Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Author's Chapter Notes:
Cancer fic*

Not much warning for this chapter. Read and enjoy.
Chapter 0. Dying wish(es)
Number 0. Last dying wish(es)

Every person on this planet has a story to tell. Every person on this planet matters. Each person has their own interests and dislikes, each have abilities that others don't. The person you pass by in the streets, the guy who shoulders you in a hurry, the nobody who is anywhere and everywhere at the same time. The nobody who is dying of cancer.

Harry James Potter is a nobody, I'm sixteen, I'm an orphan, though technically I still have living relatives. I'd rather not mention much about them other than the fact that, I used to live with them in Surrey as a child, in private drive, number four. I attended school, I had a few friends, a godfather who died when I was fifteen as he was pushed in a magical veil that traveled to the unknown....

I had likes, and dislikes. I had a snowy owl as a pet. I loved Quidditch, I was actually the youngest seeker in my team once. I liked reading books, I liked eating junk food and I loved jazz. In every definition of the word, I was boring.

I hated this one kid at my school named Draco Malfoy? I had a crush on my bushy head friend for about three years before I realized that it was just that. A teenage crush. I highly disliked my potion Professor once? (that one is a long story) for a long period of time I also hated my parents for dying and leaving me with my abusive relatives, and I hated being in pain. Maybe karma had it right spot on.

I am a nobody with brain cancer, and up until now, I had four months to live. I did a lot of things in these last four months, I made some good memories, cleared up my rivalries with a lot of people, did things here and there, even helped madam Pince (the librarian) to reorganize the whole library again all by hand and without an ounce of magic.

Tomorrow, my four months will be up, you see, I have an appointment of some kind tomorrow, with a curious thing called death. I know my time is up, you could probably see the evidence all over my sloppy handwriting, although Hermione believes there is no difference.

For those of you who cared, who saw me as Harry and nothing more or less, or even for some of you who don't know me and had just stumbled upon this note, or you're just reading it out of your sick fantasy... This is my will.

Yes. This is the last will and testament of Harry James Potter. I assure you all now, that while writing this, I had been entirely lucid, not under any pressure or influence of any kinds of substances, or drugs. This is the fantastic me.

That would be a lie though, while the reserving potion was definitely not a harmful drug, it was one of the very few potions that could keep me lucid at this stage. I only had one vial, that gave me only one day to be myself. The one that I used today, to wrap up... My life, I suppose. Don't tell Severus though, it's our secret for now.

I don't have a lot to give away, so let's get over with that and get to the important stuff ( I'm getting dizzy already) but rest assured, I wasn't an asshole. I already left the things that needed to be left, I forgave those I needed to forgive, and I have already regretted every mistake in my life long before I have written this. There is no unfinished business. There never is with dying people.

Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant to say, was that you will never find a dying person (who knows he's dying) to be unprepared. Unless the poor sod has been told that he's dying minutes away from dying. In that case, that guy would have every right to be totally unprepared.

Sorry for the rambling, my point was that I had finished my business in this world and am probably moving on as you guys are reading this. (Not really. I'm terrified.)

Before I get to what I really wanted to say, there's one thing. I know you're curious, I know you're confused, flabbergasted, angry and probably want to bring me back to life just to kill me again. But wait! Stop doing whatever you're doing now, stop crying, stop frowning, and put the wand away.

I have told you that I had more time. That I was fine and the cancer hadn't gone that bad yet. That's the lie I told everyone except my healers and the headmaster, who were in on everything. They didn't stop me from lying, but they didn't overly encouraged it either.

I'm such a bastard. You'll probably be thinking. I did that to a lot of people. Which makes me a liar, because what I said was not true in the slightest. I was dying when I said all those crap, and if there is one, only one, regret I ever had in these sixteen years is that I lied.

I'm asking for forgiveness. If I hadn't lied, you wouldn't be there right now, reading my will or weeping over my dead fuming corpse ( sorry. That was Insensitive), if I hadn't mustered up a string of lies to keep you out of my life, I wouldn't have been prepared. I wouldn't have been satisfied.

So, yeah, I know it's selfish, and I know you're thinking I'm such an ass in my own funeral ( I really need to stop writing like this about my own death) but I had to do it. And I will do it again in another life.

