Disclaimer: I don't own, J.K. Rowling and friends don't sue... Deal?
Author's note: Hi everyone! My second (3rd? I don't know, I'm writing two at the same time.) fanfic! I'm so excited! For those of you who have stuck around since Angel of the Moon, THANK YOU! For those of you just joing me, welcome! I hope you enjoy!
Harry stared at the gasping man, tears blurring his vision. He hated the bastard. Hated him for the years of torment. For breaking his vision of his perfect father. For introducing him to a world of grey when everything before had been black and white. For killing Dumbledore. For everything. But watching him now, seeing the pain and tears that flowed from the potion master's eyes, he couldn't let him die.
"Take them." The death rattle seemed to roar in his ears and Harry demanded a flask from Hermione. She and Ron had stood to the side during the encounter, blanched, scared frozen.
"I need a flask!" The green-eyed boy screamed when his first request failed to generate a response. The anguished screech galvanized her into action and she rifled through the expandable bag that had saved their lives on more than one occasion this past year. She pulled a small glass bottle from its depths and tossed it to him. Harry would save Severus. He had to. But if he failed, he'd get the memories. One lasting memento from the man who had tortured and taught Harry within the same breaths.
Fighting back the sobs that tried to wrack his body. Harry pressed the vial to Snape's cheek, capturing the tear-laden memories with a shaking hand. "You won't die Severus." He murmured as he worked. "You won't. I won't let you."
Mentally, he screamed for Fawkes. Dittany couldn't fix this. Harry doubted the most powerful potions in Madam Pomfrey's stores could. But phoenix tears, well, they cured everything, didn't they?
The beautiful red and gold bird swooped in, landing next to Harry on the bare wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack. Harry couldn't find his voice, couldn't find it on him to ask, but he didn't need to. Another wonderful thing about phoenixes. They seemed to read minds.
Fawkes soothed her ruffled plumage and laid her head on Severus's shoulder, opalescent tears trailing down the bird's beak and onto the wound. Gently, Fawkes nudged Harry's hand aside in order to have access to the ripped throat in its entirety, tears spilling from her eyes with steady force. She was happy this boy had called for her, had pleaded with her to heal the man now barely clinging to life. She saw many things in her time with Dumbledore. She knew things that no one else in the world would ever know. Most importantly, she knew this man needed to be saved. The world didn't need him, despite how much he had sacrificed for it, but the messy haired boy with coal black lockes and verdant eyes did. And that boy was more precious than the world anyway.
Slowly the gaping hole knitted itself closed and Snape was able to draw in deep breaths without being subjected to the gurgle of blood in his lungs. He smiled gratefully at Fawkes, stroking his hand down her beak, before looking at Harry. "You have your mother's eyes." He murmured, before drifting into unconsciousness, oblivious to the relieved sobs that shook his student's body.