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Last Wish	By : Monica Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Last Wish
- 1
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and am not making a profit oft of this. Every-wonderful-thing else belongs to J. K. Rowling.
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Last Wish
Chapter One
No Turning
A small rain was falling insistently on the sleeping town, oddly filtered through city lights. It was well past three in the morning and a tall figure made its way unerringly through the maze-like streets, holding a package. As it walked past street after street the setting grew more desolate, until it was seemingly devoid of life. Small buildings were cluttered against each other, most of them condemned. The few that were still inhabitable had steel bars on every window, leaving no question as to what sort of neighbourhood it was. Even that did not deter the figure, who entered one of the condemned buildings without hesitation. It was not its first time here and it was sure that, unlike many of the other buildings, there were no clandestine occupants in this one. Slow but determinedly, it opened the package and began to change into a sinister garb. As the last piece was put on, a hood that hid its wearer’s identity completely, the figure took a flask, gulped its contents and vanished, leaving it behind along with a bundle that were its previous clothes.
---
The sun was already high in the sky when the figure reappeared inside the building. Its appearance had changed completely; whereas it had once seemed sure and determined, it now wobbled and twisted oddly, like a puppet on a string. With visible effort, it collected the bundle and the empty flask and disappeared once more.
---
On a backroom inside the Three Broomsticks, Minerva McGonagall awaited patiently. There were dark lines etched even deeper than usual in her face, betraying her concern. Although she normally attempted to maintain a somewhat calmer demeanour, the events of that night had completely destroyed her self control. First it had been Harry Potter, one of her very own Gryffindors, to disappear along with Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuf boy who showed such promise... the relief of Harry’s return had been short-lived, for it had been followed by the realisation of Cedric’s untimely demise. Then the shock of discovering that the Alastor Moody in whom she had trusted for nearly an entire school year with the students’ lives was none other than a convicted and murderous Death Eater was augmented a thousand fold by his disturbing testimony, given under the influence of one of the strongest batches of Veritaserum Severus Snape had ever produced. Voldemort had returned. At that point she had pushed all other thoughts aside to concern herself exclusively with Harry’s well being. When she was feeling slightly safer again that idiot, Cornelius Fudge, had waltzed into Hogwarts accompanied by nothing less than a Dementor and it had... it had... She shuddered involuntarily just by evoking the image of the Dementor’s kiss, the knowledge that it was sucking Barty Crouch’s very own soul making her stomach turn inside of her. Not only had Fudge effectively destroyed any convincing evidence of Voldemort’s return, as he had also willingly - she was sure of that - done so by committing something worst than murder, only to protect his position. She thanked mentally for Albus Dumbledore, without whom she was sure the entire wizarding world, most likely shortly followed by its muggle counterpart, would plunge into chaos.
And then, just as she believed things couldn’t possibly get any worse, Sus had hurried off to what seemed certain death, putting his faith and fate in some ill-devised plan he an Albus had thought of long ago and that was sure to leave him in a very sorry condition if it even worked at all.
Which brought her to her present situation: here she was, at the Three Broomsticks, hoping against hope that Severus would apparate there as programmed, and that she could take him to Hogwarts alive, if not well. She had been waiting for nine and a half hours, too nervous to even doze, and she had no indication whatsoever as to whether he would arrive within the minute, the hour or at all. She took another sip of water, not really thirsty, and once again reinforced the charms on the room: a silencing charm, a privacy charm and a couple of wards thrown in for good measure. Hogsmeade was, after all, a lot fuller than usual, with all of the people who had turned up to watch the Tri Wizard Cup final - parents, friends, parent’s friends... she couldn’t risk anyone wondering in uninvited.
She had just finished placing the last ward when a faint "pop" was heard behind her, followed by a dull thump. Severus Snape dropped to the ground, unconscious but alive.
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Having covered the Potions Master with an invisibility cloak, Minerva muttered "Mobilicorpus" to move him. It was going to be a long walk to Hogwarts.
---
Poppy Pomfrey paced her ward nervously. She had tended to Severus’ more obvious wounds and given him a Potion for Dreamless Sleep but, as to the after-effects of the Cruciatus, there was nothing she could do. Even in a sleep she knew to be dreamless, the wizard’s body still spasmed from time to time. Her helplessness in face of the situation angered her to no end. She didn’t know what exactly had been through the Headmaster’s mind for him to have allowed Severus to go despite Voldemort knowing so clearly of his betrayal - how could he not know after living in the back of Quirrel’s head for so long? After watching time and time again Severus protecting Harry Potter? And, thinking of Harry Potter, she had better put up some wards, lest he discovered his Potions Master lying wounded in bed after having attended the first Voldemort-presided Death Eater gathering in fourteen years. How Severus had survived was beyond her.
