Harry Potter and the Man Who Lived

Not only is this my first Harry Potter fanfic, but its also my first fanfic in general. So please be kind. kthnx.

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What happens when Harry suddenly finds himself utterly alone? Eventhough the Weasley family is kinder to him than ever, especially considering his suicidal tendencies, he cannot find peace or satisfaction in anything.
When he wakes out of a nightmare one night, and finds himself looking down into the Weasley's garden, he sees the one person who he knew would never return to him. The one person he needs and craves over anyone or anything. However, it turns out to be nothing but a ghost...as always...a ghost and nothing more...

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"My Lord!" Severus protested, raising his wand.


"It cannot be any other way." Said Voldemort, "I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

And Voldemort swiped the air with the Elder Wand. It did nothing to Severus, who for a split second seemed to think he had been reprieved: But then Voldemort's intention became clear. The snake's cage was rolling through the air, and before Severus could do anything more than yell, it had encased him, head and shoulders, and Voldemort spoke in Parseltongue.

"Kill."

There was a terrible sream. Harry saw Severus' face losing the little color it had left; it whitened and his black eyes widened, as the snake's fangs pierced his neck, as he failed to push the enchanted cage off himself, as his knees gave way and fell to the floor.

"I regret it." Said Voldemort coldly.

He turned away; there was no sadness in him, no remorse. It was time to leave this shack and take charge, with a wand that would now do his full bidding. He pointed it at the starry cage holding the snake, which drifted upward, off Severus, who fell sideways onto the floor, blood gushing from the wounds in his neck. Voldemort swept from the room without a backward glance, and the great serpent floated after him in its huge protective sphere.

Back in the tunnel and his own mind, Harry opened his eyes: He had drawn blood biting down on his knuckles in the effort not to shout out. Now he was looking through the tiny crack between crate and wall, watching a foot in a black boot trembling on the floor.

"Harry!" breathed Hermoine behind him, but he had already pointed his wand at the crate blocking his view. It lifted an inch into the air and drifted sideways silently. As quietly as he could, he pulled himself up into the room.

He did not know why he was doing it, why he was approaching the dying man: He did not know what he felt as he saw Severus' white face, and the fingers trying to staunch the bloody wound at his neck. Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak and looked down upon the man, whose widening black eyes found Harry as he tried to speak. Harry bent over him, and Severus seized the front of his robes and pulled him close.

A terrible rasping, gurgling noise issued from Severus' throat.

"Take...it...Take...it..."

Something more than blood was leaking from Severus. Silvery blue, neither gas nor liquid, it gushed from his mouth and his ears and his eyes, and Harry knew what it was, but did not know what to do--

A flask, conjured from thin air, was thrust into his shaking hands by Hermoine. Harry lifted the silvery substance into it with his wand. When the flask was full to the brim, and Severus looked as though there was no blood left in him, his grip on Harry's robes slackened.

"Look...at...me..." He whispered.

The green eyes found the black, but after a second, something in the depths of the dark pair seemed to vanish, leaving them fixed, blank, and empty. The hand holding Harry thudded to the floor, and Severus moved no more...

Crying aloud, Harry awoke, drenched in sweat and shaking. His forehead throbbed dully and his whole body seemed to ache. Glancing to the side, he saw Ron still asleep in his own bed. He had been staying with the Weasley's for the past few weeks. The battle for Hogwarts had taken its toll on everyone. Especially The Boy Who Lived.

Surprised that he hadn't woken Ron, Harry sat up slowly and rubbed his head gingerly. His scar hadn't so much as twinged since Voldemort's death. Yet now, there was a low pulse underneath the skin that could not be ignored. But, besides that, his whole body quivered slightly as his mind recalled the events of the dream he'd woken from. However, it was less like a dream and more like a nightmare. All he could hear were screams of pain and all he could see was death. It haunted him every moment he was awake, and even sleep failed to give him any peace.

Letting out a long breath, he let his eyes travel slowly around the room. It was just like it had always been. Ron certainly lacked decorating skills, but it was comforting to Harry. It was familiar and peaceful. He only wished he could enjoy it without these constant mental interuptions. Finally his eyes came to rest on the small window across the room from his cot. The night was still heavy with darkness. He could make out a few distant tree branches, but other than that, it was pitch-black. He then realized that a light, but determined rain was falling. The drops were thick and heavy, yet seemed to fall so lightly that they barely made any noise at all on the Burrow's roof. Although it was possible that Mrs. Weasley had put some sort of charm on the house to prevent such a distraction from occuring.

