Disclaimer: Sadly, Severus is not mine; I am just trying to help him.

Author's Notes: The other day I was thinking about the fact that Severus processed all the necessary qualities, such as loyalty and bravery, for Phoenix to interfere into his fate. And frankly he deserves to live a longer life, finally for himself.

"Miracles are not contrary to nature, but only contrary to what we know about nature."

-Saint Augustine

Blood. Blood everywhere. There was no air to breath; he was suffocating. Death. Death was coming. Finally. A relief.

Then suddenly all stopped. Severus did not feel anything for a few seconds, maybe for hours. No pain. No suffering. Silence. It seemed his very soul was silent. Awaiting.

There was a brief flash of blinding light. He opened his eyes with a start and involuntary drew a ragged breath; then he started to pant as if his lungs could not get enough of oxygen.

After a few painfully long moments his eyes began to focus. Slowly Severus recognized all too familiar outline of the Shrieking Shack, the place where his tortured soul was supposed to part from the maimed body; which evidently did not happen after all, or it was the hell specifically designed for him. The latter seemed more probable.

The room was lit by a small candle on the table, but also there was another source of golden light. He turned his head and his eyes met the gleaming black eyes of the Phoenix standing nearby. Its clawed feet were covered in blood; its whole body, every single feather, emitted soft shimmering refulgence.

Carefully, as if in fear that the gorgeous creature would fly away, he reached out, his hand shaking, and lightly touched the bird's head to ascertain that it was all real. And real it was.

"Thank you, Fawkes," Severus whispered with just his lips feeling the pleasant warmth under his fingers.

Suddenly Phoenix raised his graceful head and sang in earnest. What a heavenly sound! It enveloped him in hope; and desire for life, that he had not felt for a long time, started to run through his veins anew; the peculiar warmth he felt only in his fingers spread throughout his whole body.

The urge to stand up overwhelmed him. Cautiously Severus put his hands on the floor grimacing as his skin made contact with the cool slickness. Then he tried to rise to his feet; the action took a considerable effort on his part since he felt extremely weak and his legs were shaking uncontrollably. Finally he mustered up enough strength to take two steps in the direction of the window, so not to stand in the pool of his own blood.

Abruptly Severus fell back onto his knees clutching his left forearm violently as the fierce burning pain he had never experienced before shot through it. And yet he thought that he had known all possible kinds of pain, how terribly he was mistaken. It was far worse than Cruciatus. He actually wanted to bite off his arm like a wild animal caught in a trap; he was ready to do anything just to stop this madness. Even his Occlumency shields would not help as they were smashed irretrievably in the very beginning. His sanity simply would not survive another second of this torture.

But just as unexpectedly as it had come agony went away leaving only a dull ache behind. Slowly he raised his head and saw the first rays of the morning sun breaking through the dusty surface of the window. He could feel two hot tears running down his cheeks.

The Dark Lord was dead. He was free at last.

Then Phoenix extended its wings and flew into the air with red droplets falling back on the floor. Then Fawkes disappeared in a burst of flames; Severus caught the glimmering feather before it hit the ground. It was a miracle.

Several days later Severus was standing in front of the mirror in his shabby house examining his delicate neck. Actually it looked a lot better than he had previously expected. Of course, there were scars, but not nearly as bad as they should be; they looked quite unusual to be honest, it was obvious that these marks were created by some sort of divine magic. The two jagged scars from Nagini's fangs were silver with the faint shimmer that was only visible in the direct sunlight; the skin was uneven but surprisingly soft.

Pensively he rolled up his left sleeve and once again looked at his Dark Mark; it was faded but still stood out against his pale skin. So much difference there was between these two significant marks imprinted on his body: the one was a symbol of death and suffering, whereas the other was a symbol of life and redemption. He was supposed to die, he had to die; there was no other choice back then. Of course, he had a bottle of antidote to Nagini's venom in the pocket of his robes; however, in those circumstances he could not possibly mange to use it since he was extremely weakened from the blood loss. He thought until that fatal day that miracles had no place in his life.

Severus took out Fawkes' feather and brushed his fingers against its velvet. This was the very first miracle that had ever happened to him. He could not fathom why Phoenix, such a pure creature of light, decided to save him. Then he remembered all the times when he would visit Dumbledore's office to give his report after another Death Eater meeting; all too often he was in too great pain to stand after another Cruciatus or he was bleeding profusely or had broken bones, but still he would come because Headmaster strictly ordered him to; only after he would tell everything he was permitted to go tend to his injuries. All those times when Albus Dumbledore did not care, maybe his pet did.

I was considering writing more; however, this seemed to be a logical conclusion. So what are your thoughts? Reviews and constructive criticism are very welcome.