Snape frantically scrabbled at his robes, searching for his wand.

"Point me, Harry Potter" he gasped out, tightening his grip around the wand as though it was a lifeline. The wand twitched weakly, and swung first to the ground and then to the left. Snape shook it, glaring, but the stick of wood was not intimidated.

"Point me, Harry Potter!"

Still the same happened, and Snap couldn't understand it. Until Dumbledore gasped from behind him. Snape spun around to see the old man's face haggard and pale.

"No. . .no, Harry!"

"What? What is it?"

"The dungeons. He's down in the middle of the dungeons. And the weak spell. . ."

He broke off, voice cracking, and Snape suddenly understood, and reeled. The spell was linked to Harry's life force, which meant that said life force was fading. Images exploded through his head with the force of a small bomb - Harry, at the Sorting in his first year, James' eyes wide behind round glasses. Harry, clinging onto his broom for dear life as Quirrel hexed him, Voldemort so close to his prize. Harry, searching for Dumbledore, Harry being right when everyone else said that it was impossible to get past the wards. Harry hissing, at the Duelling Club. Parseltongue. Why did everything always happen to him? Killing the basilisk, rising out of the sink around the Phoenix's neck, bravely clutching the youngest of the Weasley brood. He had saved her. The infuriating boy, stunning Snape and then driving off the Dementors. Harry, jubilation in his eyes as he flew past the dragon. Always the hero, rescuing two students in the lake.

And then. . .Harry, eyes flat, slumping to the ground, clutching Diggory's body as though it was all that was left of his world. Harry, staring at Malfoy's dead body. Harry alone, on the Astronomy Tower, blood soaking his robes. He knew now where that blood had come from. Harry. . .Harry. . .Harry.

Shaking himself out of the reverie, he put all of his energy into thinking where Harry would be. He would have gone to the dungeons, most probably. A heat seeking spell! The. . .his mind faltered. . .the body, would stay warm, and in the deep places there was no other warmth. Sure enough, the spell did guide him, wending a path of blue light down through the hidden passages. It took an obscenely long amount of time for him to find Harry, and all the way there snapshots of the boy flickered through his head. How unkind, how unfair he had been to Harry. How little the boy had deserved it, and how nobody had even seen it. Not even Snape, who prided himself on always seeing past masks. They had all failed Harry, but Harry had done what they had wanted, and now Harry was finally doing what he wanted.

Al he could do.

At that moment, Snape's self-loathing reached new heights and he slumped against a wall. Surely he would not be responsible for another life stolen away?

He pushed himself off from the wall, and stumbled forward, face haggard and breath coming out in pained wheezes.

"Oh Harry," he muttered, more to himself than to Albus who was following, "I swear, if you're alright, I will never speak a word against you as long as I live."

*********************************************

Harry inspected himself in the mirror one more time. He didn't have much time; he knew that they would realise he had gone soon, and while it was unlikely they'd be in time, he didn't want to run the risk. Didn't want the unbearable heaviness of having to go through another day. Alone. Always alone. Absently, he staunched the flow of blood trickling down his arm. He was going to die beautiful, and the irony was not lost on him. Of all that had been ugly in his life - his parents death, all the death that tainted his soul, the pain and hatred that he seemed to attract - his death would be beautiful.

Finally, he took a deep breath, satisfied with his appearance. He had conjured a bed in the corner of the room, in black wood with black sheets and pillows with silver edging. Laying down, he allowed his hair to fan out over the pillows, blending in perfectly. The notes were stacked on a bench, where everyone would see them, all neatly written and in envelopes which would allow only the rightful reader to unseal them.

He positioned his wand on his chest, in a sepulchral position, and then finally took the handy little vial of poison he always kept on him out of his pocket.

Smirking wryly, he raised it to the dusty ceiling in a bitter toast, and downed the entire potion.

***************************************

Snape looked around and realised that he was in an unused part of the castle. He didn't recognise it at all, which was odd as he regarded the dungeons as his domain, and made it is priority to find every single hidden passage or room. However, fatally, this one seemed to have passed him by. There were no sounds coming from anywhere, but as his eyes scanned the passage he noticed a door with a broken hinge - recently broken, too. The dust had been recently disturbed. Lunging forward, he wrenched the door open, squinting into the darkness to see. . .nothing. Damn it, of all times for the boy to suddenly become intelligent and cunning, this could well be the least appropriate.

