A/N: This is last week's edition of the ongoing prompt challenge I'm having with my two favorites, Bruhaeven and Le Requiem. They are both beyond amazing, and you should definitely read their splendiferous stories :)
Story Notess: Takes place during the Deathly Hallows, when Harry is about to run off into the woods to meet Voldemort.
WARNING: Slight Dumbledore bashing. Nothing too serious, and nothing unbelievable. Just a forewarning.
ENJOY.
Prompt: Listen to my story… this may be our last chance.
Harry's footsteps crunched as he walked through the brush and deeper into the forest.
With the possibility that it might be his last walk on Earth, everything sort of snapped into focus.
Every step felt like an earthquake, and every crunch sounded like thunder. Compared to the slashes and crashes of the battle, the forest was silent, but Harry heard it anyway; beetles and spiders scuttling over mossy, green bark, the swishing and swiping of every leaf that rubbed up against another. It was deafening.
He continued his march onwards, a lonely procession to his own funeral.
As he thought about the inevitable death that lay before him, his heart pounded, protesting, and he was conscious of every breath and blink. His mind couldn't stay put – it kept wandering to 'what if's' and 'could have been's' and 'what next's'.
But no matter how hard he tried, it kept coming back to death.
His mother and father, Sirius, Lupin, Fred, Tonks, Moody, Hedwig, Dobby, Dumbledore.
But the dried blood on his hands kept bringing him back to the most recent. Back to the dark black eyes - their pleading, their pain…
Listen to my story, they'd said.
Those eyes. They would be burned forever in his own retinas. They would haunt him for the rest of his very short life, just like his own green eyes had haunted his professor's.
Harry'd held the broken body together for as long as he could, until finally the flow of blood broke through his clumsy fingers.
Tears streamed down the man's face, glowing with swirling blue memories that were begging to be heard, and again his eyes had pled,
Listen to my story.
But in spite of their longing - his desperate desire to spill long-kept secrets – the last thing to leave his mouth, past the pain and the gurgling, the blood dripping out the corners of his lips, was a gentle,
"You have her eyes."
His footsteps had brought him to the clearing all too soon, and in an instant, he found himself before the terrifyingly tall, white skeleton.
It raised its wand, a twisting bony, ivory rod, like an extension of its long fingers, and muttered the words Harry had been waiting to hear.
Icy green light washed over his body, and he felt like all the warmth in the world was being replaced by a frosty chill that brought everything to a halt.
The world grew colder, and colder, until finally the green light gave way to a brilliant white…
Harry's eyes blinked as he tried to clear his vision – all he could see was a blurry, bright white. He squinted into the light, and slowly - so slowly - the world began to reform.
Suddenly, a bench materialized in the white, followed by a pristine white train station and an ear-shattering shrieking.
Harry's hands flew to his ears, trying to block out the sound, even as he sought out its source. Following the piercing cries, he bent down and peered under the bench where he saw a foul, bony creature covered in blood. It was naked, and although its features were hideous and its limbs were long and lanky, its face had the mashed, scrunched-up look of a newborn. It was hard for Harry to pull his eyes away from the crying creature; it had him paralyzed in a morbid sort of curiosity that made him want to unable to stop looking at its pained face.
It was a deep, drawling voice that finally pulled him away from the evil thing under the bench.
"Foul, isn't it?"
Harry spun around, surprised by the voice.
"S-Snape? What are you –"
The creature let out another scream. Harry clapped his hands over his ears, but Snape stood unfazed, his dark billowing robes a sharp contrast to the brilliant white surroundings.
"What is that thing?" Harry spoke loudly, hoping to be heard over the cries.
The corners of Snape's mouth turned upward slightly while the rest of his features remained stern – the barest hint of amusement on his face. He gazed at the creature under the bench and waited until its screams grew silent before speaking in his slow, deep drawl.
"Something, Potter, that you needn't worry about anymore."
"But –"
Snape turned his powerful gaze to Harry, silencing him with a single look. His voice was harsh, and disdainful, as always.
"I told you – not to worry about it."
His expression softened slightly as he let out a small huff, and turned his back on Harry.
"Come, let's walk."
Harry stood, unable to move, in between the creature and his old Potions professor, whose dark silhouette was slowly being consumed by the whiteness around them as he walked away.
It was odd, seeing Snape, now.
He seemed to be the same ill-tempered man Harry'd always known, but now he knew the truth behind the man's cold exterior; He had seen Snape's most private memories, and he knew the reasons behind every action. Snape had been on his side all along, but after everything – what was there to say?
When he finally stopped thinking and his legs started to work again, he quickly ran to catch up to Snape, who was just a black dot in a sea of white. In seconds he covered the distance, and when he turned to look at the bench he'd just been standing next to, he found it was miles away.
"Where are we?"
Snape stopped walking, but didn't turn around.
"King's Cross Station. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, if I'm not mistaken."
As if to confirm his hypothesis, a ghost of the shiny red Hogwarts Express train flew by the two.
"But… why? Why are we here? Am I dead?"
Snape turned to look at Harry, his face now lacking its harshness.
"Dead? Perhaps… We're at King's Cross because, apparently, this is where it all began for you."
Harry looked around him, then back to his professor.
"I'm sorry – where all what began?"
Snape struggled to keep the exasperation out of his voice. He still had no patience for the boy's slow mind.
"Your life – every choice, every decision, everything that defines who you are and how your life played out – it all began here. The beginning, and the end."
Harry thought about that for a moment. Of course his life had been irrevocably altered by his parent's death, but he supposed it was true that his life hadn't really begun until he'd gone to Hogwarts – he didn't even learn the truth about his parents' deaths until he'd been accepted to the school.
