Your Favourite Fanfic Scenes *spoiler alert*
This thread is to share some of our favourite scenes from fanfics. We often like some of the scenes from our favourite fics, here's the chance to share them.
The following guidelines need to be followed:
- Put the original fic name and chapter number with link to original fic from where scene is being shared.
- Anyone who reads the scene bears responsibiliy of reading the spoilers about fic. I don't want anyone whining about spoilers after they've read scenes knowing this.
- Anyone sharing adult/explicit content must put appropriate warnings for the scenes.
- There must be no judgement or picking on the member for their choice of scene.
It was by far the worst thing Tobias had ever had to live through. As a teen he had identified his mother body after the blitz, and lost his father in Dunkirk, but nothing amounted to what he was seeing now as he felt Eileen’s long cold fingers clench onto his arms. He barely felt the vice grip that was surely going to leave bruises.
Instead, he focused on Severus open eyes, dead and unseeing. So cold and unfathomably empty, framed by long dark eyelashes which casted shadows across his cheeks. His skin was white, with blood and grime sticking to it, his lips partly opened exposing the blood stains on his teeth as well. His long black hair had a natural curl to it, falling past his shoulders and framing the grotesque viscera of his upper body and neck.
His throat had been ripped open, and no care had evidently been shown transporting his body. The once deep gash was now a gaping hole that had opened up wide enough to expose where flesh had been ripped away from his neck vertebrae or acidified by poison.
No words could be formed between Tobias and Eileen. There was nothing to say. Their son was dead, and both were well aware of the weight of their share on the blame. Severus had made his decisions, yes, but he had been pushed to the point where there were no other roads for him to follow. Eileen and Tobias were path makers, and proof that forging your own path would not necessarily be your happy ending.
They didn’t have fond memories of Severus as a person. As a small child, he was obedient and sweet, but he lived in the bubble of a world his parents created. His identity was one of a small child, crafted by parents who watched and taught him. Severus as a person developed as a means to survive in a house of horrors and a school made to birth a generation of evils. They did not know Severus as his own person, and they would never get the chance to.
They never saw their child transition to an adult. It had been forced upon him, and then one day he was gone. And there was nothing left to keep Tobias and Eileen together. Eileen soon followed after Severus, and Tobias had to confront the past of his teen years. Being utterly alone.
He left the little house on Spinner’s End to Severus, and practically drank himself into liver cirrhosis mourning the loss of a family that had barely existed. A good mate of him made him clear himself up, if not for himself, than the little boy that had practically died in Tobias’ mind. Tobias had lost his wife, and son in more ways than one. His son more permanently. There was no bringing his son back.
The realization of grief apparently hit Tobias first, because he knew nothing of Eileen’s reaction. The world gave out beneath him as he released a sound beyond earthly description. As though his mind, body, soul were being fused to one another and painstaking ripped apart. He would never get the chance to apologize. Not that the words would’ve mattered.
For not believing about the bullying, for the beatings, for the drinking. That fact that there was never enough food. His clothes worn down to rags, climbing out of windows to avoid rotting door ways and steps. For not being a father.
And Tobias saw Severus at sixteen, bruised and bloody after a beating, with a fire in his eyes that pledged to put him into an early grave. Trying to explain his grades, the eerie nothingness in his eyes when that Evans girl stopped being heard of. The appearance of having nothing to live for but spite. It was really the last time Tobias had seen Severus so closely. Image after image haunted him, the stories Severus tried to giving melting into the crevices of his mind like molten lava, and Severus had been alone. Severus battered on that mortuary table was the lid to the casket. So cold and alone.
Tobias was barely aware of the blood smeared against his body as he clutched Severus’ lifeless, nearly decapitated form. He needed to warm up and he’d be fine. Just like his Tobias’ mother. If he warmed them up enough, their hearts would beat and eyes light up again. And none of them would ever have to be alone. Eileen had collapsed holding onto Severus’s hands.
Her miracle child. A miscarriage and two stillborn twins before him. And a difficult winter labor. And the mourning parents sobbed. A fourth name to headstone bearing the previous three. The pain and suffering was insurmountable, with exhaustion weighing down whatever shred of their souls left intact.
They stayed there as world seemed to disintegrate around them. It held little purpose for them now. And Severus began to warm in Tobias and Eileen’s arms, before a light blinded Tobias eyes as he launched forward to grasp at the form of his son, before it too melded away to Tobias with his hand extended towards Eileen’s back. She was facing the window of their old room in spinner’s end, an owl perched watching her peculiarly from the window sill.
His mind was swimming as Eileen turned around, looking weary and worn thin, wide eyed and shaking. Not a day over how she had been at thirty six. There were no words to be given as she handed him a sealed letter, labeled by sharp gothic writing Tobias had seen scrawled across Severus’ belongings. It was certainly from him, addressing both of his parents, dated the 17 October, 1976.
Tobias remember originally shooting the owl and throwing out that letter. It had been the source of another early morning argument. Now it was more precious than ever. Needing to be perfectly preserved.
Eileen pressed to his side, they carefully retrieved the letter and unfurled it, revealing a message long lost.
