One of Them
Summary: Snape Centric. Snippets of missing scenes from the ending of GoF to the ending of DH. .::. Severus Snape has been through a lot in his life. But just how much was he forced to deal with as a spy in the second war against Lord Voldemort?
Genre: Drama/Angst
Rating: T – for some swear words (not many though, which for me is very surprising!)
Author's Note: This is the last chapter… I promise! Seriously… it's the final chapter… I swear! (plot bunnies keep attacking me with this fic but I'm sure that I've finally gotten them all now… thank God!)
Also… to clarify the grammar problem that Eldr-Fire pointed out: The thing with showing possession in words that already end with an 's' is, well, I've always been taught to use just the apostrophe and not to add the extra 's'. Since I'm from Canada I don't know if that's just a difference between British English and American English… or it could possibly just be the fact that I'm only 16 and have only completed Gr. 11 English at this point and maybe all my English teachers have just sucked and taught it to me wrong. Either way it's how I've been taught and so I'm going to just keep doing it that way for now. Hope no one minds too much.
Also, to do with the loop-hole in the Fidelius Charm that Eldr-Fire also pointed out: Looking back on that scene I realize that it isn't quite as clear as it should be so I've gone back and fixed it. If you're wondering about how the loop-hole works exactly than you can go back to that scene in chapter one and re-read it. Hopefully it makes more sense now.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter… blah, blah, blah.
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June, 2048
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Hermione stands in silence as she hears someone approaching her.
"Hey," the person whispers.
"Hello Harry," Hermione greets with a small nod.
She forces her eyes away from the grave in front of her to look at Harry. He stands nervously beside her, his eyes looking everywhere but the gravestone in front of them.
"It's been a while since you've come here," Hermione observes.
Harry nods. "I finally figured out what I could give him."
Hermione watches as Harry fiddles with something in his hand that she hadn't noticed before. "A red lily Harry?" she smiles in amusement. "You do realize that's very obvious, don't you?"
Harry nods again. "What else would I give him? I daresay he has enough white roses to last three lifetimes."
Hermione smiles shyly. "It's become a tradition… I can't stop now."
"Four dozen roses and two singles," Harry observes as the two of them turn their gazes to the white roses carefully placed against the gravestone. "Fifty in total," Harry continues. "Fifty years… I hadn't realized it's been that long."
"He's been dead for longer than he was alive," Hermione whispers, a few tears managing to trace paths down her face.
Harry steps forward and gently places his one red lily against the dozens of white roses. His fingers trace the faded inscription and he has to blink back tears.
"Why Hermione?" Harry whispers, still bent over the grave. "Why do you insist on bringing flowers to his grave every year and yet you give nothing to anyone else's grave?"
Hermione places her hand on Harry's shoulder and gently pulls him back up into a standing position. "Because…" she murmurs as the two stand side by side again. "…because he's the only one who died without anyone in life who loved him."
"And do you think by loving him in death it will make his life more worthwhile?"
Hermione shakes her head slowly. "No… I give him roses every year – the same number of roses for the number of years he's been dead – in hopes that he will see in death that we do love him, do trust him, do care for him."
"Hermione…" Harry embraces the shaking woman. "…I think he knows. I think he always knew."
The two old friends stand in the silent embrace for quite some time. The wind whistles around them and blows their hair around in a silent dance.
"How many roses in total?" Harry questions, his voice muffled by the wind. "How many?"
Hermione laughs and entangles herself from Harry's arms. "One thousand, two hundred, and seventy-six… including this year and the one rose he got the day he was buried."
Harry smiles as he turns his eyes to the gravestone again. "That many? I think Snape's got your message by now."
"Probably…"
The two fall into silence again. Eventually Harry speaks: "You know, this is starting to get a little obsessive."
Hermione nods. "I know… I think this year will be the last. After all, fifty seems like a good number to break the tradition on."
Harry nods. "He's probably getting tired of roses too. You should've picked a more interesting colour… like yellow or something. White roses are a little boring after all."
"I could've been like you and brought red roses to represent Lily's red hair. But you even went a step further and brought a red lily!"
Harry laughs. "You've already pointed that out but yes, I know, it's very obvious and cliché but what else is there to give him?"
