Avenge

By SW-0608

Rated T for violence, (PG-13 mostly; guns, attempted suicide, superhero style fights, HP magic casting, and other action-scenes) mentions of past Death Eater activity, (mentions/non-graphic descriptions of torture and murder etc.) nudity, (just Bruce after Hulking Out) and mentions of child abuse, (Snape's muggle father, child-kidnapping).

How did the greatest Potion Master and spy of his time ever succumb to the likes of Nagini? The answer: he didn't. Having 'died', Severus Snape leaves the past behind and is determined to live over again. But Fate isn't finished with him yet, and another war looms on the horizon.

(I have recently discovered the existence of a mysterious concept known as the 'crossover'. More specifically, the HP/Avengers Crossover. Why are all these stories just about Harry? I wondered. Surely our favorite Half-Blood Prince is way cooler than the-boy-who-lived …
Thus was born Avenge, the Crossover that features Severus Snape and the Avengers. I hope it is original, and fun. But don't expect this to be updated too often. My main fic is still Child of the Dark Moon.)

A~HP~V~HP~E~HP~N~HP~G~HP~E~HP~R~HP~S

Prologue:

There were surely few men alive who could claim to have attended their own funeral. While stuck in his home, recovering and stir-crazy and still receiving his Daily Prophet, he had mentally debated over whether or not to go, especially when he read the sappy nonsense that Skeeter woman had written about the upcoming event. It was almost enough to convince him to show up as himself rather than a nondescript individual just to see what crazy theory she would come up with to explain his apparent resurrection.

He jests.

He wouldn't reveal himself for all the Galleons in Britain. How could he? He hadn't felt so free in years. In fact, he didn't think he had ever felt so … unburdened. His task was finally done, his vow fulfilled, his life's work accomplished … what more was there for him here? If he had survived the final battle, the most he could hope for was years of trials, suspicion, and weepy idiots apologizing or deifying him. Honestly, he could do without all that. The sentimentality of such fools would be enough to make him jump off a bridge.

Better to die, and start anew.

The day was gray, but hot. May was not usually an overly warm month in England, but today was rather hot. Thank Merlin that the clouds obscured the sun, so it wasn't really too unpleasant. He stood apart from most of the crowd, leaning against the walls of Hogwarts with his arms crossed as he used to do as a child. The appearance altering potion he had taken before coming had turned his hair thick and gray, filled out his narrow face, and given him a bulbous nose and light gray eyes. If anybody here suspected that the dead man was hiding under such a face, he'd eat his shoe.

He silently observed the attendees, watched for those he knew, and almost smirked as he mentally mocked the maudlin speakers here that tried to paint him as a tragic hero. He rolled his eyes and scoffed at the sentimental speeches, the pompous nonsense, and even the posthumous Order of Merlin, First Class he was awarded for his 'bravery'. Ridiculous theatre, that's what this was. It wasn't as if a medal could be enjoyed by a dead man, was it?

There were not as many people here as there had been for Albus Dumbledore's funeral, he observed. But that was to be expected. He was rather shocked at the large number of those who actually did come. The ceremony was brief, despite the dreadful theatrics of Minister Shacklebolt, Headmistress McGonegall, and the rest, with their ridiculously 'regretful and solemn' speeches. If he had been a bloody Hufflepuff, he might have been touched by the whole thing. Who knew that he was such a wonderful person? But he was too cynical to believe their nonsense. He was a realist, and he knew that humans tended to wax poetic about the dead. He simply sneered and shook his head, knowing that once all of the dunderheads were all finished 'paying their respects' they would forget about him and move on with their lives. History books would dissect him, investigative journalists would turn up 'dirt', and the controversy would never end.

He could just see Rita Skeeter's next bestseller now: Severus Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?

He realized too late that he probably should have just stayed home. This was nauseating.

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Once the crowds cleared the tomb-site, Severus Snape was finally free to approach alone. He could admit that he was curious about what his grave looked like. All he had seen so far was a big black rectangle. Most of the people (those who hadn't left directly after) were up near the Hogwarts entrance hall for the refreshments. Their chatter faded behind him as he strolled around the lake, coming to stop before the black marble slab that housed his supposed mortal remains. It was so odd, visiting one's own grave. The chairs in their orderly rows in the grass, the dome of gray sky, and the stillness of the heavy air made him almost feel that he was in a church. Carefully, as if dreading to disturb the sacred hush of this spot, he approached his tomb and looked down at the words carved carefully into the black stone:

SEVERUS SNAPE
Jan. 9 1960 – May 2 1998

"For the first shall be last and the last shall be first."

