Abeyance – Because that's how he was, in a state of temporary inactivity, of cessation, of suspension, that would soon come to its own state of beginning and end. There is some truth to the saying of lived, loved, and lost. Because… what if… what if he… bloody hell, what if he hadn't made a difference.

A bunny that came to me from the YouTube video, whose link is right here: http:/www. youtube. com/ watch? v=0OlbvGvGCEM (remove the spaces) I'm typing this as an inspiration before finals, because other wise I won't finish it. See if you can figure out who I'm talking about. Also, I proofread my work severely, and I am confident enough to say that there are no unintended errors. So yeah, that's how I picture Hagrid speaking.

The weight of infinity and nothingness was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Perhaps… this is what oblivion feels like. He thought idly to himself, as he had all the time in the world now that he was here. Or maybe he had no time at all? No one's ever tasted death and lived to tell the tale. Not that he knew of, anyways.

Maybe… Maybe here, in this world of empty… maybe he could finally, finally rest. No pain could ever come here, would ever come here. For here, is where he was, that precarious balance between the light and the dark. No signs of either, nor grey, nor any color for that matter. The world was truly empty.

For some reason, though, even after he'd accepted his fate, a pawn in a greater game, moved and played by masters, as only masters could, something occurred to him, changed him. He could see. But… He hadn't been a pawn, now that he thought back. No, pawns were touched by the masters' orders, but not the masters themselves. He, however, had been both privileged and cursed to have met and fought on the front-lines of both sides. No, he had been much more than a pawn. He'd been a knight, a piece highly prized, so unwillingly released, yet had been forgotten soon after he was lost.

He had died, in the truest sense of the word, dead to the minds of many, left in precious few.

And maybe that was it, that dwindling on both sides but never truly leaving his personal area of grey. One that had his own goal and own consequence. Then, though, when he'd been alive, that grey area had had a name. Neutral. That is what it had been called. An area neither here nor there. And he'd ambled that path, all his life.

No, he thought, his precious second thought in this space of eternity. Not my whole life. There had been one point in his life of struggles when one stray beam of light had come to him, the kid in the overlong sweater, the fighting parents and the insane abilities. Her light, her powers, shone in a different way, leading him back from the blackish direction he'd been heading to. She had lead him to the place he would call his home without ever saying it aloud.

Though he knew no pain could come to him in this limbo, his would-be body was wracked with coughs, with the memory of what he'd once felt hanging over his head like the storm cloud that had hidden the wonderful, brilliant sky from his sight for his whole life. But she - Lily - had decided that there was plenty of light, and those that didn't have any, well, it was her job to share that bountiful cache of warmth, though it had only been for the short time that she had been by his side.

The ethereal coughs that had wracked his body stopped, and with a blinding force he had thought all but impossible in this suspended reality… the pain hit him, wreaking vengeance upon his once again prone body. Had he the ability and the consciousness, the entity of oblivion would have sighed. Here he had hoped… but of course he would have to leave, a useful piece's job is never finished. And he wouldn't deny himself the bitter consolation that he had been a useful piece. He was a human, albeit one with power beyond many, and he would allow himself the solace.

Insignificant though it was. His suddenly inability to feel, or perhaps, not feel, numb was rapidly turning to vapor, and all the feelings that led to his initial failing to… he couldn't even say it. The grief, the sorrow, the regret, were overbearing, forcing upon him the vulnerability he'd spent the latter half of his life masking, praying, hoping, that not one else would be able to see beyond the mask that had never left his face after his truest oversight, perhaps his only mistake, and the fool's only, blinding redemption.

He was stinging, his mind and heart ringing with the fact that maybe he had been more of a pawn than he'd thought. From the shadows that were growing – because for there to be light, there must also be a dark – a dark shape was growing, looming closer from the clarity in which it was coming to. His 'body' was turned from the ever growing light to face the shadows – a past that he, too, would be better off not knowing, not remembering.

Because… what if… what if he… bloody hell, what if he hadn't made a difference. Whatever kind and merciful deity – if it could be called that – had allowed him to remain in the world of the living long enough to know that Lily's son had won, had worn out the strings binding him to that final master. His freedom had been short before he'd been whisked here.

