Headmaster's office, March 1998
Severus Snape was tired. Tired of pretending, tired of trying to keep the students safe against all odds. Tired of keeping Harry Potter safe, from behind the enemy lines, only to be sacrificed at the right moment. Tired of this failure of a life that he had gotten himself into. He hoped it was over soon. Or rather, he knew it would be over soon for him, that he could finally have some peace.
There was one thing, he decided, that he wanted to keep with him when the time finally came.
Ihr Blümlein alle,
Die sie mir gab,
Euch soll man legen
Mit mir ins Grab.(All you flowers
She gave to me
You shall be laid
To rest with me.)
He turned to his desk and pulled out a notebook from one of the drawers he had warded shut for everyone save himself. It was fairly nondescript, a brown leather notebook with no markings on it, apart from the signs of usage notebooks usually bore with time, and the slight waves parchment showed when it had been damped and dried again.
It contained reminders of some of the fondest memories Severus had of Lily - when they were young and innocent. In their first spring together at Hogwarts, they had found a clearing in the Forbidden Forest which almost overflowed with flowers, magical and non-magical alike. Especially the magical lilies had attracted his attention - the bright blue of their petals that sported soft violet spots, glowing both in the sun and the shadows.
The clearing had quickly become their favourite meeting spot, and it was soon established that either of them would pick a flower and give it to the other, for keepsake, every time they met there.
Wie seht ihr alle
Mich an so weh,
Als ob ihr wüsstet,
Wie mir gescheh’?(You look at me
So painfully
As though you know
What happened to me/What will happen to me)
The petals he had stored in his notebook had long since dried, the ink they used to remind each other of the occasions long since faded, the once sharp, witty humour Severus had believed only the two of them understood, dulled. He could have hast a preservation charm on the flowers, but he and Lily had agreed to do this the muggle way.
Neither of them knew how very indicative the dried petals would be of their relationship.
Severus opened the notebook and flipped through the pages, never quite looking at them. He let the memories wash over him one last time - Lily's laughs, the enthusiasm glimmering in her emerald eyes, her fiery hair spinning around her.
The notebook had filled quickly, at first. But with the increasing study load, and, as loathe as Severus was to admit, caught up in adolescent but brutal House and pureblood politics and with his desire to impress his Slytherin housemates, chances to visit the clearing eventually became few and far between. They never actually stopped meeting, though, until that incident in fifth year.
Mudblood… He would never forget that. Her blazing green eyes, pained, disgusted, accusing.
How could he, when those same green eyes, with the same betrayed expression, haunted him - Kill me then! Coward! - every night?
Ihr Blümlein alle,
Wie welk, wie blass?
Ihr Blümlein alle
Wovon so nass?(All you flowers
How withered, how pale?
All you flowers,
Why so damp?)
The last filled page held one single flower, and, unlike the others, was unlabeled. Why he kept this reminder of the second most painful memory in his life (the first being that night in Godric's Hollow), he didn't know. It was etched too firmly in his brain, anyway.
The Saturday after their Defense OWL, when he had needed time and a place to think, his feet had instinctually carried him to that clearing in the Forbidden Forest. When he arrived, he saw that another person already was there - Lily. She had immediately noticed him, regarded him with an unfathomable, carefully blank expression, and then left without a word. When he had finally come out of his daze and called out after her, she was long gone.
That evening, he was surprised by the arrival of a school owl in the Great Hall. It carried a blank envelope that he checked for curses and jinxes first - anything else would have been suicide, in the First War that had already started. When it showed none, he shoved it into his bag, resolving to open it when he was back in the dorms.
It probably was a good thing that he had been in the dorms when he eventually opened the letter that night, for he immediately recognised its sender and its content - it was a single, withered flower from the clearing, damp from tears. No note was included; however, its meaning could not have been conveyed more thoroughly had it been shouted across the Great Hall.
