The body of the Muggle lay grotesque in the barren field, remnant of another sickening night of Death Eater folly.

“Now. Should any one of my own dare defy me…” Voldemort prowled around and the cackles of the Death Eaters died down. “Know that he awaits a fate much worse than that of this Muggle. I,” Voldemort said as he raised his arms, “am developing a new curse that I will be quite…eager to use.

“In the meantime, let me leave you with this little reminder not to fail me…Crucio!”

sSsSsSs

Snape opened his eyes with the feeling of cold, damp earth beneath him. Momentarily confused as to why he found himself alone in the middle of a neglected field, the ghostly aches of the cruciatus curse pulled him back to reality. Staring up at the darkness of the night sky yielding to indigo, he was reminded of the things to come that would be much worse than last night’s Death Eater meeting. Snape jerked into a sitting position, immediately regretting it. Easing to his feet, he mustered enough energy to apparate.

sSsSsSs

Collapsing to his knees upon landing near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Snape instinctively glancing around to make sure no one saw him in such a pathetic state. Of course, no one should be roaming through the forest at this miserable hour. He regretted looking around, though, for the argument he had with Albus in that very spot two days prior sprung to his mind, and his heart constricted upon recalling the deplorable revelation Albus made that same evening about the Potter boy’s fate. He huffed as he struggled to stand. He had to come up with an alternative.

Grasping a rough tree trunk, he made to get up and out of there as quickly as possible. The sound of the magical creatures busy with their morning activities felt too much like his Muggle primary school teacher screeching chalk on the blackboard. Then a noise akin to a giant storming through the forest assaulted him. His perception proved correct as the half-giant Hagrid emerged through the trees, whistling at a level of exuberance that left Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes wanting.

“Top o’ the mornin’ ter yeh—“ Hagrid started, then his eyes widened as he took in Snape’s appearance.

“’fessor Snape, what ’append ter yeh?” Hagrid hustled over, cracking not-too-small branches beneath his feet. “Don’t tell me yeh gone ter one of ’em awful meetings again.”

Seeing Hagrid’s enormous arms descending upon him, Snape swiped his hand through the air.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting my own person to the castle,” Snape rasped and then quickly cleared his throat, hastening to stand upright.

“Oh don’ be silly, Professor. Lemme getcha inside for some breakfast so yeh can regain yer strength.”

Too weak to resist, Snape found himself being hoisted over to the hut. Anyone else but Hagrid Snape would have cursed to oblivion, but he was loath to admit the hut seemed quite welcoming on this bitter cold and onerous morning.

He looked up at Hagrid, who still had too much zest in his stride, and envied his ignorance of what was to come.  On second thought, that wasn’t quite fair; any glimmer of hope in Hagrid’s eyes was sure to be extinguished by the events to come. As much as Snape himself was content at being a cynic, he couldn’t help but think Hogwarts would cease to feel like home should the rest of the staff and students be engulfed in despair.

A thud brought him out of his brooding and Snape found himself at the table with a plate of rock cake in front of him. He let out a groan, which Hagrid must have mistaken for pain.

“Can I get yeh summat else, Sev’rus? Yeh mus’ be hurtin’ a lot…”

Upon hearing his given name, Snape looked up into Hagrid’s eyes and took in the rare shimmer of compassion directed at him. A twinge of sorrow struck him as he realized those eyes, and those of the rest of the staff, would soon look upon him with nothing but hatred and revulsion.

Hagrid must have figured Snape wasn’t going to say anything, and busied himself with pouring tea in the corner of the kitchen. He came over and plunked two giant mugs on the table, oblivious to the hot water sloshing over and soaking the wood. Snape withdrew his hands from the table just in time.

“Yeh know, times like these...” Hagrid trailed off as he added generous lumps of sugar to the mugs. “Hard times, they are…” He seemed to be watching something out the window, rather than the cups to which he was adding cubes with abandon, and Snape wanted to snatch the sugar bowl from him.

“Sev’rus, I’ve known yeh since yeh was a laddie.”

Snape surpressed a jolt as Hagrid faced him and plumped down on a chair.

“An’ I know you’ve been through a lot…”

Where Hagrid was going with this, Snape could not fathom, but Hagrid broke eye contact without elaborating and began engrossing himself with the spoon, stirring the tea in hypnotic circles. The stirring picked up the pace and Snape was ready to swat the mug out of Hagrid’s hand—never mind the mess, but then thought it’d be better to take advantage of Hagrid’s preoccupation and attempt an escape. But something in Hagrid’s tone when he spoke next induced Snape to stay.

“Whenever I get—when I have trouble with the Giants…it helps me to think of the ‘eroes before us. Whether they died or survived, they sacrificed what was most dear to them.” Hagrid had grabbed a rock cake and was breaking off small pieces. He looked nervous, or maybe frustrated or distressed, Snape couldn’t tell. There was only one person’s sacrifice other than his own—and now Potter’s—that he had ever dedicated thought to. That was about all the dwelling on sacrifice he could bear.

“This war’s gonna take big sacrifices, I know it. Jus’ like the firs’ war…”

Snape stared as Hagrid passed him the plate of now crumbled rock cake, wondering if Hagrid thought the substance would transmit his resolve. Snape was not one to accept sympathy, and by no means was he about to start wallowing in the past, certainly not in front of another sentient being. Yet Hagrid continued with all his zeal.

“But it’s our very willingness to make these sacrifices that counts, innit? It’s what we’ve got that the bad guys don’t ‘ave. An’ it’s why You-Know-Who went down the firs’ time. I’ll be dammed if these sacrifices—”

Snape grasped the table and rose, staring into Hagrid’s eyes as if he were reading in them all the answers to the impending tragedy.

“What—what is it, Professor?”

But without an answer,  Snape lurched out of the hut, his pain evidently forgotten. 

The path I’ve walked is soaked in blood,

Barely I escape the slashing of claws.

The path before me, bathed in tears,

Narrowly I escape the snapping of jaws.

Those I once led just stare and jeer.

Those I revered just glare and sneer.

SsSsSsSs

Nightfall, May 1, 1998

Snape watched the indigo sky above the castle grounds as it fell to darkness. There was a feeling of finality in the way the brightness died, as if the sun would cease to rise.

No, he would not permit himself to contemplate failure. A breeze blew by and the hairs stood on the back of his neck. His eyes stung as he seemed to hear the sweet voice of Lily singing a lullaby. For that moment of solace, however imagined or construed, he was grateful.

Then a burning erupted on his left forearm. Of course, not a moment’s peace. Yet the sensation lacked its usual pull. Not a summons. A signal then. That meant Harry Potter was spotted and would soon be coming to Hogwarts.

Snape whipped around and reentered the Headmaster’s office. Striding over to the desk, he whipped out a piece of parchment and scrawled a message on it. He paused, tilting his head back and forth, and scribbled the rest of the words. That would have to do; there was no time for eloquence.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

Nosey old coot.

