I killed Severus Snape because: a) his spying storyline was going nowhere and b) he's so incredibly hard to write! Sorry all you Snape fans, but I was unable to do him justice in my writing so it's better that he's gone. Anyway this is a pretty short chapter because it's really just a link. I am writing more!
To Harry's chagrin, their first lesson after Christmas was Potions. The Gryffindors arrived dismayed in the dungeon, but the Slytherins were sitting around looking puzzled. Snape was nowhere in sight.
'I haven't seen him for ages,' Andromeda confessed, 'but he never shows up much anyway – I didn't think there was anything strange about it.'
After half an hour several students were leaving. It was apparent that Snape wasn't going to arrive. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Andromeda retreated to the Gryffindor common room. Without double Potions they had the morning free.
Harry was filled with dread. He couldn't stop thinking about what he'd blurted out in front of Lucius Malfoy. That could have something to do with Snape's absence. Somehow, the news had got to Voldemort – Voldemort had attacked Snape, maybe killed him. It would all be Harry's fault.
Halfway through their break, Dumbldore came through the portrait hole. 'May I have your attention?' The Gryffindor fifth-years and their Slytherin addition were silent. 'I am told that Professor Snape did not arrive for your Potions lesson. Is this correct?' They nodded. 'To avoid speculation, or perhaps to create it, I must tell you that we do not know the whereabouts of Severus Snape. As of now, Potions lessons are cancelled unless you are told otherwise. Would anyone like to ask any questions?' No one did. In fact, everyone looked quite shell-shocked. 'Right then. Harry Potter, would you come with me, please?'
Harry, numb, followed the headmaster through the portrait hole and into the corridor outside. 'Yes, Professor?' he said dully. 'I know it's all my fault, and something terrible's probably happened, but I swear I didn't mean…'
'I know you didn't mean it, Harry,' said Dumbledore. 'I do not want you to think that this is your fault. It is most likely that Professor Snape is being punished by Voldemort. But with or without your input, Voldemort would have found out. He has spies everywhere, many more than we do. Do not dwell on this, Harry. We are looking into it. I will tell you if there is any news.'
Dumbledore turned to leave, and Harry walked back into the common room. He was only dimly aware of the conga line that Dean, Seamus, Parvati and Lavender had formed around the room, singing 'Snape has disappeared!'… only vaguely aware of Ron and Hermione springing up to ask what was going on… only slightly aware of Andromeda's hand on his arm, her urgent voice saying something to him… he was unable to think.
Three days later, the news that Harry had been dreading reached his ears. It was breakfast time, and the tables were silenced to hear that Snape had been murdered by Voldemort. Dumbledore announced that he had been spying for him, that he had died to save some of the students… that there would be a memorial service held for him that evening. People cried – not just Slytherins. Professor McGonagall was dabbing at her eyes up at the staff table. Harry got up and walked from the room, gasps and sobs swimming in his ears. His vision was blurred. It was his fault. He had killed Severus Snape.
Andromeda raced after him, of course, asking what was wrong… but he couldn't speak to her, he couldn't. There weren't words for what he had done… what he had caused. Andromeda would hate him, too, as much as he hated himself. He didn't know what to do.
Andromeda didn't know what to do. Harry was ignoring her, acting as though she wasn't there. She followed him all the way up to the boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor common room, but he slammed the door in her face. He had never disregarded her so blatantly. There was nothing she could say. She didn't even know what the problem was.
No one saw Harry for the rest of the day. Ron and Hermione, worried sick, noticed that he did not arrive for any lessons; Andromeda, though she didn't know about his absence, was still concerned and hurt that he wouldn't talk to her.
Late that night, when Ron returned to the Gryffindor tower and his dormitory for bed, he saw Harry lying on his bed. His friend was staring at the ceiling and didn't even twitch when Ron called his name.
Harry didn't sleep that night. He kept thinking of what might have happened to Snape before he died. Voldemort was cruel and merciless – it almost certainly wouldn't have been a quick death. Harry shuddered. He shut his eyes, but still, in his mind, he saw scenes so horrific he could not imagine them… still he heard the screams, the screams that only his imagination could produce. It was a long night.
Next morning, you would have been forgiven for thinking that there was nothing the matter with Harry. He got up as normal, ate breakfast as normal, and made his way to the first lesson, Transfiguration, as normal. It was only when Professor McGonagall asked him where he had been the previous day that his friends realised there was something terribly wrong after all.
'In bed,' said Harry rudely. 'Why?'
Professor McGonagall looked horror-struck. 'Potter, why didn't you come to my lesson?'
'I just told you,' said Harry, sounding bored. He scratched at the desk in front of him.
'I will see you in detention tomorrow night, Potter,' said McGonagall. Her voice was calm but her nostrils were flared and her face unusually flushed. 'And I no longer expect such behaviour from you.'
Hardly listening to what she said, Harry let out a long, loud yawn. McGongall drew herself up and the class flinched, having seen her assume this position before, but no angered bellow came this time and she simply exhaled.
For much of the day Harry behaved in the same manner. He had obtained three detentions by the time the day drew to a close with a gapingly empty Potions lesson. Harry thought almost fondly back to the time when all he had to worry about was Snape's resentment of him… but then he set his face again. This way no one could find out what he had done.
He spent the next four days being rude, insulting and downright unpleasant. He could be sure, that way of what the outcome would be – he would be punished. But somehow, every time he reported after dinner to a detention, every time he wrote a roll of parchment extra homework, he felt as though he had got out of what he really deserved.
So it was not long before he broke down… not long before, one night, he saw the despairing face of Andromeda and wanted nothing more than to hold her again and tell her what was on his mind… not long before he acted on it, took her by the hand and embraced her, finally, desperately. He could only cling to her and weep as the full enormity of everything washed over him. And they wept together.