Disclaimer: Need I say it?
A/N: sniff sniff, this is a very sad chapter, I was almost crying writing it. I've never done one like this before in all my years of writing, (since I was 12, I'm 16 now in case u were wondering) so bear with me. And enjoy. "Get the tissues!"
Chapter 9
Harry stood aghast as Snape fell onto the floor, not knowing what to do. In the corner of his eye he saw Voldemort breath with relief as his key was unharmed.
Snape had been shot in the shoulder, which was going to be painful. Harry bent down next to him and picked Snape up with strength Harry never realised he had before. A Death Eater tried to stop them but Harry raised his hand and a sort of force field between him and them. He then started to walk to the gate. You couldn't Apperate from at least a hundred-meter radius from the building and the building itself. He had tried.
So he had to carry Snape for a hundred meters or more, until he could get to a save Apperating point. Harry didn't even bother to take the man to the hospital or to the camp. There was no point. They didn't have the equipment and the muggles wouldn't give him priority and Snape had hit and artery he's be dead before they could help him. Instead Harry took Snape to a place he thought his old teacher would want to die.
~~x~~
He kicked open the old wooded door and stood on the dusty floor. Carrying Snape and putting some pressure on the wound to prevent blood form going every where was proving difficult. Harry didn't care about his clothes getting covered in blood or getting queasy by it, he just didn't want Snape to see all his blood gushing out of him, and it couldn't be a pretty sight.
The stairs creaked as he walked up to the bedroom of this old abandoned shack of a house. The room where it all happened, the room where his mother had died. White sticky tape still outlined the body where his mother had lay, as he placed Snape on the bed and went to turn the light on.
Harry went here occasionally, to look, to remember, to mourn. A cot stood in the corner, unmade with a dusty teddy bear in it. But this time Harry wasn't here because he wanted to be but because he thought Snape would want to.
"Where are we?" he asked struggling slightly.
"My parents room, and don't speak." Harry answered siting on the bed next to him.
"Don't tell me what to do Potter."
Harry said nothing, but smiled slightly. He dug into his back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a photo of his mother that he carried every where with him. "Have this." He said, giving Snape the photo. Snape tried to smile faintly but failed somewhat. "You gave me milk instead of poison. I was very annoyed. Voldemort could have won."
Snape coughed slightly, "I didn't care, there was a chance you survived the ritual no chance with the poison." There was silence where Snape coughed some more. "Your father would have been proud of you, you know."
"Every one says that."
"It's true though, he would have been there is no doubt there. He loved you, I loved you as my own, even tough you weren't."
"Quit with the whole goodbye speech would you Severus?"
If Harry was mistaken which he doubted he was, Snape smirked. "You get that Weasley boy, for putting you through that."
"I'm getting used to it now." Harry smiled at him, he was used to death now, and death of loved ones was unbearable. He remembered when Hermione died, three years before hand. How he locked himself away and spoke to no one, it had been Sirius and Remus who had gotten him through it; they knew how he had felt.
But this was different somehow, yes he was upset, but also guilty, he'd known this man for around fourteen years, and hated him virtually all that time. And Snape had loved him, as a son, and even when Snape was being nice to him, Harry threw it back in his face.
"I'm sorry." Harry muttered.
"For what?" his voice was getting very weak now.
"For being a brat."
"You're not a brat, you never were. It's me who should be sorry, not you." Harry smiled weakly. "I'm sorry," Snape said, struggling with the pain, his breathing and heart beat slowing, Harry shook his head, unable to speak, when he did it was for a joke from a film he had previously been thinking about.
"Are you going to tell me I have a secret twin sister?"
Snape chuckled as much as a dying man could. "No, I'm going to say that you're a good lad, you always were, even if you did say my hair was yicky." Harry smiled, but Snape continued getting ever quieter. "You're the good guy, a very good guy, you're the chosen one, you'll win right is on your side. Always remember that Harry, always."
But they were his last words, as the dreaded potions master drew his last breath, and died.
