This first chapter is a distilled version of an upsetting idea I had one night many years ago.

This is very much a work in progress, so additional tags will be added as the story progresses.


Chapter 1
The Dead Do Not Care

Severus sat on the grass, his forearms resting on his knees and a cigarette dangling from between his fingers, and stared at the other side of the river. The grass swayed in the still air. The river flowed soundlessly past.

He felt like he did during the summer he turned 17, miserable and alone on a dirty, abandoned embankment. He wore his father's old button-down with the frayed cuffs and the second-hand trousers his mother rescued from a bin like a long-despised costume he had forgotten to to throw away long ago. He stared at his hands, smoother and thinner than they had been for years, the stains of years of potion-making and smoking wiped away. But if he squinted, he could see them, the signs of the rough life cut short.

From the other side of the river, he could hear raucous voices and bubbly laughter.

"Aren't you going to join them?" Albus Dumbledore said, cutting into Severus's solitude. His long, amber-colored robes brushed silently over the grass as he moved to stand beside Severus. He looked the same as he did the night he died, his deep wrinkles framed by long white hair and his white beard tucked ridiculously into his belt. Severus looked away.

Severus brought the cigarette to his lips, but it was more from habit that craving. He could not taste the paper and filter. He could not smell the smoke wafting from the sweet tobacco. "She refused to see me," he said, taking a drag.

"That is a pity," Albus said. He slowly lowered himself to the ground and sat beside Severus. He stretched his legs out in front of him, the robes pulled up high enough to reveal a pair of colourful knitted socks. "I, too, have some trouble speaking to my loved ones. Particularly those that passed away while holding a grudge against me."

From the corner of Severus's eye, he could almost see the red-haired young man Albus once was. He tried not to look at him directly, lest the illusion fell away.

"I still hold onto hope," Albus continued, his voice soundly like that of a much younger man, "that I will be able to speak to them once more, but I'm afraid it will never be." The corner of his lips pulled upwards slightly. "Death doesn't allow for growth. Doesn't allow for change."

Severus stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. It burned, but there was no heat to feel.

"As we were in life, we continue to be in death," Albus said with a sagely nod of his head.

She would never forgive me. Severus lifted his head and stared at the far bank. If nothing changed here, would he feel the passage of time? Would his heart forever yearn to see her, to clasp her hands in his and tell her how much he was sorry? He pressed his head to his knees and tried to swallow the lump in his throat that formed at the thought.

"Harry is also here," Albus said.

"No thanks to us," Severus muttered, his heart clenching at the thought of the boy he ultimately could not save.

"But," Albus said, "I believe he's not staying."

Severus jerked and stared at the other man. "What do you mean, he's not staying."

"I took a gamble," Albus said. "And it paid off. Perhaps, he might tell you a bit about it."

Severus bolted to his feet, the miserable young man he once was shattering and leaving Severus as he was when he died, hard, rough, and draped in black from neck to toe. "Where is he?"

Albus gestured to the space behind them. There was nothing there but the vague outline of rundown terraced houses hiding in the fog, but like everything else, it was just another illusion ready to crumble and reform with the slightest touch.

Severus gritted his teeth, thought of that idiot boy, and strode forward. One foot stomped on the grass of his broken youth, and the next stomped on the cement of a familiar train platform, eerily washed in white so blinding it burned.

Severus raised a hand to shade his eyes before he went blind from the glare. Even in death, Potter had found new ways to irritate.

Potter stood some distance away, accompanied only by a few chairs and a red, disquieting pile of… something… on the floor. As if sensing an intruder, Potter turned sharply and stared at Severus. "Snape," he breathed out, his face slackening with surprise, before running straight at him.

"Snape!" he cried out, his robes flaring around him as he sprinted. Severus took a step back to brace himself, in case Potter attempted to tackle him.

Potter, however, wisely slowed down and stopped just out of arm's reach. Without his glasses, Potter's features were unpleasantly disarming, especially in this place, where the white glow washed out the warmth of his skin and the bright green color of his eyes. His lips parted, as they always did before Potter had anything substantial to say. Severus took a fortifying breath and crossed his arms.

"You're planning to return?" Severus said, cutting Potter off before he even spoke.

"Uh. Yeah." Potter stared Severus straight in the eye. "Of course."

"And you." Severus lifted his chin a bit to glower at Potter. It was a little difficult, now that they were of similar heights. "You are prepared? Do you know what you must do?"

Potter's expression hardened. "Even if I fail, I know Ron and Hermione and Neville and everyone won't." He glowered back, determination radiating from the shine in his eyes, from the set of his shoulders. "Your sacrifice won't be in vain."

"There's no need to appease the dead with your hollow words," Severus said softly.

"I'm being sincere!"

"As am I." Severus tilted his head, gesturing to the nebulous space that served as the road back to the living. It rolled slowly like a fog, its wispy tendrils crawling slowly but surely towards Potter's ankles. "Go, and do your best for the living. The dead do not care."

"You seem to care."

"I died for it, of course I care."

Potter grabbed hold of Severus's hand with both of his and pressed them against his chest. Severus could almost feel the faintest heartbeat, still, miraculously, thumping in Potter's chest. "I won't disappoint you," he said.

"The only way you could disappoint me is if you came back here too soon," Severus said, more softly than he had intended.

The fog loomed over Potter's shoulder, beckoning them to wrap it up. "Can you come back?"

"I have no body to return to," Severus said plainly. "I am quite dead."

"You don't feel dead," Potter said. His thumbs rubbed circles into Severus's skin. "You feel warm."

"That's just your imagination," Severus said.

The fog enveloped them both.


Next chapter: post-battle. Harry feel unwell.

Thank you for reading.