Harry could not remember a time when he had run so hard in his life. His lungs burned; his side ached; but he did not really notice it at the moment. He did not realize when he had gotten out of the dungeon; he did not really have any sense of time. All that the young Gryffindor could think about doing was getting to the headmaster’s office as quickly as he could. He had to get there and tell Dumbledore before Archer could get away!

It seemed to take forever, and yet in a blink of an eye, Harry was outside the headmaster’s office. “Lemon drops!” he gasped out.

The gargoyle leaped out of the way quickly and Harry did not have to slow his pace too much. The boy ran up the stairs as fast as he could before barging through the door, not even bothering to knock. At the moment, manners were the last things on his mind.

The headmaster sat at his desk, and he looked up very confused. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were now staring at Harry as well. “Pro — fessor . . . Dumbledore!” the young man gasped, leaning over.

“Merlin’s bloody beard!” Filius exclaimed, standing up in his chair.

“Potter!” Minerva exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this barging in? What’s wrong with you? What’s going on?”

“Take a seat here, Harry.” Dumbledore stood up as well, and tried to walk the boy to his now-vacant seat.

While the headmaster’s offer was kind, and indeed sounded very tempting, Harry jerked his arm away from the old man’s grip. “No!” he shrieked. “In the dungeons . . . Snape . . . was brewing an’ . . . and his arm started . . . started to bleed an’ he . . . he fell and someone — Archer — came and . . . and . . .” Here the Gryffindor burst into tears once more. It was so strange that he should be weeping over Snape, but he could not help it. That man had given his life for Harry, the same as his mother . . .

Dumbledore put his arm around Harry and, leading the boy to his chair, sat him down anyway. Harry, too distraught, did not notice, and allowed himself to be taken away. When he sat down, he was shaking terribly, reliving the horrid scene over and over again in his mind. His father, his mother, Cedric, Snape . . . they had all died in the same gruesome manner. It seemed everyone around him was dying!

“Now, Harry,” Harry looked up into the concerned blue eyes. “Tell me, what is this about Professor Snape?”

The young Gryffindor’s trembling increased, as all he could picture was Snape fighting to the death to make sure Harry lived. Snape could have probably gotten away, but he stood his ground to fight, to make sure that Harry would be safe. A heavy weight of guilt came crashing down on the young wizard, and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out.

“Harry? Harry!” Professor McGonagall touched his shoulder. “Breathe, dear. Just calm down. What has happened?” There was concern in her normally stern voice.

“Professor Snape’s dead!” Harry cried.

The three adults stood stunned, each one of their faces a mask of the purest horror. Realizing again that nothing was being done, Harry stood up and grabbed Dumbledore’s hand. “Come on! Archer might still be there! We have to catch him!”

Snapping out of his revulsion, Dumbledore nodded and ran to the Floo. “Quickly,” he barked at the others.“Severus Snape’s office!” he shouted. The other three followed.

One by one, they all managed to get through, and they raced out of Snape’s office and towards the classroom. The three professors were too worried over Severus’s killer to think of Harry still following them. They all took out their wands, and carefully, Dumbledore pushed open the classroom door from where Harry had left it slightly open when he had run out. It was still dark.

Stepping in, the wizards and witch stealthily stalked toward the private lab where they saw the bluish-purple glow coming from. Harry held his breath, hoping that Archer was still there so they could get him and send him to Azkaban to rot. This had all happened much too soon after Cedric . . .

But when Filius and Albus burst through, they saw nothing immediately. A signal passed between them and Filius lit the candles in the room. At first glance, they did not see anyone. But the sight of the room was much worse than Harry had thought it would be.

Looking around the damaged room, the three wizards and the witch stood in the doorway of the Potions master’s work lab in amazement. What once had been a beautifully organized, neat room was now a disastrous wreck. There were shattered beakers, busted catalysts, broken tables . . . and, surprisingly, in the middle of the room, the large cast-iron cauldron that had earlier been simmering with the wondrous potion was lying on the floor, cracked in many pieces. The potion that the Potions master had been making was now all over the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. And lying face down, his head covered, was Severus Snape.

