There was a collective inhaled breath of the survivors upon a new dawn.

The calm after the raging storm.

The sharp silence upon the unwavering force which swept the blood-soaked grounds over a period of a dark night.

The melancholy of dust and debris of the war now come to pass, glistening within the morning rays of light of a new day.

Voldemort was finally conquered. The Death Eaters either fled or were captured. The dead now shifted from their place of defiant finality.

All except one.

Harry Potter departed from Dumbledore's office leaving behind the memories which turned the tide. The shrouded whisps of another man's mind still floated upon its silver basin, full of mystery and resolve for the next person waiting to witness what had shocked him to his core. The last remnants of a man who gave his entire life for a wish long since vanished. The love that revived his soul and died with him.

The love that could, and now would never, be returned.

The Boy Who Lived left instructions with Hermione and Ron, and silently departed the many portrait eyes following his every move as he left the office flinging the Invisibility Cloak back over his head, desperate to hide away one last time. His desire to see anyone else was slim, and he knew he couldn't bear to interact with anyone else upon his journey out of the Hogwarts castle ruins, much like his trek to the forest. He knew he should stay behind and console the other survivors, but the will of his conscious told him otherwise. His tremoring dirt and blood-covered hand clasped the Elder Wand tightly within his grasp, fully intending to return it back to its original place.

A wand of power should not be left within his hands. That is, unless it could bring back the dead.

In which case it couldn't, so the Deathstick to him was useless.

During his careful journey out of the castle, he treaded through fallen stone and splintered wood – remnants of a battle now since past. A few students were outside shifting some of their fallen, and many others still remained within the Great Hall. However, the silence was eerie. No one dared speak a word as everyone struggled to come to terms with what had happened on that dreadful, sinister Hogwarts night.

Feeling like his heavy and weary legs were on autopilot, Harry finally made his way down to the Whomping Willow, picking up a fallen branch of the vengeful tree, and prodded the familiar spot which allowed an opening within the ground to shift. Not wasting any more time, Harry climbed through the gap and began his solitary descent which he had made only hours before.

This journey, much like the one he had just made in the forest, was one he also had to do alone. There were just some things that did not require company, and this one was necessary without. He knew that only he could make this journey, as deep down, no one else would. He couldn't bear to describe what he was feeling, except that of emptiness and sorrow. A shroud of uncertainty as he edged closer to the current resting place of the man who kept him alive since his first Hogwarts year. What madness consumed him to think of the man who he saw as his enemy, now come to be someone he now respected and even admired. It was cruel to know that those opinions had changed, but it was far too late.

Severus Snape had already lost his life before he had a chance to express them.

Finally exiting the tunnel, Harry climbed up into the Shrieking Shack with the scent of dust and old blood flooding his nostrils. He paused, leaning up against the doorframe to ready his mind for what he was about to see. He wasn't ready, but he knew he had to. Someone had to be here, and he knew he was the only person who was willing. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly afraid for what he was about to see. He knew the man was dead, as he was there when he passed and breathed his last. But coming back to where he had left him, filled Harry up with a sense of impending dread twisting at his insides.

Coming back, made Snape's horrifying fate all the more real.

Drawing in a deep, but shuddering breath, Harry stepped into the room where he immediately saw the prone body of his ex-Professor laying still upon the rotting and dust-covered wooden floor. The man's robes were a tangled mess of black, sticking to the ground with thick remnants of the man's blood upon his untimely gruesome end. Harry couldn't help but let out a small gasp upon seeing the man's lifeless form – face greyed and pale, and no more sign of life left to see. His unkempt raven hair blood-soaked and matted around his face. The wound at his neck was still as horrifying as he last remembered.

Harry took careful steps towards him as if every creaking sound under his feet could disturb even the dead. He didn't know much of why he was here, or what he was supposed to do, he just knew he should be. Harry lowered himself to the ground beside him, not daring to take his guilt-ridden gaze away from him as he did so. There he knelt, with his blood-crusted hands – which had belonged to Snape - shaking against his knees, feeling a strange nervousness overcome him as he watched in a deep sadness upon a man who did not deserve his fate.

A man who worked in silence without anyone knowing. A man who sacrificed every aspect of his life to the cause. A man who turned himself into the murderous enemy to get the job done. A man who remained loyal to not only Dumbledore but his mother Lily as well. A man who never gave up, even despite the devastating odds against him.

A man who was always alone, and yet found enough sliver of hope to keep him going.

Harry struggled to come to terms with the memories Snape showed him out of desperation. All he could visualize was the man's last moments alive before he was slaughtered by the darkness he willingly turned against ever since his mother was targeted. A cause Snape himself, defected against by choice. There was almost a deranged sense of pity for a man who kept his suspicions of the Elder Wand a secret. Snape remained silent in order to preserve that secret and send Tom Riddle into the battlefield with a powerless wand. There was no other option but death, and he accepted it nobly.

On the other side, Harry felt a sense of frustration and self-blame for not knowing the man's true allegiance until it was too late. The signs had been there for years, and yet, Harry himself was too blinded by his hatred for the man to truly comprehend it. Dumbledore himself had told him for years to trust him, but he never could. He was consumed in far too much pride to realize how horribly wrong he was.

The worst thing of it all was that no one knew until it was too late. No one had any idea of his war efforts and the extent of his sacrifice. Harry knew at this point, that Hermione and Ron had fetched for Professor McGonagall to view those memories as well. If there was anyone left in Severus Snape's life, McGonagall at least deserved to know.

And now Harry felt rotten and angry with himself. He had lost the opportunity to learn more about his mother and the life she led. He also lost the opportunity to confront Snape and attempt to reconcile their differences. To try for a truce and mutual understanding – something they should have both had after all this time. He felt rotten with himself for not knowing any better.

