Chapter 8: The Eyes of the Devil

It was just after midnight here. Ron could tell so from the position of the moon, which was playing hide-and-seek behind a thin film of see-through clouds. The air was damp and cool, grazing his lungs as he breathed it in. His legs felt unsteady on the soft, yielding soil just beneath his feet, and he decided it best to try and move as little as possible until he got his bearings again, for his mind was swimming. Drowning, really.

For a few bewildering seconds, his brain felt clouded, the synapses and neurons not quite firing and making the crucial connections they needed to, and he fumbled to remember what had happened just moments before. It was something important, he knew. Something important enough that he had done... this. Whatever this was. He looked around, instantly recognizing the familiar pattern of slim towers and turrets, and the flags sitting stop them that flapped in the slight breeze. Then the memory slowly began to return to him, like spilled ink spreading steadily over a piece of parchment.

He was at Hogwarts. He was at Hogwarts thirty years ago, and he was here to try and prevent a grave disaster from happening.

Clumsily, he felt for the time-turner that hung around his neck, the thick, long cord on which it hung dangling as he lowered his head to look for it. Finally he saw the crystalline sand inside it glittering in the beads of moonlight that hit him, and he closed his hand over the small hourglass, feeling it dig into his palm. It was then that he became acutely aware of his breathing, of the battering ram inside his ribs, and he had to shut his eyes momentarily in an effort to steady himself.

Twenty-four hours. That�s all he would have to get to Little Hangleton--to the Riddle House--to get Snape to safety, portkey back here to Hogwarts to warn Dumbledore, and then return to his own home, his own time. And suddenly it occurred to him, he hadn�t the faintest idea how in bloody hell he was going to achieve all of that--least of all in the span of only one day.

What in God�s name have you got yourself into now, Weasley?

He was beginning to taste that familiar acid flavor of panic in his mouth. With his other hand, he reached into the inside pocket of his robe, pulling out the portkey. To his surprise, he found himself muttering foreign words, ones he heard them from Hermione�s lips often enough (she told him once they were from a prayer she learnt as a child), and that he himself would say them from time to time, whenever he found himself in a particularly troubling situation. This certainly qualified as one such situation. It was oddly comforting in a way, this prayer, even if he never did learn what exactly the words meant or stood for. Nevertheless, he felt their power as he recited them to himself, and with a deep breath, he closed his hand around the pocket watch, feeling himself vanish into the night.

He landed on the ground in a terrible thud, finding himself in an awkward position, with his arm tucked into his body and all his weight smashed into it. Straightening, he felt at the bones, hoping he hadn�t just broken the damn thing, relieved when he realized it was safe after all. Sore as hell, but safe and in one piece.

It seemed darkness blanketed this area even more than it did the grounds at Hogwarts. Ron couldn�t help but think how eerily appropriate that was. The garden in the backyard (he assumed that�s where he was; he recognized it from when he had last been here) was overgrown with weeds and shrubbery that had long escaped trimming, blocking out what light came from the moon above, though the clouds also seemed to have thickened up since he last looked up.

There was light coming from the house, though. It was faint, as if barely hanging on for life, and it was coming from something that, from a distance, looked like a small hole in the wall of the house. Ron felt blood throb in his ears as he realized what it was. He approached it, cautiously, grateful that his footsteps were muffled by the wet grass.

Then his breath caught in his throat.

It was a window into what looked like some sort of cellar, and it was small, barely large enough for a fully-grown adult to squeeze into (he would find out for sure soon enough), but large enough to reveal what--or rather, who--was inside.

Snape.

He looked almost unrecognizable, and if it weren�t for the greasy, unkempt black hair, and the unmistakable curve of his nose, Ron might have never known it was he. And he looked like absolute hell. He was half-sitting, half-lying on the ground, shockingly pale and thin, the gauntness of his face made even more strikingly evident by the anemic light of the lone candle (or rather, a pathetic stub of one) that flickered away on the small table nearby. His robes were tattered and loose on his obviously starved body, and his eyes were closed, though Ron doubted very much that he was sleeping.