A/N: sniff sniff, this is a very sad chapter, I was almost crying writing it. I've never done one like this before in all my years of writing, (since I was 12, I'm 16 now in case u were wondering) so bear with me. And enjoy. "Get the tissues!"
Chapter 9
Harry stood aghast as Snape fell onto the floor, not knowing what to do. In the corner of his eye he saw Voldemort breath with relief as his key was unharmed.
Snape had been shot in the shoulder, which was going to be painful. Harry bent down next to him and picked Snape up with strength Harry never realised he had before. A Death Eater tried to stop them but Harry raised his hand and a sort of force field between him and them. He then started to walk to the gate. You couldn't Apperate from at least a hundred-meter radius from the building and the building itself. He had tried.
So he had to carry Snape for a hundred meters or more, until he could get to a save Apperating point. Harry didn't even bother to take the man to the hospital or to the camp. There was no point. They didn't have the equipment and the muggles wouldn't give him priority and Snape had hit and artery he's be dead before they could help him. Instead Harry took Snape to a place he thought his old teacher would want to die.
~~x~~
He kicked open the old wooded door and stood on the dusty floor. Carrying Snape and putting some pressure on the wound to prevent blood form going every where was proving difficult. Harry didn't care about his clothes getting covered in blood or getting queasy by it, he just didn't want Snape to see all his blood gushing out of him, and it couldn't be a pretty sight.
The stairs creaked as he walked up to the bedroom of this old abandoned shack of a house. The room where it all happened, the room where his mother had died. White sticky tape still outlined the body where his mother had lay, as he placed Snape on the bed and went to turn the light on.
Harry went here occasionally, to look, to remember, to mourn. A cot stood in the corner, unmade with a dusty teddy bear in it. But this time Harry wasn't here because he wanted to be but because he thought Snape would want to.
"Where are we?" he asked struggling slightly.
"My parents room, and don't speak." Harry answered siting on the bed next to him.
"Don't tell me what to do Potter."
Harry said nothing, but smiled slightly. He dug into his back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a photo of his mother that he carried every where with him. "Have this." He said, giving Snape the photo. Snape tried to smile faintly but failed somewhat. "You gave me milk instead of poison. I was very annoyed. Voldemort could have won."
Snape coughed slightly, "I didn't care, there was a chance you survived the ritual no chance with the poison." There was silence where Snape coughed some more. "Your father would have been proud of you, you know."
"Every one says that."
"It's true though, he would have been there is no doubt there. He loved you, I loved you as my own, even tough you weren't."
"Quit with the whole goodbye speech would you Severus?"
If Harry was mistaken which he doubted he was, Snape smirked. "You get that Weasley boy, for putting you through that."
"I'm getting used to it now." Harry smiled at him, he was used to death now, and death of loved ones was unbearable. He remembered when Hermione died, three years before hand. How he locked himself away and spoke to no one, it had been Sirius and Remus who had gotten him through it; they knew how he had felt.
But this was different somehow, yes he was upset, but also guilty, he'd known this man for around fourteen years, and hated him virtually all that time. And Snape had loved him, as a son, and even when Snape was being nice to him, Harry threw it back in his face.
"I'm sorry." Harry muttered.
"For what?" his voice was getting very weak now.
"For being a brat."
"You're not a brat, you never were. It's me who should be sorry, not you." Harry smiled weakly. "I'm sorry," Snape said, struggling with the pain, his breathing and heart beat slowing, Harry shook his head, unable to speak, when he did it was for a joke from a film he had previously been thinking about.
"Are you going to tell me I have a secret twin sister?"
Snape chuckled as much as a dying man could. "No, I'm going to say that you're a good lad, you always were, even if you did say my hair was yicky." Harry smiled, but Snape continued getting ever quieter. "You're the good guy, a very good guy, you're the chosen one, you'll win right is on your side. Always remember that Harry, always."
But they were his last words, as the dreaded potions master drew his last breath, and died.