Like a shroud of darkness, murky smoke covers the battlefield where I lie, spilling my lifeblood onto the scarred grounds. The acrid odor of fire burns my nostrils and the sad keening of those discovering the still bodies of their loved ones fills my ears. The miserable creature hovering over my broken body moves closer, its rattling breath my death knell. Its shadowy presence blots out the blood-red sunset casting its eerie light upon the dramatic scene surrounding me. The creature sucks in a second cold breath, raising scabbed hands as it lowers itself toward me.
I am not ready to die, not yet. My hands frantically search the ground around me, suddenly desperate to find my wand and fight back. Through the sobs drifting across the field I can hear a terrible shouting from deep within my past. The creature moves closer, and I feel my panic rise, coupled with the exhaustion from my grim injuries. I force my fear aside and capture a memory to focus on, a memory of better times. . .
The day I left for Hogwarts was a day that would remain forever etched in my memory for many reasons. I was eager to leave the grim household of my father and excited to begin my magical career at the legendary institution my mother had spoken of for so many years.
We made our way to the train platform, where my father watched with narrowed eyes the witches and wizards wishing their children good luck as they left for the new term. He did not speak to anyone and gruffly shook my hand when it was time to board the train. “Don’t forget who you are, son,” he said, his voice low. “You’re a Snape”don’t embarrass the family name.”
I remember thinking to myself that I had little attachment to his Muggle name, let alone any plans to embarrass myself in the wizarding world, but I nodded anyway. He left, returning to the portal which would take him back to the mundane world, waiting uncomfortably for my mother to make her own farewell.
She was not a beautiful witch, in any sense of the word; but she had a pride in her magic and a strength in her character that I nevertheless admired. She gazed at me before speaking, and I knew she was using her exceptional skills to keep her emotions in check; I was her only son, after all, and could see in her eyes that she would miss me when I had gone. Yet I could also see that she was proud and fiercely glad to see me leave my father’s house and join the magical world in full. She pulled a small velvet bag from the pocket of her robes and handed it to me.
“These were your grandfather’s gobstones. Take them and remember that you are not only a Snape, but a Prince as well. Do your magical ancestors proud.” I took the offered gift, knowing it was a precious reminder to her of our magical heritage, and that she was entrusting me with more than a simple wizard’s game. I allowed her to embrace me, remaining appropriately stiff for both my father and anyone else who might have been observing. As she pulled away, I looked into her eyes again and was stunned by what I saw: love. A deep and unabashed love, now tinged by poignant sadness.
I was suddenly aware of my own love for her, and of all that she had endured for me, and I expressed it with a second embrace. I ignored the disapproving look from my father and whispered to her, “I will make our family proud, Mother.” She nodded wordlessly. I thanked her, waved one last time to my father, and made my way to the Hogwarts Express.
A wonderful sense of freedom filled me as the train pulled away. I was finally going to find my destiny as a wizard. . .
“Expecto Patronum!” I cry, struggling to my feet as I thrust my wand upwards. A burst of incandescent silver flows from the tip, and the evil creature moves away. Yet it is not enough, and I am forced backwards as it returns once more. The distant shouting I heard earlier is now replaced by cruel, mocking laughter, and I shake my head to clear the scene away even as I try to find a new memory to combat the darkness. . .
I paced the stone floor of my dark office, heedless of the October chill seeping into my bones with every step. I was restless, anxious to know what had happened to the Potters and the Dark Lord. The Dark Mark on my arm had blazed earlier, only to fade away so that it was barely distinguishable hours later. Though I bore no love for James Potter, I had no desire to see him or his family killed. The Dark Lord needed to be stopped, and if the seer’s words were true, their son was the wizarding world’s one last hope.
A silver Patronus fluttered in and summoned me to the headmaster. Throwing a spot of green powder into the darkened hearth, I stepped in and called out my destination. I was whisked immediately to the Headmaster’s office, and stepped hurriedly from the flames, brushing away the ash from my shoulders with a scowl. Rubeus Hagrid was in the room, but I ignored the foolish giant and turned impatiently toward the headmaster.
“What has happened?” I demanded.
The headmaster turned toward me with a sad smile; I noticed then that the big oaf next to me was wiping away tears.
“He is gone,” Dumbledore said simply. “But at a heavy price.”
The giant let out a mournful howl, and I frowned at him as I moved away. “What do you mean, he is gone? The Dark Lord has been killed?” A sudden rush of adrenaline flooded my body and my heart started to race. Could it possibly be true? Might I be free of the terrible oath I had taken in my youth?
Dumbledore nodded slowly, though I could see in his shrewd eyes that he was not ready to reveal everything. “He is defeated. Whether he has been killed, I cannot say.”
“The Potters?” I asked, and the giant began sobbing even harder. My heart continued to pound, throbbing in time to the unexpected relief flooding my body over the Dark Lord’s demise.
“James and Lily are dead,” Dumbledore said softly, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment. “Their son, however, survived the attack with little more than a scar.”
I barely heard him; I was still overwhelmed with the hope that perhaps my life would be my own now, and I would no longer be a servant to the Dark Lord. . .
“Expecto Patronum!” I shout again, throwing my defiance into the very heart of the creature. The silver cloud that bursts forth into the sky is larger than before, a shield against the creature’s dreadful desire for my soul; but still it is not enough.