Harry instantly tried to rush in to see the body of the slain man, but Dumbledore stopped him and held him in place. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall scanned the room and the potion to make sure that the purple substance was not harmful. When it was determined that it was not a threat, they cleaned it away, leaving only a small sample. The moment that was done, Harry broke free of the headmaster’s grip and rushed to the Potions master.

Kneeling down beside the obviously dead man, Harry, with shaking hands, carefully over turned his professor, wanting, yet at the same time not wanting to see his face. Behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall sob. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself for what was sure to break his heart.

To all of their shock and amazement, when he turned the man over, they did not see Severus Snape, but Benjamin Archer. “What?” Harry whispered in confusion.

He stood up immediately and began looking around the room.  Along with all of the broken pieces of lab equipment, there were also several trails of blood. Harry recognized the initial pool from when Snape had been standing still being questioned before the fight. And there was blood running from several rather nasty looking gashes in Archer’s torso. Professor Snape was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” Minerva cried as she began overturning debris large enough to hide a body. But her search was all in vain. There was no body. “Where is he?!”

“Harry.” Dumbledore spun on the boy. “What happened? From the beginning. I want all the details!”

The anger and grief in the headmaster’s voice was undeniable. Dumbledore had really cared for Snape, and it wasn’t until that moment that the last of the Potter line understood. “I came here to ask Professor Snape a question,” Harry began. “I walked in the room and saw that he was brewing a potion. He didn’t say what it was. We got to . . . talking, and right in the middle of something he was saying, he fell to the floor and his Dark Mark started to bleed.” The headmaster paled. “It was like a chunk of his skin had been torn off. But when I offered to go get help, he grabbed me and put me under his desk; told me someone was coming soon and that I needed to hide until I found a moment to get away.”

“He hid you under the desk?” Flitwick cocked his head, looking grave. “It was clever, I must say — if, of course he would not let on you were there.”

“He didn’t!” Harry, for some reason, felt obligated to defend his own, and last, defender. “He put out all the lights and went back into his lab. Not two minutes later, Archer, that Death Eater, came in and started talking about Snape being a traitor. I snuck out from under the desk and Snape signaled for me to go. I started to, but I couldn’t just leave him!” His eyes were pleading. “So convinced myself that I was going to help him when I saw that he was blocking the doorway from Archer, and that’s when Snape hurt him, I think, and then he . . . Archer killed . . . Snape,” the boy concluded miserably. “And it’s all my fault.”

Silence fell over them again.

“It was no one’s fault but Archer’s,” Dumbledore spoke as though his throat was tight. “Severus knew what he was about, and he was only doing his duty.”

“He saved my life!” Harry cried, unable to believe that the headmaster’s words were so cold.

The ancient wizard nodded. “Yes, Harry, that was Severus’s job.” He smiled sadly at the boy before him. “After your parents died, my boy, Severus vowed to protect you from anything and everything, even if it meant he had to give up his own life.”

Stunned, the young Gryffindor gawked openly at the headmaster. “Why?” he asked.

Again, with another sad smile, Dumbledore gently placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Because, he cared for your mother, Harry.” The young Gryffindor’s eyes widened in surprise. “And the night Lily died . . . he was never the same after that. He promised to protect you; to make sure Lily’s sacrifice was not in vain. He vowed to always watch you, to make sure that you were safe from all the outside harms. He wanted to redeem himself, my dear boy. And he has.”

“He didn’t have to die!” Harry cried. “He could have gotten away had it not been for me! I know he must have known I was still there. He could have . . . should have gotten away!”

Shaking his head sadly, Albus smiled gently at the boy. “He did his duty, Harry, and we should honor him for that.”

Astonished, Harry did not know what to think. Snape not only saved his life, two times that he could think of, but also had pledged to protect him, even to the point of death? That was not something he had ever imagined possible. It was . . . unnerving, really.

“So what do we do?” Flitwick asked, his voice gruff with emotion. “What do we do with him?” he pointed to the dead Death Eater.

