After All This Time... Always

After All This Time... Always



Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters are copyright of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros., and they were used without permission.  However, they were used with consideration and with no intention of making money.  This story is simply an appreciative fan's attempt at writing something to contribute to the world of Harry Potter.

Completed July 2007.

Email comments to sindie11@yahoo.com.

Rated PG for thematical reasons.

<center>Sindie Presents a Harry Potter Fanfic:

After All This Time... Always</center>

It was over.  Voldemort was dead.  Finally.

But Harry was left with a lot of baggage to deal with.

Immediately after the battle had ended, Harry went to Gryffindor Tower, leaving his friends to join in the celebration in the Great Hall.  As he entered the common room, he felt like he was stepping back in time.  It had been a year since he'd been here.  Gazing around the room, he remembered with fondness all the times Ron, Hermione, and he had gathered in their favorite spot near the fire to do homework, talk, or play games.  He looked into the empty, cold fireplace, recalling his conversations with Sirius there.  

Everything was a memory now.

He climbed the stairs to his old dormitory and found his four-poster.  Untouched, it looked just like it did on the first day of school every year.  He sat down on the edge and removed his shoes and fell into the softness of the comforter and pillow, which he gladly welcomed.  He was beyond exhausted.

His dreams were nonexistent.  Maybe it was because Voldemort was finally dead, gone for good.  When Harry awoke several hours later, the beginning of dawn was peeking through the windows.  He noticed Ron and Neville had joined him at some point, but they were both soundly slumbering in their beds.

Sitting up, Harry realized how hungry he was.  Even in the pre-dawn light, he could see how dirty he'd made the covers of the bed.  He realized how full of grime his clothes were, but he hadn't given any of this a second thought when he had collapsed onto the bed with sheer exhaustion.  He called for Kreacher, who returned graciously a moment later with a couple of sandwiches and a glass of pumpkin juice.  

After fulfilling one need, Harry went to the bathroom and showered.  Unfortunately, all his clothes were in Hermione's bag, so he had to resort to magically cleaning his for now.  He went down to the common room, surprised to see Hermione sitting alone by the fireplace, which was still empty of a warming fire.  

Going over to her, Harry sat down and asked, "You all right, Hermione?"

A little startled out of her reverie, she replied, "Oh, good morning, Harry... Yes, I'm fine... Just- "  She didn't know how to describe what she was feeling.  While she was overjoyed the war was finally over, that the good side had won, she also felt a gaping emptiness taking hold.  "It just feels so strange, you know?  We'd been fighting for so long, I guess I didn't have time to stop and think about things.  We were always on the run for the past year, and as much as I wanted this day to come for so long, it just feels wrong to be happy when so many people died.  People we knew and loved, Harry."

Her brown eyes filled with tears.  A part of Harry wanted to ask if he should get Ron, for Ron had been the one to comfort Hermione more often than not lately, but he didn't want to disturb Ron's sleep.  "I know," Harry said heavily, thinking of seeing Fred, Lupin, and Tonks's bodies lying there on the castle floor.  "It's... hardly fair."

He didn't know what he could say to make the feeling of such overwhelming loss go away.  He knew time would help.  It wasn't like he hadn't dealt with loss before.  As Harry remembered Hedwig, Dobby, and Mad-Eye, in addition to Fred, Lupin, and Tonks, his green eyes glistened with tears.  His mind was going through everything that had happened mere hours ago.  It could have been a lifetime ago for all he knew.  He thought of seeing his parents, Sirius, and Lupin again after they had all passed on, how they had all sacrificed so much and had still been there to protect him.

And he remembered his conversation with Dumbledore in that strange place somewhere between life and death.  He had exchanged a smile with the late headmaster's portrait amongst the clapping, cheering paintings in the headmaster's office, but there had been one painting that was empty.  Right next to Dumbledore's smiling face, what Harry was sure was a new painting was devoid of its inhabitant.  Realizing now whose it had to be, Harry whispered, "Snape."

"What's that, Harry?" questioned Hermione.

"Snape," Harry repeated, more loudly.  "His portrait was empty in the headmaster's office.  I hadn't even thought he'd have a picture there, too, but it makes sense since he was the headmaster this past year."

Hermione nodded, remembering the horrible way the man had perished.  She had wanted nothing more than to leave the Shrieking Shack as Harry knelt over the dying man's body, but when Harry told her and Ron later about the memories Snape had given him, she couldn't help but cry.  Despite all her tries of defending the man for years, she thought she had finally been proven wrong a year ago when Snape had killed Dumbledore, but like Harry and everyone else, she had been wrong about the man.