Hermione shrugs and then wipes away the last remaining tears. "I think it's time to say goodbye…" she murmurs, "…goodbye for real this time."
Harry looks at her. "So you don't plan on coming back." It's a statement, not a question, and Hermione realizes that.
Nevertheless she still shakes her head in response. "It's too much…"
"Too much…" Harry repeats in deep thought. "Too much? One day of pain a year is too much to deal with for you to pay your respects to a man whose whole life was pain?"
Hermione turns eyes full of anger on Harry. "How dare you say that! You haven't come here for decades!"
"Because I knew you've been coming," Harry whispers, turning away from Hermione and letting his eyes fall on the gravestone again. "We all know that you've been coming here each year… you've been coming for all of us."
"And no one else can do it?" Hermione bitterly retorts, returning her own gaze to the gravestone.
"Plenty of people can do it Hermione." Harry's voice is barely above a whisper. "But it just seems right for you to do it."
"Tradition…" Hermione mutters. "Every one thinks that only because it's become traditional for me to come."
"Perhaps…"
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June, 2049
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"I thought you weren't going to come anymore?"
Hermione sighs as she places one white rose against the gravestone. The man behind her kneels down beside her.
She turns to look at him. "I wasn't going to Harry but… but…"
Harry smiles. "You couldn't leave him alone."
Hermione nods. "He doesn't deserve to be alone. Even if it's just one rose now… still, it's something."
"It looks better with just one rose," Harry observes as he stands up.
Hermione remains kneeling. "Do you really think so?"
Harry nods, then realizes that Hermione can't see him. "Yes... it fits his personality more. I never thought he was one to accept dozens of roses."
Hermione slowly stands up and turns to Harry. "Did you know that there's no one left in the Snape family? He was the last of the name."
Harry raises an eyebrow in question. "And you found that out how?"
"The library of course… it has records of all the family names." She smiles. "I was curious why none of his family had ever come here. I wondered why no one seemed to care. But now I know."
"Hermione…" Harry sighs. "…when I was taking Occlumency lessons from him, back in year five…" The two friends smile at each other at the memories of their childhood in Hogwarts but Harry's smile soon fades. "…I once accidentally broke into his mind and saw his memories. He's parents, well, they weren't exactly the greatest."
Hermione turns to look back at the gravestone. "I know."
Harry's brown furrows in confusion as he too turns to look at the gravestone. "How?"
"If he had had loving, caring, even remotely good parents, than there would've been a far less chance of him ever choosing to become a Death Eater. People with good families and good friends don't often fall into the dark side of life."
"I never had a good family," Harry states, "And I never became entangled in the evil side… not like Snape did."
"You had friends." Hermione's voice is barely louder than a whisper. "He didn't… not any that really cared for him. At least, that's what I've come to learn over the years, from what I've heard."
Harry wonders exactly what Hermione's heard over the years and what she's manipulated people into telling her.
"You know what's the hardest for me to accept?" Hermione's question isn't really a question and Harry knows that no matter how he answers she's going to tell him her thoughts.
"If his life had been any different…" She brushes away her tears. "…if he had had happiness and joy and never became a Death Eater than there's a good chance that Voldemort would've succeeded."
"Sacrifices," Ron states and Hermione turns questioning eyes on the Weasley.
"When did you get here?" she asks.
"I was wondering where you went." Ron smiles. "You said you weren't going to come here this year but it seems you couldn't stay away."
"What do you mean by sacrifices?" Harry asks as Ron moves to stand beside them.
"Back at Grimmauld Place, during the war, I once complained to Remus about how bad of a chess player he was." Ron smiles at the memory. "Sirius overhead and told me that if I wanted a challenge I should ask Snape."
"He was good at chess?" Hermione questions.
Ron nods. "I never knew why. Just like I never knew why you…" He smiles at Hermione. "…could be so intelligent and yet suck at Chess. But now I know."
"Why?" Hermione. "Why was I so bad at chess and Snape so good?"
Ron turns to look at the gravestone. He takes a few seconds to read the faded inscription and smiles. "Snape understood sacrifice."
Hermione raises an eyebrow in question. "I understand sacrifice too. I would've sacrificed everything to win against Voldemort." Her voice is quiet with thoughtfulness.