Severus snorted drily and poked the slab of smooth marble with the toe of his shoe. What a ridiculous moniker to stick on his grave, of all people. Well, he supposed that it wasn't any less syrupy than "The last enemy to be destroyed is death". At the reminder of Lily, he sobered and glared down at the marble tomb. It really was far too nice for the likes of him. Although, he had to admit that the black was a nice touch. He would have vomited if it was white for heaven's sake. He sighed and reached up to gingerly prod his healing throat. Concealed under the gray turtleneck shirt he wore, the nasty wounds left by Nagini were slowly healing, but gone was his fine, silky voice. He would speak with a rasp for the rest of his life, likely. But at least he was alive, and free. No more masters. No more dunderheads. No more England. He should be rejoicing in his newfound freedom.

So why did his chest feel so tight?

With a tired sigh, Severus sat down on the black stone, gazing out over the lake. The giant squid put up a tentacle with a splash, and Severus' lips twitched into an almost-smirk, imagining that the creature was giving him a cheeky hello. Not far away, the glowing white slab of Albus Dumbledore's marble tomb almost seemed to wink at him. His face twisted in pain and he deliberately turned away. He didn't need to be reminded. His chest ached more fiercely and Severus asked himself again what he was doing here. It was stupid, reckless, and selfish. He could be spotted, someone might suspect, and hadn't he learned anything in his time as a spy? But he felt drawn here, somehow. He had needed to come. He knew that.

Was he looking for closure? Farewell, perhaps? Hogwarts was the closest thing to a home he had ever had. Minerva was like a stern aunt. Albus like an eccentric, annoying father. Filius and Hagrid like his irritating brothers, the clever one and the innocent idiot. Even Trelawny and Flich seemed to have had a place in his ridiculous dysfunctional 'family'. He was leaving them all without a good-bye, without apologies, and without understanding. He wanted to be free, but he also wanted to leave his life behind with as clean a conscience as possible. It wasn't fair, to feel so torn.

He must have been deep in thought indeed, not to notice the scrawny kid who silently approached him and sat in the grass nearby.

"Did you know him?" the young man asked quietly.

Severus jerked in alarm, berating himself for letting his guard down so easily and being surprised like this. Reaching up to his head, he was assured that his hair was still thick and curly, (and hopefully still iron-gray) and he could only trust that his other physical changes were still in place. Satisfied that he wasn't going to have to attempt a wandless Obliviate, (since his wand was currently stuck under a thousand-kilo slab of marble) he turned to face the young man who so rudely snuck up on him. He froze. Even his thoughts turned blank for a terrifying second.

Potter.

Of course it was Potter.

Curse that brat a hundred ways from Sunday; would that idiot Gryffindor never cease to stalk him? There he sat with his glasses and messy hair and Lily's eyes, and he looked so calm and strange that Severus wanted to take points just to see a flash of indignation on that slack face.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped, his voice hoarse and rasping so badly that he winced.

"I just asked you if you knew him, that's all," Potter shrugged. He looked down at the ground and started to poke at the blades of grass like a bored child, making Severus sneer. The last time he saw the brat, the boy was taking his memories and gazing into his eyes, finally obeying a direct order of his without complaining or rebelling.

"Knew who?" Severus retorted, in a very deliberate tone. He was reasonably sure he knew who Potter was talking about, but it never hurt to be sure.

"Professor Snape," Potter clarified, peeking up through the fringe of his messy hair. "I guess you must have known him. Well, I mean, everybody who came to the funeral knew him in some way or other … I just … You're sitting here all alone while everyone else is over there." Potter waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the gossiping guests, all eating cake and drinking punch to celebrate the passing of the great dungeon bat. Dunderheads.

"You're over here as well," Severus sneered, coughing a bit when his damaged vocal chords rebelled against his normal tone. "What is your excuse?" he demanded hoarsely once he could speak again.