Ach, Tränen machen
Nicht maiengrün,
Machen tote Liebe
Nicht wieder blühn.(Alas, tears will not create
The green of May
Will not make dead love
Bloom again.)
He had begged Lily to accept his apologies, but when he received the single flower that night, he knew he had irrevocably lost Lily's friendship. And then he had gone on to betray her in the worst imaginable way. The moment the prophecy had left his mouth, she was branded, destined to die. No matter how much he would be consumed by tears of guilt and grief later (something he had not allowed himself in a long time), she could not come back to life.
And now, after he had taken Lily's life, her son would meet the same fate - sent to death at the hands of the Dark Lord by Severus. Because of that thrice-damned prophecy - either must die at the hands of the other. Again. He could only hope both their deaths had not been, would not be too painful, the way his would be. A foolish hope, maybe.
It was then that Severus remarked that it was eerily silent around the castle, considering that it was March already. No students running about, squealing and laughing and snogging and doing insipid things adolescents would normally do. No birds singing in the grounds, either.
It felt as if the castle and its grounds had been magically put into stasis, eternal winter.
Very fitting, Severus thought, as he closed the notebook.
Und Lenz wird kommen
Und Winter wird gehen,
Und Blümlein werden
Im Grase stehn.(And spring will come
And winter will pass
And flowers will
Grow in the grass.)
An idle thought flitted through his mind. Would Lily's son survive to see the next spring? Against all reason, Severus hoped so, because somehow, Harry Potter had always managed to defy the principles of reason. This - what once would have kindled the spark of hatred in Severus' heart - was now the only reason he held on. But his mind told him the boy had to walk to his death - at his - Severus' - very own words.
Since he had found out about Potter's destiny, Severus found it extremely difficult to dredge up any hatred for the boy. In fact, he was only slightly astonished to find that he regretted that he had not done more to help him.
Facing death brings clarity, it is said, which was certainly true for Severus, though whether his own prospective - surely ugly - demise or Potter's had brought this about was not definite to him. He could see rather clearly now that Potter - Harry - was just a child, thrust, by circumstances beyond his control, into a war and the life of a hero that would eventually require him to make the ultimate sacrifice.
Death had washed away the blinding hatred he thought he had for Harry - when, in fact, it should have been directed at the elder Potter, at Lily maybe, but mostly at himself, for his own mistakes. And this, eventually, had opened Severus' eyes to how much the boy had been tested, what he had suffered in his short life - more, indeed, than any child should have to bear. Harry Potter, of all people, would have deserved to live, and now, Severus could do nothing to ensure it - far from that.
He had failed again, and he had to be the one to tell Potter, to confess his sins, his failures - how, of course, was another question. The irony of fate's punishment had received a new height indeed.
He deserved it, Severus supposed.
With a few twirls of his wand, the notebook was transfigured into a silver necklace that he fastened around his neck. One last charm, and it was rendered invisible.
It was time to get back to work. To end this war once and for all.
Severus had long accepted the price he had to pay.
Hogwarts Grounds, May 5th 1998, Severus Snape's funeral.
Und Blümlein liegen
In meinem Grab,
Die Blümlein alle,
Die sie mir gab.(And flowers lie
In my grave
All those flowers
She gave to me.)
Harry Potter stood before the plain ebony casket before him, head bowed in respect for the man lying there who looked peaceful in death, at last.
He had fought hard for a decent funeral for the late Potions Master, after he had retrieved the body from the bloodied Shack. It was there that Harry had also found a partially untransfigured notebook filled with petals that bore both his mother's and the Prince's - Snape's - handwriting.
He had been intrigued at first, tucking the notebook into his pockets for later inspection. But when he opened it, later that night, he realised that, as with the pensieve, he had no business rifling in the Potions Master's private possessions, and that Professor Snape had obviously wanted to take it with him, as a reminder of what he had been fighting for - what he had died for.
