Kill Me, Harry

Beneath the rain shelter in the distance.

Besides Hermione and Ron, several professors had gathered, including Dumbledore — who had arrived before the others.

Professor McGonagall stood with a tight frown, gripping her wand anxiously. She looked as though she was ready to rush out and stop the duel at any moment. Dumbledore, however, tugged at her robes, shaking his head to signal her to let them be.

McGonagall knew some of the history between James Potter and Severus Snape. But in her eyes, those past grievances weren't enough to justify such a fierce battle.

It had been years since she had seen a weather spell of this magnitude.

When Percy had rushed to inform her that Harry was fighting another professor — this time Snape — she had nearly transformed into her Animagus form from the shock.

And still, Dumbledore wouldn't let her interfere.

The situation was escalating rapidly.

If this continued, the entire castle would be at risk.

The duel was brutal.

Snape split his focus three ways.

The dark magic he unleashed barely fazed Harry, only managing to cause brief moments of distraction.

As a water chain shot toward him, Harry leapt forward, twisting midair to slash it with his sword.

Splash! Water sprayed everywhere.

Before the droplets could even hit the ground, Harry waved his wand, sending them hurtling toward Snape as sharp arrows.

Flying projectiles were always the hardest to counter.

For a moment, Harry's advantage as a Hunter was neutralized. Meanwhile, Snape — still airborne — grew more adept at avoiding the serpents. He dodged with increasing ease, casting spell after spell, conjuring binding ropes and transfiguration charms with relentless precision.

Harry gritted his teeth and slashed his wand.

A third serpent burst forth from the Forbidden Forest.

Then a fourth.

A fifth.

The effects of the Thunderstorm Potion were even better than expected. In the stormy weather, Harry's magic felt inexhaustible.

The five serpents coiled and writhed, relentlessly pursuing Snape. For every serpent consumed by fiendfyre, another would rise to replace it.

"Such soft spells." Harry leapt atop one of the serpents, using it as a stepping stone to climb higher. "Where's the conviction behind your incantations, Snape?"

"This was your criticism of me, wasn't it?"

Snape clenched his teeth, his expression darkening — but he said nothing. His wand flicked again.

The conjured cloth strips became heavier, sodden with rain, fluttering sluggishly through the air. They barely moved fast enough to be a threat. Even a first-year student could have easily dodged them.

Harry plucked one of the damp strips from the air, holding it in his palm. Standing atop the serpent's head, he was now at eye level with Snape.

"Is this how you tried to win my mother back after you broke her heart?" Harry's voice was steady.

"Aunt Petunia told me she saw you many times at night, lingering near their home."

"You won't save anyone like this."

His voice was calm and unadorned, free from cruel or harsh words. Yet somehow, it pierced deeper than any curse.

Snape's Occlumency faltered.

Memories spilled forth, ones he had kept locked away. The pain he had thought would suffocate him instead became a strange sort of comfort. Bitter memories, yes — but better than the suffocating numbness he had endured for so long.

The serpents halted.

Fiendfyre danced wildly, growing more violent despite the torrential rain.

"One more question," Harry said softly. "How long do you think I have left to live?"

With that, he lunged forward, grabbing Snape by the robes and dragging him down from the air.

Crash!

They hit the ground hard, mud and water splashing up in a murky wave taller than a man.

"You can't save anyone."

The same words again, stabbing through Snape's heart like a dagger, stripping him of his remaining defenses.

Snape's mind drifted back.

The night he had learned who the prophecy referred to — the Potters — he had gone to Dumbledore, pleading with the greatest white wizard of the age to save Lily.

Dumbledore had asked him:

"What price are you willing to pay?"

"Anything," Snape had answered.

Yet despite his desperate offer, Lily had died that night.

His resolve hadn't been enough.

Just as it hadn't been enough when Lily was sorted into Gryffindor, or when she severed ties with him in their fifth year.

Just as it hadn't been enough to stop Voldemort from killing her.

Time had dulled the edges of his grief. Thirteen years had passed, and he had convinced himself that the pain had lessened.

But it hadn't.

He had simply grown accustomed to it.

The rain stung his face like needles.

Snape turned to look at Harry's determined expression before shifting his gaze toward the white figure under the rain shelter.

If Dumbledore were to ask him now:

"How much longer are you willing to protect Lily's son?"