But now, now the horror was occurring to him. Sure, he'd been a double agent to both sides, belonging to neither, but what had Snape's existence truly meant to the greater scheme of things? He hadn't offed either Dumbledore or The Dark Lord, hadn't fought on the front-lines of battle. He'd played silly little headmaster to a school full of rebels who'd tasted freedom and innocence, and would fight tooth and nail to regain and retain that abandon. An abandon that he himself had felt, for more instants, that he felt himself hungering for more than he ever had. Before, it was easy to ignore that which he didn't know or understand, not like he had his potions. But that simple suggestion had blinded him, much like it had when Lily had first met and befriended him.

He felt his eyes widen.

Lily.

Not even six inches from his nose was the mirror, so clamored for by the Dark Lord in Potter's first year. The mirror that showed one's deepest and outright dreams and desires. Floating there, an angel in all infallibility, was Lily, her pure white gown flowing about her, though there was no breeze in either her or his world.

His hand instinctively reached out to her. It stopped, though. Like it always had. The glass was there, not Lily, never Lily. And if he could reach, he didn't deserve her. Even that fool James, much as he hated to say it, deserved her more than he did. For all his faults, all his blundering, for all Snape's hatred of him, James Potter had never killed Lily.

That had been Severus Snape. Him.

Severus Snape had killed Lily.

That surfeit burden had almost killed him.

Not burden, Sev, never a burden.

Snape frowned, then knowing no one would see him anyways, gave a disbelieving guffaw. Now he was hearing her voice! He must be losing it. If he was going to somewhere, he couldn't. There was no doubt he going somewhere; the pull of his navel, reminiscent of a portkey, indicated his leaving the area of… Barren. Finally, something to call the place.

Everything has a name Sev. You just don't know it. The voice like Lily's said. It was angering him, that someone was emulating Lily's voice just to speak with him.

Do you really have so little faith in me, Severus? That was the final blow. The dolt actually had the gall to get mad at him her voice.

Opening his mouth to the Barren, his voice called, stronger than it ever had been in life, to the invisible personage that was surely beyond the mirror hovering before him. "Fool, you are impressing no one. Perhaps I was no model wizard, but I do believe I did nothing to warrant such a cruel punishment; hearing Lily's voice is beyond cruel, and something I don't deserve."

Oh Sev, you silly boy. Thanks for caring, but I really am Lily. I could prove it to you if you like. Just step through the mirror. Come on, come join me over here. Don't stand in the Hone like that. Before he could even think to fight back, a slender, pale hand reached through the once solid glass and gently grasped his hand, drawing him into a world beyond.

He felt a little piece of himself being left behind in that world, and as he looked back, he saw a little orb of glowing light where he had been previously. He felt his eyes become glued to the orb, and by the same token, the mirror. They refused to tear themselves away, though there was nothing particularly entrancing about the objects.

No, what truly kept him away was fear. Being a double agent on both sides, Snape was no stranger to fear. He would even dare say that they were the best of friends. But back then, that fear had been of an end which he was currently dwelling within. Now, this fear meant far more, because it was the abhorrence of the expression on the face of the one person he'd ever truly loved and trusted. Did she hate him for that simpleminded, vacuous, witless word that had ended their friendship oh so long ago? For killing her and her oh so beloved husband, and endangering her child? For not protecting her son better when he was alive? Even though he was a part of James, Harry was a part of Lily too.

Her light giggling worried him. What was there to laugh about? Didn't she hate him? Didn't she call him here to tell him how she felt about him, now that she could?

A brief glance to her face stopped his gaze far longer than he had intended. She was glowing. Her cheeks were rosy, as though she'd just come in from a snowy day at Hogwarts, playing before the sun set in the time that had been given the class to enjoy the falling, frozen fluff. Her hair and dress were shifting in that still absent wind, and her eyes… Never had he seen them so warm, not in his direction. Her usually emerald, her clear, bright emerald, had warmed to the color of floo© fire, an affable vibe simply radiating off of her.

"What's so funny?" He gently demanded. It almost, almost brought a smile to his face, seeing her smile at him again. Nevertheless, he couldn't. Though she may have forgiven him – she never could stay mad or hide something from him for long – he couldn't forgive himself. He'd hurt her, not once, but twice, and had lost her both times.

Another whimsical giggle. "You, of course. Don't blame yourself. I don't"

"B-but… I killed you! You're not with your son because of me! It's my fault!" Though it's not usually his style, he felt his knees crumble under the infinite weight that was his heart. Tears flowed over his never amiss eyes. Lily stood before him, towering above his crumpled figure. Her warm eyes never dimmed, but a pain for what she had caused for childhood friend override the comfort in her eyes, if only a bit. They gained a certain wet quality about them, as though she too were on the edge of tears. Wiping at the tears that have yet to make an appearance, she reached before her and found the broken man's shoulders, shaking with the effort it took to keep his sobs inside.

