Oblivion
By K. Cloak
Epilogue
"We're here, mate!"
Professor Severus Snape drifted awake, prying his face off of the cab's cold backseat window. He glanced up at the Muggle cabbie, who was peering back at him through the rearview mirror.
"We're here," he repeated. "This is the cemetery you wanted, right?"
"Um… yes," replied Severus, self-consciously straightening his black Muggle-style coat. Stepping outside into the snow, he walked up to the driver's side door.
"Just wait here – I won't be long," he said to the cabbie, who'd rolled his window down to hear Severus.
"It's your money," the man replied. He cranked the window back up immediately; it was unusually cold for December.
Hands in his pockets, Severus crunched down the path from the cab and made his way into the cemetery, which was quite empty. It's no wonder no one's here, he thought. These stupid Muggle clothes are barely warmer than nothing at all.
Stupid Muggle clothes.
He wouldn't have to be wearing Muggle clothes if he hadn't needed the cab ride. He wouldn't have needed the cab ride if he'd been able to Apparate. He wouldn't have been unable to Apparate if Sirius Black hadn't dealt him a grievous and slow-healing mental wound over a month ago. And he wouldn't even have to be in this stupid cemetery if Black had stopped at murdering two of his best friends instead of killing a third.
It was at the grave of that third friend that Severus stopped.
Poor bastard, thought Severus. There wasn't even a body in his grave – he'd been blown to bits much in the same manner as Severus's spellcasting ability, and by the same dreadfully out-of-control magic. By the same dreadfully out-of-control wizard.
"Hello," he said softly, his breath condensing into pale icy wisps in the cold air.
The empty grave gave him no reply.
"Don't think that because I've come here I've forgotten all the crap you put me through in school," Severus continued.
Once again, he was answered by silence.
Sighing, Severus knelt down next to the snow-covered headstone. "Look," he went on. "Perhaps you picked the wrong friends, just like I did. If any one of you four was the least of an asshole, it was you. I'm… I'm sorry he had to kill you too, after you confronted him. He's been sent to Azkaban, you know."
Severus sighed again.
"I just thought you should know. You at least tried to stop him – even if it did kill you. I suppose Black can take your share of my hatred… and maybe I'll forgive you. After all, you're dead – you can't tell anyone."
Rising, Severus turned to leave. After taking a few steps, however, he hesitated, then returned to the grave, standing over the spot where the empty casket lay buried.
Gritting his teeth against the pain it still caused him, Severus extended his right arm and spun in a circle, the tip of his wand defining his spell's border. Within that border, the snow and ice vanished, leaving a springtime circle of green grass around Severus's feet.
As Severus placed his wand back in his coat pocket, the words on the grave emerged from their sudden thaw:
Peter Pettigrew
1960-1981
A brave and loyal friend
Severus did not read them as he walked away.