“Not for you to know.” Snape was not about to gamble away his final move and last piece with the chess master. Even from that portrait Dumbledore would manage to pull his puppet strings.

“Harry’s on his way.” It wasn’t a question. Dumbledore had also somehow maintained his semblance of omniscience even in death. “You must find a way to tell him—“

“I’ve got it under control,” Snape barked as he stuffed the scroll into his sleeve. He then approached the pensieve and cast an intricate series of spells.

“Need I say, Severus, if there’s any doubt that you—

"Silencio." Snape whipped around and with a jab and tap of his wand, Dumbledore’s portrait was no longer to be seen or heard, and fortunately not able to see his face flush; the headmaster had still held his respect somehow. But he would not regret his actions, for it was nothing compared to what Albus had done to him, and he couldn’t risk the old man meddling in his plan, not now that the end was near.

Gathering his robes, Snape grabbed the Sorting Hat by the tip and it let out a yelp. “Easy there!”

Snape just looked at it and strode to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he paused for one final look around the office, then snapped it shut.  He had to get to Harry Potter before it all went to hell. With a grimace, he decided to try the Gryffindor Tower, glad at least that the students should be in bed at that hour.

As he strode through the halls, an assortment of memories arose, from walking with Lily to apprehending Potter in his nighttime escapades to the night he escaped after killing the headmaster. And now, his most recent memories were of nothing but fearful students marching and close calls with the Carrows and glares from the other staff.

When he rounded the corner, his heart lurched as he saw Minerva coming his way. It was extremely uncomfortable being around her now, but there was no turning back. Perhaps he could make the most of this encounter.

“I didn’t know it was your night to patrol the corridors, Minerva.”

Minerva stopped, leaving quite a bit of space between herself and Severus. She looked like she wanted to get the conversation over as quickly as possible.

“You have some objection?”

“I wonder what could have brought you out of your bed at this late hour.” Was she out just to protect students or had she somehow heard of Potter’s arrival in Hogsmead?

“I suppose you’ll be taking points? A Gryffindor out of her bed…”

“This isn’t about stupid house points!” He wished he could make her understand.

“Oh? And I suppose you’re the authority on inter-house tolerance these days?”

He knew he should retaliate to keep up his image, but he couldn’t take his mind off the sense of urgency churning in his stomach.

“Have you seen Harry Potter, Minerva? Because if you have, I must insist—”

“No,” she said, eyes wide. She turned and started heading back to where she came from.

“Minerva…” Severus’ heart thudded as he waited to see if she’d turn around. She did, and he looked into her eyes, perhaps searching for something, anything but fear, scorn, or worst of all, disappointment. Knowing he would unlikely ever get the opportunity to regain her trust felt perhaps even more painful than having lost it in the first place. “Tell the ones...” Snape clenched his jaw and shook his head.

Minerva waited a second with her eyebrow raised, and then, seemingly giving up on him, turned down the hall.

“All-school meeting in the Great Hall in thirty minutes,” he called out.

SsSsSsSs

Gasps and whispers. The energy of the crowd had gone from sullen to volatile, and suddenly Harry Potter was in front of him. How could Harry Potter reveal himself in front of the whole school, with two real Death Eaters flanked on each side? The scene swayed before Severus as his heart pounded so intensely he was sure all could hear it, yet he kept his face stone still.

“It seems despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you still have a bit of a security problem, Headmaster.” The title couldn’t have been said with more loathing, though he deserved ever bit of it. The doors to the hall swung open as the Order stepped in. “And I'm afraid it's quite extensive.” How could he speak to Potter with all these eyes on them?

“How dare you stand where he stood. Tell them how it happened that night! How you looked him in the eye, a man who trusted you, and killed him!” The boy who had lost everything yelled at him; the boy who he'd told life wasn’t fair. The one from whom he’d taken his closest mentor; the boy he was supposed to protect. Who he may or may not succeed in protecting. It was now or never. He looked to where he’d placed the Sorting Hat on the platform behind him; it was one meter away.

As Snape made a move toward the hat, Minerva stepped forward, brandishing her wand and pushing Potter aside. Snape instinctively raised his wand in defense, but was then struck by the situation. He had dreaded it would come to this. For a moment, wanting so badly to give up and turn himself in rather than fight his former mentor--the only one still alive--Snape started to lower his wand. No! He told himself he must see the plan through. With renewed resolve, he raised his wand again, ready to fight for a chance to make everything right. 

Minerva cast her spell with such force he barley blocked it, stumbling backward into the steps. Curses came in rapid succession as he fought to block them. As Minerva drew fire from the torches, the room darkened.   

"Traitor! Murderer!" The crowed hollered and jeered, like roaring lions, and they mocked and they scorned. Shielding the curses in haste, Snape was forced to step back again and again. 

"Dishonor! Disgrace!" The Order made it’s way down the aisle, moving up behind Minerva, and Snape was nearly backed against the window. He knew he was out of time.

The next burst of fire that shot towards him, he deflected towards the Carrows without a chance to confirm whether he’d hit his mark or not. He then made his move to switch the hat out with the scroll.

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape’s wand flew out of his hand and soared through the air into Minerva’s hand. The crowd erupted in cheers. Snape twisted and leapt through the window and heard Minerva’s one last cry, "Coward, COWARD!" rising over the breaking glass.

HpHpHpHp

Professor McGonagall restored the light to the torches. Snape was gone!

But Harry’s feeling of elation ended when a sharp pain struck his scar, bringing him to the ground.

“Harry, Harry!” Minerva reached out to him, crouching by his side. Thunder crashed in the sky and screams rose from the crowd as an awful hissing filled the room.

“I know that many of you will want to fight. Some of you may even think that to fight is wise. but this is folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do thissss and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have one hour.”

“What are you waiting for? Someone grab him!”

The scene was so chaotic, Harry thought for a moment the crowd would turn on him, but soon he was surrounded by his friends and Professor McGonagall had the Slytherins escorted away.

“I presume you have a reason for returning, Potter. What is it you need?”McGonagall asked.

“Time, professor, as much as you can get me.”

“Do what you have to do. I’ll secure the castle.”

Harry nodded and turned to leave.

“Potter,” she called after him. “Nice job taking out the Carrows.” she gestured to the two fallen bodies.

“The Carrows? Those two Death Eaters? I thought you took them out, Professor.”

Professor McGonnagal scrunched her eyebrows. “I didn’t”.

“One of the Order members, then.” Harry said.

“Surely, Mr. Potter.” Her brows still knitted, she twirled a black wand in her hand—Snape’s wand. Harry thought it funny Snape failed to defend himself against a simple Expelliarmus since it had been him who taught it to them in the Duelling Club.

Harry pressed his lips together and nodded, but just before he left, he asked “What about the Sorting Hat?”

“I don’t know, Harry. Right now, there’s not much we can do about it. But perhaps,” McGonagall sighed, “perhaps it’s for the best, with all the mess house rivalry has caused…and I don’t see how Snape could make any use of it, with the hat having belonged to Godric Gryffondor himself.”

