Also, you’ll find lyrics from the song “Sound the Bugle Now” interspersed with the ficlet, because I felt that they fit, and helped define the emotions running through Harry’s mind during the moment. It’s a song by Bryan Adams, featured on the “Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron” OST, if you’re curious - go listen to it, if you can!

Please excuse me if I’ve spelt some of the spells wrong, or even used the wrong spells in places, too - though I have been reading the books again lately, I haven’t read them enough to get rid of all the rust in my mind. And, on a final note, please don’t take this seriously.

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/Sound the bugle now, play it just for me
As the seasons change, remember how I used to be
Now I can’t go on - I can’t even start
I’ve got nothing left, just an empty heart/

Harry didn’t know whether or not he shouted out - he heard screams and cries all round him, but he couldn’t recall whether any were his own. He could only feel the pain in his throat and the defeat in his heart.

/I’m a soldier wounded so I must give up the fight
There’s nothing more for me - lead me away
Or leave me lying here/

Voldemort’s face was saturated by a satisfied malice. His red eyes cast themselves across the scene, the devastation about him, and he laughed - laughed triumphantly as he saw his most feared enemy lie dead at his feet. There was now but the Prophecy to be fulfilled - the boy had to be killed.

/Sound the bugle now - tell them I don’t care
There’s not a road I know that leads to anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not to go/

Harry felt hot tears burn his cheeks. He crawled across the ground toward Dumbledore’s prostrate form - surely, surely he would get up - he always did! - Voldemort couldn’t hurt Dumbledore, he never had been able to! It was another clever ploy - tonight, they would all go home and Dumbledore’s voice of reason and kind eyes would fill the room with joy at their victory over the Dark Lord. Yes, that was it…

Harry continued to crawl, hearing but not registering Voldemort’s savage laugh as it thundered down his auditory canals. It was a voice so harsh that it bit into his skin with a ravenous hunger and turned his innards, making him feel sick. But Harry would not lose hope - he reached a bloodstained hand out toward the headmaster’s body, grasping his shoulder, and pulled himself up by his side.

Still Voldemort laughed - still, he watched Harry, almost doubling over with a crude glee at the boy’s efforts to revive the professor.

/Then from on high, somewhere in the distance
There’s a voice that calls ‘Remember who you are’/

“It’s too late.”

There was now a voice by Harry’s side and a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.

“No!”

Harry was forcibly reminded of the day when Sirius fell, it all seeming so similar, so uncomfortably similar…

“Potter, listen to me!”

“No!”

/If you lose yourself, our courage soon will follow
So be strong tonight - remember who you are/

Harry was struggling against the hands that pulled him away from Dumbledore and the triumphant Dark Lord; “Let go of me!”

“Harry!”

Never had his name been uttered in such a way by this voice before… Something about it made Harry listen and he complied with the voice for the time being, letting himself be dragged back. He was made to sit down on the ground whilst the other knelt by his side; “Harry!” the voice said again, stronger.

Harry turned and started, his green eyes meeting the hollow gaze of the Potions Master. It was Snape.

Harry felt his chest heave, his head swimming as he tried to comprehend everything that was happening. He felt extremely nauseated and wanted to retch.

He lowered his head, blinking hard as he tried to quell the sensation, whilst Snape’s grip tightened on his shoulders; the professor was staring toward Voldemort with a fear and horror in his heart as deep as Harry’s, whilst at the same time trying to set some kind of example to the young man.

Harry found the strength to look up after a moment, glaring across the desolate landscape at the Dark Lord and, unbidden, words came back to him from another time…

‘One who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course.’

Harry blinked, his scar throbbing as the Potions Master rose to his feet and stood as a barrier between him and Voldemort.

Harry frowned; ‘He will be killed, of course.’ The night in the graveyard wouldn’t leave him - what was the meaning in that statement? To whom did it refer?

‘One who I believe has left me forever’

Harry then realised that Snape was protecting him, and perhaps for the first time he was actually doing it out in the open rather than from the shadows. The Dark Lord was moving toward Snape, though Harry could tell that it was he, and not his teacher, who he intended to be the target.

Or was it?

‘He will be killed, of course’

“Snape,” Harry murmured, his mind clicking. He shot to his feet in time to watch the Potions Master charge the Dark Lord, who merely chortled. Something twanged in Harry’s body, a horror, a feeling of guilt - all these people, all of them lying about, had fallen because of him, because he hadn’t been quick enough. The Prophecy said that he and he alone could kill Voldemort - or vice-versa. It had to be either him or the Dark Lord to die, and no one but the pair of them could decide who that would be. Dumbledore had fallen, everyone other had fallen because he hadn’t taken his Prophecy into his own hands!

“Professor Snape!” Harry yelled.

There was a clout - with a barbaric strength, Voldemort sent Snape flying with a swing of his arm, before he flicked out his wand and snapped, “Crucio!”

Harry cringed as an agonising scream was wrought from the depths of Snape’s stomach, the Cruciatus curse doing its malevolent work. The Potions Master was doubled over, his face so pale that it was almost completely white.

“The traitor,” Voldemort sneered, this seeming like child’s play to him, “The fool who dared to defy me, who dared to desert me.”

He brought his wand back to his chest, watching Snape gasp and writhe, observing how his hands shook with burning spasms and his face contorted with pain; “You betrayed me, Severus. It takes a brave witch or wizard to turn their back on Lord Voldemort.”

Harry didn’t know what to do - now that it came to it, how could he defeat the Dark Lord? He was simply glued to the spot, his feet refusing to move whilst his eyes were fixed on Snape, mesmerised by the horror taking place before him.

