He knew it was over the moment he saw them.
The final battle was finished, and smoke still whirled around the battlefield from the endless amounts of curses.
He had waited, abided his time until he saw Harry take on Voldemort. Then he had revealed himself, watching the boy's back, taking out Death Eaters that tried to interfere with what undoubtedly would go down as the most famous battle of all times.
And Harry did it. He managed to defeat the Dark Lord.
As the body of the young, unwilling hero was thrown into his own by the force of the release of the last bit of soulshard from the Dark Lords body, he knew it was finally over. He felt his left arm burn and knew the Dark Mark had gone.
Carefully he arranged Harry on the ground, checking for vital signs.
The boy opened his eyes. "Snape," he managed.
"Be quiet, Potter," he said, gentler then he had ever thought possible, "you are quite hurt. Congratulations on defeating the Dark Lord."
"You saved me," the brat coughed, "I thought…I thought you'd…"
"gone bad?" he supplied, and bowed his head. "No, Harry, I never went bad. You know that by now, I think."
The boy nodded, spasms torturing his exhausted body.
"T-thank you…sir," he whispered, "for everything."
Thank you. Finally, after all those years, Harry Potter acknowledged his role in the battle. And those words suddenly seemed to clear away the hate and resentment he had felt towards the boy. The boy Albus had died for. The boy he had to kill the only father he had ever known for.
"It's ok…Harry," he said, "thank you for freeing me. And I…apologise…for being such a bastard."
Harry smiled painfully. "And I apologise for being such a brat," he managed in a voice barely a whisper. Then he closed his eyes.
Severus was alarmed for a second, but he saw the young man had merely drifted off into unconsciousness, and while weak, would probably live. He sighed in relief.
Then he saw them. Mad Eye Moody. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Bill and Charlie Weasley. Ron and Hermione. Filius Flitwick.
Ron and Hermione rushed to Harry, levitated his body on a stretcher and made for the medics. Mad Eye Moody kicked the Dark Lords body. "So, the boy did it." he concluded. Then he turned to the black clad man that was still kneeling on the ground, next to where Harry had lain just moments before.
"Take him," the old Auror ordered, and he was hauled up by strong hands, and dragged off.
He had no illusions as to what his fate would be.
They tied him to a tree at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, next to Dumbledore's grave. The cuts on his chest burned when he was roughly pressed against the wood. His cheek chafed as it was forced against the tree.
His arms encircled the trunk and were tied with strong ropes cutting deep into his wrists.
He couldn't see his 'executioners'. They would not even allow him the dignity of dying while facing them.
Blood dripped from his lips and to his chin as he bit them, refusing to cry out when the first curses hit his body. Oh, they were taking it slow. No quick death for a traitor. He didn't even try to resist. From the day he had killed Albus, he had known it would end this way. He smiled. Albus had been right. His death had been necessary for Harry's training, and the boy had risen to the occasion magnificently. He had done what he could to aid him, and now it was over. Now he could finally rest.
The blast of the Crucio nearly made him scream and he was sure he had almost bitten off his tongue. Must have been Moody. The other's wouldn't use Unforgivables.
The sting of a whiplike object – probably a flexible tree branch – made him shudder and he wished he would either lose consciousness or die soon.
His robes were long since ripped apart and he felt his skin break. Breathing became more and more difficult and he leant heavily against the tree, his hands numb now with the tight bonds.
Then, suddenly, the pain was gone.
The group of self-appointed executioners raised their wands as one.
"Incendio, together," Moody said, "it'll burn him up completely and no one will ever know."
Charlie made to protest. "But Mad Eye, he's still alive!"
"Barely. And who cares?" The old Auror had an evil grin on his face that made Charlie very uneasy.
Suddenly, Flitwick yelped and pointed with a trembling hand to the grave.
A figure, ghostlike and yet appearing much more solid, climbed out through the marble slab.
It stood, and brushed imaginary dirt off its robes. When the figure raised its head, they all gasped.
"A-Albus…" Flitwick managed, going white. Shacklebolt fainted.
The ghostly figure of Albus Dumbledore didn't pay them any attention, but walked over to the bloody mess that was Severus Snape.
The five watched in horror as the same sort of figure started to emerge from the body. Dumbledore grabbed its hand and helped it come out of the tortured man.
"Albus?" the ghost of Severus Snape asked. "Albus, is it over now?"
The Headmaster drew the young man in a hug.
"Yes, child. I've come to take you home with me."
Severus sighed deeply. He didn't look at his tormentors or at his own dead body. He simply buried his head in his mentors neck. "Yes. I want to go home," he said.
Dumbledore looked at the five. "I will never forgive you for what you did here today," he said, voice so cold they shivered involuntarily.
"You will take his body back to Hogwarts, to Minerva. You will explain what you did and turn yourselves in. I don't doubt they will let you off easy, but I still insist on this. You will also tell them I ordered you to bury him in my own grave, with me. Is that clear?"
He didn't await their answer, but wrapped his arms around the ghostly figure of the young man leaning against him, and they both faded away.
They couldn't move for a long time, too petrified from what they had seen to do anything at all.
Footsteps broke their trance, and Hermione rushed over to them, followed closely by Ron.
"Oh dear sweet Merlin," Hermione gasped, hands covering her mouth at the sight of the mangled body.
Ron swore loudly. "Harry will never forgive you for this," he said, refusing to look at his brothers. "Come on, Hermione, we have to take him back."
Together, they untied the body of their Potions Master and returned it to the castle.
A week later Harry stood with a small group of people at the grave of Albus Dumbledore. Snape's body had been cleaned and wrapped in soft silken sheets. He sighed.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save you, professor," he whispered softly as the body was lowered into the grave, "after all you did to save me."
He stood for a long time at the now resealed grave.
"He did grow up a lot, didn't he?" Dumbledore said, looking at Harry.
"Oh yes, he did. No more Gryffindor brat. You can be proud of him," Severus Snape agreed easily.
"I am. As proud as I am of you," the figure of Dumbledore said, smiling at the young man next to him.
"Don't make me blush, old man," the potions master said, smiling widely.
Harry stared at them in surprise.
"Hello Harry," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand when Harry rushed at them.
"No, dear boy, you can't touch us. Sorry. We truly are dead. We just came to assure you that you needn't grieve for us. We are very happy."
Severus smiled. "Don't blame yourself for my death, Harry. I know you would have stopped them if you could. I'm home now. And you finally have some living to do."
Harry's eyes filled with tears.
"I'm…glad….for that, sirs," he managed. "I hope to see you again someday."
"You will," they assured him, "you will see us all again someday. Death is but the next great adventure, one we all go on eventually." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Goodbye, Harry. Be happy."
"Goodbye, sirs," Harry whispered as the figures faded again, "until we meet again."
And with that, he walked off to join his surviving friends in the castle, unaware of the ghostly smiles that followed him.