He was now before someone, and what's more, it was the one person he'd wanted to impress more than anything. Showing tears now, of all times, when she was looking so happy, wasn't something he wanted to do.

It was becoming harder for her to hold her tears back. He really cared, even after all these years. She hadn't hated him, but she thought he wouldn't want to be her friend, by her said. After all, what was a dead spirit to expect?

He's gotten so strong. Facing his fears, facing her, she knew it was probably the hardest thing he'd ever done. She was his best friend, even years later, even after their long dissociation; she could just tell these things.

His voice, thick and hoarse from the release of tears, finally left his strained throat. "Why don't you hate me?" The childish plea was almost enough to break her heart, like it had as a dotty girl.

"Why… would I ever hate you, Severus? I've told you, it's not your felt; it never was. I believed in something; Voldemort didn't. He didn't like people who stood against him, so he came to finish us off. That prophecy was only reason to come after us himself." At this point, she herself knelt beside him. "Sev, I don't regret dying for something I believed in. Please, if not for you, then for me. You're forgiven, now all you need to do is forget."

Her hesitant arms wrapped around his still trembling for, but the tenseness from sorrow seemed to be vanishing. Instead, they began to, along with his arms, return the sprite's embrace. It had been so long since he'd been hugged by a human being. Her gentle nature helped to sooth him further.

And just like that, their bond was fixed.

"Lily," Her name alone would he speak without any sort of harshness. "Can I – Do you know of a way I can make something up to you? You've done all the effort over here; I can't just let you do that. What can I do?" His breath tickled her ear, and she drew away, only to gaze into his eyes once more.

"Do you really have to?" She was almost complaining.

He simply nodded vigorously.

"Fine. There actually was someone else who'd wanted to talk to you when you came over here." Picking them both up from the ground, Lily led them through the area. Over his shoulder, Snape threw one last look at the mirror, then followed the hand leading his.

Gradually, shapes began to take the place of the maya blue world that had surrounded them. Grudgingly, Snape took notice of the familiar shapes, though it took a minute to place them.

"Lily, why're we at Kings Cross?"

"You want to be your stubborn self, right? Well, the person who can help you resides here." A quick check around ensured that the guy she was looking for was indeed here.

A thought struck Snape. Where was James? "I haven't seen James yet. He's not the one you're talking about, right?" He didn't bother to hide his contempt for her chosen; she simply sighed and shook her head in the negative, used to it even after years of truancy.

"No, but if you think like that he may look like James. Before you ask, he's a shape – shifter that comes on a whim or when someone calls him. He's really smart, but that's a given since he's so ancient. Everyone in the spirit world has taken to calling him Truth, simply because he's so learned. Here, we'll sit here and wait."

And wait they did. To Snape's perception, it was at least a few days, maybe a week. They caught up on what the other had been doing since they'd last resided on the same realm. Rather, Lily did most of the talking. As it happens, she'd been keeping an eye on her son and Snape all throughout her residence in domain of the dead. Not that Snape minded, of course. Any time spent would always treasured.

After what felt a couple of days, a figure approached the two sitting against Platform nine and three quarters. His visage shocked Snape to his recently warmed core. In all his healthy glory stood Dumbledore. No scars, no blackened hands, just him.

"Dumbledore? Lily, this is our contact? This is Truth?" Rising to bow before him, Lily rounded to Snape.

"This is why I didn't want you thinking of James. He takes the appearance of the person you most expect to see. You thought we were seeking the help of someone wise, and immediately pegged him with Dumbledore's image. Now, this is a matter between you and him, so I'm going to stand away. Sev, call for me when you're done." Without waiting for a reply, or even looking at him, Lily walked away, her white dress flowing like liquid behind her. Before long, only Snape and the Dumbledore-look-alike were left.

Gesturing to his previous seat, Truth settled a few feet before Snape. His calm demeanor unsettled Snape more than anything, because it so resembled Dumbledore in life, though he knew the being before him was anyone but his old mentor.

"So, for what purpose have you summoned me?" Snape could no longer confuse these two, Dumbledore and Truth. Truth was too straightforward to be that chess master.

"I… need your help, if not at least your advice. I have to repay Lily. I'm willing to do anything. If I could only find something to do."