“What of Severus?” Minerva cried.

There was a little noise, one so soft that for a moment, they all thought that they had imagined it. They all sat still, tense, looking around the room, hoping to see some sign of life. Nothing happened and no more sounds were heard. Dumbledore looked down at Harry and then around the room again.

“Severus?” he called gently. “Are you in here? Are you alive?”

There came no answer. It seemed that the Potions master was really gone. But there was something within Harry that just could not believe that Snape was really dead. There were those that wanted the Potions master gone, but he would never leave. Snape had to be alive, if just out of spite.

There came another shifting noise and Dumbledore instantly pushed Harry back, so that the boy would not be hit by any spells if there was someone or something still here. Minerva took Harry back into the classroom while Albus and Filius, their wands drawn, crept forward. There was no real place for a grown witch or wizard to hide, but they had all learned a lesson with Peter Pettigrew. Whatever was there might just be an Animagi.

“Where’s Professor Snape?” Harry turned and whispered to his Head of House. “I heard Archer say the Killing Curse. So where is Snape, and why is Archer dead?”

“Hush!” the Head of Gryffindor growled. “Be quiet, Harry. We don’t know what’s in there still.”

They waited tensely for several more minutes before Filius called out, “It’s nothing. There is nothing here.”

Confused, but not wanting to argue the case, Minerva looked down at her young charge. “Harry, why don’t you go to the hospital wing? Get yourself calmed down?”

“I don’t want to go there,” the boy hissed.

“Would you prefer going back up to the common room?” McGonagall did not back down, but glared at her student earnestly.

The thought of returning to the common room, where everyone would be talking, laughing, and acting carefree, disgusted Harry just then. And he was sure that the moment someone saw him, they’d all come running over, asking him what was wrong and where he had been. If there was one thing Harry was certain of, it was that he probably looked terrible. Who wouldn’t after they had once again witnessed a murder?

Hanging his head in defeat, the Boy Who Lived nodded and found himself walking out the door. He could feel McGonagall’s eyes burning into his back, but he fought the temptation of turning around. Perhaps she was right; maybe he really did need to go to the hospital wing, if only just to calm down. This was the second time, after all, in less than a year in which he heard and saw someone murdered. Not to mention he still had nightmares about his mother . . .

So, dragging his feet, Harry made his way out of the dungeons and up towards the infirmary. He could just add Snape’s demise in with all of the others he had had the misfortune of seeing.

~*~

Walking up to the healing chambers, Harry could not think of a single thing he wanted to do more than just lay down somewhere where no one would ever find him and sleep for at least ten years. Either that, or he wanted to just run away and never come back. How was he going to face everyone tomorrow? It was only a week into the new school year, and already everyone thought he killed Cedric; what were they going to think when it came out that Professor Snape was dead? Dumbledore was not going to tell everyone that a Death Eater had gotten into the school, and since Harry had been the only one to last see Snape alive . . . Merlin! What was everyone going to think?

Sick, the Gryffindor decided that maybe he should just sleep in the infirmary. He did not want to see Ron or anyone else. He did not want them to ask him questions. He did not even want to see anything that reminded him of better times, or things that made him happy. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted to be miserable. If only he had helped Snape sooner!

What would everyone think when it was announced that Severus Snape was dead? What excuse would Dumbledore make for his death? That the Potions master had had a heart attack? That did not seem very likely for the thirty-five-year-old professor. A potion explosion? No one would ever believe that. Snape was too much of a perfectionist to let something like that happen. Everything Harry thought of seemed an unlikely way for the professor to die. The only way Harry could see Snape dying so young was at the hands of Death Eaters. Would Dumbledore admit it? Or would he not even say anything? Maybe the old wizard would just say that Snape had to leave Hogwarts for some reason or other. But that didn’t make much sense, either! The students would definitely start rumors that Snape had died then.

