Sorcha Snape was quite aware that she was dying.
Though her husband, Severus, was near, she had lost the strength to communicate with him at all. Despite having experienced numerous types of healing only recently, none had been a success. Now Severus really was the only one who could heal her. Yet even as she thought of her husband, she could tell that time was against their unlikely partnership. Twice already she had felt a pain unrivalled by any she had felt before; it was not exactly a physical infliction, but rather one impressed upon her soul. As the pain ripped through her subconscious being once more, she was certain what was happening.

Sorcha’s soul was being torn from her body.

It was consuming every fibre of energy, emotion, and conviction to force it to remain in her earthly body. But even now, when the pain had passed, she was quite separate from her body as it were. She could feel herself outside but indefinitely attached. There were so many memories she had felt, and though young for an Elf, (indeed, Sorcha herself was nearing seventy) she truly felt that her life was complete. It was strange, she mused, that as her life faded it drowned her all at once.

She remembered the moment of her birth, and a little before even then. The first ten years of her life she had remained beneath the Elven groves, secreted with the remnants of her kind, but her father had been banished, and her mother had remained. But Sorcha, being overly fond of her father, had chosen to leave with him. They had lived amongst Wizards ever since. She had attended Hogwarts aged eleven, and made few friends there; but she had met Severus there too. They had been in the same house, Slytherin, and naturally had despised each other. Sorcha never exactly regretted being sorted into Slytherin, but she had come to realise she was better suited to Ravenclaw. Then Sorcha had left Hogwarts, not entirely sure what to do with her life, but with a love for History that no one who’d been taught by Professor Binns could comprehend. Working for Gringotts as a Curse-Breaker for four years had given her the funds to finance studies at a Muggle university, studying Nordic Mythology, which she thought was all well and good, but the magical perspective was better. She’d spent the next few years researching Celtic history, and settled on the history of Finn MacCumhail. Applying for the Time Turner to actually go and experience history, had initially been half hearted and little more than a joke; when the Ministry had approved her request, and offered her more than enough financial backing, Sorcha had travelled widely (through time). Then she’d returned to Hogwarts to teach, but finding the task was near impossible, due to a certain Potions Master, she had remained only to research the History of Hogwarts.

She’d married Severus after a furious and somewhat humiliating four years. Even though they still had their clashes, they were few and far between and usually well thought out. It was comforting to know that beneath his surly mask, Severus had a sense of humour. Cassiopeia had been born three years after their marriage, Sorcha had been slightly disappointed that Cassi had not inherited her Elven prominence, but had loved her all the same.

It was at that moment that Sorcha realised something: her life was complete, she could let go…

Severus Snape fell from the horse.
His heart had frozen in place and his lungs seemed unable to draw air. The rain continued to pour down on him, and with each tiny pellet splashing upon his face and hands came the realisation that she was gone – that Sorcha was dead. Immediately he discarded the thought, she was still there, or else he would not be aware of her. But then, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was aware of her. The horses had ridden on, and Severus found he was quite alone for a few moments. Soon the squishing sound of someone running towards him through the mud could be heard. Severus looked up in disbelief as Finn towered over him. The Chieftain was utterly soaked, though he looked as if he had endured far to many storms of this type to care very much; the long braids and rings that hung in his hair and beard flashed and contrasted with the flat matt of un-bound hair. If anything could be said or his state of mind, it was from the expression upon his face, initially he had squinted, but as his gaze swept over Severus it became quite apparent why he’d fallen from the horse; Finn’s eyes widened in horror, lips parting in a silent expression of loss, for this was a grief he had never expected to feel. For minutes the two men stayed still, feeling the desolation and emptiness of their situation, the unspoken emotions they felt were reflected by the downpour that soaked them all.

It was Finn who came to his senses first, stepping forward and taking Severus by the arm, though Severus only snatched it away, glaring at the man, his face radiating a formidable rage. Instead Finn gestured pointedly for them to return to the horses, and though Severus did so grudgingly, he had already reverted to his own plans.

The walk back was one of the longest he’d ever experienced. Dread rested heavily on his shoulders, pressing him to the point where he stumbled, staggering back to the horses. He stood by the horse, clutching the reigns in his right hand, his left hand was flattened over the horses side… he felt lost, but knew he had to do this. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled… she was watching him – there was still a chance. He closed his eyes and slid his wand from his wrist, whispering, “Forgive me, Sorcha.�

In a flash he turned about, but looking about he could feel the magic crackle upon his skin, he could see Finn MacCumhail, sitting astride an invisible horse… but of course, Meredith must’ve spun some weave of magic, because he was blind to all life around him, the floor was a mass of brown, and only Finn was available.

“Meredith, I cannot lose her,� he said bitterly, closing his eyes and using Legilimency to find her thoughts… he found her, her thoughts focused upon the fallen messenger, Taistellach, and what Severus planned to do – she was utterly terrified, she struggled to hold on to the magical weave she had cast, she feared seeing Severus commit murder. He put aside the doubts Meredith’s thoughts had spun in his own mind and carried on, heart hammering erratically against his chest. Finding the thoughts of someone unconscious was no easy task… the lines of though were short, jumping incoherently, a message undelivered – he had found the messenger, his thoughts skipped on…

“Sorcha!� Severus gasped, the image of his wife, deathly pale laying upon a wooden pallet struck his deepest fears, he panted, gulping back waves of pain, he pushed the image a side and forced his eyes open, certain of his target. “Avada Kedavra!� he hissed… the flash of green light shot from his wand and everything came back into his vision.