Harry grinned and nodded. The hat would certainly not serve Snape as it did Harry when he was in need. Only a true Gryffindor… Professor Dumbledore had said.

Harry looked over to the spot where that hat had been, and noticing something lay in its place, he headed over. It looked like a bit of parchment.

“Harry!” Hermione and Ron called out as they hurried toward him. “What happened, are you okay?” Hermione’s eyes searching Harry’s face.

“I’m fine. Snape was sacked.”

“Awesome,” Ron said. “What’s that you got there, Harry?”

“I don’t know, a spare bit of parchment. It was under the Sorting Hat—which Snape swiped.”

“That bastard!” Ron punched the air.

“What would he want with that?” Hermione said.

“Who knows, but he can’t be up to any good,” Ron said.

“Well—and Professer McGonagall agreed—whatever creepy business he’s trying to pull isn’t going to work because the Hat will only aid someone with the courage and honor of a true Gryffindor.”

“—and Snape’s anything but,” Ron said.

As Harry and Ron were carrying on, Hermione took the parchment and turned it in her hand. “Aparecium”.  

Nothing happened at first. Then the letters HP formed on the page.

“HP…Harry, do you think…? You try.”

“Aparecium,” Harry incanted as he tapped the parchment. A spidery script unfolded and Hermione began to read it aloud.

They won’t do you good,

those silly lemon drops;

my wings shall remain closed,

if you dare try acid pops.

Immortal twin of Wormwood,

Persephone’s sacred flower,

is what you need propose

for access to this tower.

The parchment then burst into flames and disintegrated, its glowing ashes gliding to the floor.

HpHpHpHp 

“What was that?”

“Sounds like a riddle of some sort..."

“Acid pops and lemon drops…wings…it must be the password to the headmaster’s office!” Hermione looked gleeful at her deduction.

 “Well, what is it?” Ron looked at Hermione.

“I think—” Hermione started, but Harry beat her to it.

“Asphodel. Draught of Living Death—I don’t think I’ll ever forget that potion, really.”

Hermione had a strange expression on her face and Harry could see she was working something out, but he didn’t have time to contemplate the why or how.

“Don’t do it, Harry.” Hermione must have seen the determination in Harry’s eyes.

“She’s right. It’s got to be a trap.” 

“Snape abandoned his post. That coward, he abandoned the castle. It’s surely not to let him back—”

“You don’t know what’s waiting for you there,” Hermione said.

“This is Hogwarts. No place is safer…” Harry justified.

“Harry, you of all people—”

“We’re going together, then,” Ron said.

“No. You two need to destroy the cup,” Harry said.

“And you need to find the Ravenclaw object—if it’s even a Ravenclaw item we’re looking for.”

“I’m positive about that. Anyway, there might be a clue in the Headmaster’s office…Dumbledore’s portrait. I have to try! Meet you back here in a bit.”

“Harry, no!”

“Destroy the cup!” Harry shouted as he ran out of the hall.

HpHpHpHp

“Here goes…” Harry stopped to catch his breath as he reached the gargoyle on the third floor. 
“Asphodel.”

The gargoyle’s wings began to rotate. Harry wiped his palms on his robe as he ascended the staircase. Upon entering, Harry nearly fell as he stumbled into a mound of tattered books. The room was dark, but a single lit torch cast a low light, and a few book titles caught Harry’s eye. Lost Spells of Times Past (and the Attempts to Find Them); The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts; A History of the Unforgivables… Harry shuddered. Who knew what evildoing Snape had been up to.

Harry looked around and was struck by the pang of grief he felt from seeing the familiar place. The last words Dumbledore spoke to him came to mind. Trust me. Trust me.What a tragedy. Dumbledore was so keen on trust it lead him to his death. Harry walked towards the spot where he remembered seeing Dumbledore’s portrait, but the wall was blank. How dare Snape remove his portrait, how dare he!

“You may wish to try a counterspell…” a dull voice came from one of the portraits and Harry realized he must have said that last part aloud.

“Blast you!” Phineas Nigellus jumped in, “The Headmaster was certain to have a reason for doing it. He bloody well had the right.”

Not deterred by the portraits’ bickering, Harry jumped to the task of uncovering Dumbledore’s portrait. “Finite incantatum”, he said and to his relief, the portrait appeared.

“Headmaster!” Harry said, quickly regretting using that title. “Sir.”

“Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes maintained their twinkle even in portrait. “I must say, I’m quite relieved to see you here.”

“Why did you trust him?” Harry blurted out. “Why? We could’ve—”

Dumbledore held up his hand. “Do not pity the dead, Harry, but take strength in the living, and especially those that still live with love.”

Harry swallowed. He felt he needed to ask Dumbledore something, that there was some additional information that he would need for the final confrontation with Voldemort. But for some reason he couldn't help looking around the office instead. Harry noticed not much had changed. The Sorting Hat, of course, was missing. And Fawkes perch was empty. He wondered what might have become of the phoenix. He then noticed pensieve was out of its closet, so he headed over to it.

“I’d be careful if I were you. Headmaster Snape did not disclose with me the contents of the pensieve.”

Shaking off the bitter flashback of the last time he delved into Snape’s memories, Harry looked between the portrait and the pensieve as a little war between mistrust and curiosity took place in his mind. But before he could make a decision, Dumbledore spoke, his voice so quiet it scared him.

“Harry, there’s something you must know. Something, I think, you may have even suspected…”

Harry looked at the portrait and was taken aback by the amount of compassion and regret conveyed in the painted eyes.

“Once again, I must ask too much of you…”

SsSsSsSsSs

Returning from ascertaining the Dark Lord’s location, Snape rushed to beat him back to Hogwarts. As he approached the grounds, he saw a bluish white glow hovering over the castle in the distance, a glow that was seeping through the night sky, casting the clouds in a ghostly white. Protego Maxima, Finato Duri, Repello Inimicum. Dumbledore had spent much time teaching the Order that spell. Breaking into a sprint, Snape twisted and leapt into flight. If he didn’t make it to the castle before the shield was set, it would be impossible to get through. He heaved through the air, but he could see the shield was coming down fast. Trying to propel himself forward, he gasped as a gust air shot into his lungs. The shield was now almost to the ground. His muscles burned from exertion, but he gave one last push. He wasn’t going to make it.

He managed to halt his flight just as the shield met the ground. His cape swung forward with the momentum and the tail of it singed as it made contact with the shield. With a howl, Snape swung his leg and kicked the ground, then whipped around and receded into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. There was nothing he could do but wait for the Dark Lord and hope that Harry found the pensieve before Dumbledore’s portrait. 

"Sometimes I think we sort too soon…"

                        -Albus Dumbledore (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)

The hallway seemed endless. Harry walked without delay, knowing that there’d be no way to change fate. As soon as Dumbledore’s portrait had finished telling him about the final horcrux, Harry had headed out of the office without a glance behind. The Ravenclaw diadem destroyed, he couldn’t bear to think about what he must do next. He didn’t need to ask for directions, for the pain of Voldemort's presence stabbing his forehead was acting like a tide under a full moon.