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For the second time in less than twenty-four hours Poppy Pomfrey paced her ward. She was used to having free reign over her patients, and even the Headmaster usually did not interfere with her decisions, so it came as quite a shock that he had allowed Severus out of bed, requested it even. When she had walked in to discover him nearly dressed, claiming he had to report immediately to Albus, she had hoped, if not believed, a simple reprimand would remedy the situation; seeing it didn’t, she had asked the Headmaster, being the only person Severus ever obeyed to, to talk some since into him. The grave and saddened look she received in return wasn’t the answer she had been looking for. The weight of the world seemed to rest upon the old wizard’s shoulders as he had simply stated that Severus did, in fact, need to report immediately; invaluable information could be lost if he didn’t. She could only hope it was worth it.
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Sitting with his eyes closed on a chair in his office, Albus Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt old, indescribably old, older than even Nicholas Flamel had been. Although Voldemort’s return hadn’t been completely unexpected, it had been a hard blow, even harder considering it had meant Cedric Diggory’s death. At least Severus had returned alive. They had, along with Professor Flitwick, researched a plan that had taken them two years to be conceived and that was Severus’ only chance to be accepted by the dark wizard once more: he had helped Flitwick develop a complicated spell that, combined with the potion he and Severus had created, rendered the recipient immune to any truth-inducing methods, including Veritaserum. He was the only one to know both the potion and the spell, since the two other men had refused to be taught each other’s component. It was safer that way. Then Severus had gone to the meeting, arriving extremely late, and had tried to convince what used to be Tom Riddle that the only reason he had protected Harry Potter was his belief that the Boy Who Lived would still be an asset to the Dark Lord - and hadn’t such belief just been proven tonight? Of course that, after trying every spell, every potion and every magical trinket that had ever been rumoured to assure a truthful account, Voldemort had resorted to torture. Hogwarts’ Headmaster shuddered despite the warmth of the room. What Severus had gone through he would wish on no man. Seven hours of Cruciatus, a more than severe beating, and he was sure the younger wizard had left out the more gruesome details of his experience for the benefit of his old heart. Not for the first time, Albus Dumbledore wished fervently he was as omnipotent as he was credited to be, to at least be able to protect everyone he needed to.
---
Severus Snape lay awake in his bedchambers, almost unable to move. He was reliving the gathering, trying to filter out the important bits of information, but his mind kept going back to what he had endured.
Every nerve end on fire, his skin seeming to melt like wax, every bone in his body being broken and healed, over and over, until the very pain was the only thing keeping him sane...
He knew as well as if he had been told that the only reason he wasn’t dead was because Voldemort couldn’t waste the chance of having a spy in Hogwarts, couldn’t risk killing a well-positioned servant which was, by all accounts, still loyal. His only regret was that he had been unable to learn more of the Dark Lord’s plans. ‘Oh, well,’ his mind retorted, sarcastically, ‘there’s always next time.’ He would have laughed had he had the energy to do so. In his present condition, however, the best he could manage was a gurgling sound. He didn’t believe he would live to see the end of the war, but that didn’t bother him overmuch. His last conscious thought was that he had a wish. He wanted something good to happen to him before he died. He didn’t know what, exactly, but he wasn’t picky. Anything good would do. Then sleep overtook him and he willingly gave himself to it.
---
Hermione Granger was having a hard time focusing on her studies, which was utterly unlike her. The previous two and a half years had been completely nerve-wracking but her studies had never suffered from it. Although Voldemort had been the cause of at least another eleven murders, the Ministry was still refusing to acknowledge his return, partly due to the fact that the Dark Lord trod more cautiously these days. He had no doubt understood that, for the time being, ignorance was his best ally. For the time being. She shivered and absently noted she hadn’t lit the fire. Without another thought to it, she pointed her wand at the fireplace in her common room and said Incendio. Yes, even with the aura of fear that enveloped the school, Voldemort had never been sufficiently important to interfere with Hermione’s studies. But someone else was. A tall dark man which she had disliked from the start, then grudgingly came to admire and respect, and that she now... and that she now what? What did she feel for him exactly? Care, concern? ‘Do you love him?’ she asked herself. She had no answer. The only thing that she knew was that he had been, even unknowingly, steadily gaining her trust, and now he refused to leave her thoughts. Especially since the day before. She closed her eyes trying to block that memory. She had been down to the Potions classroom, after dinner but before curfew, in hopes of finding him there, since he hadn’t been at the dinner table. She had a doubt about her upcoming Potions final and, to be perfectly honest, she wanted to see him. In retrospective she wished she hadn’t. The door had been slightly ajar and she had peeked to see what sort of mood he was in. He had been sitting, almost unnaturally still, behind his desk. Then, without warning, his body had been shook by violent spasms, his face a grotesque mask of pain. She had studied enough about the Unforgivables to recognise the after effects of prolonged exposure to Cruciatus, and her heart went out to him. So would have the rest of her body, but something stopped her. He was too unguarded, exposed even, and she was sure any offer of help coming from her would have been an unwelcome humiliation to the proud man. Her mind set, she had left as silently as she could, but what she had witnessed had been playing havoc with her ever since. She knew, because Harry had told both her and Ron in her fourth year, that Snape had been a Death Eater, and that he had repented and become a spy. Short months after that, Harry had wondered if the Potions Master hadn’t gone back to spying at Dumbledore’s request. Now it would appear so. She made a decision. If fate was kind and they reached the end of the war alive, she would tell him how she felt. It was likely that he couldn’t care less, but she felt in her heart she had to tell him. With that thought aside, she was finally able to concentrate on her Transfiguration essay.
