Chapter Text
Lucius led you and Severus inside, and Severus kept his gaze trained straight ahead, not allowing it to wander to the tunnel that led to the Whomping Willow.
“You do not wear your robes,” The Dark Lord said when he caught sight of you.
“They were damaged during my last assignment,” you said, “I did not have time to repair them before… this, my Lord.”
He nodded slightly, his red eyes moving over you, settling on your missing arm, but he did not comment. With any luck The Dark Lord would not live to see tomorrow, but Severus couldn’t help imagining how he would punish the man who threw Margarette off the cliff, or if the Dark Lord’s favoritism would persist when he learned you’d lost the limb saving the life of a Muggleborn.
“You have, indeed, proven yourself to be quite loyal, quite useful.”
“I seek only to serve you, my Lord,” you said with a bow, “If you would allow us to return to the battlefield we may prove our devotion to you,” as you spoke, Severus swore he could see the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“We could find him,” you said, “We could find Potter, could bring him to you.”
The Dark Lord stood, “I have a problem, (Y/N).”
“My Lord?”
“Tell me, are you familiar with the Elder Wand?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Many believe it to be an object of pure fiction, a myth, a legend, but it is oh, so real. I have been searching for it for some time, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick,” he raised the wand that had once belonged to Albus.
“But it doesn’t work for me,” The Dark Lord continued, turning away from you and Severus and beginning to pace.
“I do not understand,” Severus said, an uneasy feeling settling over him, “You- you have performed extraordinary magic with that wand.”
“No,” The Dark Lord said, “I have performed my usual magic. I am extraordinary, but this wand… no. It has not revealed the wonders it has promised. I feel no difference between this wand and the one I procured from Ollivander all those years ago.
“Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?”
Your head shook minutely, “I would not know, my Lord.”
“Perhaps not,” The Dark Lord said, “My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, (Y/N), except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another’s wand. I did so, but Lucius’s wand shattered upon meeting Potter’s.”
“I- I have no explanation, my Lord,” you said.
“This is why I sought a third wand, the Elder Wand. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”
Severus had known about the grave robbing, of course, he did, he was the one that opened the gate to allow the Dark Lord on Hogwarts grounds so he could collect it, but now he was thinking he should have snapped it in two and thrown it into the lake before the Dark Lord arrived.
“All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here,” The Dark Lord said, his voice barely louder than a whisper, “wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner… and I think I have the answer.”
You didn’t speak, but you ever so slightly leaned back, leaned towards Severus, and he desperately wanted to wrap his arms around you, to shield you with his cloak and take you far away, take you somewhere safe.
“Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever girl, after all, (Y/N). You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen.”
“My Lord-”
“The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, (Y/N), because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the one who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, (Y/N), the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine.”
“My Lord!” Severus protested, taking a step towards you, ready to fight him to the last breath to protect you.
“It cannot be any other way,” the Dark Lord said, “I must master the wand, (Y/N). Master the wand, and I master Potter at last.”
The Dark Lord swiped the air with the Elder Wand, and Severus saw you flinch, but nothing happened. For a moment he dared hope that you might be spared, but then the Dark Lord’s intention became clear. Nagini’s protective cage had opened, her long, lithe body hitting the floor with a soft thud as she slithered towards you, and Severus didn’t need to speak parseltongue to know the Dark Lord’s order.
Kill.
Nagini reared back, opening her maw wide, a drop of venom already beading on the end of one fang before she struck with a hiss, and Severus moved faster than her lunge, stepping in front of you, searing pain shooting through him as her fangs sunk into his throat, striking again and again, shooting her venom into his bloodstream, the pain spreading from the bite marks, burning through his veins, your scream a distant sound, and he collapsed, gasping for air as you dropped to your knees next to him, tears streaming down your cheeks as you pressed your hand against his throat, trying to apply pressure to his wounds.
“A pity,” the Dark Lord said coldly, “A wasted sacrifice, all for nothing.”