"I don't want to talk to them," Potter murmured. He looked down and started shredding the grass blades again. "I just … I came over here because I thought …"

"You wanted to be alone," Severus finished. For once, he didn't sneer. The boy was looking up at him now, and those green eyes were so haunted and sad …

No child should be fighting in a war, especially not the way Mr. Potter had. He would be surprised if the boy ever recovered from the trauma. Severus felt a twinge of regret, mixed with anger at the old man he had slain. Dumbledore had taken this boy's childhood, for the greater good. Lord only knew if Potter could come back from it.

"Yeah," Potter sighed. He still didn't look up. "It's just … I wish I could have understood him better. From the start, you know? But I was just a kid. A selfish, scared little boy who couldn't look any further than his own nose …"

Severus rolled his eyes and didn't answer. He agreed with that. But it wouldn't have helped his case if instead of being self-centered and defensive, he had been an inquisitive Hufflepuff determined to get past his well-constructed defenses. That would have turned out badly.

"You know … I always thought he hated me," Potter said softly.

Severus stiffened, not sure how to feel. Was Potter going to inadvertently spout his feelings about him, to him? How many times over the past couple of years had he relished the feeling of snarling in that arrogant brat's face, "Don't. Lie. To. Me."And now he was actually going to get the truth? He wasn't certain how to feel or react. The boy would likely start ranting about how unfair his Potions Professor was and whine: 'boo-hoo, poor little me, bullied by the greasy git my father liked to bully'. By Merlin, it was enough to turn his stomach.

"I thought he hated me," Potter repeated, still not looking up. "But he actually didn't. Not really. I was used to people hating me, see. The only way I learned to deal with that without going insane was … I dunno, just to fight back, I guess. It made things worse, but I couldn't stop. You heard of a vicious circle? A causes B which in turn causes A? It was like that. We both went at each other, made things worse, and mutually hated each other. Only I didn't really know what hate was. And he had more important things to hate than me."

Severus snorted softly. So far, the boy was being surprisingly … insightful. True, he never hated Harry, per se. But the brat got on his nerves, and reminded him of things he would rather forget forever, and he was such an arrogant little Gryffindor! TO make things worse, he had sworn that ridiculous vow to protect the boy and he ended up (mostly) defending the child from his own stupidity and cleaning up his messes after. It was exhausting, not mention his other duties. AT times, he had wondered if it was even worth it.

But now, at the end of a war, with the Dark Lord gone at last, and the Boy-Who-Just-Would-Not-Die sitting in front of him, calm and reasonable, and even respectful, Severus could perhaps say that it was … somewhat worth it.

"Professor Snape was my teacher for six years," Potter clarified, looking up finally and fixing him with those (suspiciously wet) emerald eyes. Severus couldn't look away. After getting a good look at them in the Shrieking Shack, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to look away from those mesmerizing eyes on his own. Was it just him, or was the green more brilliant now than it was then? They reminded him of a killing curse, and almost seemed to give off their own light. What had those eyes seen, as they closed in death? How had he even come back from such a thing? Even the scar on his forehead was no longer livid and prominent. It was a faint white line, like any other scar; yet more proof that the Dark Lord was gone for good.

"What did you learn from your teacher?" Severus heard himself asking. He hated his harsh, rasping voice. In his old, silky tones, he could have made Potter shiver with fear had he asked that question in the same way. As it was, his question came out sounding terse and gruff.

"I learned a lot," Potter said honestly, though his thin cheeks warmed with a flush. "But I never credited him for it. He taught me my first dueling spell, Expelliarmus, and it saved my life I don't know how many times. He taught me that life isn't fair, fighting the Dark Arts is dirty and brutal, and he taught me that I shouldn't judge a book by its cover. He taught me that courage means sometimes doing the despicable, so that others can do the heroic. He taught me that … he taught me that I was never fighting alone. Even though I didn't realize that until after he was dead."

"Funny, I thought he was a Potions Professor," Severus coughed, more than a little disconcerted and uncomfortable with the words that had just poured out of the bloody Potter's mouth. Had the boy been hit with a Blarney Jinx? "Didn't you ever learn anything in class, or were you too busy being an insufferable child?"

