(A/N): I own nothing. This is rather AU, but this was only intended to be a memorial fanfiction for Allen Rickman.

Within the small and immeasurable space between the setting sun's stage and the earth, freshly blanketed with early snow, there was the fourth year Hogwarts student known to most as "The Boy Who Lived".

Atop his broom, he floated aimlessly through the horizon, the clouds his only company.

He wondered why more people didn't live in the sky. One could catch birds for food and use the clouds for water. One would be far from taxes and crime and they'd get a great view of the sunset.

Harry Potter sighed heavily. Everything was so simple up here.

Unfortunately, the boys head had been weighed down with sorrowful thoughts that he couldn't seem to share with his friends, knowing that they wouldn't understand.

That's why he was in this sorry state, a hundred feet off the ground with his head in the clouds.

He just needed to deal with this on his own.

It wasn't thier fault, though.

To accurately pass the blame, one would have to look no further than a certain greasy haired professor.

It wasn't detention. It wasn't punishment. It wasn't extra work.

No, this time, he did something far worse. Possibly the worst thing he could possibly have done.

Severus Snape passed away.

Not in battle. He wasn't poisoned or assassinated. He died a muggles death, one that even the most powerful wizard couldn't have saved him from. He died of old age.

Harry just couldn't bring himself to understand.

Snape disposed him and he Snape. His death should be sad, but not this much of a problem, right?

Wrong.

Somewhere between the slaps to the back of the head and the smacks on the wrist,

Somewhere between the potion textbooks and the unexpected assignments,

Somewhere between the insults and the childish lies,

Somewhere between when his life got good till now.

He couldn't quite pinpoint when, but at some point in time, his hhate for Snape had been replaced with something else.

He had realized that he had grown to care for him, and all to soon as well.

He didn't die suddenly. He was rushed to the hospital and Professor McGonagall announced to the class that they should say thier goodbyes. He should have gone with Draco and the others but he didn't. He hesitated out of shock, confusion and disbelief that this could even happen.

About five hours afterwards, he was told that Severus Snape had died.

No one liked Snape, and he probably died thinking that was true. He died never knowing that his tough assignments and cruel behavior were part of what made Hogwarts Hogwarts. He died never knowing how good of a teacher he was or how much he had taught his class.

He'd never knew how thankful Harry was for all the times he saved his reckless self.

He'd never know how little truth was in those insults.

But one thing was for sure, Harry never knew how much he'd miss him.

A sudden drop of liquid snapped him from his thoughts.

He looked down to see a small and crystal clear drop of water.

Was it raining?

He looked up to find that no clouds were bug enough to support his theory.

Drip drop.

He immediately moved to wipe the tears from his eyes but to no avail. Like a hydra, every tear had two to replace itself.

It hurt. It hurt so much because he cared. Perhaps that's all he needed to realize up here.

But he couldn't go back just yet.

Just a little longer. Just let him cry a little longer.

Rest in peace, Allen Rickman.

You will be missed.