His Secret

Making a Stand

A/N: So hi. It's been kinda a few years, but I came back to this story which I started a long time ago and I'm trying to give it the ending it deserves. Please forgive the lateness, I tried.
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Snape stood, watching. The scene in front of him was blood curdling, he wasn't sure whether he felt fear or grief or anything at all other than pure fury, but he stood. Harry was whimpering at his Uncle's feet, animalistic in his terror, his whole body shuddering, shivering, as if ready to break. The Dementors had pulled back, even the Dark Lord was not immune to their presence. As Snape witness the first lash hit the boy, as he saw the child's body buckle into the floor beneath it's force, he realised the Dementors need not be there, what he was witnessing was worse than the image of pure terror, it was the image of a soul being broken without magic, with force and words alone.

"Worthless...burden...Freak," Vernon spat the words at Harry.

The Dark Lord laughed. Tom Marvolo Riddle was delighted by this Muggle punishment, in all his times fighting The Boy Who Lived he had never considered the one thing to break his defiance was a Muggle.

Harry's mind was blank. He thought nothing. He felt nothing. No - he felt everything. He felt everything at such an excruciatingly high level that he could no longer feel it, he could no longer think, all he could focus on were Vernon's words swimming before his eyes, the cries of Annie softly edging into his consciousness. Then came the laugh, the laugh that echoed the memories of the Dementor, the laugh of a deluded man, a deluded man who had taken everything from him. And he looked up.

Lord Voldemort looked down at the boy, weighed down by lashes and kicks, weighed down by the trauma of his childhood. He looked down at the boy who looked up at him, through the haze of pain and fear, Harry looked up at Lord Voldemort and met his eye.

Holding up his chin, a mere inch from the floor, Harry wrenched the words from his chest, "You are nothing."

In that moment, Snape saw the only thing that mattered, he saw Lily. Harry's green eyes flashed with the memory of his mother. The professor stepped forward, conspicuously towards Draco, beckoning him subtly closer before saying calmly,

"Stop." The laughter ceased immediately. The Dark Lord turned to face his Death Eater and titled his head questioningly. Snape held his gaze, "I said stop." Lord Voldemort laughed, a laugh which was quickly taken up by Lucius Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters, the noise echoed around the room, cold and empty.

When the laughter had died down, Voldemort brought Vernon to a halt with a simple flick of the wrist, addressing Snape simply, "and why, Severus, do you make demands of your master?" Snape winced as his Dark Mark began to burn with Lord Voldemort's anger.

"Master, you cannot make this mistake. You cannot simply torture the Potter boy to death."

"And why not? Surely, you must have realised that the boy must be killed?"

Snape took a breath before stating, "Because my Lord, you must kill him. You know of the prophecy, you must be the one to kill him, not his Muggle uncle."

Voldemort considered his Death Eater for a moment, before pointing his wand at Snape and hissing softly "Crucio." He fell to the floor, his face contorted with agony. When the screams ceased, Voldemort forced him to his knees before saying softly, "Perhaps next time, you will not be so insolent in addressing your master, you have grown soft under the guidance of Dumbledore Severus."

"Yes, my lord." Snape bowed his head to his master.

The Dark Lord turned slowly, silently commanding Vernon to the edge of the circle, facing the boy, huddled on the floor, blistered and bloody.

"Stand," he commanded.

Harry looked up at the figure looming over him, he felt the pained gazes of his friends and the glassy eyes of his Headmaster on him, noticing Draco's eyes averted from the scene, glaring at the floor as if wishing he could disappear into it. He tried to push himself up, with every ounce of strength he could he tried. His limbs were shaking with endurance and he could feel his body giving up beneath him. And why should his body fight? Why should he fight? And then he saw her, he saw them all. He didn't see his friends looking in pain and pity, he saw teeth gritted in determination, each fighting silently against their bonds. And Annie, little Annie slightly straining to reach him. So he gave one last, final push. He couldn't care less if this was the last thing he would ever do but he would stand. He would stand to protect his family as his mother had stood to protect hers. He reached his knees and with a final cry of agony he pulled himself to his shaking legs, holding out his wand whilst forcing back the black shroud threatening to engulf his vision. He had to stand for this.

And Lord Voldemort gave a small smile, a small smirk before he pointed his wand at the swaying boy and softly said, "Avada Kadavra."