The Death of Severus Snape by SilverPhoenix
Summary: ** Winner of Best Drama in the Hogwarts Express Challenge **
Ginny stood rooted to the spot and slowly realized why all went very quiet on the train. Why no scream was heard and the stillness hung thick in the air like a slow, dense fog. It was all because there lay their ex-teacher, murderer of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, dead.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Hogwarts Express Challenge (2006-3)
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2006.06.10
Updated: 2006.06.10
Index
Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter 2: The Murder
Chapter 3: The Mystery
Chapter 4: Epilogue
Chapter 1: Prologue
I never knew that he was a cold-blooded murderer until that one day, of course. Still I think that perhaps he did not murder in cold-blood but only in a terrible moment of fury. He could never control his anger after all, no matter how hard he tried. I still hate to think of that day, but sometimes I just have to come down here and visit him. He ruined his life, yes. Perhaps he ruined the wizarding world as well, but I still love him. My name is Ginny Weasley, and I am the sole damsel who dares to enter Azkaban.“Lady of Azkaban” they always greet me mockingly. I think their reference is to the Lady of the Lake in King Arthur’s days, for surely I must look like that. Azkaban is surrounded by mists, and every year I come here, most years far more than once, I stand upon the bow of the boat as we venture forth to Azkaban, the mysterious boatman paying me no heed. I often thought that he went mad in his job, but now I know that his silence was defense against madness.
I would always step off the boat, greeted by Aurors. Some mocked me, some silently respected me, in any case I did not care and so it did not matter. Always Kingsley Shacklebolt led me to his prisoner’s cell. I often wondered why he did not try and help him to escape. I often wondered why his prisoner did not try to escape himself. Now I know the horrible truth–he liked it better in his little prison cell than he did in the outside world. I knelt by his cell and whispered his name. He looked at me, his once bright eyes dull. He did not respond, but only put his head on his chest once more. I think I reminded him of things he did not want to remember. For I knew he did not want to remember that there had once been an outside world for him, a world outside of his insanity. I think that despite the few dementors they kept around his cage he thought of happy things that they were powerless to suck away, for although they were great happy things, they were made up within his own mind, and therefore sadder and more depressing than any memory that the dementors could put in its place.
I would sit there, perhaps for an hour, more contemplating things than anything else. I thought that perhaps I, too, should give in to the madness–it seemed a far kinder place than anywhere I had ever been. Yet, I always pushed this thought away, for I thought that perhaps one day I could save him, and I would need to be full of mind to do that.
When I would sit there contemplating on those dreary days that I visited him in Azkaban I often wondered why the Ministry had imprisoned him. No one missed Severus Snape. In fact, many people were glad that he had killed him, and he was viewed as a hero. So many people were outraged when he was sentenced to jail. I think I was the most outraged. For I had solved the mystery myself. I had, without meaning to, stabbed him in the back.
I would think of all the good times we had had together, all the wonderful memories we shared. How many years had passed now since that day? One, two, three…the list grew one more with every year, until finally it reached thirteen. Unlucky thirteen. It was that year that I knew he was completely lost. I could never find him again. Lost within his own eyes, his own mind. He was now irretrievable. I cried that year. I wept mercilessly. It was pointless I knew–what was done was done. He would look up when I would cry. His fathomless eyes I wish would bore into me as they once had. Yet now, they only stared at me blankly. Seeing me without recognition. Seeing me without seeing me at all…and then I would cry again.
Why had they taken him away from me? It seem so cruel, and hardly necessary. I had begged for him, pleaded for him. He told me that he had to accept the consequences for what he had done. That knowledge only made me cry harder. He had always been so noble, so good. He made one mistake, a mistake that most people believed should not even be considered a mistake. He was a DeathEater for crying out loud, he had killed Dumbledore! He deserved death. Yet apparently he did not deserve death at the hands of a sixteen-year-old.
When I heard his life sentence in Azkaban, I truly could not bear it. I had done it. Me. I had turned him over. It was an accident! Me and my big mouth. My stupid wit and puzzling brain. Oh, why did I have to put the pieces together like so? I could hardly understand the self-cruelty I’d been dealt. Now he was rotting in a cell, so far gone into madness that he would never be healed, and here I was, a withering flower waiting to die and join him.
