It just goes to show, even hardcore fans can learn new things.
Take, for instance, these people who seemingly have nothing better to do than analyze the Harry Potter stories well enough to break them down on a calendar day-by-day basis. Or who pore over the official Potterpedia pages, or whatever, memorizing the canonical facts and dates released by the author and franchise. I may love Snape dearly, but not only am I franchise-resistant after a certain point, I also have better things to do!
Which means I only just learned that the series' major final battle, and thus the death of Severus Snape, occurred the day before my birthday. As in, bloody hell!
So I was seventeen, basically; but it would take another magical and significant eleven years before I got into a certain rather difficult phase of my life, and we know what happened then.
Snape reincarnated.
He has since reincarnated many millions of times --- in cosplayers, in fan fics, in art and poetry, in handcrafted objects of a potion-related or Snapeish nature, and likely in at least a few other people who have him on some kind of makeshift altar in lieu of a folk saint. Severus Snape is partly the reason why I have three-inch leather bound books and cauldrons on my shelves. He's partly what helped bring magic, real magic, back into my life after Mom's death and especially rent payments had sapped most of the reasons for living out of me.
As his influence does in my own life after gaining a toehold there, Snape only subsides, to rise again, but never truly dies. Archetypes exist for a reason, and his is so powerful it can't be killed. It just keeps lurking, somewhere out of sight, in one of those Occluded corners of my mind . . .
Until it's time for my spirit to learn another lesson, when he comes prowling and flouncing into the limelight again.
Expelliarmus!
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