Author's Note: I should be studying right now, but instead I have to write this instead. I always cry during The Prince's Tale chapter in Deathly Hallows.
Summary: It was not Lord Voldemort who killed Severus Snape. Severus Snape had been dead for many long years already. Love could kill better than any spell a person could cast.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything Wicked related. If I did, Severus wouldn't have died, and the canon pairings would have been drastically different. And I would have already seen the Wicked musical on stage. Ten times, at least.
And Goodness knows
The Wicked's lives are lonely
Goodness knows
The Wicked die alone
It just shows when you're Wicked
You're left only
On your own
-"No One Mourns the Wicked" – Wicked Musical
He had fallen to the floor of the Shack, Nagini's fangs still imbedded in the too soft, too supple skin of his neck. He did not cry out—he physically couldn't with those fangs piercing so deeply into his throat. Even so, he knew if she had bitten him anywhere else, he would not have cried out—he would not have made a sound. Neither Nagini nor Voldemort could cause him more pain than he had already experienced in his life.
Abruptly, Snape felt Nagini's fangs pull out of his neck and felt his blood flow out of his wounds and soak his robes as it pooled around him on the floor. He felt himself slipping away faster than he would have thought. He was only vaguely aware of the Dark Lord departing with his snake. The ceiling above him began to fall into a haze and Snape had to force himself to keep his eyes open. He wasn't sure why exactly he so needed to keep his eyes open, to remain as aware as possible in his current state—he was almost free now, after so very long. It would be so easy to close his eyes one last time. To not have to wake up again—that was something he had longed for since That Day so long ago now (so long ago and yet it felt so near! As if it was only yesterday he had died).
And then, there were three pairs of eyes above him. One set was full of tears, another wide with shock. But the green ones were unreadable. He imagined, for a moment, that they belonged to her. Maybe it was her. Maybe he was only hallucinating. Maybe it was all real.
It wasn't her. It couldn't be her. She was long since dead (yet he had been dead for much longer). No, this time it was him, the last person he wanted to see at the time of his physical death, but still the one person he needed to see at this time. From somewhere deep inside himself, Snape forced out some broken words that had no meaning in his ears. He used his magic (the magic from inside) to give away a copy of what was most precious to him since the day he had died. A copy only.
The green eyes turned their gaze elsewhere. This made Snape angry. Look at me! he wanted to shout. Look at me! Please, look only at me! He wanted to cry. It occurred to him that he hadn't cried in a very long time (yet he wanted to now). Maybe he was. He didn't know. It didn't matter. He was slipping away.
You could never kill me, Snape thought as he took a deep, slow breath. He closed his eyes. She beat you to it. Lily killed me a long, long time ago already.
He hated loving her, after that. He hated that he couldn't stop loving her. He hated that all he wanted was for her to forgive him, for her to love him, hold him, speak to him. If she had asked him outright to stop hanging out with his "evil Slytherin friends" as she saw them, he would have. For her, he would have done anything. But she never told him to do that. He had thought—hoped—that she would still be his friend anyway (but he ruined that himself).
He hated himself. He despised himself for what he did to her. And no matter what she believed, it was an accident. He hadn't meant to call her that despicable name—he really, truly and honestly hadn't. But he did. How could have done that?
All he wanted was her forgiveness. He wanted her love too, her friendship, but he wasn't worthy of those. He knew that without anyone having to tell him. But still, he selfishly wanted those things. She wouldn't give them to him, never again. He had hurt her, he knew that (he hated that!) but she had killed him.
Severus opened his eyes. He didn't know for long he had had them closed. He put a hand to his cheek, the tips of his fingers gently brushing the skin just below his eye. The skin was wet. He had been crying. He felt more tears well up in his eyes, impairing his vision once again and he valiantly tried to keep them from falling.
"It is all right to cry, Severus."
Severus did not respond. He wiped away his tears with his sleeve silently and then looked around. He was sitting on a swing and could see a street across a green field. The sun was at its zenith and the houses looked exactly as they always had. He half-expected some Muggles to drive by in their shiny cars or exit the front door of one of the pristine houses to take a walk with their children. The nearby forest stood in exactly the same place as in his memories and a gentle breeze tickled his skin and teased his hair. He saw the bushes he had so often hidden behind sway lazily with the wind and he felt the sudden urge to cry again.
