Chapter Text
"Rejoice! Severus Snape is dead!"
Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. The news came during their breakfast in the Great Hall, Dumbledore delivering it. Severus Snape had committed suicide by jumping from the Astronomy Tower, found later by Hagrid, who ran in fright after discovering the body. There was no evidence that someone had pushed the boy, nor were there any notes left behind before it happened, yet the Aurors still classified it as a normal suicide.
Everyone was surprised at first, speechless. You could even hear a fork drop after the bomb had landed on them. They thought their professor was merely joking; after all, no one had ever heard of a suicide happening at Hogwarts before. But after a few minutes, they resumed eating their food. Most of the students didn't even know his name. Why would they? He was a simple nobody in Slytherin.
His housemates didn't look entirely pleased, but they weren't exactly that sad either. Nor was their Head of House even concerned. Not a single tear was shed throughout the school. Except after that night, when reality came crashing down on Evans. Only then was she reduced to a sobbing mess, her cries heard even through the boys' dormitory. Everyone knew of her friendship with the boy, but after Snape had called her a 'Mudblood' and she cut him off, they thought she wouldn't care.
She proved her housemates wrong. Evans couldn't even go to her classes properly. Her friends had to get her to the Hospital Wing to receive a potion to calm her down. Even then, her grief was still evident. She wouldn't even look at James, ignoring him and his friends. James thought that was quite childish of her. He hadn't done a single thing to lead to Snivellus' death, yet he was being blamed for it. Even the students from other houses had been eyeing him, and not in a good way like always.
The thought did cross James's mind once or twice. He still had a heart, obviously. If he was truly to blame for what had happened, if his actions had led to an unwanted death. He didn't mourn Snape. He wasn't sad about it, like Evans was, nor was he guilty, like Remus. He was like Sirius at the moment: uncaring. If Snape had died, then he had died. Why did he have to bother everyone like this?
Thoughts of Snape vanished from his mind as their OWLs stealthily drew closer. He reviewed every night; he wasn't a bad student. He wouldn't let thoughts of the Slytherin gnaw at him when he had more important things to do. Unlike Evans, who was still deep in her grief, so much so that no one could even come close without her bursting into tears.
When they entered the classroom, ready to take their exam, a familiar head of greasy black hair came into view. James rubbed his eyes, blinking again and again to see if he had seen that right. Was that... Snape? Impossible. He was dead. Hagrid had seen his body. Yet what was he doing here?
James thought he was probably hallucinating, taking his seat far away from that dark, ominous hair, his friends following after him. None of them questioned him. He was their leader of sorts, even if no one admitted it.
He couldn't see the face clearly, so he was probably just a bit agitated. Surely there were other poor Slytherins with that kind of oily hair. Snivellus wasn't unique enough to be the only one that ugly.
James couldn't help but snicker inwardly, his mood improving now. It was probably disrespectful, making fun of a dead man, but when had James ever cared about that? He was too caught up in his own ego to care about something so trivial. He tore his eyes away from the Snape wannabe, focusing on the exam.
It was quite easy, actually. James thought he'd finally be the top scorer this time. With Evans always No. 1 and Snape a close second, he'd been pushed to the side. Now with one down and another too distracted, he'd ace this easily.
"Time."
Professor Flitwick's voice rang through the room. Quills were set down with reluctant sighs as enchanted parchment floated through the air toward the front desk. James leaned back, thoroughly satisfied with himself. As students began filing out, he stepped into the corridor. Someone brushed past his shoulder.
James would try to forgive this student, as he was in a good mood today, instead of hexing them as usual. He turned his head, at the same time that his eyes widened. He froze, his breath hitching as sweat trickled down his forehead.
That was clearly Snape's face, right? He hadn't mistaken it. It was the very face he'd somehow memorized through all these years. It was Snape. In the flesh.
He stood there for quite a few minutes, so long that even Sirius began to question him. When he was finally snapped out of his stupor, he looked around, but Snape was gone. He turned to look at Sirius again.
"What's the matter with you, Prongs?"
"No, nothing. I thought I just saw a ghost," James answered, walking alongside them to their next class.
He couldn't very well tell them that he was seeing Snape's ghost, they'd think him mad. And maybe he was. Who'd want to see that slimy git anyway, and why would James even see him? Shouldn't the one mourning the hardest be given this 'gift'? But apparently his name was drawn from the lot of people who'd have to be stuck with seeing a ghost Snape. Though surely it'd only be a one-time thing?
But it wasn't. Snape appeared again and again since his death, like an itch that wouldn't be scratched. Every day, as if Snape were among the living like them, he would appear everywhere he would always be. Sitting in the back of their classes, reading a book in the library, and walking down the hallways like normal.
But to James, it was quite definitely the scariest thing he'd ever seen. He even doubted if Snape had really died and that it was all some sick joke that he wasn't included in, but after a few tests, he realized he really was the only one who could see the boy.