Snape knew his answer.

"Forever."

A spark of clarity ignited in his dark eyes.

The faint scent of toxins clinging to Harry reminded him of the grim truth:

Harry had indeed consumed that potion — and he had been fighting for a long time.

He couldn't save Lily.

But he could save her son.

Snape raised his wand.

A blast of magic pushed Harry backward, sending him flying. One of the serpents coiled to catch him, cushioning his fall.

"That's more like it, Professor," Harry said, his eyes resolute.

Snape no longer held back.

Potions.

Transfiguration.

Dark magic.

Fiendfyre roared across the lakeshore, reducing the land to ash. Sectumsempra slashed through boulders. Serpents fell, only for new ones to rise from the mud.

The rain poured harder, drumming against the earth like the sky itself was collapsing. Lightning streaked down, bolt after bolt.

Only Dumbledore could follow the duel clearly now.

McGonagall and Hermione repeatedly tried to intervene, only to be held back by Dumbledore each time.

Amid the fiendfyre's glow, Harry stood with his head raised high.

His face was flushed unnaturally, veins bulging at his temples, sweat and rain mingling as they dripped from his brow.

He had consumed a second dose of the Thunderstorm Potion.

His armor was in tatters.

A gauntlet and half his chestplate had been destroyed by Sectumsempra, leaving a deep gash across his chest. He had hastily applied some dittany, but the wound continued to bleed.

Several empty potion bottles lay scattered at his feet, remnants of healing draughts.

Snape hovered in the air, his face pale and his breath labored. Though uninjured, his strength was nearly gone. His evasive maneuvers had drained him of stamina.

He had dodged death countless times, but he knew the end was near.

Finally, Harry seized an opening, dragging Snape back down to the ground.

The Basilisk Bone Sword sank into the earth, narrowly missing Snape's head.

"You've grown this powerful?" Snape muttered, turning his head away from Harry's face. Instead, he stared at the sword, watching rainwater bead and slide down its blade, magnifying the greenish tint of the basilisk venom.

"If you'd made up your mind from the start, I wouldn't have beaten you," Harry said coolly, leaning on his sword.

Snape closed his eyes.

That wasn't something James Potter would say.

That was something Lily would say.

No — Lily would have said that.

Snape opened his mouth, the rain — or perhaps tears — filling it, making his words come out muffled.

"Kill me, Lily."

His mind blurred.

Time twisted back on itself, returning to the moment he had always feared.

"Kill me, Lily," he repeated, his voice breaking.

Harry withdrew the Bone Sword and replaced it in the Sorting Hat.

Then, he drew the Sword of Gryffindor.

With a swift swing —

Blood sprayed.

A severed arm fell to the ground.

Snape's body twitched from the pain. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the bleeding stump.

"Potter…?" His voice trembled with disbelief.

"That's your punishment," Harry said without looking at him.

Kicking the arm aside, Harry turned and walked toward the rain shelter.

Snape struggled to stand.

"Wait — Potter — the poison—"

"Professor," Harry called back over his shoulder, smirking with Snape's own signature sneer. "Did a troll eat your brain?"

"It's been nearly an hour already."

"That potion? For me, it's like Dumbledore drinking bitter gourd juice."

Snape blinked, startled, before finally relaxing.

Raising his wand, he cast a healing spell to close Harry's wounds, his voice hoarse.

Harry returned to the shelter.

"Is Severus still alive?" Dumbledore asked softly, his tone unreadable.

Harry ignored him.

Hermione ran to him, her heart aching at the sight of his wounds. She gently wrapped her arms around him.

"If you want to cry, just cry," she whispered.

Dumbledore sighed, adjusting his glasses as he stepped out into the rain.

"Harry certainly doesn't hold back," he murmured, extinguishing the lingering fiendfyre and restoring the charred land to green.

Snape didn't respond.

"You didn't have to confront him so soon," Dumbledore continued.

Snape finally spoke, his voice breaking:

"You forced me, Albus."

Dumbledore looked back at Harry, still being held by Hermione.

With a soft smile, he asked:

"Now… will you still protect Harry?"

Snape's response came without hesitation.

"I always will."

He wiped his face and repeated, firmer this time:

"I will always protect Lily's son."

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Powerstones?

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