Life truly is as cruel as it seems. I wished not to think back upon that one day. That one, terribly awful day on the Hogwarts Express when I happened to stumble upon something bigger than myself. I should not have interfered. I never should have helped him solve the mystery. If I had not helped, then the murderer would have gotten away, and consequently, so would have my love. Yet he did not escape. He did not escape and he was put on trial.
It was a cruel thing for them to ask me to testify against him. I had no choice in the matter. I can remember sitting on the bench, sobbing. I could not for the life of me lie, and yet I wished with all my heart, body and soul that I could. I had not the power to fight the damnation I’d face if I lied. I wish I had been stronger. How I wished for that damnation now, for surely it could be nothing compared to this terrible suffering. Total damnation could not compare to this misery, I was certain.
I would then whisper his name softly again. He would not look at me a third time, I knew that from experience. I knew that no matter how deep into madness he had sunk, he could still remember pain. Perhaps that was all he could remember. Just that feeling with no memories. I would cry again, and even if I willed it not, I would remember the cruelty of the world. I would remember the day my love was damned to spend his life in this Prison, rotting. Most of all, I would remember the death of Severus Snape.
Chapter 2: The Murder
Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all stepped onto the train.“I am so ready for it to be summer,” Ginny said brightly, trying to cheer them all, especially Harry, from their gloomy mood. The tactic didn’t work. Ron and Hermione gave her a half-hearted smile, and Harry did not even acknowledge that she had spoken. Ginny sighed. She really couldn’t blame them what with Dumbledore being killed by Snape and the attack on Hogwarts and all, but it was all over and done with. They would come back to school next year and everything would be as it was–or so Ginny thought, or rather so she hoped. People hustled and bustled around the train, though they all noticed that it was a more sluggish hustling than usual. Everyone was feeling that terrible looming darkness. Everyone now knew of the war up ahead. Worst of all, they all knew that since they were only students, they were powerless to stop it.
They settled on an empty compartment at the front of the train. Harry took to his sport of gazing out the window while Ron and Hermione talked quietly. Ginny decided that she would take to her own sport of gazing at Harry. He had a look on his face that Ginny could not decipher. It was not a look she had ever seen on him before. Ginny took his hands–they were cold, and sweaty. So he was nervous; but why? Harry looked at her, and Ginny was to get a glimpse of that hollow stare that she would see for so many years to come. Ginny did not like the look that Harry gave her–she winced and he finally looked at her with all the warmth and depth in his eyes.
“What is it, Gin?” Harry asked her. She dropped his hands and averted her eyes, joining him in his window gazing.
“Nothing,” she said. She slid her eyes artfully to look at him. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and looked back out the window. Ginny sighed and picked up a book. She did not understand what he enjoyed about gazing out that window. All she saw was cows and farmland racing by. In a few years Ginny would understand why Harry gazed out of the window. But at the current moment, all she saw was a lonely boy with messy black hair too noble to let anyone else in. Ginny frowned as she read her book without really reading it. She was thinking about Harry. She knew all that the Dursleys did to him was terrible. She understood that, but she still didn’t understand why he felt the need to push everyone away. She understood the dangers of being his girlfriend, but if she was willing to go up against those dangers then shouldn’t they be allowed to be together? Ginny sighed. Perhaps she’d never understand him.
They sat on the train for a few hours. Hermione had taken out a book, and so Ron, having no one to talk to, was forced to do the same. Everything was at peace, even glum peace as it was, when suddenly the train stopped and then jerked forward, unseating everyone in their compartments.
“What in the bloody--,” Ron began, but at that moment the four people in the compartment looked at each other in confusion and fear when suddenly the lights went out. Screams rang through the air as they heard the train making stopping noises it probably shouldn’t have. It was screeching, lurching backwards and forwards, stopping and starting. It was some inner turmoil that they could not prevent. They could hear compartment doors sliding open and the pounding of feet as people ran to get off the train. It was evening, and so dark that the bits of light from outside did not help. Ginny looked out the window and screamed–they were having this chaos ensue on an unsteady train that was in the middle of a bridge. People were rightfully screaming, panicking as they tried to get off this mad train, yet it was in vain. Ginny heard their own compartment door open. Blindly, Ginny followed Hermione, Ron and Harry out the door.
