Snape's POV

I was not a person who had ever been particularly afraid of death, because in all honesty how could I be? It never meant anything much. A human being had become a corpse- something that was, was not anymore. Death was the simple act of not breathing of passing between worlds. There was no reason to be scared. I had not expected it, to put it mildly. Since Lily was gone I did not mind it.

Except.

The boy.

He had incredibly untidy jet-black hair which I had only managed to see from the back over a year ago before I had left, and again six months ago in the middle of the black night as he followed a softly shimmering doe-mine. It seemed to make the crisp air feel warmer as I hid behind the steel trees. Serving the Dark Lord was supposed to mean life and not death- thriving. Thwarting your enemies, leaving behind the place where you did not belong.

I learned the truth a while ago. She still occupied my waking thoughts, pushing her way in when I would let her, which was oftener than I would like. Her smile had the uncanny ability to melt and pierce me at the same time Sha had been stolen. But her son- I knew she would want me to protect her son. I could not. The room seemed to close in on me as I realized what was about to happen and the serpent's fangs sank into me my scream was not particularly loud but it was sustained like a broken ripped-up accordion.

I was deflating. The Elder Wand- of all things. I knew, though, that the Dark Lord only needed to believe everything he had ever sought, undefeatable. Black. Could the most evil wizard of all time be defeated by a seventeen-year-old boy? I thought I might be worth a shot. As I sunk against the wall feeling nothing except death's putrid, penetrating odor- actually something like bitter, burned coffee- I cursed myself for not finding Harry Potter sooner. Dumbledore's words had been echoing hollow in my ears for the entirety of the atrocious, miserable night- "Tell Harry!"- and it seemed I could not even do that.

But miracle of miracles there he is, coming from nowhere, as seemingly unafraid of death as I am.

And I hate that.

Desperately I clutch the hem of his robe like a lifeline, a baited fish, and pull him to me. He must understand no matter what eth cost. He looks startled and a little surprised and I find myself getting impatient when this registers in his expression. There is no time, stupid boy! Listen-

And it is all flooding back, now.

A girl whose hair was on fire, swinging higher and higher, watched only by myself (unbeknownst to her) and her impish, pinch-faced sister. Lily, in every sense of the word a pristine, beautiful white flower, untouched and unblemished until she came in to contact with me. It was wrong to say I had lost her when I never had her, but how else to describe it? Her death was the only would I could not heal from. It had tasted vile. How I had tried so hard to make it up to her by protecting her last remnant and ultimately failing in the long run. All because of Albus Dumbledore and his messed-up plans. Never until that moment had I doubted he cared for the child. Nothing could compare to how used and cheated I felt, how- simply put- angry and livid I was.

Not that this made it any easier, killing him.

Once again death's keen sting engulfed me and it always knew just where to strike to make the blow that much worse. I had tried so hard to turn from former ways and here I was having to embrace them once more. And against Dumbledore, of all people. But anything for the war. The loneliness did not bother me much- I still had Dumbledore's portrait, after all- but Potter's shouts and the mocking and jeering and taunting of members of the Light was impossible to endure, like being cut over and over with a knife set aflame, to harden the blows.

They could not know it of course- but how I had wanted them to! How I had wanted to scream that the last thing I wanted to do was kill anybody. Damn Dumbledore. I hope you are happy. And even after all that, being forced to give the Dark Lord the correct date of Potter's escape so as not to arouse suspicion while simultaneously and ironically ensuring his safety by Confunding Mundungus Fletcher, a little thief the Order trusted for some reason. My cover nearly being blown by that wolf-'Be sure to act you part convincingly'- and my Secumsempra missing spectacularly. I could not even hit that death Eater's hand.

Then the sword. Even in death Dumbledore did not tell me everything, which was more than slightly irritating, but I did what was asked of me anyway. Just make sure Potter gets it! And don't let him see you. He had nearly not come out of the lake again and I had never been so grateful for a Weasley. I do not like to think what would have happened should it have been necessary to reveal myself then. And what has it all been for? I do not know if after all this the Dark Lord will be gone completely. I have still failed Lily massively, again. Here was her son.

How clearly I see it all, how vividly it all slices through me. It has never until this moment been so overwhelming and before seem to have broken the surface, likely not able to hold still in my mind which is roaming everywhere. Their texture is slightly off and on my tongue they are numbing and bland. Funny, would not have guessed that. I know instantly what the boy must do.

"Take it… take it…"

My voice is unusually raspy and hoarse and it is a struggle to make any sound at all. Before he can wrap his brain around this, however, Granger has already shoved a vial into his hands. Inwardly I am pleading with him to disobey me just this once, for his own survival. Has that not what this has all been for? Is that not what I promised oh, so long ago in the very office where I spent the remaining year of my miserable, tainted existence? Defeat is crushing. This has all been for nothing and it has all come to this. This moment in a little ransacked shack no more than dimly lit and still covered in filthy dust. Certainly not how I imagined it. Certainly not how it should be.

"Take it to the Pensieve." I cannot stop myself, it has to be this way. Damn. Who would have thought, the one destined to save the wizarding world in reality destined for death, the Boy-Who-Lived living to the ripe old age of twenty. Granted, life never offered him much more than his childish antics. I wish it wasn't this way but it must be. Then the Dark Lord can die too. But is that worth this? My mind is swimming, racing a hundred different directions. I cannot tell. It does not matter. I am too late to change to anything- there is nothing I can do and the time for that has long passed. When I was younger I did not ever give much thought to death, but it should have happened many years ago. It almost did, and in this very place.

How fitting. I never belonged to life, and… neither did Potter. Honestly. Somehow I find the strength to croak out one harsh, waspish, cold whisper-

"Look- at- me-"

He has her eyes. He has her eyes and I have always known it. But never have I gotten so lost, swallowed up in the emerald green, shining like crystals. Broken ones. So much sharp pain I see there where I should see none. Oh, Lily's child. Lily, who I lived and breath for, am dying for. You deserved a better friend than me. I am staring into her eyes and going back a thousand years. Hearing her laugh, seeing her smile. None of it was enough.

I failed her. Death wraps her arms around me coldly, and I find myself very reluctant.