As he lay, life draining away through the holes in his neck, Severus Snape took an inventory of his life: his boyhood memories, now given over to Harry; his time as a Death Eater still giving him pains in his soul; Dumbledore's offer of rescue and the punishing penance that resulted over the course of time; the duty to Lily's son fulfilled; and now the end. Here, with the boy, looking at him now with a concern and understanding he'd never seen before. Already mourning, if not for him, then at least for a link to his parents. But he was ready, ready to go to the Other World. This world was nothing but pain to him since his earliest days, what enjoyment he had mostly at the expense of others, all part of the game, all part of the endless maneuvering during every waking moment, at first to gain favor with the Dark Lord, and then to defeat him. His mission was now complete. This world had no place for him now; his one true love long dead, his champion gone by his own hands, his role in protecting and training Harry at an end. He let himself wish for death, as he had many times before. Mostly he had wished for an end to pain, guilt, and anguish, but not life itself. Because these things were inseparable, he was a willing traveler, used up, broken. Perhaps there really was an Other World, perhaps there was another ending, one with some measure of happiness, trust, safety. He would know soon enough.

Harry had returned and now knelt beside the Potions Master, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the Headmaster, the childhood friend of his mother; the man who'd first shown her how special she was and set her on the path both to a magical life and an early death. Every fiber of his body screamed "no," but the blood continued. Harry muttered every charm, every spell, every incantation he knew, to no obvious effect, as he tried to staunch the flow of blood with a ripped piece from his shirt. Snape, always pale, grew dusky and grey, beginning to mutter incoherently. Harry looked around in a panic. There MUST be a way, must be something he could do. Knowing what he knew now, he pushed aside as much panic as possible, clearing his mind, trying to remember his Occlumency lessons, to allow some sense of possibility to enter. He hoped fervently that someone else would soon arrive, someone with better magic, better potions, to revive this man, surely the bravest man he'd ever known. Facing down the Dark Lord, hiding his true self with long-practiced skill, keeping those who might inadvertently reveal his secrets uncertain to the end. This was the end. Now.

Harry heard no footsteps, no calls, no help on the way. Desperate, he began to sort through the rubble nearby, tossing aside parchments, stones, broken wood. He heard a crunch as he stepped over Snape's cloak, the sound of smashing glass. Inspiration grabbed him, and he began to turn out all of the many pockets in the Potion Master's cloak, jacket, and trousers. There were many vials hidden away, some smashed, others still containing Merlin knew what. Harry quickly gathered them together and took stock of what he had to work with.

Wracking his brain, Harry tried with difficulty to remember the properties of magical plants, herbs, and other substances. Dittany, asphodel, wormwood, foxglove, henbane, deadly nightshade. Which would revive, which would kill? Hermione would know. Neville would know. Heck, every student at Hogwarts might know, even first- or second-years. Harry struggled to pull together what he knew. Years spent following instructions as carefully as possible without actually understanding the theory, allowing himself to be distracted by Quidditch strategies, Dumbledore's Army, his hatred of the Potions professor, anything other than the fine art of Potion-making, now haunted him. He felt a searing pang of guilt at the agony of needing this skill, needing to stopper death, just now for this purpose.

The Headmaster slumped to one side, losing consciousness as the blood continued to seep through the bandage Harry had futilely applied to the poisonous wound. Harry knelt beside Snape, taking his face in his hands.

"Severus, don't leave me. Please, help me find the right potion. One last lesson…" There was a small shuttering in the dying man's eyes, and then nothing.

Harry had never felt more empty. The loss of his parents, so long ago, was not easy, but the sharp edges of pain had dulled through the years, though they were still enough to give him the strength to fight and face fear. The memory of Sirius Black pained him, the loss of Dumbledore, Mad-Eye. Harry, at last, looked to the future. For so long, he'd waited for this moment, for the Rest of His Life to begin, the Dark Lord defeated. That future seemed emptier than he'd imagined it. For all his torment, for all his admonishment, for all the detentions, Harry knew that any life without finishing at Hogwarts, without Professor Snape, would be unthinkable. There was so much more he needed to know, so much he needed to tell. He could hear Snape's voice, cold and directed at him during a particularly poor preparation.

"Mr. Potter, if you plan on reviving someone, instead of killing them, I suggest you add asphodel, not wolfsbane, next." Harry had cringed at the time, considering the consequences of wolfsbane on those who were NOT werewolves.

