Better Late
One shot
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Note: All of my chapter fics are suffering from a severe bout of writer's block. This is just a little diddy on the path to recovery. I apologize for the shoddy performance as of late.
……….
Harry thought idly that Snape had never looked so peaceful. Wrathful, disgusted, and emotionless were all expressions he had come to know well, but peaceful stillness? This would definitely take some getting used to. It was . . . unnerving.
It had been four days. Four days since Snape had died. Four days since the heroic defeat of Lord Voldemort had ended the Battle of Hogwarts in blazing glory. And yet . . .
Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. The absence of the comforting presence that was Dumbledore had lessened from a constant pain to a dull ache. It had taken time, but the surprise conversation in what Harry had come to refer to as the "Alternate King's Cross" had brought an odd sense of closure he'd not had with Lupin, Fred, or Snape.
For some reason, some stupid, irrational reason, he still expected Snape to be there. While those who were more optimistic were celebrating the victory of the "Light" side, he found himself expecting a biting comment or sarcastic eyes roll to follow closely after. All he found was silence. Blunt, disappointing silence.
And when he saw the others, the broken, solemn souls that were currently numb to the fact they had lost those they loved, he hated them. They had been so happy before, and they wore their lost expressions, their sad little faces, with such lack of grace it made him sick.
The only man he'd known to be calmly disappointed his entire life was gone, and no one could really live up to those standards. Harry knew no one else could understand, but maybe he didn't want them to.
He stared down at Snape's body now. It had been temporarily preserved and the neck wounds had been glossed over with a powerful glamour charm, but it made no difference; many wizards could often sense and see right through glamour charms, and Harry was definitely one of them. For a moment, he wished he wasn't.
Snape was also paler than he had been in life, which Harry had previously thought impossible. He reached out a hand and cautiously touched the crown of raven hair. It wasn't greasy, but he figured Madame Pomfrey had used a strong cleaning charm as well. Snape's hair was also free of the matted blood it had sported as they'd removed his body from the Shrieking Shack.
Harry stood now in a small room off the back of the Infirmary. Whilst the other bodies had been released to their respective families for funeral arrangements, Snape's had simply been kept at Hogwarts, since he had no known family. He would have been viewed in the Great Hall, like Lupin was in the hours before Tonks' family had laid claim on him, but he was still considered a traitor in the eyes of most of the Wizarding population, so here he was.
Harry was the only visitor on that fourth day.
"It's me." Harry said quietly, surprised at the softness of his own voice. "Everyone misses you. I mean . . . Hagrid misses you, and I do, too, and I know McGonagall must, but she'll never admit it, you know."
Harry felt a little dumb. He was talking to a dead body. Still . . . He could never admit he kind of missed Snape's cynicism. Hermione, might understand, but he could never mention it when Ron was within earshot. Besides, it wasn't as if Snape could hear him. He was probably at King's Cross, laughing with Dumbledore over tea. Or . . . he was in hell. Had Snape even believed in an afterlife? Harry felt his eyes burn.
He looked down at the plain dress shoes McGonagall had bought him for Lupin's funeral, face red. He was crying. Over Snape's dead body. How much irony can one person endure in a lifetime?
Harry had hated him so much. His entire life at Hogwarts had been filled with hatred for this man. But maybe . . . Maybe it was only because Snape had hated him first. Harry had to admit, it was nice to have someone who didn't treat him like a baby, even if he did insult his intelligence and lineage at every chance he got. Harry's voice broke as the first tear fell.
"So, you're dead. I'm sure you know that, but I guess when you say something like that, it becomes more real. I-I saw your memories, and I want to . . . apologize. My father was horrible towards you. And so was Sirius. Lupin wasn't as bad, but he never spoke up, and that's almost as bad.
"I just . . . I never thought I'd miss you. It's hard to explain. All my life, no one's taken me seriously. First, it was because I was a skinny little freak, with the Dursley, you know. Then, everyone had me on a pedestal because I was the Boy Who Lived. You . . . you never cared. I mean, you cared, because I was Lily's son, but you never cared that I was the Boy Who Lived. You challenged everything I did; You challenged me . . .
"I guess what I'm trying to say is . . . I never would have defeated Voldemort without your help. None of us would have. And even if no one else says it, we're thankful. I'm thankful. So . . . thank you." Harry swallowed around the painful swelling in his throat and wiped his face and eyes, wet with tears, on his sleeve before looking up.
He watched Snape's face carefully. He thought he saw the subtle flicker of a scowl, but he supposed it was just his imagination. Snape was dead. That would never change. But at least he looked peaceful. Harry supposed it was better late than never.