Potter smiled ruefully at the question. "You know, it's funny. I had to meet his younger self before I respected anything he did in that classroom, and by then, he wasn't even teaching Potions. Ironic, isn't it? I told one of my friends that the old book I was using was a better teacher than Professor Snape, and then I find out the book was Professor's Snape's. Crazy huh?"

Severus ground his teeth at the reminder of the Half-Blood Prince's Potions book, but he didn't trust himself to reply without blowing everything to smithereens.

"I made a lot of mistakes over the years, and a lot of wrong assumptions about him in particular," Potter went on, a sad tone to his voice. "So much grief in my life could have been avoided if I'd just listened to him. Professor Dumbledore told me over and over again to trust Professor Snape. But I never did. My … my godfather would be alive if I'd trusted him. Bloody hell, he'd still be alive if I hadn't been such an arrogant arse and chased him out of Hogwarts and just stopped to think …" Potter trailed off, a look of genuine grief on his face as he turned and gazed out over the lake.

Severus was baffled and speechless. Potter had absolutely no reason to be spewing all of this nonsense to a complete stranger sitting on Snape's tomb unless he somehow meant it. He narrowed his eyes as he figured it out. The boy had survivor's guilt. He had post-traumatic-stress-disorder. He was feeling guilty, so he was painting his past with unicorns and rainbows to try and console himself. It was something he had seen fairly often with other victims of war, but he had always been too jaded to follow such a morose impulse.

"Will you get your head out of the clouds, boy?" he snapped, putting more force into his words than he meant to. "Severus Snape was a cruel, selfish, sadistic, nasty-tempered man. He was not a hero, nor was he someone to admire. His death, gruesome as it may have been, was deserved. He was a traitor, a spy, and an absolute bastard. Had he not died in the battle he would have faced a lifetime of criminal charges, perhaps Azkaban. I think he preferred to die quickly and have done with his miserable existence."

Potter stared at him, mouth partly open in surprise.

"And close your mouth," Severus sneered. "You'll catch flies." He coughed into his elbow and wished he had brought a throat-soothing potion. His vocal chords were burning.

Potter closed his mouth with a click, but his eyes burned with intensity. "You're wrong," the boy said firmly. "He wasn't a coward. Yes, he was complicated and cruel and bad-tempered, but he was also brave, and he did what was needed, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard."

"What do you know about it?" Severus snarled, his damaged throat giving his voice a remarkably scary undertone. Hmm, maybe he could learn to like this new, gravelly voice.

"I know more than you," Potter retorted.

"How arrogant of you," Severus laughed at the irony, unable to resist the dig at Potter's superiority complex. "To assume that you know Severus Snape better than I!"

"I think it's knew, not know," Potter replied, his face barely twitching into a frown. "He gave me something very precious, and I think it helped me see him as a human being, rather than a … whatever you called him."

Severus glared at the cheeky brat, his heart thumping hard. He had slipped up in using present tense rather than past. He mustn't do so again. The brat wasn't the brightest boy in the world, but if he was given enough clues, he would be all over the secret in no time.

"Regardless," Severus seethed, waving his hand dismissively. "Cease and desist from your efforts to turn the memory of Severus Snape into that of a hero and a martyr. He would have been appalled at today's display and would much prefer to fall into obscurity and be forgotten."

Potter shrugged uneasily. "Shacklebolt planned the funeral," he muttered. "I actually suggested that they bury Snape in Godric's Hollow … but Professor McGonegall wanted him here instead … near Professor Dumbledore."

Severus snorted again. "Oh yes, bury the murderer beside his victim. How … tasteful."

"I know," Potter said thoughtfully. "But good taste aside, I don't think Professor Dumbledore would have minded. I think the Headmaster was the only real friend Professor Snape had, near the end."

There didn't seem to be anything more to be said. Severus didn't know what to make of this side of Potter: this relaxed boy who wasn't defensive or planning mischief or fighting for his life. This boy who was surprisingly astute and thoughtful and strangely poetic. This boy who could forgive his tormentor of six long years simply because of a few memories. Severus still recalled the memories he had given, and some weren't exactly meant to be spilled. But he had been in pain and falling into delirium and he had simply shoved the memories out. Everything connected to the boy, his final task, and Lily's eyes hovering in front of his gaze … While it was humiliating to know that Potter now knew things about him that even Minerva had never known, it did give him a certain bit of satisfaction to see that the memories had been good for the boy. He was far more respectful when talking about Snape than he had ever been while talking to him.