He'd started by pointing out spots where Snape was and asking what his friends saw, but all of them, unsurprisingly, said no. The whole thing was affecting him so much that he had been unable to sleep properly these past few weeks. He wanted to tell his friends so badly, but he thought better of it. They'd probably think it was another scheme of his, perhaps to tease Evans this time. Even James himself wouldn't dare cross her that easily, not because she had connections that could ruin him, but because she was just genuinely a good person. James didn't want to hurt her like that.
So he kept it to himself, planning whatever he should do with this new ghost. It was easier said than done.
Snape never acknowledged him. He simply existed, carrying on with a routine that should have ended the moment his body struck the ground beneath the Astronomy Tower. He arrived at breakfast every morning, his robes as wrinkled as ever, eating food that disappeared the instant it touched his plate. He attended classes, filled rolls of parchment with notes, and disappeared into the dungeons at the end of the day.
Students walked straight through him without so much as a shiver, completely oblivious to the ghost walking between them. Books passed through his hands until he rested them on a table, where they became solid again, at least to James's eyes. It even became a habit for him to search for Snape in every room he was in, so quickly that he didn't even notice it anymore.
One evening, while wandering the library in search of a book Remus had recommended, James saw him again. Snape sat alone in the darkest corner of the room, surrounded by towering stacks of books. His head rested in one hand while the other lazily turned a page.
James wanted to come over. It was a rare chance to see if Snape had truly become a ghost and was living among them. He hesitated at first, thinking that if he were wrong and someone happened to see him, it'd be bad for his reputation. But soon, he had made up his mind. After glancing around to make sure Madam Pince wasn't watching him, he walked over.
The chair opposite Snape scraped loudly across the stone floor as James sat down. Snape didn't so much as lift an eyebrow. James cleared his throat to try and get the boy's attention.
Nothing.
"Can you hear me?" He whispered.
Silence.
James leaned forward, waving a hand directly in front of the boy's face. No response again.
"Brilliant," he muttered. "I'm being haunted by a ghost that won't even haunt me." He stood up with an irritated huff, earning an annoyed glare from Madam Pince for making so much noise.
Behind him, where his eyes couldn't reach, Snape had lifted his head and stared directly at him.
After he went back to their common room, Remus was waiting for him with that look of, 'I know you're hiding something.' Moony always was so damn observant. This time, though, James would play it dumb, even if he had to deal with another silent treatment.
"Where were you?" Remus asked, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised.
James shrugged, walking closer. "You know, at the library, in search of that book you liked."
"And what about these past few days?" Remus huffed when James passed by him and went straight to their room. He followed after him. "You've been going somewhere alone without telling us. Got a new plaything, I take it?"
James rolled his eyes. What plaything? Moony was being ridiculous. "You make me sound like such a bastard. I just needed some time alone. I can't very well sit still with Evans still ignoring me."
Remus seemed to let out a breath of relief after his answer. "We can always keep you company. It must have been heartbreaking for you, after all," he teased before continuing, a bit more seriously, "You should have just told us from the start. Sirius was being such a prick whenever you were away somewhere we didn't know. You know how he is, clingy as a dog."
James couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Yeah, I know. It must've slipped my mind with everything that's been going on. It won't happen again."
Remus nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "Good," he said simply.
The conversation drifted to lighter topics after that. Sirius barged into the dormitory not five minutes later, loudly complaining about a Transfiguration essay McGonagall had assigned, while Peter eagerly chimed in with suggestions that only made Sirius groan louder.
That night, with everyone asleep, James quietly cast Lumos and took out the Marauder's Map. He'd told Remus he wouldn't disappear again, and he intended to keep that promise. He just had to find some other way to keep track of Snape's movements.
After he whispered the boy's name, a dot appeared on the map, in the Slytherin dormitories in the dungeons. It had been Snape's room before, and, well, James supposed it still was, since he kept crawling back to it.
Even he was surprised that Snape had appeared on the map, because that meant what he had been seeing wasn't some dirty hallucination. It really was Snape himself. As a ghost. He didn't try any more tests to see whether his friends could see it too, because he knew now, without a doubt, that he was the only one who could.
Severus rejoiced. He had died. He thought that his magic would surely save him through his fall, and he was both disappointed and gleeful that it had done nothing. Of course, he had checked everything to ensure that his suicide would've been successful. If it had failed, he'd be a cripple forced to live, and ain't that humiliating.
Mother was his first thought when he began planning his own death. He didn't want her to be left in mourning, forced to live with his bastard of a father. He wanted her to be in a safe place, away from everyone who could hurt her. And he was going to make sure of that after he left Hogwarts.
There were Death Eaters asking him, 𝘩𝘪𝘮, of all people, to join their cause. A mere half-blood like him. They said he was a prodigy, a genius, and that his talents shouldn't be wasted after he grew up. And he was flattered. No one had spoken so highly of him before, so he believed their lies so easily.
He asked them to protect his mother, a pure-blood, someone they valued. They told him there were people hiding around their house, secretly protecting his mother. How childish he was.
He endured everything. From the bullying, to his near-death experience, to his falling out with Lily. He would endure it all so long as his mother was alive. For she was the only one who could love a greasy little brat like him, an evil, scheming crybaby. He was loved only by her, only by his mother. And she was gone.