In the corridor Ginny could hardly see. She saw dark shapes that were the people in the crowd. She ran through them, maneuvering through the small openings or sometimes pushing people apart as she watched Hermione? Ron? Harry?, someone, running ahead of her.
“Wait!” Ginny cried, but her plea fell on deaf ears. Whomever she had been following disappeared as the crowd swallowed them up. It wasn’t but a minute after that that screams could be heard from up ahead, and the crowd was stampeding back her way. Ginny staggered and fell to the floor, nearly being trampled by the blinded and frightened students. Ginny managed to get up with the help of an unknown person. When she did, suddenly the train stopped lurching, and a moment later the lights came back on. She saw that the person helping her up was Harry and that Ron and Hermione were close by him.
“What is going on?” Ginny asked helplessly. Students were still screaming, but something must have happened up ahead because suddenly the students weren’t screaming anymore. Ginny’s heart began to race. Dead silence filled the air. Ginny pushed her way through the crowd to see what was going on.
“Ginny, wait!” Harry cried, running after her. Ginny ignored him and kept on going. What was so scary and yet so mortifying that it had left everyone so frozen? Ginny managed to get to the top of the crowd where a circle around something had formed. Ginny stood rooted to the spot and slowly realized why all went very quiet on the train. Why no scream was heard and the stillness hung thick in the air like a slow, dense fog. It was all because there lay their ex-teacher, murderer of Professor Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, dead.
Chapter 3: The Mystery
No one seemed to be able to get their wits about them. There was a dead man lying before them, yet was this a good thing or a bad thing? It was a hard decision. This man had been a death eater, a murderer. This murder on the Hogwarts Express however meant that one person on this train was a murderer themselves, death eater or no. Ginny’s blood ran cold at the thought of one of her friends being a murderer–it simply wasn’t possible! Ginny shook herself from her thoughts–she could think later. For now, she had to be the one with common sense if no one else had any. Just when Ginny was about to speak, though, the Head Boy came barging through. Ginny vaguely remembered his name being Jacob Macmillan. The Head Boy goggled at the body before him, but then he shook his head and shouted,“Someone call the Aurors! Send out an owl or something!” A meek little first year scampered off, most people assumed to go get his owl and send a message. “Now, what happened here?” No one answered Jacob’s question. Everyone was quiet and still.
“Snape’s been murdered, Jacob,” Ginny said quietly. “Nobody really knows what happened.” Jacob frowned. He muttered,
“So, we have a mystery on our hands–a murder mystery,” aloud he said, “Everyone get back to your compartments, and I mean now!” The crowd began to cower and obey, most people just wanting to get away from the sight of the dead body. Ginny began to turn back also, but she noticed that Harry wasn’t leaving. Ron and Hermione had noticed that too and were staying with him. Ginny stopped. Harry stepped toward Jacob.
“When the aurors get here they’re going to want some answers, and we can’t give them any right now. We need to get this solved, and fast,” Harry said. Jacob studied Harry for a moment. Harry began to look impatient. “Look, I know more about DeathEaters than anyone on this train. Let me lead the investigation.” Jacob had a look on his face that clearly said he did not want to allow this, but finally he relented.
“Ok, you’re right. I’ll be in the Head compartment at the front of the train if you need me. If you find anything out, come and tell me, alright?” Jacob said Harry nodded.
“It’s a deal. Hopefully this way we’ll at least have some clues and suspects this way,” Harry said. Jacob nodded.
“Yes. I’ll be waiting in my compartment for the Aurors to arrive,” Jacob stated, and with that he left the four with the dead man’s corpse. Harry looked down at Snape’s body.
“Well, I suppose we should get started then,” he said with a sigh, then turned around to face Ginny, Hermione and Ron. “You are going to help me, right?” Hermione nodded vigorously.
“Of course we’ll help you Harry,” she said. Ron just nodded. Ginny looked at Harry for a moment as he looked to her for her own approval. There was something different in his eyes, Ginny decided, though she didn’t understand what. She cleared her head of those thoughts and just smiled back at him.
“What else are friends for?”
