And it's not my time yet
It’s not time yet, a voice echoed in his head, tugging gently at the corners of his –quickly slipping– conscience.
He was apparently losing the fight, and he couldn’t Occlude against the last bout of his thoughts.
Severus, feeling his breath getting more laboured, allowed himself a moment of respite. Finally; there was silence, peace. The startlingly glorious sense that no one will ever ask him to tear his soul apart again, because this soul won’t exist anymore soon enough.
This darkness is almost freeing.
It would be much, much better, if he wasn’t feeling so many things at once:
The sharp ache Nagini left on his neck.
A softer, yet insisting pain on the marks of his forearm –was it the Death Mark or the soul mark he carried?–, reminding him that not everything was over yet.
And something wet, burning at his skin.
It still wasn’t over.
Despite the sweet haziness that was calling to him, now that his mind couldn’t Occlude, all sorts of images passed through his mind, quick like a movie in fast-forward.
Everything he had lived, the many bad things and the few nice ones, until the images came to a stop and he saw her.
His wife, the girl that taught him he could be more than a vessel to the Golden Boy’s success.
Her auburn curls, insistently falling over her eyes. He never threaded his hands through them, despite wanting to do so.
Her little smile, the one that spoke of mischief, the one he never told her he liked.
Her eyes, shining with emotion whenever he let his guards down.
And suddenly, he didn’t want this to be over anymore; he had things to do and say.
He tried, and tried, and after what felt like eons, he opened his eyes; and the burning on his skin, he realised, was the dittany she poured to his wounds. Or the tears she shed for him –him!–, he couldn’t tell.
“Am I alive?” He asked, his voice hoarse and so little.
“Would you like to be?” She replied, giving him a little smile amidst her tears –and in that moment, he realised that yes, he would like that very much indeed.