When the Clock Shattered

The world was blurry when their eyes fluttered open. The ache in their bones hadn’t even faded when their gazes locked on something that shattered what was left of their hearts.

Severus Snape stood tall—between them and death—with his arms outstretched, face contorted in fierce defiance. But it was too late.

The killing curse struck him square in the chest.

There was no shield, no time to react. The green light engulfed him, and in that instant, all six of them screamed, eyes wide with horror, as their professor crumpled.

Harry and Draco’s bodies moved before thought caught up. Rage like molten fire surged through their veins. They didn’t even speak. Just felt it.

A breath. A scream. A wand raised.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The curses roared from both of them in unison, and instead of colliding or dispersing, they merged. A bright, blinding column of green light cut through the battlefield, more powerful than either boy had ever summoned alone.

Voldemort turned, just in time to see death approaching.

The curse struck.

His scream was unlike anything the world had heard. Unholy. Piercing. As if the darkness itself was being torn apart.

And then he was gone. Ashes. Dust. Nothing more.

Silence reigned.

The battlefield stilled.

But the victory felt like ash in their mouths.

Because in front of them, Severus Snape lay motionless.

They all ran to him.

Harry was the first to fall to his knees beside him, Draco crashing down beside him a second later. Hermione, Ron, Blaise, and Pansy circled, their faces pale, tears already streaming.

“Professor…” Harry’s voice cracked.

Severus stirred. Just barely.

His eyes opened slowly—those black orbs dulled now, shadows of what they once were. Yet somehow, his lips quirked up. A ghost of a smirk. Always a smirk.

“You… absolute idiots,” he rasped, voice brittle. “Didn’t I tell you… not to follow me?”

“Yeah, well,” Draco sniffed, choking back tears, “we didn’t listen to you in class either.”

Severus chuckled, and it made him cough. Blood bubbled from the corner of his mouth.

Harry was openly crying now. “Why’d you do it? You could’ve let us—”

“You think I’d let him take you?” Severus cut in, eyes stern despite the pain. “After all the trouble I went through keeping you six idiots alive?”

“You’re not dying,” Hermione said. Her voice trembled. “We can—we can get Madam Pomfrey—”

“No, Miss Granger,” Severus murmured, “not this time.”

He looked to Harry.

“Take… the rest,” he whispered. “My tears. I held back… but no more.”

His hand trembled as he raised it to his cheek. A single glimmering drop slid down. Harry took the vial and caught it.

“You always were a stubborn brat,” Severus added, lips twitching. “Like your father. Except more annoying.”

Harry huffed through tears. “You’re still a sarcastic git.”

“I try,” Severus whispered with the faintest of smiles.

And then… he stopped breathing.

No dramatic gasp. No final word.

Just silence.

The Golden Trio and Silver Trio clutched each other, sobbing, broken.

A hush fell over the battlefield as witches and wizards from both sides slowly gathered. Professor McGonagall was the first to push through the crowd. Her legs barely held her up as she approached, lips trembling.

“No,” she whispered, kneeling beside him. “Not you. I watched you grow up… you were just a boy…”

She reached out with shaking hands, brushing his hair back from his cold forehead.

Then came the Malfoys.

Lucius stumbled forward, eyes wide. The stern mask he wore cracked.

“No…” he muttered. “No, not… Sev.”

Narcissa collapsed beside the body, her cries tearing from her throat.

But it was Bellatrix who shattered them all.

The madwoman everyone feared—the lunatic Death Eater—stood completely still. Her wand clattered from her hand. Her eyes wide.

And then she dropped to her knees.

Sobbing.

“They said you were too soft,” she whispered. “They said I was wrong… to protect you. But you were… you were mine. Since that first bloody day… eight years old and walking into Hogwarts like it was your home already…”

Her scream tore through the air, louder than any spell.

“He was a child!” she screamed. “A child! And you made him fight your war, you bastard! You killed him!”

She wasn’t talking to anyone in particular. Maybe to Voldemort. Maybe to fate.

Lucius fell beside her. His voice was quiet, pained. “I made you follow me… every step of the way. I was supposed to protect you. I—”

“I promised him,” Narcissa sobbed. “I promised I’d keep him safe…”

They cried like family.

Because he was.

As the crowd mourned, Harry slowly reached into his robe, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. His fingers brushed something hard, smooth.

A glint of gold.

He froze.

Draco’s eyes caught it too. “Harry… is that…?”

Harry pulled it out.

The golden chain unraveled into his palm.

The Time-Turner.

“It fell from his robe,” Harry whispered. “When I lifted him…”

Draco’s lips parted in disbelief. Then slowly, slowly, he began to smile. It wasn’t happiness—it was hope.

“That’s… that’s it,” Draco rasped. “That’s our way.”

Harry turned to him, something flickering in his eyes.

They looked at each other.

An idea.

No words spoken.

But they knew.

The six of them took a step back from the mourning crowd, away from the world’s sorrow.

The Time-Turner gleamed in Harry’s hand.

With one final whisper on the wind:

“It’s not over yet.”