Their first order of business was finding any hint or clue as to who did it, yet they found nothing around Snape’s body.
“Well,” Hermione finally said, musing, “Only a very powerful wizard could have made the train go haywire, so that pretty much limits us in our choices as to who could have done it. They were obviously using the train as a distraction.” Harry butt in quickly after she was done.
“I don’t think so. I think Snape was using it as a distraction. Either that, or he was just being his usual cruel self,” Harry said. Ginny frowned at him–it wasn’t like Harry to shoot down an idea, especially one of his friends’ ideas, so quickly. Yet Hermione, except for looking slightly indignant, did not protest and neither did Ron. Ginny supposed she should bite her tongue as well.
“Well,” Ginny said, “if we can’t figure out who did it, maybe figuring out what happened to him would help.” Hermione and Ron agreed. Harry nodded.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” he said. He knelt down next to the body and rolled up the sleeves on Snape’s robes with a considerable amount of disgust–Ginny wasn’t certain whether that disgust was for a dead body or for Snape himself. Ginny knelt beside him. There were pools of blood next to Snape, which Ginny tried with difficulty to avoid stepping in. Ginny saw the cause a moment later–terribly long and deep cuts all over Snape. “Sectumsempra–I’d bet my life on it. It’s extremely dark magic.”
“Rectumsempra?” Ron asked in confusion. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.
“Not rectum Ronald! Sectum! There’s a difference–a really big difference! Sectumsempra is no tickling charm,” Hermione said. “Instead, Sectumsempra cuts the victim in several places, causing them to bleed heavily. The victim could easily die of blood loss if it wasn’t treated right away.”
“That was probably how he died, then,” Harry said, musing. “The last curse shot at him so he’d already be weakened and possibly unable to mutter the countercurse. That would make sense.” Hermione looked at Snape for a moment and furrowed her eyebrows.
“No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t make sense,” Hermione said. Harry frowned.
“Well why not?” he asked.
“There wasn’t enough time,” Ginny said, guessing what Hermione had to say. “He couldn’t have bled to death in five minutes. Besides, these pools aren’t nearly large enough…in fact, it almost looks as if the curse was cast on him when he was already dead.” Ginny said, frowning as well. Why would anyone cast a bleeding charm on a dead person? Things just weren’t adding up.
“Why would anyone do that?” Harry asked, voicing her unspoken question.
“I don’t know,” Ginny said.
“For now then, it’s the best guess that we have,” Harry said. “Besides, the murderer could have used a time spell to speed up the time around him.” Ginny nodded.
“I suppose so,” she said doubtfully. There was no way a student could have cast such a powerful time spell, and she knew it. Not even Harry himself had that kind of power. What on Earth was going on? She looked back down at the long cuts and then her frown deepened even further. Ron must have seen it.
“What’s wrong Ginny?”
“Well, I don’t see his dark mark. If he had been on a mission for Voldemort, then don’t you think he’d have his dark mark, even if it were fading?” Ginny was deeply disturbed. Why else would Snape be on the train if not for Voldemort’s purpose? But then she also noticed that Snape did not wear a death eater’s mask, either. She supposed that that could have been easily knocked off, but for some reason she suspected that he had simply never brought it.
“Probably on a mission to kill me in revenge for my Father’s pranks,” Harry said bitterly. Ginny felt sorry for him for a moment, but then reality hit her–Snape would never kill Harry for his own pleasure. He would get in trouble with his Master, who wanted Harry for himself. Plus, Snape knew scraps of the Prophecy and could probably figure out that Harry could not be killed by anyone less than Voldemort himself. He had not been a dumb man, after all. Ginny sighed and shook her head. Things were just getting so out of control.
“I’m hungry guys. Let’s go back to the compartment and get something to eat,” he said. The four nodded and Ron and Hermione went off to find the trolley while Ginny and Harry went back to the compartment. Ginny slumped in her seat, exhausted and puzzled. Harry sat down across from her, getting out some chocolate frogs he’d hoarded during the school year.
“Are you okay?” He asked her, handing her a chocolate frog. Ginny took it gratefully.
“Yeah, I’m just really confused. This whole murder and mystery has really gotten me rattled,” she said, rolling up her sleeves and then taking a big chunk out of the frog’s head.