"You're desperate aren't you?" The first time he'd spoken, and it sounded nothing like Dumbledore. So low and deep that he could barely make out what it was saying, the voice resembled what Snape would imagine the Whomping Willow would sound like. When what he'd said at last sunk, he gave an indignant grunt, but made no further protest.

"Why help someone who's already dead? What do you gain from it? Perchance you'll attain some sort of satisfaction from it?" Though it didn't seem possible, Truth had placed an accusatory tone in his voice. And, even more so impossible, the potions master had distinguished it.

He rose, his anger apparent on his face. "She's not dead! Sure she may no longer be among the world of the living, but she's not dead. She's still alive in the memories of many!" Snape was spitting fire, his temper getting the better of him.

"I find it odd. You haven't denied my claim of your gain of satisfaction from it. So there must be some ulterior motive." At that, the fire breather sagged a little, and fidgeted with his eyes locked on the ground.

The truth was, Truth's accusation had given him pause. He was no imbecile, nor was he a blind idealist. Everyone had ulterior motives for anything they did. Though pessimistic, that was the way of the world. The next item on his list for consideration is why would he do it?

"On some level, yes, I'm doing it for myself. I want to repay everything Lily has done for me, because if I don't, then for the eternity I'm in this reality that guilt will forever weigh over my head… No, not only guilt, but hopelessness. You're all knowing, right. Then tell me, was I any use when I was alive?" The hesitant reply began to take off as Snape put his insecurities into the air, his fear that he'd been a useless knight, one thrown away so another, more key piece could claim victory on the other side.

The not-really-Dumbledore sighed. "My name is Truth, fact in other terms. I cannot give you my opinion, only tell you to face your own. If you were a useless piece, what can you do to fix it now?" As Snape opened his mouth, Truth pressed on. "Nothing right? Nothing can change the past. So you want to do something to change the future. Not only to help, but to put your own doubts at rest, am I right?" Because nothing else could be added to that statement, a simple nod sufficed.

"Well, at least you're honest. Many dead would be unwilling to be so frank with their desires. I suppose I could help you. To help you, though, I need something precious of yours. What are you willing to give?"

This time there was no hesitation as he answered, "My name and my identity."

"A risky price. Are you sure you want to pay it?"

"Yes."

He brought his hands together in a clap. That is, Truth did. Along with it, came a deep rumbling thunder that Snape took it as his laughter. "I will take your name only, fool. Taking your identity eliminates my purpose for doing anything in the first place. Capiche?"

"So you have a plan?"

"Yes, you will give up your name and your face. You will, however, retain your memory. Lily, return!" He suddenly called off after their absent companion. As she came gliding back in, Truth continued. "Your task will be to watch over her child until you die. Your new name is Edgar Albone, a wizard rushing in from Denmark to help in the fight. A final goodbye to Lily, and then you leave. Understood?" With a swish of Dumbledore's deep crimson cloak, Truth tromped off. He simply left Snape there, jaw dropped in likeness to a fish.

Lily turned a bright smile to Snape. "Well, isn't he fresh?" Giggling at his still stunned demeanor, she placed a hand on Severus' shoulder. "I really wish to thank you. You don't have to do this, you know? So why? Please, be honest." That final plead in her voice brought Snape to.

"Because, their would be no point in spending a restful afterlife here if I couldn't look at you without feeling guilty for what I did. Intentionally," he added, as Lily opened her mouth to protest, "or unintended. I don't regret this." Wrapping his arms around her for what was probably the last time in a while, he gestured to Truth, who lingered in his peripheral.

A tugging on his navel, once again reminiscent of a portkey, and Snape opened his eyes to see Lily, Truth, and the white Kings' Cross fading from his blackening visage. The tears and waving hand were last to leave his consciousness.

Feeling himself laying upon something cool and wet, Snape forced his aching and pained body to sit up. Waking up, once again, after thinking himself dead was a strange sensation, but one that Snape simply shrugged off best he could. His dwellings in the spirit world could be examined later, when he'd ascertained when and where he was.

"Hey, this one's a breathin'!" A hoarse voice called from his immediate right. "Easy ther' feller', ye took a severe blow to the head. Can ye tell me ye name?"

Snape cringed from the overwhelming sunlight (morning, he realized), leading him to believe it was only a few hours after the fight. His excursion to the afterlife came back to him, and playing up his pain, which wasn't really all that hard, he answered hesitantly, "Edgar Albone. Sir, did Po- Harry Potter," He corrected himself, "defeat You-Know-Who?" Bringing a hand to his beating head, Snape waited in silent eagerness for the answer that the familiar voice owed him.