Severus was told to contact home after another violent altercation with a group of boys, and that his parents presence was requested to monitor him at the school.
No would not be an option this time.
Severus would not be left alone anymore.
Tobias and Eileen were going to protect him. They remembered that despite everything Severus Snape was, he was their son first. Always.
A little scene from The Gestaltation of Severus Snape Act 2 Ch. 13
I found this gem of a fic through a reddit recommendation that also mentioned they were a little wary of where the story was going, naturally my curiosity was peaked and after reading a little of the first chapter, I decided to skip to the latest one at the time because I wanted to know just what the reddit comment was referring to and I found this.
SPOILERS...duh
"Severus Snape," Scrimgeour said, his voice directed at him, "by the authority of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I hereby place you under arrest for the assault of multiple minors, and you are additionally being held under suspicion of being responsible for the petrifications of Adrian Creevey and Dirk Cresswell, as well as being an unregistered vampire. You will be detained in Azkaban Prison until your hearing, which shall be scheduled at a later time. Do you have anything to say in response?"
Severus took a breath in, a breath out, and shook his head.
That paragraph was enough incentive to get me hooked on the story and binge the thing. After reading the whole chapter, I had some trouble picking up my jaw from the floor.
It was *chef's kiss*
It's a scene from one of my favourite fics, Gates of Azkaban, Chapter 41. Great job, Harry! 😸
The expression that crossed James's face then was one that Harry was sure had never appeared on his own. James didn't look furious or disgusted at the mention of Snape, as he had last night. There was a predatory light in his eye that reminded Harry instantly of the way he and Sirius had looked at Snape that day after the O.W.L.s, when they had gone after Snape for no reason other than the offense of Snape's existence.
Harry had never told Ginny what he had seen in Snape's Pensieve, but after the meeting last night and the look on James's face now, he had a feeling she could guess.
"I'm sure Frank and Alice are busy," James said. "How long ago did Lily leave? I bet we could catch her."
Ginny narrowed her eyes. Harry said hastily, "I'm sure she's already at the Ministry."
"Pity," James said, slumping back.
"I doubt Lily would think so," Ginny snapped.
James looked at her in surprise, then sneered. "I forgot. You're friends with Snivellus, aren't you?"
"So was Lily," Harry said quietly.
James shot him a nasty look. "Her mistake."
"Was it, though?" Harry asked. "He's come through for her, hasn't he?"
"And I haven't?" James flared.
"It's not a competition."
James snorted. "As if Snape wouldn't have done anything to keep her to himself."
"If that were true," Ginny said, "he would have married her."
James scowled, but obviously couldn't think of an immediate response to that. He reminded Harry suddenly of himself, of the way he and Ron used to search for every possible clue that Snape was evil, no matter how nonsensical, while Hermione would sit there calmly shooting them down.
And Harry suspected, too, that it was easier for James to think about how much he hated Snape than about the people who had died yesterday. Harry had done the same thing after Sirius had died, after all.
But there was, of course, a difference. Snape had treated Harry like dirt all throughout his years at Hogwarts. But here, it was James who had treated Snape like dirt - or worse. As far as Harry knew, Snape had never done anything to James that James hadn't deserved.
Sirius had said James had gotten better by the time Lily started dating him, but Harry wasn't sure, now, that he believed it.
"I'd be careful of him, if I were you," James said suddenly. "Lily thought he was her friend, too, and he called her a 'Mudblood.' Does that sound like something a friend would do?"
Harry looked him straight in the eye. "A friend who was dangling upside down in his underwear, bleeding and choking on soap?"
Ginny made a startled movement, but Harry didn't look away from James to see her reaction. James, for his part, looked surprised. "He told you about that?"
"I heard about it," Harry lied. "People say things they don't mean when they're hurt," he added, thinking of Ron, who had called him a liar after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire; Ron, who had abandoned him in the middle of the war.
James's lip curled. "You think he didn't mean it?"
"No," Harry said, "I think he was trying to hurt her feelings, because he knew she liked you, even then."
James flushed in triumph, but said, "That doesn't justify it."
"I didn't say it did," Harry replied. "But me? I would have forgiven him for what he said sooner than I would have forgiven you for what you did."
James's flush deepened, and this time Harry thought (and hoped) it was in shame. The idea that his dad could be totally without remorse for what he had done disturbed Harry more than he could say.
"Guess it's a good thing Lily's not like you, then," James said, recovering.
Sadness swept through Harry, followed by a cold weariness. "No," he agreed. "I'm not like either of you."
I have a document with scenes and quotes I've saved for inspiration... I just picked one at random
If he found himself eager to enjoy [McGonagall's] company, then he could hardly blame himself.
Which is why when said professor entered the staff room accompanied by the Umbridge toad, Severus found his good mood sinking like a stone. Tonight, would not be the reprieve he so desperately needed.
Resigning himself to his fate, Severus pulled on his best scowl as Minerva sat several bottles of butterbeer on the table between them.
“Minerva,” he nodded sharing a significant look with the woman that said more than words ever could.