Why was Harry so concerned with all of this anyway? Hadn’t he just thought tonight how much he wished the Potions master would die? And now the man was dead. Why wasn’t Harry pleased, then? He had gotten his wish! His main tormentor was gone — there was not going to be anymore unfair treatment of students, as far as Harry could see. So why then was he so utterly miserable? He hated Snape! Shouldn’t he be happy the greasy git was gone?

But no matter how Harry looked at it, all he could see was Snape standing in that doorway, blocking Archer from him. He could hear the concern in the wizard’s voice when he told him that someone was coming and he needed to run. Feel the fear the older wizard held when he thought that someone would harm his student. It was only when faced with death that Snape had shown his true side, his human side. Realizing that the Potions master had been out to protect Harry from the very beginning — made a promise to do so, in fact — made Harry feel ill.

When he was outside the healing chambers, the young wizard had to wonder how he had gotten there so quickly. He did not really remember half the journey here, but he was grateful for it. Maybe Madam Pomfrey would be willing to not fuss over him so much and just give him a Dreamless Sleep Potion? He really did need to get more sleep.

Opening the doors after taking a moment to collect himself, Harry walked in to find that the room was empty. Good. He did not want to see anyone. He did not want anyone to see him.

It only took a moment more before Madam Pomfrey poked her head out of her office and saw Harry standing by the doors, looking around. “Gracious!” she exclaimed, and rushed towards the student.

Watching the witch hurry to him, Harry realized that he must not have looked all that terrific if the medi-witch was coming towards him with such burning intent. Maybe he really did look terrible, but Harry was sure he was not as bad as Snape . . . How could the Potions master really be dead? He was supposed to be too mean to die!

“Mr. Potter, what’s happened? You look positively a fright!” the witch exclaimed while leading Harry to a bed to sit. “Are you ill?”

Although he was tempted to say no, Harry nodded. He did not feel well, but he knew that he was not sick with the flu. “Can I just have some Dreamless Sleep Potion and stay here tonight?” he asked Pomfrey pleadingly.

“Of course you can, dear,” the nurse said softly. “But let’s just take your temperature first and see if we can’t figure out what’s wro — ”

“I’m not sick!” Harry leaned away from the witch who was waving her wand over him. “I just . . . something happened tonight with . . . It was . . .” He looked up at her helplessly. He could not tell her what had really happened. He could not bring himself to say that Snape was dead; that he had been killed by a Death Eater. It was a horrible thought, and Harry was not so sure he would be able to tell anyone else about it.

Amazingly, the witch seemed to understand, at least in part, what Harry was trying to say. “You were wanting to sleep here?” she asked gently.

“Yes, please,” he said softly.

The medi-witch frowned in concern, but summoned two potions. She looked each one over carefully before pouring them out into the appropriate amounts. “I’m going to have to tell Severus to make more,” she muttered under her breath.

Harry had to fight to keep from crying again.

“Are you sure you do not want to talk about things, Harry?” Madam Pomfrey asked, concern still evident in her dark eyes. “I will not tell a soul if it is a private matter.”

Normally Harry would have tried to smile when someone showed such concern for him. But at the moment, he could not bring himself look even remotely appreciative. Every time he tried to think of something happy, all he could bring up in his mind was the self-made image of Snape lying in a pool of blood, dead. It was gruesome and terrible to think of, but that was all that came to mind.

“No,” Harry looked down at the floor. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. You can ask Professor Dumbledore when he comes later.” When the medi-witch looked confused, Harry elaborated, “He and some others will be up later.”

Still not fully understanding, Madam Pomfrey frowned again at the boy before her, but said nothing else. She would get Albus to talk, of that she was certain. So instead of hounding the boy for more information, which she truly wanted to do, the witch opted to give Harry his potions. He really did look terrible. Poor thing had been through so much in such a short time.

Taking up the Calming Draught and the Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry stared at them for a moment before downing each one quickly. They tasted awful, as usual, but there was something different when the boy drank them. These potions had been made by Snape. Almost all of the potions in this room had been made by the Potions master. Odd that he had been so distrustful of the man through all his years here at Hogwarts, but never second-guessed any of the potions he had taken, despite knowing that Snape had made them. Strange that he should think of that sort of thing now.