Limbs still trembling the slightest bit, Harry pulled back the covers and put his feet on the floor, slowly making his way across the room and to the window. He felt chilled immediately, clad in nothing but a pair of loose pajama pants. Rubbing his bare arms in an attempt to warm himself, he gazed through the window, trying to look past the falling rain. He wasn't really looking for anything, of course. Not that he would have been able to. The visibility was horrible. However, after a moment or two of staring down into what appeared to be an empty garden, the teen's eyes widened slightly as he realized he had been staring at the hunched form of a person. They staggered forward a few steps then collapsed to their knees, obviously overcome with exhaustion. Harry strained his eyes desperately, hoping to see any distinguishing features that might help him figure out who this person was. It was nothing more than a silliouette. Long, black robes and black hair, also long, both soaked from the rain, making the man look a bit like an over-grown vulture...

In that moment, Harry's heart seemed to skip a beat. His eyes widened further and his jaw went slack.

"S-Snape...?" He whispered, tightening his fingers where they held tight to the window frame. Then, as though the person below had heard his breathless voice, he lifted his face and looked directly at the window. Harry stopped breathing. There was the hooked nose, the black eyes, and the pale face. He had seen those same features every day, while he'd been at school, for the past seven years. Ever since that first day at the school, sitting next to Percy Weasley, he had never forgotten that face.

But, wait...how could this be? Snape had died. Harry witnessed it himself. The snake, Nagini, Voldemort's pet, had robbed the man of his life. Harry had seen it with his own eyes. How could he possibly be alive?

It hadn't sunk in at first at the time, but afterward, once he realized he would never see those deep eyes again, or hear that voice smoothly taking away points from his house, or barking out potion ingredients...once he realized that...it had been all he could do to keep living. There had been more than one instant when he almost did something incredibly impulsive. Thankfully, someone had been there to stop him, or he had come to his own senses. The whole Weasley family soon learned to keep a very close eye on him. They had even started to take turns watching over him, almost like a bloody suicide watch. Once that happened though, the thrill had been taken completely out of the equation. He knew it was rediculous. Him, actually contemplating suicide. The Great Harry Potter needing supervision wherever he went and whatever he did. He wasn't going to kill himself though. The shock and despair had fizzled itself out by now. All that was left was a gaping, aching hole. He was empty and alone. No one was there for him anymore. Sure, the Weasley's all cared about him, but they had their own lives. They didn't need to be constantly worrying about some emotionally distraught teenager who sunk into depressions every other day because of the death of Hogwart's Potion Master. And that's exactly what he was...he couldn't handle it...so many people had died, but the only one he could think about was Snape...Severus Snape...

Even the deaths of Hedwig and Dobby seemed trivial. It was true that he missed them and wished they could return to him somehow, but Snape was different. Upon first meeting him he thought he hated him. That was how everyone told him he should feel. Snape had been one of his father's enemies. But was that a rational reason for Harry to hate him as well? Why should he harbor negative feelings for a man who he had never even met before that day? If it hadn't been for the friends he made on that first day seven years ago, he may have never developed those feelings of hatred for the professor. Yet, it had never even been true hatred. He only felt that way because everyone else felt that way. Rediculous really, once he thought about it...

However, every thought and every fiber of his being was now focused on the shaking form down in the garden. He had to get down there. He had to go see him. He had to tell him everything. He had to...He had to...

Tearing himself away from the window, he bolted out of the room and down the stairs. As he hurried down the countless steps he cursed Ron for having his room on the very top floor. Finally he made it to the kitchen. Everything was quiet and dark. But then, as he opened the door that lead out to the back garden, the sound of the rain finally pounded against his eardrums. Molly had put a charm on the house after all. As he went out into the darkness, hair immediately plastered against his head from the downpour, he squinted through the night. He couldn't make out a single thing.

