Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, except maybe one person, but not really. J.K. Rowling owns em, and I love her for letting us use them!!

Summary: Again, my apologies for being a complete and utter dunderhead. This has spoilers. If you haven't seen that yet, and you don't want to be spoiled, GO AWAY! That being said, this is at Severus Snape's funeral, and how the trio cope with it.

Edit: I had missed or forgotten that we do know when Sev's birthday is, so, thank you whitehound, the correction is made. : (And on that note, it's so depressing that he would have only been 39.)

Harry and Hermione stared down into the casket; Ron stood to the side, in a huff, arms crossed in frustration.

The pale man rested peacefully in the beautifully crafted wooden coffin, his black hair was neat around his sallow face, and delicate eyelids covered the eyes that had seen so much—seen more than most of the wizards and witches in the world.

Softly, as if not to disturb the man now at rest, Hermione said, "I can't... believe he's gone, after s-surviving for so long." Her voice was shaky and her eyes—to her surprise—welled with tears that threatened to spill down her soft cheeks.

Harry rested a consoling hand on her shoulder. He felt the same way as her, especially after seeing the memories that defined Severus Snape's—and even part of Harry's—troubled life. It seemed unfair to Harry that Snape did not survive, unfair that he had been despised by so many, loved only by those who were on the side to which he wasn't loyal.

He would never live a life in which he was trusted by those he wished to be trusted by, never live a normal life, really. Harry almost hoped he could find Lily, in the afterlife, hoped that Lily would forgive him, since he protected her son for so long.

A tear rolled unbidden down Harry's cheek—Snape had loved his mother, always, never ceasing, and his final dying words were a request to see her eyes, the beloved eyes that held the secret to his true loyalty. Maybe he had not been loyal to Dumbledore or the Order, Harry thought, but merely Lily—the memory of her, the love of her, the short life she'd lived.

Finally, Harry responded to Hermione. "I know. It's..." he stared down at the marks in Snape's neck, "ugly. It's wrong. It's... disgusting, almost."

He heard Ron snort from behind him, and he whipped around, glaring viciously. He didn't want to start anything, so he quietly hissed, "show some respect for once."

Ron glared at him, and turned back away, determined to think he was right and his best friends were wrong. The main reason why he hated them being so damn depressed over the git was because Hermione was paying him no attention—she just gazed down at the bat wistfully, like he was the loveliest thing she'd ever seen.

Hermione glanced around, noting how small the group was that had gathered for Severus's funeral. She understood, slightly, the absence of so many people—there had been many deaths, and so, many funerals. Also, not many had learned the truth about where the man's loyalties lay, so they were cautious not to go to his funeral, fearing the worst.

Harry had insisted they come, though, after learning the truth. He needed closure, some sort of closure, with the man. He didn't know what closure he could receive, other than maybe hugging the limp body, kissing the sheet white forehead, resting a hand on a shoulder.

And again, the unfairness of everything took over him, and he could not hold back tears. His emerald green eyes—his mother's eyes—shed tear after tear, and, not caring what anyone thought, Harry embraced the shell of a man. He was racked with grief, his whole body shaken by the tears that wouldn't stop. The handsome black coat Severus wore became drenched with tears of the boy he had despised—but the son of the woman he had loved nearly his whole short life.

Hermione was now crying fully as well, as she embraced the two men, and together they made a dead body of grief and mourning that none would ever be able to comprehend once the moment—or, rather, moments, so many, many moments—had passed.

Ron stared at the three in amazement, wondering what had come over them. He had only come to the funeral to be with Hermione, not because he had any sort of respect towards his old Potions professor—no matter what Harry said about Snape's memories, the man had never been good to any of them, and Ron had a determined grudge which would be hard to break.

Hours seemed to pass before Harry and Hermione finally broke the embrace. Ron had, by this point, sat down in one of the chairs, arms still crossed. The crowd had dispersed, mostly feeling the same way as Ron—they had come simply feeling an obligation to. The only other person left was the man who would lower the casket.

Harry and Hermione shared an intense gaze with each other, then they both looked down at Severus. Hermione pulled out her wand and used a simple drying spell on the moist coat, patting the spot briefly to make sure it had worked.

Harry wrapped his arms around her, and they each rubbed each others backs. It would be a long time before either could accept Severus Snape was gone forever.

When they broke apart, Harry looked at the man who remained, and nodded. The man nodded back, and pointed his wand at the casket, using a silent charm to close it, and lower it into the ground. Hermione took a deep, shaky breath as the box disappeared into the deep hole.

Long after the ceremony was over, Harry and Hermione stood on either side of the fresh grave, staring down at the tombstone.

SEVERUS SNAPE

BORN 9 JANUARY 1959

DIED 5 JUNE 1998

Who loved and lost
Who lived valiantly
Who died looking into her eyes
Who sees her now
Who is granted another chance
Who is mourned
Who is loved after death
Who is remembered an eternity

Harry wrote all the lines with a great surety, but two, though he still hoped they were true. Who sees her now... Who is granted another chance...

If I saw my parents and Sirius and Remus, Harry reasoned, Snape must be somewhere too. He must find my mother, she must forgive him. Harry would want her to forgive him. "Give him another chance," he whispered, hoping his mother would hear him.

"What was that, Harry?" Hermione asked softly, turning her head away from the beautiful marble headstone.

"Nothing." The girl knew he wasn't dismissing her—it was something deep down, personal, something Harry wouldn't speak to anyone else about. She nodded slowly.

"I suppose we should go. Everyone else seems to be celebrating," she said, rather mournfully.

"Yea. We should be, too, but it feels... rude. No matter how much I loathed him during our school years... I can't now. I won't."

They turned and walked towards Ron, who had a look of deep thought on his face—it almost looked out of place.

"Ron," Hermione said tentatively. "Coming?"

"In a moment," he said airily, and walked toward the same tombstone. He stared at it for a long time, then conjured two flowers—a pink carnation, and a white one. He rested them gently in front of the grave, muttering a holding spell so they wouldn't blow away in the summer wind.

He walked back over to them, and Hermione and Harry both embraced him.

"Ron, you... you know what those mean, I suppose?" the girl asked.

"Gratitude... and remembrance," he said in answer.

They all looked back once more, all murmuring, "Rest in peace, Severus."

Hermione linked arms with her best friends, and they walked off into the now-setting sun, not knowing where their feet would take them, and, for the moment, not quite caring.

They were together—and they could all feel the presence of everyone they'd lost—it was like a warm embrace, keeping them on the path, wherever it may lead.