Ahhhh, last chapter! It is done! Thanks everyone who read, and commented, and such. I hope you enjoyed it.

The sword of Gryffindor was lighter than it looked, though certainly not fragile. Its litheness was part of the Goblin magic, and one of the reasons why their swords were so valuable. This sword in particular had been contested over throughout the ages, and not merely for its legacy. It also happened to be one of the finest swords ever created in the world.

Severus Snape, having grown up in a home that frequently lacked heat in the winter, was hardened to cold, though not exactly immune to it. Rather, he wore it the way he did his cloak: not really noticing it, though some part of him always knew it was there.

He worried, though, that his challenge might be too much for the boy; could Potter endure that freezing water long enough to prove himself? Yet it had to be done; the sword would not give itself up unless the seeker had truly shown valor.

Severus crept back into the shadows, distant enough to not be seen-he also used an invisibility charm to hide him-but close enough to watch, in case something should go amiss. Now, all that was needed was to make the patronus.

He recalled when Nymphadora's patronus had been sent to the castle, and how Severus had noticed (with some disgust) that it had changed into a dog-like thing. But he understood it, all the same. For the circumstances were rather similar to how Severus had gotten his own.

As a boy, the one thing Severus had failed to do in Defense Against the Dark Arts class was produce a patronus. How could he, though? He and Lily had stopped being friends by then, and he was not much in a circumstance to manage a happy thought. Especially as James and Lily giggled together in their own corner of the classroom and made matching patronuses of stag and doe, though if her gaze were to fall on Severus, her doe immediately evaporated, and she'd hide her face behind her hair. At that time Severus was too distraught and angry to produce even a wisp from his wand, and his N.E.W.T.s marks suffered because of it.

But now, he could manage one, though the way to it was akin to all good things in Severus's life: hard-won, and never lasting very long. However, in this case he focused his intent to a diamond point, and thought of a summer day nearly twenty years ago when he'd made his first friend.

They weren't at the playground the next day. Perhaps he had frightened them off. Though he could scarce believe that, since the witch seemed to be afraid of nothing. He meandered over to the swings, and took the one she'd sat on the day before.

It was late afternoon, and the sky had begun to take on a hazy orange along the horizon. The great smokestack rose up like a slab of gravestone, but the soft scent of summer grass belied this omen, the tiny flowers dotted here and there not funereal, but hopeful little faces growing up toward the sun. Severus felt he understood that hopefulness.

He began to rock slightly on the swing, wondering if he'd been wrong after all. Or perhaps it wasn't that she was afraid; perhaps she was merely disgusted with him.

However, right then, he seemed to see a slight, slender figure approaching the park from a distance-a silhouette Severus recognized from long weeks of keeping watch for it in the bushes. He tried to arrange his face in an expression that wouldn't scare her, though the thrill of excitement and nervousness that darted though him made beads of sweat break out on his forehead.

For a moment, the figure stopped when it was close enough to recognize who sat on the swing; then, it continued inexorably, growing closer and closer till he could see the red hair, first, then the freckles, then the sparkling green of her eyes. No, he hadn't been mistaken: they truly were the color of grass.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, they just studied each other with curiosity. But then, with a great sigh, she sat down on the swing next to him, and said "We can talk better when Tuney's not here."

Severus nodded with agreement. He didn't like that bossy, prickly sister.

"Is it true, then?" the girl asked, a sheen of eagerness in her eyes. "Is it true, what you said? That I have magic?"

"We have magic," Severus corrected her, waving his hands in the air. "You're a witch, and I'm a wizard, and I'm not making it up. When we turn eleven we'll go to a school of witchcraft and wizardry," he added hurriedly, lest she decide to run away again, "and we'll get wands and-"

"Wands?" the girl leaned forward, her eyes growing wide.

"Yes, wands! And we'll learn all sorts of magical things, why, you can even learn to turn into a cat or an owl if you want."

The girl leaned back in her swing and seemed to digest all of this. Then, apparently after coming to a decision, she said "Prove it."

"Huh?"

"Prove you're a wizard."

Severus smiled. If this was all it would take to convince her, then he knew he had triumphed.

But what should he do? Certainly, she wouldn't approve of torturing insects or making passers-by trip on sidewalks. She was a girl, he ought to show her something a girl would like. He remembered how she'd made the flower open and close yesterday. He knew what to do.

Focusing his concentration, he turned his eyes to the grass, where one by one the tiny flowers rose up into the air. He heard her gasp beside him. Next, the flowers formed a line, linked together by their stems, and this delicate filament floated to Lily, where it wrapped round her wrist like a bracelet. It was the most sophisticated bit of magic he'd ever performed, and he felt quite drained afterward, almost faint.

But it had been worth it, to see the expression of awe on her face as she gazed down at the bracelet, then the gentle smile as she said "I'm Lily."

"Severus," he replied with a nod.

"A strange name, 'Severus'," Lily said with a faint frown. Then, her smile widened again as she decided "I like it. It's different."

"Do you like things that are different?" Severus surprised himself by asking.