"Pro-Professor?" He called, somewhat timidly. There was no answer. Biting his lip, he took a few more steps, straining to see through the rain. A few seconds later, his eyes finally adjusted enough that he could see to the spot where Snape had been. But now...there was no one there. Hurrying forward, he stared down at the ground before lifting his eyes and frantically scanning the garden. He had to be there! He just had to be...

It was as if the man had completely vanished. Either that or he had never been there to begin with. However, as he brought his eyes back down to the patch of earth where he'd seen Snape through the window - and after examining it a bit more closely - he realized the grass was flattened slightly and he could make out shoe prints in the wet dirt. His heart lept. Snape had been there! He...he was alive...he was actually alive. But where was he now? Why hadn't he stayed? Again Harry's eyes searched the garden. He was alone...

"Harry?"

Gasping softly and turning to look back toward the house, Harry saw Molly Weasley standing on the small porch, clutching a shawl around her shoulders and looking very worried.

"Harry, dear? What are you doing out here?"

Harry looked away for a moment, glancing back at the flattened grass near his feet.

"It..." He paused for just a moment, "...It was Snape...he...he was here..." He said, returning his eyes to the Weasley matriarch. Even through the rain and the darkness, Harry could see her eyes widen. She didn't speak at first, but stared at him and tightened her fingers around the material of the shawl.

"But...But, Harry, sweetheart...Snape...Snape was killed..." Harry could tell she was frightened. Not only did she have to worry about him possibly taking his life, but now she had to worry about his mental condition the rest of the time, "Come, dear...come out of the rain..."

Harry didn't move.

"He was here!" He said more firmly, "I saw him through Ron's window...but then when I came down he had gone..." His eyes once again returned to the ground. The image of the man's face gazing up at him through the window flashed in his mind. He had looked weak and exhausted. Almost like he was using every ounce of his energy just to be there.

Molly stared more intently at him and shifted her weight slightly.

"All...all right, Harry..." She finally said, now holding out one hand toward the teen, "Just...just come back inside...you're going to catch a cold if you stay out here like that..."

Harry looked down at his bare chest before realizing he was trembling from the cold and rain. Sighing and giving the ground one more glance, he joined Mrs. Weasley, but didn't take her hand.

As they went back inside, Harry kept his eyes away from Mrs. Weasley. He didn't want her to think he was crazy...he wanted her to believe him. It was madening. He thought that, by now, people might take him a bit more seriously.

"Dear...would you like some tea?" She offered, going over to the stove and giving a wave of her wand to turn on the stove. Harry shook his head, chosing to focus on a small imperfection in the table as he sat down, unsure of what to do with himself now. He had seen Snape. He had. There was no mistaking it. There was no one else it could have been. The only problem was...Snape was dead. Harry's eyes then shot wide and his finger nails gripped at the table. Had it been Snape's ghost he had seen? Or perhaps, dare he think it, an Inferi? No. That was impossible. Snape's body had been burried just as Dumbledore's had. However, that didn't mean someone couldn't dig it up and do as they pleased with it. Harry's stomach turned over at the very thought.

Putting his hand over his mouth, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think about something else. It wasn't working. All the stress and trauma he had experienced the past month was gradually creeping up on him. At that moment, Mrs. Weasley turned back around and gasped as she saw Harry's state.

"Come now, Dear!" She hurried over to Harry and helped up, leading him to the sink where he heaved and wreched. She patted and rubbed his back, tears slowly gathering in the corners of her eyes. Harry knew that she cared for him as much as any of her sons. Yet, he felt no comfort as her hand ran smoothly up and down his back. Panting slightly, he slowly straightened his back and used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth.

"I'm sorry..." He said. He wanted to look at her, but he kept his eyes down. He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes. She thought he was crazy and suicidal. He just wasn't sure who to trust anymore. He could hardly trust himself.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and quickly wiped her eyes as she ran water in the sink.

"There's no need to be sorry, dear..." She said, Harry catching the waver in her voice. She was worried. Really worried. He knew he should say something to her to make her not worry, but nothing came into his mind...nothing...

As he stepped away from the sink and Mrs. Weasley, Harry leaned, with one hand, against the table. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't stay here for much longer, mooching off the Weasleys. Just then, Harry's eyes shot up as he heard a sound coming from the doorway that lead into the sitting room. The Weasley's youngest child, Ginny, was standing there, staring at him with that same concern he'd seen in her mother's eyes earlier. Harry simply gazed at her, face expressionless.

