The Great Hall was gone. Or at least, it looked that way. What remained was an ancient chamber buried beneath Hogwarts, once sealed by time and blood magic—now torn open by the surge of unstable power from the Hall of Fire. Runes glowed along obsidian walls, ancient scripts now alive with pulse-like vibrations. The very stones screamed.
Snape stood in the center of it all, bloodied, breathless, wand gripped tight in one hand, the shredded remains of his robes clinging to his lithe form. Lucius knelt before him—silver hair disheveled, magic crackling around him in sharp, hungry bursts. Their bond had been tested. Torn. But not yet broken.
Until now.
Severus raised his wand, hand trembling. "Do it," he said hoarsely. "Break it."
Lucius looked up, his eyes full of torment. Behind him, Voldemort's figure hovered like smoke given form, wand at his side, red eyes glinting with poisonous delight. "Yes, Lucius," he hissed. "Let go of your little Beta. Or shall I do it for you?"
The magic trembled. Lucius hesitated. But Snape had already whispered the spell.
"Finitor Vinculi."
The bond broke like a scream.
Lucius gasped, his hands flying to his chest as though Severus had ripped something from inside him. Severus staggered back, breath catching, free for the first time in years.
But there was no time to savor the silence.
From the shattered upper corridor, Narcis stormed in—tall, regal, and furious, his silver robes gleaming like armor. "You're a fool, Lucius," he said coldly, stepping between Snape and the rising curse Voldemort had aimed. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he parried it. "Sectum—"
"Protego Maxima!" Remus Lupin's voice rang out from the stairwell. He dove in, wand out, his werewolf senses already buzzing with the flood of enemy magic. Beside him, Sirius roared, cloak flying, wand alight with dual streams of flame and wind.
James Potter wasn't far behind, golden and blazing, already shouting, "Stupefy! Expulso!"
It became chaos.
Lillian appeared on the dais above them all, like a crowned king watching his court burn. His long coat fluttered around him as if the storm bowed to him. His eyes met Dumbledore's across the battlefield.
"You waited too long, old man."
Dumbledore said nothing. He only raised his wand.
The Battle of the Hollowed Roots had begun.
"Bombarda Maxima!" yelled Sirius, launching half the floor toward Rodolphus Lestrange, who had just Apparated in, laughing wildly.
Remus snarled—literally—as the full moon's echo made his hands shake. Narcis was already dueling two Death Eaters with elegant ease, his spells like silk wrapping around blades.
And amid the heart of it all, Lucius was falling.
His magic faltered. Severus was gone—just a few feet away, dueling Rabastan with eerie silence, his eyes colder than steel. Lucius wanted to reach for him.
But his rut was crashing down like a storm.
His magic was unraveling.
And Lillian?
He watched with mild interest. "Such a lovely tragedy," he purred.
Severus turned mid-duel, as if sensing Lucius slipping. Their eyes met—brief, sharp, and unfinished.
And then—
"Crucio!"
The curse hit Severus from behind.
He screamed, collapsing to his knees, his wand skidding across the floor.
"No!" Lucius bellowed.
But it was James who caught the caster—an unmasked Barty Crouch Jr.—with a curse so sharp it cracked bone. "Expelliarmus! Incarcerous! Petrificus Totalus!"
Snape writhed, biting down on his scream. Lucius, breathless, summoned what little magic he had left to throw up a ward.
Dumbledore moved like lightning, reaching Severus in time to shield him from a second Crucio.
And Voldemort laughed.
"Look at you all," he whispered, his voice echoing like death. "Clinging to each other like children. How very Gryffindor of you."
But no one answered him.
Not in words.
Because Narcis aimed his wand and shouted: "Silex Tempestas!"
The air exploded into crystal shrapnel—dozens of razored spears shooting toward the Dark Lord.
And Voldemort—
—for the first time—
—stepped back.
Above, Lillian's hand twitched. His own wand spun with gentle grace. "This game," he whispered, "needs new rules."
The runes on the walls flared red.
And suddenly—
Every wand in the chamber sparked.
A spell none had spoken—cast by the chamber itself—tore through them all.
The floor cracked.
The air ignited.
And from the shadows—
Snape rose.
Bloodied. Burned. But alive.
And this time, when he raised his wand, it was not with fear.
But fury.
"No more bonds," he said.
And Lucius—trembling, on his knees—whispered, "Severus... don't."
But it was too late.
Because this chapter—this war—had just begun.