"It is all right to cry, Severus."
"I thought I was done with you," Severus said harshly.
"You will never be done with me, I don't think."
Severus chose not to answer that. "Where am I?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Severus glared at the old man and for a split second contemplated not answering him at all. "We're in the park where I first met her. The park that was near both our homes."
Albus Dumbledore smiled serenely.
"Why am I here? Is this your doing again? Are you meddling even with my final death?" Severus's voice was angry, hard, cold. He was in pain.
"This is your own doing, Severus," the old man said softly. "You brought us here."
"I'm dead," he said harshly, "I could not have done this. I would not have done this."
"I am also deceased," Albus replied, "It was your doing, Severus. You brought us here."
Severus decided it was not worth his effort to challenge what the old man was saying and so he remained silent for a long moment. "This was her swing," he murmured, running his long, pale fingers along the cool chains. "She always took this one. It was her favourite. That one," he indicated the swing that Albus was sitting on, "Was Tuney's." He paused again. It seemed necessary to explain these things. They probably seemed very trivial, but to Severus, they were important. It was important to know which swing was hers and which one was her sister's. "I never sat on either of these."
Albus was swinging slightly back and forth. Severus kept his very still and turned his head to look up the street. "She is not coming," Albus said quietly. He sounded very sad. "It is no use, Severus. Lily is not coming today."
"She'll come," Severus said. "She always comes."
He felt like a child again. It was a strange feeling. They always met here. She was never late, she never missed a day. This park had become his sanctuary, his utopia. It was the one place where he could escape the horrors of his home and feel as though there was someone in the world who cared for him, who loved him. It was perhaps a childish feeling, one he should have long ago given up. He hadn't been able to do that.
"She is not coming, Severus. She can't come."
"Why not?" He reluctantly turned to face Albus. "Why can't she come?"
"She hasn't forgiven you," Albus said quietly. "She wasn't able to do that, not ever. Because she has not forgiven you, and because she does not love you, she can't come here to see you off."
Severus glanced back to the deserted street as if hoping to prove Albus wrong. "It's all right," he said thickly. He felt tears begin to fall again. He didn't care this time. "It's all right. Even if she hasn't forgiven me, even if she doesn't love me, I don't care. I want to see her. Just one last time."
"I know, Severus. I wish she could have been here for you. I know you would much rather see her rather than me." Albus stood and pulled Severus into a hug, something akin to that of a father to a son. Severus did not try to pull away. He did not have the strength to. "But when it comes to death, there are subtle rules about who can and cannot see you. For you, Severus, it must be someone who loved you. Someone who could forgive your sins."
"No one loved me, Albus. No one forgave me, not ever."
"How do you explain my presence then?"
"I can't."
"I love you, Severus. I forgive you for all the things you've done wrong," Albus told him. "You're a fragile man, contrary to what everyone believed."
"She killed me, Albus. I didn't mean to call her...I didn't mean to..."
"I know Severus."
It took some time for Severus to calm himself. "Why am I here?" he finally asked.
Albus stood back and indicated the street. "This is a crossroads. This is where you are choose what happens next. If you go that way—" he indicated the way which led to Lily's house, "—you will not move on. You will probably become a ghost, sent to haunt this area forever in the real world and remain haunted by your memories of her."
Severus did not respond to this. He nodded stiffly to the explanation.
"If you go that way—" he indicated the opposite direction, "—you will move on. What lies in that direction, I cannot say."
"Maybe Lily..."
"Maybe. I am not inclined to believe so, but it is a possibility."
"Can I...stay here?" Severus gestured to the park. "If I wait long enough, she will come. I know she will come. She always comes."
"It is your choice. Time does not flow here. You are prepared to wait her for eternity?"
"She'll come," Severus insisted. "I will wait for her."
"If that is your choice, Severus, I will say no more against it. I hope that she does indeed come. You deserve that desire to be fulfilled, if nothing else." Albus smiled, and Severus thought the man was going to cry but he turned away before Severus could tell.
"But Albus..."
The old man paused.
"Visit me sometimes, while I'm waiting, all right?"