And then all of a sudden his walk came to an end, with the doors to the Great Hall standing in front of him. Harry lifted his hand to open the doors but they swung open by themselves, and across the empty space of the Great Hall stood Voldemort, directly below the gaping bat-shaped hole in the window Snape had left behind. Harry was almost hypnotized by the ripples in Voldemort’s cape, which seemed to swirl far too violently for the amount of wind that should be able to enter through the shattered window. Nagini, covered in a blue glow, slithered around Voldemort and hissed.

“Harry!” came a shout from the right side of the room. It took him a moment to notice the crowds standing on both sides of the room: Order members and those loyal on the right, Death Eaters on the left. He could see thick shields preventing either side from passing into the center aisle, leaving Harry alone with the Dark Lord.

Harry caught Ron’s eyes and looked away. He couldn’t bear to see the expression on his friend's face. Not now. Instead, he proceeded towards Voldemort.

“Harry Potter, the boy who lived, come to die.”

As he walked forward, Harry wanted to wipe the wicked smile off Voldemort’s face; hopefully, someone would do it once Voldemort was killed. Once Voldemort killed him.

But suddenly the expression on Voldemort’s face changed and the evil wizard appeared to be looking at something behind Harry. There was a commotion from both sides of the room and Harry was compelled to turn around.

Snape stood at the entrance to the Great Hall. He was in his usual black robes, but he looked different, oddly juvenile, for the Sorting Hat was sitting on his head. In any other situation it would have been comical. Harry could imagine a young Snape sitting on the stool for his sorting, the hat shouting Slytherin! before it touched his head. Yet the hat wasn’t shouting; it was just sitting there, firmly on his head.

Snape marched forward with his expression as still as stone, eyes transfixed on Voldemort. He strode by Harry as if not even seeing him, and came to a stop in front of Voldemort. The tension was palpable as the two crowds waited to see what would transpire. Harry bet that Snape would need a very good reason for interrupting Voldemort’s plan, and Nagini’s continued swirling seemed to echo Voldemort’s impatience. In one swoop, Snape removed the hat, bowed and got down on one knee.

"My Lord."

There were snickers and jeers from the right, but Snape paid no attention. He reached into the hat and there was a flash of silver. The Sword of Gryffidor! Pulling it out, Snape held it before Voldemort. "I present you—a gift."

Whispers of concern came from Harry’s right.

"Don't worry," said a Weasley twin, "Whatever they’re planning, it will backfire. Only a true Gryffindor can use the Sword."

There was laughter. “I’d like to see a Slytherin try to—”

Suddenly an animalistic scream filled the room. Snape had plunged the sword into Nagini and was fighting to hold his ground, gripping the sword with two hands as the snake thrashed around.

Voldemort cast a curse on Snape but there was a flash of light and some sort of explosion and the Dark Lord was thrown backwards, emitting a strangled scream.

Nagini snapped her jaw towards Snape’s arm and tore off a chunk of black fabric. She hissed and snapped again, this time drawing blood.

Voldemort regained his balance and cast another curse, which also backfired.

The snake attacked with her tail, knocking Snape to his knees, but Snape held the sword in place. Harry felt himself tense with apprehension, knowing how important it was for Snape to win this battle. Seeing Snape waiver as the snake struck him again, Harry wished he'd given more thought to how he himself would destroy Nagini before Voldemort killed him, should Snape fail.

Voldemort produced a sword of his own, gleaming a ghastly white, and raised it over his head.

Knowing time was up, Snape twisted the sword as deep as it could go, releasing his right arm just as Voldemort brought the sword down, slashing off Snape’s left arm. The Sword of Gryffindor fell, and Nagini slumped to the ground, twitching for a moment and then falling still. 

Voldemort let out a curdled scream, hunched over Nagini and yanked out the Sword of Gryffindor. Raising the sword above his head, Voldemort whipped his head around to face Snape, who had fallen backwards and was trying to catch his breath. As he brought it down over Snape, the sword flashed a brilliant crimson and Voldemort was sent flying backwards yet again, the sword clanking to the ground. He shrieked and held his burning hands in front of his eyes.

“You will pay for this, you traitor! Son of a muggle! You…that mudblood! I should’ve known!” Voldemort rasped as he rose and approached Snape again, calling his wand to his hand. “But I don’t have time for endless torture right now. And death would be much to kind for you. No,” Voldemort hissed, “you deserve much worse.”

Snape didn't have his wand, Harry realized. “Snape!” He tossed his wand to his once hated professor, for it seemed that Snape would need it more than him, though he knew that however impressive Snape’s skills might be, they were no match for Voldemort.

“Harry, no!” Snape grabbed the wand and rolled it back to Harry’s feet whilst struggling to stand up. He swayed and Harry noticed his left arm, severed at the elbow. But for some reason all Harry could think about was that Snape had called him by his given name.

“Oh how touching,” Voldemort mocked. “Your sacrificial intentions are lovely, but I regret to inform you that neither of you stand a chance.”  Voldemort leered and raised his wand toward Snape.

"Consumebaris magicum conmure centrum." A jet of rust-colored light shot towards Snape, knocking him back to the ground, the air crackling around him. Harry waited for the screams of agony, but they never came. Was Snape dead on the spot? But then Snape sat up, seemingly unaffected.

Snape lurched over to Harry’s wand, which had ended up on the floor between them. Grasping the wand, he pushed off the ground with his right hand, swaying into a standing position. He lifted the wand.

“Ah ha ha!” came a distinctive laughter from the left. Bellatrix. “You wouldn’t dare, Snape! Or if so, you are a greater fool than I’d ever imagined.”

The Death Eaters roared in laughter. What did she mean? Harry glanced at Voldemort to see if he might do something, but the dark wizard was just standing there, looking most conceited.

Paying no heed to the taunts, Snape raised the wand, but not toward Voldemort.

With Snape pointing the wand Harry's chest, the boy was struck with doubt. Maybe Snape wasn’t on their side after all and had killed Nagini for other reasons? But Harry could see no hatred in Snape’s eyes, just pain. Pain and—he couldn’t tell what else, but there was something else. Would Snape kill Harry instead of letting Voldemort do it? Was that the plan? But Voldemort had to do it, Dumbledore had said so.

Rather than attacking, however, Snape raised the wand and in a gentle swoop, circled it over his head. "Expecto Patronum." A silver doe leapt out of the wand and walked toward Harry, whose eyes widened. The doe patronus. Could it be the same from the forest? This one was just as clear as the one he remembered, so distinct you could see the eyelashes hooding the eyes. Before Harry had time to think about the significance, he heard a soft, apologetic voice Harry had never known Snape to use before. “It is time, Harry.”

