AN:

Now that I've written a Snily story, I thought I'd write a little something set after the whole epic Hogwarts battle. I noticed that, in the film, Harry never mentioned anything to anyone about Snape's motives, about what he really was, and it annoyed me. So this is a little after-scene, after they're standing, hands joined, on the bridge, which just gives Snape his reprieve. I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER!

Twilight set in fast, and as the sun faded the stars came out, littering the heavens with a million pinpricks of light. To the three once children, now grown, standing on the crumbling bridge, the stars shone the same as they always had, despite the terrible events of the day. The casualty list, the bodies in the hall, spun around and around in their heads like a reel of tragic film, film that played on an endless, horrifying loop.

Fred, dead on the floor, surrounded by red-headed mourners.

Lupin and Tonks, laid out, inches apart, together in death. Leaving behind their baby boy.

Those familiar faces from the years at school, Colin Creevey, Lavender Brown...the list extended on and on.

Children, just children, were slain and slaughtered, cut down before their lives had even begun. There were those who had died who no-one would mourn. Bellatrix was certainly no loss to the world. And the death of her master had finally set the world free from his tyranny.

And yet, there was one death, one loss, that only the three there knew of, and that no-one knew how to react to at all.

'Harry,' began Ron, somewhat nervously, 'Snape, he...the tear. What was-'

'Memories. A lot of memories.' Harry responded curtly. He didn't quite know how to react to the death of his longtime enemy, now that he knew that he was so much more complicated than Harry could ever imagined.

'Harry?' Hermione questioned, gazing at him, concerned, 'What is it?'

'He -' Harry started, but could not bring himself to finish.

'He – he wasn't really bad, was he Harry?' Hermione ended, with that all-knowing tone of hers. Harry's head snapped up to meet her eyes, and in them, she saw the truth. 'What happened? Why did he -?'

'My mother.' The expressions of confusion on his friends' faces deepened. He ushered them over to, of all things, a pile of rubble, no doubt once part of a wall or a balcony, on which they cautiously settled themselves. He cleared his throat, and in that instant, some part of him flared up, some defensive part, and he wanted so much to do justice to the story of this man, who he slowly began to realise was one of the bravest men he ever knew – all along. 'You know they were in the same year at school together, with my Dad and Remus and Sirius.' Ron and Hermione nodded, brows creased. 'They – they lived not far from each other. And one day, he went to the park, and she was on the swings. She jumped off and she floated to the ground. He knew she was a witch. He told her so. She didn't like it at first, thought it was some kind of insult. But, when she realised it was true, they became best friends. They were best friends all through school, until fifth year.'

He took a break to breath, closing his eyes. It might not be his story per say, but it was so much a part of who he was, this relationship between Snape and his mother, so much a part of his life, that it was difficult to relate, knowing the end.

'You remember, when I had Occlumency lessons with Snape, in fifth year?'

Again, a nod from his friends. Ron was practically bursting to speak, to ask some sort of question, but he pursed his lips tight. Hermione, as was her way, simply waited for him to continue.

'Well, he left me in his office - Umbridge needed him – and the Pensieve was there. I took a look and, it was my Dad, bullying Snape. Hanging him upside down. And my mother ran over to them, told Dad to stop it. And Snape – Snape said he didn't need help from a Mudblood.'

Hermione gasped, knowing the sting of that word better than the both of them, and Ron's arm twined about her shoulders.

'After that, Mum wouldn't talk to him. She didn't speak to him – not ever again I don't think. Whether she wanted to or not, I don't know.'

'And he – he looked after you to make up for it?' said Ron, as he always did, seeing the world in black and white.

'Sort of. But, I haven't finished. Trelawney's prediction about me, Snape overheard it. He – he told Voldemort.'

Still, even now, they both flinched at the name.

'When Voldemort decided that the baby was me, Snape found Dumbledore. He begged him to protect my mother, and me and my Dad if he had to...'

'But Dumbledore,' Hermione finished for him, seeing his struggle, 'Dumbledore didn't protect them. He couldn't. Pettigrew gave them up.'

'Yeah - ' Harry cleared his throat, desperate to rid himself of the strange feeling in him he knew was tears, 'And it destroyed Snape. He went a bit mad, I think. He came, that night, to our house. He found my mother's body. He cried. I've – I've never seen anyone cry like that before.'

There was a silence, a silence that seemed to stretch for eternity, with the ringing from the battle in all of their ears.

'He loved her.' Harry's voice even made himself jump, 'He loved her until he died. He promised to protect me, but he didn't want me to know. He did it for my mother. That night, Ron, that night in the forest. It was Snape's patronus. A doe, just like my mother's. All these years, he never stopped loving her. He spied on Voldemort, to keep me safe, me, the kid of the guy that bullied him, for my Mum.'

The silence this time was contemplative. Ron's jaw had dropped to the ground and in Hermione's eyes, tears welled.

'So,' Ron said, a tone to his voice, a sad, pondering tone, Harry had not really heard before, 'so when he said, 'Look at me', he wanted to see your - '

'Your mother's eyes.' Came the trembling close from Hermione, 'Oh, Harry. That's – that's so sad. He was a triple agent, all this time. That's so - '

'Brave.' Harry said, 'I know. All these years I hated him, and yeah, I think he hated me too really. Most of the time. A lot of the time. 99.9% of the time. But, he was protecting me. Protecting me and we never even knew. When Dumbledore told me about the debt with my Dad, when my dad saved Snape's life, he was trying to tell me that Snape was looking after me. But, after that, he couldn't tell me about this. He'd run out of excuses. Snape didn't want me to know. Not until he was dead.'

'He's dead!' Hermione suddenly shot to her feet, head turning fast.

'Yes, Hermione, we know.' Ron said, once again himself with his tone.

'No, I mean, no-one knows. No-one knows where he is. No-one knows about this. They think he's bad. Harry, what'll they do to him if they find him? He killed Dumbledore! He -' Hermione stopped, turning again, 'Why did he kill Dumbledore?'

'Dumbledore asked him to. He wore the Ressurection Stone, he was dying anyway. But, if Snape killed him, Voldemort would trust him even more.'

'Blimey,' Ron exclaimed, 'so, he did all that, went through life being feared and hated, just for your mother. Blimey. He must've loved her a hell of a lot.'

'And for Harry,' Hermione interjected, 'he did it for Harry too.' She looked at him, 'He cared in the end Harry. I really think he did.'

'Maybe.' Harry said hopefully, 'Yeah, maybe you're right.'

Some days later, when the tale of Snape's heroism had spread to every corner of the wizarding world, he was interred at Hogwarts. Like Harry, he had had an unhappy home life, and Hogwarts had been his home. It seemed only fitting he be placed there, alongside Dumbledore, in the place where he had really lived.

Some years later, eight to be exact, Harry's second child, Albus, was born. He and Ginny had always wanted to name their children after those that were dear to them. James Sirius had come already. It was with some reluctance that he made a suggestion to his wife. However, the look she gave him sealed the deal, and so Albus Severus Potter was named.

Severus Snape was gone, but his deeds of bravery would never be forgotten. Albus Severus carried his name with pride, and, when he was made a Gryffindor, there was a twinge of sadness that, while following in the steps of one of his namesakes, he left behind the other. Yet, as his father reminded him in a letter, 'Severus Snape may not have been a Gryffindor, Al, but he was the bravest man I ever knew. Courage is an attribute of a Gryffindor too. So, you're still similar to him in that way, if you want to be.'