Panic flooded Severus' body as he steadily made his way to the Shrieking Shack. He let the panic invigorate him, knowing it was the only thing allowing him to command his limbs to move forward. He had been summoned by the Dark Lord, and he was sure that death awaited him within the walls of the decrepit old shack. Along with panic came the feeling of failure. He had failed in completing Dumbledore's plan. Potter was still missing a piece of the macabre puzzle.

Potter.

Knowing these were his final moments, he allowed himself the indulgence of letting his thoughts stray to the person he needed to see—wanted to see—most in the world at that moment.

His thoughts of late were inexplicable.

Feelings for Potter? He had been forced to admit it, if only to himself. At first, he'd thought it to be the result of one of the Dark Lord's curses, but was forced to relinquish the possibility after multiple scans of his person had shown no lingering traces of Dark Magic. He wasn't sure when these feelings had surfaced. The Forest of Dean, perhaps? After sending his Patronus, he had stayed, wanting to ensure the task was complete. Watching Potter nearly lose his life and then seeing the Horcrux destroyed was eye-opening for him; he was forced to see what Harry Potter was doing for Wizarding kind.

He had always prided himself on seeing Harry Potter for who he really was: an arrogant bully just like his father. Being forced to admit he had been wrong was probably one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. Even now, in what were likely his last moments of life, part of him refused to acknowledge it.

Severus let memories of Lily and her son wash over him, the images bleeding into one another. Revelling in the only happy memories of his childhood, he focused on Lily. He thought of the time they spent at the park near Lily's home, the sound of the creaking swing echoing in his head as though he was in that place rather than walking through the grounds of Hogwarts to his doom. He thought of the time Lily had introduced him to a Muggle camera—not that he had never seen one before, he had; however, his drunk of a father had never owned one, much less let him have one—letting him sift through a box of pictures of her early childhood. He had been utterly bewildered at the smiling faces in the pictures.

Memories of Lily stopped abruptly as Severus thought of Potter. Maybe it was his love for Lily that had inspired his feelings for her son. He really was more like his mother than his father. Forced as he was to admit Potter's role in successfully ending the war, he had been equally forced to see over the years that—no matter how fervently he declared it—Potter the son was not the same person as Potter the father.

Potter was his own person. There had been youthful arrogance, childish squabbles, teenage snark, and so many other things that had made him see James Potter. Now, however, when there was so much more at stake than Quidditch and House rivalries, he saw the man that Harry Potter had grown into. All that fire and determination he had despised in the child, was something he had come to respect in the man.

Had respect evolved into something more? Was he able to feel more after Lily? It felt like only days had passed since he'd stood in front of Dumbledore and had replied: Always.

Maybe his feelings were driven by desperation. Desperation to feel anything other than the constant fear that plagued his every waking moment. Not a fear of death. No, death would be a welcome respite. He feared what awaited him if his true allegiance was revealed before the proper moment.

A grim smile turned up his lips as he pondered the likelihood of his affections being returned. Severus, like so many other people before him, forgot that the small things are the ones that count. Small things, such as the constant cutting insults he hurled at people—Potter and his friends more than others. Small things, as in the day-to-day image of utter dislike and downright loathing he presented. Wasn't it the big things that truly mattered? He'd switched sides, he'd spied, he'd protected this boy—a boy that was now a man—his entire life. The world didn't see that; neither did Potter. They saw the little things that made it clear how much Severus Snape had always hated Harry Potter. So much of that was in the past. Bugger the past. What did yesterday matter when there was no tomorrow?

Once Severus entered the shack, he immediately halted the thoughts running through his mind, using every ounce of his Occlumency skill to keep the Dark Lord from seeing his darkest, deepest secrets. Within moments of engaging in conversation, Severus knew his time was limited. The earlier panic returned, and he found himself pleading with the madman in front of him, showing emotion in the brazen way the two Gryffindors he'd loved in his lifetime would. He didn't care. His only thoughts were those of seeking Potter. His life was near its end and he had vital information to pass along. Most of all, he wanted to see him just one more time.

Severus knew it was coming even before the impenetrable globe protecting that damned snake was thrust over his head. After that, there was only pain. Then, as if a wish had suddenly been granted, the face of the man he wanted to see most—needed to see to complete his task—was there in front of him. At first, Severus thought he must be dreaming. However, the green eyes before him were unmistakably real. Green eyes that belonged not only to the woman he'd loved all those years ago, but also to the man he'd come to love from afar.

As pain coursed through his body, he wept. In those tears, Severus put all of the feelings he could into the memories he needed to share. He was dying, he knew it. So why not give all he could to allow the man before him to understand. Understand everything. Severus wanted him to understand the choices he'd made, understand the sacrifices. The light around him was fading quickly. He longed for more time to put as much into the memories as possible.

"Look at me," he demanded, hoping to catch a glimpse of those mesmerizing eyes. It was too late. Light faded to darkness as he rasped, "Look… at… me."

Standing before the black onyx headstone marking the final resting place of Severus Snape, Harry felt a loss that was incomprehensible. Why did he grieve so fiercely for this man that he had despised with every ounce of his being for so long?

He couldn't help but feel that there was something he was missing. Some knowledge that was just within reach, but he couldn't quite grasp. Something big that he failed to understand.

For some reason, he felt that no matter what, he would always be searching for whatever it was that seemed to have slipped between his fingers. He was alright with that, because whenever he pondered the man who everybody had misjudged, he felt love.

Ever since he had left the penseive in Dumbledore's office, he'd felt the warmth of something wonderful flowing through his body. Dumbledore had always spoken about the amazing power of love, and Harry felt that he had lost something that had the potential to be truly great that night in the Shrieking Shack.

He bowed his head and grieved, both for the man resting at his feet and for what he would never have the opportunity to know.

A/N: This is for round 1 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. The challenge was to write about a team member's NOTP. My assigned team member's NOTP was Harry/Snape. As Chaser 3, I have three prompts: 2. (word) yesterday, 4. (image), 14. (quote) The problem with people is they forget that most of the time it's the small things that count. - Theodore Finch, All the Bright Places

Word count is 1305