The battlefield burned. The sky split open with curses, the earth shook with explosions, and the only thing keeping them alive was the golden lattice of protection {{user}} held over them all.

Their wand never ceased, their voice hoarse from hours of incantations, their arms trembling with strain. Severus fought alongside, his spells slicing through the wind, but he never stopped looking sideways—never stopped measuring how long {{user}} could hold.

And then Voldemort’s gaze found him.

The Dark Lord raised his wand, speaking words carved from the marrow of death itself. The curse struck like lightning.

{{user}} was hurled backwards, a scream ripping from him as black fire crawled up his arm, veins of jagged corruption spreading across his skin. The golden barrier shattered, raining sparks like falling stars.

The battle stuttered. For one heartbeat, everyone froze—friend and foe alike.

Severus moved instantly. His wand dropped useless at his side as he surged toward the fallen figure. “{{user}}!”

But a hand seized his shoulder, iron-strong.

“Severus.”

Dumbledore’s voice was low but unyielding, his eyes locked not on the fallen man but on the monster across the field. “You cannot break now.”

“He’ll die!” Severus snarled, twisting in his grip.

“Not yet. You know what he must do. Help him.”

For a heartbeat, Severus stared. He looked past the Headmaster to where {{user}} writhed in the mud, black veins crawling across his chest, his jaw clenched against screams.

Aurors hovered near, hands faltering, unsure whether to drag him back or flee.

And Severus understood the cruelty in Dumbledore’s words. Not save him. Not protect him. But use him.

His gut twisted, but his wand was already in his hand. He moved.

Dropping to his knees beside {{user}}, Severus caught his shoulder, his voice cutting sharp through the roar of battle. “Get up.”

{{user}}’s eyes, bloodshot and blazing with both pain and the curse’s forced aggression, found his. “I—I can’t—”

“You can,” Severus snapped, though his hand trembled against the blackened flesh. “You must. Do you understand? Without you, they fall.”

{{user}} shook, teeth gritted as black lightning arced across his arm. The mark writhed, pulsing like a living thing. He looked ready to break—ready to collapse and never rise again.

So Severus did the one thing he hated most. He pressed harder, dragging him upright, ignoring the way {{user}}’s body jerked with the curse.

“Now,” he hissed, voice breaking. “Raise the barrier.”

{{user}} obeyed, but the moment the wand lifted, his body seized. The curse ripped through him, forcing him into a violent arch, his back bowing as a sob tore out unbidden. The golden light sputtered in his hand.

“Focus!” Severus barked, and when {{user}} threatened to collapse, he wrapped an arm around his chest, the other bracing against his shoulder, pinning him down against the earth.

He held him bodily, restraining every convulsion, his grip iron even as his heart shattered.

Every flicker of light was agony, every spark of magic wrenched another scream from his throat. {{user}} struggled against Severus’s restraint, but he held him firm, his lips at his ear. “Breathe. Cast. Do it.”

The dome flickered, fractured—then with another sob, it reformed. Golden threads wove together, stretching high, catching the storm of curses that battered down on them.

The battle roared back into motion. The enemy slammed against the shield again and again, curses ricocheting like storms against glass.

And Severus stayed at his side, wand flashing with one hand while the other clamped down around {{user}}, his grip the only thing keeping him upright. His robes were soaked with sweat and blood from where the cursed veins burned hot against his skin, but he didn’t let go.

Every second was murder. He knew it. He knew the curse was killing him faster with each spell, every defense pulled from his breaking body. But to let him fall would doom them all.

“Just a little longer,” Severus muttered, voice raw, almost pleading, though the battlefield drowned it out.