No. It couldn’t be for nothing, he couldn’t die here, you were in danger, he had to get you out of here, get you somewhere safe, but his body wouldn’t respond to his commands, wouldn’t rise, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t help and all he could do was lay there, dying, watching you cry, the distant sound of the Dark Lord’s hissing, and Severus prepared to watch you die, to see her fangs sink into your skin, unable to save the one thing he cared for in this world.
Nagini’s hiss cut through the sound of blood pounding in his ears, and he refused to close his eyes, refused to look away, to miss looking into your eyes for the last time, and-
CRACK!
In the blink of an eye, you were suddenly in the potions classroom, and relief washed through him. He would soon die. But you would live. A miserable ending for a miserable life, but he’d managed to do something good with his last moments, to save his greatest achievement, to save you…
***
When his eyes cracked open he squeezed them shut against the sunlight filtering in through the window, easing them open to find you sitting there by his bedside, tears welling in your eyes and a big, watery smile on your face, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
He frowned, his brain taking a moment to catch up, and he reached to feel his throat, but you caught his hand.
“Don’t, you’re still healing.”
“What-” he coughed and you brought a straw to his lips. He drank, the cool water soothing his throat with the vague traces of a potion, and you arranged his pillows so he could sit up, “What happened?” he asked, his normally deep voice hoarse and faint.
“We won. Harry defeated Voldemort, the Ministry arrested the surviving Death Eaters who are now awaiting trial, and while they’re at it, they’re pulling a Lincoln with the body.”
“What?”
“Abraham Lincoln was the 16th president of the United States- er- the No-Maj president. He freed the slaves, which was part of what the Civil War was about, but after the war ended a pissed-off Southerner assassinated Lincoln in a theater. They paraded his body around after to showcase the “hero’s sacrifice” and now the Ministry is doing the same thing, but, y’know, for a different reason.”
“To show everyone that he’s really dead.”
“Bit macabre if you ask me, but whatever. Everyone else has had their funerals, I can get you the list of casualties later."
He nodded solemnly, “What of the Elder Wand?”
You winced at the question. You knew he’d want to know, it was the reason he’d sacrificed himself to save you, “It… never belonged to me in the first place.”
He stared.
“Draco was the one who disarmed Dumbledore, so it belonged to him, not me. Then when Harry was at Malfoy Manor, he disarmed Draco, and the wand’s ownership went to Harry, even if that wasn’t the wand he’d taken. The Elder wand couldn’t kill its true master, so it killed Voldemort instead.”
“Where is it now?”
“Well, remember that fight with Nagini on Christmas we heard about?”
He nodded.
“Harry’s wand was shattered beyond repair, but with the Elder Wand being what it is, he was able to fix his old wand… and then he broke the Elder Wand and threw it away.”
“What?”
“It’s for the best,” you said gently, “Who even knows how many people have died over that wand? You almost died because of it,” you tentatively reached out, taking his hand in yours.
“You’re right,” he nodded, “for the best.”
You relaxed a little, “You should rest-”
“No. There’s more you need to tell me. You said the surviving Death Eaters were arrested. What of us?”
“We’ll have to face trial like the rest of them,” you said softly, “Kingsley said it’s more of a formality after I explained everything to him-”
“What does Kingsley Shacklebolt have to do with this?”
“Oh, right, he’s the new Minister,” you said, "I explained everything to him, and Harry vouched for both of us, but I imagine the files had a lot to do with him believing me.”
“Files?”
Another wince, you hadn’t told him about your summer activities, “I was the one who set fire to the No-Maj born records.”
“I guessed as much.”
“And I was also faking family trees for No-Majes, sneaking files into the Ministry, and Abbie was communicating to the No-Maj born families, and the wizarding families we were linking them to. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep doing so while at Hogwarts, so I passed the operation over to Kingsley.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about it when you were doing it? I could have helped you.”
