For muSicLuHvER, who, according to my blocked facebook and twitter news feeds, seems to lurve herself a bitta Sev/Lily!
I don't own anything.
My preference is 1st present, but this seemed to lean itself to 3rd person, so sorry if it seems wooden. Also, I am yet to see DH P2 and haven't read the book in like months now *shock* but the dialogue is pretty perfect because, well, I have a freakish memory that keeps things like that in there.
~x~
Fear. Confusion. Trepidation. Fear… again.
These are the emotions that Severus feels as Voldemort's hallowing voice utters the words, "it cannot be any other way. I must master the Elder wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Harry Potter at last." He can't move from the spot in which he stands as he contemplates the message behind Voldemort's words: the murderer of the previous master cannot be alive if someone else wishes to possess it. After all, in its bloodied history, how many kept their life after losing the wand?
He knows the answer: one. Grindelwald did, though his life for over fifty years cannot be deemed such a thing – an existence akin to Voldemort's, perhaps, but not a life. How could living in a cell be a life? No… nobody truly lives after losing the Elder wand… Severus knows that.
He opens his mouth to protest, perhaps even to explain that Dumbledore's death was prearranged, so he isn't the master, though this would have revealed him as a traitor. Yet being a traitor could perhaps afford him more time on this earth – he could get away from Voldemort and be dealt with later… that is, of course, if Voldemort succeeds. Perhaps only to rectify his mistakes, to explain to Harry how it was the mere memory of his father that caused the dislike to be so strong, even though he was Lily's twin in personality, to do anything that could perhaps counteract all the evil he partook in as a Death Eater for those years, he could use that time for. Anything.
Yet before he can protest, Voldemort swipes the Elder wand through the air. The emotions of fear and trepidation – apprehension about seeing Lily once again – fade away slightly, as the confusion becomes more prominent: why is he not rebuking him? Yet, the split second brings a sense of relief to him. He's been granted a reprieve, he thinks joyfully; he has been given the chance to make amends for his past mistakes, to start afresh in a way that will consolidate his happiness for the time he had with lily, in opposition to dreaming of what could have been.
He begins to smile… until he hears the whirling of the cage containing the snake as it makes its way through the air towards him. The intention of Voldemort becomes clear at this point: it is death by snake – and it is imminent. There is no chance for amends, no chance to wipe the slate clean… just death.
He yells out, a shriek of pain, fear, despair, loss, that mingles together to become indistinguishable, yet the agony is still evident there. He has time to scream, but nothing further; for the sphere containing the snake is beginning to near him… the murky, translucent case of an indescribable substance has hurled itself into him, encasing his head and shoulders. All he can see is the great mass of coiled snake, the dark and flat green colour of the scales lining its long and twisted body catching his eye… until he locks eyes with the beady, vibrant eyes of Nagini. The eyes are more of those of a Death Eater than an animal: he can see the lust for the life of another in them, the understanding that it must do what its master directs it to, but the want to do such a thing – there is no forced nature there… he shudders as he realises the proximity of the snake to him means he can smell its breath, see the fangs protruding from the mouth so visibly, he can distinguish the remnants of the snake's last meal.
The tiny scraps of flesh makes him feel sick, yet he doesn't have time to think of anything else, for he hears the hiss from Voldemort that he knows must mean the end of his life. He cannot translate the strange sound, yet, in his heart, he knows what it means.
Kill.
All at once, the jaws of the snake widened and its head shoots towards him. He tries to move out of the way of its advance, yet his desire to escape seems to only spur it on faster, causing the fangs to sink into his neck with disgusting depth. Something shoots through his veins from the bite and he screams out in agony, unable to hold in the noise of pure agony. Nothing is comparable to this intense pain, he decides in a random thought as adrenaline pumping through his veins increased, allowing him to think of many things in tandem.
As the venom seems to spread through his veins, he can feel the blood retreating from his face, leaving him bone white as his body focused on his heart… as long as I keep my heart beating, he thinks to himself in vain, knowing he will die but wanting to do anything to stop it happening.
Over faster than he thought possible, he attempts to push the cage off himself, yet the small action is too much for his already severely weakened limbs to manage. The effort knocks him off balance and his knees find his body weight too much to deal with, causing the floor to rush up and greet him in an all too painful manner. Yet it is incomparable to the spreading of the sting from the bite, from the site in his neck where the snake continues to hold onto him, its mass collapsing on top of his body as he falls.