The green-eyed wizard stepped forward and gently laid the notebook over the Professor's heart. Then, on the spur of the moment, he conjured up a bunch of flowers before he stepped back.
Had he looked more closely, he would have seen blue lilies with violet spots that glowed in the sunlight.
Meanwhile. Somewhere, everywhere.
Und wenn sie wandelt
Am Hügel vorbei,
Und denkt im Herzen:
„Der meint’ es treu!“(And when she wanders
Past the mound
And thinks in the heart
"He was true to me!")
Severus Snape woke up, propped against a hard surface, to green eyes staring at him. For a moment, he thought he was in the Shack again, but it was bright around him and the green eyes were framed by red hair, not black.
"Hello, Sev."
Lily.
"I am dead, then."
Lily's expression was inexplicably sad.
"Yes."
He was leaning against the low wall in their park in Spinner's End, just as he used to when watching Lily flying from the swings. Lily was kneeling next to him in the grass. leaning over him, slightly.
"Thank you," she said, gripping his left forearm, "for all you did for Harry."
Severus yanked his arm from her grip, exposing the Dark Mark. "Then you don't know what I have done!"
Even in death, there was no absolution for him, no freedom from the mistakes of his youth.
"But I do," Lily answered calmly. "I have forgiven you when I realised you had turned spy, and you have atoned for your mistakes many times over since."
She grasped the Marked forearm once more. It felt warm, but pleasantly so. "To me, this is your badge of honour. Harry could not have done it without you."
Severus closed his eyes to the shame creeping up in him. "I have been nothing but undeservedly hateful to your son."
"Yes. But I think he realises as well now that actions speak louder than words."
Severus' eyes flew open again in disbelief.
"You will see that he does. Come."
Lily led the way, and suddenly, they were standing in their clearing together again, just as they had so many years ago. Looking around, Severus saw that it had come to life again, impatient to bloom after the long forced hibernation.
A long pause filled the air. Then -
"Harry died here, you know," Lily said softly.
"So I failed. Again." He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.
"No. He chose to go on, living."
"… How?"
He should be relieved, Severus supposed.
"He had a choice," Lily answered simply. Severus fought down the urge to snap at her for being so redundant.
"And so do you now, Severus. Watch, and decide. You can go on, or stay. You Vow allows both."
The silence in the clearing roared in his ears.
"The choice is yours now, Severus."
The Forbidden Forest, May 5th 1998, after the funeral.
Dann Blümlein alle,
Heraus, heraus!
Der Mai ist kommen,
Der Winter ist aus.(Then all you flowers
Come forth, come forth!
May has come,
Winter is past.)
Harry Potter found himself walking into the Forbidden Forest, to the clearing where he took the Killing Curse that night.
When he arrived, he did not recognize it, at first. It was in full bloom, the complete opposite of what it had been just a few days ago. He soaked in the sight, the way it had come to life, so very much like how his world had started breathing again after having been freed from Voldemort's oppressive chokehold.
Then, he recognized the flowers. He had seen them that evening, dried, in Snape's notebook.
"Snape would have loved it here."
Harry knelt down to study them in more detail. The colours, the spots, the shapes of their petals.
"He of all people would have deserved seeing this. Everything he did, what he did it for."
He gently cupped one of the lilies in his hands, then, a quiet Diffindo cut it at its stem. He tucked the flower into a piece of parchment; it was the eulogy he had prepared - the bravest man he'd ever known. He slid it back into his robes.
Today, Harry Potter's robes were black, the colour of mourning, like the Professor's used to be. They stood out against the sea of colour and life around him.
A tear slid down Harry's face.
"I'm sorry."
Little did he know that the other black-robed figure was standing behind him, silent and invisible, dark eyes brighter than they had been in life. The silence around him spoke of understanding.
'Do not regret my death. It is your time to bloom now. Use it well, the way I never did.'
And as he had Vowed that fatal night, Severus Snape, the protector in the shadows, would go on watching over Harry Potter.
Always.