Unfortunately, Umbridge spoke up before the Head of Gryffindor could. “Good evening, Severus,” the Ministry worker said in that high voice Severus had come to despise. “I ran into Minerva here on her way up and decided to join the two of you this evening. I hope you don’t mind.”
Of course we mind, you insufferable toad, he did not say out loud. “I’m glad you were able to find time in your busy schedule to do so,” Severus said instead.
Minerva’s smirk relayed that she’d caught his sarcasm even if Umbridge hadn’t. “Yes, I was delighted to learn that Dolores was free this evening as well.” The thin set of Minerva’s lips certainly insinuated otherwise. Leaning forward she took a butterbeer from the table and handed it over to Severus before taking one for herself. “Absolutely delighted,” she muttered darkly.
Umbridge simpered as Minerva attempted to hand her a bottle as well. “No thank you Minerva,” the toad said. “I never touch the stuff myself.”
It took every ounce of self-control that Severus possessed to prevent himself from laughing at Minerva’s long-suffering expression. If death could be captured within a glare, he felt certain that the one she shot at Umbridge would have qualified.
“I’ve never really had a taste for alcohol of any sort,” Umbridge continued, ignorant to the tension building within the room. “Too many fine witches and wizards find themselves slaves to the substance.”
Knowing that he shouldn’t, but completely unable to stop himself Severus interjected his own opinion. “It is a shame isn’t it,” he supplied, and he rather thought Minerva’s neck might have cricked with the speed with which she turned her head to him. “I myself never touched the stuff until I came here. Teaching and poor influences will drive a man to try new things.”
“Poor influences indeed,” Umbridge agreed nodding soberly in a manner that only a blind man would have taken seriously. “As I understand it, you were quite young when you gained your position here. I hope none of our illustrious colleagues were the ones who led you astray.”
A sly half smile at Minerva was the only warning he provided. “I’m afraid I cannot assuage your fears Dolores. It was our own Professor McGonagall here who led me down this dark path. Though I do believe I’m her only victim.” He added the last after receiving a murderous scowl from the woman in question.
“You are both aware that there’s not actually any alcohol in butterbeer right?” Minerva snapped.
“There was plenty of alcohol in the fire whiskey you brought me that night,” Severus quipped.
Minerva’s following glare was finally deadly enough to silence him for the remainder of the evening. Though the sharp pain in his foot as the woman subtly ground her heel into it almost made him reconsider.
[...]
“I certainly hope I’ll find Hogwarts as companionable as you two seem to.”
With that enigmatic phrase, Umbridge excused herself and left the professors to their thoughts.
“I dislike her on a cellular level,” Minerva admitted when they were certain the toad was gone.
The corner of Severus’s mouth twitched ever so slightly towards a smile. “I had picked up on that.”
“You’re dead to me by the way.”
“I just wanted to help her feel included,” Severus argued playfully. “Showing her the more human side of the stern Head of Gryffindor.”
“Dead. To. Me.”
This time Severus couldn’t hold back his chuckle. A flick of his wand turned the abominable butterbeer into something far stronger allowing the two companions to finally enjoy their evening.
The work I'll quote is technically a three-part series thus far, and I want to give some background on them before I post the quote. Everything in this post will be spoilers, but I'll try to not give too much information.
- Stay in the afterlife.
- Become a ghost.
- Reincarnate as someone else.
- Reincarnate as himself and create a new timeline.
What I like about how this is framed is that the beings in charge lay out that creating a new timeline would create new versions of everyone as well, and Snape rightfully identifies that the Lily he would end up "creating" would be a completely different Lily to the one he loved. Regardless, he chooses the fourth option.
The next part is Severus' Lily (and eventually Severus' Lily, due to the author losing access to their old account); I will be quoting the former. The set-up for this quote is that Snape can use the Resurrection Stone to communicate with Lily Potter (the reason being that all souls, regardless of the timeline, end up in the same afterlife); Lily Potter and other spirits are using their vantage point to keep tabs on important people to find clues and help Snape find and destroy the Horcruxes. This particular quote is from the last conversation they have during these seances.
It would take a very long time to quote from FFN, as the site is not copy-pasting friendly, so I'll instead direct you to find the following line (which is around halfway through the linked chapter) and read down until the conversation ends:
"Oh, it's just... Tuney died," replied Lily mournfully.
While I'm a Snily shipper, I find Snape's response to Lily Potter to be the most cathartic series of lines I've ever read in any fic, to the point where I consistently return to this chapter just to read them. He reaches his absolute lowest point here, where he completely rejects everyone and everything from his original timeline, including Lily Potter, in favor of the timeline he's now part of.
This scene is from one of the favourite fics and happens between Harry and Snape.
As much as I'd like to have them make peace with each other, this post war Snape's response to Harry is definitely canon complaint to his character and I like it for that, I hate when Post-War Snape suddenly does 180 on his opinion of Harry.
Post-War, Chapter 69: Part 11- The Wolves come out to hunt - Chapter 1
“Is she feeling better?” Severus didn't even had the chance to close the door behind himself and here he was, Potter, standing in front of him, ready to use his last nerve as a bloody jumping rope.
“Yes, she is.” Severus answered curtly, moving to walk past him.
“Erm, Profe...I mean...”
