Hermione, Ron, Neville, George and Ginny found Harry at last, still sitting beside Headmaster Snape, unwilling to leave, unwilling to face the fact that he'd lost yet another person from his life. Even seeing Ginny, which should have made his heart leap for joy, only slightly tempered his despair.
Hermione sent George to get any other teacher they could find and notify them of Snape's death. Then she turned to Harry.
"I'm sorry, Harry," was all she could say.
McGonagall arrived first, followed close behind by Flitwick. She ran forward and knelt by the motionless man, taking his hand in hers. "Oh, Severus," she choked out. She drew her wand and together with Flitwick, they uttered as many charms as they knew, to no avail. Minerva knelt once more, her hands to his chest. "We're too late." Flitwick stood by, with a comforting hand on her shoulder and joined her in tears.
"We should take him to Madame Pomfrey and prepare his body," he said gently. "It's all we can do now."
Professor McGonagall nodded and accepted his assistance at standing. She turned slowly to the students assembled and said "We need to carry the Headmaster's body to the Great Hall, where Madame Pomfrey is helping the injured." She seemed as though she wanted to say more, but could not. She gestured to George and the others to help carry the body to the Great Hall.
Harry looked uncomfortably at his friends, who all seemed to feel the same feeling as him, that to touch Professor Snape was a boundary that he would never have wanted them to cross in life. Realizing the absurdity of this now as well as the need to get him to Madame Pomfrey, he steeled himself and joined the others in lifting the body. They bore him down from the tower in silence, other than the occasional choke and gasp of one, followed by a round from all the others.
Approaching the Great Hall, they witnessed again the scope of the events of the day. Usually filled with hungry, chattering students arranged by house table, the Great Hall was now a field hospital, filled with beds, the beds filled with the injured and the dead. The only sounds were of Madame Pomfrey giving orders to any able-bodied person or house-elf standing nearby and some cries of pain.
McGonagall approached her and whispered in her ear. Poppy dropped her clipboard, then picked it up again and hurried to Snape and the students. "Put him here," she said, conjuring another bed. Once he was laid out, the students backed away and allowed the Healer to do what she needed to. She fell to her work, touching his wrists, touching his neck, opening his eyes, her wand in constant motion, a steady stream of incantations from her mouth. At last, she stepped back, saying only, "I'm sorry."
McGonagall embraced her friend and colleague as they looked on helplessly.
Madame Pomfrey said, "We will prepare his body, but now the living come first." She and Flitwick pulled up the sheet and covered Snape's face.
Pomfrey took a look at her clipboard, then turned, ready to minister once again to the living. As she strode back down the rows of beds, the door to the Great Hall burst open.
"He's not ready yet, no! Don't give up! I've had a vision!"
Professor Trelawney rushed in, a look of terror in her face, and took hold of both Flitwick's and McGonagall's arms, entreating them to listen. "He's not dead. Please, do more. I've seen, I've seen. His child. Don't give up!"
At this, her eyes glazed over, rolled back into her head, and she fainted to the floor.
Harry thought to himself that, although she'd never been right in any class he'd ever been in, she's also never looked like this before. "Madame Pomfrey, she may be right this time. Is there anything else we can do?"
"I'm sorry, Harry, but anything we would do now would be futile. He's lost to much blood and there is a lot of venom in his system. There are no signs of life in him and I've used every healing charm i know of." She looked at him sadly, sympathizing with the urge to believe, the urge to hope despite all the evidence against it.
"What would you do if he did have life signs? Please, we have to try, we can't just give up. He never gave up on me, not even when I rejected him, not even when all of us did. Just tell me what to do, I'll let you go tend to the others," he said, desperately. The others nodded their agreement, still stunned by Trelawney's spectacle.
Madame Pomfrey considered this for a moment, looking from Snape, motionless, and Trelawney, also motionless. "Ok," she said. "You can administer the Salve of Salvation." She snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared. "Go get the Salve of Salvation, I think it's next to bed number 12." The house elf scurried off and returned in moments with the salve, in a large bucket.
"What's in the Salve of Salvation," Hermione asked. "I've never heard of it."
"Not sure I remember. I haven't made a Potion in years, Professor Snape always makes…." Her voice trailed off. Then she snapped back into the moment. "Good thing he made a lot lately, must've known we'd need it. This needs to be applied to as much of the surface of the skin as possible, especially any injured area. Start with his neck, that's the freshest wound. I'll be rounding if you need me." And she strode off.
McGonagall took charge. Stepping over Trelawney, she ordered "All right students, let's get to work. Ginny, start applying the salve to his neck wounds. Ron, George, get started on those buttons and let's see if there are other injuries that are not as obvious."
Nothing could have prepared the students for what they found. It took some effort to remove the robe and jacket, revealing the blood-covered shirt. After pulling Snape's arms from his bloodied shirt and cutting off his undershirt, they saw scars upon scars, injuries on injuries. Some new and swollen, but countless others older and fading. Hermione directed them. "These look newer, start here. Now these, they are older. And that looks like an old one there, too."
