AN: This was a request from a friend, who is madly in love with Severus Snape and was understandably sad that he meets his end in Deathly Hallows. A 'What if' story, namely, 'What if Snape only wanted it believed that he was dead'. Spoilers, obviously, for The Deathly Hallows.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Life, in Death.

Footsteps receded, back down the passageway that would lead them back to Hogwarts grounds, leaving behind a sad old building and the crumpled figure of the former Potions Master of Hogwarts. There was no sound, no movement in the decrepit house, save for the wind outside and the rustling of trees against the sides of the abandoned building.

To an observer, it was barely noticeable. A slight flicker that could have been passed off as a trick of the light, or a figment of an overactive imagination. However, if anyone had been watching, they might have sworn that his eyelids had blinked.

They would have been right.

With a ragged gasp and a jerky movement, Severus Snape levered himself onto an elbow and fumbled in the pockets of his robe, desperately searching for the vials he had hurriedly concealed there before making the journey to the Shrieking Shack. He didn't have much time.

The spell he had managed to cast before the snake had closed her jaws over him had slowed the progress of the venom that had entered his system, he could feel it flowing sluggishly through his veins, but that was not his chief worry. He was still bleeding profusely from the punctures where Nagini's teeth had sunk into his flesh, and if he did not stop the flow of blood soon, he would bleed to death long before the poison had the chance to finish what it was meant to do. His fingers closed around the bottle of dittany that he'd thrust into his robes earlier that night, when he'd felt his Mark burn and known that Potter had gotten into the castle. He withdrew the bottle and hastily applied it to the wounds that had, in Potter's eyes at least, killed him.

He had done his part, it was all up to Potter now. If the boy did as he expected him to do, and examined the memories that he had supplied him with, Potter would soon know all that had happened between himself and Dumbledore before the Headmaster's death. He would soon know the whole truth. And if Potter was everything that Dumbledore believed him to be, then it would all be over one hour.

The dittany worked quickly, and the bleeding stopped, possibly in the nick of time. He searched for the second vial he had had the forethought to stow away in his robes. Voldemort's obsession with the Elder Wand would have led him to discover everything that he could about its lore, and knowing the Dark Lord's mind as he did, Snape knew that he would light upon the conditions of the wand's transfer of ownership. Dumbledore had warned him that his life would be in danger once Voldemort knew the wand's history. Voldemort believed that he had murdered the old wizard, beaten him on that tower, and that the wand had passed to his ownership without his knowledge.

He had ruminated on the thought of his looming death, and gradually realized that when that moment arrived, he would have two choices. The first was to welcome oblivion and leave the world behind, join Lily and Potter and his cronies in the Otherworld and perhaps finally find some peace. The second was to take that moment and create a second chance at life from it. If he was believed dead, he could start anew somewhere else. He could leave the past behind at long last and try to be the man he could have been. Both ideas had been welcoming. He had pondered the choice before him for a long time, and eventually the answer had come to him in a dream.

It seemed so cliché, so trite, but at the same time, he couldn't find it in himself to discard it. He had seen her again, this time he was not watching from afar, tormented by the disappointment that he had caused, but was standing right beside her as he had once done, before he had alienated her with just one word. And she had been beautiful, just as beautiful as when she had been at Hogwarts, and in the years afterward. More so, because she was smiling at him again. He could still hear that conversation, as if she had really been there for him to talk to again.

"Lily…"

"Severus."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For failing. Failing to save you. I tried, but I failed."

"No you didn't. Maybe you couldn't save me, but you didn't fail, Sev. You've kept my son safe, and that is all that matters."

"It's not over yet. I can only do so much."

"I know. But I believe in my son."

"I will have to make a choice, soon... Between life and death."

"What will you choose?"

"I don't know."

"Then there is hope for you yet, Severus."

"What do you mean?"

"Most of us do not have the choice Severus. But it is a far braver thing to choose life when it is easier to die, than it is to foolishly laugh in the face of death."

"So it all comes down to bravery again."

"When does it not? We are all sorted into houses by our most prominent qualities, but I will tell you a secret, Severus. Every single one of us is a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin. When it comes right down to it, we're all made of the same stuff, we're all human. And what makes us human is our capacity for kindness, wisdom, cruelty and bravery."

"I was never as brave as you were."

"No. You were braver. What will it be then, Severus Snape? Life or Death?"

He had chosen life. Not knowing specifically what form his imminent death would take, it had not been easy to prepare. If Voldemort chose the killing curse, then there were no measures he could take. But the Dark Lord was becoming increasingly distracted with the Elder Wand. There was a chance, a slim one, but a chance nonetheless that he would be distracted enough to choose some other method.

Nagini's bite for instance, would be fatal, if not treated properly.