Severus stopped and looked at him. He was looking for the words, unsure as to how he should even address him. Uderstandable. For as long as they knew each other, Potter had been made to address him by his title, although Severus suspected he called him far more colorful names behind his back. They were teacher and student, those were the identities that had been assigned to them, as far as Potter knew, and even that seemingly neutral connection was fraught with tension, had always been. But that all had changed. They weren't teacher and student anymore, and yet the tension was still there...and neither one knew exactly what they were now. Not close enough to be friends, too close to be just acquaintaces, bound together by a connection born of love, and yet, one couldn't stand the other. Obviously, Potter wouldn't know how to address him.
“I'm not 'Professor Snape', anymore Potter. What do you want?”
“I think we need to talk.”
“No, we do not.”
“But we do, though. We can't just...” he shrugged, as if whatever he was refereing to was to complex to put into words.
“Talk about what? What can we possibly have to say to each other that hasn't been said?”
“That's it, though...Nothing 'has been said'”
“There is nothing to say. You know what you need to know. End of story.”
“I don't know what I need to know.”
“What do you want from me, Potter? Why now? Why must we talk about anything? They´re dead, Potter, all of them. There's nothing connecting us anymore, there's nothing to talk about. Can't you see I...”
“Moved on?”
“From what? What do you think I moved on from, Potter, pray tell?”
Potter frowned like a little boy ready to throw a tamtrum.
“That's rich, Potter. You want to talk.” Severus chuckled bitterly. “Now you care about what I have to say. About what, exactly? What do you want me to tell you? What do you think you're entitled to know?”
“I don't think I'm entitled to anything...it's just...”
“Go on...do it. Ask me about her. Ask me about your mother. Ask me about all the parts of my life you think you're entitled to, just because you're her son. Go ahead.”
“That's not...”
“Get it through your thick skull that I owe you nothing. Whatever I did, I did it because I had to. It was my debt to pay, but it was never a debt to you. You don't get to ask for more than that. We're nothing to each other, and we have nothing to talk about. I have nothing to give you that will make you feel better. I cannot heal whatever wounds you still have.”
Mine are still open, Potter, Severus thought to himself, before turning away and walking down the stairs.
Quote from Naaga on August 7, 2023, 10:07 amThis scene is from one of the favourite fics and happens between Harry and Snape.
As much as I'd like to have them make peace with each other, this post war Snape's response to Harry is definitely canon complaint to his character and I like it for that, I hate when Post-War Snape suddenly does 180 on his opinion of Harry.
Post-War, Chapter 69: Part 11- The Wolves come out to hunt - Chapter 1
“Is she feeling better?” Severus didn't even had the chance to close the door behind himself and here he was, Potter, standing in front of him, ready to use his last nerve as a bloody jumping rope.
“Yes, she is.” Severus answered curtly, moving to walk past him.
“Erm, Profe...I mean...”
Severus stopped and looked at him. He was looking for the words, unsure as to how he should even address him. Uderstandable. For as long as they knew each other, Potter had been made to address him by his title, although Severus suspected he called him far more colorful names behind his back. They were teacher and student, those were the identities that had been assigned to them, as far as Potter knew, and even that seemingly neutral connection was fraught with tension, had always been. But that all had changed. They weren't teacher and student anymore, and yet the tension was still there...and neither one knew exactly what they were now. Not close enough to be friends, too close to be just acquaintaces, bound together by a connection born of love, and yet, one couldn't stand the other. Obviously, Potter wouldn't know how to address him.
“I'm not 'Professor Snape', anymore Potter. What do you want?”
“I think we need to talk.”
“No, we do not.”
“But we do, though. We can't just...” he shrugged, as if whatever he was refereing to was to complex to put into words.
“Talk about what? What can we possibly have to say to each other that hasn't been said?”
“That's it, though...Nothing 'has been said'”
“There is nothing to say. You know what you need to know. End of story.”
“I don't know what I need to know.”
“What do you want from me, Potter? Why now? Why must we talk about anything? They´re dead, Potter, all of them. There's nothing connecting us anymore, there's nothing to talk about. Can't you see I...”
“Moved on?”
“From what? What do you think I moved on from, Potter, pray tell?”
Potter frowned like a little boy ready to throw a tamtrum.
“That's rich, Potter. You want to talk.” Severus chuckled bitterly. “Now you care about what I have to say. About what, exactly? What do you want me to tell you? What do you think you're entitled to know?”
“I don't think I'm entitled to anything...it's just...”
“Go on...do it. Ask me about her. Ask me about your mother. Ask me about all the parts of my life you think you're entitled to, just because you're her son. Go ahead.”
“That's not...”
“Get it through your thick skull that I owe you nothing. Whatever I did, I did it because I had to. It was my debt to pay, but it was never a debt to you. You don't get to ask for more than that. We're nothing to each other, and we have nothing to talk about. I have nothing to give you that will make you feel better. I cannot heal whatever wounds you still have.”
Mine are still open, Potter, Severus thought to himself, before turning away and walking down the stairs.