"He must still be lying in the Shrieking Shack," Harry said softly, his eyes meeting Hermione's.  "No one even knows but us.  We... we can't just leave him there."

Realizing what Harry was suggesting, Hermione nodded tearfully.  "Yes, you're right, Harry.  He deserves better than that, at least, after everything he's been through.  Poor man..."

Still shocked by those memories, Harry's old hatred for Snape had faded, and while he still wished he would have known the truth a long time ago, he couldn't be upset at Snape for being so ashamed.  He'd forgiven Dumbledore for keeping things from him, after all.  While he wasn't sure what to feel about his old professor yet, he knew he had done the right thing by defending him from Voldemort.  If there was any justice in the world, Harry would make sure Snape's name was cleared, and that the truth was known about him.

"We ought to get his body and bring it back to the castle," Harry murmured.

Hermione and Harry left the common room, going into the deserted corridors.  Since they weren't students, there was no need to worry about getting in trouble for being out at this time.  As they walked through the silent halls, their footsteps sent chilling echoes off the walls.  Every time they rounded a corner, Harry half-expected Snape to be there patrolling the corridors, ready to deduct points and issue out detentions.  

Harry smiled sadly to himself.  What he wouldn't have given now to see his old teacher again.  Even if Snape scowled and sneered at him for the rest of his life, at least he would be alive.

"He really did love your mum, didn't he?" Hermione asked softly.

"Yes, yes, he did," Harry replied, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea, the fact.  "Who would have ever known?  Why didn't he ever tell me?"

"I guess some things are just too painful," Hermione said gravely.  "He always seemed so... closed."

Harry nodded.  They had left the castle now, and Harry noticed that the grounds were free of the fallen.  He remembered the Occlumency lessons he had been required to endure.  That had been his first inclination that Snape's childhood and youth had been awful.  He had felt pity for him, which he never imagined possible, but that small amount of pity had just as quickly disappeared when Harry had savagely blamed Snape for groading Sirius, making him the reason for Sirius's death.  The following year had only increased Harry's loathing of the man, and with what he witnessed on the tower... an Avada Kedavra from Snape's wand pointed right at Dumbledore's chest... Harry had thought everything was simply black and white.

But no, that was definitely not the case.  He had found out many less than honorable things about Dumbledore this past year, and in Snape's memories, it was obvious that Snape had often felt the same way Harry had about the old wizard.  Dumbledore had only given the information he felt each needed to know.  He had used both of them for what he claimed to be the "greater good."  Snape had been right to feel ill used.

Leaving the grounds, Harry and Hermione silently walked the short distance along the pathway to Hogsmeade.  Within a few minutes, the Shrieking Shack loomed off in the distance.  The cool morning air blew slightly around them as they approached the shack.  The moment they entered, Harry felt a chill run down his spine.  He had seen more death than most his age, but there was something unnerving about the coldness of the place that bothered him.

They came to the door to the room where Harry knew Snape's body would still be lying.  He pushed open the door, and it creaked as he took a tentative step into the room.  His vibrant green eyes, perhaps the most lively thing about the room, gazed upon Snape's crumpled form.

The body was contorted oddly, from the obvious pain the man had been in upon dying.  His black eyes stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling, and his mouth hung open at an odd angle.  His skin was completely white, and Harry thought his hands looked like claws clenching at the air in agony.

Hermione's eyes only rested on Snape's body for a minute before she turned away, blinking away tears.  She stood next to Harry.

"I c- can't look at him like this," she whispered, horrified.  "It's just so... wrong."

"I know," Harry said sadly.  He approached Snape and knelt down next to him.  For a moment, he stared into those lifeless eyes, remembering Snape's last words of "Look... at... me...", and then brought his hand over them, closing the lids.  "There, that's a little better," he sighed.  "C'mon, Hermione.  Let's... get him more comfortable."

He knew it sounded ridiculous.  It wasn't as if the body in front of them could feel anything anymore, but to see Snape frozen in such a position was frightening and depressing.  Hermione nodded, gulping back a sob, and waved her wand, murmuring a few incantations.  The stiff form of Severus Snape seemed limber again, and his muscles relaxed as his limbs fell in natural positions once again.  His mouth closed, and the muscles below his face no longer expressed the agony he had been in during his last moments on earth.

She cleaned the dried blood away from his neck and removed the grime and dust from his clothes, hair, and skin.  The man now lying in front of them could have been merely asleep for all they knew.  Harry breathed easier, knowing the man could be returned in a state of dignity, not looking like a terrified animal left to die in a cage.  