I had a list. /The/ list, of things I wanted to do before I died. At first it was this measly little thing, simple mundane activities that I wanted to do before I died, you know... Like reading this book, or managing to win a food marathon, have sex (still a priority of mine) or meet a famous person. (the irony)

Everything a dying teenager would want to do before his birthday, which by chance also turned out to be the date of his untimely death.

These kind of stuff, soon escalated into a gigantic list of dying wishes. After the panic kicked in and I realized that I didn't want to die, and I had literally countless opportunities and things that I wanted to do, and I couldn't because I was dying, well... That was when things got... Out of hand.

I wanted to swim with whales, wanted to scale Everest, I wanted to make the biggest ice cream sandwich that there was in the record book of ice cream sandwiches, I even wanted to be in a threesome and have dinner with the Beatles.

Yeah, crazy stuff.

I had written down so many things that if I gathered them all together, the list alone could be turned into a book.

I calmed down eventually, the ideas died with each part of me. And I rationalized myself. I decided that, if I really wanted to do these things before I died, I had to tune it down a bit and get over the crazy ones in order to satisfy my other thirsts.

I finally settled down on a number. Thirty one. That was my birthday though, thirty first of July. I calculated, if I had four months to live, then I had four months until my birthday, and if I had that, then I could grant my own wishes just in time before I died. As a late birthday gift to myself per se.

It was a brilliant idea and I was proud of myself, so I got my long scroll of crazy ideas and thought ; why the hell not? If I was about to die a painful death I certainly did not deserve then I might as well knock myself out!

I divided my list into two parts, part one was my every wish as a child, every wistful thinking that was never granted for me as kid, who was neglected. The other half, was the crazy stuff the teenage me wanted... Yes... Like having sex.

Don't tell me you didn't think about it. I mean if you're sixteen, and you're also dying and a Virgin above everything else... You do the math.

It got thirty one in total, the perfect number for me to achieve, also a very ironic number, since it's a direct cause for my parent's death.

Moving on, there was only one problem with my fantastically designed plan. I was still in school.

I attended Hogwarts school of wizardry and witchcraft, which is also a boarding magical school, dropping out of that while I had no parent or didn't have enough strength to look after myself was a problem.

I had to drop out of school, I decided, I couldn't just lie in the infirmary and waste my remaining time sulking on why's and how's. I wanted to drain every bloody second out of that four months.

What happened after that was simply history. Something that I'd definitely would like to tell you all about. It's actually one of the reasons why, I sound so okay with dying (not really, I'm terrified.)

But that is for another time.

My hand is getting tired and I'm about to sleep for the last time. I have many things to explain, to confess, to declare, alas, I don't have the strength anymore. But that's okay, because I have foreseen this, and I have been prepared.

There are forty two envelopes under the pillow I'm putting my head upon. Thirty one of those are the recording of my wishes, of how they went and If they turned out to be as good and as satisfying as I had imagine them to be. They tell Harry nobody's story. The nobody who died of cancer.

Ten of those letters are dedicated to the ten people I held dear, and one particular letter was addressed to one Severus Snape.

Sev. If you're reading this now, or if you found my corpse in the morning lying on the bed... I'm sorry.

I know I promised that I try to hold on, to fight this so you could adopt me. So that we could be a family after this was all over... But I can't. I'm sorry, but I know death has come for me. And that is why I'm so sad. I'm sorry and I know how awful it must be, that you granted my every wish and I couldn't grant only one.
These past few months, you taught me a lot of things, things that I couldn't have otherwise learned or realized by myself. I thought I knew what a parent's love felt like. But I didn't. I'm not even sure if I do now. You tried though, and that has to count for something... Right?

I know it's stupid, and selfish. But I signed the papers anyway, the adoption papers. They're folded in your envelope, neatly stacked within the pages of our adventures together. Waiting to be signed over by you and the ministry.

You followed me through everything from day one, you made my dying days into something wonderful, and... And I would always be proud... Of calling you... My father. Maybe later. Maybe in another life. But I needed to get this off my chest before I succumbed to death's last bow. ( Pardon me. I was reading poetry earlier)
I love you Severus Snape, and you were the Dad I never had.

This is my last wish. Not the thirty second wish. This is wish number thirty one plus one.

Dad, would you still adopt me if I was dead?
Chapter End Notes:
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