I love this, I'm adding it to my TBR 😂
This scene is from Avenge, Chapter 1. Snape has faked his death and attending his own funeral. 😹
This conversation between Snape and Harry is one of my favourite and seems canon compliant for both of them.
Once the crowds cleared the tomb-site, Severus Snape was finally free to approach alone. He could admit that he was curious about what his grave looked like. All he had seen so far was a big black rectangle. Most of the people (those who hadn't left directly after) were up near the Hogwarts entrance hall for the refreshments. Their chatter faded behind him as he strolled around the lake, coming to stop before the black marble slab that housed his supposed mortal remains. It was so odd, visiting one's own grave. The chairs in their orderly rows in the grass, the dome of gray sky, and the stillness of the heavy air made him almost feel that he was in a church. Carefully, as if dreading to disturb the sacred hush of this spot, he approached his tomb and looked down at the words carved carefully into the black stone:
SEVERUS SNAPE
Jan. 9 1960 – May 2 1998"For the first shall be last and the last shall be first."
Severus snorted drily and poked the slab of smooth marble with the toe of his shoe. What a ridiculous moniker to stick on his grave, of all people. Well, he supposed that it wasn't any less syrupy than "The last enemy to be destroyed is death". At the reminder of Lily, he sobered and glared down at the marble tomb. It really was far too nice for the likes of him. Although, he had to admit that the black was a nice touch. He would have vomited if it was white for heaven's sake. He sighed and reached up to gingerly prod his healing throat. Concealed under the gray turtleneck shirt he wore, the nasty wounds left by Nagini were slowly healing, but gone was his fine, silky voice. He would speak with a rasp for the rest of his life, likely. But at least he was alive, and free. No more masters. No more dunderheads. No more England. He should be rejoicing in his newfound freedom.
So why did his chest feel so tight?
With a tired sigh, Severus sat down on the black stone, gazing out over the lake. The giant squid put up a tentacle with a splash, and Severus' lips twitched into an almost-smirk, imagining that the creature was giving him a cheeky hello. Not far away, the glowing white slab of Albus Dumbledore's marble tomb almost seemed to wink at him. His face twisted in pain and he deliberately turned away. He didn't need to be reminded. His chest ached more fiercely and Severus asked himself again what he was doing here. It was stupid, reckless, and selfish. He could be spotted, someone might suspect, and hadn't he learned anything in his time as a spy? But he felt drawn here, somehow. He had needed to come. He knew that.
Was he looking for closure? Farewell, perhaps? Hogwarts was the closest thing to a home he had ever had. Minerva was like a stern aunt. Albus like an eccentric, annoying father. Filius and Hagrid like his irritating brothers, the clever one and the innocent idiot. Even Trelawny and Flich seemed to have had a place in his ridiculous dysfunctional 'family'. He was leaving them all without a good-bye, without apologies, and without understanding. He wanted to be free, but he also wanted to leave his life behind with as clean a conscience as possible. It wasn't fair, to feel so torn.
He must have been deep in thought indeed, not to notice the scrawny kid who silently approached him and sat in the grass nearby.
"Did you know him?" the young man asked quietly.
Severus jerked in alarm, berating himself for letting his guard down so easily and being surprised like this. Reaching up to his head, he was assured that his hair was still thick and curly, (and hopefully still iron-gray) and he could only trust that his other physical changes were still in place. Satisfied that he wasn't going to have to attempt a wandless Obliviate, (since his wand was currently stuck under a thousand-kilo slab of marble) he turned to face the young man who so rudely snuck up on him. He froze. Even his thoughts turned blank for a terrifying second.
Potter.
Of course it was Potter.
Curse that brat a hundred ways from Sunday; would that idiot Gryffindor never cease to stalk him? There he sat with his glasses and messy hair and Lily's eyes, and he looked so calm and strange that Severus wanted to take points just to see a flash of indignation on that slack face.
"What are you talking about?" he snapped, his voice hoarse and rasping so badly that he winced.
"I just asked you if you knew him, that's all," Potter shrugged. He looked down at the ground and started to poke at the blades of grass like a bored child, making Severus sneer. The last time he saw the brat, the boy was taking his memories and gazing into his eyes, finally obeying a direct order of his without complaining or rebelling.
"Knew who?" Severus retorted, in a very deliberate tone. He was reasonably sure he knew who Potter was talking about, but it never hurt to be sure.
"Professor Snape," Potter clarified, peeking up through the fringe of his messy hair. "I guess you must have known him. Well, I mean, everybody who came to the funeral knew him in some way or other … I just … You're sitting here all alone while everyone else is over there." Potter waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the gossiping guests, all eating cake and drinking punch to celebrate the passing of the great dungeon bat. Dunderheads.
"You're over here as well," Severus sneered, coughing a bit when his damaged vocal chords rebelled against his normal tone. "What is your excuse?" he demanded hoarsely once he could speak again.
"I don't want to talk to them," Potter murmured. He looked down and started shredding the grass blades again. "I just … I came over here because I thought …"
"You wanted to be alone," Severus finished. For once, he didn't sneer. The boy was looking up at him now, and those green eyes were so haunted and sad …
No child should be fighting in a war, especially not the way Mr. Potter had. He would be surprised if the boy ever recovered from the trauma. Severus felt a twinge of regret, mixed with anger at the old man he had slain. Dumbledore had taken this boy's childhood, for the greater good. Lord only knew if Potter could come back from it.
