I had the idea for this the day after I first read book seven. I just sat there and it came to me. Probably because Snape is my favourite character, and in my head I could never see him dying. I completely forgot until a few days later when I was going to bed and I sat there at 3 am typing on my laptop so I wouldn't forget.
I do not own Snape or any other character from Harry Potter, they all belong to J.K. (damn her).
The venom coursed through his arteries. The blood poured from the wound in his neck. Killed by a serpent, the symbol of his own house. Snape would have found it funny, under other circumstances. The Dark Lord left, taking that wretched snake, Nagini, with him. Snape was alone, left to die. All of Dumbledore's plans had come to nothing, it had all gone wrong. Voldemort had gained the Elder Wand. At least, thought Snape, he wouldn't be alive to see it all go wrong. No, he'd be dead long before then.
He lay there, bleeding on the floor, clutching a hand to the burning wound in his neck. He couldn't stop the flow of blood. He knew he was dying, but he wanted to live. The world had faded, the only feeling left the icy burning in his neck. The only sound the beating of his heart. But no, there was another sound. Footsteps. Someone was coming. He tried to sit up, to look, but he hadn't the strength. The footsteps came closer, and there was the rustle of a cloak being removed. A face appeared, a familiar face with familiar eyes. Those green eyes that had haunted so many of his dreams were now looking down on him, hatred and contempt clear. But that no longer mattered. He reached out and grabbed Harry's robes, pulling him closer. The boy had to know, to understand. He let the memories go, feeling them seeping out.
'Take … it … Take … it …' He rasped, willing the boy to understand.
The memories gushed out, and still the boy did nothing.
'Idiot!' He wanted to say. But he could not, he had not the breath for that one word. He couldn't raise his wand to help the boy, but Hermione did it for him. As usual, he was saved by the know-it-all. The flask was soon filled, the reasons and memories were there for Potter to see. He would be vindicated. The boy would understand. And yet he needed one more thing. He couldn't bear to see those eyes, Lily's eyes, looking at him with such a look. He couldn't have his last view be on that perversion of her beauty. He managed to take one more breath, enough to speak one last time.
'Look … at … me …' he whispered.
Those green eyes met his, and the hate had gone. He could not smile, he had lost all control, all strength, but the grim fatality that had gripped his heart lessened, and the fear of death which haunted his eyes left him. He let go, both of his hatred, his malice, his fear, and of his grip on the boy's robes. His hand thudded to the floor, and he moved no more. The last thing he saw as his vision swam before him was that pair of bright green eyes, staring down at him. Then, there was nothing but the darkness, rising up to greet him.
There was a feeling of lightness, almost floating. He felt free. He knew he must be hallucinating, as his brain shut down for good.
'Such a waste.' He thought. He could have had a good, long life, been someone. Bit late now really. The floating sensation receded. Death, he presumed. But then it felt as though there was some pressure on his chest, a weight that was nothing to do with dying. It was this weight which was holding him back from the darkness. How strange. He wasn't sure what to do, whether to struggle against the weight, or to try to live again. But the choice was made for him. The weight, and he felt now that it was a hand pressed against his chest, pushed harder, forcing him back into his body. The pain returned, and he gasped in a ragged, shuddering breath. A new, sharp pain in his chest, a hand there, pumping his heart. Again. A voice, he couldn't make out the words. And then a whisper in his ear, a whisper he felt was nothing to do with the person or people bringing him back to life.
'Not yet.' Said the whisper, the voice so quiet he could not tell to whom it belonged. He knew it was female, a soft breath full of care. 'Not yet.'
Then the voice was gone, leaving only the pain. A blackness of a different kind rose up, engulfing Snape's mind and dragging him into sleep. But he would live, he knew it. For now, at least.