Chapter Text
The moment he saw the snake’s magical cage, Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind so strongly that Voldemort’s sentences were hard to hear. While placing an emotionless expression on his face, the only thing he was thinking was that he had to find the boy. "My Lord," he said in a cold voice. "I can bring you the boy." It was hard to convince Voldemort. It was also hard to guess his intention. But now he seemed to be nearing the end. "You have always been a good servant," said Voldemort. He, however, could not take his eyes off the magical cage. It was not hard to know that the fate of the war rested only on him. Right now, he wanted to live more than he had ever wanted before. He had to live and talk to the boy. For Lily, for Dumbledore, for the forgiveness of at least some of his mistakes, for the whole wizarding world right now, he had to live. Then Voldemort struck the air with his wand. Severus thought for a moment that he was saved. But then he saw what his doom was. As the magical cage rose and the giant snake began to attack, he was more afraid than he had ever felt in his life. Even though he knew it wouldn’t work, he tried to push the cage away with his hands. And the pain. A pain that covered his whole body, more than he had ever felt in his life. The blood leaking from his neck seemed to be draining all his energy as well. Then he fell first to his knees, and then to his side. His body hit the cold ground like a pile of trash. He vaguely saw the snake go away and Voldemort disapparate. One hand was trying clumsily to stop the blood at his neck, while the other searched his pockets. Somewhere in there, there should be a vial of blood-replenishing potion. He realized with his last strength that he had grabbed a vial. With a trembling hand, he brought the potion to his lips. There was so much blood in his mouth that he couldn’t taste the potion. He drank as much as he could, but it was as if his brain could no longer control his body. He heard the breaking sound of the vial that had fallen to the ground. Now his whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Severus Snape was dying. Did it really have to take this long? He hadn’t completed his mission. As if all the mistakes he had made throughout his life weren’t enough, he had failed his final mission as well. Lily had died because of him. Potter had been left alone because of him. Everyone thought he was a Death Eater. He had killed Dumbledore. Now, the war would be lost because of him. “I wish,” he thought, while his body trembled in blood on the cold ground, “I wish I had a real life, a life where I wasn't acting, a life where I was truly Severus.” Suddenly he went numb. “I guess it’s over,” he thought. “I guess I’m dying.” Through blurry eyes, he noticed a movement in the room. Then he saw Potter. For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. Potter couldn’t be there, he couldn’t be coming towards him. As the boy leaned over him, he grabbed his collar. Potter was real, he was really there. Tears mixed with his blood. He focused all his strength on his memories. “Take them,” he said to the boy. Potter, with a shocked expression on his face, took the memories. He had succeeded. He had completed his mission. He looked into those green eyes he had feared to look into for years, and he felt himself drawn into a deep darkness. He no longer thought death hurt that much. It felt like flying. Apparating. Or a journey. What was life after death like? He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes. He felt a soft breeze in his hair. A wetness, a sandpaper feeling on his cheek. And he felt that he was breathing, that cool air was filling his lungs. Was there oxygen in hell? Or in heaven? He slightly opened his eyes. There was a tremendous fatigue throughout his body. He was in a narrow alley. A cat was touching his cheek right next to him. Was dying like this? Had the cat died too? He trembled with the pain spreading from his neck through his entire body. He involuntarily touched his neck. He noticed his hand was bloody. He was still wounded. Everything he had experienced started flashing before his eyes. He searched his pockets. The blood-replenishing potion was still there. He drank all of it. He used a piece of his dusty cloak as a bandage for his neck. He had not died, but he had not fully healed either. How could this be possible? He searched his pockets again. The only potion missing was felix felicis. And he had drunk an entire vial of a potion from which he should have taken just one drop. He stood up with difficulty. He started walking with small steps towards the street. Was this a Muggle neighborhood? Where would he find a wizard? Would this cursed wound heal? He could get along with Muggles. But right now, running into a wizard would be much better. Had the potion only helped his not to die? Wasn’t this supposed to be a luck potion? Wouldn’t it be great if he randomly found a wizard, maybe even a healer? He continued her small steps. He was trying to stay in control, but the pain somehow felt more bearable. The road ahead seemed to open into a large street. Would being out in the open be dangerous? But how else would he find help? But if this was a Muggle neighborhood, that meant there was no danger. But it also meant there was no help. His head was spinning. His stomach was nauseous. How could Apparating in this condition be considered luck? He could still tell she was in London. Once he felt good enough, he could Apparate back to Hogwarts. With all these thoughts in his mind, he kept walking toward the street. But when he reached the main road, for a moment, he felt like the world had gone dark. He barely managed to pull herself together. He still couldn’t believe his eyes. He was staring at the building across the street with his mouth open. On the building across, on a huge billboard, there was a giant poster — a boy with glasses and a scar, behind him his red-haired friend, and next to him a girl with wavy hair, all holding wands and looking at her. Written in large capital letters at the top of the poster were the words: ‘IT ALL ENDS".