Chapter Text
Prologue
It was over. Everything was lost. That much became clear to him as he collapsed to his knees before Voldemort, who stood above him, cold and indifferent. The Bombarda that had struck the ground right beside him had practically torn his right arm apart. Just like his wand, when his wand arm had slammed into the wall. The last shredded remains lay on the floor in front of him. The wood was splintered, and fragments of the phoenix feather protruded sadly from it.
Why hadn’t Fawkes saved him? And where was Dumbledore? Where was his mentor? The school was under attack, and yet the most powerful man Harry knew was not here.
“My Lord, we have gathered all students in the Great Hall,” reported a Death Eater Harry did not recognize.
“And the other two?” Voldemort asked coldly. The Death Eater shifted uneasily.
“Not among them,” he muttered, as though expecting punishment. But Voldemort remained silent, his red eyes fixed expressionlessly on Harry.
Harry himself almost sighed in relief. He had screamed at Ron and Hermione to hide—after all, aside from himself and Dumbledore, they were the only ones who knew about the important task. They would be able to continue it. To fulfill it. They would—
Harry gagged dryly as three figures entered the courtyard.
“My Lord,” the dark-haired man announced calmly.
“Ah… Severus. My ever most loyal, most important Death Eater,” Voldemort crooned, and it almost sounded warm. But the confusion caused by that tone did nothing to soften the horrifying realization that the Potions Master was dragging Hermione and Ron behind him, before throwing them down onto the ground beside Harry. At once, the red-haired boy leaned protectively over his friend, who was clutching her left arm, bleeding heavily—but they, too, no longer had their wands.
Now it truly was over; Harry knew that. With every passing second, he felt life continuing to drain out of him. Voldemort would not have to do anything else—only watch as he bled to death. All he could do was hope and pray that the attack would end with him, that no students had died, that no one else had either.
The attack on the school had come out of nowhere, completely without warning. In the middle of dinner, the great doors of the Hall had been thrown open, and an entire army of Death Eaters—Voldemort himself at their head—had stormed inside and immediately begun stunning students and teachers en masse.
Only a few had even had a chance to fight back. How long had it lasted? Forty-five minutes? And now, silence reigned.
“Well then, Harry Potter… this is it,” Voldemort announced, raised his wand at Harry—and then his world sank into darkness.