“You’ve been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live forever.”

But of course, Snape thought. Nothing new under the veil of night. There is always only one winner, in love and in war. Nothing new…

But he could still make a feeble protest against the inevitable. It was dispassionate, but it was all he had left to offer. The years of spying had worn through even his desire for self-preservation, but instinct is an exceedingly difficult thing to quell.

“My Lord…”

Voldemort’s hideous, melted face made no reaction as he flicked his wand, lancing Snape in the side of the neck. The incision stung and then froze him, like the poison of a spider’s bite, and he sank to the ground. It had come…the end had come…at last…

Then he caught sight of it, the creature with the brilliant, eerie eyes, slithering towards him, thirsting for his blood. Even though he did not understand parseltongue, he could easily imagine the snake speaking to him, hissing to him, “You are losssst…lossst…lossst…”

Slowly it reared its head….and sprang forward.

Snap. Slam. Back breaking glass. Fangs sinking deep.

Lily…

Strike. Again.

Lily, please…

Strike, snap, slam.

Help me…it hurts…

The memories…they were shattering like the glass in his mind, cutting through him, every seemingly insignificant drabble…oh, too many, too many…

He remembered, at age 9, how he had been beaten by his drunken father during one of his rages, and the way she had helped him wipe the blood off his lip, and taken him to her home, and filled his puny body with her mother’s shepherd’s pie…

The snake coiled in front of him with fresh ferocity, its eyes piercing enough to still its victim’s agonizing heart. It had his blood painting its scales.

He remembered his 11th birthday…and her cake…

One final curling motion, preparing to spring…

It was chocolate…with raspberry filling…

Spring. Snap. Hold.

 He had gotten frosting on his face…oh, oh, such pain…but he remembered, he still remembered…how she had giggled, and wiped if off…and…he had thrown his arms…around her neck…said it was the best birthday…ever…

Blood was frothing at his neck now, and the taste of venom in his mouth. How appropriate…a death-eater…eating death…

And then he saw her lifeless body…lying on the floor…and her beautiful, empty green eyes…

“Deathhhh…deathhh…”

Li…Li…Lily…I’m…sss…sorry…so…so….sorry…

He shut his eyes tight, hoping the burning would stop, refusing to let a cry come forth from his lips. He was Severus Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, proud, and stern, and beyond the point of…

“Lossst…losst…”

Am I so lost…that even you…you can’t find me? Oh…no….

The tears ran down his chalk white face, carrying the memories inside them, like the energies contained within crystals. He decided they should serve some purpose, something of use to leave behind as a token of his pain’s intensity.

Magic, magic, always magic…it was so…overrated…the thin line between light and shadow…so terribly lonely to tread…

Then he saw – young Potter. So much like his father, he was, in face and form and those cursed glasses, always cocked at an arrogant angle. But Snape was still sworn to protect him, sworn to be of some aid to him, even now. Yes, he would have to let him know – everything.

“Take them…take them!” he ordered breathlessly, struggling to keep it from sounding like a sob.

He heard the boy speaking words to his two friends that his blurring mind could not keep up with, and felt a vial pressed against his face so the tears could be taught. They would have to tell the legend of the lost for him…

Then he felt a tingling surge rush through his body, setting a single burning need in sharp relief. He felt panic tightening his throat.

Help…help, what’s happening to me? Lily…help me…look at me…

Through the tears, Snape dared to look in the direction of the boy…the only remnant left of her in this world…

“Look…at me…” Damn! His words were too soft to be heard.

“Look – at – me…” He tried again, now harder, harder pressed, the words bruising his proud soul. For he knew, he was pleading…pleading with this boy…to just…look…at him…for once…to see him…as he was…

Snape closed his eyes again, bitterly. Her boy would not…look at him…

Then he felt the young man’s hand against his wounded neck. He winced. Would Potter try to make it worse than it already was by probing it, he wondered blearily?

Then he dared once more to open his eyes, and found himself looking through those horrid glasses and into the boy’s eyes, deep emerald green like the leaves of the tree he and Lily used to lay under discussing magic on lazy summer afternoons. They looked so much like hers in the torch-light, not filled with hate, as he thought they might be, but with confusion, and a twinge of compassion. And he realized the boy’s hand was not meant to hurt, but to try vainly, instinctively, to help.

Snape swallowed the poisoned lump welling up in his throat, robbing his breath, and blinked back another trickle of saltwater.

Oh…words, words, must have…words…so much to say…no time…oh, so little time…

“You have…your mother’s eyes…”

He could not help that his final breath was released like a groan of grieving, nor that he found Harry Potter’s gaze the only comfort to cling to as Lady Death seemed to wrap her cloak around him and pull him into the silent shrieking of the mournful night…

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