There were burn marks all over his hands, and even some on his face. Ron had seen lesions like these before, but only rarely; they were marks that only the most advanced of dark wizards could make, left by curses that were only a hairsbreadth away from one of the unforgivable ones.

He had been tortured. Ron should have known this would happen. But he was alive, and for that, at least, Ron was grateful.

Snape shown no signs of moving. He seemed to have been drained of all energy and strength, the movements of his chest dangerously shallow and much too far and few in between. He was breathing, all right, but just barely.

The window was high off the ground--too high for Snape to reach, if he even had the strength to move, not to mention the focus and concentration he�d need to levitate up to it in the first place. The only way to get to him, Ron decided, was to somehow get inside and then use the portkey to escape to the safety of Hogwarts. Instinctively, he reached for his wand and aimed it at the window, then whispered, �Fenestra Abrumpero!�

But nothing happened. The glass panes remained intact.

�What the... DAMN IT!!�

He should have known. He should have known Voldemort would place spells around this place to keep Snape from using magic to free himself. It was stupid for him to have ever thought otherwise. Now what the hell was he to do? Surely he wouldn�t be able to apparate inside either, and breaking the glass would make too much noise and alert Voldemort to his presence for certain. That�d be just what he needed.

Desperate, and hoping that all he would need was those few extra seconds to jog his brain and help him come up with something, he called out into the cellar, �Snape!�

No movement, not even a twitch. The glass was thin enough for his voice to carry through, so why wasn�t Snape responding? For a moment, Ron wondered if in fact he had only imagined seeing Snape breathing, and if he had already arrived too late.

�Snape!�

This time, Ron saw Snape�s eyelids flicker. Slowly, the gap widened, until his eyes were open, but he looked disoriented and groggy.

�Over here,� Ron said, watching him raise his head and turn it, presumably in the direction of the sound. �That�s it, come on...�

Finally, Snape�s gaze settled at the window, and Ron held his breath to see what he would say. His face was contorted in a mixture of confusion and fear, as if not knowing at all what to make of the face that was pressed up against the glass. His eyes narrowed, inspecting Ron, then gradually widened, as comprehension began to dawn in them.

�W-Weasley?�

�Yes,� Ron said. �Yes, it�s me-�

�What the hell are you doing here?�

Blimey, even near death, the man was still an irascible old bastard.

�Good to see you too,� Ron said. �I�m here to save your sorry arse.�

�Save my... are you mad??�

He tried to sit up, but clearly it was a struggle just to take in air, and he slumped back against the wall only seconds after attempting it.

�You never could follow the simplest of instructions, could you?�

Ron�s mouth fall open. Unbelievable. Here he was, trying to... Bugger!! If Snape wanted to play it this way, then fine. But he was going to be in for a fight.

�Well, I never was your best student, as you beat into my head often enough,� Ron said through gritted teeth.

At least Snape was talking. He may have been doing his impression of the world�s biggest pain in the arse at the moment (then again, when didn�t he), but at least he was alive and talking, and perhaps the little detour here wouldn�t be wasted after all--if Ron could only find a way to get him out of there without Voldemort noticing, any way.

That would be the real trick, wouldn�t it?

�I told you...� Snape wheezed, struggling to take in another breath. �I told you to forget about me and save your precious Harry Potter... I told you it would be too late... You�ll ruin everything! If he finds you here-�

�Anyone ever tell you you�re a bloody ingrate?� Ron hissed. �Now shut up before he hears you!�

Somewhere inside he had to laugh at the irony of what he was doing here, trying to save the teacher he spent his entire Hogwarts career loathing more than any other (even more than Gilderoy Lockhart, though only barely), who couldn�t even be bothered to show the smallest bit of gratitude for what he had risked to even come here. Life indeed worked in mysterious ways. It really did.