For several minutes, Severus and Potter said nothing, simply watching the rippling lake and the guests of the funeral still milling about the entrance. But far from being uncomfortable, the two men sat in companionable silence. The birds started to call out from the Forbidden Forest and a breeze picked up, stirring the heavy, humid air. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the breeze smelled damp, and Severus felt the urge to smile. He loved thunderstorms. How fitting that there would be one on the day 'he' was buried. But would anyone bother to acknowledge that fact? Draco might, but he wouldn't publicize it. Few others knew of his unhealthy obsession with storms. He would simply enjoy it, and not bother with caring if anyone else knew.

"What do you reckon he would have done with his life?" Potter suddenly asked, his voice quiet and hesitant. "I mean, if there was a way for him to start over … do you think he would?"

Severus glanced incredulously over at the boy in the grass, who looked remarkably pensive. Was Potter actually asking such an asinine question?

"The point is moot," Severus grumbled. "He is dead."

"Humour me," Potter urged. "You knew him best. What do you think Professor Snape would do with freedom? I doubt he'd go back to teaching."

Severus snorted, but he gave the question some thought. He really didn't have specific plans for his own new life, but ideas were floating around. Perhaps … perhaps talking about them, (even if it was with Potter) might help him to clarify his thoughts. Potter was better than nothing, and he was being … tolerable, today.

"I …" Severus coughed. "I suppose he might have left the country. To start over. He … never traveled much when he was young, and I think he would have … liked to."

Potter nodded. "Travel's a good idea," he said encouragingly. "But what do you think he'd do? Where do you think he'd go?"

"I don't know," Severus snapped. "How can you expect me to know how a dead man thinks?"

"Just … what do you think he'd be trying to do? If he traveled?"

Severus was silent for several minutes. He really didn't want to answer aloud because it made him sound like a bloody Hufflepuff. But this was a dead man they were talking about. Surely, with Potter thinking of his memory as an honorary Gryffindor for Merlin's sake, the brat's opinions couldn't go much lower.

"I believe …" Severus said slowly, refusing to look at the boy while he forced the words out. "He may have wanted to … make amends, somehow. For the suffering he caused. The crimes he committed. To make restitution, he might … might have helped … people." He trailed off, feeling ridiculous, and glanced up to glare at the cheeky brat.

To his disgust, Potter was looking at him calmly, those awful green eyes almost seeming to pierce his soul. "That … yeah," the boy murmured, swallowing hard. "That's a good idea."

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Mr. Potter," he drawled. "Don't tell me that you are using me, a complete stranger, to get career ideas. Isn't that what your head of house is for?"

Potter's mouth twitched again. "The Sorting Hat actually wanted me in Slytherin," he said quietly, almost conspiratorially. "Does that count?"

Severus stared at the abominable brat in horror. Was the boy implying what he thought he was implying? "I have no idea what you are insinuating," he spat, standing and moving to leave.

"Hold on," Potter cautioned, throwing a worried glance toward the main gates. "Wait until everybody is gone. Then you can slip out."

"What makesyou think I want to 'slip out'?" Severus demanded, backing away and feeling trapped for the first time since the Shack. Oh Merlin, that awful, horrible Shack. The scene of his greatest nightmares and his most dreadful bouts of weakness. He shut his eyes and tried to suppress the shiver that wracked his body. He really, really should have just stayed home today. He was still not well, and the trauma of that last terrible day was still too close. All he needed was for Potter to discover his secret and blab it all over Britain.

"It's okay," Potter said soothingly, though he looked alarmed. "Merlin … don't … I mean … you're not really … Are you …?"

"What are you babbling on about?" Severus rasped, trying not to look as if he desperately wanted to sit down for a few minutes.

Potter slowly stood and faced him. The brat's face looked rather pasty, but his eyes were shrewd and alert. "You … you're not …" the boy stuttered.

"No, I'm not," Severus said quickly, feeling the first signs of a panic attack coming on. Good lord, he hadn't had one of those in years and years. "He's dead," Severus spat hatefully, clenching his fists tightly at his sides to try and hide their trembling. "And good riddance, right Potter? Never again will the greasy dungeon bat harass you and spoil your fun, am I right? So go celebrate with all your asinine dunderheaded friends and leave Severus Snape in the ground where he belongs!"