Harry broke his gaze away from the doe and looked up at Snape. He was startled to see Snape now bent over, leaning heavily with right arm on his leg, with an expression of agony on his face. For a moment Harry wondered if it could possibly be concern at Harry’s imminent demise, but he noticed how Snape’s hair was clinging to his face, soaked in sweat, as if it took every ounce of his energy to stand there casting that patronus. As Harry looked into the dark eyes he got a sense of urgency and Snape nodded him on. Harry nodded back. He turned to Voldemort and could feel energy radiating from the doe as it joined Harry at his side.

A bark of laughter came from Voldemort. “If you were going to choose one final spell to cast, that has to be the absolute worse choice. Whatever you think it’s going to do, it is nothing against my powers. Oh yes, I know what it is. Love.” Voldemort spat the word out as if it were the most fowl word created. “You want to show one last sign of affection before this all comes to an end. Severus Snape, you’re a greater fool than I imagined. Pity that loony old coot brainwashed you. I thought you had potential.” Voldemort turned to address the crowds, sweeping his arm through the air. “No matter, for once I defeat Harry Potter, this world will be so full of darkness no one will be able to produce that disgusting spell or any other pathetic signs of weakness.”

“Love is never a weakness,” Harry found himself saying, and at that moment felt immense strength and love wrap around him and his fear dissolved. He felt it from his friends standing near, wanting to support him. He felt it at the thought of his parents, his godfather, Dumbledore, and all others who sacrificed themselves for the light. And although he still didn’t really understand Snape, he could tell it was there with him, too, proven in the silver doe that seemed so strange coming from him and yet so familiar.

Harry stepped forward. They would be victorious today. “Darkness can never overpower light, and love--that is the brightest magic of all. It was love that led to your downfall the first time, and love again will defeat you today.”

“Oh you are very mistaken, Harry Potter. Now,” Voldemort cackled, “prepare to die.”

Voldemort raised his wand and screamed "Avada Kadavra!"

“Harry, Harry!”

Harry opened his eyes to a commotion of noise. He felt the cold marble floor beneath him and blinked a few times as his eyes tried to focus. He could make out Hermione and Ron’s faces popping into his line of sight, and there was a swarm of people around him. He started to sit up.

“Harry, are you okay?”

“Take it easy, Harry!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harry said with a wave of his hand, although he wasn’t sure he was fine at the moment. Wasn’t he just talking to Dumbledore? Shouldn’t he be dead? Images of King’s Cross Station bathed in foggy white came to his memory – the last horcrux, ancient magic, the doe patronus. Then Dumbledore’s final words sprung to his mind.

“Snape! Where is he?” Harry leapt to his feet.

“Woah, take it easy,” Remus said, holding Harry’s arm to steady him.

“Dumbledore said not to use magic!” Harry explained.

“Dumbledore?” various voices asked. 

“Harry, what are you on about?” Ron said, sounding concerned.

“Maybe the curse affected his memory,” someone whispered.

Looking at the crowd of faces with expressions ranging from incredulity to concern, he tried to clarify. “I saw him, when I—diedorwhatever.”

“When you—Harry, what happened? You were hit by the killing curse while Snape's patronus—”

“The boy who lived – again!” exclaimed a voice. The crowd erupted in cheers. Harry scrunched his eyebrows.

“Harry, listen, everything’s alright now. Voldemort’s gone! You beat him, Harry!” Hermione grabbed Harry’s shoulders in excitement. “The war’s over. We won!” Other voices cheered and folks patted Harry on the back. Someone tousled his hair.

Harry half-registered what was going on while struggling to see over everyone’s heads. “I just saw Dumbledore. We’ve got to help Snape.” Harry looked frantically around the crowd. “Where is he?” Harry couldn’t see anything but worried faces looking at him. He tuned out the voices as he pushed through the crowd and looked around the Great Hall, but there was no sign of Snape.

“Over here!” a voice sounding far away shouted.

Harry pushed back through the crowd toward the voice, coming to a halt when he saw Remus and Professor McGonagall crouching over Snape’s still form crumpled against the wall. Harry didn’t know why his heart seemed to stop as he approached the professor; they had been enemies since Harry’s first day at school. No, that wasn’t true, Harry knew. He knew there was something more to the story, though he didn’t know what, and by the way Snape looked crumpled on the floor, cast in the grey light of dawn shining through the window, he feared he may never find out.

“Severus…” Professor McGonagall was leaned over Snape’s face, which was so flushed it looked sunburned. Harry kneeled by Snape’s other side. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much color on Snape’s face, but it didn’t look right at all.

With a clenched stomach, Harry's eyes shot toward Snape's arm, expecting to see it lying over a pool of blood. However it was dry and yet, it was not wrapped in cloth or anything. Harry felt an arm on his shoulder and turned to see Hermione kneeling beside him. 

"Cauterized," she explained. Of course, she could assess the situation so quickly. Harry thought back to the blazing white sword Voldemort brought down on Snape's arm. With a grimace he thought of how hot it must've been.

A moan broke his thoughts.

“Severus!” Professor McGonagall sounded relieved, resting her hand on his chest. It was strange to see her comfort him when just a few hours ago she was driving him from the castle. “Hang on, Poppy’s here.” 

Harry saw Madam Pomfrey rushing over with her wand.

“No!” Harry put his hand out to stop her. “Dumbledore said not to use magic.”

Madame Pomfrey gave him an appraising look. “I’ll check out that head of yours in a minute, Mr. Potter, but let me examine Snape, first.”

She kneeled by Snape’s side to perform a diagnostic spell, when Snape let out another moan. His lips moved as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“No magic, I mean it!” Harry reached to grab the wand from Madam Pomfrey, who looked stunned.

“Why on earth not, Mr. Potter?”

“I—I don’t know…but Dumbledore was adamant. He said we have to wait, to wait for the curse to wear off, I guess.”

“What curse?” Madame Pomfrey asked.

“That curse…” Mr. Weasley had arrived and jumped in the conversation. “Remember right before You-Know-Who…attacked Harry?”

“That’s right,” Professor McGonagall said, “Voldemort cast that peculiar spell on Professor Snape.”

“The one that failed?” Remus chimed in.

“Oh I don’t know if it failed—look at him.” McGonagall cast a worried look at Snape, and if anything had made Harry concerned for Snape it was seeing the normally composed Deputy Headmistress wearing an expression of such anxiety.

“Well if I can’t even cast a simple diagnostic spell, how am I supposed to heal whatever it is - he looks bloody terrible!” Madam Pomfrey really must have been at wits end for Harry couldn’t ever recall a bad word leaving her mouth. The mediwitch turned to Snape.

“Severus, can you speak? Can you tell us about that curse Voldemort used?”   

Severus’ black eyes seemed unable to focus as he struggled to speak. Madame Pomfrey reached and touched his cheek, but withdrew her hand rapidly. “He’s burning up!” She hesitantly touched his face again with the side backs of her fingers.

McGonagall put her hand on Snape’s forehead, only to withdraw it just as quickly. “Dear Merlin.”

Apparently deciding to believe Harry, Madame Pomfrey asked him, “Mr. Potter, can’t I perform a simple temperature spell?”  Harry was about to respond, but Snape started moving his head back and forth.

