It was not supposed to end this way. He had failed; when he had needed his wits most, they had failed him. Pain ripped through him, shredding him, rendering him incapable of thought for gods knows how long. He could console himself with only one thing and precious little comfort it was. He had not betrayed *Him*. *He* was safe. The bane of his existence, and he was giving his life for *his* safety. No, that was not true. He was not doing this for Potter, but for Dumbledore.
His loyalty was for Dumbledore and for Dumbledore, and Dumbledore alone, he would undergo anything. Even this. A sentiment worthy of a Gryffindor, but true none-the-less. The old man had been a father, mentor, and all the family he had ever had to him. He would die before giving him away. And he would die. He had no doubt of that.
How could he have been so stupid? He was only human, surely he could not have been expected to go on forever without being found out. The truth was that he had known that he would be. He had expected it sooner really. The only surprise was that it had taken them this long.
The pain was not as bad now; his body slipping into shock, into sweet numbness. But it was not to be. A hand gripped his hair, pulling back his head. A wand to his temple, the voice he knew so well, his false Lord's, echoing dimly "Crucio" and the torture continued worse than he had ever experienced. Worse than ever he had dreamed it possible. Always before his Master had been careful not to kill him, he was useful, but now he had no such scruples. He supposed it was an honor really. He had angered his Master so much that Lord Voldemort would torture and kill him personally.
Perhaps this was how the Longbottoms had felt, progressing worse and worse until finally nothing. Perhaps that was what his lord had planned for him. He would be made an example of, a warning never to double-cross the Dark Lord. A wreck, a shell, mind gone, body twisted with hours of endless torture. Not that he had been much more than that in the first place.
A fresh surge, a new level of torment. Why wouldn't they end it? He wanted to die; soon he would be reduced to begging for it. He wanted it to end before that. He wanted to die, if not with dignity, at least with some small shred of pride.
His head pulled back once more, eyes forced to meet red slits.
"I'm disappointed in you Severus."
It was over. 'I am sorry Dumbledore.'
"Avada Kedavra"
Severus Snape's body collapsed, to lie at the feet of the creature he had hated.
Miles away, Albus Dumbledore sat overlooking the forest, waiting for a dark figure to come stumbling back. Hoping to see a broken body, rather than a dead one. Watchful for his friend's return.