"Yeah, it 'twas the mos' amazin' thin'! Those two circled each other, an' 'arry was spoutin' all sorts special knowstuffs! You-Know-Who went down after 'is own killin' curse rebounded! They been talkin' in the Grea' Hall, deciding what to do an' gettin' everyone healed. I came ou' here to check for any other breathers, an' I ended up findin' you! C'mon, Edgar, let's get you to the Grea' Hall. Oh, me name's Hagrid, by the way." As Hagrid continued to babble on an unknowingly catching up Snape since his death, Snape took note of Hogwarts' apparent destruction.

Clean and cut, the school was a mess. Parts of it seem to simply crumbled away, so great was the combined force of giants and wizard's magic. On the ground, dead, dying, still, and groaning bodies littered every once in a while. "This doesn't seem the site of a great victory."

With his eyes adjusted properly to the light, Snape saw Hagrid give a wry grimace. "It's a bitter swee' victory, you know? In the end, we did win, bu' not wi'out a massive loss. I'm jus' relieved. We almos' lost 'arry." Before Hagrid could breathe another word, Snape froze in his tracks.

Potter had almost died! Anger suddenly swelled up in him, and he struggled to keep it contained in anywhere but on his face. "How?" Was all his strangled voice could ask.

Hagrid, who had continued to walk, turned around with jolly eyes. "'How?' Well, I was there whe' i' 'appened. Harry showed up all brave-like, an' stood there a starin' a' You-Know-Who. They talked fer a bi', then You-Know-Who cast the killin' curse. 'arry fell down, bu' the strange thin' is, so di' You-Know-Who. After a mo', You-Know-Who got up, an' I was ordered- no forced, ta carry 'arry's body ta the people back a' the castle. Then, when ev'ryone's surroundin' two fights, 'arry shows up and protects Mrs. Weasely – a sweet lady, but feisty when you make her mad – from You-Know-Who. They end up dualin' it out, and like aye said earlier, 'arry won!"

He seemed to have run out of things to say, but that was okay, because they'd arrived at the doors. Hagrid shuffled his former colleague through the doors and towards the diminishing line near the medics. More people from the ministry and home and quack doctors were all lending their assistance to the healing efforts. While he was waiting in line, he scanned the audience. Wherever they could have gone, Harry and his two fiends were nowhere to be found. As he returned from the healers – they were remarkable, the drum in his head had almost disappeared – they had yet to return. Finally, as the masses began flowing out of the hall and back to their homes, waiting for the large wake they would be attending later in the week, Snape drifted up, his longer, golden locks flowing behind him, to his old office. To him though, it would forever be known as Dumbledore's office. It was the only place that he could think that the three devils could be.

His suspicions were correct. Standing, in a silent moroseness, the three stared at the picture of Dumbledore. Unlike the others, this one seemed still and void of life. One of the other, loudmouth portraits ended up seeing him before the children did.

"Why, hullo there sir! Can we help you?" The grinning portrait of Dilys Derwent waved a cheery hand at him. The former headmistress and student of Hufflepuff had never liked him before, so seeing her bouncy demeanor directed at him now distracted him slightly. Her greeting had drawn all other eyes to him, and the three in the middle were watching him warily.

Always the chatty one, Granger took a step forward. "Listen sir, if you wish to talk to Harry, we've all had a very-"

"I care not. I simply came to inform him of something. I am a… friend of your mother's, Harry. I received word that your last relative has passed on, and it was her express wishes that I keep in touch with, and keep an eye on you. I suspected you would go into hiding soon after all of this until the commotion died down, so I wanted to tell you now. My name is Edgar Albone, and if you wish to contact me, send an owl to Denmark." With his purpose stated, most of which had been whispered in his ear, Snape – no, Edgar now – turned on his heel and strode out of the castle. Though he was no psychic, and claimed to have no ability in Divination whatsoever, Edgar knew Lily was smiling down on him right now.

~Fin~

Ugh, this story has been haunting the back of my brain for the past few days, and with finals looming, I wanted to get it over with. Not that I didn't have fun writing it or anything, I really just couldn't stay away from my computer. Anyway, any kind of review is good, though if you could drop me a line on how I could improve my story, and my writing in general, it would be much appreciated. If you wish to flame me, please tell me why my story upset you, so I can write differently in the future.

-Altered910