SEVERUS had thought that his death should have much been more painful than this. He had almost anticipated that the Dark Lord would make an attempt on his life, though he had not anticipated it to happen in the violent and gory manner that it had. He hoped he was dead.
But then again, he was sure that he was far away from any glorious afterlife that might be waiting for him, as all at once, he was too aware of a horrid burning pain spiraling throughout his insides, specifically his neck and chest, where Lord Voldemort's bastard snake Nagini had bit him repeatedly. She should have killed him when she'd bitten him, so how in the hell he was still alive was beyond the former Potions Master's ability to comprehend it. He thought it more than he could bear. He tried to twitch even a single finger, to grope clumsily for his wand that rested on the floor of the boathouse just a few inches from his wand hand.
However, even that one attempt sent swells of pain throughout his body. He would have cried out against it, though his hoarse and blood-filled throat could not manage it.
He could only lay there in the pitch darkness and wait in dread for something to happen.
For someone, an Auror with the Ministry of Magic to come, another Death Eater to find him and finish the job Nagini had failed at, for even a fellow teacher to find him.
But then, as quickly as Severus would wish for Death to materialize before him and whisk him into his cold embrace and take him away from this world, the hell he'd made of his life, the pain would return, and he would jolt awake. Nestled deep within the confines of his black and wretched heart, Severus felt confident that he deserved such an eternity of endless pain. For his role in the outcome of the Potter boy's life, and the death of sweet, sweet Lily.
There was a small part of him that hoped by relinquishing his memories over to Potter, Weasley, and Granger, that his memories would be enough.
If he survived, there was sure to be a competency hearing and trial in front of the full Wizengamot. And after that, likely a cell in Azkaban Prison awaited him with his name on it, he was sure of it. A violent shudder wafted down his spine at the thought, and Severus found himself wishing the Dark Lord's dirty great snake would have just finished the job.
Suddenly, from nowhere, before he could succumb to sleep, he heard a faint voice, a witch's.
She was speaking to him, though her voice was muffled and distorted as if she were speaking to him from underneath the murky waters of the Black Lake.
Alarmed, he quickly swam to the surface and whatever might be waiting for him there.
The first thing that filled his hazy vision was a harrowing blinding white light that very nearly blinded the Potions Master. His hoarse throat screamed against it, and he wanted to shield his face with his arm to protect his sight, but he could not manage it.
He lacked the strength and he cursed himself for it. If he squinted to see, as his eyesight slowly adjusted to the white light that now flooded the boathouse, he thought he could make out the obvious figure of a feminine silhouette behind the shadow of a slender wand held in her hand.
A witch had found him lying here waiting for death, but who was it? Was it someone he recognized? She was too far away to make out the details of her face from this distance, though through the haze, he heard her.
"Sir? Professor Snape, sir? Can you hear me? Blink if you can. My—my name is Paige, sir. Paige Conifer. I'm a Healer from St. Mungo's, I was told to come here to find you. You're alright now, sir."
Her voice trembled. It was obvious that she was scared of him, he realized with a jolt.
Everyone always got scared of him. A bitter laugh bubbled within his throat that he forced himself to swallow back down as his chest undulated with the pressure that vented off the wretched sob.
He thought he would die before he would ever hear himself whimper, and he did not dare let that pitiful sound escape his throat. For he did not wish this Paige Conifer to see him as he currently was at present, a complete and utter wreck. He dared not open his mouth.
Not because he was afraid to speak to the witch on the other side of the boathouse, but because he knew that if he did, he would spew the blood rising in his throat all over the place.
He wished he were dead. Perhaps it would have been better that way if the snake succeeded.
A pity she didn't, I'd have preferred it much more to this, he thought bitterly to himself as a horrible bitterness seeped its way up into his throat from the pit of his swooping stomach and he tasted bile that mingled with the blood, and he grimaced, pulling a face of revulsion.
His chest heaved as he heard the sound of her delicate footsteps reverberating through the otherwise silent boathouse, save for the sound of the rattling gasps that emanated from his barely cracked lips. He did not want to see her, he realized, nausea in his stomach worsening as he stiffened as he felt her kneel into a crouch.
Thankfully, the witch had lowered her wand, so the small ball of white light no longer threatened to blind him, but the heat that her Lumos Charm gave off was nearly unbearable.
Too stark a contrast that had been the coldness of the boathouse for the last hour.
His hoarse throat screamed against the light once more as he watched out of the corner of his lowered gaze the witch raise her wand again, just slightly. The Healer appeared to be trying to peer into his pupils to get a vague sense of his life signs, but his eyes could no longer stand the strain of remaining open once more, and he sealed them shut without even getting his good first proper look at his unexpected and quite frankly, unwanted savior. He did not want to see.
He wanted no more of this world, and he found himself hoping that somehow, lightning had struck. He hoped that Potter had managed to succeed and fulfill the prophecy and kill the Dark Lord, despite his mind not allowing him to hope for his death. He wanted no more of it.
He knew there would be no mourning in his black, wretched heart for his former master.
The Dark Lord had cost him everything and all that had ever been dear to him the moment he had reneged on his promise and turned his wand against Lily and killed her.
He had given up the only woman that he had thought himself capable of loving for a life as a double agent, and now, his choices had all been for naught. If he was to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, then what was the bloody fucking point? He did not want the Healer, Paige Conifer, he thought her name was, though even the memory of her name was already beginning to slip from him, to save his life. He wanted Death, that cloaked and shrouded figure from the stories, to materialize in her place, to stretch out a bony hand and take him from this boathouse.
That he might look upon his former friend's face even just once in whatever afterlife, heaven or hell that might be waiting for him, and grovel at her feet for Lily's forgiveness.
He prayed that she would forgive him, but even as the thought flitted across his mind, Severus knew that it was a fool's hope, and he was no fool. Lily was sure never to forgive him for what he had done, how he had treated her son. Lily would never again look upon him with the friendship and affection she had once held for him, and dare he even thinks this next part.
If that arrogant swine James Potter had not been in the picture, her love.
This thought alone was more than Severus could bear. This time, he let the darkness take him as the tides of blackness came for him once more and swept him under its bleak embrace.
As sweet, blissful sleep found the former Hogwarts Headmaster once more, under the watchful and cautious eye of experienced Healer Paige Conifer, Severus Snape whispered the name of the only person who meant anything to him, and likely, ever would.
"Lily," he whispered, and then, the battered and broken man slipped into a deep sleep.