Chapter 58
I am here
The warped beams creaked, producing a dry and painful sound. The Shrieking Shack seemed to be alive, moving slowly; the walls appeared to mimic the shallow breathing of the man lying on the rotting floorboards.
The metallic smell of blood mixed with the stench of mold. The harsh rattle coming from Severus's throat joined the raw wail tearing from Laurel's chest. The bite at the base of his neck was monstrous: the flesh hung in tatters, the skin had vanished, corroded by Nagini's terrible venom.
"Hold on, Sev," —Laurel sobbed, desperately tearing strips from her long black cloak to try to stop the bleeding. —"Please… please."
She pressed her hands harder, but the fabric was instantly soaked, useless against the relentless flow. Her mind splintered—keep pressure on the wound, check that he's still breathing—but another vision forced its way through: Severus's voice, the heat of his mouth, of his body.
"I love you, damn it. I love you, Laurel."
The Akardos couldn't believe that the silky voice from her memory had now turned into grotesque gasps. She leaned in closer to Severus, swaying slightly, as if the movement could keep him there, could stop his soul from slipping out of his body.
The pain in her chest was worse than anything she had ever felt. Worse than when she saw Lupin. Worse than the days she had spent locked away. It was a raw pain, a pain that made her wish she had been the one bitten by the snake. Her world had shrunk down to counting every one of the ragged breaths of the man she would love for the rest of her life.
She was afraid. Terrified. Her hands were trembling, her teeth chattering. She cursed herself for not being able to use magic, for not knowing a spell that could work a miracle.
Then, a memory—distant but vivid—cut through the fog of her pain.
"Keep it with you. It may save you. Bezoars, antidotes, basic ingredients for preparing remedies…"
Severus had handed her a small black satchel, his fingers brushing hers with deliberate firmness.
"Like a first aid kit?" she had asked, raising an eyebrow.
"So to speak." His voice had been dry as always, but the look in his eyes… that had been serious.
"Of course," —Laurel murmured, snapping back to her senses, her bloodied fingers searching desperately through Severus's robes. —"Of course… you'd never be so careless… you're not a dunderhead, Sev."
She moved faster, searching through the folds. Her fingers brushed against worn leather:
The satchel.
She yanked it free, her hands slipping with nerves as she opened the clasps, rummaging through vials and sealed pouches. Bezoars—yes, a handful wrapped in waxed paper.
She grabbed the largest one and pushed it down his throat, the blood itself helping it slide in more easily. But Laurel didn't stop there. She kept digging through the satchel, her heart pounding. She knew Severus—cautious to the end—must have created something else. An antidote.
Nagini's venom wasn't simple poison. It was insidious. Magical. Potent. But if anyone could have anticipated it—if anyone could have prepared—it was Severus: the spy, the Potions Master, the most brilliant man Laurel had ever known.
The different vials glimmered in the dim light of the room: emerald for pain, crimson to replenish blood...
"Come on," —she cried out urgently. —"Where is it?"
And then, at the bottom, wrapped tightly in a piece of linen cloth with a faint trace of a protective enchantment still clinging to it, she found it.
A vial of thick, dark amber potion, labeled only with two words:
Antidote. Nagini.
"You're brilliant," —she whispered as she uncorked the vial with her teeth, pouring the potion into his mouth, stroking his throat to make him swallow. —"Come on, Sev, fight…"
Several agonizing seconds passed. Laurel counted his heartbeats:
One,
Two,
Three...
His body convulsed.
Laurel held him tightly, keeping one hand pressed to his chest, feeling his muscles go both rigid and trembling all at once. He let out a hoarse cry, a choked, animalistic sound that tore from his throat as the potion coursed through his blood. Every nerve seemed to react at once, as if fire had replaced the very marrow of his bones.
The edges of the wound sizzled with a wet crackling sound. The blackened tissue, corrupted by Nagini's venom, began to bubble and recede like scorched paper. His flesh peeled away in layers, sliding off in dark red, viscous strips that clung to Laurel's fingers as she tried to wipe them clear. The smell was unbearable: hot iron, rot, and the sharp sting of dark magic dissipating in the air like burned ozone.
The veins near the wound bulged, standing out beneath his translucent skin as if his body were purging every last trace of poison. Laurel clenched her teeth, whispering over and over through tears:
"It's working… it's working…"
The man's jaw was clenched so tightly it seemed his teeth might shatter. His hands, trembling at his sides, curled into fists that weakly scraped against the floor. Sweat ran down his forehead, soaking his hair, mixing with dirt and blood.
Then came the fever. A wave of heat radiated from his body with such intensity that Laurel flinched. His skin flushed a deep shade of red, nearly purple, the potion accelerating his heartbeat to a terrifying pace. She could feel it under her hand, fluttering like the wings of a trapped bird—erratic and far too fast.
She pressed her forehead to his.
"Breathe, Severus. Don't give up now…"
As the minutes passed, the spasms began to ease.
His limbs, once rigid and twitching, started to relax one by one. His fists unclenched. His breathing, still uneven, began to find a rhythm. Each inhale a little deeper. Each exhale a little longer.