After drinking them, Harry set down the cups and looked up to see Madam Pomfrey looking at him worriedly. “Is there anything I can do for you, dear?” she asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“Very well,” the witch sighed. She swished her wand over Harry and turned his clothes into pajamas before she walked away.

Slipping off his shoes, Harry crawled under the covers and took off his glasses after a moment. He stared at the wall, his mind still reeling with the night’s events. He had waited so long for this day to come, had wished for it to come, but now that it had and Snape really was dead, Harry felt nothing but disgust for himself.

Now that Snape was gone, what were they going to do? What was going to become of Hogwarts? The school needed a Potions master, and Snape had been the only one for almost fifteen years. And from what Hermione had told him once, Potions masters were in high demand at the moment. And truthfully, Snape did seem like the only one capable of the job. He not only taught the classes, graded all the assignments, and brewed for the hospital wing, he also balanced out Death Eater meetings, Order meetings, and brewing for both Voldemort and Dumbledore. How could anyone else fill Snape’s shoes?

Merlin, what was to become of the Order? They had no spy and no more links into Voldemort’s inner circle. What would they do now? Snape had been giving information about Death Eaters to the Order for years now, what would they do now that he was gone? And who would Dumbledore turn to when he needed something brewed? He could not just ask anyone, as whoever he employed would eventually start to get suspicious of all the requests. And Harry could not think of another Order member that was as competent in Potions as Snape.

Very slowly, the Calming Draught started to take effect, and Harry began to slip into an oddly befuddled state. His mind wanted to think, but the potion made him want to relax. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey cast a light sleeping spell over the boy when she noticed him having a hard time falling asleep. And along with the Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry’s panicked anxiety was pushed aside for the time being.

Bathed in the glow of a red sunset, Harry looked about him one last time. The red lighting reminded him so much of the blood that had been spilt that night. The crimson glow contrasted so vividly with the calming blue that he had seen earlier down in the dungeons, when Snape had been creating that beautiful potion. Idly, his brain slowing down, Harry wondered what the professor had been trying to make. But he was soon victim to the spell and the potion and fell into a death-like sleep.

~*~

Once Harry was out and away, Minerva came charging back into the late Potions master’s lab. “He’s taking this harder than I would have thought,” she said quietly. Her own feelings on the night’s events were threatening to undo her.

Despite what anyone would say, or what she herself might say, Minerva felt Severus’s loss keenly. She had come to think of the young professor as a little brother of sorts. Their rivalry was simply a game that Snape enjoyed playing, as he liked to taunt his Gryffindor co-worker (usually lightheartedly). And Minerva herself also enjoyed their rounds . . . most of the time. Severus had been more to her than just a fellow worker; he had been her friend. And now . . . now the Potions master was gone, and so were all the rounds of verbal sparring, all the friendly competitions, all the sarcastic jokes. They were all gone . . .

“Of course he is, Minerva,” Dumbledore spoke up sadly. “He’s been put through hell and back the last year. Severus’s death came too quickly after Cedric’s, I’m afraid.”

Without her consent, Minerva let out a sob. It had just seemed that Severus would outlast them all, despite the thin line he had walked for the past fifteen years. The Slytherin had seemed to have possessed the cunning to outsmart death itself. But it appeared that she had been wrong. He had been killed in pursuit of saving Harry Potter, a boy she knew the Potions master had not liked, but would still do anything to protect because the boy was the son of Lily Evans, the one woman he had cared about.

“What do we do now?” Filius asked tiredly. His nerves were shot and he was on the verge of crying, too. He and Severus, although they’d had a bit of a rocky beginning, had gotten close over the years. At least, as close as the Slytherin would let people. Filius had always admired Severus’s dedication to his studies and then his profession, allowing the Ravenclaw to get closer to the normally prickly serpent.

“We should clean everything up.” Dumbledore looked around the room forlornly. “We should see if there is . . . anything left of Severus.”

