A/N: I can't believe no one has done this before. (Meaning that, I haven't found anyone who has done this in fanfiction, I have found a pic.) Inspired by 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' by Beedle the Bard by JK Rowling. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
He fought every step of the way, tearing, clawing, screaming. It was unjust- he had killed him! That cursed boy! Twice!
He had killed his spy at Hogwarts, Severus Snape, to get to the Elder Wand and still-!
But he was well named as the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry Potter. The name that had caused so much grief.
The boy though was the true master of the Elder Wand and with a simple "Expelliarmus!" He conquered himself, the Dark Lord! He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Lord Voldemort!
His "Avada Kedavra!" Should have destroyed the boy but no, it did not- it rebounded and killed himself. And so, the oldest brother was dragged into the depths of hell.
The brother who died for power.
394!¡!394!¡!394!¡!
Severus Snape knew he wouldn't live through the war. He know there was nothing for him. After all, what would he do?
He was hated by all. Hated and feared by the Death Eaters, though he did not want their love and he was hated and despised by the side of light.
Minerva McGonagall, one of the teachers who had stuck up for him as a child- now despised his appearance.
With good reason, he had killed the only person who had ever truly cared for his fate.
Hated by light and dark, he was stuck in the middle- the grey.
Not everything in the world is ever black and white. There is the dark- the evil, the nasty, the horrid, the disgusting- the Slytherin. And, there is the light, the good, the shining, the pure- the Gryffindor.
There was also the grey. The light that was really dark and the dark that envied the shining purity of the light. The dark that aspired the hopeless dream of being worthy of the light.
He was the grey, the one who did the dirty work, the one who could never hope to touch that goodness and love.
Now he lay, dying from the five strikes, one by Voldemort and four by the snake. Fitting that it was a snake. The symbol of house Slytherin.
The window was cold across his back and he knew that, as the chill spread, it was not the usual numbness of the cold, but of death. It was a sad and fitting end, he thought to his life.
Of course, it was not over yet, the muggle-born Granger and the Weasley. Of course, what took his sight was Potter. His mind though, seemed to conjure memories of James Potter. The eyes though, they snapped him back. It was not yet time for him to leave.
"Take it. Take it."
Potter thankfully managed to find enough sense in his dim-witted brain to recognize that he was needed to collect memories.
Snape knew it was feeble and stupid to hope for a last chance at redemption. But Harry needed to know what Dumbledore had said, that memory though was accompanied by those of her.
Lily. He wanted to see her one last time.
"Look... At... Me."
Harry did so, and with his fading vision he could see those eyes- in a different face.
"You... You have her eyes..."
Severus Snape, the younger brother, turned his head, with those eyes still in his mind and closed his own, and he died.
The brother who died for lost love.
394!¡!394!¡!394!¡!
Harry Potter knew that he must die. He was a Horcrux. It had always been his fate. He could still hear the potion master's words,
"So the boy must die?"
"Yes."
"You've saved him so you could raise him like a pig for the slaughter!"
It was strange to see his most hated professor, prove in a way, more caring then the headmaster. Strange, but Dumbledore had known that it had to happen. To sacrifice one for many.
Like Snape.
Voldemort was waiting for him and Harry had a sudden urge to gloat, to tell him that Professor Snape had always been Dumbledore's man. Through and through.
He didn't though, he was ready to die. Soon... Soon he would see his parents again, and Dumbledore and all those he had seen die.
In a strange way, he was looking forward to it in a way. He would miss Ron and Hermione, Neville, Luna, and Ginny.
"Harry Potter." Voldemort said in his high soft voice.
Harry stood unafraid and then Voldemort lunged with his wand and he screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"
And the youngest brother died.
The brother who greeted Death like an old friend.