"Are you okay?" She asked, twisting the belt of her robe nervously.

"Fine..." Harry lied.

She bit her lip and looked away, instead shifting her gaze to her mother who was pretending to make tea. Harry glanced at her, noticing that there wasn't even any water in the kettle. Why did everyone feel the need to be so damn careful around him? What was the point? He wasn't some fragil little child who needed protecting anymore. Dumbledore was gone, Snape was gone, Mad-Eye, Lupin, Tonks...they were all gone...

Gritting his teeth, Harry left the kitchen, brushing quickly past Ginny to go back upstairs. With one more quick glance at her mother, Ginny went off after him. Before he could get any further than the second floor, she grabbed his arm, stopping him in mid-step.

"What's going on with you?" She demanded, keeping her voice low.

"What do you mean?" He replied, also keeping his voice low and calm.

"Don't act dumb..." She said. Harry could clearly hear the frustration in her voice, "Ever since V-Voldemort was defeated you've been...different..." He noted that she refrained from mentioning the whole possibly-suicidal thing. It made him angry...

"You don't understand..." He said simply, closing his eyes to keep from looking at her, and to restrain the steadily growing anger inside of him. He felt her grip tighten on his arm, and then he was yanked around to face her, her small hands choosing to instead take tight hold of his shoulders. Then, before he could stop her, she had raised up and pressed her lips firmly against his. It wasn't a loving kiss, but more of a way to get a reaction out of him...which it did. He pulled away roughly and stepped back, but before he did, he shoved her away from him, her back hitting the wall behind her. She groaned and rubbed her shoulder where she hit, eyes then finding his. They didn't have tears in them like Mrs. Weasley's had. Ginny was stronger than her mother. But Harry could tell he had still hurt her, and not just physically.

"I'm sorry..." He said quietly, looking away. She didn't answer, simply stared at him with an expression between disbelief and understanding.

"You don't want me anymore...do you?" She asked, lowering her hand from her shoulder and letting her arms hang at her sides instead.

He sighed softly and kept his eyes down. She was right. He didn't want her anymore. Infact, he had never really wanted her from the beginning. She had been a distraction. It was cruel to think of her that way, but that was what she was. Just merely a distraction to keep him from thinking about the person that truly mattered...

"I understand..." She said, now lowering her own eyes. It was then that her defenses weakened. Harry heard a small hiccup escape her throat as her hand came up to cover her mouth. He wanted to comfort her. He knew it was the right thing. But he just couldn't. It wasn't right. Why give her false hope of something that would never become a reality?

They stood in silence for another few seconds before Ginny finally stepped away and went back downstairs. He watched her leave and once she'd rounded the corner and left his sight, he sighed, leaning back against the wall. He had been meaning to end things with her for a while, and he was glad it was finally out of the way. But...for some reason...he didn't feel any better. The image of Snape still hung in his mind. As he had gazed down at him from Ron's window, the expression on the man's face had been one of concern, hope, and somehow relief. It didn't look like the Snape he had known during his school days. Yes, it still looked like the same Severus Snape, but something was definitely different.

Forcing movement into his legs, Harry finally climbed the rest of the steps, returning to the room he shared with Ron. As he entered, the red-head stirred before slowly sitting up, rubbing one eye while gazing at Harry, blearily, with the other.

"Where've you been?" He asked, before yawning widely.

"Er...toilet..." He said, not wishing to relive the night's events.

Ron raised a suspicious eyebrow at him before giving a soft sigh followed by a slight shrug before laying back down. Harry was grateful he didn't push it. Ron had always been good about that. It had always been Hermoine who pressed him about spilling every tiny detail of every thought he had during the day. Within just a few minutes, soft snoring could be heard from Ron's bed. Finding himself alone again, and now quite awake, Harry returned to the window. He knew he wouldn't see anything, but he looked anyway. And, sure enough, the garden was empty. The rain had even stopped, allowing Harry much better vision than he had earlier. There was definitely no one there.

"He's gone..." He whispered, biting his lip and leaning forward to press his burning forehead against the cool glass, "He's gone...and he's not coming back...