“I see,” Harry said, mimicking her actions. Ginny gasped.
“Harry, what did you do to your wrist?” she asked. There was a large gasp on the back of Harry’s wrist, and it was bleeding fairly freely. Ginny was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before. Harry looked down, examining the cut.
“Oh, Hedwig just grabbed me with her talon a little too hard this morning,” Harry said, then dove back into his chocolate frog, avoiding further conversation as he rolled his sleeves back down again and Ron and Hermione entered with more treats. Ginny excused herself with the excuse that she needed to talk to Collin Creevy about something and left the compartment.
When Ginny got out she was very disturbed, confused and slightly frightened. What if the unthinkable had happened and–no. No, she would not think that way. Ginny shook herself. Yet, she had to know. Ginny walked to Snape’s body. She picked up his wand and, trembling, she muttered the incantation for the last spell the wand had done. Purple gas emitted from the wand eerily and formed the word “Sectumsempra”. Ginny set the wand down. Severus Snape had not committed suicide, and Ginny knew that. Yet what could this mean? The Snape had been killed with his own wand or that someone wanted her to think he was killed with his own wand?
Ginny walked into an empty compartment near the body (it had been vacated by frightened and disgusted students) and looked out the window. It was very dark outside, and they would be arriving at Kings Cross very soon. Now she knew that they had not even solved the mystery of how Snape died. Ginny was convinced that Sectumsempra hadn’t done it. It just didn’t seem right. Yet, what else could have? The only thing that killed that swiftly, that effortlessly, that cleanly was…well, it was the killing curse. Bile rose in Ginny’s throat, but she fought it down. He had been killed with the killing curse, she would bet money on it, and then someone performed sectumsempra on him with his own wand to cover up what they had done. It was sickening even if it had been done to a death eater.
Ginny went outside of the compartment and stood next to the corpse, staring at it. She sunk to the floor, unable to keep stand any longer. She leaned her head back against the wall and was about to close her eyes when she noticed something yellowish poking out from under Snape’s robes. Ginny opened her eyes and leaned forward. Yes, something yellowish was definitely under Snape’s robes. Ginny lifted up that part of the robe and the something yellowish, which happened to be a piece of parchment, and a pin fell out of Snape’s pocket.
Curious, Ginny picked up the letter. The train was stopping and now many students were coming out of their compartments, including Harry, Hermione and Ron.
“What’s that Ginny?” Harry asked, but Ginny paid him no heed.
To the Friends of the Potter Brat–
I’d like you all to know why I pinned this note to your dead golden boy’s robes. He brought this all upon himself, challenging me to a duel. He is dead due to his own stupidity, and that’s why I feel the need to write this note to you–to let you know that your boy did not die in a moment of honor, but rather a moment of rage. How pitiful. I will destroy you all one day, so you all may join the Potter Brat, don’t worry.
--Voldemort’s Faithful servant,
Severus Snape
Ginny froze. She was literally paralyzed. She could not move or speak or talk. The only one thing that seemed to be screaming in her mind was “HARRY DID IT! HARRY IS THE MURDERER!” and she could think of nothing but that. Finally she gained control of her motions. She stared at Harry as he paled.
“What do you have there, Gin?” he asked, nervously this time. Ginny did not even notice the Aurors who were rushing to the scene of the crime now that the train had stopped.
“You did it,” Ginny whispered. “I can’t believe it.” Harry went sheet white.
“Ginny,” he said, in a slightly warning tone, for he saw what she had not noticed.
“Harry…I can’t believe you killed Severus Snape,” she said in a normal voice, completely in shock. Her shock would only grow as she then saw Harry lose any color he had left in his face as the Aurors had heard her. They grabbed Harry ferociously and began leading him off the train, some Aurors staying at the scene of the crime. Ginny’s eyes widened and she clapped her hand over her mouth. Now she could only think one thing, one awful, guilty thought.
‘What have I done?’
