Severus uses the panic that he is running out of time to pass on Albus’ message to clutch hold of Potter’s robes and pull the boy towards him.

“Take … it. … Take … it. …”

He has no idea where his wand has fallen, nor does he have any vials for the memory anyway, and even if he did, he has no time. So Severus does the best he can, and forces the memory out of him.

Ah, but he needs to show the boy – who has somehow grown into a man whilst he wasn’t looking – just how that conversation came to be. So he needs to go back further to the start of his spying career . . . but that won’t work either, because Potter needs to see why he agreed to spy in the first place . . . and why Severus was so desperate to save his mother.

He thinks a few more memories than he means to let go of slip out, but really, at this point, it does not matter anymore. He will have no use for any of his memories in a very short time.

Potter is scooping the silvery strands into a flash that Miss Granger has hastily conjured. A bright girl – she will go far. There is a faint furrow between Potter’s brows, a look of deep concentration on his face. It is just the look that Lily used to have, whenever she was trying something difficult for the first time.

And now – now, when it does not matter – Severus can admit to himself that perhaps Potter is not entirely a clone of James Potter, but that perhaps he shares traits with Lily, too. It just took maturity for those traits to show up. Which isn’t surprising . . . Lily was always more mature than James had been. And it allowed Severus to keep his cover of detesting the boy. He would have found it much harder if he’d seen Lily in anything other than the boy’s eyes from the start.

It is a shame that he will never know if they ever manage to defeat Voldemort for good. Ah, yes, at last, he can dispense with that ‘Dark Lord’ nonsense. And if Albus is right, then Potter will never know, either.

He wonders how much Potter will rant and rave before doing what must be done. After all, the hard work so far has been left on Potter’s shoulders. It is not hard to imagine that most people will stop, and stare, and wail in grief, and be cut down, once they learn that Potter, their precious saviour, their Golden Boy, is dead. How many will fight down panic, and despair, to carry on fighting the monster who has been terrorizing them all for years?

Really, Severus wonders idly, just whose fault is this entire mess anyway?

The force of Snape’s grip is surprising to Harry, considering how much blood Snape is losing. His skin has gone even whiter than Malfoy’s, which is saying a lot, and his hand is now trembling – Harry can feel the tremors against his throat.

Snape does not have much time, and obviously knows it if he is leaking memories everywhere. Whatever it is he wants Harry to know, it must be important.

Harry is still in shock at the events of the previous few minutes. Snape had been Voldemort’s right-hand man, headmaster of Hogwarts, murderer of Dumbledore, and yet Voldemort obviously had no compunction about getting rid of a so-called ‘rival’. He actually feels vaguely sorry for Snape. He knows that Snape isn’t the master of the Elder Wand, so the man will die for nothing, as Voldemort will discover to his cost.

Surprisingly, though, Snape does not look frightened of dying, now that he has given his memories to Harry. Instead, he looks . . . calm. Harry supposes that the threat was always there. Voldemort is, after all, not the most stable person in the world.

Pressing his free hand against Snape’s throat, feeling the man’s life blood still spurting against his palm, Harry wonders why Snape didn’t take precautions against Nagini. After what happened to Mr Weasley two years ago, you’d think a Potions Master would have prepared a vial of anti-venin for himself.

Then again, how would Snape have managed to procure the venom? He doubts Voldemort would have given any away – unless it was for a poison of some sort. Just how often did Nagini kill for Voldemort anyway? Aside from the attack on Mr Weasley, and now this one on Snape, Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen the snake used as a weapon before.

Just because he didn’t see it, he reminds himself, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Feeling the blood slowing under his hand, Harry looks down in alarm.

Severus’ body is numb. He cannot feel his legs now, and is rapidly losing what little strength he has in his upper body. His lungs are gasping for air but none is getting through his torn windpipe. Darkness is encroaching on the edges of his vision. Desperate, he gives his hand a little jerk, pulling Potter’s attention up to his face.

“Look … at … me. …” he whispers, the words tearing out of his throat in a horrible gurgling rasp.

Potter’s bright green eyes meet his own black ones.

Lily’s eyes.

Oh, Lily, Severus thinks, as his mind begins to drift and the numbness creeps further up his body towards his heart. I did all I could to protect your child. I hope it was enough. Have mercy on me.

The green eyes stare unblinkingly at him, then are suddenly lit from within by a warmth that Severus has not seen directed at him since he was fifteen. His heart gives one last leap. Lily has come for him!

