Love
Severus Snape couldn't have predicted how devastating his wife's death would be to him before she'd died, and to his own horror, he found himself coming to the conclusion that he could not survive her absence much longer. Between the curses that Voldemort kept tossing carelessly towards him and the intense need for her that was destroying his heart and soul an atom at a time, he knew that he would soon succumb to the pain.
He missed her so much already. How he could live without her for a day? A week? A month? Years…?
The very idea seemed to annihilate his emotions further, which was very difficult to accomplish; he was screaming inside, his functions collapsing steadily. He could no longer form rational thought due to the extreme pain, and he could not imagine anything past the next few seconds. He didn't want to think of life without her. How could he live when he couldn't see her, couldn't hold her, couldn't tell her how much he loved her?
God, he was so scared - scared and alone. Scared of being alone. Scared of losing his everything.
He wasn't strong enough for this. He couldn't breathe properly due to tears.
His head was breaking down, leaving him unable to concentrate on the most basic counterjinxes, and his Occlumency was redundant; he lacked the necessary frame of mind to hide his feelings.
He was wide open, torn within, split in two in so many senses. He needed her, damn it. He needed her. Fate couldn't do this to him. He had suffered enough, hadn't he? Surely the years of bullying, domestic abuse and tragedy had been sufficient?
He had had nothing until he met her. And she cleansed him, kept him safe, and he had grown to need her with him to stop the nightmares and end the solitude.
He relied on her so badly, and he wouldn't ever see her again. He couldn't stand it.
"I love you," he whispered aloud, not having the energy to move aside from Voldemort's attack. He had to fight back, he had to avenge her… but all his strength had vanished. She was his strength, and without her, he was useless.
As his nose collided with the ground, he made a resolve to stay there, and simply give in, trembling like a frightened child.
"I love you so much, Nymphadora."
And he did. He let out a sob, unable to control his throat's desire any longer.
"I miss you."
Spinning his body around, he clutched her nearby hand, resolving to make one last ditch attempt to contact the woman he loved so desperately.
Raising his wand to her chest, he curled into her side and kissed her cheek, even as he heard the Dark Lord's distant laugh.
"Legilimens," he mumbled, determining himself not to leave her head until he gotten a response. Any response at all out of the desolate bleakness he could feel crushing into his mind from hers. He would wake her up, even if it killed him.
Answer me, he pleaded desperately, even his mental voice sounding so broken. Answer me, Nymphadora. Please say something. Please don't go.
Shaking, he discovered that he could not manipulate his thoughts for a second more, no longer registering the surrounding yells of any Death Eater or of Voldemort himself. Only she mattered.
What am I meant to do now? Am I just supposed to stay here and live on my own again? Because I can't do that, Nymphadora. I can't do it. You couldn't appreciate how hard this is for me. I'm terrified, do you understand me? I've never been so scared in all my life. I don't know how to deal with this. I don't know how you expect me to cope with it. I'd grown used to it, you see. Used to seeing you there in the morning after we'd made love. You'd conjure me up a coffee, and it was always perfect, and I told you every day that only you had ever conjured me flawless coffee. Used to being able to curl up beside you at night, to clutching you to me like you were the only thing that kept me alive, to whispering how much I loved you while you slept. Used to taking you out to eat, to loving everything you do. And it's all been stripped away, and I can't stand it, okay? I can't stand it!
He was yelling within his mind now, fierce terror clutching to his flesh as he became urgent.
Come back to me, my love. Come back to me. I need you so desperately. I'm not strong enough to do this alone. I can't live without you. I love you too much. I want us to stay together. That's all I've ever wanted and it's been taken from me, and I'm dying. I'm dying and all I can do is wait for it, because I can't defeat him. I can't even hurt him. He's smashed my world apart, and I can't fight him.
"Soon, we shall end this," Voldemort remarked nonchalantly, snapping Snape back to the horror of his reality. No, this would end now. He would either resurrect her or he would die. Standing, his heart screaming out to return to his wife's comfort, he thrust out his wand, the hand in which it was held shaking violently.
"It ends now, Voldemort. You either bring her back or I'll kill you."
He willed his arm to maintain composure, his eyes sincere, his tears drying themselves slowly.
"I take the latter, Severus," the Dark Lord said humourlessly, sounding rather bored as he raised his own wand. "I have grown rather tired of your worthless emotions."
The last feeling Snape felt between the two words and the flash of green that ultimately spelt his death was anger - anger that this had had to happen before he could avenge her.