"I do! Don't you? Though Tuney is the opposite, she always wants to be like everyone else. It's the main reason why we have such big rows, you know. She doesn't understand when I want to do things my way. 'Why can't you do things how other people do them?' she asks. 'Because my way is mine,' I say."

Severus chortled at this in approval, and Lily giggled as well.

"Well, it's true!" Lily insisted. "Wouldn't you rather do things your way than someone else's way?"

"Yes," Severus agreed. "Especially since most people are dunderheads."

"That's not nice," she said, but she giggled again all the same. And, right then, Severus knew that, even beyond what he had hoped, he'd found someone whose soul was the very shape of his own, and that he and she would be excellent friends, perhaps always.

"Did the boy find the sword?"

"He did. He, and Weasley."

"Weasley? I thought he had abandoned them."

"He returned." Pause. "No doubt because of Granger."

"Ah, yes." Dumbledore leaned back in his portrait, smiled.

"A pure-blood chasing a Mudblood," Phineas Nigellus Black muttered in disapproval from his own portrait. "How times have changed."

"Silence!" Severus hissed, standing up from his chair.

"Upon my word. Hogwarts finally has another Slytherin headmaster, and he turns out to be a Muggle-lover."

"Now, Phineas," Dumbledore murmured to the other portrait.

"Go make yourself useful and spy on them," Severus instructed Phineas's portrait.

"I shan't be ordered around, young man."

"Do it."

In a huff, Phineas wandered away from his portrait, leaving the painting an empty frame.

"Now then," Dumbledore said once Phineas was gone, "tell me. What does Voldemort lately?"

"He plans to take over the school, and soon," Severus replied wearily. "There's something he wants here, but he won't say what it is."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore's portrait.

Severus immediately glanced at him, studied him for a moment.

"You know what it is," Severus accused.

"Perhaps."

"Well?"

"I'll only say this: Potter is looking for it too. Whatever you do, ensure the boy gets to it first."

Severus's eyes widened.

"He means to come here?"

"He does."

"But how?"

"My brother will know what to do."

Severus thought about this. Then he said "Once Potter is here, I'll demand the students to bring him to me. In that way-"

"You can keep him safe," Dumbledore finished for him. "And perhaps it would be time to tell him what he needs to know."

"Is Nagini-"

"Not yet, but soon."

Severus sighed, leaned back into his chair.

"You won't be sorry, for the boy's sake?" Dumbledore asked softly.

But right then, Severus hardly knew how to answer.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you."

Lucius Malfoy stood before Severus a shrunken shell of the proud, well-appointed man he'd once been. It hardly surprised Severus, however, since he'd always known that Lucius was a coward, and had the resolve of a sponge.

"Did he say why?" Severus asked coolly, tucking his hands into the sleeves of his robes.

Lucius shook his head.

"Very well, then," Severus said. "Where is he."

Like all things relating to Potter, Severus's plan to capture him had gone terribly awry. Of course the students wouldn't give him up. Of course the professors would rally for him-even Slughorn, Severus was glad to see. The problem was that Severus hadn't been able to impart the necessary information to Potter, because of this. How Severus felt about the acrid hatred Potter directed toward him, or Minerva's cold intent to vanquish Severus, he hardly let himself think about.

Nevertheless, as he joined the Dark Lord at Lucius's bidding, he found that Voldemort kept Nagini close by his side. And Severus knew the time had come. But how was he to manage his final task?

Severus grew cold as he gazed at the snakelike face before him. Behind Severus's grim facade lived a desire that wanted nothing except Voldemort dead. For, he realized now, as surely as he knew his own name, that if it hadn't been for Voldemort, Severus's life would have been exquisitely different. It would have been Spinner's End with the flowers in the parlor instead of Godric's Hollow; it would have been Severus, not Potter, who'd had won Lily as his bride. He'd lately understood what he'd failed to see when he was a boy, which was that Lily had loved him as much as he'd loved her, and perhaps would have taken the name Snape instead of Potter, if only Severus hadn't been such a fool.

Severus knew-had always known-that the rivalry between Potter and himself had been over her, from the very beginning. Not even Severus could rebuke James for fancying her like he did. Who wouldn't? In some strange way, Severus understood James perhaps better than anyone else had done. For it took a peculiar sort of man-one who loved daring and the dangerous heat of fire, one who enjoyed risk, and a certain amount of pain-to endure what was necessary in order to be claimed by Lily Evans.

What was to become of Severus, should Voldemort be vanquished at last, Severus hardly knew. He'd like to think he could go somewhere and live out the rest of his life in placid solitude. At this point in his thirty-eight years, peace was about the only thing he could bring himself to hope for. But he doubted he would have even that.

Lost in his thoughts as he was, he'd only really begun to pay attention to the Dark Lord's words when he seemed to be speaking of Severus having been a good servant. Suddenly, a dart of fear pierced Severus's soul, for he knew what was coming, and he was powerless to stop it-

NO! It was too soon! It was too soon! The physical pain of Nagini's bite was nothing to the agony he felt that he must leave the boy to carry on without his help, without his having told the boy the necessary information, without having told him why...

