Chapter Text
Chapter One: High Waters
Snape lay on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, dying.
He knew he was dying. He did not care that he was dying. The room around Snape had become... detached, an ethereal vessel, its sole occupant a man soaked in blood, cooling on the floor. The swaying beams above him began to darken and vanish, their edges softening until he thought if he could just reach up to touch them his fingers would pass through. But his limbs were like the trunks of fallen trees, weighty and entirely too cumbrous to move. And on fire, because this pain must be from a fire climbing up and down those fallen trees.
Even as his thoughts turned to the pain, he noticed the fire was softening, like an echo vanishing as he moved through the canyon of this room and the space between these walls expanded. The beams, the walls, the trees, the fire… all fell away, and he was left in a liminal space.
It was cold. He could not feel the cold, but he knew it was cold.
It was dark. He could not see the dark, but he knew it was dark.
He could not draw breath. He did not need to breathe, but he knew he could not draw breath if he wanted to. He was sinking into this space, something in the center of his being pulled him deeper. Severus had only ever been to the seaside once in his miserably short life, but upon seeing the vast horizon laid out before him, he had imagined this moment. Surely this is what falling beneath those high waters must feel like. The ocean consumed him, and Severus did not fight back.
Severus was not sure quite when he began to feel them. They started as insubstantial whisps that trailed along his arms, his legs, his face. Like spiders’ webs caught in a breeze. As he was pulled deeper, faster, the whisps took the form of fingers brushing. Then hands, grasping. He could feel them for what they were. The limbs of the dead claiming him, issuing their judgement, his penance for his transgressions. He did not fight them. An arm grasped his neck. A hand tangled in his hair. A palm pressed against his chest, forcing him deeper. Darker. Colder.
And then the whispers began. Voices growing louder, closer.
Freak! It landed like a slap to the face.
Greasy git. A whisper in his ear.
Snivellus. A weight above his head.
How could you? An arrow to his chest.
... Filthy mongrel, bet your parents wish they’d strangled you…
“You’re nothing but a nasty little boy.” This time, he felt the words tear from his own mouth.
He shouldn’t exist …
“Arrogant, just like your father”
… He’s an evil, ugly little boy…
“I see no difference”
… You can’t wait to join Him, can you?... How could you?
“I don’t need help from a filthy Mudblood like you.”
---Severus---
Useless brat, you can’t do anything right!...
“You’re nothing but a burden on all of us”
---Severus, stop---
You disgust me … How many men and women have you watched die?...
“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”
---Severus, look at me---
Twin lights of emerald in the darkness. At first, he thought it was Potter returning for him. But no, he’d given the boy everything. Potter would use every ounce of idiotic, noble, Gryffindor blood to finish what Dumbledore started. And Snape would never see the brat again.
This was someone else’s eyes. Her eyes, set on her perfect face, fiery hair floating all around her in the deep waters. Her face was impassive as she held out a hand to him. He knew he had no right to it, but he greedily clutched at it anyway, desperate for even the avenging shade of her.
The dead released him. The voices vanished. The waters exploded and vapor swirled in a torrent of wind and mist. Here there was light all around, swirling through the ether like a divine, steady breath. This place was like an anchor to his soul, for the first time in many, many years, Severus felt peace settle over him like a heavy cloak. It felt Right and Good. And she was there. Miraculously, there.
“Lily.”
Her diaphanous form regarded him with apathy. Severus had no right to expect anything more, so he did not look away. She could have torn his spirit to ribbons and spat on the remains, and he would have accepted this as a fate of his own making. His soul was hers; he’d given it away long before her death.
But, for a vengeful spirit, Lily seemed… appeased. She seemed neither resentful nor forgiving, only satisfied as she regarded him. “Why did you choose the waters?”
“Lily… I—What?”
“The waters. Why did you choose them?” She asked him as if they had only spoken days ago.
“I didn’t… choose this.” Snape gestured timorously to the vapors which never wavered as his hand passed through them.
Lily observed him for a moment, “Your choice was made before you entered this realm.” She turned away and reached towards something only she could see in the mist, “Why did you ask Dumbledore about your soul?”
Snape was bewildered by her inconsistent line of questioning. Still dazed by her very presence here, in front of him, talking, he could only gape in confusion.
“Dumbledore does not have authority over your soul." Lily continued, "You do with it as you wish.” Her hands passed through the haze in a practiced sequence.
“The Headmaster asked me to murder him to spare the soul of a young man from being torn in two,” Snape hesitated before growling, “He determined my soul to be worth sacrificing instead.”
She returned her veridian gaze back to him, “You seem to be in one piece.” Snape blinked. “Did he force you to do it?”
“No… in the end, he—he begged of me…”
“And you do whatever Dumbledore asks of you?”
Snape paused. He thought he could hear a rushing like the sound of a raging river in the distance only it seemed to be inside him.
“No. I do not. But I could not allow him to suffer.”
An ephemeral melody brushed his face and was gone as quickly as he perceived it. Severus thought he saw a corner of Lily’s mouth lift, but it too was gone in an instant. The light of triumph, however, remained in her eyes as she turned to face him fully.
“And here I though Severus Snape was not in the habit of doling out charity.”
She was… teasing him? This was Lily, his Lily. The rushing waters grew louder, and there was that song again.
“Lily… I am so…” What? Sorry? After all these years, he had never imagined that he would be allowed to apologize for the evil he had wrought in her life. And now that he was faced with the opportunity, he found his words to be sorely lacking. If only that infernal song would desist then perhaps he could think of something more suitable for the occasion.