Asphodel. He had that. Not in a potion, but at least as an ingredient. Harry sorted through the pile of bottles until he found the one labeled asphodel. It was full of dried leaves. Was that the potent part of the plant or the waste? Did it need to be distilled or just ground up? There was no time to prepare it and no time for questioning. It was all he had, all he knew, and hopefully unlikely to accelerate the job Nagini had started. Popping off the stopper and dropping it to the ground, Harry poured out the greenish-gray leaves into one hand and ground them to a powder. He forced open Snape's mouth with the other. His jaw gave no resistance and saliva began to ooze out. Harry turned his head upward and began to scrape the powder into Snape's mouth, pulling his tongue out slightly to get it further back. There was no water around, so Harry mopped up what spit he could manage, closed the Headmaster's mouth tightly and held it there.

Once he was sure that the bitter herb was as far down Snape's mouth as possible, Harry found his wand and uttered "Expecto Patronum." With his exhaustion, the Patronus was not as large and a powerful as sometimes, but the stag seemed strong enough for the purpose Harry needed now. "Get help," he said. "Anyone." His skills at their limit, he sat and waited, anxious for some sign that it was working, dreading the signs that it was not.

Severus Snape was dreaming. He had arrived at the far shore of a lake, floating on a small boat, rowed by a quartet of house elves. But these elves were dressed in long brown shifts, wore matching hats, and had clean hands. They smiled benignly at him, and gestured for him to exit on the shore, which he did with trepidation. The pain in his neck and shoulders was gone, but the dread was not. He heard movements in the dense, dark forest that bordered the lake on all sides, the sounds coming nearer. He instinctively reached for his wand and discovered it was not there. He knew it wasn't necessary, only helpful. Whatever needed to be done he could do without a wand. He stood solidly, listening, preparing for centaurs, giants, goblins, Death Eaters, or, worse still, Ministry officials. He was not prepared for what appeared.

Silver animals emerged first, lighting the darkness of the dense forest, then fading somewhat in the strong sunlight in the clearing on the shore. A phoenix, a stag, a doe, a dog, and a horse regarded him, then vanished in the breezes. With dawning realization, he was less surprised when the group of people emerged from the wood.

Albus Dumbledore led the small group, followed by Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius Black, James Potter, and Lily. There were others, but Snape took no notice. Despite the warmth in their faces, Severus regarded them with caution, knowing that he was most likely in delirium from blood-loss and snake venom. But the image was curious to him, so he allowed himself to remain, resisting the nearly overwhelming urge to turn his back and walk away as quickly as possible, to dive into the lake and never emerge from the waters, or to run to Lily and embrace her.

Dumbledore spoke first, the rest of the group remaining behind as he approached Snape, his hand extended in greeting.

"Severus, so good to see you," he said, grasping Snape's hand and pulling him into a warm embrace, which Snape did not return. "My most trusted and loyal friend." Snape remained stiff, arms at his side. Releasing him, Dumbledore stood back and gestured behind him. "This is the Other World and we have been waiting for you, some of us for a longer time than others, I might note. But we knew you'd be here only when the job was done. Your presence is most welcome, as it most assuredly heralds victory over the Dark Lord," said the old man, with a glint in his eye. "And I see Harry is not with you. It may be some time until we see him here, I'd warrant, though most likely from a Quidditch injury in old age, rather than from the doings of Voldemort." At this, Lily and James smiled.

Snape spoke evenly. "Thank you for your welcome, Headmaster. What is this place?"

Dumbledore gave a small chuckle. "From one Headmaster to another, I think you might call me Albus now."

Still stiff and unyielding, Snape repeated his questions. "Alright then, Albus. What is this place, Albus?"

Placing a fatherly hand on Snape's shoulder, Dumbledore turned and gestured to the forest. "This is where we reside after we pass from life, where we await others to join us. We greet the newcomers and reconcile our earthly differences."

As this, Snape snorted, looking meaningfully at Black and Potter. "We may be here a long time. Albus."

Dumbledore laughed, but none of the others joined him, instead remaining passive but alert observers. "You could be right, my good man, you could be right. So, then, let's begin. I think Mad-Eye should start."

Mad-Eye came forward at this beckoning, all of the suspicion in his eyes gone, replaced by respect and admiration. He extended his hand and shook Snape's forcefully, clapping the other man on the shoulder. "Never a better subterfuge, never! You were amazing. Never knew what you were up to until the end. I count myself amazed, and it goes without saying I'll never meet another Occlumens like you. Tried like the dickens for years to figure you out, never could. Seemed like you only thought of potions and teaching the whole time I've known you. That and giving detentions." Mad-Eye laughed at his own joke. Snape allowed himself to be congratulated uncomfortably. "Sorry for the endless suspicion, but I'm sure you understand," he said, releasing his captive.