Severus would never have found out about it until the end of fifth year, but his mother had sent him a letter. How she did it, he had no idea. But he didn't waste a single second ripping it open and reading the message she had left for him. His mother had never sent him any letters, after all. So what could possibly have driven her to send him one under the watchful eye of his father?
It was, in every sense of the word, a suicide note, a farewell letter. Written there was a detailed summary of her life since she had married Tobias Snape. Not that Severus didn't know; she told him of a life that would have easily broken her if not for her child. She admitted it was her fault—marrying a Muggle, getting disowned by her family, and every wrong decision she had made after that. At first, Severus didn't know where this was going until he read the next page.
She couldn't take it anymore. Every year, when Severus would have to leave for school and leave her alone, she couldn't handle it. She was selfish, it read, and that their reunion should have been under much better circumstances. It said she was sorry for everything and that she hoped Severus would never forgive her.
After reading the end of the letter, Severus felt empty. He didn't shed any tears like he had hoped. In fact, any sorrow or guilt passed over him like a breeze. He couldn't feel them. He burned the letter hours later in the common room fireplace.
Still, he felt nothing.
Mulciber had even begun to grow annoyed at him because he was so silent, even going as far as trying to pry open his mouth to see if any jinxes had been thrown at him. Not that Mulciber was doing it out of goodwill; the boy simply wanted an exchange of curses and pointed wands. The only difference between his housemates and the Marauders was that, at least, his housemates wouldn't bully him in public.
That's also one of the reasons why he decided to end his life. Because he had no genuine friends to count on. Lucius Malfoy could be one, though he doubted the older man truly liked him or if he was just playing nice to get at his skills. Either way, Lucius didn't try very hard to befriend him.
There was no Lily to count on. Everyone and their father hated him. The professors didn't give a flying fuck about him, and perhaps even they wanted him to die so there would be no more bad Slytherins trying to tarnish the good name of their sweet Marauders.
He had done nothing, and he would go back as nothing. So that Severus Snape had never lived. So that his lineage would end with him (he didn't trust his father to build a new family that wouldn't just kill themselves too). So that the world could finally achieve peace.
Quite cynical of him to say, knowing that he had decided to live his last few weeks as a spirit in Hogwarts. The other side wouldn't accept him just yet, they said so themselves. They said he had to stay as a ghost first while they finished whatever it was they were trying to fix. It didn't really matter. He wanted to see what it looked like after they announced he was dead.
As expected, no one gave a flying fuck. But he did see Lily grieve him, so that was the only good thing about his death, because it meant she still cared. Though he'd much rather she focus on her exams than waste her tears on him.
And there was the matter of James Potter. Severus felt like he was being watched wherever he went. It was his Hogwarts years all over again. At first, he thought it was a simple coincidence, that Potter was just looking at something behind him. Up until that moment in the library. Severus' heart stuttered (if he even had one anymore) when Potter came right in front of him and even talked to him!
Severus didn't know what to do, so he ignored him, acting like a normal ghost that couldn't be seen by anyone. It worked for a little while, until Potter began to bother him every single day. He walked up to him whenever he was in class and took the seat right beside him. If he was in the library alone, he'd somehow sit right in front of him. It was mad.
"I know you can see me," Potter said, looking at him as if, if he tried hard enough, he'd crack open the head that was Severus Snape.
Potter began talking to him as well, oftentimes just in passing whispers or with attempts at conversation. Severus couldn't even catch a break, even in death.
"You're not slick. I can see whenever your eyes are on me. You can hear me too. Your finger twitches every time I speak. It's no use hiding it. It'll only be harder for you."
Severus scoffed inwardly. Potter didn't know anything about what would be hard for him. He thought of ignoring the bloody git again, but he'd already been found out, so he might as well. "I can't believe you can even see me. Saint Potter really is a saint."
Potter blinked. Then, to Severus's utter disbelief, the idiot grinned. "I knew it."
Severus immediately regretted opening his mouth. Potter had always been so unpredictable, and how he loathed that side of him. "Even a child could've figured it out faster than you," he sneered.
"I wasn't sure at first. Because why would I even see you? I'd rather be stuck in the bathroom with Moaning Myrtle," Potter said, his face twisting in disgust.
Severus had asked himself the same question dozens of times. There was no sensible answer, no logical explanation for why Potter, of all people, could see his spirit. He'd half-convinced himself it was simply because Potter was favored by the gods again.
"Trust me," he drawled. "I feel the same way."
Potter snorted. "I thought I was going mad."
"You still might be."
"No, I mean it." Potter shook his head. "I asked Madam Pomfrey if people could hallucinate from stress."
Severus scoffed. "Since when were you ever stressed? Whatever you ask for gets thrown at you wrapped in a diamond."
"Rich people still get icky-wicky sadness, Snivellus. We cry about not having too many necklaces."
Severus almost believed him before he realized Potter was being sarcastic. "Fuck off, Potter."