Title: Destiny
Author: Winter Ashby (rosweldrmr)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter © J.K. Rowling
Rating: K+
Summary: Harry finally faces off against Snape, after a year of hunting for Voldemort. But what will Snape have to say for himself? (Snape Vs. Harry) NOT SLASH
Timeline: Post 'The Half-Blood Prince'
Warning: Character Death! Come on, people. You've got to be completly insane to think that EVERYONE is going to make it out of this alive.
Authors Notes: If I were J.K. this would be one of the last chapters of the Harry Potter Series. It's just a little insight into what I think is really going on. Who knows if I'll be right or not... only J.K. I suppose. Oh, this is also my first HP fic... so yeah, be kind.

"You kill my mum and dad. It's your fault they're dead!" Harry stood against a dark backdrop of a starless night with nothing but the chilling wind and a disheveled, thin, almost sickly looks Snape standing in his way.

But this was not the Harry Potter of legends previous, but a new, hardened, disfigured man who grew from the sapling of a grand of wizard and the memory of family roots that dug into the pieces of his heart. He was of age, and frightfully alone. He stood, weary, tired, and resolute against the man who stole his childhood when it was in its last delicate moments.

He faced the man who killed the greatest wizard he never knew. He killed the man who cared for him, and protected him beyond all others. Snape stood, too worn for his own good and sagging around the eyes. He too was not the man who ran from the corpse of his second master.

"Once again, Potter, your lack of wits is astounding." His wand was already drawn, but his thin wrists and hollow face only made Harry hate him even more. "I'm surprised you got this far."

"I've come this far to kill you." Harry slimmed his eyes and Snape leered through the impenetrable darkness at him.

"I doubt, very much you will be successful."

"What, afraid I'll kill your master?" Snape hissed, low in his throat and narrowed his eyes past the curtain of greasy hair that framed his gaunt face. Harry held his wand out into the hot night air and aimed.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

But Snape blocked it, without a word and Harry let his fists clutch his wand all the more.

"Come, now. Is that the best you can do?" Snape's cold, hateful voice washed over him like a wave of freezing ocean water. And he felt trapped, caught, and doomed to drown in the hate Snape oozed so freely.

It was almost a year since he watched him use the very same killing curse that took his parents, take his last vestige of parentage. It had been months since he last glimpsed Ron, bloody and pale against a similar night sky hundreds of miles from home, clutched in the trembling hands of Hermione.

He could still here her racking sobs echo in his mind as Ron's last few breathes took ragged chunks of his heart with him. His brilliant red hair and comical freckles seemed to be at odds with the sudden lack of life so that it made him look almost fake. It was as if he was a doll, who was never real to begin with.

Hermione chose to stay behind, and take his body back the Burrow. And for one, shinning moment, he considered following her. The promise of a warm bed, motherly hugs, and soft, familiar ginger lips made his heart beat like nothing had since he left his Uncle's home in mid July to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding.

He held Ginny's hand and pretended, even if for only a day, that he was normal. But then the dawn brought a new quest, and the lonely prospect of a future that didn't involve her. He was glad now, that he'd pushed her away.

He was two best friend's down as it was. But seven months after he left her hands and lips, and eyes, and soft skin behind, he received a snowy owl, keen on delivering a package wrapped in flowery paper with frilly handwriting. There was a large glass vile of golden liquid and a very familiar looking Galleon. The note simply said:

From one Slug to another... just in case.

The winter is colder without you.

D.A. is on your side, if you ever need us.

-G

With Felix firmly on his side, he wandered through the days, hunting; and the nights, hoping. He was close. He could feel it mounting in his chest as his scar ached worse everyday. Not even magic could dull the constant prickling hidden behind his un-kept bangs and rough stubble.

Seventeen came and went, with a little help from some very bitter butterbeer, and a rather ridiculous hat knit with enchanted needles. Harry remembered that as a high point on his journey for vengeance.