"Of course," Snape said coolly. It spoke to a job well-done in his mind. He had always accepted Moody's suspicion of him as a positive sign, a credit to his skills of deception.

Next was Sirius's turn. No jovial backslapping here, but he did offer his hand. "What you've done, Severus, it will be remembered forever, written in the history books. I consider myself humbled to be here, humbled to at last be able to thank you for your service, despite the difficulties and personal risks. You are a giant among wizards, and I am the fool, indeed one of many fools, who underestimated you. My name will fade, but not yours. Well done. Perhaps here," he gestured to the forest, to the Other World, "I may one day be honored enough to have you call me 'friend.'" Though feeling a certain sense of catharsis, Snape only replied "Perhaps." Sirius gave a rueful smile and returned to the group.

James and Lily came forward next. James stood for quite a long time before speaking. "I am eternally in your debt, Severus. You did the job I failed to do, you protected Harry." His eyes misting over, he could say no more and stepped back, leaving only Lily.

She took his hand. "Severus, you were the first to show me the magic that was within me, the first to open the door to this world. Our falling out pained me more than you could ever know. By the time I was ready to forgive you, it was too late, or so I thought. I let you down, my first friend."

Snape spoke at last. "No, I let you down, I let everyone down. I chose the wrong side and we have all paid the price for the decision of a rash and intemperate boy. Surely you see that the only reason we needed to defeat the Dark Lord was his gaining power due to my own foolishness. What held him off was your power, Lily, the power of the love you gave to Harry." Snape trailed off, dropping Lily's hand and staring into the dark forest, still hoping to go there and be alone. Alone for a long time.

Dumbledore joined them. "Severus, my friend, the Dark Lord would have found a way, he was mad with the desire for power, a desire which would not rest. But what you've done since the day you came to me and renounced your past, this carries with it powerful magic of its own. For unrequited love, love that will never be returned, or may seem so, has power of its own." Rather than meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Snape shifted uncomfortably on his feet, looking at the grasses and roots where the trees met the glimmering water. "But I don't mean the love you have for Lily. I'm talking about Harry. He still needs you, though not as he did before."

At Lily's name, Snape looked up sharply at the old man. "I've done all you asked, Dumbledore, seen him through to the end. The victory is complete and he is still living."

"Yes, still living, but still a boy, not yet a man. Still he needs guidance. The time is too late for us gathered here, but for you…. For you, there is still hope. There is more for you, Severus. A life freed from the burden you've carried so well and so long." At this, Snape gestured dismissively.

"I am ready to be free of life, Albus. You do me no favors to ask me to endure further. I've done all that you asked, given my best. That this life should be at an end is the only desirable outcome," Snape said, with no anger in his voice, only a steady acceptance.

Dumbledore held the man's gaze evenly, with the first signs of sadness in his wrinkled face. "How long you've suffered, Severus. But that suffering, that sacrifice will not go unrewarded. There is another epoch to your life, another phase."

Snape looked skeptical. "Why would it be me, Albus?r Why would all of you be trapped here and it is I should be sent back? All of you ached to come back and would have had more of a life to return to. I have no desire to return and would gladly defer to another and remain here, whatever this is," he said, gesturing to the lake and forest.

The ancient wizard shrugged in an infuriating way. "Like life, death is not fair. No one really knows, even over here. But the decision has been made by another more powerful than me. We come here only to inform you." He held up a hand as Snape began to protest yet again. "The decision is not mine, nor is it your option to refuse. I am here only as the messenger. Now, consider your future, Severus. You have one. There are still those who need you."

"Name one."

"Harry." Snape let out a long breath. "Harry is still in need of a father figure, a godparent."

"I'd be last on his list of choices, I can assure you. I saw enough in our Occlumency training to know that my being in that role would be most unwelcome. And given all he knows now, I can only assume that this feeling is even more so. I'm sure he has some notion of the events of the past, but he would surely want to begin the rest of his life with someone …untarnished."

"A great deal has happened recently, and hearts can change, as you know. However, if untarnished is what you think he needs, Severus, I can honor that," said Dumbledore, but the look in his eyes was not one of respectful resignation nor sadness, but one that hinted of humor somehow. "Sirius, James, Lily, Mad-Eye, will you join me?" he said, gesturing for the others to come forward. Snape quietly reached for his wand, and found nothing there still. "Severus, you don't belong here, not yet. You will be most welcome when it is your time, but that time is not now. You've taken on a greater challenge than any of us, for many years. Trust me now, as I have trusted you."

