The Last Visitor

It was time. Draco's hesitation forced him to do this. Unfortunately, Severus's heart was not in carrying out this Vow, despite the orders he's received on both sides.

Do it for Draco... and the Dark Lord, I suppose. I want this to be over.

Do it, Severus, and maybe I will trust you.

Just do it, Severus. Do it for Harry, the Order, and me. Do it for yourself. I won't take "No" for an answer. You know the stakes.

Severus could just see the masses in black on the grounds tomorrow. He heard the wailing and the sobbing and the dignified tones of respect from Rufus Scrimgeour and his entourage. He saw the doleful bouquets and the distressed cards and Hagrid's fat tears glinting from his large beard. He saw Professor McGonagall's stiff hat protruding from the crowd, McGonagall's expression scared and resolute at the same time.

He saw his students-his former students by then. He saw the shock, the grief, and the confusion. He saw scattered indifference among the pupils in his own House. He saw Harry Potter, flanked by his insufferable friends, but could not make out the expression on the boy's face. Disbelief? Sadness? Fury? All of the above could be true and Severus had to stiffen himself for the outcome.

He saw the headline of the Daily Prophet, proclaiming an apocalyptic end, read by terrified witches and wizards all over the country. He saw the Ministry, somber and broken. He saw the trembling fingers and widened eyes of witches and wizards everywhere as they relived the War: the deaths, the devastation, the sinister Dark Marks glittering over houses.

He saw the Dark Lord's face, gleeful and confident. He saw the congratulatory smiles of the other Death Eaters. He saw himself being toasted and admired. He saw the dismissive face of Bellatrix and the grateful face of Narcissa. He saw a melancholy Draco, disappointed by his own helplessness.

He saw the visitors to the marble tomb dwindle until only the withering flowers and Hagrid's miserable face remained. He saw Hagrid finally leave, taking his dejected boarhound with him.

In Severus's mind, it was a beautiful day in late summer. There was a delicate crunch as he trod on the season's first fallen leaves. There was a strong breeze that drifted his hair into his face and swirled his black robes around him.

He saw himself kneel beside the marble tomb, his whispered words intermittently broken by quiet sobs. Fallen teardrops glistened on the decrepit flowers from departed mourners and on the polished surface of the grave. He saw himself say "Sorry" to the wind a thousand times. A million times. He shivered, wishing there was a response and hoping for no answer at the same time. What answer could possibly redeem him from his action? To him, this death would be both a terrible curse and a merciful blessing.

But now wasn't the time to mourn. The time for begging forgiveness would be later. Severus looked down at the bearded man and stiffened with resolve. Now was the time.

"Severus... please..."

Severus gripped his wand and looked away from those eyes. There would be no twinkle in them anymore. He focused on the thudding chest instead.

"Avada Kedavra!"