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Different Endings	By : sshgdifferentfan Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 8218 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of

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IF ANYONE WOULD HAVE TOLD SEVERUS SNAPE

…on that fateful day, that a year from then he would be seated at the Head Table enjoying his evening meal – the best Shepherd's Pie house-elves could make – in peace and quiet surrounded by teachers – or what passed as a teacher nowadays – and students alike he would have issued that someone a mental-healing potion and would have done some Legilimency to look for a Obliviate gone-wrong performed by Weasley's second year spell-o-tape fixed wand, because he wasn't supposed to still be around a day or even week beyond that day, never mind a full year later.

And yet here he was.

That day, the 2nd of May – the day that has since been named Harry Potter's Death Day, or in some circles (those who still opposed the Dark Lord – they were few and not as loud as they used to be, but they were still out there) Benedict-Bilius Day – was supposed to be his single best and last day on Earth. He was supposed to do his job, to tell Potter all that there was to tell and die.

Simple, elegant and beautiful much like the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, wanted and got for his own death. Oh, it had been anything but simple or elegant and definitely not beautiful for those who were still alive after that night in the Astronomy Tower almost two years ago – Severus included, or better said, especially for Severus – but it was what his mentor had wanted and it was what his mentor had got.

He wanted that also.

And then Nagini's fangs broke through his skin, tendons and flesh and for a minute – a long peaceful minute – Severus thought he might have it. He didn't even care that his mission was only half finished, that the Potter brat – the one he protected for longer than he wished to remember – would fail or that in the end his last sacrifice, his life, wouldn't be worth it – not like Lilly's had, not like Dumbledore's had – but he just didn't care anymore. He was too close to the end for anything else to matter anymore.

Then when he saw Potter kneel at his side, with Granger and Weasley right behind him, he was happier than he ever remembered being in his life, because it wouldn't be all in vain and he could finally die – his simple, elegant and beautiful, yet somewhat messy death.

But no, he wasn't allowed that.

Lucius fucking Malfoy just had to stick his nose in other people's perfect ending to a miserable life. He came back for him, a little after Potter died that first time in the Forbidden Forest by Voldemort's wand, dragged his more than half dead sorry arse out of the Shrieking Shack and dumped him at the feet of Poppy Pomfrey, just as the Chosen One was killed once and for all by the Traitor. And he just had to demand she fix him at wand point and threat of curses so dark not even the Dark Lord ever tied using – not that Lucius was stupid enough to use them himself, but Poppy didn't need to know that.

He was willing to die that day – hell he was happy to die – but they came running to his rescue, playing the fucking heroes and save him when he didn't need or want saving.

And here he was now – alive and well in a world he hadn't desired living in since the night Lilly had been murdered, playing the right-hand man of a maniac he hated with passion and still, after all those years, pretending to be anything but himself. No, nothing had changed on the 2nd of May the year before, not for him anyway. There was nothing better in his life now that the Chosen One was dead and there was nothing worse.

For Severus Snape there was nothing there anymore, not even death – not yet anyway – not even her. Oh, he had everything a man could ever have wanted – he was after all his Lord's favourite; a 'honour' he shared with Weasley these days – and still he had nothing at all.

Oh, how he wanted to die! How he wanted to be with Lilly again or Dumbledore or his mother or any of the friends he lost during both wars… but he couldn't. That fucking bastard – be it Lucius sodding Malfoy or Tom fucking Riddle – had took the chance to see them again and turned it to ash.

Startled from contemplating the death that never happened by the buzzing of whispers, Severus noticed students looking up at the Hall's enchanted ceiling and for a second hoped that somehow, on this completely still evening – no clouds or rain in sight – lightning would come, finally striking and granting him what he wished for the most.

He wasn't that lucky. He never was and never would be. It was like an unwritten law of nature that stated that Severus Snape was to be the unluckiest bastard alive and he was fine with it. Yet sometimes, less and less during the last year, he hoped and wished and prayed Merlin, Morgana and whoever else was listening for only a glimmer of luck in his life.

He never got it – not then – not now – not ever.

It wasn't his lightning, obvious, but a regal looking owl – Lucius Malfoy's owl to be exact – with what seemed like a large, heavy parcel strapped to its leg. It was a wonder the bloody bird managed to get off the ground with that thing.

The parcel was for him of course. Be it business; issues regarding the school or the Board of Governors; or personal; invitations to boring evenings of pompous conversation and expensive booze or a request for an off the market potion - usually the kind that respectable Potion Masters wouldn't be caught dead brewing, yet secretly brewed for the challenge they offered; Lucius Malfoy corresponded to no one at Hogwarts except for him. Not since his son decided that under the Dark Lord Regime higher education, or for that matter education in general, was nothing but a waste of time, especially compared to a life of fine liquors and women of questionable... everything.