Snape had no intention of letting down his guard, but said "As you say, Albus. How does one get back? And where?"

"The trip back is the same as the one to get here, but first you must become 'untarnished,' as you put it. It is not a pleasant process, but necessary. We will all thank you for not casting Stunning spells. Also, this does not involve wands, so the Expelliarmus charm will be useless," he said, apparently reading the tall man's mind. The remaining four stepped forward and encircled Snape. "You need to be appropriately dressed for the journey."

Lily approached from behind and removed his cloak, shredded and dirty from battle, weighted with vials and bottles. She folded it with care, keeping the vials inside and placed it in the boat. Snape labored to control his breathing as Mad-Eye approached him. "Jacket's gotta go, friend." He started undoing the many buttons, then pulled the dark garment off, soiled and bloodied, also folding it and placing it in the boat.

Sirius gestured to Snape's pants ("Those, too, mate.") and allowed Snape to unfasten them himself. "And boots," Black said. Snape already felt naked and exposed, but stood resolutely, as James approached for the shirt. He unbuttoned the blood-drenched garment, which had begun the day as white. "Ready?" he asked. "As I am likely to be," said Snape derisively. "Alright then," said James, and carefully drew down the fabric. Snape then removed his undershirt with difficulty, the blood sticking the fabric to his skin.

Snape could not recall a time that these scars had ever seen the sun, but each of them now seemed to buzz with fury. Not only the fresh wounds on his neck, but also the Dark Mark on his arm, the scars on his back and arms, the wounds around his ankles, even the old breaks in his nose. He had thought they were well healed, but the vibrating energy he felt in them now told another story. Standing there, he resisted showing the pain that covered and filled his body and awaited the next step. Suddenly, all four were upon him, each grasping a limb, Lily and Mad-Eye an arm each, James and Sirius a leg. Though they had anticipated a struggle, Snape gave himself over to his fate. There was no use in arguing or resisting. Had he wanted to, he was certain he would have bested them, but he had given too much today in the fight against the Dark Lord and hoped not to need to fight again for some time. And what would he be fighting for now?

The four walked to the edge of the green waters, wading in to their knees. Dumbledore followed, leaning on his staff as his robes became sodden in the waves kicked up by the others.

"Severus, my friend, upon your return to the life you've known, allow yourself to open once more, for others to see the good in you, and to see the good in others. We will see you later. Live, my friend, in happiness and love. We can wait, we will be here for you when your time comes."

The four gave a mighty heave and pitched the thin pale man as far out as possible, surprised at his passivity. He gave no shouts, no struggle, but disappeared beneath the surface as though he were a stone.

The warmth of the water was perhaps the most surprising thing. Typically the lake was still chilly in May. The first part of fall was the warm time. Snape allowed the water to wash over him, looking up at the sun, allowing himself to sink, though he was an excellent swimmer. Perhaps drowning was as good an exit as any other, but he knew he would soon be overcome with the irresistible urge to surface and breathe. He turned in the water and looked down into the green lily pads and seaweed growing on the bottom.

He could hear music, soft at first, then growing louder. A single voice, joined by many. But not in a language he could understand. The sounds were hypnotic, and the irresistible urge was put off as he lay without moving under the water, letting the sounds wash over him. Perhaps it was his requiem, perhaps a greeting, he knew not which.

Out of the sun-speckled green of the water emerged the merpeople, scores of them. Gray-skinned mermen strongly grasped each of his limbs and pulled him down, their green hair tangled with kelp. Now the panic arose, as they moved deeper and deeper, the water becoming darker as the sun faded in the murkiness. He struggled, twisted, instinct driving him not to take in a breath of water and accelerate his death, at war with his conscious desire to give in to death. A mermaid, clearly the leader, approached him and put her hands alongside his neck, dragging her dark green fingernails deep into both sides. The initial searing pain gave way to relief as gills opened instead of blood, and he found himself able to breathe in relief in the deep waters. He took several deep breaths while the merpeople observed him, waiting for his signal to continue. When at last he felt relieved again, he gestured to the mermaid, who passed the gesture to the others. They dived with him, further down.