Four Horcruxes later and he now stood poised to make the greatest battle of all. He found the cup, the snake, and something of Ravenclaw's. It cost George and Fred a few hundred Galleons, Hermione a hand, Luna her once pretty face, Neville his Grandmother, Ron his life, and Harry a piece of his soul. He was resigned to the fact that he would never be the same again.

But, he was here, now, on a tip from an unlikely source. It seemed as if Wormtail flipped sides as often as other people change their socks. He crawled on his large belly, begging for protection. It seems Voldemort's magical hand had only been temporary: and with his appendage evaporated, so too had his loyalty.

Harry grimaced at the sight of the man who killed his parents, at his feet. It was a strangely empowering vision. But he relented, but still dreaming of kicking Wormtail a little in his sleep. But then he rose, alone again, and departed with the rising sun at his back and the chance for revenge stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Harry yearned for this chance at Snape, and took it without hesitation. Not even the gold liquid sloshing in its bottle could make him feel more confident than he already did. Harry was, after all, the swift and rightful hand of justice, come to bear down on the great blunder that was Severus Snape.

But as it was, Harry was drowning in Snape's hate, and gasping for air. Beyond that there was the squelching cry for more time and power that often woke him in the middle of the night, covered in sweat and begging for help he knew would never come.

So, he fought back against the shiver that racked his body and stood straight against the pitch black that encircled them. He was more determined that ever to make this monster feel pain and anguish equal to all that he inflicted on him.

"I'll make you pay for everything!" He took a step to the right, circling with Snape as though it was a proper duel. "My dad, my mum, Dumbledore… every fowl thing you've ever done!" He lunged through the air wand pointed and decaying hatred pooling in his guts. "Stupefy!"

There was another flash of red against the black summer night as Snape's dark robes caught in the wind rose to cover his hooked nose and tight lips. "Don't speak of things you know nothing about!"

"Impedimenta!" Harry's voice rang out again, but still Snape repelled the incantation and Harry ground his teeth together. Snape simply shook the grass from his robes and settled his face into an unreadable expression. "What do you mean, 'things I know nothing about'?"

Snape stood, rather unmoved and un-phased by the anger that overflowed from Harry's fingers and drenched his worn, weathered wand with malice and odium.

"Fine, have it your way. Take all your useless lies to the grave with you. I don't have any use for them!" Harry pulled himself to the right and jumped from the ground at the shadow of a man before him. "Sectumsempra!"

But the spell never hit. Instead, it was Harry who was flung back to meet with a sickening chunk of skull against tree bark. Snape narrowed in on him, unreadable expression glimmering in the patchy light from the distant moon.

"I warned you about using my spells against me, didn't I, Potter?" He looked at him with that same face he used to kill Dumbledore and Harry fought back against the invisible force holding him down. Snape merely took a measured step back, as if it was rather mundane. "Surely, you remember, it was I who invented Sectumsempra? How do you think I knew exactly how to reverse it?"

"So, you invented a dark curse all on your own. Bravo, Snape. Was Lucius Malfoy impressed?" Harry stood, slowly and faced Snape's silhouette. "Did you tell him all about your pureblood mother… nip at his heals like a good little lapdog? Did you make sure they heard you call my mother a mudblood?"

"Don't…" Snape hissed in a dangerous, raw kind of way that almost made Harry draw back from his furious eyes and dark shadows.

"Don't what? Tell the truth?" Harry pressed his luck, and drew closer to the ominous figure towering over him.

"You know nothing about the truth." Snape bellowed, and Harry was once again reminded of his hatred for the cryptic meanings he was always so good at concealing. "Certainly, you can't be this dimwitted, Potter." He stood now, against Snape's cold, stone features and grimaced, yet again at the insults thrown his way. But now they were hundred of miles from Hogwarts and Harry's righteous indignation grew with each passing moment.

