I don't own it.

This story is already fully written, so I will be publishing a chapter a week for eleven weeks.

Each chapter is substantially longer than the one before, except chapters 4 and 11, for some strange reason.

But anyway.


Defeating the Dark Lord: an 11 part chronicle.



At the frenzied shout, all conversation in the Great Hall ceased.

The reasons for this varied, but most common were the facts that:

a) Severus Snape was yelling at Harry Potter once again. The Slytherins smirked.

b) Said Potions Master had called the bane of his existence by his first name, for the first time in nearly seven years. Students everywhere looked at each other in confusion.

c) Snape had vaulted the Head Table and was now sprinting toward Harry, an expression of savage alarm on his face.

This last point was surprising, because normally the man had only one facial expression, and that was 'emotionless'. Unless, of course, Snape was looking at Harry, in which case his lip would curl and he would eye Harry as if he were the remnants of the Seventh Years' Leaving Party (read: drinking binge), plastered across the bathroom floor.

Also surprising was the method of transport. It was well known that Severus Snape never ran. No teacher ever does something so crass as running; they merely hasten. Or, in the Potions Master's case, stride, robes billowing behind, lending an aura of mystery to the lean frame. Therefore, the sight of Snape sprinting, long legs eating up the ground between him and Potter, was a sight never seen at Hogwarts before. Colin Creevey was so busy staring in gobsmacked amazement that, alas, he forgot to snap a photograph for the annals of history.

Harry, on the other hand, did not look the least shocked to see Snape heading full-tilt his way: rather, the expression on his face was one of pale determination, backed with a shade of anxiety. Shaking off the hand on his wrist and Hermione's hiss of warning, he stood, and moved out to the middle of the aisle between the house tables. A twitch of his wrist, and the holly wand was lying in his hand, ready for action.

Harry stood his ground as the Professor came to a screeching halt in front of him.

"It's time, then?"

The question was asked in a perfectly calm voice.

Snape nodded, paused a moment to fully catch his breath, and confirmed, "It's time."

Harry twitched an eyebrow. "Best get on with it, I suppose."

He turned to face the rear wall, setting his back against Snape's chest.

Snape rested his hands on Harry's shoulders, paused a moment, grunted in dissatisfaction - "You're almost too tall for that, these days," was murmured just loud enough for Harry to hear - the hands lifted for a moment in indecision, and then dropped back to his shoulders, squeezing gently.

Harry grinned and leant back into the solid warmth.

The eyes of both men closed in concentration: there was a whisper of magic, a shift of power, and the end wall shivered and coalesced to form a blank screen.

Both the student and his Professor were unnaturally still, a wordless spell shielding their bodies as their minds reached out elsewhere, consciously seeking...

On the screen, fog swirled, and the shadowy figures of two forms emerged.

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