It hurt, when the snake's fangs sunk into the skin of his neck. Blood spurted out of the wound, and he knew that there was no saving himself. He couldn't feel the poison, at first. But then there was the slightest tingling, which grew into a persistent burning sensation, which then escalated to a raging inferno, a liquid fire that was coursing through his veins.
But Severus Snape was detached from it all. As the black robes of the Dark Lord whipped out of sight, Snape's only thought was that he had failed her. He hadn't reached the boy in time, and now he would never know what must be done.
And then the boy was there, bending over him, alive, miraculously alive, and Snape clutched his robes and pulled him close.
"Take…it…Take…it…" The voice was his, but not his, and he could only do what he must do, what Dumbledore had told him to do, what she had needed him to do. The memories, the memories of her, and of Dumbledore, and of what the boy must do, gushed out of him, his eyes, his ears, his mouth, all were dispensing the silvery substance. As the boy collected it, Snape could feel himself slipping. Darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision, and he could barely make out the boy, her boy.
"Look…at…me…"
He did, and Snape held those eyes, those dazzlingly bright green eyes of with his own, and these were the last things that Snape saw before the darkness obscured everything, and he took a bit of Lily Evans with him to his death.
