Smoke still hung like velvet in the air.
The ruins of the Hall of Fire were a graveyard of battle cries and broken magic. Cracks crawled through ancient stone, rubble smoldered, and spells shimmered faintly in the aftermath. Somewhere, someone groaned. Somewhere, someone didn't rise at all.
Voldemort stood like a shard of void, robes flickering with magic darker than night. His pale face was streaked with blood—whose, no one knew. He raised his wand slowly, his voice curling like oil in the air.
"You think you have won? You think love will spare you what comes next?"
But Dumbledore remained still, one hand outstretched, runes pulsing along his sleeve. The old magic of Hogwarts had joined him—but the cost was mounting. His shoulders slumped slightly. He was burning through lifetimes of power.
Behind him, Narcis supported a barely-conscious Remus, while Sirius cradled James's bloodied arm, wand still twitching.
But the center of it all—the eye of the dying storm—was Snape.
Lucius held him in his arms, Severus's weight heavy, slick with blood. The curse Lillian had cast left searing lines of magic across Snape's chest, glowing faintly. He was slipping.
"Don't you dare—" Lucius whispered, shaking. "You're not allowed to die, not after everything."
Snape coughed, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "Always… dramatic, Malfoy."
Their foreheads touched. Lucius shut his eyes, willing every last drop of magic he had into Severus's skin, into the bond still tethering them like a frayed thread.
But above them—Lillian moved.
Blood at the corner of his mouth. Wand spinning with lazy grace. His voice was silk and daggers.
"You don't see it, do you? All of you clinging to your illusions. This war was never about sides. It was about control."
He raised his wand. A new spell hissed from his lips, winding like a serpent.
Lucius turned just in time.
The hex slammed into his back, and he screamed. Snape tried to move, but collapsed again, breath hitching in agony.
Lillian advanced slowly, each step calculated. "Did you think your love mattered? That some tragic kiss would rewrite the rules? Severus was always mine."
A blast of magic cracked the floor.
Dumbledore had turned.
His wand now glowed with a deep violet light, and his voice boomed with the full weight of the Headmaster's fury. "No more games, Lillian."
But Voldemort laughed.
With a scream of twisting fire, he launched himself into the air and collided with Dumbledore mid-spell. The duel reignited—no longer elegant but brutal, raw magic tearing into the chamber again.
Around them, the others scattered, shielding the wounded, firing spells, erecting barriers.
And Lillian?
He disappeared.
Vanished into the smoke like a ghost. But not before leaving a parting gift.
A rune burned into the stones where he had stood. One not seen since the First War.
A summoning mark.
Blood magic.
The walls groaned.
"We have to go!" James shouted, dragging Sirius upright. "He's calling something else."
But Lucius refused to move.
"Severus," he whispered again, voice fraying. "Please. Just… stay."
Snape's eyes fluttered open. His voice was almost too soft to hear. "I'm not yours to save."
"Then let me try," Lucius said, clutching his hand. "Let me—"
A pulse of magic rocked the chamber. The rune blazed crimson.
And the summoning began.
From deep within the castle's bowels, something ancient stirred.
Something Lillian had broken every law to reach.
Something even Voldemort looked at with unease.
Dumbledore's eyes widened. He shouted something—but the wind swallowed it.
Snape reached out blindly—fingers brushing Lucius's chest—and the magic between them flared.
Not a curse.
A bond.
Lucius felt it—searing through him, anchoring him. Not domination. Not possession. Something… healing.
He bent his head, lips trembling over Severus's forehead.
"I've made a thousand mistakes. Let me make this one right."
And in that moment—Dumbledore and Voldemort both cast.
Two forces collided.
The ground cracked.
And the world screamed.