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He took only a few steps into the room before he came to a stop next to Lucius and stared.
Ethereal.
It was the only way he could describe what he was seeing.
He was suddenly reminded of those Christian paintings Lily had shown him back when they were younger.
The scene playing out before him certainly shared the same timelessness and holiness. If not more so.
The boy's white skin was painted red with blood that was as much his as it was his uncle's.
He looked like the epitome of innocence lost.
Tainted; as he held onto the Dark Lord's robe like it was his life line.
Their Lord seemed frozen in time.
Contemplating what he should do in the same cold and detached way he did everything else.
As if this was not a unique twist of fate.
As if he was but a demon, a dementor, judging the worth of the soul it was about to devour.
But then, slowly and carefully, the Dark Lord curled one of his arms around the boy’s waist, holding him closer; his black cloak shielding the pale skin of the boy like an inky black wing.
It was an image of capitulation, of utter surrender.
Harry was an angel tainted by the evil of man who was finally giving in to the demon he had once fled.
And at this very moment, as he stood there, Severus knew at once
that the Light
had lost.
[“Sleep now, angel, for tomorrow, you will be a fallen one.”]