Cadence Of His Last Breath
By Mystic Dawn
Notes: Spoilers for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Cover image by Lithrael on DeviantArt.
Seeing Nagini protected in that globe of magic, Severus Snape knew that the time to follow Dumbledore's last wishes had come. He had to find Harry, tell him what he was truly supposed to face, before it was too late, before Voldemort could make his move...
"While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."
At these words, he had known what was coming. He was going to die, die without a chance to even protect himself. But instead of being hit with the familiar green light of the Killing Curse, he saw the snake descend upon him, magical cage and all, and felt its fangs penetrate his flesh. He could feel the warm gush of blood begin to seep from his mortal wound as his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor. He could feel his heart pounding in his head, steadily faltering, his eyes glazing from the pain...
He had failed, failed Harry, failed Dumbledore, failed all of wizardkind...
And he had failed her...
And then he saw him—Harry was stooping over him, his face pale, emotionless—how it was possible for him to be here at this time, Severus could not say.
He weakly raised his hand and grasped Harry's robes, trying to form words, to tell him what he must do, but the only thing that issued from his mouth were gurgling, rasping sounds. Then... there was no other way. He knew what had to be done.
"Take... it... take... it..."
He would have to give Harry his memories. It was the only thing to prepare him for what he had to face, to prepare him for death. It still seemed like a dream to Severus... that all these years, he had been protecting her son only for him to die at the hands of the self-same murderer... but it was the only way it would all end, and for her death to finally be avenged.
Even as his end was approaching, he could not forget her. Now, more than ever, did he wish that things had been different; that he had been sorted in Gryffindor, that he had never heard of Voldemort or Death Eaters or the Dark Arts, that he had never uttered that unforgivable word to her when she had only been trying to help him... and somehow, thinking about all of these things, he knew that they would be included in the memories he was surrendering to Harry. But, strangely, he wanted him to know. He wanted her son to know who the true Severus Snape was.
He wished that he had been brave enough to tell her how he truly felt for her, even if his feelings for her were unrequited. A part of him always wondered whether there could have been a slim, small chance that she did return his feelings, something, however, that he would never know. She could have been his to love, his to cherish, his to protect... then, perhaps, none of this would have ever happened. She would still be alive, with him... and the boy now kneeling beside him might have been his son in another time and place.
"Look... at... me..." he whispered.
All sound ceased, and the cadence of his last breath was the only thing that could be heard in the dark room.
The last thing he saw was the familiar emerald-green hue of her eyes before being consumed by the darkness.
And he knew that he was going to see her again.