“Because I knew it was a risk,” you said, unable to meet his eye, “If I was caught and you knew nothing about it, you’d have plausible deniability.”
He squoze your hand.
“Kingsley says the trial is for the public, they can’t let anyone associated with the Death Eaters go without one, except Sirius was pardoned since they got Wormtail's body, but since we both have the Dark Mark… They’re giving us time, at least, handling others first, our trials won’t be until after I graduate. I think Professor McGonagall had something to do with that. I’m pretty sure Kingsley is scared of her.”
“He wouldn’t be the first.”
“And… you’ve kinda… lost your job… to her…” you trailed, chewing on your bottom lip.
He chuckled, “I would be surprised if I hadn’t. Minerva is far more qualified for the position than I ever was.”
You relaxed, he took that better than you thought he would.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around.
“St. Mungo’s, they put you in a private room to keep the media under control. You’ve got a couple of Aurors outside the door standing guard, and after you’re released you’ll be on a sort of probation until after the trial.”
“And what about you?”
“The same,” you shrugged, “although, of course, I’ll be allowed my wand when I return to Hogwarts, but, I can’t leave the castle grounds without an escort. And… I’m not allowed to get a prosthetic until after my trial.”
He jerked up, anger filling his face and you jumped to your feet, pushing him back against the pillow.
“They can’t just-”
“I’m allowed a No-Maj one,” you said quickly, “And I’m okay with it, really, I wouldn’t want a magic one anyway.”
“They aren’t all like what the Dark Lord gave Wormtail, you wouldn’t be in danger.”
“But I would be trapped. There’s… there’s something I haven’t told you.”
“What?”
You released his hand and stood, backing away from his bed, and shifting into a crow, nausea making you dizzy at how unbalanced you felt without your other wing, and you almost immediately shifted back, unable to meet his eye until he spoke and your head immediately flew up to look at him.
“I already knew.”
“What?”
“I saw you after you went over the cliff to save Margarette.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You just lost your arm, I hardly thought it was the time.”
You returned to your chair, looking at your knees, “I’ve looked into prosthetics, asked questions. Things that would give me the dexterity of a real hand are too spell-laden to be transfigured. If I have something that’s No-Maj made- or at least part No-Maj made- I can transfigure it into a wing. I can’t-” your voice caught and you fought down tears, “I can’t be grounded for the rest of my life. I know how selfish that sounds, but- but I just can’t.”
His hand reached out, cupping your chin and turning your face up to look at him, a gentle smile on his face, “You are a brilliant witch. If anyone can find a way, it’s you.”
You returned the smile as his thumb brushed away tears, but then he frowned, tracing the bags under your eyes.
“How long have you been here?”
“You were admitted a month ago.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“I haven't left since then."
“(Y/N)-”
“I couldn’t just leave! If something happened when I wasn’t here-”
“There is a perfectly capable staff here.”
“- I could never forgive myself,” you finished the sentence as if he hadn’t interrupted.
“(Y/N),” he said softly, and you felt tears rising again. You were exhausted, mentally, physically, and emotionally. So when he scooted over, tugging you up into the bed beside him, you didn’t argue. You toed off your shoes, let him pull the blanket up over both of you, and pressed your face into the St. Mungo’s pajamas. He didn’t smell like himself, no complex array of potion ingredients or his cologne. He smelled sterile, like a hospital. But that was okay. He was safe. He was alive and okay. Paradoxically the thought brought tears to your eyes, and when he felt the tears soaking through his shirt his arm tightened around you.
"What is it?"
"Sweet Salazar- I thought- I thought I lost you," you said, starting to cry in earnest.
He hushed you, arm tightening further, "It's okay, I'm here, and I always will be."
You nodded, allowing the tears to run their course, leaving you drained. A long road stood ahead for both of you, complex and messy. But in that moment things were simple, his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, and your exhaustion more than enough to lull you to sleep.