Ron sighs. "Wrong choice of words." Ron pauses to organize his thoughts in his head before he speaks. "Snape understood the full importance of sacrifice, and he was willing to sacrifice anything and everything to destroy Voldemort. I think Snape came to the realization that his whole life had been a sacrifice… that all the wrong that had been forced upon him was so that he would become a Death Eater… was so that he would therefore become a spy."
"I would've sacrificed everything too!" Hermione's voice is now loud with anger. "I understand sacrifice too!"
"You understand sacrifice," Ron whispers, "And you would've sacrificed everything but you weren't willing to. You would've sacrificed anything if asked of you but you weren't really willing to."
"And Snape was willing to because he knew the full importance of it," Harry murmurs.
"One life isn't worth much when saving the world," Ron quotes. "I overheard Snape tell Dumbledore that once back at Grimmauld Place."
"Hermione is bad at chess because she tries to lose the least amount of pieces as possible while still winning…" Harry thinks out loud.
"…and Snape was good at chess because he focused on just winning and forced himself not to care about the sacrifices that had to be made; the pieces that he had to lose," Ron finished.
"So everyone's life was just a piece to the plan?" Hermione mutters, "Hardly noble at all!"
"More noble than you think," Ron replies. "Snape forced himself to see everyone as no more than a pawn, a person that he might have to sacrifice. But you've heard the stories about his mental health during the last year of his life just as much as I have."
"McGonagall told me some things that she saw during that year," Hermione whispers, "About excessive drinking and even… cutting."
"Guilt," Harry states. "He felt guilty."
"He was willing to sacrifice those that had to be sacrificed but he couldn't force himself not to care forever." Ron smiles sadly. "I think that when he had to kill Dumbledore… another sacrifice… that it finally shattered his soul to the point that he could barely hang on long enough to finish what he had to finish."
"It was probably the knowledge that if he died before his task was done than all those sacrifices… Dumbledore included… would've been in vain that kept him fighting," Harry says.
Hermione wipes her tears away and stares at the gravestone. "Fifty-one years," she whispers. "It's been fifty-one years and we still can't let go."
"He deserves to be remembered… all who died do," Harry states.
"But does he deserve it more than everyone else?" Hermione says, her voice wavering with grief.
"Yes," Ron states, "Yes because he wasn't remembered in life."
Harry smiles. "Yes… Severus… he deserves remembrance."
Hermione nods. "Remembrance…"
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June, 2109
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"It's been a hundred and eleven years."
The gravestone Hermione is looking at makes no response to the statement of the passage of time. She smiles softly, her face now clearly showing her age.
She carefully places two white roses against the gravestone. "These two roses bring the total up to one thousand, three hundred, and thirty-eight. At least, I think it does. I might've lost track of the amount by now… my mind's not quite as sharp as it used to be."
The gravestone doesn't reply. It's inscription has become so faded and worn with the years that it's nearly impossible to read it without squinting and concentrating.
Hermione doesn't mind though… she knows the inscription off by heart now. Not that it's really that long to be too difficult for anyone to remember.
"A hundred and eleven," Hermione whispers, "Three number ones in a row."
The wind doesn't blow this year. Hermione can feel the stillness of the air around her. With age she's become weaker, less strong, but her mind is still as sharp as ever – no matter what she might say about herself.
"I know I normally only bring one flower now-a-days." Her voice is quiet with content. "But I'm one hundred and twenty-eight years old and my health isn't what it used to be Severus."
She sighs and lets out a small breath. "I fear my time is running short and I may not be here for the next year. It seems that our tradition is finally about to break… I don't see who else will take up my place. Not with both Harry and Ron dead… and Ginny… and George.. and…" Her voice trails off as she cannot finish speaking the names of those who've died.
After many silent moments Hermione speaks again: "Roses… white roses… beautiful flowers but their thorns can be quite painful."
She chuckles quietly. "Kind of like you really. A beautiful, self-sacrificing soul incased in a thorny, rough personality."
Hermione sighs and kneels down, with quite some effort, in front of the gravestone. She runs her old, winkled fingers across the smooth edges of the inscription.
"Severus Tobias Snape," she reads, "1960 to 1998." Her breath hitches in her throat with grief. "One of us."