Meredith had moved.

“No!� Severus gasped, eyes widening in horror as her face froze, green light consuming her. She crumpled to the floor, his heart followed her, dropping instantly from grace. He dashed to her and collected her in his arms, wiping her sodden dark locks from her face and wiping away the mud, pale streaks of flesh were visible where Severus’s fingers had brushed her cheek. She was cold, her skin pale and chilly as ice, he clamped his jaw firmly shut, breathing heavily through his nose. He fought the tears furiously as he continued…

If he could still save Sorcha, then it would be fine.

He shut his eyes sifting through the memories of many years past… his youth, his education, the many years he’d spent as the Potions Master at Hogwarts, but he was searching for a different memory, a dangerous memory he’d not even shared with his Pensieve. Indeed, the few years he’d spent in the service of the Dark Lord were his most guarded thoughts, but there was one memory that he’d locked away so completely that releasing it would be most difficult; Severus Snape possessed the knowledge required to make a Horcrux. He had witnessed the creation of one shortly after he’d left Hogwarts, the incantation, more like a chant, whispered in the wind that swept past his sodden ears, he trembled, the cold and imminent loss seeping through his flesh into his very bones… it could be so simple… he just needed to focus, remembering that a wand could only do so much in a ceremony of Dark Arts of this scale. Raw magic would be required to flow through him.

“Sorcha,� he said, forcing the messenger’s vision of his wife dying in his mind’s eye. He drank in every minute detail of the room, the heavy green curtains, drawn across a window of thick muddy glass, the white plaster upon the walls, the oak wooden floor boards, roof and wall beams. Sorcha, laying upon a wooden pallet, the frame laced with thick patterns of gold leaves, but the focus had to be upon his wife. Feeling his heart pound, his thoughts lingered over her closed eyes, her eyelashes seemed to have darkened, contrasting starkly against the ghostly white of her once crème like skin; his jaw clamped shut, but was unable to halt the forlorn moan that escaped his throat as he saw that her lips were purple fading to blue, she had been close to death for so long… but she would be the vessel for the other part of their soul, he could already sense that her body was empty…

He pressed his hands over Meredith’s forehead and heart, and began to whisper the incantation, with each word, the world around him seemed to change.

“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.�

Severus could feel as the lives of the plants around him were drained of their life force, he seemed to absorb it; the extra power pulsed through his body. Physical contact with Meredith allowed him to feel his soul enough to sense that it had indeed been torn, the sensation burst within him, the rip seemed ferocious. Gasping for air as his soul burned for its crime, Severus once again turned his thoughts to Sorcha… she was the only one who had cared enough, even if she showed it in peculiar ways… Severus repeated the incantation.

“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.�

This time the sky responded, the rain stopped momentarily, a guttural roar shook them and lightening cracked from the heavens, infusing the earth, and through it, Severus himself, with a power that buzzed through the very essence of his existence, he shook from the thrill of it all. He arched his neck to receive more, but when nothing came, his head dropped once more to Meredith, he breathed heavily and remembered her sacrifice. Once again his thought returned heavily to his wife, would she forgive him for this?

“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen.�

The incantation was becoming heavier, the words more difficult to repeat, though he suspected this was to be expected, the power that had thus far been granted had a mind of its own, it was difficult enough for Severus to harness it. A wave of rain washed around him, soaking his skin, bathing him in its own elemental power… curious, how such a powerful type of Dark Magic relied on the elements for its outcome. Severus recalled that as an Elf, Sorcha was tied to the earth, the first element to lend its aid…

“Locus is secui a meus animus in a vas teneo, infractus tamen idem eadem idem, duos secui a idem eadem idem nomen!� he gasped, his voice near to failure.

Yet as the words escaped him he felt the breath he’d spent stir around him. Severus’s jaw dropped as the wind ripped through him, the pain causing him to scream from the agony it caused, but it spoke o him too, it would carry his soul to the vessel, that much he knew, and it awaited his command. The image of Sorcha was enough to tire him completely. “Sorcha Snape,� he whispered, the world collapsed and he knew no more.

It should have ended.

The sensation that Sorcha experienced in the ethereal shape she took now was very new to her, and though she could feel the constraints of life slipping away, she could feel them pull at the same time. Her memories were still there, but their significance was fading. She cleared her thoughts, such as they were and calmed herself. But something was terribly wrong with her, even now. Whatever she was began to feel heavy, and certainly she couldn’t move – what was happening? It was at that point that she realised she should never have given up… Her soul was one with his, and he was pulling her back… he’d severed their soul! The sense of responsibility had returned, and she fought to return to her body.

Even with the magic Severus had cast it was a struggle, her body was dying, it wouldn’t be able to house her soul much longer – if she managed to return to her physical form at all. She could feel Severus somewhere south, he was not far, but he was unconscious… and he grieved, her heart sank… he had broken his wedding vows, but their marriage was broken now anyway. He would come, if he knew there was still hope. A final effort saw her melt back into her body, and with the remained of the power delegated from Severus's magic, she whispered his name, hoping that the connection between them existed still.