Finally, Ron came to a decision. Time was running out--and fast--and he needed to do something before Voldemort discovered he was here at the house. He tore off a long strip of cloth from the hem of his cloak and began wrapping it around his hand, making sure to add extra cushion around his knuckles. He had seen this done in a Muggle film once that Harry had dragged him to see, and though he had his doubts about how well something he had seen on screen could translate into real life, he was desperate, and desperate men had to act on whatever means they happened to have available at their disposal--besides, at the moment, he had precious few choices.

This would hardly mask the sound of breaking glass; he knew that. He just hoped he�d have enough time to crawl through the window, grab Snape, and portkey both of them the hell out of there before Voldemort could burst through the cellar. At the very least, the Dark Lord wouldn�t be able to apparate inside either, and that could very well buy them those few seconds they needed to make their escape.

If Snape cooperated, that was.

Before Snape could even muster the energy to protest, though, Ron had already pushed his fist through the window, spraying shards of glass all over the floor.

�What the hell do you think you�re doing-�

�Keep your voice down!!� Ron barked, as he squeezed through the tiny hole, the bits of sharp glass remained in the panes tearing through his cloak. �We�ve only a few seconds at most before he charges in here, so don�t give him any more ammunition...�

�Don�t tell me what to do! If it weren�t for your foolish crusading-�

�Oh for God�s sake!�

Finally, Ron managed to fit his entire body through, and he dropped to the ground, landing on a bed of broken glass. Cringing, he got to his feet.

�Someone ought to have taught you to say thank you when a person�s trying to-�

They both heard it.

There was an unmistakable sound of footsteps barreling down stairs just outside, and Ron swerved his head instantly in the direction of it. Without any further hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of Snape�s robes to help him up, but Snape was too quick for him. Catching Ron completely off-guard, Snape was able to shore up enough strength to push him off, and Ron stumbled backwards by the door, his head colliding hard with the bricks. What little strength Snape had had left in him, he had obviously spent completely on that one action, because he collapsed onto the ground, gasping for air, and just as Ron made a move to help him, the door swung open, obstructing his view.

And all at once he heard that terrible voice--that cold, high, callous voice he had never forgot--and he knew why Snape had pushed him out of the way. Snape hadn�t wanted Voldemort to know someone had come to rescue him.

�What is going on in here??�

Ron crawled from behind the door to see what was happening, his entire head throbbing, as if it would explode at any moment. Voldemort�s back was to him, and Ron was surprised he couldn�t sense the presence of another human being just behind him. But it was clear he was more than a bit occupied with something at the moment.

He was hovering over Snape, and by that stance alone, he seemed to exude power and confidence like Ron had never seen. This was not the same aging, broken Voldemort Ron remembered encountering in his youth, the one who had needed his special knight to carry out his dirty work. Vigor and might radiated from him as he stood over an emaciated, weakened Snape who was barely hanging on with what little life was in him.

Ron saw Voldemort look up towards the broken window, and he knew then that it was all over. He crawled out further, only to see Voldemort taunting Snape.

�You�ve been a very disobedient disciple...�

Snape attempted to speak--or perhaps he had intended to spit on Voldemort--but the Dark Lord cut him off before he could even get any words out.

�I don�t think you�ve learnt your lesson at all, being locked up in here...� He straightened, and Ron watched in horror as he pulled his wand out of his robes. �Perhaps I made a mistake not putting you out of your misery in the first place. Well now you�ve gotten your wish...�

He stepped back and aimed the wand at Snape�s head. Ron made a move to take him by surprise and lunge at him, but Snape turned his head and caught his eyes, then made a sharp gesture with his head, a clear sign not to go through with what he must have guessed Ron was about to do. The distraction was enough to cause a split second delay in Ron�s reflexes, and just as he was about to make his move, Voldemort screamed out, �Avada Kedavra!!�

�NOOOO!!!!!!!�

An explosion of green light knocked Ron off-balance, rendering him blind for a few crucial seconds. He heard screaming, lots of it, but he wasn�t sure if it was the sound of Snape dying, or his own voice tearing out of his throat.