Potter stared at the man in stunned amazement, but he did not speak, nor did he move. He just stood there, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost. Well, metaphorically speaking. Severus grew uncomfortable with the staring and folded his arms. It didn't occur to him to simply turn and leave. After all, the last time he ran from the boy, they ended up screaming at each other. He didn't want to attract that sort of attention right now.

"They all want me to be an Auror," Potter suddenly said, shaking off his odd expression. Severus frowned at the odd change of subject, but he didn't comment. "They just … expect me to go on catching dark wizards and such, you know? But I just don't think I want to keep fighting for the rest of my life … I mean, I fought in a war. I don't need more blood on my hands. I need … like you said. I need to help people. To fix some of the bad things I did. I need to … I don't know, heal, instead of hurt."

Severus stared at the flustered boy, unable to reply. What was he supposed to say, anyway?

"Severus Snape is dead," Potter said clearly, looking him in the eye. "But … but that doesn't mean we have to forget him. Yes, he was not a nice person. But he was a courageous soldier too. I … was a soldier in a war as well. I did things, and he did things, that we aren't proud of. So … I guess the only way I can live with myself, is if I do what he would have done and … help people. To make up for all the pain I was a part of."

Severus blinked. The boy wasn't pushing for answers? Demanding explanations? Throwing vitriol in his face? Who was this boy?

"You know," Potter rushed on. "I think … if Severus Snape were still alive, I'd want to tell him I'm sorry, first of all. Sorry for causing him so much grief, for not listening to him, not trusting him … I'm just … I'm sorry. I don't think we ever would have been friends, even if I had let myself be put in Slytherin. But I do think, given time … we might have … respected each other."

"Respect," Severus repeated faintly. He felt weak and disconnected. This … this wasn't what he ever expected from Potter's mouth. Maybe he was delirious. Maybe this was nothing but his fevered imagination. Potter would never talk to him like this, would he? "I didn't think you knew the meaning of the word, Potter," Severus muttered.

Potter's smile was genuine and it was Lily's smile. It was full of life and laughter and mischief, and the brat had the audacity to wink at him. "I suppose I'm respectful to the dead," he replied. "So I guess all Professor Snape had to do to gain my respect was face a giant snake and cry all over me."

"You call him Professor every time you say his name," Severus interrupted abruptly. "Why? You never did before."

Potter's eyes positively twinkled. "He earned my respect, of course," he replied in all seriousness.

"By dying …?"

"No," Potter interrupted firmly. "By trusting me with his memories."

The boy turned to go, a peaceful smile on his face. A scrap of parchment dropped from his pocket and he looked over his shoulder at the stunned man still standing by the black tomb.

"Professor Snape left some stuff in the dungeons," he said casually."If … well, since you were the closest to him and all … If you want to go get it, the password there is 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good'. Right useful to avoid people. Doesn't show ghosts though." The boy paused and suddenly gave him a soft, serious look. "Good luck, sir. I hope … I hope you can live free this time."

And then he was gone.

Severus was left with the Marauder's Map, too stunned to bother formulating a reply.

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Mr. Potter,

You are a dunderhead. I cannot understand why you think sending a dead man a "tuition payment" is a good idea. You send two hundred galleons for Occlumency lessons you never finished, fifty Galleons for every time your pitiful life was saved from untimely death or crippling injury, and what in Merlin's name do you expect me to do with it? But sending it all back would be in bad taste, not to mention rude, so I will put the money to use. Better to be rotting in my pocket than in a Potter vault.

I disagree with much of the maudlin twaddle you spouted on the day of the funeral, namely your naïve belief that we could have 'come to respect one another'. Rubbish. You are not my equal and have never been, that you would earn my respect. But … I suppose you have potential. If you would embrace more of your Slytherin side and stop being such an arrogant Gryffindor about things, I think you could one day be a productive member of society. Of course, this depends on whether or not you got more than two brain cells from your mother. But without mad Dark Wizards around to attempt your murder every year, I expect you could study and apply for several NEWTs in the next year.

