The Leaky Cauldron was as crowded and filthy as ever. Its floor was sticky with spilled butterbeer and firewhisky. The patrons were loud and obnoxious in their intoxicated states. But surprisingly, none of this bothered the two men at the small table in the back of the bar. Neither of them spoke, not for lack of topic, but out of a subtle fear that neither of them was willing to own up to. After all, Severus Snape and Harry Potter had spent the past seven years loathing each other for no reason in particular.

Finally, the silence became too much for Harry.

"Why did you ask to see me?"

The question seemed to take Severus off guard. He paused for a second before sighing with grief.

"Did you really think that I would have given you those memories had I not been sure that I was about to die?"

Harry shook his head. Severus continued.

"The fact that I survived that damned snake's bite was an unaccounted for fluke. I had no intention of living to see the sun rise. "

"What do you mean your survival was a fluke?" Harry demanded. "You're saying you'd rather have died at Voldemort's feet?"

"You don't know how long I've waited for the hell I've earned,” Snape said quietly. “Dying at the devil's feet would only have been an ironic tribulation."

Harry could only stare at the man before him. What the hell was Snape talking about? He'd been fighting for the right side for years. What hell had he earned?

As if he were reading the younger man's mind, Severus said, "I've killed more then Dumbledore, Potter. Those murders weren’t for the greater good.” He took a thoughtful swig of butterbeer as he watched Harry stare at him. There was something unsettling in his bright green eyes. Lily’s bright green eyes, he thought with a pang of regret. It had been years since he had lost her blessing, and it was still extremely painful to think about.

“You still haven’t answered my question, Snape,” Harry said, interrupting his former professor’s train of thought.

“Oh?”

“Why did you ask me here?”

Severus sighed and stared at the younger man. Suddenly, Harry thought he could see exactly how much both of the wars had aged him.

“I have asked you here for one final boon, Mr. Potter. I ask that you do for me what I did for Dumbledore.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Harry lied. Nothing had ever been clearer. What Snape was asking was beyond Harry’s expectations.

“I am asking you, Potter,” Severus sneered disdainfully, “to kill me.”

The deafening noise of the Leaky Cauldron seemed to stop abruptly at Severus’s request. Harry could hear nothing other than the adrinaline coursing through his veins. Kill the professor? Voldemort’s had been a necessary death; the Dark Lord had killed so many, it only seemed fit that his punishment came in the next life. But the professor…

“I’m not sure if I can, Professor,” Harry said softly. “Killing Vildemort’s been enough. Wouldn’t it damage my soul if I were to kill you too?”

“No more than it damaged my own soul to kill the Headmaster,” Severus said evenly. “Consider it a favor to me, not my murder.”

“How can’t I consider it murder?” Harry snapped. “You and I both know how we feel about each other. You can’t deny that you hate me, Snape.”

“No,” he said softly. “I cannot.”

“Then how wouldn’t it tear my soul in two? Dumbledore said there’s nothing worse than murder, Snape. That’s all anyone would ever see my killing you as.”

“What are you saying, Potter?” Severus asked cautiously.

Harry rose to leave as he said, “I’m saying I can’t do it. I’m sorry. I won’t kill you. Find someone else.”

Severus stared at Harry as though he’d never seen him before. What was this? Here, the professor had thought that the boy would leap at the chance to avenge the Headmaster’s death. What had changed?

“You said yourself that our feelings toward each other were no secret, Potter. One would have thought that you wanted to kill me.”

This stopped Harry. It was true; ever since his second year, Harry had hoped of almost nothing other than the Potions Master’s demise. But doing it himself was something he had never dreamed of.

“Voldemort’s done a lot of foul stuff, Professor. But he did one good thing too.”

Severus looked at Harry with a bored expression. “And what would that be?”

“He’s taught me not to take life for granted. It’s too short to waste, and nothing is worth taking it away from someone.” Harry stared at Severus for a moment before saying, “Not even yourself.”

On that note, Harry took his leave, feeling he had done the right thing. Severus merely stared after him, wondering what the hell had gotten into the boy.

The next day, the headline of the Daily Prophet read “Former Hogwarts Headmaster Found Dead!” Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach as he read the story. Apparently, Severus Snape had been found hanged in his own home on Spinner’s End. No one knew who had done it, only that the killer had left without a trace, which was not uncommon with Wizarding murders.

The tap at the window startled Harry. He was currently taking refuge at the Burrow. The owl that had made the noise was not one that Harry recognized, though he had a feeling it was for him. Opening the window, he wondered idly if this was the beginning of the fan mail Ron was positive he would receive. But when he removed the envelope from the owl’s leg, all thoughts of fan mail left his mind. On the front of the envelope, written in a handwriting that was all too familiar was a single word.

Potter

Not bothering to hide his curiosity, Harry tore the envelope open to read the letter inside. Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

Potter,

By the time you read this, I’ll already be in hell where I belong. Do not pretend to mourn my death, for we both know it would be a lie. My death was a necessary factor in the war, regardless of how late it was. Since the Dark Lord failed to do away with me, and you were too noble to dispose of me, I felt it necessary to do the job myself. Yes, the action was cowardly, but the Wizarding world would have viewed me as nothing more than a Death Eater who got away. I don’t expect you to understand.

S.S.

P.S.

Kill the owl.

Harry reread the letter, just to make sure he understood it. Snape didn’t want him to understand, but Harry was determined to do so. No matter what it took, Harry was absolutely sure that he would find out what was going on in the professor’s mind…