---
Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived, finalist at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and would be saviour of the wizarding world hid most ignominiously in a bathroom. After Madam Pomfrey had taken blood from him for the millionth time - and he used to say Snape was a vampire. Ha! Snape had nothing on Madam Pomfrey! - he had been up to see the Headmaster. He had had another of his Voldemort-induced dreams and he wanted to tell every detail to the old wizard, lest he forgot something important. He knew the password from a previous visit and had strolled up the stairs unannounced, only to stop dead right at the office’s door at the sound of his name. Sirius was there, discussing what he now termed "Voldemort termination plans" and how almost everyone he knew and loved would be there, risking their lives - everyone but himself, Ron and Hermione. After listening in for almost too long and nearly getting caught he had rushed past the gargoyle to calm himself. It wouldn’t do to reach the common room in his present state. Especially not considering he didn’t want his friends to suspect anything. He was going to be a model of normality. And then, in the early hours of dawn, he would put on his father’s invisibility cloak and sneak to the back of Sirius’ motorbike. He’d be damned if he was going to let Sirius take his place.
---
Severus Snape lay in his bed, awake as he had been three years ago nearly to the day. On the upside, however, he wasn’t feeling any pain this time. He wondered if he would die tomorrow. He probably would, given the complexity of the plan he and Albus had set into motion. He had, for the past three years, been lacing everything Voldemort ingested with a potion based primarily on Harry Potter’s blood - Poppy had been taking gallons every month from the boy -, and that, given the suspicions the Dark Lord had, had been no easy task. He suspected he had become the wizard’s favourite toy, and there was no question as to his favourite game - torture. With any luck, it would all be over tomorrow. One way or another. He didn’t know why, exactly, Harry Potter was so big a menace to a wizard whose very name inspired terror in most, but Albus seemed to have no doubt. Their plan would have a much better chance of succeeding though, if they could have the Boy who Lived himself on the field, but he was still a seventeen year-old boy, and they didn’t want him to become the Boy who Died. So he, Severus Snape, had a chance of being instrumental in Voldemort’s defeat - and a bigger chance still of dying in the process. He would have to distract the dark wizard just long enough for a polyjuiced Sirius Black - oh, how he hated that the man had turned out to be innocent - to get close. Between Harry’s fake looks and Harry’s real blood, Albus hoped it would do the trick. What trick, Severus couldn’t tell.
He became aware he had a growing headache - so much for the absence of pain. Strange, really, how he had become so resistant to physical pain and yet a simple headache could still bother him so much. He wished the final exams weren’t already marked, so he could have something to do. He finally decided to go down to his classroom. After all, he didn’t know if he would live to return to it.
---
An hour later, Harry Potter had realised that his plans never went exactly as he conceived them. Hermione had noticed something was wrong and had therefore proceeded to thoroughly question him. He had ended up blurting out nearly everything, and been only marginally successful at hiding his own intended involvement. He was partly glad to have told her, though. It felt good to share some of the overload of information that had taken up residence in his chest.
---
Hermione Granger stood decidedly in front of the Potions classroom, praying to whatever God was out there for the nerve to do what she was about to. After what Harry had told her, she couldn’t wait until the end of the war. The possibility of Snape’s death was too real and immediate for her to risk not telling him. Not being near him, with him. She had to try. There was light coming from beneath the door, so he had to be there. Gathering up the famous Gryffindor courage around her like a cloak, she lifted her hand and knocked.
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Last Wish