The first thing Severus Snape knew was numbness. He couldn't feel his limbs, his body, even his own head. Could he possibly be in some sort of strange limbo or afterlife- perhaps as a floating, unseeing, unfeeling entity of sorts? His thoughts were surprisingly succinct considering what he had been through, and were he probably was. Ah, but then, he must have a head, considering his mind still seemed intact.

With this new awareness came the growing feeling of intense pressure. It pushed into his skull, out of his ears, behind his eyes, into the very depths of his mind, and all coherent thought was immediately replaced with the knowledge of this strange, pressing ache. A dull ringing that had made itself known only moments before, began to morph into unintelligible sounds that seemed to surround him and add to the mounting pressure. His head felt like it was being squished into a space far too small to contain it. Snape wanted to move, to see, or at least find a way to return to the blissful numbness he had experienced shortly before. An itch made itself known. It wasn't on his head, but it was certainly on him. It felt far away but also within reach.

Severus Snape's hand twitched, and with it, the pressure morphed horribly into pain and the obscure sounds became anxious voices. He felt a soothing wash of magic cover him like a soft blanket, and something warm and inexplicably reassuring covered his hand.

He awoke several hours, perhaps even days later. He could feel his eyes moving against their lids, aware of a light on the other side, and his dry lips parted to let out a stuttering breath. Snape's eyes gradually opened and immediately focused on something that was hairy, and very much alive. He could have looked to see that he was lying in a bed by a large window that was letting in streams of clear moonlight, and that his neck and upper torso were enveloped in thick white bandages, but his eyes were glued to the hairy thing that was intruding into his personal space. The thing, he realized, was a lot bigger than he originally perceived, and seemed to be subtly moving, up and down, in a steady, slow rhythm. With each small movement, a bit of hair would tickle Snape's wrist and irritate him further. He was irritated because the hairy thing looked very much like a head, and that head looked horribly familiar. Like a pig raised for slaughter, Harry Potter had to die for the Dark Lord's end to be realized. Snape knew that he himself had died. He had felt the life leave him, feel his heart slow to a stop, and his lips pass their final breath.

But, wasn't he breathing right now? No, what mattered was the fate of the boy, whose head was now resting by Snape's arm. He must have succeeded in vanquishing the Dark Lord, sacrificing himself after living only eighteen years, much of this time with such a terrible burden on his shoulders. Or else, he had died in the effort. Snape could more than understand the living hell it was to have the Dark Lord hovering over your every move, knowing your life was always in jeopardy, that your secrets could be revealed in a moment of weakness. Snape had chosen that life, the boy had not, yet they both had paid the ultimate price.

The realization that he may be stuck in the afterlife with the last person he would ever want to be stuck with came to him, and he almost choked at the thought. Except that Snape did begin choke, his breath catching, his throat muscles working to no avail. The boy at his side almost immediately woke, stumbling out of his seat in his haste, "Poppy!"

Here he was, choking and the boy was shouting gibberish and leaving him! The brat would be the cause of his death, even in the afterlife. Before Potter could get more than a few feet from the bed, he was brushed aside by Madam Pompfrey, who immediately waved her wand to relax his throat muscles. "It's about time for your next medicine anyways Severus, so glad to see you're back with us," she said, pouring a potion down his throat and gently massaging the muscles there. "Harry, could you fetch Minerva for me?"

The boy left without a word, and Snape wondered what the hell was going on. "Severus," Poppy's voice interrupted his confusion, "I'm sure you must have many questions, most of which I'll let Minerva and Mr. Potter detail, however I must explain your condition as soon as you feel ready." Snape's heart was thumping hard and true in his chest, air leaving and entering his lungs, and he knew , by some miracle, that he must still be alive.