“I take that as a no,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Alright, we must get his temperature down somehow.”

“We’ll have to do it the Muggle way,” Mr. Weasley said.

“Which is?” Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

“We may not have much time…” Madame Pomfrey said, hinting that this wasn’t time for needlessly indulging one’s Muggle curiosity.

Mr. Weasly stood up, walked a few strides away and conjured a bathtub with ice water.

Professor McGonagall looked impressed. “Not a bad idea, Arthur. We should remove his outer robes and shirt in case were not able to cast a drying spell. Who knows how long it’ll take the curse to wear off.

“Severus, can you talk to us? We need to know about that spell.” But Snape just swayed his head, seemingly too delirious to say anything coherent.

The staff set to the painstaking task of unbuttoning Snape’s robes. Harry was transfixed on the suffering man who was such a mystery. Dumbledore had left him with little explanation as to why Snape seemed to turn from evil to good overnight. And was it really overnight or had he been on their side for longer? Dumbledore had been elusive about the circumstances regarding his own death, but Harry couldn’t seem to find another perspective on it. Snape killed Dumbledore. Of course, Harry’s darkest secret was that he himself had weakened Dumbledore nearly to death by feeding him that poison on their horcrux hunt. And truthefully, Harry had hated himself as much as Snape for that. If only…

“Wait!” Hermione was blocking the bathtub from Remus and Mr. Weasley, who were lifting Snape over. Harry was shocked to see how battered Snape torso looked. But those were all old scars, nothing from tonight. Did all those scars come from Voldemort?

“Ms. Granger, step aside! We need to lower Professor Snape’s temparature now!”

Hermione held her arm out to stall them as she conjured a cup and then scooped up some of the ice water. She then turned to Snape and poured it over his arm.

“Aaaah!” There was a gurgled cry as steam rose from Snape’s arm and he attempted a glare.

“We should raise the water to room temperature first,” Hermione explained, “Otherwise he could go into shock.”

Nods of understanding followed and Remus aimed his wand at the tub to raise the temperature. They lifted Snape into the bath and as soon as his body hit, the water sizzled and smoked nonetheless. Snape groaned, his head lobbing from side to side. McGonagall was biting her lip as Madam Pomfrey and Remus held his shoulders.

“Hang in there, Severus,” Remus said, “You’re going to be alright.” But he couldn’t seem to get the knot out of his forehead.

For some reason Harry felt uncomfortable watching the scene and diverted his gaze. He spotted the black robes piled on the ground.  Having been turned inside out, an inner pocket was visible and something paper-like sticking out of it caught Harry’s eye. He leaned forward and reached his hand toward it.

“Harry.” Hermione stood over him with arms akimbo. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Harry started to look guilty, but Ron joined him at his other side.

“C’mon, man!” Ron put his hand on Harry’s back. “This might be our only chance to uncover the truth about the man behind the robes of mystery! I swear he hasn’t taken these off since first year—”

“Ron!”

Harry grinned. He could always count on Ron to support his curiosity. Hermione shook her head but didn’t intervene.

Harry’s hand hovered over the paper for a moment before grabbing it. Feeling it in his hand, he realized it wasn’t paper, but a photograph. Harry flipped it over and was stunned by the image.

“Harry…isn’t that—?”

Eyes wide with wonder, Harry said, “I think so.”

HpHpHpHpHp

He could only get glimpses of Snape lying in the hospital bed as the adults hovered and fretted around him. Madam Pomfrey was delegating tasks with her usual brisk voice, but Harry could see, in the way her hands would tremble as she handed her colleagues cloths and liquids and bandages, that she was deeply concerned. 

Harry looked down at the crumpled photo in his hand. The two children looked so happy, lying under the sheltering arms of the willow tree. The photo must be over twenty years old, the corners rounded with wear, and the color faded with time. And yet it looked well-cared for. 

A muggle photo. The strongest evidence to Snape’s loyalty had been on his person, perhaps the whole time. Had it been tucked inside Snape’s breast pocket all those years, all those times they had spat hateful things at each other?  

Looking up, Harry saw Professor McGonagall whisper something to Mr. Weasley while eyeing the trio. Mr. Weasley nodded and patted her arm, then turned and walked over to Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“Come along, now." He wrapped his arms around Harry and Ron’s shoulders. “Let’s get you something to eat. You all have been on the run far too long and Molly can’t believe how dreadfully thin you’ve all become.”

Harry craned his neck to catch one last glimpse of the hospital wing as Mr. Weasley steered them out the door, and wondered if he would ever get to see Snape again. He had so many questions turning in his head.

HpHpHpHpHp

Walking into the Great Hall, Harry couldn’t believe a battle had taken place there only hours ago. The Death Eaters had been driven out, and the students and staff parted in search of their friends and families. If someone would’ve asked him what he’d have expected the battlegrounds to look like after the final fight against the most powerful dark wizard in modern history, he would have imagined great bloodshed and suffering. He looked at Hermione and Ron, who wore smiles rather than battle wounds, and felt immensely grateful for how things turned out.

The tables had all been banished, so Mr. Weasley pulled a few Muggle pencils out of his jacket pocket and transfigured them into a small round wooden table with some modest chairs. 

“Sit.” Mr. Weasley gestured to the chairs.  With a twirl of his wand, a plate of biscuits and a dark fizzy drink appeared in front of them. “Voilà, Cola-Cocoa!”

“Coke!” Harry and Hermione chorused. 

“From where did you summon a muggle fizzy drink?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve always wanted to try it—” Ron began.

Mr. Weasley smiled. “I promised Ron I’d obtain it for him once the war was over. It may not be elegant or grandiose, but I think it is quite fitting for a triumph over pureblood supremacy, don’t you? Cheers.” They raised their glasses and grinned. “To peace and understanding among Muggles and Wizards alike.”

HpHpHpHpHp

They sat in comfortable silence as they enjoyed sweets in peace for the first time in a long time. A question itching in his mind, Harry reached into his pocket and took out the worn picture.

“Mr. Weasley, would you know anything about this?” As Harry held out the picture, he didn’t know why his hand was trembling a bit.

Mr. Weasley took it in his hand. After a brief moment, his eyes widened. “Oh…”

“Is that—” 

“I didn’t know them as children, but this indeed looks like your mother, Harry, with those unmistakable eyes. Yes, it’s certainly her….and…young Severus.” Almost to himself, he added softly, “That does explain a lot.” Looking up at Harry, he asked, “And where, might I ask, did you get this?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed as he ducked his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He pulled it out of Snape’s robes.”

Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows shot up. 

“—after they were removed, of course,” Ron added.

“As if that makes it any better!” Hermione shook her head.

Harry looked between the photo and Ron’s dad. 

“Mr. Weasley, did they—I mean,” Harry started.

“Unfortunately, I have no personal knowledge of the subject, as I was quite bit older than Lily and Severus. But what I can say is this, your mother’s patronus was indeed a doe; she used it much to communicate to the Order.”

