The Raven's Call

Rest Now, Sweet Prince

We made it to the boathouse just in time. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of torchlight bleeding out onto the dock. We ducked low behind an overturned boat outside the window just close enough to see through the warped glass. Harry, Ron, and Hermione crept to the front, crouched in the shadows. Asteria and I stayed at the back, pressed into the dark, hearts pounding. Inside, voices.

"You have performed extraordinary magic with this wand, my Lord, in the last few hours alone," came Snape's voice, calm, composed. "No. No. I am extraordinary," Voldemort spat. "But the wand resists me." My fingers curled tighter around the edge of the boat. Asteria's hand trembled against mine. "There is no wand more powerful. Ollivander himself has said it," Snape replied, trying to sound steady. "Tonight, when the boy comes... it will not fail you, I am sure. It answers to you, and you only." But that was a lie.

"Does it?" Voldemort spat, cold suspicion in his tone. "My Lord?" Snape asked, unsure. "The wand... does it truly answer to me?" And that's when I heard it. A low hiss. Barely audible, but unmistakable. Nagini. She was in there. "You're a clever man, Severus," Voldemort continued, smooth as silk, venom wrapped in every word. "Surely you must know... where does its true loyalty lie?" "With you, of course, my Lord," Snape answered.

"The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly... because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner." His voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You killed Dumbledore, Severus. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine." My heart sank. 

Oh no. 

"You've been a good and faithful servant, Severus... but only I can live forever." "My Lord—" The flash of Voldemort's wand was silent, deadly. Snape dropped. Asteria gasped beside me, already pushing up to move, to scream, to do something. And that's when I moved. I whipped around and slammed my hand over her mouth, pulling her tightly against me. My other arm wrapped firm around her waist, locking her in place. I wasn't letting her die today. Not for this.

Inside, Voldemort's voice echoed one final order. "Nagini. Kill." I didn't look. I didn't need to. The sounds were enough—the thuds, the hisses, the wet, tearing awful sound of something ancient and monstrous ripping the life from a man we barely understood. Asteria's body shook beneath my hold. Silent sobs. Her fingers curled around my wrist like claws. Her tears wet my hand. I held her tighter. I may have just muffled the most heartbroken scream the world would never hear. But I had to. Because if we made a sound—any sound—we'd be next...

The second Voldemort and the snake disappeared, Asteria tore from our hiding place, scrambling into the boathouse. I followed, stumbling over the wreckage of shattered wood and splintered glass. Snape lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, gasping—barely alive. His eyes fluttered toward us. Toward her. "Snape.." Asteria breathed, collapsing at his side. Her hands shook as she reached for him, as if by some miracle she could stop the bleeding with touch alone. I crouched beside her, helpless, watching the life drain from the man we'd once feared and never truly understood.

His eyes found mine for a second, then drifted to Harry as he rushed in, Hermione and Ron close behind. Harry knelt, and Snape's lips parted. "Take... them," he rasped. A tear ran down his cheek. A glimmer of silver pooling in the teardrop—memories. "Take them, please!" Harry turned back to Hermione. "Give me something! Quickly, a flask. Anything!" He barked, Hermione obliged, finding him a vial as quick as she could. Harry then caught the tears in the vial with trembling hands.

Snape's gaze locked onto him. "Take them to the pensive.." he begged, Harry looked beside himself. "Look at me. You have... your mother's eyes..." he whispered. His voice was barely audible, but the words were clear. Then, with what little strength he had left, he turned his head—just slightly—to Asteria. "I've loved you like a daughter," he whispered, softer than a sigh. "Always." Asteria clutched his hand, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. "Please," she whispered. "Please don't go." But his eyes had closed. And this time, they didn't open again.

There was no time to rest. A haunting whisper rose again, curling into every ear like smoke. "You have fought valiantly... but in vain." The voice of Voldemort slithered through the stillness, both distant and horribly close. "I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste. Therefore, I command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity." My blood ran cold as he continued, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more cruel.

"Harry Potter, I now speak directly to you. On this night, you have allowed your friends to die for you, rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest... and confront your fate. If you do not, I shall kill every last man, woman, and child who tries to conceal you from me."

Then—silence. Not even the water dared to stir, save for the dull crash of waves against the wooden beams. The only other sound was Asteria, kneeling in the dark, her soft sobs like a heartbeat against the quiet. "I'm staying," she murmured. "I'm not leaving him alone." None of us argued. We simply nodded, hollow and exhausted. Then, one by one, we turned and left her there—beside the man she once called family—while we made the long walk back to the castle.