If lifting the Headmaster clothed felt like a violation, touching his bare skin felt like an act of war, but they pressed on, scooping out the foul-smelling grey pasty salve. Where it was applied, they felt a stinging heat in their fingers, but continued.
Trelawney had regained consciousness and sat forward, holding her head in her hands.
"We can't give up, my vision….It was so strong, so clear."
Neville sat next to her and put an arm around her, saying nothing, but offering what comfort he could.
When there seemed to be no further scar to be covered, the group stood back. "How long does it take to work, Professor?" asked Ron, looking skeptical.
"I have no idea, I've never seen anyone receive this much, nor have I tried it on someone so...well...far gone before," she replied, looking intently at Snape. "George, please go get Madame Pomfrey and let her know we've finished applying the salve."
George returned with Madame Pomfrey directly. Again, she felt for a pulse, inspected his neck injuries, muttered spells and incantations, and put her wand to his chest. Nothing. She shook her head sadly.
Harry choked on his words, tears that he couldn't previously have imagined shedding for this man now staining his cheeks. "Severus Snape was a good man, he saved me, gave his life for me, for all of us. He's been helping us all along, facing the Dark Lord, deceiving the greatest Dark Wizard the world has ever seen. He paid for his mistakes his whole life and you can see the price he paid all over his body. And now he has paid with his life. If I can ever say I was half the wizard he was, I will consider it high praise."
"You'd need to actually do homework, Potter, if you ever want to be half the wizard I am, so you have nothing to be concerned about."
Harry choked and turned, as the others began to look about in confusion, most eyes falling on George, who looked quite taken aback at the silence accusation. Surely even he wouldn't be so cheeky as to imitate the dead professor.
Snape's eyes opened slightly and he turned his head. A shout of laughter mixed with incalculable relief went up when they saw life returning to Snape's face. Harry fell upon the man, embracing him, joy spreading as he joined the laughter.
McGonagall and Flitwick rushed forward with the students to surround the bed. Madame Pomfrey looked on in wonder, as the many scars were now fading and his color, what little there was of it, slowly returned, the pale grey skin becoming more pink. In disbelief, she took his wrist to confirm his living.
"He has a pulse now! The salve worked, I've never seen it work before. This is miraculous!" Madame Pomfrey exclaimed.
Harry fell back with the others in amazement and relief. Maybe some combination of the asphodel and salve worked, maybe some deeper magic. Who knew? Harry couldn't have imagined feeling so relieved over Snape's recovery even an hour before, but that now felt like a lifetime away, a part of his past that he was happy to put behind him. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, and he put a comforting arm around her. Harry now took note of Ginny's presence and reached for her hand. He began to realize that a future was possible now, but resolved to think about that later, to enjoy the moment now.
McGonagall and Flitwick came forward to draw up the covers over Snape's exposed chest, as Madame Pomfrey began to shoo everyone away, saying "He'll need all the rest he can get, I'm sure. Let's find a robe for him, some water, and a meal, if he can eat. You kids, return to your common rooms. You could probably stand to rest as well."
Resting would have to wait, as news of the victory spread and more and more people wanted to hear the stories of the past year, the fight, and the role of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the Headmaster.
Harry retold the story as many times as asked, passing along the story of Snape's loyalty, but leaving out the parts about his own family. Admiration and understanding followed the initial surprise, which only underscored to Harry the man's talents and self-control under pressure.
Once the giddiness over the victory faded, mourning for lost friends and family set in, paired with seeking solace with those still living. At long last, sleep came, with it a blissful time of release. Harry, despite his exhaustion, lay awake longer than he expected, enjoying the quiet and adjusting to the notion that the terrors of the past years might be over now. His thoughts turned to Snape and his admiration grew as he considered all he knew now. They both had a difficult upbringing, albeit for different reasons. His own father had bullied and humiliated him, fueling adolescent anger and resentment, then trying and ultimately failing to capture the heart of perhaps his only real friend. Harry could easily cast himself in the role of an angry teenager, the appeal of a route to power and respect laid out before you. The horror of realizing too late where that path led, and already being trapped within it. The difficulty of finding that the way to survive would not be a rescue to anything like freedom or release, but an interminable penance, full of danger, with few comforts of any kind. And Snape had risen to the tasks set before him, deceiving Voldemort for years, deceiving him, knowing that it would be dangerous to show anything to Harry, given that Harry and Voldemort seemed to have a connection in their consciousness. Driven, at its core, by a capacity for love that no one could have imagined.
Harry wondered what more he might have known, had he demonstrated better skill at Occlumency. As he pondered those unknowable things, sleep at last overtook him, and he slept until well past noon the next day, his mind free from both nightmares and dreams.