A short, Deathly Hallows one-shot; contains spoilers. I owe a debt of gratitude to my fellow fan fic writer and Snape lover, Nancy. The idea for this story grew out of our grief-stricken IM chats last summer. We were originally going to collaborate on one story, but ultimately wrote separate stories that turned out remarkably similar in plot and details. Love you, Nance.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloomy atmosphere inside the Shrieking Shack, Minerva spotted what had brought her here: Snape's still form sprawled on the dusty floor. She made a wide path around the spot where he lay unmoving and vanished the boards covering the windows. She couldn't face the reality of what had happened, not yet, and she stood and stared out at a world that had changed entirely since the previous day. The war was over. Voledmort had been defeated. And Severus was dead.

After they had learned the truth from Harry, after the fight had ended, Minerva had searched for him. Snape had been an Order member, loyal to the very end of his life and she would see to it that his body was recovered. But in the aftermath, in the midst of celebration and mourning, no one remembered having seen him. No one knew where he had fallen.

She took a deep breath to gather her courage, turned and approached Snape, kneeling by his side, only vaguely aware of the hard wooden floor under her knees and the aching in her bones from a hard-fought battle.

"Oh, Severus," she breathed.

His limbs were splayed out, his head turned away from her. A large pool of congealing blood surrounded his body and soaked his robes. His wand lay near one hand where it had landed when he collapsed. In the hazy light filtering through the dirty windows, she studied his face. The harsh lines that had etched his features in life had smoothed out in death. He looked peaceful. After years of bitter regret and sorrow and loneliness and fear, finally at peace. She reached out a trembling hand and gently closed his eyes.

He should have died like the hero he was, on the battlefield, not left alone to bleed out his life in this abandoned and cheerless shack. He didn't belong here. She would take him to the castle, to the Great Hall, where he could receive the adulation he deserved.

She raised her wand and murmured, "Tergeo," beginning to remove the blood from the floor and from his clothing. As she prepared to clean away the blood matting his long black hair to his neck and the side of his face, she stopped and lowered her wand.

Not this way. Not for Severus Snape. Not for a man who understood the value of work done with the hands. She conjured a bowl of water and a soft cloth and began tenderly sponging his face and neck. She shuddered, her stomach clenching with horror when she uncovered the two deep puncture marks and deep abrasions surrounding them.

"Oh child," she said in an agonized voice. "What did he do to you?"

Minerva wrung the cloth out in the bowl and then lifted his left arm where it rested against the floor. She bathed his hands, noting with grief that some of the deep stains were not blood, but were instead marks of his decades as Potions Master.

And what of the other mark? She gently unfastened his cuff buttons and slid the heavy, slick material upwards to expose his forearm. Her fingers traced the now unblemished skin. Heaving a shuddering breath, she rolled his sleeve back down and placed a gentle kiss in one palm. He was free now. She folded his hands across his chest and wrapped his cloak around him.

"You were so brave, Severus." she whispered, cupping his face with both hands. "The bravest of us all...and we never knew." Her words, the last words she ever spoke to him, echoed in her mind.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "Forgive me. Please say you'll forgive me." She leaned forward across his body, the tears beginning to flow freely. She wanted to hear him speak words of forgiveness in his rich, resonant voice. She wanted to hear the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, the steady cadence of his heart beating beneath her cheek, but all was still and silent.

The grounds of the school were nearly deserted now and Minerva began to make her way back to the castle, stepping carefully over the ruined ground. Snape’s supine body was moving gently beside her, his black cloak billowing in the morning breeze. If she didn’t know the awful truth, she would think him merely sleeping; the outward signs of what he had endured were gone.

As Minerva looked up to judge the remaining distance to the castle, she could see Luna Lovegood standing on the path near the entrance. For all her air of naivety and innocence, Minerva knew the girl didn’t miss a thing and was not waiting there by happenstance. As they neared her, Luna's impassive face grew solemn.

"Headmistress?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood?"

"May I walk with you both?"

"If you wish."

Luna moved to stand on the other side of Snape. She leaned down, placing her cheek near his, resting a pale, delicate hand on his chest .

"I know how it feels to be alone, Sir," she whispered. "And I know how important it is to have friends at your side."

The survivors were gathered in the Great Hall, along with the honored dead. The sounds of grief and subdued celebration mingled and carried to where Luna and Minerva were standing, flanking Snape’s body. Just before entering, they paused simultaneously and looked at each other.

"Not like this,” Luna said, shaking her head. “He wouldn't have wanted to be gaped at like a...like a sideshow."

Minerva considered the man she had known: irritable, prickly, proud and intensely private.

"I believe you're right, Miss Lovegood."

Without attracting attention from anyone, they moved down the corridor a short distance to a small chamber. Sunlight was pouring through the tall, mullioned window as Minerva moved a long, low couch to the center of the room and floated Snape's body to rest. She smoothed his hair back from where it had fallen against his face and Luna arranged the folds of his black cloak. Both seemed unwilling to break physical contact with him.

Finally, Luna stepped back and with a flick of her wand, the Slytherin crest unfurled on the wall behind Snape’s body.

"I'll never forget you, Professor,” she said, tracing a cross on his forehead. “I’ll never forget what you sacrificed for us.” She gazed silently at him for a moment, then added quietly, “And I won't let anyone else forget."

Word had spread quickly that Snape's body lay in a chamber near the Great HalI. It had been a long, emotional day with words of respect and gratitude and love spoken over him. When there had been no words, there had been tears or gentle touches. Some hadn’t shown up at all, false assumptions and bitter feelings too difficult to reconcile and set aside in a such a short span of time. Minerva had sat vigil at Snape's side throughout, only her quivering chin and shining eyes betraying her grief.

Now night had fallen. There was faint moonlight shining through the window, falling across his body. Arrangements had been made for his funeral in the Great Hall of the castle that had always been his home and would be his resting place.

Minerva sighed. She was tired, so tired, but she wasn't prepared to let him go. Not yet. She leaned forward and slipped her hand under his.

"I'll stay with you tonight, Severus," she said gently. "You were alone for far too long." She touched his cold cheek softly. "Rest now, child. All is well."