He does not feel it when his heart stops beating, and his hand falls away from Harry’s robes to land on the floor with a thud!

The whiteness of this ghostly King’s Cross station is fading from around Harry. Dumbledore is already gone. Except suddenly, it almost seems to reverse, and Harry suddenly finds himself on the Hogwarts Express as it sits at Platform 9 and 3/4. Surprised, Harry looks around himself. Did he somehow make the wrong choice after all?

“Ah, Potter. Good, you’re here,” a voice says from the compartment entrance, and Harry’s gaze shoots to the doorway to see Severus Snape leaning there. Considering the professor bled to death barely an hour or two ago, he looks remarkably calm and healthy. Harry gapes at him.

“Professor . . . what . . . ?” is all he can manage.

Snape strolls in to the compartment and seats himself opposite Harry, casually leaning back in his seat and crossing his long legs. “You received the message I was supposed to pass on from Dumbledore, yes?” he queries.

“Yes, Professor, I did. Uh, thank you,” Harry adds, hesitantly. He glances around himself again. “I just spoke with Professor Dumbledore, actually. I was supposed to be heading back—”

“Don’t worry yourself, Potter,” Snape said, casually dismissing that with a wave of his hand. “I just wished to have a last word with you before I . . . move on.”

“Oh.” It is amazing how all of Harry’s vocabulary deserts him as soon as he is face to face with Snape.

“I am relieved to hear that you are returning,” Snape starts. “It just means that you will have to be much more careful in the future, since I will not be there to watch over you anymore.”

“Well, I’m sure I will be, once Voldemort is finally gone,” Harry says, shrugging his shoulders. “After all, it’s all been his fault, one way or the other.”

Snape lets out a small, amused chuckle. “Very true, Potter, very true,” he says. “But, still, a little decorum in future, please. No more flinging yourself in where angels fear to tread. I’m sure Miss Weasley will appreciate it.” He raises a pointed eyebrow at Harry, who promptly blushes and no doubt confirms his suspicions.

“Professor . . . thank you for looking out for me all these years,” Harry says, slowly but sincerely.

“It was the least I could do to make up for killing your mother,” Snape says. He suddenly looks slightly horrified and peers at Harry. “You did see that memory?” he asks.

Harry smiles at him, and Snape clearly relaxes. “Yes, I saw that, but it wasn’t you who struck her down, Professor, Voldemort did. And his time is coming,” Harry finishes in a growl, his hands clenching into fists. Perhaps in the next life, Tom Riddle will think twice about trying to gain immortality. Or perhaps he will learn not to go after supposedly-unprotected babies.

“Still, if I hadn’t—” Snape starts to say, but Harry interrupts him.

“Then it would have been another Death Eater, and perhaps my parents and Neville’s wouldn’t have had any warning that he was coming. It could have been much worse, Professor.”

Snape frowns, obviously not really believing that, but does not argue.

“Things could have been different as well if I’d let the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin as it wanted to,” Harry continues, wondering if Dumbledore ever told Snape about that.

It appears he didn’t. Snape looks suitably horrified. “The Hat . . . you . . . in Slytherin?” he croaks. Then he draws himself up and looks down his nose at Harry. “I should have retired – or expired – on the spot!” he declares.

Harry throws his head back and laughs, and after a moment, Snape joins in. The laughter is cathartic, and once they stop, the air hums with a silent contentment that is not awkward in the slightest. Things were as they were, and they both did their best.

Snape suddenly tilts his head as though listening to something Harry cannot hear. He suddenly uncrosses his legs and sits forward.

“I believe it is time you were getting back, Mr Potter,” he says.

Harry stands up, and spends a moment just looking at the man who has spent so long looking after the child of a woman who didn’t love him, who spurned his friendship after just one word uttered in the heat of the moment.

“Thank you, Professor, for everything,” he says. He holds a hand out, and Snape looks at it for long enough that Harry begins to think he should withdraw it, but then suddenly Snape wraps his long fingers around Harry’s.

“A pleasure knowing you . . . Harry,” he says, the corners of his mouth curling up in a faint smile. “A shame it couldn’t have been for longer, or better.” He finally drops Harry’s hand and gives him a little push towards the door. “Goodbye, Potter.”

“You, too, Professor Snape,” Harry says. He half turns back, and wonders if he is imagining the fact that Snape suddenly appears to be rapidly de-aging, and if the flash of red hair he sees out of the corner of his eye is merely a spark of light. “Goodbye . . . sir.” Snape smiles widely at the honorific.