Chapter 4: Epilogue
The story that I thought of most, the story that haunted me most was always the story of the death of Severus Snape. Never in my life did I once think that I would regret the fact that Severus Snape was dead, until that day came. I would sit in Azkaban and think about that story as I did many times that thirteenth year; the year that I knew Harry was gone from me forever. Sometimes I would think of happy stories. These stories I would tell aloud for Harry to hear. The years before that last year he would look up. That last year, however, he did not even acknowledge my existence with a hollow stare.I can recall how I threw myself against the jail bars at that point that year, screaming profanity.
“Why won’t you look at me Harry? Why won’t you look at me?” I screamed. He looked up. He blinked. Never once was there a change in his expression, never once did he look at me with more than that hollow stare. Then he put his head back on his chest as he had done so many times before, and the communication, if you could call it that, was no more. I shook the bars of his cell and screamed. I was a broken and beaten woman. I had seen the wizarding world come crumbling down and fall into the hands of darkness. Curse Voldemort! Curse Snape! Damn it, curse them all! I can recall falling to the rusty old floor at this point, sobbing harder than I think I have ever sobbed in my life. Sometimes I wonder why the guards did not come when I was screaming. I’ll never know what happened to them, but I think that at this point they simply did not care.
I reflected upon my life, my horrible, terrible life. After Harry had been caught by the Aurors, he was immediately sent to the ministry while more Aurors were dispatched to the scene of the crime. It was discovered that indeed the killing curse was used upon Snape and that the last spell Harry had used was, mortifyingly, avada kedavra. Two and two were put together, and enough evidence was put up against him during the court that he was reluctantly sentenced to Azkaban for 15 years. I never wanted parole to be used in the wizarding world more than I wanted it that last year. Perhaps if he had gotten out early, he could have gotten out with his mind and we could have lived the normal life we were meant to. I know that wasn’t possible, yet it was my dream and it only made me cry harder.
After his sentencing, they allowed him time with each of his friends and family before he was carted off to that place of pure evil. I can remember my last time with him, there in the cramped ministry holding cell. No fear was in his eyes. He was absolutely ready to accept the punishment for what he had done. I should have been the strong one, for I was the reason he was in there in the first place, yet I was the weak one. I cried on his shoulder. He stroked my hair, told me not to worry, that I had been in shock. He knew that I had never ever meant to betray him. I can remember how those soft, kind eyes looked at me with such caring. I think that I cried again.
That was the last time that I saw him with eyes with any brilliance, any sheen, any depth. I should have known that he was dead the moment he stepped into Azkaban. True, he was still breathing, true the Dementors had never sucked out his soul, and yet he was dead. Dead to the world. To me, to his family and to everyone who still had hopes riding on this boy we refused to believe that his mind was gone and that he was in a sense dead. Yet that deadness was the kinder fate I do believe.
I loved him with all my heart, and that last year as I sobbed I wished nothing more than to be with him, wherever he was. I wished with all of my heart, body and soul that I could be with my love. I sobbed, and I sobbed, and I sobbed. Eventually I did not even remember where I was any longer. It got to the point where I didn’t even remember why I was crying, and my sobs died down steadily. I felt a gentle hand upon my shoulder, and I looked up.
I don’t know where I was. I don’t know if I was in heaven or where, but it was beautiful. The grass was a bright green, the sky was a perfect blue, the clouds were like those fluffy little clouds you draw when you’re very small. Off in the distance I could see a beech tree, and under this beech tree was three boys and a redheaded girl. The sun shone upon them all. I recognized those people very vaguely–one was James Potter, Harry’s father, the other was Remus Lupin, who died on a mission for the order only the year before. The third boy was Sirius Black, and the redheaded girl was Lily Evans, Harry’s self-sacrificing mother.
I suddenly remembered that there was a hand on my shoulder. I turned around. There stood Harry, my Harry, the one with the fathomless eyes and charming smile. There stood the Harry I had longed for thirteen long years. There he stood, looking down upon me and smiling.
“Hi,” he spoke to me.
“Hi,” I spoke back. He smiled at me some more. I smiled back. He took my hand and hefted me to my feet.
“Welcome home,” he said. I saw before me my family, my family who was all dead, Harry’s family. I saw everyone. At that point I knew. I knew I had succumbed to the madness. Yet, Harry was there, holding my hand; the death of Severus Snape was forgotten. Harry was by my side, and that was all the mattered. He and I walked into the light, hand in hand, together.