiffly to stand in the sunlight that was pouring in through the windows. 'How is my son?' he asked.

'Rather shaken, but Potter and the others exonerated him.'

'I know,' said Malfoy, almost sadly. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair as though thinking and then snapped his fingers. Immediately a house-elf appeared on its knees before him. Malfoy dropped the potions list and the terrified creature caught it. 'What has been done with these items?' demanded Malfoy.

'In the Rat-wizard's work-room,' the house-elf quaked.

'Go,' said Malfoy, and the elf was gone. 'I'm sorry Severus but, insane as he undoubtedly is, Dumbledore can be tricky. How much influence have you there anyway.'

'I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix,' replied Snape with a slight shrug.

'Are you, indeed?' Malfoy smirked and then his features fell into something that might have been regret.

'You could just leave,' suggested Snape.

Malfoy shook his head. 'You have a much better chance of getting close enough to . . . Riddle if I take you to him.'

'Is it still possible to apparate within the main chamber?' asked Snape.

'Yes,' replied Malfoy, 'but not out of it. Try not to splinch yourself.'

Snape's mouth twitched. 'I have become, perforce, rather expert at avoiding explosions. How shall I warn you?'

'And warn him?' said Malfoy. 'No. Just get yourself clear. Take care of the children.' He smoothed his robes. 'Tell Draco.' he added quietly. Snape nodded and put one hand on Malfoy's back.

Malfoy straightened, smiled his remorseless, pureblood smile and turned towards the doors. 'Time for a drink with a few old friends?'

Harry followed the men back down towards the throne room until, quite abruptly, they stopped to exchange glances and then Malfoy rubbed his left arm. 'Sorry, no time for the drink,' he said. He held out his hand towards Snape who took it. 'Goodbye,' said Malfoy.

In the antechamber, the other Death Eaters were already waiting. Malfoy preceded them in, his hand on Snape's elbow. Snape appeared terrified, not raising his eyes he stumbled across the throne room to fall onto his knees before the Dark Lord. 'Master,' he whispered. Having escorted him to Voldemort, Malfoy bowed and slipped smoothly into his own place leaving Snape kneeling directly in front of the throne.

'Severus,' said Voldemort. 'Did the old fool sent you here after his favourite?'

'Yes,' hissed Snape, crouching lower.

'Stand,' said Voldemort.

Snape obeyed carefully. He kept his eyes turned toward the ground. 'I know the prophecy,' he offered.

'Indeed?' demanded Voldemort. 'A little late, perhaps,' he sneered, 'but tell me anyway.'

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not . . . and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . .'

'Well Potter is gone,' said Voldemort. His red eyes gleamed with vicious amusement as he considered Snape. 'And you are here. Look at me.' But as Snape obeyed, an immense explosion ripped through the throne room bringing down some of the columns and a large part of the ceiling.

Afterwards, apart from the small noises of settling masonry, there was no sound at all for a while until, clothes grey with dust, Snape emerged from behind a pillar. His face expressionless, he began to pick his way, across the debris strewn floor, towards the fires now burning atop the rubble of the throne from which a low buzzing, ominously like a disturbed wasp's nest had commenced. It quickly became louder and then a nebulous darkness, like a swarm of tiny flies, rose up from the broken stone. Harry could see a trickle of blood from Snape's ear and realised that he must be deafened. Neither did he appear to notice the shadowy swarm now drifting toward him.

'SNAPE!' yelled Harry unheard. He tried to intercept him but, inches in front of his face, Harry remained unseen. The cloud was getting ever closer and in sudden desperation Harry plunged his head into the professor's. Snape jerked back so hard that he fell sprawling and, when he got up, he fled out into the antechamber to disapparate immediately. Still within the devastated throne room, floating in midair, Harry curled up into himself and wondered how someone could be so afraid and still function. Even Harry's earlier panic, when the Dementor had tried to kiss him, had not approached the dreadful extent of what he had experienced when he had touched the former Death Eater. Harry realised that only the strength of Snape's will, reinforced by the sheer intensity of his rage, had allowed him to walk into the throne room.

When he was next able to pay attention, the swarm had altered direction towards the potions laboratory behind the throne. Trying not to look at the still bleeding bits of people in the rubble, Harry slipped swiftly down, through the partially blocked the shaft, into the gloomy chamber into which Pettigrew had taken his body.

Looking half stunned Pettigrew was standing beside the glass coffin, with the 'Star of Grace' in his hand and staring at it, as if to interrogate the stone. Then, with an expression of horror, he turned to face the steps up to the throne room.

Harry could hear buzzing, the sound distorted by the stairway and getting louder, and then he could see the greater darkness emerging from the doorway following a pulsing thread that ran from Pettigrew's dark mark. Behind the approaching horror other threads stretched away but they were much thinner, almost insubstantial. "Time and distance matter in magic," Snape had said and the few remaining marked ones were distant. Pettigrew could not apparently see what was coming but could hear something because he started to edge away, turning his head from side to side, until his silver hand shot out to anchor him to the heavy wooden table.

Pettigrew dropped the stone and the man became a rat that squealed in abject terror, still held by its silver paw. The rat seemed quite able to see what pursued it. Pettigrew resumed his human form and picked up a long narrow knife from the table, and laid it against his wrist, ready to sever the silver hand but as the blade touched his skin he stopped; suddenly very still.

For the space of several heartbeats the former Marauder gazed at the knife and then he put it down.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured and picking up the talisman, he placed it gently on the coffin lid. Then he picked up the knife and drove it unwaveringly up under his ribs and into his heart. The dark thread connecting him to Voldemort greyed to invisibility and then the darkness, very slowly, began to inch toward the coffin. There was something in the coffin that it didn't take long for Harry to identify as his own body. Harry knew immediately that he could not allow Voldemort to possess it and slid through the glass and into himself. Disorientated he tried to breath but his lungs were full of liquid, tried to sit up but could not escape the coffin and then he was lying on sand with the web of souls twisting in the sky above him; an incredible blue denoting the beginning or the end of twilight.