"Yeah," Potter sighed. He still didn't look up. "It's just … I wish I could have understood him better. From the start, you know? But I was just a kid. A selfish, scared little boy who couldn't look any further than his own nose …"
Severus rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He agreed with that. But it wouldn't have helped his case if instead of being self-centered and defensive, he had been an inquisitive Hufflepuff determined to get past his well-constructed defenses. That would have turned out badly.
"You know … I always thought he hated me," Potter said softly.
Severus stiffened, not sure how to feel. Was Potter going to inadvertently spout his feelings about him, to him? How many times over the past couple of years had he relished the feeling of snarling in that arrogant brat's face, "Don't. Lie. To. Me."And now he was actually going to get the truth? He wasn't certain how to feel or react. The boy would likely start ranting about how unfair his Potions Professor was and whine: 'boo-hoo, poor little me, bullied by the greasy git my father liked to bully'. By Merlin, it was enough to turn his stomach.
"I thought he hated me," Potter repeated, still not looking up. "But he actually didn't. Not really. I was used to people hating me, see. The only way I learned to deal with that without going insane was … I dunno, just to fight back, I guess. It made things worse, but I couldn't stop. You heard of a vicious circle? A causes B which in turn causes A? It was like that. We both went at each other, made things worse, and mutually hated each other. Only I didn't really know what hate was. And he had more important things to hate than me."
Severus snorted softly. So far, the boy was being surprisingly … insightful. True, he never hated Harry, per se. But the brat got on his nerves, and reminded him of things he would rather forget forever, and he was such an arrogant little Gryffindor! TO make things worse, he had sworn that ridiculous vow to protect the boy and he ended up (mostly) defending the child from his own stupidity and cleaning up his messes after. It was exhausting, not mention his other duties. AT times, he had wondered if it was even worth it.
But now, at the end of a war, with the Dark Lord gone at last, and the Boy-Who-Just-Would-Not-Die sitting in front of him, calm and reasonable, and even respectful, Severus could perhaps say that it was … somewhat worth it.
"Professor Snape was my teacher for six years," Potter clarified, looking up finally and fixing him with those (suspiciously wet) emerald eyes. Severus couldn't look away. After getting a good look at them in the Shrieking Shack, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to look away from those mesmerizing eyes on his own. Was it just him, or was the green more brilliant now than it was then? They reminded him of a killing curse, and almost seemed to give off their own light. What had those eyes seen, as they closed in death? How had he even come back from such a thing? Even the scar on his forehead was no longer livid and prominent. It was a faint white line, like any other scar; yet more proof that the Dark Lord was gone for good.
"What did you learn from your teacher?" Severus heard himself asking. He hated his harsh, rasping voice. In his old, silky tones, he could have made Potter shiver with fear had he asked that question in the same way. As it was, his question came out sounding terse and gruff.
"I learned a lot," Potter said honestly, though his thin cheeks warmed with a flush. "But I never credited him for it. He taught me my first dueling spell, Expelliarmus, and it saved my life I don't know how many times. He taught me that life isn't fair, fighting the Dark Arts is dirty and brutal, and he taught me that I shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He taught me that courage means sometimes doing the despicable, so that others can do the heroic. He taught me that … he taught me that I was never fighting alone. Even though I didn't realize that until after he was dead."
"Funny, I thought he was a Potions Professor," Severus coughed, more than a little disconcerted and uncomfortable with the words that had just poured out of the bloody Potter's mouth. Had the boy been hit with a Blarney Jinx? "Didn't you ever learn anything in class, or were you too busy being an insufferable child?"
Potter smiled ruefully at the question. "You know, it's funny. I had to meet his younger self before I respected anything he did in that classroom, and by then, he wasn't even teaching Potions. Ironic, isn't it? I told one of my friends that the old book I was using was a better teacher than Professor Snape, and then I find out the book was Professor's Snape's. Crazy huh?"
Severus ground his teeth at the reminder of the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book, but he didn't trust himself to reply without blowing everything to smithereens.
"I made a lot of mistakes over the years, and a lot of wrong assumptions about him in particular," Potter went on, a sad tone to his voice. "So much grief in my life could have been avoided if I'd just listened to him. Professor Dumbledore told me over and over again to trust Professor Snape. But I never did. My … my godfather would be alive if I'd trusted him. Bloody hell, he'd still be alive if I hadn't been such an arrogant arse and chased him out of Hogwarts and just stopped to think …" Potter trailed off, a look of genuine grief on his face as he turned and gazed out over the lake.
Severus was baffled and speechless. Potter had absolutely no reason to be spewing all of this nonsense to a complete stranger sitting on Snape's tomb unless he somehow meant it. He narrowed his eyes as he figured it out. The boy had survivor's guilt. He had post-traumatic-stress-disorder. He was feeling guilty, so he was painting his past with unicorns and rainbows to try and console himself. It was something he had seen fairly often with other victims of war, but he had always been too jaded to follow such a morose impulse.