"Well, why don't you enlighten me then?" he circled now, wand drawn. But Snape didn't attack. "Why don't you tell me all about how you tricked Dumbledore, about the lies you told to make him trust you!"

"They weren't lies." Snape moved forward, from one shadow to another, but curiously enough he did nothing but defend himself, just like he'd done a year ago just before the Hogwarts gates.

"What did you say to convince him you'd changed? After Voldemort fell, you realized he was the only one who could save you. So you weaseled your way into his good graces, made him trust you, didn't you?" He sneered, just like Snape used to be so good at and spat vehemently at the shell of a murder. "Snivellus, the coward."

"I warned you before, not to call me that." Snape took an immediate stop forward, but did nothing more. Harry wished he would, at least then he could attack without reservation.

"Did I strike a nerve, Snivellus?" And for one, brief, terrifying moment, he became his father. He knew Snape could see it too, he could see his hand that held his wand twitch.

"You're just like your loathsome father."

"Is that why you did it? Why you sold my parents out to Voldemort? You hoped he'd rid you of your archenemy and his filthy mudblood wife?"

"Don't ever…" But there was no end to the threat, because Snape advanced on him faster than he could understand. He still stood above him, but not by much, and glowered though wild eyes at him.

"Don't what?" He hesitated for a moment, faced with the sunken face, paper skin, and dull eyes of a man that used to be terrifying and proud. But then he thought of Dumbledore, and the moment of fleeting compassion evaporated in the wave of virtuous hate that erupted in him. "What Snape… what is it you fear? Is it the truth…the truth that you were NEVER loyal to Dumbledore?" He didn't know why he said it, he wasn't looking for an explanation, but it tumbled out all the same, fierce and deafening.

"How dare you judge me or question my loyalty? I don't care if you are 'The Chosen One,' you'll always be the son of an arrogant, second-rate, jock with no more finesse than Wormtail had looks!" For a moment, he was almost his old, cruel self. But even Harry was forced to admit that there was something sad and misplaced in Snape's eyes that he'd never seen there before. "How dare you question my loyalty? You have no idea what I've given, what I've done for him. I would have… I would have…" But he seemed to have forgotten what he would have done as he trailed off and looked over Harry's shoulder. He looked lost then, like how Harry had felt for a year now, without the guidance of Dumbledore.

Harry didn't look over his shoulder; he knew there were no answers there. So he glared and tried to make his voice even and steady. "Not killed him?" he offered, unceremoniously to his former teacher and inherited rival.

"It was an order, Potter! Surely you understand that! The last thing in the world I wanted to do was…"

"What do you mean, 'an order'?" it was ridiculous: a fruitless plea for a reprieve from the hell that waited for him in the next life. "You mean to tell me that Dumbledore wanted you to murder him?" there was something else, a strange sensation of puzzle pieces falling into place in Harry's bitter mind that forced him to stand still and wait for the explanation he wasn't sure he wanted.

"Yes, you foolish prat! He ordered me to save Draco. If I hadn't… if one of the others had done it for him… he would have been killed." He looked so defeated then, crushed and years older than he had been before. "He's not much better off as it is, his family threatened at every turn; he slips farther from me each day." He seemed to pull himself from his reprieve, and again pointed his angled face at Harry through the shadows. "Don't you see? Dumbledore gave his life for his student!" Harry understood then, whey Snape appeared to have aged so much in such a short time. But he wanted to hate him, because it was familiar and comforting to be able to blame him for everything that happened. He couldn't allow himself to pity Snape. The thought made his lips pucker and guts twist. It was a painful notion. "He was just as foolhardy and noble as your mother."

"What's she got to do with this?" The mention of his mother brought him from those dark thoughts with a jolt of anger.

"Everything! Don't you see? Can't you understand what it was like to watch her throw her life away with that twat, Potter, who you so resemble?" There was still that same contempt Snape had when he spoke about Harry's father, but this time he recognized what he'd managed to miss all these years. It was a soft, wistful kind of note that was almost buried by the rest of his voice. Maybe it had never been there before, or maybe Harry had just never understood before because he'd never been in love, until now.

