It’s a complicated thing, mourning someone you didn’t know.

But I mourned Severus Snape, a man I did know. I now mourn the man who embodied him, whose face I see when I listen to the stories. Every night for nearly 20 years, those stories.

I stood by the river in the snow, and it seemed a fittingly sombre tribute for a man of true tension and withering presence.

We all die. Even our heroes.

Am I right? Tell me!

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