Severus Snape was now lost, and Harry couldn't do a single thing about it. He could not be saved. There he sat staring at the lifeless form, realizing only too late the tears that were now falling down his dirt-stained cheeks. He didn't care to brush them away this time. He was the only one here, and those long-awaited tears deserved to fall for him.

Reaching out with a trembling hand, Harry gently grasped the hem of the man's black cloak and began to carefully wipe away the blood that had crusted across the man's pale, greyed lifeless face. Harry was meticulous – with all the care and patience he could muster in his bid to wipe away any evidence of the man's struggles in the last few moments of his life. Everything was quiet at that moment, all but Harry's still wildly beating heart within the confines of his chest, heavy in its burden of grief and sorrow.

Lying dormant between the both of them, was Snape's wand. Harry picked it up and tucked it safely within the man's pocket in his bid to preserve his honor, and even dignity.

Not wanting to look at the man's face any longer, Harry took a few moments to wrap the man's body within his own traveling cloak, protecting the body as best as he could. Taking in the stillness of the air around him, Harry leaned forward and rested a single hand on the man's still chest, now devoured of any sign of life.

"…I-I'm sorry, Professor…"

What else could he say? It wouldn't make it better, nor will it bring Severus Snape back, and reverse the damage. It was too late, and Harry was still coming to terms with the loss of a man who deserved to live and finally be free from the tiresome constraints that bound him to the cause.

Harry paused for a few moments to recollect his thoughts, "I understand now, even though I know it's too late. You looked out for me after all this time, and for that…t-thank you. You made a difference…and I wished you survived long enough to see it…I'm so sorry for hating you all this time. You're right – life isn't fair."

Retracting his hand, he sat back on the cold floor, sitting in silence, and watching the first rays of the morning spill weakly through the window. Streams of dust highlighted in the stale air, but Harry was thankful for the light slowly dissipating the shadows around them lessening the chill. Harry himself closed his tired eyes, focusing on each breath he was grateful for, because of the man wrongly condemned before him.

Yes, life wasn't fair. Especially not for Severus Snape.

"Oh, heavens!"

Harry was jolted back from his heartbroken reverie to find Minerva McGonagall storming into the Shrieking Shack, with Hermione and Ron behind her. Swishing her mangled and torn battle-worn dark robes, she gasped at the prone form of her colleague – her friend – and knelt down beside Snape and Harry looking anguished and grief-stricken. "It is true…Oh, Severus…You fool…Why didn't you put your trust in me?"

McGonagall bowed her head respectfully, reaching out to clutch Snape's stiffened shoulder as if for a tiny miracle, he would stir awake and dupe them all one final time. She tried to speak, but words failed her. Hermione and Ron could only stand back, clutching to each other as McGonagall's hoarse shattered sobs echoed throughout the old, abandoned house.

But Harry could no longer bear it, "…I think we should lay him to rest at the lake, next to Dumbledore. And then I can return the Elder Wand, and finally be done with it…And Professor Snape won't have to rest alone."

The thought took the older witch a few minutes to process as she looked at Harry with reddened eyes, and nodded, "Yes, Potter. That would be a wise idea. "

"We'll help, Harry, " Hermione spoke quietly, as Ron nodded in agreement beside her.

And as they did, the four of them assisted to carry and guide the body carefully out of the Shrieking Shack with assistance from Professor McGonagall's own magic. It felt like a horrible procession, much like the one Hagrid had no choice but to carry Harry himself with after his supposed one-way trip into the Forest.

But as the days rolled by, and Hogwarts was in the state of collective repair from the staff and students, they began to hold memorials and the funerals for those bravely fallen. Minerva McGonagall had transfigured a white marble tomb, almost identical to the one that contained the body of Albus Dumbledore. Initially, they only planned to hold a small memorial service, as they knew Severus Snape would not have wanted a large fanfare on his memory. But what only contained a few people including the staff, were slowly being joined by the other students until the lakeside was filled with silent mourners arrived to pay respect for a man dedicated to Hogwarts and those a part of it until his dying breath. A man who lived in the service of the school, teaching students for nearly eighteen years.

There were no words or cliched monologues.

Just silence.

For now, Severus Snape was finally laid to rest beside Albus Dumbledore – two great men of the Wizarding War who fought against the odds and allowed the resistance to earn their victory.

Two great and extraordinary men who guided and taught Harry every year up until the very end.

But as the mourners dissipated to continue in their grief and mourning of the remaining fallen, Harry and McGonagall stayed behind to pay their final respects, before they too, resumed back to rebuilding their broken lives.

But for every other year on the anniversary of Severus Snape's death, Harry would lay a single lily at his headstone until the time came for him to bring his own children along with him. And every year Harry would remind them of his sacrifices for that without him, Harry may not have lived as long as he did.

Sometimes Harry would catch Fawkes perched here, crying over the tombs of Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape – but the Phoenix never stayed for long. The creature paid his respects and flew away to return and repeat the following year. A shared ritual between them both, it seemed.

Harry had often wondered if Snape was ever proud of him – perhaps he hoped that deep down, he was, despite his deep-rooted animosity and the past that shaped him. But if a strange fate would have it, Harry was also proud of him and his dedication to the cause, despite the man's personal uphill battle.

And it wasn't just the dedication to the cause – But a dedication to him.

In Lily's name.

Every year, Harry would hope that maybe one day, once he finally passes into the realm of death himself, he could tell him that in person. He would hold onto that hope with every piece of his heart.

But for now, Severus Snape's sacrifice would always be remembered.

Because he really was one of the bravest men he had ever known.