"Will you get your head out of the clouds, boy?" he snapped, putting more force into his words than he meant to. "Severus Snape was a cruel, selfish, sadistic, nasty-tempered man. He was not a hero, nor was he someone to admire. His death, gruesome as it may have been, was deserved. He was a traitor, a spy, and an absolute bastard. Had he not died in the battle he would have faced a lifetime of criminal charges, perhaps Azkaban. I think he preferred to die quickly and have done with his miserable existence."
Potter stared at him, mouth partly open in surprise.
"And close your mouth," Severus sneered. "You'll catch flies." He coughed into his elbow and wished he had brought a throat-soothing potion. His vocal chords were burning.
Potter closed his mouth with a click, but his eyes burned with intensity. "You're wrong," the boy said firmly. "He wasn't a coward. Yes, he was complicated and cruel and bad-tempered, but he was also brave, and he did what was needed, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard."
"What do you know about it?" Severus snarled, his damaged throat giving his voice a remarkably scary undertone. Hmm, maybe he could learn to like this new, gravelly voice.
"I know more than you," Potter retorted.
"How arrogant of you," Severus laughed at the irony, unable to resist the dig at Potter's superiority complex. "To assume that you know Severus Snape better than I!"
"I think it's knew, not know," Potter replied, his face barely twitching into a frown. "He gave me something very precious, and I think it helped me see him as a human being, rather than a … whatever you called him."
Severus glared at the cheeky brat, his heart thumping hard. He had slipped up in using present tense rather than past. He mustn't do so again. The brat wasn't the brightest boy in the world, but if he was given enough clues, he would be all over the secret in no time.
"Regardless," Severus seethed, waving his hand dismissively. "Cease and desist from your efforts to turn the memory of Severus Snape into that of a hero and a martyr. He would have been appalled at today's display and would much prefer to fall into obscurity and be forgotten."
Potter shrugged uneasily. "Shacklebolt planned the funeral," he muttered. "I actually suggested that they bury Snape in Godric's Hollow … but Professor McGonegall wanted him here instead … near Professor Dumbledore."
Severus snorted again. "Oh yes, bury the murderer beside his victim. How … tasteful."
"I know," Potter said thoughtfully. "But good taste aside, I don't think Professor Dumbledore would have minded. I think the Headmaster was the only real friend Professor Snape had, near the end."
There didn't seem to be anything more to be said. Severus didn't know what to make of this side of Potter: this relaxed boy who wasn't defensive or planning mischief or fighting for his life. This boy who was surprisingly astute and thoughtful and strangely poetic. This boy who could forgive his tormentor of six long years simply because of a few memories. Severus still recalled the memories he had given, and some weren't exactly meant to be spilled. But he had been in pain and falling into delirium and he had simply shoved the memories out. Everything connected to the boy, his final task, and Lily's eyes hovering in front of his gaze … While it was humiliating to know that Potter now knew things about him that even Minerva had never known, it did give him a certain bit of satisfaction to see that the memories had been good for the boy. He was far more respectful when talking about Snape than he had ever been while talking to him.
For several minutes, Severus and Potter said nothing, simply watching the rippling lake and the guests of the funeral still milling about the entrance. But far from being uncomfortable, the two men sat in companionable silence. The birds started to call out from the Forbidden Forest and a breeze picked up, stirring the heavy, humid air. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the breeze smelled damp, and Severus felt the urge to smile. He loved thunderstorms. How fitting that there would be one on the day 'he' was buried. But would anyone bother to acknowledge that fact? Draco might, but he wouldn't publicize it. Few others knew of his unhealthy obsession with storms. He would simply enjoy it, and not bother with caring if anyone else knew.
"What do you reckon he would have done with his life?" Potter suddenly asked, his voice quiet and hesitant. "I mean, if there was a way for him to start over … do you think he would?"
Severus glanced incredulously over at the boy in the grass, who looked remarkably pensive. Was Potter actually asking such an asinine question?
"The point is moot," Severus grumbled. "He is dead."
"Humour me," Potter urged. "You knew him best. What do you think Professor Snape would do with freedom? I doubt he'd go back to teaching."
Severus snorted, but he gave the question some thought. He really didn't have specific plans for his own new life, but ideas were floating around. Perhaps … perhaps talking about them, (even if it was with Potter) might help him to clarify his thoughts. Potter was better than nothing, and he was being … tolerable, today.
"I …" Severus coughed. "I suppose he might have left the country. To start over. He … never traveled much when he was young, and I think he would have … liked to."
Potter nodded. "Travel's a good idea," he said encouragingly. "But what do you think he'd do? Where do you think he'd go?"
"I don't know," Severus snapped. "How can you expect me to know how a dead man thinks?"
"Just … what do you think he'd be trying to do? If he traveled?"
Severus was silent for several minutes. He really didn't want to answer aloud because it made him sound like a bloody Hufflepuff. But this was a dead man they were talking about. Surely, with Potter thinking of his memory as an honorary Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, the brat's opinions couldn't go much lower.