The wound had narrowed—red and wet, but closed—its poisoned flesh replaced by new, raw tissue.
Laurel's hand never left his chest. She waited, holding her breath.
One...
Two...
And finally, Severus exhaled in a long, shuddering sigh, as if the air had been pulled from the deepest part of his lungs. His entire body collapsed into her arms. The furrow in his brow softened. The tension in his jaw eased. The fever had broken—but he was still trembling slightly.
And in that sudden silence, broken only by the slow, rough rhythm of his breathing, Laurel saw Severus open his eyes.
"Lily..."
Severus's voice was barely a whisper, but it stirred something deep in Laurel's chest. He was looking at her without truly seeing her. His eyes, glassy and bright, were fixed on a place beyond the room, beyond her, beyond the present.
She had seen that look before—on Tobias's last day, when the weight of guilt was punishing him.
"Severus ..." —Tobias whispered, opening his eyes suddenly. Laurel stopped the reading and looked worriedly at Tobias's contorted face.
She knew that sharp gaze that sometimes made her think that the old man was much more aware of reality than the doctors admitted. His eyes moistened and a few tears fell onto his pillow. Laurel put the book aside and took his hand as she did so many times before, comforting the poor old man when he remembered that son he had abandoned so long ago.
"Shhh ..." —She whispered back patting him on the shoulder and squeezing his callused hands — "It's me, Laurel. Severus is not here, but if you want, we can see the photos from the album together."
Laurel reached out to take his hand.
"Lily's not here, love," —she whispered, her voice steady even though her throat ached from holding back tears. —"She's not here, but you're not alone."
His skin was cold, too cold, and Laurel rubbed his fingers between hers, trying to bring warmth back into him, trying to keep him alive and tethered to her. His breathing was shallow, fragile. Had the antidote been useless? Had she acted too late?
She had thought she'd have more time.
"I'll stay with you," —she said, inching closer until her forehead rested gently against his temple. —"I won't let you go alone."
His mouth moved slightly, forming a silent name.
"Lily…"
A sharp pain pierced Laurel's chest. She had always known the shadow Lily cast. She was etched into the lines of his face, she filled the silence of his unspoken thoughts—Lily was all the pain he never dared to say aloud. And now, as the last threads of life unraveled, Severus was reaching for her.
"I love you, Sev." —She kissed his forehead, her words breaking. —"I know your heart belongs to her. I always knew. And if… if you want to go to her, I won't stop you. I'll hold your hand. I'll stay right here. You won't be alone."
Severus's eyes fluttered slowly, and a flicker passed through them—consciousness, perhaps. Or recognition. Or maybe just a brief moment of peace. His hand barely squeezed hers.
"It's cold," —he whispered, barely audible.
Laurel swallowed hard and covered him as best she could with what was left of his long black cloak. She cradled him, pulling him even closer to her chest.
"I know," —she murmured. —"But I'm here."
• •
Laurel didn't know how much time had passed, curled around his body, rocking him gently.
Her back ached. Her arms trembled from exhaustion. The adrenaline that had sustained her for the past hours was fading, leaving behind only the sharp pain radiating from her shoulders and the cold creeping up her spine. She could feel her body giving out, little by little, her numb legs striking out now and then with muscle spasms — but she refused to let him go.
Dawn was still far away.
Severus's breathing had stabilized into something barely perceptible: shallow, irregular, but there. And that was all she needed to keep fighting.
She buried her face against his neck; his skin was still cold. Far too cold.
"I love you, Severus," —she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracked and broken. —"I'll never leave you."
Her vision blurred, and she blinked hard, fighting to stay awake. Minutes passed… or maybe hours. Time seemed to twist and warp, just like the crooked beams of the Shrieking Shack.
When her eyes closed again, it wasn't by choice. Her mind drifted into a foggy void where pain and exhaustion bled together. And then:
Footsteps. Voices.
Shouts.
She opened her eyes through the haze, barely registering the light filtering through the boarded-up windows. Figures moved in the half-darkness. Wands raised. Aurors.
"There they are! We've got them! Bring a stretcher—Merlin, he's barely breathing—!"
"No! Don't touch him!" —Laurel's voice burst from her throat, raw and desperate. Her arms clutched Severus tighter, dragging him closer with what little strength she had left.
"He's cold!" —she kept mumbling. —"He's cold… you can't… he's still alive… he took the antidote!"
One of the Aurors knelt beside her, speaking to her in a calm voice she couldn't understand, trying to pry her fingers from him. She fought them—wild, incoherent.
"Don't take him, don't take him!"
Her strength failed her. Her head dropped forward, resting against Severus's shoulder. Her body trembled uncontrollably, numbness crawling through her hands and legs. She could barely breathe.
"He's cold…" —she whispered again, her voice fading as her body collapsed at last, surrendering.
Darkness swallowed her, drowning her in a sea of unconsciousness so deep that she didn't notice when Kingsley lifted her from the ground and carried her out of the ruined shack as the first light of dawn bathed her bloodstained face in gold.