Faith in Poison

Conjuration

1

A Death Blow is a Life Blow to Some

A Death blow is a Life blow to Some
Who till they died, did not alive become—
Who had they lived, had died but when
They died, Vitality begun.

A Death Blow is a Life Blow to Some, Emily Dickinson

The moment Dumbledore too glibly discussed the terms of his own execution, Severus knew he would not live to see the end of the Second War. The last year of his life, he spent resigning himself to death, meditating on its finality, putting his affairs in order, and ensuring Potter's victory. He had but to wait patiently in the end.

It didn't, however, stop him from begging, from struggling like an insect trapped in the spider's web when the end finally came.

He'd played the part well, given over to shuddering in a pool of his own blood, bequeathing his treasured memories to that stupid boy, he could not clutch the most precious memory of the first time he saw Lily's face close to his heart for one last time, only able to stare, frozen, into her eyes nestled in Potter's face. A wicked and disgusting trick to play, he thought, before it all went dark.

It was his first easy, peaceful sleep in decades.

A fathomless abyss gently cradled him; a warm welcome home.

He was suspended in cool silence for an unquantifiable amount of time, if time here had form or meaning, before an excruciating and glorious luminescence assaulted him.

Two green orbs in a round, pale child's face materialized in the massive sunspot. A breeze undulated Lily Evans's soft auburn hair.

Though unsure he was possessed of a solid form the entire journey, he was painfully aware that he had one again, sprawled on his back in thickets of brambles, dowels of lush grass shooting spidery into the vast white sky, tall as buildings nestled among friendly wildflowers.

Lily smiled ruefully, small hand extended toward him as if to help him to his feet, the eyes he so loved belying her child's face with an ageless wisdom that deeply unsettled him. He trembled without word as he slid to his elbows, propped himself up to get closer.

She flopped ungracefully to her grass-stained knees, small white hand still extended, "Severus." Her eerie woman's voice echoed in the nothingness stretched around them as if in strange mockery of her child's body.

His own voice was brittle and small. "Lily... you're ."

"As you first loved me," She replied, her emerald eyes regarding him impassively.

He sought to blink away her yellow sundress, her red hair like a pesky mirage, but there she stayed, rooted to his reality, solid of flesh and unavoidable. "What… what is this?"

"You were very brave, you know." Her warm palm cupped his cheek and a cascading warmth unfurled in his belly. "All this time… for my son."

His heart lurched to his throat. At once, he grasped her tiny hand, crushed it painfully in his trembling fingers, tugged her closer. "For you!" He drew a ragged breath, "Only for you…"

Unfazed by his indelicate grasp, Lily smiled sweetly, a placating gesture that instantly soothed him. "So brave, Severus. You did so well. Though it is past time for you to rest, it seems you're not finished."

"What do you mean?"

Had he not done enough? The life of her precious boy was all but assured. There was nothing left now in the living world for Severus to cling to. He wilted with longing for an eternity in the ether with her. He deserved that much. As if sensing his protests before they burst from his trembling lips, Lily gently withdrew her hand and lightly brushed the tips of her fingers against his chest. Severus was unaware of his heartbeat before, but he felt it pulse powerfully under her touch as if by command. He fought to swallow his shock.

"So unrelenting in your love, Severus. My soul was selfish to implore you so. You will continue and go." Her tone held a finality and decisiveness that made his stomach writhe with desperation.

Severus's brows knitted together, he clutched at her tiny torso and buried his head in her shoulder, loathe to release her. "I don't want to go," He begged into her copper curls, "I want to stay with you, just this once… here."

The child held him with the grace and sheltering embrace of a mother and stroked his hair indolently. "Oh, Severus. It's not yet your time. Not truly. Rest assured, the hard part is over."

He grimaced and choked through sobs, speech arrested by the spasms in his throat and violent, uncontrolled shuddering of his shoulders and chest, "It is always... hard without you. It has been... so... hard without y-"

"Shhhhh," She was a mother again, "You will go."

"Go where?" Hot tears kissed his cheeks.

"On, Severus. To live."

Light dissolved into pitch around him and stole the protests from his tongue as he clutched vainly at any part of Lily he could until he curled a russet lock of her hair around his fist as a forceful gale withdrew him from death entirely.

His soul crashed into the world once again and roused him to consciousness in the dark of the Shrieking Shack, sticky and gasping a pool of his own blood. Though nearly blind with pain pulsing from the gaping wound in his throat, he noticed with detached clarity that Potter, the Dark Lord and his snake had long fled to wage war and abandoned his body to grow cold in the aftermath.

In eerie silence, amidst his muffled gasps and shudders, he heard something else stir in the darkness and saw a brilliant smear of orange and red touch down softly on his squirming chest. Severus realized with grim amusement that it was Dumbledore's beloved Fawkes regarding him with beady eyes as it lowered its head toward him, close enough to touch his nose.

And how have you found me, you great fucking turkey, he wanted to ask, but all he could manage was a strangled gurgle.

Fawks's reply was a melodious trill and cock of its head as if to say, "Is that quite important?"

His stiff fingers twitched with effort to brush the bloody thing off, so he might attempt to die again in peace, but the bird paid him no attention as it bowed its head and trickled rivulets of warm tears on his neck, then pecked impatiently at his lips until he opened his mouth to protest and his tongue tasted honeyed wine until he choked.

It is not quite pleasant to feel the sear of flesh knitting together, of cartilage shifting within muscle and gristle to reconnect, to feel vocal cords snap together and vibrate jarringly as like the strings in a piano. His veins coursed with molten fire, the infernal sting of blood regenerating, then pumping furiously into his heart. He writhed in wordless agony for moments that stretched into forever as his wounds closed and bones popped back into place. The bird observed placidly from above, having fled Severus's flailing torment to perch on the leg of an overturned chair atop a broken cabinet.

Sputtering weakly, he spat bile and blood onto the floorboards and found his voice again, cracked and raw with the effort of sudden healing, hardly strained above a whisper. "What... is the m-meaning of thisss-"

The bird admonished him with a few rapid clicks and a wilting little song as it floated down to him again and extended a beckoning leg.

So, it was, that Severus Snape found himself revived from the precipice of death, having been scolded by a dead man's pet phoenix for his lack of appreciation, and he was carried off into the night air dangling, helpless, and apprehensive.