When the Clock Shattered

Chapter 1: The Hour He Chose to Live

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But then, a voice.

“Potter,” came a hoarse whisper, cracked with emotion. Draco Malfoy’s face was pale, his eyes wide with shock, and his breath hitched when he saw Severus, barely hanging on to life.

Draco’s heart seemed to stop as he took in the scene—his professor, his mentor, the man who had shaped him into what he was, now lying there, broken. He could see the blood on Harry’s hands, on Severus’ robes, the shaking of Harry’s arms as he tried to keep him alive.

“Help me,” Harry gasped, as he nearly collapsed, his body giving out under the weight. Draco didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward, his usual cool demeanor replaced with something fierce, something desperate. Together, they managed to lift Severus between them, carrying him down the familiar halls that had once seemed so full of life.

Draco’s hands shook as he carried Severus, his mind flashing back to all the times he had spent in the Potions room, with Severus’ cold, calculating voice guiding him, pushing him, challenging him.

“You are my best student, Draco,” Severus’ voice echoed in his memory. “Don’t waste that.”

Draco’s breath quickened. He couldn’t let him die. Not after everything. Not after all the sacrifices Severus had made for him—for everyone.

As they entered the Potions room, Draco’s instincts took over. He didn’t need a recipe, didn’t need the book. He simply worked, a flurry of movement as he combined ingredients with practiced ease, trying not to remember the implications of this—trying not to think that the man he was saving was, in so many ways, the man who had been his greatest enemy.

He mixed, he measured, and finally, he poured the potion into a small vial.

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Severus drank, the liquid sliding down his throat with a final, reluctant swallow. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, his breathing steadied, his skin grew less pale, though he remained weak, his eyes fluttering open just a fraction.

“Not dead yet,” Draco muttered under his breath. “Don’t think you can leave us like this.”

Outside, the war raged on. The sounds of curses colliding with shields, the screams of soldiers, the thunderous crashes of walls crumbling—it all continued, unabated, but in the small Potions room, a fragile quiet settled.

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The Golden Trio and Silver Trio entered moments later, their faces etched with exhaustion and fear. Hermione and Pansy, both pale and shaken, rushed to Severus’ side. Blaise looked on, still in shock. Ron cursed under his breath, his mind racing as he processed everything he had seen in the last hour.

Harry stepped back from the bed, his hands still shaking. “He’s alive,” he whispered, as if afraid that speaking the words aloud would break the fragile truth of it.

But something had changed in all of them. In the silence that filled the room, they knew they had all misjudged Severus. They knew the man they had despised, the man who had caused them so much pain, had been someone else entirely.

The Pensieve memories spilled into their minds as they gathered around Severus, as if in a trance. Each of them saw the same thing.

Severus, pleading with Dumbledore to save Lily, to save Harry, to stop the prophecy from coming true. “Please,” he had begged, his voice a whisper of desperation. “You don’t understand. You can’t let him die. I’m asking you to save them—save Harry. He’s... he’s everything.”

Then, the memory shifted to Azkaban, the cold stone walls closing in on Severus as he stood before Dumbledore, his eyes filled with regret. “Sirius Black is innocent,” Severus had said. “You need to save him. He’s not the traitor.”

And, finally, the moment that had cut the deepest: Lupin’s resignation. Severus, eyes darkened with guilt, had convinced Dumbledore to force Remus to step down, knowing full well that it would isolate him, but doing so because he couldn’t bear to watch his friend suffer.

They had all thought him cruel. They had all believed the lies.

But now they saw the truth: Severus had never been their enemy. He had been protecting them all along, fighting a battle they had never seen.

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As they stood there, the weight of everything finally settling in, Severus’ voice broke through the silence, faint but clear.

“I don’t deserve... this.”

Draco, kneeling beside him, reached out and took Severus’ cold hand. “Yes, you do,” he said softly. “Yes, you do.”

Ron, his voice thick with emotion, cursed under his breath. “I should have seen it. All this time... we never knew.”

But the war outside was far from over. Voldemort’s laughter echoed in the distance, a chilling reminder that the fight was still to come.

“We’re not done yet,” Ron muttered.

Harry looked down at Severus, now resting but still breathing. The glint of something caught his eye—a flash of gold. A time-turner, shimmering faintly in the shadows.

With a slow breath, he reached for it, the weight of what it represented sinking in.

The past was never truly gone. And neither was the fight.