“I wonder,” Lily spoke quietly, and this time, she did not hide the soft smile, “What you will choose this time.”
With sudden alarm, Severus realized she was quickly vanishing, melding with the vapors as they spun faster. The raging torrent inside of him lurched violently and he perceived himself being drawn quickly away. He held her eyes and tried in vain to show her every bitter ounce of regret and remorse he carried for what he had done to her. She continued to smile softly until she vanished into the ether.
The melody was louder now. The vapors fell away, consumed by darkness and cold. At first, Snape assumed he was being returned to the hell of High Waters to serve out his due penance. But this was the darkness and chill of night. The song was all around him now, the onslaught of water raging, pulsing in his ears, and his limbs… were on fire.
Snape's eyes opened slowly as he surfaced, the beams above him, while blurred and hazy in the dark, gradually solidified. He was back, lying on the cold, hard floor of the shrieking shack… alive. Alive. And Fawkes’ song was flooding the room as his tears saturated Snape's gaping wounds.
Wretched, bloody bird!
Severus used every bit of strength he had left (which was quite a lot, all things considered, and probably all thanks to the scarlet menace) to take an ungrateful swipe at Dumbledore’s beloved familiar. Fawkes’s song cut off abruptly as he gave an undignified squawk and flew onto a beam, well beyond reach of the Potions Masters flailing arms. Severus lay panting, adrenaline coursing through him and he recognized the sound of rushing water for what it was, his blood pulsing violently in time with his racing heart.
Carefully, hands shaking, Snape felt at his neck. There were deep gashes, sticky with already congealing blood, the skin around his collar was torn, hanging in ghastly ribbons. But there was no longer an active flow, the phoenix tears must have sealed the worst of his wounds before Snape chased him off.
Damnable bird. He had no right.
Snape lay motionless as he considered his circumstances. He lay, quite uncomfortably, on the hard floor at an awkward angle, having fallen on the debris littered there. He was exhausted, and probably in immense pain (adrenaline and shock would not allow him to feel it quite yet and for that at least, Snape was grateful). He could move all his limbs despite the lacerations to his arms and shoulders. His outer robes and coat were in tatters, blood-soaked and rank, but his trousers and dress shirt were intact.
As for what was happening outside of this hell hole, well that was the priority. Faux headmaster or not, Snape felt the weight of responsibility keenly. As for his other duty, he had done what Dumbledore had tasked him to do. But, he had to make sure… make sure that it was…
If he was going to attempt the trek up to the school, he would need to use parts of his robe to bind some of his wounds and keep them from reopening.
Snape briefly considered the crimson bird who was silently keeping watch from the rafters. Perhaps he could allow the bird to finish his ministrations. Fawkes was peering down at Snape, head cocked to the side as if observing an intriguing phenomenon. No. He would not ask the galling creature to come near him again.
He felt well enough to make the journey and with any luck his wounds would reopen as soon as he finished his duties, and he could finally die in peace. Preferably in a locked broom closet, deep in the castle where the blasted bird couldn’t reach him again. Snape sat up slowly and removed his outer robe, careful to make sure the swaying walls did not get any worse as he moved. As he set to work laboriously Diffindo-ing his ruined robes to shreds, he considered, with morbid humor, hiding away in McGonagall’s sherry cupboard until he expired. Would serve her right for throwing a volley of swords at his head.
Snape brutally shoved the magnitude and shock of what he had just experienced into a very, very secluded corner of his occluded mind. He could not focus on what needed to be done if a part of his mind was screaming LILY! over and over. She was still dead. He, apparently, was not and he still had a job to do.
Snape used a sticking spell to fasten the ends of his makeshift bandages firmly in place. The fire in his limbs was beginning to return and this time Snape recognized it for the poison that it was.
Snape remembered working in secret to perfect an antidote for Arthur all those years ago, it had worked minimally and slowly. Since then, Snape hadn’t had many opportunities to test his remedy without giving away what he was doing to the Dark Lord. He always carried a vial with him, but he could not be sure of its efficacy and without a second person to administer treatment if the antidote somehow made things worse… no, he was not ready to try that yet. He still had time, the poison worked slowly to cause as much pain and suffering as possible for as long as possible.
He knew definitively that the wounds themselves could not be closed by magical means for the same reason. Nagini’s bite worked like Sectumsempra, to inflict as much destructive, irreversible damage as possible on her miserable prey. Snape had to pause after that thought, nausea threatening to overtake him. He forced it down, he could only imagine what further harm he would bring to himself if he became sick.
In short, there was nothing he could do to heal himself. However, the pain could be managed for a while. Snape reached into his right trouser pocket and opened the void to summon several vials: a pain reliever, blood replenisher, invigoration draught. After some hesitation he abandoned the idea of a calming draught, he would need to rely on adrenaline to get through the night at least, a calming draught would suppress that. Taking the damn things proved to be a challenge, he found that his swallowing reflexes were hindered by the pain, but he managed.
After allowing the pain reliever to take effect, Snape carefully climbed to his feet, using a swaying wall for support. He nearly didn’t make it upright, as the edges of his vision began to darken and blur, but after a few concentrated breaths, Snape found that he could stand and began to stagger towards the tunnel exit. He paused briefly to look back at Fawkes preening in the rafters. The phoenix showed no signs of following, not that snape had expected him to, but he thought it odd that the bird was there at all. Snape scowled and turned back to the trapdoor, steeling himself for the journey.