"I regret it," comes the cold words from Voldemort's lips, each word seeming to drift further and further away from Severus as he lies there, unable to breathe. The snake crushes the little oxygen left in his body, but the removal of it grants him a second lease of life… for a mere second or two, he thinks he can be ok, that he can make it through this attack, that he is stronger than Voldemort gave him credit for.
Then the venom continues to rush through his veins, just as blood gushes out of the wound made worse from the fierce thrust out Nagini's fangs did on their return to the ceiling.
He hears the departure of Voldemort from the room and he attempts to pill himself along the floor in vain, knowing that even if he does get out of the Shrieking Shack before he dies, he would be killed anyway.
His body begins to shake uncontrollably, his response to the poison spreading through him at an alarming pace… it's killing him both more quickly and slowly than he thought, quicker to stop his motor functions but slower in a way that drags the death out in excruciating clarity. He can't stop himself from shaking, yet, with a grim determination, he moves his hand up to his neck to try and stop the blood from flowing, to perhaps give him a chance to live a little longer. It's a natural movement, to try and stop the flow of the blood, yet he knows that it will do no good. In his heart, he knows it is a valiant effort that is being wasted.
Noise comes about that seems so far away to his ears; everything seems to echo and reverberate with enough force to make him want to shut his eyes and never wake up again: it hurts his head just to concentrate on the noise in wasted attempts to try and distinguish the source.
He widens his eyes as he spots the copy of the man whom he hated, yet saved his life almost in this very spot over twenty years ago. Here the same person, in a sense, is coming but this time he is too late. But as Harry nears to him, the piercing green eyes of his mother, Lily, hits him with a fresh bout of pain nothing to do with the wound. It's the pain of the recognition that someone has been carrying around Lily Potter in not only his heart but his appearance for almost seventeen years since her death and he failed to recognise this. he simply focused on the majority of the appearance, not the intricate details of his eyes… the emerald orbs which attracted him so to her, the emerald orbs which betrayed her emotions with ease, no attempts to cover anything up there… all he could see was how she felt.
And now, as he tries to speak, to apologise for the way he treated Harry for no reason, he contemplates how different life could have been if he had only treated Harry better. Perhaps the entire issue of Dumbledore and the way he, Severus, tried to help the boy anonymously could have been avoided if only he had trusted him, if only he had let the eyes do the talking, not the body.
Thoughts fill his mind of Lily, of the times he shared with her, both good and bad, as he realises that he ought to share these perceptions of his mother with Harry. So, with his last dregs of strength, he seizes the front of Harry's robes and pulls him closer to him, their faces near as dammit touching.
He tries to speak again but only a strange noise issues from his throat, until he finally can get the words out… "Take… it… Take… it," he repeats, as he realises that the memories are fading from his mind. It's like trying to hold onto sand: sooner or later, the grains fall from your hand and you lose them to the tide, taking them far out of reach, never to be seen again.
As he contemplates each memory, it is cruelly snatched away from him, out of his body, and he realises that it is these memories that are his life… without them, he will die… they are what has kept him going all these years, not the desire to help or even his body… nothing but Lily.
So, as they ebb out, his life begins to end, as each image of Lily's grinning face as she looked at him passes out of his mind, he loses all memory of the woman he has loved every day for almost thirty years.
But one thought remains.
"Look…at… me…" he whispers to Harry, feeling himself slipping away. He manages to lock eyes with Harry, the last thought in his head being the emerald eyes he has always loved. The twinkle in them may not be prominent in Harry's at the moment, yet he can imagine it in them, just as Lily's had the majority of the time, and it is this that he thinks of as he dies.
His eyes drift shut as he allows the claws of death to take him, not willingly… but not so forced that he would kill someone to stay alive…
~x~
His body remains slumped on the floor as his spirit seems to ascend towards someplace where he knows eternity shall be waited out in. as he moves, he begins to feel lighter, better, younger, as if the pain of the past years has been wiped away. A tingling on his left forearm indicates to him that the Dark Mark has been removed, leaving him whole and pure once more.
As he nears his final destination, he realises that both his memories are back and that the slight tinge of bitterness left on them from years of both regret and anger about not telling Lily those important words – I love you – when he had the chance to, has been wiped clean. No longer does he despise James Potter for having Lily… he simply despises him because he is a prat!
As his feet touch down in the great unknown to be investigated over time, he sees nothing.
Nothing besides one thing.
Emerald eyes.
Lily.
Thoughts?
Love you to review!
Vicky xx