However he realised that he could see footsteps, which had trodden lightly through the thick dust which coated the floor, leading further down. He followed, clumsy in his haste, tripping and stumbling over stray rocks which lay in his path, until the footsteps finally stopped outside a door. He pushed against it, and fell back with a yelp as his hands burned briefly. So it was well protected them.

Dumbledore came around the corner and Snape frantically waved him over.

"Albus, he's locked the door. You MUST bring it down!"

Dumbledore shut his eyes in concentration for a few seconds, although it felt like hours, before there was a small flash.

"Thank Merlin he wasn't concentrating. . ."

Snape didn't hear. He was already inside the room.

"Oh God. . ."

****************************************

To say that it had been painless would be a pathetic lie. It hurt like the fire of a thousand hells, but it was what he deserved. He knew the science of it: the potion caused back-flow of the blood in some areas, which basically froze the veins and then cut off blood flow to the heart. It was excruciatingly painful, unstoppable, and did not leave the victim with any external injuries. It was perfect.

He could feel every nerve in his body screaming with pain, but forced the gentle smile to stay on his face. He WOULD die beautiful. His funeral would be the epitome of beauty, with tears and smiles, and. . .all that he wanted. All that he deserved. Happiness from the other side.

A final breath now. . .the tortured air leaving his lungs, and a muffled roaring sound in his ears. His face broke into a true smile for the first time in many years, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut, and let the darkness envelop him.

*****************************************

He was too late. He was dead.

Suddenly it felt as though the bottom had fallen out of Snape's heart. He could tell, without looking, that his Harry was dead. His legs refused to support him, and he buckled to the floor, throat constricting. He could hear a roaring in his ears; Dumbledore, Dumbledore saying something. It was irrelevant, it couldn't matter, because Harry was dead. And Happy.

His Harry. The boy he had held like he had never held anyone before - the boy who, in some way, he had given his heart to. He had dared to trust, and it was all his fault. . .

The breaths that had been catching in is throat welled up and he took in a deep gulp of air, feeling it grating against his lungs. Harry would never breathe again. His eyes misted up, and he was dimly aware of Dumbledore embracing him from behind, hot tears dripping onto his neck, and he suddenly became boneless and mindless, and started to scream, and then when his throat was dry and raw he whimpered, and lolled against Dumbledore. It was all his fault. It was his fault that Harry would never smile in life again, it was his fault that Harry was dead.

He staggered to his feet, shivering, worn out from his grief, and moved unsteadily to Harry's bed, placing a finger on the boy's face. He looked so beautiful, as though he was just in a deep sleep, but he was dead.

The tears welled up again, but this time Snape pulled away from Dumbledore, and lay next to Harry, burying his head in the corpse's shoulder, soaking the clothes.

His Harry had died, and Severus Snape was again condemned to be alone.

********************************************** The last lessons of the day had just finished when Dumbledore emerged from a passage in the dungeons, followed by Snape who was carrying a cloth- covered body in his arms. From beneath the drape, a sheet of silky black hair was visible, cascading over Snape's shoulder. Both men were silent and red-eyed, Snape trying to suppress shivers that wracked his body. At one stage as they passed through the school, Dumbledore tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but Snape shrugged it off, and moved away from Dumbledore, and they resumed their journey in silence. On the final corridor before the Hospital Wing, they were unfortunate enough to run into a group of excited first years who stopped dead and nearly fell over themselves trying to run in the other direction. Snape ignored them, perhaps for the first time in his career at Hogwarts resisting the temptation to deduct Hogwarts. Harry would be proud of him. . .

His eyes filled with tears again, and he bent his head, kicking the door open with his feet and striding in. With a reverence never before seen from him, he laid Harry on a bed and watched him wordlessly, barely even registering the sound of a dog howling. Then he was knocked over by a semi- transformed dog which merged into the shape of Black.

"No! No I'll kill you if he's dead!"

Snape turned away and Sirius was silent.