Hermione conjured a blanket, which they wrapped him in by hand.  Something was more personal about handling him that way, and they gently levitated him out of the house.  Once outside, Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak over Snape's prone form, and they returned with their ex-professor's body to Hogwarts.

Once inside the castle, Harry brought the body to the only place he thought it would be kept safe: the headmaster's office.  Few people had woken yet, but gazing at the time, Hermione told Harry she wanted to return to the common room and wait for Ron.

"See you at breakfast soon?" she queried.

"Yeah," Harry answered, gazing dazedly at the portraits.  Most of them were sleeping.

Hermione left, and Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak from Snape's body.  The body was still covered with the blanket, and he wasn't sure what he was doing... just standing there.  He knew he should tell McGonagall, and soon enough the rest of the Order would know the truth about Snape, but Harry found he couldn't leave just yet.

His eyes landed upon Dumbldore's painting.  The old wizard opened his eyes and gave Harry a kind smile.

"That was a noble thing to do, Harry," he told the young man.  "Severus would be glad to be at Hogwarts again."

Harry shrugged.  "I couldn't just leave him there... but why isn't he on the wall with the rest of you?  That's his picture, isn't it?"  Harry motioned toward the empty frame.

"Yes," Dumbledore said sadly, "but he has taken to hiding.  He could be anywhere amongst the portraits in the entire castle now."

A look of confusion and concern crossed Harry's young features.  "Why?"

"He doesn't wish to be seen, at least not yet.  What do you imagine Minerva or any of the others who ran him out would do?"

"Good point," Harry conceded.  "It's just... sir, why would he hide even now?  He's... erm, dead."

Dumbledore frowned and shook his head.  "Surely you know why now, Harry.  You know the truth.  In giving you those memories, you now have the truth, and he knows it's only a matter of time before everyone knows who he really was."

"But... why wouldn't he want that known?  You said... it was the best of him."

"Precisely, and what did he do?  He insisted I tell no one.  He was by far too ashamed to show what he felt to be such a weakness.  He felt he had failed Lily, betrayed her after loving her so much."

"Right before he died," Harry said, "he wanted to look into my eyes.  My mother's eyes.  I guess that was the only reason why."  For some reason, it stung.  Harry thought perhaps Snape had meant to finally see Harry for who he was - not his father, but himself.  After all, hadn't Snape shown Harry who he truly was by giving him those memories?

"You've heard, no doubt, the expression about the eyes being the window to the soul, Harry?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes."

"I believe Severus was seeing Lily in you for the first time.  While his initial reasons for coming to me had been out of a selfish love for your mother, the years changed him.  While he still held on to that longing love, he did many things, made many sacrifices, took many risks, for the greater good.  That is unselfish devotion, Harry."

Harry nodded.  He had seen for himself this transformation in Snape when looking at the memories.  "That's real bravery," Harry stated in awe.

"Honestly, Potter, do not go comparing me to a pitiful Gryffindor," came a snide voice.

Harry jumped, gasping.  Snape had just appeared in his portrait, and he was scowling deeply at Harry.  Snape's black eyes came to rest on Harry and then on his body covered next to the boy.  

"I do hope you don't intend to keep my remains here for all to see, Potter," Snape said with distaste.

"Er, no, of course not, sir," Harry stuttered, not sure what to say.  He had been going over and over what he would tell his old professor if he ever had the chance to talk to him again, but this was still just a portrait, not the real person.

Snape smirked.  "I'm glad you understand the importance of it, then."  He glared at Dumbledore, who was smiling serenely, and proceeded to say, "I would ask what saccharine nonsense you two have been blathering on about, but I heard the lot of it.  Taken to discussing my so-called dignity in my absence, have you?"

"With all due respect, Professor Snape," said Harry levely, "it was nothing bad.  I just... wanted to say thank you, but you weren't here, and-"

"Do stop nattering on, Potter," Snape said impatiently.  "Very well.  Your gratitude is accepted.  Now, go and live your life.  Merlin knows what the rest of us have sacrificed on your behalf."

Harry couldn't help but smile a little.  This was the Snape he knew.  He wished the portraits a good day and joined his friends in the Great Hall.

Over the next few days, arrangements were made for the funerals of all the fallen to be held at Hogwarts.  It only seemed fitting that they be laid to rest in the place they had been defending, which had meant so much to all of them.  The day of the funerals was somber, and among the fallen, Snape was included as having fought for the Order of the Phoenix.  All were rewarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, posthumously.

In another place completely, the real soul of Severus Snape was happy for the first time in a long time.  Upon leaving his mortal life, he had been greeted by the smiling green eyes and welcoming arms of Lily Evans... after all this time... always.








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