I also wish to express my reluctant appreciation for the Ministry-approved portkey you included. Finally, you used The-Boy-Who-Lived for something practical; even if it was only conning some starry-eyed travel agent into approving such an expensive trip. An international portkey to America was not exactly how I pictured beginning a new life, but I will take what I can.

I have obsessively watched the Prophet, and I am mildly surprised that you have indeed kept my secret, even going so far as to prevent an exhuming of my 'corpse' for whatever nefarious purposes those Unspeakables had. I … appreciate it. I had assumed that you would wag your tongue, as you tend to do, and I will admit that you actually do have some brain cells. Likely coupled with a healthy sense of self-preservation.

Despite how this will make me sound like a Hufflepuff, I feel I must give you some much-needed advice, since you seem to be in a listening mood at last.

Be who you are, not who others want you to be. Some may give you advice, others may give you orders. But only you can live your life. Do not make a terrible mistake out of some misplaced sense of duty, or helplessness, or terror. If I had followed my true desires at your age, instead of my thirst for power and fear of helplessness, I would now be the proud owner of a little Potions shop and Apothecary. Perhaps I would be married. I would certainly not be so unhappy. There are regrets, Potter, that will never leave you. But you are young yet. If you wish to heal others, ignore all those who believe that your destiny is to hunt and kill like a rabid wolf. It is your life, Potter. And if anyone has earned the right to choose their life at long last, it is you.

As you say, we have both done terrible things. But I assure you that you exaggerate with regards to yourself. Live, Potter. Live and heal and learn to laugh that obnoxiously happy laugh of yours again. Find a woman who will understand your need to heal and give to others. Fill a home with more miniature Potters and teach them to fly brooms at suicidal speeds. And perhaps, one dark night when the thunder crashes and the rain lashes your windows, a ghost may return from the dead to offer a proper apology for angry words and hateful spite.

Perhaps by that time, that mutual respect you spoke of will have materialized.

(Unsigned)

P.S I am returning your insulting Map back to you. It was helpful, I will admit, but the password is ridiculous and the idiots who enchanted it with their arrogant personalities NEVER shut up and I am unable to hide the map again without another password. Do take it back before I use it to start a fire in my cold stove.

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The young man who read the letter laughed in delight, and he tucked the yellowed piece of muggle paper behind several photographs in his album, content to leave it hidden there for as long as he dared. He actually did consider the wise advice, and 1999 saw a Mr. Harry J. Potter applying for a Healer's internship at St. Mungo's. He was content. There were those who did not approve, those who drifted away from him, but he did not regret his choice.

That same year saw smallpox eradicated from a remote village in Central America, thanks to the skills of a stranger who came among their people from the north. But as suddenly as their mysterious savior had come, he vanished. Many scattered villages in South America, struggling against disease and poverty, saw this same sort of thing happen as the years crawled on. They all described the mysterious Englishman with the dour face and black hair as some saint or god come down to earth. He came and he went like a whisper on the wind, and his cures could only be described as miraculous. But as soon as anyone of importance would take notice, like smoke on the wind he was gone. There was no real pressure to find this mysterious healer. He was helping the helpless, after all, and making the government's job easier. Some gangs and other unsavoury types attempted to stop him from making the lives of their indentured subjects better, but they had less luck than the officials.

The mysterious figure moved from the continent of South America, to Africa, and the same pattern was repeated. Years passed, time moved on, and in small corners of the world, unseen by the great ones of the earth, healing came, and hope bloomed.

The mysterious healer likely would have continued to labour in obscurity, doing penance for his past for the rest of his magically lengthy life, if he had not stumbled upon another doctor, also atoning for past sins in the same manner, and became entwined with his tale. Fate is a strange mistress, and it seemed that fate was not finished with Severus Snape just yet.

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As mentioned above, I am now beginning a Crossover. Having just recently fallen headfirst into the Marvel universe via Disney+, I simply thought it would be awesome for Severus Snape to be battling Loki alongside the Avengers in their first movie. I may go further with it, (into Winter Soldier etc.) but those will likely be separate fics. Let me know what you all think of this idea! I can't think of a good title for this story, so I'm calling it Avenge because, duh, The Avengers, and Snape is kinda 'avenging' his past, taking back control and being nobody's puppet anymore, etc. If any of you have an idea for a better title, I'm all ears!

Thanks for reading and I live for reviews!