Even as the creature begins to advance once more, I cannot help but disassociate to study the situation objectively. I have not had an easy life, nor a happy one; but there have been moments of clarity that I have always focused on to cast my Patronus, and I have never failed before. Albus Dumbledore himself taught me the spell and fostered the strength and confidence I would need to cast it successfully. I have used it for years as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, both as a method of communication and as a shield against the darkness of these creatures who would take my life. How could I fail now?
Remembering the headmaster brings a flood of painful memories to the surface, and the creature moves in for the final kill, hungry for the energy of my soul. My mind is filled with screams and laughter and then panicked silence. Two words echo inside my pulsating skull, pounding at my mind and ripping at my heart just as they did the very night I heard them:
”Severus, please.”
I am forced to relive my worst memory, the day my life was so irrevocably changed that even now I cannot look back and imagine the consequences those two simple words would have on my future. I feel the despair of that black moment and relive the twisted feeling in my gut that I know played out across my face. I remember the desperate look on the Headmaster’s face as he made his final plea and the realization that because I had given him my solid pledge long ago, I must do as he asked, even to the very end.
And yet as the painful flash of green light explodes across my memory, so too does a second scene play out among the grief-stricken images of my most recent past . . .
I was on the run, Draco Malfoy at my side as the charge I had vowed to protect and then commit murder for in order to keep that vow. We had disguised ourselves and were spending the night in a dank Muggle inn on the outskirts of London. I hoped to leave the boy with the Order, somehow, knowing my own life would be the one claimed by both sides now.
It was past midnight and Draco was asleep. I had not slept since the terrible night on the Astronomy Tower, and sat up alternately staring out the window and trying to compose some sort of missive to the Order in a desperate attempt to explain the situation. Both activities only increased my anger and my anguish. I laid my head down, willing the emotions to a dark corner of my mind yet again.
A sudden flash of fire jolted me alert minutes later, and a pure, clear song filled the room. Draco slept on through the disturbance, as exhausted as I was but less burdened by guilt. I raised my head to find myself looking into the golden eyes of the Headmaster’s phoenix, chirping quietly from where it stood on the threadbare rug of our tiny room. I cocked my head and listened, trying to understand the bird’s intent as Dumbledore had done, but failing as I always had. The animal let out a single squawk and settled on the desk in front of me.
To my surprise, the enigmatic bird dropped a single red feather on the parchment I had abandoned earlier. I picked it up, losing myself in studying the nuances of color that ran through its fine quill as I contemplated the meaning of such a mysterious gesture.
Fawkes was an exquisite creature, a symbol of loyalty and faith tied closely to the man I had been forced to kill by necessity. Dumbledore had trusted his companion for years untold, relying on the magical bird’s strength to guide him through his difficult journey as leader of countless battles against the darkness. The phoenix had lit his path with its glorious song, lifting him up with its boundless ability to heal, trust, and love. The headmaster had lived his life in close parallel”and I had taken that away from them both.
Now the bird stood in front of me chirping a song that spoke of undying faith. The feather in my hand was not only a selfless gift from Fawkes, but also a reminder from the headmaster himself of his continued trust in me. I was hit with the realization that Dumbledore’s faith in me did not end with his death, just as my duty had not ended with his murder. I still had a vow to keep, and losing myself to despair would not only fail Draco, but Potter and all the others who continued the battle against the Dark Lord. Most of all I would be betraying the faith that Albus Dumbledore had shown in me from the first time I had presented myself to him as a servant for the light. I could not do that to him, even in death. I could not do that to myself; I was still not free, and must continue to fight.
The crimson phoenix ended its song and blinked languidly at me before chirping once more. And this time I understood: he had come to stay, to guide me on this final stage of my journey. This second realization filled me with awe, gratitude, and an unfamiliar joy. It was the joy of unconditional trust and it renewed my faith in what I had done. I had killed this man whom I had loved like a father, and yet he reached out from beyond the grave to affirm my very existence and guide me toward my destiny with complete trust in my actions. As my heart was moved to emotions I had rarely felt, the phoenix burst into a glorious song of ecstasy and I found within me the strength to carry on. . .
Through a dim fog of pain and heartache, I hear that song once more in my mind. As it had before, it once more gives me the strength to carry on. I had fought hard for my soul’s redemption and would not let this creature take it away. I would live to see the world I had helped to save, so that I might truly receive the freedom I had finally earned. With all of the strength of spirit that I can bring forth, I raise my wand and cry one last time, ”Expecto Patronum!”
The force of the spell staggers me and I raise my free hand against the blinding light of the guardian that erupts from my wand. As my eyes adjust, I look up and am stunned by what I see. It is not the familiar raven I am accustomed to producing; instead a great gossamer phoenix spreads its wing across the golden sky, its glowing silver form overpowering the dark creature hovering above the ground.
My breath comes in ragged gasps as the new Patronus charges at the Dementor, and the evil being is forced away from where I stand. Farther and farther it flees, until I am left alone to collapse on the chilled ground in complete exhaustion. The silver phoenix flutters back to me and lands by my broken body. It ducks its head in acknowledgement, and I nod in return. I have done it: I have won. I have stayed true to the faith, hope, and love that were shown me, and am finally at peace.
I close my eyes as a different sort of darkness overcomes me at last.
A/N: This story was written for the June One-Shot Challenge, where the prompt was to write a scene involving a character's Patronus. Thank you so much to red and gold for her wonderful (and quick!) beta work, as well as for putting up with me for several days on AIM regarding Severus and his story. I leave the ending up to my readers.