"I believe …" Severus said slowly, refusing to look at the boy while he forced the words out. "He may have wanted to … make amends, somehow. For the suffering he caused. The crimes he committed. To make restitution, he might … might have helped … people." He trailed off, feeling ridiculous, and glanced up to glare at the cheeky brat.
To his disgust, Potter was looking at him calmly, those awful green eyes almost seeming to pierce his soul. "That … yeah," the boy murmured, swallowing hard. "That's a good idea."
Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Mr. Potter," he drawled. "Don't tell me that you are using me, a complete stranger, to get career ideas. Isn't that what your head of house is for?"
Potter's mouth twitched again. "The Sorting Hat actually wanted me in Slytherin," he said quietly, almost conspiratorially. "Does that count?"
Severus stared at the abominable brat in horror. Was the boy implying what he thought he was implying? "I have no idea what you are insinuating," he spat, standing and moving to leave.
"Hold on," Potter cautioned, throwing a worried glance toward the main gates. "Wait until everybody is gone. Then you can slip out."
"What makesyou think I want to 'slip out'?" Severus demanded, backing away and feeling trapped for the first time since the Shack. Oh Merlin, that awful, horrible Shack. The scene of his greatest nightmares and his most dreadful bouts of weakness. He shut his eyes and tried to suppress the shiver that wracked his body. He really, really should have just stayed home today. He was still not well, and the trauma of that last terrible day was still too close. All he needed was for Potter to discover his secret and blab it all over Britain.
"It's okay," Potter said soothingly, though he looked alarmed. "Merlin … don't … I mean … you're not really … Are you …?"
"What are you babbling on about?" Severus rasped, trying not to look as if he desperately wanted to sit down for a few minutes.
Potter slowly stood and faced him. The brat's face looked rather pasty, but his eyes were shrewd and alert. "You … you're not …" the boy stuttered.
"No, I'm not," Severus said quickly, feeling the first signs of a panic attack coming on. Good lord, he hadn't had one of those in years and years. "He's dead," Severus spat hatefully, clenching his fists tightly at his sides to try and hide their trembling. "And good riddance, right Potter? Never again will the greasy dungeon bat harass you and spoil your fun, am I right? So go celebrate with all your asinine dunderheaded friends and leave Severus Snape in the ground where he belongs!"
Potter stared at the man in stunned amazement, but he did not speak, nor did he move. He just stood there, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. Well, metaphorically speaking. Severus grew uncomfortable with the staring and folded his arms. It didn't occur to him to simply turn and leave. After all, the last time he ran from the boy, they ended up screaming at each other. He didn't want to attract that sort of attention right now.
"They all want me to be an Auror," Potter suddenly said, shaking off his odd expression. Severus frowned at the odd change of subject, but he didn't comment. "They just … expect me to go on catching dark wizards and such, you know? But I just don't think I want to keep fighting for the rest of my life … I mean, I fought in a war. I don't need more blood on my hands. I need … like you said. I need to help people. To fix some of the bad things I did. I need to … I don't know, heal, instead of hurt."
Severus stared at the flustered boy, unable to reply. What was he supposed to say, anyway?
"Severus Snape is dead," Potter said clearly, looking him in the eye. "But … but that doesn't mean we have to forget him. Yes, he was not a nice person. But he was a courageous soldier too. I … was a soldier in a war as well. I did things, and he did things, that we aren't proud of. So … I guess the only way I can live with myself, is if I do what he would have done and … help people. To make up for all the pain I was a part of."
Severus blinked. The boy wasn't pushing for answers? Demanding explanations? Throwing vitriol in his face? Who was this boy?
"You know," Potter rushed on. "I think … if Severus Snape were still alive, I'd want to tell him I'm sorry, first of all. Sorry for causing him so much grief, for not listening to him, not trusting him … I'm just … I'm sorry. I don't think we ever would have been friends, even if I had let myself be put in Slytherin. But I do think, given time … we might have … respected each other."
"Respect," Severus repeated faintly. He felt weak and disconnected. This … this wasn't what he ever expected from Potter's mouth. Maybe he was delirious. Maybe this was nothing but his fevered imagination. Potter would never talk to him like this, would he? "I didn't think you knew the meaning of the word, Potter," Severus muttered.
Potter's smile was genuine and it was Lily's smile. It was full of life and laughter and mischief, and the brat had the audacity to wink at him. "I suppose I'm respectful to the dead," he replied. "So I guess all Professor Snape had to do to gain my respect was face a giant snake and cry all over me."
"You call him Professor every time you say his name," Severus interrupted abruptly. "Why? You never did before."
Potter's eyes positively twinkled. "He earned my respect, of course," he replied in all seriousness.
"By dying …?"
"No," Potter interrupted firmly. "By trusting me with his memories."
The boy turned to go, a peaceful smile on his face. A scrap of parchment dropped from his pocket and he looked over his shoulder at the stunned man still standing by the black tomb.
"Professor Snape left some stuff in the dungeons," he said casually."If … well, since you were the closest to him and all … If you want to go get it, the password there is 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good'. Right useful to avoid people. Doesn't show ghosts though." The boy paused and suddenly gave him a soft, serious look. "Good luck, sir. I hope … I hope you can live free this time."
And then he was gone.