The four of them sat in quietude as they let this discovery sink in. Harry marveled at how all those years Snape never let on that he felt anything for his mother. How things could have been different! 

“Speaking of the patronus,” Ron spoke up. “Dad, do you know what happened, in the battle?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too.” The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched. “All I remember is a bright flash of light when Voldemort cast the killing curse. What exactly happened?”

“I’m afraid I’m not quite sure myself, either,” Mr. Weasly replied. 

“Snape’s patronus kind of leapt in front of Harry when Voldemort cast the curse, didn’t it?” Ron asked, looking at the others for confirmation.

“That’s what it looked like,” Mr. Weasley confirmed.

“But—” Hermione’s brows furrowed as she interjected, “That couldn’t be the reason Harry survived, right? It couldn’t have actually protected Harry from the killing curse. I mean, if patronuses had the power to do that, certainly we would have discovered that by now…Mr. Weasley?”

“An excellent question, Ms. Granger. I’ll bring it up with the Order. I don’t think any of us is sure what happened at this point.”

“Actually," Harry jumped in, "When I was--gone--I saw Dumbledore and spoke with him."

"Harry," Hermione looked softly at him. "Maybe that was...a dream or something? The dead can't possibly come back, I mean, in portraits we can capture their essence, but unless you're saying Dumbledore is a ghost--"

"No, it wasn't like that!" Harry was getting frustrated that they wouldn't believe him. "He told me things, about how I was able to survive the killing curse again. He said...there was a horcrux inside me--"

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione put a hand on Harry's back. Ron looked at his dad with wide eyes for confirmation. Mr. Weasley, looking equally shocked, gestured for Harry to continue. 

"But," Harry swallowed as he rememberd how he'd felt walking to his death. "When Voldemort cast the killing curse, he destroyed just the horcrux--obviously. Dumbledore said I was protected because Voldemort had used my blood to bring himself back in our fourth year. And because my mother sacrificed herself for me, and her blood runs through mine, her protection overpowered the killing curse, again. But I had to go willingly. I had to think I was making a sacrifice."

"So why did Snape cast the Patronus then?" 

 "I don't know, maybe...so I'd trust him? I don't think he knew Dumbledore's portrait had already told me to--told me what to do." Harry still couldn't admit that Dumbledore had asked him to die, even though it proved in the end he didn't die at all and that he'd just needed to have the intention of sacrificing himself.

"Or...did Snape not trust Dumbledore's plan enough and tried to come up with his own?" Ron asked.

"Did he even know about Dumbledore's plan?" Hermione proposed.

"It sounds like only Professor Snape might be the only one who can answer that question," Mr. Weasley said. The three followed in silence as they all knew that meant they may never know.

As Harry wondered again at how that man could hide so many truths, he heard the door to the Great Hall creak open. Professor McGonagall stepped in. 

“Mr. Potter, I do apologize for interrupting your time with your friends,” Professor McGonagall paused to eye the Muggle fizzy drink, “but you’re presence is requested in the hospital wing.”

SsSsSsSsSs

Wreckage. Destruction. Snape opened his eyes to find himself lying on a cot surrounded by charred, jagged rubble. Up above hung ratty beams of wood, with cobwebs and dark, tattered drapes dangling among them. The stone walls were tarnished, the elegant windows, shattered. 

So Hogwarts had been destroyed. He had failed. 

But then he noticed that he was no longer in pain. Snape smirked. He must be dead, then, and this must be hell.

Then a face swam into his line of sight. “Goodness, Severus, you’re awake!” 

Poppy. A few more faces emerged — Minerva, Pamona, the wolf. All looking at him with anxious, hopeful eyes. To see them against the backdrop of destruction was unsettling, but he was reluctant to ask what happened, not ready for devastating news.

He looked over the side of the bed and was struck with wave of dizziness at the sight. It looked like the ground would crumble any minute, sending him plummeting into a dark abyss. The bed he lay in was precariously balanced on rotting wooden beams that looked like they’d barely survived a fire. As his eyes adjusted, he could see through the cracks between the beams and realized it wasn’t actually a dark abyss below, but even more layers of rubble and debris.

He could certainly imagine his own soul being sent to such a place, should he indeed be dead—Merlin knows he deserves it—but the others? Were they all dead, too? Was this some sort of abeyance where they were to wait for judgement?

And then he remembered his plan. Could it be that he succeeded after all? There was only one way to know.

“Pott-er…”

HpHpHpHpHpHp

“It’s over, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as they strode down the hall.

“It’s—over?” Harry swallowed. “What d’you mean?” He watched at her face, looking for a clue, and noticed she was smiling. Was she cheerful because Snape was dead? Did they decide he was evil after all?

“That blasted curse that kept us from treating Professor Snape with magic—it finally wore off, and Madam Pomfrey was able to bring him back from the brink of death. He’s awake now, resting in the hospital wing.”

“Oh, so…he’s going to be okay?”

“He looks a bit—out of sorts, but, yes, Harry, it appears Professor Snape will make a nice recovery.”

Harry felt a weight had been lifted and again he wondered at why the news affected him so. It’s not like they’d ever got on. But then a churning began in his stomach as he recalled his confrontation with Snape before he was driven out of the castle. Snape was awake now, and who knew why he wanted to see him!

Harry hovered at the door of the hospital wing as Professer McGonagall strode in. He watched her back, hesitant to look elsewhere in the room lest his eyes fall on Snape. (As if he could turn back at this point.)

McGonagall paused and looked back. “Come along, Harry,” she said with a gentle smile. “It’s okay now.”

Harry stepped into the room, noticing how the atmosphere was lighter than before. Madam Pomfrey’s face was no longer scrunched in worry. Remus had taken a seat on an empty bed, and seemed relaxed. And Professor Sprout had her hands clasped to her chest and looked upon him with a spirited glint in her eyes. What was she expecting, a fairy tale ending where bitter rivals become friends at last?

Then there was Snape, whose face looked neither more nor less dour than usual as he sat up in the cot. Harry didn’t know why, but he felt relieved to see the professor was dressed in his usual black, minus the black boots, which were neatly placed by the bed. The man was swinging a leg over the bed as if to get up, but Madam Pomfrey rushed to hold him back. 

Snape ignored her, swinging the second leg over the side, although he remained seated. He looked awkward sitting down, younger, somehow.

“You’re alive,” Snape said, eyes transfixed on Harry as if he were a potion reacting anomalously. Harry couldn’t tell if Snape was surprised, disappointed or relieved.

“It’s over, Severus,” Remus declared. “Voldemort is vanquished!”

Snape took in a deep breath and closed his eyes—hopefully in relief and not sadness at the dark wizard’s downfall. Harry looked to the others, but none of them held expressions of doubt. While Snape had his eyes closed, Harry stole a glance at the professor’s arm. (As if he’d dare study it when Snape was watching him!) Someone must have repaired the sleeve, for it was tied neatly at the base of his elbow. Harry shook his head as the memory of Voldemort’s blazing sword crept up in his mind.