Now he followed, no longer restrained, but a willing companion to what lay ahead. Down they swam, to depths he'd lost track of estimating. But the pressure was not heavy and his breathing easy, though the darkness was gathering as they descended, further and further from the sunny surface. At last, breaking through a stand of towering kelp, they reached the bottom, where even more merpeople were gathered, swimming excitedly as the group continued downward. The lead mermaid gestured to a small group, who came forward. They gently took Snape down to the muddy bottom, to a place ringed by giant towers of kelp and spherical stones. They then dug handfuls of mud from the circle and plastered his body with the cool, clay-like blue substance.

His scars, still buzzing from exposure above, now burned. He had forgotten how he'd gotten many of them, but now each plaster of the healing mask brought back the memory and the pain of each, vivid as the day he received the injury. Spells and fistfights from school days, curses and hexes from his days as a Death Eater settling scores of extortions and deals, duels, the agonies of Dark Magic training and practice, even some self-inflicted from experimental spells and curses gone wrong. Once he had taken up teaching at Hogwarts, he'd never sought the ministrations of Madame Pomfrey, preferring to self-medicate, and he pondered memories of applying salves, taking foul-tasting potions, and reapplying bandages to each wound. With each wave of pain and heat, he could feel the skin cool, the relief making the pain worth it, the relief far more intense than the pain. He began to look forward to each new searing, as the relief afterwards was so euphoric.

A merman applied the mud to his nose, and this was far more painful than the first. Memories of a fist fight at school before he could cast curses and spells without a wand, bad falls from strong spells, none of them reset properly. Bone healing, hard tissue rearranging, was on a different order of magnitude from the scars on his skin. The euphoria was now a memory as he writhed. The merpeople held him fast as the others continued to cake him with the deep blue mud. But the eventual release came, his body fairly ringing with relief.

Lastly, the head mermaid now approached, his neck injury the last he'd received and the only one now left. She dug another handful of the blue sludge, but paused to spit in it and work in the liquid. She snapped off a leaf from the nearby kelp tower and rubbed it on his neck. It burned like fire, but did not give way to any kind of relief. Snape twisted as he felt the burning substance from the leaf enter his circulation, burning from within. The merpeople released him and he now writhed soundlessly, twisting as the fire spread altogether too slowly out to his hands, his feet. He relived the moment, the approach of the snake, the venomous look, the raising of its head, the sinking deep of the fangs, the venom penetrating, life exiting. Finally, when he was frozen in agony, he felt the fire enter his head, saw only red, felt only rage, then anger, then vengefulness, then remorse, guilt, revulsion. He felt as though his head would split open, welcomed any end to this tsunami of emotion, then felt the beginnings of resolution. He knew he was breathing hard, the gills on the sides of his neck flapping madly. At last, the fire burned out. The mermaid plastered his neck wound with the blue mud, but he now was beyond pain, all sensation drained out.

He floated still in the depths, unable or unwilling to move, exhausted. He waited for his gills to breathe normally again. He could not recall the feeling that was now within him. For so many years, regret, revenge, guilt, anger, and self-loathing had been his emotional stock-in-trade. These were lifting now, but to be replaced by what, he could no longer remember. Resignation? Acceptance? The question remained unanswered. But some portion of his great internal burden was removed. Was this what happiness felt like, or was it only emptiness?

Merpeople now gathered around him, clearing away the mud with water lily leaves, leaving his skin clear of both mud and scars, now as clear and unblemished as in his youth. And now they swam above him and below him, gesturing him to rise. A young mermaid, perhaps of four or so, took his hand, pulling him upwards. Her hair was long, and dark, not green or blue. And her skin, paler than the rest, perhaps owing to her youth? She swam strongly, dragging him as he worked to keep up. The other merpeople faded, their singing sending him off from their world. He turned and gave wordless thanks. The little mermaid tugged at his hand, impatient, leading him, swimming towards the sun, kicking her feet, the water growing warmer, the sun stronger, until it nearly blinded him. He turned his back to the blinding sun and looked at the younger mermaid in the light. She seemed familiar somehow, who did she remind him of? She looked back at him with a steady gaze, never looking away. She drew near now and dragged her hands back over Snape's neck, the gills vanishing behind them. She held his hand for a long time, as Snape floated and felt the warmth of the water on his healed skin. Who was she, this girl, so different from the others? The next mermaid queen? She squeezed his hand just as the urge to breathe took over. With reluctance, he released her hand, turned away, and swam for the surface, his lungs burning with hunger for air. He burst to the surface, took two breaths, then dove back down. He looked behind him in hope of catching another glimpse, but she had already faded from view.

Author's note: If you plan to read more (or not), please leave me a review and tell me why. Thank you! DN