Both Minerva and Filius flinched at the headmaster’s words, but nevertheless did as they were told. Archer was all but ignored during this process. They laid him out onto a table in the classroom while they went to clean up the private lab.

They worked in relative silence until Filius let out a cry. “What is it?” Dumbledore spun around, nearly knocking into McGonagall in all his excitement.

“I found Severus’s cloak!” the little half-goblin’s eyes were filled with tears. “Someone just threw them carelessly under the cabinet here.”

“But why would they do that?” Minerva frowned at Albus. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Unless . . . unless there was someone else with Archer and they took Severus away?” Flitwick’s eyes held hope.

Although he would have dearly loved to believe that, Albus shook his head sadly. “No. That does not make sense. Harry made no mention of anyone else coming with Archer. He would have remembered seeing someone else here if there had been.”

“But that would explain why we can’t find Severus anywhere.” Minerva was desperate to think of anything to have Severus alive again, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“No,” Dumbledore shook his head more forcefully. “Harry said that there was Archer. Just Archer. With Severus being weakened from the beginning of the battle, I don’t think he could have lasted as long as he had with two Death Eaters. And,” he went on before either one of his employees could think of another wild idea, “it would not make sense for a Death Eater to leave a companion behind for us to find so easily.”

“But then what of the body?” Filius demanded. “It could not have just disintegrated! No Killing Curse could be that powerful! Not even You-Know-Who’s are!”

“No, no, indeed,” Dumbledore stroked his white beard thoughtfully. “I do not know what to tell you,” the old wizard admitted. “The only things we know are that Severus was supposedly hit by the Killing Curse, his body is gone, and Archer is dead.”

“Do you suppose Harry got it wrong and Severus had been the one to say the Unforgivable?” Minerva asked. She would rather have Snape use a lawbreaking spell than be dead. “He could have run off after, thinking that he would get taken to Azkaban.”

That was an intriguing thought, one that Albus was tempted to believe for a moment. But looking out the door and to the body of the corpse that laid there, slowly going into rigor mortis, he knew it could not be. “I do not think so,” the headmaster said, shaking his head slowly. “There would be no mistaking Severus’s voice for Benjamin’s.” The old man clearly remembered Archer, the dead Gryffindor’s, voice. “And why would Severus run? He would have come to me. He knew I would not turn him over for killing a Death Eater. And in that event, we would have seen him coming up to talk to me after Harry was leading us down here.”

“But he was hurt,” Filius recalled. “Harry said Severus had been hurt before his duel with Archer. Perhaps he went to his chamber to heal himself?”

At this, Albus was stumped. They were convincing arguments, and he was not quite ready to fully accept Severus’s death, either. He loved Severus like a son, and was having a hard time keeping his emotions calm and to himself. If the Slytherin was alive, Albus intended to embrace Severus warmly like a son, but he could not get his hopes up too much. Harry’s panic and testament was as good as true in the headmaster’s court, and there was all this compelling evidence to suggest that the Potions master really was dead. But he so dearly wished that Harry would be wrong or made a mistake!

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore relented. “We should go and see. But first . . .” The old man looked towards the cabinet. “Accio Severus’s cloak.”

Instead of the fabric flying to the headmaster’s open and waiting hands, the cloak could be seen only just beginning to peek out from under the cabinet. It almost looked as though they were trying to fight off the spell.

Frowning, Dumbledore repeated the spell. “Accio Severus’s cloak!”

This time, the cloak came fully out from under the dusty cabinet. As the black, tangled ball of fabric came flying to him, Albus was forced to notice that it was not coming easily, as though it were still fighting off the headmaster’s powers. And the cloth seemed much too heavy to simply be cloth. What all had Severus put into his pockets? He supposed he would know soon enough.

But right when the cloth was almost in Dumbledore’s hand, the spell wore completely off. The cloak fell to the floor with a thud. It was with wide eyes that the two wizards and the witch stared down at the fabric that was now looking back up at them with the same wide eyes.

~*~

Red sky at night,
Sailor's delight;
Red sky at morning,
Sailor's warning.