Before the End

Before the End

Two lone figures are standing on a grassy knoll. A friend and an enemy. Both unmoving, unflinching save for the mingling of silent tears running down ashen cheeks. A pair of eyes open and tortured emeralds survey the scattered slabs of molding grey scattered throughout the graveyard. His heart squeezed painfully when the harshest truth he'd ever known came to be realized. No one had come. No one except two people had come to witness and recognize the passing of the man before them. After all the man had done, all the years he had spent teaching and fighting both for good and for evil, no one else had the decency to show up, to shed a tear, to care or to even think about the man that was now buried six feet under.

Never mind that he was such a greasy bastard most of his days.

The truth still stands that this man had died trying to save the world he seemed to hate. He had lived the end of his days trying to find redemption by willingly sacrificing what most people took for granted: his right to his own future. Unasked, he gave up his life and any other hope of potential happiness to see that the hated Dark he once reveled in would be destroyed forever. And now no one dared to show up and acknowledge this fact? No one showed up to even thank him for the greatest sacrifice any human can ever give?

Unruly raven hair shook wildly as one of the men before the grave let out a sharp bitter laugh. A sound made harsh by the realization of human cruelty. Of course the obstinate man before them had known! He knew even then that his death would go unnoticed, unmarked by any special recognition no matter what circumstances had caused the event. He felt that the mark that he bore on his arm made him deserving of this fate, and it seems that most of the world he had tried to save shared this perspective as well. And yet he still tried, he still fought, and in that sense he did not fail. For the truth would always be before brilliant emerald eyes, this man had found his redemption, found it and deserved it. For no matter what cruelty the dark man had done, it would always be surpassed by the light he had served.

Little drops of moisture dropped slowly from the heavens, slowly drenching the soft earth. The sky had darkened considerably and there was a creeping ominous gloom that was beginning to envelop the air around them. And still the two figures did not move for both were still lost in their thoughts.

See, Professor? You were wrong. Someone cares. Even the sky is grieving over your loss, perhaps it is paying you homage by not letting anyone have fun outside today.

A small smirk made past chapped lips. You were wrong in a way, you know. Someone does care that you are gone. After all I am here, aren't I? The headmaster you had probably expected but not the boy-who-live-to-be-a-pain-in-your-arse. Your most hated enemy next to Voldemort. I can almost hear you now. "Thirty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for your arrogance in believing I care that you would be here." I almost turn around in the hopeless belief that you might just be there with your usual sneer in place. But I don't dare look for I know it might break the small composure I've been trying valiantly to hold on to. Not that it's much to begin with mind you, after all I almost lost it when I saw your name engraved on the onyx tombstone, but I will not allow myself to weep like the broken child I know I am smuggling deep inside myself. Merlin knows you'd probably chase me around the afterlife if you knew that you were the cause for all this wishy washy display of sentimentality.

The figure on his side shifted, and the young man looked up at his companion and was startled by what he saw. An aged face lined with far too many years of grief. Pained blue eyes that lost its twinkle looked dulled as it gazed at the fresh grave.

Another child has fallen. In truth that is what you have always been to me, Severus, my child. Merlin knows you've never allowed yourself to be one even when you were younger. It is but with small hope that I wish you have felt this fatherly love I have for you when you were still with us, but then again I betrayed that love when I sent you back to him, so you might not have. And now it's too late. You're gone, and maybe you never knew how much it hurt me to watch you come home beaten and bruised from your late night meetings.

O my child, I am sorry, more than you will ever know. I am famed for always knowing and doing the right thing, and yet here you are the evidence that this fame was built on nothing but lies. If I had done the right thing, you would be here with me, sipping tea and rudely declining a lemon drop from me whilst I conjured a chess board, and you proceed by soundly beating me at the end of ten minutes. I wonder how young Mr. Weasley would have fared with you. Alas, that is one of the many things we will never know. All because I failed you, my boy. I have asked of you the unthinkable by urging you to take on your spying role again. I should have never done so even though you said you would do it willingly and without a second thought. But then, child, I should have been inclined to do the second thinking for you if you were so eager to risk your life in such a way, and yet I did not for I was too busy thinking about the advantages a spy in the Dark Order would bring and not of the danger that lay ahead of you. And it seems life is not without a cruel twist of irony for while you lived all your life a true Slytherin, you died a very self sacrificing Gryffindor.

Dull blue eyes hardened into ice chips as the old face strengthened with rage.

I swear to you, Severus. I will not fail you again. I will do the right thing this time. Your sacrifice will not be for naught. I will help him defeat Voldemort. I will do right by him when I failed with you. I will not let you go in vain. But for now, my child, rest and be in peace. You have earned it more than anyone and know that you will always be loved and missed greatly. Your life and death was not forsaken.

The static energy coming from the older man dissipated as he felt his rage drain from him to be replaced by a replenished sense of purpose. Hardened azure eyes met startled emeralds, and the silence that has long reigned the grave yard was finally broken when a soft voice was heard,

"It is time, child."

The younger man nodded as he turned back and took a wavering step forward. He gingerly placed a black rose against the obsidian gravestone and whispered softly words weighed down by tears,

"Good bye, father."

The end.