The Death of S. Snape

"Look…at…me…"

Grayness swirled around him. He floated in nothing, felt nothing but the wind, saw nothing but the grey, but he heard…he heard everything. Hundreds of voices spoke, babbling over each other, but only a few were clear.

Shouts of "Whore!" and "Useless twit!" flew at him out the gray maelstrom, the voice slured and male.

"I thought. . . you were going. . . to keep her. . . safe. . . " says a sobbing deep voice, one he should know.

"Does it make a difference?" High Voice, the voice of a child says softly, the grayness speeding around him faster.

"Gryffindor!" a muffled voice.

"After all this time?" Old Voice, he remembers a twinkling old voice.

"Does it make a difference?" High Voice is back, causing the wind to pick up speed once more, as if trying to tare something out of him.

"Slytherin!" that same muffled voice from before, saying words he has heard millions of times, but somehow this time is more important.

"Always." that deep voice, His Voice, he remembers this time.

"All right, Snivellus?" Hated Voice, one full of loathing and ignorance.

"I thought we were supposed to be friends?" His Voice once more, sad and desperate.

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" the Old Voice once more, full of pride; "You disgust me…" but now full of loathing.

"Does it make a difference?" the High Voice of the child is back, soothing him as the wind pulls harder, calming him as he can feel the pain of…something ripping.

"No—no message—I'm here on my own account!" His Voice, desperate, but full of hope.

"You know, I sometimes think we Sort too soon. . . " Old Voice, somehow annoying and pleasing at the same time.

"Does it make a difference?" High Voice whispers, desperate this time.

"And my soul, Dumbledore?" Dumbledore…is that Old Voice?

"Does it make a difference?" falling, falling, falling…faster now, something is wrong…he must stop the grayness.

"Save your breath." That voice…High Voice…but older, and…angry.

"DOES IT MAKE A DIFFERENCE?!" pain, ripping, falling…grayness pushing him downwards, ripping all that he is apart.

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" His Voice…full of anger and…shame? Why shame…who did he yell at…

"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born?" High Voice…Lily! The grayness stops, holding him still, as if it has paused to let him think.

"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!" mudblood…he called his Lily mudblood…that's why he felt shame.

As he remembers a small figure steps out of the grayness, murky at first, but then clearer, bright copper hair and green eyes shining out of the grey as the figure, now a child he sees, walks towards him.

"Does it make a difference, being Muggle-born Sev?" the child, his High Voice, his Lily asks.

"No, it never does, it never did" he replies, holding his hand out to her, his body visible once more. His Lily smiles at him, taking his hand.

"I've missed you, Sev" she says.

"I missed you too, Lily" he says, soft voiced as he looks into the green eyes that he loves, the green that has tormented him for seven years.

Grinning, she tugs at his hand, leading him out of the grey, to a play park, and to a swing set. She sits down and so does he, his legs swinging just above the ground as he pushes the swing forward.

"What about James?" he says, surprised at how soft and high his voice sounds now, how child-like it is. He looks over to his Lily, seeing his own small arm and hand. Tiny fingers unstained by potions, but grubby with dirt.

"He doesn't like swings, but that's ok, 'cause you do, right Sev?"

"Always Lily. Always."

This was, oddly enough, inspired by the fog that covered my school yesterday. It is a bit odd for me to write because there is not a lot of visual, other than grey mist swirling, and his body being moved violently back and forth. I can see it, but there are only so many words one can use to discribe grey, heh.

I have rathe ra lot of other stories, so go read them too! I am working on "10 thing you didn't know about..." right now.

ta!

(oh, and the vast majorty of the quoted phrases are in whole or part for HP5 and HP7)