All was lost. He had failed in his final task. Surely, nothing would stop Voldemort now.

Lily, please forgive me.

But then-no, his eyes deceived him. It couldn't be! It couldn't be possible that Potter himself had materialized out of nowhere, and now knelt down next to him trying to stanch the wound with his own fingers!

And then, Severus knew.

Thank you, he thought with a wave of relief. Whether or not she was truly there, he knew it had been her doing somehow that the boy was now before him, right at the very moment he needed to be.

Severus could feel his life force slipping away, so he acted quickly. The boy of course knew what was happening, and took the memories Severus produced. Dumbledore had been right: the boy was remarkable, if only because he understood this crucial thing without being told. Severus had known only one other person in the world with that ability, and she-

"Look...at...me," Severus whispered to the boy. He had to see. Just one more time. Lily, please.

The boy did as Severus bid him, and there was wonder in his expression, but also something else: for, as Severus gazed into Harry's eyes-Lily's eyes-Severus saw no hatred in there at all; instead, there was something he'd never expected to see from James Potter's son, but which he would have expected from Lily's. Compassion. Even after everything, the boy was able to manage that for Severus, whom he'd always regarded as an enemy.

Right then, Severus realized hadn't had to look for her in mirrors or in dreams or in Pensieves; she'd been here all this time, if only Severus had permitted himself to see it. And as the green blurred into murky shadow, Severus was released from this morbid life with the blessed knowledge that he'd been absolved at last.

Epilogue

"I don't see why we have to do this," moaned Ron as he dumped a handful of books into a box.

"Well, Headmaster McGonagall's too busy with putting the castle in order," Hermione explained for the hundredth time, skillfully sending several books into another box with her wand. "And Snape had no next of kin as far as she knew."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Ron pointed out. "Why not-Achoo! Blimey, all this dust, didn't that greasy git ever clean around here?"

"Like you're one to talk, Ron!"

"But why us and not Draco or someone? Someone who actually liked Snape, see?"

"That's a terrible thing to say, Ronald," Hermione said with impatience. "He saved Harry's life, remember? And he helped to defeat Voldemort! So you should speak more nicely about him."

"Doesn't mean he still wasn't a greasy git."

"Ron's right, Hermione," Harry suddenly said. "I don't think Snape would appreciate it too much if he knew we were trying to make him out as fluffy and adorable."

The trio all laughed together at this, but then Hermione shook her head, said "Poor Snape. All this time he was in love with your mum. That must have been hard."

"Hard for her, you mean," Ron observed. "Imagine having that greasy Snape chasing after you. Ugh."

"What's it like, Harry? Knowing that all this time Snape was in love with your mum?"

"It's strange," Harry admitted. "But I agree with you, Hermione. It is sad. Ron, what if Hermione had ended up with Viktor Krum instead of you?"

"Oi, mate!"

"Exactly! See what I mean?"

"I suppose. But I still don't see why we have to clean up all his rubbish instead of someone else."

"Because he was Harry's guardian in a sense, Ron."

"It's just so bloody though, isn't it? I'm still trying to wrap it round my head that Snape was on our side all this time."

Harry knew exactly what Ron meant. It was difficult to break the habit of hating Snape after having done so since he was eleven years old. In a way it seemed Harry's world had been turned upside-down, akin to the way it had when he'd learned he was a wizard. Everything he thought he'd understood was wrong. And it made him sad.

For, what if Snape hadn't hated him so? What if Harry hadn't looked so much like his father? What would it have been like if he'd had a friendship with Snape instead of being at loggerheads with him all this time? While Harry didn't think anything could convince him that Snape was loads of laughs, there had to have been something about him that made Dumbledore trust him so much, apart from his devotion to Harry's mother. There had to have been something about Snape that made his mother choose him as her best friend until it all fell apart. He wondered what it had been. Perhaps it had something to do with what he'd seen in Snape's eyes right before he died. But now, he'll never know for certain.

"I'm starved," Ron said, standing up from a dusty pile of books. "Let's go find the house elves and get a bite to eat. Thank Merlin the kitchens weren't destroyed."

"You two go ahead," Harry said, gazing thoughtfully at the cabinet where the Pensieve was kept.

"Want us to bring you anything, mate?" Ron asked as he and Hermione went to the door.

"That'd be great."

When he was alone in the Headmaster's chambers at last, Harry slowly crept to the Pensieve's cabinet, and opened the door. The memories that Snape had given him still swirled placidly beneath the surface. But, above the Pensieve itself, there stood a phalanx of shimmering vials, rows and rows and rows of them: some tall, some short, some ornate, some plain, but all of them containing the silvery mist of memory. And Harry knew, somehow, that every single one of them held the last remaining recollections of his mother.

Perhaps, one day, Harry would look through them, the way one looks through an old photograph album. He suspected Snape-no, Severus-wouldn't mind; in fact, maybe Severus would be glad to know that someone still living would cherish her memory, the way Severus himself had cherished it all these many years.

-The End.