A hand grabbed him, nearly breaking his wrist with that grip, and when his vision cleared, he saw Voldemort�s merciless eyes staring straight into his. Ron had never seen such a rage in another human being before.

There was a second�s hesitation on the Dark Lord�s part, and it was all Ron would need. He didn�t know why Voldemort hadn�t acted straight away and killed him right there on the spot, but Ron was not about to waste this chance. He reached for Voldemort�s other hand, the one that held his wand, and grabbed hold of it, crushing his wrist. Voldemort cried out in shock and pain, dropping his wand to the ground, where Ron kicked it clear across the room.

�You�ll pay for that!!� Voldemort hissed, trying to summon the wand to him, but Ron was now able to wrench free of his grasp and gain the upper hand.

For one blessed moment, at least.

�Crucio!!�

An indescribable, searing pain tore through Ron�s body, bringing him down to his knees. Voldemort extended his hand, and the wand flew back to his hand on his command, then he aimed it over Ron and laughed that terrible laugh.

�It�s too late, he�s dead-�

�No!!�

�And now you�re about to join him-�

Ron didn�t know how he was able to fight through the debilitating pain, but somehow he did. With one last burst of strength, he sprang up, knocking Voldemort onto the table, his arm sweeping the candle off the surface in the struggle.

What Ron saw in Voldemort�s eyes in that next instant frightened him to the very core. Something switched on behind that cold, sadistic stare--a light that burned with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns, and Ron knew it then that he was in trouble. He was in a lot of trouble.

The Dark Lord easily threw Ron off him, then took hold of his wand again. Ron thought he was going to aim it at him, but instead, he aimed it at the floor, and soon, Ron saw why. Within seconds, flames shot up all around him, and he caught a glimpse of Voldemort�s twisted smile.

�I tire of using the unforgivable spells to kill my enemies,� he said. �I think I�ll use a new method for a change...�

Ron�s mind was reeling... The flame freezing charm... What was it? Ignis Resis... Ignis Resistero? Damn it, why couldn�t he remember it right when he need it most?

�I wouldn�t try using any fancy wizard tricks if I were you,� Voldemort said, as if able to see through Ron completely. �The flame freezing charm only works on regular Muggle-lit fire, I�m afraid...� He started to laugh, making Ron�s head throb. �A fire lit by a dark wizard--one worth his salt, anyway--is completely immune to such trivial wizard defenses...�

He stepped forward, Ron watching in amazement as he seemed to walk through the flames without being harmed at all. It was as if he were the devil incarnate himself, walking through the fires of hell.

�Pity we had to meet under such circumstances, whoever you are, you poor, deluded soul,� he said. �But think of it this way... at least you�ll die a hero...�

He smiled one last time, then whispered strange words Ron couldn�t understand, nor even make out, and vanished, making the flames rise even higher just before he did. Ron took in a lungful of air, but it scathed his throat, causing him to cough and sputter. Just beyond the cage of flames he could see Snape�s crumpled body lying motionless on the ground, and hoping against hope that Voldemort had been wrong, he called out to him.

�Snape!!�

Nothing.

�Snape!!! Wake up, damn you!! Wake up...�

A swarm of fire leapt onto Snape�s cloak, engulfing it in flames as Ron watched in horror, a scream lodged in his throat. It was too late. It was too damn late, and he had failed him once again.

The flames were now closing in on him at an alarming rate, stinging his eyes and singeing his skin. There was nothing more he could do here. With one last desperate act, he closed his hand around the portkey and managed to escape just as the fire erupted once more.

He was still gasping for air when he reappeared on Hogwarts ground, the dampness in the air shocking him as he gulped it in. Panting, trembling, he tried to find his feet, and in his daze, he never heard those footsteps coming up behind him. And neither did he anticipate the blow of heavy iron to the back of his head that soon followed.

In the next moment, his entire world went black.