Snape found the second vial and swallowed its contents quickly, forcing down the reflex to gag. Then he lay on the floor, watching the dust float around in front of his face and waiting for the antidote to do its work. He had one hour, before someone would be spared to come and take his body to be buried. He couldn't afford to linger long, thankfully the potion seemed to be working quickly. He sat up fully, then when he was certain that they would support him, rose to stand on slightly shaky legs.

In the space of a few seconds, Snape returned to Malfoy Manor for the body that would serve as his own. He had not known Charity Burbage very well, their paths rarely had reason to cross whilst at Hogwarts, but he regretted that there was nothing that he could have done for the poor woman, not with the entire force of Death Eaters sitting around him, and Voldemort himself present. Death was the only thing that could save her.

But in death she could help him. She had no family, not anymore, and her disappearance was already known to be the work of the Dark Lord, everyone would assume that he had disposed of her body so well that it would never be found. Charming her to assume his features took some work, and some very complicated spells, but he managed to produce a perfect doppelganger in a relatively short amount of time, and he returned to the Shack with his new double just as the hour Voldemort had given Potter expired.

He arranged the body in the best approximation of the way that he had fallen. While it was unlikely, there was still the chance that Potter or one of his friends would one of the party to return and think something was off. He would not take that chance.

As he was in the midst of ensuring that all evidence of his continued existence had been disposed of, a dull roar filled the old house, and for a brief, panicky moment, Snape thought that perhaps everything had failed, that Potter had not been able to do what needed to be done. Then the tone of the roar was made clear, and he realized that it was a victory cheer.

It was not a cheer made by conquering Death Eaters.

Hogwarts had won.

Potter had won.

For the first time in years, Severus Snape really smiled.

It was all over now. But there was still something he needed to do. He turned silently and Disapparated once more.

He reappeared in the midst of a collection of gray and white tombstones. Sunlight caught a few blooming flowers and sparkled the dew on the grass. Dawn was breaking in Godric's Hollow, and it was beautiful.

Although he had been to the graveyard only once, in the cover of darkness, it did not take him long to find the stone he wanted. He conjured a bouquet of roses and laid them across the earth at the base of the stone, over top the remains of what had been a wreath of flowers. He straightened and stared at the words etched into the stone.

James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981

Lily Potter, born 20 January 1960, died 31 October 1981

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

He brushed his fingertips across her name and took a deep breath.

"It's over now. He did it, just like you believed he would. Maybe you already know that, but it doesn't matter. I chose life, Lily. I chose it because in the sixteen years that you have been gone, I have learned that life is far too short to be dwelling on mistakes made. I am sorry, that I disappointed you. I wish that I had found my courage back then and been a better friend. It would not have changed anything, I understand now that you were never meant for me, you were always meant for Potter. But if I had been the friend you needed, perhaps we could have put an end to Voldemort sixteen years ago. Perhaps. We shall never know for sure."

He stood there for a moment longer, there was more that he needed to say, but he could not find the right words right away, they came to him slowly.

"I always loved you, Lily, but I never thanked you for being my friend. If hadn't been for you, I very much doubt that any of what has happened could have come to pass. Your friendship saved me, and in doing that, it helped to save the Wizarding World. It may not mean that much to you now, but it means a lot to me. Thank you, Lily."

And then he vanished, disappearing as easily and quietly as he had arrived, leaving behind the scent of fresh flowers and the very distant sound of children's laughter.

The residents of the town never knew just how their brand new playground came to be. Sheltered from view, and far away from the river where children could wile away the hours splashing about, it had always been something on the shabby side, and it had fallen into severe disrepair some fifteen or sixteen years previously, no child had gone near it willingly in that time. Adults too, avoided the area when they could, it was an unsettling place to be. Visitors passing it by claimed it to be haunted, long time residents maintained that it was cursed.

Then one day, families awoke to find that the old and rusting equipment had been polished, painted and fixed, the swings returned to their chains, clean and safe. There were new pieces of equipment standing where before had only been tree branches and overgrown bushes. The broken and crumbling asphalt had been inexplicably replaced with lush green grass. Awestruck, children rushed to play in it the moment they were permitted, forgetting all previous misgivings and instead playing cheerily on the shining new playground with glee.

No one really took notice of the fact that whenever a child would inevitably take a tumble, there were never any injuries, no skinned knees, no bruises, no broken bones.

And toward the rear of the park, almost too far back to be seen from the street, a sign had appeared. One had to squint to read the words etched into the polished wood, but they were clear enough.

Evans Park

A friend once found is never truly lost.

A few of the older folk remembered an Evans family that had lived there once upon a time. Two little girls, they remembered, who used to play in the playground for hours. Fewer still remembered the raggedy dark haired boy from down Spinner's End who could often be found watching them diligently. Even fewer remembered that the younger girl and that boy had gone away, gone away to a school for the gifted. None could remember if they had known what the school was called, and none knew what had become of those children.

It was better that way.