Suddenly, Harry realized Snape’s eyes were back on him; they were glistening like a lake under moonlight as he fixed Harry with his gaze. 

“Well,” Snape said, “now I don’t have to see your face anymore.”

Harry found himself unable to respond, but that was no matter, as Snape was already grabbing one of his boots and slipping it on his foot. Snape’s hand hovered by the laces for a moment before departing from that boot and seizing the second one. No one dared offer to help, though Harry didn’t know if it was because they didn’t want to risk his wrath or if they assumed Snape would fix the laces with magic. He saw the professor’s black wand lying on the bedside table. So Professor McGonagall had given it back then. She must somehow be thoroughly convinced of the man's loyalties.

Apparently noticing all eyes were on him, Snape looked up sharply at the lot. He gripped the side of the cot, muttering something that sounded like “no more bloody Gryffindors” and “finally, peace”.

“Severus, what are you on about?” Professor Sprout said with a chuckle. Harry could’ve sworn she sounded nervous.

Rather than answer right away, Snape glared intently at the floor like it were a miscreant potion ingredient.

“I’m sure you can’t wait to get rid of me.” he said, rising to his feet. “Thus I’ll do you the favor and—”

“You can’t mean that you’re leaving?”

“Yes, I can. Right now, in fact. My work is done here and thus, I shall leave you all in peace—DON’T pretend that isn’t what you want.”

“Severus! It isn’t true, not now that we know—well, we’re willing to listen, if you would just talk with us.” Professor McGonagall sounded worried, like she feared she might not get to make amends for having driven him out of the castle. 

 “We want to understand, Severus.” Remus stood up, but didn’t approach the Potions Master.

Snape gazed around the room, although he seemed to be looking through them, not at them. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Remus repeated, mouth agape. Sprout smiled.

Harry raised his eyebrows and looked at the others. Since when did Snape agree like that?

“Three days,” Snape offered. “I’ll stay three days, just to ensure a proper transition.” He looked at Professor McGonagall.

“You don’t mean to say you don’t intend to continue as headmaster?” Professor McGonagall seemed genuinely disappointed.

A husky bark came out of Snape’s throat, making Harry jump. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“Severus, I’m serious—”

“I’m not having this conversation now. I just need,” Snape looked toward the door, “a moment of quietude.”

“We don’t need to rush to any decisions now.” Remus raised his hands in an appeasing gesture.

Professor Sprout nodded. “Why don’t we take the next few days to recuperate, gather the remaining students that haven’t yet fled the school, and enjoy each other’s company as we celebrate this victory.”

Snape grunted and Remus chuckled. Saying no more, Snape took only what Harry could describe as a very determined step toward the door.

“Your wand, Severus.” Professor McGonagall eyed the bedside table. 

Snape stopped. “Of course,” he said, reaching back toward the table. It was an awkward reach; he didn’t move his feet, as if they were glued to the floor. His hand hovered over the table but a moment before grasping the wand. Of course, he couldn’t tuck it up his left sleeve as usual, and so he just stood there with it, poised as if unsure of what to do.

Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Snape drawled, “You know, you can go back to waiving your silly wands around me,” he said with a swirl of his wand. “The curse has worn off.”

“Even so, Severus, don’t you think you should stay here a while longer to ensure a full recovery?”

Snape fixed Madam Pomfrey with a glare. 

“You certainly were under vigorous attack,” Remus added, looking him over with softened eyes.

Snape made an awkward gesture with his right arm, as if he wanted to fold his arms across his chest but suddenly remembered he couldn’t. 

“If you hadn’t noticed, most of the D—most of…“ Snape swallowed, “Voldemort’s attacks failed.”

As Snape spoke those words, Harry felt like he was witnessing the second victory over a long battle that day. The professors, too, seemed to have noticed, for they remained silent for a moment. 

Professor McGonagall stepped forward, putting a hand on Snape’s upper arm. Snape surprisingly didn’t step away.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked. “It would be incredibly fortunate for you to walk away after being discovered a traitor without…”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not without a scratch.” 

Of course, Harry realized. He hadn’t thought of how losing an arm would be a particularly cruel punishment for a Potions Master. Would the professor still be able to brew? The question started to leave his mouth before he could think better of it. “Will you, sir—” 

Remus interrupted Harry, which was surely for the better. “You know, Severus, it’s not one’s extremities that make one a wizard.”

Snape glowered at Remus with such intensity, Harry was afraid the wizard might cast a non-verbal curse. “I know,” Snape quipped. With that, he stalked out of the hospital wing, boot laces flipping and flapping as he walked.

HpHpHpHpHp

“So?” Ron and Hermione chorused. Harry had found his friends back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione reading and Ron munching on a fresh plate of biscuits.

“Did you get answers?” 

“How is he?”

Harry chuckled at his two very different mates.

“He looks fine, well, minus the arm…” Harry grimaced. “And no, I didn’t get a chance to ask any questions,” Harry said, turing to Ron.

“Fine?” Hermione pondered.

“Yeah, I mean, he walked out of the hospital wing.”

“And they just let him leave?” Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

“I can’t believe Madame Pomfrey would discharge him so soon!” Hermione mused.

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. “I was thinking more along the lines of whether or not they can trust him mucking about.”

Hermione let out a puff of air. “Honestly, hasn’t the professor proven himself by now?”

“It’s just odd that he’s suddenly this good guy after everything that’s happened,” Ron raised his hands in defense.

Not knowing who to agree with, Harry looked down at the plate of biscuits. There was one left. Hadn’t the plate been full, like, a moment ago?

“If anything is odd,” Hermione said, “it’s that I’d have expected him to be much worse off, having been discovered a traitor.”

“That’s what McGonagall said,” Harry remarked while glancing at Ron, noticing Ron was eyeing the last biscuit as well. Harry’s Seeker reflexes paid off this time as his hand darted forward, snatching the biscuit. Ron groaned.

“He was pretty much his usual self,” Harry said, but as he munched on the tasty treat, he reflected on his encounter with the professor in the hospital wing. “Well, maybe he was acting a bit odd.”

“More than normal, you mean?” Ron smirked.

“How so, Harry?”

“I dunno, he was acting a bit spooked. Like he’d seen...a ghost or something.”

“Maybe he had an otherworldly experience, as well. Kind of like you did?”

“Maybe…” Harry took another bite. That was an interesting thought. Could Dumbledore—or someone else—have appeared to Snape as well? Did he learn something important from beyond?

“So what did he say when you returned the photo?”  

Harry nearly choked on the crumbs at Hermione’s question. “Erm…”

“Harry!”  

“Does he know it’s missing?”

“I dunno. I’m not sure if he—how got dressed, you know.”

Ron made a face and Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Wait ‘till he finds out it’s missing.” Hermione shook her head.

“Right.” Harry said.

The trio sat in companionable silence as they enjoyed their first moments of peace and freedom in a long time. They had overcome so much, they could certainly face whatever lie ahead.