"What do you mean, 'throw her life away'?" Even if he was used to it by now, he recognized the same, un-tethered kind of rage that bubbled in him when someone spoke ill of his parents; even if his father was a bully.

"She was too good for him. She deserved someone who would understand her unique abilities, someone who could appreciate her particular brand of genius, someone who would have protected her. She should have had someone powerful enough to save her, who could share her love of potions!" There was something twisted and coveting in his words. It was something that made his scar ache in ways it never had before. It was the vision of Snape at 15, hung from his legs, ratty grey underpants exposed, and the furiously protective voice of Lily Evans swirling and mixing in unnatural ways. It was the idea that somewhere out there, there might be another dimension where Severus Snape was his father.

"You… you can't mean…" he stammered for words to expel this idea from his muddled, confounded mind. But there were no words close enough to revolt and pity to express what he felt.

"Yes, Potter! Me! I loved her. I loved Lily beyond all else." And with a startling realization, Harry was stuck with the notion that Snape wasn't passing from one shadow in the moonlight to another, he was, in fact, cast in a permanent shadow that dulled his eyes and made his pale skin look grey and sickly. "I became the Half-Blood Prince, for her. I spent every free moment I had pouring over that potions book, head in a cauldron, making new discoveries so that I could share it with her. I did it to impress her, so that one day she would look at me and see me for my genius, and not just some little half-blood who needed her protection." Harry's shrill contempt and festering hate all culminated in the bitter wave of overwhelming sympathy that welled in him for Snape then.

"But the Sectumsempra, you invented that. That's Dark Magic." It was a starling defeat, so he desperately clung to something, anything that would allow him to continue to blame Snape.

"Yes, I admit, I was foolish in my youth. In fact, I created that for your father. He was smarted than I gave him credit for. He knew how I felt about Lily and made sure he embarrassed me whenever he got a chance." It was the closest thing Snape had ever said in favor of James Potter. "Though, I only used it on him once, which was a choice I will always regret. The Sectumsempra is not to be trifled with. I was unwise to create it when I didn't have the heart to follow through with it." Harry felt a strange, sad kind of affinity with him, having used the same curse on his archenemy without the fortitude to follow through with the dark curse.

"But you called her a 'filthy mudblood', you refused her help!"

"Of course I did." His answer was flippant and yet, oh so relevant. "It was hard enough to be a woefully unpopular 15-year-old half-blood, let alone to be rescued by the one person in the world I would have done anything to impress. It was a stupid mistake, one that I never made again." Harry stood, too stunned to do much of anything and Snape looking like he might topple over at any minute.

"But… how can this be?"

"Why can't you understand? Why do you think Dumbledore trusted me? Lily… she meant everything to me. When the Dark Lord…" he trailed off, as if he just remembered he didn't want to relieve that particular memory, like it caused him some kind of invisible pain. "He said he wouldn't hurt her. But it was my mistake to believe him."

"You mean, the reason you betrayed Voldemort…"

"Was for your mother, yes. I would have done anything for her." Harry felt his wand grow slack in sweaty hand, and all the adrenaline in his veins wash away with grief. "When he… when I found out what the Dark Lord was planning, I went to Dumbledore straight away. But the Dark Lord suspected me, he didn't confide in me of Wormtail's betrayal. I found out too late. If would have known…" again he paused, and Harry took the moment to mourn with him. "I would have stood against him even if it cost me my life. For her, I would have died. But unlike your father I would have taken the Dark Lord with me! But I was too late. That night, I went to Dumbledore, and swore my allegiance to him in her name."

At last Harry had the information he'd tried to get Dumbledore to tell him for six years. But now that he tasted it, and held it in his hands, he was unsatisfied with the weight of this burden. It was much heavier than he ever expected. "Why… why have you always hated me, then? Why have you made my life miserable all these years?"