Severus waited patiently for the bird to descend, as he scanned the faces of all those around him – students only; he could barely manage to look at his colleagues – all faithful, branded Death Eaters, these days – during staff meetings; he needn't spoil his dinner too.

The house tables - Why they were still called house tables, in an era when all students were placed in Slytherin – thou they were most certainly not all Slytherins – and when Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were non-existent, he couldn't say – were emptier than they had ever been before. Even that last school year, when some Purebloods preferred to home schooled their children, many Half-Bloods were too afraid to come back and Muggle-Borns were taken by or fleeing the Muggle-Born Registration Commission, there were more faces to look at from his place at the Head Table.

It was a desolate picture, one he wished never to witness and yet here he was: Headmaster for the second year around of an institution which used to be the last bastion of light – a school that had once stood for all that the wizarding world represented, stood now for bigotry and dark alone – and him, unable to do anything about it.

He hated it.

Dumbledore would have done more for his beloved school, Potter would have fought tooth and nail for what he considered his home, Lilly would have never accepted a faith such as this for a place that gave her so much and Granger, she would have done something – a campaign, a secret club, a brilliant project or maybe something in the lines of what Umbridge had got – and still he could do nothing at all.

All he could do was listen, obey, listen some more, scheme and plan, and hope for a day when he – or somebody... anybody – would be able to do something, to save them somehow.

With one last look at what was left of his students he dragged his attention back to the owl. It was still flying, swirling around the Head Table a couple of times before somehow managing a rather graceful landing – for a bird its size, with a package that large – next to his half empty plate.

Severus immediately untied the parcel, shooed the bird away. The small owl nibbling at his dinner shoot him a reproachful glare, ducked his hand and continued eating.

Severus scanned the heavy box for hexes, curses and all sorts of other enchantments before opening it. It was even heavier than it looked like and he found himself confused, yet not surprised, to find the package almost empty, except for a roll of parchment and a ruby coloured round shred of glass.

Taking out the glass Severus noticed that it weight slightly less than a Knut, had roughly the same dimension and some carvings of what looked like runes on the margins. Closing his fist around the small glass, he scooped out the parchment, unrolled it and started reading.

Severus,

Seeing that I keep sending you invitations that you scarcely if ever attend and that the First Annual Ball/Revel is only two hours away, I took the liberty of procuring an object that would guarantee your attendance to a small gathering I organised before tonight's celebration.

The parcel containing the letter and the glass-coin are two components of an interesting piece of craftsmanship created by one of our mutual friends.

Do try and give Gareth a sneer-free compliment on it when you see him tonight!

Anyways, the Transporter (not quite the name I would have chosen but I presume it serves its purpose) it's nothing more than a portkey with the distinct characteristic that you needn't "Hold on!" or even be near it, to take you to your destination. Ah… and it can bypass any Anti-Travelling Wards.

I know you will be intrigued by the device and that you will feel almost compelled to take the time to study and understand it (I blame that on your mother's Ravenclaw legacy), but I assure you, my friend, there will be time later. The Transporter has already been activated by your touch (be it on glass-coin or parcel – it doesn't matter which) and in approximately three minutes you will be portkeyed to the Traitor's Manor to await in the company of a few select others and myself for the festivities to begin.

As I presume you are in the middle of dinner in the Great Hall – exactly when and where I intended for the parcel to reach you – I strongly recommend that you excuse yourself for the evening before the staff has collective heart failure at your sudden disappearance in spite of the room being warded against Apparition and Protkeys.

You wouldn't want to have go back to teaching Potions again if Slughorn croaks on the Head Table, now would you?

Always your friend,

Lucius

PS: It's no use getting rid of or destroying either coin or parcel – you will still be portkeyed to the established destination.

Coin and parchment still in hand, Severus rose from the table, gathered the parcel and its wrapping, murmured an excuse to Amycus Carrow, Dark Arts professor and Deputy Headmaster and left the Great Hall in a swish of billowing black robes. He barely managed to get halfway to the castle's entrance before the portkey glowed bright blue and with a strong pull from somewhere below his navel he was off.

Author's notes: 'Harry Potter's Death Day' is designed as a multi-part chapter because of how long it got when I started filling page after page with all the stuff that happens one year from the action in 'Prologue'. This chapter will have 3 or 4 parts depending on how it feels when I've done editing it.

Author's PS: The length of this chapter is not the norm of this story. There will generally be somewhere around 2500 to 3500 words for each not smaller and divided as this one when longer.

Author's Request: If you got far enough to read this, use the 'Review' button below and let me know what you think.
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Different Endings