Voldemort allowed himself a grin, “I take that back - it takes a brave or a stupid witch or wizard to betray me.” He tapped the tip of his wand against his chin, “Which party do you belong to, I wonder?”

Snape shook as he struggled to get back to his feet.

“A teacher? You?” Voldemort taunted with a laugh, “A former Death Eater? Oh, think of how you could have moulded those young minds, how you could have brought about the rise of an army of Death Eater youths?”

Severus could hardly grip his wand, though his eyes told of his resolve, told of his rage.

“Yes, you were stupid… you always were.”

“Expelliarmus!” Snape snapped.

Voldemort’s wand began to fly from his grip, but the spell barely fazed him; he chuckled, baring his teeth at Snape before he muttered coolly, “Accio Wand,” and it returned to his grip.

He pointed it at Snape, “Expelliarmus,” he whispered in return; with a terrific bang, Snape flew back through the air and crashed into a pile of debris, barking out in further pain.

Voldemort snuffed, then set his eyes on Potter, “Well, Harry Potter - without further ado, I think it’s time we ended this war.”

Harry found his hand already on his wand.

“So you’ll struggle like your dear Potions Master? He’ll soon be dead… and you along with both him and your dear headmaster, Dumbledore.”

Harry swallowed convulsively, shaking his head, “No, I won’t let you have that ‘pleasure’.”

Voldemort cackled, his voice booming over the desolate landscape like a crack of thunder, “Arrogant like his father, determined like his mother - which shall you die like, though, I wonder?”

Harry felt his heart pound in his chest, felt it in his throat; all he had learned up to now seemed little consolation to him in this situation, where even his most talented teachers had failed. But he was the Boy Who Lived - he had to make sure that he allowed others to live after him, now.

“Expecto Patronum!” he cried, pointing his wand at the Dark Lord. But nothing happened. No shield rose to protect him, nor did his Patronus come to his aid.

Harry gasped, withdrawing a few steps and staring at his wand.

Voldemort sniggered, “Your wand won’t like fighting its brother again…”

“Sometimes families have to fight,” Harry reposted, trying to think of what to do now.

“It’s a pity though, isn’t it?” Voldemort smirked, pointing his wand at Harry, “Perhaps we shouldn’t make them fight.”

With a hiss of Expelliarmus, Voldemort sent Harry’s wand tumbling away in the distance; “Much better,” he snarled, before he continued, “Now, I wonder if you will be able to withstand pain better than your noble ‘protector‘?” A quick nod toward Severus, before he pointed his wand toward Harry’s heart, “Or, maybe we should just end things now?” He mulled this over to himself for a moment before he continued with another nod, “Yes, I think so…”

Harry felt more afraid than he had ever done before, whilst at the same time he held his resolve, remembering the sacrifice his parents had made, that Sirius had made, that Dumbledore, Lupin, Cedric, everyone had made. He had to be strong - this was his duty.

“This might hurt a little,” the Dark Lord chuckled grimly, his eyes glowing with a sordid glee. But, in a flash, Harry felt himself pushed backward - the Avanda Kedavara curse hit, but not him. Harry blinked, falling back over a pile of waylaid bricks, watching as the glare faded…

‘He will be killed of course’

And Snape collapsed before him.

/Sound the bugle now - tell them I don’t care
There’s not a road I know that leads to anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark
Lay right down, decide not to go/

Harry could only shudder as the Potions Master’s final yell pierced him to the core, and then watched in surprise as the Dark Mark on Snape’s arm glow a livid scarlet before - as he fell to the ground with a thud - it just faded all together. Snape was free, even if it were ultimately too late.

Harry dropped to his knees, grasping the professor by the shoulders, his hands trembling as he did so - no, not him too! He couldn’t deal with all these deaths!

“Don’t die,” he whispered through tears of fear, and even anger, an anger directed at Snape for stepping in as much as toward the Dark Lord. It was something to say that the professor was hanging on, dying, but not quite there yet - perhaps the Dark Mark had given him that extra lease, that extra shield. Or perhaps it was a curse for his disloyalty to the Dark Lord – a drawn-out and unbearable death.

“We live to die, Harry,” Snape murmured, managing to slip his wand to the young man, knowing that he wouldn‘t need it any longer. Harry took the wand, hidden from Voldemort’s view, a long, dark rod of ebony that, once in his palm, suddenly renewed his strength and vigour, giving him confidence.

“I don’t understand…” he murmured, as his green eyes took in Voldemort once more, his innards boiling over with rage, “There has to be more to life than that.”

“There is,” Snape agreed plaintively, his every breath faltering, “Oh, there is… as long as we remember to live.”

Harry’s brow furrowed and he found his grip tightening on Snape’s shoulder, sensing a certain regret in the professor‘s voice. He’d never liked Snape, but they were above that petty feud now - they had to get above that. And the more he turned over Snape’s cryptic last words in his head, the more that he was reminded of Dumbledore during his first year at school.

‘It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live’

Voldemort swung his wand about between his long fingers, waiting for Harry to make his move.

‘And forget to live’

He rose to his feet and stepped before Snape. He felt his scar surging, but it wasn’t with pain - it was with something else, a sensation not welcome, nor undesirable. It was a feeling that he took to mean as the final face off - every moment of his life, every event, every lesson, every test had led up to this day. And, as he stood there, clutching Snape’s dark wand tightly in his hand, feeling a faint wind whisk through his black hair, he knew that the Day of Destiny had arrived, and that only one of them – either ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ or ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ - would leave the field alive.

/Yeah - you’re a soldier now, fighting in a battle
To be free once more
Yeah - that’s worth fighting for!/

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NB: I have no idea what type of wand Professor Snape has – I just thought ebony suited him. ^_^