It wasn't his imagination then, he could actually see the shadow creep its way across his skin and around Snape's neck, as if it was trying to strangle him. His eyes softened, as much as he had ever seen them do, and he took a step forward without hesitation.

"Every time I look at you, I see what I could never have. And her eyes looking through those glasses mock me. You remind me everyday what I've lost, what I never had. You have your mother's eyes, but your father's face. And your presence won't let me forget the price of my mistakes."

And there was, the same sensation of a puzzle being assembled in his mind. Only this time, there was the ache of disappointment that accompanied it. "That's why you hate being called a coward, because you just let them die?"

"I see you do have some of your mother's mind after all." There was almost a smirk then, as if he was finally giving him the blessing of a dull compliment. Harry accepted it, all the same.

"Is that why you always treated Hermione so poorly?" Snape lowered his eyes and took a long, ragged breathe that made Harry's lungs burn.

"I can't deny that she does remind me of Lily is more ways than one. But that is no matter now. I have fulfilled my promise to Dumbledore, a condition of his acceptance all those years ago. I was told I must obey him, unquestioningly. And I have done so." Harry felt a shocking pang of constracting identities shifting in him then. He remembered how hard it was to make Dumbledore drink the potion while he pleaded for death. He thought being told to run and leave him would have been bad, but he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be ordered to kill Dumbledore himself. "I've made sure you got this far, and from here we will face the Dark Lord together, just as Dumbledore ordered."

"Face Voldemort, together?" Suddenly, he was left behind again, lost in a sea of orders left unfulfilled and a mission that he'd momentarily forgotten about.

"Yes, Potter. And you'd better kill him. I've waited seventeen years for the chance to kill the monster that took Lily from this world. But alas, I am not 'The Chosen One', that is for you alone. But mark my words, I'm giving the last thing I have for you to succeed, so don't mess it up!" He was so like his old self then, as if his confession had lifted the dark shadows and filled in his hollow face.

"The last thing you have?"

"Yes…"

"And, what is that, exactly?" Harry asked tentatively. He almost feared the answer, because even before Snape spoke, he suspected the reply.

"My life, Potter."

"…" Harry stood, speechless and trembling.

"While he finishes me off, you will have your chance. And don't you dare hesitate!" Snape was tucking his gnarled wand into the thick folds of his dirty, faded cloak.

"You can't mean that." Harry stood, still gripping his useless wand and distant hopes of a peaceful sun rise.

"Make no mistake, I will die today, and the oath I made to your mother's soul seventeen years ago will be fulfilled. I can not kill him myself, that is your destiny. But I can give you a reasonable chance to succeed. Then, I shall be able to rest in peace." He spoke as if he was discussing a lesson in potions class. But Harry could feel the terrifying grip of a fate he never wanted and a life taken from him crawl through his thoughts. "You will not take this chance for solace from me, is that understood Potter?"

Harry nodded, blankly and tucked his own wand away. Snape turned his back to him in the warm morning air and began to walk. Harry didn't know where he was going, but there was one less mystery within his vector of knowledge and he was grateful for that. He still hated Snape, and all the pain he'd caused. But he couldn't deny that he was indebted to Snape in ways he couldn't understand.

He had faith, like Dumbledore before him, in the power of love. Because even if it was an unrequited, deceased love – it was still the very thing that Dumbledore told him over and over was the difference between the seduction of dark magic and the few righteous people that stood against it. He gained an ally, and an insightful look into the distant past he never thought he would. So he walked on, in the shadow of a man more powerful than he gave him credit for and waited for the battle that would come in the dawning light against an ailing regime only he could thwart.

With the truth at his side, and the memory of a friend stolen in his heart, he was ready to face his destiny.

Footnote:

This is COMPLETE, I will not be continuing with this. I just wanted a chance to redeem Snape, a little. The rest of it is up to your imagination. But let's just say... if you're interested, that everything went according to Snape's plan.