He took a deep breath in. Yes, it felt right. Not homey, perhaps, but definitely intimate - where it all began.
Then he looked back to Snape, his dark robes standing out in the white station.
"Well, what are you doing here?"
Snape sneered, and his expression became contorted once again.
"Wouldn't I like to know? You'd think, in death, I'd finally be rid of you Potters. Apparently, I'm not so lucky."
Harry thought back to the memories he'd watched in the pensieve, and he couldn't help but feel a little guilty.
"I – I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I just – If I saw anyone I'd have thought –"
"Were you expecting someone else? Someone like your dear, precious Dumbledore?"
Snape's voice was mocking, and he spat the name Dumbledore like it was poison, but Harry just shrugged.
"Well… Yeah, kinda."
"Sorry to disappoint, Potter."
Snape's black robes billowed as he turned and began to walk away. Harry watched, unsure of what to do. Finally, not knowing what to say, he yelled out,
"I know what you did! I watched the memories, I know about my mother - how you tried to protect her…"
The dark figure froze, and slowly he turned back. His footsteps were slow and he seemed weary as he made his way over to another bench that had appeared beside them, and sat down heavily.
Harry walked over to the bench, and sat down as well, leaving quite a bit of room between them.
In the long silence that followed, Harry could feel that Snape was reliving all those moments – growing up with his mother, their days at Hogwarts, and finally her death. When he spoke, though, he directed the conversation away from Lily.
"Then you know that Dumbledore isn't half the man we all thought he was."
Harry's chest pulled slightly. He'd heard Snape's conversation with the late Headmaster -how Dumbledore had been raising him for the slaughter - yet he somehow couldn't take back his fond feelings towards the man.
"Yes, but he had to act how he did – he did it to –"
Suddenly Snape was bitter again, and Harry could hear the hurt in his voice as he spoke.
"Quit making excuses for him! He was an incompassionate, manipulative old fool. He used you… He used us both."
"Yeah, but it was all to stop Lord Voldemort, it wasn't like he –"
Snape held up a hand, cutting Harry off once again, but this time there was a look of defeat on his face, and perhaps a bit of melancholy in his dark, dark eyes.
"You really are just like her, you know. Only a child of Lily Evans could be so foolishly forgiving of such selfish, pig-headed man."
And just like that, he was no longer talking about Dumbledore.
Harry turned to look at Snape – really look at him – and he saw a deep hurt. A scar that had never healed.
His eyes told Harry what he hadn't said aloud:
She could forgive James, but she couldn't forgive me.
Harry suddenly realized he was doing the exact same thing his mother had done: He had forgiven Dumbledore, who was a cruel man, in the end - but he still couldn't bring himself to forgive Snape, who'd sacrificed everything.
For the second time in his life, Snape was hurt, haunted even, by bright green eyes that failed to see his true intentions.
"Well, there's nothing more to say. Unfortunately, I am not Dumbledore, and therefore, I have no words of wisdom to leave you with."
Again he turned to leave, but this time, Harry knew what to say.
"Thank you."
Snape whipped around, his eyes wide and confused – searching for either contempt or sarcasm on Harry's face.
"For everything. I mean, I know you didn't have to do…" Harry struggled for the words to describe Snape's sacrifice. Unsuccessful, he finished with a lame, "…all that."
The skepticism drained from Snape's face, and his expression grew bittersweet as he gazed into the distance. He stood, staring upwards for a moment. When he spoke, it was quiet.
"But I did. I had to do it – for Lily."
He turned back to Harry, searching his green eyes for an echo of the woman he'd loved.
"I only wish I'd been able to tell her everything, tell her how sorry I was… I never got that chance."
Harry sighed, and then, not because he believed it, but because it was the right thing, he said,
"I think she knew how you felt."
The hint of a smile on Snape lips was rueful, for he knew it was a lie.
"Just like Lily."
The smile shifted yet again, and, for the first time, Harry saw a look of genuine happiness on his professor's face. But it didn't fit, like his weary features had seen too much to be capable of plain joy. His face twisted and stretched and shrunk, and suddenly, Harry was looking at a young dark-haired boy – maybe ten years old.
This time, the smile was radiant, and the eyes twinkled with an innocence that no longer existed.
"Goodbye, Harry."
Behind the boy Snape, the white station exploded into color, green fields and blue skies and a beautiful twisting willow. The soft echo of children's laughter bounced through the air.
The boy ran towards the tree and a figure waiting in the distance; Harry thought he saw a flash of red hair.
He tried to run after them, but suddenly his world tilted, and he was falling backwards, watching the two children above him.
"Where are you going? What do I do now?"
Through the laughter, he heard a child's voice reply, echoing as he fell through empty space.
"I'm going back to where it all began, but you must return to where it all will end."
He continued to tumble through the air, falling into darkness with a thousand more questions he wanted to ask, until he felt a jolt as he reentered his cold body.
Lying on the ground, he heard the final whisper tiptoe through his mind.
Good luck, Harry Potter.
post notess: Okay, so, this piece was not at all what I expected to write when I first read the prompty-prompt.. but it just sort of happened. The movie version of Snape's story changed my life. Well, maybe not my life, but it definitely made me change my mind about Snape. The movie made it soo beautiful! ;_; I cry.. I die.
Also, yes, I changed Snape's last words. Don't worry about it.
ANYHOWS. I always love feedback, and I would love to know what you all thought about it - especially since I was majorly struggling with writing Snape and his interactions with Harry. Snape is so not my territory.
please to review? :)