"God, no, Harry. Harry!"

He crumpled to the floor, clutching in futility at Harry's cold hands. Not knowing why he did it, Snape moved behind Sirius and touched his shoulder.

"We were too late. He poisoned himself. I am sorry. . .I tried to help, for my part, but I failed him."

"Oh god, Harry" whimpered Sirius. He looked as though his world had just caved in on him.

Snape hauled him upright, and pushed him towards the door.

"Go away, Black" he said, though not unkindly. "Take Messrs Finnegan and Thomas with you, and go and get totally pissed. You deserve it, and there is nothing you can do here." Sirius looked blankly at Snape, and then sat down and began muttering Harry's name. Not having the energy to get irritated, he sat next to Black, only a little surprised when the other man leaned against him.

"Sirius, it isn't your fault. Not entirely. It's everyone's fault. We all killed him."

Sirius let out a fresh howl, burying his head in Snape's chest.

"SHUT UP!"

Okay, maybe he did have the energy to get pissed off. Sirius shut up, and Snape brought his face very close.

"Harry is dead. I am devastated, and you are, but there is nothing we can do. Only to make sure that all his dying wishes are executed."

Sirius nodded forlornly, and took the envelope that Snape handed him.

"Albus has the. . .the funeral arrangements" said Snape, trying to keep his voice steady. "I have a note, and I will deliver the other ones to the teachers."

Sirius nodded wordlessly, opening his last contact with his godson, as Snape left the room.

*****************************************

Dear Severus.

I hope I can call you Severus. Don't blame yourself for this, or Sirius. This is my own choice, one that I will not let anyone take from me. I couldn't cope any more, and I'm sorry. I asked Sirius to take care of you, and now I ask you to look after him as much as you can.

I bring death and destruction wherever I go, and so for your sake and the world's, I will go no more.

Thank you for everything you have ever done for me.

Harry.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Snape looked at the letter in his hands. It was creased, and tear-stained. With his tears. He finally stretched, and moved towards the fireplace.

"Infirmary" he muttered, and stepped into the flames. Harry was still on the bed, still beautiful. Sirius had fallen asleep, and was on a bed. Either his constant sobbing had worn him out, or he had been dosed with strong sleeping potions.. He moved over to his Harry, and took one icy cold hand, praying that it was some sort of mistake, praying that something was right in the world. He remained like that for the longest time, until Dumbledore gently tugged him away, and then he slept and drank, and slept some more.

Harry's funeral was arranged to take place the next week. It was an occasion of true beauty. Snape refused to make a speech, simply because he wasn't able to think of the words to describe Harry in life or death. Some people tried, but broke off crying. So many tears. . .and Snape realised that this was what Harry deserved; his one selfish deed.

They were crying the tears that he had been forced to cry on their behalf.

And he smiled. Maybe there was some fairness in the world.

**************************************

After the funeral, there was widespread grief. Weasley especially was virtually inconsolable, although nobody knew why he should be taking it so badly. Then McGonagall gave him the note from Harry which she had held back, and his outlook improved, although Snape feared the cloud of sadness would never leave his eyes completely. And slowly, Hogwarts returned to normal. Snape upset countless students, and continued to gain a little pleasure from it. But every night he returned to his chambers, and unconsciously checked the sofa and bedroom for any signs of a small boy, curled up, asleep or sobbing. Harry was never there.

Harry was gone.

Harry was never coming back.

And his failure haunted him for the rest of life, until finally at the age of 573, relatively young for a wizard, shocked by Peeves, he dropped an entire bottle of beeswax into an already volatile potion, and died of a heart attack.

****************************************

The afterlife was bright. Bright as in sunny day bright, rather than 'fire- of-hell' bright. It was quite pleasant, actually.

He heard a low chuckle coming from above him.

"I might have guessed it would be the potions, Severus. . ."

Looking up, barely daring to hope, he saw his Harry, sleek haired and smiling, dancing eyes illuminated by the sun.

"I'm so glad to see you" he murmered, as Snape wrapped him into a suffocating embrace, "But I don't regret a thing."

Snape stood back slightly and looked at Harry.

"Good" he whispered, and drew the boy back into the hug.
THE END