Hermione pushes herself back up and stands silently… staring at the gravestone.
"It seems that your memory will finally fade now." She smiles. "Has one hundred and eleven years of roses and remembrance been enough to forgive us all of our sins? To forgive us all for forgetting about you in life? Do you know we care? Do you know we believed you? Do you know we loved you?"
The wind starts blowing; gently at first but it gets rougher and rougher as the minutes pass by.
"Severus…" Hermione's voice is lost on the wind. "Sacrifices… you would say that they were all necessary sacrifices but I say other wise."
The wind blows her tears off her face. "You didn't need to die. Severus…"
"It's okay," a voice whispers… almost too quite to hear.
Hermione whirls around as fast as her aging body allows her too. But she sees no one around. Where had that voice come from? she wonders to herself.
The wind blows her hair around her face and she swears that it whispers to her. The words it says are undistinguishable and she strains above the noise of the nearby lake to understand.
"It's okay," it seems to whisper. "You remembered… it's okay now."
She smiles with realization. "Severus…"
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Hermione looks around. Wasn't I in bed, she thinks to herself, Why am I here?
This place is vaguely familiar to Hermione but she can't quite place it. She takes a step forward and frowns… her body doesn't protest in the movement. There's no aches or pains, her spine and knees aren't throbbing.
She raises her hand to look at it. Gone is the wrinkled skin and gnarly fingers of age… gone are the raised veins and prominent bones.
Slowly Hermione's eyes follow down her body. Gone is the one hundred and twenty-eight year old body… replaced with her old body – the body she had in youth. Not the body of a teenager but not yet the body of her aged self. She is back to her early twenties.
Then… then… Am I dead?
Hermione gasps and she raises her eyes to look, once again, at her familiar but yet not-so-familiar surroundings.
"King's Cross?" she whispers to no one in particular.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."
Hermione whirls around to face the person who dares to speak to her in death.
Her eyes widen in shock. The familiar black eyes, the greasy hair, the black clothes and cloak. "Severus?" she whispers.
He smiles, a twinkle of happiness in his eyes. "It seems you chose to return to your younger body… I wonder if you did that unconsciously or not?" he says, almost as if he's thinking out loud.
Hermione finds herself unable to speak and she takes a deep breath as she stares into the happy face of Professor Snape. Happy, her mind whispers to her, He's happy!
"Have you been waiting here all this time?" she asks, never letting her eyes leave him incase this is all nothing but a trick of her old, muddled mind.
Snape shakes his head. "Not here, not at King's Cross. I boarded the train…" He points to the train tracks and the train that sits there. "…I boarded it years ago after the battle at Hogwarts."
"But you came back to meet me here?" she asks, her voice breathless and slightly confused.
"Yes… when you were at my grave last week… I… I heard your voice…" His smile fades. "You told me your time was running out. I came here to find you… I didn't dare risk that you would get lost with no one here to guide you."
"You can just come back?"
Snape shakes his head and walks the few feet to stand directly in front of Hermione. "Once you leave King's Cross you can't come back. You can return on the train but you cannot leave it. Many people have come back on today's train to meet you."
Hermione has to look up to see into the eyes of her former professor. "But you're here, you came back to King's Cross."
"Because you remembered me." He smiles. "You came every year and left me roses. You remembered me. You allowed me to come back to King's Cross this final time."
"I remembered you?" she asks, her voice uncertain, "I remembered you? That's why?"
"Your memory kept me connected to your world in a stronger way than anything else. You refused to forget and because of that I have been able to leave the train to bring you to your next destination."
"And there… there are others on the train?"
He laughs; a laugh full of happiness and joy that Hermione has never heard in Severus' voice before. "Oh yes," he says, "There are tons of people waiting to meet you."
Hermione smiles and suddenly she knows exactly what to do. She stands on the very tips of her toes and embraces the man who she has refused to forget.
Snape stands in shock but eventually he returns the embrace and the two relax against each other.
"Is it happy?" she asks. "This place you want to bring me to. Is it happy?"
Severus pulls away from her embrace and stares into her eyes. Hermione can see the joy in his black eyes… his black eyes that hold so much more life in them than she had ever seen before.
He smiles. "I'm happy."
That's all Hermione needs to know.
The End.